Sunday, September 10, 2006
hop, hop, hopla!!
That's what waiters say in France when they're coming past you with a full tray. French sound effects are beyond sexy.
Speaking of beyond sexy, I couldn't keep myself from signing up again for the same website my stalker was on. This time I was smarter, though. My photo doesn't show my face and my whole profile's pretty cryptic. Now I'm talking to all kinds of neat girls, and I'm even going to meet a few of them on Tuesday. I can't believe how many new and adorable people are on there now.
Check out how long my arm is! Freaky!
Lest you think I live my entire life on the internet, I will point out that I spent a rather great weekend reviving my actual IRL social life. I went to Rain's birthday last night, and we had some amazing food (duck spring rolls to die for) and listened to some great jazz sung by a mellow red-haired gal.
Morgan, my dear American friend, picked me up her usual twenty minutes late in a rental car, and she told me the story of how she'd totalled her precious Chevy by getting into a T-bone crash at an intersection last week. This is the reason I don't drive. She was covered in bruises, and had the bone part of the T been a little bit to the right, I would, as she put it, "still be wondering: gee, I haven't heard from Morgan in a while." Her morbid sense of humour is at least still healthy. That was a close call indeed.
I simply adore Morgan. She's really one of my favourite people on earth. She's had such a tough life, and her family sounds like a real piece of work, but she approaches every aspect of her existence with such humour and hilarity than hanging out with her is always a good time. She was very sympathetic about my break-up, and she told me that whenever someone asks her how she's doing and she doesn't want to get into it, she just tells them she's F.I.N.E. -- Fucked-up, Imbalanced, Neurotic, and Enraged. It's become my new favourite acronym.
Today I had a fabulous brunch with my great aunt and the Bro, and served as his fashion consultant when we went clothes shopping. Somehow a mushroom-spinach-jalapeno omelet and a new pair of pants and some cute shirts makes everything in my life that much peachier.
Mac is still sending me text messages. Anyone have advice as to how to let the boy down gently? Is telling him that I'm gay simply bad form? I just don't know.
I appreciate all and any advice, unless you're going to call me self-centered and tell me I'm mean. I don't want to hurt this boy, really.
Hope everyone's having a lovely weekend.
-N
