ploo.
Just when hope was at it's brightest I come back to crush your dreams of a non-Davidly-updated Internet. How's it feel?
Why haven't ya'll been graced with my words for over a month? Because I live a delightfully boring existence and have had nothing to report. Not a whole lot to report now either. I'm just doing this as an answer to a couple questions regarding my state of alivitude and because delightfully boring has eased its way into mind-numbingly boring. But so be it.
Christmas Break = meh. Got the Christmas presents. Gave the Christmas presents. Did a whole lot of hanging out around the house. Same ole same ole.
School (Week 1) = bbboooooooooooorrriiiiiiiiinngg. I'm only doing 14 credit hours this semester because all the non-math/computer oriented classes that seemed in the slightest way interesting were either full or sitting square in the middle of my precariously balanced schedule. The result is all my lectures are before lunch and my labs are after on Monday and Tuesday (one each). I don't want to type my schedule out because that's a pain. I learned I am to be without roommate this semester which suits me just fine. Filled up former roommate space with a foosball table (It's multicultural. A bunch of White/Hispanics, 2 Indians (probably from India, but they could be native. Or one of each.), and a black guy.). Now if I find anyone I want to spend more than 10 minutes with, I can say "Hey, wanna play some foosball?" and be a pretty cool cat. But that probably won't happen.
School (Week 2) = more of the same. Only this time with a little homework. I rekindled my confusion in Calculus II (I was completely lost at the end of Calc I and we glanced over my confusion in the first couple days. Then we zipped on into new stuff (which deserves to go before all my confusion because it fits right in with it. A slight alteration to the Riemann Sum deserves to be with the Riemann Sum, not half a chapter away where 400 ways to find the exact integral of a function have beaten the thinking part of my brain with brambled sticks before letting me go back to just estimating. (Fucking Calculus))), discovered I enjoy Physics, slept through Java lectures (Java labs don't start till next week, so listening to a computer geek talk about Strings is a better sedative than codeine), got a bunch of free shit from the campus cinema, and had a painful weekend. Friday, I twisted (smacked it awkwardly against a very firm torso) my knee just a little too much playing football and got it braced up. Now the fact that I walked/limped about half a mile from the field to the health center was enough evidence for me, but the doctor decided I needed to wake up early and go back the next day and wait for 3 hours to pay $50 for some x-rays to be sure I didn't shatter various bones in and around my knee (on the plus side, I have a "beautiful tibia"). The final prognosis: a slight tear to the lateral meniscus will keep my left leg from full mobility for a week or two. During the same weekend, the population of the Dominican Republic decided to take the form of cubic liters of mucus and inhabit my sinuses while my lungs tricked themselves into thinking I have been smoking 2 or 3 cartons of Marlboros everyday for the last 76 years and wanted to make me aware of how not good that was. Sometime during this week, Me, James, Tim, and Taylor decided that we need to hop a train. Some railroad tracks go straight through campus and oftentimes, trains go very slowly or just plain stop. Since this is a federal offense, we go out around midnight and chill out by the tracks and have guy talk and train talk. Almost had one on the first outing; hoping for better luck next time. Also hoping we don't die. Mainly hoping we don't die.
School (Week 3) = in progress. Throat decided that talking is for the weak and has taken my voice away for a while. Flirting with a fever. Less mucus though (all those tissues died for a good cause. Now only one nostril is debilitated at a time.). Had first Physics test. Kicked it several times in the head. Body-slammed it. Performed the Flying Elbow Drop from the top rope. Generally did well.
That brings us to now.
yeah...
I have a candidate for what kind of dog my first personal dog will be
though that's more Corgi than wiener dog
Now that ya'll've (ya'llve? Fuck It, this is my journal, I'll spell how I want to) been needlessly updated on my status, I promise that the next one will not be a "this was my life from time A to time B" (GAH! Physics has infiltrated my everyday typage! At least proper grammar is keeping it's distance.). I feel all self-centered when I write like that. Then again, if I talk more than 2 sentences at a time in a conversation I feel like I'm hogging all the talking. Speaking of the next entry and those following it, I'm having the slightest inkling of an idea for a series of things that kinda might be writing looking things involving the topic of love (I figure if I'm going to make poetry an occasionally part-time hobby that there are a couple required topics, love being a primary figure among them (I'm far overstocked on angsty type stuffs, which is another one.).). But this poses a little bit a quandary. You see, David:love::Matt Damon:intelligence. Knowing this, I would like to hear your thoughts on the subject. Anything you got in any form. (I'm pretty sure I remember Elizabeth doing something like this, but I wanna try too.) Purely optional though. Don't feel obligated or anything. It's probably a half-assed commitment anyway.
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Plain Quote: "If you don't learn to laugh at troubles, you won't have anything to laugh at when you grow old." - Edward W. Howe
David Quote: "eeeHHhhhHHuuuuhh. heHEmmennahemehem. KHUUUGH KHUUKHUUUUGH KHKHKH KHUUUUUGH ow. Damn!"
Last Consumables: Food = Pretzels with a scoop of peanut butter --- Drink = Black Cherry Vanilla Coca-Cola (the battle for longest title of a soda continues)
Emotional Charger: Wormy, red-headed fucker that sits beside me in Calc. Son of a whore purposely sat down beside me and was blowing snot out his nose all week. When I'm in class, I get away from people. I got this thing called respect. I don't maliciously spread the plague to every soul possible on purpose (but if it happens, it happens). Little bitch deserves an ax to the ribs.
Debacle De 100: Looking in the mirror, Gerald decided he was svelte in appearance. He was actually just slim with a hint of grace, but he preferred svelte for the sound of it. Svelte. He loved the sv sound. But the sad fact was that there was a very thin (and in no way svelte) amount of sv words. The only way he could fully realize his strange attraction to this particular pronunciation was to talk in a faux Swedish accent around the house. He also attached his verbal favorite onto his second dog, Sven. He liked his first dog just as much, but it had been given to him with a much wimpier name: Duffy. With a name like Duffy, Gerald could only imagine his dog doing dog things; chasing his tail, digging up the neighbors flowerbed. "Oh, poor Duffy got hit by a truck." It was sympathetic, but not glorious. Sven wouldn't knock over furniture, he would capsize enemy warships. He wouldn't dig up Mrs. Johnson's flowers or drag trash through the house, he'd pillage the neighboring countryside and leave a wake of destruction. He wouldn't die of heartworms, he'd be impaled by a rival clan. "Sven. That's a dog name."
Why haven't ya'll been graced with my words for over a month? Because I live a delightfully boring existence and have had nothing to report. Not a whole lot to report now either. I'm just doing this as an answer to a couple questions regarding my state of alivitude and because delightfully boring has eased its way into mind-numbingly boring. But so be it.
Christmas Break = meh. Got the Christmas presents. Gave the Christmas presents. Did a whole lot of hanging out around the house. Same ole same ole.
School (Week 1) = bbboooooooooooorrriiiiiiiiinngg. I'm only doing 14 credit hours this semester because all the non-math/computer oriented classes that seemed in the slightest way interesting were either full or sitting square in the middle of my precariously balanced schedule. The result is all my lectures are before lunch and my labs are after on Monday and Tuesday (one each). I don't want to type my schedule out because that's a pain. I learned I am to be without roommate this semester which suits me just fine. Filled up former roommate space with a foosball table (It's multicultural. A bunch of White/Hispanics, 2 Indians (probably from India, but they could be native. Or one of each.), and a black guy.). Now if I find anyone I want to spend more than 10 minutes with, I can say "Hey, wanna play some foosball?" and be a pretty cool cat. But that probably won't happen.
School (Week 2) = more of the same. Only this time with a little homework. I rekindled my confusion in Calculus II (I was completely lost at the end of Calc I and we glanced over my confusion in the first couple days. Then we zipped on into new stuff (which deserves to go before all my confusion because it fits right in with it. A slight alteration to the Riemann Sum deserves to be with the Riemann Sum, not half a chapter away where 400 ways to find the exact integral of a function have beaten the thinking part of my brain with brambled sticks before letting me go back to just estimating. (Fucking Calculus))), discovered I enjoy Physics, slept through Java lectures (Java labs don't start till next week, so listening to a computer geek talk about Strings is a better sedative than codeine), got a bunch of free shit from the campus cinema, and had a painful weekend. Friday, I twisted (smacked it awkwardly against a very firm torso) my knee just a little too much playing football and got it braced up. Now the fact that I walked/limped about half a mile from the field to the health center was enough evidence for me, but the doctor decided I needed to wake up early and go back the next day and wait for 3 hours to pay $50 for some x-rays to be sure I didn't shatter various bones in and around my knee (on the plus side, I have a "beautiful tibia"). The final prognosis: a slight tear to the lateral meniscus will keep my left leg from full mobility for a week or two. During the same weekend, the population of the Dominican Republic decided to take the form of cubic liters of mucus and inhabit my sinuses while my lungs tricked themselves into thinking I have been smoking 2 or 3 cartons of Marlboros everyday for the last 76 years and wanted to make me aware of how not good that was. Sometime during this week, Me, James, Tim, and Taylor decided that we need to hop a train. Some railroad tracks go straight through campus and oftentimes, trains go very slowly or just plain stop. Since this is a federal offense, we go out around midnight and chill out by the tracks and have guy talk and train talk. Almost had one on the first outing; hoping for better luck next time. Also hoping we don't die. Mainly hoping we don't die.
School (Week 3) = in progress. Throat decided that talking is for the weak and has taken my voice away for a while. Flirting with a fever. Less mucus though (all those tissues died for a good cause. Now only one nostril is debilitated at a time.). Had first Physics test. Kicked it several times in the head. Body-slammed it. Performed the Flying Elbow Drop from the top rope. Generally did well.
That brings us to now.
yeah...
I have a candidate for what kind of dog my first personal dog will be
though that's more Corgi than wiener dog
Now that ya'll've (ya'llve? Fuck It, this is my journal, I'll spell how I want to) been needlessly updated on my status, I promise that the next one will not be a "this was my life from time A to time B" (GAH! Physics has infiltrated my everyday typage! At least proper grammar is keeping it's distance.). I feel all self-centered when I write like that. Then again, if I talk more than 2 sentences at a time in a conversation I feel like I'm hogging all the talking. Speaking of the next entry and those following it, I'm having the slightest inkling of an idea for a series of things that kinda might be writing looking things involving the topic of love (I figure if I'm going to make poetry an occasionally part-time hobby that there are a couple required topics, love being a primary figure among them (I'm far overstocked on angsty type stuffs, which is another one.).). But this poses a little bit a quandary. You see, David:love::Matt Damon:intelligence. Knowing this, I would like to hear your thoughts on the subject. Anything you got in any form. (I'm pretty sure I remember Elizabeth doing something like this, but I wanna try too.) Purely optional though. Don't feel obligated or anything. It's probably a half-assed commitment anyway.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Plain Quote: "If you don't learn to laugh at troubles, you won't have anything to laugh at when you grow old." - Edward W. Howe
David Quote: "eeeHHhhhHHuuuuhh. heHEmmennahemehem. KHUUUGH KHUUKHUUUUGH KHKHKH KHUUUUUGH ow. Damn!"
Last Consumables: Food = Pretzels with a scoop of peanut butter --- Drink = Black Cherry Vanilla Coca-Cola (the battle for longest title of a soda continues)
Emotional Charger: Wormy, red-headed fucker that sits beside me in Calc. Son of a whore purposely sat down beside me and was blowing snot out his nose all week. When I'm in class, I get away from people. I got this thing called respect. I don't maliciously spread the plague to every soul possible on purpose (but if it happens, it happens). Little bitch deserves an ax to the ribs.
Debacle De 100: Looking in the mirror, Gerald decided he was svelte in appearance. He was actually just slim with a hint of grace, but he preferred svelte for the sound of it. Svelte. He loved the sv sound. But the sad fact was that there was a very thin (and in no way svelte) amount of sv words. The only way he could fully realize his strange attraction to this particular pronunciation was to talk in a faux Swedish accent around the house. He also attached his verbal favorite onto his second dog, Sven. He liked his first dog just as much, but it had been given to him with a much wimpier name: Duffy. With a name like Duffy, Gerald could only imagine his dog doing dog things; chasing his tail, digging up the neighbors flowerbed. "Oh, poor Duffy got hit by a truck." It was sympathetic, but not glorious. Sven wouldn't knock over furniture, he would capsize enemy warships. He wouldn't dig up Mrs. Johnson's flowers or drag trash through the house, he'd pillage the neighboring countryside and leave a wake of destruction. He wouldn't die of heartworms, he'd be impaled by a rival clan. "Sven. That's a dog name."