Et Tu, Brute.

"For starters, I hate when people preempt their comment with, 'I was just gonna say...' Obviously you're going to say it, you are saying it right now."

My friend, Cutwin, found this shriveled up note in her school notebook. Clearly, it was correspondence from me, written in a fit of self-inflicted rage by our decision to enroll in 'The Classical Cleopatra' during college. I know this not because I remember it, but because along with the note was the following:

                       Barf : Classics :: Barf : Barf

I find this evidence to be self-evident.

Cutwin is a particularly excellent source of historical gems. Exhibit A:

Disregarding the steaming pile of crap, Cutwin probably should have assassinated me for my inability to spell out my intentions in accordance with Merriam-Webster.

Either way, in case you know nothing about 'The Classical Cleopatra', or have a limited, apathetically acquired knowledge such as myself, this is essentially all you need to know:

Ides of March - 44 B.C.

I can not even begin to tell you how happy I am to have that part of my life behind me. I am fairly certain that the only thing of consequence that resulted from that seminar was my second self-drafted legal document, binding Cutwin to expend every reasonable effort to entertain me until hell or high water. (Note the purposeful ambiguity or 'hell' and 'high water'. This is not unconscionable. Cutwin is bound for life.)


To date, my magnum opus, so to speak, occurred in 7th grade when we were learning about Hammurabi's Code. Upon returning home one afternoon, I discovered that my younger sister, whom we shall lovingly refer to as Embalikus, had ninja'd one of my butterfly clip hair accessories:

It's not funny. This was a serious offense. These were really popular in the '90's. 

Furious with the recent theft of my personal property that my mother had purchased for me, coupled with my parents laissez-fiare attitude toward punishing Embalikus, my 13 year-old self decided to take matters into my own hands.

Using my dry-erase board, where I typically wrote all important notes to myself, I began the drafting of 'Allie's Code.'

Before drafting, however, I was forced to erase many essential reminders:

      -Do not wear pajamas under clothes to save time

      -A shirt will be necessary

      -Forgetting grape chewable vitamin in the bottom of cereal bowl will  result in cereal vomit

      -Avoid cupping hand over newly budding womanhood while reciting the Pledge of Allegiance

... Essential things like that.

Anyhow, my parents thought that the Code was precious and put it on the fridge. To me, this was triumph - like the sad little bill on School House Rock becoming a law. To my parents, it was one step above the spelling test also posted on the fridge where I correctly spelled the word 'assassinate.'