For Jowie

Rapscallion: A rascal; a scamp.

Cramped confines.

Sometimes I wish I was cool. Someone who knew how to handle herself in whatever situation presented itself. Leaving Stanley is a particularly pertinent example. Someone cool would have slapped Barb, Linds and Jo on the ass, secure in the knowledge that they were going to see them again and see them soon. I was secure in that knowledge. I am! But I fought off (not very successfully) tears as I left the house (three times because I kept forgetting things including the ever-important purse). I'm a crier, I accepted this a long time ago. Still, sometimes it would be nice to be cool.

It's slowly coming together. Very slowly. I'm going to have to defy the laws of physics to fit everything into this MUCH smaller space but all my Stanley furniture is in here and my computer is in here and soon, I'll have unpacked all of my books and I really don't care how big it is, as long as all of that can go in there. I'm not a size queen (perverted laughter). Man, I've definitely watched too much Queer As Folk.

I don't have a door yet, not even the makeshift one I had when I lived here after first year. That is going to have to be fixed and soon. I need the illusion of privacy, at the very least. Couldn't bring myself to bother Brian about it today, as he's been a complete jewel about everything else already.

I want to have people over. I already miss having people my age around.

I packed and was fairly miserable. Sent a bunch of stuff home with my dad and was fairly miserable. I spent some time on Jo's bed, miserable. Then I spent some time not on Jo's bed, miserable.

Word Jowie.

Tomorrow's going to be really great because my sister is super excited and will act accordingly, I will be leaving what I've loved most in the past four years and will act accordingly. This can't be a recipe for success.

There's a little echo in my room now. I can hear it when I close my door and I can hear it when I type on this ancient keyboard.

I'm tired and I should go sleep.


Last blog from Stanley.

Empty Walls

Well, the blankness of my walls and the fact that we're moving out the day after tomorrow has really hit me. Maybe I'm not going to get to come back here, ever.

Barb's going to be moving all of his stuff tomorrow. He won't be a resident here anymore. All of Linds' stuff is being moved tomorrow too. I'm sending almost all my books home with my dad tomorrow. My closet is empty. I only have three things hanging up still, to maintain some semblance of sanity. Stoned!Jo was really alarmed by it. Hell, I'm really alarmed by it. I like a lot of wall clutter.

The house is a disaster. In an effort to make moving easier, everyone has moved some of their stuff out of their room and into the kitchen or living room. There are bags of garbage and boxes everywhere.

Even the fun we're having seems poignant. We went on a late night trip to the Ultra for toilet paper and candy and on the way we sang along to That Thing You Do by The Wonders and it just tugged at me that, for all the endings we've had in the past couple of weeks, that we were coming up on the big one. The biggest one.

I'm sick of feeling this and I'm sick of writing about it. I get it, this isn't and ending but a beginning. Cheesy platitudes aside, I can't stop thinking about it, so I'm guess I'm going to keep writing about it.

Smile like you mean it.

Complete blog block. It really seems like since school ended I have nothing to say, relatively speaking of course. Kind of worrisome. Probably has more to do with the fact that I've been out a lot lately, spending less time stewing in my own head. Anyways, I'm just going to write and see where it goes.

We had our grad photos done today. The photographer talked the entire time and I had no idea when he was taking the picture, so there's definitely going to be some shots where I'm not looking my best. Also, he was telling us an alarming story about a man, who apparently harasses children on campus, known affectionately as 'Chester the Molester'. So I really think I must be wearing an alarmed expression in quite a few of them.

It was really a trip wearing the gowns and the Bachelor of Arts hood things or whatever they call the red and gold and white thing that hangs over your gown. One of the more significant things that made me feel like a graduate.

I was ridiculously worried about how I looked for the photos (and terrorized Jo accordingly) despite the fact that my family has expressed absolutely no interest in the photos. They're weird that way, I can never be sure what the father and grandmother are going to be freaking out about.

As an aside, sometimes it's the stupid little things that make me think about my mom not being around. Throughout the whole grad photo process, it's really hit me as Susan and Jo's moms really wanted them to get the photos done. The photographer said something about keeping the mothers happy when he was taking my indoor pictures and it reminded me again. Not remind in the sense that I'd forgotten my mom was dead ('cause, duh), just that I don't always think about how my life is different from someone who still has a mom. It is what it is at this point, you know?

Sometimes I want to be really irreverent about it. Keep in mind that there's a lot of distance between me and the actual 'event' as my mom died when I was 12. Obviously I'm screwed up and everything, probably going to need buckets of therapy when I hit 30, but there isn't the same immediacy. An irreverent for instance? When the photographer said his thing about pleasing mothers today I was really tempted to say, "Well, no problem with that here. My mom's dead." But people (except for possibly Jo) would just b e horrified. Maybe you're even horrified reading it.

That was a pretty long aside.

And wow. Seriously. Come to Toni's blog for a good time.

Hubble.

Now it's very late and I might have smoked a little weed earlier, so I'm not going to try and post anything important. But there are a couple more pictures I wanted to put up. Yesterday or a couple of days ago I read on Bad Astronomy that it was the 16th anniversary of the Hubble Space Telescope. I looked for some Hubble pictures and found a few that I really love.

And away we go:




















According to my records (read: the filename) this one is called the Dusty Galaxy.


















And this one is Centarus A. It's so tempting to try and say something about the beauty of the universe and mystery. But right now, all my brain is saying is "Ooooh, pretty."

So we'll just leave it at that.


Pictures shamelessly stolen from the Hubble Site.

Self Portrait in Green.

Another random picture. Jo really shouldn't let me play with her camera. I realize this frequent posting pictures of myself thing is the height of narcissm, but really, that's what blogging is all about at least 50% time. Almost certainly higher in the case of this blog.

Anyway, I'm greenish and I look like I'm going to eat you or your baby or both. Be very afraid. And the answer to your question is yes, that is a package of soy sauce laying on the table in front of my face.

Quiet day. Just packing for most of it. All the while marvelling at the amount of dust covering everything. Seriously. Can't. Believe. It.

Barb came home and we made tacos. Took the classy route and brought the whole pot of steaming taco meat to the table. That's the way we roll at 10 Stanley. Janina stopped by and dropped off a print of a picture she took of me a while ago for a school project. I love it. Really. Thanks Janina. It is a little weird to have a big picture of myself though. Does one hang it up? 'Cause that's what I'd like to do.

Mel and I have been planning to watch The Secret Garden for a couple of weeks now and I finally went over to her place to watch it with her. Love it so much. It's kind of unholy. It was one of those movies I watched over and over when I was a kid and then when Deanna got to the movie watching age I watched it over and over with her. It makes me want to have a wild English garden. Also makes me want to live in England but, let's face it, breathing makes me want to live in England.

Mel doesn't live that far away so I just walked home from her place. Creepy! I have an overactive imagination and a more-than-healthy fear of the dark so walking home was definitely a trial. On the way there I was charmed by the houses and flowers in bloom, on the way home I was convinced that behind every parked car a nogoodnick clad entirely in black lay in wait for me and the 10 dollars I had in my wallet.

Addendum

I'm certain the majority of you already read Jo's blog, making a shout out pointless. Nonetheless, I will direct your attention to more fort pictures over at her blog.

Yeah, we're kind of obsessed with the fort thing. You would have been too if you'd gotten a chance in it. We've been meaning to build one since we moved in actually, because we're six years old, despite protests to the contrary.

It's my birthday one month from today. Just thought you should know. Plan your schedules accordingly.

We will always be a light.

Tonitography? Nope, just doesn't have the same ring as Jowtography. Ah well. Most of my photographic endeavours are blurry and stupid anyway. I'm impatient when it comes to picture taking. Impatient when it comes to many things, really, but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, this picture came out awesome and I love it. I call it "Ceiling Fan: A Study in Light and Moving Air." Or something equally pretentious.


Title? Lyric from Ageless Beauty by Stars. I was trying to be clever. 'Cause it's a light, see. Failed didn't I?

Packing

And so it begins. I've cleared off about a shelf and a half of one bookcase. This is going to be a real pain, I can just feel it. Turns out I have a lot of stuff. And it's all covered in dust. Fifty percent of the air I've been inhaling for the past couple of hours has been dust particles. It's been nice knowing you all.

One important obstacle? The complete lack of bags or boxes to puts things in. I've got two back packs and a duffel bag so far. Don't think that's even going to fit all of my books, never mind all the other detritus of four years. Just kill me now please.

Luckily I've been able to pawn some stuff off on Jo. And anyone who knows Jo knows that the one thing she needs is more stuff. I was just doing my civic duty.

It's really hard letting go of things. I remember before I moved into this house, way back in the summer before second year, I threw out/donated fourteen bags of crap. Now I can hardly bring myself to throw out my old National Geographic magazines. Shut up. I'm a nerd, you knew that a long time ago.

You're crazy! Crazy about building forts.

Sure, I could be writing about how school is really over and all the things that makes me feel. I started a blog entry to that effect but I'm tired of thinking about it.

What to post then? I know! I'll share our fort making skills. A step by step guide for the uninformed.

Step 1: Set yourself up with some kickin' gear with your team name prominently displayed.

Step 2: Strategize.

Step 3: Be Awesome.

Step 4: Begin Construction. We found that a door was a good place to start.

Step 5: Admire finished product.

Step 6: Enjoy.

Dear Blogger,

How am I supposed to inform the public (who are waiting with bated breath, I'm sure) of the proper way to build a fort in the backyard if you don't let me upload photos?

Yeah, didn't think of that when you decided to be a jerk did you?

Look, I'm not mad, just clear it up and I'll forget all about it.

Love,
Toni

Jo on Toni

"Unfortunately, Toni had to stay home, as she had some "studying to do". I still maintain that in our absence she got very little studying accomplished, due to her unhealthy preoccupation with all things involving gay men, glitter, and healthy amounts of boy-butter. Feel shame Toni, feel shame."

She's not right.

Not much.

Update

Fort built.

Then it started to rain. We perservered but then got real cold.

Fort destroyed.

Many, many pictures to follow.

Auspicious start to the day.

I've read some study notes.

Delicious cinnamon French toast for breakfast.

Going outside to build a fort.

All filler, no killer.

I'm filled with simmering resentment that the entire house is done school and I'm still labouring away with my stupid geography notes. ARGH! Saturday morning, 10:30 a.m., I'm going to be the happiest girl on the planet. I'm going to dance and eat things and watch things and drink things and do things. Watch out world, that's what I'll say.

Sunday? Probably going to be depressed. Saturday? Going to give the world a big kick in the nads. A celebratory kick.

Also frustrated because I can't think of anything good to write in here. Yeah, I know it hasn't even been a day since I posted, but blogging is my favourite way of distracting myself from schoolwork.

Perhaps a picture is in order. Illustrative of my lasting love affair with India: Mehndi. Jo and I tried to use henna once, just a little heart on each of our wrists and smudged it almost immediately. I can't even imagine getting something as elaborate as this:




God, I need to go to India. None of you are rich and looking to relieve yourself of some money are you?

Have you ever seen Monsoon Wedding? No? Watch it, 'tis magical.

You make every day like Guy Fawkes day!

V for Vendetta. We all went tonight, just like a family, to see shit get blown up and fascist governments get their just desserts.

At points it was anvil-esque. Natalie Portman's lines at the end, especially. But I enjoyed it. I always like to see things get blown up, after all. And the politically commentary was not unwelcome. Comments on the role fear plays in that sort of government system was particularly relevant, I thought.

Spent a good part of the movie trying to figure out where I'd seen all the random British actors. I recognized the voice of Hugo Weaving early on, 'cause I'm a HUGE Lord of the Rings nerd. You can't all have sex with me at once!

Special mention goes to the dude in front of us laughed at our jokes before the show. He particularly enjoyed my comment that Tom Hanks thought it was okay to hit children as well as my thoughts on a particular Canadian 'reporter' that were as follows:

"What is that skeleton wrapped in leather doing on the screen?"

If I told you I wanted to see the third X-Men movie a lot, would you still respect me? I think I'll place the blame for this X-Men thing on Patrick Stewart. I have an old man crush on him that just won't quit.

Sunshine and ice cream.

The day was full of sunshine and ice cream, like so many of them lately. Perfecting the fine art of doing nothing. Jo, Barb and I had dinner with some friends from residence. It's always good to see them, despite the fact that I rarely exerted myself to do so. So much of my first eight months of university, when it was the scariest, are wrapped up in these people.

What is it about saying goodbye to Guelph and everyone in it that makes me want to wax poetic? Too much book learnin'? Mayhap. However, I generally can't make momentous statements with any sort of clarity and I can't properly express the impulse that makes me want to say these things. So I will refrain.

This picture will have to do.

And how did you start your day?

I thought it'd be nice to sit around in the dark at 5:20 am and watch my fourth Scrubs episode.

I should learn not to post when I'm not sleeping, but I just can't seem to help myself.

Randoms.

The number one way randoms find their way to this blog? By searching "big boobs". Or some variant, like the always hilarious "Professor Big Boobs". As I said, pornstar name all picked out. Found it funny too that someone was that specific in their search for nudie pictures. Big boobs aren't good enough, they better be attached to a professor.

Anyway, all these people get here because I once wrote a blog called "What Good are Big Boobs if No One Wants to Touch Them?"

Poor fools. Happens about once a week, I'd say. I'm sure they weren't looking for an entry by a girl who was complaining about any number of unsexy things. Unless they're turned on by whiney twentysomethings express an unhealthy amount of teenage angst. That was in ample supply. Example: "I'm lonely and school sucks and I'm not sure which came first or if they are simply two vortexs of doom that are feeding off of each other." Such a fourteen year old it hurts. So yeah, not one picture of the boobs. Ha! Ha, I say.

One unsuspecting soul also found my blog by looking for information on an Emu. Found the tasteless entry with a quote from my boy Barb about the sound an emu makes when it's getting boned in the mouth. Hope it wasn't a little kid.

Overactive Imagination.

Reveling in the digital cable, I ordered the movie Proof while I was home. Gwyneth Paltrow, Jake Gyllenhall, Anthony Hopkins and math. Good movie, I thought. I'm a sucker for the whole academic thing. Jake Gyllenhall the mathematician? Did funny things to my little horn dog heart. Actually, it wasn't even that it was Jake Gyllenhall, just that he was a PhD student, doing math.

I'll be straight with you. Me and math? Kind of don't get along. Like, we used to be friends but that ended in grade 11. I used to be brilliant and I can memorize formulas (formulae?) like nobody's business but I always make stupid mistakes with positives and negatives and, really, all the other elements that go into a successful answer.

I really wish I was better. I've said it before, I'd be a physicist if I was any good at math. Theoretical physics books used to be part of my recreational reading. I used to plague my father with things that I'd read about and found amazing, like the relative mass of a neutron star or the concept of dark matter or theories about wormholes or something. He'd play along halfheartedly, just like I do when he talks about cars or airports or Steven Segal movies.

Anyway.

Have concocted an elaborate fantasy involving me and a mathematician. Kind of faceless, I'm not good imagining faces, but I know he has glasses. I'm CRAZY for glasses. In my mind he works on math problems and I write random history papers and we wander around some campus in Autumn and we drink a lot of coffee and have a lot of sex.

Okay, maybe not that elaborate.

Weekend wrap up.

This just in: I gave up nothing for Lent. Not porn, not chocolate, not anything. I'm a bad Catholic. Colour you all shocked.

Grandmother: "What did you give up for Lent? Have you been to church lately?"
Toni: "Forgot to take your uncrazy pills today eh?"

I wanted this weekend to make me feel good about moving home. I wanted to remember things that I liked about being there. Turns out there weren't that many things. Being at Brian's house just reminded me of having no social life and watching my sister all the time and living in a dirty house. And Snoopy wasn't even there. I know she's just a cat, but sometimes she was the only thing that didn't suck about living at home and now she's gone. First thing Deanna did when I came in the door was give me the clipping of Snoopy's fur that the vet took after she died. Now I have a pill bottle full of fur instead of a cat.

I laughed a little bit though, because there's totally fur everywhere in my old room where Snoopy spent most of her time even when I wasn't there. Didn't really need a clipping from the vet. Still think it's kind of weird to have it.

Didn't mean to get morose, really and truly. Funny things that are still in the room that I'm supposed to move into: the old sink from our bathroom that Brian is remodeling (and has been forever). It's not hooked up or anything. Just sitting there and taking up space. Also, my childhood twin sized bed is in there. White with drawers and elaborate (read: Liberace-esque) handles. Yikes! Stepfather looked at me like I'd grown another head when I broached the subject of moving it out of the room so I could put my double bed in there.

Brian: I just don't have anywhere to put it.
Toni: I'm willing to get some storage.
Brian: Oh, I have public storage, just no place to put it in the house.
Toni: *frustrated silence* (Screaming inside my head: I'm going to be 22 in a month, there's no way I'm sleeping on a bed that my mom got for me when I was eight!)

Beautiful Day: The Revenge

From our day out in the sun.

Susan played awesome tunes on her flute. May or may not have included both Mariah Carey and Brian Adams tunes. We're so cool I can't even believe it.

Just wanted to post it because it shows off my classy shirt.



Jealous?


Jo's a young business professional. You can tell from her sleek computer cover and sassy sunglasses.

Dear Self,

Stay away from the internet when you've been drinking. Despite what you may have believed in your vodka induced haze, your post about acrostic poems, although true, was neither funny nor clever.

Love,
Toni

Weekend home, so there won't be a million posts a day about whatever pops into my head. Hopefully I'll come back to Guelph richer and with more chocolate. That's what Easter is all about, after all.

Probably not worth reading, I've been drinking.

Man, I hate thinking up titles.

Why do I so frequently have the urge to compose acrostic poems? I almost sent one to Barb with 'I'm Drunk' but I couldn't think about words having to do with being inebriated that started with 'n' and 'k'.

Inebriated
Masticated (I know.)

Dizzy
Ripped
Under the Influence
N
K

Any takers on N and K?

Hello Vodka.

As Susan said, another in a long line of last hurrahs. Off to the Albs to celebrate the end of school for Jo and Subu and the almost end for me and Lindz. Really just an excuse to be drunk in public.

I'm feeling frisky and all warm in the stomach due to the vodka. Let's keep that between you and me.

Going home for the weekend. Will see the sister and stepfather and make arrangements for my future living arrangements. Drinking tonight is definitely a good idea.

I wonder when I'm going to be really sad. I keep having these moments of sadness and then someone or something will get me out of it. Probably going to be a wreck on the last day. I'll keep asking people for hankies and having fainting spells, because I'm a delicate flower.

This always makes me laugh.

If I were ever to give a Valentine to someone, it would be this. Probably why I have no boy to give this to; I think my geekiness might be completely without a cure.

Totally stole this off of some girl's livejournal and I no longer remember whose it was. Dear Kirk Girl, You're awesome. If you want me to remove this from my blog, post a comment and I'll do so immediately. Love, Toni

More party pictures

So there were a lot of photos from the party that I didn't post. I think the final tally of photos was somewhere close to 400. Gross, I know. I didn't want to post anymore here, because I kind of feel like a putz with picture after picture of random party crap, but there were still some awesome ones to share. Check out my Flickr account if you're interested.

The Story of Today.

-woke to a google talk message from Jo saying "oh toni, if I could fly you to the moon on a golden statue of sexing men, I would." I have only the vaguest idea of what that means, but it was a lovely way to start my day.

-since I am not a real adult (or not a smart one, at least) , I ignored theweathernetwork.com's warning that it was going to rain today. Not on Toni, I thought to myself and wore flip flops. What is the point, I ask you, of checking the weather if I'm going to go out of my way to dress inappropriately anyway?

-wrote an exam. Right hand is now mush wrapped in skin. I hope you're happy Dr. Miller. Also, I hope you give me a good mark and don't hate me because I didn't go to your seminars. Ever. Realized it was my last history exam (one more for my natural hazards class) and managed to avoid the usual Toni-freaks-out reaction.

-ate food with my favourite insomniac Jo at the Pennywhistle. It's supposed to be an authentic British pub. I think that the Pennywhistle thinks 'authentic British' means 'jammed with as much British crap as possible'. I love it anyway. Sitting right beside a window watching the rain pour down and eating pub food with Jo was one of the high points of my day.

-due to the non-umbrella nature of our walk home, Susan and I were soaked. Absolutely soaked. Right down to the bone. She started singing that song, by Jimmy Buffet, if I'm correct, about pina coladas and getting caught in the rain as we walked down the street to our house. I'm only 45% ashamed to admit I joined in. There's going to come a time, in the not too distant future, where there won't be anyone around to publicly humiliate myself with on a daily basis.


Sometimes I think this blog is nothing more than an account of my descent into madness.

Beautiful Day

It occurs to me that I kind of sounded like a jerk in my last entry. Probably because I am a jerk. Anyway to clarify: I've been responsible for some shitty exams in my university career, this I know. Potential miscreants are generally the people in my lower year classes, like the 2500 exam I have tomorrow. Maybe I was a miscreant once, maybe I still am. Still going to judge 'em.

Beautiful day today. Baked out in the sun in the backyard with my beloved housemates. Susan played her flute, Jo brought her (not remotely portable desktop) computer outside to work on her take home exams and Barb played his Nintendo DS because if he stops he'll die (just like a shark that stops swimming). Linds and I read, and I'm so close to finishing Eleanor Rigby that that's all I really want to do right now. Took stupid pictures, laughed at stupid stuff, ate pizza and ice cream, marveled at the paleness of my legs.

It was kind of heaven.

But now I have to focus. Focus! There are notes to be made, facts to be relearned. I can't read the last thirty pages of Eleanor Rigby, I just can't.

What professors are really thinking.

Exam time! Had one yesterday, have another tomorrow. I always wonder what professors are thinking when they're patrolling the room, making sure we're upholding our end of the whole academic integrity thing.

Sometimes, especially when I'm sitting in a class full of miscreants (or the people I've labeled miscreants, even if it's inaccurate) I think they're groaning inside their head at the amount of shit they're going to have to read. When it's a history exam, it's a lot of shit, trust. I like to think I'm fairly concise, and I still filled two booklets yesterday.

I also always wonder how much information professors share. Does the professor that I love know that I was a complete non-entity in another class? Does the professor that gave me a bad mark on a paper talk to the ones that like my writing? Definitely assuming they're thinking about Toni a little too much. I'm sure they don't go out of their way to talk about a student who is at the upper limits of the middle, lower limit of the upper. I'm not brilliant, but I don't smell.

Gotta love the professors that clearly don't care. My exam on Monday was a perfect example of that. I was sitting in the second to last row of the room and our professor was at the front the room obscured by the podium and totally reading. I could have cheated. I could have had all my study notes spread out in front of me and she never would have known. Luckily, or unluckily, I'm chock full of Academic Integrity and it's good friend, Healthy Fear of Authority and it's twin Concern Over the Consequences of My Actions.

I'll be perfectly honest, whilst I was working myself up to some serious hand pain through pages and pages of writing about women's history, I spent a portion of the exam oogling the Rent-A-TA who was grading papers and clearly smiling at what was in front of him. I hope he was laughing at some ludicrous thesis. The thought warms my innards.

From Jo

So earlier today my door flew closed and, confused, I got up and found a note on my floor. Notes from Jo are not without precedence, as anyone who's seen my door can attest to. They are little bits of gold in paper form. Today's read:

Dearest Toni,

I don't know how to tell you this so I'm just going to say it: One nght when you were in a deep state of slumber, I snuck into your chamber and watched you. You were so peaceful like an angel. So I said to myself "Jow, take a mental snapshot of this; savour the moment, for soon she will be dead." It's true, I tried to kill you that night, and many other nights actually. To be honest that's all I do at night, try to kill you that is. I don't need sleep, I am fueled by the image of your non-existence. But you know what stops me each time? The mess I'd have to clean up. It's really a catch-22, I want you dead but I need you around to clean up the mess.

Love,
Jow

My only response:

Dear Jow,

I love you too.

Toni

Everyone Loves Susan

I just realized that the title for both this post and the last come from a tv show and a movie respectively. Damn you pop culture! I don't even like Everybody Loves Raymond and I really couldn't get through There's Something About Mary. I better go read a book so I can feel smart again.

My new book by the author of Kavalier and Clay, Michael Chabon, is called The Final Solution and from the title, I can tell it's going to be a delightful romp. It's actually not all about the real Final Solution but it is set during World War II, in Britain. There's a talking parrot involved somehow. I expected that though, you can't really write about World War II without discussing talking parrots. You can trust me, I'm a historian. I've almost got the degree to prove it.
Just started Eleanor Rigby by Douglas Coupland, 4 pages in and I'm hooked. So I shouldn't start The Final Solution. I really shouldn't.

Anyway, here's more nonsense, in picture form.

Awwwww. I can't even think of anything sassy. They're just adorable. See what all these pictures have reduced me to? Incoherence. More than usual! Unacceptable!
I'm remarkably flushed and chubby cheeked. That'd be great if I was 6 years old and had just been running around outside. At 21? Kind of demoralizing.

Linds' expression leads me to believe that Susan was grabbing her butt or something when this picture was taken. As an observer to said picture, I can confirm that Susan's hands remained above Linds' waist the entire time.

Maybe I'll get it all out of my system in one fell swoop. Let's cross our fingers, shall we?

There's something about Evan.

"Just let me lick your hand Jo."

Jo: "No."
Surrounded by the ladies. Evan is understandably thrilled. Really, who isn't when Jo's going for your ear?


That last one is just because we're pretty. Check it out.

Maybe this blog will have substance again one day (or what passed for substance). Certainly not today.

The first of many. Professor Jo.

Professor Jo says: There are two types of people in this world, those who want to be Toni and those who are Toni.

Sweet. I win. Sorry to all you poor bastards.


Then I told Jo to do an impression of me. To wit:


Hmmm. Doesn't seem particularly flattering. I assume that's because she's in the category of people that want to be Toni but, in fact, are not Toni. Sucker.

I concede, you stallion.

So.

It's a good thing I don't get hangovers, because Barb woke me up at 9:20 this morning (after I'd gone to bed at 5:30) and told me he needed to go to the hospital. I pulled on pants that were ripped and covered in paint and I called a cab.

Sat around in the emergency waiting room for about 2 and a half hours until Barb decided he felt better and we took off. The general consensus is that it was all the rum.

Sigh.

Party itself was good. People came. Some people, Taylor I'm looking at you, didn't. A bunch of people decided they were staying over, all our couches were full and at least two people spent the night in chairs.

I went to bed alone. No one brought any clean boys with them. They were all sleep deprived and wearing the grime of twenty-four hours. Those drama students, they are a crazy bunch!

I dropped my drink on the floor. Dear People that made fun of me: Not cool. For the record, I spill things ALL the time. Evidence. I am the least coordinated person you'll ever meet and I'm not usually ashamed of it.

A thousand million pictures were taken. Expect a great many of them to make their way onto this blog.

A prelude to the deluge of party pictures. Me and Barb in happier times.

Waiting.

It occurs to me that readers of the blog don't necessarily want me to meditate on my various stages of cleanliness. Or maybe that's all you want. Feel free to tell me. In fact, we could conduct some sort of informal poll. Collect some data, as it were.

No?

What's that you say? You're never reading my blog again?

Oh.

Fair enough.

This is all your fault. If you were already at the house, I wouldn't be bored and posting things.

I'm blameless in the entire affair.

Useless Update.

Paper done.
House relatively clean.
Body has been buffed to a fine shine.

And now the never-ending struggle to find something to wear.

People, I'm nearly presentable. Please come drink at my house. Feel free to bring any tall, young, clean and intelligent fellows along with you. You'll get a special treat.

Brothel Secrets.

I haven't been this dirty in my entire life. Sitting in a pile of my own filth, I've been writing a paper. Standing in that same filth I've been doing a little bit of cleaning so we can fool all of the people attending our soiree this evening that we're not dirty university students with dust and hair on every surface of our house.

Guess the cat's out of the bag. Don't tell anyone okay?

Bad Astronomy Excellence.

On Creationism/Intelligent Design.

"Lying to children who are trying to learn is perhaps the greatest sin I can think of. And these guys are professionals at it."

Ruminations on the relative merits of a pseudonym.

It has recently occured to me that there is no one in my hometown that will calls me Toni. It really gives the whole nickname thing a weird alternate-identity aspect. In Guelph I'm Toni in other places I'm not. Weird.

'Toni' started back in second semester of first year. Direct roots are a mystery even to me and Jo, who is responsible for christening me with it. Caught on like wildfire. It's how I introduce myself to people in Guelph. It's how people address me. A significant number of my friends don't know my real first name and even less know my last name.

The best reaction to the fact that my name isn't really Toni goes to Amy. She was simply appalled. She said, "What? You're joking right?" with a look of shock and disappointment. Jo and I laughed and laughed.

Sometimes I really feel like Toni is a persona. She's the person I'd like to be, while my secret identity is not at all Superman-esque. It's the Clark Kent effect in reverse.

Holy. Crap.

It's over.

I really want to talk to somebody right now, I was hoping one of my beloved brothelmates would be in the lab but alas, I'm alone.

I don't actually know what to say right now. I just want to talk and I really wish someone would hug me.

Sad and excited and anxious and definitely having a mild stroke.

At one point in the lecture it was as if Professor Miller was talking right to me. He said that education doesn't end after these four years are over, that it's a lifelong endeavour.

Ha! I knew it!

"Natural selection favours cupcakes."

Late night. Jo asked me to pull an all nighter with her. I had no real reason to stay up all night so naturally, I agreed.

So here we are, watching Amelie and, I have to say, not a lot of work is getting done.

For your reading pleasure (or chagrin, as the case may be):

Barb, eating a sandwich: I think I got a crumb in my eye; maybe I should start eating with my mouth.

Jo, wrapped up in my blankets and pillows: Do you want me to lick your eyeball Barb? Like lizards? Lizards don't have eyelids so they have to lick their eyeballs to keep them wet. That's science Barb! You can't fight city hall!

It's time.

Third blog in a day? Why yes friend, you're right, I am trying to avoid my paper on emigration from the Scottish Highlands in the 18th century.

So, sometimes I hate my serious blogs. Like today. Tiresome!

Here's a picture of me and Jo doing something stupid to make up for it. I believe I said something like, 'Look like you're suffering the consequences of your actions' before Jo took the picture.



Alternatively, you can scroll past my teenage-esque angst to the kick ass Margaret Thatcher picture. Someday, if I'm really lucky, my hair will be that big and I can store things in it. Like pens and small children and fake passports. You know, just in case.

Feelings are exhausting.

There's this push-pull going on inside of me. Approximately 10 million times everyday, I'll have these pre-nostalgia feelings, like I'm supposed to savour everything, burn it into my brain so I'll never forget. The rest of the time I feel like I'm supposed to be letting go, readying myself to move on.


I don't know where I'm off to next and that's scary. But I don't want to stand still either and that's comforting.

One more class.
One more paper.
Three exams.

I'm not not freaking out.

What I learned today.

1) Professor Miller: "James Bond didn't even had to pick up women, he just raised an eyebrow and they tore their clothes off. And he was always the best they'd ever had."

Yeah, he was making a point about British powerlessness on a global scale after the second World War and the cultural reaction to it, but the quote is what really made the class for me.

2) Do NOT get caught alone in a dark alley with Margaret Thatcher. You're thinking "But Toni, don't the majority of her policies make your skin crawl? Didn't she pursue economic and social policies that wouldn't be out of place in the United States of George W. Bush? Don't you hate that guy? And isn't she an old lady or possibly dead?" All I have to say to you is: she sent troops to Argentina over the Falklands! The only thing there is wind! Imagine what she'd do if I looked at her cross-eyed. She used to eat bullets for breakfast! In her old age she's probably downgraded to aluminum foil or something but that still makes her approximately 15 times tougher than me and my tuna sandwich.



If you're not careful her hair might beat you up and serve you to Bush with his morning cartoons.

PSA

The weather is moody today, gray and snow, and I'm drowsy as a result AND my toes are cold. I do not, in fact, want to go outside today. It really seems like this would be one of those ideal days to stay in bed and watch movies, with some strapping young man or my BFF's preferably.

I'll leave however, for my Britain and the World Class.

Yikes, I better go get clothes on.

Oh Procrastination

I remember a time that I used to get homework out of the way so then I could do the fun stuff, back in the day. The day being highschool. Of course, fun in highschool was a bit of an abstract concept to me. That's right, it wasn't all ice cream socials and Sadie Hawkins dances for all of us.

But, I digress.

I used to get my work over with, is the point. Then, magically, in my first year of university I was introduced to sweet Mr. P and things have been magical ever since. We've skipped class, we've written 12 page papers in a day, we've done any number of pointless activities to avoid work including (but not limited to) knitting, eating, dancing in the penthouse with Jowie, singing in the penthouse with Jowie, really anything concerning anyone that lives with me, etc.

And now, we're reading random blogs instead of reading about an 18th century Scottish settlement. Admittedly, Apples Over America has an excellent 'about me' blurb but really, the whole reason I'm still at school is to do work that can't be done at home (stupid online texts). (And I'm freezing my nads off to do it. I have, once again, managed to position myself in the coldest area of the MacK labs)

Oh, and now I'm procrastinating by writing a blog about procrastinating. Sometimes I'm horny for myself.

Sidenote: Sweet Lady by Tyrese just came on my Launch Radio. It's one of those songs that can serve no other purpose besides providing a background for sexin' or pre-sexin' dancing. Best lyric ever "Just call and receive me."

Tyrese:"Just call and receive me."
Toni: No thanks, I'm trying to get some homework done.
Tyrese: Do you know who I am?
Toni: Not particularly.
Tyrese: Have you seen my abs?
Toni:Oh. Good point. I'll meet you in the psych labs across the hall. *wink*

History Geek Stuff. You've been warned.

I always want to blog after my Britain and the World class. I have, in fact, done so on at least one other occasion. Professor Miller can 'bring it', lecture-wise.

When he was talking about World War II today I actually got chills. He started out by talking about the British retreat at Dunkirk (when the Nazis had them trapped between their tanks and the Atlantic and there was a massive British effort, employing a lot of civilian boats, to get their infantry out of there) and then he talked about the Battle of Britain, quoting Churchill a couple of times. I'm a sucker for the whole victorious underdog thing and for London. I really have to read more about the Battle of Britain and the Blitz.

Present day patriotic rhetoric doesn't do much for me (Bush). I love Canada, but I'm not going to go fight a war against anybody on its behalf. I am, however, a sucker for historical patriotic rhetoric and Churchill was the master of it. I love the famous quote from after the Battle of Britain when Churchill was talking about the Royal Air Force pilots: "Never has so much been owed by so many to so few." Chills people, chills.

But Professor Miller was just toying with our emotions. The last twenty minutes of the lecture was devoted to telling us all the horrible things that the Allies did in pursuit of victory. The fact that Churchill cut off foods supplies to Bengal in anticipation of a Japanese attack and the indiscriminate bombing of civillian targets in Germany (especially Dresden) were just a couple of the highlights.

It's never simple. He said it was our responsibility as historians to look at all sides of an issue (or as many as we can). Sometimes I think I'd just prefer to think "Yay! Britain won! Democracy triumphed over the fascist machine!" But, I guess that sort of unilateral thinking is where we run into trouble, Bush.

So deep.

Can't finish papers to save our lives but Jo and I have deep thoughts.

Proof.

Certifiable.

So it's clocking changing time. I really don't understand Daylight Savings time. I've never asked anyone. I have this vague idea that it has something to do with farmers. Whatever.

The point is, my computer clock changed over at 2 AM. I, however, had forgotten that the clocks were changing. I'd looked at the clock a couple of minutes before, 1:54. Fine. And then the next time I looked it was 3.

Instead of remembering the whole clock-changing thing, I assumed that I'd gone crazy. That was my first thought. I was all, I've lost time. Great, I'm going to be one of those psychos you read about in the really extra super trashy tabloids that talk about their imaginary alien abductions. I'd have my picture taken for it with curlers in my hair and probably a dirty baby on my hip and tell them it first happened when I was 21.

I have a vivid imagination sometimes.

I realized almost immediately that it was the end of Daylight Savings Time. Leaned slightly forward in my chair and confirmed with my alarm clock that I had, in fact, not lost any time at all. No blackouts. No crazies.

Just alarmingly forgetful. And kind of crazy

Second helping of insomnia in less than a week? Golly, I'm a lucky girl.