I really need to stop thriving off of angst during my period. It's almost like I'm one of those lame emo kids who sings about how the opposite sex doesn't like them and how difficult it is to be a white kid in a predominantly white upper-middle class highschool in the suburbs. Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against emo music as a whole, just that one faux-angst-ridden aspect. What bugs me even more is emo posers. They think just because they have a Weezer CD and horn-rimmed glasses, that they are emo. I think that to give yourself a label, you should have to know a significant amount about the thing you are labelling yourself as. Not knowing your label is like saying you're a Jew while scarfing down pork chops. I'm not restricting freedom of expression here, but when I see someone say that they are "hardcore punk" (or whatever) and all they know about the music is what comes from their Blink 182 CD, I think that they should reconsider what they are saying.

Anyway, I went to YouthQuest tonight to see Brigette, and I had a pretty good time. Rachel and I used crayons to spice up a pamphlet titled: "Depression, Drugs & Alcohol", and Rob showed up in a sarong (apparently "all of the cute boys at the folk festival were wearing them!").

I also went out for lunch with Josh and David, and finally satiated my craving for California roll. That's a big relief off my shoulders. I was telling Brigette about lunch, and she said that she couldn't eat it because of the crab (its not kosher because it crawls at the bottom of the ocean). Then I told her that most places don't use real crab, but instead use imitation crab made of pollock. I feel like a culinary genius.

Lately I've been having a Trading Spaces kick, and I really want to redecorate someone else's room. My own room wouldn't be too much fun, because it is tiny. Quite frankly, lots of people have closets larger than my room. I'd like to say that my room has the quaint and diminuative charm of a Japanese apartment, but it doesn't. It is small and I feel too awkward and big for it. Maybe once I paint it white, it will feel more open.

Heh. I saw a queen sized wrought-iron canopy bed in one of the beachfront stores the other day, and I was telling Josh about how I'd like a bed like that. Of course he said "That wouldn't fit in your room!" To which I retorted: "Yes it would! Just nothing else would..."