Why am I up?

Okay, I'm torn here. On the one hand? Charity is good. On the other? Ewwwww.

http://www.thestar.com/Entertainment/article/555841

Busy, busy, busy

So much going on in Mabel's life right now.

There is baking to do, decorating to take place, family events to attend, frequent "Why you suck" meetings with the parents, various get togethers with different groups of friends, out of town guests to see, and finally, and most importantly (to me, at least) a certain person to spend as much time with as is humanly possible.

I need a vacation.

And I'm done

Finally. The semester comes to an end.

No more insane stats prof who answers every question with "If you had read the textbook, you'd know the answer".

No more skeezy musician trying to ingratiate himself to me.

No more close-talking, insane prof who doesn't really know what he is supposed to be marking us on and caused me to drink in class.

No more incompetent groups for projects.

But there is a downside - No more cute stats partner. At least, not for a while.

Now, I plan on spending my time getting all ready for the holidays, and doing fun stuff with the people in my life. Woo! And might I add, hooo!

Further update

I'm not an idiot apparently. I didn't put my trust in the wrong person, just in someone who didn't handle the overwhelming emotion and complicatedness of the situation with anything close to approaching maturity.

He finally sacked up and contacted me. We met, and one look at him told me that he'd been through an awful time and was truly sorry. He explained the circumstances, and agreed that there was no excuse, but wanted my forgiveness and another chance. I told him in no uncertain terms that if this happens again, they'll be finding his body for weeks. We talked some more about things, and after he apologized some more, volunteered to meet with each of my friends individually to explain himself and endure some verbal abuse, and suggested that he make himself available for a public stoning, I decided that I'd forgive him.

So that's where we are. I'm happy again, though a touch more wary than before, and don't have to figure out what size of wimple I wear. Yet.

Update

I am still a giant idiot.

That is all

Score one for the crazy person

Well....so, that happened.

Sigh. I don't even know if I've got the words. But, you'll need closure on the anecdote, so go the the bathroom, get a bevy, and here we go.

I may be crazy, but in this case? I was right.

A bit of background for you:

Tyrell (a pseudonym to protect the insanely douchey) and I started chatting on a favourite website about a month ago. It started casually, but soon degenerated into hardcore, obvious flirting for the whole community to see. We'd spend hours (roughly 4 every night for ten or so day) talking just the two of us, veering into pretty naughty territory, but having a wonderful time. A few weeks ago, after we seemed to reach the point of no return, Tyrell asked me to email him. I did, and after a few emails, we exchanged numbers. Four minutes later, he called me, and we spent almost two hours on the phone, talking about all sorts of stuff. First, he admitted that he had a small thing he needed to care for every second weekend, and then, he admitted that he had taken a job which would require him to spend half his week in Hoboken. He said he wasn't sure about "starting something" with this change looming, and I replied that we hadn't really started anything. We made plans for the next night.

I was worried that we wouldn't hit it off in person, or that he wouldn't like the way I looked (or vice versa). But it turned out just fine. He came, we watched the hockey game together, he watched me curl. After, we went back to his place for drinks. The next day, he sent me home in a cab (that he paid for) and I sorta figured that might be it. But, he sent me an email, and that started a downpour. We would talk on the phone for roughly 1.5 to 2 hours every night, and during the day, we'd text each other and email. He initiated all this, always being the one to start the emailing, texting or phone calls. I was playing it cool. He said he had the next Saturday free, so did I want to have lunch? I said sure, and we agreed that he'd bring lunch to my place. He brought a lovely bottle of wine and a charming Italian dish. It was fantastic.

In seven days, I received 100 text messages from him, all talking about how wonderful I was, and how he couldn't wait to see me. We'd talk about how this whole thing was a little overwhelming and how we couldn't believe that it had happened so quickly. A week ago, we planned meeting up in a few weeks for one big bash before Hoboken, and he talked about wanting to see me before then. He asked me to lunch, but I couldn't go. Then he asked me for coffee, and indicated that he really wanted to see me. I went, and we had a great time, sitting and drinking our coffee and talking.

Wednesday, after some racy text messages, we agreed that we'd meet up after my exam. We met up, went to his place, and spent a nice evening. When I needed to go home (due to foreign diplomats arriving at his place the next day and the need to clean up in preparation) he kept on repeating how he couldn't believe he was doing something so stupid and sending me home. He gave me money for a cab, and walked me outside, gave me a kiss and popped me into a cab with instructions to text when I got home. I did, and we had a bit of a back and forth. Thursday, again, at his initiative, lots of texting, including a request for me to say hi to the gang on the website, as well as lots of "can't wait to see you", "wish you were here" etc from him. Friday, a quick morning text from him, my reply, and then an evening text from me.

And then? Nothing.

So, I worried and got all insane, like I tend to, and talked to my friends to calm me down, convinced that this was different and everything would be just fine. Today, three plus days since I'd heard anything, I decided to send an email, just saying hi, mentioning my weekend and asking about our plans for Thursday. I did. And immediately got a bounce back email telling me that the email I had received and sent 60 emails from/to did not exist. I had a friend confirm that it had not just been a fluke. Tyrell's email didn't work anymore.

I had my answer. I hadn't been panicking without reason.

Next time: The hell? Alternately titled: Seriously, the hell? (An in depth analysis)

Mabel tries to prove to everyone yet again she is insane

In case you weren't already on board the "Mabel is a crazy person and probably should be locked away from the rest of humanity, lest her insanity infect others" train, here is something that might convince you.

So, I have this burgeoning new relationship. We talk all the time, usually around two hours a night, send lots of emails, and copious amounts of text messages. Despite busy, and usually opposite schedules, we see each other every chance we get. Everything seems to be going really well. This weekend, with him being ultra busy due to house guests, we didn't really talk on Friday and we didn't talk at all on Saturday. And instead of being a normal person, I'm freaking out. Before you say anything, yes, I realize that not talking for such a short period of time is normal, and I wouldn't have a problem with it, other than missing talking to him. Except I'm totally overly analytical about this stuff, and I worry that there might be a reason other than being busy. Last time we saw each other, I think I might have done something not good. It wasn't on purpose, and it wasn't mean, but I don't think it was great. I don't want to go into it, but suffice to say, I did something not totally awesome, and now I'm worrying that while he said it was okay (and was completely fantastic about it) at the time, that now that he's had some time to think on it, he's reconsidering everything.

So, I'm a crazy person, right? Why is it that I can't just accept that he likes me and he's busy? Why do I need to think something must be wrong? Well, there's the part where I'm insane and over-think things, but there's also experience. In the past, when I've dated guys and they've stopped talking to me as frequently as they used to, it always meant something was terribly wrong. But because I never thought something was, I'd track them down, thinking nothing was different, only to find out I was getting a dump-o-gram in the mail. And yes, that's a true story. This means that even though I'm sure there's a valid, normal and totally fine reason we haven't talked, my brain starts freaking out when I notice a few minutes have passed without him calling or replying to my last text message. I'm doing my best to keep from obsessing over this, and I keep talking to people to reaffirm that nothing is wrong. And I know I won't say anything to him when we talk next, because I don't need him to know that I'm such a freak.

I'm sure this will all blow over, and maybe I'll learn that we can not talk for a few days and everything can still be as super-fantastic-amazing as it was before. I'll keep you posted. And no, I'm totally not going to obsessively check my phone for texts now. Stop looking at me like that.

Things I've learned recently

1) When deliriously happy, I don't post.

2) I'm deliriously happy right now. Insanely so.

Cautiously optimistic

That's what you should label me.

Recently, someone came into my life in a big way, and with the force of a mack truck. After much discussion, we decided to meet up this past weekend. I was worried it was going to be awkward, or the chemistry we'd had wouldn't hold up in person. I shouldn't have been. I just had one of the best weekends of my life.

Now, there are some potential obstacles, and they are in no way small ones, but there is interest on both sides to keep this going. I have no idea if it will work, or what will happen if my school crush shows interest (he asked me to study with him on the weekend. What does that mean?) but for the first time in a long time, things are looking up for Mabel in the opposite sex department. Maybe.

Products I love?

A few days ago, I ventured into the local drugstore to purchase some toiletries, including new razor blades. When I went to the aisle, I was reminded why I hate buying hair removal products - they cost so damn much! I hemmed and hawed, and was about to walk away, leaving myself in my hirsute state, when I saw something that was in my budget. They were selling a starter kit of the Venus Breeze, you know the one with strips that replace shaving cream? - for under 8 bucks. I figured I'd give it a shot, as it was way cheaper that buying new blades for my razor. Yeah, I'm frugal like that. I tried it out, and loved it. As has been documented previously, I have the grace of a drunken elephant, and frequently, when trying to slather my legs in shaving cream, I end up dumping a bunch of it on the floor of the tub. I was skeptical about not needing shaving cream, figuring this was a marketing ploy (and I'd know about marketing ploys!) but I didn't need any additional cream, and it was super easy to use, even for me. And the results were impressive. Super close shave, and no nicks. My only concern is that the strips will wear down too soon, and I'll end up spending a lot more money on blades than I did before. Otherwise, I have a new product to love.

Pardon the pop culture reference...

But I'm bringing flirting back.

Not in general, of course, as I realize that it never left the world at large. But I'm bringing it back to me.

I used to be a terrible flirt. The term scandalous would be an apt description of the way I flirted when I was younger. Didn't matter if I liked the person, as long as I got attention and no small amount of desire from the target. Now, being older and wiser (they do come hand in hand, right?) I know that I went too far back then. And yes, there are examples that illustrate this, but no, you can't hear them.

In recent years, I'd gone too far the other way and somewhere along the line, I lost my ability to flirt. I think it had a lot to do with confidence. I wasn't the person physically that I used to be when I was flirting (with immense success, I should point out) and I didn't feel like people would respond positively to my attempts. We can all agree that rejection sucks, and so I stopped. But with all these changes I'm going through, I'm trying to like myself more, and to see myself as I used to. Or, more importantly, as I actually am.

Enter the internet.

I've recently found a little group of friends (no, not you Stormy, but hi!) to chat with. Most of the people are guys, and with so few girls, there tends to be lots of random flirty comments batted about on both sides. And probably because it is the internet and I don't know these people, and because they can't see how I look, I found I was able to flirt again. Intensely. A lot. To the point where I blush at what I'm writing due to the innuendo, and am amazed at my ability to get in a good line. And the thing is? They are flirting back. And now I remember why I used to like it so much. It is a great way to show off my wit and verve, and I think that's always been the strongest part of my appeal. Oh, the physical part of me was fine, but I knew I could nail 'em with my personality. I guess I had forgotten how to showcase that part of me, due to an extreme dislike of the way I looked.

And while I know that none of this will come to anything (and I will likely never meet the people I'm spending all this time with) I think it has given me a great gift. I can flirt again! Thanks should go out to the one commenter in particular who has done a great deal to make me blush and show my drollness and spirit. I couldn't have done it without you. And I really appreciate it.

Now, if only I could do it in person, and with someone I'm actually interested in having a relationship with, I'd be all set. But give me time, and I think I'll master this. Next step - trying it out on my crush?

My mom has all the luck

My mother's car was hit today as my neighbour backed out of his driveway, and tried to do a three-point turn. He was going kinda fast, and bounced off my mom's car, scraping and denting it something fierce.

The best part?

This isn't the first time my mom's car has been hit while parked on their street.

Hell, it isn't even the first time that particular neighbour has hit her car while it was parked on that street.

I'm thinking she should find a new place to park the car.

The hell?!?!?!?!?

Last night, we didn't have curling (lousy bonspiel, ruining all my fun) so my curling buddy and I went out for dinner and a chat about the exciting fact that at least one hot bartender is back this year, and about our respective crushes.

We went to local pub, midway between our places, and had a lovely time. Good food (deep fried cheescake is awesome, yo!), good beer, good conversation, and good hockey (cram it with walnuts you stupid Habs!). All in all, a great evening. We got our bill, paid it, and left the pub. As we were crossing the street, someone kept calling out "Ladies!" We ignored them, as they couldn't be talking to us. It turns out they were. Our server was chasing us, saying we hadn't paid the whole bill, and wanted to talk it out in the middle of traffic on a major street. She said we hadn't left enough, and she could show us, so we followed her back in, and she gave us the folder with our bill and money in it. There were two twenties, a ten, a five and some coins. Not enough to cover the bill. However, we had a problem with this.

The problem? We counted the money three times, and there is no chance that we'd both count a five as a twenty THREE times. Different values in Canadian money can clearly be seen, unlike American money, where you have to look close.

The other problem? Neither of us had a five in our wallets at the start of the evening. My friend had three twenties, and I had a twenty (fresh from the bank machine) and a ten. And as we never asked for change, how the hell did a five get in there?

We know we put $70+ in the folder, and left, so the only thing we can think of is that someone (either our server or someone else on staff, or maybe another patron?) switched out a twenty for a five, and hoped we'd be nice (read: gullible) enough to put more cash down. And the fact that she'd be all "But I can show you!"with something she had left sitting out where anyone in the pub could access it doesn't prove anything. So, when faced with a five instead of a twenty in the folder, we did the only thing we could see doing. We gave her another twenty, grumbled and left.

What was supposed to be a relatively inexpensive night turned into a hugely annoying, very expensive night. I'm never going back, and I'm ever so pissed.

To ease the pain, we went back to her place and downed a bottle of wine.

Really though, what else could we have done?

Tips for putting the fun in academia. And by fun, I mean alcohol.

Starbucks Hazelnut hot chocolate topped up liberally with Frangelico is an excellent way to get through class.

It is tasty, and helps dull the pain of scholastic pursuits. Plus, it is odour-free, so no one can tell you are boozing it up. No one, that is, unless you start acting drunk. Like by adding your own "The way I see it" statements to your cup, in which you slag the stupider members of the class, show it to your friend and then the two of you giggle like idiots for five minutes straight. Over and over again.

(title credit to Stormy.)

Just wondering...

And yes, I'm aware that I probably should stop daydreaming about this, but I can't so bear with me.

I've been thinking about this for a while now, and I want to get it out of my head in the hopes that I can stop thinking about it. Why does my crush call so frequently? I mean, he's called me a bunch of times, and every time, it is about something terribly trivial and mostly unnecessary, like telling me to let him know what mark we got on our project, like I wouldn't do that anyway. Plus, even when we're on the phone and we know we still have something to work out, he puts it off till a later conversation.

That's gotta be either a very good sign, or he needs to use up his phone minutes every month. Right?

Partial retraction - you did sorta good

Just when I think we're gonna get along, you go and ban gay marriage in three states. Classy. And reasonable. And totally going to save "traditional marriage".

Sigh.

Seriously America, if you are so concerned with protecting the sacred institution of marriage, how bout banning drive-thru wedding chapels? Or passing a law so that people can't get a licence to marry on the same day as their wedding? Or making sure that people who are getting married in Vegas and Niagara Falls aren't drunk off their asses? Or not pressuring teenage parents to get married for the sake of the children, when chances are high they'll end up divorced in a few years because they didn't really want to get married in the first place?

All those things are a danger to the institution of marriage. Two people of the same sex who love each other and want to make a lifelong commitment are not.

Grow up America.

Mabel is sad

Tragedy.

Today, on the best day of the week, when I have class with my crush, and when I should be happy beyond belief, I am sad.

I got a phone call earlier letting me know that he won't be in class today. How am I supposed to get through class now? My whole week is ruined.

The only possible silver lining is that I'll have to arrange a private tutoring session with him to impart what we learned today. In a candle-lit room, at night? I can dream...

You did good.

I mean it, America.

I know we've had our differences, what with you electing a complete moron TWICE and your tendency to take over everything, but you did a good thing yesterday, and I'm proud to call you my neighbour and closest trading partner.

Way to go! Now don't screw it up.

Come on America

Don't screw up this time.

Elect someone who isn't a complete tool, and has a good chance of dying in office. Do me this one solid, and we'll forget all about the last eight years.

Fingers crossed!

I've reached a conclusion

I was looking over the posts on this blog, and man, recently it seem I am one depressing Mabel.

Where are all the jokes about the crotchular region? The sass? The tales of hilarity? Have I been reduced to lovesick moaning and weight-loss stories? Am I that predictable? Gah.

I'm making a solemn vow to try to be far more entertaining and far less moony.

Maybe I'll even figure out the songs for Chemical Schlong's new album. Stay tuned!

A bizarre development

I've had new jeans sitting in my closet for a while now.

They didn't fit for a bit, then they did, but I had to get them shortened as my legs aren't 3 miles long. Before having professionals do this, I wore them a couple of times, not coincidentally on days that I see my crush, after having tucked the extra material under with some safety pins and thread (I'm like a female MacGyver. Gimme some bubblegum, a match and a piece of twine and I'll hatch you a kickass centrepiece) but I finally took them into the tailor to have them professionally shortened. And after getting them back, I put them on to discover something.

These awesome jeans, which were just right, are now a little big around the waist. Even though I've got them the "right" length, they start to slip down, and the bottoms drag on the ground without the aid of a belt. I thought I'd finally gotten past the need to wear belts with my pants in order to keep 'em up. Belts don't scream sexy to me. And at least one day a week, sexy is very important.

Maybe I can take up a pants collection. Anyone care to contribute?

A sad development

As you'll no doubt recall, I've been waging (and winning) the war against being a tub o'lard. And I've been pleased with the results.

Except.

Yesterday, as I was walking from the shower to my bedroom, I caught a glance of myself in the mirror. Naked. And was less than thrilled with the image reflected back at me. I was never someone who thought the sight of my naked body was going to start setting hearts aflutter, even before the weight gain. I wasn't one of those people who insist on always having the lights off during sex or anything, but I wasn't super pleased by the way I looked. But I had hopes that with this change for the better, I'd be more impressed. And I'm not. Maybe I'm hoping for too much, or maybe the naked improvements will take longer than the clothed improvements. I hope that I'm not going to be paying for my weight issues forever while naked, that there is going to be a time when I feel good being unclothed, and that my body will get in line with all the work I'm doing.

Am I dreaming?

WTF?

I look outside, on this the 21 of October and what do I see? Snow. That's right, the white, fluffy stuff. Was this really necessary?

Thanks ever so much global warming.

Belated curling update

I know, I can't believe I forgot to update you on last week's game.

We had a ringer on our team, but the other team had two.

The game wasn't close, the score being 13 - 1. For us!

I had an okay game, making some shots, missing slightly on others. One thing was different, in that for possibly the first time ever, I was freezing during the game. I always wear a matching pant and hoodie (workout fabric - don't know the name) and a tank top, with no hat, gloves, or jacket. And normally, I'm fine. Not super warm, but not too cold. Just right. But last week, I was downright freezing. My fingers were icy even when we went back into the club. Perhaps it was a one time thing, or maybe my weight loss means I'm not insulated by all that fat, and now get cold like other people. Hmmm...

I REALLY hate my financial institution

In a move that some would find shocking, I kept my bank account at my former employer. It was easier to keep it because all my bills were set up under it, and I'm a lazy, lazy person. I had another account with a different institution, but that was for one monthly withdrawal and any cheques I had to write (my former employer was never able to get me the cheques I requested, and I eventually stopped asking. They also weren't able to set me up with internet banking. And I'm not the only employee they managed to do those things to. I'm surprised the people who work in those branches are able to dress themselves. But I digress.) but most of my banking is done through my former employer.

That is gonna change.

Today, I went in to deposit a cheque, so that I could use the money for trivial things like food, and important stuff like a new shirt for my study date tomorrow. I went to the teller, thinking I'd be able to get a few dollars out today instead of waiting. Boy was I wrong.

The teller was all confused, and told me there was a hold, but she would get someone to authorize my withdrawal of 5% of the money today. That person came over, and looked at my file, and yelled that I hadn't updated my information. I was in that very same branch not two months ago, paying my fees for school, at which time I updated all my information with the teller (or so I thought) so I told her I was confused. Then she ripped into me for not having employment information listed. This confused me, as I'm not sure what business it is of theirs where I'm employed, but I told her I was in school, so there wouldn't be employment info. She retorted that they should have my school information listed then. Again, I stated that I had been in, paying my fees for said school not that long ago, so you could take a look at my transactions and see a bill being paid to my school, and deduce that probably is the school I'm attending. Again, I don't see why this is their business, but whatever. I told them my school name.

Then, they ask to see a bunch of forms of id, never mind that they have my card, and have already updated the information I gave them. I can see why this is important if I'm taking money out, but fail to see the importance when depositing money. I'd be the worst thief ever. And let me point out that at this point, they haven't actually deposited the money, so I guess they are testing to see who I am for the information update. I know they need to confirm my identity, but asking me upfront at the start of the transaction in a polite manner would be better than getting part way through and demanding it like I'm some kind of criminal.

And then, the final insult. They tell me they can't do anything, but if I want to head to the bank where the cheque originates and get it certified, then they can help me, but other than that, I'm boned. I'd like to point out at this juncture that having worked at a financial institution, and being a person with at least a modicum of intelligence, I know that there are many things they could have tried to help me. They could have called my home branch to get the hold lifted in whole or in part (again, I wanted 60$, not the whole amount of the cheque), or they could have called the branch the cheque came from to see if they could get certification over the phone, or they could have decided that since I've never deposited a cheque that wasn't good, they could advance me the 60$. And there are probably other things they could have tried. They might not have worked, but it would be worth a shot. Instead, they decided to make no effort to help, and instead dump the problem in my lap. This is why I pay fees? Next time, I'll just get cash and stuff the money under my mattress.

Finally, the woman explained everything to me like I was a child, and offered to send a letter to my home branch to see if eventually they'd remove the hold, and sat back, satisfied that this should make me happy, even though I told her that I actually needed a tiny bit of money for tomorrow and the rest could wait. When I told her there was no point, as I needed the money tomorrow and ordinarily I don't need it, so it doesn't solve the problem I have, she didn't even bother to apologize or be nice at all.

So, now I can't buy the food I wanted, or get the new top I was eyeing, or even pick up the clothes and winter coat I had tailored (this is why I needed the 60$) until next week.

Today was the last straw. I'm so overcome with rage at the continuing ineptitude of my former employer that as soon as I can access my money, I'm taking it all out, and closing the account. And I'm telling them exactly why, pointing out that even when they eliminated my job, I didn't close the account, but their inability to get any of the tiny requests I've made right has made it impossible for me to keep my account.

And, in a nice turn, today has also opened up those old wounds of "Why the hell am I out of a job when simpering morons who can't complete the simplest of tasks keep theirs?" and "I can't believe that I'm so worthless that I can be let go this way." which I thought I'd left behind.

Grrrrrrr.

Exciting news!

For me, anyway.

I was going through my closet, trying things on to see what is too big and I can get rid of, and what items finally fit me again. And there were amazing results all over the place. Tops that I bought because they were ridiculously on sale (even though they didn't fit at the time) now fit me perfectly, and look awesome. Dresses I used to wear but then stopped because they started to look heinous (and then stopped fitting) are now wearable, if not completely awesome.

But the best part? This gorgeous clingy velvet dress I bought ages ago and love to pieces, finally fits again. I put it on, and looked in the mirror, and couldn't look away. I looked fantastic. I haven't liked the image in the mirror for as long as I can remember, so it was quite a shock. I spent the evening walking around the house in it, not wanting to take it off.

Now I just need to find a place to wear it. Any ideas?

And then there were two

I have decided that the main purpose of Facebook is to allow all your exes to track you down again. Oh sure, there will be some contact from ex-classmates, and old friends, but mostly, I think it was created so exes can rekindle some sort of contact.

Of all my major relationships, there are only two exes who have not tracked me down to date. One of whom was fairly intense, and possessed stalker-like qualities, so I'm pretty surprised he hasn't found me. He must not be on Facebook, I guess. And the other? Is an immature jackass who dumped me via letter. He was so self involved that he probably doesn't even remember that we dated. Other than that, all my exes have tracked me down and want to chat. Why? I mean, I know my ex from the 7th grade who is married with three kids is genuinely interested in what I'm doing now, but why is the lazy, ex-bouncer of a local frat-style establishment interested in me? Urgh. The only upside to all this is that since most of them have already made contact, there shouldn't be any more surprises on that front.

But, I do think I'll have to post a new, hotter picture of myself. Yes, I am that shallow.

Oh yeah, it's love!

My classroom crush is apparently far more intense than I thought.

Yesterday I actually volunteered to point out something to the prof that would probably lower the mark I had received, in order to get him the mark he deserved.

Think about that for a minute. I was prepared to offer up my scholastic acheivment for this guy. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.

Now, he refused my offer, and upon further analysis, my mark wouldn't have been lowered even had I taken up the cause, but I was totally willing to get a lower mark for him. I know, I can barely believe it myself.

Sigh.

Well, that sucked.

I'm so glad we dissolved a Conservative minority government in order to elect a Conservative minority government.

Way to go Canada, this so isn't a completely asinine decision, and totally won't come back to haunt us. Nothing but good will come from this heinous, idiotic result.

If you need me, I'll be drinking myself blind till the next election.

And Alberta?

Electing all Conservative members, even incompetent dullard Rona Ambrose?

Cram it with walnuts, you ugly, ugly dillholes. Thanks for making a good case for us ignoring everything you do. Sigh.

Update: apparently they let one NDP member in, which doesn't make up for the rest of the seats going to that ultra-right wing nut job party. You're still on notice.

Oh, Canada...

...are we breaking up?

Seriously. If things keep going the way they seem to be, I may have to find a new country to call home.

For shame.

Stephen Harper: Huge douchebag, or the hugest douchebag?

Now, full disclosure first: I tend to view any allegiance to the "Conservative" (I put it in quotes, as it ain't your momma's PC party, but a ragtag bunch of Reform/Alliance members, who are so far right of centre it is surprising they are still on the page) party as some sort of mental defect. Due to this, I am generally not at all surprised by the dillholish actions of any member of this party, be it claiming that immigrants are responsible for crime, or copying Dubya's "If you're not with us, you're against us" line of reasoning.

That being said, I need to say that I'm bowled over by the incredible douchebaggery being illustrated by our illustrious PM (the sarcasm on illustrious came through, right? Good.) during this campaign. How is it possible that he can keep saying the things he does with a straight face? Or without being smotted by lightning from one pissed off deity? The "Ordinary Canadians don't like the arts' comment? Ridiculous. The constant attack ads, despite being the incumbent? Asinine. The refusal to allow his candidates actually show up for all candidate debates? Stunning. Claiming the Liberals would not be good for the country with the economic issues that are facing us, despite the fact that he came to power with a 12 billion (with a B) dollar surplus, and is now running a deficit? Mind boggling. The temper tantrum he threw when as a minority government, he wasn't able to implement every one of his policies? Astonishing.

But possibly the most shocking thing about this is the fact that he might actually get re-elected. How anyone can have enough brain activity going on to allow basic life support functions to take place and still vote for him is beyond me. But it may happen that despite his idiocy and inability to even play at being a decent human being for the duration of the campaign, he may get another mandate. And what the hell do we do then? Considering how he's handled any dissent to date, I'm guessing that he starts cracking down on unnecessary rights and freedoms, so let me just put this out there now, before I'm carted off by his truth police:

Stephen Harper is a giant douchebag. He may even be a bigger douchebag than the hugest of Canadian douchebags, Lyin' Brian Mulroney. Please Canada, do me a solid, and send this bastard packing.

(Polls open in 10 hours. I may have to start drinking heavily.)

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

That's right - it's curling time again!

Last night was the first game of the season, and unlike previous years, I had no panic attack about if I remembered how to play. I remembered, and how. I made three absolutely perfect shots, where everything went exactly as my skip requested, and made only one cringeworthy terrible shot. The rest varied from good to excellent. My opponents even commented on my awesome form, which, considering I spent a good portion of my first three years curling bashing my knee into the ice, is pretty impressive.

Despite having a newbie on our team, who had precisely 20 minutes of training before stepping out on the ice, we won 5 -3. And I've been told that next draw I'm in all likelihood being promoted to vice. Yippee!!

Blockbuster trade!!

Tee hee.

I still can't think about it without giggling with joy.

The last assignment was the last straw. I went in, and handed in my part (as well as the two that were way off point) and explained everything. Then, in a brilliant move reminiscent of a great general manager, the prof pulled off a spectacular trade.

I got moved to a team with one seriously under-performing member, who was shipped back to my team. And I couldn't be more thrilled. This team, while not perfect, actually gets works done, and doesn't make me want to bash myself on the head every second while working on the project.

I got to break the news to my team. I told the two of them who were in class (Mr. "I speak for the group" didn't show and didn't send in his work either) and later I sent the whole team an email detailing the change, and I included all the work I had done so far. I haven't heard back from them, and it just makes me all tingly.

But, something happened to make me think that maybe I underestimated Fratty McFratterson. He was one of the two who came to class, and I told him about the trade immediately. He replied immediately, with a shocked look on his face, "No fair! We're trading a 5-star for a 1-star!" I guess he is more perceptive than I thought. And I appreciate the compliment. I'm glad someone noticed.

Let the group-work induced drinking begin!

Remember the whole fiasco that took place last week with my advertising class? Yeah, I know, I tried to wipe it from my mind too, but no such luck.

(Deep breath)


After the huge success that was our last assignment, there are some events that I haven't shared. Mostly because even thinking about them caused me to shake uncontrollably with rage. I think I've got it under control now, so I'll give it a shot, but you may want to stand away from your computer screen, just in case.

(Another deep breath)

Imagine it: Same time, one week ago...

I finally got everyone's work, way late. For the most part, it wasn't well done, and was either incredibly vague or completely off-topic. In addition to the part I was responsible for, I had drafted the rest of it on my own, and used that as the base, occasionally (very, very occasionally) adding something from the work my group members had given me. I wasn't all that pleased with the job we'd done overall, as I knew we were going to have to redo/add significant amounts to it to make it a proper foundation for the rest of the project.

I was also hella pissed, as I had to go to my parents place at the ungodly hour of 7am in order to print everything off before class because I don't have a printer. I got to class, told the prof I wanted to talk to her, and was hopeful I could get out of the group. When my group members showed up, I tried to be calm as I told them what we were going to have to redo at some point, and I didn't attack any one person. Two of the group members were very good about it, and one of them seemed annoyed at my comments, but as I'd been nice (and was in the right) I felt okay. Then, the last guy came in. The one who had been super late with his stuff.

And then it got bad.

He started in on me, yelling that I was trying to take over everything, and wasn't speaking for the group, and that I was wrong about everything. Now, I don't react well to personal attacks, but I managed to keep my cool, and not yell back. I told him that I just wanted to do well, and that we hadn't done everything we needed to. I told him this in a rational voice (and damn, was I ever proud that I didn't resort to bashing him over the head with a desk.) and looked him in the eye.

And then it got worse.

He retorted that he spoke for the team, and that they wanted to do well too, and he refused to even let me finish a sentence. It was all I could do to keep my hands from shaking, my fury was that intense. After this delightful exchange, we had to meet with the prof to talk about our first assignment, which also was a complete ball of suck that only got done because I pulled something out of my ass in 15 seconds. She told us we would need to make more adjustments to it in order to make it work.

After handing in the part that I had done for the second assignment (the part that vaguely resembled the assignment due), we got to go back and talk about the third assignment. Mr "I speak for the group" took over. He started explaining everything, even though he was wrong on pretty much every point. He made decisions unilaterally that should have been group decisions. I said nothing. Why? Well, I decided that since he was against me, I would let him organize this assignment, and that he'd either surprise me and do a good job, or he'd give me more ammunition on just how much he sucked. Either way, I wasn't up for another yell-fest.

And then it got horrendous.

So, where are we now? Well, the third assignment is due tomorrow morning. I was only supposed to do a small part, and someone else was to compile the different parts and print it. I was not involved in any decisions, and just took the part assigned to me. Consequently, trivial things like deadlines, and making sure the parts read as one whole instead of the independent work of five people were not established. We are 9 hours from class, and I have discovered in the past 90 minutes that they want me to edit and compile. Only problem? I have my part, some weird amalgam of the first two assignments from someone else, and something that seems to be copied directly from some website (and isn't on topic) from a third. Mr "I speak for the group" hasn't sent anything, though apparently he called someone in the past half hour to say "it will be really late" and no one has heard from the other member. And I'm expected to edit, compile and send it back to someone so that she can put the last part in early this morning when she gets it. Oh, and I'm supposed to talk to the guy who hasn't sent anything yet. It is deja vu all over again.

And then it got better?

The only thing that has kept me from drinking myself into oblivion is that when I talked to the prof, she gave me a tiny bit of hope. She told me to just do my part, to not take on more than I should, and to let her know who has done what. She also said that I was right about the work we were going to have to redo, and that everything I understood about the assignments and the project as a whole was what she wanted. Most comfortingly, she said my marks won't suffer. I don't know how she can keep that promise, but I figure after this assignment gets handed in, and I tell her the details of the debacle, she might just have to break down and let me join another group.

Plus, aside from a complete mental breakdown, I just don't see how it could get any worse.

Someone up there hates me.

My birthday rolls around this week, and what movie is opening on the anniversary of my illustrious birth? Something with the gravitas of the soon to open Oscar contenders? Close.

The movie of which I speak? Beverly Hills Chihuahua.

Yeah, the one with the talking dogs. That's right, not just one, but a whole (pardon the pun) kennel of them.

I know, it is a perfect companion to me getting another year older. And it certainly does scream festive. A feel good family romp. I'm glad that instead of working on curing cancer, we've decided as a society instead to focus our energies on striving to make talking pooches look more realistic.

If my eyes rolled any harder as I type this, they'd fall out. The arts, I weep for you.

Forget crush...

...I'm completely head over heels.


Thank you, gods of the classroom.

He is everything I ever wanted in a classroom crush, and just keeps getting better. He makes going to our class worthwhile, which is impressive, considering the prof is a rude man whose writing resembles chicken scratch and who answers every question with "Read the book!" Yeah, he's that good. He is worth every inconvenience thrown my way. Even my douchey advertising group, where no one seems to be able to follow simple instructions, or keep from yelling at me when I suggest we should actually do the assignment as requested. Yup, I'm willing to put up with that much. I know, pathetic...sigh, but you haven't met him...

More fun with numbers

An update on my group work situation. 24 hours past deadline.

# of people who finally sent me emails with their work: 3

# of emails that actually contained said work: 1

# of replies I sent to ask for them to iclude their assignments: 2

# of emails replying with requested info: 0

# of assignments that are actually done properly: 0

# of hours I'm going to have to spend doing the entire thing myself: 4

And finally,

# of drinks I have to imbibe to keep from losing my mind: (do they have a key for infinity?)

Breaking news

I hate group work with a fiery passion.

That is all.

Fun with numbers

A little numerical fun for you on this Saturday morning. Note that I'm not including myself in this rundown.

Number of group members: 4
Number of members who agreed to do this week's assignment: 4
Number of times we talked about when it was due: 4
Number of reminder emails: 2
Number of replies promising they'd have it done: 2
Deadlines passed: 1
Number of members who sent their stuff: 0

Grrr.

Sigh.

Kick the daughter returned today for a nice little mini-round. While infrequent, this is not unprecedented. These mini-rounds, when they take place, occur not long after a major blowout. They take place because another major session would be uncalled for, but something must be done to break my spirit and keep me in line. Mini-rounds are always out of the blue, and usually serve to upset me more than the big ones. Today was no exception.

I discovered that my ever supportive parents (or, to be fair, maybe only one of them) think I'm lying about my marks and my name being on the Dean's list. I was actually asked for proof. That's right kids, though I am long past the age when taking your report card home to mom and dad was required, apparently my not doing it indicates that I have been mendacious. I think this is thought to be true only because I know my parents (well, again, at least one of them) disapproves of my choice in program and school, and would take some sort of sick pleasure in me not doing well as it would prove this notion right. It sounds awful, but I've come to know how their minds work.

I'll say it again - anyone want to trade lives with me?

Sigh.

Group work...

...is just like herding cats. Pointless, painful, and never ends well.

Do you think it is a bad sign that when I went to talk to my advertising prof, the first words out of her mouth were "I know you have at least one big problem with your group" followed by an apology?

My prayers have been answered

And it's about damn time.

The gods of the classroom have finally smiled upon me and granted me someone to gaze at while in one of my classes. And he's smart, personable, and age-appropriate. Plus, he wants me to do group work with him to boot.

I think I've finally got me a schoolgirl crush!

Is this someone's idea of a joke, or did I piss someone off?

Because if it is a joke, it sure ain't funny. And if it is punishment for something, whatever I did, I'm really, really, REALLY sorry.

Today I was assigned to a group for a major project, worth roughly 40% of my advertising class mark. And like most groups fabricated by the prof, it is just super. Amongst my group members? One of the douchiest, least scholastically-apt, Fratty McFrattersons I've run into since I've been back at school. Possibly since ever.

Don't believe me? Here are some of his classics from last year:

"Sir, I think I should be exempted from this test today because I honestly thought it was next week. Based on everything in our notes, and what you've said, the test is next week" (note that in the syllabus it clearly stated the test was to take place the week of October 1st, and that the week before, the prof wrote on the board "Test on Oct 2nd - Next Class.")

"Girls call each other sluts all the time, but when I do it, they get mad."

"I wasn't late, I was here on time sir. My foot fell asleep."

Oh baby, it is going to be one hell of a long, bumpy ride.

*** Update: the email address Fratty gave me bounces back any mail I send. Grrrr.

There's nothing in the world that I love more...

...than a round of "Wow, you are such a sucky, sucky daughter". Man, that never gets old.

Now, to be fair, I did totally deserve part of it, and was both expecting and accepting of that portion of the afternoon's entertainment.

But the majority of the last two hours were highly uncalled for.

The part where my weight issues were mentioned, even though it had nothing to do with the reason I was being called to the carpet? Awesome. And the part where my current success only served to prove just how terrible I had been for lo those many years? Fantastic. Oh, and the part where some event - which, IF true, would be both extremely odd behaviour on my part, and extremely minor in importance - gets highlighted as a textbook case of all that is wrong with me? Delightful. But the best part, bar none, was where the fact that I had no recollection of such an event (nor was I able to picture myself acting in such a manner) only further illustrated how wretched I am, as I didn't even care about how awful I had been. The fact that I would swear on all my shoes and makeup collection that it never happened is not even brought into the discussion. It happened. And to think of questioning it is tantamount to doing it again.

Sadly, this type of thing happens with alarming regularity. Some story is brought up where I behaved in a manner that is completely out of character and ridiculous, and while I have no memory of this ever taking place, I am told it is a perfect illustration of whatever flaw of mine we are picking on today, and it does not surprise them at all that I would block said behaviour from my memory. Now, I'm not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. I've done many things I regret in my life. But I'm pretty damn sure that I have not done these things that even when reminded, I have absolutely no memory of, though I am able to recall all sorts of details of stuff that occurred on the same day as the alleged action.

And now, as I always do after a brisk "Kick the stupid, smartass daughter" session, I'm going to get in the bath with a bottle of gin.

Addendum

I can't believe I forgot this gem. It is from someone in the same class as "escort guy" and "I'm the customer girl"

"Sir, please put the notes online. I can't take notes and pay attention to you at the same time."

Oh, it is so good to be back.

First week back - a review

Alrighty. I've been back for a week, and here are some of the "highlights":

To the chick in the white pants - I really didn't need to know that you weren't wearing any underwear and that you get groomed with a Brazilian. And yes, while the fact that I could almost see your clitoral hood over the top of your pants gave me a clue to some of this, the fact that your pants were so tight and see-through they may as well have been saran wrap was the kicker.

I'm in stats class, and the prof starts explaining stats terms. Here is a direct quote "A set is a collection of people, objects or measurements. And how you know they are a set, is they are in a set." I kid you not. I feel like I'm back in semiotics here, people. Somebody get Roland Barthes on the phone asap!

Spoken in a class discussion on ethical behaviour, "Maybe they don't mean those types of escorts". Yup. That's referring to exactly what you think it is. So young and so naive..

In the same class as "Not those escorts" guy, a girl got extremely uppity with the prof when he said he wasn't going to post his notes online. She pays for this class, you know, so he'd better do what she wants as she is the customer! (and yeah, replace I/I'm for she, and that is a direct quote. Sigh.)

There are many totally adorable boys at school, but they don't seem to be in my classes. Boo-urns. However, a number of them appear to be employed at the bookstore. I think I might need to spend a few months in there, carefully selecting my textbooks. Stop looking at me like that, I'm just a careful shopper.

In intriguing news, some people from my class with the replacement prof helped confirm (in my mind, at least) the theory that he pulled our marks out of thin air. Apparently they both got A's too, but one of them knew that going into the final, she was going to need like an A+ to get a B- on the year. Methinks I smell a rat...

Keep this under your hat, but it looks like I might be getting free coffee for the foreseeable future. Yay me!

Oh, how I missed you school.

It's back!!!!!

Yup. After months of school being nothing but a distant memory of a place long ago and far away, today is the day to go back. I'm kinda nauseous. It feels like I'm starting all over again. I'm worried I won't remember how to find my way through the maze-like halls. That I won't have good people in my classes. That I've forgotten how to study. In case you haven't figured it out, I'm anxious. Pretty much exactly the way I was last year. Did I mention how much I appreciate that you passed this on to me, mom? Couldn't you just have given me your height genes instead?

Oh, and before we move on to semester three, I just have one thing to say:

To the replacement prof from last semester - I still don't appreciate you giving me that lame ass A. I damn well deserved an A+, and you know it. I plan to make you eat that A this semester. It is on, sir.

A riposte

Dear Sir,

Thank you so much for your thoughtful, courteous and intelligent reply. I'm glad to see that your ability to comprehend simple sentences, understand the points being offered for discussion and accept constructive criticism are so well-developed.

I appreciate that you would take more time replying to my comment than you did actually reading it. That does mean a lot to a girl. But in the future, you might find it more helpful if you ensure you understand the remarks to which you are replying before doing so. It would improve things for everyone. I'd end up getting a reply that actually deals with the points I made, which might help me understand your position (this is indeed the point of communication, no?), and you wouldn't end up looking like a complete tool by illustrating that your reading comprehension is less than that of a first grader, and by taking the time to remove the highly unnecessary condescending statements interspersed throughout.

In response to your ill-thought out and misplaced observations, I am familiar with the Internet and how one can pull facts from it. However, as I in no way recommended that you simply converse about basic numbers that any slack-jawed yokel can pull from any of a dozen websites, your haughty suggestion that I look for them on my own time shows you did not understand what I wrote. I am unsure if this is wilful, or if you simply don't have the sense that God gave gravel. If it is the later, I am truly sorry, and would suggest it might be beneficial in these sorts of cases that you get someone to read the email to you, and explain again (perhaps using words of no more than one syllable, or pictures?) what the actual point is before responding in a manner that demarcates you as a mean-spirited, poorly-mannered jackanapes.

Also, while you can re-write your memory of the event under discussion, using words in all caps is not persuasive to anyone who is possessed of a modicum of intelligence, or is above the age of 14.

I live in hope that you were simply in a bad mood, and took out your frustrations in a rash and misguided manner. However, I fear that this is not the case, and in fact you are the poor excuse for a human being that your reply indicates. In any case, please accept my apology for daring to voice an opinion contrary to yours, and rest easy in the knowledge that it will not happen again, as I have decided that I need to listen to your tripe as much as I need a hole in the head.

Please lighten up, and thanks for writing.

Respectfully,


Mabel.

I just don't think Emily Post would be able to help me with this one

Well, it's Friday. And you know what that means: a mature, analytical, reflective and thoughtful discussion of all things groinal.

I found this question posed just in passing, and thought that on this, the most privatest of parts day of the week, it needed to be given more attention.

So, today I'd like to query, "What is the proper response when someone sends you an unrequested picture of his penis?"

Stormy, I'm looking at you here...

Best news of the day

Stormy is back, finally, from her summer sojourn in the the wilds of America, trying to live that operatic life.

I have no idea how I managed without her, and it thrills me to bits that she's back in my area code. Welcome home Stormy - the vodka is chilling the freezer, and the hummus is waiting, any time you're ready!

Why my clothes are making me sad

As I mentioned before I went to drink the last of my stash of gin (horrors! To the LCBO, post-haste!) my clothes are making me terribly unhappy. Let me explain - no, wait, there is no time. Let me sum up.

I have been doing my damndest to fight my way out of a huge (no pun intended) battle with food issues and a weight problem. It has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’m finally getting a handle on it.

I’ve had issues with food since I was 11, when I hit puberty, and my parents translated my lack of complete scrawniness with me being fat. Eating in front of them, even eating healthy food, became all but impossible, and being a typical teen (with an additional nod to my stubborn self, as that seems to be holding up long past twenty) I crammed food in my mouth in private. I’d down a litre of ice cream in 30 minutes, hiding in my room. I’d stash chocolate behind my stereo for stuffing down later.

I would like to note that despite this atrocious behaviour, I was still not fat, but my parents wouldn’t relent. I was forced into one weight loss program after another, made to undertake one exercise regime after another, and generally made to feel awful about myself. A couple of times, when a program started to look at the emotional reasons for me eating, my parents pulled the funding, as they didn’t like the fact that I wasn’t just being told not to eat. And no, I’m not imagining that, they actually told me why they didn’t like the program. I started to believe I wasn’t worth much.

Things came to a head when I left home once I had a steady job (my boyfriend at the time didn’t support me leaving, despite knowing what it was doing to me to stay there, which tells you something about how much I hated myself, that I would date someone who didn’t support me trying to get myself into a better emotional state.) and no longer had to hide my eating. I had no control, or idea how to handle this newfound freedom, and my issues with food took over. I gained a crapload of weight, and finally was fat. My body now looked the way my parents had always implied, and I no longer resembled the person I had just a few years prior. I spiralled into a really awful place physically and emotionally. I hit rock bottom, and after a few years of the bottom, and not wanting to see any photos of myself, I finally decided to face up to what had been going on.

But unlike earlier attempts, this time I did it on my own, for myself, and I actually looked into the reasons for my issues with food. There are still miles to go before I sleep on all of that, but now that I am aware of the reasons, I’ve been better able to deal with it. I started to do things for myself instead of shoving food into my gaping maw. When I was employed, if I was feeling crappy, first I started buying higher quality ice cream or chocolate, and taking my time eating it instead of inhaling it. Then I phased food out, and I’d buy a new eyeshadow, or mystery novel, or bath stuff in lieu of the food crutch. I found an exercise regime I liked, and stuck with it, by doing it on my own time, and not beating myself up if I missed a day. I taught myself to cook, so that gobs of pasta and cheese weren’t my main meals. I decided to try a new sport, curling, which it turns out I love and am actually good at. I even started to feel better about myself, and eating “good” food in front of my parents was possible again. And yes, I lost (again, pardon the pun) a tonne of weight and my body started changing, but for the better this time.

Some time last year, I was actually able to eat “not good” foods, such as bread, potatoes and desserts other than plain fruit in front of them. This was a monumental achievement, as back when I was in high school, and was asked by my aunt if I wanted mashed potato with my thanksgiving dinner, my parents actually answered for me, in front of my entire extended family, that no I didn’t.

All this is good, right? Well, yes…but.

Despite all the good progress, I find that when I look in the mirror now, all I see is all work I have left to do, and then I get depressed that with all the work I’ve done, I’m still so freaking far from my goal. And I can’t go out and buy a little something to make me feel a bit better. Hell, even a nice treat of a non-fat latte is beyond my means.

Plus, with all the changes, my body no longer fits the majority of the clothes I own, unless they are from pre-blowup days, in which case they might be no longer appropriate for my life, or might be a tad worn out looking. So, now that I’m trying to get employment and generally feel good about myself and the new path my life has taken, getting dressed is depressing. I can’t afford an entire new wardrobe, so am forced to live with minor adjustments, such as a very occasional new piece, or taking pieces that are now too big, but otherwise are still wearable to the tailor for altering. Again, as these things cost money, I tend to do them very rarely, and I’ve found that when the altered pieces become too large again (which they have) instead of feeling good about the progress, I feel crappy that once again my clothes make me look gross, and it feels like I’ve not done anything.

The long and short of it is that I’m starting to slip, and I hate that. I actually found a way to fit ice cream into my budget earlier this week, and if I’m honest with myself, I ate it to feel better. Gah. If only I could afford therapy, I could talk to someone about this, but sadly, we don’t seem to have this kind of option at my school. And no, I can’t talk to my parents about financial support for that. Now, you might be surprised that I still have a relationship with my parents, based on how they handled the situation, but I’ve been able to forgive them, as I know they only did what they did out of love. Misguided, harmful love, but love nonetheless. But I'm not in a place where I can openly discuss this with them. I hope to be at some point, but not yet.

Wow. That wasn't all that short, and it was kinda depressing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go look at my closet and weep.

Why I've been away

Dear Internets,



The reason I’ve been away so long is because I’ve been too depressed to form words, let alone type them out and post them.



Please forgive me,

Mabel.



What? You don’t believe me? Fine. These are the things that have been making me so sad/insane:

Internet access, the lack thereof.

Don’t even wanna talk about it, as if I ponder on it, I go into an angry catatonia, and with school starting up, I can’t afford that. At least it is back, for now.

Surprise party, organizing/general prep and hosting of.

A major birthday for my Dad. Guest list of 50. I did 90% of the cooking, shopping and baking for the event. Plus, I had to keep my mother from spazzing out, as apparently she can’t handle stress. It nearly killed me, I tell you. It was almost a month ago, and I still need to vacation. Though, I did get to use my mad project management skillz while organizing, so there’s that…

Job, the lack thereof.

Despite my best efforts, some amazing interviews, and gigs that are perfectly matched to my skills and interests, I have yet to land one. Am I too old for part time retail work? Too skilled? Too female? Don’t know, but I don’t think that I can handle going in for one more interview, nailing it, and not getting the job. I interviewed for a part time job at a local indy bookstore. Books and me go together like ebony and ivory. Or Oprah and baked ham. They loved me, and my interviews went spectacularly. But no dice. Hell, jobs I interviewed for and didn’t get are now being posted again, showing that I would have been a way better choice. It just makes me want to curl up and die.

Brokeness, excessiveness of.

I’m so short of cash that I have to choose between going out for one drink on a friend’s birthday and eating that day. I went out to meet up with old friends a few weeks ago, and spent 20$ in one night. I didn’t buy food for the rest of the week in penance. I frequently find myself talking myself out of purchasing such luxuries such as vitamins, fruit and vegetables (have you any idea how freakin expensive they are? Yeesh!), and basic food stuffs in general. And if I do purchase said items, I end up feeling bad about it, like I shouldn’t have done it. I spent 25$ on groceries last week, all on items that were on sale, and were healthy essentials, and still I feel like I should have done better or gone without.

Scholarships, my lack thereof.

I had no idea that my intelligence would be such a bother in getting money for school. I wasted my time kicking scholastic ass last year, when what I should have been doing is finding a way to get adopted by some Masons, or having a kid some I could get some “single mom” cash. I don’t know if this is just my school, but the bursaries for the smart are vastly outnumbered by those for the incompetent, somehow disabled, or special cases.

Playoffs, not being in them.

The continuing inability of my beloved Jays to get into the playoffs, despite having a good team, is infuriating.

Clothing, suckiness and dearth of.

But more on that later, when I’ve imbibed far more gin.

So, mostly? I’m gonna agree with the Debt Canada poster –“Like hell money can’t buy happiness.” Tru dat. If had some cash, I’d be mostly filled to the brim with girlish glee. The rest would depend on cashing in some runners in scoring position. Sigh.

I needed a vacation

That's why I took a whole month (and then some) off from the blogging thing. Bah. That's a baldfaced lie. In truth? I'm a lazy ass.

There's some stuff going on. But I promise to be back soon, with many entertaining tales to regale you all with.

And now, I'm going back to drinking mimosas. I'm classy like that.

Now that's class

Heath Ledger died today. And in a solemn, tasteful manner truly befitting of death, especially of one so young, the Internet covered the event by posting photo tributes. Nice thought, Eonline, but did it really need to include a shot of his corpse being carried out in a body bag? Sometimes I hate people.

I'd be terrified of wind burn

I was leaving the subway at about a quarter after 1 this morning,trudging home from a curling loss that was less a game than a total annihilation. The temperature with the wind was -23 degrees Celsius. I was frozen solid, wishing I hadn't ventured out at all that evening, and some guy was using the wall as a urinal. Public urination isn't a good idea at the best of times, but considering my cheeks were raw after a minute, I hate to think of what sort of shrinkage and frozen skin he was dealing with. Plus, there's the whole potential for dripping and freezing yourself to your zipper. Now that's something I'd hate to have to explain to the emergency room doctor.

Your logic does not resemble our Earth logic

I'm listening to the good old mothercorp: classic on the radio this morning, willing the clock to wind back so I can sleep more, when I hear something that makes me think I have something crazy in my ear.

Seems that an executive for Taser brand tasers (accept no substitutes! buy name brands only!) is in town to give a talk about just how fantastic tasers can make all our lives. Andy is being his usual crusty self, not letting the exec get away with his talking points. Despite idiotic, bile-inducing statements about how name-brand tasers have never been used by criminals, so he has no reason to worry about criminals using the technology on innocent victims, and how the people who have died after being tazed were totally going to die for other reasons and tasers weren't at all a factor, up till this point it is just another interview.

Then a question was asked questioning the frequency with which tasers are being used on unarmed people. My ears perked up, wondering how the exec was going to double-speak his way out of this one, and murmuring a quick word of thanks for the fact that some people can still ask the tough questions. In response, the exec immediately retorted that this was simply not true, as people have arms and legs, which are the first line of attack, so an unarmed person is never the target of the taser. I know, I heard it too. But it got me to thinking, I mean, I always knew not being born without legs and arms would come back to bite me in the ass, and look what happened. I'm a pacifist, and don't believe in carrying arms, and now it turns out I have been doing so all my life. I'm such a hypocrite.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to register myself as a dangerous weapon.

Who says Torontonians aren't friendly?

I mean, I'm a Torontonian born and bred, and I hugged a perfect stranger today.

For true.

He works at the school bookstore. I was there, hoping in vain that I had left my credit card - and by my, I mean, my parents card that I have for emergencies - there when I bought most of my textbooks on Friday, and that I wasn't going to have to get the card cancelled and have my ass chewed out by the 'rents. He asked me some questions, and then went and got the card. When he handed it to me, I started smiling so hard my cheeks hurt, and then I actually hugged him. He was a little taken aback, but I blame that on the rest of the student body and how they never give him bear hugs to say thanks.

Before we get too far into second term...

4.0 GPA in my first semester.

Six A+'s and one A.

I'm thinking of having it tattooed on my ass.

Didja miss me?

Yeah, so I was away for a while. Would you believe I was captured by space aliens? No? Kidnapped and made the love-slave of James McAvoy? I wish. Fine. I was just swamped with getting ready for Christmas by baking enough to feed a small country. Seriously, Finland could have handed out a piece of Christmas baking to each citizen just by going through my pantry, and frankly, I think that might have been a better way to get rid of all of the goodies, instead of how I chose to do it this year, which consisted of me eating way too much shortbread, Urgh. And there was the time spent with family (yes, I was drunk the entire time, thanks for asking) and then when I came back, there was no internet - no, don't ask, I'm still not calm enough to chat about it.


Now that school is about to start, I'm trying to get back to my regular schedule, which no doubt will include many a post about the imbeciles I matriculate with. But, in case you were worried that things might change around here, I'm thinking they won't. 2008 started out just like 2007 - with such extreme suckage that my brain can barely wrap itself around the concept. So I'm sure I'll be making an ass out of myself any second now.