Monday, March 27, 2006

I Bargained For Salvation And They Gave Me A Lethal Dose

My mom tore an article out of some magazine, probably Good Housekeeping or O Magazine or something equally good, and in it there was 10 questions to answer to narrow your field down to chose a career. A few of them were:
1. What newspaper or magazine articles to you most love to read? celebrity gossip
2. What internet sites do you mort often gravitate to? Look at your bookmarks. What stands out?,, I HAVE TO KNOW EXACTLY WHEN KATIE HAS TOM'S BABY
3. If you watch a game show, which categories do you hope the contestant will pick? something pop culture or Bob Dylan. Or the Bible (catholic schooling was good for something)
4. If you could write a book, what would the subject be? Bob Dylan. Or Paris and Nicole: What REALLY Happened

I am destined to be either a celebrity gossiper or a Bob Dylan historian. I don't think I needed a Bachelor of Arts to tell me that. If I had had to decide my career when I was 15, those would have been my answers too. Page Six, if you read this, give me a call. I can make assumptions about people I don't know like the best of 'em.

So that test I took three weeks over, hungover? I got a 69% on it. Failing yes, but only ONE POINT away from failing. Hells yeah. I thought I had totally bombed it, and I did, but not nearly as bad as I thought I had. And on top of that, I only missed two classes last week. In my book two is practically none at all, so I've pretty thoroughly convinced myself that I missed no classes at all. I still haven't been to anthropology since February 23rd, but so help me god, I'm going this week. Probably not on Thursday, let's not get carried away, but at LEAST on Tuesday.

Rereading these lyrics made me realize again why I love Bob Dylan so goddamn much. Why are you skipping over Chicago on your latest tour Bob? Is it because it's been over a year since I've seen you last? I've been distant for the past few months, I know, but I've changed my ways. Please reconsider.

I never really wrote anything about Spring Break, except for Russian Night, but if I had to sum it up in four words, it would be "jesus I drank alot." Seven out of nine nights were spent adding to my beer belly, and it was worth it. Other than that I worked, watched tv when I wasn't working and and spent a lot of time listening to shitty cover bands. Except for the drummer: the drummer was cute because he sang and played guitar to two Irish songs. Plus he had on a newsboy hat. Goddamnit I love guys who wear those hats.

I leave you with the conversation I had with my best friend Megan last Saturday:

Me: I feel old as shit right now.
Megan: No anal sex for you tonight.
Me: WOAH. What the hell do you think I just said?
Megan: Didn't you just say it hurt to shit?
Me: Or that I feel old as shit.
Megan: Ohhh.

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