From the Great, uhh, Beige West

[Editor's note:  I didn't write this, Lauren did]

It's the third of November now and my timing is all thrown off. I didn't, for instance, realize that it is ten o'clock, I thought it was a lot earlier. I was also unaware that it is Friday. If I had known it was Friday, I wouldn't have stayed at work an extra fifteen minutes to mop the kitchen. I keep forgetting to shower. My hair is getting long. I'm tired and I probably have homework to do.

But, having realized that it is Friday and that I'm under no obligation to watch Nightline or listen to my roommate and her visiting beau smooch while arguing about what dishes are appropriate to dishwash (if that's a verb), I retreat to my room. Here, Doug asks me to do his dirty work for him in twenty minutes or less. He also says I'm under no obligation to talk about disc golf since he never does, but personally I think he sets a poor example.

Having said that, I just looked about in desperation for fear that I'd lost my discs in the ruckus of laundry-doing. But there they are, on the floor by the closet. Usually they're propped up to catch the dying rays of the setting sun in my west window. Then they fell and with it they took my sample of Old Spice Red Zone deodorant (which sucks). The last time I used them was three months ago, when I was just starting to date Tim. The plan: win his heart over by smacking him in the head with poorly aimed golf discs and mangling his hands with their jagged, concrete-bitten edges. Needless to say, it worked. But then we down-graded to a lightweight, pie-pan red plastic Papa John's Pizza disc, and things fell apart pretty soon after. That's what I get for digressing from the real thing.

Because I have friends in the business, ya know.

I'd like to take this moment to immortalize the cool names of my discs, because they are cool. My white and purple stratus is Vigilant Dan, and my 145 Leopard is "Take a Flying Leop!"

I still can't decide which one I like better. I got so used to Dan, and I have a lot of attachment to him. My cousin Matt almost lost him in Kentucky Lake and I had a moment of severe distress. Maybe I'm just not used to the Leop yet, I like it's lighter weight, and yet...

Enough of that. I just spent a half-hour looking up bad horror movies on imdb.com and now have Highway to Hell by AC/DC stuck in my head. I suddenly miss cable TV and my Dad. I stood in the rain for thirty minutes talking to the guy from my english class about bad horror films, and it got me all nostalgic. It also made me realize that cheap Walmart umbrellas suck. Water actually dripped through. Isn't that the exact opposite function of an umbrella? I find it preposterous that I might have to SCOTCHGUARD an UMBRELLA.

My twenty are up (almost, I think, whatever) and my roommate has been hiccuping for half. I'm going to go brush my teeth, get my Calvin and Hobbes book, and call it a night.

Doug (and Lauren)'s thoughts on nothing in particular