I'm working the late late shift here at the library. In fact, I'm working in reserves, of all the godforsaken places. Yuck. I'm here until midnight, as if there would actually be people studying here on the first day of graduate classes. Undergrad classes start tomorrow. Finally!

That reminds me: why is it so hard for people to spell TOMORROW and DEFINITELY? 'Tomorrow' has two r's and one m, kids. 'Definitely' is 'definite' with a 'ly' on the end, mmmkay? No A's in 'definitely.' Get it?

But back from my spelling tangent, I'm so glad classes are finally starting tomorrow. This means no more 8 hour library shifts! This means I can spend my spare time fucking around with my friends! Okay, and maybe occasionally studying (ha!) or writing papers (at the last minute). I am just dreading the 8:30 am class, because I know I am totally worthless at that hour of the morning. I mean, 10 am classes are a challenge for me. This is really pushing it. But I'm going to try to drag my ass out of bed and get some caffeine in my system so I can be coherent and shit and impress my Philosophy of the Person professor with my brilliance at eight-o'friggin'-clock in the morning. Whee.

Did I mention I bought a blender? Yes, a cheap-ass blender with a plastic base rather than a glass one, so fuck off. At least I didn't wreck someone else's blender and then NOT TELL HIM ABOUT IT. (blackmailblackmailblackmail--you know who you are, you weasel)

Let me tell you something... motherfucker (can someone PLEASE tell me what the fuck that word is in The Big Lebowski that sounds a lot like "bendayho" but really can't be spelt that way? cus it's pissing me off that I'm misspelling it)... "There are a lot of women out there, but not many of them will bring you lasagne." Silent Bob said that, and for a man of few words, he's quite astute. Enough said.

Speaking of bad habits, Henry is trying to get me into such bad habits as smoking, drinking, and kinky sex. Okay, maybe not the kinky sex, but he thinks I need at least one bad habit. To make me human, I suppose. I'd prefer to be a goddess, but I think it's out of my league. Too many hoochies around. I started yelling "HOOCHIES, GO HOME!!" outside the library today when I was on my break just now, and he was telling me to calm down. I can't stand them. They're everywhere, making me feel infuckingferior when I know they haven't got shit on me. They just have next-to-nothing on their scrawny asses with fuck-me shoes they could never run in in the event of an emergency. Do you know that every time I go out after dark I think to myself "Better put on these shoes in case I have to run"? It's fucked up, but it makes me feel safer. I'm not going to be a statistic; not now, not ever. I can't imagine walking around piss-drunk, in the dark, in stiletto heels, fumbling for my keys and my ID. It isn't safe, it isn't smart, it isn't my idea of a good time. So I think the hoochies are stupid bitches, and I hate that they can make me feel so worthless just by coming to class at 8:30 in the morning looking like a million bucks. It's not a crime to roll out of bed and stumble, bleary-eyed, to a class. I'd wear my pajamas if I didn't feel so fucking bad when they roll their heavily mascaraed eyes over me. Where do they get off? Don't they ever have a bad hair day? Don't they ever think "God, I'd rather sleep in than get up and style my hair to perfection this morning"? No, I guess not, cus they just ditch the class on those days and when, if ever, they get their periods with those Barbie-doll bodies.

I'm feeling some major cattiness right now. Just call me Super Bitch. Shit. I don't like this random hatred. Maybe the hoochies are nice girls. But I tried to be friends with Stephanie, and as far as I can tell that was an exercise in futility. You pretty girls can kiss my ass.

I am not a pretty girl
that is not what I do
I ain't no damsel in distress
and I don't need to be rescued by you
so put me down, punk
wouldn't you prefer a maiden fair?
isn't there a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere?