Day 209
So if you want a job in Canada you need to get a work permit, and if that isn't enough you need to register for what is called an "epass" and then, you have to log in using a username and password. All of that is quite fine until you realize that if you log out you will need to remember the username and password. Don't remember? Well, you can just set up a new "epass" account. Ahh, ahh, you can set up a new account. You can make a new username and password and questions to answer should you forget either of these things. But, when you log in the computer will indicate that you already have an account. The only problem now is, it is impossible to find those orignial find-my-information security questions again. I know who a memorable person is to me, and who my first love was, I can remember that stuff. Ask me! Oh Canada, you are so confusing, or I am so deluded I do not know how to operate a simple website (let's go with option 1). In either case, I am do not know if you should trust me working in your country.
When I was applying eyeliner the unthinkable happened. I heard in the other room a clanking of my spoon and bowl that lie on my desk. I whipped out of the bathroom to see I had been invaded. I let fly a scream of terror. The bandit ran out the window, in a flurry of bushy tail. After I calmed down and regretted not shooting the squirrels, I realized a two things.
1. No one had come to my rescue. I let out one horrifying scream, and shortly after one more subtle scream (just for fun) and no one came running to knock down my door and protect me from my attacker. Fuckers. Should I treat this like Christmas cards? Like, if you get a Christmas card from someone you send them one, but if you do not get a card from someone you do not send one to them. Go ahead neighbor, scream.
2. There was no oatmeal left in the bowl the little squirrel bastard was into. I had eaten it all. I felt like I'd won the battle. Until I realized later that I was still drinking from the glass of Tang that was on my desk during the attack. I am not sure how long he had been on my desk before he clanked the spoon and I had found him (yeah, I am assuming it is a boy squirrel "he"). Immediately, I told my friend on chat that I was drinking Tang that could've been contaminated by a squirrel. My friend wrote back, "I bet he just put his furry ass in it." Time for new friends and new Tang.
My story was workshopped today in class. Translation: that bitchy commentary I wrote about parents and children was hashed out by my classmates. Anyway, after a half an hour of pretty much praise, my friend read aloud my line, "Worst case scenario you'll have two teenagers fucking on your couch." I didn't realize that sounded so dirty. Well, the next line, "You gotta admit that's kinda hot," is a little freakier. Shit. Anyway, the entire class normally talks and like two people hate on you, and then the teacher sums it up. This teacher, who ate a whole bunch of my soynuts without asking (which I found hilarious, and made me feel like the teacher's pet, though I am VERY naughty), handed me back my paper and said. "Well, I guess you scored with that one." Normally, this would be a huge compliment. But, when he said it like he was quite surprised I did so well. It's kind of like when the naughty kid cheats on his test and the teacher can't prove it, but he really did study. But, the whole day wasn't ruined, the super good news is that my friend brought me a dinosaur pen, whose mouth opens up and it screams. So, I just played with that the whole time.
Okay, so I know I am all about eating meat since returning to the joy of it after a 7 year imprisonment in a vegetarian camp, but eating meat off the bone, really? I felt like my dinosaur. Then when I turned to my neighbor at the table who was gnawing carcass off the bone he said, "It sharpens your teeth." What?! I don't need sharp teeth. I am not a velociraptor. Can't I get a nice chicken strip or piece of sausage? Seriously, we have come such a long way in this society. Do we really need to get all caveman and suck a bone dry and be proud of our stack of bones?
After supper and a mild facebook chat fight, I headed out to the library. I was ready to set up camp in my secret working area. Well, it's not that secret, I wrote my name on the carrel. On the walk over I had the sinking feeling that someone may be occupying my secret (out in the open) space. When I went to the sub-sub basement, I found that it was available, and for the first time I had neighbors. This was fine. The guy with the nylon sock thing wrapped around his bun seemed to be super engaged in his work, though he did look at me when I walked in. But, the real threat was the guy who was standing and smiling to himself. He sat down and smiled, and read papers and smiled, and got up and paced around and smiled. It was too much to bear, especially when I was trying to write a TV character that I know nothing about. I didn't need to look over in my struggle and see his smug smile. Motherfucker.
I had to leave and seek therapy in the form of meandering the aisles of a drugstore, looking at make-up, but buying toilet paper, coffee, and a candle. I felt much better, even when I was waiting in line to check out. I felt great up until the point where the cashier looked at my giant square package of toilet paper and said, "We don't have any bags left for that." So, it was just me and a giant toilet paper package walking down the street hoping that I wouldn't meet my real life version of Aragorn, and have him think about the fact that I wipe my ass. Luckily, a real life Aragorn doesn't exist (or is it lucky). The only person I saw was a co-worker from the bar whiz by me on a bike while I was amongst other people. He turned his head and yelled a drunken overly loud, "Hey!" The crowd looked at me and my toilet paper. As I was almost home, a group of boys was standing on the sidewalk and one of them flicked his cigarette butt at my feet. Is this how an ass wiper gets treated in the street? Next time I am taking a taxi, if I want to continue to wipe my ass.
Are you depressed if you spend half an hour on facebook looking at the only boy you've ever loved's profile? Or, are you just bored and contenting yourself with the image of him getting fat as he gets older, just like you seem to be. Well, when you notice that he is dating a young girl who is skinny you get angry, so I guess that's better than being depressed, sort of. Although screw all that, I am going to just call it curious.
Tip of the Day: When you don't know what to do with yourself buy a 10 dollar candle that reminds you of your friend, even though you don't really like how it smells.
-Canadian Castaway
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