A Lazy Sunday parody, how novel.

I know, I know: I'm officially the lamest. But Special K (with strawberries) and soy milk is so good that I don't care! I don't! I have been having this for breakfast for about two months straight now, and it never fails to please. And you can't toy with the recipe: I tried cow milk last week and just about threw up. A near-spew. Narrowly avoided. One slight variation that is barely permissible is the light soy milk--but it's just not the sweet, fatty goodness of the regular soy.

But to each her/his own. I won't judge you.

What? Yeah, I know. Shut up.

You know what's a good album? This one, over here to the right. Yes, the tiny picture. It's It Still Moves by My Morning Jacket. I don't know when it was released, it's not brand-new, that's for sure. I bought it because it has a song on it that my sister Claire put on a mix for me that I really like called Golden. But now I think my favourite one on the whole album is track number nine. I don't know what it is called. Shit I really need to get on this. Okay, hang on.

Got it: album was released in 2003. And the song is called Rollin' Back. I hope you are happy.

In other news, I have class now on Fridays. AWESOME!!! It's only through the first week of June, but AWESOME!!! Tomorrow Kat and I are having Spa Day hurrah. And Sunday I will probably just be doing homework shizz. Off to DC to see Gin next weekend and parentals will be here for most of June. I got an A in Global Econ. The digital camera my sisters and I bought for my dad's surprise birthday pressie arrived yesterday. Don't worry, he doesn't even know about this blog. So I can ramble on about all the RAMPANT SEXUAL DEVIANT ACTS I AM PERFORMING if I wanted to. This presumes that I am actually having sex. Which as of late, I am not. But on a good note, I don't have cancer. I'm not being facetious, the report from my biopsy came back all clear the other day. The office was very lassez-faire about it--I hadn't heard anything after a few weeks, so I rang and they were like "what? oh, ok, hang on. *wait* "ok, uh no, nothing, you're clear." *click*

Well, this post took a left turn. Eh, what do you expect after such an absence?

I want a refund on my crappy weekend.

This weekend I resolved to drink little and be very productive. I succeeded on completely inverse levels. At least the drinking was isolated to Friday night only, but nonetheless, it was bad. And by bad I mean that I fell out of the cab at my house. Recovered pretty quickly, but have a lovely blue and bloody knee to show for it. Also found my calculator and tissues that spilled out of my purse on the driveway the next afternoon.

So I didn't go out for the rest of the weekend, but it didn't matter--the weekend was already cursed. I wake up at 2am the next night to the progressively louder and consistent noise of a helicopter hovering over my neighborhood. I think oh well it's in the area nearby, but NO it is shining the spotlight ON MY STREET looking for god knows who. The scene was replete with policemen on foot walking around with flashlights, poking into bushes and whatnot. I watched for about a hour peeking out from my bathroom blinds while sitting on the toilet. Eventually everyone went away, so I watched an old SNL until 4am. It was a rare 95-96 season one with Jim Carrey. Probably would have been funnier at any other time than 4am.

The coup de grace? Last night's dream, in which I dreamt that the man I was probably supposed to marry showed up into town with his girlfriend and I had to host them for the whole weekend, taking them around to tourist spots and bars and shit. The whole time I kept thinking, "I can't BELIEVE I am doing this!" while seething with bitter jealousy.

Even my dreams hate me. Weekend, I want my money back.