http://www.exploremodeling.com/Contest/Faceof_ELF_2010/12248/Annicia_Davis.aspx

Yeah. So, uhh, vote for her. She wants to win this thing like craaaazy.

I got my appendix taken out this morning, whoo hoo! And I can't feel a thing.

Must be all that morphine and vicodin.

I am sick. And I just got paid. Which shirt should I buy:

Tiger Geo
Murphy's Law
Favela
I've wanted this for so long
Bye Bye Apocalypse


In other news, when I flew to Albuquerque this past weekend, the guy sitting next to me talked the whole 2 hours and told me about his wife and two girlfriends and his wiener.

Yesterday at work, my supervisor talked to me about dress code, and asked me to wear more "work appropriate" clothes. She said that some people had complained about the outfit I wore on Tuesday, particularly the color of the skirt. She told me to just wear jeans and a t-shirt and wear things more "appropriate".

Here's what I was wearing: a light pastel green skirt, plain black button up blouse, and plain black ballet flats.

How in the hell is jeans and a t-shirt more appropriate than a skirt and blouse?! And I don't understand why people have such an issue with what I was wearing when the other student workers wear shirts that show off their tits and dresses that maybe come down to mid thigh.

EUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&item=250428529658

One of my professors is notoriously vague about everything concerning grades, finals, and the midterm essay for his class. He came to class today and announced he’d forgotten his book and unless anyone had any questions, we were dismissed. Someone asked him outright about our upcoming midterm. Or, at least, tried to ask.

“Can we get a head’s up on our midterm?”

“Heads up.”

A few people laugh. He does not smile. Silence. Someone coughs. We look at him. We look at each other. We look at the floor.

“What will the test cover?”

“This class.”

Again, silence. No one looks at anyone.

“What will the questions be like?”

“Big.”

“Big?”

“As in, ‘How does Marxist theory relate to the rest of the universe?’”

Silence. No one knows if he is serious. Those of us that have a foggy idea of Marxist theory become very afraid.

“Do you have some sort of standard to turning in the essay? 12 font, times new--“

“No.”

“Nothing? No guidelines?”

“I don’t care if you turn it in handwritten. On butcher paper. In blood.”

He laughs. Somehow, his frail seventy-two year old five-foot-flat frame seems to morph into a body builder as he flexes his awesome power over us, knowing we are at his indefinable and inexplicable whims of mercy.

Then we were dismissed. Or, rather, he just left us there. Staring at each other, shocked and afraid.


Sometimes I hate my classes.

On campus today, I saw a bike that looked suspiciously like mine, and when I checked it out, it sure was!! I had my name engraved on it when the cops do their free engraving thing on campus, and the dumbass who stole it didn't even think to scratch it off.
So, I got on a bus, went to Wal-Mart, bought a lock cutter, and reclaimed my bike.

All is well right now.

Last night this really creepy guy kept pounding on my door and trying to look in my window. Since this guy looked like super creeper, I hid in the bathroom with my cat for about 30 minutes.

On a slightly less terrifying note, I got a care package from my mom today. So, anyway, how are you doing today?

Thanks a lot for stealing my beloved bike and my faith in humanity.

Love, Amy
P.S. I hate you.