7:30 a.m.
Wake up to radio. Wrong song is playing. Hit snooze button.

7:39 a.m.
Realize I have to leave house to work on site for a client. Call in SWAT team to find appropriate stylish outfit.

8:05 a.m.
Thank DH for offering to drive me to the subway, despite the danger of being surrounded by other vehicles doing the same activity. Risk of encountering idiot drivers: level orange.

8:15 a.m.
Hip-check forty-five commuters to get only available seat on subway car. Deflect evil looks with my bulletproof wristbands.

9:00 a.m. to noon
Find typos. Edit text. Save world.

Noon
Lunch. Use a coupon. Edit ten pages of WIP in order to meet contractual agreement with Agent KJ.

1:00 to 5:00 p.m.
See 9:00 a.m. to noon entry.



5:05 p.m.
Uncover plot by other commuters to prevent me from getting a seat on the subway. Thwart their efforts by going fourteen stops in the opposite direction.

6:35 p.m.
Arrive home late. Miss call from the Prime Minister.

7:00 to 8:00 p.m.
Prepare and enjoy gourmet meal that includes at least three food groups. Including chocolate. Ask telephone solicitors to call at my other number: 1-800-TOO-BADD.

8:01 p.m. to midnight
Receive cryptic messages from other agents through emails, blog posts and snail mail. Report any henky activity to the houseplant on the left. Replace batteries in MP3 player and watch training programs like CSI, Ugly Betty and Dancing with the Stars. Attempt to do laundry.

12:05 a.m.
Fight gingivitis and go to bed.


See? Easy as pie.

I appreciate the public library system, really I do. Tons of books to enjoy, free Internet access, the dewey decimal system... what's not to like?

Then I tried to book a meeting room.

Some Toronto libraries have meeting rooms and auditoriums that you can book at a reasonable rate. Which is just perfect for our new contesting club. One of the library branches is even right on the subway line for the ultimate in access.

Turns out, the first available date at that location is December 20.

So I went for option #2. A 10-minute bus ride from the subway, this library also offers free parking - a rarity in the city. All I had to do to make it official was fill out the meeting room application form and have everything confirmed.

Oh yeah, by someone who should be on CSI: Card Catalogue.

First came the phone calls, and then the emails with "just a few more questions". After two days of back-and-forthing, I was ready to give up having to prove that the little club I belonged to was not a corporate organization or a charity participating in fundraising.

"Think of us as a book club, except we discuss contests instead of books," I said.

"I see," the wannabe detective replied before changing tactics. "Will there be any seminars or opportunities to purchase products during these meetings?"

The way she said the word "meetings" had me feeling a little snippy. Okay, a whole lot snippy. But calling Bonequa out to book a meeting room in a library wouldn't be a good idea: the girl don't read.

So I told the meeting room booking agent that having every answer I give lead to three more questions was making me feel somewhat frustrated.

She said that she understood where I was coming from. And asked for a DNA sample.

Okay, she didn't. But never did I think that I would have to jump through hoops of fire on a pogo stick while twirling a sparkly baton in order to take advantage of a service offered to the community.

No wonder the room was avaiable; everyone else probably gave up before the credit check and retina scan.

This story does have a happy ending though. We now have a space for our contesting club. Talk about a win-win situation. ;)

I opened up my fall issue of Elevate Magazine, all giddy because I was going to see my name in print again, when I couldn't help but notice that my article wasn't there.

Being a writer, the first thing that went through my head was: "Oh, they discovered that the article wasn't that great and ripped it out before anyone else could see it."

Okay, maybe I'm paraphrasing here. ;)

Turns out that Elevate's feature articles ran too long, and instead of reducing my "great article" (editor's words, now being laminated) down to a single page, they will be using it in the winter issue.

What's even cooler about this situation is that I will now have TWO articles appearing in this issue. Of course, that means I have to wait another three months before I can see my byline. I'm sure I can find other things to do in the meantime. :::places portable karaoke machine into handbag:::

I'm not entirely sure when my ten seconds of fame from appearing on You Bet Your Ass will start. It airs Friday nights at 7:30 pm on Canada's Comedy Network. I think my non-winning episode will air on September 29 or October 6.

I've saved the best for last. Homemakers Magazine will be publishing an article by yours truly in their April 2007 issue! This has been one of my big-time "I've finally made it" goals - and I've been assigned another story to do - how cool is that?

:::waits for DH to pull her down from the ceiling:::

:::waits a little longer because he's working on a vintage Vespa in the driveway:::

Oh, did I mention that DH and I will be appearing as a happily married couple on Life Network's Rich Bride, Poor Bride? Oh, that totally came out wrong. LOL

Now I just have to win a trip for two to NYC and my life would be complete. Oops, I meant to say that I'll just have to finish the one pass revision of my manuscript and my life... darn.

As my eyeballs were starting to ache, I decided to take a walk around the neighbourhood around lunchtime yesterday to get some errands done. Lucky for me, my bank is aware of my need for more exercise and has arranged it so that the nearest ATM is a mile away. I must remember to thank them next time I'm at my branch.

It was a bright, brisk day, so I had to wear my sunglasses and leather jacket. Tres chic. For the full effect, I grabbed my MP3 player so I could walk to the groove of Can You Feel It by The Jacksons, Late in the Evening by Paul Simon and Channel Z by the B52s, to name a few. Oh yeah, I know how to party on my way to the bank machine.

I spotted her as I approached the intersection. The short, dark-haired woman was giving off such a strong "super-heaps-o-crazy" vibe that I kept my gaze forward and stared across the street.

Of course, crazy people don't see sunglasses, headphones or not even looking your way as a sign of disinterest. So she tapped me on the arm.

"Do you know how far I had to $#%*ing walk to get this?" She waved one of Toronto's free daily papers in my face. You could pick them up at some bus stops and in all subway stations. The horoscopes are pretty good.

She tapped my arm again. "Three $#%*ing blocks!"

"Oh," I offered.

"I shouldn't have to $#%*ing walk three $#%*ing blocks to get a free $#%*ing paper."

By this point we were walking across the street and she was stuck to my side like a zealous jellyfish. Only less jiggly.

"Well, it is after noon," I offered.

"Hah! So when the $#%* should I be out here getting it, $#%*ing 7 a.m.?"

"Free papers don't sit around all day."

We made it across the street without incident and she took her place in line at the bus stop. I held back my whoop of delight as I kept on heading west.

"You have a good $#%*ing point. I'm sorry about all the swearing," she called after me.

Now that made me shake my head. After all that cursing, she apologizes for it? Talk about crazy.

And because the video is just so $#%*ing horrible, here it is:

While I am following the instructions of the One Pass Manuscript Revision to the letter, I am stunned when I step back from my desk and see the acres of blue ink. (I'm not using red, that would be too painful to look at.) Part of me feels that I'm murdering my baby.

Then I remember that this step is important to ensure that my novel can go out in public and not get beaten to a pulp on the last step of the porch.

But I've discovered a weed. One of those evil plot weeds that shouldn't be there in the first place. And it's spread out over a few chapters, just like my neighbour's dandelions.

Once I discovered it, I tried to carefully work the material around it before giving it a gentle tug. Nothing happened. So I gave it a yank - and ended up with about 12 pages featuring big X's running through them. Rats.

There is good news though. My characters now have more depth than 8" x 10" glossies, and their names don't all start with the letter J anymore. I blame Josh Holloway, Jake Gylenhall and Jerry Lewis... because I can.

Now that store aisles are jam-packed with the stuff, I really have to speak out about the abundance of unnecessary yet tempting snack-sized treats.

There is no worse time to be a child with diabetes. As I was diagnosed with the disease at the age of five, I can't really recall a time when I could enjoy Halloween as a free-flowing candy lovefest. For the first Halloween that comes to memory, I didn't really clue in to what was going on. I just had a really neat Little Red Riding Hood costume and the neighbours all seemed really happy to see me. Mom insisted on holding the bag of goodies so I wasn't sure what the "old people" were handing out.

Then I realized that Halloween was all about the acquisition of CANDY. And candy was one of the food groups that weren't at my house anymore. I knew that because I looked everywhere. Even Captain Crunch had found a new address.

Every October 31 was celebrated by my parents rummaging through my full pillowcase, leaving me with a small pile of raisins, sunflower seeds and non-razor-bladed apples. Mom and Dad would pick over the Snickers and licorice while I gnawed on stale sultanas.

As I got older, I started requesting costumes that had pockets. All that did was force Dad to wrestle me to the floor while Mom searched me better than any customs inspector ever could. She even found the stuff I had in my socks. Rats.

So I had to take it to the next level and eat as much as I could while trick-or-treating. It was my only chance to enjoy all of that yummy candy. Too bad it made me feel nauseous and sometimes resulted in a trip to the hospital.

Remember, this was back in the late 1970s when diabetes management meant an extremely restricted diet and not a lot of fun. I even drank the original Tab voluntarily. Scary stuff. Things are much better for kids today. They can have whatever they want - well, within reason, and as long as they account for it somehow.

Now don't get me wrong, I think everyone should be able to enjoy Halloween. But why has the universe responded so quickly to meeting the needs of children with nut allergies when kids with diabetes still have to deal with the abundance of carb-rich candy every October? Are peanut-free candies really the answer?

Heck, even a healthy pancreas gets a major workout when you have a few bags full of M&Ms, Tootsie Rolls and Mars bars hanging around in your bedroom, kitchen or back pocket.

The solution: non-edible Halloween treats.

Ever since the DH and I moved into our house, we decided to only hand out toys for Halloween. Cars, pencils, crayon packs, games, glow-in-the-dark rings and other nifty items. Ah, you're thinking we must have won the lottery, right? Nope, we just shop at the dollar store.

For a little more than a bag of chocolate bars, you can pick up the equivalent number of small toys. Just stick to the party favours section and get items in multiple packs. Cars are usually six or eight for a buck. What a deal!

Now kids refer to our place as the toy house. Some even show up a few times. The best part is seeing the look on their faces when the toy lands in the bag. It doesn't sound like anything else they've gotten so far, so they end up peering into the bag, either on the porch or once they get back to the sidewalk just to check out the new arrival. I love it when I hear "Mom, I got a toy!"

A number of parents have complimented us for handing out something their children can enjoy without worrying about an allergic reaction or dental work.

Older kids get pencils and miniature skulls. Or a bag of attitude if they have five o-clock shadows. And that's the girls.

Make your Halloween treats safe for children with allergies, diabetes or other dietary restrictions and hand out something they can't eat. Unless they really want to eat the toys, but that's not something I can help you with. Just keep them away from my furniture.

Before you go thinking I'm a saint, don't. I still buy Halloween candy... for the DH and I to enjoy. I just try to stick to only one a day. Okay, maybe just ten...

The DH and I went to the other side of the city to enjoy a nice lunch at his mother's place. I love going over there because 1) I have a wonderful mother-in-law and 2) she has fabulous cats.

While I profess to be a dog person I would be willing to kidnap Minnie, one of Mum's three cats. She has a little bit of a weight problem that becomes all the more apparent when she lands on your lap. Not if, when. As soon as you sit down, she's heading over so that she has first dibs. (I'm talking about the cat, not Mum.)

One time, I ended up falling asleep on the couch while the DH was looking after some freaky problem on Mum's computer. When I woke up, Minnie had settled herself across my chest, her purrs acting like a massaging pillow.

Oh, but my love of Minnie is not the reason for this post. An empty can of low-sodium soda water is.

"That's funny," Mum said as she was making lunch, "this feels empty, but the tab is still intact."

DH and I rushed over to check it out. She was right; although the can was sealed, it had nothing in it. Mum went to toss it into the recycling bin.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Throwing it away."

"Oh no you don't!" I reached around her to rescue the can, looking for the toll-free consumer hotline number on the label. The DH was already at the phone, ready to dial for me.

While Mum stood back in awe, I spoke to a lovely customer representative and told him about the lack of low-sodium soda water. I also admitted that I was calling on behalf of my mother-in-law, who didn't want to raise a fuss over nothing.

"But she paid for that product, she should at least get another can," I added.

Turns out the nice gentleman agreed - and then some. A $10 gift certificate is now on its way to Mum.

See? You can get something from nothing. Or should I say "nothing in a can gets you something."

Check out my awesome performance in the latest video from Emily Haines! You see the back of my head in one shot and if you squint really, really hard, I'm the first girl in the line of people falling over (third after the crazy pharmacist). There's a close-up of the nasty black and red (correction: black, green, orange and purple) leggings they made me wear. The rest, as they say, is on the cutting room floor. Sigh.



And yes, the floor was really uncomfortable. I'll never be able to think of Zellers the same way again.

Thanks must go to Mike for this nifty idea.

Imagine how much fun work would be on Talk Like a Pirate Day. Forget about casual Fridays or the ever-popular “Wear Matching Socks” days, TLAP Day would enable you to say what you really mean without getting into trouble.

Here’s how my “pirated” voicemail would sound:

“Ahoy there matey! You’ve reached Captain Staring. I’m either raiding the supply cabinet or walking the plank. State yer demands. BEEP.”

Here are ways you can freak out on your coworkers:

“Shiver me timbers Joe, we needed to fly that up the flagpole hours ago!”

“Don’t make me raise my eye patch.”

“I’d spell it out for ye but ARG, I can’t read!”

“Talk to the claw.”


Oh, and for those other occasions:

“Arg, the pop machine ate all my doubloons.”

“Polly paid ye a visit. There’s a spot on yer shoulder.”

“Ahoy! We have the map!”


The possibilities are endless, which is why TLAP Day should happen at least once a month. You might want to check with management before installing the plank though. Arg!

There was a situation at Casa Staring last night. While reviewing the TV guide, the DH and I noticed that FOUR shows we wanted to watch were all on at 10:00 p.m.

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
Project Runway 3
Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares
CSI: Miami

We are a non-TiVo household and, clutch your pearls, we only own one television. (It's one way for a couple to learn how to negotiate and compromise, let me tell you.) So that left us with deciding which show to watch, which to tape and which two would be left in the dust.

Studio 60 got my vote because I love the premise and, from what I learned in comedy school and through documentaries about Second City and Saturday Night Live, they appear to be playing it pretty close to how things work - and fail - in putting a sketch show together for broadcast week after week. (Man, that was a long sentence, my apologies.) The DH also gave this one a nod.

Project Runway 3 got another vote from me because I loved Season 2, even though David didn't win. And who can forget Santino's awesome Tim impersonations? "Andre, what happened to Andre?" The DH said he could live without seeing another episode of this program. Whatever.

Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares received a vote from both the DH and I since we think it's fun watching someone try to swear more than anyone else in the United Kingdom. It's also interesting seeing the kind of crap some restaurants pass off as fine cuisine. Eww.

CSI: Miami is our favourite of the CSI roster. We both give it two thumbs up with at least two badly acted lines of dialogue filled with meaning and purpose. While wearing cool shades.

As it turns out, Project Runway 3 and Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares are repeated later in the week. Which left us with deciding which of the two remaining shows to tape.

With CSI: Miami's season opening featuring an angry redhead travelling to Brazil to deliver a heaping can of whoop-ass to an evil drug lord, we elected to watch David in action and tape Studio 60.

Which brings me to ask, what is it about David Caruso that is so engaging? The man is obviously the only successful graduate from the William Shatner School of Acting. Is it the combination of his deep husky voice and the volume of homicides? Hmm. Could be. Or how he tells every single child of a murder victim that he'll do whatever it takes to find the bad guy, and then phones or pays them a visit when the job is done?

You never see the other CSI guys doing that, at least not at such a frequency.

Thankfully the selection of shows tonight aren't nearly as tempting, or on at the same time.

I think I'm making some progress in the rewrite because all the signs are there.

PENGUINS OF PANIC
The doorbell rang and, silly me, I opened the door without peeking through the window first. In came three extremely distressed Penguins of Panic and the tip of their iceberg.

"You have to stop now," warned the tallest one. "You could be making better use of your time by trying out a new recipe."

"Or posting items up on eBay," suggested the one hovering by the shoe rack. I caught him fondling my new fall boots and shot him a look. His flipper dropped behind his back.

"Is that all?" I asked, pulling the hairdryer out of my back pocket and flipping it on.

Okay, it wasn't in my back pocket, but it sounds a lot better than "I raced into the bathroom and dragged out the entire contents of the vanity, searching for my hairdryer, which I had left on the tub that morning because I was too lazy to put it away..."

The gang of three backed up, standing between the hairdryer blast and their iceberg.

"We'll be back human," sneered Tall Penguin. "With dry ice."

SHINY NEW IDEAS
It was just a few days ago when I was lamenting to Michelle about how I can't seem to think of any great book ideas besides the one I've just written. (Well, I still think it's great right now, ask me next week though.)

Then I got the triple whammy this morning. Three nifty ideas - right when I was supposed to be evaluating my revised story arc and character motivation.

So I rubbed my hands together with glee, wrote down a few lines for each and then placed them into my shiny new idea box. Every writer should have one. You can even get a matte one if you're not into the shiny thing. Mine is also made of some sort of tin so I can stick magnets on it. Way cool.

These two happenings are making me feel good about my somewhat sluggish progress. I can't even begin to fill in word counts at this point since everything is being done offline. Longhand. In all caps because my handwriting comes across as in a different language when I try to read it. Like Latvian. Hopefully I won't feel that I'm yelling at myself when I type it all in a few weeks from now. :::puts Dr. Phil on speed dial:::

Okay, time for some ice cream...

Ohmigawd. I just spent three hours with 35 other avid contest enterers (contesters) this afternoon. It was awesome!

Of course, I did experience that whole "oh no, what if they're all like the library club" or "over the age of eighty" or "carrying trolls in large numbers"? But that wasn't the case. We were all just a group of regular women (and one very brave man) who happen to get a big kick out of entering - and winning - contests.

We shared our tales of big wins, near misses, odd prizing and different ways to attract luck. Heck, we even had guest speakers talk about using feng shui to better our chances. (Must remember to place a live plant in the bedroom to the far left of the door.)

And for once, I didn't get weird looks or eye rolls while talking about contests. It was a fabulous feeling. Normally I just get a "that's nice dear," then the snoring starts up. Here, people were asking each other for more details, sharing tips and even saying "Oh, I know, I had trouble logging in as a returning player on that site too!"

It was a beautiful moment.

Best thing is, the group is breaking into three smaller ones and meeting monthly. How cool is that? And, if you hadn't guessed already, yours truly will be sharing the baton of responsibility with another contester to head up the Central Toronto chapter. We're going to have prizes and everything! Woot!

Heck, it sure beats signing up for that continuing ed course on basket weaving or underwater ballroom dancing that I was thinking about. Actually, I was all set to take a class at the high school up the street, but the only courses I was interested in were offered at locations on the other side of the city. Ain't that the way it usually goes?

Of course, this will not interfere with the half an hour a day, every day program. Which is still moving along quite well, even though I discovered that I have written one character using the "piece of crap" method throughout the first half of the book. So that needs a wee bit of a rewrite. I'm trying not to panic too much as I see how much work I have in front of me. And that's before the betas get it. Sigh.

I'm also being wooed by the many features on wordpress. Is there anyone out there who's had a bad wordpress experience or something strange that I should be aware of before I make the big leap?

Had a very intriguing day today. For the past little while, I had been picking up super-chunks-o-weird vibes from some friends. I'd send out emails to suggest getting together and my mailbox would fill with regrets due to overly busy lives.

So I did a little ambush and suggested a last-minute lunch, fully expecting folks to be handcuffed to their desks or expecting alien abductions. But everyone could make it. Excellent.

Of course, this made me start thinking. What if that weird vibe was still there? Would I have to be the one to bring it up? Or would I just stick to Plan A and politely smile and let my thoughts run wild all weekend about what wasn't being said. (Remember, I get paid to be creative.)

Then came the announcement that explained all those vibes away: one of my girlfriends has been leading a double life for a number of months. It's very cool actually. And not life-threatening or illegal.

I'm not at liberty to discuss all the details, but let's just say that someone has been spending her time very wisely. There's even a fabulous trip in the near future, lucky girl.

Oh, did I mention the meal was tasty?

My half hour of writing today has been sponsored by Holly Lisle's One-Pass Manuscript Revision. There is a lot of red ink in my future, and I don't need psychic junk mail to tell me that.

This weekend is also being highlighted by a Toronto Contesting Club meeting, which has been set up by Carolyn Wilman, the Contest Queen of Canada. I can't wait - there are going to be door prizes and everything. Woot!

While commenting on a post by fellow Write-On Katy, I suggested that maybe, just maybe, the writers who say that the key to success in writing is to actually sit down and write every day might have something there. Go figure.

So we've harnessed the power of transatlantic peer pressure and have challenged each other to write for at least half an hour a day, every day. Just a wee 30 minutes. No big, when there are 1440 of them in a day.

And there'll be none of this "oh, I'll just do a bunch of time on the weekend" stuff. That's where we keep losing our way -- by stepping away from the keyboard long enough to forget where our characters were and what needs to be worked on next.

It's a bit scary because it almost sounds like work. Doing the same thing every day. :::shivers at the thought:::

But this is what we really want to do, so if we need to come up with a fun little way to keep us on track, so be it. It's already worked for me today... and I even kept it up for an entire hour before I realized that I needed to revise a magazine article that's due tomorrow. Rats.

But the article's done now, so I'll be getting back to Suds (my working title) right after I finish this post. Oh, that's my cue...

WAY TO GO CANADA - WE'RE IN THE BAND!!!!


Don't look so surprised people. Our boys from the "T dot O dot" know how to rock the house. Although I resisted the urge to watch most of the Supernova episodes, I did get all caught up yesterday and today hoping that Dilana would get the gig. After all, she has that total rocker babe thing going on, and enough tattoos to compete with Tommy Lee.

My fave saying of the series has to be Tommy Lee's "Dude, that was sauteed in wrong sauce" - pure genius. You'll see that in my novel, for sure. Heck, that might be the title!

But back to Toronto. Since I worked at a particular tourism board for Canada's largest city, I can proudly tell you that over 5 million people live in the Greater Toronto Area. Most, as far as I can tell, are not rock stars, as they are on the subway before 9:00 a.m. According to my research, rock stars don't see noon.

But congrats to the annoying and over-eyelinered Lukas. I'm sure that I'll be missing the tour, but right now I'll pump my fist into the air like any proud Canadian should, eh?

There is a lot going on for the residents of Casa Staring. The acquisition of fabulous new items like curtains, a toilet seat and new fall boots have kept us busy, but it's the auditions and query letters that are taking centre stage,

Well, not exactly centre stage, because we're waiting to hear back from everybody before we can move forward. Please note that I'm using the royal we here, as the DH has to live with me while I wait for the answers that may change my life - in a non-Kreskin way.

Of course, if I had more going on right now, I wouldn't have time to waste wondering about the status of these articles and video shoots. I'd be hob-nobbing with celebrities at the film festival, getting my nails done with the girls or wallpapering the bathroom.

Or revising my novel. Sigh.

My "have it ready for the betas" date of October 31 is approaching fast, and I haven't even opened the document to take a peek and see if it's still there. It shouldn't be too horrific a task to revise. :::crosses fingers and toes:::

Now if only I could figure out where I left my muse...

It appears that five years is the length of time it takes for a world-changing event to become open game for the media. I am not above this as I spent most of the past 48 hours watching these 9/11 programs and dramnatizations.

I can't begin to comprehend what the families of those who lost their lives due to these terrorist acts went through and are still going through. Your grief must be overwhelming due to the constant reminder with every newscast and post-9/11 reference made in our daily lives.

This isn't a time when your loved ones need to be referred to as heroes or victims; they are souls who are sorely missed. Loved ones who for some have not been able to properly grieve as media hounds seek you out to get a sound bite about how you feel and how you have "recovered".

For those who have not been able to find a shred of peace, my heart goes out to you and I hope that you will be able to gain the solace you need despite the public grief that surrounds the events that caused your loss.

My thoughts are with you, no matter what the date on the calendar reads.

Before I forget what this feels like, I'd like to take a moment to reflect on what a pretty cool day this was.

1. I finally received overdue payments from three clients, so I have that ever-so-elusive feeling of disposable income.

2. No psychic stalker letters today (2 this week though, but none today).

3. I had paying work today, and picked up more for next week.

4. I came up with two great article ideas that I can query.

5. I received extra coupons for McDonalds from a coworker who knows I go there whenever I come in to work for that particular company.

6. I sent a headshot and my deets to a casting agent for a well-paying commercial, and have been invited to audition. During our phone call the casting director asked if I was over 18. I thought she was kidding. She claims that I look very young in the photo I sent. I will have to use that photo for everything, including my passport, from now on.

7. No creepy neighbour sightings today.

8. And finally, the DH picked up 2 cases of Diet Coke for me. Now that's love!

If only my episode of You Bet Your Ass was being broadcast today (it should be on the last Friday in September), then life would be just perfect!

Thanks must go to Michelle for this great idea! I'm gonna shake things up a little by starting on a positive note:

THE BEST

5. It was during the 80's. Need I say more?

4. Being a "Cafe DJ". The school cafeteria was equipped with its own sound system, and I was part of the rotating DJ team to work the booth at lunch. It made me very popular. Especially when I played Duran Duran.

3. School dances. Of course, most of the time I was with a group of girls dancing around waiting for some dork to work up the courage to make our dreams come true, but the music was awesome. Sometimes we even had dry ice and stuff. Totally tubular.

2. Great friends (who don't do things such as those mentioned in the next section) like Kelly, who I still keep in touch with despite our questionable fashion choices in Grades 9 and 10. Heck, even now.

1. Drama class. I would not have survived high school without improv classes, cameo roles and zany characters. That was the one place where I could truly be myself, despite my hair colour (see the next section for the deets on that).


THE WORST

5. Volunteering to be on the library club in Grade 9, and not possessing the wisdom to recognize the error of my ways. At least I didn't have to pay overdue fines.

4. Just anything to do with the in crowd. May they all be leading shattered lives filled with debt, divorce and substance abuse problems. And that's just for the first two years.

3. Discovering one fateful September that one of my so-called friends slept with my so-called boyfriend while I was working at a summer camp.

2. Getting so drunk at a cast party that I puked onto the host's stereo system. London Calling by The Clash was on the turntable at the time. Yes, we played LPs back then. On the following Monday, rumours of my death had circulated through the school at least four times. This was before cell phones or text messaging.

1. Dying my hair blue-black. When the roots grew in, I looked like a skunk. And I wondered why no one asked me to the prom.

Man, those were fun days. Okay, maybe not all of them. ;)

The DH and I took a nice long walk this evening, stopping by the park in our neighbourhood and kicking some rebellious-looking teens off of the swings so we could take a turn. Okay, maybe they weren't all that rebellious. At least they cleared out as soon as we arrived so we didn't have to rumble.

Anyone else here remember Rumble Fish? Don't box me in... I even have Stan Ridgeway's album on LP. Shoot, there I go, aging myself again.

As we stood on our front porch to open the door, we heard our creepy neighbour hork from his porch. The dude lives across the street, but it felt like he had hooked up a Dobly digital sound system.

It wasn't as if Mr. Creepy couldn't see us, our porch light was on. His, on the other hand, was not. Which makes things even creepier. And since I can't see in the dark, he probably thinks I'm a snooty biatch because I never return his waves. If he's the type who waves and spits while standing on his porch in the dark.

Did I mention that he's single?

As if you really need to know that, but at least this way I've put it out there.

It's been a little frustrating on the headhunter front again. I think it's just that they can't deal with long weekends, truth be told.

Perhaps Bonequa should explain this for me.

"So there I was, mindin' my own bizness, when I gets the call. Opportunity be knockin' on my door, uh-hmm. Dat's 1-2-4 Bonequa Street.

Turns out I have just what some company needs. Dat's right. So I tells my agent. Oh, you knows I got an agent already, don't go giving me dat look. I tells my agent I can see them any time but Thursday morning.

So when do they book the meetin'? Thursday morning.

Before I whip out a fresh can of whoop-ass, I po-lite-ly axe why they booked the only time that Bonequa ain't able to represent.

The meetin' gets moved to the p.m.

Then I gets a request for another meeting with another client. From the same headhuntin' outfit: Hustla 4 Nothin' Inc.

Dat's when the man says to me: "Girl, we got another client who wants to see your face. I noticed we booked ya in the p.m. on Thursday, so I booked this one in the a.m. You can thank me later."

My inner biatch busted out. Forget about this cash-money; I'm being pimped out by baseheads."

Word.

Wouldn't it be great if Dick Wolf added another program to the Law & Order franchise? Here's my suggestion:


Law & Order: Humorous Intent follows members of the NYC police squad tasked with the responsibility of ensuring that comedians, writers and other performers don't suck.

They have a lot of work ahead of them, this show could be on for decades.

You can help Frank the Bunny recover from his gender identification crisis, alcoholism and three-pack-a-day habit.



At the What the Fluff Foundation, we do everything in our power to ensure that our fuzzy and furry friends gain the skills they need in order to lead productive, colouring within the lines (instead of sniffing them) lives. But in order to make Frank's dream of a happy existence come true, we need your help.

Operators are standing by. No stuffed animals were harmed by us in the making of this blog post. Frank did that all on his own. Don't worry, he won't remember any of it tomorrow.

And you thought life was easy for stuffed animals. Shame on you.

And now we get to the part where Kreskin "gets into this deeply":

I see factors marking you as a stand-out distinguished individual: They are yours and yours alone.
(To quote The Pretenders: "I'm special, so special...")

Your referenced name, your birthdate, make a reading of you extraordinary. When I know what makes a person "tick" I've created a foundation for thinking through the future.
(I call it the Bonnie Owes People Money Foundation.)

I'm bursting with information for you.
(Creepy.)

Believe me, when I tell you, I am ready to share everything with you.
(Oh, but not just yet, I'm sure.)

I'll be working on what I think of as your "itch" for getting somewhere in the world. For making money, traveling, exploring new friendships, taking on personal challenges. And yet - I have hardly begun to delve into your ultimate potential - it's incredible, as I see it.
(Does this ultimate potential make me look fat?)

MARK MY WORDS... LIFE IS ABOUT TO TRANSFORM FOR YOU!
(I hope this means a new wardrobe.)

Okay, I have to run, me and my unlimited potential have plans. ;)

It appears that working 9-5 in an office for more than three days in a row is something I can no longer do on a regular basis. Now that I'm at day five, I just feel flat-out exhausted.

Of course, it could be the subject matter I've been proofing and editing all week: education assessments for the schools in Ontario. :::yawns:::

It is pretty darn brutal, but the folks here are friendly. We even had pizza one night when we all had to work until 9:00 pm. Good times!

I'm just glad there's a three-day weekend, I need it!