Today I let my parents know that I broke up with ******. I called from the lab. Everyone took off early because its Friday afternoon and there was a snowstorm as well. I like talking to people from our large empty lab. Maybe because it’s my little zone of order and logic. Home is my zone of sloth and sleep.

My mom was supportive and positive. My dad was bummed out. I think I expected the opposite.

After the conversation I walked home ruminating on my dads reaction. It makes sense I suppose. He has two children. I’ve had been with ****** for nine years. He’s over fifty and ready for grandkids. What differs between him and my mom is that he was adopted. His only blood connection is to me and my little sister, ******…. and she’s a lesbian. That isn’t an issue in our family and he’s very accepting and I know he would never say it, but if ****** adopted, it wouldn’t be the same as if she or I had our own child.

I think it was him that once said to ******, “I’m very glad that ***** has you with him.”

Evolution ensures that the horniest fit humans survive. Now I have the extra pressure of guilt pushing me to procreate.

I’m trying to figure out how to date.

I joined an online dating service and put up some pictures that unintentionally make me look like a rugged outdoorsy traveling all the time action adventure guy. I’m in a kayak in one with a big toothy grin, I’ve got parrots behind me and scuba gear on my shoulder in another, I’m berry picking in another.
Now I’m receiving electronic winks but haven’t figured out how to respond. I boldly returned one wink yesterday. She shot back an email and I don’t know what to do. So inept and hesitant. and lazy. damnit.

My rooommate is absorbing my quirks.

On a road trip to the grocery store he bought wine for the first time. He also got some frozen Mexican food (which I eat way too much of). I warned him that he’s falling into my glamorous wine and burrito lifestyle but it didn’t seem to bother him.

welcome to a very special valentines day post live from my itouch while I wait for a burrito to cool.
Tired today. I spilled donkey serum on my pants in the lab today. So hungry

I feel so limited. I can sense the talent and comprehension that I lack.

I can’t articulate and frame what I feel and then the flavour and meaning drift away.

I’m just a caveman with better hygiene and education.

I’m so restless.

Dinner and wine are now intertwined in my mind. even if dinner is microwaved burritos with lettuce.

I said “utilitarian” yesterday and felt bad when I saw the blank look on my roommate’s face. Every conversation with him ends with, “sooooo… are we goinig to play table hockey?” …. and the answer is always yes.

I hate my class right now.

Lukewarm on my job.

Healthy, financially secure and lazy. apathetic.

I don’t have the energy to build up another Xanga network of interesting people again.

I just wish I communicated better with the people I know offline.

Writing on an iPod touch in a laundromat. It’s surprisingly easy.

If I could go back and show 1991 me what I was doing right now, he would be amazed.

Actually 12 year old me would probably first say, “I’m wearing red pants?! And green shoes? Cool.” then, “holy hell, computers got small. I hope I’ve got a sex robot too. Probably not if I’m washing my clothes at the laundromat. I wonder what game system I’ve got at home?”

Ps2 kiddo.

Swedish bedbug bite
Antibiotics downstairs
Canadian Feist

I decided to look at what people in the Born In 1979 webring were writing about.

Their children
Their marriages and divorces

Fuck me.

He doesn’t want her but he just won’t let her go.

Stars – Set Yourself On Fire is an album that I used to love in a light superficial way. Melodic, uplifting, fun, reflective indie pop. I love that they are Canadian. I love that they are low notoriety. Today I put it on after not hearing it for a long while. The lyrics were prominent over the instrumentation for maybe the first time. It felt satisfying to stumble into a soundtrack so fitting for my breakup – reflective, beautiful and sweetly sad.

Something bit me yesterday. A spider? Or a house centipede maybe. Now my supple elbow is all red and inflamed. Fluid filled.

I keep poking it.

My second, more accurate, impression of Chris.

He’s tall, probably 6″1 or so. Skinny, which emphasizes his height. Scruffy but seems not dirty. We look about the same age I suppose, although he’s 25 and I’m 28.

His previous roommate and her boyfriend told me to expect to eat lots of cookies. He doesn’t party. He hangs around the apartment a lot. He gets up super early but is done with classes just after noon.

He has a style of speaking which makes me think his cookies are occasionally filled with weed. ****** and her third grade-isms had a detrimental effect on my vocabulary but I don’t think Chris dropping his slacker-cool lingo on me is going to be an improvement.

The day I moved in he was in the kitchen making cookies. He told me he wanted to fake freak out like a drill sergeant yelling about the way it’s going to be and rules and such, but he chickened out. We talked about the apartment logistics, the neighbourhood, and then movies, video games, and cookies. He used Clerks to explain what playing Resident Evil 4 before the older versions is like.

“It’s like seeing Clerks 2 before seeing Clerks 1”
“Oh. I never saw Clerks 2.”
“REALLY!!! Oh! We have to watch that together.”
“Yeah, ok.”
“Its got elements of Mallrats. Clerks 1 is spoofed big. Randall’s character is much more developed and Jay and Silent Bob are .. you know Jay and Silent Bob.”
“And they’re colourized.”
“Yeah color. The dialogue in Clerks 1 was way overdone”
“It was pretty thick.”
“Do you like Star Wars?”
*slight pause (who doesn’t like Star Wars right?)*
“Yeah”
“We’re going to get along well!! Look what I printed out!”
“Oh! Wookie Cookies! I see.”
“They don’t have anything to do with Star Wars but they have cinnamon.”
“Wookies are cinnamon coloured.”
“Yeah they are. And look, VAMILLA! Not Vanilla!”

Followed by a hilariously awkward fridge cleaning scene.

The End.