Yesterday I had my autumn debut at the university. After finding out I had already missed two lectures, I finally pulled out my thumb and got my ass up to campus.
Campus is a strange world. I’m the only normal person left.
Anyway, after a coffee deal upgrade and buying all but three books on my reading list, I was good to go. We’re doing Austin’s How to do things with words. Unfortunately, I was there for the sequel, that is Habermas’ reply to Austin. So now I must read Austin and Habermas until next Tuesday. How to do things when you’ve better things to do.
I haven’t moved yet. That’s crap.
Two new girls coming in now. Nice girls. But I want a place of my own.
Speaking of which, I think I could just about fuck anything that walks at the moment. Sexual frustration is teh sux. But I have my standards, though. She’d have to be drop-dead gorgeous, intelligent and funny, secure about herself and consequently able to do shit on her own, and have some goddamn style. Style is more important than anything else. It’s what separates genius from man. It would be nice if she was rich, but I don’t mind if she isn’t. And no, I’m not looking for Mothers I’d Like to Finance. And maybe that’s why I don’t have a girlfriend at the moment.