My life in numbers; reminds me of MC Square in the Kabuki comics who does her daily count to infinity, exploring the importance of each number as she goes along.

1. is me, alone, the way I like to be. It is also the number of guys I've kissed.
   
2. is the number of pets I've had. Both cats. One called PC (for Pussy Cat), who ran away, the ungrateful mog. The other called Sooty, who is a lovely old maid who misses me when I'm not home, which is frequently.
   
3. is the number of times I've had an X-ray. One was an Ultrasound for suspected appendicitis. The second was after I swallowed one of the teeth the dentist ripped out (well, he dropped it on the back of my tongue. It was a reflex mechanism). The third was a dental X-ray, to see what my wisdom teeth were doing. They didn't exist.
   
4. is the number of best friends I've had. Annette, pre-school and primary, and I were very different, but very similar. Nardia, high school, and I were amazingly similar in our quirks and perks. Gemma, first year of uni, and I were a relationship of extremes. K^r and I are quiet kindred spirits, non demanding, always easy.
   
5. is my usual numerology number. I don't know why.
   
6. is the number of times I've seen Braveheart. Which means I've used 18 hours of my life on that movie.
   
7. is a movie I didn't see on principle because it had Brad Pitt in it. (I later watched it, despite that condemning fact, and loved it.)
   
8. was how old I was when I got my first Babysitters Club book. I was the first person in the school to get into them, through a birthday present. Pretty soon everyone was into them, but I was the trendsetter. :-)
   
9. is the number of glasses of wine I can drink before I start getting really drunk.
   
10. was my age when I flew around the world with my parents, and experienced the wonderful smells. Durian in Singapore, glorious flowers in England, sulpher springs in Yellowstone National Park, and the subtle mustiness of fog in San Francisco.

And that's my life in numbers.

"Hi, this is Rebekah from the front office. In case you hadn't noticed, the hot water is down, and it will be down for some hours if you're waiting on a shower. Sorry for the inconvenience. Bye-bye."

Thanks Rebekah. Actually, I had noticed.

Nah, actually, it wasn't too bad. It's so hot here at the moment that a cold shower was actually quite pleasant. (I'm not saying I want to make a summer home here, but... 1 point.) Well, maybe not pleasant, but certainly not as bad as it would have been in, say, July.

Chemical spills and browses through Dymocks, the wealth of words spread out before me in alternate Atlantic wrappings and not a drop to drink.

Screams in frustration.

Something has to break, but it won't, and if it does, I'll just mend it. Patch it up with duct tape. Dark side, light side, holds the universe together. Use the Force, Luke.

*slaps the "Beware the Loony" sign on her forehead and toddles off to bed*

Repeat after me with suitable arm gestures: "You are my sun, my moon, my starlit sky. Without you, I dwell in darkness." (1 point and a good laugh.)

Things you don't expect to see - #54: Two NRMA (the breakdown/motor association organisation) guys inflating a three-metre-tall dinosaur with the compression pump in their truck.

So much to say, so few letter on the keyboard.

Today seems to be my day for compliments. I have been told that I am 'elegant' and that I have been described as 'an alternative beauty'. I find the second all the more charming for its eloquence and the thought behind it.

I'll just bask in this warm glow for a few moments more.

If I were any more lethargic, my legs would fall off. It's a nice feeling. Sorta.

Fucking with archives complete. They will work, or I will shoot them with a bazooka.

Summer is here, well and truly.

For some reason this makes me think of K^r's (in)famous Hot Toddy's, the one's R described as tasting like: "A runaway VB (cheap Aussie beer) truck crashed into a mince pie factory."

Ah, the things we've left behind...

Well, I have two "token gay friends", and one lesbian, and one bi... and this is why my life will never be featured in an American sitcom. I mean, they could get prettier actors to play me and my friends (except J², because no one's prettier than him), but the actual situations would be entirely refused by the scared little Hollywood producers.

PS: And a partridge in a pear tree...

There is nothing quite as sadly pathetic as half-dead flowers in the bin. Drop your rubbish on top of them, and drown their last shred of hope...

Oooh, I'm such a responsible yuppie.

I really want to just leave this entry at that line. So pretend I did. Pretend none of this explanation ever took place, and everything I tell you here is just part of something you knew from the collective subconscious. In fact, it is, I'm just reminding you. Which I'm not doing. At all. (Good grief, this is getting almost Pratchettarian.)

Anyway, I have been appointed one of the "SADs" - Summer After-hours Duty. This basically means that I am the office while the office is shut. Hooray for me. The office is now shut. The office phone is redirecting to this little mobile phone sitting on my bed (it was sitting beside me at the computer, but then I noticed the funky things that happen to the monitor when someone called, so I decided to move it). I go down and check people in and be responsible.

It's boring and annoying as hell and this is just my first afternoon. It's going to be a loooong summer, ladies and gents.

Hey, this looks like fun. (This is me, hijacking a bandwagon... from my dear Monkey from Mars Mallory.)

What is your favorite word?

I like a lot of words than end in -ate for some reason. Spiflicate. Defenestrate. Hang on, don't I have a list of these in my personal section?

What is your least favorite word?

I'm not very fond of that four-letter C-word. I don't care what its noble origins are, it's been thwarted by society and I don't like it. I won't say it. I will glare and sneer at anyone who does.

What turns you on?

Good question. I'm really not sure. Gentleness, I think. Tenderness. Romance. Which seems odd from a little cynical bitch like me.

What turns you off?

Insisting. Hurry. Uniformity. Not feeling like I'm anything special.

What sound do you love?

Hearing A's voice on my machine saying he loves me. Makes me melt every time. On a more mundane note, that final buzzer at netball has a certain sweet ring to it...

What sound do you hate?

My alarm clock has to be right up the top of that list. The sound of the Y key getting stuck on my typewriter. Fingernails on a chalkboard (it's an oldie, but a goodie).

What is your favorite curse word?

The less well-known ones. This week I'm favouring fuck-knuckle. I'm a big fan of J²'s "fascist pigfuckers" (patent pending). And the always appropriate "Jesus fuck!"

What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?

What, other than student? No, I'll assume that means other than what I want, which is to be a writer. I don't know... I'd sort of like to work a bar. You know, Tom Cruise Cocktail style? Of course, to do it properly I'd have to go back and live in the 80s and have bad fashion sense (ooops, tautology), so maybe I'll give that one a miss.

What profession would you not like to participate in?

Nursing. Teaching. Air hostessering (or whatever it's called in today's PC world). Anything in which I have to clean up other peoples' vomit. No way.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

You're the last person I expected to see here, Diana... No, actually, I don't want him to say anything. I don't want there to be a Heaven like that. Having slogged through this life, I don't intend to live through eternity as well, thank you very much. If I'm having a chinwag with God at the Pearly Gates, I'll be doing the talking and it will go along the lines of: "I want my money back."

Days in which I do nothing make me feel simultaneously fantasticly smug and quietly guilty. I suspect there are going to be a lot of variations on this theme in the near future, at least until our stupid principal stops sitting there with his thumb in his bum and his mind in neutral and actually does something like telling us who has the vacation positions. Twit.

Overheard in the corridor tonight:
R^b: Can I go down?
K^y: You can go sideways.

No, you don't get any context, because you've been bad.

Full speed ahead in holiday mode. I lazed in a generally disgusting fashion today. I played FreeCell for at least two hours, getting into a phenomenal Zen-like trance in which I could think about all manner of things. I love it when that happened. Then J² told me to stop, and I'd been looking for a reason to anyway, so I did. Then I lounged on the bed and read a Dilbert book. Finally, with the sunny weather outside being beautifully wonderful, I decided to finally do something useful, and I wrote for a little.

I'm really impressed with the writing I'm doing, but also a little disappointed with how much lounging I'm doing.

Tank Girl is pure fun. Lori Petty exudes attitude from every pore. Honestly, how can anyone not just giggle at the sheer silliness of it?

What the fuck? I get up, it's a beautiful, sunny, hot, fine day. Now, twenty minutes later, it's back to the typical cack, overcast, dismal day that we've been having for the past two weeks. What's happening??? I got all excited. I made plans. I put on a short-sleeved shirt. It can't do this to me!!!

You're laughing at me, aren't you? I don't think you understand the severity of the situation. I am getting cabin fever. I need to get out and loll in the sun. Desperately. Or I'm going to bite someone's ear off.

Chomp.

Geugh! I HATE cockroaches. (This is me shuddering.)

Incidentally, did I mention that I found out too late that my character for J²'s Werewolf RP has a cockroach as her tribe totem? Honestly, I think this was a setup. If J² puts any situation in where my character has to schmooze up to the horrible little things, I'm going to rearrange his vital organs. Something artistic with cheese, I think.

For some reason I keep wanting to spell cheese with a z. Begone, foul hacker-speak!

A's parents are pleasant people.

I went up to the botanical gardens (or, as K^r calls them, the tobanical gardens) this afternoon with a friend who desperately needs her life untangled. Unfortunately, I am not the one to do this, as I don't even officially know her life needs untangling. We just don't have that sort of relationship, unfortunately. In any case, we got talking about weddings, and our plans for them. I have very few. I want to get married in a dress that will be able to be worn at further occasions in my life. My mother was married to my father in a red dress that she still wears out to dinner. Mind you, it was the second marriage for both of them. Neither really took it seriously. The process that was. The vows themselves were very serious.

Back to the point. Which I did have. Really. I wanted it (my wedding) not to be in a church, unless the groom had strident views. I would feel hypocritical getting married in a church, what with my views of Christianity and all. I wanted it to be relatively small - those I loved best. I wanted my father to still be alive so that he could give me away, but more so that he could make the father of the bride speech at the reception. My father lives for giving speeches. I want so much for him to make this one. Those of you who know my age (20) would wonder how this could be a danger. Well, dear darling Dad turned 70 this year, and though he doesn't look it, or act it, he still is it. Though everyone declares me Mother's Little Girl, I know the truth. I'm my father's daughter.

Anyway, as I was discussing these matrimonial matters, I was thinking of A. Am I suddenly getting clucky? Honestly. I have no desire to get married. At the same time, I have no thought of anyone but him as my life partner. We fit together so well. But still...

Dot, dot, dot.

His parents are nice people. Did I mention that? We had dinner this evening. A long, rambling dinner with good wines and excellent food on large plates. Turkish coffee. Mmmmm... turkish coffee...

These entries are getting long and infrequent. DOUG forbid this should turn into a journal.

What a welter of emotions swirls within me. I have been browsing writing sites, both newly discovered and those cherished in my "Writing Stuff" favourites folder. I have discovered a few things.

1: I may be a good writer - I think I am - but there are people out there who have been published.

2: Unless I sit down and actually start writing every day, I'm never going to become a really good writer. Remember, Diana, you became a good writer after years of practice. You've plateaued (what the hell???) and you're going nowhere. Change that.

3: There are so many aspiring fantasy authors out there.

4: This would discourage me, if it weren't for the fact that most of them are crap. Return to point 1.

Well lookie here, it's a redesign. That lovely lady is Gong Li. I messed with her a bit, but she still looks cool. She's an excellent actress, and if you haven't seen Raise the Red Lantern, you should. Immediately. Move! I suppose, failing that, you could see The Emperor and the Assassin. She was very good in that as well, but it's not quite as good a movie as Red Lantern.

Anyway, this probably isn't very 640x480 friendly, but I imagine it's better than the last one. I like it. You should do. Let me know, in either case. I'm perpetually, incurably and probably, eventually, fatally curious.

We talked to the nice chap who's in charge of these tutorly placement things. I am feeling somewhat better about the whole situation. I still doubt that they will be perfectly happy with both of us on 3B, but we did our best to explain that the problem isn't nearly as pronounced as they seem to think, and in fact we think we would do our best job on 3B. Now I just hope that we've managed to convince him, and he can manage to convince the others. Please let me stay up here. Life would be so much easier and more enjoyable if I did.

It's not that I don't want to work with any of the other tutors, let me state right here. It's that I don't want to move off 3B. And J¹ feels the same way. So it seems to work out. I can't think of anyone else who would want to be on 3B anyway, so what's the problem?

Anyway, more interesting things to come soon, I promise.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Angst, fear, panic. So, I told you that I was made a college tutor (it's like an RA). I told you about my fears that they would move me off my floor. Well the bastards want to do it. They don't want both me and J¹ tutoring on 3B. I guess I can vaguely see the point they might have, but they're wrong, dammit. And fascist and horrible and fuck this.

Now we just have to figure out how to talk them into letting us do it anyway. War meeting at high noon. Film at 11.

I only have two dreams these days.

#1: The Rollercoaster Tycoon dream. My rollercoasters are always pure forms of excellent design, being laid down section by section in a neverending unravelling of steel and wood. There are never trees in the way, and the landscape always conforms perfectly to my image. Or maybe it is merely that my brilliance allows me to meld my construction to its curves like velvet hotpants to a buttock. Now there's a mental image.

#2: The Werewolf: the Apocalypse dream. This is a more abstract one, filled with numbers and sigils, wisps of mist and feelings of fur. Concepts walk the darkness as if they were real, and in a sense they are. I never remember the details on waking. Probably because they were not there to begin with.

From this, it can rightly be deduced that these two activities have been taking the majority of my time and attention for the last little while. J² wants to run the werewolf roleplay over the holidays. Various folk are interested, and you know me; I'm always up for some RP, especially with people who know what they're doing and who I know are sensible. For those in the know about such things, I am going to be a Homid Glass Walker Ahroun. For those not in the know, my character's going to be a spoilt little rich bitch with a fetish for technology and a really bad temper. She is going to be very fun to play, I anticipate. The rest of the party might not like her very much, though.

As for Rollercoaster Tycoon, well, I had a lapse of concentration, and it slipped in under my "no computer games apart from Carmageddon" barrier. It's fun. It's silly. It's amusing when the little guys puke. And drowning Entertainers is my new hobby. A mime is a terrible thing to waste. (3 points, and my respect.)

So, inquiring minds want to know? Well, even if they don't, they're going to get told.

Friday, having nothing better to do, I trekked the three-hour walk out to see a hungover A and his equally befuddled housemates. I arrived at one, figuring that was the bare minimum required to allow them to be up and dressed and mildly coherent. I may have been a little ambitious, but they were at least up and dressed. I watched them clean for a little bit. The grill looked very worse for wear. A packed his overnight bag, and I took it and scabbed a lift back to college with one of his housemates. He drove all the way with the window down and his hand stretched out. A good few times I thought a passing car was going to take it clean off. He is a little addled, but in that cute, cuddly way.

Those used to reading mystery novels may have noticed that subtle clue I dropped there (taps side of nose with a knowing wink). Yes, A needed an overnight bag. As a combination belated birthday present and post-finishing relaxation, I had made arrangements for us to spend Friday night at the Hyatt, undeniably the most luxurious hotel in Canberra (don't anyone dare deny it, you'll make me cry, so there). And get your minds out of the gutter. What sort of girl do you think I am? (Pause) That sort?? Get out of my room!

Anyway, the hotel was exquisite. Gorgeous bathroom. You know chicks always love bathrooms, right? Especially ones they don't have to clean. We played with all the facilities like the immature university students we are. I especially liked the phone beside the toilet. The whole hotel has a nostalgic theme, specifically 1920s. The staff are dressed accordingly, and it's such a wonderful atmosphere. We revelled, we luxuriated, we did other suitably over-the-top adjectival verbs. We even got the newspaper all to ourselves without having to fight anyone for the best bits. Now this, my friends, is luxury.

I recommend everyone treat themselves. Do it for me. Then write to me, and tell me about it.

The silence is deafening...

Best call of the day: Telling A he tasted "Australian"... beer and bbq. Grazing-type function at their place this afternoon, as the Honours people have all finished now, and can start acting like normal people. Well, once the hangovers from today go away. It was a typical rambling affair, lasting from early afternoon to late night, I presume. We bailed at 8. We are piking pikers who pike. Apparently.

Other matters of note: Apparently swimmers have large penises. (Should that be penisii?) A strawberry condom used with passionfruit lubricant produces "fruit-salad sex". I am completely capable of keeping up with the guys. Y wants me in a threesom, but his girlfriend wants J². The only acceptable conclusion, we suppose, is a foursome, but that might be pushing the bounds of polite behaviour.

Funnily enough, that weird mood is not still around. This is a normal day.

I am in a weird mood tonight.

I was going to write an email to Mallory and Drioux. It was going to go like this:

Hello, Mallory and Drioux. I was just sitting here trying to formulate my thoughts and I realised I do that so much better when I'm writing. Take away my keyboard and my brain shuts down. So I thought that I should write to you two, for many reasons, but chiefly because I feel such a bond with the pair of you. Vague, oh yeah.

This is a very clever scheme because it fulfills multiple purposes. It allows me to get back in touch with Drioux, with whom my correspondance has been sadly...well, absent for the last little while. It allows me to tell him that I am so glad to see him back at the keyboard giving me something to read. It allows me to give him a big virtual hug just for being there.

It also allows me to reply to Mallory, whose email has been sadly sitting in my inbox for at least a week while I went off on a flight of fancy. That is what exam procrastination does to me, I'm afraid. It lets me tell her that I'm delighted to see her back at the helm as well, and I'm simply clapping my hands with glee at her improved situation. Oh, and the redesign is so disgustingly gorgeous I don't know how I'm going to cope with my envy. Redesign myself, I expect. After the exams, though. I don't need any more distractions now. I have enough. It also allows me to say: Yes, we do swear alike. You're the only person I've ever encountered who actually says: "Jesus fuck." I always get so many odd looks when I say that.

And lastly, it allows me to complete the original purpose, which was to order my thoughts by a rambling dissertation. Feel free to not read this part, should you have better things to do (eat, sleep, clean the fish tank...).

At this point, all of a sudden what I wanted to say was either gone, or just didn't look so important any more. I was left swinging idly on my chair, Insurge declaiming the ills of the international system in the background, and the light fading fast. I played Puzzle Bobble for three quarters of an hour while singing along to the Pixies and thinking about German grammar.

I'm in a weird mood tonight.

One of the conclusions of tonight's corridor conversations: Frustrated by the fact that she couldn't have sex with He-Man, since he was her twin brother, She-Ra turned for solace to the delights of lesbianism, as no other man would ever match the unobtainable sibling.

Hey, I think it works. And it explains all the chicks hanging around as well.

He-Man, of course, is obviously on steroids, and hence isn't really "up to it" anyway, as J² so succinctly put it.

Note: On the "If I were an X-man" front, I so far have two counts of shapeshifting, two counts of teleportation (or rough equivalent), two of speed-change, one of telekinesis and one of invisibility (oh, and J² wanted the ability to annoy at will, but I didn't really take that seriously). Thanks to those who emailed me and let me know. Incidentally, J² and I had an interesting discussion about the relative merits of being able to speed oneself up versus being able to slow everything else down.

Personally, I'm interested in the invisibility thing, but I like the concept of speeding yourself up best. I mean, there's all sorts of additional little things that gets you, like faster healing (think about it) and a few other fun concepts. But, on the other hand, would you age quicker?

I like to play in mud. Always have. This isn't the squishy between the toes, I was only watering the garden and oops, gooey pig-fun mud, though. This isn't even the hack-and-slash, more kick-ass than thou, broadsword for a penis-substitute sort of mud, either. It's about roleplaying. It's fun. Have a look. Or don't.

So... if you were an X-Man, what would your power be? Let me know. I'm actually really curious.

I have now seen my first true anime film. I mean, I saw Ghost in the Shell back in my first year, but since then I've come to understand that if it doesn't have oodles of odd sex, it's not really anime.

Well, Wicked City's got weird sex coming out its ears. It was merely bizarre for an hour, but shortly after that I turned to R, sitting next to me, and said: "This is by far the most fucked-up shit I have ever seen." He expressed surprise, but two minutes later he was agreeing with me.

Seriously deranged.

Anyway, it was a life-changing experience, and damn it's fun stuff. I certainly hope no one out there actually takes it seriously, though. Because that, my friend, would be the scariest thing I've witnessed all night.

PS: We also saw X-Men. It was fun. Not as cool as it could have been. I'm so glad they got an Aussie to play Wolverine, because that role really needed it. All in all, thumbs up. And when's the sequel coming out?

Now I'm receiving Christian spam. I feel like I've reached a new plane of existence. Or something.

I have some sort of latent psychic ability that allows me to enter the room at the precise moment that a new track on the CD player starts. No, I'm serious. This happens far too often to be pure coincidence. Usually this happens when I'm listening to Metallica's Garage Inc at the precise moment that "Tuesday's Gone" starts, when Het says: "Ah, are you guys ready?" Which is always a great way to enter a room. Tonight it happened that I entered just as Nick Cave began "Do you love me?".

This is weird. But cool. Oh so cool.

What on earth is a tiefling? I saw this word randomly just two minutes ago, and it rang a bell. And now I can't for the life of me think what that bell might be. This is driving me nuts. That was almost drinking me nuts. Freudian? Driving me to drink! Ahah!

(Dee goes off for a cup of tea and a good lie down.)

After her good lie down, Dee returns remembering what, or rather, who, a Tiefling is. Or at least, where she remembers it from. A member of alt.fan.eddings during her heyday in the group. Which, sadly, has lapsed. Her membership, not the group. How sad. Incidentally, she also returned with a penchant for speaking about herself in the third person. Hopefully this will pass with verticality.

J² has a sort of fantastic flamboyance about him that renders him very attractive. Everything he does is filled with a sort of wild energy and flair. He does it on purpose, of course. He's a show-off, an attention seeker, and a try-hard. Then again, so am I. This is why we are such good friends, I suppose. And why we couldn't possibly ever be more than that. It would be a recipe for pure disaster. And besides, why would I want to be involved with such a pretentious twit?

This is me laughing at myself. (I was paraphrasing Fight Club, but then I realised there was a movie much more worthy. 2 points for the reference.)

Classes over. Just the exams to go. Woohoo. (Yes, that was a fairly sarcastic and unenthusiastic woohoo. I like classes. Exams suck. Holidays are goo, but exams suck.)

Today the referrals reached a new height of madness. I have to say I was quite impressed by "brad pit fuck" (sic), myself. Gother than thou was a little mundane though, on the grand scheme of things. And I'm actually a little insulted by punk teens. But it's all made up for by the inclusion of the fantabulously misplaced panties of Lindsay Davenport.

PS: What is with the whoring out of the search engines. I'm counting two google.yahoo.com's in there, and one goto.google.com. What's going on? By our powers combined, we are Captain Search?

Oh, I like this link (sent to me precious few minutes ago by R). Even though the occasional of those "fakie-goth" points hits my bullseye (goodness, that sounds sexual), the big important ones don't. I do not seriously believe I am goth. I like listening to fairly gothic sort of music. Then again, I also have a liking for metal. (I like it loud.) And I absolutely thoroughly enjoy dressing up and going out gothing. But hey, I have a theory that unless you magically transport yourself back to the 80s and do it the first time round (like a friend of mine did... not the transportation part, he just lived through it the first time), then you can't be a 'real' Goth to a lot of people. But it's what you are to yourself that's important. I'm going to stop this now before I say something sappy like: "You can, but shouldn't, lie to yourself." Whoops, too late.

On the daily rounds:

1. In my sort of mid-exam haze, I wonder if revamping involves checking your vamp in for a grease and oil change. Oooh, sounds kinky.
   
2. Well, I've also heard this term used as a sort of affectionately mildly-derogative term for Americans. Ahem. Yes, well...
   
3. George Clooney is the antichrist? Well, that's the most sensible notion I've heard all day.

Or maybe it's Leonardo diWhatshisface.

Sometimes I wonder if goth nights are to my darker instincts as church is to my mother's faith. Like a little top-up of the energies. I've been listening to what I affectionately term my "gothlist" of mp3s all day. Especially pleased with my new additions since last night's outing - Megaherz's "Rock me Amadeus" and CJ Bolland's "Sugar Daddy". There's nothing like it for getting me through a full afternoon of wrestling with recalcitrant cgi. Gee, I hate that bloody stuff.

PS: Oh, I found the lyrics to Nina Hagen's "Yes sir", so this was really a damn good day.

Dammit, my internet connection is up and down like a peeping tom on a pogo stick. This is really, really annoying.

Five more days, and then A will have handed in his Honours thesis, and he can start behaving like a normal person again, instead of a stressed little bunny. Not a moment too soon, if you ask me.

Nach ein Deutches Aufsatzprufung glaube ich, dass ich ganz gut Deutsch schreiben kann. But I can't, really.

Dee's Lessons for Life #4: Sex and college (just a few little tips for new residents to bear in mind to help maintain their equanimity):

1. At some stage in the past, someone has had sex in your bed.
   
2. At some stage in the future, someone will have sex in the shower.
   
3. It's probably best not to ask about the bath.
   
4. Whatever you do while drunk at a bar night, no matter how discreet you think you are, will be common knowledge by the time to get to breakfast the next morning.
   
5. If you blush every time the word "sex" is mentioned, you'd better get over it. Quick.