We were two of a group of eight, but since an invisible cone of silence descended down over us the minute we separated from the hug, we might as well have been at the bottom of the ocean.

His theory: All people can be divided into two groups. Tomatoes and Cucumbers. He and I are both Tomatos . All the successful relationships he knows are composed of one Cucumber and one Tomato. Ever since he presented this to me, which I immediately and whole-heartedly agreed with, I've been walking around food-coding the people I know. Its kind of refreshing. I just need to find me a Cucumber who is charmed by my Tomato qualities.

We started talking about our personal self-improvement lists. Its important to have one of these as it keeps you from falling into a mould of yourself. He went first, which is good because I had to make up all the things on my list. He wants to plant a grove of Black Walnut trees, with the understanding they will never tower in his lifetime. He wants his kids, or his sisters kids, or someone's kids to walk in a forest of towering trees and know that it was someone's idea first.

It kills me sometimes.

I just woke my cat up because she seemed to be caught deep in the clutches of a really frantic kitty-dream. There was twitching and chirping noises. It was stressing me out.

Maybe I should stop listening to angry rock songs while she's sleeping peacefully in the corner. I need more cat-friendly work music.

Please tell me that one of these days I will grow out of sending drunken emails to boys who sometimes spell 'rock' with a W and without a sense of irony. Please.

Sometime last year, while falling in 'best-friend' love with my across-the-hall neighbor, I was introduce to her ex-boyfriend's livejournal. He is nothing but a caricature to me now. All I've heard is all the horrible stories of infidelity and general jackassedness, and his journal is a hilarious angst and hate-laten series of three sentence tirades. He is a joke to me. I read his journal when I need return to a simple world of two-dimensional characters with predictable anger about exams, the weather, punk bands and people in general. He signs emails with 'hate' and talks about blacklisting people. Lots of people. He is that angry red emoticon. I know its impossible for someone to be this void of compassion and, well, other characteristics other than rage, but since he is obviously presenting himself thusly, I choose to judge him based on that. And I was sure I'd never find anyone so ridiculous in their caricatureness than him.

Til I found a link to his current girlfriend's livejournal. Lori. And let me tell you. Omigod. If I don't finish my takehome exam because I keep reading her archives for more examples of what I am horrified of one day waking up as, I . Might. DIE. Because that would be THE worst. WORST!!!!!! xoxL :)

Now, I abuse capitalization as much as the next guy, but come on, there's no need to be that emphatic about everything. Her life must be so dramatic. Two exclamation points is the most any one person needs. No more are required.

All this self-righteousness is to mask the fact that I am without a doubt in love with these two and their hate/excitement for everything. I'm jealous that they are reducible to one major emotion/characteristic, as I'm pretty sure if I were forced to determine mine, it'd be sass.

Whichever genius who decided blue for the 'save as draft' colour and orange as the 'thunderbirds are go! Publish Post' button is an idiot. Or atleast very insensitive to my unconscious colour coding of go vs hold. Blue is too close to green to NOT mean 'go ahead, you're ready for this to proceed to the next logical step in posting'. And orange is a scary, warning colour which redirects you instinctively towards the draft button. You think Blogger would want to encourage posting. Silly.

Not much posting, due to final papers, exams and the sad fact that my former sterling record of never having been to a wake has come to an end...these things are said to happen.

Upswing: Have spent the past three days with my highschool boyfriend who I hadn't spoken to in three years, who of course got WAY hotter and with the added bonus of no longer eating simple sugars has proven to now be way too good for me. I? I wear glasses now... Just as well. AND there was this CRAZY sale at Canadian Tire. 24 colours of Play-Doh for ten bucks! I bought two. There's gonna be some MAD creating 'round these parts...once I get my take-home done. Maybe I can do my take-home WITH Play-doh. They've got a puke colour, and a Desiree skin-tone colour. I'm pretty sure I can communicate Hegel's Science of Spirit using those. Me yakking.

For Christmas I've bought my father an L Wedge and my mother a tripod. When did I become the practical daughter? What happened to the days of Aqua Velva and Jackie Collins novels? The top item on my Christmas list is Velcro. I want sheets and sheets of it. I have this theory that I'm going to awesomize all my button down shirts with it. I'll keep you posted.

For most of grades 7 and 8, every time I had to walk home by myself, which was seldom, I'd work on a screenplay in my mind.

Don't get too excited. The screenplay was for the next Batman sequel. And as they actually made another Batman, and it sucked, I lost all hope, but for those two years, I carefully crafted the plot, thought through the action sequences and even recast all the characters in my mind. I don't have an ending though, as it would appear I developped a whopping crush on some boy and that took over all creative time. But still, it happened.

Also, when I used to have a paper route in my neighborhood I developped another screenplay which actually has a beginning, and an end, but no real middle part. The heroine (check this out) has her world thrust into turmoil when her house explodes, and she is the only on in her family to survive, as she is (get this) out delivering flyers. Hmm. Anyway, the conclusion hinges heavily on the incredibly unlikely event of our heroine (who since grew up to be a rogue assassin, obviously) getting shot in the shoulder, and tumbling several stories out of a building under construction and into a river where she is presumed dead. Much like EVERY OTHER ACTION MOVIE EVER MADE IN THE EIGHTIES.

All this is to say that my penchance for really really horrible writing runs deep, so the two papers I'm currently writing should come as no surprise to my professors. My last year of university. What a joke.

Must be this time of year, snow slowly falling in big flakes and all the warm indoor drinking tea-time I've been spending, but every single song I hear sounds like the soundtrack to that part of the movie when the two of them finally get it together and end up meeting accidentally on a street corner and everything is mounting and mounting and then still.

All of my energies have been focused on judging improv this week. Well, actually the judging doesn't take that much energy, but yelling the good suggestions (cause parents are crap at it) super loud so they can be heard on the stage takes a lot out of me. That and at the beginning when the refs are warming up the audience and make them yell out all the bad suggestions (bathroom stuff, gynacology stuff) and we three judges at the back have to come up with something new and grosser than the night before, that takes a lot of mind power. So far my 'bad suggestions' have included:

Clubbing baby seals
boogers
scabies
puss-filled wounds.
taking a bath with Dave's mom
Furbies having sex.

Also, I'm writing the longest papers of my life. I'm good at 8 pagers. Triple that and I'm lost. So its going not-so-well, but that's something I can easily ignore.

Someone my age, a friend from highschool, got a serious adult job. Xerox hired her to do...business stuff. This marks the first one of us to become a full-fledged adult. Add that to the other one who went and got engaged and all of a sudden everyone's growing up. Makes me nervous. I still don't own anything that constitutes 'grown up shoes' and work at a job that allows me to cover other people in condiments when their backs are turned. Lets see how long I can keep this up.

"I smell fish"
"Oh, nice one...very mature...grow up Andrew"
"No, seriously, I smell...someone smells like tartar sauce"
"Oh, that's me. Ben smells like house dressing and Tasha reeks of marinara"