Complaining because I can

On Saturday, being the genius that I am, I threw a piece of scalding hot pizza into my mouth while on lunch at work because it was burning my fingers.  Naturally, the suitable alternative was in my mouth, and since I was still around customers I couldn't spit it back into my hand without tarnishing the sanctity of the store.  It was a little bit hot.  Amidst my pooling tears I ate the slice of pizza I bought for myself anyways because even though its brethren pained me so, I was hungry.  The pizza wasn't good because I don't think the pizza my store makes isn't very good, and the fact that as I ate I also ate peeling skin from the roof of my mouth as well as blood, it wasn't a pleasant experience.  It's still not healed at all, so eating is an absolute task.

Regardless, I ate popcorn on Saturday night - recall, genius - and it was like eating barbed wire.

A few hours ago I accompanied my mom on errands, including a stop for a prescription as well as comfortable insoles for my very uncomfortable work shoes.  Because we could, we asked the pharmacist if anything could be bought to soothe the bad burns I have on the roof of my mouth, and he said, "don't eat hot food anymore."  Snark aside, he suggested I put margarine on the burns, so as an idiot I stood in my kitchen stuffing margarine into my mouth as my mom yelled at me for being feral.

I have very uncomfortable work shoes.  I don't understand it considering they're as big as you can get, but lord by the end of my work shifts my feet are crying out to me.

I'm appreciative for the amount of hours I've gotten at work, but I'm working on my birthday this Friday.  Complain, complain.  To be honest, I would be doing nothing during the day, so at least I know I'll be early something like eighty bucks to blow the next night anyways.  In addition to working on Friday I look ahead to a wall of doom; that is, eight hour shifts from Thursday until Sunday, and while again I'm smiling at the growth of my bank account, I'm frowning at the obstacle before me.

Also I work on Sunday and I'm planning to get obscenely drunk on Saturday night because you only turn twenty-one once.  Oh and also YOLO.  But Sunday is going to suck.

I love this time of year when show finales are happening, like tonight's Smash which was decent or last night's Once Upon a Time which was euphoric, but I'm upset thinking about the upcoming summer without television to watch, save for my Sunday night fix of obscenities and gratuitously unnecessary sex that HBO offers me in the remainder of Game of Thrones and the return of True Blood.

I just tried eating because I'm really hungry, but the bloody burns on the roof of my mouth are still raging on.  The internet has told me not to eat chips, but my mom bought me salt and vinegar Pringles today, and there's nothing I want more than salt and vinegar Pringles.  Instead I just ate bread, but even that goddamn bread was sharp.  Another live update, I just put more margarine on the burns, but it devolved into me eating a lot of margarine for the sake of it.  Not even food can make me happy in this very moment.

raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaage

Madonna's arms, wine, and the Blair Witch

I hate this time of year.  I hate that when I look up at my whiteboard calender all I see is a solid wall of academic bombardment before I reach the glorious 17th of February which, aside from being one of my best friends' birthdays (we're all turning 21 already - ahh!), marks the last day of class before my Reading Week.  I hate that I look a week later on my calender and see two sizable assignments due immediately after my week-long vacation, a week which, I'm sure, the ratio of staying in and doing homework and going out with friends and probably drinking is rather lopsided.  I hate February 29th because immediately following it on my calender is a drop-off of whiteness, meaning that so will begin March, and I hate March even more than I hate February and I shudder to imagine the business that will be my schedule of assignments for that month.  Despite my mounting stress - and I hate my mounting stress - I hate the fact that I have an abundance of free time; I used to like my sporadically spaced schedule but now I find myself wasting away doing nothing, pushing off the inevitable assignments in favour of staring at the same websites with their unchanging updates.  I hate, most of all, that despite all of my free time, I haven't written anything for my blog.

I find that my enthusiasm for writing comes and goes in waves as unpredictable as the quality of Lana Del Rey's live performances.  (put away your pitchforks, we all know I'm a huge fan and the joke is in good fun) That goes for things even beyond my blog: I'm sure I've used the image of the "writing itch" before, and if I haven't, then I just seem strange.  I obviously mean that at times when I wallow in my boredom I'm overcome with an urge to write something, but I think the perfectionist in me prevents me from writing on a whim without a concrete plan.  That's how I feel about my creative writing: I regretfully report that I haven't returned to that NaNoWriMo project I had spoken of, and I've made myself quite the paradox considering I don't like leaving things unfinished but I've fallen out of love with that plot and characters and I'm unable to have one side outweigh the other.  With that in mind I haven't brought myself to write something new - I'm planning it, though, but I don't know what it is, exactly - and aside from my lack of serious motivation I've tricked myself into thinking that I can't write something new with something old left hanging unfinished and then again I return to that infinite pendulum back and forth.  With respect to my blog I often don't write unless I'm struck by this divine idea and I find myself waiting around for that idea to strike me.  I guess that's my best excuse for not writing for so long - even when I'm not posting I constantly think about it because, really, blogger.com is unavoidable because it's one of the most visited sites on my browser in the address box - and I've become too fed up with not posting that I've let myself write one of those segmented incohesive posts about the random aspects of my life worth mentioning: this.

(It's Okay to Watch a Show Called) Cougar Town

(this title is in reference to the opening credits of Cougar Town where the writers mock the show's title) In my recent bout of boredom I decided one day to start watching the show Cougar Town, mostly because I grew tired of waiting for episodes of Six Feet Under - another show I've started and god is it bugging me that I started it and left it unfinished and started something else - to load.  Cougar Town is funny!  I would recommend it, but I would only recommend it if you've watched Parks & Recreation, and if you haven't, then please complete the first three seasons and catch up to the fourth of Parks & Recreation before you are permitted to begin Cougar Town.  Why?  Because Parks & Recreation is the funniest show on television, no questions, and while I enjoy Cougar Town a great deal I obviously know I'd rank it below Parks & Recreation.  I've grown weary of typing out Parks & Recreation.  Cougar Town has a selection of genuinely funny characters - I'm a big fan of Ellie, the self-proclaimed bitch, and Laurie, the stupid one - and I can say that I've laughed out loud a great deal while watching.  (not as much as I have with Parks & Recreation) Something central to Cougar Town is the fact that every episode the characters drink a great deal of wine, and in my prolonged exposure to the show - I've caught up, there's only two seasons - I've had this craving to drink red wine, a feat I accomplished a bit too well last Friday when I discovered that a full bottle of red wine gets me drunk off of my ass.  Watch Parks & Recreation Cougar Town!

Alcoholics Named

(this title is clever) As I mentioned, watching the full two seasons of Cougar Town has unlocked some need within me to drink red wine, but I'm by no means a wine connoisseur even though I proclaim myself to be one when I'm, well, drunk off of my ass on red wine.  (after all, I bought the bottle I had based on price entirely; who the hell knows if it was good wine?  That's a silly question, of course it wasn't good) On a grander scale, I quite enjoy drinking.  I even bought myself a fancy UofT beer glass which I have yet to christen with beer and have already tarnished with red wine.  I really don't have a point to this blurb aside from that bit about red wine; actually, that's not the entire truth, considering that for a while I've been thinking about devoting an entire post to alcohol, but in the end I'd end up looking like an alcoholic and I've already been told I am one by someone and that comment has ranked in probably the top two most awful things I've ever been told so I give a slight toast to that comment with every drink I take.  Meaning, then, to write this little pointless thing serves as a means to get the want to write about alcohol out of my system.  So boom.  Catharsis.

Crypt Woman

(this title is the pseudonym I use for Madonna) I'm not a Madonna fan at all.  You might assume I was given my love for Lady Gaga, but no: I'd say my sudden love for Gaga is somewhat out of character for me in the sense that no, I don't normally enjoy strange pop women - ie, Madonna.  Madonna actually scares me, slightly; she's like a skeletor thing, and looking directly at her arms is like looking into an eclipse for me - for the love of god, don't do it unless you want to be blind for the rest of your life.  (as an addendum, never get me started on the Madonna-Gaga argument that will unfortunately stick to Gaga's entire career: influence is different than plagiarism!  Stop me) And yet, considering I don't like Madonna, her damn new song has been stuck in my head since the moment it was released.  If you haven't heard it, it's called Give Me All Your Luvin', and she sang it at the Super Bowl - a halftime show which, and I will give her serious props, was very, very good.  It features unnecessary ten second rap verses from Nicki Minaj and M.I.A (both who were lip synching at halftime; shame, ladies, even LMFAO "sang" live) as well as the stupidest hook I have ever heard: L-U-V Madonna, Y-O-U you wanna!  I wanna what?  Never look at your arms again?  Anyways, the song is pure bubblegum, and goddamnit, I can't stop playing it.  Someone sign me up for Intervention.

Good nights no more

(this title is not clever) I recently watched The Blair Witch Project for the first time, and I don't know why.  Thinking about it gives me chills.  Judge me, but I will say that I'm afraid of the dark.  Big time.  Being in the dark seriously unsettles me, and since I'm a writer and have a vivid imagination, I fill every dark recess of my room as I try to fall asleep with the scariest images I can conjure up - it's usually the Exorcist girl and I just got chills all over my body again because I'm picturing her face and I know she's going to fill my nightmares tonight.  And so, the thing about The Blair Witch Project was that is shows absolutely nothing.  Instead, we have the doomed characters running around and screaming "what the fuck is that!?" at nothing, and we hear noises - made from nothing - coming from the dark.  Chills, again.  And so, given the mind's capacity for imagination, the movie disturbed me far more than I ever thought it would because it preys upon what could be.  The final shot of the one guy standing with his face to the wall in the basement - serious chills right now - is scorched into my mind, and every dark shadow in my room as I've attempted to fall asleep since just recalls that final image.  I will not fall asleep easily tonight.

Fingers crossed for that divine inspiration lightning strike - I'd hate to abandon my blog for that kind of time again!

Obligatory title devoid of creative flourish

It's been a while since I've written a post - not from a lack of trying at all, oh no; I can't count the times that I told myself to sit down and write a blog post only to be disappointed by my lack of inspiration.  (looking back at my previous post, it seems to be listed as being posted on the fifth - I guess that was the day I wrote it, but I didn't post it until a week after, last Saturday; I guess it doesn't time stamp with the date of publishing?  Hum) Truth be told, I'm still rather uninspired, and this post will become one of my run of the mill (can I use anymore cliches in one sentence?) posts, disjointed and incorporating a whole slew of unrelated topics.  For some reason, writing isn't coming to me as freely as it once did; I attempted to write on more obscure topics such as love or accomplishments, but I found my words were spent after just a paragraph or two and it'd really be a shame to post something so short and unsubstantial.  Not to say that this is any more substantial by any means - I just need to post something.

Note: goddamnit.  This was originally entitled "A week in review" until I just realized I already have a post called that.  Goes to show how absolutely uninspired I am.

Another note: leave it to me to go with the wryest and most apathetic title known to man.

Last note: I promise my next post will have a legitimate theme.  I don't know any better, but I'm not sure how well-received my posts with multiple subheadings are; they annoy me sometimes, and I can't imagine what the general you must think.

Last last note: please read this.


Homestretch

I constantly talk about how "it's hard for me to believe it's already [insert day or month here]!" but, really, it's hard for me to believe it's already more than halfway done November.  I'm moving back home in just twelve days.  I really lucked out this year, only having one final exam during the exam period on the 8th of December; given that the last day of class is the 28th, it'd be truly senseless for me to stay on residence for another ten days, considering 1. I hardly ever study so it's not like I'd be cracking down on my books for a week and a half, 2. I'd run out of things to do after the first day of having free time and consequently would go crazy, and 3. I'd go crazy anyways.  I really am looking forward to returning home for a month; my visits home on the weekends got progressively more and more nostalgic, and having just been back this previous weekend (and seeing two of my best friends making life seem normal again) it got a bit tougher to leave, but the feeling was pacified in knowing I'd be back in two weeks, anyways.  That, and when I was home I bought Batman: Arkham Asylum for PS3 and I'm already missing it because it's so damn good.  Oh, and I guess I miss my family.

Although the distance in time is quickly winding down day by day, the hurdles of schoolwork ahead of me still tower over me as tall as ever.  I'm down to just two essays to submit in addition to three final tests I have leading up to and occurring on the final day of classes; not overly difficult to survive, but the fact that next week houses a test on both Tuesday and Wednesday as well as one of the essays being due on Friday is slightly stressful.  (if you're keen you might've deduced that the final essay and test are due/occur on the last day of class, so in two Mondays I'm sure I'll be the epitome of joyousness) I don't mean to head into the last two weeks with an ego, but given that this semester has been my most successful semester of university, I can't help but inflate myself with confidence when writing my essays or studying for my tests.  That being said, I'll go the extra mile, considering I want my (hopefully) good marks to be that much better.

Like a regular novelist

As a refresher, I'm participating in this years National Novel Writing Month, the aim of which is to attempt to write a full work of fiction with at least 50,000 words.  How rude of me to announce my participation and neglect to provide updates!  (not really that rude) The good news is, I'm finally happy with my concept.  For the first little while I found myself writing a few thousand words before trashing it in favour of a minor plot tweak or because I wasn't pleased with what I had written.  That's how I seem to function: I don't move forwards until I'm absolutely content with the introduction, and it only took killing one of the main characters immediately to get me such happiness.  I sound vile.  I do not condone killing.  I found my writing was constantly ramming itself into a brick wall - that is, until I decided that one of the characters was to die, and in my sadistic murder I found rejuvenation; the death has become the central plot point, naturally changing everything else I had planned.  Because of that, I'm really writing without a direction, making up the plot quite literally as I go - something that the officials of NaNoWriMo encourages.  (writing without thinking, that is.  The editing is to come later) I'm afraid I'm not enclosing any more of a synopsis.  I haven't told anyone else, and I don't actually know if I will.  I'm sure down the line when it's complete and you ask nicely - I take cash only, and I'd like material gifts, too - you can read it.

My progress?  Last night, I just cracked 10k words.  Given the structure of the activity, I've squandered away the first half of the month to only come away with one fifth of the minimum of what's required.  I've read tweets on Twitter (follow me.  @m_spad) to the NaNoWriMo account, reporting of astronomical numbers - I saw someone saying they're over 100,000 words, and that distresses me.  I have just about two weeks left to reach 50,000 (that is, if my story even comes to a definitive conclusion with 50k words), and as previously lamented my next two weeks is full of academic misfortune, so I'm already accepting that I will not complete the task by the end of November.  Fear not, however!  I'm not abandoning hope altogether.  I've never truly been as enthralled with my project as I am with my current one.  I know that past the end of the month, regardless of word count, I'll be intent on continuing my writing.  For the sake of a goal, I hope to complete an entire first draft of my story by the end of the year, and given that I have December in its entirety for free time, I should likely succeed.  That's my plan for December.  That and finish Dexter.  It's so good.

Trailermania

I love movies.  (no way) This week was a particularly good one in terms of fantastic trailers hitting the internet for upcoming movies, and they've sent my heart aflutter with serious excitement.  Aside from what I'll spend time talking about, I'm 100% excited for Snow White and the Huntsman after watching (and re-watching) the bloody fantastic trailer for it.  The visuals are delicious.  I'm able to buy that even Kristen Stewart can be the fairest of them all, because she looks pretty fine in this trailer.  Scuse me, I feel like I need to wash my hands for calling Kristen Stewart attractive..

Over the summer, I read the entire Hunger Games book trilogy in three days.  Imagine my excitement to hear that Jennifer Lawrence, or, freaking Mystique from X-Men: First Class which is only my favourite movie of the year, was to play Katniss.  Admittedly, I had my reservations about the film adaption; I worried (and actually still worry) that the love triangle will become too much of a centralized plot point to cater towards the idiot Twilight fans of our generation.  But, by god, my worries were quite literally erased after watching the trailer: goddamnit, it's amazing.  I've seldom been more pleased with a book-to-film adaption; this is the first time that I've been a legitimate fan of a book before it was translated onto film.  (I admit, I think that I read the first Harry Potter book right before the first movie came out.. regardless, I didn't have the time to establish in my mind my own interpretation of the world, so therefore as I read through the rest of the series feverishly, I couldn't really shake the images of Dan, Rupert and Emma from my mind when I read about Harry, Ron and Hermione) Perhaps the other time I was able to do so was with Watchmen, but I'd rather not think about that movie.  I digress: the trailer has, literally, captured exactly what I had in my mind.  Specifically, I'm not exaggerating when I say that the training room sequence is 100% exactly what I pictured as I read the book, and it's got me questioning if the creators of the movie entered my brain and thieved my ideas.  I get chills as the countdown sounds at the end of the trailer, ending in a far too short glimpse of the actual Games with the tribute's frenzy.  Can't wait for March.


For a post about incoherence, that's excessive.  I promise a cohesive theme next time - and maybe less words.  (looks like I got into the spirit of NaNoWriMo!  Damn, I could've used these words for my total..)

A post in avoidance of an essay

You might've noticed that my blog has gone under a facelift, and if you didn't notice, well, shame on you for not noticing, and if this is your first visit, well, shame on you for not visiting sooner.  I needed a bit of a change, and I'd say this change was for the better, no?  I think so, anyways.

It's already midway through October (what?) and the intensity of all of my classes is rapidly increasing; between now and the end of November, I have six essays due and four tests.  (Two of the essays and two of the tests are on the last day of class, November 28th, so therefore my funeral is scheduled to be on the 29th.  Do attend.) The first of six papers is due this upcoming Thursday, and naturally, I only just completed reading the book on which the paper is based on.  I've planned to finish it this weekend, by tomorrow, preferably - not actually that tall of an order, since I can in fact knock out an entire (unpolished) essay in two or three hours - and thus, me being an optimist, I've decided to start it tonight, and if things go supremely well, I'll have this essay off my shoulders before the bulk of the weekend passes me by.  Given that I'm furiously typing away at this, a blog post, instead of my essay speaks volumes.  I spent the last hour coming up with a thesis - I deserve a break.

Okay.. the last half hour.

Twenty minutes.

Half of a thesis.


The rudest fucking waitress I've ever had

(by the way: I've made a vow to keep my profanity to a minimum since I believe it removes my credibility, but in this case, this waitress was fucking rude as hell) Yesterday, me and three friends decided to go to the Swiss Chalet (score, I love Swiss Chalet) for dinner.   Upon walking in, we were greeted first by Adele's Someone Like You, and while I adore the song to pieces, it puts me into an absolutely depressed mood whenever I hear it on the radio, like a sad Adele cloud is raining over my sad head.  The hostess said something to the effect of agreeing that the song is the biggest downer known to man (I made my sentiments aloud), lulling us into the false sense of believing that our experience would be a good one.  (cool hostess = good experience?)

A library is louder than how silent this restaurant was.  The youngest occupant aside from our table was easily a 60 year old woman.  I feared momentarily that Swiss Chalet's currency was not money but in fact your youth, but this did not turn out to be the case.  Our waitress appeared to be a kind natured older woman - that is, until her head started spinning and she began to breathe fire upon our table.  She began by taking down our drinks: I was planning on ordering a beer, but my friends opted for water; the waitress confirmed water for my three friends and then walked away.  Upon her return (and production of a water for me, too, so I think perhaps my telepathy has finally started working because I'm assuming she read my mind as a substitute for actually taking down what I would like to drink), I then asked for my beer, to which she replied sharply "You better show me some ID."  Well, that's not unheard of - she seemed to be satisfied before disappearing again.  (by the way, every time she walked back toward the kitchen with menus that customers had finished with, she slammed them down on a ledge)

When taking our orders, she proceeded to cut off my one friend in the middle of his sentence, demanding "White or dark meat?"  I know I have a tendency to be overdramatic, but her tone was absolutely unprofessional and completely rude.  I gave my order strictly to the point, and I wouldn't be surprised if I threw my menu in her stupid face.  When asking for a second beer - what, I drink a lot, and I drink it fast; I'm a big guy - she looked at me and said "You aren't driving, are you?" and by instinct I said "of course not" with a little laugh, prompting her "Well, you better not be" as a response.  Woman, I'm responsible.  At this point my friend decided to ask for a comment card - I was quite intent on leaving one like the elderly person I am (I think Swiss Chalet actually took my youth..), and upon hearing they didn't have any, the dining room manager came over to our table and asked us what was wrong; we were subsequently pestered for the remainder of the meal in effort to see if we were still content.  A spell must have come over our waitress as she suddenly was perfectly polite - perhaps she had a twin.

I didn't tip.  A friend tipped in pennies.

Silly teenagers

In a completely related topic: I hate being written off as ignorant just because I'm a young person.  I understand that there really are the "dumb" ones of my generation - the delinquents, the apathetic, the rude - but to generalize my entire age bracket (I guess "young person") as rude, apathetic delinquents is wrong.  I don't mean to pride myself, but I generally consider myself to be extremely polite; I'm quite obviously educated; I don't loiter or kick down mailboxes and cats.  The people I willingly associate myself with are the same: they're polite, they're educated, they're civilized and personable and presentable and cultured.  To assume that just because I'm a teenager or student or young adult I must be disrespectful is, well, disrespectful.  It's as if I need to walk around in public with a resume tacked onto my forehead: hello, I go to the University of Toronto, and I'm civilized (and probably smarter than you).

American WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SEE!?!? Story

I only decided to start watching just two new shows this fall TV season: New Girl, which has made me fall completely in love with Zooey Deschanel (and it doesn't hurt that the show is actually funny), and American Horror Story, which you may never have heard of, but you might be a more sane and overall better person without watching it.  I have been completely obsessed with the show since it began last week, given that it produces mystery after fucked up (I permit that "fucked") mystery and deranged visual without sense.  The premise is simply that a family moves into a haunted house, but by haunted house, I mean that there's a creepy child demon imp in the basement and a latex bondage ghost man who raped and impregnated the main character with its latex bondage ghost baby and that there's a bunch of people who just appear in the house at the strangest of times leading me to believe that everyone's dead.  Oh, and this old maid with a blind eye who everyone sees as an old maid with a blind eye except for the father who sees her as a sexy young woman who he keeps running into while she's touching herself.  Right!?  The show has completely enthralled me and even if I felt like giving up on it I'd just feel as though I was cheating myself out of discovering the answers: why do characters move in and out of the house so easily?  Why is there a latex bondage ghost man?  Just.. why?

A snazzy listen

I recently downloaded Nicola Roberts' CD Cinderella's Eyes.  Who? you say.  She's a member of a girl group from the UK called Girls Aloud (who? you say), and I kept reading that her debut solo album was fantastic, so I gave it a listen.  (I always did like her voice the best out of the five of them - she's the ginger one with transparent skin) The entire album is really quite good, and I've been listening to it constantly.  That and She & Him.  Zooey Deschanel, just be mine already..


There you have it.  I suppose I should return to that essay/half thesis..

Headache, headache, go away

To say my posts as of late have become unfocused and largely irrelevant is an understatement.  Just scrolling down you would find a mostly disturbing post penned two weeks ago when I had been drinking, and if that didn't send you scrambling for the back button on your browser (although it's a recommended read for the laughs and to see how colourful my vernacular still is even after beer), it's even more disturbing to see posts since August on the main page repeating my stresses about living alone ad nauseum.  My friends, it looks as though the credibility of my blog has gone down to the dumps, but that shant stop me from keeping it running, as the times that I do force myself to sit down and type as I am right now (well, more appropriately, I'm snuggled in bed.  Yes, snuggled) still provide me with the greatest of creative releases, and with a slew of midterms and essays hurtling towards me causing my brain to slowly pound against my skull, I'm thankful for the creative relief tonight.  Will this post push my blog back towards its former glory where I actually blogged about things I assumed people cared about?  No.  Not at all.

Cooking Schmooking

(what in God's graces, Firefox, "schmooking" is certainly not a word - where is the mean red line of error!?)  I'm a regular culinary connoisseur.  Most nights during the week I settle for the quick fix of Kraft Dinner or Sidekicks straight from the pot (ssh, don't tell) but every so often, I'm struck with some sort of desire to cook legitimate food, and I've since surprised myself that I haven't given myself salmonella or food poisoning.  Quite the opposite: I'm not a bad cook at all, and while what I've actually prepared has been restricted to chicken and its variants (I'm a poor student.  I'm not going to buy beef), I shock myself bite after bite with succulence.  In fact, tonight I made myself breaded chicken, my particular favourite, and I decided to be adventurous and make homemade fries like my mom does on rare occasions back home (AND I didn't fail!).  While everything on my plate was fried fried fried, it was damn good.  That somehow leads to my next point..

Bed Potato; or Swirly Desk Chair Potato

(I do not own a couch; thus I am not a couch potato) I've feared the dreaded "Freshmen 15" even though 1. I'm not a freshman; I guess I'm a junior? and 2. if I don't think my body is actually capable of gaining fifteen more pounds.  With that in mind, I made sure that during my first weeks I didn't eat like crap - and, say, it actually paid off, for with going to the gym every so often, I actually lost a bit of weight.  Cue my grandmother.  Since going home two weeks ago and returning with boxes of cookies sent from my grandmother (who, as history serves, always brings me and my sister pounds and pounds of chocolate bars every visit, so I guess in a sense I'm lucky I came away without chocolate) my eating patterns have gone to shits.  I try my best to limit my food intake from fast food places on campus to a minimum, maybe once or twice a week, but I can't help the Lazy Monster smacking me in the face some nights forcing me to cave and get a slice of pizza out of minimal desire to make myself something in the kitchen.  Somewhat related, I haven't gone to the gym in the past little while, and I hate myself for it.  The thing is, when I go to the gym, it's all cardio, so I sweat like a beast (grimy details) and I have to shower when returning; I shower every morning because my bedhead hair is beastly, so logically I'd go to the gym after waking up and before showering, but morning after morning when my alarm goes off at 9am I call it a very bad name (my alarm clock has been called "you motherfucker" or "shut up, you dumbass bitch") and opt for another hour of sleep before class.  Can you blame me?  My schedule is horrid.

Procrastinator Supreme

I am the least productive person on the planet.  I've read more books for pleasure this semester than I have for assigned readings.  I have two midterms on Friday - two!  I swear, the English department professors convene and schedule their heavily weighted tests all on the same day while drinking from goblets and cackling at the misfortune of us poor migraine and hand cramp-ridden students.. - and I have yet to legitimately study for them.  I have an essay due in two weeks on a book that I haven't yet taken down from my dusty shelf.  I skip most of my dry readings so that I can rush to play the Sims 3 on my computer; it was a very bad idea bringing that with me away to school (by the way, my vampire Sim got divorced from his wife because he discovered she had a child with someone else - say wha?).  Or, I..

Obsessed

..watch Parks and Recreation nonstop.  I finished the entire series (up until what's airing) in a matter of four days.  The show is downright hysterical, and when I'm not actually rewatching episodes (and for that matter, still laughing as hard as I did the first time around), I'm finding clips on Youtube and watching them on an infinite loop until the end of time, or, until I decide it's no longer a human hour to be awake and that I should probably just shut my eyes and go to sleep.  It's so good.  I recommend it with every recommending fibre of my being.  I've decided that I really must stop buying DVDs - I've bought four movies plus the third season of Parks and Rec in the past month - or I should just avoid anything that can be watched on any sort of screen altogether.  Now that regular scheduled television is back, I also find myself rushing my readings so that I can be snuggled into my bed as I am now ready to watch Glee (urgh) and New Girl (I've decided to include Zooey Deschanel to my list of prospective wives) on Tuesdays or Criminal Minds and Modern Family on Wednesdays and - deep breath - Big Bag Theory, Parks and Recreation, Grey's Anatomy (it's out of laboured obligation now..) and Jersey Shore on Thursdays.  Am I missing anything?  Probably..

Well, that's my life now.  I either post here drunk, or I eat like junk while not doing my school work and watching "Leslie Knope's Accent" on Youtube over and over again.  (go Youtube it)