Day 208
Today I saw the dawn. Well, I saw my version of it. I saw 8:10 am. It was not all that great. The tater tots at breakfast were cold and hard, in a bad way. The horoscope for Scorpio basically said that I am a loser who no one wants to listen to, funny it always says something like that. And now, I just want to go to sleep and wake up at 10:30 am tomorrow. Then I want to plot the ways that I will spend the rest of my life avoiding 8:10 am.
So, it's getting super effing late again so I'll just do a quick recap of today's events:
Skype-ing is fun. It is even funny, like when your friend figures out an app that came with her computer that can make her have a birthday cake or a sharks mouth for a crown on her head. At least it's funny until you realize that she is paying more attention to the fake bubbles blowing past her face on the screen than to you.
I don't care what anyone says that boy from Twilight will never be hot to me. Looking at him even trying to imagine he is hot makes me feel like I am in love with a 15 year old. The 11 year age difference thing is fine (I should know), but when the boy in question is still in high school I have to draw the line. But, that doesn't mean that I don't think Patrick Dempsey was hot in Can't Buy Me Love. Somehow it's more acceptable. For example if he was 15 in that movie he can still be hot to me because I now know that he is no longer 15. There should be some sort of incorrect logic with that thought, but I don't really care. Sometimes you just have to declare yourself right.
So, last night in preparation for me seeing the dawn I packed my bag and laid out my clothes. I was so ready for the day that I made it, dressed, make up-ed, and bag at the ready to breakfast by 8:30. My early day was turning out wonderfully, except that when I got to the copy shop I didn't have any money. I actually had to go to an ATM to get 20 bucks, get change, insert my card, put money on my card, and restart the copy machine and reinsert my copy card to make the final 5 copies I needed for class. I was amazed at my ability not to crack with anger. When I finally arrived in the building still a half hour early I hopped up 4 flights of stairs and into the lounge. The snot-nosed classmates of mine were already sitting in there. They greeted me and pointed out, "We always know it's you coming up the hall." I was touched that I was noticed and recognized. "Oh, I must have a certain sound to my walk." "No, you are always panting like you are going to die." And, with that, the anger cracked and I hated all Canadians.
During class today I stared at the hot undergrad. You know, the sexy giant type who you stalked online to find out that he has a kid, he used to be an amateur wrestler, he looks better with short hair, and his facebook status reads, "single." It's getting pretty bad when I can't even pay attention in my favorite class, especially when the teacher is talking about things like how hard it is to write TV and how we should keep going and not be discouraged and we're all improving. Blah. But, when I am staring at how the hole in the pantleg of his jeans looks perfect, but natural her voice suddenly becomes like the teacher in Charlie Brown, a nasty Wah-Wah trumpet sound. This is all fine. What would be even better though would be if her voice suddenly turned into Tesla's "Love Song."
Fanny and the Monsters still hasn't come, this may mean that my readers don't exist or they think I should spend my own five bucks on amazon (including shipping) and get my own copy. I don't like either of these options. I am just going to pretend that it was bought and sent by multiple readers (ha! multiple readers, I wish) but somehow they had to buy it from England and it was sent via cargo plane and that cargo plane crashed into the ocean.
Tonight I went to a reading that didn't suck. It was amazing there was even poetry that didn't suck. And, the guy who mumbles all the time, that I want to be friends with, but who secretly doesn't like me because I keep saying, "What?" to him was actually audible and understandable. There were candy bunnies and one row of men who, like the candy bunnies were creepily identical-looking. They all had plain hoodies, longish hair, and facial hair of the brown/blonde variety. All of the writers who read were Canadian. Later, I confessed to them that I hadn't really read any Canadian authors and they said, "Don't bother." And, then they said, "Are you gonna eat that last pork rib?" If they publish work am I not supposed to read it then? I would've asked that question, but I had a pork rib in my mouth.
Tip of the Day: Hope that the short guy you don't really like asks you out again, even though you are glad he's moving away. Don't worry if he does, there will be no opportunity for that information to slip, as he will probably be talking about himself the whole time you are with him and you will sit there and daydream while he talks on and on, and eventually, you may try to kiss him to get him to shut up, or you may throw up, it's hard to say, but at least you will find out if you like him at all or you just like that he likes you.
-Canadian Castaway
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