PRESS SEVEN

In a fit of jealous rage, *amian elbowed me in the shoulder yesterday (or the day before yesterday), hard, (as evidenced by my lapse in memory,) and didn't ever really apologize for it either. Well, he said, "Sorry." But it was really half-assed and only came after I pointed out that he hadn't actually apologized, so it definitely doesn't count.
The theory is that he was mad that I'd spent an hour talking to "that dude" by the couches, but that theory only works if he did in fact elbow me yesterday after I talked to the dude - and I don't think that's how it happened at all.
The only other conceivable explanation is that he somehow managed to miss the fact that I was standing next to him - and how could anyone do that? So that theory is out as well.

Now, I never thought the day would come, but it is come.
This blog is starting to cause problems in my everyday life.
**ing out people's names isn't working. People seem to just intuitively know who I'm talking about despite the precautionary measures I've implemented.
This is bad when I get descriptive and creative about things I would've liked to have said to someone who has recently pissed me off, because, inevitably, they hear about what I've said via someone who reads my blog - and these utterances were never actually meant for their ears, or I would've uttered them myself in the first place.
Other problems are cropping up as well. For example, people I wasn't aware had the link to this blog, apparently do, and it thus gets a wider and more anonymous readership then previously anticipated. This is problematic because I get people coming up to me in school talking to me about stories I wasn't aware I'd shared with them. Some people think they know me. And they don't. Intimacy levels aren't matching up. My internet world and my real world are colliding. WORLDS ARE COLLIDING!

As if all of that weren't bad enough, the guy that works at my bank also apparently goes to my school. It was surreal seeing him there. I kept trying to place him, but it was really hard until he pulled a tie out of his briefcase and said, "Now you know who I am, don't you?"
I wish I didn't.
Who carries a tie around in a briefcase? Wait, who carries around a briefcase?

I'd better be careful. Maybe he reads this too...

Then, as I was going down to the gym the other day (don't get excited, I was only following *mar down - trying to call his bluff - it didn't work) this (really cute) guy says hi to me. I'm such a retard that I actually turned around to see if there was anyone behind me he might be talking to. There wasn't. He blushed. OH THE HORROR! Here I was, trying not to make an ass of myself, and making the situation ten times worse because I'M SUCH A RETARD! So he's like, "I know you from Frosh Week" and I'm thinking "Of course you do... GOD! IDIOT!" but I said, "I'll remember next time. Promise." And then I proceeded to fling myself down the remaining stairs to my death.
No, not really, but it's clearly what I should've done.

Then, I got a very interesting phone call today, but I can't write about it because THE WHOLE PLANET (i.e. too many people I know in real life) reads this. I wish I could write about it, because it's probably the best thing to have happened to me in a long time, but I can't.
Real shame.

Lastly, I miss Nelly.

"Dunja... I'm really drunk... my head hurts. Um I miss you a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I was gonna come home this weekend and for some reason I didn't and I'm sort of sad because I really miss you and like I miss homecooking... I REALLY miss homecooking I like food. Food that's not greasy and disgusting or healthy alternative and disgusting, either way it's really disgusting and I don't wanna come home fat... fat like a cow because that doesn't really... actually that won't happen 'cause I'm fencing now I, I forgot about that... Fencing really, like it's like really a lot of exercise. Fencing, like you wouldn't think so, but you're weilding a foil - that's what it's called, it's not a sword, it's a foil, but anyway I don't wanna take up all the time in your voicemail like last time I did and some woman cut me off and was like 'Uh you ran out of time, etc etc etc' yeah um" END OF MESSAGE. TO ERASE THIS MESSAGE PRESS SEVEN. TO SAVE IT, PRESS NINE.

"Do you ever get down on your knees and just thank God that you know me and have access to my dementia?"

Today, in my Critical Reasoning class, I argued with my prof. And although he "strongly disagreed" with what I was saying in the beginning, by the time I was through making my point, he was saying "Good point, good point. I'm glad you brought it up. Yes, very valid. Very good." And I said, "Thank you" and everyone laughed. Tomal says, "He was trying to shut you up by agreeing... all guys do that."

Zeebs and I got lunch and discussed the inner-workings of the male mind over Chocolate and Watermelon martinis.
It wasn't a very fascinating conversation at all.
For obvious reasons.
The chocolate martini was awesome though. I have to get a recipe for that...

*amian hit the nail on the head today in a moment of sheer (albeit accidental) brilliance when he stated, "You're going to be alone forever" in response to some non-sensical rant of mine.
Although he meant it as a joke, we both realized the significance and truthfulness of the statement quickly thereafter, and our weak (polite) laughter turned into laughter of the raucous sort, proof that the old adage "It's funny because it's true" is on the money.

And now, for your assignment:
We spent about an hour discussing old lunchtime rituals after *ren offered me his WHOOOOLE "Fruit By The Foot". (Interestingly enough, the ruler once present on the roll is gone, so that you cannot actually accurately measure out a foot of fruit for yourself. Also, I'm told that the roll, which was once 3 feet long, is now only 2.5 feet. Unfortunately, since we had no ruler (suspiciously enough), we had no way of verifying this 'fact'.) We discussed such things as the trading values of various lunch items, as well as the significance of the giving/receiving of lunch items, as well as the politics of lunch items, as well as the various ways in which various lunch items could be consumed, and our method(s) of choice.
For example, in grade four, someone giving you their WHOLE "Fruit by the Foot" would've signified that they were in love with you.
Now it just means they don't like "Fruit by the Foot" all that much, or that they are trying to shut you up.
Dunkaroos were always held in high-esteem in trading circles, whereas celery sticks - not so much.
It used to be that the not-so-cool kids would try to get in with the popular crowd (guaranteeing themselves temporary protection from bullies and fewer long lineups for various activities) by offering the cool kids bits of their lunches or their snacks. For example, giving Britney your Nutella sandwich would have guaranteed you a turn playing Four-Square during recess.
Some people preferred the icing of the oreos, sticking the two black bits together to be discarded, while others preferred the black bits. If these two people succeeded in finding each other in the lunchroom, theirs would be a symbiotic relationship that would probably endure for years. In fact, these were the "joint-at-the-hip" friends you remember from grade six.
The designs on the "Fruit-Roll-Ups" never quite looked the way they were supposed to by the time you finished extracting them from the roll-up. They'd always end up stretched and deformed, making you truly hate the kids in the commercial that seemed to do it effortlessly.
Some people were really good at making Cheese People out of their Cheesestrings. Those were also the kids good at art. They smelled like cheese as well. No one really went out of their way to hang out with them I don't think...
The "Fruit-by-the-Foot" made its appearance as a humungous tongue on multiple occasions.
And so on.
It was quite a fun trip down memory lane, I must say.
If anyone has any cafeteria anecdotes they want to add, please feel free to do so in the Comment section.
I'd love to see what we can uproot collectively.

this won't hurt a bit

I'm going to tell you it's over between us because I don't care about you anymore, even though that's not true.
I'm going to tell you it's over between us because I don't care about you anymore, even though that won't matter to you at all.
I'm going to let you think I'm shallow, and flighty, and cold, because what I really am scares me.
I'm going to tell you I'm dumping you because you're violent... Because you smashed that perfume bottle against the wall.
Or because I had to turn to someone else for protection and warmth and caring.
Or I'll let you think it's because you forgot my birthday. Or because of that one time you told me to shut up.
I'll tell you it's over because of that night when you held me close - because we don't ever have nights like that anymore. But that's not true either. You hold me close all the time, it's just that now I've realized that instead of really, truly holding me close, you pretend.
I've been mistaking your sneer for a smile all this time; your hand in mine for a promise you never made.
You pushed me aside in your head even as you got closer then you'd ever been, my nakedness as irrelevent as my naivety. You opened up old wounds, salting them with every whispered lie, and cut brand new gashes with every touch, leaving scars where there had been none. And I've realized you've never truly known everything that lives inside me like I thought you did. You've never even truly cared. And how could you? Words are just tools to you, and I'm just... well, I'm just a piece of ass.

We could be infinitely and indefinitely happy together if I'd just ignore the fact that you don't give a flying fuck about me.

The sad part is that, you're right about everything. About me. About you. About us. I'm so pathetic and spineless and worthless that I can't even go a night without crying myself to sleep over you. And you're so wonderful and beautiful and deceitful and capable that even though I know I shouldn't, I worship the ground you walk on. By all means, our's is a fair arrangement. You've never hit me. You've never cheated on me. You've never promised me forever. But I can't help wishing every kiss had even a morsel of tenderness behind it, that everything wasn't just mechanical. Because when I touch you, it's because every particle of my being is screaming and aching with the need. And when I kiss you, it's because I don't think I could go on living another second if I didn't. You don't have to love me like that. I just wish you'd love me a little. A tiny, small bit...
Anyway, I can't tell you any of that. So, you can think I'm crying because I feel guilty about the thing with Ben, or because you scare me when you yell at me, or because I'm afraid to be alone. Just as long as you never suspect that I'm actually crying because for one brief moment in time, as I lay next to you, feeling your heart beat, watching your chest rise and fall, with your arm around me - I felt at peace and whole and like everything was as it should be.
I think everything will be okay if you never know that.

I'm going to tell you it's over between us because I don't care about you anymore. Because it won't hurt you in the least.

it's not bright... it's sunny.

(Thank you Tomal.)

I'd love to update you all on my life and the like, but I'm so far beyond the Valley of Not Caring that I can't even be bothered to update people on how little I care.
That's how little I care.

I had this conversation with Nelly today:
You know how when you're SO tired you don't even feel tired anymore? Or you're SO hungry you don't even feel hungry anymore?
Well I care *SO* little about stuff right now that I'm actually freaking out about everything. At least that's the theory to explain why I'm freaking out about everything. (It makes no sense. I know. I just read that sentence three times and even though I wrote it, it still makes no sense. But it's the best I can do. Plus, I don't really care.)

I'm freaking about school. Because I have to get into courses that have no space. And pay for courses with my no-money. And I don't have a single textbook. And I have my first assignment due next week.
I'm freaking about work. Because it sucks. And I need a new and (very) improved job.
I'm freaking about the amount of physical labour I'm going to have to put into the new house.
I'm freaking about the fact that I haven't talked to some of my closer friends in a while and I'm not really all that pertrubed or surprised by it.
I'm freaking that I don't care about losing friends at this point.
I'm freaking about the fact that I have no replacement friends.
I'm freaking about the fact that everyone seems to enjoy my company on a really superficial level, but no one is ever really willing to take it any further.
I'm freaking about how there's always someone to hang out with at school, but never anyone to call at 4 in the morning. Except for Nelly. Who's too far to do anything about it.
And I'm lastly freaking about the fact that none of the boys in my life have balls.
Which is definitely something to freak about.
If boys don't have balls, who will?

(AND it's also freaky that it's Friday night and I spent it talking to my parents about painting a garage... but I'm not really freaking about that. All that means is that I've regressed to my grade ten days. I'm just missing popcorn and AFV.)

I dunno. Seems to me the Valley of Not Caring is severely overrated.
It's just like the Valley of the Really Caring, minus the emotional upheavals, plus internal turmoil.
I think I like it better in the Valley of the Really Caring though, mainly because I don't know how to deal with ulcers.

I'M KIND OF A BIG DEAL

Frosh Week 2005 begins tomorrow.
It'd be silly of me not to admit that I'm severely excited.
So severely I think I may have a crick in my neck tomorrow from all the headbanging I've been doing around my room to raucous Dance Music.
I never listen to Dance Music, and apparently for good reason, because it appears to lead to injuries, least of all which include a lost mind (due to the repetative nature of the music), but this seemed like a special occasion, so I took a chance.
Naturally, therefore, I've been blasting "I Just Like to Call You My Bitch" all day. Headbanging. Although I'm pretty positive you're not supposed to headbang to this stuff. Unfortunately, I don't have a pole in the middle of the room, so I can't imitate what I've seen people doing on Electric Circus and in the European clubs and the like. So I had to make due with headbanging.
Damn, my neighbour just came over to tell me to turn this shit down. Ok, if it was a normal neighbour, I wouldn't mind. But this is the same lady who lets her kids out at 5 in the morning to play street hockey.
And if these were normal kids, I wouldn't mind. But they've whined unappealingly one too many times, hit our car one too many times, and broken something one too many times for me not to realize that they're complete retards.
Ok lady, I realize it's the first day of school tomorrow - but who gives a fuck? It's only 9:56pm, and you don't see me coming over to your house at 5 in the AM to tell your little loser kids to shut the fuck up with their whining because I'm trying to sleep, do you? And if I was just a little less understanding (read: lazy) then I am, I would be there EVERY morning because your kids are whining EVERY morning at 5 in the AM. But I let them whine. And whine. And whine. And now, this once, this FREAKING ONCE when I'm playing raucous music at 9:5fucking6 PM, to celebrate the beginning of FROSH WEEK for FUCK'S sake, you have to come over here and give me flack. Damn you. Damn you all to hell! Let's have a little consideration for those of us in this neighbourhood that aren't 4. How's that sound? Loser.
First fucking day of school? WHO GIVES A FUCK? First of all, no one does anything important the first day of school. Your kids could stay home tomorrow the whole day sleeping, and they wouldn't miss anything. Secondly, even if they did do something the first day of school - I've met your kids - and they're so retarded, they wouldn't catch it anyway, music or no music, sleep or no sleep. So who are we kidding here?

I should've said that...

Anyway, now that the music is off, I'm substantially less excited.
I hate it when people ruin my fun.
I hate it even more when I don't say what I'm thinking.
Like yesterday, when *unny told me that it was his way or highway at the Frosh Leader Training thingy. He was all, "If you don't like it, don't come back at all next week." And in my head, I was all, "STFU. Firstly, you have no authority to tell me that. Secondly, even if you had any authority, I wouldn't listen because I have no respect for you. And thirdly, even if you had the authority to say something like that to me, and I respected you, I STILL wouldn't listen 'cause you're so ugly." But I didn't say that. I just said, "I'm going to talk to *arren."
And then, when I was talking to *arren, *unny gets all up in my face. And I wanted to say, "IS ANYONE EVEN ASKING FOR YOUR OPINION OR CONTRIBUTION? HAS ANYONE EVEN INDICATED THIS CONVERSATION SHOULD CONCERN YOU? DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE WORDS THAT ARE COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH? MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, YOU FUCKING RETARD! DO YOU HONESTLY THINK THE WORLD REVOLVES AROUND YOU? I MEAN, YES, YOU'RE FAT ENOUGH TO PRODUCE ENOUGH OF A GRAVITATIONAL FORCE, BUT THE WORLD DOESN'T *ACTUALLY* REVOLVE AROUND YOU. GOD. SHUT THE HELL UP. AND GET OUT OF MY FACE. BEFORE I KICK IT IN." But I didn't say that. I said, "*unny, I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to *arren. Please leave."
I hate that I've been socialized so well. Sometimes it really seems that it's the retards who have no grasp of what appropriate behaviour is that are running the show, and winning.
Why do we let them do that?

Roselle made me do it...

7 Things I plan to do before I die:

1. Fall in love
2. Have some kids
3. Learn the tango
4. Skydive
5. Get a tattoo
6. Get my G2
7. Crash a million dollar wedding

7 Things I can do:

1. Cry (if I want to)
2. Eat
3. Sleep
4. Read (English and Serbian... and I can pretend to read French)
5. Start conversations with strangers
6. Make an ass of myself and not mind too much (this ability is key for #5 in case anyone is wondering)
7. Bullshit

7 Things I cannot do:

1. Hang out with Lep. Ever. Again.
2. Hold onto a guy I like
3. Find a guy I like
4. Catch
5. Throw
6. Run
7. Become president of the USA

7 Things that attract me to the opposite sex:

1. Humour
2. A nice smile
3. Shared interests
4. Ability to make me feel like a complete spazz in his presence (this probably isn't what attracts me to them, but rather a side-effect of the attraction... but perhaps we'll never really know...) CONFIDENCE (to the point of cheeky-ness)
5. Galantness
6. Intelligence
7. Education - both formal and informal

7 celebrity crushes:

1. Will Smith
2. Jay Hernandez
3. Harrison Ford
4. Ron Weasley
5. Dr. Seuss
6. Matt Damon in 'Good Will Hunting'
7. Ben Affleck pre- J. Lo


7 People I want to do this:

1. Tomal
2. Paul
3. Nelly
4. Ramiro
5. Any dudes who may have starred in a music video recently
6. Any German dudes
7. I don't have that many friends...

This is a post I wrote a really, really long time ago. I don't have money to spend anymore, so my shopping addiction is totally cured.

I bought a pink top that I deemed not to be slutty at the store, but changed my mind about at home. I also bought a pair of flip flops I didn't actually need, and went all out and ordered a year's worth of contact lenses for $180 even though I owe myself $200. The worst bit: I inflicted half an hour's worth of torture on myself in the form of leg waxing for another $60.

Does this qualify as a disorder since it causes me distress?

The woman that works at Smart Set actually knows me now. I walked into that store 3 TIMES IN ONE DAY. She told me she'd have to refrain from selling me anything the next time I went in. (She obviously doesn't work on commission.)
I'll thank her profusely once I come to grips with my problem. Right now, she's like the people tying me up in my straightjacket (if we want to go with the 'insane/majorly disordered' train of thought) and I hate her for it.

The 50 Cent video for "A Lil' Bit" bugs me. WHY IS HE WEARING THAT HAT? And why, oh why, is this the most empowering video currently being aired during RapCity? There is nothing empowering about being a hoe working for a successful pimp, but that's apparently the best girls can aspire to these days, since in the other videos they're hoes working for unsuccessful pimps.
My question is: Why are they hoeing even in their OWN videos? I mean, it makes no sense to me in the first place to take your clothes off and shake your bum around in a video - but let's say it's the ONLY way to get food on the table (although it isn't... but for the sake of argument...) and you decide that it'll be good money for minimal work and time away from your family, etc. Ok. Done. So some rapper wants to look good, and the only way his fatass can do that (think: Fat Joe) is to pay you to pretend you like him. Ok, done. You shake your ass because that's what you're getting paid to do. Now, why, oh WHY would you CHOOSE to do this when it comes time to make your very own music video? Think Christina Milian 'Dip It Low', Amerie 'One Thing', any J-Lo video... I could go on. Why? What's the logic? Sex sells? Ok, so when it's your turn to sell some sex, why don't you pay men to take off their clothes and hump the floor around you whilst you throw cash around and wear a fur coat? Wouldn't that make more sense?

Half the problem we have is with ourselves. As long as there are women out there willing to be objectified - we can't blame guys for being pigs - because we're doing it to ourselves more often then not.
And it's a shame everyone buys into it.

Now, forget about the feminist/humanist perspective. Let's look at it from a purely artistic point of view - since this is music, after all - the ultimate art form: Can't you come up with ANYTHING new? A new chorus? A new hook? A new beat? Something besides romping around on your bed or covering yourself in grease? Getting caught in the rain wearing see-through clothes? Making out with another girl? THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING OUT THERE THAT HASN'T BEEN DONE A BILLION TIMES OVER IN A BILLION OTHER VIDEOS. YOU'RE THE ARTIST. BE ARTISTIC FOR FUCK'S SAKE AND FIGURE SOMETHING OUT. Jesus. It doesn't even have to be new. Just not COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY TIRED AND OVERPLAYED.

Now, if you're clearly not out there to change people's minds or to challenge beliefs or to lead or be creative in any way, shape, or form: then why are you calling yourself an artist? Why are we discussing talent? This industry isn't about talent or art: it's about advertisement. So, call yourself what you are: a freaking billboard, and stop wasting everyone's time with these interviews where you go on and on about how hard it is being you and getting your 'message' out. Stop having concerts that you're not actually singing at - instead, why don't you have a little tour where you just have a couple sit-downs with some impressionable youth and do your job: 'Drink Pepsi.' Thank you. NEXT!

Suffice it to say: If I don't expel any major organs next time I turn on MuchMusic, it'll be because the cable connection is out.