Sometimes it gets to be too much, waiting for you to come around.

The ground softened up a long time ago; the leaves are now all green.
Makes me wonder when you'll grow a little.
The sun warms my shoulders as tiny beads of sweat slowly roll down the nape of my neck. The maintenance guys planted the petunias, they make the tulips stand out nicely. A sole lily of the valley gently shakes her head in the breeze.
I'm reminded of last night, the grief I felt when I realized I was standing alone.
The grass is yellowed in patches and bright green in others. It's coarse to the touch but smells like spring.
It's getting harder not to be reminded of you.

It feels like there's plenty to be done, and plenty of time to do it in, but that's as much an illusion as we ever were.
The minutes stretch on. The sun beats down harder.
I'd go inside for a minute if I thought it'd help, but I know the heat wouldn't leave me.

What I need is a cold shower.

To get rid of that scratchy feeling of the grass against my bare legs. To wash away the sweat, the smell of the outdoors. To get you out of my head.

Because you're relentless, and forbidding, distant, and merciless, and because although you warm me, you also burn me, and playing with you is dangerous.

I should've listened when you told me to never look directly into the sun.

///, \\\, and some ;;; to seal the deal

So this black guy comes into the store today and says, "I need my whites really white." My boss asks, "Why?" and he goes "So I can hide like you."
Haha.

Then, as I'm walking home in my miserable (after-work) state, I see my verily cute neighbour standing beside his car. He stops whatever it is that he's doing and does that amazing thing he does where he's staring at you but you feel completely at ease and not at all weirded out by it, and then he smiles in this amazing way where you feel like it'd be impossible for you not to smile back (really wide, in fact) and then he winks in this way that makes you feel like you just might be the only person in the world that matters right now, but you're also perfectly aware that there's nothing really behind it. He's just being nice. Oh, but how nice his niceness is.
He really is something else.

Then I noticed this girl hanging out by his car. I've seen her around several times before, and whenever we see each other, she's perfectly sociable and smiles in a very cute way (I think it runs between the two of them. Or maybe just being in his company makes everyone really friendly, because I find myself smiling like a crazy person whenever I see him, and no matter what my previous mood, I start feeling inexplicably happy and wanting to spread the joy, and I'm not usually like that). Anyhow, she was the same girl that was downtown with him that night we first met - and she was really friendly way back then too. So anyhow, as we're all exchanging mutual smiles, the ice cream truck pulls into our street, and me and the girl (who's name I don't know) head for it. I'm all polite and nice like, "How've you been?" and she's all like, "Oh, good choice" when I get my ice cream, and it's all very great and peachy, but I have no idea if she's his girlfriend or if she's just a friend or if she's like his cousin or what. Not that it matters. But it'd be nice to know.

And yesterday, at the gym, I saw the guy that came into my store last Saturday and me and Adrian were both like "Wow" 'cause he's such a fox. And Rosey made fun of me for calling him a fox, but that's what he is, and that's what he shall stay. And I was all sweaty and red and blotchy and avoiding eye contact. I figure if he ever comes into the store again and decides to pay with debit or something, I can bring up the gym while we're waiting for the transaction. I can be all like "Oh, I saw you working out at the gym a couple weeks back" or whatever. Or is that too stalkerish? But if I say, "Oh, do you work out?" then it seems like I'm coming onto him, and also like I'm a retard if he remembers me from the gym and is like "Duh, you saw me at the gym." What if I say, "Hey, you seem really familiar..." and then I do the whole thing where I pretend to try to remember where I remember him from? No, that's super lame too. Well, whatever. When he does come in (if he does come in) I'll probably end up acting like a total lamebrain anyway so it won't matter because any line I did have memorized I will forget and completely fuck up so I might as well just wing it. Or just stand there staring at him like I did last time. That's probably what will end up happening because I don't actually talk to guys I'm interested in. I only flirt with the ugly ones who bring in their mother's dresses for drycleaning. Agh. Idiot.

But there was this really funny thing today when Pino came in (and Adrian, my coworker has a crush on him, but I don't know why because I think he wears makeup), anyways, I went to the back to get his clothes and when I came back he was staring into the mirror and fixing his face. Then he made some sadass attempt at engaging me in conversation while we waited for the transaction, but I was kinda pissed off because he walked in right when I was in the middle of a really good chapter of my book, and he's all like, "Have a great weekend." And I'm like, "I will." And he's like, "I will." And I'm like, WTF? And he's like, "Oh, I thought you were going to tell me to have a good weekend too." And I'm like, "Oh." But inside I'm thinking, "Man dude, you're totally spazzing out." And then I'm like, "Have a good weekend too." And he's like, "Oh." And then he looked confused for a second and then he's like, "Haha. Yes. I'll try." And I'm like, "Okaaaay." And then he's walking out of the store and he's walking backwards for some odd reason and he walks into the doorframe. And there was this old couple standing right outside and the old man burst out laughing. Like, he just couldn't contain himself. And Pino turns bright red and he's all like, "It's been that kind of day all week." And then he's like, "I mean all day." And at this point me and the old lady start laughing too 'cause now he's totally embarrassed and it's hilarious that he's embarrassed over something so little, and I kinda pitied him, but not really 'cause most of the time he's pretty conceited and talks down to me so I was like "Yeah. So there, biatch. Now who's laughing." But I didn't say that.
Oh, and I forgot to mention that he's so full of himself that he walks into the store and just magically expects me to know what his name is. Even though I do know his name, because he's a regular customer, I don't think he should assume that I will remember his name considering how many people I deal with on a daily basis. I think that's kinda lame on his part. He should just tell me his name every time until one day when he comes in and I deem it appropriate to say, "You're Pino, right?" After that, he can refrain from giving me his name. But until then, he has to just assume that I'm really slow and don't know his name and give it to me every time. That's logical, no? Otherwise I reserve every right to think he's full of himself. Which I do. So I guess the system works.

The maintenance guys offered to plant petunias in our front yard because they noticed our family doesn't exactly give a crap about our garden (our backyard is overrun by weeds). I told them to go for it. They asked me if me and my sister were twins. I said that, no, we weren't, I was actually five years older then my sister, and they were like, "Oh. See you on Monday." And I was like, "Okaaay, whatever."

I think that's it.
Oh, one of the maintenance guys is cute.
And I thought I saw my ex-boyfriend today, but it was just my imagination. The guy I actually saw was admittedly cute and tall and walking towards a car very similar to that of my ex-boyfriend's, but it wasn't him. I felt like Usher. (You remind me...)
I think I'm totally over my ex though. Maybe.
Sometimes I still think about him. Is that normal?
I suppose so. I haven't seen him in over a year though...
Maybe I'm weird in the head. Probably.

Ok, that's it.

Attention All!

My birthday is coming up soon (I'm turning 20) and I think I'm supposed to celebrate it, even though I don't really feel it's much of an accomplishment on my part. However, it is a great excuse to guilt you all into coming out to see me (what with social conventions and whatnot, and I haven't seen so many of you in so long), and I frankly can't think of a better way to spend a Saturday night then in the company of you lot - so let's party!

Here's the lowdown:
I'm thinking of getting some dinner followed by some dancing. You can choose to come to one or the other or both or neither - but I need to know if you are coming to dinner because I have to reserve an accurate amount of seating at the restaurant. So, to recap, RSVP-ing is mandatory if you wish to come to dinner. I'd love to have you if you don't RSVP, but I can't guarantee you a seat if I haven't reserved one for you prior to - so please, PLEASE let me know whether or not you're coming to dinner. Let me know BEFORE TUESDAY JUNE 7TH.

Here are the basics:
I'm thinking dinner at Green Mango (on Bloor and Royal York) - Thai food, or at Jack Astor's (Queensway at Sherway Gardens) - burgers and the like. I'd love to hear your preferences, but this will also depend on how many people end up coming out to dinner. If I get a big turnout, Jack Astor's will almost certainly be the place because it's bigger. In any case, I don't think it really matters where we eat, as long as we're doing it together. So, when you RSVP, you can send me your preferences as well as any suggestions you have for where you'd like to have dinner, although I'm trying to keep this as simple as possible, so lets not go overboard.

I'm thinking dancing at Milwaukee's (19+ ONLY). Entry is usually about $5, (sorry everyone, but that's as cheap a cover as I think you could find anywhere), music is Top 40, dress code is relaxed (but I wouldn't mind seeing you all spiffed up).
If you know of a cheaper place, or know of a better place that plays Top 40, please let me know about it.

Date: Saturday June 11, 2005
Time: Dinner - 8pm, Dancing - 11pm onwards, but get to Milwaukee's by 10pm
Place: TBA in a few days, but either Green Mango or Jack Astor's followed by Milwaukee's
Why: Dunja's 20th Birthday

A few final notes:
- Gifts will not be accepted, so don't bother bringing any. The only thing I want for my birthday is YOU there in all your glorious glory, in a HAPPY mood, ready to party, in your best outfit. That's it.
- If you can't make it out dancing with us, please, please come out to the dinner. I would love to see each and every one of you that night in some shape or form because you all mean a lot to me.
- If you can't make it out dinnering with us, please, please come out to the dancing. I would love to see each and every one of you that night in some shape or form because you all mean a lot to me.
- If you can't make it out to either, I will understand, and grudgingly hate you for the rest of my life.
- You can bring as many people as you like to Milwaukee's - just keep in mind that the more people you bring, the longer it will take all of you to get in. If you are bringing anyone to dinner, keep it at a maximum of one guest, and please let me know that you are bringing someone when you RSVP.
- PUT YOURSELF ON THE GUESTLIST AT MILWAUKEE'S (416) 239 8149 and GET THERE BEFORE 10 if you want to be guaranteed a spot inside.

RSVP here: duneyah@gmail.com

Playing Ketchup

Haha. Get it? Ketchup? It's a pun...
Oh good lord, never mind...

I haven't really felt much like updating lately, which is unlike me. I haven't had much time on my hands lately, also unlike me. All of this has resulted in a whole slew of adventures failing to be properly documented. So I shall document them now, for future reference, in case of total amnesia on my part or something (it's been known to happen before). Recount is purely based on recall, and recall is purely based on what memory traces are activated first in my brain. Nothing to do with importance or temporal occurance or anything of that logical sort.

Friday, went shopping with Zeebs. Haven't "been shopping" for the sake of hitting the mall in a long time. Usually, I don't do malls unless I need something because I always end up buying something I don't actually need.
In what I'm sure was a subconsious effort on my part at the time to contradict myself in the near future, I bought a wallet on my excursion with Zeebs, something I clearly did need.
Don't give up on the above sentence. It makes sense, I assure you.
People don't know themselves nearly as well as they assume they do.

At the mall, we ran into an old highschool peer who now has a three-month-old son. It made me feel like I was severely lacking in the "what have you done since high school" category... as I've done... absolutely nothing. I don't even have a boyfriend. But that's a whole other story...

Had dinner at this small pizza place with Zeebs and her boyfriend and Paul (who finally found time for us in his busy schedule). The food was good, the service was not. The waiters were kinda... rude? But we left them a good tip anyway because we were too busy trying to make sure none of us were skimping on our part of the bill to realize that we had in fact left too much money. Or at least that's how I remember it going down. But I was feeling too passive to point it out to anyone, so I guess I might as well never think about it again now that it's well over.

Saturday Zeebs and I hit up Sean's Lakeshore party. It was a pretty small chilling gathering. Lots of nice people (or I'm sure they would've been nice could they have been bothered to acknowledge our existance at all.) The only people that paid any attention to us were the only other people at the party that no one cared about, and the dog. In the forty minutes we spent there, I'd say 90% of the time we were talking about the dog or petting the dog. Then I zoned out and was purely STARING at Sean's brother as he sat watching tv in his room for the other 10%. He turned to look at me to, I suppose, try to figure out what the hell I was doing seeing as how I was standing out in the hallway STARING at him, just as Zeebs walked up and said, "Why are you staring at Sean's brother?" Oh bother. He decided I was harmless if not completely sane and tuned back into his commercial break.

Then Zeebs and I decided it'd be really fun if we drove around in her car and wasted a whole bunch of gas for a good hour. Or at least that's what Tristan would have us believe. He states that in the directions he gave on how to get to his houseparty, providing a major intersection was unnecessary - and thus he didn't provide one. Unfortunately for him, and us, and due to a myriad of unfortunate events (that can mainly be attributed to my poor naviagtional skills and complete lack of knowledge of streets or highways of any sort since I don't actually drive anywhere ever) this meant that we ended up driving in the opposite direction from that in which we were supposed to be going for about half an hour.
Oh well, we got to hear a whole lotta Sean Paul.
When we finally did arrive at the party (although slightly pertrubed by our recent unplanned, unwanted, bastard adventure), we enjoyed the company of a bunch of happy drunk people who had no problems engaging us in idle chit chat, hugs, or white-boy-trying-to-be-black dancing. It was very hot, in both the literal and figurative senses. Hot Jamaican accent boy was there in all his sexiness. Unfortunately, I wasn't drunk enough to make anything of it, and he clearly isn't interested, and thus, we just stared at each other a whole lot (in a weird - again subconscious - re-enactment of my 'staring at Sean's brother' antics I suppose).

On Sunday, my core family decided that it'd be really fun if we went to a restaurant just as it was about to close and ordered an elaborate meal. So that's what we did. This was after my father and mother, in unnecessarily elated spirits splurged and bought a vacuum cleaner and some Kefir for my sister who refused to drink it. So I had to. Logically.
I also got me some shoes on this here day so I can hit up the gym properly (i.e. with shoes that fit).

Sunday was also the day I finally got around to cleaning my room. Right now, we are about two and a half hours into Wednesday, and it's already a mess again.
That's a shame.

On Monday, we got to (oh joy!) visit my grandparents and cousins. I got some Fruit and Nut chocolate out of it, so I guess it wasn't so bad, except that I can't eat chocolate anymore on account of I'm fat and bathing suit season is approaching at the speed of... something really fast... so, yes. Trying to buy my love with food I can't eat, grandpa? Way to go. I suppose in all your not-seeingness you didn't notice what a fatass I was. Oh well, regardless of your motives and excuses and whatnot, 'twas futile for all parties concerned. Let us learn from our mistakes.

Tuesday, I got to taste the bittersweet beginnings of pure hate because, logically enough, I'm beginning to hate my aerobics instructor. She does too much resistance crap for the arms and does not focus enough on the abs and does she not realize that when we're lunging around we look like RETARDS to all the people running around the track? Doesn't she?! DOESN'T SHE?! I didn't care before because the people running around the track were all old and decrepit and probably couldn't see anything two inches in front of their faces anyway and therefore didn't notice we looked like flailing things flailing about as we 'lunged' around, but now these boys that have finished with school have started running the track too. Not that this should make a difference, because I'm not there to meet boys or make friends. But I'd still like to retain some shred of dignity and, if it is completely necessary for me to look like a bloated, shiny, red balloon - making wheezing noises with hair pasted onto my head and sweat stains all along my back, I'd at least like to not be FLAILING LIKE A RETARD at the same time. At least that much.
That's all I ask.

I also went to work on Tuesday and hated it even though it was payday. I really hate my job. I hate it with a passion. I wish there was some way to fix this, unfortunately, I have absolutely nothing to work with at work - nothing to look forward to, nothing to look backward at, nothing to focus on at the present moment - so I just go there, hating it with a passion, stand there, hating it with a passion, and leave there hating it with a passion unlike any I've felt previously or am likely to feel again... until the next day I have work.
It seems like an awful waste of energy, all this hate and whatnot.
Too bad I need the money to buy useless things with.

I ate too much today.

I think Carrie Underwood will win American Idol (she's more deserving in my mind's eye).

It is four days until my bet with Nelly is up. The tragic thing is, I don't think anything whatsoever will change insofar as my dating life is concerned once it is, so maybe I should make a bet I can actually win for next time. Something along the lines of 'Will not go on another date for 5 years' or 'Will never marry' or 'Will die alone... with some cats if she's lucky' would do nicely.

Happy Birthday A

And it was all I couldn't say.

Wherefore art thou college?

Class has started up again. It's nice enough. Well, the actual class so far is hideously boring as we are covering absolutely nothing new, but the profs are nice and approachable, and the campus downtown looks really pretty. Probably 'cause it's getting to be a lot like summer. Summertime makes everything look pretty.
Some things I've noticed about UofT downtown:
-there are way more East-Asian people
-there are way fewer brown people
-there are slightly more white people, and slighlty fewer black people than at UTM
-the campus is really spread out - a lot of walking is required
-the people aren't as friendly
-it's a lot harder to make friends (as a result of the last two factors mentioned)
-the guys aren't actually any cuter (which is a real shame)
-there are trucks parked in front of the campus that sell Chinese food (it's good too)
-people ogle you more
-the Second Cup server dudes aren't nearly as friendly as our Tim Horton's ladies (in fact, they're downright rude)
-there are fewer trees
-there are way fewer flowers and patches of grass
-there is no pond
-the lecture hall I'm in is smaller and more uncomfortable then the UTM ones (it is next to near impossible to extract yourself from your seat once you're in it until the end of class because there are approximately 2 inches in front of you that you can utilize to squeeze by people - and forget about crossing your legs if you're over 5'8)
-the washrooms aren't as modern (you actually have to flush the toilet yourself. Sacre bleu!)
-the kids are nerdier (6 stayed behind the other day to talk with the prof. Uh, hello? We've only covered research methods thus far, children. And one of them actually asked the prof if the course was hard and whether he should pick up another one instead. GPA nerd. The only other guy that stayed behind kept STARING at me. It was unnerving. I think most of them are a tad socially retarded because when I asked the girl next to me how many slides we had to go, she just kinda looked at me, looked at her paper, and completely ignored the question. Weirdo.)
-there are 15 males in the class, which means that I have a 10:1 (girls : guys) ratio to contend with. This isn't much different from UTM, as girls far outnumber guys in the Psychology Specialist program, but UTM makes up for it since you are able to meet people that aren't in your major because we have a total of 3 common areas that EVERYONE from EVERY major congregates in all the time. You end up running into the same people from different majors repeatedly as a result = more exposure to guys. St. George is severely lacking in this respect. The only people you can ever hope to run into are those that you see in class... and that's mostly girls. You see the dilemma.
-Rush-hour traffic on the TTC is hideous. Being sardined between an old black man asking me about school and a 40-year-old fat white man sweating all over me is not my idea of fun. But, it saves me $4.50 a day in what would otherwise be spent on Sauga transit... so I guess it's worth it?
-there is a lot more variety in terms of what to eat since a bajillion restaurants and fast-food joints are within walking distance (if you like to walk a lot), and it's kinda cool that you're right downtown - everything is accessible. It's not like suburbia where you're stuck in one place for the day because everything is too far.
Still, I miss my UTM :( With the five-minute walk, and the trees, and the flowers, and the pond, and the fields, and the bunnies, and the people I know :( Luckily, this is only for 6 weeks. And it's something new, so... that's always good, right? It'll be over before I know it. And I get to see fellow UTM Frosh Leaders this Sunday... oh, and Saturday if I go to that party, so that'll be my UTM fix for the next little while :)
I suppose, if nothing else, what will come out of this is the conviction that I definitely, positively, irrevocably don't want to switch to the downtown campus at any point, and then I can give my dad a good reason for it like, "I went, I saw, I hated, so no."
But maybe it'll grow on me. All the potential is there, people just need to stop standing with their arms crossed staring off into the distance or deep into a book...

barely worth getting out of bed for

It's early and I'm tired and you should never eat re-heated shrimp or give funny servers at Red Lobster your phone number. You should also never tell Paul you think the guy staring at you in the white shirt is cute. He will embarrass you and leave you hanging, your mouth gaping open like a fishy fish.
You should never go to a UofT (St. George) houseparty. It will be all nerds. And slutty (nerdy - oxymoron?) action on the couches (and later on your coat in the bedroom.) Trust.
The highlight will be the dancing. Oh, the dancing. With short people.
And don't ever agree to do a 7 hour shift the day after you worked a 9 hour shift at my place of work. You will regret it. Especially when you're in a grocery store checkout line and a 70-year-old man starts talking to you about Kevin Costner and Angelina Jolie and you've been dealing with this sort of thing for the past 48 hours. You'll have to try really hard not to punch him in the face. It's barely worth the effort.
Also, the sight of your (my) boss will start to make you want to hurl.
Oh, and don't go to a clothing show with Nelly. Because she will turn the ONE good thing about it (this thing happened to have a really great smile) into something, quite literally, gay. And then you'll have nothing to live for.
Just... take my advice. Ok?

But if you insist on being anti-my advice... at least watch out for guys with caution tape tied around their heads. They'd do you... and they'll moon you, no questions asked, no warnings given.

Go ahead and have a MARS martini though.
Those, I have nothing against.
In fact, I could go for one right now... maybe two.

And if you should leave me...

And if you should leave me
I would say that the ghost
Of Cassandra
Has passed through
My eyes
I would say that the stars
In their malice
Merely light up the sky
To stretch my torment
And that the waves crash
On the shores
To bring salt-stings on
My face
For you re-connect me with
All the lights of the sky
And the salt of the waves
And the myths in the air
And with your passing
The evening would become too dark
To dream in
And the morning
Too bright.

- Ben Okri

A+ / 4.0

Can I get a wha-whaaaaaat?

This shit is BANANAS! B-A-N-A-N-A-S!

Whoot whoot!

Ok. That's enough cyber-bragging for one day.
Refer to my previous post for something of 'substance'.

SHOESPEAK

"My feet hurt when I wear these shoes."
"So don't wear them."
"So does my back."
"So don't wear them."
"Well I can't very well go barefoot now, can I?"
"You could... but I don't recommend it."
"Well then your solution to my problem is completely useless."
"No it isn't. Now you know not to wear them again."
"Well, no. 'Cause I'd already figured out not to wear them again before I said that..."
"So why are you telling me?"
...
"It doesn't make any sense. My feet don't hurt when I wear my other running shoes. And these are runners also."
"Well, what difference does it make? If they hurt your feet, they're not comfortable, don't wear them."
"Well I didn't know they hurt my feet before."
"Well now you do."
"You're not being very sympathetic."
"What's to sympathize with? It's your own fault."
"How?!"
"Well it's certainly not my fault. And I'm not about to blame the shoes."
"But it is the shoes' fault!"
"Yes, but would you feel better if I said, 'Damn those shoes. Damn them to hell.'?"
"Yes."
"Well I won't say it."
"Well why not?"
"Because I don't make a practice of talking to inanimate objects."
"Well maybe you should start."
"What for?"
"To make me feel better."
"Would it alleviate the pain in your feet or your back if I said it?"
"Probably not."
"There you go."
"But it'd give me a shoulder to lean on, so to speak. Instead of leaving me all alone in this world of complete and utter desolation and pain."
"I think you're being a tad dramatic..."
"No, think about it. If you were here for me, I wouldn't have to deal with the pain all by myself. It's like that old Chinese proverb. 'Share happiness with a friend and it becomes twice the size. Share sadness with a friend, and it becomes half as great.' Or something."
"That sounded like English to me..."
"You know what I mean..."
"Well, I'm not Chinese."
"Well you could certainly stand to learn something from them."
"Like how to build a wall?"
"No! Like how to be a good friend."
"Oh."
...
...
...
"How's that?"
"By damning my shoes to hell."
"Right. Ok. Damned shoes."
"See? Was that so hard?"
"Does this mean I'm Chinese now?"
"No."
"So why'd I just say that?"
"To be a good friend."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"I think I missed the point."
"You certainly did."
"But you feel better?"
"Yes."
"Well, I guess that's good then."
"Yes."
"Wait, you just won, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"But I was winning the whole time..."
"No one ever gets a medal for 'winning the whole time' then slowing down before the finish line."
"Is that another Chinese thing?"
"No. That's common sense."
"Wait, you're not even Chinese."
"I know that."
"I'm confused."
"It happens."

A Tribute to Schumacher

"Oh I wish I were an Oscar Myer wiener
That is what I'd truly like to be
For if I were an Oscar Myer wiener
Everyone would be in love with me!"

Ain't that the truth.

I think I might actually be a hopeless romantic trapped in a Dunja body. (I watched another Wedding show type-thingy. I should really stop doing that...)

Tick tock tick...
I'm turning 20 in 28 days. It's got me thinking about all sorts of stuff I still haven't done. It's like life is a giant countdown - you have 60 seconds - and it seems like the amount of stuff that needs doing in that 60 seconds is only doable by a James Bond type character. When I set off on the mission, I knew I had to fight off all sorts of bad guys, put my skis on, get down the hill and into the pond, scuba down to the treasure chest, cut the right wire, fight off the dogs, rescue the guy, and jump off a cliff, parachuting safely into my awaiting rescue vehicle... but I haven't even deciphered who the bad guys are yet - and I've already lost 10 seconds looking around in bewilderment.

It's around this time every year that I get the heeby jeebies, but it's especially pronounced this year because it's as if though I'm supposed to be closing a chapter in 28 days - and it's been the best. I don't wanna! I'd re-read it if I could.

I remember actually lying awake the night before my thirteenth birthday having the same sort of clausterphobic feeling. At the time, thirteen seemed like a big deal - I wasn't going to be a kid anymore. Well, thirteen came and went and I realized that you are what you think you are - and I managed to stay a kid (both to the delight and dismay of many who know me) a lot longer than I thought it was possible at age 12, 364 days and 23 hours. So I know that's probably exactly what will happen here - that's the good part - this isn't the first time this has happened, so I kinda know what to expect.
At the same time, I feel old.
I remember being 17 and at a party with 20-year-olds, feeling strangely out of place. I looked at them like creatures from another planet. They seemed so sophisticated and mature. All of their jokes were better than ours, and the drinking they were doing was legal, and the 20-year-old guys were just so much cooler than the guys my age... I didn't talk much - if nothing else sets off the alarm bells in your head, that should.
But am I really that different from my 17-year-old self now, what seems like lifetimes later?

Well, lets think back to Dunja at 17.
When I turned 17, I had just finished the 11th grade. I'd had math with Ms. Tzeng that year and had only recently stopped talking to Keira. I played Queen Something-Or-Other at the Renaissance Fair - which just happened to be on my birthday - and I remember being on the bus on the way home with Zeebs and Paul. They wanted us all to go out to Demetre's and get some ice cream and celebrate, but I was lugging a giant costume, and not in a very good mood.
My sister was still a kid. She didn't have boobs, she didn't have attitude, and she definitely didn't have a boyfriend. My cousin still climbed trees. The family from Brampton came down that weekend and I had a low-key party with them - the cake was chocolate, I believe. That summer, I played a lot of beach volleyball in Serbia, enjoyed some walks in the park, some ice cream, and some rocking parties. My cousin and I had a knock down drag out fight that resulted in a nosebleed. I walked the 3 km home in the 37 degree weather. Grade 12 was a blur. Hours spent cramming for calculus, countless others in the hallway 'studying' for Discreet math, the downstairs S-hall crew that kept me laughing (and somewhat sane), hours long after everyone else was gone spent in the yearbook office, the Bell Walk for Kids, not talking to P, strained relations with Z, and PROM the icing on the cake that I went to with some random guy I barely knew and spent not talking to the most important people of my highschool life. Weird. Also, I believe a movie-character was crowned prom king. But I can't even remember. That night was so shit.
Then I turned 18.
So was I really that different at 17 then I am now, at almost 20?
Well... no.
I had a major crush on a total asshole guy that lasted several months and was never meant to be. I spread myself thin and was stubborn in my ways. I placed too much emphasis on relationships that didn't matter and allowed other, more important ones, to slip and slide their way into and out of existance. I didn't really try in school. I was determined to have a good time, but didn't really know how... that's all as true today as it ever was. (Except that now I have crushes on more than one asshole guy at a time because there are simply more of them proportionately - and as far as friendships go, I think I'm a bit more apt at deciphering which ones I really should focus on - which is something, I suppose, in the way of progress.)

So should I really be nervous about my upcoming birthday? Well, not if I want things to stay the same. The laws of inertia state that a body in motion stays in motion, so I can safely predict a very similar disposition and attitude toward life and way of handling things at age 23. The only trouble is that I think my life is supposed to be moving - moving forward. That I'm supposed to be learning and evolving and changing - for the better. But it isn't really moving forward (life, that is) - and, well, a body at rest tends to stay at rest.

Just Be

Bandwagon jumping is easy because usually, by the time the wagon rolls around (if it is a bandwagon), it is completely full and someone on it finds themselves obligated to help you up. Such was the case with "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy". I heard of the movie coming out, saw the books on the shelves of my favourite bookstores, and thought, "Well, I've been meaning to read it for a while... might as well be now that everyone is going to be talking about it." (In this case 'everyone', more specifically the 'everyone that was going to be talking about it' helped me on to the wagon.)
But I've been meaning to read the book since Matthias first mentioned it in grade nine... So it took 6 years, a Hollywood blockbuster production, and mountains of publicity to get me to do something I've been "meaning to do". Seems like a bad sign.
I don't even talk to Matthias anymore.
Probably the last time I heard from him was like... last November.
I know, because I distinctly remember walking in front of the South Building, being on the phone with him (probably planning a never-to-be lunch) when my ex boyfriend called me on the other line to cancel our previously arranged date. I was mad. That's why I remember.
Back to the topic at hand, I jumped onto the wagon, finished the book in slightly under 24 hours (in between playing The Sims 2 - because my computer is UTTER CRAP and I have to let it cool down every once in a while), and am now working on the second in the trilogy of five.
The problem with bandwagon jumping is that sometimes in your haste to get onto the wagon, you don't really get a very good look at the people already riding it. (In this case, mostly nerds). And once you're on it, well, no one's about to jump off of a wagon and into a ditch at 100km/h, so you stay on it and engage in cognitive dissonance reduction and hope that you'll eventually start enjoying the ride.
Such might be the case here. Because I finished the book having "liked" it. And before bedtime, I found myself raving on about it like a drunken lunatic (it is about aliens and whatnot, after all... no, I wasn't actually drunk Paul...) to my entire family. I even raved about it to Nelly, whom I haven't had a proper conversation with since... I can't even remember.
So, if I start raving on about it to you - take what I say with a grain of salt. That being said, it is a really good book (objectively speaking). The author has a simple, humorous style - he doesn't go on and on with useless descriptions, which I like, because my imagination works just fine with a few supplied descriptive details thankyouverymuch, and the story is entertaining. He uses interesting metaphors, and a lot of his dialogue is surprising - much like a real conversation between real people. Very cool. Possibly most surprising about the book(s), is that there actually appears to be some character development, which I wasn't expecting from a science fiction author. He also does some very colourful, insightful, and creative commentary on people and our priorities. And somehow, in 200 pages or less, he manages to get you really thinking about the meaning of life (probably because he blatantly puts the question out there to be answered) which is, although blatant, still admirable. Stuff like "the meaning of life" doesn't usually get touched by the same authors who's books later become cult-classics. The best-seller books usually have one too many 'heaving bosom' or 'chiseled jawline' references. Not that I would know...
Not that I don't buy bestsellers...
Just not that kind.

Your average consumer (me) puts a lot of trust in the title "Bestseller" because they (I) can't be bothered to read little-publicized books by unknown authors with weird, far out plots. Firstly, getting your hands on a little-publicized book at a major bookstore is next to impossible because ALL of the books there are receiving major publicity and publishing house backing in order to make it on those shelves in the first place. Lots of people write books that get published. Most of them never see the light of day. Secondly, I've read one-too-many books from the discard bin at the library by some obscure author that have left me gagging because they were so wretchedly boring. Most of them had putrid descriptions of what the main character looked like or how he sounded or what he was wearing and where he was sitting - GOOD LORD! Tell me what he DID and I'll put the picture of what he looked like doing it IN MY OWN DAMNED HEAD. Most of these authors just get carried away with their 'vision' of how things should be and they don't really focus too much on the plot itself. The plots are variations on a theme - just different puppets acting them out. That's the mark of a bad book - a bad (or in any case already used and re-used) plot glossed over with too much description (think Stephen King) because, as we all know, any plot worth using has already been worked by Shakespeare - probably in more than one of his plays - and replacing Macbeth with a ginger-haired, sage-looking gentleman isn't going to change matters much.
We need something new.
Now, that being said, I know you're all thinking "But every single damned classic they made me read in English class was description-heavy: 'Great Expectations', 'Crime and Punishment'... actually those are the only two we read in English class that were description heavy - the rest of them were pretty good." Exactly. Some people can work it. Like Dickens or Dostoevsky - but even they only did it because Dickens was writing these books on the spot - a chapter a week or something directly for the audience. I'm sure that occasionally he lost inspiration and so entered a little extra garble in there. Plus, both Dickens and Dostoevsky were writing before television and computers. I'm sure that for those prissy people who had enough money to subscribe to Dickens' rantings, sitting in saloons and drinking tea and whatnot, a few extra words about the exact shade of the curtains were only icing on the cake... or at least they had to pretend it was being part of a totally repressed, prim and proper society and whatnot. But I have things to do, Sims to raise, and I honestly couldn't care less about Dustin's eyes - which appeared to be flecked with dust. WTF? Maybe Dustin should see an optometrist... or at least someone about a name-change... because that's hella ironic and I'd be damned if I didn't do something about something like that...
All's I know is that when I was reading Dickens AND Dostoevsky, I was skipping paragraphs at a time. (Same with Tolstoy. I'm telling you: too much time on their hands.) Which is why "The Little Prince" by Antoine de Saint Exupery is the best book ever.
It tells you exactly how to live life and what is important in a truly poetic fashion in under 110 pages, illustrations included. And I didn't find myself skipping a single word. In fact, I was re-reading lines because they were so simple, so beautiful, and so moving.
That's the trick, the mark of a great author: Say what you gotta say, say it beautifully, and people will listen. People will re-read if it catches them. If you can't make people care in one sentence, you sure as hell aren't going to make them care by adding on 49 extra ones. I'm clearly not a great author... But you get my point.
They're making a movie out of it soon (the book, not my point), I heard, and I shall refuse to go see it when it comes out just as I shall never see "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" movie because if "Harry Potter" taught me one thing it was that no one's vision, description, and re-enactment of events can ever parallel the magic going on in my head when I read a good book that lets the magic just be.

P.S. Another really good author who just tells an excellent story and lets you fill in the blanks is Mark Twain (Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn - look into them if you haven't already.)

3,000 Hits

I got in the shower this morning thinking "cocksucking piece of shit", which, even for me, is a really (really) bad thing to be thinking in the morning. The trouble, you see, was that in a series of attacks life has managed to spring on me these past few days, the final blow came this morning - and it was a low one. After playing a consecutive 3 hours of The Sims 2, my overheated bitch computer decided to just shut the hell down. Stupid bitch. Of course, I hadn't saved dill-fucking-squat, so I had to go impregnating my wife all over the fuck again after my shower even though just an hour ago - our child had already grown into a teenager. Cocksucking computer.
It wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't JUST run recovery on the damned thing THE PREVIOUS NIGHT. Fucking hell. I spent four goddamned hours backing up all my files and then re-installing everything - all the drivers, all the software... and it was running great -really swell. Until it decided to ruin my goddamned Sim life.
So I went to my cousin's house this afternoon, taking a much needed Sim-break, and spent two hours reading his Computer Gaming magazine which just happened to have a feature on The Sims 2 exapansion pack: University. You can guess where my next paycheck is going...
I'm so pathetic.

So I got into this talk with George the other night. And the trouble with George is that he's almost always right. And it's not that I mind him being right, I just mind him being right about stuff that bugs me but shouldn't, because in those instances, George seems to miss the affective component of my problem and does nothing to address it, while rationalizing something that isn't rational. (I guess he misses the point that all I really want is for him to just do the "Oh, that's too bad" thing.) Whatever the reason behind it, when he rationalizes my problems, (or puts it 'that way' - the way that makes sense), I feel like an idiot for feeling the way I did in the first place, and further like an idiot for feeling the way I do now - which is usually not any better. So, I've reasoned, when George rationalizes stuff I get emotional about, he's either doing it because he doesn't 'get' the feelings I'm having (or why I'm having them), or because he's decided to deliberately ignore the affective component of my problem and discount it. Maybe he thinks it's irrelevent, or my feelings are misplaced (or wrong, or silly), or that I waste too much energy debating useless crap and feeling crappy about... crap? - I don't really know what the rationale is. But the final result occasionally irks me. Because? Well, I don't know why... I'm an emotional girl? That sounds like an oxymoron. I over-analyze everything...
Can you be over-emotional and over-analyze everything at the same time?
Doesn't over-emotionality imply impaired rational judgment? Maybe my over-analysis is useless? But maybe they can co-exist... Anyone? Little help?
In any case, solutions, there are three:
1) Tell George exactly what I wrote just now. (Except more coherently.) But I fear George will find a way to rationalize that too and make me feel stupid for feeling stupid. (Or rather, he won't make me feel stupid, I just will)
2) Tell George that when I whine about stuff, he's not supposed to necessarily solve things - he's just supposed to smile and nod and agree if he can. But I don't want that either, because I value George's logical, rational insight. I just wish he could do the insight thing and the smiling and nodding thing at the same time.
3) Just stop whining to George. I have plenty of other people to whine to. And this seems like the most feasible option. Except that George gets it in ways other people don't - and even though he can't do the whole "smiling and nodding" thing - sometimes that's all I get from other people and that's occasionally just as frustrating.

Or maybe I have way too much time on my hands. (Probably.)

I got to chill with Zeebs and Paul today. We did lunch, and it was sooooo good. Haha. I just reminded myself of Schwify-Five... (I know a secret... and it is soooo good to hear it. Do you want to know what it shwos? I'll tell you what it shwos... ) Zeebs said she liked my shoes :)
Nelly was supposed to come, but couldn't because she's a nerd and still in high school and has stuff to study for. Apparently. Which sucks, because I haven't seen her in a while. And I miss her.

I'm reading "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" because I'm a bandwagon jumper - and because I bought the gift set for my sister for her birthday - and it's really entertaining so far. (My sister isn't allowed to use her birthday present until she finishes reading "A Midsummer Night's Dream" for English class. Last night she was in here for like an hour talking in Ye Olde English. Man, am I ever glad I don't have to do that ever again in my life. Shakespeare was a crackhead. Almost as bad as Freud. All of his stories are the SAME GODDAMNED THING: Girl wants boy. Boy wants girl. Something gets fucked up. They die. OR, for a little spice: Dude has giant dilemma. Dude overcomes giant dilemma. Everyone dies. And everyone dying is directly correlated with the dude overcoming the dilemma. NEXT!)

I almost got back into a normal sleeping pattern, but then I stayed up one night not too long ago talking to George and he creeped me out with rubbish-talk of bedbugs... that, coupled with my day-time misadventure with the ants in my basement kept me squirming, and thus, not sleeping. So I'm back to waking up at 2pm. (In case anyone decides to phone me, which they won't, because they're all horrible friends - they should know that I'm not sleeping properly anyhow.)

The end.
P.S. Wish jo mamas a happy Mother's Day for me.

WTF - Letters of the Month

I woke up at 2pm today.
WTF?
Honestly though, this is getting to be a source of concern for me. Mainly because it is severely impeding my ability to interact normally with people. I can't go out with anyone during the day because I'm sleeping, and I can't go out with them at night because they're sleeping. And in the odd event that I'm awake during the day, I'm in such a tired, pissed-off mood that I can't even make proper conversation or laugh at the appropriate intervals. As a result, I'm getting the "What's wrong with you?" ten times daily.
"Well, what's wrong with me is a tough thing to specify and/or identify, but one of the things contributing to the increase in abnormal behaviour I'm exhibiting is the fact that I'm not getting any sleep when people are supposed to be sleeping."
"Well, why aren't you sleeping when you're supposed to be sleeping?"
"Because I go to bed too late and wake up too late."
"Well, why don't you just get up earlier and then you'll be tired earlier and then you'll go to bed earlier?"
"Because that would just make too much sense. Plus, I'm unmotivated to roll out of bed in the mornings. I'd much rather just unplug the radio, roll over, and continue sleeping."
"You know, being in a comatose state for hours isn't necessarily healthy... if you're sleeping 16 hours daily - that can't be good..."
"Yeah, but eating Doritos and cookies isn't good for me either. And breathing in Toronto air is probably unhealthy. And everything causes cancer. You don't see me boycotting everything, do you?"
"I was just trying to be helpful..."
"Yeah? Why don't you shove something up your ass and get out of my face?"
"Why would I shove something up my ass?"
"SHUT UP! I'm going to bed..."

This army of giant ants appeared in my basement tonight. I saw one on my blanket, and after I finished freaking out, I looked over the edge of the couch and saw like 5 more in this stream of giant black ants. It was so disturbing. That was something like 3 hours ago, and I still keep feeling like there's little things crawling all over me. Gross.

I found my beige pants today. Fresh out of the laundry - in my SISTER'S room - crumpled. Now I either have to re-wash them (to smooth the crumples) which means I'd have to re-visit the basement... which I promised the ants they could have if they stayed out of my room, OR it means ironing. I want to kick my sister in the head sometimes. Why would she do this to me? I mean, the pants are clean - never been worn (since the wash), but I CAN'T WEAR THEM because she's demented and decided to leave them crumpled on her bed. GUARHASJKLKLJASSA/.

Sometimes I wish I had a little video camera with me 24/7 to capture all the nonsense I have to put up with. Then I could make accurate transcripts of some of the stupid things people have told me over the years. Like this conversation I had with this guy the other day. It went something like this:
HIM: Hi.
*He's smiling wide.*
ME: Hi. How are you?
*I smile back. I haven't talked to him in a long time.*
HIM: Fine.
...
...
ME: So... what's new?
*I'm looking at him intently. He's looking at the floor.*
HIM: Nothing.
...
...
...
...
ME: Nothing?
...
HIM: Nope.
*Still staring at the floor.*
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
ME: Are you mad at me or something?
*He looks at me abruptly*
HIM: No.
...
ME: Hmm.
...
...
...
...
*He looks back at the floor*
ME: Are you sure?
*Looks back at me*
HIM: What?
...
ME: Are you sure you're not mad at me?
HIM: Yeah.
...
...
ME: Really?
...
HIM: Really.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
*He's still staring at me*
*I do the head-bobbing 'yes?'-type thingy*
*He looks away*
*I look away*
...
*I'm staring at my shoes. They need a good cleaning.*
*He's staring at... I can't really tell what he's staring at. Something. In the distance.*
...
ME: So, are you sure there's nothing new? At all?
*I'm looking at him*
HIM: No.
*He looks at me*
ME: How'd your exams go?
HIM: Good.
...
...
...
...
ME: How's your family?
HIM: Fine.
...
...
...
...
ME: Done anything interesting lately?
HIM: Not really.
ME: Been busy?
HIM: Kinda.
ME: Doing what?
...
...
HIM: Not too much.
...
...
...
ME: Positive you're not mad at me?
*Now he looks exasperated.*
HIM: Why would I be mad at you?
ME: I don't know. You just don't seem very talkative. Something bugging you?
...
...
...
...
HIM: I'm not mad at you.
...
...
ME: Something bugging you?
*I think, something must be bugging him.*
HIM: No, nothing's bugging me.
*He's looking at me. Would he be looking at me if something was bugging him? Maybe I'm bugging him... Why would I be bugging him? I was just sitting here... minding my own business...*
...
...
...
...
ME: Are you sure?
HIM: Yeah. Nothing's bugging me.
*He smiles. I have no idea what's going on.*
...
ME: So, why'd you come over here?
HIM: What do you mean?
ME: Well...
...
...
...
...
ME: Well, I mean, why'd you come over here?
*He looks at me like I'm weird.*
HIM: Why not?
...
...
...
ME: Well, if you're not going to say anything...
...
HIM: What do you mean?
...
...
*Oh God. Why?*
...
ME: I just mean... well, you're not really saying much, are you?
HIM: Guess not.
*He's looking at the floor again.*
...
...
...
...
...
ME: Are you sure there's nothing bugging you?
*He looks at me incredulously. Then smiles broadly.*
HIM: There's nothing bugging me.
*If there IS something bugging him, he does a damn good job of covering it up. That was a GIANT smile.*
...
...
...
ME: So why are you here?
HIM: Dunno.
...
...
...
...
ME: Okaaaay.
*He looks at me.*
...
...
...
...
ME: Well, I'm going to go.
HIM: Why?
*I look at him frustratedly. Is that a word?*
ME: Did you come by just to say hi?
...
...
...
ME: Well?
...
...
...
*Now I'm totally annoyed. He's breaking every social norm there is that dictates what normal conversation between two people should be. It's really provoking.*
ME: Ok, I'm leaving.
HIM: Why?
ME: Honestly? Because you're creeping me out.
HIM: Why?
ME: Because. People don't just sit there and not say anything. Not when they don't know each other well. Not when they haven't talked in a while. Not when nothing's bugging them. Not when they're not angry at one another.
...
...
HIM: What's so bad about just sitting there?
ME: Well, it's not that... it's just... well, why?
*He's looking at the floor.*
...
...
...
...
*He looks at me.*
HIM: Why not?
...
...
*I'm looking at him for any hint of a smile. Any hint of a joke. There is none.*
ME: But why?
...
...
...
ME: See? That's what I mean. Why would you just choose to not answer my question?
HIM: I'm thinking about it.
ME: Well, think faster.
...
...
...
...
...
*He stares at me*
ME: It's kinda rude too, ya know.
HIM: What is?
ME: Well, just sitting there, not saying anything.
HIM: How?
ME: Well, you're not asking me anything. You're not giving me anything to work with. I have to keep the entire conversation going myself.
HIM: Why?
ME: Why what?
HIM: Why do you have to keep it going?
ME: Because I feel WEIRD just sitting here not saying anything.
...
...
...
HIM: Why?
...
...
...
ME: Because it's creepy. I feel like you're mad at me. Or something's bugging you. Or one of us should be saying something. Anything. Otherwise, why are we here?
...
...
...
...
...
...
ME: You're still doing it.
HIM: Doing what?
ME: Not saying anything.
HIM: I have nothing to say.
ME: SO WHY ARE YOU HERE?
...
...
...
HIM: Do you want me to leave?
ME: No. That's not what I mean.
...
...
...
...
ME: Well?
...
...
...
HIM: Well what?
...
...
...
ME: You're being really frustrating.
HIM: I don't know why you're frustrated.
ME: I told you why I was frustrated. You're totally creeping me out.
...
...
...
...
...
ME: I'm leaving.
HIM: You were here first.
ME: I know.
HIM: So I should leave.
ME:I know.
...
...
...
...
...
*He makes no move to leave.*
ME: So are you going to leave?
...
...
*He looks at me, smiling slightly.*
HIM: I thought you were leaving.
ME: I AM. Good LORD. BYE!
*I start to pick up my stuff*
HIM: It's okay. This is your spot. I'll leave.
*He gets up and leaves before I can say anything. I'm left sitting there, really, really confused.*


WTF?

If anyone has any idea why someone would do something like that, please... indulge me.

MISSION: ACCOMPLISHED

Last night rocked my best socks.
I danced with a paratrooper. Very trippy. I don't know why he felt the need to tell me he was a paratrooper...
About 21 peeps showed up for the party - which I think is pretty gosh darned good considering how much whining I heard when the invitations went out about exams not being completely finished and so on. Plus, these 20 or so were probably the most rocking partiers out of the bunch anyway (which makes sense... why would non-partiers go to a party?), so I think we did pretty good for ourselves.
At first, everyone was kinda iffy about the situation. Milwaukee's was deserted when we got there nice and early to avoid the non-existant lineup, and we weren't drunk yet. But as the crowd started amassing and we started drinking... well, for me at least, the atmosphere totally perked up.
There was one dude that spent the night dancing across the room from me. He was SO energetic and SO into it - he made me happy :) The other highlight of my night - the ROCK HARD abs of that one *hot* dude. Man. He was HOT. I think he said his name was Chris...
Then there was this other dude that said I was his hero and bought me a drink because I downed 2 tequila shots without making a face. (Couldn't have done it without the prompting from a chanting crowd - peer pressure rocks!)
Once I had downed those two shots, I was pretty much up for everything. Up until then, the dancing was not happening, but it's not 'cause we suck - it's just 'cause we needed a leader. Andreas and Maria broke the ice and set the party in motion. There was some bench-dancing, yes. And I already mentioned the paratrooper, the cool guy, and abs dude. Then there was also some salsa-ing with a very nice character who shared the name of one of the all-time most famous Fairy Tale characters - Hansel. HAHA. (I'm laughing with him. My name is Dunja for Pete's sake...)
What else... well, Paul was totally wasted (I actually think most people were...) and Steve broke it down on the dancefloor in a brief outburst. I think pretty much everyone else was dancing up a storm consistently though and just having a generally good time. Very cool.
Post-party, I ran into some Serbian people coming out of the Serbian party at Sound Emporium. We exchanged friendly greetings and chatted for about half an hour before Zeebs got fed up and made me part ways with them. Then, when we finally found the car, I said "Screw it" to my curfew and agreed that it would be an awesome idea to get some Chinese (food). We hit up some place, but as I sobered up and realized I was an hour late... I made everyone make it takeout. Good stuff. Totally helped me get over my hangover today.

I planned on taking pictures of the party, unfortunately, we were running late by the time Zeebs got to my house (as per usual), so we didn't have time to stop by any place to get film. We went by Paul's house and stole his digital camera, but then left it in the car because we're all retarded. So I have no pictures. I remember some being taken though... hopefully by someone in our group who will end up sending them to me - because otherwise it was just a bunch of strangers taking pictures of me... and that's... weird.
Overall, an awesome night to help put the stress of exams behind me and kick off my summer. So thanks to everyone who came out. You guys ROCK!

I had work today. Hungover-type work. Luckily, it wasn't too busy, but I got into a little spat with my boss' son which isn't a smart 'career' decision because I have to see this guy all the time. He REALLY pisses me off. I had to let him have it. Plus, I was in a bad mood - what with the headache and exhausted-ness and everything, and him being on my ass about trivial retarded things. Those factors severely impeded my ability to inhibit context-inappropriate behaviour (in this case, I was unable to impede my 'lashing-out'.) He actually threatened to have me fired. Which would have upset me if I a)cared about keeping this job and/or b)thought he had any sway in the matter. But he doesn't because his father knows he's a retard. And I don't care in the odd event that he does, because I can find just as meaningless and low-paying a job in a billion other places. So he can just kiss my ass.

NEWS:
It's Fariza's birthday today. HAPPY BIRTHDAY FREEZY!

There's another crazy party night coming up Friday May 13 to kick off my summer class(es). More to come about that one - ch-check out your inboxes.

That's it. Over and out.