Hump Wednesday

Whew, am I glad today is finally coming to a close (not).

Dear Chelsea Clinton: Even though when you came to Spelman and you looked cute with your blond highlights and super-cute jeans that are probably Sevens, I am still not voting for your mother.

I did yoga today on our dirty dorm room floor. It was refreshing and disgusting at the same time.
Today, classes weren't that bad. Spanish was boring as hell, but Shakespeare was actually interesting, I got into a previously full Renaissance Lit class, and my teacher gave me a (kind of embarrassing) shout-out in Basic Newswriting for getting my article published. Plus, we had pepper steak for dinner and chocolate fondue for dessert, which was quite delish.

Now, I'm about to take a shower so I can finish Two Can Play That Game (add Morris Chestnut to the list of fine black actors that need a respectable movie comeback. See: Sean Patrick Thomas, circa "Barbershop"), catch the basketball game, and read my new book. Speaking of books, I am extremely disappointed in the US Postal System for not sending me the textbooks I needed 2 days ago. And I was starting to like USPS after that episode of "Project Runway" during season 1. But those days are so behind us.

Tomorrow is my bum day; I'm going to ask the yoga teacher to do me a solid and let me participate in the class; sort of a semester-long audit. If I have to bust out a Downward Dog to prove my ability, I totally will. Oh, crud, now I'm behind schedule. A chick on American Idol (the devil's entertainment) is singing a song called "Black Velvet," I liked it, and Simon just called her a cabaret singer. How rude. That's why I don't like "AI," they cut the people I like and accept complete rejects like everyone's favorite homegirl, Sanjaya.