Day 207
Today I finally did what my father said that Oprah wanted me to do: I joined Skype. I was so excited about joining Skype that I put it on my facebook status update. Immediately, 6 people added me to their account, I have never felt this popular before. Okay, so there was that one time that I sang 'Cabaret' for karaoke and everyone sang along and danced. But, joining Skype was right up there. I spent all morning skype-ing with a friend, she showed me her belly and her shirtless boyfriend and a picture of her grandchild while I put make up on in the camera. All in all a wonderful morning. Oprah, was right.
The second part of the day was spent Skype-less, thus it was much less fun. But, I did find a spot in the library. I found THE spot. For months now I have been going to the library to study, but never quite happy with my location of studying. I've tried different areas on at least 4 of 6 floors. Tonight I found it, my L-spot. I was so happy with my disgustingly well-lit sub-basement location that I wrote my name on the carrel. The only other graffiti on the carrel was an inexplicable, "Fryboy" and a lovely, "FUCK SHIT." Finally, I have found my place. My place was even better when a friend sat on the other side of the carrel and I made paper airplanes to fly at her. At one point a security guard tromped by and the planes were grounded. But I learned something; there is nothing like finding a good L-spot and giving it a good rub down with a wet cloth. Yeah, it's gotten to the point of making sexual jokes based on libraries.
So, I am not sure if you know this but I went on an improvised horrid date to McDonald's yesterday. A "date" that I pretty much spent listening to my "date" kvetch until my friend's showed up. What can I say I am a sucker for brown-eyed men who wink. Anywho, I was online earlier and I ever so wanted to chat with him. I told myself that I shouldn't that he should come to me. This theory has never really worked out in the past, unless I wanted the boy to stay far, far away, then he comes too near too often. So, finally I caved in and started up a chat conversation with him. The night before he had come to me saying that he was having a horrible evening. I asked him if he was having a better night than last night and he responded, "I guess." That was when it all came crashing down. From the clues I gathered I am just a pill of Prozac. Yeah, guys come to me to feed on good energy (yeah, that's right I have sort of good energy sometimes) and then move on. Here's my question, where's my Prozac?
What does it mean when the most exciting thing that is happening in your life is the possibility that you may go to Wal-mart this week? I tried to tell myself that I was going to see the differences between a Canadian Wal-mart and an American Wal-mart. The trip is all just research, right? Wrong. It is in my blood to want to shop at the worst store in the world. Generations of Americans have lived, reproduced, and died so that I would be able to be the member of the family line who realizes the importance of buying things you don't need only because there is a Roll back price on them. Is there a pill for this condition? Or, should I wear my affliction with honor? This is my American-ness manifested, I should be proud and happy. Proud sure, happy? I'll be happy when I buy a crappy comforter for 15 bucks.
After supper tonight me and a friend went to her residence hall. Apparently, where she lives you have to have roommates but, once and awhile the hilarious girl who is like president of the residence will invite people over to munch on solidifying fondue and hear crazy stories about bad dates. Maybe I should move.
I really hate nights when you know you have to get up early. Being who I am it makes me want to stay up late just as a "fuck you" to the morning. The morning doesn't rule me. I will stay up all bleary-eyed watching a Kevin Smith interview on youtube for the sixth time. I will crawl into bed at some point, look at the clock and think, if i fall asleep in the next 20 minutes I will have gotten five hours of sleep, that's not bad. Then I will lie awake fantasizing about some stupid boy I don't like and re-cap everything that has gone wrong over the course of the day, and then go through a 20 minute, I-feel-guilty-for-being-ungrateful marathon of thoughts (thanks for that Mom and Dad). Then I will read from a book and none of it will make sense and then I will finally fall asleep and have dreams that passenger airliners are crashing all around me. God, going to bed sucks.
Tip of the Day: Never eat tiramisu. It's like a painting, it looks good but it doesn't taste good.
-Canadian Castaway
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