I mean I really, really, really do not want to do anything of productive nature. The blog will be my ultimate demise.
Today, I went into the Springer lobby for a little mail check. (Check it out now. It's the mail check song.) Behind the wall of tiny doors, I hear voices. I opened by little box, and on the other side I see, through my copy of YM, Rachel and Liz, the silliest RAs. Because it is finals week, they get the honor of doing the mail. They also get the honor of harassing poor students who just want their parcels. I pulled out my mysteriously obtained magazine and started chatting it up through my mailbox. Rachel decides she's going to give me somebody else's mail a couple times. No. That's not a federal offense at all. Anyway, that was just a fun little time. And I wonder just how offensive it is to have a eensy-weensy door slammed in your face. Very Alice in Wonderlandish, I imagine, but I don't know. I should ask Rachel, 'cause she knows.
Yeah, so where'd this YM come from? I have no idea. I sure didn't subscribe. And since when does it stand for "Your Magazine" instead of "Young and Modern"? So this afternoon, Holly and I sat around reading this fine publication. How on earth did we ever read this stuff as gospel truth? It's beyond me, but we sure did. I was an avid reader of Seventeen. I didn't necessarily try to live by their advice, but I read it and believed it. You know, that is very sad. How do those writers aging in the mid-twenties live with themselves after feeding these barely teenage girls such garbage?
As you can see, this afternoon when I wasn't reading my astrological forecast for May and studying the spring fashions, I was constructing that list of links off to the right. I think they're fun. Check 'em out. Most of those I use on a regular basis.
Yeah, well, I need to study for humanities and look over my sociology study guide. Catch y'all two finals from now.