It's just another normal day in the life of me. Boring. Uneventful. I didn't sleep the night before because I decided snorting Aterol and staying up all night talking would be better than sleeping. I do some homework, lay around for a couple hours, take a shower, get dressed and rush off to class. It's a Wednesday, so I have Psych at 2:00 p.m. I enjoy the class but there's no one in there that has any good points of view. Over half the class is studying to be a nurse. The other half have no idea what they want to do, like me. I sit in the back right next to a note-taker. She's kind of pudgy, round if you will, white hair. Big, round glasses, she smells like a really old lady, flowery but also like a bubble bath at the same time. She takes notes for the deaf kid in the front row. Now, it may seem like I'm saying these things because of his handicap, and though it does contribute, I just want to let it be known that I'm not ridiculing his lack of hearing, just him.

He's almost a distraction to me, and it's not the crazed women sitting two feet in front of him waving her hands not only to sign to him but also to get his attention. He never pays any mind to his interpreter. It drives me up a wall and I'm sure that she's not too fond of this trait either. She'll just be signing away, close to developing Carpal Tunnel, and almost leaning over to catch his eye and he still ignores her. Flat out ignores her. So she stops signing, what can she do? If he's not paying attention, not even glancing at her, how is he going to learn? Why is he even here? I guess he can just study the notes that the lady next to me is feverishly scribbling onto her double-layered paper. She writes just about everything down that the instructor says. Nine, ten, eleven pages a class. I know this because she numbers her pages.

Even before all of this, there's the way he looks. First of all, he's not the most attractive person in the world. And, his appearance makes me believe that he just emerged from beneath the filthiest bridge in Fort Wayne. Dirty gray t-shirts that were probably once white; disgusting, tattered jeans and mud-caked shoes. His hair looks like it hasn't been washed in weeks and it kind of makes me puke in my mouth a little when he starts to itch his head. What do you think is causing that itch? Lice? Ticks? Sheer disgustingness?

I realize that no normal person would think these things about someone they've only seen three times in they're lives, but I am no normal person. I am an absolute *******. Ever since sophomore year of high school I've been tearing helpless, innocent passersby apart in my head. Not just me, but two of my really good friends, would sit in the hallway at school, the mall, anywhere we could just sit and critique. I think that I mostly got my critiquing skills from my friend Kara. I guess you can say she taught me to look at everything, and to really think about the way people act and carry themselves. So, that's what we did. We made fun of everyone, but no one knew we were doing it so, they never changed or realized how dumb they looked when we were watching them. We even had nicknames for most of the kids in my school.

I know it's very high school, but to this day I criticize almost everyone. I try to pick them apart and get in their heads, or at least what I think would be their heads by the way they present themselves. Sometimes, I can't keep myself from staring...its just part of me now, I guess. So I always look at everything when I meet someone. Are they married? Tattoos? Are they naturally blonde? Anything.

So, after a good three hours of Psych, I have a two-hour break until Interpersonal Communications and don't even get me started on that class. So, naturally, I pick up my friends for dinner. I drive to Kara's house cranking the music and singing. She and Kim jump in the car and we just start driving because we don't know where we want to eat. While we're discussing our options, we decide to visit a friend of ours, Sheldon. So, Kara reaches into her purse and rummages for a few seconds, and out comes an old pair of socks. Sheldon is in the socks and I'm starting to get excited.

Sheldon is about three inches of beautifully blown glass, green, blue and smooth. He's got a hole on one end that you cover with your lips; the other end is a deep bowl where you insert the ground-up angel bits. Breathe in deep and he takes you to the most peaceful, serene place you could ever find. Sheldon combined with the twenty-minute drive to Smokey Bones equals complete heaven. After laughing our asses off for another twenty minutes in the parking lot, we make our way into the restaurant. We're greeted by a short, probably bi-racial girl with a cute face and a good body, if only I had the balls to be a smooth talker. She has the standard cheap black clothes on that most hostesses wear. We tell her it's just the three of us; she grabs menus and escorts us to a semi-secluded booth on the side of the restaurant. It's about five o'clock so the dinner rush is just getting started.

Our waitress is pretty non-existent for what seems like fifteen minutes, but we are pretty distracted by the multiple televisions so it's all good. She appears, seemingly, out of thin air and I think her name is Amy, but I can't remember. She's about 5'6", dark hair with streaks of red that looks like she used Kool-aid to dye it. She's nice enough, convinces us to get the corn bread, which was amazing. While we're waiting for our food, I'm entranced by all the televisions. One is playing sports, not interesting, so I move on. Two has Anderson Cooper and some boring report, next.

"Look at number four! SEX IN MEN'S ROOMS!" shouts Kim, the loud one.

Sure enough, on the bottom of T.V. number four's screen are the words "SEX IN MEN'S ROOMS". The story is about a Republican senator, or governor, who was caught trying to have intercourse with other men in an airport bathroom. We, in our altered state, think this is pretty freaking hilarious. Followed by this spectacular discovery is great conversation and amazing food. We leave incredibly satisfied and thirty-five dollars poorer.

            This is the point that I realize I'm almost an hour late for my next class...I think, Oh well, it's just one class. We quickly to move on to Barnes and Nobles and a self-constructed dessert party at Starbucks, we end the night with one more chit-chat with Sheldon and hysterically cracking up watching "Hannibal Rising". Overall, it was a great night but, now it's time to go home.

            So, I get home at about one o'clock, quickly make my way up to my room and close the door. I'm suddenly faced by this kid, about 6'1", fake brown hair, big ears, goofy face, very thin and quite lanky, a little awkward. I'm almost disgusted by his pale skin and obnoxiously skinny, skeletal figure. His clothes seem to be hanging off of his stick-like frame. He's a little feminine and obviously self-conscious. He's probably one of those kids that like to pretend they're better than other people by tearing apart their every little movement. Loser, I think, he's a real loser.