Base of the staircase in the middle of the picture? I'd've been there between the years of 2000-2002.

What, fourth post in a day? No big deal, right?

I was talking to one of my college friends last night - my soulmate really, and we were reflecting back on how absolutely amazing college was. Classes, schmasses. Whatever to that. What I remember from college was unbridled financial irresponsibility, binge drinking and all the trappings that come with that sport, being able to walk into the Angelic Brewing Company on a Thursday night, and knowing every other JAP with a Sapphire in one hand and a Parliament Light in the other...or the State for that matter, where everyone had a Marlboro in one hand and a Long Island in the other. I love walking into a bar and, as I make my way through the crowd, giving everyone their hello handshakes and kisses...It's been a common experience for me through college and law school, but does that happen when you're out of a scholastic environment?

Mem'ries.

Allison said that her memories of college were me, her and our other friend, K.T., meeting on State Street, clothes shopping like woah, and picking up yet another set of wineglasses, just...because, walking arm-in-arm down the street, bags swinging, stopping for a salad (or a Buffalo chicken sandwich, ZTeca Burrito, or a gyro in my case), then going out for a drink, depositing the bags back home, and going back out drinking, all the while waving at everyone we passed and yelling tonight's plans at them as we walked by. She also described feeling like "Hey! I have a job! This $100 a week coming in has me FLUSH with cash!"

And honestly? That's how I remember college too. Credit cards being swiped, receipts being printed and signed with a flourish, beers splashing, cameras flashing, shots clinking, lighters flicking, champagne bottles popping, "Better off Alone" in the background, handing a $20 to the Pokey Sticks delivery man and telling him to, "keep the change," black lights and gyros and Martinis and Cigars and endless French fries and Sal's Pizza, Bloody Marys on Sunday Mornings on the Captiol square, and pitchers on the Terrace from Der Rathskeller, sunlight glinting off black sunglasses, watching boats clip across Mendota - ice cream from the UW-Dairy and shopping trips into Chicago that would make me choke today. Clothing price tags clipped and regular $300 dollar runs to the liquor store after dropping $500 on groceries, Dara and I would smoke on our way to the tanning beds, and smoke on the way back.

I don't remember being hungover and I don't remember the 40 pounds I gained Freshman year. Well, I don't remember very much of Freshman year, period. I also don't really remember when I spent all of the rent money that Dara gave to me (to cover her rent while she studied abroad in London for a semester) on jeans and liquor, and thusly had to live out of my flask and the kindness of my wealthy friends, as I hustled for hours at College Library. God. Those were good times. I realize that law school is a partial extension of my college ridiculousness, but unfortunately, three years has tempered me slightly, and I'm a little older, a little wiser, a little more hungover the next day and a little more aware of the consequences of a splurge at BOP (when they used to sell men's clothing).

Still. The picture that I found of the State almost shows where I spent a good deal of Senior year... if you look at the foot of the stairs in the middle of the picture... that's where I was. Every night except Thursdays... Good Times.

Law school has been fun too, but I never made the neon-streaked memories and musical associations in law school that I did in college - the smell of Aqua di Gio may remind me of Stephen, but it's not tied to nearly as strong a memory as the smell of Dolce & Gabbana is to Dara, stomping down the street with a Burberry bag, yapping into her cellphone. Hearing "This Love" reminds me of the prebars that Jess threw, but still, not yet as strongly as Nelly's "Must be the Money" brings me back to the nicotine-stained and clementine-sticky smell of Suite 901E, The Towas, drinking diet cokes and smoking cigarettes with Amy, Katie and Gavin.

You can never go home again, but I will say this: Thank god I'm at in moderate contact with many of those amazing people who tinted my otherwise rose-colored days electric blue and lightning yellow. :)

And on that note, I am REALLY going to learn about mixed personal and business expenditures.

I don't do well "studying."

Your Linguistic Profile:

50% General American English

30% Yankee

20% Dixie

0% Midwestern

0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Here's a picture I think is interesting...I may be in love with my phonecam.

Here's my wall. The whole thing is much more impressive.

What the hell is that NOISE?! And my walls rock.

I've noticed lately that whenever I'm around electronics, speakers make this noise. It's an impossible noise to replicate, but it's sort of like this buzzzzzz-da-da-dit-da-da-dit-da-da-daaaaaaaa-dit-dit-dit! Sometimes it'll go da-da-dit-da-da-dit-daaaaa-daaaaaa. Phones make the noise, computers make the noise, my white noisemaker even started making the noise recently.

Don't laugh at me, but at first, I thought it was a ghost trying to talk to me through my white noise maker (I may not have been firing on all cylinders at that time...) and it freaked me out. Then the computer started talking to me. Then the phone. Then, at work, THEIR computers were making the noise! I was sending a picture from my NEW PHONE (I got a new one after the old one met its untimely demise in my pocket in a hottub) just now, and the phone was right next to my computer. I got an entirely new noise this time. I think I conclude that it's my cell service causing some interference with electronics that's making the odd pulsating electrical buzz. That's rather disappointing, because I was hoping that I had some benevolent (or malevolent) spirit following me and trying to form words electronically. I guess it's just my crappy old phone. Sad.

Anyhoo, I am going to do an Ode to my walls. When I first bought this place, I thought "I want red walls, not many but some accent walls." And I painted them. Red. They look awesome. Although, I went with an eggshell paint, which was a stupid idea, because it's really latexy, and almost like a layer of plastic, so when I peeled the masking tape off of my carefully edged borders, some of the paint peeled off with the tape. That angered me greatly, because I'm a perfectionist. Sadly, I'm also lazy so I never did anything about it, but it causes me great consternation.

Then, one day about two years ago, I decided that a mini-wall in my bedroom needed some jazzing up. So I painted it in Orange and Gray squares. I'd take a picture of the whole thing, because it gets more interesting towards the bottom, but... I don't feel like it. Just look at the picture of the top. And note how Miami Humidity when you leave your house for a week or two with the A/C off, warps the matting on your framed pictures of Prague. Tears.

Eh, I'm not doing an ode to my walls anymore. What I should be doing is dragging my sorry ass off to the library to learn more Federal Income Tax, and to try to pretend that I care about Comparative Law. Barf.

I'd like to give a shout out to Laura Douglas, C.P.A., a dear old friend of mine and a blog afficionado. Hi, Doogs. :)

What's the deal with 20 m.p.h?!

Why is it that so many people down here have no problem tooling along at 20 miles per hour? Or thirty? Do they have so little to do in a day, that they can coast along, barely hitting the gas pedal, as Conestoga wagons laden with pots, sugar, coffee and fatback go lumbering past them?

What the hell is the deal, people?! How is 20 a comfortable speed for you?! I feel like I could park my car and jog past your car with NO PROBLEM.

I must look really comical behind these people, as they creak along in their Datsun station wagon or their Jaguar. Jaguars are REALLY bad offenders, for some reason... Why is it that the owners of these Jags don't use the damn car? I mean, really?! They laid out a few bucks for the car, and they could get the same performance out of a Kia Sonata...all cars drive the same at 20...

The bottom line is, I'm going to start giving these drivers a little bit of "healthy encouragement," by nudging them forward with my front bumper. What the hell do I care about my front bumper? It's already scratched from when that undergrad slammed into me in the law school parking lot, so what's another few scratches on little Rolf Golf? The people I nudge may not be happy about me hitting them with my bumper, but that's too damn bad. Get out of my way, or speed up, because I don't have time to sit behind you as you float, Macy's Day Parade style down Sunset or Red. Jackass.