As Subtle As A Brick On The Small Of My Back.

Summer's getting down to the wire... I move into my dorm approximately three weeks from now. Exciting? You betcha, buster. But I'm recognizing all the things I don't exclusively own that I need to get for myself. Things you don't really think about when you share them at home... towels, dishes, shampoo, sunscreen, etc. Communal stuff that has always just conveniently been there. Poof! Gone! Get your own! How am I going to afford all these things?? *does the poor college student shuffle*

"J-Mil, what the heck is the poor college student shuffle? Did you just make that up? Are you trying to be clever or something? Because you're not. That's just stupid. You sound stupid right now."

The past few days have been a whimsical flurry of having a social life, which is always a good thing. In fact, I was at my friend's 21st birthday party shindig hoopla soiree big to-do last night, and that was fun. I don't drink but I did have a sip of "Jungle Juice," an ugly, off color concoction that tastes really good. Now, if the straight edge chick who is physically incapable of even sipping half a shot without getting shudders down her entire body and having her face shrink three sizes-- (momentary breath to excuse run-on sentence)-- thinks it's pretty darn drinkable, you can only imagine what it did to the other party goers. Think about it... envision it... about 8 standard drinks (<-- you can tell I just took the "Alcohol Edu" online program) later... whatever's going on in your mind right now prrrobably happened at some point during the party last night.

It was an interesting night. "Interesting" is usually my way of saying it was a marble swirl of good and bad (mmm... ice cream). Fortunately, 90% good.

I wrote a poem a few days ago, and I think it does a satisfactory job of summing up my entire life and all the things occupying my mind at this current point in time. It's kind of silly and possibly pretentious that whenever I've got a lot on my mind or I'm struck with anxiety, I read my poem over and I feel like, "Yeah. Yeah. This poem gets me. It covered the bases. Okay, I'm good."

"Of course it 'gets you' J-Mil, you wrote it... about yourself. What kind of narcissistic bitch are you to enjoy your own poetry? God."

With any luck I'll be seeing The Flaming Lips at the Del Mar Racetracks today... if we can make it on time. The show starts at 2pm and it's almost 1. Gotta leave NOW. Oye gevalt!