Day 166 (also known as the day Gaga took over)
Seriously, I have a problem, instead of writing I listen to Lady Gaga and dance. The craziest part about it is that I actually don't think it's a waste of time. I actually thought about writing down all my moves and becoming a choreographer, except I couldn't stop the music long enough to grab a pen and never did the same moves in the same sequence. So the only benefit to my dancing to Gaga is that I may be burning a calorie (not more than the amount that is contained in a glass of Tang, though).
I thought about giving up the Gaga cold turkey, tomorrow. But, then I realized something, there comes a time in every girl's life when she realizes that she'd rather shake it to Gaga and get nothing done than sit in whiny misery getting nothing done, thinking about how much better life would be with Gaga. The only way that I arrived at the mature conclusion to continue listening and be happy was by thinking about my circumstances at this moment like how I am a student and don't do anything all that important, therefore, I can afford a few mornings of Gaga-ing. But, not everyone can handle the pop music or has the luxury of losing yourself in it. The more I think on it the more I think that this type of music should come with a disclaimer that says something to the effect of:
"If you have frail hips, children to look after, a steady job, a heart condition of any sort, a significant other to pay attention to, or are Barack Obama (or any sort of major world leader) do not partake in this music as it will ruin you and those you are responsible for."
I was so proud of myself in TV class today. I was under control and not even staring at the hot freshmen with the metal hair. Although, once he did address me directly. "You haven't seen that episode of the Simpsons? It's the best. You should really see it," he said. I just smiled and nodded and kept my mouth shut instead of saying, "You have pretty teeth" or some other such nonsense that pours from me when I have crushing crushes. At the end of class we were the only two left in the room and I kept getting tangled up in my headphone cord and screaming, "Shit!" He didn't say anything at all and hustled out the door. I should really record rational, flirty messages and play them on a hidden tape recorder when I am afforded opportunities like this, but then I would have to remember to sync my lips up to it, and I could just see a Britney Spears-esque lip syncing disaster occurring. Best to just keep being myself, maybe he will find it cute, or take pity on my weirdness.
At supper tonight I bought a cookie from the buy a Valentine cookie charity table. I was pretty proud of my cookie as I searched through 2 dozen and even got a second opinion on whether or not it had the most frosting of all, and when I was assured it did I brought it to the dinner table and showed it to my friends to brag. They asked, "Who is that for?" "For me," I answered. There was a silence, and then they pointed out, "You are supposed to give it to someone." "Why?" I asked. "Because it's for Valentine's Day." As I ate my cookie later I was glad that I didn't have anyone to give it to (besides myself) as it was absolutely delicious and to think I was supposed to give it away. Ha! I ain't no Charlie Brown checking my mailbox for Valentine's. I am not gonna wait for someone else to step up when I can pick out my own cookie myself (with the aid of the second frosting opinion that is).
At work tonight my boss suggested that I help set up for a banquet. I told him I'd be happy to help and loaded up a cartload of 62 heavy banquet plates and wheeled them to the elevator that would bring me down the equivalent of three flights of stairs, except the elevator didn't bring me down three flights. The elevator didn't come at all, on any floor. I spent the next half hour running up and down 50 steps, my arms loaded with stacks of plates. When I got back to the restaurant I said to my manager, "You knew the elevator was out didn't you?" He said, "No, it isn't. Are you sure?" He smirked and then said, "It always works. You don't think maybe you were just having one of your Emily moments?" This did not mean, one of your awesome revelations where you blow away everyone around you with your astute original insights, he meant it as moments when you are a ditz (as though those moments exist in relation to me). Instead of saying, "Are you having one of your manager moments, where you act like a condescending dickwad even though everyone knows that your job doesn't matter and you steal money and beer from your place of employ everyday and think you are supreme God of the pub, when really you are just a washed up wannabe?" But, I was too out of breath to say that many words in a row. So, I just fake laughed and looked away.
My fellow pub patrol person tonight was out on the patio and caught a guy pissing in the bushes. She told him, "Put that thing away in three seconds or you are out of here." He put it away as she counted down and then he turned around and said to her, while pointing at his very wet crotch area, "That is not my pee." She nodded. He then said, "Can I hug you? It is my birthday."
Tip of the Day: Don't lie to the cute physics guy who cooks at the pub and tell him you have an office in the physics building because he will confess that he believed you and you will feel like a bad person and realize how cute he is and how much he doesn't trust you and you will want to buy him a pony to make it all better but you can't afford one and he doesn't want it anyway.
-Canadian Castaway
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