Friday, February 18, 2005


After I kissed my journalism girls goodbye for reading week (HaiPhia, NorIda, Lisroom, CatCouver, and Jubaloo), I strolled around campus, sitting down to read at times, drinking smoothies otherwise. I thought I would spend yesterday giving myself a pity party for one. Rather, I ended up in bed with KournaWhora talking until 4 a.m., sharing intimate details about a) Geneva D's pathological lying and sociopathic personality (because her constant treachery has made her more enemies than Pinochetoinette) and b) the Boy's less than impressive endowments. In other words: Gossiping.

Seeing how I had no basis for comparison, I thought it was me when sex with him felt about as orgasmic as taking a long, dirty drag on a tree stump in post-Giuliani New York. My suspicions nagged at me; she confirmed them. Boy has a small dick. I also told her how he wouldn't tell me what he did for a living.

"Mommy's money," she deadpanned.

Really? I've always thought it was from dealing drugs.

"He did a bit of that too when he was living in Toronto."

This guy's another one of those trust fund babies who tries to forge a mysterious identity to hide the very un-Chelsea-like fact that his mother works in the executive echelons of a very well-known Canadian banking institution.


After I vented my frustrations to KournaWhora (who, albeit, is still a whore but a self-described one whose crowning glory is her professor, 20 years her senior) and delved into the real motivations behind my decision to tell M. Biologique how I feel, she asked me whether I had my eye on anyone besides him.

"No one," I said.

No one?

"Alright, I am interested in the information desk guy who resembles Jay Hernandez."

Who else?

"Um ... maybe ... [PoliDam?] But I haven't seen him in awhile."

PoliDam? Sounds familiar, heard he was a ladies' man.

"Why am I not surprised?"

Oh! And in the hospital for leukemia.


He's going to make it though. They said he wasn't at first.

"Oh my freakin' God ..."

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