I'm considering buying a North Face. The only thing holding me back is that then I think I wouldn't actually be able to get anymore Connecticut.

I Went To NYU And All I Got Was This Stupid...

- Affection For Jewish Boys
- Acclimation To The Smell of Urine
- Olsen Twin Style Tip
- Distaste For All Things Bureaucratic
- PETA Membership Card
- Eating Disorder
- Ability To Differentiate Between Different Asian Ethnic Backgrouns
- Enormous Student Loan Debt

Ludacris: A True High School Story

My best friend Haley Keane wrote this for Mr. Keylock's Jrs' English class and I like it, primarily because it involves me.

I was fifteen with the taste of nicotine and the freedom of interstate 84 on my breath. I, riding shotgun with my best friend Alex, was the younger of the two. We were two girls on a mission to reach the concert we had awaited for so many months. The anticipation was killing us, that we would be close enough to touch the hand of our idol, the man we worshiped on long car rides to poetry practice, and sung to while sitting in one another's bedrooms in the early hours of the morning. We tried desperately to win a free pair of tickets to the concert off HOT 93.7, but our failed attempts had led us to purchasing them off some website. But the price, as long as it was not over 50 dollars, did not matter. We new that nothing could stop us from getting a glimpse of our hero, Ludacris, the man who embodied all that we loved. The car ride, which felt infinite, came to an end eventually and before us stood the doors to our happiness.

They were a set of doors that could potentially change our lives. We took our seats, in the front of the venue and were biting at our nails, waiting for the show to commence. When its lights erupted and the sound enveloped my body, I lost control of my mind. I was encased by the beats bursting out of the speakers, rattling the metal banister that held me back from the very stage where the best hip-hop artists of our time would be performing. I was overwhelmed by the glory of the moment. Numerous strange unknown acts preformed. Elephant Man was my least favorite of the few. He was vulgar and unattractive, Ludacris would never pretend to give just any random chick head on stage in front of thousands of people. But following this fiasco, a man known as Akon took the stage. He sang until his mouth ran dry and we could see his sweat dripping down along his defined jaw line. Then I lost sight of him. He had come into the audience; it was all a blur of flashing lights and screaming, the occasional song lyrics of, “I wanna fuck you...” would echo into the audience. The next thing I knew, Akon was feet away from me, and Alex was ripping at my arms, pulling herself closer to the icon, this man who had achieved so much power in society, just by repeating a few simple words over and over.

I longed to have the same power as him, I wished I too could stand on stage and spit my rhymes and hear the crowd cheer. And before I knew if I am right next to a celebrity, whose clothes are being ripped off and torn, and then Alex and I looked at one another and knew what had to be done. We leaned it and let our tongues slide across the sweaty surface of his face, along his cheekbone on either side. Alex got a bit more of the forehead than I, but it was epic even so. We knew then that we were in for it, so we slunk back into the panicked crowd and began laughing and rinsing our mouths out with water. Akon exited stage left and the grand entrance of Ludacris seemed more magnificent than possible. It might have been an adrenaline rush, but I felt as if I could do anything. I felt as if rules did not matter for me, I was all-powerful; I could do whatever the hell I wanted to do. Ludacris sang, and we sang along, until the guards were on our backs. I saw out of the corner of my eye, a large pasty white hand grasp Alex’s shoulder, and we turned our heads in unison. To our surprise, we had to leave. They brought us to the door, and took our tickets, and left us to find our way back to the parking garage. But that did not matter to us.

Mostly because that was all a lie. We were sitting in the last section and I only dreamt I could see the sweat dripping off Ludacris’s brow. We did not touch any celebrity hands, and we most certainly did not lick anyone’s face. But I did learn that I had power that next week. When I went home, the first words out of my mouth were the small lies that gave me strength. I came to my friends at school, my parents, my cousin, and shouted with raised eyebrows, “I LICKED AKON’S FACE!”. I knew I had power when they gasped, or laughed, or looked at me with disgust. I knew I could lie.\

Jag alskar svenska flickor

"I like Swedish girls"

Last night some guy pissed on the floor of the deli around the corner from my dorm after being told he couldn't use the bathroom. Brings me back to my service industry days (not that I really believe for a second that they are or will ever be over) when we too had a crazy who peed.

I think the world would be a much more efficient place if we could all just admit that we really just want attention.

JAY Z I'M ALREADY DIRT POH.

THANKS A WHOLE FUCKING LOT.

The Spice Girls: really really hungry.