Please look...

My darling Neil Gaiman has inspired so many.

A lovely video based on the book Coraline, which everyone should read because it's beautiful and creepy and short. Also, those hands at the right side of the cover glow in the dark. It scared me the first time I noticed, so I warn everyone when I can.

Doc Martens designed for the characters from The Dreaming. My favourite are the ones for Delirium, which is perfect, since she's my favourite character, too.


Figures. All too late I've figured out what I should have been for Hallowe'en. Next year. But probably without the nipples, for those who are wondering.

Toodles, look both ways before crossing, don't eat the apples or raisins and uh... Be glowy!

Goodnight!

There, art thou happy...?

Ah, Shakespeare. I'm a faux-snob. This is proven by my "quoting" of Shakespeare, my mentioning it, and my use of the word "faux" in a sentence, any sentence, while I'm not at work. Yeah, I get away with French at work, that's part of my job. But this isn't work.

It's nearly Hallowe'en. I love Hallowe'en. I don't know why. I guess it's 'cause Autumn is one of my two favourite season and I'm a sucker for pretending to not be me. Oh, and I've a ridiculous flare for the dramatic.

Just in time for Hallowe'en: The Grudge. Wicked creepy movie with a wicked creepy website and completed by a bunch of wicked creepy sound effects. We love this movie, but we officially hate the kid. What an evilly disturbing little fucker he is. Simon's got it out for any little Asian kid between the ages of 6 and 10, so be forewarned.

To top off the creepiness, Cos and I took ourselves down to Suspect Video, one of my all-time most favourite stores, which is odd given that it's a video rental place. But super cool, so if you're in the GTA, go there. The people are super nice and you'll find shit there you've never heard of before, or heard of but never been able to find. One of my happy places.

So, besides my gratuitous ad placement, there is a story here. Cos and I got ourselves Ju-on 2, which is the original Japanese version of the sequel to The Grudge. Well, actually, it's the sequel to the original Ju-on, but Ju-on was out, so we got part 2.

Fucking wicked. I know this for a fact, because Simon, Cos and I jumped at all the right times, were freaked out and stressed despite the fact that it was, hands down, the worst piece of translation any of us had ever seen. I also know this for a fact because we've ended up keeping it for our Hallowe'en get together tomorrow night, thus costing me almost as much to rent the bloody thing as to buy it. But that's alright. It's worth it.

More proof that it's worth it: The little kid was practically the first thing I thought of when I woke up this morning. These damned movies have staying power. Check out some clips. The last one, "Matthew, stop it," is the worst scene of the American version.

What else? Oh, went to The Everything To Do With Sex Show. St. Teresa and Dancing Eric swore it was lots of fun last year. And it was this year too, but towards the end all the booths seemed the same - Sadly, according to them, there was a lot more going on last year. This year it was all about (the same) toys and (the same) underwear, booth after booth. Now, I'm not discrediting it, it was fun, just mostly the first half hour of the show. If any of us had been feeling more patient or organized we probably would have sat in on some of the lectures, but it was humid and crowded and everyone was tired after a big brunch, so it just didn't happen. Props to Erin, though, for buying a toy right after grossing out her little brother. That's m'girl, Pollyanna!!

Most disappointing of all was that there wasn't a single copy of Lord of the G-Strings to be found. It was really the main reason I, and, I believe, everyone else in the group, brought cash along. That's a great movie. Bad acting, easy jokes and lots of soft core. What else could a person ask for? I did manage to pick up some nifty brochures and stuff, though. I'll probably do a "lost and found" blog later with some good websites, once I've had a chance to look through all the stuff I brought home. For now, though, I'm turning into an old lady and will probably be in bed within an hour.

Speaking of exhaustion, which I was doing in a nice, roundabout way, thank whoever thought of it for the extra hour this weekend. I desperately need it after the week I had. Nothing bad, just eventful, and thankfully, for the first time since we got home, it wasn't eventful in a personal way. Just lots of work going on.

So, for now, "To sleep, perchance to dream." (Oops, there I go again! ) "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow..."

A life less ordinary...

See, I have to tell this story, because if it hadn't happened to me, then I wouldn't believe it myself.

Last Thursday after lunch, as I was leaving my house, I noticed two speeding vehicles going down my street and as Cos and I pulled up to the corner, I noticed a cop car sitting there, right where the car and truck had passed by. I thought that was nice, a cop sitting on the corner and watching people do twice the legal speed on my street, and mentioned it to Cosmo, at the same time noticing the cop noticing me as I turned to look at him.

So, about two minutes later we pull into the lot at work and we hear that grindy/honky noise that cop cars make when they want to pull you over but don't want to turn on their sirens.

"Is that for me? Is he trying to pull me over?" Cosmo gets nervous. So, being a good little boy, he pulled right over. And the cop actually got out of his car and came over to us!

"Where you do you live, sir?" Says Mr Policeman, leaning into the car.

"Texas," says Cos.

"Oh, see, I was just wondering, 'cause a lot of people move here and you only have six months to change your plates. I was just wondering." This he pulled us over for. Couldn't have waited till Cos returned home, could he? Nope, this all has to happen when I'm about to be late coming back to work.

Yup.

"No, sir, I'm just here visiting, sir." Ah, the politeness when police arrive on the scene! A request for Cosmo's license and a couple of jokes about Cos and terrorism later...

"Who're you visiting?" Asks the policeman.

"Her," Says Cos.

"Who's her?" Leaning in closer to see me. "Oh, hello, what's your name?"

So I tell him my first name. Then he asks for my second, all the while writing down Cos' vital stats on a pad. Then, and this is where it gets a little weird, he asks me where I live.

"43, sir." Says me.

"43? You're sure?" What? Really?

"Yes, sir, quite sure."

"You don't live at 53?"

"No, sir, I don't. Would you like to see my license?"

He declines, and starts asking Cos why he's seen him parked at 53. Which Cos hasn't ever done, to my knowledge. And we mention this to him.

Then he asks me if I recognize the name Tommy or Randy or Billy something or other, which I don't. And he asks me if I'm sure again. And I am.

Then he says "What would you do if I told you that 53 was a marijuana grow house?" and Cos and I both start laughing.

"Well, it wouldn't surprise me. This is Toronto," Says Cos between chuckles. "I hear that's really common here."

The cop smiles and nods. "We have good pot here."

He then asks if anyone new has moved into our house, which of course no one has. Then he asks us why he always sees people coming in and out of our house. I mention that we quite often have friends over. He nods.

"It's just that we're watching your neighbourhood, because of that grow house, and we've noticed a lot of coming and going at your place," Come to find out that a police car followed my mom home a few mornings earlier, as well as this strange follow-the-leader game we'd played on the day in question. "And I see this car coming in and out quite often." I explain to him that Cos drives me to and from work daily, including lunch dates. The officer nods again.

"Okay, well, we're looking at that house, so don't mention this to any of your neighbours, okay?" Okay? Really? Well, at any rate we were now free to go.

The next day when I arrived home for lunch, my mother mentioned to me that the dog had been barking incessently that morning. She'd gone to investigate the noise and found a man leaning against the light pole outside the front of our house. He looked up, smiled and nodded. Sadly he was gone when we got home, so whether he was undercover or just dealing outside my house, I may never know.

Snippets from my brain, (ye be warned)...

While watching Dead Like Me this evening, it occured to me that my friends and I are the spitting image of this show: Smart, but really into fart jokes. (Or, if Matthew Perry's available, falling down works, too.)

No one likes a snitch, a braggart or a sore winner. I mean, being a sore loser is one thing, but being a sore winner is just, well, dirty. It's almost as bad as being a hate-monger who preaches acceptance, or a person yelling at others because they detect "judgement in their voices," with judgement in their voice.

Stealing books sucks. Stealing Leonard Cohen books is the least kosher thing in the world, like I wouldn't notice. Although in this case, I suppose "stealing" should be replaced by "keeping," but it all amounts to the same thing. Especially since it's the fourth time I've had to replace this book (Twice because it fell apart and now twice because it's walked away), so it doesn't get loaned out anymore. Lesson learned. On the other hand, $8.95 is a small price to pay to have someone who doesn't like me out of my life.

My manager thinks I'm an intellect. No kidding. She asked me to explain what "sycophant," the beginning part of my email means. She, being French, misheard and then misread it as "psychopath." This actually made me blush, which in turn made her think it was something dirty. And then she was so impressed, she called me an intellect. This brings the list to: artsy, low-maintenence, smart, a team player and an intellect. I've also noticed that every time she tells someone what I was doing previously, my old job title escalates. Who needs to lie on their resume when you have a manager this cool and willing to do it for you?

I use "sycophant" with irony, but I delight in my delight in cartoons. Irony and delight are two of my favourite things.

This is the best thing I've read all day: "Cordelia will now often request to be taken to the toilet. Generally only for urination, though. She seems to crave the feeling of comfort and security that only comes from hauling around a pile of lukewarm crap in one’s pants." I found it while Googling "irony."

Reese's Pieces are the best things ever created, and I can't even eat them at work - The one girl who's newer than me is allergic to nuts. That's not exactly ironic so much as it is unfair.

Did you know that if you know someone's talking about you, you'll invariably listen? It's the worst thing on earth, 'cause you know at any time you might hear (or read) something you don't like. I've still managed not to look myself up on the system at work, though. Kudos to me.

Even if it doesn't end the way you want it to, once it's over you can sleep again.

No matter how much someone, say, your mother, loves you, they will always be able to wail you in the back of the head with a stool. I finally learned last night why my head is lopsided and bumpy in places. She's also stolen my much-coveted copy of "The Egging of Corey Haim." Thanks, mom.

BJ and Buddy are whores. Well, not really, not anymore. But that doesn't change the fact that they don't pay us the attention we're due.

Every morning I promise myself I'll be in bed by 10 and every night when ten rolls around I start begging for more time. It's a vicious cycle, n'est ce pas?

Harry Potter books are like fine wines. I'm serious. Order of the Phoenix is better the third time around (I've been broke, I'm re-working my way through my library again), even though I know that Sirius is going to die in the next 100 pages. Woe is me.

No matter how badly you want to go to bed, if you try to make a quick post to your blog, not only is it not a quick post, but publishing also encounters almost every problem known to blogging man. Thus extending my stay by an extra fifteen minutes.

Good night!!

My empire of dirt...

So I finally got to see Rachel yesterday. Those of you who've been reading the blog know that I've been waiting to hear from her since she left Simon and that I've been concerned about her, as well as my growing fear that she and I were growing apart. Well, it's finally happened: I got dumped.

The long version of the story is this: When I found out that Rachel had left Simon, I called her immediately and, not being able to get her on the phone, I emailed her, letting her know that I would be supportive of whatever decision she made, regardless of the outcome. I even offered her not only a place to stay, but rides to and from Barrie while she was sorting everything out. Her response was that she needed time away from the city and those she knew here. I told her that I was willing to give her the time she needed, as long as she didn't spend it beating herself up and would check in occasionally. What followed was a month of me trying sporadically to get in touch with her via email and phone and the odd response from her.

In the meantime, not having heard from her what she would like, Cos and I began keeping Simon company, hanging out and just being generally goofy. Like in the old days, except for the giant pink elephant in the room that we rarely talked about. I'm not going to say her name never came up, but often I would just leave the conversation if anything too heavy was happening. Not to say that there was a lot of malice floating around, we all had the expression of accident shock victims whenever the subject turned to Rachel and what had happened. None of us really understands, you see. The odd time that I didn't leave conversations, my sole statement was that I wanted to hear her story from her point of view and that I really didn't know what I thought.

So yesterday Rachel was in town and invited me out to coffee. I knew, from the infrequency of her emails and phone calls, that this was probably going to be the last time I saw her. My suspicions grew when she asked if her sister Chelsea could come along. I haven't seen my best friend in a month, nor have I really talked to her, and she wants to bring along her sister. Her sister whom she's seen semi-regularly since everything went down. Her sister who hasn't had a lot of niceness for me since sometime in June, and less since I offended her back at the beginning of September. But what could I do? I said alright.

Everything was confirmed when I arrived at the coffee shop and saw sitting behind Rachel two bags full of what I knew to be books, movies and clothes I had leant to each of them. And by the fact that when I suggested Rachel and I go outside for a smoke, Chelsea voluntarily moved the entire party outside.

So I chatted on for a bit, about 20 minutes, about my new job, Rach's new job, Chels' new boss and so on, waiting for Rachel to at least look me in the eye for a moment. Finally, Chels went inside to pee and I was alone with Rachel for the first time since my first week back in the city.

"I really missed you, you know." I said.

She smiled and said that she'd really missed me, too.

"Can we do this more often?" I asked.

"I'm thinking not so much." She answered. I said something about knowing that she was only in town every other weekend, but that I'd like some of that time to be spent with me. She proceeded to tell me that she no longer felt comfortable.

"With me?" I asked. Keep in mind, I was pretty sure that this was a blow-off. I never really thought that she could ever be uncomfortable with me, though. I mean, we'd told eachother things that were just far too embarassing to tell anyone else, ever. Comfort didn't really feel like an issue to me.

It was an issue to her, though.

The story is this: She no longer feels comfortable being friends with me because she's "heard through the grapevine" that I'm still hanging out with Simon. A couple things to point out here: There isn't really a grapevine. She doesn't talk to Simon or Dan or myself and I don't talk to Chelsea. We don't really know anyone else in common, at least not people that I've talked to since everything happened. By "grapevine," I can only assume she means my blog.

"Grapevine" implies that I was being sneaky about something, hiding my association with Simon from her, except that I've posted it in my blog, which I know she reads, and would have told her if I'd been given the opportunity to talk to her. In fact, during the one conversation I had with her while she's been away that lasted over two minutes, I did mention it to her. I also told her that I would respect any requests she had, including giving her time away from all of us so she could heal and feel better about herself. At no time did she ask me to not talk to Simon, although to hear her talk yesterday, she'd begged me not to (Or maybe just assumed I wouldn't.) And after I mentioned that I'd been talking to Simon, I asked her "We're still good, right?" To which she replied "What's happened between me and Simon has nothing to do with you and me." Apparently not.

The thing to keep in mind is that Rachel disappeared. I mean, I knew there were problems in the relationship, but every indication was that she was going to try some more to work it out. Her leaving came as a huge surprise to many people who were close to her. And since that came as such a surprise, I really didn't know how to react. So I did what seemed logical to me: Give Rachel room and help Simon through what I could only imagine was a hard time for him. I never thought I was stepping on anybody's toes, and actually thought Rachel, who had so many people rallying around her at the time, would be happy to know that Simon wasn't completely alone.

I made it very clear that Rachel was still my best friend and I couldn't judge her for what had happened. I knew that she'd been hurting, and I've never been in her situation, or her head, and it's really impossible to judge a situation that I've never experienced. I'd already decided that as her best friend, my position was not to judge, regardless of whether I liked, could condone, understand or even know what the situation was. I mean, that's what best friends do, right? Love, with no conditions. And that's what I was doing.

But apparently that wasn't enough. It hurts Rachel to have ties to Simon. I told her that I'd already managed to separate the two of them in my mind and that one had nothing to do with the other. She said that she wasn't able to do that where I was concerned. She didn't feel able to share her innermost thoughts with me anymore, as she felt I'd report them back to Simon, and that if she couldn't share everything with me, she wasn't going to share anything with me. I've never even so much as told Cos her deepest thoughts, worries, issues, or whatever. I wouldn't ever bring them to Simon.

So while we're sitting there crying, Chelsea comes back and watches the proceedings. At some point, Rachel tells me that she wanted this meeting, because we'd been so close and she felt she owed me at least that much respect, instead of just disappearing into the ether. I'd like to state for the record, that respect would have been to come to me, directly, without Chelsea. Chelsea doesn't like me, and I'm sure found the whole thing to be my fault, or at least entertaining. I don't know why Chelsea was there, really. I'm not exactly violent, and I know that I can't change someone's mind once it's made up, so I wouldn't have made more of a scene than I did (I do consider crying in public to be a bit of a scene). I also would have liked the respect of privacy.

I would also have liked the respect of not having to have Chels hug me and tell me to take care of myself. Chels, I feel, has always tried to guard Rachel against me and became very bitter last June when things were escalating between Rachel and Simon, especially when Rachel came to me to talk things out. It never seemed to occur to Chels that Rachel probably only came to me first because Chels was out of town, or that it didn't matter to me who Rachel was closer to, as long as I was one of the closest. A final indignity: Standing there, crying, and Chels telling me in an all-too-cheerful way "Say hi to Cosmo for me!" What? You've just witnessed the dissolvement of my closest friendship and you think my boyfriend will rush to call you up? You've just taken part in what can only be called a public and embarassing ambush, and you expect my boyfriend to be glad that you mentioned him? Please, like I told you in September, get the fuck over yourself.

I also hate the feeling that as soon as I walked off, Chels was all over Rachel, cuddling and soothing her, "There-thereing" her and going on about what a bitch I am and how Rach is better off without me. While I walked off down Danforth snivelling and semi-sobbing with too much stuff in my hands. Alone.

To my credit, I feel that I left with dignity. Rachel told me that right now was about her, making herself feel better and making sure she was comfortable. To which I responded "I'm really sorry, there's nothing more to say, I guess. And I've told you all along that I want you to feel better. Having said that, would you mind terribly if I left now?" I gathered up my stuff, hugging her one last time and walked off down the road.

Rach, I know you've been looking at the blog today. You're more than welcome to do so, of course. In fact, I'd like you to if you feel like you can. You'll find I'm not going to malign you here, you've meant too much to me to do that, and I'm not mad, just hurt. Keep in mind, you know the stories, you're not the first friend to make me feel like I've been fucked over unfairly. And I want you to understand that I don't feel you're being fair. Not to me and not to yourself. You wouldn't believe the lengths I've gone to not to discuss you with others, out of respect for your feelings as well as theirs and mine. But you wouldn't let me explain that to you yesterday, and frankly, I was too shocked by your methods to say anything to you in my defense. I hope you find what you're looking for and patch up whatever damage has been done in your life. I hope that you end up with everything you want. And I hope you remember this:

I love you.

Goodbye.

My life without me...

Have you ever stopped and thought about yourself? I don't mean, like, "I want the biggest piece of pie," or "How does this effect me?" I mean, have you ever just stepped outside of yourself and thought about the shell, the core, all the little bits that make you up?

Every once in a while, I'll get an almost out-of-body experience and just stare at myself and my actions, reactions, words. I try to categorize what's happening, how I'm effecting the people with whom I interact, what category I fit into in this person's life.

Thursday, for instance. There I am, meeting with the general manager of the temp agency, and she asks me "If I were to ask the people at your last job about you, what would be three words they would use to describe you?"

Well, really, what words would they choose, indeed?

I know how I'd describe myself: A little jaded and a little naive. A lot smart and sometimes a lot more stupid. Pushy and passive. I adore wit and wits, the actions and the people, and sometimes I despair of both. And I love cats and baked goods.

I know that other people think I'm bossy. I think I'm firm. If I'm teaching or explaining something to someone and I know what I'm doing, I will lay down the line. Sometimes this is admirable. Sometimes, I'm sure, this is really annoying and sanctimonious. Beauty isn't the only thing in the eye of the beholder.

If I don't know what I'm doing or trying to explain, I'll back off. I avoid every possible instance of looking the fool. But I don't avoid foolishness.

Cosmo just mentioned to me that Mathew Perry will be producing and starring in an episode of Scrubs. This excites me. "That's awesome," I said. "I hope he falls down." And it struck me. People tell me I'm smart, but I know the truth: All too often my dumb side, my evil twin if you will, comes out for a visit.

I know that all of us are at least a little insecure. Sometimes I wonder how much of that which makes it possible for us to function in society, outside our homes, is based in insecurity.

Maybe we don't go outside naked because all of us have some flaw, saddle bag thighs, dimples in our bottoms, moles or hair where they shouldn't be. Maybe we don't cross the road on the red because we're afraid of what other people, the police, doctors, our mothers, will say. We get jobs so we can keep up with our friends - Apartments, movie outings, dinner - All lead to socializing and acceptance and each require money.

We make, keep or discard friends based on what others say. If your best friend hates your boyfriend, you tend to get rid of or back away from one or the other. If your mother thinks you're running with a tough crowd, you get even tougher.

We wear what we're told, cut our hair like everyone else. Everyone wants to fit in, and do any of us know what we're supposed to be fitting into? That size six dress costs the same in eight, ten and twelve, but the bulges are hidden much better. Conversly, some of us are so afraid of sticking out that we go to the other extremes: I'm not a conformist, dig my purple hair (bought from the drugstore) and my piercings (yours for only $70) and my crazy clothes (mix and match from various boutiques). I'm so original (just like everyone else).

Do we ever think about all the things we squeeze, push, pull or pluck out of our bodies? What have we ever given our bodies that we feel it's alright to yank things out of them? Or shove things into them? Is your body really your body? Is your life really even yours? Is all of this just on loan?

I can't help feeling like I'm being extra fragile lately. I feel like this job is probably a dead end deal, like I'm walking into something that'll only blow up in my face. I'm feeling like I've lost my best friend, but I don't know for sure and I don't know why. Then again, maybe "fragile" is one of the words people would use to describe me.

And on a more blasphemous note...

"I crashed. My car. Into Jesus!"

-Saved!

(Adults only - tee hee)

Browsing this week, looking for my favourite and most amusing naughty site, I found this. A word, here: Each of these sites is naughty and delightfully blasphemous. I know, I know. I'm a good Catholic girl, and yet these things amuse me. So deal.

Saved! is out on DVD, to my everlasting joy. If you haven't seen this movie, you really must.

And just to keep on theme, sort of, with my nice little blasphemous self, HellBoy 2 has been scheduled and they've started filming. Oh, happy day!! This was one of the very best comic book movies ever made.

Now, okay, I know this one's not blasphemous, at least not in any way that I'm aware, but it goes with comic book movies: There is now a trailer for MirrorMask. If you go here (and you're me) you can get goosebumps just staring at the words "From the creative minds of Neil Gaiman, Dave McKean and The Jim Henson Company"

To end on an up-note (Slight pun very intended) here's a great book for historical penis enthusiasts. Also, notes on Atum, Isis and Osiris.

Enjoy and be merry.

Corporate Whore...

kitty pettin
flower sniffin
baby kissin
corporate rock
whores

-Nirvana

God, anyone remember those shirts?

So, here's the longish version of the story. I'll admit, I don't really have the heart or energy to put it down, but this is the way these things go.

On Friday I had my "interview" at the temp agency and was asked within five minutes of entering the room if I'd like to start Monday. Well, yes and no. Yes, because I haven't been gainfully employed in months and neither has Cosmo so we're kind of hurting for money. And no because, as if it were possible, this is even further from where I wanted to be, career wise, than the bank. At least the bank was a mid-point job. And geographically it was across a parking lot from the CBC and down the street from the Chum Building, with Q and the edge four blocks away. Made me feel a bit better.

Anyway, Monday I show up bright and early-ish and shiny-faced (In the good way) only to be told that my new boss Melanie has a boss who doesn't like Melanie to decide on new hires without her permission. So I'm in limbo.

The boss also doesn't believe in having people work on a temp basis. Nice. It's a friggin' temp agency. But they don't hire temps.

So while I was promised a base salary to compare with what I was making at the bank, I may have stumbled, inadvertently, into what amounts to an unpaid internship. Contingent upon my potential boss' boss liking me.

Now, here's the thing: I could get an unpaid internship with the edge and it would be much more to my liking. I also wouldn't have to wear a suit that I can't afford every day.

And so we set up a meeting. To be had yesterday. To which the boss' boss couldn't make it. So she came today to meet me at 10:30 am. And she didn't meet with me until 4:00 pm, but interviewed someone else for the position at 11 am. Someone else she really liked and didn't hesitate to praise in my hearing. I know, why should there be a hurry to accept or regect the girl who's been doing all the shit work all week? Why ask why, for that matter?

When I asked Mel if they were keeping me she admitted that nothing had been said to her.

So here's me learning all this stuff I may not need next week, working for a week at a job that may not be paying me. And I'll admit that the nightmare call centre job last week was one of the last things I wanted, but at least it was a solid offer with an actual cheque. If I hadn't said yes to Melanie, I'd be picking up a cheque tomorrow morning. As it is, I don't even know if I'm getting paid for this past week.

To top it all off, Friday I was promised my own ID and e-mail. Monday I learn I'm using the ID and e-mail of a girl who quit two weeks ago. Name of Zahra. I can't even get email through to Cosmo's super protected mail box, not that I've got time for it, 'cause I'm supposed to look busy while not doing anything at all.

For the record, I've been nice and pliant and easily forgiving this week. Next week I shall be someone entirely different. Actually, they have tomorrow and Tuesday to tell me what's what with my future or else I'll not be anyone at all there - I shall be someone entirely gone.

And so, tomorrow is Friday, and none to soon, for thus ends my week in limbo.

Pop culture for reality...

Joy of joys. There's a new Trivial Pursuit game. I love Trivial Pursuit. I mean, I really, really love this game. I'm the reigning freakin' champion (For the record, "freakin' comes up as "foreskin" when using spellchecker - Just thought we should take note.) And this one's based in the 90's. I've already mentioned how much I loved the 90's culture stuff... It's gonna be great. If I make it as far as a first paycheque, I'm indulging in a little pursuit of trivia.

This just kills me. And on so many levels. I mean, three years ago I'd have been incensed at the police seemingly targeting someone, and in some way I still am. On the other hand, as long as they apologized (Which they did) and didn't keep after him - Which CSIS didn't, the Egyptian police did - I think he's barking up the wrong tree. I agree that he deserves something in writing and a little restitution, perhaps, but one million dollars? From the Canadians who've already apologized and moved on? I would personally go after the Egyptians who kept him locked up for ten days and went through his house. Then again, the Egyptian police don't seem to be into what's right so much as what they can get away with, whereas the Canadian police will be too wary of being judged, well, judgmental, so he's more likely to get money out of us than the Egyptians.

And I'm sorry, but as anyone who's worked near the CN Tower can tell you, photographing it from ten feet away doesn't make sense. You have to get out to Front Street at least before it looks like anything besides a giant straw towering over you. I'll have to go with the cops on this one and point out that videotaping that close to the base is going to look suspicious.

Poor strange Sinead O'Connor. I'm completely in agreement that she deserves privacy. I was shocked and somehow impressed when she tore up the picture of the pope - On the one hand agreeing with her message, yet still disagreeing with the method she used to present it - and actually find her interesting and talented. This is another case of agreeing with her message and thinking her presentation leaves something to be desired. Requesting privacy in a 2,000 word, full page add is kind of like setting yourself on fire in a public square and expecting no one to notice. But what do I know?

And another moment for my car crash obsession with Britney, please. Here I am, desperately searching a job (It's a long story and I'm tired, so I'll report later in case anyone's interested) I'm still working out my issues with this. I'll probably be obsessed till one of us dies, though. Of course, I feel really secure in stating that it's nothing like Dawnette's obsession, or even this guy's. (New admission: I'm a CJ addict and yet never thought to check their website!)

I hate Fox. They get some really creative show concepts with really wonderful people behind them, but would rather show American Idol (Again) and more "reality-based" shows. Who's reality is this, anyway?

I've sat through lots of shit. Okay, no I haven't, because right now I only watch Fox for the Simpsons, Malcolm and Bernie Mac, and those only sporadically, but to postpone one of the only shows I was looking forward to yet again, and also threaten to only order half a season. It's not fair. Tru Calling is good, and if they don't give it the attention it deserves it'll go the same way as Family Guy, Wonderfalls and Andy Richter Controls the Universe.

We're talking about shows that are worth watching week after week, shows that I feel bad for missing. More importantly, this show is my sole replacement for Buffy and Angel, who were, I'll add, unceremoniously cancelled within a year of eachother, I'd like to point out. Okay, it's the only one left me since Wonderfalls has been cancelled. I know, it's my fault for wanting funny and intelligent programming when sad, pathetic people looking for easy fixes are all the rage.

Now, I'll grant you that Family Guy's been "uncancelled," but only because The Cartoon Network in the States and Cartoon Central in Canada were making so much posthumous money off of it. Wonderfalls was cancelled after four episodes, none of which were on at the same time as the episode from the proceeding week. That sounds like they're giving their new shows a chance, doesn't it?

At least there's a Tru Calling DVD in the works. It won't salve my wounds, and if they don't at least wrap up the Jack/Tru's Father storyline in those six episodes (I'm not kidding myself into believing that this show will be on much longer, even though my toes themselves are crossed) I will be seriously pissed. I may even have to give up my Simpsons, just to spite them (By one viewer at a time, I tell you!!)

Alright. Now I must to bed so I can be nice and refreshed for my "almost job," which is what I shall be calling it till I hear otherwise. But first, let us bask in the glow of a million happy links...

Life so strange...

Well, it's happened. I'm employed again. And a big double yay to me. Triple, even.

Since I've not yet tired of the story, allow me to tell it here, probably for the final time, since I don't feel it'll translate well into the written word. Just for the record, there is a cast of characters, but I'll try and keep it simple.

So, I received a phone call yesterday from Maureen, the manager of the temp agency, after my nightmarish interview with the call centre. She sounded very excited on the answering machine and was offering me a "...very exciting position." Of course I called her right back, even though I have to admit I was thinking it was probably another call centre.

When she answered the phone she asked, as I mentioned in a previous post, if I'd like to work at the temp agency. I'm holding out for a much cooler and artsier job, but I'm not holding my breath, although I am sort of mixing my metaphors, which is alright, because it's my blog. I'm not qualified for this job, even though I can do it really well. But this sounds interesting, and I thought I may as well try. Maureen added that I should come "dressed to the nines," so it was off a-shopping I went.

She then transferred me to Melanie, the head of the bilingual department, who seemed really awesome and also to like me right away. She thought I was incredibly cute when I mentioned my labrette and offered to remove it for her. She told me not to worry about it right now, but to get my cute self in as soon as possible.

"Are you a morning person?"

I told her I could be. She said she wasn't, and scheduled me to meet with her at noon.

When I arrived at noon today I went over to the receptionist, who was on a call. Then I heard my name. It was Maureen. She proceeded to tell me that the lady from the nightmare call centre interview had called to ask for me again. Proves I'm not always right about these things, but whatever. I smiled and told her that I could do the job she was offering, but would much prefer to work at the temp agency. She said she'd prefer that too, but would wait until after I'd met Melanie to tell the call centre no.

Then she brought me to Melanie, who was on a call, but lit up as soon as she saw me. This woman is great. Now, I get that she's my future boss and I may not feel the same way in a while, but for now, she's great, and I hope it stays that way. She's French, so she's wicked honest, and I'm an Aries, so I won't take it too personally, unless my Pisces side comes out, but life isn't made for Pisces sensitivity unless you're an artist, so I can deal.

The story is that she thinks I'm wonderful, loved the suit (Which I guess I can't return now, 'cause I'll need it) and offered me the position within five minutes of my walking in.

So I have a job. And everything went off well, except that when I went to shake everyone's hand at the end of the interview - Which ended up being more of an orientation - the little bag holding the extra buttons for my jacket sort of snuck it's way out - Thank god it wasn't a tag, that would've been unbearable. Roxanne and Mel both thought it was the cutest thing and Melanie even hugged me. So I have a job and am liked.

When I left the building, Angela, the lady who had been handling my file at first, was outside having a smoke and was really excited when she learned that I was starting Monday. Another hug. Working with all women will either be really fun or really horrible, but they all seem cool, so I'll not stress it till I need to.

Best parts: Cool people. I must go shopping (Suits!! Me. It's really funny, trust me), it's right around the corner from my house, and I'm starting at almost the same amount I was getting after five years at the bank, plus commission, and I already have a couple potential clients, so yay.

And this wins the prize for the most dull post ever, but the story is really funny (More so when I tell it, I think) and I'm excited. Because being broke is no fun and shopping is really nice, so a job that remedies the first and forces the second is a blessing.

Yay for being able to afford shopping again.

No rest for the wicked...

"'But then,' thought Alice.
'shall I never get any older than I am now?
That'll be a comfort, one way--never to be an old woman
--but then--always to have lessons to learn!'"

Alice in Wonderland
Lewis Carroll

That's me. Wicked. Wicked cool. Yeah. And feelin quite like Alice these days. Up isn't up anymore, if you get what I mean. It's alright, sometimes I don't, either.

No rest for me. I've been on two interviews this week, with another one tomorrow. Two with a temp agency, one with a company and I do believe it was a nightmare. The ladies at the temp agency are really nice and seem to think I'll do well. Hell, the manager from the temp agency keeps calling me. In fact, she called me today to, get this, offer me a job with the temp agency. I am George. Minus the adorable pout, but we can't all be perfect. Anyway, that interview's tomorrow. I may have to remove my labrette.

The other interview was with an actual company. The lady at the temp agency described it as "... Kind of like customer service, but more like... reception." Yeah. As I'm sitting there waiting for the HR lady to finish with the other two people who were booked at the same time as me, I could hear the receptionist making suggestions to a call centre manager. Call centre. Yeah. Bad thing: Before the interview even started, I'd decided that I would take the job if they offered it to me, but I wouldn't be staying long. Not that it matters, 'cause the HR lady liked me, but hated my answers. I mean, how could I really leave the bank to come to her? Was I nuts? She felt that her bosses would feel the same. By the way, was I aware that this was a call centre position?

So, sometime this afternoon the manager of the temp agency called and told me I was wonderful, talented and would I like to join their team? Hell, that sounds kind of cool. I mean, it's not the really awesome CBC job I desperately want, but it's something, and it sounds more interesting than a call centre. Imagine getting to see actual people day in and day out.

The end of this story is that I actually went out and bought myself a suit which ended up being too expensive but really cute. I'm probably going to return 2/3's of it sometime tomorrow, after the interview, of course. I'm ghetto interviewing!!

Well, it's alright. I've also applied for a job at The Silver Snail. Comic geeks unite, and cross your fingers for me that something happens soon. Something that isn't a call centre. I mean, I'm just all over the place with everything, and I do believe my nerves are near shot. I want a job at a comic book store, a temp agency and, most cool, the CBC. What can I tell you, I'm quite the Renaissance girl. And also quite undecided. At least I'm honest about it.

It's nice to know where you stand, even if that's nowhere at all.

Public spanking up for debate

In case you didn't know, Kerry spanked Bush quite satisfactorily. As I'm not really the politico of this "team" (We'd be a team if Cosmo would post, anyway) I'm not going to go too deeply into it. I will say this, though. All you Canadians who are worried because Kerry seems to be protectionist, including being slightly anti-Canadian, just be happy he's not a Bush.

Okay, so he wants to end our garbage contract with Michigan, which, according to this article, he doesn't - he just wants to regulate it. But I firmly stand by my belief that the Bush family is not only bad for America, they're bad for the world. Remember, the Pope called Dubya not just evil, but the devil himself, and they're also anti-Canadian.

Jeb likes to claim that Canadian drugs are murdering people in Florida. Granted, this is just another way of him keeping the drug money in the family, but it's upsetting to me nonetheless. Me, I'm all about the guy who doesn't want our garbage, but also isn't the Anti-Christ and is at least a little circumspect about announcing his dislike of our country.

Of course, when it comes right down to it, it's not my country, it's not my election, and no matter how much I stomp my feet and holler, there's not a lot I can do about it. On the other hand, bless the internet.

I like this article. It's bitter, but amusing and sort of right. It forgot to mention that Kerry is unbelievably polite.

Thus ends my political rantings. I'm not nearly as good at it as Cosmo is, so I'll just leave it at that. Here's hoping it was at least entertaining.

Welcome to the Circus.