I was in line for a taco restaurant. Michael Cera was ahead of me. He turned around to give me his business card, which was about the size of a sim card. We started talking and we hit it off. I told him I was really looking forward to Superbad, which is only kind of true: I'll probably go see it, but I'm not extra pumped. Then it was my turn to order. The girl behind the counter explained that someone had puked all over the counter, but she brought her dog in to eat it up, and what would I like to order? I decided that I wasn't really hungry anymore, so I left. On my way out, I saw a flyer that the author of this blog was starting a fashion club at my university. I immediately wrote to her and asked to be an officer.

*In the event that Ms. What Claudia Wore finds her way over here via referrals (if there's anyone who actually reads my blog):
This was just a bizarre dream. I'm not a creep...

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