All because of yous guys.

My life since creating a blog has become significantly different. Not so much in content really, but in outlook. I no longer think of what i should do because it woudl be fun, or good for me, or any of those important things. I base my life around what would sound interesting on my blog.

Because i care about you, dear readership.

Take, for instance, this very night. I was contacted on the telephone by deepthroat and asked if i wanted to perform illegal activites on biola's campus. That sounds bad, but it wasn't like that. i promise.

Given this situation, i had two options. Would my night spent reading tertullian and warfield grab the readership's attention, or a wild rampage of illegality? While the doctirne of the Trinity is extremely important and both Warfield and Tertullian would back me on that, my dear readership might not look so kindly on my rejection of adrenaline pumping campus safety evasion.

So, in order to appease the crowds clambering at my blog for more, more, more, i chose with little thought to the morrow and the sleep I would be missing come afternoon.

While, dear readership, i would most gladly regale you with details and events of our criminal activity, Campus Safety has recently begun reading my blog (for sheer enjoyment) and it would not do well to incriminate myself, now would it? I am much too young to spend my life behind bars and have little money to pay off Campus Safety.

But if you're smart, you can figure it out. Here's a clue-- (it rhymes with climbing on shmorton)

Dear readership, i hope you are happy with my decision. My fate rests in your hands.

runner girl

My friend recently took up running. It's not that he actually enjoys it, or that he's doing it to stay healthy. He generally hates event he thought of running and actually has a bad knee. But that hasn't stopped him.

Because, my friend has 'a thing' (his words) for this girl. He's seen her in the lobby a few times and thinks she's pretty cute. They do the whole 'head knod' and 'smile' but he has yet to move it past that point. He doesn't even know her name for that matter.

So he's taking up running. Because she runs. She runs religiously. Probably more than religiously. And, he figures if he's ever going to talk to her, he's going to need to have a common interest.

"So, I see you run. I run too."

That's how you start good conversation. Conversation that moves you places. Maybe even to her name.

"jane".

I don't actually know her name, or i'd help him out with that, but 'jane' is a good runner name, so we'll go with that. Given the fact that unnamed friend is attempting to build a relationship on a running encounter, it might go bad if they possibly do anything. Because, when a relationship is built on running, you're bound to go running eventually. And she's a runner. The "runner stage of forrest gump" kind of runner.

And unnamed friend is not. He's the "i don't really like this, but this girl's kinda cute" kind of runner. Not able to keep up most likely. But he's gonna try. And i commend him for that. that's dedication.

because his other attempts at talking to girls have generally gone quite poorly. He's not what you call 'smooth'. He once had a 'conversation' with a girl he thought was cute that consisted of the following.

"I see you're popping popcorn."

"yeah."

"There must be a lot of kernels left at the bottom."

No, i popped it long enough."

"oh."

And then she left. That's not the kind of conversation he is hoping for with runner girl, so we have been prepping him. Throwing him into random situations where he must respond with witty, playful banter that will be sure to catch her heart.

But he doesn't even know if he likes her. But I think he's going to force himself to even if she's horrible just because he's put so much into this.

That's what makes relationships work.

Grabbing life.

Sometimes you have to grab life by the balls.




If that doesn't work, try Albert the Bull.

I like my lips chapped, thank you very much.

I'm opposed to chapstick on principle. My sisters swear by the stuff and reapply their 'Softlips' in various flavors every 12 and a half seconds, and would probably break out in sweats and shivers if they didn't get their 'fix'.

"Oh no, i can't find my chapstick! It's been over a minute. I feel so cold, the world is becoming so distant. I can't feel my lips. Why am i scratching my arms? Oh no!" They then proceed to fall over and go crazy until somebody with chapstick stoops down and rubs their lips vigorously with the product, thus reviving them to live another day. This happens right before their lips explode from chapping, dubbed a 'chaplosion' by users. I saw a special on chapped lips on the discovery channel with actual footage of a chaplosion. Disgusting.

While i think this proves that chapstick is made primarily of crack cocaine, i still cannot support the idea of chapstick. It's unnatural. If God wanted my lips to stop bleeding, he'd have made my lips secrete chapstick. But he didn't. And, if i'm gonna do crack cocaine, there are much better ways to be a junkie. Much cooler ways to be a junkie.

Another major problem i have with chapstick is that it isn't laundry friendly. My sisters, from the dawn of time, have been leaving chapstick in their clothing while sending it through the wash, thus making all my clothing have little oily spots that NEVER come out. It's strange that their clothing never gets those spots. But i'm not really bitter. I enjoy wearing stickers on random parts of my body to cover chapstick grease stains.

"why are you wearing a surfing sticker on your thigh?"

"uh, cause it's cool?"

*rip*

"Ooh look, he's got grease stains! What a slob!"


My hatred for chapstick is not unfounded.

You got Tagged, sucka.

This is going to deviate from the norm for me, in that i won't be ranting about my life, habits, or people around me. It will be nicely catalogued and sorted so you can easily identify what is going on. It will still be about me, but it won't be a rant in illogical incoherence. Also, this was not of my initiation, i blame Cate.

brace yourself.

Four Jobs I Have Had:

RA. (because i'm a social butterfly)
Coffee baristo. (because i'm trendy)
Butcher. (animals mostly)
Scoreboarder for a minor league baseball team. (because they gave us free beer. not really, but that would've been cool)


Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over Again:

Braveheart. (because Mel Gibson validates kilt-wearing)
Saving Private Ryan. (beccause it's all about the name)
The Big Lebowski. (because it's like, my opinion, man)
Boondock Saints. (because Irishmen kick Ass)


Four Books I Could Read Over and Over:

Bio of John Paton. (because his story is amazing)
Let The Nations Be Glad. (because it reminds of the important things)
The Chronicles of Narnia. (because they are short, fun reads)
Brothers K. (because although it may start slow, it's a good book)


Four Places I Have Lived:

Wildomar, California. (because it's a bustling little metropolis)
Malisheve, Kosova. (because electricity and water don't always need to be working.)
Jump Off Joe Lake, Washington. (because i liked the name)
San Clemente, California. (because i was born there)


Four TV Shows I Watch:

Arrested Development (because george michael makes things awkward)
Lost (because i've always wanted to get trapped on a destertedish island that's not really deserted)
Alias (because i hate bad guys)
The O.C. (because it resonates with my soul)


Four Places I Have Been on Vacation:

Istanbul, Turkey. (because i wanted my mom to be nervous)
Seattle, Washington. (because you don't want to go any farther with four guys in one car)
Iowa. (because every head of corn is different. like snowflakes.)
Canada. (because my friend and i had our driver's licenses)


Four Websites I Visit Daily:

www.biola.edu. (because i'm always hoping money magically appeared in my biola account)
http://news.bbc.co.uk/. (because i don't watch TV news)
all my friend's blogs. (because i like knowing what they are up to/how they're doing)
www.bofa.com (because i need to know exactly how much money i have in my account)


Four Favorite Foods:

Coffee. (because it generally substitutes for breakfast)
Cheese. (because i'm the president of the frickin' cheese club of biola)
Bread. (because it goes well with cheese)
Pizza. (because it's got bread and cheese)


Four Places I'd Like to be Right Now:

Istanbul. (because i like the food, the buildings, and the pushy salesmen who offer you tea)
Western Europe. (because i've never been there)
The Middle East. (because it would be exciting and the people interest me)
June. (because i would be graduated already)

Three Bloggers I'm Tagging:

Amanda Womack. (because she stole my roommate)
Amanda Meyncke. (because she reads it)
Ashley Romero. (because her name starts with "A")

I would tag four, but everybody i know that reads my blog is already tagged.

Chuck Norris vs. The Devil

I had recently recieved an email from the Library saying a movie i had borrowed was due. This new feature is truly a God-send as i have had many overdue books and fines as a result. Knowing Paul Schoerner occasionally relieved those fines substantially, but nonetheless it was painful grovelling at his feet in order to save $0.65. I've got some form of self-dignity, but i'll still sell it for $0.65. But that has nothing to do with my story...

I finished listening to the two chapel tapes i was listening to simultaneously and then headed up there. My roommate, who was also bored decided to tag along.

We'll refer to him as the devil.

After returning my movie (which was "Platoon", by the way. A very manly movie with lots of blood, guns, and words you can't say in front of ladies) the devil persuaded me to go with him to see if there were any good movies at the library. I have frequently borrowed mocies from the library and knew this collection to be a gold mine of free movies. Previous to this though i had rented movies like "Guns", All the "Rambo's", "Terminator 1,2, and 3", "killing your own food", "survival techniques if the viet cong is attacking", "How to make bombs", "How to spit, fart, and cuss", "The day Chuck Norris kicked The Devil's Ass", and countless other classics of that genre.

The devil, he's got a different idea for movies though. And, fully under his persuasion, because the devil didn't bring his library card today, i rented from a different genre. You see, the devil doesn't watch enough bad movies in hell and thought now would be a good time. In a moment of weakness i gave in to the devil and borrowed "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days."

But mayeb it's not all that bad. After all, it is "A fabulously fresh and totally entertaining BATTLE of the SEXes." It has the words "battle" and "sex" in it, but i'm pretty sure that's negated by the word "fabulous". But either way, it has been referred to as "The ultimate chick-flick for guys." I still haven't decided if that's a good thing or not.

I have yet to watch this film, but in order to make pre-penance for my sin, i manlyly lifted heavy iron objects above my head repeatedly tonight while drinking through a beer bong and listening to rock and roll.

I've secured my manhood.

The spirit of Christmas

I know Christmas is over, but I don't think it gets enough attention the rest of the year.

I'm a firm believer in the spirit of Christmas and the joy it brings to all hearts. Christmas is that time of year when people are happy, life is good, and contract doesn't apply. Families get together and play games and sing songs and other sorts of happy things. People get presents, give presents, and go to church because this is when we decided was the time of year Jesus was born. Lights are strung, presents are wrapped, and there is a general feeling of goodwill throughout the air.

In honor of this joyous season, I have taken to continuing a little piece of Christmas in my dorm room all year long. There's no better way to bring the holiday mood all year long. If you're stressed out from papers or tests, here's a friendly little reminder of Christmas to brighten your smile. It would almost be wrong of me to deprive the world of this little piece of joy.

If you're feeling down and out, come by my room for a little bit of Christmas to cheer you up.

The mistletoe's waiting...

Was that...Klingon?

I recently got nominated for the "National Dean's List". When you open the letter you initially think this is a good thing. Then you think a little more and you realize, people on this list don't have lives. They're people, without people. People on this list think a a good friday night is one where there aren't reruns on the history channel. People who think talking to a person of the other gender is 1st base.

The company who makes this list sends an advertisement with it so you can buy this book for exorbitant sums of money which contains a bio on each person on the list, what they like, what their GPA was, their list of honors, and even includes a picture if you want.

If that's not a nerd version of hot or not, i don't know what is. Nerds all over the nation put down their books and pencils to check out the hot babes.

Nerd boy: "Hey look this girl got a 4.6 in college and has 4 bachelor's degrees in math and science! That is soooo hot!"

Nerd girl: "Oh my gosh! This guy likes computers and blogging and majored in Physics. He even plays World of Warcraft. What a stud."

Nerd boy: "I know, i'll email her and ask her is she wants to join my clan on WOW. If she says yes, i'll know this was meant to be."

Nerd girl: "We've been emailing back and forth for a while now, things are getting pretty serious. We might even meet soon. Maybe we'll play D and D. I would definitely not mind slaying his dragon."

Nerd boy: "She was totally eyeing me. I even let her borrow my cape and she blushed. We are definitely a thing."

Nerd girl: "ooaoijahia."

Nerd boy: "OHMYGOSH! You know Klingon? Will you marry me?"




This doesn't bode well.

It is finished.

After a rousing rendition of "Oh nuits d'Arabie" (Arabian Nights) i am happy to say j'ai fini le francaise.


as the french say,

I came.
I saw.
I got my ass kicked.

The big questions?

There's some questions that just can't be answered easily. Questions like "What is the meaning of life?" Or, "Should i lend a friend $50 if they've already borrowed $50 from me and have yet to pay that back?" Or, "What would i do for my best pal's b-day?"

And then there's questions that require deep thought and soul contemplation. Questions that make you question questions. Questions that would make Nick and Jessica reconsider their break-up because in all reality, marriage spats due to extensive media attention is a mere trifle compared to this question.

I'm sure you're wondering what this question is. Why my whole life for the past 12 minutes could be consumed with attempting to discover the answer to one question-- "Did watching the O.C. change my life more or did eating a slice of left out Havarti cheese that makes clunking noises?"

And i can't just give a simple answer, because that would be making a mockery. Permit me to be so bold to call it "blasphemy" or "sacrilege" if you will. And you will, because questions of this magnitude add clarity to your life and refocus all the mundane details into their true perspective. Given this importance, i must weigh the outcome of either decision.

If the O.C. changed my life more?

I would be obligated to continue watching this show, every thursday night at 9pm, if only to better myself.
I would be able to hold my head proudly and proclaim "I've not only watched the O.C., i live twenty minutes away from the O.C."
I would have caught a glimpse of life as it is truly meant to be lived and will end up losing $1500 to a fourteen year old girl who really is 16, but looks incredibly like her TV sister and mother.

If the Havarti cheese changed my life more?

I will have joined the ranks of the legends before me whose lives have been changed by havarti cheese.
I will have validated the existence of the cheese club of biola.
I would end up spending all my days making cheese and eating cheese and have my ashes put in cheese when i die.

So which will it be? This question assails my intellect and renders me helpless. I am torn between fake drama goodness and cheesy creamy richness on the other.

Like all great men before me, I'll have to go with the Newcastle.

I don't have a sandwich right now and that's proof women aren't oppressed.

This post stems from an email exchange i had recently with a female english teacher/feminazi from biola. Not that one needs to include the descriptor "feminazi" as it is generally understood that all female english teachers are such.


But, being homeschooled, i was always my own english teacher. I didn't know of this dark and sundry connection between the feminazi party and English teaching. How was i to know there was a requirement that all female english teachers also hate men and make it their personal goal in life to let you know that women have been oppressed since the dawn of time and that men have sucked since then. Not knowing this, i was sent off to Jr. College by my mother, who thought i wasn't getting enough book larning at home.

Me. A tender homeschooled boy being thrust to the evil machinations of a feminazi, man-hating, all black-wearing, Raven daughter-naming, divorced woman. and her name was dara. but it rhymed with sarah. and she didn't understand that people would pronounce it "dahrah". Because when she lived on the East coast, everybody knew how to pronounce her name.

In Dara's class we watched movies like "The Virgin Suicides" and read about crazy opressed women (the yellow wallpaper, and the dollhouse being two of them). Because she was oppressed. Dara had been wronged by men. Maybe not her personally, but in that she shared in the female gender, she had partaked of the common oppression shared by them, from the male gender. And we, in hicktown california, didn't know that women were opressed. Nor did we care according to her opinion.

And most of us didn't. Most of us were just in the class to get the grade (most people were praying for a "C") and get done with this darn English stuff cause it really didn't matter.

But then this crazy psycho feminazi man-hating teacher started growing on me. Not literally of course, cause she was a separate person and there was no physical contact whatsoever. And it wasn't that i started caring about the oppression of women, because this domineering woman exuded none of that oppression crap she was attempting to force feed us.

But she liked my writing. Well, she liked it better than most of the people at the Jr. College, which isn't saying much. And she liked me as a person. In that weird sort of man-hating feminazi way that only crazy English teachers can. Maybe it was because i wasn't a man yet in the fullest sense of the word. I was still in the tenth grade or something and didn't even know what girls were. (i knew what they were, but not really what they were). I even ended up taking another class with her just because she was a good teacher, despite her eccentricities.

But I didn't start buying into her beliefs. i had/have balls, in the literal sense. I couldn't just robotically consume her ideas as my own. women aren't oppressed. and if they are, have one make me a sandwich.

surprisingly, we still keep in contact through email every once in a while. She still hates men and doesn't understand why i'm a Christian, it being yet another tool of oppression.

I still think women belong in the kitchen and think God is the only thing that makes life make sense, but that's ok that we disagree.

cause i'm a man and i'm right.

le frenchies sont taking over.

les musulmans de france.

J'ai un presentation on that sujet demain that je have been working on et that's tous je peus penser about.



bienvenue a mon vie.


make the frenchies stop.

Mervish the Dervish

There once was a dervish
and his name was mervish
and he spun around day and night

he lived just to spin
to eat and to then
spin til he could not see right

to the left he did turn
right quick he did learn
his left foot was not quite as quick

he kept spinning round
til he could not sit down
and then he did become sick

he puked as he spun
and it was no fun
to spin in the same room as him

he had no more friends
but ne'er did he end
cause Mervish would never give in

His doctors said stop
But mervish would not
stubborn was he as a donkey

he spun til he died
his mother did cry--
"Mervish, you crazy honkey!
You know white boys can't dance."

Your Hair is Making Me Stupider

I'm a big fan of hair. I like it. Long, short, brown, red, blonde, curly straight...it doesn't matter to me. Everybody's got it, girls generally have more of it, and it looks good on them. I give it a thumbs up, in general. I may never brush mine, but i appreciate the fact that other people take care of their hair.

But while i may be a big fan of hair, i'm not a fan of big hair. It's all where the superlative goes (watch my grammar skills roll). You know the kind of hair i'm talking about. The kind that just screams at you "i am hair, hear me roar!" It's no longer just hair. It's HAIR!. And it's offensive for the most part. It would be like screaming hello at someone from a distance of a foot. It's just not necessary.

But you say, "i've got curly hair and it just won't stay tamed". That doesn't concern me. What concerns me is that your hair is offensive and loud. It's blocking my view of the dang french movie. And it's blocking the subtitles none the less. I don't understand much of this french class and when ariel is singing her little mermaid songs in french, i want to understand what she's saying.

And not only that, instead of being able to understand the french movies i get lost somewhere in your hair and start wondering ridiculous things. "That looks like it takes a long time to dry, if i had hair like that i'd never wash it." "Maybe she doesn't wash it and that's why it looks like this." "Is big hair genetic?" "I bet she wouldn't know it if i stuck my pencil in her hair." "Dang, she noticed."

I don't care that you have big blonde curly freaking hair. It doesn't concern me that you look like a lion that got hit with a curling iron.


I just want to see the french movies and your hair is obstructing my ability to learn.

What a travesty.

Classifieds

You see on bubbs in the classified section every once in a while: "Looking for: Date" where somebody left their bubbs on and their roommate got on their account and had a little fun. And you laugh about it and check the history to see who replied and then you stop. You get a little quieter and think, is it possible that his works. And then you laugh a little more, but less enthusiastically cause you're brain is spinning with all the possibilities. "Does this work?" "Will he get a date this way?" "Does this look desperate?" "Does it matter?" "Would my rommates do this if i left my bubbs on?" "would it work?" "If i did it myself would people think my rommates did it?" "How can i do jedi mind tricks on my roommates so that they will do it when i leave my bubbs on?" "Will girls respond?" "How do you get the rich ones to respond?"

Cause at this point in your life you realize that all the girls in the world go to biola and there is a black hole here that exists in such a way that there are no girls left after biola and you have to find one before you leave. Because if you don't, you're going to die a virgin, and even though you don't like people all that much, you've gotten over it such that you're willing to like people.


my bubbs is on and i'm leaving the room.

I blame my roommates.

boy howdy.

My Roommate has a "Chicken Soup For The Soul" mug...



With which he eats soy beans for breakfast, brunch, and dinner.



Then he snuggles up in his leopard print blanket...



and drinks a cup of Passion flavored Tazo Tea,



All the while taking pictures of himself with his camera phone to put on his myspace.




what a flamer.

Smart Dogs

A: "You know how smart trained dogs are now? Imagine how smart they must have seemed back in the roman times when everybody was dumb!"

B: "Seriously, i saw this dog once who was really smart. i mean really smart"

A: "but we're really smart now"

B: "that's what i'm saying. If this dog i saw was so smart, and we're so smart now, the dogs a long time ago must have seemed even more smarter."

A: "Cause the people were dumb."

B: "You already said that."

A: "I know, but it's true. And it must have made the trained dogs seem like einstein compared to the people back then."

B: "seriously."

A: "Yeah, we would have looked like idiots."

B: "Seriously."




this is the direct transcript of a conversation i heard between two guys in the Stewart lobby as i ate my dinner. I think they've got a good point. Dogs just aren't as smart as they used to be.

Homeschooling, Girls, and French

Taking French makes me realize how little I know. Le professeur is explaining all this stuff about French and writing things on the board like "complimente objet directe" or something like that, which doesn't make any sense to me. It's not that it is in French either. The problem runs much deeper than that.

The problem ultimately goes back to the fact that I was homeschooled. Words like "noun", "verb", "object", "article" and other parts of speech have absolutely no meaning to me because I never cracked an English book all the way through highschool. I may have read a lot of books, but they don't underline parts of speech and diagram sentences (which would make for an awful book), because that would make them English textbooks. I didn't like them, so I didn't use them. I counted things like talking to myself and reading children's books as part of my English training.

You see, being homeschooled has its ups and downs. The ups being I could do whatever I wanted. The downs being lack of social skills and a complete inability to talk to the female race. But that brings me back to the French language...If I am unable to swoon the ladies because I lack most, if not all, of the social graces, then maybe I can talk to them in French. I wouldn't know what to say, but that doesn't matter because it's French and it's sexy ("sexy" is a French word. It means "sexy" in English). If I could just talk at them in French, that's automatic bonus points scored because le francais is supposed to be the language d'amour.

But alas, I was homeschooled and not only deprived of the social graces, but unable to understand grammar, and thus unable to learn French.

Pardon my French, but that sucks.

It burns. It burns.

Working on the cars is always an interesting endeavour around my house. It's usually an all-guy event although it generally means three guys sitting around watching while one works.

So I'm sitting by the side of the car in the middle of changing the brakes on my mom's car (the real reason she wanted me home for the weekend) and my dad and brother are watching. My brother-in-law wasn't there at the time or he would have been watching too. My dad knows how to do everything mechanical and generally makes me do it all while he's telling me what to do. My Brother can't stand getting his hands dirty so he pretends to be in charge and makes sarcastic remarks the entire time and attempts to boss me around.

But back to the story, i'm sitting changing the brakes when all the sudden there is an extremely unpleasant taste in my mouth and my eyes start burning. I am simultaneously wiping my tongue with my hands (bad idea while working on a car) and rubbing my eyes on the side of the car to alleviate the pain. I'm sure my nose would have been on fire had i not been congested at the time, but God bless alergies. I look up through the haze at my brother who is standing there with a stupid grin on his face, reveling in my pain and suffering. Yes friends, my brother has a farting problem.

You see, i have no problem with farting. I've done it before, and i've heard many people fart before as well. But my brother doesn't just fart, he explodes. If he were to pull the occasional cheese cutting or barking spider it wouldn't be such a big deal, but i'm pretty sure Bush's lost WMD's are in my brother's intestines, struggling to get out.

Next time i change the brakes i'm wearing goggles.

Brad Pitt and Cancer

Waiting rooms all have the same thing in common: they are filled with old magazines about Brad Pitt's love life, as if to rub in your face that he's seesawing between two women. God forbid that happen to me. But seriously, waiting rooms suck.

Especially when doctors come out and tell you things look supsicious...suspicious like cancer. And you don't really know what that means because you've never dealt with anything like this before, not that you are dealing with it, but someone close, which is almost the same thing. Except you can't suck up the pain and walk it off yourself, you have to watch them hurt instead, and that hurts worse.

But maybe it's not the cancer you've been dreading. The doctor does this for a living, but he's only able to successfully visually identify cancerous cells 99% of the time. And that leaves one percent. One percent that will drag on for the next five days of uncertainty and fear because you aren't really sure until the pathologists return their report. And it's not the sweet ignorance of innocence, it's the looming dreadful ignorance that could carry death in its shadow. And that sucks.

Even more than hearing about Brad Pitt's love life again.

To Hell and Back Again

I had a problem hole. A hole lined with pocket change and darkness. I needed to fill it with lots of money in order to graduate Biola. So i set off in search of help. On my journey i met those people who are called "Account Counselors" or more commonly referred to as "Demons of the Underworld". Account counselors are those people who just never got love as children and liked math their whole lives. Biola has locked them away in the basement of Metzger amidst myriads of cubicles and stagnant air where they apparently thrive on the flesh of poor college students. These creatures of the Metzger Underworld exist to tell you that you do not have enough money (which, although true, should never be said out loud) and that you will have to drop your interterm classes if you want to be able to register for Spring semester. The problem with that being if one does not take interm, one does not graduate anyway and wouldn't need to register for spring semester. They point at the problem hole and make one feel hopeless and lost. The problem hole only grows deeper and wider as you stare at the white paper with a large number on it that must be paid by the end of the month.

If going south didn't help the problem hole, maybe North would. In the north of Metzger i met those bright sunshiney people who, although liking math as children, also like to give money away. We call those people the "financial aid counselors" or "Angels from On High". They exist to help you through your problems. They tell you that they have solutions to the problem hole, all of which involve giving me money so i can graduate. They look at the problem hole and know that there are some voids that can only be filled with money. This being one of them.

During my stay in the registrar's office i was helped by friends along the way and told that if the money whole were filled in time, the classes i had chosen on my route through college would be sufficient to pave the way to my diploma.

Thanks to the intercessions of the financial aid counselors on my behalf, it looks like i will be graduating.

I also stole a pen from the registrar. ha!

people

As i sat thinking last night, i realized the more i know people, the less i like them. It's not that i'm unsocial, it's just that people are rather irritating. Incoveniences to the perfection that is my solitudinal life. While i am not sure that solitudinal is a word, it doesn't matter to me. I am all that matters to me and if no one else thinks solitudinal is a word, to hell with them.

While i am ok with coming to grips with the fact that people suck in general, it simultaneously scares me. Know why? Because i realized that people that don't like people die virgins.

Jesus called people vipers and snakes and in general hated people. Contrary to Dan Brownism, he died a virgin.
Ghandi hated the whole country of India and the world of food and died a virgin.
Mary, the mother of God hated people. If you're Catholic or Orthodox, she died a virgin.
Paul. He hated almost everybody and was most likely a virgin when he died.
Mr. Kellogg cereal. He hated people so much he campaigned against all forms of sex. Died a virgin.
Isaac Newton disliked people so much he invented gravity to kill people when they fell. He died a virgin.
Hans Christian Andersen disliked little kids and wrote horror stories where lots of people get their eyes plucked out by birds. He died a virgin.
Adolf Hitler. 'nuff said. virgin.
Joan of Arc. A frenchie who killed lots of men and hated people. Burned at the stake as a virgin.


So, as you see, people that don't like people die virgins.



In conclusion, I now like people.

rain and shoelaces

so, there was a thunder storm and tornado warning today for riverside and LA counties and the rain and wind were being dubbed "the storm of the year". and, i had to get back to school. and i have no windshield wipers and my car weighs a total of 12 pounds, soaking wet. so, as the picture above shows you, i came up with the ingenious idea of tying one of my shoe laces to the windshield wiper and running it into the window in case it got really bad all of the sudden, i could pull the lace in order to allow myself to see for a second and pull over until the worst of it passed. and the idea would have worked...if i had tied the shoe lace to something inside the car. but no, i didn't. as soon as i got to Lola's top speed of about 48 the wind pulled the shoelace out of the car and plastered it to my windshield, right in my line of sight. oh well i thought, as soon as the wind blows it my way i'll reach out and grab it. but no, the wind would blow it my way and as soon as i stick my arm out, the currents changed and blew it the other way. it taunted me the rest of the way to biola as i occasionally stuck my head out the window when i couldn't see through the windshield.

and it wouldn't have been that bad if it had only been rain, but the people in la drive like idiots, which you don't realize quite as much when you have windshield wipers. big man in his lincoln suv cuts me off and all that little spray from his tires hits my window like a sheet of blur. so i stick my head out the window and all that blur no longer hits just the windshield, it goes for my face.

eventually i made it to biola where i vowed to blow up any lincoln suv's i saw from this time forward. if you drive one, you're toast.

time makes me an idiot

so this is the new year
i don't feel any different


marks in time are kinda weird. there's this event that supposedly happens which separates two major chunks of time, but really, it's not all that different. it's like waking up on your birthday and realizing it's not really any different from yesterday, only more confusing. it's confusing because you look stupid when someone asks how old you are because you keep forgetting it changed. here's an example-

Hot stewardess: hello, how old are you?
me shortly after 11th birthday: 10
me: no...i'm not ten
stewardess: you're an idiot
me: wait,*counts quickly to ten* i'm 11!
hot stewardess: i can't believe you just had to count to ten in order to know what came next
me: i are homeschooled
hot stewardess: yeah, i noticed your pants were up to your belly button and your flannel shirt was tucked in. your sister's also wearing a little house on the prairie costume and your mom's wearing a jean dress. it's pretty obvious.
me: i hate my life
stewardess: *plastic smile and pats me on the head*

nobody wants a pat on the head from someone they think is hot.

and here's another real life example

me: *writing check*
hot register lady: i'm sorry, you put the wrong year
me: oh sorry about that, i keep forgetting
hrl: uh...it's july
me: *rewriting check* yeah, i know
hrl: you're an idiot
me: yeah i know

but when you're old enough to write a check you don't get pats on the head for being an idiot. and "you're an idiot" stares are much worse than pats on the head from people one thinks are hot.


so you see, birthdays, new years, and other marks in time are invented by smart people to make us stupid people look dumb in front of hot stewardesses, rewrite our checks because we put the wrong year, and in general make us look as dumb as we are. i hate the smart peoples.

happy new year everyone and remember, tomorrow it's 01.01.06