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
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