Forgotten English references, FTW!

Right, bitches, it's on. Time for the, er, monthly update.

I can't think of much to say. Oh, I KNOW stuff has happened. Don't get offended, people who's funerals, christenings, and bar mitzvahs I'm skipping over. I'm just saying. I can't think of anything at the moment. I'm hungry, y'see.

Perhaps not ideal circumstances for an update, I hear ye cry. Well, I beg to differ, for though I'm hungry and stuck for ideas to talk about, I feel as if I'm having a high-vocabulary, high-literacy night. Pretty words art spewing forth from my fingery-tips, ye might say. Or at least, I think so anyway. Sometimes I can't tell if it's writing skills increased, or standards lowered. In ANY case, it needs to be recorded.

And so! I shall write about my writing! How post-modern of you, darling! You simply must try these existentialist scones!

Why would anyone cry, "Perhaps not ideal circumstances for an update"? Or make scones of pure existentialism?

I'm seeing Evanesence on Saturday. I'm starting to feel jittery about this. I'm a concert virgin, y'see. I mean, well. I've been to CONCERTS. Small ones. Mostly classical. A few otherwise, but nothing major. Call it concert-fooling around, or concert-foreplay. But never anything flooded with thousands of screaming emo fangirls clawing desperately at Amy Lee's flesh with the hope that some celebrity might rub off. What if I get trampled! Or trample someone!

Man, if I ever start a band, it's going to be called "The Screaming Emos".

Oh man. Tim totally sent me roses for Valentine's Day. We'd had a discussion a few days previously in which we'd more or less decided that Valentine's Day was cancelled. So here I was laden with guilt and love when these roses arrived. Best Valentine's Day ever! It was intensely strange to see his loving words on the card, exactly how he'd say them, in someone else's handwriting, though.

Non-surprising, I missed him a whole lot while you other dirtbag girls clutched longingly to your men and made public displays of affection in my downcast face.

Some people call me bitter. I call them heartless.

Christophus Englishicus had his long awaited "birthday" "party" the other night. 'Twas fun enough. There was a whole company of people that I hadn't seen since high school, which was... well, a lot of things. It was interesting to see how they'd all grown up. Or not, respectively. The novelty quickly wore off, however, and it became less stimulating, and more... standing around in an enclosed area talking to people with whom I no longer have anything in common, or interest in. So, it was good to see them all! But I left early. Also due to horrible public transport issues earlier in the day that had left me exhausted.

Also, there was a stripper. It was not the.. somewhat-more-advanced-than-usual-for-someone-in-her-profession's age, nor the vaguely out-of-shapeness that turned me off. It was the enthusiasm. She had none! She was just going through the motions, as she probably had 5 or 6 times that night already, and quickly left to do another half-dozen times. I know I just made a case for why she shouldn't be enthusiastic. But a musician has to practice a piece a hundred times, and still play it with feeling. Not the best comparison, I know. But what I'm trying to say is.. she has a job to do.

Bah, I've talked about this stripper far too long. And far too deeply.

Also, if I ever have to see Phil without a shirt on again, I'm going to throw something sharp at him. And damn the consequences. I'm pretty sure, "Your Honour, have you SEEN HIM without a shirt on?!" is a pretty solid defence.

Welp, it's 2am, and I think this hunger is turning into a hypo. So I'ma do something about that, and maybe even go to bed. Sorry I haven't been every bit as eloquent as I made myself out to be tonight. But you've had a good five minutes of reading, I hope. And perhaps you'll come back again sometime! Alright, alright, I won't serve self-referential cookies next time. Alright, alright, choc-chip like your mother used to make. But you won't stop me adding a dash of irony, so help me!