It's totally time to write this movie

Do you ever wish you could just come out and ask a person the question that has been on your mind for months, tact and good sense be damned*? Or just say whatever you want to whoever you want without worrying about the consequences? Without using alcohol as courage, of course. This has nothing to do with anything, really, I was just thinking about it earlier.

Last night, not only did Heidi and I go to the gym, we also played tennis. Well. "Played" tennis. Our goal right now is to just make contact with the ball. We're going to worry about aiming later. And now, here are some Conversations With My Roommate because I'm lazy and don't know what else to write.

Whiny kid outside our apartment riding his bike: You guuuyyyys, wait UP!
Me: Oh, that is so the kid nobody likes.
Heidi: Yeah, it sounds like he's got some sand in his vagina.

Heidi: Uh-oh, I spilled ketchup on the counter.
Me: Heidi!
Heidi: Oops.
Me: I told you! No more performing abortions in the kitchen!
Heidi: Oh my god.
Me: I know, I can't believe I just made an abortion joke.
Heidi: Me neither.
Me: What is wrong with my brain?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: Abortion jokes . . . can't get better than that. Except for maybe Holocaust jokes.
Heidi: That's true.
Me: Anyway, make sure you clean up the fetus before we eat dinner.
Heidi: Oh my god.

Heidi: I'll get our tennis rackets.
Me: Don't forget our pink balls.
Heidi: Oh, I won't. They're very important.
Me: Yeah, you can't leave your house without your balls.
Heidi: You'd be ball-less.
Me: How embarrassing. And what if you lost one?
Heidi: You could still leave the house, you'd just have one ball.
Me: What the hell are you gonna do with one ball?
Heidi: I don't know.
Me: You might as well have sand in your vagina.

Me: We're getting pretty good. I think we're ready to take on Andre Agassi.
Heidi: We so are.
Me: Maybe even Pete Sampras.
Heidi: Oh, hell yes.
Me: Not Andy Roddick, though.
Heidi: Definitely not.
Me: He's too pretty and I'd get distracted.
Heidi: And balls would hit you in the face.
Me: Not tennis balls, though.
Heidi: Hahahaha!
Me: No, seriously, what's wrong with my brain?

Heidi and I actually did figure out what's wrong with my brain. It was pretty simple actually and makes so much sense but I'm not going to explain it because it would take too long and my lunch break is only an hour.

Aaaaanyway, while we played tennis, Heidi worked on her Anna Kournikova serve and I worked on my Monica Seles crazy screaming. The hitting-the-ball crazy screaming, not the oh-my-god-some-psycho-just-stabbed-me crazy screaming.

*I have actually done this. It does not always end well. Or at least the way you're hoping it does. But don't worry, everything turns out OK. So what I'm saying is, just do it. Chickenshit.