morph suits then call me maybe?

I can't help but think about how much I wish I had a morph suit. Oh the ruckus I could cause in such a getup.    I would love to harass the neighborhood middleschoolers at the snow shack and enjoy photo bombing happy couples at prom... I think I shall invest in one.

On another note, I have call me maybe stuck in my head on a never ending loop of just the chorus, because that's all I know. You know a song is bad when you can memorize the words after only having listened to it one stinking time. It has ruined my life. Carly Rae whatever is a life ruiner. She ruins peoples lives. And because of this I am now thinking about a boy who I would rather not glorify in my thoughts. See, I wrote it in his yearbook, the song I mean. Just to be annoying. I just wanted to get my yearbook and leave the last day of school, but instead, I was stopped by several complete strangers asking to sign my yearbook. To those people I wrote things like, but not limited to: "If I said I want your body now, would you hold it against me?" "DEATH." "Knock Knock- your face." and, "Hella dope year yo. Hope you bees hittin me up soon homie."  But this boy, let's call him Candy, (I want Candy... However if his name actually was Candy I would pitty him a bit that his parents named him that in hopes for a gay son. bleak.) anyway, this boy Candy asked me to sign his yearbook and then got mad at me that I didn't write something more sentimental, so he made me write in it again. so I literally wrote "sentimental feelings and stuff love, me." Because the thing is, I can't say what I really feel about him I'm totally in love with this boy, but I have to play it off as total sarcasm. He always leads me on by saying how beautiful I am and how fun I am and making plans for dates with me that never happen (The fact that I used to date his best friend might be the reason for the plans never going through. Or it's because I'm gross. I tell myself it's the first.) Whatever. But because of that stupid call me maybe song and me being an idiot and associating it with him in my mind, now whenever it comes on I have to handcuff myself to a tennis racket so that I don't try to text him.

Candy... call me... maybe? no? okay I'll stop creeping on you with my mind.