Y2kk Update: It's been a horrible past month for me this past... umm... month...

... yeah...

I don't really want to get into it, because I think I've whined enough about it, all that I can... all that I can fucking be...

I mean, I failed the fucking year. What else can I say? My parents may not be saying anything, but they don't have to, because I've said it all.

I'm a failure...

... but I'm not here today to trade blows with myself for the thousandth time this week alone. I've got a little something else to get off my self-piteous, self-pitying chest...

I've been planning to go with my brother to see Shrek 2 for quite a long time now. I mean, technically Troy (starring Legolas and The Hulk) was the movie I've been dragging my brother to see for at least a couple of months now, but it was Shrek 2 that I knew would deliver... So about a month ago, we decided that we were going to see the new Dreamworks movie the first day it aired together. I was sure that he wouldn't break his word, considering?... well... considering all I've sort of done for him over the past several months. I mean, I don't know if I helped him. I'm afraid that I only made things worse for him... but I was there for him at least... I listened... I cared... that has to count for something...

And no, I'm not mad that he ditched me in the end. I'm not actually bitter that he got to see and love and enjoy Shrek 2 last week on opening day, while I still haven't been able to see the goddam film...

... okay, maybe I am just a tad bit bitter...

It's just that, I saw it coming a mile away... so I wasn't upset when my brother couldn't change his plans... Last Wednesday, my parents needed the car at night to go see Mamma Mia in downtown Toronto. And since we were going to use their van, their insurance money, and, well... because they're my parents, I wanted to make sure my brother and I saw the earliest showing of Shrek 2 that we could... And I knew that he was going to bring along a friend or two. He had told me about this a couple days before... I just didn't know that his friends would be bringing their friends, and their friends would be bringing their friends, and vice versa...

... yeah... I guess I am pretty damn clueless...

... it was no longer about my brother and I in arms. It was about his fifty fucking friends, all having a ball, not giving a damn about me because they didn't even know who the bloody hell I was. And the thing was, thanks to either summer school classes, job schedules, or just sheer goddam laziness, his goddam friends refused to see anything but a relatively late matinee showing of Shrek 2, at a bloody hell theatre that would've been jammed pack with rush hour traffic the moment that we got out. And truth be told, I wasn't willing to risk us getting stuck in Toronto, wasting gas at the horribly shocking prices it's risen to, when we were using our parents' car, with our parents' insurance, with our parents' goddam gas money.

So, I... um... volunteered to stay home...

My brother took the bus to meet all his friends a couple cities away, and I stayed home...

... but that wasn't the real reason why I decided to forfeit my free ride...

... that's not the real reason why I'm still pissed at my brother...

I volunteered to stay home, because I didn't want to deal with fifty of his bloody hell friends. I mean, I know this sounds so inhumanly anti-social of me, but goddammit, I hate feeling tacked on! I hate being "teh brotha". I'm not a social guy! All I would do is shake the hands of several of his friends and smile, hoping that I wouldn't embarrass my brother by embarrassing myself... I could've dealt with two or three of his friends that I've never met before. I've done it in the past, and I could do it again... but not when he was bringing the whole damn Custard calvary! And not without him telling me before he fucking lent out an open invitation to the whorish world...

It would've been my goddam last stand. And I couldn't stand for it.

I mean, I'm not pissed I didn't get to see Shrek 2...

I'm pissed that my brother, possibly fully knowing what kind of awkward situation he'd put me in, still elected to ask all his friends out to the movie that I promised we'd see together...

... in the end, that just wasn't possible... not just because of the deadline, but because of me. I wasn't willing to deal with all those people. And I wasn't willing to admit that to my brother's face, so I took the faux-noble way out and pretended like I even gave a damn about my parent's late night rendezvous chez nous...

... touche... without the accent...

... and now I'm bitter... Shrek 2-less, and bitter...

... I thought my brother would make these kinds of decisions of his with me in mind... I can't blame him for wanting to spent time with his friends, but he should've goddam told me first, before I was left feeling cold and left out to dry that god-awful morning... with nothing to do, and no will to even write...

... I guess I've gotten a lot of that lately... being left out, I mean...

I finally got an e-mail from my close friend who got a job in another city. From the two sentences he wrote to me, it sounded like he got wind that I failed my entire goddam term at university... He said he felt sorry for me. He then said he was busy. And that's it... I waited three fucking weeks for him to get internet back, just to get two fucking lines?...

... but that's cool. I wrote him back, all suave and sophisticated or what not. I was sure he'd write back afterall... I mean, he couldn't be that damn busy to completely ignore one of his close friends...

...

... I stand corrected...

... he hasn't written back... And his roommate at the job? He was a friend of mine too. And after three or four long weeks of being out of contact, all he said to me online the day after tomorrow was "hi", then "bye"?... The fuck?!... He said he was busy, that he would talk to me later. Then he left.

I haven't talked to him since.

The fuck.

... yeah, well... I suppose if I was that damn busy, I'd completely ignore the people I was cheerful to just a month ago too... I suppose I would, at least... hypothetically speaking of course, since I have no fucking job... I have no spoon...

I know it's not their fault. Perhaps they actually are too busy... perhaps they simply find it awkward to talk to someone who obviously misses them?... perhaps they don't know what to say to me, since nothing does feel new and exciting to them anymore?... not after three weeks, at least... I don't really know...

... it was awkward... yeah, I know...

... all I know is, it's already started... one month after high school, a lot of my friends already starting ignoring me like I never once existed... and now?... well...

... I guess as far as the universe will forever be concerned, I really don't exist...

And why should I?

... I'm just another failure...

... sounds like fun, I always say...

... except goddammit, this is one damn update that I never thought I'd write...

... I never thought I'd be here... not once, not ever, at least...

Y2kk Update: It's been a long time, but I finally remember the third and last of the greatest sights I've ever seen, the one that I was supposed to write on this webpage something like a year ago in one of those oversentimental kinds of crappy updates... The thing is, I remember feeling a rushing sense of calm and serenity, whenever I saw snow so lightly drifting between the cracks high above at Union Station as I was waiting for the trains to finally arrive. Just to see each and every individual snowflake just glide down like gentle leaves in the midst of fall, I was more than just baffled... I was more than just boggled... I was more than just mesmerized... I was more than just stupefied...

I guess I was in love...

Because when I tried to relive the experience this year, when I tried my damn hardest to stare up at the ceiling of Union Station and watched as the snow so casually drifted down to the cold hard floor, I realized something... The scene fucking sucked. There was fucking snow. It fucking fell. It fucking melted. It fucking sucked. End of story... I then looked to my right, and you know what? There was nobody there... and perhaps, just perhaps, therein likes the problem...

Last year, I might as well have been smackdown high on weed when I was actually believing that snowflakes were the prettiest shit I've ever seen. Because goddamit, love might as well be considered a drug... afterall, I was with her - the crack that made me crack... And the thing was, everything about this past year just hasn't been the same without her. I haven't enjoyed a damn thing. Hell, I haven't cared about a damn thing. Nothing was beautiful, and nothing felt scared. Nothing felt special. Everything just felt myriadly mechanical, in ways that I thought I'd never be subjected to feel until I had gotten goddam old and goddam dimwitted, far flung into the future...

Last year, the only reason why I fell in love with the flaky sight before me, was because she was there beside me as I watched her hair and nipples billow in the winter storms. But as we all know, things just aren't the same anymore. She isn't with me. The filthy harlot is slutting herself off with some boy toy band man... and finally I have proof of their affair...

I mean, I always knew he had a thing for her. Just a few months ago, I was forced to sit by them on the train ride home. The girl I always talk about was just yaking away to her girlfriend over to the side, and the guy I shall always now despise? If he had any common sense - if he had any of his manlihood left intact - he would've said something. He would've done anything to keep himself entertained, rather than just sit there like a log as he was completely ignored and bitterly left out in the cold. And I could see in his barren boy toy eyes wide shut - he wanted the attention, but just didn't goddam get it... He reminded me so damn much of myself just a year ago. I wouldn't have said anything to offend the girl I had feelings for, in fear that anything I said wrong could jeopardize whatever chance I had of eventually fucking her... He loved her. I knew it from that moment on. I just never knew whether she would ever reciprocate the feelings, like she never seemed to do with me...

But she did.

With him, she did.

Oh my goddam God, she fucking did...

And why the fuck did I have to put up with this shit for two damn weeks?...

Right before final exams started, I ran into the two at Union Station. And what do you know? For the first time that I ever saw with my own eyes, they were fucking holding hands. They were constantly eyeing each other. They were touching, and feeling, and fucking groping by her standards I suppose. And hell - he was smiling... She was googling, shafting up her shares to the free market of the public, and goddammit, he was smiling. And of course, I knew that they were a couple... And I had to put up with this constant crap that day as I waited at Union Station with them, just staring at the ceiling in a comatose state, hoping for a sign... any kind of sign... But nothing came. Not a goddam thing but pain... The ceiling was just a ceiling. It was drab, and ugly, and quite literally falling apart - how the hell could I ever thought this fucking piece of crap was beautiful?... I then looked over to the girl I always talk about, still snuggling with that fucking boy scout who had finally won over her heart. Just a month before, I had thought that if only I could see the majestic snowflakes falling gently to the floor once more with the girl I cared about right next to me, then maybe, just maybe, it might become the most beautiful sight I've ever seen just once more...

But it wasn't. It was a goddam wall. The ugliest damn wall I had ever seen in my goddam life.

And I'm not just talking about the ceiling...

For the next damn weeks, I did my best to avoid the two. But that sure as hell was hard, considering we were all forced to take the same damn trains to school to make it to our 9am exams. So what I did was hid from them in the various cars and glove compartments of the trains, and when it was finally time to get off and head for the school? I would always wait a random backoff period of time, hoping that those two fucktards would just get the hell away from the area. Afterall, I wanted to become a sight unseen... But literally every single time I stepped off the train, guess who the fuck was always just a few feet ahead of me? I mean, why the hell must fate be so cruel?...

The first day this happened, I shrugged it off as punishment for hating on The Punisher, and literally walked right up to the two, said hi, waved my hands... and you know what the fuck happened? They literally didn't see me! I was half a foot away, and they didn't even see me! They just walked away, still smiling and giggling to their Gigolo selves, acting as if they didn't have a single goddam care in the world, and as if nobody by the name of IvanF even existed in their bubble of a universe... I didn't feel perturbed about this though. From that moment on, every single fucking day that I would just magically end up in the wake of their morning dance, I would just trail and twirl behind them by about twenty feet as we all walked to the university, forcing myself to indulge and vicarious rape through all the goddam hand holding, the goddam cheek brushing, and all the goddam tongue blehing and book burning crap that was going on before me... and, well... I don't think they ever saw me. Not even once, otherwise they would've yelled at me for being an obsessive stalker or some crap like that...

And was I an obsessive stalker? Without a shadow of a doubt of course, considering I was literally their shadow for two weeks without end... Was I jealous? Hell yeah, I was jealous. Any guy would be... But did I want her back? Did I ever want to feel that kind of plague of a phage of an infliction of an affection of a reflection for her once again, the kind of which she was now finally shares with the first goddam boy band bastard that crossed her path?... no... I can't say I would... I guess the pain of the past truly is an insipid, insidious, posse of an impasse, one that takes an infinite amount of character (something which I sure as hell don't have) to finally intrepidly overpass...

But I will admit one thing. When my exams were all finally said and done, I looked up at the ceiling of Union Station just once more... for just one last time... and of course, since it's Spring, there were no goddam snowflakes. There was no goddam spoon. But you know what?...

What do you know?...

... it didn't look so bad any longer...

... not so bad at all...

Y2kk Update: Have I ever mentioned that I absolutely, vehemently, voluptuously hate Valentine's Day?…

…

… wanna take a random guess as to just exactly why?…

…

Goddammit. I'm in pain.

I'm in Motrin pain.

I'm fucking sick.

And I'm not talking about being lovesick… although that even ain't the half of it… not that there's much to the other half of the story, but that's besides the point…

The thing is, last weekend was kinda special to me for some goddam reason… I can't remember the exact date anymore, so I just chose last Sunday to be some sort of an one year anniversary of getting screwed over by the girl I always talk about. I mean hell, it was about one goddam year ago that the girl I came closest to ever asking out, happened to go all goddam bitchy on me and left me hanging out there to Molson dry… I still think back to all those conversations I had with her back in the day, wondering if I could've just spared what little hope I had left by just asking her out to coffee… and I still think back to all those goddam times that I chickened out thanks to my goddam disdain of the mere scent of coffee beans… I mean, I obviously still care for her to some degree. But what hurts even more, is that I'm ignoring her - something I swore years ago that I'd never do to a girl, just like they always seem to do to me… I still try to talk to her sometimes. But it's obviously not the same as before. After she pretty much turned down in the summer my offers for something more than we had, I just couldn't gather the courage anymore to face her day in and day out, like the friends we're supposed to be…

… not that she was ever a good friend in the first place, of course… My opinion of that is on record in more than enough Y2kk updates on my websites as it is…

But still… our one year anniversary… My one year anniversary of being utterly, fruitfully alone... I chose it to be last Sunday, for really no apparent reason whatsoever... So that night, I stayed in bed, just staring up at the ceiling until I finally laid my eyes to rest, just talking outloud to myself about all the girls I've ever post-mortem encountered in the past few years… Of course, my voice first fluttered and faltered forwards to the girl I always talk about, still ever wondering what could have been, if only I had to guts to ask her out when everything between us seemed like it was just going fairy dandy fine… What seems to hurt the most to me, is how she either lied to me about a year ago, or that I simply didn't know better… Because a year ago, she told me directly to my face that she had no feelings for me. I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, she was saying it all as some defence mechanism, considering Valentine's Day was just around the corner and I had already hurt her with that goddam jealousy comment I made a couple weeks before… But honestly, did she really have to make me feel that damn terrible by telling me about some other guy that she was hoping to date for Valentine's Day?… I can hope she was just trying to make me feel jealous... and, well... it worked, but... In the end, all I did was write her a goddam useless e-mail instead of asking her out, in hope that maybe it would catch her attention… but it didn't. She didn't even check her e-mails for a week or two after Valentine's Day, and nothing's been the same between us since. Hell, I just spent an entire afternoon the other day just a couple meters from her side, pretending like she wasn't even in the room... and she sure as hell didn't even care about me being there... not that I can blame her for returning the favour, of course...

And I couldn't help but wonder, what if? What the goddam if would've happened, if only I had said something before she bitch slapped me all the way down to brimstone and hell… Because I mean, before that whole goddam jealousy fiasco, she wasn't ignoring me. She wasn't avoiding me on the train. And hell, before all that crap ever happened, she used to laugh at whatever the fuck I ever said, no matter how not funny the things I said were, like how she now laughs with every fucking guy but me… Her maniacal laugh truly was infectious, and pretty damn deafening as well… but while I was under her bitch of a witch spell, her laughter did feel like mana falling from the goddam Philadelphia Cream Cheese heavens. And all day long, all I'd ever think of was how to make her goddam laugh, just goddam once more, just to hear her beam and smile…

And as I sat on my goddam bed that cold and lonely, Lipton's Brisk of a Sunday night, even though I knew whatever the two of us ever had was now over, I wondered whether I could start anew. I wondered what would happen, if I just started saying hello to her again. I wondered what would happen, if I just sought her out at the end of classes again, just to see her smile… And to be honest, I'm still wondering to this day, to this goddam Valentine's Day… I'm still wondering what my next Valentine's Day will behold… But the fact of the matter remains, is that she never seemed to want anything to do with me in the first place. And what seems to hurt me the goddam most, is that she now treats every single fucking guy the same day way as she did to me, when I was actually fucked up enough to think that she was falling for me… She flirts with every guy out there, by just the way she nods her heads and tilts her smile. She plays with their fiddles, all the whilst fucking them over on the insides, and not in the way all guys do hope... And I just don't want to go through all that crap again, of ever feeling like a goddam idiot to a girl who never cared for me in the first place… And yes, I know. That although I'll never really know whether she cared for me or not, the fact has always been, that if she did care for me?… well… she certainly didn't show it amongst all the other goddam other fuckers she fucked with, even when she was with me…

Now, after I finally started getting angry at the bitch I always talk about in bed, I started thinking of my other options in school. Because yes, contrary to even my own alien beliefs, there are a few other girls out there who have caught my eye at my goddam engineering campus (of course, there are a ton of hot girls at all the arts and sciences sections, but as an engineer, do I really stand a chance?...)… The first one is the girl who stole my laboratory partner away from me last term. The thing is, to be honest, I've never really thought she was pretty, and her voice kind of hurts and shrills my echoing ears the same way that my mom's does most of the time… But she is kind to me. And I do like the way she treats me. And sadly, that's something special to me... Of course she doesn't see me as anything special, and I don't see her as anything more than a friend, but still… Last Friday, when I was talking to her as she was surfing websites like the Victoria's Secret one? I realized something… that my bits and pieces down below were sort of tingling a very fragrant vibe, because I didn't really notice, but… umm?... I think we were flirting with each other… but don't quote me on that...

Okay, well, she wasn't flirting with me. I was trying to flirt with her, and quite piss poorly, I might add… I instantly cut the no-name nonsense out and just talked to her like the morbidly depressed freak of the week that I normally am, but still… I haven't gotten that tingling sensation for quite a while, not since I was still on good terms with the girl I always talk about. And unfortunately for me, I probably won't feel that tingling sensation ever again… Because you see, I'm a hair kind of guy. I seem to fall for any girl with decent hair and a decent face to glisten and glow through… and sad to say for me, the girl I was just talking about just died her hair an awful, FOBish reddish colour. And to date, I don't think I've been able to look straight in her eyes since… not even the other night, when I really should've asked if she needed any help...

… oops…

Well, there are other girls of course. Hence, the plural nature of the word… I mean, there's a definitely hot Chinese girl out there in engineering, who looks damn fine in a business suit. But she's already taken by some other guy that I never could stand in first year, and besides... I've never even said a word to her (although I did come close once... but instead, I just googled at her firm breasts up close and personal, while trying to remember what the fuck I was going to ask her… but I digress…)… And then there's this beautiful brown girl who wears all the great kinds of North American clothes that arts and sciences girls seem to wear. But she doesn't know I even exist, probably because she only hangs around the cool people with names, so that's a problem... And then there's the girl that I tried to talk to last year, just to get the girl I always talk to be a wee bit jealous of me (documented in one of my Y2kk Updates last year). And the truth of the matter is, that "jealous-wannabe girl", as I'll call her for now, is probably the damn cutest girl in the engineering school that I'm at (and quite frankly, reminds me of the girl in Vancouver that I've had a crush on for half of my goddam life... but that's besides the incestuous point...). And I do talk to her still at least once in a while, although never about anything but work… And technically, she isn't taken yet… but I'm a technician at heart when it comes to goddam love and relationships. I seemingly have a goddam Santa Clause of a Cruz of a checklist, and I spring it around like a goddam shield most of the time... I mean, I almost require myself to have a spontaneous yet long-lasting and trusting friendship before ever thinking of asking a girl out. And this jealous girl and I, absolutely and vehemently have no friendship to speak of. Every time I see her, I think about starting one, just so that I could give myself a chance a year down the road maybe... but the words to do so never goddam come out of my fleeting mouth… probably because she's always surrounded by a half dozen engineering guys larger than I am at any given time, all probably with the same goddam testosterone of a plan as I have, but still…

And as I kept listing off all the girls I know in university, as the minutes and hours passed by in the pale moonlight in bed, I started wondering out loud yet again… What if? What if I had just danced with my obsession at my high school graduation formal? What if that one goddam touch we shared meant so much goddam more? What if I just had to guts, to if only take her hand, just once goddam more, for any dance other than that goddam final dance that I should've known she'd had to waltz away with her goddam last minute date… I still care for this girl that I don't even know anymore. And to be honest, as the decent stalker that I am, I literally know that I don't know her anymore… Although her core personality has changed, her virginity and whatnot definitely has altered according to the website updates she periodically does from time to time… She's no longer the same girl that I was obsessed with all those years ago. But as I firmly and supplely knew when I was oh so softly and spontaneously ranting off in bed last Sunday, the meaning of the word, "obsession", normally doesn't have anything to do with logic and letting go of the past, now does it?…

But it was around this time that I finally starting noticing that my goddam voice was getting goddam raspy… and goddammit, after an hour or so of just dreaming of Jeanie or some girl by the name of Jeanie, I realized that I was goddam losing my voice! The last Siren call to be sired was sung, and now my goddam throat was goddam in pain… but I knew this could happen when I first tucked myself in bed. I knew that if I talked to myself for too long, that I would probably wake up with a sore throat. And I really, really, ridiculously should've just gotten out of bed then and there, gotten a bottle of water, and chugged it all down, expecting to go piss in my pants in the night from all my talk of tanking and banking with girls… but noooooo… I had to be the lazy ass hero, refuse to get out of my comfy, warm bed, and just closed my eyes for some pornographic dream sequences to get me safely into goddam slumber land… and the thinking and dreaming and scheming of girls gone wild and the god-awful, fucked up-ness of Valentine's Day in the day of the life of IvanF, would have to wait until morning…

… unfortunately, my sore throat wouldn't…

When I woke up, I arose from my pits of armpits of tender slumber with more than just a goddam sore throat… Hell, I felt like I had just gagged on twelve hours of goddam cock sucking or some crap like that, and even that wasn't the half of it.

I was sick.

No longer just lovesick, but goddam, fucking, full-blown-job sick. I was almost ready to throw up my whole goddam bowels, not just because of the goddam stupidity of the goddam girl I always trash about, but because I was goddam, fucking sick with the fever… My goddam fever for girls, my goddam passion for goddam nectarine and passionfruit, and my goddam sickness and obsession to just find the goddam connection that the goddam world keeps forcing me to find, had goddam made me goddam feverous to the point where I literally spent the entire past week practically vomiting in my own throat in bed, wondering what the fuck was wrong with me when I first decided to celebrate goddam Valentine's Day and the one year anniversary of getting screwed of all things…

… and?... heh… I should've known…

… love's a bitch, and my precious little trollop sure as hell is the biggest bitch of them all…

She fucked me. She fucked me good with my own goddam cock… She had the last laugh, and she wasn't even there to make me cringe from the sound… She sired in me a goddam sickness that I still haven't healed from a week to the day, although at least my fever is down to the point that I goddam have the strength to write what I have today... I had to write a goddam midterm, a goddam test, and two goddam assignments this past week, all while feeling like an utter pile of dogpile shit, which is how I bet most women probably think a man should feel… Now, I won't get into more of the details of the past week. If I ever do get into that royal tenuous bomb of a tedium, I'll save that donut of a timbit thought of the week for my download site, since I never have anything decent to write over there anymore. So obviously, the two readers of that site would be used to my boring piles of shit by now... but still…

… goddammit, I should've known…

… as I keep telling every guy who refuses to admit that they're whipped, "the woman is always right"… and goddammit, they always get their way, even if they don't know it… She goddam shot a goddam cupid arrow into my ass a year ago, then tore it out along with my heart and stuffed it down my throat this past Sunday… all because she had me at hello, when I no longer would say hello... and of course, I guess I can't really blame her for what happened, both on Sunday and in the past. But I also can't deny the fact, that it still hurts... It still burns. And it still churns, like the butterflies in my stomach are being gutted and gnashed and grounded to make puke out of butter... and, well... I'm probably still going to feel this dogpile of fucked up way for quite some time now. I mean, I definitely know that I'm not the type of guy to just let things go…

I just wish I had the chance to ask her out to coffee, that's all… the only problem is, I did have the chance, and hell, plenty of chances. More than enough goddam chances for a goddam lifetime of regret… It's just that, the one time that I finally did have the courage to ask her out to a goddam coffee and Copywell, was the goddam chance and the goddam day, that I knew… that I just knew… that I was too late…

And it made me sick to my stomach. All the regrets of being too late, and all the regrets of not saying a single wisp of a word, even if I knew I was too late… hell, I've never forgiven myself since… even if I have forgotten… even if I had ignored… even if I have avoided… and even if?… I don't know…

… even if, if only…

... all I know, is that I sure as hell ain't celebrating our second-year, fucked-up anniversary, that's for sure... because it all sounds like so much goddam fun, now doesn't it?...

... well, I guess it is... if being fucking sick, fucking lovesick, and fucking sick of love, all at the same time, is your idea of fun... if only...

... best viewed in Netscape 3 (w/o javascipt on) at 800 x 600 resolution and 256 colours, because that's what I run at ...