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Hello. Day One of my life as a self-proclaimed young adult with a guilt complex has passed. My friends still like me and school has not changed from what it has always been. I have six classes this year. Two of them have someone I can comfortably talk with. The rest are social black holes. I know not one human being in four of my classes. What does that say about me? I suppose I should get to know some of these filthy bastards so that I don't feel so masochistically suicidal when I come to school and sit amongst complete strangers that I fear will gouge me. Women aren't a problem. I was alerted to a crisis that I would face this year by both Sam and Ginni that girls would be attracted to me as a direct result of the way I look. They were right. It kind of scared me, like if some old guy said you were going to fall off a cliff at four in the afternoon and you did. Rather than thinking of your doom, you can't help but put on your puzzled face and wonder how that geezer saw it coming before you did. Sam and Ginni saw it even before it occurred to me that it would be a problem. Needless to say, they were right. And I thought men were the ones who hit on women the most. It probably still is. Maybe they were just prostitutes. I have no idea. Anyway, I hope to get my a** the hell out Ceramics. Unquestionably not my kind of class. I hope to see you on Friday, Sam. It wouldn't be the same if I start the weekend without you. I might just forget. Call Me Call Me. I'll make you the rest of those cookies.

-Chris Duarte

P.S. - Oh, yeah. You're with Red. ... ... ... Well, I still have my imagination. I'll just watch a couple of movies and listen to Sirius with Pillow-Sam then. We say hello.