Employed X2: Mutants United

Posted: November 14th, 2003 | Author: | Filed under: Wishful Thinking | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | No Comments »

“I heard I got the job,
I heard I’m the new girl at the comic shop
- Shah nah na nah na nah na nah.
Brother what a night it really was!
Brother what a fight it really was! Glory be!”

Woot! *victory dance*
(lyrics for my victory dance provided courtesy of ‘Night Chicago Died’ by Paper Lace, sung in the echoing hallways of my mind by Jack Black)

I start my jedi training this weekend.

That would be the same weekend where I’ve absurdly overbooked myself to celebrate Aly’s birthday very belatedly, hang out and consume curry with the old UC residence crew, attend the Santa Claus parade with a hyper four-year-old, and meet up with Chrissy’s lovemuffin from abroad.

And, if I can just push past my mental block about it, call my parents. I’m just so worried that when I call, I’ll get bad news, and I know that putting it off isn’t helping any, but every day that passes is like a little breath of air into this balloon of anxiety in my stomach. Its like my parental anxiety appendix, throbbing and huge and waiting to burst and kill me. How did I achieve such a high level of drama with this situation?

First thing on the schedule: meet philipisPDR.

What the heck does ‘PDR’ stand for, anyway? Is it something so utterly horrific that it cannot be expressed openly in words, so must be referred to only with an acronym? Should I be braced to meet someone who is Pretty Damned Randy? Who has Pathetically Damaged Retinas? A Potentially Devastating Ruffian? Pustulent, Dank, Repulsive? Programmed Destructo Robot? Poorly Defined Rump? Pink Dermatitis Rash? Pectorally Dominant Rambo? Psychotic Duplicating Raelian? Pedantic Defunct Relic? Pedophilic Deranged Rogerer?

No, no, wait. This is terrible. I’m overreacting: given Chrissy’s glowing Mona-Lisa-esque smile when she talks about him, he must be an incredibly sweet and wonderful individual. He’s probably too shy to mention what a gem he is, and has cut the appropriately lavish self-description to three letters to avoid embarrassment. He could be a Positively Delightful Rabelasian. Pedagogic Diplomatic Rhodesscholar. Particularly Droll Raconteur. Politically Democratic Radical. Pleasing Dashing Rascal. Person Delivering Rapture.

The man could be any darned thing, and I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out. I hate mysteries. And waiting.

It occurs to me that this is entirely the wrong forum for such speculation. Too bad I Personally Detest Restrictions and Promote Diary Relations.

Pre-Boarding: How the NY Weekend Began

Posted: September 16th, 2003 | Author: | Filed under: Wishful Thinking | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | No Comments » Get your ow n diary at DiaryLand.com! contact me older entries newest entry

(Saturday and Sunday entries will be posted in a few more hours, with photos! Sorry about the wait, I caught some sort of cold in NY and I feel woozy and icky.)

First, to catch up, I’ll have to backtrack to Thursday night. That’s when the madness really began. Christie called at quarter to seven, sounding as though she’d pretty much given up on life, since she’d experienced a hellish day at work, that was quickly devolving into a hellish evening at work. She wanted martinis at Blur, and she wanted lots of them, pronto. I zipped over to meet her as quickly as I could, bringing Ed and Jamie as cheering squad. We proceeded to soothe her troubled brow by mocking her cooking skills.

I must admit (and never let it be said that I casually or without good reason talk shit about my mates) she has mad skillz, but not so much with the cooking. I believe the phrase “Ah, spaghetti! Incense for the poor,” nicely summarizes a recent attempt on the part of my beloved girlfriend to combine Italian and Cajun cuisine by actually setting spaghetti on fire. This, following closely on the heels of a spectacular experiment involving microwave popcorn in an innovative Emeril-styled melted plastic sauce, which I will refrain from narrating to protect the dignity of the innocent. But I think I’ve proved my point.

The bar hopping continued down to Sneaky Dees and then over to the Free Times Café, at which point we remembered that it wasn’t actually Friday yet. Oops.

Estimated hours of sleep on Thursday: 5.5 —- Inebriation level: high

Friday night was Dr. Darcy’s housewarming. Our genial host made it different from your boring, run of the mill housewarmings by actually assembling large sections of his house before our very eyes, including his stereo and light fixtures. There was, of course, a large crew from the chemistry department there, and a number of University College alumni. The UC kids exhibited their smarts by migrating out onto the freaky “shimmy-shimmy shake” sixteenth floor balcony, which conveniently overlooks a large cemetery near the DVP. Darcy grimly pointed out that it was a very “no fuss, no muss” set-up if anyone got a little too drunk and decided they could fly. At that point I decided to abstain from the booze and retreat back inside.

Also at the party was my friend Dr. Aly. Now, I’m no hagiographer, but it seems to me this guy should be shortlisted for sainthood. We got to talking about our coming weekends, and I mentioned I was taking an early flight to New York the next day. He asked how I was getting there, and I told him that due to budgetary constraints I was planning on going home to pack, then taking public transport to the airport before it stopped running, then sleeping in terminal 2 until check-in at 5am. He offered to give me a lift. I mentioned this would mean driving at 4:30am. He shrugged his shoulders and said he’d call when he left the party.

After picking me up at my front door and letting me nap in the passenger seat on the way to his house, he then went WAY above and beyond the call and served me a three-course dinner at 3am (I’m not even making this up), let me have another nap while he stayed awake drinking Diet Coke and studying for his med school exams, and finally drove me to Pearson on the silent, empty highway at the ass-crack of dawn.
I wish to go on record as saying, Aly rocks the mostest.

Estimated hours of sleep on Thursday: 2.5 —- Inebriation level: medium

On to New York…