I stood up and walked out of the classroom on Friday as soon as I discovered what movie we were watching in English. I actually stayed yesterday. Watching Spiderman in AP Literature is giving me warm fuzzies. The really strange thing is, they weren’t there the first time I saw it in the theaters. I really will start feeling sick if I watch any more.

Then again, it could have a lot to do with the fact that the guy sitting next to me at the time was half blocking my view with hand puppets. The single thought running through my mind was something like, “Omg, kill me now.”

On a sidenote, Boris thinks Ben resembles James Franco as Harry Osborn. In some scenes, I suppose. I can’t decide.

who feel dizzy and turn pale from a prick of a hypodermic needle. It’s for the best, of course, for both me and for UMS — I’m quite certain that I wouldn’t produce any great romantic poetry if I died from consumption at age 25.

*webbie hat on* I just installed Google Analytics. So, loading my page will be marginally slower, but I will get detailed info on my webtraffic. *webbie hat off*

I noticed as I was filling out the favorite music/artists section of my Residential College Interest/Activity Sheet a certain difference between how I answer the question now and how I might have answered it a couple of years ago. True, my musical tastes may have somewhat changed, though, if they have, they haven’t really changed by much.

The real difference isn’t so much on paper as it is in my head. I get the sense that early in high school, when I talked with people about my musical interests, I had a tendency to focus on some artists more than others with a pseudo-maschismic, unspoken, “Pfft, I am more metal than you!”

This is actually pretty silly, as I’m not metal at all — the closest I get is probably Apocalyptica’s Metallica on Four Cellos, and Finger Eleven, which in recent years has moved more in the post-grunge direction to join the Foo Fighters, Creed, and other such favorite entities. What exactly was wrong with admitting to liking various “girlie music,” (Sarah McLachlan, certain Disney songs, *gasp* Enya) I don’t really understand. I suppose this is all part of the whole high school identity search dealie.

Okay. I’ve had it. I cannot take this anymore, but I know I can and I probably will. I’ve seen a lot of strange and frightening things around this house over the past four years, but I have never, ever, EVER encountered anything as bad as a FUCKING MANNEQUIN HANGING FROM THE DINING ROOM CHANDELIER. I haven’t the foggiest WHERE IN HELL she got a mannequin, but it was looking at me when I came home today, and I’ve already had a long, long day.