It must come as no surprise to the reader that upon entering high school and being forced to take a language course, I chose German. My teacher, Herr Silber, favored an informal approach to teaching, which consisted of us watching American movies in English and then, after the screening, he would parrot our favorite lines back to us in German. During the two years I studied under his tutelage, we watched Jurassic Park six or seven times. Although this brought us no closer to mastering the German language, we did have the pleasure of hearing our esteemed instructor repeat 'that is one big pile of shit,' in both English and German, more than a dozen times, after we all voted it to be our favorite quote.

In addition to American movies, Herr Silber found that the only way that he could get through the early classes of a California public school was by adding large quantities of alcohol to his morning coffee. His nose was lined with the telltale red veins that one sees in the faces of chronic drinkers, and on occasion, his eyes would well up with tears as he reminisced about his native Osterreich.

Depending on where Herr Silber found himself in the continuum of drinking to hangover, would determine the class format that day. Sometimes we cracked our books and repeated dialogues about riding bikes and traveling via bus. More often though, we would intensely debate the textbook's main character, Jens Kroeger, and the unnatural rosyness of his cheeks. Was this a mistake on the part of the color calibration department at the textbook factory, or were the German-speaking peoples indeed more flushed than we? As the only actual native German speaker that we knew, Herr Silber was our only basis of comparison, so we studied his complexion in great detail as he glowered at us from behind his podium.

It was known in the public school system that you only took a language class if you had some possibility of going to college. Two years of a foreign language was required for admission to any accredited school, so those of us who considered going to one of said schools enrolled in either Spanish, French, or German. In our class, however, there were four young men that appeared to have enrolled on a lark, rather than due to any sort of collegiate ambition. Herr Silber referred to the group as 'The Quartet,' and took their insults much more seriously than he took those of the rest of the class. There was no obvious reason for this, other than perhaps Herr Silber didn't consider them to be serious scholars like the rest of us.

By the beginning of our second year in German, we had learned how to claim 'my pocket calculator is lost!' and the Quartet had been reduced to a Duet. These two, however, were far more dedicated to class disruption than the ones who had bent so easily under Herr Silber's will and dropped the class. Travis was one of the two that remained in our class, biding his time until he was old enough to drop out of school legally. He was fond of taking my hands while staring boldly into my eyes and claiming, 'Your hands, they are so soft, they are like baby hands.' Although amusing the first time, it was apt to be repeated two or three times during any given 50-minute session. His daily routine also tended to include obscene outbursts whenever any question that was directed at him wasn't answerable with one of the two words that he knew after taking a year and a half of German.

After being sent to the principal's office several times for various offenses, Travis settled down, and ignored the class completely, even when directly addressed. He was silent for a few weeks, studying his textbook intently, and jotting down notes on a scrap of paper. Finally one day, a look of serene calm gracing his face, he walked to the front of the class and approached the instructor's podium.

'Well Travis, what do you have for me?' Herr Silber questioned him.

And then, in flawless German, Travis replied, 'Suck my third leg.' His victory complete, he picked up his books and left for the principal's office, without needing to be asked.

Only a few weeks later, we were given our quarterly progress reports. Our current grades were recorded, and the instructors were allowed to mark any of a few canned responses. Travis' current grade was the lowest possible'an F'and his comment read 'Working up to apparent potential.'

I, however, had the highest grade'an A'as did my friend Kim. This was not due to any inherent ability on our parts, rather, Herr Silber had promised Kim a perfect score on both her midterm and final exam if she would take the German exchange student, Ena, into her house. I had jumped onto the offer and suggested that I should be given perfect scores too, since I was living at Kim's house at least half-time. When I was refused, I told Herr Silber that I would report his alcohol consumption to those in authority at the school, and miraculously my grade shot up as well.

Ena had already been kicked out of her original host family's house. She was a large, broad-shouldered girl, with a propensity towards cowl-necked sweaters and a fondness for Budweiser beer. Her cheeks were as rosy as the children in our textbook, and she smoked more cigarettes than any teenager I had met previously. She didn't seem to believe in the regulatory laws of the United States either--she would light up a cigarette anywhere, whether on campus or in class, and always seemed surprised when she was forced to extinguish them. Kim had been chosen as her new host because of the extremely lax parenting in her household, and due to the fact that she lived only a block away from campus. This would allow Ena the ability to sneak back home to drink during lunch, which Herr Silber recognized was a formidable need.

Each day, Ena would sit on the diving board of the pool, a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other, with the phone from the house on the end of its tautly stretched cord tucked under her chin, chatting away in German. Judging from the number of phone calls that Ena made that semester, she missed her life on a horse farm in Germany very much, and found our attempts at alcoholism pathetic. We didn't actually learn any German from Ena, although she did teach us that in Germany, a sixteen-year-old can easily both look and dress like a woman twenty years her senior.

Those two years of German did help in the bid to get me admitted into college, however, beyond that, it has helped me very little. I am fluent, if you consider being able to say, 'Lick my ass,' and 'You are a pigdog,' fluency. I can also riff on pocket calculators'the possibility that they are lost, to your left or right or even right in front of you.

I've considered the possibility of studying another language, now that I am older. Were I to pick one, I'd probably choose French. During my last trip to Paris, I entered the country knowing only the words, 'yes' and 'I love you.' By the end of my trip I knew how to say 'ham.' Clearly I have a natural ability when it comes to the French language. I've also mulled over learning how to fake an English, or even possibly an Australian, accent. I think perhaps, due to my talent with languages, this may be more appropriate for my skill level. I mean, if Bridget Jones can be played by an American, I can certainly learn how to start throwing around words like 'bloody' and 'tosser.' I've been paging through travel guides, and practicing how I will say 'cheers' rather than 'thank you' when the stewardess hands out peanuts on my flight. Thusly, my language studies will begin.

My last big academic achievement.

Well, I've finally done it folks. I'm graduating college this Saturday!

In 1995 I first set foot on a college campus. Mind you, it was just to avoid going to high school--I had managed to convince my parents to let me to drop out of school and enroll in the local community college instead. My little brother and I took a programming class (in Visual Basic) together, and I took three other classes as well. My brother--who was 13 at the time and had to get a waiver to be allowed into the class--got an A+ and I got an A. Somehow the difference between those two grades allowed him to become an elite programmer and me to struggle to achieve the technological momentum to dial the phone to call him for tech support.

The programming class aside, I made it through my first semester of college and went on to an East Coast liberal arts college where Fran was my roommate, the students would wear Prada to work in the printmaking studio and sexuality was as fluid as what I was puking up nearly every night.

The next school was a few years later. I enrolled in New York City's School of Visual Arts. An entertaining time, to be sure. I only was taking one class in Screenprinting and living in the dorms. Somehow though, I found this too challenging and only made it to class two times (but I stayed in the dorms for the rest of the summer). This was the glorious time that I became obsessed with karaoke and met Leija, who used me as her photography subject way too often.

I went to another college in New York for a while, where I took English classes and wrote papers about gang tattoos and had a larger numbers of personal problems that didn't help with my schoolwork. Then, I went on to CUNY--aka grade 13 of New York City. It was filled with retarded sophomores and had a drunk Valedictorian.

Finally, with the help of many of my readers here at shutitdown who sponsored my college applications and supported me through the process (thanks always to Compulsive who sponsored the "winning" application!) I made it to my current liberal arts enclave, and sixth college, where I've written a bunch of papers and caused a lot of trouble because of my love of dead white men.

And now, after nine long years of college I am graduating with a useless degree in English literature. It's honestly pretty exciting, if only because it took me so long. Now I just have to decide what to do with the rest of my life--but I'm hoping to put off the decision until after a summer of freedom. I've already started making tearful on craigslist for frequent flier miles so I can go to Europe with Fran in July. Anyway, thanks again for all of the support through this nightmare, and if you have any suggestions for what I should be using this degree for, that would be excellent.

I went to the career center the other day with the hopes that they would tell me what to do with the rest of my life. Unfortunately, they expected things like my "interests" and what I "enjoy" about working. Needless to say, not very much got accomplished. We did, however, establish that I really enjoy watching Seinfeld re-runs, and I'm also rather fond of eating and sleeping. We also think that the last time that I was truly happy was around age three. Thank god I'm in therapy, right?

Another interesting thing has come up here at shutitdown--and it involves penii.

First, I got this email:

I had no idea what she was talking about, and deciding that she was not a good candidate for my potential army of Linas, I did not resond to the email.

Then, a few days ago, I got this IM.

So guys, if you are looking for a new Lina, I've just provided you with the contact information for a few. I'm not really sure how to react to the fact that a penis with my name on it is #5 on the google search for penis. I mean, it's my own fault, of course, but I still can't help but be slightly disturbed. I've also just received another one in my inbox, and it's not making me feel any more comfortable. I've also learned that the audience of Linas and friends of Linas searching for "penis" on google is larger than I would have liked to imagine.

Perhaps you have some suggestions for how I should deal with the google situation? Or maybe you just want to write my name somewhere else like your knuckles or your five-inch taint, that would be rad. Keep 'em coming, sports.

I got this Lina balloon for my birthday.

I don't know what is wrong with me lately, I just hate updating. Much has happened since my last update. I think the last time I really posted was my birthday; I said I was getting sick. Turned out that I had bronchitis--this was the second year in a row I've had bronchitis on my birthday. Nonetheless, I went to see Mamma Mia and had a wonderful time. I also had a roller-skating party which was pretty rad. I'm not a great skater but what I lack in skill I make up for in spirit. We ate cupcakes at said party--chocolate with pink frosting.

Then, on my spring break, I went to New York for a week. I got to hang out with Frances see the fam, and shop at H&M. Pretty much all the things I ask for in life. I also saw my friend Iris, and she gave me the wonderful "Second Base" shirt that you see below. Do you remember our debate on the bases?

Me and Iris at Beavher.

Some other exciting things are happening in Lina land. The thing is, these things aren't particularly amusing or interesting, which is probably why I haven't updated lately. I'm almost done with college. Shocking, really, since I started nine years ago. My family practically begged me, so I won't be attending the graduation ceremonies. Apparently none of my fair-skinned relatives relish the thought of sitting in a folding chair for three hours and getting a sunburn. If you are interested in my academic life (and you should be) check out my content page; I added three newish papers there.

I got a part time job doing investigative work which I hope will facilitate me becoming a better stalker. I think things can only get better from here. I've been trying to facilitate a possible trip to Paris. While thinking about it, I tried to figure out if I could communicate in French. I realized that the only words I know how to say in French are, "I love you," and "yes." I think I'll get along in France just fine.

Completely unrelated to school, I've been subpoenaed to testify in a drunk driving case three times this month. Apparently, the driver had a blood alcohol content of like .69 and plans to mount a rousing defense based on the grounds of...what? Well, if being a drunk Mexican in a cowboy hat is a defense for drunk driving, than this man will surely get off. Otherwise, it's to the gulag for him.

In other court related news, I feel the need to torment our good friend, commenter, and possible near-term recipient of a restraining order, Fernando, aka "the true" publicly. As I've banned him from commenting, I'm sure the sense of impotence he will feel in being unable to respond to this post will only do him good, as his potence seems to be a major problem in his life. You see folks, "the true" is not only a troll online, but in real life as well. I don't have time to spew the details now, but they are juicy, and will be coming up on shutitdown eventually. Until then, feel free to make fun of him in the comments.

My father dragged me through the place for 45 minutes. As we were checking out, I saw a man, a midget or a dwarf, carrying a can of Heineken that was at least a foot tall. I did a double-take. Then a triple-take. Was this an acid flashback? A cruel joke? I fled the store in terror and cowered outside until my father finished his shopping. In a bitter twist of fate, I had to go directly from CostCo to the DMV to get a new driver's license. Forever after the look of fear on my face was imortalized on my ID.

I was reminded of the incident because I started school today. (Oddly enough, school started yesterday and I forgot to go. So I started today instead.) In my novel-writing class is a girl who was in one of my classes last semester. I really like her, she's a nice girl a fine writer, but I spent the entire last semester worrying that perhaps I was losing my mind and up was down, black was white and the world was not as it seemed. Why, you ask? Because she has the most enormous breasts I have ever seen, and tends to wear t-shirts with tiny "baby" pockets on them. The pockets are about an inch and half across and seem to distort my view of her breasts, and the world as a whole.

So, the reason I haven't updated is because I have been busy as a MOFO. Have I ever posted the MOFO story? It's good. One that rivals even "Bright Lights, Big Dick in My Ass." Maybe if you beg, I will post it. Anyway. Back to my busy-ness. I'm a senior in college right now and it's the end of the semester. Today was the last day of classes and I am going in to finals. I have been completely overwhelmed and I am seriously considering a murderous rampage, or at least streaking naked through the quad.

What have you missed in the weeks since my last update? Well, I went to a Sharks game and shouted "GOOD HUSTLE!" at the players. It was interesting on many levels. First, they were playing the Leafs. Not the Leaves, but the Leafs. I actually researched this because it drove me insane, and apparently it is correct. Shocking isn't it? It's easy to shock an English major, I guess. It was my first hockey game ever and I think I came up with an idea that could revolutionize the game. If a really, really fat guy, say, morbidly obese was the goalie, and he just lay in front of the goal, his team would surely win as the puck would never be able to penetrate his bulk. This strategy wouldn't work for a game like soccer, where the goal is far larger. But I feel that for hockey it would actually be feasable. For you sports fans out there, would this be legal? Why hasn't someone done this yet? Seriously.

I'll post more once I finish up my finals. Wish me luck!

I've also noticed that I wasn't very funny. And basically illiterate. I tend to think of myself as operating on only the most basic level of literacy--since I managed to miss those years of high school where they teach you about grammar and punctuation--and while that is still true, I have definitely improved. Which is nice to know. Going back to college to major in English has been a struggle. I've had people nearly bowl over with laughter as they contemplate my post-graduation job prospects. So at least this last decade of college has done something for me, if only to make my crappy webpage a little more palatable and my descriptions of japscat that much more rich.

In my research I also stumbled upon some of the more "classic" shutitdown posts from the few years such as the infamous post, "Bright Lights, Big Dick in My Ass."

Also, some of my favorite posts are of course, the instant message conversations with my brother.

See? I told you guys I had never been to the library before.

Luckily I have my natural genius to fall back on. Phew.

I just got back from my screenprinting class. After being there for 10 and half hours. Nightmare. My back hurts from standing the whole time, and I am covered from head to toe in ink. But I finished my project, which ended up being valentines. You will all see my work (which shows definite signs of genius) around the 14th, if I haven't slit my wrists yet.

Today in my class I almost got jumped by a gang of angry militant lesbians for suggesting that it might be more appropriate to read Hemingway in a survey of American literature than to read texts that pertain exlusively to that of the transgendered person. If you want to spend your whole life reading and re-reading Stone Butch Blues, be my guest. They made a freaking major for that, it's called Women's Studies!! Get out of my English department! They would have scratched my eyeballs out, but luckily none of them had nails (subtext).

There are many wonderful things about going back to school as an "older" person. I am more dedicated to my schoolwork, I am there by choice rather than as a means to escape my parents, etc. But it is really fucking hard to deal with 18 and 19 year olds that have no life experience other than eating pussy their first semester away at college. I got pissed off about the same thing in August. I guess things don't change much in Lina-land.

Believe it or not, I actually feel really calm right now. This may be because I bought a pack of cigarettes. I feel good about it. Life is grand. ;)

In case you don't remember, Franny and I were roommates in college. Not housemates, mind you, we lived in a single room together. Anyone who can put up with me like that deserves your love and support. Fran and I used to listen to the Smiths frequently--we also talked about ritual suicide frequently. At one point, we had a plan to hang giant signs out our window with one or two lines of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire." We intended to divide it perfectly so it would last an entire semester. We had big plans, Fran and I, but of course, like all things that are important to me, they never came to fruition.

We did many other amusing things together, like driving to syracuse, drawing skulls on everything we owned, buying those 4oz. cans of Budwiser, calling security on dirty hippie drum circles, and eating sushi on the floor. Now that I look back on it, I guess it wasn't so fun. Fran, correct me if I am wrong. Maybe you can supplement this somehow. Make us sound cool, or something.

Today I was talking to Fran on the phone:

Me: I'm thinking about becoming a compulsive masturbator.
Fran: That's kind of like having a weblog.
Me: Damn you.

Anyway, I miss Fran and want her to come visit me so go tell her to come here or give her money or buy her things or something.

Once this week is over I might become sane again, but no promises. Did I ever link that paper I wrote a while ago? I dunno.

"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.

So I start my classes in a few days. Of course, everything is retarded right now and do I know my class schedule yet? No! Of course not! Why would I? Apparently, I get to register for classes *after* they start, and get to wrestle (or wrassle as I like to say) with the freshmen for the choice classes. Hopefully, this will be some sort of wild girl-on-girl catfight with mud and lesbians, because as we all know, most 17 and 18 year old girls are at least bi-sexual.

This brings me to my latest problem. I hate college girls. Specifically, about 18 years old. Like, freshmen and their even worse counterparts, sophomores. Seriously, I hate college girls so much. I would go so far as to say that I prefer the drunken girls gone wild sluts to the serious, liberal-arts-feminist-but-I-suck-cock-"I hate Columbus"-self-righteous race traitors. You know who I mean, the girls who are as white as, well, me, yet cry about their oppression because they just found out that they are 1/10th native american or croatian or something.

The best part about college girls is when they have "round table discussions" and sit around and talk about things like gender, class issues, race, and sex work. Now I am not going to deny it, for my first couple of weeks of liberal arts college, I sat around on my fat ass and waxed philosophical about my political pet peeves. It didn't take long, however, for me to realize that you can talk (or type) forever, and it accomplishes nothing. Raising awareness is shit--go out and do something. Not marching around in your Doc Martens, but actually put in a few hours of volunteer work now and again.

I mean, how can you take someone's opinion seriously when they have never supported themselves? Or even met the people that they are "fighting for" or making judgements about? I guess you can't blame young people for having a lack of experience, but at the same time, listening to them spout off about things they have no experience with is annoying. Painful even, at times.

My mother always tells me that whenever you get really annoyed about a certain aspect of someone's personality, it is usually because you can recognize something about it in yourself. And maybe that's it. I am embarrassed about the college girl I once was, going to Sleater-Kinney shows and pontificating about women's rights. And I am terrified to be back in a liberal arts college full time once again. But I took 5 years off from college, and now am a lean, mean, hating machine. Look out!

Is there something wrong with me????

Anyway, my classes are starting soon, so I have to get all my "fun" reading in right now while I still can. I am working 3 different books at the moment--here they are:
-Nobrow : The Culture of Marketing, the Marketing of Culture
-The Complete Stories of Evelyn Waugh
-Dangerous Angels: The Weetzie Bat Books

Okay, I'm a dork. ;)
If anyone expresses an interest, I will try and update what I am reading on a regular basis because I read a whole bunch.

Also, for the 3 people that have signed up for my notification list, should I send notifications every time I update? Or just when I do something special, like post a photo album or a great story about a retard? Post a comment, k?

I've been meaning to post the story of the Valedictorian of the City University of New York.

This weird looking girl was in my English class last semester. The first day her eye was all bloody--like, it was red where it was it should have been white. She asked me a question, and I couldn't look at her because it was so gory. It was gross, dude.

Most of the time she was pretty quiet, but it quickly became apparent that she had some sort of disability. Her walking was sometimes a little like lurching. She started occasionally raising her hand in class, and commenting on the books we were reading. Her voice was, well, retarded. It became clear once she starting speaking that she had some sort of 'challenge,' like, multiple sclerosis or cerebral palsy. I mean, that was just my guess.

By the end of the class she was one of the top students, despite the fact that it was clear that she wasn't reading the material, and her contributions to the class were off-topic and hard to understand.

In fact, I heard her telling the teacher that she was going to be the senior class's valedictorian, and would be giving the keynote speech at commencement.

When my little friends and I heard this we couldn't believe it. This girl was being made valedictorian of the class primarily because she was handicapped. On some levels, cool, but the part of me that had to listen to her slurred babble about her high school experiences during class was annoyed.

About a week later, she lurched into class and sat next to me. 'This class sucks,' she spluttered in her Corkey-esque way.

'Why yes, it does,' I agreed.

'The teacher sucks!' This time, she sounded more like Geri from 'I'm not drunk I have Cerebral Palsy' Facts of Life fame.

I told her that I thought the suckage of the class lay less with the quality of the teaching, and more with the fact that no one in the class bothered to do the reading.

She got PISSED, Arnie Grape-style. She hit me with her copy of 'Villette' and told me that she usually does her reading, but it was when she leaned in to tell me that 'reading sucks,' that I smelled the alcohol on her breath.

I watched her the entire class the next time the class met. Her handwriting was similar to that of my grandfather, or the guy in 'My Left Foot'. What was noteworthy, however, was as she flipped through her notebook some pages were in perfect cursive, and others were like what I just described. As she leaned towards me I smelled the alcohol on her breath again, and within 15 minutes she had pulled out a prescription bottle of pills, dumped them on her desk and started counting. Once she was done, she did it again. And again. When she was positive she had ascertained the correct amount of narcotics she had in her possession, she took a handfull and proceeded to count the contents of her wallet. Three times.

Around this time I finally realized that this girl was not handicapped or disabled, she was a fucking drunk. The City University of New York had made this girl the class valedictorian in a failed bid to promote some sort of demented equality within its ranks, but the chance of her delivering a decent speech was overshadowed by the likelihood that she would puke on the podium or pull her skirt over her head, ala Ruca.

And that, my friends is the story of the Valedictorian of the City University of New York.

I got an 8/10 which I thought was pretty great, but then I sent the stupid thing to my mom who got an 10/10. This is the woman that got a perfect score on her SATs Verbal section. Once I get back to California I am going to kill her in her sleep.

Just kidding, it's her birthday. I was just about to post what we got her, but then I realized I should wait until she receives it, or it will ruin the surprise.

Tell me what you got on your vocab test!

In the dream, I was trying to fulfil my foreign language requirements and so I decided to take English, because I don't know any of the rules of grammar, etc.

In the class, all the students had their mouths open and when the teacher held up a copy of Great Expectations and asked us if we knew what it was, no one did. I cried "It's only, like, the greatest book ever written!" and slammed my head down on the desk.

Then I woke up.

Props to Mr. Dickens, but I don't think GE was the greatest book ever written, at least when I am awake. I think this whole dream goes to show that I can't bear to be surrounded by morons much longer...

I'm very excited about the prospect of moving to California. I need more freckles. Hmm...what else? Well, that picture is a woodcut that I did in my printmaking class this week.

Apart from pee being funny, which it always is, a really funny thing to say is URINE TROUBLE. THAT ONE NEVER GETS OLD, MY FRIENDS.

I was on cam live tonight for a while. It was weird, I never do it anymore because I feel sorry for my AMAZING host because who really wants to pay bandwidth for pictures of my face? Also, I feel the need to make new expressions, and things like that which is usually not a good idea, and then I just end up staring straight ahead lit by the neon glow of my screen. I did manage to keep it up for a whole hour. :D

They decided to extend unemployment last Friday. I am not surprised, because it would have been a public relations nightmare. They did it 1 business day before the 6 month anniversary of the WTC thing--in other words, one day before everyone who lost their jobs because of the terrorism would have run out of benefits and ended up on welfare. I have my fingers crossed about qualifying....seems good though.

The weather was so nice today that I wore a skirt and these neat honeycombed fishnets that my mom got me for my birthday. I was at school all day, and today I had a 3 hour break between classes. 3 hours of studying always makes me fall asleep, so as usual I go to these weird couch things and sleep during my break. All of a sudden, I awoke with a start because I WAS POSITIVE THAT I HAD FARTED IN MY SLEEP. Don't ask me why I thought this, I was just sure I had let out a ripper without meaning too. I HATE MY LIFE.

That last paragraph reminds me of the funniest person I have ever encountered online. Her name was Tonya Buttimer, and she existed only on the boards of a teen web site. Her posts were the only things worth reading for entire weeks. This should link you to her posts of the last 6 months or so, unless Bolt screws it up. What a smart little whippersnapper. I am tired and have nothing else to say. I really need a haircut. My mommy is coming to NYC this week, so maybe she will notice what a rat I look like and take me to get a haircut. PRAY, PEOPLE PRAY!!

Boy #1: "Food tastes better if it's free."
Boy #2: "I heard that if you give a newborn baby a clean shirt it will puke."
Boy #3: "Could you let us out 15 minutes early so I can watch Friends?" (okay, that happened last Thursday)

You get the point. And then I had to sit in the back today because I was running late and I swear there were people, like, mating, right next to me. It was totally gross.

This is also the school that has like 10 escalators. When we get out of the lecture everyone crowds onto the escalator and we proceed down. The problem arises when people get to the bottom and they just stand there, mouths gaping, looking around like they are waiting for the second coming. Now, it should be obvious to either move to the next escalator, or move out of the way, as there are another 50 people coming down the escalator. Since they don't move, of course, the 50 people coming down plow into them, and occasionally people fall over. When this first happened, I generously thought that maybe these were all transfer students from planets with no escalators, but after a few weeks and they keep plowing into each other and falling like dominos, I have to conclude that they are just morons.

I went to college with this crazy fellow, Douglas. At one point, he allegedly told all of his friends that I begged to give him a blowjob. Although that's not true, he's still a pretty sassy guy who has some art PORN on his site. Check it out.

I have been mulling over my future, and am not pleased with the results. At the end of this semester I will be a junior, and this is my 4th school. I am applying for full-time admission to 4 east coast liberal arts colleges, but since I still have residency in Cali, I am thinking about applying to Berkeley too. It's all very confusing, and I am not sure what coast I want to live on. I am sick of my tiny studio apartment with crappy light, and I'm thinking I would like to live in Oakland and hang out with Sheila. Confusing.

I don't have a helleva lot to say today. I am sick, (again) and have been in bed all day. I watched 3 movies. Bring It On rules, and it makes me wish that I was a cheerleader. I wasn't really the sort, seeing as I left high school after two years. One of the cheerleaders from my home town is on the upcoming season of Survivor. I don't know what lesson that should teach me, but I KNOW THAT IT IS NOT A GOOD ONE.

It's almost my birthday. I am getting old. :(

I have been trying to redesign my site, but it because time consuming and turned out ugly so I shelved it for a while. I have had a lot less time lately because of all of my school stuff! It's really weird to be back in school full time. I first started college when I was sixteen, and now at 22 I am back. Like, I used to be the youngest and now I am older than a lot of em. Scary stuff.

When I haven't been studying and rush the sorority, I have been working on a complete overhaul of Glidercam.net, my sugar glider web site. So stop asking what they are already, and check it out!

News Dev just wrote an amazing article about me that details all of my devious plans. Although it exposes all of my secrets, it also manages to link to my wishlist like 69 times, which was bonus. :D

Also Dev your email link on you site is broken broken broken.

Fran just turned me on to moveabletype.org, which is like the smart person's alternative to blogger. I haven't actually switched over, but I found a bunch of really cool sites that use it. Like Beans For Breakfast and badpoetry.net.