Sunday Dump in the Afternoon

It's been half a month since I've touched this. As a result you will proceed to see a mish mash of all things non-sensical that I've encountered in the past couple weeks.

Exhibit A:
I've made it a habit to keep at the pee-yano. Been piecing the theme song from UP little by little.

Taking a stab at it after a couple days:


After a couple weeks:


The more I record the more I hear the out-of-tune in my piano, that Baldwin hasn't been tuned in over 20 years. It's starting to be more than a little irksome. Not sure if you can hear it but it's all I can think about.

Next song I plan to slay:

The Great Escape by Patrick Watson, which by the way has replaced Pink Floyd's The Great Gig in the Sky as my nighttime lullaby.

Rob insists that the guy singing sounds like Herbert that dirty old man from Family Guy.



In other news, a couple Mondays ago I was working the usual nightshift with Tania at the coffee shop. Towards 9 p.m. I looked out the wall-size windows only to find myself face-to-face with not 1, not 2, not 3, but 4 police cars. At first I figured they really needed a co-off-fee and donut run, but they ended up swarming Miami Grill a couple doors down. The journalist in me itched to barge up to the cop outside with his two-way radio and interrogate the shit out of the situation. Plus my friend Reut was waitressing inside at the time and I do concern myself with her safety (most of the time). But the guy hurried inside after our 18-second staring contest (He won). I met up with Reut at the end of the night and she told me the story. Poor guy tried to off himself over a girl, or that's what I hear. Oddly enough, the same stand-off happened at my high school over the same reason years ago in the cafeteria. Hmmm.


Amidst all the deadlines of filming my feature and writing an essay studying for an exam and polishing off a psych assignment, I got to meet and film Alan Cross for our interview for our TV Production Techniques class. So glad I glided on a stick of deodorant that morning. Let's just say in the entertainment business, time really is money, and according to Alan Cross' intern, the most he could ever get from Alan is 15 minutes. So we hustled to film an interview in under 15 minutes, when we should've had an hour.


Amanada psyched outside in the lobby.


This one's for you Kyle, you Pearl Jam fiend.


Ongoing History of New Music used to be my bedtime stories, back when I had an alarm clock radio and not an iPhone.


Look closely and you'll see a signed David Bowie album flanking the Windex bottle. Apologies for the shaky still, I must've felt like I was doing something illegal.

In related news news, I got to cover a press conference at the Hockey Hall of Fame in early March. Pretty sweet, considering it was a conference to announce Hershey's Chocolate's partnership with the NHL. Free chocolate bars? Free crepes? Free Nick Kyprios autograph? A life-size replica of the Stanley Cup in solid milk chocolate?! Sah-weet. It's events like this that tempt me to just go into PR with my degree.


Nick Kyprios, former Stanley Cup winner and now works for Sportsnet.


The chef chocolatier, maker of the choco-cup.



So maybe I stuffed my purse and the camera bag with chocolate bars. They just kept cranking out more and more chocolate after you'd take some. It was a crime not to gorge. See Homer Simpson in the Land of Chocolate.


There was no time for the crepes. We were too busy shooting and interviewing all the tasty yuppies.

Let me just add that if you got this far, you are a trooper, I warned you with "Dump" did I not?

I gotta go in to work at the coffee shop tonight, it's the last day before Passover starts so we'll be closed until next Wednesday. I leave for LA Thursday so that means no work for a very long time, which means I might as well be a good lassie and help Ezra close tonight. It's not as easy as you think to close for Passover. You need to get rid of everything that is not Kosher for Passover, so like all our pastries, syrups, coffee, milk, etc. etc. must be shied away and hidden in our cupboards. It's an excruciating process, but eh, might as well since I won't be seeing my customers for almost 3 weeks after that.


I'm way too fixated on this design, ever since I figured out how to glob it on like that I've been jumping to top off every Caramel Corretto in said fashion.

I saw Mr. Kraus last Friday and he offered me a waitress gig at Cafe Sheli for the summer, just in case I want some extra hours. I've been mulling it over in my head. More tips, change of scenery, meet new people, good experience. Why not? Well, why is it that I would feel like a traitor if Ezra found out I was working for someone else on the side? Hmmmm. I gotta save up money for September though. If I play my cards right, I'll be interning in Montreal or Halifax with CTV for 6 weeks. I need all the moolah I can get.

Rob and I went to see King Tut last Thursday finally. We paid for the 3D Egypt movie that was more like a half-hour special on Egypt's mysteries, re-enacted by modern day actors in costumes. It was okay. We were a bit disappointed to find that King Tut was not actually there, just his treasured items. I loved it. I love gold. Rob thinks it's super cheesy but it happens to compliment my skin tone unlike white gold. Bleh. The beginning of the exhibit was a good laugh. They had Harrison Ford narrating a little intro before you could go through the doors, kind of like at Laser Quest before they open the gates. After his last line the tall wooden doors open-sesamed on their own, I couldn't help but smile.

Afterwards we strolled over to Salad King by Ryerson and shared some Pad Thai. Rob went a little picture-happy on me after I commented on my flat nose. Thus the first one being a profile shot. The other 2 are just Rob trying to get one of those hey-lookit-my-girlfriend-in-my-wallet photos.






Now I promise you I will never prolong my blogging ways this much again.

Men Wednesday falls on a Saturday this week, Folks.

I can't wait til my bangs grow out. Bangs are pretty but pretty high maintenance and pretty hard to grow out once you grow tired of them.

I should be doing my psych written assignment, given that tonight we're celebrating Kyle's birthday and tomorrow I work 8 am then film summore b-roll of Kim working at Shoppers, then off to Edit Suite 3 downtown to download all our footage and secure it in the vault. Hopefully which can all be achieved in time for me to come home and watch the Oscars. I think I'm looking forward to it so because for once I've watched almost all competing films.


I'm rooting for The Hurt Locker, maybe because it was a riveting movie with a good plot and stellar audio (I like sounds whadda you want from me), maybe because Jeremy Renner was a hot piece of machismo ass in a bombsuit (I like guys in uniform whadda you want from me).


Either way, it's up against the likes of Avatar, which was all fine and dandy with the Na'vis, but lacked emotional attachment. The only thing I remotely felt was a hard-on for Sam Worthington's Aussie accent. And the Na'vi sex scene? A 5-second clip of her spread-eagling his lap. That is all. No compassion.

It's almost a month until I fly down to LA for my cousin Larry's wedding. Robert just might be coming with, keeping my fingers crossed. We applied for his passport yesterday morning, then headed downtown to grab the Edit Suite key for myself later this weekend.

We grabbed a matinee movie, Shutter Island, good twist. Leonardo is just too fine in a fedora, sigh. Hear that? That's the sound of me, along with thousands of other chicks out there, throwing myself at the feet of Leonardo DiCaprio screaming "take me!"





Embarassing. I've been nursing this crush since Titanic (I was 7 years old. 7!).

The Great Gig in the Sky

Bianca:

is too down to enjoy her Saturday morning masturbation.

It wasn't even sexy. It was just, sad.

She is also too down to self-reflect, thus the third-person objective.

Cuz it's easy when the whole world fits inside of your arms. Do we really need to pay attention to the alarm? Wake up slow

I can never seem to get my ass out of bed Tuesday mornings. Which would explain the reason why I'm still in bed at 2 p.m.

It probably has something to do with me closing the coffee shop on Monday nights, but on top of that, I met up with Adam after work for a little unwind sesh. It was nice. He picked me up after work, we closed an hour early because there were all of 6 cars in the parking lot, 0 of them belonging to our only customer, a chick chilling on our couch with her laptop. I trained a new girl named Abby Rumm, gotta love her name. So smooth and yet sharp, to the point and memorable. She's 27 and from Vancouver, but spent the last few years circling the globe by working on a princess cruiseline. I know, cool eh? She moved to Thornhill about 5 months ago to live with her sister. She said all her friends in Vancouver are in hideout to escape the claws of the hideous media mongers ("They're like 'there's people everywhere!'"). Ohlympics, shame on you, making me proud of my country only now, making me buy those ruddy red mitts and making me regret not buying the matching scarf. Blegh. When I asked how she liked Thornhill so far she looked out at the snow (which she never sees in rainy Vancouver) and replied "I don't mean to sound cocky... but I've been all over the world, Indonesia, Singapore, Venice, Macedonia, Hungary... but I've never been somewhere like this." Yup. You will never encounter another Thornhill in the world. It should replace that place, um, Luxembourg I think, as the smallest country or whatever. And I've worked that little hamlet's coffee shop for 3 years now, I know the ins and outs, the ropes, the dirt. I'll stop talking about it now though because it always gets me ranty.

You like that tangent I went on? Betcha didn't even notice where I was going with that at first. I do that a lot. Wander off topic and then get pissed because I couldn't remember what my original point to the story was.

But this original story was Adam-based, at least I remembered. So yes, we hung out last night, drove around the tri-county-area while smoking a joint. Just talked about our lives, how his girlfriend is, he wanted to talk about my situation. I never do like venting about it. I don't know why everyone is so damn interested and keen on hearing about my love problems. Skipped my Philosophy of Love and Sex class, which always makes me sad, because I love listening to Glen talking love, according to Krista we finally got to the Sex portion of the course, damn. That class has just made me so aware of love, and the universal form that we all experience. But truth is, love is messy. I like to dream about the nice clean kind of love, where it was at first sight and then you're stuck head-over-heels forever. But I don't know if I think that exists. It's such a rarity. Maybe clean love is out there, just people are too lazy to look outside their greater area and then they settle with the most compatible mate within an x-km radius. Real sad. Also skipped TV Production Techniques. Shouldn't have but it's done. I will at least dedicate the rest of the day to catching up on laundry and yoga so as to not have skipped the day in vain.

Still in bed, with Jack Johnson on repeat. Toast has taken my temporary immobility as an opportunity to fall asleep in the bent crevice of my front ankles. That's it, snore away little one. I'll be moving you any second now...


Awh look-itcha here, all svelte in the summer. That box is totally slimming on you.



The ink in my tattoos has been randomly reacting inside, and it'll become raised and slightly itchy. Before it was the ink in my neck tattoo. Now it's the blue ink in my swallows. Could it be a mild allergic reaction to the ink? Even though it's fully healed and been more than a year since I got them. I looked it up on the Internet and it can happen to some people. Just add that to my allergies list of peanuts, raw eggs, raw carrots and celery, eggplant, and raw fruits with skin. Plus seasonal allergies and dust. Horrible.

I'm also sometimes allergic to socializing. Sometimes.

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang, but a whimper.

I've been neglecting my blogging and writing ways. Not because I don't enjoy feeling thinking complaining but out of sheer fear and laziness.

Fear that what I produce isn't good enough and then being too lazy to correct it.

On reading week right now, more like working week, lofting week , eating week, sleeping week.

I've been suspicious of sleepwalking for the past few nights. Early this morning, 3 am maybe, I had to pee. I was still sleeping but dreaming about peeing (don't act like you don't dream about drinking when thirsty, or gorging on food when hungry, that's Freud's dream theory of wish-fulfillment right there, anyway). And that moment, that second where your eyes crinkle even more shut and then peek open, which tends to happen immediately after turning over, happened when I was at my bedroom door, half-dressed and afraid to fully open both eyes, because I was in denial of the fact that I almost made it to point B (bathroom) while still in dream mode.

Bianca:
is too depressed to masturbate.

horrible things, horrible things inside.

Having hallucinations when you're alone is one thing. But having audio hallucinations when you're alone are the worst.

I need to learn when to keep track of time and when to lose track of time.

I like knowing two languages. English and French. The other morning while brushing my teeth I was staring at the tube of toothpaste. I usually read the phrase first in English, and then in French. The toothpaste claims to have "Triple Power"or "Pouvoir Triple". French translates English's word "power" into the French one "pouvoir". Now in French, pouvoir can also be conjugated with a noun (Je Tu Il Elle Nous Vous etc.) to say "Je peux". But it won't mean "I power" in English. "Je peux" will translate into "I can". The realization of the translation of can into power and power back into can just made me appreciate both those words so much more.

I am such a lexiphile. When I was a kid, we read about an "etymologist" in one of my elementary school classes. Apparently, all that an etymologist does all day is study the origin of words and their meanings. I thought that must be so wicked. And here my brain goes on to another idea with this tangent thought of how the hell wicked went from meaning evil to awesome? That and terrific. Yeah. Terrific should totally mean terrible, like the word terrifying. But instead we think it describes a grand old time better than a terrible and terrifying one. Sorry. I'm all over the map.

I'm thirsty. I'm currently trying to keep track of time, so I will stop here.