So to get my latest update, you all have to do some work. Go to The Time Killer. Read about how cool I am. Then go the The Time Killers Evil Twin, and there's my latest update.
Someone else actually thought that something I wrote is worth posting.

However, I am left to ponder certain things. I'm on Boredguy's Top 5 list of people he likes but doesn't know. So why does he not comment on my blog? HINT HINT HINT. Is he hot? Is he easy? Naked pics?

I have to know.

There's one truth that every college student recognizes.
There is not one college student in the world who would disagree if I said "registering late for classes sucks a big fat nut".
The problem with registering late is that every class that's not designed for first years, idiots, or fucking geniuses winds up full.
Leaving people like me with options like 400 level philosophy classes, or highschool level music classes.
My class schedule is laughable, and I don't even have a Chris to see on campus.
Could my schedule be that bad, you ask?
Judge for yourself:
MWF 11:30-12:45: Modern and Contemporary Theatre
T TH 8:30-10:20: African American Music
T TH 2:30-4:20: Writers, Thinkers, Believers

Take heed, kiddies. Never ever register late.

Where there is trouble, The Tweeker Chick is not far behind.
Heard about the Grey album by DJ Danger Mouse remixing Jay-Z's Black Album and the Beatles White Album? Want to get your hands on it? Can't seem to get your hands on one of the 3,000 copies in circulation and can't buy it cause whoever wants them destroyed?
Well, damn the man.
Download the whole fucking thing today, and post it in your sites yo. Today is the day that sites are posting the album for 24 hours in protest of EMI's decision to try to censor the album.
So enjoy the free music, folksies.
And in the spirit of this blog, I gotta say:


Damn the man. Save the empire!

There are certain things that simply come from being female. Pink nail polish, stiletto heels, purses the size of standard luggage and ridiculous dress sizes are a few of these. Not many men attempt to squeeze themselves into pants three sizes too small, and vow to eat nothing but grapefruit and Slimfast until they fit. Men don't have fat clothes, menstrual cramps and closets full of clothes that don't fit. They don't have six pairs of the same shoes to choose from.

And they sure as fuck don't have Lifetime Televison.

Lifetime television is a network run solely off of estrogen and PMS medication. The movies feature strong women doing strong womanly things and parents doing parental things. Everyday at work I am subjected to a good 5 1/2 hours of Lifetime Programming. Today's movie was called "She's Too Young" and featured some cute little girl in Higschool. To try to fit in she went out with the most popular boy in school, blew him, and wound up with a bitchin case of syphilis. Apparently, he gave it to most of the school.
Other movies touch on eating disorders, alcoholism, drug addiction, lesbianism and teen pregnancy.
After watching this programming, I'm beginning to think that the Lifetime people are on to something. After the syphilis movie, I may never do anything with anyone ever again, and I sure as fuck don't want kids.
What I do know is that every single one of their movies ends the same. The strong woman doing strong things always pulls through. I'm sure there's a message here somewhere, unfortunately, the only thing this network has convinced me is that I have an eating disorder, I'm not a lesbian, that most men are either pussies or abusive assholes, that if I drink again I will wind up raped and pregnant and every time I get the sniffles I'm going to run to Planned Parenthood because they have convinced me every physical ailment under the sun is an STD.
I'm going to try to introduce SpikeTV to the kids at work tomorrow, because I can no longer handle the estrogen fest.
Way to go Lifetime TV! You have sucked all the fun out of my life.

I know it's been awhile. Sorry.

I've never been one of those girls to weigh myself and freak out, but things change and scales move. This morning, I hopped out of bed in my duck P.J.s and stumbled to the bathroom. Out of the corner of my fuzzy eye, I saw the scale, looming mysteriously in the corner of the room. What could it hurt? I hit the little button with my toe and hopped on. And I was 30.5 pounds heavier than I usually am. I pulled my tanktop off over my head and tossed it onto the floor, hoping that my duck P.J.s weighed 30.5 pounds. 30.3. I stepped off, threw off my pants, undies, and socks, and was settled to an even 30. There I was.
Naked and 30 pounds fatter than I used to be. This relevation definitely explains why my pants don't fit. I searched through my pill bottles, and came across a little bitty one marked "Prednisone". That explains everything. And since I'm on it for my breathing, it looks like this is only going to get worse. In a year or so, I'll look like Shamu on the scale, peeling off clothing and panicking. There will be no more eating at work, or at home, or in the car, or anywhere. I've never been wispy, but good god, I feel like a cow!
I'm currently in the process of cutting out pictures of scantily clad famous women to paste all over my apartment, in a reminder of how I can never look no matter how many calories I cut. I'm hoping that by looking at all these women (who seemingly effortlessly stay about as fat as a swizzle stick) on my fridge will keep me from bingeing when I'm on my meds.
We shall try this again in a month from today..and if you see a naked fat girl running into the street screaming, you've found my apartment, and you know how things turned out.

I'm back!
There were some massive technical issues, which resulted in my calling the phone company...To have them dispatch who else but my ex boyfriend to fix my phone line.
God thinks I'm funnier than hell. Moving on.

All over my town are signs for my college. They have beautiful pictures of the building, or a class being held by the slough (which looks much less smelly than it is in a picture) and have one word on them. Like "Class." and "Sophistication."
I want to make my own billboards.
The first will span over a huge group of people in a dimly lit room, holding beer bottles and bongs and simply say "Trashed."
Another one will show a girl slinging fries in a place where you order food out of a clowns head, and the caption will be "Graduated."
One will show a guy sitting in a room, in front of a Bob Marley poster, philosophy books in his lap...captioned "Stoned."
Maybe a freshman girl, decked out to party, hair done wearing a tiny little shit with the caption "Easy."

Hehehe! I'm baaaaaack!