Sangria

I bought a new pair of running shoes the other day because my old ones fell apart almost completely. Today I tried them on and went for a run. Well, something that in my mind qualifies as a run. My definition may not match yours.

Lacing up I found that my new shoes seem a little on the longish side, as well as much on the narrowish. Serves me right for thinking that being female gives me licence to buy women's shoes.

The problem with me and shoes is that my feet are somewhere between a six and a six-and-a-half and they're kind of on the wide side. That means that the only running shoes that actually fit them have those plastic Spiderman or Batman things on them or flashing Pokemon lights and those wheel things in the heels.

I don't need bells and whistles, I just need shoes.

Up until a point it's been one of those days where someone says something that touches a nerve that you didn't want touched and probably doesn't even know that he did it and then you find yourself crying in your dishwater and wondering why the blob of shampoo you just squirted into the palm of your left hand makes you feel so sad.

Every bit of that is stupid. Every bit.

However, my mood has improved somewhat because tonight was chick flicks and girlie drinks at Lindsay's house. I knew absolutely no one there, but that didn't matter much because the funny thing about her friends is that they make me a hell of a lot less self-conscious than my own. Maybe I need to get new friends.

There is a simple equation that explains everything: fruit + alcohol = good for you.

We kicked all her roommates out by saying that we were going to watch Brokeback Mountain, which we did, and it was so sad that we had a chocolate fondue to cheer ourselves up. Chocolate makes most things better.

Lindsay gave me a ride home because the last bus of the night had come and gone already, though it would have only taken me maybe an hour to walk home. Alright, maybe an hour and a half at the most. She seemed a little weirded out that I don't really have any neighbours

So now I'm here, listening to the ambient noise of the refrigerator. There is a life-sized, blue glass head on my desk that I bought for $12 at Salamagundi West once. Once upon a time I had had the crazy idea that I would turn him into a lamp and hang him upside down from the ceiling somewhere, but that never happened. Now he's staring at me. He badly needs a name.

I badly need to go to bed.