NOLA and other significant life events

I don't even know how to preface this entry because a)I haven't posted anything in quite a while and b) there's a lot I want to say. First and foremost, I've just gotten home from my weeklong stay in New Orleans, Louisiana. I'm cozy in my bed with my Powerpuff Girl blanket and anxioulsy waiting for our pizza to get here - it was a week long diet of fried shrimp, mashed potatoes, and bbq ribs. Oh, and lets not forget the virgin daquiris. NOLA was balls hot but a lot of fun. I layed poolside with my sisters, took tours of the gorgeous French Quarter (saw Brangelina's place!) and cruised along the Mississippi. I even made a point to dip my toe in it because I thought that was important, I don't really know. We visited Bourbon Street and ate their famous beignets (similar to a zeppoli). I'm definitely going to return after I turn 21 and for Mardi Gras. I have this thought in my head I've been dying to get down: when I got off the plane, I had my unbrushed hair scooped under my Mets hat and was wearing my Jonas Brothers shirt. I couldn't help but wonder if people were looking at me, pitying my dissheveled appearance, and questioning if I came from an underprivleged part of the world where they only heard of specific pop stars and praised them more than people in the states actually do: i.e, the Beach Boys. That might suck but my first example was Michael Jackson and THAT would be inaccurate since he's even bigger now than when he was alive - god bless his moonwalking soul.

Before I left for vacation, I went on my first date. Yes, I know - 20 years old and I've only just been on a date. Physically, he was a 5. Emotionally (or how I will rate the date), a 6. The reason it scored so high is because he was a gentleman when it came to driving out here and paying for dinner and a movie. His snide remarks and Vin Diesel strut were just a couple of the things that turned me off which sucks because we've spent a majority of the last two weeks talking via text. My Match account has since expired and I'm waiting until either Zac Efron or someone interesting "winks at me" before I do one of those again.

As a result of this failed "match", and when I was not indulging in a few of the beach books I brought along, I thought of my ex boyfriend - especially the night we were just relaxing on a dock. It was a classic date spot and I just kept wondering, why the hell am I still single? Why can I be so scandalous, have guys falling all over themselves and into my bed, car, bathroom (w/e) but no one bold enough to stick it out past a fortnight of intoxicated debauchery? When I was in NOLA, I let a man with a long pony tail read my fortune through tarot cards. As far as meeting Mr. Right, he will come when I don't need "it" anymore. I suppose it is that mythical thing called love, or the comfort and stability of a handsome, genorous young man. When will I not need or want that? Other highlights: I was very accomplished this year, I will have difficulty in September/Novemeber, the holidays will be rough for me and there is a chapter in my life I want to close and will find the strength to do so. This chapter is obviously my ex boyfriend. The more shitty my single life is, the more I am pulled to him. I'm such a mess. However, I do have a nice tan and operation lip ring is soon to commence.

Things to look forward to: 4th of July bbq, Ear piercings (the originals you get when your an infant, mine closed up - I KNOW, retarded), and a lip ring!?! And that's it. Oh, and I still want some fucking mexican food. Hopefully tonight I'll fill my abdomen with fajitas and guacamole.

P.S I'm reading Are you there, Vodka? It's me, Chelsea by Chelsea Handler- it's brilliant. I'm pissing myself. I'll be tweeting some of her hilarity because I have nothing better to do and twitter gives meaning to my life. Over vacation my sisters had their boys, and I had my tweets. Twits. Twats. Whateva.