Day 184
I went to breakfast this morning specifically to steal fruit. My plan was that I was going to take one more piece of fruit than I was allotted, and thus feel like a badass. (I know, sad, huh? It's come to this) When I got there I was met with two challenges: 1. The fruit wasn't the usual apples or pears, it was partially rotten bananas. 2. Squeezing the bananas proved to be great fun. This seems like it would not be the end of the world, right? Wrong. I had promised myself the rush of morning thievery and the bananas were fun to swish, but I had already swished all the bananas in the bin, plus not only would I have one rotten, inedible banana I would've had to deal with two. Solution: Steal bread instead. Good thing I am excellent in a crisis situation, making a major life decision is a difficult way to start your day.
After I unloaded my stolen bread I made a pot of coffee. It used to be that one cup of coffee, maybe two would do. It's gotten to the point that five cups are necessary for me to be able to move. Today, I made six cups and drank them all. This last increase terrifies me. Two years from now will I be able to support my 12 cup a day habit? Is it odd to get a sugar daddy to keep me in coffee?
After I spent hours making little marks on my script and drinking coffee I ventured out to buy trinkets for my friend back home. On the way I called up another friend who bitched that she wrote me a letter months ago that I had yet to respond to (I didn't remember her letter). Buying trinkets meant that I could go to the dollarstore. This store is jam-packed floor to ceiling with trinkets. The key is that most of them are total shit so you really have to search. The other major factor of shopping there is that due to the layout and the volume of shit the aisles are very small and you feel like a lardass milling around in there, but no so much of a lardass that you would start seriously dieting or not shop there. I was delighted to see that they had an entire section devoted to Canadian memorabilia.
A half hour later I walked out of there with everything from a maple leaf slap bracelet to a moose magnet. I even found a postcard to send to my whiny letter friend (seriously, tell people you are a writer and they will be ohh-so disappointed when you don't send them letters). The postcard was my favorite. They had a whole rack of soggy postcards out front on a rack in the rain. I flipped through pretty landscapes and the like, until I found one with a scary wolf on it and "Canada" in goofy letters superimposed on it's chest. I have never seen a wolf here, ever. Well, except on this postcard. If they were going for what you can actually see they should've put a raccoon sticking out of a dumpster on it.
I've acquired a freaky new hobby. I go onto facebook and look up people that I didn't really talk to in high school and spend an hour looking at not only their pictures, but their significant others pics. It's like I get high from it. I click through each picture and when I finally look away an hour has gone by and I feel like I am a predator. Then I got to thinking about it. I'm not the only creeper online. Judging from some of these photos these people live quite dull lives. Lives dull enough that they may spend hours crawling facebook photos as well. Wouldn't it be amazing if we were looking at each other's photos at the same time. Me thinking: God, his wife isn't so bad-looking. I bet I'd talk to her. Him thinking: Where the fuck is she? Not married, I knew it.
This doesn't mean I don' t have any prospects. The only problem is that my prospects make me question my sexuality. The latest one being the movie guy here at the rez. Well, he doesn't really live here, he used to. But, that doesn't mean he isn't hear every night calling me "Ems." He waddles over here every week, lugging his Blue Ray player (he hates actual DVDs now) and plays Hollywood blockbusters that got universal good reviews. The projector is now set up and tuned to the Olympics only. The Olympics have made him particularly insane. He is the guy shouting and shaking his fist in the air, and slamming it on the table, with his other hand around the good snacks. His new plan is to bring over movies I like and have me watch them with him. This is a decent approach to winning me over. If you are a guy who listens when I speak, isn't anal retentive, and eats like a grown-up that would be better. Constantlky shaking your leg, sighing, singing along, and pretending to sleep while I am watching a movie with you would be excellent. Outlook: what comes after bleak--dismal? Although, I'd consider watching The Princess Bride, if he dropped it off and left.
This evening I read a script of my classmate's and realized that I am bragging bitch. So, I have a background in writing screenplays and am currently reading two books on how to write for television. But, knowing that my advanced background meant that I would probably fare better than my classmates in TV Writing class, doesn't stop me from getting oh-so-annoyed with their mistakes. I say in my head, "Really? Writing in camera angles on a non-shooting script, ha!" or "Really, you think your paragraphs of 'action' laden with flimsy adverbs is gonna happen?" On my wall I have a manifesto of what I want to do, how I should behave, and why I am in grad school (all things I constantly forget). I am considering adding in, "Don't be a judgemental bitch or no one will talk to you, which sounds appealing, but it won't be when you overhear that other people are having fun without your bitchy ass and the only person to laugh at your snobby judgements is yourself, and you don't think you are all that funny." The thing about manifestos are that they are well-intentioned, but never well-executed.
Question of the Day: If your friend always gives up the same thing for lent does that make her unoriginal or consistent?
Tip of the Day: Reading about how boring personal essays are is boring.
-Canadian Castaway
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