06 April 2003 - 1:21 p.m.

I am happy to announce that punishment for promising me a ride somewhere and then getting too drunk to see straight does definitely involve me being designated driver.

I went to two parties last night. During the first, I was too bored to get drunk. During the second, the bar was made up exclusively of beer, tequila, corn whiskey, and absinthe. Except for a couple of tiny hits of the last, I was happy to stay sober.

And, you know, drive someone else's car erratically on purpose inducing maximum nausea, because that's just the kind of girl I am. I can still party with anyone in my program. I can finallly take the keys and take a stand and all that shit. And I can strike a little blow for all that is good and right.

Now, if I could just touch the ceiling in Bradley, I'd be like, a freaking superhero.

I finally figured out why I like old men so much: I will never be one.

Old age just seems to suit men pretty well, but women not so much. I will definitely have to change that, because I've never had penis envy before, and I don't really wish to start, particularly if it means coveting the withered, Viagra-needing variety.

Sorry for that image, by the way.

Does anyone mind if I turn into Andy Rooney in 3 or 4 seconds?

Do you know what I hate? Study groups. And writerly pretensions. And I will give you an example of why.

Last night, the nice grad student who hosted a party for us at her mega-posh house (for those of you who new me back in the day, imagine my old landlady's house. Now imagine a similar house for it to fit inside) invited us to come over some morning for a Fellinieschi cram session. She said she would provide coffee, bagels, etc., and we could spread our notes and shit everywhere, because her kids were at school from 8-2. "What a nice long cram session!" we all thought. "What a great way to prepare for our final!"

So we go to all sorts of trouble to figure out who will be responsible for seeing one movie a few extra times so that we may all benefit from his/her wisdom, and even type it on the computer and everything. I even volunteered to see the longest movie, (which is only in VHS, by the way, and not at Blockbuster, which means I'll probably have to ask Are for a crappy copy of his incredibly crappy taped-from-TV print) even though I might not even write a paper on said movie, because, you know, when people are offering to help you out, I think you should be cool and accomodating.

Well, everyone proves cool and accomodating, until our nice hostess asks what morning we want to meet, and someone full of writerly pretension (see above) said, "I don't know, I think I kinda have to keep the morning as my writing time. What about Thursday or Friday night?"

What the fuck? Had we not already established the meeting morning time?

I actually had to leave before one of my scathing comments erupted. Which are, by the way, in ascending order of rudeness: "I don't know, I think I kinda have to keep Thursday and Friday nights for my social life" and "Maybe somebody who didn't 'get' La Strada can afford to take a little writing time off for film class, no?"

I'm glad I didn't say either one of these, because I have to admit to some massive film pretensions. So I wouldn't even bring this whole thing up, except that I think one should put one's artistic ego on hold every now and again just for the sake of being (among other things) gracious, or studious, or both. But that's just advice.

What I'm wearing: Pink fitted t-shirt with yellow trim, pink gingham pedal pushers

What I'm reading: Paolo Conte, "Via Con Me"

What I'm doing after this: SWF ISO lunch