Nighttime Listmaking

2 01 2009
No but really.

No but really.

Sometimes, despite my best efforts, I find myself totally and completely unable to fall asleep. Despite how long my day has been, or how exhausted I may be, I end up lying in bed, compiling lists in my head to the tune of Bryan’s (and Lucy’s) snores. One might blame the mattress, or seasonal Ho Ho Ho stress levels, or even my overblown caffeine addiction (pffft), but I think, in my case, it’s much simpler than that. I just can’t turn off my brain. I’ve tried all the usual solutions; Sleepytime (TM) tea, warm baths just before bed, smoking half a joint, the arm-twisting of The Man-Type for a much appreciated back massage, etc. The only thing that works for me, without fail, is reading in bed. But even this comes with a catch: once I start reading, I might not be able to stop. If I’m especially tired, my eyes start to get tired and droopy after a chapter or two, but if the book is magnificent (like oh so many are), I’ll read and read and read and suddenly realize that its 3AM. By that time, of course, its too late; I’m far too enthralled by the trials and tribulations of the book’s characters that I FORCE myself to stay awake longer, to find out what happens next.

Reading is my anti-sleep.

When I was in highschool, I went through a mild bout with insomnia, and I was lucky enough to have a computer and fellow insomniac friends to talk to late at night. Maybe my mild insomnia had something to do with me going to film school… when I couldn’t sleep and didn’t feel like reading, I’d watch a movie until I crashed, or it ended, whichever happened first. I must have watched hundreds of movies, spanning all genres, which must have triggered something in my overtired brain, something along the lines of “Hey, I think I could do that… I could totally make movies. I like watching them, so, damn, why not?” Most of my graduating class had different, more ambitious reasons for going to film school. Some scrimped and saved for years, and were put on waiting lists, and moved across the country to live in Thunder Bay of all places, just so they could enroll in Confederation College’s renowned Film Production program. And me? I just couldn’t sleep.

I’ve always been a night person more than a morning person. I can do the early morning thing if its absolutely necessary, but only if I have a significant amount of coffee buzzing through my veins. But without coffee? Fugetabbboutit. With the exception of my first week in Winnipeg, when Bryan and I went to bed before 10 every night out of sheer exhaustion, I’ve always stayed up late. I just don’t need much sleep to function, I guess. As well as being a night owl, I’ve always been a night writer. I blog or make lists of things to do/buy/remember, or write emails or letters, even the occasional journal entry (yes in a REAL notebook. How retro.) Something about putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, empties my head and makes it possible for me to manufacture the Z’s.

And now that we have a Christmas Wireless Router (thanks Greg), I can do my nighttime listmaking anywhere I damned well please. Sitting on the kitchen counter with my feet in the sink, for example. Why? Because I can, and because its just weird enough to be comfortable.





Blah Blah

20 12 2008

I haven’t really had a whole lot to blog about lately. The past few weeks have been a monotony of work, work, Nip/Tuck, work, work, BSG, work, Christmas shopping, work. I am surprisingly satisfied with the christmas presents I bought, which were few. One of the best things about moving to a new city is the fact that there are all of three, maybe four people I like enough to buy Christmas presents for. And being a recent college graduate, I certainly can’t afford to pay for shipping to send presents to all the people back home that I DO still like. So everyone is getting pop-up (!!!) christmas cards instead. Anyhow, I think (and hope) that the handful people I bought presents for like them. And if they don’t, pfffft, whatever. I’ll keep them for myself, to hell with them.
We got our new car stereo and it is breathtaking. It’s homeland is wherever Mama Alpine lives, but its adapting quite nicely to the bone-chilling prairie winds, much like myself. The stereo complains less, however. Next on my list of Major Car Investments are new tires. Or possibly something transmission related, because mine is making a few grumbling, groaning sounds. Cue my financial panic.
I’ve been reading out of my box lately. Some of my favourite people at Chapters (who are obviously the sarcastic, jaded comic book/movie geeks) suggested I check out George R. R. Martin’s FIRE & ICE Series. I’ve had a handful of co-workers notice me reading A Game Of Thrones on lunch breaks, and they’ve all gushed and raved and said how much they love it, and all the characters, and the plot twists and blah blah blah. I’ve only dabbled in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy section, read things here and there but nothing major… until now. I am MAJORLY into these books. I just finished the first book, and am thrilled with my own foresight, as I bought the second book with my last paycheck. There is NOTHING worse than finishing a book or watching the last episode of a tv show and not having the follow up book/episode ready to go immediately thereafter.
I’ve been lounging around all night (I left work at 8) and I feel like I’ve totally wasted my time off. I definitely had laundry and dishes and other chores to do, and I was thinking about badassifying my resume to apply for internships slash entry level positions at tv or radio stations. And, failing that, a part time waitressing gig to put a few more pennies in my consantly empty pockets. And what did I do with my night off? Watched Gilmore Girls. Drank beer. Played Katamari. I fail at productivity.

UPDATE — 21/12/08

I forgot to mention the Most Awesome Fun-Tastic thing that has ever happened to me! In the middle of last week, our bathtub stopped draining, which we discovered after Bryan had a shower and the tub was 3/4 filled with soapy water. So I made the trek to Home Depot, which is obviously every woman’s favourite store in the world (they don’t sell shoes, or hair accessories, and it is IMPOSSIBLE to find ANYTHING without your own goddamned sherpa guide! Mine was named Hank.) and picked up an industrial sized jug of Liquid PlumbR, which promised it would work “despite any standing water”. As soon as I got home, I dumped half the bottle in and waited patiently for something to happen. Nada. Not even a few bubbles. And definitely no water draining, as was promised by the cartoon plumbR on the front. So I went out for early afternoon beers with Reed, came back a few hours later, and dumped the remaining PlumR into the mix, and was pleasantly unsurprised when NOTHING HAPPENED. So, being totally fed up and totally smelly by this point, I emailed my landlords and went to Greg’s to have a shower. Because Greg lives in a MAN-HOUSE, he obviously had zero clean towels and no face moisturizer, but he made up for it by making fondue and having ample supplies of white wine.

The next morning, I woke up to someone knocking on the door quite insistantly. At first, I thought it was Bryan coming to tell me that he forgot his keys or someone had stolen our stereo or front axel or something, but when I opened the door, it was my landlord, who looked quite stressed.

“Hey,” she said, “Does your heat work?”

“Uh, no, not so much. I was going to ask you about that when you came to unclog the tub”

“I don’t think your tub is clogged as much as it’s attached to a system of totally frozen pipes. Thats why the heat isn’t working too. The rads are frozen.”

“…….Oh. Hense it being -45 in here?”

“Yep.”

So she scooped all the water out of the bathtub and into the sink, and filled the tup with scalding hot water to thaw the pipes, which was a complete success. But because it was SO unbelievably cold in the apartment (basically the same as the temperature outside, but without the fierce prairie winds), Lucy and I snuggled under the covers and stayed in bed until I had to leave for work. By the time I got home, the pipes had been thawed, and the apartment was warmer than it has ever been. Thank GOD.





Bitchslapped.

7 11 2008

Winter has arrived. Last night, Winnipeg was slapped in the face with a ice-covered mitten (You know when you breath on your mitten-ed fingers to warm them up, except it quickly backfires because your breath freezes and your nice woolly mittens become crusty and icy and even colder than before? Imagine being slapped with a mitten like THAT). And by slapped in the face, I mean slapped on every available surface, with snow and ice and freezing slush, and blustery winds. After several hours of freezing rain yesterday evening, I woke up this morning to find this waiting for me outside.

hell

Obviously, neither Bryan or I were prepared for such a Winter Wonderland, both of us wearing inappropriate shoes (Converse and man-dress shoes, respectively), and with no idea as to where to find our car brush and/or scraper. Which was mildly important, as the Civic was covered in a solid three inches of slush/ice/snow. Fingerless gloves were also a poor choice. 30 minutes later, we made it to Polo Park, which is normally a 10 minute drive, where I dropped Bryan off at work, picked up a cozy hat, some groceries (and some hot apple cider to thaw my hands), and slid across the street to Canadian Tire. Now, it must be mentioned that I have nothing but deep and undying hatred for C-Tire (employees, services, mechanics, bullshit pretend money…etc), so I was determined to be in and out as quickly as possible. I grabbed an industrial sized bottle of windshield washer fluid / de-icer (“Works up to -45!”) and the baddass-est snow brush/scraper I have ever seen, and got the hell out. The brush has a bright blue stainless steel handle with a reinforced scraper and a brush that is for SERIOUS snow removal, which, sadly, I foresee in my immediate future.

This winter is going to be an interesting one. In addition to this being our first Winnipeg Winter (Why do people always laugh and say “Ohhh you’ll see, YOU’LL SEE!” when I say that?), our car is going to put up a struggle in as many ways as it can. Instead of having rugged, heavilly treaded winter tires, we are using what may be the original summer or “all season” tires that came with the car, many moons ago (Craig will have to confirm or deny this..). All season tires are bullshit in a city that gets as much snow/sleet as Winnipeg does (or Thunder Bay, for that matter). But on the plus side, there aren’t any hills to spin out on. But on the negative side, there are feirce prairie winds that tear the skin from your bones. Practically.

Before moving to Winnipeg, I had the car air conditioning checked, because, well, it doesn’t work, and the very Bill Nye-esque mechanic informed me that I was incredibly lucky.

Bill Nye: Yes, quite lucky.

Emily: Really? Lucky? Great!

Bill Nye: Indeed! The problem with your AC is the one of the cheapest things to repair! You see, there are four main componants to each air conditioning system, all of which are connected with a series of tubes and hoses. These tubes and hoses enable you to have refreshing cold air in the summer, but also provide warm heat in the winter, and keep your car windows from fogging up.

Emily: Uh huh..

Bill Nye: Your tubes and hoses are in varying states of disrepair. Some are cracked, some are leaking, some are loose, some are just old and crappy. But out of the whole system, they’re the absolute cheapest to repair!

Emily: Super! How much!

Bill Nye: $500 after parts and labour

Emily: *is dead on the ground*

So, the Civic has bald summer tires, and an air-circulatory system that consistently fogs up the windows and takes FOREVER to warm up. Should I spend $500 on new kickass winter tires? Or should I spend $500 on heat and non-fogged windows, and AC for the summertime, if it ever returns? Decisions, decisions.

Also on my List of Things To Buy For The Car are a CAA Membership and jumper cables. Earlier this week, I got a phone call from Bryan, who said that he couldn’t come pick me up from work because the car battery was dead and he couldn’t find anyone with jumper cables. After throwing a minor temper tantrum, I wrangled Reed into giving me a ride to Polo, as well as the use of his slightly battered cables, only to discover that the car wouldn’t even turn over, and had started making a suspicious clicking sound from somewhere deep inside the dashboard. We sent Reed back to work, thanking him for his help, and went into Second Cup to think. I consulted with my dad, and Bryan consulted with his, and they agreed that the clicking sound “might be the starter, or the remote starter” but it “might be the alternator” too. This couldn’t have come at a worst time (but really, when does car trouble ever happen CONVENIENTLY), because it was the beginning of the month, and we were totally broke. After paying rent, and OSAP, and Visa payments, and car insurance, we seriously had less than $30 between the two of us. How the hell were we going to afford a tow truck, let alone the cost of the repairs? And even if we found money for a tow truck, where would we get it towed to? Neither of us had ANY idea of good/cheap/non-sketchbag mechanics in Winnipeg, and on top of that, had no idea what was wrong with the car, and had NO idea how much it was all going to cost us. All we knew was that the car wouldn’t start, and would have to be towed somewhere else, to someone who could fix it. I called a towing company, talked to a very helpful man who asked me a pile of questions about the car, and found out that it would be $65 for the tow, and if we wanted to try jumping it again, it would be an extra $45. I didn’t want to pay for the towing on the off chance that Reed’s cables were too battered to function, but I sure as hell didn’t want to pay fifty bucks for some tow truck driver to do something that I could do for free. SO I called the only other person in the city that I knew of with a car: Chad. Chad, my saviour, my favourite person on earth, found jumper cables, and came to the rescue. After a few unsuccessful tries, the headlights suddenly flickered and I was deafened by cries of “GO! GO START THE CAR. FUCKING GO RIGHT NOW!”. And, by some miracle of electricity, the car started. All of the panicking and stress and angst we had moments earlier disappeared. We didn’t have enormous repair bills to freak out about anymore. Thank. Fucking. God. I gave Chad a big hug, and proposed marriage, as a sign of my gratitude, and we went our separate ways. Bryan and I picked up Greg, and drove to a distant Safeways to give the battery a chance to recharge. All was well in the world. We had grocheries, a functioning car, and whistling hot water radiators to come home to. And plus – it hadn’t snowed yet! YET.





Whats new?

21 10 2008

Because I am forgetful and easily distracted, I have been neglecting my blog as of late (as well as my email correspondence — Sorry Craig) so here I am to give you an overview of my life.

I’ve been having a whole lot of rage issues directed solely towards my bank (Scotiabank), such as me depositing a check ($600) and them holding a large percentage of it (2/3) for SIX BUSINESS DAYS. SIX. This came at an especially bad time because my car insurance was scheduled to come out around the same time, and it COULDN’T because THE BANK WOULDN’T LET ANYONE ACCESS MY GODDAMNED MONEY FOR SIX BUSINESS DAYS. I went and threw a minor fit, and threatened to close the account and they scrambled to take the hold of, and said “they would do everything they could to reduce the hold”. I got tired the whole thing, so I left — to find another bank that I don’t hate the existence of. Six business days, Scotiabank? Seriously? Every other bank I’ve ever been associate with (and that’s more or less of them, excluding BMO) has a 24 or 48 hour hold. SIX BUSINE- okay that’s enough.

I quit Baked Expectations a few weeks ago. Who say that coming, right? Not me, that’s for sure — until the insane woman running the place vaguely accused me of stealing $1000, and then completely ignored me for a week. We’re talking no eye contact, no direct conversations or requests. Nothing. If I answered the phone, she would ask to talk to someone else. If I asked her a question, she pretended not to hear me. Yves, one of the servers I worked with a lot, told me that this was her way of “apologizing” because she had “changed her mind, and didn’t think I stole the money anymore”. Right. Very mature. Eventually, though, she did start talking to me again, but in a way that made it very clear that she no longer liked me. She would complain about me to Yves while standing three feet away from me. She would roll her eyes if I asked her to confirm any of her barked orders (because in all seriousness, a lot of the stuff she says is insane/doesn’t make sense/isn’t fully explained), she would roll her eyes at me and glare at me as though I were a completely fucking idiot. After I had been working days for two weeks, and had been putting up with this kindof bullshit treatment, I was feeling slightly uneasy about what my upcoming schedule was going to be like, so on my way out the door one day, I asked her if me doing the day shift was going to be a permanent thing. Let it be known that she had previously told me that it was, but clearly, her opinions of me had shifted, so I wanted to be really sure. She said “PFfft no, of course not. You’re only working days until Ernie gets back from his vacation. Then you’ll be working nights, MAYBE with full time hours” I said “…Oh” and walked out, then walked home to print off my letter of resignation. Accuse me of stealing, ignore me for weeks, treat me like shit, take away my day shifts, demote me back to nights, and say that I MIGHT (MIGHT!) get full time hours? Oh. Fuck. That. So I quit, and during my final week there, I almost walked out in the middle of my shift FOUR DAYS IN A ROW, due to her treating me like garbage. I’ve gone back into Baked a few times, to pick up my last check/tips, and to visit, because by the time I was done there, I had become friends with most of my co-workers, even some that I hated when I first started there. Everytime I go in, everyone is so excited to see me, and they all ask how I’m doing, where I’m working, etc. And they ALL always say “PLEAAAAASE come back, Beth hired four people to replace you and they’re all fucking idiots. You were very good at your job, and were super fun to work with. Beth is a fucking bitch-face… camonnn.. come baaaackk” Sadly, as much as I miss everyone, because they are way more awesome than the pre-teens that I work with now, I can’t. If I went back, I would be stuck on nights, and therefore wouldn’t see Bryan or any of the handful of my Winnipeg  friends ever again, because they all work days, and me getting off work at midnight doesn’t make for a good time to START hanging out.

That being said, g’bye Baked, Helloooo Second Cup. The only reason I applied there was because I stopped in for a cappuccino after dropping Bryan off at work, and the only reason I took the job over going back to Starbucks is because 2nd hired me before I got the chance to apply at Stabbu’s. And, sadly, after finishing my second shift at Second Cup (heh), I wanted to quit. I am the second oldest person working there, the oldest being the owner of the cafe. Everyone is 18-20, some of them are STILL IN HIGHSCHOOL, and the rest act like they still are. No one bothered to train me on anything after my first shift, because, and I quote, “they assumed I already knew how to do everything”. Uh, what, why would you fucking assume that, its my THIRD SHIFT, how much could I POSSIBLY know how to do much of ANYTHING. What a terrible and idiotic thing to assume. They should, correctly, assume that because I’m NEWLY HIRED I don’t know ANYTHING and they should maybe ASK WHAT I DO/DON’T KNOW. I have to ask people allll the time to take three seconds to show me how to do things, and the response I usually get is “Ughhhhh nevermind I’ll just do it myself”. I know I’m not actually all that much older than most of the people working there, but my GOD do I feel old when I’m around them. I overheard one girl say “I can’t wait until I’m 18 and can drink! But its like, so far away, cause my birthday was just a few weeks ago!” (18 being the drinking age in this province. She just turned 17. Ohmyfuck.)

In addition to feeling like I should be mentoring them on how to lead a drug-free existence (haaaaah), I’m kindof at the end of my rope when it comes to working in the Food Service/Retail industry. I’ve had too many shitty minimum wage part-time-ish jobs, and have been forced to deal with stupid/pre-teen/asshole people for too long. Now that I’ve graduated college, its time to start looking for a REAL JOB, a FULL TIME one with a REAL SALARY and REAL BENEFITS. Since I’m not financially secure enough (read: at all) to work in the ever unstable and unpredictable film industry, I need to work for a while to gather a pile of ze monies large enough to support me in between film jobs. And because I will hang myself with a paper chain made of coffee filters if I have to gather said pile of monies solely from a service job like Second Cup, I seriously need something more grown up. I’ve applied and had interviews for an ACEM job at Chapters (kinda like a supervisor/assistant manager thing), and want to reformat my resume to wow the powers that be at the CBC (sweet rhyme). I’m going to apply at banks and camera stores and radio/tv stations, and anywhere else I can think of. I might end up hating whatever job I end up with, but at least I won’t have to listen to “And then Kim totally broke up with her boyfriend at prom!” stories while explaining to the millionth redneck idiot of the day that no, we don’t sell Tim Hortons Iced Capps.

Also, please enjoy this Onion video because it made me pee a little bit out of extreme hilarity. Meteorologists Predict Worst Autumn Ever





I meant to vote, really…

19 10 2008

I meant to vote. Really, I did. I was going to drag Bryan to come with me too, even though he had no interest in voting himself. I blame Google Maps; the directions I got to my nearest polling station were seriously flawed. I was directed to drive straight down my street (Balmoral), and was to turn slightly left onto Spence, as soon as I’d cross Portage. The trouble was the NO LEFT TURNS sign that forbade me from following Google Maps’ very specific instructions. So I went right, and tried to loop around the block, but unfortunately, it was Winnipeg’s turn to screw with me, by having three hundred one way streets in the downtown area. I halfheartedly tried to find my way back to the right street, but quickly lost interest, as there was only 45 minutes left in the Vote Now Please Window, and with my luck, there would only be one booth with 70 people waiting in line ahead of me. F. That. Noise. So I went to Greg’s instead.
I would have voted during the Advance Voting Days, like I normally do, if the GOA (Greater Osborne Area — yeah thats right) hadn’t been a pile of douchebags, and had delivered the voter registration cards several weeks in advance. As is the normal policy. When did our cards arrive? Friday. Four days before the election. Three of those days were taken up by Thanksgiving Weekend, a time where everyone thinks “TURKEY TURKEY STUFFING PUMPKIN PIE TURKEY CRANBERRY SAUCE” not “Hmm I’d better start considering my voting options because the election is a-comin”. In short, I was distracted by my drive home for turkey, and returned to Winnipeg and went “Uh, what? I have to vote TOMORROW? Sweet.”
Greg tells me that the GOA (yessss) is “infamously late when it comes to delivering voting information/notices/registration cards”. Damned hippies/hipsters/crack heads.
Like every other election year, I had little to no interest in the parties, candidates, or policies. I can’t help it: politics are boring. I’m more interested in American politics (as an impartial outsider) than I am in those of my own country, mostly because of all the publicity and drama and bullshit crazy woman candidates. I’m hugely entertained by the antics of Sarah Palin, and partially hope she is elected (after McCain kicks, which could happen any minute now), just so I can clap with glee when she declares war on Russia. Thats not very neighbourly, Ms Palin.
If I had received my registration card when I was supposed to, or if i had been able to find the damned polling station, I would have voted for the Green Party. I usually vote NDP, because I’m from Northwestern Ontario and the NDP are The Man in the eyes of small mining/milling/forestry-oriented communities like Thunder Bay. I keep saying “I would have voted Green because someone has to back up the hippies”. The Green party got such a tiny percentage of the votes this year, and have every year in the past, so clearly, the hippies need a little help. Besides, I’ll be damned if I would ever vote Conservative, unlike the outer perimeter of Winnipeg (rich conservative bastards). Liberal isn’t really my bag either, Communist Party is a joke. I always either vote NDP (who, apparently, have “greener” policies than the Green Party — a statement I can neither confirm nor deny) or I vote to back up the hippies who need better numbers if they’re ever going to have a say in whats hap-happening.
This is a teaser blog entry, by the way, one i’ve been working on for about a week now. Next up is the entry detailing whats new and unexciting in my life, which will be posted as soon as I possibly can.





So. Winnipeg.

13 09 2008

Its 2:38am and I can hear sirens. Loud sirens. And thus, life in a “big city” aka a medium sized city, but one that is 7 times the size of Thunder Bay. In Thunder Bay, any siren-worthy activity that happens after midnight is “curfewed” to lights-only, especially in residential areas. Definitely not the case here.

Our apartment is on the edge of cracktown on one side, and the edge of hipsterville on the other. Not the worst neighbourhood in the city, definitely not, not by a long shot, but its one I wouldn’t want to stroll around at night whilst wearing skimpy clothing either. Rent is cheap, which means that half of the people that live here are starving university students, and the other half are crackheads. Sweet.

My car is the number one stolen vehicle in all of Winnipeg (possibly because they outnumber almost all other models 3 to 1), which means that my insurance is a not-so-whopping $1400 a year. Average car insurance here is around $900, so I’m told. Did I mention that the annual $1400 insures the CAR not the DRIVER? In Manitoba, Land Of Plenty, you pay to insure the car, and (here’s the amazing part) anyone who has a valid Manitoba Drivers License can drive it, get into a horrific accident involving those damned cyclists in the damned diamond lane, and be totally and completely covered. They insure the CAR, not the DRIVER. Hey, whats that? Random crackhead down the street, you need to borrow my car? Do you have a valid Manitoba Drivers Licence? Cool, don’t forget to signal your turns. To compare, in Ontario, my insurance cost around $1800 a year, and that enabled me to drive my car. If Bryan was to be insured on it, it would be an additional $2500+. Here, its $1400 for everyone in the entire province of Manitoba.

Because Civics are stolen so often (usually by new gang members. Apparently, its an initiation thing — steal a car, and kill someone with it. Welcome to Winnipeg.), I got a $50 annual discount for having an IMMOBILIZER installed. Imagine a dude with a really deep impressive voice saying that. IMMOBILIZERRRRR. So! The Immobilizer cuts of the supply of gas to the engine unless the fancy schmancy new sensor recognizes a little dangly thing on my key chain, which is unique to my car. If the dangly isn’t there, the car will.not.start. Those clever little gang members can pick the lock and tamper with the ignition to their hearts content — the Civ ain’t goin’ NOWHERE without my permission/dangly thing. Amazingly, the cost of having the Immobilizer installed (approximately $500) was TOTALLY covered by the insurance company. Cheaper for them to shell out $500 for a dangly sensor than $5000 for a new car. The best part? Included in the installation of the immobilizer was a little red flashing light that blinks every 5 seconds or so. I’m told that the specific pattern in which the light blinks will somehow enable me to start the car WITHOUT the dangly, if I’m an idiot and lose it. But I sure as hell won’t be doing THAT anytime soon, because the light blinky car starting pattern is damned complicated and I might as well push my car into a river and claim the insurance money because I seriously doubt I’ll be able to figure out said blinky pattern.

And also, the red blinky light obviously proves that my  car is now a Cylon.

I’m getting used to using THE CLUB everytime I park the car, and am also getting used to removing all valuables (including iPod radio dock, and car registration).

Everything closes before 6 on Sundays. Everything.

There is no 24-hour grocery store here. Seriously.

Despite not having a huge group of girl friends back home, I really REALLY miss the ones I had. I only recently became friends with a girl here, also named Emily, who has an alarming number of things in common with yours truly. She’s quite fantastic, and I can’t wait to hang out with her more, but its incredibly hard to live in a city where you don’t have many friends, or ANY girl friends. I don’t really have anyone to girl-talk with, or vent to, or halfheartedly complain about Living With A Man (not that I have any enormous complaints… thats just a section of normal Girl Talk). The cafe I work in strongly reminds me of the diner where the girls from Sex and the City go for their weekly lunches, to catch up and have girl talk and to gossip and to laugh. I see groups of girls in there doing exactly that ALLLLLLLL the time, and it makes me quite pouty. I can’t imagine where I’ll meet girl-friends that I really click with either, which makes me EXTRA pouty. I mean, yeah, Other-Emily is rad, absolutely, and some of the other people I work with are cool, I guess, but… I just.. miss talking to someone just knows what I’m talking about, and knows all the backstory and everything. I guess that’s what I get for moving to a strange city and leaving my close friends behind. Pouty…

I’ve been working 6 days a week at Baked Expectations, which is almost always crazy busy and hectic (which I LOVE). Oh, I’m sorry, did I say days? Because I definitely meant NIGHTS. 6-12 or 6-1, which means that I don’t see the few friends I have in Winnipeg, like ever. They all work day jobs, and need their post-midnights for sleeping. I, on the other hand, sleep most of the day, and am wide awake late at night and ready to party. This results in an even lonelier Emily than could have ever been imagined. But thank you Sweet-Teeny-Baby-Jesus, because Beth (the owner of Baked, Medusa-incarnate. Imagine Miranda Priestly from The Devil Wears Prada, and then picture how she’d react to glass streaks on a cake display case. “Emilyyyy-ahhh! Wipe up this DISGUSTING mess, how could you possibly neglect to see them there? Absolutely appalling…”) has decided that I’m not a complete idiot, and has said that as of this week, I’ll be the new Daytime Counterstaff Ladyface. Wednesday to Sunday, 11-6. Oh-Fuck-Yes. BUT I’m not getting my hopes COMPLETELY up for this somewhat promotion, because like I said, Beth equals Medusa equals Miranda Priestly. Seriously. She drops by for a surprise visit and everyone has a full blown panic attack. There are frantic phone calls made to other employees that consist of “HOLYFUCKINGHELL SHES HERE. SHES HERE RIGHT NOW AND YOU TAPED A POSTER TO THE WINDOW ON A SLIGHT ANGLE AND SHE WANTS TO ANALLY RAPE YOU WITH HER SCORN”. That being said, I’m not scared of her. She can huff and puff and tell me that I wiped the counter improperly, but I will still apologize and agree and wipe the counter however she wants… while she’s in the cafe. As soon as she leaves? Ohfuckthat. Anyways, I’m not getting my hopes up because Beth is insane, and for all I know, tomorrow she’ll change her mind and decide that I have an attitude problem…

Anyhow, its now almost 4am and my rum is gone. “But why’s the rum gone?” Why indeed, Johnny Depp, why indeed…

PS Its blog entries like this that make me lean back and go “Huh. I really can write well, when I want to…”





Living Together

30 08 2008

After living in Winnipeg for a week, Bryan and I took a quick trip back to Thunder Bay, to pick up Lucy-cat, among other things. We got back into Winnipeg yesturday morning after driving halfway (4 hours, to Dryden), staying in a hotel, and leaving again at dawn to finish the trip. We (aka especailly me) were worried that driving all day in the hot sun would be too hot for Lucy, and indeed it was ! After about 15 minutes in the car, Lucy was panting and running around the car meowing her face off. So I pulled Cat-Mother rank and turned back to my parents to wait until later that evening. Its been a loooong couple of days. Lucy is slowly adjusting to the apartment, and all the strange noises that the pug upstairs makes, and footsteps in the hall, etc. Most of the time, she can be found sitting on the windowsill in the living room, watching/gurgling at the pidgeons that roost in the building across Knockturn Alley the back alley. She’s still a little freaked out by the newness of everything, and the tramatizing car ride, and being torn away from that nice man who made sure Lucy had her very own teeny scoop of ice cream every night (Thanks, Dad). But she’ll settle down and get used to it.

In a Facebook message to a friend of mine, I said that so far, living with A BOYYYY was going pretty well. I mentioned that I was surprised that Bryan hadn’t smothered me with a pillow yet, as I can get pretty annoying, especailly at night when he’s trying to sleep and I’d much rather bounce around on the bed while singing Spice Girls. He claims that he just hasn’t found the right pillow — too many of ours are fantastic for sleeping-time, or have designs on them that would help Gil Grissom identify them as the murder weapon. Which would be bad, for him, and also for me, because I’d be quite murdered.

This morning, I woke up before my alarm went off and got up to feed Lucy, hopeing that she would break her own tradition and actually eat today. She practically wrestled me to the ground to get at her food as quickly as possible, and then only ate half of it before rushing back to her windowsill to heckle the pigeons. Or, more realistically, be heckled by the pigeons. Anyhow, so she ate for the first time in a two days, so I ran into the bedroom, jumped on the bed, and shouted “BRYAN LUCY ATE! SHE ATE FOOD AND I DIDN”T EVEN HAVE TO BRIBE HER WITH MILK! SHE ATE IT ON HER OWN!” Bryan replied “uh..thats really great Em, really, I’m thrilled, but could you maybe have waited until I wasn’t in the middle of sleeping-time to tell me about it?” I then said “Oh. Okay!” and bounded from the room — really, I seriously bounded. I had already had two cups of coffee by this time and was definitely not in the middle of sleeping-time.

Two minutes later, I bounded back into the bedroom, jumped on the bed and shouted “BRYAN LUCY JUST POOPED! SHE POOPED AND THAT MEANS SHES STARTING TO GET SETTLED DOWN! SHES GETTING USED TO LIVING HERE SO SHE POOPED!” And how did Bryan respond? He rolled over and muttered “I seriously need to find a good smothering pillow…”