12/13/2003 - 12:28 p.m. | it's lonely being mean!

I may have discussed this before, but since I am less consciously paranoid now, it seems that the paranoia has sunken into my subconscious. Things I don't worry about at all when I'm awake come out as some really messed up dreams. Not nightmares - I don't think I've had one of those for ages. Or if I do, they aren't really scary... just kind of odd. Example: Had a dream the other night that I had the worst sunburn ever. So bad that my skin had turned black in certain patches. But it was like this crusty black shell with all this gross pus underneath that I could squish around. Off to Classic Tan!! Or the one were I had taken this one hour class and skipped it all year, just assuming it was really easy. Then when I went in to the last class, it was hard as balls. They were working on some Looney Tunes video game, and they were like, "Man, you're screwed! You don't even know arrays!" It gradually transformed into some anime about animal human hybrids.

Jen growls in the other room. Nate shuts the door.

And turns on the music.

No, louder.

Speaking of growling, my computer fan is definitely on its last legs. It's no longer the constant buzzing of doom. Now there is an eerie silence interrupted by the occasional scream from the fan as it bangs out one more rotation: "......... FUCKYOU! ............. IMSTILLHERE! .............. OILMEYOUSHIT!" Go out with some dignity, man. Anyway, the first thought of the morning was a line from Jurassic Park: "I bring scientists, you bring a rock star." In the Scottish accent and everything. What is going on up there, fellas?

Last journalism class of the year. Really not much to talk about. Maggie McFadden had us discuss comments about the class with her, and it slowly became just this complete attack on Professor Elliott. So much pent up rage. Pretty soon everyon mentioned how poor his lectures were, even if they had nothing to do with the rest of their comment. "Yeah, I think we should forget about the tests and have a few more writing assignments - because he always rambled in class!" I'm glad I'm not alone. At the end, we had to fill out the evaluation forms. Normally, I try to take them seriously, but I was in "one of mah moods" or something. For Maggie's comments, I put "YOU LOOK LIKE CLAIRE FORLANI! HOTT! ;) <3" which will hopefully disturb her thoroughly. For Elliot's, I opted for "MORE THIN RED LINE REFERENCES PLEASE! I NEEDS THEM! THEY ARE MY LIFEBLOOD!!" Then I drew a little picture of Elliott spewing forth statements about the movie and/or book and me gobbling them up. I could barely keep myself from cackling as I turned them in.

The rest of the afternoon was spent sort of restlessly. Tried to play a game, read, nap, watch Disney, throw cards, clean, listen to music. Couldn't stick to anything. Spritz and I went to the mall for a while - I had the notion that I could start on my holiday shopping - but that was just a big old flop, too. Not in the mood. Screw respnsibility. I always buy my presents with loads of time to spare. Truthfully, I would like to try just once the experience of Christmas Eve shopping. I'm sure it would make me jaded more than enough to never try it again, but it'd make good reading, I'm sure. "Punched an elderly woman in the face so as to get the last animatronic singing Santa. That whore!"

I'll pause my music as I try to recollect what I did to fill up most of my morning, afternoon, and evening. Nope - still nothing.

Closer to 9, I went over to Dank's to exercise the Nate Clause and decide what movie we were gonna see, although Yousaf and I had words regarding my potential computer and how it is better than anything I could ever, ever need. Whenever I mention the graphics card he wants me to get to anyone, they just shake their head. Anyway, fate kicked in, and we were off to Love Don't Cost a Thing. Years of competing with Spritz for the coveted shotgun position have given me a clear advantage over Dank's adamant roommates, which requires that I dance. And whenever I wear a Kim Possible shirt (so, always), my midriff is horribly exposed for all to see. This pleases me to no end. Stopped at Office Depot for our IDs from Brytne. Briefly contemplated holding battle rap competitions outside of it late at night. Idea was quickly scrapped. Meanwhile, I balanced on the hand rail, which is too much fun.

First off, it is important to note that we were the only white people in the theatre. We sought sanctuary in the front row, for my near constant dancing and Dank's near constant racist jokes would have led to our untimely deaths. Next, note that Christina Milian, the star, sings the Kim Possible theme. Then, Nick Cannon, who I generally like as an actor, was annoying all hell in this. Most importantly, Melissa Schuman (formerly of the "band" Dream), has really sprouted, by which I mean grown massive boobies. It's weird how people my age keep doing this. *sniff* When will my time come? Anyway, it was not very good, nor were the green apple sour thingies I opted to buy, fully aware of the fact that I hate sour apple. After the movie, I felt an unearthly desire to strut, but I am so, so white and it would only end in my face being smashed in. With a lamp. You have no idea how much I wish I could pull off being smoove. But even then, it wouldn't fit. So I'd have to be black, too.

Back to Dank's and while they all sat fucking around with their UO macros, I danced to "Hey Ya." I only allow myself to dance as a true spastic in very rare situations, but I enjoy it sooooo much. Mom says self-confidence will kick on somewhere down the road, but I wish it did when it still mattered. Stupid wasting my youth. When I'm finally confident enough to dance like a total cretin, my body will no longer be physically capable of doing so without, say, snapping in two. We went to Perkins, and they were out of every single thing I asked for. I guess I must have ordered burnt ass English muffin and gross muskmelon because that is what I got. On the plus side, we sat near a really overdressed guy who I began referring to as The Conductor. This will followed with a bunch of not-so-subtle conductor references.

Back to Dank's for good old Nick GaS. Unfortunately, around the second episode of "Nick Arcade," the four hours of sleep I had gotten the night before began to catch up with me, and I conked out. This sorta pisses me off because the one girl who was on was a total hottie, and I was hoping they'd show her number or something. She'd be about my age now, I think, and she was so happy and cute, and much like Melissa Schuman, she has probably grown breasts by now. This is less important to me, but worthy of note. Woke up at 5 and rode home in a daze, right contact all disjointed and awful. Collapsed in a heap and here we are now.