I was just leaving a comment about Steven's insanely accurate new rating system:

Yeah I know - move over stars here comes Steven and his taffy apple.

I know I sound like some gaytardo from a sophie kinsella book when I write titles like that, but I need to indicate the gravity of the problem. I bought another handbag today. A year ago I couldn't buy handbags, they all looked like overdecorated vaginas (or vageens, or hoontangs, depending on the mood) anyways, overdecorated primary sex organ symbols and I hated them. I had a big bike bag, and a smaller bike bag and a backpack and all was well in the world.

There is a big fat wasp flying around my study again. Every year there are wasps in my study in the summer. Last year I squished one in my hair, and stepped on one that was sitting on the floor. Both accidents were fatal to the wasp and left me with bites. Why are there wasps in my apartment??

I am about 90% finished school and work stuff, that once finished will leave me with a full week of not too much to do, of course, I am going to complete that last 10% with the worst cold I have had all year. It doesn't so much seem fair as it seems inevitable. I have what amounts to about 8 hours of work left to do and it's going to take me 4 days.

Anyways, the Telegraph published a list of 50 best cult books. They define cult as "books often found in the pockets of murderers; books that you take very seriously when you are 17; books whose readers can be identified to all with the formula " whacko"; books our children just won’t get…"

I own (or have owned) approximately 4 titles because I actually got(stole from the bookshelves of)them from my parents when I was about 17. Those titles are: The prophet by Kahil Gibran, The Rubiyat of Omar Kiyam, The story of O (which I actually threw out because I was so incredibly digusted by it)Siddartha (in Dutch), and The Teachings of Don Juan. Most of those titles have conveniently disappeared.

To the boys in my life. #1/ Get over it. #2/ Consider this a shot across the bow. If you see my eyes get glassy while I stare at you closely, and if I'm like rubbing my belly and it seems I am doing mental arithmetic, you should either head for the hills, or pour a bucket of cold water on me stat.

I write this as much for your sake as mine ;)

So I was discussing the romantic single life with Tanya today, and I told her about this theory, I am not sure if I have mentioned it on the blog yet. It's technically not my theory, Kristy R. who is a friend of Lauren's thought it up and told it to us at some event one time and I loved it.

So the theory is that when you meet a potential date, there are two major players in the decision as to whether the potential is a worthy one or not. The first player is the head and the second is the vagina, or the vageen, as some younger folk like to call it.

That was absolutely a rhetorical question.

I am just looking through Facebook photos from a party my friend went to. The party was called "TRASH FUCK DUMPSTER FUN 2008!!!!" and the theme was homelessness. Everyone was supposed to dress up like an itinerant. The cost of entry was nothing but "panhandlers" would be walking around on-site and if you gave them a donation, they would give all the parties profits to a homeless shelter.

The pictures are of young-ish lads and lasses wearing lots of dirty looking make-up and nibbling on garbage bag covered parts of each other's anatomy.