oh, dear.
spring break sucks. i'm not exactly the kind of girl who throws on a bikini and runs to the beach with a drink in each hand and takes pictures she'll regret later. i'm more the sulk-at-my-parents kinda girl who takes the only ten days she might have to herself in a long time to do homework, practice LSATs, and watch movies she'll deny ever having seen. like "music & lyrics." did i say that? no. what? huh?
i keep getting all these good ideas for songs--just little snippets of lines that come to me when i'm doing things like drying dishes or putting on bedroom slippers--but none of them are interesting or lyrical enough to do anything with. i feel an itching and pinching in my hands when i look at my dusty keyboard across the room, kind of like someone is tickling the nerves in the ends of my fingertips, but then i look at the giant sociology textbook on my bed and i remember where my priorities lie.
i must examine the data found in two surveys conducted about the Chicago bar in 1975 and 1994 and explain how the bar changed over that 20 year period, and then predict what further changes will arise over the next 20 years or so.
that is why i was put on this earth. to write three-paged, double-spaced papers.
i read about this couple this morning in rolling stone who stole hundreds of thousands of dollars from friends, neighbors, and even complete strangers as well as their social security numbers, addresses, etc. they were finally caught last friday. everyone's calling them the new "bonnie & clyde." supposedly the only reason why anyone cares is because the couple--the girl, especially--is attractive, but i think she's pretty average looking. (except for her fake boobs, but who doesn't have those?)
by the way, the eyes are fake too. they're violet contacts. her real ones are brown.
and my boyfriend told me about this other couple who is debatably even crazier: a guy let his wife sit on the toilet--mind you, not in the bathroom but on the toilet--for two years straight while he brought her food and water every day to, um, keep her alive? or to give her a reason to stay on the toilet? i don't know. i just hope he wasn't hinting at his summer plans with me...
i keep getting all these good ideas for songs--just little snippets of lines that come to me when i'm doing things like drying dishes or putting on bedroom slippers--but none of them are interesting or lyrical enough to do anything with. i feel an itching and pinching in my hands when i look at my dusty keyboard across the room, kind of like someone is tickling the nerves in the ends of my fingertips, but then i look at the giant sociology textbook on my bed and i remember where my priorities lie.
i must examine the data found in two surveys conducted about the Chicago bar in 1975 and 1994 and explain how the bar changed over that 20 year period, and then predict what further changes will arise over the next 20 years or so.
that is why i was put on this earth. to write three-paged, double-spaced papers.
i read about this couple this morning in rolling stone who stole hundreds of thousands of dollars from friends, neighbors, and even complete strangers as well as their social security numbers, addresses, etc. they were finally caught last friday. everyone's calling them the new "bonnie & clyde." supposedly the only reason why anyone cares is because the couple--the girl, especially--is attractive, but i think she's pretty average looking. (except for her fake boobs, but who doesn't have those?)
by the way, the eyes are fake too. they're violet contacts. her real ones are brown.
and my boyfriend told me about this other couple who is debatably even crazier: a guy let his wife sit on the toilet--mind you, not in the bathroom but on the toilet--for two years straight while he brought her food and water every day to, um, keep her alive? or to give her a reason to stay on the toilet? i don't know. i just hope he wasn't hinting at his summer plans with me...