Sunday, June 05, 2005

Go Go Ghostbusters

Yes, yes, y'all. It's that time of the year again: my birthday. One diapered-ass day closer to carrying an iron lung with a mouthful of meds. I received many emails from well-wishers I haven't spoken to since graduation. That came as a bit of a shock. Readerdroid bought me Kundera's "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" yesterday and I'm already on page 95. She was disappointed that I had seen the movie starring Daniel Day Lewis, but I assured her character-driven books are always better than their celluloid counterparts. It's the trip, not the destination.

On MSN messenger, Guitar Guy sent his female goonies to ridicule me. He goes on to inform me it was all a big joke, that these were his friends' girlfriends just having some drunken fun and told me not to get offended by it (I re-assured him it was okay because "young mothers don't know any better"). I despise people who do this because not only do they hide behind a computer, but they know more about you than you know about them so it isn't even a level playing field. Every freakin' year he does this to me. I don't hear a peep from him for vast stretches of time and then he'll make a note of reminding me that I'm still part of his consciousness. I've known him since middle school and he knows I am the last person who would take his bullshit. So when he told me to "lighten up" and stop trying to "prove" myself, I replied that I wasn't obligated to do shit considering I barely remember what he looks like; we havn't had a proper conversation since he left Westmount to work as a who-knows-what ("... hope you polish that hard hat for eternity"). He never has the balls to talk to me without some pre-planned, childish ice-breaker. I concluded with:

"Don't go pulling this passive-aggressive crap."

He didn't say anything after that.


I was a bad girl this past Friday. Swiss Alps coaxed me into staying at a bar far longer than I had expected (in other words, I grew more impatient to haul ass as my virgin daiquiri was sucked into oblivion). Met the usual shady suspects who didn't know how to keep their hands to themselves, one of whom was the most ignorant skeez this side of the Barbecuin' Bible Belt. I was insanely bored after most of my friends had left and Swiss Alps took off with AmmoBlow (someone, he decided as they munched on each other's necks, he would be muey interested in pursuing). That is, until Lisroom introduced me to ScreamoStuds, a 24-year-old emo kid with the hyperactivity of a headless turkey and the maturity of a 6-week-old fetus. He and I sparred from the very moment we met -- sometimes bordering on blatant cruelty -- until he admitted defeat after he smeared French fries on my collarbone and I dumped an ashtray on his lap and remarked it would be the only time he'd have "a butt on his cock."

"I love this girl!" he announced. "Truce, truce."

(I politely talked to another one of Lisroom's friends who kept trying to monopolize my time and ended up with my number -- I hate giving it out, but I never have the guts to say no -- and has already sent an indecent amount of text messages to my phone.)

Needless to say, I slapped him across his face and he, of the novelty boxers, pulled me to him, licked the salt from the smeared fries and ... I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

I phoned Readerdroid earlier when she got home from clubbing and she offered to come meet me at the bar. As we were walking back to her place, the drunken 3 a.m. crowd were doing their bit for misogyny. My successful attempt at channeling Zsa Zsa Gabor went over better than well which, unfortunately, unleashed a never-before-seen cockiness that could've got me killed if it weren't for society's double-edged sword. Anyway, my behaviour was encouraged by the mere assumption that horny manfolk, no matter how much dope they're dealing, can generally restrain themselves even in the presence of a bitchy, twin-X chromosome so I didn't hesitate to be (dangerously) confrontational with these -- looking back -- petty felons and heat-packing mofos who were whistling at me like I was one of their disability-claiming hos. I told a few to fuck-off and nearly got chased down the street by one who wanted to knock my head in. At another intersection, I yelled, "If you had a dick, you wouldn't need a car like that!"

How I managed to stay alive is still a mystery.


Last night I went to go see The Holy Girl (La Nina Santa). What the hell was that? The movie chugged along towards a climax that never appeared.

I knew I should've gone to see Mad Hot Ballroom.

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