11:14 p. m. » ¡Guau!

Today I inadvertently yet purposely confessed that I had feelings for my teacher. The class's reaction was almost as magical as the one after telling them I wished to someday mistake a transvestite for a beautiful woman (which fell short of what happened after they learned I had never had feelings for another man until I met my Pakistani classmate). These three admissions took place during an activity, for which we each had to write down two highly personal questions, post that piece of paper on the wall, then walk around the room, writing answers to each other's inquiries. The older Austrian dude answered that he'd never had sex in a bathroom because he didn't like to clean up afterwards. Big Bad British Peter answered by saying no, because he wasn't thin enough (same dude whose questions were "Have you ever had to stay overnight in a hospital for a hair transplant?" and "Have you ever met the president of your country and shaken his hand?" WTF is right). I also successfully shifted the focus of the class's MYSTERY composition -- a story, built by each student, in turn, adding a sentence, and that, in one quick phrase, was about someone finding a bloody knife at the school, someone seeing blood on our teacher Jesus' hands, Jesus running for the door, the door then becoming a red herring (DID NOT TRANSLATE WELL), students beginning to philosophize about existence, Sherlock Holmes showing up, deciding that there hadn't been a murder because the blood had only been from the red herring that Jesus had been cooking for lunch (this quick conclusion was eventually my genius idea as well; almost as good as "Then he woke up and it had all been a dream...") -- anyway, like I was saying, I successfully shifted the focus of this story from a bloody knife to Holmes' wondering how the suspect could have killed someone with a knife that resembled a penis (a thought that was quickly answered with "¡but penises can be dangerous too!". Jesus. Up there trying to write it all down on pizarra. Laughing. Laughing. Laughing. Put yourself in his shoes. Six foreigners, in their sixth week of learning a language, supposed to be writing a mystery, and ending up trying to mold such ideas (from an array of about five different mother tongues) into your language. ¡HI LARRY US! So this was all after handing in my homework, which more specifically was a letter from me in Mexico to some girlfriend, thanking her for the naked photos and the dirty underwear (I ALSO WROTE A BIOGRAPHY ABOUT MC HAMMER TODAY, FOCUSING ON HOW HIS OPRAH APPEARANCE COMMENCED [OR SPED] HIS ABRUPT DOWNFALL). The prototypical American, Ky (last name NOT jelly), you know, the one who everyone ended up hating, thanks to his being a flighty idiot, never remembering jack, never studying, and constantly holding up the class, left three weeks ago -- but Xavier, my old teacher (who seems to be afraid of [says she's crazy] one my new ones, hottt Marga), STILL brings up and makes fun of the dude. Speaking of evil teachers though, might I also tell you about how anytime the crack pusher, BIG BAD BRITISH PETER, speaks, Jesus, the TEACHER, can't stop himself from breaking down in laughter because the dude's accent is so shamelessly English? Not only that, but the poor bastard ends every sentence with a higher intonation, as if it were a question -- like he's totally surprised himself because he actually managed to get the fucking words out. This is the same teacher, by the way, who writes "YOU ARE A FUNNY" on the bottom of any paper I hand in. Oh! I forgot to mention these pictures (that Marga absolutely ADORED) I had to draw of a classmate dude and me meeting at a gay pride march, grinding at DISCOTEC "RAWHIDE", and losing our innocence in a tent on a mountain (just to name a three of the ten).

THIS SCHOOL IS INCREDIBLE.

*Note: I've decided to submit this as a testimonial for their pamphlet and website.