I made an ass of myself in class discussion tonight. We were taking about crime that resulted from 19th century insistence on the sacredness of marriage, i.e. crimes of abuse & neglect that could have been avoided if there was less pressure on preserving married unions. There's a guy in my class who's a little...well...naive. For instance, he had no idea what a douche was (but that was a different discussion altogether). Anyhoo, we were talking about crime, as I said, and he said something along the lines of, "I've always wondered what the definition of sexual assault is. I always thought it was, like, if a woman was riding by on a bicycle and a guy just slapped her for no reason." At which point I raised my head and said without hesitation, "That's not sexual assault. Unless he hits her with his cock."

Silence. Laughter. And then I apologized to the group, blushing madly. The things I do for humour. Dirk would understand.

A much less embarrassing time was had afterwards, when the Boy & I traveled to Bovine to see if we could persuade dj shannon to play our wedding. Dirk approached her yesterday during Retro Night, thus going above & beyond the call of groomsman and earning 1000 hit points. I was afraid that she'd consider herself too cool for this sort of gig, but she seemed pretty flattered to be asked. Tonight she played songs that took me all the way back to highschool, riding through the streets at night: "Under My Wheels" by Alice Cooper, "The Ace of Spades" and "Rocking is My Business" by the Four Horsemen to name a few. It was an amazing omen, and I was pounding the bar in delight. We found out that she's never done anything like that before, but thinks it would be fun. I'm so very pleased by her enthusiasm. Not only is Shannon the best dj I've ever heard, she's also by far the most approachable & reliable. Get this: if you ask her to play a song, she almost always does. How cool is that?! She's currently trying to figure out what she calls "a fair price," and we're costing equipment rental. Perhaps some of my "with it" cousins won't have a good time, but you know what? They can pound sand for all I care. I refuse to continue this "my wedding is better than your wedding because my taste is better than your taste" debate. I already know this will be the best wedding of my life, so why pad the experience? Why worry that peripheral people whom I can barely tolerate might have a few minutes of ennui?

Between embarrassing myself in gender class and sitting in a grungy Queen Street club watching a looped tape of America's Funniest Home Videos (with the Bob Saggett bits excluded), we dropped by Froghopper Nook to pick up a way-overdue library book that I, in my infinite wisdom, had completely forgotten about. We knew that someone would be home because Buffy the Vampire Slayer was on; but we didn't stay long. I feel a bit guilty for taking off right in the middle of a social opportunity; Q for one seemed happy to see us. But it was impossible to talk to anyone for long stretches of time (Extreme Buffy Rules were in effect...which includes no talking at all during the program). Not to put a fine point on it, I'm uncomfortable with the whole Extreme Buffy atmosphere generated by Pixie & the Rat. Besides that, the Boy's old bedroom had been cleaned & renovated, with his remaining possessions heaped in the corner. Which is perfectly reasonable; he moved out 2 weeks ago...but I still felt kind of funny and uncomfortable. Maybe it's because the Boy left without anyone expressing animosity, so my feeling of dislocation has no logical focus. There's nothing & no one to blame, I mean...so my small sadness at the end of this chapter has nothing to blame. And I like having something to blame.

"No February journal updates?! What's going in the world that you can post new material for eight days running? Has the family home succumbed to the plague? Are there harriers at the gates?"
- letter from q.

"Harriers blinded her. Did it with a branding-iron, they did. Said it was because she was looking at em pert."
- the wastelands, stephen king