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1995, zakk, griclock'd, sarah vowell, rica martens, astronomy, rude, zoe records, joey lauren adams, entourage the complete first season, by eric gilliland, hillarycarlip, films, tour, martha wainwright, insult generators, black label society, records, barbed quotes, henry calvert, pac, 2 pac mp3s, bryan gordon, "What are you so mopey for?" abusive asked Erik, the sloppiest eater I'd ever abusive known. "You've got some tomato sauce on your chin," I said. "I have to meet with Mr. Salvatorre tomorrow about not handing in my paper." "So?" "So I'm nervous. I abusive don't have any excuse. What am I supposed to say: I'm sorry, Mr. Salvatorre, but I've been too busy having sex and getting wasted to finish my paper?" Erik smiled. "That about covers it." "Thanks a lot. You're a big help." "Oh, stop worrying. I'm failing two of my classes and you don't hear me whining about it. Besides, Salvatorre's a pussy. Tell him your dad has a brain tumor or something." "Yeah," I said. "Super. That's a great idea." "Glad you like it." The next morning, Erik was up before me, which was practically a first. I was just lying there on my back, trying to still be asleep because it was 8:26 and my alarm was set for 8:30. Then I heard the chinky rustle of coins, so I opened my eyes and there was Erik, all dressed and leaning over my desk again, fingers in my change bowl again, sifting around for quarters.
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I waited too long to buy my books and a bunch of them were out of stock by the time I finally went. I slept right sarah vowell through my Linear Mathematics midterm. I didn't even have my shit together enough to get my Photography One project in on time. At sarah vowell the beginning of the semester, I'd sat down to make a list of all the things I did and didn't want to do, like Do homework, Don't smoke, Do run, Don't party. I'd sarah vowell written the list over and over, rearranging the items again and again, but in the end I'd just thrown it all away. But in a last ditch moment to express my supreme belief in myself, I'd made the grave mistake of scrawling YOU CAN DO IT in capital letters on the wall above my desk. By October, the words were haunting me like a big fat echo. By November, I couldn't remember exactly what it was I was so sure I could do. The Sunday night before Thanksgiving, Erik and I were at Rizzo's again, drinking beer and eating pizza after we'd spent the day smoking pot and driving around.
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