Saturday, January 31, 2009

ThePeach is punished; stubborn



A german word meaning happiness in the misfortune of others.

So, there is a term for my role in life. I am schadenfreude. I feel like I finally have the answers, although I knew this was my destiny well before the name was brought to my attention by a classmate. I mean, look at my blog mandate:

Why is my life so oddly hilarious? That’s like asking why gin is so delicious. Life is a mystery, friends. I see it like this: I could go home and cry about how the one-armed hobo chased me down the street in his wheelchair, or I could swallow that gin and write about my experiences so that I may bring joy to others. If I don’t bring you joy, then fuck off. Heart, ThePeach.

My misfortune brings you happiness.

My Friday will really uplift you, in that case.

On Thursday night, after a long week of no sleep and much coffee, I noticed that I had no internet. I restarted my computer. I unplugged and replugged my modem. I reset my modem. I repeated these three tasks in varying order over a three to four hour span, with no result. I did a little voodoo dance for good measure. Still nothing. I restarted my computer one more time, prayed to Allah, sprinkled a circle of salt around my laptop, and finally gave up and went to bed. I hoped the problem would fix itself overnight.

I woke up at 6:30, tripped over the cat, made coffee, burnt some toast to perfection, and turned on my laptop so that I could stream CBC news while I ate.

No internet connection.


I got out the trusty Rogers troubleshooting guide and methodically followed all of the steps. When those failed, I restarted my computer. I unplugged and replugged my modem. I reset my modem. I was exhausted. I called Rogers at 7am.

Rogers: Thank you for choosing Rogers. How may we help you?
ThePeach: I…I…internets…help…?
Rogers:…Let me put you through to tech support.
ThePeach: help…internets…*chews on toast*
TechSupport: Hello, Peach. What seems to be the problem?
ThePeach: I can’t…I can’t…*sniffle*…I NEED THE INTERNET!!
TechSupport: Ok, let’s see here what the problem is and…oh. Oh. Ya, I’m going to have to put you through to our security section.
ThePeach: What?
Security: Hello, Peach. What seems to be the problem?
Security: Ok…oh. Well, it seems that we had to disconnect your connection due to security reasons.
ThePeach: WHAT? WHY??!
Security: You have a number of viruses on your computer that have worked their way into the network, and we cannot turn your connection back on until you remove those viruses.
ThePeach: How is this…how did this happen?
Security: This kind of virus is from downloading sites. Do you download any tv shows or movies off the internet? Have you had issues with viruses from these actions in the past?
Security: …when you remove the viruses, we will reconnect you.

So, once again, downloading my favourite lesbian tv drama has given my computer AIDS. Except this time instead of my laptop exploding, I have had my internet cut off by the big men at Rogers. I’m being grounded for following the lives of fictional, well-dressed, interesting women who just happen to eat taco.

The only thing I can conclude is that Rogers is a bunch of homophobes.

I didn’t have time to find and fix my laptop’s AIDS before class, so I did it when I got home at 5:30. I called Rogers to tell them I had solved the problem.

Rogers: Thank you for choosing Rogers. How may we help you?
ThePeach: My computer doesn’t have AIDS anymore. Reconnect my internet.
Rogers:…I’m going to put you through to technical support.
ThePeach: I’m going to save us all some time here. Put me right on through to security.
Security: Hello Peach. How may we help you?
ThePeach: Hello, yes. I spoke to one of your employees this morning, and he informed me that my internet has been disconnect due to viruses. I fixed them. Kindly reconnect my internet.
Security: Ok…let’s just check here…ok. We can reconnect you.
ThePeach: Get at ‘er.
Security: But first, I need you to repeat this verbal contract.
Security: I, ThePeach, agree to be more careful with my downloading activities.
ThePeach:…I, ThePeach, agree to be more careful with my downloading activities.
Security: Should this happen again now that I have been warned, Rogers reserves the right to disconnect the connection for as long as they see fit.
ThePeach: Excuse me?
Security: Ma’am, you need to repeat after me or we will not be reconnecting your internet today.
ThePeach: Oh my god.

Well, I did what I had to do in order to get my precious interwebs up and running. It’s like I’m twelve again and my mom is threatening to take away my tv priveleges for watching transexuals make out on the Jerry Springer Show.

Apparently you can still be grounded at age 26.

After that fiasco, I met up with my classmates downtown. We did shots. I drank red bull. We did more shots. We danced like whores/tools. We went to get poutine at 3am. 30 minutes later I realized that I didn’t have my credit card. I connected the dots and realized that I left it at the bar, and that I also forgot to pay my massive tab.

I had to sprint back to the bar at 3:30am, pound on the door until someone let me in, explain my situation to the disheveled man with the mop, pay, and then sprint back to the diner for my fries, gravy and cheese curds.

Then I came home and threw up a few times, and then I took a gravol and passed out.

I woke up this morning and immediately downloaded another episode of The L Word.

I have a sickness.


Wednesday, January 28, 2009

It's Happening. I do not fear it.

I’ve really, really been trying hard not to be a disaster this semester. Last semester was rough, what with the no sleep ever and the not eating and the COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE REDBULL WHAT?

So, this semester, I have been trying to achieve a life balance. I demand a minimum of 5 hours of sleep each night. I eat 3 meals each day. I cut down on coffee. I allow myself to watch television. I start my assignments well in advance of the due dates. I get good grades. I don’t drink as much, except for that one night when I downed a bottle of gin, folded myself into some crawl spaces, MC puked on my legs, and then I came home and puked for an hour. But in the toilet, MC. In the toilet.

I try to stay sane.

It’s also been boring as fuck. I mean, you’ve been reading my blogs. Literally nothing is happening in my life! All I do is work. Nothing random happens anymore. I’m not…ThePeach. In fact, I’m pretty sure GinBucket has become ThePeach. Her life has suddenly become much more hilarious, just as mine has become uneventful. We’re pretty sure that my new bangs have thrown God off, and that he just went for the next available brunette.

But then, yesterday, things started…happening. Familiar things.

Thing 1

It started with no sleep. This is literally the week of death for me, and sleep is not an option. So, of course, this is where the coffee comes back in. COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE REDBULL WHAT?

I had been working all day on an assignment or twelve, when I got a call from my friend, a big shot reporter. He wanted to know if he could interview me for the national news. About my credit card debt.

Obviously I said yes, because he is my friend and I know what it's like to be stuck on deadline, so I did the interview. He thanked me. Then I thought about what I had done.

I just did an interview for a major national news company. About my credit card debt. My clips included quotes such as:

“Oh ya, I easily have 5 grand in debt.”

“I don’t even open my bills because they scare me. I don’t want to know what I owe.”

“I have no idea what I’ve spent my money on.”

I may have to leave the country. Like, now. I basically just broadcasted THIS blog entry, but with my name attached. To the country. At 6am, 7am, and 8am.
Ok, so there was that.

Thing 2

I spent the rest of last night working and got to bed at 3:30am. I woke up at 8 to start another day of work. HERRO COFFEE.

Work, work, work, blah blah blah…

At 3:30pm, I had to leave to walk downtown to conduct some interviews for a big radio story I’m doing. CapitalCity is in the midst of a massive blizzard, so the 45 minute walk was slightly unpleasant.

The girl who I was interviewing was very, very friendly. She fed me hot cocoa. Home made, with spices in it. Her dog was friendly, too. The dog was a cross-eyed pug. The girl said the dog had been overly inbred and was slightly retarded.

The dog’s name was Mrs. Wiggles.

Mrs. Wiggles, the slightly retarded pug, also had a minor glitch in her respiratory tract, so that she breathed like a person snoring. Every breath. Like a snore.

Mrs. Wiggles the slightly retarded cross-eyed pug, who snore-breathes.

So, that was a little weird.

Thing 3

After the interview, I made another 45 minute walk home in the blizzard. FauxHawk called, and while I was walking and talking, I felt a violent nudge from behind.


A gruff voice said these words from behind me. And then a hobo-ish man on a bike scooted around me.

He had hit me. With his bike. I was just hit by a bike, on the sidewalk, in a blizzard, by a hobo-ish man.

This is not the first time I have been run over by a BIKE in this city.

So, that was weird too.
Thing 4

I finally wandered up to my building with probably a foot of snow on my head. A lone figure was sitting on a bench outside my apartment building, hunched over for warmth, clutching a cigarette and staring into nothingness.

ThePeach: Hi GinBucket.
GinBucket: Hi Peach.

GinBucket doesn’t smoke, except for when she’s really drunk. But this is a bad week, so I didn’t question her smoking a cigarette outside my apartment building in a blizzard at 7:30pm.

I went upstairs. I checked facebook. New message, yay! New message from a stranger in a different city…weird.

Here is what it said:

Dear ThePeach,

Were you on the national news this morning? I heard you. We have the same name. It was confusing.


Ok. This was also weird.

My last name is very, very unusual. It’s not even a real last name. It was made up. My grandfather on my Dad’s side was a war orphan, and when he emigrated from the Ukraine the Canadian Border anglicized his Ukrainian name to make it more English sounding. That’s the name I have now. No one else in the world has the same last name.

Except for ThePeech, my new twin. She has the same last name AND THE SAME FIRST NAME as me! WHAT THE FUCK. Yes, she spells it slightly differently, but it is the exact. same. name.

And she facebook messaged me. Because she heard my (her…our?) name on the national news this morning, at 6am, 7am, and 8am. The news about my disastrous financial situation.

I did a little facebook/google stalking of ThePeech, because that is what you do when you find your twin. It turns out that she is an actress based in TheBigCity. Her last work was a movie about cheerleaders, where her role was “Cheerleader friend.”

Also, we have the same bangs

This is just…too much. I have a twin. We have the same bangs. She is a cheerleader friend.

I had to have two more cups of coffee after discovering these facts. I also ate half a tube of Pringles and 3 cookies.

To recount, in 24 hours we have:
- total public humiliation on national news about credit card debt.
- Mrs. Wiggles, the slightly retarded and cross-eyed dog who snore-breathes. Every time.
- Hit by a bike. Again.
- My twin, ThePeech. The cheerleader friend who heard me on the news.

I think I know what it means.

I’m back.


Monday, January 26, 2009

More Monday Morning Professionalism

I wasn’t in a fantastic mood Monday morning. I spent my entire weekend, if you can call it that, working/writing like some kind of pep-pill popping crazy bitch. I’m like Jessie Spano from Saved by the Bell. I’m so excited! I’m so excited! I’m so…so…I’m so scared.


So my weekend was a bust. Fauxhawk was here for one night, but I had to stay in to work and he was visiting friends, so he got to go out and do shooters and dance to the pulsating rhythm of strobe lights while I had to sit at my laptop, cry, and eat 10 pounds worth of bulk chocolate.

I was feeling the stress after FauxHawk left on Sunday. One of my story ideas for my current affairs program didn’t pan out, I have 6 more assignments due this week, and I’m not going to have sex for three weeks. Oh, and my apartment smells like some kind of mystery rot and my cat has dandruff. Ah, life.

I went to Spaz’s apartment for a visit Sunday afternoon, right after FauxHawk left. I guess the stress of the weekend had caught up with me, because this is how Spaz describes my apparently hilarious visit:

“She stumbled through the door holding a plate full of chocolate cake. Her eyes were completely bloodshot, watery, and she had eye makeup streaked down one cheek. I asked her if she had been crying and she shrugged, trying to be all casual, and was like “Ya, I guess,” and then her lip started quivering and she started crying again! In my kitchen! Then she ate the cake.”

I suppose that is an accurate description. Although she left out the stained hoodie sweatshirt and tattered lulus.

Perhaps this is the point in the story where I should mention my hatey uterus before any of you call the suicide hotline for me. This bad mood is brought to you by the letters P, M, and S.

I felt better when I left Spaz’s an hour later. Then MC came down to my apartment and helped me get started on one of my four million assignments. I fed her bulk chocolate for her efforts.

But then I was up until 2:30 in the morning finishing said assignment, which meant I got 4 hours of fitful sleep before my day of class.

I was not feeling the J-love when I tripped into class this morning.

But then…the flamboyant man-types started talking, and my suicide levels came down.

First, they said “Low hanging fruit” within the first 10 minutes of the lecture. I made eye contact with a few classmates, which was a mistake. I tried to hide my smirk behind my hair, but then I remembered that I have bangs now instead of layers that cover my face. Foiled! So I bit my travel coffee mug like a gag and shook with silent hysteria.

And then. THEN! The best gift ever.

Before I go on, there is an ongoing debate amongst my classmates as to whether or not the flamboyant man-types are actually gay. One of them wears a wedding ring, but he also looks like he would easily fit right into a bar full of topless, glittery men in thongs. The other has definite gay-face, and no ring.

I stand firmly on the homo side of the debate. Both gay. Probable that they go home together after class and whip each other with leather straps.

Not everyone agrees with me.

But today I think my argument gained some serious footing.

The flamboyant man-type with the wedding ring was describing…well, I have no fucking idea what he was talking about…business reporting something something…

Anyway. He decided to use a metaphor to illustrate his point. The metaphor:

“People don’t care how the sausage is made. They only care how it tastes.”


There was no hiding the laughter this time. My entire side of the classroom burst into quick but violent laughter, which we immediately quelled with horrified looks on our faces. Shit. Did we just laugh out loud? Maybe the man-types didn’t notice?

Then I made the mistake of making eye contact with HotMess.

It was all over for me. I shook. I tried and failed to hide behind my bangs. I bit my travel coffee mug. I didn’t look up from the desk for 15 minutes.

They only care how it tastes.

I slid super low in my chair. I tapped my foot. I pinched my hand until I left a mark. I tried to relive the time my fish died. The time Dana from “The L Word” died. The time my grandma died.

People don’t care how the sausage is made.

Oh fuck. I’m going to fail this class.


Saturday, January 24, 2009

Journalism ruins my Saturday.

8:30 pm. Saturday night. Msn Messenger.

ThePeach: It’s Saturday night and I’m staying in to work. I hate my life.
HotMess: Me too.
ThePeach: I’m so depressed that I already ate most of my ten pound bag of bulk chocolate.
HotMess: Oh, I ate 5 pounds last night and then had to throw the rest out and squeegee liquid soap on top so I’d stop eating them out of the garbage. What were we thinking?
ThePeach: When we scavenged the bulk candy store at midnight, drunk, while your car blocked a lane of traffic? Not sure.
HotMess: Sigh.
ThePeach: I have so much work I could puke from stress. Maybe I should just get drunk alone?
HotMess: As you were typing that I was opening a box of wine. Alone. What has journalism school done to us??
ThePeach: Awful things. I ate a bacon and cheese sandwich for lunch today because I was depressed about work.
HotMess: I just ordered a pizza. What’s happening??
ThePeach: I might as well go have a redbull and gin. Let’s get this party started.
HotMess: If the party consists of you and me getting drunk and eating pizza alone in our respective houses and talking over msn while we do work, I may cry.
ThePeach: I think you know that’s exactly what the party will consist of. Except that I’ll be eating bulk chocolate.
HotMess: Happy Saturday.
ThePeach: I think this gin is helping my productivity!
HotMess: Our similiarities frighten me.
ThePeach: I know. And yet neither of us have been total disasters yet this semester! We're doing so well!
HotMess: We are sitting alone drinking alcohol and socializing via msn. That sounds like a disaster to me.
ThePeach: Happy Saturday.

Happy fucking Saturday indeed.


Monday, January 19, 2009


10:00 pm:

TheHippie: Please tell me you're watching "Little People: Just Married" right now.
ThePeach: I had to get rid of TLC when I cancelled my cable. It is my life's single greatest tragedy.
TheHippie: That is tragic.
ThePeach: Hold me.
TheHippie: Wow. The midgets are kind of good looking.
ThePeach: You're killing me.

I also miss the fine programs such as "World's Fattest Mom" and "Half Man, Half Tree."

I hate being poor. I'm losing out on culture.

Don't even get me started on missing an entire season of "John and Kate Plus Eight." Is Leah still the littlest sextuplet? Is Maddy still a bitch? Has Colin been diagnosed with some kind of mental retardation yet? There's something wrong with that little nugget.

My life. It's lacking.


ThePeach reflects on her career; life

FauxHawk is here. He's visiting for the week, which is amazing. We haven't spent this much time together in CapitalCity since...ever.

He immediately began cleaning up my disastrous life when he got here. He washed the two weeks of dishes that I have allowed to fester. He got the landlord to plunger my sink so that it would drain properly. Apparently you can't just poke food bits down the drain without consequence. I thought a hole was a hole was a hole, but I am incorrect. He scraped the dried food off my counters. He assembled the toaster oven that has been sitting in a box on my floor for 4 months. He took me to the drug store so I could buy tylenol.

I'm hoping he'll tackle my recycling heap while I'm in class today, but I don't want to push it.

My life is so unusually clean that I don't even recognize it. I'm stumbling around like a confused drunk. But that might be because I'm a drunk.

The fact that I don't have time to take care of basic life skills on my own makes me question my career choice. Am I really going to enter a life where I let my kitchen sink clog with rice, overflow, and fester for 8 days because I have to choose between plungering it or getting my stories written? Getting my radio clips edited?

Am I really entering a life where I stalk the employees on Main Street in order to find a source, follow her home on a Friday night at 9 in order to get an interview, and flash freeze my fingers to my microphone in the negative 30 degree weather? They still tingle. FauxHawk says that's the frostbite.

Am I really ok with the fact that I left FauxHawk in my cozy apartment last night and spent from 9 to 11:30 pm in the radio room on campus, editing a 12 second clip? And I'm not even done yet?

And, finally, am I really ok with the fact that I have been awake for 45 minutes already, and FauxHawk is in my warm bed and will probably remain there until 2pm? And, since I have to edit more 12 second clips after class, I'll be on campus until 6:30 pm? And I'll get home just in time to scarf some dinner with FauxHawk, poke some rice down the drain, and then chain myself to the laptop until 2am so I can write my script? WHEN am I supposed to have the sex, I ask you?? WHEN?!

The answer is: Yes, I think somehow I am ok with this life choice.

What I'm not ok with is what this says about my mental state. Do they give personal support workers to crazy whores? Or do I have to be developmentally delayed in order to acquire one? I probably count as developmentally delayed at this point. I'll just show the government official my festering sink and stack of old newspapers, and she'll assume I'm handicapped.

Maybe I'll have the sex in the 5 minute window of consciousness between when I finish my script and when I pass out at 2am. But no foreplay.

What a life.


Monday, January 12, 2009

Another note on professionalism

We are supposed to embody professionalism in Journalism. Act like professionals. Act mature. Be politically correct. Pay attention. Mind your public image. Bathe. Don't go on a meth trip and kill a hooker. That sort of thing.

I obviously struggle with professionalism, but I give it the old college try. All my hookers are still breathing, for instance. Baby steps.

My classmates are fairly professional and impressive, except for when we do things like have parties and drink out of a communal bucket and force people to chug a tin pot full of margarita mix and gin, and that person throws up ON MY LEGS, MORTAL COMBAT! ON MY FUCKING LEGS! But that kind of thing rarely happens, other than on Fridays.

We get graded on our professional conduct in each class. You have to attend, pay attention, and look and sound smart. For the most part we do this well.

But sometimes we crack. "Low hanging fruit" is one such example.

We have a reporting methods class from 8:30-11:30 on Monday mornings. I'm usually mentally checked out by 10, but I think I hide it well by brushing my hair into my face, sliding low in my chair, and gripping my coffee cup with an iron fist. Anyway, the class is taught by to say...flamboyant man-types. They may or may not be a couple...further investigation is required on this matter.

Their favourite saying is "low hanging fruit." They have said it at least 5 times so far between our 2 classes. As in, "finding a piece of information this easily is like picking a piece of low hanging fruit," or "that report is your low hanging fruit."

Maybe I'm just twelve, but everytime one of the flamboyant man-types utters that phrase, I can't help but smirk.

Heh. Balls.

I thought I was the only one, but today I caught HotMess smirking, too. And then MortalCombat laughed under her breath when I gave her a meaningful look.

Heh. Balls.

So, as were being graded on professionalism, many of us are actually laughing about balls. That's reassuring to know, actually. We're still human. And, like most humans, we find balls hilarious.

Heh. Balls.


Wednesday, January 07, 2009

ThePeach is back in CapitalCity; back to usual randomness

Hi friends. I know my updating has been pretty sporadic in the past month, but my internship literally ate my life. Here is a breakdown:

Average hours worked/day (in office): 10
Average hours worked/night (in home): 2
Average hours sleep/night: 5
Amount of money spent at Starbucks: $80
Number of times I bought chips out of the vending machine beside my desk: 500
Average time I would buy chips: 1 hour before deadline.
Average sound of backfat: *scream*
Number of hate emails received: 6
Number of nice emails received: 5
Number of time I shit my pants: 500
Number of clippings: 15
Number of feature cover stories: 7
Number of times editor mocked me for not knowing how to use a mac: 25
Number of times I cried in the bathroom: 2
Number of pounds gained after chip binges: 500

I moved back to CapitalCity this weekend. I was sad to leave Universitytown again, but excited to start another term of J-school. Here are some of the random shiznits that have occurred in my life since my return:

1. FauxHawk Misses the Milo
FauxHawk likes to pretend that he’s indifferent about the chat. He makes jokes about how Milo makes his life difficult when we take over his apartment for months at a time. Just because the cat insists on sleeping on his face, puking all over his carpet, and eating all of his houseplants. Or maybe because his entire apartment is coated in a layer of black fuzz. Or possibly because every time he looks up, the chat is creepily staring at him. Without blinking. Or maybe it’s that little, hard turd the cat left on the living room floor.

Whatever. FauxHawk and Milo are madly, deeply, romantically in love with each other. Evidence: the picture I took of them napping. Look at that embrace. I mean, Milo has his usual bad-ass mullafucka expression, but that might just be because I'm interrupting something very intimate. FauxHawk always denies it, but it’s sickingly obvious how obsessed he is with my cat. Like, he’ll bitch about how the cat keeps him up all night, but then I have to talk him out of buying Milo a wee little cat bandana to wear around the house. Or he’ll moan about how he would never want a cat of his own because they destroy carpets, and then I’ll catch him looking up $100 cat water dispensers on the internet.

FauxHawk: “But he really likes fresh water!”

Or I’ll go away for a few days and FauxHawk will call me every day to bitch about how the cat jumped on his face all night, and then I’ll come home to find 35 pictures on my camera of Milo sleeping in various poses.

So when Milo and I moved back here, FauxHawk attempted more lies.

ThePeach: Are you going to miss me?
FauxHawk: Of course.
ThePeach: Are you going to miss the chat?
FauxHawk: No.
ThePeach: You’re not going to miss the chat?
FauxHawk: I am not going to miss YOUR cat.
ThePeach: But you are going to miss me?
FauxHawk: *sigh*

On Monday, after Milo and FauxHawk had been separated for a mere 24 hours, I had the following phone convo:

ThePeach: Do you miss me?
FauxHawk: I got home from work today, and my first thought was to go to the kitchen to make sure the cat had enough food. But…*whiny, pathetic voice*…there was no food for me to give, because there was…*voice breaks*… no cat.
ThePeach: But you miss me, right?

FauxHawk's coming to visit the weekend after next. I’ll be sure to give them plenty of alone time.

2. I like it when people fall
You all know how much I love it when people fall. Tripping is my favourite. When someone trips I will always burst out laughing. It doesn’t matter if it is the professor of a class I am in, or my boss, or if the person who tripped wound up breaking their leg – I will laugh hysterically for 5-10 minutes afterwards, and then again every time I relive the moment over the next several months. I can’t help it. I have a sickness.

Second only to tripping, is slipping.

It’s the only thing I enjoy about winter.

In the past two days, I have witnessed three of my friends fall flat on their asses right in front of me on campus. It’s like god has given me a gift to make up for everything else in my life. Hey Peach, your mom has been married three times, hobos chase you around town, and your cat peed on your raincoat on your birthday…but here, have some people falling down.

I’m not worthy.

The first victim was MortalCombat. We were running errands on campus and enjoying some heated gossip when suddenly she hit a patch of slushy ice. Her little legs went flying, she hit the ice sideways, and she skidded awkwardly through the slush on her shins. She completely soaked through her jeans and scratched her hands.

MortalCombat: AHHHH!
MortalCombat: OH MY GOD.
ThePeach: *cough* are you ok? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
MortalCombat: Um, I think I hurt my leg.
ThePeach: YES! YES! YES! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! *cough* I’m so sorry. HAHAHA!
MortalCombat: I hate you.

The next victim was GinBucket, another good MJ friend. It was the same day. She, MC, and I were walking home from a cardio kickboxing class on campus (more on that fiasco later). We cut through our usual path across the field to get home. There were icy snowbanks on either side of the path.

GinBucket accidentally took a step onto one of the snowbanks. Her right leg flew out from under her, the momentum whipped her left leg out, and she landed on her ass and slid along the side of the path. In a flash, she was back on her feet, her doe-eyes looking straight ahead, and trying to pretend like nothing happened. I was having none of that.

GinBucket: Nothing to see here.
ThePeach: YOU FELL!!!! *gasps* YOU FELL SO BAD!!!! HAHAHAHA!!!!
GinBucket: Let’s just go home.
ThePeach: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! *sits down on path to clutch at sides* HAHAHAHA!!!!
GinBucket: I hate you.

Today a bunch of us walked home from class in the same general direction. We had to scale a small hill. I was with MC and GinBucket, who were still treading fearfully after yesterday’s episodes. “Danger!” they shouted. “Danger!” We made jokes that my time was up. This hill was going to be payback for my insensitive laughter. I was ready to face my doom. I gingerly took a step and prepared for the universe to do the rest.

And that’s when FrogBoy’s legs flew out from under him, he landed smack on his ass and slid down the rest of the hill with a shocked look on his face.


Oh my god. Three people in two days? I have never EVER been happier. I’m giggling like a tool as I write this. This will bring me joys for months to come.

Until the day god decides he’s had enough and I slip, spill coffee on myself, accidentally drop my laptop in the canal, and break an arm.

This will all be less funny then.
3. I really made an impression first term
A bunch of us MJs were standing outside of our classroom on our first day back. Klaus, one of our professors - a lively old german commie - was talking to us (in his thick accent) about our law exams. He addressed several of my classmates individually. When I had something to add, I piped in. Klaus stared at me blankly.

Klaus: Who are you?
ThePeach: *laughs*
Klaus: No, really. Who ARE you?

That's nice.

4. Spaz hates vegetarians
After a long day of class today, Spaz invited me, MC, and GinBucket up to her apartment to debrief over oreos and tea. After the group of us hoovered the cookies, Spaz lovingly offered us some rather delicious looking soup that she had made from scratch. It was a vegetable cheese chowder and it smelled heavenly. It was hearty, and cheesy, and we all eagerly sucked it back with glee. Class makes us hungry.

Who am I kidding. Life makes me hungry.

MC and GinBucket are pretty strict vegetarians, other than the occasional tac-you know what? I can't even make this joke anymore. It's too much. Too much.

MC and GinBucket are pretty strict vegetarians, a fact that Spaz and I respect. As the four of us ate our soup, I asked Spaz about the recipe.

ThePeach: *slurp* This is SO GOOD.
MC: *slurp*
GinBucket: *slurp*
Spaz: *slurp* thanks!
ThePeach: *slurp* How did you make it?
Spaz: *slurp* It was pretty easy. Um I threw in some corn, some vegetables, some milk...
MC: *slurp* I helped her grate the cheese.
GinBucket: *slurp* mmm!
Spaz: Cheese, carrot, bacon fat, um simmer on medium...
ThePeach: ...
MC: ...
GinBucket: ...
Spaz: ...*screams* OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! I'M SO SORRY! OH MY GOD!
ThePeach: *slurp*

It's good to be back.


Thursday, January 01, 2009

2009: So far, not a fan.


I open one eye. My eyelid hurts.


I wiggle my toes. One of my feet is planted on the floor beside the bed, which is never a good sign. It means I had the spins when I passed out. There will be vomit somewhere in the apartment.


I dry heave. It's 8am on New Year's Day. I have to go to work. whimper.

I stumble out of the bedroom. I look in a mirror and see that my face is streaked with glitter mascara and one eye is red and swollen. Maybe from glitter to the cornea, or maybe FauxHawk punched me. I can't be sure.

The living room is littered with shot glasses and red bull cans. I step on a pizza crust. I cough, and half a joint falls out of my mouth. Ok.

I recall a themed house crawl. I recall jerk chicken. I recall dumping an entire can of redbull onto TigerCat's pants when she passed out on the living room floor. I thought it would wake her up. Party in her pants. I recall her telling me that she puked in the bushes. I now recall puking in her bathroom. That's least now I know where I left it.

I recall TheCrazy wearing condoms on her feet. I recall walking to one of the apartments on the house crawl in nothing but flipflops, leggings, and a tank top. I recall an entire punch bowl of killer koolaid. I recall leaving drunk voicemails on Spaz and MC's phones. I recall having to pee and finding TigerCat curled up around the terlet. 

With pieces of my night starting to come together, I shower, dress and check my email. I have 2 emails from the Prof I TA for in CapitalCity, telling me that the massive project I worked on all week isn't good enough and he wants me to redo it by Sunday. I consider dropping out of school.

I walk to Starbucks. The streets are completely deserted. 

I get to the office. I am literally the only person in the entire building. I could turn naked cartwheels down the hallway and no one would ever know. I might do it later, when movements stop causing me to hurl.

I am still dizzy. Time to track down the New Year's Baby.