J'aurais tout donnée.

I relay one itty bitty piece of information and the school goes haywire.

to begin with, my res fellow comes in and speaks with me, informing me my room mate had expressed concern to her. So, I believed that was it.

no, no. the residence building manager just called me, asking to arrange a meeting so we could “talk about me” because my res fellow had spoken to her, again, expressing worry.

“is that okay with you?” she asked.

I sighed and thought “I guess so”, but only replied “yup”.

Jesus, fuck offf. I’m sick of talking, I don’t want/need your help. fuck right off, and stop bothering me.

Just realized i have milk, ice cream, and a magic bullet… milkshake time!

being MIA is awesome because once you’re BIA (back in action), it’s so much more rewarding.

There was colour to my evening tonight, however.

My friend Julia and I were in this kid’s room who was passed the fuck out. The security came to the door banging, but for some reason, like little children, we fell silent and refused to open the door.

It smelled of pot (they had smoked in the room) and I suppose we felt responsible.

Two ridiculous things about this scenario.

1. our “plan” was to pretend to be passed out, all four of us in the room, passed out at the same time? skeeeetttchhh

2. we had absolutely NOTHING to be guilty about.

Not only are Julia and I (and another boy who was in the room following our plan) of age to be drinking, and we weren’t even drinking; AND her and I didn’t even smoke. Nor are we habitual smokers of pot either. In fact, we both kinda hate it (I know, I know, Bob Marley’s rolling in his grave).

They eventually left, but the whole “pretend to be asleep” scenario cracks me right up. What are the chances? Four people all passing out and not a single one of them being able to answer the door.

Dodged that bullet. 

I’ve been missing home recently, mostly due to that fact I have so many friends back in mtl.

Not to be confused with being pretentious (sorry for my lack of vocabulary tonight), I’m simply stating that I have a lot of friends back home. Considering I was involved in so many things, I was able to meet a lot of people and find some quality friendships.

Any night I found myself bored and at home, I was guaranteed that at least one of my friends would be available. Here in Ottawa, I have like… 5 friends (maybe?).

It’s so upsetting, I miss hitting someone up and actually doing something (or perhaps, just feeling like I did something because I got out of the house). The case isn’t so here. On top of this, having friends motivates me to do well in school (healthy competition, and bragging rights, amiright?). 

Is this terrible of me?  

I had been fine. In fact, I was great.

One small thing was my demise.

I broke your circle of hoe, to which you looked at me and mouthed the words “no” with a finger wag to accompany your disapproval.

“Do I know you?” My first thought.

“Seriously?” My second.

“Let it go, Kat” My third. 

The third stuck, as I repeated it constantly in my head. Yet, as I left the club it hit me. Not as hard as previous negative actions have but all the same I felt like the night was ruined. But, no, it was not.

Filled with dismay, I felt des larmes dans yeux (french for tears in my eyes), and my sister said “find the feminist inside to say this is ridiculous”, and it was. I (almost) immediately stop. 

Marie-Anne, you have a way of stopping me from crying, I don’t know how you do it. 

“But, I’m such a good person” was my response, what a ridiculous statement. Not saying it isn’t true, but still ridiculous.

I hate clubs, mostly because I don’t enjoy shoulder-to-shoulder, hot, sweaty places in which not only can I not move, but I constantly get drinks spilled on me that inflict feelings of inadequacy and frustration. Everyone’s also oozing with pretentiousness (a word? idt), and insecurity.

Besides these reasons for hating clubs, I find it impossible to meet a decent guy at one. They all have the same approach and it is the biggest turn off.

They’re all “heeeeeyyyeee” and maybe if I grind up on her I’ll bring her home.

Nope buddy, you chose the wrong gal. I must be charmed, your personality will talk not your hips, as Shakira suggests.

I’m bitter, I know, but honestly, clubs suck. End of story.