Picture it: a roomful of single young people, five or six in number, smoking cigarettes and bickering with one another. Suddenly, silence falls over the room. Mary turns to us and says,

"We are all horny and turning on each other."

So I still have three papers and a final to go. I'm actually wishing I had let pretty boy floyd disembowel me in his search for the cream. I actually had a pretty good day. I woke up at 6:30 am to take Bitsy to the vet because her ears fell off this weekend. How sad is that picture? So I got to spend $110 on that sad little face and then go home and put medicine on her that made her bleed. Then when I was done with the blood-letting, I decided to write a paper on the opposition between Romanticism and the dream of human perfectibility in Renaissance lit and Realism as seen in Russian literature. You know, just for fun.

This is what happens when someone says "send me a
boob pic" and you say WRITE MY NAME ON YOUR ASS.
No, they didn't get the boob pic.

In other news, some of you may have noticed that I add things to my wishlist nearly every day. This isn't just because I am a material girl living in a material world, I am just trying to help Santa out. Don't want him to have to strain his brain thinking about little ole me. So if for some reason you feel like lightening Santa's load, I'm sure he'd really appreciate it if you got me that Traci Lords workout tape or that copy of "no more wire hangers" Mommie Dearest.

And in related solicitations, if you want to write my name on your ass, please feel free to send it to me at lina @ shutitdown . net.