It's a good thing no one can read this.

I found a compositition book from G-d knows when holding writings about the differences between Americans and Vietnamese people (but mostly the similarites), why I like my paternal grandmother, a story about Monkey Juice from a witch doctor featuring my middle school friend Genrty Hale, and typos, typos, typos.
I wrote a biography that has the teacher's handiwork marked all over it in brown ink.
[Pre-first: My teacher was Ms. Hanks. I had a friend named Jonathan and other friends but I don't remember their names.] That statement was completely stricken out by Ms. Hunt, my Third and Fourth grade teacher (I know, she was a lucky sonufagun).

Now it is my daily journal with childish red marks that look like words on the cover.

Dec 16 2008
Saw Shalini at the mall.
Didn't talk, but I diverted (thought I did) attention towards my Brookstone application. Du-ooy.
[an hour later]
Now I'm doing the flying Dutchman routine. Walking here and there (in some cases INTO here and there) just to bump into Shal the Balla' again (noone calls here that...I hope noone calls her that). She ducked in a GAP, but I...hesitanted. And went on about my application errand thinking: A} it (the application) was more important (it was why I was there) B} Women spend a longer time shopping in a GAP then I do doing ANYTHING.
Great. I've now lost my mind in public. I wish I had a camera. Or a gun. Or a camera-gun for some real shopping.

In other news: Elder Scrolls 3: Morrowind on XBOX has frieghten me from being abscond into inifinity. I won't play it until I'm sure I'll fall asleep while playing the thing.

80+hours of gameplay can and has fucking killed humans.

Dream I had:
Married to a 100, 000 .lbs woman who is valued at $100,000 (or so the newspaper headliner says). Her name is Pearl.
Her Momma is 40-mid 50 looking but could be older: Mona.
In the dream Walter Blackman, we took journal making class together and is responsible for me finding reasons to outburst with "RANDY MOSS" or "LIBBIN-LIVI' A LIE, LIBBIN-LIVIN' DE LIE, TIMMAY", is my twisted friend who helps me move into my new apartment with the missus. He plays vidja games (looked like GI JOE on NES) while(?) watching porn, my porn (I'm not so sure about that last part. It could easliy be the wedding night video).
Pearl's got a younger sister. I got a case of the "don't know"s on her name (THAT'S WHAT I SAID IN THE DREAM. DON'T JUDGE).

The Title is a lie! And so is the cake.

"Something more than a blog"? Where do I get the balls?

Anywho, I love the Orange Box...trailers....for XBox 360. What a marvelous idea! Package all your good stuff into one ready-to-buy package. Kinda of like what Atari and the Vanilla Ice did. Best of's.

No kidding, Vanilla (somehow I wanna type Vinillia, that's how I say it in my head) Ice has a Best of album. I found out here. This gem from the Aaron Carter: Most Requested Hits(?) review bares repeating:
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Best Moment:
"That's How I Beat Shaq," in which a 15 year-old white kid tells his friends how he met Shaquille O'Neal on a playground and schooled him in a game of one on one. In the end though, it turns out to be a dream! Aw hell naw! We didn't see that coming, yo! But wait, there's a twist! At the end of the song comes the line "If it was a dream, and it wasn't real, how'd I get a jersey with the name O'Neal?" as if to imply some Freddy Krueger shit had just taken place. His friend's reply with a shocked "whooooaaa!" Our reply? "You probably bought it at motherfucking Foot Locker, now go do your homework."

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"Some Freddy Krueger shit" classy.

Well, that was a waste of time. I need to finish my late color wheel and pretend to my color theory teacher that I give a damn about how my project on all colors is going to look.

Seriously, the project requires you to make a tapestry of color, a glorious montage of color on a 11X 14 (not sure of measurements) bristol, where you cannot use the same color twice. OH, and all the strokes required to put the colors down? It has to be the same stroke for every color. If it's a circle, you're looking at some pointilism shit. If it's a s-curl, it looks like an ocean that was thrown up in.

Dr. Marcia Cohen? What the flip doc? Doesn't doing the same move over and over again bore the, already, less enthused student about color?
WAIT. I saw some of her past students work and it didn't look like boring crap.
My guess is: if you are a painter type artist, you'll thrive.
"Oh, your area of expertise is photography? Well you better fuckin' pray to carpenter Jesus that Rembrandt inhabits your soul for the next two months cause your up some shit!"

I gotta try really hard if I'm going to pass this class.
Which sucks, cause I know I'm not.
I gotta trick myself into getting a B.
"What? (Raises hand) Teacher? Uh...Ms....Dr. Cohen? I think this is wrong. I don't remember doing a coloh, uh, colon, uh, color wheel! This baffles me, teacher! It truly baffles me!"

Good morning y'all.
I'll make sure to say something funnier next time.