I haven't written a long, nonsensical rambling post in a while, and since I'm supposed to be cleaning now seems like the best time.

Miyazaki vs Zombie. A battle of pictures.

So, yestereve a got together with two of my favorite magnificent bastards and we went out looking for fun. Fun turned into watching two movies, but since I got to have the majority of a cherry slushie and then made myself nachos I'm in no position to complain.

Upon arriving at the cinema (such a pretentious word, which is why I love it) we let democracy do the work and on a two to one vote decided that House of a Thousand Corpses was on the menu. It is a movie about crazy people killing regular people for little to no reason. Although I didn't keep track, I'm sure there were way less than a thousand corpses, but to its credit something like 15 people were killed over the course of the movie, including some cheerleaders, so yet again...no complaints. There was some neat cinematography stuff, and in the tradition of horror films there was some incredibly irritating blond girls and lots of breasts, but on the whole I have nothing to say about this movie. It did what it set out to do, no doubt...I'm just not sure if I know exactly what that was... the moral I extracted from the whole thing is that it is always better to outcrazy the craziest person in the room. Sanity is nothing but your ticket to brutal scalpings and getting stabbed to death while dressed as a bunny. Crazy always wins.

After we fled the scene we rolled up to the movie rental place and walked out with Spirited Away. This movie was awesome. Even considering the fact that I fell asleep for a stretch in the middle and had to put up with two wiseass hecklers, I loved it. Not much else to it than that I"m afraid though...just see it. Again and again. There was something so beautiful and mystical about the whole movie that I could really tap into, especially right after having my senses raped by a movie with characters who have supposedly developped some kind of underground labrynth packed with gooey undead psychos.

Did I really need the 'psychos' at the end of that sentence? If you're gooey and undead its probably a sure bet that you're a malcontent. Maybe not 'psycho' per se...but definately cranky. And I'm actually guessing at that too, I mean all they were doing was walking towards people, maybe wanting a hug or to give them a massage...only one of them was swinging an axe...and he was doing a poor job of it too...make that 'gooey undead misunderstood zombies'. That feels better.

Okay, I think I'm done now.

This has got to stop

After I dropped them off, I sat in the car in front of John's house for a while.
I knew exactly what was going to be the first song on the cd, and I knew it was going to level me.
So I drove, parked infront of my old highschool, and put the cd in.

I laughed because I was right and I cried because I was right.

Some people are just always going to be beautiful to me. They could torture a monkey right before my very eyes, and yet I'd still cherish my time with them and hang on every word. What's better about this is that one beautiful person is opening me up to more, new beautiful people...it's catching, like SARS. My past and present are better for having met you, and I just hope one day in the future we'll get to make eye contact again. But if not, I'm okay with that because I can think of you all I want. I can think my way back into your city, and I can think your way to mine.

And I do and will.
Bitch.

I just recieved an email that blindsided me entirely.
Blindsided with goodness, that is...shortly after reading three sentences I flew out into my backyard and did a dance.
I honestly didn't think I'd ever see him again, or at least not in the next two years.

My face hurts from smiling, visits kick ass.

I think it's about time I stopped eating red meat.
A burger tried to kill me today, and all I was thinking was "well, I guess that's how it goes...kill or be killed."
It tried it's best...ultimately I came out on top, but it was so close that I think I'm going to retire.

Choking sucks by the way.

Tonight felt like one long hug.
One of the good ones, where you are still in each others arms.
When you pull away it's like something escapes.
That's what tonight felt like.

Family Matters

Do you ever have moments where someone in your immediate family does something or says something and you get an overwhelming wave of 'I must be adopted'?Do you ever wonder how you could possible share DNA with these people? Do you ever think that maybe the resemblance is only a coincidence and that you were delivered at random by some stork-like construct?

Because I don't.

When I was a little girl, the running 'joke' with my brother was to convince me that I was adopted. You see, I was born in November. A friend of the family who lived far away and hadn't really heard anything about me, sent us engraved ornaments for Christmas that year. They arrived two weeks after I was born. Four ornaments, one a soldier with 'Allan' printed in wavey script underneath it, a wreath with my mom's name under it, a christmas present with my dad's and then a little tiny sheep ornament, with 'Deidre' printed under it. My name is not Deidre. I'm not even sure as to the correct pronunciation of Deidre. Ed, the well meaning friend had heard my name said outloud only once, remembered it was unique and started with a D, and guessed. He was close enough, and it was a beautiful ornament, so my parents put it up anyway.

Flash forward a few years to where I'm old enough to read, and notice that my special ornament has some other girl's name on it. So I ask, of all people, the most reliable source of information I had at the time, My older brother. He told me that Deidre was the name of his first sister. She ran away and then they picked me up. Hardy har. I never really believed him, but I did understand how easy it would be for me to be adopted, and never know. But days like yesterday prove beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I am indeed, my parents' child, and my brother's sister.

My Mom.
When I walked in to the house after my exam, I heard my mom calling my name in that singsongy voice that mom's use when they want you to do them a favor, not in the scary drillsergeant voice they use when they find gum keeping the coffee table permanently in place on the carpet. So I casually walk up the stairs towards the source of her calling, but she keeps calling my name. I tell her I'm coming, but she keeps calling my name, and at fairly regular intervals. I get upstairs to find her sitting on the floor of our still unfinished bathroom, next to the cat. I stand right in front of her, but she keeps calling my name. Finally, I realize what's going on. Everytime she calls my name that way, the cat echoes her with a meow. "Des! Meow! Des! Meow! Des! Meow!"
So I leave them to their game, which carried on for about 2 minutes longer than it should, and I went back downstairs.
My mom is crazy. Whether or not I did well on my last exam is no where near as important as making the cat meow. Awesome.

My Brother:
The other night I watched my brother co-star in one of those interactive dinner theatre murder mystery things. It was a modified version of a Midsummer Night's Dream which his theatre company was putting on. He played a very geeky Demetrius, replete with lenseless glasses. He fell in love with these glasses and has been wearing them around ever since. They are obviously fake glasses, with Buddy Holly frames and no prescription whatsoever, but yet he wore them to his exam, out for dinner, out drinking...everywhere he goes. He'll be 24 in July. He doesn't pretend to hide it either, he'll reach through the glasses to scratch his eyes. He's wearing them to see if someone calls him on it...and so far no one has.
Sociological experiment or playing dress-up? I don't care. AWESOME.

My Dad:
My brother dropped out of electrical engineering and went to clown college. I'm serious. He was taking engineering at Ottawa U, and hated the program, so he left and took two years off to do theatre and figure out what he wanted. One of his theatrical pursuits was a series of clown courses. Now, both my parents are fairly conservative, and there was much gnashing of teeth when the news was dropped. My mom is the more vocal advocate of going to school, whereas my father just quietly sat there which in my book implies a far scarier message. I thought my dad was REALLY pissed about the whole thing, until one day when he was driving me to work, he pulled over at the side of the road and got out of the car. There was a street sale going on, and he'd seen something that 'Allan needs to have'. I expected all sorts of things, maybe a desk or some other piece of educational bric-a-brac to get him back on the right course towards conformity...but nope. Not my Dad.

He returned to the car with a tricycle. He bought my brother a little bike.
Can't be a clown without a little bike.
AWESOME.

I just finished my last exam today. AND I bought a new toothbrush...hence...I'm drunk.
In my 6ish months of posting, not one single time have I posted inebriated.
And tonight won't be one of those nights. Cause I"m sleepy.
I just wish I had a warm body to curl up next to in bed.

That's all the gushy sentiment I'm allowing myself.
Sweetest of dreams...Ihope I don't feel nauseous tomorrow.
Love love love.
Deds

She's Barbie's favorite artist? Her name is a registered trademark? I used to trade Wagonwheels for Flakies with this girl...
I can't help but hate her now...A green, seething hate.
Is she well known? Do the common folk know her?
I did a project on air pollution with her. She's not so great.

Damned successful contemporaries.

41% of people who read this site are from the United States. This is funny because I don't know ANYONE from the States. I actually sat down and thought about it, and yep...other than my friend Steph's mom who'll be moving to Pennsylvania and a girl who I went grade school with, and didn't really get along with who then moved to Texas and got famous (Amanda Dunbar, She made Oprah cry) I don't know anyone who lives in the States. Not out of choice...I'm sure there's a whole lot of great people down there...but yet...you read me. Do I have some kind of Yankee appeal? Or are you just big blog consumers? How do you guys find me? This is very very strange to me...especially cause I have such a low readership and want to feel connected with all of you guys. Since there's only a few dozen I figure it's my duty to know all of you by name...unless you're one of the people who found me by searching for:

"advertising for coke breasts"
"guadalajara strip clubs"
"sexy prosthetic leg ladies"
"mammaries, simply gorgeous"
or my fave
"Lesbians Against Boys Infiltrating Anything"

Go Acronyms. Sorry to let you down though.

Toilet Humour

My parents are redoing the bathroom. This is a week long pursuit that began Tuesday morning, at 8am with the sounds of rather manly remodeling guys smashing tile off the walls. It sounded like they were breaking plates into my bathtub. Not a restful sound.
Anyhow, this upheaval has not only made my house impossible to study in, but it has also created some rather amusing anecdotes. The first one starring my best friend, and the second staring me.

1. So Tuesday, the first thing they did after shattering my hard earned sleep-in was remove the tub and toilet from the bathroom, and place them on my front lawn. Kathy, being the exhibitionist that she is, automatically jumped at the opportunity to play, and quickly sat down on the displaced throne and started posing. My brother rushed in to the house quickly and grabbed the digital, so I have documentation of this which will be posted later...anyhow, at first Kathy was just sitting there pondering away, but a few minutes and not NEARLY as much cajolling as I'd thought it would take later, the pants were down around her ankles, and she was reading the newspaper. On a toilet. On my front lawn.

The great part was, no one was around. In the middle of the day, not a single car drove past, so this was our little secret....until Mike, the friendly bathroom and kitchen renovation guy stepped out the front door to get some tools. At which point, Kathy turned, and politely covered herself with the editorials. Mike's response?
"Oh, sorry..."
And then he turned and went back inside the house.

2. Imagine that you've finally had a chance to sleep in, as the fix-it guys are now in the 'sanding everything' phase instead of the 'cacophony of ridiculously loud shatterings' phase. Imagine you haven't slept in in months. Image you wrote a rather strenous exam the day before, and celebrated by going out, having a great time and smoking a stogie on a bench by the canal. Imagine you wake up, tasting like old man and feeling rather rotten due to having smoked that stogie. All you want to do is brush your teeth and shower. So you pull on some doctor pants, but you don't tie them, cause really, you just need to make the four steps to your bathroom, and proceed out the door on your way.

Imagine that you get half way into the bathroom, and have begun to let your pants drop, before you realize that there's nothing IN your bathroom, no tub, no sink, no toilet, no towels, no FLOOR, aside from a gentleman kneeling by the window sanding a patch of drywall and staring at you. Imagine how long it takes for you to piece this together. Then imagine the speed at which you hoist up your pants, and fly out of the bathroom and into your room, whereupon you crawl back in bed and try to swallow yourself so you won't have to leave your room and face Mike ever again.

Or better yet, imagine this whole thing from Mike's perspective.

The contractor saw my underpants. I need to pay better attention to my surroundings before dropping trou.

"Hey, can you...shift your...ahh, that feels better"
"Tongues! This one's theme should be tongues!"
"Damn, guys, don't open your eyes any wider than you have to, it burns"
"Alright everyone, switch positions!!"

Four adults are not built to fit in a photobooth.
But it's damn fun to try.
If you can guess who all four of us are, you win a prize.

Strangers are my most favorite kind of person....second only to cute boys.

So, on Sunday I was working the Easter Brunch Buffet deal that my restaurant does, and fell in love with humanity. This happens every once in a while, usually at a time when I need it, like during exams or when I'm stressed. Not only were all the people I was serving SUPER nice and leaving me ridiculous amounts of money for little work, but they were just jovial. Nice to each other and me for no real reason. A gentleman at a party I was taking care of paid for a woman and her child who were eating by themselves. He'd never met them, just felt like it. He told me to tell them that the Easter bunny took care of it. I did and the girl's eyes lit up. I almost cried.

....

After my exam yesterday, I was walking back to my car when a mid forties woman turned to see who was walking behind her. She was beaming with happiness. When I commented on how that was the happiest post-exam face I'd seen in a while, she stopped walking to tell me that it was the last exam she had. Of her degree. 6 years of half courses and night courses while trying to raise a family, and she'd finished. She wanted to do a happy dance, but was too exhausted. We talked about how she always wanted to go to college, but kids came to soon and she had to wait. And now she was done, and a degree in Mass Communications was her's. And to celebrate, she was going to go home and make breakfast for her kids. After we congratulated each other on pursuing higher learning and she wished me the best of luck with my last exam, we parted ways and I got into my car, smiling. That's the thing with great smiles, is they're contagious.

...

Today, on the bus I overheard someone singing a song that I've gotten terribly annoyed of. It's that song by 50 Cent about partying like it's your birthday...anyhow, the boy in question singing the song had his own lyrics...and although I couldn't make out most of them, it went something like...

"Recycle, cause it's earth day,
we're gonna walk not ride, cause it's earth day,
we're gonna sip soy latte's cause today's earth day,
and I'm riding on the bus because it's earth day."
So I fell in love with him.

That's all it takes really, and he winked at me. Just be a little different and wink, and I'm sold.

When people try to join our conversations they look strange.
Like a little girl, judging when to jump in to a game of double dutch.
Timing is of the essence, and skill is too.
Otherwise you'll get tripped up, and everything stops.
Then we'll look at you, sympathetic yet disappointed.

So many disappoint. Only you and I have the right rhythm. And it's lightning quick.

Ode to a Chocolate Bunny.

Oh, how sad it is, you in your plastic tray, limbs permanently attached to the rest of you. You'll never know the feeling of grass between your affixed bunny toes. It's odd, the sugar eye (only one, so tragic) stares straight out. Looking me in the face with a note of defiance. You don't want sympathy. It is your destiny to be consumed. Your dharma is my satisfaction. And what's worse, is that I'm going to make this long. I won't save you from suffering and eat you all in one sitting. I'm going to start with your ears. At least that way you won't hear me crunching on you. You were designed for optimal eating enjoyment, which means you're laden with little rice crispie things. They named you after your texture. You are Mr Munchy. How perverse of them. You are named with knowledge of your end. That would be like naming me "Rot slowly in a pine box"...or something like that.

Your sugar eye, still angry, will be the next to go. It isn't polite to stare at someone while they're eating.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Later that day.

Should have been Mr Makes Desiree Nauseous. Gah...too much bunny flank.

Things that irritate me:

Ozzy Osbourne: Life, Music, Posture.
Having a nagging shoulder ache and no one around to beg a massage off of.
Charlie Horses that pop up in the middle of a really great study moment.
People who say 'Guess What?" and then ACTUALLY MAKE YOU GUESS
How both my bathroom and bedroom are mirrorless, so I walked around most of yesterday smudged with newsprint.
Chocolate being around. I get surprisingly little done, other than compiling a huge pile of tiny foil balls to throw at unsuspecting relatives and cat.
How I realized yesterday that I have more in common with my cousin Tanya, a mom, then the baby girl bouncing on her knee. Crap.
How I have an exam in an hour, and am grossly understudied for it, yet....yep, don't care.
Chad Kroeger's voice. Anything on that new radio station that the back of house guys listen to at work.
How my face seems to hate when I get action from the opposite sex. It gets all red and any traces of beard burn linger for far longer that conceivably possible.
Since I've lost some weight, all my pants fit poorly now.
Being recognized at the mall. (Take recognized out of the phrase and you'll understand why)

Things that fill me with joy.

Genuine random acts of kindness.
Oversized hoodies and doctor pants.
Having three generations under one roof.
Making my cousins laugh.
Chocolate being around.
Having lost weight.
Jim Morrisson's voice.
Knowing that soon I'll be able to read for fun. I've got Clive Cussler's Valhalla Rising all lined up. I won't learn a damn thing reading that book, and I'm so stoked.
Dates in the future with people who I haven't seen enough of.
Realizing potential.
Being recognized at the mall. (take 'at the mall' out of the phrase and you'll understand why)

While we sat in my room, the world was flashing outside. Lightning and thunder the likes of which my humble town hasn't seen in months. And it was fairly continuous...it lasted the duration of our entire conversation while we spoke of contemplation and how angels come to be. Yet despite my elation, and his Roman Catholic station, he claimed subordination because he'd read less than me...

And yet again I get lost in prose. This is my state of mind. Lately I've been atuned to the wonders of speech. Some peope write haiku emails, others speak in dreary imagery or incessant hyperbole. I've been accused a few times of using sensual adjectives. Ferocious. Juicy. Languid. Lithe. Ravenous. Insatiable. I'm a Scorpio...what can I say.

The next day while wandering the contemporary wing of the National Gallery, I'd show him my clouds. Don't get me wrong, I dig contemporary art, but that's all I do. Dig it. It doesn't mean anything to me, I just enjoy the novelty. Some installation pieces are clever, such as the video of a puppet sleeping or the three lifesized camels made of cotton...but none of it sparks any real emotion in me...yet these two clouds, oil on canvas, just freeze me in my steps. The juxtaposition of nature against so much artifice is just to beautiful to ignore. The clouds themselves look like burning balls of energy, milky white nerve cells...against a blueish green sky. Art's got nothing on nature.

"So I wake up, and look to my left to see my clock, only it's not there....because I'm STANDING. And then I hear and feel this sort of...light rain. Turns out I'm peeing on my cd player.........and the volume's never worked the same again."

"And sometimes I look into his eyes, and I think 'he doesn't want me. he doesn't love me...he loves the idea of me' and it makes me want to cry."
"You know what you need?"
"Some time off? A long solid break from the waves of emotion that have been bashing me at the rocks?"
"More lipgloss."

I figured that no single part of this was worth posting alone, but if I posted it all at once, it'd be like those little brown bags at the candy store, filled with the worst kind of candy that no one would buy on it's own, but all clumped together in an anonymous package, it's worth the 50 cents.

Hey. Remember me? I barely do.

Whatever semblance of normalcy that I cling to has returned. No extraneous people are sleeping in my house. I'm sleeping in my own bed. The paintings are staying on their respective walls. I'm eating. (I've lost 8 pounds since exams started) And here I am...not feeling like myself. I've missed this thing a whole lot. My brain is churning with images and thoughts and I feel I just might explode if I don't let it out soon...but I don't really know where to start. So I guess I'll just spew a few snapshots in time at you, just to write them down to open up storage space in which to cram religion definitions for the exam on Monday. Exams...I'd forgotten about you.

When we came back upstairs after doing rounds, we found our room locked. No one had thought to give us keys, because we were chaperones...apparently that means we can walk through walls...so we sat, backs against the wall, and got to know each other. We chatted about the safest, most distant topics. Movies. Music. Food. Pet stories. Then the heavy stuff started to leak out.

He's into eastern religion in a real way, not in the nouveau-hippy 'I've read the Tao, I'm enlightened' way. He's going to Tibet, wants to spend a year in an ashram. Takes meditation classes and could tell by the way that I carry myself that I'm a scorpio, and in desparate need of a massage. I felt uninteresting. He told me otherwise. After about an hour and a half, they came back, ultra-apologetic for having locked us out for so long, and we moved so they could get inside, then stayed sitting in the hall, talking about our dreams. He's played Boggle with Ben Harper and Jack Johnson. He won. He liked that that was the only question I asked.

...

We were sitting in the only place within 6 blocks that served a decent falafal, and I was trying to sell him on Love. Capital L Love. He'd been burned severely by the flames of lust, and wore the blisters around to remind him how bad it could get. He understood my Aristotelian views of 'god', I understood his vegan views of honey...although I disagree, I think bees dig polinating...but otherwise...we chatted. I predicted he had BIG love in his future. Later that night, he'd meet Kathy...She has mono, so they couldn't kiss the whole time he was here...but he now calls every night and is moving to Toronto at the end of the summer. He'll be down for Canada day. She blushes when I mention him. When wonderful people fall for each other, that's the best kind of justice.

...

I could hear them before I even got off the elevator. It was 5 in the morning. They were laughing ridiculously at everything. When I knocked I heard a chorus of shushing, and consequently, more laughing. After they'd calmed themselves, enough to answer the door I walked in slowly. 10 pairs of eyes watching me in complete silence, like a scene from the Birds.

"Hey guys...it's 5 in the morning."
"We're sorry Des..."
"Nah, guys...it's cool. You're all deliriously tired. And that makes everything hilarious."
"We're sorry...you've got a really good 'stern chaperone face'"
"No, no I don't, this is the face I make at 5 in the morning. It's a very serious time. I just need you to keep it down to a dull roar? Cool?"
"Okay, we'll be good..."
"You best..don't forget...I might still come back and pistol whip you."

And my favorite part, in the 6 second grace periond between my closing the door and their recommencing of incredibly loud laughter was...
"Dude, she's sooo nice."
"Yeah, Des is pretty bitchin'"

I'm Bitchin'. Fuckin' Right.

....

There's way more to come...stay tuned. I owe you guys.

There's so much that I need to just write down, to clear my head and start figuring out what it is that I want, feel, think.
I've done a damn good job keeping myself too busy to actually focus on the things that are really important.
A chapter of my life that I was sure had ended, so sure in fact that a whole other chapter has been completed since, has re-opened, and is arriving at the bus station in 5 hours.

Just when you think that you've got it all figured out, when you've attained a level of balance that you can build on, something shifts.

Unfortunately, this memory will be living in my computer room, so updates will be sparse at best.
I'll try.

I'm going to try.

I was sitting across from Angela, a volunteer from Winnepeg, and she was trying to help me study for my french exam...

I went to refill my travel mug with the Tang that I'd bought earlier so I could walk around sipping from a travel mug. Something about walking around with a mug gives me a false sense of authority. Adults drink coffee. Adults should be respected. I'd like to be respected, but am not an adult...so I might as well drink coffee........coffee makes me wants to turn inside out, so Tang it is.

When I returned, something had changed. Angela was still flipping through my notes, helping me conjugate those damn irregular verbes that haunt every tense...but, I couldn't focus. My mind was riveted to something else...all knowledge of the conditional tenses had escaped me...I was frozen.

She'd popped a Cherry Halls in her mouth while I was gone...

"I'm sorry, you smell so sexy right now, I can't be here."

And I up and went. She still doesn't know why.
Being feared is just as good as being respected.


AND earlier today, while indulging in my second booster juice of the day, fifth in three...I watched an event that could easily have been videotaped as a modern day wildlife documentary on competition for the affection of a female. Two men, both prime specimens, though with polar opposite qualities, were vying for Kathy's attention. This happens often. She's very fall-in-love-with-able. They'd politely sat through an all you can eat vegan buffet, jockeying for emotional position by tellings stories of their various humanitarian/athletic/comedic/this one time I saved a kitten/semi-religious experiences, and she remained unfazed.

While we walked towards the mall, they both competed to see who got to walk beside her, and who had to settle with walking with the other, less incredible girl(me.) They also both raced to hold doors open for her, pay for things for her, help her with her books...but the very best...the quintessential mating competition, happened at Booster Juice.

Instead of two male stags, preparing to butt heads in order to defend their virility and claim to the head doe...they did shots of wheatgrass. Neither of them knew what it was...but yet...they did shots of wheatgrass. Seb only did one. Dave did TWO. Dave wins...Seb stepped away, tail between legs, defeated.

Boys are so ridiculous. We laughed the whole way back to the hotel.

I want desparately to post something worth reading. But I doubt that will happen.

I haven't done anything of interest in the past few days, as all I've been doing is work or school.

I've been sitting in front of this blasted machine for the better part of the day, excluding small breaks to go do my french oral exam and run around assembling welcome packages for the teams that start flying in tomorrow morning.

I'm three-quarters done my religion paper. When I'm on the ball it shoots out of my fingertips, but I'm infrequently on the ball.

I'm wearing my best essay gear. Ratty old crotch-hole jeans, my lucky wristband and my thinking glasses. They're blue. I'm dead sexy.

Mixed in amidst all the books on Islamic law that I hoarded out of the library is a lone copy of On The Road. I love that book, but hate having a copy of it around. I've given away three copies so far in my life. It's a great pass-it-on book, especially if you're like me and have many a nomadic friend. So it's burning a hole in my proverbial pocket and I need to unload it.

I've been thinking of a creative way I can make this page a little more interactive, because I'm beginning to get bored with it. Ideally, if more people commented I'd be fine, because then I wouldn't feel so unsatisfied with constantly having to update my page with no fun surprises to show for it. I loooooove fun surprises. Perhaps we can introduce some kind of contest...and the winner will get this copy of Kerouac to read or destroy or whatever. It's very pretty and new, it should be punished.

I'll think on it over the next 6 days, while corralling something in the neighborhood of 200 nationally ranked highschool improvisers.
I'm going to try and keep some kind of tally of witticisms, as I'm sure there will be plenty, from the volunteers alone.

I'm gonna sign off with an inappropriate joke. Which, as we all know, are our favorites.
So, what do rednecks do for Halloween?
Pumpkins.

See y'all in a week.

Sundays are great posting days. They're very contemplative, hence the four posts with the option of a fifth...

I've been remembering the same morning for a while now. We were lying on the pull out bed in your basement. We'd spent the day before biking in and around your neighborhood, you doing trials and me trying to get as dirty as I possibly could. We came home and went swimming to cool and clean off. Later that night you barbequed chicken and I made pasta salad. We barely spoke to each other that day, just laughed and smile and hollered.

We went to bed exhausted and slept better than babies, only to be awoken by sweet rays of sunlight leaking past your curtains. As we lay there, in an unoriginal act of girldom which I oftentimes indulge in for no reason other than ego boosting, I asked you what attracted you to me.

There was one of your world famous pregnant pauses, and then finally after a deep inhalation you said "the way you move."
I laughed at that. You of all people had watched me fall down stairs, trip over things and almost tear down your barn with my clumsiness. You just lied there, beside me staring at the stucco dots on the ceiling and repeated "definately the way you move."

I think that's the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.
I was so close to love with you. But close only counts in horseshoes and handgrenades.

This was waiting for me when I got home, a good laugh from a good friend.
He's my surrogate boyfriend/co wristband conspirator/toys R us shopper/emotional soundingboard/roadtripping/drinking game playing/ridiculously funny/incredible guy who gets jerked around by a plethora of women who all want desparately to be with him, despite their debilitating psychosis or three year long pre-existing relationships.

I'm proud to be his surrogate girlfriend. And no, I still won't sleep with you.

and so it begins.... says:
hello?
and so it begins.... says:
hey what are you doing tonight?
and so it begins.... says:
hello?
and so it begins.... says:
are you mad at me?
and so it begins.... says:
did you fall down the stairs?
and so it begins.... says:
are you hurt?
and so it begins.... says:
you twisted your ankle!
and so it begins.... says:
do you want me to call for medical assistance?
and so it begins.... says:
if so, give me no sign.
and so it begins.... says:
alright, here I go:
and so it begins.... says:
9-1-1
and so it begins.... says:
hello emergency...
and so it begins.... says:
yes, I'm on MSN with my friend Desiree, and I think she fell down the stairs and twisted her ankle.
and so it begins.... says:
Alright sir, stay calm.
and so it begins.... says:
Is she breathing?
and so it begins.... says:
I DON'T KNOW!!!! I TOLD YOU I WAS ON MSN WITH HER!!! OH GOD.....OH GOD....SOMEBODY HELP HER!!!
and so it begins.... says:
sir. sir....just calm down. where does she live?
and so it begins.... says:
OH GOD!!! I DON'T EVEN KNOW HER ADDRESS!!! WHAT SORT OF FRIEND AM I!!!!
and so it begins.... says:
PLEASE!!! JUST SAVE HER!!!
and so it begins.... says:
...god speed.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, the irreplaceable, unimitable Robert Allan Justus.

That's my shirt he's wearing.

Did I tell you about the time I that I bought a family sized tub of Vaseline, three roles of masking tape, a box of crayons and three copies of British Maxim from our local pharmacy? The checkout girl was an ex-boyfriend's sister. She tried not to look curious/frightened. I just shrugged and said "Party."

She didn't laugh.

...in summation, dames is poison.

"Woman is the organ of the Devil."-St Bernard
"Woman is the fountain of the arm of the Devil, her voice is the hissing of the serpent."-St Antony
"Woman is a scorpion, ever ready to sting. She is the lance of the Demon." -St Bonaventure
"Woman is the instrument which the Devil uses to gain possession of our souls."-St Cyprian
"Woman is the gate of the Devil, the road of inequity, the sting of the scorpion."-St Jerome
"Woman is a daughter of Falsehood, a sentinel of Hell, the enemy of Peace." -St John Damascene
"Through woman the Devil has triumphed, through her Paradise has been lost; of all beasts, the most dangerous is woman." St John Chrysoston.
"Woman has the poison of an asp, the malice of a dragon." -St Gregory, the Great.
"A woman is never fit for independence."- Manu IX, 3.
"Women are devoid of the senses, and incompetent to inherit."-Baudhayan
"Drums, peasants, the depressed animals and women--all these ought to be kept under iron sway."-the Ramayan
"There can be no friendship with women. Women's hearts are in fact the dens of wolves" -Rg Veda: 10, 95, 15
"A woman's heart is devoid of self control and fidelity, and in the balance of reason she weighs very light"-Rg Veda; 8, 13, 17.


I should get one of those printed on business cards.

Desiree Connors
Poison of an asp, Malice of a dragon.
Daughter of Falsehood, Sentinel of Hell, Enemy of Peace.

And don't you forget it.

Oh, well...looks like I'm a little fucked.

I just realized how mental the next week is going to be. Mental with work and stress and improv and consequently, Goodness.
I work all day tomorrow. I have a french oral interview Monday at 2:30. I have a paper due on Friday, as well as my french written exam. I also have a review session for my History of Science class on thursday morning. That's nothing, I know...there are tons of people who are far worse off...So let's shake shit up.

I made the decision (some might consider it a mistake...it's all perception) to be head chaperone for the Nationals of the Canadian Improv Games. This means starting 8:35 Tuesday morning, my soul belongs to the games and my body will reside at the Capital Hill Hotel and Suites until Monday morning. My History of Science exam is Tuesday morning. Ha. I should be able to squeak out to the Hist. O' Sci study group, but I have to have a bunch of stuff prepared for it...that will get done in the wee hours of the morning while I prevent the kids from making improv babies. The irony of it all....

My religion paper must be done by Monday night. My french interview material must be done by tomorrow night. My History of Science stuff must be done by Monday night. It is currently Saturday night. I lose an hour tonight too. This is a lot of whining...

I've been having a harmonica day...it seems like every sentance that I say is dripping with the kind of complaint that should be followed with a few bluesy notes of a harmonica...I'm not necessarily whining, so much as stating the circumstances. "It's snowing a foot outside" "It took me an hour to find parking" "They don't have the right kind of gum in the machine"...

I think by far, the most arousing scent I've ever smelled on a man is Cherry Halls. Some guy walked passed me today and the sweet, mentholly odor lingered in the air and I actually emitted a gutteral growl at him. Damn, sexy lozanges.

Higher Learning

I'm really sad that school is done. Does that make me a nerd?

Today, my religion professor cried because this was the last class she is going to have with us before we graduate. She's adorable, young, fun and great. Her first ever full time lecture was with us last year, and now she's deemed us 'her class'. She claims she's learned as much from us as we have from her...which may just be true because I still haven't done any of the reading for that course. I'd be lying if I said a few tears didn't leak out while we gave her a big group hug.

Now, in a few hours we're all going to the Prescott, some old hotel to get drunk with other professors. I love my program so much. They spent the past two semesters teaching us how to be moral, active and contemplative all in one. Showing us that love moves the planets and stars, giving us the gift of philosophy. Leaving me to feel vulnerable and invincible in front of the corruptions of the world...I've been unlearned and relearned. Love has been presented to me in a way that I see paradise in everything around me. It's...undescribable. I've been living my life in a state of perpetual judgement, which society will teach you is a good thing...the only truth is all truth is relative. Well, that's all bullshit. There is an ultimate truth.

You just need to find it. For me, that truth is love.
And before this year I'd never believed in it. There are a million people I need to thank.
Mainly Dante...and Boethius, with some Aristotle and Plotinus. And maybe Plato...okay yeah, definately Plato. And Augustine and Aquinas. And Hobbes just for the contrast. And the College of Humanities class of 2001.

Every last one of them...even the annoying ones. I've said it before and I'll say it again...I'm surrounded with so much brilliance. Potential and actualized. It's elitist and goofy and intellectual and crass and just what I want/need. Today, I sat around with people with whom I could have intense philosophical debates over the immortal soul, and instead talked about how automatic spellcheckers make us want to do violent things. Before that we talked about naked...then syphillis...I'm sad that next year I'll be away and missing all the wonderful developments that are undoubtedly going to come out of this bunch. But then I get to come back.

The thing about Belgium is that I have to keep reminding myself that I get to come back. For some reason I feel like when I go, it's final. It's almost premonitionary. I don't know what that means...But for now I don't want to think about that...for now I want to go get blitzed with 40 of my favorite contemporaries and two nutty professors.

I hope all of you get to feel this one day...a kind of bliss that only comes with knowledge...who cares if I never actually get to use it...
Well, other than my Dad...

I don't know what I like best about this picture...the fact that Jen's falling over, Rob looks like evil personified or Steph's peeking over his shoulder, trying desparately to clean her apartment while these three people who she doesn't know are monopolizing her roommates time.

Maybe I just like the fact that I FINALLY HAVE PICTURES ON THIS DAMN THING.
Thanks to the new internet god, Jon.

I'm the one who's not noteworthy.

Visceral love songs with wailing guitar make me want to fall in love with a rockstar.

Ain't no need to worry
Ain't no use to cry
'Cause I'll be comin' home soon
To keep you satisfied
You know I get so lonely
That I feel I can't go on
And it feels so good inside, baby
Just to call you on the telephone
I said...

(Chorus)
Oh baby, I love you
What more can I say
Oh baby, I need you
I miss you more everyday

I woke up early this morning
And sun came shining down
And it found me wishin' and hopin'
Mama, you could be around
Well ,you know that I need you
More than the air that I breathe
And I guess I'm just trying to tell you woman
Oh, what you mean to me

---(Mama, woman, baby...but it's all so good...objectify me! I AM your object! Such a sexy song.)
(Chorus)

I try to tell you I love you
In each and every way
I'm trying to tell you I need you
Much more than a piece of leg

-----------whoa. What?
A piece of leg? Did I hear that right?
As in the tibialis anterior? The kneecap? For some reason I just laughed out loud when I read that. Regardless...Lynard Skynard can do no wrong. But still...there's got to be other things that rhyme with 'way' that one can love less than the 'Mama' in question.

Whey? As in curds and.
Fay? My french great aunt?
Spay? That word reminds me of Bob Barker.
Grey? No one likes the colour grey....

P.S. FOOTNOTING IS STUPID AND LAME AND A WASTE OF TIME AND GENERALLY UNINTERISTING TO DO.
If footnoting was a cute little girl on a trike I'd speed up to hit her.
You heard me. I'm serious too, ask the pigeon that I didn't break for last summer...no wait--you can't--cause it's DEAD.
I think I'm going crazy. Going. Who am I kidding.

Professor Laird on the role of Lorentz transformation equations in Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity:
"....so we have to do some jiggery-pokery with time and space."
Good, NOW I understand.
Physics makes me want to go blind.

There's so much going on right now. As all of you are also realizing, this scholarly year is winding down and all the corresponding stress is starting to rear its ugly head, and I'd give anything if that was the only thing I had to think about. But it's not. Much like Becca, this time of year is always emotionally messy for me. Young man's fancy turning to love I suppose. This time last year I was going through a breakup. This time this year I need to figure out what I want. But I don't want to talk about that. Not here at least...that's why I have live friends, so they can tell me what I should be feeling.

I'm not going to pretend like today wasn't beautiful. It was grey and miserable and cold, but it was beautiful and I don't know why. Snow was falling, slowly, lightly dancing it's way in through the air with no real direction. Flakes kept landing on my nose. The weather today made me smile.

I had to make my own fun today, as one of my key fun makers decided sleeping in was her best bet. Fortunately I'd forgotten what a good funmaker I can be when left to my own devices...just give me a box and a stick and I'll be fine for months...Anyhow, todays box and stick came in the form of bubblegum. The big brick kind that requires concentrated chewing to soften it up, that you can get in a plethora of flavors and stink up whatever room you choose to chew it in. Today was grape day. I popped the first piece in my mouth this morning and proceeded in chewing about one piece per hour all day, stopping only for lectures, not out of respect, but out of the fact that the shelflife of bubblegum is about a half hour. Afterwhich it goes from bland and tasteless to the stage where you can taste all the scary little chemicals and want to hurl.

I went through a phase last year when I'd start chewing gum before a class, then halfway through realize that I could not longer keep it in my mouth for fear of ralphing. Instead of doing the smart thing and getting up to spit it out, I'd swallow it. That lead to a 'I think I've caused myself serious gastrointestinal difficulties due to gum consumption' complex. Pretty much every time my stomach growled I'd envision a troop of little goblins dressed as various foods attacking a blockage in my colon with pickaxes and shovels and such. So since then I've vowed never to swallow gum again.

What was I talking about? Right...so bubblegum is the key to happiness. I'm serious, write that down. Not only did it make me happy, but it happied the people around me. People on the bus watching my efforts to blow the biggest bubble I could resulted in many an old man smiling at me trying to tongue the gum off of my nose, because everyone knows that if you need to use your hands to unstick gum from your face you are inept. People in the lounge (who all went out and bought their own after reminiscing about our childhood bubble-blowing days) sitting around a table having bubble contests, in complete silence. It was magic, 6 of us sitting there focused, and if anyone came close to bubble supremacy they'd start hitting the table to draw attention to it...lots of growling and table-smacking went on. And also, a rather attractive young man telling me that I smelled of his childhood (grape gum and fabric softener). It was a great day.

And now I have to finish up a paper. I ran out of gum on the walk home...thankfully by then the mix tape I was listening to had gotten to the side that had that Spice Girls song I really like, so that managed to maintain the goofy smile on my face until I'd gotten home. I love that one song...the one that's too busy and has a squeaky noise in the background...there's a part when they list kinds of dancing...and they shout a lot. It's a great song, it puts me in Joe's basement playing card games that told our futures. I never got what I wanted in those games. But that was back when I thought I knew what I wanted. Now I know that I don't.

Happy April. Here's to new beginnings.