Monday, December 17, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
All the studying, putting up with dillholish fellow students, and doing group projects pretty much entirely on my own (which, for the record, I'm batting 1.000 on so far. Two down, one to go) is over with, and all that remains is the wait to see if I'm 4.0, and what, if any bursaries my scholastic aptitude might bring.
And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to drink my weight in gin.
Monday, December 10, 2007
And now back to studying four verdammt subjects in one night. Grrrr.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Playing in the basement of his house on PA days. How he always remembered my love of anything tiny, and made me display units to exhibit my extensive collection of wee little trinkets, like the plastic duck, or the ceramic cottage. Trips to Swiss Chalet. Our cottage, where for years he would drive up on holiday, and spend his only time off the whole year building new steps down to the beach, or chopping wood for the fire, or whatever needed to be done. Spending the day walking around his hometown with him, hearing all about his childhood, and how life was in small town Ontario in the early half of the last century. How he wanted to hear about whatever I was doing. The giant dollhouse he built me - all on his own, complete with working electricity.
There are some less pleasant memories too.When my grandmother died, the woman he had been carrying on a long-term affair with came to the funeral. He married for a second time, and it was not a good match. He drifted away from his family, as she only wanted to see hers. But being of his generation, and being the man he was, he did not consider divorce an option, even when he knew it would be best. That drove me nuts, and not just because it meant I had to listen to her bloviate on every topic under the sun, from being an undergraduate, to how my parents should put their good china in the dishwasher.
When he couldn't get up and down stairs on his own anymore, the decision was reached that he would move into a home. His wife didn't want to go with him, and the slow process of divvying up the assets began. When he moved into Central Park Lodge, he flourished. He was around people he enjoyed, and he became quite the popular man around the lodge. He met a woman soon after moving in, and they soon became an item. He couldn't marry her, which she wanted, because of his wife, but they spent every day together. She took him up north on a boat ride. She took him on day trips. For the first time in ages, he was happy. Then he started to get worse, and she started doing more things on her own, preparing for life after him, but first thing every morning she'd have breakfast with him, and she'd stop in for lunch and after dinner. She sat with him and talked to him and made sure his food was cut up small enough.
A treasured memory I have of my grandfather is one I know I've created from a picture taken long before I was born. He is wearing a fedora, and a smart coat. He is kneeling down in the snow, and looking up at the camera with the grin he wore so often. He is young, dashing, and his kids aren't even a glint in his eye.
He died one year ago today. This morning, his girlfriend called us to tell us how much she loved him, and what a wonderful man he was.
He was my last link to that generation. Grandaddy, I miss you. We all do.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
You're driving 50 km over the speed limit, and you get pulled over by the police, and you expected a ticket, but you didn't know that now you get your licence and car taken away for a week, and this is somehow everyone else's fault but yours?
Your balls must be large enough to be used in a major league baseball game, sir.
So what that you didn't know exactly what the punishment was. So what? You knew speeding was wrong. You were speeding. Excessively. You were caught. There is punishment for breaking the law, and you know what, who cares if you are "okay" with that. You don't want to get nailed? Try not driving 150km. Or even better, try driving under the speed limit, period. I hear that works. I don't speed, and have never lost my licence, and haven't ever got even one speeding ticket. See how that works?
Take the "I didn't even know about the law" line and stuff it. Ignorance of the law is no defence, sunshine. And that whole (direct quote here) "I have three kids, I have to go to work for a week and they just do not give a crap. They have no sympathy for people and it's unfair and they treat people like crap."? Makes you look even more of a douche than I thought would be possible. It isn't the fault of the police that you can't get to work. Did they make you speed recklessly? Did they stop you from driving responsibly? Hells no. You did it your own damn self, and this situation is all your fault. So sack up, and take responsibility for a really moronic decision.
And don't freaking go 50 over the limit again, because next time, you might kill someone. Dumbass.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
As for the game itself? We're now 3-0. I'd say it is all due to me, but that would be a bald-faced lie. And I'm trying to cut down on those.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
The reasons I've been absent are many and varied, and not limited to:
Midterms. My nerdy side needs me to study like mad for tests. Funny story though, it didn't keep me reminded of a couple of midterms until the minute I walked into class. This would have been tragic had the classes not been the two that I sleepwalk through and ace.
Money stress. The less we talk about this, the better. I don't really need to lose my mind again. Or my lunch.
My sister's birthday. Lame, but there you have it.
Job searches. I'm this close to pretending that I didn't spend 6+ years working in the financial industry, and instead sat around creating art with what I picked out of my nose. Maybe I'd have better luck that way.
And finally, I have been given the task of coming up with an idea for our curling team's theme for Crazy Halloween hat night, and my brain seems to be broken. Oh yeah? You try coming up with a theme for hats that four different people can wear AND curl in. Not so easy, is it?
And during all of this, I've had the week off of school. I was going to get so much done this week. Apparently not.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Last night was the first game of the year. And in a nice change of pace from last year, I didn't have a panic attack about forgetting how to play. That doesn't mean I was any good though. I still managed to smash my knee (glad to see I haven't forgotten how to do that) but shockingly, my weight was lighter than usual, so my rocks weren't careening through the end of the sheet. Before I get too excited about that, I'll wait and see if I can duplicate that next week.
Oh the game? We won, so we're 1-0. Break up the team!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
...but I freaking told you so John Tory. I called it ages ago. And the fact that I'm smarter than all the people on your staff should frighten you to death. I'd offer to help you out, but, fact is, I like my soul too much.
And now, to be completely juvenile - Nyah nyah nyahnyah nyah. Cram it with walnuts, ugly.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
But seriously, John John - if I may be so forward as to give you this moniker - have you lost your mind? The ratcheting up of the attack ads was one thing, and not effective in the least by all accounts (see: polls, all recent ones.) But chastising voters? Do you actually think this is going to change people's minds? Do you really think that someone who was going to vote Liberal (or NDP, Green, or anything not PC) is going to decide that now that you've come out and accused them of low standards that they must prove you wrong and vote for you? If anything, it will entrench their opinion. Plus, it makes you look like a whiny, sullen, childish douchebag who isn't mature enough to govern the province of Ontario. Which I could have told you before the public humiliation.
On the bright side, you have done something that I never would have thought possible after Stephen Harper and the Harris years, (which is totally the name of my next prog-rock band). You made me feel sympathy for a Conservative. If the end times aren't upon us, that is something to build on.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Universe, you do know that my birthday is over now, right? So feel free to leave me alone.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
So it is with great regret that I have to say I've turned into everything I hate. I've shed tears over being in my thirties. I suck.
And that's what you call ironic, Alanis.
I'm now no longer thirty, but "in my thirties". And for the first time ever on a birthday, I feel old. Is it because I actually think being in my thirties is terrible? No. Do I think it is especially old in and of itself? No. But society and mother nature have deemed that it is. There are certain things you are supposed to have done by this age, and there are certain things that biologically, after 30 get harder.
I'm in my thirties, and I'm not close to being done with school. Which means I'm not close to establishing a career.
I'm in my thirties, and I don't have a real life plan. Oh sure, I kinda know what is going on for the next few years, but after that? Who knows?
I'm in my thirties, and I don't have any savings. I have enough to get by for now, but retirement for me at this point looks to be spent begging for change on the street.
I'm in my thirties, and I'm not in a relationship. Hell, there aren't even any prospects on the horizon. And you know what they say about the chances of a woman over 35 getting married...
I'm in my thirties, and I don't have kids. I think I want them, but if I don't get on that right quick, it won't happen.
I'm in my thirties, and my parents won't be around forever. This isn't news, but they are of an age where dying wouldn't necessarily be dying young. People die in their sixties. Both my parents lost one of their parents by the time they were my age.
Wow. Writing that all down was supposed to be cathartic, and to maybe explain why I'm less than joyful. But reading it in print? It is just damn depressing. And if I didn't have a latte and chocolate chip pancakes waiting for me, I might just stick my head in the oven. But I've never say no to caffeine and chocolate, and I don't intend to start now. After all, I'm in my thirties now, and stuck in my ways.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Attn: person who is running John Tory's campaign
You don't know me, and probably don't like me, what with all the crazy liberal thinking I do, but I want to help you. Not enough to get you elected, you understand, but enough to ensure that democracy really works. So listen closely:
Stop the attack ads. Now.
They are nonsensical, using stats that aren't even remotely true, and prey on people's darkest fears. Which is just douchey. The whole "Killers are walking around on bail and it is all Dalt's fault" premise is especially annoying because bail isn't part of the province's jurisdiction. It is part of the federal bailiwick, and even then, we have this pesky little thing where people have rights, so judges are loathe to just lock people up without bail pending their trials.
I know it is super easy to go with a whole "Liberals are evil, and if you love your family, you'll vote against them" because you don't need to do any research, you just make stuff up and slap it on the air, thus allowing you to go home to your families. But attack ads don't really work in Canada (remember the whole "Jean Chretien's face is deformed so he obviously can't lead the country" ad? Or more recently, the "kitten eater" email? I'm thinking you're looking for a different outcome than that in which those two resulted.) Canadians seem to get more angry with the attacker than the attackee, unlike the States, where attacking is always the right choice.
Plus, it looks shifty that you want to be in charge, but can't articulate reasons why you'd be a good choice. As my mother always says, "Because is not a reason". So give people some reason to think that you have a plan, at least, a plan beyond "Dalton sucks". That way, you might actually get your wish (in which case, I may need to flee the province. I survived the Harris years, and I have no wish to go back. Shudder.) but at least if you are chosen, it will be because the people chose you and your policies, and didn't just vote against another Liberal government. That is the goal of democracy, isn't it?
Now I know, if you change tacks, you will have a lot of work to do, and I don't just mean coming up with actual stands on stuff, though you should do that too. You'll have to convince people to listen to you. I know that all of my friends change the channel when your ads come on, mostly because we know there is no actual political discourse going on, just slander. And we all know, slander is only fun when you are sitting in a bar attacking people who aren't there. It has no place in politics.
Lastly, even if you don't want to take my advice and develop ads that aren't of the attack variety, could you please take the current crop of ads off the air? For me? I know there isn't much time before the election, but I'm finding I have to charge across my place quite frequently, so that I can change the channel before I'm subjected to yet another attack ad. And one of these times, I'm going to end up skidding into a wall or something and injure myself. So please, if not for democracy, then for my health. I know that if you get elected, you'll appreciate it if I'm not sucking money out of our health care system.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
No seriously. Really?
Do you actually think that raising fares so that a one way trip costs almost 3 dollars is going to help? Yes, I grant you that you will get a bit more money from each trip, but I think it will backfire. The fares are already too high, and this I think will be the straw that broke the camel's back. People aren't going to take the subway if they can help it. Most of my friends don't take it every day, and if you jack up the price again (something like the third time in three years) they are going to stop altogether. Because frankly? Aside from it being simply galling that you have no shame in charging almost 3 dollars for a one way trip, no matter how short it is, um, how do I put this delicately?
Your service sucks the monkey.
Overcrowding. Unreasonable wait times in between trains. Subway lines built in the middle of nowhere while the populated core has to continue cramming onto one east-west line. Trains being put out of service in the middle of rush hour, dumping hundreds of people out, who then have to wait for up to twenty-five minutes for a train they can squeeze onto. Drivers who slam on the brakes at every stop, sending people flying. The last train leaves well before 2am. No early morning Sunday service. Frequent stoppages in service along the whole line while an issue is dealt with at one station. I could go on, but if I listed all the problems, I'd get carpal tunnel syndrome.
I know you're scandalously underfunded, and that chafes my ass something fierce. In fact, I think the fact that the provincial government pays nothing into your budget is a crime and I'm considering voting for whomever promises to rectify this situation in the upcoming election, but it seems to me that this notion of raising fares again is cutting off your nose to spite your face. Winning the battle but losing the war. Some other cliché that means the same thing. This is not the way to fix things. Please reconsider.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
I know. I'm scared too.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
To paraphrase Principal Scudworth: I will be Diane Fossey, and they will be the gorillas. But where will I find the mist?
May your coffee always taste of feet and every bikini wax cause rashes.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Holy Flirking Schnit.
Oh, you'd like something a tad more descriptive? Fine.
Last week, when I went to the orientation for the business school, I realized that I am so far out of my element. More than one person brought their mom. To orientation. I mean, I know that going off to school can be scary, but if you need to bring your mommy to the orientation session four days before classes start, you probably aren't ready for post-secondary education. When sitting the auditorium for a presentation, about 70% of my fellow students went 'Ooooooh' at the lights dimming, and tittered when in the presentation there was a reference to someone meeting their boyfriend at the student help centre. Later, someone actually asked if we needed to take our own notes in class. I was concerned, but figured this was just orientation, and when actual school started, my classmates would behave more like adults and less like a bunch of ten year olds hoped up on sugar with a supply teacher.
So, this week I go to class, expecting things to be better, and I can't believe I'm in a post secondary institution. People can't shut up in class, and they aren't talking in whispers, oh no, but at a volume that is normally reserved for when someone is talking on their cellphone in public, even when the prof is trying to lecture. They show up almost an hour into class, and when we're given a ten minute break, they traipse back half an hour later. They can't take notes, or at least can't take them at an appropriate speed, as student after student demands that the prof return to an earlier slide so they can take another five minutes to copy down the 17 word definition of social marketing in addition to the ten minutes we spent earlier with that slide up in front of us. Did I mention that a copy of this presentation will be available on the web next week, and that all these definitions are also found in the textbook?
In another class, the prof gave out an article to read on the subject of preparing business students for the business world, and he said "Here's an article to think about, now it doesn't get everything right, but it does make you think." His attempt at provoking thought resulted in one particularly petulant student (who had spent the better part of a half hour sleeping right in front of him) actually yelling at him that she didn't want to wear a business suit, wasn't going to, he couldn't make her, and look at what he was wearing, so he had no right to criticize her clothes (see-through top and low rider jeans with her g string hanging out. Everyone has a right to criticize that garbage, no matter what they are wearing). And let's not even speak of the vast numbers of people who played computer games or spent all class on Facebook.
I finished my first week of school wondering what the hell is wrong with kids today. I knew going back to school would make me feel old, but I figured I'd at least get once through my weekly schedule before that happened. Glad I didn't put any money on it. I'll need that money for booze.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
I have a boyfriend.
I know, I know. I should have mentioned it sooner, but I just wasn't sure I could share our love with the world. See, he doesn't call a lot, or frequently, and we don't go on dates or anything, and I didn't want to get too excited about it, but now I know it is real, so I need to share this with all of you.
It started a little over a month ago, the day I moved into my new place. The phone rang, and I saw that it was "private". Now, I figure it is probably my friend E, whose cell number is blocked for complicated reasons, as the only other people who call me from "private" are my mom and Stormy, both from work, and I didn't think they were in the office in the middle of the night.I answered the phone, exhausted beyond belief from all the unpacking, and almost said "Hey E!" but my brain and mouth didn't connect on that. Boy was I happy I didn't say anything, as on the other end of the line was this unintelligible male voice, one I had never heard before. I said he had the wrong number, and was about to hang up. Then he asked how the move went, and I wondered if maybe my exhaustion was affecting my ability to recognize my own friends, so I said it went fine. Then the voice kept talking, wanting to know how his "sweetness" was doing, and wanted to know if he could come over. I kept repeating that he had the wrong number, and eventually hung up. Then, I promptly fell asleep and forgot all about it.
This weekend, I get another couple of phone calls from the mysterious "private", and I don't answer them, due to my status as a grumble-puss. I check my voicemail earlier today, and along with some messages about the bar snafu, there is a garbled message from the same unintelligible voice, asking how I was doing, suggesting we should get together, saying that he misses and loves me. So, I guess it is official. I have a boyfriend. Granted, we've never met, and I feel dirty and kinda uncomfortable after he calls, but it is better than being alone, right? Ah well, maybe I can get over those feelings in the next month so that I'm ready for his next call, and he can finally arrange to see his "sugar".
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Until then, I am the Grumble-puss. Coo coo cachoo.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Honestly, sad as this is, I could die happy if I had a pair of these.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
To Rick, Greg, and David -
You guys rocked. You actually did your jobs, weren't total dicksticks (TM Stormy) while dealing with me, and in the process you restored my faith in humanity. Your many colleagues can go to hell and die.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
I know. I'm going to start wearing a placard around my neck that indicates that yes, I am indeed the village idiot.
As the situation is still not resolved (hence my scheduled 8am service call tomorrow) and it takes 10 minutes to load a page, I'm not sure when I'll be back. So here's a little teaser on what I've been doing with myself to tide you over: a whole lotta unpacking, using my dishwasher so much it borders on obsession/stalker territory, sleeping as soundly as the dead for 12 hours a night in my new bed, and arguing feminist causes with my french conversation instructor.
And now, while I wait for this post to load, I'm going to go soak in my deep and lovely soaker tub. God I love this place!
Monday, July 23, 2007
...threw out my back and spent the next four days hopped up on robaxicet.
...took possession of the condo.
...got lost in the underground lot no less than four times. In one day.
...drove back and forth across the west end of the city more in one week than I have in the past two years.
...picked out my schedule for school - no 8am classes for me this semester.
...continued the fight (in vain) against the raccoons who are trying to destroy my dad's pride and joy - his lawn.
...painted the condo.
...dealt with the flooring installers, trying to explain that "yes, I know that you can't nail down flooring into concrete, and I do understand that it needs to be glued, and I told all this to the people who took my order, so I don't care how, but you get someone here today who can install this floor!"
...painted the condo some more.
...did something to my wrist so that any movement causes shooting pain, and a wave of nausea.
...realized I have far too much crap, and maybe the notion of possessions is overrated.
...dumped coffee grounds all over myself and anything within a four foot radius. Twice. Don't ask.
...packed some more, and started wondering why I didn't let people take the things they coveted when I had my "Goodbye to the Apartment" party.
...came to the conclusion that those things will look awesome when I finally get them in place at the condo.
...had about 17 breakdowns, usually when I made lists of all the things I still had to get done.
...worried that my stuff will all get broken during the move.
...made more trips to the Depots (both Business and Home) than I can count.
...watched two seasons of Arrested Development, my only source of entertainment in this busy and trying time.
And that's pretty much it. Oh sure, there was some sleeping, lots of coffee, and the occasional bottle of red wine, but that has been my life recently. The next week and a half pretty much promises to be more of the same, so there's a good chance I won't be back at the computer till August. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll have lots more "Mabel is a moron" tales, along with the rhapsodizing over my giant kitchen. And now, I really should get back to packing...
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Today I borrowed a car and spent the day running errands, mostly related to the upcoming move. On four separate occasions, I came by with the car looking for a spot, and every time I found one. Not the same one every time either, but there always was one. And no, not one at the far end of the complex. Always one right smack dab in front of the doors.
After finding the last one, I grabbed the boxes from the back seat, the bubble wrap and my purse from the front, and I headed for the building. With some difficulty, I managed to get inside only dropping the boxes four times. I went to the elevator, and saw that thankfully the button had already been pushed. Then I became aware that someone was coming up from behind me, so I shifted around a little and saw it was a cute guy with a bike. We both get on the elevator, and after I ask him to hit my floor for me, we get to chatting. He asks about the boxes I'm carrying, and how long I've been living in the building, and I can't believe that I'm finally having the kind of conversation I'd hoped to have when I moved in. Then we get to his floor, and he keeps chatting as he gets out of the elevator and the door starts to close. And do I drop the boxes and hit the button to keep the door open? Or surreptitiously stick my foot in the way of the door? Oh hell no. I just let the door close on the one cute guy without a ring or girlfriend by his side who has talked to me in this building, without getting his name or finding out what apartment he lives in.
And with so little time left here, I'll probably never see him again. Even if I did, I guess there is nothing to prove that I'd actually handle it better. I'd probably just be plugged into my ipod and ignore him. Evidently Fate was right to keep the hot guys from me as I just can't handle them.
But I think I handled the parking spots well, so if that could continue later this week when I will have a car again, that'd be super.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Sadly, that's not a joke. They really did have to close down a major highway because it couldn't handle the temperature. I know it is hotter in other places in the world, but this is Canada. We just aren't built to deal with this kind of heat. Are the roads in Texas buckling? I think not. And if to further prove my point, I just broke a sweat removing magnets from my fridge. Again, no joke.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
I don't have to take the english course (I'm guessing my kick ass essay on the pros and cons of cell phones blew them away) and I can go straight into the regular math class. Yippee!
Now if I could only do something about my anxiety issues, and get the phone number of the hottie who worked the desk, I'd be all set...
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
His body of work is extensive, but my personal favourites are Long Day's Journey Into Night, and his turn in Slings and Arrows. Last year, when he performed his last role on the stage at Stratford, Prospero, in The Tempest, my mother and I got tickets, hoping to catch him one last time. When he had to pull out of the performance, I wanted to return my tickets. I'm not a huge fan of The Tempest (I'm more a Richard III kind of girl) and was only going to see his brilliance in person. We went, and his understudy was just as poor as I'd feared. Then again, who could match up to William Hutt? No one. The acting world, and all those who enjoy it, are poorer for his passing.
Sometimes I think I bumble around so much just so that you can learn from my mistakes.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Other than when in the registration process one takes it, and how much they cost - nothing. At least as far as I can tell. When I applied to go back to school earlier this year, I spoke with the head of the Business school, and she told me I would get a notice telling me to go for math and english tests, and I could ignore it. It did, and I did. Now, months later, I get my registration info pack, and inside, along with a complicated multi-step registration/course selection process, there is a note that says I need to book a test for math and english. Initially, I ignore this, as I have confirmation that I don't need to take any tests. But then, I get a nagging feeling, and read everything over again, and scour the internets, and my anxiety pays off. I really do need to take this test, as this is a placement test, not the assessment test I was exempted from. This one is shorter than the assessment tests, and won't cost money, but I have to do it before signing up for classes, which means I have to do it this week.
Forget for a minute how stupid I am to not have triple checked this earlier. There will be time enough for all the 'Mabel is a freaking moron' talk later. Now I have to brush up more quickly than desired on my math skills. I'm pretty confident about the english - though reading over the requirements I did see that they will be testing to see if sentence fragments and run-on sentences can be avoided. I know, I know, reading this you'd think they're all I use! - but the math is causing some panic.
I never did all that well in math in high school. Oh, I could do the homework fine, but in test situations, I always messed up. This is part of the reason my career in the financial industry was so amusing to my parents. But I figured that I could probably scrape through. I was going over the practice tests, and it seems that I'm a giant moron. I got 71% on one of them.
My good friend Roxxy tried to make me feel better, saying that everyone panics around math, and that if I got placed in the "foundations" class, I'd just look even smarter than usual. That's why I love her. While I know having to take a "foundations" math class first term wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, it does make me ill. I'm supposed to be smart. I always did well, usually without trying. And I guess I kinda figured that math wasn't important to me in high school, so that was why I didn't excel. And now, it looks like I'm having to face the fact that math is never going to be my strength. That is bad enough, but the mere thought of having to take esentially a remedial class makes me want to vomit. I'm not necessarily good at facing adversity when I didn't expect to. I can deal with challenges if I expect it to be a challenge, but if I think I can handle something and then it turns out I can't, I'm not really good at dealing with that. And I think of myself as a good student.
Oh well, I guess this will be another opportunity to better myself. At this rate, I'll be evolving into a beam of light any day now.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Did I mention how much I love humidity and the pain-bringing air pressure that comes with it? With all the time we'll be spending together over the next week, we may as well get married. And according to the opponents of gay marriage, now that gays can get married, anyone can marry whatever they want, be it a snake, a dog, or a child. I haven't confirmed it, but I think humidity/air-pressure could work. So until I hear different, we're getting hitched. If anyone is interested, the couple is registered at Home Depot and Ikea.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
So imagine how happy I was when I got notices dropped in my mailslot on Friday morning, announcing that I was going to have two separate visitors to my apartment. They needed to inspect the place to see what renos need to be done after I leave (the person who lives here next gets an all new bathroom. Lucky sob!) and then they wanted to show my apartment to potential renters. No, I didn't just sigh and accept it. Do you even know me at all? That's right. I freaked out. I hate the thought of people being able to rummage through my life. That's actually the part of my death that upsets me most. I don't like the thought of people being able to go through and see stuff that was private and I didn't want anyone to see. But I'll get therapy to deal with that, and hopefully I have some time to do that, freak accident notwithstanding.
More importantly, more pressingly, I have to deal with the notion that until I move out, this place isn't really my own. I mean, they booked a viewing of the apartment for 10am. On a Saturday. And didn't even ask me. The person who came to see it was from out of town, so even when I called to try and see if the viewing could be delayed, I was out of luck. That's right, some person who may rent my apartment has more of a right to be in my place whenever than I do.
I can't wait till I move.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Friday, June 8, 2007
My body was dealing with my stress by not sleeping. I guess it decided it didn't work, so it found another way. For the past couple of days, my left eye has been bugging me. And today, I wake up to find that I have a sty. It itches, and I look diseased. And I get to spend time putting warm compresses on it. 6 times a day.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
My knowledge of high finance is extensive. It tells me that you break someone's legs in advance to ensure that they pay back the money you've lent them. But while I may not be up on the exact cost of insulin injections, I'm thinking it is a tad higher than 2.75$ Canadian, no matter how high the dollar is right now. So unless he had a ginormous wad of tickets to sell, I think he won't be able to afford his insulin shot.
Oh my, do you think he was just trolling for cash, and lied about the insulin?
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Monday, June 4, 2007
Seriously, I don't know what else to say. I thought Rebecca Eckler couldn't go any lower. I was totally wrong. She is suing the makers of the movie Knocked Up (disclosure: I haven't seen it, and don't plan on it, just because I can't buy the premise that Kathrine Heigl hooks up with that total slob for a one night stand. No effing way.) So, while I loathe Eckler, I'm not crazy about the movie (Judd Apatow's previous work notwithstanding) and am not about to take the side of the movie developers just because.
But honestly? She's suing them because she feels they stole from her novel of the same name. Some of the reasons she lists, other than the title, are that in both her book and the movie, the woman who gets pregnant by accident feels out of place at a party with booze, that she seeks advice/support from a person close to her who has children, and that the fiance is Canadian and Jewish.
Well, not to trivialize Eckler's experience, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and state that pretty much every pregnant woman has gone to some sort of event and felt out of place because she couldn't drink like she could before. I think it is as much a part of pregnancy as morning sickness or back pain. And I know that if I was pregnant, especially if it wasn't planned,I wouldn't go to my childless friends for support and advice. Oh no, I'd be calling my friends with rugrats faster than you can say 'pre-natal classes'. So far, my theoretical pregnancy mirrors Eckler's too. Crap! I'd better duck in case of copyright infringement! As for the fiance being Canadian and Jewish (because that combination never occurs anywhere but in Eckler's book so it must be stolen from her) I can only say that Canada is kinda close to the US, and Apatow has worked with some lovely Canadians, so it is completely believable that he came up with this on his own.
There are other claims she makes, and while some I can't speak to, some just make me laugh. Like that the title is the same. Yes, because the slang 'knocked up' is never used to describe pregnancy in this day and age, especially when the pregnancy is from a one night stand. And while I don't have a degree in graphic art and design, I'm thinking that punching up the words by putting them in different colours is on page one of the design school handbook. The fact that a pacifier and a martini glass were used in both? Quick, think of two items that are each easily recognizable to everyone, no matter the language spoken, the age, or culture of the audience, as a signifier (yeah, I'm getting all semiotical on ya) for the different stages of life being represented in the work, one for pregnancy/having a baby, and the other for the free and easy single life. I'm guessing most of you came up with the pacifier for baby, and if you didn't come up with the martini glass, you picked something to symbolize booze. Coming up with those two ain't rocket surgery. Or uncommon.
Now I should note here that I'm not saying Eckler plagiarized them, or that she shouldn't be pissed. In fact, I can empathize with her. There is nothing fun about working your butt off on something, only to find out that someone else had the same idea and is getting more play. My fourth year project was a brilliant study of Canadian culture and the intrisic link to the donut shop. People thought we were crazy, and there hadn't been anything (that we could find) done on the subject before. But then, around the same time we were finishing up, some grad students did something so similar you'd almost swear they cribbed off of our research, and they got lots of press about it. I was annoyed, and hated explaining that 'no, we came up with the idea on our own and did the work ourselves and didn't copy them thanks very much' to everyone. But I never thought of suing. I just figured it was such a good idea that other people had it too. It sucks, but you move on.
Besides, I think that creative works are all plagiarized in one way or another. Are there really any new stories to tell? Probably not. Most stories have been told, one way or another. So when you tell yours, it isn't so much about the newness of the tale, but about the execution. Make yours interesting and well told, and you've done wonderfully and people will love it, no matter how many times they've heard the "kid from the wrong side of the tracks makes good and wins the girl" narrative. Make it trite and so transparent that one only has to read the first page to know exactly what will happen, pretty much page by page, and you've done terribly and will make people throw your book across the room in frustration. Emily Giffin, I'm looking in your direction here.
Oh, and finally, if two people can independently invent the telephone, why is it so hard to believe that two people could almost simultaneously develop a humourous look at being pregnant?
Just chill, Rebecca.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Oh sure, there are some formalities to take care of, but as of the middle of next month, I will be the proud owner of my own home. I'm giddy with anticipation, a bit terrified of the change, and overwhelmed by all the little things I'll have to take care of before the move. Changing my address. Cancelling services. Packing up all my stuff. My brain hurts just thinking about them. So I'm not going to. For now, I'm just going to think about the good parts, and do the happy dance.
Friday, June 1, 2007
I may have been a little hasty, and well, overly pessimistic yesterday. But almost no sleep and then a rousing round of "Why you are a failure as a daughter" will do that to a body.
Things are looking up today. Or at least, I'm able to see that it isn't as gloomy as I said it was yesterday.
I've found a place I love. An offer has been made. I gave my notice to my current abode.
By noon tomorrow, we'll know if I've got a new home.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
And those patterns to relationships you thought you both outgrew? Pffft. Of course you didn't. It just seemed like you did so that when they finally reappear, it is at the worst possible time, and pretty much guarantees that said relationship is irreparable.
If you look to the left, you will see a sad woman.
But this isn't random insomnia. I don't want to jinx it, but it looks like I have found a condo that fits all my criteria, and I'm going to be putting in an offer in the next day or so. I'm scared, and excited, and nervous, and panicked and lots of other stuff. So that's why I can't sleep.
Send me your good vibes. I really like this one. This could be home.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
My eyes looked fantastic! My lashes went on for miles, and they actually didn't look fake. I finally understood why men swoon when women bat their eyelashes. The best part was that I felt like a total diva. I called out for someone bring me a martini and some bonbons, and for the rest of the day, I kept sneaking looks in any reflective surface just to catch a glimpse of my awesome lashes.
Now today, as I look in the mirror at my pathetic and non-false natural lashes, I can't help but feel I look funny.
Suddenly the notion of getting eyelash implants doesn't seem quite so ridiculous.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Stormy once said of me "Mabel: She puts the 'ass' in classy."
Truer words were never spoke.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
I was invited to attend a girls night at the apartment of a friend of mine last night, an apartment I'd never been too. So, being the anxious dweeb I am, I scouted out the route on the good old TTC four days in advance. Then I checked again a day later, and twice more yesterday. I committed the directions to memory, and made lengthy notations in the memo pad on my cell, Snowball II, all about what streets I need to pass, and what streets I shouldn't pass or else I've gone too far. Yeah, I know, I'm certifiable. Anyhow, I was sure that all I needed to do was go to Davisville Station, and catch the Bayview 11 bus, and the rest would be easy.
(Pause for dramatic effect)
Again, to reiterate, I'm an idiot, so of course it wasn't that easy.
I get to the station, and get on the bus, and keep my eyes peeled for the street names. Note that I'm not looking for the numbers, oh no, because that would make some kind of sense. And my logic does not resemble your earth logic. Hell no. So I'm looking and looking, and not seeing the streets I need to. A creeping dread is developing in the pit of my stomach. Then all of a sudden, I'm at Eglinton, which a quick look at my notes on Snowball II confirms is way past where I need to be. So I jump off the bus and look around, when it dawns on me that the address on the building in front of me is 1787. And, in case you aren't mathletes, is pretty damn far from the address of my friend, which is in the 1300s. I did that math in my head. Impressed? So I start hauling ass, trekking down Bayview, in the hopes that I will be able to get there before I'm so late that some guests might be leaving. After a bit, I realize that Mount Pleasant Cemetery is coming up, and then, I look to my left, and I see that I'm finally at my friend's place. A split second later, I realize that I recognize the building. And I should, because my aunt lived in the same complex. For over 4 years.
That's right. Despite lots of planning and map checking, I got lost on my way to a place I have been dozens of times before.
Later, at home, I check my work again, trying to see where I went wrong, and it turns out that the Bayview bus never even passes by my friend's place. I read the map wrong. Over and over.
Tremble at my intellect.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Yeah, you read right. I'm gonna be entering the real estate game. Table Mabel's gonna own property. First, condo fees; then, enslavement of the entire world. Mwahahahaha! Picture me tenting my fingers in the pyramid of evil.
Over the past week, I've spent lots of time pouring over the internets, trying to find a one bedroom condo, with a balcony, in a nice, friendly neighbourhood that is near-ish to the subway and that I can afford. Oh, and it has to be "safe" according to my parents. So don't even bother suggesting that I move into a tent in the middle of Cracktown. And, I pretty much need to move, like, yesterday. I know, I'm gonna have better luck finding a leprechaun. Sigh. But I love a challenge and I'm gonna do it, even if it kills me. The thought of a washer and dryer of my very own has me salivating.
Friday, May 18, 2007
The Jaded Club thanks you for your interest.
We are always on the lookout for promising new members to join us in our continual state of cynicism. However, you must understand that we are an exclusive club, and as such, have exacting standards to which we must hold our members. Just being jaded is not enough.
Please answer the questions that follow at the bottom of this communication, and your membership application will be evaluated. Note that we thank all applicants for their interest, but only the candidates who have been selected for a follow-up interview will be contacted.
President and Founder, The Jaded Club
The Jaded Club Membership Application Form
1. Do you make snide comments when witnessing any public display of affection?
2. Do you think that a white knight will come and rescue you?
3. How tolerant are you of the general public?
4. Are you convinced that there is no one out there for you?
5a. Have you ever dreamt of being Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman?
5b. Would you punch someone who has?
Complete the following sentences:
6. The best thing about being jaded is _____________________.
7. Love _____________________________.
Pick the most correct answer:
8. What word would best describe you?
9. People, as a general rule _______.
a) are idiots
b) are morons
c) suck chunkers
d) chafe my ass
10) In 30 words or less, describe what you would bring to The Jaded Club:
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Here are just some random things that are driving me bazoo:
Does it really take 8 people to pick out a bottle of pancake syrup? Do you all need to be closely involved in this decision and in doing so take up three aisles in the grocery store? For 15 minutes?
We're in North America people. We drive on the right side. We also walk on the right side. This applies to whatever/wherever you're doing it, be it an escalator, a sidewalk, a platform, or a hallway. If there is no one coming in the opposite direction, feel free to walk in zigzags if your heart so desires, but if you aren't alone, get the hell over the right side now!
When I'm struggling to open the door while holding my many grocery bags, I'm actually not doing it so that you can ram into me and knock me off balance just to make it through first and then let the door slam in my face.
Most city sidewalks are about wide enough to fit two, maybe three people abreast. It's delightful that you have a litter of children, but I don't enjoy having to all but climb onto newspaper boxes so that you can pass by whenever you'd like. They have strollers for two (or more) children that don't take up 5 feet of space across, and instead only take up the space of one person, so that other people can use streets too. Look into it.
What the hell is up the horrendous state of the streets and sidewalks in this city? They are a messy combination of broken cobblestones, uneven pavement, slanty sidewalks, cracks and jagged gravel. Are you trying to make me wear ugly and "practical" shoes? Or is it me with a broken ankle, torn acl and smashed in teeth you are after?
Lady, despite what you may think, I am actually allowed to have my purse stand out 2 inches from my shoulder. See, we have this concept of there being a tiny amount of personal space that surrounds a person, a space which should not ever be entered, unless you have been given explicit permission or are performing life saving cpr. So if you can't find a way around it, despite the four feet of space between me and that display of condiments, then you shouldn't leave your house. Ever.
And finally, to the jackhole who buzzed me in the hopes of getting into the building at 5:42 this morning, 40 minutes after I finally fell asleep, I hope you get the plague.
There. Now I feel better.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Oh, don't worry. I'm not getting turfed onto the street or anything. But it looks like I have to move, probably soon.
So, instead of feeling all cozy here now, I find myself looking around at the life I've collected and just seeing stuff I need to pack. And it doesn't quite feel like home here any more.
Friday, May 11, 2007
And here's a followup: When the hell did Rebecca Eckler become "one of Canada's most popular journalists and writers"?
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Monday, May 7, 2007
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Friday, May 4, 2007
But seeing him also made me a little sad. He reminded me of what I really miss about work (besides the paycheque! Thanks, I'll be here all week. Try the veal.) and that is my co-workers. I worked with some of the most fun, most interesting, most helpful and most skilled people. They made coming in to work every day if not delightful, then at least bearable. They didn't mock me for my random, weird dancing to music that was only in my head. Or if they did, it wasn't to my face. I doubt I'll be as lucky again.
So, to you in particular, Pelowpages, and to all my old work cronies in general, thanks for all the good times, and just for you, I'm doing a lovely version of the sprinkler.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
I'm so stupid.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
But now science has fixed this important issue and come up with a birth control pill I can "take wherever", according to the advertising.
See? That's what I'm talking about. A chewable birth control pill that tastes minty. Finally. Now we can call ourselves civilized.
In case you couldn't tell, I was being sarcastic.
Chewable birth control pills? Really? And pardon my Latvian, but why? Are there really lots of women walking around complaining about not getting to use their teeth enough while taking the pill? Did someone think that chewing gum was fun, but you have to throw it out eventually, so what would be awesome is something to chew that disolves instead? Do lots of people love the taste of spearmint but hate gum, and need to get their fix somehow? Is taking a pill currently so difficult that you can only do it in the comfort of your own home?
Oh, and while we're on the topic of the "portability" factor, I read some of the directions, and you have to drink an 8oz glass of water with this chewable pill anyhow, so wouldn't it be easier to just toss one down the hatch with the water instead of chewing followed by a water chaser?
On top of the fact that this sounds like a marketing brainstorm idea gone really wrong, I just can't believe that good money and energy were spent to get it developed. I'm all for science, (ask anyone, I'm always experimenting. Suzuki, I'm gunning for you!) but couldn't we be doing something more, um, productive than developing birth control pills that we can chew and taste of spearmint? Like develop a giant tomato that could end world hunger? Just asking.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
I mean, sure, some cool stuff has come of it. Like last week, I met up with an old friend from out of town, who I had lost touch with over some...unpleasantness, and we were able to patch everything up. I'll grant you, that was pretty damn fantastic. Aside from the whole 'beer-dipped phone' incident, of course.
However, as I mentioned before, due to Facebook, I also had to spend time with my ex, and that was slightly less pleasant than having my tongue beaten paper thin with a meat tenderizer. But I thought that was it, so I could deal with it, and consider it a small price to pay. Oh how I was wrong.
About a week ago, he sent me a friend request on Facebook, along with a message about how it was so nice to see me, how it had been far too long, and how perhaps it had been long enough for us to be friends.
And therein lies my problem.
I just don't know what to do.
On first blush, I wanted to delete it and go on blissfully ignoring him, but every time I go to do that, I can't. I log in for the express purpose of blowing the request away, and then I start thinking about it, and it occurs to me that I should be able to get over everything and be his friend, even if it is only in a "anyone I have ever known should be counted as my friend" way that online communities breed. Did I say no to someone I talked to occasionally through high school? No. Did I say no to a guy I only hung out with in groups a few times more than a decade ago? No. So why can't I just say yes and leave it at that? Am I that broken? Do I need to hold a grudge that badly? Sure, things ended terribly (understatement alert!) but this was someone I held dear for a long time, a mostly good time. Do I need to count the whole relationship as a black stain on my life?
Ugh. I had no idea this whole thing was going to be so damn complicated.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Remember how I used to say that I loved you? Turns out I was wrong.
We've drifted apart over the last few months, what with you turning into an insane, far-right-wing hack and all, but tonight's performance on The Daily Show was the last straw. You were asked a question was about prolonging the terms of American troops in Iraq, and you managed to ramble on about how the troops think the war is a good thing, and refused to acknowledge the question, despite it being asked more than once.
I hate you just as much as I hate Rumsfeld, Cheney, or any other Republican heel who can't think beyond your party's talking points.
Don't ever call me again.
Monday, April 23, 2007
After a long walk down Bloor Street, she reached her destination. She took a deep breath, and entered the store. Once inside, she found herself confronted with two sales clerks. Not knowing which one to pick, she smiled at them both, and chose the one that smiled back. She explained the trials which she had been through, having been without a phone for almost a day, though she glossed over how exactly the phone had come to cease working.
The helpful sales clerk was very sympathetic. He took the phone from the woman and inspected it, to see if he could discern the problem. He turned it around in his hands, opened it up, turned it off and on, and then opened the back of the phone to see the battery.
And with the removal of the back of the case, there was an overwhelming aroma of beer. It swirled around the clerk and our heroine, and she hung her head as the clerk spoke the words she knew she would have to hear:
"That's beer. The warranty doesn't cover beer."
So she reluctantly fished into her purse for her wallet, and paid for an identical version of the broken, beer-logged phone she had bought only months ago. And she left the store not long after, a few hundred dollars poorer.
The moral? Never let friends hold my phone over a full pint. Wait, I mean, 'one's phone'. Because that totally never happened to me.
Friday, April 20, 2007
So today I'm feeling like death warmed over. All I want is to have a nice warm shower to wash away the grogginess and turn me back into a human being.
I stumble to the shower, turn it on, and nothing comes out. I spend a minute or so just looking at the tap. Then it dawns on me that I saw a notice yesterday, something about needing to work on the water system today and how our water will be off from 8:30 till 5. There will be no shower for Mabel today.
If anyone needs me, I'll be collapsed on the couch.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
And no, I'm not PMSing. I'm just super prickly. I'm really quite the charming catch.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
So, we have established that I gave in to Facebook and found lots of good stuff on it. And for a while, things were hunky dory. But now, I think we're having our first fight.
Let me start from the beginning.
A while ago, Stormy created a group in Facebook, in order to rope one of our friends into joining. Again, as I keep telling you, peer pressure is awesome and you should always give into it! Anyhow, we decided that this group for people who knew our friend, the Admiral, would be open to everyone, in case some of his friends that we didn't know wanted to join. And it worked, on both counts. Our friend joined, and a number of other people found the group and joined it too. This includes ex-boyfriends. Then Stormy decided that we should have an event for the Admiral, and sent out an invite to the group.
You can probably see where this is going.
Last night was the event. We met up at a bar we all used to spend far too much time in when we were much younger, but it was too packed, so we left and went to another bar close by, but not one we frequented together. We left messages for people we knew were coming but weren't there yet, to let them know we'd changed locations. But we didn't tell everyone. So imagine our surprise when around the corner walks someone we didn't leave a message for. My ex.
I tell you, my stomach dropped out when I saw him. I thought I was going to be sick.
Now, I understand that some people can be friends after breakups and all that. But ours wasn't what you would call a 'amicable split'. It ended terribly. We were together for about 2 years, and it took me at least that long to get over the pain and deal with the issues. I'm back on solid ground now, but seeing him walk into the room, even now, 6 years after the fact, and it was like a punch to the gut, ripping off the band aid. Choose any metaphor you'd like. It was that and worse.
I did the only thing I could do. I ran to the bar.
After the initial sucker punch of panic, and a couple of gin and tonics, I was hit with the double edged sword of pity and regret.
The pity, I was expecting. I've heard things about him since our split, and the years haven't been kind to him. After we broke up, he slid down the path to crazyville. Instead of the cute young thing he was while we were together, he became a mirror image of Grizzly Adams. He had some dealings with the law. He became deluded about his own abilities, and downright mean about the abilities of others. He tried to rope friends into shady dealings. It got to the point that I wanted to deny we had ever dated.
The regret, on the other hand, was a total shock. I sat there, trying not to look at him, yet unable to pull my eyes away. I kept wondering how it had all gone so wrong, and how he could have hurt me like that (side note: Guys, don't ever, EVER, tell your girlfriend you really want to sleep with one of her best friends. Just don't.) and how the sweet, caring man I fell in love with had turned into something I barely recognized.
There was only one thing to do. Drink more.
After a number of additional drinks, I realized that I was going to have to be the bigger person, and go talk to him. This would not only make me feel better, by being the adult in the situation, but would help me get over all the squishiness inside me. So I moved over, and eventually, got him to talk. He asked if I was still working for the same company, and when I told him about my lack of a job and my scholastic plans, he remembered that I had always been interested in that field. We talked a bit about what I was doing, where I was living, and he was actually kind of sweet. I caught a glimpse of the man I had at one point thought I'd marry. It wasn't a long conversation, as he had plans to head on to another event, and that was probably a good thing. I learned last night that I haven't quite dealt with everything as well as I thought I did.
Long story not so short? We're thinking of changing the group to 'by invite only'. And Facebook? Please, if you want us to continue being friends, don't bring back any other past loves. I don't think I can take it.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Pardon my Latvian, but what the hell are flavours that appeal to me in the morning? And how are they different from flavours that appeal to me at midday or in the evening, or even in the middle of the night? The commercial wasn't forthcoming with the details, so I'm going to assume that AM flavour is extra strong coffee that can peel paint off the walls. Either that, or toothpaste.
I just saw a news piece on ABC complaining about illegal immigrants in the US. The gist of the piece was that the IRS doesn't turn over information to immigration from illegals who file tax returns, and how this is a terrible thing, because it may be counteracting all the work of the border patrol to get rid of those horrible leeches (which really America, don't you see how insane you are with this 'we need to build a wall around us to keep undesirables out' plan? Look in the mirror, and you'll see China. Or East and West Germany. Doesn't that make you think twice?) Contrary to what I would have thought, apparently there are a number of illegals who pay taxes every year, despite not having any of the other perks or responsibilities of citizenship.
They interviewed one man who had been a bank manager in Peru, but was now illegally in the US and was working as a painter. When they asked him why he paid taxes, he said "Because I make money in this country and I want to give back to it." I can see why you wouldn't want a slacker like that in your country. As opposed to someone like Wesley Snipes, who has made millions of dollars, on top of all the other perks of being a celebrity and yet doesn't feel he should have to pay taxes at all.
I try and I try America, but I just can't figure you out.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
In a completely unrelated story, do you think that popping 6 of those liqui-gels in 5 hours will cause permanent damage to one's insides? No reason, I'm just curious.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Last day of the regular season, and the last playoff spot is ours, but we need a little help to hold on to it. Come on New Jersey, help a girl out. You owe us after the Kaberle incident. Beat the Islanders today and we'll call it even.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Thanks a million. I can only hope that if you need it, someone is as nice to you as you were to me.
Monday, April 2, 2007
I just got an email from a name I didn't know, and was about to delete it as spam, when I read the subject "USB Drive" and I thought, "hmmm that isn't sexual enough to be spam", and then I felt my stomach drop, wondering if indeed it was about my USB key. So, after psyching myself up, I went to check my keychain, just to convince myself I still had it. But sure enough, my USB key was missing. After calling myself a bunch of names, mostly unprintable, I opened the email, and lo and behold, it wasn't spam. It was from some nice man who found a USB key in the lobby of my apartment building. He doesn't live in my building, so he took it home, opened the files, found my email and has offered to bring it by to my place today.
While this does restore my faith in humanity - because, seriously, how easy would it have been to wipe out the files and keep it for himself? Which reminds me, you sir? Are awesome. - it doesn't show me in a good light. I have all sorts of personal information on that USB key. No, not just music that I tell other people I don't like, but I really do, but actual important stuff. Like copies of applications I've sent in for jobs. In the email, he says he found it Saturday. How many times have I used my keys since then? Tonnes. And did I notice anything was missing? Of course not. You know the saying "I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached to my body"? Well, in my case, it isn't hyperbole.
I really am an idiot.