I bet you look good on the dance floor

ADMITTEDLY, I am extremely drunk right now. But I just want to reiterate the fact that I am tragically and unironically in love with Dave. I have loved this movie since I was a young lass of ten, watching the previews for it. I distinctly remember them. When I finally saw the actual movie, my love was confirmed. Oh, Kevin Kline. Can you do any wrong?

By the by, we ended up at the Wreck Room. Tom managed to get red wine all over his brand new, expensive shirt (purchased that very day by his girlfriend, Nicole), and the time we spent cleaning and then drying said shirt made us quite late for the busy Madison. I'm drunk, so I'm not feeling super bad about what I did on the dance floor (which was to imitate all the bad dancers on the floor... two of them noticed. One came up to me and claimed I was an amazing dancer, and the other just seemed amused and kept going... as did I). Good solid times.

and if you want roses, you can go buy a bouquet

I added a couple new links.

That was all I was going to write, but I GUESS I could tell you which ones, in case you HADN'T memorized my list of links. There's the Toronto Star's site, which is fabulous because, unlike the Globe and Mail, they don't require you to sign your life away to access all those articles. I do miss having the paper right here with me, but as my erstwhile roommates doubtless remember, I tend to only read it sporadically when I get it delivered specifically to me. The internet is quite the paper saver.

Also, I've linked to George Stroumboulopoulos' site, because I've recently become somewhat addicted to The Hour. Hmm... I should stick that link in there, too. Well, once I'm done this post.

Finally, there's Nerve.com, which is one of those lifestyle/culture/urban kind of websites. I just discovered them, and so far I quite enjoyed the Dating Issue. Plus, it links to a Pickupedia, which is good for a few laughs. I think I'd actually end up having a conversation with the guy who tried, "Hey, does this smell like chloroform to you?" on me.

In totally unrelated news, I've just cleaned my apartment. A few newcomers to chez Susan are dropping by tonight before we head out to the Madison, so I thought putting my bras IN the laundry basket and taking out my recycling was in order. I really do need more posters. I got used to having one big old blank wall, but now it's depressing me.

As much as I've been trapped in here for the last little bit (and the latest on the work front is that they're going to open VERY SOON (although I've heard THAT one before), so my lack of usefulness should end shortly), I have not gotten sick of my apartment. I am still madly in love with it. It's simply glorious to have my own space. I'm not as happy as I thought I'd be, but that's only because of the work thing stressing me out. Once they finally get their damn acts together, life will be fabulous again.

it wasn't just the gift-wrapped penis, although that was the major reason

I returned from my jog this afternoon to find a friend request on Facebook from none other than Mr. Dick in a Box himself. My first reaction was, of course, "GAAHHHH!!" I retired to stretch and think it over. I have a couple of options, of course. I can ignore it for awhile and continue to think it over. I can decline, and even block him. I can allow him to see my limited profile, or I could hold my breath, take the plunge, and just approve him fully. Do I really want to be petty about this? But, more importantly, do I really want to allow him access to the cyber side of my life?

This is the weird thing about Facebook. As Jo and Tim have said, it's just unnatural. We are meant to lose touch with these randoms from high school or whatnot whom we have not thought about in years. I mean, sure, it's fun at first to find out that a girl you had at your seventh birthday party is getting married tomorrow, but when you start approving friend requests from people because you vaguely recognize their name and then have to quiz your actual friends about whether or not you DO know so and so, it's a problem. And in that same vein, if you stop returning phone calls from a guy because he gift-wrapped his genitalia on your third date, you should be able to wallow in the luxury of never having to hear from him again--once he takes the hint, of course.

Yes, I am feeling guilty about not manning up and telling him politely that he should find some other tree to put his presents under, but it just seemed easier at the time to ignore it all, and hope desperately that he didn't show up at my workplace. I guess this is karma. For the record, he's apparently in a relationship now, so I can safely assume that he's not going to be offering me any more gifts.

Anyway, for now I'm sitting on it, but it's going to be there, bothering me, everytime I open Facebook from now on. Avoiding people in cyberspace is hard. I leave my MSN messenger signed in and set to away pretty much 24/7, just so that if people I don't feel like talking to message me, I can pretend I'm not there plausibly. I read this today, and while it's not precisely the same sort of situation, you just have to think that all this access is... not good.

"You realize that 'slut' is just code for 'I'm jealous of your sex life.'"

Inspired by a talk about book-purchasing with a friend of mine, I ventured forth to my local Indigo Books and hunted down Full Frontal Feminism, a brand-spankin' new manifesto by Jessica Valenti, one of the bloggers from Feministing.com. I wanted to read it since I read about it on the site, but it was on my "later's work" list. And now, despite not only planning on going to bed early, and also having planned to finish The Barmaid's Brain before cracking its spine, I've finished it and am all riled up and raring to go.

Just as a sidenote, it was a bitch to find... call me naive, but I thought that perhaps it'd be on one of those handy display tables. I couldn't remember her last name, which I thought was what was hindering me; really it was just that the women's studies part of the Community and Culture section was on the other side of the shelving, so I missed it completely. After I commandeered one of those handy computers and searched the title I scoured the area and was victorious.

Sometimes, it seriously made me nauseous--and I ain't talking about the writing. I self-identify as a feminist and freely get angry about stuff, but I had no friggin' CLUE about some of the shit that goes down. It's mostly State-side stuff, but they are our elephant, so it's best that Canadian girls know what the hell is happening to women's rights south of the border. Anyway, now I'm all pissed about things that I was peripherally aware of, but too damn lazy to look into myself.

Also, I'm feeling super bad about a snarky comment I made about the chick in Disturbia. I said I just didn't believe that she read anything; our hero (who I WILL refer to as TheBeef) charmed her by having noticed that she reads books... although he finds this out by spying on her doing yoga and swimming in skimpy bikinis. Oh, I'm still torn on this issue. They never make it entirely clear if she knows TheBeef has been spying on her when she first goes over to his house. Having an ass like that pretty much means you can get straight guys to do your bidding. It shouldn't be like that, but it is; hell, I'm certainly guilty of using a smile to get what I want. Anyway, deepest apologies to that fictional character: rock your improbable body and (plotwise) un-utilized smarts. If I had your legs I'd probably wear stuff like that too. And hopefully still read books. But I think I'd have gone for the Asian guy instead of TheBeef. He was much more hilarious, and cuter (I don't care what you say, L.Ro).

Back to the informal book review at hand: go read it. It's an easy and fast read, and it'll change your perspective. I wish I'd read it when I was younger; being a feminist is no cake walk, but having a guide like this would have helped me cut through some of the bullshit that influenced me (and still does, really). I've been trying to get into The Female Eunuch for a little while, and my inability to do so was vaguely making me feel like a bad person. But Full Frontal Feminism was straight-up awesome and incredibly current. I just wish it were in hardcover, so I could whip it out and beat a couple people with it. I've got a mental list.

me too, Pig... me too

there's a man assigned to me / he checks on my stability

I don't know why I bother talking or listening to myself. I'm not very nice. I mean, besides my tendency towards being melodramatic, sometimes I'm straight up mean. Sometimes I wish I had voices other than my own in my head, just for a change of pace. And I mutter to myself on the street anyway; it'd be nice to have an excuse.

Bombing auditions always makes me talk to myself even more than normal. And I'm stuck with myself until Toni and Jo come down. I'm actually considering calling my mother; that's how desperate life can become in the span of an hour and a half.

Hey, do you even know if you're delusional? No, right? Is it possible to be completely deluded about one part of your life, and no other? But I guess someone would have to say something eventually, so if I were sitting here saying, "Fuck so and so. I'm not delusional! So and so's delusional!" that'd probably mean something. And no one's said anything so far. Unless I deluded myself right out of having heard it.

I read this thing somewhere about physical deformities being the most frightening for humans in the medieval times. Leprosy and all that. But now it's mental illness that's scariest. It has to do with needing physical prowess to survive then, and mental acuity for now. I started watching ER again a couple weeks ago, and one of the characters just got horribly maimed. I actually gasped when they finally revealed the extent of his injuries. I can't think what would be worse. Either way, systems you've depended on for years have just suddenly gone haywire and will never be quite right again.

Re: the ER thing... I only saw the last three episodes, and I'm suddenly a Neela and Ray 'shipper. This romantic streak I have hasn't died yet, dammit.

Speaking of season enders, I downloaded the song from the end of the Scrubs finale, and now I've ended up with Say Anything's entire album. New love!

only one out of one hundred... I hope I was doing something good with the hours I didn't waste

So I'm going through Rotten Tomatoes' list of the 100 Worst-Reviewed Films of all time, and I got to number 25 before I ran across one I'd actually seen. I was IN one of the previous ones (well... supposedly, but I don't know if I made the final cut in the background, because I refuse to watch it. Cheaper By the Dozen 2, if you're wondering). Anyway, #25 is Down To You; the only thing I remember from it is Freddie Prinze Jr.'s conversation with a spider. I get sucked into watching these random rom-coms disturbingly often. I feel like that one was the fault of my high school friends, just because most of the instances in which I see terrible movies can be blamed on them. Except for Greendale, which was possibly the strangest thing I ever saw on a big screen. By the way, Jo, Glitter was on the list, but Honey was not.

On a somewhat related note, I saw Waitress tonight with L.Ro. I friggin' loved it. I had an irrational thing against Keri Russell (based pretty much entirely on the fact that in the first episode of Felicity she gave up an amazing school for a BOY. As a nerdy tenth grader, I was outraged, and refused to watch it. What do you want from me? I was fifteen), but she's back in my good graces, and I think I might have to buy it when it comes out on DVD. This was a purely Pajiba-inspired choice; a while ago they posted the trailer, and my interest was piqued. After they gave it a rave review, how could I miss? Also, as a sidenote to those of you who have never worked in the restaurant biz... what Joe does to her in his first appearance is the reason we drink so much. Cussies who do stuff like that. But I guess the ending is reason enough to be nice to them.

L.Ro and I toasted to not being pregnant afterwards at the Bedford Academy. I've been wondering lately what it must feel like to be in the kind of mental place that would allow one to get married and seriously consider spawning. A couple of people I've reconnected with on Facebook are engaged/married/knocked up. I've been on a three date maximum for the past year.

for Toni, my little photographer

yeah, I'm cool... deal with it

he got me when he drew the line across the guy's forehead

pop quiz, hot shot

I was watching Speed today, and I realized that I deeply and un-ironically love it. I totally have a girl boner for Keanu Reeves. He is smokin' hot in that film. No lie. Toni is going to make fun of me over this, but I DON'T CARE. Plus, it was TENSE. I've seen it several times, but I was freaking out because I was sure that lady's legs were going to get taken off by that elevator. I'm pretty much going to have to buy it on dvd.

Went shopping, and found meself some work jeans. And if they shrink the way I hope they will, I'm only going to have to get one of the three pairs hemmed. My freakishly stumpy legs are a cross that I bear whiningly. I also bought a fabulous dress that I cannot wait to wear. I really have to start work.

The fact that Seventh Heaven is (was? did it finally get cancelled?) a successful show worries me more and more each day.

for awhile, with the vertigo cured, we were alive, we were pure

Spent the weekend in the 'Saugs, due to a pressing invitation to get roaringly drunk with my ex co-workers on Saturday night. I even managed to get rides both ways. On Friday, Em and I went to see a completely improvised musical at the Bad Dog Theatre in Greektown. It was fabulous. The level of trust that improv actors have in each other always impresses me. I tried watching "Thank God You're Here" a while ago, and it was terrible. The supporting actors were so clearly working from a script that was set up to fuck with the guest. That's not how it's supposed to work.

Em's got the graveyard shift at work this week, so she was trying to switch her hours around. We hung around my place and then drove to the 'Saugs at three in the morning. This wasn't the best plan for ME, because I'm trying to make my hours LESS vampiric, but I guess you gotta do stuff for your sis every now and then. At least she doesn't need a kidney (yet). And plus, I got a ride back here since she was on her way to work at ten thirty at night.

Once there, my plans to go straight to sleep were derailed by the fact that Mother had left a book on my bed. I'd very nearly stolen it from her over Easter, but I relented because she wasn't finished yet. It was Bill Bryson's Neither Here Nor There, an account of his travels through Europe. I have trouble putting books down once I get into them. Anyway, I ended up staying up an extra hour or so. I finished it today, and my desperate desire to go back to Europe has increased tenfold.

In continuing reading news, I've now plunged headlong into Made in America: An Informal History of the English Language in the United States (Bryson again). It's pretty fascinating so far, but I think I'd enjoy it more if I knew more about American history. I'm also technically reading The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins, but I don't like his writing style, so I'm not really into it. His tone comes across as patronizing. Bryson, on the other hand, sounds like the best university professors do. He digresses, and gives you random and entertaining bits of trivia that actually make things memorable.

On Saturday I finally picked up the last of my paycheques from TJ's. It was nice to walk in there, and later at the party, because everyone yells "SUZE!" and gets super excited. I got intensely drunk (it was a kegger), and am actually still hurting from it right now. Stupid hangovers. Still, I managed to not make an ass out of myself (I think... events are somewhat hazy), although I did have the same conversation with Martin approximately three times.

In other news, on Friday an exterminator came by the building to check for mice or cockroaches. I haven't seen any, but now I'm totally on edge about it.

call me up, take me down with you when you go... I could be a regular belle

Lately, I've been spending an inordinate amount of time reading up on song meanings at this one website. Most of the posts are by illiterate idiots nattering on about how much they love or hate various artists and songs, but some of them are actually researched and intelligent. And it saves me from having to look up info on the songwriter's love life/regional slang/political leanings. There's little to no way of knowing if what's on there is what the songwriter actually meant, but it's interesting to find out what other people are getting out of the lyrics.

I love looking up lyrics; I tend to do it for most songs that I fall for. I don't often get into the life stories of artists. It's kind of fun to find out that such and such song was written after so and so's horrendous break-up with whatshisface, but I treat it like it's movie trivia (which I'm also a big fan of. I read the trivia page of every movie I look up on the Internet Movie Database). Neat to know, but not a deal breaker when it comes to enjoying it.

Perhaps it was my encyclopedic knowledge of Star Wars that ruined me for other obsessions. The New Jedi Order books sucked harder than the prequels, and those two in combination killed my blissfully nerdy childhood. Here's a good one for you: when the Phantom Menace was coming out, my local Chapter's had a trivia contest for a hardcover copy of the novelization. Three contestants showed up: two weedy ten year-old Asian boys and me, sixteen and broad-shouldered from being the butterflier on my high school swim team. I KICKED THEIR ASSES! Is it sad that I'm still kinda proud of that? I think they gave all three of us copies of the book, but we all know who the winner was.

But the new additions to the series just killed it all. The authors were pretty much fighting each other (I come squarely down on the side of Timothy Zahn, if you're wondering) and refusing to accept other work as part of the canon. It was already going downhill before Han and Leia's kids started having ridiculous adventures, but that was the final straw. And I, proud owner of various guides to the Star Wars universe, was left bitter and disillusioned.

Anyway, the point of all this rambling WAS that song meanings = fun, but I think could have lived without someone explaining that Chelsea Dagger is a tranny hooker (The Fratellis... you already love them, you just don't know it yet. Go download Flathead and tell me I'm wrong). Man, I shouldn't write things when I know I can't possibly be coherent. I still love the song, I just think I liked my version better. Not that it made much sense, when I think about it. Tranny hookers it is.

just hopin' you may be somewhere a' walkin' after midnight searching for me

Despite the fact that it a tres dangerous practice, I think "Walkin' After Midnight" by Madeleine Peyroux is my new favourite song. Thank you, The Hour, for getting me hooked on more tuneskis. In related news, my iTunes habit may become a problem.

So I finally did something I've been wanting to do for awhile: I went to see a movie all by my lonesome. And it was super by my lonesome, too; there were five of us in the theatre, total, and three of us were on our own. It was nice. I shamelessly spread my shit over other seats and didn't have to be mortified that I got popcorn down my shirt--which I invariably do, so why I'm still embarrassed about it when in company, I don't know. I saw Young Triffie, which was not as fabulous as I had hoped. I laughed, yes, but I expected more belly laughs out of Mary Walsh and company.

Still, since I usually do idiotic things in public, it's nice to have someone to laugh with. Also, someone to hold your popcorn while you de-jacket and arrange your things. I'm not overly social in that I need someone to go with me to do things; I'm okay with my own company and often just prefer to be alone. But I'm not quite at the confidence level that would enable me to walk into a bar and have a drink alone, unless I was waiting for someone. Possibly because of my people-hating ways--I wouldn't be comfortable if someone came up to just chat.

I have another two weeks to kill before my new job starts, and I'm not going to lie: I'm bored out of my mind.

I walk the floor and watch the door, and in between I drink black coffee

Another sign that I'm watching too much TV is that I nearly boycotted several brands of toilet paper purely because I hate their commercials. Then I said, wait a second, Susan... you hate all toilet paper commercials. Just buy some damn TP.

Not that this is going to have any impact on their sales at all, but I'm also boycotting Viagra. Those commercials annoy the shit out of me.

While I'm doing a list of things I'm ineffectually boycotting, I'm never going back to the Second Cup near my place. I ordered a large Mocha Red Eye, then cooled my heels, rocking out to my iPod. It seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time. The guy mumbled something about whipped cream, so I leaned around the appliances that were blocking my view. There was some kind of chocolatey iced concoction taking shape on the counter. "Er... I asked for a Mocha Red Eye. You know, the hot one? A coffee with chocolate and espresso?" Then we had a polite-ish argument over whether or not eye meant iced. We condescended at each other for a few minutes; I pointed at my eye, he told me that when people ask for ice, that means he puts it on ice.... It's just too much to deal with when I need a hardcore caffeine fix. I eventually got my coffee, but I'm pretty sure that man thinks I'm an idiot, and will complain about me to his friends and family.

But I love those Mocha Red Eyes too much to never go back to Second Cups in general. Just that one. I think I'll glare at it every time I walk by for the next couple weeks, until I get over it. You know, just for kicks.

at least I'm not watching that stupid Freddie Prinze Jr movie that's on

All I'm saying is, I bought sleeping pills on the expectation that they'd knock me out. I even doubled the dosage, on the advice of my beloved Jowie, who I go to for advice on how to either pass out or freakishly stay awake (I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so... SCARED!). And yet here I am, perfectly able to type random missives and send them off into the ether. Which is where I'd like to be. Is it possible that I'm subconsciously fighting off the effects, because I have a silly macho thing about besting the pills at their own game? I know I have to take ridiculously strong pain medication for my headaches, but that's due to having chronic headaches since childhood. Surely I can let the sleeping pills do their thing without a fuss.

breaking news

I have discovered a fabulous show! Groomed. They take some "unpolished" man and gentleman him up! Full of staged phone calls and conversations between "experts" illustrating important "plot" points and, most importantly, MAKEOVERS! Hurray! I love makeovers. Cue the makeover song from Clone High, please. Wow, this guy looks nothing like he did before! They reveal him at his wedding... if I were the bride, I would have been so confused, because jeeeesus, he looks so different.

There's something to be said for the social graces. If I could, I'd take a finishing school crash course. Maybe I'll look into that. I mean, if you've got a solid grasp of etiquette, you can't really be thrown for a loop in most situations. You can behave like a lady. People would say, admiringly, "She's a real lady." I think I read more Austen than is healthy.

I'd still reserve the right to cuss like a sailor, though.

two unrelated and unequally fascinating bits of news

My ceiling is leaking, and apparently the plumbers are sadists who can only show up at eight am. Wednesday is not going to be pretty.

My new favourite website is feministing.com. Check that shit out, for it is awesome.

ahahaha

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

I'm so happy, oh so happy, then again, I'm always sad

I'm currently eating the breakfast food of champions (by which I, oddly enough for me, do not mean a pile of meat). It's a mess of vanilla almond Special K, All Bran, a handful of extra almonds, and strawberry yogurt. I only mention it because I finally got the proportions right, and instead of being glue-like in texture, it's a bowl of delicious. I'm still eating it really fast though, because eventually that yogurt is going to soak on through and make everything super soggy.

It's an exciting life I lead, alright. But the hobo lifestyle is about to come to an end. I accepted a job at a new restaurant opening up on Bloor. Training starts next week. I was getting incredibly depressed by my life when the call came, but now with the promise of a job, I can kick back and relax and enjoy my slacker dream. My long journey towards employment included such highlights as a Medieval Times job fair (they offered me the job on the spot, but I declined. I prefer to refer to myself as a beer wench ironically, rather than literally) and an incredibly long test taken at Jack Astor's. They just called, in fact, but I've decided to bet on the unknown. The manager sounded gratifyingly disappointed, however, and told me to call her if it turns out I hate the other place. It's nice to be considered awesome by someone who's never met you.

So far I love living in Toronto. If I get bored, I can just wander the streets with my iPod and people-watch. I've become addicted to sushi (I've had it the last two days in a row, and I'd go again right now if someone asked me. It's possible they put crack in it). I've been going out and seeing people, and people have been coming to see me. I just miss how full my life was at Guelph, I guess. Looking back, I can't imagine how I had the energy for everything.

the Flight of the Conchords... my new favourite thing

in other news, I painted my toenails today

You know what I really hate in Jeopardy!? The part in which Alex prompts the contestants into telling a "humourous" story about themselves. I don't want to LIKE these people. I don't want to know anything about them. I want to judge them on their looks and how much they screw up on answers I know the questions to!

Plus, I'm utterly disheartened because one of the contestants is an actor/bartender who looks about my father's age. And he's playing against the returning champion who looks about MY age.

This unemployment thing means, basically, that I watch way too much TV. Whoa, whoa, whoa! Jeopardy! has totally sold out! Since when are entire categories featuring clips from new television shows? I kinda wanna see the Tudors, but not this way. Those bastards.

I certainly haven't been shopping for any new shoes

In many ways, living in an apartment building feels like I'm back in residence. Except for the fact that I'm making no effort to get to know anyone on my floor, and there's no drunken parties in the halls.

I spent today doing such thrilling things as laundry, grocery shopping, dishes, and searching for jobs online. I actually applied to two bartending positions that wanted a photo sent with the resume. Might as well trade on my looks while I got 'em, I guess. I'd have to go on a major shopping spree for slutty clothes if I get one of them.

I still haven't managed to buy good double-sided tape, so my posters and I are in a perpetual battle. The one over my bed has only attacked me whilst sleeping once. And by the way, NICK, I happen to already own Starry Night in poster form, and it is my favourite van Gogh painting. No Marley, though. I'm more about over-exposed art than I am smoking pot.

slightly pathetic

I WOULD be severely demoralized that Ho Lee Chow has my name and address on record now if I wasn't aware that everything is computerized and networked these days; even so, I attempted to order online to avoid speaking to a human. I was thwarted by their evil time system and had to call it in anyway. I'm not one of those sad single ladies who order the same stuff from the same place every week YET. Give me some time.

Before you start judging me, let me just say that I am fighting off a murderous cold, and spent most of today being feverish on my couch. I managed to make myself some soup for lunch, but then I started thinking about how delicious the Chinese food that Toni, Jo and I ordered on the weekend was... and here we are. I try not to ignore my cravings when I'm either sick or pmsing, and lucky for me, it's both right now. Yaaaay!

Tragically, my cable has chosen now to short right out. I was following the troubleshooting instructions in my manual (who knew that they could actually be useful?), but it turns out that the creepy cable guy has a grip like a vise, and tightened the cables to the point that mere mortals cannot unscrew them. And since I don't feel up to talking to tech support, especially because I'll be forced to say things like, "ORDINARILY, my grip is quite strong... goddammit, can you just send a guy? A cute one? Wait... I look like shit. Anyone will do," I've chosen to instead watch Star Wars and mope for tonight.

If any of you were placing bets, I cracked yesterday and started looking at the classifieds. I'm not good at being unemployed and fancy free. It occurs to me that the whole acting career thing might cause problems in that department.

In other news, I got my first funky Queen West hair cut yesterday. The jury's still out; she thinned it A LOT. But I wanted a change, so I can't really complain. I mean, I WILL, but I shouldn't. And why would you go to a place called Coupe Bizarre if you weren't willing to go crazy broadway style?

I'll make the most of it; I'm an extraordinary machine

Here I am, blogging from the big city! I had a blast of a weekend. I got a little verklempt at work for my last shift; they got me flowers, a plush turtle and a card, and then got me REAL drunk. So I spent my actual birthday hungover and packing up the last of my shit, then unpacking, and then showing off my swinging pad to some friends. And now my life is complete; I again have the internet. The cable guy was entertaining in a slightly creepy way; some guys think that the best way to put a girl at ease is talk about how pretty her smile is. Thanks, random Rogers' employee... can you please just shut up and hook up my internet?

Big plans for today include grocery shopping and watching Corner Gas. Yaaay!

isn't it a pity that you won't kiss these rotten lips or take-me-home eyes?

So, crippling fear of the future is setting in. It's also taking the form of a relapse into depression over past regrets. Not cool, dude. I really can't stand myself when I'm in my own personal soap opera.

But, for Toni, who made me feel better, I link to this: some pictures of an adorable Asian baby.

I have one more shift on Friday (sort of two... it's a split) at work, and then I'm officially unemployed. And the very next day is my 24th birthday and my first day at my new place. I should be excited, and I AM, but I guess right now is the low point of my roller coaster of emotions. Also, I just plain don't want to sort through all this leftover crap in my room.

Oh, I was going to write this long confessional about why, precisely, I'm floundering in a spiral of low self-esteem (because I KNOW why, and the whole thing is just making me more depressed), but I don't have the energy any more. And once my mood picks up again, I'll be all, ugh, why on earth did I write and/or post that? So I'll save us all the trouble and just not do it.

My next post should be from my fantabulous new apartment, and with any luck I'll soon be having ADVENTURES to post about. I'm totally that girl now--moving to the big city on her own to try and make it. There will be NO coyote uglying. I think. I refused to watch that movie, so it may be that I'll be unequipped to avoid it.

a place isn't a home without at least two dictionaries

I was just clearing out my bookshelf in preparation for the move tomorrow, and meditating somewhat on what being the daughter of two English teachers has done to me. I have a somewhat cavalier attitude towards books; not in that I'd mistreat them--Toni can attest to the strictness of the no-dog-earing rule--but in that I take them entirely for granted. The amount of books I've actually purchased for myself has absolutely nothing on the sheer number of random tomes I've gradually absorbed from my parents' collections. I have at least two (probably three) concise dictionaries of phrase and fable, seven copies of The Tempest, an entire shelf's worth of King Arthur legends, collections of myths from the world over, and a startling amount of poetry anthologies. All it took, while I was growing up, was for me to express a mild interest in something, and Dad would go down to the basement, open a couple boxes, and, hey, presto! I would have a mini library. Any time I took a literature course in university, I ended up with a stack of critical histories. I've never cracked the covers of most of them, but now I find myself loathe to leave them behind. What if I NEED An Introduction to Haiku one day? You can't know that I won't!

it's possible I should have spent more of today actually packing

Kidnapped my beloved Jowie today and went off to sign my lease. The super seems like something of a space cadet, but after she left, Jo and I spent a happy hour assembling the various shelving and lighting units I purchased today. Tomorrow is the real move-in; it should be quite the entertaining day. My father and my brother are helping, and they don't always get along. Joining us for the event will be two of my more eccentric male friends, who have never met. By the time Jo joins us for pizza and unpackings at my new place, emotions should be in high gear.

But if it doesn't kill me, tomorrow will be getting a nod in my memoirs.

you will go to the moon; you'll probably be heading there soon

Mother is going through what Jo and I irreverently call "the change of life," which currently means that she is in a bad mood and baking cookies. This is bad because I can smell them, but I can't go near her because she's crazy. It's pretty rough chez moi, let me tell you.

But this place won't be chez MOI for long!

There's a new hostess at work. I've downgraded my opinion of her from "seems nice" to "dumb as a post." Luckily, I won't have to work with her much more. Speaking of which, my arch nemesis at work got his ass fired, and there was much rejoicing. Now I just need that pantry kid to get canned, and I can quit the field victoriously.

The best part about that guy being fired is that it was the stupidest way to go. He pretty much got the axe for being a dumbass. I mean, he wasn't good at his job, either, but that's not why he went. If there's one thing you gotta accept about working for corporations, it's that there is little to no room for irony. You have to at least pretend to take things seriously. He showed up high to his session of Turtle School and then mouthed off about how stupid everything was. I take my job seriously because it's my job, and they're paying me to, not because I care all that deeply about whether or not some asshole's steak is overdone. Plus, I have to say that I've been treated really well by the management, and I'm genuinely going to miss many aspects of working there.

Packing is hard, guys. Also, I own a ridiculous amount of books.

MOVING!!! EEEEEEEEE

Breaking news: I have successfully applied for an apartment! I handed in my notice, and I am MOVING TO THE BIG CITY! I am so excited and nervous and all-round crazy that I'm having trouble sitting still. Also, listening to the Fratellis makes me want to dance.

I settled on the Bloor and Sherbourne option, if any of you are keeping track and/or stalking me. I am overwhelmed by the amount of shit I will have to pack up over the next two weeks, but it is going to be beyond awesome to set up my place.

Scones and tea at my new bachelorette pad?

a day late, but full of love anyway

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

to love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance

Back in the 'Saugs. My mini-break was full of sleepings and loungings, and I even managed to read some Dickens. I pretty much saw the end coming a mile away, and he really looooves the long sentences, but other than that, I can reccomend A Tale of Two Cities as a solid read. Not something you can just skim--my fast reading skillz have left me with a tendency to tune out sometimes, confident that I'll pick up the gist--because you'll suddenly realize that he's gone off on some tangent, anthropormorphizing some concept, and you have no clue what he's talking about.

The Great Apartment Hunt continued today, and now I'm debating between two places. You could, if you wanted to be all art queery about it, characterize the two as separate sides of my psyche. One is really very rational; it's the cheapest AND the largest, and it's right beside a subway stop. The other one has character, but it'll be a bitch to move into, and is sliiiiightly on the sketchier side. Logically, I should go with the first. Emotionally, however... I'm a little in love with option number two. I mean, I'm shuddering at the thought of hauling my beloved double mattress up that narrow flight of stairs, but... once it's in there.... And there ARE logical pros to number two as well. It's two blocks away from the Eaton Centre, so it'd be ridiculously easy to find a restaurant to hire me. But even if I worked in that area, I could still live at place #1, because it is literally next door to a subway station.

Anyway, I'm going to sleep on it and dither, and hopefully fax in an application to the winner on Friday.

I was going to tell you the saga about me and my cousins' cats, but now I'm tired. It's been a very long day.

heading to... exotic Newmarket!

My vacation from TJ's began at the end of Turtle School yesterday; I have four days to go spend in Newmarket, driving my cousin around to her various extracurricular commitments whilst my aunt and uncle are on a cruise. It'll be nice to be out of the 'Saugs, and I'll pretty much just be lazing around, watching movies and napping in between my driving duties. Plus, who can argue with time away from work?

I'm not kidding about the Turtle School thing, by the way. I think it was cruel and unusual punishment to get me up on Saturday morning and put me in a small room full of people who were in various stages of drinking the corporate koolaid with NO COFFEE. I would have started a riot, but I was too tired. As many of you may know, I tend to act slightly inebriated when sleep-deprived; when called on to answer the question, "What makes you a good employee?" I slurred, "Sheer awesomeness." I feel like the corporate trainer was unimpressed, but my coworkers are used to me and my ways.

Well, showering and packing must occur. I may blog from Newmarket, I may not. We'll see how many terrible action movies my uncle owns.

alright, I'm finally sold on the Jimmy Swift Band

random thoughts as I'm squirrelled away in my room

I just walked into the bathroom and was immediately disoriented. It was clean, and I was not the agent of the cleanliness. I'd been making mental notes for the past week to passive-aggressively pressure my brother into manning up and doing it, but I kept forgetting. He unceremoniously dumped my various hair and cosmetic products into a bin, but I'm told men respond better to carrots rather than sticks, so I'm not going to say anything about it.

I'm bored, and I want something entertaining to happen. I briefly considered going to see a movie, but the only one that vaguely interests me is Children of Men, and it seems like too much effort to get myself to a theatre right now. Being bored sucks when you're lazy.

I've somehow acquired a set of regulars at work. I mean, there were regulars before who know me, but these ones ASK for me. The sketchy restaurant/bar that's been at the town centre for years has finally closed, so now we've got an influx of their former regulars. I guess they just like routine, and they're making me a part of their new one. The other night I had a pair of men who claimed that they make Bollywood movies and that I should be in the next one they make in Toronto. You meet the strangest people in my line of work. Even weirdos eat.

come on mood shift, shift back to good again

Good and bad news. My brother has extracted the hard drive from my old compy, so I can get my downloaded tuneskis off of it. The bad news is, I've somehow fucked up what I already had in my iTunes (it may MOSTLY be my fault, but I never claimed to be a genius), so I'm going to have to re-rip a bunch of cds--once I figure out which ones I deleted. So, go me.

Began the Great Apartment Search of 2007 on Tuesday. Fell a little in love with the Church-Wellesley area, so I think I'm going to focus there until I get my heart broken and have to settle for Bloor-Sherbourne, or somewhere else entirely.

I have had the most ridiculously bad week and a half at work. It was kicked off by a very expensive dine'n'dash, continued through an open/close split shift, and then we had the most insane lunch ever had at a TJ's. And that's just the bare bones of it. The full story would make you weep. I desperately need a vacation; I'm at the end of my rope, patience-wise, with customers and coworkers alike. There's this kid in the kitchen named Kyle who I am straight up going to kill, just for being as dumb as a post.

But I can't help but be excited about life a month from now.

aw hell, while I'm posting music videos... an amazing acoustic version of 'Hey Ya'

and one more... loves it

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.

Happy 2007 to you all!

Well, that went fast. I'm not sure if I can mark 2006 down as a good year or not--overall, I'm ambivalent. There were some amazing times, and some really crappy times. So, basically, like all other years. I'm looking forward to moving out in a few months, and dreading having to face cold, hard reality. I'm thinking that 2007 will be interesting, and full of the usual rollercoasters of emotion.

A few highlights from 2006:

• spiking my coffee cup on the way out of my last exam
• graduation day and the following (and final) communal nap at 10 Stanley
• my trip to Europe

Wow. I hope I can come up with more for next year. Well, I'm sure there ARE some... I'm just too lazy to consult archives and my journal at the moment. But these ones stick out to me right now. So there we go.

take it from me, there's not much to see in this void

Just got back from coffee with an old friend from high school. Good to catch up with him, but it was a little random because we were never that much more than acquaintances at school; I'm finding that since I've graduated and moved back home, people you used to sort of know are suddenly interested in chatting and being all social. But the really rando thing was that we ran into two girls who used to be really close friends of mine. I hadn't spoken to one of them in probably three years, and the other girl last I ran into exactly a year ago, boxing week sale shopping. So there was the awkward chatting, which is always a good time. It's poor timing; I was just feeling positive about the way my life is going, and now I have to see people who make me think about the trajectory my life was taking five years ago. Al's in teacher's college, just like she planned, and Maryse is still pursuing that physio degree (or so I gathered... she didn't do too much talking). I never wanted to be back in the 'Saugs, working at the local watering hole, but here I am.

I guess it's all for the best though. I don't really have a handle on what else I could be doing at this particular moment, life being what it is. And I have a goal in mind, and I'm almost there. It's just a case of reunion syndrome, when you want to have something wildly impressive to tell lapsed friends so they can realize how much better your life is than theirs.

peace on earth, etc

Hey, Merry Christmas to all! First, allow me to explain my week and a half of absence. My computer decided that it wasn't going to speak to my keyboard any more, essentially. I calmly considered the situation, and then threw a hissy fit. And now, here I am on a brand new computer, with a snazzy flat LCD screen. I actually got talked out of the faster computer by the salesman (he wasn't too impressed with me. I think when he asked me what I was using it for and I said, "You know... typing... stuff...." alarm bells went off in his head). Anyway, people think I'm crazy when I anthropormorphize my machinery, but I set up the new one while the old one was still in the room, and now the old one refuses to work at all. We set it up in the basement and were planning on hooking it up to the internet so I could transfer my music, but it's being withholding. So once again, I am starting from scratch. My brother is convinced that he can get the old one up and running again (at least to the point where I can get my files off it), but he is stymied as to why it's so moody. It refuses to turn all the way on now. It let me open the cd drawers and get my DVDs out, and some of the power lights turn on--just not the main one. I'm telling you, it has a personality. And it's real mad at me.

So what have I been doing with myself for the last eleven days, you ask? Nothing of vital importance. Last weekend Jo and I went up to the Hammer for some quality Toni time. You can zip over to Toni's blog for pictorial evidence. Then I worked a bunch, finished my shopping, and, you know, generally did my thing. I tried to get the entire TJ's staff to say "It's a Christmas MIRACLE!" whenever anything good happened, and "THAT'S not very CHRISTMASSY!" whenever something bad happened, with limited success. I did manage to get my extended family to accuse everyone else of ruining Christmas every ten minutes. Ahh, family gatherings.

Laptop guy and I had a nice conversation about books (this was after I tried to convince him that the wings he'd just eaten had come from my pet chicken, Fluffy) on Thursday night. Doug and Charlie swung by and we went out for late night coffee when I finished work. Then we played poker Friday night and I was sooooo close to winning. Closer than I've ever been before! But stupid Charlie, who's USUALLY bluffing, started getting some good hands. I may never get over it.

Anyway, that's me, updated for the last little while. Not thrilling, but I promise to try and have some adventures in the new year. Maybe I'll even start this week. Get a running start for 2007, as it were.

things you shouldn't say to your mother while she can still return your Xmas presents

ME: (helpfully) I don't think that garland works. (beat) It looks like you were drunk while you did it.

MOTHER: (long pause, dirty look) Well, get in there and fix it, then!

ME: No! You sober up and do it!

warning: work rant

It's a Christmas miracle! My faith in humanity has been temporarily (very temporarily--expect me to be bitter again by tomorrow) restored! I got a table of four hockey dads and their five sons. They weren't TERRIBLE, at first (although Daniel was going to murder me because of the five chocolate milkshakes he had to make), but there was a definite vibe of "ignore the waitress while she stands there politely because we need to discuss HOCKEY, and that is much more important than anything else" coming off them. At least one of the dads is a regular, although they usually sit on the bar side; I only recognized him because the son both badly needs a haircut and also whizzes around the restaurant on those roll-y shoes whenever they come in. Seriously, although I'd like a pair of those shoes myself (it'd be a disaster because of my questionable balance), they really are MENACES. Suddenly, the whole world is a roller rink, but without the fun disco music. And at least you know what you're getting into when you walk into a roller rink. In a restaurant, balancing a tray of drinks, you don't expect a ballistic child to come at you out of nowhere.

Anyway, when they finally got down to the serious business of ordering wings, the dads were all shouting down to the other end of the table about sauces and whether or not their offspring would eat the wings if they were done in such and such a way. The kids merrily ignored them, of course, but the adults managed to place their orders with a minimum of fuss. Off I go. About ten minutes after said wings arrive at the table, another round of beers has been delivered, etc, one of the dads turns to me and says, rudely, "Uh, are the kids getting THEIR food soon?" Blankly, I stare at him. "You didn't order any other food for the kids," I say, confused. He glares at me and bites out, "Well, I THOUGHT you would have ASKED them. Get them some chicken fingers and fries. And can you make that FAST?" So I order his two kids some chicken fingers--the other three kids are, as expected, sharing their dads' wings. I went back to the table to inquire about drinks, and the guy actually says to me, "No, I'm fine. I'm just worried about my boys' food," as if I were deliberately starving his children! "It's on its way," I say, smiling grimly. Ooooh, was I ever mad. When the food did arrive, he bellowed down the length of the restaurant for his sons, who had scarpered off to play games in the bar.

Anyway, to get to the restoration of my faith, the dads all paid separately, and the one who left last tipped me nearly thirty percent and said, "Thanks very much. And, by the way... the rest of us knew he didn't order any food for his kids. Sorry about that." You see, class? Good CAN exist in a restaurant. And thus, a killing spree at the local TJ's was narrowly avoided. I never know what to say to people who apologize for their friends, but it certainly is appreciated.

In other news, one of my coworkers is clearly insane. Laptop guy has been working on a paper and presentation about dinosaurs for the last week or two (pretty much the entire FOH staff knows him and will chat to him now), which has prompted Nicky to treat us all to her theories. Namely, that she doesn't believe in dinosaurs, and that whatever fossils we have are just wrongly re-assembled modern-day animals. This has prompted ME to try and explain science to her in escalating tones until I have a headache and need to leave the room. Even laptop guy (cult member, remember?) says there's too much evidence NOT to believe in dinosaurs. I suspect he believes something about god creating them for some mysterious purpose, but at least he admits they existed. Nicky believes in aliens, but not dinosaurs. And here's another scary fact for you: she's a supply teacher. You kind of have to wonder what the world is coming to.

you say I'd be better off dead, well, I know

It has been officially mandated that the servers wear Christmas "cheer gear" for the next few weeks. I am suspending my ironic detachment (and dignity) for the next little while and I am going to WIN that fifty bucks. I fully intend to wear headbands with antlers, mistletoe, bells, tinsel, or all of the above. Christmas earrings? Check. I wonder if I can find a pair of elf ears?

In other thrilling news, I finally spoke to Sundeep on Friday. Have I explained this bizarre factor of my life to you? I feel like I have not. This guy named Sundeep used to have my cell number, and since I inherited it, I have been fielding calls from confused men who speak to me in Arabic. It's gotten to the point that I assume, when I see an unfamiliar Toronto number come up on my call display, that I'm about to get harangued in heavily accented English for Sundeep's new number. But now, I have it! I don't know why I'm so excited; really, it means that instead of explaining in my most put-upon voice that no, this is no longer Sundeep's number, I'll have to slowly read out his new one--more work for me, pretty much. But somehow it also feels like I've regained control of something, and established real ownership of my phone.

Spent most of today hungover. I went to My Apartment last night with two of my coworkers--well, one is actually one of my bosses--who turned out to be insane party animals. I'd claim to be too old to party like that until five am, but they are five and fifteen years older than me, respectively.

I was feeling pretty low energy at work today, and then an encounter with a table of assholes put me into a really filthy mood. One of the kitchen guys, who is slightly creepy, even on a day when I'm in a good mood, is one of those massager-types. You know, the kind of person who is really touchy-feely, and will decide that the best possible way to soothe an bad temper is to get all shoulder-massagey and huggy and etc. I was pretty much going to kill him. When I'm that angry, I feel like I'm giving off sparks. Why would you want to touch someone who clearly looks like she's going to flip out and murder everyone near her? I'm not a very physical person to begin with, but touch me when I'm in a bad mood and you risk maimings and death. Everyone else had the sense to be frightened of me.

I like feeling that I fit in at a place, and for the most part I don't mind my job. But I can't wait until April, when I'll be elsewhere entirely. My 24th birthday present to me will be my letter of resignation and a truck rental to haul my stuff away to the big city. I wish I had enough financial security to get my very own apartment, all to myself, but reality says no. Stupid expensive Toronto. My first place will probably only be until Jo and Toni can join me, anyway.

it's racially stereotyping day here at TJ's

They had me train someone at work last night! It was very exciting. We weren't too busy (well, we weren't THEN... after all the other servers left I had a late rush and got smoked), so I tried my best to impart my storied wisdom. She used to hostess, so she knows mostly everyone (and she knows more about the restaurant biz than I did when I first started serving), but it was still really strange to try and explain all the things I do habitually. Plus, she's only 18, so she knows next to nothing about alcohol. But apparently the manager told her to pay especial attention to me because she could learn a lot.

I didn't notice how much darting around and weaving I do until I had someone try and follow me through it all. I kept scooting off and losing her. I had a plan to introduce her to my tables as my parole officer, but I never got around to it.

Why would a guy think I'd email him at freestylin_playa_4_realz (or something like that)? Honestly, boys, put a little effort into NOT coming across as a wang.

Best line of the night was when my trainee was commenting on how non-ethnically diverse our staff is, and Chris started listing off all the minorities who work there, and ended with, "And what about Michelle? She's TAN." I laughed about that for like five minutes. It's probably only funny to Jo, who's met her.

to save you from your old ways

Hilarious and random night. I had picked up Martin's cocktail shift, which entails working the five booths in the bar until the dinner rush is over--usually a pretty short and sweet shift. The bartenders, however, decided to show their love for me by playing a practical joke on me. They stole all the stuff out of my servery and left me ransom notes. It WAS really funny, but now I have to exact bloody vengeance.

Anyway, since I finished up at eight thirty on a Saturday night, a trip to the big city to hang with Jamie was in order. I ended up going to a metal/goth/80's/new wave rock bar (Velvet Underground, in case you were wondering) with him and three of his friends, who all turned out to be hilarious cut-ups on the dance floor. I've seriously never seen guys get down with their bad selves like those guys were. I really wish I hadn't been driving, because getting smashed and outrageous with them would have been awesome. As it was, one of them treated us to his tres un-PC views on women, the homeless, and stealing bikes all the way from the bar until I dropped him off.

The only thing was, we were dancing right beside the speakers all night, so I'm having some trouble hearing right now. And I'm sure I'm in for quite the headache tomorrow. But other than that, it was exactly what I needed to bust me out of my doldrums.

of course I'm narcissistic--I'm a drama grad!

I've been thinking quite a bit about egos lately. A friend of mine said something in passing (on his MySpace page, no less... but I don't want to digress into the irony) about blogging about your day to day life and thoughts being narcissistic. And then there's the sharp blow to my sense of self worth (re: that boy problem) that I received recently. The thing is, I know I'm vain, and I probably put a greater value on my own thoughts and talents than everyone else does, but I like to think that the fact that I KNOW that helps me keep it in check. If I'm wrong, please don't tell me about it quite yet--I'm feeling a little fragile today, so let's postpone the discussion of my various faults until another time.

The thing is, though, my particular blend of ego and insecurity makes me flip rapidly between thinking that he's just hesitating because he's missing the cues that I think I'm practically shouting (because who wouldn't go for fabulous me, of course), and feeling completely rejected for being crazy/fat/slutty/boring/hideous/socially inept. You see? I make no sense.

To digress momentarily, this new Blogger beta thing lets you put labels on your posts, and on the function it says "e.g. scooters, vacation, fall." Scooters? What? And while I'm digressing, I cannot stop grooving to the Scissor Sisters' "I Don't Feel Like Dancing." Seriously. Grooooving. It lightens my mood considerably.

And we'll throw it back to our field reporter in the wilds of Susan's brain. Actually, you know what? To hell with that. I'm going to go shower instead, and I'll continue my meditations on egos another time.

this used to be the life but I don't need another one

I am sleep-deprived and hopped up on caffeine, which is much like being drunk, but more uneven. I'm oscillating violently between being completely zoned out and extremely hyper. It is ROUGH over here. I've been on a five closes a week schedule for the past month, and then they throw me on a lunch shift. Luckily it wasn't busy, because bad things would have happened. As it is, I got kicked out of the kitchen because I was telling really bad jokes and giggling to myself, and my boss claimed he just couldn't deal with me. This is what three cups of coffee and no sleep does to me.

Okay, so in today's Star there is a review of a documentary (which I wanna see) called Fuck. I noticed recently that they've pretty much given up on the whole "f---" thing they used to do in the paper. When did that go? I mean, not that I'M offended by it, or anything. But I did read the paper in elementary school, so I'm just wondering if it's entirely appropriate. Swearing is like drinking. You want to do it when you're technically too young for it, but then the shine goes off it when you can do it whenever you want to. I mean, you still do, but some of the glamour is gone. I don't even watch my language around my parents anymore--really, just around my cousins. And I mean, I TRY with Toni's kid sister, but pretty unsuccessfully ("Fuckin'... ... uh, I mean, frootin'.... Damn.").

I guess I can be pretty old fashioned about kids sometimes.

I feel like I'm waiting for some kind of sign to tell me I can stop waiting and life will really start. But what, precisely, am I waiting for?

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.