Dear Roommate ( Read more... )

 I will say this once, and only once.

FUCK YOU, FINALS.

FUCK YOU ALL.

ALSO, FUCK YOU, BODY, FOR SHITTING OUT ON ME AND SHOVING ME INTO THE HOSPITAL. 400 NEW ITALIAN VOCABULARY WORDS DON'T LEARN THEMSELVES, YOU KNOW. ALSO, IF I NEVER READ ANOTHER ANIMAL FABLE DISGUISED AS FLORENTINE SOCIAL COMMENTARY (I'M LOOKING AT YOU, VOLPONE), IT WILL BE TOO ( Read more... )

Holy Mother of God.

Finals.

You have no idea how badly I'm stressing out. Note to self: Do not, under any circumstances, be hospital-bound the last week before testing ever again. I'm simply floundering here, trying to teach myself two whole chapters of Italian, finish all the homework for that class, read Volpone, reacquaint myself with Dr. ( Read more... )

Ever played Fugitive? I know it's primarily a game played in the Southwest (I base this conclusion on the fact that when I mention it to my east coast friends they look at me like I've grown a third eye), but I need somewhere to bitch about my most recent unlucky bout with said pastime ( Read more... )

Thank you Barack Obama. Thank you for snatching the otherwise worthless Janet Napolitano from the clutches of Arizona and using her to bolster the flagging Department of Education. Now we're stuck with a stand-in governor who's decided that slashing 40% from all the colleges in the state is somehow a fucking great idea.

Italian 201 and 202 are ( Read more... )

This post is for the sole purpose of breaking up the icon monotony that is America. Seriously, I think that's, like, three in a row. Christ.

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Dear Second Floor Bathroom,

WHAT THE FUCK? Did I ask for anything beyond what you were designed to give? Did I ask for showers of rainbows and laughing unicorns? Chocolate? Caramel syrup? No? Well then, given the simplicity of my request, I find it very hard to believe that you can't muster up some hot water for a pudgy, bathrobe-clad chick who ( Read more... )

I fucking HATE finals week. There's no reason on this green planet that I should be awake at 2:55 in the morning copying out notes from my computer by hand for Thus Spake Zarathustra. And Spark Notes has chosen now to shit out on me.

Two more days, two more days, two more days...

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Back pain. Like, major. I've been sitting at my desk doing Italian homework for 3 hours now and my upper back feels like it's going to pop. Spine flying out and all. Perhaps some evening stretching will be in order later on.

Also, I'm having a spot of trouble with the final chapter of Dull Canvas. Its not coming out in a linear way, like most of ( Read more... )