Stalker? ...I prefer the term "devotee" ;-)

Mood: guilty and sheepish. *bah*
Music: Chantal Kreviazuk - Far Away

I feel so dirty and stalkerish. Heh heh. I have just scoured forward messages for people's e-mails. Why I don't just do the normal thing and ask people for their e-mails is beyond me. Perhaps it gives me a rush. Perhaps I just don't have a life. Perhaps.

Also... I am sick of malls. In the past month I have been to more malls than I normally enter in about two years. (Mind you the Cambridge one still has a Cinnabon and I'm not complaining about that!) I went to the mall yesterday... you see, the mall had something that I didn't, something that I desired. More specifically, a Nightmare Before Christmas bag with Jack the Skeleton on it. I pondered my situation for quite some time, but realized that if Jack were to be mine than a trip through the horrors of Stone Road Mall on boxing week could not be avoided. The mall was infested... but I came away with my prize aswell as a new tank top, The Virgin Suicides (novel version), some vanilla body lotion (I just want to eat myself up with a SPOON!) and an awesome birthday present for Fabio.

Yesterday was also my appointment to donate blood, which turned out to be quite the experience. Not the donation part, I've done that before - but last time I didn't exactly lie about my weight before they sucked a litre of blood out of me. I didn't think it was a big deal, and I didn't feel any different afterwards, except The Mother then decided it was the perfect time to go coat shopping at Winners because it is oh-so-conviently located in the same plaza as the Canadian Blood Services clinic. This meant I had to stand around while she tried on a whole pile of coats thirty years too young for her... I should have taken the hint when the pretty blue spots began to flood my vision, but to make a long story short, your beloved Anne ended up taking a header in the Winners parking lot. Wee! Everyone knows there's nothing more refreshing than passing out in the snow! ...The car ride home was like a drug-induced dream. Pretty kelidoscope-like colours danced infront of my eyes and all people and inanimate objects alike glowed with a brilliant green aura, and I can remember the scarcastic voice in my head proclaiming "My Christmas wish is coming true -- I'M DIEING!!! YAY!!!" So remember folks - donate blood, because the life you save could be your own.

I am okay, though. And I was okay enough to go to the mall not forty-five minutes after that incident. So don't you lose sleep worring about me, I'm fine.

MOVING ON!!!

I would like to take this time to decipher the words of wisdom I left behind on Christmas day.

"Jesus was known to whip up some mighty fine brews hiomself, the old chap! (at least im pretyt syre that was the bible... it might have been rumpelstiltsken or whoever i am not completely sure. bu5t alomsot. )"

Yes, indeed Jesus did whip up some fine brews --he turned water into wine, of course! ...I'm not quite sure where Rumplestiltsken entered my logic, but the fact that both stories involve the turning of a substance A into a substance B (water/wine vs. straw/gold) probably struck me as pretty remarkable at the time.

"bitcbface harlot slut"

Woo Hoo, Anneliese has gotten creative with this one! Wow... I crack myself up sometimes.

"but fuck. motehrfucker ihate that broad. do do do do do... fiddle dee dee!(haha. i said but fuck. haha like butt... eww.)"

Feelings, feelings... heh. Let me repeat: That Broad. Some people make themselves very easy to hate, but I wouldn't say that I truly hate her. Hate is a very strong word, and like love, can prove to be very psychologically damaging. (Hint hint *cough*themaestro*cough*) So yes, the statement "I hate that broad" can be easily said and is on some levels true, but let's not forget I am an exceedingly sentamental person who, on occaision, has balled her eyes out for no reason other than she misses 'that broad'.

Fiddle dee dee.

Merry Christmas.

Ta Da.