you're not my jesus christ

today i feel: okay
today i'm hearing: amy millan -- losin' you
today i'm thinking: it's gonna be a long semester

I'm still feeling really up and down about a lot of things, but I've had the weekend to be busy and exhausted and enthralled and bored, so I'm doing better, I think.

I've been doing a lot of reconsidering, especially about where I'm going to live next year. The option of another dorm is looking less and less wonderful, so I might just move downstairs and take the headaches and stomachaches and dumbass stoners. I can deal with that. I'm going to insist on trying for the third floor, though. Because if they don't notice I'm here, I'm sure as hell not going to point it out to them. Fuck that shit.

Next year is going to be so fucking depressing...

The all-girls dorm is not an option. At all. Because that would mean living with girls. I all-ready live with a girl, and today I remembered why it is that I make an effort to limit my living with girls. Because today Chelsea and I had this issue: we both forgot that the other one had ten o'clock commitments.

Recently, Chelsea got her hair cut and dyed, and it looks very nice. It does. I like it quite a lot. But this means that, for whatever reason, there is only one kind of 'product' in the entire universe that she can use. Now this 'product', like most cosmetic items that are called 'product', is incredibly expensive. Thus, Chelsea only got one bottle of each 'product'. This means that she keeps her 'products' here, not at Matt's. I still don't understand the logic behind this decision, as she almost always sleeps at Matt's apartment so shouldn't she keep her stuff there? Again: I don't get it. As everyone knows, I'm not actually a girl; I just got the equipment for shits and giggles. So when I get my ass out of bed and climb in the shower, Chelsea gets home. She needs to shower for this whole 'product' scheme to go right. I guess. I don't really know. I don't think of this because, uh... I don't let anything with such a generic label anywhere near me. But I get out of the shower in plenty of time for me to get dried and dressed and relatively presentable (and to consume my mini-wheats, which is the most important thing, of course), but not with enough time for her to grab a shower and 'product' herself up.

So while I'm chilling with my mini-wheats and reading reviews of Sunday night's Wire, Chelsea is frantically trying to figure out a way to either 'product' her hair sans shower or cover it up, most of which fail, until I point out that she could just stick her head under the sink and call it a day. This makes both her and myself late, due to the fact that she wants to look sexy and I want to get the mini-wheat out of my teeth.

I live with one other girl. Do you really think I'm going to deal with this happening on a more frequent basis? With Chelsea, it's okay. This whole 'girl' thing is a relatively recent development (last year, the only reason I knew Chelsea and Matt were going out was that she'd put earrings on. No joke), so it isn't an issue. It's not like she's always been all 'product'y and pink and oh-wait-no-i-broke-a-nail-how-will-anyone-take-me-to-the-prom. I remind myself of this when I get antsy for the shower or my toothpaste.

Living with girls is a very problematic ordeal for me. Girls make me nervous. This is probably because of the fact that they are pretty. Now, boys can be very attractive and I often want to do foul things with/to them (like now, for instance), but I know for a fact that they burp and fart and smell just as often, if not more, than I do. Boys don't judge you like girls do, at least not when you're a girl. Boys are usually just stoked that a girl is saying that they're funny or attractive or smart. I know this because I do the same thing when a girl calls me funny or attractive or smart (Remember: I am a boy). I trust boys more than I do girls. Boys have bodily functions. Boys smell like boy, not freesia.

Speaking of: another scary incident that shows my roommate is slowly becoming A Lady. Someone (I think it was her best friend) gave her a gift certificate to Victoria's Secret for her birthday. Victoria's Secret is, aside from West Bmore or Detroit as discussed previously, the scariest fucking place on earth. I go in Victoria's Secret sometimes, usually because someone makes me, and if I stay in there too long, I start molesting mannequins. For the record: nothing embarrasses someone enough to either leave or drag you out like molesting mannequins. It is very effective. But here's Chelsea with a ten dollar gift card to the scariest fucking place on earth, and we're in there, of course, and we're looking at their smells section. If it was Macy's, it would be called a Perfume Counter, but it's not. We're looking at the lotions and 'body sprays' (whatever those are) and I come to a realisation: there is no sexy underwear store for men. Have you ever realised that? There is no male equivalent of Victoria's Secret. No man goes into a store to specifically buy something ridiculously expensive that he can only wear during sex. Well, unless he's a fetishist, but then it has somewhat more selfish intentions. But for the sake of argument, let's just say that men don't do that.

Now, Chelsea is a bit of a feminist. Get her talking about rape stats sometime and you'll see what I mean. Now: why would a feminist go into a store that was created almost solely for the pleasure of men? This is another of life's quandaries that will undoubtedly contribute to my infant insomnia.

Now that my roommate is plotting my swift demise, how are you?