Community Service Cowgirl

In my defense, it was very dark outside. I wanted to keep sleeping well past the second slap of the snooze button at 6:20am, but I knew I was already in the bad place where taking a cab would be the only way to arrive punctually at the office. So I got creative. I thought it would be easier to cajole myself out of bed if there was motivation. Dressing like a cowgirl seemed to fit the bill.

It didn’t seem too drastic: embroidered red leather boots, long denim leather-trimmed skirt, brown western shirt with lace trim and a long red duster. It’s not like I wore a Stetson to work. However, upon entering the Legislature to audit a press conference on racism and national security threats, the guard on duty waved and yelled, “Howdy, pardner!” It then occurred to me that I would likely be on national television tonight, and that my identification badge clearly marked me as a government-employed cow wrangler. Not very professional. When I entered the media studio, the press gallery turned and stared at me as one: there were some arched eyebrows. For the love of heaven, somebody get me a new job. Sadly, my interview for this one is tomorrow. If I win the competition, I get benefits, and thus new glasses. I may also commit seppuku within 2 months.

Interruption: I must keep a promise I made to my poor, abandoned Mum who hasn’t seen me in three weeks and is curious about the new, improved fiery locks. I will publish two photos of the latest dye job. Apologies for the blatant self-exhibition.

This is promising to be a busy week. I was originally planning on visiting my dear friend Dave at his hopping new pad in Manhattan, but circumstances changed and I’ll be putting off my trip to NYC for another couple of weeks at least (there is also a tentative Colorado trip to the Lock family ranch in the works, which may never come to fruition but man, what a great vacation that would be – mmm…. mountains).

Now plans include a trip to the Harbourfront Centre tomorrow to see the talented Peter McGillivray, baritone extraordinaire, kick-ass winner of the CBC Young Artists competition, and Polka King of my Heart. Peter and I go way back, back to the days when he was a lowly Poli. Sci. student, a mere shadow of the opera superstar he has grown to be, and I was a fickle young English major, with a wacky hairdo and a lot of pez dispensers. Our usual social interaction is limited to drinking beers on rooftops, but we’re branching out.

On a more community service-oriented front (the new hair really has turned me into a post-makeover Joan-of-Arc!), I’ve got an appointment with the CNIB to resume my old after-work position doing audio recordings for the blind starting next week. Christie’s new emergency ward volunteering position got me all fired up, and I think I am now on a volunteering binge. All volunteering, all the time. So much so, in fact, that I let Peter from the Beguiling strong-arm me into helping organize the 2005 TCAF street party. Oh, who am I kidding, I was ecstatic that he asked. While I was staying in France a couple of years back, my friend from Shakespeare & Co., Caroline Castanet, and I organized a comic book festival in Paris. I only helped out a little bit, but it was incredibly fun, despite my rather weak grasp of French illustration and design lingo which made getting posters printed a serious challenge. “Uh, le ‘font’? C’est… mal? Votre travail dans le Photoshop est comme un petit enfant? Vous… suck?”

Must leave work now. There’s blue shadows on the trail…

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