Finally, someone has it right....

So we had an interesting lecture in Contemporary Sociology today. It was about the movement of people in the 18th and 19th Centuries from the rural areas to cities.

This Simmel Character has it all right. According to him, people develop a matter-of-fact attitude when living in the city. Money and intellect dominate decisions, rather than community and caring attitudes. We cope with life in the city by finding a small group with the characteristics of a rural community because of all the stimulation and stress we are forced to deal with each day. The point that hit the hardest for me was this: The city suppresses our spirit so we form and structure our lives to keep that from happening.

Wha'ts really funny to me is that these are the things I've noticed since I've been here. The fact that people refuse to make eye contact when you walk down the street, the fact that people refuse to make eye contact or say hello when you sit beside them in an auditorium.

At first I took all these things really personally. I figured that I had hick written all over me and that's why no one would talk to me and why I'm so alone here. Surrounded, quite literally, by a million people, and completely alone.

It all makes sense though. People are exhausted from the sheer number of others they are surrounded by. No one has the time, energy, or patience to say hello or lend a smile simply bcause they are pissed about all the other issues they face each day. Traffic, noise, smog, etc.

Finding a small group that will act as a small rural community is interesting to me. My favorite pseudo-brother has a really wildly diverse group that he hangs out with. I've met and hung out with them quite a few times. They do everything together, this group. I've always wondered how or why such a group came together. Really, they have people from East India, my favorite and most lovely Nigerian lady, a few pasty white folks, people from all areas of Asia, Egypt, and probably a whole bunch of other places. They all have different jobs and interests and stuff like that. But they are together all the time. I guess, like everyone else, each of these members of the group are just looking for that sense of community that I so took for granted my first twenty years.

I'm going home soon. I hate living here in a way that I can't really describe. No one seems happy. Even the snow is not right. It's more like brown slush. I don't hate it in the way that I lay in bed sobbing and wanting to go back home though. It's more like a quietly resigned way of hating. Like, I can accept that I'm here for school and that sort of thing. But facing the rest of my life here is laughable.

But you know what the good thing is? I know all this now, that some day happiness will find me, and I'll be completely happy and that's exciting.

So, don't feel bad. I'm not unhappy in the real sense. Because really, I'm happy that I know that some day I'll be happy.

Toonses

I'm here and I'm whole, and I'm glad, and that's good

I heard a song on the radio today. It really brought me back.

It must be five years now… maybe more? But I’d told the one I thought -- in my seventeen year old naiveté -- that I would love forever that I couldn’t be with him any more. I’m not even sure why I did it, except that in my gut I knew I had to.

The song brought me back to the first months after the breakup, when I noticed something off with him. And about six months after, I told him to get out of my life, because I couldn’t spend it watching him ruin his.

And six months after that, when he called me in tears and I told him that I would be there for him forever, not romantically ever again, but as someone to help him through whatever it was he was going through. He‘s still going through it today.

And a few short months after that I realized how much it was tearing me apart to watch him, little by little, become a man so different from the one that I had loved. I couldn’t stand to look at him without hatred spewing forth in a manner that hurt him so much. And the things that I once said to him, that hurt him so deeply, hurt me so deeply to recall.

We didn’t talk for two years.

They were a painful two years, for a variety of reasons.

But for some reason I called him after those two years, and we met for coffee and one thing led to another and there we were, only two and a half years ago, caught up in the same pattern again.

He looks different to this day. He is no longer the flamboyant, happy go lucky boy I used to sit around and giggle over. His eyes are forever bloodshot. His speech is slow and those bloodshot eyes are encircled with darkness. He is thin. So thin. My mother saw him eight months ago and can’t get over how awful he looks. He used to be so handsome.

I was hurt for a long, long time after we broke up. About two years after the breakup, I thought I was over it for good. But it still hurt on occasion.

I don’t know why I’m dwelling on this now. We haven’t talked in a few months. We occasionally have this friendly banter going on between us, half friendship and half for the sake of reminiscing over the old days, when he wasn’t possessed by this demon addiction of his. Because that’s what it is, a demon.

It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that another person has power over you. It’s hard to let that power go. I learned the long and hard way that the best thing to do is let it take you where it will, and drop you off where it feels is best.

I’ve been dropped off. It’s nice. It took me a long time to feel whole again after everything that transpired between him and I.

I’m here and I’m whole, and I'm glad, and that's good.

Well isn't this just peachy....

Copernicus loves her non-certified by the super dooper cat food certifying company cat food.

With the certified catfood it takes her about four to five days to finish off a can. This stuff I can't keep in her dish enough. She's eaten a whole can in less than three days.

I've realized that the non certified stuff doesn't even have the guaranteed analysis on the side of the can! ALL animal foods have a guaranteed analysis on them. Duck feed, chicken feed, cow feed, horse feed.... I've dealt with all feeds except pig feed and I'm telling you, this is the first animal food I've come across that doesn't have a guaranteed analysis on it....

And now I'm thinking, who do I consult on this matter? My mom? The Berry Queen? My neighbor? Jummy? Cute Boy?

And of course, again with the country versus city escapades. Because most city people would say "Uncertified cat food?!?!?!? The Horror!!" And report me to the SPCA I'm sure. My country people? Would say "Give it up. It's a damn cat. If it dies I'll go outside and find you another one."

I'm not usually one for falling for marketing ploys. And I'm wondering, is the superdooper catfood certifying company only a marketing ploy? Have they set out to charge us more for cat food with their little triangular signal of superiority on it only for the sake of making more money? Or do they sincerely have my little Coperni-kitty's best interests at heart? Are they really concerned that if she doesn't consume only the finest superdooper catfood certifying company catfood she'll get ricketts, a bad case of worms, develop distemper and keel over?

I can only imagine how women feel making the decision of how they should go about feeding their babies. I mean, if this is how I feel about my cat, how the hell would I react to having to choose what to feed a HUMAN BEING?
** Note to self: Put off childbearing for an extra five years.
** Or at least until I get this catfood thing sorted out***

Toonses

Will power....

I have none. Whatsoever. I am completely lacking in will power.

SubShack cookies are delicious. I am addicted, I admit it. They also have a whopping ten grams of fat per cookie.

Also, I have developed a love for cookies since quitting smoking. I can't stop loving cookies. I almost feel guilty, as though I'm having an affair. That's how much I love cookies.

Knowing this, imagine my surprise today when I made it through a whole shift not only without eating a single cookie, but also without eating the sub that I usually get for free on my shift.That's right. No cheesy bread with extra meat and lots of sauce. No Steak 'n Cheese melt, no Chicken Pizza. Nothing.

Does this mean I've developed will power?

Or just that I'm temporarily insane? Because right now I'm sitting at home thinking "I passed up a FREE Steak n' Cheese melt?!?!?!?" I'm sure my htighs will thank me later.

Toonses

The guilt is killing me....

I bought Copernicus no name cat food.

It was $0.66 per can.

And I don't think I can feed it to her because it's not certified by the superdooper cat food association or whatever the hell company it is that certifies cat food. When I took her to her eighty dollar vet appointment (You'll recall the time I paid eighty dollars to have someone say "yup, she's a kitten! She looks kinda sick though, come back in a week"?) they gave me a book that says what kind of cat food to buy.

And now I've disobeyed the book and I fear that my precious little Coperni-kitty will keel over and DIE at any moment.

Which just leads me to believe that I'm spending too much time in the city, because in the country if a cat can't sustain herself on the mice she finds in the barn and the water she drinks out of puddles, she ceases to exist. When did I become such a city-wuss raising such a gimpy cat that no name meat food gives me anxiety? I wonder if that animal rights people will be after me for this....

Toonses

Coming out of the closet...

I have a disgusting habit. It grosses even me out. When people realize what I'm doing, looks of horror come across their faces and they sit far, far away from me.

My habit involves those miniature Dubble Bubble gum balls. I love them. I can't get enough of them. If anyone is planning on getting me a birthday present this year, get me gumballs. Lots and lots of them. Last exam session, I went through a 500 gram package of gumballs per day.

I chew them only for as long as it takes for the flavor to run out. Then I sit them into a paper towel beside me and pick out more gumballs.

It always must be two gumballs of the same color in my mouth at the same time. I have a little gumball machine, and when it gets to the end of the package of gumballs, the misfits go into the machine.

I chew gumballs until the sugaryness makes my mouth hurt. Sometimes I repeat this gross habit again and again ujtil my mouth can no longer register that there are gumballs in it, and the paper towel with my used gumballs on it is piled so high that I have to start a new paper towel. Sometimes, after I've chewed for a particularly long time, I'm even immune to knowing whether or not the flavor is there. I chew until my jaw clicks and my teeth hurt, and my tongue is blistered from all the sugar.

I blame my mother for this habit. As a child, I was forbidden gum. I used to hide in the barn, chomping away on my illicit gum. My dad would sometimes give me gum in the barn as well, but only ever one piece. I need a lot more than a single piece to satisfy my gummy desires. When I was ten, I got a full round of orthodontia. I used to sneak to the public school down the road on the pretense of wanting to play on the playground equipment. But really, I would spend the money I would collect from around the house on gum at the corner store, and sit on top of the play construction, and chew.

And now, it's public knowledge. You will very rarely see me chew gum. Denteyne on a date, maybe. Beyond that I can't stand to be seen chewing gum. I can't stand seeing people chew gum. It reminds me of cows and I have dealt with way more cows in my lifetime than I ever wanted to.

As soon as I'm alone, the desire takes me over and I must have gum.

As I say, it's hard to be a crazy person. Although I must admit, I do feel better having let out my secret. I love you, blog.

Toonses

I don't deserve to be a woman....

I can't walk in heels.

I have a fancy-schmancy dinner to go to for Cute Boy's work on Saturday. I have borrowed a little black dress and shoes to wear. I showed my neighbor the shoes and said "I'm concerned because I can't walk in heels".

My neighbor said "I'm not seeing any heels..."

Well, perhaps they are not completely heels. Perhaps they fall under the category of pumps. Either way, when I modeled them for my neighbor? I fell off of them and almost broke my ankle. Which is somehwat disconcerting because on Saturday I'm going to have to walk down the icy sidewalks of Canada on my way to the cab that I insist we take, and I'm probably going to get up close and personal with the snow.
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Cute Boy and I celebrated our three month-a-versary on Sunday night. We went to a pretty fancy restaurant (read: I wore somehting other than jeans!) with a wine list the size of a Dickens novel. There were bottles of wine there for like five hundred dollars! Five hundred dollars is enough to feed and house me for a whole month!

ANyhow, it was a lovely dinner with absolutely delectable Chicken Parmigiania. It was by far the best I've ever had. There was jazz (live!) in the background and the atmosphere was nice. Then we went to a movie and saw 'Walk the Line'. It was pretty good. It was a lot like the movie Ray though... only different genre and all that.

That is all!!

Toonses

Gaaaaah,.....

The excess fifteen pounds hanging off my frame has got. to. GO.

Honestly. I know what diet plan works for me. I've tried this ridiculous no drinking anything with calories, a week of living on rice, semi-atkins, no more Sushack cookies....

Essentially I know that the best diet plan for me is Slim Fast. I's one of those milkshake systems and it works like hell.

So why am I not simply doing it? It's great. I drink eight glasses of water a day, start out drinking a shake at 8 or so, have a snack at eleven thirty (fruit or rice cakes), have another shake at two or three, have another snack at five or six, and supper at eight. Pretty much whatever I want for supper.

Ok. My resolve is set. Thank you, dear blog. I'm grocery shopping tomorrow and will buy the stuff I need to get th body back on track, at least partially before I meet Cute Boy's parents. Nobody wants to bring a fat chick home to mom and dad, and right now I'm nothing but. I swear, I can literally feel the excess portions of my body at all times.

Plus, the next time a random stranger molests me in a bar, I want to have a more coherent flow of thought than "Get your hands of my backfat, Buddy!"

Farewell.

Toonses

Rain, rain, go away.....

It's ice raining today. I've been sitting at home watching people slip-slide by on the sidewalks. I have to go to a far away bookstore today before my class, and I really don't want to walk anywhere at all with Gretchen in my backpack. Dillemmas, dillemmas...

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In case you're wondering, Gretchen is my laptop.

It's not safe for her to go out, but at the same time the thought of taking notes with a pen and paper now seems so foreign to me. I haven't had writer's cramp since last semester.

I suppose, though, that now I can look forward to carpal tunnel to set in any day....

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Speaking of ailments to set in any day, I'm worried about osteoporosis. I used to drink milk like it was my job. I love milk. Milk and I have a relationship, and it's not one I am happy to have broken up from.

That's right, milk and I broke up.

I drink almost a litre of milk a day. Some days, I drink litres of milk. I have a draught glass that I stole from a bar, and sometimes I'll drink two draughts of milk with a single meal.

My new diet plan involves drinking nothing that has calories in it.

SO I've relegated myself to drinking only the rust water that comes free compliments of living in Hell.

Also included in my breakup with milk is a breakup with SubShack cookies.

However, we all know that if Cute Boy decides to break up with me any time soon, Milk, Cookies and I will be reunited within minutes.

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It's T minus one month for the visit to meet Cute Boy's parents. I'm excited to go and at the same time I'm worried about all the things that could go wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. I'm incredibly socially inept, for one thing. My table manners could go awry and Cute Boy knows so many of my insane quirks that I'm scared he'll bring them up.

Trust me, if you knew how crazy I am, you'd be scared of someone mentioning your quirks as well. Although I've told Cute Boy about some of them, and he keeps on saying they're cute?

Men are wierd.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That's all

Toonses

I love you, Odysseus....

My home cat Odysseus died today.

So I am pretty sad about that.

I'm also really sad because my nephew absolutely loved Odysseus. They had a special bond. He always called her "Deesy". I'll never forget a lot of mornings when he had mastered the art of climbing into my bunk bed with me and Deesy, and the three of us would cuddle together, sometimes for close to an hour.

Odysseus was a really unique kitty. We always had a love/hate relationship. Mostly because one minute she would love me, and the next minute she would be attacking, teeth bared and claws out, ready for the kill. But at night she would lie in bed and purr and demand to be petted. And if you didn't pet to her satisfaction, she would pin her ears, grab your hand, and bite with all her strength so as to teach you a good lesson.

Deesy was thrown out of her litter of kittens when she was really young. Her mom wasn't a big fan of her. No doubt because of all the biting. So teeny, tiny little Odysseus wormed her way into my older brother's heart, and he named her. I begged and pleaded with my parents to allow her in the house. She was an orange female which is kind of rare and unique. My parents didn't think she would live very long anyways because she was so tiny.

She stayed small and kitten-like for a long, long time, probably from being malnourished from not being with her mother. Her mother was atri colored cat named Jamie who was hopeless at raising kittens. Deesy spent some time living in a shoe box in the kitchen, which she rarely got out of because of her size.

She was so vicious once she got older that we had to have her declawed. My family is not a fan of declawing as a rule. But in this cat's case, it was quite literally a hazard to not have her declawed. She was pretty pissed when she came out of the surgery to sore feet and no more defense machanisms. But my family could sleep soundly at night and soon enough she learned to make up for her lack of claws with her teeth.

Seven years is young for a cat. It will be so strange to go home from now on and not have my original precious kitty there. Odysseus was there for me when I broke up with my first boyfriend, had mono, survived the worst year of my life, and still loved me when I came home for weekends from the city.

She was a good kitty.

I love you, Odysseus.

Ode to a dear friend....

Bigman, in his infinite wisdom and kindness, had a heart to heart with me the other day.

I was, as per usual, whining and carrying on about my life, how my appartment has turned my hair orange, about how I'm wasting my time with this degree, and not going anywhere positive in my life, and on and on and on.

He sat patiently by his computer, doling out advice, wisdom, and insight about how to make me a happier me and how to make my life a happier life. He explained his own life and how he had been in a similar situation to mine, and in the end he ended up helping me create a life plan that is both feasable and fun, and that will keep me happy.

All the while, he was dealing with his own devastating news but allowed me to whine about my nothingness before telling me about his own life. And when he did, there was really nothing I could say or do that would match what a wonderful friend he's been to me all these months and years.

Captain Jones has been there for me through breakups and get-back-togethers, through dumpings and un-dumpings, through fire parties and camping and crappy jobs and stupid decisions and family troubles and kittens and drunkenness and my first time on stage and movie nights and Cute Boys and just about everything else I can think of. (Let's not forget the schmoe who got married to someone else before he broke up with me. Sheesh). About the only thing I don't discuss with him is cramps and internet bills -- and that's only because those are two things I never get.

I'll never be able to repay this dear friend for any of the advice and simply the being there that he's done for me. Instead, I can only blog about him and hopefully let hom know how stuck in so many ways I would be without him.

For the last five or six days, I have been purely at peace with my life, myself, my decisions, my cat, and almost at peace with my backfat. Simply because of what a wonderful friend BigMan has been.

I guess all I can say is that I really owe you buddy. Really, really owe you.

Peace,

Toonses

I'm yours, Berry Queen!!

As part of my newly revised life plan, I've decided to take a hiatus from this smelly city and get back in touch wih nature this summer. Which can only mean one thing!

Berry fields!!

Fields and fields of glorious berries, all to be managed by MOI!

Basket upon basket, some filled with straw (For our equine friends, don't forget) and some filled with trottenberries, customer upon customer Keeping me from my next cigarette break and hours upon hours baking in thirty degree weather outside for twenty one days straight.

It's the worst job in the world and you know what?

I can't wait.

Life is good.

Toonses

A rice cooker!

I got a rice cooker! Cute Boy had it laying around and he gave it to me. I made supper in it two nights in a row.

It works wonderfully!

I'm thrilled.

Question of the day?

How does the rice cooker know that the rice is cooked?

Toonses

Wow! What a depressing blog!

I just read over the last few entries and I realized how blase everything sounds. So I decided to write a cheery, sappy blog about the people I love best. I will call this entry "Without You"

Withouth Joomy, I would have never started blogging.

Without BigMan, Iwould not have a website, would never have had two really awesome fire parties, and I would have never been introduced to the Love Shack. (And I'd have no photos on my website).

Without my new neighbor I would have never met Cute Boy.

Without my parents I would not have a really cool new 'puter to blog on.

Without Copernicus, I would never have woken up two to three times a night to claws in my backfat, my ass, my thighs, etc since October.

Without my best friend, I would be friendless!! That would suck!

Without my guitar I would be nothing. My world would simply cease to spin, and I would curl up in a ball and die.

Without my brothers my childhood would have been more peaceful, and my adulthood and teenage years would have been incredibly boring and lacking in drinking buddies (and people to steal booze from....)

Without my nephew and my new niece I would not know how wonderful it is to see a little person learn tasks that we take for granted with such wonder.

Without the Berry Queen I would not know what it is like to be taken into someone's home and treated as family, without the complex issues of family. Also without her I would not be known as the Left Boob, and that would make me sad.

Without Cute Boy I would be in the exact same place as I am now.... and that's comforting because it lets me know that I am perfectly capable of being my whole me, with or without someone else. My how I've grown! With Cute Boy, however, I now have someone to kiss when I'm happy. And kissing is good. Mmmmmm kissing.......

So that's it. I'm happy. I've made peace with my life, with where I live, with what I'm doing. And I thought I would create a sappy blog to celebrate it.

Love,

Toonses

Making a life plan.....

I had a really bad day today. So I decided to come home after school, sit on my bed, and cry.

But then I thought, Meh. I'll find better things to do.

So I made a life plan.

Here it is:

1) Don't drop out of school
2) Don't start smoking again -- it's smelly
3) Don't max out my credit card on a semi hollow body Ibanez -- even if it's pretty and has those gorgeous faux marble inlays on the fretboard
4) Find out when spring sessions at school are and register to make up the course I dropped last semester
5) Finish the application process to my other school of choice even if I decide not to go there
6) Don't prematurely move back home
7) Visit my grandparents more often
8) Read one good book per month

It's called being proactive, not reactive.

And oddly enough, I don't even really feel much better.

But at least now I have a list, and lists and I have a good, solid relationship. I love lists. Lists are an OCD person's best friend. I can check them, count the things I've done and not done, cross stuff out, add stuff on, rearrange the numbers, check and recheck. Lists are portable, foldable, and when I'm bored, I can see how many times I can fold and refold the same list in as many different shapes as possible! And then, when the list is old and worn out, I can re-create it only to produce the same fun yet again!

Cute Boy had a funny quote for me today.

"I don't suffer from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it."

Suits me to a T.

On that note, good night!!

Toonses

Random Random Random

1) I should be either studying, sleeping, or cleaning.

2) I have no idea what I'm doing with my life

3) Suggestions regarding #2 Welcome

4) I sort of have a plan at this point but really, I don't htink it's gonna happen.

5) I want to stay in the city this summer, but I just found out about a really good learning opportunity for this spring and I don't think I can pass it up.

6) Sometimes I feel like pulling my hair and screaming "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK" simply because it feels good. Because I'm so pent up, so worried, so excited, so scared, so likely to crash into my bed at night and cry myself to sleep because I have all these feelings and nowhere to go with them.....

7) I think Im gonna throw up from the anxiety that is coursing through my veins. The funny thing is, that I've never thrown up before so why would I think that I'm going to throw up?

8) Copernicus has this odd thing about sleeping on my backpack and she is ever so cute curled up in the straps.

9) Pretend you can hear me engaging in a primal scream for this one.

10) Does anyone know where my Monday night Class is, because I ended up having to miss the damn thing tonight because I couldn't find it. Gah.

Toonses

How rude!!

I hate Men. Sorry Cute Boy. Apologies, Bigman. But still, I hate men.

The other night at the bar, this random guy comes in and beelines towards me like he's never encountered a female in a bar before in his life.

He starts trying to make conversation and a few times, quite pointedly, I mentioned Cute Boy (I didn't call him Cute Boy, of course. Not in a bar. Sheesh.) or I mentioned my boyfriend. So I figured, I guess this guy wants to be friendly, whatever.

He continues talking to me and rests his hand behind me on the bar. I was watching Cute Boy play some pool. Cute Boy has noticed and is watching.

Then, Random Jerk decided that it would be acceptable to put his hand on my person. Hello!?!?!? He put his hand on me!!

Cute Boy then decided to come to my rescue.

Now, there is nothing worse in this world, nothing less sexy or more unappealing than a man with a stupid temper. Quite frankly, men with tempers are stupid. Gain some self control, you're not three any more.

Cute Boy could have done a stupid man thing but instead, he just came over and kissed me in front of Random Jerk. Hah, I thought. Surely Random Jerk will now realize he is not for me and he will go away.

Nope.

Random Jerk Proceeded to put his hand on my back fat (And I'm REALLY sensitive about my back fat. I do not need Random Jerks to point out that I have backfat, thanks) and stared at Cute Boy!!

Uhm, hello?

So again, Cute Boy could have gone all stupid and dumb, but no.... he put his hand on my knee, stared right back at Random Jerk, and waited. Surely, iIthought, Random Jerk would leave now.

Nope!

So Cute Boy said "Well, have a nice night?" And made a skedaddle motion with his hand.

It seemed to go on forever and I was just sitting there in the middle of it having my backfat molested by a stranger. It was the most intense situation I've been in in a very, very long time... I thought one or the other of them was going to start throwing punches. I really felt sick to my stomach. gah.

Anyhow, after a while Random Jerk decided to leave after some protesting "Dude, I'm not looking for trouble" "Dude, I'm not gonna touch your girlfriend" and the like.

How absolutely RUDE that someone would A) find it accpetable to touch me B) Continue to touch me in front of my boyfriend and C) Claim to not be touching me when I could feel his hand on my backfat!!!

Gah. I hate men.

Life goes on and it's a little too long...

Wow. So much is happening in my life. I hate it, and sometimes just lie on my bed sobbing my heart out for hours.

Then, at the same time, I love it and can't wait to go on with it...

I've been in the city for almost a year and a half now.

And I still hate it. It's not like I spend all my days meandering about hating it. I'm relatively happy. But this place is not home and it never will be home, so why am I trying to force myself to spend a lifetime where it's not meant to be? For what? What am I gaining by being here? (Aside from a useless degree and by the way? I have yet to hear from ANYONE what a sociologist actually does. All I know is that it involves cubicles).

Gah.

Toonses

Here I am

At my home in the big city, typing on the INTERNET from my new laptop.

I went househunting the other day. It was the most deflating experience I've ever expereienced. Apparently, the reason that I live in Hell is because Hell is all that I can afford to live in. My neighbor and I are bother crushed, although we are trying to remain hopeful... it seems that we live in a very high cost of living area, despite the fact that we are in the slums.

Copernicus is not happy to be home, I think. She's looking at me a lot, like she expects me to just haul off and find her a decent place to live, and pull rent money out of my ears or something. I think she hates Hell as much as I do.

Cute Boy wants me to meet his family.

Yep. The dreaded meeting of the family.

Not that I dread it. I'm sure Cute Boy's parents are very nice people. They did, after all, bring him into this world and turn him into the Cute Boy that he is today.

However, these meetings are always rife with stress and anxiety and make me very compulsive so that I look insane. And when you bring a girl home to your parents, you don't want them to think she's insane. (Regardless of what the truth is).

Sigh.

Our three month-aversary is coming up soon. A quarter of a year. Wow.

And you know what the funny thing is? The night I met Cute Boy, I was supposed to go get a tattoo with two of my Indian friends. They stood me up, I broke my diet and spent half the night crying into fattening food, and then my neighbor asked me if I wanted to go out.

How odd and possibly even ironic that a night that started out with my crying into my pillows with my cat has turned into almost three months of dating a very Cute B0y.

Life is strange.

Toonses