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This was originally titled "I like doing hoodrat shit with my friends." It wouldn't let me write shit in the title though. So sad...

Day 13 – The craziest thing you’ve done, in detail
• What happened, when, where, with who, why did you do it, what happened after you did it, where there any consequences?

So when it comes to me, there are varying levels of what people consider “crazy.” Some people consider skipping town on a Tuesday night and driving to Massachusetts to hook up with my friend’s hot brother—at the tender age of 17, no less—incredibly crazy. I spent two days there while my parents apparently searched high and low for me, completely convinced that I had been kidnapped and murdered. On the second night, the mega-hottie coerced me into calling them and informing them that I was alive and all that stuff. They yelled and screamed and ordered for my immediate return. To me, that wasn’t crazy. It was just a Tuesday. Just something fun to do.

Then there are some people who consider the fact that I then proceeded to sleep on his couch for a week, despite my parents orders and pleas for me to return home, ridiculously crazy. Fact of the matter is, I figured I was going to be in trouble no matter how long I stayed. So why the hell should I rush back just to get grounded? Instead, I stayed, partied, had some great sex, and returned home on my own terms. When I eventually found my way home, I was locked in my room for three months—which encompassed the entire summer—had my cell phone taken away, and was banned from driving again until I could “handle the responsibility that comes with having a care.” Their words, not mine. That whole debacle only ranks at about a medium on my crazy scale.

No. For me, the genuinely craziest thing I have ever done is something that I have never actually told anyone. Not because I was ashamed or embarrassed, but simply because by the time that I was actually allowed to talk to my friends after being grounded, the information was no longer juicy. It had lost a bit of its sting. It happened while I was at UMass with the aforementioned hottie. He was a gorgeous 20 year old who—in my eyes—was worldly, experienced, and just plain old perfect. To me, he could do no wrong. Needless to say, he had complete control of me, but it wasn’t as if I minded. I enjoyed it. I don’t think that I have ever been so completely encompassed in someone’s existence the way I was with him. It wasn’t love. It was sheer, unadulterated lust. So whenever he asked or suggested something new, I happily obliged. That being said, the night before I was supposed to leave he asked for something that even /I/ was taken aback with. I was worried and felt a bit insecure. I mean, I was no virgin at that point, but I was still a bit of a rookie. So when he suggested the threesome with his roommate, I didn’t know if I could handle it. However, after about 15 minutes of kissing and persuasion, I was not only positive that I wanted it but I was completely taken with the idea. My heart raced as he called for his roommate to come into the room. But as he stepped across the threshold, I noticed something in his hand: a camera. For a moment, I was unsure but honestly I was too horny at that point to say no. I’ll spare you the gritty, dirty details of our 3 hour long sex romp; however, to this very day, my craziest [and fondest] memory was the day that I made a sex tape with two gorgeous college boys. Not too shabby, eh?

 
Day 14 – Your dream trip, in great detail
• Where would you go, who would you go with, what would you do, how long would you be gone, why did you choose this?

Paris has got the shopping, Brazil’s got the beaches, and Australia’s got the gorgeous surfers. But I don’t want any of that. I don’t want the typical tourist vacation. I’ve always dreamed of going to some tiny town in Spain and completely immersing myself within the culture. I want to learn their ways. I want to drink what the locals drink. Eat what the locals eat. Live as the locals live. I want to spend 2-3 weeks essentially making a second home for myself in Spain. Spain has always mesmerized me. Something about the food, architecture and the people has enchanted me ever since I was little. I used to run around the house wearing my mother’s dresses as they dragged on the floor behind me, twirling around pretending I was a flamenco dancer. Other times, I would dash down the block professing loudly that I was preparing to run from the bulls. My parents thought it was adorable. I thought it was real. I was—and still am—determined to one day spend my days in Spain living the life I have always imagined. Until then, I guess I’ll stick with New York.
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