Water Works.

After fussing over my gender roles final for 60 solid, consecutive hours, the time finally came to take the test. I had attended no more than 50% of the lectures, and missed at least four discussion sections. My chances looked grim. Alas, I hustled to my exam and actually dominated it. I’m feeling good about that one. However, I have not studied a single syllable of either of my next two finals. Uh oh.

Tomorrow’s final is Communication in Everyday Life, with my secret crush Steve Duck. I love that professor and the class. He’s a squat little British man with a dry sense of humor and two watches. That test won’t be bad. However, Friday’s Core Concepts Test….go ahead and send me to Kirkwood.

It’s gonna be bad.

BUT LOOKING FORWARD! Summer is so close I can smell its salty sweat. One of the things I’m looking forward to most about the dog days is becoming darker than any Indian anyone has ever seen. Today when I stepped outside of my apartment, my flesh actually reflected the sun and blinded me temporarily. It’s bad. I’m whiter than a gallon of 2%. Grab me the SPF 5,000.

“Glitter” on Tila Tequila is insane. Psychotic behavior and spastic crying fits put aside, any human being that thinks decorating your eyelids with metallic sequins like it’s a dance team uniform is acceptable is off the reservation. But about her catastrophic emotional and mental breakdowns over things as simple as a tossed egg or a rude comment? Pop a Xanax and take a walk, psycho. Shit.

You know that arch-like fountain downtown across from Brother’s, near the playground in the ped mall? Well, for one, it’s back in running order. But that’s not what this is about. Today on my way to my test, there was a grossly overweight female in a white t-shirt literally bathing in it. It was apalling. Her wet, transparent shirt was clinging to her XL muffin tops like a four year old on its mother while crossing the street. What would make someone think that was socially acceptable? Does this look like Spring Break Cancun to you, Chubs? Even if it were, I think one of the criteria for participating in a wet t-shirt contest is that you have to be under 115 pounds, and not just in your bra. Go back to Sea World, wet n’ wild.

I’m really not looking forward to packing on Friday. I have to bring all my clothes and related articles back to Council Bluffs con mi por la verdana. Packing makes me freak out. Almost as bad as Glitter. Somebody help me. BUT, after I’m finished folding, tucking, taping, and cramming, I will be destroying myself with drugs and alcohol in celebration of the end of my sophomore year. Forget a public intox–I’m going straight to prison. Peace out.

“You should die.”
“You should di-ET!”