I’ve decided that I highly disagree with midterms on seis de mayo, strictly for the reason that they keep me from making plans on cinco de mayo. Not that it really would have mattered, because I ended up passing out and NOT studying. This morning, I was a complete disaster: didn’t wake up for my alarms, drove to the Encino Starbucks, realized that I forgot my phone, drove back home to get it, and drove to school after a Red Bull and about half of a triple-shot nonfat-vanilla latte, couldn’t decide where I wanted to study. Sat down outside Kerckhoff, inside Kerckhoff, then had to use the bathroom, and finally found a warm and quiet spot inside the Kerckhoff gallery, where there was a children’s artwork exhibit.

Amidst memorizing philosophical premises about medical ethics, a single-file line of fourth-graders came in with their teacher, who apologized and said there would be a lot of kids coming in. I happened to have my reader on a beautiful tie-dye-pointellism table that this particular class had made for the exhibit. They all ran up to it, and apologized profusely about disturbing my studying. They said things like “I’m really sorry, I know you’re really smart and you need to study because you go to UCLA…”

I smiled and told them not to worry about it. They’ll all go to good colleges when they get older (at least we hope for that). I love watching how they interact. I really wish sections in college were as engaging as a fourth-grade art class. Unfortunately, it’s hard to make things like medical ethics or drug abuse public policy as exciting and positive as elementary school art class. I miss it.

Sometimes I wish I had a film crew that followed me around for my entire life.  It would seriously make the best comedy-drama TV sitcom ever.   

Note to self: never wear expensive clothes to parties where you will take them off.

Good-bye cute black running jacket :(

Two groupies were obsessed with Mick Jagger.  They followed him around, and finally slept with him.  Afterward, people asked them how it was... and they said "he was great, but he was no Mick Jagger." 

Part of me wants to say that I absolutely hate the fact that I already know who the man of my dreams is, because for the past year, I have yet to meet even one guy that comes even close to winning me over like he does.  Maybe we're all allowed to have that one fantasy, that one ideal that we'll just never be able to get over.  Or, maybe it's all in my head, and I'm just blocking out any chance of a decent relationship because I know that my perfect match does, in fact, exist.  But then again, maybe I'm in complete denial.

I'm afraid of the truth that lies within the fact that I moved to LA and consequently ended my SB dateless drought (slightly an understatement), but somehow found myself under some new curse.  I think my new fear is that I could date every man in the greater Los Angeles area... and still never--ever--be satisfied.