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7:53 p.m. - Friday, Nov. 19, 2004 And then...I'm going to study FASHION DESIGN AND MARKETING. I can barely even stand how excited I am. I'm going to Lasalle next year. And when I get out, I'm going to be a fashion director for a magazine, or a design label, and then someday maybe I'll design my own line, who knows? I've got this kind of big brain and shit, so for a long time I was operating under the assumption that I should do something intellectually lofty with my life, and hang about institutions of higher learning, and masturbate over John Locke all day. But fashion marketing is what I've always wanted to do, ever since I was 12 years old, so... I decided fuck it. I'm going to do it. Academia can go fuck itself, I'm going to have fun with my life, and orgasm every single day over hot, glorious FASHION. I doubt there's anyone in the world who loves it more than I do really, save perhaps Carrie Bradshaw, but she's fictional. It's pure art, and I'm going to get PAID to fucking talk about it, and think about it, and wear it, and I may have an orgasm right now actually... Sigh. In other news, I NEVER SAW STEVE MCQUEEN AGAIN. Rotten break, I should have shagged him when I had the chance. But, its a good thing in the end really, because jules is back from America, and I'm loving his little ass so much, so, keep it simple stupid, no? But I have had the opportunity to flirt with a couple of very gorgeous men the last couple of days. Flirting is fun. I just finished writing a paper about metaphysics and the empirical philosophy of science. Trust me, you don't want me to tell you. I practically crapped myself that research was so fucking demanding. I think i had a small stroke, and I didn't have the mental autonomy to realize it. I was literally SLAVE to the task of understanding logical positivism, and why synthetic a priori thought HAS to exist in order to facilitate quantum physics... see, I told you you didn't want to know. Now I have to go read alot of really depressing shit about american imperial domination. Later.
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