Today was a very busy day. It started promptly at 8:00 - wait - 8:15 - no, that’s not quite right either. Um… my day started promptly at 9:00am. For those of you who know me (and by “know” I mean - those of you who call me til all hours of the early early morning) you can pick yourselves off of the floor now. I normally do go to bed around 9:00AM - but today was a very special day. I decided to take the plunge and take my tests for placement at school. *sigh*

Placement tests go a little something like this: You walk in with your student id and student id number - a kind gentleman resembling the dad from Fresh Prince Of Bel Air leads you to your jail cell - I mean - cubicle - where he logs you in and tells you you have all the time you need because the tests are not timed. You sit and stare at a computer screen that spits out these complex sentences and asks you if they are correct or if there is perhaps a better sentence that sums up what the “author” intends - or IMPLIES. After a few of these heart wrenching exercises - the computer digs deep and pulls out from his tight, constipated ass a paragraph and asks you to “sum it up nicely” - according to what you THINK the author is trying to imply/state. 60 - count then six - zero - of these puppies and you feel like you really have no command of the english language at all. After you’ve cried silent tears all over the gateway computer’s keyboard a new screen appears informing you that now you’ll need to take the MATH placement tests. Fractions, percentages, and algebra equations OH F’IN MY! I thought I would d-i-e. At first I really tried hard. Seriously tried hard. I worked out the little problems on the pieces of scratch paper provided for me. I considered writing a poem or two to pass the time - since the tests weren’t timed - but realized that I had to answer the questions from hell in order to be released from my prison cell the college called cubicles. I thought about maybe post poning my doom. I could take several classes with out ever touching math, I reasoned, but something inside of me called insanity drove me on. Question after Question after equation after what percentage of rain that drops from onto my grandmother’s porch actually lands on her petunia plants. Finally the test was over. 3 hours later. And I think 2 of those hours were me praying to God to strike me dead. I’m NOT being dramatic. I stood up from my chair and walked slowly to the man who would tell me my fate. I had heard him offering up compliments to many of the girls who had tested before me. Telling them stuff like how wonderful they were in Math and how surprised he was because girls usually don’t do so well in Math. I knew as I inched my way slowly to his desk that he would be relieved by my test scores, for my test scores affirmed his stereotypes of women sucking royally in math. Taking out a pen he circled the very first class on the top of the English pyramid. “Very good, young lady” He remarked. “You tested very high in English - you can go on and take Composition whenever you are ready.” Thank God, I thought to myself, being that my MAJOR was English and all. Turning the sheet over he circled the bottom class and looked up at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Not so good at math, I see.” No shit, sherlock. “You need to take these classes before you can take a class that will be for credit towards your major.” I nodded and reached for the paper. “I’m just glad it is over.” I mumbled, and my complaint was rewarded by a heavy laugh.

Summary? I spent 3 hours at a computer in order for the college to tell me what I already knew: I’m quite comfortable in English, and quite RETARDED in Math.

After all of that, I realized that I needed to run some errands, go to the bank so that my checks wouldn’t bounce since my balance is awful. When I filled out the slip for my deposit the teller informed me that I had actually deposited more than I had written down.

Summary? I’m quite comfortable in English, and quite RETARDED in Math.

Heading home, I quickly shoveled in some lunch - sat down and watched a bit of a movie - and then realized that if I didn’t move quick I would be late for my other job. Apparently the clock said 2:45pm - and I was moving like it said 1:45pm (work started at 3:00PM).

Summary? I’m quite comfortable… yeah - you guessed it.

So here I am - 12:10AM - Thursday, technically - with an exercise to do on Checks & Balances for my Government class. I know that technically checks and balances have nothing to do with math - and yet, I’ve managed to postpone it much like I did my placement tests.

I’m logged in. And I’ve never really begged before - but I’m about to start now.

Please - for the love of God and all that is good and holy in this world, call me and save me from my homework. I won’t ask you to help me with my homework. I won’t even ask you what percentage of time you’re willing to spend with me. I won’t measure, summarize, analyze or further access you in any way. I will jump into your lap like a happy little puppy - pleased for the break you’ve offered me.

Please.

With cherries on the top.

I’m disgusted. Truly disgusted. I feel as though I’m going to be held hostage by the Heiress In Jail update until that girl is let out of jail. I don’t think there has been so much press about something so incredibly vapid and useless since the press frenzy around Sanjaya or whatever his name was on American Idol. I was counting down the days till he was out of there - and I find myself doing the same with this Ms. Paris, too.

It has me thinking.

Is this every man’s fantasy?

Is this like some showtime television show that comes on about 1:00AM when all the little kids are in their pj’s with feet - and their parents are downstairs - in striped jail suits - watching the latest soft porn movie titled “Her time behind bars” - acting along with the somewhat predictable but no less appealing plot?

What is it about women in jail that makes a man’s penis stand to attention - and is this somehow to blame for the press frenzy around Ms. Hilton’s time there?

It’s not often that I listen to talk radio - but since my unfortunate event where my ipod and fm transmitor thing a ma jig was taken from me so violently (sob) - I have been listening to quite a bit of radio while I’m riding along in my car- and since the music played on regular stations no longer appeals to me - I change the station rapidly to talk radio. Everyone is talking about Paris - and they have their little spin on it - so as not to appear too… I don’t know … typical maybe. A show the other day almost caused me to get into an accident. A blonde called who sounded like a twin of Minnie Mouse - and described herself as being a DD - and small - like five feet and nothing small. She said that her boyfriend was in his fancy smancy car and had gotten pulled over by the police. She told the host of the show that she had never been so miserable in all her life and that she felt really bad for Paris and all that she would probably have to live thru while in jail. “They were calling me Princess” this stupid bitch cried. “It was because of my boyfriend - and I had a warrant because I didn’t show up for a court date - although I did pay the ticket - but they were so mean to me (hiccup) that…(gasp)…I just wanted to die! And the men there were so dirty - they were so (sniff sniff) filthy that I didn’t want to even sssssssit dowwwwwwn!”

I silently begged her to stop.

The hosts had hit their jackpot and went in for the kill.

“So how big are your tits?” They asked with what can only be described as a sinister laugh.

“What does that have to do with anything.” The blonde with big tits gulped. Good for you, I thought. Hang on to what little bit of decency you have left. Don’t answer the … “They are 34DD’s. I mean they are really big - but… what does that have to do with anything.”

“So are your nipples really sensitive?” The other DJ asked - dead pan.

“Um…” (Don’t do it stupid girl… don’tttttt) “Well - yeah - as a matter of fact they are … but again - this doesn’t have anything to do with my story.”

Oh yes it does!!! And for the next 15 minutes these two djs proceeded to show her exactly how relevant her jug size was to … well… to life. Specifically their fantasy about little princesses in jail - with big tits (or little ones - doesn’t matter) who find themselves in a jail cell - turning tricks with the guards for protection - or licking their cell mates pussy for a cigarette. Because that is what this is all about, isn’t it? Our (particularily) men’s fascination with women (princesses) behind bars - in dirty and animalistic places - where desperation can turn any good girl into a certifiable whore. Where bars are just backdrops to sinful fantasies - and where a key can unlock the possiblity of getting a girl to do just about anything for a hot shower and a phone call.

I understand. I have had my little fantasies, too - and well - I still like the whole gay cop bad inmate gay porn story. Never gets old. However, I don’t think I would be glued to the set - (or my Hitachi wand) if Denzel got put in jail today. I don’t even think I would be glued to the set if Richard Simmons was placed in jail - or any of the guys on Bravo Television’s “Work Out” - who have to be gay. I think. I don’t even think one of my callers - with muscles all lathered up in babyoil the way he likes - would get me to be obsessed about his time behind bars. How much is a photo of Paris in jail going for these days? And how many times has the mug shot of her been downloaded and downloaded ON these past … 12 or so hours?

Maybe I should put up a CeCe in jail listing. I can pretend to call you up collect - you accept the charges of course - and then I can tell you about my shower with the girls the other day. Or you can be the warden - and I can tell you to go fuck yourself if you expect me to be in the general public with the rest of the dirty filthy hos that are in here. You can push me down on my knees behind your desk - handcuff my hands behind my back to the legs of the desk behind me - and force your cock down my throat. Or - I don’t know - you can pretend that I’m in solitary confinement - and instead of slipping me a plate of hot slop thru the little slot in the door - you can put your cock thru the opening instead and insist that I suck that for lunch.

Seriously - if no one takes me up on my offer - I am going to be even more confused about the intense obsession with this chick’s jail sentence. If what I’m thinking is correct - right now at this moment - thousands of niteflirt girls are making up profiles about their time behind bars - and thousand more guys are lining up to call them and hear all about it.

I recently completed the incredible task of emailing 30 more men and sending pictures for each 15 minutes they were on with me. I really should learn to do this at the time that it happens - but that would be responsible of me - and we all know how procrastination is and will always be my middle name. Thanks again for all the great calls - and for being so patient with your presents! Enjoy them, boys. Remember - the promotion goes on until June 15th. I don’t know if I will continue it after that - you’ll all have to let me know if it’s a good idea or not. Of the 30 or so pics that I send out - maybe 5 men will actually write me back to let me know that they got them and enjoy them. Take your hands off your penis’ for a sec and send me a little note on nf or gmail (celinawetdreams) and let me know if you’re even excited by this offer. If it’s worth it to ya all - I’d like to continue doing it for another month. We’ll see, though.

I was going to write about a few of my favorite things (callers) but my hand is starting to cramp up - and truth be told - I’ve been extremely horny. I think I turned myself on with all this prison talk and I may just have to do something about that. I also have to work this evening *ho hum* which means I need to start saving up some energy so I can work out.

Remind me someone to talk about the cancer walk I participated in - and how drunk and horny I got while walking - and how we almost were asked to leave by the coordinators of the event. It isn’t as good as a prison type story - but it comes close in many ways!

*Smoochies*