this is why we love fridays.

One. You really like your new job,(especially the coworkers) and after being a silent sam all week in training, you come out of your shell late afternoon and make a new friend. (he likes pumpkin pie!)

Two. You get roped into going out to hamilton, but find out that sitting on a porch remincing about the people you touched when you were a teen, is super fun.

Three. You are really high....

Four. you suddenly realize that your best friend from high school has finally accepted your music taste..and asks that you turn it up in the car. This is a major success.

Five. TOMORROW IS SATURDAY....(this was a given)

well, that was quick.

I QUIT my job!

I have never quit anything before after three days...ever. For example, I loathe olives with a passion, yet I continually put my hope in the salty treat, assuming one day I will learn to love them as long as I dont give up.

But that is a rather poor example. Basically, my job was brutal, misleading from the get-go and too much work and energy for something that was not paying that well at all. I will find what is mine eventually and in the meantime, working for faceless coca-cola is not my bag and really didnt leave me feeling self-fulfilled. I would just leave angry and I am far too young and excitable to be angry at my job after just three days. Even Arbys(bless-ed, bless-ed arbys) was better than that.

You see, before I graduated I decided that I wanted to help people: I wanted to work with children. Children who are sick and need my superb care. and I dont know much about charities like SickKids or what type of work you ACTUALLY do there if your not a doctor or nurse (which I am not), but I do know that children who are sick don 't need fizzy soft drinks to get them better.

So I say good-day to you coke and may we never cross paths again..unless you are paired with a delicious rum.

transistion: the longest possible route to get here was taken.

Derek...note to the kids...don't headbutt the fridge, its made of metal says:
i think u overthink some things

you can change your style, but I dont think you can 'fake' your style... says:
I think I overthink everything

you can change your style, but I dont think you can 'fake' your style... says:
it used to be a fault of mine..I now think of it as a strength. I like it, keeps me constantly evaluating and deciding if I am happy

Derek...note to the kids...don't headbutt the fridge, its made of metal says:
fair enough

Derek...note to the kids...don't headbutt the fridge, its made of metal says:
But scutt, you do set very high standards of being happy

you can change your style, but I dont think you can 'fake' your style... says:
I do?

you can change your style, but I dont think you can 'fake' your style... says:
*(points to self in surprise)*


Yes, I do.

But is there actually anything wrong with that? Why shouldn't I set high expectations? I am always reevaluating my life to determine if I am satisfied..and right now a possible future lack of satisfaction is glaring me in the face.

Its september. The leaves are coloured and I am not in school for the first time in 21 years. I feel displaced and uneasy. I feel like any moment some gigantic robot is going to come and tell me my fate, which is to find myself a nice little 9-5 job and stare at the dilbert comics in my cubicle. I feel like if I take a step like that right now, I will look at myself when I am 35 and say.."fuck! I really blew those years, I wish that robot has just thrust its metal knife fingers into my heart instead of directing me here. Because now, NOW I am not happy...and I was told when I was 23 that I analyze things too much and to not set such high standards for happiness."

but the inherit problem in this mentality, is that I already know what happy feels like. My standards are already set. You see. Im not waiting to get happy...I am happy. Its more an issue of will this continue on..or will I start to slowly drift downhill unaware of my descent until its too late.

Now, RIGHT NOW, this is when you realize that you do, in fact, analyze too much..and that derek was probably right and you should send him a cheese basket for giving you inspiration to write this and also having an epiphany mid-sentence. He really is a fucking sorcerer.

So, I will go on and casually look for happy-related opportunities. A possible lack of future satisfaction is a valid fear, but how much time can you devote to thinking and worrying about that before you crumble and move to asia? You just gotta constantly reinvent yourself in this whiteboard of a transistion and hope like hell the robots can't find you.

kingston....just shit all over me.

So this weekend marked the annual "queens homecoming" which kate and I felt was fitting to attend being Queen's alumni and all, while also so many of our friends attended it as well....

not really. In fact, the only person we know who even kinda, sort of goes to queens is scott and even he isn't a real "queens boy" yet, whatever that means.

I can say with 100% confidence that the majority of people who attending that circus were in fact, NOT queens students. I can atest to talking personally to a large number of people, none of them claiming to be Queens students or Alumni. Very very odd. This bascially means that the Queens Homecoming reputation is so strong, people ignore their own schools homecoming in favour of Queens.

It just looks like 8000 people roaming Kingston's sad streets, drinking in public, screaming obscenities...and for some reason all we do is laugh and continue on. Or....so of us pose with police officers in pictures much to their dismay.

Byron and Owen were fantastic hosts. They let us tornado their house, got us loaded and gave us beds and eggs. You can't ask for much more than that. Here is a recap of everything that was a special part of the weekend:

- Queen's lame ass jackets. "Class of 92. Applied science" is how they were captioned. To which a belligerent man would yell, "hey! what program are you in?"
- 6 man euchre....involving both drunk threats and name calling.
- Seeing walmart commercials that owen starred in...I will go to the grave laughing at that.
- Arrested development season 3...note: Best enjoyed hungover.
- finding out that tasers make for good stories and being thrown in Jail make for even better ones.
- Philthys is only fun when you cant see anything
-speeches from special friends that suggest you are both rad and awesome..or awesomely rad.

I really didnt know what to write about and lists are usually very clean and to the point.

I guess all I really wanted to say was that Kingston blew my mind and my wallet, and Thank you Queens, for showing so many non Queens students and non Queens Alumni what a real homecoming is like.

Scutt in the city.

Toronto is a sad, scary town. I am now a full time employee by two companies, one by day and one by night. Marketing/branding monday to friday, bartending 5 nights a week. I Assume it will only be a matter of time till I collapse, after burning the candle at both ends, but this is more familiar to me. I like to stay busy and I like to stay challenged...if I don't, I go bananas.

Here is what my first day of work was like:

Wake up at 545. "yaaawwwwwnn" stretch. Peer out window. HOLY SHIT its pitch black out! Depression ensues. I manage to get myself together and ran for the train. Seating was sparce but I saw both an empty chair and some guy I went to Laurier with. I hid from him on the GO since I loathe small talk and it was only 630am. I will not be fully waking up for at least another hour.

Once in Toronto, I had to figure out the sub lines. Hmmmm, the yonge line looks promising. I was unsure of where my work was and decided that if I picked a line where the names were fun to say..I would surely end up somewhere magical. Upon studying the map, I was approached by a bum. This is not foriegn to anyone who has visited toronto at least once. He asked everyone for change, albeit aware of the rhertoric nature of the question. But when he came towards me, I hestiated before saying no. He then proceeded to yell at me saying, "WHY ARE YOU PEOPLE SO FUCKING HEARTLESS? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!?" concluding with a minor shove and walking away to pester the other angry commuters.

I was appalled by the assault. they must be able to smell my vulnerability.

Shaking it off, I got lost, caught in a rain storm and then lost my shoe in the Younge and bloor intersection while crossing. Thus far, toronto and I arent getting along.

Quick trip back and shoe is back on right foot. Right foot has now touched toronto street w/o sock therfore right foot must be removed as I am now weary of a severe infection. I didnt need that foot anyway.

work was long and caffinated. I leave work anxiously and run to the subway again, avoiding the magical train that got me lost the first time. People are cutting me off at the pass and one even glared at me for not running fast enough. I look at her with "im sorry" eyes but she is long gone. Back on the GO, I feel safe. I am en route to burlington where everyone has kids, a nice house and manners.

I am now totally unsure why I agreed to work in downtown toronto. Everyone is so jaded and angry. How can I survive in a town where its taboo to talk to strangers, doors are slammed in your face and homeless people physically assault you? Maybe suburbia isn't so bad.

After my metropolis day, I reflected. Perhaps seeing the way people work in Toronto will make me more aware of how I dont want to become. I will be more apt to consciously smile at people and hold open the door for someone running to the TTC. When I get a good reaction for my good deed from the stranger, it affects me more in toronto than it ever did when I was good deeding in my quiet little city. If a few more people did small, nice gestures in toronto, everyone would probably be a little less jaded.

I will aim to be the toronto do-gooder. If not for the sanity of others, for my own.

life is what happens when you are avoiding "everybody loves raymond."

There were two things on our BellExpressVu last nite: 9/11 related shows and everybody loves raymond. Since debra pisses me off, I decided among on of the thousands of 9/11 tribute shows to aid in my sleepiness.

Surprisingly enough, some of them were top notch. They had footage of a man who actually went into the tower with the FDNY and took video of everything that was happening inside it before the tower collapsed. There were programs on people who had died and left a legacy behind with "life Lists". Full of goals like, "become a better friend" "listen more" and "travel to Nepal" becoming somewhat of a martyr in America's watchful eye.

So, I got all philosophical and starting writing a life list to become all cool and goal oriented like these victims. I also thought that I should start looking for a film director as a future husband cause those guys are wicked creative and take all this unconventional footage.

buuuut. then I woke up this morning and stepped on my life list on the way to the bathroom and now I think its in pieces under my bed and has gum stuck to it.

Which is big for me to realize. You see, I am very much a "live in the moment" person. I get these new-age ideas and follow through on 3% of them. And it makes me sad and uneasy. in fact, this whole posting actiivity is the only thing I have followed through on all summer, much to everyone's disgust. (and by everyone I mean laura, who told me today that I will most likely be cutting my ear off soon and then referred to me a "blogface")

life list # 34: be patient with Laura. She's critical towards things she cant understand.

maybe raymond will finally get laid tonight.

the man/boy who blows my mind.

Every single day I walk to my sisters house. Every single day I see the same houses, same construction, same flowers outside a semi-detached unit. And, you.

You walk up and down Sutton drive everyday. Sometimes I catch you when I am in my corolla as well, which leads me to believe you walk up and down more than once in a given day. You seem around 17 yrs old, always have a book in your hand and your nose is always buried in it.

This is astonishing. I can barely accomplish "walking" all on its own without getting distracted by butterflies and shiny pennies. One task at a time is all I need. But you, you read. And I have seen you enough to know that it doesn't always have the same cover. How many people can say they have plowed through more than one novel when walking down (or up) Sutton drive? Not many I bet.

You also read outloud. Your lips are always moving, which suggests that either walking and reading are just as hard as I suspected, or you are attempting to share your stories with me. For creativity sake, Im going to say you want to share them with me.

One day, on my morning walk, I will interupt your stories and make you tell me tales of your own. I will ask you where you are always going and maybe you will ask me the same thing back. Then you will tell me what I should read and I will nod accordingly. For some reason I trust your judgement even though we have just met.

I will tell you that you are intriguing without using the word intriguing because it is cliche. And after all this I will definately not stereotypically tell you that we "have such a good connection." because we don't. We just happen to live off the same street and cross paths everyday.

Then we will be friends. This is my montage.

How to: go on a date.

A date with yourself that is.

First off, you put on your best pajam-jams and head south to Beautiful Lake Ontario. You crank Death Cab's "you can play these songs with chords" album because you are solo and no one will scream, "You emo-wannabe!" from the passenger side in fury.

Then, You enter Soiux Lookout, a decent "Pussy Point" for all people under the age of 18, but vow to make the best of the lookout since you have been looking forward to this date all day.

You look around. Everyone is with someone. Lovers on rocks and picnic benches are holding hands, sipping the nations pride, Tim Hortons. Even apathetic Teens with skulls on their shirts are flirting like crazy in front of you. (in this case flirting is strong hand smacks across the chest and screams of "ow JASON!") This doesn't bother you because you have a skull shirt of your own and getting bruises on a date isn't your cup of tea.

So you sit on a picnic bench and stare at the water. You think of all these picturisque words you could use to describe it but you are pretty sure one Mr. Bird will hassle you for incorrect use. SO you decide on wicked...and move on.

20 minutes have passed. Time for cigarette two: The lovers are now all looking at you and probably whisphering, "Why is she here alone?" and "I bet she doesn't have a skull t-shirt like this." You decide that its time to shake up your date with yourself, and start looking for canadian geese.

You spot them: roughly 15 of them. Without thinking you hop off the picnic bench and chase after them, avoiding geese poo the whole way. They fly off into the lake and you applaude yourself for successfully breaking up geese dinner time. Now everyone is looking at you even more intently. You weren't just the girl who was at the lake alone. You have become the mentally challenged smoker who chases geese alone.

It is now raining. All the lovers are pouring back into their respected lexuses and your cigarette is getting soggy. You are furious that the date ended early. Also, chasing after the geese has sprained your ankle slightly.

Getting back into your car, you think, WE will have to do this again next wednesday.

I hope I call.

"I'm having a love affair with this ice cream sandwich."

Arrested Development is hands-down the best quality show created.

For years I used to argue with people about the genius inherent in the Seinfeld series. I also watched "I'm telling you for the last time: Jerry Seinfeld live on Broadway," For three straight months because Laura's DVD player was from the early 90's and didn't open unless it was feeling saucy.

But now the only thing in my DVD player is Season 1 of Arrested Development and I can say this to the program: I'm sorry we didn't meet sooner.