Ain't got no cash, ain't got no style

My headphones are broken. With some careful jiggling of the headphone jack, I have sound in both ears, but otherwise it's only coming from the right ear and it makes me feel lopsided, like a cat with missing whiskers on one side. And it makes me INSANE the more I think about music only on one side of my head and I am becoming more frustrated as I try to fix it. And then I think I get it and then I don't and it's awful. I'm afraid to make any sudden movements right now because I have sound in both ears and it's chill.

I have roughly twenty-three books about sex sitting on my bookshelf. They range from female orgasms to the changing of sex over time to homosexuals living in America to Kinsey's male study on sex. And they're all fascinating. I believe I have cleaned the library out of any substantial reading material on the topic of sex. I feel like I have sooo much reading material that there are so many things to cover in my independent project. I have an interesting topic that should be quite interesting to present to the New College class...especially since 85% of New College is immature. But I've read at least sixty pages about the female orgasm tonight and the ways which women describe their orgasms makes me laugh, because though the end result is essentially the same, how they get there is completely different. And I've read about homosexuals in Canada and the United States...there is actually an old man in his eighties and he's attracted to men and always has been, but has never had sex with them. And I finished an entire book about men and women in society and some points which I already discovered have been mentioned, but others which I've never thought of and I'm glad that I read it, no matter how outdated it is.

It's 2am.

I am so cold right now. What the hell happened to summer weather?! Fuckin'-a.

I have no actual stories to tell anyone which matter because apparently my life is boring. And once again, I'd like to write about things but then I'd get bitched at.

I'm looking for a summer job away from home because if I had to stay home for two months, I'd kill myself. Thanks

I am an innocent man...

...or woman. But you get the deal because there's a good chance you have seen my boobs or my period blood staining my jeans. It's all good. I worked at the museum today and I got a bottle of wine. And I have decided since I'm made fun of for getting drunk before dinner, I will actually get drunk prior to dinner. We are meeting at 6:30pm and it's 5:30. I've only had one cup so far but that's actually an accomplishment because this wine tastes like grinded children. Now, I'm all up for eating grinded babies, but there comes a point when the tender, juicy and sweet meat which a baby makes up is soured by age. Ironic since a bottle of wine gets better with age. They could just be bad grapes. But I'm likin' the getting drunk before dinner idea...but lately I'm accustomed to drinking and my body just gets sleepy, so I have to keep drinking steadily until 6:30. I'm gonna read some of the sex books that I took out from the library yesterday because there are eleven and I only finished one since yesterday...and it's due sometime in May. Yeah.

I'm gonna be like Charnow and sip wine and read statistics about women and their sexuality.

Peace out nukkas.

Pirate skulls and bones

Sticks and stones and weed in bongs

Running when we hit 'em

Lethal poison through their system

Turn around bright eyes

http://youtube.com/watch?v=55nTwg5NIPM

Her Hitler hairdo is making me feel ill

Okay, something fucked up is going on with the Geminis of the world (or at least myself and the three others that I know well). We're up and down and all around and detached or too into it and we can't handle shit. And it's driving me crazy. Ahhh!!!

I had so much to talk about. I'm in a giggly mood right now and I think it's all of the vodka that I mixed in with my green tea. Actually vodka only makes me giggly for so long. As I was peeing tonight, I thought of the best type of alcohol for me to drink to be able to get loose yet not become so intoxicated that I have a hard time walking. And that my friends is wine. I have decided that when I drink a bottle of wine, I am giggly. And sexual. haha. We all know what has happened when Fran practically consumed a bottle of wine. Yeah... well, wine is good because I can chill with a bottle of it and feel accomplished and giggly and sexual. Oh baby, oh baby. That was the most random thing ever, my deepest apologies.

What else can I discuss? How about my pathetic eyesight. I have spent so much time staring at the computer screen that my eyes are buggin' out on me and my eyesight is progressively worse by the second. See? Just now I lost eye cells or something. And now...another one. And another and another. I can discuss my soon-to-be carpal tunnel syndrome. From typing notes and blogs and IMing and all that jazz. It's not cool at all. Maybe we should discuss how the vending machine in the commuter's lounge is a communist. I put a dollar in to get Reese's peanut butter cups and the delish chocolate wouldn't come out all the way. So I paid another dollar and got my two Reese's. Dave, the little ungrateful bastard, wanted M&M's, so I put a $1.25 into the machine and they got stuck. Eric, pissing his panties already, tells me to add another $1.25 because I'll get the two bags and he can conveniently have the other--as though I'm money bags over here. So I put the money in and the one bag that I already paid for come out and the second one gets stuck. So now Fran has to go to room 112 in the Student Center to get my $1.25 refund. I have spent $4.50 on chocolate that wasn't even that imperative to my life...or thighs for that matter. Not to mention most of that was for Dave and Eric who didn't even appreciate my attempts. Shall we discuss how much boys suck like that? They never appreciate everything that a girl does for them. It's just gimme, gimme, gimme because each girl is just like their mother and their mother is supposed to hand them everything. Fuck everything with a penis (and is heterosexual) because you have a mother to take care of you and do all of your shit for you, then you have girlfriends who want to nurture and love you like their moms taught them to do (unless you're a typical part-Cancer like me...then it's automatic) then there is your wife which you marry because they remind you the most of your mama, thus you expect them to do all of your shit for you...and never appreciate it ONCE because you have a penis and you feel like the globe spins for you and you only. Selfish little twits.

In other news, my sanity is under seige by the Hofstra Intelligence Unit, however that statement has no validity because, according to my philosophy professor, contradictions don't exist, and that is the biggest contradiction ever, thus it does not exist. But I personally believe in the HIU as much as I believe in my sanity and the little cats that roam around campus actually work for the HIU and they input my data and use it against my sanity. Not to mention Greg works for them because he seems to know where I am at all times like, "I saw you at 5 by the admissions building." And I would not doubt it if Greg was working with cats and Hofstra against me because he is creepy and always had it out for me...being smarter, funnier and all around better than him. And they're all just looking to make me crazy as shit before I leave this campus.

I have heard great songs on shuffle from my playlist and that makes me happy.

Karen and I walked 45 minutes to get to the park, just to stay for about 20 minutes. Then we walked the 45 minutes back. Can you say funny? Or better yet, hilarious? No, you probably can't because youre so fucking methed out. Eat some chili.

And I totally jinxed my playlist now... ahhhh. And then something good came back on, so nevermind.

She cried in the kitchen to let you go

I can't recall a time which I have ever felt so detached from people. A part of me just doesn't care about some things anymore, in particular love. Searching for that someone seems like a lost cause right now, especially since I feel like the plan is just the plan. And I've been working extensively on my philosophy paper and I chose to write about love, and the more I write about it, the more frustrated I become. I can't put into words what exactly love is and I guess that is because one can't really describe what it is about love that differentiates it from any other human emotion. The past few days I have decided that if I never fall in love again, I'll be okay with it. Now, I know that this isn't true, because in a week I'll snap out of my indifference and I'll be all romantic again, but as of now, I've hit a brick wall. Being in love is a waste as far as I can tell right now. And some people just are not meant to love someone else in such a deep matter. I guess I'm just wondering why I am the way I am and people are the way they are and why it is the way it is. And love, something that I felt so strongly about, and something a few blogs ago I wanted to feel again, is not important and I hate love right now. It just depresses people because it doesn't last forever for any individual. Love itself is eternal--every human will feel love and know love--but that love won't last forever because we find new people to fall in love with or we lose focus about the imperativeness of love.

And I feel like I can just let all of this go and not care. I can leave school and the friends I've made here, I can leave home and the family that I have there and be okay because it was all a figment of my being. If I have a distinct path, I could just pick up and leave and not look back again. This life sickens me because we sit around and take advantage of what we have and do not care what happens to the world and the people that inhabit it. We are each a hypocrite and that truth makes me ill about the world in which we live.

And I went to sleep so happy and I woke up feeling like none of what I was happy about is actually worth it.

We should all just do it the peaceful way, man.

Never used your head

To find out what this whole thing meant

Will you feel anything at all?

It's 11:40pm. Do you know where Fran's sanity is tonight? Out the fucking window would be the right answer. Can someone explain to me how it's bedtime for the people that I live with? Can you?! How is it that if I tried to go to bed at 11:40, I wouldn't be able to fall asleep without being asked "why?" and...I wouldn't be able to fall asleep at all because there would be so much banter between girls that it'd be impossible to fall asleep. How is it that they've decided that it's okay to go to bed so early. I wanted to watch a fucking movie tonight and now I can't because Allie is trying to sleep. I was going to have a Fran night and hang out with me, myself and I and appreciate my determinist life and sip green tea and chill with my heart socks and tank top (underwear optional). And be content by myself though I'm in the mood to chill but cannot because I'm friends with people are responsible to write a paper that's due the next day. I cannot wait to have my own room this weekend. Thank God for the Jews, man. And thank God for Jewish roommate and suitemate. Mernelis hasn't been here so I'm not too worried about seeing her while I prance around naked to Bob Marley. I shall have my own room for at least two days which shall be wonderful. And I can have my green tea movie nights and love myself for loving green tea and movies because that's what cool chicks do. And I'm cool so obviously I'm happy and I really want dip and chips right now.

I'd also like to know when I was nominated garbage lady for my room. Since the new semester started I am the only one that has taken the garbage out...ever. They see everything pile up and it's like, "Oh, someone else will get it." Yeah, and that someone else is me. I guess it has something to do with my economic status...I am most def the poorest out of all of them and I guess the rich always make the poor their slaves, so I'll just wipe down the counters, take out the trash, keep the common room clean and beat the rugs down by the creek all by myself. I doesn't want the massuhs' fancy nail paint and $100 jeans to get messed up.

So what am I to do tonight? I'm exhausting my fingers out by typing so much because there is nothing else to do. Ehhh, I could work on philosophy, but that shit is for queers. I can't watch TV because respectable roommates don't watch TV while the other is trying to sleep...just like they don't talk in normal voices while the other is trying to nap...or slam the door closed while the other is trying to sleep. I swear, they might as well jump up and down on my bed and bang pots with wooden spoons while I'm sleeping; it has the same effect. Maybe I'll whip out my favorite toy...Ruby Blue, and play a symphony on it's out-of-tune strings. Maybe I could walk around by myself and be cool, but Dave is not on duty thus the Hofstra campus is totally unsafe without him around in his little uniform and cap. hahaha. I guess I'll just sit in the dark and curse the unwireless wireless in this room. Or I'll try to sleep. But I don't want to because it's only 12 and I'm not tired and I want to stay up. I kind of want to be obnoxiously loud because that's what they do to me when I try to go to bed early. It's just not fair that they get the peace and quiet when they try to sleep because they are the loud ones...and once they're asleep, it's quiet.

Anything new going on with ya'll? Eh?

Oh, hormones.

Just like little girls and boys

Playing with their little toys

Seems like all they really were doing

Was waiting for love

Part of the disease

Disclaimer: I would just like to briefly discuss the last blog that I have posted. I have gotten shit from two immature boys by the name of Dave and Eric and all they do is think about sex and all they think of me is that I am a nympho who wants someone to fuck her brains out. Okay, well, if anyone else with a penis reads this blog (besides Andrew) you must understand that I do not mean that I want a guy to just flop on top of me and do me while I just lay there because I just want someone on top of me. For one, I wouldn't just lay there, and two, it's not what I meant, so Eric and Dave, please shut up. What I meant was that I miss sharing that closeness with someone else, just that cuddling and intimacy without having penis in vagina contact. Get it? So when I say that I miss lips on mine, hands in my hair and heart beat pressed up to heart beat, I do not mean that that series of events must lead to sex (sorry, fellas) but that sharing certain things such as someone on top of me by just being there in closeness is nice. And that in itself, as far as I'm concerned, is more necessary than having sex. And yeah, Dave and Eric, I may want a "good time" (haha...I'm funny) but I'm not just gonna let Dave climb on top of me...as he offered ;p... just because I want a good time. I have morals and self-respect. So shut up, fools who would like to think that being sensual and sexual means sex.

Okay, so now that the whole blog thang is clear (which it won't because Dave and Eric will be monkeys anyway and think with their loins) let's discuss a new found appreciation in philosophy. I've always believed that our lives followed a plan. Not that God or gods have a plan, but that everyone on this earth has a purpose and a map of what they are supposed to do; essentially we are not responsible for our actions. Our lives are just lives to serve a purpose and we can't be blamed for our behavior because the determinist view believes that we are not in control. I totally believe in determinism. Free will can go fuck itself. Ya know how in high school English class the teacher would ask if humans have fate or free will, and most people would say free will? Well, I think we all try to convince ourselves that we are in total control of our lives and we have to find our own paths and make our own choices and feel our own feelings. And I'd often try to convince myself that my choice was my choice but the idea of free will is just a comfort zone and allows for the rules of society to hold us down. Ya dig? Well, the more and more I thought about the theory of determinism on my own, the more I loved it and the more I believed in fate. And it is comfortable in its own sense. The fact that my life has turned out the way it has is not my fault because it was inevitable. I am rid of that "what if" thing that nags everyone. Well, this is the path and that is that. And I must say that my path ain't so bad so far and I know for a fact that I am on this planet for a concise reason--to help others in a grand way--and it's comforting to know that such choices will lead to that. It's also comforting when I try to think of relationships. Hey, I'm single and it's not my fault because it's just my plan in life. My path was chosen for me, so it's not my fault (and I dont need to be like, "well, I should have done this or that, blah blah blah...it just is). And thinking of life in this way is a relief. I'm at Hofstra and it's not my fault. If you just think about your life and the events that have occurred, they are there for a reason. The person you are today is because of the events of your past and anything that has happened is not your fault. It may seem heartless, but always trying to figure out why you're here and why your life is the way it is and why you've been hurt or loved, etc, sucks. It can even be depressing. Beating yourself up over that one choice is pointless. And I feel better about things in this respect. It's just it. That's all it is. Some people are on this planet just to die, some people are here to do good, others evil, others just roam around to just take up space. But it's all a balance that our planet needs, and our human race needs to survive. Can it be that simple? Yes. And I believe it is. Society just makes us think we have free will so we can stay in neat little boxes and not think outside of that box. Think, if we knew there was such thing as determinism, there would be killing sprees and looting and rapes and chaos because no one could be blamed. And we'd just run around like animals. So we're told that we make our own choices our whole lives and if you do something "bad" it was your choice, thus you are punished. Well, I say fuck that shit, man. Fuck it to hell.

To the left (and so on)

I miss hands on me because you can feel how much someone cares about you by the ways they touch you. Arms too. When someone hugs you lightly they are either too afraid or don't love you lots. A tight, squeezing, warm hug means that the other person loves you and they'll miss you, or they're always there for you. And I miss those things. I have friends and I have family but I need that deeper love where I am embraced with every fiber of the other person's being. I want skin on my skin and hands in my hair, lips pressed up against mine and heart beat mushed up to heart beat. And I want that hug that says "I love you" without the three words having to be spoken. Just hands that will hold me like I am composed of more than skin, bones and organs...that I have a soul and emotions and that my heart beats for them like the pulse in their hands race for me. And it's so "gay" (Palma), but I miss having the weight of another person on top of me. Not that I don't like having the better view on top, but there is something cozy about weight on top of me and I am being taken care of. Just hands and arms and skin and bones and kisses and words without words and love. I know I am capable of loving someone else so much...but...yeah.

apricot

Apricot is a pretty word, don't ya think? Just say "apricot" out loud and agree with me. Don't worry if you're reading this in the library, while your roomie is napping or you're in church (a wireless house of worship?) while the man of God is speaking to the tentative audience about the damnation of hell and the negro race. Just say it, please? I think it's one of those nouns that can be used as an adjective. Like people use other nouns: "Aren't you pretty as a peach" ; "Aren't you just as cute as a button" ; "You smell like a bed of roses." Can't I describe people like apricots? Can't I say that someone is apricot? Not like an apricot but an actual apricot because apricot sounds like a word to describe someone's beauty, or their appearance: "You're totally fuckin' apricot right now" ; "Those panties are apricot." Not just a delicious fruit or color. My cousin Jen used to call me Begonia when I was little because she thought it was the most beautiful flower in the garden in the backyard, and she thought I was the most beautiful girl. So why can't I do the same with apricot? Maybe I can call my Brookie, Apricot, like Jen called me Begonia. Granted Begonia sounds much more exotic (and an actual name) as opposed to Apricot, but to me, Apricot is beautiful. So shut up. Ya'll don't fuckin' know me.

Last night was a good night. And let me tell you why...as though you had a choice. First and foremost, The Office came back last night and it was totally cool stuff. It wasn't THE funniest episode ever, but I chuckled over it. I never tire of Jim's facial expressions and Dwight crying over Angela was great because Dwight is mah fave (by the way, Rainn has seemed to age mucho, right?!). Michael and Jan had a dinner party and only couples were invited, so Jim and Pam and Angela and Andy were there. And, oh boy, let me tell you, it was AWKWARD! Dwight showed up with his babysitter because he wanted to go but needed a date, Jim tried to fake a flood in his apartment so he could leave, and Michael and Jan fought about candles and the Dundies and Jan even threw one at the plasma TV and the cops came. Yeah, it was good stuff.

Well, after The Office, Dave and I flipped channels but pretty much wound up watching NBC. I got hungry, as did Dave the Lobster, and after I convinced Dave that I would not rape him while we were out alone (he was totally waiting for Eric to come back...haha) we went to Kate and Willy's. And then Dave suggested it while my mouth was full of chicken tenders. He suggested that we visit Sam's room in C-square to see if Eric was there. It's really easy to break into C-square apparently. We walked behind a dude who lived in C-square and since not everyone has to swipe their card, as long as the person in front of them is capable of opening the door, Dave and I achieved the first step. We were on Sam and Eric territory. We headed toward Hampton House (I hope Sam doesn't mind me giving out her living situation) and I was a little angry that there wasn't a drunk girl who lived there couldn't figure out how to swipe her card, or that people were smoking, or chillin' in the common room...because how else were Dave and I to get in easily without standing outside the house? Well, God really wanted Dave and I to accomplish our goals because the two girls walking behind us lived in Hampton house. They swiped us in and he and I walked behind these two chicks...all of the way to Sam's door. What do ya know, they were Sam's suitemates! And they left the door bolted open. I tell ya, God wanted it. Oh crap it couldn't have been anymore perfect. Dave made me go in first and I stood in front of Sam's closed door. He followed and told me to knock. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK once. Nothing. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK the second time. Nothing. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK a third time. Nothing. Shit, what a let down right? We made it all the way to her fucking door and she isn't there (nor Eric) to surprise with our beaming, innocent faces. Well, Dave tells me to see if it's open. And I think, Hey, great idea because I wan't to leave her a note so she knows that we broke in. Usually her door is locked so when the door knob actually turned, I was shocked as shit. And Dave just pushed the door open. And what do we see? Sam with no shirt, Eric with no shirt or pants and some leather swing suspended from the ceiling. No, not really. If we did, that would have been ten times funnier. But we did see Eric and Sam sleeping and their utterly shocked and sleepy faces when a burst of light exploded into their dark hole of a room. And Dave was cackling to himself up against the wall and I was like, "Oh shit, Eric is half naked and I just woke them up." And I dragged Dave out of the hallway on my way out and we laughed all of the way to The Netherlands about their faces and Eric being in his panties and Sam all like, "wah?" It could not have worked any better, honestly. Jesus really wanted us to walk in on them because her suitemates were the ones that got us into Hampton house AND her suite....and her door was actually unlocked. Jesus loves me and Dave. Why? Because we are friends with Jack Daniels. That's why.

Life is short, but sweet for certain

I am really sick of people and their fear of sickness. Mostly because they cause most of the illnesses and run around like chickens with their heads cut off like it isn't their fault and looking for solutions and reasons and pop pills and bathe in hand sanitizer. Many diseases that ravaged earlier generations then became silent are now coming back and infecting the old, the young and everyone in between. And why? Because of people. Diseases that lay dormant come back with a vengeance as the earth's temperature increases. Heat breeds that shit and it comes back and there is a "shocking" increase of disease X found here or there and people are dying. Does anyone realize that they are creating their death? No of course they won't until the last ice berg melts and the world is one big puddle. And then it's too late and everyone goes, "Ah, I wish I knew that I was killing the planet."

And then the media comes into play. That fucking psychotic machine of money-making writes articles about "scary germs" found in ATM's, or restaurant bathrooms or your remote control. Well, no shit there are germs on such things because a lot of people use the ATM or the bathroom or your remote control. Why is that surprise? And the public reads that and is paranoid about germs, and God damn, disease X is coming back, so run out in your gas guzzling SUV and buy all of the anti-bacterial soap and hand sanitizer that you can because you dont want you or your family to get disease X. And then curse all of the illegal immigrants who brought back disease X and bad germs to your country. Those little fucks should be sent back to where they came from huh? That third world pit of doom which contains every disease that Americans managed to sweep under the rug. If they only stayed where they were, you'd be able to use your ATM safely, without the worry of catching the plague. So the media tells the public that they're gonna die if they sit down and change the channel so they just buy more shit to make them safer when it actually harms them, because over-exposing yourself to products which kill bacteria fucks up your system, and when you do get sick, anti-biotics will not work in your favor anymore.

So then everyone is sick and daying and they can't get better. We all need a scapegoat, so blame dirty immigrants for the current condition of their perfect world when in fact it is the everyday citizen. Because it's too hard to consume less energy. It is, right? Taking a shorter shower, turning lights off before leaving your house, or driving less (or in a more fuel-efficient car) is way too much to ask of anyone. So we fuck ourselves over and become scared of germs which, SURPRISE! are everywhere anyway.

And I'm tired and I don't know what I'm saying anymore. werd.

Hey my love do you believe that we might last a thousand years

Or more if not for this,our flesh and blood

It ties you and me right up

Tie me down

I swear it's everywhere, it's everything

What's better than two-and-a-half Geminis having a 90's dance party after midnight? Nothing. What's better than one-and-a-half Geminis plastered dancing, with one fuzzy Gemini shaking her apparently God-like ass? Nothing even more. Hofstra is good for parties because we drink here and can just hang out in my room. And Allie has an i-home (and was out to the bar), and Andrew has decent dance music--and Brittany, Andrew and I are awesomely fun dancers--so we make a party. Yeah, the alcohol helped Britt and Andrew be hilarious while dancing, and my wine just made me giggle at them. All in all, it was a successful night of good, clean, sweaty fun. And no one chipped their teeth on the glass bottles while dancing either.

I'm eating some food before I head over to the gym. Lately I only have time for the gym on weekends, so I tend to over exert myself. I run lots and tons and I lift and pull weight with a bunch of sweaty, muscular guys who think that they're the shit. I swear the weight room is like a gay bar with straight men in it. I say this because it's crowded with sweaty, in-shape men, accompanied with dance music blasting in the background. Now, I know this does not constitute for a gay bar per se, but some straight guys go to gay bars knowing that straight chicks will be there to have a good time. When I enter this perspiring pit of doom, all eyes immediately lock on me (and/or my chest) and all the guys working out raise their noses to the air and take a whiff of my pheremones. I know I smell biologically delicious after running two miles and doing a half-hour on the elliptical--and they want my body to dump their sperm in so they can have babies with me. But it's like a gay bar because all of these straight guys, surrounded by men whom they are not attracted to (as far as they let on), are desperate for a single gal to hit on or else the adventure to the bar was a complete waste. And I am this girl. The girl of desperation (my mom is proud). I am a piece of meat to these bro dudes in the weight room because I am the only one with a vagina and C cups (some of them have VERY muscular A's). So I walk in feeling gross from running so much and all I want to do is lift some shit and feel like the shit and I get sniffed and gawked at. At least ten guys stare at my ass as I walk past them and, while it's flattering, I'm just there to work out and not be checked out. It makes me feel self-concious because they linger around me, drooling, watching me work out from the corner of their eyeball. I guess that part is like being the gazelle in the watering hole while the lions make a plan of attack in the distance. I know some of them want to tell me how to use the machine, some just want a quick glance and I know some of them snap out of their gay bar/watering hole mode because they have girlfriends, are gay, or know that they'd never go for me outside of the weight room. So yeah, the weight room is increasingly awkward for me, and yeah it's fun to be their wish for at least ten minutes, but I don't appreciate being 'that' girl. It ain't ma thang. Plus, most of the guys who inhabit the weight room don't look and/or smell good no matter how much their breasts flex.

Oh honey, welcome back home.

And the words float out like holograms

I have noticed the official shift in friendship back home. Nothing is the same, but then again, I never expected it to be. Jon drove me out to Patchogue last night for Jen's 21st birthday. And I felt out of place. Besides the fact that I was the only singleton at the table, surrounded by couples and Melany who has Paul in NC, there is a world that exists when I'm not around. Shocker, I know. But there are jokes and stories and love and admiration that goes on without me and I wasn't a part of it, really. And I was just there. I wasn't expecting everyone to climb all over me and be excited to see me because they just saw me two weeks ago, but to me it was just awkward around everyone. I have two lives and it's becoming more apparent as to which one is in focus, with the other encompassing blurry figures in the distance. My life at school and my friends at school are becoming more established and concrete friends (who will attend by wedding...or at least the reception) and the people back home are becoming closer to one another and not me. And it's all understandable and inevitable, but it was a nice wake up call. Should be interesting to see what happens once people are actually away, ya know? I'll be at Geneseo, Britt will probably be Upstate, Mel will too and so on. Some people just come and go. I just hope the door doesn't hit us in the ass on the way out of eachother's lives.

I really gotta pee. Like fo serious. I kinda want to hold it in until dinner time which isn't for another hour just so that I'll have something to do for the 15 minutes when I'm waiting for everyone to come. It's probably not the brightest idea, but for now my bladder has staying power.

I'd like to go to the Regina Spektor concert in May. It's only Atlantic City and Sam said that she'll go with me, so that's at least one.

Nothing too new going on in this lifetime. Maybe my next one will actually mean something.

Peace. Love.

will it rain today?

First and foremost, Happy Birthday Jen!!!! And if you're not too wasted to read this, I can't wait to see you later tonight and I hope that your 21st is greater than bunnies! Speaking of bunnies, Jen...*wink* you gotta let me in on that shit!

Anywho. Here you are reading this crap. Here I am at 2am writing this crap. Why? I don't know. I don't know why I choose to express myself online when I'm better off revealing myself to myself in a journal. I think about this wonderful Reptar blog, like why I've bothered to keep it. And I think it's because I just want people to know me better. I feel like there are some people who won't get me unless they read me and my words. I express myself better through the written word than the spoken because I get tongue-tied and nervous and I fumble like I'm drunk. Though I'm not, surprisingly enough. But I have this blog that I say stuff in and then all of you read it. And I know some of you check it on a daily basis. I'm not sure if it's THAT good and your day can't be good unless you read about Fran--consider me your morning cup of joe, or you just don't have a life. Or maybe you just want to know me better because you know that I'm better with the written word. Maybe, just maybe. But the blog strikes me as humorous because often I'm random or not random enough and/or I still don't explain myself well enough so people actually get what I'm saying. And I still remember when Reptar was still getting started and Allie found out and she said that emo lesbians wrote in blogs. Well. I don't really consider myself emo and/or a lesbian, so it makes this whole blog process even more entertaining because I wonder if I represent an emo lesbian. Like, what am I emo about? Being a lesbian? Or am I really emo but the fact that I'm a lesbian is not important, I just am. But Allie wouldn't mention the lesbian part if it weren't relevant, and as we all know, Allie is Moses (she's Jewish) and can say no wrong. What does it all mean Watson? It means that Charlie bit my finger. That's what the fuck it means.

My philosophy class is complete shit. I dont feel smart in that class because we run in circles. Do dogs look smart chasing their own tails for hours on end? We don't have a beginning or end and we just go in circles for three hours and get nowhere. Fuck philosophy. I've never liked it because arguing about what's real and not real is not really fun for me. Really! There are interesting concepts, and sometimes having a rousing discussion of "is boiling water really hot or do we just perceive it to be so?" with your friends is good clean fun as you watch your skin peel off in one huge layer after sticking your hand into a boiling pot continuously, but still debate that the water isn't hot at all because it's your perception and reality and perceptions differ from one human to another and the fact that your skin's rotting from your body does not mean a thing because that skin pile on the carpet is not proof enough that the water is seething hot. But not for three hours; we'd be masses of burning pink flesh. But hey, let's debate our pink flesh too while we're at it. For Jesus' sake, enough is enough. I'm sure if Jen and I got into a philosophical discussion about life and God and death and religion, we'd have enough sense to stop once we found ourselves exactly where we began. And if we didn't stop, I'd have enough sense to smother her with a pillow. And maybe I'd later ponder whether Jen's corpse was real or just a figment of my imagination, because she may have never existed before. Because what does existance mean? Just because we are here does not mean we exist, right? But what does "here" mean? Maybe my here is your there and we are everywhere and nowhere. But what does that mean? It just goes on and on...let's reiterate: dogs do not look smart chasing their own tails just as much as I dont look smart with Hofstra cups on my hands, stroking my chin and dancing to the macarena at dinner time.