Apparently le boyfriend's campus apartment window was busted and his room was broken into. I don't know yet what was stolen, but he has about two to three grand worth of stuff that was probably jacked.

Delightful.

Gobble Gobble Gobble (Hey?)

Happy fucking holidays.

Per the grand tradition of my family, we couldn't make it through a gott damn holiday without someone dropping the drama bomb. Ma mere and the fake faja were supposed to go to Canadia for the majority of the break to see family, so I tried real freakin' hard to get everyone together to have a Thanksgiving dinner, because if I hadn't we wouldn't have had one. It was mom, fake daddio, Aunt J-9 and the Du, mom's friend Donna (who was housesitting) and Josh, real festive like. Needless to say, the night ended with my stepdad yelling at me never to come home ever again, and that I need to respect the rules of the house.

Why, you might ask? Because he's a sick prevert who acts like a jealous boyfriend anytime I have a guy come home with me. I don't even want to go there.

Went shopping today, the best shopping day EVAR or something like that. Clocked in about an hour of sleep before rising at the ass crack of dawn (2:30 AM) to drive an hour and wait in line for ridiculously good deals on shit that nobody really needs. Can I just give a shout out to the people at Best Buy who camped out for two days? You guys are champs. I love the smell of commerce in the morning. I just now arrived back home, and more or less want to curl up in the fetal position and rock back and forth, cradling my poor, violated debit card. Needless to say, it was worth it for what little shit I bought. Always good to see old friends, especially when retail is involved.

I will have accomplished no homework whatsoever come the end of break. The universe is once again at equilibrium.

Under Construction.

Seriously? It's a got damn Sunday afternoon on a Christian University Campus. And you're jackhammering.

Is nothing held sacred anymore?

I've Got a Bad Case of Bulimia.

In all honesty, this feels amazing. I'm not done yet.

You know, I truly was over you. The cacophony of memories had slowly faded from their previous deafening stature, and I finally rid myself of the wilted flowers and tinfoil clad leftovers that remained from the wake mourning the last three years of my life. I firmly believe that "it's such a burden to carry 'round the vestiges of dead dreams."

And then I had a realization which seemingly lead to a state of delusion, wherein I convinced myself it was a good idea to send her a message and apologize for all the horrid things I'm sure you told her I had said. In reality, it was you that ruled with an iron fist over the information that we each received regarding each other, and therefore I had no right to judge her (though she was admittedly a bit daft in falling for what can only be referred to as your Thunderous Man Booty).

Upon the first phone call, the truth began to unravel faster than the cheap teddy bear you bought me for Christmas our first year together. Suffice to say, I truly and absolutely abhor your very existence. There is not a single fiber of my being left that could even potentially feel that you might be deserving of my love, let alone the love of anyone. For a while, I lived vicariously through daydreams of your car not-quite-spontaneously bursting into flames, and then realized that perhaps it's better if you live. I now find solace in the idea that perhaps you shall continue to manipulate people until, on some glorious day, we amass to form a big unruly mob, which stones you to death. Rest assured, I'll be there, and my stone shall drag you down to the depths of the Atlantic, much like I did, metaphorically speaking anyway, in real life.

Alas, a girl can dream.

Ween.

Upon perusing teh interwebz to a rather unhealthy extent, I decided in my (ever) infinite wisdom to create a blog, as my little Cootie Queen has me ever enthralled with the idea. At one point I had a Xanga and even a Livejournal, but alas they have fallen decrepit in the wake of teenage angst and douche bag squishers.

As for now, I shall remain perfectly content with my current status of Procrastinatrix, as it has served me well in the past. School sucks, but what can you do? It's not as if I haven't piddle pissed away the amount of time it would take to accomplish any given set of tasks required for class. Regardless, homework blows like a sleazy whore.

Pinkerton has the wiggles.