Sad Day at De Dutch

Yep. It's a sad, sad day at De Dutch. Today one of my favourite people left our demented little restaurant for a "real" job. Bastard. He's jumped ship to be a full time swim coach and it saddens me deeply because he's become quite the saucy minx since I've been there and I'll miss him. Grrr. Plus he's kind of cute and has a nice swimmers butt. And a cool tattoo on his back. Best not to dwell. Tee hee. I should probably get out more. Alot more.

But at least I still have Saucy Rossy and Leanne the crazy woman. She sang me the most horrendous version of the Skinamirinky song today. I can't even type the lyrics she made up. I'd have to go and have a shower. She's so dirty.. She's a minx as well.

On a side note, it's Lilo's birthday today (I think) and she's a year old! I know, nobody cares but me and I barely care really but whatever. I bought her a swanky new punk rock collar on Wednesday that I'm now calling her birthday collar. It's red leather with silver spikes. According to Ross she's now a "hot doggie." Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. He rides the short bus to work.

Bono and I Broke Up

Well, I've kind of gone off Bono now. We had a bit of a tiff before the concert...he wanted to wear this black t-shirt on stage and I said it made him look a bit porky and he got all upset and then towards the end of the show he wore it anyway which obviously was just to annoy me and then he didn't even play With or Without You so I just left without even saying good bye and he's totally cut off. However, the Edge (who I call Touqey) was mighty hot the whole time and much less of a drama queen so I'm thinking that I may have to have an Edge licking day instead. Or the other old guy. He's surprisingly hot. As is the drummer once you get past the bad hair thing. Do they have names? Does it really matter? I'll just make up my own names for them anyway so I guess it doesn't.

On a side note, the concert was great. The stage was great, the sound was great, the really sad aging hipster sitting in front of us and hitting on every girl in sight was great and the woman behind us who screamed very loudly every 2 frickin' seconds was less great at the time but is morphing into great as time heals the wounds her horrible voice and wrinkly old midriff caused me at the time. Dirty cougars. Screaming at my boyfriend. Like he even cares. I took lots of pictures with my lovely camera that the oh-so-thorough security people failed to intercept despite actually grabbing the camera itself through my bag. Crazy. But good crazy. Of course I have a sneaking suspicion that they'll all be quite fuzzy and anticlimactic but whatever. They'll provide me with many hours of screen licking enjoyment nonetheless. Woo hoo! Screen licking!

Happy Bono Licking Day!

Yay! Woo hoo! Bono Licking Day! It's finally here! I'll be on the 11 o'clock Bono Licking Ferry to Bono Licking Land today! I'm so excited. Really. All aflutter. Could you tell? I was sad yesterday because they had a thing in Vancouver (to be known henceforth as Bono Licking Land) where the first 4,000 people to some place (I'm hazy on the details okay, is that a problem? You wanna go?!) got some wristband thingy (and who doesn't love a wristband thingy?) that got them into the place (wherever it was) to watch my boyfriend (my rockstar boyfriend, not my scary, liquor store or video store boyfriends because who wants to watch them?) make a video with those other guys who follow him around with instruments and bad hair. And I wasn't there. Hence the sadness. I was here. Hence the deeper sadness. I'm emotionally scarred. But a good solid night of Bono Licking should perk me right back up. That's licking with a capital "L". I don't really know what that means but it seems important to specify. Did I mention that I'm going to see Bono tonight? Because I am. In case I didn't mention. Tee hee. Crap. What am I going to wear? Seriously. I don't know if I have any suitable Bono Licking apparel. I'll have to buy some new panties to throw on the stage. Maybe leopard print since I'm a cougar and all. Growwwwwl. I'm going to stop now.

PS. Woo hoo! Bono Licking Day!

I Suck.

What does it say about me that I saw this headline and immediately thought of Ricky Schroeder from Silver Spoons? "Schroeder Joins France's EU Campaign" And as a side thought...what more does it say that I didn't even think that was strange? I obviously need to get out more.

My New Boyfriend...

It's true. I have a new boyfriend. And he's hot. Hot, hot, hot. We met yesterday in the restaurant where he stayed for about 2 hours (until his poor friend begged him to leave) undressing me with his very focused (and by focused I mean crazy) eyes the whole time. Did I mention he's a boxer? A heavyweight no less. And he has tattooes. On his arms. And his neck. And probably everywhere else too. And he could snap your neck like a chicken. All of you. At the same time. Which is obviously hot. Yeah. Anyway, he creeped the hell out of me. So much so that my friend Brian actually started going over to their table to bring them coffee and stuff so I wouldn't have to. While I crouched down behind the servers area to get away from his crazy, stare-y eyes. Bah. I get all the hotties. Unfortunately this one knows where I work. And what my name is. Grrr. He will from now on be known as my scary boyfriend. Add him to the list! Did I mention he left me a little note on the back of his bill with his email address? That was actually kind of cute. In a "oh my god, if I don't email him will he kill me?" kind of way. Why can I not attract any "normal" boys? I don't mind the tattooes (god knows) but the punching people in the face as a career choice thing kind of freaks me out. Not to mention the staring. It was definitely the staring that pushed it over the edge from flattering to freaky-deaky.

I Am Addicted.

I am such a dork. It's true. I know it's hard to believe but you'll just have to take my word for it. I'm am completely addicted to my cell phone and email. I think I may actually check my email once every half an hour. Or more if I'm really bored. Which I often am. How sad is that? And my phone! Ack. Here is the thing with my phone. I turn the ringer off every night around 9:30 pm because I have to go to bed around 10 so I can get up at 5am without losing my mind altogether (one might argue that I've obviously lost it already if I'm even willing to get up at that hour but that's a conversation for another time). So first thing in the morning I check to see if anyone called me while I was sleeping. Because sometimes people like to call in the middle of the night and leave me retarded messages which I love. I love it! And then I have my shower. And then I check my phone again. Just in case someone called while I was in the shower at 5am. Like that's going to happen. And then I check my email. And then I put on my overly large headphones and pile into the parentals car to go to work and half way there I check my phone. Because the head phones are quite loud you know. And sometimes I don't turn my ringer back on. You see how it is. And then I work. I don't check my phone (often) while I'm working because I'm usually pretty busy. With the serving of customers and harassing of co-workers (especially my favourite one Brian who is leaving me at the end of the month to be a full time swim coach) I simply have no time. But then comes the end of the day and the cashing out. Now, I don't check while I'm cashing out because I like to give my full attention to the money. Because god knows I love money. But as soon as the money is done...yep. Phone checking time. Because sometimes people call me while I'm at work and leave a message. It's true. And this is how my day goes. Everyday. I'm obsessed. And the amount of time that goes by without any messages is nothing short of disheartening. But then there will be a little flurry of message leaving that gives me happy happy joy joy feelings and yeah. I'm a dork.

Woo hoo! I'm a Cougar!

It's true. I was chatting with the kitchen boys today at work and one of them made a comment about cougars so I asked him to define a cougar for me. Just because. So he proceeded to tell me that cougarness began at 28 years old, which apparently amused the hell out of the other kitchen boy who actually knows how old I am and stood behind first kitchen boy giggling like a fiend. And apparently waiting for me to leap at the first kitchen boy with much snarling and gnashing of teeth. Silly kitchen boys...I'll be saving my revenge for a later date. When he least expects it. Grrr. I'm kidding. I'm fully at one with my cougarness. As soon as I'm finished with this post I'll be rooting through my closet looking for my leather skirt and leopard print boob top (at least 2 sizes too small). Because everybody looks better in animal prints. Growwwwwl!

So Sleepy

It's funny what your mind tells you when you're really, really bone tired. As I was driving over the Malahat today on my way home from a hellish day in the food service industry my mind suddenly began sending signals to my eyes that now would be a good time to close. It said, Hey! Eyes! You've had a long, hard day, you're itchy and sore, why don't you take a load off? Just for a minute. Nobody has to know. It'll be our little secret." And the eyes, they're nice enough but they're kind of weak willed so they were totally on board by the time the rest of my figured it out and my hand had the presence of mind to roll down the window and let the cold mountain air do it's thing. And can I just say, god bless Tim Hortons and their giant, giant cups of really strong tea. Were it not for the efforts of the Tim Hortons crew this Minnow would be lost. I watch too much tv.

Who Is Nanaimo? Do Tell? Okay.

This post is in response to my dear friend Moody (Moodlilicious as I refer to him - if that's even his real name) who asked me who is a Nanaim. Or maybe it was this Nanaimo. I forget. But whatever. It made me think about all of the people who read this lovely and compelling (if I do say so myself) blog who would have no idea as to what a Nanaimo was and why it's so tragic that I've come to actually like the stinking cesspool of a town. So here we go.

Nanaimo is the armpit of Vancouver Island (not to be confused with Vancouver the city which is on the mainland of Canada, a 2 hour ferry ride from Nanaimo). It's been the same population for as long as I can remember (which is actually since I was 12) 75,000. Roughly. Of those 75,000 people who are unfortunate enough to call Nanaimo home approximately 50,000 of them currently sport a fine mullet (hockey hair, business in the front party in the back, whatever you want to call it at least it gives you something to hold onto) or are currently having sex with someone who sports a fine mullet. Which is worse you ask? It's a toss up I'd say. Case by case. The remaining 25,000 people are composed of aging hippies who never quite made it out to one of the smaller islands before the property values sky-rocketed and are now sad and bitter and hang around downtown bars trying to pick up young women vastly out of their league, people who wear sandals with socks and dance like they're being electrocuted, bewildered asian exchange students (no doubt thinking to themselves "how the hell did I end up here?! it so didn't look like this in the brochures"), people who came from the smaller towns on the island and refer to Nanaimo as "the big city" (many of them also fit into the mullet sporting group), suburbanites who live in big, ugly houses in the north end with breathtaking views of their neighbours equally ugly houses and the Costco and Ricky's right down the road and "don't go downtown" because there are too many weirdos down there, and an assortment of various other decent human beings with reasonable fashion sense who ended up there for work or family or purely by accident. These people often suffer from depression. Oh, I forgot to mention the old people. There are a lot of old people on the island. Everywhere. They can't drive. And yet still they persist in pretending they can. It's a beautiful and natural part of aging that I look forward to immensely.

Nanaimo is a city of malls. And crappy malls at that. I think there may be 50 Tim Horton's along the highway (okay, maybe only 4 or 5 but it's not that long a stretch of highway), and a zillion fast food outlets. That number is accurate. There are also a fair number of movie theatres. Also conveniently located along the highway. Usually in malls. It offers an assortment of liquor stores and cold beer and wine outlets. Also in malls. Which is, as far as I"m concerned a damn good thing. But they all seem to close around 6pm which is not such a good thing really. Okay, 9pm. Whatever. There are also a large number if trucks. Everywhere. All the time. With stickers in the back window of Calvin (Calvin and Hobbes Calvin) pissing on the logo of whatever truck company didn't make their particular truck. There are also a lot of people who seem to consider sweat pants as a valid fashion choice. For work, for dinner, for pretty much everything. What's sexier than sweat pants? I certainly don't know.

So why do I like Nanaimo suddenly now after years and years of unabashed hatred? I have no idea. Maybe it's because I'm living in Duncan which is arguably a smaller more concentrated version of all that is evil in Nanaimo. Perhaps. Maybe it's just because I don't live there. I can go there and do the few fun things there are to do and then leave. Leaving Nanaimo is always a lovely thing to do. Leaving Las Vegas has got nothin' on leaving Nanaimo. Maybe it's because they have a drive thru Starbucks that makes it possible for me to have my chai latte without having to haul my hungover ass into the actual store thereby showing off my bloodshot eyes and greasy hair. That could be a big part of it. Or maybe it's just that I never go to Nanaimo anymore unless I have something (or someone - ha ha) fun to do. I don't go and hang out at the mall (ah, junior high) or smoke pot in the field behind the high school (ah, high school - actually that sounds kind of fun, maybe I'll do that next time) or shoplift candy from 7-11 (as if I would ever do that anyway) or any of the countless stupid things I did over the years that I lived in Nanaimo. I won't even go into the college years.

In any case Moody (and whoever else needed the info) that is Nanaimo. A simmering cesspool of bad fashion, big trucks, ugly malls, crappy restaurants and really boring, suburban people. And for some reason unknown to me, I actually kind of like it.
Damn the city of totems (Duncan)! Damn it to hell!

I'm feeling kind of melancholy tonight. It could be that I've been listening to too much Tindersticks for my own good. Is that even possible you might ask and I would reply, evidently. Especially if you're 30 years old, recently separated and living with your parents in Duncan. And sleeping on a deflated air mattress. And working as a waitress even though you have an honours degree in design. Maybe it's not the Tindersticks. I'm kidding. I'm zen. I should write a book. The zen of losers. Bah. What was I saying? Melancholy. Yep. That's me. Not depressed so much, just...something. Wait, I'll look up what melancholy actually means. Oh.

1. Sadness or depression of the spirits; gloom: “There is melancholy in the wind and sorrow in the grass” (Charles Kuralt).
2. Pensive reflection or contemplation.
3. Archaic. Black bile. An emotional state characterized by sullenness and outbreaks of violent anger, believed to arise from black bile.

Well I'm not sad or depressed. Or gloomy really. Maybe a little. I don't think I have any black bile. How would you really know? You could really only guess I suppose but I'm going to have to go with no. And I'm not sullen or violent (well, not any more so than usual anyway) so I guess I must be in the pensive reflection or contemplation category of the melancholy. Groovy. The thing is that I really don't think that I've taken the wrong direction in coming here. I feel like I'm doing something I have to do (whatever that means) and that things will come together somehow. Obviously not in a magic elves making shoes while I sleep kind of way but in a being in the right place at the right time kind of way. I don't know. Maybe I'm just showing my flippers again (as in flipper baby) but I've always believed that there are no mistakes. We take something that we need from every experience and so far there's nothing in my life that I would change and I can't shake this feeling that right now is an unusual and important time in my life and I've got to follow my instincts. Unfortunately my instinct at the moment is to find, stalk and lick Ed Harris. I watched Pollock again last night and he is just hot. For the first hour or so anyway. And then not so much. I may have to rent the Truman Show again soon. Ooo...Hot Hot Heat is playing now and that's much perkier. God bless my iPod. And curse my mood swings. And now I sleep. Sleep is good. Okay bye. I forgot how much I love this song. Bandages, bandages, bandages, bandages. It loses something in the writing down I think.

Stupid Damn Grad School.

Well, I've decided that I'm going to apply for grad school. I have no idea where I'll get the money to pay for it but one step at a time right? If I really want this teaching thing to happen this is something I've got to do get on with. Sooner rather than later. And I really do want this teaching thing to happen. But the thing is, the program I'm applying to is really...scary. Not in an "oh my god they only accept 3 people a year" kind of way because that's not the case. It's just that it's a really alternative kind of program. Very big on the artsy but with a real emphasis on the intellectual. There's a melding of the two that isn't something offered in very many places. Which is actually not the problem. That's the good part. I can do the intellectual abstract thought and analysis and introspection and all that crap. It's the artsy part that wigs me out. Because to be honest, I'm not all that artsy. I'm odd, yes. But odd is very rarely enough. My portfolio, such as is, is almost all commercial art and now I'm wracked with self-doubt about the validity of my work from the point of view of an intellectual/creative grad school. It's the kind of school where people do their entire thesis and whatnot in performance art if they feel so inclined. And they know stuff about all of the important artists and art theorists and critics and they've explored alot of the main themes of the various art movements in their own artistic production and then there's me. I have a stack of really cute sketchbooks. And a whole bunch of design stuff. Oh, and that painting I did of Bob Marley after high school. Now that's art. So where will I fit in? That's my concern. Because if they're looking for artistic maturity they will be sadly disappointed. Nope. None of that here. Crap. I have to go paint something with my toes or something. Finger painting? Ironic weiner dog art? A new take on the dogs playing poker perhaps? Instead of dogs there could be cabbages! Yes. Cabbages. That's creative. Isn't it? What if the cabbages had fur? I'm screwed.

Hold on to Your Butts!

I forgot to mention in my earlier post (and hold onto your butts people because this is a whopper) yesterday I came to the realisation that I actually like Nanaimo. I know! Who knew?! I've always hated Nanaimo! There are way too many mullets to possibly be healthy, the downtown is like the land of the lost crack babies that time forgot and the north end is quite possibly the source of all evil with it's giant box stores and nothing that isn't part of a zillion location chain but whatever! I like it! I have to have a little sit down now. I think I'm in shock. I don't know what happened. But I actually enjoy being in Nanaimo. And now I have to go. I've been a bad girl and I need to be punished. Minds out of the gutter people. I just mean that I should sit myself in the corner and think about what I've done here. Nanaimo. Bah.

Footloose and Fancy-Free

Yep. That title means nothing. I just liked it. And since I'm a fly by the seat of my pants kind of girl (that also has nothing to do with anything) I went with it. Woo hoo. I'm a maniac. A maniac for sure. And I'm dancing like I've never danced before. Oh yeah. That's right baby.

So last night we went to see Sin City. And let me just say, it was sweet. I'm still not sure if I loved the actual movie or if it was just the overall swankiness of it that got to me. Because it was swank. Swankilicious. Swanktastic. Supercalifragilisticexpialaswank. You get my drift. The cinematography was fabulous. Lots of black and white with splashes of colour for intensity. Great. And very comic booky in a good way, not a Daredevil/Batman and Robin kind of way. And I'm a gimmicky kind of girl so it totally worked for me. Plus Frodo was in it and he was nuts! Nuts I say! And I'm always a fan of the nuts. Haha. I also really dug the deliberate over acting. I'm being serious here. It was fun. And who doesn't love dozens of scantily clad hussies? With guns!? I ask you? Who?! Hussies who kill. I dig it. But I'm still not 100% sure what the point of the movie was. The story was interesting for sure but did it actually go anywhere? Did I miss something? Probably. We were a few minutes late because of the super fun racing games in the lobby of the theatre so maybe we missed some key bits there. I'll never know. But hey, I laughed, I cried, I had a little tingle in the pants so it seems like a good movie to me.

I think I may have to see a new movie every week now. I'm addicted. Sounds like a plan, man. Speaking of which, do any of you remember the Sesame Street episode with the man with the golden an? It was all 70s style (probably because it was the 70s - god I'm old) and there was this seedy back alley and some undercover cops and a guy who was trying to sell a golden "an" which was sewn into the lining of his trench coat. Do you remember? "You're going to meet the man with the golden an. He'll be in a van. The van is tan." It went on like that forever. That was cool. They should make a movie about that. But I'm not sure you could fill an entire feature film with dialogue that rhymes with an.

Ah the disappointment...

So I went with my friend the Senor (obviously not his real name but it has such a nice ring to it doesn't it? Si Senor. How do you say "no" in Spanish anyway? And what does it say about me that I only know how to say "yes"? And "a beer please". And "take off your pants". Let's move on.) to see the Ring 2 last week and man, did it suck. How did it suck you might ask? Let me count the ways. Actually let's not. It was just really awful. I'll make a list (thus combining 3 of my favourite activities, list making - yes I am a loser, talking about movies and babbling)...

- The plot. Was there one? Oh wait, yes there was but it sucked. I can't give you any details in case you haven't seen this short bus rider of a movie and I "ruin" it for you. Ha.
- The really bad CG deer attack. Yes. Deer attack. You should probably watch it just for that. I think the bitch sitting behind us may have wet herself laughing during that particular bit of cinematic genius.
- The complete lack of any scary bits whatsoever. Not a one. And for those of you who have seen me watch a horror movie (or a cartoon with really scary music) you know it doesn't take much to freak me out to the point that the jacket, blanket, hands or whatever's handy comes up and over the eyes accompanied by strange, high pitched whimpering sounds. Sexy isn't it? But there was none of that. Nope. No way. To put this into perspective, I chewed a tiny hole in my friend's denim jacket while watching Arachnaphobia in the theatre. That's how easy it is people.
- The really blatant, we think the audience is full of idiots because who else would pay money to watch this crappy movie, "clues" to make the really complex (excuse me I think I may have just bitten off the tip of my own tongue trying not to laugh here) plot comprehensible for us simple folk. I can't believe I just used the word folk. What am I, 60?
- And I really hate that kid. He was kind of cute in a creepy sort of way in the first one but now? Just fucking annoying.

And now I stop. Must walk the puppy before it freaks out and chews my face off. It. Funny. Okay bye!