Don't have a cow, you drunk whore

FINE I WILL UPDATE.

I am at work, all by myself in the back room. The only noticeable thing is the stench of my jeans because I haven't washed them in over a month. I have cleanliness issues.

That I haven't changed my underwear in a week is probably also contributing to the problem. At least no one else is here to smell me right now.

I cannot wait for next year because I can't even think anymore. I don't want to do homework and every waking second that I hear Marcus' voice is a second that I consider murder/suicide. Seriously. Rachel, you could come back and suck and I would still love you because it is so horrible without you. Don't suck, but do come back.

Birthright: Weekend seems so long ago now that we are aged adults. Basically, the lesbian bar was awesome and the highlight of our long, long lives. It wasn't particularly different than most other weekends, except that I was more self-centered and less likely to pay for anything than usual. It didn't turn me into a lesbian or anything, which I guess it was supposed to. No thanks, my friends. I like cock in my face all day long.

Especially if the cock belongs to... I can't say it on such a public intronett forum. But it was some damn fine cock.

Patrick is currently claiming that he doesn't poop, but Patrick knows that he poops more than everyone else combined. Except maybe Marcus. He is made of poop. And all of the Nair he uses for his backhair. Nasty dickwad.

Rachel, have you watched the episode of Degrassi centering on the city of Poort Hoope? That Wheels' dad has a two week gig at? You will like it. It is all we talk about. Port Hope is only about 9 hours from Chicago, so a road trip will be in order where we stay at the same hotel and eat a slice of pizza pie. I love Port Hope almost as much as I like Pat's strong thighs.

I got drunk last week and apparently ordered a vibrator. It came in the mail this week. We've named him Claude (pronounced like chode - you'll see from Degrassi) and he is very great. It makes me very happy. I used it three times in one day until I had real sex the next day and got too tired to give Claude some loving. Someday soon. Maybe today if Pat will not make fun of me about it.

For my movie, I've decided to email celebrities and see if they'll come be in it. I figure if I email them now it will be enough notice before October for them to schedule it in. Can you imagine? Kickin' it on set with the likes of Richard Gere and perhaps Anthony Hopkins or even Hilario Dawson herself? I'd settle for Bow Wow. He'd be aiight.

I can't tell if this professor is German, retarded, or both. He's using this can't-be-real accent to talk about stupid things to these stupid grad students. I think he thinks he sounds intellectual, but he just sounds dumb.

Do you think you'll eat turkey in Turkey? Imagine the postmodernism of THAT conundrum. It'd be like drinking grease in Greece or opening a can in Canada.

I'm sleepy and tired of schooling and I want to get out of here right now but there's still a whole hour! Fuck.

And A-hern made me buy six packs of cigarettes on Thursday. There is only one pack left. It is Saturday. I need to stop giving out packs.

Math is not my thing.

So, I just failed at doing fairly easy math for an article. Failed hardcore. Real hardcore.
Cute Reporter had to do it for me. And then explain to me why he'd subtracted two numbers. That hardcore.

Also, I'm a little upset with you guys (as I am myself, what with the inability to add or subtract, let alone divide to calculate simple percentages), because you haven't been blogging. At all. Don't you think I miss you? Don't you think I want to hear about BirthWeek already?

Stop being so insensitive. Entertain me. Jeeeeeeeez.


Ooooooh, Pat just texted me! Good job, Pat. I am entertained.

I am a fact-checking queen.

Hey friends.
I miss you guys. Remember when I called you intoxicated on a Tuesday? I do. That was silly. I watched a lot of Degrassi.

So, soon I'll be all alone in my row of cubicles, as Ben and Dave are moving into offices. I'm a little sad. Who will throw balls around the hall which always smack me on the head accidentally? Who will pretty much ignore me all the time? I guess it'll be kind of the same. I can throw a ball around too, you know.

I checked a lot of facts-today. A lot. It's pretty ridiculous how many facts cross my desk daily. I could be, if you will, a "fact-keeper." Like the gate-keeper but cooler, though with less ghosts. Are you the opinion-master?

As you can tell, I'm pretty bored. Kind of loopy, that kind of bored.

Nothing new going on in the city. I'm going to sit in a coffeeshop tomorrow and write my article for PINK, possibly go see some exhibits with Mo and Mike (who is coming into town). Steve will also most likely come. I'm supposed to go out tonight but I'm running low on the funds. I'm going to have to talk to my parents about an "allowance" or something. Maybe I can pay them back when I come back to school. I think that's a fantastic idea. I mean, not making money for six months is kind of killing me.

I didn't get that job with Teach for America like I thought I would. I'm a little upset about it, but my initial feelings of rejection are slowly going away. It really just means that I have to get a real job, waitressing or taking down tanning appointmens or something. I'll have to come back in August after Turkey so I can apply for jobs. I guess it also means that I'm not a very good candidate for TFA in the future; perhaps I should start thinking about other options. I don't really want to take the GRE though, nor do I want to go to grad school right away.

Maybe I should just suck it up and become an editorial assistant. Answer phones, file my nails, get dumber as the days go on.

I'm starting to get depressed. I'm going to change out of these heels and into some flip flops and go smoke a cigarette.

I have a new mid-year resolution: to actually go out and enjoy New York. As soon as I talk to my parents about money. Haha.

Tata, lovers.

i'm sleepy. you're bored. lets blog.

hello there.

i am blogging. for the first time

since becoming a real boy.

and by that i mean since the time sarah and i did it.

which actually made me a real STD patient, not a real boy. but hey, in this world of tough breaks you take what you can get.

and sometimes what you get, well, its the clap.

lets hear a round of applause for that.

so anyway. you alls've been blogging for a while and i had to spend 15 minutes reading it this morning. lucky for you most of it was entertaining. most of it. most. of. it.

i had an idea the other day. a great idea. the kind of idea that rivals inventors like mr. ole kirk christiansen. who? the inventor of LEGOs. yes. LEGOs, those evil little choking hazards that have a sadistic love of getting stepped on just to watch you scream.

what an invention. cause all that sadism aside, they're also super fun- if you have remedial geometric skills and any imagination (of which i have neither).

so back to my idea- its a cure for schizophrenia; you know, that uncle-plaguing psychological disease that spoils all the family parties and most rides on public transportation. i don't know why we didn't see it before, but i've found a way for us to ease all the discomfort we experience when we see these not-so-family friendly crazies yelling at themselves about the latest episode of house they happened to catch on the shelter-tube (not an actual word, but should be). BLUE TOOTH HEAD SETS. yes, you read correctly. we strap an earpiece to these suckers and suddenly they're not angrily, distractingly and somewhat disconcertingly shouting at themselves or their reflections about a lack of money and an illegitimate fear of kangaroos, no, they're conducting important zoological business with admirable dedication and an iron fist; they're not inappropriately touching themselves while staring intently with the devils eyes at some poor teenage girl, they're gazing nonchalantly right past everyone and enjoying a tender moment in public with a long-distance lover; they're not shouting hate-speech and racial slurs at strangers and fellow bums, no, not at all, they're generously giving life advice and lessons on tolerance to a panel of distance learners at a renown university.

yep. i'd say i've solved it.

don't worry nobel committee, you can keep your precious prize. i'm not in it for the recognition. i'm in it for the beer and the bitches. and i've got enough of both.



(this blog does not necessarily reflect the views of sarah, rachel, or pat, and admits to being unacceptably ignorant of the true symptoms of the very serious psychological disease).

okay. bye. see ya.

Water. Must keep drinking water.

You know what I find most interesting about New York City? The rats. Okay, maybe not most interesting, but they're pretty damn interesting. They rank up there, if you will.

Anyway, what compels me about these rats isn't so much the rats themselves, but it's the way people react to the rats that make me smile. At the L platform in Union Square and 14th, there is a rat that I've seen on two different nights. I assume it is the same rat, but that's only because it's the same station, he had roughly the same demeanor and was the same size. So, I'm watching this rat, and then he runs out of my sightline, so I stop, and I notice that everyone else on the platform is also watching the rat. And they bend forward so they can see the rat better.

What drives these people to so closely study these rats, I believe (and I've seen this happen on more than one platform, btw), is what drives people to stare at car crashes and the morbidly obese. Except you can't stare at car crashes and the morbidly obese, it's a social faux pas. And, in the case of car crashes, it slows down traffic. But rats? Whatever. Who cares if you stare at a rat for a considerable amount of time? Not the rat. Not the person standing next to you also staring at the rat. No one. Stare away at the little disease-ridden beast.

Some college kid might blog about it, but what's the likelihood that you'll read that? Or that it will stop you from staring at the rats? Perhaps it will encourage you to stare more freely at the morbidly obese (but not at car crashes, I hate gridlock).

Also, the rats here are supposed to be the size of small dogs. Thusfar, they are the same size as my friend Sara's pet rats, which, granted is bigger than say, a mouse or a newborn kitten, but I have yet to see a supersized rat.

I'm a little disappointed.

You are so demanding.

I changed the settings correctly. I think. I made you an admin so you can do it.

In Pat's own words: "I have some sweet ideas to blog about, but I just forget to sign up."

He's so re-re.

As you know, we went to this party at Loyola last night. It was fun; we brought our own backpack of beer. I spent even more time making up lies and stories about my relationship with Paul, which is fun now that we just broke up. Such drama. I have a feeling we're going to have to get back together again to add fuel to the fire of my fake life. It's kind of sad - the apartments in Roger's Park (or wherever Loyola is) are right on the lake and pretty much the same size as our house. Except cheaper. Bastards. It was kind of ridiculous though that the landlord let himself into the apartment, turned off the music, and did a random "inspection" in the middle of the party. That was probably the creepiest thing I've ever seen happen.

I pretty much spend absolutely no time at the house, which is working out quite well. I haven't seen Mike in days, only smelled his weed. Marcus keeps using all of our shampoo, which is obnoxious. As if we won't notice that he has none of his own in the shower? Dick.

Steve left me an IM the other day that made me laugh: "I just thought you should know that Mo and I got wasted in Washington Square today. I drank a beer for you. Granted, it was a Bud Light."

Hilario Dawson.

I will make Pat sign up for this blog today so we can really get the Bazungas and Fandolas rolling.

I'm hungry, but since the Best Western charged all of Film Prom to my debit card instead of splitting it between my credit card and my debit card like I specifically told them to over and over again, I currently have negative 268 dollars in my account. Which I'm sure will go to negative 868 dollars when Pat deposits my rent check. Which basically boils down to the fact that I've never been so frustrated in my whole life. Why oh why did they fuck this up?!?!

AAAHHHHH.

Ps - what the fuck is the deal with facebook feed today? Is it part of April Fool's Day? It's not funny. Or a prank. Boo to Zuckerberg.