Day 369

I am worried about going back to school. Not only will I have a million jobs, tons of classes, and a thesis to write I will see people I haven't seen for months. This didn't really concern me until today when I saw a friend of mine from the program that I hadn't seen in awhile. I greeted her with, "I hate you! Why don't we hang out?!" I meant, "I love you! I am super sad we don't hang around each other more often!" A nearby friend luckily translated my words for me. I wonder why I don't say what I mean? My guess is that it is the same reason I don't read long novels...too boring.

I woke up today and the weather was shit. I was so excited. I just hate when it is nice out for too long it becomes meaningless and I feel guilty for not going outside. I marched to breakfast in the rain, smiling. When I got there I declared my glee over the shittiness. I wasn't even two blocks away when I realized that I had been living a lie. Rain sucks.

I wonder if there are more disclaimers on tv shows in Canada than in the US. It seems to me that I don't recall TV shows that I love starting with a blah, blah, blah, "some viewers may find this content offensive." There is a good thing about disclaimers, everytime I see a disclaimer that a show will be offensive it makes me want to watch it. It's like a warning, "Hey! This is a show you will like!" The only thing that I don't understand is that I like The Golden Girls and yet there is no disclaimer on that.

This afternoon I went to the pub I work at to meet up with someone I went to high school with who is starting a program at my University. Still there? I know, that was a mouth full of backstory. Anyway, when I got to the pub I was attacked by my co-workers. It's not even like we're best friends but they immediately all had stories to tell me, bike handlebar grips to brag about, and ridiculously long hugs to give. If that weren't enough the 21 year old I often hit on was all over me. The pub is a super fun place when you aren't working, who knew?

I finally got to my high school acquaintance. Despite the fact that the only person she has kept in touch with from high school is someone who I am pretty sure still hates me to this day, we had a good time. She told me about her recent trips. We talked about what we had done and reminisced. We had conversations like:

Me: Can you believe we dated the same guy?
Her: Who?
Me: Seth.
Her: We never officially dated.
Me: Really? Because he was totally not over you when I went out with him.

Or my favorite conversation, that went something to the effect of:

Her: Yeah, I haven't written anything for a long time.
Me: Don't worry, writers don't write and any one of them who says that they do is a damn liar.

So, all was well except for the fact that I didn't bring the 21 year old home with me.

Tip of the Day: Sometimes it's a bad idea to look at old Facebook photos of people you have just met.

-Canadian Castaway

I Am so Over Titles...Untitled (aka Anti-Title)

Day 368

Despite my constant denials I read my horoscope every day and believe it will come true. It never does. But, today came very close. My horoscope for today basically said that people would piss me off and I would have to "roll with the punches." My morning started off my one of my best friends (just minutes after I rolled out of bed) Skype messaging me something along the lines of, "Fuck you." Then I went to breakfast and found out that the only guy I may have even the tiniest bit of a crush on is moving away soon and that he doesn't seem all that interested in hanging out before he goes away.

If all of those "punches" weren't enough to start my day I had to go to work. At work I had to deal with the manager making me take a less busy shift this would be okay except for her reasoning behind it, "Well, I can't have so and so on because he wouldn't know how to handle the new people." So, not only do I make less money I have to deal with training bright-eyed little butt kissers who will probably steal my tables. AND, I will have to be nice to them. They'd better at least be sexy or dispense pain pills.

Speaking of pills, the head bartender at work and the other server today were both on some sort of drugs when I worked with them today. This turned them from dull-faced, tame, cranky zombies into wide-eyed, terrified, shaking squirrels who throw away my lunch because they can't stop cleaning. Speaking of cleaning, (fucking segues, so addicting) my co-workers and I spent nearly all day cleaning out a storage room in the pub to make it a more usable space. Mostly we were covered in spiderwebs, mysterious sticky stuff, wondering what the white powder found in a drawer was, and broken glass. Speaking of broken glass, (annoying, I know) one of the broken glass-fronted refrigerators in that room needed to go out so we put it on a dolly and had people all around but it fell and shattered into a million pieces nearly crushing the new girl who can't speak English and can't stop touching me. I'm glad it didn't hit her but maybe if it would've bonked her just a little bit I wouldn't have to constantly lecture her on how she needs to clear dirty plates off the tables.

Elliott is trying to kill me. For some reason my bike (Elliott) has been super hard to pedal. It could be because the brakes are catching, things need greasing, or the fender that is cracked is rubbing against the wheel. I don't know. What I do know is that my right knee feels like the tendons are under the kneecap instead of atop. (Yeah, I know nothing about anatomy but fake it) The only other thing I know is that sitting in your room watching TV and eating lime-flavored tortilla chips doesn't make your knee feel better. Especially not after seeing that there is some mysterious possible animal feces-esque material in the bottom of your chip bag.

This afternoon I pretty much spent watching TV. Every show I had a justification for watching it. Here is a brief rundown:

-That freaking ghostbusting show.
Justification: I always turn on these shows and get disappointed because they never find anything. But this particular episode had them finding multiple things including one of the crew members seeing a face.

-The Golden Girls (2 episodes in a row)
Justification: Okay so I have seen the show a million times but how can you turn down one of the greatest sitcoms of all time? I am just going to ignore the fact that I have seen the episodes before and the fact that the show is on TV everyday.

-some weird show about the Antiques Roadshow
Justification: So, I was flipping through channels and found some old man saying that the Antiques Roadshow name should be changed. How could I not be distracted by such a disastrous idea?

-The Antiques Roadshow
Justification: I want to hear Midwestern accents to remind me of home. Also, who can resist seeing the ridiculous reactions to a set of bowls being worth thousands of dollars or a bureau worth only 100 bucks more than what the guy paid for it, or the woman who heard, "Three of the four items you've brought in are reproductions. Guess which one isnt."

-Absolutely Fabulous
Justification: Who knew I could watch full episodes on youtube? If I don't get enough Ab Fab I turn into a psychotic homicidal hag, sweetie.

Well, I am off to see what other adventures need my attention in TV land...

Tip of the Day: Don't read your horoscope, it will not end well.

-Canadian Castaway

Day 367

Today was a (dare I say) flipping fantastic day. I woke up and Skyped with my little brother who had woken up, drank two beers and ate pizza. Then I went to the grocery store with the guy who I thought ditched me yesterday. Turns out he texted me several times but had a ridiculously wrong number for my phone. As it turns out this guy may not be dating material but it was nice that he picked raspberries for me and picked up my button when I dropped it. Too bad he cut up his legs in the bramble. Ehh, fuck it, that is what you get for telling me to not whine about the weather.

After I got home from the supermarket with my three different kinds of deli meat at my side I checked my email. Not only did I have meat, it turns out I have received another scholarship. I was so glad that I did a five minute, improvised happy dance. Then I wrote a thank you note to the person who awarded me the money. I wrote the note but then realized that I didn't have printing paper that doesn't have my old scripts on one side nor did I have any envelopes to put a letter in even if I could print it. Tonight I realized with a printed, enveloped, addressed, and stamped envelope ready to go out tomorrow that I misspelled the name of the person who awarded me the money. What is a little wasted postage of the queen to a gal who has just struck it big with 650 bucks less tuition to pay? On the otherhand, perhaps she won't notice I forgot an "e" in her name...

This afternoon my mother threatened me. This happens quite often. Usually it sounds something like, "You aren't writing, you are screwing off. Now, I want you to--Shut up! I want you to put that pen--Shut up and listen to me! I want you to put that pencil to the pad right now...I WILL come up there and kick your ass...I will fly up there right now. Shut up, now!" Today she followed it up with a threat to call me in the next two hours and that I had better have produced some writing by then. This new tactic worked. I went to the coffeeshop and wrote up scenes and threads and outlines. She never called me back though so I could brag about it and get re-yelled at. Guess she shut up this time.

I just went onto Facebook to find a thread of conversation by two of my best looking friends. In the conversation one offers to marry the other. I read their exchanges like a peeper perv and then posted that I would like to attend the wedding. I just checked back on Facebook to find that their thread of marriage conversation had continued with my little comment totally unnoticed. When are the pretty people gonna see that I exist? Fuck them, if I go to their wedding they are getting a used toaster.

I must say I am a little confused by advertising. I just saw a commercial for KIA automobiles (wow, 'automobiles' I am an octogenarian). Somehow gerbils in ghetto gear rapping about nothing makes people want to buy shitty cars. For my birthday this year I want to meet the people who bought KIAs based on this commercial or better yet, I want to meet the person that thought that the way to sell cars was to market them to perverts who let rodents run up their pants.

Tip of the Day: Don't eat all the corn nuts and chase them with tortilla chips, you WILL regret it.

-Canadian Castaway

Day 366 (for real)

Part 1:

So, I am sitting in my room right now because I got ditched. I am not gonna say I don't kind of deserve it because I have been bad-mouthing my "date" behind his back. But, I am going to say that I am shocked. And that I pretty much hate everything male and single. Especially the man from the nudie beach who just walked up to me and said, "Hey, are you okay?" I thought, 'He is just saying that because I have a low-cut shirt on and he is a skeez and wants to talk to the girl sitting on the curb, fucking dickwad.' It didn't even occur to me to think, 'He is asking that because Canadians aren't used to seeing my bitchface that I wear in the ghetto and I am sitting on the curb looking insane.'

I did have a fun day today. My friend and I (a non-single, non-asswipe guy) went to a flea market. For 75 cents I was admitted entrance into a wonderland. This place is where all of the magical people with lost waistlines and not perfect teeth and people who drive their dead grandma's Buicks basically this is the place where people I call kin hang out. This is the place where you buy half-empty bottles of used shampoo and statues of cats. This is the place where ugly advertising buttons go in their after life. This is the place that forces you to wonder where the fuck that DVD was stolen from, who stole it and how. This place reminded me of home. After I bought a bunny necklace, a Norwegian flag pin, a unicorn pin, a picture of an old couple and a picture of a pig that has, "Lucille" written in cursive by someone who is probably dead now we left the market. Even though we left it will stay with me every time I look at Lucille.

Before I went to the market I watched my brother eat stroganoff and light a 3 1/2 foot candle. I can't seem to tell if video chat has made my life better or worse. All I really know for certain is that that stroganoff made me hungry and that high-fiving my brother virtually is something ridiculous that I don't want to end.

As evidence that we never really change, I want to offer up popsicles. Today I went to the store to buy some grub. I walked out of the store with hummus and a huge, beautiful tri-layered popsicle. When I ate that popsicle and walked down the street I wondered if the people passing by saw me eating it and were extremely jealous of it.

Part 2:

After I had gotten ditched I went over to say goodbye to a friend of mine who leaves on a two month trip tomorrow. We hung out for a bit and drank tea. Then I remembered that I had not seen Back to the Future 3 and I texted my movie friend to bring it over. Sometime when we were listening to the characters exposition-laden dialogue (fucking annoying) my "date" had sent me a Facebook message stating that he had not heard back from the text he'd sent me and that he was going to bed. After the movie I read the message and wrote back that I had not gotten a text from him on my phone. I saw the time his Facebook message was sent and wrote back, "Holy Fraggle Rock you go to bed at 10?!" Wonder what he'll make of that.

The only vlog I watch is vlogbrothers. On that vlog one of the brothers gave a eulogy of sorts to a 16 year old friend of theirs who passed away from cancer this week. I realize that it might be cliche to reflect on life when someone has died but fuck it. The reason that there is death in life is to remember that life ends. She was 16 years old. And here I am a whiny 26 year old bitching about some stupid boy that I don't even like as though it really matters. It really doesn't. I know that.

R.I.P. Esther Earl. Thank you for making me realize that a lot of my problems and worries are all bullshit and instead of letting them weigh me down I need to start only doing stuff I care about. Even if the stuff that I care about is bitching about things in a blog. There is so much more that I care about. Thank you. I needed that.

Tip of the Day: Sometimes when you buy "Cheese Flavour" rice crackers they taste more like, "Rotten Beef Jerky Flavour" rice crackers.

-Canadian Castaway

ONE YEAR!!!!

Day 365

It has been one year. Despite the fact that for some reason my blog from yesterday reads "Day 366." What can I say? Sometimes I am drunken. The point is last year on this very day I was having a breakdown at the car rental place where I said, "I want to go home." Last year at this time I was laying on sheets that weren't mine in an empty room not knowing why I had given up jobs where I made money and moved my life 1800 miles away. Truth is, I am still not really sure of the answer to that but, I am glad I did.

What have I learned this year?

I have learned that not all creative writers are assholes.

I have learned that academia, as much as I dislike it, contains many interesting people who aren't all assholes (well, sort of).

I have learned that we never really know anything about anything, ever. And the moment we think we do it is disproven.

I have learned that Canadians say words in a funny way and are pretty good natured when you point that out to them.

I have learned that I am an arrogant and proud American. Which DOES mean that I am loud and don't want to hear your opinion and yes, I do think Obama is gorgeous.

I have learned that it is a bitch keeping a blog everyday but it is highly addicting to say what you think and to pretend to hope that nobody reads it but secretly wish that people would and they would feel a sense of understanding.

I learned that sometimes it's fun to hit on 21 year olds and I will probably think that for the rest of my life.

I learned how important it is to have a place where you are from and the only way to not resent that place and do it proud is to move on from there and wear your homelands like a precious locket. (I know, no one wears lockets anymore)

-I learned that sometimes you will meet fellow fatties who know as much about the Gilmore Girls as you do.

Tonight I learned something very valuable. I sat there on the bus riding back from a bar, listening to Gaga and staring alternately at a woman with a deformed arm that almost made me cry and a man who I was so attracted to that I was conscience of my posturing, all the while I thinking about the past year of my life and thinking about how much I hate nostalgia. I realized that I am damn lucky. Ever since I was at the age when grownups started to ask children what they wanted to be when they grew up I always responded, "I want to be happy." And for that moment on the bus, right after I'd thought about how far I had come in this one year, I realized for the first time, without thinking about how everything could very soon fall to shit, that I was happy. I guess I grew up.

Now, I must check on the guinea pig upstairs to see if it still alive. And in case you are wondering, yes, I will continue the blog despite me saying that it was a one year deal. Seriously, what the frack else am I gonna do? I can't afford therapy. And yes, tomorrow I will (probably) be back to my snarky self. Alright, here I go, that little fucker had better be alive...

Tip of the Day: Go for it, what the hell else are you gonna do?

-Canadian Castaway

Odds and Odds and No Ends...

Day 366

I am super tired so here is a brief list of the happenings, observations and inquiries of the day:

How weird are contacts commercials? I mean can you imagine being on the casting couch where your eyes are judged beautiful enough or most likely, not beautiful enough to make it into the commercial that they probably digitally enhance anyhow.

So after I got home from work tonight I checked my Facebook page to find that I only had 2 notifications. And, I genuinely felt like a loser. It was like in the summertime when I was a 13 year old I would keep track of how many people called me each day. I guess we never really change.

How the hell is Blitzkrieg Bop only number 25 on the 100 Greatest Hard Rock Songs? I was so distressed that one of my personal anthems was in such a low-ranking spot I almost turned the show off...almost.

Today I went to get a key that will allow me access into several rooms in my department. While at the key office I noticed that they had a huge amount of plastic things to attach to your keys so that they are easier to identify I took a whole bunch of them. When I got to the pub I declared, "Do you want to see why I am employee of the month?" and slammed all of them on the bar. "Here, so we can put them on our million keys to identify what doors they go to." Sadly, no one took my picture to put on the wall and scrawl, "Employee of the Month." Perhaps they are just waiting until tomorrow in an effort to surprise me and give them time to order a cake with, "Emily is the Best!!!!!" and a unicorn on it.

The pub I work at has been without liquor for over a hundred days due to a few issues with serving minors. Now that we have re-opened we are extra vigilant about checking IDs. What is surprising to me is that not only do people act like I am attacking them when I ask for their ID, many of them freak out when I cannot take their student card as a verification piece of ID even though we never have taken them as a secondary piece and even worse, many people don't have ID on them at all and look shocked when I tell them to leave. Seriously, I wish there was a sign I could hold up that read, "You are already stupid and drinking isn't going to make you any smarter. Get the hell out of here and go hang out at the library and read until you aren't an idiot."

I just saw a commercial that is about a lawyer who is seeking motorcyclists who have been hit by cars as clients. During the normal lawyer-speaking-about-his-services voice over the camera follows a motorcyclist popping a wheelie on the freeway. At the end of his speech the wheelie popping cyclist wheelies up to the law office, takes off the helmet and reveals the two-bit lawyer type after he pulls off a helmet. To really drive home how much he knows about he says that he too has been a biker hit by a car himself. Well, duh, if you are gonna pop wheelies on a freeway... But what I wonder if it was him that came up with the idea to hire a stunt driver to make his commercial look allegedly badass.

I am supposedly going out on Saturday with a guy in my building who had 22 boxes of shit sent over here from his home country and answered his door (when he knew I was coming over) in a nightdress a la Scrooge. Today I went around bitching about it and asking people what I should do and pretty much treating the whole thing like a wacky joke. But now I am wondering if I should feel bad about it. Damn fricking conscience. I think the Canadian-ness around me is seeping through.

Tip of the Day: Don't eat more than 4 liquorice bits from Italy in a row.

-Canadian Castaway

Jobs I Didn't Apply For and Nightdresses and Rock and Roll

Day 365

Today I got two jobs that I didn't apply for. The first job is a position in my residence. Apparently, I am an "Emergency Contact" aka: The girl that you call when you are a new resident and too stupid or drunk or lost to open the key box. The funny thing is that I am probably the least welcoming person in the building. My other duties include helping people if they have emergencies. My usual response to emergencies: panic! and then ask my bodyguard to tell me what to do.

The second job I got today was when I went in to the department office to ask why the hell people are coming to me saying that I can give them money and they were told to run ideas by me regarding creative writing department concerns. Turns out I am the "chair" of the program's student association and I didn't know it. This job is apparently the same gig as the key box in a lot of ways. Except I get paid 100s of dollars more but, I still am essentially the welcoming committee for new students and the go to for concerns. Why the hell do people think I am so good at solving problems and welcoming people? All I gotta say is make me "queen" not "chair" and give me a tiara and I will be as welcoming as you want.

Today I hung out at the magazine office for my department. We bitched about each other and writing and how the heat might kill the resident goldfish and then we all started to sing a Sinead O'Connor song. Then I was suddenly struck by a wave of instant nostalgia, imagining that there will come a day when I think back on the moment we all started singing Sinead and remember it sweeter than it actually was. Maybe in my memory none of us will hold back our voices out of embarrassment and there will be a dance number.

After supper this evening I learned how to hook up A/V equipment for one of my other jobs. Note: I can barely turn on my laptop and they think I can set up video equipment. On the plus side, if I can figure it out I can project pornos on the outside wall of my building. After that I went to my new neighbors room to see the 22 boxes of shit he shipped over from his country. Apparently, it was a half ton of stuff. When I knocked (and he knew I was coming) he answered after a few minutes and he was wearing a friggin night dress. It looked like the thing the Scrooge wore in The Muppet Christmas Carol. Keep in mind that he is under 25 years old and that I sort of asked him out for Saturday. Would I be a total cunt if I told him I couldn't make it because his boxes and freaky nightgown scare the hell out of me?

The best thing ever just happened: VH1 100 Greatest Hard Rock Songs is on!!!! I have never been so friggin glad to see Bret Michaels and wonder if he took his bandanna off would his head fall off? And of course Bret Michaels is wearing a Bret Michaels shirt. Okay so I will admit this is definitely not the first time I watched this show but I do know that I will watch it EVERY time it comes on television and I find it. #60 Skid Row! I cannot decide if my spirit animal is the lead singer of The Darkness, Dio or, Lady Gaga. Best quote: "Kid Rock was a trailer park pimp."

Tip of the Day: If you can only afford to buy one rock record make sure that record is by The Kinks.

-Canadian Castaway

Things and Stuff and Things and Junk...

Day 364

This morning I went to breakfast. There are many days when I just sleep and miss out but I am ever so happy today wasn't one of those days. Nope, today was different. Today was exciting. Today at breakfast the main topics of conversation were male urethras and foreskins. I sat next to my favorite person in my residence hall today. He is some sort of med student who will probably make tons of money as a specialized surgeon one day. He told me stories, without me even asking, about how there was a guy on some sort of drug whose friends glued his urethra shut and he couldn't pee. He also told me about the guy who was bending over while doing the laundry and somehow ripped his foreskin. When the guy had gone into the emergency room the guy was all joke-y. He even said, "I've seen Scrubs, I know you are so going to go and tell this to all your friends." Umm, hell yeah! From now on I am going to start hanging around doctors, they are much more entertaining than writers and have better stories.

This morning I remembered why my best friend is my best friend. Not only did he listen to me bitch about why my thesis sucks, he had the perfect answer that didn't make me feel like a whiny bitch bag. He said, "Or, you could look at it in a different way like, if there is a new show on Fox that has the same characters as yours then you are doing good. You are in the right vein as stuff that is getting produced and put on the air." Then, when I said I didn't know what to do with what I had then he said, "Just change the genders around." A couple hours later he called back and told me exactly how I could start working on my other series idea, complete with possible character descriptions and set-ups that totally made sense and inspired me. And to think I met him in some coffeeshop years ago and he walked me home that night singing Peaches. How could I not have seen right away that he was BFF material?

John Waters once said that being rich is the state when you can go to the bookstore and take home whatever you want. As I remember the Jodie Sweetin memoir I had to put back I was reminded that I am not rich. When I bought a book about writing comedy I thought about how my mother said that she doesn't see me writing comedy and then I had to remember that I wasn't funny. And finally, when I checked out and let the smooth-talking clerk talk me into getting a 25 dollar membership I had to realize that I am still a sucker. And somehow, none of that matters because after I got out of the store I looked into the plastic bag and I remembered the sickly-sweet, addictive dork joy I get when I have new books.

Finally, the word uber has been replaced (yeah fuck you, I am not putting the umlaut symbol it's too mainstream now). The word that has replaced it is, epic. At first I thought this word to be acceptable. But, it has become yet another boring 4-letter word. Why can't we have words longer than four letters like, "fantastical?" Or maybe something short like just, "Wow?" One of these days I am going to think of a buzzword to say that is uberly epic. Frick.

Tonight I got a message from a friend of mine who sent me a link to the comics I mentioned in yesterday's blog. This was both thoughtful and terrifying. It's nice when people can connect and share things but it's terrifying that people actually read this blog. I love my reader(s?!) but seriously, there must be something better to do with your time like crocheting, mastering a pottery wheel, wondering what toe jam is made out of exactly, wondering what the hell you were supposed to do with Gak as a child, staring at walls to see if it turns you psychotic, watching infomercials or creeping the people in the self help section of your local bookstore. But, if not, I am here for you. Well, I am here when I am not creeping the self help people.

Tip of the Day: Read Fart Party comix, all the time.

-Canadian Castaway

Failure, TV Chats, Boob Grabbing, Guinea Pig Shit

Day 363

Tonight I was babbling on to my mother about the hard time I am having with the TV series I am creating. Her response, "I just don't see you writing comedy." If that wasn't enough, I had to write to my advisor that I suck and couldn't get something handed into her by the deadline. And then, to top it all, I looked at one of Fox's new shows for the fall line up and it has two characters that are similar to the ones I am developing and another character that has the exact same name as one of my main characters AND is playing the same role. If I don't lose faith now I may be insane. I have never wanted to be crazier.

To wallow in my patheticness I drank wine and watched tv. Luckily, my writer friend was online. Her mother told her to be a barista when she said that writing a book is hard. The best part of my day was swapping insults regarding the Miss Universe women. I have taken some thought to this whole chatting while watching television and I think that I no longer have time for any other sort of chatting. Well, except...

So, in an effort to take charge of my life and make up for awkwardness and to prove to myself that I don't actually have a crush on my exotic-looking Danish neighbor I asked him to hang out. He said, "absolutely :-)." wonder if that weird smiley face should scare me. Later we got to chatting and he asked me if I still wished to identify myself with being Norwegian and posted a link. I popped open the link and it was a cartoon of a Norwegian girl dressed in a Norwegian flag and a Danish flag-clad dressed person going up to her and greeting her by grabbing her boobs. A few panels down the Danish dude describes that grabbing boobs is how you greet a Norwegian.

After I stopped laughing I wrote, "your people are very friendly." He wrote back, "Uh, you didn't answer the question, so I am going to take that as a yes." I wonder if he will grab my breasts? I wonder if he is a creeper? I wonder if he only grabs one of my breasts considering I am only of Norwegian descent. Guess, we'll wait and see. What I wonder even more so though is how did he come across that cartoon? Did he look up, "Norwegian breasts?"

Guinea Pig Day 3:
So my friend has me checking in on her bite-y guinea pig while she is away visiting my glorious country for a week. Today I went up there and found that the guinea pig is alive and seemingly well despite the carrots I gave it yesterday. I did notice that there is a ridiculous amount of shit in it's cage though and her place smells like a barnyard. The good news is that it's not dead. I hope the little fucker doesn't eat too much of its own shit and die. Five days to go. How much more could that thing shit in five days?

I am watching the Canadian version of MTV2. It's the one that actually plays music videos. I can't believe that The Barenaked Ladies and The Goo Goo Dolls are both making comebacks. And what is with that Lights bitch running around like a demented 4 year old with a paint set? What is with all the terrible lip-synching in these videos? That is what they should include in the Grammy's: "Worst Lip Syncher in a Music Video." There are a few other categories I could add as well like: "Person Who Steals From Lady Gaga's Look the Most" or, "I Let My Boyfriend Beat Me Up and Then Forgave Him" or, "Holy Shit, Britney is Still Here" or, "Wait, You Are a Boy and Not a Lesbian?!" or, "Comeback? You Had a Career Before?" just to name a few.

Tip of the Day: Never put yourself in the position to have to clean up a rodents shit.

-Canadian Castaway

Of Clothing Optional Beaches and Videostores

Day 362

Today the library was closed so I did what any loser would do, I bitched about it via my Facebook status update. I wrote something like, "the library is closed what am I supposed to do?!" Then I got a response from a guy in the United States suggesting that I go to the beach. Even though I live extremely close to one of Canada's most wonderful beaches, I hadn't thought of that. So, I ambled, cautiously down the 500 stairs to get to the clothing-optional beach. Here are some of the things (hee) I saw and did:

-The most gorgeous man in the entire world was there looking tanned and tall and dreamy. He took off his short and laid down, putting a shirt over his face to keep from the sun. I had to nearly tie myself to a log to keep from straddling him.

-At the entrance to the beach stood a skinny, 62 year old hippie man who looked like he toured with the Grateful Dead. He was standing there, one hand holding a sign that read, "40 Years" while the other hand scratched his ass.

-While there are naked people all over the beach there are always only a few that decide to stroll along the waters edge. These are the showboat nudes. The only problem is, is that they do not have showboat bodies. But, I do give props to the old dude with the giant round belly promenading around today. I guess a perfectly spherical belly IS something to be proud of.

-I do wonder what the naked people at the beach do for a living. I am sure many of them own headshops, serve drinks, are unemployed, or work cubicle jobs. I can't help but wonder if any of them are priests or elementary school principals.

-There is always people walking around with what I think are called, "wakeboards." If a piece of sporting goods equipment hasn't been featured in a movie I don't know what it is. Anyway, turns out these people, set the board down, take a few steps, jump on, and glide for a few feet. Normally, watching this over and over again would be boring but normally one doesn't have the opportunity to watch wakeboarding in the nude. Namely, one doesn't have the chance to be hypnotized by the flopsy pork sword dance their junk does in the process.

-There were a few gutter punk-y kids sitting around naked drinking beers. One of them had a lamb (or possibly a baby goat) on a string. This prompted an old naked dude to start yelling, "Fuck you!" at the punks and mumbling to everyone else later about how lambs shouldn't be kept as pets.

Other than all of the above I pretty much just sat there with my exotically white calves exposed from my rolled up jeans writing letters to my aunt and reading about Julia Child and all of the food she ate in France. I do wonder though what my aunt will think when she reads my letter that describes the abundance of old naked men in my neighborhood. That'll give her something to share over fruit salad at the Ladies Bible Study.

Tonight after dinner I went with my geeky friend to the videostore. He is the type of person who when he spends 9.99 to rent unlimited movies for a month will go in EVERY DAY at least once a day. Anyway, tonight, in an effort to avoid working on my thesis and to get out of my room, I went along with him. When we were in the store I wondered aloud a couple times whether or not this particular store carried a certain movie and he could tell me with 100% accuracy and without looking if they did.

When we approached the counter the teenage boy working made a remark like, "Ohh, you again." My friend proudly announced to him that he had gotten me to come along and that I had agreed to get a 9.99 a month deal. The guy behind the counter made a show of high-fiving my friend. After we left I realized that they probably never expected that the guy who rents at least a movie a day would ever bring a girl in. I may be moviestore gossip for the next few days. I am sure they will all try to guess what the hell I look like and be pretty accurate in their assumptions.

Tip of the Day: Deli meat IS a drug. Get addicted. And then get the butcher's number.

-Canadian Castaway

Bad Crusher, Live Animals

Day 361

The one year marker of me being in Canada is approaching. Do I feel more Canadian? The answer, truly, yes. Twice today I was approached by people asking for directions and I obliged, walking one woman all the way to her destination. Just last year I was the woman being led around. And now I must look local enough to be asked directions. I am using expressions that are Canadian like: whackload. I am even contemplating (and will probably get) a tattoo of a maple leaf. Damnit, I am a filthy Canadian. Okay, so Canadians aren't actually filthy, really. They are actually quite gorgeous. Shit, now I am even sticking up for them. Gabba gabba...

While I was out today I went to a coffeeshop to do work (translation: painstaking, line edits). While I was working I looked up to see that on either side of me sat single men and I tried to keep in mind a yahoo.ca news article that I read about how to get good-looking guys to approach you at a cafe. And, I realized that even though I was keeping busy and absorbed in my own stuff like the article said to do, I also realized that when I am absorbed in my work I am not making an approachable face. In fact, I am probably making the face of an old maid who is about to box the heads of the neighborhood boys who messed around with one of her 14 cats.

So, I may not have dated for quite sometime but I still have the instincts of my sixth grade self when it comes to liking a boy and not being able to express it. After I left the coffeeshop today I went to a nearby thriftstore where I found a silly mug with wolves on it and I bought it for a new neighbor of mine that I may have a crush on. I told him to come over and get it and when he did it was super awkward. I slammed the mug in his hand and was like, "Here!" He took it and we held an awkward conversation for 20 minutes or so with him standing and me sitting and me not even once thinking to offer him a chair. Then, instead of saying that I bought the mug because I was thinking of him I said, "Umm yeah, I was at a thriftstore today and picked that up it was cheap." Later, in an effort to end the torture of the encounter I said, "I have to go feed a guinea pig now." Maybe if I was the first grade me this sort of thing would work out better. The first grade version of me would chase boys just to kiss them. Why did I ever de-evolve?

Operation Keep Guinea Pig Alive Day 1:

While my friend is away I am in charge of her guinea pig. What can I say? I was feeling like an asshole and wanted to make up for it with a good deed. Anyway, I went in tonight and started talking to the little monster. The towel that she hides under wasn't all lumped up like usual or moving with her under it. The funny thing was that the first thought I had was, "That little fucker got out of the cage" instead of, "That little fucker is dead!" But, after I poured some food,, the fat little animal came out and even let me pet it without biting me. But, one semi-sudden movement later she went running to hide under her towel. I hope guinea pigs don't have weak hearts because I tend to make many dramatic, sudden movements. Man, I really don't want to kill the little bastard. Okay, so what I really care about is that I would have to tell my friend the little bastard is dead. Damnit, I hope I didn't overfeed it. I am scared for tomorrow...

That's pretty much all that happened today besides me avoiding actually working on anything and the fact that my brother made a horrid comment to the mug man on my facebook page as a joke and the mug man didn't get it and sent me a worried message. Not only did I scare the shit out of my latest crush, my brother did too. Good thing I already got the look of an old maid maybe I will just grow into it now.

Tip of the Day: Your mom will forgive you without words and sometimes you have to do the same.

-Canadian Castaway

Ugh, Stuff and Other Vaguely Important Nonsense (Oxy-MORON)

Day 360

Watching "Say Yes to the Dress" is depressing on so many levels. Not only does it remind me that I am probably never getting married and may very well turn out to be one of those people they find decayed on the kitchen floor of my one bedroom shithole apartment with a drippy faucet, it also makes me feel like shit for wasting my time watching it. Not only am I witnessing that there are people in this world who spend 5,000 bucks on a wedding dress after having watched it I spend way too much time analyzing what these peoples lives must be like.

Okay, it's time to come clean: I am disgusting. The other day I bought a stick of chorizo, ate half of it and when I got home I put the remaining half in the fridge. Now when I open the fridge it smells like glorious meat and I never want it to stop smelling the deliciousness. Does this mean instead of putting baking soda in my fridge I am going to need to be replacing a sausage every week or so to keep up with it? Maybe I have found an untapped market. Maybe it's time to debut my meat perfume...

The majority of my day was spent at work. It was super busy and I had tons of tables and made quite a whackload (Canadian for: a lot) of tips. After I tipped out the bartender for his help he said that he was "curious" about how I tipped him. This conversation pretty much turned into a rant about how he thought I should give him more money. Then he jokingly (yeah right) said that he was glad I am not working next Wednesday when he is working. I really wish I didn't care about this whole thing. If once I could sincerely go through life ACTUALLY not giving a damn what other people thought about me that would be spectacular. I try not to show it but sometimes I care. The biggest waste of time in my life is bothering to read other peoples subtext.

When I got home I got the following text message from my mother: "IM REALY DISAPOINTED IN YOU AND (MY BROTHER'S NAME) NEITHER OF YOU CALLED YOUR DAD ON HIS BIRTHDAY." Not only does the bartender, whom I'd kinda like to be friends with think I am an asshole, my entire family thinks I am an asshole. And now I too am starting to think I am an asshole too. So, for my latest project and because I have experienced and gotten hung up on too many people being assholes I am going to try to live my life as though I wasn't an asshole and maybe, one day, it will happen. One day I will wake up in the morning and no one will be an asshole and everyone will wish their fathers Happy Birthday before 11:30 pm. I think I will get started by doing a good deed. Wait, do you have to actually interact with people if you are doing a good deed for them? Maybe I will just invent a pill to stop the assholedom and maybe I will call it ecstacy. Even if that doesn't work my brother's still an asshole so I will have some company.

My neighbor, one of the only pseudo-non-assholes around, is leaving tomorrow for a trip and has left me in charge of her dying plant, her more lively plants and her guinea pig. I wonder if I can keep any of them alive. Perhaps this is a good deed. Now, if only I can stop being a selfish asshole long enough to take care of her wild kingdom. I will do my best. That little, bite-y beast had better not bite me. The way my life has been going I expect the dying plant to be the only thing alive when the week is through. Updates to come...

Tip of the Day: Sometimes you have to hideout and think about eating bacon sandwiches and other things that are important.

-Canadian Castaway

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day...

Day 359

If I were the type of person to cry over my day I would be in tears. For the first time I realized that maybe I should drop out of the writing program. I am not sure if it was the wine or the way that I get treated or the fact that everything I write lately is shit and I am turning out like my dad (super negative and doesn't do much). I guess it doesn't really matter. Things kinda suck right now. The crazy thing though is that I cannot ever let myself get way down in the doldrums currents. I know that I am (relatively) healthy, I have people who care about me, and other good things in my life but sometimes I want to scream out all of the things that suck. Doing that would make me seem ungrateful and if there is one thing I learned from childhood is that being ungrateful is one of the worst things you can do. Which is why this blog entry is going to be super short, well, that and the fact that my cursor keeps jumping around like a little bastard. If I could I would shoot Windows Vista right in the eye.

I pretty much spent the day feeling guilty for not writing, trying to write, having it suck, and then checking Facebook and my emails. So, I pretty much spent the day doubting myself and hating everything except those tiny moments when someone would post something on my Facebook wall. It's sick. But here's the thing, those moments don't last and happiness doesn't come from Wall Posts. Damnit.

Tonight at supper I laughed when my friend re-told me the story about how the people in the building I live in don't really respect me. She once got into a fight with them when they told her, when I wasn't around, that she was crazy to be my friend. They may have been joking I told her. She told me that she gave them an earful about how I am a super caring person with a kind heart. Once again tonight these people proved that my friend was right, they are assholes. I brought two of them, one was the guy I have a crush on but have been denying having a crush so as to make it work out. (Fuck that, that is ridiculous) The other was a "friend" of mine from the building who, while we were waiting at the bus stop, got all friendly with an asshole from the building and then kept saying to just forget everything I said and not listen to me. Wow, maybe she didn't hear the speech about me being a kind-hearted person.

Okay, seriously that is all I got. Let's hope tomorrow is better. Tomorrow, when I avoid the assholes in my building and focus only on the people who see the kindness in me and turn to my writing projects with a fresh start. And, I tell my father, "Happy Birthday" and think about how I am like him, in good ways, not bad.

Tip of the Day: Wine doesn't help anything. Change helps.

-Canadian Castaway

Avoidance, Fire Alarm, Fashion, Bike Seats, Meat-y Men, Crushed, Put it on My Facebook!

Day 358

So much of being a writer is avoiding writing. I can't tell you how many times I do stupid shit like go sit on the toilet when I don't have to go just to avoid sitting at my desk. I wonder if a toilet paper company would sponsor me. Anybody who says they are a writer who can sit down and produce work wonderfully ISN'T a writer. I never used to buy into that whole waiting for inspiration gag but at this point it is either believe in it or believe that I am a failure. So, in an effort to get out of my own head and avoid writing, I am writing this blog entry. I guess that means I am not avoiding writing. Maybe I should get a heated toilet seat.

Today was supposed to start off with me working on a script that I have due for this coming Monday. Instead, the day started with a fire alarm test. Not only did they test that the alarm sounded in the hallways, they also played the amazingly annoying screechy alarm in the rooms. After 20 minutes of that, I had to physically remove myself from the building. I went back after the alarm stopped only to discover that there was a round two of testing where a short man who winked at me came into my room and sprayed something that is supposed to smell like smoke but looks like air freshener at my antique smoke alarm and set it off. Then, he took a huge metal clipboard and started to fan the smoke away so that it would turn off. He kept bumping my Chinese glass hanging with the metal sheet while I waited for it to break. Now, how is a girl supposed to write after being violated like that?

I went and picked up one of my strange athletic hippie friends to tag along with me to get a bike seat. The first stop was a thriftstore that she surprisingly didn't want to enter. While inside I realized what I hate about fashion and people who are fashion forward. I hate how I see something and find it hideous and then someone (like my athletic hippie fashionista buddy) finds the same thing wonderful. For example, there was a purple sweatshirt with a photo of a deer on it and it read, "White Tail Deer" I looked at this find as an unfortunate piece of crap that was worn by a toothless kissing cousin at his wedding. While my friend looked at it as though it were a treasure. When she held it up to her and tried it on it looked fabulous. This makes me wonder if the necklaces I picked out are really just gaudy and boring non-fashion risk stuff.

When we finally got to the bike shop I found myself talking to this bad ass butch-y bike punk girl about how I want my ass to be comfortable on a bike seat. Turns out they didn't have any seats that were squishy enough. While I was talking to this girl I looked over at my White-tailed Deer sweatshirt-owning compadre and saw that not only did she find something awesome for her bike she was also talking to the hottest sales guy I have seen in years. Gawd, she gets it all, the fashion, the bike parts she wants, and the cute boys. I can't hang with this chick anymore, too depressing.

After the bike store we packed up her new bike part and sought out a gluten-free eatery where my friend could actually have a sandwich. Turns out that gluten-free buns aren't bad. But, I could pretty much eat cardboard if it were covered in ham and mayo. The craziest part of that adventure was that after we ate the gluten-free sandwiches we went next door to the Italian deli/meat counter. Where I was going to get a beef stick for dessert. And then, my hairy-legged, deer-sweatshirted friend got hit on by the cute butcher guy. On the walk back to the bus I decided that I SHOULD hang out with this friend and act as a sort of pimp for her. If I can get her to date the bike store guy maybe he could find me a puffy seat and if she dated the butcher I could get free chorizo. I am not even going to pretend that I am not a terrible person.

Thinking back over my blog entries (I don't read this shit) I notice that nearly everyday I have a crush on someone. Every one of these crushes so far has turned out to be a bust. There were no growing old sequences a la Up! in any of these men. So, I was going to keep my latest crush more secret so as not to jinx it. Shit, even saying I have a latest crush is mentioning him. Fuck. I suck at this. I really wanted this one to work out too. Oh well, I guess I will always have the memory of how he touched my arm today and I swooned and how it reminds me that I have a heart and that I am a huge loser. Great, now I can stay home and cry to Avril Lavigne videos some more. Ugh.

My favorite activity of the past couple of days is to wait until someone describes a song or a video to me and then when there is a pause say, "Put it on my Facebook." Then the next time I check my Facebook page I look to see who has actually taken the time to do so and laugh that they did. Then, I watch the video and wonder if they put it up right away because they really care or because they are bored. Then I start to think I should get a life but then I write comments on the videos and it feels like I have a life.

Tip of the Day: Don't give up. Falter but don't give up.

-Canadian Castaway

Of Legos, Gloryholes, Lazy Fingers, Glaciers, and Snappers

Day 357

Today at breakfast, just like every other day when I drag my dead ass to breakfast wearing too much eye makeup, I read the horoscopes. It's not just me who wants to read the horoscopes anymore. Everyone wants to see what the alleged stars have planned for their day. It has gotten to the point where I know everyone by their zodiac sign and not there name. Today one of my new neighbors asked me what his sign meant and I told him, "A Capricorn is kind but also kind of a push over." On the walk back to my room I thought about what I had said and laughed to myself and then realized why I don't have a boyfriend. But, if my prediction is right and he IS a pushover HE could be my boyfriend.

So this morning I decided to get an attitude change. I decided that instead of being afraid of writing my script for my thesis that I was just going to start writing it. I know this sounds ridiculous. Anyway, I went to the library and snooped around the bottom floor, vaguely looking for signs of the gloryhole I read so much about on Craigslist. I didn't find it, once again. But, I did sit down and hammer out a vague outline for my show in one of the library carrels on a classier floor while listening to Owl City and hating the fact that other people were in the library. The bitch of it is though is that if there were no people in the library there would be no chance of their being a mysterious gloryhole that I can search for.

This afternoon a computer-y friend of mine went with me to look at Macs. For the longest time I have wanted one, mostly because I hear they start up without taking three days or having to be kicked. Fucking Vista. Also, I want one so that I don't have to panic about viruses all the time. Who knew that being a hypochondriac in real life leads to hypochondria toward your PC? Anyway, as my friend was telling me a bunch of boring stuff about computers I decided to try and type on a Mac. This was how I ended up with an HP--the type test. I typed on the MacBook Pro. "Nope, can't do it," I declared. My friend stopped his lecture and asked what was the matter. "The keys are too damn far apart and my fingers would have to stretch and it would be too much work, forget it. Let's go buy a planner." Guess, I'm not getting a Mac ever and I am doomed to have lazy typing fingers and waste years of my life watching my computer start up. Oh well, at least the viruses will give me something to worry about.

Tonight at supper I sat next to a guy from Denmark and we started talking about Legos and despite my brother having tons of them when we were kids and the fact that it has always been my personal dream to have a Lego pirate shit built for me I didn't know that they came from Denmark. I asked the Dane if he had been to LegoLand in Mall of America. He said he hadn't been but he'd been to the original LegoLand in Denmark. I then told him about my glacier theory.

Back when I was in the first grade we learned about the existence of glaciers and what they did to shape our world. But, I didn't buy into it, the 7 year old version of myself declared to the class that I didn't believe in glaciers. I didn't believe in them based on the fact that they were too hard to comprehend existing sheerly based on their size AND, more importantly, I had never seen one. Funny, I didn't also apply this thought process to Santa Claus. So, after I told the Dane this entire tale I added, "And therefore, I do not believe in this allegedly original LegoLand."

I just read an article on my favorite news source: yahoo.ca news. Usually, I read the articles because they have such ridiculous titles or pictures of goofy-looking aliens. Today's article was all about how to attract the attention of a man while you are out. It was seriously 8 tips on how to get him to come and talk to you. The tips included things like: smiling (at babies and children), dressing down, being alone, being really into whatever you are doing, going to libraries, and the biggest tip of all, don't expect anything.

The best part of this article though was reading the comments that were written to the author, keep in mind that each of these comments has a button that says, "Report Abuse" next to it. Here are my favorites:

"You like those under 23 guys don't you, you cougar!"

"Sorry but dressing down is definitely WRONG!"

"Color your Life @ Home & Office www.PhotcoArt.com."

And, my favorite: "lift your dress and show him your snapper."

Tip of the Day: Use the word "snapper" waaaaay more often.

-Canadian Castaway

Sick Sucks and So Does Marketing

Day 356

I just got off the phone with my mother and she told me to not do anything and put a cool cloth over my head. She said this because earlier I was seeing spots at work. Immediately, my thought process was, "Ahh fuck, I knew I should've gone through with the glaucoma test. But damn, that bitch wouldn't stop poking me in the eye." When I called my mother, a registered nurse, she thought that maybe I had a low blood sugar and demanded that I eat all kinds of things and rest. This is the same woman who is always telling me to NOT eat lots of things and to get off my dead ass and do something.

Right now I am sitting in my room with the door to the corridor propped open to get some air flow through my hot box of a room. I am not sure what is more of a show, my neighbors looking in and hearing me laughing while watching Cake Boss or seeing the looks on their faces while they are watching and listening to me. Surprisingly no one has even said anything to me or came in to join me. I think I finally know what the crazy old lady on the block feels like.

As far as my day goes it was pretty boring and hot. And when it gets hot I get really whiny and crabby and exhausted. Luckily, I didn't lose my job today. I really couldn't get up the energy to even pretend to work. I can't remember a word I said to the customers or exactly what I said when I got super pissed off when I was counting the money. The thing I do remember is that there was a constant line of sweat on my upper lip and it was super gross and it made me want to move away.

After having watched a good couple hours of TV I have decided that I can always get into advertising. I mean seriously, how hard can it possibly be? I just saw a Werther caramels commercial and the final line was, "It's so good you won't just want one, you'll want more than one" or some such shit. Plus, I bet you get to eat tons of free Werther caramels for inspiration.

Alright I am off to watch more Cake Boss and do nothing. Well, maybe I could send my mother a "Thank You" card.

Tip of the Day: Buddy on Cake Boss describes his pregnant sister like this, "She's big, like a bread truck." I wonder if anyone else could say this about big people pregnant or not. Give it a try.

-Canadian Castaway

Hotness

Day 355

And today's main excuse for not getting much done is...the weather? Okay so I am sure it was the weather because the fact that the only huge thing I have to talk about is the weather is evidence that it is messing with my head OR that I have really become that boring and unoriginal. But, it did prompt a guy on the bus to trade seats with me so that I would be out of the sun and we had a five minute conversation which then prompted 20 minutes of sweating next to each other in silence. Similar to picking up a one night stand in so many ways.

This morning I went out to meet a friend of mine in the only part of this city that feels like it is full of real people instead of yuppies. We went to an Italian deli counter and I had my first Italian sandwich. It was the most amazing thing ever, it was dripping with oil and vinegar and had an inch and a half of meat. If this is what being Italian is all about, sign me up. I swear I could learn the gesturing while I speak. Wait, is that racist?

The friend I hung out with today is a fellow writer, a successful one at that. And there we were two, pasty whities who normally sit in rooms attempting to write, out for a stroll in the heat. If it weren't for the sandwiches and ice pops I think we may have died. We aren't built for this kind of activity. Going outside for a lot of writers IS an extreme sport.

After the awkward silence with the stranger on the bus (see above) I got off the bus to rent a movie and when I stood up my jeans were soaked through and like the geriatric dementia-riddled 26 year old that I am I wondered, 'Did I piss myself? I honestly can't remember." I made it into the videostore where I realized that I am an annoying customer. I am one of those people who talk to videostore clerks about obscure documentaries for way longer than socially appropriate luckily I know better than to sit down with them and watch the films that they watch behind the counter but I have thought of it.

Other than my mother hanging up on me because I was too much of an asshole to talk to due to the heat I went to dinner this evening and a couple ridiculous things happened:

-One of the people at my table declared that the girl sitting next to me was to act as my older sister and hate all of my boyfriends. When I pointed out that I hadn't had any boyfriends lately he suggested my "older sister" set me up. Naturally, my older sister cannot hardly speak English and thus pointed to the boy next to me. A boy who has asked me out before and I have said no to. I looked at him and jokingly said, "I might have to date you." He didn't find this funny and left within minutes, silently.

-My new neighbor was sitting on the opposite end of the table from me and all of the people around him finished up their meals and left. I looked over and he looked so blonde and alone and like an idiot instead of just saying hello I said something ridiculous like, "Whoa, what the hell is wrong with you?!" It is really a miracle people talk to me. Maybe they just do it because they know I am not going away.

-The doctor-y guy on the other side of me said that in the past year he's done all sorts of crazy shit. To which I responded, "Oh yeah? Like what? Name just one crazy thing you've done this past year." "I have resuscitated people, that's pretty crazy." That shut me up, completely. Well, until I looked over at him and said that it is kinda like he has super powers and asked him if he wore a cape.

-The same doctor-y guy told me that the last two girls he asked out on dates turned out to be lesbians. Then he told me that he was looking for a group of lesbians to hang out with. I told him we'd get horses and lassos and go out and round up a few lesbians. Then he started speaking in a realistic cowboy accent. I think I may be in love. If only I was a lesbian he'd ask me out.

As much as I love my country I could never be president. For one, there are several people who know my real identity and this blog I am sure is not diplomatic in any sense. But, Americans respect humor and sometimes this blog may possibly border on funny OR the mere thought of me writing it is so pathetic it's hilarious. For two, I have done drugs. But, who hasn't, just look at the presidents of old it's practically tradition or a prerequisite. For three, too many people hate me. Wait, nevermind that may work out. It has been proven again and again that people hate the president. Wow, I guess I COULD be president.

Tip of the Day: Don't buy the licorice candy at the Italian: deli, even the not-so-hardcore kind unless you are more than experienced in the ways of licorice consumption.

-Canadian Castaway

It's Time for a Heart to Heart aka What I Think Writing Programs Really Teach You

Day 354

Okay so maybe I didn't get chosen to write the blog for MFA Confidential but I am going to blog about what it means to be in an MFA Creative Writing Program. I am not going to splash flashy details about my day today like the fact that I saw a group of kids who are super into Anime today and were all dressed up in character playing a game where you kick a soda bottle and whomever it points to you have to hug. Alright, I just did but, now it's time for a heart to heart...

Last week I was asked to give a talk to incoming students about what it is like to be in the MFA program, what to expect and so on. It wasn't until tonight when I hung out with an infamous recluse in my program that I realized what I was going to say to these fresh kids. Here is what I have planned to tell them about my experience:

Being in the MFA program at first seemed like a whose is more clever contest but, you come to realize that stories aren't lasting because they have clever lines, stories that get remembered are build atop honesty and an understanding of the human condition. And guess what, I won't learn how to write honest, epic, lasting stories in the MFA program. In order to do that you must live your life and continue to write and write until you can one day break through whatever it is in young artists minds that make them resort to cleverness when you cannot get to what is real because it is too difficult.

I had a good time, for awhile. I got drunk and laughed and talked and felt like the entire purpose in life was to one up people and be a brassy darling. But then I realized that my time is my own. The reason they say "I spent the last hour..." is because time is a commodity. I know it's cliche but at the root of cliches are nuggets of truth. I spent much of my time talking about writing and little of my time actually writing. The thing about spending time is that I worried too much about how much of it I wasted. Lifetime isn't cash, you shouldn't keep a ledger of how it is spent in the past. I actually spent time worrying about how I was wasting it. But what I learned the most is that time is never wasted but it could be spent better. And, the only one holding the purse strings of your time is yourself.

I learned that if you are lucky you will build friendships that allow you to commiserate with your writer pals and have someone to talk to and inspire you when writing itself is too intimidating. I am very lucky. There are many people who inspire me and challenge me and people I love in the writing program. These people will keep me going through hard times and low spots (and cliched phrases) and their friendship alone is worth the amount of loan money I have on my head now.

From the talk with my friend tonight I was reminded that the program is what you make of it. I learned that so often in life we set ourselves up to fail and I learned that we don't have to do that. I also learned that these two years are practice. I mean sure, there is a chance you will write an amazing show that will get picked up and secure you employment but that is not likely and just knowing that should take the pressure off enough to enable you maybe write that series. I learned that when you hear the word "thesis" there is an immediate panic and dread until you say to yourself that it should be called, "practice" or better yet, "determined dedication." There is no word count taser that will zap your ass if you don't put out enough writing. Although, I wonder what would be produced if such a thing did exist.

Most of all I learned that this part of life is just like any other. It is all about the same shit life is really about. Life is really all about figuring out who you are and what you want and attempting to feed both. If you really want to grow as a person you will. If you really want to be a better person, you will. If you really want to become a writer you will and no writing program is going to do that for you, you are the only person who can do that for you.

Okay, so I am done. That is really all there is to being in a writing program. Well, that and if you are lucky there will be little meaningless functions you can attend with free cheese and a cash bar.

Tip of the Day: Kick the bottle and hug someone.

-Canadian Castaway

Scottish Men and Other Not So Exciting Adventures

Day 353

On the long walk from the bus stop to home this evening I listened to my voicemails while apparently, walking through a movie set. The last message I heard was my mother saying, "You'd better be putting the pencil to the paper or doing something productive today!" My entire day was spent going to work at my now re-opened pub and going to a birthday party and drinking vodka. Don't you just love it when your mother calls.

This morning I went to breakfast and there were three spots to sit at. I chose the one by the new guy I didn't know. It was the right spot to choose. I am nutso in the morning, excited for no reason. I used to wake up everyone in my house dancing along to I Love Rock n Roll. Anyway, the new guy accepted and embraced my craze. I think he will make a good neighbor. That's pretty much all I have to say. Oh and I kinda want to kiss him but it'll probably pass.

Today I had my first shift back at the pub I was laid off from months ago. I am glad to say that it was boring. If it were anything but boring then things might have gone wrong and it would have been hell. Here are the top two absolute most exciting things that happened:

-I accidently gave myself a 1278 dollar tip. It caused a mayhem of managers calling Mastercard to ammend and I didn't get the tip.

-I chased crows. They were swarming the patio and I literally chased them and shouted at them and somehow, this behavior decreased my tips. I mean shit, what are people thinking? I am scaring away the birds that could swoop in and gobble up their club sandwiches, don't I deserve a LARGER tip not a smaller one?


When I finally made it to the birthday party, after passing through a film shoot and a carnival of people dressed as Sailor Moon, I had a pretty good time celebrating the other Emily's birthday. The birthday girl's best friend is a very attractive Scottish man. He is one of those people that American teen movies make you feel like you are too dorky to even be looked at by. Wait, they actually get the guy in the end... Well, I guess I got the Scottsman too, in a way. Sure he may have been talking to a bar glass as though it were a telephone and Tom Petty was on the other side but he did reach out and hold my hand while he did it. Well, he held it until I picked up my own bar glass and answered, as Tom Petty. A few minutes later he made out with his bar glass stating afterward that he made out with Tom Petty and because he thought I was Tom Petty I guess that means we made out. Wow.

Because I am a loser and a geek I looked up my "Daily Singles Horoscope" (come on, it's right next to my regular one). Most of it was the same old shit. The whole bit about being super self-empowered and blah, blah, blah. But, the last line was the best thing I have read in a horoscope lately. It said, "Try not to act too surprised when the hotties start falling at your feet and your rivals look on in frustration!" I'd like to point out that that I didn't embellish the exclamation point, it was there. I wonder if I'll get to pick which hotties fall on my feet or if I will kick them.

I am super tired and too old to see 3 am again. So I am off to dream of hotties and drunken Scottish men who aren't Craig Ferguson.

Tip of the Day: Be nice and if you think you are nice enough be a little bit nicer even if it is just a social experiment.

-Canadian Castaway

Seinfeld Hater, Positive PMS, Nice Guy Repellent, Hopefully Mold, Waiting to Wait

Day 352

I will never be the type of person who actually likes Seinfeld. I have tried but there is just something about Jerry and Elaine that make me feel like I am being yelled at. I mean sure, I loved when Kramer made a salad in the shower and you'd have to be an asshole not to sort of like the idea behind the soup Nazi refusing people soup. But, overall if that show is on I would rather watch the weirdo space channel movie that has aliens wriggling in human bodies. But, I feel guilty. I feel like I should love a show about nothing but I guess I am just looking for a little something when I turn on the TV.

Another TMI moment: So, all day I was moping around thinking about how I am never going to get my original series pilot written and how everything sucks but right after I said the words "Meat Sauce" to the cook I was hit by an emotional wave of PMS but this time it was a good trip. I thought to myself, "What the hell are you bitching about? You have it pretty good. You have food and friends and a show to work on. You got into a program that well over 100 people got rejected from when you got in so shut the fuck up already, eat your meat sauce and be happy, shithead." This euphoria of positive thinking didn't last too long, by the time I got to the table I was kvetching about how there are no Target stores in Canada and how much it sucks and how expensive everything is here.

At supper somewhere between the Canada sucks rant and the ironic fact that I am getting a Canadian tattoo the bruise I have on my arm came up in the conversation. I explained to my friend who had been out of town that I had crashed my bike, Elliot and that he got kinda banged up. She expressed concern and I told her not to worry that a guy in our building had fixed him. At the mention of his name a guy at our table perked up and did the whole, "Oh, (insert guy's name here) fixed your bike huh?" in that tone that says, "Ooo maybe he likes you!" or, "What's going on there?" I tried not to blush and blew off his comment and tried not to actually think that he does like me. I would say that I hope he likes me but I don't want to jinx anything. Damnit, now I have gone and jinxed it. Oh well, I wouldn't know what to do with him if he was in like with me. Or maybe he doesn't like me at all, maybe he and Elliott are having an affair! Sure, a nice guy comes along and he goes and falls in love with my bike. I swear I was born with a nice guy repellent on me that you can't wash off.

Yesterday I was loitering outside of the library reading John Waters latest book. In his book there is a section that includes a tiny passage about perverts and "upper decking." Translation: when you shit in the top of someones toilet tank. For months now there has been a smell coming from my bathroom and awhile ago I lifted my toilet tank cover off and saw brown stuff in it. I tried to ignore it. And even today as I had my yellow rubber gloves on and was spraying bleach cleanser in my toilet tank and scrubbing at the brown matter I tried to convince myself that it wasn't someone elses shit in there but, I never fully tricked myself into thinking it was just some weird mold. And for the first time in my life, ever, I was upset with John Waters.

Tomorrow I go back to work at the pub job I used to have, except now instead of bartending or working the floor (picking up glasses and ID people) I have to wait on people. Yeah, that's right. I have to go around and still get glasses and ID people but now I have to take their orders and bring them drinks and actually talk to them. I would be a liar if I said that I hate waiting tables. Over the years I have actually gotten to be quite good at being the bitchy waitress (I was born to bitch). But, what I didn't think of when I told the new manager that I would love to be a waitress was that being a waitress and having a good time to me usually means waiting on middle-aged people who laugh at my jokes, not drunken 19 year olds trying to hide the fact that they are so high their eyes can't stop bobbing. I am doomed.

Tip of the Day: It's only mold. It's only mold. It's only mold.

-Canadian Castaway

Long Days of Summer (Bitching and Walking and Bitching Again)

Day 351

Can I just go on the official record and say that I hate, hate, HATE pretty writers. It really pisses me off that they can be clever AND beautiful it doesn't seem possible. The really brilliant ones must have asses covered in boils, have been hideous children who through the miracle of surgery came out gorgeous, or at the very least have some sort of herpes that afflicts them near constantly. I wonder if the lady who got the confidential blogger gig I wanted was a pretty lady. I suppose I could hate her for getting the position but I more so hate that I found out I didn't get the position not by a rejection but by going onto the website and reading her charming little bio.

This evening I met up with a very innocent (never been kissed) friend of mine and told her the history of my sex life, in detail. A short story. She listened but when I started to talk about masturbation she literally squirmed. But, she did enjoy the rate-the-hotness-of-the-stranger passing by game. But, it could have been she enjoyed it because it was the only part of the evening when I wasn't yelling hysterically via cellphone into her ear.

So, earlier in the evening, my friend told me to meet her at the beach that I had met her at once before meaning, the time I was pissed off and just stopped by super fast to say hello and left in a huff. When I got to the beach (23 minutes late due to a talk about Evangelicals at the dinner table) I called her up and told her that I had just arrived and was heading out to the spot I remember last meeting her that horrid day. She told me that she had walked down a few blocks, which would've meant she was right near where I was had I correctly remembered where I had stomped off in a huff months ago. So, after many expensive minutes had passed we finally found out that we were both indeed by volleyball games, basketball courts and restaurants at the same time it's just that these things happened to be two miles or so apart.

Is it evil that I love that the hottest friend of mine on facebook hasn't gotten a message on his wall since Tuesday? Or is it super pathetic that I know he hasn't gotten a facebook message and am really just mad at him for not returning my texts? Either way I am going to go with him being a dickhead loser so I guess it really doesn't matter all that much.

Alright I am too tired to keep my yesterdays mascara laden lashes apart or are they just sticking together? Shit. Anyway, the only other exciting moment of my day was when I discovered that in 1988 Quentin Tarantino played an Elvis impersonator on The Golden Girls.

Tip of the Day: Don't eat the jalapenos.

-Canadian Castaway

Last Days and Crushing Crushes and Bike Seats That Go Up Your Whoo Ha

Day 350

Today was the official last day at the post office for me. I got a cupcake, only an hour after I asked my boss if she had bought me a cake. Then, as I was eating the cupcake, she said that everyone in the past week had gotten a cupcake from her. Then, she told me that one of the employees had an allergic reaction possibly from a cupcake she gave out. And to top it all off I didn't even steal the stamps I brought home. All in all, it totally sucked but when the latest Usher featuring some guy who also sucks song came on at work and I said, "I HATE this song, it makes me want to hit people" the hottest guy I have seen in quite sometime looked up from the envelope he was addressing and said, "Yeah, I know I hate it. It totally sucks."

So where I come from there are four seasons per year and I know that may sound nice to people who don't have four seasons but let me assure you it is just a sales tool. It is a way to cope with the fact that there are only maybe four lovely days weather-wise per year. What is weird is that coming to a nice climate from my background you will not be able to nap somewhere where they have nice weather. You will be lying in bed feeling guilty about wasting the beautiful day despite there being many of them per year where you are currently located and then you will go sit outside and read all afternoon silently cursing the niceness of the day for making you sit in sunshine instead of lie in bed dreaming about it.

I have a friend, okay, an obnoxious and evil neighbor who I sometimes hang out with to make fun of her accent and hope that her evil rubs off on me. Tonight we decided that since it was VAFN (vaguely Asian food night) at the rez I needed to run up to McDonald's for a cheeseburger. She insisted that we ride bikes and that she not order any food at McDonald's and, if that didn't make me feel fat enough, she also insisted that we ride our bikes all over, this includes going uphill, for fun (her version, not mine). After we got back I asked her if my mother was paying her. What I wanted to ask her is whether she was making me do all of this physical activity because she wants me to loose weight and be healthier or because she thought it was hilarious.

The pathetic saga of the guy I used to have a crush on, got ditched by and still kinda like continues. This time I ran into him just after my friend and I got back from the bike ride. Translation: I was sweating and smelly. He told me and my friend that he found out his bike had just been stolen. Then I asked him if I could borrow a wrench to adjust my seat and asked if he still needed to borrow my nailpolish. When he returned with the wrench and the bike that needed nailpolishing (I still don't get that) he had in his free hand an extra bike seat that he brought for my bike because my seat has a hole in it. And then I watched him put it on for me. Well, watched him while telling him which way he had to turn the tool to get the bolt loose. Note: I had the lowest score possible on the mechanics portion of standardized testing I had to take as a child. Anyway, later I realized that I am so far removed from dating right now that I would not be able to tell if giving someone a bike seat is being nice or a way of hitting on someone. Is this how the kids are picking each other up these days? Interesting.

I just saw a stool softener commercial that starred a middle-aged woman. I wonder if she has been working her whole life to become an actress and this was the only part she landed. I also wonder if she is extremely proud of her constipated role or if she finds it hilarious. I wonder if part of her pay was some product samples and I wonder if she used them. Wow, I have no life and I am a sicko. I am such an overachiever it makes me sick.

Tip of the Day: Read.

-Canadian Castaway

Productive Front Moving In and Last Day?

Day 349

Sometimes I get to the point of not wanting to go on with anything and being completely overwhelmed then I realize I am sort of acting like my dad, my period is coming, and that it's pointless to do nothing at all. Here is some of the stuff I did today:

First off I went to breakfast, ate way to many tater tots and then went to what I thought was my last day of work at the Post Office. Actually, I thought Friday was my last day and then I volunteered to come in today and so I thought today was my last day and then I got asked to cover tomorrow. I am not sure when I became wishy washy or a sucker but I know that it must end. Well, to be quite honest, working at the Post Office when you just don't care is sort of addicting. I am nicer to the customers and I can make my own schedule and every time I go in I am doing someone a favor. Okay so tomorrow is really my last day...my friends are making me quit now.

Today I realized that not all of my ideas suck. This may sound like a small feat but its like pulling the sword out of the stone. Okay, bad comparison, I still don't understand how the fuck it's even possible to get a sword actually stuck in stone. Anyway, I realized that my characters are good, that TV is crazy hard to do, and that I can do it. (I think) My friends and my mother seem to think I can do it, I might as well join along with this thinking.

I must have been in a real good mood working on my storylines because when my friend found me on chat and went on a depressing rant I actually said positive things instead of commiserating. Wow, what a little faith in yourself doesn't do. Although it would've been nice if I could've squeezed in somehow the fact that I would like my friend to get rid of her fleas before I see her but somehow that didn't sound positive.

The rest of my day was spent doing laundry and thinking about cleaning my toilet and thinking other things like:

-Why did the creeper guy in my building say the word "province" but mean "state" and then laughed all giddy-like when I corrected him as though he'd made a huge joke.

-Wondering why the fuck the creeper is married? And then thinking, all married people are creepy.

-Is there another class of sexuality? Instead of asexual can you be bored-sexual?

-Why the fuck is it that whenever I have other friends named Emily they are cuter than I am? Okay, so I don't want an answer to that, I just want them to be less cute and me to be the cutest.

-Is the most annoying thing in the world when your friends all are talking on and on about a movie you haven't seen?

-What does it mean when you look at your own facebook likes and laugh? I mean seriously, I know that I like Wham! but it is totally hilarious.

That is all I got for today. Yeah, not too exciting. Actually, there is more but I am getting super bored even thinking about it.

Tip of the Day: Using Kraft singles as bread for your meat slices is a brilliant idea. I mean who knows it could be that the chemical make up of Kraft singles is closer to that of bread than of real cheese.

-Canadian Castaway

Becoming Your Parents and Quitting Your Job and Other Things

Day 348

So you ever have those super cliche moments when you realize that you have become your father or mother? I just had one of those and it was terrifying. Don't get me wrong my parents are hilarious assholes and I wouldn't mind having my mother's wit or my father's originality but when I started to realize that I spend all my time either doing nothing or bitching about doing nothing and being too overwhelmed to move on it makes me want to vomit. So instead of setting goals about what I'd like to accomplish I think I am going to do the reverse (set goals of what I don't want to accomplish) because on a lot of levels it is harder and if I can accomplish being the person I DON'T want to be I will be the person I do want to be. Maybe. I guess if it works I could change the lives of tons of high school kids who are told to write life goals and maybe they wouldn't have to spend their first years of college gaining thirty pounds, contracting STDs and getting wasted trying to figure out what goals they want to set versus setting goals of what they don't want to be. Nah, fuck that they'd still drink their faces off. But, they might be better people while doing it.

So, I just turned on the TV to find the scene from Titanic where Jack draws the bitch. And then the scene fades to the older version of Rose and she tells them that they didn't have sex and that it was the most erotic moment of her life. My reaction: laugh while I turn it off. The first memory I had of this movie was the last time my family went to the movies together. The funniest part of that was that though we went to the movies together the show was sold out and we were all seated in different parts of the theatre next to strangers. I found this rather humorous as a disgruntled pre-teen who didn't want to attend a movie with my parents, ever. Over the years I would throw myself against things and say, "Jack! Never let go Jack" including one time not even a year ago when I did this on a pier, giggling my ass off. I guess Titanic movie has been one of the most consistent forms of hilarity in my life. I think I should feel bad about this but instead I am going to be grateful for it.

At supper this evening I was talking to a Canadian friend of mine and at one point I said, "Remember that time I said, 'Fuck you' to you, twice?" "Umm, no. You say that to me all the time." "No, that one time when I really meant it?" He just gave me a blank stare. Instead of feeling bad for cursing at him I thought, "Oh shit, I am using the same curse words so often that they have lost their meaning. What the hell am I supposed to say to him now? I am so unoriginal. How about, 'Sod off, cocksucker?' No, that doesn't sound right."

Want to hear a pathetic story? One of my neighbors I used to have a crush on wants to borrow some nailpolish to patch up the paint of his bike (so he says). He said he'd stop by after dinner. I went out to the grocery store after dinner but made sure to text him and tell him that I was going to be gone for quite awhile but back later and to text when he wanted to come over. While I was at the store I bought a new candle. I think I was trying to tell myself it was because my old one was nearly spent and my room could use one. But, my secret motivation was that it would smell nice for him. Yeah, it has come to that. I am trying to woo the guy who wants to borrow my nailpolish. Thank God I find that funny or I would have to find an apartment with a bathtub to slit my wrists in and I couldn't afford one of those in this city.

SIDENOTE: He didn't show up or text and the candle smells vaguely like an old lady.

Tomorrow is my last day working for the Canadian Postal Service. I am terribly excited but I fear it will be another horrible day. But in a certain way I would like to postpone my last day. I know, it sounds insane but now I am in a place where they almost can't really fire me. I can do whatever I want. I no longer care about the job or have a huge threat of being fired. It's amazing. I feel like Peter on Office Space except I am not going home at night to watch Kung Fu with my sweetheart. Damn.

So I just watched a clip on yahoo.ca news about the Tibetan mastiff dog that is selling for half a million bucks in China right now. The American Kennel Club representative in the video when asked if they were a good family dog went on for a bit about how loyal and protective they are and then added, "They are so smart they get bored." If it is true that you have to be smart to get bored then I must be VERY smart.

Tip of the Day: Be like your parents in a good way just make sure you don't be your parents.

-Canadian Castaway

The Top Six Reasons I Didn't Do Shit Today

Day 347

The following is a list of why I didn't accomplish anything of significance today:

6. There was a Gene Simmons Family Jewels marathon on TV when I was eating breakfast. I didn't know it would last past 3 pm. And, I have vowed to not be a quitter. Plus, Nick is hot and I just had to see Gene's face after the plastic surgery! Damn, who knew I'd have to come all the way the way to Canada to be the girl who wastes her day watching celebrity reality TV shows. Oh well, at least it wasn't an Intervention marathon or I'd be both a loser AND super depressed.

5. I tried to get my act together after 4.5 hours with the Simmons family. I called my mother and told her to yell at me to be productive. She did, with glee. She always says, "Put the pencil to the page!" Which is funny for so many reasons. Anyway, in an effort to get going I headed out of the house to procure a late lunch and possibly some wine. Turns out the drizzle outside was the type that lasts all day and coats you when you walk to the point of an umbrella really just being a way to pick out the fools easily. (I was one of them) So, I cursed the weather for making me not do anything besides watch TV.

4. I can't help that I bought the new John Waters book, it should really be a requirement for every American misfit to worship him. I am just doing my civic duty to promote and be a part of freak culture. And, can I really help it if I am addicted to how he is addicted to observing and writing about the bar subculture of Baltimore where at one time there were interesting strippers roaming around like Lady Zorro and guys who bit each others noses off. Besides Mr. Waters is getting on in age now and who knows if he'll ever write another book. Although if there were ever a person on this planet who had the potential to be immortal and ridiculously productive at the same time it would be him.

3. So, while I was probably surfing Facebook and avoiding writing I noticed that a routine scan had been performed on my computer and that there were 6 infections only 4 of which had been treated. According to AVG my boyfriend (my computer, I am a sad sack) had two viruses and they didn't even have pretty names like chlamydia. I panicked and called people I know who are good at computer stuff and hollered at them for help. (Note: This approach is horribly rude and doesn't work well and makes people you love feel like they are just your playthings. Don't do it. EVER.) Finally, I got my neighbor to come down and she helped me install more software and catch another virus and find that the two viruses I had caught in the first place were what the tech-ies call, "false positive" identifications. If it wasn't for my neighbor I would've bought a Mac today just to spite my computer for getting viruses with long, ugly boring names even if they were false positive.

2. And then there was LA Ink. I really don't give a shit about that show and don't even have any tattoos myself. It must have something to do with the fact that I knew that most of my day had already been wasted. Again, I am not a quitter and once I start being lazy... But, when the marathon of episodes repeated an episode I really (no matter what kind of day I was having) should've known better.

1.The number one reason I wasted my day though was really just because I am a lazy bastard sometimes. My advisor in the Creative Writing Department is always saying, "You have to trust the process." Once, just once, I wish she'd say, "And sometimes that means doing absolutely nothing but watching shit TV all day and eating pretzels."

Tip of the Day: If you are lazy make sure you either have a soft, comfortable chair or a horribly hard one.

-Canadian Castaway

Horribleness and Things

Day 345

Today sucked. Big time sucked. Okay so it wasn't that bad I went to the doctor and found out that the foot injury I thought I had was nothing at all (for now at least) and I also took Elliott (my bike) in to get his damage from my crash assessed and it turns out that he too is just fine. Well, he's just fine aside from the fact that when my mechanic handed me a wrench and told me how to adjust the seat I couldn't do it and was too ashamed to ask for help. It was a weird angle to put in the wrench, I guess... And, I probably not only have my job back at the pub I probably have a job there that I am better at. So I guess the only truly shitty part of my day was when I went to work at the Post Office.

So, I am quitting the Post Office and today was supposed to be my last day (but I am working on Monday). Here is a laundry list of the shit that went wrong:

-I got bitched at about not closing a door when the post office closed the night before. Seriously? The door was internal and any criminal dumb enough to break into a Post Office thinking there is tons of money in there deserves to get in as he is clearly a creative (if not entirely wrong) thinker. Plus, it'd be funny if they went to all of that trouble just to get some nickels and stamps that he couldn't use as they are outdated.

-My computer wouldn't let me delete an item, my co-worker yelled at me for trying to help a customer not have to wait forever by moving them to her register and then some woman was swearing at me. I helped her out and she didn't even apologize.

-At the last second a man with two huge, unpacked boxes wanted to mail them and I had to perform a shitty money transfer for someone who was probably a drug lord.

-The till I was on only had about 30 bucks to take out at the end of the night. I have no idea what happened to the rest of what should have been there but I bet I will get blamed for it being missing.

-If all that weren't ridiculous enough the gate that closes the Post Office was broken so we had to call security to come and fix it.

I am seriously thinking I might fall ill come Monday and spend my last day of work in that shit pit not there. Anywhere but there, scrubbing my toilet even sounds sort of appealing.

Today a friend of mine in the writing program asked why I write my blog. I told him a couple different answers including that it was something to do outside of schoolwork and that it was therapeutic. The truth is, is that there is nothing I do everyday besides breathe that comes close to as ritualistic as this effing blog. My brother makes fun of me for writing it and he says he has only read like one entry (I bet that's a lie) and he mocks that everyone he knows has a blog and who cares and why don't we just get a diary and shut the hell up. Maybe he's right but, I don't really care.

Tip of the Day: Drink water and be nice to people who aren't assholes if you can find any.

-Canadian Castaway

Earwax, Assholes, French-Laced and Other BS That May or May Not Involve Sloths

Day 344

I would like to dedicate this blog entry to the guys at Mythbusters whose picking out of earwax to make a candle was so disgusting that I gagged and actually turned off my television. Here are a few waxed-up nuggets of my mediocre day:

-At breakfast I got there just in time for them to run out of crappy sausages. And, because for some fucking reason, today was a no egg day, I had to go without eggs AND meat. Then I realized that in the past six months I have went from devout vegetarian to violent meat-aholic. When the vegetarian at the table went on a rant about how I should not eat meat anymore I wondered what his arm would taste like with BBQ sauce.

-I read a teleplay (old school for TV script). My advisor has given me two scripts from her collection of random peoples scripts to check out. While I was reading the script I was pretty impressed with the quality of writing and yet I thought to myself, 'It's good, but it's not good enough to get produced. You need to write slightly better to make it onto TV.' When I was done reading it I IMDBed the author of the script, turns out that the script was turned into a series on a prime time network. So, I went and bought the first (and so far only) season on Itunes and I have no idea why.

-Yesterday a few fellow residents of my building and I were discussing what everyones spirit animals were. Mine was a howler monkey. The guy next to me looked at me and I screamed, "Sloth!" And, he totally was a sloth. I have never ever seen someone who looked more like a sloth and I have actually dated a guy whose nickname was "Sloth." I mean shit, my mother pretended to be a sloth on a regular basis while I was growing up. But after my friends and I agreed that he was a sloth he said, "What is a sloth?" I told my friend at the table that when he looked it up online we would get an earful. And today I did get an earful about how they were odd-looking creatures and, "Is that what I look like to you?!" When my friend showed up, the one whom I had made my prediction to I told him that I had received an earful, his response..."Well, there is really nothing he can do about it. He totally is a sloth."

-Okay, so I am not going to lie: I hate Facebook chat. So many of the friends I want to talk to are on there but there is always a few that message me constantly when I am just about to do something else. And, when I tell them later that I am sorry for not replying (which, I am not really because I don't think you should HAVE to reply to everything) they say they don't forgive me. Well, I don't forgive you either sometimes. I mean, fuck, how selfish can you get? Okay, so maybe I AM wanting them to do what I want by going along with my idea of acceptable chatting expectations of conduct but still, you don't know if I have just fallen off my bike, yelled at the guy I like, and am busy online trying to see what the hell is wrong with my best friend's mother so I am console her. Just back the fuck off before I remember how to unfriend you.

-There is something that I will never understand about Canadians. Why the fuck do they always throw in a little French when they are trying to impress me? Seriously, I know I do not ever reveal my location in this blog (I am a paranoid freak who is too cowardly yet to be who I really am online) nevertheless, I reside pretty effing far from Quebec. Am I supposed to be impressed that in a country where everything is in English and French that its inhabitants know a little French? As in a little, as in, not enough to make it the everyday spoken language in these parts. Damnit, that makes my ridiculously patriotic blood race.

Tip of the Day: Go wash your nasty parts and while you're at it clean out your ears.

-Canadian Castaway