As I lay on my bed trying not to pass out after a solid 4 hours of shopping today I realized that being home by myself is not that much different from having my parents home. I guess in the end I do whatever the hell I want anyway, just sometimes there's more talking involved. I guess I was always too busy being an ass to notice?

Cooking for myself is both fun and a total pain. It's the planning that gets to me - while I've been okay with it now since I'm not really doing much all day, I can't imagine doing it while I have essays and tests and readings to worry about. Residence spares you the hassle of figuring out what you're going to eat that day, how you're going to cook it, how long it's going to take, and when to start it so you're not already completely ravenous by the time you reach the stove. So, no thanks, I'm good for another year.

Rob gets here on Monday and he promised to cook me dinner because he's a bitch and intent on spoiling me during the 3 days he'll be here. I think it's completely unnecessary but apparently I'm not allowed to protest or whine about how I've done nothing to deserve this ha. He's amazing.

I had real cabin fever the night before my parents left for Boston because I was so sick of my cycle of sleep and work and almost went with them as a result. Rob and I are going to Niagara Falls on Tuesday though to alleviate that... and to see the falls, get drunk (mostly me) and gamble (mostly him), and then pass out in a hotel. The Crown Plaza for 90 bucks man, yeee recession.

He'll wear a three-piece suit and I'll wear a short red dress and we'll once again act like we're the only ones in the room wherever we are, as always tends to happen.


Oh yeah, and I'm definitely 20 years old and definitely still feel uncomfortable sleeping in my house by myself. Cool.

Is it horribly narcissistic to want to print out and save the emails I've written Rob while he's on vacation because they're so cute?

My knee-jerk reaction is yes, but at the same time isn't it following the same vein as a journal - simply a documentation, a reminder of my life?


I've watched like seven episodes of the second season of Scrubs today and realized that for some reason the Janitor really reminds me of Mr. Dovigo - they have a similar sense of humour. And then it reminded me of how he gave me a hug when I stopped by to see him on my visit to St. Joe's a few weeks ago and how, though he first mocked me in his typical way, in the end he seemed really happy to hear about how I was doing and, furthermore, what I'm planning on doing with my future.

He always mocked my involvement with the Nicaragua Project throughout high school, but this year he's going along with them, which I find funny but fitting because he is like that after all. And is it weird that I feel like he's proud of me?

HIS103 today went well, and American History was decent, but if I fail Spanish tomorrow I'm gonna be pissed.

Maybe not too pissed, considering I still have 7 "lección"s to get through before 2pm tomorrow. Oops. I hate the preterit so much. Tuve, supe, pusiste, tradujeron, FUCK YOU.

I want another coffee, but it's late and it'd be my third of the day... Rob and I take turns paying for each other's coffees because it's the 21st century, and the baristas at the Starbucks across the street behind our residence are starting to be friendly in that way you get after you recognize someone from seeing them over and over.

We have wildly inappropriate whispered conversations in libraries and enjoy entertaining friends on the floor with sarcastic banter and stories of the dysfunctions of our relationship, like how I always steal the blanket at night because he prefers to sleep with the air conditioning on and how I will resort to displays of violence to avoid getting out of bed in the morning, leaving them with a skewed idea of how things really are. I think we're hilarious.


Summer's gonna be hard.

Digging through the kitchen sink to find my lost fork and spoon is pretty much the most unpleasant thing I could think of doing right now.

I don't understand why people think it's okay to let their dishes ferment in a sink for weeks upon weeks at a time when you share that sink with 36 other people. Worse yet they'll dump food (my favourite is expired milk) on top of it so it smells wonderful and then whatever you dig up comes back to you covered in a combination that you don't even want to know the parts of. Like... fuck. Why would you do this to everyone? what's wrong with you?

And yeah, thanks a lot to whoever tossed my fork and spoon out of the cup they were sitting in and to the bottom of the sink, you're a real asshole.

Hi! My name is Ksenia and I will be your lifeguard for this evening. Please be advised that I am paid $12.82 an hour to be here and therefore, yes, my job is deemed necessary by the people that pay me, and no, your assertion that you can do my job better than me is not correct. I would also appreciate it if you allowed me to do my job properly, such as by not standing directly in my way so that my view of the pool is blocked entirely by your ass because my position happens to have the best angle from which to take a picture of your little darling going down the slide. Unless you are willing to take liability for all the other children that I now can't see, I suggest you take heed of the fact that my need to see the pool trumps your need to sigh over your ugly kid. Lastly, I am human regardless of whether you choose to acknowledge my existence, and therefore I do deserve a break after dealing with the kids you failed to discipline for the past 3 hours, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't act as if it wasn't legally mandated by the government of Canada for me to take my 15 minutes.

Also, yes, I've heard that witty observational joke before and no, it wasn't that funny the first time either.

I decided to give up skipping class for Lent. Should be relatively impossible.

Dave and I were discussing what we could give up yesterday evening, and, I mean, there's a number of things I could potentially give up - alcohol, cigarettes, coffee. But none of these things are an addiction for me, and therefore giving them up would just be a huge inconvenience and would give me very little benefit or personal satisfaction in the end. It wouldn't be much of a challenge, and it'd be annoying with nothing gained, so what's the point?

Going to class, though, that's a good one. As soon as I said it we were both like, "ohhhh shit." He backed out immediately, said he'd never be able to do it, but I think I have a chance. It'll be hella hard and I know I'll be tempted to skip something nearly every day, but at the same time it'll be so good to do it. I've needed motivation and incentive to stop skipping class for a while now, and I think this is the perfect opportunity.

Lent ends when class ends too, so that works out perfectly. And, I mean, it's only 40 days. Less considering I have class only 4 times a week. It's doable. Challenging, but in a good way.


Spurred by another conversation I had with Dave today, I was hit with a pang of nostalgia for high school. He had been talking about how he would skip class with his best friend to play music in one of the back rooms, and it just reminded me of the sheer joy that came with skipping class in high school. It's not like that anymore. Skipping class now means you're either working on an assignment, or you're just lazy. That hour will just be spent doing the same thing you would be doing after the class, and you'll probably just feel bad about missing the class in the end.

Skipping class in high school was like, an entirely different experience. It meant roaming the halls with a friend or two, laughing at ridiculous jokes and coming up with dumb ideas for adventures, it meant looking up stupid shit on the computers in the tech room, it meant hanging out in the atrium with a wide variety of people with whom the only thing you had in common was the act of skipping, but with whom you were able to randomly bond with in that time, it meant being slightly nervous about the possibility of getting caught by one of your teachers, it meant keeping a straight face in the attendance office as you passed your forged note to the receptionist, feeling a little rebellious and a little proud (don't deny it, you know you did), it meant disruption of your typical daily routine, it meant claiming back that hour and fifteen minutes that would otherwise be spent in mind numbing boredom.

It meant fucking freedom. And there was like, zero consequences to doing it. Fuck it was so sweet.

It's like my mind refuses to acknowledge the fact that this essay I've barely started is due in 24 hours, because I just can't find the heart to give a shit.

I don't know if it's a lack of motivation or just a complete lack of understanding of the importance of this paper or what.

It's not even a bad topic and it's not really that difficult of a paper, but I still don't remember feeling this apathetic about an assignment in a long time.

It's interesting to realize that some of the people I live with may very well end up famous one day.

There's so much talent here. How much are we all capable of?

Formerly underagedrinkng; still a bitch.