Yeah, I know, I suck for not updating. Sorry?

And if you ask I'll let you go.


Yeah, I called her, as much as I hated proving Mike right. We're having dinner tonight. We're meeting at a restaurant (what's it called again?) at 8. I feel like such a fifteen-year-old. Is that a bad thing?

"So, princess, what are you going to wear for your big date tonight?" Tre said while peaking in my room. "A, not a date. B, I'm wearing whatever, C, get out of my room." The teenager inside me is just raging today. "Oh, come on, of course it's a date. If it wasn't, you wouldn't have spent the past 2 hours picking your clothes out." I shot an angry glare at him. "It's only been half an hour," I let out in shock. Well, maybe a couple more minutes. "Nervous?" I heard Mike's voice from the same direction. "Would you two idiots please get the fuck out of my room?" I said, half in joke and half seriously, throwing a t-shirt their way. "That's totally a yes," I could hear the smile in my so-called best friend's voice. They closed the door behind them before I could throw any other - possibly sharp - objects at them. I took a deep breath. "Shit," I muttered to myself when I looked around the room and saw the state it was in. Clothes lying everywhere. I don't just feel like a fifteen year old. Worse. I feel like a fifteen year old girl. Classic. Oh fuck it, she knows me. She knows I don't dress up. Does she? Or maybe she expects me to dress up. Why the hell would she... Okay, I'm being a pain in my own ass. I'm not dressing up to go to some pretty much average place. She never really liked fancy clothes and stuff. Yeah, but that was fourteen years ago, dumbass.

I really do hate my mind sometimes.

A good hour later (I ended up needing only half an hour to get dressed, after deciding to wear the most normal thing ever) I was ready to go. Jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket and plain black Chuck Taylors. I don't think I'll ever stop wearing those. And if this goes bad, fuck it. It's not like it's never happened before. I don't care.

Who am I kidding?

"Bye," I said to Tre and Mike as I was heading towards the door. "Should we wait up or are you feeling lucky tonight?" Tre yelled from the kitchen just before I was out. "Bite me," I muttered, but I'm pretty sure they heard.

I got a cab in seconds, which has to be some sort of miracle on a Friday night in New York City. While driving off in the streets, lighted by countless neon lights, I realized just how nervous I actually was. 'What if something goes wrong? What if it turns out to be a horrible night? What if I find one of my many infamous ways to fuck up?' my mind wouldn't stop asking. Finally, I arrived at the place. It actually looked fun. I recognized The Ramones being blasted inside, as soon as I stepped through the door. She chose well, I thought to myself and smiled. She came in the next second.

She was wearing a red tank top that had something about vodka written on it, Chucks (a lot like my own), and the tightest ripped jeans I have seen in my life. Her black hair came down over her shoulders. I lost the gift of speech for a moment. My mind was being as loud as all the people in the room, if not louder. Fucking perfect.