(aka, the moment my brodom was officially recognized.)I've spent a great majority of this past week in a car with Best Friend. We shoved as much as we could into Ladybird last Thursday and basically made a midnight drive to move to Berkeley. Along the way we got super bored and super tired and thanks to some glow sticks found in my car and various top 40 radio stations, we created a mobile dance party complete with Redbull and peanut butter sandwiches we packed in my pink ice chest.
After a day of recovery (seriously, I almost lost my wits on that night drive) we packed up again and drove down to Santa Barbara to meet a fellow newsie at Live Oak Music Festival. A three hour drive turned into five due to some poor mapquesting skills and then the next 26-hours were spent stumbling around this hippie shanty down. The pinnacle of the weekend occurred while in a tree in which I mentioned how we looked like we could be posing for a boy band CD cover. "We'll call our band Aubro, after you Aub." And though I've always somewhat joked about my bro-ness this was the first time it was officially accepted. I'm proud. After eating enough Poptarts and drinking enough Miller Light to last a century (and you wonder how I could not be bro) and eventually feeling like shit and being completely filthy, we made the long ride back to Berk.
And so here I am: continuing to fulfill my gender role by cooking for D every night and constantly singing Katy Perry's ridiculously annoying new song, which by the way, D has mastered Snoop Dogg's verses.