Jolifer’s Pad

extenstions are a bitch. no, not the kind that go in your hair. but the kind you have to beg a prof for… remember back in the day, when an extension meant you could keep doing nothing for weeks?

i remember back in ‘98–freshman year at vassar–i had extensions left and right. we used to call them "disability." because the trick was that you had to go to the student health center and explain to them fools how sick you were. i had a whole system back then. i’d go roll a jizzy (for effect), and then i’d take my contacts out so that i looked mildly disoriented. after this meticulous preparation, i’d head on over to baldwin, ready to speak with the "professionals" who worked there about my various ailments.

without fail, the nurse on call would ask me how long i needed off of school. you see, i’d always go in there talkin bout how i can’t miss any class, and how i had sooo much work to do. those poor silly bitches would always take pity on my lying ass and order me to confine myself to bed for weeks at a time.

the only problem was that eventually i’d have to make up all of the work i’d missed. which brings me to my point: extensions blow. sure, they provide you with a temporary respite from all that sucks cock (i.e. class, papers, exams)… but then that shit comes back around to bite you in the ass. and before you know it, you’re stuck finishing two lab reports for bio 101 over christmas/hannukah break.

it reminds me of something a wise old friend of mine used to say: "incompletes are the worst! better a D than an incomplete!" she went on to graduate (albeit considerably late) from wesleyan, and last i heard she was helping immigrants with haphazard tax policy advice on the streets of lower manhattan.

at any rate, avoid an extension if you can. you know what i’m talking about, g-mo~

and if, by chance, you end up with an extension on your law school grad requirement paper… use your time wisely, and stop fucking around on friendster blogs.

word em up.

i have to take the mpre (multistate professional responsibility examination) tomorrow… who wants to touch me?

this bites. i’m convinced that i have logged more library hours at the gulc over spring break than any other law school fool. what has happened to my life? i *think* i used to be fun. now i’m lame.

plan for the next two weeks: STOP BEING LAME! on the real tip.

i have planned my work. now lemme work my plan. (thank you sugar ray leonard (and sly stallone, by association)). word em up.

~~~

n.b. my kids with mtag may be heebie-jeeby (with rEAlly curly hair), but they’ll be able to knock you out like alfonso did manfredo. then, of course, they’ll go on to subvert gender paradigms and social norms. w.e.u.

now you all know how i love strippers… (and if you don’t know, now you know). but isn’t it weird how most male strippers are straight? i mean, even the ones at gay clubs are fucking straight… i don’t get it. i mean, if you were a straight man, wouldn’t you want to steer clear of dirty old men’s laps?

last night, mtag and i were at this club in south beach called twist. first they gave us shit at the door because the bitches thought we were a straight couple. then we go into the place and we’re talking to one of the bartenders… he tells us that there are strippers out back in a shack called "the bungalo room." so, i get all excited and we head down the stairs and go out back, mtag with an apple martini and me with my post-soco-shot diet coke.

when we get to the bungalo room, we realize that we were terribly misled. and that what the bartender called "strippers" were actually just a bunch of silly-ass go-go dancers. big difference. anyhow, we sit down at the bar and start watching the show. within five minutes, each of the "strippers" in the bungalo room had come by and introduced themselves to us. there was rocco, jason, and a bunch of other bitches whose names i don’t remember. this one guy, hugo, would not shut up though. he kept yapping away about nothing, and every couple of minutes he would ask us to excuse him for a minute. then you’d see him in a dark corner rubbing up against some sad old guy. the punk would return after a couple of minutes proudly flashing a 20 dollar bill… you know you have arrived when…

so we’re talking to this hugo character, and he keeps hitting on mtag. at first, the two of us found it funny because he seemed like the gayest man alive. but after a while, we realized that he was seriously trying to take her home. i mean, this gay-ass male stripper at the bungalo room was trying to take a girl home, and i was like-what the fuck? didn’t we just see you sitting in a man’s lap a minute ago? i don’t know… it seems like a whole lot of false advertising to me.

the truth is though that most strippers/lame-ass go-go dancers are straight-ish. they can be letting a bunch of men rub their cock one minute, and then they turn around and try to take your best friend home. i don’t like it.

i’m not sure what the point of this rant has been, but blogs don’t really have a point, do they? word em up.

so i’m leaving for miami tomorrow AM with mtag, and i have mad shit to do before then (it’s giving me nightmares–and all of the nightmares involve my sister being ridiculously mean to me.. which she kind of is this week, even though i bought her all sorts of chanel makeup last week for her birthday (which, incidentally, i thought would earn at least 8 "awesome brother" points, but i guess not~)).

i’ve already gotten the 2 matching pairs of speedos, so first and foremost on the agenda: i nEED an ipod. quickly. i feel like i’m the only person in america without one these days, and though i don’t like the idea of being a TOTAL follower, i can’t really imagine relaxing by the pool without (at least) some counting crows ringing in between my ears. now i have to travel "out-of-state" to bullshit virginia or mary-land to get this shit.

furthermore and moreover, i need new kicks. which is gonna be a way bigger task than the ipod bc dc is completely and hopelessly fashion-impaired. if only what i needed was something from ann taylor’s loft… then i’d be all-set. like er~day.

in between all this bullshit, i have to find time to study for the first part of the bar (the MPRE for you fellow-loser-law-students) and to swim (in our over-chlorinated and ph-imbalanced school swimming pool.. thanks, gtown–thanks to you, my hair is turning green/and when the FUCK are you gonna open the damn~ed hottubs??).

ok, that’s the news in jolifer’s pad. stay tuned for more inconsequential babble in the near future.

(the likelihood of someone reading this is slim-to-none, i reckon. (except you, g-mo). so perhaps this "jolifer’s pad" will become some tawdry black hole for my to-do lists…)  word em up.