21 and officially allowed to drink alcohol in the United States. Life is good.
I never would have imagined I will be giving my fingerprints and passing through a walk-through scanner, on my 21st birthday, but hey, some say going out with your friends, giving out your cards like candy and get wasted is soooo old-fashioned.
Update. The little pathological anonymous nerd who was getting on my nerves until yesterday, is no longer anonymous.
He first told me everything he knew about me in a pathetic attempt to become my friend. I kinda ignored him, and then he posted all he knew about me on his stalker blog and tried again. This time he warned me I only have the week until my birthday to delete my latest post OR ELSE…!!! He was so sweet, trying to prove me that he knows what I’m doing at all times and when he doesn’t know, he’s trying to find out…and that he’s dangerous and I should get a restraining order…But as the Ice Queen I obviously am, I ignored the poor bastard again.
Having no life whatsover and willing to do anything to get a reaction, he finally revealed his pathetic, insignificant, loser identity: he is just this…boy [I think he's like...12]…I once had a conversation with, on messenger. The conversation was so boring, I don’t even remember what was it about. I do remember telling him my name, so that answers my “how the hell was he able to find out my name, when he only knew the few information I posted on this blog?” question.
Disappointed with the fact that the only people who are checking out his blog are his friends from “The Associated Stalking Weirdos”, he finally deletes the post where he “revealed my secret identity” [ L-fucking-OL, you little psycho!!!] and he posts a profound, psychological diagnosis, based on the tabs he kept [anyone who's AYONE in Stalker World, must be a tab-keeper], while observing my behaviour. He’s so cute, he says I’m “a lost scared child” and that only he knows this hiden side of me, and other shit like this.
Awww…poor baby….I wonder if he’s on medication… ‘Cause if he isn’t, he should be, I’m sure he knows that. He should tell his parents to take him to a doctor.
google just provided me with a stalker. As if my social life wasn’t bitter enough!
So this guy I don’t even know reads my anonymous blog and likes it. He meeboes me and I say “well 10q and all that stuff”, you know, trying to be friendly. And he goes “so…I know your name. and where you used to live. and where you live now. and where you study. and what grades you have. and what internet provider you have. and other personal stuff.” And I go “….whoaaa…..wait a minute sherlock…that’s like…WEIRD…”. And he’s like “that’s not weeeird….what do you mean?”. And I’m like…”ok, I mean like…stalker weird. What’s your name?”. And he’s like “My name is luke skywalker. or…austin powers…or…inside hunter…or something. And I’m close to finding out your home adress. But I don’t want to, I just do this kind of google searching when I’m bored. And now I’m not. But I’m not a weirdo, just so you know.“
Ok, FREEK, you’re not. But do me a favour. Call the guys from the space ship that dropped you off on Earth, and ask them to get you back home. Or call the guys that let you out of that lovely, white, strait jacket, I’m sure they’d be happy to help you.
So the giant mosquitos are still a problem. I’ve tried everything, but nothing seems to work (Raid is useless!!! but I’ve succeeded in killing one with hairspray). My arms are all covered with mosquito bites and right now I’m just thankfull they don’t like my face.
Since I live alone, I had to devise a way to deal with this. So, my brilliant mind has come up with the most genius of plans. I TRAP the mosquito under a bowl. Preferably clear glass. Hopefully tossing with aim accurate enough from four feet away to land right on top of it. And then, I just wait until it starves to death. I’ll leave that bowl there for weeks if I have to. I don’t care.
Now I say clear glass because there have been times when I’ve trapped insects under something opaque, and when, three weeks later I went to remove the bowl, I found nothing NOTHING underneath. Oh. My. God. That just means it’s waiting somewhere in a dark recess of my apartment to do the crawl up my nose, eggs, dinner party thing.
I know it sounds cruel to starve an insect to death, especially an insect big enough to pay me rent, but then, it’s also cruel to stab it with a random magazine. And really, why get mosquito insides on my pretty fashion magazines? So now, I have a pet. A pet on death row. I think I’ll name him Boris.
“You’re a blushing school girl. Or a blithering idiot. One of the two.” (one of my brilliant friend’s quote).
I vote blithering idiot.
While walking home with a friend, last night, a very handsome, very tall, very square-jawed guy with piercing blue eyes, walks out of the bar and walks past us, checking his phone messages.
Our conversation, taking its obvious and natural course, turns into how I plan on spending the weekend making barbecue. I mean, what else would two girls in high-heels be talking about at 2 o’clock in the morning?
Square-Jaw, for some reason only God in heaven knows, has turned around, and is now standing behind me, listening to this INSANITY. Listening to me yammer on about GRILLING and PORK. And then turns to me, in an attempt to start a normal, human-on-human conversation, and says, “You grill?“
Clearly incapable of having a homosapien-like conversation, I respond, “Yeah, I guess, if I need to. Sometimes. I mean….uh, yeah. I guess. Uh, yeah.“
Square Jaw, somewhat taken aback, but still hopeful of finding intelligent life in his way home, tries again, “I hear guys talk about that stuff all the time, but never a girl.“
As I start blushing furiously FURIOUSLY (like my head is about to explode off my neck) I respond, “Um, yeah. Grilling, I uh…sure. Barbecue. ” And take a right turn in my way home.
THIS, folks, is why I deserve to be single.
