Ganges called me tonight and we the most fucking amazing one and a half hour roast session on none other than the poisonous bane of my high school existence, Ms CHOW. I learned some pretty hilarious dirty secrets about this one and I honestly can't fucking stand her pompous ass. It was great...he met her and now neither he nor my other good Columbia friend can STAND her ass. unfortunately, they're trapped for another 8 months by almost daily contact with her in France. I nearly peed my pants laughing when i heard about her ridiculousness. The next time someone tries to blow me off by saying that she "walks by the Etro store every day on her way to class," I will smoke her ass by saying i OWN pieces from both the latest collection and past collections PRIOR to Etro's enormous fame. FUCK YOU.

My fuzzy slippers arrived the other day and the boy is dying to try them on. Too bad my cat stole one of them and is now practically living in it. He will have to wrestle it away from the cat if he wants to wear it and he will then be obliged to keep the cat warm because my ChairCat Mao isn't going to freeze so that HIS foot can be comfortable. Jesus I am definitely losing it.

I am also hurrying to finish Burke and his Reflections on the French Revolution which will hopefully make me not fail this fucking CC midterm. School sucks. Why am i still here?? Marxian analysis of this problem says that the superstructure of social understanding (as well as my parental units' control) is horrifically mismatched with whichever modes of production I emply to produce. Of course, instead of the superstructure changing, poor little Proletariat me is stuck in school. This is a terrible Commodity fetishism and objectification of my person. AGHHHHHH.

At least I might pass.

I am back on the laptop for a bit, and thus with IE formatting this posting will be prettier than its preceding ugly forefathers. I am sitting here cold in my apartment reading Marx trying to digest his incoherent psychobabble about why he believes the political economy alienates labor. I have been hunting for a good hour and a half now and haven't found anthing beyond assertions that it does so and no good proof. This is going to be a joy to stomp into class tomorrow with. Sigh. If only I didn't have to fend off the flaming Marxists in my class. Furthermore, I have read the communist manifesto and find it to be full of holes. I love how hippies at my high school used to cite it as if they actually knew what it was talking about. Ditto for Rousseau and the social contract. Just remember, friend, the proletariat can never exist (if you care to know why, consider the assumptions Marx and Engels make about the proletariat and what he must do and what he must not have in order to qualify. Gender and conserative self-interest are two of them). Hahahhahaha. Thinking about that warms my blood a degree or two and now I am going to bed.

Jesus christ I need some lube.

Bike lube, you pervert (although boy and I already have the other kind). My bike sounded like the creaking of a thousand mousewheels today as i was biking through the park. To top it all off it was cold and wind was fierce leaving my legs feeling numbish and wind whipped. It was, needless to say, a *short* ride. Maybe I will work harder tomorrow. I could seriously use a long ride but my unwillingness to go out in this pseudo coldish weather is seriously hampering that right now. I will go out on at least one more ride this weekend for sure and it will be pleasant.

and fuck ya, this apartment needs cleaning tomorrow. Tomorrow, I become Martha fucking Stewart (she has street cred now 'cause she's been in the slammer). Please refer to me tomorrow morning only as "M-Dawg." Shit will be SO clean.

Today, some thoughts on "relationship capital." I can't deny it's one of the most important "investments" someone can make, but at the same time, potentially one of the most costly (if things don't turn out the way you'd hoped they would). Maybe that's the beauty of a real relationship, though - the knowledge that what you have is remarkably real and that the distance you have to "fall" should anything happen is so much larger than it is for anything else in life. What compells people to build this "relationship capital" though? I remember there was once I was perfectly happy - and perfectly single; perhaps it was the golden year of my life, my senior year of high school. Something (or rather, someone) pulled me away from that state of happiness, having unconsciously convinced me that it would be "better" to pursue something different. I was depraved enough, I think, not to really expect nor want anything out of "love," and one person changed my mind. I'm still trying to figure out what it was that pushed the happy me into letting go and accepting that risk for the off chance that I could be even happier. Maybe it's something that's innate, or maybe it's conditioning from all those damn Disney movies. Maybe it's a mixture of both, I don't know.

I think the fact that I understand how difficult it is to slowly get yourself to the point where you're comfortable with investing so much in "relationship capital" has made me a lot more sympathetic to when I hear about what it is that "ruins" the "investment" so to speak. Things that go wrong - little things that snap and make you fall so hard towards nothingness from the perch you took so long coaxing yourself to and being comfortable with. It's easier to fall off the higher branches of a tree and it hurts a lot more too. I think knowing what that's like also allows me to be devastated when I hear of another being shot off that high perch. Sometimes you sit there and look around and realize that it's so easy to fall off. You wonder sometimes whether it's almost better to crawl back down to the safer space of being alone, out of love to where you can't be hurt and you can never run the risk of it. But then again, that would be cowardice. So here I sit. And yeah, I'm comfortable here.

So shit. On the shopping list this christmas are THREE of those new iPods. One nano and two of the big schmancy Ipods. I will be needing all the discounts I can get for these things...One is going to Renee (the nano) along with a slew of things to keep it safe, and the other two are going to me and boy, Jingle Jingle. We'll probably be really gross and match too, because I just ordered us some furry shearling slippers from this tiny workshop in Vermont. I promise they will keep our feet toasty in the apartment.

So from now until the end of December-ish, I will be on absolute starvation rations and will be spending money on Nothing. I am also excessively happy that I have the BestBuy reward program thingy because it looks like I am going to be seriously racking up some points. My Ebaying pace will also increase feverishly.

MROWWWRRRRRR AMERICAN CONSUMERISM!

So I read this totally weird article in some campus supplement magazine today about how there are people getting married in college. My friend Karen and I had a talk about this. It is perfectly fine to decide at this age that you want to get married/engaged. It's a little shocking, but if you've got your head screwed on right and you feel like this is responsibility you can handle and you want to, please, by all means go for it. BUT HAVE SOME CLASS, people and don't LIVE IN A DORM as a married couple(!). Like that Harvard couple who got married on the lawn of KIRKLAND HOUSE. Please, that just makes us all ill and verymuch weirded out. You may be verymuch in love and decide you're ready to take that step, but being married and still living in a college dorm just signals to the rest of us that you enjoy and have a propensity to be an awkward person. "Mrs Walther Smith, by way of Kirkland house" At least wait until you have your OWN place (or get one, quickly) and you aren't perfectly reliant on mom and dad to pay for your entire LIFESTYLE.

In other remotely weird news, my ipod, whom I have affectionately named "Fluffy II" is now in a permanent state of rest, I think, after having suffered an early death. I'm not an ipod-dropper, either. I am pulled in various directions when considering whether or not to acquire another iPod or just to tough out life relatively silently. This just in. While writing this blog, it was brought to my attention that there is a new, video ipod out in black and it holds 30 gigabytes of music. This just may be the little push i needed to get me to buy an ipod. Well done, Steve. I am tempted and temptation and I go hand in hand, traditionally. A video Ipod it is, then.

To work now, because accounting doesn't care if the new video ipod is really nice or not.

An incredibly busy week (yes, even though it's barely started) so I interrupt only to bring this super important newsflash. I have come to the grand realization that I need an every day car and that two seats is perhaps only practical for weekends. Hence, the grand compromise:

The Maserati Quattroporto for weekdays because it's elegant, smart and right on point (just like me) and The McClaren F1 Road for the weekends, because it's mean, fast, and will kick your ass (just like me.)

That's all.