This is100% NOT the Short Paper I Am "Writing"

But everyone seemed so convinced that I would take it, and I don't want to disappoint. I will try to make it interesting.

A Better Survey Than The Ones Above And Below - for girls and gay guys
Basics
What do you prefer to be called?:	Darling.
When were you born and where?:	I'm afraid I don't recall.
Where do you currently reside?:	Any one of a number of libraries at Harvard University.
Getting to know you
What could you eat for the rest of your life?:	Breyer's mint chocolate chip ice cream. And puppies. (Apparently this is going to be one of those liberally untrue surveys).
Where is your favorite place to visit locally?:	I am partial to the tunnel between the really big library and its auxiliary.
What is your favorite place to visit for a vacation?:	It's nice to get out of the library and take a stroll across the yard. I should capitalize yard to clarify things, but suddenly that seemed prententious. The problem with going to Harvard is that you become hyper-vigilant about seeming pretentious, and that in itself may in fact be a form of pretense.
What is your preference: AIM, MSN, Yahoo!, etc.?:	Telepathy. It's really the only way to whisper sweet nothings to world leaders in diplomatic meetings and watch their ears turn red.
If you could magically appear in full costume in a movie, which would it be:	I would like to appear in full costume for Elizabeth, but in something totally different... like Brokeback Mountain, maybe. Or vice versa.
Which role would you play?:	The star. Or the crazy old lady.
What is your favorite accessory?:	I am always fond of my Bryn Mawr ring, and currently charmed by a new little snake.
What is your dream career?:	Telepathic Mischief Maker Laureate.
Which country would you live in if you had the choice?:	Narnia
Do you believe in the Loch Ness Monster?:	Believe in it, sure. Believe it, not after Valentine's Day 1997.
How about ouija boards?:	I like my ghosts like I like my liquor: I don't have anything to use as a punchline, so just pretend.
Which would you rather be stuck in?
Winter blizzard or summer heat/humidity?:	Blizzard, provided no threat to life and limb. I always feel the need to put these caveats. As though some sinister force is waiting to trip me up based on a casual omission of stipulation.
Hurricane or Earthquake?:	Good God, I'm taking a class on Katrina. EARTHQUAKE. Same stipulations apply as above.
An opera or a football game?:	Opera!
A closet or an elevator?:	A closet? Unless I was in the elevator with someone interesting. Like those questions where you have to pick famous people you want to have dinner with. Pick three people, alive or dead, that you would like to be stuck in an elevator with. Or a closet, I guess, but why would you be stuck in a closet? I guess if it were full of people and you couldn't reach the door handle. And maybe if one of the people was malicious and incredibly strong! Choose wisely when you pack your closet, everyone.
a railroad track with an oncoming train or hanging from a carnival ride?:	Hanging from a ride, but only with Noah from Into the Dream.
A fight between friends or a room filled with scary spiders?:	I'm usually fine with spiders.
Randoms
Who are you jealous of and for what reason?:	You, you sexy brilliant thing.
which type of salad dressing do you prefer?:	French. Especially the Catalina/Country French sort. Bleu Cheese. Especially crumbly.
Can you eat with chopsticks?:	I can also terrorize small insects with them. But I don't hurt them. I like small insects.
...Are you addicted to myspace? Tell the truth.:	In precisely the same way that I am addicted to heroin.
In the Opposite sex (or same if you are gay)
What is your favorite eye color?:	Aubergine.
What is the first thing you notice when you are attracted to him?:	Genital area.
Do you like light, sparkling hair or smooth, dark hair?:	Dark sparkling hair. Like if champagne were made with bourbon.
Any preferred height?:	Nope.
What is one thing he could say that would make you melt?:	I'm not going to write that here. Particularly if poised with a tattoo needle and reading steamy poetry.
What is the most romantic scenerio you can think of?:	Sex under the table in the aforementioned diplomatic meeting, while transmitting crucial moments to the world leaders with their faces substituted for ours.
Do you need a ring, if he were to propose?:	I would rather that not be done over the phone.
Are you crushing on anyone in particular?:	Yes to the spirit, but I feel that "crushing on" is a silly phrase. Just my $0.02.
If not, who is the closest thing to *drool* you can think of?:	Now the phraseology is getting so silly that I refuse to play. Is that pretentious? Alas, I think so.
Fashion expression
What is your favorite color to wear?:	Red? But I wear other colors more. I don't know. Puce.
Is there an article of clothing you wear every day?:	There's an article of clothing I wear NO days. Many, in fact.
What brings out the color of your eyes?:	I guess brown things. And maybe olive. Sometimes black. So if I had a gown made of grass and dried leaves and tree bark and the spaces between stars.
Are your nails painted? If so, what color?:	My nails are actually painted on. It's a swell party trick to peel them right off again. Not for the faint of heart.
What would you call your style?:	Jarvis Erik W.
What is your frequent shop? (department store):	What is my frequent shop??
Is your hair short or long?:	Kinda medium in need of cut.
Is it your natural color?:	No, and I'll never tell you what that is. Not unless you call me darling under the table at a diplomatic conference.
Do you prefer to be tan or pale?:	A gentleman never tells.
Friends
Do you get very personal with your friends?:	Very.
Are you friends with two or more different 'groups'?:	At the same time? I'm not that kind of girl.
Who is most simliar to you?:	Huh...my first instinct is Becky, because we spend so much time together that we've rubbed off. (I'm going to keep Rachel's answer for this one, because I think it is very apt.)
Who is most opposite?:	Huh...my first instinct is Becky, because we spend so much time together that we've rubbed off, and bits of us keep sort of floating ito this central vortex between us, and drifting away, thus creating an ever-increasing number of differences.
Who do you suppose will take this survey after you?:	Good God, you think I am so preoccupied with jealousy to think about that sort of thing in the act of taking it? Well... you're not wrong. It will probably be this handsome fellow across the way from me, damn his non-aubergine survey-stealing eyes.
Finale
What time is it?:	TIME TO WRITE MY PAPER. I'm hungry. This was not a smart idea. I hope you liked it anyway.

Dreams

First, I dreamed that Maddie and Charlotte and Sarah Bardenett and David Fanelli were all coming to my old home for my birthday dinner. And we were all staying in this front part of the place (which was layed out in some totally different way) and trying to figure out where everyone was going to sleep.

Then, I dreamed that I was telling people about this play... except that it switched into me being a part of the story sometimes, which really looked more like a movie than a play. I think what happened is that I saw part of the story in my head, and then tried to describe it. (Sort of like this, in fact.) But there was a man who was the main character, and I was seeing through his eyes when I was there. And I think he had this weird cut, on his chin or below his throat, but I'm not sure. Anyway, he was in a sort of food court, which was mostly deserted, and I think he got some pizza or some kind of food, and he was talking to the people who worked there. He had just been through some kind of harrowing experience, in which this youngr eporter, who I guess was a collegue of his in some capacity, had been killed. The reporter's name was Jim.

Anyway, this guy went outside. It was a city, and sort of freshly rained on, and he ran into this other man, except the individual was somewhat gender-ambiguous... not really because of behavior, I don't think, though his clothes were a little unusual in some way, but more because he was actually an angel or some other kind of spiritual being. He kind of approached my guy and they had a conversation. I think the spirit guy was saying that he and his kind used to be all over the earth, or something, and then they had to leave, but a lot of them didn't. And he was saying, "Why would we leave? Look at it here. Would you leave?" And this lead my guy to sort of take a mental stock of why his life was good, or something. And this was accompanied by a mental image of a naked woman sitting up in bed, but she was very undefined in her appearance... I think the point of her was that she was aware of the world and happy? I'm not sure. But he said, to himself but I think the spirit guy heard him, "I've got a place to live, and I've got (something else I forget), and I've got a man who loves me." And I think he was trying to avoid the subject of the experience he just went through and the death of Jim with the spirit, but the spirit knew all about it, and was forcing him to talk about it. And he kept trying to talk about the things in his life that were good, like, "I've got friends, and family, and a cat," or something. But the spirit was very insistant that they deal with this experience. I think the problem was that my guy knew that if he directly faced or admitted to what happened, he would have to go back to the bad situation in some way and fight a battle or something, and he was scared.

Then it flashed to me being in a hallway, and I was playing a game with Charlotte which involved us kicking a ball back and forth with the object being to hit the doorways... I think I lost. But then I went to make some meatballs, and I was telling my mom and Charlotte about this play-thing, and I had the same cut as the guy, and it was really quite bloody and we had to keep binding it up, and my mom was telling me calmly that I should take as much medicine as I wanted, and probably at the hospital they would give me ten or twenty tylenol. But I was trying to cook meatballs and tell about the play, and my mom seemed uninterested, and Charlotte told me that this wasn't the way you were supposed to summarize a play, that I was putting in too much detail, and tried to describe how you had to say it all in one sentence... and I was really fed up with everyone not listening to the story, and my bleeding chin/neck was painful and irritating. So then my mom was like, let's go to the hospital, and I realized we were going out the door with the meatballs just sitting on the stove in grease, and I was really pissed and I was like, if we leave them like that they'll go bad while we're gone! And I went back and was trying to get it all in the fridge really quickly and drain the grease and my mom was just sort of cheerfully hurrying me out the door... it was all rather upsetting.

After having written that out, it is about as weird as I thought. Clearly some kind of anxiety dream... and I like the play part... but odd.

Why I Cannot Write My Midterm

Dear Professor,

I regret to inform you that I cannot write my midterm because there are people to talk to online, and they say such things as this:

tinica: I'm probably disturbing the whole neighborhood of trash-taking-out students

tinica: Oh yes. That is how I arrived at this all-night exam-fest. Through stalwart discipline.

avalon2004: bounce, bounce, everybody bounce...

kkaczmawr: *revels in many hugs*

charlotteroserl: They should send that out in the Move On emails: Don't lure your lover out of traveling distance of their polling place the night before the election.

I am sure you will understand and agree that such quality interactions have priority over your exam. Thank you for your time, and of course I will be happy to include you in such witty and fascinating exchanges if you will contact me online.

Your semi-obediant student,
Becky