I have tried, in my way, to be free

I just helped my dad put up our Christmas lights out front. Our light display is always weak at best--just a couple of strings in the maple to show willing and a dash of holiday spirit. There is a certain magic in an artfully lit house at night, I'll admit, but besides that I tend to be apathetic towards these exercises in suburban excess. My brother usually ends up helping Dad do it, and they usually fight, so it was probably a surprisingly untaxing ordeal for him today.

A few weeks ago I was looking forward to the holiday season, but now, with the spectre of gift shopping and businesses bringing their rowdy staffs into MY work for a cheap show of appreciative appeasement looming, I find myself somewhat Scroogey. I just have a sense of impending doom--like it's going to be an unutterably depressing month.

Listening to all this Leonard Cohen probably isn't helping either.

I need a vacation. Of course, I come to this conclusion on a week where I've picked up a shift on one of my days off, and at the beginning of a month when it is impossible for me to book any stretch of time off. I'm feeling like I did before I went to Europe--all desperate and increasingly cranky at work. I was fully picturing stabbing a woman in the eye with a pen last night. She was that particular brand of douchebag that treats waitstaff like they're stupid and lower-class. You can pick them out by the patronizing look in their eyes, and the way they talk reeeeaaally slowwwwly so that the waitress (who MUST be a moron because she is a WAITRESS) can undertand their particular requests. She did not read the menu ("I want a hamburger." "Alright, ma'am, there are four different kinds. The Grill--" "I'll have a hamburger."), and called me over by yelling "HEY!" across the restaurant at me. I could go into the whole saga of this woman and her thrice-damned burger, but my blood pressure is rising again just thinking about it.

I tell you, if I ever win the lottery and have to work a shift that night, it will be the sweetest feeling of release to speak my mind. I'd probably be fired and have to leave (escorted by the plaza security, no less) five minutes after I got my first table, but ohhhh man, it'd be SO worth it.

please understand I never had a secret charm to get me to the heart of this or any other matter

Okay, that boy problem I alluded to a while back? I OFFICIALLY give up now. I fold. I quit. I refuse to be made into the kind of crazy person I'm becoming. Recent developments have only underscored the fact that there must be a line drawn between unneccessary dramatics and really, actually, annoying myself. This better stick, or I'll have to take to slapping myself daily from sheer exasperation.

I should have given my number to that guy tonight. He was a bit of a jackass, but in an amusing way. And he was cute.

Just because I'm aware of my tendency to manufacture drama in my own life doesn't mean I can control it. Tragic but true.

don't you tell me about my cones

Went shopping, and I actually stuck to my guns and bought new work pants and new running shoes. I caved and got Nikes though. My youthful boycott of all things Nike has ended in a pair of shoes that have shiny bits, clear bits, mesh bits, and the ubiquitous swoosh. They're pretty intense. I didn't get the REALLY intense pair though. They were clear all around the sole, so you could see the shocks. Yes, they scared me.

Speaking of things that scare me, I also went ahead and tried on a pair of skinny jeans. I've avoided trying them because of the visceral fear that I would look like an asshat in them, seeing as they are generally intended for women who balance on sticks in lieu of actual human legs. But in a moment of insanity in H&M, I went for it. It was cone-legged city, but they weren't actually AS bad as I thought they'd be. Fear not, I didn't end up buying them.

Shopping for work pants was pretty depressing. Old Navy let me down, so I went to Mark's Work Wearhouse. It is HARD to find a pair of heavyweight, mostly cotton, black dress pants that aren't too long (my cones are short and stubby, alright?), and flatter the bottom (I gotta make tips somehow). But I found a pair that aren't too heinous and had no soccer mom details to them.

Learning the foxtrot tonight, and then it's coffee with my gal Jo.

yes, I'm back on a work rant

Who comes to a place that has a cartoon turtle (wearing a backwards baseball cap and holding a mug of beer, if you were wondering) as its mascot, and then gives the waitstaff attitude because we don't have filet mignon? Also, I am 99% sure that the hair he claimed to have found in his salad belonged to his companion. It was pink and long, and guess who had fading red highlights? You're right, she did. And no one on our staff does.

Sunday night is crazies night. I had a mini-rush an hour before we closed, which was super not fun. My new pet peeve is the couples who use one person as their spokesperson. And I don't mean in the sense that they've discussed their order and one person tells me the whole thing. I mean that I have had many "conversations" that go like this:

A: And he'll have coleslaw with that.
ME: I'm afraid we're out of coleslaw.
A (to B): They're out of coleslaw.
B (to A): No coleslaw?!? Salad then.
ME: Garden, caesar, or Greek?
A (to B): Garden, caesar, or Greek?
B (to A): Caesar.
A (to ME): Caesar.

And so on and so forth, ad nauseum. Usually the B in the equation won't even look at me. Everything is relayed through A. If I do manage to get B to respond to a direct question, it is invariably accompanied by an appalled or dirty look, as though I am breaking some sort of code. I had at least three sets of these types last night.

I hate looking at a table and knowing they're going to be assholes, and then being proved right.

heaven sounds pretty boring anyway

I'm afraid that my crush on laptop guy must end, as evidence is mounting that he is a cult member. He usually comes in by himself, but every now and again another guy would join him, and they would have some kind of intense conversation, one time with a bible on the table. Last night there were five of them, and there was a definite church-group aura wafting off them. And one of them (they paid separate bills) left me a "$1 000 000" bill with his credit card slip that sure is some Christian Evangelical propaganda.

As I think those who know me are aware, not only do I take the lord's name in vain willy nilly, I also don't believe in him. I certainly am not going to "read [my] Bible daily and obey it." I certainly have done more than just "looked" with lust. I'm really pretty appalled that I have this thing sitting on my desk right now.

It's possible that laptop guy is connected with these guys in some completely random, non-culty way. He did stay after they left, which implies... what? Some degree of separation, I guess. But I'm going to re-direct the adultery in my heart at someone else. You really can't have an unrequited love for someone who's convinced you're going to hell.

wait til tomorrow, you'll be fine

I was up until five am this morning. I think it was part crappy sleeping habits, part residual cold symptoms, and part psychological. I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to sleep, and so I wasn't. At around three thirty I caved and took a decongestant. I read somewhere that you're not supposed to take them more than three days in a row because you'll get backlash congested (I'm sure they phrased it more medically), so I was trying to get through the night by mouth breathing. Sexy, I know.

Anyway, during my "research" into decongestants, I came across this helpful tip to naturally unplug your nose. You alternately thrust your tongue against the roof of your mouth and press with your fingers between your eyebrows for thirty seconds. This is supposed to make some kind of dealy in your face rock back and forth and encourage it to drain, clearing your sinuses. All I got was a headache. So now I suspect some Dr Jerk is having fun with hapless cold victims via the power of the internet. Like I didn't have enough problems with the whole inability to breathe thing.

November appears to be whizzing by. This only makes me nervous because I feel like I missed something along the way.

fiscal responsibility...

Very strange, but good for a giggle or two.

I think that was the last of the Sudafed anyway

So, that reccomended dosage thing for medication? Apparently people who know stuff set that. What I'm trying to say is, don't take twice the amount of extra-strength Sudafed that you're supposed to. I'm coming off it now, but maaan alive, that was not cool. Dance class this week was even worse than when I was hungover.

Back when I was healthy, I had big plans for today. I was going to the bank, and then going to buy new work pants and shoes (for real this time... no, I really meant to!), and start my Christmas shopping. Instead, I slept until two, then made soup and watched Arrested Development. And then over-medicated and went to dance class. So, a very productive day.

I wonder when I'm going to feel adult.

I should hire someone to kick your ass for that

There's a brutal cold that's going around work, and yours truly is slowwwwly coming down with it. I hate creeper colds. You THINK you can beat it, but really, it's just incubating and testing you with a sore throat and some muscle achiness... and then BAM! Right between the eyes. The whole shebang, coughing, sneezing, stuffed up head....

But foolish optimism is an unfortunate part of my personality, and so I am drinking orange juice and tea like they're going out of style, and lying around in my pyjamas, hoping against hope that this whole thing will just go away. And being unnecessarily dramatic about the whole ordeal, naturally.

At least this is giving me the opportunity to watch Arrested Development. My brother left all three seasons here, and so I'm catching up on a series I knew I'd love, but never got around to seeing.

the name of my blog is getting more apt with each passing day

There's a certain sick comfort in the fact that no matter how retarded my life can get, I have the innate talent required to make it worse.

they're all about duty

First off, what's this Blogger Beta madness all about? I fear change. And the fact that Blogger seems very badly to want me to switch to it makes me... not want to. I guess I'm just feeling crotchety lately. So, someone explain it to me using small words, and then I'll go off on a rant about walking to school in the snow, up-hill both ways, and then beat you with my cane. Sound good?

I find myself oddly fascinated by Michael Ignatieff. I don't even know how to properly pronounce his last name. But whenever the Star, or the Globe, or Maclean's runs a feature on the man, I feel compelled to read it. I've read several "in-depth" articles on him, all of which pretty much said the same things. I don't know what I think of him. I don't know that I'd vote for him. I don't know if he'd make a good prime minister. If I ever met him, I'd be too intimidated by his storied intellect to say a damn word. Bob Rae, now... he's just as smart and educated, but I feel like if I ever met him, I wouldn't immediately have to leave the room crying because I'd just said something completely embarrassing and idiotic. I was just a kid when he was premier, so I don't have all that angst about how he apparently screwed up the province. And I'm more NDP than Liberal, in the grand scheme of things.

Come to think of it, I actually distinctly remember the beginning of this Ignatieff thing. It was an article in Maclean's several years ago. It was about the names being bandied about for worthy successors to Jean Chretien--basically, a search for someone to save the country. I don't think I'd ever heard of him before, but suddenly there his name was, as someone being courted by the Liberal party, but who was turning it down. My curiousity was piqued. I think I thought something vague about duty, and wondering why this "philosopher king" would refuse when his country called. I don't know. I was younger, and idealistic-er.

Enough ramblings about the political atmosphere in Canada. I have to pack an overnight bag and haul ass to the Hammer, where me an my cronies are going to watch some Arrested Development and pretend we're still at 10 Stanley.

extra-strength migraine relief advil is second in the best friend list

I've recently gotten into the habit of brushing my teeth in the shower. I used to do it in first year all the time--if you're lugging your basket of toiletries to the shower stall, it just saves time to brush in the shower rather than pause at the sink... look, a lot of people did it, alright? stop judging me--but now I have no good excuse. In fact, it probably adds to the time I spend in there already. But my mouth feels cleaner, I swear! And I think we can all agree that a cleaner Susan is desirable. I think I started doing it when I was hungover a couple weeks ago, and felt like I needed a inner and outer body scouring.

My ipod is my new best friend, so sucks to the rest of you vying for that position. I'm thinking of MAYBE taking my rando Mexican dance music off of it, because how often am I in the mood for it, really? The best part of that cd was blasting it obnoxiously when I was doing the dishes at 10 Stanley to passive-aggressively punish my roommates (oh, like you didn't know that's what it was about, you guys... although the time I was REALLY mad it was directed at FuckFace). But it is kind of fun music. Meh. We'll see if the shuffle function takes a liking to it. There's only so much of it I can take.

I'm feeling restless lately; the desire to do something drastic is taking hold. Liiiike... getting a pixie cut and dying my remaining hair fire engine red. Oooh, can you imagine how much I'd cry after that? I am such a suck about my hair. I mean, I yell at the tv when those clowns on ANTM or What Not to Wear whine about getting all their hair chopped off, but... no, wait. If someone was paying for a famous salon dude to give me a fabulous new look, I'd friggin' suck it up. They're the experts, and I am merely a schmo who has no idea how to talk to a hair stylist.

it's here!

Hurray! I'll never doubt FedEx tracking ever again! Fantabulous! And here, unveiled, is my glorious inscription:

Susan
innate kung fu skillz

It's ingenious because it's ironic, it's vaguely threatening, it alludes to my mysterious ethnicity, AND it's completely untrue! It's pretty much everything I was looking for in an engraving.

ramblings about my day

Today was a full day. I woke up at six twenty, showered, and drove to London to be on Emo's Fanshawe TV Morning Show. She was producing, so, being somewhat qualified in the performing arts, and having nothing to do in the mornings (besides sweet sweet sleep, but more on that later), I took this opportunity to practice being charming in front of a camera. It was good solid times; apparently most of the guests are somewhat stilted, and we all know that I am a narcissistic ham in front of a camera, so how could I fail? It was weird meeting her posse in person, because I've seen so many youTube videos of them (and vice versa) that I felt like I'd already known them for awhile. Anyway, I was interviewed about my experiences as a television and film extra, so I nattered on about various things that I only vaguely remember--what? It was a whole year ago, alright? I gotta make room for new stuff in my head. Why am I getting confrontational on my blog again? Shut up, that's why.

Em and I grabbed lunch at Kelsey's. I had a ridiculous burger. It was delicious, but filling. Then we hung out for a bit, but we were both completely zonked. I hadn't seen that side of the morning in awhile, and she'd pulled an all nighter to prepare for the rigours of production. So I drove back home and immediately broke my resolution not to nap anymore. But it's a good thing I did, because we learned the basics of jive at ballroom tonight (ROUGH), and then Jo and I grabbed dessert at TJ's, where those bastards didn't have the Turtle Pie I'd come expressly for. I reccomend it to people constantly, but I've never actually had it. But giggles were had and Jo was exposed to some of my coworkers, but unfortunately missed catching a glimpse of laptop guy.

If apple.com and FedEx are to be believed, I should have my ipod around noon tomorrow. And then I will share my inscription with the world.

I really enjoy My Chemical Romance's new single. I used to listen to their cd because someone had abandoned it in the costume shop, so whenever I forgot to bring my own (and Denis wasn't around... he was more of a classical music kind of guy, although he appreciated my Lovin' Spoonfuls cd), I'd just load 'er up. Can't remember any of the songs in any detail, but this "Welcome to the Black Parade" song is striking a chord with me for some reason. It's odd, because it doesn't seem like the kind of thing I'd be into. I'm renewing my love for Elliott Smith as well. This ipod project is fun!

Man. I don't actually have anything of particular interest to say. I just felt like rambling to someone, and what is this blog for if not a receptacle for my unnecessary thoughts?

I see you're climbing a tree and I know that it's easier to be high up in the air than the ground

The ipod has been ordered, and apple.com has informed me that it has been shipped! I'm pretty excited. I'll tell you what I got engraved when it gets here; I don't know why I'm feeling like telling you now would be spoiling a surprise of some kind, because most of you are not even going to see the damn thing, but there you have it. I want it in my hot little hands before I publish my witty genius to the world. Mother will not be impressed, I'm going to tell you that right off.

I'm strangely addicted to Chelsea Hotel #2 by Leonard Cohen right now. My new project is to fill up my computer with songs to put on my ipod, and I loaded the two disc Essential Leonard Cohen. itunes took a shine to it, and kept playing it when I turned on the shuffle (shuffle on itunes is low on the actual shuffle, I've discovered... it picks its favourites, and you're damn lucky if that coincides with yours).

I've decided to boycott naps entirely. Yesterday I actually worked a daytime shift, and man alive, it was rough. I was making rookie mistakes and generally wandering around in a haze. Apparently I need more than one cup of coffee if I'm to function before four pm. Closing the night before probably didn't help. Anyway, after I got home, I ate dinner and then passed right out from eight thirty to eleven thirty. And then I was up until five this morning. Not cool, dude. This week all five shifts are closes, so at least I'll have some consistency. Now I've had a whole bunch of coffee and sugar, so tonight should be alright until I crash. It occurs to me that I'm probably not as healthy as I could be.

my new favourite comic strip, for realz

just forget the world

Hungover again. I ended up going out with an old friend, Tiff, who I've known since elementary school, but rarely see anymore. We've always kind of been peripheral friends--in the same general group, but closer to other people within it. She's doing her masters in some kind of science-y, bio-y, medicine-y thing at UofT. What I mean by that is I have no clue what she's actually doing. Anyway, it was some kind of classmate get-together, which was a little weird for me, being a kooky drama grad from Guelph. Three of the other girls were petite, Asian, non-drinkers. I had my four-inch heels on, red lipstick, and was demonstrating the shopping cart dance (Tiff was not impressed). I kind of feel like I'm the type of person they wouldn't ordinarily be exposed to socially. The club was alright, but I never really go clubbing anymore, so I was appalled by the expensive drinks and the wannabe Euro-trash guys. Still, I got drunk and danced foolishly when they played selections of oldies near the end of the night, so good times.

I had a moment where I thought perhaps all these studious science types would judge me for being a waitress with a degree in drama, but then I mentally slapped myself. I've never wanted that life, so what's the point in feeling inadequate?

Jo accused me of having feelings today, that ho

I have hilariously, and, to be frank, typically, made my boy problem even worse. It's straight out of poor chick lit. I actually used the phrase, "If you don't know why I'm mad at you, you don't DESERVE to know." Tragic. I give up. Life is too short to be as idiotic as this. Remind me not to drink doubles anymore.

My piratey dance partner and I were both hungover for ballroom tonight. Doing fast spins in the cha-cha on an iffy stomach is probably not reccomended by the surgeon-general. We power-sauced through, however, and managed not to screw up too much. Afterward, we went to his old workplace for a drink. I really wish I could work fine dining. Too bad my resume has places like Nickel's and Jose's Noodle Factory on it. I can't even take me seriously.

Well, November's off to quite the start. I feel like this month is going to be hellish. Prove me wrong, November. Prove me wrong.