If Xante could use a phone...

Holy shit(happy Easter)! A lot has happened since my last post but I've been too busy with said happenings to report anything. I wanted to talk about a few things, here are the abridged versions

St.Paddy's Day: played guitar in Marat/Sade during a break from drinking; hit the dance floor in track pants and ugly-ass army boots.

Weekend after St.Paddy's: Imprint party: solicitied Ian's stubborn vomit(its still there!), showed up three hours late for a VOC training weekend that I'm directing (still the worst director ever!); crazy Marat/Sade cast party saturday. Verdict? Wicked couple of days.

Then there was the crazy stalker girl.

On thursday, before I hit the sauce, I was getting some pictures in Bomber. I had the half-baked idea to make some kind of photo-essay, despite the fact that I'm the worst photographer ever. So I'm wandering around getting pictures and at some point I end up talking to this girl who pulls the "I've been at UW for X years, and I've never been in Imprint once!" This is something I've heard a lot of since becoming staff and every time I hear it, I feel compelled to help right this tiny injustice. I was thinking of doing a campus Q(we ask a bunch of students one question, then publish answers with pictures of their faces) in Bomber, with hopes that the booze would "enhance" the answers (turning them into what I like to call enhanswers). So I said told her that if she came up with a good question and answer, I would put her in the paper. Time passed, she left and I came up with my own Q.

3 Days pass. I get a phone call and an e-mail to two of my accounts (I gave this girl nothing but my first name!) from her telling me that she had come up with a question. She tracked me down! Nobody ever calls me! It turns out that the reason she was so desparate to be in the paper had to do with the fact that she was running for Sci council or some shit. She wanted to appear on some public media out of the campaign period. She was trying to abuse my good nature for her personal political gains without offering me anything (sex/haagen daaz) in return.

Her answer wasn't even funny. The girl's last name is Printer, and her brother's first initials are HP. That was the whole joke. She's lucky I didn't sock her right in the ink cartridge. I ain't no partisan bitch, so I told her nicely to fuck off (I really was very nice). I want no part in strange scientific politics.

Time passes, it's wednesday, non-production night and all us Imprinters are at Bomber. I see her. Through some suggestion, I then decide that hitting on Ms Printer is an awesome idea. The girl already has my phone number! I'd be stupid not to. So I walk over to her, she sees me — there's eye-contact — she puts on a fake smile then decisively looks away. There was NO chance she would even talk to me. Oh well. Maybe next semester I'll call her at home and beg her to be in the campus Q. Little help Davenport?(you owe me one!)

I really hope she doesn't try to kill me. Death by printer wouldn't look too butch my tombstone.

P.S. Xante is the imprint printer...imprinter? but I'm an imprinter? Darren = Xante?! In that case, I apoligize for sucking so much.