Well folks, this past week was one of the worst in recent memory. Everyone died: Johnnie Cochran, Terry Schiavo (good for her), the pope, and worst of all, Mitch Hedburg, officially the funniest dude on earth. I was thinking the other day and I realized that Terry Schiavo's parents and all them on their side are probably all pissed that the pope had to go and die right after she did, because now all their media coverage is gone and they're not famous anymore. And in personal news, Leslie and I are "on hiatus." She came up to see me crying, not wanting to do it, but I think I bargained her down from completely breaking up with me to giving it a rest. It could end up being good for us. It could end up being the end of us. Who knows. It hurts, that's all I know for sure. Relationships are funny things. When they're going well you feel like everything in life is fine. When they're going bad, or worse, they end, it's like the end of the world. It's not, of course, the end of the world, but it sure feels like it. So apparently I'm supposed to start dating other people, but I don't really want to, and I don't know anyone who'd be interested in dating me. Meh. Whatever.

To take my mind off things I've been trying to get outside and do things the past couple days since it's been in the 70's here, but everyone's always busy with other stuff. This leads me to my usual rant about how life shouldn't be wasted working and going to school, but my rebellious spirit, like so many others, is slowly being crushed by the gigantic soul crushing machine that is the society we live in. So fuck it, waste away, go to school, work, never accomplish anything, never have time for yourself, because apparently that's how we're supposed to be. Alive for 75 years but never living. Thanks, society!

I want to get in better shape again. I'm all soft and squishy, which is a good quality for a stuffed animal, but not for me. But I don't like running or doing things alone. I get bored. I like playing sports, but I need other people. So I guess the point is, if you like to play catch, baseball, basketball, tennis, racquetball, anything like that, for the love of God, let's play something sometime. I'm sick of sitting inside.

One of the girls who lives above us has a pink cell phone. As a hard and fast rule that applies 100% of the time, girls with pink cell phones are bad people who you should never hang out with. So are girls who wear little mini-skirts and fuzzy boots, guys who wear pink button up collared shirts, and people who say "like" more than any information-carrying words in sentences.

So I registered for classes today, except for the psych classes I want to take because I'm not a psych major and I'm not allowed in until a month from now. Registration time started for me at 2:10, and I suspect it started for most people around then. I had to skip class again, as I do every semester. This may sound weird, but I don't like skipping class. I like learning. I'm a nerd. Point is, everyone is in class at 2:10. Why doesn't the school make registration start in the evening, at like 7? It seems stupid to me to make people skip class to get registered to make sure they get the classes they need to graduate. Danny waited until 3 and the honors seminar was full. Someone, however, decided that the middle of a school day is a good time to register for classes. Logic? What? Never heard of it.

I think if these crazy right wing nutjobs who are all anti-gay marriage ever sat down and talked with a gay person they'd realize that they're just normal folks who are attracted to people of the same gender, and there's really nothing in them that's threatening the fabric of life itself. But no, these are the people in charge of our country, and they're convinced that there's an evil monster out there just waiting to destroy civilization as we know it with their... gayness. The world is a sick, sad place sometimes.

Anyway, I'm especially bitter recently because of all the shit going on in my life. On the plus side I got a pack of cards and a T-shirt for finishing the spring beer tour at Old Chicago. Now I can stop drinking. Mission accomplished. Blah. It's pinochle time.