Happy suicide season, ladies and gentlemen! I trust you all had nice holidays, embraced by your family and loved ones, huddled up by the christmas tree, opening your presents... Ahh. This holiday is SO me. It's just so me, it's not even funny.
Having torn through the wrappings on my christmas presents to reveal all sorts of assorted xmas goodies, my careful calculations tell me that I either broke even or came out slightly in profit. Of course you have to write off the kids, money wasted on them is obviously money lost forever but that's just the kind of thing you have to deal with during this joyous season of giving. 'Tis the spirit of the season, as they say. Although I'm not entirely sure that that's exactly what they meant, but I digress.
Oh, and I do believe that weeks upon weeks ago when I last blogged here I promised some kind of update on how I did on my test. Well... there are many ways to look at it really, but if I may pick the irish way of saying it for clarification, I'll say "utter shite". That's right. The intellectual lord that is I hath faileth a testeth. But shh, you can't tell anyone. I have been instructed by La Familia to keep my academic demise under wraps. We are not above lying.
Also, I think that the Top Gun thing is dead and buried. I got so caught up in worrying about whether he liked me or not that I didn't really give myself a moment's pause to wonder whether I wanted anything to do with him. It seems that I can just be handed anyone and given that he is completely vague about where his head is at, I will become completely obsessed with the whole situation no matter what just because I am so concerned with how I'm coming off. I don't even think about who this guy even is, I just know that I must get him otherwise he must have hated me, which is an impossible development. And after all my relentless obsessing, he went away for a week and I found that I barely gave a thought to him at all. Which is never promising. So now he probably doesn't like me and I most likely don't like him either, which kind of takes all point and purpose out of pursuing things any further. We still talk but... well. Blah. You know the deal. We're basically both just talking to be polite at this point.
Interestingly enough, here's my romantic horoscope for the week:
You can't force someone love you. Back off if you haven't been able to make it to first base with someone you like. Sometimes playing hard to get is the answer. Don't rule out that there are other fish in the sea.
So, romantic pursuits lost and others gained. Once one door closes, another one soon opens letting in the next flood of confusion and utter disappointment. I can't wait. Can you?
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
I think the extended periods of time where I have suffered from self inflicted carpal tunnel syndrome have left me with an uncontrollable urge to fuck myself at every turn. I say this because I was due to have a final tonight, but since I for some reason neglected to study for it I managed to have it postponed until tomorrow morning. That's 12 hours from now. I have 300 pages of suckass ancient literature to read in the next 12 hours. I was going to buckle down and study my tail off earlier but fifteen pages into the pile, I decided I needed a bath. All this learning had made me feel dirty. Now, several hours later, my hair is "air drying". Obviously, reading cannot be accomplished whilst hair is "air drying". Trying that would be pure tomfoolery and reflect poorly on all of us procrastinators.
I shall report back later on the end result of tonight's academic acheivements. For now, I have realized the urgency of putting together a list of email addresses for the whole family and must depart. As other filthy and/or uneducated bozos might say; ,,Adios amigos".
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I have a genius new invention to tell you of. What it consists of I will have to get back to you on because I have no idea, but I can definitely say that somehow during my four hour diet I lost 4 lbs. It might be thanks to an innovative new exercise routine consisting of pulling out one's hair and rubbing one's hands together in a frantic manner whilst pacing the floor, I cannot say for sure. All I can say is, God is merciful ladies and gentlemen. Yes siree Bob.
The date however was, perhaps sadly, mostly free of comical disasters. I think we stayed within the range of your garden variety disasters such as my date showing up quasi-dysfunctional with the flu, him getting lost on his way to my house and almost making us late for the movie. We ended up being the oldest people in the auditorium, which was a kick in the groin to my youthful image. I somehow ended up being the old hag in the house that night. The rest of the auditorium was jampacked to the rafters with 14 year old girls who took great delight in giggling and chatting throughout the entire movie like a pack of prepubescent hyenas. I was thrilled.
For those of you not in "The Know", Iceland has this woebegone tradition that every show should have a ten minute intermission right smack in the middle of the movie. This, I've concluded, is not good. This forces otherwise happily quiet people to talk to one another. That gives one of them a chance to accuse the other one of being quiet, which then puts the "quiet person" on the spot and they have to come up with some boring nonsenes to talk about (which is impossible when you need to) or sit there and squirm while the accuser decides the quiet one finds them to be a let down. I am of course speaking entirely in hypotheticals here, of course. The aforementioned scenario has no correlation to what happened on my date whatsoever. I just wanted to add this to throw you off my scent.
To avoid any misunderstandings that might damage my image however, I would like to casually add that were this not a hypothetical situation, I would be the quiet one and not the accuser. Just to make that clear. Were it not a hypothetical situation. Which it was.
The biggest disappointment of the night was not being able to score my much desired good night tonsil hockey match. My date had picked me up in a g-darn Hummer, and for those of you who have not ridden in such a monstrosity, there is a desk between the driver and the passenger the size of a coffin. This limits the chances of casually leaning in for a kiss, since you'd have to travel a great distance to actually get within spit swapping distance of the driver. I think he might have found it a bit obvious if I'd suddenly thrown hiking boots on and started making my way across the behemoth divide, using ropes and ladders to assist myself along the way. Kind of takes the surprise element out of things, I suppose.
But all in all, minor disasters and inconvenient transportation aside, I think the date went well. Who knows, maybe somewhere down the line I'll get to enjoy the pitter patter of little helicopter pads around the house. And they say I'm not an optimist!
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Without having much time to elaborate on it, due to an urgent need to fret and pull out my hair, I am going on a date. I know, can you believe it? It has dawned on me that he will be picking me up in four hours. That's four hours from now. Tonight.
I have four hours to go on a diet, make lots of money and go buy new clothes. This, as you can imagine, is rather worrying.
So far the only four hour diets I can think of involve a cheese grater and a bonesaw and are as you can probably guess, none too appealing. And as for clothes, well if you scroll down ever so slightly you will see that two weeks ago I removed every wearable item (that had been come unwearable, by the way) from my wardrobes and am left only with tatters of bed sheets and fig leaves to conceal my nudity. This is not appropriate first date wear, according to Cosmopolitan. Sadly I am without the funds to go deck myself out at a clothing store and short of going to the Red Cross and begging for mercy, I'm shit out of luck as they say. I can think of ways to get my hands on some money and/or new garments, but I think being bailed out of jail for shoplifting is less than a perfect start to a monumental date.
Somehow I'm thinking this date will make the horror movie we intend to see look like a fairy tale. As my good and optimistic friend Pat said to me, "I see nothing but comical disaster coming from this". I tend to agree.
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