"My father bleeds history"

Pink eye: cured. The remedy? Multiple eye washings every day with a solution of hot salt water, followed by hot, salty chamomile tea bag compresses. Utterly miserable. I went to the video store in my embarrassingly pink eyed state and was hit on relentlessly by a nineteen-year-old who finally convinced me to give him my Myspace info. ("Mind if I message you some time?") The final cure was fresh breast milk dropped into each of my eyes.

Insurance: bullshit. It's been nearly four weeks since my St. Patrick's Day disaster. I have been riding my bike to and from work every day, which would normally be fine and good if it weren't for the bitterness that I harbor in my heart every day towards bad drivers and wicked insurance companies. This morning I talked to the police officer that was at the accident and found out that the other driver was arrested on charges of DUI, hit and run, and reckless driving. You would think that with all of that stacked against him we would be somewhere closer to getting my car fixed, but no. No, no, no. Now I'm having to threaten legal action against the insurance companies which is an enormous can of worms that I'm not anxious to open.

Last week I started two new classes at PCC - Intro to Comics Art and Intro to Drawing. The comics class is the best. When I first walked in to our assigned room last Wednesday I was the only girl among ten guys. I put my face in my hands and thought, I should have expected this...
To my relief, the final count is Girls: 7, Boys: 17. Our teacher is in her fifties and wears John Lennon sunglasses and black denim mini skirts. I get to read exciting graphic novels and argue with socially maladjusted males! Awesome. And there was some talk of phone numbers being exchanged in binary, but that's another story.