It all started on a stormy night in 1981

Apparently two years later, Rafold was born.
Twenty-two years after that, the waitress is completely disinterested, and we're confused.
But after eight shots of tequila and seven beers, you'd probably get the story wrong too.

The B-Boy is self-assured and ready for more.


Much to the doubt of sceptics like me who would like to see him under the table. It's just not human to drink that much. And act sober. And do jumping jacks. And not berf your brains out. Not normal.


But the drinking continues despite my dismay


Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd what? Raf gives me the evil eye. Or he's trying to be a model. I can't decide.


Now this is Raf the model. It's not easy being ridiculously good looking, you know.


And learning something new among drunkards is always entertaining. Do you know how to say 'sex' in Kazsakstani? Neither did I. But it's never to late to find out. The only question I have is why is this not said? The 'symbols' for it are like this. First, you must rub hands together like so...


Then you must clap like this...


And you get the picture. Maybe it's better this way 'cause it can be said in seeeeeeeeeeecret. Genius.


Taurus power represent.
Happy Bday Rafold! I think I speak for all when I thank you for the enlightening lessons learned last night.

Feeling bored, feeling numb

School's out for summer. Fortunately not forever. Finally done and now I'm feeling helpless and lost. Today was the first day I've had at home in months. With no car, friends at work, and nothing worthwhile on daytime television, I actually felt bored. I didn't even know that I was still capable of boredom. Obviously I am. Moping from the computer to the T.V. to the fridge, I realized that my life has been school for the past couple of months. Not last Saturday night though. Celebrated the completion of another year with the drunken slopiness that was last weekend.

A cure for thursday night boredom

It's the middle of exams. There's nothing to do. We're in Mississauga. Facing the ultimate suburban dilemma...



Not to fear. Feeling calm and collected as we pull up to Starbizzle with intentions to watch the sunset in the parking lot (how romantic) and to catch up over some over-priced coffee.


Sippin' on coke and rum...alex is 'like so what I'm druuuuunk'...you know the rest. No? Well, it's almost the freakin' weekend baby, gonna have me some fun. Except subsititute rum for caramel machiatto. Now that's what I call partying.



And every party (especially those about to take place) must include the suprise guest. The elusive Joanna showed up, a rare creature that is often spotted in the wild along side her mate, Rafold.



But first Alex, I mean Okli from da block, keeps it real by pretending to be intellectual and all interested in books.



The fun escalates with Monika who arrives to join in on the parking lot festivities. Look out, these kids don't mess around.




Things are really starting to get outta control.



Yet another lonesome, wandering soul stumbles across four girls in a parking lot and discovers that 'hanging out' can have many different meanings.



Parting ways after some time well wasted is often a difficult feat. Especially when there are exams to study for and work to be done.



One last goodnight kiss on a night that gives new meaning to the uses of public spaces. Never let Thursday get you down.

I gave you life and I can take it away

It's back.
Everything is normal again. My dreamy state dissapated upon wakening.
I'm half done exams, half not, and like many people out there, I'm wondering what the hell I'm supposed to do next. If I had my way, it would be nothing. Absolutely, completely nothing. Just for one day. Even if that means hiding in a cave. I really want to stop thinking about the future and live in the now. Hard, it seems though, with a million things to do. If only life were like that mxpx song - responsibility, what's that?
But it's not necessarily only responsibilty that irks me. It's the fact that junk food is unhealthy. It's the fact that I don't live on campus and don't get to be a 'girls gone wild' girl. It's ugly Ugg boots in the summer. It's girls in white pants at the library, who don't seem to find it neccessary to wear underwear.
I blame them.

The enemy. Again, not the culprit (just like the subway solicitations, I just don't seem to have my camera on me at the right time) The girl in question was guilty of a crime much more heinous than this.

When all your dreams are made of strawberry lemonade

The scent of spring hanging in the air, the dreaming begins.
The mood is light and airy, the bounce returns to your step and even though sometimes you don't get all the sleep you should, life still feels good.
Being outside no longer means wearing 20 layers of fleece, shaking convulsively and having red hands. It's about lingering.
Loafting.
Passing time without worry. Sitting on outdoor patios with friends, taking long drives on country roads, the radio full blast, sunglasses in full effect. Counting the days until you can breathe in the fresh, pine-infused northern air. Dive headfirst into cool water. Shedding winter skin, hoping for a fresh start.
This time of year is about renewal - the feeling that this year will be better than the last. New goals, new aspirations, new dreams, hopes and fears. Having the ability to cope with life's curveballs made much easier with a bench, a coffee and a good friend.
Falling can be good.
Falling into daydreams. Spending some time with your head in the clouds after months of facing a harsh reality. Falling headfirst into something new. Standing on the edge of summer, awaiting the plunge.
Drowning in dreams.

Wodsworth Lake, Kaszuby

P.S. I will return un-Prozaced Kasia to you soon. Don't know what happened. I'm sure my melancholic state will be short-lived. I prefer angry and cynical.

Romance is dead

Ok, so I'm delusional. I actually liked (note the past tense) the Bachelor. I thought it was fresh and invigorating. At least compared to other dating shows like Blind Date and the 5th Wheel, that ever-so-original spin on America's favourite pastime - dating on a bus. Wait, wait - hold back the bile, let me explain.
The Bachelor was an escape. Imagine a land of hottubs, champange and strawberries and an endless array of studs professing their love to you in little handwritten haiku poems. Fantasy world indeed. I watched the last Bachelorette religiously. My love for the show came to a screeching, burning rubber-kinda halt when Jen Schefft officially burst my bubble effectively destroying my monday night ritual.
I, by that time, had developed what you could call a slight - note slight - obsession with Jerry whats-his-name. When she dumped him, I was angry. Not angry because I genuinely cared, but angry cause I didn't get my way. I mean what is UP? She's looking for a SERIOUS boyfriend? But that's not part of the show. I never get mad when the couples who hook up on the show break up later on. That's fine. I don't care what you do after the show as long as I get my fairy-tale ending. Let me have my hour of romance. Please.
For one, real romance is never like that, but girls, being the silly creatures we are, like to delude ourselves into believing it is. Even me. I hate reality t.v. I don't even really watch t.v. Last I heard, Lindsay Lohan had a singing career. And second, it complemented my own steamy love-life. Right. Like who has time for boys anyway? But as a single girl, I was completely content supplementing my dose of romance with a dash of voyuerism.
That aside, I gave up watching the Bachelor after that last disappointment. But my nagging curiosity got me. I caved in. I was able to steal the t.v. for one hour tonight and had my pick between Miss USA or the Bachelor. Of course it was a gut-wrenching choice. Opting for the latter, I was even more sickened by the state of the sleaze on that show. Like omigod, is this your door? Yes. Like let's hang out. Not only are the girls extra dumb this season, the guy's a friggin monster. He speaks some weird broken English in a deep, droning monotone voice. Plus, he's Jerry O'Connell's brother. I guess that kind of celebrity status garners you your own show these days.
But nothelessless the show sucks. I probably would have been better off watching Miss USA. Then I could have worked up the old diatribe about women and objectification. Perhaps I've become even more cynical, although I really can't imagine that being possible. Or perhaps the show always sucked and I'm just starting to realize it. Either way, romance is dead in my books. At least it is on prime time t.v.

What's better than a joke?

A redneck joke. ha. Hope this keeps you as halfly entertained as it does me. I've been boring lately.

Feeling Down?

Don't worry -I LIKE you. But just in case you need some more reassurance, click here and feel better about yourself. Nothing like a self-gratifying morale booster.

Almost As Sad As Toby

The only difference is I'm not gonna be eaten. Yes, I may be just as cute, but I will not end up on somebody's dinner plate. And I thought I had it bad - missed deadlines, dust-ridden textbooks, unwritten essays and a horribly forgetful memory (seemingly defeating its own purpose). All my whining aside though, this little guy has it much worse. I swear, people are weird. Weird and greedy. You see, somebody decided to raise a small fortune by threatening those of us who still have hearts left, that if we don't fork over about $50,000 USD, Toby will become this creep's next meal. Still don't believe me? It's for real. Just go to www.savetoby.com and find out first-hand what people are capable of. As for me, I'm not starting out a savekasia fund just yet. So don't worry.

Uncanny resemblance, no?

Real Reality

The Pope died today. Even though I don't consider myself religious, this is big. A unifying force, human in his actions, yet otherworldly in his presence. His passing left me with a feeling of loss of control. Things are off-kilter. Not as they're supposed to be. Eerie. Strange. We all knew this was coming; for the past weeks no one could deny its immence. But as I was sitting in a candle-lit cafe last night with Alex somewhere in the Annex, everything seemed a little too real. CNN's constant updates flashing on a small monitor in the corner of the cafe - the Pope's not dead yet - seemed to lack dignity. It got us thinking. Real thinking.
What is real anyway? Is it this life? Another one? UFOs. Religion. Conspiracies. The Illuminati. Skull and Bones. Control. Body. Life. Other dimensions. The nature of time.
The guy sitting at a table next to us overheard our discussion. You know? He was shocked.
"You know," he said, his strong features illuminated by candlelight. "It's scary when you first start to realize things aren't always as the seem."
Ya, for real. Maybe our whole reality is really just a complicated Matrix-like computer program.
Maybe we're all prisioners in some kind of a Panopticon in which nameless elite families are the prison guards.
Ignorance is bliss. Or is it?
Personally, I'd rather know. I'd even rather know that Alex thinks I'm an evil spirit. She told me that yesterday, much to my fright I must say. She said I looked at her in a weird way. She said her imagination was running wild. Really, really wild. I was scared. Scared 'cause we had gotten really into these questions about reality. But it's no surprise since conversations like these can get you in a zone. A completely non-medicated altered state. Trust me. The moment we left the cafe and stepped into the real world, we were both scared. Scared to go the bathroom, scared when we walked awkwardly fast down the crowded street. It was just like leaving a scary movie.
Only everything is a bit more real.