This morning while I was eating Peace Cereal and reading the side of the box, I realised that, as it originally started, the cereal industry continues to function solely because of religion. Kellogg, a Christian fundamentalist, started making cereal to stop people from wanting to masturbate and/or want sex in general (seriously, he thought cereal would stop making people horny. Obviously he's never had morning wood... Though perhaps that's why cereal is largely marketed as a breakfast cereal). Quaker, obviously named after Quakers, makes a whole bunch of cereals. Relatively new, Peace Cereal is based on yogic beliefs of one Yogi Bhajan. Breakfast is solely based on religion. Bacon tastes like sin, it's so good.
This was all very amusing to me this morning, but probably because I didn't sleep enough.
Just home from a marathon day. I have an assignment due on Wednesday morning, so stayed after work to work on it (it isn't done, so tomorrow night will be a looooong night) until it was time to go to Parkside for my last Dine Out reservation. Last week I went to Chambar with a couple of friends and had a lovely late dinner of crab soup, roasted trout and pepper ravioli, and macha pot de creme with blueberry compote, with olives and poutine to fill up any empty spots in our bellies. Pretty yummy. Tonight's dinner was delicious as well: cheddar and onion pie with greens and York ham, veal scallopine with crisp sweetbreads and osso buco ravioli, and blood orange pannacotta. We all agreed that we should really put more effort into eating at nicer restaurants once in a while. With my influx of dresses, I should probably get dressed up and find somewhere to go so I feel like I've gotten my money's worth out of them.
Right now all I can think about is the dusting of snow outside. Hopefully enough falls tonight that school is cancelled in the morning. I've got a crapload of work to catch up on, and could really use the morning to get something done. I suspect we'd only need around 10 cms to shut the school, so I'm hoping for 20 cms for good measure. It really has to start falling in massive flakes for this plan to work, so cross your fingers for me.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
tales of woe, etc.
Geez, things are falling apart around me.
The most basic thing: my oven. Still not working, still not replaced. I guess I'll have to call them again and find out what's going on with that. They wanted to look at the shower at the same time (loose tiles by the faucet likely means the whole shower stall has to be ripped apart and redone), so who knows what will happen with that.
Work is a total nightmare right now. I've been doing work sporadically above my classification for quite a while and now that the lower classification is being eliminated I have to take on more of that classification as well. Someone else is being brought in to do the higher classification work that I've been doing, which is sort of funny to me since I'm trained at that level and have been doing the work for 8 or 9 months. Because my hours are regular hours at a specific classification that's what I get paid at, regardless. And it seems weird to me that I have to train people above and below me, yet get no compensation outside my classification because it's less than 20% of my time. Though that may change since I have to train the high school kids that are replacing all my friends.
And I still haven't heard officially about that student librarian position, which sort of sucks because I'm being offered more shifts at a higher classification elsewhere that I kind of need right now and haven't taken because I'm waiting to see if I need to adjust my schedule to fit everything in.
And I'm two weeks behind in school already, with a greater gap about to befall me.
Nevermind my complete inability to organise socialising with people who have been waiting patiently for me to get my shit together.
In short, I'm fucked.
On the bright side, I'm not drinking as much anymore, which means, in theory, I could drop a bit of poundage from my belly. I could also forget to eat (or, as is the case lately, not be able to afford to eat) and cash in my U-Pass, forcing me to walk everywhere. I could probably use the money, since I'm not making enough to fund my lavish lifestyle right now.
This morning was a weird one. A woman on meth got on with a guy who could have been her father's age, and she kept trying to go down on him between her uncontrollable jerking and eyes rolling back into her head. Then a construction worker yelled at me because I ignored the signs halfway down the block telling me to cross the street. My feeling was, if I want to risk my life walking along a road without a sidewalk, that's my business. Just because half the block lacks a safe place to walk doesn't mean I'm crossing the street.
I've had better days.
The most basic thing: my oven. Still not working, still not replaced. I guess I'll have to call them again and find out what's going on with that. They wanted to look at the shower at the same time (loose tiles by the faucet likely means the whole shower stall has to be ripped apart and redone), so who knows what will happen with that.
Work is a total nightmare right now. I've been doing work sporadically above my classification for quite a while and now that the lower classification is being eliminated I have to take on more of that classification as well. Someone else is being brought in to do the higher classification work that I've been doing, which is sort of funny to me since I'm trained at that level and have been doing the work for 8 or 9 months. Because my hours are regular hours at a specific classification that's what I get paid at, regardless. And it seems weird to me that I have to train people above and below me, yet get no compensation outside my classification because it's less than 20% of my time. Though that may change since I have to train the high school kids that are replacing all my friends.
And I still haven't heard officially about that student librarian position, which sort of sucks because I'm being offered more shifts at a higher classification elsewhere that I kind of need right now and haven't taken because I'm waiting to see if I need to adjust my schedule to fit everything in.
And I'm two weeks behind in school already, with a greater gap about to befall me.
Nevermind my complete inability to organise socialising with people who have been waiting patiently for me to get my shit together.
In short, I'm fucked.
On the bright side, I'm not drinking as much anymore, which means, in theory, I could drop a bit of poundage from my belly. I could also forget to eat (or, as is the case lately, not be able to afford to eat) and cash in my U-Pass, forcing me to walk everywhere. I could probably use the money, since I'm not making enough to fund my lavish lifestyle right now.
This morning was a weird one. A woman on meth got on with a guy who could have been her father's age, and she kept trying to go down on him between her uncontrollable jerking and eyes rolling back into her head. Then a construction worker yelled at me because I ignored the signs halfway down the block telling me to cross the street. My feeling was, if I want to risk my life walking along a road without a sidewalk, that's my business. Just because half the block lacks a safe place to walk doesn't mean I'm crossing the street.
I've had better days.
Monday, January 21, 2008
distractable
I need all sorts of distractions lately.
Work is pretty chaotic right now, with new procedures implemented almost daily, seemingly in an attempt to get everyone to quit. It's working. I've lost three pretty close co-workers over the last month, all figuring there are better options elsewhere instead of losing their jobs with less than two week's notice. Today was the first day that I actually hated work for no other reason than I don't know who's going to show up for work on a daily basis; no one is particularly happy.
In light of this, I've taken to listening to CBC Radio 3 for a distraction at work, often without headphones because I keep forgetting to put them back into my bag. Today while listening one of the supervisors (the only one, now that I think of it, since we're so short-staffed) asked if I wanted earphones because I was distracting someone who was doing translations. I took offence to this because I've been alone for most of the day and I listened at a low volume so I wouldn't distract people, and it wasn't even loud enough to hear where the person was (I tested it). But now it's probably OK because I can't listen to people complaining and get a better sound direct to my ears.
The podcast for this week has a repeat of my friend Rachel's story on bands selling out. It's even better than the first time it played, and it sort of makes me laugh that indie bands selling songs for ads are even an issue anymore. Granted, when I was younger and more idealistic about this sort of thing I thought bands weren't worth listening to if they played outdoor festivals sponsored by beer companies and terrible radio stations. Now, though, I think bands I like should be making something off their skills, especially if they've managed to resist/avoid major label horrors. As my friend Tony said after his band sold a song to Telus, "A brother's gotta eat."
I just wish, like in Japan, the ads would feature an info mark like video channels used to add to videos (back when they actually played videos). I feel little shame about liking a song on a commercial. That doesn't mean I've lost my indie cred, does it?
Work is pretty chaotic right now, with new procedures implemented almost daily, seemingly in an attempt to get everyone to quit. It's working. I've lost three pretty close co-workers over the last month, all figuring there are better options elsewhere instead of losing their jobs with less than two week's notice. Today was the first day that I actually hated work for no other reason than I don't know who's going to show up for work on a daily basis; no one is particularly happy.
In light of this, I've taken to listening to CBC Radio 3 for a distraction at work, often without headphones because I keep forgetting to put them back into my bag. Today while listening one of the supervisors (the only one, now that I think of it, since we're so short-staffed) asked if I wanted earphones because I was distracting someone who was doing translations. I took offence to this because I've been alone for most of the day and I listened at a low volume so I wouldn't distract people, and it wasn't even loud enough to hear where the person was (I tested it). But now it's probably OK because I can't listen to people complaining and get a better sound direct to my ears.
The podcast for this week has a repeat of my friend Rachel's story on bands selling out. It's even better than the first time it played, and it sort of makes me laugh that indie bands selling songs for ads are even an issue anymore. Granted, when I was younger and more idealistic about this sort of thing I thought bands weren't worth listening to if they played outdoor festivals sponsored by beer companies and terrible radio stations. Now, though, I think bands I like should be making something off their skills, especially if they've managed to resist/avoid major label horrors. As my friend Tony said after his band sold a song to Telus, "A brother's gotta eat."
I just wish, like in Japan, the ads would feature an info mark like video channels used to add to videos (back when they actually played videos). I feel little shame about liking a song on a commercial. That doesn't mean I've lost my indie cred, does it?
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Eton Mess and Bubble & Squeak
Even though I am in no way affiliated with the cultural leanings of the Mother of the Commonwealth, I feel some sort of an affinity for the culinary history of the British Isles. My family is very much Eastern European, with numerous family recipe outlining the ways to prepare potatoes and water with a little flour. I was pretty happy when we had roast beef for Sunday dinners (though wished for Yorkshire pudding more than anything, since people on TV would always talk about it) and loved having fish & chips on Fridays (my mom is a good European Catholic).
My first year of university I lived with my aunt and her Anglo husband, both of whom were convinced they could turn me into a kidney pie-loving, lamb and mint jelly-eating, tea totting Anglophile. I resisted strongly (some might say fought) because I don't like being told what to do. In reality, I had somewhat of an affinity for tea anyway from childhood tea parties that involved 80% milk and sugar and 20% tea to stretch out the miniscule tea pot contents as long as possible. Still, I don't really fix myself a cup of tea unless I've got a cold or someone visits and requests it.
Lately, though, I have enjoyed more than a few London Fogs from coffee establishments around my workplace. The rain made me wish for something hot and it's cheaper than a coffee-related drink. And just this week a book I put on hold ages ago came in: England's heritage food and cooking by Annette Yates. It makes me think I should have been born in England or a more strongly affiliated Commonwealth country because I am tempted by the photos and recipes. I'm becoming obsessed with the idea of full-slice bread and butter pudding, Eton mess with macaroons smushed up into it, Cornish pasties and Eve's pudding. Full roasted chicken with bread sauce. Beef Wellington. Mushrooms on toast. Syllabub.
Sadly, large portions of the recipes in this surprisingly delightful book involve baking. This is still a problem with no end in sight. I fear I may never have a working oven again, yet have done very little to inquire when this situation will be remedied, so it mustn't be that pressing.
When I mentioned to my friend that I'm concerned that I'll have no way to calm my overanxious nerves when the thick of classes starts to steamroll me down (since I bake to relieve stress), she suggested I go to yoga instead. This might be a good plan since I should probably try to organise my potato body into a shape that will be somewhat foxy for a wedding in which I believe I am an active member of the bridal party. (I should probably see if I've been kicked out for lack of assisting/supporting, huh? I'm such a delinquent.) Another friend said she would hook me up with her Yoda-like yoga instructor after she finishes her driving lessons, so I've got some options. Yoga is probably better for me than cupcakes. But cupcakes smell so much better.
My first year of university I lived with my aunt and her Anglo husband, both of whom were convinced they could turn me into a kidney pie-loving, lamb and mint jelly-eating, tea totting Anglophile. I resisted strongly (some might say fought) because I don't like being told what to do. In reality, I had somewhat of an affinity for tea anyway from childhood tea parties that involved 80% milk and sugar and 20% tea to stretch out the miniscule tea pot contents as long as possible. Still, I don't really fix myself a cup of tea unless I've got a cold or someone visits and requests it.
Lately, though, I have enjoyed more than a few London Fogs from coffee establishments around my workplace. The rain made me wish for something hot and it's cheaper than a coffee-related drink. And just this week a book I put on hold ages ago came in: England's heritage food and cooking by Annette Yates. It makes me think I should have been born in England or a more strongly affiliated Commonwealth country because I am tempted by the photos and recipes. I'm becoming obsessed with the idea of full-slice bread and butter pudding, Eton mess with macaroons smushed up into it, Cornish pasties and Eve's pudding. Full roasted chicken with bread sauce. Beef Wellington. Mushrooms on toast. Syllabub.
Sadly, large portions of the recipes in this surprisingly delightful book involve baking. This is still a problem with no end in sight. I fear I may never have a working oven again, yet have done very little to inquire when this situation will be remedied, so it mustn't be that pressing.
When I mentioned to my friend that I'm concerned that I'll have no way to calm my overanxious nerves when the thick of classes starts to steamroll me down (since I bake to relieve stress), she suggested I go to yoga instead. This might be a good plan since I should probably try to organise my potato body into a shape that will be somewhat foxy for a wedding in which I believe I am an active member of the bridal party. (I should probably see if I've been kicked out for lack of assisting/supporting, huh? I'm such a delinquent.) Another friend said she would hook me up with her Yoda-like yoga instructor after she finishes her driving lessons, so I've got some options. Yoga is probably better for me than cupcakes. But cupcakes smell so much better.
Monday, January 14, 2008
downhill
The older I get the more concerned I am that I'm getting old. Not that I feel like I'm old or anything. It's just... I read a commentary in Entertainment Weekly (which, all on its own, makes me feel old) about a 31-year-old who thought she was losing touch with kids these days, and I could completely relate. (Apparently only old people play Scrabulous on Facebook. That's a telltale sign you're old.) Lately my hands have been feeling/looking old. The weather is turning them into scaly shadows of their former tiny glory that only needs pointier, sharper fingernails to be mistaken for eagle claws. I've been enjoying sour cherry jam that apparently is good for preventing gout. I've been thinking of taking a multivitamin and calcium supplements to improve my general health.
These things worry me.
Tonight I talked to my mom. My grandmother broke her arm last week in a fall, leading my grandfather to finally give the OK for both of them to go into extended care. I remember visiting them years ago and mentioning to my mom afterwards that she needed to be prepared for the next time she saw Omi because she showed signs of dementia. Now it's developed into Alzheimer's. My grandfather is 97 and tired of being alive because all his friends' children are dying. Aging hasn't looked very fun for a really long time. My aging relatives aren't those happy, smiling seniors in Depends and denture cream commercials, dancing and eating apples. While I appreciate the longevity of my family's genes, I'm concerned that, if I'm feeling old now, it will just get worse unless I take drastic measures.
I think it's time to do stupid things. I'm not sure what constitutes stupid at this point, but something has to be done. I'll welcome suggestions that don't hold a dangerously high level of risk (I want to age a little).
These things worry me.
Tonight I talked to my mom. My grandmother broke her arm last week in a fall, leading my grandfather to finally give the OK for both of them to go into extended care. I remember visiting them years ago and mentioning to my mom afterwards that she needed to be prepared for the next time she saw Omi because she showed signs of dementia. Now it's developed into Alzheimer's. My grandfather is 97 and tired of being alive because all his friends' children are dying. Aging hasn't looked very fun for a really long time. My aging relatives aren't those happy, smiling seniors in Depends and denture cream commercials, dancing and eating apples. While I appreciate the longevity of my family's genes, I'm concerned that, if I'm feeling old now, it will just get worse unless I take drastic measures.
I think it's time to do stupid things. I'm not sure what constitutes stupid at this point, but something has to be done. I'll welcome suggestions that don't hold a dangerously high level of risk (I want to age a little).
Thursday, January 10, 2008
freeze frame
Because of the ridiculous number of cameras I bought while in Japan (I was a superfan of mail order camera shopping), I decided I shouldn't buy any more cameras. Like, ever. I stopped counting the number I've accumulated because it's almost embarrassing to admit. Let's just say it's more than 2 dozen, but less than a gross. And I've been pretty good about not buying more; it's been almost a year (well, 10 months) since I bought anything camera-related (which wound up being a pack of cameras, and by pack I mean 5). I am set for cameras. I don't need any more.
But then today I got an email from Lomo that almost made me change that pledge. The new old Diana F+ with retro flash almost made me hit "add to basket" because it's so cute. My friend used to pick these up from thrift stores for $2, often in the original box, and I was always so jealous. I settled for a Holga before the price got ridiculous because I couldn't get Dianas for a reasonable price. But I always wanted a Diana.
Now... I still want a Diana, but these are way out of my price range. Maybe I can convince my friend to give me one of his when I see him next. Just they never came with the cute teal colour trim before.
This actually reminds me... I always meant to have a day of toy camera shooting to use up all the film in my cameras (some is at least 6 years old!), but haven't thought of it when I've actually had time. And now I can't even imagine when I'll have time to do it. It was meant to be a party, for everyone to go out and use up the film, and then when the film was developed have a little showing. I won't have time to do this until after I finish school, so I'll probably forget again and the film will be almost 7 years expired. (I'm actually excited about the expired film because it's so unpredictable and I love the error potential of film.) Of course, there's always the chance the weather will be perfect on a day when I wake up and have a day off from school and work, and might think to take out a few of the cameras to shoot the perfect light. There's a particular time of the morning that is just beautiful and crisp and makes everything look bright. Rarely do I get to document those moments, so it would be a coup if I could get something special from the expired film and the right time of day.
But then today I got an email from Lomo that almost made me change that pledge. The new old Diana F+ with retro flash almost made me hit "add to basket" because it's so cute. My friend used to pick these up from thrift stores for $2, often in the original box, and I was always so jealous. I settled for a Holga before the price got ridiculous because I couldn't get Dianas for a reasonable price. But I always wanted a Diana.
Now... I still want a Diana, but these are way out of my price range. Maybe I can convince my friend to give me one of his when I see him next. Just they never came with the cute teal colour trim before.
This actually reminds me... I always meant to have a day of toy camera shooting to use up all the film in my cameras (some is at least 6 years old!), but haven't thought of it when I've actually had time. And now I can't even imagine when I'll have time to do it. It was meant to be a party, for everyone to go out and use up the film, and then when the film was developed have a little showing. I won't have time to do this until after I finish school, so I'll probably forget again and the film will be almost 7 years expired. (I'm actually excited about the expired film because it's so unpredictable and I love the error potential of film.) Of course, there's always the chance the weather will be perfect on a day when I wake up and have a day off from school and work, and might think to take out a few of the cameras to shoot the perfect light. There's a particular time of the morning that is just beautiful and crisp and makes everything look bright. Rarely do I get to document those moments, so it would be a coup if I could get something special from the expired film and the right time of day.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Friday, January 4, 2008
run in with the law
I'm starting to wonder if I'm getting soft in my old age. Yesterday I went to the cop shop to get a criminal record check done for work, a requirement because I work with vulnerable people or deal with financial trust or some other shit that isn't, in fact, accurate. I shelve books in the Young Adult section once a week. I touch cheques a couple of times a month. Apparently my employer has decided after 4 years not to trust me and requires me to get a check or else they can fire me. So I've waited until the last minute to do it and yesterday was the day to make it happen. Were I more opposed to The Man, I would have put up more of a fight. As it stands, I've caved and allowed my employer to pry into my past criminal record.
As far as I can remember, the only times I've ever been stopped by police have been for throwing water balloons out of car windows and for driving a 1973 black Camaro that used to be orange. I am not the sort that gets belligerent with the po-po, choosing instead to run away from the law before they see me. All those parties in high school that got busted up? I ducked out the back door and jumped over the fence as soon as the police turned onto the street. Had anyone complained about the *paddywacking incidents during my formative driving years I likely would have been hauled up on assault. But they didn't.
Waiting in line, I realised I have no interest in going back there for any reason. It's a boring building and I can't see any benefit in hanging out among people who just sort of hang out there for no apparent reason. I'm sure there are loads of eligible bachelors who make visits to the police station on a regular basis, but I'm not sure we have enough in common to make a compatible match.
Yesterday I also bought a book for school, which starts in a few days. I was hoping to have a fun-filled weekend, seeing people I like before I disappear for another 4 months, but it looks like all my best intentions are moot. Cancellations, illness, double-booking... these are the sorts of things that, in two weeks or so, will make me angry and yelly, and no one will want to talk to me anymore.
So now I have to suck it up and find other things to do, like figure out if my oven will broil things because I'm getting tired of stove-top cooking. I also miss baking. It's one of the easiest ways for me to calm down and deal with stress, and I'm concerned that I'm going into my most course-heavy semester without an operational oven. On the upside, I made coconut rice and a green curry last evening that was kickass. But this has nothing to do with the oven. Maybe I should buy some yeast and see if that bread maker works... That's almost baking, right? Am I right?
Oh, I also got a haircut yesterday and it looked much better when it was fresh. Today, not so much, but will be cute again with a little work.
*Paddywacking is a summer sport that involves driving close to pedestrians along the campsite road in my hometown while wielding a plastic oar from an inflatable raft set and patting people on the bum with the oar as the car drives by. It's a developed skill because you don't want to hurt them; you just want to scare the crap out of them.
As far as I can remember, the only times I've ever been stopped by police have been for throwing water balloons out of car windows and for driving a 1973 black Camaro that used to be orange. I am not the sort that gets belligerent with the po-po, choosing instead to run away from the law before they see me. All those parties in high school that got busted up? I ducked out the back door and jumped over the fence as soon as the police turned onto the street. Had anyone complained about the *paddywacking incidents during my formative driving years I likely would have been hauled up on assault. But they didn't.
Waiting in line, I realised I have no interest in going back there for any reason. It's a boring building and I can't see any benefit in hanging out among people who just sort of hang out there for no apparent reason. I'm sure there are loads of eligible bachelors who make visits to the police station on a regular basis, but I'm not sure we have enough in common to make a compatible match.
Yesterday I also bought a book for school, which starts in a few days. I was hoping to have a fun-filled weekend, seeing people I like before I disappear for another 4 months, but it looks like all my best intentions are moot. Cancellations, illness, double-booking... these are the sorts of things that, in two weeks or so, will make me angry and yelly, and no one will want to talk to me anymore.
So now I have to suck it up and find other things to do, like figure out if my oven will broil things because I'm getting tired of stove-top cooking. I also miss baking. It's one of the easiest ways for me to calm down and deal with stress, and I'm concerned that I'm going into my most course-heavy semester without an operational oven. On the upside, I made coconut rice and a green curry last evening that was kickass. But this has nothing to do with the oven. Maybe I should buy some yeast and see if that bread maker works... That's almost baking, right? Am I right?
Oh, I also got a haircut yesterday and it looked much better when it was fresh. Today, not so much, but will be cute again with a little work.
*Paddywacking is a summer sport that involves driving close to pedestrians along the campsite road in my hometown while wielding a plastic oar from an inflatable raft set and patting people on the bum with the oar as the car drives by. It's a developed skill because you don't want to hurt them; you just want to scare the crap out of them.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
aftermathing
I can't tell if I feel dreadful or not. This morning I awoke to my alarm, a rare occurrence that means one of two things: I went to bed really late, resulting in less than 5 hours sleep, or I am getting ill. It's hard to tell which it is because yesterday was a write-off and I didn't get nearly enough sleep the night before. So I might just be really tired or fighting an illness. I hope it's the former.
New Year's went OK. I had a couple people over for pre-drinks before heading out to a sock-hop in Gastown. In retrospect I should have either stopped drinking after the pre-drinks or drank less before we got to the club. Double gimlets sneak up on you, making you think you're OK until you just aren't. I remember being a little belligerent and sweary before we left my house; by the time we got downtown I was worse. I believe I told one of my friends that his tight pants were hot (um... sorry about that), twisted my ankle quite badly just after midnight, and kept falling on people on the dancefloor. I think this might have pissed people off, but I was too drunk to care.
Thankfully people take care of me when I'm in a state. Left on my own, I'm not sure I would have been able to make decisions that would result in me sleeping in familiar surroundings. One friend said we were walking home and I didn't fight at all, even though it was cold and my ankle was throbbing. I remember getting on a bus, but don't remember crossing Skid Row or walking through Chinatown. Once safely inside my house, everything becomes much clearer and I know I drank a lot of water and took a painkiller before sleeping.
Even though I didn't wake up ill, I didn't feel like leaving my couch yesterday at all. Friends came by to collect forgotten bits in the haste of heading to the club, and I met them looking a little worse for wear. Upon surveying my shoes, I realise they will be unwearable as fancy shoes because of the weird black marks all over them. I should have been watching all the DVDs I have out right now (including the 4th & 5th seasons of "Curb Your Enthusiasm," which I'm finding harder to watch), but instead I kept falling asleep like a narcoleptic. By the time bedtime rolled around I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to fall asleep. I was entirely wrong.
And now I am falling asleep at the keyboard, even though I have to write a ridiculously huge summary of a redesign project's measurements to present to the head of my floor, to be used by architects. I wish someone could make me a spreadsheet that would do all the work.
New Year's went OK. I had a couple people over for pre-drinks before heading out to a sock-hop in Gastown. In retrospect I should have either stopped drinking after the pre-drinks or drank less before we got to the club. Double gimlets sneak up on you, making you think you're OK until you just aren't. I remember being a little belligerent and sweary before we left my house; by the time we got downtown I was worse. I believe I told one of my friends that his tight pants were hot (um... sorry about that), twisted my ankle quite badly just after midnight, and kept falling on people on the dancefloor. I think this might have pissed people off, but I was too drunk to care.
Thankfully people take care of me when I'm in a state. Left on my own, I'm not sure I would have been able to make decisions that would result in me sleeping in familiar surroundings. One friend said we were walking home and I didn't fight at all, even though it was cold and my ankle was throbbing. I remember getting on a bus, but don't remember crossing Skid Row or walking through Chinatown. Once safely inside my house, everything becomes much clearer and I know I drank a lot of water and took a painkiller before sleeping.
Even though I didn't wake up ill, I didn't feel like leaving my couch yesterday at all. Friends came by to collect forgotten bits in the haste of heading to the club, and I met them looking a little worse for wear. Upon surveying my shoes, I realise they will be unwearable as fancy shoes because of the weird black marks all over them. I should have been watching all the DVDs I have out right now (including the 4th & 5th seasons of "Curb Your Enthusiasm," which I'm finding harder to watch), but instead I kept falling asleep like a narcoleptic. By the time bedtime rolled around I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to fall asleep. I was entirely wrong.
And now I am falling asleep at the keyboard, even though I have to write a ridiculously huge summary of a redesign project's measurements to present to the head of my floor, to be used by architects. I wish someone could make me a spreadsheet that would do all the work.
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