Wednesday, May 23, 2007
MIA cancelled her appearance at Sasquatch and I nearly cried. Oh I so wanted to see her, to be inches or even 200 meters away from my favourite foul-mouthed London-to-Colombo Princess. Sigh. But due apparently to some stupid error processing her visa, it is not to be. I'll bet she's actually smoking grass on a beach somewhere in Thailand. I can't say I blame her.
I'm still going to the festival, with that girl I kinda sorta liked a while back. She's driving her ancient gas-guzzling truck the five hours each way to Washington State. I had hoped by this point that sleeping in her car would lead to more than, well, sleeping in her car. But, like seeing MIA live, this too seems to be dead in the water.
I'm obsessed with finding jeans that don't do the horrible things that jeans always do to my body, and so I went here. It's bloody genius. Who knew one could take a single, short, only-slightly-embarrassing quiz and actually find jeans that might for once in my life actually fit! The people who make jeans simply don't believe my proportions exist in real life. Thanks, fashion industry, for making me feel invisible. I'll add you to the list.
The list that definitely includes my new coworker, who fills our office with cringe-worthy tales of beer, pizza, and hookers, regularly slaps female students on the ass, and tells oh-so-charming pedophile jokes. Please don't tell me you want to hear one. I started calling him Cocky Bastard, or CB, only in my head. But I fear one of these days the nickname may escape my lips uncensored.
I miss my last coworker, a sensitive chap who listened to Beck, burned incense and spoke in an affable Irish-sounding Nova Scotian lilt.
CB almost redeemed himself today by fetching me some orange syrup infused steamed milk concoction from Starbucks, just because. His explanation: "I couldn't carry one for everyone, and well, you're the only girl in the office."
By the way, he claims to be both a feminist AND a Marxist. And I'm a gay-bashing right-wing Republican Christian.
Last night I went to a bookclub with the author of The End of East, an amazing and amazingly depressing book set in Vancouver's Chinatown. Jen gave us the headline of her favourite-hated review: Miserable Characters Allowed No Joy in Depressing Tale. It's funny cause it's true. It's a brilliant book, but so sad and so dark.
My old friend Cris who runs the bookclubs told me she would edit my manuscript with her teen club when it's finished. Ha! I'm still not past Chapter 1. But it's nice to know that she believes I can do it.
I have way too much to do tonight, but look, I posted!!
Hope to be back soon with tales of Sasquatch.