Wednesday, December 17, 2003

I stayed at school until 7:30 tonight, working on the binding for the school newspaper. My assistant editor, Candy Mouth, had left an hour prior to my departure. Such laborious, repetitive, exhausting work. We did have a great long conversation for almost 4 hours. She said my less-than-romantic ideas sound exactly like those of her father, which consists of labelling everything as "contracts". Hmm ... guess I'm just a hapless realist. Not even hapless because I'm lucky in life. So, more like fortunate. Fortunate realist. Beat that, Jobs!

On the bus home, I sat with a drunk (Smelly #1) and his friend (Smelly #2). They had Tim Hortons cups stuffed in their lumberjack coat pockets and re-sealed alcohol in their overused LCBO bags. Something told me they had been ... ya know ... guzzling the 'shine before their lonesome ride into Steel Town.

The second bus I was waiting for wasn't at its stop yet, so I decided to buy food at the mall. The stars, the wind, the icy roads .... great night for a Boxing Day Sale. And what a coinky dink, there was a Boxing Day Sale going on at the time ... just a few weeks shy of Boxing Day. I hate going to the mall, and the stares I get from strangers with horny grins and horny hands (of course, it could just be all that Christmas cheer *now 20% more pretentious!*) I looked like a haggard (okay, a haggard who just came in off Fifth Avenue) walking -- stomping -- through the myriad of shoppers who were looking for something ... special ... sincere ... simple ... mall bought.

You know, Baby Blue and his best bud, Peacenik Prodigy, really enjoyed Jam Session, so now he's nice and cordial and ... just plain blech, to me. Man, he's not supposed to start waving at me and be friendly whenever I pass by! I expected him to internalise the mutual understanding that we're evolving into the direction of "I know you well enough to pick-up something for you without thinking too much into it" terms, and not "I'm going to be nice and wave and act like an average Joe Blow." This sucks. Nice guys finish last because ... well ... I don't (want to) like them. Shiksa goddesses, like myself, wouldn't go for some putz, like him. But I do ... yet, I can't. He's the goofiest looking piece of forbidden fruit, yet he still manages to set my loins aflame. Okay, he's short of mastering that trick. But he's still cute ... in a "bleak future ahead of him" sort of way.

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