Day 158
This morning I walked 1.5 miles (each way) to get salami and a candle that smells like clean laundry. Okay, so there were a few other things. Plus, I realized that I am now getting old. I have gone past the phase of being in high school and having friends working at the grocery store so we'd go there to hang out straight into the this is a meat market perspective. Sure, the bread man who wants to show me how to use the slicer I am in love with you. Yes, I will move checkout lines despite me being next to go to the line with the sandy-haired Vinnie working it. Something about how his uniform hugs his slightly pudgy body and the vertical stripes bend in his middle and--fuck, I am a supermarket scavenger. I am not even gonna deny it as soon as I sign off here I will be checking the craigslist missed connections for the slicer man even though he has a creepy nose scab and the most horrendous punctuation mark (!) tattooed on his arm.
Occasionally when I open up I-tunes I notice that one or more of my neighbor's I-tunes libraries are visible. Today I clicked open the one belonging to the big gay Hawaiian man. So, the entire day I could've been listening to the Rent soundtrack or Chris Brown or Janet Jackson or Jason Mraz or TLC or Justin Timberlake or Lauryn Hill. He also has a few more feminine singer songwriters like Alanis Morrisette, Jewel, and surprisingly, Lisa Loeb. If I were to make a sweeping sexist revelation (Canadian's prickle at these assumptions) if being a gay man means listening to Lady Gaga then so be it: I am a gay man. I could do without the Timberlake though, but he does have nice abs.
Derby Training Day (we'll call it) #10:
So, I got told by neighbor above me today that if she saw me skating in the street she would laugh her ass off at me. I think I got her back by singing loudly in my room, well, judging from the stomping overhead she was annoyed. Anyway, after my 3 mile trek to and fro from the grocer I had to get to work on my homework which meant watching one episode only of Taking the Stage and doing a load of laundry and then reading two stories. Later, I watched Whip It again for inspiration and am currently wearing my skates, leggings and a skirt thinking I am pretty hot and hoping someone would stop by and see my ensemble, preferably someone gorgeous. So, I think I am making progress.
At supper not only did my neighbor threaten that she would laugh at me on skates she also told me that today she took a firearms certification course and got 100%. The people at our table were mortified by this news and I was excited. I told her when she was certified we can each get a rifle, go up on the roof, and have a contest of who can pluck off the most squirrels. She said she liked squirrels. Another person pointed out, "You don't have a permit to shoot squirrels." To which I replied, "Or, we could just pluck off Canadians." The Canadian at the table cringed and somehow the subject got changed to tasers I proposed that we play taser tag in the courtyard to which the Canadian at the table said, "I think I better get out of here because this conversation is getting way to violent." Ten points for knocking off that pussy Canadian.
What we should be worried about is the raccoon population, it's been over a month now since I'd seen those little monsters, until tonight. Tonight I casually walked out of a building just once letting my raccoon guard down, and I saw six of those fat little monsters climbing the trellis over the walkway. I immediately went back inside, my heart racing. If I had a gun I would shoot the little bastards but I would lie awake in a cold sweat every night thinking about the day when the survivors would band together and come after me, clawing out my eyes with their creepy little hands.
I am in love. Okay, so he may be 18 and on an MTV show but it could work out, right? Am I a sad case if when Aaron sings to Mia on Taking the Stage I pretend he's singing to me or am I just a romantic? Don't answer that and I will pretend like I wasn't the girl who watched that scene four times in a row.
Dear Bread Boy with the Weird Nose Scab,
Write me a song.
Love, Emily.
Tip of the Day: Don't buy six dollars worth of dried cranberries out of the bulk bins if you don't even like dried cranberries you'll just feel stupid and have to choke them down while thinking about how you could've bought maple leaf cookies.
-Canadian Castaway
Sunday, January 31, 2010
I Super Heart MTV, Buggy Books, Rez Rant, Google Talk Sucks, Advisement, Derbying, Welch's Grape,
Day 157
So, I know when you go into a writing program you learn that to be a writer you must produce writing but what they don't teach you is that you also must get addicted to every show on MTV.ca and watch them, by the entire season not just single episode. This is yet another item that would've been helpful to put in the informational packet about my writing program so I wouldn't have to go through feeling guilty. But, when you put on your leggings and bust out with some dance moves along with the cast of Taking the Stage it will make you feel better. And, in your own room you are just as much of a ballerina as Jasmine but her eyeliner job will always be better.
A friend and me hung out today on our stroll through town he said that he really wants to teach writing someday. I told him I didn't want to but he reminded me that it pays the bills. He then said that he didn't know what was going to happen but he could either teach for a living or find a sugar daddy. We decided that it would be best if he ask his advisor for tips on finding an old guy with money. I am wondering if my advisor has any advice as to how I can make a living watching MTV and if she doesn't maybe I can switch to my friend's advisor and snag up an old prune with a Jaguar and foreign bank accounts.
My friend and I hit up a few book shops on our walk. This after being given a lecture about how bed bugs can live in books and if you buy a used copy of anything you should put it in a ziploc and keep it in the freezer for two weeks. So, in the store I inspected every page of the book I was to purchase and even shook it out in case of any bugs. Now, if only I had a freezer...I would use the community fridges but I am too afraid to find out if they already contain books in bags.
Okay so remember when I first moved into residence and I thought it was so surprisingly wonderful well that naivety ended this week. I am so sick of it here. At first the high school mini dramas were exciting and now that I have become a main character in so many of them I want to quit the cast. I am so sick of this clique forming and petty fights and the fact that I truly want to unfriend the friggin Indian dudes, that I think it may be easier to take my chances with the bed bugs of apartment buildings and get the hell out before it gets any worse before anybody breaks up with anybody and I have to take sides, before the one Indian guy tries to facebook chat me again, or the other one over-reacts to something stupid again and sends me a creeper email, before I have put myself at my own dinner table just to avoid saying hello to someone I hate or before I get up on my lonely table and point fingers going around the dining room telling each person why they suck and what I would do to them if I were God.
It seems like yesterday when I thought google talk video chats with my little brother were the best thing in the universe besides smores. Today we popped up video and we each held up a few items to the camera until we realized that with our first video chat we'd already exhausted all of the interesting items to hold in front of the camera. We'd also already made all sorts of funny faces and even our extreme close-ups just got dull after awhile. Finally, in a desperate attempt to stay awake my brother showed me some creepy paintings of women he bought at a shoddy thriftstore. I am unsure what my next move should be here, do I need to go out and find interesting items and haul them home? Should I move? Should I not answer when he calls me on chat? Should I say my camera is broken? Maybe I could sabotage google talk or get a superhero to do it for me. Yeah, that sounds doable I wonder if superheros advertise on craigslist.
Derby Training Day 8 (?) or 9 (?):
My "let's go skating in the parking ramp next door" date with a friend was rained out so tonight I put on my skates and tricked myself into thinking that I felt comfortable on them. Then I took them off. The end.
Between my busy schedule of The Buried Life and Taking the Stage I was able to hike it up to the Student Union Building to see Monty Python and the Holy Grail on the big screen. Not only did I see it but my stalker got me in for free as he was working the ticket counter. Now, this film has always had a fond place in my shriveled, black heart as it was the movie that me and one of my high school boyfriends used to check out from the public library and watch together while drinking Welch's grape juice and making out. Tonight I even had a Welch's grape soda while viewing (not the same as juice). Sadly, I didn't have anyone to make out with (I guess I could've asked my stalker but he looks like a vampire). I suppose I could've tried for the drunk undergrads but I was too busy changing seats (3 times) to avoid them to latch on to any. Seriously, it's fine if you laugh loudly but if you yell, repeating every punchline on screen, I will get the rifle out. They are just lucky I am cheap or they all would've been coated in Welch's grape and I would be the one laughing the loudest instead of being the coward who moves seats. One day, I will make enough money to buy buckets full of Welch's and get my revenge or at least my sugar daddy will.
Tip of the Day: When you buy a slice at the pizza shop before closing expect it to be the worst thing you've ever consumed and then maybe it will taste at least it will be alright.
-Canadian Castaway
So, I know when you go into a writing program you learn that to be a writer you must produce writing but what they don't teach you is that you also must get addicted to every show on MTV.ca and watch them, by the entire season not just single episode. This is yet another item that would've been helpful to put in the informational packet about my writing program so I wouldn't have to go through feeling guilty. But, when you put on your leggings and bust out with some dance moves along with the cast of Taking the Stage it will make you feel better. And, in your own room you are just as much of a ballerina as Jasmine but her eyeliner job will always be better.
A friend and me hung out today on our stroll through town he said that he really wants to teach writing someday. I told him I didn't want to but he reminded me that it pays the bills. He then said that he didn't know what was going to happen but he could either teach for a living or find a sugar daddy. We decided that it would be best if he ask his advisor for tips on finding an old guy with money. I am wondering if my advisor has any advice as to how I can make a living watching MTV and if she doesn't maybe I can switch to my friend's advisor and snag up an old prune with a Jaguar and foreign bank accounts.
My friend and I hit up a few book shops on our walk. This after being given a lecture about how bed bugs can live in books and if you buy a used copy of anything you should put it in a ziploc and keep it in the freezer for two weeks. So, in the store I inspected every page of the book I was to purchase and even shook it out in case of any bugs. Now, if only I had a freezer...I would use the community fridges but I am too afraid to find out if they already contain books in bags.
Okay so remember when I first moved into residence and I thought it was so surprisingly wonderful well that naivety ended this week. I am so sick of it here. At first the high school mini dramas were exciting and now that I have become a main character in so many of them I want to quit the cast. I am so sick of this clique forming and petty fights and the fact that I truly want to unfriend the friggin Indian dudes, that I think it may be easier to take my chances with the bed bugs of apartment buildings and get the hell out before it gets any worse before anybody breaks up with anybody and I have to take sides, before the one Indian guy tries to facebook chat me again, or the other one over-reacts to something stupid again and sends me a creeper email, before I have put myself at my own dinner table just to avoid saying hello to someone I hate or before I get up on my lonely table and point fingers going around the dining room telling each person why they suck and what I would do to them if I were God.
It seems like yesterday when I thought google talk video chats with my little brother were the best thing in the universe besides smores. Today we popped up video and we each held up a few items to the camera until we realized that with our first video chat we'd already exhausted all of the interesting items to hold in front of the camera. We'd also already made all sorts of funny faces and even our extreme close-ups just got dull after awhile. Finally, in a desperate attempt to stay awake my brother showed me some creepy paintings of women he bought at a shoddy thriftstore. I am unsure what my next move should be here, do I need to go out and find interesting items and haul them home? Should I move? Should I not answer when he calls me on chat? Should I say my camera is broken? Maybe I could sabotage google talk or get a superhero to do it for me. Yeah, that sounds doable I wonder if superheros advertise on craigslist.
Derby Training Day 8 (?) or 9 (?):
My "let's go skating in the parking ramp next door" date with a friend was rained out so tonight I put on my skates and tricked myself into thinking that I felt comfortable on them. Then I took them off. The end.
Between my busy schedule of The Buried Life and Taking the Stage I was able to hike it up to the Student Union Building to see Monty Python and the Holy Grail on the big screen. Not only did I see it but my stalker got me in for free as he was working the ticket counter. Now, this film has always had a fond place in my shriveled, black heart as it was the movie that me and one of my high school boyfriends used to check out from the public library and watch together while drinking Welch's grape juice and making out. Tonight I even had a Welch's grape soda while viewing (not the same as juice). Sadly, I didn't have anyone to make out with (I guess I could've asked my stalker but he looks like a vampire). I suppose I could've tried for the drunk undergrads but I was too busy changing seats (3 times) to avoid them to latch on to any. Seriously, it's fine if you laugh loudly but if you yell, repeating every punchline on screen, I will get the rifle out. They are just lucky I am cheap or they all would've been coated in Welch's grape and I would be the one laughing the loudest instead of being the coward who moves seats. One day, I will make enough money to buy buckets full of Welch's and get my revenge or at least my sugar daddy will.
Tip of the Day: When you buy a slice at the pizza shop before closing expect it to be the worst thing you've ever consumed and then maybe it will taste at least it will be alright.
-Canadian Castaway
Friday, January 29, 2010
Banking Blues, Food Diary, Sexy Green Vest, Engineering Fun, Un-Canadian-ness, Derby Training
Day 156
Today was horribly boring and somewhat confusing. First of all, my ankle was sore, but not as painful as it was last night. So, I hobbled to the bank where I wished I had my headphones on so as to avoid being greeted by the greeter man--we had a falling out over an ATM. I still refuse to deposit checks through them no matter how fail-proof he claims them to be. The reason I had to hobble to the bank is that my online banking doesn't bank. If they put a "Transfer Funds" option on the list you'd think it would transfer funds. But, I am not mad. I just love going to the bank and hiding from the greeter and not fully trusting the teenage-looking girl handling my transactions but I must say the Japanese dude with the muscles was worth the hobble.
So today was REALLY friggin boring. The only exciting things about today had to do with what I consumed.
1 box of Cheese Nips
1 cup of coffee leftover from yesterday
2 Lifesavers Wint-o-Green mints
1 bag of Cheetos
1 Hershey Cookies and Cream bar
3 cups of weak bar coffee
1 tall can of Monster (the kind that explodes when you unscrew the lid and a puff of Monster gets in your eye)
1 apple
1 "Sparkling water beverage" loaded with aspartame
1 glass of watered down Diet Coke
2 glasses of water that tasted like dead fish smell
1 bag of organic popcorn covered in salt and pepper
Leftover squash ravioli in oily mushroom sauce
1 Canadian version of a Cream Saver (instead of saying "cream" they call it, "yogurt-flavored")
and finally, one Chicken Caesar salad with bacon
God keeping a food diary is depressing and makes me want to go bulimic. This food list is also the reason why I live in a building that provides meals as it is proof of how I cannot feed myself like an adult.
The only other things that were exciting that happened today happened at work:
1. The Indian dude I think is hot came in and was wearing a hot outfit. That included a green vest.
2. The Engineering students had a party in the pub. Not only did they put an entire swing band together for the event they all wore their Engineering jackets. Sure an entire swing band playing super awesome cover songs is cool but not as cool as red jackets with all sorts of homemade patches on them. They looked like a cheap form of a letter jacket from high school that jocks wear combined with Girl Scout sashes filled with badges. The best part is that they were so proud of these jackets that none of them took them off despite being in a warm, crowded bar. Or maybe they didn't want to show off their pit stains. Imagine what one of those jackets smells like. I wonder if they give them to their girlfriends, assuming they could get girlfriends which I totally think they could there was something mysteriously sexy about the guys with tons of badges...
I went to a special on-campus library today to check out a book called, Dork King as the book I wanted to read from the library is covered in food remnants from the previous reader. The girl working behind the counter checked out my book for me without saying one word during the transaction. What the hell was that? Am I old-fashioned to expect some meaningless small talk? Would it have killed her to say, "Hello." or "Is it still raining?" or "Have a super awesome fantastic magical day!" Not only was I shocked but I realized that this sort of behaviour was downright un-Canadian. It's an outrage. I should've looked for a comment box. I mean shit, if I can assimilate to this wacky Canadian-nice culture when I am not even getting paid then this witch can muster up something while she gets 17 bucks an hour.
Derby Training Day 8:
So, I didn't get on my skates today but at least I can blame this on my drunken ankle injury. The only problem is that since I told everyone I know that I was going to train for the derby friends have been asking me how it's been going. I am starting to get sick of faking an enthusiastic reply so instead of getting on my skates just yet I was thinking of spending the skating time writing and recording an enthusiastic response to these nosy, alleged well-wishers. I will them carry my voice recorder with me and press play back while I move my lips as though I am actually saying the words. The only thing I am worried about is having to fake enthusiasm with my facial expressions. Nobody will notice right?
Truth of the Day: Sometimes no matter how many Monster energy drinks you consume or cups of old coffee you just can't wake up and that makes it damn hard to turn down the cocaine your co-worker offers you but you know that (hard) drugs are bad. Too bad you can't just say no to that bag of Cheetos if only they could relabel it so it says, "Cocaine" instead of "Cheetos."
-Canadian Castaway
Today was horribly boring and somewhat confusing. First of all, my ankle was sore, but not as painful as it was last night. So, I hobbled to the bank where I wished I had my headphones on so as to avoid being greeted by the greeter man--we had a falling out over an ATM. I still refuse to deposit checks through them no matter how fail-proof he claims them to be. The reason I had to hobble to the bank is that my online banking doesn't bank. If they put a "Transfer Funds" option on the list you'd think it would transfer funds. But, I am not mad. I just love going to the bank and hiding from the greeter and not fully trusting the teenage-looking girl handling my transactions but I must say the Japanese dude with the muscles was worth the hobble.
So today was REALLY friggin boring. The only exciting things about today had to do with what I consumed.
1 box of Cheese Nips
1 cup of coffee leftover from yesterday
2 Lifesavers Wint-o-Green mints
1 bag of Cheetos
1 Hershey Cookies and Cream bar
3 cups of weak bar coffee
1 tall can of Monster (the kind that explodes when you unscrew the lid and a puff of Monster gets in your eye)
1 apple
1 "Sparkling water beverage" loaded with aspartame
1 glass of watered down Diet Coke
2 glasses of water that tasted like dead fish smell
1 bag of organic popcorn covered in salt and pepper
Leftover squash ravioli in oily mushroom sauce
1 Canadian version of a Cream Saver (instead of saying "cream" they call it, "yogurt-flavored")
and finally, one Chicken Caesar salad with bacon
God keeping a food diary is depressing and makes me want to go bulimic. This food list is also the reason why I live in a building that provides meals as it is proof of how I cannot feed myself like an adult.
The only other things that were exciting that happened today happened at work:
1. The Indian dude I think is hot came in and was wearing a hot outfit. That included a green vest.
2. The Engineering students had a party in the pub. Not only did they put an entire swing band together for the event they all wore their Engineering jackets. Sure an entire swing band playing super awesome cover songs is cool but not as cool as red jackets with all sorts of homemade patches on them. They looked like a cheap form of a letter jacket from high school that jocks wear combined with Girl Scout sashes filled with badges. The best part is that they were so proud of these jackets that none of them took them off despite being in a warm, crowded bar. Or maybe they didn't want to show off their pit stains. Imagine what one of those jackets smells like. I wonder if they give them to their girlfriends, assuming they could get girlfriends which I totally think they could there was something mysteriously sexy about the guys with tons of badges...
I went to a special on-campus library today to check out a book called, Dork King as the book I wanted to read from the library is covered in food remnants from the previous reader. The girl working behind the counter checked out my book for me without saying one word during the transaction. What the hell was that? Am I old-fashioned to expect some meaningless small talk? Would it have killed her to say, "Hello." or "Is it still raining?" or "Have a super awesome fantastic magical day!" Not only was I shocked but I realized that this sort of behaviour was downright un-Canadian. It's an outrage. I should've looked for a comment box. I mean shit, if I can assimilate to this wacky Canadian-nice culture when I am not even getting paid then this witch can muster up something while she gets 17 bucks an hour.
Derby Training Day 8:
So, I didn't get on my skates today but at least I can blame this on my drunken ankle injury. The only problem is that since I told everyone I know that I was going to train for the derby friends have been asking me how it's been going. I am starting to get sick of faking an enthusiastic reply so instead of getting on my skates just yet I was thinking of spending the skating time writing and recording an enthusiastic response to these nosy, alleged well-wishers. I will them carry my voice recorder with me and press play back while I move my lips as though I am actually saying the words. The only thing I am worried about is having to fake enthusiasm with my facial expressions. Nobody will notice right?
Truth of the Day: Sometimes no matter how many Monster energy drinks you consume or cups of old coffee you just can't wake up and that makes it damn hard to turn down the cocaine your co-worker offers you but you know that (hard) drugs are bad. Too bad you can't just say no to that bag of Cheetos if only they could relabel it so it says, "Cocaine" instead of "Cheetos."
-Canadian Castaway
A Horrid Day
Day 155
Okay so it is now 4 am and not only am I quite drunk I have fallen and possibly hurt myself quite horribly. I want to go to sleep but know that if I wake up tomorrow my ankle could feel worse than it does right now and that is a terrifying thought. Also, I may have killed JD Salinger. Well, co-killed, I guess. When I woke up this morning (1:34 pm) I had 5 text messages and 5 facebook messages/emails saying that he had died. When just yesterday a friend and I were telling high school kids what a great writer and weirdo Salinger is, well now, was. He died the same day when we brought him up. I have been asked by a clutch of people not to talk about them because they don't want to die.
Anyway, I am going to bed, my apologizes for copping out on the blog I need to find something to put on my ankle and take some drugs.
-Canadian Castaway
Okay so it is now 4 am and not only am I quite drunk I have fallen and possibly hurt myself quite horribly. I want to go to sleep but know that if I wake up tomorrow my ankle could feel worse than it does right now and that is a terrifying thought. Also, I may have killed JD Salinger. Well, co-killed, I guess. When I woke up this morning (1:34 pm) I had 5 text messages and 5 facebook messages/emails saying that he had died. When just yesterday a friend and I were telling high school kids what a great writer and weirdo Salinger is, well now, was. He died the same day when we brought him up. I have been asked by a clutch of people not to talk about them because they don't want to die.
Anyway, I am going to bed, my apologizes for copping out on the blog I need to find something to put on my ankle and take some drugs.
-Canadian Castaway
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Vlog Brothers Addiction Waning, Strangers in Coffeeshops, Am I Sexy, I Am a Naughty Kid, Google Talking, Training Continues
Day 154
Horrible news: I may not be able to rely on watching the Vlog Brothers video blog to be my life anymore. This is for two reasons:
1. I just remembered I am avoiding work on any sort of thesis-type project. After my meltdown about finding a narrative arc (still haven't found one) I sort of forgot that I had something bigger to worry about than my short story about a man who sells his Great Aunt's used merkins at flea markets and falls in love with underage girls who hate him. Hey, wait, is that a good thesis topic? I know I am supposed to do Creative Non-fiction (shit that actually happened to me) but who is gonna know that I wasn't one of these underaged girls at some point. It's hard to believe or for me to remember but I was once young underage which is quite hard for me to remember considering I was drunk for most of the years between 14 and 18 well, I was drunk if I wasn't high or sober drinking Welch's grape and making out with my boyfriend while Monty Python and the Holy Grail was playing in the background. I was a very busy girl.
2. I may have to get a life because there are some episodes of the vlogbrothers that I can't handle. I have no problem with a Peep eating contest but when one of the brothers gets on and talks about his full body rash in extreme detail I start to itch myself and praise Ganesh (the deity with the pink elephant head, duh) that these videos are only four minutes long...but, I am still a touch itchy.
So today I was at a coffee shop in an interesting part of town. There are average people mixed with drug dealers and scary old men which beats the hell out of the undergrads mixed with snooty grad kids mixed with stodgy professors. Anyway, the coffee shop was quite crowded and some stranger came up to me and asked if he could sit at my table with me. I told him I had a friend coming. Then the lady at the table next to mine said, "You can sit with me." This was all fine except her tone--it implied that I was an asshole for not letting some strange man sit with me while I am trying to work. So, creeper sits down with my neighbor lady table and the first thing he says he says somewhat seductively, "So, I see you are studying..." In my mind I thought, 'Hazzah, take that bitch. He is just preying on women who are stupid enough to let him sit with them.' Then I looked over at her and she wasn't horrified, in fact, she seemed to enjoy his company. Drat.
I had to work with the asshole man who ferociously hits on anything female and says inappropriate things. Tonight I learned that his inappropriate behaviour extends far beyond just what he says. Here's the evidence: He walks in wearing a jacket, shorts and sneakers. I greet him and he says, "I don't have a work shirt. Where am I going to get a work shirt?" Now, keep in mind he has worked at this pub for about 6 years and I haven't been there more than six months. I said, "Well, what shirt are you wearing?" He unzipped his jacket to reveal his large, yet highly situated round belly and huge tits then he looked up at me and said, "Am I sexy?" Five minutes later he told me I need to go to the gym.
Today I went to the high school to co-teach kids Creative Writing. One of the girls told me that she really likes historical fiction. And, since the meeting is in the library, she pulled several copies to demonstrate what she liked. Me, being the type of person who shouldn't educate children, flipped open one of her books and read the first sentence aloud and immediately went on a rant about why it wasn't a good opening sentence. Just before that I told all of them that J.D. Salinger was romantically involved with 17 year old girls (I am not sure if that age was accurate or not). Is this something one needs to know when they are studying Creative Writing? Maybe.
After much trouble and set up an old friend and I started google talk video chatting. The conversation went down in a similar fashion to my brother and my conversation yesterday but instead of showing each other objects we focused mainly on making faces and showing each other our ears up close. We came to the decision to make it mandatory to tape our faces up like Pee Wee Herman in Pee Wee's Big Adventure every time we google talk video chat. I suggested she tape up the faces of her entire family, take a photo, and use it for Christmas cards.
Derby Training Day 6:
I put on my skates and skated around my room until I nearly died when the lace got caught under a wheel. So now, not only am I not wearing gear, I am also failing to tie my skates. I don't know what will happen next. It's a real thrill.
Tip of the Day: Too much dressing can ruin a Caesar salad but too much cheese will make it all better.
-Canadian Castaway
Horrible news: I may not be able to rely on watching the Vlog Brothers video blog to be my life anymore. This is for two reasons:
1. I just remembered I am avoiding work on any sort of thesis-type project. After my meltdown about finding a narrative arc (still haven't found one) I sort of forgot that I had something bigger to worry about than my short story about a man who sells his Great Aunt's used merkins at flea markets and falls in love with underage girls who hate him. Hey, wait, is that a good thesis topic? I know I am supposed to do Creative Non-fiction (shit that actually happened to me) but who is gonna know that I wasn't one of these underaged girls at some point. It's hard to believe or for me to remember but I was once young underage which is quite hard for me to remember considering I was drunk for most of the years between 14 and 18 well, I was drunk if I wasn't high or sober drinking Welch's grape and making out with my boyfriend while Monty Python and the Holy Grail was playing in the background. I was a very busy girl.
2. I may have to get a life because there are some episodes of the vlogbrothers that I can't handle. I have no problem with a Peep eating contest but when one of the brothers gets on and talks about his full body rash in extreme detail I start to itch myself and praise Ganesh (the deity with the pink elephant head, duh) that these videos are only four minutes long...but, I am still a touch itchy.
So today I was at a coffee shop in an interesting part of town. There are average people mixed with drug dealers and scary old men which beats the hell out of the undergrads mixed with snooty grad kids mixed with stodgy professors. Anyway, the coffee shop was quite crowded and some stranger came up to me and asked if he could sit at my table with me. I told him I had a friend coming. Then the lady at the table next to mine said, "You can sit with me." This was all fine except her tone--it implied that I was an asshole for not letting some strange man sit with me while I am trying to work. So, creeper sits down with my neighbor lady table and the first thing he says he says somewhat seductively, "So, I see you are studying..." In my mind I thought, 'Hazzah, take that bitch. He is just preying on women who are stupid enough to let him sit with them.' Then I looked over at her and she wasn't horrified, in fact, she seemed to enjoy his company. Drat.
I had to work with the asshole man who ferociously hits on anything female and says inappropriate things. Tonight I learned that his inappropriate behaviour extends far beyond just what he says. Here's the evidence: He walks in wearing a jacket, shorts and sneakers. I greet him and he says, "I don't have a work shirt. Where am I going to get a work shirt?" Now, keep in mind he has worked at this pub for about 6 years and I haven't been there more than six months. I said, "Well, what shirt are you wearing?" He unzipped his jacket to reveal his large, yet highly situated round belly and huge tits then he looked up at me and said, "Am I sexy?" Five minutes later he told me I need to go to the gym.
Today I went to the high school to co-teach kids Creative Writing. One of the girls told me that she really likes historical fiction. And, since the meeting is in the library, she pulled several copies to demonstrate what she liked. Me, being the type of person who shouldn't educate children, flipped open one of her books and read the first sentence aloud and immediately went on a rant about why it wasn't a good opening sentence. Just before that I told all of them that J.D. Salinger was romantically involved with 17 year old girls (I am not sure if that age was accurate or not). Is this something one needs to know when they are studying Creative Writing? Maybe.
After much trouble and set up an old friend and I started google talk video chatting. The conversation went down in a similar fashion to my brother and my conversation yesterday but instead of showing each other objects we focused mainly on making faces and showing each other our ears up close. We came to the decision to make it mandatory to tape our faces up like Pee Wee Herman in Pee Wee's Big Adventure every time we google talk video chat. I suggested she tape up the faces of her entire family, take a photo, and use it for Christmas cards.
Derby Training Day 6:
I put on my skates and skated around my room until I nearly died when the lace got caught under a wheel. So now, not only am I not wearing gear, I am also failing to tie my skates. I don't know what will happen next. It's a real thrill.
Tip of the Day: Too much dressing can ruin a Caesar salad but too much cheese will make it all better.
-Canadian Castaway
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Brother Not Talk, 79% Nerdfighter, Emoticon Attack, Pepper = Awesome?
Day 153
This morning I got my brother do sign up for google talk and we had our first video chat. The only thing is, is that the word "chat" implies talking. We did not do much talking. Though my brother and I have excellent vocal cords we found our time spent on video chat was better used holding up business cards (him) and plastic horses (me) in front of the camera and laughing. The only talk that happened was this sort of talking:
"Look at my pillar."
"Look at my crystal."
"Dental floss!"
When I held the webcam facing out the window my brother's reaction was, "That is Canada."
"Hold on, Mom's calling me," he said later. My response: hold up a stuffed guinea pig.
Then there was the camera dodging and the funny faces. Then there was the apex of our video session: my brother held up a Pilot G2 pen to his camera and a second later I held up a Pilot G2 to my camera.
All in all, I think our chat session was a wild success but perhaps google had better reassess the name "google talk" to "google talk if you want to."
Derby Training Day 5:
I moved my skates out of the walkway. The end.
In avoiding doing my real home work I have been doing two things:
1. I have been watching a videoblog between two brothers one in Indiana the other in Ohio. They call themselves "nerdfighters." I devoured over 2 hours worth of 3 minute videos today. I was so into watching nerdfighters that I even watched the 9 minute and 33 second video that was complied from tons of odd looking people doing the "happy dance."
I had finally found my community, or so I'd thought. Turns out in order to be a nerdfighter not only do you have to have awesome flowing through your veins instead of blood (no problem there) you need to also contribute to charities (no fundage, why do you think I write this effing blog? Duh, cause I am broke. blog=cheap entertainment. Oh, and I like to bitch) and you also must live a "green" lifestyle and we aren't talking Kermit the Frog (which would've been no problem) we are talking stinky compost bins and a land without paper towels (translation: hell). Judging from that information I still think I can manage to be at least 79 percent nerdfighter and I'm pretty happy with that. But, the real worry is that I am almost out of back videos to watch which means that I will have to start doing homework.
2. So, as I have mentioned before I have completely signed my life over to facebook. That crossroads that all old blues guys talk about exists and I have taken the wrong path. Anyway, after awhile facebook can get kinda boring--all this waiting around until your friends put up stupid wall posts for you to comment on and you can only update your status so many times before you realize that you don't have any comments on your wall because your entire wall is filled with semi-ironic phrasings posted by yourself. You know you've got it bad when even chat seems dull. This is the low point I started at this evening, chatting with friends, bored until...I discovered that instead of talking you can take a me-and-my-brother-google-talk type approach to facebook chat though you have no webcam. All you need to do is attack your chat conversations with like 21 penguin emoticons followed by a shark and a heart or a shark, devil and robot works well. You need to go out there and toss things around a bit and if that means a super red heart followed by a smiley with glasses so be it. It's time to live.
Question of the day: If you love pepper and you notice that there is pepper in chai tea and could possibly be what makes chai awesome does pepper make all tea awesome? You know, I could mix up some chamomile and find out but I think I'd rather it remain one of life's mysteries to ponder in those moments just before you fall asleep.
-Canadian Castaway
This morning I got my brother do sign up for google talk and we had our first video chat. The only thing is, is that the word "chat" implies talking. We did not do much talking. Though my brother and I have excellent vocal cords we found our time spent on video chat was better used holding up business cards (him) and plastic horses (me) in front of the camera and laughing. The only talk that happened was this sort of talking:
"Look at my pillar."
"Look at my crystal."
"Dental floss!"
When I held the webcam facing out the window my brother's reaction was, "That is Canada."
"Hold on, Mom's calling me," he said later. My response: hold up a stuffed guinea pig.
Then there was the camera dodging and the funny faces. Then there was the apex of our video session: my brother held up a Pilot G2 pen to his camera and a second later I held up a Pilot G2 to my camera.
All in all, I think our chat session was a wild success but perhaps google had better reassess the name "google talk" to "google talk if you want to."
Derby Training Day 5:
I moved my skates out of the walkway. The end.
In avoiding doing my real home work I have been doing two things:
1. I have been watching a videoblog between two brothers one in Indiana the other in Ohio. They call themselves "nerdfighters." I devoured over 2 hours worth of 3 minute videos today. I was so into watching nerdfighters that I even watched the 9 minute and 33 second video that was complied from tons of odd looking people doing the "happy dance."
I had finally found my community, or so I'd thought. Turns out in order to be a nerdfighter not only do you have to have awesome flowing through your veins instead of blood (no problem there) you need to also contribute to charities (no fundage, why do you think I write this effing blog? Duh, cause I am broke. blog=cheap entertainment. Oh, and I like to bitch) and you also must live a "green" lifestyle and we aren't talking Kermit the Frog (which would've been no problem) we are talking stinky compost bins and a land without paper towels (translation: hell). Judging from that information I still think I can manage to be at least 79 percent nerdfighter and I'm pretty happy with that. But, the real worry is that I am almost out of back videos to watch which means that I will have to start doing homework.
2. So, as I have mentioned before I have completely signed my life over to facebook. That crossroads that all old blues guys talk about exists and I have taken the wrong path. Anyway, after awhile facebook can get kinda boring--all this waiting around until your friends put up stupid wall posts for you to comment on and you can only update your status so many times before you realize that you don't have any comments on your wall because your entire wall is filled with semi-ironic phrasings posted by yourself. You know you've got it bad when even chat seems dull. This is the low point I started at this evening, chatting with friends, bored until...I discovered that instead of talking you can take a me-and-my-brother-google-talk type approach to facebook chat though you have no webcam. All you need to do is attack your chat conversations with like 21 penguin emoticons followed by a shark and a heart or a shark, devil and robot works well. You need to go out there and toss things around a bit and if that means a super red heart followed by a smiley with glasses so be it. It's time to live.
Question of the day: If you love pepper and you notice that there is pepper in chai tea and could possibly be what makes chai awesome does pepper make all tea awesome? You know, I could mix up some chamomile and find out but I think I'd rather it remain one of life's mysteries to ponder in those moments just before you fall asleep.
-Canadian Castaway
Monday, January 25, 2010
Bacon!, Singer, I Friggin Heart Avril, Becoming Canadian on Accident, Derby Training (sort of),
Day 152
Tater tot Monday continues along with the tots comes eggs, along with the eggs comes bacon. I noticed 3 things this morning pertaining to bacon: 1. There is nobody monitoring it. and 2. I am not ashamed to take six slices, eat them and wish I had more. 3. If all truly goes to shit in my life I will never be truly unhappy (unless some health freak stops the production of bacon).
Tonight I found myself singing in my room around midnight. You know just a little Rilo Kiley and Lisa Loeb, nothing fancy. Then I remembered the other day how when I left my I-tunes running at a medium volume I could hear it clearly in the hallway. I stopped singing for a moment. Well, until I realized that I always sing in my room. Then, I had an epiphany: if no one has ever come to complain or said any passive aggressive comments at the dinner table it must mean that I am a spectacular singer. Or, there are a touch too many polite Canadians around here. (But, I am pretty sure my neighbor is from Spain.)
What does it mean if I actually like Avril Lavigne? Would this raise my Canada cred? Or have Canadians disowned her. Is it better or worse to like Alanis (which I do)? What about Celine (still bitter about hearing that effing Titanic song like 348 times)? Whatever, I am still gonna kick it with Avril. I mean they should have her picture on the Canadian flag she not only has recorded 3 albums she even wrote the songs herself. They should be proud. But, as I am trying to think of something specific Canadians show pride about I am coming up with nothing. But they do have tons of apparel emblazoned with the flag or reading, "CANADA" so does that mean they are proud of their country or just super good at merchandising?
A friend came over tonight and told me that not only do I have severe ADD I am also turning Canadian. She said that I was starting to say, about as a-boot. I was truly insulted. I managed to avoid saying about altogether but more often than anyone would imagine I used the word: out. This word in my mother dialect sounds like, "oww-t" in Canadian it sounds like "aoo-t." I am turning Canadian. Just then a Canadian came by and remarked that I am saying, "I'm sorry" a lot more than when he first met me. I gasped, how could this be happening? I am a traitor. I've since decided to ease up on myself but when I start pronouncing been as bean and process not as prah-cess but PRO-cess I am deporting myself. Sorry, Canada you can't have this girl, but I will say there are some very attractive Canadian men running around--I'll consider dual citizenship but I am still not saying bean or PRO-cess.
Derby Training Day #4:
So, I was getting down on myself for not having the courage to skate outside of my room as I think I suck and must look like a traveling freakshow on wheels. I didn't even put my skates on nearly all day they just sat there and oogled me from the floor, radiating energy that said, 'you paid 160 dollars for us, sucker.' My friend dropped by (see Canadian-ness allegations above) and tried them on. She sort of flopped around on them much like I do and it made me feel amazing. For a minute I was truly grateful to call her my friend well, until she farted on my bed--she'll say she didn't but I know what the 'I just let one rip' face looks like. At least she gave me a watermelon Airhead (well, part of one). Anyway, I got back on the skates for about 10 minutes.
The real plan though is to hit the parking ramp next door on Saturday with a rollerblader friend of mine. I guess if I break my neck from falling off the six floor or smacking into the bumper of a Hummer I could sue the ramp owner. Unless we get caught and thrown out you say--don't be silly this is Canada they won't kick you out unless you insulted hockey--shit, you could go in there with an armed militia and they would not only let you stay but apologize for not being more accommodating. (sorry, Canada now that I am allegedly one of you I must dole out more hatred because everyone knows that humor comes from hating oneself--ehh fuck that, I am just a bitchy, hurtful, pride-filled American girl)
Tip of the Day: Plain light rye Wasa crackers will never, under no amount of imagining, taste even remotely like Nacho Cheese Doritos, ever.
-Canadian Castaway
Tater tot Monday continues along with the tots comes eggs, along with the eggs comes bacon. I noticed 3 things this morning pertaining to bacon: 1. There is nobody monitoring it. and 2. I am not ashamed to take six slices, eat them and wish I had more. 3. If all truly goes to shit in my life I will never be truly unhappy (unless some health freak stops the production of bacon).
Tonight I found myself singing in my room around midnight. You know just a little Rilo Kiley and Lisa Loeb, nothing fancy. Then I remembered the other day how when I left my I-tunes running at a medium volume I could hear it clearly in the hallway. I stopped singing for a moment. Well, until I realized that I always sing in my room. Then, I had an epiphany: if no one has ever come to complain or said any passive aggressive comments at the dinner table it must mean that I am a spectacular singer. Or, there are a touch too many polite Canadians around here. (But, I am pretty sure my neighbor is from Spain.)
What does it mean if I actually like Avril Lavigne? Would this raise my Canada cred? Or have Canadians disowned her. Is it better or worse to like Alanis (which I do)? What about Celine (still bitter about hearing that effing Titanic song like 348 times)? Whatever, I am still gonna kick it with Avril. I mean they should have her picture on the Canadian flag she not only has recorded 3 albums she even wrote the songs herself. They should be proud. But, as I am trying to think of something specific Canadians show pride about I am coming up with nothing. But they do have tons of apparel emblazoned with the flag or reading, "CANADA" so does that mean they are proud of their country or just super good at merchandising?
A friend came over tonight and told me that not only do I have severe ADD I am also turning Canadian. She said that I was starting to say, about as a-boot. I was truly insulted. I managed to avoid saying about altogether but more often than anyone would imagine I used the word: out. This word in my mother dialect sounds like, "oww-t" in Canadian it sounds like "aoo-t." I am turning Canadian. Just then a Canadian came by and remarked that I am saying, "I'm sorry" a lot more than when he first met me. I gasped, how could this be happening? I am a traitor. I've since decided to ease up on myself but when I start pronouncing been as bean and process not as prah-cess but PRO-cess I am deporting myself. Sorry, Canada you can't have this girl, but I will say there are some very attractive Canadian men running around--I'll consider dual citizenship but I am still not saying bean or PRO-cess.
Derby Training Day #4:
So, I was getting down on myself for not having the courage to skate outside of my room as I think I suck and must look like a traveling freakshow on wheels. I didn't even put my skates on nearly all day they just sat there and oogled me from the floor, radiating energy that said, 'you paid 160 dollars for us, sucker.' My friend dropped by (see Canadian-ness allegations above) and tried them on. She sort of flopped around on them much like I do and it made me feel amazing. For a minute I was truly grateful to call her my friend well, until she farted on my bed--she'll say she didn't but I know what the 'I just let one rip' face looks like. At least she gave me a watermelon Airhead (well, part of one). Anyway, I got back on the skates for about 10 minutes.
The real plan though is to hit the parking ramp next door on Saturday with a rollerblader friend of mine. I guess if I break my neck from falling off the six floor or smacking into the bumper of a Hummer I could sue the ramp owner. Unless we get caught and thrown out you say--don't be silly this is Canada they won't kick you out unless you insulted hockey--shit, you could go in there with an armed militia and they would not only let you stay but apologize for not being more accommodating. (sorry, Canada now that I am allegedly one of you I must dole out more hatred because everyone knows that humor comes from hating oneself--ehh fuck that, I am just a bitchy, hurtful, pride-filled American girl)
Tip of the Day: Plain light rye Wasa crackers will never, under no amount of imagining, taste even remotely like Nacho Cheese Doritos, ever.
-Canadian Castaway
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Dullness, Identifying Story, Underwear Looking, Derby Part 3, Fortune Telling
Day 151
Alright I just realized how boring my existence is which makes it fascinating that I can sit down and write about it every day (well, it's either fascinating or disturbing). Here is a run down of what happened: facebook, write, eat, facebook, facebook, gmail, yahoo, phonecall, facebook, read, facebook, write--repeat. It would be so easy to write this effing thing if I just told the truth like that. The truth, ha. Whoever said, "the truth shall set you free" should've modified it to, "the truth shall put you on prozac."
As I was writing and re-working the short story I have due tomorrow I realized something about my writing: I write ugly characters. Not just flawed characters, but the people I am seeing in my mind are quite hideous. If I were to psycho-analyze that quality about my writing and see what it says about me what would it mean? Would it mean that I am lying when I give people bullshit lines about how I write to capture the beauty of the human experience (okay, so that's clearly a lie)? Would it mean that I think all human beings are hideous or I find myself hideous? Then one could analyze why I write in the first place. Is it to play God to a world where I am glorified? Do I have no real friends? Shit, who cares. Wait, what does it mean if I lose interest in learning about myself?
When I was doing laundry earlier today I threw my clothes from washer to dryer and peeped in before closing the door. Inside I saw a mountain of underwear. I marveled for a moment and went back to my room imagining someone in my building opening the dryer door and underwear flying out at them by the dozen. What's worse is that I imagine walking in on the culprit just after this scene and making a big to do about how perverted they are for looking into dryers in the first place until they felt bad (if it were a Canadian it wouldn't take long, they always feel bad: damn, politeness). All the while knowing full well that I have looked before. I always look.
Roller Derby Training Day 3:
So, I spent most of the day off the skates. I finally put them on and buzzed around my room a bit. My knee still dull with the pain of injury. I saw an earring my friend just down the hall had left on my desk and decided that I was to venture out and give it to her. Being too lazy to put on my pads made for a terrifying journey. Plus, some nitwit had put a box of her junk in the hallway for me to navigate around. I made it down there, just a touch wobbly and hung her earring on her door. I turned around and felt slightly more confident on the trek back. Until I nearly reached my door and someone, possibly a friend, was in the hallway. They said something to me and I skated faster and thus more awkwardly and into my door. Not looking back. When I got inside I realized, how could I be a derby player if I can't even let my neighbors see me on skates and then I drank wine.
You know you've been in your room too long when you hear the same neighbor in the hallway 6 times and think to yourself, "Gee, don't they ever stay in."
I think I have found my new calling: a fortune cookie fortune writer. Here are a few samples from my portfolio:
Stay inside for a week.
You will be surrounded by idiots and freaks.
Don't eat this part.
You are only half as horrible as you seem to others.
You will have a depressing day.
Career opportunities increase after you fuck the boss.
Happiness is having mute friends.
Find something better to do with your time.
You will not win the lottery.
Love will come to you, maybe.
The cookie tastes like shit, doesn't it?
Your brother is actually your father
Tip of the Day: If you see a creepy guy by the dumpster, start growling.
-Canadian Castaway
Alright I just realized how boring my existence is which makes it fascinating that I can sit down and write about it every day (well, it's either fascinating or disturbing). Here is a run down of what happened: facebook, write, eat, facebook, facebook, gmail, yahoo, phonecall, facebook, read, facebook, write--repeat. It would be so easy to write this effing thing if I just told the truth like that. The truth, ha. Whoever said, "the truth shall set you free" should've modified it to, "the truth shall put you on prozac."
As I was writing and re-working the short story I have due tomorrow I realized something about my writing: I write ugly characters. Not just flawed characters, but the people I am seeing in my mind are quite hideous. If I were to psycho-analyze that quality about my writing and see what it says about me what would it mean? Would it mean that I am lying when I give people bullshit lines about how I write to capture the beauty of the human experience (okay, so that's clearly a lie)? Would it mean that I think all human beings are hideous or I find myself hideous? Then one could analyze why I write in the first place. Is it to play God to a world where I am glorified? Do I have no real friends? Shit, who cares. Wait, what does it mean if I lose interest in learning about myself?
When I was doing laundry earlier today I threw my clothes from washer to dryer and peeped in before closing the door. Inside I saw a mountain of underwear. I marveled for a moment and went back to my room imagining someone in my building opening the dryer door and underwear flying out at them by the dozen. What's worse is that I imagine walking in on the culprit just after this scene and making a big to do about how perverted they are for looking into dryers in the first place until they felt bad (if it were a Canadian it wouldn't take long, they always feel bad: damn, politeness). All the while knowing full well that I have looked before. I always look.
Roller Derby Training Day 3:
So, I spent most of the day off the skates. I finally put them on and buzzed around my room a bit. My knee still dull with the pain of injury. I saw an earring my friend just down the hall had left on my desk and decided that I was to venture out and give it to her. Being too lazy to put on my pads made for a terrifying journey. Plus, some nitwit had put a box of her junk in the hallway for me to navigate around. I made it down there, just a touch wobbly and hung her earring on her door. I turned around and felt slightly more confident on the trek back. Until I nearly reached my door and someone, possibly a friend, was in the hallway. They said something to me and I skated faster and thus more awkwardly and into my door. Not looking back. When I got inside I realized, how could I be a derby player if I can't even let my neighbors see me on skates and then I drank wine.
You know you've been in your room too long when you hear the same neighbor in the hallway 6 times and think to yourself, "Gee, don't they ever stay in."
I think I have found my new calling: a fortune cookie fortune writer. Here are a few samples from my portfolio:
Stay inside for a week.
You will be surrounded by idiots and freaks.
Don't eat this part.
You are only half as horrible as you seem to others.
You will have a depressing day.
Career opportunities increase after you fuck the boss.
Happiness is having mute friends.
Find something better to do with your time.
You will not win the lottery.
Love will come to you, maybe.
The cookie tastes like shit, doesn't it?
Your brother is actually your father
Tip of the Day: If you see a creepy guy by the dumpster, start growling.
-Canadian Castaway
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Oh, Canada, Antichrist, Skate Day 2, Street Lessons, Eff Google Talk
Day 150
You know yahoo.ca news is without a doubt Canadian even if it weren't for the .ca as every other day or so there is a headline mixed in along with the dating tips and world news topics that is about a hockey fight. Today's fight was a video of Russian kids under the age of 10 beating the crap out of each other in an oddly near noiseless arena. The footage was shot from what looked like a cellphone camera. I wonder if I saved all of these fight videos I could make an hour long documentary on Canadian dirty pleasures set to the soundtrack of "Oh, Canada" on a loop.
After my bodyguard and I argued on the bus for 12 minutes about how we are going to beat each other up we got off and started walking and he made sounds. Somehow, I knew that these were not words. My eyes flipped to him.
"What?" he asks.
"I don't think I wanna know," I say.
"Know what?"
"What you were just saying."
"I wasn't saying anything," he says.
"I heard you."
"I was just speaking in tongues."
"..."
"I am summoning the Antichrist."
So when we were talking about who would kick whose ass (him or me) nobody ever said anything about summoning up demonic powers. Asshole.
Roller Derby Training Day 2:
So, after taking a close look at my knee injury from yesterday to note that it is the size of four twoonies in a cloverleaf pattern and feeling the aching nerves in my forearm I thought I wouldn't get back on my skates possibly ever. Not even an hour later I was back on them in full pads plus helmet. But, I was too afraid to leave my room. I scooted around carrying my coffee mug thinking I was pretty awesome and trying to trick myself into believing that I had improved. My bodyguard suggested I go outside to skate and I told him I would, after a couple more weeks indoors.
So when I went out today I made notes Harriet-the-Spy style in my notebook. Tips based on other people around me for example: Don't be the girl on the bus texting with someone and have your new message sound be annoying and loud or don't walk around with your mouth hanging open, EVER--it makes one look stupid. But, what I really enjoyed now that I look back through my "Naughty" notebook notes was when I saw two old ladies walking down the street and I made notes of what to wear should I get to be REALLY old. Here's what I learned: wearing plaid pants is good but coupling them with bright white sneakers and a coat with ponies on it is better. A fluffy beret goes well with any ensemble. But, to stick with your outfit's originality you should probably bedazzle your cane or it could ruin the whole outfit. Plus, make sure if you do not have pretty white permed hair make your hair ultra frizzy and stand up on end.
After yesterday's excitement over getting a google talk account I waited all day for someone to video chat with me. Nobody wanted to. Now, I hate google talk. But, that doesn't stop me from logging on all goggly-eyed hopeful every ten minutes. Who would I get to chat with me if I were to put an add on Craigslist? "Looking for someone to google talk with video-style. Must like looking at my plastic farm animals close up on the camera."
Alright, I am off to check my google talk...you never know.
-Canadian Castaway
You know yahoo.ca news is without a doubt Canadian even if it weren't for the .ca as every other day or so there is a headline mixed in along with the dating tips and world news topics that is about a hockey fight. Today's fight was a video of Russian kids under the age of 10 beating the crap out of each other in an oddly near noiseless arena. The footage was shot from what looked like a cellphone camera. I wonder if I saved all of these fight videos I could make an hour long documentary on Canadian dirty pleasures set to the soundtrack of "Oh, Canada" on a loop.
After my bodyguard and I argued on the bus for 12 minutes about how we are going to beat each other up we got off and started walking and he made sounds. Somehow, I knew that these were not words. My eyes flipped to him.
"What?" he asks.
"I don't think I wanna know," I say.
"Know what?"
"What you were just saying."
"I wasn't saying anything," he says.
"I heard you."
"I was just speaking in tongues."
"..."
"I am summoning the Antichrist."
So when we were talking about who would kick whose ass (him or me) nobody ever said anything about summoning up demonic powers. Asshole.
Roller Derby Training Day 2:
So, after taking a close look at my knee injury from yesterday to note that it is the size of four twoonies in a cloverleaf pattern and feeling the aching nerves in my forearm I thought I wouldn't get back on my skates possibly ever. Not even an hour later I was back on them in full pads plus helmet. But, I was too afraid to leave my room. I scooted around carrying my coffee mug thinking I was pretty awesome and trying to trick myself into believing that I had improved. My bodyguard suggested I go outside to skate and I told him I would, after a couple more weeks indoors.
So when I went out today I made notes Harriet-the-Spy style in my notebook. Tips based on other people around me for example: Don't be the girl on the bus texting with someone and have your new message sound be annoying and loud or don't walk around with your mouth hanging open, EVER--it makes one look stupid. But, what I really enjoyed now that I look back through my "Naughty" notebook notes was when I saw two old ladies walking down the street and I made notes of what to wear should I get to be REALLY old. Here's what I learned: wearing plaid pants is good but coupling them with bright white sneakers and a coat with ponies on it is better. A fluffy beret goes well with any ensemble. But, to stick with your outfit's originality you should probably bedazzle your cane or it could ruin the whole outfit. Plus, make sure if you do not have pretty white permed hair make your hair ultra frizzy and stand up on end.
After yesterday's excitement over getting a google talk account I waited all day for someone to video chat with me. Nobody wanted to. Now, I hate google talk. But, that doesn't stop me from logging on all goggly-eyed hopeful every ten minutes. Who would I get to chat with me if I were to put an add on Craigslist? "Looking for someone to google talk with video-style. Must like looking at my plastic farm animals close up on the camera."
Alright, I am off to check my google talk...you never know.
-Canadian Castaway
Skating Lessons, Dad Advice, Chinese Waltz Lessons, Google Talk
Day 149
Roller Skate Training Day 1:
There was one thing that I learned from the movie, Julie and Julia and that thing is that during the course of that film both women tried something new and saw it through to fruition and thus changed who they were which gave them a personal power and a drive to continue this ridiculous game of life (not the awesome Game of Life boardgame which is waaay better because it's much easier to get along with plastic people). The point is that idea of trying something seemingly hard and ridiculous crossed with seeing Whip It and feeling like a fat ass and having uncontrollable PMS, and the fact that I used to work at a bar that supported the derby and was told to join several times by the players has led me to spend a ridiculous sum of money ($330) on skates and gear and possess a dream to join the local derby. Today was my very first day on wheels and here is what happened:
The kneepads I bought are still too small I found out. I don't know why exactly but I imagined my thighs shrinking overnight and them fitting perfectly in the morning. Apparently, I need a fairy godmother to make this shit happen. Perhaps I'll put an add on Craigslist.
I flopped around my room for quite a long time slamming alternately into my door and cupboards with an occasional bed flop. The bed flopping was accidental but at the time I was able to trick myself into thinking that it was not only intentional but also that I was doing some sort of awesome Olympic-esque landing.
I took off my kneepads after I feared that my circulation was being compromised. It was a short time after that when I got cocky. I went out into the hallway. At first the plan was to just skate down to see if my friend was around but it escalated. The first pass down the hallway went so well I made a few more and a few more, gaining speed. I thought I heard someone approaching so I tried to both look cool and make a quick getaway. I don't know what happened but my wrist and left knee got smacked and I was on the ground. When I made it back to my room, cautiously and without pride, I pulled up my leggings. My knee was raw from rug burn and flakes of my skin and flesh were everywhere. What was worse than the pain was the fact that I knew I couldn't bitch about it because it all could've been prevented with the wrist guard and knee pads that were sitting in my room. So I did what anyone would do in my position: I did a photo shoot of myself making pathetic faces displaying my injury.
After I ditched out on my friend to grab a sandwich I sat in the courtyard of my building nibbling enjoying the fact that it is January and it was almost 60 degrees outside. I decided to call my father to brag. Here are the two things we talked about during our hour-long chat:
1. There is a new food item at Wendy's. He couldn't remember the name of it but it had to do with Asian, Spicy, and Chicken. He described how he wanted to try something new and how it came in a little box and it was in pieces covered in sauce and how it was much spicier than he imagined it would be but, "boy, was it tasty." He also told me that he washed it down with a vanilla frosty. This part of the conversation took a half an hour with much repetition and excitement on his end.
2. The other half an hour was spent telling me that I am a "pissbaby" and that I would never make it in the roller derby because of it. After 25 minutes of his laughing and "pissbaby" name calling he said, "Wait, are you serious about this?" I told him I was and then he said, "Okay" long pause, "I guess I spoke too soon. Uhhh." He seemed remorseful for the remaining 4 minutes of our conversation and I thanked him for the talk and told him it was okay that he called me a "pissbaby" and that I expect it of him. He apologized again and again. But, the peculiar thing is that when I called my mother later on and she asked what we talked about and I told her Wendy's and the fact that I am a "pissbaby" my mother said, "Your father called you a pissbaby?" and I heard his muffled laughter in the background. Apparently, pissbabies have excellent hearing, good to know.
So tonight at work after I got blitzed on whiskey while doing the dishes I ended up at the Indian dance party going on in the lounge. Two of my friends were there an Indian girl who hates Indian men and a chubby Chinese guy who keeps telling me he wants blonde babies but won't let me touch him. The room was full of beautiful brown men. I ended up in a dance lesson in the middle of the crowd (who by the way were not yet dancing). I was getting the lesson from my Chinese friend who doesn't want to touch me. He gave up after ten minutes and told me I could not be his dance partner in his weekly dance class. The Indian dance party didn't get much better than that.
Tonight I learned how to use google talk. I have had a gmail account for months without ever using it but when I learned that I can finally make use of my webcam through gmail I thought I should give it a try and now I want to throw away my cellphone and get rid of my email accounts. There is nothing better than video chat. It is so much more entertaining to chat with someone when you can give them a mini freakshow like showing them your helmet and your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle poster and the a picture of a freaky cult that hangs on your wall, and your magical crystal and every animal in your plastic farm. When you run out of things to show the camera you can always start making funny faces and doing your hair and makeup. But, always make sure to nod every so often or say, "Yeah" so your fellow google talker thinks you are paying attention and won't close the chat.
-Canadian Castaway
-Canadian Castaway
Roller Skate Training Day 1:
There was one thing that I learned from the movie, Julie and Julia and that thing is that during the course of that film both women tried something new and saw it through to fruition and thus changed who they were which gave them a personal power and a drive to continue this ridiculous game of life (not the awesome Game of Life boardgame which is waaay better because it's much easier to get along with plastic people). The point is that idea of trying something seemingly hard and ridiculous crossed with seeing Whip It and feeling like a fat ass and having uncontrollable PMS, and the fact that I used to work at a bar that supported the derby and was told to join several times by the players has led me to spend a ridiculous sum of money ($330) on skates and gear and possess a dream to join the local derby. Today was my very first day on wheels and here is what happened:
The kneepads I bought are still too small I found out. I don't know why exactly but I imagined my thighs shrinking overnight and them fitting perfectly in the morning. Apparently, I need a fairy godmother to make this shit happen. Perhaps I'll put an add on Craigslist.
I flopped around my room for quite a long time slamming alternately into my door and cupboards with an occasional bed flop. The bed flopping was accidental but at the time I was able to trick myself into thinking that it was not only intentional but also that I was doing some sort of awesome Olympic-esque landing.
I took off my kneepads after I feared that my circulation was being compromised. It was a short time after that when I got cocky. I went out into the hallway. At first the plan was to just skate down to see if my friend was around but it escalated. The first pass down the hallway went so well I made a few more and a few more, gaining speed. I thought I heard someone approaching so I tried to both look cool and make a quick getaway. I don't know what happened but my wrist and left knee got smacked and I was on the ground. When I made it back to my room, cautiously and without pride, I pulled up my leggings. My knee was raw from rug burn and flakes of my skin and flesh were everywhere. What was worse than the pain was the fact that I knew I couldn't bitch about it because it all could've been prevented with the wrist guard and knee pads that were sitting in my room. So I did what anyone would do in my position: I did a photo shoot of myself making pathetic faces displaying my injury.
After I ditched out on my friend to grab a sandwich I sat in the courtyard of my building nibbling enjoying the fact that it is January and it was almost 60 degrees outside. I decided to call my father to brag. Here are the two things we talked about during our hour-long chat:
1. There is a new food item at Wendy's. He couldn't remember the name of it but it had to do with Asian, Spicy, and Chicken. He described how he wanted to try something new and how it came in a little box and it was in pieces covered in sauce and how it was much spicier than he imagined it would be but, "boy, was it tasty." He also told me that he washed it down with a vanilla frosty. This part of the conversation took a half an hour with much repetition and excitement on his end.
2. The other half an hour was spent telling me that I am a "pissbaby" and that I would never make it in the roller derby because of it. After 25 minutes of his laughing and "pissbaby" name calling he said, "Wait, are you serious about this?" I told him I was and then he said, "Okay" long pause, "I guess I spoke too soon. Uhhh." He seemed remorseful for the remaining 4 minutes of our conversation and I thanked him for the talk and told him it was okay that he called me a "pissbaby" and that I expect it of him. He apologized again and again. But, the peculiar thing is that when I called my mother later on and she asked what we talked about and I told her Wendy's and the fact that I am a "pissbaby" my mother said, "Your father called you a pissbaby?" and I heard his muffled laughter in the background. Apparently, pissbabies have excellent hearing, good to know.
So tonight at work after I got blitzed on whiskey while doing the dishes I ended up at the Indian dance party going on in the lounge. Two of my friends were there an Indian girl who hates Indian men and a chubby Chinese guy who keeps telling me he wants blonde babies but won't let me touch him. The room was full of beautiful brown men. I ended up in a dance lesson in the middle of the crowd (who by the way were not yet dancing). I was getting the lesson from my Chinese friend who doesn't want to touch me. He gave up after ten minutes and told me I could not be his dance partner in his weekly dance class. The Indian dance party didn't get much better than that.
Tonight I learned how to use google talk. I have had a gmail account for months without ever using it but when I learned that I can finally make use of my webcam through gmail I thought I should give it a try and now I want to throw away my cellphone and get rid of my email accounts. There is nothing better than video chat. It is so much more entertaining to chat with someone when you can give them a mini freakshow like showing them your helmet and your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle poster and the a picture of a freaky cult that hangs on your wall, and your magical crystal and every animal in your plastic farm. When you run out of things to show the camera you can always start making funny faces and doing your hair and makeup. But, always make sure to nod every so often or say, "Yeah" so your fellow google talker thinks you are paying attention and won't close the chat.
-Canadian Castaway
-Canadian Castaway
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Still Ill Now Insane, Canadian Road Rage, Drunken Council Memberz, Thigh Guy vs. English Guy, Sick Thoughts
Day 148
So the illness continues in that disgusting I only have toilet paper to wipe the snot out of my hair kinda way. Somehow this didn't stop me from getting a pita and being a whiny bitch. Instead of locking myself in to my own misery I ventured out (no one to hear me whine inside) to prove that being sick doesn't mean that you won't spend all of your money on rollerskates and gear. At least the woman who sold them to me had faith that I would make it in the derby world, after trying on every pair of XL kneepads in the store and finding them all too small my faith wained.
To get the skates a friend of mine picked me up in his car. He let me play The Clash on shuffle and we cruised and it was then I learned something horrible about this wonderful Canadian city: there are no friggin freeways through town. Seriously should it take 35 minutes to put across town? When we were stuck for like 34 kilometers (no idea what a kilometer is) behind a tiny white-haired woman in a red hat and shit car I was proud to be an American. If this were in my homelands we'd fly past the broad on a proper road where you can go 80 mph (230 kph?). Mother effing Canada.
Tonight, despite my illness, I went to work. I was scheduled to work what is called a Graduate Student Society Council Meeting: a fancy phrase for a formal event where people get to eat buffet food and get smashed on free beer while they decide how Grad school should be run. The first half hour was me serving beer when I wasn't supposed to. Apparently, someone realized that getting annihilated is a bad thing when choosing how to govern a "Society." Instead of telling me to stop giving out beer the "President" (useless title for a guy who can't make decisions but looks good in a suit) said, "Well, the beer seems to make them happier so keep serving it."
At the council meeting was the guy that I kissed when I was drunk before I learned from The Girls of Hedsor Hall how to be a lady with self respect (not working out too well so far). He is also known as the man with gorgeous thighs. Anyway, the day after the kiss he went to India for 2 months. So he comes up to me and orders a beer and I look at his thighs and his puffy lips and dark eyes and am rather enjoying the awkwardness of him standing near me trying to find something to say when his friend shows up. His friend with a low English voice and a cute smile. Thigh guy introduced the Englishman as his friend perhaps as a way to scope me out to see if I am worthwhile. But, what ended up happening was that I fell for the Englishman. Moral: Don't introduce your English-accented friends to the girl you like to get their opinion of her unless your thighs are in view.
Misc. Sick-headed thoughts (translation: the shit I think between blowing my nose on toilet paper and coughs):
What does it say about a person if she'd rather bitch and moan about her microwave oatmeal consistency than get a measuring cup?
Why is Vanilla Ice wearing a "University of Miami" sweatshirt in the Ice Ice Baby video? Why do I know that? I'd blame it on cold medicine had I taken any.
Were MC Hammer's glass cool back in the day? And how did I not know that Can't Touch This has the same rhythm of Superfreak?
Would I like the songs from Pretty in Pink if I had not seen the movie?
Jedward is a little frightening in the do I find this twosome of 14 year olds hot or not...what does it mean if I do?
Seriously, this is all I've got today. Maybe I ought to take that cold medicine afterall it might make things more exciting or help me to sleep through the boring parts.
-Canadian Castaway
So the illness continues in that disgusting I only have toilet paper to wipe the snot out of my hair kinda way. Somehow this didn't stop me from getting a pita and being a whiny bitch. Instead of locking myself in to my own misery I ventured out (no one to hear me whine inside) to prove that being sick doesn't mean that you won't spend all of your money on rollerskates and gear. At least the woman who sold them to me had faith that I would make it in the derby world, after trying on every pair of XL kneepads in the store and finding them all too small my faith wained.
To get the skates a friend of mine picked me up in his car. He let me play The Clash on shuffle and we cruised and it was then I learned something horrible about this wonderful Canadian city: there are no friggin freeways through town. Seriously should it take 35 minutes to put across town? When we were stuck for like 34 kilometers (no idea what a kilometer is) behind a tiny white-haired woman in a red hat and shit car I was proud to be an American. If this were in my homelands we'd fly past the broad on a proper road where you can go 80 mph (230 kph?). Mother effing Canada.
Tonight, despite my illness, I went to work. I was scheduled to work what is called a Graduate Student Society Council Meeting: a fancy phrase for a formal event where people get to eat buffet food and get smashed on free beer while they decide how Grad school should be run. The first half hour was me serving beer when I wasn't supposed to. Apparently, someone realized that getting annihilated is a bad thing when choosing how to govern a "Society." Instead of telling me to stop giving out beer the "President" (useless title for a guy who can't make decisions but looks good in a suit) said, "Well, the beer seems to make them happier so keep serving it."
At the council meeting was the guy that I kissed when I was drunk before I learned from The Girls of Hedsor Hall how to be a lady with self respect (not working out too well so far). He is also known as the man with gorgeous thighs. Anyway, the day after the kiss he went to India for 2 months. So he comes up to me and orders a beer and I look at his thighs and his puffy lips and dark eyes and am rather enjoying the awkwardness of him standing near me trying to find something to say when his friend shows up. His friend with a low English voice and a cute smile. Thigh guy introduced the Englishman as his friend perhaps as a way to scope me out to see if I am worthwhile. But, what ended up happening was that I fell for the Englishman. Moral: Don't introduce your English-accented friends to the girl you like to get their opinion of her unless your thighs are in view.
Misc. Sick-headed thoughts (translation: the shit I think between blowing my nose on toilet paper and coughs):
What does it say about a person if she'd rather bitch and moan about her microwave oatmeal consistency than get a measuring cup?
Why is Vanilla Ice wearing a "University of Miami" sweatshirt in the Ice Ice Baby video? Why do I know that? I'd blame it on cold medicine had I taken any.
Were MC Hammer's glass cool back in the day? And how did I not know that Can't Touch This has the same rhythm of Superfreak?
Would I like the songs from Pretty in Pink if I had not seen the movie?
Jedward is a little frightening in the do I find this twosome of 14 year olds hot or not...what does it mean if I do?
Seriously, this is all I've got today. Maybe I ought to take that cold medicine afterall it might make things more exciting or help me to sleep through the boring parts.
-Canadian Castaway
Shades of Illness, Death in the Library, Work Bingo is Getting Less Fun
Day 147
Okay so I am the kind of sick where snot runs down your throat and dries and cracks the flesh and your ovaries and kidneys ache but you can't decide which hurts more and the only solution to any of this is to be ultra whiny and try to trick your mind into believing that vitamins will make you live forever. Just to clarify I am also (and still) sick in the mind. The I am gonna kick that skinny whore enjoying a delicious cigarette and tromping around in front of me with a pretty boy. But, it's more advanced than that there is also the fat girlness to factor in (this is the ultimate sickness agent) the type of loathing that takes 7 years off your life occurs when you see that that bitch is wearing calf-high boots and they are saggy when you remember damn well the many days in the not to recent past when you pulled on a tall boot in the store and your calf fat got caught in the zipper.
I was feeling only sort of sick this afternoon when I cancelled on my little high school writer brigade fearing first that I would pick up more germs there (Reason #25 why I shouldn't be a high school teacher) and second, I could infect them. Then that slut karma made me full blown ill just when I felt like I was a bad ass playing hooky.
The only place I went besides work (yeah, I know I don't give a damn about customers) was the library. I went in to pick up a specific book when I finally found the correct floor this book was located on I skimmed the spines looking at titles. I pulled out the book I wanted and only one other book. The other book fell open in my hands to a page with papers stuffed inside of it. I pulled out the papers to see that they were tax documents from the Canadian Internal Revenue Service (or whatever they call it up here). I started to just put them back in the book but then realized that the social insurance number along with other personal information was on them. So, I walked down and turned it in to the lady at the desk. She looked at the papers and said, "He used to work here. He just died."
I walked out of the library feeling like I was in the Twilight Zone. What the hell happened here? Is it the cold medicine? Is this a freak coincidence or is this going to happen every time I go to the library? Am I some sort of psychic? Should I have looked this person up? There is a hundred thousand books in there how many of them contain documents people who recently passed on left behind? I feel like I am on some wacky Candid Camera show with a little Tales From the Crypt thrown in but I have yet to spot the camera.
So, at work we got instead of playing bingo with a bunch of homemade pieces of paper bearing numbers in beer pitcher someone found us one of those caged wheels with balls inside. And somehow the fanciness of it ruined bingo (or that's what I blame it on) Plus, we were not as sexual with our comments. It's like we turned into semi-pro bingoaholics now. How do I make bingo fun again? Is it worth going to work when I can't even enjoy myself some nasty bingo? Why am I so shocked that bingo got boring? What a day of annoying questions.
-Canadian Castaway
Okay so I am the kind of sick where snot runs down your throat and dries and cracks the flesh and your ovaries and kidneys ache but you can't decide which hurts more and the only solution to any of this is to be ultra whiny and try to trick your mind into believing that vitamins will make you live forever. Just to clarify I am also (and still) sick in the mind. The I am gonna kick that skinny whore enjoying a delicious cigarette and tromping around in front of me with a pretty boy. But, it's more advanced than that there is also the fat girlness to factor in (this is the ultimate sickness agent) the type of loathing that takes 7 years off your life occurs when you see that that bitch is wearing calf-high boots and they are saggy when you remember damn well the many days in the not to recent past when you pulled on a tall boot in the store and your calf fat got caught in the zipper.
I was feeling only sort of sick this afternoon when I cancelled on my little high school writer brigade fearing first that I would pick up more germs there (Reason #25 why I shouldn't be a high school teacher) and second, I could infect them. Then that slut karma made me full blown ill just when I felt like I was a bad ass playing hooky.
The only place I went besides work (yeah, I know I don't give a damn about customers) was the library. I went in to pick up a specific book when I finally found the correct floor this book was located on I skimmed the spines looking at titles. I pulled out the book I wanted and only one other book. The other book fell open in my hands to a page with papers stuffed inside of it. I pulled out the papers to see that they were tax documents from the Canadian Internal Revenue Service (or whatever they call it up here). I started to just put them back in the book but then realized that the social insurance number along with other personal information was on them. So, I walked down and turned it in to the lady at the desk. She looked at the papers and said, "He used to work here. He just died."
I walked out of the library feeling like I was in the Twilight Zone. What the hell happened here? Is it the cold medicine? Is this a freak coincidence or is this going to happen every time I go to the library? Am I some sort of psychic? Should I have looked this person up? There is a hundred thousand books in there how many of them contain documents people who recently passed on left behind? I feel like I am on some wacky Candid Camera show with a little Tales From the Crypt thrown in but I have yet to spot the camera.
So, at work we got instead of playing bingo with a bunch of homemade pieces of paper bearing numbers in beer pitcher someone found us one of those caged wheels with balls inside. And somehow the fanciness of it ruined bingo (or that's what I blame it on) Plus, we were not as sexual with our comments. It's like we turned into semi-pro bingoaholics now. How do I make bingo fun again? Is it worth going to work when I can't even enjoy myself some nasty bingo? Why am I so shocked that bingo got boring? What a day of annoying questions.
-Canadian Castaway
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Unfunny Jokes, TV, Merkin Man, Another Ode to Yahoo.ca, Re-friended, Canadian Opinion Time
Day 146
So the residence where I live is raising funds to send to Haiti. This is a wonderful thought. I was impressed with my fellow impoverished grad students for their contributions but I was not impressed with the email threat I received as a result of this fundraiser. The email states that the wings of the residence hall are in a competition to see who can raise more funds for the relief effort (again, this I can deal with). But, the email also says that the wing who loses is going to be woken up by the fire alarm system at 7 am every day for a week and forced to serve breakfast in bed to the other wing. If this is supposed to be funny then I have no sense of humour (note: unintentional Canadian spelling ahh assimilation). I did my part. I emailed the snooty little brat who sent out the threat message. I wrote, "If this is true I am going to assassinate you." Maybe I should've added, "I'm joking if you're joking..."
You know you are addicted to a TV show when: you watch your friends Cambodian pirated copy of it and arrive at an episode that you've already seen 4 times and the sound doesn't sync up to the moving of the characters' mouths but you watch it anyway.
Today I officially started the short story that I promised to write over Christmas Break. Whatever, maybe I'm still on Christmas break. Anyway, so not only does the merkin dealer in the story sell pubic hair wigs he also has a crush on a 15 year old girl. Maybe next he'll go home to his wife who is a goat. Wait, Albee already did the goat sex thing. Okay, so maybe his wife is a bearded lady, no too easy. Or, a handless cobbler. Maybe his wife is a, a---wait, if someone would marry a pedophile used merkin dealer then why don't I have offers pouring in? Huh? I guess real life is much, much stranger than fiction. But, in real life you can't marry goats they are too non-committal.
Yahoo.ca, my favorite news source, published a piece today that said if you have a job where you are sedentary then you have higher risks for health problems. Fascinating and shocking. Gee, I learn ever so much from yahoo. There is also a headline that reads,"'American Idol:' The Top 10 Things the Show Needs to Fix." This is a tad more riveting but when you think about how somebody actually took the time and initiative to write this list down and then had the balls to post it which admits that they had the time and initiative to write this down it's a little scary. But, it does make me want to meet this person. I wonder if they would watch Idol if it didn't sync up to the mouths of the performers?
After yesterdays shock of being unfriended for the first time I logged onto facebook unsure if others had joined in the unfriending revelry. But, it turns out I was re-friended (another new word, thanks facebook) by the same person who unfriended me. This was troublesome. Does facebook just assume that I would want to be his friend again? I mean, I got no notification of him unfriending me in the first place and now, now he can just refriend me without my permission? I have a moral code, you know. If someone in real life unfriends me I don't speak to them ever again and I write nasty things about them to make myself feel important. I would never refriend. Should I have read the policy and terms for facebook before I just clicked that I had read them? Was there some sort of mandatory forgiveness clause hidden in there?
During class today I got to hear how Canadians assume Americans think about healthcare reform. Okay I will back up: my (American) classmate wrote a profile piece on another American who was taking issue with the healthcare reform in the States. As we workshopped this piece the Canadians in the room (those blessed people that have not lived a day without being covered by insurance) told the room what Americans thought about healthcare without acknowledging the three Americans in the room. And, I thought these were polite, unassuming people. But then again, I am not Canadian so I would never assume I know what they are thinking or tell them what they are thinking. (heee hee heeeee)
Alright I am off to a pub where women wear tiny red skirts as part of their uniform. Thank you so much for paying attention to the women's rights movement. I hope there is a male server so I can ask him why he doesn't wear a skirt and if he gets paid more because this is obviously an archaic and sexist place. I'm not bitter, just bitchy.
-Canadian Castaway
So the residence where I live is raising funds to send to Haiti. This is a wonderful thought. I was impressed with my fellow impoverished grad students for their contributions but I was not impressed with the email threat I received as a result of this fundraiser. The email states that the wings of the residence hall are in a competition to see who can raise more funds for the relief effort (again, this I can deal with). But, the email also says that the wing who loses is going to be woken up by the fire alarm system at 7 am every day for a week and forced to serve breakfast in bed to the other wing. If this is supposed to be funny then I have no sense of humour (note: unintentional Canadian spelling ahh assimilation). I did my part. I emailed the snooty little brat who sent out the threat message. I wrote, "If this is true I am going to assassinate you." Maybe I should've added, "I'm joking if you're joking..."
You know you are addicted to a TV show when: you watch your friends Cambodian pirated copy of it and arrive at an episode that you've already seen 4 times and the sound doesn't sync up to the moving of the characters' mouths but you watch it anyway.
Today I officially started the short story that I promised to write over Christmas Break. Whatever, maybe I'm still on Christmas break. Anyway, so not only does the merkin dealer in the story sell pubic hair wigs he also has a crush on a 15 year old girl. Maybe next he'll go home to his wife who is a goat. Wait, Albee already did the goat sex thing. Okay, so maybe his wife is a bearded lady, no too easy. Or, a handless cobbler. Maybe his wife is a, a---wait, if someone would marry a pedophile used merkin dealer then why don't I have offers pouring in? Huh? I guess real life is much, much stranger than fiction. But, in real life you can't marry goats they are too non-committal.
Yahoo.ca, my favorite news source, published a piece today that said if you have a job where you are sedentary then you have higher risks for health problems. Fascinating and shocking. Gee, I learn ever so much from yahoo. There is also a headline that reads,"'American Idol:' The Top 10 Things the Show Needs to Fix." This is a tad more riveting but when you think about how somebody actually took the time and initiative to write this list down and then had the balls to post it which admits that they had the time and initiative to write this down it's a little scary. But, it does make me want to meet this person. I wonder if they would watch Idol if it didn't sync up to the mouths of the performers?
After yesterdays shock of being unfriended for the first time I logged onto facebook unsure if others had joined in the unfriending revelry. But, it turns out I was re-friended (another new word, thanks facebook) by the same person who unfriended me. This was troublesome. Does facebook just assume that I would want to be his friend again? I mean, I got no notification of him unfriending me in the first place and now, now he can just refriend me without my permission? I have a moral code, you know. If someone in real life unfriends me I don't speak to them ever again and I write nasty things about them to make myself feel important. I would never refriend. Should I have read the policy and terms for facebook before I just clicked that I had read them? Was there some sort of mandatory forgiveness clause hidden in there?
During class today I got to hear how Canadians assume Americans think about healthcare reform. Okay I will back up: my (American) classmate wrote a profile piece on another American who was taking issue with the healthcare reform in the States. As we workshopped this piece the Canadians in the room (those blessed people that have not lived a day without being covered by insurance) told the room what Americans thought about healthcare without acknowledging the three Americans in the room. And, I thought these were polite, unassuming people. But then again, I am not Canadian so I would never assume I know what they are thinking or tell them what they are thinking. (heee hee heeeee)
Alright I am off to a pub where women wear tiny red skirts as part of their uniform. Thank you so much for paying attention to the women's rights movement. I hope there is a male server so I can ask him why he doesn't wear a skirt and if he gets paid more because this is obviously an archaic and sexist place. I'm not bitter, just bitchy.
-Canadian Castaway
Monday, January 18, 2010
Blog-pectations, Zombie Attack, Habitual Habit Acquisition, Readingz, Thigh Love
Day 145
Not only do I have to instruct high school kids that are way smarter than myself, I promised them I would create for them a blog. Last week they sort of listened as I rambled on and on about the purpose of the blog. The glaze faded from their eyes when they began to talk about the colors used for it. Pink and black was the decision reached in the lively ten minute debate. This was great I'd thought, all they expect out of my technical (lack of) expertise is to make something pink and black, no problem. So, I popped onto my trusty blogger and set about the creation.
According to the fashion folder I bought at Staples last week pink and black are very in colors. Apparently, blogger doesn't find this to be true in fact the only thing even close to being usable in their blog templates had polka dots on a neutral background there may have been a mauve-toned dot but definitely not pink or black. I thought about using the same template that my own blog has but then worried if I were drunk (as I usually am at night time) there is a possibility that I could accidently spread the nastiness of The Emily Papers onto these children. But then again it could start up a legion of snarky bloggers. And plus, if they liked my blog I could be very popular. Which exactly why I shouldn't be teaching high schoolers because every time I make a move or go to school to see them I want to be popular. It's even worse than when I was in high school. But, I must remember it's always the ones who really want to be popular who never are.
Today during television writing class I became a zombie. Somewhere around when the grits of my coffee met up with the tater tots and bacon in my stomach a reaction occurred where I became totally zoned out. It could've been that or all the talk of zombie plot lines that somehow assimilated itself into my behavior. This is troublesome. What if someone wrote a story about a serial killer and I started behaving like that? Could I use the class as my defense? Seriously, they should put a disclaimer on these classes.
So after I quit smoking and groping nasty strangers in bars I thought I had rid myself of bad habits for good. This may be true but it doesn't stop me from acquiring a host of annoying habits (worse than bad habits because they are harder to break because they are waaaay more addicting than cigarettes and strange men). These are the sort of habits that find me gnawing my cuticles until they bleed and chewing on my hair. Yes, I chew my hair. Don't ask me about it because then I get self-conscious about it for a week (which is also addicting but makes me chew more hair). The latest annoying habit is whining about how I don't know what a narrative arc is. Everyone I know has heard me bellyache about this topic that my advisor pointed out to me a few days ago. I know that I could find a "narrative arc" but I am so consumed with whining about it (annoying habit) that I must wait for another annoying habit to replace it.
The great thing about annoying habits is that they are totally unexpected. Like for the last two weeks I have been obsessing over roller derby. I am a little concerned that my new hobby is stalking comic book writers. I am trying to see it as an educational opportunity to mask the creep factor but have not quite convinced myself of this, yet.
Tonight I found myself at the faculty reading for my program. This is the powerhouse showcase, these are people who have written shelf-loads of books. Here are a few things that happened:
-I met strangers who belonged to a writing group and the old guy with white curly hair tried to bribe me with strawberries for unknown reasons.
-The head of my program I call him "Captain" is an older white guy with amazing 1980's big glasses that he's probably actually had since the 80s read from his manga book. Apparently, he writes manga which is cool but I wonder if I am supposed to be creeped out or awed by the fact that the book is seemingly about pretty women falling in love with each other and he looks like he could be my grandpa.
-My friend and I plucked rose petals from the centerpieces on the tables which I proceeded to rub on my lips for a half an hour without realizing that this was an odd thing to do.
-My favorite professor told an amazing story about how he lived in a house of writers when he was young and there was a fire one day and before saving his sleeping girlfriend he boxed up four containers of his manuscripts. There are so many reasons why he is my favorite.
-There was another piece that was a woman on film wearing a glove that was supposed to make sounds. I want one of those just to make swearing more fun. If I had one I would learn the movements to make the sounds for "motherfucker" and it would come out in a Stephen Hawking voice. What's better than that?
-A woman read what must have been a 25 page memoir piece about adopting/conceiving a child which was interesting but long. What made it awesome was that she held her head low when reading the piece but every so often she would look up while still speaking and words would catch the microphone and be thunderous at inappropriate times. Then, I wondered what if this was what she had intended if so I commend her for it and not judge her just as a creepy yoga freak but a person of artistic note.
After the reading I went down to the pub that was crawling with undergrads. The reason for me even going in was to see the Indian dude I got drunk and kissed the cheek of and ran off. This was about 54 days ago on the night before he left to go back home. I didn't quite know how to approach him. I went up and said, "Hi." He extended his hand into a formal handshake and smiled. Later, I greeted my favorite Latino slutty man and he said, "Your boyfriend was asking about you." "Which boyfriend?" He nodded toward the Indian man. I looked at how the jeans of the Indian man clung to his muscular thighs and realized that life wasn't so bad afterall.
-Canadian Castaway
-
Not only do I have to instruct high school kids that are way smarter than myself, I promised them I would create for them a blog. Last week they sort of listened as I rambled on and on about the purpose of the blog. The glaze faded from their eyes when they began to talk about the colors used for it. Pink and black was the decision reached in the lively ten minute debate. This was great I'd thought, all they expect out of my technical (lack of) expertise is to make something pink and black, no problem. So, I popped onto my trusty blogger and set about the creation.
According to the fashion folder I bought at Staples last week pink and black are very in colors. Apparently, blogger doesn't find this to be true in fact the only thing even close to being usable in their blog templates had polka dots on a neutral background there may have been a mauve-toned dot but definitely not pink or black. I thought about using the same template that my own blog has but then worried if I were drunk (as I usually am at night time) there is a possibility that I could accidently spread the nastiness of The Emily Papers onto these children. But then again it could start up a legion of snarky bloggers. And plus, if they liked my blog I could be very popular. Which exactly why I shouldn't be teaching high schoolers because every time I make a move or go to school to see them I want to be popular. It's even worse than when I was in high school. But, I must remember it's always the ones who really want to be popular who never are.
Today during television writing class I became a zombie. Somewhere around when the grits of my coffee met up with the tater tots and bacon in my stomach a reaction occurred where I became totally zoned out. It could've been that or all the talk of zombie plot lines that somehow assimilated itself into my behavior. This is troublesome. What if someone wrote a story about a serial killer and I started behaving like that? Could I use the class as my defense? Seriously, they should put a disclaimer on these classes.
So after I quit smoking and groping nasty strangers in bars I thought I had rid myself of bad habits for good. This may be true but it doesn't stop me from acquiring a host of annoying habits (worse than bad habits because they are harder to break because they are waaaay more addicting than cigarettes and strange men). These are the sort of habits that find me gnawing my cuticles until they bleed and chewing on my hair. Yes, I chew my hair. Don't ask me about it because then I get self-conscious about it for a week (which is also addicting but makes me chew more hair). The latest annoying habit is whining about how I don't know what a narrative arc is. Everyone I know has heard me bellyache about this topic that my advisor pointed out to me a few days ago. I know that I could find a "narrative arc" but I am so consumed with whining about it (annoying habit) that I must wait for another annoying habit to replace it.
The great thing about annoying habits is that they are totally unexpected. Like for the last two weeks I have been obsessing over roller derby. I am a little concerned that my new hobby is stalking comic book writers. I am trying to see it as an educational opportunity to mask the creep factor but have not quite convinced myself of this, yet.
Tonight I found myself at the faculty reading for my program. This is the powerhouse showcase, these are people who have written shelf-loads of books. Here are a few things that happened:
-I met strangers who belonged to a writing group and the old guy with white curly hair tried to bribe me with strawberries for unknown reasons.
-The head of my program I call him "Captain" is an older white guy with amazing 1980's big glasses that he's probably actually had since the 80s read from his manga book. Apparently, he writes manga which is cool but I wonder if I am supposed to be creeped out or awed by the fact that the book is seemingly about pretty women falling in love with each other and he looks like he could be my grandpa.
-My friend and I plucked rose petals from the centerpieces on the tables which I proceeded to rub on my lips for a half an hour without realizing that this was an odd thing to do.
-My favorite professor told an amazing story about how he lived in a house of writers when he was young and there was a fire one day and before saving his sleeping girlfriend he boxed up four containers of his manuscripts. There are so many reasons why he is my favorite.
-There was another piece that was a woman on film wearing a glove that was supposed to make sounds. I want one of those just to make swearing more fun. If I had one I would learn the movements to make the sounds for "motherfucker" and it would come out in a Stephen Hawking voice. What's better than that?
-A woman read what must have been a 25 page memoir piece about adopting/conceiving a child which was interesting but long. What made it awesome was that she held her head low when reading the piece but every so often she would look up while still speaking and words would catch the microphone and be thunderous at inappropriate times. Then, I wondered what if this was what she had intended if so I commend her for it and not judge her just as a creepy yoga freak but a person of artistic note.
After the reading I went down to the pub that was crawling with undergrads. The reason for me even going in was to see the Indian dude I got drunk and kissed the cheek of and ran off. This was about 54 days ago on the night before he left to go back home. I didn't quite know how to approach him. I went up and said, "Hi." He extended his hand into a formal handshake and smiled. Later, I greeted my favorite Latino slutty man and he said, "Your boyfriend was asking about you." "Which boyfriend?" He nodded toward the Indian man. I looked at how the jeans of the Indian man clung to his muscular thighs and realized that life wasn't so bad afterall.
-Canadian Castaway
-
Comicon Non-Romance, Unfriend, Dance Rates, Stuffed Buddy Self
Day 144
So, today I found a new venue for picking up men: the Comicon. The place is crawling with men you wouldn't want to date but sometimes there is that one Jack Black-y type sitting at a table next to a woman with thick glasses and an ugly haircut selling something else but you will never remember what. Anyway, go up to the man and let him give you his pitch about his comicbook series and nod and smile and bring up that you too are a writer (well, if that means not writing anything at all, which it does) and tell him the name of the pub you work at. Then go home and creep him online for an hour and wonder if you should send him a message, chat with your friend about it for another hour and finally go out with your friends and try to forget about it. Then, when you get home, look at craigslist "missed connections" and be shocked and heartbroken that he didn't write one for you.
Note: The facebook chat lover of mine who turned out to not actually be hitting on me and apologized has now unfriended me. Not all is bad I guess, because at least I thought for a minute about how ridiculous he is and about how silly the word, "unfriend" is.
Tonight at the Christmas party the pub staff through themselves in protest to the Christmas party our management was offering (which was stupid because we had to pay for our own drinks and food and there weren't any presents) I learned that one of my shyest co-workers did a lap dance for 20 bucks. My Hungarian friend looked shocked at the price she said, "I would charge 500 bucks for a half hour." To which I said, "Jesus, you know how much you'd charge?" To which she looked me in the eye and with a straight face said, "Of course I am Eastern European."
I just clicked on a facebook ad that said, "I AM A STUFFED ANIMAL" it took me to the I AM A STUFFED ANIMAL fan page to find that there were 1,999 fans of this page the only info in the info section was a link to a website (you guessed it, iamastuffedanimal.com) where you can send in a photo and have that photo turned into a drawing and that drawing turned into what is called, "A Buddy" which is essentially a $65 stuffed caricature of yourself with a Hulk Hogan body type. At first I laughed at the idea and but then I realized that I was reading the FAQ section where I learned things like, "They are about 14″ tall and 11″ wide (hand to hand). Plenty big for some good ol’ fashioned rough-housing." I want one of these. Is it weird that I would rather cuddle up with a stuffed animal of myself in bed at night than any of the members of Hanson or is it progress?
Maybe I just may become that 2,000th friend, afterall I do get a charge out of looking at people who post photos of them and their new "Buddy" especially the people who obviously got one for Christmas but would rather have gotten a new chainsaw or the ones that had their pet turned into a "Buddy."
-Canadian Castaway
So, today I found a new venue for picking up men: the Comicon. The place is crawling with men you wouldn't want to date but sometimes there is that one Jack Black-y type sitting at a table next to a woman with thick glasses and an ugly haircut selling something else but you will never remember what. Anyway, go up to the man and let him give you his pitch about his comicbook series and nod and smile and bring up that you too are a writer (well, if that means not writing anything at all, which it does) and tell him the name of the pub you work at. Then go home and creep him online for an hour and wonder if you should send him a message, chat with your friend about it for another hour and finally go out with your friends and try to forget about it. Then, when you get home, look at craigslist "missed connections" and be shocked and heartbroken that he didn't write one for you.
Note: The facebook chat lover of mine who turned out to not actually be hitting on me and apologized has now unfriended me. Not all is bad I guess, because at least I thought for a minute about how ridiculous he is and about how silly the word, "unfriend" is.
Tonight at the Christmas party the pub staff through themselves in protest to the Christmas party our management was offering (which was stupid because we had to pay for our own drinks and food and there weren't any presents) I learned that one of my shyest co-workers did a lap dance for 20 bucks. My Hungarian friend looked shocked at the price she said, "I would charge 500 bucks for a half hour." To which I said, "Jesus, you know how much you'd charge?" To which she looked me in the eye and with a straight face said, "Of course I am Eastern European."
I just clicked on a facebook ad that said, "I AM A STUFFED ANIMAL" it took me to the I AM A STUFFED ANIMAL fan page to find that there were 1,999 fans of this page the only info in the info section was a link to a website (you guessed it, iamastuffedanimal.com) where you can send in a photo and have that photo turned into a drawing and that drawing turned into what is called, "A Buddy" which is essentially a $65 stuffed caricature of yourself with a Hulk Hogan body type. At first I laughed at the idea and but then I realized that I was reading the FAQ section where I learned things like, "They are about 14″ tall and 11″ wide (hand to hand). Plenty big for some good ol’ fashioned rough-housing." I want one of these. Is it weird that I would rather cuddle up with a stuffed animal of myself in bed at night than any of the members of Hanson or is it progress?
Maybe I just may become that 2,000th friend, afterall I do get a charge out of looking at people who post photos of them and their new "Buddy" especially the people who obviously got one for Christmas but would rather have gotten a new chainsaw or the ones that had their pet turned into a "Buddy."
-Canadian Castaway
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Walk and Talk, Thesis Suckfest, Facebook Stalker the Final Chapter, Poor You My Ass, Canadian Frat Boyz, and the Assistant Projectionist
Day 143
After snarfing down a 14 dollar enchilada the best thing one can do is go on a 25 block death march with your favorite gay man and gossip. Not only will he revel in all the nasty things you've been dying to say he will add to them and take it just a teeny step further (to exactly where you wanted to go in the first place). Plus, you can judge all of the guys walking down the street and go into stores to gush over shoes we could never afford.
The afternoon was spent reading outlines for TV pilots. Someone I had imagined this to be exciting. I learned for the 46th time that I can be wrong, very wrong. If I could just list all of the needless adverbs my colleagues put into these outlines I would have a thesis-length work. Which would be awesome because as I have found out today, from my thesis advisor, I suck at whatever a "narrative arc" is. I guess, the first step to getting a narratice arc is to pin down what exactly what one is. I could've spent the last hour or so learning what one is from the internet but that would have severely cut into my mopey pity party and constant facebook status updates of "don't freak out, don't freak out..."
Earlier today I got a facebook message from the guy who I thought was hitting on me on facebook. The message wanted to make sure that I knew he wasn't flirting with me and that he wanted me to know that he is a very "small man." He also wrote that he didn't want me to think that he was a "weird person" and he wanted me to write back. I wanted to write back, "Dear Small Man, Gee, I never thought you were a 'weird person' everybody calls their 'friends' goddesses and tells them how romantic they are and how beautiful they are. Go fuck yourself with a tennis racket infested with crabs. Love, Emily"
I look over at the manifesto I wrote on my wall when I got here and it says, "I am here to learn how to tell a good story." Maybe I should cross that out and put "I am here to learn to write a satisfying narrative arc and weed through asshole men." Maybe I should double check my manifesto to see if it says I am here to take things waaaaaay too personally and be a whiny pussy then at least I would be doing something right.
Before I got all maudlin I went to work at the pub below is an overview of the fiasco of a night that was had. I was going to call it "Pub Lessons" until I realized I didn't learn anything.
Pub Stuff:
So tonight I worked with my least favorite bartender let's call him Creep. So, Creep is a giant African guy who is inappropriate. He is also a nasty bingo lover who commands me to paint his nails sometimes. These things are both quite exciting and entertain me at work. These are the things that distract me enough to forget that he goes on "Poor me" rants all of the time and gets jealous like a spoiled five year old. Tonight there was no fingernail polish or bingo there was just, "Why does everybody hate me and talk about me behind my back?" One day instead of reassuring him that this is not true I am going to say, "Everybody totally hates you."
Halfway through our lovely shift together 65 men in suits and ties came in. Apparently, in Canada frat boys are well-dressed and not meatheads. I had to help pour pitchers and they apologized for ordering the hard to pour Hefeweizen. They even sang together a song containing just the right amount of curse words. At the exact same time as the boys showed up a wayward Flamenco band came in and took over the place plugging into amps and putting a woman atop a board to stomp out rhythms. And one of the band members was even wearing a kilt, though I am not sure what that has to do with Flamenco.
The guy who I go on pseudo-dates with came by and took command of my I-pod and creeped around for a bit. He watched as I slugged up chairs onto tables and he clearly enjoyed the show of me and for some reason I didn't mind. Afterall, it's not everyday an Assistant Projectionist stalks me. If only I could train him to listen when I speak to tell me I am beautiful and kiss like a champ and to stop wearing his weird outfits and pacing around like an OCD addict on bad pot.
-Canadian Castaway
After snarfing down a 14 dollar enchilada the best thing one can do is go on a 25 block death march with your favorite gay man and gossip. Not only will he revel in all the nasty things you've been dying to say he will add to them and take it just a teeny step further (to exactly where you wanted to go in the first place). Plus, you can judge all of the guys walking down the street and go into stores to gush over shoes we could never afford.
The afternoon was spent reading outlines for TV pilots. Someone I had imagined this to be exciting. I learned for the 46th time that I can be wrong, very wrong. If I could just list all of the needless adverbs my colleagues put into these outlines I would have a thesis-length work. Which would be awesome because as I have found out today, from my thesis advisor, I suck at whatever a "narrative arc" is. I guess, the first step to getting a narratice arc is to pin down what exactly what one is. I could've spent the last hour or so learning what one is from the internet but that would have severely cut into my mopey pity party and constant facebook status updates of "don't freak out, don't freak out..."
Earlier today I got a facebook message from the guy who I thought was hitting on me on facebook. The message wanted to make sure that I knew he wasn't flirting with me and that he wanted me to know that he is a very "small man." He also wrote that he didn't want me to think that he was a "weird person" and he wanted me to write back. I wanted to write back, "Dear Small Man, Gee, I never thought you were a 'weird person' everybody calls their 'friends' goddesses and tells them how romantic they are and how beautiful they are. Go fuck yourself with a tennis racket infested with crabs. Love, Emily"
I look over at the manifesto I wrote on my wall when I got here and it says, "I am here to learn how to tell a good story." Maybe I should cross that out and put "I am here to learn to write a satisfying narrative arc and weed through asshole men." Maybe I should double check my manifesto to see if it says I am here to take things waaaaaay too personally and be a whiny pussy then at least I would be doing something right.
Before I got all maudlin I went to work at the pub below is an overview of the fiasco of a night that was had. I was going to call it "Pub Lessons" until I realized I didn't learn anything.
Pub Stuff:
So tonight I worked with my least favorite bartender let's call him Creep. So, Creep is a giant African guy who is inappropriate. He is also a nasty bingo lover who commands me to paint his nails sometimes. These things are both quite exciting and entertain me at work. These are the things that distract me enough to forget that he goes on "Poor me" rants all of the time and gets jealous like a spoiled five year old. Tonight there was no fingernail polish or bingo there was just, "Why does everybody hate me and talk about me behind my back?" One day instead of reassuring him that this is not true I am going to say, "Everybody totally hates you."
Halfway through our lovely shift together 65 men in suits and ties came in. Apparently, in Canada frat boys are well-dressed and not meatheads. I had to help pour pitchers and they apologized for ordering the hard to pour Hefeweizen. They even sang together a song containing just the right amount of curse words. At the exact same time as the boys showed up a wayward Flamenco band came in and took over the place plugging into amps and putting a woman atop a board to stomp out rhythms. And one of the band members was even wearing a kilt, though I am not sure what that has to do with Flamenco.
The guy who I go on pseudo-dates with came by and took command of my I-pod and creeped around for a bit. He watched as I slugged up chairs onto tables and he clearly enjoyed the show of me and for some reason I didn't mind. Afterall, it's not everyday an Assistant Projectionist stalks me. If only I could train him to listen when I speak to tell me I am beautiful and kiss like a champ and to stop wearing his weird outfits and pacing around like an OCD addict on bad pot.
-Canadian Castaway
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Mother Effing Shy/Asshole Effers, Lo Siento, Mouthfuls
Day 142
Today started with last night. At 2 am or so I finally asked my facebook lover why he doesn't talk to me in person. He lives in the same residence that I do and when we see each other it is like he forgets how to speak plus, he can't look me in the face. I know I am dazzlingly beautiful in person but really, speechlessness from a guy who calls me a goddess online?
There was a long, long pause before he answered my original, "Why don't you talk to me in person" query and then he typed, "haha." Then he typed something poetic and to which I wrote, "Say what you mean." He made some flimsy excuse about how he never sees me (I guess all those awkward glances were just a newly blind man staring at nothing?). I write, "Oh, so you aren't pissed off at me for an unknown reason or terrified of me." He writes, "No way you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen! How could I be pissed off at you?" Okay, so that's not exactly what he said, I corrected the poor typing like "Noway" and "of" and the ridiculous way he puts a space before his exclamation marks. What did I see in this wanker? Seriously, if he is so choosy about his words the least he can do is type them properly.
I think him saying I was beautiful was supposed to make everything okay but it made me want to go to the library, check out a book on masonry, apprentice with a mason and finally produce the perfect brick to throw through his window. Here is the final chapter:
Me: I don't know how you can say these things when we don't even hang out, I mean I appreciate it but I don't get it.
A pause passes long enough for me to eat a Snickers bar and brush my teeth. Well, technically I didn't do either of these things but that was exactly how much time I had. Anyway...
Him: ohh
hahah
i am just bullshittin here
:)
So, 2 months of serenading me with flowery phrases on facebook chat and now I find out it is all just a joke. He's lucky the library isn't open or I really would've got that book and made my brick, I'd thought. But, there are other things that can go through windows. So, if that whole mess wasn't horrid enough he tried to facebook chat me all day. I answered his, "Hi. Are you there?" With, "Yes but I am busy plotting how to tell you wonderful lies until you believe them and then I will tell you that it was all a joke." Okay, so I wish I would've said that. Instead I said nothing.
Even more facebook drama occur ed today apparently if you put: "Bandejo, como se dice: I am going to kick your ass?" on the wall of the cute Mexican guy who likes you and you like back he doesn't take it as a joke. Which is probably quite accurate because it isn't really funny. What is funny (in the odd sense, not the haha sense) is that you will go around the rest of the day feeling bad you said it and not be able to apologize because you don't want to admit you are a jerk. But, don't worry your friends will say tell you are a jerk and you can continue to feel bad. Don't worry though at least you won't be bored for a few days because you can imagine all of the possible scenarios in which you will see this man again and how you will say you are sorry and how he will react.
So where I am in the Great North country it has been pouring rain for weeks. Today was a rare break and the sun came out which initially makes one very happy but then the sinking feeling hits. The feeling when you know you should leave your room and go out into the world but you just can't stop watching The Gilmore Girls episodes that you've already seen like 4 times each. The worst part is that this feeling is worse than the doldrums experienced from the lack of sunshine.
You know you have a good group of friends when you can sit around and seriously discuss the dilemma of to shave pubic hair or not to shave. But when one of your friends says, "Yeah, I see how it could be convenient so you don't get a mouthful of hair when you are going down on someone," it's all over. "What the hell do you do?" and, "If I am going down on someone I don't want to get my teeth flossed" is said then an awkward head shaking silence and then we move on to something less interesting and we are all left to wonder exactly how and why one could get "mouthfuls."
-Canadian Castaway
Today started with last night. At 2 am or so I finally asked my facebook lover why he doesn't talk to me in person. He lives in the same residence that I do and when we see each other it is like he forgets how to speak plus, he can't look me in the face. I know I am dazzlingly beautiful in person but really, speechlessness from a guy who calls me a goddess online?
There was a long, long pause before he answered my original, "Why don't you talk to me in person" query and then he typed, "haha." Then he typed something poetic and to which I wrote, "Say what you mean." He made some flimsy excuse about how he never sees me (I guess all those awkward glances were just a newly blind man staring at nothing?). I write, "Oh, so you aren't pissed off at me for an unknown reason or terrified of me." He writes, "No way you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen! How could I be pissed off at you?" Okay, so that's not exactly what he said, I corrected the poor typing like "Noway" and "of" and the ridiculous way he puts a space before his exclamation marks. What did I see in this wanker? Seriously, if he is so choosy about his words the least he can do is type them properly.
I think him saying I was beautiful was supposed to make everything okay but it made me want to go to the library, check out a book on masonry, apprentice with a mason and finally produce the perfect brick to throw through his window. Here is the final chapter:
Me: I don't know how you can say these things when we don't even hang out, I mean I appreciate it but I don't get it.
A pause passes long enough for me to eat a Snickers bar and brush my teeth. Well, technically I didn't do either of these things but that was exactly how much time I had. Anyway...
Him: ohh
hahah
i am just bullshittin here
:)
So, 2 months of serenading me with flowery phrases on facebook chat and now I find out it is all just a joke. He's lucky the library isn't open or I really would've got that book and made my brick, I'd thought. But, there are other things that can go through windows. So, if that whole mess wasn't horrid enough he tried to facebook chat me all day. I answered his, "Hi. Are you there?" With, "Yes but I am busy plotting how to tell you wonderful lies until you believe them and then I will tell you that it was all a joke." Okay, so I wish I would've said that. Instead I said nothing.
Even more facebook drama occur ed today apparently if you put: "Bandejo, como se dice: I am going to kick your ass?" on the wall of the cute Mexican guy who likes you and you like back he doesn't take it as a joke. Which is probably quite accurate because it isn't really funny. What is funny (in the odd sense, not the haha sense) is that you will go around the rest of the day feeling bad you said it and not be able to apologize because you don't want to admit you are a jerk. But, don't worry your friends will say tell you are a jerk and you can continue to feel bad. Don't worry though at least you won't be bored for a few days because you can imagine all of the possible scenarios in which you will see this man again and how you will say you are sorry and how he will react.
So where I am in the Great North country it has been pouring rain for weeks. Today was a rare break and the sun came out which initially makes one very happy but then the sinking feeling hits. The feeling when you know you should leave your room and go out into the world but you just can't stop watching The Gilmore Girls episodes that you've already seen like 4 times each. The worst part is that this feeling is worse than the doldrums experienced from the lack of sunshine.
You know you have a good group of friends when you can sit around and seriously discuss the dilemma of to shave pubic hair or not to shave. But when one of your friends says, "Yeah, I see how it could be convenient so you don't get a mouthful of hair when you are going down on someone," it's all over. "What the hell do you do?" and, "If I am going down on someone I don't want to get my teeth flossed" is said then an awkward head shaking silence and then we move on to something less interesting and we are all left to wonder exactly how and why one could get "mouthfuls."
-Canadian Castaway
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Mood Change, Crystal Causes, Male Flypaper, Juliette Lewis I Love You, But..., A Serious (Old) Man
Day 141
Today I learned that I am in a better mood than I was last term. I met up with a friend for a milkshake and she told me that she and several others have discussed my state of being and come to the conclusion that I am a better/calmer/saner person this term. I went on for a bit telling my friend that watching The Girls of Hedsor Hall really changed my life like how I learned that I shouldn't go to parties, get hammered and make out with strange guys who ask, "How big is too big?"I also told her that I am allowing myself to be nice to myself. I even opened up to her and told her that I had thought I possibly had feelings for my bodyguard last term but then came back to school to realize that he's a nice guy but he's kinda boring. And finally I said, "I can't believe you guys noticed my change in mood." Then she said, "Yeah, we thought it was the crystal."
So, if you didn't read the blog about it I went to a crazy cult-ish party that just so happened to have a crystal wizard in attendance who just so happened to give me a crystal. Everyone that night was jealous because I was the only person who was given a crystal. The wizard said, "I have no control over them they just go to who they want." And now, months later, my friends are babbling on about how my mood has changed and think that it must be because of some crystal and not a change of heart. In fact, my change of heart story bored the shit out of my friend. She still thinks it's the crystal.
Whether or not it's the crystal or my change of mood I have been somewhat like guy flypaper lately. Tonight in a half an hour I had two invitations for dates from two separate men. The first one was a tiny Mexican man with a slight lisp who told me that he wears either a black or navy-colored Speedo to the pool. He asked why I was laughing and I told him, "I am trying not to imagine what you look like in that Speedo." He then rolled up his pants and showed me his legs. Later he asked me to go to a dance club and gave me a lecture stating that he got an award for being the ugliest kid in school when he was young but he's not ugly anymore (so he says). He also told me that women like him because he has brown skin. "Someday I am going to move to Eastern Europe and be very successful with the ladies," he said and leaned in. "They all love brown-skinned men there." Then the only other woman at our table looked up from her meal and said, "Not all of them." "How do you know?" he asked. "I am Eastern European," she said.
The second guy who asked me out came over and knocked on my door. I was in my bathroom at the time and so I closed the bathroom door thinking it was my friend who just bursts in after a knock. She did not enter. I opened the door to find the pseudo-date man standing on the other side. Here is what was said:
ME: Holy shit you scared me."
GUY:I never closed the bathroom door when I lived in this building either."
ME: Did you come in and see me in the bathroom?"
GUY: No, I just heard it."
ME: Oh, you really did scare the shit out of me.
GUY: So, when do you want to watch Back to the Future together?
So far I sort of like Bachelor number 1 better but he doesn't own Back to the Future. Hmm...
Okay so I have always been a Juliette Lewis fan but what is the deal with her band? The music is alright but I just watched the video for "Hot Kiss" and was wondering a few things. So the song is "Hot Kiss" and yet she doesn't kiss anyone. Who wakes up wearing a squaw headdress that children wear for Halloween and why is she in a workout outfit from the eighties? Why does she stare at an old man in a car? Why does she just run down the street in high heeled boots? I can now share the same sentiment my father shared with me after he saw the first 10 minutes of Napoleon Dynamite: "This is a piece of crap. All that is is 10 bucks and a video camera."
Lesson: If you do not close up your cookies they will go stale but you will eat them anyway, they just won't be as good and you will hate yourself.
Lesson 2: If you are going to see A Serious Man at the cheapie theater make sure you sit directly in front of a couple that contains an old man who gives the movie play by play in a loud voice to his date for confirmation of facts like, "She wants a divorce?" Maybe he couldn't hear the movie but what would be the point of watching a movie that you can't hear. Then I wondered, if he can't hear a movie playing in a theater he could never use an alarm clock to wake up because he wouldn't be able to hear it. That would suck.
-Canadian Castaway
Today I learned that I am in a better mood than I was last term. I met up with a friend for a milkshake and she told me that she and several others have discussed my state of being and come to the conclusion that I am a better/calmer/saner person this term. I went on for a bit telling my friend that watching The Girls of Hedsor Hall really changed my life like how I learned that I shouldn't go to parties, get hammered and make out with strange guys who ask, "How big is too big?"I also told her that I am allowing myself to be nice to myself. I even opened up to her and told her that I had thought I possibly had feelings for my bodyguard last term but then came back to school to realize that he's a nice guy but he's kinda boring. And finally I said, "I can't believe you guys noticed my change in mood." Then she said, "Yeah, we thought it was the crystal."
So, if you didn't read the blog about it I went to a crazy cult-ish party that just so happened to have a crystal wizard in attendance who just so happened to give me a crystal. Everyone that night was jealous because I was the only person who was given a crystal. The wizard said, "I have no control over them they just go to who they want." And now, months later, my friends are babbling on about how my mood has changed and think that it must be because of some crystal and not a change of heart. In fact, my change of heart story bored the shit out of my friend. She still thinks it's the crystal.
Whether or not it's the crystal or my change of mood I have been somewhat like guy flypaper lately. Tonight in a half an hour I had two invitations for dates from two separate men. The first one was a tiny Mexican man with a slight lisp who told me that he wears either a black or navy-colored Speedo to the pool. He asked why I was laughing and I told him, "I am trying not to imagine what you look like in that Speedo." He then rolled up his pants and showed me his legs. Later he asked me to go to a dance club and gave me a lecture stating that he got an award for being the ugliest kid in school when he was young but he's not ugly anymore (so he says). He also told me that women like him because he has brown skin. "Someday I am going to move to Eastern Europe and be very successful with the ladies," he said and leaned in. "They all love brown-skinned men there." Then the only other woman at our table looked up from her meal and said, "Not all of them." "How do you know?" he asked. "I am Eastern European," she said.
The second guy who asked me out came over and knocked on my door. I was in my bathroom at the time and so I closed the bathroom door thinking it was my friend who just bursts in after a knock. She did not enter. I opened the door to find the pseudo-date man standing on the other side. Here is what was said:
ME: Holy shit you scared me."
GUY:I never closed the bathroom door when I lived in this building either."
ME: Did you come in and see me in the bathroom?"
GUY: No, I just heard it."
ME: Oh, you really did scare the shit out of me.
GUY: So, when do you want to watch Back to the Future together?
So far I sort of like Bachelor number 1 better but he doesn't own Back to the Future. Hmm...
Okay so I have always been a Juliette Lewis fan but what is the deal with her band? The music is alright but I just watched the video for "Hot Kiss" and was wondering a few things. So the song is "Hot Kiss" and yet she doesn't kiss anyone. Who wakes up wearing a squaw headdress that children wear for Halloween and why is she in a workout outfit from the eighties? Why does she stare at an old man in a car? Why does she just run down the street in high heeled boots? I can now share the same sentiment my father shared with me after he saw the first 10 minutes of Napoleon Dynamite: "This is a piece of crap. All that is is 10 bucks and a video camera."
Lesson: If you do not close up your cookies they will go stale but you will eat them anyway, they just won't be as good and you will hate yourself.
Lesson 2: If you are going to see A Serious Man at the cheapie theater make sure you sit directly in front of a couple that contains an old man who gives the movie play by play in a loud voice to his date for confirmation of facts like, "She wants a divorce?" Maybe he couldn't hear the movie but what would be the point of watching a movie that you can't hear. Then I wondered, if he can't hear a movie playing in a theater he could never use an alarm clock to wake up because he wouldn't be able to hear it. That would suck.
-Canadian Castaway
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Psychic, Skate Shopping, The Witches, Teaching Theory, Dramas
Day 140
So today I learned that I am a psychic. Not in the Sylvia Browne on the Montel Williams Show way but more in the I can predict my own idiocy kind of way (Note: this doesn't mean I can prevent). But if you think about it anybody who looks sort of kooky can look deep into someone's eyes and say, "I am seeing a man, a tall man who was in your life he has brown hair and is watching over you. Tell me about this man." Okay, back to me being an idiot. I went to purchase rollerskates today because for some reason (I need an outlet for aggression and don't have a boyfriend) I think I should try out for the derby next year. This may constitute an act of treason joining the Canadian derby but I am not sure that the States ever want me back.
Anyway, my friend and I walk into the store and meet the bad ass derby girls who run it. They are, as their website reviews have said, very helpful and kind. First off I told them, as a joke, (premonition) that I will probably fall on my ass or break something if I try on skates. They told me that the skates didn't have wheels on them, they were just boots when you try them on. This was excellent news until the girl building a pair of skates called, "Why doesn't she try these?" After I my huge toes didn't fit any of the other pairs I tried on. I almost declined as I saw these had wheels. I put them on and they felt better than any shoes I have ever worn plus they had wheels. I got up and didn't slip and then it happened. I started to move and started to fall backwards. Luckily I leaned forward in time to slam into the glass display counter. What a silly thing to have in a store that is so hazardous.
The ladies were still kind and helpful telling showing me ugly limited-edition colored skates (they looked like colors Steve Urkel wore) and telling me that I could probably skate better than skinny girls because I have weight, therefore I have traction. But, one can't help but wonder if when I leave the store these wonderful ladies turn rotten. If they are like the people in Witches where when the normal people leave they pull off their faces and talk shit about the normies behind their backs. At first I thought this was crazy and then I really thought about it, if I were them I'd say something. "Derby material my ass, that cow nearly smashed the glass case going just two steps and don't you just love how she didn't catch my fat joke?" Who could resist such an opportunity?
On Wednesdays a friend and I go to an area high school and talk writing with a group of kids who voluntarily come there to hear us talk. The fact that anyone shows up is amazing to me. But the fact that these kids may look up to us is terrifying. Usually I sit through the class assigning them roles in John Hughes-type movies in my head. But my friend keeps insisting that I interject a little. I have started to, a tad but am so afraid that I will string enough curse words to get me expelled. Who am I to take charge of high schoolers and be a role model? I stole a pen and a t-shirt yesterday. I brought a Coke into the high school library and felt like a bad ass for getting away with it. Shit, I even laughed the picture of the queen hanging near the doorway. Then it hit me: teaching is about pretending like you know better and trying not to think about how the girl who wrote the sci-fi story is a better writer then you will ever be.
After dinner tonight I set about writing a radio drama for my radio class. I already had an idea and an outline but then I really thought about it. Do I want to write a radio drama? The answer was, "No, I think they are boring." Automatically my mind reverted to my inner American spirit the I'll-show-them-how-to-write-a-radio-drama thing. But then I thought about the word radio which for some reason to me equates: AC DC and a freeway, not silly English accents telling me a tale whilst I sip cocoa by the fire. Then I thought, shit, I don't even have a fireplace. I went online and dropped the course. But looking back now I wonder: Did I drop the course because I really wasn't interested or because I had to whip something up by noon tomorrow? It's kind of like the chicken or the egg situation and it ends the same way: who cares.
-Canadian Castaway
So today I learned that I am a psychic. Not in the Sylvia Browne on the Montel Williams Show way but more in the I can predict my own idiocy kind of way (Note: this doesn't mean I can prevent). But if you think about it anybody who looks sort of kooky can look deep into someone's eyes and say, "I am seeing a man, a tall man who was in your life he has brown hair and is watching over you. Tell me about this man." Okay, back to me being an idiot. I went to purchase rollerskates today because for some reason (I need an outlet for aggression and don't have a boyfriend) I think I should try out for the derby next year. This may constitute an act of treason joining the Canadian derby but I am not sure that the States ever want me back.
Anyway, my friend and I walk into the store and meet the bad ass derby girls who run it. They are, as their website reviews have said, very helpful and kind. First off I told them, as a joke, (premonition) that I will probably fall on my ass or break something if I try on skates. They told me that the skates didn't have wheels on them, they were just boots when you try them on. This was excellent news until the girl building a pair of skates called, "Why doesn't she try these?" After I my huge toes didn't fit any of the other pairs I tried on. I almost declined as I saw these had wheels. I put them on and they felt better than any shoes I have ever worn plus they had wheels. I got up and didn't slip and then it happened. I started to move and started to fall backwards. Luckily I leaned forward in time to slam into the glass display counter. What a silly thing to have in a store that is so hazardous.
The ladies were still kind and helpful telling showing me ugly limited-edition colored skates (they looked like colors Steve Urkel wore) and telling me that I could probably skate better than skinny girls because I have weight, therefore I have traction. But, one can't help but wonder if when I leave the store these wonderful ladies turn rotten. If they are like the people in Witches where when the normal people leave they pull off their faces and talk shit about the normies behind their backs. At first I thought this was crazy and then I really thought about it, if I were them I'd say something. "Derby material my ass, that cow nearly smashed the glass case going just two steps and don't you just love how she didn't catch my fat joke?" Who could resist such an opportunity?
On Wednesdays a friend and I go to an area high school and talk writing with a group of kids who voluntarily come there to hear us talk. The fact that anyone shows up is amazing to me. But the fact that these kids may look up to us is terrifying. Usually I sit through the class assigning them roles in John Hughes-type movies in my head. But my friend keeps insisting that I interject a little. I have started to, a tad but am so afraid that I will string enough curse words to get me expelled. Who am I to take charge of high schoolers and be a role model? I stole a pen and a t-shirt yesterday. I brought a Coke into the high school library and felt like a bad ass for getting away with it. Shit, I even laughed the picture of the queen hanging near the doorway. Then it hit me: teaching is about pretending like you know better and trying not to think about how the girl who wrote the sci-fi story is a better writer then you will ever be.
After dinner tonight I set about writing a radio drama for my radio class. I already had an idea and an outline but then I really thought about it. Do I want to write a radio drama? The answer was, "No, I think they are boring." Automatically my mind reverted to my inner American spirit the I'll-show-them-how-to-write-a-radio-drama thing. But then I thought about the word radio which for some reason to me equates: AC DC and a freeway, not silly English accents telling me a tale whilst I sip cocoa by the fire. Then I thought, shit, I don't even have a fireplace. I went online and dropped the course. But looking back now I wonder: Did I drop the course because I really wasn't interested or because I had to whip something up by noon tomorrow? It's kind of like the chicken or the egg situation and it ends the same way: who cares.
-Canadian Castaway
Good Day, Not Telling the Truth, Dates, Creeper, Creeper Plays Bingo
Day 139
Today was a remarkably good day. I didn't stab myself or go on any awkward pseudo-dates. It was the kind of day when you opened your blinds and danced to music and in your mind you think you look like you were one of the leads in Dirty Dancing. I was, you know, insane. After my glee festival I packed off and headed to something called a "Brown Bag Lunch" which meant, bring your own damn food if you wanna eat, the Writing Department can't afford to pay to remove the asbestos from the walls let alone give out free lunches. Hopefully the toxicity of the the asbestos-filled air makes us better writers or at least delusional enough to think that we are amazing writers instead of just killing us slowly.
Anyway, I went to this lunch that wasn't a lunch to find that it was my fellow students in the Creative Writing program discussing the program and their likes and dislikes so far. There was one lady from the undergrad program who said that she didn't feel like there was any sort of camaraderie or "networking" going on. Some people say that you should always tell the truth and I used to believe that until today. How do you tell this woman that the reason she doesn't get invited to things or "networks" with her fellow students is because she is older and they are too stupid to realize the value of older people (they usually have something interesting that has happened to them and makes for a good story that usually starts out with, "When I was addicted to PCP, I...). Also, they are afraid of her and see her eagerness to be back in school as an air of superiority. And, if you don't put yourself out there don't expect anyone to come and invite you to their goddamn birthday party or anything. Plus, she is a suck up and nobody likes suck ups (Note: In Canada a suck up or kiss ass is called a "keener").
So, at supper tonight not only did I move seats to sit closer to the guy that I went on a horrid pseudo-date with but I asked him out. Apparently, it's not just him that didn't register that when I went to the movies with him I leaned as far as I could away from him and kept my hands to myself I obviously didn't realize what it meant either. Geez, now I have to sit through another movie with this guy. Cripes. I suppose I could cancel but how rude is it when you invite someone out and then you are the one who cancels? Ahh, I never claimed to be polite.
Tonight I had to work at the pub with my friend and our co-worker who is a large, African guy who is in his 10th year of getting a PhD and has a penchant for saying the most inappropriate thing possible at all times. This inappropriateness often starts with, "Tell me about your love life..." This usually gets him into trouble with female co-workers but not with me and my friend who was working tonight, we've come to enjoy his nastiness. Well, except his ass crack sticking out of his pants and the way that he tells me that I am fat and should go to the gym but other than that he is a the perfect creepy old guy AND he super dumb which is quite humourous.
But, tonight was special. The manager thought it would be a great idea to host a bingo night at the pub as a way to draw in customers. I wonder if he has ever been actually seen the types who play bingo. My friend, myself and the creeper co-worker and we were the only ones playing. Technically, we couldn't even win the shitty prizes (promo stuff from beer companies) but, I stole a shirt. So, as we are playing, the creeper is shouting out the following phrases:
"Yeah, faster, faster."
"That's what I want. Yeah."
"Give it to me."
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
"That feels good."
"I like to play hard."
And my favorite, the inexplicable, "I am coommmmmmmmmming." Why would anyone scream this when they are playing bingo? Well, unless...
So, all said it was a pretty good day nothing like morning insanity and dirty bingo.
-Canadian Castaway
Today was a remarkably good day. I didn't stab myself or go on any awkward pseudo-dates. It was the kind of day when you opened your blinds and danced to music and in your mind you think you look like you were one of the leads in Dirty Dancing. I was, you know, insane. After my glee festival I packed off and headed to something called a "Brown Bag Lunch" which meant, bring your own damn food if you wanna eat, the Writing Department can't afford to pay to remove the asbestos from the walls let alone give out free lunches. Hopefully the toxicity of the the asbestos-filled air makes us better writers or at least delusional enough to think that we are amazing writers instead of just killing us slowly.
Anyway, I went to this lunch that wasn't a lunch to find that it was my fellow students in the Creative Writing program discussing the program and their likes and dislikes so far. There was one lady from the undergrad program who said that she didn't feel like there was any sort of camaraderie or "networking" going on. Some people say that you should always tell the truth and I used to believe that until today. How do you tell this woman that the reason she doesn't get invited to things or "networks" with her fellow students is because she is older and they are too stupid to realize the value of older people (they usually have something interesting that has happened to them and makes for a good story that usually starts out with, "When I was addicted to PCP, I...). Also, they are afraid of her and see her eagerness to be back in school as an air of superiority. And, if you don't put yourself out there don't expect anyone to come and invite you to their goddamn birthday party or anything. Plus, she is a suck up and nobody likes suck ups (Note: In Canada a suck up or kiss ass is called a "keener").
So, at supper tonight not only did I move seats to sit closer to the guy that I went on a horrid pseudo-date with but I asked him out. Apparently, it's not just him that didn't register that when I went to the movies with him I leaned as far as I could away from him and kept my hands to myself I obviously didn't realize what it meant either. Geez, now I have to sit through another movie with this guy. Cripes. I suppose I could cancel but how rude is it when you invite someone out and then you are the one who cancels? Ahh, I never claimed to be polite.
Tonight I had to work at the pub with my friend and our co-worker who is a large, African guy who is in his 10th year of getting a PhD and has a penchant for saying the most inappropriate thing possible at all times. This inappropriateness often starts with, "Tell me about your love life..." This usually gets him into trouble with female co-workers but not with me and my friend who was working tonight, we've come to enjoy his nastiness. Well, except his ass crack sticking out of his pants and the way that he tells me that I am fat and should go to the gym but other than that he is a the perfect creepy old guy AND he super dumb which is quite humourous.
But, tonight was special. The manager thought it would be a great idea to host a bingo night at the pub as a way to draw in customers. I wonder if he has ever been actually seen the types who play bingo. My friend, myself and the creeper co-worker and we were the only ones playing. Technically, we couldn't even win the shitty prizes (promo stuff from beer companies) but, I stole a shirt. So, as we are playing, the creeper is shouting out the following phrases:
"Yeah, faster, faster."
"That's what I want. Yeah."
"Give it to me."
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
"That feels good."
"I like to play hard."
And my favorite, the inexplicable, "I am coommmmmmmmmming." Why would anyone scream this when they are playing bingo? Well, unless...
So, all said it was a pretty good day nothing like morning insanity and dirty bingo.
-Canadian Castaway
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Self-Stabber, French-run Coke Machines Suck, Root of Evil, Which is Better, Goddesses
Day 138
Today I stabbed myself and not in the everything-sucks-I-want-to-see-myself-bleed-to-know that-I-am-alive way it was more the don't-cut-toward-yourself-or-you-are-gonna-hurt-yourself way. What can I say it's hard to keep a fat girl out of her cheese supply. Perhaps I ought to pen a letter regarding proper/safe packaging to the cheese companies. Vacuum-sealed is too tough and fuck those zipper packs too sometimes one must turn the knife on a stubborn one of those as well. I want velcro. Nobody ever stabbed themselves trying to bust into velcro...that I know of.
Promptly after the stabbing I went to buy a coke out of the French-operated machine, you know the one that instead of having the cozy familiar red and white soda labels, that have been time-tested to be effective in brand recognition and associated with quality it sports hand-written on lined notebook paper the French words for soda and "diete" soda. Hey guy who runs the soda machine, Quebec called and nobody could understand what it said because we don't speak French here. Wait, is that being intolerant? Wait, I am not Canadian, I don't care whether or not I am being impolite. But, I will admit I am constantly mumbling "sorry" like it were a reflex. As if to mock my anti-Quebec mentality (that was put into place by one, Olivier-skeezy Quebecois that wears short shorts and cheats on his girlfriend) the machine ate my twoonie.
Is it evil to crochet the ugliest yarn you can find into an afghan to put on your bed so that when people come over and they see this hideous thing you can judge them as a human being based on how they respond to it?
So I can't decide which part of the day was better? 1. Having my TV series pitch picked apart by a crowd of freshmen who are mostly writing zombie shows. Gee, what great times. 2. Putting what is called, "Raw food" into my mouth. It looked dark green and chunky and tasted like compost smells. Hard to pick. Ohh wait, stabbing myself and then promptly losing 2 bucks tops both.
So, the guy who only talks to me online told me today that I am a goddess to him and that I remind him of the Hindi goddess, May Bhavani. Is this a good thing? Am I supposed to be flattered or creeped out? Let me tell you it's hard to find out because when you search that name on wikipedia you find an entry for a goddess but it looks amorphously fat and like it has no head in one of its renditions. I asked my suitor via our facebook chat who she was and he said, "I will tell you later." This coming from the man who can't be in the same room with me, in person that is. I should've asked whether or not he would tell me or type me, but I already know the answer to that.
Tip of the Day: When your friend offers you gifts from Nepal decline on the prayer flag because once you get it to your room you realize that it's not really your thing but you never know when he may stop by for a visit and an inquisition.
-Canadian Castaway
Today I stabbed myself and not in the everything-sucks-I-want-to-see-myself-bleed-to-know that-I-am-alive way it was more the don't-cut-toward-yourself-or-you-are-gonna-hurt-yourself way. What can I say it's hard to keep a fat girl out of her cheese supply. Perhaps I ought to pen a letter regarding proper/safe packaging to the cheese companies. Vacuum-sealed is too tough and fuck those zipper packs too sometimes one must turn the knife on a stubborn one of those as well. I want velcro. Nobody ever stabbed themselves trying to bust into velcro...that I know of.
Promptly after the stabbing I went to buy a coke out of the French-operated machine, you know the one that instead of having the cozy familiar red and white soda labels, that have been time-tested to be effective in brand recognition and associated with quality it sports hand-written on lined notebook paper the French words for soda and "diete" soda. Hey guy who runs the soda machine, Quebec called and nobody could understand what it said because we don't speak French here. Wait, is that being intolerant? Wait, I am not Canadian, I don't care whether or not I am being impolite. But, I will admit I am constantly mumbling "sorry" like it were a reflex. As if to mock my anti-Quebec mentality (that was put into place by one, Olivier-skeezy Quebecois that wears short shorts and cheats on his girlfriend) the machine ate my twoonie.
Is it evil to crochet the ugliest yarn you can find into an afghan to put on your bed so that when people come over and they see this hideous thing you can judge them as a human being based on how they respond to it?
So I can't decide which part of the day was better? 1. Having my TV series pitch picked apart by a crowd of freshmen who are mostly writing zombie shows. Gee, what great times. 2. Putting what is called, "Raw food" into my mouth. It looked dark green and chunky and tasted like compost smells. Hard to pick. Ohh wait, stabbing myself and then promptly losing 2 bucks tops both.
So, the guy who only talks to me online told me today that I am a goddess to him and that I remind him of the Hindi goddess, May Bhavani. Is this a good thing? Am I supposed to be flattered or creeped out? Let me tell you it's hard to find out because when you search that name on wikipedia you find an entry for a goddess but it looks amorphously fat and like it has no head in one of its renditions. I asked my suitor via our facebook chat who she was and he said, "I will tell you later." This coming from the man who can't be in the same room with me, in person that is. I should've asked whether or not he would tell me or type me, but I already know the answer to that.
Tip of the Day: When your friend offers you gifts from Nepal decline on the prayer flag because once you get it to your room you realize that it's not really your thing but you never know when he may stop by for a visit and an inquisition.
-Canadian Castaway
Monday, January 11, 2010
VAFN Continues, Country Music Bonanza, Library Cooties, Polygamy Addict, Priorities
Day 137
You know people read your blog when: They are ahead of you in the supper line and you ask them what is for dinner and they respond, "VAFN." I wasn't that shocked that my friend knew that VAFN means vaguely asian food night but, as always, I was shocked that it was VAFN night, AGAIN. This happens entirely too much. At least tonight I declined the greens that they usually pile on my plate. They taste like boiled fake hosta plants. When I said, "No thanks," the smiley cook asked me, "Why don't you like the greens?" At least I found out I wasn't a dead soul when I didn't tell him that they tasted like boiled plastic and rubber shaped vaguely like leaves I just said, "I just don't care for them." Geez, maybe I am becoming more Canadian. The only shitty part is that nobody popped out with a ribbon to place on my chest saying, "Politeness Award" so chances are next time I might spill the truth on Mr. Toothy Grin who likes to torture me with VAFN and reclaim my American-ness.
You know your day is boring when you chat online all day on facebook but you know your day is super boring when you watch country music videos for an hour when you can't stand country music. Okay, so my friend in Nashville has a crush on one of the guys in the band that she met the other day at her high profile country music job. But, it only takes a few minutes of a country music video to check out what a guy looks like. What I was more interested in was the not-so-pretty guy in the band. After I watched all of their music videos I watched the "making of" video of their video. The not-so-pretty guy turns out to be not-so-bright guy as well. He was breathing cliched phrases about his experience on the video for 4 minutes and 15 seconds of their 7 minute video. It was around this time that I almost started re-watching their videos but somehow (my neighbor came over) stopped myself.
The rest of the day was spent plotting sitcoms. Translation: making caricatures of my family for the purpose of mass entertainment. And, going to the library. I have decided that I cannot study at the library until I find antibacterial wipes to carry in my backpack as every surface of the place is stained with miscellaneous/unidentifiable liquids which totally sucks because it is always fun to add to the ridiculous graffiti in the carrels. I had a book on reserve though, so I had to go in. I checked out the book and left not realizing that the bringing home books from that pit of a library is probably just as bad as laying your homework on the unidentifiable liquids, maybe worse.
Anyway, so the book I checked out is a YA novel about girls growing up in a polygamist sect. Since the scandal in Texas when they raided Warren Jeff's hood and I first saw the women and children with their creepy hair and long skirts I have been intrigued. Entire days would go buy with me reading about this stuff on the Internet. I bought memoirs about it. I watched video online and read follow ups to the raid like they were sustenance. After starting to read this latest book I feel it coming on again and I am finally ready to admit: I am a polygamy addict. Reading about polygamy is my crack. Well, at least I can openly admit it. Maybe there are others out there. I thought about starting a support group for polygamist media junkies but then realized that I don't want to meet the types of people who are addicted to it. There are many things I want to know but I think I finally found where to draw the line.
So, after supper I once again saw Whip It. Actually, I ditched out of the potluck so that I might see Whip It again. Then all night long I talked about skating and looked up skates online. But I wonder, how bad is it that you would rather see a movie for the second time in a row than hang out with your friends who are offering you food? Shit, another addiction: roller derby. Pretty soon I will have to quit grad school just to tend to my eccentric (polite word for crazed) hobbies.
-Canadian Castaway
You know people read your blog when: They are ahead of you in the supper line and you ask them what is for dinner and they respond, "VAFN." I wasn't that shocked that my friend knew that VAFN means vaguely asian food night but, as always, I was shocked that it was VAFN night, AGAIN. This happens entirely too much. At least tonight I declined the greens that they usually pile on my plate. They taste like boiled fake hosta plants. When I said, "No thanks," the smiley cook asked me, "Why don't you like the greens?" At least I found out I wasn't a dead soul when I didn't tell him that they tasted like boiled plastic and rubber shaped vaguely like leaves I just said, "I just don't care for them." Geez, maybe I am becoming more Canadian. The only shitty part is that nobody popped out with a ribbon to place on my chest saying, "Politeness Award" so chances are next time I might spill the truth on Mr. Toothy Grin who likes to torture me with VAFN and reclaim my American-ness.
You know your day is boring when you chat online all day on facebook but you know your day is super boring when you watch country music videos for an hour when you can't stand country music. Okay, so my friend in Nashville has a crush on one of the guys in the band that she met the other day at her high profile country music job. But, it only takes a few minutes of a country music video to check out what a guy looks like. What I was more interested in was the not-so-pretty guy in the band. After I watched all of their music videos I watched the "making of" video of their video. The not-so-pretty guy turns out to be not-so-bright guy as well. He was breathing cliched phrases about his experience on the video for 4 minutes and 15 seconds of their 7 minute video. It was around this time that I almost started re-watching their videos but somehow (my neighbor came over) stopped myself.
The rest of the day was spent plotting sitcoms. Translation: making caricatures of my family for the purpose of mass entertainment. And, going to the library. I have decided that I cannot study at the library until I find antibacterial wipes to carry in my backpack as every surface of the place is stained with miscellaneous/unidentifiable liquids which totally sucks because it is always fun to add to the ridiculous graffiti in the carrels. I had a book on reserve though, so I had to go in. I checked out the book and left not realizing that the bringing home books from that pit of a library is probably just as bad as laying your homework on the unidentifiable liquids, maybe worse.
Anyway, so the book I checked out is a YA novel about girls growing up in a polygamist sect. Since the scandal in Texas when they raided Warren Jeff's hood and I first saw the women and children with their creepy hair and long skirts I have been intrigued. Entire days would go buy with me reading about this stuff on the Internet. I bought memoirs about it. I watched video online and read follow ups to the raid like they were sustenance. After starting to read this latest book I feel it coming on again and I am finally ready to admit: I am a polygamy addict. Reading about polygamy is my crack. Well, at least I can openly admit it. Maybe there are others out there. I thought about starting a support group for polygamist media junkies but then realized that I don't want to meet the types of people who are addicted to it. There are many things I want to know but I think I finally found where to draw the line.
So, after supper I once again saw Whip It. Actually, I ditched out of the potluck so that I might see Whip It again. Then all night long I talked about skating and looked up skates online. But I wonder, how bad is it that you would rather see a movie for the second time in a row than hang out with your friends who are offering you food? Shit, another addiction: roller derby. Pretty soon I will have to quit grad school just to tend to my eccentric (polite word for crazed) hobbies.
-Canadian Castaway
Sunday, January 10, 2010
date or not, Odd Bathroom Breaks, Vampirish Looks, Leg Fumbling but No Score, Grape Soda and Canadian Men
Day 136
When you get up at 12:30 pm you realize that you have a million things you should be doing. But, you wind up on facebook for an hour and then go to three different grocery stores and find out late at night that you still do not have any food (left that is). Or maybe that's just me.
So, the guy I told I was busy to yesterday and then realized I was unbusy texted me and asked if I was "still booked up." Since I lied to him yesterday I thought I'd come clean today. I told him I wasn't and then he asked if I wanted to go see the movie that he saw last night but missed the last ten minutes of. I asked him why he would go to a movie and miss the final ten minutes of it. He texted me that he would explain in person and that he would meet me at the cinema.
So, I spent the next two hours wondering if I was going on a date or not. I consulted friends who reassured me that I am a maniac which did not tell me if I had agreed to a date. He is not really a guy I would want to date but he is the type of guy who you nags the girl until she realizes how wonderful he is and how she just threw him away and then she fights to get him back and does and they kiss on a riding lawnmower driving into the sunset. I tried imagining this scenario but kept getting stuck on the "she realizes how wonderful he is" part. From what I've seen so far he is more psychotic then wonderful and I don't think he EVER listens when I yammer on about things that I can't remember five minutes later but I am sure they are important in the moment (right?). Plus, he looks like a vampire and not that awesome hottie Twilight-y look the old school Dracula kind. The slick dark hair and giant eyebrows set against pale white skin and dark set eyes. Well, he looks like a vampire when he isn't looking like a penguin. There something about how his arms hang.
Anyway, I got to the film and met up with him. He caught me texting my friends asking if they were gonna be there so I wouldn't be alone with vampire man. I asked him why he missed the final minutes of the film the night before and he said, "I had to go to the washroom." "That sucks," I said, downtrodden. I thought it was going to be some big story as he wouldn't tell me on the phone earlier. Then he said, "You know, I just couldn't wait." Yeah right, that movie (Whip It) is pretty damn riveting you can wait, I wanted to say but surprisingly didn't--probably because I had yet to see it.
While I was signing up for a film society club he went off to buy concessions. He did not ask if I wanted anything and only purchased one Grape Crush. I thought maybe this and how he didn't offer to buy my ticket were indicators that we weren't on a date at all. But then again, I did once have a first date where my mohawked man took me (a then vegetarian) to a McDonalds and then didn't even ask if I wanted anything not that I could've eaten anything but fries and cheery pies. So, in a way this possible date was already better then what I have had before.
We disagreed on where to sit. He prefers the aisle. Who the fuck wants to sit in the aisle? Really? He gave in and sat in the middle with me. This may be a good thing, he lets me win. The only bad part was that he then proceeded to take up the entire arm rest the entire time. I leaned to the opposite side and kept my hands out of reach. Our legs did bump together a few times, each time I retreated. At one point I got out gum and offered him a piece. This was the only time I looked at him. He wasn't so bad looking in the dark (guess, that's when vampires are on their game) and for a second I wished we were on a date.
The movie ended and I was wild-eyed riveted. He sprung up as soon as the lights came up a touch and started fumbling around with his Crackberry. I told him I wanted to see the credits (for the music at the end and out of respect that nobody ever seems to have). He didn't sit back down next to me, he stood in the aisle waiting. Har Mar Superstar flashed on the screen and I told him that my old roommate used to do cocaine with him in hotel rooms. My not-date didn't seem too impressed. After walking out the doors he said, "I am going to the bank," and walked away. I guess I wasn't on a date then. Ahh, who cares I don't know if I am ready to see a Canadian man. Everyone from the states said they were all ohh so nice. If they were so friggin nice then why didn't he get me a Grape Crush, huh? I like soda.
-Canadian Castaway
When you get up at 12:30 pm you realize that you have a million things you should be doing. But, you wind up on facebook for an hour and then go to three different grocery stores and find out late at night that you still do not have any food (left that is). Or maybe that's just me.
So, the guy I told I was busy to yesterday and then realized I was unbusy texted me and asked if I was "still booked up." Since I lied to him yesterday I thought I'd come clean today. I told him I wasn't and then he asked if I wanted to go see the movie that he saw last night but missed the last ten minutes of. I asked him why he would go to a movie and miss the final ten minutes of it. He texted me that he would explain in person and that he would meet me at the cinema.
So, I spent the next two hours wondering if I was going on a date or not. I consulted friends who reassured me that I am a maniac which did not tell me if I had agreed to a date. He is not really a guy I would want to date but he is the type of guy who you nags the girl until she realizes how wonderful he is and how she just threw him away and then she fights to get him back and does and they kiss on a riding lawnmower driving into the sunset. I tried imagining this scenario but kept getting stuck on the "she realizes how wonderful he is" part. From what I've seen so far he is more psychotic then wonderful and I don't think he EVER listens when I yammer on about things that I can't remember five minutes later but I am sure they are important in the moment (right?). Plus, he looks like a vampire and not that awesome hottie Twilight-y look the old school Dracula kind. The slick dark hair and giant eyebrows set against pale white skin and dark set eyes. Well, he looks like a vampire when he isn't looking like a penguin. There something about how his arms hang.
Anyway, I got to the film and met up with him. He caught me texting my friends asking if they were gonna be there so I wouldn't be alone with vampire man. I asked him why he missed the final minutes of the film the night before and he said, "I had to go to the washroom." "That sucks," I said, downtrodden. I thought it was going to be some big story as he wouldn't tell me on the phone earlier. Then he said, "You know, I just couldn't wait." Yeah right, that movie (Whip It) is pretty damn riveting you can wait, I wanted to say but surprisingly didn't--probably because I had yet to see it.
While I was signing up for a film society club he went off to buy concessions. He did not ask if I wanted anything and only purchased one Grape Crush. I thought maybe this and how he didn't offer to buy my ticket were indicators that we weren't on a date at all. But then again, I did once have a first date where my mohawked man took me (a then vegetarian) to a McDonalds and then didn't even ask if I wanted anything not that I could've eaten anything but fries and cheery pies. So, in a way this possible date was already better then what I have had before.
We disagreed on where to sit. He prefers the aisle. Who the fuck wants to sit in the aisle? Really? He gave in and sat in the middle with me. This may be a good thing, he lets me win. The only bad part was that he then proceeded to take up the entire arm rest the entire time. I leaned to the opposite side and kept my hands out of reach. Our legs did bump together a few times, each time I retreated. At one point I got out gum and offered him a piece. This was the only time I looked at him. He wasn't so bad looking in the dark (guess, that's when vampires are on their game) and for a second I wished we were on a date.
The movie ended and I was wild-eyed riveted. He sprung up as soon as the lights came up a touch and started fumbling around with his Crackberry. I told him I wanted to see the credits (for the music at the end and out of respect that nobody ever seems to have). He didn't sit back down next to me, he stood in the aisle waiting. Har Mar Superstar flashed on the screen and I told him that my old roommate used to do cocaine with him in hotel rooms. My not-date didn't seem too impressed. After walking out the doors he said, "I am going to the bank," and walked away. I guess I wasn't on a date then. Ahh, who cares I don't know if I am ready to see a Canadian man. Everyone from the states said they were all ohh so nice. If they were so friggin nice then why didn't he get me a Grape Crush, huh? I like soda.
-Canadian Castaway
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Tigers and Popularity, Lies, Oh Lies, Bar Lessons Part 9
Day 135
Today I finally bought folders and notebooks. I did not brave the undergrad germ festival that has become the bookstore instead, I went to Staples. I suppose I could've finally just purchased grown up stationary-type items, but, the pink skull folders were on sale. Okay, so the folder with the sea turtle and the one with the Bengali Tiger on it were regular price but sometimes you have to splurge especially if it means the difference between getting noticed in class or not. The only issue is that as an adult when you get noticed with a super awesome sea turtle folder people just think you are a creepy freak or stole it from your kids (and I don't have any kids).
Confession: I was asked out by a guy I don't really want to date and later was asked for dinner on the same day as the proposed date. So, I told the date that I had made other plans a long while back and forgotten them and is it alright if I skip out on the movie. I don't know if this makes me a liar, a cheat, or a pussy but none of them sound very good. The real kick in the ass is that the dinner is not even happening on the proposed date night it is the next day. Do I text him and ask to hang out or hope that I don't see him tomorrow around 7 pm? This my friends is why you shouldn't lie it just makes things ridiculous and no matter what you do you come out bad and/or wondering what trick karma will lay on you.
The rest of the day was spent pretty much in the pub. First, working and then hanging out. Here are a few things that happened and that a few things I learned:
Danish men will tell bartenders that you sexually harassed them to try and get a free beer. Okay, so you and a friend may have been staring at his crotch, but...
My Brazilian crush likes to flirt with me while I am working and after work likes to tell me how American girls wear bikini bottoms that look like diapers in comparison to Brazilian bikinis. He also told me that in Brazil women don't play games; you kiss and then get to know each other. Good to know his flirting with me who didn't kiss him right away means nothing even though I thought it meant something.
Sometimes drinking Monster energy drink doesn't make you feel like your life is less boring but makes you anxious and paranoid and realizing how boring your life is.
When you bring a sandwich all the way across the restaurant to someone you vaguely know make a joke about, "Geez, that was a long walk." And see if they say, "Oh, you are just saying that to mine for tips." If they do you will know they are a douche you should never talk to again and make note that you should probably mess with their food next time.
If you get sucked into a "Name the Provinces of Canada" game you should probably be drinking so you can blame alcohol when you can only name seven of them. You could confess that the schools in the U.S. didn't map out the provinces of Canada on their 8th grade World Geography map or tell them that we already had to remember 50 states what more do you want? But, instead of looking at these things as "Ohh, poor you and your shitty educational system" they will more likely think, "Lazy, uneducated American." The good news is in Canada they won't tell you their nasty thoughts because the folks up here are too polite. My question is but how polite can you be when you are still thinking nasty thoughts?
-Canadian Castaway
Today I finally bought folders and notebooks. I did not brave the undergrad germ festival that has become the bookstore instead, I went to Staples. I suppose I could've finally just purchased grown up stationary-type items, but, the pink skull folders were on sale. Okay, so the folder with the sea turtle and the one with the Bengali Tiger on it were regular price but sometimes you have to splurge especially if it means the difference between getting noticed in class or not. The only issue is that as an adult when you get noticed with a super awesome sea turtle folder people just think you are a creepy freak or stole it from your kids (and I don't have any kids).
Confession: I was asked out by a guy I don't really want to date and later was asked for dinner on the same day as the proposed date. So, I told the date that I had made other plans a long while back and forgotten them and is it alright if I skip out on the movie. I don't know if this makes me a liar, a cheat, or a pussy but none of them sound very good. The real kick in the ass is that the dinner is not even happening on the proposed date night it is the next day. Do I text him and ask to hang out or hope that I don't see him tomorrow around 7 pm? This my friends is why you shouldn't lie it just makes things ridiculous and no matter what you do you come out bad and/or wondering what trick karma will lay on you.
The rest of the day was spent pretty much in the pub. First, working and then hanging out. Here are a few things that happened and that a few things I learned:
Danish men will tell bartenders that you sexually harassed them to try and get a free beer. Okay, so you and a friend may have been staring at his crotch, but...
My Brazilian crush likes to flirt with me while I am working and after work likes to tell me how American girls wear bikini bottoms that look like diapers in comparison to Brazilian bikinis. He also told me that in Brazil women don't play games; you kiss and then get to know each other. Good to know his flirting with me who didn't kiss him right away means nothing even though I thought it meant something.
Sometimes drinking Monster energy drink doesn't make you feel like your life is less boring but makes you anxious and paranoid and realizing how boring your life is.
When you bring a sandwich all the way across the restaurant to someone you vaguely know make a joke about, "Geez, that was a long walk." And see if they say, "Oh, you are just saying that to mine for tips." If they do you will know they are a douche you should never talk to again and make note that you should probably mess with their food next time.
If you get sucked into a "Name the Provinces of Canada" game you should probably be drinking so you can blame alcohol when you can only name seven of them. You could confess that the schools in the U.S. didn't map out the provinces of Canada on their 8th grade World Geography map or tell them that we already had to remember 50 states what more do you want? But, instead of looking at these things as "Ohh, poor you and your shitty educational system" they will more likely think, "Lazy, uneducated American." The good news is in Canada they won't tell you their nasty thoughts because the folks up here are too polite. My question is but how polite can you be when you are still thinking nasty thoughts?
-Canadian Castaway
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)