I was riding up the elevator to get to the apartment, and an older gent was in alongside me. I noticed that he was going to the Penthouse floor, and was mildly puzzled for a moment, because earlier attempts to even explore the penthouse floor had failed miserably, albeit substance abuse may have been a factor in that. I asked him stupidly if he thus had an apartment up there, to which he answered yes, and I told him I had never been up there (that I'd tried, and for some reason, it hadn't worked). I decided I'd just go up to the PH with him to check it out, see if maybe I could see the pool or something, in all it's magnificant disrepair, and he told me about how different the PH suites were. We got off the elevator and sort of left it at that while I wandered around the corner to confront a doubly locked door and griped, assuming he'd gone his merry way to his own apartment to have crumpets and tea or something distinguished. Because he struck me as being such, somehow, and yet still very down to earth, as far as you can value first impressions anyways.
So I came back around the corner, and he stuck his head out his door and asked if I'd like to take a look, as I'd exclaimed over the possibility of floor length windows on the elevator, especially facing North. And of course, being the cautious paranoid girl that I was, I nervously accepted the offer and he ushered me into his apartment, quite non-threateningly. And what an apartment! It's (superficial, I know) absolutely gorgeous. I had wondered what the lighting situation on the north side of the building would be like, but these windows are incredible. It's great light, not too bright, not too dim, and the windows stretch the entire width of the living room (two
"leveled" living room). And his apartment was littered with art. Old African face masks, drawings, paintings, just the most extraordinary art. But it was terrific too, because it was just so humble. He had like a beautiful long chaise, but he also had four milk crates (black) underneath a set of wooden platters that served as a coffee table, and his draft desk was this sturdy yet makeshift thing in the corner...it turns out that he has two bedrooms by the way, as well as a kitchen and a laundry room (with all the amenities), AND a washer and dryer. Lucky guy. He told me that he pays about $1000 a month, and I can see that it is worth every penny, because that "space" is just incredible. I would take a space like that, and live in it forever, seriously. It's not too small, but it's small enough to be cosy. Granted, it is people that "make the space" though too. But all this long rant is neither here nor there.
I won't say his name, but this man is incredibly accomplished. He's a sculptist, and also a retired Epidemiology prof from a place that I have been to in Quebec. His sculpture is what figures predominantly in his life right now, and he actually has an unveiling coming up in November for a cement reproduction of one of his sculptures to go on Rice Howard Way, that now, I'm incredibly curious about. We ended up talking about art and the location of the apartment and stuff for quite a while actually, and ended up exchanging email addresses (because I have no phone) with the intent of having coffee one day. He seems like a very interesting person to know, and he's very art smart, I was really impressed. And the sculpture that he had lying around was really awesome too. Apparently he has a studio where he does most of his work, down by Rice Howard also, which is insane.
So...then I came home, and looked around my place...which is awesome but then I was like, "a classy gent like that, come over here for coffee? I will wait until we have pictures up." LOL.
What an exciting weekend! My life is so much more fun than yours! Not really.
I actually had a good weekend for the most part...I feel like it was about halfway productive at least, in the fashion that I've been about three steps behind being completely on top of my life lately. There is no catching up...it's terrible. It seems sort of hopeless too at times (as far as catching up to everything) but at the same time, there are people doing the same thing I'm doing right now who have kids and whatnot, so I can't complain, really.
This program is eye poppingly easy, but at the same time, it's incredibly hard, because it's so compressed, and full to the brim with stupid assignments focussing on the analities of bureaucracy. Yes, there is no such word as "anality", but it fit.
Speaking of made-up words focussing on anal retentiveness...my latest group project has thankfully come to an end. I realized this morning via a email to Napoleon that in the entire school career that I've been in, K-now, I've never had such a bad group experience in my life. They were awful! There were staples and paperclips everywhere, and yelling, and stabbing, and ... it was terrible. It's over now though, and I think that I'm intact, except for this big hole in my soul for having suffered through it. I've never been so "stompy-stompy" about other people before, except for WestJet.
In the recent week or so, I've realized unfortunately that I'm going to have to cut down the nightlife activities. I've already begun, but I'm going to have to play hermit for a while...so a warning to all you avid cool hep guys out there, don't make it hard for me to say no, because you know I suck at saying no. . .
How does this even occur to me?
So, I'm all intent on pulling an allnighter, which truly, for the project, is a little on the dramatic side, even though it's 12, and I haven't even started yet. That said, I'm running on four and a half hours from the night previous, and three from the night prior to that.
It's understandable that caffeine might be necessary. Going to make the arrangements for stimulant however, was mind blowing.
One Ikea French Press $14.95
Maxwell House Classic Roast $peanuts. Shitty peanuts.
Discovering that your roommate disasembled the entire thing, piece by piece all while leaving the grinds from the morning previous still inside, to "clean" it...? I am still speechless. I don't know whether to be mad, or laugh my ass off, or ...
Let us never play this game again.
You did just do that.
Where to begin? The first sentence of a blog entry is always terrible.
This morning, I think I had the most useful class in my entire education faculty existence. It was a guest lecture about Multiculturalism in the classroom, and it really made me reassess and realize that yes, I am not screwing up enormously by staying in my faculty. I really do want to teach. I'm always having doubts, because the kind of teacher that the U of A faculty is trying to pop out of the cookie cutter is nothing like me, and I always feel sort of displaced by my own goals and ambitions. Only occasionally will I find people that feel the same way about what they're going to do (or not do, similarly) in the classroom. Or what they're going to be like as a teacher. This guest lecturer was one of them. He is a social teacher with about 10 years of experience, and completely enlightened us on his own innovative ways to foster a healthy multiculture embracing attitude in the classroom (as well as diversities of all aspects). And he was so passionate about what he did, and so capable of being himself in front of us and his own classroom, that he really made an awesome impression on me. And some of his assignments or discussion provoking activities are totally some I could rip off for English too. Funnily enough though, I started thinking today that I would love to be able to teach Social Studies too at one point if I could.
Realistically, this bodes well for me, because a teacher could just as easily be hired on to teach another completely different subject other than their minor or major. Anyways, one of the things that he did like once or twice a week, was to let the kids write out a rant or a little editorial. Punctuation and editting is something I could work in there in favor to the English curriculum (ha ha, or I could get them to edit my blog--don't say it. No more English teacher burns please...), but anyways, the kids get to read them in front of the class, no matter how contreversial, and they get to have time to discuss them as a class.
Lots of interesting things to think about today other than that though. Something I've been thinking about more lately is the Western ideal of individualism, and how this attitude has become so prevalent in our society and our classrooms. The thing that piqued it is the rememberance of really shy kids being forced to be able to present. You're always taught that you must have your own unique individual voice. It may not even have to be unique, but "one should be always established as an individual". If you look at Eastern European culture though, for example, it isn't like that so much--it's the collective voice, the communal voice, that people are accustomed to. In short, I realized today that pushing the kids that are shy, is not necessarily a good thing. Similarly, (although this seems obvious) there are a lot more intricacies to the actual "diversity" of students, once you look closer.
The other life affirming thing that this guy made me realize, or rather, put the groundwork down for me to follow the example of, was the open door policy, and the bond that a teacher should, or can have with their students. Mr. C. basically said that your job goes beyond just teaching. As a teacher, you are on of the most significant adults to that student at that time, other than their parents. They see you more than their parents even. This guy follows the progress of every one of his students incredibly closely, and basically summed up the genius by saying "if you show your students that you know your stuff, and that you actually care about their well being, you won't have any problems." It seems so simple, but I know a lot of people in my faculty that are going to have big problems with this.
Additionally, I hounded the poor guy after class specifically about native students, and what kind of problems he ran up against, if any, from other students in the class as far as the deep-seeded racism that runs against native peoples in the country. He told me essentially, that the more you integrate about a person's background and culture, the more knowlege you can bring in to battle ignorance, the better. I'm still skeptical of this, because when you think about it...we embrace the asian, the phillipino, the japanese, the Jupitorians (you get my drift) in our "mosaic-land of Canada" but for some reason, native people seem to be "the exception to the rule of our awesome open mindedness--because we're SO much more open minded than everyone else." I mean, admittedly, we try, but in the land of the educative curriculum, native studies (in public schools) falls flat on its face for the most part. The Iroquois' 'original range' was in Lower Quebec. They made canoes and slept in wig-wams. The end. There is no tie there, and never was, from contemporary to the past. It's this big ugly thing that we're still not talking about as much as we should be. Even today in Dose. Big alarms over a white girl killed in Ottawa. Would the stink have occurred with the people reacting so badly and so "it's not safe anymore" if it had been a native girl instead of a white one? I'm interested to know. Furthermore, they had little recaps of the Pickton victims, and the Edmonton victims, with a few pictures. Of the white ones. Nevermind that the majority of the victims, or at least half, in each of those situations, were aboriginal.
Mr. C also told me a great Creation story that is often overlooked about how the white man was actually viewed as "the long lost brothers" of the natives, "lost" via the land bridge (think Aleutians), which is why a lot of native first contact mythology reads as the aboriginal populace welcoming the white man with open arms. It wasn't until we reacted offensively and tried to wipe them out that things turned ugly. And I quoted him as saying, "yeah, we kind of owe them one." I'm still churning this around in my head though, I haven't quite decided what to make of that particular aspect of the conversation.
On the other hand though, I also talked to my Discipline Dominatrix Extraordinaire (Nina) further about the teaching in northern (predominantly native) schools, and about some of my goals and worries (cultural sensitivity and stuff)and she was absolutely incredulous but really impressed at what I wanted to do. She told me that "it would be hard as hell, but you definately seem like you're going to be one of the ones that do incredible at it, and I wish you luck." We talked about it for quite a while longer, and I'm getting the feeling that she's going to work more on the topic of really isolated rural schools into the curriculum for me. Awesome.
One thing that has been weighing on my mind though, is something that a guy in my counselling class last year brought up. He'd been working at summer camps and summer schools at a reserve up north, and it really put a toll on him because he started to wonder if it was "wrong" that he (a white boy) wanted to teach in all native schools, like it was inappropriate to do so. So I'm wondering about that a little, but at the same time, I can't overlook the fact that I just want to teach and make a difference as much as I can, anywhere. The situation that I witnessed in my own schools was reason enough to even want to do that. None of the native kids I went to school with graduated. None of them were informed of the secondary opportunities (via financial aid and stuff) that they were entitled to. None of them were encouraged, and a lot of them were pushed through, because teachers couldn't "deal" with what they were bringing into the classroom. I always watched it happen, and it always bothered me so much, and yet, I couldn't make enough sense of it to know what to do about it at the time either.
Lastly, I am excited about teaching. Could you tell? I'm excited in the aspects that teaching in a small community offers me uniquely. Involving the community, starting things up (projects, whatever), changing a life, and...you know, teaching stuff.
End rant 1.
My brother got married on Saturday... I ended up flying down to Kelowna on Friday afternoon, and coming back on Sunday afternoon, though I was delayed on the way back because of a breach in security at the Vancouver airport. In between that time though, I had a lot of fun. I met all the new family members (his bride's parents and whatnot) and I also met the new "niece." She's definitely a rotteweiler, but she's adorable, in a "Sid Vicious" sort of way . And she's gonna be huge, and pretty aggressive I think. Her mom was 130 lbs, and her dad was something like 180 lbs, which is fucking nuts. Funnily enough, I found that I was sort of indifferent to her though, and more happy to hang oot with Gage. Because he actually was happy to see me.
The actual wedding ceremony took place on the cliff in front of their house, with orchards to the rear, and facing out over the lake. The cliffs themselves are dizzyingly high, and the overall effect of two people getting married there was quite beautiful. The JP was really cool too. I haven't ever really seen a good civvy service before, but this woman tailored the whole thing specifically for my brother and his fiancee. Before and after the whole thing, there were also tremendous amounts of good luscious food too. And wine. Narramata being wine country...we had all sorts of primo stuff to try, it was awesome. I have to say too, that after a week of rain and assorted cold dampness in Edmonton, the 23 odd degrees celcius on Saturday didn't hurt things either. So yeah, I have a sister-in-law, it's quite exciting. She's quite a good friend too, which is nice. My mom made her wedding gown also, which turned out awesome. I'm going to have to get her to make mine maybe if I get married, because she did a really good job of it.
Well....this has been sufficiently long and boring. Done and done.
 Her real name is Sydney
Leavin' on a Jet Plane...don't know whether I'll crash into a burning pile of twisted metal rubble or not.
Surprisingly, I was energetic this morning. It's amazing what two hours of sleep can do to revitalize one. And I'm still going. I think I've told everyone and his dog this morning (a yorkshire terrier outside the bookstore in the airport gates) that my brother is getting married. It's all so...weird, but nice too. Puts more pressure on me to not end up an old hag though.
I'm sitting at the Devil's plaything right now (an IBM) in the depths of Hell right now (Indigo), waiting for my bording call. I almost died via shuttle bus this morning. Coincidentally, it was the same year and make of the white Katimavik van that we rolled at the end of 2001 and smashed to a pulp
. My driver appeared to be a geriatric NASCAR driver. When the sides of a metal trap with wheels are vibrating...you might be going too fast. When you can't tell the make of the cars you are passing...you might be going exceedingly fast, all to get me to the airport (the sole passenger) two and a half hours before my flight.
I ran into WestJet's ex-boyfriend at the airport. He checked me in, and we chatted at the Tim Horton line up. He barely recognised me, and I him, but it wasn't awkward at all. Except for thoughts of "you touched his DING-A-LING!"
After that, I just stood and read on the peripheries of Indigo. I essentially skimmed through the new Peter C. Newmann book on Brian Mulroney, in that length of time. More on that later, I got quotes. I think I'd be interested in reading the whole thing at length though, so I'll borrow it from Harlot. Because you know she has like, an autographed fanatic's copy or something...
Whassat? Want a teaser? MELODRAMATIC PENIS FUNCTIONALITY CONTEST.
I'll miss you guys, don't debauch too much.
Can you hear me now?
I spent the night at my grandparent's condo last night doing free laundry, and keeping the cats company, which by extension entails, cleaning up all of Phoenix's anger-shit. Although it would be absolutely hilarious if people left anger-shits more often, I think. And of course, hazardous to one's health, but whatever...
Getting to school this morning was not nearly the gong show that I thought it would be, though it was really wet and rainy out. It was however, distinctly uncomfortable to be on a SA bus, having to stand, and then getting annoyed by an old co-worker who "just wanted to talk." I don't want to talk. It's 7:30 in the morning. I went to bed at 4:00. Piss off. Or maybe you could just fart in my face like the guy on the HUB escalator did. Yes, my mouth was closed, but I was pretty incensed. Ha ha...incensed...
In other news, the prof that I really thought I loathed, and would thus loathe forever until all eternity, is actually...she's not so bad. Still pretty bad, but not terrible. I'm warming up to her, slightly.
Evidently, the whole world has been trying to get a hold of me lately. I'm sorry. I didn't know I'd only have the phone for two scant days before my dad abducted it for the nether regions of BC. Maybe I'll get it back, maybe I won't. Allowing that I just asked them for $1800, no questions asked, I'm thinking, not.
I figured out today that if I walk around in my lecture theatres or just stand off to the side and lean on a wall or something, that I'm a million times less likely to fall asleep in class. It turns out that my dad was the same way, and for the life of me, I can't figure out why it happens. It's not that I don't want to be there, and that I don't want to learn...I mean, it could seriously be the most riveting class ever, and I just completely fall asleep. It used to be that I'd just zone out, but maybe I'm losing my imagination, so my body has turned to physical distractions. Seriously...I don't know what it is. But my dad gave me the standing pointer, and so far so good. It's mildly embarrassing at first, but I noticed a couple other people were doing the same thing today too.
If I was making a mistake, you'd tell me, right?
The day has been great. It's been perfectly windy, and perfectly sunny, and perfectly chilled. Ok, maybe it was a little on the cold side this morning, but I got to wear the cowhutan so it's all good. Nothing like rubbing in my hepness in front of the peons...
I finished my pants today, and though at the time I concieved of the plan to re-outfit them, I felt it was an immature idea, they turned out really nicely. I love the material that they're made out of (the main pants). The material I chose to put with them is pretty serious too, which adds to their overall appeal. And they fit so nice now.
Superficialities aside...I had one of those classes this morning that I detest. The "click it-CLICK IT NOW" seminars that Ed. students fall into because they're all intensely stupid. Or forgetful. Our guest prof was a librarian who seriously looked like she'd stepped out of Leave it to Beaver. The sole tech support of a library on campus I will not name... She was interesting though, because she had her degree in architecture and something else, and ended up being a librarian. She loves it, but she was sort of wistful when she told us her credentials. Additionally, the art minors must strike her as merely knowlegeable in arts and crafts with popsicle sticks, because she seemed so certain that we didn't know any Canadian artists of "any repute" and quickly endeavoured to fill us in as much as possible while telling us to click various links and pretend we didn't know how to use AMICO. Database? What's that? Teacher, I think the roller in my infrared mouse is broken...Gee darn.
I have a lot of soulsearching to do I've decided. And similarly, buckling down, in regards to school and in regards to the former... about Napoleon. I seriously can't imagine life without him now, and I still haven't figured out what to do to have a life with him yet. Every time I think about him I smile. Everytime I see his face, I am reduced to grinning idiot girl. I can't say that I've ever felt so clear headed about anyone before though, which is funny, because it's all still so overwhelming sometimes. Yet, it's so right that it hurts.
I was on my way to the south side of the river today, to hang oot and aboot with Bento, and consequently, embark on the great black hoody goose chase, when I reached the bridge and was informed I could not cross it. A man was on the bridge at that point, highly distressed and suicidal, and the EMS were trying to talk him out of it.
I've never seen the bridge that empty before. As I stood and tried to figure out what was happening, it was dead quiet, and all I could see were two figures talking, and a cruiser parked halphazardly across the two lanes that are usually full of cars hurtling across the water at breakneck speeds. Below where the cruiser was parked was the middle concrete bridge pillar, the one with all the accumulated river debris piled up beneath it.
In the moment that I stood there watching and thinking, and really, feeling quite sad for the guy, my silence was interrupted by excited conversation between a family and a security guard that stood not too far away. They wanted to know where they could get closer to see the spectacle, as the zoom lense on their camera seemed to be ineffectual to see the action with. With cheery excited faces and laughing, they thanked the security guard who seemed quite pleased with himself, before leaving to "get close enough."
After they'd gone, he looked at me and said, "don't you want to see better too?"
"No. I don't. Sort of a shame how this is some sort of sport, isn't it?"
It was like he didn't even hear me. I'm finding out that a lot of people just tune out to morality lately. Like they've conditioned themselves to be morally autistic. Instead of acknowleging what I'd said with any sort of emotional response, he just looked at me and said,
"Man, that guy must be fucked up."
There are so many things to say, and fortunately enough, I may just be sketched out and bored enough to say them all.
I've been in a weird place all day. I've been doing all these things, but sort of been standing outside myself while I do them. I went shopping for an outfit for my brother's upcoming wedding. One that I will indoubtedly be too bloated to wear at the time, but will probably force myself into with fat compliancy anyways. I hate being bloated. It makes me think of seal carcasses that just roll down the beach after they've been killed by plastic six-pack rings. I should just roll everywhere when I'm bloated.
That said, though I've been somewhat removed from my daily activities of finding "sexy results" in the mall, I haven't been unhappy. Just tired, and maybe flopping into a nice plateau of unending stress. Such is the beginning of a new semester, I suppose. Seriously though, I re-evaluated today, and right now is seriously the happiest I've been in a long time. Sure, school is going to be hard, especially the Student Assessment class, but everything else is coming up roses and fennelgreek. I'm quite excited about everything right now. It's also a bit intimidating though, because I've all of a sudden realized that I need to be putting a hell of a lot more thought and planning into what I'm going to do after I'm graduated. I have so many ideas, but I haven't committed to a single one, and having the unclear goal as such, it is a little disorienting. Even more confusing is the joyful stick that has been recently thrown into my already squeaky wheels. I absolutely don't know what to do at this point, past finish my degree. I don't know where to go, or how to do it. There are so many things that I've had my heart set on, and now I just don't know about them. I mean, I still know exactly what I want to do, but I...don't know how to make it still work. There are so many things that I don't even know how to do, or how to approach either in regards to teaching, and while I'm not having doubts about it, I'm getting anxious. It's funny though, because it never presented itself as something that I couldn't ever hack. I mean, there are some pretty big idiots that are teachers. Bigger then myself, even.
I think I'm going to start exercising soon. I've never been so unfit as I am now. I'm not tremendously terrible, but everything is getting rather...soft and squishy. It's bothering me. Everything is actually pretty fine, except for my hips, and my stomach/ab area.
I need to think of a clever pseudonym for the boy I love. Any votes? I was thinking of Napoleon.
One more tear, doesn't mean that mean that much to the world
I've mixed feelings right now. I can't sit down and write this letter to D. His mother emailed me and told me what jail he was in, and no matter what I do, I keep saying things retardo like "gee, my place is really small, but we like it." Because jail is a confined space, and it's miserable, and I don't need to be reminding him of the fact, and how "I have it SO bad...you cannot believe..." I think I'll get it done tonight...but I don't know.
Speaking of confined spaces and miserable... I don't know what I'm doing. I really miss my grandma and when it was just me and her living together. That is the happiest I have been in a long time, because now is not the happiest. I'm not sure what was going through my head this whole time that I've been saying, "it'll be awesome! It'll be great!" But right now, I'm not feelin' it. I just feel like I'm locked into another manically atmosphered confined space of the temporary, of transition. I've been bawling my eyes out all night because I'm starting to wonder if I've just made a huge mistaken assumption that this was going to be ok and that I would be strong enough to get through all this stuff without getting more then a flesh wound.
I don't want to go to school tomorrow. I don't want to do anything. I just want to stay in bed. That place at least has always been mine.
In the interest of shamelessly plugging a friend of mine's mad skillz on one of his summer projects
, here you go. He is looking to do some freelance tech work...so, give me an email if you need help.
Essentially I rolled out of bed this morning to the sound of "it's your aunt Godzilla on the phone". In other words this is the famed, "I'm-five-minutes-away-you-better-get-your-ass-down-to-the-door-to-be-my-slave-labour" call that I usually don't get until October. When I'm, you know, ready to take the boat out normally, and not rush things due to a gigantic oil spill.
I'd agreed to help, and had also forgotten to set my alarm clock, which you'd think was massively counterintuitive, but wasn't, because I said I would help, but all systems Emerson have been crying, "NOOoooooo... I don't wanna...."
I'm really choked that the season has ended so quickly, but at the same time, this morning, I was really sort of curious about what it would be like out there, so I busted a move into my clothes and went out the door.
When we got there, a few things happened. It started to rain. I got hit on by a young sailor man who I had never seen out there before, while lowering a boat mast. We ended up doing no work on the boat whatsoever, and instead, I spent the afternoon reacquiring drywalling skillz that I never thought I'd ever have to use again, unless I got hit by the same 2 x 4 that compelled my parents to build two houses with small children.
Although, there is something to be said about the members of the Yacht club, and their construction attempts. Everyone is "the boss"--the power clashes never end, because these are guys who don't listen to anyone in the work world. They make the rules, and generally, they are assholes because of it. Ladies are constantly giggling about wearing coveralls while they "spackle the walls" because it's so charming to get one's hands dirty. The spackle itself is mixed in buckets that say things like "Bolero's Grape Must"  or "Captain Chunky's Slave bits". Breaks, occur often. Boys hem and haw about how usually they're in better shape for this kind of thing (like they do it all the time), and girls break out the Chiraz like it's the most normal beverage to drink while coated in drywall dust.
All things said...I actually enjoyed myself. I have always had a fondness for drywalling and construction, and it was just nice to be at the lake. Admittedly, I was pretty distracted by thoughts of else people, but not enough that I zoned out completely and drilled myself a new breathing hole.
At home, there has been a mutual agreement that blogging about your roommate is evil and demented. All brawls will be in meatspace from now on.
I still feel like living here is just not real though, I have to admit. It isn't going away. I still am catching myself after...four days of official residence, feeling like I'm just on a sleep over.
 A tip to all the guys...asking girls out while surrounded by phallic imagery...will never work.
 A fancy way of saying mold--mold that you add to your homemade wine on the vineyard to coerce the flavour more. Mmm...I dig it. This is why I avoid Merlot. Or is it Pinot that has ...actually, I think all reds have a certain amount of mold in them... Oop- I smell the p- word.
 Big loud noisy brawls full of healthy verbal communication.
I feel weird right now. Like, I'm so incredibly happy on one side, and on the other, I am so...not feeling good. I scrapped with the roomie tonight, over something that's been boiling under the surface for a while that just had a bit of a catalyst tonight.
I left, because I didn't know what to do. There was nothing I could do that would have saved it, except go further down shitsville. Maybe that's what I would have done, but I couldn't stand the thought of all of them sitting around being miserable and awkward. I felt really bad. Because it is all my fault. There's just this intangible thing that I keep hanging on to in WestJet.
The night did start out good though, despite ending in a complete shoot up at a nearby venue.
I think I gave some pimp and his prostitute a free smoke on the way home. Hhhossome...
I got Elaugh back today too, which was exciting. She's all in for the night, but she needs some more food and a new lightbulb, and a thankyou gift. LOL.
I went to my crew party last night, to fulfill some voyeuristic urge to see what partying with the "cool" upperclass kids was like. Totally got skunked, and had my first memory gap. Nice. It was actually sort of fun though, I have to admit. Other then the drinking thing. I think if I ever did that again, I would just melt into the background as an observer of all the debauchery. It would be the best comedy.
I really enjoyed seeing everyone tonight. And the food. Holy shat was the food amazing. We have some pretty awesome friends.