Liveblogging from Hell

I'm updating again, and once again, that can mean only one thing...yup, I have a bigass paper to do and no desire to do it. Oh, and it's really late.

I'm currently in the Adams House Library at 3:35pm. It's just me in here with another guy who's sleeping with his head on a table. He's cramping my style. In the words of the Hoosier Lush, "He stole that from ME."

So my thesis breakthrough that I had over break ended up being a millstone around my neck. Sure my thesis will probably be better, but what this really amounts to is WAY too much homework in the short-term. I'm drowning here. I think I'm going to take the Beckster's advice and name my thesis. The problem is that I can't come up with a good name for it. What do you think? The best I've got off the top of my head is George or Barbara. Whoa, they're both Bushes, that's weird. I guess it works, because this basically serves as a mechanism for me to bitch about my thesis without seeming pathetic. Like for example--George and I are not on speaking terms. I hate George. He thinks I have nothing better to do but spend every hour obsessing over him. Fuck George. Nothing I ever do is good enough for him. I love you George, take me back. Ahh, the horribly unhealthy obsession the thesis provides every senior stupid enough to write one.

Saturday was Schnocone's birthday. Fun times. We pigged out at the Kong, and then Schnocone grossly ate ramen noodles after we'd already eaten way too much. In other news, he's got a completely sweet job lined up in NYC, and the Lush and I have already declared an open door policy a la China in order to slice our pieces of his earnings away. What we've come up with is this: We all live in a three bedroom apartment in the city on Schno's largesse. She and Schno share a room. Huey and Bighead share a room because they're hangers-on, and we got in on the ground floor. And I get my own room (a suite really) all to myself. And when the Lush gets sick of Schno, she gets to stay in my anteroom. How suite is that?

Thursday night I went to the first formal of the summer with Wubulu. It had a cash bar, and I'm poor and not willing to pay a lot on drinks (we're talking 6.25/beer bottle), so basically the little Chinese glutton and I would wait for a drink to be abandoned and then swarm like some kind of military squad team, and steal it. It worked out really well. Who cares if I get date-raped? Nobody wants to daterape me. Besides, at this point I'm pretty sure I'm immune to Rohypnol.

OK, I really should go get a bagel or something before I take a nap and continue writing this piece of shit, I mean the greatest contribution the study of the historical novel known to man. No wait, I had it right the first time.