It's a Great Day for Baseball


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Thursday, September 25, 2003


Josh Groban. Closer. 11.11.03.


I have an Advanced Comp essay due tomorrow and I haven't even done anything with it. I'm horrible. It's worth a hundred points and right now my first draft is a festering mass of brocciflower.

Who in the world invented brocciflower? I'm going to shoot them (metaphorically, of course).

Lately, I've been really stressed out. As a result of being really stressed out, I've resorted to almost-cussing. It's so fun screaming "HOLY CRAP!!!" at the top of your lungs when you don't like saying the f-word.

The only person I've cussed with since I stopped cussing altogether is Al, that Wee Little Petrusek Stage Manager of Mine. What would I do without him? I'd be filing stacks of one-act crew applications all by myself is what I'd be doing. And what a lonely task it would be.

My version of hell would be full of pseudo-witty coffee mugs and cubicles and file cabinets and bosses like Lumberg from Office Space. That's why I'm going to be an actor. Because for some reason I'd rather be starving and poor than work 8 hours a day on the Garrison Report for the presentation next Thursday (complete with pie charts).

I hate freaking pie charts.

Holy crap.

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

Today I drove in the rain for the first time. It's hard to see when the streetlights' reflections blend the dashy white lines with the asphalt. I love.

Sunday, September 21, 2003

It's getting to the point where I don't know where the point is anymore...

Update: But at least I have the coolest, like, boyfriendwhoneveransweredmyhomecominginvitation ever. (hey dude, that was not a hint. at all).

Update 2: Cammie Pancakes. Go to sleep.

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