My head hurts like a bastard. The pain has exponentially grown with every hour of The Gameshow Network I have watched.

All scratched up from the kitty cat, but they're only flesh wounds on the limbs, not the lips of anything.

Diet Dr. Pepper tastes better when there's an X-Men character on the can.

Don't believe me, then.

I'm afraid if I go out into the sun I'll fall asleep in it. Test in four hours, haven't read any of the materials. Five hours of sleep -- I don't know how I did it every night in high school for all those years, but I have lost my ability to do it now. Oh, to be seventeen again.

NO, WAIT, I TAKE THAT BACK.

I haven't had enough water yet today. Usually by this point I have downed at least three liters, if I've gotten out of bed.

I did perk up a bit when the opportunity arose to give the finger to an obnoxious 10 or 11 yr old boy. Fuck those kids, man. Fuck 'em.

I can't afford the X-Men DVD right now, so I've been looking for it on VHS with no luck. But tonight, OH, TONIGHT, at Satan's Toy Shop and Sexual Discrimination Capital of the World (read: Best Buy), I found that motherfucker for $5.99. Super Special Price indeed, you rat bastards!

And Esther loaned me her Donnie Darko DVD so I could finally partake of the film. I will take care of it like it's a child from my own womb.

Wolverine poster v. v. hot, still. Still.

I forget things about my own life frequently. Like going to Niagara Falls (terrifying!), the wax museum, the Ripley's museum. Like being a candy striper. Like the time I told my sixth-grade homeroom teacher than I would like to die by auto-erotic asphyxiation.

Sigh.

Also I wear an Avon ring from the 60s that my grandmother gave me when I was eight. I have always loved it. It's silver and black with turquoise beads, and finally, after years spent wandering in the desert, it has finally come back into style. VICTORY.

Avon, motherfucker. Avon.

I wear my mother's engagement ring on a chain around my neck. It's a simple ring, a thin silver band set with two black pearls, and the most beautiful ring I can imagine. I don't remember why she gave it to me, but it's the kind of thing I sort of wish a future fiance would steal from me in the dead of night, causing me much distress and misery when I discover it missing, and secretly have it cleaned and the prongs reset and then use it to propose.

Besides the sentimentality, I can't wear diamonds. I can't wear a lot of money on my hands and feel good about it. Have you seen me walk around corners? I only make it 56% of the time without a crash.

I decided not to abandon the Board on account of unrelenting rage. I mean, my unrelenting rage is a given.

I want to have a Die Hard 3 dinner party. With my Bruce Willis CD playing during the meal, and Samuel L. Jackson party games, like seeing who can impersonate the line from A Time To Kill the best: "Yes they deserved to die and I hope they burn in hell!"

I can see it now, all of us settled on the ghetto couch, squinting at my 13-inch tv/vcr combo, eating Junior Mints. Neat.

This is what I come up with when I'm reading a stolen InStyle magazine on the toilet. I have to take their elegant "Italian" or "Spanish" or "Asian" themes and bastardize them to fit my budget and class position and interests.

Shout, shout, let it all out.

Got a Wolverine poster. The ramifications should be very clear.

I bought crayons, but I couldn't find a decent coloring book, not like the kind I used to have when I was rocking out in the 80s. If this keeps up I will have to break down and start using my A-Team book, from the drugstore back home that hasn't progressed past 1988. Oh, and you think I'm lying. Are you in the market for some Rainbow Brite trading cards, or Super Mario Brothers notepads? Maybe Goody hair ties in yellowed bags from 1979.

Product Recommendation Time!

Ban "Beautifully Smooth" deodorant. I bought it mostly because it was only $1.48, but it's supposed to reduce shaving irritation. I think it's actually working. As a consumer when something works like it says it does, I am floored. Because I'm like a hairy Italian bear, and I hiberate all winter, and now that summer is killing us off down here in Florida I've taken to tank tops and skirts to survive and I have not shaved so often in the past month than I have in the past five years. Well, I'm still keeping it real 70s-style down south, if you take my meaning and I think you do.

Nivea body Creamy Conditioning Oil. It's about $6 for a big bottle, if you can condescend to step foot in Wal-Mart like the rest of us. Every few days I get out of a steaming shower and slather this on like it's the lotion in the basket and Jame Gumb is threatening me. Then I lay back naked in my computer chair and wait for everything to absorb. You can't touch anything, so I think about different things, like pirate sex or fucking people up as Wolverine or something for awhile.

Napped from 8:34 to 10:38. The night is mine! I should read for an upcoming test, or maybe finish sewing my cargo-jean-short-skirt, but we all know I won't. We all know I'll go hunting for gay smut to read online instead!

I hate my predictability.

There was more racquetball today. I could marry racquetball, and have lots of small, rubber-ball-shaped babies with it.

Tigerlily. Tigerlily!

I haven't made a decision re: The Board, yet, although the bleeding ceased a while back. I think I had a prophetic dream about Slashrey and a pony. Updates will be forthcoming.

Man, I just can't say "Splendid!" without sounding like an asshole. I keep trying, though.

I went to every single one of my classes last week; throw me a fucking parade! Because that hasn't happened in about two years.

What celebrity-type would you seriously get hitched to without getting to know him or her first? This question operates on the assumption that you actually care about things like mututal love and respect and the personality and soul of your partner, not the fact that they play a fictional character you want to fuck or look good in tight jeans.

I turned down my usual suspects, but it turns out Bono is the only person I will marry indiscriminately. And maybe Ian McKellen, but really, I just want to live with him and his boyfriend. Like if I got pregnant accidentally and wanted to keep the baby and the father turned out to be an asshole, I would want to go live with Ian McKellen and raise my baby in his home. Is that too much ask to ask? Seriously?

PS Bono I am available if you and your wife decide polygamy is groovy.

"Do you think any of Hugh Jackman's girlfriends ever told him, 'You have a huge jack, man?'"

FOR ONCE I AM NOT THE ONE SPEAKING.

I listen to Pearl Jam, go to class, come home and wonder where my day has gone. Listen to more Pearl Jam. Go to sleep. Repeat.

Today we mixed it up with some Taco Bell, some hysterical laughter turned weeping, some Joni Mitchell.

Eddie Vedder: "We hope that you each do things in your own lives to make this world a better place. You probably already do, and if you don't, it's a great time to start. It's addicting. Why do you think we play? It feels alright, you know.

You know, even just picking up the papers for somebody else in the morning who's too old to reach down and get 'em themselves ... that's a nice little thing that makes the world a better place. Shooting the Dominoes pizza guy an extra five bucks, it makes the world a better place... unless of course he's a crack addict on parole and he goes and shoots himself up and then ends up robbing somebody else's house--you gotta be careful about this stuff."

I have to finish my Grammar Detective exercise. I am a senior in college and my homework is called Grammar Detective. It's cool, yo, because we're also learning Hungarian, to demonstrate the actual effective ways of teaching someone a second language. We close our eyes, he claps his hands and then all English disappears and we're shouting out colors and numbers, with wooden blocks and Uno cards.

Ah, summer semester!

I hate butterflies, and I feel pretty alone in the world on this one. Do you know anyone else who thinks butterflies are creepy? I am not fooled by the flashy colors or the fluttering wings -- those fuckers are just nasty bugs, just more socially-acceptable moths. Man, I hate butterflies. Those legs, that long squishy body, that mouth-part! Flying bastards. Stay the hell away from me.

They're almost as bad as dragonflies. Holy shit, the dragonflies are 932% worse. Spastic sons of bitches. SO GROSS.

Board-related anger. Cramps, and Board-related anger. I'm ready to call it quits. Fuck it. Will re-evaluate after I stop bleeding.

What is the difference between knitting and crocheting? What do I need to learn if I want to make a scarf for next winter, or a headband, or a cap or purse or a sash-type belt for my sister? DIY queens, I choose you.

At my regular shopping places I have noticed the extreme lack of Wolverine t-shirts for the ladies. Do not gender-type me and my interests! I can't find myself a Harry Potter t-shirt either, although this would not be a problem if I were built like a nine-year-old.

"Snatch" is a verb, not a noun, to me. I use it pretty regularly in its verb form--apparently I have much cause to describe stealing or grabbing--and no one seems to recognize this as a valid thing to say. It's as if I'm shouting "VAGINA" or "CROTCH FACE" every time I say, "I snatched that sucker up."

My favorite verb EVER is "scotch." Oh man, it's such a beautiful thing. I'm getting all hot just thinking about it.

There are stories I don't know why I don't tell you, stories about my father risking his life to save the horses in a burning barn, and my mother teaching me Tae Kwon Do in the dark, and that one time my brother said my heart was as empty as my soul. I am convinced that if another web author with more time and a determination to carefully craft their entries lived my life, it might be entertaining or even moving.

My father did have a horrifying experience trying to save some million-dollar horses while delivering packages as a UPS driver, and my mother almost killed me demonstrating a particularly clever defensive move, and my brother was influenced early on by watching me and my mother play video games about demons and vampires. Sometimes I just don't feel like getting into it. It's easier to get into how I masturbated standing up the other day, and it was crazy.

Mrs. Kroh, thank you for the chocolate coins! I don't know what it is about North Dakota, but that was the best chocolate money I have ever ripped apart like a starving child and let melt in my mouth. Man.

You people don't have trees or oceans, but I could be convinced to step foot in your state on the basis of coin money alone.

Sports bras make me happy. I know the girls are always tucked in nice and neat, where they can't cause me any trouble going around corners. The nipple doesn't roam. Things aren't bouncing. Plus it cuts down on visible size differential! My Hero.

I wish they would sell Kelly Clarkson and Justin Timberlake in a shrink-wrapped duo-pack, so I could just buy up all the crap I'm not supposed to enjoy in one easy purchase. Throw some Christina in there, too. That Beautiful song makes me tear up.

Do not speak to me of your crappy indie "cred." I got fucking Bright Eyes albums too, you know.

Once More With Feeling.

When people are screwing you over, don't you wish they would be flat-out nasty about it instead of pretending they're your friend, with all the fake sweetness? Me too.

Has no one mentioned it yet? The guy who allegedly killed his pregnant wife looks like a scary, bleached-out Ben Affleck.

Don't worry, I'm still here to focus your attention to such things.

What do I say about X2? I was so happy, so happy. So was Nicole's mother. See, the wonderful part about being me is that I know little to nothing about the X-Men of the comics and only have vague memories of watching the cartoon, so everything is a delightful, magic surprise. I have no expectations, no canon snobbery, no baggage! I can just sit there and lust over Wolverine and want to be him and marry him at the same time, and not feel bad! I love Rogue! Me and Magneto are going to hook up! I would do everyone in this film, because they all made me fucking gleeful. Alan Cumming, come sit next to me. You are so fucking cool. It's unfair to make you live in my heart next to the gigantic chunk of it that is devoted to Wolverine, however. Who else can ever compare? These fucking fictional characters are GOING TO RUIN MY GODDAMNED LIFE.

It was so good.

I like pirates and Pearl Jam and pissing after I've had to hold it for an hour. Also crunchy peanut butter. Also pearls. Also pink things.

It's like Sesame Street up in here.

I always had a soft spot for Gonzo. Is he a muppet or a puppet? Sesame Street wasn't the same thing as Kermit and Miss Piggy and Beaker and Fonzie, was it? Rolf? The muppets were not on Sesame Street. Oh holy fuck, now I'm confused! I definitely know that Fraggle Rock wasn't a part of all that. Or the felt and foam puppets from Today's Special.

Bitter. Hostile! Angry. I want to live in a cave, no contact with anyone. Maybe I have problems. Moodswings, ah, moodswings. An hour ago I was making pretend love to Hugh Jackman in my head. Maybe that's my problem right there. IhateyouIloveyou. Go away! But come back, sometime. Man. Man.

Things will get back to normal now, I think. I can stop neglecting everyone and feeling terribly guilty about it. I'm having dreams where my friends are turning on me because I haven't emailed them. At some point in my life I have to learn that I cannot be available 100% of the time, even when I want to be, and that perhaps this turn of events does not make me an asshole, just a depressed one who's finally finished with the semester. I haven't even been able to masturbate lately, so that should tell you how fucked up and unhappy things have been. Because when I cannot get it on despite trying my hardest, something is wrong.