Out of the seven of us who've started work this week, I think I'm the only one who has zero interest for higher learning. I mean, I don't have the word, "Slacker" emblazoned across my forehead for no reason.

I don't know.

You know how other people are like, "I miss school"?

Yeah, well, I'm not one of those people.

Taking a one year course in securities a few years back almost killed me. There was nothing I hated more than having to review notes every day after work or during lunch or during prime TV watching time.

During the training session, I didn't really say much of anything, either. I didn't have any questions. Or, rather, I was too tired.

I don't get why I'm so tired all the time.

Sleeping is like my new hobby --- and if it's symptomatic of some sort of illness, I don't want to find out about it. I'm the sort of person who subscribes to the notion that ignorance is bliss. Well, in terms of things like that.

That's not to say I don't read or anything. Like I'm some hillbilly who just sits in front of the TV all day. (Though, did anybody else catch Justice tonight? I thought it was pretty good. I like the fact that they show what really happened at the end so you can see if justice was really served. Oh, and the guy doing the training at work looks totally like Kerr Smith.)

I tend to absorb things even when I'm half-dead to the world. My head wasn't exactly rolled back with my eyelids squeezed shut and my mouth gaping open, but I know I was barely conscious in parts of the morning session and the afternoon session --- pretty much all day. Yet, sitting at my desk, I was able to re-read some stuff and actually remember certain things. So...here's some credence to the theory that you can absorb things while sleeping. Strap on those earphones and plug in a language tape before you drift off to sleep and you should be fluent in Russian by morning.

Anyways, at a team meeting in the afternoon --- and you know how much I hate meetings --- I was looking at one of the team leads and thinking, "He's probably mixed. But mixed with what?"

He caught me looking at him and I thought, "Great. He probably thinks I've got a crush on him and totally misconstrued that for, like, a look of longing or something. As if."

I don't think I hate work yet.

But then again, I've only been there for three days.

Sometimes, you just get a sense of a place right away.

The communications department took our pictures and wants us to do an interview for their newsletter. As a former journalist, I'm kind of snobbish about that sort of thing...when they've got a communications staff and one of the women calls herself a writer. It makes me want to drill her on which school she went to and whether she has any actual writing experience in a newsroom. But, then I think, "Who the hell am I? I didn't last two years in journalism. I totally sold out and went into corporate communications."

Some days, if you think too deeply about the roads you've taken in life, it just makes you seriously want to kill yourself.

Day Two

I have blisters on both feet --- which I realize sounds really, totally, incredibly gross. They're courtesy of the new shoes, which I love, love, love. And the way I see it, they're only toes, right? I mean, what real purpose do toes have?

Okay. I'm obviously half-delirious from the pain of my aching feet and recovering from my cough.

I'm still telling people at work that I'm jet lagged, which is such a crock of shit, 'cause it's not like I was coming all the way back from friggin' Australia or something. But the cough is sounding really gross --- mostly because I try to hold it in and that just makes me feel like I've got a ticking time bomb inside my chest and it makes me explode, coughing like I'm choking.

I'm sure it just grosses the hell out of everybody.

But I don't really care.

I haven't really found out much about what I'll be doing to really give a definitive answer of whether I like my new job or not. Everybody's "nice" though. Again. The nice description is trotted out and really, "nice" says absolutely nothing. It's how you describe somebody who's really boring.

Speaking of boring, there's this one woman --- The Beanpole --- who is so painfully shy and quiet that it pisses. me. off!!! She actually reminds me of my youngest sister, but I tolerate it in my youngest sister, 'cause, well, she's family. That's not to say there aren't moments where we're at a party or something and she'll be sitting there, totally mute and I'll just want to...I don't know. Smash a plate over her head or something.

Anyways, The Beanpole is probably either my age or a little bit older. She wears these plain shirts paired with black trousers...and...wait for it...sneakers. Oh, man. I can't even begin to tell you how much I hate that.

She walks everywhere clutching her bag like she thinks one of us is going to mug her and when you talk to her, you can barely hear a word she's saying 'cause she's whispering, like it's painful for her to speak.

Man, I hate that.

The problem with a place where everybody's really "nice" is that it's kind of boring.

But who knows? Maybe boring can be good for now.

The guy who did the training today looked like Kerr Smith from Dawson's Creek. He was real easy on the eyes, but I still managed to close them, anyway. I don't get why I'm so sleepy. I've actually been turning in really early the last couple of days.

Speaking of which, I'll probably turn in soon...

Oh...got an email from a guy I used to work with when I was a summer student a few years back. He was my supervisor and for some weird reason, we just got along really well. Ah, who the hell am I kidding? I had a huge crush on him, but he was married and he seemed to think I was this hilarious kid.

I don't get why people think I'm so funny. Half the time, I'm thinking, "Why are you laughing? I was serious."

What can I say? I have a way with emails. They're entertaining.

First Day At Work

So, the new place has this Internet policy --- which basically means no checking Eonline! while at work anymore. Oh, and checking email and all of that other crap.

Was sort of stoned all of this morning --- amazingly, from cough syrup.

I was the last one to arrive for the orientation session and I was suffering from a really bad case of static cling, to boot. My hair looked really big and I looked like a derranged serial killer in my security pass photo. Why the hell do they need picture ID for anyway? It's not like anybody actually checks it.

Oh, wait. They have what they think is this really "cool" phone directory where your mug shot is next to your name.

Gawd.

Everybody is super nice --- and by "nice", I mean boring.

But then again, I'm such a colossal beeatch these days that I'm really not all that fit for polite society anymore. I'm the kind of half-wit who'll strike up a conversation at work like this:

"Do you like Jenny from Marketing? 'Cause I don't."

Met with the two team leads --- couldn't quite tell if one of them was gay. I mean, not that it's important or anything. At lunch with one of the super "nice" girls, out of nowhere, I go, "Do you think G is gay?"

She looked at me like I was some mind reader and went, "Oh my God! I was thinking the same thing! Did you think he was cute? Was that why you were wondering?"

I had to struggle not to give her the Are-You-Seriously-Asking-Me-That-Question look.

I mean, if I was talking to my best friend, I would have said, "What are you? Blind? No. He's not even good looking."

But then, during the meeting at the end of the day --- when I was zonked out and numb from too much cough syrup and thinking, "Oh my God, I wish I was dead" --- he was talking about some movie that was out and he did this little hand flip and went, "Oh, please!" and I thought, "Gay."

Half-jokingly, I told Too-Nice-Girl, who's standard comment about everybody was, "She's so nice", that I wouldn't have minded if there'd been some cute guys on our team at the very least. Something to help pass the time...'cause, you know, the primary purpose of work isn't to make money or anything.

But, no.

The Lord findeth ways to continually make my already-unbearably-shitty life even more shitty by continually finding the most annoying human beings on the face of the planet for me to work with.

At lunch, I overheard this Asian girl going on and on about how she was meeting up with some friend from back in modelling school and I almost blurted out, "Seriously?"

She reminded me of one of the victims in this case I covered when I was in journalism school, covering court reporting, where these people were charged with fraud for fleecing all these people out of their money with their fake modelling school scam. And you'd stand in the courtroom, looking at all these stupid people who willingly gave up thousands of dollars, truly believing they were model-material, and you'd think, "Holy fucking shit."

But, anyway, back to the annoying people...there was this one old guy --- OH. MY. GOD. What a fucking idiot. The trainer would say something and, like, half a second later, he'd ask the same fucking question. He was sitting next to me and he'd be like off in La-La-Land, talking in that muffled voice of his, and grinning like some creepy Jack-in-the-box puppet, asking his stupid questions and all I could think about was how much I wanted to, like, brain him with the mug that they'd given me this morning.

Every time he opened his mouth and said something stupid, I just wanted to hit him.

And, really, I wish I could just blame this on PMS or something, but...oh...wait...now that I think about it, it is PMS. It's cycled back again.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!

It's like I just had it, too.

I fucking hate getting my period.

You know, with a digital camera, it's not like you can't see the pictures right away --- so, I don't really know why I was sitting there at the computer, downloading the pictures and feeling this vague sense of disappointment that they all looked like crap.

I say "vague" 'cause a part of me just didn't care.

On Day 3, the memory card suddenly started reading, "Memory Card Error" and it looked like more than half of the pictures were just gone. Ah well. What the fuck can you do, right?

Usually, one of the things I like doing when I get home is writing up a travel journal, but even now, I'm just feeling sort of exhausted by everything. And it's not like I crossed time zones or anything and I have jet lag.

I don't tend to go on vacations to relax. I try to cram in too much, getting up way too early and heading off to bed way too late.

Saw CF early yesterday morning --- he didn't see me. I watched him for a bit --- but not in some creepy stalker-like way. It was weird, 'cause I didn't think I'd see him again. A few years back, he was playing in a band with some guys from Toronto. The band broke up, but he decided to stay in the sunny Caribbean and just form a new band.

He was still really, really cute --- which I guess makes me sound like some kid in high school, but you know...whatever.

The Best Friend dragged me out shoe shopping today. Felt a little stab of, "Oh good God, what the fuck am I doing buying another pair of shoes when my credit card bill's already causing me chest pains?" But, you know, when you're shoe shopping with your best friend, it's kind of hard to just say no.

She said, "I want to get married, but I don't want to date anymore. You know what I mean?"

I was, like, "Wouldn't it be great if everybody had arranged marriages and then nobody had to worry about dating endlessly, trying to find the right person to settle down with?"

We decided that life would be 100 times easier if that was the case --- 'cause then you'd be resigned to whoever you wound up with.

I told her about how there were all these newlyweds everywhere and it just kind of dragged you down, 'cause it made you wish they'd just stay in their rooms where they could fuck like rabbits and just stay out of eyesight.

Not that I spent all of my vacation just obsessing about this kind of thing.

Met some people along the way --- two of them were these frat guy-types, though they were well into their late twenties, from South Beach. Had dinner with them one night and the one with the dark hair and cocky swagger was like, "So, what's up with Canadians and how they're always going, 'eh?' and saying 'aboot' and 'howse'?"

I wanted to roll my eyes --- actually, I think I did. But then, I was talking and said, "I know, it's stupid, eh?", not really intending to say it. It just slipped out, eh?

Dark haired guy really had no qualms about asking all these personal questions.

"So, how old are you, anyway?"

"What the fuck do you care?"

Okay, no. I didn't say that. That's what I was thinking, though. I sort of narrowed my eyes suspiciously and asked, "Why? How old do you think I look?"

His friend was cuter, though. And more polite. All the girls were all over him. Especially this group from New York. Meow.

My thinking about vacations and flings? What's the point? Most of the time, I was thinking, "Oh, what's the point of all of this? It's so tired. I'm never going to see you again, anyway."

Before we left, my mother was getting on my nerves, but I told Sister 3, "Just be nice to her, okay? We might wind up being hijacked by a terrorist and then dying on the plane."

I mean, there's always that possibility, you know?

She complains I'm too morbid.

Tomorrow is Day One at the new job. Don't know how I really feel about that. I'm not nervous or anything...we'll see how it goes.

In the airport, I started reading this:



Sister 2 was, like, "This is you."

A few pages into the first chapter, I come across this:

I am currently boyfriendless and in no shape to date.

Perhaps I should kill myself...

I'd no longer have to worry about money. That would be a relief. I wouldn't be afraid I'd get raped running the reservoir, hit by a car or blown up by a terrorist. I wouldn't have to keep up with fashion trends, do laundry or search for the perfect haircut. I'd never have to overhear another ridiculous cell phone conversation on the bus, or waste my time running ridiculous errands. I wouldn't have to wait on hold for a representative to come on the line while simultaneously waiting for AOL to get me online, only to waste more time deleting junk e-mail when I finally got there...I'd never have to hang around nad watch people I love grow sick and die, or witness my young face and body turn old. I'd never get some awful disease, shrivel up in the hospital, and lose my dignity while chin hairs grew unruly and unattended...and I could finally stop dating.

Good idea. Now. How?

Instantly every idea seems horrible. No guns. No razors. No noose and no ovens. The only possitiblity would be pills, and who am I kidding? I don't have a prescription and I'm not going to get one, because I'm never going to do this. I don't want to die. I want to get a great acting job, and fall in love, and get married. I want to honeymoon in Italy, and buy a huge co-op on Central Park West. I want to go to Zabar's, and eat cherry cheese strudel.

With the exception of the cherry cheese strudel, dying seems easier to accomplish. But if I screwed up, which I would because I don't want to do it, it would only be interpreted as a call for help. Then I'd have to use the balance of my medical insurance to go to some kind of rehab and therapy, and for sure I would lose my apartment. By the time I got back rents would be even more expensive, even more of the good guys would be taken, and everyone would point at me as the one who tried to off herself.

Okay.

I have no idea why she would have ever thought that sounded like me.

Was coughing like crazy on the plane, which probably made everybody around me think that I had SARS or something. Didn't help that the turbulence made me queasy and sent me running to the washroom to dry heave into the little toilet.

I struggled not to fall asleep 'cause the night before, I was already on the road to Sicksville, and by the time I headed back to my room and crawled into bed after a night of loud music, I was sort of delirious.

I felt like my head was swaddled with bubble wrap and I felt like I was screaming every time I talked. Which was the main reason I wasn't in the mood for any chit chat with anybody --- not even the cute guys from Florida. It was sort of like, "Oh, please. We'll never see each other again after tonight. Have a good life. Bye."

So, yeah, the reason I didn't want to fall asleep was because the night before, I'd wake myself up coughing and moaning like I was dying.

I'd actually wake myself up, hearing myself going, "Uggggggghhhhhh" and then coughing like I was going to throw up a lung.

I actually think I started getting sick when I went and swallowed all that ocean water while snorkelling. I couldn't help it. I turned and there was this fish right in my face and I guess I was startled 'cause I didn't expect it to be that close and I went, "Arrrgggghhh!", opening my mouth a little and then, I started choking. Which was embarrassing 'cause the snorkelling instructor was cute.

So, now, I'm back in Toronto and I have a headache and it's grey and humid and I have emails and voicemail messages to wade through and tons of dirty clothes and Harlequin Reader called to tell me about her latest business idea, which, of course, she'll never go through.

I was practically croaking into the phone and at one point, I couldn't even speak, but on and on she went.

Some of the voicemail messages from last night were...um, weird. Like G asked, "What's it with you and these weird stalker people?"

Maybe I should have just stayed in the Grand Cayman Islands, like I was considering.

Back on August 26

(Though, the picture isn't supposed to imply I've left for outer space.)

While I'm here, though...today was the last day at work. I hate good-byes --- not because I'm overly sentimental or anything like that. I just find it awkward hugging people you have no real desire to hug.

I'm just not a touchy feely person.

Like I've said before, if I could, I'd just take off and leave without saying anything. It's just easier that way. But I guess that's why my mother thinks I'm rude. She still doesn't get the concept of how, you'll say you want to do one thing, but in real life, you'd never actually do it.

That's it for now.

You know you've really, truly given up on dating and finding "the one" when you stop shaving your legs.

Was sitting out in the sun in a courtyard in the afternoon with N. I kept smoothing my hands down over my skirt and complaining about the static cling.

"My mother tried to convince me that panty hose would insulate from the cold," I told her. "But it just makes the skirt bunch up and cling."

"Why don't you just take it off?"

"Because I haven't shaved my legs in a couple of weeks and it's growing back in weird patches. I just figure nobody's gonna be looking at them anymore, so who gives a shit? I figure I'll have enough hair soon to make it look like I've got pants on."

This cracked her up.

"No, I'm serious. First, I stopped shaving the top part, and then, the knees, 'cause, I don't know, it just seemed harder to shave around...so I figure I'll have what looks like a furry pelt in a couple of months. It'll look like fur pants!" I said.

She mentioned one of her friends started doing that, too --- just didn't bother shaving the parts that nobody could see, 'cause she figured it didn't matter anymore. "The One" wasn't going to show up anytime soon --- maybe never.

While we were talking, this bald guy in a tight black tee stopped near us and lit a cigarette.

"He looks creepy," I told N.

She agreed.

I guess he thought I was checking him out or something 'cause he looked right at me, smiled and winked.

N cackled. "Oh my God. Did he just wink at you?"

"I feel like I need to take a shower and use a brilo pad to scour away the ickiness," I told her.

As he walked away, he turned to see if we were checking him out. I refused to even turn my head, because I can be a cold snob like that.

But anyways, T told me that ABC has the unaired episodes of "How To Get The Guy" on their web site. I don't think anybody really watched that show. I guess some of us single girls would find some sort of interest in it, though --- I mean, we wouldn't admit it to anybody, but when you start to get older and everybody else around you seems to be settling down and getting married and you're still looking and looking and not really meeting anyone, you maybe start to think, "Is it me?" and any bit of help starts to look mighty good.

Me, I'm a reality TV whore, and will watch pretty much anything that's on TV, so I didn't really care. Why do you think I was so in love with So You Think You Can Dance? and Big Brother: All Stars?

I kind of wondered what happened between Kris and that guy she hooked up with...mainly because he looked like a certain asshole that I used to date --- the man who caused me to swear off all men and in Renee Zellwegger fashion said, "Down with love!"

Sometimes, I still think about him. And like that Joan Jett song goes, I can't help but think, "I hate myself for loving you."

*sigh*

I always say this, but I'd love it if I could have an on and off switch for my feelings.

C'est tout.

Ever since my mother asked, "What's that thing sticking out of your neck?" and I was like, "It's my collarbone", I've been examining it and rubbing it, thinking, "Is it supposed to stick out like that? It looks weird. Oh my God, what if it's, like, a growth? A growth on my collarbone! Oh my God, what if it has something to do with what I thought was PMS? What if it's like some growth that's a result of some virus that's affected my brain or something and that's why I've become seriously crazy?"

*sigh*

This is what happens when you have too much time to think.

I re-read the contract they sent over by courier for me to sign and there's this part about Internet usage and not installing things without permission --- which, granted, is probably listed in every contract I've signed, but that's never exactly stopped me from "multi-tasking" at work, exchanging a couple of IMs, checking up on emails, reading the Watercooler Blogs on TV Guide.com on top of doing actual work.

When I showed the number of MP3s in the Music Folder I created to someone at work, they were like, "WTF?"

Okay, so I realize this makes me sound like a colossal slacker, but nobody's ever complained. The way I see it, people who complain about being stressed and not having enough time to do things just aren't organized. And organization is key to being a good multi-tasker.

Yeah, so, the coffee and breakfast at McDonald's has made me feel really full --- like I'm a big, fat gluttonous pig. I'm not a big coffee drinker and having two coffees this morning has made me want to pee like crazy. It's one of those days where you'll go, come back, sit down, and realize, "I need to pee again." I hate how you need a special key pass to get through three doors just to get to the women's washroom and it's located outside, near the reception area. I bet the receptionist thinks I've got diarrhea or something. And for some reason, that just bugs me.

I've been marking down the days on my calendar --- though, to be fair, I've done that from the very beginning. It just makes it clear what day it is today (nevermind the fact that I just need to scroll the pointer over the time and it'll tell me the date on my computer....though, I could just look at my Microsoft Outlook...huh, never thought of this before).

Everyone thinks it's because I can't wait to get out of here.

I mean, yeah, it's kind of boring sitting here with nothing to do (and nothing to say, apparently, though there's nothing stopping me from talking about nothing in here) but with a week off and then the start of a brand new job in the horizon, I'm getting that vaguely sick feeling --- sort of like the first day at a new school feeling.

Or maybe I'm feeling sick because I'm so fucking full.

Huh.

Didn't realize my blouse was so low-cut. That'll teach me for buying something without trying it on first.

My mother's been like, "Why do you buy so many clothes? You should save your money for when you get married and buy a house."

Ugh. I fucking hate that "when you get married" speech. This coming from the woman who actually paused when one of my sisters asked her if she ever saw me getting married at this point. She lied, of course, and said, "Sure."

Yeah. Okay, whatever.

She had high hopes for The Lawyer, but he was the one who actually made me decide, "That's it. I've had enough. I give up. Fuck this shit."

I think I need to go throw up now. Chances are, someone will hear and think, "So that's why she's so skinny."

First instinct when someone says, "You're the first person to know this, so don't tell anybody" is to go running through the hallways with a megaphone.

Not that I've ever done that.

I figured it'd be funny, though.

Or maybe not.

My mother annoyed me once (well, more than once, but I mean "once" as in "there was this one time where she annoyed me..." instead of "that one time in my whole life so far") and said that I wasn't good at keeping secrets 'cause whatever I'm feeling just plays out across my face and I have no control over it.

"How do you know? I could be Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde for all you know," I told her. "There could be tons of things I haven't told you."

(Though, that's not true. Being the first born and the closest to my mother, I wind up telling her everything. That's why even my dad will go, "Don't tell your mother or your sister about this" when he's pissed off with someone from mom's side of the family and needs to complain to one of my sisters...though, to be fair, I feel the exact same way he does and I would have agreed with him...and you know what? My sisters and I tell each other everything, so the words "Don't tell" have no meaning. "Don't tell" means, "Don't tell anybody except for your sisters". Okay. That's a long digression.)

Stupidly, I actually thought about writing it down in here, but then I stopped and thought, "What the fuck am I doing? I really am bad at this."

Every day is a day for personal growth --- I'm constantly realizing things about myself, which sometimes makes me think, "I am such a little shit."

Besides, if I wrote about it, it'd be going against rule no. 1 of this blog --- try and generalize as much as possible. Though, I guess I've broken that rule more than once. Ah, well. Starting today, then.

So, anyway, went to the concourse level to have coffee and mull over the situation. Wondered if maybe I was a little too opinionated with all the, "This is what you need to do" talk. I hate it when people do that to me, so why do I do it to others? (See why I want to bitch slap myself sometimes? I seriously need an off switch sometimes.)

At McDonald's, The Co-Worker was like, "You like that coffee? Don't you find it...I don't know...too hot?"

"Yeah, well, I'm hoping to scald myself with this and make my millions that way. The lottery thing's not working out too good for me," I said.

The guy behind us thought this was really funny and started laughing.

I thought about messing with him and going, "Why are you laughing? I was serious." But you know what? I'm not really into the chit chatting with strangers. That's why I never made a good journalist. Most of the time, I was thinking, "WTF? This isn't any of my business."

I once told the Best Friend, "You know, we --- as in, the Chinese --- have this curse: May you live in interesting times. Ever notice when things are 'interesting', they're really just totally fucked up and you're wishing you didn't have to deal with all that stress?"

Had a brief moment while I was in that food court, thinking, "Stuff's always happening to other people." Not that I'd want to be in any of the situations that I've heard about. Who wants to play out a soap opera-like existence for someone else's amusement and entertainment, anyway?

In other stupid stuff...

When the commercial came on during the finale of So You Think You Can Dance? for the tour, I actually had this moment of, "I want to go." (Actually, the exact words to cross my mind were, "I gots to go.") But I felt like that'd be so totally lame. But you know what? Who cares? Embrace you inner nerd.

I'm over the PMS stage for now, otherwise, I would have thought, "I'm going and if anybody says anything, then they can go fuck themselves."

You know, this whole depression thing...sometimes, I wonder if it's more PMS then anything else, 'cause I get so fucking crazy with the insane urge to just fight somebody or I'll start crying over things like the preview for World Trade Centre. (Though, I've cried over the VH1 special about Celine Dion, too. Hell, last night, I almost teared up when they were doing those stupid montages of the dancers. And why the hell can't I get that KT Turnstall song out of my head???)Sometimes, I'll hear something totally crazy coming out of my mouth and I'll think, "What the fuck is wrong with me???"

I never used to get PMS. That's why it'd annoy me whenever someone would blame bad behaviour on PMS. But now, it's like I can feel myself turning into the Incredible Hulk or something, just having a huge meltdown.

I got supremely annoyed just because it was overcast one morning and I brought my umbrella into work. By mid-morning, it was sunny and I was pissed off over the prospect of carrying the umbrella home. Who the fuck gets angry about that???

That being said, I'd still take the emotional meltdowns over the physical discomforts any day.

So, started writing about this and then stopped and started deleting. It's like, sometimes, you'll stop and think, "If only I could give myself a bitch slap right across the face."

Okay, so here's what I was writing about...and I'm still mulling over. (And because I have nothing better to do here on my last few days of working at _________ Inc., it's just nothing but time to think this through until I go crazy.)

It's weird, but when I'll start writing something out and it's, like, I feel like I'm not explaining myself clearly enough (even if I'm writing in this blog solely for my own benefit and not for anybody else), it just stews inside of me.

But anyway....so here's what I've been stewing over...

It's one thing if you're depressed.

It's another when it's your friend. Or someone in your family. Or anybody else, for that matter; anybody you have to be around a lot --- 'cause what do you say? I mean, it drives me apeshit whenever I'm depressed and people start saying, "Oh, well, why don't you do this? Or do that?", offering me all these solutions like I'm too inept to know how to go about putting my life together.

Who knows? Maybe I am.

The thing is, it's not so simple as, "I hate my job" or "I'm lonely", you know?

Yeah, so why is it that other people always feel like it's their place to tell you what you should do with your life? Like you don't know any better? Or like you're just not trying hard enough?

That being said, I guess I'm a hypocrite, 'cause all I wanted to say when the Best Friend said she was depressed about getting older and not being married was, "Just deal with it."

No sense in whining about it. If life deals you a shit hand, just fucking deal with it.

You know what, though? I just know that, ultimately, in the end, the Best Friend will get what she wanted. (Whether she'll have a happily ever after ending is another story. But right now, all she wants is to get married to this guy who isn't right for her --- and I honestly believe that eventually, he'll buckle down and propose, because he's never really put himself out there to look for someone who might be better suited for him.) So, I don't really understand why she'll get upset over things not happening fast enough.

It'll happen eventually.

But the thing is, when other people tell me, "Don't worry. Thing's will happen eventually for you, too", I don't believe them. My mind blips over that, dismisses it. Or I get really angry, 'cause I don't want people to tell me things to make me feel better; it's the same thing as lying, as far as I'm concerned. And a part of me knows they're just saying it for the sake of saying it --- 'cause it makes them feel uncomfortable when someone flat out says, "I'm depressed" or "I'm unhappy."

Seriously, what do you say in response to that?

I'm a realist. I look at things the way they are, see what's feasible, take things one day at a time, and that's it.

Don't think too far ahead --- stuff happens and maybe your plans will change.

I don't know.

I guess people who don't get depressed as often as I do won't understand it. Which is why this is kind of confusing. I get it. You feel bad --- and it's not like you enjoy feeling bad. You just feel that way.

So...why is it a struggle to deal with somebody else's unhappiness? Why am I such a firm believer in things working out for other people, but not for me? Or is it because I prefer keeping things to myself and I think that everybody else should be like that, too?

Though...the Best Friend did say that I was one of the few people she could stand talking to when depressed 'cause I never try and make her feel better. I just listen. Or go, "Yeah, I know."

And the thing is...I do know.

Yeah, there are people out there who have it worse than you and maybe on the grand scale of things, your problems aren't all that big, but how does that make you feel better? Are you supposed to say, "Well, my life's shit, but at least it's not as shitty as this other person's?" How does that make you feel any better? You still feel like crap.

Sure, I joke about it sometimes to other people, but it kind of irritates me when they seem to think it's nothing but a joke...like, "Yes, my misery is solely for your benefit. I'm here to make you laugh and feel better."

I don't know.

(I realize I say that a lot.)

I'm not making any sense today.

So, last Sunday --- or actually, two Sundays ago --- there was this article in the Sunday Star about missed connections. Don't know why I'm still thinking about it today. Well, actually, it's not like I've been thinking about it non-stop or anything. Mostly, I've been in this weird narcoleptic state, but I think that has more to do with the depression than anything else.

George Bernard Shaw once said that the reason people are unhappy is because they have too much time to think about whether they're happy or not. He believed the cure for unhappiness was to stay busy at all costs. And I guess that makes sense, 'cause if I don't have anything to do, I'll just sit there and run through the same old questions again and again: What am I doing here? What's the meaning of life? Why do I even bother? You know, that sort of thing.

The amazing thing is I don't ever seem to get tired of asking the same questions. Maybe it's because I don't have any answers.

But depression aside, I thought of this article today 'cause I got to thinking about how there really aren't second chances. Not at the exact same thing, 'cause the variables will have changed. Time will have passed. You're not in the same position you might have been the first time around.

C'est la vie.

Anyways, here's the article:

Missed connections, second chances
Aug. 6, 2006. 07:38 AM


During some downtime one afternoon last September, Sarah LeGresley intended to continue her search for an apartment in Toronto using Craigslist, a wildly popular Internet site she had discovered just a week before. She veered instead to the "Missed Connections" page, only to find what appeared to be a message meant especially for her.

She stared blankly. "Then, I almost had a heart attack," LeGresley says. "My heart leapt in my throat. I almost teared up. I knew it was him. I got on a phone with a friend, and said, `Is this Marc, do you think? The chances are so slim, but it has to be!'"

The message was specific enough. It was like a letter to the girl he met while playing TSO, or The Sims Online, an interactive Internet game. "I've been thinking about you a lot," Marc wrote. "I was in (Las) Vegas and it just wasn't the same without you."

LeGresley just knew it was Marc, even though he didn't sign his name. She still had his phone number, though they hadn't talked for a year after their long-distance relationship broke up on poor terms.

She text-messaged, and emailed him. He had moved to Los Angeles. He responded. "That's the sweetest thing someone could ever do," LeGresley says of Marc's posting. "It far beats flowers, that somebody still cares after a year of not speaking. I didn't even know where he lived anymore."

Craigslist's Missed Connections is becoming a phenomenon in Toronto, providing a space for people to express their hope for love, or their feelings of lust, all for free. The virtual bulletin board attracts as many as 50 new ads every day.

Mostly, they're directed at complete strangers the writers found attractive, commonly on the subway, often on the street, perhaps earlier that day. Another common posting is, like the one for LeGresley, directed at a long lost friend or lover, in wistful tones, hoping for a relationship redux.

Craigslist is a hugely popular website, with local versions in dozens of cities around the world. Ten million people use it each month, generating more than 4 billion page views, to buy or sell goods, find a job, an apartment, or even love. In some cities, like New York, San Francisco and Toronto — where Craigslist debuted in 2003 — the personals section is becoming the trendiest clearinghouse for those seeking a mate.

"Now that we have this medium through the Internet to be able to contact each other, it's so much easier to look somebody up," says Toronto relationship and sexuality therapist Rebecca Rosenblat of Missed Connections.


The feelings expressed so commonly in Missed Connections have always been there: You wished you'd talked to that person who made your heart stir. The difference is now there is an easy and increasingly referenced second chance to do so.

"There's something very romantic about it," Rosenblat declares. "It's healthy, it's part of attraction, it's something tugging away at your heart, gut or groin, and it's coming from deep within. So there's nothing really wrong with it."

It's probably safe to assume the success rate is remote. Studies show that no matter what the environment, even a nightclub, the chances of someone responding to your advances are only one-in-10, according to Rosenblat. Since not everyone knows about Craigslist, the odds of a link-up may be no better than Jennifer Aniston reconnecting with Brad Pitt.

But judging by the number of postings in Toronto the public remains undeterred, steadfastly looking for love.

"This is a total long shot," a 30-year-old man wrote last Thursday, "but hopefully you read this section. To the beautiful girl wearing the red/white polka dress, red purse, red shoes on the subway this morning, I thought you looked incredibly beautiful and would like to chat sometime."

A woman wrote on the same day, to a waiter at Demetres: "I so wanted to give you my number last night but didn't have the nerve. I think your name was Adam. I was the strawberry blonde."

Another waiter, at Utopia on College St., was the object of numerous posts after a young woman thought he was "the most beautiful man I have ever seen." Others joined the conversation, and soon warned her that, "I know him and he's taken — basically married."

While some in the messages dream of second chances, others simply think they're dreaming. Matt Cohen, a 20-year-old DJ and audio engineering student from Elmvale, near Wasaga Beach, recently challenged other Missed Connections readers asking, "Has anyone posted here ACTUALLY found their missed connection? Just seems like it's always an EXTREME long shot."

He wonders why people don't just go ahead and approach the one they're interested in. "I've approached people on the sidewalk and met random people," he says in an interview. "But I'm a social butterfly."

Mario Cufino, 29, thinks Missed Connections' growing popularity is a statement about Toronto itself.

"If they weren't so shy, they wouldn't have to be doing all this posting," says the actor, who lives in Richmond Hill. Still, his confidence only goes so far. "I've been to other cities in the U.S.," he says, "and everybody will go up to you and talk to you. Everybody's open and exciting. Here, they're all coddled in their own groups. They're all shy."

Cufino's criticisms are valid, Rosenblat says. But, as Jerry Seinfeld has said about comedy, approaching someone is all about timing and delivery, and there are a myriad of reasons why either could be off. "That's why people have a hard time at bars," she says.

Human beings respond to missed connections in the most tortuous of ways. We return to that coffee shop at the same time. We take the identical subway car at the same time. We keep trying to retrace our steps, all with the hope of seeing that beautiful creature again. And this time, actually talking.

"With missed opportunities and missed connections, the mating dance is at its most virile, most exciting, because you're not entertaining the negatives," Rosenblat explains. "The basic instinct part of the brain is going wild. You're probably getting stoned on feel-good hormones.

"But the most romantic feeling is one that embraces possibilities, of uncharted waters. That's why it's exciting to pursue."

For Marc, the Los Angeles celebrity videographer who re-found Sarah LeGresley, there was trepidation because she was the one who ended their relationship a year ago. "I didn't want to be the one who came back to her. But I did want contact with her again," says Marc, who asked that his last name not be used for this story

He thought the risk was worth it, certain he could express himself without LeGresley finding the posting. But she did. "I was obviously very excited," Marc says on the phone from L.A., "but I was shocked." LeGresley is planning to eventually move to the U.S. to be with Marc.

If other cities are any indication, Missed Connections is sure to expand the more people know about it. There are some growing pains. One man was vilified for posting a cellphone picture of the woman he fancied. Someone else posted a message about a friend who actually went missing.

There are the priceless: To the "cute guy with the red goatee" at Dundas Station, one woman wrote, "I was going to smile and say, `Hi,' (but then) I remembered that I'd just had my eyebrows waxed. Sorry if I scared you with my flaming red skin."

And the painful: "We were together for a long time. I thought I was missing out by not "dating" other people ... But now after a seemingly endless string of insignificant dates — some good, some bad — I realize I still love you. I think about you everyday. Now I know there really is no one else out there but you. But I'm afraid it's too late."

Still, the hope continues.

Remember Matt Cohen, the skeptic? He couldn't help but put up his own posting to find someone from his past. "I went to West Bayfield Elementary," it begins, "and then moved away. I had a crush on Jessica for the longest time. I am just wondering what ever happened to her."

Consider, also, this posting from June: "I ran into the subway at Chester and stood at the door across from you. We locked (eyes) a couple of times. You were wearing a sundress over jeans. We both got off at Spadina and got on to the streetcar. Yeah, I'm a twit."

Finally, just last week, came a response: "Hello, was the dress black? I was on the streetcar a little while back and locked eyes with a good lookin' boy, following the exact route."

A long shot. But isn't that why there's hope in the first place?

So, the supervisor sent out the email.

"I am pleased to announce that _________ has accepted a position with ________________ . Her lasst day with us will be Friday Aug 18th.

___________ joined us last December and has been a valuable team player. __________ has performed her duties with enthusiasm and dedication, exemplifying professionalism with her dealings with clients both internal and externally.

Please join me in thanking _________ for her valuable contribution and support to _________ and wishing her all the best in her new job."

Um...yeah.

I totally forgot to request they keep this mum until I actually left. If I had my way, I would have just got up and left, never to return. No explaination, nothing. But I guess that wouldn't have been professional. And the thing is, I didn't hate this place. I liked it --- a lot. I enjoyed the work, the people, the work environment.

I guess I'm just not good at saying good-bye.

(Hence, I would rather take the coward's way out and simply not call a guy back and let him assume I dropped off the face of the earth than tell him, "Look, I'm just not that into you.")

So, anyway, at The Best Friend's birthday, which turned out to be really low-key, met up with M again --- we all went to high school together, but he was always better friends with The Best Friend than me. And I couldn't help thinking that there might be something between him and the Best Friend, despite the fact that they're both in long-distance relationships right now with other people. I don't know. I guess it was more in the way they looked at each other when they didn't realize that other people were watching.

I think they'd be really good together, too.

Also thought The Best Friend's cousin would be really good with Sister 3, who's currently in a relationship with a guy I don't particularly like.

What makes one person like another, anyway? I guess she'd just throw the whole, "You don't know him like I do" argument in my face, but I go by my gut instinct and if I don't like you from the start, there's very little chance of changing my mind. I mean, at this point, he'll need to donate a kidney if he ever hopes to change my mind. But that's the thing...I don't think he gives a shit.

Sister 4 and I are on the same page about this, but Sister 2 occassionally sticks up for Sister 3's choice. Strange, considering she decided to dislike her previous boyfriend "just because".

At least I have a list of reasons why I hate the guy.

And no, I don't think "hate" is too strong a word.

But anyway, M was doing a mental numbers crunch when we were discussing investing and saving and money --- something I've never really been comfortable discussing because I don't think that's really anybody's business. But when he made a guess at how much I actually had, I could feel Shopaholic Girl's eyes turn to me like I was a complete stranger.

I just shrugged and said, "I like to shop, but I don't buy things I don't need. I can do without."

Suddenly, me constantly saying, "You can't take it with you when you're dead" sort of made sense, I guess.

Anyways...I'm not even going to bother to pretend I have stuff to do this week...

I'm feeling really anti social today.

I'm supposed to go to the Best Friend's birthday tonight and I'd rather just, I don't know...sit at home and stare at the walls, I guess. I'm not really in a partying mood. Over the last couple of years, every birthday and holiday just makes me feel really depressed. It's just that time of year where you take stock of everything that's happened and where you're at in your life.

If there's anything I've learned, it's that too much examination of your life just leads you nowhere.

You've gotta take it one day at a time --- like a recovering alcoholic.

Anyways, The Best Friend's got this friend that I hate. B The Bitch --- that's what I call her behind her back. We met at a previous birthday thing for The Best Friend, and because it was a surprise, we had to arrive early. Tried making small talk with B The Bitch, but it was like she had a stick up her ass or something. She looked at me and then just walked away.

It was kind of embarrassing.

Even if I don't really like somebody, I'm not going to make an ass of myself and show them. (Well, unless I've decided, "She's dead to me". That's a different story. Me saying "_______ is dead to me" pretty much means that the person better be giving me a kidney or something to make me ever acknowledge them again. And really, the only person on that list right now is my aunt.)

I think I've just got one of those faces, you know? Like, people either like me or they hate me.

Anyways...I got a job offer yesterday for that job I thought I'd tanked on in both the interview and the stupid math test they gave me.

I felt relief more than anything else. A job's just a job. I've always been able to adapt quickly and I'm smart enough to realize that there's really no dream job for me out there --- unless someone's willing to pay me to sit at home and watch TV all day. Or to taste candy. Either one would be okay.

The thing is, sometimes, I get the sense that other people's good news isn't really good news at all. The general consensus at work was, "I wish it was me who found a job first." It's like, they want to be happy for you, but they'd rather it was them...which is understandable. And I guess what's maddening is that I don't really give a rat's ass about the job. I mean, it'll be something new to learn and the pay's not too bad. At the end of the day, as long as I get a steady flow of money coming in every couple of weeks, I can't really complain.

But instead of being able to just be relieved about all of this, I sort of felt like maybe I would have been better off just leaving without telling anyone. Just get up and leave. They would have caught on eventually.

In a moment of weakness, I contributed to the lotto pool yesterday. The jackpot's $42 million this week. As Morrissey would say, "Please, please, please let me get what I want I want...Lord knows it would be the first time."

Yeah, I'm a hypocrite.

If I was really stinking rich, you know what I'd like to do right now? Fly a hot air balloon somewhere. I remember when I was a kid, I used to watch The Chipmunks and they had this movie: The Chipmunk Movie. Alvin, Simon and Theodore were racing against the Chipettes (holy shit, I've forgotten their names...Jeannette was the brainy one, Eleanor was the chubby one, and the mouthy one was...Bridget? Brittney?) around the world in hot air balloons.

Is it weird that I actually remember the plot to this stupid movie? We used to have the tape. My kid sister would watch it every single damn day and sing along.

Yeah, so what I'd really like to do right now is to hop into a hot air balloon and race around the world...but that'd mean racing against somebody. Better give it more thought.

*sigh*

Shopaholic Girl called and was like, "Geez. I don't want to get there too early. What are we going to do?"

She wouldn't say it, but I think she doesn't like B The Bitch, either.

Um...yeah...so, I think a prisoner's reading my other blog.

Okay. Maybe not a prisoner. Maybe someone who works at a prison. But, seriously, if you're working, why would you be reading other people's blogs?

Okay --- did I seriously just ask that? Me, of all people? When I've got nothing to do all day and I'm sitting there...well, actually, I don't tend to read a lot of blogs when I'm at work. I update my own blog and I'll aimlessly surf the web. (Nowadays, mostly job sites...but there's something inherently depressing about looking for a job, so, I'm usually on and off those sites pretty quick.)

Sometimes, I'll walk over to someone's desk to see if there's any news.

I admit it.

I'm a gossip whore.

Doesn't matter what kind of gossip.

Family gossip, celebrity gossip, office gossip, you name it.

That probably makes me a horrible person, right? Yeah, well, I don't really care. I try and keep the trash talking to a minimum and mostly, you can get away with this by just going, "Mmm hmmm" and "Yeah" a lot. It makes the other person think you're saying bad stuff, too, and lets them steamroll into their rants.

So, anyway, today, someone at work told me something that she asked me not to tell anybody else.

This someone's The Snitch.

Everybody hates The Snitch.

But you know what? Because she actually said the words, "Don't tell anybody", I'm going to put this one into the vault. It's going to be more of an exercise in restraint, to prove to myself that I, too, can be a keeper of secrets.

The last time I decided to keep something to myself, (though the other person didn't ask me to keep it quiet), it didn't work out too well. It was, like, eating away at me.

But this time? I'm locking the vault and throwing away the key.

I can do this.

I know I can.

But anyway, back to the prisoner. It's kind of creepy, no? But you know what I've noticed? A lot of people stumble on that blog by searching for porn. I think it's because I swear a lot in the other blog. The overuse of the word "fuck" seems to draw in a certain type of person who winds up being incredibly disappointed, 'cause it's just me ranting like a lunatic.

Anyway...I bought this book for a friend's birthday. She likes to knit. She knits all of her clothes. (I know. Don't say it. For someone who's got more clothes than all three of her sisters combined --- and let me just say that Sisters 3 and 4 have a lot of friggin clothes --- the idea of knitting your own clothes in wildly vibrant, mismatched colours and in the same pattern...well, let's just say I'm surprised I haven't severed my own tongue by biting down on it so often.)

I asked the Best Friend..."So, do you think it'd be incredibly selfish to mark off a page and buy her some yarn for her birthday and then hint that I'd like her to make me a sweater based on that pattern for my birthday?"

God. I'm turning 28 this year. Two years from 30, which seems like such a huge birthday.

I guess the difference this time around is that I know certain things just aren't ever going to change, no matter how much you wish they would.

It's the worst kind of dread when you get a voicemail marked "urgent."

I was thinking, "Okay. This is it. They're calling to say, 'Sorry, but we've decided to go with another candidate.'"

That would have pissed me off like you wouldn't believe 'cause what the fuck was up with calling my references and saying they were really impressed? Why go to that effort if you're not going to fucking hire me???

Oh my God, I feel like I'm going crazy.

Why can't I handle stress better? I feel like I'm developing an ulcer or something.

You ever get that uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach? Sort of like you're nervous, but it's not really that, 'cause you're not sure what you're nervous about.

The voicemail turned out to be from the friend. She just said, "I'm so pissed off with you right now for not answering."

But, anyway, just had a call with the aforementioned friend who went to the job interview this morning.

She said she just felt it went "okay" but wasn't sure of anything. But isn't that the safe answer we tell ourselves and others out loud, 'cause we don't want to jinx things or look like an asshole for saying, "It went great!" only to find out that they decided to go with another candidate?

They didn't ask her for any references, though. Is that a good or a bad thing?

She said it was very diverse in there --- people who looked very "ethnic". She said it'd be a good place for her to fit in, if she got the job.

Yeah, so she should know by this afternoon, which would give anybody mixed feelings. It puts you on edge all day, wondering and wondering whether you've got the job or not. It's like, with me, they said, "We'll get in touch really soon."

It's the waiting that kills you.

The friend was saying how the recruiter couldn't understand why she was so nervous; that they were all just people.

"Yeah, but there's the people who've got jobs and who don't have to worry about this shit, and there are those of us who are about to lose our jobs and who have to scramble through this job search bullshit to feel safe again."

No kidding.

I feel queasy.

Hence, the frequent updates, trying to sort things out in my head.

Seriously, why don't I have an "off" button?

I just talk and talk and talk like a real asshole.

I have no idea why I told The Snitch that I had a job interview. No, seriously, why'd I do that? Though...on the other hand, what does it matter? We're all looking to jump ship --- we're like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Head Office can spout all the "we're a team to the end" talk all they want and about how we should uphold the standards and service that our company is known for, but when it comes down to it, we all still need to eat, pay our bills and buy stuff. Getting a regular pay check is essential to survival.

As Dr. Will said, "They say money can't buy happiness. But money can buy stuff. And I love stuff."

God. I can't believe I just quoted from a reality show. Somebody should just club me over the head right now.

Yeah, so I guess my main issue right now is, "What if I jinxed it?"

Funny how you automatically start thinking about stupid stuff like that when you're stressed out and uber-paranoid...'cause you know me, I always jump to the worst case scenario. The second the president of the company said, "Unfortunately...", I automatically pictured myself wearing rags and sitting on a street corner, panhandling for money.

Ugh.

It's cold in the office again. And I'm feeling jittery. Must be a combo of the coffee and the Arctic wind tunnel being channelled directly into my cubicle.

I can hear a bunch of women in the manager's office, laughing.

Why are they laughing? It's so annoying.

Anyways, back to the Snitch. I think everybody developed a serious hatred for her ever since we suspected she was the one who was keeping tabs of people's comings and goings and reporting who wasn't chained to their desks for most of the 7.5 hours of the day.

See how easily we moved to lynch mob mode? We didn't even need confirmation.

Anyways, I've never really liked talking to her, 'cause she's so...disconcerting. She's not someone who's easy to talk to. Give me enough silences and I'll feel the insane need to fill them, saying stupid things I shouldn't be saying. Yeah...give me enough rope and I'd probably hang myself, as the saying goes.

Who knows? Maybe I'm just jealous of her ability to keep her mouth shut.

At 6:37 a.m.
I open one eye blearily and realize that I'd forgotten to set the alarm last night and that I should be standing at the bus stop by now.

At 6:42 a.m.
I'm hopping around, trying to find something to wear. I put my blouse on inside out, stand in front of the mirror, realize I look like some frumpy, middle-aged woman, and decide to change. Again.

As I'm digging through my closet, I decide that I have "no clothes." (Though, one look at my closet and my credit card bill will make you think otherwise.)

I mean, hey, I might be late, but I'm not going to go out looking like I've just rolled out of bed and decided to go to work in my pajamas.

At 7:21 a.m.
I'm sitting on the train, out-of-breath and grumpy. A middle aged guy who smells like he's managed to somehow cull the sweat from a really smelly, really hairy armpit mixed with three day-old urine squeezed from a soaked diaper and then doused himself with it sits next to me.

I want to get up, but, as always, I'm frozen with the thought that maybe I'd hurt his feelings or that it'd just be rude.

At 7:23 a.m.
I curse myself for not giving a shit about what other people think.

At 8:09 a.m.
I get to the office, look around to see if The Snitch is at her desk and then ease in, hurrying to turn the computer on and make it seem like I'd been at my desk since 8 a.m.

But then she walks around the corner, the tell-tale swish swish of her thighs rubbing together giving her away, and she quickly glances at her watch.

First voicemail message delivered at 8:50 a.m.:
Oh my God, why the fuck did you put your phone on 'Do Not Disturb'? Take it off. Pick up, damnit.

Second voicemail message delivered at 8:54 a.m.:
Okay, I guess it's still on 'Do Not Disturb.' Well, anyway, I'm here and I now know what you were talking about. I'm drenched in sweat --- and I'm not even in the fucking job interview yet. Oh my God, I feel sick. Well, uh, anyway, I guess I'll have to talk to you later.

At 8:50 a.m.
I'm sitting there thinking, I wonder what's going on in the Big Brother house.

At 8:51 a.m.
I'm looking at Big Brother Updates and marvelling:
Thank God there are people out there who've got nothing better to do except sit there, watch the live feeds, and transcribe every single last thing that's happening....I think I need a life.

Seriously, I think it's because there's nothing else on TV that makes Big Brother so addictive. If I could get paid to watch TV all day, my life would be sheer bliss.

But, anyway, woke up this morning thinking, "Please God, don't tell me the office won the $37 million lotto." (I didn't chip in this time around 'cause we never win anything and it's like I'm just throwing $2 every couple of days into the garbage can or something. And believe me, if you sit and add up all those toonies you've given away, it makes you really irritated.)

Of course, as soon as I refused to go in on the office pool, I started thinking, "What if they won?"

I was discussing this with my mother last night and she went on her "well, that's just your fate, then" speech and I said, "Yeah, well, if they win the lotto, I'll just stab myself. Maybe that's my fate. I lose out on winning millions and then I go and stab myself with something like a letter opener."

She hates it when I say stuff like that, but you know, if you're going to start in on the whole "fate" business, who's to say it isn't your fate to just kill yourself over losing out on the lotto?

There's this girl in the office who said she started contributing in the office pool 'cause when she was at her last job, the department above her won the $24 million jackpot and she's been paranoid ever since that she could potentially lose out on something like that.

Now that is cause to want to kill yourself.

At 9:28 a.m.
I feel kind of queasy.

Might be the result of having coffee and no breakfast, which makes me feel like I've got a jackhammer blasting away in my rib cage.

I feel like I've got the shakes --- like a heroin addict going through withdrawal.

I wish I was at home, lying in bed.

The other day, I was telling someone that if I was Danielle on Big Brother, I wouldn't have had any problems doing the 24 hour confinement. I would have just slept through it all. The other person said, "Yeah, right" and I insisted, "No, no. It's true. I can sleep through anything. I mean, I wouldn't have slept 24 hours straight. I'd probably sit there for an hour and then out of boredom, I would have dozed off again, but I wouldn't have cried or anything about it."

So. Last night's competition of So You Think You Can Dance?...I think Heidi looks weird whenever she's dancing solo. She just shakes her hips and looks like she's on speed or something. And what's up with the weirdo facial expressions? I'm sorry, but I think Nigel was right when he said she looked like a Cabbage Patch doll.

When he was saying that not all of them deserved to win the competition, I think he was talking about Donyelle. And speaking of Donyelle, a friend speculated, "Do you think something's going on between her and Benji?"

"No way. I think he's gay."

"Really?"

silence.

"Is it somewhat disturbing that we care? And that we're discussing this like it's a matter of national importance?" I asked.

There are some mornings where, if you examine your life even the teeniest little bit, it'll just make you want to slit your wrists or something.

(Okay, seriously, I don't know why I always say that, 'cause if I was gonna do something that stupid and that drastic, it sure as hell wouldn't be slitting my wrists. But you get the sentiment, right?)

So, I'm sitting at my desk at work --- in my little cubicle --- and there's nothing to do. Literally. I was sitting there, staring at the wall, examining my non-existent fingernails, thinking about last night's episode of Big Brother: All Stars and that's when the thought, "What the fuck am I doing?" floated through my head.

And with me, it's always some existential-angst-ridden question, too --- one that never really gets answered.

In this one episode of Six Feet Under, Nathaniel says, "Life's wasted on the living."

No kidding.

I'm trying to get away from thinking about stuff like that, though, 'cause sometimes, I really get what Brad Pitt was talking about when he said he gets really sick of himself. Though, if you're Brad Pitt, what's there to be bored of? You're with Angelina Jolie, have cool friends like George Clooney, get to travel around the world and act like you're better than everybody else 'cause you can afford to take time off, travel to a place like Africa, donate tons of money and help out by drawing attention to the plight of the people there.

Um, yeah. So why was he complaining about being sick of being himself, again?

At least he doesn't have to shlepp to work every day on a commuter train that smells like really bad b.o. and sit across from a woman who's got toe nails that should have seriously been clipped, like, three weeks ago. They were like friggin' weapons. She could have stabbed somebody just by kicking them.

I think there's something about the air in this office building that makes you feel hungry all the time. Seriously. The building's connected to the underground PATH, so there's a huge food court connected on the concourse level. But when I think about walking to the elevator and then making my way down, I just figure it'd be easier to walk to the watercooler and fill up on water, instead. I figure stuffing my face every couple of hours can't be healthy. I don't know why, but I just kinda get the sense that all the extra weight would just go straight to my ass and the other day, I was crammed into a subway car next to this girl who had an enormous butt. And I'm not talking J.Lo proportions, either. I mean, this just looked weird. (Hence, the inappropriate staring.)

But back to the watercooler...whenever I'm walking past that thing, somebody always comes along and has something to tell me. And yeah, maybe this isn't something I should be admitting to, but a huge part of me finds office gossip to be wholly entertaining. What can I say? It helps pass the time --- though, after awhile, it just starts becoming really old and that's when I start thinking that maybe it's time to switch jobs and find myself a new place to work.

The Best Friend's doing this BBQ thing at her place this weekend. She started telling people about it, like, four weeks ago, and now she's starting to regret it 'cause she's feeling lazy and doesn't want anybody over this weekend, anymore. I didn't bother telling her that I didn't feel like going in the first place and was only going because I'd bailed the last time. What can I say? The older I get, the less social I am. Not that I'm some crazy recluse or anything, but I just don't have any interest in meeting new people or making new friends. It always makes me feel like I'm back in grade school.

I realized (belatedly) this morning that the calf-length pants (not quite capris) which I'd swore up and down I wouldn't ever buy or wear...well, I actually owned a pair from way back when and now, I'm a mindless fashion sheep, just wearing what everybody else is wearing.

But seriously, who gives a shit?

It's so cold in the office today. I feel like I'm about to succumb to hypothermia.

So, the interview was humming along and then:

What motivates you?

I resist the urge to stare blankly at the panel and go, "Uhhhh, I dunno."

Interviewer #3 leans forward and pipes up:

Yeah, what makes you want to get up in the morning?

Honest answer? I get my fill of sleep, can't sleep anymore and wake up.

I wonder what they would have said if I'd replied, "Honestly? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. As a matter of fact, if I don't get this job, I plan on going home and slitting my wrists. So, if you don't hire me, my blood will be on your hands."

The thing is, when you head in for a job interview (and I actually used to think that blind dates were worse than job interviews...but that had more to do with not having been to a job interview in awhile), your mind just goes blank. All of those trained monkey answers you've been struggling to commit to memory just go out the window. You sit there, feeling shaky and fragile, thinking, "Oh-dear-God-please-just-give-me-the-fucking-job."

Yeah, so I don't think I gave the best of impressions.

I think I blathered on like some lunatic. My voice might have even reached that high-pitched, only-dogs-can-hear, hysterical tone.

And then, I had to come back here where I seem to be the first person out of our department who's actually managed to get a job interview.

I hated all those How'd it go? looks 'cause the thing is, if I don't get it, that'll just haunt me.

Yeah, so the reason for this sign:

Zoo 027
Originally uploaded by Anonymous Writer.

is because some idiot probably dunked his head into the waterfall and drank from it.


Zoo 028
Originally uploaded by Anonymous Writer.

Spent the morning at the zoo, and when I got there, it was almost like I had the whole place to myself. And you know what? That's when you don't mind it --- being alone, that is. Not that anybody's gonna go around and, like, stone you for being single --- not that anybody really gives a shit, you know? Hence, the single status?

I think one of the hardest things to do, once you've decided, "Hey, I've had enough. I'm going to quit looking and accept being single" is learning to do things on your own...'cause that's one of the bonuses of being in a relationship...having someone there to do things with. It doesn't feel so much like You Vs. World.

But I guess it's that first step...whether it's going to see a movie on your own or being seated at a table for one at a restaurant...that seems so hard, 'cause maybe in the back of your head, you think, "What'll people think?"

It takes awhile to realize that it doesn't matter; it's irrelevant. If you see yourself as some loser who never found somebody to love them, then that's the way the rest of the world's going to see you, too.

But, anyway...

I could have sworn this polar bear was actually feeling kind of lonely or something. I was in the underground viewing area and there wasn't anybody else around and this bear just kept flipping around to peer right back at me through the window.


Zoo 053
Originally uploaded by Anonymous Writer.


Zoo 068
Originally uploaded by Anonymous Writer.
So, yeah, at first, I'm looking at these snakes on the branch, all coiled up and I'm thinking, "That doesn't even look real. They look like they're made out of plastic...or something."

I love the area where all the butterflies are.


Zoo 089
Originally uploaded by Anonymous Writer.

Zoo 091
Originally uploaded by Anonymous Writer.

Sometimes, it's like, out of the blue, you feel really unhappy --- and you can't really explain it. You just are.

Though...in the last couple of years, I've been unhappy more often than I've been happy.

But hey...everybody has their bad days, right?

Noticed this tall, blonde woman the other day with a cute little Chinese baby in a stroller when I came out of the dressing room of a store the other day. And even though this is becoming more and more common, a part of me still wanted to stare --- which I know sounds incredibly stupid...like I'm some pathetic slob who has lived under a rock for the last ten years.

I wish more people would adopt, instead of pursuing IVF when they claim they want to have kids. But I know I'm overly judgmental about this kind of stuff.

Like my sister's friend --- her parents couldn't have kids, so they hired this woman to be a surrogate and subsequently, this woman had two kids for the couple.

My sister's friend is barely ever at home --- and when she is there, her parents demand to know why she's not at her boyfriend's place. They allowed this kid to drop out of school so she could spend more time with her boyfriend and they don't seem to care about where she is or what she's doing or who she's hanging out with.

My sister insists this girl is the "sweetest" person you could ever know, but I think I'd slit my wrists if I ever raised a daughter who wound up like this girl --- someone with no pride, no standards and no shame.

She's stuck by a boyfriend who's been charged with gun posession and whose intense anger has scared her to the point that she's actually run out of a car and hid behind some bushes.

In some ways, she reminds me of a lot of women that I know --- women who'll stay with a man because they think it's better to be with someone than no one at all. And it makes me want to gag whenever someone lectures me on how it's possible to be in a relationship and feel lonely 'cause the other person doesn't treat them well.

WTF??? Why don't you fucking leave, then?

When I adopt my daughters from China, I'm determined to raise them to be strong, independent women who fully realize that they're whole all on their own and that they don't need someone to "complete" them.

Yeah, I guess to some people, it sounds like I'm gearing up to raise my kids to be man-haters, but I'm not.

The other day, when I was out with some friends for dinner, one of them sighed, "I want to have kids soon. I think they're so cute! I want to dress them up in cute little outfits and play with them."

I just stared at her in disbelief.

Does she really think that's what it's going to be like, having kids?

A couple of our other friends just shook their heads and said they didn't want to have kids; that they planned to be childless and childfree for the rest of their lives because they were too "selfish" (their words, not mine) to take on that burden.

A few days ago, the Best Friend told me, "I'm so exhausted from work and just pulling my own stuff together. I don't know how I'd be able to cope with a child."

I remember another friend laughed when I shrugged and said that I thought of raising kids as "something to do" and "a challenge." But I meant it. For me, I need to have somebody else to focus on because I've already spent 27 years totally absorbed with me, me, me...and I'm kind of sick of it.

When Travels-A-Lot Girl turned to me and asked if all this talk about adopting had to do with my biological clock ticking. She asked what had happened to the fairy tale dream of getting married and having kids of my own.

Yeah, well some people don't find their Prince Charmings. And who knows? Maybe Prince Charming doesn't exist.

And I'm just not desperate enough to settle.

I just said, "I'm realistic. I think more in terms of what it's going to be like to raise another human being and help them become the people they're meant to be. And I think adoption is important 'cause there are so many kids out there who need homes."

I wisely decided to keep my mouth shut after that, 'cause when I get on a roll, it's kind of hard to stop...and sometimes, you wind up saying certain things that you have no business saying, 'cause if a couple chooses to pursue IVF instead of adoption, that's their business. Who am I to stand there, judging them like they're bad people just because they don't have it in them to love a child that's not their own flesh and blood?

I just finished reading this:



Towards the end, Emily Buchanan interviews a Chinese writer who has done extensive research on the suffering of Chinese women. Some of the stuff just made me sick and ashamed to be Chinese...'cause that's the thing...even if I was born and raised in Toronto, deep down inside, I'll always see myself as Chinese first and foremost.

Here's one part that horrified me in particular:

"Xinran went on. 'Several years later in 1995, while I was in Shandong Province, near a mountain named Yimeng, I found some families would jsut throw the baby girls out of the house as soon as they were born. I could sometimes see partially eaten corposes lying on the ground. They didn't treat them as human beings.'...I thought about Jade and Rose, chubby and loved...it was hard to imagine the kind of desperate existence that led to a baby girl being hurled out like a piece of rubbish or drwoned in a bucket of water." - Emily Buchanan, (p.256)

I'll always remember how my mother said that my grandmother (on my dad's side) thought less of my mother because she had daughters and never produced a son. And even my grandmother from my mother's side always favoured her sons' male children over her granddaughters...as if we didn't mean as much or something.

God, there's nothing to do here --- which is expected, seeing as the company's in wind-down mode. But what makes it worse is that it's the Friday leading up to a long weekend --- which I totally forgot about. I mean, when you're a kid and you're off during the summer, the fact that there's a civic holiday in August just means nothing to you. You're already off for the summer...though, it's been a long time since I was a kid, so, really, I should have had this day marked off in my calendar in red.

It's sad, isn't it, how those days off suddenly seem to mean so much...even if there's absolutely nothing to do?

Hmm...just noticed that my calendar was still flipped to July...which is definitely weird, 'cause I mark off the day after each one ends and I definitely had it on August.

I wonder who's been sitting at my desk while I was gone?

I know for a fact it wasn't Office Stalker --- who, by the way, "joked" that she wanted to dress exactly like me because I was her "fashion muse." (God, I feel so unclean. I want to take a shower to rinse the feeling of ick off of me.)

Office Stalker left early. She claimed she was too bored and that since there was nothing to do and she was thisclose to gouging her own eyes out of sheer boredom, she had to leave.

A part of me is intensely irritated and angry. I mean, why don't they just can her ass already? She's so fucking lazy. I mean, it's not like the rest of us wouldn't like to take off early, too.

So, no...it probably wasn't Office Stalker. Maybe Creepy Mail Room Guy?

God. Knows-It-All Girl called him "a good kid" and Elegant Woman just looked at her in disgust and said, "He's a fucking goof is what he is."

The office politics surrounding Elegant Woman and Knows-It-All Girl is entertaining. It's like being on Big Brother --- as in the reality show. Obviously, I wouldn't mean in the George Orwell sense. C'mon, this is me you're talking about.

Creepy Mail Room Guy reminds Elegant Woman of Lurch. I just hate how he's forever shuffling past. Swish, swish, swish go the big ol' thighs rubbing against each other as he walks. (Though, the same happens when Knows-It-All Girl walks by.)

I used to imagine Office Stalker's boyfriend looking like Creepy Mail Room Guy --- he has the pot belly and the buzz cut and all.

Office Stalker mentioned her boyfriend was showing more of his "Black fetish" when he asked her why she didn't do her hair in an Afro. Um, okay. I think I was the one who kind of got her on the whole fetish war path, 'cause I'm forever bitching about how some guys seem to have an Asian fetish and this bugs me.

Like, one of the last guys I dated before declaring Singledom For Life, I started thinking he was more into me simply because of the whole Asian thing...which bugged me 'cause it made me think less of him. Like he was a perv or something.

Anyways...Office Stalker once mentioned that her boyfriend asked, "What are you going to do now that you and Anonymous Writer have to work in different places?"

For awhile, she joked about how we'd need to find jobs in the same office.

I wasn't amused.

Other stuff today...in a bid to make nice, The Evil Empire has decided to throw us a little pizza party in honour of Simcoe Day --- which is really on Monday and which I totally forgot about. I mean, seriously, I think I might have stumbled out of bed and just gone into work, operating on auto pilot.

It's sort of like, Sorry about firing y'all, but here's some pizza to make up for that.

The thing is, it's been several weeks since the news came out. We've rolled through the various stages of I-want-to-claw-your-eyes-out anger to Oh-dear-God-I'm-never-gonna-find-another-job panic. Now, there's nothing but dull acceptance...so, yeah, I can be won over by free pizza.

Except...I don't know who orders the pizza here, but we always get really crap pizza...like eggplant and peppers, which kind of tricks you into thinking it's Italian sausage, but then you take that first bite and it's nothing but disappointment. (Obviously, I'm big on eating meat...though, that's not to say I'm big big. Not that there's anything wrong with being big.) And I know it's probably just my imagination, but the smell that sort of clings to you afterwards...well...it's sort of like in that Seinfeld episode with the mutant car odour that clung to Elaine's hair.

But hey, who can turn down free food? Especially a group of people who are about to be turfed out on their asses?

"We'll be on that pizza like a pack of savages," one person said.

*sigh*

Sad, huh?

So, anyway, the lunch party is over and done with and we're all pretty much just sitting here...doing nothing.

Sometimes, I think the reason watching reality TV becomes this necessary evil is because it gives you something to talk about with your co-workers...'cause who really wants to go into in-depth conversations about anything of importance with people you have no intention of hanging out with outside of work?

Yeah. That's just me justifying my limitless love of TV.

I think Travis should win the title of America's favourite dancer in So You Think You Can Dance, though, Benji seems more popular. Plus, Benji's never really been in the bottom two...well, unless you count last night. But I don't know...I just think Travis is more suited for a Celine show than Benji is.

The Best Friend called while Big Brother: All Stars was on and I almost freaked, "Why are you calling me now??? They're about to vote out somebody in a live eviction!"

But I knew they'd just vote out Diane anyway, which made me so mad. I mean, Janelle's just being such a fuckwit about this. If it was me, I would have put up Danielle. I would have backdoored Danielle. She's the snake you've got to watch out for.

I don't think I'm so far gone that I'd subscribe to the Live Feeds...yet.

Okay, no. I wouldn't be that crazy. When would I watch? At work? That's grounds for dismissal ASAP as opposed to some undefined down-the-road scenario.

Anyways..."back to work".

It's one of those shit days.

I don't even have the energy to check the job boards.

I'm going to turn into one of those homeless people and die.

I'm having a hard time concentrating today.

Hence, another update.

Writing things out seems to be the only way to sort things out in my head.

Anyway...

When Harelquin Reader called me up and asked me if I'd gotten her email about wanting to congratulate the Ex-Friend on her wedding, I got real cold.

I'm already having a bad day and I know I'm just allowing it to steamroll out of control.

"Why would you want to do that?" I asked. "She cut you out of her life. She didn't want to ever see you again. She didn't invite any of us to her wedding. She doesn't care about any of us. Your friendship means nothing to her."

I said this all in a freakishly calm, cold way. That's usually how you can tell I'm really pissed off. Screaming and dotting every sentence with "bitch", "fuck" and "shit" just makes you come off sounding crazy.

"You get that, right? She doesn't want you in her life anymore. If she did, she would have put in just a tiny bit of effort --- thrown an email your way once a year, that sort of thing."

There was silence.

"I sense that you're mad. Are you mad?" she asked.

"Yes."

Nevermind the fact that I wanted to beat her senseless with the phone.

And then we were both silent, just listening to dead silence on either end.

Where's the friggin' pride?

Okay, granted, maybe I suffer from an overabundance of pride --- maybe that's my stumbling block when it comes to life --- but there are some instances where it's got nothing to do with being the "better" person or forgiving someone. It's about fucking letting go. People come and go from your life; sometimes, they mean more to you than you do to them. That's just a sad fact of life.

I switched the subject and talked about other stuff after the silence became unbearable.

Who knows? Maybe I really am being incredibly petty and small and horrible, unable to feel happy for someone else...but you know what? I don't give a shit.

Obviously, it's not healthy to be holding onto all of that anger --- and admittedly, I'm the sort of person who will leap to a "You're dead to me!" declaration and then actually follow through on never acknowledging the other person again --- but, as hard as this is to believe, I'm trying to work on it.

It's weird how, when nothing ever seems to go right in your life, about the only thing that ever reminds you you're still alive is bitterness.

I figure once I hit the "apathy" mark, I'll be on better standing.

Bullshit Job Interviews - Pt. 1

What a colossal fucking waste of my fucking time!!!

But, seriously, what the fuck did I expect for a government position?

What pisses me off is how I wasted time away from work to go to this stupid fucking interview where they give me a bullshit math test that has nothing to do with the job. I mean, between all the complicated HR-speak describing the position, it's not hard to figure out what you'd really be doing.

It's the kind of job that requires training, but which will be a cake-walk once you've gotten everything down pat.

But, you know, before you actually get to the trained monkey position, you have to crawl through a tiny little hoop covered in barbed wire that also happens to be set on fire. You manage to get through that and then maybe you get a chance to sit with three condescending middle-aged people who think they rule the fucking universe.

You know, I think the main reason I'm so fucking pissed off about this is because when I interviewed for the newswire position --- an actual job where it wasn't a cake-walk, I had to go through hurdles, too...but legitimate ones. I had to do an interview, a three hour written test (because it was relevant to the job), and a three-day work trial.

I could actually see the point to that all.

But this?

This is just bullshit!!!
*************************
From: Anonymous Writer
To: Music Girl
Date: Aug 3, 2006 8:17 AM
Subject: Re: Job

The interview.

It was the biggest piece of bullshit I'd ever seen.

You read the job description, right? I mean, sure, they make it sound like intricate brain surgery or something.

Well, guess what?

I get there and it's a really posh office and they announce that we have to pass this test first before we're actually guaranteed an interview. Pass mark is 70.

Okay, fine.

They hand us this test like we're writing the LSAT or the MCAT. And you know what kind of questions are on there?

They have a friggin' diagram of a room with measurements and tell you the price of laying out carpet per square feet. They want you to calculate the total cost.

Then, they have a number sequence question, going, "What's the next number?"

And then, they had a "creative writing" portion where you have to write a letter.

GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK!!!

Don't tell me there isn't a standardized letter on the shared drive that I'll be copying and pasting from!

One of the questions had a lot to do with the job, I suppose, but you know, if you're reading their web site, it doesn't tell you what it is.

I sat there for awhile and then thought, "What? It's not like I'm going to miraculously pull the answer out of my ass."

When I left, I felt pretty dejected. Back to square one, you know?

It's like, why can't the universe just fucking cut me some slack for once?

Jealousy Sucks

I was irritated when I called Harlequin Reader and all she did was coo, "Oh my God! She looks so beautiful!" and then, followed up with, "Do you have her email address so I can congratulate her."

WTF?

This woman cut you off for no other reason than the fact that she thought you were too dumpy and stupid to be seen with the likes of her. She didn't bother inviting you to her wedding despite the fact that you were her best friend since you were both 12. She didn't even care that you were part of the search party when she decided to run away from home.

And you want to email her to congratulate her?

I was so incensed, I didn't even bother to reply. I told her I had a meeting I needed to get to (which was the truth).

Granted, Harlequin Reader has always been a bigger person than me. Maybe that's my problem. I cling onto old wounds with a death grip.

Ugh. Jealousy sucks --- it feels like it eats you alive. And what's the point to it all? There's nothing you can do. There'll always be people who've got it better than you and there'll always be people who don't.

Shit happens. Life's not fair. Deal with it.

Slept okay last night, considering. For a split second, I figured, "Huh. Maybe this is real emotional growth. I'm beyond this. Jealousy's beneath me."

(Contrary to last night's discussion with The Best Friend as we sat at our respective laptops with the phone glued to our ears as we stared with grim fascination at The Betrayer's wedding album.)

"She looks so happy," the Best Friend said, almost glumly.

"Yeah."

Really, there was nothing else to say.

It was one of those moments where you take stock of your own life and you can't help coming to the conclusion of, "My life is shit."

And as petty as this sounds, other people's happiness is hard to take 'cause it's like ramming a dull knife and twisting it hard against your rapidly shrinking heart.

Okay, so, yeah, I'm still melodramatic and sort of poking fun at myself, but there's a bit of truth there.

Yeah...so, maybe this sounds really stupid, but, when your life's just humming along and it's not necessarily happy, but y'know, you've kind of told yourself you're okay with that...well, it's like that Gore Vidal saying --- every time a friend succeeds, a little piece of me dies. Except, it doesn't have to be a friend, does it? And it's really more about you and how your life's going. It has nothing to do with the other person.

Ah well.

So there. There's an uncomfortable realization about my life.