This morning one of my rez mates from Kentucky brought her parents along to breakfast. Now, it is a rare occasion that I attend breakfast, but I am so glad I did today. There is nothing like talking to a man with a Southern lilt, especially when he is talking about the proper way to hunt squirrels and pull the legs off a frog. Plus, it was tater tot and bacon day. Breakfast is amazing.
Today I learned that my friend will yell and hit me when I bring up the fact that my friend takes FOREVER to come over so that we can go to the beach. Yeah, that's my best friend. The one who I think understands me the most. Guess they say that you only feel strong emotions about people you love. She must really love me. But, I swear if it gets to the point of me having to say I fell down the stairs as a cover story for my pair of black eyes and broken teeth I'll kick her ass. But damn, I'm gonna miss that bitch when she goes back to her non-English speaking country.
It's been a few weeks since I ventured out to the "Clothing Optional" beach. The last time I went the nakeds were quite far from me and quite humorous with their drunken banter while they stood in a tinfoil screen so as to make sure the bottoms of their scrotums were tanned evenly. This time there were was only an occasional old man laid out and a happy, naked family flopping around. Until...
A man walked by me and my friend. You know the type, could be a serial killer or an accountant (same thing sometimes). He said hello, I ignored him on reflex. My friend made a tiny amount of small talk with him about how there was more logs washed ashore than usual. Then our killer accountant set up a nasty burlap-ish blanket, while making a can-you-hear-me-over-there-I-am-trying-to-impress-you phone call repeating, "Get that contractor in there." He dropped trow and then sat himself up in a position to eavesdrop. Every time I looked up at my friend I couldn't help but look over her shoulder to see him smiling, listening. You'd think this would be creepy or annoying, but I really just think the fucker was lonely. The whole scene was pretty sad. Except when when my friend was discussing the naked peoples need to flaunt themselves. But, even then, he didn't do anything nutty. Seriously, he made the crazy old guy with the cock that may have turned me into a full-time lesbian look like an exciting show.
So tonight I worked my third job. My third job is moving around tables and chairs in the residence where I live. It pays 15 smackers an hour. It's super easy and sort of fun. But, it only takes like 15 minutes per time and there are only maybe 3 times per week they need us to do set-up. My co-workers work fast and therefore I have a hard time even busting 15 bucks per week. The biggest issue I face is finding a way to tell them to be lazier. One of my fellow chair movers said, "Yeah, this job is pretty much my beer money." What the hell? Doesn't he know that beer costs a shit ton of money in this country? Anyway, I figure that if I can get him to be an alcoholic then he will work extra slow to make more booze money and because he'll be drunk and then we will all make more money.
My second master plan of the evening involves a heist. I am going to steal the shitty exercise bicycle in the game room of my building. I have just finished making final plans for the grand theft to come this week. My only concern is what will I say if and when someone notices it missing and reports it to the email list serve? Will I spend all night long with darty eyes, jumping at every noise, grasping the bike? Or, will I confess, sending out a tell all about how I stole the bike so that I could ride it while I watched TV and sometimes I steal like Winona Ryder because of my smug childhood, and I was arrested that one time for shoplifting and I have since become addicted to getting away with petty crime, but have never once had the guts to steal from stores again, and that the teabag collection I currently own came half from the pub I used to work at and half from the dining hall? Nah, I'd probably just return it in the middle of the night wearing a disguise.
My favorite comicbook artist/author friended me on facebook. Turns out this author doesn't have a fan page, but a real facebook page. Guess, Indie comics are not that popular nowadays. Anyway, I milled around her not-fan page page, and noted that I could not comment on her photos, but I could post to her wall. It's weird because I have read what she said about strangers posting to her facebook wall and how she responded to them was with hatred and disinterest. I refrained from posting for nearly one whole day...until a few minutes ago. I figure, I've got nothing to lose, and damn it'd be nice if she put her nasty comics on cards for Christmas. We'll see if tomorrow she unfriends me, writes a "fuck you" retort, blocks me from her wall, deletes my comment, unfriends me, or writes something wonderful in reply expressing her like for my wit. How come so many of those options sound bad?
Tip of the Day: If you need to blow your arm on your sleeve try not to do so in front of a cute boy even if he is like 19 and has a beautiful girlfriend, and would never look at you.
-Canadian Castaway
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