The Terrorists Are Getting Desperate

So...as y'all know, I live in a dorm (and I'm Southern, apparently). I'm almost never there, since I spend my days dividing my time between my classrooms, my job, and my boyfriend's trailer house (we're country, y'all!). I got home at about 11 o'clock tonight, and...

for some strange reason, there is a blue pipe-cleaner twisted into a curlicue and Scotch-taped to the frame of my lofted bed.

Somebody's fucking with me.

No, I Think It's a Cookbook

One of the great tragedies of this earth is that, in a university classroom, you can hear the question, "What was that 'Grecian Urn' thing--is it a poem or something?"

P.S. I bet you can't listen to music on your toaster. Well, I can.

P.P.S. We watched An Inconvenient Truth in class yesterday, and I have come to the conclusion that we're all terrible people and we're going to melt as punishment. In that vein, unplug your toasters! It saves energy and will make you not melt to death and stuff.

Bitches!

Sometimes I shrink my head into my shoulders so that my neck disappears, scrunch up my face, and yell in a baby voice, "Bitches!" My boyfriend tells me it's cute in a really weird way. I just do it because it's fun.

I'm kinda sad that Anna Nicole died. Makes me feel old.

JT died on Degrassi...anyone? Anyone? I might have almost cried. Totally shocking.

It still bothers me that Uri Geller exists.

Blogger is way amazing at helping me pretend that these two essays I'm supposed to be doing don't exist...