Yesterday, Emma called around noon and wanted to hang out. So of course I was like, "Fuck no, is 1 good for you?" And took the 18 headed for the mall. Turns out, she was on the 18 too. Wow, amazing. So we went to the mall.
As you may or may not recall, I was sassed by a banker last week who wouldn't give me any money on Christmas Eve so I could buy gifts. I was like, "Think about Jesus!" and he was all, "I'll lose my job if I give you this money," which is rude, so I said, "Take one for the team," and he looked at me funny and that was that. So I went back to the bank with my birth certificate, waited until that exact guy was available, only to be sassed again. He told us I could only get money at the branch I opened the account at, when I was 7, so they could verify my signature, which is just my printed name, not even in handwriting. C'mon, I was 7.
So Emma and I walked 400 years in the pouring rain to go get money, from Stonestown to the Albertsons on Sloat. How messed up is that? Anyway, after further sass, I got my money. We went to Ross and bought the ugliest shirts we could find, to go tell off "Jeffery," the sassmuffin from the first bank. We never did. We sort of ran out of time.
I bought this DISGUSTING floral print shirt with HUGE shoulder pads. We took the bust back to the mall and this guy was like, "You ladies are looking lovely," and I was like, "Um, ookay, thanks, I s'pose..." Then since we were so low on time and couldn't see a movie, Emma came to spend the night.
The padres wouldn't take us to Blockbuster for "Moulin Rouge," sighting the "fact," that it, "sucks," and that, "How many fucking times are you going to watch that movie? It's not that great, you know." So I called Phil and he took us and told us about tasteless women who aren't strippers. We watched the movie and almost died over everything that happened. And though I can't give details, but we did cook a certain illicit quiche. And then my grandma ran into my room in the morning and was like, "GET UP." because the Italian needed my window. Whatever, not important. Then Emma and I watched "Moulin Rouge," in Spanish, then we dropped her off at home and went downtown to Neiman Marcus and ate food and saw a tree. Sorry, those are Cliff Notes, but shutup.
And I went on my DATE tonight. That's right, BEST DATE EVER. So y'all had better come back tomorrow to hear about my DATE.

TO BE CONTINUED...
(One last note: What's with all the Pierre hating? Kelly says he's "Worse than Brad Pitt," and Emma said, "I want to die now," and not in a good way, like how I die. I think if he heard, he'd say, "Rude," in Canadian. I don't know how to speak Canadian. That could kind of put a language barrier into this relationship, no? Not to mention the fact that he'd be like, "Do I know you? Get your creepy little 'fro away from me.")

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