Saturday, February 12, 2005

Yin and Yang

Went to Indigo and was about to purchase three books (Blink, The Confessions of Max Tivoli, Backstory) when I felt for my wallet and realized I left the bugger home alone with my 10 dollar rebate (I guess I wanted them to make babies or something). I left the store empty-handed, heartbroken and dejected like a scorned pastry at a soy convention. I'm going back tomorrow (avec money) to pick up Blink and Max Tivoli along with Fat:The Anthropology of an Obsession and The Wisdom of Crowds. (Backstory was apparently outdated for its content, read reviews.)


Um ... maybe M. Biologique and I are getting too comfortable with each other. I went over to his place after French class intending to take a power nap before meeting Readerdroid. Just as I was preparing to drift off on his couch, snuggled comfortably across his woollen sweater and polar bear hide, he started asking me questions about socialism, a conversation that naturally progressed to sulphur oxides.

I had a really big lunch today, and after half an hour of chit-chatting (why won't he let me sleep?!), I dropped the kids off at the pool. It was no secret what I was doing in his lavatory.

"I thought you girls were supposed to leave the bathroom smelling like roses?"

No, and I really had to go, damnit!

Sure, I'm beginning to accept the semi-platonic status of our friendship. I know he has my back and I have his. Alright, let's not kid ourselves. The yearning for some Cruise & De Mornay action is simply kept in check, but that's the sacrifice of compromise (or the lies I tell myself to justify seeing him). In any case, I feel blessed to have found someone - anyone - with the consistent ability to encode my body language in time to save me from many-a early grave. Likewise, a head tilt or slightly parted lips are enough for me to understand what he's thinking without coming across tactless in the company of strangers. (Makes sense since 70-80% of communication is nonverbal.) I look like a grub when I'm with him: Smeared make-up, shoes dragging in souvenirs from a pre-War opium den, hair smelling of sundried possums. Yet we still retain simple formalities: He greets me with a sloppy kiss below my temple and I part with a kiss on his external jugular. It's spontaneous, a bit odd.

I love having this brother around.


Advice to men: Don't tell a woman you had been thinking about her right before she called because had you really been thinking of her, she wouldn't have had to call.

I hate having this brother around.

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