throw my hands up and (shout!)

Teh beach was fabby fab fab! Even though I hate sand with a fierce and undying passion, the water was lovely and surprisingly warm for the Jersey shore. Plus boogie boarding = tons o' fun.

All in all, an excellent period of relaxation.

Then was the wedding/camping extravaganza, which can perhaps be divided into three categories:

the exceedingly unpleasant: setting up the tent in the dark with obnoxious siblings, taking down tent in the heat while obnoxious sibling goes for LEISURELY CANOE CRUISE, having personal space invaded by too many insects, sleeping on— or at least attempting to sleep on— the ground

the phenomenally fun: getting my groove— how you say— on, pwning the volleyball court, pwning the croquet pitch[?], being a suckass canoe paddler, EATING!, blowing scented[!] bubbles

the singularly special: visiting Monticello, remembering that people actually have southern accents— including some who live in Virginia, being gifted a mint condom and listening to a well-meaning albeit alcohol-fueled lecture about college and sex, being instructed to use the code "'my friend' needs an abortion" if I have any questions in the future, being instructed to ignore everything previously heard by equally well-meaning more conservative fatherly relative, swimming in the extremely sketchy— and leech-infested— pond with patches of warm and cold water and muck galore

It was an experience to remember, to be sure.

[Forgive the excessive em-dashes. I'm experimenting with punctuation.]

In dorm news, I am falling more in love with bexxxley every day. Of course, because I'm me & lame like that, I had to scour the web for Bexley references.

Plz just read the story of Bexley vs. the FBI and try not to cream yrself with glee.

The rules of Bexley:

1. Bury your own dead.

2. Freshmen cannot smoke pot in the elevators.

3. No more rules.

Rule two becomes especially poignant with the revelation that there are no elevators at Bexley.

Oh, Bexley. Tr00 luv. You even have an "x" in your name, a spectacular letter, if there ever was one.

The only thing that makes me a bit sad is the mystery of my roommate. So I pretty much am on facebook everyday searching for 2009 Bexleyites with the same room number as me, but it is all in vain. My roommate is either a) a Luddite, b) too lame to know what the facebook is, c) traumatically upset that she was sorted into Bexley and transferring out of there ASAP, or possibly d) far too cool & laidback to obsessively update facebook.

My fingernails are gnawed to the cuticle with anxiety/anticipiation. Only not really. My fingernails are all rather normal, if not on the longish side. I do have that one toenail that sort of fell off earlier this summer, but it's growing back quite zippily and could pass for normal.

PS: Bizz, you had best be going to that picnic, or my heart will break irreparably into a thousand shards. And we will probably have to be mortal enemies, locked in combat for all of eternity. It happens.