Freegans...?

I'm not sure how I feel about this article...I'm torn between feeling admiration for these people and a little grossed out. But hey, at least there are people in the world who not only have opinions but the balls to back them up and try to find a solution. And you've gotta love that.


NYC 'freegans' search trash for food finds

"I've got yogurts!" Stephen Woloshin shouts in triumph, causing other members of his group to lift their rummaging arms and heads from the rubbish bins outside a Manhattan supermarket.

Teachers, social workers and students, Woloshin and his fellow scavengers are far removed from the swollen ranks of New York's homeless, belonging instead to a new faction on the fringes of the environmental movement.

As "freegans," they regard over-consumption as a pernicious global trend and seek to demonstrate how people can feed themselves for "free" on the mountains of produce discarded by others.

On one particular evening, the group, kitted out with small backpacks and string bags, are on a mission in Greenwich Village, scoping the streets of the chic district before the garbage trucks rumble through.

Their first target is a large pile of black bags dumped on the sidewalk outside a supermarket.

Squatting down, they give different bags an exploratory squeeze before pulling off the string ties and plunging hand first into what they hope will prove a mystery hamper of edible seconds.

The results are mixed, both in origin and appeal -- apples, oranges, garlic, baby carrots with seasoning, and vacuum-packed chestnuts.

The freegan rule of thumb for what goes into the shopping bag and what stays in the garbage is simple: "You look at it. You smell it. You feel it. If it seems okay, you take it."

Next stop is a bakery -- "who wants some bagels?" -- followed by the upscale wastage of a "Gourmet Garage" outlet, where the attractive aroma of rejected pastries mixes with that of rotton lettuce.

For Woloshin, a social worker, this is his second freegan expedition.

"It's a good thing to expose the waste," Woloshin says. "I make good money and I can afford to buy food, but it's a shame to see this waste."

Janet Kalish, a 47-year-old high school teacher, criticizes stores for overstocking as a cosmetic measure to keep shoppers happy.

"It's an attempt to give people a sense of wealth .... people feel good to see shelves that are full," says Kalish, a veteran freegan of more than one-year standing.

Kalish has become so adept at scavenging that the only food she still purchases in traditional fashion are the soy-based products she requires for her strictly vegetarian diet.

"My meals have become more diversified because I find surprises," she says. "Things I probably wouldn't buy in stores, like endives and avocado. I wash them well and I know where there's clean garbage."

Discussing memorable finds, math teacher Jason Samuels recalls with a gourmet's grin the still-frozen, whole turkeys he picked out of a top-end grocer's rubbish.

"There's not a single food we can't find in perfect condition in a bag on a sidewalk," Samuels insists.

Founded several years ago, the freegan movement embraces aspects of myriad other groups, including ecologists and the anti-globalization lobby.

"The solution to world hunger lies on the streets of New York," says Adam Weissman, the organizer behind the local chapter.

"So much food is wasted in the United States," says Weissman. "When I go to a restaurant, I bring my meal."

According to City Harvest, a non-profit organization and "food rescue" program set up in 1981, millions of pounds of good, edible food are thrown away each year by New York City food businesses.

The New York freegans hit the streets as a group two or three times a month, although many scavenge on their own, guided by a freegan website that carries recommendations for where the most palatable garbage bags can be found.

Their activities inevitably attract the attention of passers-by, some of whom, like Ronnit Keha, approve of what they see.

"This consumerism, this waste ... is disgusting," Keha says.

Some of the group members acknowledge to moments of discomfort when their rummaging in garbage bins draws stares.

"There's a bit of a stigma. I used to feel my heart pounding and people looking down at me," says Kalish, for whom the rewards outweigh the embarrassment.

"I once found some fantastic strawberries," she beams.

Copyright © 2006 Agence France Presse

Scary!

I am never getting plastic surgery. NEVER. Well maybe a boob lift in a few years but that's different. Okay, so I'm at work, I'm hanging out, bringing the pannekoeks and the whatnot and it's all good. And then along comes this super scary old lady and her dumbass husband (so dumb...I can't even explain). And she had the worst facelift I've ever seen! It looked like when you're a kid and you put your hands on either side of your face and pull back and pretend you're running really fast or whatever (or was that just me?) except that her chin seemed to be exempt from the stretchiness. Which gave her a Joker mouth! And slanty, squinty eyes. And then from the bottom lip down it was all wrinkly. And when she talked her mouth barely moved because the skin was so tight and she had to actually turn her head a little to look at you because she couldn't really look out of the corners of her eyes. I'm creeped out right now just thinking about it. Nyaaaah! Noooooo...

They've Got a Ticket to Ride

Yeah, they've got a ticket to ride. And that's okay. But it's really not. Not in the slightest. But now they're butchering the Long and Winding Road which I will refer to from now on as the Long and Tortured Song. I HATE these people!

It Gets Worse

Someone who sounds like a very large, fat man with a big, bushy gray beard just sang Tom Dooley in a completely flat and unnecessarily loud voice. Have you ever heard the song Tom Dooley? Because it's not great to begin with. And believe me when I tell you that it was no better the way he sang it. I'm in hell.

I Hate My Life and My Neighbours

My neighbours seem to have rented (oh my god, please let it be a rental and not a permanent feature) a karaoke machine and are at this very moment torturing me with their bad, bad singing. Which I suppose is karma for all the bad, bad singing I inflicted upon my friends in Tokyo. It just doesn't seem fair. At least my friends came out to the karaoke with me knowing what was in store. It's not like I just showed up at their house and made with the maniacal warbling. Which now that I think about it sounds like a lot of fun. But that's neither here nor there! I may have to kill myself. And if I go down, I'm taking them with me.

Shoes!

So I have these new shoes. They're great. They're coushy and delicious for the footies. They're for running. Which I've been doing again. Which is good. But cold. Cold, cold, cold. I am so cold right now I don't even have words to describe my coldness. Other than cold of course. But that's kind of boring. My toes are like ice cubes. I may make myself a cocktail and stick my toes in to cool it. Mmm...toes.

My Name is Angela and I'm an Addict

It's true. But nobody panic, I'm not addicted to anything interesting. Nope. I'm addicted to Alias. I think I may be in love with Jennifer Garner. Or Michael Vartan. Or both really. Or it could just be all the wigs and costumes and things. I'm obviously in the wrong line(s) of work because I want a job where I can dress up all the time! Can you imagine?! So cool. I guess I could start wearing various wigs and disguises to the restaurant but wouldn't that just confuse the customers? Not to mention the staff. Because obviously my disguises would be so kick ass that no one would know who I was on a day to day basis. Unless of course I was wearing my nametag. That would be a dead giveaway. That and my crazy teeth. Oh, and my retardo laugh. Maybe I wouldn't be such a good spy after all. Now I'm sad and must rush off to bed where I will have many lovely dreams of wigs, outfits and shooting stuff in exotic locations. Yay dreams!

Tee Hee...I'm Hateful!

I did an online quiz at okcupid.com and here's my results! Yay! They've got me backwards though...I like kittens but fratties (or people who use the word fratties) are totally on my list. :-)

Bill O'Reilly Hater
Congratulations! You scored 62!
Alright, I have to give it to you. You do actually hate. Not as much as you could, of course, but you hate more than you don't hate, which puts you well on your way. Like Bill O'Reilly, your hatred is uncontrolled and flashy. You are explosive and throw hate in people's face. However, there are times when your hate is really just for show. You aren't in touch with your hate, so it often comes bursting out of your mouth before you have a chance to savor it. You may have tested the waters of silent, stewing hate, and with a little training could make a go at being a true hater. I wouldn't trust any kittens around you, but the fratties don't really have much reason to fear you because you are not willing to move to the ledge beyond the edge.

Oh So Funny...

This is the funniest ad I've seen in a long time. Maybe ever. Oh wait, except for the one where that guy kicks that bear in the nuts. That was sweet. Many thanks to the Beerbah for sending it! I can almost hear your crazy laugh right now. :-) God knows my poor neighbours heard mine!

Click for kick ass ad here

This Is Really Strange...

I generally consider myself a pretty cheery person. I like the world. It's good times. But for the past...year I guess I've been less than my usual cheery self. Actually, I'd say it's been more like a year and a half when I really think about it. Crazy. Anyway, I've not been myself. And recently it's been a lot worse even. It got to the point where I'd actually forgotten how I used to feel. Not that I was always happy or anything obnoxious like that (I hate those people) but just a generally content chick in a farout, groovy kind of way (I watch way too many movies). And suddenly over the past couple of days I find myself feeling like, well, myself again. It's strange to feel a way that you had almost forgot you ever felt before. I'm hoping it sticks because damn it's good. And it's not like anything has changed. I'm still stuck in Duncan, I haven't been accepted to any grad schools (I haven't even finished applying yet), I'm still in the process of getting divorced and I'm still single-ish. Oh, and I have no money and am going to have to look for yet another job to get me through the summer because once the teaching ends, I'm really screwed. And yet, even now, thinking about all the crap that I need to do, I'm feeling good. I have a headache. But other than that I'm good. Really, really good. I'm hoping this a turning point and not just some kind of hallucination due to the fumes emanating from my newly glazed tub. Which by the way rocks my world. Really, it does. And if that's not sad enough to snap me right back into my depression I don't know what is. :-)

Destressified!

I can't believe how destressified I am feeling right now! I may have completely fucked up my grad school application but at the moment I'm just so relieved to have it out of the way that I don't care anymore! Yay for the not caring! Woo hoo! And I might have finished the painting that I've been working on last night. I say might have because I have a tendency to sleep on it (not literally of course because that wouldn't really be comfy and certainly not so good for the canvas) and then go back and see new things what need doing that I didn't see before. But still, it's fantastic to be painting at all so colour me stoked. Do you think I've been watching too many 80s romantic dramadies? I'm starting to like totally sound like a high school girl from the 80s. Again with the woo hoo! But this time a sardonic (no senor, that has nothing to do with sardines), self-mocking woo hoo. Nyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! I'm so destressified that yesterday afternoon when some douche bag was trying to give me the road rage I declined! I simply waved and drove away. And then I gave her the finger but that was more out of a sense of obligation than anything else.

I was in the traffic (okay, it's Victoria so it's not really traffic in the Tokyo, Toronto or even Vancouver sense of the word but the people get pissy nonetheless) and I was driving along (and by driving I mean crawling at a pace that even a small child actually crawling could've easily matched) and the light about a block up was turning orange so I obviously wasn't going to get through. So I decided to stop and let through at least one person in the long line of people trying to turn left across traffic (not at a light) because people here apparently drive with their heads up their asses and refuse to let people get through even if they're not actually going anywhere themselves. It's great. Yep. So there I was, stopping with my bad self, about 2 car lengths away from the car stopped ahead of me. And this scrag pulls up behind me. And starts honking. To which I responded with a cheery wave (this is a good technique for enraging people who are obviously highly strung and over caffeinated) which resulted in a renewed frenzy of honking. And of course the dumbass who I was trying to let through was too much of a chicken shit to take to opportunity because the other lane of traffic, while moving slowly, was not yet at a complete halt. This is how things work people, when someone gives you an opportunity of this nature, you pull forward and nose your way in so that the other lane will actually stop. Like, duh. So anyway, I gave up on him. But as I was starting to pull forward the scrag behind me pulled into the other lane, drove the approximate 2 car lengths that she could actually get ahead of me(yep, red light now) and rolled down her window to yell at me as I drove by. After the light changed. Because the light was still red. This is how long the whole incident took. From yellow light to green light. And then as I passed her (because pass her I did indeed - nice time gaining play there lady) she proceeded to yell out her window (don't know what, I was singing along to my music at that point) so I waved (which made her turn this really prety shade of purple) flipped her the bird and made with the driving. As far as I know the jackass trying to cross traffic may still be there. Waiting for the perfect moment.

Dreams Are Weird

I had another extremely strange dream a few days ago. I was going to post it earlier but I've been so preoccupied that I never quite got around to it. But it's been on my mind.

I had a restaurant. And it was great. It was this narrow, old building with high ceilings in some places and lower in others. It was originally a chinese restaurant and still had some of the original lighting fixtures and design features but it had the private little rooms like a japanese restaurant. The colours were a deep, flat green and blood red with occasional spots of midnight blue. There were alot of shadows and a lot of low, atmospheric lighting. Paper lanterns, glass globes, that sort of thing. And the wallpaper was worn and the pattern was faded in places but it was strangely beautiful. It looked quite alot like the fuzzy, velvety wallpaper in the movie theatre in Duncan. I'm sure most have of you have seen this kind of wallpaper in the movie theatres of your youth. It used to be a given I think. I of course love it. And I loved this restaurant. I was talking to someone about how I had opened the restaurant when my back left tooth started feeling strange.

I went to the washroom (which was also very cool of course) to have a look and when I opened my mouth it was filled with blood. And the blood was the same shade of red used throughout the building. And my eyes were the same green. I grabbed the tooth between my thumb and pointer finger to see if it was loose and it just came away. But it wasn't just a regular tooth. It was like a cluster of teeth and the gum came away with it. And the blood was everywhere. And on the top of the gum, the part that was once attached to me, were three little white nubs. Like the nubs on sets of lego that make the pieces connect together. So I began touching my other teeth. And they all came out in clusters attached to the gum. And with the same white nubs that had held them together. And the whole time it was happening, I was watching myself in the mirror above the sink. So I could see not only the teeth and the blood but my expression as well. It was horrible. And then I woke myself up.

Strange. Dreams are weird.

Oh God...

Well, it's done. I've just finished sending the last of my documentation and whatnot for my SFU application. I'm so tired. Soooo tired. And nervous! Ack! I wrote and re-wrote the stupid letter of intent and still I'm not at all happy with it. For those of you who know me this is something familiar that you've most likely heard me say about pretty much anything I've ever written but this is different. Okay, Virve I can hear you scoffing at me from here! :-) But seriously...I feel like even though I spent a considerable amount of time thinking about it and writing notes and working on the structure (which I completely cannibalised in the end) I was just really, really unprepared. And I'm positive that my letter reflected that lack of preparation. In any event I'm glad it's over. Now I'm just going to drive myself crazy worrying about it until I find out if I've made it through to the interview stage. And then I'll really panic. :-) I have to sleep now.

Ironic...

I've been pretty stressed out the past couple of weeks (in case you couldn't tell) what with the falling apart of a relationship that means alot to me and my impending masters application due date trauma so I haven't been very, what you might call...nice lately. And one of the manifestations of my not so niceness (they are numerous and varied) is a tendency to not answer my phone. Or return phone calls. Not because I don't want to talk to the person calling me specifically, but more because I don't want to talk to anybody. I don't want to be all sketchy and weird and have to go through the whole ordeal of explaining why I'm so sketchy and weird. Because I'm really tired of explaining things. So tired in fact that I'd rather gouge my own eye out with a spoon to be perfectly frank (which is kind of a weird expression if you think about it...why does the word frank have so many unrelated meanings? it's a name, it's a food, it's a state of being...weird I tell you). So today I was feeling kind of frisky and maybe even a little optimistic about the world and it was too wet to walk the doglet so I decided to take myself out for a yummy brunch (I do like the brunching) and then head over to the coffee shop to finish up my ever so stressful application letter (I still have no idea why this is so difficult for me - it really doesn't need to be) in comfort. But at the last minute I opted not to go to my usual coffee shop so as to not risk running into a certain hot tibetan whose phone calls I haven't returned all week because of my retarded mental state. Which seemed like a sensible decision. Why deal with things now when you can put them off until next week? So who do I run into in this alternate coffee shop? Exactly. The very same hot tibetan. Because that's just how these things work. My horoscope for this week told me not to be sneaky. That it wouldn't work out. One should always listen to ones horoscope. Unless of course it tells you something you don't like in which case you should crumple it up immediately and lapse into a comforting state I like to call denial. Anyway, it wasn't an awful run-in or anything and he was on his way somewhere so I only had to give him the short version explanation of why I hadn't returned his calls rather than the full-blown freakout version which was really quite okay with me. The moral of the story? Whatever. I have no morals. Ha ha. But seriously, no moral. I was just babbling because that's what I do. Okay bye!

No! Check This Out!

I love my dog.

Check It Out!

Just feast your eyes on this kick ass parallel parking job right here. Mmm-hmm. You better represent. I am the queen of the parallel parking. Let's not even talk about the fact that I was almost trapped in my fantastico parking spot by some assfish who parked super close to the front of my car and I was so close to the curb that I didn't have any space to manouever. I worked it out. I'm free! And I kick ass. Yeow! I was so excited that I parallel parked again on the way home just because I could. I really shouldn't be admitting these things in public should I?

Joan Rivers in a Helicopter?!

I know I have some weird dreams sometimes. Mostly involving teeth or dismemberment or shrinking or whatever but last night I had the weirdest dream ever. Well, maybe not ever. But it was weird. And really, really long. So here it is. I was flying over this tiny man-made island off the shore of New York. On the island were about 5 or 6 huge, swanky mansions in really bright miami mafia meets a Tim Burton suburb kind of colours. They were all different styles of architecture but kind of cartoony, like TokyoSea in Japan. It's based on Italy but it's all much brighter and cleaner and larger than life somehow. But they didn't have yards or anything because the island was so small so they were all just in a row and kind of butted up against one another with this swanky (and by swanky I mean really, really tacky) fountain and stuff in front like some crazy hotel entrance. But they were actual mansions that really rich and famous people lived in.

So I'm flying. And there were those crazy spotlights that they have at big movie premieres that just flail around illuminating the sky for no apparent reason. And lots of lights. And I think other people flying around. In helicopters. We didn't have wings or super powers or anything like that. But I was flying in one of those cartoon-type helicopters that look a little like a some amusement park kind of thing. No doors, no real roof, no safety restraints and no room for a pilot or anyone else but somehow there was a pilot. And Joan Rivers. And her camera guy. So we're flying around all crazy like with lots of swooping and lunging and whatnot and it was kind of fun. Even though I almost fell out a few times because of the no doors and all that. But it was all good. And Joan Rivers kept up this really annoying running commentary on who was doing what down on the island and she kept talking to me the way she talks to her daughter at those stupid awards shows they're always at and asking me if I knew this person or that person and then saying, "oh sorry, I guess not. I keep forgetting." Because I was just me. Not me famous or me rich or any of that. Just me. Confused as to why I was flying around in a crazy helicopter with Joan Rivers. Mostly I was just half-hanging out of the helicopter looking in at Joan Rivers like, what the fuck?

And then somehow I wasn't in the helicopter anymore. And thank god, Joan Rivers was gone. And I think I was in a boat. But a really, really tiny boat. And all around me were these gigantic floating...floats. Like parade floats, but the size of cruise ships and all different shapes and colours and there were giant people on them waving and doing their thing like a Mardi Gras parade (but no beads or booby flashing - sorry senor). Which was because it was Mardi Gras. But for some reason New York was having Mardi Gras now and not New Orleans. And only on the water. So there were little boats and big boats EVERYWHERE. But no one crashed. It was magical. But I was still just me. Me wondering how I got into this little boat, why New York was having a weird floating Mardi Gras and where did Joan Rivers go?

So I'm boating. As you do. And we're approaching the city. But somehow the city is located somewhere in Arizona or something. Because there were all those big red deserty looking cliffs in the background and kind of off to the side and I was thinking to myself, "man all those pictures you see of New York are misleading. How do they get the right angle so those cliffs don't show?" And so on. And it was much smaller than I'd always thought it was. It was really looking alot like a Disney version of itself. And I was thinking, okay, fair enough. And then we were on land. And stretched out behind the crazy Disney New York front was the actual city. Which was still very weird.

And Virve was there! Yay! And we wandered around all these weird places that were sort of like what you see on tv and in movies (or if you're actually Virve then in real life) but smaller. And kind of roundish. And much friendlier. And there was always weird music and you'd think I'd like that given how much I like Disneyland but I was just really confused the whole time. And I wasn't allowed to take pictures because they didn't want anyone to know what New York was really like. And I couldn't figure out why. Or how they managed to stop people from telling everybody what it was like when they left. And then there was something really menacing about some guy following us around but I can't remember what. And now that I'm thinking about it more, I can't quite remember any of the details beyond what I've already described.

I do remember that I ran into Virve completely by coincidence and I was really confused but she was just like, "oh hey, so you wanna go get something to eat?" and I was all, "what the hell am I doing in this freakish Disney New York? And why didn't you tell me it was so weird?" It was all very perplexing. And I woke up more confused than I think I've ever been. Well, maybe that's not true either. But pretty confused. And actually kind of annoyed. I remember thinking to myself as I woke up, "why can't things just be normal? Why does everything have to be so freakish and offputting and confusing? Why not just normal?"

And that feeling has sort of stuck with me for the whole day. It's very strange. Everytime some customer asked for something strange or reacted oddly to out of the blue questions like "can I get you something to drink?" at work I would think to myself "Why? Why not just be normal? Why be so freakish and annoying?" Not annoyed or anything, just really calm and wondering. Curious. Like it's a question someone could actually answer. I had to bite my tongue a couple of times to not ask people outright. Because I've had this nagging feeling all day that if I just walked up to the people that were confusing me with their weird drama and asked them, "hey, why not just be normal?" they'd snap out of it and say, "you know what, I'd never thought of that before. I think I will be normal. Thanks!" It's kind of surreal. And I'm kind of liking it at this point actually. But I'm hoping not to dream weird dreams tonight. I'd kind of like to just not.

On a Side Note...

My neighbours across the hall have these 2 yappy little white dogs who bark ALL THE TIME. They're barking right now. And not sporadically. Nope. It's constant. How do they sleep? How do the people below them? How are these dogs still alive? Seriously. If you had 2 dogs constantly barking all night long would you be able to function? Do they even make ear plugs capable of blocking that particular pitch of dog yap? You know what I'm talking about. Crazy. I'm going back to my bedroom where I can't hear them at all. Of course I can hear my downstairs neighbour snoring but that's a whole other posting...

Yay!

There's nothing like a good french movie, a gigantic mug of hot tea and a lemony social tea biscuit and a whole lot of candle light to break through writers block. I'll be blind by the time I'm 40 but what the hell. I'm still confused as to where exactly this letter of intent is going but it is going. And I think I may just have written enough in the past half an hour to allow me to actually sit down and finish this thing tomorrow. I still wish more than anything that I had someone (Virve, Senor, Marya, Marla) here to mull it over with me but at least now I feel that even if that's truly not possible I'll still figure it out. It may not end up being as fully formed as it could be but at least it'll be formed. And that will have to do. I'm happy. And really tired suddenly. I'm off to bed so I can get up early and get on with it. :-)

I Like the French

I like the way they look at the world. Or at least the way their writers and filmmakers do. I like that they recognise that a story doesn't have to have a happy ending to make it worth the telling and that a romance doesn't have to be perfect to be true. I like that the hero and heroine don't have to be perfect. They can be imperfect in every way and still be considered worthy of the story. They can be silly or irreversibly damaged by sorrow and still find some measure of happiness or consolation in love. I think we've got it all wrong here in North America with our perfect, plastic people. And pur shiny happy visions of romance. Everybody larger than life with no margin for error. I like that the french seem to see the world and themselves as deeply flawed, and all the more perfect for it. That the human experience counts for just as much when measuring a persons worth as their surface perfection. There's a beautiful sadness in french art that we just can't seem to touch. It makes me feel both happy and sad at the same time. I believe that happiness isn't the main dish of the feast that is life. It's the seasoning that makes the rest of it worth the eating. And I like it.

Lavalife is Weird

I've been feeling down about things (of the dating variety) recently so I decided to put my profile back up on Lavalife just to see what came up. I have no intention of contacting any of the guys who send me smiles, it's just interesting to see who (if anybody) is interested. Interesting in both a fun and disturbing way. I mean honestly, do I look like someone who dates men in their late 50s? Because apparently one guy thought so. But it's weird. I'm really not in the right frame of mind for dating at the moment so I probably shouldn't have put up my profile at all (seems kind of like false advertising or something -I'm a virtual tease!) but even if I were in the perfect frame of mind I don't know if I would be all that interested. Meeting people online freaks me out. I mean who throws a shoe (hi Shae! that had nothing to do with anything, we just used to say it alot for no reason and I like it)? I did go on one date with a guy I met on Lavalife but it doesn't really count because we ended up having mutual friends and I kind of knew who he was already (once I placed him that is) so it's not like meeting up with some total stranger. And even that didn't work out. Of course that would be where the SO not ready for dating thing comes into play. I guess I'm just so used to having relationships with people that I've connected with immediately. If you look at the guys I've dated seriously over the past few years the one thing they have in common (beyond exceedingly good taste in women - at least the one time anyway :-)) is that they had a certain attraction that came primarily from their minds (humour, intelligence, craziness) rather than the physical. We connected on a spiritual level. Bahhahahahaha-ha! I had to say it. Sorry. But it's kind of true in a less freaky fluffy wanna come over and look at my crystals kind of way. That's something that just doesn't translate into a photograph or an email. I don't know. It's just seems too artificial. And on the other hand, I've met a lot of people who were hilarious and I enjoyed spending time with a whole lot but just wasn't at all attracted too. It's just something you can't know without having seen the person face to face. And I just don't want to waste my time with people I may have no desire to ever see a second time. What if they smell funny? Don't laugh! Smell is one of the key components to attraction. Some people just smell weird. Or they remind me of someone else (in a bad way) and that's that. Or what if they make weird noises? Or have a tic of some sort? These are things that you should know before you agree to go out with someone! Because then if you do go out with them and you have a good time but they have a strange odour so you can't possibly get romantic with them what are you going to say? You can't tell them they smell funny! Maybe they already know and then no matter what excuse you make up to cushion their feelings they'll always be thinking that's what the problem was. Or what if they have a weird mole or a wooden leg or something and you don't actually care about that but they won't believe you? You can't very well say "no, seriously dude, it's not the leg. You just smell weird." See, this is a situation that's just fraught with danger. Fraught I say. It's like the time I went out with this guy when I worked at the bookstore in Woodgrove Mall. He seemed pretty nice, kind of cute, bought some really good books so obviously had a reasonable intellect and then we went out and he talked non-stop about how he lived with his parents because his roommate was an ass and his parent's were driving him crazy because they always wanted him to do stuff and blah, blah, blah. He was in his 30s for chrissakes! This is a problem. And then he kept calling me and I just didn't know what to say. Because I didn't want to tell him that I wasn't attracted to him because he was a loser. Because that would've been mean. I mean, he obviously had issues to begin with. I didn't want to add to that. Luckily enough I moved to Halifax shortly thereafter. It was good timing all round. But I have no immediate plans to move across the country at the moment so I'm kind of screwed. I may never date again. It's just too complicated.

Grrr...Comments....

It's come to my attention that people have been trying to post comments to my blog and that they've come up as saying they need approval or some such crap. Whatever. So I think I've fixed it. I think it was an anti-spam thing I was trying because I kept getting so many fake comments but obviously it went a little overboard (or I may have pressed the wrong button...tee hee). It should be better now. Yay! Comments!

Tomorrow

I'm now watching Broken Flowers with Bill Murray. Tomorrow I will get on with this damn letter. It's going to be a break through day. I can feel it.

Okay, Fuck This.

Fuck it. I'm going to go find myself some quiet corner in one of Duncan's many coffee shops and figure this fucking thing out. Of course the only ones open on a Sunday will be Starbucks or the Doghouse. Fuck. Starbucks is too noisy. The Doghouse it is. Woo frickin hoo. I hate grad school already. (I'm kidding. If I can just get it together long enough to get into a grad school I'm pretty sure I'll love it more than I've ever loved anything before). Why is this so hard for me?!

Gaaaah!

Well, the bath didn't help. I'm warmer. And I smell pretty but neither of these things is calming me down enough to make coherent thoughts a possibility. I may have to haul my ass out of my flannel tigger pjs and go for a brisk walk. After I finish watching the season 2 finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's the one where she has to kill Angel because he was evil and was trying to awaken a crazy demon guy who would suck everybody into hell and then at the last minute he goes back to being good Angel but she has to kill him anyway. It's very sad. That's bound to mellow me out. For sure. You bet. Bah. Add this to the list of reasons why I have to move away from Duncan asap. I need to be somewhere where I can pounce on my friends and make them talk to me. Like a stalker. But funner. Well, in this case not so much with the fun. But still. I can't exist in a vacuum! I just can't! I love the word vacuum. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, it's a great word. 2 u's! Genius. Pure genius. I'm going to go bang my head against the wall for a bit and try to cultivate some schizophrenia. Maybe then I can bounce my ideas off the other me. That might be fun. Or I could just not go to grad school...I have a bright future in waitressing just waiting for me. It could be pannekoeks in the morning and beer and nachos by night. It could work. It's social. I'd meet lots of interesting people. And by interesting I mean drunk. Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. Oh god. Okay. This is ridiculous. I know! Tea! Tea is good. Mmm. Tea.

Floundering I Say!

So I've been sitting here on my not so comfy couch (it was cheap) wracking my brain, trying to figure out what to say to these stupid grad school people so that they will be all tingly in their happy parts at the mere thought of me attending their program. Okay, maybe that's a little overstated. But yes. With the wracking. It's not that I don't think I can do it once I get in. That I know. It scares me but if it didn't then there wouldn't be much point to my applying. What I'm not so sure of is what to say to them to convince them that I'd be a kick ass acquision. And I know I didn't spell that right but I can't be bothered to spell check. Back to the wracking. If I didn't have to get up at 5am tomorrow I'd have myself s couple of beers in hope that it would loosen me up a bit. Grrr. I so miss NSCAD. I miss having people around all the time to bounce my ideas off of. Here I have the Lilo. And she's just no good. I mean, she looks at me all serious like and tilts her head like she's really considering what I'm saying to her but in the end...no dice. She's cute but not so much with the communicating. Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. And crap. Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh! Why do I have to live in stupid Duncan so far away from anybody I could sit down over a coffee or a beer or whatever and talk to about this?! Refer now to my previous post. Grrrr. So frustrated. Maybe I'll have a bath. Because that's sure to help my chances. But hey, if I'm going to be driving myself into a spastic freakout frenzy I might as well be warm and good smelling while I do it.

I Hate the World

Okay, that's not entirely true. I just hate the part of the world with people in it. I'm still lying. Mostly I just hate the part of the world that I'm in right now. Blah. I think I've done fairly well with the living in Duncan and driving back and forth between Victoria and Nanaimo thing but it's really starting to pick my ass. I need to move on. But finding an apartment that will take my darling Lilo in Victoria is like trying to find...something hard to find, somewhere hard to find it. It's been a long day. What do you people want from me?! :-) So yes, I've spent the weekend hanging out, hating the world. Except for Friday when my friend Jess came over (from Victoria) to cheer me up with vodka and Sour Puss Raspberry. Mmm...if you mix a shot of the vodka, a shot of the raspberry and then fill the rest of the glass with equal parts cranberry and orange juice it tastes like one of those crazy tart-n-tiny candies. It's like sex in a glass. But better because it lasts as long (or not) as you like and you can always have another. We also ate pizza and tortilla chips with 7 layer dip until I thought I might die. It was great having someone to just pig out and be a retardo girl with without having to discuss the calories and all that crap. And we watched Jawbreaker. It was great really. And then we went cosmic bowling at the Duncan Lanes and it was actually alot of fun. I say this like I was surprised because I totally was. Who knew? But the Duncan Lanes are far superior to the Mayfair Lanes in victoria. Much cozier. And tackier. Because I'm now a bowling aficianado. I'm pretty sure that's not how you spell that. Whatever. And now I must try to focus enough to write my stupid grad school application letter. I'm hoping to get that finished sometime before the actual application date. Which would be the 15th. Note that it is now the 8th. I'm floundering here! Grrrr. (Let's not dwell on the fact that this is just the first of 4 completely different letters I have to write). I take it all back, I totally hate the world. Kill me now.

My Week For Freaks

Yep. This is it. My week for freaks. Or upon closer scrutiny, maybe a bit more than just my week. C'est la vie. Let's move on to specifics...

This little fable again takes place in my restaurant. Yes, the home of the authentic Dutch pannekoeken, creepy married pervos with a fetish for the homeless, crotchety old men (actually in residence for the next month - yay!) and now...very strange, possible transvestites. Possible mind, not definite. Which is actually quite a lot odder than your actual full-fledged trannie. Or is it tranny? I'm never sure.

There also seems to be a pattern emerging with the onset of the slow season. As the tips go (sadly no customers means no tips) the freaks rush forth to fill the void. Poorly I might add. Freaks are no substitute for sweet, sweet cash. Nope. No way. The latest thing seems to be the first customer of the day. Freak. Creepy married pervo was the first customer of that particular day. Crotchety old man...yep. And now, strange, possible tranny.

She(?) came in a couple of days ago in the wee hours of the morning (okay, in some circles 7am is not the wee hours but I don't frequent those circles) looking quite scabby and featuring a breathtakingly, unattractive, halloween-esque wig of the likes I haven't seen since I dug out my old vampire wig from the far reaches of my tickle trunk many moons ago. Ratty tangles and all. She was tall and had these super, super skinny legs with long, deep red scratches down the shins. And strange, skinny man hands. But pale. And kind of damp looking. Like she'd been holding them under water for a good length of time. Clammy. It's a good word. Clammy.

The first thing she asked about when she came in was using the washroom. She said she had to go inject her medicine because she was a diabetic and had to give herself a shot before breakfast everyday. Then she came back and ordered 2 hot chocolates with whipped cream. And poured heaps of ketchup on her hash browns. In a not so diabetic fashion. I don't know much about the diabetics but I'm reasonably sure that if you get to the point where you have to give yourself injections before eating that perhaps hot chocolatey goodness would not be on your list of things to consume. Leading me to believe that what she was shooting up in the bathroom may not have been medicine in the strictest sense of the word. Not to mention the shaking and the twitching that seemed to cease immediately after her bathroom visit.

Now, the freakest thing about her, from my perspective wasn't the freakish, clammy man hands or even the shooting up. No. It was the teeth. Or maybe the eyes. Or quite possibly the caked on dead white face powder that made her look as though her skin were flaking off. No wait, it was definitely the teeth. I mean, I'm pretty sympathetic towards those who are toothily challenged (that's not quite what I meant I don't think...it's not that she didn't have teeth, she did. they were just really crazy), but these teeth were beyond all logic. They were kind of pointy (not just one or 2 of them - all of them) and had weird little gaps between them (not just the front ones - all of them). I kept having visions of her lunging at me with the rending and the tearing and the gnashing and the whatnot. It was scary. As a matter of fact, it was so scary that I think I'll just have to stop talking about it now altogether so that I have some hope of falling asleep sometime before next year. I've got both the heebies and the jeebies in a big, big way.

Rings Are Fun.

Look! NSCAD (Nova Scotia College of Art and Design) now has alumni rings! Yay! I want one. But maybe not now. What with the being poor and all. Because poorness does not make for much shopping and general jewellery buying. Sadly. Okay bye.

I Feel Pretty...

And here's a really great photo taken by my friend James at a Christmas party awhile ago. I later barfed and passed out. Actually, not at all in that order. I feel pretty. Could this be a clue as to why I don't have a boyfriend? Hmmm...

New Years Ensemble

And here I am in my fancy New Years ensemble in the bathroom of the bowling alley. Because who doesn't love bowling? Or bathrooms for that matter? Woo hoo!

Contortionists Are Funny

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find photos of contortionists that aren't pervy? Seriously. I had no idea. Who knew?

I Can't Believe I Forgot This....

So I'm at work, I'm cleaning, minding my own business, obsessing about certain events in my life that are completely beyond my control (I'm a little off topic here), when in comes this guy. He's tall, he's kind of cute in a really hungover, ought to be asleep kind of way but well dressed and whatnot. Normal. So he says "hi, I'm an over partied hotel guest" which was kind of a weird way to start a conversation but whatever. I can relate. I'm not so much with the clever conversation today either. So I ask him if it's a table for one and he says that there'll be two other gentlemen joining him shortly. Which is groovy. And then the "gentlemen" came in. With the scabs and the twitching and the sleeping in doorways (although not at that exact moment because there weren't any doorways and they were awake but whatever - it's my story so shut up) and the really oversized football team jackets that were really cool in 1992. Did I mention the scabs? Because that seems like a really key element. So I figured he's still a little (by a little I mean alot) drunk from the night before and he wants to get the new year off to a good start by buying breakfast for a couple of homeless guys which is kind of nice. Who doesn't like a philanthropist?

And then they all sit down. Which is just great. And the normal looking guy takes his menu but doesn't want anything to drink because he's already got his "drinks" (said in cheesy, overly dramatic voice which I guess is considered to be cool outside of junior high school in some circles) while the other two (still scabby and twitching - this would be one of those circles I guess) both decline menus as they won't be staying long. Their words, not mine. Although I didn't really mind hearing it (because I'm a jerk). So I'm cleaning again. Cleaning is fun. If you've got time to lean, you've got time to clean. Say it again sista'.

At which point the guy formerly known as the normal guy starts getting really hostile and beligerent, harassing the other two to eat something (why this is such a big deal I don't know). So they start to talk about it a little and then the freaky pervert (we'll get to that part later) says "Whatever. Eat something or not. But I'm not paying." in a really loud, really mean voice. Which is a little weird and completely blows my idea of him being on some kind of buying breakfast for the needy kick. So the twitchy guys get up and say to him "Why don't we just wait for you in your room and you can meet us up there? Or could you just get food sent up?" At which point the freaky pervert guy lunges out of his seat, storms past the twitchy guys and says "Come on, we're going up right now." marches over to the door, turns around and says in this really creepy, menacing type voice, "I said NOW." Looks at me and says "we'll be back in a couple of hours" and gets into the elevator, his little friends twitching along behind him.

So I, being the inquisitive creature that I am (I blame years of reading my mom's copy of the Enquirer every week. I'd blame Jerry Springer but I don't have cable) go over to the front desk to ask about this guy who started off so normally and ended up creeping me right out in the span of about 10 minutes and it turns out that he's been there for a couple of nights already and every night (and apparently sometimes in the morning) he takes different scabby, twitchy crackheads up to his room for 2 or 3 hours of "do not disturb" time. The night before it was a couple of the really sad, zombie like junkie chicks that hang out outside 7-11 stumbling around talking to themselves and this morning the guys. On an even sadder note, he's married and his wife keeps calling the hotel, trying to get in touch with him. Remind me never to get married again. My creep radar is obviously faulty.

Sadly, they didn't come back down in couple of hours for breakfast. And let me tell you, they were missed. But I'm sure a part of them still lingers in the hotel. Thank god I'm not a chambermaid.

Well Thanks...

That goes out to the ONE person who emailed me when I was sad. Which I still kind of am but nevermind. Grrr. So I guess this means one of two things, either no one is actually reading this blog anymore and I am just sending meaningless babble out into a readerless void or no one who is reading it gives a rats ass. I'm not sure which is the better option. Grrrr again.

Whatever.

The crotchetiest (it's a word) old man in the universe came into my restaurant today. He was great. I would've hugged him but he might have bit me, he was just that crotchety. Here's a sample of our conversation (if you could call it that):

Me: "Can I get you something to drink?"
His wife: "Green tea for me please."
Me: "And for you?"
Him: "Of course!"
His wife: "Tea."
Me: "Regular tea?"
Him: "Very regular!"
His wife: "Yes, orange pekoe."

Me: "Have you decided what you'd like to order?"
Him: "Yes, obviously!"
Me: "So what would you like?"
Him: "Not now! I'll let you know when I want it!"

Me: "What kind of toast would you like with that?"
Him: "The kind that's made from bread!"
His wife: "Brown."

And that's just a snippet of the entire conversation. I'm sure you the gist of it. Towards the middle of the meal he yelled "I know!" so loudly at his wife that the people at the next table jumped and Fred poked his head out of the office to see what was going on. It was great. (This is not sarcasm. He was so miserable it was almost like a cartoon or a muppet or something. I couldn't even take offense). And then a few minutes later I walked past the table as he took his hearing aid out of his ear while his wife was talking to him. Needless to say she got up and left shortly after.

Sometimes I really love my job.