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Two-hour DBMS reviews are of the devil. I was wearing my long, flowing skirt because all my jeans are gross, and waltzing around with my long, flowing hair, and all the little geekboys give me these Looks. Then the international student girls with their pants up in the armpits give me OTHER Looks. I felt like the class Barbie doll. Very very pink, and very very dumb. Someday I am going to make a rant about the trials and tribulations of being a female comp sci major. An INEPT female comp sci major with long hair and big eyes who likes pink glitter. I feel like I'm only furthering their preconceptions that we suck at this and that I should drop out before I hurt all the other girls' chances. Dad STILL wants me to get an internship far away. I'm like...yeah, dad, if you want me to send you the TAXI BILL. I hate driving. It would prly make the Bitchmobile happy though. That baby wants to run.
wah wah fucking wah.
I had a hideous dream last night that some of Punkin's spooky other friends at home pissed off a drug dealer and they shot her in a cornfield, and her mom was having a mental breakdown in my parents' living room. I guess she's alive if her pookie is awake? After that I had one of the weird dreams where I'm Sailormoon again. I'm never sure whether I need to be worried about those or not.
lala. I neeeed to study econ today and tomorrow, and spend allll weekend and Monday on the damn DBMS hell. I did a lot better on the homework than I thought I would, 90 out of 109, which is okay for not having a clue what in hell I was doing. He put the stats on the board, and the minimum was 66. I was sure that was mine and was only amazed I got that many right.
YAY Mom let me order boots online, since my real-space search for them has been totally unfruitful. I told that boy I needed boots, and he asked "hooker boots, army boots, or fuck-me boots?" Lord lord lord. I cannot walk a half mile across campus in fuck-me boots. What is the difference between that and hooker boots? The ones I ordered are small and flat and brown. I don't want big stompy ones, because I am tall and have big enough feet without helping them. I have the big black stompy ones to wear with my short black skirt when I want to be Daria anyway.
He told me to get army boots. Yeah, that would coordinate nicely with all my jeans and endless Old Navy dress shirts.
actually, I would get some to wear with my three pairs of bellbottoms, but I can't make my mom buy me a million pairs of shoes, and my Converse sneakers are about to fall apart.
I have to leave for class in 35 minutes, and I am not dressed yet. My clothes are starched and ironed and lying on my bed, so it's okay.
That boy comes in twenty-two days, which means that Pookie will get its new brain in about twenty-three days, assuming Mom forwards me the package in time. I have two people lined up to burn all my toys to CD so I don't have to mess with uploading them all. I am obsessing about it. I hate pookie surgery; it makes me nervous. They are as neurotic and bratty as I am, and that is NOT GOOD for anyone concerned.
I am going to put my umbrella in my backpack and thus prevent it from raining today. everyone shine like peaches.
wah wah fucking wah.
I had a hideous dream last night that some of Punkin's spooky other friends at home pissed off a drug dealer and they shot her in a cornfield, and her mom was having a mental breakdown in my parents' living room. I guess she's alive if her pookie is awake? After that I had one of the weird dreams where I'm Sailormoon again. I'm never sure whether I need to be worried about those or not.
lala. I neeeed to study econ today and tomorrow, and spend allll weekend and Monday on the damn DBMS hell. I did a lot better on the homework than I thought I would, 90 out of 109, which is okay for not having a clue what in hell I was doing. He put the stats on the board, and the minimum was 66. I was sure that was mine and was only amazed I got that many right.
YAY Mom let me order boots online, since my real-space search for them has been totally unfruitful. I told that boy I needed boots, and he asked "hooker boots, army boots, or fuck-me boots?" Lord lord lord. I cannot walk a half mile across campus in fuck-me boots. What is the difference between that and hooker boots? The ones I ordered are small and flat and brown. I don't want big stompy ones, because I am tall and have big enough feet without helping them. I have the big black stompy ones to wear with my short black skirt when I want to be Daria anyway.
He told me to get army boots. Yeah, that would coordinate nicely with all my jeans and endless Old Navy dress shirts.
actually, I would get some to wear with my three pairs of bellbottoms, but I can't make my mom buy me a million pairs of shoes, and my Converse sneakers are about to fall apart.
I have to leave for class in 35 minutes, and I am not dressed yet. My clothes are starched and ironed and lying on my bed, so it's okay.
That boy comes in twenty-two days, which means that Pookie will get its new brain in about twenty-three days, assuming Mom forwards me the package in time. I have two people lined up to burn all my toys to CD so I don't have to mess with uploading them all. I am obsessing about it. I hate pookie surgery; it makes me nervous. They are as neurotic and bratty as I am, and that is NOT GOOD for anyone concerned.
I am going to put my umbrella in my backpack and thus prevent it from raining today. everyone shine like peaches.
