Quite busy today. Nice in it's own way.

I spent it with Jenna, most of anyone reading this 'blog' knows who that is. An interjection: I despise the word blog. It's so harsh and germanic and flubs off the tongue you can't help but sounding like a dork in this language. That's the denotation. The connotation is that you're a self-indulgent dork. Not a good dork either. Anyway.

I'm going to blog now.

I just came back from the beach. Again. Just after I'd gotten the sand out from the first time... but the bonfire was worth it. Had to put out some errant flames with my feet and discovered if you kick flaming sand it will uncover more lighter fluid, which will then ignite. This makes a fun and rather risky game. I do recommend it. I was there because these Ben and Lisa people, Jenna's friends, decided to have a bonfire. Ben likes playing with white gas. I have no idea what white gas is but I know it's flammable. We'd brought some cinnamon shnapps liqour with gold flakes in it. Swigged that strait. This was Jenna's idea, as some guy she used to "know" drank this (she's gonna smack me for those quotation marks, haha).

Before this we'd gone to Margie's. Was I ever an annoying high school student with no place cooler to go than the local diner? Damn, I was so I shouldn't complain. The sliders were good but my potatoes didn't come fried.

See what I'm saying about the connotation of 'self-indulgent dork?'

Before that? Uhh...
[relation of activites we perfomed before omitted as to avoid heavy smacking]
And before that there was beach. Same beach. Same day. We'd gotten delicious sammiches from a deli/wine store called La Casa Bodega where we also got the shiny liquor. I chased her around and sumo wrestled and kicked her butt. Or pushed it anyway. That woman gives a mean wedgie, though.

Previously I think there was sleeping, and figuring out how to scan books. Cause, you know, it'd be nice to have them for my classes. Hm.

How did you like the inverted temporal sequence? Was it good for you as it was good for me? Is a frog's butt watertight?



I'll be damned.
That did solve something.

You never think of walking as being a real prouctive activity. A to B.
Maybe that's culture. But... allow me to explain.

I'd been dicking around on this damnable website for at least 5 hours. Not doing anything, really, but reading and researching the life out of me. And so I got up. Tried to trim my stache but the razor was dead. Remembered that I needed to move my car from the closer lot to the faaar lot because I'd get another ticket otherwise. So I got my brown blazer on, the one that used to be Emily's Dad's, and headed out.

As I started walking I start listening. The first thing I heard is this clack-clack-clack as some kid rides his skateboard across the cracks in the wet pavement behind me. Then my own shoes on the concrete stairs. My car beeping as I unlock it. The engine turning on and the jazz station. Wheels backing over a curb as I, dumbass, went over it. Then the softer sound of tires on wet road. Between the barricades I run over a large metal ring lying there in the crosswalk, which has a sound I enjoy but cannot describe. Then back to the parking lot the new way, the new road they just made way, as I realize there might be available paking spaces. No such luck. As I was about to go back the way I came I heard voices, people walking up the parking entrance whom I didn't even see. I waited but didn't want them to hear the silly Santa Cruz reggae that had come on. So, I drove to the BBC parking lot and on the way I HONKed my horn at the police station for a good solid second because I was pissed at the stupid cops for giving me stupid tickets.

This is important,

I think.

So I get out of my car and I'm all kinda mope-y cause I have to park here so faaaar away and I pull out this rope to see if I can rip down that fucking parking sign with my car frame. Verdict: probably, but I'm not that hardcore and/or an anarchist. I walk back. The rain starts again, even though it's been dripping from the trees all along. I start talking to myself. A monologue of alternating bile and self-chastisement. Mostly about cops, how much I hate them and then me rationalizing why I really don't. As I get back to the quad what did I see, of course, but an officer doing nightwalk. Nightwalk is this thing where any girl student that calls can get a fully armed polizia to walk them to and from their dorm. I power-walked ahead of these two, the cop and his escortee the Resident Director, trying to get into the elevator before them. Sooo close. They come in just as the door opens and I run inside jamming the close button and as I do, the officer says and I quote,

"I smell pasta."

I'm sorry. Really. But if one is pissed pisssssed at cops in general and one of them comes into where you live and says something so retort-worthy and inane as "I smell pasta," or "I smell anything," for that matter well...

I'm sure you can't blame one for uttering "I smell bacon."

Thought I got away with it too. Damn. I didn't. He stuck his flashlight/beatstick in the door and asked what I said. I don't even remember what the hell I answered at that point. What did I not do? Make some shit up. Get in his face. Stonewall him. I think I probably apologized. Kept his stick in there till the ellelater was buzzing something nasty. Then he let me go up to my room.

I'm beyond irked, at this point. I'm making bestial sounds and my spit is frothing at my lips. I'm not really making words anymore. People used to say you had a sharp tongue if you could curse viciously enough. My tongue was blunt and spiky, like a mace. I didn't stay long in my dorm.

I took out the trash. Pfft, why not. Was I looking for a fight when I went out? Kinda sorta. Walked by his cruiser. Didn't spit on it, though I was tempted very tempted. Called myself a pussy a few dozen times. Finally I settled on going back to my dorm and being angry.

When who ... do I see ... again ... but Officer Brown.

Officer Brown was his name. Young guy. Probably on University Police till he gets enough experience. Brown hair efficiently cut, kinda short-ish. I run into him and the RD on the second floor. My first instinct surprisingly enough is not to shout and curse and be pissed off. I say sorry again this time I'm sure. I invite him up to my room. But I was on the wrong floor of course and said it was one of those days. He said he'd had a few of those. Once inside I offered him water and a seat but he said he was fine. I explained where I was coming from and the tickets I'd gotten and why I was so frustrated and he tried to sympathize. I think even he was a little taken aback by some of the tickets I've gotten. We had an okay conversation. I kind of unloaded on him, which was alright. He told me he didn't write the dumb overnight parking tickets and that, yes, there were some ticket-happy guys on the force.

We had a human mutual respect moment. He's from CSU Fresno. His name's Matt. He knows now that sometimes I follow foxes on my bike, even after midnight. He had to go and we said goodbye. I accomplished clearing my head. I felt better.

And I finally had something to write about, thank god.


Tha Intarweb

Orin: hey I was just wondering where you got the term "intarweb", it's been spreading around lately and I'm interested in it's adoption
Orin: did you hear if from a friend?

Somnus: hmm where i got it..
Somnus: i probably got it from internet forums

Orin: forums
Orin: ok, cool
Orin: I heard it first from a good RL friend

Somnus: where netspeak and bastardization of words runs rampant

Orin: that's why I ask

Somnus: yeah i have a RL friend who got me on the forum
Somnus: so it was either him or the forum :)

Orin: thanks... new words intrigue me to no end

Who wants an article? Come on...


Jenna just asked me if I've ever eaten gummy bears upside down. She says the juice runs up your nose.


Cham Bam Shazam

OK so I'm sitting in class and this emo kid Tyler is sitting in front of me and he's totally hipper than me. Boy wears a black sweatshirt with a turned up collar and the stitches showing with an ass-tight pair of girl-jeans. Kinda pants you can tell what religion he is. His hair's shoulder-length strait and black with platinum highlights. Has a pair of mahogany-colored thinline emo glasses.

The coolest thing I have on is an ironic t-shirt that says:
"ironic t-shirt."

This bothers me. Why? No hipster, no hipster I. Damn people. Damn people presenting themselves as more foashionable and current than me. At least I don't come off as pretentious. Well no, that would be a big stretch. I'm not a clothes whore though.I don't think. An inept clothes tard maybe.

I'm gonna redo my MySpace. It's gonna be all default-conscious, no color schemas for this shiny attractive metallic object.

In other related disturbing news there do exist actual, non-figurative MySpace whores:

From "Candice":
I'm here because one of my girlfriends said this site is a great way to meet people online. I'm 21, with brown hair and green eyes and I have a butterfly tattoo but I'm not telling where! I'm looking for people who have an open-mind, not shy and people who don't mind what I do for a living. I'm online a couple hours a day between work hours so if you want to chat over my webcam, hit me up and mention you saw my profile.

Occupation:Online Stripper

MySpace + WebCams = possibility for new levels of sluttishness.

Need also to setup computer for music/design and not games. Nobody cool ever went: "oh wow you have a level 40 shaman with all 4 totems?!" They say " oh wow you make your own music!? And it's fricking awesome?! Yeah. No.

Ok I'm gonna go now coolness be damned.
Dinner. Jenna. Hungry.

Pace. It's Italian for peace.