Day 253
Today I went to breakfast for the second day in a row. Turns out, not only was there meat, everyone sat at my table. Yeah, no shit. Okay, so not everyone, but some people sat by me. Anyway, the most important part was that my favorite person in the residence hall sat by me and we had a conversation that covered things from Andy Dick to The Wu-Tang Clan to how they smoke meat in Montreal. Even if there wasn't meat, I'd get up for him. Well, him and the coffee.
Not only did I get to talk to my favorite person in residence, I got to talk to my favorite hoarder back home on the phone afterward. She is a woman who sleeps all the time and when she isn't sleeping she is eating Taco Bell and Oreos or playing at the closest casino that will take her bad checks. One of the first things she said to me was, "Did you cut your hair?" I told her I hadn't, and asked why she'd thought such a thing. "Well, I saw all these pictures of you on facebook and your hair looked short and I don't know if you know this, but if fat people have short hair they look like dykes." After awhile of her huffing and kvetching I got a word in. I told her that I was going to start exercising. She said, "I'm working out right now--I'm getting dressed!" Then she acted like me calling her was a huge inconvenience and said she had to go eat at a chain restaurant with her dad, as she had seen a commercial on TV advertising something delicious. I miss home.
After these wonderful talks and 20 ounces of stolen coffee I became a rabid squirrel on uppers. To quell my energy and get more coffee I walked twenty minutes to the nearest huge grocery store. While I was there I contemplated writing the cheaper bin numbers on the bulk food that I had bagged, but had this horrid wave of Abe Lincoln-iness. I went to the self checkout and started the game of checking out my groceries and wondering why there were still cashiers and why I wasn't getting paid to be my own cashier. It was then that I noticed two different women watching me like I was a thief. The weird thing was that I kind of wished I would've put in the cheaper bin codes, just to see what they'd do if I ripped off a few cents from the store.
This afternoon I went over to my friend's house to pick her up to go do some "work." This entailed us going to two different cafes, and me talking gossip. Though, we did do some work. Apparently, my "work" meant that today I was going to type up all of my What If notebook notes. My What If notebook is basically a collection of random thoughts, bits of conversation, and story ideas that I have throughout the day. Some day I hope to turn these little nuggets into parts of scripts and stories. Here is a sampling of the ludicrous wordage I call work:
-Guy in the window moons people.
-$1 HOT DOGS
-By “Dolphin Friendly” do they mean that if they get caught in a net, they’ll make sure to club them to death? Maybe instead of putting “Dolphin Friendly” they should call it “Kevorkian Friendly.”
-"Your calculator is so big, it's like a novelty item."
-Spends life seeking out people who are sick and have birthdays.(and somehow, that makes sense to me)
-When writing a story think of the most logical conclusion and then try to imagine the most insane conclusion and write that.
-How weird are wishing wells? You teach your child to save money and then you instruct them to toss it in the water and make a wish. Really?
So, that is the kind of stuff that I think about during the day. Hmmm...
This afternoon I was supposed to go downtown to meet my friend and her family at their hotel. Turns out I am still terrified of going downtown (except to the drag queen bar). I was so wigged out about trying to find the right buses and so enraged that I seriously thought I was insane, that I started calling people up and bitching at them. Turns out though, my being a lunatic on the phone brought out the best in two old ladies on the bus, either they are super kind, super human, super Canadian people who wanted to help, or regular people who just wanted me to shut the hell up. It really doesn't matter, as they helped me find where I needed to be and warmed my cockles enough to realize that not EVERYONE is an asshole, at minimum there are two not assholes in this world. I can't help thinking about what everyone back home said after their obligatory bitching about Canada they all said the same thing, "...but you know, they are really, super friendly people." Thank you Canada to living up to your only positive stereotype. See, we aren't totally ignorant in the States.
I had my very first 3 course dinner this evening, and, at the same time, I had my very first meal that cost $40, excluding wine. This was paid for by the parent of my friend, thank God. The entire dinner I realized that I didn't know how to behave in fancy restaurants--and by fancy, I mean cloth napkin and trees growing indoors sorts of joints. I was constantly choosing the wrong silverware, taking too much butter, and wondering, "Am I doing this right? Why are rich people so effing proper, or is it just me?"
The one thing that was for certain was that I had a huge crush on our waiter. He wasn't anything special to look at, but looked at me like he understood where I was coming from, and treated me just like all the rich people in the joint. The only thing was that I couldn't tell if he was gay or not. I realized that I would never be able to tell if he was gay or not as I couldn't hit on him and not seem sleazy, though I tried to give him sexy eyes, except I am not really sure what "sexy eyes" are or how to give them. I planned out our entire romance, starting with me writing him a craigslist Missed Connection and him sneaking me expensive desserts home in his apron. There is a fine line between romantic and pathetic, so fine that I cannot see it without my glasses and I am too lazy to look for them.
My friend's parents native language is not English and in the car ride on the way home, just after I made a whispered aside comment to my friend. I swear I heard her mother say, "Corrupt" and her daughter's name while she was speaking in her native tongue. I am wondering if corrupt means the same thing in their language as in English, if it does, I am seriously doubting their sincerity of being glad to meet me.
When I came home this evening I picked up my one course meal that my friend had packed for me and walked through the lounge-y area of my rez. The lounge-y area was pretty much abandoned all year was filled with people playing board games and inviting me to play a game of pool. Apparently, my fellow nerds come out of hiding after the final courses are over for the semester. I played a game of pool with a few people, one of which is a law student. She went on and on about how she was criticized by a male employee at a clothing store. He commented negatively on how she was purchasing men's clothing and she said this made her horribly upset. She wrote a letter to the headquarters of the store stating that she was a law student and told them she could sue for such treatment. The clothing store company sent her a 50 dollar gift certificate and she shut the hell up about the whole thing and seemed quite excited. Seriously, settling for a 50 dollar gift card when you are enraged? I wouldn't want someone so spineless to be my attorney.
Tip of the Day: Cleaning your bathroom naked isn't sexy, watching someone clean your bathroom when they are naked might be.
-Canadian Castaway
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