out for the count

2003-05-21T15:48:00.000-04:00

I should really never mention anything from my dreams again.

Have I ever told you about how much I love David Letterman? No? Ahh. Well, then...let me just say that Letterman is the most adorable, lovable, hilarious, double-breasted-suit-wearing man I've ever seen. I try to catch his show at least once or twice a week, and it never disappoints me.

I'm not even ashamed to admit that my first sexual dream was about Dave. And if that man can perform in real life anything approaching the studly caliber he was at in my dream, then he must make some lady very happy. I'm sure you could've lived without knowing that, but deal.

2003-05-16T19:37:00.000-04:00

Don't fuck with my toothbrush.

Steve bought a $60 bottle of tequila and two cases of Sol last night. A good time was had by all, except when Mike picked on my Sonicare (which we all know is near and dear to my heart). "You have a mechanical toothbrush [hysterical laughter]. What the fuck, an electrical [interupted by more hysterical laughter] toothbrush!" We drank like it was our job. And I'd like to add, just in case anyone is keeping score, that I can hold my alcohol like a little fucking champion. Must be that Irish blood.

My only complaints are that my lungs are cashed and I have a raging case of the day-after-drunk stupids. In lab I was a clumsy fool; I kept knocking everything over. Even worse, I kept adding the wrong chemicals to the right reactions. I'm suprised they even let me in the lab, much less actually touch things.

Alright, nap time...

2003-05-11T22:16:00.000-04:00

We're young, free, healthy, wealthy and wise.

I totally just watched Beverly Hills 90210: The Reunion. And I'm not ashamed to say that I enjoyed it. Well, save for the last two minutes when they played the sentimental montage with Will You Remember Me blasting in the background. Touching, really. Bah.

Don't be suprised if I bust out with some scrunchees and lime green leggings tomorrow. I'm money like that.

2003-05-05T20:47:00.000-04:00

Last night, I had the most absolutely horrifying nightmare ever - about comic book characters. I've never experienced a feeling of relief that can compare to one that washed over me when I woke up and realized it was only a dream. And get this...I was afraid to get out of bed to go pee. I just couldn't shake the thought of the Green Goblin reaching up from the toilet to grab me by my ass and pull me in. Serioulsy. You'd never believe what a scary fucker he is. Alright. Fine. Maybe I'm just a pussy.

I shouldn't have watched that interview with Stan Lee.

2003-04-28T18:58:00.000-04:00

Sent with love, from Edinbourgh

I love the post-doc in my lab because whenever I'm having a bad day, she says stuff like "Aye, someone should tell Jessie to pull her knickers up; I can see her bumcrack," and "A wee bit less arse would be peerfict." And when I'm just about to rip my hair out from sheer frustration, she chirps in "Feck this shite, let's go get a pint," at 12pm on a Monday afternoon.

Nevermind the fact that I can't understand her half the time...the half that I do get is worth all the collective perfect American English in the whole of Shands. She's totally full of wisdom.

2003-04-22T13:39:00.000-04:00

Misinformed by the Misinformer

Yesterday, some fuckwit told me that President Bush had been shot by a fanatical protester. So I rush home, thinking that the very state of Republican politics is in jeopardy and wondering why I hadn't heard about it earlier. I turn on the TV, expecting that our regularly scheduled programming would be interupted by footage of Bush's brain being blown out the back of his head (which you know they'd have AND play repeatedly on national television). After no sign of reports regarding Bush, I got sidetracked wondering why stations would show live coverage of his torturous, mind-numbing speeches wherein he stands there looking like an inbred, confused puppy dog and yet won't keep us in the know regarding the gory details of his assassination...

Then I realized that I'm obviously the fuckwit in this scenario for believing such a fuckwit in the first place. Thank you, Captain MENSA.

2003-04-20T17:54:00.000-04:00

Maybe it's God discuised as Micheal Jordan.

Last night, I had a dream that Micheal Jordan was my tennis coach. Now, I could name about twenty things that are terribly wrong with this picture, but just bare with me. So, MJ was my tennis coach and one of my best friends. He was also very close with my chemistry professor, who I happened to be dating. Yes, we were one big happy family. Me, MJ, and Dr. Martin. There was this tournament coming up and I was trying to get in shape for it - practicing and working out and what not. But everytime I started to practice, someone from the chemistry department would interupt to tell me that I needed to get a work permit to work in the lab the next day. It turns out that ol' Dr. Martin kept sending people over there to check on Mr. Jordan and me because he suspected we were having an affair. That totally wasn't the case, but you can see how that would put a strain on a budding athlete's relationship with her coach. So the tournament came and I lost. MJ cried and blamed himself and promised me that he wouldn't return to basketball until I had become the "best damn tennis player in the world."

I woke up after that to the phone ringing and told my boy Steve that I couldn't talk because Micheal Jordan was waiting on the courts for me. Seeing as how I have no recollction of that, I'm gonna go ahead and assume I was still asleep.

What have we learned from all this? Regardless of all the speculative hoopla and joking pertaining to Micheal Jordan's "last" NBA game, he will, in fact, definitely not be returning to the NBA because it will take 30 lifetimes to turn me into a tennis champion.

2003-04-14T01:39:00.000-04:00

Blondie says "Touch me and draw back a nub."

I took my dog to the vet yesterday morning where she was inspected, detected, and injected. Two nice young ladies drew some blood, gave her shots, clipped her nails, and checked her ears. She's totally pissed and still pouting. I can't even coax her towards me with those bacon flavored treats, so this is serious. I think she's making plans to run away. She'll be talking to the cat one second and then I'll walk over and they hush to whispers. Uh huh. Fucking animal conspiracy. Lucky for me, a blind dog can't get far without her seeing-eye person.

2003-04-12T17:56:00.000-04:00

I forgot to mention...

A couple of months ago when Susana and I were searching for a house, we found this perfect little place. It was adorable, from the outside at least; we never got to look around inside it. When the realitor knocked on the door, who else was standing in the living room but Mr. I'm-too-sexy-for-my-shirt-so-I-should-take-it-off-for-Lindsey-and-make-babies-with-her, himself. My urge to jump on top of him was counter-acted by the disappointment I felt for not being able to rent the house (they had decided to resign their lease).

He looked like he was up to something very suspicious.

2003-04-12T17:52:00.000-04:00

Sometime last winter, I met this guy at the Grogg House that looks exactly like Johnny Depp. We talked for an hour or two and he asked for my phone number. Now, this might not mean much to most of you, but only because you're all blind and don't realize that Mr. Depp is one of the two sexiest men alive (Matthew McConaughey being the other). So, anyways...yesterday when I was walking from Shands back to the south side of campus, I ran into said twin. He stopped me and asked if I remembered him and told me he still had my phone number tacked up on his bulliten board.
I couldn't remember his name and I didn't bother asking.
But man, the things I could do to that boy...

2003-04-10T14:43:00.000-04:00

Never is a promise and you can't afford to lie.

I'm nervous that Stephen's moving back home. I know that, eventually, I'll run into his sarcastic ass and I don't wanna see him. The only results of any interaction between the two of us are bad noise and misunderstanding. Not too hard to believe considering this is the same person that once bitched at me for sending him a birthday present. Freak.

All the same, I still don't think I'd mind being called Mrs. R. (You know what I'm talking about, Susi.)

Ewwww.

2003-04-08T01:17:00.000-04:00

Have you met the twins?

On Friday, after a long talk over three or four pitchers, Trista decided that it was time to pack up the serious discussion and spend some time naming her breasts. So after an hour of asking everyone in the bar for suggestions, she finally settled upon her first idea: Mary Kate and Ashley. So, yes. I drank too much and Trista bastardized the names of two innocent little girls. Good times.

2003-04-08T01:15:00.000-04:00

What did Willy J. have to say?

Well, now. That's none of your god-damn business. No, really...it was a pleasure seeing him and in spite of all the sardonic comments I make at his expense, I admire him as a leader and a diplomat (even if his values are a bit skewed in the direction of his penis). His lecture was on how to work towards peace and good relations with the countries in Southeast Asia and in the Middle East.

That's enough. Maybe I'll write more about it later.

2003-04-03T13:50:00.000-05:00

This Month's Centerfold: ex-President William Clinton

Today, at 3pm, I'm going to watch Bill Clinton speak. Bill Clinton, yo. I'm quite excited. Shut up, you would be too.

Clinton's Profile:

Famous first: 1st elected president to be impeached
Reason he's so smart today: didn't inhale
Favorite activity: slow head received from under his desk
Key to success: boxer-briefs (they provide more support)
Turn-ons: berets, full lips, saving trees, and talking about peace
Turn-offs: Republicans

It totally goes without saying that he was the best president ever. Who else left their "legacy" while thoroughly entertaining America every step of the way? Nevermind. The point is that Willy is a swell guy and you are very jealous that you aren't going to watch his lecture.

2003-04-02T17:51:00.000-05:00

We're in good hands...

"I've got 30 cannons, and I'm shooting them all. I never shot so much in my life. I need some more bullets."

- LT. COL. BILL BENNETT, commander of the 101st Division's artillery unit, 60 miles from Baghdad

2003-03-26T16:10:00.000-05:00

My grandmother smoked cigarettes for 60 years. By the time she was 80, the sound of her breathing had become a low whistle, a rhythmic wheeze as she forced air through her lungs, accompanied by the occasional hacking of a seasoned smoker. Lately, my air conditioner has been coughing and wheezing like my grandmother used to. I don't know how to make it stop.

You think maybe this is a divine sign from beyond that my grandmother is trying to communicate with me? Just a thought.

2003-03-25T23:37:00.000-05:00

Shut up and make me a turkey pot pie, bitch...

I was peacefully napping earlier this evening, dreaming of teddy bears and rainbows, when the phone woke me up. When I picked up, my darling mother was singing into the other end. Sweet, sweet tunes. "Lindsey, you need to get off your ass." (Do wop do wa.) "You have to start working harder." (La, la, la, la.) "I don't understand what you're doing with all your time." (And the colored girls went "doo da do doo doo da do doo.") I'm baffled. Two jobs, 15 credit hours, double major, volunteer work, 3.75. I mean, really, I'm not a fucking kung fu ninja. There are only 24 hours in a day. If she really knew what was best for me, she'd tell me to stay up late, forget to eat breakfast, not wash behind my ears or in my belly button, get liquored up every night, have casual sex with every attractive stranger I meet, and skip my classes and shifts like a champion. Yes. And then, she'd send me a check for a million dollars. I bet your mothers do all that stuff.

2003-03-24T00:22:00.000-05:00

What I learned this weekend:

Any mention of "slow head" instantly commands the attention of every male within a 100 ft radius.
Hands down, the best euphemism for vagina is "nana."
Leo doesn't like cops and Tom is much too high strung.
There are a plethora of Susana's brother look a-likes in the greater Gainesville area.
There is such a thing as too little pubic hair.
Susana + Lindsey + alcoholic beverages = boisterous conversation involving anything sex related.

2003-03-21T23:40:00.000-05:00

Giving New Meaning to the Age of Reality Television

Does anyone else find it a bit disturbing that with the simple press of a button, you can be watching a war on live television? I realize that there's not any actual graphic footage, but the whole concept just seems macabre. Just knowing that with each little spark of light and its accompanying kaboom, limbs are being ripped off bodies and spewed into the air. Flesh is being melted off faces. Women and children are being covered with the red of their own blood. I don't know. It's just not right.
I have a pitch to make to Fox. I like to call it "Murdered by America." Representatives from different Iraqi towns would come and complete for their lives. The talent is optional: dancing, singing, juggling. If their talent is scratching their ass while they piss on the audience, hey, fine. Just so long as they prove how much they love America. At the end of the show, simply call in or text message your votes. Viola, the town of the representative that appreciates America the least gets it. Just think of the ratings it'd get. We could make another couple million merchendising. And what's more democratic then having American citizens decide the path of war? Life is good.

2003-02-09T18:38:00.000-05:00

I bet my weekend was better than yours was. Nana nana boo boo.

2003-02-09T18:37:00.000-05:00

Trista is a visionary, also

"Men are lesser beings. And the only ones who aren't have overcome tremendous social and genetic barriers to transcend their ineptitude."

Seconds after this statement, she gasps and looks up with an expression of pure understanding and clarity. Then she throws her arms into the air and exclaims "I've had an epiphany!" Hahahaha. I'm not sure how I feel about the opinion itself, but the whole episode was damn funny. Especially the subsequent harangue about how penises have ruined her life. Alright, alright...that's a slight exageration. But there was definitely a fifteen minute man-hating rant.

What's up with my recent quoting fixation?

Also, is it "definitely" or "definitly"? "Definitely" definitely looks better.

2003-02-08T10:46:00.000-05:00

Forecasting the future

Richard Russell's hot-collared vision of America's structural economic problem and deepening recession:

Joe Smith started the day early, having set his alarm clock (made in Japan) for 6 AM. While his coffeepot (made in China) was perking, he shaved with his electric razor (made in Hong Kong). He put on a dress shirt (made in Sri Lanka), designer jeans (made in Singapore) and tennis shoes (made in Korea). After cooking his breakfast in his new electric skillet (made in India) he sat down with his calculator (made in Mexico) to see how much he could spend today.
After setting his watch (made in Taiwan) to the radio (made in India) he got in his car (made in Germany) and continued his search for a well-paying American job. At the end of yet another discouraging and fruitless day, Joe decided to relax for a while. He put on his sandals (made in Brazil), poured himself a glass of wine (made in France), turned on his TV (made in Indonesia), and wondered why he couldn't find a well-paying job in...AMERICA.

Subtle message, eh?

2003-02-08T10:45:00.000-05:00

We'll call it Lindsey-is-the-coolest-chick-in-the-world-who-sometimes-wakes-up-early Day and celebrate it by doing a little dance at 9:30am sharp on the 8th of February every year.

I know most of you won't believe me, but I was up at 9:30 on this fine Saturday morning. Mark this day on your calendars, folks. It'll probably never happen again.

I have an eye doctor appointment at 11:45. New glasses. You can barely contain your excitement.

2003-02-07T13:11:00.000-05:00

Can killer whales do triple back flips?

Ordinarily, I'd be particularly sulky that my roommate's at Sea World in Orlando right now, probably feeding dolphins or watching Shamu do triple backflips, while I'm stuck on campus making fucking power point slides. My only comfort is that fact that right now in Orlando it's rainy, windy, and cold. Ha. Take that, you marine-lovin'-non-power-point-slide-makin' bastards.

Um, wow. Does that make me a bad person?

2003-02-06T19:07:00.000-05:00

A whole lotta truth is said in jest

Trista, jokingly: Maybe I shouldn't let him wear that. I don't want any dumb ho's hitting on my boyfriend.
Lindsey, true to her sarcastic persona: She would definitely have to be a dumb ho to hit on your boyfriend.
Trista, slightly offended: Are you calling me a dumb ho?
Lindsey, saving her ass: No. Not at all. What I meant was that she'd have to be dumb because she'd know that you'd fuck her up if she made a move on your boyfriend.
Trista, very matter-of-fact: Psh. No, I wouldn't fuck her up. I'd dump Steve and then I'd shake her hand for giving me an excuse to do so.

Man. Can I call 'em or what.

2003-02-05T15:39:00.000-05:00

It ain't easy bein' cheesy

On Monday, yours truly must stage a 20 minute presentation on a very exciting disorder we call lactase deficiency. Very interesting material. Riight. A Power Point slide must be made (Which by the way, I have no idea how to do. Someone give me a fucking clue!) to accompany this presentation. So yes, I have to spend twenty minutes bullshitting about how some people can't digest dairy products and the implications of this. Implications of being lactose intolerant? Wha?

If you experience bloating, flatuence, abdominal pain, foul smelling stools, or osmotic diarrhea when you eat dairy products, particularly cheese or milk: contact me today. I have answers!

2003-01-31T12:58:00.000-05:00

Colin is a graduate student that's sometimes in the lab with me. Wears his black hair long; has awkward manners, a loose Irish accent, and an eccentric aloofness that is somehow charming. He isn't much of a talker, but I find him intriguing so whenever he's around I try to make conversation. Usually, he'll only respond with one word answers. But, he has told me twice that he enjoys cheese. One time, he declared loudly "I've been to Thailand." On another occasion, he told me I had pretty feet. Mind you, these were all random, single statements with no elaboration offered.
So today, I'm sitting in the lab doing what I do and Colin opens the door and says "Procrastination is like masturbation. It feels good, but in the end, you're only fucking yourself." Then he walks away nonchalantly as if he hadn't said anything at all. Yep, our friendship is growing in leaps and bounds.

He pronounces "yourself" as "erself."

2003-01-28T01:15:00.000-05:00

It's not you; it's me.

Here are some pictures of my learning experience last Thursday. Is it any indication that I don't remember taking pictures?

One more of me hugging some random guy. Don't ask, 'cause I don't know. But I do know that it's hella convenient to have him lined up with the graffiti on the wall behind him. Makes my job much easier.

2003-01-26T19:41:00.000-05:00

Never been so happy for a weekend to come to an end

Three light bulbs have blown out since Friday and I'm out of replacements. It's getting dark in here.
The stupid kitten (which doesn't even belong to me, mind you) shit on the floor twice. And guess who got to clean it up?
Trista and Jen left a mountainful of dishes in the sink, which I refuse to clean up and now the kitchen smells like an asscrack.
I'll never drink again. Never. Ever. I know I've said that more times than you could count on your fingers and toes. But maybe this time I mean it.
I spent all day in bed Friday curled up in the fetal postion praying for death while my dog begged me to get up and take her out to pee.
I studied for four hours last night while nursing my beer-ravaged stomach back to health. Four hours of homework on a Saturday night? That's obscene.
And I had to work all day today.

So, fuck off, Weekend. You sucked.

2003-01-26T19:28:00.000-05:00

Phone call received at 3:41 yesterday morning:

Lindsey, groggy and confused: Hello?
Susi, yelling excitedly in the phone: Lindsey, I've gone crossed-eyed!
Lindsey, starting to get concerned: What? What do you mean? Are you alright? Where are you? What are you doing?
Susi, obviously drunk: I don't know. I don't know what I've been doing all night. All I know is that when I was at the DJ booth, I stuck my hand in someone's spooge. And then Reese blew snot on my face. And then I gave Reese head in front of the O'Connell Center.
Lindsey, laughing in surprise and somewhat disgusted: Um. Well. Yeah. Ewww. I don't think I needed to know that at 4 o'clock in the morning. In fact, I could've gone the rest of my life without knowing that. But thank you.
Susi, slurring her words more than ever and quite proud of herself: You'elcome!

She's such an angel when she's sleeping.

2003-01-25T17:25:00.000-05:00

Is there any way to get rid of the shakes?

Susana went out drinking with me and miraculously, she still wants to be my friend. I'm keeping her forever.

I'm on day #2 of the most excruciating hangover I've ever experienced. Is this some kind of karmic retribution or does god hate me?

2003-01-23T18:19:00.000-05:00

Ghetto superstar

Those of you who know me well and/or see me often enough know that nine times out of ten, I have my hair put up with either a pencil or a pen. This characteristic habbit usually only attracts the odd comment every once in a while, but the past two weeks I've had two or three people a day ask me about it. So here are answers to the most frequently asked questions regarding the sacred art of putting-hair-up-with-pencil. Pay attention, the following information may save your life someday.

Q. Whoa! You're so cool! How in the hibbity-dibbity do you hold your hair up like that?
A. Sorry to disappoint you folks, but the laws of phyics don't cease to exist on my head and I'm not magic. If you have hair that is at least an inch or two past your shoulders, then you too can partake in being a bum that never has a pony-tail holder. All you do is twist your hair up and stick a pen through it. Just that simple.

Q. Doesn't that hurt your head?
A. Uh, no, Einstein. If it hurt, I wouldn't do it.

Q. Will you put up my hair like that?
A. Honestly, I don't know how to. I can do it only to my own hair. But I would be willing to give you a quick demonstation to show you how I do it.

Q. Do you ever write on your head?
A. Let me see... How can I put this the nicest way possible? No. Have you been huffing glue or something?

Q. Did you mean to match the pen with your clothes?
A. No, man. Think about it for a second. Black pens are common. So are black shirts. You do the math.

Q. Why don't you buy some of those "hairsticks?"
A. Why don't I buy some pony-tair holders, for that matter? I'd just loose them anyways.

Q. Why would you sit there and watch me search for my pencil the last ten minutes when you knew you had it in your hair the whole time?
A. My bad, I forgot. I swear.

May you rest easy tonight armed with this most valuable knowlegde.

2003-01-22T19:40:00.000-05:00

Something's gotta give

There's only one word to describe the way I've been feeling lately. It starts with a "d" and ends with an "issatisfied." Consumed by curiosity? Sure you are. Continue reading to explore the shitheap that is my life...

-My sister now lives 1,500 miles away. As if 600 wasn't bad enough.
-I haven't spent any real time with my best friend in months. Boyfriends gobble up time like King's langoliers.
-I'm poor. Raman noodles and macaroni and cheese are the staples of my diet. If I don't get the rest of my financial aid dispursement soon, I'll be wiping my ass with leaves and washing my hair with the remnants of cheap hand lotion from the hotel I stayed in last spring break.
-I have no idea what to do with my life. My major changes more than JLo's lovelife. Engineering to photography to anthropology. Maybe if I stop obsessing about it, it will just hit me...like lightening. Shyeah. The chances of that happening are probably the same as actually getting stuck by lightening.
-School sucks, except for ANT4930 (yay molecular genetics of diseases!) and the professor that runs the anthropology lab I work in. An incredibly interesting man. I could go on for hours, but let me summerize by saying that I wouldn't mind marrying him and having his children.
-Some heartless fucker stole my wallet and I now have no Social Security card, insurance card, or licsense. This may sound trivial, but you can't do anything without identification. And I can't go to the eye doctor to get a a pair of glasses.
-I haven't had sex in six months. Two words, my friends: sexual frustration. No one deserves this kind of torture.
-I hate the town I live in. You ever sit around and think to yourself "I could really use another 10,000 more pompous frat boys and 40,000 more carbon-copied college kids and 60,000 more freaky rednecks in my life." Yeah, me neither.

What have we learned today, kids? Lindsey is scatterbrained, bored, and most of all, spoiled. Regardless of many wonderful graces in her life, she's so rotten that she can only concern herself with coitus (that was just for you, Ryan) and eyeglasses.

I'm done. Thank you and have a nice day.

2003-01-21T18:03:00.000-05:00

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

The other morning, I was standing over my sink brushing my teeth when Trista swaggered up to my bathroom door like a cowboy who hadn't gotten off his horse for three weeks. When I asked her what the hell she was doing, she exclaimed "Lindsey, I shit my pants!" Groggy and more than a little confused, I continued brushing my teeth as she waddled up to her room trying her best not to let her pants rub against her underwear. Ten minutes later, as I was enjoying the sweet, sweet taste of my Cocoa Pebbles (Yes, I brush my teeth before AND after I eat breakfast. My O.C.D. is another whole story.), she sat down to explain what happened:

"Well, you see...I was in Bed, Bath, and Beyond and I didn't want to use the bathroom there. So, I decided I'd try to wait. But they have so many sheets to choose from and it took longer than I thought it would. I started running around frantically looking for the bathroom and finally ran into someone who worked there. I asked him where the bathroom was, but by that time it was too late. You see, the problem was that it was a soft stool..."

The rest of her story was drowned out by my thunderous, uncontrollable laughter. My attempts at being mature and sympathetic had crumbled at the mere mention of "soft stool." Yeah, alright...my penchant for potty humor may not be very sophisticated, but I get the last laugh while you rigid kooks are sitting there with disgusted grimaces on your faces.

All that aside, what in shit's sake was she doing looking for bed sheets at 9:30 in the morning?

2003-01-20T02:25:00.000-05:00

Wanna look super-stylish and more than quadruple your chances of getting laid?

Then buy and wear a t-shirt that says: F.B.I. Female Body Inspector.

Very clever. No, really, I mean it. It's like an non-invasive branding...a nametag, if you will. Except for instead of your name, it reads "Dumbass." In wearing that shirt, you'd substantiate the fact that you're a complete fucktard and save people the trouble of talking to you. It's genius.

2003-01-18T22:58:00.000-05:00

Two turn tables and a microphone

Packed-as-fuck bar + show tunes = not too much fun. Or, so you'd think...
I went to some piano bar on Thursday night called Alligator Rocks that I swore I'd never be seen at. There I was, belting out the lyrics to the intro of Gilligan's Island, when suddenly I realized that I was belting out the lyrics to the intro of Gilligan's Island. And I was actually enjoying myself while this was taking place. Now, I know what you're thinking: the obnoxious quantity of beer that I consumed had taken over my mind and body and I was no longer capable of accurately judging the situation. Well, maybe you're right. And in that case, piano bars still suck. But drinking beer sure is fun.

2003-01-15T00:32:00.000-05:00

If those rumors were true...

1. If you ever decide you're gonna lie and tell people that you had sex with an unsuspecting woman because she didn't reciprocate your advances, make sure you tell your friends and not hers. Then perhaps it won't get back to her. Because, let's face it...no matter how much they swore to you that they wouldn't tell her, the second you're not within a 10 foot radius her phone will start ringing.

2. If you're 22 years old and still starting rumors about having sex with unsuspecting women because they don't reciprocate your advances, either grow up or drop off the face of the planet. Whichever's easier for you.

2003-01-13T18:42:00.000-05:00

My god.

Is this some kind of a joke?

2003-01-12T22:51:00.000-05:00

One last order of business before I go:

If your name just happens to be Ryan and you just happen to be reading this...
Smile. Right now. No, really. Now.

2003-01-12T22:48:00.000-05:00

Can I borrow a towel for a minute; I just hit a water buffalo with my car.

Upon returning from Jacksonville tonight, I realized that it's strangely comforting to hear Blondie's nails clicking on the hardwood floors in my apartment. Glad to see her fat, furry ass. Except that she's a big fan of panting in my face. Egh. If I didn't know better, I'd think she'd been eating shit sandwiches.

2003-01-08T19:48:00.000-05:00

This is the part where you feel sorry for me.

I lost my wallet today. Well, I didn't exactly lose it...I left it in the McCarty auditorium after class and someone took it. But since I haven't the foggyest idea what has become of it, I suppose that constitutes loss. So yes, I lost my life today. Liscense, credit cards, check card, military ID, insurance card, social security card, the hundreds of recepts that I shove in the billfold when I buy shit, my Blockbuster card (which we all know is of the upmost importance), and all the other various needful things that I used to keep nestled in the card slots. Curse!

Letter to my missing wallet:
Dear Ms. Green-Target-brand-lovely,
I'm sorry that I was absent-minded enough to leave you all by yourself. I know you're cold. I know you're lonely. I know you've been proded and otherwise molested by some stranger's dirty fingers. But I also know you still love me. I miss you terribly. Please come home soon.
Hugs and kisses,
Lindsey

Wow. I'm a complete fucking weirdo.

2003-01-07T18:13:00.000-05:00

Don't wait up, I'll see you in hell

Anyone who was still asleep when I woke up at 7:30 this morning to eat stale Pop-tarts and then ride public transportation to the place that I hate with the fire of a thousand suns can lick my left asscheek. You know who you are.

On a completely unrelated sidenote, my organic chem professor looks suspiciously similar to Mr. Rogers. I mean, they could be twins. Someone should feed his fish, then make sure he has the proper change of sweaters and shoes in his closet.

2003-01-05T17:52:00.000-05:00

Are you pickin' up what I'm puttin' down?

Due to several recent, unsolicited comments regarding my "potty mouth," I'd like to take this oppurtunity to introduce you to three of my good friends. Their names are Ass, Shit, and Fuck. Since these sweethearts are regulars at my house, it's only proper that all of you get acquainted and accustomed to one another. Without futher ado, here is what you should know about about my provoking little buddies:

Ass was born in the mid 1800's to a single mother named Arse. Ass is very helpful in decribing your annoying neighbors or your most notorious of body parts. But be careful how you treat this "obscenity," Ass is always waiting just behind you.
Shit was born in England, some time before Ass. Shit is amazingly handy around the house. This guy can mean anything. Anything, no joke. Your drink? Shit. Your food? Shit. Your friends? Shit. All your belongings? Yep, you guessed it. Shit.
Fuck is the reigning heavy-weight of the three. The baddest of the "bad words." Fuck can really pack a punch, so you can use it for exageration to get your point across. Or to insult your best friend's boyfriend. Or just piss off you mother (pastor, teacher, etc.), which is always a shit-load-ton of fun.

Learn, 'em, use 'em, love 'em. The whole world will be a better place.

2003-01-04T15:04:00.000-05:00

I tell you I'm livin' large and all you see is the struggle...

So much shit happened during New Year's that I don't even know where to begin. But instead of writing a book, I'm gonna cop out by saying only that some of my holiday vacation was amazing and some of it sucked ass. I guess that would make it about average.

Here is what I learned over the holidays:
Lesbians like redheads. So do short men named Matt that are in the army. Ryan C. is my hero. Most people suck. New Years isn't as fun when you don't get trashed. Conversation with my roommate keeps me sane. I spend too much money. My dog can be very annoying. It's much harder than you think to quit smoking. All my close friends are too spread out. I'm much younger than I feel. Plants die when you go out of town and forget to water them.
I think that's about it.

Oh yeah...it cheers you up (when you come home from vacation feeling like shit) to find that incredibly sweet people have sent you gifts ALL the way from NYC.

2002-12-27T22:13:00.000-05:00

Because you can't, you won't, and you don't...stop

Last night, I went out and got pretty tanked. It didn't take long before I was shooting pool with strangers. I played a couple of the best games of my life. Then, I came home and installed a comment button while seeing double. Drinking apparently brings out the little genius inside of me. What's the deal?

Since I couldn't go to sleep last night (my world was spinning if you must know), I started watching some German opera with subtitles. "Real love comes only to those who can afford it. One can not be full with only love at the table." I remember thinking "Am I reading this right? Does it really say that?" What the hell kind of love story is that? All PC and truthful. People want to be lied to. You can't just go around telling everyone that love won't fill your belly or keep you happy and healthy. The twisted German who wrote that little dose of reality obviously never read any Grimm Brothers. The "happy ending" was conceived in his own back yard and there he is disappointing the drunk innocents who decide to watch PBS at 3 am on Friday mornings.

2002-12-24T08:32:00.000-05:00

It should be illegal to make me wake up this early.

My mom came down yesterday and brought me my presents since I won't be home for Christmas. She asked me not to open them 'til Christmas Day. Ha! What are we, suckers here? Among them - the shiny, new Sonicare that I asked for. I was very excited. As you can imagine, my Sonicare and I are already well acquainted. I know you're jealous, but not everyone can handle a toothbruth that comes with its very own instruction manual. "DO NOT use while bathing." My heartless accessment of anyone who would use an electronic toothbrush in the shower: people this mindless should be removed from the gene pool immediately. Please let them proceed without interference. We can't have these people reproducing.

Speaking of mindless, I finally took care of my financial hold at UF and was able to check my grades this morning. Needless to say, my 4.0 packed its shit and took off. That may have a little something to do with my pissy mood this morning.

Off to work...

2002-12-20T00:09:00.000-05:00

Medium Pimpin'

I just got home from work and I'm utterly exhausted. But before I go to sleep, I have a little story for you, Emily...

Tuesday, this guy came in the store and asked me to help him pick out a present for his sister. We had been browsing around looking and talking for a little while when he said something to me that I didn't quite catch. I said "Pardon?" and he repeated himself, but I still didn't hear. So I said "Huh?" and he repeated himself a second time. Still didn't hear him. Then I said, "Speak into my good ear, Sonny." He sat there for a second, looking very confused, and then burst into hysterical laughter. At this point, I was a bit embarrassed because he was laughing so loudly that everyone in the store was staring at us and I had no idea what was so funny. He finally calmed down and said "Man, I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard. Sorry 'bout that." Picking up a bracelet, I replied "No worries. Do you think she'd like this?" He was very attentive the rest of the time he was in the store.

Skip to today when I was doing shipment in the back room. Annya came in and told me there was a man waiting for me at the counter who had asked for me by name. To my surprise, it was that same guy who had laughed at me on Tuesday. He asked if we could talk for a minute outside the store. We walked out the door and he began to explain. "This is gonna sound wierd, but I've been thinking about you ever since I was in the store the other day...and...well...I was wondering...if...maybe you'd let me take you out some time. I know you're at work and everything...and that this is a bit...aukward...and..." I smiled, but I was speechless and the only thing that I could force out of my mouth was "Why?" His face softened and he said "Nothing better in this world than a girl who can make you laugh. Plus, you're cute as all hell." (Enter body double to blush and batt eyelashes.)

Morals of the story:
1. I'm cute.
2. Hide yo' hizzos cuz I'm a piemp by blood, not relashon...
3. Sometimes cheesy pick-up lines are not only acceptable, but charming.

2002-12-18T17:40:00.000-05:00

I forgot to say how I even woke up in the first place. My sister called. It seems that my father moved from Greenville and bought land "smack dab in the middle of nowhere." He now lives on ten acres about an hour north of Greenville in complete isolation. For those of you who don't quite understand what I mean by "complete isolation," Greenville, TX has a population of about 3,000. The local teenagers hang out in parking lots on the weekends for lack of better things to do. The biggest thing that happened in the town all year was the arrival of Greenville's very own Taco Bell. And he lives AN HOUR away from that. You see what I'm getting at here?

Things I must remember to bring when I visit my father this year:
1. Tons of books
2. Tons of music
3. A case load of mind-altering substances, Hunter S. Thompson style.

2002-12-18T17:08:00.000-05:00

You can take the bum out of the lazy, but you can't take the lazy out of the bum.

I woke up at 4:00. Four in the pm! I'm a bit shocked myself, but I would like to say in my defense that I was up until 8:30 this morning studying for my last final. My anthro final is tomorrow, after which I can resume my regular life of time-wasting and procrastination. Naturally, I'm very excited.

My horoscope today said that I have my own problems and that I may tell people who wanted to complain that they should go elsewhere to whine. Who's the genius behind such infinitely insightful wisdom, you ask? Why, Kelli Fox, of course. Thank you, Kelli Fox, for this stunning new perspective on my life. All this time, I didn't realize that I had difficulties of my own. It's high time that I start considering a career as internet psychic extraordinaire. Nevermind that I'm not psychic. Certainly, I could do a much better job than Kelli Fox. Susi, you're with me on this, right?

I'll end this post by saying that I'd like to shake the man's hand who coined the term "pickle tickle." Definitely my favorite euphemism for sex. Yeeeeeah, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout.

2002-12-17T16:15:00.000-05:00

My twisted sense of holiday spirit

What did the quadriplegic, deaf, blind mute get for Christmas?

Cancer.

HAHAHAHAHAHA. Man. I'm going straight to hell.

2002-12-17T00:51:00.000-05:00

A vacation from relaxation?

-number of filthy apartments to clean: 1
-number of hours to study: 30
-number of hours to work: 30
-number of long overdue letters to write: 2
-number of animals to care for: 2
-number of animals to bathe: 1
-loads of laundry to wash: 5
-number of hours I'll most likely get to sleep: 20
-number of chores I'm forgetting on this list: too many
-number of weblogs I shouldn't be writing in at present: 1

This week will be a trip into the uncharted territory that I Iike to call "Productiveness." Don't worry folks, I don't plan on staying long.

2002-12-16T09:21:00.000-05:00

Travis who didn't like the cold obviously isn't in Gainesville

When I lived in Atlanta, I knew a boy named Travis. Well, his name was actually something like Milton or Alton. He told me one day that he hated his name, so I asked him what name he did like. After he told me "Travis" I never called him anything but. His family moved around constantly, as did mine. Travis told me one afternoon that he was moving to Tallahassee. Since I was moving to St. Augustine, I told him we should probably be friends.

Travis used to tell me stories. One day, Travis explained to me how he controlled the weather. You see, he hated the cold. Hated it so much, in fact, that the cold itself was afraid of him. If he moved up north, cold would leave immediately. If he moved down south, cold would never follow. No matter where he went, it was always warm.

Travis left Atlanta at the beginning of October. On his last night, I ate dinner with his family. His mother made us hand-dipped corn dogs and baked potatoes. We built a fort out of the boxes of packed clothes and dishes and books. His mother reminded me several times that his name wasn't Travis. Travis left the next morning. That night, Atlanta had its first freeze of the winter early in October. I've never seen or heard of Travis since, but every time frost whites the rooftops, I think of him.

2002-12-15T00:17:00.000-05:00

Quite possibly the luckiest girl on earth...

Emily sent me an email that totally made my week and told me about all the SD gossip and offered to help me pay for a plane ticket to Cali this summer.
Susana took me out for my favorite (Mexican!) food and went to the XTC Superstore with me where we proceeded to act like five year old children as we laughed at all the sex toys and picked me up at 3 am when I ran out of gas on 20th and then gave me cigarettes (I know, I know, I quit).
Nate helped me study for chem and taught me how to draw the obitals occupied by metal electrons and picked on me for being poor as he offered to buy me "TP for my bunghole."
Trista yelled at me for walking to the gas station by myself instead of waiting for a cop at 3 am when I ran out of gas on 20th and then gave me cigarettes (I know, I know, I quit) and woke up to drive me to school today so I didn't have to ride the bus to my final.
Kara let me pick on her boyfriend's name (Larby. Hahahaha.) "only because you're Lindsey" and let me go to lunch on the clock and called me three times to try to convince me to go to out in the name of stress relief.
Indigo. Shit, what can I say? Where would I be without her?

How did I ever find such wonderful friends?

2002-12-07T16:31:00.000-05:00

Doin' it up old school style

Last night, my boys had a bon fire. Ridiculously enjoyable. Keg beer and Irish carbombs. Friends I've known half my life and friends I feel like I've known half my life. No drama, no fights, no bitching. Laughing and joking. Rosy cheeks and sweaters with flip-flops. And as if that wasn't enough...Prescott fell in the fire and I convinced him walk around with his hand in a bowl of milk for an hour. Yessss!

2002-12-05T18:22:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I wonder why I even bother.

In an effort to quit smoking, I went to the store yesterday and bought four bags of sunflower seeds (I've tried gum. Don't let them fool you into thinking that works.) That's when all the problems started. My tongue and the sides of my mouth are completely raw. I feel like I've been chewing on high grain sandpaper. Sunflower seeds are messy. I keep finding random shells all over my apartment. Who the hell knows how they get everywhere. I just lost a sunflower kernel in my keyboard. Instead of smelling like smoke, I smell like sunflower seeds and spit. Gross. I have to rethink this whole plan. In the mean time, Steve, send me some Doublemint.

2002-12-04T21:23:00.000-05:00

My roommate's cat is driving me crazy. She follows me around every minute I'm at home. She's constantly in my face. Every morning, I wake up with her curled up on my stomach or nestled against my shoulder. She purrs me to sleep every night. You'd think she wants some privacy, but she doesn't. Right now she's sitting on my desk mezmorized by the moving cursor. (The pointer could keep her busy for hours. If I really want to impress her, I can scroll up or down.) I've tried to explain to her that I'm not her mommy and that she belongs to Trista. But she just says "Not uh, you feed me and water me and pet me." And what can I say to that?

Did I tell you about how Trista convinced me to buy her condoms the other day? Yep, that little shit. It was at one of those places that keeps the condoms behind the counter. So, I went up the counter with my other purchases and waited until the store clerk was done ringing them up before I told him that I needed the condoms. By that time, I felt like I was in a fucking sitcom. There were twenty guys behind me in line wearing goofy grins. And there I was: "Yes sir, the Lifestyles. Ultra-sensitive. Spermicide. Yes, the biggest pack you have." Not that buying condoms in a college town like this is rare, but I didn't appreciate the I-know-what-you're-about-to-go-home-and-do smirk on the face of the guy waiting beside me. And as I walked away, he winked and said "Have fun." How tacky.

2002-11-21T18:37:00.000-05:00

Soap on a rope: leaving the county prison and coming to a neighborhood near you!

I think the city of Gainesville is poisoning its water supplies with some kind of emotional hormone. Everyone around me, with the exception of Jennifer (who is somehow always in a good mood), is either angry, depressed, or incrediblly stressed out. There never seems to be a happy medium around here. Everyone goes whizzing from one emotional extreme to the other. It's upsetting that many of my friends are so depressed and feel they can't talk to me. That's just super terrific. Sometimes I feel that friendship is like a bar of wet soap. Even if you hold it with two hands and don't make any sudden movements, you're still going to drop it. Not once, not twice, but over and over again. It's a pity you can't just hook your friends to a rope like you do with soap.

As for myself, I've been so anxious lately that I can't sleep. I'll simply lay there with my eyes open, staring into the dark while my stomach twists itself into a thousand unrelentless, tightening knots. I have $32.43 in my bank account. Rent is due on the first. I talked to my mother (for the first time in months) yesterday and asked if I could borrow $300. She said she didn't have it. I try to tell myself that everything will be alright. I know my situation could be much worse. What I need to focus on is finding someone to co-sign a loan. I have a sneaking suspicion that my mother won't do it for me...

I need rest.

2002-11-12T23:51:00.000-05:00

Speaking of fattie, whose Chinese is this?

Two sandwiches, two bowls of chicken fetticine alfredo, two bowls of salad (thanks Susi), and two scoops of ice cream (thanks Trista). I don't even know how all this food fits inside me. I must have a hollow leg. Now I have a craving for sushi. Mmmmmm. I'm a fat bastard. How much for the bebe?

On a completely random note, if I never see Jennifer picking her zits with MY tweezers again, I may be able to die a happy woman. Ewww.

2002-11-11T01:44:00.000-05:00

Susana's masterful interpretation of our communication skills...

2002-11-10T13:20:00.000-05:00

Talk nerdy to me.

So, yes. It's come to my immediate attention that I have become a computer geek. Don't expect me to admit this in any kind of public setting, but I spend so much time staring at this computer screen that I may be developing back problems. It's probably affecting my eyesight. And let's not forget carpel tunnel. I should invest in one of those reclining chairs to put in front of this computer screen. The deluxe model, one that vibrates and has built in heating elements. Of course, that would only worsen the problem. I mean, really, you don't hand out crack pipes to basers, do you? Bad analogy. Where was I? Oh yes...I urgently need a digital camera, more RAM, and several "useless" (according to Trista) toys. And since Santa isn't real (sorry, kids) and I don't have a fairy godmother, I'm going to have to actually buy these things myself. Gasp! This computer screen has ruined my life. Which reminds me, I also want a bigger computer monitor.

Let's recap. Any individuals out there with the ways and means: Feel free to buy me large, expensive, computer-related gifts. For those you that are poor like myself: I'll also accept small, inexpensive, computer-related gifts.

2002-11-09T05:47:00.000-05:00

Strange dreams and stranger thoughts.

I'm feeling very thoughtful, sentimental even. I don't know what caused this, but I think it may stem from a dream I had last night...

I walked into a huge banquet hall full of people. There was a celebration of some sort going on. As I walked through the crowd, everyone hugged me and congratulated me. I was very confused, especially since I didn't know anyone. All these strangers were chatting me up like they had known me for years. Everything looked hollow...fake and sharp and foreign. I searched for the bathroom frantically so that I could hide. When I walked into the bathroom, I saw that there were no stalls. I was facing a large mirror that covered one whole wall. When I looked up at myself, I didn't recognize my own face. At first I didn't even realize it was a mirror - I thought I was looking at someone else. Filled with frustration, I threw a chair into the mirror. When it shattered, I was back in the banquet hall. A pregnant woman came up to me with a baby in her arms and asked me if I wanted to hold my godchild. She sensed that I was confused and said "Lindsey, it's me, Susana." I told her that I was sick...that I wasn't myself, and that's why I didn't remember her. I told her that I had to leave. As I was walking out, more people approached me. I explained to them all that I felt ill and that I couldn't talk. When I got outside, it started to rain. I didn't know where I was or where to go. I huddled in the doorway of a hospital and fell asleep leaning against the wall. When I woke up, I was able to place all the faces of the people who had spoken to me. My mother, Matt, Dalippe, Heather, Makara, and several friends that I grew up with. But I remember very distinctly that in my dream, I had no clue who these people were or what they wanted.

Being that I'm a quirky person (at least that's what Susi says), I've been wondering if there's some kind of deeper meaning to this dream. The thing is, I'm not sure how to interpret it. What I do know is that it prompted an email/phone call frenzy on my part. It made me feel like I've been out of touch. And, quite frankly, I have. I suppose it really doesn't matter what the dream meant. Still, there's no harm in questioning it.

And Dr. Freud says "Bot vot doos eet oll meen?"

2002-11-07T19:04:00.000-05:00

Strange things are afoot at the Circle K

Steve keeps asking me to marry him for financial aid purposes. Understandably, I'm a bit hesitant to agree to this. He says this could help both of us all the way through medical school. However, I'm not sure it would end up benefiting my financial situation. More than that, we're talking about marriage! Marriage, for christsakes. In any case, I've promised to go talk to a councelor in financial services tomorrow. Goodness, what am I getting myself into...

2002-11-07T03:27:00.000-05:00

Cheer up, emo kid

Tonight while I was at Steve's house, I forced everyone to watch The Joy Luck Club. I'd never seen it before tonight and I didn't realize that I'd be crying two hundred times during the course of the movie. Needless to say, I've ruined my reputation. Korey informed me that I should show this side more often (Cry more? Seriously?) and that I'm no longer thought of as the "resident badass of the group." Now this leads me to a few questions, but only because I wasn't aware that I was a badass, much less the badass of the group...

How does one become a badass and is this a status to be proud of? Should I be upset that I'm no longer in the ranks? Is there some kind of club that I could join for washed up ex-badasses who have found their inner-sensitivity?

Really, someone please help me understand. How did I ever get branded the badass? Everything I do is for the children. I love kittens and puppies. I crave long, romantic walks on the beach. I adore listening to everyone's drama. I believe whole-heartedly that there's no such thing as talking about feelings too much. Can you BE any more sensitive than that? Point proven. Get off my ass.

2002-11-06T03:16:00.000-05:00

I have them all fooled. Muahaha.

The most encouraging, kind words I've heard in years: "Lindsey, I feel touched just to know you and lucky that I met you..."

Wow.

2002-11-05T20:18:00.000-05:00

By the way, I hope you all got off your lazy asses and went to the polls today.

2002-11-05T20:17:00.000-05:00

I hate this week so much I'd punch it if I could.
This online journal is going to quickly degenerate into a bitchfest. Sorry, but it has to be done...

I'm lonesome for my sister and Atlanta and San Diego. I wish it were a small world afterall.

My computer hates me. I try to be sensitive to her needs, but she doesn't appreciate my efforts. I buy her expensive software, but she only spits it back out at me. I try to communicate my feelings, but she won't listen. Whenever I try to get a little play from her, she turns it around on me and shuts down. Everytime I touch her she freezes. If she only knew how much I love her, maybe our relationship could be as glorious as it once was. (Umm, wow. I think I took that a little too far.)

Dressing seems like a chore. Conversating seems like torture. All I want to do is curl up on my nice comfy bed and read anything besides text books. Yes. That sounds incredible. Why can't I do that? I'd like to concentrate on feather beds and bubble baths instead of yeast fermentation and redox reactions for a change. But, noooooooo. Exams, papers, quizzes...bombarding me like bullets.

2002-10-30T15:09:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure I understand either.

Luizia: No, it's like smurf-nut blue.
Lindsey: Smurf-nut blue? As in smurf-TESTICLE blue?
Luizia: Yeah, exactly. And it has two white stripes through it.
Lindsey: Umm...wait a second. Let's go back to this "smurf-nut" blue idea. Assuming that smurfs have testicles, how would you know what color they are? I mean, they always have their little white pants on. And what if they have tan lines or something? What if the only parts of them that are blue are the parts the sun hits and the rest of them is grey?
Luizia: Lindsey, do you really spend time thinking about things like this?
Lindsey: Man, you say that like it's a bad thing...

2002-10-29T02:34:00.000-05:00

and I have the sense to recognize, but I don't know how to let you go...

I'm sure this will be one of those times when I write something only to look back upon it and frown at my naivity. Regardless, I've been wondering constantly about Stephen and Heather. How did two people that were so immensely important in my life fade away like that? More importantly, how do I make things go back to the way they used to be. I guess shit simply doesn't work like that. Stephen used to tell me that we'd hear from eachother less and less until we didn't speak anymore, after which we'd even stop thinking about eachother. Shrugging that off as insanity, I went about my business as we all drifted further away from eachother. Now here I am, unable to picture Stephen's face or remember Heather's birthday. This frustration is intensified everytime I look at my little black phone that I don't use to call them or my little "write mail" button that I don't use to write them. Instead of typing this, I should be writing a letter. Man, I'm a horrible friend. I should come with a warning label.

Off to toss and turn...

2002-10-28T19:07:00.000-05:00

Two of my friends are moving to Hawaii. Yesterday they weren't, today they are. Just like that, leaving this Sunday. Why can't it be this way with me? Someone give me one good reason why can't I wake up next Monday in Seattle. Oh yeah...money. Oh yeah...school. Yes, you're right...shelter and food. Thanks for talking me out of it. I barely dodged the bullet on that one.

I'm very bitter.

2002-10-27T22:50:00.000-05:00

Daylight savings cheated me out of my extra hour.

Will there never come a time in my life when I get past my excessive procrastination? How did I ever get like this in the first place? I always thought that eventually I'd get all my "ducks in a row." But this simply isn't the case...there's always that one misfit that doesn't want to follow the leader. This particular little duck leaves me reading 100 pages for literature, filling out 5 worksheets full of calculations for chemistry, and writing up my scematic for lab - all at 10:49PM on the night before they're due. The worst part is that instead of starting any of these tasks, here I am typing away. This must stop right now.

Quack, quack.

2002-10-26T17:17:00.000-04:00

Maybe it's just me.

Those fond of inquisition might ask "Lindsey, why do people get so frustrated when they get into political discussions with you?" And to them I would say "Mind your fucking business!" or "Because I am ridiculously, incredibly liberal." That's right, folks. And getting more "bleeding heart" with every day that passes. Last night was filled with an intense and quite heated (seven hour long!) conversation regarding issues from race to homosexuality, from religion to class. The level of intolerance of your average person is beyond me.

There's no way to justify the use of the word "nigger," intellegence is not a consequence of your skin color, a homeless person is STILL a person, homosexuality isn't a measure of your being...

Statistics from the monthly Return Peace Corps Volunteer of San Diego Newsletter:
If we could shrink the Earth's population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all existing human ratios remaining the same, it would look like this:

---> there would be 57 Asians, 21 Europeans, 14 from the western hemisphere (North and South), and 8 Africans.
---> 51 would be female, 49 male
---> 70 would be non-white, 30 white
---> 70 would be non-Christian, 30 Christian
---> 50% of the entire world's wealth would be in the hands of only 6 people and all 6 would be citizens of the USA
---> 80 would live in substandard housing
---> 70 would be unable to read
---> 50 would suffer from malnutrition
---> one would be near birth
---> one would be near death
---> only one would have a college education
---> only one would own a computer

When one considers our world from such an incredibly compressed perspective, the need for both tolerance and understanding becomes glaringly apparent.

Just a little food for thought. Eat up, junior.

2002-10-25T16:41:00.000-04:00

I used to listen to N'SYNC when they were underground. Support your local scene.

If you live in Gainesville, FL and you don't know who Gunmol, The Pawn Rook Four, and The Know How are then you should be deeply ashamed of yourself.

And if you know what's good for you, you will check out Atmosphere. Listen to this. I promise, you won't be disappointed. (Nate would be oh-so-proud of me!)

Your aim sucks. Look past the barrel, not at it. And open BOTH eyes.

I don't know how I never realized this, but my sister has to be the best person on earth. I'm related to a goddess.

2002-10-24T21:45:00.000-04:00

I am the Jesus of cool. What more could you possibly want from me!

Earlier tonight, I went to the grocery store so that I could spend too much money buying junk food that I don't need. I decided that I'd get a new brand of toothpaste as a counterbalance. There I was, innocently debating what kind of toothpaste would add excitement to my daily life, when I was accosted by some youth group counselor. I know I look like your average church-going-god-fearing-Jesus-loving-kumbayah-singing citizen, but that's no reason why I should have to answer questions about my church attendance, Spanish Inquisition style. What would compel a person to strike up a conversation like that while shopping for their Listerine and dental floss? I suppose he felt the heavenly presence being near all those toothbrushes. Cleanliness is next to godliness, you know. Being the polite person I am, I smiled and nodded and tried to explain to him that I'm not the most religious of people. But like any ignorant ass trying to push his beliefs on others, he wouldn't leave me alone. Seriously, this guy followed me around the Kash-n-Karry. I finally told him, "If there was a God, she'd strike you down with a terribly painful death right here in the frozen foods aisle." Not one time did he look back as he walked away.

And now that I've started complaining, I'd like to address some mail I received from the Pro-life Educated Active Collegiate Effort of the University of Florida. This lame excuse of a club sent out about 34,000 pamphlets, one of which I received today. The pamphlet contained an inappropriate picture of an aborted fetus that was at about 30 weeks gestation. A little baby wrapped in a medical waste bag that was allegedly found in an abortion clinic's dumpster. This is EXACTLY what you shouldn't do when vying for support of your cause. Trying to draw attention to the monstrosity of an aborted baby carried almost to term? Fine. I'll be in the picket lines with you. Attempting to deceive the public by improperly portraying the majority of abortions (99%, as a matter of fact!)? Fuck off. And apparently, I'm not the only one who was outraged.

So before you close those little peepers tonight, take the time to praise the good lord Jesus for Jars of Clay, the Bible Belt, scheming political activists, and anyone who ever cited scripture for proselytizing purposes.

2002-10-24T17:12:00.000-04:00

For sale: one slightly used kidney and a partial right lung. Will sell ovaries two for one and throw in bone marrow for fair price.

H2O, Box Car Racer, and The Used are playing at The Palace soon. I wonder if it would be possible to con Susi into going with me. Doubt it. I have to find some way to scrape up 21 bones. Does anyone know how I could go about selling my organs on Ebay?

In other unrelated news, this sniper business is getting interesting...if that's the proper word for it. Reading and listening to the radio about this issue leaves me more confused than a mental deficient at a M.E.N.S.A. gathering. "We caught the sniper like a duck in a noose." Quite an unsettling statement. For now, I'm going to chalk it up to some scripture allusion that I wouldn't understand.

2002-10-23T23:42:00.000-04:00

My fingers
move sly against your palm
Like women everywhere, I speak in code...

A couple of weeks ago, this good-looking guy in my biology class asked me out. On that particular day, I wasn't in the best of moods and I sorta just smiled at him and looked back to my notes. Skip to three weeks later when my subconscious decides it wants to tell me something. Yes, I had a dream about aformentioned guy last night. In this dream, he saved my life. Skip to today when Indigo starts talking about this David character. Indigo tells me she's noticed him looking at me. She tells me that he's amazingly kind, incredibly intellegent, and apsolutely hilarious. Listening to her physical description of this David fellow, I realize that she's speaking of the guy who asked me out. But you know what they say, if it sounds to good to be true, it probably is. Turns out he has a psycho ex-girlfriend. (Susi, would this fit under the sunflower seed dilema? Nah...) Apparently, she's that one girl you always hear about that follows her ex around and breaks windshields and slashes car tires. I don't think I'm mentally equipped to deal with this type of situation. I'm liable to kill someone like that (Yeah, so what if I'm a bit on the violent side?). On the other hand, I don't have a car that she can damage in any way...

2002-10-23T22:57:00.000-04:00

Butch : Whoa! Your dog is old.
Lindsey : Yes, she's almost 15.
Butch : Does she have a tumor?
Lindsey : Yeah, it's no big deal.
Butch : Whoa! What's this thing on her back? It looks like a nipple! Man, you dog has extra nipples.
Lindsey : Umm, how 'bout no.
Butch : Man, that's really wie-
Lindsey (interupting) : Umm, you should stop before you get decked.
Butch : Sorry, it's just that I've never seen a bli-
Lindsey (again, interupting) : Seriously, you can leave anytime.

Moral of the story: Picking on a girl's poor, old dog isn't the best way to initiate a friendship.

2002-10-23T00:36:00.000-04:00

Alright...so, yeah. I just found out that the game "ring-around-the-rosy" is based on the bubonic plague. The black plague gave people swollen black spots that were termed "plague roses" or buboes, which were surrounded by a pale ring. Stricken citizens were locked in their homes to die. A "pocket full of posies" was what Londoners carried so they wouldn't smell the corpses. The "ashes, ashes, we all fall down" line goes without saying. While undeniably interesting, this information might somehow diffuse through my subconscious and result in degrading the few happy childhood memories I have left. Good thing I took the time to document it.

2002-10-22T22:38:00.000-04:00

Did horrible on my bio lab practical. Did awesome on my bio exam. Did amazing on my qual analysis for chem lab. Did wretched on my chem exam. Figure that one out, Scooby.

For a second, Florida fooled me into thinking that it was actually going to let itself get cool. That was until I stepped outside this morning, with a jacket on mind you, into 85 degree/ 85% humidity oppression. This is the sort of thing that would never happen to me if I lived in Seattle...