“Just stick to nicotine.”

There was only one line open at Walgreen’s, and just my luck it was being manned by some kid I kinda knew back in high school who I would like to call “Jason” except I am almost positive that is not what’s on his birth certificate. I quickly evaluated just how badly I wanted my Raisinetes and make-up remover, and figured that, sadly, they were both necessities, and that if another smocked employee didn’t open another register within the next forty seconds I’d have to be checked out by this kid. It seemed too late to switch lines anyway and it’d probably be considered bad drug store etiquette if I changed teams this late in the game (Though that didn’t really seem to stop Anne Heche did it? But that’s a different story). The kid and I made eye contact as I waited, something I try desperately to avoid with people, so I quickly turned away, pretending to be absolutely enthralled in yet another story about how angry Angelina is at Jen. I debated whether or not to act as if I didn’t know him and decided I would just say hi because pretending I didn’t remember him may only lead to a longer conversation where I’d have to be overly nice to make up for the not remembering part. When it was my turn to check out, I put on my “business’ voice; the same one I use for phone calls with people I have to do group projects with when I don’t know them very well. To be honest, it just makes me sound like a really smart valley girl.
“Hey,” I say in my perky voice as he scans my items, “I didn’t know you worked here?”
“Oh yeah,” the kid nods and “For a while now.”
“Cool,” I respond. That was more information than I cared for.
“And Nick works at Wilson’s Leather,” he offered.
I stop searching for my debit card to look back at the kid, “Nick,,.?”
“Johnson?” he offers.
I keep my blank face and shake my head no.
“…Gothic… long hair…”
“Oh!” I say suddenly remembering one of those people I was hoping to block out of my memory for life and make a mental note to never to go into Wilson’s Leather. “THAT Nick. Right. Right. Well, great!” I say with as much fake enthusiasm as I can muster, “That’s great.”
It was good, actually. Nick was creepy and I never buy leather goods so the probability of my running into him was about the same as bumping into Matt Damon at Starbucks.

“Your hair is so pretty,” Nick used to say and then pet it, which wouldn’t have been so bad if his nails weren’t about 15 inches long and I had actually enjoyed when people touched me. He thought he was a gay vampire and was one creepy motherfucker. He used to do the sound for school productions, badly, I might add. I hadn’t thought about him since the drama banquet, and only because I saw him there and wondered how I could get out of the obligatory “drama BFF” hug.

“Yeah,” ‘Jason’ says as I hand over the card, “In fact, we’re hanging out tonight if you want to come with?”
“I wish I could!” I lie, “But I already have plans.” I imagine if this were an AIM conversation, now would be about the time I do this; :-(. And then block him.
“No prob, Bob,” the kid says as I sign my receipt. “Another time then.”
“Yeah, seriously.” I say as though it’s going to be on the top of my next To-Do list and before I walk out of the store I tell him to, “Have fun tonight!” with a great big fake smile. I really hate seeing people I know.

Quote of the day:
Stefi: “Well, that’s a psychological thing.”
Jessica: “Right. OK.”
-- Me trying to have an actual conversation with this girl Jessica from my Econ class when we went out to coffee, but she was having none of it. After this, we promptly returned conversation back to her boyfriend.

“Excoose me while I ride my camel.”

Without Goodman going to ASU, I feel out of the loop on where all the good* parties are. I’ve decided to make it my bidnaz to go up to the next un-showered male with a backwards hat and muscle shirt to ask how exactly do I get to Delta Kappafucksanygirlthatmoves Delta?

I say this, but I usually just want to hang out with one or two people I already know nowadays.

I thought I might have had an interest in one of the guys I met at school randomly between classes. He seemed semi-intelligent, even though three minutes into meeting him, he told me he “know[s] how to party”. Then, he pulled up his sleeves to show me his “hardcore new tattoo” and how he gets a “buzz” from getting new “shit drawn on [his] body”. It was all over after that. He wants a giant cross on his back next, but he has to get paid first, he says. Though, I suppose he's better than another guy I met who proclaimed that, “gays masturbate more than straight people”. Mind you, during a conversation about metrosexual males that he initiated after complimenting my ‘Love Hate Fcuk’ shirt.
“How do you know?” I asked, and it was probably in a bitchy tone.
He took out a box of Marlboros and offered me one. I declined as he lit up. Around that same time I stopped breathing. “I know because one of my friends is a gay,” he blew a plume of smoke out of the side of his mouth and the wind brought it right back into my face. He probably thought he looked so badass. He even had one knee on the bench I was sitting on. If I wanted to, I could have seen right up his shorts.
“Oh,” I say, and then thank Jesus when I get a call on my cell phone and ask him to please excuse me because, “I have to take this.”

Such is life, you know.

I’m off to Tucson this weekend despite my English paper that’s due Monday. The assignment? A personal narrative. I think I’ll be ok.

Quote of the day:
“So you have to write about something you did in the last month?”
-- Taylor after I told him I was writing my personal narrative about the day I received my first bra.



*Parties with hot males performing lewd acts with females who are most typically, hot, slutty, and totally shit faced but not necessarily so.

“He just doesn’t know it yet.”

I almost died last night.

It’s not true what they say; that when you have a near death experience, your entire life flashes before your eyes. All I kept thinking was, now I’ll never meet Drew Barrymore.

Old friends are in town. This is where I take the time to talk about people I haven’t seen in about a week like I haven’t seen them in years.

They look older. College has changed us already. We’re all jaded and tired and we don’t give a fuck about anything. Except maybe where to get cheap beer without an ID. We have forgotten what it’s like to get ready to go out. We refuse to do our hair. We will do little more than brush our teeth. Showering is for fags.

Yay college.

I’ve started practicing Kabbalah. Mostly just to prove to my journalism teacher that I could do a really good editorial about it, which she doesn’t think is possible. She really hates me though because I was accidentally witty within three minutes of meeting her, and she didn’t get my joke at all. Blank stares. I hate that.

I assigned myself a story on Kabbalah to do for the paper.
“What is that?” my journalism prof asked me.
Oh great.

So, I'm sticking to my roots and doing a little side project I like to call Operation: Kabbalah. OK, that's just the working title, but basic'ly I'm gonna go Madonna on errone, call myself Esther, and do Kabbalah for a month.

Just like a real famous person.

However, if I were a real famous person, I wouldn't have done research so I wouldn't have known that women aren't really supposed to practice Kabbalah, much less anyone under forty.

But who cares? This is America! I have a red string, and I have the ONE white in support of Brangelina bracelet, and I have giant sunglasses, so really, I'm good to go.

I saw The Constant Gardener yesterday. It was really good, but I suppose I missed the message the movie was trying to send because I just kept thinking; “Why can’t my arms be as thin as that little African girl’s?” It makes me think Nicole Richie is getting her influence outside of Hollywood.

My dad was away for a week at a retreat, and he came back on Friday shocked to find out that Jake Gyllenhaal and Kirsten Dunst are back together and that there was a huge hurricane.
“Shocking,” he says. He’s been glued to CNN since he walked through the door, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Oh, I have,” I say, “It starred Dennis Quaid.”
Blank stare. “I don’t get it.”

What is it with people these days?

The one good thing that’s come out of this, however, is having an excuse to watch Anderson Cooper 360.
“Isn’t he good looking?” I said in a very high-pitched voice to my mother as we watched him.
“Yeah, he looks a lot like your dad before he started going bald.”
All I could do was glare at her, “Well, thanks for ruining that then.”

To donate to the relief fund, hit up the Red Cross or you can do it through iTunes.

Quote of the day:
Taylor: “God those people were just staring at us.”
Stefi: “That’s because they think you’re the guy from Weezer.”
- This is not the funniest thing from last night, but it’s all I can think of.