Lord Nibbler Almighty, Futurama Season 6 is out! And I can't watch them episodes because of the poor dratted internet connection here at the dorm.X0 Gaddemmet. When I skedaddle out of here I shall have my newly rented room--with no socially inept roommates to live with! Gaddemdem!--equipped with satellite internet so I can stream Futurama anonymously forever! And watch porn.XP Gad.

Went to Rizal Library yesterday to check some books for my thesis. Rizal Library, in Ateneo, my college from the olde times yore. It's been, what, six years since I last flaked off a dead skin cell on their princely manicured grounds. Now there's an overpass near Copylandia, and new buildings and walkways inside the campus. But there's still them douchebag airheads and pompous bimbos with revealing portable airbags on their chests. I remember thinking: atenistas are polarized into two camps: the fashionista airheads and the four-eyed dorklords. My blockmates were similarly forked into two. And because I was a frumpish awkward she-buffoon with black-rimmed glasses, I joined the dorklords. I was the official dorklady because I was the only girl. Our only topic of interest was: Calculus. When a pirateship stirred this way and the wind stirred that way and you're alone on a lifeboat on point eks-wai-zay on the GPS and you only have a spoon to paddle with, in what magnetic direction and how long will you paddle before you reach the island? Those were the days. After six years in UP, any microscopic memory of Ateneo has been zapped out my brainz to make room for literature. I have almost forgotten everything, everything, until I shuffled back there yesterday.

I stepped into Rizal Library and asked the apefaced guard where I can sign in as a visiting researcher and the guard was like, Do you have a letter of recommendation? I said, I used to study here, but no. And ignoring my riposte he said, Well, you need to have a letter of recommendation from your professor or librarian before I can let you in. Then I said, Oooooooookay, but I'm just going to take a peek at one book, just one tiny book on page something-something and I'll go along my way. But he said, No, so sorry no can do, not with that pair of slippers. He dropped his eyes on my feet, a pair of mountaineer's feet with disastrously scabby skin and nasty dirty toenails--instantly we looked away both. So I just have to come back then, I said. And he said, You better.

It was such a pleasure to visit my alma mater only to be unwelcomed and shoved out the door. So they have a dress code now I see. Next time I'll let him read out loud my type-written font-size-forty letter of recommendation and stamp a footprint of my asphalt-soled climbing shoe on his forehead. Take that you inferior scowling primate you.XP

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