I just applied to Universtiy. The next decisive four years. The rest of my life.
Man, I am not ready for this. I feel like I’m dragging my feet. Apart from occasionally daydreaming about walking the streets of downtown Toronto with a book under my arm, or calling my parents from Ottawa, or doing something equally romanticized in whatever place I end up, I don’t spend enough time considering the actual logistics of me going from Point A (angsty suburbia) to Point B (angsty post-secondary institution requiring hard work).
As hard as it was for me to click the mouse button and shell out $166, I have to admit I’m not as worried as I should be. Somewhere in the back of mind there’s the quiet suggestion that everything will work out fine, and so here I am doing the bare minimum. Story of my life, hmph.
Actually, I am a creature addicted to guilt. So, this whiny episode was brought to you by the fact that I’m coming to terms with the utter lack of any work done over the break.
On a happier note, today was one of the best distractions from work I could have asked for. Free cookies from the subway man. Sleeping. Ray Romano. Back warmings. A dinner party (looking forward to my pee smelling funny Jason…) The hardest game of Charades I have EVER played.
For the record: Apathy --> three syllables --> first syllable A --> second syllable PIE --> third syllable TEA
Carbohydrate --> four syllables --> one :CAR --> two :O --> three: HI --> four: ATE
Jason and Dennis got both of the above because they are geniuses. Genii?
Jason also got “Treaty of Versailles” in exactly 4 seconds.
So I rang in the New Year with a lot of love. Actually, that’s not true. I was too impaired to consider time itself.
But now, NOW, I am fine. Perfect, you could say.
I love everyone in my life at this particular moment.
If you were sharing your flakes of gold with me. If you were bright red, looking at me from across a crowded room, and still managing to commiserate with me. If you were opening your house to a bunch of not entirely conscious individuals. If you were teaching about alcohol, either because you took a bartending course, or because you happen to be an alcoholic. If you proclaiming my superiority in shot-drinking because I am white, and you are Asian. If you are the legion of middle aged, drunk Serbs in my house right now. If you hugged me just because. If you shared your pie with me, with your four extra forks. If you have breasts that act independently of your body. If you invited me last minute. If you were in the bathroom when I was trying real hard not to throw up. If you were singing Whitney Houston. If you were my father, who didn’t drink until AFTER he picked me up, then proceeded to drink and dance to his heart’s content. If you are the lady at Shopper’s who wished us a happy New Year and handed us batteries. If you asked me to go for a ride with you. If you showed me a shooting star. If you smell good. If you touched my back in just the right way. If your laundry flooded. If you didn’t get your hair cut. If I didn’t crawl over you to get to the passenger seat. If you kept asking me if I was in fact ok. If stayed with me and kept me sane even though there were much more interesting things to do on floor with a lack of friction. If you said goodbye to me, even though I wasn’t all there.
I can’t wait to spend this new year with you. All of you.
So, um, I’d go to bed now if there weren’t a whole bunch of crazy people in my house having an impromptu luau. Maybe coming home wasn’t such a great idea. :)
I had a dream that I was in Fairview Mall and some guy was running around speaking French and trying to get people to help him. And by the time I was done conjugating verbs in my head, he was gone, so I couldn’t come to his rescue.
Last night I had a date with Juli. She restored…actually more so reaffirmed…my faith in life, love, and happiness. We are the perfect compliment to each other’s dysfunction. The phone’s dead now.
It also turns out that I am a sausage roll whiz. WHIZ. Together with Stephie the French Onion Whiz, and the boys who are Masters of Butter and Thieves of My Ice Cream, we make one hell of a team. Cleaning up that much was easy – a labour of love.
Hot damn we’re halfway through. January 9th I loath you. January 20th you are a close second.
A couple hobbled into a Washington emergency room covered in bloody restaurant towels. The man had his around his waist, and the woman had hers around her head. They eventually explained to doctors that they had gone out that evening for a romantic dinner. Overcome with passion, the woman crept under the table to administer oral sex to the man. While in the act, she had an epileptic fit, which caused her to clamp down on the man's member and wrench it from side to side. In agony and desperation, the man grabbed a fork and stabbed her in the head until she let go.
(!)
P.S. I found this after looking at a penis scanning contest.
It’s one of those nights when I can feel my heart beating in every part of my body, when I almost dislocated my leg, when the sound of a horn was a matter of life and death, when I planned my wardrobe, when I kind of mooned a car, my favourite old-school car.
And it’s turning into one of those nights when I will listen to my main man Mraz and eat Nutella right out of the tub. So unladylike. Almost….naughty ;)
