I've realized my last text post could appear slighting to mathematicians, which wasn't what I wanted to be. Almost any group suffers in comparison to a dorm full of Italian sophomore engineering boys when you're Mistress La Spliffe. Mathematicians are just great. They're fascinating bastards who absorb and regurgitate information in a way I really appreciate. The males stare at my tits as helplessly as 13 year olds . . . but then, so do dorms full of Italian sophomore engineering boys.
I met one lovely mathematician who I certainly would have tried to pants if pantsing non-Figaros was my current idiom. I could have listened to his little stories about stealing fruit in Berkeley and cocaine-saturated logic rogues for hours, and the distribution of the hair on the back of his arms was eerily hypnotic - that kind of hot. He could also make me understand things about math, which is good because I can't count to seven ordinarily. Anyways, I'm having dinner with him later this week so if anyone is still interested in scoring a mathematician I'll try to shorten the degrees of seperation.
Not much else to tell you. I wanted to stay longer in Montréal, hadn't been back there - that I remember, anyways - since the Swiss left, which SO isn't fair to Montréal, especially when I consider how much better I liked Paris sans his company. The city is cute in its Olde Worlde Ghettoe sort of way, and people are better looking there. The food was great, the wedding was gorgeous, and seeing my high school clique again, mostly in a good space, was lovely. Now I must fix that problem I've been having with not being stoned. Ciao!