Thursday, January 12, 2006

Melted Poo

My post subjects, unless kicked there by an 'assistant' of Grandmaster Iron Crotch, never really seem to make it above the belt. So much for contemplating my navel. Right now, there's a big melt on in fair Montreal. Historical evidence points to January as generally being a contrived effort by Ms. Nature to cryotorture us into staying indoors and be creative. I wonder if a mild January will make for a boringer, unstimulatinger summer (comparative to those years, when all creative endeavors seem a product of being boarded, and bored, up inside while Moontreal strips your fleshy existence of all joy and comfort). So now, the streets are smeared with thawed shit, the waterdrops-eye-view, dangling above a 3 storey plummet, is waiting for your upturned neck-lapel to walk beneath it and lycra-clad joggers are descending upon you right now. Citizens, stay inside!

Justine, Amy and I are looking for a roomate. So far, they've all been inappropriate matches. The last was a roly-poly Hungarian who freaked me out a bit. She didn't like us, or the room, or the fantastic house we live in. Glad she's gone. As Isabel asked, do we even want a roomate?

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