*rEEEEEEeeeEEEeeEEee rEeEeeeEEEeEEeEEee* Know what that is? That's the sound of cutting glass. Know why? It's friggin COLD outside!!! That's the last time I go out with wet hair but no hat! Serves me right. At least I had both gloves on and shoes that didn't show my toes...

The Things We Should Not Do For Fashion

Today was a typical November day; snow had fallen last night, the wind was biting, and it was overall pretty darned cold as the thermometer wavered around the -2 mark for most of the day. Myself, I had on my UofT fleecy pants on with my blue hoodie and blue Skechers to match. I even wore my "G" hat to ward off the bad-hair-day in progress. I had grabbed my coat and gloves on my way out the door (late again) but neglected to snatch my scarf off the top shelf of the closet. Despite my best dressed efforts, I was still a little on the chilly side as the wind whipped my cheeks to a rosy blush. I would like to say that I'd thought I'd managed to be fairly prepared for the weather, without having committed any fashion faux-pas. Sensible, right?

What I don't get are the people out there that still hold fashion over practicality. As I'd like to think I'd demonstrated today, you can manage to dress for the weather without looking like a total bum. But apparently this isn't apparent to some out there. Let's take a look at what I came across today:

1. High Heeled, Open-toe Sandals - I actually came across two pairs of these. I'm totally for the high heels (most are surprised at how short I actually am when I sport the runners), that wasn't my issue. It's just that when it's below freezing weather out there, and even when I've got my boots on, the first thing to go numb are my toes, yet these girls insisted on being able to show off their freshly painted toenails. Come on, you don't want to lose those babies to frostbite now, do you? Cuz then you won't be able to paint them anymore...
   
   
2. Mini-skirt with a Tank Top - Okay, I understand that she was supposed to be promoting something or other by approaching people and handing out flyers (I didn't get one, probably because I outrightly raised the eyebrow at her as she approached my way) but when your legs are still showing signs of redness after you've been inside for at least half an hour, I think one should have perhaps considered leg-warmers while outside in transit to school--I hear leg-warmers are making a raging comeback in Japan right now, it couldn't hurt. Oh, and can you believe she had the audacity to complain to her friends "It's so cold in here!"?!?!?!
   
   
3. Single Gloves - Unless you're talking about something used to catch flying objects with, gloves are referred to as pairs of things, right? And on a pretty darned cold day, why would you keep one hand warm while allowing the other to suffer? Some guy was wearing only one glove on the bus. Granted, it was on the hand he used to hold the bar with so it could've been his "on-the-bus-bar-holding" glove; this would also explain why it wasn't a regular heat-retentive glove but one that looked more like some sort of cyclist's glove. But still. Why only one? And why not a warm one? I would've preferred that he didn't wear any gloves period, that way I could at least assume that he hadn't any at all...but he wore one and only one. I feel sorry for the other one, it must be somewhere being lonely...
   
   
4. Big Red Plastic Comb Stuck in Hair- No, this was not an afro pick of any sort. It was a one piece, red plastic comb with an extended handle, stuck in some girl's hair. It was jammed up underneath her slicked ponytail. It neither held stray hairs in place, nor helped to hold up the pony-tail in anyway. It was just there. Big, ugly, and red, and it was just sticking out from her head, a menace to eyes and faces that may have leaned too close on the bus. This has nothing to do with the weather (although it did keep her from being able to wear a proper toque or other hat of sorts) but it needed to be included anyway.

I'm not saying that I'm perfect--hell, I left the house with one less earring than I should've been wearing (or one too many, depending on how you look at it)--but at least I'm attempting to be practical. Bring it on, Winter!!!

Hooray For Classes On The Second Floor!

After hearing the whole history behind The Matrix today, I tore out of class to rush to work. Running into the stairwell to head down to the main floor, I had to pause for a sec. I bet most people didn't know, but there was a beautiful red sunset going on just beneath the dark grey skyline, but way above the rest of the landscape. You could only see it if you were higher up somewhere, like the second or third floor of a building. It was so pretty. I stayed to gawk for as long as I could, and then had to tear myself away to continue on my rush to work. By the time I reached the first floor, I couldn't see the sunset anymore. Too bad for people who had no excuse to be upstairs today...
...

Quote of the Moment:
"--- is so full of shit. Everything thing he says is shit. When he sneezes, he sneezes shit."
    --Brodder's friend, commenting on another, not-so-reliable friend

I really should be doing my homework right now, but then, what else is new? My voice is slowly coming back. Rather than a raspy whisper, I'm up to a quacking-duck sort of sound level. Really, I sound like a duck. Every once in a while, my loudish whisper will crack and explode into a quack. It's actually quite amusing. Tonight at volleyball I was talking as much as I possibly could, just so I could hear it happen and have a good laugh at myself.

I love the way people I know stare at me while I'm talking. They just can't get enough of the fact of how awful I sound. At the end of our games while shaking hands with the other team, I was tempted to quote obscenities simply because I didn't think they'd hear me. G and I had a laugh about this idea, and then I tested it out with Rye:
    Me - (Slapping a high five) "Kiss my ass, Dickhead,"
    Rye - "Let's do this!!!"
Hehehe, he had no idea...it was great.

Of course after the game, the rest of the team stood around and thought up stupid things for me to say in my quacking-transvestite voice:
    "Hi, my name Rye and I like sauce on my balls,"
    "Hi, my name is Chan and I like pepper on my sausage,"
    "Hi, my name is Gertrude, and I like Rye's saucy balls."
I swear, it's too much sometimes. I'm really going to miss missing my voice when it comes back. Who knew it could be such an amusement?

I'm going to bake cookies this weekend! I'm in the mood for the simple classic chocolate chip ones. Earlier when I first thought about doing this, I figured I was just going to go out and grab some of those Pilsbury cookie dough rolls off the shelf at Dominion, but now that I think about it, I'm gonna give Hun-Gee a run for his money and start from scratch. Exciting. omg, boo. I'M BAKING HIM COOKIES!!! hehehe. It means I'm a keeper, right? :p

In Case You Forget...

I was eating a "Fruit by the Foot" last night while writing my essay, and during a thoughtful pause, I noticed that the packaging actually had instructions on it. Do you know what it read? "Peel fruit from cellophane backing before eating." omg. Really, what do people DO with their food that warrant packaging labels like this? It's like the "Caution: contents may be hot" on coffee cups. Puh-lease people. If you need to read those kinds of things before ingesting your food, you shouldn't be ingesting it at all.

My short story prof tends to stand and lecture at the sides of the class, rather than front and centre, and likes to idly squeeze his nipple through his three sweaters, between his index and middle finger. Why do I KNOW that?! He tends to do it a lot. I'm forced to watch him talk, otherwise I lose him with the accent. The least he could do is try to hide his tweaking ways a little by crossing his arms or something. Actually, I don't even think he realizes he's doing it, but still. Ewww. Old man nipple scratching. Ewww.
...

Beware of Squiggly Excitement Levels

On a lighter note, Squiggly came over for about 20 minutes yesterday to say "hi" and to watch the last two minutes of the 4th quarter of the Raptors/Houston game. (I'm sure you know of this kick-ass game.) 83-80 for the Rockets, less than 24 seconds left on the clock, Raptors' possession. Now I don't tend to watch basketball on TV, but for this kick-ass game, I sat down on the armrest next to Squiggly, leaning forward in anticipation. Raptors sub-on all their field-goal shooters...Vince brings it up the floor...passes to the rookie...Bosh takes the 3-point shot...HE MAKES IT TO TIE THE GAME AND PUSH THE ROCKETS FOR OVERTIME!!!

In his excited frenzy, Squiggly grabbed my legs and waved them around like one of those giant foam fingers as I fell off my perch onto the couch behind him. When he'd finished waving my legs, he still had energy to expend so he cried "Hold on!" which I did, and found myself hoisted onto Squiggly's back as he did a lap around my living room/dining room before finally dropping me back onto the couch in a stunned heap. I (voicelessly) laughed and pointed at him for a good 30 seconds after that, rasping that he was the biggest loser ever. I probably would have kept teasing and pointing at him, but the overtime had just started.

We settled back onto the couch for the beginning of the first overtime. Again, down to the last few seconds on the shot clock and Raptors were down by a basket. Again, Raptors' possession...all top-shooters on the floor...a pass to the Raptor Rookie...he throws up the shot...the seconds go down...and IT'S IN! HE MAKES THE TYING SHOT AGAIN!!! This time in his excitement, Squiggly threw his arms out in a backwards pump and cried "Whoo-hoo!!!" à la Homer Simpson, only about ten times more enthusiastically (for those who know, Squiggly's reaction could be more accurately described as a "backwards birth"). Thank goodness the Raptors clinched it and crushed Houston in the second overtime--I was pretty sure Squiggly was going to explode upon his next excited outburst. That and I feared for my personal safety. :p

Squiggly once text messaged me from his workplace in Stratford: "I have so much energy right now, I wish I could just bottle it up!" I secretly think he found a way to do so and bottled just a leetle too much for this game... :) 1334
...

Excuse Me, Could You Pass Me My Lung?

My first day of class in almost a week, and I was all ready to be the best student I'd been all semester. I had my pen, my paper, my notes, and I was paying attention, scribbling furiously. I was even able to focus completely without having to worry about having to answer any questions because my profs knew I had no voice with which to do so. But then, it happened. Halfway through my second class, something started to tickle in the back of my throat. At first I tried to discreetly "ahem" my way out of it, but what started off as a quiet little clearing of the throat turned into a nearly full blown hacking attack. I nearly gagged, trying to hold in my coughing. It was bad enough for the prof to stop lecturing to ask if I was okay. I threw him the thumbs-up from the back and managed to stifle my hacking for about 20 seconds as I tried to sit still. The 20 seconds up, I started to hack again. Grabbing my wallet I dove for the door, all the second-years trying to give me cut-eye for cutting into their note-taking "zone."

A bottle of water and seven straight minutes of coughing later, I knew it wasn't going to let up. Most people to pass me in the hall smiled sympathetically as I tried to keep it down, but there was one chick that threw me a glare for my unsexy hacking background sound accompanying her attempted strut down the hall. I wanted to chase her, cough a big loogie on her (if only I knew how) and then tell her that I was suffering from SARS. Lucky for her I had to double-over just then to keep my lung and diaphram from flying out my throat. I decided that my attempt at being a good student had failed at that point and would have to wait for another day. So when my class broke for break, I dove back in and gathered my stuff, feeling the relieved eyes of the prof and those second-years as I made my exit with an hour and a half of class still left to go. I hate being sick.

Calling Boo earlier today to see if she and her Boo wanted to go out and study, I had the biggest urge to say (rasp) "Seven days..." into the phone when she picked up. That would've been kinda mean though, so I didn't, although had I had this voice at Hallowe'en, I totally would've. This voice, a dirty white ruffled dress, and my hair...terrifying. *evil grin*

Some Random (and some disgusting) Quotes From Our Study Session This Evening:
"Severe diarrhea, yellow anal leakage--you know anal leakage is uncontrollable?"
"What's so attractive about the human body?"
"I'd hate for my dying word to be 'fuck'."
"Seven days..."
"Only talking or whispering is allowed; no inbetweening!"
"Do you know the difference between 'the history of film' and 'films of history'?"
"What is your chota/gonads?"

omg. We're disgusting. Random and disgusting. I shall refrain from identifying which of us three said what. At least it was study-related. :p By the way Boo, do you have any post-its?

Can You Hear Me Now?

So I started playing volleyball again on Thursday, despite the fact that I was still kinda sick with a scratchy throat. And then I kept on playing volleyball on Friday night, and all day on Saturday (despite the results, an awesomely fun tourney--with our own cheering section too!). What's the point? Apparently when you have a sore throat, you can continue screaming and cheering and rooting your team and team members on so for only so long before you lose your voice entirely. Yup. Even if I TRY to talk, I can only manage a decibel level of about a mouse's whisper. It's awful.

Actually, I hadn't lost my voice completely yet by the time the tournament was over yesterday, but the fact that I had to go straight to work afterwards and deal with about a billion-and-one customers was what put my voice over the edge. A lot of the people were nice about the fact that my voice was cracking and squeaking mid-sentence. A lot of the older people felt the need to tell me that I was going to have to deal with it for a long time and that I shouldn't expect to talk again for at least half a week. They were so encouraging.

There was one guy that I think was endeared by my loss of vocalness on the phone. He called in to see if we'd located his FOB (if anyone knows why they're called that, please enlighten me) remote/keychain for his condo that he'd lost last week. In my now whispery rasp (which I have to admit, was almost kinda sexy) we had a quick, fun, and friendly conversation about what he lost and what it looked like, and I told him that I'd call him later after I'd had a look for it. So I didn't find it, but I did call him back and had to leave a message ("Hi, this is the girl with the funny voice...") telling him so, and I figured too bad for him. Turns out later that he called me back and had asked for me, but since I was busy he told my co-worker to thank me for the message and wished that I would get better soon. I don't know what he said, but it was enough for my Chu to ask me:
    Chu - "Did you know that guy that called for you?"
    Me - "No, why?"
    Chu - "I dunno why, but sounds like dude likes you."
Weird...I'm just so damn charming with a raspy, transvestite kinda voice. :p

Anyway, so throughout the day, I've been trying to whisper as loudly as possible. I've been trying to get other people to answer my phone for me as much as possible and serve as my voice for me--without other people, I can barely get the caller's attention and even let them know I actually AM there. It's quite funny sometimes; until I end up having to repeat myself 5 times to get one sentence through. Ah well, only what, 3-4 more days of this? We'll see how this works...maybe my profs will be a little more lenient on the fact that I missed 3 days of school last week due to my hideous looking illness. Man, I hope so...

Sometimes I Amuse Myself

Brodder stayed home on Monday because he was too groggy after sleeping 15 hours to go to school afterall. That and since he'd slept since 8 o'clock the night before, he hadn't done any of his homework. That night, he left a note on the counter, asking for someone to write him a note. Passing by the counter on the way to making myself some tea in an attempt to dislodge the pinecones in my throat, I noticed his note, and decided to save my parents the trouble the next morning by writing him a note myself:

To Whom It May Concern,

Please excuse Brodder's absence from classes yesterday (November 10, 2003) as he was too lazy to get his good-for-nothing, skinny-ass out of bed for school. Have a great day Remembering!

Thank you,

his dutiful and brutally honest, disgustingly fat sister,
melody - xoxoxoxo

I spent a good 5 minutes laughing to myself about that note. I was willing to bet that the poor secretary that received it would be most confused about the "Remembering" part (how many of YOU get that part, huh?). I'm sure you can imagine my dismay when I woke up the next morning to find my note still on the counter. However, when I asked Brodder about it later that day, he laughed for a good 5 minutes as well before telling me that he had seriously considered taking that version of his note in anyway. He'd planned to hand it to the secretary, and just as the look on her face turned from a pleasant "Good morning Mr. SAC President" look to a "What the hell is this shit" look, he'd jump in with a "Whoops, I think I handed you the wrong note there, here's the one for you!" and switch the papers, leaving her wide-eyed and bewildered. *sigh* I'm glad Brodder gets it. If he didn't, I think it'd only be me. I swear, sometimes I amuse myself.

Pfft. A Whole Lot of Pfft...

I hate being sick. I feel so useless when I'm sick. You'd think that when I'm sick and take a few days off from school, I'd have more time to do things. Pfft. Whatever. I've been home the last few days and I've accomplished next to nothing. I haven't even blogged lately. Pfft. Not that you've noticed or anything. Even my most avid reader hasn't complained about my lack of posts yet. Pfft. I guess she wasn't a very avid reader then. Pfft.

I want to go out tomorrow, but I'm sick. Señorita wants to go out, the Tri-Campus team wants to go out, V-jai wants to go out, and all I want to do is stay home and cuddle with Hun-Gee. Is that so wrong? I'm sorry people, I'm usually a party amnimal (pfft, no, that's not a spelling mistake) but this week I'm just beat. Just plain beat. That and I feel like I'm swallowing a pinecone everytime I have to swallow. Yuck. Did I mention that I hate being sick?

Hun-Gee wants to come home and pump me full of drugs to make my sickness go away. Pfft. I hate drugs. But I also hate being sick. What to do? This sick isn't so bad in that I'm not confined to my bed all day--I can actually get up and wander around without worrying about spontaneously keeling over. The worst thing about this sick is that it's made me break out in the worst eczema I've had in a LONG time. And it sucks that there's just nothing I can do about it. No amount of cream or ointment seems to be working, so I've given up and just tried to accept the fact that until I've gotten over this, my face will be hideous to all who happen to lay eyes upon me. Pfft. Stupid feverish rashes. Pfft. Oh yes, it's that bad.

Hun-Gee tried to reassure me over the phone that it couldn't possibly be that bad. Pfft. Wait till you come home FIRST before you say that, Hun-Gee, trust me. Here's proof: a girl from the tri-campus team was sitting next to me and happened to lay eyes on the hideousness that is my blotchy face. She's the nicest girl ever, and she only has the nicest things to say, but still, the fact that the following conversation ensued, has got to say something about how bad I look right now...
    Nicest Girl Ever - (noticing the jug of orange juice between my legs) Oh, you're sick too, aren't you?
    Me - (nods my hideously blotchy head)
    N.G.E. - Does that mean you can't take your anti-acne medication?
    Me - I don't take anti-acne medication. I don't have acne. That's just my eczema acting up really badly.
    N.G.E. - Oh. Well, it's hardly red at all. You can't notice it; it's just that I happen to stare closely at people in strange ways. (chuckles it off, and continues to be the N.G.E.)

Acne. That's what I look like I have right now, I'm so fricking blotchy. I should do an infomercial--the before and after pictures could be done without make-up or photo-touching, as long as they can wait a couple of days for me to get better before they take them! Pfft. I think I'll move on now...

Señorita might drop by tomorrow and go on a quick coffee break with me sometime before my first tri-campus game. That'll be good. She's a nurse, maybe she can fix me. Pfft. But then again, she may not be inclined to be seen with me in public after she gets here to pick me up and actually SEES me. Pfft. Never mind. That was a stupid thought--she's my sista...she HAS to love me, regardless of how I look. Yes chicka, you HAVE to...ring or not, that doesn't count for us!!! Mwahahahahahaha...okay. Back to my laundry...pfft.

Catechisms of the Joy Fuck Club

"I don't know how to be your friend..."
"But she bakes cookies!"
"Long distance won't work."
"But I'll wait..."
...

Why the Joy Fuck Club? Why not? We were sitting around a table over drinks, telling each other of our relationships, our attempts at relationships, and how we'd gotten fucked over at LEAST once in a relationship. Although we didn't really come to any conclusions, we still had each other in the end. At least our relationship works.

Quotes of the Moment:
"Wow! This light is absolutely craptacular!"
    --Brother, refering to the traffic light that was taking FOREVER to change
...

"The argument goes something like this: 'I refuse to prove that I exist,' says God, 'for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing.'
    "'But,' says Man, 'the Babel fish is a dead giveaway, isn't it? It could not have evolved by chance. It proves you exist, and so therefore, by your own arguments, you don't. QED.'
    "'Oh dear,' says God, 'I hadn't thought of that,' and promptly vanishes in a puff of logic.
    "'Oh, that was easy,' says Man, and for an encore goes on to prove that black is white and gets himself killed on the next pedestrian crossing."
    --Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

...Or Is It Just Me?

Picture this: You climb into your PJs and crawl into bed with a book. You've got some soothing background music playing on your stereo and your new reading light is just right for long stretches of textual intake. So you plow through the 60-70 pages of the slowest short story ever, but by about page 66, you pass out. Waking up the next morning, you find your reading light turned off, your sterero turned off, your book closed and on your bedside table, you safely tucked away under your covers, but your PJ shirt on the pillows next to you. Does this ever happen to you? It happened to me last night/this morning. Any explanations are welcome...mine has something to do with elves, though I'm not sure if they're the same ones that deal with my shoes...

Song of the Moment: "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)" - Nancy Sinatra

I was five and he was six
We rode on horses made of sticks
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight

Bang bang he shot me down
Bang bang I hit the ground
Bang bang that awful sound
Bang bang my baby shot me down

Seasons came and changed the time
When I grew up I called him mine
He would always laugh and say
Remember when we used to play

Bang bang I shot you down
Bang bang you hit the ground
Bang bang that awful sound
Bang bang I used to shoot you down

Music played and people sang
Just for me the church bells rang

Now he's gone I don't know why
And till this day sometimes I cry
He didn't even say goodbye
He didn't take the time to lie

Bang bang he shot me down
Bang bang I hit the ground
Bang bang that awful sound
Bang bang my baby shot me down

A clear crisp day: the sun shining brightly overhead, Coldplay on the radio, and nothing but open roads ahead. Yes, today was a beautiful day to be single, and a beautiful day to be in love.

Love Actually...

Despite the fact of it being opening day for The Matrix: Revolutions, I actually sat nearly by myself and watched Love Actually instead and discovered it to be my new favourite movie (Sorry Shrek, Nemo, and you Goonies, this one was pretty good). It was just one of those movies that just...clicked with me. Not everyone falls in love, not everyone has the perfect life, and not everyone gets what they want, but there was just SO MUCH LOVE in this movie that it didn't matter. I love Love: it makes me feel all warm and squishy inside--when it's not making me feel lonely and miserable, that is.

love rocks on
love is elementary
love american style
love unspoken
love at work
love and politics
love as a second language
love is awkward
love lasts a lifetime

everyone needs to fall in love at least once...

SPOON!!!

I'm feelin' a little lonely right about now. I think life is getting to me. I need some time. I need a break. I need some extra love. I need a comfortable silence. I need...a lot of things...

Just talkin' to Squiggly about how nice it is to be able to snuggle up to someone and sleep for a good while. A little comfy spooning with some soothing bedtime talking would do the trick. Will someone just come and take care of me right now? I want to be treated like the big baby that I'm feeling like at this moment. I rarely admit to needing things done for me, but I could really go for some serious princess treatment. Some cuddling, coddling, cooing, and I'll feel much better. I really need a spoon. *sigh* Need you really be so far away from me?

A Moment of Egomania

I've decided today (though I permit myself the chance to change my mind later) that I love my height. I am the perfect height. I am slightly taller than average, allowing me to be tall enough to look down upon many around me. I am tall enough to tower above other girls of my age and ethnicity. I'm tall enough to be a threat on the courts. I'm tall enough to see over the steering wheel when I drive. I'm tall enough to be intimidating to most men out to pick up at the clubs. However at the same time, I'm short enough to be able to find pants that fit me. I'm short enough to be able to be cute and cuddly once in a while. I'm short enough to wear four-inch heels yet still be shorter than my man. I'm not too tall, but I'm not too short--I am the perfect height. I love my height. I also have great hair. I am awesome.
...

Test Drive Females! Female Test Drivers!

"Great idea! Go test drive cars together sometime. More likely to let 'couples' test drive. We both drive stick. It'd be awesome!"
    --Squiggly, in a text message to me the other day

I'm in! I'm in! It is a great idea--the fact that Squiggly is just totally using me for my femininity to con salesmen into letting him test drive wicked-cool cars makes no difference to me at all; I wanna drive those cars too! SwEEEEt. Even if Squiggly was the only one to get to drive, I'd be fine with that--Squiggly is one sick driver! Our original plan was to dress casually rich, but with some subtle yet eyecatching *bling* accessories (*blang* is just tacky) and meet up in Waterloo to dealership-hop out there. BMW, Mini Cooper, Honda, and Volvo, all within a stone's throw from each other. If not there, then maybe up Kennedy in Markham. Either way, it's all good; I'd cling to Squiggly's arm for a day for a ride in a Mini. :) I think this is a great thing Squiggly's stumbled upon. A great thing I think I should try to capitalize on...

...anyone looking for a feminine counterpart with whom to convince dealerships to hand you keys to their nicest cars--I'm riiiiight here. I appreciate these cars, I know how to smooth talk these salespeople--who else would you want to go with? Besides, as Squiggly pointed out, I drive stick. :D

...But The Last One Was Just Right...

The Imaginus Poster sale arrived at the Meeting Place today. I wandered through the displays and came to the saddening realization that my room contains too little wall space. :(

Some of the stuff they have is really cool, but too fantastical for my tastes. And there are the abstract pieces that take me back to my anti-abstract-art conversation with Jean not too long ago when we decided that some of that stuff just shouldn't be allowed. Then there are those supposedly inspirational photos of beautiful scenes or amazing feats accompanied by the motivational phrase along the bottom ("There is no 'I' in 'team'"); those just don't do it for me. And then I have beef with purchasing movie posters: someone originally acquired them all for free, so why should I be paying (however, the movie scene shots aren't too bad, just so hard to pick from!)? That leaves the celebrity glossy photos (too commercial), the Anne Geddes et al. pieces (too cutesy), the cartoons (too girly), the animal collages (too cuddly), the half-naked model shots (too envy-inspiring), and the credo-lists (too categorical--although I allow the Fight Club rules to serve as the only exception).

Despite all of those exclusions from my personal tastes there are still hoardes of posters left to choose from--something I couldn't do. I wish I could've brought a personal consultant to select or create one poster specifically to fill the empty space of wall in my room. That's a tough job though. Of my friends and family, I would trust very few with that task. As a list, I think they'd be dad, Tobias, Jean, Q, and V-Jai; the artists of my life. Hurry up guys...the sale ends 5pm tomorrow, although I will accept personal submissions after this date... :p
...

On a random tangent, my shoes have been disappearing lately. Pair by pair (granted, I've ony seemed to have lost two pairs so far) I've tried to wear, and pair by pair they've mysteriously gone missing. It all started when Senorita asked to borrow my black sandals for her cousin's wedding. For two weeks I've been looking for those shoes, and for two weeks, I've come up empty-handed. I swear I've checked everywhere. I even checked both of the cars--even hun-Gee's cars--but no sign of them. I've written of their disappearance to the fact that I probably lent those sandals to a girlfriend and forgot to re-claim them after a while. But today, I discovered that yet another pair of shoes went missing. I mean, the ones I lost today were just a crusty old pair of runners, but still, where did they go? I tore apart the upstairs and downstairs closets this morning looking for those shoes. I opened every shoe box and storage bin I came across, whether or not it seemed to have anything in it. Quite frustrating to find absolutely nothing, let me tell you. Mom usually charges a dollar for her to find anything for you in the house. By then I was ready to pay her $20 to find my shoes. But, I don't think she'd be able to find them either. So far, throughout my whole ordeal, she hasn't offered to help at all--sure she's suggested places for me to look, but actual help. That's why I came up with my theory: she's in on it. She may not have taken them, but she's in on it. :p I'm going to have to take an inventory of all my shoes tonight, and move them all to a safer place. I could be overreacting of course, but I can't afford to lose anymore shoes--losing shoes means I'll have to buy new ones and I can't afford that.

Quote of the Moment:
"I seem to have misplaced my pants."
    --Homer Simpson, The Simpsons