So I Guess I’m Taking You On A Date: The Panic Diaries – Guy Edition

May 31st 2013

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Boobs and ass.

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Indeed, these are the initial ingredients responsible for my abrupt appearance in any decently attractive chick’s general direction.

I noticed your sparkling personality from across the room and I just wanted to say "Nice Ass"

Hi there. Nice…physical existence.

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True, the success rate of prolonged lingering, choking for conversation, and laughing up a goddamn tornado every time this hoodrat laughs at her own jokes –  (just for the sake of boob starin and ass grazin)  is alarmingly low.

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HAHAHAHA That's HILARIOUS. But yeah no I don't know how my hand got there...

HAHAHAHA That’s HILARIOUS. But yeah no I don’t know how my hand got there.

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BUT.

Every once in a great while, bitch really DOES have a decent personality tucked in her spandex dress. And then. AND ONLY THEN do I analyze my desire to buy her French fries based on the combo of her face, bod and tits.

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…I mean wits.

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(No wait. Tits is right)

NOW.

Let’s say I do decide her face to wits combo is the fucking jam.

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And LET’S SAY I ask said chick on a goddamn date.

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…And she says yes.

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I ROCK.

DAMN FUCKIN RIGHT.

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Well then, my friends,

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Let’s just say…

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Game.

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Fucking.

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On.

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GAME. ON.

GAME. ON.

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But listen.

Treating a lady to a date ISN’T EASY SHIT.

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Bitch is expensive.

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Hygiene’s required.

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Effort is mandatory.

the office gif

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And believe it or not I’m trippin BIG BALLS over here.

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What do I mean?

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What am I thinking?

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Let’s break this the fuck down

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Olive, Brandon and Bentley Cooper present:

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So I Guess I’m Taking You On A Date: The Panic Diaries – Guy Edition

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Fuck.

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How did this even happen?

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Last thing I remember I’m at this bar. And I’m fucked up.  And I’m getting down and dirty like a true gentleman on the dance floor with some hoodrat like this:

lololol

Fuckin smooth.

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And suddenly

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We go back to the bar for last call. And get all deep over a whiskey ginger.

I ask for her digits.

She says yes.

Makes sense.

Makes sense.

So I tell I’ll pick her up this Thursday at 8.

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And now here I am.

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Alright. Dates at 8. I’ve got one hour…

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So yeah I’m just gonna keep on doing this:

HomerIzLazyAzz-couch-potato

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7:20 pm.

HomerIzLazyAzz-couch-potato

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7:30 pm.

HomerIzLazyAzz-couch-potato
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7:40 pm.
HomerIzLazyAzz-couch-potato

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7:45 pm.

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Alright let’s get this shit over with.

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Grab a shirt.

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Smell it.

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Smell it again.

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Grab another shirt.

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Needs ironing. Fuck that shit.

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Keep searching.

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Find another shirt.

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Smell it.

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Die a little bit inside.

dry-heave-o

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Now original shirt doesn’t seem so bad.

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Drown that shit in cologne.

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Perfect.

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7:51 pm

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Do an absurd amount of last minute push ups. Give no explanation to roommates.

Nothing weird.

Nothing weird going on here. Carry on.

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You’re good to go.

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WAIT.

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Deodorant.

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Highly doubt I can use pit stains to my sexual advantage:

Said no girl, ever.

Said no girl, ever.

.

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Drive over to said chick’s apartment. 5 minutes late. ON PURPOSE. Only because my friend’s cool older bro told me once to “Make  hoes wait.” So yeah I’m doing that.

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Think about how it’s bullshit chicks never chip in for gas.

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So much for equality.

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8:03 pm.

I have arrived. Made her wait 3 minutes. LIKE A BOSS.

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Think about going to the door but decide to air guitar instead.

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Compose text “I’m here.” Send.

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That’s right, trick. You want free french fries AND booze, you can walk your ass to me.

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I'M BUSY.

I’M BUSY.

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WAIT- STOP THE AIR DRUM

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-Cue in the panic –

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What does this shiela even look like? I barely remember from the other night and now I have to solely rely on my drunk self? Yet here I am in my car ready to pick her up

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…Fuck it.

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Back to air drumming

drum gif

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She gets in the car. She smells like fucking sex and cake. I fucking LOVE cake.

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(chalk a win up for my drunk self. Must have worn my good set of beer goggles that night. Because, you know, those exist.)

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Let the small talk.

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Begin.

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Rattles off generic list of small talk questions.

Pretend to listen like this:

652

But think about the score of the game instead.

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Arrive at the restaurant.

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“Hello. Yes. Reservation for 2 under Jerry, please.”

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They don’t’ know who the fuck I am.

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Fantastic.

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Play it cool.

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Play it real cool.

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I'm no fuck up.

I’m no fuck up.

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Tell her they’re clearing off the table. And hope to hydrate her with a tall glass of booze instead.

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(Hope this bitch gets the happy hour priced beer. Say domestics, say domestics, SAY DOMESTICS)

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“Yes a dirty martini please. And…don’t be shy.”

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 No dessert for you.

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They finally call my goddamn name and lead us to our designated seating arrangement

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But wait.

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As

the

seat

gets

closer

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I realize seat one has a majestic view of the city.

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But seat 2 has a straight shot visual to the fucking bathroom!

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SWIFTLY! THINK, JERRY! THINK!

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FUCK NO AM I STARING AT BITCHES UNLOADING ALL NIGHT! THAT VIEW IS REGAL! SECURE THAT SHIT!

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Make moves to the chair facing the bathrooms. Then say:

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“Hey, let me pull that chair our for ya.”

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“Ohh. Thank you.”

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Bitches love chivalry.

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(She ate that shit up like those full-priced martinis)

Now have a regal view with a hot lady friend as the forefront

I ROCK.

I ROCK.

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Waiter walks over to our table.

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Not at all intimidated by his ripped biceps and perfectly coifed hair. Must be gay. Totally gay. Definiteellyyyy –

Suddenly I see a not so discreet exchange between my date and temporary servant

tumblr_m6nesy9A8k1rzz3r3o1_250

Good times.

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(That fucker just lost 10% of this tip)

Waiter passes out the menus and after an extensive silence warranted by our intense decisions, she tells the waiter she’ll have

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“The Lobster Primavera with an arugula salad on the side”

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Shoulda gone to Denny’s.

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I order the Tuna Tartar and send our servant on his way. (…Aka he just walked away)

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Now she’s talking about her labradoodle named “Snacks” as I go ape shit on the free bread. There’s never enough butter for this shit.

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I’ve now eaten 8 pieces and wonder if I should leave a slice for her.

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Nah.

Nah.

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Eh she’s probably on a diet or some shit anyway.  Besides, chicks love talking about themselves. Anyone who has seen 40-year-old virgin knows that.

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She finally finishes her story about…

Yeah I’m not really fucking sure. (but we’re out of bread, WAITER!)

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But now it’s my turn and I’m going to town reciting the list I concocted with my friends about my mind-blowing successes to impress the pants off of her. Literally.

(Here is the hail mary pass, praying I didn’t use this exact same list last night to get her here)

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“Yeah definitely love giving back to the community.  Animal shelters are my jam.”

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“My mom is such a lovely lady. I hope I meet a woman half as great as her one day.”

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“I make a fuck ton of money”

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She interrupts and says she needs to use the lady’s room.

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(Thank god because that was the end of the list)

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I take her sudden urgency to pee as a result of the intense anxiousness she’s felt about my volunteering work. I continue to embellish it dragging this longer and longer…I’m TOTALLY NAILING THIS.

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She’s no longer at the table.

I see her sprinting towards the bathroom in a sheer panic.

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I’m. Awesome.

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Now I’m in the dreaded bathroom lull. That undesired time period that’s too short to invest in any sort of activity but entirely too long to play it cool.

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8:54 pm

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(Checks phone. No missed text messages.)

waiting gif

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8:57pm

(Checks phone again. Still no missed text messages…)

waiting gif

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9:02 pm

(Checks phone again. Not a single message missed. That’s cool, that’s cool. Everyone probably knows im on this date…)

waiting gif

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9:06 pm.

(Checks phone again. No messages. I’m lonely as shit.)

waiting gif

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9:07 pm

Bitch finally returns.

What takes women so long in the bathroom I’ll never FUCKING know. It’s a goddamn chamber of secrets that sometimes warrants females to attend in packs. Make them transform into something HOTT in a matter of seconds. And sometimes they exit with fucking CANDY. Some weird conspiracy is going on. I can feel it.

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Whatever.

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Waiter comes back and wants us if we want dessert. I can feel homeslice staring at me from right field.

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stare gif

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Trick already lost dessert with that happy hour trick she pulled. She likes alcohol? Game on. Time for a power play of booze. Must cloud decision-making and sobering up via dessert ain’t worth it.

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She asks about my family. I decide to break out the sympathy points and tell her about my heart-felt relationship with my disabled cousin Clint. Just to show her I have a soul. Because.

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Bitches love souls.

Bitches love souls.

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Waiter brings over the check. I become completely flustered at calculating the tip. On the one hand I want to break out my phone calculator. But shits embarrassing. Can’t look like a fool. CAN’T DO IT.

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Finally cut losses, actually writes “20%” on the tip line. Wait. No…“10%” Asshole.

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We exit the restaurant and approach the car. I can tell she’s slow motion approaching the car in hopes that I’ll pull a chivalrous move like I did back at the seat pull.

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Fuck that noise.

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Now we’re both in the car and I’m selecting a jam to set the mood for the remainder of the evening.

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Let’s see her. Well.

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One of the few things I remember from the night Is her face down/ass up to lil wayne. Putting him on will definitely spark some old memories.

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Play song “She Will” Lil Wayne.

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The following lyrics begin to play amidst the car ride silence:

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I tell her now gon’ pop that pussy for a real nigga

I already know that life is deep, but I still dig her

Niggas is jealous, but really I could care less

I’m in Hell’s Kitchen with an apron and a hairnet!

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Reconsidering my choice.

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Reconsidering it a lot.

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We’ve arrived back at her place. This part is CRUCIAL. She’s fucked up. I bought her lobster and arugula. (which, btw she didn’t even finish or take a take-out box, non-appreciative bitch). I WAS CHIVALROUS. Once. Hoping she’s thinking about my cousin Clint. And the heartwarming shit that goes along with that.

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I go in for the kiss. I GOT THIS.

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Never mind. I’m fucked up too.

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I can imagine our make out looks a lot like this:

Nope.

Nope.

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Don’t get the invited in.

Drive home laughing. Never calling this bitch again.

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Minus next Friday at 4:01 am. 

27 responses

  1. Pingback: The People | olivethepeople

  2. If this is what happens in the real world, IT’S A JUNGLE OUT THERE. And it’s not a very nice one!! YIKES

    <3, Charlotte

  3. Brillliiiannnt. You took that one from the other day and flipped the script. Like an awesome back story to fill in the blanks. And you somehow got into a dude’s head. Are you a mind reader?

  4. So I’ve been obsessively reading your blog posts and trying to convince myself I’m not a huge creeper, but this is seriously the best blog ever. Like, ever. It’s the best. So thank you for that.

    • Sara!

      I happen to love huge creepers that leave really kick ass comments, so we’re both in luck! This comment put the biggest smile on my face and I can’t wait to tell you more of my absurd stories. Thank YOU for reading!

  5. Pingback: So You Wanna Take Me On A Date: The Panic Diaries – Girl Edition | olivethepeople

  6. The only good thing about being a girl is dating (free food and booze). I always meet them there, and order expensive drinks. If I like him after the first drink and he offers another, he may get a good night kiss. other than that, who cares. Did I mention free booze and dinner. If he isn’t worth the chat, I can always check out the other talent in the room. Also, having your own car there means you can leave, at any time.

    Love it as always!!!

  7. Pingback: Sexting Etiquette 101 | olivethepeople

  8. Pingback: 14 Reasons I Didn’t Come To Your Party | olivethepeople

  9. Pingback: Marco, Magicians, And Mass Nuggets: The Finale | olivethepeople

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