So I've decided I want to live in the country, maybe on the East coast, with James, and a few dogs, and eventually a kid or two ... and we'll bake our own bread, and grow our own produce, and run a bed and breakfast in the summer and ... oh wait .. you're all laughing at me, aren't you.Well anyway. I want a simpler life. I mean, not like .. simple as in less to do .. I do nothing all day, even when I'm at school .. but like ... simple as in away from all the vroom vrooming and honk honking and wall-to-wall surly I-need-my-coffee-I-hate-my-life-don't-touch-me subway people ... actually wall to wall ANY kind of people is bad, no matter how lovely they may be, really .. but I digress. Bleh, Toronto. I'd like cleaner air and a more natural environment and ... just to not be here, I guess. Not that I'm unappreciative. I just want to live somewhere where I can be more in tune with myself. You know what I mean, right? Well, I know what I mean, anyway.
This is totally changing the subject, but lately my humour seems to have regressed into this puerile childish giggling obsession with excrement and body functions. I don't know why, but it seems like every joke I make is poo this and poo that. It's a little disturbing ... I never used to be this way. Maybe I've hit senility early in life and am rapidly regressing to an infantile state. I just hope I don't have to wear diapers. *insert poo joke here*
I'm thinking of getting a pet rat. I need something cute and furry and living to call my very own. Besides James, that is. Not that James is furry. Fuzzy, maybe ... I did cut his hair the other day. You know a man truly loves you when he trusts you with his hair and a pair of scissors. Well, OK, maybe not ... but he let me put makeup on him that night too. Do boyfriends get any better? (Ahem, rhetorical question, shut up. There is no one better.) Er, so anyway, yeah, I want a rat. Or maybe a mouse or a gerbil. I'm not going to tell my mom about it, either. I'll just keep it in my room where she rarely enters, and keep it for a month or so and do what it takes to keep it as clean-smelling as possible. Then maybe I'll tell her ... and she won't be able to argue that I must give it up, since she hadn't been at all inconvenienced by it before. See that? That's genius.
Yes, my mom is weird about pets of any kind. I had two turtles when I was eight, and my parents bribed me to give them up. I did, but only because I knew they'd get rid of them anyway, and I might as well get a sweetened deal. The bribe was cable, since we'd never had it, ever. Heh ... if I could go back, I think I'd have kept the turtles after all. I can't think of one good thing cable TV has given me. Cable internet, now that's another story entirely, but never mind that.
Ah well. One of these days I'll be living somewhere else and getting my first dog, and no one will be able to stop me. Bastards.
I'm hungry. I'm going to go and find something to eat. And I'm going to end this entry.
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� Ripe Tomato 2001-2005
Don't steal my shit. I'll send thugs. Oh shut up. I do
so
have thugs. Quit laughing! Look, just don't steal my stuff, OK?
