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Best. Saturday. Evar.

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I hereby promise not to spend another penny on clothes (with the exception of underwear and swimwear) until the end of August.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . God help me.

Bag of updates

I'm crushing on a celebrity again. This usually happens right around the time there's a serious lack of real, live hot dudes in my life and I realize how bored I am. Pathetic? Oh most definitely. But it's how I cope with the single life. So the latest celebrity obsession is a soccer player who plays for the FC Edmonton. He's ridic-ulously hot and definitely out of my league, but then again, when has that ever stopped me? Exactly. So I'll continue lusting for this wholly unavailable dude 'cause that's easy and safe and that's how I roll. In other news, my boss gave me the go-ahead for my summer holiday time, which means I'll be flying to Frankfurt again in July to spend some holiday time with my older sisters --- as in plural --- and their cutie-pie kids. I'm starting to get pretty stoked for this holiday and I'm already excited at the prospect of hanging out with both older sisters and spoiling my nieces and nephew to my heart's...

*hyperventilates and dies*

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Coward Coward Coward Coward Coward Coward Coward I'm a motherfucking coward. Too afraid to stay where I am. Too afraid to change. Stuck. Frozen. Fearful. Unsure. Coward Coward Coward Coward Coward Coward Coward
This has been a pretty shitty week. And I'm not the kind of person who likes to make these kinds of generalizations, but when tragedies like what happened at the Boston Marathon occur the same week a good friend of yours decides to take their life, it puts things in a very shitty, disheartening, soul-crushing perspective. I just want spring to stay. I need a change in season.

Guitar shaped foxes.

 I just learned that a great friend of mine died last night. He was talented and funny and kind and hardworking and self-deprecating and... wonderful . Knowing that the world has lost him gives me a queer hollow little ache in my chest. I feel saddened and a little sick. But most of all, I feel guilty. Guilty for all those times I could have seen him, but didn't. Guilty for all those times I opted to stay in, rather than join him and our friends at parties. How many memories did I miss out on making  with him ? I'll always remember him; whenever I watch Superman or see someone's white socks peeking out from under their dark pants, I'll think of him. Whenever I watch Pan's Labyrynth or visit with friends, I won't be able to shake the feeling that someone is missing. I wonder if he knew how much he meant to all of us. He will be missed; I hope he knows this. Rest in peace, my dear Jimsie. You were the Jimsiest of the Jimsies.