My fifteen measley minutes

I'm sitting at my computer, completely aware of the papers and tests looming ahead of me (oh Tuesday, how hast thou betrayed me), yet unable to focus on Psych research. Instead I found a new outlet, safe from the prying eyes of my parents (oh yes...who else can boast having Both of their parents as their Myspace friends), but public enough that I might spark someone's interest. By my estimate, I have another ten words to capture yours.
This could be interesting; maybe I can entice you to allow me a whole paragraph to charm you.
My name is Alexandra--my mother bestowed me with Alexander the Great's nomer because I was obstinant from the start. I was a hair away from being named Nym, but having already bestowed my brother with Nyr, Mom felt that she needed a child sans sports affiliation. Besides, I turned out to be a Red Socks fan. Although Piazza is one of the coolest ballplayers to ever appear in a shampoo commercial.

I've lost you.
Yet I persist in typing. My thoughts are jumbled; I am trying to impress you. Besides, technology confounds me.
So far I have given you my name, my favorite baseball team, and the fact that computers terrify me--not nearly as much as Zombies, but still...
I've been keeping journals--scribbling my thoughts into illfated notebooks--for as long as I can remember; I suppose the internet was the next logical step.

Are you still there? I may sound pretentious now....well, I probably will later, too. At this point my friend Jamie will chuckle, possibly even turn from her computer and roll her eyes at me. Jamie understands me more fully than anyone else, aside of course from my dinosaur Harold. She saved me from crashing into a bike today--you would think that after so many years I would be better at walking. I tell Jamie the true things about me; sometimes she laughs...mostly she laughs. It is alright, I just pretend that she is laughing at my wit.
I may try to be witty--it will probably just sound like I couldn't tell which was the oregano, and which was the actual marijuana. As point of fact, I don't smoke or drink. The one time I did attempt underage inebriation in college, I got smacked in the face by a boy who'd lost his depth preception, and called a lightweight. It was the truth.

But on that note I have to go. If you made it to the end of this...well, I admire your fortitude, and I am jealous that you have so much time. Hmm....psych paper, or waffle house? Decision of the titans.