Yet another reason not to pass on my genes

I'm taking a holiday with my family a week after I started my new job because I hurt my neck in a few car accidents late last year and my insurance company wants to make sure they aren't paying for my massages if I don't actually need them.

I had my appointment yesterday and spent four hours being examined and cross-examined by a doctor, a physiotherapist and a chiropractor.

They agree that I need to be in some kind of rehab program, so I guess I'm about to get myself a really strong back and muscle-y neck. Sexy. I hope I get those lovely popping-out neck veins while I'm at it.

The chiropractor said I have quite a long neck, so I should get some x-rays to check if I have a mutant bonus vertebrae.

This reminds me of the time I found out I had six wisdom teeth instead of four, and that at least four of them needed to be taken out.

It also reminds me of the time I discovered that other people's toes were half as long as mine.

The above evidence proves, beyond refutation, that I am a mutant.

Random thoughts about aging

My birthday is coming up in a few weeks and I will be 24. I don't have a problem with that number, but it scares me being at an age where I should (at least theoretically) be settling down and growing up and doing adult-type activities like scrapbooking or golfing or trading crockpot recipies with other ladies over morning tea.

A few days ago an old woman walked into the newsroom and asked we could help her husband up. He had fallen down while trying to step from the street up to the sidewalk. He hit his head on a car and his glasses fell off in the fall. He was so old and so fragile and I couldn't help wonder what he had been like at my age and what I would be like at his. I don't ever want to be helpless, lying in the street because I can't get up.

When I was growing up I never thought I'd make it past 23. I was convinced I'd die in some tragic yet spectacular accident or during a kidnapping or at the hands of a murderer. All of these fates seemed possible to me, but becoming a grown up didn't seem like an option. If it did seem possible, it seemed mundane, not full of possibilities.

Strange happenings

Jen left a comment on my last post saying that strange things always happen to me. They sure do.

For example, there was the time I was driving behind a tractor and pulling out to pass it, when the lone bale of hay being carried fell out and missed my head by less than three feet.

Another time a woman tried to recruit me to join the traveling circus.

There was also an instance where I got my toe caught in a bathtub drain and had a terrible fall. This would've been bad enough if I was in my own home, but I was billited at a stranger's house and she definatley heard the crash.

White shirts

My friend and I were out walking today and were both wearing white shirts.

We were halfway across a busy intersection when a guy carrying his shirt caught up to us and said, "Sure is hot out today, isn't it?"

When we agreed that it was quite warm, he said, "Hey do you guys want to have a wet t-shirt contest?"

When we weren't overjoyed by the idea, he said, "Oh, that's okay. It looks like I would've lost because I'm not even wearing a shirt."

I wonder if he came up with that little pick-up trick on his own or if he got it out of a how-to-meet-girls-while-the-pedestrian-light-is-flashing book.

This is the second time I've been wearing this shirt and crossing the street when a stranger's suggested a water fight. Weird.

Measuring how much I missed blogging

Now that I live in a new town with only one friend so far, I miss being able to find out what all my blog friends are up to.

I missed blogging so much I had a dream about one of my regular visitors, Andy.

(Andy if you're reading this, I have to warn you that creepy details are to follow.)

I dreamt that Andy worked at a hotdog/taco stand where we met and often exchanged witty banter. He was fascinated by me and decided he wanted to marry me.

He arranged a hot-air balloon ride for our first date, but I told him that was more of a third-year anniversary type date than I was prepared for. Then we agreed to go on a normal first date instead.

Reasons I suspect this didn't actually happen:

I wouldn't be at a hotdog stand in the first place since the smell of random meat parts and sawdust doesn't do much for me. I think I remember that Andy is a vegetarian too. Also I'm quite sure I wouldn't agree to date someone who made his intentions of marrying me clear before our first date.

Another sign that makes me think it was all a dream was that I woke up confused and not on a farm in Nebraska or Wyoming or Kentucky.

Pressing mystery solved

The long-suspected-but-never-confirmed suspicion that peanut butter and phlegm are little more than different names for the same sunstance has just been proven as a result of thorough analysis.

The lead scientific researcher (namely, myself) has done extensive taste-test and textural experimentation. Many experts say the results are unquestionable.

Remember me? I'm the geek that used to write for you all the time.

Sorry that I've abandoned you. When I haven't been busy, I've been worried about being discovered using my work computer to talk about pressing issues such as farting and elbow sweat.

I'm taking a week for holidays starting tomorrow, so I promise there's a huge post coming.

I have learned...

... that it's a bad idea to wear a skirt to the chiropractors office.

...that if I'm typing o my blog it sounds the same as if I'm typing a news story.

...that windows are for seeing in as much as they are for seeing out.

Scandal hunting

I'm tracking down information that people don't want published and it's kind of fun in an Erin-Brockovitch (sp) way.

A source tipped the paper off that there was an accident in a nearby mine. I keep calling, but haven't gotten in contact with the mine superinendant yet. But his secretary keeps saying, "I cannot give out that information" when I ask her anything.

And there's a town and a reserve that build a project together and they blame each other for it falling apart. I might be headed up there today to discover more. The mayor of the town has already threatened to sue the paper and an unflattering story about him ran in the paper a few days ago, so I wonder what kind of reception I'll get.

Update:

There was an accident at the mine and the company said they'll send me the press release.

I do get to go to the town/reserve. It's a historical village and I can't wait to get a little tour. I have interviews booked to find out more about the scandal and am also covering the graduation ceremonies for the First Nation high school.

News briefs (news briefs are tiny snippets of what's going on)

It's supposed to be my lunch break, but I'm sitting here at my desk waiting for the agriculture minister to call. I don't think he'll call because he's busy and the story is a negative one.

I made a new friend today. Actually she's more like a new acquaintence, but she wants to take me out so I can meet some people. Hooray.

My editor is moving away and had given his notice before my interview. I find it quite misleading that no one told me until today. I asked why there was a reporting job and an editing job posted in the paper and was told it was because he had just filled the position. But he's been in the job since before the position was listed. I hate being mislead and now I'm worried the new editor might change my job description.

I have an address and a phone number and a post office box number now. I think that must mean I'm settling in.

I really miss reading everyone else's blogs.

Can you cook beans in a rice cooker while you leave the house?

Yes.

But keep in mind that the rice cooker could boil over. If you put the rice cooker on the stove, the water could spill down into the burner, through the stove and onto the floor underneath the stove and the fridge.

If a rice cooker can tell when the rice is done and shut off, why can't it turn off when beans are ready?

Oh. Because beans aren't rice. I see.

Eavesdropping

We have a police scanner in my office and one of the officers and I have the same first name. Every time someone talks to her, I jump up thinking they want to talk to me.

Did I ever mention how much fun it is eavesdropping on the police? Regular eavesdropping is wonderful, but this is even better:)

At work

Half-way through day one and I havn't been fired yet!

I like it so far. I wrote one little story already and am getting ready to interview the leader of the provincial opposition party. It looks like they trust me already!

I'll do a real post when I get a few minutes.

Clean and habitable

I spent almost the whole day packing yesterday and today my parents, two of my sisters and I drove a very crowded van to my new town to help me move in.

My tiny apartment doesn't smell the greatest yet, but it looks a lot cuter now that it's clean and full of my stuff.

I'm doing a pile of running around tomorrow and will be heading out late in the afternoon. I'm a little nervous about being all alone in a strange place, but I can handle it (I think).

I met the EMT who lives in the apartment next to mine and he was older and less cute than I would have preferred. But he seems nice and I'm quite clumsy so it'll be nice living that close to safety.

Progress

I made a little purchase today. A shiny little formerly-written-off five-speed car with excellent speakers and cute rims. This is my first car ever and I really like it.

It was the first car I looked at and the only one I tested out. My apartment was like that too -- I hadn't looked at anything else, but knew it was the right one.

Everything is falling together and the packing is coming along.

Tonight my family and I are going to play board games and eat excessive amounts of microwave popcorn.

My best kid

Apologies to those who've gotten used to my eight-post days.

Things are hectic here, with only a few days to pack, to buy all the things I need for my suite, to spend a few great dates with my baby sister, to find a cheap but reliable car that can handle country roads in the winter, to call everyone and let them know I'm leaving and to get used to the idea that I won't live in a big busy house full of fun and laughing and sisters jumping out at each other in the dark.

Yesterday I was excited about my new life; today I've started to realize how much I'll miss what I'm leaving behind. I wish I could pack up my family and bring them along too. The Photographer will most likely be staying with me for the first few days, so we'll have a few adventures before she heads back home, so that should make the transition easier. Faunty quit her awful job, so I'm trying to convince her to come out for a visit too.

I will miss my littlest sister so much. I wish I would have taken her to the science centre, the playground, the museum, the art gallery, the movies, the symphony and the swimming pool more often. I wish I would have spent more time brushing her hair and playing board games with her. I love her so much.

She's strong enough to knock me over sometimes when we fight and she's getting really good a soccer. She's silly and fun and always full of jokes. When I babysit her, she likes to sleepover in my room on the floor. She's cute and smart and when she plays dress up, she likes to pretend she's a scientist. She doesn't like baking with me, but she's always ready to do experiments. She's also an amazing artist. She likes drawing horses running through fields with the sun shining down on them.

She's such a wonderful little girl and I hate that my decision to move is making her sad.

I will miss her and her wild laughter so much. I'll call and e-mail and send her letters, but it won't be the same.

At least my blog friends are portable. And at least I found a job that seems perfect for me. And maybe I'll save so much money living in my tiny apartment that I'll be able to make a lot of trips home.

Off the market

If getting a job is a similar process to getting a date, I am officially off the market.

My interview was less me telling the paper why they needed me and more them trying to recruit me. After I accepted the job, the publisher took me to the real estate office to help me find a place to rent. The agent, who was 82 and adorable, said he only had one apartment avaliable and didn't seem to think I'd like it. But I do.

I liked it so much, I already have the keys! It's a tiny bachelor suite on the same block as my office. And the grocery store is two blocks away, and court and city council are only one block away. And I'll get to cover court stories! And city counsil stories! And health! And education! And features! And I'm so excited that I can't stop using exclamation marks!

I start on Tuesday and move into my new place on Monday.

Job update

I had a lovely conversation with the woman who hired me to be a trail guide. We mutually decided I shouldn't take the job and parted on good terms.

I rescheduled my far-away newspaper interview for tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully I will want the job, will be offered the job, and will be able to find an apartment with a door.

Double booked

I did something terrible.

Before I agreed to the trail-guide job, I applied for another reporting position in a small town.

The editor called to schedule me for an interview. Even though the town is several hours away, she wants me to drive down instead of asking me questions over the phone and saving me $100 worth of gas.

She wants me there on Thursday afternoon. The stable wants me to start Thursday morning.

I really don't know what to do. I need to hurry up and tell one boss that I changed my mind. But first I need to make a decision and I'm notoriously bad at making up my mind.

By the way, I just called the horseback riding town's municipal office and left a message asking what infrastructure they have in place for the seasonal influx in resident workers. Why couldn't I have used normal, non-pretentious words? I wouldn't call me back either.

Second thoughts

I agreed to take the job as a trail guide and Thursday is supposed to be my first day.

The stable owners offered me a deal where I could live in their cabin* with them, in exchange for a chunk of my salary. That wouldn't be too terrible if their cabin were bigger, if it smelled less like pee, if the floor in my room had carpet or was at least sanded, if my room had a door and/or a curtain on the window, if the cabin had internet technology so I could continue my job hunt and have a position lined up after trail-riding season, and if I didn't have to share my room and entire life with strangers.

I said thank you for the offer, but I need a bit more privacy than I could have living here. Then I said I would find my own place, because that was back when I though it would be possible to find an apartment or room to rent in a cute bustling summer-y town.

Today a hotel worker, an inn worker and a cabin worker all told me there are no places for rent. There are no for-rent ads in the paper and no renters-wanted signs hanging up around town. Even if I wanted to pay to stay at the hotel, inn or cabin, I would be kicked out on the weekends because people have been booking reservations for months now.

It seems like my only options are to stay in the pee-smelling no-bedroom-door cabin or to camp all summer, paying $15 per night to sleep one centimeter off the ground.

I don't know what to do. I said I would take the job and I still want it, but I also want (need?) a non-canvas room to myself.

*dilapidated shack

Continuing with my favorite theme...

I made this lovely cake* for my mother last year or the year before.

The Photographer tried to fix the cake, but decided it was beyond repair and took this photo to mock my culinary abilities. Even so, I still think the cake is quite charming.

I recently stumbled across a blog full of pictures of cake and spent far too much time staring at the computer screen, so I thought I'd pass my addiction on. The beautiful treats are at jintrinsique.blogspot.com.

*This cake containes no traces of boiled bones, although one flower was harmed in its making.

Don't eat the McCain cake

The lovely texture, flavour and colour are all courtesy of BEEF GELATIN.

Yummers.

Your guide to hitch hiking etiquette

Rule number one*:

When hitch hiking, do not sit at the side of the road with your thumb out. Walk, strongly and independently on the shoulder in the direction you wish to go.

That way when greasy, murderous-looking strangers with deer carcasses in the backs of their rusted trucks offer you a ride, you can politely decline, saying you are merely out for a stroll.

*Hitch hiking is not the most polite of endeavours, so this is the only etiquette rule that applies.

Hightops

Remember when everybody thought it was cool to wear mismatched socks as accessories?

I saw a girl at the mall today wearing mismatched hightop sneakers -- one was black, the other florescent pink. I bet her best friend has a matching pair and they wear them to assert their unique style.

I hope this trend catches on -- it would be almost as hot as toe socks and sandals.

Dating and job hunting

(Love is Blind used with permission, gratis from the lovely and talented Photographer.)

In my hunt for the perfect job, I keep discovering similarities between looking for a job and looking for a date.

I sent my resume out to all the interesting-sounding potential jobs, then waited by the phone to see if anyone would call.

When one did call, I got a little case of butterflies. But when he offered me a job within an hour of getting my resume, I turned him down. The good ones are never the desperate ones when it comes to jobs and men.

When I asked if we could negotiate a few things so that I would earn more than $4.oo an hour and work less than 100 hours a week, he got angry and attacked, saying:"That you made these requests of me shows your lack of knowledge and judgement."

Nice guy. He would've made a great boss and a wonderful boyfriend. I definately should have moved to a small town in another province to work with him.

Another employer interviewed me and we had a good conversation and a few laughs.

When he decided to go with another applicant because she was moving to his town anyways, he called to let me know he was very sorry, that he really liked me, that he wished he could hire both of us, and that things might not work out with the other girl and he would keep my resume on file. He was very sweet and I'd let him break up with me anytime. (It may have helped that I had already decided to turn down the job if he offered it to me.)

I applied for a summer horseback riding job and wasn't sure if I wanted it or not. The employer said she'd call on Saturday to let me know if she wanted to hire me.

First thing Saturday morning I was going to tell her I needed a few days to decide if I would take the job. When she hadn't called by 2 pm, I was confused. I was sure she would offer me the job, but wouldn't she have called sooner if she wanted me? At 3 pm I started feeling dejected and wondering what I had done wrong.

When I thought I couldn't have the job, I really started to want it. And when she called at 4 pm, I snapped up the job without hesitation. Nothing like a boss playing a little game of hard-to-get.

I'm not sure if I'm settling for this job, but it doesn't really matter because it's only for a few months and will buy me some time finding a fabulous real job.

Before I accepted the trail guide job, I applied for another reporting job that I think I would love. I'm getting a little shivery thinking about it. But if it's meant to be, it will still be there when I get out my short-term committment, won't it?

Or maybe something better will come along.

I don't know how other people decide who* they want to work for or date. I can't stop second guessing things and thinking there's something better out there than what I'm being offered.

*Excuse my refusal to use the archaic term "whom."

Les poisson

I've heard of people going door-to-door fundraising for charities, selling chocolate covered almonds, Girl Guide cookies and magazine subscriptions*.

But I've never heard of anyone knocking on doors asking, "Would you be interested in purchasing some freshly-packed salmon, Maam?".

Poor guy driving around in a stinky truck in the rain, with his fresh fish becoming less fresh by the second.

(Fish picture courtesy of The Photographer's extensive collection.)

Perhaps his marketing strategy would be more effective if he started singing, "Les poisson, les poisson, how I love les poisson. First I line them all up, then I chop of their heads..." the moment people opened their doors.

*I spent a summer selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door. My boss made me a fake id so i didn't have to stay in the hotel with the girls who liked to spend Friday nights crocheting.

**from The Little Mermaid when the chef is preparing dinner before he tries to kill Sebastian

Cost-benefit analyis of being a trail guide

con: I stepped in poop.

pro: I learned how to saddle a horse.

con: Saddles are heavy.

pro: I was able to ride a horse, and didn't have any trouble getting him to walk, trot, stop and turn.

con: I would only be able to walk and trot on trail rides.

pro: I would have this job until the end of the summer, so I could take my time finding real work.

con: I would only be making minimum wage.

pro: I would be making some money instead of blogging all day and pretending to look for work.

con: Horses smell bad.

pro: I would be the leader on the trail rides, so I wouldn't really have to pay attention to the other riders.

con: I would live in a tiny town and have learned that there's nothing to do in town when it rains.

pro: I would be right by a lake and a provinical park.

con: I might forget how to write news.

pro: I would learn a new skill.

con: Riding is an expensive habit.

Camping sucks.

And camping in the rain is even worse.

The Photographer and I are finally home, but I wonder if we'll ever warm up.

Poor lonely girls

I just read this Reuters article: "Many teenage girls feel pressured into sex: Survey finds young women give in out of fear of angering boyfriend" and it made me sad and upset.

Here are a few stats the survey compiled from responces given by 279 girls between 14 and 17:

... 41 percent said they’d had unwanted sex at some point. The most common reason was fear that their boyfriend would become angry. Ten percent, though, said their partner forced them have sex when they didn’t want to. About 5 percent said they’d had sex after being offered money or gifts.

You can read the whole article here: http://msnbc.msn.com/id/13167804/?GT1=8211.

Jobs galore

I have another interview booked. This one will be face-to-face because the job is in the same province in which I live. Imagine.

I am in no way qualified for this position and am quite surprised that I got called again after a brief phone interview in which I confessed not knowing how to do even the most simple, basic requirements.

This is, as you may have guessed, not a journalism job.

It's working as a trail guide at a summer camp! With horses! And cute little kids! And cabins! And a lake! And ice cream! And the !!!s continue.

I've never done more than go on trail rides as a camper and pet horses on their noses. One time I got up to a trot, but that's all the experience I have.

I have no idea what to wear when applying to be a trail guide/stable hand/poop scooper. Definately not a suit. But should I go looking professional or looking ready to saddle up in case the interview includes a surprise practical skills test?

Ps. The Lonely Photograper updated her blog with pictures of babies and a horse. (I can't get the link to work, but looking up thelonelyphotographer in the search tool will get you there.)

Jobbing

I just had another interview with another weekly paper. It went well except for the part where I realized I didn't really want the job.

This particular town does more human interest stories than hard-new stories because if they did real news they would be scooped by a daily. I wrote mostly feel-good stories on my internship and got tired of that fast. I can't even finish reading most stories like that -- even when my friends write it. Perhaps that's a sign.

All I want is a laidback 40-hours-a-week-maximum reporting position where I could cover city council, local politics, court and some breaking news. In other words, all I want is everything and everything doesn't come together in a neat little package like that.

My problem now isn't getting a job, it's finding one that won't kill me.

Resolving the dispute

Faunty and I are having an argument in which she is wrong and I am right. The problem is she won't accept that I'm right until she hears a chorus of agreement with my side.

I went on multiple dates, maybe one every two or three months, over a period of two years with this guy* who lived out of town. We liked each other and everytime he was in town and had a few hours, we'd hang out, provided that neither of us was in a real relationship at the time.

Faunty thinks that because we went on dates it means we dated. As in that I was his girlfriend.

But I certainly was not.

He never said: "Will you be my girlfriend?" and I never said anything like: "Aww, you're such a great boyfriend to give me that teddy bear with a heart attached to it and a lovely card signed with XXXOOOOXOXOXOXO. Here's a mix-tape of our special songs."

Unless there is the awkward will-you-date-me conversation, you're just a mild fun-to-be-with interest. Right?

*This is the guy that sent the terrible "breaking up" text message I mentioned eariler.

By the way, what is it called if a date but not a boyfriend/girlfriend breaks up with you? Is it called "nothing" because it was never an official relationship?

Pomp and ceremony

I am now a graduate and not a graduand. My convocation ceremony was today, and I thought I'd leave you with a few of the special moments.

1. One of the speakers opened the ceremonies by saying: "The future now rests on the shoulders of these graduates."

Yikes; I thought all that was on my shoulders were freckles and a ridiculous gown.

2. My most recent ex-boyfriend, whom I haven't seen in about a year and didn't know was still in university, was first up to cross the stage.

How can one concentrate on the future and the historical significance of the ceremony when faced suddenly and unexpectedly with memories of outdoor winter candy necklace wars, of kissing in the sick room at the office where we both worked (making the situation more scandelous, he was my trainer), of him going on an overnight roadtrip with my at-the-time best friend just days after we broke up, and of text messages at 4 am saying "Hi" or "I like blueberry jam" ?

I may or may not have felt a little smug about having the dean announce my distinction in front of him.

3. A girl sitting in the row in front of me was getting so warm from the combination of sitting in really bright lighting and wearing a heavy gown that she was fanning herself with her program. Suddenly, as if in slow motion, I saw a shimmery drop fall and keep falling. Then it landed on her back and was immediately absorbed into her gown.

Either a single drop of rain fell through the ceiling, or I bore witness to the reason sweatbands were created.

4. Another speaker said when faced with the option of sitting the next song out or dancing, he hopes we dance.

I hope so too.

And I hope the same for all of you.

I said "no."

I turned down my job offer today. If I'm going to be a reporter, I want to be a good one. I want to be so much more than a story factory churning out as many words as possible.

Yesterday the editor told me the specifics of the job. Today I told him the specifics of the job I want. I hope something can be negotiated -- by that I mean I hope he agrees to my conditions --but I doubt it.

I'm talking with another editor about a job working in a Mennonite community and covering the nearby aboriginal town. The towns are rich with history and although I would perhaps be stoned to death for looking a man in the eye, it would be a fascinating experience.

For now I'm keeping my options open and seeing what will happen. Thanks to everyone who offered their advice. I appreciate it.

Good thing Dr.s know everything

The new, fully-qualified journalism department head has been chosen.

The position goes not to the wonderful current department head who loves her job, is loved, knows what journalism is, and wants to keep her job but is unfortunatly being removed from her position because she's having a significant birthday. Instead it goes to ... some guy with a doctorate in geography.

Did I say geography? Yes, I think I did.

At least the current students will find out where their future jobs will be located and what type of topography* is typical of the areas.

* If this is a real word, I have to confess I don't know what it means or how to spell it. It just sounds geography-y to me.

Skunked

Faunty and I went for a walk tonight and we had a close encounter with two skunks.

One made eye contact with us before turning sideways to hide himself, very ineffectively, in the grass.

The other one was cuter and braver. He looked at us with his shiny little beady eyes while I crouched down talking to him. I've never seen a skunk that wasn't roadkill or in a zoo before. Consequently, I have never been sprayed, but I'm never one to turn down an adventure, no matter how stinky.

This skunk was no more than 10 feet away and was a lot braver than his friend. He kept pausing to stare at me, while doing little sideways hops away. Everytime he hopped, I worried he was about to let out a torrent of poison gas, but he just kept inching his way away.

Now I just smell like sunscreen, creamsicles and a little summer sweat. And I may be just a little disappointed not to be bathing in tomatoe soup.

One decision down, another pending

When I had just finished writing this... :

"I've finally decided what I want to be!

I want to work for a small town paper so I can write a little bit of everything -- court, school board meetings, local politics, elementary-school plays, health, etc.

I think if I spend a year working for a small paper, I'll have the experience and money to be able to find a journalism position based out of rural Africa.

So far today I've had two telephone interviews and an e-mail job proposition.

I sent my resume to one editor and he called within 30 minutes of receiving it. And the interview went really well."

... I got another call from the editor. In the 10 or so minutes from when we ended our conversation, he called one of my references and called me back to offer me the job.

That's fast. Really really fast. I have until tomorrow to let him know.

I would have to do 10 500 word stories a week. That's a lot, considering my internship was writing two 500 word stories a week. What if I can't do it? And what if it's lonely living way up north, a two-day drive away from home? And what if there's no one like me there and I make no friends?

Before all I wanted was a job offer and now I feel ill.

Not working

I didn't get that public relations job I wrote about earlier.

The job description was going to all the summer festivals I could find, while trying to raise the network's profile and giving live interviews about what's going at this concert or at that face-painting booth.

I would have had to move across the province for the job and was the only out-of-city applicant. The woman doing the hiring said she didn't pick me because: "We decided to go with a candidate that has a better knowledge of the city."

That's the kind of letdown you can expect from the P.R. professionals. Not "you gave a terrible interview" and not "your hands were freakishly sweaty, so I decided from the initial handshake that there was no way I would hire you."

On that note, I thought I'd share a few of my corporate (un)success stories. I have been fired* from the following:

- a farm insurance office where I did filing, mail sorting and answered phones (Incidentally, this was my first real job.)

-Tim Hortons (my second job)

-a local candy and nut packing company (my fourth job)

-a hotel where I did three 'ousekeeping shifts

-an upscale restraurant where I washed dishes a few times

I maintain that for the most part these firings weren't my fault.

For example, I was fired from my dishwashing job because of a misunderstanding. A few days before having out-of-town visitors, I asked if I could leave early one night to spend time with them. My boss agreed and said I could leave "at 9 pm when the rush is over."

Does that not mean that the rush ends by 9, so I had his permission to leave then?

Or does it really mean that the rush could end any time between 9 pm and 2 am and I would have to stay until the last of the crumbs were wiped up, while my guests waited in the parking lot from 9 on?

I left at 9 and found myself out of a job.

So even though I didn't get hired for this new job, at least that means I can't get fired from it.

*By "fired" I mean told I wasn't welcome to continue working. I believe all my former employers used terms like: " we regret that your services are no longer required" and "circumstances dictate that we have to let you go."

I liked coucous better in my memory.

Now it tastes like porridge and seems pre-digested.

Desolation

I took this at a beach near Banff, Alberta. It's so beautifully lonely.

Fox and the hound, or Why I am an unfit pet owner, or Pastoral settings: Hidden danger, or Why I would be a really annoying headline writer

My married-with-three-babies older sister and her family are away for the weekend and I have the pleasure of looking after her dog.

Her dog is tiny -- about the same size as a skinny 5-year-old cat -- and fierce. She terrorizes my other sisters' dogs and once had them sitting back-to-back to fend off her attacks. She will bite one and race away to bite the other in a vicious continuing cycle. One of these dogs is just a little bigger than her, the other is more than twice her size.

I love how wild she is.

Today I took her for a walk in the countryside, on a road with a field on one side and train tracks on the other. She was being good, so I let her off her leash. For a while everything ws fine.

Then she disappeared.

The grass it the ditch was taller than her and I couldn't find her. I kept calling and calling, but she wouldn't come. I walked to where I had last seen her, trying to find her. Then, maybe 10 feet away, I saw a creature about her size -- but it definatley wasn't her. It was the cutest baby fox ever. And even though he was tiny, he was still significantly bigger than her.

I started to panic. What if he had killed her???

A few seconds later, she trotted out of the grass near the fox, looking very satisfied with herself. It's difficult to guess which one would have won in a battle between the two, but my money's on this ferocious beast.

Pandora

I have betrayed my anti-spying convictions -- I installed a stat counter to boost my self-esteem and see how many people are reading about my shoe-purchasing, slothful, shamefully-ego-centric existence.

But my plan backfired. Now I've discovered how many people clicked on my blog in the last few days, I wonder why most of them have never commented.

Do they find me in the next-blog search tool and click away within seconds?

Am I that boring that people have nothing to say? Or are they intimidated by my considerable wit?

Are they repulsed by my writing but refined enough to follow the maxim: "Don't say anything if you don't have anything nice to say?"

Are all my ex-boyfriends secretly checking up on me and not commenting because they know I already think they're creepy?

Ah to go back to my ignorance. Sometimes not knowing is better than knowing a little and the endless questions that little plop of information brings.

A fitting punishment for a spy.

-- To everyone who has ever commented: "Hi. I like it when you say nice things."

Home computers disguise laziness, lack of ambition

You know what I love?

Sitting at the computer in my pajamas eating breakfast while applying for jobs.

It's so much easier than getting up, putting on a professional-looking outfit and trying to keep my resume from getting wrinkled.

Disgustingly satisfying*

1. walking barefoot through warm squishy mud

2. peeing in the shower

(Did you know that some lotions contain urea? Urea is a crystalized form of pee and since it's in lotion, one might assume that means it's also good for the skin.)

3. gorging on tasteless but gooey pizza

4. leaving toenail clippings on the carpet

5. using q-tips

6. tweezing armpit hairs

7. slathering plain yogurt on sunburned skin (I don't know if it actually does anything, but it's cold and messy and therefore delightful.)

8. poking bruises hard to see how much they hurt

*Please note I am not technically admitting to doing any of these things. That's, like, totally gross.

Proof

Seven posts in one day?

Egads, I am a geek.

Poetic justice

My friend was driving me around last night in her piece-of-crap car last night. It was raining and starting to get dark out.

I could barley see out the front window because her wiper on the passenger side is either broken or not attached to the car.

As she drove through the pouring rain, watching traffic through the patch of clear window on her side, I said something like, "How can you drive like this?"

"Don't worry about it," she said, while turning a corner. "It's not like I'm going to hit anything."

And she proceeded to crash right into the curb.

What's in my yard, or Why I may be banned from using the scanner

Lilacs don't appear to enjoy being squished into scanners and beamed with lazers. Good to know.

What it looks like in the middle of a sandstorm, or Why my camera stopped working

Timbuktu, Mali, West Africa

Regressing

I have not kissed anyone in approximately 13 months and two weeks. I haven't even held hands with anyone besides my littlest sister in that time frame.

I have not been on a date since January.

I have not been on a good date in the last year and a half.

I have not been drunk since Reading Week two Februarys ago. (Yes, it was that bad.)

I have not been off the continent since a trip to Hong Kong five years ago.

I got annoyed when a phone call woke me up at 10 am today.

I have been getting progressively more boring and am desperate for an adventure. I think I'm getting the type of cabin fever that comes from being unemployed and lazy.

*****

Note to self: The internet apparently doesn't like it when I whine, as evidenced by the zero comments this post has received. Point taken.

Identity crisis

I get twitchy when people refer to me as "Geeksters."

I'm not a capital-G entity, but a baby one. As in "geeksters." I'm fully prepared to admit to being a geek, but not a Geek. Little g's are cute, big ones not so much.

(I'm like this with my given name too. When I paint, I sign my name with a dash and then my lower-case initial.)

While I'm on the topic of names, perhaps I should explain why name is plural but I am singular. When I started "geeksters," it was as a joint effort between one of my sisters and I, with the intention of getting another sister to join in too. Before Fauntleroy abandoned me, we decided to be known as geeks that are sisters, hence geeksters.

Now that I'm on my own, I find the plural name fits with my multiple personalities.

We like it. We also like good grammar.

About stuff

Despite my recent shoe purchases, I really am trying to stop being greedy.

In case you think I buy too much stuff to be anti-capitalism, let me give you a comprehensive list of my consumer purchases* since August.

-a stuffed lion for my baby sister's birthday (actually it's a cat, but we call it a lion because we like to think it's Aslan from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)
-two pairs of shoes
-two new t-shirts and two funny second-hand ones
-one box of temporary hair dye
-a pair of capris
-two pairs of runners
-beads to make my baby sister the cutest bracelet
-a coupon book full of free things like waxing, Chi massages (I don't know what they are either), and haircuts
-a shell necklace from a street vendor
-acrylic and glass paints, paintbrushes, and a remarkably-complicated paint by numbers picture of a tiger
-beeswax, lavender essential oil and almond oil
-about six cheap-theater movies
-one pair of jeans from a trendy downtown consignment centre
-a year's supply of uncomfortable contacts
-tuition

I think that's it, but I may have missed a few. Besides cutting back on my straight-from-the-sweatshop purchases, I'm trying to make sure what I buy is from small local businesses.

*not including necessities like groceries, medication and shampoo
**not including going out for coffee