Feeling good this morning, although I have a test in human sexuality later which I haven't studied for, and a class in an hour that I haven't attended in, like, a week, and am thinking of skipping yet again. Probably shouldn't, though.

Last night was lovely. Little Dude took me out to Steak 'N Shake, where we discussed an assload of stuff... At one point, he was telling me about archaic Russian greetings, and about how much easier it would be for him to read women if they came back in vogue. Later on, we started talking about his perceived understanding that American women don't like forward men, and then he gave me a chaste little kiss good-night... At which point, he informed me of his desire to stay the night. Heh.

Ugh, I'm definitely going to skip that class again, I just know it. All right -- as of next week, no more skipping Creative Writing for me, no matter how dire the circumstances. I can't afford to fail an English class, no siree bob.

Do you ever get the urge to just give up on your current longterm plans? Like, not necessarily letting a dream die -- just taking a good, long look at what you've been planning to do with your life in the next five or ten years and saying, "Fuck it. Time for Plan B." And I don't just mean when you've fucked up and realized you might be pregnant, either (if that's the case, I should inform you that you'll need a prescription from your physician for Plan B until 2007 -- sorry!).

Seriously, though, part of me just wants to drop out, get a low-paying job -- maybe I could host again, or even serve. Maybe I could work at Subway, or at a Wal-Mart. There's just something so alluring about not having to worry about work outside the context of work, whereas school-related worries permeate my entire existence at this point. Honestly, it can't be that difficult to just live. I can get a job, get a small place, get a shitty little car... These are all things that I kind of actually want over the doubtful promise of financial security looming a decade or so in the future.

But will I feel like a sell-out? Will I find myself in an environment wherein I constantly feel surrounded by idiots and come to hate myself for IQ-based prejudices that I might not be able to help, having been the proud first human production of a couple of high-achieving college graduates?

Ech, I don't really know what's going on with my head lately. I'm so completely complacent in regard to school at the moment, that I consider having had a number of orgasms last night to be good and fine studying for my first Human Sexuality exam. Yes, I know the advantages and drawbacks of the missionary position; yes, I understand the societal pressures telling me that sex isn't good unless I work to achieve orgasm in both myself and my partner, preferably simultaneously; yes, I understand the male and female cycles of arousal. For some reason, I also know that most people begin fondling their genitals for pleasure as early as infancy! Right now, though, the knowledge that seems most important is that I'm wrapped up in a blanket that smells like cologne and erect penis, which means it's time to spend $3.00 of my hard-earned summer money to make it smell like artificial spring again.

Zhora and I almost went to Hooters last night, but it was closed. I would say that I agreed to go purely out of morbid curiosity, having never been before, but honestly, I wouldn't have minded seeing some nice perky tatas in some cute little shirts, or some nice perky butts in some cute little shorts. Does this make me somewhat chauvenistic? I sure sound like a narrrsty old letch. It's just that, when I'm looking for good company, I look for good company; sometimes I just want to see some great T&A, you know? Zhora has no butt; it makes me value more the time in my personal history during which I had a nice, plump one to nap on. Le Sigh.

Since Zhora and I ended up at Steak 'N Shake last night instead of Hooters, I contented myself by flirting outrageously with our waitress -- a shapely, accentless Indian girl who called me variations of "honey", "sweetheart", and "ma'am" for the hour Zhora and I loitered around with our meager food orders. I certainly wasn't putting on a show for him by any means, but I was at least satisfied that he didn't seem to mind my eyes taking in some demurely clothed, small and meaty breasts. Made me hungry enough to devour a Crisco melt!

This post is brought to you by This Dave Chappelle Skit!

Labels: Dave Chappelle, school, Zhora

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