Long time no blog, I know.
Sorry! I've just been busy being cool for once in my whole life. I actually went to a party. Exciting, yes. It was a St. Patrick's Day party at Chiara's house! I was awkward, as per usual. I seriously fail at parties though; I don't know what my problem is. I WANT to talk to people, and whatever else it is that people do together. Although, today, I did actually (kind of) converse with people (at Chiara's house again). It was a Wine and Cheese party, and it was pretty great. All parties, as a rule, should have food. It eases the awkward.
But anyway, yes, we made fondue. Well, it was from a package, but we melted it, so I guess that counts. There was also goats cheese (fig and herb), a creamy one that tasted like garlic butter, smoked cheddar, triple-cream brie, and a disgusting blue cheese that burned my tongue, it was so strong. And I TALKED to people! Well, two people. And only kind of. And mostly about books.
It's not my fault! I was raised to run around like a wild animal in the trails and forests behind my house, taught how to climb trees, drink nectar from flowers and know birds by their calls, not how to interact with people! Life is hard for us feral-wolf children.
But yeah, I bought 3 books today: A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man (James Joyce), This Side Of Paradise (F. Scott Fitzgerald), and Far From The Madding Crowd (Thomas Hardy). I am trying to make myself read more classics, because I've learned about them all to death, so I guess it's about time I actually read them. So, at this party, I was talking about books with Chiara's friend, Matt. Well, kind of. I was making a joke about how I was addicted to books, and "at least it's books and not coke!", and he said "Oh, do you like books?" Hahaha, I liked a boy in Grade 10, just because I saw him reading a book just because he liked books. That is all it takes for me.
Then he (party-boy, not Grade 10-boy) brought out a book he had, which I actually love and already own! The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera, is seriously a good book. I can't actually remember what it is about at the moment, but I recall really loving it when I read it in Prague.
Anyway, he asked me who my favourite author is, and I said that it's most likely Fitzgerald, although Somerset Maugham is really starting to make his way up there. I believe they are both from about the same time period, but while Fitzgerald sets his stories mostly in 1920's East Coast America, a lot of Maugham's short stories take place in Pacific/Polynesian settings.
After coming home from this party where I was showing off how awkward I am, I walk in to my house to find Peter and Rachel with a fully loaded pipe, ready to go out and blaze on the scaffolding outside of my house. Myself, giving no shit, went about my business getting plugged in to the interwebz. They come inside a little while later, and everything seems okay. Peter says he's going to bed, and Rachel watches an informmerical. Standard Thursday night.
Until Peter comes downstairs, FREAKING OUT, because he thinks he's dying. Seriously.
He was hysterical, saying his lungs hurt, and then he started dry heaving, so I told him that if he's going to throw up, to do it in the garbage. He starts throwing up, but like, he was trying to cover his mouth, so he ends up throwing up all over his hand. Yes. And he wouldn't move it either! Then he started crying that he had cancer or something, and was like "Lisa, Lisa pleeease. Pleeease help me, please, I'm dying."
I know this will make me sound heartless, but oh my goooood, it was so funny. Me and Rachel were cracking up, and she told me he does this every time they blaze together.
Long story short, I calmed the psycho down, and cleaned up vomit.
PS. Btw, this webcomic is secretly about me:
And in other news, I got sparkly green liquid eyeliner. Does this mean I'm cool now? Fuck, I hope not.