When all else fails...do your hair.

"Life is short...Stay awake for it."
~ Caribou Coffee Bar Slogan

I had the most difficult time waking up this morning. P gave the usual wake up call at around...who knows when. I just told her something or other and plopped back down again. It's terrible to have begun each day of my life since sophomore year saying "Shit! What time is it?". Never begin your day with the word shit, it's not good for you. My mother then called at around ten-something, asking if I went to see Mr. Barksdale, who she insists on calling Mr. Boxdale, emphasis on the OXX (I haven't had the patience yet to correct her). I then preceded to get buffed for not getting up in time by both my mother AND father. Usually I just take the buff and shut up. Not today for some reason. How does repeatedly telling me that I should've gotten up earlier change the fact that I didn't? My children are going to love me.

I decided I wasn't going to any of my classes; I'm not in them anyway, so why should I be held responsible for attending? I didn't care. I know I should, leave me alone. Anyway, I had a nice hot then cold shower, washed my hair and blow-dried it. As I've realised recently - it's all about the hair. Next to shoes of course.

Good Intentions.

"Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise."
~ Proverbs 6:6

Back to blogging. Maybe. I wish my return could be marked with some deep wisdom that I picked up during my absence. Sorry. Same shit...sorta. Rasta is now my 'man'...which apparently sounds strange only to me and dregus. Still fighting to stay in school, unless they decide to purge my classes tomorrow and I jump out of the tenth storey window to my excruciatingly painful and untimely death. Too bad I'm not on the first floor of the East Towers anymore...I'd like to know what it feels like to literally break a leg. Anyway, I went to church this weekend and was inspired to change my life. For the nine hundred and sixty-seventh time. I know. I came back to campus and forgot all about it. I suppose it's not my fault that it was Ho-Bag's birthday.

This weekend marked the return of hei-kei-celle (-dre) which I was glad of. For some reason we needed a jumpstart this year. I love you guys. Hopefully I get to stay at HU, even if just for the sake of the name. Although I think dre-kei-celle sounds nicer.

I suppose we shall see what the semester holds.

Phantom Pain.

Come on in,
I've gotta tell you what state I'm in,
I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones,
That I started looking for a warning sign.
~ Coldplay, Warning Sign

Sometimes, when a limb is removed during an amputation, an individual will continue to have an internal sense of the lost limb. This phenomenon, among the many others that exist in the human body, is called phantom pain. Experiencing severe pain in the lost limb is regular among the amputees and according to medical doctors, their pain is real.

I wonder what will come next. I'm scared out of my mind, but you could never tell. I can't even tell. Maybe I'll make the right decision this time, but knowing myself I highly doubt it. Besides work and Rasta, there's nothing much more to my life. More recently I've started talking to my best friend in the world again...not that we'd stopped talking. I missed you so babe, you make me happy.

I think I might be becoming one of those stupid girls. Maybe I always was one. I've gotten myself into an impossible situation. Fcuked up beyond measure. Half of me hates it, half of me loves it. When it's over it's gonna be the same, just in reverse. I think I may have the fortitude to fool myself into not being too affected by it. I guess it won't matter really. I'm here all alone, all the people I really care about are thousands of miles away. So if I fall, like that tree in the forest, and there's no one to hear it...maybe it won't matter? I hate myself for having not one drop of real character. Maybe if I make the right decision this time I can claim some. I don't know if it works that way.

I ordered Chinese food last night from "We Delivery Cigarette Too!"...and the dude buffed me for taking long to get downstairs. I'm so emotionally fragile that he made me cry, and all he said was: "Where are you? I'm waiting!" God, I'm so retarded. Got back upstairs and prepared myself to experience the only real joy I have these days: opening fortune cookies. Not because I believe in their amazing prophecies or anything, just because they amuse me. This one said: "God looks after you especially." It made me cry. I may have lost my mind.

I wasn't always this way. I promise. I had direction and stuff. I had a sense of right and wrong. I could feel things other than numbness. I'm not always numb though, sometimes I cry for no reason; probably just to make sure I can. I feel pain too, but I suppose I shouldn't worry. It's just the agonising phantom pain of the legs I used to stand on.

Emergency hysterectomy...STAT.

“I would be the most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves.”
~ Anna Quindlen

Child-rearing must be the hardest job on earth.

I love my neices and nephews. I had never seen half of them before I met them until last Tuesday, but I instantly loved them: without reason, and without condition. Can I always stand them? Hell no. I got to be "Aunty" (though none of them called me that) for seven days, and I distinctly remember saying to my father more than once over the past week, "I'm never having children." I know this is a far cry from what I had planned for my life, if indeed I ever planned anything. But oh my God. Children are hard-damned-work. Especially four of them. Just keeping them alive and functioning is exhausting, far less for keeping them sane, sensible and happy. It's so tempting to shove a bottle in their faces , or stick them in front of the TV so they'd just shut up for a second. That's so wrong. I know that, yet I was still tempted to do it. That's why I decided that I'm never having any. I don't want my children to end up as little good-for-nothings, nor do I want them to resent me for the rest of their lives. I want them to be intelligent, successful, good citizens of the world, who are able to better it by being in it. That's a tall order. I couldn't do it with a robot, far less a child.

How the hell could anyone trust ME with a child?

I'm calling my OB/GYN.

What Dreams May Come

"Night has brought to those who sleep, only dreams
they cannot keep."
~ Enya

I haven't officially slept in fourty hours. Unless you count nodding on the way to church in my friend's SUV, while he drove entirely too fast, to be sleeping. I don't. Stayed on the phone for six and a half hours last night speaking with Rasta about religion, and God, and truth. He determined about me the same thing that most people do: that I'm immovable. And I'm glad of it. Don't get me wrong, I'm nothing of the sort to preach to you, or to practice what I don't preach. I do, however, stand firm in certain things: truths that I have proven to be so. I'm glad he saw this in me. I cannot explain why. If you knew the whole story, maybe you'd understand. He, I would say (and so would he), is a walking contradiction. Then again so am I.

Now the time for rest has come, finally. I should probably seize it, but instead I am up, refusing to succomb to the exhaustion that is overwhelming my body. Yesterday I started moving too. All by myself. Who needs men? (Me! Me! I do!). Steups. I swear I dislocated my uterus and my left kidney. Bye-bye babies. Was supposed to move the rest of shit tonight, but that ain't happening. I'll do it tomorrow night, the night before Monday: the day from hell. In that one day I must try to get my scholarship back, finish move out, check out, pack and obtain leave from two jobs to go to my brother's in Georgia - a trip that I leave for the next day, mind you. Gyad. I should rest while I can, shouldn't I? I hope Rasta doesn't call. He knows I'm exhausted. I'm well aware of the fact that we talk entirely too much. I'm addicted and so is he. This is not good.

I hope I dream tonight. I never remember what my dreams are about unfortunately, and sometimes fortunately.

I want to sleep. I want to have nice dreams. I bid you goodnight.

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

"If I had a world of my own, everything would
be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything
would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"
~ Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Tonight I saw an adaptation of Alice in Wonderland, performed as a play. It was presented by the Spooky Action Theater and created, performed and written by the original members of The Manhattan Project. This is why I love DC: you can find free events like this one all the time and chances are, it's only about 15 minutes away from anywhere. It was a refreshing end to a day filled with Charlotte Brontë, a manicure and a pedicure performed by very cute, yet incomprehensible Koreans, and let's not forget talking to Rasta. Kdarn and I arrived early-slash-just-on-time at the Mead Theatre Lab after walking the wrong way down G Street. My fault. We were the only non-white people there, a fact I only happened to notice after getting a strange glare from a sweaty white man overflowing from the chair behind where we stood. I glared right back. He looked too cynical to care. Later on that night I realised he must have been a critic of some sort, because from our seats behind his, we could see him periodically take notes. Tried to macko, but his penmanship was past illegible: so he was either a critic, or writing a summary report at his mother's request. Ha.

The play was okay, in my humble opinion. Not greatness, but highly entertaining. The young and vibrant cast of six kept up high-octane energy levels and the strobe lights, which they ensured we paid specific attention to, kept the effects and transitions between acts interesting. Smiled at the Jabberwocky opening act. I'd probably not call this an adaptation, merely a performance of extracts with some humourous interjections here and there. Loved the Bob Dylan impression by the White Knight. I also paid specific attention to the audience: some were highly delighted (satisfied at their familiarity with the vignettes, no doubt) and some seemed not amused. Alice in Wonderland is not for the person who can't stand childish delights and excited humour. I myself was pleased to see the more important philosophical scenes included: Alice inquiring which way to go of the Cheshire Cat, the Caterpillar asking "Who are YOU?", and Alice's conversation with Humpty Dumpty. All in all it was an hour and a half well-spent. Had some Chipotle, the heroin of HU's campus that for some reason I don't particularly like, and headed back home on the 70-bus which was surprisingly psycho-free. Now I'm up, cause I can't seem to fall asleep before 4am. Need to fix these unhealthy hours of mine. Damn Rasta.

Wondering what the answer to the title of this entry is? Not telling. Go read Alice in Wonderland. You'll find it there. Or not. :)

Shoes can solve all sorts of problems.

"Reality is merely an illusion, although a very persistent one."
~ Albert Einstein

I want shoes.

Today I spent the first half of my day sleeping, due in no large part to a couple of beers that I casually consumed last night with dinner...and before bed. One was a Corona. One was called Rabbit something. Piss maybe. It was American, and therefore bad. I think I was just tired of consciousness. Rolled around in my heavenly comforter until around 1:30. Today began another exodus from the East Towers to the West apparently. Yay for renovations. Not yet sure when I have to move out. I think I'll just squat till somebody gets pissed off. The West is gay. Spoke to Rasta a bit, even though he had company and probably shouldn't have been speaking to me. Ahh, the privileges of the Outside Woman. Oh wait, they (or should I say we?) have none. Kidding about the outside woman part. Sorta.

Spoke to a couple friends in Trinidad today. We had one of those lovely conference calls where I could speak to all of them at the same time. It sucked. Felt like crying and hanging up at the same time. Don't even know why. I miss them. So much so that I didn't want to speak to them. Although I'm sure if I were at home, I'd wish to be here. No pleasing me apparently. Got off the phone and apologized profusely to kdarn, whom I was supposed to help move. I'm a bad friend. I helped roll across the last of her suitcases though: Redemption. She and I had lunch at that indian/arabic/terrorist kabob place: Lamb Curry, aka curry lamb. It was pretty good. Then we crossed the street, in adoring appreciation of the beautiful scene before us: blue and red flashing lights illuminating a freshly-arrested middle-aged man; white and grey police cars everywhere. Yes, Campus Police was there too. Partayy. We crossed nonchalantly, disturbingly accustomed to the hell-hole known as Georgia Avenue. Got some McFlurries (apparently they can make cardboard taste like ice-cream too) and sauntered down to the benches at Stokes. We sat and talked. Don't remember much of what we said. Saw the crackhead lady cross the courtyard, cringed at one of her psychotic exclamations, and then mused on how easily I could become her. Somehow that thought didn't scare me. I'm losing my mind.

Gathered up my things, and parted ways with my summer friend. Headed across to the Annex, neither dreading nor anticipating the four hours of Work-for-Housing ahead of me. Only had to endure it once before, and I kind of liked it. Charlotte Brontë kept me company. I love her, and I know that she loves me too. This time the honors laptop that I'm not-still-supposed-to-have kept me company. Time passed by pretty quickly. Went to the vending machine that's too close to my station to get some sugar. Just when it looked like my snack was going to get stuck, two packs of Skittles fell out. I'd like to thank Carbos, the God of Fat, for blessing me with his manna. Rasta called. He invited me to Niagara Falls for a weekend. I didn't give a definite answer. We'll see. I predict us getting stopped at the border for a couple hours and enduring an annoying interrogation about our Caribbean contraband. Even though he's from California. O Canada.

It's 11:49 now. I should start packing up and prepare for my power-walk back to the Towers. I can only imagine the element I'm going to encounter tonight. Guess I'll hafta vaya con Dios. Rather do that than plead with the Campus Escort to come get me right this second. Hot shower awaits. I should wash my hair. Maybe I'll just cut it all off, save me the trouble.

I want shoes.

to no one there.

I am, I said
To no one there
And no one heard
Not even the chair
I am, I cried
I am, said I
And I am lost and I
Can't even say why
Leaving me lonely still...
~Neil Diamond

It seems cheesy and Oprah-like, not to mention decidedly American, to blame your actions on psychological issues. Like believing that I can't go to bed at night cause my mother kept me up one night all night for being bad, and I was traumatized as a result. That never happened, by the way. Yet still however, I do believe that the human psyche is a powerful thing, and things of the past and present, as well as perceptions of the future, might have more to do with our actions than we think.

Like, I know that my present predicament is as a result of some sort of unconscious need. I'm not involved in this to be cool, or to be rebellious, or solely for pleasure's sake. I'm not sure exactly what that need is yet...or if it's being met. But I just know it. I can feel it. My friends think that I'm falling, and sliding down a slippery slope...but the thing is, I know I am. I know exactly what I'm doing, and I'm doing it anyway. A certain dreadlocked friend of mine said to me recently, "The only way to live is to do whatever you feel like doing." A certain swaydo-lesbian friend of mine might agree with that. And although I find that philosophy appealing, I can't subscribe to it. I wish I were the type of person who could. I'd adopt it and live guilt-free for the rest of my life. But that's never going to happen.

For those of who kept reading this entry to see what my point was, I apologize. I have none.

Occupy.

"Work spares us from three evils: boredom, vice, and need."
~ Voltaire, 1694-1778

I hate to beg for anything. More than I hate standing in lines at any place aside from the box office. Last week I begged, to the fullest extent that my pride would let me, for 'Work for Housing'. That's where they give you housing in exchange for 20 hours of work per week. My first application was rejected, because none of the Community Directors "knew me," so they didn't pick me. So I applied for 'Summer Housing' which is where they give you housing in exchange for money. And lots of it. I resigned to using my Supply Chain Management Research paycheck to pay for housing. That way I'd pretty much break even, and survive the summer. The research would be something to put on my resumé, and it'd help me get into Grad School...which I'm not sure I even want to do anyway. Then my normal job would cover my costs of living. Why didn't I intern on Wall Street this summer? Oh right, cause I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a toothpick.

Today I got a call saying that I had been chosen to replace someone who failed to show up for their 'Work for Housing'. So yay, now I don't have to pay for my housing, and I can probably (notice I said probably) save some money and stop being the stereotypical broke college student. The sum of all of this however, is that I have to work three jobs this summer. I am going to hate all three of them, it's going to be sickeningly hot and I'm going to be sickeningly lonely. I guess being busy and tired as shit will help me stay out of trouble, which I've already somehow found myself in. Why didn't I just go to Trinidad and lounge around all day? Oh right, cause that'd cost money...that I don't have.

Ahh, being an adult sucks. For those of you thinking about it, I don't recommend it.

Once Upon a Time.

Lead me from the unreal to the real !
Lead me from darkness to light !
Lead me from death to immortality !
~ Brihad-aranyaka Upanishad, c. 800-400 BCE, 1.3.28

There isn't much in this life that's worth anything except human relationships. None of the things that 'matter' really matter unless there's someone, or some people to share them with. The dynamics of human relationships are very interesting. All we really have is our perception of reality, especially when it comes to interacting with other human beings. Reality, in human relationships, never matters. And if it doesn't matter, then it really doesn't exist.

I love my friends. They aren't many, but they say you're lucky if you can count your friends on one hand. I'm not really sure what makes people friends, but I think that it's communication that keeps those relationships alive where they do exist. There is no relationship where there's no real contact. I can be friends with my teddy bear in Trinidad if that were so. I think that it's just kind of unfortunate when you have friends that you can't talk to anymore. For whatever reason. This seems to be the general trend in my life these days. Out of the three I thought that I had...one remains alive. As for the other two, I don't know what to say. Maybe our lack of relationship is my fault, I don't know. What I do know is that if I'm the only one trying, then it might not be worth it. I don't think I'm expecting too much either. But again, maybe I'm wrong. I know there may be a lot going on that I'm unaware of, but I can only act and feel based on what I am aware of.

I'm probably being an emotional girl...but that's who I am. I can't apologize for that. I still love my friends. But unfortunately that love is based off what we used to be. If there is still friendship there...then it's surviving off the fumes of the past. That...fills me with sadness.

Maybe I'm getting all of this wrong. Maybe I cannot see what's going on in reality. But reality doesn't really exist. Only our perception of it.

Imitation of Life

Sadness is when...

You have nothing to show for three years of life.

You are your most reliable friend.

There is not one person you can talk to who will, or can understand you.

You can't tell the difference between who you are, and what you show people.

Everything is uncertain.

Your first inclination is always the wrong thing.

Sleep is your refuge.

Your own parents don't know you.

No one knows you.

Nothing matters.

The Flesh is Weak.

In the rotation of crops there was a recognised season
for wild oats; but they were not to be sown more than once.
~ Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence

Americans have this saying about "sowing wild oats." It's supposed to be that time in your life where you're allowed to do whatever the hell you want, and not be held responsible for it. My ass. So deceptive these little sayings are.

Yet again, I find myself in the position of making an important decision. Again, part of me says yes, the other part says no. I've already done the deed in my heart a thousand times, so does it matter if I actually physically do it? There again is the deceptive reasoning. I have never in my life wanted to do something so wrong so badly. Situations in my life have been similar, but there was always a justifiable, or 'understandable' reason to acquit me of some of the blame. This is completely different. There's nothing to blame it on, nothing good enough anyway.

I think I just hate being an adult. Making your own decisions, and shaping your own character is too difficult. Like, when you're a child...all your decisions get made for you. Ironically, this is when your most important decisions will have no real bearing whatsoever. Whether or not you should eat the applesauce is not going to determine the rest of your life or who you become. Outside of being a possible apple lover.

But I guess, as they say, that's life. Wish me luck.

tired as fcuk.

Nothing like coming home to a room flooded with toilet water. Yes, my idiot suitemate didn't know how to prevent water from overflowing from a toilet bowl. You turn the water guage off, that's it...yes..clockwise. My God. Now my room is dank and musty with the remnants of whatever it is she had for lunch. Yum. Then she has the AUDACITY to keep the air dryer plugged into the BATHROOM outlet (so no one can use the bathroom) and drying her room. She then proceeds to give it to me at 12am, saying, it's kind of late...but i'm sure it's not that noisy. WTF? Like I give a shit whether I keep you awake, when the floor of my room is covered in your waste? Did you not just finish dry out your own room? Why can't I dry mine?

I've been cleaning and washing for four hours now, and I'm still not done. I'm obsessive-compulsive about being around ickyness. And I have two finals tomorrow. Yay for me.

I swear to you, tomorrow's Hilltop Headline is going to read "Residents of Suite 103E VIOLENTLY MURDERED by enraged suitemate. Don't say I didn't tell you.

Exes.

"The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous."
~ Sex and the City

Phone rings. You pick up. It's your ex. You smile, you say hi and then try not to vomit because of all the crap coming out of your mouth. Like "How are you?", "I'm good, everything is good". Please. Hypocrisy is never more acceptable than when you're speaking to an ex-boyfriend or girlfriend. Especially when the break up wasn't that great. It's only after it happens a few times, and you both get over yourselves and your need to appear okay, that any real conversations happen. Then when they do, more crap comes out and the ensuing conversations are as unproductive as the fake ones. If you're lucky this doesn't happen. If you're like me, these conversations turn into a vicious cycle that appears to be never ending: One day the conversation is good, the next time it's great, the third time there's an argument, the fourth time there's a bigger argument...and then we start from step one all over again.

It's not that I particlarly enjoy repeating the same shit over and over again, it's just that I haven't had the courage, or the clarity of thought to move past it. That's changing though. Like, for real. Every time we speak something feels different...and I think it's me. I mean, don't get me wrong...sometimes I feel nostalgic, and stuff. There's nothing like the familiarity of an old relationship. And when it was good, it was great. But that's all over now. The sooner the both of us realise that, the sooner we can move on.

Not that I want another relationship in my life or anything. I think that's the last thing I need. But I do think that I need to move on. I know who I want to be, and it's not the person that I was then. It's far from the person I am now also. Hopefully when I get there, I'll be ready for a real relationship. Till then, my relationship with myself is my one and only.

Lessons Learned.

"A mistake is to commit a misunderstanding."
~ Bob Dylan

Sometimes things happen to you that you never dreamed would. And I don't mean in a good way. In an instant, honkey-dorey-ness can turn into a steaming pile of shit. The following is a list of things I learned from an unfortunate situation that just happened to take place between 2 and 4am this morning, just prior to and after a crazy joyride to Georgetown...and also when I had some serious Finance homework to do:

1. Don't talk about people. Ever.
2. Don't make jokes around stupid people.
3. Certain jokes are only okay within certain circles.
4. Don't assume a circle exists where it doesn't.
5. A woman scorned is a sad thing.
6. Panic incites stupid behaviour.
7. Don't blame other people for something you technically caused.

That's about it. And I thank the understanding victim of all this who was mature enough to understand what went down. Question though, what do you do when the woman scorned is your friend? Do you hate her because she unnecessarily dragged you into the pile of shit? Or do you pity her? Right about now I'm feeling both those sentiments. Good thing I don't believe in hell.

Which way?

One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. "Which road do I take?" she asked. "Where do you want to go?" was his response. "I don't know," Alice answered. "Then," said the cat, "it doesn't matter."
~ Lewis Carroll

My father has a way of getting through to me that no one else does. On our way to the airport, going back to DC after Winter Break, he started one of his usual talks. They're normally the kind of conversations where he asks a lot of questions, and I give a lot of vague answers, and "I don't know"s. That might sound a bit familiar to the people who know me well enough. Somewhere along the way, he asked me if I remembered the above passage from Alice in Wonderland. I said no, wondering how come I'd never read that book, though I know the story. After he told it to me I was kind of silent for a while. "Do you get it?" was the next question. I said yes. I did get it, and it got to me. That was one damned smart cat. Then he said something else that got to me even more: that the opposite is also true. Leave it up to Daddy to fry my brain at 4am on the Churchill-Roosevelt Highway. I love my daddy.

It was like our own little indian version of The Wonder Years. Heh. Seriously though, I remembered this conversation of ours recently while having another interesting conversation about life with a friend of mine, and somehow it hasn't faded away since. I also started reading Alice in Wonderland.

In my case, the prevailing tines in my fork tend to be right and wrong. My conclusion is that if I don't know which way I want to go, then it doesn't matter how I live. Additionally, if I'm not living rightly...then it doesn't really matter which way I want to go. Brings a whole new meaning to the road to hell being paved with good intentions, doesn't it? Not that I believe in hell. But that's not the point.

What's the moral of my story? Go read Alice in Wonderland.

What they don't tell you when you're a kid is that you are Alice...and Wonderland is your life.

Thank You

I expect to pass through life but once.
If therefore, there be any kindness I can show,
or any good thing I can do to any fellow being,
let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it,
as I shall not pass this way again.
~William Penn

There are nice people, and then there are nice people. Some peope are just nice because they have to be, or because they are expected to be, or because that's what mom and dad pounded into their brains when they were younger. Then there are those rare people who just have kindness in their character...the kind of people who'd do something nice and never tell a soul.

Recently, someone was nice to me when I wasn't even looking. And that gesture made me feel, for the lack of a better word...nice. It wasn't because it resulted in my getting something that I wanted, but because of the thought. Someone thought of me for however fleeting a moment and did something sweet that they didn't have to. And that person doesn't even know me. It feels strange to explain why what they did mattered, because somehow it doesn't do it justice...but I had to try.

I guess this is just my way of saying thanks, Nick...for what you gave me, and for what you've shown me. I do wish I'd gotten the chance to get to know you, and I hope everything works out for you, for real.

I admire your courage and your strength in places where I could never have it.

Thank You.

Nothing to do but frown.

"Rainy days and mondays always get me down"
~ The Carpenters

Today it rained. It's Monday too. Hallelujah.

We went to Starbucks, I studied Finance a little...drank an overpriced cafe latte, then went to Safeway. The only good part was when I got to return to Meridian Hill Hall for a couple minutes, and by pleasant surprise I ran into Raymond, who still runs the store. Sigh. That was the best dorm ever. Such good times.

Now I have Productions & Operations Management homework to do again. Somehow I always blog before that class. Coincidence? I think not.

All in all it's been a pretty shitty day. I keep promising myself that I'll stop saying that word. Never works out. But seriously, the general mood was just...shitty. And I'm not even sure why. I blame the rain. And the fact that it's Monday.

Male PMS

"Women love men for their defects;
if men have enough of them women will
forgive them everything,
even their gigantic intellects."
~ Oscar Wilde

I don't know about you gals, but I get a little disturbed when men have more PMS than I do. And we're supposed to be the sex that's impossible to understand. Sigh.

You know, if men wouldn't keep insisting that they don't have feelings, they wouldn't have to come out in the form of moods. And while I can't say that I always (or ever for that matter) make my feelings plainly known...I don't change moods like my mother changes the colour of our living room. Which, by the way, is very often.

Anyway, I'm a patient kind of girl, but sometimes I can be gotten the better of. So, my new strategy is 'hands-off'. Talk to me when the oestrogen subsides.

Ahh men. I love them.

Men are only as loyal as their options.

Show me a woman who doesn't feel guilty and I'll
show you a man.
~Erica Jong

So I'll admit I was a little tempted. But I'll start from the beginning.

Almost a year ago I had an encounter with a sexy dreadlocked guy at this one party that I shouldn't have gone to for several reasons in addition to the one that follows. I hadn't been drinking, despite you skeptics who may believe otherwise. He was well dressed, and he stood head and shoulders above almost every other guy there. Yes, sadly, I have a bit of a weakness for dreads. He was obviously American. No, I don't have a weakness for Americans, but I could judge his nationality from his reaction to a little Caribbean dancing. Anyway, somehow numbers got exchanged and a couple phone conversations were had. We decided to meet at Tryst for drinks one afternoon. I was a little nervous, but I went anyway. He looked like a stepped out of a GQ magazine, but he still had a little of his own personal edge. His tongue was pierced. Unexpected, but oddly attractive. We talked a bit, and I was informed that from then on "the ball was in my court and bouncing..." All I had to do was make the move. We parted ways, he graduated, went to grad school in New York, and we didn't see each other again. Luckily I was intelligent (and scared) enough to let the ball keep bouncing. It bounced for nearly a year.

Last week, trudging up the hill from Starbucks and on my way to the dreaded Physical Science Lab, I spotted him breaking the corner at the Engineering building. In one of those moments, when you know that your next decision could be crucial, I whipped out my phone and sent him a text. It was him, he was on campus...and did I want to hook up? Being a little deprived, I was tempted to say yes...but I didn't. I didn't say no either. Didn't say yes or no for about four days now. Last night, I went on the Facebook, and saw that he added me to his friends. I checked out his profile, and he clearly has a girlfriend. Immediately, all temptaion was gone. Now I know we weren't planning to elope, or to do anything of any particularly upstanding behaviour...but still. He has a girlfriend! Two unattached people can have some fun if they want, right?

What is it that makes men have no loyalty to their women? What's worse is that he's extremely intelligent, comes from a great family and is very cultured. Yet he would still do shit like that. I guess it just makes me wonder. Granted that this isn't what I was looking for, is there any hope out there for women to find committed men? I'm sure his girlfiend has no clue about this adulterous side of his. My cell phone's now turned off to avoid any further conversation that he seems rather persistent in continuing.

Sigh. I could have, I would have, but I also shouldn't have. Glad I didn't.