Jen

We are young. Heartache to heartache we stand. No promises, no demands. Love is a battlefield.
We are strong. No one to tell us we’re wrong. Searching our hearts for some love. Both of us knowing . . . Love is a battlefield.

Best Word Created (At this point and time in my existence; subject to change): Bootylicious.

Worst Word Ever Created by Humans: Toddles.

Ugh. I even hate writing it.

Here’s a little something that happened to Beck and I on our way home last night.

Becky and I are sitting in my ghettoed up car, NOT looking like hootchies, talking to one another. A car pulls up behind us at a stoplight and then pulls up next to us. Freaky guy and friend stare into our car window. I ask Becky to roll down the down the window, because I thought that maybe he had something important to say to us, like you have a tail light out or something.

Guy: What are you ladies doing driving so late at night?
Jen and Becky (in unison): NONE OF YOUR GOD DAMN BUSINESS, ASSHOLE!*
We then ran the red, made a left onto the Kennedy and managed to pop onto two wheels.*

Have a good weekend. I’ll be in Joliet.

*This was a dream sequence. I don’t really remember what we said, but we wish we did this. The guy then followed us for a while, tailgating us the whole time. Fuck.