From the looks of this room, it seems that I am awake.

Interesting.

Leave it to me to procrastinate for six hours and then find myself awake and without any homework done at 3 o'clock in the morning.

I find myself doing the most ridiculous, pointless things after sleep deprivation kicks in and takes over my consciousness. For instance, about twenty minutes ago, I decided that it would probably be beneficial to get some laundry done. So I sorted out the dirty clothes and put in the light load, my looming pile of homework not really at the forefront of my mind. And now, still trying to ignore that pile, I write a blog entry. My very first on this blog.

And here you are, reading said "entry," probably in lieu of doing something important with your time.

Oh, the power.

For lack of a transition...

I find high school dances amusing to witness. Especially the fact that there is little "dancing" involved. If you're a high schooler, admit it now - you know exactly what I mean, and probably have participated.

The lights are dimmed. Lights flash across the loud, sweaty crowd. A song comes on. It's Wannabe. The Spice Girls. As soon as the girls recognize it (or don't, but pretend that they do), they squeal and start to jump in place, sometimes to the beat, sometimes not, then turn to their closest group of gal-pals and start to scream the lyrics. If you wanna be my lova...

And then something new comes on - Love Game by Lady GaGa. Instantly, the tides turn, and the happy, singing female dance participants instantly transform into hormonal grinding machines whose dance moves look more like an epileptic in a strobe light store. (Good Lord, that was distasteful.)

And then, the slow song. I Wanna Be, by Chris Brown. There's a mad dash for a dancing partner. Couples seek their significant other out, leaving the rest frantically searching the crowd for someone to dance with. The less optimistic of the bunch slip off the dance floor as discreetly as they can; the rest of the females wait, not for long, alone. If they aren't asked after the first few seconds of the song, it's off to the group of girls who pretend to think they're funny by slow-dancing with another girl, really just masking their disappointment at not getting asked by the cute guy over there in the green shirt who's dancing with that bitch I hate.

And just to clear it up, by "dance," I mean hands-on-shoulders, hands-on-waist, step left, step right, continue until song is over.

Now don't get me wrong, I participate in most parts of the high school dance ritual. I tend to shy away from the epileptic sex-with-clothes-on thing though, and instead head to the just as common circle of girls who can't dance but try anyway.

Yikes... the homework pile seems to have found a way to reproduce and is growing... I'm going to have to go stop this madness before people get hurt. Click it or ticket guys.