Remeber the days when you used to get poop on your hands?

The first week of school finished and successfully sent me back into a non-life of studying 24-7. This means I have no brain capacity left to write a shitty blog post.

Instead, I am going to re-post something from one of my old, now-defunct blogs. It is a conversation I overheard over two years ago, but want to keep on the interweb for posterity. Lest we forget:

15 September, 2005

On my way to the drugstore to purchase some junk food, I overheard this loud exchange between a couple of the bratty kids (probably aged 9 and 11) who live around the corner:

Boy: Maria!

Girl: Whah?

Boy: I know why I smell poop!

Girl: Whuh?

Boy: I know why I smell poop!

Girl: Why?

Boy: Because I got it across my hand! (raises left hand and points at index and middle fingers) See? Right across there...

Girl: huh?

Boy: (quietly) I think it's my poop...


And then I just stopped listening...

And now I'm upset for reasons unrelated to self-absorption.

On my way home from skating today, I witnessed an older woman verbally abusing another woman who cleary had Down syndrome.

I realize that being a care giver has more than its fair share of frustrations, but being cruel to the person you look after is probably not the best way to relieve them.

It broke my heart.

Dear Diary,

I'm feeling sad about a couple things.

The first is that my job at The Firm is probably over forever. Why am I sad about it though? I couldn't wait to get out of my little, drab, window-less corner when I initially left for school in September. When they asked me to work over my Christmas break, I was reminded why I left in the first place and couldn't wait to leave again. But now that I know they have found a replacement for me, I'm feeling a bit jealous and left out. I really shouldn't. It's a go-nowhere, thankless job, and everything I'm leaving behind is a steaming shit pile of which I no longer want any part of. Maybe I just liked the idea of being irreplaceable and missed.

Another thing getting me down, Diary, is the fact that I've been punished for spending every single day of the last three weeks guzzling beer, tall can after delicious imported German tall can. After squeezing and forcing myself into them last night, I concede that I can no longer fit comfortably in my favourite skinnies. I will work this excess "chub" off over the next little while, but nothing miffs me more than not seeing instant results. Like, right now. Dammit. Why can't I lose 13 pounds and be happily underweight just by wishing it so? Not fair.

Wow, Diary, are these my biggest issues? I want to be the most wanted and the prettiest person around? By writing this stuff down, I realize how petty and/or shallow I really am.

Wait... I already knew that.

Thanks for nothing, Diary.

Love, M.

2009 is off to a shakey start.

I don't think I've ever felt so physically awful in my entire life.

I remember in high school I once literally drank myself blind.

And another time in university, my cousin saved me from wandering into oncoming traffic and getting hit by a bus, and then later that same night saved me from getting hit by a car.

And countless other times spending the entire day after puking.

But last night (this morning) I had a genuine fear, for the first time in my life, that I was going to die. I really thought I needed to be taken to emergency. My body was shutting down.

Stupid, stupid girl.

After spending all day in bed, I think I am out of the woods and will live to get wasted another day.

Special thanks to my better half for taking care of a dumb girl, wiping up her barf, and most of all for hanging her new Marc Jacobs dress back up on the hangar without being asked. You're my favourite person.

A Poem

Waiting, waiting for UPS
When will I get my Marc Jacobs dress?

Oh. Right.

Remeber when I started a short-lived blog where I posted poorly-taken polaroids?

Me neither.

Will I give this (fourth?) blog another shot?

Maybe.

Muffet no longer loves Polaroid.

I thought about it and thougth about it. Polaroid has enough of their film to last well into 2009, which means I could get more mileage out of this lil' project yet. BUT! Once the local drugstores and Walmart sell out, I imagine the price of the film will be heartbreaking (I'm looking at you, ebay).

So, this blog will just be me posting whatever I feel like from now on. Too bad. I liked the self-imposed limitation. I may still throw some polaroid into the mix for posterity's sake.



Moving on, I took the picture above at the grocery store. Three guesses as to which one. Here's what it makes me think of:

There was once a turkey. He escaped his initial fate to spend the rest of his days running in and out of the woods surrounding a rural high school. My best friend at the time named him "Cornhead", as his lumpy head resembled a fleshy ear of the stuff. On occassion he would be chased by the rednecks of our species. What would they do if they caught him? I suppose they would beat him with rocks and logs, just as they intended when other animals made the mistake of showing up on school grounds. Sometimes I wonder how he met his likely end. I like to think another forest dwelling creature consumed him rather than people. I guess that bird made quite the impact on me if I'm still wondering about him a full decade later. Go figure.