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"I dunno, he was speaking bloody German! I told him to go away- told him to sod off. Something about 'feuf million deutsche marks' or something... we don't want any of his doichy-markies. ...We do? We do want them? Well, bugger." ~ Eddie Izzard, in the routine Dressed to Kill.

Someone left a deutsche mark on the dryer in the laundry room. Obviously he or she tried to pass it off as a quarter but the machine wasn't having any of it. I know- I tried.

This weekend gets five stars. Heard Rachmaninoff's second symphony, went to see a movie with Juan, a guy called Mickey (who, incidentally, has lovely blue eyes), and the twins Penny & Pam. Four freshmen... and me. I felt so old.

Juan and Mickey kept pushing to see The Mothman Prophecies but since I'm a big chicken they had to persuade me.

I agreed, on the stipulation that the guys sit on either side of me so I could pulverize their arms if I got scared. Juan said "You can hug my jacket if you want," but I replied mock-scathingly, "Don't think we need to go that far."

Halfway through the movie, (and only those of you who've seen it will understand) when the wife appears in the bed, I gasp-screamed and burrowed down into my seat, so that my head was below the top of it. The subsequent scare made me scoot even lower, both involuntary dives for safety. I scared Mickey with my gasping. We were both giggling nervously, and I tried to make myself slide up to sit properly but couldn't.

Juan wordlessly handed me his jacket. I hugged it and sat up straight again. The fabric was still warm. Sweetheart, that boy.

Afterward I was edgy about going alone to my lonely haunted little room, and the twins asked me to spend the night in their dorm, so I just stretched out on a sleeping bag around 3 a.m. and was surprisingly comfortable. Woke up just before 9 and rushed home to shower and pack...

Dun dun dunnn... 'twas the final Greyhound bus ride. I wanted to sing and dance just at the thought. We even arrived on time, as if in honor of the event.

Brian and I spent about an hour Saturday night, walking over 3 miles just around the neighborhood in the 40 degree February evening, talking, waiting for the time when we'd leave to see The Royal Tenenbaums at 10:30. I miss our talks. He's such a good brother.

And I got my car.

It's lovely.

It's a little '98 Nissan and unlike Bubbles, it has automatic locks and windows and two airbags and cruise control and fully functional air-conditioning and a working horn. MyGod, I'm in paradise.

This one I'm actually buying gradually from my dad. It's not just a loaner. He got it for the same price as Bubbles (isn't that nuts? Bubs was two years older, respectively, since she was a '94, with at least 30,000 extra miles on her, and no luxury features) and I'm paying him 10% of the cost annually, on top of the insurance, until I graduate and can get a full-time job and pay off the rest.

I feel spoiled rotten. I am, aren't I?

She's silver, doesn't rattle like an epileptic kitten, but tends to hop a bit on potholes and sudden starts. I shall name her Lune Lapin.

That's French for Moon Rabbit... loses something in the translation, huh? I got the idea from a Tori Amos song, a re-mix of Precious Things called Rabbit in the Moon. For short, she'll be Luna. And when she starts acting like a used car and gets funky on me, her nickname can be Looney.

When I have a little more spare cash, I'll get Luna a CD player and maybe a lock-clicky thing. For now I'll pay the 6 grand off and play cassettes and open my own damn locks.

God bless the recession. I am such a spoiled little bitch.

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