NOOOOOO

MY ROOMMATE IS DRUNK. FOR ONCE. AND NOOOOOWWW HE TELLING ME ABOUT THE GIRL HE DID NOT, YES NO SURPRISE, DID NOT HOOK UP WITH. NO

HES TELLING ME

HYDRATION ON.

oh yes, now he's using the lords name in vain

because that makes him SOOOOO cool.

So lame.

" I'M NOT DRUNK"

OH GOD, I was so proud, he was finally drunk. Now he's getting lame, again, I knew it was just a matter of time.

He wants to brush his teeth,

LORDS NAME IN VAIN AGAIn

OH the girl he wanted to hook up with was in BAND, and she REJECTED HIM!!!!!!!!!!!

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH'

NOW i don't even care. Now he's just rambling. AGAIN. HYDRATION ON!!!

YOU DONT NEED TO BE SO LAME!!!!!

UPDATE: MORE WATER!!! He's afraid he's dehyrated!?! HAHHAH

UPDATE UPDATE: He just said hydration is better than BBQ. What does he know about BBQ? He's a New Yorker, AND a ginger!

Preppiest Colleges in America

SocialPrimer.com has recent began a poll to determine what are the Preppiest Colleges in America. You should vote.

Remember, take this seriously.

Because its like, really important.

Give me Moors

Our Society's treasurer sent out an email to our new members to get their help with an event:

Dearest New Members,

I still need one or two moor people for this opportunity, let me know if you're interested.

Cheers,

-TH

In case you were not aware, Moors are Muslims of North African decent who conquered what is now Modern Spain and Portugal and started the Iberia Caliphate which lasted almost 800 years.

It's also a derogatory term for muslims and blacks.

Well done sir, well done.

Roaches

So the "apartment" I'm living in through my college, is disgusting.

When I signed up to live here, I was told that this section of housing was "Newly Renovated!" How naive I was! What would have been more accurate is that SOME of the apartments have been renovated . . . roughly a third.

Now because my College is putting all of its energy in renovating some of the dorms, they don't even bother to keep up the older ones, ERGO mine is falling apart.

A five-star shit hole.

The shower leaks water all over the floor, and apparently has been doing this for decades because not only was mold growing under the tiles, but it had come through the wall and covered the floor, chair and wall.

The pipes leak (onto the fuse box), The hot water heater barly works, the oven doesn't, and there are no overhead lights. The only light switch in the bedrooms turns off the power in the ENTIRE room, which you know, is real convent, if you like resetting your clock every day.

It also doesn't help that I'm living with college guys, who are not the cleanest people in the world, especially when living in a place that has been inhabited by college guys for the past 30 years.

It's Disgusting.

And always with disgusting living places, there are cockroaches.

Now I hate roaches as much as, well everyone —but that doesn't mean I freak out every time I see one.

So I come home the other day and my roommate, as usual, is at his desk doing his homework.

He turns around, looks at me awkwardly and says "sorry—

I look down

Apparently he had no choice but to use my really nice shoes because he "has kind of a phobia of roaches"

Who DOESN'T have "kind of" a phobia of roaches?

No one likes them! The word "Icky" was actually coined when Queen Victoria saw a roach in her carriage!

(I made that last bit up)

He definitely did not "have" to use my shoes. I look over to his side of the room and he has three, yes THREE pairs of shoes just sitting by his desk! One pair were his old running shoes that he also wears sailing. He should have used those to kill the roach, and then throw them out, because those smelly grimy things need to go. And he also had another pair that were rubber flip-flops which, if you were not aware, are the most perfect roach squishing shoes of all time!

Now usually I don't care if my shoes are used for killing insects, and I guess I really don't care that much now either. But you can clean the squished bug and blood of my nice shoes and put them back where you found them, or in the very least, don't leave the dead cockroach on the floor.

He could have at least extended me these courtesies, especially considering he really had no excuse to use my shoes when he had plenty of perfect roach-killing-objects at his disposal.

Annoying ginger roommate, "Y U NO BE NORMAL!?!"

Cave

I've become obsessed with this song.

My Racist Dream

Sometimes you dream dreams about the upcoming zombi apocalypse, sometimes you dream racists dreams, but it is a rare occasion that you do both. But the other night, it happened to me. Now, I don't consider myself a racist, I don't hate people because of their skin color (though remember in this case, gingers do not count as people) but sometimes you are just bombarded with so many stereotypes in the media that you can't help but dream about them.

See what I just did there? I blamed the media for my zombi apocalypse/racist dream.

Thats called transference.

So as I lay in bed, contemplating all the French work I had yet to do, I finally nodded off into dream land. Little did I know the horrific visions I was about to see, accompanied by poorly written sitcom comedy!

Suddenly I'm working for this firm in the city and were all trapped there past working hours because there was an announcement a terrorist attack was about to occur at midnight. As it gets closer to 12, the people started getting anxious.

So to help them calm down I regal them with this little gem: "this might be the last conversation we ever have."

People were not amused, though my friends there who were in the debating Society started arguing that we were NOT in fact having an actually conversation because more than two people were involved and you cannot technically have a "conversation" without more than two people.

I of course prove them wrong —with my brain logic— and escape the city to an alternate universe-version of my old town with two of my friends.

The terrorist attack hits, and the majority of the populace become, what else, zombies.

So most people in the town are now zombies. Awaiting our ultimate demise, we go to our old high school, but not until at like 1:45 so we could "hang out with friends," but were not required to actually "go to class."

My dude friend became a guardian of the school, and did thorough searches of everyone entering to make sure that no zombies got in.

The next scene my brain did one of those weird things where I'm still in the dream, but I'm not a specific character, and even some of the characters change around their identity, but I digress. There were three friends in the school, one guy who was really cool, found out that everyone, including his friend the guardian was actually a zombie, and then they demanded that he choose the person to turn him into a zombie. He was very picky about it, because most of them were ugly (though not real zombie movie ugly) and decided on one, which then turned him into a Zombie.

But then none of the three friends turned out to be actually zombies and then I magically come back into the story and run away with the girl.

You can't explain that!

We end up going to the other high school in town because, after the first one worked so well, we thought we'd try it again.

When we finally reach the other school we find, not former high school clansmen, but a group of middle-aged black women.

They were searching for a device that Rusty from ABC Family's really crappy show, GREEK!, had installed for them.

They climbed up this ladder to the box, but found that at one point it had been condemned, because as they opened it, a metal foldable ladder came flying down, hitting many of the older black women in the face and knocking several of them off the ladder.

Don't worry they were fine, it is a dream after all.

All of a sudden the first woman to look into the box starts tearing up out of thankfulness. "Oh my GAWD!"

The other women gather around the box which appears to be a portable salon hair dryer (the one where you sit in the chair with the helmet-like thing over top) and the rest of the women were hopping around excited because they could get their hair "did" before they were turned into zombies.

But! We were mistaken!

What they thought were curling irons was actually an inflatable TV, at which point they all looked at me to make it work.

We go back to the cafeteria and I blow up the TV and try to start programming it. Out of nowhere my mom appears and helps me program it, since the TV, and all the available stations were broadcasted in the 70's, and she lived through the 70's.

Because we were all aware of our eminent doom to the zombies, we decide to put on something that would calm down the black women, many of whom were older and had overall lumpy figures (This isn't important to the plot, but I had to mention it somewhere).

So we spend the last few hours of our non-zombie lives watching the Cosby Show.

The End.

Gingers≠Blondes

Let me clarify this once and for all:

Gingers are NOT Blondes.

I'm bringing this up because my ginger roommate insists that he's blond. He came into the room today, as I lay hungover/somewhat still drunk in my bed, and starts talking about what bad sunburn he got from sailing. Granted it was bad. He's head was burnt in an downwards triangle that pointed towards his chin, and his ghost pale legs had odd red stripes on them. I don't know how he got such odd marks, but I digress.

I'd feel sorry for the guy if he didn't follow up the tale with "I guess you know what I mean, us guys with blonde hair and blue eyes always get burned"

. . .

Did he just imply that I look like him? A ginger?

Not acceptable.

My annoyance would have been forgotten if he didn't wander into my study corner later, sit down and say "can I ask you a question?"

I thought"This is wierd"

"Wow this is awkward to ask."

"Where is he going with this? Granted he's usually awkward, he just doesn't admit it"

"I might be interning in New York this summer, and I was thinking maybe if you're ok with it, since I'm not 21 yet . .

I catch on, and am eased that its not some more awkward question. I started thinking, hmm, maybe giving him my license would be good for him, it might get him out more. I need to get a new one anyway, mine still has "UNDER 21" written on it several times. But then he had to ruin it.

" You know, since we look so similar: blonde hair, blue eyes"

"WHAT?!?"

I bit my tongue. Hard. Not only did he again claim that we both had blonde hair, he implied that I looked like him, a ginger!! We do NOT resemble each other in the least. But there he was, for the second time that day, calling me, in essence, a ginger look-a-like.

And for the record I do not have blue eyes, they're pale green (though they were a really cool yellow, yes, yellow color in high school, but then they changed back. . .)

Now not all red-heads are gingers. To be a ginger you must posses the glowing red hair, pale clammy skin, overabundance of freckles, and generally creepiness that reflects the fact that you don't have a soul.

My school's debating society has debated on several occasions whether or not gingers should have the same civil rights as normal people.

The resolution was defeated.

There is no way I'm giving him my license now. Especially when he asks like that. He would just let it go to waste anyway. Its not like he even goes to parties now. He often puts homework ahead of going out on the weekend, I can't imagine how awkward he would be in a New York club.

Actually I can

I also don't want the kid wondering around the Big Apple with my identity. And signature.

He looses stuff constantly.

So a hint to all gingers. If you are asking a really big favor from a non-ginger. Do not compare yourselves to the person in question.

You can't complement someone by saying they don't have a soul.

Post Script: The word "blonde" for those of you not brushed up on you're blonde vocabulary, is one of the few words in the english language that still has a gender. e.g. He is blond and January Jones is also blonde.

Ahh, January Jones . . .

Like a Boss

While preparing for my school's big spring event, where everybody tries to out-prep each other, I came across this gem, has my friend as recently titled "like a boss"

Scratch and Sniff.

My roommate has questionable hygiene.

I assume he showers every day, but that is an assumption, which means I might be giving him too much credit. I occasionally see him take showers in the afternoon, and sometimes when I'm not here I know he has taken a shower earlier because I'll find large puddles of water around our apartment. Seriously puddles, he just doesn't drip water, he leaves puddles behind like a fucking sea creature. I don't know how he can carry that much water with him out of the shower, but he does. Of course I don't know how much water retention gingers have in comparisons with real human beings.

I just know he doesn't takes showers in the morning. This is nice because the one time he did take one in the morning during fall finals he bitched and complained that there wasn't any hot water.

Really? You mean there wasn't any more hot water for the third shower in a row? Wow, thats surprising considering the school just bought our water heater 35 years ago!

But the thing that REALLY grosses me out the most, is his habit of sniffing his clothes. Anytime he picks up clothes to change into, he sniffs them. And not just a slight silent sniff. A loud I-can-hear-you-in-the-next-room kind of sniff.

This worst part is, he has YET to reject any of his clothes after sniffing them. Not that dirty running sock, or that red sweater he wore everyday for a week, not even that shirt that was drenched in sweat the other week and has beeb lying in the floor since.

Each time a hear a loud sniff in my apartment, I cringe at the though of what he might be putting back on. . . .eguh.

Tiny Hiatus

I know I haven't been updating as much as I have been. Mid-terms among other things have been eating up a lot of my time.

BY REST ASURED!

Soon I shall avail you with the limitless antidotes about alcohol, and my ginger roommate!

Until then, well, find something to entertain yourselves, I suggest reddit

For those of you who have never been to reedit before, you will forever love me for showing it to you while simultaneously hate me for showing you something that is very addictive and will take over your life.

Frogger.

So I've been sick for the past week. While spending the weekend at home, I finally went to the doctor, who after looking up my nose and saying "EUGH!" informed me that I have a sinus infection and two ear infections.

Yay!

She then prescribed me some heavy duty medications, and told me I should take monday off. So I somewhat took her advice (which is how I take all advice from doctors) and stayed at home that night, planning to skip my German class the next morning.

So I woke up this morning, popped in some of the prescribed steroid pills and hit the road.

Now I rarely take medicine. Hell, I drink caffeine so infrequently that when I do it keeps me up for hours, so the steroids were intense. I'd get really hyped up, and then, out of the blue, I'd get really tired.

This complicated things while driving back to school, alone, holding the sterling wheel with one hand, blowing my nose with the other, and dodging trucks left and right.

I don't know why there were so many trucks on the road today, but there seems to be something about the middle of the day, that makes truck drivers drive like maniacs. I felt like Frogger. One truck kept trying to pass me, would get stuck behind someone else, and then start swerving around me again. Later, I kept getting stuck behind two trucks that were carrying, what I assumed was coal, blocking the road for anyone to pass. Another thought it was appropriate to go 25 miles over the speed-limit (60) to get around me before we both stopped at a red light.

I made it back to school safely at least. Though I'm still on steroids, antibiotics, and have a bottle of codeine cough syrup to take before I go to bed.

I must have luck on my side. Lets hope it continues and I actually wake up tomorrow morning.

Party for new members

For out debating society we have a semester in which newly added member need to fill a number of requirements to become a regular member of the society.

Don't worry, it isn't hazing. But still it can be rough. You have a number of requirements to fill, including the presentation which every new member must give and pass to become a regular member at the end of the semester.

Anyway, today was our new member party. Me being on the Ways and Means Committee, had to help organize this festive event today. Which was kind of exciting for me because it is the first time I bought a Keg by myself.

It feels like a right of passage.

Though I better be reimbursed. Just saying. Its bad enough I had to put the deposit on the tap under my name, on my credit card (which my parents pay for). But, anyway, I'm writing this drunk so it might not make that much sense. Thought as I walked back I realized that I didn't have my key.

Damnit.

I never forget my key this late.

So I called my roommate. No answer. Then I call him about 3 more times. Anytime he a phone rings whiles he's trying to sleep he gets all pissy, thought usually its his phone, and then after he gets mad at me, he feels guilty and mumbles sorry before going back to sleep.

But he ignored my calls tonight.

Douche.

So I ended up walking around our building and banging on our window with my Gatorade bottle (because I'm a responsible drunk, ELECTROLYTES!!!) screaming his name, and finally, he did respond, and I got in.

Thats what you get for ignoring me.

Open the damn door. I'd do it for you!

Schweizing

I just had lunch with a bunch of my friends in a restaurant with lots of crooked posters of european tourist traps. I pointed out how all the posters were crooked (because Im a OCD and that drives me crazy) and that lead to a discussion about the actual places in the posters.

Hilarity ensued.

The three of us tried to figure out what "Switzerland" was in Swish german. Then one of my friends saw it on the poster,"Schweiz" which is pronounced "Shveyes." My friend, however, who's only foreign language experience is almost being forced into an arranged marriage in Brazilian Portuguese, pronounced it "swez." Which sounds like something you do in the bathroom after drinking to much Kool-aid.

He needs to Swez

Being in our early twenties, but still having the humor of elementary school children we immediately broke down laughing. Then we kept making jokes about it for about 15 more minutes, each more hilarious than the first.

We even added hand-motions.

Sometimes its good to laugh at "potty" jokes. They really take you back. But who am I kidding? We're in College, were pretty much still a bunch of kids.

Haha, Swez.

Semi-origonal

Wow, I realized that this blog has just turned into a forum for me to complain about my roommate. And since I'm the only one who EVER bitches about their roommate I'm not sure why I have maintained such a high viewer rate. Though it probably has something to do with, you know, my amazing wit and charm. . .

Yeah

So to break things up a little bit and to kill time for me to write some interesting non-roommate posts (they're coming I swear!) Here is Third-eye blind's Semi-Charmed Kind of Life.

I made it SOO big to illustrate what an amazing song it is. It has nothing to do with me not being able to remember how to embed a video on blogger so that it actually fits.

Something smells fishy, ok maybe it just smells like a fart

My roommate farts a lot.

Usually he only does it when he's alone in the room. I know this because I always brace myself before I enter the room like I'm defusing a bomb that might go off at any minute.

But tonight, maybe its because he's having a laid back conversation with me and the suitemate (albeit awkwardly) he was apparently so excited he didn't feel like containing himself.

I'm sitting here trying to keep composure, while trying to forget about the smell. Granted, writing a blog post about it doesn't keep my mind off the smell, but venting about it makes me feel better.

Ha, venting.

I wish.

UPDATE: Roommate leaves to go get laundry. Suit-mate moves over to take his seat. "EUGH! Why is this so warm?!?" I probably should have warned him.

Hydration on

So I just spent the first weekend night of the semester without going out. My roommate on the other hand spent is first weekend night of the semester out of the apartment. AND past his early bed time!!!

The Universe is trippin'

I realized today —with an upcoming hell week staring me back in the face — that maybe going out Tuesday, Thursday and Friday wasn't the best idea. Of course it's not that I regret going out, or that I wouldn't do it again if I had a chance, but again, not the best idea.

I'll be fine with my work, as I always am, so that's not a problem. I just had to spend most of my night catching up with readings etc.

My roommate on the other hand —after doing extra Accounting exercises— decided to go out because, being bid night, he knew someone who new someone who could get him into a party.

Apparently not a very hard feat on bid night.

He came back in a smiley fashion to brag about his exploits.

"I ended up going to FIVE frat parties tonight!"

"Impressive" I reply as I try to continue enjoying my night cheese

Nothing says going hard like switching between 5 different parties in a two hour span.

It takes a great deal of timing to be able to wait in line, get a beer, drink it, and then go to the next party.

I'm surprised he could stand.

(If you haven't taken notice yet *hint read the above* I love sarcastic humor)

My semi-buzzed but "stumbling" roommate then proceeded to use some outdate 90's catch phrases, and told me that it was time "to get his hydration on"

I kid you not.

He fills up his glass, drinks it, then goes into our room, closes the door for a few minutes, and then comes back out to do the process again. And again. . . and again.

. . . and again.

I'm glad he knows to drink water after "drinking" but a light buzz does not necessitate 5 full glasses of water before going to bed. It was kind of endearing though. Like watching the bird in a cuckoo clock come out its little door to chirp at every hour. . . except over and over again in rapid secession.

Hydration off.

Do SOMETHING interesting

It's Friday night. I just got back from being out. My roommate is asleep.

This wouldn't be annoying if this happened occasionally, but my roommate is ALWAYS asleep before I get home. Now, I know he doesn't have much to do, or many people to do it with. He's always desperate to do anything with anyone. I can understand this, I did this a lot my freshman year, but that does not mean that you have to go to bed early.

Watch TV, find a movie on netflix, play a videogame, I don't care. Do SOMETHING other than going to bed.

He goes to bed at the same time he does during the week. Find something more interesting to do! It's depressing. A week of school is more interesting for him than a weekend.

I remember one of the first weekends back. I helped him get into a frat party. We got booze. I leave him for as second to go meet two chicks. One for me and one for him (I choose the cuter one of course) I turn back around.

He's gone.

That was probably the most exciting weekend the poor awkward kid has had this year.

I'm glad I always have something to do and someone to do it with on Fridays, and if I had enough of that, at least I can watch Netflix. This "go to bed at 11" thing is really depressing.

Devils Advocate

We had interviews for the Society this week.

They were intense.

Get the image out of your head that this is a nice one-on-one conversation. There are no questions like "what can you bring to the society" or "Why do you think the Society would be a good fit for you." We don't sit and grin while you come up with some frivolous B.S. We berate you, demand for you to defend your argument, and try to find holes in your argument so we can shoot you down. Because we will shoot you down. We enjoy it.

While this is going to be an anonymous blog (mainly so I can rant without anyone I know finding out) I still can't explain the interview process in detail; but a general outline should be more than enough to understand the exhausting hell we force potential members to go through.

We create a small panel that goes over the interviewee's card, and see if we are knowledgeable enough to ask them questions on their "interests." Then we meet them, shake their hands, sit them down in a cycle of chairs, and swoop in for the kill.

If you put down "Movies" as an interest, you better be able to answer "are movies art?" define "what is art," discuss the role of censureship and government involvement in the arts, and why anyone should even care about art at all.

"What is Art?"

"Well, Art is in the eye of the beholder"

"What if I say the Mona Lisa isn't art. Am I right?"

"You have to consider the intent of the Artist"

"So when I write a grocery list, that isn't art?"

"Right"

"What if I wrote one and said it was"

"Well, then, yes"

"But, I thought you said a grocery list wasn't art"

"Well it depends on the what viewer thinks"

"Wait, so 'art' is based on both the intent of the artist and the view of the beholder? How can it be both"

" . . . "

"let's move on"

I can't tell you how many of those conversations I had this week, including an English major who couldn't define Literature. Not even a short definition that could withstand minor scrutiny. How can you go to college to study something and not even know what it is? Seriously.

Other most common shitty responses were:

"No evidence, is evidence"

"You can just tell when you see it"

"It just 'is'"

Wishy-washy answers are annoying, particularly when were required to make each interview last for a specified amount of time (though usually make up our minds in the first 15 min.). Some of the worst interviews are when people don't take positions at all. Getting answers out of them was like trying to play dominos on a water bed.

"I guess you can see it that way" "Some, people might say that" "You can look at it different ways I guess"

You do realize this is a debating society, don't you?

Sad.

But of course with any group, along with very smart people (and some slow and indecisive ones) you get some real gems.

I read one card where the person put "Cheerful Colors" and "Happiness" among her

interests. . . It ended up being an exhausting interview as she fumbled on and on about happiness and colors while simultaneously vomiting rainbows and butterflies.

After finally getting the last bit of Sesame Street logic out from underneath my nails. I was ready to interview again.

This time it was a girl who though water bottles were immoral, even if you are helping a community in Africa that doesn't have a clean source of water. When asked her what was an alternative she responded:

"Brita Filters!"

*Blank stares*

And I was on some of the more sane panels. Some of my fellow members also interviewed people who believed that we should enslave all humans to create economic growth and that freedom of speech was important, in case we encountered people from different dimensions who wished to impart their knowledge on us.

Overall we were able to pluck some very intelligent people out of the jumbled mix, who unfortunately don't have nearly as amusing stories, but we have a very promising class this semester.

I have come out of the week feeling a little prouder of my intelligence and little questionable about my College's admissions process.

CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR!

So I'm sitting here, thinking about me and the other 500 million people who blog and how special and unique we are, and then I start hearing my roommate peeing.

SHUT THE DAMN DOOR!

I'm not some person who freaks out over regular bodily functions (though the word "bodily" is kind of icky) but I do feel like plugging my ears and humming really loudly to drown out the sound. Why doesn't he take a half millisecond to close the door? If you're going to slightly close the door, why not do it all the way?

Talk about half-assing it.

Bourbon= Knowledge

I go to a University in the South. Ergo, I drink a lot of Bourbon. I never had Bourbon before I came to college, but since I joined our University's debating team, Bourbon has become my life blood.

We had our first meeting of the semester the other day, and because I had been sober all break (obviously my New Years sucked this year) I went a little overboard. Ever have half a solo cup of straight hard booze after several hours of drinking? Needless to say, I married Ms. Toilet that night.

It was a private ceremony.

As the next week unfolded, I slowly learned what happened that night. First of all, I didn't remember that I blacked out. In other words I didn't remember, that I didn't remember, or as I like to call it "College Amnesia." Then I found out that I called one of my old friends who goes to another university and with whom I had a fight with and haven't talked to since. I'm sure the voicemail message was painful and I'll never hear from her again. I'm sure I'll write about that soon, prepare yourselves. On a slightly less embarrassing note, however, I learned that Bourbon (which always deserves capitalization) gives me special abilities.

When I'm drunk I can speak LATIN.

Yes, Latin. I'm well known for speaking French when I get drunk. No big deal. I've been taking French for 3 years. What good is studying a language if you cant 't leave long grammatically incorrect voicemails on your friends' phones. But Latin? I took Latin in high school, which means I remember squat. Sure, I can recollect some basic phrases, and can translate a few simple (and short) lines if I have help, but thats it. Thats why I was dumbfounded when my Anarchist Associate, as I shall call him (yes, I know he lives in dream land) told me that I was not only speaking Latin, but speaking it INTELLIGIBLY.

I cannot do this sober.

This has lead me to the conclusion that Bourbon is magical. I don't know what it is about Bourbon that makes me find lost brain cells from my pathetic attempt to learn Latin in high school. But it did.

Bourbon is magic shit.

It has just the right amount of pretentious "I go to a prestigious University" mixed with just enough "Let's get smashed!" to be the perfect drink for a debate "Society."

I just realized by the way, that my attempt at alliteration —"Anarchist Associate"— is abbreviated "A.A." Let's step back a moment and enjoy the irony that I nicknamed the person who told me the silly shit I did when I was drunk, "A.A."Do you think my subconscious is trying to tell me something?

I'm drinking Bourbon again tomorrow night. Maybe it will enlighten me.

UPDATE: This week during interviews, I've had at least two people ask me to be on certain panels because "you speak Latin, right?'

Guten Tag and Bonjour

I feel that the first post anyone writes when they first start a blog should explain why they decided to start a blog. They explain to their (potential) readers why they want to share their deepest most private thoughts with a complete stranger? Maybe they just want to be able to share their thoughts with the world, to find some semblance of meaning by finding a connection with someone else. Or perhaps they're just really vain, and blindly think that their trivial thoughts could actually be enjoyable to read about. Of course I'm obviously not the latter (my life is soooo much more interesting than everyone else's) but I'll explain why I'm doing this to begin with. Ok, I'm just writing because I'm vain and hope people think I'm special. But I also think writing this blog will be a good release. After all, don't we all narrate our lives while we live them? Here it goes. . .