Just writing simply won't do.

I wish I had that undeniable passion that drives great people insane.

All I am so sure about right now in my life is my passion for living.

I want to experience, to learn, to be human, to create, to touch, to share, to love...

I don't think I can write right now.  At least not how or what I want to, because I haven't lived it yet.  And to write what I do not know would be a terrible sin.

Wait for me.

Eternally,

SPOOJ.

So I guess the first step of the process would be denial.

I am not lazy whatsoever.

How can I be when there is nothing pressing to be done??

My life (in retrospect of these past three days) has been a series comprised of unfulfilled eBay bids and bad reality television.  I bet both of these are the two newest additions to the 21st century revision of the cardinal sins.

I need a fucking hobby.

Might (finally) check out MoSEX during the next couple of days.  Maybe I'll even wade through the $16 million newly-renovated-though-exactly-the-same fountain in Washington Square Park with the remainder of my friends who are not traveling or toiling under the devil's reincarnate in the form of their [insert major fashion house] boss.  Orrrrrr I could just spend this time shut away from the world like the bitter, anti-social hermit that I (secretly) am.

I really hope I win that corset on eBay.

Is it sad that I'm scheduling my week around the MTV Movie Awards?  I've already turned down two potential rendez-vous that evening in favour of the visual porn that is Andy Samberg's nose.

It is a rightful entity on its own.

I've only been a week and a half into summer holiday and this is the story of my life.

SPOOJ.

(A long overdue list!)

Five Random Things in my Peripheral Vision:

1. My ceramic mug with nude women in suggestive poses carved in relief. (The subline in the store's display said, "Can you handle her?" and I felt compelled to take them on their challenge.)

2. That epic scene where Adam Sandler serenades to Drew Barrymore at the end of The Wedding Singer. (Enter: warm and fuzzy feelings.)

3. A tube of Colgate awkwardly sticking out of a box of bran cereal. (I have no idea either.)

4. An old carton of Chinese take-out I have yet to toss. (Maybeeee tomorrow.  Maybe.)

5. All these are lies as what is (obviously) in my peripheral vision is only the reflective glare of my MacBook screen.

So even though I take these things with a grain of salt

but as a Gemini, I couldn't help but wonder (and that was my only Carrie moment for the century) if I was a power couple Gemini-Libra kinda girl, or a passionate, tumultuous affair Gemini-Scorpio kinda girl.

Life's too short to calculate every move, but it's too long to limit yourself to one relationship per person.  I don't have a definition for love, and I'm sure as hell not looking to invest in a relationship anytime soon.  Even with all these obscurities and insecurities, I am sure of one thing:

That a relationship is based on faith.  That it's the ultimate dive into a deep abyss of pains, joys, and complexities an individual can never experience on his or her own.

Yikes.

SPOOJ.

So the thing about communal bathrooms

is that you get really close and personal to the bodily whatevers of everybody else.

Case in point: the wiry lone pubic hair found on the toilet seat this evening.  I probably got wayyy too close when I noticed that there were little hairs actually growing on the examined strand itself, but in any case, that alone was disturbing enough to warrant the raid of the toilet paper supply to sufficiently cover the entire surface of the seat.

Speaking of other dirty things relating to the body, I am so opposed to dirty fingernails.  Which is why I was thoroughly surprised to find mine so dirty on my way home.  Then I remembered I was coming home from Shake Shack, and then decided that dirty fingernails were only acceptable when manically devouring the most succulent burgers known to man.

I swear, every time I eat Shake Shack, it's literally making sweet and slow love to a burger in Madison Square Park.

Speaking of parks: the newly renovated Washington Square Park is now open for the summer!  Great timing, too, because the fountain is crucial for getting through July; I swear, you can hardly breathe.

Sorry to cut today short, kiddies, but I've got a hot date waiting.  That's right---I, [SPOOJ], have for the very first time a TV WITH CABLE (translate: I get more than four channels, biotch!) allll to herself!  WHICH means I'll be pretty occupied for the next few weeks.  The next couple of nights will be long, hard (it's a tough decision when you've got 80+ channels to choose from!), but oh, will it be sweet.  At the moment, I've settled on that old people IMing movie with Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson.

Can't wait to wake up to Al Roker and fall asleep to David Letterman. (And soon, Conan!)  The only relationship I'm willing to sacrifice any time in right now (sadly, but gladly) is with my new HDTV.

And this is why I'm single.

SPOOJ.

So I thought "emery" was "enamel" for the longest time.

In any case, take this as a cautionary tale not to place its board form in close quarters with anything valuable.  It WILL fuck it up.

Is it just me, or did I miss the entire point of Hannibal Rising?  I'm left in love, feeling sorry, and oh so hot and bothered for Hannibal.

Or that could just be for Gaspard Ulliel.

Cleaning has not happened.  Yet.  The final roommate has left the building, and I'm left with a nice pile of shit to deal with.

Like the used and abused tube of Vagisil waiting patiently for proper disposal on the bathroom floor.

(LOVELY.)

At least it and I haven't made physical contact.  Yet. (Trying to avoid the inevitable here.)  Unlike the time I UNKNOWINGLY AND ACCIDENTALLY touched her boyfriend's semen.  But I guess I was asking for it when I snuck a swap of her body wash.

(FAAANTASTIC.)

If I had washed myself out with that, could we have been talking "immaculate conception" here??

THAT is the fifteen thousand dollar question of the day.

Five Things I'm Currently Coveting:

1. A brownstone residence on Perry

2. Lemonade (Hell, an entire stand!  With child labour included.)

3. A boytoy who will: (a) open jars, (b) carry heavy groceries (and yes, Whole Foods does count as a shopping spree), (c) be man enough to pick up that Vagisil!

4. A Netflix account

5. ************* (God willing!)

Hmmm...on hindsight, I realize I am a woman of humble needs.

Very humble, indeed.

SPOOJ.

P.S. Why am I just discovering James Shigeta NOW????

Can I say, "dashing?"  More Asian-American male leads?  Yes, please!

Lust, Caution.

Seems I've been the subject of intrigue for quite some time, unbeknownst to me.

A pepper-stubbled man stopped me on my way back home.  He introduced himself as "Paul" and he told me he had wanted to say hi for some time.  I vaguely remembered the one occasion we had made contact when he mentioned he had opened the door for me at Starbucks.  Kind gestures like that are never forgotten to me, but I feigned recollection.  I don't know why I do it, but sometimes---when I'm abruptly in the spotlight---I lie about the smallest things.  Like I'll say I like the weather when I don't, or that I had a scone for breakfast when in actuality, I had last night's cold pasta and I hate scones to begin with.

Anyways, this man told me that I was beautiful, and that he wasn't a stalker or anything, and that he remembered the time when I had that wild face paint on, and that other time when I had those pigtails and the handful of big balloons.  He thought I did events or something.  I laughed.  Instinct told me I was just the subject of harmless observance, and it seemed funny to me that I elicit such careful, frequent interest.  

After all, I'm supposed to be the writing creeper who lurks about town.

Well, now I can't slouch down Eighth with my sour morning face without being a bit paranoid at being watched.  But it's almost nice to know that while I felt I was living in obscurity, that a quiet man took humour and curiosity into record of my daily existence.  Almost.  God forbid, if anything were to happen, at least he'll know that I have lived.

In a feeble attempt to make myself at least somewhat significant (but more so to force myself to become more disciplined at writing habitually AND to get over my fears of publishing) I'm starting this blog again.  Wish I could change the URL name to something a bit more pithier and easier to spell, but then maybe the spelling will discourage most in finding their way into the recesses of my brain.  

Mehhh.  Whatever.  I'm just glad I'm writing again. 

SUMMER IS HERE.  I ended finals today by debuting my first film.  (Thanks, iMovie!)  It's a cheeky silent film with corny puns, tinkling background tunes, sex, claymation, plenty of cartoon penii, sex, and more sex.  At least, I refer to sex.  It was well-received.

Hmmm...dunno whether to write more colloquially when blogging or more "seriously."  Guess it'll sort itself out eventually.  When I get the hang of this, that is.

SPOOJ.

List of Things To Do:

1. Clean

2. Clean

3. Gaspard Ulliel (Has a cannibal ever been hotter!?  Gong Li must have rashed like crazy.)

4. Clean

5. Get a job

6. Finish books and start on more

7. Clean

8. Keep up blog

9. Clean

10. Move into new digs!