I'm not dying.

Wow. In the past two semesters, I've either learned how to do away with procrastination or gotten really lazy.
I used to make journal posts mostly-daily, and look at me now. No posts in a week. I bet I wasn't even missed....
I think I just figured out what happened to me. Laziness has set in. I can't be bothered to find some free commenting software online. Bah.
So, last Thursday, I played protester in an Anti-war march to downtown G'ville. So Powerful. The conditions over which all of us gathered were of course horrendous, but, nonetheless, it felt like a great charge of positive energy was being sent up.
We support our troops, of course, we just want them home. Because they're a lot harder to support when they're in body-bags.
Anyways, we cornered for a couple hours with noise makers and anti-war signs. Claire spotted someone with a sign that said "Tree Huggers go Home" in a group of Pro-War rallyers with an American flag. (Ironically the flag was in poor condition, which is pointedly "un-American"--tidbits one picks up in Girl-Scouts.) Obviously, there is no need for name-calling or insinuating that being anti-war is synonymous with being anti-American so, she made one that said "I am home," and I made one that said "Take back the Flag" covered with Peace signs and we stood by them for a while, getting into witty repartes.
Of course, they were unfriendly about it and felt that it was okay to sling insults at us, even though we weren't bothering their right to protest. But I won't get into the whole intelligence, ignorance, hippy, war-hawk thing. Or I will. Another time. For now, I'm focusing on the positive energy.
After we finished on the corners, we marched downtown to a park for a candle light vigil. But before the vigil, we had to wait for the march to catch up (yay, lots of people). So there we were, smelly, pot-loving, clove-smoking, non-shaving, non-grooming, birkenstock-wearing, long-haired, shirtless, braless, tree-hugging "Hippies" (I don't know if it mattered that I was wearing a fuschia tank top which is sooooooo flower child :::drip drip goes the sarcasm:::) sending waves of positive vibes into the air with drums and foot-stomps and hand claps and noise makers. It was amazing.
And after that, Claire and I un-hippiefied, glamourized and roused ourselves into a night with Miggy (best described as a Hispanic version of Jack, from "Will and Grace") at UC. Oh, the drag show was glorious.
If you are ever in Gainesville on a Thursday, be sure to stop in at UC to catch the decidedly un-ladylike pearls of wisdom from the notorious Lady Pearl. ("You can take the Drag Queen out of Gainesville, but you can't take the football player out of the Queen").

Saw Vagina Monologues on Sunday, and, my word, it was as well done as a charred piece of steak. I laughed, I cried, I yelled, a fine time was had by all. Two enthusiastic thumbs up.

I always knew I was going to hell, me being a pro-choice, liberal Jew/Jesus Killer who eats Krsna lunch almost every day, but now I think I'm going to be spending my after life in the ninth ring, chilling next to Satan.
"Why, pray tell?" one might ask.
Walking home from a study session at the Pit last night, a bum asked me for change. --I haven't done laundry in a couple weeks. I mean, my dirty clothes make a pile three feet wide and three feet high. I didn't think I had so many clothes. But I do.--
anyways, he asks me for change, and while my usual response is somewhere along the lines of a look of pity and a shake of the head, I told him I needed change too. Yep. There I was, in my $30 flip-flops, my nice jeans, my new books, all the trimmings, explaining to a bum that the reason I couldn't help him out was 'cuz I needed change too. Like, helllooooo???? Could I be any more JAPpy?
I did my laundry to feel less guilty, but now it's sitting in a pile as big as before, only unfolded and on my bed. So I'm back where I started. And with even less change.
Although, I just decided that I won't have to chill with Satan. Yeah. See, the amount of Jewish guilt I've accumulated in my Earthly years means I won't get the chance to die. Score.