One of the most interesting things about college being back in session is watching cars for bumper stickers.  You have the ones that make you angry, the ones that make you point and laugh at the pinko commie hippie (I have a right to laugh, seeing as I agree with them), and the ones that make you want to ram the person right up the bumper because the back of their car reads like someone who has never had any sort of hardship worth speaking of (the pretty, sparkly stickers that say cute shit in order to sound badass [but is ultimate fail (because you're too blonde to be badass [but your mascara is pretty fucking scary])]).

I, like everyone else, like speaking my mind and letting people know a thing or two about me through the wonderful world of stickers, decals and magnets.  I like to think now, in rubbing on a decal for the University of Kentucky College of Social Work, I am, officially, a Social Work major.  Officially. It wasn’t really real before.  Nope, it took defacing my car before I truly felt like I was studying for a future of thankless, overworked-and-underpaid humanitarianism.

And soon, my pets, I will have GIR shaking his sweet metallic ass all over my back windsheild.  I believe in GIR’s ass, and I want everyone to know it.

Or something like it, anyway.  I now have in my hands the replacement Sony Ericsson w580i, its case, a nifty bluetooth headset (Motorola HT820), my external HD (WesternDigital My Passport Essential 160GB), and the case for that as well.  Still two things left to come in (which I’m not hurting for), plus my ecology books (one of which I am hurting for), but most of the absolute essentials are in, so I am a happy girl.  Just wish my media files would transfer to the HD faster.  FAAAASTER.  That’s what I get for being a music junkie, I guess.

On the subject of holiday bliss, though… I’m faced with the feeling of not even wanting to be around here for Christmas.  It’s rather odd… every other time I’ve tried to be away for the holiday, I’ve failed miserably (then again, the circumstances for which I was being away were pretty fucking fail, too).  But now, the very thought of being all ha-ha-happy-christmas with fresh young SNERTy attitudes makes me feel rather ill.  I know, yes, I was the same way at one time, but for the moment, in my bitter elderly cane-shaking fury, I must say I think teenagers are only good for one thing: asking me “would you like to try a combo meal today?”

Maybe my mind will change with time, but the idea of just getting a hotel room and declaring it “Fuck All” Day sounds mighty fine.