03/03/2005 - 8:52 p.m. | gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth

Back to a pissy mood then, all right? This week was pretty much the awfulest. Every day was a horrible cycle of terror. I'd wake up and stand in the frozen tundra for a bit, take a test, work again, and study for another test until I passed out. And the day would begin the same anew. Add in the fact that I've been sick since forever - with a sore throat (and, girl, you know how I hate sore throats!) and coughing up pieces of wonder and headaches all the time with the wooziness and falling over - and that I still have about $5 to my name grand total, and you can pretty much safely agree that the only way things could've gotten much worse is if God had come down from on high and shat directly down my throat.

And then I got pinkeye somehow.

There's got to be some good news in there, though, right? We're all playing a lot of RPGolf - no wait, that's neutral. Uh... I ate a pound of Spaghettio's today. No, literally. A pound. Wait. That's awful news! At work one night, all the computers broke, so I showed everyone in my immediately vicinity how to make origami cranes. That's practically like making friends. Ummm... I saw cute babysitter chick on campus, so now I feel slightly less sinful about lusting after her ("THOU SHALT NOT COVET!" *pooooooooooop* Big thanks there, God)

My parents came through with some money so I could, you know, eat, but you wouldn't believe how guilty that makes me feel. I'm already so far in the hole - I'm trying to not be a burden here, guys! But I do tend to fly through my money. Where does it go? To Kansas (and more specifically, the thing in Kansas... That is my pet name for her!) No it's not. Anyway, I cut corners like you wouldn't believe. I haven't bought a book yet this semester, instead treating the Illini Union Bookstore as a lending library with the most insane late fees in the world. Refund policy is a week, so I'm all good as long as I can learn everything there is to know about psychology in that long.

Oh wait! I already did that. Today's helpful five chapters of Industrial/Organizational psych decided to fill me in on some choice concepts. "A mode, Nathan," they said, "is the number that occurs the most in a set of --" Fuck off, I know what a mode is. "Well, then... ahem. A mean is --" That, too, shithead. And then Child Psych book chimes in, "Would you like to know how the eyes develop?" You son-of-a-bitch.

Anyway! Like I was saying, cutting corners. Again, maybe this is not top notch as far as ethics go ("THOU SHALT NOT STEAL!" *toot*), but in order to make parking a little easier, I borrowed a tag from some poor unlocked soul next to me. Now, wait! Before you cast me into hell with all your fornicators and Buddhists, let me explain! No harm is truly done, see. They go to the parking place and go, "Look at my record, man. I paid for that shit. Now my tag's gone!" and they give them a new one, and there! Everyone wins! Well. They lose a little bit, but not very much! Unlike, say, Gays, IL.

Can diaries be used in a court of law?

THIS IS ALL A WORK OF FICTION. THERE IS NO NATE WALSH OR ANYONE LISTED HERE NONE OF THEM IS REAL. MY REAL NAME IS MARK R. AZYLL. I LIVE IN TRENTON.

I was talking on the phone to some guy, trying to get him to give me $100, the usual, and he's like, "Well, will any of this money be going to The Daily Illini?" So I start checking my little thing, and I don't see it, so I say, "Well, no, sir, but we can designate your gift to them if you'd like!" I am so helpful in trying to swipe their millions, see? So he goes, "Do you know Matt Vroom?" Thinking, I dunno, they're related or something, I go, "Yeah, the cartoonist? Yeah, I really like him. He has funny stuff." "Well, I don't like him at all." Foot in mouth. "Oh." "Did you happen to see the anti-Semitic cartoon he did a few months ago?" I did, in fact, and I followed the stupid controversy about it to some extent, but I am not about to get into any sort of debate with this man. "No, sir, I didn't, but I heard something about it." "Well, it was an awful comic, and I'm not donating any money if it goes to the Daily Illini." "Well, it doesn't, sir." And then he says he can't anyway. Bastard. But! I didn't know there were actually still people out there who actually got offended by things. I sort of assumed there were just organizations of people looking to pad resumes who were trained to be offended by everything that wasn't 100% P.C., and they were the ones who wrote letters to the editor and whatnot. I didn't think any real people still believed in the junk. Pretty much we've been indoctrined to so many horrible things that I don't know how anyone is really offended at all ever anymore. Unless I call them an artfag. Then, by all means, lynch away, my thick-rimmed-glasses-wearing friends! Tar and feathers are by the door!

Maybe it would be different if I were Jewish and had already had generations of being shit upon almost as much as, you know, black people (and women!). Maybe this was just the straw that broke the camel's back. But honestly, I hardly even remember the thing, but it basically said that Jewish people have big noses and love gold.

Do Jewish people not have big noses? Where did they get them done? Did they start hating gold?

Oops, my bad.

Still, I think a much more impressive skill to put on your resume is how you can almost immediately tell the difference between the album and radio versions of Jewel's "You Were Meant for Me." Hint: WIPE.

Who else can I bitch out? Oh yeah! Shanks! Man, I was so fucking mad at Shanks on Friday night. Granted, I was drunk beyond reason, but this rage has lingered much longer than it should. At some point on the stumble home, Missy and I must have stopped in the gas station and bought some Tostitos and salsa con queso. I only know this forensically, as I am looking at the picture of me eating them right now. So we were watching something and all leaning drunkenly on each other and eating chips, and Shanks comes out of nowhere, grabs the bag from us (from me!) and starts chomping down on them! I don't think he even asked. And with anyone else, that would have been fine, but it just enraged me, boiling in my head, and I started ranting to Missy later about how he was the Great Consumer, how he devours all he sees, never giving, always taking. "Anyone else would do a solid for me. Kyle, Shelly, Smacko - we share shit all the time! But never Shanks! Infinity is contained within the abyss that is he!" Apparently I said all of these things. Maybe I just don't like big people. OK, there's no real maybe.

Man, my floating-on-air entry from last Sunday left a ton of shit out. Who else do we hate? The police! While everyone else slept (or tried to, as Andy came over onto our roof and threw firecrackers at their windows), Missy and I made artichokes in my slow-ass homemade steam device, followed by lots and lots of spiked Jello for all to eat. So, we get set to go to this party, and Missy has a cup of the Jello with her (Smacko, too). So we're by the Super Pantry, and all of sudden, flashing lights. Missy, cool under pressure, drops her cup and takes off running. Me, confused as hell (I blame the bottle of wine with the picture of a bear breathing fire on it - "That's me," I kept bragging! "Because of my high BAC!"), took off after her, although I cannot rightly say if it was to flee or to stop her. Anyway, the cops yelled, and she came back. Apparently running from the police is not the way to their hearts. They let Smacko just throw away his cup (5 for 5 on avoiding drinking tickets for him!), but Missy was to be ticketed. Luckily, the cop was not a complete dick and only gave her open container, not underaged. Everyone went ahead while we rode in the back of the police car (hehehe!) back to my house, where I had to run inside and try and find her ID. And look as sober as possible, because I was not sure which ID I would be pulling out if they were to ask me for my own. Scary as hell. OK, not really. I sort of enjoyed it, but then, I wasn't the one who got in trouble. $135 ticket. Damn. But, as Officer Citko or whatever said, "It's nearly Big Ten time, and we gotta prevent the riots blah blah blah." Man! Now you know I'm gon' be flippin' over some cop car! Damn!

We went to the party, and it was pretty balls, I deduce, but we were hosed enough not to care. Chat to a lady, the girl's well fit, definitely, not maybe. The party had jungle juice in a big ol' gas can (Just like hip-hop sensation Lil Jon's "krunk juice!"), which apparently someone threw over the balcony to Tebben. And we all took off into the night. Missy does not understand what a safe drunk I am. Like, yes, we did all take those soccer balls from that yard and kick them around, but I wasn't going to run into the street! And yeah, I did go for a little joyride in the parking lot of Hendrick with the sort of locked-up bike (The chain was such that the bike could move, but you could only pedal around maybe a quarter turn, at which point, you had to reverse it and begin again - I was proud of myself for having figured this out so quickly), but I did not go into incoming traffic! Meanwhile, Missy was apparently screaming at Tebben and his girlfriend about how we can hear them fucking. "We can?" I asked later. "Okay, maybe made that one up." We are a charming couple.

Then, the tortilla chip incident (Don't remind me!) then sleep then hangover and then movies then bingo. I was picked to demonstrate Shambo for the night. When they asked me name, I was just quick enough to remember that people with fake IDs should not be running around screaming other, more legitimate names... but not quite quick enough to sound natural. "N - ..... Sean?" "That was the fakest name I've ever heard," said Dan, but he then proceeded to call me "Sexy Sean," so at least I have that.

Where was I going with this? Ah, yes. Away.

Oh, here's a complaint. When you ask someone what music they like, and they are all, "Everything except country and rap." That answer means you are the least creative person ever. I do not like all rap or all country, but some of it is very, very good, and you are a stupid hypothetical person.

I love Firefox and all, but why is it having sex with the world in the logo? I am not comfortable with that.