those cringe-worthy sixth grade roller skating nights, where Snowballing meant holding the hand of the least sweaty boy and awkwardly skating around the tiny gym of your elementary school, rather than something you look up in Urban Dictionary and recoil in horror at. Janet was your girl, your homie. she taught you that people pierce their nipples and shouldn't wear leather or stand next to Justin Timberlake (but again, who are you kidding, you only just downloaded one song by her and it's a remix and it was an accident).

thank god you're far past that, now. for one, you haven't roller skated since. well, last year, but that's different because you were with legitimate friends and your mom didn't force you to go because "social interaction will be good for you, maybe you'll stop dressing in puppy t-shirts and putting your hair in scrunchies, you're twelve, not four". it isn't REALLY different, though, because you were still with your best friend, a guy you'll always be in love with--except by now you've learned to get over it and that it won't happen and the perks of being his best friend is that you get to touch his muscles and it isn't all that weird, and he's probably gay anyway minus the having sex with guys thing--only instead of holding the hand of the then-prettiest girl in class (who is now delightfully a Jersey Shore wannabe that posts statuses on Facebook like 'THIS IS THE MOST CONFUSED I'VE EVER BEEN' and you get to retaliate with things like 'the zipper goes in front'), he's asking you to itch his elbow with your teeth and stealing your gum. incidentally, it's gum you've already chewed and deemed gross, you warned him, honestly, but he just doesn't LISTEN--

consider the possibility of being published and having people read your inner-most thoughts and desires and secrets, like that girl accidentally did on the Disney Channel movie that had that gorgeous piece of ass Jason Dolley, who is so your type, blonde and blue-eyed and Christian and a guitarist and-- say it happens. what then? becoming a published author before the age of twenty-one will really show those pretentious, uptight hipsters at Columbia, wouldn't it? teach them a good lesson about putting a poor soul through months of agony, of an interview and requests for more financial information and pamphlets just to send an email to your spam folder notifying that you didn't make the cut. what a heartbreak, wasn't it? that time you left school early to go for your alumni interview, with the accountant that resembled Wilson from House, M.D. and he giggled a lot and 'Never Gonna Give You Up' played on