A Daily Account.

Buying tangerines at Christmas time is quite a predicament. I always want them, I want them very badly. They are the epitome of Christmas wrapped in a ball of fruit. The scent, the look, the yummy taste that lingers on your tongue after you've consumed twenty, and believe me, I have consumed twenty... Sigh. They really are quite magical.

But no matter how long you pick through the piles of boxes in the grocery, you still, 95% of the time, manage to pick a bad box of tangerines. Not bad as in, "ewe, what is that grey fuzz growing on the bottom of that peel?" It's more of a mediocre complex that only certain tangerines have and this complex of course, spreads to every tangerine in the god damned box, making them all taste a little off. Shitty tangerines. Gross.

Christmas amoungst the Oster's this year is turning out to be a load of absolute crap, as usual. Stinky has forgotten to book off Christmas eve, my mother is already laying guilt trips on her children for wanting to spend time with our good-for-nothing, dead-beat dad. My cousin, who has just purchased a brand-spanking-new home in St. Catharines is demanding to cook and prepare Christmas dinner, which would be fine, if she wasn't a vegetarian and the bag of perogies that I had set aside for Andrew's family dinner had been consumed by my sister and her pseudo boyfriend in the middle of yesterday's night. Yes! My immediate family is full of absolute baboons!

The perogie situation has been remedied, thank goodness. Unfortunately the rest of it is teetering on the brink of disaster and I'm planning to stay as far away as possible, for as long as I possibly can.I saw King Kong last night with Mike and Holly. Holly really is a space cadet and I feel increasingly more stupid when I am with her. Her absense seems to rub off on me from time to time and I find myself in my own world, usually wondering how someone could be so utterly void of anything. She really is, quite empty.

The movie was alright. Too many gross parts for my liking. I'm not a giant-man-eating-worm type of girl. Animals that rip men into bits of kibbles don't particularly turn my crank. But Adrian Brodey is hot, and I am shallow enough to say that I would have endured the worms at least another five times to see that man's face again. Exscuse me while I drool.

I ended up spending the majority of today finishing Mama K's quilt for Christmas. I'm happy with it, it turned out better than I expected and I don't particularly want to give it away, but know I must, as keeping it will only make me feel guilty.

Afterwards I went to the mall to purchase a book. Oddly enough I bumped into Jeff K. Jeff K. My first real boyfriend. My first love. My first everything... really. It was odd to see him. He's so sketchy now, so random. It's very obvious that he's been dabbling in the drugs, more so than he should be. His ADD has blown up to from a small annoyance to a flat out frustrating quirk. He's living in St. Catharines with a girl named Andrea. They're not dating, they're plataunic. Sure they are... that's exactly what he said about me and him for almost two years.

I ended up taking him out to lunch 'cause he had said he had barely eaten in days. I didn't mind really, it was nice to sit and talk to him, even if he is, absolutely insane.

Work is five hours away and I should sleep. I hate work. I hate it with all my soul. Bah. At least I have cool hair now.