Heather thinks she dances for Mark Morris

Delusional: Heather Smith's life.

Hello blog.
It's been awhile since either Heather or I have visited you. Now I, Carolyn, am here with Heather, Melissa, and our sober roommate, Nichole Marie Johnson.
It's a Monday night.
I have never been this drunk on a Monday night.
Currently we are planning our weekend-- wait-- now we are complaining about the hip hop guest artist.
Hip hop/contemporary? What the fuck is that? She isnt good at contemporary and she's a bitch.
This woman kept us ten minutes after class because she wouldn't let us leave until we were good enough for her. She is from Manhattan. She is a cocky mother fucker.
I'm still stuck on this guest artist, but the others have moved on to our classmates touching their own vaginas.

Heather and I are presenting a duet on Saturday for Production. It may involve this blog. We should probably be drunk for production.

Melissa is starting another beer. Heather and I are too drunk already.

Let's talk about the fact that we are drunk on a Monday night. It's because of mine and Heathers rehearsal. I don't know what Melissa's excuse is.

This blog is going to end now, because I am tired of typing through this conversation.

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