Poll Time:

I heard a radio interview this morning with Ludicrous, the rapper and co-star of the film "Crash." He said he felt "Crash" gave him a platform to really launch himself as a serious actor, "not just another rapper acting." My guess that's a dig at Ice-T and his role in Law and Order, or perhaps LL Cool J in that smart shark movie.

But seriously, I'm curious. Does anyone foresee an acting future for our Ludicrous? Has any rapper-gone-actor made it? Maybe Will Smith, but "Independence Day" is still the worst movie I've ever seen... Ever... Horrible...

Pet Peeve #221:

When people shorten short-forms.

For example, A&W. Some people (I'm not naming names *coughirritatingguyonskibuscough*) feel the need to shorten it further to "eh 'n dub" (pronunciation).

Is this necessary?

Hurrah for Ralph!

I'm getting my $400 Alberta Resource Rebate payment! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

Before this, a grouchy lady told me over the phone I'd need proof of my Alberta residency, and to call back on March 31st, which I learned this morning is the last cheque mail-out date. Lady was trying to work me over! But just now a sweet, soft spoken lady told me I was and I would be getting it after March 31st!

I practically hugged her through the phone. "Oh hurrah! You made my day!" I screamed. She just sort of said, "Yea, okay, bye." But I know she would've hugged me if she could've.

Whatever happened to Sparky Polastri?

It doesn't get much better than this:

You know you've got a bosom buddy in someone when they send you an email like this:

"I hope you know that I’d cho-cho-choose you as my non-lebsian life partner any day."

Now that's love.

I've been Tagged

Ash tagged me! I read my name online! Wahoo! So this one's for you, Ash:

Four Jobs I've Had in My Life:

1. Babysitter-extraordinaire. Blech. Hated most days/nights. Stinky kids.
2. HPL, Locke Library, Page.
3. HPL, Locke and Westdale Library, Literacy Worker.
4. Internship Librarian.

Four Places I've Lived:

1. Hammer-town, Ontario
2. Halifax, Nova Scotia
3. Haliburton, Ontario (2 months as a counselor at YMCA Wanakita, a sleep-over camp.)
4. Edmonton, Alberta.

Four Websites I Visit Daily:

1. Hotmail.
2. Blogger.
3. Livejournal.
4. Google.

Four Places I Have Been on Vacation:

1. Southampton, Ontario (cottage).
2. Nuevo Vallerta, Mexico.
3. Punta Cana, Dominican Republic.
4. Holguin, Cuba.

Four of My Favorite Foods:

1. Chips.
2. Turkey dinner.
3. Home-made macaroni and cheese.
4. My mum's chili.

Four Places I'd Rather Be:

1. Right now? At home, under the covers, with a kitty named Gary, and another certain someone...
2. Later today? At Safeway, getting supplies for a Valentine's day surprise.
3. Immediate future? Here or there (my never ending internal battle.)
4. Distant future? The Cook Islands.

Four Albums/Artists I Can't Be Without:

1. Dave Matthews, Crash.
2. Sophie Ellis Bextor, Read My Lips.
3. Gwen Stefani, Love, Angel, Music, Baby.
4. Gypsy Kings, Greatest Hits

Four Vehicles I've Owned:

(This one's going to hurt...)

1. A 1986 Cabbage Patch Kids Big Wheel.
2. A 1988 BMX, Pink, with rear breaks and handle bar glitter.
3. A 2002 Kona Lanai mountain bike, white, with shimano deraileurs.
4. Bus tickets.

Sniff...

Four People I'm Tagging:

1. Hurr_ah.
2. Pants.
3. Manriassa (biatch).
4. The Law.

Thanks, Ash. Good times.

The Grammys

Some post-Grammy thoughts:

1) If I had my life to do over again, I'd be a back-up dancer. It took all I had not to get off the couch last night and bust-out some moves to the opening Madonna-Gorillaz act (well, I actually might have done a little dancing...) Speaking of Madonna, she is beyond fab-tabulous. I mean, really, anyone who can bring back "the hustle" is amazing.

2) I think Bono stuffs his pants. Either that or he reeeeally enjoys the grammys.

3) I'm going to put this out there. Paul McCartney: it's time to retire.

4) I'm in love with James Blunt and his song "You're Beautiful."

I've had the stuff to make bran muffins in my cupboard for the last two weeks, and I keep putting it off. I think my brain is sending me subconscious messages--"Scrap the braaaaan. Bring on the cupcakes..." Mmmm. Cupcakes.

For the inquiring minds...

Thanks for all those who have asked, but no, the card venture was not successful. I sold 8 cards, 3 of which were to Adam's mum and Hurr_ah. The reasons for this are three fold:

1) February is not what you would call "high-season" for the market. We were told by surrounding vendors the crowd was down to 25% of it's regular size. It would seem both February and March are slow... Which makes it hard for any new-comer. Why, you ask?! Well, because a crafter only gets in when a regular vendor leaves for vacation, which is usually in the slow season. But then you can't be choosy with your booths or your timing, because if you turn down a booth when it's offered, you will not be given a second chance, and you'll be black-listed (the entire place is political--we were approached by a number of people offering us bits of nasty insider information, and the names of people who would "support us" and the names of those we should stay away from because they're 'catty and mean and she made me take the tea-pots off my stand because I didn't make them, can you believe that?! omg...) But then you're forced to fork over $32 in table fees for three months, putting up with sub-par crowds, selling 8 cards, until things pick up, for the chance to be booted come April to make room for more Spring produce.

2) People weren't into my cards.

3) I was sick.

The kicker: last night I was watching TV and all I wanted to do was pick up my pencil crayons and make a card for my Aunt's birthday, but I forced myself to leave them where they were. This card business-thing is sucking the fun and the creativity out of drawing for me, and I hate that! I hate that I'm resentful of my markers because to do anything with them means I'm working. Now, anytime I pick up my markers or colored paper, I'm keeping track of my time, and worrying I'm wasting ink, and tallying how much new markers will cost me if I happen to use them all up on this one project and blah blah blah...

Also: everyone was full of "suggestions." How to improve my cards. What I can do to make them better. Friendly suggestions like, "my neighbor makes cards, and she uses calligraphy. You should use calligraphy. They'd look better if you used calligraphy." Or "you should have more/less blank cards. People love/hate blank cards. Everyone/no one wants a blank card." I miss the day when I would make someone a card and they'd be happy, and it would make them smile. I don't like people looking at my cards thinking, "She actually thinks this is worth $3.50?!"

My favorite card is my cowboy card. It's got a cowboy on the front, and little arrows pointing out his features--chaps, ten gallon hat, spurs, lasso, five-o'clock shadow, etc. II love my cowboy card. But on Saturday, I watched a woman pick up that card and make a face--an ugly smirk--and it took all I had not to rip it from her hands and tell her she couldn't appreciate a card like that if it was shoved up her [*censored*] because that's against the market rules and is reason for expulsion from the premises. So is parking where you're not supposed to, and having a table cloth that sits 6" from the floor...

I'm not in this for the ugly smirks and constructive criticism. I don't know what I was in it for. But as it stands, we're going back this weekend, and I'm bundling my cards with ribbon and trying my darndest just to get rid of them... I want this thing to be over with. I don't like lying awake at night thinking about it. I don't like the stress it gives me. I like my job, and I worked damn hard to get it. I'm not hoping to leave the library world behind to live off my card profits, and I'm not willing to add this stress to my life.

Here's hoping I can get rid of 'em.

Thanks for asking.

So.

It begins.

Tomorrow.

7:30 a.m.

Yours truly will be at the Farmer's Market flogging cards.

Excited.

p.s. I've spent a lot of money (well, not a lot, but a fair amount), on toys for Gary, but he only likes playing with pipe cleaners... We call them his "Wilson's" after the volleyball from that Tom Hanks movie, "Cast Away".

Hmmm...

... When you type the word "Holes" into a keyword search, you get an awful lot of books about "our bodies."

Gross.

A little something for my Pants:

“I stand, cold and unfeeling, on plaster casts—that which contain the hallow pits of my heart. Sledgehammers shatter my hopes of true love, and take with them my knees.”

Snaps.

Pet Peeve #132:

The use of brand-name bags as lunch sacks.

This is for all you lunch-goers out there who tote Banana Republic, Sephora, Club Monaco, and Tristan and America paper bags day in day out, like you've been on a shopping spree all year long. We all know what you have in there! It's no surprise! It's your lunch! We're not impressed by you simply because eight years ago you bought over priced nylons from Holt Renfrew.

Sure, I get that they're sturdy. But then why not use your Wine Depot paper bags? Hmmm? Or by yourself one of those nifty cloth sacks? Or one of those ultra cool hard top lunch boxes? I'm proud of my Safe Way plastic bag. It's a way of reusing them... Lord knows I have enough of them.

But to the girl on the bus this morning who had gone so far as to tape up her disintegrating Bebe paper bag... Not cool.

I hope this is a trend that dies quickly. Along with the fashion mullet.

It's the small things. Like when someone comes home from working a night shift, and before crawling into bed, they go to the kitchen to make you a fresh pot of coffee for when you get up. I mean, really? What's better than that?

P.S. An update on the Farmer's Market: the lady never called back, so Nikki and I are working under the assumption we don't have a table for Saturday. Hurrah! And yet boo...

WTF?

Things have escalated much faster than they were supposed to.

Farmer's Market lady called last night to tell us we had a booth for Saturday if we wanted it... Whatthef? I thought it was supposed to be a year?! I thought I had months to build up a sizable card collection?! It would seem not. And would it be foolish to say no? Would they "black ball" us from future markets? Would our name come off the list, and would we henceforth be known as "those girls who said no?"

It's not a chance Nikki is willing to take. Thus, my not having a life for the next two days. Instead, I will be at the market on Saturday pushing whatever number of cards I can madly make after work between now and Saturday at 8:00 a.m.

Last night I had a sweatshop of sorts set up. Adam and Gary were unbelievably helpful--Adam cut all my paper and folded cards (I'm so lucky to have him...), and Gary managed not to pee on anything but his litter. However, I now have a claw of sorts from using the scissors for 3 hours straight... Sigh. No one said it would be like this...

Last night Nikki and I had a meeting with the people from the Farmer’s Market to potentially sell our cards. It was quite the experience. Based on the phone message we got from the lady in charge, Nikki and I assumed that we’d show up and display our product to a panel of people who would judge us "acceptable" or "unacceptable". We’d be in and out of there in 45 minutes, tops.

Nope. Think again. We were so completely wrong.

We arrived at the market, to be faced with 25 other groups of people looking to get a table. Each “seller” was given a booth, and we were privately interviewed by maybe a half dozen judges. They asked us questions about our cards—some actually looked at them, others just stood staring at the table and said nothing. It was very bizarre, like an elementary school science fair. I was nervous and sweaty and I fidgeted. I glared at the lady next to us who gave out individually prepared bags of gourmet dog treats to the judges as a suck up. Damn suck ups.

Basically, they told us they’d let us know within a month if we were “accepted,” based on the scores given to us by the judges. Then we’re put on a waiting list, and it could be up to a year before a booth is available. Any longer than a year, and we’d have to re-apply. There are maybe 200-250 booths, and 157 are run by permanent sellers. Only 20% of the total booths are crafters, so I gather it’s a tough group to crack.

Overall, however, after wandering around and looking at the competition last night, I think we had the best craft. There was a man selling rain barrels, and a bit of a nutter selling bath salts (which she kept making me sniff, which in turn made me sneeze.) Another lady was selling meatballs, and a man who looked like a chubby Weird Al had quite possibly the ugliest art on the planet. But, it takes all kinds, right Pants? We all have our gifts...

Introducing..

...Gary!

Enjoy.

Welcome Mushy

We got a kitty!
So cute. So tiny. So fluffy. Such big fuzzy feet.

I want to name him "Billy the Kitten."
Adam likes "Dude."
I think we'll settle on "Mu Shu," with "Mushy" for short.

He looks like this:

Ver Ver Exciting!

Where to begin?

1) There was some excitement on my bus this morning. A lady sitting two seats down from me found a needle under her seat. So we pulled over, right in front of the fire station, and four firemen in their uniforms and fire jackets came on board and "took care of the situation." It was very intense. Not to mention a nice way to start the morning--forget the needle, who doesn't love a man in uniform? I was grinning like a drunk woman.

2) I'm wearing my new Christmas clothes to work today. A pair of grey and pink pinstripe pants I got from the Gap for $10 and my pointy black boots, both purchased during a boxing day binge. I'm feeling rather tall and slim. I'll keep you posted on the condition of my feet after 8 hours of work on 3 inch heels. So far so good.

3) Adam and I purged last night. Not our bodies, but our apartment. We got home from dinner and took down our Christmas tree, shook out our carpet, cleaned out cupboards full of crap we don't use, and ridded our closests of the clothes we don't wear. I have a whole bag full of sweaters, if anyone is interested.

I'm feeling good today. Hurrah!

Things I Do Not Enjoy:

(This is a list of one)

1) The middle seat on an airplane, sandwiched in between two strangers, nowhere to put your legs for four excruciating hours.