I used to be so good at it

I gave an oral presentation today on my senior thesis project. I got so nervous that when I started speaking my nose started to sweat and my non-prescription glasses began to slide off. I had to continuously push them up.

-Skewlastik lyfe

Hi, my name is _______

I don't like how the word 'stranger' has a negative connotation.
What if that stranger is exactly the person you need to know in order to enhance your life? We shouldn't be afraid of others because they indeed hold the potential offer an opportunity, general knowledge or even love. You will never know until you know so find out.

So where did you say you were?

That awkward moment when your straight male roommate comes back home with rug burn on his knees.

hate/hate relationship

Small town

I have always hated the town that I grew up in. After this past month,  I'm starting to believe that this town hates me too.

My last final was on the last Friday afternoon of classes. The day after Christmas, my computer got a virus and was gone for two weeks. A week after I got my laptop back it appeared to be still infected, so I took it back and they said it would take 5-10 days on rush. The week that I left on my two-day getaway to Orange County, a rock hit my windshield while I was driving on the 99. The crack was small at first but spread and just would better to be taken care of while I'm home. Oh, Megan fucking bailed on our trip, that jerk. Then I left my ipod in orange county. On the bright side, it forced me to dig out old cd's in my old room. hello, motion city soundtrack

In the end of it all I found that I don't have anything in common with anyone here. In addition, whenever i come to this place I always feel more alone than ever, even though this is my home. was my home? I don't remember this place being so cold. The grass is greener here, I guess that helps a little.

City Life

Sitting on my 3rd floor apartment balcony taking in the Southern California sun for the first time since I left for a wintery home a month ago. Bowl deep, cigarette in hand, listening to M. Ward and Beth Orton cover buckets of rain on the speaker when the numbing blast of a leaf blower drowns out all notions of serenity.
fucking leaf blower... Maybe I like stepping on crunchy leaves.