THE DUNG BEETLE

When I'm mad at someone I usually just count to ten and get it over with, but it's proving impossible to do, when the loser shares a class with me. I can sense his desperation and loneliness a mile away, when his loser video-gaming buddies come over. It's like as though he's never had friends his entire life and feels compelled to shove that fact down the throats of his insignificant apartment-mates. The way he laps up all the attention and disgusting pet-name calling is so repulsive; it makes me feel like throwing up over and over again, straight into his sickeningly dull face. His protruding bulgy eyes, annoyingly hoarse voice, sparse crown of hair, shapeless face, and creepy/stalkerish aura drive me up the wall with the force of my gag reflex that acts up whenever he gets too close. He talks over the phone during day, trying to make himself seem more in-demand than he really is and spends the night serenading and making pathetic love to his laptop, since obviously no girl on this entire planet, would tolerate physical contact with him without wanting to puke out her dinner. His taste in clothes is shameful , making him look much like an overgrown 9-year old with a reversed aging disorder. He indulges in pretty much every self-destructive habit ever known to exist; dope, booze, chain-smoking, you name it.

I need to forget about him and erase all memories I've ever had with the douchebag, since nothing good can possible come out of knowing him. Furthermore, it kills me to know I made an effort to befriend him and be nice to him, despite all the cutting remarks and periods of silent punishment I had to suffer. I refuse to take any more crap from this latest crap-wallowing bug; and hopefully, if I succeed in ignoring the nasty creature it'll probably wallow in it's own poop elsewhere.

Change is in the air

I'm still putting up with the bitchy Bombaiite, the whistling Bill Gates wannabe, a moody Mexican and the freaked out Melbourne weather. It's only a matter of time before I lose my cool and blow up in the bitch's face, play a dangerous prank on the whistler and ask the latino out on a date. As for the weather, there's nothing much I can do except snuggle in blankets. According to numerology, 2014 is my number 9 year and the last year of a ten-year cycle which basically means this is the year to get rid of all that's dragging me down into the stagnant pool of the past. This would explain why I've been unable to tolerate most people and the bullshit they have to offer, lately. The whistling buffoon still hasn't come to terms with being in a beautiful country and just keeps shagging his Mac instead of leaving his geeky dungeon. The Bombay bitch thinks she's on top of the world and proceeds to dominate every situation she finds herself in. The cute Mexican is manipulative and unfocused, swinging from one extreme to another, while the rest of us struggle to maintain a balance between assignments and sleep. Strange to say, I've begun feeling strongly for him and this deep spiritual but platonic connection we share just pulls us closer to one another. I didn't want to think about it all this time fearing disappointment, but I can't keep my feelings for him at bay any longer. Waiting eagerly for next week when I purposely forget to wish birthday boy and have no classes to attend. Yippee. Did I mention my latest lesbian crush on Tina Arena?