Postal Postal, Spider Neck, Grad School Reality, Confession, Hoarding Hoarders, Break Up, Dingo!

Day 278

I had to work today, again. Today two odd things happened:

1. The mean postal pick up guy came in to get the mail. The one who leaves customers in the lurch and gets really snappy and always wears ear plugs, anyway, he came in and started talking to someone. Yeah, weird huh? If that wasn't enough he was talking to this random guy for like ten minutes. Well, he doesn't really talk, he yells, probably due to the earplugs. I wondered what made him stay so long, until I realized that he was talking on and on about how horrible it is to work for the postal service. He kept repeating the words, "postal gong show" and laughing in a creepy way. The new tallies are in, he is definitely for sure the postal worker disgruntled enough to come in packing a tommy gun one day.

2. I was helping a guy decide which postage option to take when I noticed that he had a tiny spider crawling along the collar of his shirt. I was so shocked by it that I didn't say anything.

When I enrolled in grad school I thought it meant that I was going to finally spend all of my time writing. Wrong. Insider tip regarding writing programs: Most of your time is spent avoiding writing. Honestly, there are times when I realize that I did the same amount of writing, sometimes more, when I was in school for undergrad and working 4 jobs. I actually sat down and worked, but I never had a clean dish or groceries. I'd rather have dirty cups and an empty belly with a few pages to show for it.

Confession: So, I have lived in some real shit hole buildings with sketchy landlords over the years and have acquired enough skills to be an unofficial plumber. That said, the handle came off on my sink a while back (as in months back) and I couldn't fix it. I didn't contact the maintenance partly due to not wanting to deal with having a repair person, being too lazy to fill out the repair paperwork, admitting defeat in my not being able to fix it myself, and having gotten used to it being broken. Today I decided to get it fixed, so finally turned in the minimal paperwork and tidyed the bathroom, making sure to lay out the broken parts. When I got home from work just hours later I went into the bathroom to discover it magically fixed. Damnit, sometimes things ARE easy, well, if you aren't lazy or prideful.

Once again I was sucked in the Hoarders vortex. Seriously, someone should file a class action against the producers of the show for what a time suck it is. And, it's not like they just show one episode and be done with it they always come in multiples. I hope they are making their advertisers pay billions of dollars, because, whether people admit it or not everyone is hooked, everyone. Well, except maybe my 86 year old grandma, she is more into watching birds and watching her housemates looking for reasons to hate them. God, I love her. Back to the point, while there are many horrible things about the show there is one good thing about Hoarders--okay, two good things--1. It will make you feel good that you are not quite as fucked up as the people on the show. But you will realize that (insert family members name here) is just as bad. 2. If you are not (insert family members name here) the show will inspire you to clean. I cleaned out a desk drawer and half a book shelf today.

I broke up with my lover today: the self checkout. Seriously, I had to have the clerk on staff come and fix the damn thing like eight times. I was with a couple of my so-called friends (translation: people who tease me and try to push me into fountains and down cliffs) and by the end of it they were yelling, "Swipe your card!" While I tried to purchase my items the machine kept yelling at me for not placing my items in the bagging area and would freeze up. By the end of it I was begging the helper lady to stay with me, threatening to cry. My friend made the joke, "How many Creative Writing majors does it take to mess up a self-checkout?" The angry Asian kids waiting in line behind me didn't find this funny. The good news was, was that I tried to cheat on the price of cranberries, got caught, but the checkout helper believed me when I played dumb, as I couldn't even get the machine to work. The bad news: my so-called friends will never let me live it down and will never believe that I really did use the damn thing before without troubles.

On the way home we were walking along a path when an animal came out of the bushes and started walking along in front of us. "Dingo!" I yelled. Who knows why I yelled this, as I have never actually seen a dingo and I am pretty sure there aren't any on this continent. Turns out the dingo was a lone coyote that I was positive had rabies. Then one of my friends started whistling to try and get it to come near. The other friend offered her newly purchased wieners (tee hee hee) to feed it with. I didn't know who I wanted to shoot more, the rabid coyote or my idiot friends.

Tip of the Day: Pretty sure you can clean your entire computer with spit, just don't tell anyone.

-Canadian Castaway

Babies and Stuff, Positive, Wonderland, TV Breaks, Hot Couples, Texting Survival

Day 277

Today was one of those days when I didn't do much, but a lot happened. The biggest thing that happened was that I realized two major things:

1. I am going to get my thesis done and it is going to be amazing even though it seems impossible, but more importantly I am going to stop bitching about it. Seriously? I know people who work in depressing office buildings and factories and retail stores. Certainly, this is one of the reasons they fall in love and have babies: to find something their own and meaningful. I have been witchy lately about my thesis and how hard it is and at the same time thinking "Geez, why did everyone settle?" about the people I know who have turned into baby-making machines. Then I realized that I am doing what I want to be doing (going into massive debt in another country) and writing is my love and baby for now and I should be happy and face each day knowing that I can work at this and I can make it as a writer. La la la la, inspirational bullshit, greeting card wannabe phrase, sincere moment, terrible joke to lighten the sincerety (you know, the usual)But damn, sometimes I have ugly babies.

2. So all of my friends have moved away for the summer. There are a few writers still milling about, mostly the ones that I am not all that close to. These are the people who pretty much just keep asking me, "Are you okay?" and when they aren't doing that they are saying, "You are crazy." I have let this drive me to actually being crazy in the past few days and bitched about it non-stop to the only friends I have who do not incessantly assume I am a nut job (probably because they are nut jobs) and basically got super pissed off and in a shitty mood because of it. I have decided to be positive (don't worry, I can still be snarky). So next time I get asked if I am okay I will respond, "Okay? I am a goddamn sunbeam, get your sunglasses on before I scorch out your eyeballs with my sunshine-y better than okayness!! Betch!" And if they ask me if I am crazy I will say, "Yes, otherwise I'd be boring like you." Yep, I think being positive could work for me.

Television is still a wonderland to me. I turned on the TV tonight to discover that The Color Purple was on. I haven't seen this movie in ages, but was immediately drawn in to the characters. Everything about them from the degree of hardknocks they dealt with to how love got them through even when they thought they had nothing. I dry my tears of joy thinking that I don't have a heart of stone and hop into the shower. When I get out of the shower the TV is still on (what can I say, I am a energy-abusing American) and I sit back down mesmerized at Project Runway Canada. Really, it's quite amazing I ever turn off my TV.

Two other things that I saw on the magic TV box today:

Two old ladies that went around the world visiting brothels. They went home and made a "mobile brothel" in support of legalizing prostitution in England in an effort to make sex workers safer. The best part though was when they came home and met with their fellow old gals pals and showed them their dildos and lube.

I watched the episode of South Park where Stan gets sucked into facebook and without realizing it, I was simultaneously and obsessively checking my facebook account and watching the show.

And finally, this morning I woke up and found that Road Trip was on and--shit, it really sounds like all I did today was watch TV. That is so not true. I will say that because I do not smoke anymore I have decided to replace smoke breaks with TV breaks and I used to smoke a pack a day. Plus, it doesn't hurt to have a thesis in TV Writing as an excuse either.

At supper this evening I sat with the gay couple that play trumpets. Usually
their table is pretty exclusive, as in just them, or just them and the other musicians in my building. When I saw my upstairs neighbor sitting with them I took a chance and went up to their table. I asked if I could eat there even if I wasn't a musician and one of them said, "You are a musician, didn't you once say you played the triangle?" I sat right down and made sure they know that I also played the tamborine and bass drum. Then the trumpet couple dished about the neighbors above them. They said, "It's so weird, they have sex all the time, like seriously, ALL THE TIME." "Who?" my neighbor asked. "The hot couple."

Because I live in a building filled with nerds everyone knows who the hot couple is because they are the only supermodel-ish hot people in my building. But, the best part about sitting at the musician table was hearing my neighbor talk about walking down the halls and hearing the not-so hot uncoupled people masturbating to inappropriate porn turned up way too loud. Too bad these people aren't so distinct-looking or I may know who they are, though I suspect it is nearly everyone as it is much more common in nerd popluations to find not-so-gorgeous people beating off to porn alone than hot people fucking, but in a way it is much more interesting, everyone knows what hot people look like having sexual relations, especially nerds whacking off to it on souped-up computers but what sort of hot people are nerds watching?

My mother was trapped in a car all day long today with my father, his motor mouth sister and her crazed religious gigantic husband. In an effort to distract her from having to talk to them I started texting her. Here is the actual conversation we had:

Me: are you home yet? homicidal yet?

Mother: ON OUR WAY HOME NOW I AM GONNA KILL THEM ALL I CAN'T STAND IT ANYMORE.

Me: i love ur all caps texting. how close to home are u?

Mother: A LONG WAY I AM GOING NUTS WITH THESE BABBLING FREAKS HELP

Me: i am distracting you. did u not have any cocktails? at least u are on the way home. haha. pretend to be asleep.

Mother: I LOVE YOU YES I DRANK BUT IT DIDN'T HELP SHOULD HAVE DRANK MORE HA HA

Me:are they talking to u? i know say you have a headache so everyone shuts up or pull out a gun. haha.

Mother: THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT SHUT UP MEANS CAN I CHOKE UM

Me: i dont think u have any other option.

Mother: YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT IM GONNA DO IT THEN MOVE TO CANADA TO AVOID THE LAW CAN I LIVE WITH YA

Me:Sure i have a giant air mattress.

Mother: GREAT I WILL BE THERE TONIGHT

I am still waiting and she is not here.

Tip of the Day: The kinds of people who want to chat on facebook after 1 am are usually not the kinds of people you should be chatting with.

-Canadian Castaway

Morning Chat, Chinese on Chinese, Tall Small Coffee, Asian, The Truth About Libraries, Jack White Animal, Marry Me, Lonely

Day 276

This morning I chatted with 8 different people in the course of an hour. Two of these conversations even took place over Skype. I chatted to people in 4 different countries before I had my morning coffee. And, I can't even remember any of what we talked about. Turns out popularity can be a huge waste of time.

Today I had Chinese food with a Chinese person. I don't know why this is exciting but when I mentioned it to her while we were slurping up noodles she said, "Aren't you Cosmopolitan?" And then she told me a story about how once in Shanghai she ate at a Spanish restaurant with a guy from Canada. To that I said, "My story is better."

After the Chinese food we decided to go and get a coffee as my Chinese friend says that bubble tea is too whimsical and coffee is more practical. We went to a nearby Starbucks where I ordered a small coffee, which somehow, in Starbucks lingo equals a "tall." Seriously, why did they choose that for a name? When I think of the word tall I don't think of the word tall unless I am making a ridiculous poem that doesn't make any sense other than the fact that it rhymes.

When I got home I put the fact that I had Chinese with a Chinese on my facebook status and a friend of mine accused me as replacing her as my token Asian friend. I didn't mention that her being Korean is much different than my lunch partner, who was Chinese. And white people are accused of saying that all Asians are alike. Hmm...

I spent an hour sitting on the floor of the library sub-basement reading about outlines and story structures after I had spent all morning typing up scenes. I picked out the least colorful-looking book (which also had tons of miscellaneous food stains on the pages) about screenwriting I could find and read about how a strong foundation for story is the most important thing (outline). I already knew this but had done away with that knowledge this morning after weeks of writing outlines that didn't work out, I thought I'd just dive in. I was such an idiot to do that. Funny how going to the library does make you smarter, but it doesn't come without the price of realizing the idiot you were only hours before entering the library.

I purchased The White Stripes documentary today. This documentary is all about them touring every province in Canada. While I watched this and followed along with my Canadian province placemat and heard Jack White talk about how you need to have a good work ethic to have inspiration I realized that my spirit animal isn't a squirrel like people have said, it's Jack White. If I can channel his gorgeousness I can maybe get myself enough work ethic to get my thesis done. Maybe. Damn, you know it's bad when you are thinking of things you can do to help your thesis and the answer is find your spirit animal in a rockstar and find a huge net.

Tonight while I was doing the only thing that I seem to be good and consistent at--not doing what I am supposed to--I came to a decision. I think I have a new goal and purpose: to marry Seth MacFarlane. Okay, so the last Seth I dated was kind of a dickhead but made for some great stories, but he did not create a show that makes me laugh. The only thing is I am not so sure on how to pursue my goal, guess it's kind of like writing, just keep trying something until it works or you drink yourself to death.

This evening I experienced another moment to add to the "You know you're lonely when" list. You know you are lonely when the highlight of your day is talking to the dollarstore clerk whom you've gotten to know because let's face it you love buying 99cent socks that don't fit and looking at zany crap you'll never need. Special Version: You know you are really lonely when you purchase your two Coke Zeros and you tell the dollarstore clerk how glad you are that they started to stock Coke Zero instead of just Diet Coke the clerk responds, "Just for you!" and you choose to believe it and smile for twenty minutes afterward.

Tip of the Day: If the girl who is a student of the Science Department reads more novels than you do should you start to read more? Nah, why not just give her all the books you haven't read and find out which ones are worth reading.

-Canadian Castaway

Nuestra Familia Y Manos Bonitos, The Incident, Closed?!, Undergrad Remnants, Cheesy

Day 275

At breakfast this morning I sat with my neighbor and her parents who are from Mexico. On the other side I sat next to a guy that I have never really talked to and he calls me, "Emmy." The parents of my neighbor loved me as I told them that they were "nuestra familia" when they are here. Meanwhile, I spoke a little bit with the guy who calls me "Emmy," turns out he isn't creepy AND he has some of the sexiest hands I have ever seen. When I got back to my room I asked him to be my friend on facebook. When I was hauling my laundry through the courtyard later on I saw him and some Chinese girl walking together.

Nothing all that exciting happened at work today, except a customer walked up when my co-worker said, "I was picking up the pig legs and there was blood all down the front of my shirt." Other than that it was all a bunch of people buying stamps and bitching about the price of sending packages until...the incident. So, there was a woman who wanted to use our Priority service which costs like 36 bucks to use but gets things to their destinations by the next business day. Anyway, the little angry postal pick up man was already at our location barking at me to get him the Priority mail ready for the final pick up of the day. I asked him if he would wait for her and he agreed saying, "I have eight minutes." She went near him to fill out her envelope and before she could get it done he had left. She was out 36 bucks and pissed. I just said, "Yeah, that's really weird that he left." What I wanted to say was, "You should've filled out the envelope faster and it's kind of funny that you got screwed on a non-refundable envelope you spoiled brat with a shitty eyeliner job." I wonder if that part of becoming a jaded postal worker has set in yet.

After work today I thought I'd go check out a few screenplays and hang out at the library, you know, it's friday night, what else is a girl to do. Well, I guess most of the girls I grew up with, according to their facebook pages, spend friday nights corraling their kids and and dogs and not-hot husbands. I guess that makes me an outcast. Anyway, when I got to the library to see two sizable security guards milling around by the doors. Here is the conversation we had:

Security Guard #1: The library is closed.
ME:...
Security Guard #1: It's the summer hours, closes at 5.
ME:...
Security Guard #1: Did you want to do get a book or study?
ME...both?
Security Guard #1: Well, why don't you go to that library over there, they are open late.
ME:...
Security Guard #2: I don't think she wants to go to that library.

And that was when I walked away, dumbstruck from the thought of a University library being closed and being told to go to the library that doesn't really have any books, and being both proud and sad to be the girl who is devestated to tht point of speechlessness by the library closing for the day.

After supper this evening my friend and I went over to the Shoppers drugstore on my University campus (translation: shitty Canadian version of Walgreens where everything costs at least a dollar more). On the endcap of one aisle is a sale section. I crusied the sale section. The only things for sale were strawberry-flavored applesauce and boxes and boxes of condoms. I asked my friend what she thought of that and she said, "Well, it means the undergrads have gone home." Sex and applesauce = undergrad. Hmm, where do I sign up?

On the walk home from the drugstore where my friend bought toothpaste and candy and I bought just candy, I asked my friend if she thought a certain male resident in my building is gay. She said she did not think he was gay and started to tell me this long story about the time that he went out and bought like 200 bucks worth of cheese to make fondue with and how another hetero guy in the building said that instead of using white wine and white (expensive) cheese he would've used beer and yellow cheese. I asked her how his choice of fancy cheese and wine made him less gay. She said, "Well, I guess I was just going for the fact that he's just more French than gay."

Tip of the Day: It's hilarious looking at pictures of the families of acquaintances from high school on facebook, especially when all the pics of their chubby kids are of them eating or them with food on their faces.

-Canadian Castaway

Morning 3 Year Old, Coffeeshop Frustrations, Good Vibes?, Flea Market Dreams, Uzzle, Hoof Burger, Changed, Zeppelin Hair, !!!!, Annoyance

Day 274

Working in the morning sort of sucks until you realize an hour has gone by since you got there and you don't remember any of it because you weren't really awake. You wake up pretty quick when your boss abandons you and when she finally returns and you ask for help she treats you like a nagging 3 year old. But, if you tell her you actually act like a nagging three year old by saying if you need to do another Change of Address or MoneyGram order you will quit, she takes all the hard jobs for you and tells you not to quit. Well, that is until she remembers that she predicted you wouldn't last through September and she'll tell you she was right.

This afternoon I went to a coffeeshop to study and discover how old and jaded I am despite a customer at the post office who told me that I was not yet jaded (mostly due to the fact that I hadn't worked there long enough). I sat myself up next to a couple and a single woman who both looked like they were quietly studying. Turns out the woman was on her cellphone and after that had her child come in who cried until she gave the child a cellphone. If that wasn't distracting enough, the girl of the couple had her feet resting in her man's crotch under the table. I couldn't help but keep looking over to see if anything was going on. I couldn't get much done in this atmosphere too distracting so I packed up and left trying not to think that the watching the couple not really do anything sexual was the most action I've gotten in a long while.

After I visited that coffeeshop I stopped at another one on the way home to visit my hippie friend from the program. This place is super generic with nothing on the walls and a clean feel to it. I asked my friend what she was doing and she made me take her earbuds and listen to some new agey knock off reggae music. Then I asked her if she was working on any writing. She said, "No, I'm listening to this music and meditating, trying to channel good vibes." I am not really sure how you are supposed to respond to that. Did I mention that this is one of the very few people in my program actually making money off of her writing?


At supper this evening a few interesting things happened, here are the highlights:

-My friends and I decided to make a scavenger list for the flea market on Saturday, my ideas for the list included half-empty bottles of shampoo and used bathing suits. On the list also a crown or trophy to give to the winner of this hunt. I hope this is the dingiest flea market in the world. Is that make me gross or weird? I guess it doesn't really matter. All I have to say is that I plan on getting my moneys worth out of the 60 cent entrance fee.

-Along with the flea market conversation stemmed a separate conversation regarding puzzles. At first our plan was to buy up all the puzzles at the flea market, put them together, and see how many pieces were missing. Then we decided that we should probably open up a singles bar called Uzzle (Note: the missing piece "P") where all you do is drink, meet other singles, and put together puzzles.

-I had my first bison burger. It was well, besides chewy, neverending. I ate and ate and finally had to give up and I swear I saw a few strands of cooked grass in it. Maybe I got the hoof.

-The guy who always looks so shocked at everything I have to say told me that I have not changed one bit since I got to Canada and probably haven't changed much in my entire life. I am not sure if this means that I have stayed true to my character or if he thinks that I haven't done anything at all since arriving here. Obviously, he wasn't aware that I had just eaten my first hoof burger that was a big change.

For some unknown reason I have been listening to Led Zeppelin all night long. Of course, their music kicked ass, but what about Jimmy Page and Robert Plant's hair (especially Plant's blonde mane)? I mean seriously, look back at bands from this era and think about the fact that their hair was long, yes, but geez it had volume and curls. Did they get perms? What kind of shampoo did they use? Did they even have volume-enhancing shampoo back then? If I were more rock n roll (come on, I am as rock n roll as they come) would I just know how they got such wonderful locks? But, as far as I am concerned when rockers hair started getting flat so did their music.

Some bitch is degrading my brother via his facebook wall. She says he is a "waste of air" and a "thief" and she hopes he gets fired. She even said, "I hope your parents are embarrassed to have you as a son!!!!" I don't know if I should step into this argument or be amused. Judging from the fact that my brother is leaving this on his wall he may think this crazy bitch is hilarious. Certainly her use of extraneous exclamation marks is hilarious. The fact that her profile pic is her grimacing just adds to the hilarity of her conflict. I just have one thing to say to her, "Cross the line crazy bitch and I'll cut yah!!!!!!!"

Before I go two things that annoy me:
1. The fact that "green" people take road trips.
2. They are making a movie out of Marmaduke the comic strip. A. It's NEVER funny. and, B. Does that mean that other shoddy comics will make it to movie format? The day Family Circus makes its cinematic debut is the day that I no longer watch films.

Tip of the Day: If you make a ton of money buy me a copy of Fast Times at Ridgemont High: A True Story. Please, oh please. Santa sent all my letters back with "Return to Naughty Girl."

-Canadian Castaway

Breakfast Fertilizing, Wax and Tramp, Great Expectations, SSHRC, Safe Cakery, Friendly Reactions, Mall Death

Day 273

Today was one of those days where you wake up excited to eat cake, wind up crying in a restaurant bathroom and go home and listen to Journey. Anyway, let's start with the morning:

I missed breakfast and wound up having soup and a boiled egg that I accidentally spilled a few drops of Hank's (my African violet) fertilized water on. I wonder if my hair will be nicer as a result, or maybe I'll sprout a beard.

My favorite chat conversation of the day had to be with a friend of mine who recently got his state tattooed on his upper back. I asked him, What did you do about your fur?" His answer, "Disposable Bic." Then there was a conversation that was borderline too much about how I want to wax his back and his hairy hands just to see how creepy his hands would look. Then I asked him, "What are you going to get for a tramp stamp?" His answer, "Your name."


My advisor wrote to me to tell me that I am awesome. This is wonderful, except, now I have to live up to it.

All of my Canadian friends facebook walls were covered in joyous messages about how they got a SSHRC grant. This means that the Canadian Government is giving them 17,500bucks next year to go to school. I have never wished I were Canadian until the moment I saw these outpourings of rich mirth.

Just after I heard all of my colleagues are now rich I decided to check and see exactly how much money I have out in student loans. Then tromped to the student loan office to take out more loans, thinking the whole time how I am not a lucky Canadian.

And here is the afternoon/evening portion:

Today was the big party for the after school group I co-teach with a friend of mine. The dirt cake was for them. The kids gobbled up the cake and I sincerely wondered if it was not fully cooked, it was (there is no better way to put it) extra moist. Later, I asked my mother, "Hypothetically, what would happen if you gave a bunch of kids cake that wasn't cooked all the way?" After a minute of deliberation and description it was concluded that I had simply put a tad too much oil in it and it was probably not going to kill anyone.

After I ate cake and pizza with the kids and collected hugs and a card that they had made that depicted a sea monster wearing a pearl necklace I went out with my newly rich peers. In an effort to settle an argument my friend and I had last week I suggested we talk it out. Turns out this led to me crying in the bathroom and her telling me that she understands how I am overwhelmed and trying not to be negative. This did not help, at all. The best part though was when we went back to the table of our ten friends and they all looked at me like they had just seen me do meth at the table and then tried to be cool with it. I wound up leaving and calling my friend on the bus ride home and she told me that I was not psychotic.

I just watched something on CBC NEWS that is about the death of malls. One guy described the people who work at malls as, "A bunch of little people keeping the dream alive." They showed a herd of elderly people walking about an abandoned mall. They even had a shot of a guy who is mourning the loss of his local mall by sitting inside it and writing a eulogy. The best part though is that to save the malls there is a developer making a new mall that is environmentally friendly. The only shots they actually show of the mall and the developer are the following: giant bulldozers taking down trees and the developer holding a gun making sure to note that it could kill an elephant.

Tip of the Day: If you leave your Journey playing while you shower be prepared that over the water sounds you will hear something that is akin to a woman screaming.

-Canadian Castaway

Thesis Revelation, 2nd Best Customer, Who I Am, Writing Impression on Depression, Drunk Skype, Cake Bakery, TV Ate My Family

Day 272

Here is the amazing fun of grad school: when you realize that all of the hours you've spent this week working on your thesis were for nothing. Guess what? Compared to your original idea, all your new ideas suck. If you are lucky though, you will think that your original idea is amazing and be proud of it, instead of crying over wasted time and being unoriginal. This time, I was lucky.

At the Post Office today my co-worker and I had our second best customer ever. The best customer was the woman who kept telling us how single she was and how she was waiting for some "mister" to call her up. When her phone rang she actually squealed in glee. Turns out it was the library calling about overdue books. But today the second best customer award was handed out. Here is the transcript of what went down:

Co-worker (to me): Bad word.
Me (to her): Two bad words! (to 2nd best customer) We have to say that or text each other our bad words while we are working.
2nd Best Customer: That sucks.
Co-worker (to 2nd best customer) Here is your change.
2nd Best Customer: Have a great fucking day!

The report is in. As per my friend's urgent facebook message: Gaga Glee-style was hardcore disastrous. Okay, so now I kind of wish I would've watched it. Seriously, when did I become the type of person who wants to watch something shitty just so they can snub it? I need to re-evaluate or own up to who I am.

I was surfing facebook this afternoon and I noticed that my friend in the writing program had updated his status about every hour to say that he had been writing and it was going oh so well and he was getting so much done. I found him on chat and told him to shove it, as not everyone in the program is getting anything done and no one likes a gloater. He said, "You do realize that I get horribly depressed if I don't write." I should've said, "Yeah? Hello, many of the writers in the program get depressed if they aren't writing, and those writers are sitting at home staring at Facebook and when they see your cheery little proclimations they get a touch more depressed." I said, "Yeah, I know."

Tonight after work my brother and I Skyped. This is not an uncommon thing. We were both drinking. This is not an uncommon thing. We both got wasted, this surprizingly, is an uncommon thing. I was so drunk that I spilled half my cocktail all over my laptop. When Mom asks if I have talked to my brother I don't know whether I should mention this or not. Oh well, at this rate my brother and I will go to rehab together. I can't think of anyone I'd rather go with.

Tomorrow is the last meeting for the after school high school group I co-teach creative writing to (translation: a whole bunch of cool kids that write way better than more than half of the people in my schmancy grad school writing program). In an effort to sober up, do something productive, and make good on my promise of cake my friend and I baked a cake. A cake that will become my first ever Dirt Cake. The best part is, is that no one that I have encountered in Canada thus far has any idea what a Dirt Cake is (Oreo cookie crumbled onto top plus add gummy worms) but it is fun to tell them and have them act like I invented it. Actually, my mother never made me a Dirt Cake, probably due to the fact that it costs like 25 bucks to get all the ingredients to make a decent one. I was so appauled after discovering the cost I called my mother and left her a message saying I forgive her for never making me one.

I called my mother a few times today. She didn't answer. I called my father to see what was going on. He informed me that they were watching the season finales to all their favorite shows and could not come to the phone and the only reason he answered is because they were in a commercial break. When I called my brother earlier and asked him what he was doing he said he was watching Lost. Seriously, how was I surprized that I would get into TV writing, it's the only way for me to be in contact with my family.

Gotta go Wayne's World is on TV! Isn't it funny when a movie you have seen at least 14 times and own comes on TV and you drop everything to watch it. Alright, I have to watch Garth drink his giant blue cocktail and mouth his lines along with him.

Tip of the Day: Eating the cream out of Oreo cookies is fun. Eating the cream out of 8 Oreo cookies is the opposite of fun.

Canadian Castaway

Why Musicals, Modern Family is Moderately Painful, Effing Jobs, Wearing Red, Birthday Buddy, Cauliflower Virgin, Motherly Advice, Wonderment

Day 271

Who the hell thought of the concept of a musical? Seriously, I am watching Grease. I haven't seen this film since I was in high school and I am thinking the same thoughts. Why the hell is there music? When is the music going to stop? Why are jokes from the "1950s" not that funny? The Grease Lighting scene looks like an act at a high end gay club. How did John Travolta feel about rubbing saran wrap on his crotch? Why am I watching this movie? These are generally the same questions that the 15 year old me had. But this time I know why I am watching it.

I am watching Grease right now to get the Modern Family taste out of my mouth. Okay so the only thing that has gone into my mouth is some mint iced tea and white cheddar-flavored popcorn, but seriously, I need to take a break from watching Modern Family. The reason: it is easily one of the very best shows I have ever seen, ever. This would be wonderful except that I am supposed to be spending all day writing my own television series. I have spent breaks writing up scene cards and typing up outlines into my computer with the intention of presenting them to my advisor. Then I watched another episode of Modern Family and realized that I am unoriginal and tiresome with my piddly ideas. The thing that I didn't think about is that every episode of Modern Family went through many drafts and people before it was even close to ready for shooting. Maybe I will remember this tomorrow when I am having round 2 with my ideas and outlines.

At breakfast I asked one of my friends to go out on a walk with me. He agreed to an afternoon walk. Then, I realized that I had just asked a man in a wheelchair on a walk. Luckily, he thought that it was hilarious.

This afternoon I called the bar that I interviewed at last week to see if the manager was in. I spoke with a bartender who told me that the manager was out of town until Wednesday and they had already done the hiring. After that blow, I looked at my phone to see that my current co-worker from the Post Office had called 5 times and texted me twice, once in the third person. It was only moments after that that I decided to go ahead and apply to work the front desk at the Tennis Centre despite the only time I played tennis I was hit in the eye.

At supper this evening a couple things happened. First, when I was in line several people mentioned that I looked good and color-coordinated. Geez, wear a red shirt and lipstick and people get worked up. Next, I discovered that the quiet girl who hangs out with idiot boys was born just two days before me in the same year, even though she looks 3 years younger than me. Also, the guy who invited himself to watch Glee in my room sat by me. I turned him down that day, but allowed his company this evening. He made special note for me to look at his food tray and notice that there wasn't food all over the tray part as he can never keep it on the plates. Then, he announced that he has never eaten cauliflower before and that he was going to give it a shot. He picked up a piece of steamed cauliflower with his fingers, ate it and declared, "That's not bad." Yeah, so that was my dinner, geez, at least there was meat.

I spoke with my mother over the phone this evening. She listened to me complain about how much I suck at coming up with original, clever ideas I listened to her complain about having to drive for 6 hours with my father and his sister and husband (my aunt and uncle). My aunt is a lovely woman who talks, a lot, and is self-deprecating but not in a humorous way. Her husband is a large man who loves to argue about the virtues of Christianity using anecdotes from events that occur at the super church that he works for, the same church that cut his salary by a third despite a growing membership. And my father is--well, my father. The rest of my mother and my conversation was mostly me telling my mother how to sneak alcohol into the car, what to choose to bring based on smell, container, and the types of questions my relatives would ask about her beverage, while my mother whined, "Why can't I just like vodka?" This made me realize that no matter how far you go, your own family is the most hilarious thing on the planet.

Wonderings:

I love that the commercial for Hoveround scooters is led by a guy named Tom Kruse.

I wonder how many people are now going into med school because they saw doctors on TV.

I wonder how long my bodyguard can ignore me for on video chat.

I wonder who thought of the name "Happy meal." But more so, I wonder exactly what they got paid.

I wonder if Rhea Pearlman still has the Kewpie doll earrings she wore on Cheers.

I wonder if there really is a family of skunks nesting in the courtyard outside my window. I wonder if I will be afraid of them or try to tame them for a circus show. ?Hey, maybe then I'll be able to pay back my student loans.

I wonder will the kids of Glee take every Gaga song and make it sound Glee-ified, (generic musical) as it gets?

I wonder if Taylor Swift is actually a squirrel. And if she is, where is her tail?

I wonder...a lot.

Tip of the Day: Don't think about the gelatinous goo atop your piece of pie just eat it.

-Canadian Castaway

Write! Go!, I Hate You, Dinner Adventure, Fish Funeral, Rock Throwing, Valentines Day Confession

Day 270

My day started at noon. Until three p.m. I ate processed cheese slices and watched Father of the Bride while cleaning out my desk drawer. This is the type of thing that writers do to avoid writing. I don't even like Father of the Bride. The thing is though, I was filling away all the copies of my own stories that I had written over the course of last semester. So really I was my own plot device. Each copy reminded me that I am capable of producing work, albeit, mostly shitty work, but work nonetheless. The best part though is when I pulled out papers that my high school kids had written during the free write time we give them--the time when we say, "Write! Go!" I read the beginning of a kick ass story that one of my kids had written and thought to myself, it is as easy as that, "Write! Go!" And then I thought, "Shit, he's like 10 years younger than me and kicking my ass on the page."

So I took a walk to get away from Steve Martin (I've always hated that guy) and think about my show. I noticed that I had a missed call from my dad, which is peculiar. I honestly had no idea he even knew how to operate his cellphone. I called him back and my mother answered, pretending to be my father. They love this game. And I love playing along, saying things that they will think are funny just so they can say them to each other and laugh. After a few minutes of this my mother and I were talking over each other, competing for hilarity and relaying the stories of our days when she played her routine. My mother is a woman of many comedy routines. She has two favorites:

1. The one where she pretends to be a telemarketer trying to sell National Geographic magazines from the 1960s. This routine can be quite hilarious as she will usually say that if you purchase a hundred copies she will send you potato salad. This routine can also be quite tedious as some days are not as funny as others and those routines carry on for upwards of 10 minutes.

2. The other routine she has (the one she pulled today) is that if you talk at the same time while on the phone with her she will purposely talk when you start talking again and again. Then she will start yelling, "Shut up!" every time you say anything or breathe. This can also be quite hilarious or annoying, but today it was hilarious. Today she finally got me to shut up and all she had to say was, "I hate you." Which in translation means I love you. I was so inspired by her fiery-ness that after I hung up I immediately had an idea for my thesis and sat down in front of some forgotten Science Building on wet cement steps and started writing. All I have to say is, "Thank you, Mom. I hate you, too."

Since I was pretty much in my room all day going to dinner was an adventure. Though, I must say living in a rez dinner usually turns out to be an adventure, just most days you are not in the mood for it. The adventure today came in two parts:

1. On the way into dinner I saw a black spot on the wall next to the dining hall. Being habitually curious I went up to it. Turns out it was a bat. The guy I was walking into dinner with had a look at it too. Then another guy at my rez came out to see what we were looking at. There was something to this second guy looking at the bat but I didn't quite know what it was. It wasn't until after I had dinner that I realized I just looked at a bat with the only guy I have ever given a rubber bat to as a present. Weird.

2. At dinner they served lima beans. Before I even realized what I was doing I started to ask people around me if I could have their lima beans. The only person who obliged was the big American guy next to me whose response was, "You can have them all." I made a joke to him about how you can always tell the fat girl in the room because she is eating off of other peoples plates. After I gobbled up a mitful of carrots, and speared 12 pieces of radish into my mouth, and ate all of his green beans, peas, and lima beans I realized that this is not the case of the fat girl, this is the case of the vegetable junkie. The good news is, is that vegetables are a cheap and widely available drug and I won't have to become a whore. The bad news is, if I keep eating carrots at this rate I will turn into an Oompa Loompa that is if eating lima beans turns your hair green.

After dinner I went to visit a friend who has just returned from a trip to my glorious country. She was telling about the states that she visited and I was catching her up on gossip when our mutual friend entered and presented her with a tiny box. I was excited, thinking that he was giving her jewelry as a present. Turns out though, the box was really a coffin with a dead fish inside. While my friend was discovering the Wild West our mutual friend was discovering that her fish had died just days before her return. Luckily, I was around to officiate the ceremony of the burial (I had spoons to dig with). We buried the fish outside my friends window and made a very nice memorial with pine cones and kind words.

After the funeral we held the reception. The reception turned out to be us going around the side of the building looking into our friends windows. The first window we looked in was one of a couples room. The male of the couple was sitting in one window and the next window, with a wall dividing them, was the female of the couple. The male of the couple made a heart with his hands and pointed to where his girlfriend would be sitting on the other side of the wall. She had no idea he was making a heart, she was yelling down to us asking what we were doing. The next window we went to I threw a rock at, seeing as the blinds were down but the window was open. Then a few seconds passed, and just as I was about to throw the next rock, our friend emerged yelling at me not to throw rocks at her window. Guess she wasn't very excited to see us. I was about to throw something at the final window, when I realized there were no rocks around, I yelled up. This friend emerged in the window next door to the window we were yelling at. She was more friendly. She just laughed at the fact we were bombarding the wrong window. All in all, despite there not being any ham sandwiches or church ladies and weak coffee, this funeral reception was the best one I have been to yet.

Tonight I watched the movie Valentine's Day. Okay, so I watched it under the guise of wanting to see it due to my loyalty to Garry Marshall (one of the greatest TV writer/creators of all-time) but let's get real. Confession: As much as I puff myself up and pretend to be a hardass and, as much as I literally try to believe that's who I am, I still believe that there is a possibility for my prince charming to show up and totally understand who I am and bring ,me chrysanthemums with googly eyes attached to them because I think that is hilarious and he'll magically know it. And some nights I will lay in bed thinking about moments in movies that made my heart tickle or moments that I wish would happen with people that are ohh so wrong for me except in the moments I manufacture in my head. Garry Marshall-I love you, and I love and hate you for making me into a weepy wishy washy romance chaser (thank you).

Tip of the Day: If saying what you want to say is corny say it anyway, who doesn't love corn?

-Canadian Castaway

Productive Laughing, Getting Out High and Lowlights, Lysol Vs. Mold, Psychic Premonitions

Day 269

So once again it is nearly 3 am. But today was a different story...

This morning I did little piddly things around my room like doing most of the dishes and purchasing Modern Family Season 1 on I-tunes and thinking that RAM was all the memory on my computer and it only said 4 GB and Modern Family was more than that. I had a frentic facebook chat with my friend who explained to me what RAM and C: meant. Anyway, when my mother called she asked what had I been up to and it wasn't until that point that I realized all the trivial little shit I had been doing was essentially nothing. And they say mothers are supposed to make you less stressed out.

I went to a coffeeshop and started being freakishly productive, it was like for the first time in a year I didn't have ADD. I had The Black Keys blasting in my headphones and I was writing letters and reading other peoples 20 page stories. But, in the background a gaggle of 18 year olds were hanging out and laughing. Now, I always sorta made fun of my grandmother when she would wince at loud noises like they were painful and, it wasn't until today that I understood the wince behind loud noises. The teens laughter would get so loud it would blast through my Black Keys and pierce my eardrums. I must be getting to be a softie, because it really didn't bother me. I actually thought, "Eh, they are having a good time, how can I be mad at that?" Maybe I am just becoming Canadian or my grandma.

For over a week now my bodyguard who is now back in India has been telling me daily on gmail chat that I need to get out of the house. At first I thought this was because he was concerned about my well being but now I am starting to think that it was because he wanted me to shut the hell up on the chat already. So tonight me and a few other writers were all sitting around on facebook and decided that instead of drinking at home alone we could all meet at a location and drink. Apparently, this is what writing programs are like. Personally, I need to get on the wagon...just as soon as the booze in the fridge runs out.

Here are the highlights from the party:

I got into a fight with someone (a Canadian) about the book/blog Stuff White People Like. Apparently, so she'd heard, there is going to be one about black people coming out soon. Anyway, she thinks that Stuff White People like is horribly offensive. When people tried to tell her that it was a satire on racial stereotypes she said that is was "too simple" and that the "intention" of the book was to be funny (duh) and that some people who read it probably believe that all white people like Whole Foods. She asked who would buy the book and I said, "I did!" So I was right, Canadians don't get American humor, specifically, satirical explorations or maybe she is just a little off from all her trips to Whole Foods this week.

My mother called at one point--okay, she called when I was going to bite my friend Ben's shoulder. She got on the phone with him and told him to bite me back. She also told me to have a drink for her. I had several.

Due to me being a drunken lummox I broke one of the hosts ceramic chopsticks. Okay, so I didn't even realize it was broken until he said, "Can I talk with you in the kitchen?" I pounced in there thinking that I was special and we would chat about something fun like cake. What really happened was that he gave me a lecture entitled, "You need to be more careful with other peoples things." I felt really bad about the chopstick but he probably couldn't tell due to my face being all witchy from his lecture.

And that about wraps up what happened at the party. When I got home though I could still smell the new Lysol cleaner in the air. I had purchased the cleaner earlier in the day after a conversation with my mother (yeah, I talk to her all the effing time)about the mold smell I've had in my bathroom for months. I told her that I was going to move out. She asked me if I have really scrubbed my shower. "No," I said. Who knew that cleaning your shower could get rid of the mold smell? Duh, it is amazing that I can dress myself. I went home and scrubbed and as of now there is no mold smell, only the wonderful smell of Lysol. I wonder what is more harmful? Maybe the Lysol is addicting. What if the mold smell was still there but Lysol smells stronger and doesn't really clean anything, just makes it smell better. Shit.

Why I am Psychic Reason #32:
On the way over to the party (it became a party because I invited tons of people, tee hee hee) I rode the bus past a Starbucks a friend of mine hangs out at. I had this incredible urge to look for him. I glanced over, but something inside me told me to look again, and wouldn't you know it a different friend of mine was sitting in the window facing me. We shared a wave and some funny hand gestures and the bus pulled away. This could mean I am psychic. It could also mean I am living in a tiny incestuous community. But, I still didn't see the friend I was actually looking for so if I make predictins they could be way off.

Sidenote: Pretty sure that my bodyguard just saw me come online and immediately went offline. Geez, I need to get better friends. Well, I am off to put up an ad on craigslist. "Looking for friends that want to chat with me on gmail and don't hate me." Goodnight, Moon.

Tip of the Day: When you ride the bus always stand next to the only other American on the bus and bitch like crazy about Canada.

-Canadian Castaway

Movie Lover, Bird Rescue, The Woodsmen, Observation Deck

Day 268

Okay so it is nearly 2 am and I have been at a dinner party (drinkng party) since 7 pm. So let's make this quick so that I can go to sleep before I start feeling hungover. Here is what I remember of today:

I returned the movie Three O'Clock High to the movie store and promptly disagreed with the clerk about the merit of this film. I saw very little redeemable things. There were only two things I liked: the camera work and the fact that the two film geek characters wanted to make a documentary of the fight that the film was based around, they were way before their time. Anyway, the clerk guy is apparently basing his existence on this film. Shit, I bet I'll wind up marrying him and arguing this for the rest of our lives.

At the post office today there was a pigeon who had gotten into the building. I took this as the opportunity to abandon my co-worker and try to lure the bird into following me to the door. Apparently, the sound of my voice isn't very convincing, but two french fries ripped into tiny pieces got him the thirty feet to the door, through one set of doors and then another. I went back inside quite pleased with myself. I looked over at the study area nearby and a clutch of people were clapping for me. Who doesn't love being a hero?

A few weeks back I won a plant named Hank at Drag Queen Bingo, that night I also won a porno called, The Woodsmen. This porno was chosen due to it being Earth Day. After I won it I was swarmed by a gaggle of gay men who wanted to buy it from me. I didn't sell it to them and I never really knew why until tonight. So tonight, after a few drinks, a some people and myself made a trip to the TV room to see if Channel 39 still showed softcore porn on Fridays, as we had heard that they do from another resident at breakfast the other day. It turns out they don't and, this is when I brought out The Woodsmen.

The beginning held tons of cumshots that caused everyone, save the openly gay man and myself who just an hour earlier had me look at his arms to tell which hand he used to masturbate with stayed. About the masturbation arm I said, "Left." His response, "Yes, but I am right-handed--gotta leave one hand free to run the mouse." Anyway, only one person maybe walked by when we watched the porno. Turns out if we want to shock people we need to watch our circle jerk porn right after breakfast.

A Few Observations (translation: I am an outta touch old person):

I really don't understand commercials that are made to look cheap. Fucking Chiquita. But I must say, I still want to eat them, further proof that if you put something on TV I will want it. i am going to blame this characteristic on growing up in America and genetics.

If a guys arm is covered in tatttoos what is he doing singing emo? Seriously, what happened to being a bad ass if you look like a bad ass. Maybe I am just being old-fashioned, maybe bad asses will start wearing polo shirts and khaki chinos.

I hate to admit this, but someone talking about how scared they were on a Disney World ride when they were in fourth grade to someone who is about to go to Disney World for the first time as a sincere warning not to go on that ride is hilarious. I wonder if I was supposed to empathize with her plight?

Has Justin Bieber had a first love? Seriously? Pretty soon we'll get 5 year olds singing songs about how their boyfriends/girlfriends are sleeping around. Shit, is not understanding popular culture the first sign of getting old.

And seriously is "He love the way I ride it" a good lyric?

I can't believe there is a show where Tori Spelling puts a bottle of wine in her cleavage. But, I can't stop thinking about how she looks like Miss Piggy.

Yeah, this is the shit I think about. Yikes.

Tip of the Day: Got to bed otherwise you are subject to a marathon of Tori and Dean Inn Love, or is this a nightmare?

-Canadian Castaway

No Eggs with a Side of Porn, Indian Earrings, Lipstick Self-Indulgence, Coffeeshop Suck, Library Suck, The Truth about Earbuds, Super Glue

Day 267

I have this new idea that I need to start getting up for breakfast, at least when there are eggs to be had. This morning I really considered staying in bed when my alarm went off but, I got up and went to breakfast anyhow. When I arrived I was finally awake enough to remember that there are no eggs served on Thursdays. I was quite pissed, and even more pissed when I found out we only had slimy sausages, instead of ham.

When I sat down at the table I was still fairly grumpy, until we started talking about porn. One of the girls at the table said that her biggest culture shock in moving to Canada from a foreign country was that one friday night she was sitting at home and discovered, "Channel 39!" This of course was porn. She claims that after a certain time at night on fridays the channel switches from regular TV to porn. We'll just have to see about that, in the common TV room of my rez of course. Guess it WAS worth getting up for egg-less breakfast.

After breakfast I went back to my room and gmail chatted with my bodyguard in India. Seeing as many people judge Americans for being idiotic, ignorant folk I always give him shit to live up to the stereotypes. I asked him if when he came back to school in the fall if he will be wearing weird Indian clothing. He reassured me that he would dress the same as he always has and they do make regular clothes in India. I ratcheted up the ignorance level with, "I thought they only made earrings in India." My bodyguard then started to play along. He gushed about how wonderful it is to just wear earrings and how he wears studs and how it's really super convenient seeing as it gets so hot in India. Damn, he's good.

I went through my ridiculous collection of lipsticks. Many of them have badass names like Aftershock and Ballistic. But, my favorite one is called, Sun-kissed Ginger. You know you need to get out of your house when you really think about what this says about who you are.

I went to my least favorite coffeeshop to work today and got the awesome corner seat with a view of a Brad Renfro (RIP) look-alike, until some jackhole with a large head and even larger headphones sat in my sight-line. Then I ordered the worst "Enchilada" ever and watched the girl working dust the rafters directly above the counter and wondered how much five-year old dust got on my shitty Enchilada. I moved on to the library at school. I roamed around three different floors looking for a spot that wasn't too sunny or crowded. Yeah, you know you are an asshole when you curse the fact that the sun is shining into a library, just to spite you and show off the dust on top of the books proving that no one reads anymore (Midol could fix this attitude but sometimes it's fun to think about later).

I finally found a spot in the library with a good view, out of the dreaded sunshine, and far enough away from people so as to make it quiet. I laid out all of my things and for the first time today was satisfied. Two minutes later he came. No, not Brad Renfro's look-alike or the hot German man who haunts the library, or God, but a non-descript Asian guy. He decided to choose the seat just on the other side of my carrel. Before he sat down he leered over the top of the carrel at me just long enough for me to hate him. He sat down and I relaxed just enough to get back into my reading and then the sniffling started. Not just a few sniffles, but rhythmic sniffing. Sniff, sniff...pause...sniff, sniff...pause...sniff, sniff. It was then that I knew I had to leave or I would've leered over the top of the carrel and told him to blow his fucking nose before I cut if off.

A piece of my giant headphones broke off so I decided to get super glue AND give earbuds another try at the same time. Why not? I could have a backup headphone device for when my huge headphones break. When I bought my I-Pod I couldn't understand how people got earbuds to fit in their ears, let alone like them better than old school headphones, so I went back to huge headphones that double as earmuffs in the winter. But, a friend of mine raved to me about the type of earbuds that fit to your ears, and as my giants were in need of repair, I was desperate for music so I picked up a pair of these earbuds. I put them in and finally discovered exactly what it is about the earbud-style headphone that I hate: they make me feel like I am wearing hearing aides. I am 26 years old, I really don't want any sort of training for wearing hearing aides. The even crazier thing is that these earbuds are likely a cause of many people needing hearing aides, especially those kids who blast shitty new emo punk.

When I went home O decided that I am grown up enough to use the kind of super glue that comes in a child-proof package. This was a stupid idea but, I needed my giant headphones back. I spent the rest of the night wondering if the, "May irritate skin" message matched up with the, "If contact with skin occurs soak in water and call The Poison Control Center immediately." I looked and looked at my finger. I swear it had a drop of glue on it and was red and may fall off, but it didn't stick to anything so I was unsure if it was just dead skin and a red mark from the pressure of holding together my headphones. I even went to dinner and asked several people if my finger looked alright to them. I got a speech about how super glue was invented for use in war time to heal skin quickly. I also got a guy saying the following when he couldn't quite hear me, "Yes, your finger is fat?" At least I think he didn't hear me. That fucker.

Tip of the Day: Craig Ferguson has the hottest hands I have ever seen. I don't know how that is a helpful tip, you figure it out.

-Canadian Castaway

Presidential Goals, Burrito Conviction, Missed Connection Witness, Booger Window L-Spot, Unpopularity, Namby Pamby

Day 266

This morning I read in my horoscope that I should try to set a goal that I thought was impossible and try to attain it. My goal wasn't to become president or become CEO of Frito Lays, no, my goal was to write the script for half of my TV show in one day. I didn't attain this goal (though I got around the halfway mark). At first I thought it may be that it was because I was distracted by laundry and tiresome things like eating and sitting too close to strangers on the bus. But, the real problem here is either that I didn't pick a big enough goal, or, my horoscope didn't really say when or if I would achieve the goal. Hmm... Wonder what my campaign slogan will be, "Let me be your horoscope fulfillment. Vote Emily!"

To write my TV show I needed two things: a burrito and lots of black coffee. I hopped a bus that wound up taking a half an hour. Normally, during my pre-coffee stage of the day I get a little paranoid and a lot hysterical so today I sat on the bus next to a hot guy who stunk horribly of BO and convinced myself that I am slowly dying of mold poisoning. Finally, I got off the bus and stumbled down the street toward a burrito place I had never been to but heard is quite good. Turns out I was on the wrong street, somehow, in my stupor I managed to cross a huge street without the aid of a stoplight and found the joint. When I finally got there I didn't know what to order. I told the cute punk rock guy behind the counter, "I think I'll have the Jonny-O burrito?" His response a sexy, "Yeah, you will." Why can't there be someone around all the time that says that to me when I am indecisive and not trusting my gut (ha, literally)? Maybe I could re-enact the event with him another day and have a hidden tape recorder on me--that wouldn't be too creepy. Right?

The second thing I needed to work on my goal was coffee. I went to a coffeeshop around the corner from the burrito joint. While I was "working" on my script I often looked up to stare absently at strangers. One of these was a creeper-looking guy sitting so that his laptop faced the wall and his eyes could rove the entire room (not unlike myself). I watched him watch a woman come in and order a coffee and a grin jumped up his stone face. Then I realized that I was witnessing a craigslist Missed Connection happening in real life. Sadly, I also took note that the girl wasn't noticing him at all and would probably never be lonely or bored enough to read his desperate search plea. But, he'll keep seeing girls and writing about them and she'll keep living her life oblivious, or maybe not.

So, there is a spot in the library that my friend likes. I am a little sluttier than she is, I have been moving around that place from L-spot to L-spot. I roamed around today and thought of my friend who is now out of town and searched for her usual spot near the window, which means that I was searching for a spot next to a recycling bin and with a booger smear on the window next to it (her description). I couldn't find her exact spot as I realized that people thought I was staring at them and saying, "I'm not staring at you, I am looking for a booger on a window" just sounded inappropriate. I found a new spot for myself. This spot had a "Please Do Not Write on the Walls" sign on it and had writing on the wall next to it. I'd like to think this is a metaphor for my life that I am too simple-minded to figure out.

My bodyguard who is now back home in India and I have been chatting a lot over gmail chat. Usually our chats are about who is more Aragorn-like, how hot India is, and who says hi to him through me. But lately I have been whining to him about how depressed and grumpy I am (half true, half exaggerated). He has been telling me that I need to get out of my room and do something with other people (he referred to these people as my friends). He actually demanded that I make plans. In an effort to appease him and see his reaction I posted a comment on our program's facebook page asking if anyone would want to hang out with me, as my bodyguard says I need to get out. It's been nine hours and I have yet to receive a response from either him or anyone else. I guess I have an actual reason to be depressed now. Oh well, it's the kid no one wants to hang around with that uses this to create whole new worlds through writing to exist in and sell to film companies. Question is, does that make them happy? Damn me for being the 3rd grader who when asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" answered, "Happy."

TV diary entry for the day: I have been watching a British show called, "Waiting for God" it is about two old people living in a retirement home and raising hell. I laughed and laughed and loved how they used words like "pratt" and "namby pamby." I would've fully enjoyed it had I not realized that I have been thinking about writing a show set in an old folks home. I guess I could still do it, but it would be all American with no namby pambies or pratts. Ahh, forget that.

Tip of the Day: When you answer your phone and tell your friend that you are sad that they aren't the bar that you applied at telling you that you got the job, your friend will likely be pissed off that you greeted them with such a lack of enthusiasm. Now your friend will hate you AND you won't have a job.

-Canadian Castaway

Similar Life, Work Part, TV Part, Not a 7-11 Slurpee Virgin No More, Mothers and Stress

Day 265

Sometimes it's hilarious how similar life here can be to life I had at home. I mean sure, I don't have a car here, the ocean is just steps away, the men are better looking here, and I can't raid my parents fridge, or run to Target here but, most of what I did today was exactly what I would've done back home: worked a job I don't care about and watched TV. Luckily, I can find these things entertaining. Here's an All-American/Canadian day in review:

The Work Part:

Honestly, I have been a little freaked that I am becoming one of those jaded Postal Workers that are cast in sitcoms as comedic relief. Turns out though, today wasn't so bad, even some of the customers were okay. Here are the winners of the day:

The cute guy with the nose ring who said that it was his first time mailing anything. Usually in this circumstance I would be mildly to moderately annoyed, but this guy let me say, "Gee, it's a big day for you." He laughed and nodded. "Here is your tracking number," I said, handing it over. He looked at it all wide-eyed. "Now, I know the excitement of your first mailing was a lot to handle for you, so take it home with you and maybe tomorrow--if you are ready--you can look up your package online." He laughed louder.

Another favorite, the tiny Japanese woman who kept asking me how long it would take for each service to get her package to Japan. The fastest time was 2 weeks and went up to 6 weeks depending on the type of service she would choose. After I repeated all the delivery times to her she pointed to the most expensive option on the computer screen I was showing her and said, "Cheapest! Cheapest! One week!"

The woman who was actually not pissed off about the amount of postage we quoted her for her package was amazing. I told her, "I am so glad you are happy about this, most people yell complain about the rates." She said, "Maybe you should just tell them, 'Yeah, you have two options: pay it or leave.'"

My absolute all-time favorite customer of the day was the lady whose phone rang while she was up at the counter. She jumped up and said, "It's me! That's my phone! Someone's calling ME! Can I take the call?" Again, usually I would be mildly to moderately annoyed, but her excitement made me AND everyone in the Post Office excited for her. After the phone call she hung up and looked at me and asked, "Is it incredibly obvious that I am single?" I laughed. "That was the library and I thought it was some mister calling me. Hahahaha." I rang through her express mail and gave her a tracking number. "Great, maybe I can track this on Friday night between 7pm and midnight."

The other wonderful part of the Post Office today was that my co-worker decided that she wanted to tell me her feelings about me through text. My phone is now full of exchanges like, "Hatred." "Annoyance." "Malevolence." "Disdain." She is my favorite co-worker.

The TV Part:

Let's just start with, Toddlers in Tiaras is a sickly addicting show. How can a two year old girl's ambition in life be to become Miss Universe? Other observations:

-A 6 year old fanning herself with a thousand bucks is a disturbing image but, not as disturbing as her bouncing up and down with a friend backstage singing about winning the money.

-"I'm going to do pageants until my back starts cramping and I get old," said the 7-year old 5000 dollar winner.

-The commercial after the show was my favorite though. There is nothing like wondering what the ShamWow guy's life is like. I wonder if he is truly proud to be the ShamWow guy. Nothing like hearing, "It's like a shammy and a towel!"

In other news, what the hell is with Christina Aguilera's new video? Copy Gaga much? It's shit like this that makes me wish I'd never had my friend steal me a TV. Oh well, if I ever turn off my TV set and go out into the real world at least I will have a conversation topic at the ready. A topic that will allow me to pick out all the Gaga-haters so I can start the process of unfriending them.

At supper this evening I thought I'd ask a few friends if they wanted to accompany me to the supermarket or go get a slushie. They all declined and actually looked annoyed that I had asked, everyone that is except the movie guy. You know, the guy who walks like a penguin, and brings over movies for everyone in my residence hall to watch. The same guy who throws hissy fits when things don't go his way. But, in my desperate, I-don't-want-to-go-back-to-my-room mood I agreed to him coming with me. Hell, I could use a friend, I thought. He suggested we go to the 7-11 for Slurpees.

Now, there aren't really any 7-11s where I come from so I have never had an official, Slurpee. He brought me to the closest 7-11 and I watched as he poured Pepsi-flavored slushie, then Lime-flavored slushie, then Cream Soda-flavored slushie, then blue-flavored (whatever the hell blue is)slushie, and then bubble-gum flavored slushie, and finally orange-flavored slushie into a monster cup. My mix was just bubble gum, cream soda, and orange. I was so excited about my Slurpee that I told the clerk that it was my very first official 7-11 Slurpee. He seemed unimpressed. I then asked him if he drank them too. He said, "Yeah, sure." Translation: Fuck, off.

The Slurpee was fantastic. Okay, so I only drank half of it, but I am sure I have at least 6 new cavities owing to its awesomeness. The only unawesome part of the whole outing was when movie guy suggested, "I'll just come watch Glee in your room." But, he said it in the tone of every superficial guy in teen movies that doesn't end up with the girl. It was then that I told him that I do not want to share my TV with anyone. Who the hell says that? Okay, so it was really a euphenism (I just realized that now). He skulked away to his lab and I walked home, laughing at the fact that I don't want to share my TV with anyone and alternately, being sad that I don't really want to share my TV with anyone. Well, not anyone who wants to share it with me at the moment. I really need to meet people to share my TV with. (and, I really need to stop saying, 'share my TV with.')

As you can see my day kinda sucked. Seriously, if I have nothing better to report than the shitty pseudo-reality shows I see on TV tomorrow I will have to do something drastic. I will admit that my melancholy stems from lack of completed work on my thesis. And, of course, I will take out all of my anger on others for awhile and not realize it before I actually believe I can write something again. (Hey, I never claimed to not be a diva) Anyway, I recently read a yahoo.ca news topic that said that calling your mother will reduce your stress level by a ridiculous (probably unmeasurable) amount. My mother listened to all of my bitching and ranting, paused, and said, "You know, it's probably around your time of the month coming up."

Tip of the Day: Bob Dylan's son who was in the Wallflowers now has a solo career today with mopey backup singers and his voice sounds more like his Dad's everyday, plus he has gorgeous eyes. But, don't start a music career if your Dad was Bob Dylan, you'll always be compared to him and never come close to matching up but don't become the ShamWow guy either.

-Canadian Castaway

Mourning Morning Cries, The Hulk Wins Over Robots Always, Interview?, Skunk Hunt, TV Diaries

Day 264

I forgot how much it hurts to care about someone. I forgot that sometimes this means you have to say goodbye to them on a street corner, pretending you aren't crying when clearly you are, and you don't want to look back, but you do, and you wave until the van pulls out of sight, and then you go inside and cry with your forehead against the wall. Then you'll think, gee that was the last time that person will throw rocks at my window and I didn't have anything else to say but, "Theo from The Cosby Show was the hottest ever when he got cornrows." Just in: Despite me trying not to be I am a human being--well, at least until the superhero unitard I ordered on Ebay gets shipped.

If that morning wasn't enough I had to go to work at The Post Office today. While the line kept growing and I kept getting told, "The last time I was here it was only 6 dollars to send a giant box to Hong Kong" I looked over at my friend who was just as busy and he said, "I have become a robot." It was then that I realized that this was the key to Postal Success: become a robot. This was exciting news, who doesn't like robots?! The only problem is that robots don't really want to take the 22 dollar package to Hong Kong and smash it on the floor, and I kinda like wanting to smash things. I guess I am more Hulk than Robot.

I went to my third official job interview today. This time it was for a neighborhood pub. My first official I-have-a-work-permit-to-work-legally-in-this-country-bitches interview. Since it was directly after I got off from what my mother calls, "postmistressing" duty I had to change, apply makeup, and catch a bus in an hour. When I arrived I was a tad nervous, the woman who was set to interview me waltzed up to me and asked, "What you doing for work?" I have never gone to a job interview where I was asked what I was doing for work. The rest of the interview was her asking me about school and how Canada differs from the States. After I was guided by a customer to the only door that actually opens to the outside world I stumbled to the bus stop thinking, "Did I just get that job? I have no idea."

On the way to supper I went into the foyer of the dining hall building where some girl pointed to a bush just outside and declared, "You just walked by a skunk! There is one in that bush!" After supper I was speaking to my mother on my cellphone outside and related the story. Her reaction to the skunk visitor, "Get your ass inside! It'll bite you!" My reaction to her reaction: go skunk hunting. I kept her on the line just to prove that I still do the opposite of everything she tells me to do. I snuck around in the middle of the yard, far from the bushes that the skunks are building a condo in. I didn't see any skunks at all. I detailed it to my mother over the phone with her yelping on the other end, scared. I crossed over to cut through the hedges and as I did, I heard a noise in the bushes. All of my bravery drained away and I ran screaming inside. Mom: 2,987 Me: 0.

So, instead of reading the short stories I am supposed to read for the magazine at school I have decided to watch TV. Here are a few things that I have noticed about TV today:

Somehow watching Intervention and drinking cheap wine seem to go together. This is obvious, but I did some research, when you ask everyone you know if they drink and watch Intervention they will tell you they do.

If you have cable TV you can always find Cheers and/or The Cosby Show on air at any time of day. All I have to say about that: Thank, God.

For the first time ever I watched a TV show with my friend, who was on Skype watching the same show at the same time in a different city. The echo was kind of annoying, but having someone to ask, "Am I a Hoarder?" to every two minutes was kind of nice.

Commercials have not gotten any better. I don't really know what I was expecting. I guess that they don't have the threat of cancellation, so maybe the evolution of them is at a slower rate. But seriously, if you made a laundry detergent commercial hilarious or so artistic that it is hilarious I may be more willing to spend 7 bucks more per bottle than the cheap brand.

Shows about how Raisinets and other movie theatre candies are made are actually just like watching Mister Roger's Neighborhood, without ever going to The Land of Make-Believe and there are waaaay more fat people.

Tip of the Day: There are never never-ending refills at home, and that ain't no double negative.

-Canadian Castaway

Bad Morning, Eff the F Connector, TV Extravaganza, Infomericals, Monster Balls!

Day 263

I am so glad that I am finally coherent enough to write this blog. It's been a couple of drunken and otherwise debauchery-filled evenings. But, it is time to get serious once again (yeah, right). There are so many things I've learned today. It's been a big day.

I learned that any morning you wake up smelling like a bonfire and your bed is full of sand is not a good way to begin your day. And waiting around for your friend to call you for lunch is not a good way to go about things either. Turns out going to the French cafe is also not a good choice. Everything there looks so effing delicious but tastes bland. The only cure for this type of morning is shopping at the dollarstore.

I went in the dollarstore to pick up some coaxial cables to plug in the TV that my friend stole for me last night. Turns out there are TVs lying around for the taking in this country just not nearly so many as in the U.S. and when you take them here you feel guilty about doing it. Solution: Make your friend do it and have a bad enough conscience to get over it right away and realize that you just saved alike 200bucks, who cares if you don't have a remote.

Anyway, I thought I was pretty fresh considering that I even knew the name of the cable used to hook up a television set, though I am pretty sure I have never done it before. When I got into the store I marched right to the section of cords and looked around like I knew what I was doing for exactly 5 minutes, and then an English man came nearby and said, "Lots of cables here, huh?" And that was when I dropped the act. "Yep. Can you help me? What do you know about hooking up TVs?"

On the way home I was staring at the coil of cable I purchased as per the stranger customer's suggestion. Seriously, have the right pitch of British accent and I will do anything you say. Turns out the cable doesn't just read, "Coaxial Cable" on the label it says things like, "Gold Plated" and "F Connector." I called up my dad and asked if I had purchased the right cable, he said that I did. Then he asked, "How long is it?" "15 feet," I said, reading off the label. "Why the hell'd you get it so long? Didn't you look around for a shorter one? Fifteen feet, that's ridiculous." "It's all they had, Dad," I said, knowing that I had just taken what the British man handed me.

When I got home I plugged in my 15 foot cable which is now all over my floor like an anorexic snake. And for the first time in years I have my own television that is hooked up to actual TV (not just for DVD playing). I have more than five channels! I may not have a remote, but damn I feel fancy. I started flipping through all of my channels and watching. Here are a few things that I watched so far:

Ihe end of The Princess Bride. Just the other day I was telling people that I will never believe in love again, unless I watch The Princess Bride. Did I mention I just turned on the TV and it's on again? Damnit, true love still exists.

An infomerical for Marie Osmond creepy porcelain dolls. The best part is when they lift up her dress and rub her cloth belly saying that it's a great place to do some journaling.

Cartoons got creepier. Yeah, I think computer animation is supposed to make them look more realistic, but really it makes the little animal-type creatures look nearly as creepy as claymation characters.

Then there was the Good Farma dude. I have no idea what that means but apparently in life you get harvests that you are not aware of, so I don't really know a. if they even exist or b. why they matter. But, I do know that the name Good Farma is almost as hilarious as the guy preaching it having to look at the teleprompter every two seconds.

America's Funniest Home Videos. This show has always sucked. But, it sucked a lot less when Bob Saget was hosting.

My new favorite infomerical. I am currently watching this one. They are selling some sort of blender/food processor. The best part of this one is that there is an entire family cast to play along like they just showed up for a dinner party. The grandma takes one look at the hosts and says, "I bet they just woke up!" I love how they are cooking dinner together like it's some kind of circus, occasionally panning to the "family member" audience who is making tons of expressed faces and nods. Then one of them says something like, "All the items of are the same thickness, so they cook the same." This seems wrong. Everything they make they announce how many seconds it takes to prepare it. "An entire plate of nachos in 15 seconds!" Everything only takes between 4 and 30 seconds. But, my favorite is the Great Aunt Cat Lady of the fake family who looks like she is quite unimpressed. I can't wait to see how this ends. Holy shit, he just "crimped the pie with granny's teeth!!!!!"

I have really been missing out. And here I'd thought that all infomercials had pretty much stayed the same throughout time. I have some serious catching up to do. Good thing there is a little Princess Bride to take breaks with. All I need now is to find a true love that also lives and dies by infomericals. Oh and I should probably start watching the type of TV I am going to be writing. Maybe my calling is infomercials. I wonder if I could hack it.

After I finally pulled myself away from the parade of infomericals (that I am currently continuing) I went to my friend's goodbye party. I was pretty bummed out to go to her goodbye party as she is the only person around here that takes my nastiness as fun not offensive. But when she texted me about Monster Balls my sadness turned to perverse glee. A couple of weeks ago I went to a Lady Gaga impersonator contest. Basically, it was a bunch of drag queens. One of them had a guy on stage that she dripped wine all over. He looked like a hugely muscled Spanish soap opera star. He wore a tight white t-shirt that read, "MONSTER BALLS."

Turns out the bar that we were at had him waiting on everyone. We kept it a secret until one of my friends had his fifth beer and said, "You are the Monster Balls!" He admitted to having participated in the Lady Gaga impersonation contest. Then he went on to say that he normally doesn't go to gay bars and that he was drunk and just helping out a friend and his ex-girlfriend was there. He went on and on and all I could think was, "Gee, Monster Balls was much more fun when he was gay and not talking to me. But damn, I do get a little jolly out of him touching my arm."

More coherent blogging tomorrow. Preview: I have a job interview that I may be late for due to my current job. I may tackle buying a remote and attempting to program it sans British man.

Tip of the Day: British men know their TV equipment, use them.

-Canadian Castaway

And yeah, That's All

Day 262

To be continued...

I will say, I sent out an email today and told a few friends from my past to check out my blog. Which is why it is ironic that all I have to offer is the above. Please read other entries, as entries from now on will make more sense as I do not have any more going away parties to attend that actually involve me going away for a few hours. But, here is a brief summary of today's borish highlights:

Today my mom asked if I had heard from a friend of mine. I told her that I hadn't. Later that day I read her status update on facebook. Apparently, she is about to have a kid. I guess it's been quite awhile since we last spoke.

I ate three turkey hot dogs with cheese in them.

I made my friend steal a television for me.

I have sand in my hair and a little while ago my friend said the breakfast at her hotel started at 9:64 and I believed her.

I skyped with my brother and he showed me his gallon of ice cream. Then we each reached for our glasses of booze at the same time and toasted, making sure to tap the computers built into our laptops a little while later he said, "I'm telling Mom!"

I just turned on a fan and my friend said, "That sounds like a vibrator."

Note: Wish I had more to offer at this moment. Until tomorrow. Remember this message is, to be continued...

Tip of the Day: When you help some lost Asian kid to help his friends on the beach, prepare to stay a long while and write a really shit blog that you will be ashamed of come tomorrow. But, someday you will know what all of this meant and it will become a hilarious anecdote.

-Canadian Castaway

Note:

2 am on Finnish Vodka and Sangria...

Day 261

So blame Finland for this maybe shitty blog entry as it is their vodka that made me incoherent and exhausted. Seriously, it's a miracle I got home and remembered that I write a blog. Here is a summarization of the day:

I spent the morning thinking about becoming an Avon lady. I decided against it because I am too aggressive and could only keep customers for so long before I scared them into ignoring me.

The rest of the morning I spent looking at shoes on Ebay. The only ones that I wanted after looking through hundreds of pairs, were the rainboots with horses on them. And then I realized that I am a less cool version of my 10 year old self.

I teared up during the youtube clip of that kid who played a Lady Gaga song on The Ellen DeGeneres Show. It was then that I realized that I still have a heart.

On my way to work I figured out that I am too good to still have a crush on the person who may never have a crush on me. (Yeah, fuck off, that's tough)

At work today my boss yelled my name repeatedly, calling me to the back office. I trudged back there to find out what I had done wrong. She said, "Show so and so your new cellphone! Show her right now!"

Apparently someone in my building is doing a study on the quality of our tap water and finding that it has tons of copper in it. I just drank three glasses. I wonder what that's going to mean to my health.

Tonight can best be summed up in the message I wrote to my friend in India after I got home: "vodka, sangria, (our friend) telling me NOT to tell you that he is smoking, vodka, grabbing peoples asses, sangria, vodka, (person in Creative Writing Progam) saying she'd have sex with me, vodka.

On the bus ride home I was that girl who was standing, holding the rail, talking to a friend when her bag is clearly thumping a person sitting nearby. Not only did this person put up with it, she told me that my bag was open on the side. Canadians are extra nice to the point of making Americans look like disrespectful idiots. Hmm....

My friend just texted me, "Make it Stop!" I have no idea how to respond to that, considering that I know he is eating delicious hashbrowns right now. That betch.

I had poutine on the way home. It is amazing, but now super awesome fantastic amazing. I do so want to meet the Canadian who thought of putting cheese and gravy on potatoes, though.

Yeah so this entry sucks, but, sometimes you need to get drunk on your friends's balcony and look into peoples windows with binoculars and look at the sunset with your third cocktail in your hand and enjoy the day and wonder how the hell you got there and when you get to that fourth cocktail you wonder where the bathroom is. Sometimes life is like that.

Tip of the Day: If you don't want to walk home alone put on your giant headphones and crank the Gaga.

-Canadian Castaway

Thievery Sucks Now, The Amazing Hank, Balderdash Nerd-Style, D and D, Canadian Vs. American Funny, Videogames, Makeup Tutorials

Day 261

I am a thief. Yeah, I totally stole 3 stamps from work today. Usually this would make me feel like badass or I'd make some remark about being tough, but now I just feel naughty. Not naughty in the I am doing this because it's who I am and I have an edge kind of naughty, but naughty in the I am doing this and I feel like I am trying to reclaim my youth, but this is the most ridiculous way to go about it way. Guess, I'll be adding 3 stamps to my next bill. Damnit, why can't I be a badass anymore.

Reason #12 why I should not have children. Remember Hank, The African Violet I won playing drag queen bingo? Well, for the first 2 weeks of him and I occupying the same space (which by the way, he doesn't pay any rent for) I was all about the care of him, staying up late at night and fussing over leaves, and buying the expensive plant potion to make him wonderful, making sure that he had some light, but not too much, that he wasn't by the window at night for fear that he'd catch a chill. But now--now, I have nearly forgotten him entirely. I gave him old water and haven't bothered to sun him at all. But, like a puppy/good child he has stayed alive and grown new leaves. Wait a minute, I can totally handle parenthood, he hasn't died yet! Hoorah! Surely, the little idiot plant loves me if he's survived this long. Aww, maybe I'll go out and buy him a another giant birdhouse to stick in his pot.

Never play Balderdash with a bunch o nerds and linguists. Seriously, they actually play to win, not to come up with crazy definitions. If you are unfamiliar with Balderdash you are given a real word that no one (unless you are crazy smart, and if you are you wouldn't have time to play games) knows. Everyone makes up a definition and you vote on the correct one based on the made up definitions with the real definition also in the running. Usually when I play this game I play with nitwits who like to think they are clever. You can always tell which definition is the real one because it is the most boring, but you always vote for the most ridiculous one. But, when you play with nerds ALL of the definitions that are made up are quite boring. I realized this after the first round of definition reading. My made up definition was,

"A disease unicorns get when they eat grass that has been pissed on by reindeer which causes them to grow a second horn located on their necks."

The one that I managed to trick them with was when I wrote a definition for a word that went like this, "a buzzword coined at the Dungeons and Dragons world championship in 1987." That one got me a few votes. I was too chicken to admit that I have never actually played D and D. Seriously, if I had high school to do over again I would replace at least one of those nights were I got drunk with guzzling root beer and playing D and D.

I gathered yet another piece of evidence on my chase to find out what is so different about American and Canadian humor. Here is the conversation I had:

Me: "Why hasn't anyone in Canada seen any John Waters movies?"
Canadian: "What did he do?"
Me: "The original Hairspray, Pink Flamingos, A Dirty Shame, Cecil. B. Demented, Serial Mom--"
Canadian: What's Serial Mom about?"
Me: "It's about a mom who is a serial killer, it's hilarious!"
Canadian: "What's so funny about a mom who kills people? I think that's terrible. Killing people is a very serious..." (and that's when I zoned out)

Tonight I heard that one of the residents in my building got a new videogame system. I was immediately jealous. I asked what sort of games he had and acted like I knew what it was like to play videogames for like 11 hours a day. It wasn't until I got back to my room and really thought about it that I realized I am a liar. I am worse than an addicted gamer, I am a wannabe addicted gamer. Yeah, I remember I was watching my brother play Zelda all summer long when we were growing up and I wanted to be watching talk shows. But now, I have a perverse desire to be someone who is comfortable playing games all day long. I have even watched my brother play Call of Duty over Skype. I need some serious help, or skills.

I just spent 20 minutes watching a teenage girl in England give video tutorials on how to apply makeup. In one of the videos she goes through her daily foundation routine, in one she tells you that purple or brown lipstick is a terrible idea for the pale-skinned person, and in one she even puts on "Florescent Pink Lips" this process involves 4 different kinds of lip product, layered. At first I tried to make fun of this, how ridiculous is it that there is a person out there who spends all of her time putting on makeup and posting it on youtube. Then I thought, how ridiculous am I, posting everyday little snarky things on the internet. I watched another video and it turns out that the makeup girl is only 12. Then I felt a little more loser-ly, what was I doing at 12? Well, if I can't remember it must not have been as cool as making makeup tutorials.

Tip of the Day: When you chase a fly out your window and think, "This time I let you go alive!" you may be maniacal or getting your period, but it's hard to say which.

-Canadian Castaway

Location Change, Friendliness Kinda Sucks Sometimes, Buddist Compliments, Code of Bus Conduct, Relocation

Day 260

This blog is a special edition. I am sitting in the second floor kitchen of my residence. The internet that comes out of my wall and allows me to watch shows on Comedy Central is down, the Apocalypse is nearing. The Mayans were wrong, bitch. At first I thought I'd go to the study lounge where there is little possibility of people actually speaking to me while I am working on this but, it is occupied by the creeper. The creeper is an old man who lives in my building whom I used give a chance but now am quite annoyed with, considering he is always leering (it isn't just his face) and he kind of lurks around and gets more and more grizzly. The other day he touched my arm at breakfast and I nearly slugged him.

Anyway, me being in a non-study room means that I will be interrupted. Damn me for being the chatty type during meals and such. Why am I so damned friendly that people think they can just come up to me and speak? Now I am being interrupted by a French Canadian who is telling me that I am his sister and not keeping his voice down enough so that we don't attract the creeper. Alright, Faux Frenchie is gone, my paranoid level is at Orange, let's get this thing started.

This morning started off with me stealing an extra plate of breakfast meat. I am eating meat like I am building a bomb shelter in my stomach (ironic, considering the current internet apocalypse). Turns out eating like 6 pieces of ham and sausage chased with black coffee makes one a little miserable. After breakfast I set off to become the creeper of the Math Department. I peeped into doors looking for my friend who now works there, stalking him to see if he'd like to have lunch with me. He wasn't there, so I went without a kiss to eat my mostly pickles sandwich alone and wonder if the pastrami in it was from the Listeria (whatever the eff that is) contaminated sandwich meat that has been circulating. After my pickle sandwich and reading some submissions for the school's lit rag (which I rejected) I went on my merry way to meet with my advisor for the first time.

My advisor is the type of person who I hear is like a mother to everyone in the program. The kind of mother who loves her kids to a ridiculous extent. She has been known to facilitate crying and hugging. My other advisor (the one I am too scared to unload) is the type to make people cry. Anyway, I emailed my new advisor (I got a new advisor because I switched my focus to Writing Television) last week a series bible, episode ideas, and outlines for my series idea. She requested that I send her my shitty pilot episode. When I arrived she immediately started to tell me that I have chops and am on track. She told me that my show has wonderful characters and interesting storylines. But, the first thing she said to me is, "You have to relax." I asked her if I should write that in a note. She said, "Yes and draw a picture of a Buddha after it." I thought, "Shit, I can't draw a Buddha. Shit!" Not, "She seems a little nutter butter." I will still take her praise, and maybe, just maybe learn how to draw a Buddha.

There was a guy on the bus that looked like Kris Kristofferson. I kept staring at him through my giant sunglasses and between flipping open my two phones (U.S. and Canadian, and I am a drug dealer). Then I realized that my lipstick had worn off and I would look much better with it on. I whipped out the lipstick tube and my giant Hello Kitty hand mirror and realized that putting lipstick on while riding the bus was way more awkward than I had imagined it would be. Despite the fact that your ass is touching a strangers ass putting on your makeup feels inappropriately intimate. Everyone's eyes lingered on me and the mood seemed to lighten, but I have never felt more like a stripper in my life. Next time I'll skip the lip paint and just whip my shirt off.

Buying a TV in Canada totally sucks. They are so expensive it makes me want to cry but, I won't because I am too lazy. But seriously, where I come from there are so many freaking TVs that you'd be a sucker if you did pay for one (well, except for those fancy ones with flat screens). There are so many TVs in America that everyone could have two and there'd still be extras. Okay, so maybe I haven't exactly weighed out all my options here and looked around for a used idiot box, but all I know is that based on preliminary research the cheapest TV you can get is 150 bucks from the Canadian (crappy) version of Wal-Mart, and that TV doesn't even look like a TV. The abandoned 1970s relic of a TV in the laundry room is looking pretty good right about now. Who knew you could be homesick for cheap TVs?

Note: So, in case you are wondering, I couldn't take the pressure of the kitchen location and moved back to my room, but not before I had my fake Frenchie brother open doors for me and tell me that I should drink tea instead of beer. Who should we run into along the way? The creeper who has taken his lurking to the halls, perhaps on his way to the very kitchen I was in. I stomped back to my room and plugged my computer into the internet cable and my life was magically restored so that I could spend all of my time watching interviews with famous TV writers and having a gmail chat argument with my bodyguard about how he wouldn't play Aragorn if we cast Lord of the Rings with people we know. This ended with me challenging him to a fight where we would be on horses and he would have a sword and I would have a gun. The sad news is that somewhere in the time between when I left and came back the person whose room is across the courtyard from me stopped doing hilarious work out moves.

Tip of the Day: When your friend comes over with his dog let the dog in and say super loudly, "Who the hell let a dog in here?!"

-Canadian Castaway