I KNOW YOU'RE POOPING!

I absolutely HATE it when you go into a bathroom, and the person in the stall next to you goes eerily silent.
EVERYBODY POOPS! I'm not going to run out of the washroom screaming. Go about your business and I'll go about mine.
But OH NO!
You had to go all hush hush over there, until I flushed the toilet at which time you allowed yourself a gutteral "huuungh", to be promptly cut off when the toilet silenced itself.
I couldn't care less if you are shitting.
But I DO care that you make me feel like a pervert for my love of public shittery.
Yeah, that's right, I crap in public.
I like it.
Better in a public stall than my own home where I (or poor Jonathan) have to clean up the mess.
And yes, maybe it DOES give me a sick sense of pride when I create an ungoldy stink, knowing the next person to use the facilities will receive quite the shock.
So what if I think that's hilarious?!?
But you, you sneaky son of a bitch, you have to make a big deal about it.
But I saw your shoes.
And as if I didn't have anything better to do, now I have to traipse around the office looking at ladies shoes, find out who you are, then leave an anonymous note on your desk when you leave saying "Jeez, way to stink up the bathroom today Lorraine!"
That's so unthoughtful of you.

Anjelica, Anjelica, I love you!

I am in love with Anjelica Huston.

I admit this freely and without shame.

If I could be anybody else in the world instead of myself it would, without a doubt, be Anjelica Huston. Or more specifically, Anjelica Huston in the Life Aquatic.

I want to be smart and beautiful, with long straight hair, a great tan, and those matching linen outfits.

Oh God... I'm having a moment over here. Excuse me....

I just LOVE being a lackey!!

Good things about working in a position that is un-defined and useless:

I get to go on my blog and play crosswords all day!

Bad things about working in a position that is un-defined and useless:

People can make me do pretty much anything that they don't have the time to do. And I mean anything.

Today I was asked to "pop over to Grand and Toy and pick up a little order."

Bees Knees, I thought. I get to go frolic in the sunshine! So off I set, on what I expected to be a pleasant jaunt in the sun. How mistaken, how foolish I was.

First, a word of advice; if someone asks you to go somewhere, and you have only the vaguest clue where that somewhere is... look it up on a map. Don't just set off in the hopes of finding it "sometime".

I got to what I thought was the Grand and Toy I was looking for, only to discover it was closed... and it was a Staples.

Not worried yet, I trotted back to the office, secretly congratulating myself on getting to go on yet ANOTHER excursion, further ignoring the inconsequential work waiting back at my desk.

After looking up "Grand and Toy Vancouver" in Google, I headed out again, certain in my destination. I leisurely strolled the 6 blocks, shedding my sweater and soakingup the rays. It was quite warm... in fact... it was hot. I was mildly displeased when I noticed an acrid scent and realised it was my own sweat. Eurgh!

The cashier, upon hearing my errand, shook her head in bewilderment and said "Um.. we don't have an order for you... are you sure it was this Grand and Toy?"

"Uhhh... no? How many Grand and Toys are there in downtown Vancouver?"

"We have 6 locations in Vancouver, ma'am."

Fuck.

SIX locations? And did she just call me MA'AM? What the bloody fuck?

"Oookay, well which one is closest to here?" I asked.

"Hm, I suppose you could try the one in Bental Centre? Or maybe the one on Pender? Or what about Yaletown? Those are the closest ones to here, ma'am."

"Okey dokes, matron, thanks for the info!" I called over my shoulder as I ran off to find the next G&T. Spinning this outing into a 15 minute relax-a-thon is one thing... being lost for over half an hour is another.

After being turned away at yet another G&T, I finally found the store I was looking for.

"You got a car?" asked flamboyantly gay youth behind the counter.

"No... not with me." I replied, alarm bells clanging higgeldy piggeldy in my brain. And with good reason, it turned out.

"Ooo, girl, you got your work cut OUT for you!" squealed the youth, dragging a box around the counter roughly the size of a small refrigerator.

Shit. And might I add, Fuck.

The box was every bit as heavy as it looked, and I staggered the 4 blocks back to my office building, panting and sweating and generally cursing the government and all it's employees.

I can assure you, I never want to see a G&T again, unless it's in my hand, on the rocks, with a twist of lime.

Like a 75 year old woman

Last night I insisted that Jonathan have my dinner ready by 5:30.

Then I fell asleep around 7:45.

I was awake before 6 am and I felt great!

I am becoming my 80+ year old grannie... and I'm not even that concerned about it.

Now, here's a shiny penny. Don't go spending that all in one place, mister!

Superwoman!

I think I might be, like, really really strong... you know, encephalon-wise.

Or possibly my brain just doesn't function as other people's brains do. It's more powerful... bigger and ...brainier... than any other brain out there.

I've come to this conclusion for 3 reasons.

1. Drugs don't affect me like they do other people. Neither does caffeine. Not once, ever, have I had some coffee and thought "wow, now I'm pepped. hot jazz, I'll be awake for hours." I've NEVER thought that. Seriously, I could drink coffee until the cows came home (where are those damn cows, anyway?) and still want to go to bed at 9 pm. Drugs too. I inhale pot like it's air and yet my eyes are never red and I've never once felt paranoid. In fact, it's nearly ceased to effect me. Ditto with any other drug I've been stupid enough to try. Mushrooms? Not a problem. Never EVER have I had a "bad trip" and I've done those suckers A LOT. Coke? Yes, I was stupid enought to try it. And it sucked. Not in a "bad-trip" kind of way, just in a "ew, I've just sucked something up my nostrils and I feel exactly the same" kind of way. Even E. Oh sure, I'm happy, I suppose. But I'm usually happy when I'm surrounded by my friends on a dance floor and I don't have to work the next day.

2. I have such strange and vivid dreams... and some of them come true. Not often, but 4 or 5 times. And that's kind of freaky. What if I am programmed to receive information from the future, but I just haven't realised it fully yet, and I am letting all my powers go to WASTE?!?! I mean sure, I've been watching original Star Trek lately, but I've been thinking this for a while now. One time I had a dream in which my cousin (who has long long hair... who has ALWAYS had long long hair as long as I've lived) was dragged over a cliff by some birds who pecked all of her hair off. Ok, fine, in real life there was no cliff, and no birds, but THE NEXT DAY she cut off all of her hair. That's weird, right?! I think so.

3. I am very easily hypnotized. You might think that's all a joke. "Hogwash!" you say (which is stupid... who says that anymore). But seriously, I have been "put under" 3 or 4 times in my life. I have absolutely no recollection of what happened, but there is video footage of me performing a highland fling perfectly. I have no idea how to do the highland fling in real life. I quit highland dancing lessons when I was 7 years old. You might be thinking "doesn't that mean that your brain is weak to be so easily influenced?"
You're an asshole for saying that, really. That was pretty mean.
But for reals, I don't think so. I think my brain is more open to things that other people have blocked out as impossible. That's why I believe in zombies, amongst other things. And that is why I am more than likely psychic.

My brain is better than your brain and my brain could beat your brain up. So try me, bitches!

Horn Death

Last night, a car horn started honking.

And kept honking

For 2 hours.

Knowing that it wasn't, I nevertheless went out to check that it wasn't my car causing the racket.

As I got outside, I noticed the crazy woman that lives down the hall from us. I often come across her standing just inside the door of the building, staring out the window. Hours later, she will still be there. Jonathan think she is waiting for a lover that jilted her years ago.

I think she's just bored of staring at the wall in her own apartment. I've seen the inside... there are no chairs or furniture. Just boxes... and garbage.

Anyway, I got outside, and there she was, just standing... staring. I smiled at her and said "Just making sure that wasn't my car causing all the racket!"

She looked at me.

"I think is body slumped on wheel. Dead."

"Um... oh? That's... no good"

"Someone kill. Now honking not stop 'til body rot."

....."Ok then! I'll just... go back inside... and.." ...run away...!!

That was a weird and more than likely unfounded thing to say. But still, I couldn't help thinking about it, so I called the police non-emergency number to report it.

They never did send anyone to look into it, but eventually the owner (some blonde slut-factory) came skipping back from wherever, hopped in, and drove away.

Later I saw Old Crazy slink out of the community gardens across the street and steal back inside. She was wearing white gym socks and no shoes.

If I wasn't sure before, I'm sure now... that bitch is NUTS, brotha.

Hos: the same in every area code

Tuesday night Jonathan and I went to see the Chromeo DJ set. Which was rad.

As we sat through the opening act (a dj with no idea how to dj) we played one of our favorite games... People Watching.

We had a prime seat close to the washrooms; a high traffic area in any nightclub as everyone visits the washroom, be it to actually GO to the washroom, or just to snort coke/check makeup/have dirty bathroom sex.

The usual parade of girls, all dressed alike in their miniscule outfits and too high heels, flounced past us in small clusters and we began to notice a strange phenomenon.

Apparently, it is IMPOSSIBLE for a group of girls to leave the washroom and rejoin the dancefloor without performing the ritual Ho salute. It goes something like this...

1. Form a long line when exiting the bathroom, holding the hand of the girls both in front of and behind you (a la grade 1). No ho left behind!

2. Shuffle your feet whilst walking in said line and utter a piercing "woooooooooooo!" swaying your hips back and forth (not neccessarilly in time to the music, more to attract the attentions of the male of the species).

3. (And this is VERY important) As soon as you come close to the dance floor, throw one hand in the air, prefferably in some sort of gun shape, and wave in up in down. Meld into other dancers, hopefully pushing your posterior against the crotch of an attractive (or whatever) man in passing.

Should the hand-in-the-air-waving-like-you-don't-care move prove difficult, see any rap video for further instructions.

I must say, I felt QUITE the fool, exiting the washroom on my own, and you can be sure I slinked foolishly back to my seat fervently wishing I was one of a group of hos, just like EVERY OTHER girl there. But alas, I had to be an individual. How common.

Weepy weddings

This weekend, Jonathan and I made the journey out to Merville, the delightfully rural community where I was lucky enough to pass my youth. This was not just another quick trip to see the family; we were there to celebrate and be merry, as my cousin Marissa tied the knot to her radical now-husband Steve.
We left Friday afternoon (early, despite the cantankerous rumblings from the elderly receptionist I am unfortunate enough to work with) and gained the peaceful solitude of my parent's house around 8 p.m. that evening.
My mum was busy decorating the wedding cake that would be served the next day. She's never taken any courses, but somehow manages to make the most beautiful cakes I've ever seen. However, the night before any event she has been hired to bake for, she can unfailingly be found in her kitchen swearing up a blue streak and generally having a bit of a nervous breakdown. Friday night was no exception, and we arrived just in time to calm her down, have some tea, and convince her that going to bed and finishing in the morning would help in preserving everyone's sanity, not least her own.
The next morning dawned clear and sunny, the first really hot day of the year. Jonathan and I were employed in ferrying this and that back and forth between my house and my aunt's house down the road (where the wedding was to be held). I came back from one such excersion to find my mum fuming as she put the finishing touches on the wedding cake.
Apparently my sister had called to ask if her husband could wear shorts to the wedding. When my mum voiced the opinion that shorts were perhaps not the most appropriate of wedding wear, my sister called her persnikity and they hung up on each other in snit.
I called my sister back in the hopes of peacekeeping (something I often feel called upon to do in my family) and told her that while everyone appeared to be wearing rather nice clothes, perhaps they could bring shorts to change into later.
Everyone thus appeased, I zipped upstairs to change into my own clothes and do something acceptable to my hair.
With half an hour to spare, we made our way down to the wedding site, where the wine was already flowing and the bride (not one to stand on tradition) was casually mingling with guests waiting for the ceremony to start.
It did, shortly thereafter. The bride, looking like a 40s movie star, walked across the lawn toward her intended, and I felt a tightening in my chest watching, not her, but him, smiling in anticipation as his soon-to-be wife glided towards him.
I cried.
Then I sobbed.
I was doing alright, really, until I made the mistake of looking at Jonathan in the middle of the ceremony. He was looking right back at me, smiling like a loon as he mouthed "2 months".
I cried like it was going out of style.
The ceremony over, the guests then proceeded to drink far to much wine in the sweltering sun, an activity I gamely participated in, until falling asleep at the embarssing hour of 9 pm.
The whole day sharply threw into focus the reality of my own fast approaching nuptials. I am becoming increasingly nervous and excited in turns.
After this wedding, though, my thoughts have turned to fervent prayers that I don't have panda eyes in every picture, and that I am able to stay up later than 9 pm. I am doubtful of either prayer being answered.

Sooo... sleeepy...

For the past two days, I have fallen asleep at work.

The first time was not so bad. I was only doing a sudoku at the time, and I awoke immediately when my head crashed onto my desk. I then brilliantly covered the loud bang with some paper rustling and chair squeakings. Pretty slick.

Yesterday I was not so lucky.

I fell asleep for 1/2 an hour.

I don't even know how it happened. One minute I was typing an important email (to my mum... about wedding favors...) the next, I was waking up with the phone ringing and a thin stream of saliva dribbling down my chin.

I bounded out of my cubicle and snatched the phone up, realizing the receptionist had been on her lunch break nearly as long as I (her back-up) had been passed out. I blurted a groggy "hello?... er... I mean, good afternoon, Chelsea speaking!" belatedly realising the caller had already given up hope and hung up.

I could hazard a guess at why I've been so sleepy... the cat jumping repeatedly on my head the other night probably didn't help.

The point is, what am I to do about it? I can already tell that today will be a sleepy day; Jonathan coming home at 3:30 in the morning, tripping over my discarded clothes on the floor, and landing heavily upon my legs hasn't improved my soporific state.

I can only hope that, when I AM eventually dragged into the arms of Morpheus once again, no one notices.

But hey, this is the government... I can't be the ONLY one sleeping, right?

Music, my son... music.

Here is some music you should listen to if you know what's good for you...

Passion Pit : their new album Manners is somewhere between MGMT and that feeling you get when you're really full and you got that way solely from eating chocolate. It's that good.

Suckers : they don't have a full length album out, but oh man, what they've got is gonna rock your socks off!

Harlem Shakes : Quite groovy, and they'd better be, 'cause they're on tour with Passion Pit as we speak... or write... or read. Whatever.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs : You know them. You like them. I gotta say, I wasn't totally sold on these guys, but their new album (It's Blitz)... oh man. It's good. That's all I can say.

Golden Boots : No one has every heard of these guys. Except me. They are new, and they are groovy. Mellow melodies, man.

There you have it. Go forth and listen.

Four jobs I've had
1.Chamber Maid - Out in Tofino, all aloney on my owney. Pretty disgusting, cleaning up after rich snobs and messy honeymooners. The stains on the sheets were bad enough, I won't even go into all the other weird crap I had to deal with.
2. Server - I will never, EVER do this again. I worked in the food industry for 2 1/2 soul crushing years. I hate people, I hate hungry people even more, and I REALLY hate hungry people who haven't a clue how to tip.
3. Reception (Totem Travel) - This job was pretty sweet actually. I just sat at a desk for 4 hours every night after everyone else had gone home and read my book or went on the computer. If anyone came in, I was actually SUPPOSED to tell them to come back during the day. I have no idea why I was there, but I wasn't about to ask, either.
4. Reception (Salman Partners) - Yuck. And might I add, Gross. Terrence Salman can suck my BALLS (if I had them). Ditto to Anne, Julina (Cuntroller extrordinaire), Bill, (dia) Ria, and everyone in research. I hope the stock market crashes even further and you all lose your jobs. Except Kristen, who by that time will be some sort of writing whiz.

Four movies I can watch over and over
1. The Life Aquatic
2. Pride and Prejudice (the one with Colin Firth)
3. Waynes World
4. Any Harry Potter movie

Four places I have lived
1. Victoria, first when I was a leetle girl, later when I was a leetle lady. Didn't dig it, either time.
2. Courtenay, or more specifically Merville. I love this place, and am moving back VERY SOON!
3. Tofino, for a few months after highschool. In staff accom. Bad experience all around :(
4. Here in Vancouver with the love of my life, Jonathan. I don't really dig this place either, but anywhere that he is, I want to be too.

Four TV shows I love
1. 30 Rock
2. Flight of the Conchords
3. Arrested Development
4. It's Always sunny in Philidelphia

Four places I've vacationed
1. Kenya and Egypt, when I was 12-ish
2. Barra de Navidad, Mexico, when I was 13-ish
3. Dominican Republic, when I was 21-ish
4. Hong Kong, this time last year, with Jonny-pants.

Four sites I visit daily
1. Failblog.org
2. Craigslist.ca
3. cbc.ca/bc
4. facebook... alas.

Four Places I would rather be right now
1. At home, with Jonathan, possible snuggled up in bed, maybe getting a massage
2. Somewhere warm, with cool, alcoholic beverages and white sand beaches
3. In Merville with my parents (and Jonathan) out in the garden
4. Pretty much anywhere but here

Four People I am tagging
1. No one, because Kristen has done this already and I have no other blogging friends.

Fighting people all over the city

Should you be unfortunate enough to know me, you probably know that I am not the type to lose my temper. I may get worked into a minor tizz sometime, but it's always short lived and mild.
You will also know that I am one of the least likely people to get into a shouting match with a complete stranger on the bus... yet this is exactly what I found myself doing last night.

I'd just spent a lovely afternoon with my friend Nilly, having my final wedding dress fitting, and was feeling happy, beautiful... and STRONG. You know that empowered feeling you get when you know you are looking good? You feel smart, confident, ready to take on the world... or, should the world be unavailable, at least some little piss-ant on the bus.

So when Nilly and I got on the 99 B Line, there to encounter just such an individual, I thought "I do NOT have to take this... OH NO! I DO NOT!"

We sat ourselves down on the back bench of the bus, I beside the window, Nilly next to me, a faceless stranger next to Nilly, and two Wanna-Be Gansta Fools (WBGFs) next to the faceless stranger. WBGF #1 had his cell phone glued to his ear (into which he was pouring a ceaseless stream of expletives) and a laptop on his lap was issuing forth music of much the same content.

You know those signs on the bus saying "You're not the only person on the bus, young man, so turn off your darn music and mind your p's and q's"? He is precisely the sort those signs are aimed at.

After a few blocks of this, his phone "conversation" (I am inclined to think he wasn't even talking to anyone... ) had degenerated into a miasma of cursing and threats so base as to make even the most hardened youth on the bus raise their pierced eyebrows in wonder. Nilly and I did the same.

A woman sitting a couple of seats away with a small child on her lap hastily covered the youngster's ears, looking worriedly at the redoubtable "thug".

I could stand it no longer.

Standing up and leaning towards him I shouted,

"Get off the phone, turn your music down, AND WATCH YOUR FILTHY LANGUAGE! There are children on the bus!"

I refrained from throwing in a couple of choice insults of my own, much as I wanted to, as this probably would have come hypocritical...

He looked at me, mouth agape, as though no one had ever taken a firm hand with him in his life, as I'm sure they hadn't. He didn't appear to like it.

Everyone else did though, and I sat down with adrenaline coursing through my veins amidst smiles of encouragement and thanks.

WBGF #1 closed his computer, scowling, and said "Hey, I AM sorry that there were kids around, didn't see them (they were sitting directly in front of him) but you don't have to yell at me like a C-U-N-*! Kids can't spell, but you know what I mean by that, you stupid C-U-N-*."

The child in questoin was probably 6 or 7, and if he was anything like I was at 6 or 7 could probably spell a four letter word.

I smiled blandly at WBGF as he continued his tirade at me, slipping again into foul language as my silence fanned the flames of his anger.

Finally, after telling his friend (WBGF #2) that he was going to cuss me out if we got off at the same bus stop (isn't that what he'd been doing this whole time anyway?) I laughed and said "Go for it, buddy."

His eyes bulged as he yelled "I will! I'm gonna punch you in your stupid cun* face, you stupid bitch. You just get into other peoples f---ing business 'cuz you're so sad and lonely 'cuz no one will ever stick it in you, you stupid fat ugly cun*"

I laughed gaily and replied "I'm getting married in two months. Have you ever even HAD a girlfriend?"

"I've got tons of f---ing girlfriends you stupid cun* (his favorite word). You're just jealous, and I feel sorry for your f---ing boyfriend for having to live with such an ugly f---ing bitch his life."

"You realise you are making yourself look like a fool, don't you? No one on this bus thinks you are tough. You sound like an idiot, and you only use swear words to bolster your limited grasp on the English language."

He subsided into his seat, no doubt wondering what on earth I had just said, and mumbed more curses and threats in my general direction. Nilly clutched my arms half giggling half wanting me to shut the hell up.

"I am NOT going to leave you when we get off the bus. That guy wants to beat you up!" she hissed in my ear.

I snorted, unafraid, and highly doubting WBGF's ability to beat up a small child, let alone a woman brimming with ire.

The next stop was ours, and as luck would have it, we DID exit the bus with the Wanna-Be Gangsta Fools. Out on the street I glared at him and said "O.k. here we are, are you gonna punch me in the face?"

He turned a lovely shade of mauve and wittily countered "You've got shoulders like a f---ing quarter back, you f---ing dyke." whilst he shuffled backwards away from me.

"That's it?" I yelled.

"Stupid f---ing quarter back! Go home to your f---ing dyke boyfriend, you f---ing cun*!" he called, ceaselessly, until he turned a corner out of sight.

Nilly left me then with a hug, while the woman with the small child got off the bus to thank me.

I was left to run all the way home, the only outlet I was likely to get for the litres of adrenaline coursing through me.

Though I knew the WBGF was all talk and would never really hurt me, still, it had pumped me up, talking back to him, and had he come at me, fists flying, I would have stood my ground and given him a fist full of business right back.

I can't stand jerks like that.

Silver Lining

No matter how poorly things may be going in your life, always be thankful that you don't look like this...

Farts

Listen, Sir... I heard you fart in the elevator.

And then I smelled it.

And then I heard you do it again.

Despite the fact that you seem to have lost all sphincter control and are probably as loose as a four year old's tooth down there, still I heard an audible pffffft followed quickly (but not quickly enough) by an involuntary clenching of the buttocks.

So you didn't need to glance over at me (as I surreptitiously swaddled my nose in the neck of my sweater) and say "geez, wonder what the guys on here before us had for lunch, eh?"

For one thing, as previously stated... I HEARD YOU, you egg-scented ass. Also, I was in the elevator for 3 floors before you got on, alone, and it sure as hell didn't smell then.

As for the question of what you had for lunch, my guess is shit, because that is the only thing I can think of that when digested may conceivably smell WORSE than shit.

Merde.

I thought I was going to suffocate.To make matters worse, you skipped off a floor below mine, leaving me to exit the elevator in a fog of shame as my senior coworkers were entering. Later I heard an ambulance siren and seriously wondered if one of them perished in your home made gas chamber. Doubtless I would have gotten the blame.

My only point is this; why not just own up to it? We both knew it was you. And hey, everyone farts... (though not everyone shits their pants when they do, as I am wont to think you did). But farting, that's a part of life.

So next time, Mister Colon-Blower, do your fellow elevator riders a favor and either zip off the lift when your anus starts to tingle, or tell the rest of us to.

More Bus Fun!

Yesterday on the bus a man gave me his seat.

I said "Thank you."

He whispered "I'm Superman."

He leaped out the door at the next stop, and ran pell-mell down the street.

I think, in retrospect, he might have been crazy, but at the time I was PRETTY SURE he was Superman.

On a totally unrelated topic, I've written a poem about the woman I work with.

Old crazy dame, you shave your lip
you sit on your prosthetic hip
You type as fast as a snail
you don't know how to use email
You're pretty rude, when on the phone
you asked me how to spell "cellphone"
And though you smell of a bovine
Do not fret, I like you fine.

Drunkards

Oh, the bus.

I must say, I never tire of the characters I meet therein.

This morning, as I sat minding my own business with my nose in a book (thus to deter any would-be chatters) a morbidly obese and highly intoxicated Aboriginal couple boarded the bus and sat down. I was separated from this charming duo by a barbie lookalike who quickly stood up and moved to the other end of the vehicle with a muttered "Ugh!"

The manlier of the sots (though both had bosoms, so this isn't saying much) chortled after her saying "Nobody smiles on the bus! Nobody smiles on the bus! Chortlechortlechortle."

He looked at me and I gave him an obliging smile, hoping that could be the end of our communication.

"What's that you're reading?" he asked, dashing my hopes cruelly against the harsh rocks of reality.

"Oh.. it's the last book in a series of historical novels" I replied politely.

At this point, his as yet silent companion piped up in a voice far too loud for a 7:30 am bus ride "WHAT DO YOU CARE? YOU CAN'T EVEN READ? STUPID ASS!"

Man-sot turned to her hissing angrily "I can read, I can read you stupid slut. Why don't you keep your mouth shut for once in your god damn life?"

He then turned back to me with a cheery smile and asked (as though he hadn't just been swearing his teeth out) "Oh, history! Do you like history? Chortle chortle."

Me: Yes I d....

Lady-Sot: WHO'S ASKING? YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT HISTORY IS! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT YEAR THIS IS! HARHAR HARHAR!

Man-Sot: you-shut-your-mouth-you-dirty-bitch-or-i'll-shut-it-for-you-you-don't-know-nothin-making-a-fool-outta-me-stupid-slut.... SHE'S JUST KIDDING!! JUST JOKING AROUND, EVERYONE! Chortle chortle! I love history, know all about it! That's me, history man!

Me: Yes... well, good for y..

Lady-Sot: THAT'S WHAT I SAID! I SAID YOU WERE HISTORY MAN! EVERYONE HEARD ME! I SAID YOU ARE HISTORY MAN AND YOU READ BETTER N' ANYONE!

Man-Sot: SHUT YOUR M... Oh... Yeah, you're RIGHT! I AM HISTORY MAN! Chortle chortle chortle!

Lady-Sot: Har har har! HARHAR!

Me: Well, this is my stop... I'll just..

Both: CHORTLE HARHAR! CHORTLE!! HISTORY!

This was probably one of the more normal bus rides I've ever had.

#1 Reason I'm Done Drinking

What IS my style?

I like to fancy myself a writer.

However, apart from the inane prattlings on this blog and a couple of truly excellent children's stories, I've really yet to write anything.

Also, it has been brought to my attention that perhaps I don't write in my own style... whatever that may be. To this I say "pfft" and also "tcha".

I think that the best writers take from their life what they find useful and incorporate it into something personal and all their own. For instance, though I may have a bit of the Louise Rennison voice to my writing, do I write just as she writes? Do I read just as she reads?

I think not. I think I'm pretty funny all on my ownsome.

It is all a moot point anywho because no one reads this and it's only for my own amusment to pass the time at work, really.

Survey Says...

Alrighty, Kristen, now we are blog buddies and I will do this survey!

What's your current obsession?
I wouldn't say I generally get "Obsessed" about much of anything. I'm not the type. But I have been on this blog pretty much constantly since I set it up. I think that says more about how boring my work is, rather than me being obsessed.

What's your weirdest obsession?
Hmmm... again, not the obsessive type... I'd have to go with eavesdropping. I think I do it a little too much. I listen to other peoples' (generally stupid) conversations, then hold onto any juicy morsel until I can get home to Jonathan... or anyone with ears really... at which time I will spin their conversation into some sort of fantastic story, generally ending with fisticuffs and me being kicked out of some public area.

What are you wearing today?
Oooh, am I looking goood today! Seafoam green pleated dress from the seventies paired with black accessories in the form of toque, belt, tights, leg-warmers, and skate shoes. Rad.

Why is today special?
It's not really. Tomorrow is though! I am going to try on my wedding dress! Sadly, it is not going to fit, and I will have to drown my sorrows in hot fudge sundays, further aggravating the problem (ie my slightly enlarged tum).

What would you like to learn to do?
Plenty! I'd like to be a better writer. I would also like to learn how to edit. I think I would be a great editor of books. I'd really like to learn a second language fluently. I am leaning towards Spanish, but I'd settle for Italian.

What's for dinner today?
Oooh! I don't know! It's always a surprise. If I had to guess, I'd say left over been stew (mmmm) but I am kind of hoping for spicy chicken and rice.

What's the last thing you bought?
Tea. I am drinking it now but it has gone cold :(

What's your favourite weather?
SUN!! Sun and more sun! I would gladly move somewhere where it was sunny ALL the time. I would never get tired of it. NEVER!

What's your most challenging goal right now?
Staying awake. And not going on ebay to buy more vintage dresses.

What do you think about the person who tagged you?
Erm... well, no one REALLY tagged me, but I know Kristen wanted me to do this in her deepest heart of hearts. And I think she's fabbity fad with knobs on.

If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
Tough call. It's a toss up between Merville, close to my Mam and Daddy's house and Mexico. Barra de Navidad spec, close to the beach. We'd turn it into a bed and breakfast. Ahhh... I can almost hear the waves.

Favourite vacation spot?
Oh tough call! What a cruel question. If I have to choose from places I've already been, then I'd say Barra... or Kenya... But if I can choose hypothetically, I think I will really enjoy Cuba... and Italy when we get there some day. And Bali. And India. And Spain. Or anywhere warm with a beach, really.

What would you like to have in your hands right now?
A large cheque. Made out to me. For a couple million, at least.

What would you like to get rid of?
My pot belly! But it will never leave me. It is a part of me forever. So sad.
I would also like to cut all of my fucking hair off since it's driving me INSANE! However, I must let it be until the wedding. Then snip, snip, MOHAWK!

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
A white sand beach where attractive men served me Pina Colada. It is possibly a nude beach. And Jonathan is there... and no one else... (except the attractive servant men).

What's your favourite thing about the city you live in?
Huh. Not a lot. I'm not nuts about this place. But I DO really love all the tasty restaurants. And all of Jonathan's friends that have become my friends too. It will be sad to leave them. Other than that, this place doesn't really do it for me.

If you had $150 to spend right now, what would you spend it on?
Chocolate.

Do you admire anyone's style?
I think Jonathan is looking pretty good these days, but that's my doing.

Describe your personal style.
Ecclectic. And, and I like to think, pretty rad.

What are three live shows that you have seen?
I have seen 3 different Cirque du Soleil performances... and CHROMEO, which was awesome. Very shortly I will be going to the Animal Collective show... exciting!

THE END. Now I am going for lunch.

they know... they're watching...

I've just been warned by a friend and wellwisher that I shouldn't blog about work as someone is bound to find it.

I feel, though, that if I change everyone's name and never mention where it is, exactly, that I work, then I'll be o.k.

The cruel posts must and shall continue!

And thanks to that same friend and wellwisher (who's hilarious blog puts my own to shame) for finding my stories! Relief!

Cheery people make me spew

Here's a little story about the first time I met the new girl at work...

I was sitting in my cubicle, minding my own business, working hard to finish a picture I was drawing in paint for my own amusement.

The mustachioed and inept elderly receptionist was out in reception trying to figure out how to do something receptionisty. Though I've showed her how a phone works and which button turns the computer on, I've grave doubts that she will accomplish anything with her life.

Anywhatsit, I was just putting the finishing touches on my newest masterpiece when the sound of banjos and yodelling struck up close by.

Being the calm and patient person that I am, I immediately yelled "who's got that crap music on?" whilst throwing pencils in the general direction of the noise.

I heard a stifled giggle, and a girl emerged from the cubicle adjacent to my own. She had that stupid healthy look that some people have where their cheeks are too rosy and and it looks like they've just got in from riding a horse across the plains (though where she found any plains around here is beyond me).

"Oops", said Horsegirl "I guess you can take the girl out of the country but you can't take the country out of the girl!"

"Oh, I'm sure your country would take you back if you didn't have such a stupid haircut / speak with such a stupid accent / wear such naff boots." I said. In my head. Good one, brain!

"Hi, I'm Horsegirl," she droned on. "Was my music too loud?"

"Erm," said I "We usually wear headphones if we are going to listen to horrib... uh... music."

She then sidled into my cublice (uninvited) and proceeded to tell me all about herself. I can sum this up with the words Boring, Alberta, Really Boring, and Pig Farm.

She also wanted to know all about me, and where I came from.

I told her "Well, I was born, I was alive for a while, and now I'm not sure, but I think I may have slipped into a coma."

She was undeterred by this and laughed gaily before scampering off to her desk, there to rearrrange her my little pony collection and listen to Garth Brooks on her headphones.

The rest of my day was spent ducking around corners when I saw her coming and generally ignorez-vousing her with all my might.

She has yet to get the picture, however, and just now asked me if I'd ever heard of the band "Big and Rich" (I have not).

This can only end in some sort of violent outburst on my part.

Oh shit, I have a blog...

Great.

Now what do I write?

Let's start with RAD and maybe a bit of AWESOME.

Good. Good start. I can see why so many people do this.