Same as last entry minus the cooking bits.
Also:
I've become very fond of Greek food
I've been unable to keep my nasal passages unobstructed by mucus for the better part of two weeks, notwithstanding the obscene amounts of claritin and benadryl I have been ingesting.
I bought red and white striped peep-toe shoes.
It has been six months now and I'm still not even remotely sick of my boyfriend (and his mother absolutely loves me).
I'm excited for the new White Stripes, Rufus Wainwright and Travis albums.
Pollen makes the springtime tedious, but otherwise I have been enjoying it.

Work sucks. Well not exactly sucks, it's just that, considering how little importance there is to anything that occurs in that building, there's a whole lot of what amounts to high-school-style drama going on. That and everyone knows everything about your personal life. But I always get the days I want off because my supervisor and my boyfriend are good friends, so I suppose there's that as the bright side of things.

Speaking of which, it's been a month and a half and we're still that annoying couple that holds hands everywhere and ignores the fact that the universe is nauseated by our very presence, so I guess that's an accomplishment.
Never thought that would be me.
...I really didn't see that one coming.

I've been looking into culinary schools in the city (I have so far contacted three). I'm seriously considering putting string theory on hold and studying pastry arts for a while. I miss cooking. I want to make gigantic, ridiculous, elaborately decorated cakes. And then, once everybody is thoroughly impressed, I will go on to unify physics. I will write out long, complicated mathematical equations in royal icing. It'll be fantastic.

I think I've cracked.

Nothing kills one's ability to write scathing critical essays like dating the most absurdly sweet boy on Earth.
It's almost sickening how cute we are.
I feel like a traitor to my own curmudgeonly ways.

Now I just need to figure out what to get him for Christmas...

There's a boy.
I make him nervous.
But he likes me anyway.
And that is nice.

-The end

I need to make a decision between a mean, under-aged Slav and a nice Italian boy from Brooklyn.
Trust me, it's not as obvious a choice as it seems.
And they're both tall, which makes it even harder...

Brief update on the past six weeks:

Boy went back Upstate(good riddance)
I found an apartment (well, a room in an apartment)
Bought a computer, air conditioner, mini-fridge, speaker system, cd rack, shelf and assorted other furniture and oddments for said apartment.
Did laundry a few times
Drank steadily for a few weeks
Acquired a taste for Guinness and Irish pubs (well, An Beal Bocht anyway)
Got sick drinking Jagermeister (after having had an obscene amount of gin, mind you)
Had some friends over
Cleaned the bathroom
Went out for several evening of wine, women and song (sometimes without the song)
Did not manage to effectively pirate a wireless modem signal, despite application of eye-patch and peg-leg
Got my lip pierced, following a whim that coincided with a pay week
Listened to a lot of Rockabilly
Worked a lot for not-enough money
Considered a career as a contract killer
Had my best friend move away after buying him breakfast
Bought Halloween-themed candles at Target
Became addicted to Doctor Who
Ate quite a bit of sushi
Left my shoes at Kyle's house
Lost some weight after making the discovery that food costs money
Got bored and updated my livejournal

I will most likely be unable to attend to my internet obligations for a little bit (seeing as I don't have my own computer).
Come back in a week or so.
And phone me in the meantime, it makes me feel special.

I am back to my initial hypothesis that people from outside New York City are not worth the energy it takes to woo them.
They don't suck outright, but they're kinda lame in the context of the city.

And my shoes are too awesome,
my karaoke skills too great,
for me to mope over
some suburbanite boy from Upstate.

Kisses children!

Yeah, I knew that my having found a place to live would have to be balanced out cosmically.
On the plus side, I don't have to worry about having anyone sleep over for a while.


Ouch.
That pretty much sums it up.

Nothing kills the romance faster than someone asking you if you've been tested for herpes.
I'm almost flattered that someone could mistake me for a slut though...