Last week, my friend at work – Davis – was forced upon penalty of death (or rather, penalty of an eternal cold shoulder) to issue a formal statement to me. In this statement, he apologized for calling me a Florida Gator.
That’s how I roll. Formal, written statements for denying me my burnt orange heritage. read more…
He has a habit for going way too fast, and Jillian Fortin wasn’t born to be rushed.
I have a draft saved in my Dashboard about the 23 Things I want to do in my 23rd year. I realized just before I started typing this post that my 23rd year started more than three months ago. THREE MONTHS. A quarter of my 23rd year has vanished in the blink of an eye, more wasted than a Longhorn on his 21st birthday (wait, did I just say that?). read more…
