Here goes....

So Whittier officially has beurocratized the **** out of my little recycling gig, and my eerie-looking spotlight on the cover of The Rock mag really doesn't hide the fact that we have 6 recycling dumpsters and not much else.

Happily enough, I am glad to be back, tackling private loans and the on-off plumbing in Wardman Hall (and changing the storage locks on the stoner losers down the hall-- oops). I am getting chills similar to my canvassing days knowing I'm waking up to inform a hefty batch of new freshman (redundant?) about our "solid" recycling program tomorrow morning... even though we should be tackling food waste, water and energy consumption, and so much much much more in one conversation-- luckily I'm unsupervised and especially honest in the month of August.

Guh... the life of a covergirl consists of cutting out business card-sized info packets for freshmen, drinking ample quantities of wine, and lazily watching lots of Arrested Development episodes with Em... the night before chaos breaks and shatters and finally, perhaps my job may be useful and less nagging and quarrelsome.

I must confess, however, Poet pride is tingly and ever-flowing through my alcohol-soaked veins. If the Financial Aid office decides to hand me the 7 grand I need to pay for this school year and give me some effing credit that really counts for what I've done all summer... I may convert to Quakerdom, honestly.

P.S. I need more friends on last.fm... oh, and the Dodgers to stop sucking?