I got a new job.
I don’t know if I’m going to write about it.
It’s in a “secure facility”. Not quite a jail. A mini-jail? Pre-jail? Kinda-sorta.
I’m reallllllly excited about it.
Who’s still searching for donkey sex and ending up on my blog 98 times a week? Reveal yourself!
As you may or may not have noticed, I’ve been none-too-kind to this blog lately. It was a long, greasy, downward slope of apathy and indifference during and after The Summer of Shit (as I lovingly call it). I have tried. I have failed. Without my bad kids, who gives a damn about the good grammar? I feel like I started this blog as teacher. A teacher with a love of red wine and cursing too often and in mixed company, but what kept me going was always the kiddies. I miss those little bastards like you don’t know what.
So instead of merely trailing off and fading in obscurity, I’m calling it quits. Throwing in the towel. Giving up the gun. Random clichéd quote about reaching the end of road.
It’s been a blast. I love to write and I’m not going to stop. I’m simply going to take my hiatus in stride. I will be back, in some shape or form. I’m already gearing up for my big move to South Korea and I smell a travel/teaching/drinking blog in somewhat the same vein as this little bit of interweb drivel.
I hope you’ve liked reading my crap as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. But for now, I have to hone my video gaming and drinking skills, as I hear both those activities are recognized national sports in the Republic known as Korea.
I get the concept. You’re going to the gym. You’re going to grab a shower after the gym. Why bother showering before the gym?
/begin rantYou stink like you smoked nine packs of Player’s Light and then fell into a vat of rancid Malibu Musk. I think the vat also contained a squirrel or raccoon before it overflowed with stink, and now that small animal’s decomposing body is still in there somewhere as well.
I couldn’t even stand to be around you while I tied my sneakers. I’m pretty sure that I could see those wavy, cartoon stink-lines actually emanating from your body and clothes. I had to follow your trail of stench up the stairs only to watch two people curl their noses into “stink-face” expressions as they passed you in the opposite direction. I was careful not to follow too close for fear they might mistake your rankness for mine.
Did you happen to notice that not just one, but THREE people on adjacent treadmills seemed to cut their runs short when you showed up? I actually chose to ride a shitty, broken bicycle on the other side of the room just to try and avoid your smelliness. I feel especially bad for anyone who passed behind you, as the giant industrial-sized fan blew those stink-lines straight back into their faces. And trust me, as I sat listening to the new Girl Talk album on my iPod, I watched. I watched everyone of them furrow their brows and look as though they’d just been slapped across the face with the invisible hand of stank.
You know how they have those signs at the gym that state clearly how important it is to shower before getting in the pool? I think we need to move those signs up to the cardio room as well.
Marley the Cat: Spring 2007-October 19, 2010
Born in Toronto and saved from a life of ear mites and possible in-breeding at the Crazy Cat Lady’s house, Marley the Cat succumbed to her illness during surgery on the afternoon of October 19, 2010. Although she was only three and a half, she lived a great life full of friends, family and travel.
Marley was a worldly cat; she had a love of dirty socks, smelling people’s mouths and food and playing hide-and-seek. Other pass times included keeping her coat and famous raccoon tail impeccably clean, attacking fingers and ankles, as well as watching her humans prepare food, bathe and play computer games. We believe she knew three languages: cat, obviously, as well as bird (she could often be found in windows making small chirping sounds at the flying creatures outside the windows) and human. Although she never actually spoke human, we know that she could, in fact, understand us all. She just chose to ignore us. We took it all in stride, as we all know she was too good for any lowly human. She was also a sucker for boxes, lying on clean clothes, suitcases, and she had a strange affection for licking plastic bags.
Her signature move was the Scaredy-Cat-Dance. She would arch her back like an angry Hallowe’en cat and twinkle-toe across the floors. It was always an invitation to a friendly game of Chase Me Around the House, and usually ended up with her striking the winning blow to an ankle, or the back of a knee. This attack normally resulted in human submission and the provision of treats and belly rubs. Other popular tricks included the Door Frame Climb and the Chair to Bed Superfly Snooka Leap.
Marley was a loving cat. Although she only snuggled on her own time, typically between 5 and 6am (or until she was fed) and then again for mid-morning naps at about 11am, she loved to be in the same room as whoever was home. She was also fond of crawling under blankets with you to nestle behind your knees while you napped. She wasn’t a needy cat. All she wanted was company, love, and, of course, food.
Marley made people around her happy with her crazy, off-the wall (literally) and nutty behaviours.
Many people will miss her. Many people loved her.
Good-bye my little small fry. I’ll miss you and love you forever.
So, for those not in the know, I am now living back at my parents house. Without getting into details, I’ve become 17 again.
I enjoy knowing where I’m going in life, and I thought I had a pretty good idea of what was coming. This, I did not foresee. However, as my resume clearly states, I’m a flexible person who can roll with the punches. Ok, so I didn’t use that particular cliche on my resume, but it’s true nonetheless.
So now begins Chapter 2. It starts in a small, Nova Scotia town. A young woman, who is, as I prefer to call it, twenty-ten years old is picking up the pieces. Figuring out where to go. Trying to stop feeling every single emotion, every single day and get her “normal” back. She’s trying to fill the space that was taken up by someone else and refill it with herself. She also really could use a glass of red wine.
She has ideas, potential, a Wii and a cat. She has an amazing family and great friends. She does not have a job. She does not have income. She is missing pieces of her food processor and, in the future, will miss her big couch. She really wants to stop crying. She still doesn’t have that glass of red wine, so if someone could get on that…stat…she’d be thankful.
This is one of the first times in my life that I’ve truly been feeling lost. I don’t quite have a plan yet, but I have something in the works. I think it’s time to stop worrying (I do that…a lot) and start doing. Doing what? We’ll see. The only thing I’m sure about at this point is it’s going to involve red wine. The potential for cheese is also imminent, as is hanging out with my cat. I do, however, have a pretty good feeling that things are going to pick up.
I’m getting to it. The big post. The important post. I just can’t quite bring myself to get there yet.
So for today:
a random thing you didn’t know about me!
Today’s random daily thing:
one of my favourite snacks is french fries dipped in ice cream.
Truth be told, McDonald’s hottest, freshest, salted-to-perfection fries dipped in their vanilla ice cream is my favourite. I’ve done the Wendy’s fries-Frosty combination, and it pales in comparison, but like I said, I got tired looking for a better image!
One thing is for sure though, the combination of hot/cold and salty/sweety is a dream come true, and not just for pot heads and the legally insane! Although, I’m sure those two groups of people rank high on the list of people that have actually tried this before. I would almost guarantee that Mr. Stinky the old homeless man who used to frequent my friend’s old place work place-Dairy Queen-has tried it. His other favourite thing was to ask for a cup of hot water so he could make tomato soup from ketchup.
Try it. You’ll like it. The ice cream, that is…not the ketchup soup. That’s just crazy talk.