Day 95
When I woke up this morning I rolled out of bed and began googling the author of the book, "Commonwealth." I had started his book last night, well at 3:30 am and ended staying up until 4:30. There is something about the premise of the main character selling junky action figures in a low rent flea market that greatly appeals to me. Anyway, all I could find was a youtube video of the author just after high school playing in a band and asking for seven rows of oranges and a website that had a picture of the young author and a link to his myspace and facebook pages.
I first clicked onto his myspace page and read through his interests in music and books. We liked a lot of the same stuff; his band list looked like my Itunes library and his book list contained two of my favorites, Winesburg, Ohio and my absolute favorite, Confederacy of Dunces. The only odd thing was that he had also included Steinbeck on that list. Wait a minute, I don't like Steinbeck, I thought. What the fuck?
So, I clicked onto his facebook page, requested his friendship and then promptly sent off a message with the subject head, "Steinbeck question." Just the other day a few friends of mine were at the pub (where else do you find writers) and someone had brought up Steinbeck. I spit on the very idea of it having made several attempts at reading his work and failing each time due to boredom. Really, I don't want to read about landscapes for a million pages I don't care how hills looked I care about what went on in those hills. But, I thought to myself if this author who I have so many things in common with likes Steinbeck maybe I should give him another shot. So I asked this stranger what his recommendation was for a Steinbeck book. Maybe I should write to famous authors all the time and ask for reading recommendations. Well, not all of those writers will have Freaks and Geeks as their favorite TV show or know who The Replacements were. Forget it.
Today was pretty boring. I basically did laundry and took out the trash. These chores had me walking across the courtyard of the building many times. Half of the residents' windows face the courtyard. I smiled as I made a million trips thinking, I wonder if anyone was watching me and wondering why the hell I am promenading through every twenty minutes. Usually these things exist only in my imagination and make me think I have a mental illness that has some form of paranoia in the title.
I finally emerged from my writing, cleaning, and facebook-athon and went to supper. I walked into the line to see the girl who lives directly above me. She is from South Africa. She said, "Hello," in her British English accent. I mocked her. She said, "I've been watching you all day." I said, "What?" "I saw you walking through the courtyard all morning." Who's the creeper now? This makes me sane, right? Don't answer, I can't handle the truth.
So besides the food fight between me and my big fat gay Hawaiian friend which ended up with me hitting the girl next to him like five times with an orange section (but, once it bounced off her head and hit his, it was truly amazing) the only other major event that happened at VAFN (Vaguely Asian Food Night) was that my Mexican friend told me a story. He leaned in close and said, "I realized how horny I am the other day." "Yeah?" "So, there I was walking down the street and I saw this woman and I was like, those are some hot legs. I looked at them for a second and then I looked up and the legs belonged to a mannequin."
Tonight I saw a Canadian film called, Bon Cop Bad Cop. And, it made my hatred to the Quebecois subside, just a tad. (Note: The only reason I say that I hate Quebec is because this nasty sleezeball who lives here is from there and it really pisses him off) The movie itself was alright despite all of the French. (by extension I hate French due to my hatred for my Quebecois rezmate) The best part was how hot the Quebecois male lead was. I think this had more to do with his grizzly looks and cigarettes and not his province of origin. But, I am not entirely sure.
I almost missed the entire film earlier because I somehow stumbled onto a site where you could watch full episodes of "Paris Hilton is My New BFF." I couldn't resist and now I am hooked. She is insane. This is the most American television I have ever seen. She makes these people get makeovers, do whatever she wants, and puts them in a mansion called, "The Dollhouse." I skipped all of my homework to watch two full episodes. The absolute best part so far was when she had her little wannabes write up and give toasts to her and her mother. I am completely hooked. I don't care who wins I just want to see what she'll make them do. Gotta watch one more quick ep before bed. So, as Paris says, "I have to get back to my life now so hopefully one day one of you will be a part of it."
-Canadian Castaway
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Bibs, Biters, Stuck, Facebook Therapy, Bushes, Goldfish Consumption
Day 94
I think the real reason adult bibs never got into fashion is because super models never eat or endorse eating in any way. But, it would sure be helpful to have fashionable bibs so that when you venture out for a gossip session and spill mustard on your shirt you'd be protected and stylish. I wonder if you'd still wear the bib around all day, though? Guess who spilled mustard on her shirt?
So a friend and I were out for our gossip session and after we ate we walked down a huge hill to ring the bell of a friend. Just as I was about to climb through shrubbery and into his balcony my friend got him on the phone to find that he was at a coffeeshop up the street. We plodded over and sat with him. One of the friend's punched the other and he said, "Why are you so violent." She said, "When I get excited I punch." "Why?" "Because I had to stop biting."
Later I went to meet two other friends. I was recounting the conversation for them and telling them how I bit too and how one of my parents had to bite me to make me stop and one of my friends agreed and had the same experience. The other friend was like, "Your parents bit you?!" And then said, "Biting is fun." I said, "You bite people?" And he was all like, "Yeah. Don't you?" And I stared at him wide eyed as we had just been through that. Right? And then he said, "You know when you are really passionate and..." My fellow childhood biter and I giggled. "I don't think he gets it," I said. My fellow childhood biter then said, "I bite people, too."
After that we piled into a rental car and went grocery shopping. Which was fun except when a friend of mine picked up a cheese ball and just as as I was about to ask him to chuck it at me the cheese organizer dude showed up. Anyway, I bought toilet paper, generic diet grapefruit soda, pickles, and goldfish. Just the essentials.
So, before I was going to study my ass off (never happened) I popped by my friend's room for a hug and catch up session. I knocked on his door and heard a woman say, "Just a minute," on the other side. She opened the door and I was face to face with his mother who ushered me in and told me that my friend was in the "washroom" (Canadian for bathroom) and asked me if I wanted any juice. His father, a wild-haired old German artist sat in the corner. I had only met these people in passing. We made small talk and it turns out they didn't remember me at all. My friend emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later.
The quick hello ended up being an hour and a half of them trying to force cookies on me and me resisting. I did give in to the beer. His parents sparred and debated and towards the end the father kept cutting out his wife's opinions and I cut out the door trying to stay out of a debate on how modern and cosmopolitan cities in the states are, fearing the German's wrath. How do I get myself into these situations? Oh yeah, I am the loud mouth American girl who saccidently starts these debates.
Most of the rest of the evening was me trying to figure out if and how I should express my feelings I have for someone. This meant a 2 hour facebook chat session with two different people. Me making a gushy ass out of myself and regretting and then owning it. All the while wondering if the crystal I received at a party the other night really was giving me magical courage and strength. I held it in my hand for awhile. And, realized it didn't matter about the crystal that if you believe something can give you strength, it could even be an old gym sock, that it will because you will it into existence. Geez, I am turning into a hippie or a psycho and can't tell which is worse. Get me back to the Midwest where we don't have fairy parties we have let's drink until we forget who we are nights.
After the chat session a friend came and knocked on my window. This is not uncommon. What was uncommon was when I went outside and she was not there. Apparently, she had gotten caught up in a bush. She came limping over like a wounded war hero two minutes later. She kept saying, "Did you hear that?" I had been in the hallway when she fell and didn't hear it. But, I can't help but wonder if my neighbors heard that and peeped out their windows to see some girl that they didn't know in the bushes.
Usually when this friend comes over we sit and gossip about boys and snack. This happened tonight as well. She said, "I feel bad. I am eating all your food." I told her it was alright. But, I can't help thinking about how all the alcoholics I have known are always the first to buy you a drink because they are happy you are there so they don't have to drink alone. Somehow that makes it more alright that they are on their 6th scotch of the evening. It's the same when I am on my 89th Goldfish cracker and my friend reaches out for the bag. But, as I eat them now I am feeling like a sow.
-Canadian Castaway
I think the real reason adult bibs never got into fashion is because super models never eat or endorse eating in any way. But, it would sure be helpful to have fashionable bibs so that when you venture out for a gossip session and spill mustard on your shirt you'd be protected and stylish. I wonder if you'd still wear the bib around all day, though? Guess who spilled mustard on her shirt?
So a friend and I were out for our gossip session and after we ate we walked down a huge hill to ring the bell of a friend. Just as I was about to climb through shrubbery and into his balcony my friend got him on the phone to find that he was at a coffeeshop up the street. We plodded over and sat with him. One of the friend's punched the other and he said, "Why are you so violent." She said, "When I get excited I punch." "Why?" "Because I had to stop biting."
Later I went to meet two other friends. I was recounting the conversation for them and telling them how I bit too and how one of my parents had to bite me to make me stop and one of my friends agreed and had the same experience. The other friend was like, "Your parents bit you?!" And then said, "Biting is fun." I said, "You bite people?" And he was all like, "Yeah. Don't you?" And I stared at him wide eyed as we had just been through that. Right? And then he said, "You know when you are really passionate and..." My fellow childhood biter and I giggled. "I don't think he gets it," I said. My fellow childhood biter then said, "I bite people, too."
After that we piled into a rental car and went grocery shopping. Which was fun except when a friend of mine picked up a cheese ball and just as as I was about to ask him to chuck it at me the cheese organizer dude showed up. Anyway, I bought toilet paper, generic diet grapefruit soda, pickles, and goldfish. Just the essentials.
So, before I was going to study my ass off (never happened) I popped by my friend's room for a hug and catch up session. I knocked on his door and heard a woman say, "Just a minute," on the other side. She opened the door and I was face to face with his mother who ushered me in and told me that my friend was in the "washroom" (Canadian for bathroom) and asked me if I wanted any juice. His father, a wild-haired old German artist sat in the corner. I had only met these people in passing. We made small talk and it turns out they didn't remember me at all. My friend emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later.
The quick hello ended up being an hour and a half of them trying to force cookies on me and me resisting. I did give in to the beer. His parents sparred and debated and towards the end the father kept cutting out his wife's opinions and I cut out the door trying to stay out of a debate on how modern and cosmopolitan cities in the states are, fearing the German's wrath. How do I get myself into these situations? Oh yeah, I am the loud mouth American girl who saccidently starts these debates.
Most of the rest of the evening was me trying to figure out if and how I should express my feelings I have for someone. This meant a 2 hour facebook chat session with two different people. Me making a gushy ass out of myself and regretting and then owning it. All the while wondering if the crystal I received at a party the other night really was giving me magical courage and strength. I held it in my hand for awhile. And, realized it didn't matter about the crystal that if you believe something can give you strength, it could even be an old gym sock, that it will because you will it into existence. Geez, I am turning into a hippie or a psycho and can't tell which is worse. Get me back to the Midwest where we don't have fairy parties we have let's drink until we forget who we are nights.
After the chat session a friend came and knocked on my window. This is not uncommon. What was uncommon was when I went outside and she was not there. Apparently, she had gotten caught up in a bush. She came limping over like a wounded war hero two minutes later. She kept saying, "Did you hear that?" I had been in the hallway when she fell and didn't hear it. But, I can't help but wonder if my neighbors heard that and peeped out their windows to see some girl that they didn't know in the bushes.
Usually when this friend comes over we sit and gossip about boys and snack. This happened tonight as well. She said, "I feel bad. I am eating all your food." I told her it was alright. But, I can't help thinking about how all the alcoholics I have known are always the first to buy you a drink because they are happy you are there so they don't have to drink alone. Somehow that makes it more alright that they are on their 6th scotch of the evening. It's the same when I am on my 89th Goldfish cracker and my friend reaches out for the bag. But, as I eat them now I am feeling like a sow.
-Canadian Castaway
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Puffy Eyes and Tigers, Sammy,Super Woman, Father's Wisdom, Working Wuss, High School, Fairy Tales
Day 93
So, I will not say that I am completely sober but I am much closer to it than I was yesterday. I will recount as much as I can remember of yesterday after I sum up today. Well, what I remember of today. It must be true that alcohol kills brain cells or is it too much Midol?
Today:
I went to the deli to get a sandwich. On the way there I ran into my bodyguard who still had a temporary tattoo of a tiger on his forehead and his eyes were all puffy. I pointed out and ridiculed both. He wasn't very amused. What is more troubling is that he didn't care that he had a tiger on his forehead. I wonder what the people at the cookie shop thought of it and if they said anything.
So, I get to the deli and there are like four different lines. I ask the guy at the end of one of the lines if it is the sandwich line. He said, "You want a sammy?" What the fuck? Do people who are over 6 years of age say "sammy"? Jesus, if he wasn't so cute I would've teased him severe. I stood behind him smiling while looking at his ass. I smiled for two reasons:
1. I was not anywhere near as hung over as my bodyguard. And, I looked like Jennifer Aniston back in the day with my hair and hat combo (well, a slightly curvier version of her).
2. There was dill pickle potato chips. Seriously, nothing is more delightful than a bag of Old Dutch potato chips with fake dill on them, even if the bag has French on it. Someday, I will figure out why I hate French...well, maybe not. It's nice to have an outlet for blind rage that isn't skinny pretty people.
You know you're cheap when: you walk two blocks and up 3 flights of stairs to get a glass of water rather than pay for a bottle.
After I bought my sandwich I went outside to eat it and people watch for a bit. A friend of mine came by who was also part of last night's drunken fairy-athon. She looked nice in a business-y type outfit. Turns out she had been working since 8:30 that morning. That meant that she only got like 2 hours of sleep. I felt less victorious when I thought of how awesome she is at putting on a tough face after a hard night of drinking. Did I mention she hauled by booze-filled backpack for me the night before AND got home at like 4:30 am? She is super woman. One day I will be that capable. Nah, too much hard work.
After our chat I packed up the rest of my lunch and moved to the library building where I was the girl in the silent study area crinkling up paper and opening chip bags. This would've been hilarious except the person who was most annoyed was myself. What rude behavior for a library, seriously, it's not a fast food joint. I am a disgrace.
When I arrived home I had a chat with my father who was sitting in a restaurant eating banana pie so therefore using a scary low voice. I realized today that he is forever saying, "Remember the time..." and these stories always go on quite awhile with me saying, "yup" several times and involve some sort of mild tragedy which is not uncommon subject matter but the fact that he always brings up the weather conditions at the time of the incidents is a little unnerving. Maybe he's right, life is just a series of nasty events with uncontrollable weather. But, I also learned from this conversation that he is planning on letting me use his car while I am back home visiting but he will take it away if I don't help him clean the pantry. Lesson: Just because you get older doesn't mean you'll ever make it to a grown up.
Tonight I worked a double shift. First I was a floor person in the bar (translation: pretend that you are useful for four hours). I basically fiddled with broken Christmas lights and knives and washed a few glasses. Then I was moved to work in a private party which was made up of 97 percent young Asians, mostly girls in skimpy, yet trendy dresses that were way too short and none of them were fat. This meeting was allegedly for some kind of charity where you get a kid for 30 bucks a month but they don't live with you and you don't get to name them or see them ever.
Working was all fine and good until the moment I realized that the young bartender was not doing any work. I realized this after my 26th trip to bring supplies to and fro. As I was just about to make my last trip I checked in with him and his shitty faux hawk. "Just making one last trip anything else?" He said, "Did you clean the dishwasher area?" He said wringing out a rag. I hadn't seen him do so much as wipe the counter. I left the room and I hope he heard all the "goddamn asshole fuck's" that came out of my mouth. It scared the shit out of the Asian girls, or was it the fact that I was triple their size and shoving a cart around and punching the wall?
Yesterday:
Here is the short version of yesterday:
I went to high school. A friend of mine works with this program at an inner city school where kids come (voluntarily) to hang out and write. The fun started from the very beginning when we were given criminal background check forms and were made to sign in and wear stickers that said, "Visitor." After meeting the goofy teacher guy we stopped by the library where a fat kid with curly hair was sitting his friend came racing in (trenchcoated and ponytailed) hollering, "The one day that I finish my Spanish homework..."
We were led to the teacher's lounge where the students met up. My friend introduced me and I took a seat that made farty type sounds when I fidgeted (I am a fidgeter) and I wondered if the students could hear it. A rag tag group of about 12 assembled. Everyone had silly names like, Rain, Terrace, and Wolfgang. What the hell were people thinking 15 years ago when they named their kids? The first item up was to read a page from an Alice Munro story. The girl with an excellent name (Emily) started to read from the page in a shy voice. She stumbled over the longer, foreign-looking words and stopped after the first paragraph and said point blank that she was done. I don't blame her there were some tough words in that. She asked the girl next to her, "What is a sorority?"
The class continued with us free writing and sharing and the teacher man ordering pizza loudly on the phone in the same room. The pizza arrived and we took a break and met back up, less successfully than the first time. Though, all of the students who braved reading their work were far more brilliant writers than the grad students I read work from. I didn't tell them this, but I should've. After a short while longer we were finished. The teacher man lined up who he was giving rides home to the kids (apparently little girls in Canada can ride home with male teachers). There was one little buck-toothed possibly Korean (I am horrid at Asian regional identification) girl who was on the phone with her mother. She handed the phone off to the teacher man who played the nice guy while this girl's mother told him that she had not known where her daughter was and that she had called the police. My friend told me later that going straight to the police was common for Asian immigrant parents. Wow, when I was a kid the cops called my parents not the other way around.
To celebrate my friend's birthday and American (the only) Thanksgiving and to ditch out on formal dinner at the rez (that shit is ridiculous, I dressed up for high school prom and my cousin's wedding that's all I think I should have to look good for) I decided to go to a party called, "Dance of the Centaurs." This party was to be held at this giant house owned by a creepy white-haired old hippie who is in constant threat of being shut down for too many derelicts.
Before the party a few of us girls (and one guy) met up at a friend's apartment to get our fairy-ness ready. The friend's apartment is quite nice except everywhere you look there are small mountains of belongings in garbage and plastic bags because she had (has?) bed bugs. But, we all took a gamble. There was much glitter and lipstick. There was green eyeshadow on the boy and jewels glued to our heads. There were dresses assembled with a tablecloth and a stapler. All to the soundtrack of Bette Midler. Who knew that being a girly freak would be so much fun? I wonder if I am losing my edge. Who cares I got to wear a twirly skirt! Alright, Old Yeller me already.
After we all got on a crowded bus looking like freaks and I made a grandmother move to a different seat because I said, "Fuck' eight too many times we made it to the party. Here are a few snippets of what I remember:
-From the bus stop to the house we ran into a friend of ours standing on a street corner reading a bible.
-The old guy who runs the house looked over at me with sex in his eyes and said in a deep voice, "You want to do the house the greatest favor you could do it?" I said, "What is the favor?" "Get people to sign the petition." (to keep the house from government-mandated disbandment).
-The guy who I heard is into crystals (not meth, more like real goofy rocks) had a sit down with me and I asked him about this crystal shit. He told me a long boring story that I can't remember and whipped out a hunk of quartz from a velvet pouch. He put it in my hand. I said, "Alright, give me luck and courage." He put his hand over mine and closed his eyes this went on for a bit. I wonder if it worked.
-The following was at the party: stickers with horses on them, a German named Max who works on a mountain, a girl wearing a ridiculous tea cozy as a helmet, nobody with a visible tail, an orange cat that attacked people who tried to pet it, a pot of homemade sangria, a friend wearing a unicorn horn fashioned out of a short story, a huge spread of what is called "raw foods", people sitting on the floor passing around hand drums, people hula hooping, a glowing vibrator, folks drinking out of jars, people doing Kung Fu in a kitchen, and other things.
-For a time I was quite taken with a guy who brewed the beer for the party and was wearing a tye-dyed jumpsuit of sorts. Okay, it looked like a haphazard diaper with tendrils. All was well until another girl, also named Emily, showed up and made it quite clear that she could and may kick my ass for speaking to him. Moments like this make me wish that I had known right and left enough to get into Tae Kwon Do when I was a kid. It was quite embarrassing when your younger brother can tell right from left and you can't. (still can't)
-My friend Bill and I made a bet that one of us would make out with a stranger before the other one. We each bet on ourselves. I won the bet but while kissing my stranger outside along the stone path he said, "Can I ask you something?" "Do I have to answer?" He said, "Yeah." I said, "Maybe." And he said, "How big is too big?" And, started pulling my hand toward his junk. My bodyguard came by at that moment. His interruption may have saved the guys' testicles. What a scum bag. I often brag about how many people I have kissed but if I really think about it almost 86 percent of these cases wind up with losers like these. I should've spit in his eye.
-My bodyguard and I had two options: 1. Stay on our friend's couch. or 2. Take a cab home. I pleaded to stay with our friend. My bodyguard said he wanted to brush his teeth. So, we took a cab and on the way home he whined about it. I pointed out that it was his idea to take a cab and he blamed it on me. I was pissed until we were walking home and he started talking in a Scottish accent making a running commentary of the walk and the stars. It was creepy and wonderful until he called me a "lad."
Well, that's all I can remember.
-Canadian Castaway
So, I will not say that I am completely sober but I am much closer to it than I was yesterday. I will recount as much as I can remember of yesterday after I sum up today. Well, what I remember of today. It must be true that alcohol kills brain cells or is it too much Midol?
Today:
I went to the deli to get a sandwich. On the way there I ran into my bodyguard who still had a temporary tattoo of a tiger on his forehead and his eyes were all puffy. I pointed out and ridiculed both. He wasn't very amused. What is more troubling is that he didn't care that he had a tiger on his forehead. I wonder what the people at the cookie shop thought of it and if they said anything.
So, I get to the deli and there are like four different lines. I ask the guy at the end of one of the lines if it is the sandwich line. He said, "You want a sammy?" What the fuck? Do people who are over 6 years of age say "sammy"? Jesus, if he wasn't so cute I would've teased him severe. I stood behind him smiling while looking at his ass. I smiled for two reasons:
1. I was not anywhere near as hung over as my bodyguard. And, I looked like Jennifer Aniston back in the day with my hair and hat combo (well, a slightly curvier version of her).
2. There was dill pickle potato chips. Seriously, nothing is more delightful than a bag of Old Dutch potato chips with fake dill on them, even if the bag has French on it. Someday, I will figure out why I hate French...well, maybe not. It's nice to have an outlet for blind rage that isn't skinny pretty people.
You know you're cheap when: you walk two blocks and up 3 flights of stairs to get a glass of water rather than pay for a bottle.
After I bought my sandwich I went outside to eat it and people watch for a bit. A friend of mine came by who was also part of last night's drunken fairy-athon. She looked nice in a business-y type outfit. Turns out she had been working since 8:30 that morning. That meant that she only got like 2 hours of sleep. I felt less victorious when I thought of how awesome she is at putting on a tough face after a hard night of drinking. Did I mention she hauled by booze-filled backpack for me the night before AND got home at like 4:30 am? She is super woman. One day I will be that capable. Nah, too much hard work.
After our chat I packed up the rest of my lunch and moved to the library building where I was the girl in the silent study area crinkling up paper and opening chip bags. This would've been hilarious except the person who was most annoyed was myself. What rude behavior for a library, seriously, it's not a fast food joint. I am a disgrace.
When I arrived home I had a chat with my father who was sitting in a restaurant eating banana pie so therefore using a scary low voice. I realized today that he is forever saying, "Remember the time..." and these stories always go on quite awhile with me saying, "yup" several times and involve some sort of mild tragedy which is not uncommon subject matter but the fact that he always brings up the weather conditions at the time of the incidents is a little unnerving. Maybe he's right, life is just a series of nasty events with uncontrollable weather. But, I also learned from this conversation that he is planning on letting me use his car while I am back home visiting but he will take it away if I don't help him clean the pantry. Lesson: Just because you get older doesn't mean you'll ever make it to a grown up.
Tonight I worked a double shift. First I was a floor person in the bar (translation: pretend that you are useful for four hours). I basically fiddled with broken Christmas lights and knives and washed a few glasses. Then I was moved to work in a private party which was made up of 97 percent young Asians, mostly girls in skimpy, yet trendy dresses that were way too short and none of them were fat. This meeting was allegedly for some kind of charity where you get a kid for 30 bucks a month but they don't live with you and you don't get to name them or see them ever.
Working was all fine and good until the moment I realized that the young bartender was not doing any work. I realized this after my 26th trip to bring supplies to and fro. As I was just about to make my last trip I checked in with him and his shitty faux hawk. "Just making one last trip anything else?" He said, "Did you clean the dishwasher area?" He said wringing out a rag. I hadn't seen him do so much as wipe the counter. I left the room and I hope he heard all the "goddamn asshole fuck's" that came out of my mouth. It scared the shit out of the Asian girls, or was it the fact that I was triple their size and shoving a cart around and punching the wall?
Yesterday:
Here is the short version of yesterday:
I went to high school. A friend of mine works with this program at an inner city school where kids come (voluntarily) to hang out and write. The fun started from the very beginning when we were given criminal background check forms and were made to sign in and wear stickers that said, "Visitor." After meeting the goofy teacher guy we stopped by the library where a fat kid with curly hair was sitting his friend came racing in (trenchcoated and ponytailed) hollering, "The one day that I finish my Spanish homework..."
We were led to the teacher's lounge where the students met up. My friend introduced me and I took a seat that made farty type sounds when I fidgeted (I am a fidgeter) and I wondered if the students could hear it. A rag tag group of about 12 assembled. Everyone had silly names like, Rain, Terrace, and Wolfgang. What the hell were people thinking 15 years ago when they named their kids? The first item up was to read a page from an Alice Munro story. The girl with an excellent name (Emily) started to read from the page in a shy voice. She stumbled over the longer, foreign-looking words and stopped after the first paragraph and said point blank that she was done. I don't blame her there were some tough words in that. She asked the girl next to her, "What is a sorority?"
The class continued with us free writing and sharing and the teacher man ordering pizza loudly on the phone in the same room. The pizza arrived and we took a break and met back up, less successfully than the first time. Though, all of the students who braved reading their work were far more brilliant writers than the grad students I read work from. I didn't tell them this, but I should've. After a short while longer we were finished. The teacher man lined up who he was giving rides home to the kids (apparently little girls in Canada can ride home with male teachers). There was one little buck-toothed possibly Korean (I am horrid at Asian regional identification) girl who was on the phone with her mother. She handed the phone off to the teacher man who played the nice guy while this girl's mother told him that she had not known where her daughter was and that she had called the police. My friend told me later that going straight to the police was common for Asian immigrant parents. Wow, when I was a kid the cops called my parents not the other way around.
To celebrate my friend's birthday and American (the only) Thanksgiving and to ditch out on formal dinner at the rez (that shit is ridiculous, I dressed up for high school prom and my cousin's wedding that's all I think I should have to look good for) I decided to go to a party called, "Dance of the Centaurs." This party was to be held at this giant house owned by a creepy white-haired old hippie who is in constant threat of being shut down for too many derelicts.
Before the party a few of us girls (and one guy) met up at a friend's apartment to get our fairy-ness ready. The friend's apartment is quite nice except everywhere you look there are small mountains of belongings in garbage and plastic bags because she had (has?) bed bugs. But, we all took a gamble. There was much glitter and lipstick. There was green eyeshadow on the boy and jewels glued to our heads. There were dresses assembled with a tablecloth and a stapler. All to the soundtrack of Bette Midler. Who knew that being a girly freak would be so much fun? I wonder if I am losing my edge. Who cares I got to wear a twirly skirt! Alright, Old Yeller me already.
After we all got on a crowded bus looking like freaks and I made a grandmother move to a different seat because I said, "Fuck' eight too many times we made it to the party. Here are a few snippets of what I remember:
-From the bus stop to the house we ran into a friend of ours standing on a street corner reading a bible.
-The old guy who runs the house looked over at me with sex in his eyes and said in a deep voice, "You want to do the house the greatest favor you could do it?" I said, "What is the favor?" "Get people to sign the petition." (to keep the house from government-mandated disbandment).
-The guy who I heard is into crystals (not meth, more like real goofy rocks) had a sit down with me and I asked him about this crystal shit. He told me a long boring story that I can't remember and whipped out a hunk of quartz from a velvet pouch. He put it in my hand. I said, "Alright, give me luck and courage." He put his hand over mine and closed his eyes this went on for a bit. I wonder if it worked.
-The following was at the party: stickers with horses on them, a German named Max who works on a mountain, a girl wearing a ridiculous tea cozy as a helmet, nobody with a visible tail, an orange cat that attacked people who tried to pet it, a pot of homemade sangria, a friend wearing a unicorn horn fashioned out of a short story, a huge spread of what is called "raw foods", people sitting on the floor passing around hand drums, people hula hooping, a glowing vibrator, folks drinking out of jars, people doing Kung Fu in a kitchen, and other things.
-For a time I was quite taken with a guy who brewed the beer for the party and was wearing a tye-dyed jumpsuit of sorts. Okay, it looked like a haphazard diaper with tendrils. All was well until another girl, also named Emily, showed up and made it quite clear that she could and may kick my ass for speaking to him. Moments like this make me wish that I had known right and left enough to get into Tae Kwon Do when I was a kid. It was quite embarrassing when your younger brother can tell right from left and you can't. (still can't)
-My friend Bill and I made a bet that one of us would make out with a stranger before the other one. We each bet on ourselves. I won the bet but while kissing my stranger outside along the stone path he said, "Can I ask you something?" "Do I have to answer?" He said, "Yeah." I said, "Maybe." And he said, "How big is too big?" And, started pulling my hand toward his junk. My bodyguard came by at that moment. His interruption may have saved the guys' testicles. What a scum bag. I often brag about how many people I have kissed but if I really think about it almost 86 percent of these cases wind up with losers like these. I should've spit in his eye.
-My bodyguard and I had two options: 1. Stay on our friend's couch. or 2. Take a cab home. I pleaded to stay with our friend. My bodyguard said he wanted to brush his teeth. So, we took a cab and on the way home he whined about it. I pointed out that it was his idea to take a cab and he blamed it on me. I was pissed until we were walking home and he started talking in a Scottish accent making a running commentary of the walk and the stars. It was creepy and wonderful until he called me a "lad."
Well, that's all I can remember.
-Canadian Castaway
Friday, November 27, 2009
I suck and am really not sober
Day 92
So, I am so far from sober right now that I can't remember what it feels like, nor do I want to. it is 3:38 AM and I need to get some sleep. More detail tomorrow. Everything is a whole lot less tragic at the moment well, less tragic than yesterday. Anyway, just got back from the fairy party which I will detail tomorrow when I can spell things correctly and see straight...if I make it.
-Canadian Castaway
(it took me 20 minutes to type that) Shit!
So, I am so far from sober right now that I can't remember what it feels like, nor do I want to. it is 3:38 AM and I need to get some sleep. More detail tomorrow. Everything is a whole lot less tragic at the moment well, less tragic than yesterday. Anyway, just got back from the fairy party which I will detail tomorrow when I can spell things correctly and see straight...if I make it.
-Canadian Castaway
(it took me 20 minutes to type that) Shit!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Avoidance Game, 2nd Person, Flirting and Squid, Murakami Play, Cheesecake Reynolds, Peacock Masks, Broken Umbrellas and Quiet Hearts
Day 91
I woke up at 9 realized that there were no tots today and slept an extra two hours. Seriously, what's the point of breakfast with no tots? The next few hours I played a little game that I call, Avoidance. So, instead of writing you tool around facebook (get in a nasty fight with fake husband), then yahoo, then youtube, then you read a non-required story or three, then you drink a pot of coffee and repeat until a friend of yours beckons you out into the rain. You tell yourself that you are going to comfort her as she has just been rejected a series of times and is a little down but you know that it is also (mostly?) because you are sick of playing Avoidance that you venture out. (weird, 2nd person shift tense shift kinda makes me feel in command. I'm gonna go with it)
Then you trudge up to the bus, hop on and realize that riding the bus alone is quite boring so you text like 5 people who don't text you back. You wait for something exciting to happen amongst the passengers (this rarely happens in the day time unless there is a baby aboard). So, you get off the bus with the intention of being that ultra supportive friend. You imagine yourself hugging your friend in distress and improv-ing all sorts of inspirational, comfort wisdom. This doesn't happen. Instead, you and your friend chat for a few minutes and then go out and buy 60 bucks worth of accessories. Then you and your friend laugh about how you both sometimes fancy yourselves wealthy. This is becoming less true you realize and say a silent wish that one day you will look back on this as a quaint memory while you are driving your BMW down a highway.
Okay, now I am getting annoyed with the 2nd person. So, we met up with a large group of friends for Szechuan. When you walk in you see two tanks one full of lobster and the other filled with giant crabs. I was unfazed by the lobster but the crabs looked inviting. I peered into their tank to find the largest one looking right at me. Well, I think he was looking right at me I am not sure if those were eyes or feelers. Do crabs have feelers? Anyway, I felt like we shared a moment. So much so that when we ordered food to share I announced that I would not be eating crab as I had just had a conference with one of them.
There was a giant lazy susan in the middle of our huge round table. I started spinning it and knocked over a water glass. And, got teased and yelled at. Apparently, I am an idiot child in the eyes of my peers. Later in the evening someone even asked, while looking at me, "How'd she get into the program?" Isn't it great to have friends?
So, I ate the squid. For the first time I ate the squid. It wasn't so bad. It was actually quite addicting. I said, "I wonder how big the squid was." This was a ridiculous question, I guess. The only person who didn't scoff at it was my bodyguard. Then I said, "What? I didn't think that was a ridiculous question." Nobody said anything.
The best part was the waiter who had a flirting addiction but apparently only for me. He called me "baby" and said that he wanted to go out for drinks with us after the play we were attending. Which would have been very flattering except that it would be impossible for him to be a grandfather.
The play we (all the writing students) attended was an adaptation of a Murakami story. The venue was pretty much at a stage between a restaurant and a library of books only in French. The show itself had a giant frog man, the hottest Asian man I'd ever seen, and a cute little girl in it with a jaw stretching problem. I had a fidget attack during the play and especially afterward during the Q and A section. My bodyguard said I was like a puppy in that I can't sit still and then he said that I should take a Prozac before I went out. Tell me again why I like him? How do you tell your bodyguard that part of the reason you are so fucking fidgety is because you desperately want to (mushy alert) hold his hand?
We all followed the man who played a frog. Who, as it turns out, was on the TV show Battlestar Gallactica. Which is totally odd considering that instead of saying "fuck" I have been saying "frak" lately. This is apparently from that show. All I know is that it annoyed the hell out of my friends back home when I said it. Anyway, we followed the frog to a cheesecake place with the promise of sweets and booze. There were just sweets. But, the special of the day was vanilla cheesecake with chocolate sauce and pears. And, if that wasn't enough, the women's bathroom was closed. This may sound like an inconvenience, and it would've been, except that the employee bathroom had now been open for the women to use. The employee bathroom had a giant copy of that Burt Reynolds naked on a bear skin rug photo as its only decoration.
Halfway through our sober cheesecake party I wanted to go home. When we finally got out of there and I paid for a cider I didn't drink I found out my umbrella had broken. It could've been from stepping on it under the table. Anyway, we rode the bus for a good deal and I was able to nod along and fake a good mood. The only interesting thing was that a homeless guy got on a with a full garbage bag, not uncommon, but he also was carrying a mask. As soon as he got on the bus he saw the five of us and held up the mask, proudly. It looked like a mardi gras mask. It was black with gold and silver accents along with a lion-like black and peacock feather pattern fluffing the edges. He announced that he thought it may be a death mask and that he was wondering whose head the "hair" (feathers) came from. He noticed my new peacock headband (is there irony there?) And, apparently (I didn't hear this) offered the mask to me. My friend politely declined. I sat there in my Eeyore cloud of self-imposed sorrow wondering how he knew that I wanted to wear a mask at that moment.
On the walk home I cried and my umbrella broke. I dragged it behind me in an attempt at having a prop for my patheticness (I didn't need a prop, my face was enough). My bodyguard made me throw it away. He asked questions about why I was upset. He asked me if I was homesick. He asked if I wanted a hug (I did, but I turned him down). We walked on for quite awhile. My heart screaming, "Yes, I want to talk." But, I said nothing, just as the Murakami character did in the play. In the play he didn't know how to tell his good friend that he had feelings for her and his friend ended up marrying someone else. He was sad for many years and finally won her heart. I guess I am just at the beginning of waiting and hopefully even if he gets married I will get him in the end. Because when he said, "You can tell me." All I said was, "No, I can't."
Hopefully, this Eeyore cloud will pass soon. If not maybe I should invest in a sun lamp or actually get Prozac. Nah, fuck it all I need is a trip to the candystore and a good breakfast. Although coming home to fairy crowns, bags of glitter, and wings helped. Did I mention that there is a party tomorrow called, Dance of the Centaurs? And, that I am going as a fairy. Yes, dear reader, I have lost it.
-Canadian Castaway
-
I woke up at 9 realized that there were no tots today and slept an extra two hours. Seriously, what's the point of breakfast with no tots? The next few hours I played a little game that I call, Avoidance. So, instead of writing you tool around facebook (get in a nasty fight with fake husband), then yahoo, then youtube, then you read a non-required story or three, then you drink a pot of coffee and repeat until a friend of yours beckons you out into the rain. You tell yourself that you are going to comfort her as she has just been rejected a series of times and is a little down but you know that it is also (mostly?) because you are sick of playing Avoidance that you venture out. (weird, 2nd person shift tense shift kinda makes me feel in command. I'm gonna go with it)
Then you trudge up to the bus, hop on and realize that riding the bus alone is quite boring so you text like 5 people who don't text you back. You wait for something exciting to happen amongst the passengers (this rarely happens in the day time unless there is a baby aboard). So, you get off the bus with the intention of being that ultra supportive friend. You imagine yourself hugging your friend in distress and improv-ing all sorts of inspirational, comfort wisdom. This doesn't happen. Instead, you and your friend chat for a few minutes and then go out and buy 60 bucks worth of accessories. Then you and your friend laugh about how you both sometimes fancy yourselves wealthy. This is becoming less true you realize and say a silent wish that one day you will look back on this as a quaint memory while you are driving your BMW down a highway.
Okay, now I am getting annoyed with the 2nd person. So, we met up with a large group of friends for Szechuan. When you walk in you see two tanks one full of lobster and the other filled with giant crabs. I was unfazed by the lobster but the crabs looked inviting. I peered into their tank to find the largest one looking right at me. Well, I think he was looking right at me I am not sure if those were eyes or feelers. Do crabs have feelers? Anyway, I felt like we shared a moment. So much so that when we ordered food to share I announced that I would not be eating crab as I had just had a conference with one of them.
There was a giant lazy susan in the middle of our huge round table. I started spinning it and knocked over a water glass. And, got teased and yelled at. Apparently, I am an idiot child in the eyes of my peers. Later in the evening someone even asked, while looking at me, "How'd she get into the program?" Isn't it great to have friends?
So, I ate the squid. For the first time I ate the squid. It wasn't so bad. It was actually quite addicting. I said, "I wonder how big the squid was." This was a ridiculous question, I guess. The only person who didn't scoff at it was my bodyguard. Then I said, "What? I didn't think that was a ridiculous question." Nobody said anything.
The best part was the waiter who had a flirting addiction but apparently only for me. He called me "baby" and said that he wanted to go out for drinks with us after the play we were attending. Which would have been very flattering except that it would be impossible for him to be a grandfather.
The play we (all the writing students) attended was an adaptation of a Murakami story. The venue was pretty much at a stage between a restaurant and a library of books only in French. The show itself had a giant frog man, the hottest Asian man I'd ever seen, and a cute little girl in it with a jaw stretching problem. I had a fidget attack during the play and especially afterward during the Q and A section. My bodyguard said I was like a puppy in that I can't sit still and then he said that I should take a Prozac before I went out. Tell me again why I like him? How do you tell your bodyguard that part of the reason you are so fucking fidgety is because you desperately want to (mushy alert) hold his hand?
We all followed the man who played a frog. Who, as it turns out, was on the TV show Battlestar Gallactica. Which is totally odd considering that instead of saying "fuck" I have been saying "frak" lately. This is apparently from that show. All I know is that it annoyed the hell out of my friends back home when I said it. Anyway, we followed the frog to a cheesecake place with the promise of sweets and booze. There were just sweets. But, the special of the day was vanilla cheesecake with chocolate sauce and pears. And, if that wasn't enough, the women's bathroom was closed. This may sound like an inconvenience, and it would've been, except that the employee bathroom had now been open for the women to use. The employee bathroom had a giant copy of that Burt Reynolds naked on a bear skin rug photo as its only decoration.
Halfway through our sober cheesecake party I wanted to go home. When we finally got out of there and I paid for a cider I didn't drink I found out my umbrella had broken. It could've been from stepping on it under the table. Anyway, we rode the bus for a good deal and I was able to nod along and fake a good mood. The only interesting thing was that a homeless guy got on a with a full garbage bag, not uncommon, but he also was carrying a mask. As soon as he got on the bus he saw the five of us and held up the mask, proudly. It looked like a mardi gras mask. It was black with gold and silver accents along with a lion-like black and peacock feather pattern fluffing the edges. He announced that he thought it may be a death mask and that he was wondering whose head the "hair" (feathers) came from. He noticed my new peacock headband (is there irony there?) And, apparently (I didn't hear this) offered the mask to me. My friend politely declined. I sat there in my Eeyore cloud of self-imposed sorrow wondering how he knew that I wanted to wear a mask at that moment.
On the walk home I cried and my umbrella broke. I dragged it behind me in an attempt at having a prop for my patheticness (I didn't need a prop, my face was enough). My bodyguard made me throw it away. He asked questions about why I was upset. He asked me if I was homesick. He asked if I wanted a hug (I did, but I turned him down). We walked on for quite awhile. My heart screaming, "Yes, I want to talk." But, I said nothing, just as the Murakami character did in the play. In the play he didn't know how to tell his good friend that he had feelings for her and his friend ended up marrying someone else. He was sad for many years and finally won her heart. I guess I am just at the beginning of waiting and hopefully even if he gets married I will get him in the end. Because when he said, "You can tell me." All I said was, "No, I can't."
Hopefully, this Eeyore cloud will pass soon. If not maybe I should invest in a sun lamp or actually get Prozac. Nah, fuck it all I need is a trip to the candystore and a good breakfast. Although coming home to fairy crowns, bags of glitter, and wings helped. Did I mention that there is a party tomorrow called, Dance of the Centaurs? And, that I am going as a fairy. Yes, dear reader, I have lost it.
-Canadian Castaway
-
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Moving Out, No Stories, Prissy Book Handling, Yahoo.ca Never Lets Me Down, Misc.-y Shit
Day 90
This morning there were no tater tots at breakfast. Instead, there were great swarms of people. I almost had a panic attack. It took ten minutes to worm your way to the milk machine let alone get a whole tray of food. I saw a friend after the entire fiasco of trying to put away my tray. Instead of saying my usual, "Good morning. How are you?" I said, "I am moving out of this hell hole." Apparently, I said it loud enough for a table of ten to hear plus the neighboring table of ten. Usually in the mornings people are pretty sedated but these people looked at me like I walked into the dining hall in a string bikini, climbed up on the table, and announced, "Jesus, will save our souls!" Oh well, I am sure they already thought I was a freak. Besides how could anyone ever move out of here where every Monday there are tots.
Class today was a huge let down. The only class I like is this one. The only reason I like it is because our instructor is a tiny little elfish man who is prone to go on long story rants that have to deal with his checkered past. But, the only exciting things that happened today were not stories.
1. I took an entire page of notes left handed.
2. My friend walked in late and leaned over to me and whispered, "I've had so much sex in the last two days." Her eyes rolled back into her head and the goofy grin she wore never left her face.
3. A car alarm went off right outside the window for like 5 full minutes and the instructor and almost everyone (except the sexed up girl) went on as if they didn't notice.
And, that's all that happened. Except the instructor wrote, "OK" on my rewrite he handed back. On everyone elses he wrote words like, "Good" and "Super."
My bodyguard is a huge priss. Back up, tonight before work I met up with a few of my fellow writing students. During the table chat about Steinbeck (boring) I stole into my bodyguard's overloaded bag to snoop out his books. I pulled one of the library books out and opened it up. He stole it out of my hands and instructed me to not make fun of it. (He reads some flowery pseudo sci-fi/fantasy shit.) I took it back and opened it up. That was when he lost it.
"Don't just rip it open like that you are gonna crack the spine," he shrieked. So, I closed it and did it again. He flinched. "Dude, calm down it's just a library book. And, it's hard cover and I don't see any cracks in the spine do you?" He nabbed the book and demonstrated how to properly open it:to tilt it and to NEVER open it wider than a 45 degree triangle. He then took the book and the other one I had fished out of his bag, put them back and moved his bag to cover his feet. I tried to sneak a hand down to snag it and he moved the bag out of reach. I guess I have no book privileges for the evening. Snob.
So, I am thinking about renaming the blog: What Emily Read on Yahoo.ca News Today. Seriously, I can't make this shit up. Here are my favorite stories of the day:
1. Somebody threw a canned ham at Paula Deen and hit her in the mouth. She tweeted about it later apparently saying, "I haven't met the ham that could stop me yet."
2. The next one is all about how to find a husband. To sum up it gives 4 tips about how you should date people your girlfriends (used in the old people way) hook you up with (their guy friends) and get involved in your community or live to a different community if your community is too full of married men or ancient people. But, the fifth tip was my favorite saying that you should ignore the first four tips and just go on the internet which they refer to as, "the superhighway of love.'
3. The last news tidbit I found noteworthy had to do with a fat man in a unitard impersonating Beyonce's last video. I watch on with amazement, not at the bulging unitard but at the fact that this proves that anyone, seriously anyone, can dance. And, can dance just as well as superstars. How inspiring. Well, I got to admit that the part where he crawled around on the floor was negative sexy. But, still...
Not much else happened today. Except that I saw a couple raccoons running in the road. They have a weird little gangsta walk to them. The little bastards. I didn't get the job that I interviewed for last week. Looking back on my blog entry of that day instructing the public on what NOT to do at an interview (everything I did) and it's not all that surprising. Oh, I also saw a crow peck open a plastic bag, it took FOREVER. Okay, I admit, I walked away after watching for five minutes. The damn thing wasn't even through the plastic yet. Lying is soo frakin easy.
-Canadian Castaway
This morning there were no tater tots at breakfast. Instead, there were great swarms of people. I almost had a panic attack. It took ten minutes to worm your way to the milk machine let alone get a whole tray of food. I saw a friend after the entire fiasco of trying to put away my tray. Instead of saying my usual, "Good morning. How are you?" I said, "I am moving out of this hell hole." Apparently, I said it loud enough for a table of ten to hear plus the neighboring table of ten. Usually in the mornings people are pretty sedated but these people looked at me like I walked into the dining hall in a string bikini, climbed up on the table, and announced, "Jesus, will save our souls!" Oh well, I am sure they already thought I was a freak. Besides how could anyone ever move out of here where every Monday there are tots.
Class today was a huge let down. The only class I like is this one. The only reason I like it is because our instructor is a tiny little elfish man who is prone to go on long story rants that have to deal with his checkered past. But, the only exciting things that happened today were not stories.
1. I took an entire page of notes left handed.
2. My friend walked in late and leaned over to me and whispered, "I've had so much sex in the last two days." Her eyes rolled back into her head and the goofy grin she wore never left her face.
3. A car alarm went off right outside the window for like 5 full minutes and the instructor and almost everyone (except the sexed up girl) went on as if they didn't notice.
And, that's all that happened. Except the instructor wrote, "OK" on my rewrite he handed back. On everyone elses he wrote words like, "Good" and "Super."
My bodyguard is a huge priss. Back up, tonight before work I met up with a few of my fellow writing students. During the table chat about Steinbeck (boring) I stole into my bodyguard's overloaded bag to snoop out his books. I pulled one of the library books out and opened it up. He stole it out of my hands and instructed me to not make fun of it. (He reads some flowery pseudo sci-fi/fantasy shit.) I took it back and opened it up. That was when he lost it.
"Don't just rip it open like that you are gonna crack the spine," he shrieked. So, I closed it and did it again. He flinched. "Dude, calm down it's just a library book. And, it's hard cover and I don't see any cracks in the spine do you?" He nabbed the book and demonstrated how to properly open it:to tilt it and to NEVER open it wider than a 45 degree triangle. He then took the book and the other one I had fished out of his bag, put them back and moved his bag to cover his feet. I tried to sneak a hand down to snag it and he moved the bag out of reach. I guess I have no book privileges for the evening. Snob.
So, I am thinking about renaming the blog: What Emily Read on Yahoo.ca News Today. Seriously, I can't make this shit up. Here are my favorite stories of the day:
1. Somebody threw a canned ham at Paula Deen and hit her in the mouth. She tweeted about it later apparently saying, "I haven't met the ham that could stop me yet."
2. The next one is all about how to find a husband. To sum up it gives 4 tips about how you should date people your girlfriends (used in the old people way) hook you up with (their guy friends) and get involved in your community or live to a different community if your community is too full of married men or ancient people. But, the fifth tip was my favorite saying that you should ignore the first four tips and just go on the internet which they refer to as, "the superhighway of love.'
3. The last news tidbit I found noteworthy had to do with a fat man in a unitard impersonating Beyonce's last video. I watch on with amazement, not at the bulging unitard but at the fact that this proves that anyone, seriously anyone, can dance. And, can dance just as well as superstars. How inspiring. Well, I got to admit that the part where he crawled around on the floor was negative sexy. But, still...
Not much else happened today. Except that I saw a couple raccoons running in the road. They have a weird little gangsta walk to them. The little bastards. I didn't get the job that I interviewed for last week. Looking back on my blog entry of that day instructing the public on what NOT to do at an interview (everything I did) and it's not all that surprising. Oh, I also saw a crow peck open a plastic bag, it took FOREVER. Okay, I admit, I walked away after watching for five minutes. The damn thing wasn't even through the plastic yet. Lying is soo frakin easy.
-Canadian Castaway
Monday, November 23, 2009
Sasquatch, JBJ, Indian Dude, Ode to Alcoholism, The Christmas Drunk, SOL on AOL, Horoscope-Induced Paranoia
Day 89
Once again it was tater tot day. And, once again I ate 19 tater tots and eggs and felt like I was gonna puke on my way to school. The first class of the day we workshopped a story (translation: sat around and tore apart a short story by a classmate) that had a main character who was a Sasquatch. The story itself was sort of weak and I didn't believe any of the dialogue between the human characters but, a lively debate ensued regarding the Sasquatch. Two students went totally off on the Sasquatch and it's history and the like. I tried to become involved in the debate (mostly to keep the tater tots at bay). I said, "Why are is the Sasquatch afraid of the humans in the first place?" And, they threw out the question as though I had asked them if MJ stands for Michael Jackson. Thank God they left out the, "Duh!" But, I still don't know why the damn hairy beast is afraid of humans. Fucking pussy Sasquatch
The only interesting part about the second class of the day was how much knitting I got done during it. I am kicking myself for all of those weeks when I thought that knitting during class would be disruptive and rude. Jesus, just think about how much I could've accomplished. Afterwards I fled the building with the silly notion that I would get some writing done this afternoon. Apparently, my idea of writing consists of watching every 1980s Bon Jovi video on youtube and pretending that he is singing to me and pretending that his hair is still that huge. Although I think his keys player was better looking at some points.
At dinner tonight I sat next to the Indian dude I proposed to the other day, not to be confused with the Indian dude who is my bodyguard or the Indian dude who is my co-worker who I kissed the other day or the Indian dude who is also my co-worker but a slavedriver. After I tried to steal his pear for quite awhile (he actually offered it to me and then retracted his offer) there was a lull in the conversation so I said my usual, "What the hell did you do all day?" and he said, "I worked." "And?" And, then he mumbled something I couldn't make out so I said, "What?!" And, he said, "And, I thought about you for the rest of the day." If he had started singing, "I'll Be There For You" after he said that I would have to be extracted by three large security guards from his body.
You may be an alcoholic if...
A friend of yours pops up facebook chat at random with the line, "Are you drunk again?" And, you realize that not only are you drinking wine but it is almost gone. And, you start to panic. If that's not bad enough she asks, "Why are you drinking?" Like I want to get into that. I am drinking to avoid getting into that is what I should've wrote instead I wrote, "Stupid feelings." I guess that made sense to her as she was all, I know what you mean. And, then said, I drink wine, too. I don't know if this is supposed to make any of us feel better seeing as we both drink wine alone in front of our computer screens. Geez, who knew being an adult would be so fun?
Speaking of drinking this year, it is my brother's turn to purchase the liqueur we hide under the bathroom sink at Christmas time. I reminded him of this via facebook and informed him that it is to be me that gets totally smashed before the evening church service and not him. He has not yet written back. I wonder if he even remembers copying down psalms into his cell phone and turning to me every few seconds to proclaim at above a whisper, "This shit is so fucked up." Goddamit, I may be to old to get drunk and make a scene at church. Ohh, wasted youth.
So, I thought it would be good to sign up for AIM seeing as Facebook chat is an annoying slutty cousin. I signed up and all of a sudden my homepage is AOL and I have a toolbar I can't get rid of and have no use for and the real bitch is that I can't cancel my account. I searched the Help feature to find that it is possible to cancel, there were even illustrations of what menus to go to and click on. Which was all great except, the cancellation button was not offered on my page. I panicked. After a half hour of attempts I resigned to the fact that I will never get rid of AOL, ever. And, in protest, I will never EVER use my account. I reset my homepage to yahoo and thought I would get on with my life. Yeah, right, things are never so easy. Now, every time I get on the internet the AOL toolbar shows up. I kept deleting it and it kept showing up now I am trying a new technique, pretending that it's not there. Which isn't working. Shit, if I were any good at pretending I would pretend I was rich, attractive, and talented I wouldn't waste my efforts on a piddly little tool bar.
Let's see, nothing much else happened today. More tomorrow given that it is more exciting than today. I am scared to read my horoscope and find out. I should probably never read that shit again because even though I think it's truly bullshit at the core I believe every word. For example, today I didn't even speak to my bodyguard as my horoscope that I would deeply offend someone and his said that someone would deeply offend him. But, now I am wondering how he is doing. Frak.
-Canadian Castaway
Once again it was tater tot day. And, once again I ate 19 tater tots and eggs and felt like I was gonna puke on my way to school. The first class of the day we workshopped a story (translation: sat around and tore apart a short story by a classmate) that had a main character who was a Sasquatch. The story itself was sort of weak and I didn't believe any of the dialogue between the human characters but, a lively debate ensued regarding the Sasquatch. Two students went totally off on the Sasquatch and it's history and the like. I tried to become involved in the debate (mostly to keep the tater tots at bay). I said, "Why are is the Sasquatch afraid of the humans in the first place?" And, they threw out the question as though I had asked them if MJ stands for Michael Jackson. Thank God they left out the, "Duh!" But, I still don't know why the damn hairy beast is afraid of humans. Fucking pussy Sasquatch
The only interesting part about the second class of the day was how much knitting I got done during it. I am kicking myself for all of those weeks when I thought that knitting during class would be disruptive and rude. Jesus, just think about how much I could've accomplished. Afterwards I fled the building with the silly notion that I would get some writing done this afternoon. Apparently, my idea of writing consists of watching every 1980s Bon Jovi video on youtube and pretending that he is singing to me and pretending that his hair is still that huge. Although I think his keys player was better looking at some points.
At dinner tonight I sat next to the Indian dude I proposed to the other day, not to be confused with the Indian dude who is my bodyguard or the Indian dude who is my co-worker who I kissed the other day or the Indian dude who is also my co-worker but a slavedriver. After I tried to steal his pear for quite awhile (he actually offered it to me and then retracted his offer) there was a lull in the conversation so I said my usual, "What the hell did you do all day?" and he said, "I worked." "And?" And, then he mumbled something I couldn't make out so I said, "What?!" And, he said, "And, I thought about you for the rest of the day." If he had started singing, "I'll Be There For You" after he said that I would have to be extracted by three large security guards from his body.
You may be an alcoholic if...
A friend of yours pops up facebook chat at random with the line, "Are you drunk again?" And, you realize that not only are you drinking wine but it is almost gone. And, you start to panic. If that's not bad enough she asks, "Why are you drinking?" Like I want to get into that. I am drinking to avoid getting into that is what I should've wrote instead I wrote, "Stupid feelings." I guess that made sense to her as she was all, I know what you mean. And, then said, I drink wine, too. I don't know if this is supposed to make any of us feel better seeing as we both drink wine alone in front of our computer screens. Geez, who knew being an adult would be so fun?
Speaking of drinking this year, it is my brother's turn to purchase the liqueur we hide under the bathroom sink at Christmas time. I reminded him of this via facebook and informed him that it is to be me that gets totally smashed before the evening church service and not him. He has not yet written back. I wonder if he even remembers copying down psalms into his cell phone and turning to me every few seconds to proclaim at above a whisper, "This shit is so fucked up." Goddamit, I may be to old to get drunk and make a scene at church. Ohh, wasted youth.
So, I thought it would be good to sign up for AIM seeing as Facebook chat is an annoying slutty cousin. I signed up and all of a sudden my homepage is AOL and I have a toolbar I can't get rid of and have no use for and the real bitch is that I can't cancel my account. I searched the Help feature to find that it is possible to cancel, there were even illustrations of what menus to go to and click on. Which was all great except, the cancellation button was not offered on my page. I panicked. After a half hour of attempts I resigned to the fact that I will never get rid of AOL, ever. And, in protest, I will never EVER use my account. I reset my homepage to yahoo and thought I would get on with my life. Yeah, right, things are never so easy. Now, every time I get on the internet the AOL toolbar shows up. I kept deleting it and it kept showing up now I am trying a new technique, pretending that it's not there. Which isn't working. Shit, if I were any good at pretending I would pretend I was rich, attractive, and talented I wouldn't waste my efforts on a piddly little tool bar.
Let's see, nothing much else happened today. More tomorrow given that it is more exciting than today. I am scared to read my horoscope and find out. I should probably never read that shit again because even though I think it's truly bullshit at the core I believe every word. For example, today I didn't even speak to my bodyguard as my horoscope that I would deeply offend someone and his said that someone would deeply offend him. But, now I am wondering how he is doing. Frak.
-Canadian Castaway
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Choo, Care Bear Surprize, Pizza-The Food Not the Awesome Movie, Phone Calling, Save Me Skinner
Day 88
Today was boring. I have been looking at Jimmy Choo shoes online for a half an hour when they don't even make them in my size, let alone that they cost like 500 bucks. I don't recall ever paying more than 90 bucks for shoes and even those I felt guilty about and still wear every day.
Today was so boring that if I had a hit counter of how many times I went onto facebook I would fall into a depression that a case of Zoloft couldn't begin to cure. The only remotely exciting things that have happened demonstrate how boring everything was. Here they are:
1. I went to a goofy guy's apartment to look at his movie collection. He lives in an allegedly ultra Christian (Presbyterian) dorm-ish building. This had great promise to be exciting, in fact, I was betting my whole day on it. Turns out that it just looks like an other building except that it has a small, lighted windowed room in it that is a chapel. But, it didn't even have pews. And, my friend seemed to have no interest in exploring it. His movies were as exciting as the chapel. Sure he had some good ones but mostly they were action flicks from the 90s. The only great find was "The Care Bear Movie." He said he'd seen it like 12 times. I asked him who is his favorite Care Bear and he said, "I don't know their names, the one with the heart on it."
Maybe he was mad at me for declaring, "You have a lot of stuff" upon entering his small room. The sad part was that the only interesting stuff was a teddy bear in a striped sweater I said, "I like your bears sweater." Did that come off as mean? I really meant it. The only other item of note was a giant box of Trojans. Which would've been extremely interesting because I think he is a virgin. But, I know that he bought them as a gag for this room crawl party last week. He said he was thinking about trying to return them but noted that they have a "five year expiry date." So, I grabbed The Parent Trap and Stay Tuned and waited for him in the hallway, crestfallen.
2. This is even more exciting, we had pizza for dinner. Yay! You know it's bad when your entire day is spent in anticipation of dry pizza with unidentified green shit on it. Hold on while I pour myself a shot and get a Kleenex to dry my tears. But, the best part is yet to come because my skinny guy friend next to me saw me get up and rush to the salad line and come back with a bowl of Ranch dressing to dunk my pizza in. "Geez, I am gonna die of a heart attack," I said, smiling as though I made a good joke. "Yes, you are," he said. "What is that like all mayo?"
The best part about my boring day is when I am talking to people from back home who have called me up to hear about my exciting Canada adventure. When all I pretty much do is recite the gossip that I have heard from other people back home about people back home. Turns out nearly 2000 miles of distance between me and the action means that I still hear all the gossip. Even when I try to tell exciting spontaneous tales they come off like this:
"I have kissed a ton of people since I've been here."
"What? Really?"
"Well, actually it's just a couple people, on the lips but with no tongue. So, what's new with so and so? Tell me they got fat!"
My own mother hung up on me to go see a movie that she's already seen a dozen times. I wish I were making this up.
I also read a little about B.F. Skinner during my boring-athon. The scientist who learned and taught the virtues of positive reinforcement. I wonder what he'd do if he were still alive and I went to him and said, "Mr. Skinner, what do you do when the highlight of your day is popping a few blackheads?" Maybe he would condition me to feel joy every time I extracted whatever shit blackheads are made out of. Or, maybe he'd put me in a box, like he did to his kid, and just start me over entirely. I wonder if I would become addicted to pressing the food bar. All signs point to yes.
Well, back to watching youtube videos I have already seen of Dame Edna.
-Canadian Castaway
Today was boring. I have been looking at Jimmy Choo shoes online for a half an hour when they don't even make them in my size, let alone that they cost like 500 bucks. I don't recall ever paying more than 90 bucks for shoes and even those I felt guilty about and still wear every day.
Today was so boring that if I had a hit counter of how many times I went onto facebook I would fall into a depression that a case of Zoloft couldn't begin to cure. The only remotely exciting things that have happened demonstrate how boring everything was. Here they are:
1. I went to a goofy guy's apartment to look at his movie collection. He lives in an allegedly ultra Christian (Presbyterian) dorm-ish building. This had great promise to be exciting, in fact, I was betting my whole day on it. Turns out that it just looks like an other building except that it has a small, lighted windowed room in it that is a chapel. But, it didn't even have pews. And, my friend seemed to have no interest in exploring it. His movies were as exciting as the chapel. Sure he had some good ones but mostly they were action flicks from the 90s. The only great find was "The Care Bear Movie." He said he'd seen it like 12 times. I asked him who is his favorite Care Bear and he said, "I don't know their names, the one with the heart on it."
Maybe he was mad at me for declaring, "You have a lot of stuff" upon entering his small room. The sad part was that the only interesting stuff was a teddy bear in a striped sweater I said, "I like your bears sweater." Did that come off as mean? I really meant it. The only other item of note was a giant box of Trojans. Which would've been extremely interesting because I think he is a virgin. But, I know that he bought them as a gag for this room crawl party last week. He said he was thinking about trying to return them but noted that they have a "five year expiry date." So, I grabbed The Parent Trap and Stay Tuned and waited for him in the hallway, crestfallen.
2. This is even more exciting, we had pizza for dinner. Yay! You know it's bad when your entire day is spent in anticipation of dry pizza with unidentified green shit on it. Hold on while I pour myself a shot and get a Kleenex to dry my tears. But, the best part is yet to come because my skinny guy friend next to me saw me get up and rush to the salad line and come back with a bowl of Ranch dressing to dunk my pizza in. "Geez, I am gonna die of a heart attack," I said, smiling as though I made a good joke. "Yes, you are," he said. "What is that like all mayo?"
The best part about my boring day is when I am talking to people from back home who have called me up to hear about my exciting Canada adventure. When all I pretty much do is recite the gossip that I have heard from other people back home about people back home. Turns out nearly 2000 miles of distance between me and the action means that I still hear all the gossip. Even when I try to tell exciting spontaneous tales they come off like this:
"I have kissed a ton of people since I've been here."
"What? Really?"
"Well, actually it's just a couple people, on the lips but with no tongue. So, what's new with so and so? Tell me they got fat!"
My own mother hung up on me to go see a movie that she's already seen a dozen times. I wish I were making this up.
I also read a little about B.F. Skinner during my boring-athon. The scientist who learned and taught the virtues of positive reinforcement. I wonder what he'd do if he were still alive and I went to him and said, "Mr. Skinner, what do you do when the highlight of your day is popping a few blackheads?" Maybe he would condition me to feel joy every time I extracted whatever shit blackheads are made out of. Or, maybe he'd put me in a box, like he did to his kid, and just start me over entirely. I wonder if I would become addicted to pressing the food bar. All signs point to yes.
Well, back to watching youtube videos I have already seen of Dame Edna.
-Canadian Castaway
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Facebook Friends, Eleanor Found, The Decline of Western Libraries, Ode to Yahoo,Too Talented, Clueless
Day 87
NOTE: I am writing this blog while listening to a friend pound out some Beethoven on a baby grand in a youtube video. And, I hate Classical music. It makes me angry. We'll see how this turns out. At least I can tell him I listened to it. It actually is making me type as fast as Doogie Howser. Hmm...
Today was the day that I began my search for Eleanor Roosevelt. I posted this on a facebook status update and no one cared. Fuck my friends. I could get new ones there are thousands of lonely people on facebook trying to make up for the fact that they didn't have friends in high school by outscoring the friends they didn't have in sheer number of "friends". But, all of that is beside the point, today was all about me and Eleanor. I found her in a library.
I searched the library catalogue and jotted down call numbers before I left home. Usually I use the skanky search computers at the library to do such things but I wasn't feeling all that dirty, besides this was a serious venture. I am obsessed with Mrs. Roosevelt and after a day and a half of stalking her it was time to find the one book that my school's library had of hers that wasn't missing or withdrawn. I was to find "Autobiography."
In order to do so I had to go to the more science-y library on campus. Now, I've been to dozens of libraries (it's a fetish me and many perverts have) but this library certainly sucked the most (and not in a meet me in the bathroom stall on the third floor kind of way). Upon entering you do not see books you see giant frosted glass stalactites that are supposed to pass for art/sculpture but really just look like icicles that could drop at any moment and impale a minimum of 3 people each. An event that I sort of wished would happen, not to me of course. Anyway, the second thing you notice is that you cannot see any books. The third thing you notice is that there is roughly as many people as comprises my entire hometown sitting on uncomfortable furniture with their laptops and criss cut french fries and it's loud as a football stadium. It's hard to say if you are in a library. After going up a floor and going through a back stairwell I finally found the books and Eleanor in a sea of more furniture and undergrads and got the hell outta that library of madness. Soon, there won't be any books left in libraries. They will just become social lounges full of fried food consumers who have laptops. But, I wonder where all of the masturbators who jerk one out in the stacks will end up.
I know what I will be thankful for come this Thursday: yahoo.ca news. Here's what I learned today from this lovely news source:
5 Signs You Need to Dump Him:
Summary
Tip #1: "He doesn't care how (or even if) you get home after a date.
My favorite tip #5: "He's afraid of the 'g-word'." -I actually didn't know that the g-word was girlfriend. Yeah, I actually read this shit.
Cat Squeezes Inside a Bottle:
Here's the headline: "This determined feline manages to fit through a tiny hole in order to reach the last bits of food." This is accompanied by a photo of a desperately hungry animal who is obviously being tortured for human amusement. Animal torture is a common theme for yahoo.ca news. Which is funny if it's a cat.
Heidi Klum's Post-Baby Body:
The article says that this is the supermodel's body after she had a fourth kid. Jesus, shouldn't we cut her off? How many beautiful people should we have running around making us look bad?
So tonight there was a talent show of sorts going on in my residence. The shitty part of it was that nobody involved was really bad at their talent so I have nothing to report. As my favorite ancient columnist would say, "A good time was had by all." Boring! Although, I must say that I could probably sing "The Rainbow Connection" better than the Singaporean girl. And, a girl sang a REALLY long song about a barefoot woodcutter. And, it was mildly humorous when the older German sang a German pop song in German from the 1980s (how many times can I say German in this sentence). But, it was more sad cause nobody was all that into it, even him. I think I volunteered to organize the next talent show, maybe I could find some truly horrible acts to break up the goodness.
I learned this evening that trying to teach a Basque physicist how to play the game Clue is almost impossible. I don't think he was even writing down the information he was collecting. He said to just play it and he'd catch on. Right. But, he does do a killer Inigo Montoya impression, even though he doesn't really know who that is.
Good news the umbrella I stole the other day hasn't broken yet and is starting to feel like it actually belongs to me.
-Canadian Castaway
NOTE: I am writing this blog while listening to a friend pound out some Beethoven on a baby grand in a youtube video. And, I hate Classical music. It makes me angry. We'll see how this turns out. At least I can tell him I listened to it. It actually is making me type as fast as Doogie Howser. Hmm...
Today was the day that I began my search for Eleanor Roosevelt. I posted this on a facebook status update and no one cared. Fuck my friends. I could get new ones there are thousands of lonely people on facebook trying to make up for the fact that they didn't have friends in high school by outscoring the friends they didn't have in sheer number of "friends". But, all of that is beside the point, today was all about me and Eleanor. I found her in a library.
I searched the library catalogue and jotted down call numbers before I left home. Usually I use the skanky search computers at the library to do such things but I wasn't feeling all that dirty, besides this was a serious venture. I am obsessed with Mrs. Roosevelt and after a day and a half of stalking her it was time to find the one book that my school's library had of hers that wasn't missing or withdrawn. I was to find "Autobiography."
In order to do so I had to go to the more science-y library on campus. Now, I've been to dozens of libraries (it's a fetish me and many perverts have) but this library certainly sucked the most (and not in a meet me in the bathroom stall on the third floor kind of way). Upon entering you do not see books you see giant frosted glass stalactites that are supposed to pass for art/sculpture but really just look like icicles that could drop at any moment and impale a minimum of 3 people each. An event that I sort of wished would happen, not to me of course. Anyway, the second thing you notice is that you cannot see any books. The third thing you notice is that there is roughly as many people as comprises my entire hometown sitting on uncomfortable furniture with their laptops and criss cut french fries and it's loud as a football stadium. It's hard to say if you are in a library. After going up a floor and going through a back stairwell I finally found the books and Eleanor in a sea of more furniture and undergrads and got the hell outta that library of madness. Soon, there won't be any books left in libraries. They will just become social lounges full of fried food consumers who have laptops. But, I wonder where all of the masturbators who jerk one out in the stacks will end up.
I know what I will be thankful for come this Thursday: yahoo.ca news. Here's what I learned today from this lovely news source:
5 Signs You Need to Dump Him:
Summary
Tip #1: "He doesn't care how (or even if) you get home after a date.
My favorite tip #5: "He's afraid of the 'g-word'." -I actually didn't know that the g-word was girlfriend. Yeah, I actually read this shit.
Cat Squeezes Inside a Bottle:
Here's the headline: "This determined feline manages to fit through a tiny hole in order to reach the last bits of food." This is accompanied by a photo of a desperately hungry animal who is obviously being tortured for human amusement. Animal torture is a common theme for yahoo.ca news. Which is funny if it's a cat.
Heidi Klum's Post-Baby Body:
The article says that this is the supermodel's body after she had a fourth kid. Jesus, shouldn't we cut her off? How many beautiful people should we have running around making us look bad?
So tonight there was a talent show of sorts going on in my residence. The shitty part of it was that nobody involved was really bad at their talent so I have nothing to report. As my favorite ancient columnist would say, "A good time was had by all." Boring! Although, I must say that I could probably sing "The Rainbow Connection" better than the Singaporean girl. And, a girl sang a REALLY long song about a barefoot woodcutter. And, it was mildly humorous when the older German sang a German pop song in German from the 1980s (how many times can I say German in this sentence). But, it was more sad cause nobody was all that into it, even him. I think I volunteered to organize the next talent show, maybe I could find some truly horrible acts to break up the goodness.
I learned this evening that trying to teach a Basque physicist how to play the game Clue is almost impossible. I don't think he was even writing down the information he was collecting. He said to just play it and he'd catch on. Right. But, he does do a killer Inigo Montoya impression, even though he doesn't really know who that is.
Good news the umbrella I stole the other day hasn't broken yet and is starting to feel like it actually belongs to me.
-Canadian Castaway
Bath Toys, Ellie, Japanese Dining Will Always Suck, Karaoke, Joy Riding in Elaine
Day 86
This morning was rather uneventful except that I realized two things:
1. I find inspiration while in the shower which leads to me standing in my own puddle, writing. Maybe I should get that brightly colored soap that you can use to write on yourself and the tub. Which reminds me of those capsules that turn into animal-shaped sponges. I am not sure how they are really all that inspiring but I wonder what would happened if you swallowed one like a pill. Would you become pregnant with a sponge T-Rex. Hmm, that would be soooo much cooler than a real baby.
2. That I have an unnatural obsession with Eleanor Roosevelt. The stuff that came pouring out of that woman's mouth is damn astounding. She was so brilliant that I am wondering why she wasn't president. Oh yeah because we couldn't handle a woman president. I wonder how many wars could have been prevented had the world listened to just a few quotes from this woman. Anyway, I am so excited because I am devoting tomorrow afternoon to stalking her in the library. Hey, I finally have a hobby that doesn't involve facebook: stalking Mrs. Roosevelt (cause you know she's not on facebook). Perhaps I should set up a buddy system (translation: a team of goons I fear) in case I start thinking I am Mrs. Roosevelt. If I marry my father's fifth cousin and pop out five children, it may be time to haul me in, especially if I start wearing hats.
After waiting on a whole bunch of drunk ass lawyers-to-be my bodyguard and I went out to a birthday party for a friend. (Sorry, got to admit I was reading about Eleanor for the last half hour). Anyway, the party was to begin at a Japanese restaurant. I hate Japanese food. But, going to the restaurant was infinitely better than waiting on young lawyers with free drink tickets. Here are a couple of highlights from the Japanese food-athon:
-Apparently, you have to take off your shoes to eat. As it is polite, I just can't figure out how it is polite.
-They give you wet hot towels to clean your hands with. But, they are also supposed to be used as napkins. So, whatever shit you wipe from your hands you will inevitably wipe on your mouth anyhow. How is this helping anything?
-A lot of Japanese food comes on little plates and skewers.
-Sake isn't so bad. Well, I guess any sort of liquor isn't so bad. But, I did learn that despite it being served in shot-like glasses you aren't supposed to shoot it.
-Hot cherry tomatoes stuck on a stick with salt and pepper is just a plain ripoff.
-I would never want to be a dishwasher at a Japanese restaurant.
-What does it mean when your friends are embarrassed by your existence in front of their other friends and they say, "Oh, she's American," and the friends of friends nod in understanding? Who should you hate and why exactly should you hate them?
-I wonder what the nastiest used hot towel looked like.
-The best part of the meal was the fried chicken that came with mayo. Every thing else tasted a lot like slugs feel in your hand.
-I got a blow job lesson from the guy across from me as he used an edamame as a tiny, fake cock. It was way hotter than it sounds.
Other than all of that it was kinda boring except when I thought about how I should go into Japanese restaurants and steal shoes from dining customers. But, I wear a very uncommon size and would thus end up with a ton of useless shoes. It would be more productive to steal handbags but I may get deported. Nah, it's Canada.
After the Japanese-athon we went to sing karaoke. We went to someplace where you rent out a room from a fuckload of Asian men. The room itself looked like a backroom at a low rate strip club. In one corner was an old school huge screen TV with a slit in the screen. The songs were cued up by typing in numbers on a giant remote that was covered in plastic wrap. Dirty. They were set to run with a montage of Asian film footage that made no sense with the theme of the songs. Anyway, we belted out a few nasty ballads, a classmate of mine somehow ended up with her crotch on my head singing Bon Jovi and the boyfriend of the birthday girl sang a song in a fabulous falsetto. Just as my bodyguard and a friend were starting to sing David Bowie a stern-looking Asian man entered the room and ordered us out of the building. The song continued acapella for quite sometime which made it much harder to fake the words. But, I realized something tonight even if we all fail as writers we could always form a choir and try to make money that way, somehow. And if we failed at both writing and choir-singing at least we could get cool matching robes to mill around in while we ask, "Would you like to supersize that?"
Usually when we go out late downtown it takes a million years to get home as we miss late night buses, walk forever, and take cabs. But, tonight was special. Turns out a friend of ours has a car! Not just any car either a boxy 1989 Toyota. She had named the car Trooper but I promptly renamed it Elaine. She piled everyone in and we cruised around singing Elton John while dumping out people. I wanted to ride in Elaine forever. Maybe I'll buy that Taurus from the German and and name it Eleanor and Elaine would have a less cool friend. Nah, then I'd have to stay sober.
-Canadian Castaway
Later, in the afternoon I learned about Canadian lawyers to be as I had to work a function for a party they had at the college.
This morning was rather uneventful except that I realized two things:
1. I find inspiration while in the shower which leads to me standing in my own puddle, writing. Maybe I should get that brightly colored soap that you can use to write on yourself and the tub. Which reminds me of those capsules that turn into animal-shaped sponges. I am not sure how they are really all that inspiring but I wonder what would happened if you swallowed one like a pill. Would you become pregnant with a sponge T-Rex. Hmm, that would be soooo much cooler than a real baby.
2. That I have an unnatural obsession with Eleanor Roosevelt. The stuff that came pouring out of that woman's mouth is damn astounding. She was so brilliant that I am wondering why she wasn't president. Oh yeah because we couldn't handle a woman president. I wonder how many wars could have been prevented had the world listened to just a few quotes from this woman. Anyway, I am so excited because I am devoting tomorrow afternoon to stalking her in the library. Hey, I finally have a hobby that doesn't involve facebook: stalking Mrs. Roosevelt (cause you know she's not on facebook). Perhaps I should set up a buddy system (translation: a team of goons I fear) in case I start thinking I am Mrs. Roosevelt. If I marry my father's fifth cousin and pop out five children, it may be time to haul me in, especially if I start wearing hats.
After waiting on a whole bunch of drunk ass lawyers-to-be my bodyguard and I went out to a birthday party for a friend. (Sorry, got to admit I was reading about Eleanor for the last half hour). Anyway, the party was to begin at a Japanese restaurant. I hate Japanese food. But, going to the restaurant was infinitely better than waiting on young lawyers with free drink tickets. Here are a couple of highlights from the Japanese food-athon:
-Apparently, you have to take off your shoes to eat. As it is polite, I just can't figure out how it is polite.
-They give you wet hot towels to clean your hands with. But, they are also supposed to be used as napkins. So, whatever shit you wipe from your hands you will inevitably wipe on your mouth anyhow. How is this helping anything?
-A lot of Japanese food comes on little plates and skewers.
-Sake isn't so bad. Well, I guess any sort of liquor isn't so bad. But, I did learn that despite it being served in shot-like glasses you aren't supposed to shoot it.
-Hot cherry tomatoes stuck on a stick with salt and pepper is just a plain ripoff.
-I would never want to be a dishwasher at a Japanese restaurant.
-What does it mean when your friends are embarrassed by your existence in front of their other friends and they say, "Oh, she's American," and the friends of friends nod in understanding? Who should you hate and why exactly should you hate them?
-I wonder what the nastiest used hot towel looked like.
-The best part of the meal was the fried chicken that came with mayo. Every thing else tasted a lot like slugs feel in your hand.
-I got a blow job lesson from the guy across from me as he used an edamame as a tiny, fake cock. It was way hotter than it sounds.
Other than all of that it was kinda boring except when I thought about how I should go into Japanese restaurants and steal shoes from dining customers. But, I wear a very uncommon size and would thus end up with a ton of useless shoes. It would be more productive to steal handbags but I may get deported. Nah, it's Canada.
After the Japanese-athon we went to sing karaoke. We went to someplace where you rent out a room from a fuckload of Asian men. The room itself looked like a backroom at a low rate strip club. In one corner was an old school huge screen TV with a slit in the screen. The songs were cued up by typing in numbers on a giant remote that was covered in plastic wrap. Dirty. They were set to run with a montage of Asian film footage that made no sense with the theme of the songs. Anyway, we belted out a few nasty ballads, a classmate of mine somehow ended up with her crotch on my head singing Bon Jovi and the boyfriend of the birthday girl sang a song in a fabulous falsetto. Just as my bodyguard and a friend were starting to sing David Bowie a stern-looking Asian man entered the room and ordered us out of the building. The song continued acapella for quite sometime which made it much harder to fake the words. But, I realized something tonight even if we all fail as writers we could always form a choir and try to make money that way, somehow. And if we failed at both writing and choir-singing at least we could get cool matching robes to mill around in while we ask, "Would you like to supersize that?"
Usually when we go out late downtown it takes a million years to get home as we miss late night buses, walk forever, and take cabs. But, tonight was special. Turns out a friend of ours has a car! Not just any car either a boxy 1989 Toyota. She had named the car Trooper but I promptly renamed it Elaine. She piled everyone in and we cruised around singing Elton John while dumping out people. I wanted to ride in Elaine forever. Maybe I'll buy that Taurus from the German and and name it Eleanor and Elaine would have a less cool friend. Nah, then I'd have to stay sober.
-Canadian Castaway
Later, in the afternoon I learned about Canadian lawyers to be as I had to work a function for a party they had at the college.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Canadian-American Politics, Interview Intervention, My Bodyguard Better Hire a Bodyguard, Passing the Bar
Day 85
There is nothing more obnoxious than a Canadian giving me (an American) a lecture on American politics especially if that Canadian has never even lived in the US. That said, guess what happened today? But, today's edition was a special edition considering that he is an actor which means he has a natural passion when he speaks. Yippee. I got hear all about how Obama isn't doing enough and how this actor had predicted this fact before the election. He told me all about Republican control (as if I had no idea). Then he pontificated how America is much like the world in the novel 1984 as though he came up with the idea. Finally, I got to leave him as I was called in for a job interview. Being grilled by three interviewers was much less painful.
So, I had a job interview today for a high brow lit rag. Instead of sharing the detail of it I am making a short guide of what NOT to do at a job interview for an editorial or ciruculation position(trust me these things do not work well).
-Do not drink too much coffee and pop too many Midols before you take the hot seat.
-Do not announce upon your arrival that you'll be over in the lounge and command that the interviewers should just come get you.
-Do not walk into the room and say, "What's up guys?"
-Do not follow the, "What's up guys?" phrase with, "Oooooh, cookies!"
-Do not rush the plate of cookies and start shoving them into your mouth.
-Do not answer the question, "So, what's your favorite story we've published in the magazine with, "Actually, I haven't really read much of the magazine."
-Do not answer three separate questions with virtually the same answer.
-Do not say that mediating a group was the most difficult thing you had to do as a lead editor at your previous post.
-Do not ask how many hours of training will be involved while wearing a wince on your face.
-Do not say that you'll take any position they have even if it isn't something that you applied for.
-Do not say that you HATE poetry.
-And finally, when you are finished with the interview do not say, "Well, that wasn't so bad after all," out loud.
-Ohh, and make sure that you don't forget your umbrella in the room.
Why I want to kill my bodyguard reason #47
Today my bodyguard texted me and told me to come to the bar. As I had literally fallen asleep reading a story for class I agreed to venture out for the 4th time today in the only shoes I had left that were at least semi-dry (seriously, this rain thing is not funny anymore). When I arrived I saw that he was with a group of friends, which sucked cause I wanted to fulfill my horoscope and have a heart to heart. I sidled into the booth and found out that my bodyguard had been drinking since noon, it was then 5:20 pm.
There was a guy sitting at the booth next to ours who was watching hockey with an adorable expression on his face. I told my bodyguard. He didn't say much. One beer later the hockey watcher, who I thought had left, had come back to the booth directly behind ours. I pointed to the guy and signaled to my bodyguard with my eyes so as to say, "Look! He's back!" My bodyguard then said, "Why are you pointing to that guy in the booth next to us?!" Note: The hockey watcher's head was not even a foot from my bodyguard's mouth. Pause. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Pause. "Do you have a crush on him?"
So, after that fiasco and an uneventful dinner I was sent to bartend and I spent the night acquiring knowledge, here's what I learned:
1. The cute chico at work went to a party last week with 12 dudes and 5 whores covered in cocaine who took all of their money but had group sex with them.
2. If you play dance music sometimes a goofy couple will show up wearing hideous outfits and dance with very expressive dance moves.
3. There is a cocktail where you mix Frangelico, ginger ale, and lemon--it takes like sweet garbage water.
4. Drinking at work is fun and free.
5. Telling the customers to, "Get the fuck out," is not an effective means of vacating a bar.
6. My co-bartender had a girlfriend and now has a boyfriend who is the exactly the same person as the girlfriend but a guy.
7. If you drink tons of Monster drink you do not turn into a monster, a monster grows in your stomach and beats around in there.
8. Stealing umbrellas is fun.
9. No one saw you kiss your co-worker the other day but when you tell them about it they know.
10. The boring creeper guy had a date. There is hope out there, unless she was his sister.
Well, other than that it's been fairly uneventful.
-Canadian Castaway
There is nothing more obnoxious than a Canadian giving me (an American) a lecture on American politics especially if that Canadian has never even lived in the US. That said, guess what happened today? But, today's edition was a special edition considering that he is an actor which means he has a natural passion when he speaks. Yippee. I got hear all about how Obama isn't doing enough and how this actor had predicted this fact before the election. He told me all about Republican control (as if I had no idea). Then he pontificated how America is much like the world in the novel 1984 as though he came up with the idea. Finally, I got to leave him as I was called in for a job interview. Being grilled by three interviewers was much less painful.
So, I had a job interview today for a high brow lit rag. Instead of sharing the detail of it I am making a short guide of what NOT to do at a job interview for an editorial or ciruculation position(trust me these things do not work well).
-Do not drink too much coffee and pop too many Midols before you take the hot seat.
-Do not announce upon your arrival that you'll be over in the lounge and command that the interviewers should just come get you.
-Do not walk into the room and say, "What's up guys?"
-Do not follow the, "What's up guys?" phrase with, "Oooooh, cookies!"
-Do not rush the plate of cookies and start shoving them into your mouth.
-Do not answer the question, "So, what's your favorite story we've published in the magazine with, "Actually, I haven't really read much of the magazine."
-Do not answer three separate questions with virtually the same answer.
-Do not say that mediating a group was the most difficult thing you had to do as a lead editor at your previous post.
-Do not ask how many hours of training will be involved while wearing a wince on your face.
-Do not say that you'll take any position they have even if it isn't something that you applied for.
-Do not say that you HATE poetry.
-And finally, when you are finished with the interview do not say, "Well, that wasn't so bad after all," out loud.
-Ohh, and make sure that you don't forget your umbrella in the room.
Why I want to kill my bodyguard reason #47
Today my bodyguard texted me and told me to come to the bar. As I had literally fallen asleep reading a story for class I agreed to venture out for the 4th time today in the only shoes I had left that were at least semi-dry (seriously, this rain thing is not funny anymore). When I arrived I saw that he was with a group of friends, which sucked cause I wanted to fulfill my horoscope and have a heart to heart. I sidled into the booth and found out that my bodyguard had been drinking since noon, it was then 5:20 pm.
There was a guy sitting at the booth next to ours who was watching hockey with an adorable expression on his face. I told my bodyguard. He didn't say much. One beer later the hockey watcher, who I thought had left, had come back to the booth directly behind ours. I pointed to the guy and signaled to my bodyguard with my eyes so as to say, "Look! He's back!" My bodyguard then said, "Why are you pointing to that guy in the booth next to us?!" Note: The hockey watcher's head was not even a foot from my bodyguard's mouth. Pause. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Pause. "Do you have a crush on him?"
So, after that fiasco and an uneventful dinner I was sent to bartend and I spent the night acquiring knowledge, here's what I learned:
1. The cute chico at work went to a party last week with 12 dudes and 5 whores covered in cocaine who took all of their money but had group sex with them.
2. If you play dance music sometimes a goofy couple will show up wearing hideous outfits and dance with very expressive dance moves.
3. There is a cocktail where you mix Frangelico, ginger ale, and lemon--it takes like sweet garbage water.
4. Drinking at work is fun and free.
5. Telling the customers to, "Get the fuck out," is not an effective means of vacating a bar.
6. My co-bartender had a girlfriend and now has a boyfriend who is the exactly the same person as the girlfriend but a guy.
7. If you drink tons of Monster drink you do not turn into a monster, a monster grows in your stomach and beats around in there.
8. Stealing umbrellas is fun.
9. No one saw you kiss your co-worker the other day but when you tell them about it they know.
10. The boring creeper guy had a date. There is hope out there, unless she was his sister.
Well, other than that it's been fairly uneventful.
-Canadian Castaway
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Facebook Games, Idiots, Yesterday was More Exciting Than Today, Clerks Forever
Day 84
Apologies for not posting yesterday. Who knew that going out for a beer after class would take until 3:30 am. Not me. But, I am not at all surprised. So, here's a quick re-cap of what I can remember of yesterday:
Before Class:
So, naturally I spent the morning doing some "work" but, mostly, I browsed around on facebook spying on people. After I had finished milling around the conversations of people I normally talk to, I typed in the names of random people from high school. As I was browsing around the pages of people who have stayed near my hometown, I found as the most common thing was how many of them have horrible addictions to facebook games, particularly things that end in, "ville." Every time the given person from high school gets to a new level or has a cow wander off they publish it in a status update. Here is a list of the facebook game updates found on just one of those people's pages: Mafia Wars, Farmville, Roller Coaster Kingdom, (Lil) Farm Life, and Vampire Wars. When do they have time to raise their 4 kids, have sex with their husbands, and work jobs when they have to harvest crops, kick ass, and suck blood all the damn time?
After I am thoroughly bored with facebook I check my email. As I live in a residence many of my emails are from fellow residents announcing soccer practice or asking to borrow scanners or some such shit. I clicked into one of them yesterday to find the following message, verbatim:
"Hello Everyone,
Just a quick question, does anyone has a spared mouse and/or umbrella that I can buy off from your hand?"
If that wasn't bad enough they signed the thing with their name plus the following credentials: Ph.D Student, Special Education. No wonder Special Ed is so fucked. And just think this is a Ph.D student!
During Class:
So, last week I was forced to sit right near the instructor in my favorite class. I was terrified as he is an amazing writer and in my mind I have built him up to a mythic-like status. I didn't want to sit so near him that I find out that he has hair in his ears just like everyone else. But, I did and he does and it wasn't so bad. So, I sat right next to him again yesterday. The class was supposed to be all of us reading pitch letters, which sounded quite boring but little did I remember that this class is never boring. The instructor of this class always goes off on rants, but usually just one per class period. This is unfortunate because these rants are extremely entertaining and have nothing to do with our coursework. I almost can't wait for him to go senile. I am gonna have to move to Canada in 10 years when this happens and buy the house next to his.
Anyway, yesterday not only did he go on a rant he went on two rants. Here they are:
1. The history of the proper etiquette of waving on a motorcycle. My fav instructor has been "motorcycling" for 40 years, which would explain why he always wears a leather vest, even though I think he takes ferry to get to school. This rant took quite sometime as there are many rules about who you can and can't wave to based on biker vs. motorcylist (bikers don't wave), how many cc's a bike has (Don't wave at anything under 500?), and what type of road you are riding on (city street vs. highway vs. freeway). There are also different kind of waves that have evolved/de-evolved over time. Currently, it is appropriate and expected to wag a gloved pinkie but it used to be that you'd take your hand off the grip.
2. A guy named Tom who built a giant ship in the prairies of Canada like 100 years ago. Apparently, my instructor wrote a book about this after he went to the town to interview people about this Tom. The only person alive at the time Tom was building the ship was the cop who hauled Tom in to the insane asylum and he really didn't remember much. We heard all about how to "cold roll" weld as part of this rant. And, we learned that prairie men who tried to reconstruct the boat didn't know shit about shipbuilding.
All in all, it was a wonderful class.
After Class:
After class we went to a pub on campus like we normally do but this time the adventure didn't end around 7 pm or so, it continued on until 3 am. Much of it is a foggy, fragmented memory (that's what happens after you drink the equivalent of 4 pitchers of beer) here are just a couple things that I can sort of remember:
-Talk about bad kissing.
-Stalking hot Nordic men online.
-Me kissing a guy at the bar and running out the door. (I tried for the lips, but got him on the cheek)
-Doing a shot with a bartender who was interchanging hats from: fez to cowboy hat to winged Hermes hat.
-Deliberately sucking down secondhand smoke. Dirty.
-The Czech girl tripped and fell on the sidewalk and I told her to, "Knock it off!"
-Walking home a friend of ours, going into her apartment kitchen and getting yelled at for not taking off my shoes. I still didn't take them off.
-Waiting for the bus, forever. Whining to my bodyguard, "We're gonna die here and I'll never get laid again." He said, "Yeah, me either."
-Half-sleeping on his shoulder, wishing he were fatter so his shoulder bones weren't jabbing into my eye.
Moving on to today:
I woke up at 2:20, realized that I had promised to go DVD shopping with a friend. I didn't go with him. Did he really need me there to see him buy Star Trek and hear me whine about being downtown? After a good hour of frantically thinking I wasted my entire day (i.e. not doing anything) I braved the torrential rain with a ridiculous umbrella that flipped inside out every ten feet. I am sure this was hilarious--to other people. I made it as far as the Student Union, went in and bought a sandwich for myself and a cookie for my bodyguard.
I walked back in the wind and rain, this time with my mother on the phone. Somehow, bitching to her the whole walk back made it more bearable--for me. I went over to my bodyguard's building and sent him a text that read, "Come downstairs if you are home. If you are not home let me know so I can leave." Before he replied I snuck in with a couple Asian girls and got on the elevator. I got off on the wrong floor and got back on to the right floor. Just as the door opened my bodyguard was starting to get on. Here's the scene that followed:
"Your building is not secure."
"What's going on?"
I threw my wet umbrella and backpack on the ground and started rummaging.
"It's your lucky day. I brought you a goddamn cookie."
I produce a cookie.
"Here, take it, it's for you."'
"No, you should eat it."
"What the fuck?! I buy you a cookie and come over here in the goddamn fucking rainstorm and now you are telling me to eat it! Jesus Christ. Take the cookie!"
He took the cookie and said, "Thanks." And, I said, "I gotta go."
I finally do something nice for someone and they barely let me do it. This is ridiculous. Anyway, I got back on the elevator and went one floor down to my friend's place. I barged in, unannounced and started eating my sandwich and talking to her about how many people we've each made out with (she actually had a typed list of names on her computer), while she poured me sparkling apple cider and I realized that not only was I crazed with PMS hormones, but I also hadn't eaten in 24 hours. Then I thought, God, does my bodyguard not realize that I was taking care of him before myself even! See if I ever buy him a cookie again. And then, when I finally got home with my broken umbrella dragging behind me I flip on my facebook to see this, "That cookie was actually very delicious." All I could write was, "Duh!" and then, despite being pissed off I added a, ":)" God, those smiley faces are like a disease. I swear sometimes I don't even know I am making them.
Let's see, not much else happened after that except at supper the guy who I was supposed to go DVD shopping with admitted to me that he has never seen Clerks. "I mean, it's in black and white. Come on." FYI smartass, I will NEVER go DVD shopping with you. And, don't even tell me how much you enjoyed Clerks 2 you shouldn't even be able to watch it! Fucking Canadian know-it-all big budget film whore.
-Canadian Castaway
Apologies for not posting yesterday. Who knew that going out for a beer after class would take until 3:30 am. Not me. But, I am not at all surprised. So, here's a quick re-cap of what I can remember of yesterday:
Before Class:
So, naturally I spent the morning doing some "work" but, mostly, I browsed around on facebook spying on people. After I had finished milling around the conversations of people I normally talk to, I typed in the names of random people from high school. As I was browsing around the pages of people who have stayed near my hometown, I found as the most common thing was how many of them have horrible addictions to facebook games, particularly things that end in, "ville." Every time the given person from high school gets to a new level or has a cow wander off they publish it in a status update. Here is a list of the facebook game updates found on just one of those people's pages: Mafia Wars, Farmville, Roller Coaster Kingdom, (Lil) Farm Life, and Vampire Wars. When do they have time to raise their 4 kids, have sex with their husbands, and work jobs when they have to harvest crops, kick ass, and suck blood all the damn time?
After I am thoroughly bored with facebook I check my email. As I live in a residence many of my emails are from fellow residents announcing soccer practice or asking to borrow scanners or some such shit. I clicked into one of them yesterday to find the following message, verbatim:
"Hello Everyone,
Just a quick question, does anyone has a spared mouse and/or umbrella that I can buy off from your hand?"
If that wasn't bad enough they signed the thing with their name plus the following credentials: Ph.D Student, Special Education. No wonder Special Ed is so fucked. And just think this is a Ph.D student!
During Class:
So, last week I was forced to sit right near the instructor in my favorite class. I was terrified as he is an amazing writer and in my mind I have built him up to a mythic-like status. I didn't want to sit so near him that I find out that he has hair in his ears just like everyone else. But, I did and he does and it wasn't so bad. So, I sat right next to him again yesterday. The class was supposed to be all of us reading pitch letters, which sounded quite boring but little did I remember that this class is never boring. The instructor of this class always goes off on rants, but usually just one per class period. This is unfortunate because these rants are extremely entertaining and have nothing to do with our coursework. I almost can't wait for him to go senile. I am gonna have to move to Canada in 10 years when this happens and buy the house next to his.
Anyway, yesterday not only did he go on a rant he went on two rants. Here they are:
1. The history of the proper etiquette of waving on a motorcycle. My fav instructor has been "motorcycling" for 40 years, which would explain why he always wears a leather vest, even though I think he takes ferry to get to school. This rant took quite sometime as there are many rules about who you can and can't wave to based on biker vs. motorcylist (bikers don't wave), how many cc's a bike has (Don't wave at anything under 500?), and what type of road you are riding on (city street vs. highway vs. freeway). There are also different kind of waves that have evolved/de-evolved over time. Currently, it is appropriate and expected to wag a gloved pinkie but it used to be that you'd take your hand off the grip.
2. A guy named Tom who built a giant ship in the prairies of Canada like 100 years ago. Apparently, my instructor wrote a book about this after he went to the town to interview people about this Tom. The only person alive at the time Tom was building the ship was the cop who hauled Tom in to the insane asylum and he really didn't remember much. We heard all about how to "cold roll" weld as part of this rant. And, we learned that prairie men who tried to reconstruct the boat didn't know shit about shipbuilding.
All in all, it was a wonderful class.
After Class:
After class we went to a pub on campus like we normally do but this time the adventure didn't end around 7 pm or so, it continued on until 3 am. Much of it is a foggy, fragmented memory (that's what happens after you drink the equivalent of 4 pitchers of beer) here are just a couple things that I can sort of remember:
-Talk about bad kissing.
-Stalking hot Nordic men online.
-Me kissing a guy at the bar and running out the door. (I tried for the lips, but got him on the cheek)
-Doing a shot with a bartender who was interchanging hats from: fez to cowboy hat to winged Hermes hat.
-Deliberately sucking down secondhand smoke. Dirty.
-The Czech girl tripped and fell on the sidewalk and I told her to, "Knock it off!"
-Walking home a friend of ours, going into her apartment kitchen and getting yelled at for not taking off my shoes. I still didn't take them off.
-Waiting for the bus, forever. Whining to my bodyguard, "We're gonna die here and I'll never get laid again." He said, "Yeah, me either."
-Half-sleeping on his shoulder, wishing he were fatter so his shoulder bones weren't jabbing into my eye.
Moving on to today:
I woke up at 2:20, realized that I had promised to go DVD shopping with a friend. I didn't go with him. Did he really need me there to see him buy Star Trek and hear me whine about being downtown? After a good hour of frantically thinking I wasted my entire day (i.e. not doing anything) I braved the torrential rain with a ridiculous umbrella that flipped inside out every ten feet. I am sure this was hilarious--to other people. I made it as far as the Student Union, went in and bought a sandwich for myself and a cookie for my bodyguard.
I walked back in the wind and rain, this time with my mother on the phone. Somehow, bitching to her the whole walk back made it more bearable--for me. I went over to my bodyguard's building and sent him a text that read, "Come downstairs if you are home. If you are not home let me know so I can leave." Before he replied I snuck in with a couple Asian girls and got on the elevator. I got off on the wrong floor and got back on to the right floor. Just as the door opened my bodyguard was starting to get on. Here's the scene that followed:
"Your building is not secure."
"What's going on?"
I threw my wet umbrella and backpack on the ground and started rummaging.
"It's your lucky day. I brought you a goddamn cookie."
I produce a cookie.
"Here, take it, it's for you."'
"No, you should eat it."
"What the fuck?! I buy you a cookie and come over here in the goddamn fucking rainstorm and now you are telling me to eat it! Jesus Christ. Take the cookie!"
He took the cookie and said, "Thanks." And, I said, "I gotta go."
I finally do something nice for someone and they barely let me do it. This is ridiculous. Anyway, I got back on the elevator and went one floor down to my friend's place. I barged in, unannounced and started eating my sandwich and talking to her about how many people we've each made out with (she actually had a typed list of names on her computer), while she poured me sparkling apple cider and I realized that not only was I crazed with PMS hormones, but I also hadn't eaten in 24 hours. Then I thought, God, does my bodyguard not realize that I was taking care of him before myself even! See if I ever buy him a cookie again. And then, when I finally got home with my broken umbrella dragging behind me I flip on my facebook to see this, "That cookie was actually very delicious." All I could write was, "Duh!" and then, despite being pissed off I added a, ":)" God, those smiley faces are like a disease. I swear sometimes I don't even know I am making them.
Let's see, not much else happened after that except at supper the guy who I was supposed to go DVD shopping with admitted to me that he has never seen Clerks. "I mean, it's in black and white. Come on." FYI smartass, I will NEVER go DVD shopping with you. And, don't even tell me how much you enjoyed Clerks 2 you shouldn't even be able to watch it! Fucking Canadian know-it-all big budget film whore.
-Canadian Castaway
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Life Lessons, The Truth About Writing Careers, Crazy vs. Hormonal, Girly TV
Day 82
I learned a lesson this morning: Do not eat too many tater tots for breakfast. But, just because you learn a lesson doesn't mean you'll ever follow it. If it wasn't bad enough that I fully expected to puke before getting to class the 16 dollar umbrella I bought yesterday inside-outed itself in a terrible crosswind and all of the spires broke. I expected for there to be plenty of rain in BC but I never factored in that that meant that I would spend a fortune on umbrellas. I have already been through 4 of them. Okay, one got stolen and one I traded a friend (to acquire the one that got stolen). But, it should be noted that the one I traded became extremely broken and the person I traded it to carried it around anyhow. He said he still carried it because it was the only one he had (since he traded off his nice one to me). But, I know better. He only carried it around to make me feel bad. Bastard. You can never swindle people and have a completely clear conscience. I guess that's why more people aren't criminals.
Let's see class was quite boring until a friend of mine started to shush everyone. The reason so much chatting occurs in this class in the first place is often due to the "sharing" time. It's actually the best part of the whole class anyhow. This part of class was cancelled for one week due to a student sharing that she had had a threesome over the weekend it was reinstated with a PG-13 guideline. I used to think that the teacher initiated this sharing time because she is a total hippie that used to make us sit on the lawn in a circle. I now think she does it because she hates to teach. If we are all talking to each other she doesn't have to say anything at all and the time flies by. Which was all working out fine until a classmate of mine started shushing everyone and saying, "So and So is talking!" and "Be quiet you guys. I mean come on, this is our career take it seriously!" I found this to be incredibly hilarious, but after my laughter died down I realized she was serious. Somebody needs to lighten up I mean come on we are writers the reason we are here is because we don't want to have a career and anybody who says otherwise is a delusional freak who is lying to themselves.
Geez, I sorta went on a rant there. I have been walking the edge of sanity all damn day. If I wasn't a woman and didn't have my period to blame this on I would be on a Zoloft/Valium combo. All of yesterday and today I have felt a little nutty. Supper tonight didn't help. So, a friend of mine (or so I'd thought) who just so happens to be in the Psychology department sat down at my supper table. This is not uncommon as he frequently sits with the group I was with. But, tonight he was holding a piece of paper. Naturally, I tried to snatch it. He wouldn't let me have it.
"Just carry on like I'm not here," he said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just ahh, talk to people and start some shit and pretend like I'm not sitting here."
I stared him down and fired off: "What? Are you taking notes about us? What are you writing down? What do you have a tape recorder too? Huh? Are you fucking wired? Are you a goddamn spy now?"
What is that a paranoid personality disorder you may ask? Hahaha, no, it's PMS. I am not crazy, right?
"So, I'm just supposed to sit here and pretend like you are not here even though you clearly are and you are not saying anything."
"I need to be less creepy."
"Yeah, a whole lot less creepy."
I then sat in almost silence (I am not some goddamned monkey) and he complained that I let him down. He asked my Hawaiian friend to make a scene, which he did. I told my Hawaiian that he was taking notes. The scene ended with the Hawaiian holding him and saying, "Grab that paper!" But, the little punk got away. He went and sat at another table just looking like a freak with his little paper and pencil.
After our little psychologist friend left my favorite South African came and sat next to me. He told me that him and the soccer team were going to watch a movie in the TV room. I freaked, "What? I was gonna watch the Gilmore Girls in the TV room at nine! I have been waiting all day to watch Gilmore Girls! This is just great! Goddamnit, you've just ruined my entire day. Jesus Christ, all I wanted to do today was watch that show and now it's me against the whole fucking soccer team and I won't win you know I can't stand up to all of you. You know what, fine, that's just fine, you can just have the TV room. And, I'll tell my friend--we've been planning this all week, just so you know--that she doesn't have to come over. Why can't you just watch it on the projector screen?" And, three minutes later he told me that he confirmed that they would watch their movie in the lounge on the projector screen. Sometimes hormones (psychotic disorders, whatever) are a very effective tool in getting what you want if they are aimed at someone who can't stand being in a fight (i.e. most Canadians and South Africans).
Remind me if I start to complain too much sometimes that I am the luckiest girl alive. Not only does my next door neighbor own the entire Gilmore Girls series on DVD she also knows every detail about every Gilmore Girls show and loves talking about them and never, not even once, gets mad when you interrupt the show to speculate on a character's actions. Plus, she goes along with eating all sorts of sweets and talks about boys for hours on end. What more could a girl ask for? Well, besides to get laid every now and again to refuel the conversations. If this whole grad school thing fails at least I will have my fond memories of watching TV with a good friend.
-Canadian Castaway
I learned a lesson this morning: Do not eat too many tater tots for breakfast. But, just because you learn a lesson doesn't mean you'll ever follow it. If it wasn't bad enough that I fully expected to puke before getting to class the 16 dollar umbrella I bought yesterday inside-outed itself in a terrible crosswind and all of the spires broke. I expected for there to be plenty of rain in BC but I never factored in that that meant that I would spend a fortune on umbrellas. I have already been through 4 of them. Okay, one got stolen and one I traded a friend (to acquire the one that got stolen). But, it should be noted that the one I traded became extremely broken and the person I traded it to carried it around anyhow. He said he still carried it because it was the only one he had (since he traded off his nice one to me). But, I know better. He only carried it around to make me feel bad. Bastard. You can never swindle people and have a completely clear conscience. I guess that's why more people aren't criminals.
Let's see class was quite boring until a friend of mine started to shush everyone. The reason so much chatting occurs in this class in the first place is often due to the "sharing" time. It's actually the best part of the whole class anyhow. This part of class was cancelled for one week due to a student sharing that she had had a threesome over the weekend it was reinstated with a PG-13 guideline. I used to think that the teacher initiated this sharing time because she is a total hippie that used to make us sit on the lawn in a circle. I now think she does it because she hates to teach. If we are all talking to each other she doesn't have to say anything at all and the time flies by. Which was all working out fine until a classmate of mine started shushing everyone and saying, "So and So is talking!" and "Be quiet you guys. I mean come on, this is our career take it seriously!" I found this to be incredibly hilarious, but after my laughter died down I realized she was serious. Somebody needs to lighten up I mean come on we are writers the reason we are here is because we don't want to have a career and anybody who says otherwise is a delusional freak who is lying to themselves.
Geez, I sorta went on a rant there. I have been walking the edge of sanity all damn day. If I wasn't a woman and didn't have my period to blame this on I would be on a Zoloft/Valium combo. All of yesterday and today I have felt a little nutty. Supper tonight didn't help. So, a friend of mine (or so I'd thought) who just so happens to be in the Psychology department sat down at my supper table. This is not uncommon as he frequently sits with the group I was with. But, tonight he was holding a piece of paper. Naturally, I tried to snatch it. He wouldn't let me have it.
"Just carry on like I'm not here," he said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just ahh, talk to people and start some shit and pretend like I'm not sitting here."
I stared him down and fired off: "What? Are you taking notes about us? What are you writing down? What do you have a tape recorder too? Huh? Are you fucking wired? Are you a goddamn spy now?"
What is that a paranoid personality disorder you may ask? Hahaha, no, it's PMS. I am not crazy, right?
"So, I'm just supposed to sit here and pretend like you are not here even though you clearly are and you are not saying anything."
"I need to be less creepy."
"Yeah, a whole lot less creepy."
I then sat in almost silence (I am not some goddamned monkey) and he complained that I let him down. He asked my Hawaiian friend to make a scene, which he did. I told my Hawaiian that he was taking notes. The scene ended with the Hawaiian holding him and saying, "Grab that paper!" But, the little punk got away. He went and sat at another table just looking like a freak with his little paper and pencil.
After our little psychologist friend left my favorite South African came and sat next to me. He told me that him and the soccer team were going to watch a movie in the TV room. I freaked, "What? I was gonna watch the Gilmore Girls in the TV room at nine! I have been waiting all day to watch Gilmore Girls! This is just great! Goddamnit, you've just ruined my entire day. Jesus Christ, all I wanted to do today was watch that show and now it's me against the whole fucking soccer team and I won't win you know I can't stand up to all of you. You know what, fine, that's just fine, you can just have the TV room. And, I'll tell my friend--we've been planning this all week, just so you know--that she doesn't have to come over. Why can't you just watch it on the projector screen?" And, three minutes later he told me that he confirmed that they would watch their movie in the lounge on the projector screen. Sometimes hormones (psychotic disorders, whatever) are a very effective tool in getting what you want if they are aimed at someone who can't stand being in a fight (i.e. most Canadians and South Africans).
Remind me if I start to complain too much sometimes that I am the luckiest girl alive. Not only does my next door neighbor own the entire Gilmore Girls series on DVD she also knows every detail about every Gilmore Girls show and loves talking about them and never, not even once, gets mad when you interrupt the show to speculate on a character's actions. Plus, she goes along with eating all sorts of sweets and talks about boys for hours on end. What more could a girl ask for? Well, besides to get laid every now and again to refuel the conversations. If this whole grad school thing fails at least I will have my fond memories of watching TV with a good friend.
-Canadian Castaway
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Hangover Cures, Remember Yesterday (I wish I didn't) aka Fuck You Facebook!, Choose Your Own Plot, Dominos Domi-sucks
Day 81
I am not sure if you read about yesterday's escapade (gin, raspberry sour pucker, vodka, amaretto, white wine, sambuca, more vodka, and pink punch) anyway, this morning it took a lot of hashbrowns, eggs and cheese to get started, but I think it was the umbrella I bought that brought me back to life. Or, was it the original price tag that was found on my new Salvation army coat that read, "$365" that did it? Ahh, who the hell cares.
Let's see, what happened today? I read a lot and checked facebook a lot. And, then I realized that drunk me made all sorts of comments on my friends's (?) walls. I wrote to someone, "I LOBE YOU." I had an entire chat conversation with someone I don't even really like which pretty much (as she wrote in the conversation) gave her gave her the right to make fun of me at school on Monday, probably in front of the entire class. See why I don't like her much? She's too much like me. Does that mean I don't like myself?
My mother bitched at me on the phone yesterday about not sharing my candy that I got in the mail. I have spent the better part of three days binging on it (there is a ton of it, it cost thirty dollars to mail it here) and I don't want to share. Even though I look in the mirror and think, "I should stop eating chips and candy so much." Did I mention that I have a stash of cheap Greek-flavored chips? Well, as I am writing this I am double-fisting both of these delights, you should see the keyboard. But, I feel like I am on a mission, one day I will finish both the chips and the candy and that day I will diet. Must get through 12 more Dutch mints.
Today I decided to try writing a character sketch. Most of the time when I write stories I develop a character in my head and never take the time to fill out a silly questionnaire about them. But, today I found out what I was missing out on. It's awesome, you don't have to think of a plot line to make a character. How can you screw up making up a person? It's perfect. I think I can make a whole new fiction genre out of this idea. I will just write character descriptions and the reader can write their own plotlines and pick and choose characters to include in stories they make up. It'll be fantastic I won't have to do make up complicated stories, and writing their own stories will be fulfilling to the 'readers' and make them feel god-like.
Tonight it was VAFN (vaguely asian food night), AGAIN. My very hungover friend suggested that we order pizza to cure her hangover and get me out of VAFNing. I ordered it online and gave the pizza place my phone number. An hour went by and I tromped back to my room to call and just inquire about the pizza's whereabouts as the website gave a 36 to 46 minute timeframe for the pizza's arrival. I was then bitched at from the pizza dispatch girl saying that they had tried to call my phone three times and the driver had already left. She made me stay on the phone while she called him again to see if he would come back. He told her he would. I explained that my phone didn't show any missed calls (although I apparently had a voicemail, hmm). She didn't care.
I waited outside for another 10 minutes and barked at my fellow residents who seemed so content and full of food. They all backed away and said, "I hope you have a better night." (translation: Shut the hell up bitch, like I care that your fat ass isn't getting a pizza. Maybe you could go without it for once, it wouldn't kill you.) I cursed my hungover friend who was watching motherfucking football in the TV room and not having to deal with this shit.
Finally, the driver pulled his rickety shit car right up onto the sidewalk and popped out. He milled around the side of the car, put himself behind the open car door and said, "You know I have to make as many stops as possible to make money so I can't just keep waiting and coming back here." His lecture lasted another minute and a half and somewhere toward the end, barely audible, he may have said, "I'm sorry." or maybe it said, "You should be sorry." I don't know, I was sort of in a daze not expecting to get a lecture in the first place. He announced the total and I gave him money in all twoonies and loonies (plus a near 20 percent tip) and apologized for the coins. He said, "It's all currency," and then drove off.
I dragged my ass through the drizzle and up the stairs and my friend said, "What took so long?" I threw down the pizza and promptly lost it. I was kick-you-in-the-eye mad for quite sometime. Then our mutual friend offered me a beer. I said, "No, I've been drinking too much lately." She said, "Are you sure?" I said, "Give me that beer." And, I finally calmed down. Then I realized that drinking's not so bad, at least if you drink often you don't get debilitating hangovers. Jesus, I am an alcoholic. Oh well, everyone else on the globe is a pill popper.
-Canadian Castaway
I am not sure if you read about yesterday's escapade (gin, raspberry sour pucker, vodka, amaretto, white wine, sambuca, more vodka, and pink punch) anyway, this morning it took a lot of hashbrowns, eggs and cheese to get started, but I think it was the umbrella I bought that brought me back to life. Or, was it the original price tag that was found on my new Salvation army coat that read, "$365" that did it? Ahh, who the hell cares.
Let's see, what happened today? I read a lot and checked facebook a lot. And, then I realized that drunk me made all sorts of comments on my friends's (?) walls. I wrote to someone, "I LOBE YOU." I had an entire chat conversation with someone I don't even really like which pretty much (as she wrote in the conversation) gave her gave her the right to make fun of me at school on Monday, probably in front of the entire class. See why I don't like her much? She's too much like me. Does that mean I don't like myself?
My mother bitched at me on the phone yesterday about not sharing my candy that I got in the mail. I have spent the better part of three days binging on it (there is a ton of it, it cost thirty dollars to mail it here) and I don't want to share. Even though I look in the mirror and think, "I should stop eating chips and candy so much." Did I mention that I have a stash of cheap Greek-flavored chips? Well, as I am writing this I am double-fisting both of these delights, you should see the keyboard. But, I feel like I am on a mission, one day I will finish both the chips and the candy and that day I will diet. Must get through 12 more Dutch mints.
Today I decided to try writing a character sketch. Most of the time when I write stories I develop a character in my head and never take the time to fill out a silly questionnaire about them. But, today I found out what I was missing out on. It's awesome, you don't have to think of a plot line to make a character. How can you screw up making up a person? It's perfect. I think I can make a whole new fiction genre out of this idea. I will just write character descriptions and the reader can write their own plotlines and pick and choose characters to include in stories they make up. It'll be fantastic I won't have to do make up complicated stories, and writing their own stories will be fulfilling to the 'readers' and make them feel god-like.
Tonight it was VAFN (vaguely asian food night), AGAIN. My very hungover friend suggested that we order pizza to cure her hangover and get me out of VAFNing. I ordered it online and gave the pizza place my phone number. An hour went by and I tromped back to my room to call and just inquire about the pizza's whereabouts as the website gave a 36 to 46 minute timeframe for the pizza's arrival. I was then bitched at from the pizza dispatch girl saying that they had tried to call my phone three times and the driver had already left. She made me stay on the phone while she called him again to see if he would come back. He told her he would. I explained that my phone didn't show any missed calls (although I apparently had a voicemail, hmm). She didn't care.
I waited outside for another 10 minutes and barked at my fellow residents who seemed so content and full of food. They all backed away and said, "I hope you have a better night." (translation: Shut the hell up bitch, like I care that your fat ass isn't getting a pizza. Maybe you could go without it for once, it wouldn't kill you.) I cursed my hungover friend who was watching motherfucking football in the TV room and not having to deal with this shit.
Finally, the driver pulled his rickety shit car right up onto the sidewalk and popped out. He milled around the side of the car, put himself behind the open car door and said, "You know I have to make as many stops as possible to make money so I can't just keep waiting and coming back here." His lecture lasted another minute and a half and somewhere toward the end, barely audible, he may have said, "I'm sorry." or maybe it said, "You should be sorry." I don't know, I was sort of in a daze not expecting to get a lecture in the first place. He announced the total and I gave him money in all twoonies and loonies (plus a near 20 percent tip) and apologized for the coins. He said, "It's all currency," and then drove off.
I dragged my ass through the drizzle and up the stairs and my friend said, "What took so long?" I threw down the pizza and promptly lost it. I was kick-you-in-the-eye mad for quite sometime. Then our mutual friend offered me a beer. I said, "No, I've been drinking too much lately." She said, "Are you sure?" I said, "Give me that beer." And, I finally calmed down. Then I realized that drinking's not so bad, at least if you drink often you don't get debilitating hangovers. Jesus, I am an alcoholic. Oh well, everyone else on the globe is a pill popper.
-Canadian Castaway
Homeward, Creeping on Babies, Thrifting, Crawling out of High School
Day 80
So, before I begin I just want to say that I didn't enjoy the jello shots that came out of a petri dish but they were necessary, I think. So, back up before the petri shots I had a full day of doing nothing productive. Here's the review:
I made breakfast with a group of people who told me I wasn't invited to anything that was going on. I tried to get an invite but was rejected. Then I wondered why I tried to get an invite in the first place.
After that I bought a plane ticket home for Christmas and then made a mental list of what I was gonna do when I got back to American soil. Things like;
Hug my mom.
Drive a car.
Watch Dawson's Creek.
Get annoyed by my parents.
Sing karaoke with two blonde (Aryian?) people that I don't really talk to.
Makeout with hockey fans.
Shop at Target, Walmart, Kmart, and ShopKo.
See my brother's fancy apartment (be secretly jealous of my brother's fancy apartment).
Get drunk and go to church.
Just a few of the normal things.
After that my bodyguard, me and our friend got a bus to go to a thriftstore. While on the bus my bodyguard threw a huge scene as there was a baby on board. Most of the time when a child is on the bus there is a tiny comment like, "Cute kid." But, when my bodyguard is on the bus it's like he's a commentator for the goddamn Macy's Day Parade. He is on a constant comment track with, "Look at the fat cheeks!" "It just moved it's head." "Look at those legs, so fat and healthy." "CUTE!" "Look! It's looking at the bald guy." "It looks like a little alien." "Look at its cute little baby suit." "It's still looking at the bald guy." And, it didn't help that our friend was encouraging him with lines like, "I want to just gnaw on those cheeks!" "Just put them in my mouth." I told them to tone it down a little that the kid's mother might hear, to which my bodyguard said, "So? She would be proud." Yeah, I thought, proud that some lanky gawker and hit cheek-biting cohort were staring at her kid.
At the thriftstore we found the following things:
A bus driver-ish jacket that was blue plastic meets a garbage bag.
A puppet with human-like teeth (despite it being a horse) and a wet inside.
12 boxes of some kind of plastic bra for $6.99 a pop.
A Hebrew version of "The Giving Tree."
A homemade purse with dozens of naked guys on it and green faux fur.
A plastic rat.
A furry tiger.
47 blazers.
A book called, "2002 Romantic Gestures." Example: "Sweep her off her feet."
Elmo (somehow after the Tickle Me thing he got creepy).
St. Elmo's Fire soundtrack (not creepy).
A guy dressed in biker-ish leather gear buying like 16 wooden hangers, hockey skates AND a silver glittery eyeglasses case.
Tonight was a residence hall night. We had a room crawl (translation: stupid games, booze and allegedly good times). Let me take you on a tour:
Clueless: My group's room was designed around the Clue game with a murder and hidden clues. There was gin (from a Kool-aid pitcher, kinda creepy) and Amaretto (disgusting). I had a drink, played around with an English accent and kicked the person playing the body before retreating to my room for wine and facebooking.
STDS: The next stop was a room full of people holding glasses with clear liquor in them. You were supposed to pass them to someone and drink from the same cup. Everyone was chanting, "Exchange bodily fluids" and then the Chemistry geek would pour something into the glasses and tell you what sort of STD you got. Gross! (speaking of STDs, I had a dream the other night where I had sex with Billie Joe Armstrong in a hospital, maybe I should get tested) If all of this weren't enough they played a game where people had to put a condom on a banana and pass the protected banana from between their legs to the next person and it always ended with a baby anyhow and that "baby" had to eat the sexed up banana. It all reminded me of a high school pep rally type game situation but in high school I would leave and go smoke pot. Damn, I miss high school.
Mile High Club: The next stop had my favorite big fat gay Hawaiian at it pretending to be the head flight attendant. The best line was when he said, "Your seat cushions can be used as floatation devices. If you do not have a seat cushion you can use a female flight attendant." They played a game where you had to stand in a line and pass a rope under your clothes and to the next person and they would do the same and whoever got through every person in line first won. Maybe they should've tested for STD's after this activity instead of before. Oh well, surprises keep life exciting.
H1N1 Clinic: The next stop was at a "clinic" for H1N1 where there were cough syrupy cups handed out with shots that tasted like shitty Robitussin. Too bad, it wasn't Robitussin the last time I drank a bottle of that I had a ton of fun but of course I was driving and it was 4 am. Anyway, after that they walked around with syringes and injected the shit into people's mouths and handed out petri dishes filled with jello shots topped with whipped cream. Wouldn't it be sort of ironic if we all got swine flu at this clinic?
Finally, the night ended (at least I think it ended, I left) with a disco party. The leader of this group was a nasty Quebec dude who had a grind dance contest declaring, "If the crotch of one person leaves the ass of the other you are disqualified." The few people drunk enough to grind limboed under a nasty bed sheet while the Francophile danced, the buttons on his polyester shirt reached near popping off. And, I left. I didn't want to see what was under that shirt.
Well, that pretty much wraps it up for today. Fairly uneventful.
-Canadian Castaway
So, before I begin I just want to say that I didn't enjoy the jello shots that came out of a petri dish but they were necessary, I think. So, back up before the petri shots I had a full day of doing nothing productive. Here's the review:
I made breakfast with a group of people who told me I wasn't invited to anything that was going on. I tried to get an invite but was rejected. Then I wondered why I tried to get an invite in the first place.
After that I bought a plane ticket home for Christmas and then made a mental list of what I was gonna do when I got back to American soil. Things like;
Hug my mom.
Drive a car.
Watch Dawson's Creek.
Get annoyed by my parents.
Sing karaoke with two blonde (Aryian?) people that I don't really talk to.
Makeout with hockey fans.
Shop at Target, Walmart, Kmart, and ShopKo.
See my brother's fancy apartment (be secretly jealous of my brother's fancy apartment).
Get drunk and go to church.
Just a few of the normal things.
After that my bodyguard, me and our friend got a bus to go to a thriftstore. While on the bus my bodyguard threw a huge scene as there was a baby on board. Most of the time when a child is on the bus there is a tiny comment like, "Cute kid." But, when my bodyguard is on the bus it's like he's a commentator for the goddamn Macy's Day Parade. He is on a constant comment track with, "Look at the fat cheeks!" "It just moved it's head." "Look at those legs, so fat and healthy." "CUTE!" "Look! It's looking at the bald guy." "It looks like a little alien." "Look at its cute little baby suit." "It's still looking at the bald guy." And, it didn't help that our friend was encouraging him with lines like, "I want to just gnaw on those cheeks!" "Just put them in my mouth." I told them to tone it down a little that the kid's mother might hear, to which my bodyguard said, "So? She would be proud." Yeah, I thought, proud that some lanky gawker and hit cheek-biting cohort were staring at her kid.
At the thriftstore we found the following things:
A bus driver-ish jacket that was blue plastic meets a garbage bag.
A puppet with human-like teeth (despite it being a horse) and a wet inside.
12 boxes of some kind of plastic bra for $6.99 a pop.
A Hebrew version of "The Giving Tree."
A homemade purse with dozens of naked guys on it and green faux fur.
A plastic rat.
A furry tiger.
47 blazers.
A book called, "2002 Romantic Gestures." Example: "Sweep her off her feet."
Elmo (somehow after the Tickle Me thing he got creepy).
St. Elmo's Fire soundtrack (not creepy).
A guy dressed in biker-ish leather gear buying like 16 wooden hangers, hockey skates AND a silver glittery eyeglasses case.
Tonight was a residence hall night. We had a room crawl (translation: stupid games, booze and allegedly good times). Let me take you on a tour:
Clueless: My group's room was designed around the Clue game with a murder and hidden clues. There was gin (from a Kool-aid pitcher, kinda creepy) and Amaretto (disgusting). I had a drink, played around with an English accent and kicked the person playing the body before retreating to my room for wine and facebooking.
STDS: The next stop was a room full of people holding glasses with clear liquor in them. You were supposed to pass them to someone and drink from the same cup. Everyone was chanting, "Exchange bodily fluids" and then the Chemistry geek would pour something into the glasses and tell you what sort of STD you got. Gross! (speaking of STDs, I had a dream the other night where I had sex with Billie Joe Armstrong in a hospital, maybe I should get tested) If all of this weren't enough they played a game where people had to put a condom on a banana and pass the protected banana from between their legs to the next person and it always ended with a baby anyhow and that "baby" had to eat the sexed up banana. It all reminded me of a high school pep rally type game situation but in high school I would leave and go smoke pot. Damn, I miss high school.
Mile High Club: The next stop had my favorite big fat gay Hawaiian at it pretending to be the head flight attendant. The best line was when he said, "Your seat cushions can be used as floatation devices. If you do not have a seat cushion you can use a female flight attendant." They played a game where you had to stand in a line and pass a rope under your clothes and to the next person and they would do the same and whoever got through every person in line first won. Maybe they should've tested for STD's after this activity instead of before. Oh well, surprises keep life exciting.
H1N1 Clinic: The next stop was at a "clinic" for H1N1 where there were cough syrupy cups handed out with shots that tasted like shitty Robitussin. Too bad, it wasn't Robitussin the last time I drank a bottle of that I had a ton of fun but of course I was driving and it was 4 am. Anyway, after that they walked around with syringes and injected the shit into people's mouths and handed out petri dishes filled with jello shots topped with whipped cream. Wouldn't it be sort of ironic if we all got swine flu at this clinic?
Finally, the night ended (at least I think it ended, I left) with a disco party. The leader of this group was a nasty Quebec dude who had a grind dance contest declaring, "If the crotch of one person leaves the ass of the other you are disqualified." The few people drunk enough to grind limboed under a nasty bed sheet while the Francophile danced, the buttons on his polyester shirt reached near popping off. And, I left. I didn't want to see what was under that shirt.
Well, that pretty much wraps it up for today. Fairly uneventful.
-Canadian Castaway
Friday, November 13, 2009
Patriotism, Kicking Ennui's Ass Commerce-style, Computer Science Rules, Helpful Hints
Day 79
Let's make this quick I've got to go and surf the TV. After my shift at the bar tonight (more on that later) I had a drink and hung around a ragtag group of Persian men. But, after only 20 minutes all I could think about was going home and surfing the tube. What does that mean? That I have agoraphobia? Or, that I am undoubtedly American. Funny, who knew that needing to watch TV was a patriotic cause. Guess I am pretty damn loyal to the red, white and blue maybe that'll make up for the fact that I moved to Canada.
Anyway, most of the day was spent in a stupor of sadness and possibly even homesickness. My best friend in the entire world (that's right I have friends they are just in a different country, that's all) called up with the sort of problem that made me cry for not being there with him but as it turns out was an absolute misunderstanding that we will both find insanely humorous if we are still alive 20 years from now and in a dive bar remembering the good old days.
But, we are in the present time so I fretted and milled over the his issue and the fact that I wasn't there. Who was I to go off to grad school when I had a friend back home? So, how did I get out of this slump? Well, I got on a bus and cried for a bit while listening to Green Day on my I-pod and I rode for 45 minutes to get to Claire's and bought 53 bucks worth of cheap little girl jewelry. I think I am onto a medical breakthrough. Perhaps, we don't really need Prozac or Xanax to make us feel better we just need public transport, Green Day, and cheap commerce (though it adds up, fucking 50 dollars). Maybe I could get a degree and work in the medical profession promoting this type of self healing. Who would I succumb to first, drug company money or Claire's kickbacks?
Tonight I got to bartend the Computer Science party. It was all foreign guys, guys with ponytails and three girls; one with a ponytail, one who was brought along by someone and one with gigantic upper arms (sister, I feel your pain). There was also Jenga, Sequence, brainiac games I don't know the names of that involve taking over parts of a board, chess, and Nintendo AND Atari. After I couldn't take the other bartender asking me personal questions any longer (Are you gay or straight? Who is your boyfriend? Why are you not wanting to answer my questions? Why don't you open up?) I sat next to the Nintendo players and had the following scene:
Tips of the Day: When washing a pair of scissors do not rub the blade between your fingertips. Calling someone 'duck fuck' can be quite effective, though I am just not sure as to how.
-Canadian Castaway
Let's make this quick I've got to go and surf the TV. After my shift at the bar tonight (more on that later) I had a drink and hung around a ragtag group of Persian men. But, after only 20 minutes all I could think about was going home and surfing the tube. What does that mean? That I have agoraphobia? Or, that I am undoubtedly American. Funny, who knew that needing to watch TV was a patriotic cause. Guess I am pretty damn loyal to the red, white and blue maybe that'll make up for the fact that I moved to Canada.
Anyway, most of the day was spent in a stupor of sadness and possibly even homesickness. My best friend in the entire world (that's right I have friends they are just in a different country, that's all) called up with the sort of problem that made me cry for not being there with him but as it turns out was an absolute misunderstanding that we will both find insanely humorous if we are still alive 20 years from now and in a dive bar remembering the good old days.
But, we are in the present time so I fretted and milled over the his issue and the fact that I wasn't there. Who was I to go off to grad school when I had a friend back home? So, how did I get out of this slump? Well, I got on a bus and cried for a bit while listening to Green Day on my I-pod and I rode for 45 minutes to get to Claire's and bought 53 bucks worth of cheap little girl jewelry. I think I am onto a medical breakthrough. Perhaps, we don't really need Prozac or Xanax to make us feel better we just need public transport, Green Day, and cheap commerce (though it adds up, fucking 50 dollars). Maybe I could get a degree and work in the medical profession promoting this type of self healing. Who would I succumb to first, drug company money or Claire's kickbacks?
Tonight I got to bartend the Computer Science party. It was all foreign guys, guys with ponytails and three girls; one with a ponytail, one who was brought along by someone and one with gigantic upper arms (sister, I feel your pain). There was also Jenga, Sequence, brainiac games I don't know the names of that involve taking over parts of a board, chess, and Nintendo AND Atari. After I couldn't take the other bartender asking me personal questions any longer (Are you gay or straight? Who is your boyfriend? Why are you not wanting to answer my questions? Why don't you open up?) I sat next to the Nintendo players and had the following scene:
ME
Hey, I'm gonna hide out here for awhile.
Nintendo guy, 24, polo shirt, pleated khakis type turns to ME in shock.
NINTENDO GUY
Hi, (flings out hand) I'm David. What's your name?
ME
(shaking hand)
Umm, I'm Emily. I see you're playing Nintendo. Mario, huh?
NINTENDO GUY rips controller from his friend next to him.
NINTENDO GUY
(shoving controller in ME's face)
Here, you can play? You can play! You can be Luigi.
I played for a little while totally sucking but he never made fun of me and that's when I realized that the Computer Science party was cool, well that and every time I eavesdropped on somebody they were talking about exponents.
Well, I have to get to channel surfing, more tomorrow. I'll leave you with a few tips.
-Canadian Castaway
Health, 9 O'Clock, Smug Largeness, Going Classical Without Going Postal, Wannabe Diva, Fugliest, Husbandry
Day 78
Today I finally applied for healthcare. Everyone thinks that Canada is wonderful for their allegedly "Socialist" healthcare. But yet, you still have to pay like 40 bucks a month for it AND it's mandatory. So, if you had a really hard month what do you do? Not spend your money on Mr. Noodles and starve to meet your monthly fee? I am not entirely sure my understanding of this is correct but these are the facts I am presented with. Also, I am not entirely sure the healthcare is worth even the piddly 40 bucks a month. I know two different people who have had broken bones that never healed correctly and now these people who should've been healed within 4 or weeks or so have to attend whatever the hell, "physio" is for the rest of their lives. Lesson: Don't break any bones in Canada and no matter what pay your health insurance bill because it's against the law to be without it. And that concludes the sermon for today.
Let's see what else...a friend and I grabbed lunch at this Barn place and she said to me, "Look at the guy at your nine o'clock, he's cute." I looked and the guy at my nine o'clock was looking at me wide-eyed. He would've been mildy hot if he wasn't so friggin bug-eyed and didn't have a negative ass. I was shocked she found that attractive. He looked like he'd seen more than he bargained for at the freak show. She kept stealing glances and telling me how hot he was. I would look and he would be looking right at me. I'd turn around but his gaze blazed into the back of my head. This went on for quite sometime until I said, "Why do you think he's so hot?" And she said something about how she liked his facial hair. I looked again at freak show and he stared at me. He didn't have facial hair. I looked back at her with "What?" on my face. "The one by the window,' she said, finally. I looked past freak and sure as shit there was a guy sitting there. Jesus.
When I got home I received a box in the mail. My friend had told me she sent off a box for my birthday I could barely get it back to my room before I started clawing at the packing tape in anticipation of cheap jewelry and yarn. I got out my key and hacked away for only 5 seconds before I popped it open. Turns out it wasn't cheap jewelry it was a huge tin filled expensive candy with it AND popcorn! I pounced right in, covering my face in chocolate mingled with cheese and flecks of caramel corn. It wasn't until just now that I remember yesterday when I tried on all of my clothes and grabbed my stomach in disgust. Oh well, I've been fat for 15 years or so what's a few more days (if the tin lasts that long)? Shit, wouldn't it be awesome if I got another one. Fuck it, one day fat will be the new thin. Well, maybe not, unless, I could get the candy guy to send out tins to everyone in the Western world. Hmm.
Classical music makes me want to punch kittens. I fucking hate it, but tonight I discovered a version of it that I could listen to without making my hands bleed from rage. I discovered the joy that is the flugelhorn. At the residence where I live there was a concert tonight hosted by two trumpet players (that are sleeping together) it was all la-di-dah until they whipped out the flugelhorn. I don't know if it's the name of it or the fact that they told me that the instrument was never allowed in the symphony and played mostly by jazz musicians but I fell in love. Who knew classical music can actually be tolerated? That's it, next year for Halloween I am dressing as a flugelhorn to honor it.
How much of a diva does it make me that I am willing to pay an extra 250 bucks to fly direct for Christmas? Ahh, I'll never be a diva living on student loans. I need me a sugar daddy on a deathbed. Dear Santa...
So after the Latino party I worked at the bar tonight I came home and checked my favorite news source, yahoo.ca. It never lets me down. Here are my favorite headlines of the moment, "World's 'Ugliest'" and "A Violent Birth." The ugliest is about how people in Britain are rejected at a very high rate from beautifulpeople.com. According to that site Swedish men and Norweigan women are usually very beautiful, Germans need to send less stern looking photos, and Russian men and quite fugly.
"A Violent Birth" is a video news story about a shark who was bitten by another shark (referred to as, "Angry Shark") and gave birth to her babies (called "shark pups") through her gaping wound hole. Sadly, this video did not contain the actual birth or the attack from Angry Shark. But it did have what is apparently called a "Animal Husbandry Expert" tell the camera that it is very hard to stitch up a sharks wound because they keep flipping around. Ahh, duh!
-Canadian Castaway
Today I finally applied for healthcare. Everyone thinks that Canada is wonderful for their allegedly "Socialist" healthcare. But yet, you still have to pay like 40 bucks a month for it AND it's mandatory. So, if you had a really hard month what do you do? Not spend your money on Mr. Noodles and starve to meet your monthly fee? I am not entirely sure my understanding of this is correct but these are the facts I am presented with. Also, I am not entirely sure the healthcare is worth even the piddly 40 bucks a month. I know two different people who have had broken bones that never healed correctly and now these people who should've been healed within 4 or weeks or so have to attend whatever the hell, "physio" is for the rest of their lives. Lesson: Don't break any bones in Canada and no matter what pay your health insurance bill because it's against the law to be without it. And that concludes the sermon for today.
Let's see what else...a friend and I grabbed lunch at this Barn place and she said to me, "Look at the guy at your nine o'clock, he's cute." I looked and the guy at my nine o'clock was looking at me wide-eyed. He would've been mildy hot if he wasn't so friggin bug-eyed and didn't have a negative ass. I was shocked she found that attractive. He looked like he'd seen more than he bargained for at the freak show. She kept stealing glances and telling me how hot he was. I would look and he would be looking right at me. I'd turn around but his gaze blazed into the back of my head. This went on for quite sometime until I said, "Why do you think he's so hot?" And she said something about how she liked his facial hair. I looked again at freak show and he stared at me. He didn't have facial hair. I looked back at her with "What?" on my face. "The one by the window,' she said, finally. I looked past freak and sure as shit there was a guy sitting there. Jesus.
When I got home I received a box in the mail. My friend had told me she sent off a box for my birthday I could barely get it back to my room before I started clawing at the packing tape in anticipation of cheap jewelry and yarn. I got out my key and hacked away for only 5 seconds before I popped it open. Turns out it wasn't cheap jewelry it was a huge tin filled expensive candy with it AND popcorn! I pounced right in, covering my face in chocolate mingled with cheese and flecks of caramel corn. It wasn't until just now that I remember yesterday when I tried on all of my clothes and grabbed my stomach in disgust. Oh well, I've been fat for 15 years or so what's a few more days (if the tin lasts that long)? Shit, wouldn't it be awesome if I got another one. Fuck it, one day fat will be the new thin. Well, maybe not, unless, I could get the candy guy to send out tins to everyone in the Western world. Hmm.
Classical music makes me want to punch kittens. I fucking hate it, but tonight I discovered a version of it that I could listen to without making my hands bleed from rage. I discovered the joy that is the flugelhorn. At the residence where I live there was a concert tonight hosted by two trumpet players (that are sleeping together) it was all la-di-dah until they whipped out the flugelhorn. I don't know if it's the name of it or the fact that they told me that the instrument was never allowed in the symphony and played mostly by jazz musicians but I fell in love. Who knew classical music can actually be tolerated? That's it, next year for Halloween I am dressing as a flugelhorn to honor it.
How much of a diva does it make me that I am willing to pay an extra 250 bucks to fly direct for Christmas? Ahh, I'll never be a diva living on student loans. I need me a sugar daddy on a deathbed. Dear Santa...
So after the Latino party I worked at the bar tonight I came home and checked my favorite news source, yahoo.ca. It never lets me down. Here are my favorite headlines of the moment, "World's 'Ugliest'" and "A Violent Birth." The ugliest is about how people in Britain are rejected at a very high rate from beautifulpeople.com. According to that site Swedish men and Norweigan women are usually very beautiful, Germans need to send less stern looking photos, and Russian men and quite fugly.
"A Violent Birth" is a video news story about a shark who was bitten by another shark (referred to as, "Angry Shark") and gave birth to her babies (called "shark pups") through her gaping wound hole. Sadly, this video did not contain the actual birth or the attack from Angry Shark. But it did have what is apparently called a "Animal Husbandry Expert" tell the camera that it is very hard to stitch up a sharks wound because they keep flipping around. Ahh, duh!
-Canadian Castaway
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Walk of Shame, Loonie Carts, Cold Fashion, Jordan can Sign
Day 77
This morning I woke up after I looked over at my microwave clock. Usually I can't even see it but today I could read it and it said that it was 9:09. I was going to get up a few minutes before then so I sprung out of bed, despite a mild hangover and ran into the shower. I quickly got ready for breakfast as I had to be there by 9:30. I made the decision to check my facebook account instead of drying my hair. When I turned on my computer I realized that it was only 8:24 am. The daylight savings time happened over a week ago and I thought everything was all set by now, apparently not.
So, I dried my hair and went to breakfast before the time I was even supposed to get up. As it turned out my earliness was a good thing. I sat down with my two favorite Mexican people (they are always laughing and I feel smart cause I can understand half of what they say in Spanish even though they mostly speak in English). When there was a pause in our merriment I noticed my friend following something with his eyes. I turned and saw nothing out the window. I said, "What're you looking at?" Without taking turning his eyes to me he said, "The walk of shame." I said, "What?" he mumbled, "wearing last night's clothes." I looked out the window to see a woman with black boots on, a short skirt and tousled hair. My friend said something like, "You know when you sleep with somebody and you wake up the next day and it's all super awkward and they say to you, 'I have a lot to do today so...' and you leave and it's like 8:30." Our other friend said that it's been a long time since she's had a walk of shame. He turned to her and said, "If you go and have sex with somebody stay until at least 11." She said, "If I find somebody to have sex with he's coming home with me. And, he's doing the walk of shame, not me." And, so concluded breakfast.
This afternoon four girls (including myself) piled into this German man's car and drove to The Canadian Superstore. It's funny when I first arrived here I thought that going to all of the little locally-owned shops would be neat and fun but after a while it turns into a nightmare. Who wants to go to eight different stores to get what you could get at Target in under an hour (except they don't have Target here)? The Canadian Superstore was my commercialism cure-all today. I literally ran around the joint pulling cheap items from the shelves and carelessly tossing them into my paid cart. In fact the only thing I did not like about the superstore was the paid cart. Paying for your plastic bags I can sort of understand but paying to use a cart in a goddamn superstore reaches to the realm of absurdism reserved for not those who do not buy paper towels because they are "bad" for the environment.
So, the first time I went to the Superstore I pulled at the carts outside in their corrals and couldn't seem to free one. Finally, I noticed that they were connected by chains. I looked around for the guy who herds them to free me one, he wasn't around. What happened was a customer came up, stuck a loonie in the cart, put in a key which popped out a key that was connected to the chain that was binding the carts. After witnessing this I pleaded with the stranger for help, knowing that I could not repeat something so complicated until at least my eighth attempt. He expertly did it for me with a Canadian nicety about him and a smug smile knowing that he just saved the day and that he could go home to his wife and tell her about the idiot American girl who didn't know how to unhook a cart. I am pleased to announce that today with a just a tiny bit of help (I put the loonie in wrong the first time and panicked) I was able to free one of these carts, fill it with 140 dollars worth of stuff, return it, AND get my loonie back. That is progress.
After unpacking all of my cheap items I started to try on all of my clothes. Which ended with me listening to 80's death metal, chucking clothes onto the floor and cursing. In an effort to look halfway decent for my outing tonight I curled my hair and borrowed hairspray. It looked wonderful but, I only had one shirt that I had decided (after the great clothes/King Diamond-athon) that wasn't too frumpy. I put it on and told my friend to bring me a black cardigan. Turns out the black cardigan had 3/4 length sleeves. I couldn't bring myself to put a sweatshirt over it and a hat would've wrecked my hair. So I milled around in this sweater with a pair of red mittens while nearly everyone else in this city was wearing winter jackets and scarves and hats. My bodyguard asked me why I hadn't put on one of my hooded sweatshirts to which I replied, "Because, it didn't go with my hair. God, can't I just look pretty for once?" That sounded so much more rational inside my head.
After the improv show we went out for drinks where a guy I know told me that he watches ASL videos on youtube. No, not the kind where you learn American Sign Language, the kind where young gay men sign pop songs in front of their webcams. When I got home he sent me a link and I spent an hour fascinated with one of these guys (Jordan). I went onto his youtube channel and milled around watching videos of him signing songs, I read people's comments telling him how much they love his expression and telling him that he is blessed and I even his autobiographical signed video entitled, "About Me."
The "About Me" video was incredible. In it he said that he learned sign language because one day he may meet "the love of my life," "best friend," or someone who can tell him "the meaning of life" and that person may be deaf. He all of this came to him when he helped a deaf customer somewhere. He was so inspired that he was determined to learn ASL from the internet and joined an ASL club. I learned many other details about him like he is from Quebec and he is pursing a degree in English Lit with a minor in Professional Writing and that he can hear and so can his parents and siblings. This was proven when I watched his "Blooper" video and he sang out loud (this really freaked me out cause at that time I thought he was deaf and he was actually hitting the notes, sort of). His "About Me" video ended shortly after the following lines:
"My life's really not that interesting guys...umm..."
"I'm gay but I have no idea how that's at all relevant."
All in all, I think my hour with him was well spent except when you know about the guy his videos become less funny and more sad. Damn it, guess I'll have to go back to those sick ass videos where people make their husky say, "I love you" for my youtube entertainment.
-Canadian Castaway
This morning I woke up after I looked over at my microwave clock. Usually I can't even see it but today I could read it and it said that it was 9:09. I was going to get up a few minutes before then so I sprung out of bed, despite a mild hangover and ran into the shower. I quickly got ready for breakfast as I had to be there by 9:30. I made the decision to check my facebook account instead of drying my hair. When I turned on my computer I realized that it was only 8:24 am. The daylight savings time happened over a week ago and I thought everything was all set by now, apparently not.
So, I dried my hair and went to breakfast before the time I was even supposed to get up. As it turned out my earliness was a good thing. I sat down with my two favorite Mexican people (they are always laughing and I feel smart cause I can understand half of what they say in Spanish even though they mostly speak in English). When there was a pause in our merriment I noticed my friend following something with his eyes. I turned and saw nothing out the window. I said, "What're you looking at?" Without taking turning his eyes to me he said, "The walk of shame." I said, "What?" he mumbled, "wearing last night's clothes." I looked out the window to see a woman with black boots on, a short skirt and tousled hair. My friend said something like, "You know when you sleep with somebody and you wake up the next day and it's all super awkward and they say to you, 'I have a lot to do today so...' and you leave and it's like 8:30." Our other friend said that it's been a long time since she's had a walk of shame. He turned to her and said, "If you go and have sex with somebody stay until at least 11." She said, "If I find somebody to have sex with he's coming home with me. And, he's doing the walk of shame, not me." And, so concluded breakfast.
This afternoon four girls (including myself) piled into this German man's car and drove to The Canadian Superstore. It's funny when I first arrived here I thought that going to all of the little locally-owned shops would be neat and fun but after a while it turns into a nightmare. Who wants to go to eight different stores to get what you could get at Target in under an hour (except they don't have Target here)? The Canadian Superstore was my commercialism cure-all today. I literally ran around the joint pulling cheap items from the shelves and carelessly tossing them into my paid cart. In fact the only thing I did not like about the superstore was the paid cart. Paying for your plastic bags I can sort of understand but paying to use a cart in a goddamn superstore reaches to the realm of absurdism reserved for not those who do not buy paper towels because they are "bad" for the environment.
So, the first time I went to the Superstore I pulled at the carts outside in their corrals and couldn't seem to free one. Finally, I noticed that they were connected by chains. I looked around for the guy who herds them to free me one, he wasn't around. What happened was a customer came up, stuck a loonie in the cart, put in a key which popped out a key that was connected to the chain that was binding the carts. After witnessing this I pleaded with the stranger for help, knowing that I could not repeat something so complicated until at least my eighth attempt. He expertly did it for me with a Canadian nicety about him and a smug smile knowing that he just saved the day and that he could go home to his wife and tell her about the idiot American girl who didn't know how to unhook a cart. I am pleased to announce that today with a just a tiny bit of help (I put the loonie in wrong the first time and panicked) I was able to free one of these carts, fill it with 140 dollars worth of stuff, return it, AND get my loonie back. That is progress.
After unpacking all of my cheap items I started to try on all of my clothes. Which ended with me listening to 80's death metal, chucking clothes onto the floor and cursing. In an effort to look halfway decent for my outing tonight I curled my hair and borrowed hairspray. It looked wonderful but, I only had one shirt that I had decided (after the great clothes/King Diamond-athon) that wasn't too frumpy. I put it on and told my friend to bring me a black cardigan. Turns out the black cardigan had 3/4 length sleeves. I couldn't bring myself to put a sweatshirt over it and a hat would've wrecked my hair. So I milled around in this sweater with a pair of red mittens while nearly everyone else in this city was wearing winter jackets and scarves and hats. My bodyguard asked me why I hadn't put on one of my hooded sweatshirts to which I replied, "Because, it didn't go with my hair. God, can't I just look pretty for once?" That sounded so much more rational inside my head.
After the improv show we went out for drinks where a guy I know told me that he watches ASL videos on youtube. No, not the kind where you learn American Sign Language, the kind where young gay men sign pop songs in front of their webcams. When I got home he sent me a link and I spent an hour fascinated with one of these guys (Jordan). I went onto his youtube channel and milled around watching videos of him signing songs, I read people's comments telling him how much they love his expression and telling him that he is blessed and I even his autobiographical signed video entitled, "About Me."
The "About Me" video was incredible. In it he said that he learned sign language because one day he may meet "the love of my life," "best friend," or someone who can tell him "the meaning of life" and that person may be deaf. He all of this came to him when he helped a deaf customer somewhere. He was so inspired that he was determined to learn ASL from the internet and joined an ASL club. I learned many other details about him like he is from Quebec and he is pursing a degree in English Lit with a minor in Professional Writing and that he can hear and so can his parents and siblings. This was proven when I watched his "Blooper" video and he sang out loud (this really freaked me out cause at that time I thought he was deaf and he was actually hitting the notes, sort of). His "About Me" video ended shortly after the following lines:
"My life's really not that interesting guys...umm..."
"I'm gay but I have no idea how that's at all relevant."
All in all, I think my hour with him was well spent except when you know about the guy his videos become less funny and more sad. Damn it, guess I'll have to go back to those sick ass videos where people make their husky say, "I love you" for my youtube entertainment.
-Canadian Castaway
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