All I can smell are tomatoes.

So a couple of days ago I got an email from the campus bookstore telling me I had won a door prize during Student Appreciation Day. Cool, I thought. Maybe I had won a sweater. Or maybe a gift certificate. or, I don't know, if I wanted to get really pathetic, a keychain or a pen. The prospect of this mystery present was enough to drag my exhausted and fluish ass out of bed and ten minutes down the hill today so I could claim my prize. After all, I didn't want them to give away my sweater to someone else.

It was a five-page pack of specialty printer paper that self-adhesives into a little booklet for presentations.

I don't even own a printer.

I struggled back up the hill - have I mentioned my fluish ass? Complete with aching thigh muscles? - and ducked into the cafeteria for some supper. I decided on pasta with tomato sauce, and a popsicle to sooth my scratchy throat. (Fluish ass? Ringing a bell?)

At which point I spill the plate of pasta with tomato sauce into the ice cream cooler.

A scraper from the grill may have been commandeered to chip it out.

Needless to say, prying at hunks of frozen pasta with tomato sauce quelled my appetite. I settled on a muffin and some fruit and walked further up the hill to my dorm.

The overhead light has burnt out in my room

And I left my umbrella at the bookstore. Which is closed for the day.

...

*headdesk*

Spectacular Spice Rack

You know, I don't enjoy suffering from chronic insomnia, mostly because it makes me miss classes and sleep in until four in the afternoon like an unemployed deadbeat (which I guess I am as I don't have a job and am massively in debt), but I do sort of like the feeling after pulling an all-nighter. It's what I imagine being drunk or high or possibly both must be like - you feel disconnected from everything around you, yet at the same time feel greatly amused. Like the world's a joke you have to condescend to without letting it know you're laughing, because then its feelings would be hurt.

And I'm sorry if that's not making sense, but I watched a lot of Mad Men yesterday and I think it's affecting my speech patterns. Why was there so much Mad Men on yesterday, anyway? Do they do these marathons every Sunday, or was AMC just like, oh, we've run out of movies, let us show back-to-back hit drama while we cook up another batch?

BTW, according to Mad Men, the 1960s were about:

1) Smoking

2) Drinking

3) Adultery

4) Really pretty dresses

5) Joan Holloway

Damn, Girl!

SERIOUSLY. I don't easily recognize a person's attractive qualities, but her rack is actually a RACK. Not to objectify a woman based on her breasts, but I'm pretty sure I could use her décolletage to keep spices on as I cook. AND THEY WOULD STAY THERE. It defies physics, it really does.

Plus she has red hair. I miss having red hair. I think I might dye mine again once my Sheer Blonde shampoo runs out.

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have sex with her. But I would be very nice about turning her down. And then I would try balancing something on her spectacular cleavage. Probably a cat.

I promise to take pictures! Dude: Cats 'n' Racks.