i want one more than anything else. so much so that it makes my heart hurt. fingers crossed that this christmas my dreams come true. dear santa and/or secret santa sibling, i know they are endangered but they are mega cute and i would be a good mama. i promise.

*if you are interested in data visualization, boris muller is also worth checking out.

I'm supposed to write an allegory for my conceptual poetry class but I'm drawing a major blank. So... I decided to do the allegory about me and my empty brain.

Around this time last year, I rediscovered Don Hertzfeldt's animations and decided that I wanted to learn how to animate.

I accidentally sketched a grumpy owl at work a couple weeks ago. So, I used him as the subject. The music is a mash-up of The Wave Pictures "I Love You Like a Mad Man." Good song.

Here's my first real animation, yo!

Please note: my skills of animation and music manipulation are in the fetal stages. (But I'm still excited that I created this.)

I was asleep... but I must have had a dream that woke me up. So... now I'm awake. I'm obsessed with flickr at the moment and I was thinking of who I should add as contacts. I don't remember how, but one day I stumbled across the artwork of stella im hultberg on flickr. She is amazing. In fact, my ipod is covered in one of her pieces. Her art is inspiring, I think. Often, if I find myself at a loss for ideas for a new poem, I will look at her water colours. I can usually come up with something then. If you click on her name, you should be linked to one of her flickr accounts. To get to the new one click here.

It's amazing how sunshine can make me happy. I'm sure there have been some scientific studies or whatever type of studies that give a straight forward reason for this... but it still amazes me. Summer is the most wonderful season.

It might be due to the fact that I've left it until the last minute, or maybe to the fact that I really know little about poetry, but I'm having a hard time. If given free range, I can write fairly decent poetry. Unfortunately, when faced with the task of writing an Old English alliterative verse, with use of a caesura and with four stressed syllables in every line.... I start to draw blanks. It only needs to be twelve lines... but I've been stuck on the first four lines for the past hour. Poetry is friggin' hard.

What the hell happened to April showers?

I don't remember any rhymes about April snowfalls. I thought winter was over. I know I'd complain if it were raining all the time. Rain makes my hair frizz out. It makes everything muddy. It makes worms crawl onto the sidewalk so it's like walking through a field of non-life threatening land mines of gross squishy-ness.

Still, I love using umbrellas. I love coming up with nasty things to yell at people if they splash me as they are driving by. I love Singing in the Rain... the movie. It's classic. I just wish I could make myself swing around light posts like that.

At the moment, mostly I'd just like to have a little rain because this weather is making me frosty. It makes me think nasty thoughts.

I was thinking to myself earlier about whether or not I'll ever get married and have kids. My beautiful oldest sister is pregnant with number three. So, it just got me thinking if I would ever have any of my own. I know that I'd like to. Not any time soon that's for sure. Still, I was trying to picture it. I couldn't. In my head, I see only two scenarios.

One: the only guy I ever love and want to have children with won't want me

Two: the man I marry dies within the first year of marriage

When the weather doesn't quite meet up to my standards I get like this. Unfortunately, that's most of the time. Maybe I should move somewhere... I don't know... not in Canada. I wonder if I'd be happier by the equator. Or in a plastic bubble. I need more sun. I need more warmth. But not too hot, because I faint.

Kind of a funny story, I was at a wedding with my second oldest sister during the summer. It was a nice breezy day. I was in a big church. No one was standing remotely close to me. The doors were wide open and air was circulating. I still managed to faint. I even sat with my head between my legs for about ten minutes. No such luck. As I tried to walk outside for air, I blacked out but didn't pass out. I just couldn't see. I managed to sit on a pew and then two people helped me outside where I finally collapsed. Thank GOD the bride and groom didn't notice. Still, for the rest of the evening I had every single friend and family member come and ask me how I was doing or what was wrong. It's amazing how annoying it gets when you have no real answer other than... "I overheated." I'm such a dork.

What can you do?

For the past couple of days things have been going amazingly well. Two wonderful things in particular.

First, I was accepted to UofA. Very exciting. It turns out the program I completed almost a year ago at SAIT just wasn't what I had in mind. I knew that a good couple months in the program, but I wanted something that I could do for a couple years until I figured out what I REALLY wanted to do. I was always falling back on the idea of history or english. So, in the end that's what I've decided to do. It's a good thing too. I pretty much hate my job right now. I don't know if I could survive more than a year.

Hating your job is not a fun thing. It makes it a lot harder to wake-up in the mornings for one thing. It makes Mondays a lot harder too. There's nothing like that feeling of getting into work on Monday and about half hour in wishing that it were Friday. I've never had a problem with Mondays before. But now I do. Mondays are the worst days.

One of the main reasons I hate my job is because of this stupid, ignorant newfie that I work with.... actually,that I worked with. That's the other piece of wonderfulness... today he quit!!! And I know it was because of me which makes it all the sweeter. My manager called a meeting for production to announce that he had quit, and I honestly had to fight back from laughing. I was that happy.

It's understandable I suppose. To be honest, I hated the guy. I know that people always say 'hate is such a strong word.' But here's the thing, it was just strong enough to explain how I felt about him. He had an amazing talent for making me feel like trash for not knowing how to do something. No one makes me feel like that. I don't like it.

I had no previous experience going into my job. I had a diploma from SAIT for basically what I do, but 95% of what I know now I learnt on the job. I've had to learn a lot on my own. Three months in, just as I was getting comfortable, my coworker/superior quit. And I hardly knew anything at that point. I don't have anyone that I can run to and ask for help. Still, I'm not a fool though. I can gather enough information from people around me or figure things out on my own. But if a situation arises where I don't know how to do something I don't need to have it thrown in my face. Let's face it, we aren't all 40 year old men with 15-20 years experience. I haven't even been there a year. I can only learn through trial and error because who is there to correct me? Cut me some slack. And most people at work do. But this guy would not. Most days I would just roll my eyes and suck it up. I don't need to be this guys friend, I just need to work with him.

And the story comes to its climax...

Last week... for the last time (which I know now)... Todd (jerkoff's name) comes up and complains about the setup of some plates -- pretty well insinuates that I am an idiot. I couldn't take it anymore.

First off, we have these forms now where offset is supposed to fill out how they want something setup. I did my setup exactly as requested. To be fair, some important details weren't given to offset when they received the form. I have no issue with that. I would never think they were morons because they made a mistake. Even though it would have been inconvenient to me, I would have done my part again and never even flinched. It's my job. It's what I'm paid to do. Just ask me nicely. But when you act like it's my fault when it wasn't my fault... no way. I'm tired of people always refusing to accept responsibility for their errors and instead pinning it on my department. If we make mistakes, we admit to them. At least have the courtesy to do the same.

I was seconds away from marching downstairs and making a big scene but I calmed myself down. Instead, all I did was write a note that said

We do as requested on the form so if you want something done write it on the form or at least make a note that we need to come see you.

My little synopsis was much ruder than the actual version. I used more words and even though it said essentially the same thing, it was much less offensive. There was a big fuss downstairs about it though. I think my manager could sense that I was upset because I ended up being called to his office to talk about it. One thing I've learnt in the past months is not to pussyfoot around things. I'm not going to pretend that something is okay if it's not. I was straight up and said I've tried all I can do, but there's just no way to work with the guy. I try my best to just ignore him and go on with my work... but I was in a bad mood and I couldn't do it. He had caught me on a bad day. Normally I'd be the mature one. As far as I was concerned that day, he's twice my age, mature enough to get married and have kids, he can be the bigger person for once.

I was able to avoid him for close to a week. He never set foot upstairs, and he rarely answered the offset phone and I loved it. The other senior pressman (Brian) was away for most of the week following that fateful day so my manager didn't want to talk to Todd right after the incident (good thing by the sounds of it). Brian got back today, and so it seems that the talk took place... and Todd wasn't mature enough to make the changes he needed to make. So he quit.

So if you're out there Todd: Let's toast... to never seeing each other again... to you not finding a job in Calgary... to you slinking back to newfoundland where your marriage will inevitably fail... and then hopefully to your repenting your asshole ways and becoming a nicer person. Lay off the weed. Lay off the booze. You made my bloody day.

And Larry: Thanks for coming through bud. I'm sorry I ever doubted you

....... and scene

So after a long hiatus I've decided to start writing my blog again. Really there isn't much going on, but I plan on going back to school and I'm afraid that I've lost too many brain cells. I figure that I can slowly regain them by reading more and writing more. EVEN if I start off just reading storybooks or writing nonsense that no one will read. It's better than nothing. No topic to discuss today, just simply to say I'm coming back and that if I get anymore of those stupid comments on my blog that they "found it informative and used some of my information" I'm going to crack some skulls. Let's be serious, since when do I write anything of use?

So I don't have a purpose for this post other than to waste time as I wait for my load of laundry. Not much has happened these past few weeks of interest. I'm back in school. I must say I enjoy it way more this year. While last year only half of my courses were hands on, all but two are hands on this year. I'm learning a lot of computer stuff, which I enjoy, since I'm pretty ignorant when it comes to technology. Anyways, I'm getting bored.

Waddyado?

Before I get to the purpose of this post, I thought I'd mention my recent discovery of The Arcade Fire. Though I heard of them many many moons ago, I just downloaded some of their songs this afternoon.. and I enjoy them very much indeed! Check them out.....

I've changed the name of my blog simply because I can. I decided that my original name was lame, and didn't really suit what this blog has grown into. As you may notice from the new name, this blog has basically mutated into not only a time waster, but a spot for me to rant and rave incessantly about really innocuous and picayune (new word!) things. I also realized that I often quickly grow tired of things. So, instead of keeping a permanent title, I think I might end up changing it every couple weeks or so. Or, whenever I feel the urge. Kind of like when I had my fish. First it was Cleo (like in Pinocchio), then it was Wanda (like in A Fish Called Wanda), and for the last few weeks before it's totally brutal and unexpected death (and I sometimes suspect murder... it was a tough little goldfish) Mergatroyd (like in Miss Marple: A Murder is Announced).

She wasn't there....(spoken with english accent)

So one day I left for work early. Normally, I bring a novel along, but that day, for some reason or another, I didn't. I hadn't eaten and was going to stop at some like cafe type place to eat before taking a walk. I don't mind eating by myself. In fact, at those type of establishments I almost prefer it. Save the big restaurants for companionship. Still, I like to have something to occupy myself. After all, I don't want anyone to talk to me or anything as horrible as that (!). Right... so I went into this cool little used book store and decided that I'd buy myself a book or two to read. I ended up choosing two books by Jane Austen. Firstly, because I always enjoy the movies that are made based upon her novels. And secondly, because I've been meaning to read them for a long time. I picked up Sense and Sensibility and Emma. From all of the Jane Austen movies, those two were my favourite. I imagine I'll pick up the rest of them eventually. But let's wait a couple days for that.

I haven't quite finished Emma, but I finished Sense and Sensibility in a couple of days. I must admit I really enjoy her writing style. Of classic novels, Jane Austen actually has a writing style that isn't unbearable. Like I tried reading Ernest Hemingway a few weeks back, oh gawd... get ready for a rant. Now, he's supposed to be this terrific author and I found him terrifyingly bad. I mean he can write in full sentences, and his grammar is good, and the premises of his novels don't seem that bad -- but he lacks. I admit while I'm not a buff, history has always been my favourite subject. And of all the areas covered, the world wars were the most interesting and stimulating for me. Hemingway, being a war man himself, often wrote on those time periods, so the potential of my appreciating his novels were great. I really wanted to enjoy these novels. His style, though, had this brevity to it. In some authors I admire that. For him though, it left me feeling like he could only give this half-assed attempt at writing.

I also couldn't help hating his protagonists. Okay, so I've only read 1 and 1/4 books by Hemingway. But in that 1 and 1/4 books, I really hated the main characters. I read A Farewell to Arms and began For Whom the Bell Tolls. Or maybe it was the other way around, I'm not sure. Whatever, in either novel the main character seemed overly pompous, and one of those 'perfect' characters that are given little vices to make them seem not so perfect. So this isn't really a fault with his style... but his characterization, I guess.

Here comes the worst part. In the second novel I attempted, if I was correct before - that's For Whom the Bell Tolls, what annoyed me the most is how the love interest, Maria, came across as such a floozie. Okay, so there was love at first sight. I know this because the main character's voice kept on getting thick whenever she was around and Maria kept on blushing (That's love if I ever saw it, ha). But that night she comes traipsing out of the cave to make herself... um... useful to him. What a man!! I couldn't believe it. I've NEVER heard of this happening in reality before. Maybe I'm just horribly naive... but really! Come on!

--excerpt from For Whom the Bell Tolls
(*some artistic liberties may have been taken by blog administrator)

Maria looked around cautiously as she stepped outside of the cave. Dressed only her red lace negligee, she crept slowly to where she saw Mr. Robert Jordan, the rogue professor from America sleeping. Maria slipped soundlessly into his sleeping bag. Once inside, she tried to rouse him gently.


Robert Jordan's eyes fluttered open with sensational manliness.
"I love you!," Maria gasped. "Take me now, please... I can't wait a moment longer." Robert Jordan was startled, yet pleased. He had taken great notice of Maria during supper. Though he had suspected that she had felt much the same way he did, he had never imagined it to be so openly proclaimed, so quickly.. "Please," she whispered. "Let me give you the clap so that you may discharge pus and have painful or difficult urination. Anything... to be useful to you... my love, my master," Maria said in a sultry voice. She felt her heart beating, and her lips quivered as she looked lustfully upon Robert Jordan. There was no question in Robert Jordan's heart, as to how he should act. At once he drew her towards him and kissed her ruby lips passionately yet gently....


Can you believe what trash! Truly a novel worth being read by middle-aged women starved for sexual attention from their narcissistic husbands. In all seriousness though, I guess what I hated the most was that his female characters seemed so fabricated. These weren't real women. Maybe it was a matter of the times, and how women were viewed then. These women, despite their supposed strength, came across as weak to me. Maybe it's because I've never been in love before and therefore don't understand the motivations they might have had. Maybe it's because I live in a time where women are more equals to men. Or maybe I've just gained a more feminist approach to literature after gaining an appreciation for authors such as Margaret Atwood in Mrs. Den Ouden's english course. Perhaps even all the english teachers and professors across the world are idiots and Ernest Hemingway is just pure shite. Whatever the case, I couldn't relate to the characters. So be it.

I imagine I will finish that novel in the future. Maybe even another Hemingway book. I might even learn to appreciate him. For the moment though, I'll stick with my Jane Austen, my Margaret Atwood, my Carol Shields, my Doug Coupland and my Kurt Vonnegut. That is some fiction I can truly appreciate.

I like your sleeves, they're real big.

Ever since moving here, I've noticed that I am prone to occasional states of melancholy. Actually, they are pretty frequent. I have what we'll call "episodes" at least once a day. Usually they occur while I'm at work.

You see, I live this kind of luckless existence where every job that I am hired for is excessively boring. For my first couple jobs, the first month or two was bearable. Not to sound high on myself, but I am a fairly intelligent person. [I'm lacking in some areas,obviously (**author has flashes of grade five and writing mad minutes, oh gawd), but on a whole I pick things up quickly.] My problem with my first two jobs was that I was horribly shy. I'm still a little shy, but now it's mostly just me acknowledging my distaste and poor skills at making small talk with people I don't know or have any desire to know. Anyways, I needed those two months to become comfortable with my environment and my coworkers enough to really start getting comfortable with the tasks I was supposed to perform. That might sound good... shy girl is becoming comfortable. But then you have to realize that after this point the reality about my jobs begin to sink in. There was rarely any variance in my daily tasks. There was rarely any variance in my coworkers. In fact, after awhile I usually ended up working by myself. All the time. All Alone. All the goddamn time.

I've had six different jobs since I started working at fifteen, and at three of them I spent most of my time playing solitaire on a computer. Three(!) of six. 50% of all the jobs I've had have been SO SO slow that I could play solitaire endlessly. And I still suck at it!!! So what have I gained from this experience except for a very high tolerance to the amount of time I can spend losing solitaire games.

There must be something horribly wrong with me that the only people that will hire me are those hiring for jobs that require constantly being alone, or constantly being bored, or constantly doing menial tasks for the dregs of society. I'm sure all my employers, past, present and future, all think upon the sight of me, "hmmm, this girl looks like a bloody moron. Good thing that this job gives absolutely nothing to society. She can't screw anything too much. Nope. Okay, so sometimes young impressionable children come in here. But if we keep her locked up with all the urine scented trash novels, we should be safe."

So I've worked at a photo shop that no one brought film too; a library that no one but drunks and local eccentrics came into..and the occasional really attractive tree planter; a business aid-y place that no one made use of; Shoppers Drug Mart ; a book store selling only the most popular (and usually unworthy) of novels ("yes sir we do seem to have a couple copies of the da vinci code left.... in fact, we still have 500 copies... mmm-hmm. what do i think of the book?....uh, well i'm the one human being still alive on the planet who hasn't read it.... hmm...well i did read angels and demons.... uh... well it wasn't really my type of book. well if i had to describe his writing... i'd say it was similar to an action film... enough to keep you entertained but not really noteworthy.... mhmm? ya... it's probably horribly written and pretentious. well what did you expect his name is Dan?"); and lastly, a dry cleaning drop-site. And even though I was the one who dropped off resumes at these places, I'm not entirely to blame. I dropped off at many, many other places that probably would have been better. But apparently in my last life I committed some atrocity that made the gods very angry. (Hmm, I guess urinating on the gold statue thingy wasn't such a good idea after all.) Either that, or my god this time round is trying to tell me something.

Maybe I'm just not cut out for the work force. I've always been suspicious that that was the case. Maybe I really am just cut out for marrying rich. And that's no joke.

So there really was no purpose to this post, except that I noticed this morning at work that I was in a horrible mood. Truly awful. Oddly, almost as soon as I stepped out of the store I felt a hell of a lot better. Actually the purpose of this post is probably to keep me busy. My loser boyfriend is getting sick (scoff... friggin' baby). So, he isn't entertaining me this evening. I HATE him (joke). I LOVE capitals (no joke). If I was a better actor I'd try to pull the YOU DON'T LOVE ME bit. Unfortunately, while it would provide me with unlimited enjoyment, it would probably freak him out --it's only been a couple weeks. My pride won't allow me to outright make someone think I'm a loser. Especially if I can avoid it. After all, I think I'm already pushing the limit by teasing him about his being lovers with his best friend. Maybe he should be your girlfriend. Now, THAT'S funny.

And as a great man once said....Kkkenny's cccoming to kkkill me!

Hurrah!! I'm going home for a visit. I never thought the day would come, but I actually miss the john. Well, more accurately, I miss the people I left behind there. But still, I've been reminiscing lately about old haunts. Rather, old haunt. Boston Pizza. BPs. I always hated how other people called it that. Some time last week, to my disgust and surprise, I found myself calling it that.

I, for a reason unknown to me, don't like it when people use acronyms... or whatever they are called. For instance, Grande Prairie must not...under any circumstance... be called GP. Just as the Barenaked Ladies must never be called the BNL. There are, naturally, a few exceptions to the rule. Calling Saturday Night Live SNL is allowable, but barely. The United Nations is the UN. National Hockey League, NHL. CFL. NFL. etc. etc. However, Boston Pizza is about four syllables... is it really that hard to find the energy to say it?

Of course, then I think to myself. My own name is four syllables and every time I tell someone my name they inevitably will ask, "Is there anything shorter I can call you?" To which I reply, "Hey. Your mom just called. She says you're adopted and wanted to know if you could vacate your room as soon as possible. She needs a place to store her collectors dolls."

Right, so I've digressed a bit too far from the intended topic of this blog. I'm going home. I miss everyone. And I miss going to Boston Pizza. So, one of the things I'm going to do, is go there and have supper with all my girlfriends. I'm quite excited to go back, and I plan on taking many pictures, so expect them. And if I fail in that task (which, to be truthful, I likely will) scold me harshly.

And that's the way the cookie crumbles...