03/17/2004 - 4:29 a.m. | if it was anybody else's birthday

So, I write like I talk, right? And considering that I had a pretty bad sore throat which is now being replaced by some sort of other death illness ("Is it hot in here, or is my body trying to burn the germs out?"), you'll forgive if I didn't write yesterday. You haven't been missing much, I promise. On Monday... yes, what was there on that particular day, hmmm? Same old stuff in lab, nothing really noteworthy. Rats, sheep brains, all that jazz. Then I watched "TRL," which is vastly more important. Another dozen points for the robot voice in "Sorry 2004." Most of the evening was spent trying to convince myself to call Sara/Sarah. See, because that paranoid aspect remains, even though, as my parents point out, she did approach me, she did dance with me, she did get me her number, and girls are silly and giggle all the time anyway. This will be a tough stigma to destroy, however, because I got her machine, and I don't think she will be calling back. OK, I made it this far on your "Rules," Satan. What is the next course of action? Honestly, I have no idea. I would just like to be charming and have someone to dance with... is that a lot a lot a lot? Michelle says that she never calls back the people she gives her number to and who leave messages, which speaks wonders for the my oh-so-many prospects. What a stupid system of rituals. In the meantime, I listened to a lot of Old 97's, which makes me want to drink, but I am not drinking because it promotes stupidity. I also banged out a psych assignment in like two minutes, because acadameia is a top priority!!1

I'm not entirely sure how it happened - I think I was actually writing another diary entry, and I just sort of answered yes on autopilot to whoever was in the room to try and get them out as fast as possible - but it appears I am signed up to Free the Children. By buying them goats? I'm not 100% sure, but Fuhrer-ious Brytne seems to have an insane handling on things. We were supposed to have a meeting at the coffeehouse, but that mostly just became a series of freezing trips through the snow (yes, snow) over to the Union. It would seem that I have been put in charge of advertisments, but humor is my main weapon here, and I dunno if I should actually make fun off the poor kids. This one girl who seemed like sort of a moron kept staring at me, and that is beyond creepy. At least look away when I glance at you, like everyone else. Allen had his unicycle, and my rage-o-meter is rapidly filling. Man, I am so tired, but the boss is really riding me on these deadlines, and I just have no ideas, man. We went to Late Nite afterwards, and the winners were just packing the place. Creepy U-neck undershirt except not under anything and with one sleeve rolled seductively up Guy and the guy who was complaining about how his friend had told a girl he liked that he liked her (assuming because if he had a girlfriend, he couldn't counted as emo anymore). Did I go to sleep early? Well, earlier than today, I guess.

The Oversized Bike Family is the scariest thing for a crossing guard, I think. Why give your children such huge bikes? I mean, maybe it will save you some money down the road, but I swear I am going to have to sprint out and catch them each time. Low gears are for pussies, by the way. I took a long nap, which felt like it helped, but it is not feeling like that now. Michelle downloaded some Joe Nichols (bad country) onto my computer, for which she shall pay dearly. Pretty much every abpsych class, I've been bringing my palm reading book along and trying to get a little further along with myself each time. I think I've finally gotten to the point where I can at least analyze my own hand to a fairly accurate extent. I tried out Michelle's tonight, but we were exactly the same in almost all cases, so maybe I do just suck. And I'm not even close to being able to actually read palms. Way too many lines and details there. Anyway, here's what I've got: I'm good with my hands, I pay close attention to detail (although I can be overly critical), I am creative and fairly healthy (albeit not right now), I can be a good leader, but usually I choose not to lead, as I am sort of a loner. I'm witty and charming, but any self-confidence I project is a sham. The smell of Bridget Aiken's hand cream today was absolutely intoxicating. I was wigging out for a while. And not in a shizophrenic way.

When I went over to Dank's to watch "American Idol," I bought some OJ and Frosted Donettes on the way. It would seem my internal clock is entirely reversed. Still wholly in favor of the white guy and his dances, but Ryan Seacrest wouldn't let us vote so so much for that. Brytne and I watched Being John Malkovich later and then I was fully intent on going to sleep and sweating to death when Michelle called and asked if I wanted to go to Taco Bell. Of course I want to go to Taco Bell. And, as is typically the case, convince her to get the grande meal because it is a better value. And we're all about value. We found a shit parking spot, though, which led to a shit walk back, and then I made attempts to read about palmistry, but my eyes are already glazing over, so instead like infomercials and shit for hours and hours. I kept screaming about they needed to add more knives to the set, and THEY JUST KEPT DOING IT. It was like I was psychic or something. We also got on the topic of boobs for some reason, which started Michelle off on some crazy tangent about how nobody would be attracted to her and how much better her sister is and critiquing pretty much every boob on TV for the rest of the night. Also, discussions of yeast infections and how stuff like tampons slip my mind. It even seems like it'd be pretty memorable, doesn't it? The only time I don't cough is when I am singing (clearly I've got the music in me), but that's not much of a solution. There's probably tons of stuff that I am forgetting, but I'll add it in later. I promise. I must sleep off this ebola.