The grasshopper came back. Three nights in a row. I'm going to have to train the cat to hunt it down and kill it. I like my sleep too much to put up with some chirruping ugly brown thing residing in my room.

I feel like bitching, but no, I don't do that anymore. *giggles* Never. I never bitch. *falls down laughing* I'm ok.

I ate so much pizza tonight. I ate SO much pizza. I ate copius amounts of pizza. I ate excessive amounts of pizza. I feel sick. Oh well.

Being too lame to come up with my own ideas for posts, I shall pilfer from Jenny's blog, and present you with my Christmas wish list.

·A pet Oscar Wilde, and a pet Brian Molko. I'd keep them in a hutch. I'm sure they'd get along.
·Wings. Big, black, feathery wings. That's be so cool.
·A Christmas that was free of all but my immediate family, at least in the morning. Stupid relatives.
·*gushes*
·Some direction for next year. A hint even. A teensy tiny whiff of what the fuck I'm supposed to do with myself.
·The letter "Q". It's a very nice looking letter. It has personality. Yeah.
·A body that doesn't creak and crack when I move.
·Some willpower.
·The magic ability to drive, and my Ps.
·Sleep.

It's been a very long time (by my standards) since I've posted about the not-crush. Mostly because when I do, people start yapping like hungry puppies, trying to find out who it is. *shrugs* The things is, I need to Get Over the Boy™.
Four possible ways to Get Over the Boy™:
1. Cut off all communication with him.
2. Find someone new to be enamoured with.
3. Tell him all of it.
4. Carry on as normal, and hope to hell it goes away by its accord.
Now, all of these options suck ass. But 4 is easiest, so I guess I'll stick with that, even though it doesn't work. Meh. Stupid not-crushes.fnord

one little duck went out one day (at 22:52)