I was nominated for a 20-something blogger award:
Best Up-and-Coming Blog (Started in 2008)
Which is actually kind of exciting to me, so if you are a member of the 20sb network and feel like voting go here, even if you don’t vote for me
Trust me, there’s a lot of talent on them there ballots!
Wow, what a vacation I just took. I haven’t written anything since before Christmas. I’ve been busy working and hanging out with the family and all the other poor excuses I can think of (Translation: I’m lazy). Prepare yourself, this ones a doozy.
So one of my friends roommates had a theory for me on why my year was so terrible. See I was born in the Year of the Rat and apparently in Chinese culture, whenever “your” year roles around it’s bad luck and you’ll have a bad year. Guess what year it was last year? Year of the Rat.
Either way, I had a shitty year (other then my fabulous vacations) so any way to explain it works for me. Right, and I saw someone else do this somewhere and it looked like a good idea, so here I go; it’s the year-long summary.
January 6th last year I came home after working both jobs to find my house entirely flooded. I couldn’t turn on the lights because I could be electrocuted from the water, so I had to search through the sopping wet house for clothes to wear to The Office the next day with a flashlight, while shivering my ass off because the furnace broke due to aforementioned water. Run-on sentences a large part of my life, apparently, at this time. Moved back with the parentals while damage was being fixed.
I actually have a Valentines date for the first time since I broke up with my ex 3 years ago. This guy I dated in HS (it’s a cycle I tell you) and I went for dinner and it was nice but slightly awkward. I had way more fun having a single girls hot-tub party last year. Decide V-day is way overrated and will never worry about it again.
My birthday. I went for dinner with Frenchie and PA. There were supposed to be a lot more people but there was a freakin blizzard so everyone was delayed etc. so planned to meet us afterward. Luckily, about 25 people showed up at the lounge later so I didn’t feel like a complete moron.
Pseudo and I pretty much ended things this month, although the off and on thing continues.
There was the Lilac Festival – it rained the whole day but we still got to watch shirtless men play beach volleyball, there was the night of What Were We Thinking, there was the sex-toy party I had after which we all went out absolutely drunkity-drunk and I ran into O/N for the first time since however many years ago.
Pseudo and I ended things after he ran into me with O/N and I refused to leave O/N to go to Pseudo’s. He called me the next day apologizing and we decided we’d be better as friends.
I started my blog this month, after searching something on the internet and coming across a blog about a working girl. I ended up reading the whole thing and thought – hey, why not. So the rest of my year will be summed up in pictures:
July: Went house-boating with 9 great ladies and 3 awesome guys. O/N had a boat with all his buddies – much hilarity ensued:
Cue nervous breakdown beginning.
December Our last Christmas together as a family. Mom tried to upstage Dad, although we all agreed on a low budget this year. Instead we got things like laptops and iTouch’s from Mom and the agreed upon amount from Dad. How this makes sense, I don’t know.
Next Christmas, Alice is going on vacation.
He had been trying to kiss me all night. I had been pushing him away. It’s hard to push a man that is ten years older, and a good hundred pounds heavier then you but I tried. My boyfriend was at home. Studying.
I tried to tell my friends I didn’t want to come here, didn’t care about impressing the older guys. I had snuck out, my parents don’t know where I was or that I was even gone. We had gone to the bar, my friend had run into these guys her sister knew and now here we were at their house.
My friends conveniently disappeared with two guys, leaving me with the ex-bouncer. We played pool, I tried to be standoffish. I tried to tell him about my boyfriend. He didn’t care, he thought it was all a game.
Now here I am in his room. I feebly ask if he’s found me a sweater. The lights go out. I remember the bay window, the wooden slats letting in the faintest light. I remember wondering how it had ended up like this. I stood up. I tried to walk away.
He was too fast, he was too strong. I was nothing against him. Trying to pull my jeans up, trying to fend him off, tears rolling down my face but I couldn’t bring myself to yell, to scream and hit him. He could have killed me with one hand.
Finally a knock at the door. I grabbed my clothes and wiped my eyes. I calmly went to the living room. I didn’t say a word. I hated him. I hated them. I hated myself.
I was seventeen years old.
I tuck my feet up under myself and open my book. The guy beside me is engrossed in a copy of Orwell’s 1984. He casually sips his Styrofoam-encased coffee while idly turning a page. With a gust of cold air the door opens and a young girl joins him at his table. Her enthusiasm is a deep contrast to his relaxed demeanor. She tells him of her band practice for church, her plans for her next years education including a semester abroad and maybe a mission in the summer, if she can find an internship first, to pay for all the incidentals. Her speech is peppered with interjections (such as “like”), making it hard to concentrate on the meaning of her sentences.
I smile and think of a recent conversation with a good friend, worrying about her vocabulary. “I need to work on my vernacular,” she laughed, “I mean, I still say “like” and I’m doing my masters in Sociology. Maybe I should enroll in English 0130.”
There’s a man typing away on his laptop, barely audible over the coffee house music, a pacifying blend of piano chords and string instruments. His glasses are neatly folded and placed on a book beside him. Every so often he gets up for a cigarette, for a refill, for a bathroom break. The intensity with which he is concentrating on his screen reminds me of my boss filling his financial reports and I imagine this man is doing the same.
A girl heaves into a chair across the room, sighing loudly as she places her text book down. I recognize her as the girl who made my latte. She works here a few days a week while she’s in University studying chemistry, economics or perhaps philosophy. The free coffee and quiet place to study almost make up for the endless parade of odd people she deals with on a daily basis.
I pull my gloves and jacket on, in preparation for the chill that awaits me outside. It’s not yet snowing though there’s the feeling of snow in the air. The quiet, crisp cold and lack of clouds almost guarantee the morning will bring the brightness of a new snow. I adjust my jacket and step outside, the soft chords following me as I make my way up the street, back home.
After seeing previews for both CSI:Miami and CSI:New York and also CSI:Your House oh and can’t forget the newest member: NCSI, I decided that I’m also starting a show that deals with criminals, murderers, detectives with swagger and uber-smart yet still ultra sexy lab technicians.
Yup, it’ll be a carbon copy
I’m calling it [SIC]
It was my mother who was calling to discuss our dinner plans for the evening and also to inform me that she’s filing for divorce from my dad. They’ve been married for 27 years. Now, we all have seen this coming for a long time.
Knowing somethings going to probably happen (for ten years) and it actually happening are different though. I actually wish they’d done it long ago so they could have both moved on by now. Word to the wise: there’s no point staying in a loveless marriage for the sake of your kids. They can tell that’s what you’re doing.
Anyway, I got off the phone and headed to work. I went to get breakfast at this little store and realized I didn’t have my cash on me and my debit card is being a little bitch (it’ll only work in ATMs) so I told the guy I’d be right back for my BLT Bagel and Latte.
I ran to the Restaurant to grab cash but when I headed back over to the breakfast place, the guy told me someone had already paid for it for me. I guess someone felt the need to up their Karma and chose me to do it for.
Whoever you are, thank-you! I really needed that.
After reading this little post on Carmen’s blog, I’ve decided to do my own roundup of useless internet dating idiots.
I’ve now been on the site for a few months and have yet to meet anyone decent or even semi-decent (I’ve actually yet to meet anyone at all in person). This may or may not be because of the running inner monologue I have that starts something like:
“Alright, let’s see what poor sap messaged me today”
I’m not cruel. If someone says something interesting, I’ll write them back. It’s just that they can never hold my interest past two messages or if I eventually give them my msn name (2 guys so far).
So let’s see what I’ve got in my in-box today:
Subject line: cuttie
Message: are you from calgary how long have you been
Well moron, how long have I been what? If I’m from Calgary then obviously I’ve “been” my whole freaking life. I’m not sure what cuttie means but let’s just reiterate that I’m not Emo so no, no I don’t.
Subject line: hi there
Message: i’m ****** and if age isn’t an issue for u, i was wondering if i’d be someone of interest to you as i truely found ur profile and pic equally attractive…
Here’s another Douchetastic winner. Hey Mister, if “ur” 43 you may want to learn how to spell because I found your use of the English language “truely” appalling.
Subject line: boo
Message: hey…well i was reading your profile…and i know movies are not for you on the first date…so what about the race track?…but it might be closed right now… so im good with a swim to the moon
Where to begin with this one…let’s start with the over usage of the ellipsis. If you aren’t sure how to punctuate, don’t just fill in any empty spots with dots. It’s called Grade Two – perhaps you should make your way back there? Also, what the hell is a swim to the moon? Is that what the kids are calling sex these days? Because if so, I’m not buying. Perv.
Last night I took the C-Train (it’s our version of the Sky-Train or just basically an above ground Subway) down to Blondie’s. We had some last minute Halloween things to buy at the mall.
Now, I thought my costume was pretty scandalous, but then Blondie goes and buys a skirt at least as short as mine and a corset top. Which of course made me remember that there will be girls wearing only lingerie. So I can embrace my booty-short clad bum and the tiny skirt it’s (barely) hidden under.
There were these douche bags on the train talking about human feces on one of the platforms. It was revolting and went something like this:
“Fuck man, there was this SHIT one time on the platform. Like real fucking human shit”
“Fuck off! Really? That’s fucked”
“Fuck dude it was fucking shit, just a huge pile of fucking human shit”
and on…and on…and on
I nearly threw up. Now I don’t give two shits if you swear around me (obviously) but the fact that there were old ladies and people on their way home from work? “Dude” watch your goddamn language.
Anyway after the mall fiasco, where I spent another $50 I DON’T HAVE on stockings, a corset and ribbons, we were back on the train when these three boys get on. One of them was obviously so drunk/high that he could barely stand but refused to sit.
As he swayed back and forth telling his friends about the “slut he got with” I thought of that New Haircut video and started laughing. Really, really loud. I could just see the kid “Brosky! Bitches love my new haircut – Fucking skanks!”*
Anyway, needless to say he wasn’t very impressed and wouldn’t stop glaring at us for the duration of the trip. I stopped laughing when he made a joke to his friends that he had protection and made his fingers into that gun shape.
Alice = Gangster Bait
*The best knock-off of this video by far is the Senior Citizens edition
Alright, yes I missed you guys. I just had to put my two cents in here (c’mon you all knew I couldn’t stay away)
The first job I ever had was as a cook in a restaurant (actually as a paper-girl but I try to block that painful memory. Anything that happened before 6 am when I wasn’t drunk doesn’t count). I was designated as a Flat-top cook meaning I made quesadillas and pasta. Also, Fajita Roll-ups – we were a tex-mex restaurant.
On my first day of training I had my color guard (flag twirling) practice right afterwards. I went to practice still wearing my name tag:
No really, I wasn’t emotionally scarred for life or anything.
Anyhow, I worked as a Flat-top cook for a few months and then was promoted to Trainer. I was only 15 when I got the job – this either says something about how great I am or how poorly the restaurant was doing. After another few months I was promoted to Broil Cook (one of the top positions). Again, they may or may not have been close to bankruptcy at this point.
This restaurant was drama after drama. If they had a reality series starring crazy cooks, stressed waitresses, sex, drugs and whipping cream this would be the heart of it all.
There was one girl “Vana” who really loved starting the drama. She had a boyfriend, let’s call him A-Rod, who was a possesive, kind of crazy guy. Our kitchen manager was a young guy (though also crazy – he once drank oven cleaner just to prove he’d do it. His lung collapsed and we had to call 911).
Vana tried to seduce our manager in the walk-in cooler (the site of many dramatic happenings), he pushed her away, she freaked out and told A-Rod that our manager was hitting on her.
One night A-Rod and 19 of his friends, the Yankees, showed up at our work. Vana wasn’t working that night but I was, as well as our manager. We were innocently taking out the trash at 1 am, almost done our shift and ready for a cold beer. Luckily I had made friends with the guys at the place next door, so they never asked for ID.
Well, A-Rod and the Yankees came over, surrounding us: 20 to 2. Before I knew what was happening there were 4 guys on our manager; punching him, kicking him – I had never seen anything like it in my life.
I ran inside to grab our huge bartender but of course even a huge guy is not really a match against 16. He did however manage to get the 4 off of our manager right before they were going to curb-stomp him, and as intimidating as he was, I thought the fight was over.
Meanwhile manager went inside, grabbed a butcher knife and came back out. The guys decided they had proven their point and got in their cars to drive away.
Manager ran after them screaming like a maniac and I of course chased him a) to make sure he didn’t kill anyone and b) to see if his cuts and bruises needed ice. When we got back to the restaurant our boss, the front of house manager, had locked all the doors.
I knocked on the doors crying (my purse was in there and dammit it was expensive! Also, my house keys, all my money etc.) then ended up going next door where a woman saw that I was panicking, pretended to be my mother and yelled at the front house manager for half an hour.
She finally let us back in to get our stuff. I’d like to say I wasn’t sobbing but that would be a lie. We were called in the next day and fired for walking out on our shift.
Apparently they were trying to make an example out of us.
*I’m not altogether sure what the lesson I was supposed to learn was? Let your boss get beaten to death? Watch him stab someone? Any ideas?
2. If you should notice that the restaurant is starting to look pretty empty and the other servers are tidying up all the other tables around you – maybe it’s time to leave. Hey, if you want to spend time talking to your long-lost-love/brother/college-roommate/father/dog/sister, fine. Just be sure to do it somewhere like Denny’s. They happen to be open 24 hours.
3. I know this will come as a shock to most people but water is a drink. So when I ask if you’d like to have something to drink you probably shouldn’t say “No thanks….I’ll just have a water”. Also, if you are just having water…for now and don’t intend on ordering anything else, drop the for now bullshit. We’re onto you.
4. I am by nature a happy and easygoing person. If you go out of your way to hate yourself and make my life miserable, the following may or may not happen:
- I may check all other tables in my section before yours
- I may walk by your table and ignore you although the death stare shooting from your eyes is apparent to me and many others
- I may stand by the bar with other servers and, in your full view, talk about what an asshole/bitch you are
- I may charge you for gravy, mayonnaise, bread, etc. even though technically the chefs will give it to me for free
- I may take extra long for any requests you have -especially if you are in a rush
- I may leave your food sitting in the hot window until it’s just edible and I may therefore have to sample a fry to be sure it’s still okay to serve
5. If you are in a “really big hurry” to get to the theater/hockey game/sex-show it’s advisable for you not to order appetizers and then a well done steak. No, we don’t have a magical machine that cooks steak in ten minutes…unless you consider the microwave magical or want the stuff the last asshole sent back.