Thursdays are fun.  After my classes ended at 1, I kinda just vegged on the couch.  Then I went to a DJ battle at Porter’s Pub.  When I first walked in, only about 20 people were in the pub, and they were all just standing in front of the dj standing awkwardly.  Fortunately, the night picked up, and more enthusiastic people began to file in.  We shuffled, gloved, and raged until 10:30pm, when a dj began to play some remix of “Niggas in Paris”, and I decided to leave and go to David’s house. 

David’s friends from Granada came to visit, so they decided to follow thirsty thursdays.  We had two bottles of the worst alcohol I had ever tasted in my entire life.  Oof, that Prestige is gross.  There was a bottle of Honey flavored Jack Daniel’s though, and damn, that had such a nice, smoky taste to it.  Broke college students aren’t around decent quality alcohol too often. :[ 

Anyway, the night was great. She had a bit too much to drink, but I didn’t mind taking care of her. Tucked her in and went home to try to get sleep before my 10:00am class. meh.

So I’m required to keep a 45-minute daily journal for my writing class.

Dear Diary,

Even though I didn’t have class until 12:00 today, I still woke up tired.  Throughout spring break, I probably slept 10-12 hours a day sleeping at 4:00am and waking up at 2:00pm, so 7.5 hours of sleep is not settling well with my body.  However, coffee is always there to energize me.

I can’t go a day without coffee anymore.  Whatever happened to willpower keeping me awake?

I know this is weird, but I freak out when my class doesn’t involve math.  Poli 30 is a statistics class I need to take for my GE, and instead of math, it’s more research based.  The only consoling aspect of the class is the charismatic, caring professor. 

However, my math20F class concerns me the most.  The professor has a thick Indian accent and uses powerpoint slides to teach us the math.  Who uses slides to teach math?  That’s a sign of a lazy math teacher.  Sigh, I’m thinking of waking up at 11:00 just to attend the alternate professor’s lectures.  I’d switch into her class, but it’s totally full and waitlisted because people are fleeing my prof’s class.

Having two physics lectures in one day is rather annoying.  and it’s only 4 units!

Current status: exhausted. 

I guess I’ll write and continue short stories after I finish jotting down my thoughts of the day.  45 minutes to write is a long time!

Just in case I ever forget #2

I met Her a second time that quiet night in fall.  We were drinking with our friends, talking, making s’mores, then decide to head back to our respective dorms around 1am.  Filled with liquid courage, I stood on my board and held my hand out toward Her, and without hesitation, She took my invitation and stood on the front half of my longboard while I pedaled in the back.  I placed my left hand around the small of your back and held your hand as the ground moved beneath us. 

We were rolling down the hill and picking up speed.  My sober self would’ve braked, but he wasn’t present.  A huge crack in the pavement appeared from the darkness.  My board hit it and stopped, and inertial tendencies kept us flying.  I scraped my hand, but I’m accustomed to falling.  She scraped her hand, elbow, and ankle.  With blood dripping from the wounds, She just sat there and laughed not because it was funny, but because She didn’t know how else to handle the pain.

As my buddy Soo runs to his side of the campus to grab his bandages and whatnot, She and I just sat in her room and talked about traveling, school, and… life.  Forty-five minutes quickly passed without any awkward silences; Soo came back with the bandages; and we parted ways that night.

That night, I came home and whined to the girls in my building about how I had lost my chances with Her, and they consoled me and said, “if anything, she was concerned about looking stupid in front of you.”

Why is it that we “spend” time rather than “use” time?  Because it’s the most important blessing we’re given.  Time is money; time heals all wounds.  Life ends when time is “up.”

On that note, I need to manage my time better.  I’ve totally scrapped the 365 day project, resulting in lost recollections of events.  Sigh, there go many nights of debauchery and adventure. 

Midterms hell week is over! 

Things I’ll write about soon:  My first rave, my life, my roommate, and then some shtuff just for funsies.  As for now, I’m going to hibernate.

Quick “what’d I do” of the weekend.

Friday: class, played Amnesia with Her, David’s apartment, fell asleep at Muir, woke up at 3:45am to walk Her to get picked up for her flight to Hawaii.

Saturday: Woke up at 2:00pm, rehearsal from 4-7, small dinner, gig at the loft, lightshows at Let’s Bounce, gave a dude my number, then hung out with Marshall kids.

Sunday: Woke up at 1:00pm, rehearsal from 2-6, parents came and brought me dinner and hung out, then work, work, worked into the morning.

I offended somebody today.

I blurted, “How does the black version of “happy birthday” go?  I looked to my left, realized a black girl (who looked like she could kill me with her bare hands then eat me) was in the seat adjacent to me, thought “fuuu-“, tried to save myself by saying, “you know, how Stevie Wonder sings it!”, turned red, then shut up to a room of silent, gaping mouths.  

As I was apologizing to her at the end of the night, I asked, “what would be a better way to phrase that question?”

“How does the AFRICAN-AMERICAN version of “happy birthday” go?”

Sigh, she probably says “white people” all the time.   

In order to play vigorously, one must work with equal vigor.

Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the lightest weight of them all?

Excuse while I recollect my memories.

She and I took the bus to my friend’s 21st birthday party on Saturday night, and walked in while they were all playing king’s cup. I introduced Her to my acapella group, and while Her back was turned, a few of them gave me the silent approval—a thumbs up and thrusts of their pelvises into the air.

Only two shots of tequila and two beers later, I was pretty satisfied with my buzz, but She still wanted more since she’s been drinking for a few years and developed a nice tolerance(China’s alcohol age-limit is much lower than ours), so she coaxed me into three more shots.  

My body couldn’t handle.  I remember giving a lightshow to very enthused drunks, going outside for air and chatting to another aerospace major, then feeling too dizzy to stand and passing out on the couch while She held my hand.  From that point, cups were stacked on my head, pictures, were taken, “I <3 penis” was written on my arm, singing “Don’t Change” to Her, and nasty bread was fed to me by equally drunk people, all while my eyes were closed. 

Geoff then told me he’d take me and Her back to school, so I got up and braved the dizziness down the stairs and talked to Geoff about his 21st birthday. 

The car ride was rough, but I felt the need to puke.  He ended up dropping us off at the Sixth apartments, a good ways away from my dorm, and after he left, I lost control.  My salivary glands kicked into overdrive, I gulped down tons of saliva and air, my stomach inflated, and I leaned to the side and puked onto the cold pavement while She rubbed the small of my back.  Oh, the painful contractions of the stomach. 

She was a bit drunk and didn’t know her way through the apartments, and I was in no shape to navigate, so we called Soo, and he came to the rescue on his longboard.  He led us into the huge parking lot dividing the apartments and instead of carrying me, set me down on his board and dragged me by the hand.  My eyes were closed the entire time, but I remember two other friends skating to me and asking, “omg, what happened to him?”, being frustrated that my coat was dragging on the floor, and walking into my room and seeing all of my suitemates gathered and chatting.  Then I somehow climbed the ladder into my bed and was fed tortilla chips and told them about my night until I fell asleep.

this person wants your dick

It’s not you? oh, darn..

Anonymous asked: I actually look forward to reading your almost-daily posts on your life. You make an average, boring day seem so interesting. c:

Aw, thank you! :)

I have a blackout story that you might want to watch for.  I’ll write it once I finish my not-so-interesting math homework x.x

I woke up at 7:30 today to a loud, low-pitched buzzing and slowly opened my tired eyes to see a large black spot flying around the room.  I immediately got up and out the room, screaming “shit shit shit!”, and then summoned some courage and approached the alien that had landed on the desk.  It was the fattest black bumblebee I had ever seen.  As big as a quarter and angry that it couldn’t find the way out of our room.  I slammed my shoe on it, but it didn’t give the satisfying squish most bugs make.  Its body was still intact, and its legs kept twitching, so I slammed my shoe on it again.  And several times after that and yelled, “I GOTCHU.”  I then scooped it up with a folder and flung it out the window against the wall and watched it fall to the ground. 

Then I went back to sleep with a wide, satisfied grin.

From notes dancing on a page to dopes dancing on a stage, The Beat at UC San Diego devotes their personality, talent, and energy to it all. Since their conception in 2004, The Beat has used their diaphragms and vocal chords to produce a variety of noises, most of which are quite pleasant. Their combined vocal range expands anywhere between 1 and 10 octaves, depending on how many helium balloons they inhale, but if that doesn’t convince you that they were born to perform their personality will. The Beat isn’t just another talented group of singers; they are a humble group of singers who are the best in the world!

 -David Siegel

moloosh said: Post the paragraph! I wanna read it!

Sigh, I can’t write badly well.

Ayo, so dis on eday, dis girl and me was like trying to write badder than each other in competition, so I came up wit dis.  “To do the writing of bad are not very EZ, but to not do da writing at all is badder then to do the writing of bad, because writing forms more writing, like practice.”

Her paragraph said, “That fucking fuck fucked with that fucker, so that fuck got fucked up.”

She won.