Nothing like warm Becks. Love it.

Anyway. Wild bloody night. Wild bloody first two weeks. And I am KICKING ASS AT SCHOOL PROSIT!

Anyway. I'm gonna go to bed. It's been a damn long day and tomorrow's gonna be even longer, so I'm just gonna sleep for a few hours then head down to Delaware so that I can then head down to Baltimore and see the BoSox whoop the Orioles.

BOOOOOOSH!

Love,
Chris

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SHARK WEEK HAS BEGUN!!

I'm sorry, call me a nerd, whatevs. This is the greatest week in TV any given year. Sharks... all the time. Are you kidding me?! Awesome.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAANYWAY!

I have a week and a half left at Reimel Machine. So close to being done and never having to wake up at 6:30 again to go and work at a machine shop. It's a wonderful feeling.

But what's even better is the feeling of going back to school so I can start my freakin life again.

As a matter of fact, the more I think about it, even though this past year was a rude awakening to the cruel reality that is the world... it also seems like a break from it as well.

For the past 15 years leading up to this past one I had been going to school everyday. Sure there was summer vacation, and school holidays and weekends, but you get the gist of it. Every year I knew I'd be spending a good percentage of time in school.

This was the first year I hadn't really done that. It's a real mind fuck. But at the same time, I have never been more excited to get back in a freakin' class room and start learning shit again.

And I still have no idea what I want to do with my life.

Love,
Chris

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Holy shit did anybody see that season finale of Lost?

Oh by the way, I'm back, bitches. To lurk and contribute once more.

So what's new in my life since I crashed a formal?

Some good stuff, some bad stuff. Took my placement tests for Biology and Chemistry last week, placed higher in Chem then I thought I would still haven't heard about Bio. Either way, it's yet another step to get back on track on a fucking Microbiology Major with a Biochemistry Minor. Ugh. Oh yeah, and that Major comes with a concentration in Virology. Why does my destiny have to be saving lives?

Anyway, a couple weeks before that I was in Massachusetts to attend my grandmother's funeral, condolences accepted but don't expect me to get all teary eyed. While I love my grandmother, it's just not my way. I have already swallowed the pain and it is sinking deep inside of me and one day somebody will spill some juice and I will freak the fuck out.

MOVING ON!

Let's talk about working at a machine shop as an untrained laborer. It beats the hell out of retail at Ye Olde Cocaine Industry but it still sucks out loud, here's why.

-Waking up at 6 AM
-Moving steel all over the fuck place in the scorching heat
-Realizing everyday that I did way more than 80 dollars worth of work that day and yet, I still get paid that.
-Having 37 different bosses. That's not an exaggeration. I have 37 different bosses. 39 people are employed there. And the one remainder is my peer.

Yes it all blows. Very, very much. Makes the ridiculous academic course seem so worthwhile.

And yes, I am done this job as soon as the month of August begins. I will be taking a week to a week and a half off to hang out with my friends around here and enjoy summer for a bit and then it's off to Millersville to prepare myself for the ass kicking that academics will once again try to lay down upon me.

It's not winning this time.

Anyway, that's my life at the moment as far as I can think of.

Good to be back, folks.

Love,
Chris

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So last night. I'm sitting here, just like I am now. Bored out of my skull. Wondering if I will end up doing anything at all with my night. When I get a text message from Eric, who is at the Sig Phi Del formal saying that I have to come to the next one.

I agree, and five minutes later I get a phone call from Eric telling me what a good time he's having. And then K-Feld gets on the phone. And she harasses and harasses until I start to think it may actually be a good idea.

So.

I get in my car, gas up, and head out to freakin' READING. After an hour and a half on the road, I arrive at my destination. The Ramada Inn (or Ramadan) in Reading.

Everybody was pretty shit hammered when I got there, but no worries. A bottle of rum and a Sparxx later I had caught up! And then things start to get a little hazy.

I remember very clearly that Malibu was legendary last night. As well as this morning when I walked down to the room that him, Eric, K-Feld and Miriam stayed in. A very good time all around.

And that ladies and gentlemen. Makes me a Formal Crasher. Next step, bar mitzvahs and then maybe I'll make it to the big show and start crashing weddings... maybe.. there is potential.

Anyway. Next topic.

I finally am done with this damn car accident. A full week later, I have paid off the guy I crashed into on 611, and now my headlight's still out, and I'm now poor...er by 600 bloody dollars.

But at least that's over with. Now it's all about paying my dad back three hundred feckin' dollars while at the same time throwing about 300 dollars in the bank every week so I can pay for school next year. OH and let's not forget that I have to send the second half of my security deposit to Brookwood by next Friday... another 221 dollars.

I am the economy, at this point.

It will all be worth it in August, though.

Love,
Chris

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I'm an idiot.

But seriously.

As Jon Stewart said last night:

"Anybody who's seen a TV today knows that it's a terrible, terrible day.... but I am going to do, as I always do when faced with a tragedy, I am going to repress it and eventually swallow it. And then 30 years from now somebody will spill juice and I will freak the fuck out."

So moving on from the tragic events of yesterday morning, here's some news on me.

I got accepted back into Millersville. So suck it, doubters.
I am applying for financial aid, to see just how many courses I will take.
Work is going well, I'm snagging anywhere between 320-360 dollars a week.
I can not fucking WAIT to move into my apartment. I am sick of being in Doylestown, and I need change now.

Oh, and I'm watching the Godzilla from 1997 right now.

Things are overall pretty good.

Love,
Chris

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Nation, today's shout out goes... out to not only one of my good friends from last year in the dormitory known as Gaige Hall. But a flatmate of mine next year in good old 905 Brookwood.

Ladies and Gentlemen... I give you Bob Pryor.



This picture is taken at the turning point of Bob's life as most people know it.

What he is holding there is the first of many bad decisions we have made that we look back on now and smile about. AKA: The Red Hot Reindeer. Which is, 2/3 Frank's Red Hot Sauce and 1/3 Jagermeister.

However, the real story behind Bob Pryor's birth is this.

As you may or may not know, I used to smoke like a chimney. I've cut back now, simply because of this.

One day, I was on the stoop of Gaige. Smoking. When I noticed a lump on my arm, it was rather large and looked pretty fucking malignant, so I took a knife to it, and lopped it off. It fell to the ground with a splat, so I decided to piss on it. I did so, turned around, and when I turned back this is what I saw:



My first instinct was to take the knife to it, but it quickly said "let's drink". So I started calling it Bob, and to hide the fact that I was it's father we made up a story about Richard Pryor being his dad.

ANYWAY.

We've been friends ever since.

Here are some stories about Bob and I.

We once belted "Springtime for Hitler" throughout the halls of Gaige 2C right before winter break started, only to find out the only person left was Lee. Who happens to be Jewish. No big deal... but then again, his parents were there too.

We sat in his room one night, and learned all of the words (IN FUCKING RUSSIAN) to The Hymn for Red October. And haven't stopped singing it since.

Bob had sex to the same song, even stopping momentarily to start the song over again.

We had a competition about how many epic songs we could hook up with girls to. So far we each have one. Bob has Red October, I have Jurassic Park.

I once told Bob to watch over a friend of mine who happened to be female while we were drinking one night. And when I passed out, they ended up making out for the rest of the night.

Bob brought Airsoft guns into our lives. Simultaneously one of the best and worst decisions ever made.

No matter what time of day it was I could walk by Bob's room and yell "SUIT UP, BITCH!" and he'd meet me on the stoop for a cigarette.

Bob once scissor-kicked Angela Landsbury.

One time Bob left me for dead at a party and I made a huuuuge mistake... manufactured by Black and Decker, this mistake.

We are two people who within one year at Millersville were able to walk into any party and at least five people at the party would scream our full name, and at that point, it was possible to get a cup for free.

One time, Bob and I went to a Power Hour. Before we went we finished three quarters of a bottle of 99 Apples, then went and drank a 40 each before switching to some mystery mixed drink that was prepared for us for the last 20 minutes of the aforementioned Power Hour. I went into the house, vomited, and passed out. I woke up ten minutes later to Bob slapping me. I went, threw up again, came back out to the living room and Bob was passed out on the couch. We left the house at 7:30 PM. And were sober for the rest of the night.

Bob once drank so much that the next morning he climbed into a sleeping bag, zipped it up around his body and called it his womb. He stayed in the womb for the remainder of the day.

Bob and I ran around the World of Warcraft slaying innocent creatures for two months before we got bored of it and quit.

Bob and I were so drunk one night that we had our other future flatmate Kirk drive us home in my car. I rode shotgun, Bob rode in the trunk. Voluntarily.

Bob and I shared an entire bottle of SoCo 100 Proof one night, and by the time we were done were speaking to each other in accents and toasting each shot to something deep and spiritually touching... surrounded by people who were sober.

Bob dates out of his league.

Bob and I have sworn off of 99 Berries because we finished a bottle of it, went downstairs, and Bob got an underage for ... just sitting there, pretty much.

Bob, who owns "America The Book" downloaded the audio book on iTunes and we spent a week listening to it in his room.

Bob and I once drove to Vegas on a psychedellic journey of self-discovery and havoc that Hunter S. Thompson (RIP) turned into Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Bob's nickname in his fraternity... is Stalin. I shit you not.




Ladies and Gentlemen. Bob is my greatest creation. He will die for your sins one day, mark my words.

There are so many more. But frankly, I am too exhausted to remember.

Enjoy.

Love,
Chris

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