'Twas the Night Before D's Stats Final...

So my last exam is tomorrow morning. 9AM. Bright and early.
I woke up at roughly noonish today. Then went back to sleep for about half an hour. Then got up, chatted with some friends for a few hours, had some fries and mayonnaise... I think at one point I was actually entertaining the idea of making myself so morbidly obese that I wouldn't be able to fit through the door of the exam, and therefore they couldn't make me write it. So I had some chicken nuggets too. They were actually kinda gross-looking. Like... the stuff in the middle didn't look like meat at all. It looked like brown paste. But they tasted alright... I don't know. I wasn't being too picky. There was no one home to bug to go to the store and I was hungry. And trying to get fat, fast.
Well... I got on the scale when my dad got home (minutes after the blow-out I had with my sister) and I weighed exactly what I've weighed for like the last year. And I was having no trouble getting through the kitchen doorway. So I didn't actually get any fatter. Shame.
The blow-out I alluded to was over my sister's complete lack of respect for anyone in this house. Everyone has been stressing out these last few days: my dad about my grandpa, my mom about my dad, me about exams, and this little wench comes home from school wearing *my* shirt and when I ask her to run to the store (2 minutes away) and buy some bread before mum and dad get home, she refuses stating "You were home all day, why didn't you go?"
Well, yes, valid question. But, forget I was home all day. Because the amount of ass- and nose- picking you do at school all day, every day, is roughly equivalent to what I got done today i.e. nothing. Our time was equally wasted, just in different locations. Stop trying to pull the wool over my eyes and pretend like you learned something or worked hard on something today, and like you should now be rewarded for it by not going to the store but rather sitting on your ass for the next 6 hours chatting away (merrily) with the same retards you just spent the past 8 hours chatting away with (merrily) about your lamentable existence. I, unlike your clueless parents, am completely aware of the decrepit state of our educational system. I know that if I were to ask you what 9*8 equals you'd have to count it out on your fingers. And that it would take you several attempts. I know you have no clue where Germany is or what the capital of Italy is, I know you don't know when the First World War started or ended - or why it happened in the first place, I am fully aware that ALL YOU DID AT SCHOOL TODAY was flirt with the retards that walk around with ski-goggles on their heads mistaking the halls of your highschool with the place they went snowboarding last winter (also the same retards who haven't been in to see a barber since I was in grade nine), and that probably the only thing that taxed any portion of any minute intellectual capabilities you might still possess was the discussion you had with your friend about whether Micheal noticed that you were wearing 2 extra millimeters of eyeliner today or not. And even in the event that such an intellectual conversation did occur, the only taxing thing about it was the part where you tried to convince your friend that a millimeter and a centimeter weren't really the same thing, and that an inch was something altogether different. So DON'T EVEN PULL THE "I WAS AT SCHOOL" CARD ON ME, YOUNG LADY! I know they teach you nothing. NOTHING.
So anyways, she refused to go to the store.
And then my mom got home and asked her to go, and she refused again.
And it bugs me when my mom takes crap from my sister - she can literally get away with anything. My mom ends up going to the store because my sister is so obstinately set in her ways and refuses to budge from the "Dunja should go, she was home all day" stance she has now adopted. And my mom being the reasonable woman that she is believes that I've been slaving away all day studying and that it'd be unethical to ask me to go since I *do* have an exam tomorrow. So instead of punching my sister in the face and telling her to get out of the house and not return until she has what needs to be bought (which is what I would've done), she goes to the store herself.
This is the part where me and my sister start arguing because she literally places me in these positions all the time where I end up feeling guilty because *she* doesn't listen. Like, I should've gone to the store. But the fact is that *she* was the one my mother asked to go to the store. And no matter how valid her excuse, or how much more fair it'd be for my mom to ask me to go to the store (which is under debate, because I've already illustrated it's not as if she did anything at school), MOM decided. And MOM asked her. And when MOM sets her mind on guilt-tripping you into something, she will stop at nothing. Except trying to guilt-trip my sister into something is like eating shit. It does absolutely NOTHING for you except make you want to puke. Because my sister is a cold-hearted monster. So I, the innocent bystander, ended up feeling guilty. Which makes everything a billion times worse.
Whatever.
At this point, half my day has been completely and utterly wasted. So I go downstairs to watch 'Sweet Home Alabama', and lo and behold, who is on the TV? None other than my least favourite idiot: George Bush. The general gist of what he said had something to do with Russia providing Iran with uranium so they could get their own nuclear power thinger going and then cleaning up the uranium afterwards so that they can't use it to build nuclear weapons. Then he spent a shitload of time talking about social security and how 'raising awareness' is important - of course he said nothing tangible. I was flipping the channels rather speedily by this time, so the rest of everything he said is kinda a blur. It all sounded idiotic nonetheless. He honestly looks like a monkey. I'm not even saying that because I hate him and think he's Satan and he was preventing me from seeing my movie with his nonsense bullshit. I honestly think that even if you got an alien who was completely objective and had no idea of Earth's politics, etc., and you showed him a picture of Bush and a picture of a monkey, he would note the resemblance without any prompting from you. In fact, I'm willing to bet that if you showed him a series of unrelated photos, and one of those photos was of Bush, and one was of a monkey - he'd note the resemblance. Without any prompting.
If anyone is in possession of an alien who is unaware of Earth politics, please let me know. I would love to run this experiment.
And I mean... if the facts that your president has put your country a bagajillion dollars in debt in four years, has killed thousands of your own soldiers and thousands of innocent civilians in an unethical war waged for ludicrous reasons, has himself disrespected the UN Security Council and Resolutions he claims to hold so dear, has done NOTHING Christian in the four years of his presidency (except for, apparently, sleeping with the Bible under his pillow - and that's under debate as a Christian act...), I mean, if none of these things is enough to set off alarm bells - then at least him looking like a monkey when he talks should. At least for aesthetic reasons, when you send your president to another country on official business - he's representing your nation. At least make sure he doesn't look like a complete doofus so that everyone is laughing at him behind his back. I mean, isn't that just common sense?
I mean, for example: Serbia might not be the biggest or most powerful nation. In fact, it is neither of these two. And it might not have the most natural resources, or the most efficient people. It probably doesn't produce much of note. But they're still sensible enough to elect a good-looking president. Because he is the representative of their people. And ultimately, (as is apparently the case in the U.S.) if WHAT the president does doesn't matter, at least he'll look good doing whatever it is that he's doing. I mean, that's sensible, no? I think so.
So, my farewell note to the American people: if you're not so concerned about your president's agenda (and you're clearly not), then make the elections like the Miss USA pageant (which probably garners more viewers per show than the past 3 elections combined) and choose for your president the one who looks best in a bikini. At least the rest of the world won't hate you as vehemently if they're distracted by his vivacious body as he commits the atrocities he's bound to.

Masturbation: A Scientific Endeavour?

Dunja: you want to hear something annoying? apparently, you attract more people with your phermones when you're having sex on a regular basis
R says: I've read that as well.
Dunja: now - why would nature make it so that you're attracting more people when you're already getting sex?
Dunja: wouldn't it make more sense for it to help out those who can't get any in the first place?
R says: having sex implies that you 'passed the test' from the mate.
R says: and the presence of these pheromones alerts other potential mates that others have in fact seen you as a good mate.
R says: and if others have, odds are that he's better than someone who hasn't...
R says: an appeal to popularity really is what it is, but it makes sense
R says: if youre going to mate, you're going to mate with someone that many people want to mate with
Dunja: do you release the same phermones when you masturbate?
Dunja: because then your theory doesn't work
R says: haha
R says: I know that too well
R says: I don't think so
R says: the reaction is different when you have actual sex
Dunja: HAHAHAHA
Dunja: "i know that too well"
Dunja: you tried?
R says: in the name of science only, I assure you
Dunja: LOL

what NOT to watch

This guy tells it like it is.
He tells it exactly how I'd tell it if I cared.
He could potentially save you time and money.
What's not to love?

20-something-year-old-males

I just stumbled across this blog, and it's actually surprisingly humorous.
Some Irish 20-something-year-old male writes it. Apparently, his name is Ian.
His blog has been added to my list of Noteworthy Blogs.
That is all.

100 Facts About Me

1. I don't really have a butt at all. I mean, I do, but it's really flat.
2. My least favourite bit about myself are my legs. And my tummy. And I also don't like how hard it is for me to motivate myself to do stuff for school.
3. If I had to spend the rest of my life eating one food, I'd pick spaghetti the way my aunt makes it.
4. My mom had me at age 23. I don't plan on having children until I'm at least 25.
5. I want 2-3 kids, and I want at least one boy and one girl if I have three, but if I have two, then I want them to both be girls. There's just something really special about sisterhood.
6. I don't really think ahead. Like, I didn't think ahead when planning my party this weekend that it was Easter Weekend and that my mom would probably have silly ideas about me staying home and eating fish or something... I hope it somehow works out...
7. Old people really like me. And try to set me up with their grandsons a lot.
8. I have one younger sister. She's 14 (going on 15 in May)
9. She wears too much eye makeup. And listens to a lot of angry music.
10. My dad likes listening to the car radio at a barely audible level. It's REALLY annoying.
11. My mom repeats herself a lot. (She's a grade 2 teacher. I think she thinks we're 7)
12. My grandpa, the one in Serbia, buys ice cream bars for me and my sister.
13. And my other grandpa, the one in Brampton, gives us chocolate bars.
14. My grandma, the one in Serbia, watches Spanish soaps with me in the summertime. They run from 8-9pm, then I get ready to go out for the night. Then she tells me how pretty I am. Boosts my ego.
15. My other grandma, the one in Brampton, makes really good cake and panzerottos, and she lets me ride her bike when my cousins wanna go for bike rides. It's pretty happening... It has a basket in the front that you can carry stuff in. Sweet ride... No, I've never taken off of any sweet jumps on it.
16. Most of my friends don't make much sense. They say things like "Your mom" at the most inopportune moments. And they say things like "When everyone likes you, no one likes you" in weird attempts to be deep, but you're just like, WTF?
17. One of my friends once said "Timing is everything. It's like 'Location Location Location' in real estate. Except replace 'location' with 'timing'". WTF?
18. I took note of it in my journal because it made so little sense.
19. I still bring it up sometimes and make fun of her for it. I love the movie "Napoleon Dynamite".
20. My other friend, her accent changes when she talks to her parents on the phone. And one time, she did a demonstration of her knocking back drinks, and she made this really weird sound 'ugh ugh kugh'. Me and Pauly are yet to let that one go...
21. In case you're wondering, the friend that did that was Zeebs. Haha.
22. People tell me I'm mean all the time.
23. Most of my friends tell me that they found me intimidating when they first met me.
24. I think it has something to do with my height. And my loudness. Because most of my friends are either my height or shorter. And none of them are as loud. Except for Zeebs. And Pauly when he's drunk...
25. Omar can't tell a joke. He's going to get through life on his looks.
26. I couldn't be friends with sissies who couldn't take a mean (read: truthful) comment.
27. It's really important to me that the guy I marry has the same outlook as me on the important things - religion, political leaning, the upbringing of children, how to spend money, who does the chores (him). Stuff like that matters.
28. I refuse to marry a guy who won't cook, do dishes and laundry, and vacuum.
29. I want to see the world. But not the prairie provinces. I couldn't care less about wheat-fields.
30. I think everyone should read "The Little Prince" by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
31. My room is painted blue.
32. I love music. I took piano lessons for roughly nine years, and played the violin for roughly six. When I go visit the family in Brampton, my cousins play piano for us, and we all sing. Occasionally, my grandma and grandpa will come down, and grandpa will play the piano while grandma sings. My grandma is possibly one of the most talented people I've ever heard.
33. I met a smart, opinionated guy the other day. Those are hard to come by. You'll get opinionated stupid guys. And you'll get smart un-opinionated guys, but a combo is a hard find. So it was exciting to find one. I felt giddy for the rest of the day.
34. I think it's important to question everything and read between the lines. Look at context. Analyze the situation.
35. I'm doing a Specialist in Psychology. I'll be done in two years.
36. After that, I'm either going for a Masters, or I'm off to Teacher's College. I haven't decided yet.
37. I hate being stuck on an airplane for 9 hours when I go away in the summers. Last time, it wasn't so bad 'cause we met some cool guys on the plane and they kept us laughing - but usually there's just way too much sitting involved.
38. This summer will be the first in 15 years that I'll be visiting the Adriatic seaside. I'm very excited.
39. I have a really hard time getting my brain to work when I'm in the proximity of a guy I'm interested in.
40. I'm saving up money so Nelly and I can go to Cuba next Christmas/Reading Week break. So far, I'm 25% there.
41. My sister is REALLY witty.
42. I pushed my friend's younger brother into a bush once, shouting "Shut up, bush boy!". We've called him Bushboy ever since.
43. I *really* like guys that have well-defined abs, although it's not a prerequisite. (i.e. I could and have liked guys who didn't meet that requirement. It's just a nice bonus.)
44. I like boys in boxers, not briefs.
45. I prefer witty guys who can keep me laughing and thinking. That's a definite prerequisite and can usually make up for other stuff they're missing.
46. I think it's hot when guys are gentlemen.
47. I had a KFC Twister almost 2 weeks ago now, and I've been craving one ever since. I think they put something in those things.
48. Well they obviously put *something* in them. I meant something illicit. And addicting.
49. I went to the Exit Music Festival in 2003. Hottest three nights of my life.
50. I'd love to go again.
51. I've never crushed on a guy as badly as I did on B.W. in grade 8.
52. The only 2 Serbian guys I ever dated turned out to be total busts.
53. I have dated a black guy, and it's not true that once you go black you never go back.
54. This list thing is way harder then I thought it'd be.
55. My closet doors are covered in picture collages from summers past.
56. The space above my bed is covered in a picture collage of my high school years.
57. The space above my desk is covered in a picture collage of my week in Cuba last year.
58. I have framed pictures of me with all of my cousins, me and Zeebs, and me and Nelly. I have a baseball that Pauly gave me back in grade 9 or 10.
59. I have the graduation puppy that Nelly gave me when I finished high school, the monkey my sister got me from the ROM, the gorilla I got for Valentine's Day this year, and a ROSI mascot dude sitting on my shelves.
60. I have outfits in my closet that are absolutely adorable that I never ever wear.
61. I like Milwaukee's.
62. I know a male model. :D
63. One time... at band camp...
64. I never actually went to band camp. But my bus has caught on fire before.
65. One time, at Albion Hills, Tim ran into a bird feeder hanging from a tree. It was hilarious.
66. I've had a football and a snowball thrown at my head by the same person in one year... I don't think he likes me too much...
67. One time our football got ran over by a bus. It made a loud sound when it did.
68. The guys I hang out with at school tend to say things like "Dunja, eating again?" and "Dunja, always eating..." and "Dunja, you're so fat" every time they see me eating...
69. Omar and Woo call me Poonja.
70. Omar's real name is Poomar. And Woo's name is funny enough as it is.
71. I like "Pick & Chus" at Cloverdale Mall. I have a hard time walking by it without buying food.
72. If I were a guy or a lesbian, I'd do me.
73. If I didn't have access to the internet on a daily basis, I'd probably go mental. Most of my procrastination tools are on the internet. Various forums, chat programs, and blogs keep me occupied on a daily basis.
74. My mom will be home soon and she's going to yell at me for not cleaning the kitchen (or doing anything for that matter) all day.
75. What she doesn't know is that I woke up at 2pm today. My entire day/night thing is completely off and has been for about a month now.
76. I own three pairs of jeans that I never wear.
77. I'm rarely wrong.
78. I met this Turkish guy on Monday. He seems interesting.
79. I don't like the way I look in pictures.
80. I can't believe I took a day off work to do this.
81. People who bug me *will* hear about it.
82. I'm a firm believer that all it takes for evil to prevail is for good women to sit by and do nothing.
83. I think people should be given a chance. Unfortunately, sometimes I don't follow my own advice.
84. I'm definitely coming out of my "shallow" phase though. So that's good.
85. I can fold my tongue in the shape of a clover leaf.
86. I suck at most card games.
87. I'm not a sore winner. But I don't like losing.
88. I run into things a lot.
89. I run into people I know a lot.
90. I'm not exceptionally good at anything. Except for doing an average job on things last minute. I'm good at that.
91. I don't talk to 99% of the people I knew in high school anymore.
92. This guy, who later became my stand partner in symphony, farted during a math test once. I was the first to laugh.
93. We were pretty good friends after that.
94. I know more guys than girls. And I hang out with guys more often. (Logically.)
95. The girls I do know though, rock.
96. I like to let loose and dance when I go out.
97. I like to let loose and dance when I don't go out. (Usually in my room.)
98. I spent a summer working at Harvey's. It was fun 'cause Zeebs worked nearby, and so did her boyfriend, and so did Christina (who we were all still friends with at the time.) Haha. Aaron was in love with her... or so we said...
99. I only know one rich person. And he doesn't have nearly as many parties as he should in his bigass house.
100. I've known a guy who's head was too big for his body. He's probably the only person I miss talking to from high school. If I saw him on the street, I'd say hi. I might even ask him if he wanted to hang out. Then I'd ask him if he's ever fallen over on account of his head being too big for his body. I think he was an alright guy. People just didn't get him.

This post inspired by Rosey.

My bus driver on the 1C had a heart attack this morning on my way to school.
I think I should just stay away from public transit from now on.
Today was stressful. Getting to school and seeing everyone freak out about the Freud exam got me freaking out. All sorts of stuff was on my mind, the exam, yes, but other things too. 1) Having not talked to friends - like, REALLY talked to friends in well over a month. Being completely cut off like that takes its toll I guess. 2) Then my grandpa - I was kinda stressing about that too. When I went to visit him on Sunday, he wasn't very optimistic which made me angry and sad, but mostly worried. I wish he would've been stronger about it. I know that's selfish. 3) I was mean to some people yesterday, unnecessarily. Giving people a hard time 'cause I'm freaking out about exams. 4) Then boys. How come the ones I notice never notice me back? And how come they only ask me for my number when I have a bet for $100 going that I WON'T go out with them? And how come they say things like "Yeah, I know, you were in my Social Psych class - I noticed you" and follow it up with "Catch ya later *insert a person's name here other than mine*" WTF? And how come ALL of them tell me they'll *maybe* come to my party? 5) Maybe = no... right?
And it's not like no one noticed I was on edge. Everyone asked me what was wrong. Like a quatrillion times. Even Andrew. And he's usually clueless. And nothing was *wrong* per say... I just felt stupid.
So I get home after the exam I totally butchered because I didn't feel like doing it at all.
I was only slightly excited about the A- I got on my essay.
And then my dad drops the bombshell - he says it's worse with grandpa then we thought. Second-hand information through my cousin (not the most reliable source): one of his arteries is about 7cm wider than it's supposed to be - and 4cm wider than it's supposed to be when surgery is recommended. So I don't know what to feel. I mean, it's too early to feel anything really - we don't even know how the situation stands - will they be able to do anything about it? Will they not? They still have to run a battery of tests to find out. My dad tells me the condition is hereditary and that the doctor suggested that anyone in the family with a history of high blood pressure get checked out. My dad has had high blood pressure... for as long as I can remember.
He goes back to talking about grandpa. And a couple sentences into it, he stops. I'm looking at the ground at this point. I look up to see why he's stopped. And he's crying.
I've seen my dad cry before. But this is just... I don't know. Seeing him crying this time gets me really going. And all he says is, "I'm sad".
God. If I'd read that line in a book, I'd've been like "No shit. That's why people cry." But it made me sad instead of the "angry and caustic" I would've been under different circumstances.
I didn't know what to do. I don't have issues with my father - we're close and affectionate, but I didn't know... should I reach out? Should I hug him? Should I stand here crying? Should I look down? Should I look at his face? Should I go upstairs? Should I stop crying? Am I crying because he's crying?
Longest three minutes of my life.
I didn't do anything.
It was system overload.
And when I was all cried out, I just walked upstairs. One step at a time. And here I am.
I don't think I was crying about grandpa. I think it was just... everything. Because, like I told my dad, it's too early to cry for grandpa - he's not gone yet. He hasn't even packed...
And Rosey's right, I have so much to be thankful for.
I just needed to get it out, and now that I have, I'll be alright.

Quicktime

A few administrative things and some quick updates:
1) People who haven't updated their blogs in over a month have been removed from my "Noteworthy Blogs" list as their blogs are no longer noteworthy.
2) It's definitely a crush (the thing I'm developing) - I got excited seeing *him* log onto MSN (lame!)and yesterday I found myself gushing on the phone about it to Nelly like some demented school girl (I phoned her so it's not like I can even blame her for it.)
3) I went to a twelve-year-old's party yesterday, allowing myself to be emotionally manipulated (the old 'guilt-trip'), but I think my complete lack of interaction with the manipulating party at the party (there's a doozy) will force him/her to re-think ever pulling something like that again. Because although s/he won, s/he really lost.
4) I'm really behind in terms of studying for tomorrow's exam and the exam on Tuesday, so I should really stop wasting time here.
5) I have to visit my grandpa. I found out he was sick a couple weeks ago, but today I found out it's actually pretty serious... so, visiting is a must (which will put a cramp in my studying-style... but you gotta do what you gotta do).

TIME - FREAKIN' - OUT

I think the ENTIRE FREAKING UNIVERSE HAS GONE COMPLETELY FREAKING MENTAL!

Ok. Remember my rant from yesterday? About retarded people doing retarded things? And about retarded exams? And about retarded harrassers?

Well: Just when you thought things COULDN'T POSSIBLY GET ANY-FREAKIN-MORE RETARDED: THEY DID.

So I'm on my way to school to study when I walk beside a garbage can on fire. The fire is small enough not to make things a panic situation, but big enough so that I can't put it out by knocking the garbage can over and like... hitting it or something. So I call 911. And tell them about the fire on the corner. They say they'll be there as soon as possible.
I go on my merry way having done my civic duty. I get onto the high-school-kids-coming-home-from-high-school infested bus, and ride about two-busstops over, when what I think is some RETARD (and my prediction is later shown to have been correct) starts yelling, "STOP THE BUS! THE BUS IS ON FIRE!" At first I think it's probably just some dumbass retard that forgot to pull the cord and wants off the bus, but as I look a little closer into the mass of people standing at the back, I notice smoke and realize it's actually a retard that's telling the retarded truth. Before I know it, there's a stampede of retarded high-schoolers almost knocking me over to get out the door. Before I can blink twice, the smoke in the bus is so thick that you can't see your hand right in front of your face. Through all the smoke, I notice 3 major retards still in the back. One is holding a video camera and taping the confusion and smoke, and the other two are laughing. It's a giant prank. Retards set the bus on fire. And decided to tape it. Because that's what retards do. "Oh hee hee hee, how hilarious: lets do hundreds of dollars of damage to a public-transit bus that Dunja in part paid for and keeps paying for every time TTC increases their fees on account (in part) of the damage retarded hooligans like us make. Then, because the TTC driver (and Dunja, as a good semaritan) is obligated to call the police (who will never catch us because we will be long gone with all of the evidence on OUR tape before they ever get here) and the fire department to oversee the situation, lets cost taxpayers (like Dunja's parents and Dunja) hundreds more dollars, lets waste the time of all the people on that bus THAT HAD PLACES TO GO (for example, Dunja), the police and fire department, and lets detract from their ability to deal with REAL accidents and emergencies because they're dealing with GODDAMNED RETARDS who thought it'd be a good idea to set off a smokebomb on a bus instead. Yes. What a grand idea."
I wonder why I never thought of it when I was in high school.
OH YES. NOW I REMEMBER!: IT'S BECAUSE I'M NOT A GODDAMNED RETARD!!!! (Although I did just use four consecutive exclamation marks - which would indicate otherwise... but I'M JUST SO ANGRY!!! AT HAVING TO DEAL WITH RETARDS!!! ALL THE GODDAMNED TIME!!! EVEN WHEN I'M JUST MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS AND TRYING TO GET TO SCHOOL!!! TO STUDY FOR A GODAMNED EXAM I'M GOING TO FAIL ANYWAY BECAUSE A RETARD WILL WRITE IT AND A RETARD WILL MARK IT!!! AAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

So I'm on the phone with the dispatcher, telling them where we are and so on, and the kids with the camera start to run away. So one kid who I'm assuming wasn't involved comes up to me and goes, "They're getting away!" with such vigor that it was as if though he was expecting me to drop everything and run after all (at this point) five of them. Like... uh... what do you expect me to do? I'm already doing my part. Why don't you, if you recognize them at school on Monday, tell your goddamned principal that those were the RETARDS that set fire to a bus last Friday, huh? WHY DON'T YOU MAKE YOUR DAMNED USELESS RETARDED SELF USEFUL AND RUN AFTER THEM YOURSELF INSTEAD OF TELLING ME THEY'RE GETTING AWAY? YOU DAMNED RETARD?!?! God.

I'll bet you thought things couldn't get more retarded. Didn't you?
So the next bus comes by, and this new bus driver is aware of the fact that we just got out of a bus that was on fire because I'm sure our driver called the TTC dispatcher thinger dude and that's why he got to us so fast in the first place. We're filing onto the bus and he goes "Man, I can smell the smoke on you guys, eh?" NO F*CKING SHIT SHERLOCK. WE JUST GOT OUT OF A BUS THAT WAS ON FIRE. YOU F*CKING RETARD. HOOOOOOLY GOD DAMN. Next, he goes, "Did you set fire to that garbage can back on *my street* too? That thing is OUT of control. There's like three firetrucks at the scene." First of all, you retard, don't presume that just because you're a retard I am too. I set fire to NOTHING. I'M NOT RETARDED. Second of all: WTF? Is the fire department f*cking retarded too? Didn't I call them f*cking twenty minutes ago to tell them about the f*cking fire in the garbage can that was JUST STARTING. How the HELL does a garbage can fire get "out of control" if you get there 5 minutes after I call you? (And that's how long it should've taken because the damned firehouse is ONE FREAKING BLOCK AWAY. But I guess because even the people we trust with our LIVES are retarded... well, you know the rest.)

I got to school without further misadventures involving retards. (Or maybe it's just that at this point I was completely de-sensitized to the retard-factor because I'd run into so many.)
But it doesn't end there. I think I'm developing a crush on someone it would be retarded to develop a crush on - probably because this "retard" thing is contagious. Which would explain why the whole WORLD has gone retarded. (Including the person picking me up today *cough* dad *cough* who made me wait IN THE RAIN for FIFTEEN MINUTES with NO JACKET and NO UMBRELLA and NO SHELTER WHATSOEVER. Thanks. That's some gooooooood parenting...)

three words: THE BET - DOWNHILL

So: A family friend of mine was dealing with this guy mid-March and on. I ended up briefly meeting the guy at *undisclosed*'s party. Thought nothing of it. She used my phone to call him a few times that night prior to the meeting. I also briefly conversed with him at the beginning of the night - he knew it was my phone.
To make a long story short, they stopped dealing abruptly approximately a week and a half after the party. They saw each other once in that week-and-a-half span, and he just never called her after that. She, although disappointed, didn't call him (repeatedly - she did call him once) to clarify the situation either, stating that she didn't want to seem desperate/annoying. Whatever.

The guy text-messages me yesterday.
"I think ur hot. Got a boyfriend?"
At first I think "He's gotta be joking. He just left my friend high and dry, and now he has the audacity to write me this message?" Then I think, "No, it's more likely that he has me confused with someone else."
I write back:
"I think you have me confused with someone else. This is Dunja."
He writes back:
"I know who you are."

WHAT

THE

FUCK

Why? Why would anyone with even 2 brain cells ever think "Well, I dumped her friend without so much as a goodbye after having treated her like shit, so now I'll message this one and ask her if she has a boyfriend." I mean, is that the thought-process? Because it doesn't make sense.

Or is he thinking, "This girl is a complete and utter retard. Her I.Q. is 2." Because that is the only feasible explanation I can come up with as to why someone would think such a course of action would result in anything short of a REJECTION and, if at all possible, a slap to the face. This is an insult to my intelligence is what it is...

If you're not man enough to dump someone face-to-face, and tell them exactly what's going on - you really shouldn't be asking people out in the first place. And, in the event that you are a total scumbag sleezeball, not to mention a giant WIMP - the least you could do is make sure your "conquests" (or rather the victims of your emotional abuse) don't KNOW one another and don't KNOW what kind of an ass you are from the get-go. I mean, isn't that just logical? If you're going to be an ass, and you want to use girls - don't try it with girls that talk to one another - because you will FAIL? I mean... that makes sense, right?
There are two options every guy has: take responsibility for your actions and your feelings, deal with the consequences (I hate it when guys say "I didn't wanna hurt her feelings." PLEASE. Get OVER yourself. No one is going to be THAT heartbroken over you. Give her this courtesy - it's just good manners). This is the course of action obviously preferred by me, and, survey says: most girls. But, if you're going to be a loser regardless and not tell her it's over, at least hide your shameful actions adequately and don't make obvious the fact that you're an ass by messaging her friend 2 weeks after you're 'done' with her.
I just can't say it enough: WHAT THE FUCK?
I'd like to think that people like this would just fail in life. But I know that exactly the opposite is probably true.

This doesn't count as an ask-out (because he never actually asked me out) - but I wish he would, because this would be one I would NOT be sorry to see go.

PSY290: Guilty of Sexual Assault in the First Degree

I got raped by that physiology exam today. And before you get all huffy and offended about me using the term "rape" to describe an exam, let me just say that this was one of those things you truly had to be there for. And if you had been there, you'd agree it was rape, if not sodomy.
I swear, for the first half hour, I was convinced it was written in another language.
Ok, so I missed a few lectures.
Ok, so I missed every single lecture.
But I did the readings.
Doesn't that count for anything anymore?
Apparently not, because after the initial half hour, I figured out that it was written in English - but it was as if though the exam I had studied for had nothing whatsoever in common with the one I was writing. Not even general subject area. I asked the T.A. an hour into it to please tell me what exam this was, because I was suspicious of the "PSY290H5 - Physiological Psychology" on the front page. It looked oddly out of place - like someone was playing a mean practical joke and had forged a title page or something. The professor's name was no clue: "A. Fleming", but it's not like it would've been a clue anyway, since, as I've already mentioned, I hadn't gone to a single lecture... The T.A. assured me that I was in fact in the right room, writing the right exam. I didn't really believe her. She looked suspicious too - like an alien posing as a PSY290 T.A., but I figured I might as well go along with the jig and see where it took me - hopefully to a hidden camera show and an awaiting cash prize or all-expenses paid cruise - or both! (I actually had these thoughts during the exam - to let you in on how concentrated I was on answering the questions. It would've been pointless to concentrate because I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT! I ended up doing the "Matching" section by filling in Cs for every single thing. Well... that's *one* guaranteed mark of 130...)
Alas, no such luck. I wrote some answers in the short-answer section in an attempt to be a good sport in case this was a made-for-tv special type dealy. 12 mark question: Compare and contrast the effects of male sex hormones on the preoptic area in male rats, female rats, male humans, and female humans. Also, discuss the major difference in sexual behaviour between female rats and female humans and the brain structure mediating it.
Uh... humans don't do it on all fours? Unless they're kinky? Refer to pg. 390 of assigned text for further details...

It's safe to say I blew that one...

So, on the bright side of things, at least I didn't get ACTUALLY raped.

I did get sexually harrassed though. When I ran into Oren today, he goes, "Did your boobs grow since Monday? Or are you wearing an extra bra?"
WTF?
I don't think we've had a single encounter in the past two weeks in which he hasn't made a comment about my boobs. I told him that was sexual harrassment and threatened to sue him. I even threatened him with witnesses - his friend. His friend goes, "Yeah, but they'd put me on the stand and say 'In your own words, describe what happened on the date of the alleged abuse.' And I'd be like 'Well, apparently Oren said something harrassing. But I don't know. I was really distracted by Dunja's boobs - wasn't paying much attention to anything else, really.'"
Then, in a completely failed attempt to make things better, Oren goes, "It's okay. I'm more of an ass guy anyway." WTF?
WTF? x A BILLION.

Where and how and WHY do these people always manage to find me?

Getting Lucky

"A four day hiatus from blogging? What is going on?" you ask. Well, contrary to what your initial inkling might be - I sadly, alas, unfortunately, regrettably, lamentably, did NOT go out and get a life and forget to write about it.

I DID, however, get my stats mark back.
Ok. Remember how, in the beginning of the year, I studied and studied and studied for my stats test, stressed about it, walked in, and got a 61%? Well, if you don't, that's what happened. Then, for the second test, I got stupidly sick, had that ginormous headache, and almost passed out in the bathroom? Well, due to the fact that I missed the second test, my exam would now be worth 50% and the next test I wrote would be worth 25% - so I'd better do damned good to pull myself out of my 61% damned rut (rut consisting of one instance in this case... but go on). Well, the time to write the third test came along, and Dunja didn't read any of the chapters. Dunja was engaged in self-fulfilling prophecy, whereby she thought she would fail no matter what she did, so she didn't bother doing anything (to save her ego from a bruising) epecially since she hadn't gone to any lectures all semester and didn't even really know how much she didn't know. Dunja didn't do any of the practice questions, because there was no knowledge to practice. Dunja (barely) read the lecture notes the day of on the bus ON THE WAY TO HER TEST because, at this point, she started REALLY freaking out. Dunja wrote the test thinking "Man, if I get 40% I'll be happy." And what did Dunja get? WHAT?

81%

WTF?!?!

This just goes to show that sometimes you just shouldn't bother. Sometimes you will just get lucky. (And other times you just won't - so use this method sparingly.)

I love getting lucky.
Which brings me to the next thing on the agenda to discuss:
THE BET

The bet is as follows: using our womanly charms (i.e. anything and everything we can use - short of telling the guy about the bet and begging him to ask us out), Nelly and I have challenged one another to get 2 guys to ask us out by May 29th. The bet is that Nelly has to go out with both guys, no matter how badly she doesn't want to (because my theory is that she needs to give people a chance - plus, it'll make for good, exciting stories for her to tell me as I am LE TIRED of hearing about Mr. Seduce Me) and that I can't go out with either, no matter how badly I want to (because Nelly's theory is that I'm too indiscriminating and that I spend too much time thinking about/worrying about boys. So perhaps taking away the ability to date them will lessen my thoughts about them or something. I doubt it, but we'll try it. Therefore, it's kinda like a money-induced boy hiatus. Perhaps the extra motivation will be enough, because God knows I can't do it on my own.) May 29th, we compare notes, and one of us, or both of us, dishes out $100.
Progress of THE BET will surely be documented here. So far: uh... nothing has happened.
And a reminder: Come out to MISSION: GET CRUNK April 29th!

this post has been modified to fit the average IQ

Rosey writes a gorgey piece, let me tell you. Check it. (To clarify any misconceptions: "gorgey" has nothing to do with a gorge and much to do with the way British people abbreviate "gorgeous").

It inspired me to sift through my own stuff. (Rosey's piece, not the way British people abbreviate gorgeous). I used to write stuff all the time. I used to enter competitions, and send stories to magazines, and do plot outlines, and character sketches. I also used to just doodle for hours on really hot days when my thoughts were slow. Then something snapped and I stopped. I don't think I've written anything worthwhile in a long time. Oh, except for perhaps my time-capsule-like letter to Nelly documenting February's adventures. I didn't mail it 'till two days ago, and she got it yesterday. Kinda surreal having her tell me about how apparently excited I was for my first date with a so-and-so. I don't remember being excited... but that's most definitely just my self-serving memory, distorting things to fit my current perceptions. Oh memory, how useless you really are in the grand scheme of things. I mean, if memory just serves to make you feel good about yourself, how are you supposed to learn anything? Anyway, I was on a rant headed in one direction, and I've definitely derailed it.
I kinda miss writing. It was therapeutic I think. Or at least it helped tire my hand and my eyes out so that I'd have to go to bed whether or not I was feeling any better about stuff. But I think I definitely hit my peak like... three years ago. I'm not nearly as quick on my feet as I used to be. I think it's partially because I stopped caring about what people think. I used to be snappy. Now I just stand there staring pathetically at people who are ambiguously insulting me, with a blank mind, and an even blanker look I'm sure... Like some brainwashed toddler who's seen one too many episodes of the Teletubbies. The worst part is that I recognize the phenomenon as it happens, but I do nothing to rectify the situation, salvage any dignity, or turn it into a moment of pure-wit and sparkling genius as I used to. I honestly just find it easier to stand there and let the drool drip out of the corner of my mouth.
You know what else it is? Besides me not caring about people, I mean? In about 11th grade, I started making jokes that people didn't get. They would literally just fly over people's heads, and I'd get weird looks... like I was the stupid, uninformed, retarded one. So, as the years wore on, I started adjusting my humor to my audience. Unfortunately, since the majority of people I come into contact with on a daily basis aren't all that quick on the uptake, my repertoire now consists of "Your mom" and "Downhill". I don't blame my co-workers, the snotfaced teens that call my house asking for my sister, the No Frills guys, or the stooges that walk my campus. I blame me. I sold out so that I wouldn't feel like a leper. Even worse: I sold out to fit in with dim, slow, thick, dense, dull, brainless people. Way to suck, D. WAY TO SUCK. (You know you suck when you start censoring conversations and emails because "they won't get it anyway.")
Now I have to contend with no creativity whatsoever. This is grand. Maybe I'll just go watch another episode of "Blind Date" and wonder "Who comes up with this stuff?". The sad bit is, I used to wonder the same thing way back when, but then it was in a smug "Man, I could come up with way better stuff" way. Now these "Blind Date" popup writer dudes are my heros.
POPUP WRITER DUDES?!?!?!?!

I'm clearly losing my mind.

you wanna like... buy some drugs?

Dunja says: where do you work now?
N says: I'm in Coles
Dunja says: you get discounts?
N says: I get 30% off, not too shabby
Dunja says: that is HOT
Dunja says: you should buy a billion copies of the new harry potter book and then sell it to everyone for 15% off
Dunja says: nice profit
N says: .......If only I had that kinda money to invest. Damn that's a good scheme.
N says: it would work, makes me sad I haven't saved enough, fuckin hell I know so many people who'd be down for that too. FUUUCK.
Dunja says: maybe you should get a loan from the bank
Dunja says: or get some "investors" - your friends to give you money, cut them in on the deal
Dunja says: even if you make 10%, that's still something
N says: Woman, you've wasted your life, you'd make a killing if you sold drugs

Empirical Evidence That Nothing Is My Fault

This is why I love social psychology: it gives me empirical proof of everything I'd already suspected about boys and myself.

Check it:
"Men tend to fall more readily in love. (This is why they act so weird come springtime.) Men also seem to fall out of love more slowly and are less likely than women to break up a premarital romance. (Yes to point #1 - I need you like I need water - puh-leeze, yes to point #2 - they don't break up with you. They just stop calling.) Women in love, however, are typically as emotionally involved as their partners, or more so. (True dat.) Women are somewhat more likely than men to focus on the initmacy of the friendship and on their concern for their partner. Men are more likly than women to think about the playful and physical aspects of the relationship. (READ: SEX)" (Myers & Spencer, 2004.)

So what do ya gots ta say about that?

I also found out (while studying for my EXAM by the way... don't you wish your chemistry/math/biology/economics was this applicable to everyday life? Suckers...) that my parents didn't do a very good job with me when I was an infant. According to Myers and Spencer, about 2 in 10 infants and adults exhibit avoidant attachment. "Although internally aroused, avoidant infants reveal little distress during separation or clinging upon reunion (with their parent). Avoiding closeness, these adults tend to be less invested in relationships (sound like anyone you know?) and more likely to leave them (yup, that's me). They are also more likely to engage in one-night stands (if my standards weren't so high, that'd probably be true too...)... Avoidance individuals may be either fearful ('I am uncomfortable getting close to others' - CHECK!) or disimissing ('It is very important for me to feel independent and self-sufficient' - CHECK!)" (2004).
So I can sleep safe. It's my parents' fault: "Some researchers attribute these varying attachment styles to parental responsiveness." Apparently my parents weren't responsive or sensitive enough to my needs and that's why I can't function properly? Sounds improbable. Lets read on... "Other researchers believe attachment styles may reflect inherited temparament." Hmm. So either way my parents are to blame? Score.

I like studying when it's fun like this. Look-y what else I found:
"...three ways of coping with a failing relationship. Some people exhibit loyalty - by waiting for conditions to improve. Others (especially men - I swear it actually says this in the textbook, I did NOT put this in) exhibit neglect; they ignore the partner and allow the relationship to deteriorate. When painful dissatisfactions are ignored, and insidious emotional uncoupling ensues as the partners talk less and begin redefining their lives without each other. (Been there, done that. THAT'S WHAT THE NO-CALLING IS ABOUT.) Still others (like Dunja) voice their concerns (although people usually aren't listening at this point) and take active steps to improve the relationship by discussing problems (check!), seeking advice (check!), and attempting to change (uh... not so much...)." (Myers & Spencer, 2004).

Myers, D. G., & Spencer, S. J. (2004). Social Psychology Second Canadian Edition.

"Did you really think last night would last forever?
Did you really think that guy hung the moon?
Right now you hate yourself 'cause you knew better
But there's no use crying over spilled perfume"

THE WAY IT IS

SOC101 Summarized

SOMETHING RELEVENT

HOPE OR POPE

FRESHMAN YEAR

SO TRUE.

In Conclusion...

Any night not ending in tears is a good one.

Last Pub was good. (Rosey Retrospection: the act of recalling mildly pleasant events more favourably than they were experienced. Unpleasant or boring aspects are minimized in recall, the high points remembered. "With any positive experience, some of the pleasure resides in the anticipation, some in the actual experience, and some in the rosey retrospection." (Myers & Spencer, 2004) Good music. Everyone was there. Actually, there was kind of an excess of people. I could've done without some of them. Might've made rosey retrospection less necessary.

"We also revise our recollections of other people as our relationships with them change... had university students rate their steady dating partners. Two months later, they rated them again. Students who were more in love than ever had a tendency to recall love at first sight. Those who had broken up were more likely to recall having recognized their partner as somewhat selfish and bad-tempered." (McFarland & Ross, as quoted in Myers & Spencer, 2004) Yes, hindsight is 20/20. Actually, it's more like 30/20. I know everything now that I should've known going in yesterday. For example, my upbeat attitude on the car-ride to the bus stop on the way to school should've signalled to me that something unmistakeably and unbelievably shitty was bound to happen to offset the happiness I was experiencing. And after I walked out of my stats test (that I hadn't studied for) thinking I just MAY have passed, I should've known that if I didn't get hit by a mack truck that night - something wasn't right with the universe. Life is never that kind. Not to me, anyway. Bad usually follows good, in twice the proportion.

So, the mack truck didn't come. But an equally heavy load did fall... and Gosh-be-darned it only just barely missed my toes. Which leaves me thinking that there's more to come... that it somehow isn't over yet. (Plus, drunken emails in the middle of the night are never really a way to END things, are they?)

All's I know is that I've never disliked a girl so vehemently in my life before without even having met her. I think the fact that she was pretty made it that much worse. And if I'd bothered to say hi, she probably would've turned out to be really nice too. And now I wouldn't have anything left to hate her about, except that she won.

And I've also never known that it was possible to feel completely sad and completely mad and completely stupid and completely reminiscent and completely surprised and confused and speechless and like you wanna scream and like you should be thinking about other stuff and like you really like this song... all at the same time. So... I learned something?

Listen, the short and short of it is, that if I'd been able to get the tequila bottle out of my damned closet without knocking something over and waking my parents up in the process when I got home, I'd STILL be recovering from a hangover and this rant never would have happened. Or at least would've been delayed by 12 hours. And by that time, I would've killed a sufficient number of brain cells to not be able to recall what the issue was anymore. But, as usual, your parents find ways to screw you to the detriment of your mental health without even really trying, and here I am... pissed as hell and not nearly drunk as I should be.

This has turned into something way longer than it was intended to be.
Andrew is funny when he's drunk.
There are pictures on Ramiro's site.
Zeebs and Pauly are true blue, for allowing me to experience my two worlds (school and social) colliding for a brief, shining (although, as you can see by the rant, not really) moment. Next time I have a brilliant idea to do ANYTHING, I'm going to go completely against everything my gut tells me and listen to Zeebs. Because if I'd just done that in the first place... well... let's say she was right. But don't rub it in. George didn't. And you know that if George can be nice about something and say something like "sometimes emotions make people do stupid things", then everyone else has gotta be nice about it too. It's just one of those things. Because George usually tells it like it is. (Ok. Two admissions. Don't rub it in.)

I love you all. But that's mainly 'cause I'm drunk.

HAHAHA!

2,000 Hits

So having just (2 weeks ago) finished reading a book called "The Boyfriend List" (for plot summary go here )and feeling the need to partake in some sort of therapeutic activity after the miserable failure I put forward as an attempt to finish my MINITAB assignment, I decided to write out my own boyfriend list and see if I could find any patterns. The idea is to, having identified the patterns, work on replacing destructive behaviours with positive ones, thereby fixing the problem (something I undeniably have).

Now, in the book, Ruby (the main character) writes out every single guy she's ever had anything to do with even in a slight way (whether the encounter is important or unimportant doesn't matter - as anyone who's studied Freud knows - it is often the things you think are unimportant that end up shedding the most light on the issue). There's a couple of people on her list she's never even kissed. There are people on her list she hasn't talked to in years. There are people on her list that are just guys that are friends. So when I tell you that my (condensed - because if I'd written down every single crush I've ever had, it'd be 985 pages long)list consisted of 17 people, don't be shocked (or think I'm some sort of skank). Most of them were nothing. However, even these nothings assisted me in coming to the root of the problem:

ME.

The only common denominator in every single one of these failed attempts is ME. There are no other patterns. These guys have been as different as night and day, and as varied as Berty Botts Every Flavoured Beans - in their approach, in their treatment of me, in their attitudes, in their interests, in their appearance, in their mannerisms, in their quirks: in every single way. The only consistent thing across every interaction has been either my incredible immaturity, my lack of action (possibly stemming from my immaturity), or my lack of investment (also could be placed under the category of immaturity). I've been severely passive, letting chances go by, relationships go down the shitter - all because I'm too scared? It must be scared-ed-ness (fright) because I can't imagine why somebody would willingly destroy anything and everything that came their way otherwise.
And what I'm scared of, I can't imagine.
Zeebs says I'm a commitment-phobic. It kind of makes sense, I can't even stay with a guy that I'm not in a relationship with... I can't even do flings, I can't even do real friendships (unless the other person is willing to fork over 90% of the effort between the two of us.)
I used to tell myself I'm just running into the wrong kind of guy, but it's almost as if though I go out and seek them. And if the guy isn't wrong, I become wrong - taking his place at being the asshole in the relationship. And occasionally, the guy and I will take turns at being the asshole. Those are the most drawn-out things - but eventually, it always ends in the same way: I feel shitty, he feels shitty, and no, we can't be friends.

So okay, I've identified the problem. Now the question is, how do I replace ME with a positive behaviour?

The Splinters On The Banister Of Life Just Keep Pointing The Wrong Way :(

You've been gipped of an hour of your life.
Whatcha gonna do about it?

The Roof Is Leaking!

APRIL FOOLS!

I realize that it's two days late and severely lame.
Shut it.

There were errors.

WHAT'S A FIELD DAY?
'Cause my dad is apparently going to come upstairs and have one. Is it a day with lots of fields in it? And could it have anything to do with the PYLON (sp?) IN ZEEBS'CAR?!
HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Oh. Good times. Good drunken times.
Remember that time we were playing pool and I dropped my stick?
"AGH AGH AGH!" Zeebs
Lets do that again...

So today at work, I was talking to this girl about how she did something really stupid in regard to her boyfriend. And she asked me what she should do about it now. So I told her to phone him and say that the last time they talked she had been decapitated and didn't know what she was saying....

I meant to say "incapacitated"... because she wasn't in a 'right' emotional state when they talked. But I said "decapitated" because I'm a retard. Luckily, Marshall wasn't there. Otherwise his worst suspicions would be completely and irrevocably confirmed.

Therefore, moron quote of the day: "Just be like 'I'm decapitated'. WORKS EVERY TIME!" - Dunja
HAHA. I'm an idiot.

P.S. It was a PULL door.

Let's Get It Started

Test Results: Negative
Bridge: Burned
Social Psychology: 4.0
Friends: Rocking
Hot Date: Affirmative
Dancing On A Friday Night: Confirmed
Mood: So excited. So ecstatic. So hot.

Sucks To Be You

How many freaking remixes of "Yeah" are they going to do? I mean, it was a good song the first twelve times it came out. Now it's getting just a little old, don't you think?
And today I was listening to the radio (103.5), and I heard 3 consecutive songs that had clearly stolen their music from an older song. Isn't anyone creative anymore? I mean, you have countless keys and countless time signatures and countless notes to play around with, and the best you can do is take someone else's music, put it up a third, and slap some new (and shitty, I might add) lyrics onto it? Na boss. DOWNHILL.

What's the deal with boiled eggs anyhow?
I'll tell you what the deal is, there's NO SURPRISE IN THE MIDDLE!
Not like my Kinder Surprise. Oh, how I love thee...
Ch-check out my toy collection:


I'll bet you're wishing you were me right about now.
Sucks to be you.
I'm out.