This Week in Photo Form

There are no words...

Cover your eyes, Oskar.

Men are idiots. The only thing they're good for is their ridiculously mobile gametes.

That is all.

"Oh, goody!"

(The words of my Jewish-electrical-engineer friend upon finding that his investment books had arrived. This is Cornell.)

Between my random "thinkings" and bitchy rants, I keep forget to mention that I got a haircut. It's really... short. And easy! Like a midget hooker. It makes me look like a dude, but at this point, I'm beyond caring. I have no one here to impress, the only person that I might even have to look slightly attractive for doesn't care how I look and (probably) won't see me until summer. I'll put pictures up once my face stops looking like shit.

Listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers makes me feel like being a dude. Skateboarding and pulling pranks and wearing awesome... hats. Ok, maybe not a dude, just Ashton Kutcher... *thinks about it*... ewwwwwwww.... anyway.

Good Story (that I feel compelled to share with everyone everywhere): All of today I had this strange feeling in my mouth, kind of like there was a popcorn kernel caught in my throat. So finally (after a bit of blind prodding) I got out a mirror and a flashlight and took a gander. To the left of my uvula there was this terrible white... bit of... something. And it scared the holy living piss-shit out of me. At first I thought it was some kind of defective tooth cell that had migrated to my throat and decided to construct a molar there. But then I thought, "No way. That's impossible... it must be cancer!" So I run to the local... medical center... doctor place on campus in tears thinking surely there's a huge tumor in my defective pancreas that's malignant and is sending baby tumors throughout my body. When I got there, the nurse gets out her flashlight, sticks a badass really long Q-tip down my throat and pulls it out. Because it was food. In my throat. Imagine that.

Yessssssss. *fist pump*

A PMS Rant

I am tired of people.

I'm tired of them coming to my door and purposefully knocking until they wake me up and then coming in my room and expecting me to entertain them for an hour. It's not my job to entertain you! It's not even mandatory that I answer the door when someone knocks. It is my choice... nay! my right to hide in my room being anti-social and playing the Sims and living off of pretzel rods all day long.

End.

Figaligaliciousness.

I just ate an entire box of Fig Newtons by myself. It inspired me to create a new word (see title). Damn them newtons be good.

Rush Week is currently going on. To "rush" is to survey all the fraternities/sororities whilst their members try to persuade your soul into their hands with the use of free food, alcohol, niceness, etc. As a result of this event, there is always this dull cheering going on outside my door. And it's not just one of those "Hurrah!" cheers. It goes on for like 10 minutes. TEN!!! I don't even know what they're cheering for. It makes me feel lonely. And sane.

It's good to be back at Cornell... doing things... talking to people that aren't old. You don't realize how much you miss a place until you actually go back.

That's all I've got (for now). I'm going to unpack my stuff and try to stop being a lazy piece of shit.

A Resolution

I am going to start being nicer to people that I hate.

(...and then when the time is right, stab them in the back with an ice pick! Metaphorically, of course.)

General Thinkings and Thoughts and the Like

(Proceed at thy own risk.)

I think I need to start wearing a catchy article of clothing that defines me as a person. That way, I can lose all form of identity and individuality to it. And when I walk down the street I will no longer be a random pawn in the game of life, but rather "that girl who always wears the headbands/mittens/scarf/toga/crotch-less panties." Yes. Awesome.

I don't really want to do anything with my life right now. Just sit around and be melancholy, like that depressed donkey in the Hundred Acre Woods who everyone forgets about. You know, the one that is probably lying in a ditch somewhere right now, coated in maggots and with no signs of ever being found. Ever. The only thing that I might perhaps have an inkling of inclination for would be to talk to Oskar. But I can't just hang out with one person for the rest of my life. You think about those crazy siamese twins that you see in the Guiness Book of World Records and you wonder how much they hated each other by the time they died. I suppose we could set up a travelling comedy act together. Or make some babies and mold ourselves into a band. Or write and direct and star in our own family sitcom.

None of this makes sense. I want some pita bread.

Bad Omens

I just found two ants in my room. One was dead and one was alive... until I killed it. I usually don't like to kill innocent living things, but ants freak me out with their quick jaunty ways and their tireless laboring *shudder*.

And my legs have started to itch again.

Death is near... *sniffs the air*... I can feel it.