The Blueprint.

So, I’ve been riding the bus for like, roughly 2 years now, and I’ve been looking at signs forever, but I was wondering today while on the bus to school: you know how, like, every time there’s a sign that says “No Food!” with the red line over it, the picture of food is always a picture of like a hotdog and french fries? Why is it always a hotdog and french fries? Is that the most prominent food in America that everyone realizes and is like, “Oh, no food…? What’s that mean…? OH! A picture of a hotdog! I GET IT!” Was there a time when people were just mad eating hotdogs on the bus and justifying it by yelling at the bus drivers that there was no sign to stop them? And what about french fries? Were so many people just eating french fries and hotdogs on public transportation and whatnot and getting mustard and ketchup everywhere that the bus drivers and city officials got together and were like, “HEY. This is out of control. There’s too many hotdog and french fry incidents happening, and I am straight up tired of cleaning up the condiments!” And then the government decided that like, maybe they should just ban all foods, not just awesome ones like hotdogs and french fries. Maybe I’m just reading too much into this, but what I’m really trying to say is, do you think the bus driver would yell at me if I brought a hotdog on the bus? ‘Cause I’ve brought many an open Diet Cokes, and they’ve never said shit to me.

Very important celebrity sightings.

So, does anyone remember that MTV movie 2gether? Regardless, the blonde dude that played Mickey is at my gym right now and I kind of want to walk up to him and be like, “U + Me = Us. Calculus!” But I also don’t want to get knocked out in the middle of LA Fitness by a dude that’s most successful flick was an MTV movie (that I was IN LOVE with when I was like 10 year old). So.

All the world’s a porch, and the men and women are getting drunk on it.


I am the best person.

Remember that time I sat on the couch and drank a bottle of wine while eating shredded wheat with Tapatio on it because I’m poor and the best girl that ever lived? Who wants to marry me? Anyone? Bueller?

Lost has more “likes” than Jesus on Facebook. Gotta say, I’m not surprised. That show changes lives, you guys.


"Best decision I’ve made all day!" -Me, in regard to a tiny, single serving macaroni salad I bought from Albertson’s earlier.

"To all my fans who say Donald Glover’s about to blow. Just give me six months so you can say I TOLD YOU SO."


BC (Before-Camp) fans, this is our chance to bask in the glory. 

This is on a bus back from camp. I’m thirteen and so are you. Before I left for camp I imagined it would be me and three or four other dudes I hadn’t met yet running around all summer getting into trouble. It turned out it would be me and just one girl. That’s you. And we’re still at camp as long as we’re on the bus and not at the pickup point where our parents would be waiting for us. We’re still wearing our orange camp t-shirts. We still smell like pineneedles. I like you and you like me, and I more-than-like you, but I don’t know if you do or don’t more-than-like-me. You’ve never said, so I haven’t been saying anything all summer and intend to enjoy the small miracle of a girl choosing to talk to me, and choosing to do so again the next day and so on. A girl who’s smart, and funny, and who if I say something dumb, for a laugh, is willing to say something two or three times as dumb to make me laugh, but who also gets weird and wise sometimes in a way I could never be. A girl who reads books that no one’s assigned to her, whose curly brown hair has a line running through it from where she put a tie to hold it up while it was still wet.
Back in the real world we don’t go to the same school, and unless one of our families move to a dramatically different neighborhood, we won’t go to the same high school. So, I guess that’s kind of it for us. Unless I say something. And it might especially be it for us if I actually do say something. The sun’s gone down and the bus is quiet. A lot of kids are asleep. We’re talking in whispers about a tree we saw at a rest stop that looks like a kid we know. And then I’m like, “Can I tell you something?” And all of a sudden I’m telling you. And I keep telling you, and it all comes out of me, and it keeps coming, and your face is there and gone and there and gone as we pass underneath the orange lamps that line the sides of the highway. And there’s no expression on it. And I think just after a point I’m just talking to lengthen the time where we were in a world where you haven’t said “yes” or “no” yet. And regrettably I end up using the word “destiny.” I don’t remember in what context. Doesn’t really matter. Before long I’m out of stuff to say, and you smile and say, “okay.” I don’t know exactly what you mean by it, but it seems vaguely positive, and I would leave in order not to spoil the moment, but there’s nowhere to go, kids are on the bus, and I pretend that I’m asleep and before long I really am.
I wake up, the bus isn’t moving anymore. The domed lights that line the center aisle are all on. I turn and you’re not there. Then again a lot of the kids aren’t in their seats anymore. We’re parked at the pickup point, which is in the parking lot of a Methodist church. The bus is half empty. You might be in your dad’s car by now, your bags and things piled high in the trunk. The girls in the back of the bus are shrieking and laughing and taking their sweet time disembarking as I swing my legs out into the aisle to get up off the bus, just as one of them reaches my row. It used to be our row, on our way off. It’s Michelle, a girl who got suspended from third grade for a week after throwing rocks at my head. Adolescence is doing her a ton of favors body-wise. She stops and looks down at me. And her head is blasted from behind by the dome light, so I cant really see her face, but I can see her smile. And she says one word: “destiny.” Then her and the girls clogging the aisle behind her all laugh and then she turns and leads them off the bus. I didn’t even know you were friends with them.
I find my dad in the parking lot. He drives me back to our house, and camp is over. So is summer, even though there’s two weeks until school starts. This isn’t a story about how girls are evil or how love is bad, this is a story about how I learned something and I’m not saying if this thing is true or not, it’s just what I learned. I told you something. It was just for you. And you told everybody. So I learned to cut out the middle man, make it all for everybody always. Everybody can’t turn around and tell everybody, everybody already knows, I told them. But this means there isn’t a place in my life for you or someone like you. Is it sad? Sure. But it’s a sadness I chose. I wish I could say this was a story about how I got on the bus a boy and got off a man more cynical, hardened, and mature and shit. But that’s not true. The truth is I got on the bus as a boy. And I never got off the bus. I still haven’t.

Story at the end of Camp

Thanks to andrewisinsite for this

(via forever-childish)