Last night I watched “The Recruit” and “Zoolander.” This morning I watched “What Women Want.” All the while, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn sits on my nightstand unread. Okay, so it’s flopped on the floor. The point is, half of it is unread.

Also on the floor next to a dirty sock is the letter from my online English Literature instructor. The blue piece of paper said that my analysis shows thorough reading, but has not cited evidence.

Movies and books, both stories. Both offer a form of escapism. The difference? Movies do all the work for you!

Without any work, I can be someone else for an hour and a half. I am no longer a student, overwhelmed by a never-ending to-do list. I am a CIA agent enduring a brutal mind game. I’m sweating in my seat watching Hansel go down the runway, knowing I have to be better. And Mel, dear Mel, I sit there wishing I were that hatstand he tirls about in that sumptuous bachelor loft.

Instead, the end of the credits brings me back to the menu, which then brings me to my messy room. I mean, there’s just so much brown in here. Not even cute, Hollister brown.

And I still want breakfast.

The About Me link above is no longer dead. Check it out.

I can’t wait for this movie to come out. I want to read “In Cold Blood” before it comes out though. Can you believe that this is the same author as “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”? I love stories and movies that are dark, with a pscyhological edge. Yet, I strangely an sympathetic for the villain. Emily in “A Rose for Emily,” Phantom in “Phantom of the Opera” and Norman Bates in “Psycho.”

Click here to go to the Capote Web site.

Something must be wrong with me. Every night for the past week I’ve wanted to stay awake even though my body was shutting down. Once I do fall asleep, I have these crazy dreams that are so real. They start out like normal dreams then make a turn for the worst. There I am, being tortured in my sleep by my own mind and I can’t stop it. Last night’s dream was the worst, by far. I wish I could forget.

Then the morning comes and I don’t want to wake up. The night before I really want to wake up early, so I can have a full, productive day. But I’ll turn my alarm off and go back to bed, thinking it a rational move at the time. When I pick up my cell phone one or two hours later, I’ll realize how stupid I was to sleep in. Yet, I still don’t want to get out of bed. Another day seems like another battle I just don’t want to take.

So here I am, with half a day gone and a lengthy, asinine to-do list.

Ladies and gentlemen, the story you are about to read is mostly true. The names have been withheld to protect the innocent.

This is the city. Los Angeles, California. I work here … I carry a badge. I’m Josephine Friday.

It was Friday, September 23. It was sunny in Los Angeles. I was working bunko and I went to the scene of the crime down at the registrar. I was undercover and I entered with forms in hand. I told the receptionist my situation. She sighed and told me to come around to the back. That’s where I met him.

Wow, this is late.

Yes, sir. I know.

Oh boy, you only have five units now?

There were some miscommunications, and they didn’t grant me permission on Web reg so …

Well, Web reg was closed a few weeks ago.

Yes, I know, this was before then.

This could affect your student loans.

I don’t have any.

We report to the federal government. This could affect your insurance. You may have to fill out another form.

Okay.

I’ll sign it. I sure hope the classes are open.

I already talked with each professor.

This could be trouble for your insurance. We report electronically to the federal government, you know.

YES SIR, I UNDERSTAND YOU CON MAN! You should be reported. Thank your lucky stars that you’re not communicating with the federal government through a live video feed. You know your hairdo is way past its deadline when all of your remaining hair grows from left to right!

Wow, this is really late. Do you know we have deadlines?

Yes, I know you have deadlines. I have been busy making a newspaper for the past four weeks, and I can’t even make those. I haven’t even made my class homework deadlines. I’ve been too busy thinking about school to do school. Do you know how hard it is to get up every morning, knowing how many deadlines I’ve missed? Do you know that these years are supposed to be the best of my life? Do you know that I find solace in large amounts of sequins and ice cream (like my good friend Mischa)?!

Matt and I just played pictionary and hangman via webcam.

It was a wonderful visit, but my boyfriend is gone. He’s fled to the north. Maybe it was living with eight women for five days, eating only carbs or his responsibilities at home that made him go. I’m definitely feeling the absence. I have no one to hug, because I really only hug him. My room, which he so kindly cleaned, is cluttering by the second. I’ve already ripped off all my fingernails on my left hand because he is not here to slap away my shameful habit. I glance ahead to see the Blue Room. When he first came it was a cluttered room without a purpose. As a team, we created a hip and homey study spot; the process of which should be featured on HGTV.

It is safe to say this was the best visit ever. I think my friends were able to see why I’m dating him in the first place. In fact, he was so wonderful that everyone wanted him to stay. If not as our decorator/technical genius/cook/handyman/protector of The Unit, I would like for him to stay as my personal assistant. While he was here, I forgot several appointments and assignments (which I would have forgotten no matter where his location). But a 50 percent cut of my salary (we’re talking $320/month) and the occasional makeout would not convince him to stay. Guess I’ll have to look elsewhere for a personal assistant … like adulthood.

All this to say, I miss him.

Pictures coming soon. The visit meant I forgot about responsibilities and now must make up for lost time.

Thank you, Dooce. Thank you for making me never want to have children. Ever. And please don’t ever let me convince myself that I need drugs to make me normal. I don’t want to become dependent.

I have a problem with eating too many Pringles. Yet, there is a solution. Buy reduced fat Sour Cream and Onion. One-third Menos de Grasa que los Pringles Regulares. It’s the perfect solution because I don’t want to eat more than 16 serving size. I can barely eat five. I’m scared to open the Original flavored I bought. They’re non fat.

It was the welcome back luau where he interrupted me. I was people-watching, thankyouverymuch. He came with this girl. A girlfriend? I had no idea. We had met before, they told me. Whatever. There were some weird twentysomethings in a hut tub that were absolutely fascinating.

Tell me about yourself, he says. Biola University. Journalism. Junior.

Nothing seemed to interest him, but he kept asking questions. My head would turn over to the hot, glowing, odd behavior in the bubbles.

What do you do? What’s your favorite color? Do you have a boyfriend? Why journalism? Any brothers or sisters?

Why would he ask me if I had a boyfriend? I had no time to think, there were more questions!

San Leandro. Used to run. Well if you used to run, he asked, what do you do now? Um … well … I think I might have failed my volleyball class, so I signed up for an Ultimate Frisbee class. He couldn’t seem to get the words out fast enough: Wednesday nights, at Las Positas? I was totally weirded out, but strangely interested as I said yes.

I’m the captain, he said. I think at this point he was hugging an inflatable parrot, but I’m not sure.

He first asked me to ice cream, which was smart because I don’t like coffee (and I had yet to discover the wonderfulness that is a frappuccino). The weeks following were filled with Ultimate Frisbee, random outings, college group nights, family houseboat trips and late-night movies. Basically, we spent a lot of time together, because that’s what people do when they live 7.9 miles away from each other. The summer hadn’t even begun to fade when I had to say goodbye to the bay and hello to smoggy L.A.

For the first time I didn’t want to go back to school. I had found so much at home that I had not known. Matt had shown me a different world in a familiar place. The more time I spent with him, the more I liked him. He treated me so well, much better than the other guys I’d met before.

We weren’t official yet, though. It’s not that we didn’t like each other. He just had bad experiences with long distance relationships. So we would test out the long distance — all 375 miles. And let me tell you, webcams work wonders.

But shortly after the semester began, we met with our college group at Hume Lake for the labor day weekend retreat. On Sept. 4, 2004, I begged him to go on a walk. It was close to the night chapel, but I knew that I’d have to say goodbye in less than 24 hours. And we found a big log near the water and sat; it was a perfect view of the lake. And there, he said he was willing to risk the distance relationship, and asked me to be his girlfriend. I’m not much for cheesy romance — which this wasn’t — it was simple and completely beautiful.

If I’ve kept your attention for this long, you definitely won’t stay for our entire story. I figure the telling of the beginning is just right for marking a year of togetherness.

To see more pictures of us — all that flickr would allow for this month — click here.