College is a time for growth, for learning, for maturing, for understanding the underlying truths about life… and for wicked awkward moments. Here are my top few:

1. So, I’m sitting in some lecture hall, and I get an eyeload of some kid in front of me, fiddling around with a Rubix cube. And when I say fiddling, I mean, one-handed, lightning speed solving the sucker. So, naturally, I lean over to the kid next to me, all- Dude! Get a load of this kid, nudge nudge. This hippie next to me just looks at me like I’m a moron and goes, ‘Well, it’s pretty easy after you memorize the hundred step pattern.’ This is accompanied by a withering stare.

2. I’m walking out of the dorm, and who is walking in, but a kid I vaguely know. I wave at him, and he greets me by giving me an earnest look and saying, “You’re beautiful.” Right. So, my natural response was “Aww, thanks, so are you!” But THEN he fixes me with this hurt look and says, “Hey, I was serious.” Okaaay.

3. So! We’re sitting in the most boring speech ever uttered in the history of mankind. I probably text messaged you at one point during the thing. I’m not even exaggerating. People were stacking sugar packets for fun. I know. So, I, like a jackass, lean over to the kid next to me and say something to the point of- ‘God damn this is so boring I would prefer some gruesome untimely death to a few more minutes of rambling bs’. This kid gives me a haughty look and says, “Certainly it is not as good as the speech last year, which is available on pdf format online, but I think his points on the relevance of symbols in our society are quite perceptive.”

4. This wasn’t really awkward, but, hey, it’s my LJ sucka. My roommate and I were gossiping about this cute couple down the hall, and I say, “It could go downhill, imagine the awkwardness! I mean, they live right across the hall from each other, that’s the worst form of floorcest there is, that’s across-the-hall-cest!” My roommate adds, “I guess there are worse things than across-the-hall-cest…” We just let that sink in and at the same time scream “room cest!”

5. Lastly, this kid is in my room, and decides he’s going to hop up in my bed (no easy feat, it’s raised up, ya know). He pulls this rickety ass rocking style chair over to the bed, at which point I tell him he’s going to fall on his ass and kill himself in my room. He gives me this high-and-mighty look, and says “People always think I’m going to hurt myself, just cuz I’m crippled doesn’t mean I can’t do ANYTHING.” For a moment, it was awkward, but then he proceeds to hop on the chair, wobble around and fall right on top of me. Can’t people accept that I’m always right?

Doesn’t that totally give you insight into my exiting days? Well, it should! Also, if there is a lesson to be learned here, it is this: don’t lean over to the person sitting next to you to say smart ass things... unless you're me... I ain't quittin' now.

As you probably know, being an avid reader of my wonderfully informative and scintillating online journal... thing, my life is a whirlwind of activity, parties, trips, intellectual discussions, and mad good times. So, this may surprise you that I have taken a break from this hectic activity to help the common man, the lonely nerd and the disaffected youth. That's right! I will offer these drifting online hooligans some interesting and time consuming activities that will make their meager, pointless existence pass by that much quicker. Aren't I a saint? I know! Here goes:

1. Play 'imagination lotto'! It's hypothetically lots of fun, and has the same outcome as playing the real lotto. You can just pick your loosing numbers without the hassle (and cost) of real play! The only hitch is when you pick the winning combo.

2. Write down inappropriate things you overhear people say. The next time your mom tells you to 'be polite' or something, just bring up the time she was all- "shit, fucking aces!" while obsessively playing game upon game of FreeCell.

3. Play game upon game of FreeCell.

4a. Search for websites with funny names. What bastard got to yourname.com before you did? Well, find out!

4b. Another variation is to google yourself and people you know. Although some might consider this 'stalking' and file a hypothetical restraining order. Be warned.

5. Do you know what happens when you fill a bowl with water, sprinkle some pepper in it and dip your soap covered finger in it? Well, it's pretty freakin cool, I can tell you that. Hypothetically.

Hypothetically, these things really help pass the time when you are hypothetically bored and alone and are sitting around your house in your pajamas at 1 in the afternoon. Or what have you. Enjoy!

Aren’t you so interested to know the goings on of my fascinating life? What! You aren’t? You don’t wonder what has happened to me in the year between my posts? You don’t? You’re saying that no one reads this journal? Woe is me!
No matter, fools. I don’t need you. I have found the secret to online popularity. I’ve been such an idiot; it’s not lists, or dorkiness or even talking about Bon Jovi that interests the entertainment-seeking internet masses. What do they want, you ask? Angst! It’s all clear to me now. I’ve read some online journals, I'm in the know now. People want to hear about the deep pit of despair that is life. Of course.
So, to win back my loving masses, I present to you my first (of many) misery-ridden poems of hopelessness:

We were drifting
Down the halls
You turned away
And bit your nails
I tried to wave
But was swallowed by the darkness
It’s so dark
In this hallway
In my heart
In my soul
Oh, wait
Here’s the lightswitch

That’s not even stolen from a Thursday song. Or Tuesday, or whatever those punk kids are listening to these days.

Because I plan on having a future career at VH1, I feel that I must fine-tune my list making skills. Grocery list practice ain’t gonna cut it with the high-caliber individuals who came up with 100 Hottest Hotties. In this pursuit, I have come up with my first half-hour special, all about me and my struggle with dorkiness, to be whipped out any time my name starts popping up in the media. It should be hosted by a good-looking but relatively cred-less rock star. More cred than Scott Stapp. Less cred than Chris Martin.

Not Quite Urkle, the Biscuit Story:

5. I still need to sing the alphabet song to myself in order to find anything in alphabetical order. I spend much of my time in libraries just staring at the shelves in deep concentration and mumbling. Who would logically think that ‘r’ comes after ‘q’? What sort of system is that?

4. I’ll claim to like the Stones or Bob Dylan or some other respectable, I’m-too-cool-to-listen-to-that-commercialized-pop-radio music, but the truth is I’m deeply in love with the likes of Matchbox Twenty. Rob Thomas. So soulful. So poetic. Such nice hair.

3. My failsafe system for computer troubleshooting is repeatedly hitting ctrl + alt + delete. If pleading and cursing only make my previously error-window problem evolve into the blue screen of death, this is the time where I look around and surreptitiously turn off the red power switch-a-ma-bob. Then I wait a couple seconds and reboot that sucker. Ah, my system, never fails.

2. I’m not above wasting several hours on minesweeper, the king of all dork pastimes. It’s the best of all the dorky worlds: a little geeky because it’s on the computer, a little spazy because it requires no coordination or reflexes and the likes, and a little nerdy because, let’s face it- it’s a puzzle, it's one step away from tetris. (Tetris, by the way, rocks)

1. Just look at my friends list. Hi Chica! Yeah, enough said.

In continuing my plan for eventual internet domination, the obvious next step is to get my name known. The masses must be exposed to my genius! How does one expose one’s genius to the masses, you wonder? Just ask Eminem, or Paris Hilton, or that guy who went into rehab from that sitcom, no, not that one, yeah, that one. Controversy, baby! So, in order to make a splash, I’ve got to shock and offend my eager readership. Fortunately for them, I’ve got plenty of unpopular opinions. Don’t think so? How about this:

1.I don’t like ET. Not the movie, per se, but the little alien guy himself. That’s right. While everyone was bawling their eyes out when he was on the brink of death, I was suppressing laughter. The guy is one ugly extra terrestrial, dude. So if you’re a fan of the little alien that won the hearts of millions in the 80’s, feel the rage!

2.I love me my metal hair bands. Bon Jovi? My future husband. Poison? Best. Ballads. Ever. Axl Rose? A freakin poet of his generation. “What’s so civil about war anyway?”. Sniff. Brings a tear to my eye. Do you think 80’s metal is full of no-talent, hairspray-using, spandex-wearing sissies? Think that the arrival of hair bands, with their pretty-boy lead singers and identical, sugary songs spelled the death of any legitimate music in the future? Don’t you just want to punch me and force me to listen to actual music?

3.Fanfic blows. It’s true. From what I’ve seen, it consists of soft-core porn, overly-sentimental shipper mush, incoherent stories, and hard-core porn. Not that I would care. But it’s badly written. And characterized. And spelling is apparently optional in that particular genre. As far as outlets for the obsessive teenage outcast or the unfulfilled aspiring writer, I think writing creepy love letters to tv actors is far more productive. Disagree? Ready to convince me of the true hidden beauty in a Star Trek and Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover? You know you are.

4.This brings me to my fourth point, I’m a total grammar snob. I think I am better because I capitalize my i’s. I am fully prepared to lecture anyone on the differences between ‘its’ and ‘it’s’ or ‘your’ and ‘you’re’. Aren’t I such a nitpicking asshat? Doesn’t my smarmy criticism rub you the wrong way? Don’t you just want to point out one of my own grammatical faux pas and make me look like an ass?

I’m sure I’ve angered quite a few ET-loving fanfic writers by now. But if these shocking confessions don’t stir up controversy equaling Michael Jackson’s exploits, I’ll just have to break out the big guns and detail my dislike of Haley Joel Osment. That’s right! The cute Sixth Sense boy! No one wants that, now do they? Good.

Cool. First entry. Isn't it momentous? I'm counting on this humble web journal to launch my extraordinary web career. I’m planning on winning throngs of adoring internet fans with my word mastery and cool ideas for band names. I'll become a household name in those more geeky households. Households where people talk about internet celebrities... but no matter! Once people see my undeniable spunk, my crossover into tv will be inevitable. Sure, I'll start out as some well-meaning yet deranged nanny on Law and Order, but those small bits will soon open up to big parts in the movies once the peeps in the 'biz get a whiff of my talent. I'll win the hearts of millions with a heartwarming film about an inspiring teacher who stirs up a passion for knowledge in her unmotivated, unloved students. And there'll be an adorable dog. People love that. And when I'm making that emotional acceptance speech at the Oscars, I'll say that it all started with one small web journal. And I'll thank my agent.