Locked Out of My Soup

An ode to the worst days ever...

I woke up this morning and I thought, Oh no not getting out of bed again...

I went to get in the shower and thought, Why does it have to be SO wet?

I got into my car today and thought, Man, these heated seats just can't get warm fast enough, can they?

I arrived at work today and thought, God damn, there is never a parking spot close enough when I am late.

I went to my desk and saw Bonnie and decided that things were looking up. I said, "Did you watch Transformers? Are you hyped about Optimus Prime now too??"

And Bonnie said many wonderful things and Neha came and she said some things too. We talked about dresses and shoes and jackets all things that are lovely.

Then Chris came and said I needed to send two emails so I sent them and thought, Wow, I get paid to do really easy things...

And then the world kind of ended for a while and there was much discussion about all of the things that I am capable of getting wrong and how I could possibly avoid them in the future and howdidbonniedescribeit many flying limbs and dragons breathing fire and all because someone wanted us to say christmas instead of holiday and there are obvious reasons why we wouldn't say christmas but farbeit for me to explain it because I am new and should agree to know nothing...

So I went to lunch and I sang, "I hope it stays dark forever!! I hope the worst isn't OVER!! I hope you blink before I do. And I hope I NEVER get sober!! and I hope when you think of me years down the line, you can't find one good thing to say...and I hope that if I ever found the strength to walk out, you'd stay the hell out of my way!!"

And I felt better and Neha was a little frightened but still laughing like a good sport.

The rest of the day went much like the others:

I did things and thought, I wish I didn't have to do this.

And I said things and thought, This is pretty self-explanatory.

I told Chris things and he said, "He'll blow a gasket!"

And I thought, How appropriate that he would use an automotive cliche...

And then I wondered for a while how to put a French accent on a letter in this program without using character map. (That's not true; I'm wondering it now. Worse: I know what the accent is called but if I said it in French then I would need more...)

The afternoon got better. I only thought, Oh god kill me now! six or maybe seven times an hour from then on.

I drove home on the 407 because I thought, If someone cuts me off I might just want to kill them.

And I'm not a big fan of jail.

I got to my parents to have dinner and Andrew said, "Can you make the hamburger patties?" but I realized that I had to go home because there were none of those things that girls sometimes need in a house full of boys.

So here I am, thinking, Only I could get locked out of a can of soup...

Oh, Carma...

Don't even dream of correcting my spelling...

So Shane and I had this argument about a week ago:

Erin: I have to go talk to Pearl (the building supervisor) tomorrow about changing our parking spot.

Shane: What do you mean? That spot is in our contract so we are keeping it.

Erin: Whatever, I don't even know where she is going to move us.

Shane: Well, we aren't going further back. Tell her no. The spot is written into our lease and unless she gives a really good reason we won't switch.

Erin: Nah, I think I'll switch it. She probably wants to give some poor old lady a spot closer to the door.

Shane: There are two able-bodied people on either side of us that could give up their spots instead.

Erin: That's stupid. Why would you begrudge some poor 80-year-old a spot that is twenty steps closer to the door.

Shane: You better not change it for no reason.

Erin: Oh, I'm going to change it.

Shane: You can't.

Erin: Watch me. I'm the one here dealing with it so there is nothing you can do about it.

Shane: Well I'm the one paying for it so you better do what I tell you.

Around this time, I hung up the phone. Upon consulting with Pearl, I discovered that the number for the parking spot on the lease was just a placeholder because of the computer system she used. As luck would have it, the space was empty, but she handed out those spaces on the basis of how long people had been around--she also gave priority to those who really needed closer spots (the old and infirm). I agreed to the switch and let her know that I would need a spot within the next month or so because I needed a car to get to work. She and I talked about the madness of driving to Markham every day and she lamented the fact that it probably meant I wouldn't be staying in the building more than a year. We agreed that by Christmas I would know whether or not the job was for me, and we could go from there.

So today when I went down and told her that I needed to settle with her about a second parking spot, she said I could have a month or so for free since she knew money was probably tight after the big move. Then we discussed where the spot was to be, and she told me that she would move me to the front in the next month or so because someone else was leaving and she wanted me to have a spot that was easy to get to every day since I had so far to commute.

And there you have it. Because I was sweet and kind (for a change--har har) I will have a closer spot within two months of moving into the new building. And because Shane was an insensitive jerk (not to mention chauvinistic asshole...) he will rot in the back of the lot for as long as I can manage to keep him there. I've got the in with the super, and as long as he's on the outs with me he will stay in spot 43--a solid 3 spots behind my temporary location.

Maxwell Silverhammer

Have you heard the song? Do I need to sing it to you? "Bang, bang Maxwell's silver hammer came down on her head..." But isn't he precious? My mom says I haven't been taking enough pictures of him, so while he was feeling hypnotized by tetris still I took these ones.

I love this one because he is just yawning but it is as ferocious as he ever gets.

Ever the docile little brat. The other day he was so excited to see me that he ran himself into the glass table top. My poor little idiiot kitten...


I only like this one because he is holding my hand. At least when he is sleepy his intrusions are cute. When he is hyper they are still cute, but much more disruptive.

So, You Had a Bad Day

About a month ago, I thought I had lived through the worst day of my life. I woke up too early, eager about a job test that I had arranged for that afternoon, at 3 PM or so I thought. I routinely checked my email to find that the Human Resources people at this company never spoke to each other: I was scheduled for two separate appointments on two separate days. I cleared this fiasco up with ease, luckily; an email back and forth and we were all back on track. I had a relatively nice lunch on the deck with my mom then decided to hit the road.

I stopped by at a friend's house because he still had my ice cream in his freezer, but somehow I still managed to forget to get it from him. With time to spare, I left Burlington at 2 o'clock and hit only minimal traffic. I was ready to walk to my appointment by 2:30, thinking that I had given myself plenty of time. To avoid extra running around I parked the car in the public lot because I didn't have the key card for the underground handy. As I started to walk, these were my thoughts:

"Hmm, it is a lot warmer out here than I thought it was."

"Well, maybe it is going to take me longer than I thought to get to this place--I hope not." (Being late makes me really uncomfortable.)

"Man, my feet are sweaty."

"Why are these guys walking so slow? Don't they know I'm in a hurry? I wonder if i can get around them."

My attempt to pass these folk failed more miserably than I ever suspected it might. I actually fell right out of my shoes--flat on my face. Now, something I failed to mention was that I had to take a dictionary to this test, in case there were any questions about grammar or spelling that I needed a reference for (I'm not sure that there were any, nor am I sure that the dictionary would have helped.) So, I fell down and lost my dictionary; it landed about 10 feet in front of me. A nice older man helped me up and as I brushed myself off in a panic asked if I was okay. I yelled at him that I was fine and tried to keep going. The guys I was trying to pass asked if I was alright too, but I hated them for being in my way and heard them making fun of my dictionary. I limped along, wondering if I was ever going to find Bathurst Street.

I was a little late, but that didn't seem to matter. Ms. Blanca Yang showed me to a computer and explained in halting English the test. She asked if it was hot out. There was sweat dripping into my eyes.

After the test, I tried to go on my merry way but realized for the first time that my precious ballet flats had turned my heels to a bloody mess. I hobbled along, the pain in my knee from when I fell finally realizing itself as well. Halfway down the block I noticed that I'd forgotten my purse. How perfect. How insane.

After I picked up my purse I swivelled between believing that my shoes hurt me more than anything on the pavement could and being certain that the broken glass was doing more harm than a silly pair of shoes. It was a pleasant evening though--about 6 o'clock and the sun was still shining with a little less heat than earlier in the day. I decided to swing by Union Station for a hot dog dinner and a quick drink. At this point, I resigned myself to having a rum and coke alone upon arriving back at the apartment. I picked up my hot dog, and decided to eat inside where I could sit and rest a little.

I found a spot near the door, and a girl with an enormous backpack eyed my hotdog then asked if I would watch her stuff. Feeling I had no where else to be, I agreed graciously. She took forever, and this couple took one of the two seats beside me so they could annoy me with their explicit acts of public affection. The second she returned I tore out of there faster than a cat out of a half-frozen pond (quickly, that is to say).

When I got outside I was astonished to find that it was already almost dark out. Had I owned a watch, I would have known that it was only 7 o'clock and I would have headed for cover immediately. I had no watch, though, so I went on my way. Halfway between Bay and Yonge I watched this enormous rain drops barely miss my face. I went and stood in a doorway with a half a dozen other people when the down pour started. I watched some people brave the rain, and others huddle across the street in a similar fashion to my own. Once the rain started to ease off I got impatient and decided to make a break for it.

I was relatively lucky. Most of the way back to the apartment there are little places to run and hide in when the rain starts back up. From Yonge and Esplanade there is a parking garage to walk through (the one I was parked in as a matter of fact), which is why it is so frustrating that I got soaked, by a taxi, when it was no longer raining, on the corner of Yonge and Esplanade.

So, there I was, soaking wet on my ironic corner, bleeding from the heels and holding back tears because I'm absolutely terrified of thunderstorms. And I burst out laughing. It really was hilarious. I was so soaked, so hurt, and so miserable. But here was the clincher: I did not have to work at Ford or read 1000 pages a week ever again. It was all worth it because it meant I was getting on with my real life, not just waiting for something that might never happen.

The worst part? I didn't get the job, or any of the jobs that I had applied to. I found this out exactly two weeks after. Now try again to tell me that Tuesday's aren't the problem. I have weeks of research to contradict all of your findings.

More Money than Brains and Other Job Search Anecdotes

A month in, and here we are...

What I really need is two things: some sort of confirmation from any one of these jobs that I stand a fighting chance at getting the position, and some input--I don't know which one is really right for me.

1. Hostopia: Marketing Consultant/Assistant
Employment type: Full time
It really sounds like fun. I would have a mentor, which is cute. I would get to meet lots of important people and do lots of very helpful things for them. It is very cutting edge, very borderline dangerous. The company just keeps growing, and the area in which I would be working seems like a lot of fun. As long as it pans out like expected, I think I could really enjoy it and learn from it.

2. SDI Media: Caption Editor
Employment type: Full time, hourly
This job, in case you haven't already heard, almost killed me already. The hours are a little off--I wouldn't start until 5 in the evening. But the pay is okay, and I could probably keep this position in addition to another full-time position.

3. CIBC: Budget Analyst
Employment type: Full time, contract
So, I studied English Lit for four years and it may have been all for not. This position is in a nice place within the company, doing fairly boring work. I don't know how much fun it would be, but I am certain that if I got the job I would be more dedicated to it than I a gold digger is to panning. I don't know how great that analogy is at a time like this, but I stand by my assertion. Nancy says she wants someone who will be eager to learn and do well--that is what they call me behind my back you know.

4. Bain & Company: HR/Marketing/Recruiting
Employment type: Full time but you better believe you're not going to make anything of yourself in job
The job posting was explicit about stating that there was no hope of the employee who fills this postion ever NEVER ever becoming an associate. I don't even really know what that means but it is a little off-putting, don't you think? I was supposed to go to the interview on Thursday but had a massive migraine--maybe it was a sign. I don't really believe in bad omens, but the subway was also down and I haven't had any migraines in almost a month.

Those are the four that seem the most promising. I don't know which one would be best at this point. Clearly I'm favouring a couple of them over the other two, but that doesn't mean that I will be able to make any quick decisions. Damn my eagerness. If I wasn't so dedicated and didn't have such a strong work ethic I wouldn't be so worried about this, especially since wake up is in less than 5 hours. I guess I better hit the hay. Don't forget to cast your votes before I accept something and blame you for the rest of your life for letting me make the wrong decision.

The Longest Bad Joke Ever Told

AKA: We Will Rock You--The musical by Queen

Free tickets are always a good thing--they leave you with more cash in your wallet for expensive drinks and food. So, when Brett gave us his tickets to We Will Rock You at the Canon theatre I didn't think there was any reason to turn them down. The tickets ran at about a hundred dollars a pop, and they were orchestra centre. Perfect. Or more painful...

We Will Rock You is officially the longest bad joke ever ever ever told. It starts bad and gets worse. The singing is somewhat admirable; like many Toronto theatrical performances they all know how to carry a note, even if the tune isn't made for them. The lead had his way--french. His costar did the overacting thing that is typical of a musical. But the writing was truly atrocious. Hands down, it just didn't work. Half the scenes were just the repetition of lines from Queen songs, and the bulk of the jokes that didn't rely heavily on that device were outdated musical references. Overplayed antics hitting on patriotic fervour really hurt in the second act. All in all, the watered down rum and coke I was sucking back couldn't even save me.

By intermission I was begging to leave. I was placated with a bag of popcorn instead. It was dry. I spent the majority of my time thinking, these people must have a lot of money to get all dressed up to come see something like this--to eat popcorn and drink watery rum in one of the nicest theatres in Toronto. The Canon is gorgeous. It is the sort of place that is built purely to impress, with very little thought to function. This is how all theatres should be built. You are forced to take your time, pause a little, after the performance because the exits are so crowded that rushing only makes matters worse. After We Will Rock You, I kept my cool and filed out. But I didn't have the same calm, inspired, or even contented feeling that I usually got from a night out. I thought about how the poor theatre looked worse than most cineplexes and stifled a sob.

Maybe I'm being a bit melodramatic, but it really was a bad show. On the whole it was just flat. Older people with a taste for nostalgia and too much money might appreciate it, but only on a very shallow level. Not all theatre has to be high brow and philosophical, but they could have given me something better to think about than why the big black guy named himself Britney Spears and the blonde from Rock Star:INXS who couldn't walk properly (let alone dance) went by Ozzy--not so clever if you ask me. Someone's misguided vision of irony I suppose...

The Culmination of My Genius: Tales of Rum

None of this will make any sense if you don't read "My Cunning Master Plan."

So, I'm brilliant after all. The proof? I have two mickeys to show for my grandest achievement to date: the completion of my fourth year undergraduate thesis. Now, I know it doesn't sound like much (8 months of research and writing, that's four months per mickey, which means that I certainly won't have enough to get me drunk for the next 8), but it really is the thought that counts.

Dennis teased me a while ago that my supervisor did not want to yell at me about my first draft, she just wanted to give me a medal of rum and ice cream. Of course he knew how happy that would make me, even while we both knew full well it was impossible. So when he came down for my presentation that is just what he brought me--almost. He doesn't know London very well and is kind of lazy about finding grocery stores, so he grabbed the Easter chocolate that his mother bought him and gave me that instead. At least it was chocolate. At least it was shaped like a penguin.

Rory and Shane followed a similar path, but with slightly less luck. Shane showed up "early" to pick Rory up...they would have been 15 minutes early instead of 2 minutes late (you'd think they were responsible for the London Transit schedule with timing like that). Shane bought Rory Quiznos, so Rory had enough money to buy me rum. Therefore, Shane claims responsibility for the whole thing. They didn't get ice cream either, but it was because they were going to be late and the ice cream would have melted. On the way to the school I told Rory, "Don't worry about it. You can just take me to Marble Slab when I'm done presenting." To which he responded, "Ya right! What do you think I am? Made of money?" I wish. Then maybe they wouldn't have ran out of gas and Rory wouldn't have had to waste all his good acting skills on pretending to push the car while Dennis did all the work.

The first half mickey was used to relax me after my Women's lit exam. I left my mom at my apartment to start packing up; she drank a bottle of wine and talked on the phone to her aunt for an hour. I was greeted with, "Did you know what? I never knew this but I am Irish." When I asked her how she spent the night she said, "Well I talked to Aunt Alice for a long time. And I got some packing done--see! Oh and I drank a LOT of wine." Classy, Mom. Really classy. For some reason, I thought this was the perfect opportunity to get drunk and air all of my grievances to her. It kind of worked. In the best way that getting drunk and making people angry at their spouses and sons can. At about midnight my mom wanted to call my dad and scream at him for not taking it seriously enough when we realized that Jeff took my ring.

So I got loaded with my mom, drinking the other half after my PoCo exam Saturday night. We had no furniture, but Rogers hadn't cut off the cable yet so we tried to watch South Park on my comforter with some pillows. Part way through I decided that I needed to find out if I'd been excluded from the night out with Tobin. So I text messaged Dennis. Ten seconds later he called to yell at me for sending him text messages to his phone because it didn't have service anymore. When I tried to explain what the message said (because I thought that was why he was yelling at me), he yelled some more and told me that he knew what it said. Then I helped him figure out how to send Tobin a facebook message and hid in the washroom talking to him for a little while. Every now and then, Dennis would say, "Wow you are so drunk." And I would laugh uncontrollably. When I woke up in the morning I realized that Dennis must also have been drunk because he never calls anyone and he had called me.

The first half of Rory's mickey was used to help me sleep once I got back to Toronto. The odd drink here and there was all it took. Now the other half is waiting for me in the freezer. I would have finished it off though, if we hadn't had a splurge day and decided the best idea in the world was to get drunk by 2 in the afternoon and play video games between Rory's classes. I got to see George Brown as a result. They had a dungeon in the basement that is very creepy. Rory took my picture there. He drank almost as much wine as my mother had, and I drank enough lemon rum to keep me going. Then we bought a laptop and a dress from American Apparel. I drew the line at skinny jeans because I was becoming Rory too quickly and it scared me. I wanted to drink some more when we got back, but somebody had offered all of my mix to his basketball-watching buddies (jerk). I thought I had polished off the coke and felt the need to rethink whether or not I really needed anymore. I was drunk enough to believe that the coke was a better indicator of my drunkenness than the rum bottle would have been, so it was still probably the best choice for me.

So that about sums it up. I'm the smartest. I was rewarded for my genius with rum. Perfect. Actually, it seems to help. I'm going to finish up the rest of that lemon rum and maybe the rest of the mickey over the next couple of days to help me study Shakes and so that I can get this erotic novel of mine under way. It'll be fabulous. I'm not letting any of you read it.

PS The marks are in:88. I told you I'm a genius.

Revelations

Some days you need to force yourself out of bed so that your brain stops tormenting you. Some days you need to stay in bed so that your brain doesn't start tormenting you. Today, somehow, I needed to do both.

Everyone has their peccadilloes (or so I am told--in comparison to mine, they all seem relatively tame). Last night I discovered a new one. Well, it was not so much new as renewed. Know what I'm saying? I went to sleep around 2:30 with my head full of online games. In particular, I was very frustrated by Frost Bite...because Dennis is way better at it than I am, and because I couldn't get passed level 4. I spent the remainder of my night trying to figure out what my brain meant by "Dennis is done and Shane is not"--like it was the most important puzzle I could ever solve. I tried just believing it. "Okay, I get it, " I told myself. But lying to yourself is much harder than lying to other people. I didn't really get it, even when I thought I did. So I sat in bed and tried to understand what it meant and why it was important and whether or not I would have to share this information with them. I kept giving up, throwing a pillow (getting up to get it because I love my pillow) and then burying my head in another attempt to sleep through this madness.

I thought I'd found the solution when I decided that I could just think about a different dilemma, and trick my brain into forgetting this maddening revelation. Somehow, the two became very mixed up and I started thinking that Dennis was done with Antiguan nobility and Shane was still hung up on it. It wasn't pretty. There were more things thrown.

This morning I had a new revelation: I shouldn't sleep. It is bad for my nerves. Every Tuesday (set your calendar by it) I wake up super panicky and can't figure out why. Unless I can sleep until noon, the feeling never goes away. So I am sitting here at 12:27 AM on a Hostile Wednesday, still trying to deal with the aftermat of Tuesday. It's sad really. I rather like sleep. But if it is going to make me crazy then I would really like to know what other choice I have?

Some people suggest sleeping pills and I will tell you what is wrong with them: they paralyze your body but not your mind. Thus, I lay in bed unable to move and try to figure out why Dennis is done and Shane is not and what difference that could possibly make in my life. Now while I'm sitting here wide awake I wonder if I've inverted my revelation and stumbled perhaps onto some sort of subconscious tidbit of moderately important information--and I'm sure I'll spend the whole night trying to decide.

6 Reasons Why Going to Chapters is Almost the Same as Writing a Paper

With only slight emphasis on the "almost"...

1. It makes you hate Hegel. He said something something about history, but in a very convoluted and German way. I don't know what it means. But I know I'm supposed to.
2. You do things you aren't supposed to. When I'm supposed to write a paper, I play games, talk to people, spend way too many hours on research...When I'm at Chapters I spend all my money on books I don't have time to read.
3. You talk to strangers. To write a paper I usually end up having at least one awkward conversation with someone (on the bus or in class) in which I attempt to explain my very fucked up logic. Today at Chapters Amanda and I started laughing because some guy was talking about excellent sentence structre. He offered to help find us jobs. Talking to strangers is good, no matter what our parents have told us.
4. Caffeine. There's a starbucks at Chapters and I'm always wired when I write a paper. Well, wired or buzzed...one of the two at least.
5. You wander around aimlessly doing pointless things. Last week I amused myself for nearly an hour reading book titles. "I just want you to know tomorrow you are going to kill me and my family." Look for it. I swear it's real.
6. You fall asleep sitting up. And then someone says, "You've been hiding!" but really you are just tired of thinking and walking and standing...

The Day I Lost My Mind Completely

I understand that the majority of you think I'm a little nuts to start, but today, I actually lost my mind completely. Well, last night I lost my mind. This morning I awoke in the aftermath, to find my mind gone...

Part A: Your favorite heroine does someone else's homework
Because I'm such a good friend, I did a homework assignment for a friend of mine, several months back. The assignment was to write a personal story, but to make it interesting enough to turn it into a movie. Now my friend leads a rather dull life, and he was having some difficulty coming up with a plot that was equally plausible and entertaining. I, with my mind working at the speed of light, decided he was in love with me, and wrote him a lovely story about how I broke his heart forever.
The story was a huge hit with his teacher, who felt so sorry for him that he always looked hat im like he wanted to find a way to mend my poor friend's heart (I'm serious. I know it's creepy.) Rory turned the story into a lovely movie thing (umm, you know DVD cover thing). There were lots of pictures of rye bottles that I didn't quite understand...

Part B: In which the heroine gets to the point
The story made me laugh. Every time I reread it, I wonder why Rory let me write it...why he ever used it. But last night I had writer's pause (I'm told there is no such thing as "block" because a "block" sounds insurmountable, but you have to work your way through writer's pause). So I got out the old story and revamped it. I'm thinking I could sell it to Harlequinn if I beef it up a little. I even wrote an "erotic" scene. Weird eh?

So at that point my mind was shamelessly blown away, out the window. I didn't know it at the time, and feeling fatigue setting in, I checked the alarm and went to bed.

Part C: The Day I Realized I'd Lost My Mind Completely...
When I woke up this morning, the radio was blarring. I hit the snooze and thought, ya ten more minutes is all I need. When it went off the second time I almost broke it. Damn noise. I just wanted some sleep.

Part D: The Explanation
In all honesty, I have no solution to the sound of this pollution in me (when I wake up in the break down of the things I never thought I could be...) Tuesdays will always be trouble. Harlequin is going to sign me up for a three book deal--they just don't know it yet. My mind is almost back, but I need your help. Remind me why if life is the problem (and that's just baffling--according to Jenny Lewis) I keep on waking up--and breathing. Fuck breathing (it's a total waste of time.)

So I'm exhausted of Midnight's Children, but I'm thinking that I could totally do with some Salman Rushdie. If that's not baffling, I don't know what is. Tomorrow: part two of I QUIT LIFE FOREVER (the dramatic series...)