The nostalgia I have for summer right now is astounding.

I'm about 89% certian-

that I want you.
I'm also about 90% certian that I have no problem holding out for you.
Now, I've thought this over and I'm about 99.9% certian you won't see this.
Ever.
and I'm 100% okay with that.
But if you happen to stumble across this- then I did something right.

The moral of this story: I should loose a man card for not being able and or man enough to just say it.

Can someone please turn down the chaos?

So lately-

every thing's kind of gone to hell. It's finally hit me that I have less than twenty days left in Ohio and how do I spend them? that's right kids, you guessed it. By sleeping with people I have NO business sleeping with. (although right now that's the least of my problems.) I have papers to fill out for housing, shit to buy, things to pack, people to say goodbye to and the longest standing case of insomnia in the history of my life to cure. Plus my future room mate and best friend is having a really hard time with her boyfriend- and if he doesn't stop being a douche by the time I move in, I'm going to rip his balls off. Truth be told fellow bloggers, I'm terrified of leaving. I thought at first moving away was going to be awesome, but then comes the late hours of the night when I'm awake and thinking about everything I'm leaving behind. I know I'm taking my time here for granted, waking up everyday at one and watching t.v. until my mom/dad comes home and lends me their car for the night. I loathe feeling bored and despondent when I know I have very limited time left to do what's needed to be done. It sort of feels like every thing's falling apart around me, and somehow I'm allowed to just leave and get away Scot-free. Maybe it's the nerves talking. Maybe it's my common sense trying to tell me something. Maybe I'm fucked, either way.

The moral of this story: college=anxiety attacks.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

The perks of being a teenage girl.

Breathe in, breathe out.
Sip your coffee.
Put a dollar in the jukebox, and pick your favorite song.
Pick up a pencil, and write it out.
Fall for the fictional boy.
Stay up late.
Pick out your outfit ahead of time.
Listen to a sad song.
Laugh.
Find your summer "fling."
Crash on your best friend's couch.
Cry.
Find comfort food, way too late at night.
Update your status way too much.
Take solace in your horcruxes.
Go out past midnight.
Find your haven.
Write a breakup song.
Sing obnoxiously to crappy emo love ballads.
Have a sleep over.
Let it go.
...And just like that, I did.

I'm just such a happy mess.

Today, it finally happened-

I finally had that cute little breakdown I was waiting for. I had just dropped off one of my first and only friends in high school, leaving her alone in the Kent Student Center to suffer through waiting in line and awkward conversation, while I foolishly waited around for someone who was long gone. It's funny, I've never had a panic attack before. I've calmed plenty of people down, but never once have I experienced the intense feelings of shortness of breath through a sudden, striking realization. I just want to make a clean escape- I'm leaving, but I don't know where to. I believe this calls for another early morning coffee outing with myself.

The moral of this story: I'm too worn out to think of a moral.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

I have to get this out of my system.

For days on end-

I haven't been able to blog. It's been driving me insane- quite literally. There's so many things I need to get out of my system and there's barely any time left to do it. This isn't about just one person, one situation, one occurrence. This is about three month's worth of experiences, relationships and lessons learned...or not learned. This is about just how hard it is to let something you care about go, and not feel like half of your organs went with it. This is about growing up- becoming an adult and how much it scares me. This is about second chances, the end of an era and the true meaning of "life outside your apartment." This is about my insomnia, and how when it finally does run it's course, I will miss it most of all. So yes, I will think of one of you as a time of day, the time of day when I felt the most alive. And yes, I will think of others as endless hours of coffee and sleep overs and late night food runs. And I will think fondly of someone else as the end of a wonderful era and the beginning of something better...but what does that leave you all to think of me?

The moral of this story: if you walk away, I'll walk away.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

When I do wrong I am with God-she thought

There seems to be some things that need to be said-

and once again, as always- I can't bring myself to say them. I can never explain my "writers" block when it comes to these sorts of things, but I guess it's all in how much experience you have with confronting your fears, and telling the truth. There's a lot to be said about my efforts, but sometimes the effort itself just isn't enough. I'm lacking the nerve to say what needs to be said. In order to take action, and do the right thing- one must be sure that the right thing is what needs to be done. Maybe the right thing is walking away, saying goodbye...or maybe the right thing to do at this very moment, is to crawl back into bed with the J.J.K. and forget for just a little bit longer.

The moral of this story: sleep is for the weak...and maybe, I am the weak.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

I need coffee like addicts need heroin.

I truly believe I may be dying-

from a lack of caffeine intake. At the moment, I swear I'm going through with drawl. I feel shaky,irritable and I'm practically begging anyone on facebook to come out with me. I'm also listening to Bright Eyes at the moment, so that may have something to do with my hostile feelings as well. I believe I may just resign to my old "let's-get-up-at-six-in-the-morning-and-harass-the-kids-opening- Starbucks" idea... but you know, actually go DO it this time...plus, I have a game boy advance with Pokemon Sapphire for the moment, and I might as well take advantage of it...at six in the morning. Alright! my plans for the day have been made! [Let's pretend this never happened, and we can all ignore just how sad it is that I'm excited for this.]

The moral of this story: my life=epic fail at the moment, considering all it takes for me to get excited is Pokemon and early morning lurking.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

What I would give to have an imaginary friend...

What's happening to me-

It's 11:37 and I'm about to crash. What is this nonsense? I haven't slept before 5 A.M. in three months and now suddenly, I'm tired at 11:37!? I'm vaguely insulted...but then again, maybe it's time for my insomnia to right itself. The whole reason it came about in the first place has been fixed-and through my insomnia I have had the privilege of doing some fantastic things...like revisiting friendships I thought had long since died. And above all, it lead me to discover the joy of blogging...but maybe it's time to retire while I'm ahead. Yeah, my past three months have been hard-but at the same time they were absolutely amazing. Without them, I wouldn't have the J.J.K and the closest thing I have to a real life imaginary friend-Tyler. But like the Kling house, my insomnia seems to have done all it could do for me...righted all the wrongs that caused it to spring to life in the first place.I am forever grateful for three months worth of sleepless nights spent in coffee shops across Ohio with anyone I could convince to come out with me. So I would like to say thank you- to anyone who was kind enough to get out of their bed/off their chair to come out and spend the hours in between today and tomorrow with me.Thank you for listening to my stories and reading my blog-thank you for understanding just how much I needed another person at the most awkward of hours.

The moral of this story:

Until next time, stay classy kids.

This is for Fawley, because he reads my blog.

Today, I got free pizza-

for washing my hands in a pizza shop in Highland Square. Technically, I got TWO free pizzas, but who's counting? [I am!] of course the members of the J.J.K. had everything to do with the free pizza and cigarettes I obtained, and that is why love them. After re-reading my last post multiple times, I've come to realize just how big of a part Misdirected had in my life. Band practice became a weekly thing for me-whenever I needed a car all I had to do was say "mom/dad, I have practice tonight." and they'd hand over the keys, tell me to be home at a decent hour if it was during the school week, and let me go. But that period of my life has come and gone, and much like The Orange Street, will be missed terribly. On a much lighter topic, the J.J.K. will once again be terrorizing Lakewood/Cleveland Heights on Monday-so any of you kids who live in and or around either of those areas should make a point to find us and converse for a little while...we'll most likely be at Taco Bell-eating our body weight in cheap Mexican food, The Flower Child-going insane over retro home furnishings, American Apparel-crying over overpriced hoodies, or Common Grounds- smoking our lives away and drinking copious amounts of bad ass coffee.

The moral of this story: The J.J.K. is everything you wish you could be.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

And then suddenly- my life exploded.

First and foremost-

I apologize to the two people who read my blog enough to realize it's been four days since I've updated...but what an epic four days it has been. I've spent a lot of time with the J.J.K. frolicking about Lakewood and causing general mayhem all over northeastern Ohio. I've also spent a lot of time with people I never thought I could waste my sleepless hours with. Call it irony or foreshadowing or whatever you want, but that includes Al. Tonight was Misdirected Aggression's last show as a band and of course as soon as I saw the event on Facebook, I hit "attending" and memorized the date. I figured at most, it would just be a great house show and an awesome way to end an era...but it was something more. Now I've always known that the house on Kling had some sort of magical ability- weather it was to bring people together at the right time or to act as a catalyst I'll never really know. But something about seeing that house for the last time brought back a wave of nostalgia that nearly knocked me over. I had been absent from the Kling house since May...maybe early June. I struggled to remember the last band practice I had attended and my mind came up blank...how could I have stayed away from Kling for so long? I ran up the steps, saw Mandi, and quite nearly knocked her off her feet. I hugged her and waved at Jeff until my eyes found Al. We observed each other for a moment, waved, and then I proceeded to walk outside and smoke a cigarette with the "K" of the J.J.K.- Allison. Misdirected continued to play their last set, and as something inside of me died, something else was reborn from the ashes. I felt...proud. Proud of the boys I'd known for so little time. The house had worked it's magic on me, and it was time to let it do the same for someone else. Misdirected Aggression is no more and the closure that came with their end is an utter relief. I will always miss the Kling house- all the memories associated with my time spent there are some of the best ever. There will always be pictionary, ciabatta bread, house shows, first kisses, and "come back" notes to revisit in my mind...and I will always have some Misdirected Agression for the rest of my life.

The moral of this story: the world is not waiting for three boys and a broken down van.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.

What becomes of someone-

after you forget them? Are they a memory? a ghost? or are they just the body they vacated, laying six feet below the earth, slowly turning into nothing. What happens to the memory of that person when you can't remember the last time you saw them alive? Everyone else shares the same last vivid memory, but you- you've got nothing. All you have left is a blurry recollection of a chance encounter- you're not even sure if that really happened or if you just wish it did. You will never have closure, at least not internally for the sole reason you can't recall the last time you cared about that person until you found out they were dead. And sure, the funeral was hard for you but compared to the kids around you, you felt down right fake. They all have their last memory, their final words, their closure. But you- you sit there with tears rolling down your face and you feel absolutely appalled with yourself. Not to say you didn't care, you care very much. But your tears seem forged compared to those around you. Now imagine a year passing. Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes of your life has passed and here you are, on the anniversary of the most untimely death you've ever had to encounter. And it's painful- you still lack the closure you want...the knowledge of the date put a hole in your chest that had not been there for a long time. You want this person to know you care about them as much as you did the day you met them- but you're too poor for flowers. You have no knowledge of where they're buried. And then comes that feeling of becoming absolutely appalled with yourself for failing them as a friend.
Happy anniversary guys.
I love you all, and I know we all miss her.

The moral of this story: nobody put it better than Kaytee when she said: "I noticed how beautiful the sky was today and I realized it's because you're up there."

Until next time, stay classy kids.

I think the phrase "Folie a Deux" applies here.

I'm desperately trying to write a song-

Don't get me wrong, I can fill pages of legal pads and notebooks and blogs with useless ramblings but when it comes to writing a song, I can't do it. I can blog four hours about anything that's on my mind but when it comes to rhyming words and setting it to music- something in the back of my mind goes "let's make this absolutely awful!" and so it goes. For some odd reason, I've been feeling like it's completely necessary to write a song about the movie Fight Club. Scratch that, not even Fight Club- just about Tyler. So of course today I sat myself down at Rico Latte and scribbled a few lines on a napkin. They're satisfactory enough, but they hold no real meaning...like what I'm trying to say just won't come out. There's so much I need to say and at the most inopportune moment, my word vomit has stopped mid-stream. Writers block aside, tomorrow/today Katie and Alison and I are going to spend the day in Lakewood aimlessly walking and eating and entering various consignment shops and causing general mayhem. Our night shall close with Common Grounds.[obviously, since we'll be in the area for once] You know what, fellow bloggers? you get to read my awful Fight Club song and mock me relentlessly for it.

I think right about here is where we left off-

you and me and this loaded gun.

You asked for last words, I could think of none

Just you and me and this loaded gun.

And the world goes up in flames

And Tyler knows I won't be the same when I'm awake.

So I'll find my cure in other people's pain

I'll find a girl and push her away

Tyler makes the rules

And Tyler's gone away

And the world goes up in flames

Ans Tyler knows I won't be the same when I'm awake.

The moral of this story: I'm an awful songwriter.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

Happy belated birthday, Harry.

In the spirit of things-

I would normally open up my blog with something pertaining to the type of day I've had/cynical humor/what's nagging at the back of my sleep deprived mind. But the only two things I can keep focused on right now are:
1. I'm using my mom's computer so for once, I don't have to worry about it shutting down on me and/or punching it in the face. Patrick be praised.
2. I want some serious coffee...like enough for me to call it a night at 1:55 and sleep for four hours so that I may awake, shower and the plague the poor souls who have to open Starbucks at six in the morning.
I would also kill for some decent conversation right now. It's too early for me to go to bed [even with a genius plan such as the one mentioned above] aside from that, my mother has this intense rule about having her car home before midnight thus, me not being in Lakewood for the second night in a row. lately I'm finding myself sort of "escaping" to Common Grounds. Escaping being in quotes because there's nothing to run from back in the falls. In fact, I should be running from Lakewood but fat chance THAT would ever happen. I find myself at peace in that little coffee shop- my mind settles for a few hours. In an odd way it's like my own awkward version of a good nights sleep.

The moral of this story: I am Jack's odd sense of security.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

My purse has once again become a mobile library.

Books are the single greatest thing to ever exsist-

this is something I've come to realize within the past few days. How I've gone without them for so long, I cannot tell you. This realization was thrust upon me when I finished The Half-Blood Prince for the millionth time. Of course I was in tears- the ending phrase "we're with you, whatever happens" having a lot to do with it. And to tell you the truth fellow bloggers, my yearning to become a fictional character has reached it's peak. I long to live in the pages of a book alongside some of the most interesting people ever. I want to pull an "Alaskan" prank, I want to search Europe for horcruxes, hell I'm even curious about a fictional life in Forks, Washington.[against my better judgment.] A break into an ink-and-paper world would be more than welcome at this point. I'm sick of distractions in this world and I'm sick of making decisions. I would gladly accept someone else's ability to make decisions for me. But despite all of these feelings, I am quite content at the moment, sitting in my haven in Lakewood with my coffee, [which is more excellent than usual, FTW] cigarettes, and company. I enjoy the small surprises in life- the ability to make up monologues on the spot, pancakes of the international sort, when myspace surveys ask you questions you WANT to answer.

The moral of this story: paper girls don't always have the most fun.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

And then I realized- I update my facebook status way too much.

"That was EPIC!"-

I nearly screamed as I slammed my book shut. My delightfully Asian companion made no move to stop her coloring, eyes still on her art. "Was it?" she responded with mild amusement at my rush of excitement. In all reality,it was. Not just the perfect ending to the novel I had finally finished, but my night as a whole had been drama free for once. I figured after my epic word battle, Lakewood would be off limits for awhile. But as always, I'm pleasantly surprised by Common Grounds and how it proved that it could never truly be "enemy territory" for anyone. But still,in the midst of everything there's this nagging feeling in my stomach-like I'm constantly waiting for something but I can't figure out what it could be. I've taken great strides within the past few days to detox my life... regardless of weather or not that includes shutting out someone I care about for his own good and exactly how that makes feel-it's helping.

The moral of this story: I have a feeling my sleeping pattens will never right themselves.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

All I need to know about love, I've learned from The Decemberists.

There' something about being awake when the sun comes up-

that keeps me from wanting to sleep. Although I'm finding with insomnia comes the frequent feeling of disorientation. I picked up Jena last night around nine, and feels like I picked her up a week ago. It's also alarming to look at my phone and find that it's July 28th...not that the date is an important one- it just baffles me to realize that summer is almost over. I vividly remember graduation, the moment of unease I felt a half an hour before it, as I sat down with a polar pop and a cigarette on my front porch with Hatts. It seems like yesterday I was walking down the stairs to Yami's basement for the first time. I remember my trip to c-bus, and prom night. But so much time has passed between the first day of my first year of high school to right this very second- and so much has happened. I worked an awful job, fell in love, got pierced, recorded a demo, lost sleep and found myself- not all in that order. At this very moment, I have my whole life ahead of me. I have school to go [or not go] to. I have friends to punch in the face, polar pops to consume, songs to write, stories to tell. I'm eighteen and invincible,and my life won't stay this way forever. All I can really say is I hope that when the world comes to and end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.

The moral of this story: Keyser park is beautiful at 4:30 in the morning.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

"Patrick be praised."

Lullabye-

Honey is for bees, silly bear
Besides, there's jelly beans everywhere
It's not what it seems in the land of dreams
Don't worry your head just go to sleep

It doesn't matter how you feel
Life is just a Ferris wheel
It's always up and down
Don't make a sound

When you wake up the world will come around
When you wake up the world will come around

Its just the sweet weather and the peacock feathers
In the morning, it will all be better
It's not what it seems in the land of dreams
Don't worry your head just go to sleep

When you wake up the world will come around
When you wake up the world will come around

Honey is for bees, silly bear
Besides there's jelly beans everywhere
It's not what it seems in the land of dreams
Don't worry your head just go to sleep.

The moral of this story: when there are no words- copy and paste Fall Out Boy as a filler.

Until next time, stay classy kids...at least classier than me.

Aside from Harry Potter and cigarettes, blogging is the best thing ever.

There's something about Kurt Cobain I cannot stand-

Maybe it's the whole " young and tragic" thing, but that would go against my ongoing obsessions with other young and tragic people I'll never meet. The young lass sitting across from me would never forgive me for vocalizing these thoughts. However, at the moment she is busy. A pen clutched in her hand, scribbling furiously and pausing now and then to check a steady stream of texts from whom I assume is her lad. her hair is completely out of her face, as opposed to mine, which hangs like a curtain in front of my eyes.Looking at her is like looking in a fun house mirror- our corresponding piercings are the only physical similarity between us. Our features blur and distort, as fun house mirrors do. But somehow, I always see her looking back- a cleaner version of me. This is not a compensation, at least, not in my eyes. Just proof that everyone has a kindred soul- a horcrux, if you will. Someone who, when you see them, you see a piece of yourself hidden in them as well. And as with any good horcrux, their pain is your pain and vice versa. But unlike a horcrux, I did not choose the people I see staring back at me. There are few other souls I know upon looking at them I immediately see my own dirty reflection blurred with theirs. And for some strange reason, I know the phrase "we're with you, whatever happens" thoroughly applies.

The moral of this story: Splitting your soul seven ways isn't always a horrible thing.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

Fall Out-Boy Meets Girl.

Al-x Lovell is single-

that's the first thing facebook has to tell me when I log in at 4:00 in the morning. Not that I'm not well aware of this fact- seeing as I'm the reason he's single. It's just a big slap in the face, displaying the fact a full week after we called it quits. Now fellow bloggers, I'm completely aware that even though I punched him in the face, I am still not over him yet. Yes, meeting a total stranger in the parking lot of Steak-N-Shake is nice, and yes, this Patrick look-a-like is beautiful, but I still find myself lacking the closure I expected to have by now. In a cosmic sort of way, this is the definition of irony. A girl whose never cared about anyone suddenly finds herself needing closure to move on with her life. It's like God is giving me the proverbial middle finger for waiting so long to grow up. I used to make fun of the kids who clung on to past relationships and now I guess I'm one of them. All I can do is pray to whatever's up there to send Patrick back my way and prove to me this misdirected punk wasn't the best thing out there.

The moral of this story: relationships are not for the weak.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

Ten reasons why Steak-N-Shake is the best place to be at 2:00 in the morning.

I just met the new "Patrick"-

Now, let me explain.If I find a young lad attractive in any way,shape, or form they will most likely fall into one of these two categories:
1. They're skinny, tall, and nerdy.
2.They look like the lead singer from Fall Out Boy.
Sad, yes...but oh, so very true. Patrick Stump is the one man I would marry on the spot if he approached me with a ring and a promise that I could have his beautiful, nerdy, shy be-speckled babies. As most of you know, I'm an insomniac- which means my body refuses to shut down anywhere before 5 and 7 in the morning. So what do I do to kill the extra hours I find myself awake? I go out in search of caffeine. Most nights, I'll drag anyone willing to come with me to Lakewood, where I'll smoke myself to sleep and drink copious amounts of awesome coffee. But tonight, I decided to drag Cait with me- a well deserved break after dealing with her extended family's ten thousand dogs,all of which coincidentally, want to hump my leg at the same time. Our destination? Steak-N-Shake.
I parked the trailblazer and we wandered inside to find the waitress who recognized me as a bi nightly regular,sat us without hesitation, and began to make a fresh pot of coffee. It was in that moment that Cait tapped me on the shoulder and pointed towards a couple of lads sitting at the counter. "look! he looks just like Patrick!" she whispered pointing directly at the lad seated closest to my field of vision. And lo, and behold- he did. From the sideburns right down to the thick,black square rimmed glasses. I stared freely at this point, as the lads were playing their check and wandering outside, and for one heart wrenching moment, I thought I was too late. But then something happened. The lads stopped directly out front and lit a cigarette a piece.
Cait and I exchanged one solid look, and I removed the last cigarette from my pack and bolted outside in time to pat my pockets convincingly and shout "Do either of you have a lighter I can use?" Ah, the perks of lung cancer. Of course the other lad offered up the Patrick look-alike's lighter [which was RED!] and started a conversation, introducing both lads as "two best friends named Joe". We spoke for about forty-five minutes before they departed on their way back to Kent [score] where they both resided [double score] and went to school [score x3].

The moral of this story: Stake-N-Shake is the answer to ALL of my prayers.

Until next time, stay classy kids.

When in Lakewood- blog in all night coffee shops.

I punched a man in the face last Saturday night-

and it was quite possibly the most bad ass moment of my young life. But before I can unveil more about that, I should fill you in on the events leading up to the single best moment of my life so far. Let's rewind to Tuesday, July 14th of the year 2009. On this fateful aforementioned night, I resigned from my most current relationship with this guy...Fellow bloggers, meet Al. Now, I know he looks like your typical angst ridden punk, and in reality, he is. But this ferocious lad is also so much more. For one, he's one of the four people who's DNA makes up my best friend, along with The Asian,Killer and Cait. He's also one of the most adorable kids I've ever met...but that's not why I clocked him in the face. After my resignation he left me with a paperweight in my chest and became, for lack of a better term, a punk. Now young Al had a good thing going for him. He was in a decent band and had decent friends. He was a decent guy. Until one day, his tiny world exploded. Now he has no friends, quit his decent band, and became a ghost of the adorable young lad I once knew and subsequently, adored. Now back when we were together we had an agreement between us.When young Al said or did something remarkably stupid- [granted, this was not often] I would give hm a tally. If and when he got to 25, I was allowed to punch him in the face. far trade? I'd like to think so. Towards the end of our time together he had accumulated far more than 25 tally's and was well aware of this fact. But young Al made one fatal mistake- he refused to believe me every time I threatened his adorable little face. Now this lad had one final show with his decent little band before he so tastefully decided to give his band mates the proverbial middle finger for reasons unknown to the rest of us. Now this lad was pushing the show pretty hard- I guess he wanted to go out with a bang or something that seemed logical to him at the time, so we all bought tickets, and pushed our limits to make it out to Misdirected Aggression's last show as a decent band. Fast forward to the few moments we had to smoke a quick cigarette and book it back inside to see Left Alone-an incredible ska band from California.Aside from having a moment with the bassist as he stared deep into my eyes and gave me the type of shit eating grin that can ONLY mean one thing- the men below my perch on the balcony had begun to form the usual mosh pit you can only find at an underground punk show. The pit was loud, fast and full of men-until something happened. I found myself tossing aside my cigarettes and glasses, and hurling myself down the stairs into the mass of sweaty lads who were busy beating the shit out of anyone who came too close. I found myself in the midst of the beating of a century, my lungs screamed at me to get out, but the paperweight in my chest seemed to evaporate on the spot. I found myself relaxing as I was thrown brutally in between men twice my size, hands and elbows hit my face,arms and every other exposed appendage possible. And to my surprise, I found myself hitting back just as hard. All too soon the set was finished, and the pit broke apart in a wave of high fives and requests for cigarettes.I joined the current of people headed for the back patio and found the people I was looking for. I stood in a semi-circle alongside Al, smoke hung lazily overhead as the single greatest moment of my life was rapidly approaching. He turned his head for an instant to reply to a friend, when I found myself winding back and prepared to issue three months worth of misdirected aggression straight to his face. In that split second it took for my fist to make contact, I watched his face turn from passive, to astonishment, to disbelief as my knuckles made full contact with his temple. The greatest moment of my young life so far was in that second where my fist found Al's face, and within the next few minutes where it made it's way to his collar bone and stomach, respectively. I had finally done what I said I would do much to his surprise and it felt absolutely amazing. Well, there you have it fellow bloggers. Three months worth of pent up aggression, all let out in about three minutes.

The moral of this story: the best way to win a lad's heart, is to punch him in the face.

Until next time, stay classy kids.