two Of Montreal music videos I am not getting sick of any time soon

I stared at this for a second, and then busted a gut

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

will you please stop doing that?

Alright, so every night since at least last Thursday, a middle-aged Asian couple has walked into the restaurant, bypassed the hostess stand, and gone to the booth that's tucked alllll the way in the back. Well, last night there was a raucous party going on at the tables in that area, so they picked a less inconvenient booth, but generally they'll head right on back there. When the closing server notices them (that section is usually closed by this point in the night, so no one would be put there purposely), she has to bring them menus and serve them. They order Rickard's Red by the pitcher, and one meal to split between them. And they always order another pitcher at last call. They sit on the same side of the booth, and what do you think they do once they've had a little food and a bunch of beer? THEY MAKE OUT. FOR HOURS. And yesterday, they went into the handicapped washroom together in the middle of their third and last pitcher. This, after all my work is done, and all I have to do before I can get out of my uniform and leave is clean and re-set their table.

I've been lucky in that two out of the three times I've had to serve them, they've left before 2 am. And unfortunately, they really seem to like me (I think I'm actually the least rude to them), so I feel bad about being filled with such intense despair and rage when I see them come in. We've tried practically everything to hint that they are inconveniencing everyone. I actually stood by the booth while they made out and swept the floor. We've cleared everything off the table. We've turned off all the televisions, the music, and even the lights. Oh no, they leave when they are good and ready, and not a moment before.

My major thing is, don't they have a HOME? I thought maybe they were cheating on their respective spouses, but since they've come in every single night... well, no one is THAT gullible. One night when I wasn't there, they got super drunk and banged the empty pitchers on the table. Last night, I was hanging out in the bar, and peering over the divide, hoping they'd left. When the table was finally empty, I literally ran around the corner yelling "YESS!!" and nearly bowled them over as they were exiting.

Tonight's my last close until Monday, and if there is a higher power looking out for me, they'll go to Shoeless Joe's instead.

this is how I feel about ALL coffee

step three was where it trainwrecked

In a strange case of life imitating... well, for the sake of argument, let's say art, the guy I've been seeing recently attempted to present me with his dick in a box yesterday. This, on our third date. Now, I'm not lacking in the sense of humour department--you might call it odd, quirky, or strange, but you must admit that I have one. I draw the line at indecent exposure in a parking lot before we've gotten to second base. I've got to say, it speaks volumes about his self-confidence. And yes, the dick in a box thing was something of an in-joke between us. But I've learned two very important lessons from this:

1. Never, ever, ever, give your number out to a guest at work.
2. I'm too nice of a person sometimes, and the wisest thing to have done was head for the hills.

To answer the obvious question, no, I did not open the box. I was waiting in the restaurant when he called me to come out to the parking lot, and I told him to take the thing off and get inside. Which, hindsight being what it is, was the appropriate time to exit and circle around the place and leave. Instead I stayed, and now I'm going to have to break things off with him over the phone and hope like hell I don't run into him before I've moved to Toronto.

Speaking of Toronto, my friend Charlie's office is relocating from Winnipeg. He has a friend who's 19, and never lived on his own, who's looking for either a bachelor apartment or a roommate to split a two bedroom place with. However, if I were to move in with this guy, it'd be... SOON. Like, in a few weeks soon. He's a magician, which is a point in his favour, and according to Charlie, he's the nicest guy in the world. I'm not entirely adverse to the idea, but I've been getting more and more attached to the idea of living on my own.

a conversation betwixt me and my brother

D: Did you try my mannicotti?

ME: Yeah.

D: How'd you like it?

ME: Needed some meat.

(pause)

D: You know that was completely vegan, right? It didn't even have cheese in it.

ME: Hmm. Needed some meat.

D: You carnivore. I'm just going to start making vegan meals and you won't even realize.

ME: Can you put some meat in them?

it's almost as if my life will fall unless I see their ascent

Good solid times in the G-Spot this weekend. From what I remember, that is. Saturday night is a bit of a blur, to be honest. For some reason, I was letting people unhook my bra to see how fast they could do it--where I came up with this plan, I have no clue. I also got belligerent and yelled at randoms on the street (and then demanded their coats... apparently I was cold and belligerent). There's a picture on Facebook of me doing my bra back up, but so far that's the most embarrassing one. On Wednesday TJ's is having their staff Christmas party, but I hope to avoid being the newest grist for the rumour mill--in other words, I can't get so drunk that I let the kitchen guys at my lingerie.

Tonight was pretty brutal at work. Logic dictated that we be hurting for guests--it was crappy weather, we had no dinner rush, and it's a Monday in January. Instead, we got killed from eight-thirty until eleven-thirty, when it was only Ashley and I. There are these people that come in every Monday and are basically total whores. They either complain about the service or the food (or both). All the servers know them as "those assholes," and yet, they keep coming back. Even if you have all the time in the world to devote to their comfort, they still treat you like shit. So honestly, at this point, it really doesn't matter if you go out of your way to make sure their beer glasses are frosty enough (and I shit you not, they WILL say something about it); they just like complaining. If I go to a restaurant and I have severe issues with the food or the service, I don't go back. Simple.

I keep decorating my bachelor apartment in my head to soothe my tortured soul. Now I just have to find one.

I loves me some Samberg something awful

less scarring than the last one, I promise

your life will change after seeing this video*

*not for the better

all the same, I'm getting these biological urges

I started skimming the classifieds in the Star today, to get some idea of what I should be looking for in the Grand Apartment Hunt of 2007. Here's the thing: huh? I have a vague grasp of Toronto's geography, and an only slightly better idea of where I want to live (near transit, where I can find close bartending/serving work, and not sketchy). I think I'm going to need to sit down with a map and/or just wander around Toronto and get a better feel for things. I would love to find an affordable bachelor apartment, but that's probably a pipe dream. And I'd probably turn into some kind of random hermit if I didn't have roommates anyway.

My best friend from elementary school called yesterday, and we had a long spiel. We only talk about four times a year, really, but we try to keep each other up to date on the general vagaries of our lives. She's starting to talk about long-term goals, which is freaking me right the hell out. Marriage? Kids? Own business? I still have trouble dressing myself in the morning. She's been with the same guy for five years, and the reason they're not already engaged is a religion issue. I guess I can see that being a deal-breaker, but my thing is... FIVE YEARS? I have severe ADD when it comes to relationships. I'm pretty sure I'd be a terrible mother due to my extreme self-centeredness. I just plain do not understand her life. Not that I have the best grasp of my own, but... you know?

Does it mean that I'm a bad person if I'm automatically suspicious of people who claim that motherhood is fulfilling and self-actualizing? I tend to think of it as the end of your life, in a very real sense.

arrrrgh

I am in a dirty, foul mood, which is a direct result of corona night, but also because of hormones and idiot coworkers. However, this amused me, and so I pass it along to you. I'm not going to rant about my night, because it was so ridiculously bad that I just want to pretend it never happened. Just one thing, however. "Yes" is not an appropriate answer to a question with an "or" in it. I WILL kill you.

does anyone know what it's supposed to mean when you dream about teeth?

Last year my resolution was to work on my posture. I'd have to say I didn't succeed. Well, I guess it's a little better than it was. But only when I remember. This year, I can't seem to muster up the will to come up with a good resolution. There's stuff I gotta do (being less mentally unstable would probably be a step in the right direction), especially with this being the year I assert my adult independence and start living the dream--which, I hardly need add, will be blogged about in annoyingly angsty detail. Sorry.

Alright, now this might sound like a pretty dumb idea, but maybe I should resolve to do more things that I suspect I will later regret. You know, take risks. Carpe diem. I'm just thinking that I'm rapidly running out of time to do absolutely retarded things and pass them off as youthful indiscretions. If I have to slap myself in the face every now and then, well, so be it. I have pages in my memoirs to fill, after all.

That doesn't precisely fit in with the whole, less mentally unstable thing.

Anyway, speaking of mental instability (haha, I jest! I just needed to segue), here's some reading material for the bored amongst you. If you read the selection of "Things I shouldn't have said," be prepared to be concerned about how many of them are about pooping. Anal fixation, Mr Lynn?

Also, it's been up for awhile, but here's a Christmas letter that my dearest Jowie penned for the seasonal cheer of us all. It's full of damn lies, but really, what holiday newsletter isn't? Hmm... it occurs to me that I never got a look at the one Mother sent out this year. Well, I graduated from university, which hopefully earned me enough points to get away with coasting for the rest of 2006. And I didn't do anything that required hardcore glossing, although waitressing doesn't sound VERY good as a post-grad career.

By the way, JoTo, I remembered while we were in the midst of riffing on Jesus being a bad dinner guest that I never told you that Katie and James' dad is getting his Masters of Divinity to become a minister. Er. Chalk that up on the list of things WE shouldn't have said. Why can I never hold my tongue around the religious authorities? I think one of the most awkward moments for 2006 was when my great aunt the nun suggested that I enter a convent. Self-deprecatingly and charmingly (or so I hoped), I laughed that they would never take me. She blinked and asked why. I defy even the most steely-balled of you to look at five feet of be-habited religious conviction (who, furthermore, has your mother's phone number) and explain that your loose morals and atheism would prevent you from choosing "bride of Christ" as your vocation.

should old acquaintance be forgot

Alright, I'm pretty inebriated right now, I'm not going to lie to you. It's 2007, and I rang in the new year at TJ's, drinking beer and hanging out with the general manager, another manager, a former manager, two bartenders and a kitchen guy. I just barely managed to change out of my uniform before midnight hit. Come to think of it, it's the most low-key NYEs I've spent in years.

So, we're four hours in, about. Whaddya got for me, 2007? I'm ready and waiting.