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Sat, Feb. 23, '02, 4:41 pm
I'm so hot today, I'm attracted to myself.
My vivid crimson hair is perfectly tousled for that sultry bedroom look, my eyes are particularly penetrating today, I'm wearing my long funky skirt with my tough-bitch boots, my blue top contrasts nicely with my fiery hair, and my black leather wrist cuff and giant silver ring with the electric blue glass stone complete the look nicely.
Rrrrrrrowr.
Almost makes me excited to spend the evening home alone with myself. Mmmmmmm. I'm so tasty.
(OK, so perhaps it's been a few months since I got laid and I'm feeling just a tad feverish. *calculates* ... Yes, crikey, it's been a good 4 months, almost. But damn, I do look good.)
The antidepressants are making me kind of dizzy and nauseous (especially in the morning), but my mom's on the same pills (Celexa), and she said that side effect didn't last long for her. Hopefully that will be the case for me as well.
I think I've come to a decision about my use of the internet. I've decided to give up all instant message programs and online chatting indefinitely, and just stick to checking my e-mail once a day and updating my diary regularly. I'll also restrict my net use to roughly two hours a day or less, and only in the evening or late afternoon, after I've done whatever I need to do that day (ie. resumes, chores, etc.). Also no internet after 11 pm, otherwise I'm liable to lose track and stay up all night on the computer. No good, that. Oh, I'm such a battle-axe, aren't I?
*chop*
This means anyone who wishes to keep in touch with me can do so through e-mail, phone calls (if they have my number), notes, and guestbook signings. That will have to do. I'll miss chatting with some people, but I really need to stop substituting online conversation for a real live social life, and chatting online when I could be looking for a job or doing school-related things (argh, my mom's credit card HAD to get stolen JUST AFTER I mailed her number to York to pay for the pre-university course ... to think I was so relieved to finally get that task out of the way, too). If I wasn't so addicted to online life, I wouldn't be cutting my net life like this, but it's necessary in order for me to get on with my real life. The diary stays because it's fun, and it helps me get shit off my chest, and because I must write. Having an audience helps keep me writing when I need to, keeps me sharper, wittier, less pitiful. I do write for other people, but I write for others because it helps ME. It's useful exhibitionism. I'm shy, but I'm an extravert at heart. Other people keep me going. I love you all. Let's have a big orgy.
OK, let's not. But you get the idea.
Now I'm going to walk my hot little bootay over to Chapters and scope me out some delicious book-browsing boys and chicks (hey, when I look this smokin', why limit myself? I'm on fire, and everyone deserves a go at me. Besides, I was there yesterday and this hot purple-haired girl in fishnets smiled at me ... maybe I'll run into her again) ... catch you later.
10:21 pm
I'm at the Second Cup on Front & Church drinking tea. It's bloody cold outside, and I didn't feel like going home.
I went to Chapters twice today. No luck picking up hotties, though I did spot one or two without girls attached to them. But really, what am I supposed to do? Walk up to them and say "Hey baby, whaddaya say we pick up a copy of the Kama Sutra then go behind the shelves and 'educate' ourselves?"? I mean, really. It reminds me of Ms. M's picking-up-hotties-in-a-supermarket dilemma. It's just not that easy, is it? That sort of behaviour is far more acceptable in bars and clubs ... but look at the market you're forced to work with in those cursed joints.
I was thinking of a sly way to meet guys the other day. Are you ready for it?
I thought I could print out "business" cards with my page address on them, and deftly slip them into the pockets of random appealing guys in public while they're not looking. This, of course, would only work in a jam-packed location, which downtown Toronto is full of. Subways are perfect. I could even leave cards on the tables at Starbucks so the behind-the-counter hotties would find them when they cleaned up ... could be interesting. You never know ... maybe one or two poor souls would be curious enough not to just toss 'em out without a second thought.
Oh well, my tea's getting cold and my hand is cramping up from writing, so bye for now.
Sunday
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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?
