Since it seems to be necessary to blog at least once in a while about your personal life or some kind of nonsense, I present my random post of the month:
My boyfriend has bought a weight bench. It is positively horrendous and is something much worse than an eyesore. Granted, it isn't the safety hazard he had at the hell-hole which was being held together by masking tape so I suppose I must give it a few positive points for that... And it is pretty nice having gym equipment at home so I don't have to wait at the gym. Okay, so it's starting to grow on me but I still hold that it is the ugliest piece of furniture to enter the apartment and with it comes something that sets my teeth on edge: the boyfried's friend. We'll call him "douche" for now.
I should be pleased that the boy has friends come over and whatnot but this is different. For the duration of douche's visit, I am relegated to the bedroom (for sometimes 2hours) with my cats, Peanut and Jack, while they do their Jersey Shore douchebag gym thing and I study. Why, you ask? I make douche uncomfortable because I'm a girl and I'm mean or something. Also, I can't be trusted not to laugh in hi face when douche comes out with one of his outlandish, bold faced lies again. Simply, I lack tact. Even from the relative comfort of my bedroom I can often hear him tell the boy about his great plans for something and how he tutors for $100/hr and makes over 100k a year tutoring and how he's a teacher and has the third edition of my quantum mech text (which is only in it's second printing, btw) or something like that.
And so here I am, cross-legged on my bed listening to weights clanking and bullshit spewing in the other room.
