Facebook Friends and Other Ways to Determine Your Self-Worth.

First of all, let me say that I was not going to write this blog, but saw that i had 33! Facebook friends online, and I panicked at the possibility of getting my blog to 33! VIEWERS! Then I realized I don't physically HAVE 33 friends, however, digitally, and technologically, I have upwards of 300 friends which makes me social, and it also makes me a potato.



Everybody knows the feeling, you sign in to facebook and you see that fateful little red box that says you have new updates. Perhaps wall comments, perhaps photo comments, perhaps a million dollars.



However, you click on this little red box and you see new updates, only to find out that it is just the lousy "Your friend compared you on HOT or NOT...see what you rated!"



After your fist goes through the screen, and you contemplate how you are going to explain to your mom why your laptop has a hole in it, you reflect on how genuinely disappointed you are.



Then, you realize that you're upset about Facebook.


Around this time is when you realize you are a bad person for being upset about Facebook. Get a life. And read my blog.



Then you finally succumb to the pressure...because Facebook wins everytime, and you realize you indeed are not HOT...you are...NOT.



Ow...



It's okay, I never liked her anyway.




I am speaking strictly hypothetically, because I have better things to do other than check my ''hotness'' rating...like write blogs in a hurried fashion when I have more than 20 facebook friends online.



Once again, Facebook prevails.



I was enjoying the triple overtime game between the Bulls and the Celtics when my roommates stormed in like they had just experienced oral sex for the first time, besides that one time that they were really pumped on Mountain Dew and their guitar hero broke, and they were experimenting.

Roommate #1 comes in, turns the corner with 3 medium Domino's Pizzas and a large order of CinnaStix. Before I could formulate my plot on how to steal his CinnaStix and bathe in the icing-dipping-sauce, he looked me in the eyes, cracked an eerily large smile and said, "I...LOVE DOMINO'S!"

Then, roommate #2 walks in, with an equally oral-sex-experiment look on his face, raises two full Wal-Mart bags containing Red Bull, Monster, and Gasoline.

"We're gonna pull an all nighter! I've got energy drinks!"

I could hardly hold back my excitement, anticipating another full night of guitar hero, random expletives and sugary drinks, especially when I have to wake up at 7:30 to lift weights that hurt my 60 year old joints. Awesome. All nighter. Party.

So, as you may have guessed, my response was less than thrilled.

"What the hell are you going to do with 3 full pizzas? You guys weigh 200 pounds combined. And you better be quiet during this all-nighter. I have to wake up early."

The mood in the room came to a considerable halt.

I felt like the dad in step brothers, telling my son's to keep it to a dull roar.

The best response I got out of my retarted children was, "We are 260 lbs. combined! I love Domino's! I'll eat one by myself!"

Oh, kids...how they grow up so fast.

Then, as I was flossing my teeth, as I do everynight at approximately 10:52, I eavesdropped on their enlightening conversation as they were discussing a Nirvana album cover on their itunes.

"Dude, it's so gross, I don't get why they put a BABY DICK on their cover...It's like...coooool dude, thats GROSS!"

"No, it's not gross. I mean, it's a baby dick."

"Yeah, but I don't get why they put it in the cover!"

"It's not like it's huge though, like, it's small, cuz it's a baby dick. So it's kinda like a little bit of nature."

At this time, my dental floss is approximately 3 inches deep into my gums, and I am bleeding all over the sink, trying to hold back my sheer joy.

"Dude...I don't care if it's big or not...it looks like ASPARAGUS!"

Before immediately bursting out in laughter, I tried to make the connection between a penis and a vegetable, and I came to only one conclusion, and that is both are considered delicacies in france.

That, and if you eat them, they make your pee stink. But I wouldn't know. Asparagus is gross.

I then proceeded to do the only thing I really could do, which was kick down the door and ground both of them.

I sent them to their room. Then i realized I was in their room. And my skin was green, and my shirt was ripped, and my genetalia was a piece of asparagus.

And I was coated in a heavy layer of CinnaStix Icing, which immediately deduced my rage into a state of blissfullness, then we ate Cinnamon flavored bread, talked about boys, drank energy drinks, played very obnoxious video games in a very loud fashion until the sun-rose, when we would indulge in a partially naked group-slumber, sharing intimate details about our past.

I love college.