Question.

Are the blog titles for comments and posts really in Estonian, or is that just me?

(You sneaky, sneaky bastards- today Blogger... tomorrow: the WORLD!!!)

Foreign conquistadors...

breaking in new keds.

its tough. just as you step into the store, the associate smiles, and you easily muscle one back. brushing off their offer to assist you in your endeavour (i know you're bored, but why did you choose retail?) you hasten to the clearance rack, scoping out the pair of shoes you saw at a previous engagement. an atom superimplodes; they're there. and they're the right size. yours. taking them off the rack (not too quickly, nor excitedly, you are in public) you plant yourself onto the nearest leather bench(why are they always leather?) and try them on. your toes? spacious. width? fitted. length? to a tea's bee. buy them. slip 'em on. you step out of the store... and the humidity hits. the stick gets at you from every angle, infesting the deepest crevasses between your skin cells with dirt, dust, smog and smoke. at least you're not walking in the direction of the sun this time. after the first few steps, the bottoms of you feet get warmer. not as bad as runners, they let the air grace itself over and up your ankles, however, the sweat, tricky in how it jumps up on you, is the first irritant. getting closer to the lights, you start to feel the backs of the shoe rubbing itself teasingly against the back of your ankle: a warning sign. it won't let up. perhaps he wants to negotiate... relax, there's the streetcar. you can sit and rest - let the air breeze by and cool you off. it does. you look down at your feet as you slip them out of the pests and notice the red line around the top of your foot in all it's 360 degree coverage. great. you slip in just your toes and let your arches air out. shit, yonge street. get out of the streetcar and they challenge you again. the walk down to the subway cars is longer than you remember and leftie & rightie have jumped into the act of annoyance. they've escalated the battle and have provoked the pinkie toes. mother fuckers. how dare you attack the poor, defenceless pinkies. you feel the sweat gather in the corners where you feel a frown start to manifest itself. noticing nearby subway goers avert their gaze from you, you suddenly realize its there and try to fix it. unsuccessfully. you forget how it feels to be totally relaxed... how your muscles should be positioned to present the perfectly passive pedestrian. a cool trickle of air glazes your flushed face and you run to the yellow border by the tracks, preparing to board the train before everyone else. you take a quick glance and see the whole train is packed. well... time to be an ass. you squeeze your way through and suffer through standing until your stop. you force the fact that your feet are swelling out of your head and charge to the bus stop, making it just in time to board. flop down. why can't these seats be leather? take off your shoes. give those babies some air. lean back. they should install pillows. or i should start bringing one with me. close your eyes. you've timed out the trip well enough by now. open your eyes. you're there. making your way off the bus, your prototype wigger wants a high five. why not. i hate to be left hanging. you unexpectedly grin and slap his hand, and hop off the bus. you feel the burn again. forget about it. "surgite, push on." the walk home in 5 minutes, 19 seconds. Born Losers. Matthew Good. dig for your keys. open the door. kiss the pooch. wrench the demons from your feet and step in a silent lake on a fresh, november morning. close your eyes. dip your toes in. there's life underneath.
you can almost feel it.

The First Post

Hey guys/girls/whoever decided to check out this blog to make sure it's legit.
I started this blog in a semi-attempt to keep us in touch throughout the school year and I hope that we can manage to use it to talk to each other / tell funny stories about what is going on in our (now) separate lives.
If not, I guess thats all of our loss.

Anyway, if you decided to join, please use your real name for posts because I think that it would make a lot of things much easier, like understanding who's talking, instead of wondering why who you thought was Evan, is sleeping with Eugene.

I realize I've left out a lot of people, not purposefully, I just don't have their email addresses. If you want someone to join, just let me/us know.

Now.. what should you write about? Um... Frosh week? Basically just what has been going on in your daily lives since we all went our separate ways and started our new lives as... gulp... adults?

Hopefully this will keep us in touch, and maybe we'll actually organize something (like a trip to blue mountain?) At winter break.

With much love,

Heather.