unremarkablility

The most exciting thing about my day? I found out that when the 8 Downtown bus terminates and restarts at Robson, it no longer turns into a 20 Victoria. I like this because it keeps things easy for my brain to understand and recognise. Since I take the 8 Fraser to get home (when I feel like avoiding the Skytrain, which happens occasionally and more lately), I no longer have to be disappointed to see the 8 Downtown. I can be excited because that's my bus.

Obviously it wasn't a stellar day.

I accidentally worked out the lower plaster while I tried to shift it back over to the right side of my mouth. It's been migrating ever leftward and I finally tried to fight back. Unfortunately, the plaster/putty (I don't know what it is, but it leaves white marks on my fingers when I touch it, so I'm pretty sure if I leave it in I'll soon dissolve it completely. Ew) popped out. I decided to look at what lies beneath and it's sort of disgusting. I tried not to look at it directly for fear that it would (like Medusa) turn me to stone or something. At least the graft isn't a freakish white anymore. How am I supposed to makeout with boys on my trip with this kind of damage?

What concerns me more is that I will have to keep the plaster in when I leave town. My appointment on Wednesday can't come fast enough. I'm pretty sure things are getting caught underneath, making for a most unpleasant environment. It makes eating hard; I have to rip food into small pieces and shove it into the left corner of my mouth, which limits what I feel OK with eating, especially in public. I talk with a lisp, which is fine for David Sedaris because his lisp sells audiobooks, but for me... I just sound sort of stupid, a little like Elmer Fudd. And I can't smile because there's an enormous chunk of plaster in the front of my fricking mouth.

And I get to go through this again in 6 months for the other side.

I applied to two jobs that don't start until September. And they're only part-time! (Are all job applications going to be like this?!) Today was my last shift as a Library Assistant I. I have 2 1/2 more LA II shifts and then I no longer have any sort of a job. Benefits: gone. Sick pay: poof. I have to make up for the shift I had to cancel last week when I get back and work one LA III shift in mid-May, and then I've got no work in the foreseeable future. I'm freaking out. I haven't been this listless and not busy for about 6 years, and even then it was only because of jetlag/reverse culture shock/re-establishing life in NA, and lasted 3 months. And I was sort of crazy.

Now I've got the kind of fear that will either make me completely mental, forcing me to lie on the floor hyperventilating as I contemplate my reason for existing, or will make me apply for anything that won't make me feel like a complete sell-out. Gosh, I hope it doesn't come to either.

freak out

The real push to ready myself for my (self) congratulatory graduation trip happens today. Just one thing worries me... I think I might have failed a class.

I'm not being melodramatic by any stretch. I got part of my marks back for a massive assignment and I just don't see how I can pass with what he's told me. Since some job places have started asking for transcripts, anything lower than a B+ is, essentially, a failing grade because no one gets lower than a B+. Except for me. This is a concern.

This trip is really the only thing I have to look forward to in the next while. Everything else is completely overwhelming me and I need the distraction from the stuff that doesn't seem to be going well.

I am getting pretty excited about the trip, though. I've got stuff planned for the mostpart in New York (MoMA, the Costume Institute, maybe a Yankees game, wandering Park Slope, maybe a boat ride around Manhattan, the top of 30 Rock, hopefully I'm From Barcelona if my plane gets in well, etc.) with some flexibility to meet up with a couple of people. Chicago is planned in theory, but things will start falling into place when I actually get there and meet up with my friend. Toronto I am the least concerned about, simply because... well, I don't know why. I guess because I know the most people there and just assume someone is going to take care of me if something happens. And I've never been there so really have few expectations for things to see/do. There's a lot of tentative planning that needs to be finalised. Though the transit strike is worrying. Terrible timing. No idea how I'm going to get anywhere.

Today is the day to get everything else ready. I'm finishing off my school drop-off stuff so they let me graduate (assuming the best with that mark) and don't make me pay more tuition, picking up tickets to the ceremony that no one wants to go to, and debating with the U-Pass people what to do with the U-Pass they gave me. Then the trip prep begins, though, really, it's just buying travel insurance and exchanging money. And buying batteries. Lots and lots of batteries. I tried to make a to-do list, but it's pretty sparse.

I'm excited because I realised I bought a box of cameras (can't remember how many... maybe 7 or 8) last year and I haven't used any of them. Don't ask me, "How the hell do you buy a box of cameras and forget about it?" I've been preoccupied. I'm taking my unused Orbit and a few rolls of expired film, and will see what happens. I'd really like to take more cameras, but realistically I'll probably forget to take pictures anyway. The Orbit is fun-looking, though, because it's got a flip-top lens, so I can take hip-level shots without people noticing, except for the loudness of the motor winder as the next frame lines up.

Maybe I should doublecheck on my flights, that I'm still booked...

pharmacies are both awesome and awesome

The war on drugs better not be aimed at me. I'm on drugs. I like being on drugs right now.

I'm on drugs because I had gum surgery today. It was both better and worse than I anticipated. I sat quietly with my eyes closed for 1 1/2 hours while the dentist painlessly (at the time) added gum tissue from the roof of my mouth to the lower right side of my gums. It wasn't really as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. I still didn't want to see what was happening and so just concentrated on trying to listen to the TV shows playing (my dental office amuses patients with flat screens in each room) while they suctioned. I was happy when I could close my mouth.

My dentist pointed out that I missed the blood splatter on my neck during the clean-up. Then he showed me his handiwork. That's when my normally unflappable tolerance for pain and blood got the best of me.

I'm not supposed to talk for a few days, to give my gums time to heal a bit from the stationary position that not talking allows. My mouth is also full of, essentially, silly putty that covers the two cut-up areas. When I went to the pharmacy to fill my prescription I couldn't talk if I wanted to because the freezing started to wear off. When the pharmacist asked me which prescription was mine I couldn't even answer, tears forming in my eyes as I tried to open my mouth, leading him to check the prescriptions and guess which was me. By the time I got home I felt like my face was being ripped off.

When I had my wisdom teeth out, it was no small surgery. Things were cut up, I couldn't eat for almost a week, and the stitches didn't stop the bleeding for days. I took one Tylenol 3 the first day and that was it. This time I've beat that in the first 10 hours. I'm anticipating I'll have to take it according to the prescription.

Needless to say, I'll be at home on the couch tomorrow instead of working my last reference shift.

On the upside, Boost offers a variety pack of chocolate, vanilla, strawberry and mocha meal replacements. Gosh, I'd kill for the ability to eat noodles or beef jerky right now. (Don't ask about the beef jerky. I can't explain it.)

I'm hoping for a speedy recovery. Since I'll be in NYC a week today.

bitch, on being a

My co-worker picked up a requested book that she decided wasn't what she was looking for and passed it on to me. "Why men love bitches" gives a little hint as to why the meanest girls seem to have guys falling over themselves. I'm hoping it's a satire.

When I did my undergrad, a large number of my male friends would often tell me I was a bitch, though not meant in a bad way. I didn't really care anyway; I kind of was. I don't know that being a bitch is really enough to get and keep people interested in you, though. And I kind of resent that not taking crap from people means you're a bitch. No one should have to take crap.

Usually people just blamed my bitchiness on being a Scorpio anyway.

I was much happier when I cared less about the stupid shit people would do that affected me. It was usually easier to stop talking to people than to talk things out. At some point someone suggested that it was childish to do the former rather than the latter so I got a bit more touchy-feely. In hindsight I don't think touchy-feely is the way to go. Talking things out... I'm not a fan.

Still, I guess burning bridges with people isn't a great method either.

If I could, I would just phone in to radio shows for advice on how to deal with things that a bitchier me wouldn't tolerate.

i doubt it

Last night I saw Daniel Johnston and while it was sweet and brought me close to tears, I realised that I am an eternal pessimist. There is no chance for the kind of optimism he has.

I find myself in situations that can do nothing but end badly. Even the seemingly positive ones just don't pan out and I'm left wondering what I did this time to fuck things up. Because the common denominator in all these situations is me.

As I walked from the bus to my house early this morning, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sadness that very little seems to be going right lately. There's all this potential for great things to happen, but then little things remind me that, inevitably, I will fail in the process and a little bit of my soul will die with each failure.

It's hard to be optimistic when this sort of realisation hits you.

So please understand that I'm going to lay low for a while. I just can't stand the thought of fucking up more friendships right now because it's really the only thing that is a sure thing right now.

grandoise literary plans

I just placed a hold on a book that is on order at work. Seriously, how could I not with a quote like this?

"A chicken is not ready to kill for the table until you think it is. Pick it up, feel its weight, and feel its breast. If it feels tempting, then you should kill it if you want to."

If the animal references were changed to men or women and "kill" were changed to something a little less deathy, I'm pretty sure the book would be a how-to-date bestseller. A variation of "The Game," if you will. It gives instructions how to choose a good cow, which involves squeezing the udders to check for lumpiness. I wonder how to get the rights to translate it into a dating book...

My new hair is great and I'm enjoying it, but people seem to be staring at me a lot more lately. I catch people on the bus looking at me intently, which is a little unnerving sometimes and is not always welcome, especially when they clearly need to be medicated.

A friend in my neighbourhood met her partner at a bus stop when they lived on the prairies. I can't even imagine how that could happen in Vancouver. The last guy I met on a bus (who seemed nice and normal) wound up petting my hair and trying to stick his fingers in my mouth when we went for a drink at the Ivanhoe (the flashback is making my stomach turn... his suggestion that we go to the Ivanhoe should have been a massive red flag).

Perhaps there's a chapter in my new dating book for checking teeth to see if the person is a suitable match.

everything that's fit to print

At work my co-worker showed me a copy of a book written by a soap opera character. You read that right: a character wrote a book. The back page is an advertisement for a perfume designed to coincide with the release of this book. You can buy the perfume at Sears.

This makes me nuts.

Fiction is already having a hard enough keeping its head above water. Publishing houses are shutting down like crazy, sales of fiction are dropping (as touted in all the publishing periodicals), writers are constantly being called on plagiarism. This isn't a good time for fiction.

And then this sort of crap comes out.

My other co-worker informed me that Snoop Dogg is writing fiction now. I'm checking titles in our online catalogue and on the same page see that Kix Brooks and Ronnie Dunn (aka Brooks and Dunn) have a western book out, and Gene Hackman wrote a prison-break book. I have never wanted to read works of fiction from any of those people and, quite frankly, never want to encounter them because I think it would put into question my ideas on censorship.

Maybe people really are becoming more stupid. If people actually want to read this crap, wouldn't they have to be? I mean, I won't even sign out Pam Anderson's fiction, let alone pay for it.