I’m sorry… it’s one of those lives. ::Shy:: Thanks. Too bad Mrs. Firebottom didn’t feel the same way.
smiles I think the name says it all, don’t you? I heard her first name was Ima. Anyway, you have to take into account the fact that she thought War of the Worlds was real. You oughta save that paper; you never know when it might come in handy.
I will rent it at some point . . . or coax my father into it.
The history books I’ve read can never stay on the same topic or idea long enough for it to seem important relative to other events.
I don’t know if people are looking at us, but if they are they’re looking to see who you’re walking with. People here know me as weird and not having a problem with it. They probably know you as the chick with the hot friend.
But there’s no need to pay attention to other people if you don’t want to . . . just a sec. :grabs book from nosy frosh: dogsbody, I believe this is yours.
Now, struuter, where were we? Ah yes . . . if you would give me your hand for a bit . . . there.
smiles at dogsbody, leans to iampunha She’s just fine. I like her.
slips her hand into his How’s that? You going to read my palm?
Thus why I grabbed the book from that freshman and gave it back to her. She needs it; it’s for her next class.
As for why I want your hand . . . no, not to read your palm. I just rather like hands, and yours is a particularly admirable specimen. ::nonchallantly touches two fingers of left hand to mouth, then touches same fingers to her hand::
dogsbody, see you later. Struuter has history, and I’m going with her to keep her from falling asleep.
watches in silent amazement as he touches his fingers to his lips then to her fingers You…uh…you…can do that any time you like.
Ahem…we better get to class. blushes Do you do this to all the girls?
Maybe later I’ll do so again, if it pleases you this much. I’m glad you like it. I find gentle, subtle things work better than just grabbing a person and shoving your tongue down their throat . . . most of the time 
And no, I don’t do this to all the girls. In fact, I don’t do it to any of the girls. You, I had thought, are not a girl but a lady. There is a marked difference.
i am essvee. i am a band guy. i am a class clown and a thorough underachiever. my mother dresses me funny and i am totally oblivious to this. in fact, i am totally oblivious to most everything, mostly cuz i’ve always got my head in a paperback novel (convienently stolen from the school library, later my mom will find six grocery bags full of stolen school library paperback novels in my closet and make me give em back). i am most thoroughly repressed, and i’m afraid of girls. i’ve always been interested in drugs (read the electric kool aid acid test when i wuz 11, quite by accident). one day, early in my junior year, i gather up all my bravery and try some pot. six months later, im flunking all my classes and coming to the understanding that i honest-to-god hate everything and most everybody. im smokin joints before school in the smoking area, and my new nicknmae is hostileman. i will drop out of school at the end of the year, and 99% of you all will never see me again. the other one percent will remain my best buds, 20 years later. lordy, it wuz hard.
but this is fun! go, fighting dopers!
I’m AET. A smart, do-the-bare-minimum kinda guy. I don’t go above and beyond unless that B+ is a few points off an A. Holding steady with the unweighted 4.0, I hope for success. A big box of sarcasm, the teachers neither love, nor loathe me. I’m an athlete, but I hate the “social sports” that the preps play. When it comes to popularity, I’m pretty obscure, and that’s fine with me.
Bumping this thread yet again (for therapeutic effects).
Or maybe I should let it die a deserved death.
Struuter, damnit, get on AIM! Or tell me your SN. Or something.
Ssskuggiii brushes dust off her floor length leather duster coat and nonchallantly struts down the hallway toward her locker. ::35-24-36, click:: Opens door of locker, takes out 3 novels and a jar of henna powder, then places them into backpack and closes locker. Pulls out cellohone and dials up Swiddles’ number and leaves a message…
Hey Swiddles, I’m gonna go down to the coffee shop tonight. I have a few poems I want to read. Don’t call me tomorrow, I’ll be colouring my hair red again. I’ll probably try to chill with the rest of the group Sunday at the film festival down at the old cinema with the balcony seats.
Saunters out to her friend’s car, an old hearse painted in odd colored designs, and rides downtown to the coffee shop.