I guess boredom's finally gotten the better of me. But I guess that's not surprising. Week upon endless week of the same two beds, one armoire, shitty hotel coffee and suspiciously slimy bathrooms tend to exhaust your sources of entertainment pretty quickly. I think I've watched every episode of every notable soap opera (shut it) and about half of the obscure ones.
I guess there's always blogs - but hell, it's gotten to the point where I don't think there's one I don't check on at least a semi-regular basis. Even if commenting's not really something I'm into. Just for the record: I read all the comments. I lurk around the more active blogs. I just can't be damned to respond to any of them.
Call it apathy.
But that's not really the point. Here I go rambling because I'm avoiding the issue.
That issue, of course, being the topic of my last post. The old blog. Loopy hellforest bullshit blog. Five months I thought I'd be happy to repress.
Nope. Had to be curious. Had to stir up things better left forgotten.
And I don't even get the privilege of having to relive the worst of it directly from the mouths (fingers, shut it) of my former classmates.
I guess this is just a short update. Elaine and I are staying with a friend of hers and staying in the same place for more than a couple days is just peachy in my book. Em's on a Buffy binge and I'm happy to talk about it with her. Never got into it much but I still managed to watch the first three seasons. Got up to Faith killing Allan (spoilers, I guess) then kind of got bored. Went back to the shitty Korean dramas I know and love. The 1st Shop of Coffee Prince - now there's real entertainment.
I'm rambling again.
Researching. Fuck. I was never good at this shit. Makes me wonder why I tried for any kind of science major in the first place. I realize the three-line post I left last was cryptic as all hell and I thought I'd get to post something before I really had to blitz with the research. Even talking to Rich and Alex have lead to nothing. Nada. Ziltch. We're back to rummaging through the technological equivalent of garbage cans and asking questions in shady bars and those metaphors are becoming way, way too literal for my liking. Looks like whatever we're looking for isn't making itself easy to find - and what I'm trying to get out to whoever bothers to read this thing might end up coming more from my memory and Rich's memory (because Alex, poor bastard - or lucky bastard, depending on how you look at it - can't recall a damn thing) more than I'd like.
But hey, the more the merrier, right?
So we're staying with a new friend of Elaine's and it turns out she's not actually sleeping with him - something I'm blaming on the fact that he's gayer than a handbag full of rainbows. Not that it might stop me from trying ...
And if that doesn't work I'll at least steal the rum. That's some fancy fucking shit she's getting, and it doesn't take a lot to figure out who's sending it to her.
Can't let the poor lady finish it all off by herself, right?