I danced, I schmoozed, I managed to avoid dealing with Jeff and with Brian. I've been seeing a lot of Brian lately. He's been hanging out with that friend of his who lives downstairs a lot, including on Thursday night when I was working. But he apparently didn't get into the army (probably because of the pot in his system from his glorious trip to Amsterdam this summer) since his curls are still as poofy as ever. I didn't even take a good look at him to see if he looked good or not. What did I ever see in him?
Jeff did look good, but I couldn't manage to always avoid him. But I didn't get a picture of him. He managed to take off before I could get that. I ran into him at the cocktail party before the ball and he came over and touched my elbow. He's such a touchy guy. He's always touching the ladies, which isn't that bad, but he does it to everyone, and some of them he hugs and kisses. And these are the ones who have dates standing right there. I don't know... He touches my elbow, compliments my dress... I say his pants are good - cufffed. He said he was wearing khakis and I was thinking that would not be good. This guy I had a class with last year was wearing khakis - he looked like a slob. I mean, most guys were wearing suits but there were a few tuxes kicking around. So Jeff took off, came back, took off... I just don't want to deal with that. That's my schtick. That's what I did last night. I talked to the girls from the floor, the one years, the old gang who've all left the campus for apartments, and then with Lindsay, Jimmy and the rest. It was fun. I had bizarre conversations with so many people, especially the drunk ones. Janelle, this girl from Canadian studies, was, as she put it, fucked up. I tucked the feather from someone's demolished feather boa back into her hair (it went really well with the dress) and told her to take care of herself. I talked to someone else about where my family was from. It was weird, but I enjoyed myself.
The one years were great. They were being fashion critics, and were overjoyed to hear about a girl we knew who's bra was completely showing in the back of her dress. This isn't someone with a lot of chest. She probably could have taped, or worn those silly cups, or any of it. It's not like I had on a bra last night, but then my dress did help me get a little shape. It's too bad the pantyhose were cutting into my waist though.
Stu, Chris and I "went together". We took the bus downtown, and ate at the pita place across the street from the ball. It was nice and calm and lacked some of the whirlwind problems of what some of the other people did. I enjoyed myself for sure.
All in all, it was a great night, despite the band not being so great, despite how sore my feet got by the end of the night (high heels are so silly), despite... well, despite the fact that I was worried I might not have a good time.
My brother's sick. He wasn't feeling well this week. He had a sore throat or something. Mom took him to the doctor and he gave him some drugs. On Saturday morning he had chest pains so Mom took him to the hospital. He has myocarditis, which means he has a viral infection of one of the muscles in his heart. Mom makes it sound like it's no big deal in the email, but the fact that they act like it's not really a big deal kind of worries me. He's in cardiac care and the nurses are spoiling him, bringing him pizza and stuff. Mom says he feels better, but this can be fatal, and if not debilitating. He'll probably be fine. Lots of people get better, especially when they catch it early before much damage can happen to your heart muscle.
Why does he have to get sick? I get to be here with an upset stomach and a depressing life and he gets a grilfriend who gives him potentially fatal viruses (his girlfriend's father is also in the hospital with the same thing). At least he has a girlfriend and a high grade point average and spending money and parents there. If I get sick at this point, I end up stuck in Halifax. Stupid. I don't even know why I'm angry. I guess because I don't know else to be. So I'm crying too.
© ldf 2001
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