Wow. My life is a crazy jumble of events and epiphanies lately. At least I got laid somewhere in the struggle though, I think. Short-lived, but nice.
In short, I went and saw Matt Good the other night at Klondike days, which was a definate highlight. Afterwards, we sort of wandered around in places where we by all means should have gotten killed and thrown into the river in the middle of the night, but managed not to. At one point, we were sitting directly under the highlevel bridge watching the LRT's go by (photo ops) and everytime one would pass, we would get bathed in this eery glow that illuminated our faces and the field that spread out below us. It was eery, but also remarkably beautiful. We really walked a lot that night, but for some reason, though I'd been weedeating the whole day, I wasn't tired at all during the whole thing. The stairs on the north side nearly killed me, but I repaired quite quickly afterwards. And finally...interesting people come to visit at four am in the morning. Ha.
I set up Cat Lady with Vespa boy. They're now completely infatuated with each other after the span of like two unofficial "dates". And I'm starting to wonder if maybe I'm just not supposed to be with anyone, and help others...be with others? Interesting.
Got kissed by a girl tonight. It was actually terribly adorable, because it was just this little tiny adorable kiss on the cheek by an old aqquaintance of mine, and ...awwww....
I'm moving on monday. Interested parties to help move? Email me, and I'll give you details.
Ok then...I got nothin' left. What a boring piece of shit this is.
Everything started innocuously, and then at the stroke of four a.m. things got weird.
The beginning of the night was awesome...good company, good concert (Matt Good), good photo ops, and a surprising amount of exercise, despite having weedeated for ten hours previous. I ended up cabbing it home with half of hydrasses music to burn the next day, which was awesome. However, I got home and immediately checked my email. Vespa boy was having problems. His roommates are terrible. I set him up with Cat Lady in an immediate epiphaniac moment, and they went out four hours ago and vow to see each other again. I'm really happy for them. Really.
Still nothing from the guy at work. The longer it takes, the more of a dolt I feel like, and how the likelihood of me ever being able to look him in the face again is rapidly diminishing. Perhaps I should just continue to go on random dates with random strangers and just write a novel about it.
The other thing I was thinking about today, is that maybe I just do want to be alone. I certainly don't send out "hug me forever, and I'll have your baby" vibes. And sex seems more and more overrated each day. Intimacy, no, but flesh pounding flesh with hoarse cries--I could take it or leave it.
I have a few things to say, but probably not with much style or depth, as these two things are not really the focal points of my life lately.
Finally giving up on finding something stylish and witty to approach him with, I ended up writing the most lamest note ever to the guy at work that I like. It's so benign and sincere and lame that at least I know I won't get slapped with a sexual harrassment suite....but I don't think I'll be getting any sexual interference either from this venture. It's too early to tell, but I'm riddled with holes of self doubt right now.
Last night I saw the most amazing movie I've seen in a long time, quite possibly making my summer of blockbustering awesometasticness super hit. "Crash" was incredible. Even more incredlble was that it was so amazing and it sneaked through the theatres without even being a sleeper hit. It's funny when you think about it though, because really, who wants to go see a movie that will confront you uncomfortably about any racial tendencies you might have? WestJet obviously took a little begging. I can't even speak about this though, really. You just have to see it. It was almost almost too "neat and happy hollywood" like Armageddon or Deep Impact (as far as plot evolution and conclusion and whatnot of several threads of storyline/character plots, but at the same time it wasn't. It was vulgar, honest and absolute brutality. And the best part was that the dialogue for this movie was fucking amazing. I mean, it would have to have been for the subject matter, but the dialogue was totally what made that movie so incredible. It's one of those films where you want everyone in the world to watch it, but you almost don't, because you don't want to sit in a theatre and learn uncomfortable things about the nature of the masses surrounding you. I wonder if the director even anticipated the actual theatre experience of the viewers, because I really noticed it. And you know, usually, you zone out to "hollywood" flics and ignore everything else (except of course the friends who are disgusting mouth breathers), but this one kept you riveted, and distinctly aware of how everyone else was reacting. People were actually discussing little bits of the movie as we went along, and for once, I was listening instead of shushing. Overall...very interesting. Very "I [heart] Huckabees" in a way too. If you see it, you'll understand.
As you can tell, WestJet is bugging the hell out of me. What do you do when you know someone who is so bitter and negative, and actually relishes trying to drag you down with him, who considers any suggestions, sympathy, or other viewpoint an "unwanted lecture", who is wallowing in his own self-pity, who can't talk about anyone but himself and his "horrible bad luck", and you can't stand being around him, but worry about what will happen to him if you're not his friend anymore? He's seriously destined to no good. It's like he prevents his own betterment on purpose because he feels that everyone "owes him one." It's fucking awful. And despite how annoyed and mad and offended he gets me, I just feel so bad for him. It's like having your eyelids peeled back for ten days to watch cottage cheese mold in the hot sun.
Moving! MOVING! Oh my god!! I will have HOME! I'm starting to freak out actually because I'm worried sick that something is going to go wrong, or that I'm going to have too much stuff. Or something. Which is odd, because I'm not usually so negative. I blame WestJet. It's a contagion. Seriously, I am getting excited, but I guess I sometimes have this little ingrained thing kick in where I'm like, "I'll believe it when I see it" that dampers it a little. And what a thing to have taken away from me. Yeah, it's just a thing, but right now, having a place to call home is actually the most important thing preoccupying my mind. And I don't want to run away to mexico necessarily if this somehow goes awry.
Speaking of Mexico... I have a friend who's going to Nevada for Burning Man on the 23rd of August, and I'm so fucking jealous... But, apparently (this is his second year going) he's done it for as little as seven hundred dollars. And, one of my crewmates went to Coachella in Palm Springs, at the end of last April, and it only cost her about five hundred to do. Both of them drove down. The first guy going to Nevada though, he even did that in a rental car, he just split it with his friends. I'm dying for a road trip next summer, and apparently Coachella is after finals...anyone interested? I haven't checked whether they would have the venue for next year up yet, but if they do...and it's good, I would love to go, with or without (but preferably with) some amigos. All we would need is a car, a tent and some food and water. And I guess, passports so as to prove we are not the terrorists.
His soul being the cheese. You get it.
Will you be my Johnny Cash?
Lots has been up lately. Allow me to elaborate via a list because I'm lazy:
* I recently got into a lot of crap at work because I had a really awful rage-on last thursday against my crew. I essentially worked my ass off all day picking those damn thistles, and heard nothing about garbage about my entire crew all day, and later, got ripped on by another crew joining in with my crew about how "they" had finished clearing a spot of thistles that I walked into, when they clearly hadn't. I'd pulled about three armloads out of fully mature (ie-taller than me) russian thistles by the time they got to me and actually told me that, along with the information that they'd just been pulling off the leaves so the plants were no longer recognizable as thistles, or kicking them down and flattening them. And the rage burned silently. Finally, at the end of the day, I confided in a shrub crew member (evidently one that didn't have as much oomph as I'd hoped she would) that I would be interested in a change of crew next year to trees & shrubs instead of grass. By the time I got home that night, I was seriously in the most inconsolable rage ever. I was like shaking I was so angry with work, and from the effort of keeping it all in and not exploding on my crewmates. My foreman got a wind of the shrubby conversation the next morning however, and bawled me out in a "drive" in the foreman truck right at the beginning of the shift, and made me feel like a complete louse for the whole day. It completely didn't dawn on me that I was disrespecting him, until after he had to point it out, which is completely awful. And I also realized that once again, I'm taking this stupid job much more seriously then I should be. So the next day was fine, because I pulled out of it. It was even enjoyable.
I realized that I'm so afraid of getting into trouble, or forgetting how to work hard, or doing things that I completely know are so unethical (like the things my crewmates are very apt to do) that my working manners go into complete overdrive. I can't afford to lose this job. They can, and I can't, and I worry myself sick about it and turn into the biggest bitch ever as a result. I won't deny though that there may have also been some PMS at work either.
*I'm a big ball of stress. My financial situation has taken a startling divebomb in the last few weeks, and I'm rather paranoid about it, and upset that my parents might find out and hate my guts because the amount of money that I will be contributing to my life at this point is the lowest it's been in the last four years. It's downright pathetic, so I've been reading student loan stuff all evening and fretting. When it really comes down to it, I'll still have the option of a Student Line of credit, but of course I'll still worry myself sick about how my parents are going to take it when I tell them I have about eight hundred and seventy five bucks to my name with only four weeks or so of work left for the summer, when I should feasibly have something like four grand at least, like last year. I seriously don't know what happened, I'm usually so fucking frugal and something has gone horribly wrong with me this summer, because I've been pissing it away like crazy.
The good news is that if I get a student loan, I'm also eligible for a Northern Alberta Development student bursary, which ranges from $500-$1500. All you have to do is be over "the line" that segregates northern Alberta from Southern, and CL just made it. It's not much, but it would help.
*I had a date last Thursday with someone I will dub Johnny Cash, because he's originally a country boy from up north. It turns out that he went to Junior High with a very good friend of mine too, actually. Anyways, Johnny seems to be a really well-rounded guy, and his sense of humour is awesome. I really enjoyed myself, despite the fact (eat it up, it's terrible...) that he kicked my ass like seven times straight in pool. It was incredibly humiliating, but for once, I absolutely didn't care. Having someone that would play pool that long with me, and so devotedly (he loves it), even if I never see him again, was excellent. But I have to admit, though he's more quiet then any of my friends, I really kind of like him. Even if it just ends up being a friendship, he's a great guy. He needs more excitement in his life, and gad knows I'm a walking soap opera. It'd be great.
*However, after the aboveforementioned pool-vana, I got a little loaded at the Back Room Vodka Bar. It's an awesome place, and I finally met the Harem. Tres cool. Finally, intelligent, non-catty girls who have their wits about them. They were a riot to talk to.
*Tonight, my parents dragged me to the funniest thing ever. A 75th birthday bash for the mother of my dad's old high school buddy, over by Whyte. I learned the polka in two minutes, and spent the rest of the night doing these "Ukranian aerobics" with anyone who would dance with me. Usually my dad (for some inexplicable reason, we're both huge fans of the polka now--what the fuck?), but sometimes my mom or some of the kids. It was completely awesome. We knew (between the three of us) only four people there, max. The last time I saw those four people I was a) an infant, or b)about five years old. One of the kids wasn't even born the last time I saw them.
I have decided however, that we should find a polka bar. It's seriously seriously a fun time. It's goofy, it's dorky, but it's a hell of a workout, and you're always laughing. And honestly...you can't help but smile when you hear polka music. It's impossible.
This band by the way, was called "the Hammertones". I don't know if they have a website, but they ruled. Johnny Cash covers, Ukrainian music (polka), Russian music (like rock 'n roll, sung in Russian...awesome), Elvis, Captain Tractor, and of course, they capped the night off with "Spanish Eyes." So help me god, I thought I was going to cry when the octagenarians were slow dancing and murmuring into each other's ears. It was the sweetest thing ever.
Even more suprisingly (perhaps "nauseating" would be more apt) my parents danced quite a lot. Usually they do like one or two, but tonight they seemed to be infected with the sentimentality of days past. My dad's friend and his wife (then-girlfriend) were actually bridesmaid and groomsman at my parent's wedding too, so that might have been something to do with it. Ick.
*I had a lot of fun today shopping for apartment junk with Fenton. It's funny, because we always sort of bicker, but we always come to the same conclusion in the end for the most part. It helps that we're both on the same wavelength of practicality most of the time too, but I've never had as much fun arguing with anyone as I do with Fenton. It's like sport sometimes, LOL.
I've decided that I want to get a full back covering tattoo. Of course it won't hide what I like to call "the grossness" that is all my unattractive humpery doo-ness, but I am looking at it as sort of a "making ugly beautiful" project. What it will be and where I will find the money, I don't know, but the idea seems immensly appealing right now. I do really want something that suits me though, symbolically, I suppose, but I also don't want something dark and depressing like, "this-signifies-my-shitty-life-and-how-strong-I-am-now". I have a feeling I should do the designing of this, but as of now, the only thing I keep thinking about is a big leaved tree with words forming the grooves in the trunk. What words? Good question.
And I'm a little melancholical right now, I admit. I can't pinpoint it exactly, but something is picking away at me.
I'm reading the trashiest book ever right now, involving a certain Carcharadon Megaladon, and I can't put it down. The idea of a 75 foot long, glow in the dark
shark is just much too appealing for me to drop it and run away in shame. And it's written so poorly that I should actually find this author and slap him across the face. Of course, this does give me optimism for the future with my own writing though.
"What's the quote number for being drunk? 64532 or 673--BLAAAAARRRGH!!"
got really really plowed last night. It was very uncomfortable, but at least the poor fish didn't choke on his own vomit in his sleep and die. That would have been unfortunate.
The football game was also last night: Eskimo's vs. the Blue Bombers. It was a terrific game (whaa??? writing about sports?). The Esk's totally had the thing until the second half when a kick put the Bombers one point over the Esks. AND THEN, in the last two minutes (maybe like 1 minute and twenty seconds rather...) the Esk's totally pulled it together and made one more touch down, and it was bloody incredible. You think you are capable of sitting down and enjoying something like a spectator sport in complete calm serenity, and then all of a sudden, you see something like that and you're automatically on your feet yelling, but you're brain is going, "what the fuck? Why are you tuning into this mob mentality crap? But, hey, that was fucking amazing, wasn't it?"
Lastly, I caught a tiny football to play catch with in our new apartment.
Today, we saw the actual place. There was a rodent cage and assorted rodent accessories hidden in the closet of the room I'm claiming. It smelled really bad, and at first I thought possibly the rodent corpse had been abandoned, seeing as everything was there for it except for itself. Which leads me to believe that it a) got crushed by a box during the move or b) needed to be smuggled out, or c) jumped out the window and plunged 23 stories to it's timely and less scented demise. Yes, the apartment was in disgusting shape. "They"  assured us that all the left over torn gaunchies, "Glow" magazines, animal accessories/site of animal demise, and little styrofoam flecks and other strange things would be gone before we moved in, and that we would get our carpets steam cleaned. Additionally, my grandmother and I will be cleaning it thoroughly before we move in, and thank christ for that.
I'm really fucking tired, and mildly upset about things.
I got sort of dragged to the Roost tonight, which gave me mixed feelings. I intensley dislike one of his friends who came out tonight, which never helps things. However, his other two friends were really nice, one in particular, who was hilarious. Much like yesterday however, I found myself sort of detached from all the going-ons, and feeling much more inclined to just watch things rather then participate and interact. I played shoot-'em-up zombie games a lot tonight, as well as some pin-ball, which I did awesome at, because I rock at it.
Sidenote: an old arch nemesis by the name of "Mattdyka"  showed up and was dancing next to us before I realized what was up, and weirdly enough, I kept mentally begging her to pick a fight with me (the dislike is mutual- a rare thing with me) because I was so so incredibly bored and itching for anything else to do then pretend that "I am a dancer, just like you. We are all so happy and ignorant, and love this shitty music dearly."
 Once upon a time, there was a girl who wanted to get fucked so badly that she would mess around with whomever would give it to her, on either side of the sex pool, but if it was a girl...she would deny that she was gay...and continue to do dirty things with said victim who happened to have a very tough and probably overly-protective best friend. The best friend saw this happening for a long time and then, after the last parting fight between the girl and Mattdyka, the bestfriend sent her a "strongly worded" email about where she should go, how fast, and what to wear (which is nothing...because it's durn hot in hell). Mattdyka runs away, but hates the best friend forever. And the devil walks the earth afterall. The End.
 The landlords/slum managers/omnipotent forces
Galley kitchen's ahoy!
So, it happened in the middle of a field today. The sun was blazing, we had sweaty bodies and muscles gleamed as the moment drew closer and closer. I gasped slightly, and widened my eyes in surprise as it drew nearer, dropping my rake and seizing it.
We actually got approved for the apartment! It's not so suprising in retrospect, but it's riddled me with anxiety for a few days, so getting through to a human voice today to confirm this delightful news was awesome. I screamed across the field at coworkers in my excitement, as they kept working. I should have been working also (at this task of reducing wetland to aesthetically pleasing to the eye), but I absolutely had to know.
And the rest of my day has been sort of spent looking around glassy eyed and feeling sort of fat.
The girl who's ex I'm interested in, is telling me way too much about the guy. I mean, it's almost uncomfortable knowlege now, because if I actually follow through with this, I'm going to have to pretend that I don't know where he lives because ex didn't
drive by his house today repeatedly pointing it out each time. And I actually saw him twice today, but failed to gather any chutzpah up to go talk to him. It's surprising, because I'm only possessing of my cojones when I don't give two shits about who I ask out. When I really do care ... I'm uselessly shy and easy to fluster. But, only if I don't know them that well, which, in his case...still isn't that much. But my coworker seems bent on making him as unsurprising as possible, because she's so excited about the prospect of us dating or something.
We had a potluck at work today. My god...such good food. I would list, but we all apparently brought too much of it. I have left over sausage rolls. They didn't go over so hot because I didn't have time to heat them up. Well, I should hope not, as I rapidly bought them on taxpayer time. Ha ha.
My grandma shrunk my Warning teeshirt, and yet, I remained oddly cool. It is just a shirt. And apparently, it will stretch out again, though when I was stretching it again when it was re-wetted, it seemed like it might dry in a disproportionate and skewed manner.
My posts have been a wee bit superficial as of late. I apologise. Too much in brain not escaping.
el foto nono
My foreman took pictures of me and an unassuming crewmate today with his cell camera and of course, my skin fell off afterwards, but it was ok.
Really really... I've been in an excellent mood, except for the fact that the lady from the apartment complex that we're trying to get a place in phoned my house today with a vague message to just phone her back. And I had to leave two messages because I forgot to leave my phone number in the first one. And she didn't say, "yes, you can live here you nice girl and boy", or "die scum". Any of those two answers would have been good, but nope...no sleep for yet another night. It's killing me, and to make matters worse, everyone keeps talking about it like we have it already, and we don't.
Seriously, my day has been good. A little tiny bit of work, and a lot of proverbial fucking of dogs for the rest of the day. We rubbernecked an accident, drove around, and picked all the islands of weeds on SA Trail in rush hour traffic. I tell you, you want near death experience, try that on for about three hours of semi-trucks threatening to clip your elbows on an island that sometimes narrows to about a foot wide in the middle of six lanes of death and mulched bones. It feels kind of good thoug, I admit, to walk on an island like that and be fearless, and have an ever so slightly cocky swagger while you do your thing. We got whistled at today numerous times. Hot. Nothing makes me want to jump in your pants inside your hot car more then some lewd leering and a crude comment or noise.
Asked my co-worker's permission today to ask out her ex-boyfriend. Permission granted, and joyously so. She really thinks we'd make a great match. Now, if only I could gather up the gumption to cross that line, much less make eye contact with the guy without giggling and running away.
I'm tired, and still nervous.
I went to Paradise Pets the other day, and scoped out new living arrangements for Snakelet, and unlike the fortune I thought I'd be paying, I'm only going to shuck out around $140 for snake nirvana. It's huge and wonderful, well ventilated, and escape proof. And blessedly light and rather rad looking. Very exciting.
Bought brand new Evolution shoes from WestJet's brother, (they were too small), for fifteen dollars. Well SPENT! They're so cool.
TV makes me fat
Today has been a good day, but I've been feeling oddly lethargic, and thusly could tell you about every show that happened during primetime and at least four hours prior to it. I did absolutely nothing. I'm sure there were zounds of things that I could have been doing, but I didn't do anything. I ate a lot of cherries though, as my parents evidently harvested and brought back an orchard of them. They say (starting sentences with "they" representing some sort of omnipotent force, is my grandma's favorite thing to do) that cherries if overindulged on will give you the runs but really it's a load of...well, you get it.
I realized today, and it is humourous a little but mostly sad, that I have no idea what sort of procedure goes into getting "the internets" hooked up in an apartment. I've never had to do it before, and when I thought about how to do it, all that came to mind is the collective hearsay of millions of other people who bitch about it constantly. So dumb.
Was supposed to go to coffee with an old girlfriend today and lost her phone number. Now, I feel like a big shithead, because I totally did want to see her. On the subject of old girlfriends... My dress for the wedding is here. I have yet to pick it up and get it altered, but I suppose I should get on that. Fuck.
*quit smoking (of course, I could get a heads up on that now)
Rest of July?
*spend no money
*get new bank
*get student loan/or SLC
*Curl up and die.
*Confirm place to live (not in this order)
All my fridays off are evidently going to have some good use after all.
I did a tally of future monthly expenditures (not including school crap) and it came to something like $592 a month. However, it might be fifty bucks less if by some chance between the two of us we only spend fifty bucks a month each on groceries.
 This isn't including internet/phone bills, or laundry money, because I have no clue what the former two will cost at this point.
rock and/or roll
Wow...I'm stressed out. We
went to our first viewing today, and I was a nervous wreck and probably still am. I didn't sleep last night because I thought that a) the place was going to be terrible, or b) it would be really nice, but there would be a hitch.
Hitch number one: apparently, you have to make a huge initial dropping of money to install your first phone line. Solution? Voip (...) or Primus. I'm more inclined to try Primus, but will have to convince my roommate that we should step into the future perhaps (ie- be cheap bastards/bitches).
Seriously though...I love the place. It sounds probably insanely naive or stupid to like the first place you see, but I see it as us being incredibly stupidly lucky. Because it is really nice. I don't even mind the small kitchen, and I don't even mind that there is no balcony. Everything else in the location more then makes up for that. And personally...the galley kitchen is kinda fucking cute. And we have an oven, and that's all I cared about kitchenwise. As an unexpected bonus: any small creature that doesn't have fur, a bark/meow box and a need to defecate more then six times a day, is allowed in the building. Score!
So, really, all that happened after that was that my parents phoned, and predictably, doubted any or all of the decisions that I have made or decided to make at any given point in the day. Because apparently...everyone needs to second guess anything that I do, because my judgement is piss poor, and of course, I haven't learned anything from a) my parents, or b) 7 fucking years of transient ass-protecting existence. I got really mad at my mom over the phone, because I was really sort of tired, I am stressed (Because I totally knew it would happen I guess, that she would automatically question my judgement), and really sort of offended that she apparently thinks I can't do anything without their consultation. She's irate because she doesn't think that Fenton is meeting me halfway on location, which is total bollocks. I've known from the beginning that I don't want to live around campus, and that I prefer the downtown area. And that I love being around Jasper, and China town, and that ultimately, I feel more comfortable there, then in a radius populated by more drunken frat boys and beatiful fake people then I can count.
Things to discuss tomorrow, in this order, with my parents: (I'm writing them down so I don't get disorganized...but mostly so I don't lose my nerve)
a) I am doing my IPT this fall, picking up all my extra courses in my winter semester, and doing my APT next september, to graduate in December. I will complete any extraneous stuff in one of those two summers, and yes, convocate in 2007. I didn't want to do my practicums back to back, because it seems infeasible that I could get all my extra courses done in one set of spring and summer sessions. It also seemed like it would lead to a lot of unnecessary stress. Additionally, I have no wheels- I don't therefore forecast myself as being able to have a summer job (where I am currently situated) and also get myself to my spring/summer classes on time, and in fit condition to learn.
b)I am switching banks. An upgrade.
c) I am applying for a student loan. If this fails, I am getting a student line of credit, and they WILL co-sign for it if they have to. The less money you have to shell out, the more likely I will be able to live my own fucking life in a non spoonfed sort of way.
d) Stop doubting me. If/when you doubt me, you make me feel like I can't do anything right on my own, and that I have poor judgement, and that I have to ask you all the time in order to do things the "right way". It really fucking bothers me.
Hm... still mad. I better sleep on this.
I've decided today to get used to people being unreliable. I have friends who are reliable and I treasure that, but I also have friends who are not, but I've decided that it isn't a big deal after all if I just don't rely on them for anything.
I really doubt it.
Stunning developements on the homefront:
Edgebert has exercised his biological privilege of being a hermaphrodite. Confusingly, I was looking into my grandfather's fishtank and noticed a micro-plague invasion of tiny snails. Understandable, maybe, because Edgebert has been in there since the untimely demise of Copernicus.
However...enter the twist: Edgebert has been in Leo's tank for about five weeks now. Five weeks ago, I also dumped Copernicus' deathwater into the sink and refilled the tank with tap water. After I notice the baby mollusks in Leo's tank, I snort and glance over into the other tank, and nearly choke on my diet cranberry soda as I watch itty bitty snails, smaller
then the ones in Leo's tank, use the root system of the rhodenderon as a playground, in tap water
. The possibilities here, are endless, and sort of boggling.
The way I figure it, is that obviously Edgebert needed an optimal temperature for this all to happen, and given that this pad is stifling hot, he got it, and deposited some eggs right before the death of Copernicus, somewhere in the root system, whether he bored and deposited, or just had a gelatinous mass, like the red riders that I used to have. So...those eggs sat, and needed another optimal temperature before they hatched--but in the meantime, in the new tank, he probably layed more at the tail end of the first good temperature, and they hatched right at the beginning of the second heat...making them roughly older..and oh my fucking god I don't know.
I do know that they'll probably keep multiplying though, and it will be the snails taking over the tanks, in a big incestuous family way, devouring everything in their paths like little grit-toothed hoovers.
Oh my god...what if edgebert laid eggs in the tank and Copernicus ingested them? They would have eaten him inside out...and maybe that's what killed him. Ahh...that's just crazy talk.
The science to this is awful-- there is no need to comment on the fact. Bio major? Shut it.
Unless you're one of my favorite nerds.
In other news, Bento's boy and I got to do our first aid course at work, and spent the day staunching each other's imaginary amputations and rapid blood loss, and giggling at the stupid boys in our class, because they're total lunkheads. It was stupid but funny actually, because everyone was trying to be so cool, that they never did any of the demos properly (except for, I suppose, the ones that have actually witnessed a gory first-aid scene and recognised the seriousness of it), and it kind of made me fearful. Even more fearful-- our instructor basically spoonfed the answers to the test to us. If we got some wrong, "as long as you correct them, you pass." Fucking lame. I mean, what's the point of testing us on common sense then? But we got nifty books, and pull-out posters for CPR, so I suppose it wasn't a total bust. Bento's boy and I also went to lunch at Taco Time, this ancient one that has been in SA for as long as I can remember.
It's absolutely stupid, but whenever I go in there, I always feel like a con who's just crossed the border and is just waiting for the immigration police to bust down the door and shoot my ass up over my Mexi-Fries. Ok, that's not very funny, but it's the atmosphere of the place. All it needs is a layer of dust, some dead flies, and a lazily turning ceiling fan. When I was little, I remember it being really dark and cave-like in there, a perfect hideout for banditos.
So there's this other thing I've been mulling over lately. Now-- I realize that we never stop growing, experiencing, learning and generally learning day by day how to not get our asses killed, but this weird incidence has snuck up on me for some reason: I am an experienced adult. I'm not very naive. In fact, as each day passes, I'm more in touch with reality then I was the day before, which is funny, because I suppose you'd think this would turn me into a negative nancy, or go all existential crisis, but I'm actually rather appreciative of it. Lately, I keep looking at people, and seeing right through them. Seeing what's inside, and what exactly the motives behind the things they do or say are. Now, maybe that just sounds like I'm at peace with being judgemental or something, but it's not. It's more like that. I haven't said much, but all of a sudden I'm making all these inner calls on people, and I'm being proven right.
Another thing relating to this, is the weird thing that occurs when you meet someone and think you're so "behind" them, and then all of a sudden surpass them in their "growth" as it were, and end up looking back at them...and I hate to say it, but smiling that knowing smirk. Never to their face though.
Everything has just seemed really clear lately. And it's sort of hilarious, because the proverbial shit sort of hit the fan on Sunday, and I seriously thought I was fucking doomed (a symptom of shock I've since learned), but by the end of Monday I had it figured out and knew exactly what alternative course of action to take next.
Suck on that Ma. I think I'm onto the next phase. Warning: War of the Worlds Spoiler (see how considerate I can be?)
A little blip about "War of the Worlds": This movie...reeked of badly planned jump shots (not scary!), poorly (ie-unfrightening) designed aliens (is that true to the story? Someone tell me), but, I gotta say, I liked the special effects, they were pretty cool, if you could get past that little blond girl screaming and crying for the whole movie
"Oh Dakota Fanning, you're such a talented actress! However did you muster up the chutzpah
for such a challenging role?"
The only thing was, is that like every other disaster flick out there, the plot played heavily on these cliched human behaviors under pressure. You see "the survivor, forted down in his basement- "Nyah! I'm going to live through this and kill every fucker who tries to stop me!"- or the panicky white couples (Betty and Bif, you know?) who get blasted out of their socks constantly, maybe just for their constantly fear-rolled eyes. Of course, there are a couple of given mob scenes where people tear down people, kill other people because of desperate singlemindedness. Enter blind boy youths, staunchly driven to protect and save their country who walk off into slaughter. The list goes on. Hollywood rot. If I closed my eyes in select spots, it actually reminded me of every zombie movie I've seen in the last two years.
Additionally, there were some attempts at "dramatic cinematography" that were quite awful. You know what I mean, the long shots of "powerful and disturbing scenes of complete silence meant to stir awe or tears." Yeah...it didn't work! WestJet and I hooted in laughter when all the bodies floated down the river in front of Daytona Fanning. Like, it was fucking hilarious to see that kid trying to take a pee and instead, get scarred for life. And people started laughing at us, because we were laughing. Another "hitting the propeller" moment, served up by yours truly. The one that deserves mentioning the most however, is the shot of the clothing fluttering out of the sky in the dark fog-lit forest. Oooh....the clothes of the dead masses are falling from the sky... This would have worked in so many other ways, but it didn't, because it just looked like some Italian grandma accidently spilled her laundry basket over the balcony.
Final flaw that should be obvious by now: The aliens were exterminating the humans with big death rays that essentially incinerated them--however-- the clothes were always left behind. What the fuck?
I have to admit though, I liked the Tripod robots. Nothing else was creepy, but they were. And the human blood = fertilizer part was gold. And the end, the end was good, but it was weird that his ex-wife and her parents stepped out the door like they'd just finished their afternoon tea while everyone else around them is beaten to shit, including their neighborhood. There was no closure, other then, "oh wow dad, we love you now
I've been phoning strangers about places all day. So far it's going well, and we have our first viewing on Saturday. I have to admit though, I have this sick dread in my stomach that we might not find anything, even though it's completely unfounded. But so help me god, if I end up living with relations again, I'm outta here. I'll quite school and take off for good.
"Mary Moore, she's fucking irrational
I watched the news today, and was horrified to see an old aqquaintance had been killed in the line of duty. Mr. Agostinho was a great help to my family in a time of crisis, both legally and personally. Everyone knew and respected him in our town, and out of all the law enforcement we had, and all the hellions, never once did I meet a kid that would utter an ill word against him. He always had a kind word to say, was always cheerful, and did so much more then just "police" our town. The first time I met him, he was giving me and some GG's I was leading at the time a tour of the old RCMP station (it looked like a bomb shelter), and afterwards he was the member of the force that I would encounter most often in my time in that town. He will be missed.
Parting the red sea. Of ocean.
I woke up in the middle of the night and realized that I was in what should have been an excruciating position for my injured knee, but was actually comfortable, like old times. Even better, when I woke up, miracles occurred and I was able to walk on my leg unassisted.
BAZAAM! I'M CURED!
Ok, so I'm still a little stiff and incredibly leery of said limb joint crumbling out from under me, but hey... more optomistic then I was. I figure I will be leaping about by monday and ready for work again.
As for my actual weekend? Super awesome time had by me until that fateful Sunday morning. On Saturday night, we anchored up into a flotilla with five other boats and had a really nice supper all together, passing dishes from boat to boat, and of course, getting thoroughly hammered on wines with names I cannot even pronounce. Overall, it was hideously pretentious a time, and I was very uncomfortable, but enjoyed all the food anyways and just tried not to make an ass of myself. Which worked, until the next day. Grace Kelly however, got loaded, and apparently this is the norm: "we are too loaded to get into our dock slots, so we will moor out in the bay for the night and sleep off our inebriation." So I spent the night watching the far shore fire off miscellaneous left over fireworks from the night before, and observing the sunset. It was really beautiful and peaceful. I've decided that if I have s/o one day, that I'll have to take them out and do a boat mooring or two minus the aunt.
And so, the clubspeople slept off their inebriation, and two of them awoke with a gross tonne of lakeweed on their anchor, and could not get said device back onto the boat, on top of blustery winds that helped to make the boat extra unmaneuverable as a result. Crashy crashy! We didn't actually crash into anything, but I-- in all my monkey footing from bow to stern trying to fend off other boats as we basically drifted out of control, wrenched my knee socket again.
And so, that is the story of how a girl crippled herself and got a sunburn by laying on the dock having tylenol and other assorted miscellaneous prescription drugs thrown at her until leaving to go to the hospital.
Today has been really good. But boring. I've begun the apartment hunt though, which is very exciting.
Pissing the time
These are all the injuries I have witnessed today and their complications: one stab wound with the recipient high on PCP, one homeless woman with raw swollen ankles who apparently was a concert pianist formerly, a gunshot wound, another stabbing/gunshot wound, a head/pitchfork injury, a non-hemorraging stroke, two heart attacks, a beaten up hooker, and a kid being slowly injured and then "nursed" back to health by his mom.
Thankyou TLC. You fill my days, and make me want to learn first aid. I'm not going to lie to you though, this is fucking depravity, and also all I have to fill my days up with, aside from my boiling hot place and naggy grandmother, as well as an unfortunate allergy to Tylenol 3's. Advil just doesn't have that edge, you know?
The only kicker is that in a "Misery"-esque turn of events, WestJet has promised to visit. Every fucking day.
In conclusion: Good bye debt free existence, hello student-I-fucking-fucked-up-my-summer-employment-loan. I don't know if I was crying more over my financial situation or the pain on Sunday.
Seriously emo conclusion? God my life fucking sucks. But not in a TLC "Life in the ER" sort of way, which is lucky I suppose. A pitchfork protruding from the skull could have left a damper on my sex-life.
In accordance with the only mildly insulting prophecy
, I have returned. You can commence with the applause and throwing of cat food, or point in case, as of yesterday, "Cat Lady" action Figures. What flavor do I prefer? Science Diet, for the roly poly cat.
Sorry about the lack of linkage- I seem to have estranged myself from the big huge "site" of all my friends because of the stupid error that occurred in construction-- I have to work on that, and sadly, get a new site counter because the new template loading wiped it out. Foreseeable, but the egotist in me is sad that it's not there anymore. I miss my weirdo hits.
The last few weeks have been surprisingly mundane, save for overreactions to some things to make life more interesting. Bottom line though is that is a waste of energy to be mad at the apathetic or the self-absorbed. BSPV was a surprising no-show last week though, which was really shitty. Really SHITTY.
I've seen some really good shows lately however, which have also jostled up my summer days, such as Non-Status, an aboriginal rap-group that I really fucking liked, contrary to most everyone else whom I talked to about it, as well as Pocket Dwellers and Sweatshop Union. I do believe there are plans in the works to go see K-Os too, which I know I will enjoy. I know they're almost a bit "Top 40", but I like their style. Speaking of "Top 40", I feel like my diction is middle aged today.
"You're on the POT, aren't you? You young people, you think you're so HIP, and ..with it."
Interesting thing: My grandmother's friend has a granddaughter in the throes of hardcore rebellion right now, and she (the friend) thinks (seems to think) that if I (yes, I, as in ME, princess dysfunctional) sit her down and talk to her, that I could "straighten her out." So, I've been entertaining ideas of how to do this, if granted the opportunity (which, I'm not so sure I would take), and none of them would uninclude a punch in the face. I like her grandparents, and she's sure giving them a run. I actually got informed that she was probably one of the gaggle of young fifteen year old girls who were on SA Transit last week drinking rum and coke on the bus while I scowled scornfully from the back.
The rest of the week has been spent watching TV, mostly unproductive, but sometimes amusing, such as yesterday watching "the Nature of Things":
"The male Right whale has a penis about three meters long. When the female is ready to mate, she will be surrounded by many males vying for a position--"
(This small group of talking lady biologists in their mid-forties picks up their binoculars and scan a choppy gray sea full of vying whales and males)
"Oh, see? They're moving around her and pushing each other away- OH LOOK! I see a penis! Did you see that? Yeah! That was a penis! I'm sure it was!"
Of course it was a penis, what did you think there was a submarine periscope in the fray? Apparently, this is a big momentous biological moment, to see a (ok, I've said the word enough) piece of whale genitalia poke out of the water and wobble around momentarily. And as usual, I turn away and sort of die inside, because I don't like seeing animals show their wee-wees on the TV, much less what they use them for.
Lastly- the internet isn't real.