04/02/2004 - 3:54 a.m. | 26 reds and a bottle of wine

Well, it couldn't last forever.

After the balmy 40� weather yesterday, I can barely stomach today's frigid 30� temperatures. :| Pretty much every time I awkwardly stuff my giant plastic stop sign into my coat, I contemplate making some sort of holster or sling to wear on my back. I guess the idea is to make me just a little less lame, but I don't know if a quick draw stop sign apparatus is really the means to an end I should be thinking of. I don't doubt that the girls will be chasing me down the street, screaming wildly. I just have a feeling it will be to stone me.

So, last week my left lower wisdom tooth hurt, and I got a sore throat. As soon as the tooth irritation went away, so did the throat. This week, my right wisdom tooth began to ache, and my throat is beginning to hurt again. I think my body is trying to tell me something. KILL THE ISRAELITES. But, before I become the greatest modern enemy of Jewish people, I think I'm going to pop some generic aspirin ("G-Nubs") and wait a few days. I really can't take that sort of pressure.

And it stinks. The kind of stink that won't air out of the apartment when you open a window.

I would not have even guessed that I would know what the "Perfect Strangers" theme song was, let alone the words to it, but I guess my brain defrags while I sleep because it was my first coherent thought before I stumbled out the door to take my psych test. Incidentally, that is the best way to take tests. You have no time to freak out if you're too busy trying to remember how to stand up and use a bicycle again. Then you really start to doubt your judgement when you begin singing the Guess Who ("Da-un-do-dow dow da-un-do-dow!"), and you see Matt Traverso on the quad. Matt Traverso on the quad, not wearing black, in wholesome clothes (possibly from Old Navy?!), awkwardly shaking a can to collect change for charity. Must be for a girl.

I swore my brain was combining elements wrong, like in a dream.

I got to psych a little early, so I got to hear how the common student talks (in a non-drunken setting). See, I myself never talk much because I always thought I didn't have anything important to say. It turns out that pretty nobody has anything important to see, especially sweatpant stud in front of me, but the trick is to pretend like it is somehow very important - especially when you're talking to a girl. I dunno - there's just this whole awkward undertone throughout the whole thing, like, "I'll pretend what she says is interesting, and she'll pretend what I'm asking is interesting as well." Is that the bargain we made? I want tradesies. Meanwhile, the guy next to me was doing a hilariously inept job of teaching his friend the material. He is learned. Learn�d, even.

There on out it was work, interview, work. If you didn't know me, I'd bet you'd think I was getting to be quite the little worker monkey, but I think I secretly think job interviews are some sort of fun little game where I try to trick people into liking me in as few moves as possible. Sadly enough. I find out about The Buckle tomorrow (crap shoot!) and then I'm interviewing at World Market on Saturday. But it suddenly dawned on me that I think I actually applied at two places called "World Market" or something similar, and I'm not entirely sure which one I'm supposed to be going to. This will need to be rectified. And of course my "jobs" are total bullshit. In abpsych today, the redhead girl who has been consistently shooting me the eye ended up in a group with me, and the freckles were making me very nervous. And here's an important question: So, I see a lot of guys (dudes) driving alone in their pseudo-nice cars (like red Pontiacs and junk) listening to club music (Usher), and I wonder what they could possibly be thinking. I'm just not getting the logic behind it. I mean, it's obviously inconceivable to like those songs for their musical attributes - they exist only to provide a beat to grind your penis into a woman's rear end - but that's certainly not going to happen driving alone in your dorky ass car thomp thomp thomp... unless they actually do think it might happen. Then again, Shelly seems to have the same taste in music as a ten year old fat black girl. It seems they both had "URYbody in the Club Gettin' Tipsy" stuck in their head on the same day. Now I'm worried. My pants smell like iced tea.

I don't even remember my six hour shift at Freer. Before I went, I stopped and took advantage of my 40 cent off coupon on a box of Hostess Donettes, meaning they were now only $800 overpriced. They were also stale, but that's the sort of quality I am paying for. I read and some little kids gave me sass. That's about all I have. Immediately went to Yousaf's because I am avoiding here like the plague, and we watched Zoolander and Jackass: The Movie. Regarding the former, everyone was right about its greatness. It's the little touches that got me. I mean, OK, the sound effect from "The Bionic Man" is always great (I'm listening to it on repeat right now, in fact), but stuff like having Billy Zane (!!!) as the entirety of Zoolander's posse just makes me so happy. The weird cameos in general were awesome. And I am sad to say that despite the stern warning at both the start and conclusion of Jackass, I still want to be one of those guys when I grow up. I just like the idea of adding some much needed randomness to the world. As I rode home, carrying my box of rock-hard donuts, I seriously thought about just whipping one at the guy talking on his cell phone to see what would happen, but that would be mean. And there was a cop.