I think if God exists or there is some kind of a superior force acting on the universe, it really doesn't want me to get into college.

Point in case: Aside from the 3 seperate-but-equally shitty guidance counselors that I could use as scapegoats (maybe rightfully so), out-of-state applications have way higher expectations (I moved just in time!), my grades have been consistently shitty (completely my fault), now...


Drexel has somehow managed to lose my application. I know these things happen, but how do you lose something that's sent electronically? Especially after sending me an email and a letter both confirming that I sent it in. On top of that, the lady who I talked to when I called asking why I hadn't heard back yet was a total bitch and talked to me like I was a moron because I couldn't understand how they couldn't have gotten it.


I had a longer post that wasn't a giant complaintfest, but internet explorer shut itself down as I was finishing typing it. Heh

Some time last weekend, I dropped a spatula on the floor, grabbed it by the end that you stick in the deep fryer, and charred the non-living shit out of my index finger and thumb. The very first thing I thought of was that scene in Raiders of The Lost Ark when the Nazi tries to pick up the burning medal thing, screams, and runs outside and sticks his hand in the snow. This was somewhere inbetween yelling "OH FUCK OW OW OW FUCK" and still scrambling to make more french fries.

the night before I got to leave early cuz I sliced my pinky open on the corner of something and bled into the ice cream. This is the second or third time that I may or may not have bled into someone's ice cream. I think I have hemophilia. I think I am a lil' bit of a pussy, too, because I started wigging out when Lou tried to pour hydrogen peroxide on it. The hospital turned me away because they were busy and the cut was at a funny angle and it was hard to tell how deep it was.

I want to live in Uptown and go to every restaurant (or maybe just pizza place) and then feel really restaurant savvy when I take someone there.

I'm about to have 20 people I don't know sleeping in my basement. Most of them are probably going to be drunk and annoying. I wish I had a stash of barbituates for situations like this.


oh, I'm 18 now. That means shows in the future, most immedeately Blitzen Trapper this week and Animal Collective in May. Am I hip yet?

how the hell?

Does it mean that you're exceptionally guilty
if you sometimes worry that the point of existence
is that everyone in the world reads your thoughts
and has some kind of agreement to only laugh about them when you aren't around
and act surprised when you share them.
I mean, I would never know!

Maybe it's kind of flattering when you star in my wet dreams, being that I'm the center of existence and all