HA.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Moderate
Level 2 (Lustful)	High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Moderate
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	Extreme
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

Wash, Rinse, and Repeat

I have this friend. We're good friends. Really, really good friends. Obviously, as good friends we have some things in common: hobbies, taste in music and film, clothes, what-have-you. Another example is boys. The both of us like boys, and sometimes our circles...overlap. Not sometimes. A shit-ton. I can still count on one hand the number of boys I've shared with said friend over this two-year period, but I only have five fingers you know. There is a limit. I'm getting there pretty quickly. Someone should stop me.

I hooked up with yet another one of her friends over Spring Break because silly!me had to stay at school for the week instead of going home like I did last year. My luck is awesome. Of course, this guy had to be someone she actually, seriously liked--a fact I was blissfully unaware of because I can't pick up social/behavioral cues to save my life. So I tell her, and she gets upset, and I go, "Oh WHOOPS." At last she never stays miffed with me for very long so now we are okay once more. Still. Go me.

The hookup meant nothing, I swear! He was in my room, it was 3 in the morning, it was spring break, I was BORED. CURIOUS. Maybe even a bit RONERY. He was all those things too; otherwise I'm certain he would not have come near me with a ten foot pole. Young college students have needs, don't you agree? >_> In any case, it only lasted for an hour, tops. To be honest, he wasn't all that exciting. There was kissing, a grope here and there, and we were CARRYING ON A CONVERSATION THE ENTIRE TIME. I've had better. So don't worry! I'm not stealing anybody out from under you!

One good thing to come out of this fiasco is that I have now completed my Rainbow of Nationalities List! Got all the major colors YESSSS. Ahem, let's hope I don't get her Sloppy Seconds again.

And that was all that happened over Spring Break, really.

Hide and Seek

I am in my dark place again. Do not try to find me. I will reemerge when all the pain has seeped out.

Color Me Red

I've noticed a trend. I don't much like it. Throughout my life, I've met many people. I've liked some, disliked some, hated some, befriended some, etc. I've also envied some with a glowing green passion, whether it was for their looks, intelligence, material possessions, what-have-you. After absent-minded thought of all the people I've ever been jealous of, I came to a startling realization. The girls I envied most are all redheads. How strange.

Anna Krueger

She had perfect hair and perfect grades and a perfect boyfriend. Her stellar academic record scored her an all-inclusive scholarship to UNC-Chapel Hill, complete with a complementary laptop. In the eyes of her teachers and family, she could do no wrong.

Anna Stephenson

Anna is curvy, bubbly, and offbeat in that non-offensive "I'm silly and weird, but not too silly and weird, just enough to attract the cute quirky guys" way. She travels all over the world and has a steady relationship with Nathan for two years running now.

Claire Sibley

Claire is really fucking gorgeous. Her hair is made of sex. She is dominating, controlling, manipulative, and always has an agenda. Smart and opinionated, HFC speaks her mind in class and doesn't give a fuck what other people think of her. I want her personality.

So yes. Redheads--strange creatures, are they not? I was mildly spooked when I noticed this trend. I hope there aren't anymore redheads here in college to turn me green. I've already got an unsavory personality, no need to make it worse.

Pot Calling the Kettle Black

Today is my parents' 25th anniversary. That's a quarter of a century. Yikes. Anyway, I called them to say congrats and whatnot, but they didn't pick up the first few times I tried. I didn't think much of it the first instance, but after that I kept getting more and more nervous. I didn't realize how big a breath I'd been holding until they finally picked up the phone the umpteenth time I called. Yeah, I know. I'm just like my parents. I've gotten too used to them picking up immediately after the dial tone begins, and I've become too worried over their wellbeing.

I imagine worst-case scenarios in my head, grisly death scenes to explain why my mother or my brother don't answer the phone on time for some occasions. I'm going too far with it, but I can't help it. I dream up these horrific what-ifs, and they don't go away until I hear the sound of their annoying voices. If they don't call back for the day, I can get physically ill from my anxiety. My parents do the exact same thing. I wish I didn't have my figurative umbilical cord still attached to the parental units.

I Want EEEET

This One Should Have Been First

CUT. TO BE PUT UP AGAIN AT A LATER TIME.

I Wonder If These Will Ever Reach You

CUT. TO BE PUT UP AGAIN AT A LATER TIME.

I'm No Billy But--

CUT. TO BE PUT UP AGAIN AT A LATER TIME.

Having a Muse is Fun

CUT. TO BE PUT UP AGAIN AT A LATER TIME.