...which means I have more time for this post (i.e. I can use grammerz and what not) but it does NOT mean I have anything to write about, really.
What I do have is a story about my shitty Valentine's Day:
Since I'm a terrible person who is emotionally incapable of being in a meaningful relationship with anyone, I was alone. I probably could've made plans with any one of the countless women who for whatever reason seem infatuated with me, but being the self-loathing prick, I decided that I would rather get trashed (I don't have any classes on Thursdays anymore) and watch romance movies ALONE - alone being the operative word.
And of course, my roommate, the perpetual dick he is, decided that it was the perfect day to like... be in the room all day. That coupled with the fact that I have no liquor, and not even so much as 3 dollars for a cheap 40 makes it seem like my pity-party is ruined. And it is.
Eventually I get fed up of my roommate and tell him in not so many words to "get the fuck out," and for once he obliges me.
So I got the alone part covered, and that's the most crucial part, but then the sorrow that I was supposed to drown in cheap liquor becomes overbearing. All I have is rubbing alcohol, and that's uh... not healthy. But it does bring to mind memories of better times in a better place of making cheap ether using nothing more than starter fluid and water. So, being lonely, depressed, and desperate I mix up what I later coined "drug soup." It's approximately 2 parts rubbing alcohol, 1 part nail polish remover, 3 parts hot water, and 6 parts brain damage. ... In retrospect, I can imagine myself coming into some legal trouble for posting the recipe here, but I don't fucking care, because no one reads this shit. (Please don't sue me).
I started huffing that shit like like a doctor was holding me upside down and smacking me on the ass.
Well, it worked, to a certain extent, to that I lost control of about 90% of my motor skills.... for about 10 minutes. And then it all came back. Plus the worst headache I can remember.
The moral of the story: Kill yourself young so you don't become a pathetic burnout like me.
Oh, also, apparently I'm a sophomore now. My credits from college classes I took in high school FINALLY transferred to RIT.
"Optimus Prime: 17-year-old college sophomore" has a nice ring, I think.
I'm like the role-model parents don't want their kids to know about.
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