Poster child for waifs across the nation.

Who gets to work 21 hours in 2 days? ME! YES! And it's not even 21 hours of quality work, it's 21 hours of sitting alone in utter silence. Oh well. The new pornographers played last night, and it actually turned out to be a really good show. Probably due largely in part to Dan Bejar, and the fact that he was SO drunk, and just HATED being there. He would just stumble about, and the majority of the time he wasn't even present, and when he was he was usually sitting and playing instruments that required little to no attention, ie. the apple shaped shaker. Neko Case looked weathered, but was still amazing as always. So I danced and sweated, and it was generally a good time.

So I was told that the set list for bright eyes is looking really good, that I had to go check it out for myself. His official tour doesn't start until the 19th of October, but he just played a show in LA with their philharmonic orchestra...which just sounds amazing. So I found the set list for that show and it's actually pretty good. I'll have to look back for when he starts his really tour and check out the set lists for that...cause knowing him it won't be the same, and he'll just play the entire cassadaga album in a powder blue tux. I figure though if I look at the set list first, I’ll know whether to go in previously disappointed, and then it will allow me to cope with the fact that Conor Oberst has let me down, again.

The set list:
Don't Know When But a Day's Gonna Come
Bowl of Oranges
Make a Plan to Love Me
Old Soul Song
No One Would Riot For Less
Hot Knives
Poison Oak
Another Traveling Song
Arienette
Clairaudients
Lover I Don't Have to Love
I Believe in Symmetry
Lime Tree
---
Smoke Without Fire
Cockroaches

First two songs...SO GOOD! But what the fuck is cockroaches! A new song? Of course he’s going to close the fucking show with a new song! I just hope he’s sad, cause when he goes and puts on this “I’m in love, and generally content with life” act, I like him less. He needs to be so sad and so lonely and desperate that he gets really drunk, and can barely function.

Don't talk, it makes you look uglier.

Last night I went to see the dudes at the warehouse and had the grand pleasure of encountering the biggest douche bag of probably, all time. For starters he was bald, and had a line for a beard, and by line I mean there was simply a very straight, skinny line of hair that went from ear to ear. Adding to the j-wall line beard was a more than appropriate singular diamond earring. So walking in to the room you just knew his douche bagginess was going to run high, so we kept a close watch on him throughout the night to see what kind of antics he would be involved in. So the first band began. They were actually really good, I even enjoyed them more then the dudes, and I had no fucking idea who they were. So basically this opening band had a large fan base in Calgary that consisted of frat guys jumping a lot, singing loudly, and high-fiving. Luckily for our enjoyment, line beard douche bag was a member. Firstly, he would leap and bound his way through the crowd and high-five anyone that looked interested. The thing is though, when he would high-five he would put on this face where he puckered his lips really far out and spread his eyes into this ghastly collagen lipped freak face. Then he made what I believe to be the douchiest move in history...he reached over the stage, stole the bassists’ beer, and took a nice sip out of it, then returned it. WHO DOES THAT?! I'm sure he's flattered you put your herpes infested lips on his beer. Needless to say the bassist didn't take another sip.

What was even worse though was that his friends just thought he was the shit, and they even cheered on his disgusting displays. I almost think that made them bigger douche bags. Finally the dudes came on, and after 4 hours of waiting they were less than impressive, and so were the hoards of frat boy fans. When I got home I got home I was genuinely sore from standing for so long. I don't even know how I use to go to work and stand for 8 hours, then go to a show for another 18 and stand, because there were 35 opening bands and it took another 16 hours in between sets to get their shit together...but those sure were the days.

But I thought Perooze was a word?!

So I'm at work, thirsty and headachy, so I figure I need tea to relieve my symptoms, so I walk over to the nearest coffee shop. Upon arrival into the shop I'm asked if I am here for the speed dating, and I reply with "uhhh no, is that ok?!" It hadn't started yet so they let me order my tea and then made me leave. After feeling super awkward, I began to look around the room at all the people actually there for the speed dating, and it made me a little sad inside. What if someday I need to resort to speed dating!? These people weren't even ugly by any standard, and they all seemed fairly young, in their 30's most of them. I guess sometimes you need to try everything in order to get it right. I wasn't even planning to get married until my early 30's, if I find someone, and now this prospect is looking slim, because apparently when you reach your 30's there is no more time to contemplate your options, you'd better have someone snatched up, or you'll have to wait until the first timers begin divorcing in a few years. Then latch on to someone with ridiculous amounts of baggage just to avoid being terminally alone. That or a dog I guess.

She's precocious, and she knows just what it takes.

I won! Three cheers for sweet victory! It was a tight race, and apparently some other chick I didn’t know was almost going to win, but then I took the crown. I’m 4 years to late for popularity, but I’m not to concerned, because I’m going to bask in the glory for as long as I can. So Pram was amazing, as I only imagined it would be, and it makes me almost sad that I wasn’t able to graduate in the 80’s or 90’s because it was an exceptional time for apparel and music. So that is all, and now it’s 3 days of 10-hour shifts, and exceptional amounts of boredom. Needless to say I’m not looking forward to it, but the good thing is I will have money and I can use to it purchase impractical things, such as thigh high boots that can only be worn with certain skirts, to which I’ll need to purchase as well.

But it's MY crown!

I'm sick, and I hate getting sick because I revert back to being a 5 year old that just wants mommy and a bowl of homemade soup. Tonight though, sickness can't stand in my way, for it's PRAM! The most magical event to come along in years. I was hoping to achieve pram queen status, but I'm not certain with my illness and bad attitude that this will be attainable. Therefore I'm really going to need to up the perkiness, and wear pearls, because they have some power in making ordinary females into classy, likable babes. I think I've almost planned more for this mock prom then I did for my real one, or as they call it here, graduation. The first time consisted of stealing plastic lobsters from the banquet, then riding in a 1984 limo, and getting drunk. I had a fake ID at the time and was hoping to use it to get into some awesome club, or at least buy a little alcohol, so I could feel cool, as I wasn't going to turn 18 until 6 months after graduation, unlike most. I never got to use that fake ID anyways, because I was sharing it with another friend and she got it taken away by the cops and fined, but really, underage drinking in fields proved to be a lot more fun than any bar adventure. So off to PRAM I go...fingers crossed I'll take home the crown!

Scene too much.

I can't even begin to describe the week I've been having. From last Wednesday on it has been sheer genius. There was broken city, which consisted of a lot of knowing people, which is always good. It's nice to walk in somewhere and know more than 5 people to whom which you didn't even go there with. Makes me feel so 'scene.' Which I regret to say is a good thing. Then is was Sylvan Lake and Edmonton, which consisted of late night random game, attempts at black magic, and watching only 15 minute portions of Scream, and The Craft. Then there was last night, which can only be described as the best adventure ever to value village, and to close the night, Planet Earth: Deep Sea. Firstly, I can't even begin to describe how well everything fit me at value village. Every prom dress I put on fit like a dream, and let me tell you, this never happens, especially when I had to find a real prom dress. There were many options, but I managed to find just the right little number. It's this awful corally orange colour, and has a large flower right on my tits, and being made of 100% pure polyester, you know it is of the utmost quality. Needless to say I'm pumped to wear it at Pram. Now it's today, and the fun doesn't stop. There's a little bit of work, then off to see Justin Timberlake in edmonton! What a dreamboat that one. I can't even. We have floor tickets too, so touching him is going to be almost probable. Then we stay over night, do a little shopping, come home, and off to broken city once again.

Forlorn.

So I get to work today, 45 min late, and seriously hung over, to find that everything seems in tack, and that it's going to be a moderately easy day. Then an hour into my shift the alarm starts going off, the lights start flickering, and there are loud noises coming from every angle. UGH. Apparently they do generator repairs on sunday morning, like what the heck? It's over now though, so that is good, and now I can commence doing nothing for the entire day.

Maybe you would've been something I'd be good at.

I came to a realization last night about two things. One is that 90's teen horror flicks were amazing! Why did I fail to remember this? Me and Liz watched Urban Legends last night and from the beginning I was certain I knew who the killer was, I thought well clearly it's not the crazy looking Janitor, or the teacher with the axe in his office, but that it most definitely is the cute journalist played by Jared Leto, in his post-mysocalledlife days...but pre-iminaterribleband days. It was an incredible time for him, it's just sad that he thought he was good at music. Any ways, back to how awesome Urban Legends was. So we thought we knew the killer was all along, and having previously seen the movie, you would think that we should have actually known, but no, they fooled us, big time and we were completely thrilled by this. Maybe it was the fact that we probably saw the movie when we were 12, but this time around it was beyond good, and I just feel the need to consistently say that it was AWESOME!

The second thing I realized, after returning from driving Liz home, is that I hate elevators. I knew this before, but last night I realized that I should speak about this fear. I hate them for several reasons. Firstly because they are SO awkward. I don't think there is a more awkward location for two strangers to be, and it's even worse when it is in a place you live, because some people feel the need to have to say "hey" or "how's it going" just because apparently we are neighbours. This then makes the situation even more awkward then previously thought, because then you have to reply with "hey" or "great, and u" when you frankly don't give a shit about this person and you just want to get into your car. So after your brief interaction there is usually a long awkward lull where you both stare in opposite directions and attempt to look as though you are either counting the floors left to scale, or you are pondering your newest work endeavour, whatever the case may be, you know that you are only thinking about how goddamn awkward this situation is. Sometimes there are those neighbours that will just talk your face off all elevator ride, and sometimes I enjoy those people, but more times I’d rather just lazily gaze at the numbers changing then engage in a conversation about how the mold has become toxic on the 19th floor, and how awful it is about the vandals. Usually the people that engage in these elevator conversations are 40 year old women, or 40 year old gay men, and clearly they are one in the same.

Finally there is the positioning in the elevator. Usually when I get on I try to find a nice space near the wall, kind of in the corner. Sometimes though the elevator is full and you are left to stand immediately in front of the door, with you nose inches away, and you'd rather risk nasal decapitation then turning around and having to awkwardly face all the other elevator riders. Then someone will always have to get off the elevator before your stop, and then you have the ever so tedious task of getting off the elevator for them to exit, and you always end up doing this half twirl type thing where you turn and then bump into the person and then go "oh, ugh, god, sorry" meanwhile everyone else in the elevator is wondering how this buffoon ever made it out their front door.

I think the worst thing in the world would be to be stuck in a elevator with an stranger, or maybe even a pack of strangers. What would you talk about? Because I can almost guarantee the "we are stuck in an elevator" convo would quickly run dry. Do you talk about your life? Make friends? Sit in silence? Panic and make the other person fear for their life? Continuously yell help? Play 20 questions? I don't know!? I think I've thought about this far too much for my own good, but I feel that someday, after years of elevator riding, I will come up with the perfect resolution to all these elevator quarrels, and everyone will be happy again. But until that day…

Bread, bags and other nasty D's.

I've witnessed a lot of douche beggary recently, and I'm beginning to wonder if certain people are inherently douche bags, or if it is something one can turn on and off. I decided to consult urban dictionary for some answers. Here is my personal favourite: A person with an unbelievable size of ego without the substance to back it up and normally deludes himself that he is the "numero uno" in the universe. A douchebag is normally narrow-minded but thinks otherwise, disrespectful but thinks he is cool, thinks he knows everything but this is not the case and has a weird and peculiar habit of treating other people like dirt when in fact he is the dirt. This though, is stating that only males can be douche bags, which I’d have to disagree with, because well usually those male douche bags will find themselves a douchebaguette to date, even though there is a perfectly nice, sensible, un-slutty girl that also wants him. Instead, it always seems as though that guy you thought was charming and witty, was just a douche bag at heart, and the douchebaguette saw this from the beginning and pulled out her douche baguetty ways, and well snatched him up right under the nose of pretty, sensible, nice girl. Maybe though the pretty, sensible, nice girl is being too naive, and she probably needs to start carrying around some condoms, wearing really short skirts, and flashing her cunt in hopes that the douche bag she's had her eye on will notice she isn't wearing underwear and fuck her in the first available public washroom stall. My cynicism has taken over and I fear I am making no sense, which leads me to believe I probably should stop writing, and just move on with the fact that meeting a nice, sensible, un-douchy male is going to be an extreme challenge. Also, ridding the world of douchebaguettes will prove to be even more difficult.

Your ferns are seeking a place to grow.

Last night I deemed it necessary to spend an evening being domestic. In turn I baked a magnificent batch of chocolate cookies, ate far too much of the cookie dough. Then I proceeded to clean my oven, comet my sink, fold laundry, and watch a lot of slice television, which according to the ads, is my VICE! And a hells yes to that!
My other options for the night were: 1) going to wal-mart, where I would buy useless crap at almost half the price of anywhere else. 2) Go to the mall alone, but then I realized that I would be bombarded by herds of pre-pubescent children congregating outside the gap, and then I would relish at the fact that I am in the mall alone on friday night, and leave, in a state of perpetual misery.
So thank god I chose domestication, for it boasts no sense of loneliness or frivolous spending.