"The smart thing to do is to start trusting your intuition."

I didn't do anything today, really, except I found my purse. I wanted to go outside all day, but I couldn't think of anything to do out there, and every time I heard people outside my door my heart started to race and I couldn't leave the room. This was despite having to go to the bathroom-- I didn't want to have to walk past people, or see people.

I'm beginning to worry about my sociophobic tendencies. I mean, I thought I was supposed to be getting better with therapy... I was doing much better at the end of last semester, and I thought that was a sign that things were looking up for me. Now I sit alone in my room with the door closed for the whole goddamn day, because I don't have any friends to hang out with, because I have six people I consider my friends, of whom only two ever actively seek to spend time with me. One of those two is my roommate, and the other one knew me since kindergarten. I've managed to become a recluse when I'm living in a dorm. It's actually somewhat impressive.

I can't do the things I used to do to improve my spirits, like drawing or writing fiction, because I get too nervous when I hear people walk by and I can't focus on the subject matter. I can't get lost in my fantasy worlds like I've always needed to, in order to calm down and not have to think about real people and the constant judgment I perceive from them (yes, I know that it's just perceived and not real judgment, but I still have the emotional response to it despite my mental awareness of the truth). So instead I read online comics and browse Wikipedia entries. If I was living at home, I would at least be able to watch TV and totally block out reality for a while, but I don't even have that option here. I claim to be bored, but the truth is, there's lots of things I could be doing. Unfortunately, not one of them will alleviate the anxiety and resultant depression I feel. Most of them would make it markably worse.

I can't decide if I should give up and go back on medication or not. I know that if I report any of this to the counseling center they'll send me to talk with the psychiatrist and I'll be back on psychiatric medication. That fact depresses me as much as anything else in my life right now. I know I should take it if I need it but I don't want to need it, I've needed it for the entire time I was a teenager and I want it to be something I leave behind as I get older, something I outgrow like body glitter and waking up at 4 AM to catch a 7:30 bus.

But don't worry-- if I start to think about hurting myself in any way, I'll be at Schofield in an instant. Right now I have absolutely no desire to inflict harm on my body, so it's just a question of if my unhappiness is affecting my life enough that I need medication to function properly. I just want to be DONE with this crap.

I Am 44% Abnormal

I am at medium risk for being a psychopath. It is somewhat likely that I have no soul. I am at medium risk for having a borderline personality. It is somewhat likely that I am a chaotic mess. I am at medium risk for having a narcissistic personality. It is somewhat likely that I am in love with my own reflection. I am at high risk for having a social phobia. It is reasonably likely that I feel most comfortable in my mom's basement. I am at low risk for obsessive compulsive disorder. It is unlikely that I am addicted to hand sanitizer.

How Abnormal Are You?

"Win as if you were used to it, lose as if you enjoyed it for a change"

For a cool read, check out Slightly Drunk, a blog about the misadventures of a guy whose life seems to be most unfortunate-- but very amusing to those who don't have to live it themselves. Not entirely sure he doesn't deserve some of it, but regardless, you should check him out because it's funny, unusual, and contains few grammatical errors. I love it when bloggers know how to write.

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Deandron amuses me. He's seen me like four times since I got the crutches, and the first time I was headed down the hall towards my room. Deandron's in the lounge, so his door faces straight down the hallway, and his desk is right there-- so he heard the "tch-tch" noise as I headed down the hall and glanced over, went back to what he was doing, then did a total double take, stared at me, then waved. I waved back.

I've passed him a couple times since then and it's always just "hi," like usual, then today he stopped me in the dining hall as I hobbled around on one crutch to get some juice. "Hey," he said, "I'm not sure what the tactful way to say this is, but what's with the crutches?" I made my best effort not to laugh at him, since I knew this whole time that he was curious about the crutches but I figured he just wasn't able to stop and talk. It's kinda funny to know that he was looking for the "tactful" way to ask about them. Is tact really necessary when asking why a person is on crutches? I mean, how does one ask that in a non-tactful manner? "Whoa, what'd you do, fall on your ass on the sidewalk?" That might not be tactful. Or, "Man, you must be reeeeeally clumsy!" But honestly, coming from Deandron, that would just make me laugh.

Maybe, "Haha, you're on crutches, sucks to be you!"

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What's really annoying about the knee is that this morning? It didn't hurt. Like, a little, but not that bad. After it was such a pain (literally) since Friday, I spend less than a day on crutches and it decides to get better? As much as I'd love to attribute it to the amazing healing powers of hobbling about, it started to hurt as soon as I started putting more weight on it and less on the crutches. Thus I have decided that that particular limb called in sick despite the fact that it is perfectly okay and just wants to have a week's vacation, so it may sit back and go fishing or something without having to do silly, mundane things like dance or do yoga or bear weight. At this point the right leg has figured out this sweet deal Left Leg's come up with, and it's starting to complain about how the extra work is SO HARD and it's gonna need to call in sick soon, too, it's feeling a little poorly.

Meanwhile my arms are just demanding to know why the heck they have to work overtime just because Left Leg's on vacation.

I missed the call from the doctor today that would have told me the results of the X-ray and the anemia test that they did while I was there, and while I'm not really worried-- I think I'd feel it more if it was a break, even if it was just a fracture, and I actually haven't taken my iron pills in months so I will be stunned if the anemia magically went away-- I find it annoying that the confidentiality business means they can't even leave me a message saying "You're fine!" Instead I have to call them back tomorrow-- not today, they have annoying hours-- and meanwhile my inner hypochondriac is saying "You broke your kneecap! You dislocated something! You have bone necrosis like in your mom's hip and will need a new knee! You have... uhm... cancer! Yeah, that's it!"

That's why I strongly dislike my inner hypochondriac and try to smack him around whenever he acts up. Pesky little bugger.

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Today was my first group therapy session for the semester. The group's very different this semester-- The guy who runs it says that there's three of us who are coming from the last group, but the other two were both missing today and may or may not come next week. The group seems less likely to gradually loose members like last time, at least-- everyone seemed really into it, and willing to talk, and I'm pretty sure only one or two of us were pressured into it by psychiatrists and/or police officers (It's frustrating because I signed a confidentiality notice so I'd feel bad talking about some of the... characters I've met, even with no names or identifying features). Seriously, though, everyone seems nice, and very talkative for a group about difficulty communicating.

The problem is, once again, everyone's there because they have issues saying no, or issues talking about their feelings, or resolving conflict. I mean, I'm not the only one with issues with small talk and general sociability, but I'm one of maybe two. And while I have issues talking about serious matters so people don't get offended, seeing as I have the social sensitivity of a partially digested sock, my main problem-- just getting up the nerve to talk to people at all-- will likely not be addressed sufficiently. Plus there's the fact that once again, there are attractive guys in the group-- more than last time, even-- which means that I can't mention the fact that the only thing worse than small talk is small talk with attractive guys.

I at least brought up my inability to make eye contact or say hi with people unless they address me first, so everyone will understand why I don't greet them if they pass me on the sidewalk. I forgot to do that right away last semester and I'm pretty sure I insulted someone by not acknowledging them. This is the only place I can declare my social fallacies before they affect my social interactions and I totally intend to take full advantage of that fact...

I Am 92% Pure

I'm so innocent, it's almost like I'm not human. Taking this test is probably the naughtiest thing I've done in a while. Well, this is depressing.

How Pure Are You?

"You are a Person of Culture, Cultivate It"

It's the festival of Hecate At the Crossroads, today. You may have heard of Hecate, but if you have, it's probably as the witch-goddess because that's how disaffected Hellenistic Neopagan teenagers like to see her, so they can call her their patron goddess and dress all in black and pretend to communicate with the dead. Or maybe you've just read Shakespeare's Macbeth. But in reality, while she was goddess of witchcraft and necromancy, that wasn't the most important aspect of her.

As goddess of crossroads, Hecate was depicted as having three faces- a young woman's, a middle-aged woman's, and an old woman's. Three masks would be placed on a pole at the crossroad (a Y-intersection) so each faced a different direction. This festival honored that aspect of the goddess-- as a deity of the wilderness and untamed areas. Travelers left her food as offerings to ensure safe passage through dangerous areas-- especially women who were traveling alone.

If you go onto Hellenismos discussion boards talking about who people feel is their patron god or goddess, a lot of people claim Hecate. This amuses me because half of them haven't a clue what she's about except that the witchcraft connection will annoy their parents.

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Last night at lab I switched partners, but I swear it wasn't because the girls kicked me out. My new lab partner just joined the class and she knew me from Classical Mythology last semester. I'll mention her enough to name her, I guess... Her name will be Maritima ("Of the sea," because she's studying marine biology). Anyway, the lab thing worked out anyway, for last week-- turns out the group section of the lab wasn't that big a deal.

In other lab news, turns out I don't have to worry about lab reports for Biology. You have no idea how happy I was when I learned this. I was dancing. On the inside, because I was in Chem lab.

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Today's Bio lab took forever. I was so proud that I left yoga early enough to get there on time, with enough time to make sure I looked reasonably presentable and didn't smell (which meant five minutes early). But then I was looking at bacteria and protists for hours and I had to squeeze the wood-digesting bacteria out of a termite's butt, and the first time I didn't do it right and the second time I squeezed too hard, killed it, and still didn't do it right, so the professor had to do it for me on account of my lab partner being adverse to the squeezing of termites. The professor didn't even try to be humane, like I had been- he just disemboweled the little bug and tossed him aside, without even crushing his head so he'd die fast. And the professor didn't even do it quickly enough! Termite butt bacteria-- which, in case you're curious, are the things that make it possible for termites to digest wood-- can't survive long exposed to oxygen, and he waited too long before he put the cover slip on so the bacteria was dead anyway. I mean, we saw them, but not for very long.

Plus Maritima, who is also in Bio, was asking for a partner for this project we're doing on phyla, and I thought to myself, "I'd love to, as long as we aren't expected to work with our regular lab partners" but it came out as "Well, uhm, okay, but I have to, uhm, ch-check with my lab partner, but if she doesn't, like-- if she doesn't want to work with me, then I-- I mean, I guess..."

At that, she said, "Oh, okay, it's cool," and then another guy came up behind us and said, "Maritima, I don't have a partner for the project" (except he used her real name). So she partnered with him, on account of his actually being able to talk correctly, and then I learned that my lab partner already had a project partner and I would up having to wait around until everyone else partnered off. Luckily the girl who wound up without a partner was my lab partner last semester, so it's not a total stranger. Or a guy.

I really do talk like that, by the way. And Maritima's a girl, so it's not just guys that make me stammer. If I don't know someone, or I only know them a little, or I feel uncomfortable around them for any reason, it comes out peppered with "uhms" and half-finished sentences trailing off into new phrases. I basically have to have my words prepared ahead of time, in my head at least.

I wasn't exactly expecting Maritima to ask me to work with her right after she asked Incredibly Hot Guy (who's best friend, Flirts With TAs, is in the class so he had a partner already). I mean, like, hell of a comedown. Thus, I was hopelessly unprepared.

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Anyway, lab had plenty of awkwardness, for me, and it let out at 4:45, giving me fifteen minutes to run back to my dorm, get my personal statement for the Healthcare seminar thing, and run back to Dimond Library for the 5:00 meeting. Then I read my stupid personal statement on "Why I want to be a doctor--" you know, I had the worst trouble writing that, because I honestly haven't a clue why I want to be a doctor. But that's an issue for another day. I spouted off something about fascination with human physiology that made me sound cold and a great deal like Dr. House, and then ran back here at 5:30 to quickly change my shirt and go to dinner with Loquatia before swing class.

I was tired and under dressed-- I was still wearing workout pants and I'd just thrown on a T-shirt in my rush, and everyone else looked like they were going to class-- when I got to Swing, and emotionally, I was completely frazzled. Add in the fact that this week, the numbers of attractive guys without pre-determined dance partners (I don't know if they were single-- but they didn't have dance partners) was double last week's number and that we were learning new steps very quickly, and you have me stammering and stumbling around for an hour, watching the clock and wishing my hands weren't sweating so much.

Great.

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What is it about Wednesdays? They sucked last semester, too.

My Social Anxiety Level: 68%

"You have high social anxiety. You have a pretty serious social phobia, and it effects your life more than you may realize. It's possible that you've made yourself comfortable by avoiding situations you dread. But don't be fooled - you still probably need professional help." Yeah, well, tell me something I don't know...

Are You Socially Anxious?

"Be on the Alert For New Oppourtunities"

Today is the second day of the Paganalia. Don't forget to pray to Ceres/Demeter, goddess of harvest, and Tellus/Gaia, goddess of the earth, that the birds don't eat your seeds. Or something.

It's also a Feast of Bacchus, which means you have justification for getting drunk. Have fun.

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So there are 2,191 people with my first and last name together. My first name is the 36th most popular name, and my last name ranks #25.

There's 1,048 people named James Bond and 113 Harry Potters; 503 George Bushes and 31 Emily Dickinsons. Absolutely no one in the US today is named Hermione.

Mistake's name is really uncommon. She's one of the only people with it, though both her first and last name is common. My sister shares her name with 769 people, and Closer's one of 305. Only 49 KTMacks, though. I totally win for the most boring name.

There are seven Clark Kents and nineteen Charles Xaviers. Yes, I looked it up...

How many people share your name?

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It seems that my plans to become an RA are already helping me socially. At least, they're offering me a bit of practice. First my RA and the 2nd floor female RA (it took me WAY too long to figure out that they've set it up so there's one girl and one guy per floor) talked to me and Loquatia about it, and then tonight the 2nd floor male RA stopped by on his rounds. I was sort of impressed that he not only remembered that I was at the RA meeting, but that I seemed apprehensive about it and that I used to read poetry at the coffeehouses (he mentioned this because he thought I was an English major).

It's nice that they're so interested (though none of them are continuing as RAs so I guess it's entirely possible that I would wind up as one of their RAs, therefore making it in their best interest to get people who aren't crazy or power-hungry... little do they know), but at the same time, you can only say "I'm going to apply and hopefully things work out" so many times.

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I was translating from English to Latin as a part of a grammar exercise, and may I say, grammar exercises always have the weirdest sentences to translate. Honestly, "Incenderunt pontem in quo pugnamus"? "Agricola cui dedi pecuniam factus est socium meum?" "Sagittae delectaverunt Marcum?"* I don't know who Marcus is, but he needs to stop playing with his arrows, and I have never paid a farmer to be my friend. I have nothing against farmers. I have lots of stuff against paying people to be my friends. They charge too much.

And this Marcus, through the course of the assignment, was established to be a foot soldier, got paid, saw a girl, got a gift from the king, and was delighted by his arrows. An excellent day for him. I wish these people would remember that Caius and Cassius and Brutus are also excellent names and Marcus doesn't have to do everything, and they should stop before they have to pay him overtime.

You can tell I'm sick of translating when the grammar exercises get personalities.

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I finally got the rug vacuumed today. It looked very nice until about five seconds afterwards when I walked on it. Oh well. Nice while it lasted.

Today was better.


*"They have set fire to the bridge on which we are fighting," "The farmer to whom I gave the money became my friend," and "The arrows delighted Marcus," respectively.

"Be Magnanimous, Be Trustful, Be Hopeful and Be Patient"

Wow. Today was... awkward.

It might have been awkward because I'm moody lately, but still. It was can't-use-first-person awkward. Which is pretty damn bad.

So imagine you're me, and you wore the new yoga pants, and, of course, they're too short for you (as in, you don't step on them when you walk), which is fine when one is doing yoga but not so cool when one is let out of yoga late, because they started late, because there weren't enough mats for everyone; it's also not so cool when one is subsequently sprinting across campus in them, and wearing them through Bio lab despite having brought pants to change into because there wasn't enough time.

Then what's not cool is coming into your first Bio class five minutes late, and thus having all eyes on you, when you're still exhausted from dashing across campus and doing yoga before that and you know your hair must look terrible and you might even smell, hard to tell. And naturally the professor notes your late arrival, the same professor whose class you idiotically skipped the first day, and probably thinks you're a total flake, despite the fact that all last semester you missed like, one Bio class and then only because that professor said it was okay.

So having distinguished yourself thusly, you then proceed to notice that your lab procedure sheet is missing, which does not endear yourself to the professor any more, though he is at least good-natured about it. Then the announcement comes that the entire class is to stand up, one at a time, and say their name and hometown and major and what they want to be when they grow up. You immediately panic, because you do not want to introduce yourself as the girl who came in late and looks like hell and probably smells, and you can't decide if you should go by your real name or your nickname because you've been using the real name more, now, rather than have to explain yourself; on the other hand, there's another girl with your real name in the class. She introduces herself, and you start to see other people you recognize, including lots of kids from the previous semester's class- including the Incredibly Hot Guy, who, you note, announces that he is a classics major but he's taking Honors Bio because he wants to go into oncology, which is SO NOT HELPFUL to the whole stupid-high-school-girl-crush thing and only serves to make him more hot, and also his attractive but short and so not quite as hot friend who Flirts With TAs, and you're about ready to kill yourself because "crazy chick who totally killed herself like, right in the middle of Bio lab" is a lot cooler sounding than "flaky girl who looks like crap and probably smells." So when it's your turn you stand up really fast and don't meet any eyes and say your name, your hometown, Biology General, want to be a physician, sit down, then breathe.

Then the professor starts talking about the lab and what you're to do, and he says you're going to test your environment for bacteria, and he suggests a bunch of places to test, including your rectum, and he explains how to test for it, and you quietly think, I do believe I'd rather be embalmed alive than stick a cotton swab up my ass and let people check out the resultant e. coli, thanks. And to be honest you don't even want to touch your hands to the agar, because you know they're probably nasty from the yoga mats and sweaty and you really don't want people to get the wrong impression of you, like they haven't already.

So you volunteer to do the roach instead, which means picking up a live, squirming, giant hissing cockroach and trying to keep him under control as he hisses and flails and tries to escape the agar that you're trying to put him on, so that he can walk around, and the first one practically jumps out of your hand so you get the smaller one but it crawls up your arm, little tiny feet, a giant bug on your arm, and you don't mind bugs but you're still extremely creeped out by the whole encounter.

Plus the TAs are taking pictures of everyone and you know that your disgusting current self shall be immortalized in Polaroid, and you can't really think about anything and you really hope you don't screw up the lab too much because you don't want your lab partner to insist on a different partner next time, and you occasionally have to remind yourself that it's bad to cry in public. The only times you should ever cry in front of people are funerals and when you get delicate body parts smashed by hard, heavy things, because otherwise people assume you are insane.

You finally leave there an hour early, which is good at least, and hurry back to your dorm to change and brush your hair and grab your dance shoes, then you run over to eat really fast and rush to the library to meet with your stupid INCO group, and you're totally not prepared for it, and the directions say "1st floor study room" and you haven't a clue what that means because you don't realize that the floor you walk in on, the one at ground level, is floor #3, not #1, and you get completely turned around and arrive fifteen minutes late and flustered, again, and they're talking about what it takes to be an MD and that just depresses you, and even though it gets out early you still have only half an hour to go back to the dorm and meet with your roommate, who you're taking to Swing Club with you and who doesn't own anything but sneakers. And you're stuck wearing your 3 inch heels that make you look ridiculously tall, because you can't spin in sneakers, and you get there and everyone's wearing sneakers or at least flats and you feel like an idiot.

And while you remember a lot, you're still miles behind everyone else, and you're so stressed out about the rest of the day and life in general and the fact that you're too tall to do the cuddle step, especially with the girls who play the guys because they're so short, and you make mistakes and slip in the stupid shoes because they're so worn, and one time that you slip you're mid-dip, so the poor guy has to catch you and he thinks you did it on purpose because you didn't understand that you're supposed to support your own weight, but you knew that, because you always support your own weight even when you're not supposed to because you're really too big to be supported by anyone else. And making mistakes is really bothering you, as is the fact that everyone is really good, much better than you are, and they're all couples. Like, every single damn one of them.

So you have a really sucky day that starts with not enough sleep and ends with seeing lots of happy couples dancing together and remembering that that will NEVER be your life. Because honestly, on the off chance that you actually get a guy to like you, chances are he won't be the kind of guy who dances with you, because honestly, he'll probably like you for your brain.

I'm not depressed. If I keep saying it it might come true...

"You will be fortunate in everything you put your hands to."

Last night was the Future RA Information Meeting, as in, they gave us information and answered questions about being an RA. I went mostly because Loquatia went; I don't need the money particularly (it's not like the money that my dad's saved to cover room and board that I don't spend will go to me directly, it'll just be saved for med school later- nice, but not crucial), and I figured I was going to be too shy to be an effective RA. But my RA was talking, and he explained that he's shy too- maybe not as cripplingly as I am but certainly shy, and he did fine.

Then the RA from the fourth floor was talking about how she was really introverted, and how being an RA kinda forced her to put herself out there and learn to interact with people and be friendly. At which point I'm quite sure my ears, despite not having the necessary muscles to perform this function, pricked up.

Because honestly, I can handle the responsibility- I don't drink or use drugs anyway, so I have no moral issues with slamming the kids who do. I can follow instructions as to how to handle situations, and I can be a good listener, when I want to be. And the time commitment-- you have to be in the hall 20 hours a week, even if it's just in your room with the door open-- is also a non-issue, since I counted how much of my time was spent in the dorm this week and it was like 30 hours during the week alone, not counting the weekends. None of that is an issue for me. But with my social anxiety I figured it wasn't worth it, I'd be too nervous all the time, and I wasn't in such desperate need of the money that I'd do it for that reason. However, if I can learn from it, and learn to be more confident in social situations, and make some friends out of it... It would be worth it, most definitely.

So I intend to apply, as does Loquatia, and hopefully we'll both get to be RAs next year- maybe even in the same zone, so we could still spend time together. And if neither of us makes it, we've basically decided we want to be roommates again, rather than go into the lottery and risk getting a roommate who parties/uses drugs/goes to bed at 2 AM on weeknights/needs a TV in the room (this would be UNBELIEVABLY distracting for me, at least). The trouble will be if one of us becomes an RA and the other does not. I don't want to go with luck of the draw, because among college students, even the geeky sort you find here at Hubbard, luck of the draw tends to mean someone with habits you can't stand when you're a goody-goody like me...

Good news!

I met with the school psychiatrist today. And I told him that I very rarely remember to take my meds, which is a lie. I haven't taken them AT ALL in almost two months. But the point is, I'm fine, and stable, thanks to a combination of a) therapy, b) group therapy that focuses on the most distressing problem I have, c) my dad constantly telling me, every time I go home, how much thinner I look, d) realizing I actually look kinda pretty when I wear makeup and big hoop earrings and do something semi-decent with my hair, and e) not thinking about every guy I meet as a potential date opportunity, thus not getting disappointed when he invariably winds up having a girlfriend.

All these factors have improved my overall mood, and none of them are so hard to maintain (unless Daddy decides I'm not loosing weight after all or something) that I can't continue to pass as a normal, stable human being. And as long as that's the case, according to the doctor, I don't have to take mind-altering medication.

BASIORANA's DRUG FREE! WOOT!

Well, not quite, I mean, I still have pills to take, but everything I am currently putting into my body is a dietary supplement, all-natural food, or whatever that stuff in the cafeteria is. The all-natural stuff is rare... But still. I swore I was going to be off my meds by senior year of college- how awesome would it be if that goal was accomplished freshman year?

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Mistake has invited me to go with her and some of her friends to a frat party. Don't worry, none of the group intends to drink- I mean, it's got Mistake and Closer, and they're good people. They'll probably try to find a party that's a little less alcohol oriented. Also, the very fact that Closer will be there means it's gonna be fairly safe, since the really bad parties don't let guys in if they aren't in the frat.

I will mostly likely go and spend much of the time in the corner being nervously non-social and still feel a sense of accomplishment for getting out of the room at all. Then I will be able to say I went to a frat party during my college career, and thus one-up both my mother and my sister. Mind you, my sister's lack of frat parties in her social resume is probably more because Brandeis doesn't HAVE frats. Besides the Jewish one, which is intercollegiate. But a lack of frat houses tends to indicate a lack of frat parties.

Mummy just doesn't like parties. She's like, more shy than I am, only she doesn't particularly care enough to make an effort to change, especially not NOW.

Oh, speaking of parties, if anyone reading this knows my sister Shrewd, TELL HER TO GO TO HER SENIOR SEMI FORMAL. Because Shrewd didn't go to Prom, and this is her last chance to go to a big dance with all her friends until the weddings start. The issue is she doesn't want to go alone, and she has a friend she could go with, but she's too shy/awkward/embarrassed to ask him, despite the fact that it's not a DATE date, and it would be awkward for about FIVE SECONDS after the asking. Unless she has a friend like Mistake around who would make the entire circumstance much more awkward than it has to be, and thus provide her with emotional blackmail for the next five or six years of their friendship. (If you don't know this story, it's probably for your own good. That time period was the closest my life ever got to a soap opera, contrary to what Closer believes.)

But I digress. Tell Shrewd to get over herself and ask her buddy to escort her, because she needs a dance-like experience on her social resume and I want to have a picture more recent than senior year where she actually looks pretty, and not like a deranged chipmunk in junky old clothes like she does in EVERY FAMILY PHOTO, because she's usually laughing her head off.

Which says a lot about her personality, in that she's a cheerful sort, but also something about her chuckling, in that it needs work because laughter should not make one look like a deranged chipmunk. Not that I should talk, my laughter sounds like either a donkey, a woodpecker, or a pothead monkey. But I LOOK fine.

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Last weekend, I managed to come back from my visit home without leaving anything important. This is good. Not so good is that instead of forgetting stuff, I brought stuff with me. Specifically the key to the Contour, the car I was using to get to interviews. I discovered the key in my coat pocket. So I called and informed Mummy, and then she asked me where the spare key was. I said, "This is the spare key." "Then where's MY key, that I gave you on Saturday?"

Oops. That would be the bottom of my purse.

Thank God, there was ONE key I left behind, which ironically was the one that was actually mine, and on my key chain. So if it snows before I can get home, they can at least move the car...

Is it just me, or do I seem to be the sort who, if she ever got plastered (like that would happen), would wake up with a traffic sign she'd never seen before, and no pants?

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In other news... Basiorana needs to stop procrastinating. Like, NOW. Time for homework.