listening to: "Ch-Check It Out" :: Beastie Boys

reading: "American Gods" :: Neil Gaiman

I've got the day off work today, which is really nice. I went for lunch with P, then went to the mall and picked up the new Beastie Boys CD, because I heart them like a mad bitch. Always have, always will. I also took a look at some camping supplies for my Mad Crazy Camping Adventure at the end of the month. I'm tres excited. I also took a nice, long walk through the park afterwards, cuz I felt like a total lard ass after the lunch with P. I feel all refreshed and at one with nature. Or, you know, whatever.

I've been very annoyed with myself lately. I can't seem to make up my mind about this guy at work, B. One day I like him; the next, meh. I'm constantly waivering between mild desire and mild dislike. Which is weird. Usually when I like a guy, it's intense and all-consuming.

Doesn't help that the last time we went out and I had decided I was going to make a move, he fucked off with his friends and we couldn't find him for two hours, and by that point I was too damned pissed off to even look at him, nevermind put my tongue in his mouth.

Pfft. His loss. I have a tongue ring, man. He should think about that the next time he's gonna ditch me at the bar. Prickbag.

Hey Sarah, I'll tell you why everyone loves Rupert Grint lately. He's a-fucking-dorable, that's why. Yeah, I said it *g*.

And on a final note:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PAMSTAH!!!

I'm very much looking forward to avocado and spinach dip. Woo!

»«

listening to: "Ghost" :: Howie Day

16 days since I've written an entry here? That is ridonkulous. My deepest apologies for neglecting you, dear Diaryland.

I haven't really been in a writing mood lately. Entries over at the lj have been pretty sketchy as well. I just don't have anything interesting to talk about. Work, sleep, sometimes eat, sometimes go out drinking. That pretty much sums it up, kittens.

I'm finished training, by the way. I'm on the floor now, taking calls and being either a)screamed at by angry, middle-aged people who have nothing better to do than whine about the $50 in roaming charges they got, or b)hit on by Creepy McCreeps who have nothing better to do than tell me I sound 'like a really beautiful girl' and ask me where I am. Yeah, cuz I'm gonna date some Random I met over the phone. Ew.

In brighter news, two more weeks until Canada Day, which means two more weeks until I get to see my beloved friends and go camping and drink my face off. Woo hoo!

»«

listening to: "Talk To Me, Dance With Me" :: Hot Hot Heat

reading: Sun Tzao's The Art of War

I was absolutely miserable yesterday. I'm kind of PMSing lately, so anything and everything people said to me was pissing me off, for no good reason. I was even feeling darkly resentful at being forced to play Pictionary for the last hour of class. But my stunning success at sketching a kangaroo for my assigned 'Captain Kangaroo' (I wasn't an art student for nothing, you know) cheered me slightly, and so I allowed myself to be cajoled into attending a night of drunken debauchery with a handful of coworkers.

Cut to me, one hour later, doing a drunken waltz with Royal (who tried to help me rip a Calgary Flames flag off a car and defended AC/DC with me when others scoffed at their musical appeal and is therefore my New Favourite Person), trying not to step on his feet but with little success. We ended up in the park by the end of the night, wanting to watch the sun rise, but alas it was cloudy and started to rain, so we cut it short and I trudged home by the dim gray light of morning.

I've spent most of the day catching up on sleep, watching Smallville, and chatting with Cat on MSN. I have exciting news. I've converted her into a Franz Ferdinand fan. I've never been more proud *single tear*. It is my life's mission to spread the Franz love. I'm like a Christian missionary, but with better merchandise. Yeah, I said it. Franz Ferdinand is better than Jesus. Ha! Take that, Jesus, you son of a deity!

»«

Informationi

Miss Black is a restricted area. Authorised personel only

Username:

From Go-Quiz.com

It's funny because it's true. You need a pass and proper documentation and everything to get down with this.

Creepy Vampire RPGer from work: "See, if I was trying to be romantic, I'd tell you something like how the flower reminded me of the colour of your eyes."

Me and two other Coworkers : "Eeeeeew."

I'm not romantic at all. Flowers and candy and all that bullshit just don't appeal to me. I'd much rather someone buy me a CD than waste their money on something that's going to be dead in a few days.

I'm going to Edmonton next weekend with a few girls from work and doing some SHOPPING. I'm so excited. I've been craving new clothing for months, and I need to buy presents for people.

That's it. I'm all about work lately, since it's what I do every friggin' night, so I don't have much of a social life to regail you with tales of. And the work is totally boring, so I can't even make fun of that. Bah.

»«

I am pausing, mid-Smallville Season Two Fiesta (complete with pizza and wine), to tell you all how very much I love Lex Luthor, and it pains me in a very disturbing way that he is not, in fact, a real person that I can hug and comfort and make everything better for him.

I used to be normal, I swear.

Season finale of Alias is tonight. I might lose it. Rumours are it's going to be a shocker of epic proportions, and all I can think of is how fucking mindblown I was last year and how it can't possibly be worse than that. But it probably can. Because I have that kind of luck. Also, because I have to wait eight motherfuckin months for the resolution. Damn you, ABC. DAMN YOUUUUUUUUUU! Sarah, what am I going to do without Sark? They can't take him away. He's my special crack! I'll have to find a normal, non-evil guy who doesn't kill people at the drop of a hat to moon over. And, hello? Ew.

Who am I kidding? If a guy ain't morally ambiguous, I ain't interested.

In happier news, after shopping for hours yesterday, I finally found a cute skirt to buy myself. It's supposed to come to mid-thigh, but sadly, because I'm so short, it's a knee-length. Anyway, it's black with little slits up the sides and has a cute spy belt to go with it. I love it so.

Had made up my mind not to develop a crush on that cute guy from work who has a girlfriend when he came strolling into class dressed in head to toe American Eagle Outfitters (one of my favourite stores evah) and his hair all messycurly and wonderful.

I hate him.

»«

The days, they bleed into one long stretch of timeless boredom.

I wish I had something to say.

I wish I could stun you all with mad tales of the high life, of glamour and danger, but it seems the most dangerous thing I do these days is cross the street to drop off my library books.

The cute guy from work has a girlfriend.

If I weren't so damned bored, I might be disappointed.

Bah on life's face.

»«

I've been training at my new job for the past week, and it's literally the most boring thing in the world. Worse than watching paint dry, or grass grow, or Hilary Duff's musical career. I sometimes feel like my brain will liquefy and leak out of my ears if I have to listen to one more hour of how to use our company's main support system, or how to log in and out of work, or how to put a customer on hold.

Except last night. We ran out of material to cover, so we decided to make a poster for our training class, and I laughed so much that my face actually hurt from all the grinning. We made little stick figure renderings of ourselves, I joked about people always losing their pants at my parties and blew my sweet-and-innocent image right out of the water (I don't know where people get the idea, frankly, that I'm a nice, sweet girl), made fun of the trainer while he was out of the room (he's quite rude and possibly bi-polar). All of this, we did in the last two hours of class. So basically, I got paid twenty bucks last night to fool around and make fun of everything. Good times.

And there's a boy. There's always a boy, isn't there? He's quite cute, he reads for the sheer enjoyment of it (gasp), and he's funny and nice and uses words like 'voluptuous' and 'perchance'. I'm doomed.

»«

In case you're interested, bored, or in need of a David Anders fix (which I always am, personally), there's been some updating happening at davidanders.net. Some new downloads of interviews, in which David discusses growing up in Oregon, impersonates the Crocodile Hunter, and astounds me with a Russian accent, and there are also two new 'Sark Part' summaries, one of which was written by yours truly.

That's my gift to you today. Have fun, dolls!

»«

I live with this cat. Frida is her name. Now, she's a cute cat, a sweet cat, but she's also a total porkchop. Remember when Garfield ate too much lasagna, and his stomach outgrew the length of his legs, and he had to be rolled around like a beach ball? Yeah, it's not that much of an exageration. So, she's on this diet cat food that she's only allowed to have a 1/4 cup of in the morning, and another at night. Instead of being sensible, though, she wolfs down her whole bowl in the morning, then steals the other cat's food and meows for her bowl to be re-filled for the rest of the day.

And it's slowly driving me mad.

Other than that, nothing new. At the moment, I have no life, and therefore nothing to talk about.

It's snowing outside.

I have to get out of Canada.

»«

Well, I'm employed now. Walked into an interview at Convergys yesterday, and walked out with a job. How did I do that, you ask? Well, because I rock ass at interviews. Really. I'm charming, I smile genuinely (it's all in the eyes, people), and I make the interviewer laugh and smile too. Who could possibly turn that down?

I'll be helping customers who call in about their credit cards or cell phones. Sounds easy enogh, I think. The pay is really good, and I get benefits. Also, I'm garuanteed full time work, unlike my last job, where I would work 30 hours one week, and maybe 4 the next. Nugget of advice from me to you, gentle reader: Never work at Michaels' Arts and Crafts. The pay is shit, and they treat newbies like scum. I'd rather work at McDonald's again then go back to that hell hole.

So, go me. I have a job where I don't have to interact with customers face-to-face (tres importante), and there's no chance that I'll come home every night stinking of french fries. Woo. Hoo.

In other news, I watched the season finale of The OC last night. I'd like to tell you that I didn't cry a little, but that would make me a liar. Come on! Ryan left! Seth left! Kirsten cried! Ryan cried! I have to wait until September to find out what's going to happen! Waaah!

Don't you people judge me. This is epic television drama.

»«

Miss Black also contributes to a David Anders/Sark site under the name Chaton Espion. Feel free to visit her there if you'd like to witness the terrifying depths of obsession.