Incompetent Boobery

Read the title. Read it? Good. That is the title of my upcoming autobiography. I did not (re)learn French this summer and I did not get a job. Statements of fact, not a complaint, as I'm in a pretty good frame of mind about the whole no-job thing at the moment. Probably because anaesthetic has arrived in the form of my recently-ordered new computer.

Awaiting the arrival of my new computer, I'm avoiding work on Jo's computer and as any faithful reader of this blog may be aware, that is a common theme in Toni blogging. I'm also wearing Jo's red stretchy bracelet as I do not own a stretchy bracelet of my own. Conformity, you complete me. I poo-pooed the stretchy bracelet in it's earliest 'Live Strong' incarnation. Now I'm all...gimme gimme gimme. I do not, however, care to have a Lance Armstrong-blessed bracelet. I get it, the man's awesome, he kicked cancer in the genitals and now he's banging the newly skeletal Sheryl Crow. Congrats. Now bugger off, pop culture has had all it can take of you assclowns.

Got an email off the British penpal. I mentioned in my last email to him that I'd love to go back to England next summer and travel elsewhere and he was all 'it would be GREAT, you can stay with me.' For a moment, perhaps a whole minute, I seriously considered quitting school, like not paying the rest of my tuition for the fall and gathering what I had for next semester and the new computer and heading over there, RIGHT AWAY. Perhaps the only time I didn't feel like an incompetent boob the majority of the time was when we were travelling.