This morning a guy whacked me in the head with his guitar case which, judging from the wicked thump I felt, also contained his guitar. What burns is that I knew he was going to hit me from the moment he started to sit down, but when it didn't initially happen I let myself get distracted by an awesome pair of boots thsi girl was wearing. Actually, what burns is that he wasn't even cute. I mean, after he apologized (twice) and kept glancing at me (perhaps to make sure I wasn't going to shank him), all I could do was sit there fuming to myself, why isn't he at least cute? Think of how much better this story would have been if he were cute. I would feign injury, he would sensitively ask where it hurts, I would tell him, as my pain subsided we would laugh over the silliness of being struck in the head with a guitar case, and eventually...that's right. A story for the grandkids.

Dear My Life,

At around 11:30 PM last Thursday I was asleep with my face pressed against a subway pole.

Yesterday I went into the Gap with five minutes left on my break solely because Josh Duhamel is hot in the black & white holiday campaign photos.

Tomorrow I have a minimum 10 page paper due. Today I have nothing written.

Life? Please get better soon.

I tried singing that Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas song while in the shower this morning. Usually, chanting "Me -- I want a HOO-LA HOOP" fifteen times infuses my heart with a bit of the old holiday cheer, but I felt nothing today -- nothing besides the cold fear that accompanies four December exams.

I often go into my 'I wish I could just sleep for three weeks and wake up at the other end of this' spiel with fellow student sufferers, and we commiserate over stress acne and recommend late night fuel. I also mentioned my somniferous desires to my mom, at which point she nervously asked me never to mention them again - I think because she thought by three weeks I meant forever, and she's still a bit anxious since my neighbor's suicide two year ago. (Which is completely understandable, but you'd be surprised how many woe-is-me rants my neighbor's suicide trumps. I'll tell you: every single one).

I can't wait until my exams and papers are done, so I can relax and nap and watch Passions without thinking, 'Oh my god, I'm ruining my entire future for fucking Passions'. Who thought it would be a great idea to revolve the most stressful events ever around one month? Obviously I don't do stress well. At all.

Today my at-school-human-interaction consisted of telling someone not to touch my bag. When I returned to my seat after break a guy had lifted my bag from its seat and set it on the ground so he could sit and talk to someone. I asked what he was doing and he casually explained his oddness way, as if returning to find my stuff on the ground is something I should be used to. For some reason the only equivalent I could come up with was the admittedly violent one of, "how would he like it if I broke his fingers?" Took his index and middle fingers and bent them back until he fell to his knees in pain, promising never to touch another abandoned Jansport? Then squinted at him for a second as if contemplating mercy, then totally Steven Segall-ed him and broke his fingers?

I'm almost positive that in some cultures you don't even get to keep your fingers if you touch something that doesn't belong to you.

I wish there was an arm of the government that prosecuted people who blatantly rock the fake Louis Vuitton (or as a guy from Philly once insisted - after putting his hand in my face all mid 90's Ricky Lake style - the Louie).

It makes me want to cry when I see middle aged women in their relaxed fit jeans and chipped flamingo pink toe nails clutching their not-even-real-leather Monogram Canvas bags in shapes I know for a fact Louis Vuitton doesn't even make. Those women should be ashamed of themselves, especially when they try to act all haughty when I pass them on the street, as if I'd every be impressed by poor craftsmanship. Do they not know that an authentic bag can run over a thousand dollars? Do they NOT KNOW?

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