LONDON-NITIS

So I got back from London a week ago. It feels like yesterday! In a quirky twist of fate, my father scheduled a business trip to London, the same time I was having a spring break. Luck? Fate? I don't know. I've always considered myself a bloody lucky person, the kind who stumbles upon the most amazing things in the world when I'm least expecting it. So there. Another bullet point in my growing list of: "Why I Should Believe In The Existence of A Higher Power." Swamp my bank account with billions of gold nuggets and you have me.

My best friend, who does not read this despite multiple threatening emails of coercion, asked me to keep a notebook, a journal of sorts, just so I would have something to do while my dad was out galavanting with his English friends. And so I did. Best thing that I could have ever done. England in my head is a blurry swirl of memories. It wasn't London. It wasn't even the bombardment of sexy English accents from every direction, even though that kept me amused for days on the end. It was being people who are past the politeness, past the get-to-know-you mode, past all the social niceties. People who've seen you screaming up a riot, stark raving naked (not literally, because that would be disturbing and wrong), making the vilest decisions, and who still want to hang out with you in spite of all that. In spite of knowing that sometimes, you don't brush your teeth in the morning, sometimes your fashion sense would bring a fishmonger to shame, sometimes your breath is a biological weapon of terror, still stand within touching distance of you.

How amazing is that?

Despite my incessant tirade against this tiny town and the absence of life beyond the occasional squirrel, this tiny unpopulated town, isn't quite such a bad place. What I hate about it, is the lack of people who care about me, and who I can care about. Considering the amount of time I have spent here, extrapolating upon past experiences (because I'm an engineer, and engineers like to extrapolate and collect stamps), I should not be stuck at home on a weekend blogging. I should be out! In the sun! Frolicking amongst the squirrels, putting flowers in my hair, skipping through the streets, arm in arm with people I love, and who love me in return. People that I can get annoyed with, and irritate them till they would have me shot, and wake up the next day and still want to have lunch with them.

erghk.

MUSINGS OF THE DAY

Actually I should be in school right now, this isn't particularly a very productive pasttime. At this rate I can see myself two hours from now still burbling about how I should REALLY haul my ass down to school and REALLY start getting some work done and REALLY stop snorting cocaine. No I don't actually snort cocaine, but if I did, that would be what I would do. That's pretty much how I spend my days, thinking about all the things I SHOULD be doing while doing all the things I shouldn't. Perfect. Just perfect.

Does anyone read this sad website? If you do, please send me email and money.

thanks.

BACK FROM HIBERNATION
Nobody, not even the obilgated brother deigns to read this anymore. This blog has to condemned to Blog Hell, where all the sad little abandoned blogs go to die. But here I am secretly updating it!! It's like the perfect neurotic unpredictable thing to do. I'm thwarting normality! I'm thwarting it!! Thwart Thwart. Upon which she unleashes a Super Mega Charge Paralyzing Ray Gun and blasts the retard politicians of America into nonexistence.

Among the great mysteries of the World:

1. How the FUCK did George Bush get elected?
2. Which planet did the people who support the war in Iraq sprout out of?
3. What the FUCK do they put in those Krispy Kreme donuts?

Hey... hey, don't get me wrong here, I don't mean to demean the war in Iraq. It's big. Like a major booger that comes along once every billion years. But frankly, I'm just so sick of the CNN, Time Magazine, MSNBC, dissecting the war, dicussing it with top politicians and major "experts", debating the morality of the whole damn thing. Fuck it. Take away all the glossy, forehead scrunching, Texas accented passionate but mispronounced speeches, and what you got is, " I really don't like Sadaam's face."

I'm not going to talk about it anymore. It gets me riled up, and when I get riled up, I do the sort of things people do when they are high on alchohol and dope, like calling distant ex-boyfriends and accusing them being emotional fuckwits. Here's me, Friday night, 2 glasses of wine, a Cosmo, a Long Island Tea and a Bacardi Coke after dinner:

ME: You! (pointing stubby accusatory finger at ex-boyfriend)
PUZZLED EX-BOYFRIEND: Erh?
ME: You stole his key! You KNEW he had to come home! And you didn't even have the decency to give him HIS FUCKING Key? Asshole
EX-BOYFRIEND: Erh.
AMUSED FRIEND: She's drunk. Don't listen to her.
ME: (Shifting accusatory finger to amused friend) I'm not drunk. Shut up.
ME:(To ex-boyfriend) Fucker. (leaves)

For the sake of clarity, ex-boyfriend in question was not said ex-boyfriend whom had called up and accused of being emotional fuckwit. In speaking of ex-es, I've decided that I've had too many. And therefore I'm going to have no more. My next boyfriend is going to marry me. Although I will refrain from telling him so until I have his testicles firmly in my grip and am applying continuously increasing pressure. Which brings me to my next dilemma, of not having a next boyfriend.

Which cannot be unusual considering the state of my blog entries to date.