Much of their company was comprised of exactly the type of people that make me nuts. In my old age, I get all old man shaky fist at hipster college students who piss away their time by focusing on their meaningless personal efforts.

Although there are college students out there I admire, too many are whiny little babies who hope to extend adolescence for as long as possible, changing their majors or keeping themselves in master�s degree programs until they find someone to share expenses with or a good-enough, easy job to float them through the rest of their lives.

No, the world does not revolve around you. No, you aren�t special. No, you aren�t unique.

Now get over it, get a job, and get moving!

Damn kids!! *shakes fist*

On Saturday Benito came home. Yay, yay, yay!

During his trip we spent a good amount of time on IM during the day and talked on several evenings. I usually don�t see him during the week anyway, but there was still this knowing that he wasn�t here.

Now don�t take this as me being all sad and pathetic that my boyfriend wasn�t around. That�s certainly not how it goes. But I guess it�s simple enough to say that I missed him, despite things not being all too different than most weeks.

He, my brother, and I got together that evening and went bowling. (Well, we first tried to play Whilyball. Apparently that�s a 21+ venue, and my brothers c/o 2006 letterman�s jacket gave away that he wasn�t anywhere near of-age.)

The next day I saw my brother off to the airport and headed home to veg. After a night of air hockey, bowling, videogames, and getting to bed late, I needed the rest. I managed to clean much of the mess that follows my Pigpen-like brother, got some Mary Kay stuff ready to go, studied a bit, and watched two episodes of Law and Order.

I was hoping to workout since Benito is two workouts ahead of me in our monthly contest and we�re dwindling down the month�s days, but that wasn�t going to happen. It seems that my back is out of whack, and running on the treadmill or lifting weights isn�t going to happen.

It�s now a little after lunchtime, and I�m thinking of heading home for food and to do a quick light-impact workout. Maybe a little yoga or my usual ballet legs routine? We�ll see, we�ll see.

Whatever comes of it, I have to get in a two-a-day today and tomorrow to at least tie things up. That is, unless he reads this and gets smart to my plan... Usually he only reads to catch up on entries once a week, so I�m pretty sure that I�m safe.

Speaking of people reading, I got some emailed questions that I�ll now answer:

(1) Is it okay for someone who knows me to google my site name and his name to see what all I�ve written about with us hanging out?

Um, I guess so. I already googled it, and not much came up. I write a completely open diary, so I don�t care. My real name isn�t a secret (although my home address and phone number are), and I know a handful of you a bit more than just as diary friends. My parents friggin� read it. If it�s edited for their worried ears and eyes, it�s certainly open to yours. If I talked trash about you, you likely deserved it and fully know about it.

(2) If you had a new significant other and knew s/he had a diary and you found it online and knew it was private, is it okay to read it and not ever say anything after reading it just for some perspective?

First off, you don�t �accidentally� find things on google. You went looking for it, plain and simple.

(However, I will argue that if you have an open journal and don�t do anything to hide identities [which means that this doesn�t apply to the oh-so-cryptic Oz {look, no link because it�s now locked because someone�s a jerk who read his diary, made mean comments, and ruined it for everyone else}] you can�t be upset when someone �finds� you.)

I don�t know what kind of codes she used to not be found, but he found her with his super-sleuth google skills. That much damage has already been done.

Second, he knows that she doesn�t want anyone she knows reading it. If she doesn�t want anyone reading it, then she doesn�t want anyone reading it.

Delete the link. Forget the blog�s title. Find a way to block your browser from ever going to the site.

Whatever. I know he�s going to read it anyway. (Much like my ex who read daily up until a few weeks ago... I guess he finally got tired of all of my �Benito is so great�-isms.) If you read something private that pertains to you, you can�t help but react to it, whether you mean to or not.

And once you two break up, you�ll be on there stalking her moves, thoughts, and feelings, seeing if she actually liked you/loved you/enjoyed you in bed/etc. And then it�ll be an obsession.

(And for the record, I don�t think this is what my ex was doing. I think he was just curious and made the daily dose of Jo a morning routine. No harm, no foul. He even signed the guestbook hello [which was promptly deleted because, exes are exes {period}, not friends {exclamation point}], letting me know he was lurking.)

Again, I repeat: Delete the link. Forget the blog�s title. Find a way to block your browser from ever going to the site.

Any other questions, anyone?

So you ask how it is that one can workout on one�s lunch break with a busted back that hurts when stretched in certain directions and tenses when I breathe in deeply?

Well, if you heat up food and grab a book to read when that�s over, and do ballet relev�s and pli�s, it�ll work.

So up and down, up and down for 30 minutes as I ate and read.

It�s nothing like cranking up the treadmill�s incline, pushing the intensity level up, and running until I�m a sweating and wheezing mess, but it works for the sake of this workout contest and eventually will give my legs a little more shape.

All right. That�s enough boring talk. Here are some links:

Another anti-Dalyism: Get your house built, and let everyone else walk in the cold!

This initially made me say that you should be nice to your web developers, but it turns out that it�s a book�s title.

Go over and give MissPinkKate a pat on the back for completing her NaNoWriMo novel! I�m so proud of her!

And one last link to something that made me laugh.�