Fortress of Solitude.

So, Morgan's been gone for a almost a week. Being alone... isn't all that bad. It's kinda nice actually. A little lonely, but there's no need to compromise and I can do whatever I want! Shaving? Who needs it? Fancy meals? Not for me. Clothing? Yes. Yes, I do need clothing. Even when Morgan is gone, clothing is still a must, except for designated naked areas like the bathroom and kitchen.

How does one entertain themselves when their entertainment is 5 hours away in a theme park? Well. One reads books. And one cooks, and one searches the Internet for all manners of entertainment. Mostly that comes in the form of documentaries. Ask me anything you want to know about Charles Manson, I've seen three movies about him. Oh. I've also been looking for jobs. Endlessly. What great defeat job hunting imposes on the spirit. I've spent hours scouring the city for ''for hire'' signs. I've applied to about 6 different places. Butcher shops, card shops, pizza places, bakeries and diner's. It's so crushing to hand in your resume and sit at home and just know that the chances of anybody telephoning me are slim. I wish somebody had told me that, apparently school isn't important, unless you want to do more school. Go to school, get good grades, and maybe you can go to university or college. I wish I had known that school means nothing when trying to get a job. I think I may have been better off now, if I had gotten a job when I was 14 and stuck with working until I graduated. It's very frustrating knowing that school means nothing and employers don't care what your grades are like, or if you've never missed a day of school, etc etc... They want experience. For good reason of course. But... I don't have experience. One job means nothing. Or maybe it does and I'm just frustrated of certain others successes with this particular matter. Job hunting is simply frustrating. Oh well. I'll keep on that. Any advice on the matter? Comments section please.

The One That Got Away

On the subject of entertainment, fishing proves to be a splendid way to pass the time. To tell you the truth, I had always held the belief that fishing was boring, and stupid and only the father figures from the Sunday comics would put themselves through the drudgery of fishing. Anyone else who fished was just a plain boring person. But it's awesome. It's terribly enjoyable, and the whole killing the fish thing is a lot easier. I've managed to keep myself from screaming like a little girl when I cut it's head off. But! I've a story to tell. A story my friends, about the one that got away.
There I was...standing... and holding my fishing rod when I felt a small tug on the line. Then a big tug, then a huge tug that sent me in a stumbling mess toward the edge of the water and straight into the fence. The line was pulled taught and my pole looked like it was going to snap. I pulled and pulled and looked toward the water and that's when I saw it, flipping about in the water like an alligator in a death roll. It was huge. It was a beast. It had these terrible teeth sticking out of it's head and it looked like it could have swallowed a toddler. I panicked and tried to think quickly about what I should do next. It was far to large to reel in. Not only that, but I very much intended on keeping my limbs. I struggled to think as it flopped around in the water and thrashed around, creating it's own wake in the calm water. I decided it would be best for both my limbs, and the beast fish, if I cut the line. I let out some line and backed toward my tackle bag grunting like a fat asthmatic jogging behind an ice-cream truck. As I reached for my bag, the fish broke away and that was it. He was gone, and I was safe.
And that my friends, is my very first fisherman's tale, about the one that got away.

It's been an interesting week in Plymouth. Last night.... I got a call from (hopefully) one of Morgan's friends who was commenting about how sexy I looked in my facebook pictures. The number was blocked, but I just assumed it was Morgan's boyfriend playing some sort of strange trick on me. And I'm still hoping I'm right in assuming so.

One of the strange culture shocks in coming to Plymouth would have to be the constant fighting. Not many days pass that I don't see two or more men beating each other senseless or two women screaming their necks off. It's absolutely prevalent here. I can't say I feel as if I'm in any danger, because everyone has generally been very kind to me, but it is rather strange to walk past a couple getting into each others faces, or a drunkard stumbling toward me in the middle of the day.
Cougars

Clubbing in England is fantastic. Morgan and took a trip down to a local club the other week. A 70's themed club! Ya. It was awesome. Lot's of fun, lot's of dancing. But, as I should have expected, with 70's clubs (or maybe just bars and clubs in general) comes 70's women. You know. The.. the older ladies. The forty-plus-ers. Nothing wrong with them. They add character, and they're fun to dance with. Most of them anyway. This is the revolting tale of one such lady who was not much fun. Not much fun at all. While at the club, Morgan and I had decided to take a break from dancing and instead focus on getting something liquidy and impairing into our bodies. It was my turn to get drinks to off to the bar I went and that where I bumped into her...
We'll call her.... Betty.
The dialogue between Betty and I went a little something like this.
Betty-( to be read in a raspy, horrible British accent. )
''Ello there''
''Hi!''
''Are you gay?''
''Ummm, nope.. nope, sorry.''
She stumbles a bit and her drink spills on her hand. She takes no notice.
''Are you Ammmmmarican?''
''Nope, I'm from Canada.''
''But ya not gay then?''
''No. Still not gay''
''But ya breath smells like gaaalic (garlic) and gays breath smells like gaaaalic.''
''Ya, sorry, I've been eating garlic''
She comes in close to my face with a yellowing smile, winks at me and says
''It's ok, I like gaaaalic.''
''Well, that's lucky then...''
She gets really close to my face then slips past toward my ear, and brushing my ear with her lips she says
''..mmm, so, you're sure you're not gay then...''
''YUP!''
She slowly pulls her head away from mine and her lips gently brush against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. My knees feel weak and I tell her I have to get some drinks back to my girlfriend. She gives me a quick look from top to bottom and nods her head with a wink, and I'm outta there.

Ya. England is fun. That's all for now. Peace out... P-town.