"You're in German? Which one?"

"German 9."

"Oh really? I was going to be in Spanish 9..."

"But you didn't take it?"

"No... I was going to, but I couldn't take it for credit cause I placed out, so... Oh hey, I'm #356!"

And with that, we said goodbye, I took my spicy chicken sandwich combo from Wendy's and walked away. As I made the short walk back to Lafayette, I realized that I sounded like an incredible ass. "I placed out, biatch! I was too good for it!" That's probably what it sounded more like. And you guys know very well that if I think it sounds assholerrific, then it must be really assholerrific.

I decided I'd tell you guys about it here. That I sounded like an asshole. While getting my brunch (it was at about 11).

Also, you wouldn't believe this, but... my parental units took a look at this blog. They left no commentary about my kickass writing style; no no. They looked at it and said "OMG CNATAY FEL DOWN TEH STRAS! OMGOMGOMGOMG! WE HVAE TOO CALL HIM!!!!!11111"

So then they called me, sounding really pissed off because we'd talked recently and I'd mentioned nothing about getting severely injured on the stairs. I had to explain to them in the middle of my game of LOTR Risk on Sunday night that I was actually perfectly all right, and that the blog was a hoax.

They were, of course, resistant to the idea that it wasn't real, especially since my dad (who was perusing the internet and decided to search for this site I'd mentioned) went down and woke up my mom to show her.

See, the funny thing about this is that my dad actually sent a letter to his parents when he was at Ohio State saying that he had just joined a cult and that it was great. At the bottom of the letter, he wrote "saka", which essentially translated in that sense to "just kidding". Somehow, his parents completely missed that final word, and when they sent a letter in response, they tried to gently convince him to find new friends. Only when my dad sent back another letter saying that he was joking did they actually believe him.

So I guess it's genetic or something. I can just see it now... my son will publish his journals someday, and I, a crotchety old dictator, will read that he was maliciously raped all throughout college by the mean boys across the hall, and then I will go to great pains to exterminate those boys and their families before reading that it was all just a joke. Man, it'll be great!

That provided me with some nice laughter, the whole episode did, I have to say.

What sort of sucked was when my mom called on Tuesday or Wednesday, though. She apparently had looked at the blog as well, and became extremely worried that I was unhappy because I was considering transfer to Texas. She left a cryptic message on my phone saying to call her immediately. I was under the assumption that someone died or that my dad had been laid off or something, judging by the grave tone of her voice, but no. No, it was just that she thought I might have been unhappy because I was considering a transfer.

Damn it! I would have consulted her on the matter if I began to actually formulate some sort of decision, but there was no reason for her to know I was uncertain of myself unless said uncertainty continued to manifest within me. All it could possibly do is make her worried. I put it here so that for the future I could look back and say "so this is about when it started" and so that you folks could see; so that I wouldn't explode by keeping my ideas to myself.

::Sigh:: But she saw it and got worried.

Oh well, I'm going to hold them to their word--the one that said they wouldn't seek this place out again. Doesn't mean they won't read it, necessarily, but I hope they'll respect me enough to refrain from opening my life for their own perusal frequently.

For the not-so-subtle part of the hint (should they be reading), if you read, don't ever take action based on what you see. Discuss it with me if you want, but be prepared for me to not be thrilled about it. And that's all I have to say about that.

In other news, I'm still listening to The Strokes. Obsessively. Go figure.

Oh, and lots of folks here say Kerry won the debate. I rub my chin and wonder. He certainly didn't lose, but he didn't make any stunning victory either--the polls themselves show that even if my perception is off.

But it's a good start, says I.

But 2024. That's the year, guys. The year we won't have to settle for good starts, but rather will expect huge blowouts. The year that the American public will find their perfect president (and eventual benevolent dictator). People will give a hearty fuck you to democracy and appoint me their benevolent dictator. We won't need polls, and the debates will always result in a resounding victory for me.

It will be grand!

Hasta la byebye! Viva la revolución!