The Strychnine Café

Who the Fuck Buys Cheese in a Snowstorm?

2008-02-23T15:44:00.000-08:00

Listening: Half-Acre - Hem

I am holding half an acre,
Torn from a map of Michigan
And folded in this scrap of paper
Is the land I grew in.

Think of every town you've lived in
Every room you lay your head
And what is it that you remember?
Do you carry every sadness with you,
Every hour your heart was broken,
Every night the fear and darkness
Lay down with you?

~

LOOK AT IT OUTSIDE.

It's like Jack Frost and Mother Nature got really, really drunk last night, banged, and unleashed THIS fuckery upon us. I'm actually furious right now. I like winter and all, but I also like when it stops being winter and starts being that season that comes after winter. It's the end of February. Time for some post-winter weather. No? Not so much? Fine, you bastards.

So I'm sitting in the shop, being bored out of my skull, scowling at the world I can see through the glass door and scowling even harder at what people come in to make my life miserable. The boss is in Florida for another week or so, leaving the rest of us here to fend for ourselves (kind of). It's not normally so bad--unless you get a day like today, which is pretty much just an eight-hour voyage into annoyance and tears.

Normally I would never blog about this crap, but first of all, I'm really frigging bored, and second of all, I apparently actually have a following of blog-watchers (yes, I'm looking at you Harry Potter Kid/Hannah/Benji/Gen/Steph) who are (horrors) actually reading this thing. And some of them complaining about my lack of "real" updates. Never let it be said that I don't cater to my clientele, when I get my claws into them.

So Environment Canada says that we've got like 15 - 25 cm of snow attacking us from all sides, and high winds in the afternoon, which for me marks today up from just irritating to an assassination attempt. The chances of the shop closing are slim--I just got off the phone with the boss, who is sunning his tanned ass down in Florida as we speak, the bastard, and I have to call him back with an update about what else around the city is closed. Short answer, nothing. Long answer, nothing and I can forget having a social life by the end of today because this is the kind of weather that makes you want to watch the weather channel and hurl small objects at your television every time someone says the word "snow".

You'd think that when the world looks like it does outside, people would stay the farking hell inside. Apparently that's not the case.

First customer:
Him: Hi. I want a chunk of Mexicana and a chunk of jalapeno havarti.
Me: ...But why?

Second customer:
Her: I want about a third of all the dubliner you've got.
Me: *heaves a sigh* Alriiiight.

Third customer:
Him: I want a hundred grams of smoked gouda, a hundred grams of havarti, a hundred grams of mozzarella, three hundred grams of black forest ham, three hundred grams of turkey breast--
Me: Oh COME ON.

When I told the boss about the influx of people availing themselves of our tasty fermented dairy products, he laughed and said that the majority of people I'm seeing today hate their families and are just trying to get out of the house for fifteen minutes. I told him that he was a terribly cynical man, and he laughed again and told me that while that was certainly the case, he was telling the truth. Then the misanthrope told me to call him back in twenty minutes or so, because he was taking his daughter back to Disneyworld.

I hate him.

(Subtitled: I actually don't.)

So while I'm bitching, there is this prick who keeps coming to the shop five minutes before closing time on nights when I'm working to purchase the most inane shit. The other night for example: I had the door locked, signs flipped and unplugged, and was counting off my cash for the night when I heard a knock at the door. I looked up to find this guy standing outside. I pantomimed tapping my watch and mouthed "We're closed", and he got this really indignant look on his face and started rattling the door. I went over to see just what the farking hell he had his knickers in a twist over.

"We're closed," I clarified, opening the door a smidge and sticking my head out.

"No you're not," he told me.

Um, what? I spent like ten seconds just blinking at him like a fish that has been hauled out of a paradisial oasis and dropped onto a hot sidewalk. Okay, he had a point in that it wasn't quite eleven o'clock yet, but I think I'm entitled to shut the store down five minutes in advance so I can count cash / do paperwork / clean up without people tromping all over the store and fucking me up. Anyhow this guy just stood there staring at me until I stepped backwards, holding the door for him, and stumbled, "Umm... come in, I guess."

He never even said thank you.

So he came back last night. It was eleven o'clock by this point, so I wasn't obligated to let him in. I wallowed in it, too. When he banged on the door, I didn't even pantomime the watch-thing. I just went to the door, opened it, and said, "We're closed, sir."

"No you're not."

"Yes. Yes, I actually am. If you have something you need, I suggest you try Wal-Mart. They're open twenty-four hours now."

Victory.

Things have gone a bit to the chaotic side because now there seems to be something of a dilemma going on between who's coming in to work tonight and who's staying the fark home out of it. I had hoped to have plans tonight--party on the go--but if that's cancelled then I'm all for calling it a night and staying indoors, away from snow and people who insist on eating cheese in the snow. Whatever, I'll live.

Although guaranteed I will gleefully murder the everloving hell out of the next person to come into the shop and tell me, "Wow, it's nasty out there!"

NO. WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF A SNOWSTORM. NASTY? ARE YOU SERIOUS? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.

I'm going to cool my cynacism now by eating a couple of these Peach Ring candies. They're like Fuzzy Peaches, only with less surface area.

PS: I also maintain that if you guys are going to be asking for "real" posts, I should at least get some farking comments out of it.

Icarus appears to be channeling a combination of Yahtzee and Foamy.

Songs for a Moonlit Night

2008-02-20T19:52:00.000-08:00

Listening: Beautiful Things - Andain

I forgot
That I might see
So many
Beautiful things...

~

I hope you are all out there somewhere watching the lunar eclipse. What an incredible night to see this: cloudless and cold and a breath of wind.

Here are some songs that every appreciative stargazer should have (in my humble opinion).

Anywhere In the Universe - Astronaut Wife
Darkest Dreaming - David Sylvian
Universe - Sarah Slean
An Ugly Fact of Life - Explosions in the Sky
Untitled 3 - Sigur Ros
Falling Down Blue - Blue Rodeo
Space Lion - Yoko Kanno (from the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack)
Under the Milky Way - The Church
Grissom's Overture - [CSI Soundtrack]
Dusting Down the Stars - Mobile
Tomorrow - Rosie Thomas
Me and the Moon - Something Corporate
Twin Moon - Sarah Slean
The House at Swamp Bottom - [Spirited Away soundtrack]
In the Deep - Bird York
January Rain - David Gray
The Dumbing Down of Love - Frou Frou
Sad Eyes - Bat for Lashes
Sleeping With Ghosts - Placebo
Since You've Been Around - Rosie Thomas
Night Time - Aaron Zigman [Mr. Magorium soundtrack]
Auriel's Ascension - Jeremy Soule [Elder Scrolls: Oblivion soundtrack]
Blue Light of the Flame - Dar Williams
Gravity - Vienna Teng
Nana de Mercedes - Javier Navarrete [Pan's Labyrinth soundtrack]
Liz on Top of the World - Dario Marianelli [Pride & Prejudice soundtrack]
Bones - Charlotte Martin

It's 12:49 a.m. Last stages of the eclipse. The moon is a sliver of light.

Enjoy this uncertain shivering vastness.

Icarus cannot be funny when beautiful things happen.

For Serious?

2008-02-10T07:00:00.000-08:00

Listening: Forget It - Breaking Benjamin

Everytime I get it, I throw it away
It's a sign, I get it, I want to stay
By the time I lose it I'm not afraid
Of looking at you truly fake it.

How can I believe when this cloud hangs over me
You're the part of me that I don't want to see.

Forget it.

I really kind of abruptly looked at the date and was like, "It's February? When was the last time I blogged?" and then I looked at my last post and saw the words "One week 'til Christmas". Bad sign.

Anyway it's boring as hell over this way. Back in MUN for the semester, along with my favorite people. Not much in the way of anything interesting has happened, except for the fact that I'm stalking a boy in my Shakespeare class but he doesn't know it yet, shh. Oh and the occasional interesting thing that happens to us as a collective, which I will most likely begin enumerating.

Here, have a list of interesting things that have happened since I blogged last.

1. I have an established reputation at Jeremiah's.

I really have no idea how this one happened, but I enjoy that it did. It's come to my attention in a couple of ways. One of them was a guy who came in at one point asking if I'd fed someone any hot sauce. Since this little bit of sadism is part and parcel of my job (the only real reason my boss keeps half the hot sauces he does is so he can feed them to unsuspecting young bucks and watch them cry like little girls), I answered that yes, I had.

"Oh," he said with an air of revelation. "You're the Mistress of Death."

I thought that was the funniest thing ever.

Then just yesterday one of the women from the salon next door came in and brightened up immediately upon sight of me.

"I like when you're in," she said cheerfully. "The music is always good."

Since I've not yet had a shift where I didn't blast my iPod throughout the whole store, I considered that extremely flattering.

2. I told off a lawyer.

Fuck people who come in and are jackasses to you for the sake of being jackasses. Like the bastard who came into Jeremiah's yesterday. I was in a bit of a tizzy, because it was a Saturday morning, I was still trying to set up shop, and the orders were coming in thick and fast. That aside, I'd also discovered that half the work that my coworker should have done the night before had been neglected, so I had twice the work to do, and a pile of customers to serve. It was a bit dizzying.

Anyway I finally managed to get a handle on what needed to be done so I was just started to calm down when this guy comes in. He asked me, "How are you today?"

"A little stressed," I replied with a laugh, just making conversation, and in my brain enumerating all the things I had to get out of the freezer, and the vegetables to cut and meat to slice and condiments to replenish and where all the cigarettes go on the wall behind me, and wondering how I was going to get it all done between customers when things were this busy.

He got a funny sort of look on his face.

Then he laughed at me.

The asshat laughed at me.

"I pity you going out into the real world if this makes you stressed," he said, in that mocking, derogatory tone of voice that suggests that he feels sorry for you, because you must be very thick. "I own a law firm, and I don't get stressed out."

Immediately my good mood was eradicated. I hate people who do that, who exist only to make themselves feel good by looking down on people like myself, who work retail part-time and really don't want to hear about the number of digits he makes in a given year.

"Well, I'm glad you get your kicks making other people miserable," I told him sweetly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

And pivoted on my heel and left. When I came out of the freezer, he was gone. I was furious for the next half an hour, until Jeremy showed up with a hot chocolate for me, bless the man.

I hate lawyers.

3. We did battle with the Goth Queen.

For the sake of the innocent, I shan't name names, but ohmijeezus, there are some people who make my skin crawl just from being around them from too long, and this girl was one of them.

For the sake of argument, let's call her Porno Clown.

I knew from the day I met her that I didn't like her, but I'm not generally a person who chews up friends of friends, so I did my best to hide my discontent. As the days wore on and she continued to be present in my haven of friends and relaxation (that being the MUN UC) and just generally getting under my skin. My smiles became ever more pasted-on and forced and I never went looking for her to start a conversation.

What drama Porno Clown was capable of causing! Within a week and a half of being acquainted with her, I have no idea what the hell happened, but she'd somehow managed to cause several shifts in our group dynamic that made her comparable to a geographic fault. She was the sort of person who takes herself seriously to the point of no one giving a shit anymore. She talked as though there was a camera crew following her at all times, and every word out of her mouth was about her. I'm sorry, but I really can't respect anyone who uses the term "my dark prince" when referring to another person and doesn't mean it ironically or mockingly.

I was polite. I was decent.

Until I found out that everyone else hated her, too.

What a relief that was. As though I was Atlas, and the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders! There was no longer a need to keep up pretenses. Fortunately, I didn't have to. She ceased to be seen for the most part, discouraged by associates from making herself seen at the UC because, you know, no one liked her. Those were the halcyon days.

Then she moved away.

There was debate as to whether or not this was a stunt, but everything went through, and the world has settled into a sort of deep, restful peacefulness now that the tremors caused by Fault Porno Clown have begun to die. Yeah, there's still drama, some of it stirred up due to her presence, but now we don't have to deal with someone outlining all that drama and making themselves the center of it with a certain colloquial verbatim that makes the rest of us want to stab our eyes out with ice picks.

4. I've made a career-altering decision.

No, don't freak out, I'm still an English major. I've simply had a change of heart about the direction I want to take that in. I never was really gung-ho about journalism; it always struck me as kind of an intimidating profession, lining me up for my inevitable rabid dog-fight with the rest of those aspiring reporters, vying for a high-paying position and having to fight like an angry ferret to keep it if I ever did manage to land one. I quite simply don't have the guts for head-to-head battles like that. I'm non-confrontational like that.

This decision didn't come about until a few weeks ago when I was doing one of my favorite things: editing a piece of work by my dear friend Rae, who writes with a certain flow and word choice that I find positively delectable. Since I'm a picky sumbitch and she'd asked me to beta, I was giving her constructive criticism in the nicest possible way, because while I believe in doing an editing job thoroughly, I don't believe in ravaging anyone, friend or otherwise, to a bloody gruesome death over something they've put so much effort into. I try to go by that old adage and avoid it as much as possible: "A critic is someone who comes onto the battlefield after the battle is over and shoots the wounded."

And I really like what I do. Which was why it was so incredibly appealing when Rae mentioned in passing, "You know, you should edit professionally."

And why not? Yeah, it's a competitive market, but no more so than the one I'd previously set my sights on, and if I'm going to go into something, why not make it something I enjoy?

So that's the new plan. I'm aiming for a career in editing. We'll see where it takes me.

4. I went out for coffee and to a movie with two different boys.

The movie was a friendly thing, though it's hard to think of it that way when your companion suggests that you wait out the hour and a half preceding the movie by banging in a bathroom.

(I think he was kidding.)

5. I finished Act Two of my longstanding, four-year-old romantic dramedy comic, Cronos.

This is an accomplishment for me. Be happy, dammit.

I think that about covers it. Hopefully I'll start picking up my little blog thang again. It just seems like nothing interesting's been going on, is all. If things pick up, you'll hear about it.

Icarus is really tempted to rewrite a song with the lyrics "Porno Clown".

Haha

2007-12-17T06:28:00.000-08:00

Listening: Follow the Cops Back Home - Placebo

The call to arms was never true
I'm medicated, how are you?
Let's take a dive, swim right through
Sophisticated points of view

Let's follow the cops back home
Follow the cops back home
Let's follow the cops back home
And rob their houses.

I sent this quick little comic to Gen this morning. Her mother asked my permission to use it to generate a discussion in her high school class.

I am both flattered and unable to stop giggling.

(Yes, I am aware that it's a terrible scan. My sketchbook is too big for my scanner.)

One week 'til Christmas!

Icarus is still giggling.

The Grandest of Adventures

2007-12-10T06:45:00.000-08:00

Listening: Mercy - OneRepublic

Angel of mercy
How did you find me
Where did you read my story?

So the weekend just ended. It's 11:30 on a Monday morning and I have two exams tomorrow. But seriously guys, I had a pretty excellent weekend.

On Friday, I was babysitting for a trio of the most energetic children I have ever encountered. They're Americans who moved into my old neighbors' house across the street. The two eldest are dolls, even if they are a bit excitable, but the youngest is an absolute terror. He's four, and spoiled utterly rotten. I'm not sure if his parents are teaching him the whole "Say please and thank you" thing (from what I observed, they're not) but he orders you around like he's a little king. I made the mistake of drawing in my sketchbook, and he demanded that I turn it over to him so that he could draw a robot in it. I only barely managed to divert his attention by pointing out that they had an "inventions" sketchbook and robots are really inventions. Mollified he said, "Go get it for me."

"What do you say?" I asked, hunting for a 'please'.

"Now," he stressed.

I felt like smacking his sass mouth, but, you know, they don't endorse that these days. (I wouldn't hit a kid. It was just frustrating, y'all.) He ended up getting really wound up, throwing a Monopoly game all over the basement, cutting himself by trying to hurl a chair at his older sister, and running around screaming like his eyes were on fire. I finally tried to put him in a time-out, but the little jerk has probably never even heard of that. He refused to stay in place, so I had to hold him on my lap to convince him to stop freaking out. He didn't.

If there's one thing that gets me irate, it's a disobedient child. He tried to sneak a second snack after his first one, and after I told him no, he blatantly disobeyed me. I managed to capture the swiped pickle before he could cram it in his maw, which of course made him sulky as hell, so then he went totally ragdoll on the floor when I tried to bring him up to bed. I carried him up there, which sucked because my asthma was reacting to the big, sheddy dog in the house, and I was really having difficulty breathing. I finally got him to his bed, where he promptly tried to run off again, but I lost my patience.

I can only describe what happened then as being overtaken by my "mom voice". I have only ever been able to pull off this tone in situations of extreme duress caused by young children. Jabbing my finger at him, I snarled in the most savage and incredibly sinister voice, "Listen here. I have had it up to here with your antics. You have been SERIOUSLY TICKING ME OFF all night, and it's time to settle down. Quit it."

And he did. Sure, he glared at me a bit, but I didn't hear a peep out of him for the rest of the time we spent getting ready for bed. He was a doll, even reading me a story and asking me to lie down with him. I felt kind of bad for snapping at him, but in retrospect, he kind of deserved it, and someone had to show the little bastard who was boss. The last time my sister babysat there, he made her cry. I wasn't going to be in that position.

I later tried to reproduce the "mom voice" for my sister, but it didn't work. Proving once again that it's one of my secret unlockable powers.

Anyhow, Saturday rolled around and I went to a shift at my new job. (Oh. Yeah, I have a new job. At the corner store up close by my house, called Jeremiah's. It's small and compact and filled with the nicest people ever. Even my boss Jeremy is spectacular.) I was supposed to be getting trained in by one of the senior employees, a girl named Amy, who was the sweetest person ever and gave me all the details I needed to know but was too afraid to ask Jeremy. Apparently there's a cable designed so that I can plug my iPod up to the radio that pumps through the store. And you're allowed to bring your laptops. And the computer on the cash register has MSN. Small price to pay for learning to make sandwiches!

So I finished up there at 3 pm, went home, and called Rae. The following adventure will be outlined in doodle form. You'll know who's who by the fact that I'm always in the driver's seat and Rae always has both eyes.

We'd been planning an adventure, so I jumped in my car and raced off to pick her up. When I got there, this was what I was greeted with.

Apparently Rae doesn't realize that I am incapable of making plans.

So we drove to Tim Horton's and had chats there.

We decided to go try to find the Rooms. I am fortunate that Rae enjoys my taste in music.

Yes, I am aware that I can't draw cars. Pretend it was done for cartoony quality. Which it was, actually.
So Rae and I got hopelessly lost, looking for the Rooms.

I fucking hate the Village.
So Rae said "Let's go to Signal Hill."

Yeah, I lost the hill. Instead I found the penitentiary and a parking lot. In my defense, it was dark and the roads were all torn up.
So we finally found Signal Hill. Not only was it windy as hell, but also ice-laden.

We had a blast.
So then we decided we were really hungry and craving Asian. We hopped back in my car and started cruising, looking for somewhere to eat. I had my mind set on Taste of Thai. We ended up having to stop for a map. Yes, in my own city. Shut up.

She was reading the map wrong. That's okay because she's a redhead.
So, we found Taste of Thai at long last. And it was worth it.

* They were $8.
So that was my beautiful magical Saturday night with Rae. I was supposed to be hanging out with Cole after that, but it fell through.

Sunday morning, Cole and I went out to breakfast at our favorite joint (Rustlers). It was delicious. So then Colette manned the iPod while I ran around doing errands like picking up eggnog. This was also probably how we ended up driving by the striking East Side Mario's employees, with the Rocky theme pumping through the car and me honking the horn, and Colette leaning out my window yelling "Wooooooo!!"

I love my friends.

Icarus is getting to be a car ninja. Yay!

Clips and Tricks

2007-11-30T12:31:00.000-08:00

Listening: Godot's Theme: Fragrance of Dark Coffee (Jazz Version) - Phoenix Wright

Well, thank God. I thought today was never going to get here.

Today was the last day of classes at MUN. Which means it was also the last day of me running around like my head was on fire, trying to finish all of my term reports. I will give the MUN library this: it may be stuffy and confining and militaristic, but I get shit done there.

Moving on.

I know I haven't been keeping up with the blogging--well, not really--but things have been nuts over on my end. In case you hadn't gathered it from my last post, I got my driver's license. *waits for applause* Oh yeah, and the whole deal with the car got worked out peacefully in the end. (Not fairly, though, in my opinion. I don't mean for me. I mean for the poor woman who had to shell out $2700 from her own pocket because her idiot daughter let her uninsured, unlicensed boyfriend drive her mother's car. But that's not for me to work out.)

The Tim Horton's Cole and I were at on the night of the accident is not our regular Tim's. Yes, we have a regular Tim's. So regular that they knew our orders upon sight. (Yes, this is very sad, I am aware.) Those halcyon days are gone, unfortunately, because they closed out Tim's down about a month ago, so we've had to look for a new one. It was very traumatic, I assure you.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Guys, Rykea's wicked. A few weeks ago she and I were discussing a song. Specifically, it was the Charlotte Martin cover of Constant Craving. Then we started bandying back and forth with sentences. The next thing we know, we have an ongoing short-story. We literally wrote the first sentences that came into our heads, so we started with no characters, no plot, no nothing. And somehow... we have a little sleeping beast that the two of us continue to poke at, and I have a feeling it's going to grow up to be splendiferous.

There is nothing new and exciting in my life save for that, so instead I'm going to do something slightly out of the ordinary. I'm picking up the first five pieces of paper I find and putting clips of what I've written on them on my blog. Sound like fun? No? Well, too bad.

"Your average daily dose of Grimmy will make your eyes bleed from cuteness."

"You may interrupt me for one or more of the following:
- earthquake
- house on fire
- dam bursting ("What dam?", you ask)
- copious blood loss
- dinner."

"Long-Legged Scissor Man."

"- headstrong
- frequently judgmental
- twin brother
- fond of cars
- champion lockpick"

"Bartolome
Abayal
Culaan
Astalor
Tartai
Sarthun"

And that's... it, really. Yay for the boring life of Julia.

Icarus is going to sleep again.

WHAT.

2007-11-21T19:51:00.000-08:00

Listening: Rainy Day - Guster

Clouds are coming
Air gets heavy
Looks like trouble on a
Rainy day
Sun starts sinking
Can't see my shadow
Looks like trouble on a
Rainy day
Holes uncovered
Walls will crumble
All spells trouble on a
Rainy day.

~*~

So I was sitting in Tim Horton's tonight with Colette, like we do every other night. It's a nice way to break up the tedium of homework and life in general. We go there to complain (about everything) and to sketch, because it's a relatively comfortable atmosphere within close proximity to fresh tea. Ever since I got my license in October and I've been granted relatively free reign with the family car (whom I've fondly named 'Bixby'), we've been able to enjoy the tradition with increasing frequency. We thought tonight was just like any other night.

Boy, were we wrong.

It was going for eleven and I was doodling a picture for Colette while she scribbled across from me. We were sitting there. Minding our own business. And then the shit hit the fan.

"Excuse me?"

I looked up over my shoulder to find a Tim's employee looking at the two of us with wide eyes. Blinking, I asked, "What?"

"Do either of you own a red Toyota?"

Immediately my stomach turned to lead. Bixby. Oh shit, I thought. I knew I should have straightened out that park job. I said, hesitantly, "I do."

"Well," the girl said. "Somebody just backed into your car."

For a second I could only stare at her. Then I put my head down on the table and counted to five. Freaking out is not advisable in these kinds of situations. Over my head, I heard Colette (the more rational of the two of us, at the time) ask, "Is there any damage?"

"The whole right side of the front bumper is caved in," the girl said. "And something is dripping out of it."

"Where's the guy who did it?" I asked without lifting my head, my voice muffled by the table.

"Uh..." A momentary pause. "...He drove off."

"What."

I don't put a question mark behind that word, because it wasn't an exclamation of confusion. It was disbelief. I got to my feet and went to the nearest window, peering outside. Sure enough, there was Bixby, sitting all alone in his parking spot. Facing the store. No one for miles.

Allow me to paint a picture for you, if I may.

THIS IS NOT AN EXAGGERATION.

HOW THE FUCKING HELL did someone manage to back into my GODDAMN CAR?

I was capable only of gawping like a goldfish dropped on a sidewalk. All around me, the Tim's employees (it was a slow night, and this shit was calamitous, at least in my eyes) were saying kind things to me, muttering "What an asshole" and "That's a sin, baby are you okay?". Memo to self: Thank you, Tim's employees. Thank you, for being so kind and understanding, and giving a damn. It meant a lot to me.

The manager came up while Colette and I were staring at the crater carved into my poor car's front bumper. "I called the RNC for you," he told me. "They'd like to talk to you."

All around me, shit was going on. Tim's employees were talking to each other and to Colette, and I was capable only of turning around and blindly following the manager into the office in the back. The door was held for me by not one, not two, but three employees, all of whom were regarding me sympathetically. I managed a smile at them which probably looked garish, said "Thanks," and went through. They were all wonderfully nice to me. I appreciated it so, so much.

Inside, the RNC officer on the phone took the information I had to give her, then started asking questions about the make of the car, none of which I could answer. I asked her to hold on and wandered dazedly back out front, where Colette was talking with the employees. When they spotted me, someone brandished a scrap of cardboard or something at me. "Here," she said. "This is what he wrote down."

"Who?" I asked, taking the slip.

"The guy who saw it happen."

I had a witness! My heart lunged into my throat. "Is he still here? Can I talk to him?"

They fetched him for me. He was an older gent, the father, I believe, of one of the Tim Horton's girls getting off her shift at eleven. He reaffirmed the description of the car that he'd written down--he didn't have the license plate number, but he did have the make and colour of the car, was able to tell me it had four doors and tinted windows, and told me the direction our friend drove off in. I thanked him profusely. Now I wish I'd gotten his name, so I could have bought him a coffee. Another person on Julia's Good Karma List. Please take note, higher power/fate/whatever.

So I went back to the phone with the information for the nice RNC lady. She took it all, passed the story on, and said, "Thanks, Julia. We'll send a squad car over and someone will take your statement."

What.

"Okay," I said weakly, and hung up the phone before wandering back out into the store with trembling knees. Somewhere around there it occurred to me to call my mother. Yeah. That was super. I couldn't get my tongue around the words. I've only been driving for two months, guys. I did not want this shit happening this early (preferably at all).

Mom sounded a little upset at first, but she seemed to calm down once I explained that I'd been parked and in a building when the hit happened. She told me she was sending Dad off to find me. "Okay," I said. Then I sat down and shook some more.

While we waited for the fuzz, Cole and I went outside to check out the situation. Allow me to draw your attention back to the diagram above. I think Colette about had an aneurysm when she saw things up close. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she demanded, gesturing wildly. There were a few moments of her stuttering, and then she exploded, "This isn't even pissing distance for Matt!!"

I think what she was trying to say is that there was no reason for Ricky Bobby to careen into my vehicle. Not in a parking lot that size, and especially not given the fact that the only three cars there were his, mine, and my witness's. That's like trying to hand someone a pencil and stabbing their eye out. What the fuck are the chances? How retarded do you have to be? Seriously.

We went back inside, out of the cold. One of the girls, who was leaving, came up to me. "You know," she said, "I know the first name of the guy who did it."

"What?" I said in bewilderment.

"Yeah. I grew up down the street from him."

"Who is he?"

[NOTE: The name of the driver in this otherwise factual story has been fabricated. I would rather not reveal the guy's name. He's got enough to worry about.]

"Graham," she said.

I mentally recorded that and said thank you to her. There was a handsome young man there, who was just as nice as the rest of them. "That your car?" he asked, and following my confirmation, "That sucks." The majority of my Tim's fan club was leaving for the night--all of them offered condolences and wished me good luck as they left. Cole and I stood in the porch, waiting for the cops.

They turned up before long, and cruised around perusing the damage. Finally they parked, and I went out and met the two of them in the parking lot. For the sake of keeping the four officers I encountered tonight straight for everyone, I will assign them fabricated names. The man I mentally named Mustachio proved to be kind of the lead on the matter; he said a polite hello to me, as well as his partner, Blondie, who was, well, a blonde policewoman.

So I went through the whole story with them again. Gave them the same information I had given to the officer on the phone. Mustachio went to check out the car again. As he did, Blondie looked at me.

"You have a description of the car," she said. "I don't suppose you happen to have one of the driver."

"No." I shook my head. "But one of the girls inside said she knew him, and that his name was Graham."

At that very moment, the walkie-talkie on her belt exuded a flare of static, and then a voice said over it (and I'm paraphrasing here, removing the unintelligible police jargon): "We have a man pulled over here who's got a busted taillight. His car matches the description that was just sent out."

Blondie asked into the walkie-talkie, "What's the driver's name?"

A pause. Then:

"Driver's name is Graham McDonald."

I swear to God my face did this:

Blondie and I exchanged a significant look. Then, with a smug smile, she told them to hold on to the fellow they'd pulled over and went to tell Mustachio. I frolicked to Colette, who was standing on the sidelines, and told her what the hell had just happened.

Eventually things moved inside. My hands were cold as ice and shaking, so Colette fastened them forcibly around her own tea cup and we sat there discussing what had happened while our friends Mustachio and Blondie started the report. My Dad turned up around then, and I gave him the update.

I won't go into detail about what happened after, because it was just the basic formal police-work. Mustachio took my statement, Blondie took my license and registration, and my Dad asked questions. We sat there not saying much until Cop Adonis showed up. I call him Cop Adonis because he was absolutely the most beautiful man alive. He was one of the fellows who'd stopped my dear hit-and-runner. He chatted with us a minute, then went off, leaving us pining after him.

The handsome boy from earlier returned again from the chilly outdoors, this time grinning at me. "Got him, did they?"

"Yeah," I said, smiling. And then it was like I couldn't stop smiling, the whole damn thing was so absurd.

Long story short; the fellow who hit me doesn't have a license. He wasn't the only one in the car when it happened, and they all freaked out and he bolted. The fuzz pulled him over for his broken taillight, and the fourth officer (Brace, I'll call him) noticed that the girl in the front seat appeared to be having a panic attack. They were still talking when the announcement of my hit-and-run--along with the description of the perpetrating vehicle--came over the police scanner.

I thought that shit only happened in movies. What the fuck, guys. What. The fuck.

Anyhow, once the jig was up, the driver knew it. He admitted to hitting my car and taking off. He also confessed that he didn't have a license, and was driving a car that didn't belong to him. Things worked out very peacefully after all. We clued up with the police, Dad got numbers and names to call about insurance, and I drove Colette home.

And that was my night. Bixby is sitting in front of the house being wounded as we speak. Poor little feller. At least things worked out as shockingly well as they did.

I feel like I should go buy a lottery ticket or something.

Icarus is going to bed for a whole frigging year after tonight.

See, This Is Why My Brain Weirds Me Out Sometimes

2007-11-20T09:01:00.000-08:00

Listening: Apology - Charlotte Martin

I'm imperfect
And uncertain
I can't make this work if you
Don't take the call.
We get colder
Now that we're much older
But we're also bolder
And I'm sorry for it all.

~*~

Tuomas leaped on me and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me violently. "Come on, Julia! You have to help us solve this murder! We won't be your friends anymore if you don't!"

"This is the best vacation of my entire life," I thought.

The next thing I knew, I was back in the van with the band. It is entirely possible that someone had painted "Mystery Machine" on its side (in red, gothic-style letters), but I might have been mistaken about that. Not sure.

"Look for clues," Tuomas said. Once again, I was riding shotgun.

"Where?" I asked in exasperation, pointing back the way we'd come. "The hotel's back there."

He looked at me as though I was being stupid on purpose. "You're the writer," he told me. "You figure something out."

"I don't write crime dramas."

"Just try it, would you?"

"God, fine. Dick."

He grinned at me when I said that. It was not a nice grin, in the best possible way. Kind of like how a wolf would grin if it chanced upon a sleeping lamb. My toes didn't uncurl for hours, even after I woke up.

"Um, okay," I said. "What about the library?"

"Perfect!" Anette said from the backseat.

Only after it was out of my mouth did I realize how retarded that suggestion was. The library? Right. We will follow the murderer's paper trail, and then we will crush him to death with our enormous brains of knowledge. Nice job, Julia. You are a spectacular investigator.

Tuomas drove us to the damn library. It looked more like it should have been some sort of government building--big and austere and made entirely out of dark gray stone. Twin lions, bigger than I was tall, sat on either side of the entrance. It was spooky and simultaneously really, really cool.

The inside of the library was just as intimidating as the outside. Books lined not only the shelves, but every wall, every column. The ceilings were high and vaulted, stretching at least a dozen feet over my head. The center of the building was open to the roof, which sported a glass dome, letting in the pale winter light. Tuomas rounded on the lot of us. "Okay," he said. "Marco, you come with me, we're going to go look for clues in the periodicals. Emppu, Jukka, you guys take non-fiction. Julia, you go to fiction with Anette."

"Oh great," I said. "We're not going to find anything through the Stephen King novels."

We went. Things were weirdly quiet. I didn't see many other people around, aside from the doddering little librarian who'd been sitting behind the desk when we came in. Pages blew down the aisles, spurred on by wayward breezes. I was standing up on one of those sliding shelf-ladders, browsing the spines for hints. Anette was crouched on the floor, flipping through covers.

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done," I mumbled.

"Not really," Anette said, pulling out a novel and flipping the pages absently. "What about that time you jumped over a shark on water skis?"

"I never jumped over a shark on water skis."

"Oh." A pause. "Never mind, then. Forget it."

Before I could ask what the hell she was talking about, the lights in the library guttered sharply, flicked once or twice, and dimmed to near-darkness. They brightened slowly, but by that time the two of us were already on edge. We frowned up the aisle, watching the errant pages blow to and fro.

At that moment, something white and glowing came shrieking down from the ceiling, prompting me to snap my head up. The instant I did, that screeching thing connected solidly with my body, and I was flung off the ladder and hit the floor on my back with enough force to pop something. I skidded along the hard floor on my back, trying in vain to fight off the thing that was on top of me.

A sound suddenly penetrated the veil of the creature's snarls. It was Anette, but she wasn't shouting. Whatever it was, the thing on top of me recoiled with a howl of pain and vaulted away, back up onto the bookshelves. I could hear it skittering away, croaking to itself.

"What the hell?" I exploded from the floor.

Anette muttered only a grim "I thought so" before crouching down to help me to my feet. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. What the hell was that?"

"A ghost."

"I'm sorry?"

At that moment, we heard footsteps, and we turned to find Tuomas and the rest of the collection rounding the corner. Tuomas asked, "What happened?"

"Ghost," said Anette, as though this explained everything.

It appeared to explain everything for Tuomas, at least. He nodded as though something very significant had just happened. "How big?"

"'Bout yay-high," said Anette, holding her hand to about my shoulder to communicate size.

"Ah," said Tuomas. "So we'll need the keyboard, then."

"Yeah, probably."

I was too confused to do anything but stare at them very hard. Tuomas seemed to understand, because he looked at me. "Something the matter?"

"What the hell is going on?"

"That ghost was summoned by our murderer."

What? The murderer from the hotel? "You have to be joking."

"Look into your heart, Julia," Tuomas told me. "You know it to be true."

What.

Before I could unhinge my jaw any farther, Tuomas looked back at his companions and said, "Okay, let's go get the stuff. You stay here," he told me. "We'll be right back."

"What?" I could still hear the ghost skittering around on top of the bookshelves, yawling. "You are not leaving me here alone."

"Don't be such a pansy, Julia."

"I'll be a pansy if I want to be, Holopainen. You are not leaving me alone in a haunted library, you shut the hell up."

Tuomas heaved a theatrical sigh. "Very well." He looked at Anette and the others. "Go get the stuff. I'll stay here with her." I blinked, but Anette only saluted and lead the troops away. A few long minutes of silence passed. I stood there, looking very hard at the bookshelves, twiddling my thumbs.

Abruptly, Tuomas slung one arm around me and leaned his chin on my shoulder. "What's up, pup?"

"I feel bad about that police officer," I blurted abruptly.

Tuomas frowned. "The one who almost gave us a ticket?" I nodded. "Why?"

"He must waste a lot of gas."

Tuomas started laughing at me. He wrapped his arm around neck and shoulders and hugged me fiercely, jostling me. "You're a good kid," he chuckled, ruffling my hair. It was very friendly, and I relaxed. Then he pinched me, and it was more than just "friendly". I glanced at him in mingled outrage and surprise (and a little bit of interest), and he grinned back at me.

At that moment, Anette and the rest of the band returned, bringing with them a pile of instruments. Tuomas detached himself, and went to help with things. I followed him, confused. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." He lifted an electric keyboard in one arm and waved one arm at me. "Go stand over there and make a sound like bait."

Sulking, I obeyed. In retrospect, that was kind of stupid of me. I stood near one of the bookcases and, after looking around for a minute, I started chanting, "Bait. Bait."

"Perfect," said Anette, straightening the stand for a microphone.

Marco gave me the thumbs up. "Keep it up."

"Bait. Bait. Bait."

At that moment, that screeching form descended upon me again, and I instinctively recoiled. However, a sound exploded from behind me, and the ghost fell to the hard floor, writhing and twisting, screaming in agony. The sound I heard was that of symphonic, epic metal. I looked back over my shoulder. The band was playing.

And I do mean playing.

I stood there, entranced by the sound. It took a minute for me to realize that the ghost was still screeching and twisting on the floor. It seemed to be steaming, wispy vapor rising from its translucent body. As I watched, it began to grow progressively smaller, its shrieks becoming thinner and softer. Finally it brittled away into nothing, and its screaming evaporated entirely. The band ended their song from behind me with sounds of satisfaction.

I stared at the spot where the ghost had been before I turned to look at them. "What the Osama just happened?"

"We exorcised the ghost," said Anette, again as though this explained everything. And perhaps it did.

They rocked a ghost to [second] death.

I love Nightwish.

"So," Tuomas said as I stuttered unintelligibly in the corner. "Did anyone find anything?"

"We found a secret passage," said Jukka.

Tuomas looked psyched about this. "A real one? Or one of those faux move-a-tapestry ones?"

"No, a real one."

"Kickass." The songwriter beamed at me. "I knew you'd help us find the murderer, Julia."

"What makes you think the murderer is even in that secret passage?" I exploded, my mind numbed by the awesomeness I had narrowly avoided.

Tuomas gave me that look of his. You know, the 'I know because I'm in Nightwish' look. I decided to take him for his word.

"So do you have any advice about dealing with crazy criminals?" Anette asked me.

"No. Hang on. Let me go make a phone call."

So I went to a payphone and made a collect call to Mississauga. The voice that finally picked up said, "Hello, and this had better be good."

"Hi, Steph," I said with gleeful obliviousness.

"Kit?"

"Hi."

"What the hell do you want, it's like three in the morning here."

"Oh right. Um, I'm in Finland with Nightwish. They just exorcised a ghost with the power of rock and roll, and now we're standing around the library about to go into a secret passage after a mass-murderer."

Tuomas leaned over my shoulder and said, "Who's that?"

"It's my friend Steph. She's a forensic anthropologist."

"Can I talk to her?"

"No."

"Who was that?" Steph asked.

"That was Tuomas. Shut up, he's not important. Do you have any advice?"

"Can I talk to him?"

"Fuck you, tell me what to do about the mass murderer who escaped the haunted library through the secret passageway, goddammit Steph!"

"Alright alright. God. Do you have any fireworks?"

What.

"What?"

"You're going to need fireworks. Also power cables and flamethrowers, but mostly fireworks."

"Steph."

"What?"

"Fireworks will make everything 'plode."

"Oh I know. There will be 'plosions. Oh, the 'plosions."

"Let me talk to your friend, goddammit," said Tuomas from the sidelines.

Then I woke up.

*~*

Did I ever mention that my dreams never recur, but occasionally have sequels? Yeah, it's pretty messed up. And at the same time, I would never trade it.

At least this one didn't roll credits at the end. Or have large text preceding it, which read "Starring the Unconscious as Herself". Both of those have happened before. You can't make this shit up, people.

Icarus really wants Nightwish to release a song or album called "Exorcism" now.

Little Nemo Ain't Got Nothin' On Me

2007-10-21T12:07:00.000-07:00

Listening: Moon Over Marin - Matthew Good

Unlock my section of the sand
It's fenced off to the water's edge
I clamp a gas mask on my head
On my beach at night
Bathe in my moonlight.

Another tanker's hit the rocks
Abandoned to spill out its guts
The sand is laced with sticky glops

Oh, shimmering moonlight sheen upon
The waves and water clogged with oil
White gases steam up from the soil
On my beach at night
Bathe in my moonlight...

I was sitting at a computer in the MUN library, listening to the new Nightwish album Dark Passion Play on my iPod. I was also engaged in conversation with a woman on MSN. I had no idea who she was or even her real name--the only one she went by was The Poet. Of course, we bonded over our love of Nightwish, and for some reason that's where I was today, sitting in the library talking to her instead of studying.

Man, I love Nightwish, I typed. I would kill to see them live.

Her response was entirely unexpected. Well, I live in Finland, she typed back. Would you like me to send you a ticket to fly here so you can meet them?

Hella yes, I would! All thoughts of shady dealings, including my basic mantra of Be wary of the internets, were completely forgotten. I was getting a goddamn ticket to goddamn Finland! I went right home and packed my bags. Didn't even bother to finish my classes. Nope. Later on I checked and discovered that an e-ticket had, indeed, been reserved for me. I hopped on the plane not long after and sat through a painfully long flight to Finland, alternating between grumbling to myself and nearly vibrating out of my seat with sheer joy at the whole prospect of going.

Finally the plane landed, and before long I found myself standing in the airport with my luggage, looking around in bemusement. "Shit," I said to myself. "I didn't even get the name of the woman I was talking to. How am I supposed to know her when I see her?"

Then a pretty, dark-haired women with blue eyes sauntered up through the crowd and came right to me. "Julia?" she asked, in the sort of manner that illustrated she already knew who I was.

"Um, yes?" I said, bemused. I squinted at her, certain I had seen her before.

She smiled cheerfully at me. "I'm Anette Olzon. Come this way; there's a car waiting for us out front."

Holy shit guys, Anette Olzon! The new lead singer of Nightwish! And she knows my name! WHAT.

I scrambled after her and started yammering questions like a schoolchild on crack. Anette took it in stride, explaining to me that she, in fact, was The Poet, and she'd procured me a ticket to Finland for fun and games. Why? Damned if I know, but I was so not complaining.

This particular Finnish airport was damn huge. By the time we made our way outside into the frigid winter air, Anette and I were chattering like old friends. I even had the guts to dibs "Shotgun" ahead of her when she pointed me in the direction of a relatively normal-looking SUV. When I clambered in the front seat, I found myself faced with yet another familiar figure in the driver's seat.

"You must be Julia," he said.

"Yes," I said, when what I really wanted to do was drool all over myself and tell him that he had pretty eyes.

"It's a pleasure to have you along. I'm Tuomas."

Holy shit guys, Tuomas Holopainen! The keyboardist and primary composer of Nightwish! And he knows my name! WHAT.

"Oh, you're Tuomas," I said in the most geeky manner imaginable. I'm pretty sure my jaw was hanging somewhere down around my knees.

Tuomas looked amused by my lame attempt to be cool, but he didn't say anything. Anette, meanwhile, piled in the back of the SUV with the other three guys in the band (Marco, Emppu, and Jukka) and buckled up. "Where are we going?" I asked as I followed suit.

"No idea," Tuomas replied, gunning the engine. "Hang on."

We had adventures all over Finland. I can't even remember half of them. Tuomas just decided he was going to drive and didn't feel like stopping until one or all of us got hungry. We trekked over the entire country for God only knows how long, completely upon whim.

At one point, Tuomas, who had a tendency to drive somewhere around 40 miles over the speed limit at any given time, was pulled over by a cop. As the officer stepped out of his vehicle and approached the driver's side window, Tuomas abruptly gunned the engine again and we sped off down the road, leaving the officer scrambling for his car.

"What the Christ, Tuomas!" I exploded, looking back out the window in shock.

He didn't seem fazed. "I'm racing him to the highway."

"Why?" I wailed.

"Because in Finland, if you beat a cop to the highway, then he has to let you go with no ticket."

I thought he was lying. This was not the case. Tuomas, of course, hit the highway first; after that, he slowed down a little to let the policeman pass us. I watched with amazement as the cop, looking amused instead of irate, laughed and waved us on.

"Wow," I said. "I am fucking moving to Finland."

After a while of our having myriad adventures, one of the guys in the backseat pointed out, "We should get going. We have a show to do." Tuomas obeyed, adjusting his route and bringing us to a high-class hotel somewhere in the snowy wilderness where the band was supposed to be performing. When we got there, the first thing I noticed was that the place was covered with police cars.

My immediate reaction was panic. "Oh no!" I fretted. "We're going to get arrested!"

"You worry too much," Anette told me, patting me on the head as everyone climbed out of the SUV. Apparently I am equally pettable in every country.

When we got inside, it was to discover that the hotel was in a state of chaos. There was blood, policemen, traumatized staff, and yellow tape all over the otherwise ornate hotel. When Tuomas led the rest of us in a big procession through the doors, a young-looking cop tried to stop us, but an investigator in a tan coat called, "Leave 'em, rookie. They're the band Nightwish! Except for that chick, I have no idea who she is."

Yeah, well, I had no idea why Finnish cops sounded and acted like Americans, but I wasn't saying anything.

Tuomas wasn't paying attention. "What happened here, officer?"

"Triple homicide. No witnesses and no suspects. Nothin' but a helluva lot of blood."

One of the guys in the band cleared his throat. "Um, Tuomas?" he said. "What about our show?"

"Forget the show!" Tuomas thundered, turning back to us with a fire in his eyes. "We've got a mystery to solve! Murderers to catch!"

"I'm confused," I said. "I thought you were musicians."

"Well," said Anette,"we are. But when we aren't playing music, we moonlight as crime stoppers."

Tuomas leaped on me and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me violently. "Come on, Julia! You have to help us solve this murder! We won't be your friends anymore if you don't!"

"This is the best vacation of my entire life," I thought.

Then I woke up.

~*~

Delusional says:
dude, that was pretty awesome
.:Cradle:. [Bone, Body, Flesh, and Blood] says:
Combination of listening to The Poet and the Pendulum too much, watching The Shining, and stressing over my driving test.
.:Cradle:. [Bone, Body, Flesh, and Blood] says:
I think.
Delusional says:
lol. totally.

I am the queen of wicked dreams. No lie.

Icarus hopes that Nightwish doesn't sue her for this. She loves them really a lot.

I Am Getting Myself Into So Much Trouble With This

2007-10-15T17:02:00.000-07:00

Listening: Out of Control - Mindy Smith

The blood is dry on the wounds I hide
The scars are settling in
So I keep the light low, and they still show
I sit, and count every stitch

But what it means, what it really means
It's time I let everything go that's
Killing me and turning me
And spinning me so out of control

I don't want to let go.

Golly gee. I think I keep forgetting that I have a blog to update. Actually, no. That's a complete lie. I don't forget, because I have friends who won't let me forget. I'm looking at you, Rykea/Jam/Cade. Lookin' at you hard. ...Okay my eyes hurt now.

So, in the time since I left, not much has happened. Here's the two biggest things.

1. I turned 19.
2. I lost my job.

Shocker? I know. Not the first one, that birthday thing happens every year. The second one. Don't ask me why or anything about it, because I don't know the reason behind the matter yet. Also please no condolences in my comments, if you feel the need. I'm just not really in the mood. I've been hearing them all week, and I'm at the point where I just want to put the matter behind me.

So with my unexpectedly open schedule, someone (lookin' at Jam again) brought to my attention... NaNoWriMo.

"But Julia, isn't that the whole reason you started this blog in the first place?"

Yes, it is. No, I didn't come anywhere near finishing the damn thing last year. No, shut up, I know. But I've been talking to Rykea, and the two of us having been hovering around the idea for a little more than a week. It doesn't help that I pointed the matter out to Cade, who happens to run a local writer's forum, and now a bunch of them are getting in on it and I'm starting to feel kind of responsible for the whole thing.

I might do it. If I can find myself a plot before then. If you could start checking under rocks, I'd really appreciate it. Let me know if you find anything.

By the by: that death-illness I was experiencing? It turned out to be strep throat. I was on a whole cocktail of drugs for more than a week, and I still couldn't swallow after the sixth day. Worst Thanksgiving dinner ever? Yeah, pretty much.

My birthday party was good, for anyone wondering. A night of Mexican food and watching Hot Fuzz with the best people in the universe = my idea of a good time. Also I got some pretty sweet stuff, including (but not limited to) a kick-ass scarf, Shakespeare magnet poetry, Shaun Tan's The Arrival (the most beautiful graphic novel I have ever seen), a bunch of awesome DVDs (Blow, The Last Unicorn (shut up), and Pan's Labyrinth), and a motherfucking elephant teapot. I love all of you guys. Seriously.

I should run and do some writing. My muse has been working overtime lately, and I'm really not in the mood to defy him if he's feeling generous. Perhaps I'll post a clip of the almost-too-epic sequence I wrote in the dead of night last night with Within Temptation pumping my ears, interspersed with The Poet and the Pendulum by Nightwish. I think I expressed it best to Rykea, earlier today.

Me: Gosh, it's 10 PM and I'm done studying for my exam tomorrow. What should I do now?
Mordagus and Sylvanus: Well... we were going to have a really epic battle sequence in our beast forms, if you wanted to come to that. We kinda need someone to write it down...
Me: Yeah that sounds like a good time.
*later*
2 AM: Hey guys! I'm here!
Me: Oh shit. Who invited 2 AM?
Mordagus and Sylvanus: *point at each other*

The good times are over when 2 AM shows up.

Adieu, darlings.

Icarus is serious about checking under those rocks. Start immediately, please.

Recuperating

2007-09-27T09:51:00.000-07:00

Listening: Funnyman - KT Tunstall

When no one to lose
Said you feel like a bruise
On a beautiful body
And all the damage you do
Is so honest and true
I don't want to feel sorry for you.

Funnyman, got a plan to be something wonderful
Funnyman, listening to the world turning on its sail
Tuning in to a brand new universe
Funnyman can never be anything else.

Wow, guys. Wow. A month. It has been a whole month. Gollee!

Yeah, so, uh. Nothing's happened.

I'm so not even kidding. If you want the complete rundown of my life, there's been a whole lot of drama, a whole lot of work, and a little bit of being a maniac. Well, okay, no, there's been a whole lot of that too. I'm still working at Chapters, still slogging through MUN, making new friends (such as the oh-so-charming Hannah and my foxy pal Brad) and having adventures. Actually, adventures have been kind of stuck on the wayside, as I am right in the middle of getting over the worst illness I've ever had.

Recurring migraines + vertigo + swollen lymph nodes + constant exhaustion + physical aches = death.

A week and a half. That's how long I had it. For the record, when I get sick, it's a rarity. (My immune system did that much for me.) And then, when I do get sick, I shake it off after like, two or three days; five, tops. Needless to say, I've been feeling bloody terrible for too long, which may explain why I've been so terrible to deal with. Logic!

As a result of recovering from my brush with death, it seems that my body chemistry is hella screwed up. I am constantly exhausted now, and I don't have any kind of an appetite whatsoever. I got up at 7:00 a.m. yesterday morning. I went to bed at 11:30 that night. Guess what I nourished myself with during that time? A large cup of tea. Yeah. That's it. Don't ask me why. I just don't feel hungry.

Anyhow, yeah. As a result, I don't know much about what the hell is going on in the modern world right now. Next week, when hopefully I have shaken off the last of my death-spasms, I should be able to actually make a post that borders on coherent. And interesting.

Also: I'm going to be a super-villain.

...

Also also: It's my birthday next week, apparently. o__o;;

Icarus is going to be the best super-villain ever. Just you wait.

Oddities and Adventure

2007-08-19T18:45:00.000-07:00

Listening: Porno Mouth - Holly McNarland

He's breathing my voice
He's inhaling my skin
He's breathing my voice
Inhaling my skin
He's got me within him.

I watch the TV
Realize that you're for me,
And I watch my skin,
Watch my skin crawlin'
When I'm thinkin' of him
He's everything but beautiful.

So I finally got around to writing an update. Yeah, it's been a while. In my defense, I have been a busy Marchioness. Adventures, work, more adventures, more work, a whole lot of drama... Admittedly, my life hasn't been quite as crazy as those of some of my pals (who know who they are), but hell, it's been insane nonetheless.

For now, I may as well update y'all on mine and Colette's stint to Ottawa. It's been a great deal of adventure, and we sure had some awesome times. I figure the best way to do it would be a breakdown day by day, and make note of the important things that happened during the day. Less confusing for everyone, and it cuts down on enormous blog space. Ready? Okay: begin!

Day One: Wednesday, August 8. Cole and I left St. John's. There was a great deal of confusion over boarding passes. I know who I'm blaming, but that's not important right now. Anyhow, the flight leaving St. John's took about a year to depart. When it finally arrived in Montreal, where our stopover was, we had exactly 5 minutes to run like maniacs to our next flight. We did, but we were detained halfway in front of glass doors.

Security Guard: You can't go through.
Me: We have a flight on the other side of these doors!!
Security Guard: You have to wait for ten minutes.
Me: Our flight is leaving in FIVE MINUTES.

Anyway, by the time we finally got there, it turned out that our airplane wasn't even there yet, and wouldn't be there for another two hours, so we panicked for nothing. It wasn't too big a deal since, gate to gate, the Montreal/Ottawa flight took about 47 minutes, tops. When we finally got to Ottawa, Cole and I spent a few minutes panicking about luggage and the absence of a certain boisterous redhead before aforementioned redhead showed up. Much hugging happened.

Accompanying Rae were her mother, Lisa, and her younger brother Rhys. (That's pronounced "Reese", by the by. Don't ask. It's Welsh.) We all trundled out to the van and met Rae's father, Ken, who had clearly been quizzed prior to our arrival, because he shook our hands and called us by name before we'd even been introduced. It was impressive.

A note on Rae's van here. It is an old-fashioned, teched-out VW with no suspension and a rattletrap, tough-as-nails exterior. It was clearly a Death Van (which is how I came to know it in my mind) but Cole and I were really rather fond of it. Anyhow.

We all drove home in the Death Van. Along the way, Rae's parents and brother pointed out a couple of sights. We finally got home and they gave us a five-cent tour of the house (which is a lovely place, complete with stained-glass window). Once Lisa and Ken retired for the night, Colette and I demanded food from a nearby Subway. We walked, giving us the opportunity to observe the Glebe (Rae's neighborhood) by night. Um, I want to live there, because it's gorgeous and filled with huge trees and brick houses covered in ivy and crickets that chirp all night.

The Subway owner was a hilarious and extremely friendly man (who, whenever I asked for a new ingredient on my sandwich, would say "Yummy yummy yummy" in an adorably high-pitched voice), and the three of us got cheerfully reacquainted over dinner. We trudged home at about 12, whereupon Cole and I passed out in our bed in the basement almost immediately.

Day Two: Thursday. I woke up at 7:15 and sneaked out of bed so as not to wake Colette. Fortunately we had the forethought to plan our sleeping arrangements in a way that put her against the wall, since I sleep less than her most days. Upstairs, I encountered Lisa, who kindly made me a cup of tea. We sat down and had a long get-to-know-each-other chat, and I discovered that she really is the nicest lady anywhere.

Rae woke soon enough, and made breakfast for both of us. Rhys trudged down afterwards and we started to chat. Turns out he's a cool cat himself. He hates zombies just as much as I do, so of course we hit it off, especially after he showed me his collection of movies. What time did Cole stir her bones? Noon. We teased her for the rest of the trip. I do love my muffin dearly, but she may very well be part vampire. Don't tell her I said that.

Rae had to work from 1 - 5, so her parents obliged us by taking a driving tour of the city. We saw everything from the Supreme Court to the canal to the Parliament buildings, and we saw a good deal of Hull, as well. Somewhere in the midst of this, I developed a fear of squirrels. Have you seen the ones on the mainland? They're huge and black, and they will rip your spleen out if you don't watch them. I'm serious.

We were dropped off in front of the Museum of Civilization, and the two of us saw an Imax film on the First Emperor of China, followed by actually viewing the Treasures from China exhibit itself (which was absolutely amazing). Then we had an adventure trying to get onto the bridge back across the river. It took us 25 minutes, because I apparently have no sense of direction.

Rae and folks picked us up under the enormous spider sculpture (Maman) in front of the Art museum. I saw a kick-ass church with silver steeples. At home, we had dinner and then Rae, Cole and I retired downstairs to watch Shaun of the Dead. It was pretty good, but nowhere near as good as I thought it would be. This is what started our habit of exhausting ourselves during the day and winding down with movies at night, which continued almost every night until the end of the trip.

Day Three: Friday. We woke Colette early so that the three of us could adventure down to Parliament Hill to see the changing of the guard. Colette was awed to find that this is not a simple matter of a dude popping in and out of a teeny outpost, but in fact requires a marching band in full regalia. All were duly impressed.

We wandered around Parliament Hill for a while, took pictures of statues and listened to the bells, and found the cat palace with only one sleeping cat and an absolutely enormous squirrel. There were a lot of statues of lions, so I made a lot of lion jokes. (e.g. "Come to Ottawa, we got lions!", "Holy crap. Lions! Tours.", "Jesus Christ it's a lion, GET IN THE CAR!", etc.) We also scrambled into the Parliament buildings just so I could visit the gift shop and buy a grotesque to match Baal, the one I bought there in 2001. Cole got her sunscreen confiscated because it was in an aerosol can. Later, it was returned by the most frightening security guard in history. He had scars between his knuckles. You do not mess with a dude with scars between his knuckles.

We wandered away from the Parliament buildings and deeper into the city, chancing upon the market, where we spent the rest of the afternoon. Cole spent so much money it boggled my mind. We stopped to get Beaver Tails, the cinnamon-sugar kind, which proved to be cavity-inducing from a single bite and so delicious it hurt. We paid money for really awful Henna tattoos, which turned out to not set at all, but they were still fun to get. I designed a symbol and had it done on the inside of my right wrist. Cole got an ankh on her shoulder "For protection against vampires", because she forgot her ankh jewelry at home. Rae got a fancy piece done on her hand.

We dragged ourselves over to the mall so Colette could buy more ankhs for further protection. We passed a Cinnabon on the way, and I wept inside when we left it behind. As it happened, Rae lead us to the most frightening goth store in the history of anything ever. It was called Trivium, and when I tried to get footage of it on my video camera, a saleswoman with a neon-red spiked mohawk yelled at me to put it away. I obeyed immediately. I don't disobey the living dead.

I puttered around the store and gawked blatantly while Cole convinced herself to buy an (admittedly gorgeous) ankh earrings-and-pendant set. After a long hunt to find a chain to put the pendant on, we finally dragged ourselves outside and got picked up. Rae's grandmother came over that night and stuffed us full of shrimp and lemon cheesecake, and Lisa and Rae made an amazing Chinese dish of noodles and pork, which kept us in leftovers for days.

We drove out to Gatineux Park after dinner to see the view and watch the sunset. We saw a great many groundhogs and (to my horror) squirrels. The entire way there and back, me, Rae, Cole, and Rhys had a very heated, very scientific discussion about vampires, werewolves, and other such fantastic beasts. The view from the Gatineaux lookout was amazing. Rae's dad took us for ice cream at Dairy Queen, and then we went home and watched Hot Fuzz (one of the funniest movies of all time).

Day Four: Saturday. Another early morning for Colette; we had to wake her nice and early at 8ish, so we could all pile in the car and take off for Montreal. I love roadtrips, even short ones, that take place in the early morning and during the night, and both of those desires were appeased today. The drive to Montreal was really very peaceful; Rae wrote, I edited, and I think Colette slept. I know Rhys did. He actually slept most of the day. Anyway, by the time we got into Montreal, all of us were fresh as daisies and rearing to go.

We stayed in Old Montreal for the most part. Lisa found us a store called The Round Table. (I can't remember the French name. La Table Ronde, or something? Yeah, someone's just going to throw something at me in the comments for not spelling that right, I can see it now. I'm looking at you, Rykea.) Anyway, the point is the store carried gargoyles and masquerade masks. I ended up spending over $150 in that one store alone. My masks are amazing and my gargoyle is adorable, though, so it was totally worth it.

We had lunch in the most amazing restaurant ever. The food was sub-par, but the building itself was a two-story affair open to the roof, so we were exposed to the brilliant blue sky overhead and the blistering sun. When it got too hot, the fellow we spoke to put up the world's largest umbrella. Oh my pizza, it was amazing. Later on we had to go on a quest to find the bathroom. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. Anyhow.

We walked around Old Montreal for a little bit more, heralded by cicadas (between the cicadas and the crickets, I was delighted with the insect population) before we cut out for the Biodome. This was also a wonderful experience, as I'd never been. I was promised meerkats, but someone lied to me. I was distraught, but my spirits were buoyed by the fact that the Biodome holds claim to the most retarded fish anywhere. Rhys, Rae, Cole and I spent at least twenty minutes flipping out at the fish in the St. Lawrence exhibit (or wherever we were), primarily this behemoth and hideous motherfucker. There were like seven of them, and I think Rae said it best: "Yeah you would not get me into that tank not for a million dollars."

We left the Biodome and cruised around Montreal for a little while, which I sadly can't remember much of, because I was slipping in and out of sleep. Eventually we found ourselves at a kosher delicatessen (an accomplishment, from what I hear) called Schwartz's. The place is apparently renowned, and I wasn't surprised to hear it, given the size of the lineup to get in. It took us 45 minutes of standing in the blistering sun, but eventually we got inside, and really, the place was excellent. We all left full and happy.

We drove back to Ottawa in the fading light, which I spent listening to my iPod for the most part. Everyone dozed and/or full-out slept the whole way--I slumped on Rae's shoulder and passed out. We stopped at a Tim Hortons halfway, where most of us got a second wind and I bought for everyone. When we got back into town, we decided to just go to bed out of it, rather than watch a movie. Everyone was pretty wrecked.

Day Five: Sunday. I got up at the regular time of about 8. Cole surprised me by getting up shortly afterwards, but I later discovered that this was due to the fact that I was apparently jabbing her in the ribs all night. Rae fixed me the world's best and most glorious "Sunday sandwich" and we kicked around the house for a little bit. Eventually Rae, Cole and I loaded up with Ken in the Death Van and trucked out to Gatineaux Park to go swimming. En route, some dude backed into the Death Van. This was the first time on the trip that I ever heard Rae's dad raise his voice for any reason at all. We weren't surprised to find that, although the other guy had dented his own car somethin' fierce, the Death Van was barely scratched. Like I said, the thing is a tank.

We stopped for lunch at a roadside shack, and then careened into the park. Ken trundled off to find a place to launch his kayak while the girls and I found a spot on the very crowded tree-lined lake beach to spread a blanket. Cole and Rae had the forethought to bring bathing suits. I did not. For a while I sat on the blanket, watching them paddle around having fun. Eventually I forgot that I cared and waded out to talk to them. Rae and Cole herded me into deeper water, and then Rae tackled me, so of course I was soaked. Some lady watching from the shallows caught the whole thing and laughed hysterically the entire time. We paddled around for a bit, and I developed a furious vendetta against clay pits, which I kept stepping into, slipping, and nearly drowning. We clambered out after a while, and pretty soon we drove home.

Back at the ranch, we had dinner, and then the three of us trundled into the basement, where we watched Wayne's World 1 and 2. It was my first time seeing them, and I heartily approve. Cole and I collapsed into bed after that. We were exhausted. Also, I still had sand in my clothes from the beach. Ahh.

Day 6: Monday. We decided to let Colette sleep in today. Rae and I kicked around and did little for most of the morning; when Colette finally got up at about 11:30, the two of us were out back in Rae's yard, me in the hammock and Rae in a chair, chatting about writing and stuff.

We went down to the Rideau Center again to shop around a little more; afterwards, we walked over to another building (with narwhals and belugas hanging from the ceiling) to see the Simpsons movie, which was absolutely brilliant. We walked home after that--Rae's house is pretty much a straight shot from there--and went into the stores we saw that weren't closed. We stopped at Mexican restaurant for dinner, where I had the best chimichanga ever created. We toasted each other and our last night in Ottawa.

When we got home, we sat on the back deck for a while watching the bats flapping around. Eventually we went inside, where I got to pick the movie of the night. I chose The Mummy, which was amazing. Brendan Fraser got our Manly Man of the Night vote by throwing a chair at another guy to stop him from running away. It was sheer gold. None of us really wanted to go to bed, but we wanted to have one last go at Ottawa in the morning, so we turned in, reluctantly.

Day Seven: Tuesday. I woke up sometime during the night very confused, only to discover that I had somehow turned myself upside down, and that my feet were now on my pillow and my head at the foot of the bed. As I straightened myself up, Cole woke up long enough to ask, "Any particular reason you're upside-down?"

"I was wondering that myself," I replied sleepily. She grunted some reply and we both went back to sleep.

Even now, almost a week later, she will occasionally turn to me and ask, out of the blue, "How did you manage to turn yourself upside-down?", and I can never answer her.

We got up early once again. While Colette showered, I got our boarding passes, determined not to have the same trouble we'd had on the previous flights. We walked with Rae back up the street we'd ventured down the day before, this time hitting up all the spots that had been closed previously. We got lunch and topped off the day with gelato (which was really very delicious), then wandered back to the house and sat down in the backyard again, just enjoying each others' company and not wanting to think about leaving. Eventually we went inside and packed up what we hadn't the night before. We said goodbye to Ken and Rhys, and then Lisa drove the three of us to the airport. She hugged us goodbye, which of course caused me to tear up. I really became fond of the whole Desson clan during this vacation, truth be.

Rae accompanied us inside, guided us through the process of checking in our luggage, and then the three of us said goodbye. Sure, Rae will be back in September, but it didn't make the goodbye any more fun. In the airport terminal, Cole and I sat in near-silence, thinking back on our trip and mourning that it was coming to an end.

We wound up in the Montreal airport again before long, and the two of us caught dinner in a restaurant there as a sort of "last hurrah". We went all out, even ordering the most massive slab of chocolate cake you've ever seen--so huge that the two of us between us finished only half of it, the rest of which Cole brought home to her sister. We returned to the terminal, where I loaned my iPod to a couple of bored kids so they could watch The Lion King on it, and waited around for about an hour and a half before we finally boarded. Cole accidentally showed the wrong boarding pass on two separate occasions, which caused a bit of a kerfuffle for security, but eventually things were straightened out and we were on our way.

~

So that was our trip to Ottawa. We had an absolute blast, and we wouldn't hesitate to do it again. We've discovered that there's a wonderful freedom to going on vacations on your own, and both of us are eager to repeat the experience. Maybe next time we'll head even further. After all, my uncle still has that flat in Paris...

Adieu!

Icarus is still scared of squirrels.

I'm Not Dead, Really

2007-08-15T10:44:00.000-07:00

Listening: Feed My Frankenstein - Alice Cooper

Okay, this is not a long post, because I have pants in the washing machine and I'm trying to get all ready before I take off yet again for the wild unknown. This is just to alert y'all that I am, in fact, still among the living. The reason for my absence, as many of you know, is that I was in Ottawa with Colette visiting our dear Rae.

My next post, which will be done when I have actual time on my hands, will detail all the fun and exciting shenanigans we got into while we were away. For now, all you get is this: I'm back, I'm very happy and very healthy, and I have a lot of laundry to do.

Adieu!

Icarus promises the next post will be longer.

Days She Says She Didn't, She Lied

2007-08-02T09:42:00.000-07:00

Listening: Change For Me - Low Level Flight

You said it meant nothing
And that you're only mine
I saw this one coming,
but I closed my eyes.

"Would you change for me?"
And I closed my eyes
All alone I see
Why did you change sides?

I caught you in mid-lick
With nowhere to hide
So why are you denying
What I saw with my own eyes?

No promises, no demands.

Icarus maintains that a girl has the right to be cryptic sometimes. Regular posting resumes soon, she promises.

Equations

2007-07-25T13:23:00.000-07:00

Listening: Circles - Natalie Walker

Here's your sweetest gift
Take this moment, it is safe
It's true, pure, and beautiful
In return for all your pain.

Eyes wide, heart warm
She sees him in her face
If you watch the way the world gives back
In circles you will trace...

I think I'm too fried to write anything of substance right now. The horrible (beautiful) weather we are having, compiled with the fact that I am still working two jobs, have accumulated to make me mildly miserable. It's not that I don't think the twenty-something temperatures we've been having lately aren't nice, but seriously, I don't have the frame for heat-appropriate clothing, and ergo, I do not have heat-appropriate clothing. The only way I can think of accurately describing the situation is with an equation.

Humid, twenty-plus-degree weather + easily irritated Canadian polar-girl = lapse in brain activity.

Ew. You can imagine I've been spending every spare moment I haven't been at my job(s) or out with the gang that I've been holed up in my cool basement like a confused bear. Wake me when it's late fall, please.

So I've worked every day at Wal-Hell this week (my final week) except for today. And what did I have today? You guessed it--a shift at Chapters. Not that I minded, because it was five hours of scurrying around and stocking shelves, which is really, really easy and also a really good way to get an idea of books to look into reading next. I've let my reading fall to the wayside lately, in lieu of having like four or five stories of my own that captured most of my focus, but I get the odd feeling that working here is going to cause me to relapse into the geeky, freckly, curly-haired girl with the Coke-bottle glasses I thought I buried back in middle school. Not that I'm complaining. I've been reading paranormal fantasy lately, which is an oddity for me. Mostly about werewolves or were-cats or were-whatevers. Why? Because I can.

Holy hell, it is hot in here. Why is my window closed? Just a second.

Also, why was the handle to open the window in a drawer? Weird.

Moving back to the issue of Wal-Hell, I now have one more reason to add to the plethora of reasons I won't be missing the place after I depart on Friday night. This comes in the form of the new front-end manager the place hired after our old one transferred back into Toys. Her name is Nita. And she is a bitch.

Everyone warned me she would be. Word on the street is that the neighboring Wal-Mart on Kelsey Drive, where she transferred from, had a party when she left. At first I thought it was an exaggeration. Now I think I might willingly blow my entire life's savings (about $695.04 Canadian) on having the bash of the year should she ever decide to stop breathing for some reason. Harsh? Yes. But she is a miserable person.

In context: I was a greeter for the past four days. I have never been written up in the one year and nine months I have worked Wal-Mart. Nita threatened to write me up. Why? Because I was standing two feet to the right of where she wanted me to be standing.

I shit you not.

I was so pissed off after that night that when I went outside and found out that there might have been the slightest delay in getting the fuck out of Dodge, I took matters into my own hands. I spotted Matt's SUV, and almost immediately afterwards, I spotted Matt's feet sticking out the back window. He had gone to sleep in the backseat. Colette was in the passenger seat when I opened the driver's side door and slid in.

"Fack this," I said. (Yes, 'fack'.) "You might want to buckle up. No, seriously, buckle up."

"This is only highly illegal," she pointed out as she obeyed.

No, I don't have my driver's license. Only my permit. But truthfully? I didn't care.

Last week at Wal-Hell + crazy bitch manager from Hades = MADCAP DRIVING EXCURSION OF DOOM.

I didn't kill anyone, if that's what you're wondering.

In closing, I have only this to say;

Dear Stephen King,
Please stop writing books. Seriously. I can't fit them on the shelves anymore.
Sincerely, Julia.

Icarus is a bit too crispy and delicious to talk right now.

A Little Post-Employment Therapy

2007-07-12T19:06:00.000-07:00

Listening: Question - Old 97's

She woke from a dream
Her head was on fire
Why was he so nervous?
He took her to the park
And she crossed her arms
And lowered her eyelids...

Tonight it was finally decided that I would be officially turning in my two weeks' notice at Wal-Hell. There was a bit of a lengthy discussion with a certain parent who was concerned that I would not be getting paid quite as much at Chapters as I am at Wal-Mart, but in my opinion, it's a small, small price to pay for working in a place where you are actually happy.

This was the letter I wrote.

To Whom It May Concern,

The purpose of this notice is to bring to your attention that I have accepted a position at another establishment and will be leaving Wal-Mart. I will be terminating my employment on Friday, July 27^th, 2007, and will no longer be returning for shift work.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to work for your establishment. I very much appreciate the experience you have given me.

Yours,

Julia

This was the conversation with my therapist that followed.

.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Usurper: complete as of 06/07/07.] says:
I'm doing up my two weeks notice now.
Benji - I'll never forget you...theres nobody better than you... says:
lol
Benji - I'll never forget you...theres nobody better than you... says:
"Dear Wal-Hell...fuck you for employing me as long as you did. die in your sleep, hob nob hob nob, fuck fuck fuck bitch bitch bitch die die die, etc. sincerely, the most bad-ass employee you've ever had - Julia"
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Usurper: complete as of 06/07/07.] says:
Benji I love you
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Usurper: complete as of 06/07/07.] says:
That actually made my night
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Usurper: complete as of 06/07/07.] says:
I think I might cry I'm laughing so hard
Benji - I'll never forget you...theres nobody better than you... says:
lol
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Usurper: complete as of 06/07/07.] says:
Oh man
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Usurper: complete as of 06/07/07.] says:
I'm wiping away tears
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Usurper: complete as of 06/07/07.] says:
Of course I can't actually do that, I don't want to burn bridges >.>
Benji - I'll never forget you...theres nobody better than you... says:
i know, but you should write one and keep it...kinda like personal closure, ya know? :P
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Usurper: complete as of 06/07/07.] says:
That is an amazing idea

And far be it from me to defy my therapist. This is the letter I wish I could write.

To Whom It May Concern,

This is to inform you that on Friday, June 27^th, 2007, I will be doing what I’ve wanted to do ever since I started working at that hellhole you call a store. I have been offered a much nicer position with a much friendlier staff at a way more upscale establishment, and the fact that I am getting paid $0.60 less per hour should be an indication of how desperate I am to be rid of you assholes.

Now, it’s not your fault, but the fact of the matter is that the past two years of my life have been squandered in the employ of the world’s most soul-sucking corporation. Sure, a lot of the friends I met and made here are wonderful people, but this store has given me a healthy dose of the worst humanity has to offer, and for ruining my childlike naiveté I will have my best friend Falcon Punch you repeatedly in the jugular. Just sayin’.

I hope this place burns down and all the redneck asshole pessimists I have been forced to suck up to in my one-year-and-nine-month employment cry tears of blood at the prospect of having to spend a day away from it. Hob nob hob nob. I bid this place fuckin’ adieu.

Yours,

Julia “Time To Get My Life Back”

P.S.: Install some windows.

I'll be sleeping good tonight. I love you, my muffins!

Icarus has probably never felt this smug. Wait, there was... no... no. Never.

VICTORY

2007-07-05T19:58:00.000-07:00

Listening: Open Your Eyes - Snow Patrol

All this feels strange and untrue
And I won't waste a minute without you
My bones ache, my skin feels cold
And I'm getting so tired, and so old.

Tell me that you'll open your eyes
Tell me that you'll open your eyes...

Get up, get out, get away from these liars
Cause they don't get your soul or your fire
Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time...

It's been a while, but I wanted to have some actual news before I updated again. And, well, now I have the news.

I am the newest employee of Chapters.

I still don't really believe it. I kind of keep thinking throughout the night, "If I get the job--" before I suddenly remember that it's reality, not an "if" anymore.

Nancy called me back this afternoon (three days later than I expected, but that's not the point) while I was at work, so of course when my sister relayed the message I called back right away. (Much at the prompting of my sister, who was hanging on every word.) Clarence picked up as usual (ah, <3) and then he directed me to Nancy.

I believe her exact words were, "It is my pleasure to offer you a position at our establishment". I actually think my heart stopped at that second, I don't remember. The next thing I knew I was sitting down sucking information out of her. I've been surprisingly calm all night, given my propensity to blow things out of proportion. I don't think I've quite adapted yet.

Anyhow! On to the interesting bits. I'll be working part-time, which I told them I'd have to do anyway come the fall. I'll be going in for my orientation session on Wednesday night. They're starting me off on cash, which is fine with me. The training period takes place over the course of three months, so eventually they'll figure out where I'm best suited and stick me there. Which makes my head go boom a little bit. I get a 30% discount on Chapters merchandise, and a 10% discount on Starbucks, which I have an odd feeling is going to be my new favorite hangout.

Guess what this means, ladies and gentlemen?

It means I get to quit Wal-Mart.

I think I have waited the entire two years I've worked there to type/think/say those words. Don't get me wrong; I've met, and worked with, some phenomenal people there--but it's a soul-sucking, unforgiving place, and really not the sort of environment I can thrive in. I like not being yelled at all the time, and I like not being treated like I'm lower than dirt. I like not being called "pathetic" in my workplace. (A story for another day.) Yes, I know the new place will have its own problems, probably the same ones that I've faced before, but this is the case:

Fact: I love books.
Fact: I love people.
Fact: My new job has both in ample quantities.
Fact: Most of the people who will be walking through the doors will be literate.
Fact: No one ever yells at Chapters.

Updates will come as they happen. I'll be giving you guys the low-down and dirty on the happenings there.

Thanks so much to everyone who offered advice or support, or even just asked occasionally whether I'd heard back. I can't express with words how much this means to me. I know it's just a part-time job, but as I'm sure everyone knows, where you work can really make a difference in your life. I am the happiest little camper in the world right now. So, thank you!

Now I'm going upstairs to do a little bit of work before I turn in for the night. I may have to treat myself by going out for breakfast tomorrow morning. Wow, my diet has been really unhealthy lately. Note to self: eat an apple.

P.S.: Everyone go see the Transformers movie immediately. (This is from someone who never wanted to see it in the first place. It is way funnier and way more epic than the trailers make it seem. Trust me, go.)

Adieu! <3

Icarus is really looking forward to passing in her two weeks notice at Wal-Hell. Oh, is she ever.

Apparently Hopelessness Equates Good Luck

2007-06-27T05:59:00.000-07:00

Listening: Free - Corrinne May

All this misunderstanding
All this anarchy
Six degrees of separation
Sometimes it's so hard to see
That we are not alone in this
I need to believe

I can be free
I can be free from this place
Beautiful healer
Beautiful grace
Help me to see
Everything fall into place
Wake me from dreaming
No more deceiving
Break these chains.

Hooray again for Rykea, who keeps sending songs that somehow assimilate themselves into my book in my mind, or affiliate themselves with characters. Maybe it's because she sends them to me with comments like, "Hey, this reminds me of so-and-so".

Could be.

So pretty much the entirety of last week consisted of this sequence of events, replayed dozens of times:
Someone: Have you heard from Chapters yet?
Me: ...No.
As the week progressed, I began to steadily become more and more unhappy with the question, and steadily more depressed about my lot in life. What Nancy (the assistant manager) had said at the group interview was that she would be getting back to us at the end of the week. It had already stretched into the weekend, and I hadn't heard anything. I wasn't sure if they would leave me hanging, but I was at the point of giving up. Especially when one of my references stopped me at work on Monday and asked the same question, and when I gave him the response, he hissed through his teeth and said, "That's a long time." Yeah.

Then Colette and Matt picked me up. Which was spiffy enough in and of itself. Then Cole said, "Alright go get your freaking Visa, we're booking our plane tickets to Ottawa tonight." So home we went.

When I came inside, my parents had company over. My mother dropped everything she was doing and handed me a sheet of paper. On it was a note which detailed that I had to call Nancy from Chapters before 10 pm or after 2:30 pm the following day.

I almost popped an aorta. Of course, it was 10:30, so it was too late to call that night, so I had to wait til the following day. Yesterday, unfortunately, was my 8.5-hour shift at Wal-Mart, but I did not care. The shift flew by the entire way to 4:45 pm, when I was put on a break that allowed me to call in. Clarence answered the phone. When I told him it was me and that I was calling for Nancy, he transferred me immediately.

"Hi," Nancy said when she picked up and I introduced myself. "I was wondering if you could come in for a second interview."

"Yes please," was my reply, and I meant it.

"Great!" She sounded happy to hear it. "Well, I'm off tomorrow, and Thursday, and I'm sure you don't want to come in tonight, so how about Fri--"

"I'll come in tonight."

"What, really? Are you sure? Well, okay. How about seven?"

"Could we make it a little after seven? I don't get off work 'til 5:45."

"....Wow. Okay, after seven, then."

I proceeded to float through the remainder of my shift. Then I ran home and got the fastest shower of my life (literally about three minutes), borrowed some of my mom's earrings, found and ironed a blouse, and was ready to go by 6:20. I didn't leave the house 'til 7 due to my father, who has this aversion to punctuality.

I turned up in Chapters, where Nancy immediately handed me two sheets of paper, stapled together. "Want to run over to Starbucks and do this aptitude test for me?"

"Sure," I said. Then when I sat down I realized: "Aptitude test? Oh shit, math."

Indeed, the questions involved putting the names of a variety of authors in alphabetical order, then doing basic addition, percentages, and various other fun math stuff. I'm not the biggest math star on campus, but I got through it just fine. When it was over, Nancy took it from me and said that while she'd prefer to do the interview in Starbucks, it was getting crowded, so would I mind moving back to the office? No, I wouldn't.

I repeat the sentiments of the last time I was in her presence: Nancy is the nicest lady ever. She actually made that interview the most comfortable in the world. Every few seconds she would crack a joke, and by the time the interview ended I felt like we were old friends. She asked a lot of questions about Wal-Mart, which meant I got to tell lots of stories. I think she was impressed by some of them.

She made several jokes about Clarence, and I later discovered why. Apparently, after I called that afternoon, Clarence hunted Nancy down and told her that I was "sweet" and had the "same sense of humor" as her, and that Nancy should hire me. I was really touched by that. It meant a lot.

The interview went very well, very comfortably. Nancy gave me some idea of my standing when all was said and done. They're hoping to hire five people. With me, only six have been called back for one-on-one interviews. She also told me that I won't be left hanging. I'll be hearing from her whether or not I get the job, which I really, really appreciate. That was kind of a concern for me.

The decision this time will also be made quicker. Nancy hopes to have everything sorted out by Friday. She told me to expect a call on Monday, but Monday is a long weekend for Canada Day, so I suspect I'll probably be hearing from her on Tuesday. Keep your fingers crossed for me, kiddies.

Oh; and Cole and I really did book our tickets to Ottawa. We'll be leaving about 5:45 p.m. on the 8th of August, staying up there for six days, and returning home at 12:10 a.m. on the 15th. So between having the next two days off work, having been called in for a second interview, and having officially booked our tickets for adventure, everything is going pretty good right now.

Actually, I'm still kind of impressed that the trip to Ottawa is actually happening. Especially when the whole idea spawned from a joke between me and Rae, wherein I told her I was going to hide in her suitcase if she went home for the summer, and she replied that I could sleep in her basement.

Adieu!

Icarus doesn't know how she actually got around to asking, "So Rae. Did you mean it when you said I could stay in your basement?"

A Fun Post

2007-06-21T19:02:00.000-07:00

Listening: Father Christmas - The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe soundtrack

Stolen shamelessly from Rykea.

Comment and I will ...

1 - Tell you why I friended you [if applicable].
2 - Associate you with a song/film.
3 - Tell a random fact about you.
4 - Tell a first memory about you.
5 - Associate you with a character/pairing.
6 - Ask something I've always wanted to know about you.
7 - Tell you my favorite user pic of yours [if it pertains].
8 - In retort, you must spread this disease in your LJ [or blog].

For the good of fun, I order you to do this.

Icarus needs to stop posting twice in one day.

Crazy Sleeping Stuff

2007-06-21T05:57:00.000-07:00

Listening: Whatever You Want - Vienna Teng

Whatever you want
Whatever you want
Whatever you want
Is fine by me...

I had absolutely the worst sleep of my life last night. Normally I don't make posts about my sleeping habits, but last night was actually retarded. It was very confusing and scary, and while I'm sure it's normal, I'm not going to feel better until someone assures me of that fact.

So it was roughly midnight, and I decided to go to bed. I'd had a stressful night and I knew I had work the following day, so I figured it would be for the best if I tried to get some sleep. I piled into bed with Boo, my stuffed dragon, Q2, my plush octopus, and the rest of the toy entourage (I have a lot of stuffed animals) and plugged my iPod in next to my bed. Normally the only way for me to get any semblance of sleep is to listen to music--I have an entire playlist devoted to soft stuff--but last night I figured I'd just leave it be.

Before long I was in that state of near-unconsciousness, stuck right between the two, the period where your brain is still functioning but you know you're already semi-gone. As often happens, a name popped into my head. This happens to me a lot, especially at work; I'll just suddenly think of something really random and odd and write it down for future reference. This was the case last night. The word "harbringer" popped into my skull, and I started to shift to turn on the bedside lamp and scribble it down on the pad of paper I keep nearby for precisely this purpose.

Or rather, I tried to shift.

I was conscious (or at least mostly), and trying to move, but for the life of me I could not do it. Weirdly enough, I would try to move an arm or a leg or something, and it was like the inside of my brain would tingle. The harder I tried, the more my brain would hurt. I know this was one of those weird things like the Hag, where I was probably not even entirely conscious, but sweet Jesus it scared the everloving hell out of me. I felt like my body was falling asleep and my brain wasn't.

I jerked myself out of it after a few gut-wrenching moments of sheer terror, and lay there in bed staring at the ceiling. Unfortunately, where I'd been so close to sleep, my brain wasn't ready to snap fully out of it yet. I would try repeatedly to force my arms to move, and they would refuse to obey. Due to my semi-conscious paranoia, the minutes ticked by and I plunged myself deeper into terror every time I stopped moving.

Finally I sat up in bed, which seemed to help (I was almost fully awake by this time) and grabbed my iPod. I figured that if my brain was determined to stay awake and start freaking out when my body went to sleep (the way I explained it in my mind), then I might as well switch on some music to listen to. Fortunately, that seemed to help more than anything else. I lay there in the dark, trembling, listening to Sarah Slean music and occasionally trying to move my limbs (unsuccessfully), but finally, after several hours, I actually managed to black out.

Easily the weirdest sleep of my life. And yeah, some of you are probably rolling your eyes going, "Oh come on Julia, that was >insert medical jargon here<, why are you telling us about your lame sleep cycles," you can hush, because words can't describe how terrified I was last night. Or this morning, actually, when I woke back up. I can still feel the lingering effects, even now.

I had crazy dreams, too, once I did sleep. Something about how every structure in town had been transformed into a relic or a temple of some kind, and the entire island was overgrown with an enormous forest, and I had been given a cell phone imbued with a sort of unnatural evil. Also, there was no number '5' on it, that I remember clearly, because I was trying to call my house and going like, "Goddammit, there's no number five on this!"

Cole and I were hanging out with Matt yesterday, and while we were at Wal-Mart, we ended up buying a ton of food and hi-tailing it back to his apartment to cook it and watch Hannibal, which Cole finally agreed to. When we got there, we told Matt that we would do the cooking, on the condition that he cleaned up all the dishes lying in the sink. He snapped to like a good boy, and Cole and I went to play Smash on the couch.

Halfway through a battle for the multiverses, we heard a phenomenal crash, and then Matt cursing. One of us hit pause, and we both looked up. "You okay?" Cole asked him.

"Yeah," he replied, darkly.

We weren't fooled. "Did you hurt yourself?" I probed.

"Yeah," he replied, holding up one arm, streaked with rivulets of bright red blood.

Cole and I were instantly in motion. She ran into the bathroom to boil linens or something (I'm not entirely sure what) while I grabbed Matt's hand and held it under running water to try and clean the soap away from the gash. He'd broken a glass, apparently, and it sliced open a huge gash in the skin between two knuckles. There was a metric fuckton of blood, but in retrospect, that was probably due to the hot water he'd been doing the dishes with. Whatever, it successfully spurred Nurse Cole and Therapist Julia into action.

We got the blood cleared away, gave him a clean cloth and told him to keep his hand elevated and put continuous pressure on the gash, and then like the good doctors we are, we looked up what to do next online. There are a surprising number of decent sources on the 'net when it comes to treating this kind of thing, which was a bonus for a certain Pharaoh and Marchioness.

We had him keep up constant pressure for about fifteen minutes, whereupon I checked it to discover that the bleeding had stopped. It had, so he kept the pressure for another fifteen before we dried it off and I mended him with Liquid Band-Aid. I even went trekking off into the wilderness after a while, looking for butterfly band-aids, but instead I found only sanitation wipes, a huge bandage, and Benji, who was hanging out at Irving for some reason. By the time I returned, I found my trip had been in vain, because the Liquid Band-Aid was actually doing a wicked job.

Cole continuously made sure to keep Matt's hand elevated and kept forcing him to sit back down whenever he tried to get up to return to his usual Lumberjackery. Then I made some food, and then she made some food. Then she and Matt started playing Mariokart 64, which proved that Matt could now bend his knuckle without affecting the gigantic lesion in his skin. Mariokart 64 filled me with incoherent rage, so I just sat there and watched them.

All in all, it wasn't a bad night. Cole and I proved that we are wicked doctors/doctorettes and Matt got to be pampered all night. Things would have been better if I hadn't failed miserably at sleeping, but you win some, you lose some.

Wal-Mart for the next six solid days. It's then followed by two days off, and I only seem to have one really long shift, but still, six days is kind of a downer. On the bright side of things, it's a really good opportunity to work out plots and other fun details in my head. Ah well.

Adieu!

Icarus knows 'harbringer' is a word, and is wondering why the hell it's being marked as incorrect in the spell-checker.

A Firefly Masquerade

2007-06-18T18:50:00.000-07:00

Listening: The Last One - Cary Brothers

Did you find what you wanted?
Another match for the straw man
I've had enough
It can bleed through
You think you're tough?
Well, this is the last one
This is the last one.

Hold on to me
One more night
Hold on to me

I can't take it all
Can't take it all...

Hey there cats and kittens! Gosh, I really am keeping up as of late. I'm kind of impressed, personally. Aren't you? Sure you are. Just a little. Sure.

I don't really have a lot to talk about, so this will be a relatively short post. Also, I have work tomorrow and I would like to get some actual writer-type work done this evening and when I wake up.

I went into work at 5:30 tonight, ready to grow generally bitter and irritable. For the record, tomorrow is Inventory Day for Wal-Mart. Inventory is to Wal-Mart what parent-teacher night is to students. All of my managers--all of them--are running around the store in a mad screaming panic, and in fact, I don't doubt that they are all still there right now, an hour and a half after closing, exploring the store and trying to make it presentable. I don't blame them. Apparently, just four empty shoeboxes can warrant an abrupt halt to Inventory and a fine of $30, 000. Golly.

I'm working for nine hours tomorrow, of course. Yay!

Anyway, somehow I conned myself off a cash register tonight and into the greeter position. For the record, this is my favorite place to be at Wal-Mart. A greeter's job is literally to smile and look pretty and fetch carts that were left by the registers. Also to record the times the alarms on the doors go off. The alarms were broken tonight, so even that was denied me. It was a good night.

Then I realized that I couldn't swallow. A weird thing, but true! I was just suddenly having a lot of trouble swallowing past this big ol' lump in my throat. I didn't think much of it, but as the night progressed, it got progressively worse instead of better. By the time 8:00 rolled around, I could no longer speak properly. Even now I am terribly hoarse and throaty. The only reason I can even manage that is probably because of the Halls my friend Jess was feeding me progressively throughout the night.

So right now I feel really achy and hot and sore-throat-ish. Part of me wishes I could be horribly ill for Inventory tomorrow, but I'm not that lucky.

Cole's mom has been browsing flights for our adventure to Ottawa and apparently we've found them. As soon as the details are solidified, I will tell all you folks about it.

Also guys: what the hell, who keeps making Philon a whippet? You're exiled to the salt mines for life now. Can we please try and take the test only once? I refuse to believe that that many people have done it in passing, it just don't work that way. Make me not a whippet or there are seriously going to be evil things after you tonight.

Icarus is so not kidding about the daemon thing. Seriously, guys.

Hey-Ho, Hi-Ho

2007-06-17T06:53:00.001-07:00

Listening: The Howling - Within Temptation

Oh my goodness. Today is my "Thank you, Rykea", day, folks. For many reasons.

First of all, she saved me from Wal-Mart after my 8.5-hour shift yesterday. Wal-Mart, for some reason, gets crazy insane busy on hot days, because apparently people need to shop to fulfil their needs on those days, rather than go to the park or a beach or something, or even lie on their back decks and vegetate. *sigh*

Anyway, the only thing that kept me sane was that Ryk had already promised me that we were going to go out for coffee after my shift. And we did. Oh God, we did and I was so very, very happy.

On the way to Chapters (because Ryk and I are Starbucks whores, and now that I've had an interview, I literally can't stay away from that building), Ryk had her iPod going on her Drivin' Drivin' playlist, and all of a sudden the music rolled into a thoroughly delicious medly of incredible gothic instrumentals and classical singing. While I spasmed and tried desperately to form words, Ryk explained that the group was called Within Temptation. I was addicted, so on the way home, after I'd finished the first book of SR and she'd gotten through another chapter of Usurper (I have long chapters .__.), she switched on one of their albums. I was completely enthralled.

Then she said, "Turn on The Howling. It's about being hunted, but also fighting. It reminds me of Usurper."

Sweet Jesus tapdancing Christ. Because of Rykea, not only do I have a simply addicting new band to whore, but Usurper has what will probably turn into its theme song.

Here are the lyrics.

We've been seeing what you want
You got us cornered right now
Falling asleep from our vanity
May cost us our lives.

I hear they're getting closer
Their howls are sending chills down my spine
And time is running out now
They're coming down the hills from behind

When we start killing
It's all coming down right now
From the nightmare we've created
I want to be awakened right now
When we start killing
It all will be falling down
From the hell that we're in
All we are fading away
When we start killing.

We've been searching all night long
But there's no trace to be found
It's like they all have just vanished
But I know they're around.

I feel them getting closer
Their howls are sending chills down my spine
And time is running out now
They're coming down the hills from behind

The sun is rising
The screams have gone
Too many have fallen
Few still stand tall
Is this the ending
of what we've begun?
Will we remember
What we've done wrong?

When we start killing
It's all coming down right now
From the nightmare we've created
I want to be awakened right now
When we start killing
It all will be falling down
From the hell that we're in
All we are fading away
When we start killing.
When we start killing.

Merciful God, few things turn out so well in retrospect. Aside from Gravity by Vienna Teng, no tune has ever presented itself as a theme song for U, so quickly or readily. Rykea, you have my thanks. Also, for putting up the entirety of The Silent Force album for me to download: I love you lots.

And finally, when I was on my lunch break yesterday, Rykea showed me the wonders of Vampirates. I am seriously encouraging you to read all of it, because it's not terribly long, but it is very delicious indeed. It starts off in NEWFOUNDLAND. *is still slightly shocked by this* Also, there are vampires who also happen to be pirates. Also there is Hassan, who is amazing. Also there is Patrick Murphy. Yes, like from the song. Also there is Tractor Jack. Yes, like from the other song.

Guys, Rykea is seriously awesome. That is why this post is dedicated to me loving her. It is also why I am now linking to her domain, Fake-Wings, as well as her blog. Her blog is friends only, but I'm sure if you're nice she'll let you in.

So while we were at Chapters yesterday, I ran into Clarence, my third cousin and former co-worker, who currently works there. We got into a long chat, and he said thank-you to me for mentioning him as my "recruiter", because apparently Chapters has a rewards program for the employee-folks who do that. So to show his appreciation, he's gonna talk to the assistant manager and express just how... passionately I want this job.

He was telling me all about the stuff Chapters has in place for its employees and I am simultaneously stunned and charmed. For the record, Jam: Starbucks is owned by Indigo, meaning that any employee at Chapters gets a Starbucks discount. Don't hurt yourself, now. I won't mention any of the other benefits, because if I don't get the job it'll hurt too much to look at this post. You'll receive details in the coming weeks, I promise.

Someone please tell me what Philon turned into, please and thanks. It's some kind of a kitty, but I'm not entirely sure what. In the time I've had him, he's been a jackal, a mouse, a crazy raven-thing, a whippet, and this cat thing. He's very pretty in that form and of course I like him, I just want to know what the hell he is. (For the record, whoever turned me into a whippet is getting shot in the kneecap.)

Good Lord, I must have murdered my arm last night. I think there will be a nasty bruise on it in a couple of days. I think I got it falling onto a DS case, but I may be wrong.

Adieu!

Icarus really encourages y'all to go read Vampirates.

Just Keep Smiling

2007-06-15T07:59:00.000-07:00

Listening: Tomorrow - Rosie Thomas

"Just keep smiling," were the words that my uncle imparted upon me, when he and my grandmother drove me into Chapters for my interview today. "You're exactly what they're looking for. Just be yourself, and keep smiling."

I kept those words in mind when I hopped out of the car. If I do say so myself, I looked utterly fabulous. I'd spent quite some time last night picking out the clothing for the interview, and woke up this morning, got a shower, ironed everything, woke up my sister to do my make-up, and borrowed a pair of decent shoes off her. (Which is fortunate, in restrospect, because the only other options I had in terms of footwear were super ugly. I figured my only hope at some point would be to wear them and make some witty crack about how ugly they were, but then my sister saved me.)

I went inside, and the first thing that happened was: something I was wearing set off the alarm. I was so surprised that I started to laugh, along with several of the other people who were standing nearby. That being done, I wandered around for a while wondering what the hell to do with myself. I spotted the assistant manager, Nancy, who was doing the interviews, but she was running around like a maniac, so I wasn't sure exactly what to do with myself. I stood around like an idiot for a while, until I spotted a pair of young women who were standing in similar awkwardness. I plunged in headfirst and asked if they were there for the interview, and indeed it was so.

Two more people joined us shortly thereafter, another girl and a young man, and we all lingered around for a while until finally Nancy appeared out of literally thin air and asked us to follow her. We did, in a cloud of silence, and all sat down around a table in the employee area.

The fellow, who I later discovered was named Tim, said as we did so, "I suddenly feel slightly overdressed."

"Don't worry," I assured him. "I'm wearing heels." (Small heels, but heels nonetheless.)

"Yeah," he said. "I considered that briefly, myself."

And just like that, we were all friends. Secretly, in the back of my mind, I was hoping that all the people I would be interviewed with today would be horrible trolls (thus securing my own standing), but I was thwarted. All of them were sweethearts. I want all of us to be hired and be awesome together. I'll actually be disappointed if/when I find that one or some of them don't get a position, although not quite as disappointed as I'll be if I don't get one.

Nancy was just as nice as the rest of them. She made everything very relaxed and calming for us. After brief introductions, she started in with the questions, which we were all expected to answer honestly and however we liked. We had the basics, like "What would you be bringing to the team if you're hired?" and "Describe one of your best customer experiences," but I think my whole body went tight with lust--yes, lust--when we got to the fourth or fifth question: "What is your favorite novel, album, movie, or other item that we carry in-store?"

I can't make this up.

The whole thing went astronomically well. I don't think I've ever been quite so comfortable in a formal setting. At the end of the interview, Nancy gave us the information we'd all been waiting for--that Chapters is actually looking to hire for about five positions, rather than just one. We weren't the only hopefuls, either--there'd already been two other groups of five before us. That raises the bar pretty high, but I feel pretty confidant for two reasons. One, I have two years of experience working for one of the most trying companies in history, and one that originally hired me on a temporary basis, no less; two, I was recommended to apply for the job by one of the employees (a distant cousin, actually, but they don't need to know that), and Nancy seemed really happy when I mentioned that his happiness with Chapters fueled my desire to apply, in part.

That being said, I think I have some serious competition. One of the ladies (Carol Ann [sp?]) applying for the job has been a flight attendant with Air Canada for nine years (nine!), and another is really bubbly and happy and energetic. The other girl seemed pretty quiet, and the guy (Tim) is nice but pretty inexperienced, so I'm hoping I have a little leg-room, at least in my own group. Oh lord, competition is really stiff.

I'll find out by next week whether I've got the chops. Chapters' general manager is apparently getting back from two weeks of vacation sometime soon, and then next week they'll be conducting one-on-one interviews. If I'm a prospective employee, they'll give me a shout to come in for that, and then by the beginning of July I'll know if I'm employed. Even if I don't get the position (heaven forbid), Nancy assures me they'll pretty much be hiring steadily til Christmas, so don't even think I'll be discouraged.

The interview only took about forty minutes, give or take. I wandered around in a fantastic mood, bought a book for my sister, and put in a compliment about one of the employees when he gave me a quarter out of his own pocket to call for a ride home. Also I had an orange mocha at Starbucks and told the baristas all about Jam. Well, I didn't mention his name, I just said I had a friend whose student loan ran out and he was most depressed about not being able to buy orange mochas anymore. One of them said, "I wish I knew who this guy was. I'd give him one for free the next time he came in, just for his sheer dedication."

"Just keep smiling," my uncle said. Funny how since I had that interview, I haven't stopped smiling all day.

[P.S.: Go below and rate me and Philon. Since I left this morning, he's gone from being a jackal to a mouse. I don't know who rated me, but I can't stop laughing.]

[P.P.S.: Wow, this post marks my 50th! I think this is the longest I've stayed with anything journal/diary-related. Thanks for sticking with it!]

Icarus hopes she won't get in trouble for discussing fun friends with baristas.

A Little Pre-Interview Therapy

2007-06-15T03:51:00.000-07:00

Listening: First Time - Lifehouse

I took Jam's advice and went and rated his Daemon. Funny, she stayed a raccoon. I'm betting she's accurate. Oh Jam and his raccoon. I am actually charmed by this.

So charmed that I did the same!

This is Philon. Right now he's a jackal, but like Jam's Haythia, he'll change in accordance to the answers people give if they rate him/me/us. Part of me is like, "What? I'm a dishlicker on the inside?" but then I calm the hell down because jackals are neat.

I have an interview in about two hours. Time to go get ready! I'll make a second post about the whole experience when I get home. Philon, you're in charge! Guard the blog!

Icarus feels weird about making such a short post.

Excitement and Concern

2007-06-14T04:15:00.000-07:00

Listening: Sickest Girl - Bertine Zetlitz

I went to see your brother 'cause he still prefers my frame
And they kept asking who she was and how she knew your name
I get a taste of iron when I breathe
I get a taste of iron when you bleed.
Your brother with the tattooed face, he told me you're in love
You sleepwalk and you say 'Your Grace' like five times in a row
I get a taste of iron when he speaks
I get a taste of iron, and it leaks.

Following the cracks around my shoulders
Jamming up the backdoors of my mind
Flooding down the wicked stuff I told her
I'm the sickest girl you'll ever find.

If you have never heard of Bertine Zetwitz, don't hurt yourself, please. She's a Norwegian singer, which you obviously could not have discerned from her name. If anyone is actually interested in any of the music I make mention of here, may I suggest her Sweet Injections album? Please avoid The Italian Greyhound as long as conceivably possible.

Moving on, my news today is something of a source of both extreme joy and nagging concern. I am addicted to books. As such, one of my favorite hang-outs is Chapters. When my cousin got a job there, I became interested in doing the same. He had been formerly employed by Wal-Mart as well, and was very content to leave it behind. I tried to pass in a resume, but they told me, "Sorry, we only accept applications by monster.ca." What? God forbid they'd actually have to talk to a real person face-to-face. Whatever, I didn't care. I checked job postings every day for several months, praying for an opening.

My wish came true about a week and a half ago. I checked Monster one morning to find that Chapters was hiring people with sales experience. I jumped on that like a southbound train. The morning the application was put up, I sent in my resume, filled out the questionnaire, and sat back to wait for a week.

Last night I finally came home to the news I'd been waiting for. I got home last night to find a note on the countertop, telling me that Chapters had called. This was roughly quarter to twelve at night, so Chapters was closed, of course, therefore making any call I would have made completely useless. I was so eager that I didn't sleep all that well last night. Instead I woke up periodically, checked the clock, and went back to sleep. Yes, that is how badly I want this job.

One of my up-wakings was at around 6:15 a.m., and it was to find that my Dad was up and about, preparing to jaunt off to a golf tournament he's playing in today. I stuck my head out to tell him that I'd gotten a call back from Chapters, and he informed me that he knew, and that apparently my friend Rykea had also gotten a call, but she couldn't go in for the interview because she already has a part time job with creepy stalker Agriculture Canada (which my Dad called the "experimental farm"). I was a little surprised by this, but eventually I just went back to bed. As I did, my Dad called, "You know Chapters is looking to hire full-time, right?"

I knew. And I didn't care.

I woke up about half an hour ago, at 8:30, jarred out of a sound sleep by the sound of my alarm going off. (Don't ask me why I set it. I actually don't remember.) The effects of that alarm still haven't quite worn off. I'm still jittery and shaky, and I'm trying to chase off this feeling of nausea that accompanied it. I actually don't know why I feel so lousy, but I do. Anyway, back to the task at hand.

I called the number Chapters left for me, and the woman I was looking for picked up right away. When I told her who I was, she said, "We'd like you to come in for a group interview!"

Shit, I thought.

She proceeded to explain to me just what a group interview was, as I'd never been to one before, and throughout the whole thing, all I could think of was Benji's group interview at American Eagle. It doesn't sound like this one is going to be quite as bad as that one was, as there will be a maximum of about five people, but still I can't help but be concerned. I was really counting on a one-on-one interview, which I would be distinctly better at, I believe (not that I have that much experience). The woman on the phone assured me that the idea was to see how the applicants respond in a group and to create a more "relaxed interview", but I, personally, am probably going to be even more nervous with a group interview than a one-on-one. A group interview for me sort of just computes as having to prove that you're not only the right person for the job, but you're better than applicants A, B, C, and D, all of whom will be sitting only about five feet away at all times.

So while I feel very off-put indeed at the moment, I don't intend to admit defeat that easily. I've wanted to work in Chapters ever since it opened in town, I have the experience in retail and customer service necessary to secure a position, and I think if I don't get out of Wal-Mart soon, I may kill myself. Besides, I actually react really well in groups. If I can go in there, be calm and sociable and generally good-tempered as I usually am, I think that I can hopefully convey how eager I am to work there.

The interview is tomorrow morning at 11 a.m. Already I'm trying to decide what to wear. I have a doctor's appointment and a five-hour shift at work tonight, which already pales in comparison to this large, new entity of a problem. If you have any well-wishes, advice, or both, please leave them for me. It would really be appreciated, and I get this feeling that I'm going to need them.

Icarus is going upstairs to write a bit and calm the hell down.

Under the Gun

2007-06-08T20:46:00.000-07:00

Listening: The Glass Parade - Cary Brothers

This is the Glass Parade
A fragile state
And I am trying not to break
And the stars are shining
The moon is right
And I would kill to be with you tonight.

Hold me now
As the car lights fade
And we are dancing in the Glass Parade...

If you haven't heard of Cary Brothers, you don't know what you're missing out on. Thanks again to Rykea for sending me magical musics!

It may be 1:19 a.m. and I may be dying of exhaustion but I figured I would put up a short post to reaffirm that I am in fact still alive. Yes it's been almost a month, but I had several good reasons. There was a pretty major family crisis for a while that thankfully is on the way to resolution, and also I have been working like crazy at Wal-Hell to earn some cash monies. This is still ongoing, actually. My crazy-as-hell hours start next Saturday. Le sigh.

Another factor that's had a major influence on my free time has been the occurance of a very significant event in my life. My labor of love, book one of my Usurper series, was completed Thursday morning. It still needs to be severely edited, and I do mean severely, but I have to say that this piece is definitely one of the ones I am not only extremely proud of, but also one of my better ones. I like the characters, I like the plot, I like the style of writing, and I adore that I'm so comfortable with everything about it that I can just let it go and see where it takes me.

A conversation with my Dad basically lead to the stint of avid writing leading up to the completion of this book. I gave him a chapter to read once, and occasionally I'll inform him that I'm still in the process of writing, but he has never taken the initiative to ask about it until the other night. I was kind of flattered that someone cared enough to ask me how my work was going (excluding several of my friends, who are also great about the whole thing), so I decided to just sit down and hack away at the last few chapters until it was done. My circadian rhythm actually shifted in accordance to this desire: I stopped sleeping in til noon and going to bed in the wee hours, and instead I now get up with the sun and am ready to drop by 1 a.m. Part of me says that now that the book is done I can just go back to that, but truth be told, I really like getting up early and seizing the day.

Anyway, I'm now entering editing mode and have been attacking my brick of a manuscript with my little orange editing pen and going insane. Fortunately I have Rykea, who has proven herself invaluable yet again and offered to give me a hand. I'm always glad to have fresh eyes on the piece, as it's hard for me to pick out what I think is superfluous, since I'm so familiar with it. It always brightens my day to hear her actually laugh aloud when she reads. It makes me feel accomplished.

For the record, Ryk has been letting me read her own pocketpiece, which I will refer to as SR. Words cannot describe how amazing I find this piece. I wish I could eat it, it's that yummy. Sometimes reading it weirds me out, because there are parts of it that can be frighteningly similar to my own Usurper. Most people would say that we're stealing ideas off each other, but that's difficult when we don't discuss our ideas with each other before we write them... or when we don't see each other for months at a time. Somehow she and I are just on the same wavelength. Don't ask me how, but I believe it has to do with our relationship as is. Whereas with most people who don't see each other for long periods of time, they grow apart as time passes, but with me and Ryk, no matter what, we just pick up where we left off. How we manage it will probably never be fathomed. Maybe it's a World Wonder.

Moving on, Cole and I have been avidly planning our flight up to the "land of bureaucrats" (a.k.a. Ottawa) to visit lovely Rae. We finally have most of the information we need for the trip, so really all we need right now is for Cole's mother to stop worrying about everything and just book her a ticket. That being said, I am very glad that I talked to Cole's mom before booking my ticket, because otherwise everything would have gone straight to hell. This being my first trip unchaperoned (because trust me, Cole does not count as a chaperone), I completely failed to take into account such vital matters as food, transportation, and shelter. Haha. That got sorted out fast, trust me.

There's probably more to be said, but my sleep cycle is heralding the arrival of bedtime and I think I really ought to get this finished before I pass out on the keyboard. Loves to my muffins.

Icarus wishes she could stop singing Cary Brothers songs. No, really, she does.

The Pothole Queen and the Crustacean Graveyard

2007-05-12T19:36:00.000-07:00

Listening: Velvet Revolution - Tori Amos

All you killers of the children
There's a new commandment:
That your Divine Creator
Wants a velvet revolution.

I should have mentioned in yesterday's post what exactly makes my life awesome. I realized today exactly what it was. It's the numerous people that I have the privilege to call friends. I guarantee you this: no matter how great your life is, your friends will always make it that much more amazing. Take me, for example. The past 24 hours have been a true testament to the awesomeness of my friends. Allow me to narrate.

After work last night, I hefted my tail over to Matt's apartment. The instant I opened the door, a telltale smell assaulted my nostrils. "What the hell is that?" I demanded, even whilst I gagged.

Matt was sitting in the living room with the rest of the bunch. In one movement, he vaults over the back of the couch, grabs a garbage bag containing a suspicious substance off the kitchen table, and waves it furiously in my face with a grizzly-like roar. After blinking at him for a moment, I asked, "What?"

"Lobster!" he declared.

Apparently Matt's parents had a dinner party. Since he's a lumberjack and frequently forgets to eat, they gave him a bunch of leftovers. These leftovers included a huge platter of ribs, as well as nine whole, cooked lobster. I do not think I have ever seen Matt so excited about anything ever. He looked terribly downtrodden when I told him I couldn't eat one because lobster makes me sick, but he brightened once he realized that this meant more for him.

Colette, at this point, was looking kind of bored or irate, so I suggested that we head to Tim Horton's. Matt's apartment is about a two minute walk from one, provided you cut across a few lawns and through a dilapadated fence. This was about ten-thirty at night, so it should have occurred to one of us that Tim's might be out of stock in some items. It didn't.

After laboring over her decision for several minutes, Cole went up to the cashier. "I'd like a tea and three chocolate chip cookies," she said.

The young man looked over his shoulder and perused the available goods before turning back to her. "I'm sorry. We're all out of chocolate chip cookies."

There is dead silence. Then, after a pregnant pause, Cole utters, with a low and chilling deliberance, "What?"

Later discussion would prove that Cole has no memory of the moments that followed. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), I do. The spate of curses and utterances of general rage would have stricken a nun blind. The young man at the counter looked utterly dumbfounded--several of the other late customers sat gaping. As for me, I could only stand rooted in place, transfixed by the sight of my best friend transforming into pure, unbridled fury.

She seemed to snap out of it with the words "Strike it from the order", which is the point where she claims her memory resumes. It was several moments before anyone could move. The instant the young fellow at the register remembered how to use his fingers, I exploded into uproarious laughter. My gales didn't dim or ease, even when we left the store, food and cups in-hand. My peals of laughter echoed clear across the parking lot for a good few meters after we left the store behind.

When we arrived back at Matt's apartment, Cole and I sat at the kitchen table and complained for a while about a lot of things. It felt good to unload various problems on a listening somebody. Once that was done, Cole and I didn't want to listen to the boys banter about World of Warcraft, so we started up a game of Super Mario World and sat down to duke it out, insofar and inasmuch as you can duke in SMW.

Then Matt decides he wants to devour the lobster I didn't want. I have never seen a man eat with as much fervor as Matt did in those few moments. He literally roared as he ripped the lobster apart with his bare hands. Jimmy, who was there as well, was a little more dignified about it, but not by much. He went at his lobster with a hammer. I went into the kitchen during Cole's turn at SMW to get a drink, and my eyes were drawn to the scene atop the counter. It was truly a Crustacean Graveyard, with bits of shell and discarded meat littering the table, wall, discarded hammer, and nearby toaster. A single gutted lobster head sat nearby, looking mournful.

Morbid mischievousness overcame my brain. I returned to my seat, directly beside Colette, who was too busy yelling at the TV to pay attention to me. That worked to my advantage, because when she turned to look at me, she was greeted by the sight of a bug-eyed lobster skull an inch from her face. For added effect, I shook the lobster to and fro and intoned, "Blahblahblablahblah". The shriek she let out deafened every dog within a three mile radius. Coupled with the sight of her toppling off the couch in sheer terror, I was capable only of dissolving into hysterical laughter for the second time that night.

The goodtimes didn't stop there. When I got home that night, there was a message on my MSN from my good friend Rykea. For those of you who don't know, Ryk (as I call her) is one of my oldest friends. I have literally known her since I was seven years old. We were the best of friends for a while, although it was difficult to see her as we never went to the same school. Lately it's been even more difficult to keep in touch, but we manage it, although at six- and seven-month intervals. Both of us have been working on our respective novels for about the same length of time (although she claims I was the one who got her into writing in the first place). She is my guru of all things creative, and I go to her for advice when I'm having trouble with Usurper. Also we rotate music like it ain't no thang. Boa? Thank you, Rykea. Rosie Thomas? Thank you, Julia.

So Rykea left me a message saying that she and Gen were planning on going out on the morrow and if I wanted to come. I jumped on that like it was a southbound train. I love going out with Ryk and I hadn't seen Gen since MUN let out for summer, so this was a welcome invitation. I got up extra early today to get ready to go out. While I was waiting for a call from Ryk, Jam phoned me. He was looking for something to do too, so I invited him along. And so began the adventure.

Ryk picked me up first. We stopped to get gas, which was more trouble than it should have been. Ryk had no idea how to work the pump, so I had to go in and ask the girl working inside. "Hi, your gas pumps are the spawn of the devil," I said. She looked up from her cell phone and told me in a very bitchy voice, "You have to push up on the lever?"

"Thanks," I said. Then I killed her.

Except I actually only went back out and passed this knowledge on to Ryk. Eventually we were on the road again, and we swooped by to pick up Gen. When I told Ryk where we had to go to pick up Jam, she promptly enlisted Gen's help in giving directions ("--because," she said, "I don't trust Julia ever.") and off we went. I finally got to see Jam's new place, which is charming and retro, though he needs to get rid of that death-trap of a hotplate. Also, he complimented my coat. I felt very awesome after that.

We decided to go for lunch, and settled on my suggestion of the Press & Bean, which is an awesome little restaurant hidden away in the depths of a larger building downtown. The four of us together made positively the best conversation group ever, because we talked forever about everything, from silly things to actual serious social commentary. Also, the food was amazing. Ryk and I had baklava for dessert. It was love.

To round out the afternoon, the four of us trotted to Starbucks. I seem to recall there being a lot of screaming about Mary Dalton on our way there, but that just might have been me. It also seemed that Ryk managed to find every single pothole in the road, but I know for a fact that that actually happened. We spent a grand ol' time in Starbucks until I had to go to work, whereupon we left Jam at the mall to get his hair cut and everyone else went home.

Once again, Ryk found every pothole in the road on the way home. I have dubbed her the Pothole Queen, but I just know that karma is going to come around and bite me in the ass on this one, as I seem to have the same problem. This brought to an end the wonderful part of my day, as after that I had the entire evening to deal with bitchy Wal-Mart customers, but I digress. Just spending time with these people makes all that seem not as bad. They, and not the weather or freedom or new albums or anything else, are to blame for making my life so worth living.

Adieu!

Icarus knows that things can only get better from here.

Some Days Are Just Awesome

2007-05-11T10:19:00.000-07:00

Listening: Runaway Train - Soul Asylum

It seems no one can help me now
I'm in too deep
There's no way out
This time I have really led myself astray

Runaway train never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I'm neither here nor there.

So far my vacation has been admittedly pretty awesome. I spend most of my time out with my friends or at work, and on the occasions where I'm not doing that, I'm at home doing enjoyable things like writing, reading, or drawing. As an added bonus, the Newfoundland weather has finally begun to not suck 24/7, so we've actually had a couple of really nice summery days lately. All in all, things have been pretty great.

Today, though, was rad.

A good friend of mine left for a European cruise at around noon today. Lucky. Anyhow, he wanted to me to come see him off at the airport, and I thought that would be cools, except for the fact that I didn't have a ride there. For the record, our airport is like, bordering on the outskirts of our city limits. It's not a close place. But nonetheless, I told him I would walk there to say goodbye. He said 'okay' but I don't think he really thought I would do it. Shows what he knows.

I was in the middle of a very strange and delectably sexy dream (involving attempted rape and some other guy named, I kid you not, 'Zeke Tusks') when my alarm clock went off at 9 a.m. I was up and out of bed like I had been electrocuted. As soon as I shook off the last vestiges of sexy-dream-euphoria, I began running around in a mad panic trying to dress for my walk while my dog yawned at me. Halfway into my pants, my doorbell rang. This proved to be my aunt and uncle. Apparently my cousin (their middle child) is staying with us for the weekend, so they stopped by to drop off his supplies and the keys to my uncle's enormous man-truck (for some reason), which is currently sitting in my driveway being huge. Since they were going out of town, I hinted at getting a lift to the airport. "Have a good walk!" they said gleefully before driving off. I hate them.

Finally I hunted down an appropriate coat, jammed my cell phone into my pocket and put my headphones in my ears, and set off for the airport. I had many grand adventures on the way, including several near misses with traffic (most of the walk involved busy roads and offramps), being attacked by a wiener dog, being chased off of a side road by a redneck hick who somehow thought it was his property, and narrowly avoiding being thrown up on by a small child. My life is full of adventure.

Anyhow, I made it to the airport in one piece. The whole walk took me about an hour and five minutes, which was way shorter than I estimated. Fortunately I ran into other people who were waiting to see the same friend off, and went in and hung out with them until said friend arrived. Many so-longs were said, and long story short, we turned to leave, prepared for a long walk back. Instead we ran into another pair of friends who had come to see the same person off, and they brought with them a plane letter. The problem was that said friend was already through security. Cue a long and needlessly complicated attempt to get said plane letter through security. The following dialogue is not fabricated. Every word of it was actually said.

Friend Mike: Hey, excuse me, sir? Can we give you this plane letter to give to our friend over there?
Security Guard: Let-ter? [lumbers over] A let-ter?
Me: ...
Friend Mike: Yeah, um. It's a plane letter for that skinny guy over there.
Security Guard: A let-ter?
Me: ...
Friend Doug: Yeah it's a letter.
Security Guard: You didn't see him before he left to give him his let-ter?
Friend Mike: Well, we saw him. These guys were a bit late.
Security Guard: Can you open it so I can see that it is indeed a let-ter?
Me: ...
Friend Mike: Uh, sure. [opens letter and shows folded bits of paper]
Security Guard: It's not instructions to make a bomb, is it?
Me: ...Sir, it's just a frigging letter.

Then the retarded security guard took the letter to the door where we could see our friend standing. But he didn't give him the envelope. Instead, he gave the letter to another security guard, who walked away through a mysterious door, then walked through security, then scanned the letter, and then walked over and gave it to our friend.

Generous mockery was done on the drive back from the airport.

I got dropped off at Tim Horton's to get something to eat (apparently I'm retarded and can't remember to eat when I get up and go for enormous walks at 9 in the morning) and then walked back to my house, concluding my grand adventure. The walk gave me the opportunity I've been looking for to enjoy American Doll Posse uninterrupted, and I believe I can now numerate my favorite songs on the album. They are as follows:

Big Wheel, Bouncing Off Clouds, Teenage Hustling, Digital Ghost, Girl Disappearing, Secret Spell, Devils and Gods, Code Red, Roosterspur Bridge, Beauty of Speed, Velvet Revolution, Almost Rosey, Dark Side of the Sun, Smokey Joe, and Dragon. (Considering that makes up more than half of the album itself, I think that's a good indication of how awesome it is.)

Now that that bit of mindless indulgence is out of the way, I have got to tell you the best story in the history of anything ever.

So my dog (Gracie) has this vendetta against crows. I don't know where it stemmed from, but she has this deep-rooted hatred of them. It is honestly the funniest thing ever, to see this five-pound ball of fluffy puppy go tearing out after a much larger black bird, barking her little lungs out. Normally the average crow reaction is to get mildly irritated and take to the wing, which probably communicates as victory in Gracie's little doggy mind. This has been her system of ridding our property of crows for the past seven years.

Until three weeks ago.

My dog, as usual, was camping out in our backyard for a little game of Bother The Neighbors. I was inside on the computer. Abruptly, I heard her going insane outside. We don't like her barking at the neighbors on either side of our house, but she continues to do it, so basically our only option at that point is to go out and bring her back into the house. Irritated, I got up and headed for the back door. However, instead of having to apologize to a beseiged neighbor, I found myself witness to the following scene.

My dog is roughly the size of a football, so you can imagine that she doesn't present much of a threat. She had stretched herself up to her full height (roughly my knee) with her paws on the fence, and was yawling up at a large black crow who was sitting there, looking down at her. This is a pretty common scene, so I waved my arm in the crow's general direction and uttered "Giddoutofit", which normally sends the more stalwart ones packing. This one, however, just sat on the fence and looked at me. Then he looked down at my dog and made the most obnoxious sound I have ever heard an animal make. It was a deep-throated clicking kind of sound, and it sent my dog into absolute hysterics.

I had never heard a crow make that sound before. I sat down on the deck to watch the drama unfold. I wasn't disappointed. Over the course of the next ten minutes, that crow proved to be the most entertaining thing that had happened in days.

In between making that obnoxious clicking noise, cawing, and mimicking my dog's yappy little barks (yes, he actually mimicked them. I have no idea.), he proceeded to hop to and fro along the fence, and swoop down into the garden right over her head, as though he was deliberately taunting her. It sounds ridiculous, but he literally would have had no other reason to do it, so I can only conclude that it was done to torment her. I will also point out that it worked; Gracie just about had an aneurysm every time it happened.

Finally Gracie was worn out from running around after this S.O.B. and collapsed in the yard, panting and watching him balefully as he hopped around on the fence. I was still sitting on the deck watching the drama unfold. The crow cocked his head at Gracie, then--I swear to God--made a cawing sound that was more like a laugh than anything else, and flew off.

I told that story to everybody. I thought it was amazing. I also locked it away in the annals of my memory for preservation forever, because I thought it was one of those things that you only experience once. Apparently I was completely wrong.

After I got back from my walk today, I let Gracie out the back door to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. It was one of those summery days I was talking about, and I figured she would enjoy it. Ten minutes later I heard her barking her head off. Figuring it was, yet again, a neighbor, I went out back... and found a crow sitting on the fence.

I shit you not, it was the same crow.

It has to be. He has exactly the same mannerisms, the same way of hopping along the fence and making that obnoxious clicking noise, the same mocking "bark", the same habit of swooping down right over Gracie's head and making her chase him. I practically had a heart attack when I saw him. "I do not believe this," I said, and sat down to watch. The crow is cool with me hanging around. I think he likes the attention, because he acts up a lot more when I'm watching.

I was so appreciative of the show that I went back into the house and got some bread to feed the little jerk. I set it on the fence for him, and he gobbled it up and disappeared. I have a strange feeling that neither me nor Gracie has seen the last of him, though.

I can't stand having an animal hanging around my house without naming it, so I've taken to referring to the little bugger as Doyle. It's Gaelic for 'dark foreigner', which I think seems appropriate.

So with that, I must depart. I have work in half an hour, and I need to go make myself look like I haven't been running around in a backyard all afternoon.

Adieu!

Icarus thinks that today rocked the cosmic taco. Also, she just wants to point out that the "attempted rape" was not what made that particular dream sexy at all. That was scary as hell. The sexy part came after.

Musiphoria

2007-05-09T13:05:00.000-07:00

Listening: Bouncing Off Clouds - Tori Amos

Bouncing off of clouds we were
Is there a Love Lost and Found

Make it easy
Make this easy
It's not as heavy as it seems
Wrapped in metal
Wrapped in ivy
Paint it in mint ice cream

We could be bouncing off the top of this cloud
I'll put on my silver
We could be bouncing off the top of this cloud.

If you know me for any length of time, one of the aspects of my personality that becomes quickly outlined is that I harbor an intense love for music of almost any genre. One of my most treasured possessions is my iPod. I can't get to sleep at night without listening to something. I had to send my iPod to Apple for repairs several months ago, and I thought I was going to die.

Therefore, due to my insatiable desire for music, I frequently find myself having wrung my audio library a little dry. Often there are long stints wherein I have no new or particularly absorbing albums or artists, and I find myself browsing my iPod looking for songs I haven't listened to in quite some time, in the hopes of refreshing my auditory cells. These states can stretch anywhere from several days to several weeks, and basically end the moment I get my hands on some intoxicating new material.

One of those stints came to an abrupt end yesterday morning.

Two of my favorite artists, Tori Amos and Björk, recently released all-new albums, a fact that somehow entirely escaped my notice. Fortunately I have good friends who bring such facts to my attention. I spent the majority of Monday night downloading said albums, whereupon I loaded them onto my iPod on Monday morning and listened to them while I walked to Wal-Mart to meet Benji.

I think I am in love. I still haven't had the opportunity to drink both of them in as deeply as I would normally like to, but I'm in deep enough to know that these two albums are some of the best work their respective artists have put out in a while.

First of all, Volta. Björk's latest album has been expected by her recording company One Little Indian to be the biggest-selling of her entire career. I'm a Vespertine fan through and through, but Volta is definitely ranked up there in the annals of awesome. Some of the tracks bear closely to her deep entrancing sound, such as Vertebrae by Vertebrae, while some, like My Juvenile, are more whimsy and fun in nature. There's a lot of fresh sound on the album (I'm becoming steadily more addicted to tracks like Innocence and Earth Intruders) but it's still very undeniably Björk. I'm hopelessly besotted with it.

American Doll Posse is the ninth studio album produced by Tori Amos, one of my all-time favorite artists. It follows up her album The Beekeeper, which received a lot of chilly reviews and raised questions as to whether the songwriter was losing her touch. ADP puts even the pickiest critics to rest. Tori never lost her touch to begin with.

Warning: Rant Ahead.

I'm not a die-hard Little Earthquakes or Under the Pink fan, I can accept it when things don't sound the way I think they should. I've never understood that about Tori's fans. Just because she's putting out a different sound, they think the world's coming to an end for some reason. That seems to be a problem with a lot of artists who try something new and their fans crucify them for doing it. Get a grip, people. Songwriters aren't there to cater to you, they're trying to be creative and let their work be heard. Don't turn into a lynch mob because you don't like the sound of a new album. Just accept that songwriters and artists are people trying to express themselves and you're being intolerant and shallow about it. Try listening to an album as it is, and don't rank it up against earlier works that you feel are superior. I mean, was Beekeeper really so bad? Did Ben Folds Five turn against their fans by putting out Brick? Why take this stuff so personally? Get a life, seriously.

End of Rant.

Now that that's out of the way, getting back to American Doll Posse. Even the Tori fans who felt she was losing her touch should be appeased by this album. ADP has been received with rave critical reviews. I can say as an earnest fan (who doesn't foam at the mouth on a regular basis) that this album portrays her array of personalities and styles beautifully. Songs like Smokey Joe and Dragon savor very strongly of her earlier work, while newer sounds can be heard in the addictive Big Wheel and Teenage Hustling. I've been stuck on this album for two days now, with no end in sight. I think I was shock-numb when I listened to the whole thing the first time. I've been trying to go through it slowly, a song at a time, since then, but it's seriously like trying to slowly drink a lemonade after a week in the Mojave desert or something.

Tori's ADP world tour comes to North America right around my birthday. Do I want to go see one of the shows? You bet your ass I do.

That being said, my brain is starting to hurt from the overload of amazing music on these two albums. I honestly can't do anything without thinking something like "Wow I'd like to listen to Roosterspur Bridge" or "Wow some Dull Flame of Desire would be great right now". To get my focus off of my obvious addiction, I've been trying to drown it in South Park, which is another brand-new addiction of mine. Somebody ruined my life by showing me this site. I've been too addicted to sleep, these past few nights. And when I do sleep, I listen to American Doll Posse and Volta. I think it might be time to get me some help.

Between my friends, work, and dealing with my new addictions, I haven't had a lot of time to do much in the way of creativity. When I do, however, it's to colour original lineart of a breed of adorable fuzzy things called Lonesomes. All things considered, I could be using my time more wisely, but they're simply too cute for me to ignore for very long.

That pretty much wraps up the majority of my news. I am in the process of looking for a new job, but there's no telling how effective the search will be. Keep your fingers crossed for me, kiddos.

Adieu!

Icarus did this post in response to a taunt by Jam. Slackerhead, indeed.

Life As It Is

2007-05-01T21:21:00.000-07:00

Listening: Universe - Sarah Slean

Once, I took the universe to dinner
When she failed to yield to earth's demands
"Oh," she said, "you mean that little ant farm?
I'm alright, dear, I've got other plans."
...
And when she talks, she fills the room with sunlight
She can name her babies, every one
I've returned to the place of my beginning
I can see her turning off the sun.

Okay, if you don't have this song yet, go find it right now. ...Right now. Because Sarah Slean is everything that makes rainbows go off in my head, and this song... it um. I don't know. But whatever happens to me when I hear it, I want to feel like it always. It's like, crack in song form, only much safer and awesomer.

The school year has ended, and I have plunged into my vacation time with all the gleeful abandon of a two-year-old at a water park. No one likes the summer hours more than me. I haven't set up for my extra hours at Hell-Mart yet (that'll be happening sometime this week) so for the nonce I'm left with most of my days free. Here's a basic rundown of how my average day goes.

Between 10 AM and 1 PM: Wake up. (Yes, I am lazy.)
Prior to 2 PM: Work on my novel.
2 PM: Shower.
2:30 PM: Work on novel more.
~3:00 PM: Go out with Matt, Cole, Steve, and usually Matty P.
~12:45 AM: Return home.
1 AM: Work on novel.
3-4 AM: Crash and sleep until morning.

I am truly the laziest thing there ever, ever was. That's cool though, because I can get away with these kinds of activities for the time being, and I intend to enjoy them to the fullest while I can. On that note, due to the obvious influx of free time, my book is nearing completion. It obviously needs some serious editing and even complete rewriting in some parts, but for the most part, I feel really pleased with it. Stay tuned for updates!

When I deviate from the above schedule, I find myself occasionally going to the mall with Jam, which leads to misadventures in search of belts, and drawing competitions in Fog City. Oh, the memories. Jammy's sick right now, poor muffin. I will have to send him soup made with love.

Marks came out! I did... pretty much as I expected. Well overall, with the exception of Linguistics (again; I've learned my lesson), and I completely owned my English course with an A. English Honor's program, here I come. I hope everyone did well on their exams as well!

Oh lord it is 2:15 and I still want to get some writing done before I turn in for the night. I'd have made this post longer but... well it's 2:15.

Go to sleep!

I has an eggs. They will hatch in June.

Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!

Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!

Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!

Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!

Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!

Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!
Icarus is off to write about a monestary. Oh, monestaries.

Cue Hysterical Laughter

2007-04-19T08:37:00.000-07:00

Listening: Everything is Alright - Motion City

I'm sick of the things that I do when I'm nervous
Like cleaning the oven or checking my tires
Or counting the number of tiles in the ceiling
Head for the hills, the kitchen's on fire.

So this is it; the official end of my first year in MUN. While I can certainly say that there will be some aspects I miss, I can assure you that I am very glad to have the next four months off with nothing but work and goodtimes ahead of me.

My Linguistics exam went pretty much as I expected, on Monday; I understood about a third of the material studied, but I believe I might be capable of passing the exam itself. Now, if the same can be said of course, I'll be very content. English also went as planned, only better; right after I walked out of writing what I thought was a wicked exam, I picked up a bunch of papers my prof had yet to hand back to me, to discover that I got a 90% on a term paper I'd written, giving me an 80 in the course prior to going in to write my exam. Apparently, I've also been recommended for the English Honor's program, which I may do.

Yesterday, me, Cole, Rae, Peach, and Cory wrote Roman Civilization, which for most of us was our last exam. It went really well, so for the most part we ended on a good note. Cole and I said goodbye to Rae (coming perilously close to tears as we did so) and then went to the UC to kill time, where we were contacted by Kathleen, who ordered us to come to Gonzaga to see her. We did, and one thing lead to another, and we ended the afternoon by going out to Tim Horton's with our friend Michele, who is pretty much a basket case over her sick little nephew. (I won't repeat all of what she told us yesterday; just let me say that it is a very, very bad situation.)

I bought her soup. She didn't look like she'd been eating since... I don't know, ever. That's bad when you're already the girth of a stick. Cole and I are getting concerned about her, but we did our best to cheer her up before she dropped us back home.

Eventually (through a very roundabout journey) I turned up at Ben's, where I got Chinese food and we all had a time. One thing to be said for Benji is that he knows how to throw a party. I meet enjoyable new people, including Ben's friend Steve, and his girlfriend Amanda. Cole and I didn't stay as long as we expected, leaving at about midnight or shortly thereafter, but that was probably for the best, because I haven't been sleeping well this week and I have been building up quite an impressive sleep debt. I woke up at various times this morning (somewhere I was having a dream about a woman in a terrycloth dress on a train, and another dream about dragon-mice) but I finally crawled out of bed at about quarter to one. I felt mighty accomplished.

I have work tonight, for the first time in several weeks, and sometime over the next couple of days I need to adjust my work schedule to accomodate my free hours. My mom is encouraging me to switch to a 40-hour work week, and doesn't seem to believe me when I try to explain to her that Wal-Mart isn't going to give me all those hours. Oh well. I think for now I'll change my hours to center mostly around weekdays, leaving my nights and weekends free. I think I've still got another two or three weeks of meagre hours, though, so that's good. I think that I'll be looking for another job this summer, as well. Wal-Mart is fine and dandy and all, but I would like to take a look around on the job market.

Adventures are planned for sometime later in the summer! I am planning to fly up to Ottawa to visit Rae for a weekend, hopefully to be accompanied by Colette (if whatever job she gets this summer allows her to take time off). Rae has already checked on the availability of her basement for our use (her parents said it's cool) and my folks seem fine with the idea, provided I pay for it myself, which I intended to do anyway. Now it's just a matter of finding out whether Cole will be able to go and setting a date, and we'll be able to book our flight and there will be dancing in the streets.

On that note, I should get back to prowling around the internet looking for a new job. Adieu.

Icarus notes that it still hasn't sunk in with her that she's off for four months.

Linguistsucks

2007-04-16T04:06:00.000-07:00

Listening: So Long, Lonesome - Explosions in the Sky

Wow. Ten days shy of an entire month without blogging; and this one isn't even going to be a really long post. Apologies to anyone out there who actually reads. Things have been pretty crazy-hectic as of late, primarily because I am directly in the middle of exams. I'm up early to study for the two I have today: English, with Jammy, and Linguistics, which is sort of making my brain bleed a little bit.

English ought to be fine; I'm really not particularly worried about it. I loved my English class this term (even if Jam hated it, ha) and I do well on English exams in general. What scares the everloving holy hell out of me is this upcoming Linguistics exam half an hour after my English one. I don't know why, but I didn't really get a thing we covered this term. Note to self: no more Linguistics. You've learned your lesson.

I've spent most of the last 48 hours studying like a maniac, and I think I comprehend enough of the material to get me by, which is really all I want. The only unfortunate thing is that I can't collapse and freak out or anything after it's all done, because I still have an exam on Wednesday to write. Bah.

So I've been left home alone since about 6 a.m. on Thursday morning, while my family went galavanting off to Toronto. My mom and sister are returning today at about 2:10, so I'll be in the middle of my third exam and already freaking out about the fourth at that point. While they were gone, a metric ton of my relatives mysteriously called and invited me out for meals. Coincidence? I think not.

So last night, in between panicked studying, my Uncle Doug (my beatnick, witty great-uncle) ambushed me and dragged me back to the bungalow he shares with his significant other, Patricia. They fed me steak (amazing) and a cornmeal grits-type dish called palenta (not so amazing, but I didn't want to be rude) and I told them about my life. When I started the inevitable complaint about Wal-Mart, my Uncle made mention of trying to get me an actual, journalist-related summer job. Rapture. I would love to find another job aside from the one I have now. I will only survive so long in retail without killing someone or killing myself.

Mad, mad parties are planned for Benji's house on the night of the 18th (the last official day of exams; Cole, Rae, Cory, Peach and I all have our Roman Civ exam that day, at 9-11 a.m.). I'm insanely excited about it, despite having to work the following evening.

Okay, I actually have to run off and kind of get ready now. I need to get myself something to eat and clean the house prior to leaving, not to mention study as much material as is conceivably possible in the ensuing free period. Good luck to everyone on their marks this semester!

Icarus cannot for the life of her do a voiced alveolar rhotic trill, and it really, really bothers her.

Water Zombies

2007-03-26T04:02:00.000-07:00

Listening: Faith's Silver Elephant - Rosie Thomas

I've got a new silver elephant
I'm gonna teach her to talk and sit
I'm gonna put flowers 'round her neck
And take her to the park without all of my friends...

Oh man. Sorry it's been such a long time, guys. I've been really busy with a lot of stuff lately, it's been a mega-hectic time here and I'm working on getting everything done before classes end next week.

What with the end of semester, all my courses are like "Oh hey are you still there? Wicked, I'm going to rape you in the eye now" and I'm like "Oh jeez". So, I have like a million projects to work on and complete, all before a week from Wednesday. This is includes five Linguistics papers and an essay on Paradise Lost (abbrev.: ParaLost). Thankfully, I remembered this semester to schedule time off for my exams, and so far Wal-Mart is holding true to that schedule, for which I am extremely grateful.

I found out yesterday that a good friend of mine (Michele a.k.a. Ms. Stamp) is temporarily moving to Dublin to be near her nephew, Thomas. He's eight years old and has a form of cancer known as neuroblastoma. Everyone's remaining hopeful, and it seems that there is another form of treatment aside from the oral chemo the little mite has been receiving. He's a sweet little chap, and I really hope everything turns out for the best.

Rae and I are working on a Roman Civilization project together. We chose to do it on the Roman banquet, so we're making Roman food to bring in to class. She came over yesterday and we did a sort of dry run to see how the food would pan out. It is fortunate we did this, because the two of us learned some very important things yesterday:

1) The Romans used ten thousand spices to improve their food because it tasted awful.
2) When in doubt, use pepper.
3) When still in doubt, use honey.

We made lebum (a sort of cheese roll), dulcia (a French-toast-like dessert) and meatballs (the original Roman name of which I forget). The lebum was the greatest catastrophe ever suffered by the hands of MUN students. Actually that's probably a lie, because they did turn out edible, but not good-edible. More like "we didn't turn into mutants when we ate them so I guess they're okay". They're made with only ricotta cheese, flour, an egg, and some salt. That's it. Nothing else. Rae and I learned that using whole wheat flour here is a mistake. Also, the inside of the rolls is extremely mooshy, which I suspect to be because the cheese is supposed to be unpasteurized (read "raw") for the recipe's success to be guaranteed. Nonetheless, we found lebum was tolerable if you drowned it in honey first. (Hence rule number three.)

The dulcia was moderately more of a success, if you exclude our first attempt. (We tried to fry the bread in the pan with honey. Mistake.) I discovered you really do need "day-old bread", like the recipe calls for, or else your dessert will turn out too mushy. Rae and I found that dulcia is a keeper, once we perfect the recipe.

Our real success came with the meatballs. The recipe calls for ground pork, breadcrumbs soaked in red wine, and peppercorns (which we excluded, along with the caul. Ew). The recipe then suggests browning the meatballs in a mixture of honey and red wine, which we attempted. When we discovered that the red wine taste was too overpowering, we got creative. Approximately nine batches later, we had created the most perfect conceivable Roman meatball, made of ground pork, garlic, wine-soaked breadcrumbs, browned in a sauce made of honey, water, garlic, salt, and a metric fuckton of pepper. It sounds pretty gross, but rest assured our meatballs were amazing.

We're presenting on Wednesday, so Tuesday night will be a hectic night of cooking and goodtimes. Plus script-writing. Rome and Garden. Oh Rae. You kill me.

Icarus really has been away for a really long time.

Blizzard! At The Apartment

2007-02-23T04:23:00.000-08:00

Listening: Grissom's Overture - CSI Soundtrack

Please excuse the horrible pun in the title but I quite simply could not resist. Don't kill me.

So it's been more than a week since my last blog post. What have I been doing? Interesting question! The answer is 'enjoying midterm break'. That's right, MUN's midterm break just ended yesterday and I had a grand ol' time hangin' out with Cole, Matt and the gang over the course of the break.

Friday night there was a party at Matty P's house, where Cole did a lot of cooking and I did a lot of... talking I think. I don't seem to recall doing much else useful. I think the most humorous thing that happened that night was coming to the back door in time to see Stefan slam it open and scream, "Julia! Have a pizza pop!" and then flail at me with a plate full of pizza pops. The other thing that was mildly entertaining was Jimmy driving everyone home in Matty P's car, even though Jimmy doesn't really have his license. Haha. Gold.

Saturday I worked, and I think I went home right after because I was totally destroyed from exhaustion. Sunday night I went out with Matt, Cole, Matty P, Ben, and Kelilah; we went to Matt's to watch The Protector, which proved to be vastly entertaining. That movie does not farking slow down. At all! Also, it's about elephants. No, I'm not kidding. "Where are my elephants!?" Oh Lord. Plus some guy in it threw a baby elephant. Like, picked it up and threw it. I don't know.

After the movie, Benji was all, "Okay dudes, food," so we all went out to hunt down somewhere that was still open at 10:30 at night. It was terribly entertaining, especially when I made the comparison of us being a family (complete with Matty P as the family dog, which was especially hilarious, since he was in the trunk of the car). We all stumbled into Jungle Jim's laughing, and I just looked at them and went, "Guys we are the most disfunctional family ever."

Late-night restaurant food and goodtimes with hilarious friends make for much enjoyment. Anyhow, for although it was a great deal of fun, Sunday night was not the entertaining night. The entertaining night was Monday. For those of you unaware, we had a ridiculously bad storm. I believe the snowfall was somewhere between 30 and 40 centimeters or something, with 100 kph winds. Insane! So this is what happened to me on Monday night.

Matt calls me, and says, "Okay jerks, let's do stuff." I am totally down with this, so Matt plans to pick me and Cole up when he gets off work. By the time he does so, the snowfall outside is becoming blustery. I have packed up a ton of stuff and frolic outside, oblivious to the storm, when Matt pulls up. We go to his parents' house for a visit or something, and they tell us, "You know, be careful, because there's an insane storm coming." We laugh them off, make jokes about how we are tougher than weather, and then scamper back to the car to avoid becoming popsicles. In a moment of brilliant clarity, I tell Matt to stop for food "in the event that we get stuck". Cole waves me off, then decides she wants noodles. Fortunately.

We go back to Matt's, make the noodles, and settle in to watch Unleashed, which was infinitely more enjoyable to watch than The Protector. Over the course of the film, I continue to get phone calls from my parents, who keep telling me that the weather is bad and encouraging me to get home out of it. Unwilling to leave my friends behind, I prevaricate by saying "I'll go home when Cole goes home", knowing full well she won't be departing for another several hours.

So 10:30 rolls around, and eventually I'm like, "Shit, maybe I should be getting home." So I look at Matt and ask him if he can drop me off. "No problem," he says. Until we open the door to his basement apartment. The snow is up to my waist. Before you ask how we got the door open, it opens inward. Moving on.

Matt takes it like the lumberjack he is. "Get out of the cold," he tells me and Colette, and we back off and he starts shoveling us out--from inside the apartment. Once he could get outside into the stairwell, he shut the door behind him and continued shoveling. Cole and I stayed inside and waited until he reappeared, eyebrows and beard frosted with snow, and told us, "Okay, we can go now." So we do, making a beeline for the car because the wind threatens to take us right off our feet.

We get to the car, Matt hops into the driver's seat, warms up for a few seconds, then throws the car into reverse and begins backing out of the driveway. We hit a pile of snow, but this does not deter Matt the Lumberjack. He continues to try to plow over--or through--the snow. "Matt," I say, somewhat nervously. "I don't think we can make this."

"Nah, we're cool," he says with that self-assured male-ness. He gives the SUV another push. We feel the vehicle shudder, then sink--and suddenly, Matt can't go forward anymore. He tries to put the car into drive, but we aren't moving forward, either. We are stuck.

"Oh man," says Colette from the backseat.

Matt reacts with all due lumberjackness. He leaps out of the car in his t-shirt and begins trying to shovel us out like mad. By the time he has to return to borrow Cole's kitty hat (which made her melt a bit at the cuteness) and my gloves, Cole and I had realized the truth, even if Matt hadn't. Cole made the call first, informing her parents that we were stuck at Matt's and didn't look like we were getting out before morning. I made the same call as soon as she'd finished, and my mom was understandably pissed, since she'd been calling me for hours telling me to get home out of it. Whatever. There wasn't much I could do at that point, and eventually she stopped reading me the Riot Act and warned me to be safe.

Matt charges back into the car as I hang up the phone, white all over and shivering. "We're not getting out in this," he says, and Cole and I nod like we only just figured that out too. A few minutes later, Matt leaps back out of the car to continue shoveling, not to dig us out, but to free his car, which is halfway out of the driveway. This goes on for more than half an hour, but no dice--we are stuck fast, and clearly not moving anywhere til morning. Matt grudgingly turns off the SUV, and we all charge for his apartment door.

Unfortunately, Matt locked the door behind us, and in the interim, the lock froze. Both Cole's and my fingers went numb as we struggled in vain to unlock it. I briefly consider the possibility that we might die out here in the stairwell to Matt's basement apartment. Then Matt makes his grizzy-wrestling growl and bumps me out of the way, proceeding to unlock the door and practically break it down in his haste. We charge inside and can only stand there staring at each other, soaking wet and freezing.

I take charge for a few minutes, ordering Matt out of his wet clothes and into a shower. Cole, fortunately, comes to her senses and tells me that hot water after such severe cold would send his body into shock. Thankfully she is smarter than me. Matt strips down to his boxers and a wifebeater and Cole and I wrap him in blankets. Then we mutually decide our jeans are too soaked through to continue to wear, so we shed them and wrap blankets and comforters around our hips sarong-style. We all proceed to play a few wicked rounds of Smash, then Matt pops up and makes us spring rolls and chicken wings. The thing with Matt's kitchen is that the slightest rise in heat sets off his smoke alarm, so he had one of us wave a pillow at it while he opened the oven and fetched our food. Picture, if you will, two teenaged girls dressed in blankets, one (me) waving a pillow at a smoke alarm while the other (Cole) holds the blanket up around the other's hips, while a lumberjack in his underwear fetches snacks. Yeah, we laughed too.

Finally Cole is like, "I'm tired," and Matt graciously gives us the use of his bed. We fight him for a while on the subject, but halfheartedly, because neither of us were too keen on taking the couches. Our pants are still not dry, so Cole and I share a toothbrush (squick, but better than waking up having not brushed our teeth) and crawl into Matt's bed in our panties and shirts. (Just as a side-note, Cole's underwear were bright blue and had a dragonfly on them. They were adorable.) I'm fully prepared to listen to my iPod--I have trouble sleeping otherwise--but then Cole yammers something about Christian rock and I realize that I'll be in trouble if I attempt it.

I didn't sleep very well, partially because of being in an unfamiliar bed, partially because I didn't have my iPod to listen to, partially because the wind was howling outside the bedroom window like a monster scratching to get in. Cole is asleep in seconds; I fade in and out of consciousness all night. The first few times I wake up, it's because of the wind--once or twice after that, it's because Cole is attached to me like an octopus and sapping my body heat. At around 7:30 a.m., I woke to a sound that made me think that the roof was caving in. In actuality, it was the rhinocerous children of the people who live in the house above Matt's apartment, thundering up and down the hallway directly above the bedroom. I briefly contemplated finding a broom and slamming on the ceiling with a handle, screaming "Keep it down up there!" like a disgruntled old lady, then I decided against it and just went back to sleep. At 10:30, Cole and I wake up, and I go hunting for my pants. Unfortunately, I step right over them and wake Matt in the process of the search, only to discover that oh! Both Cole's and my jeans are in front of the door, wrapped in a heating pad so they will stay warm. Cole and I are charmed by this. We get up and play some more Smash; Matt makes a kick-ass breakfast for us. The masses cheer.

Around 12, Matt starts digging us out of the apartment. By like 3:00, we are free (through some very nifty physics maneuvers with a rug in order to get the SUV un-stuck). I get home, get a shower, get un-grunged, and then... I call Cole and ask what we're doing that night. Clearly I cannot get enough of these people.

So that was Monday's adventure. Life has seemed exceptionally boring since then. Probably because few things can measure up to Monday night. Bwahaha.

Icarus wishes mad adventures would happen every day.

Notes on a Movie

2007-02-15T20:11:00.000-08:00

Listening: Gravity - Vienna Teng

Hey, love
I am the constant satellite
Of your blazing sun
My love
I obey your law of gravity

This is the fate you've carved on me
Your law of gravity
This is the fate you've carved on me
On me.

This will be a short blog post (as they all seem to be, lately--my life has just become too full of stuff to do to spend much time detailing it) because my head is currently thrumming so full of adventure, excitement, blood and gore, dancing and war, love and vengeance and betrayal and magic and all such things, that dear God I cannot hold it all in. So, I am going to try to write some more of Usurper tonight before I reluctantly succumb to that stupid thing called sleep. Einstein was right. As much as I adore sleeping, it really is a huge bloody waste of time.

Tonight a rather unexpected change in plans. Jam, hyper and nonsensical (read "retarded"), post his 4:30 class today, stumbled around to the UC being all Jamtarded like he is. I was reading at the time, so aside from laughing at him occasionally I didn't register much. Until he started whining, "Aw, this is the last night that Notes on a Scandal is playing. I really wanted to see that!"

"Well," I said, "then go."

"But I can't find anyone to go with meeeee."

"I'll go." Duh. I haven't seen a movie in months and, um. Judy Dench. Notes on a Scandal looked awesome. I was totally up for it. So I called my mom and Jam and I made plans to go to the 6:45 showing of Notes. On the way there, two things happened that made me laugh. One was Jam stopping for a copy of the Muse and my announcing that I was (briefly) pictured in the issue. The chick next to us jumped in with, "Yeah, I knew I recognized you!" Haha, fame. Insofar and inasmuch as people know you from being featured as a retarded fetus-eater.

The other thing that made me laugh was going outside and being bombarded in the face by teensy stinging pellets of hail just as the two of us walked past a larger group of people. "Oh, God, my eyes!" I exclaimed in agony, dramatically clutching my face. The random people all started laughing at me. I was too busy being in pain to bother much because sweet Jesus that hail hurt. Damn winter. (I like winter as much as the next Marchioness, but even I have my limits.)

Anyhow we waited like a million years for my mom to pick us up, and then we got dropped off at the Mall, got the tickets, had some dinner, and flounced off (we flounce, Jam and I) to see Notes. Mother of God am I glad I took the time to see that. It was excellent. Judy Dench: amazing. Everyone raved about her. But honestly I thought Cate Blanchett deserved just as much praise, she was quite phenomenal. The whole thing was very twisty and distorted and fairy-tale-warped, in a way. Civilized but raw. I can't even describe it, just see it for yourselves.

Talk about creepy, though. I read the review in the Muse, but unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, for my viewing pleasure (or confusion)), the reviewer failed to mention the obsessive-blackmailing-stalker-lesbian aspect of the movie. So, in advance, this is my warning for you. This is a movie about an obsessive blackmailing stalker lesbian. Just so you know.

Speaking of fairy-tale-warped: I want to see Pan's Labyrinth so bad it hurts. Why? Um. A) Satyr. B) Labyrinth. C) AMAZING story. The plan is to go this weekend! My excitement cannot be contained by conventional means. I'm gonna be like vibrating at a super high frequency until then.

Oh man, I just finished the best book I've read since probably Darkfever or Neverwhere. Gen loaned it to me after I read the first chapter prior to the start of an English class and Jesus God I want the next one. It's called Poison Study and it is everything a good fantasy book should be. Gen suggested that we go to Chapters tomorrow morning, which I am totally down with, because I want the next installment. Desperately. Reading it, of course, makes my brain want to be all Holy crap holy crap Usurper dummy go write it right now. Which I should actually give in to because mrr, I'm really starting to miss my sarcastic, endearing main character and her entourage of amusing companions.

Okay, so I lied. This was not a short post. Whatever.

Icarus also has to remember to buy Divine By Mistake.

Thank Jeebus

2007-02-14T17:12:00.000-08:00

Listening: How To Be Dead - Snow Patrol

Please keep your hands down
And stop raising your voice
It's hardly what I'd be doing
If you gave me a choice
It's a simple suggestion
Can you give me some time
So just say yes or no
Why can't you shoulder the blame
'Cause both my shoulders are heavy
From the weight of us both
You're a big boy now
So let's not talk about growth
You've not heard a single word I have said
Oh my God.

Thank God.

After spazzing in the UC for over two hours, alternating between sleeping, drawing, blogging, and getting pissed off at Larry (who never farking goes away ever), I got a call from my sister to update me on the status of my dog.

It is good news.

Apparently, at the ripe ol' age of seven, my dog has wandered into "senior" age (which makes sense, I guess, since they're techincally "adults" after one year). According to the vet, reaching this stage (which I understood as kind of a doggy menopause) can cause a pooch's body chemistry to go wonky as hell. In the case of Gracie, it seems to be that her tummy is going all "Hi, I'm deciding not to work for a while. Hope that's cool with y'all." So, apparently this will work itself out in time, and we should be patient. In the meantime, the doc gave us some meds to put the pooch on to restore her appetite.

I love happy endings.

And now I finish what I started several hours ago. Grabbing the first book I laid eyes on when I came home, finding page 123, finding the fifth sentence, and copying out the three sentences following that.

Sadly, despite the short skirt that bared my pretty tanned legs to well above midthigh, a snug, bosom-enhancing top and high heels, compared to the rest of the women at Casa Blanc, I looked fifteen. I thought I'd turned my shoulder-length dark hair into something wild and sexy, but I obviously didn't know the meaning of those words. Nor did I understand a thing about the artful application of makeup.
"Stop fidgeting," Barrons said.

Oh-ho-ho! I will personally give a dollar to anyone who can guess this book. Snap.

Adieu!

Icarus is feeling back to her old self.

Tagalicious

2007-02-14T11:50:00.000-08:00

Listening: Are You Having a Good Time - Leroy Williams

Rollercoasters
Holy roller
I got shot down
In Southern California

T-minus 1.5 hours til my doggy's veterinary appointment. T-minus 2 hours 'til Psychology.

To distract myself I'm doing this thing Jam tagged me for. Well two things, techincally. But I'm doing one at a time, starting with the most recent. I don't think I know five people with blogs, so I'm copping out on tagging anyone else. For those just tuning in, what follows are supposed to be five things that you might not know about me.

Here goes.

1. I have very deep-rooted self-esteem issues. I'm not sure how unknown this one is to people. Fact is that I'm constantly getting put down by (skinny) people in my family who don't warrant mention right now, who keep telling me that a) I need to take more pride in myself b) I need to lose weight c) I need to fix my complexion d) I need to change my taste in clothes e) I need to [insert anything here] . If I didn't have friends (ones who, from time to time, do tell me that I'm perfect the way I am), I would probably be so far into a deep blue funk that I'd be in China right now.

2. I used to sleep-strip. True story! More than once, when I was a kid, I would wake up either completely naked, partially naked, or with retarded varieties of clothing on. Once I woke up in the basement wearing nothing but a hat. Another time I woke up wearing two pairs of pajamas and no underwear. Good times.

3. When I was seven, I was a superhero. Hell yes. I had the most kickass alter-ego any of you have ever and will ever see. Shapeshifting? Did I ever. Defy laws of physics and biology, let alone gravity? Every goddamn day. Oh the days of Julia Jaguar, I miss you. How you would read the paper and react with shock and horror at the news you found therein! How you would charge headfirst into battle with the notorious Captain Zoo! Sometimes I still wish you were around to turn into a grizzly and scare off all my problems. Or an ostrich. That one was cool.

4. More than anything else, I look forward to being a mother. This one also seems pretty obvious to me, but then I don't know how many of you know that. Yeah, I adore children. The very thought of having little ones of my own makes my body practically ooze joy. I already have names picked out (my future husband can pick middle names if he's that picky about it, but I call naming rights because I'm going to be giving birth to them); three girl and three boy names apiece. I would love to have dozens of children, but I'm pretty sure unless I marry a millionaire with a live-in nanny, that will change after I have one or two.

5. Sometimes I narrate my life in my head. I regarded the last words I had typed with an inward snort. No one narrated their own life. Except, apparently, for me. Haha. Gold. No, seriously, I sometimes compose lines of prose in my head, as though my life were a novel I was reading or something. I think I started doing it a couple of years after I started writing, but I can't pinpoint it exactly. Whatever. That's sometimes why you'll find me saying weird things. Then again, that's also pretty common.

The end! Five things you may or may not have known about Teh Julia. If you did know them, pretend you didn't so I don't have to disclose anymore. Sshhh.

As for the other tag (which I am also not going to recipro-tag), I am nowhere near a book right now. I'm in the UC at MUN, so this aspect will have to wait until later tonight when I get home. First book I grab. I promise.

Icarus still has a lot of time to kill.

I Never Have the Answers to the Important Questions

2007-02-13T14:05:00.000-08:00

Listening: Everglow - Mae

Here's a night, and it shines
And it calls us on and on
So be here by my side, and watch the stars;
They're ours.
Make a wish, or just take charge
The moment comes; get lost, and go far.

I think that we've got what it takes
To get this heart start beating again.
So take it all the way;
Whoa, whoa,
And our hearts are on The Everglow
So just let go,
And fall into it.

I live my life like that song from that musical. You know the one. Wicked, yeah. You know the words. Of course you do. "Nothing matters but knowing nothing matters; it's just life, so keep dancing through. Dancing through life, mindless and careless, make sure you're where less trouble is rife. Woes are fleeting, blows are glancing, when you're dancing through life". Now and again, though, something comes up that makes me remember that I'm not an emotionless robot that can laugh off anything that happens to me.

My puppy is sick. Anyone who has a pet which they are overly fond of will understand how stressed out I am about this. I've been watching for days as she's refused to eat (unless one of the family physically feeds her, by hand) and as she grows gradually more lethargic and mopey. It's gotten to the point where she won't even get up to see when someone comes to the door. All she does is lie on my bed and just... be.

She's going in to the vet tomorrow and I'm absolutely terrified. I know it's too soon to be getting ahead of myself, and I'm probably overreacting, but I'm paranoid that whatever is going on is really serious. I've been scouring articles on canine health lately, hunting down suggestions for her symptoms, and they all entail taking her to the vet immediately. My heart squeezes at the very thought of her having a terminal illness of some kind. I want her to be happy and bouncy and fluffy like she was only last week. I hate this. I hate having to wait til tomorrow to have her seen to. And I hate that I'm absolutely helpless in the meantime.

Mom has been speculating all week that maybe she ate some sort of woodchips or something that we (apparently) had kicking around the floor somewhere, and I hadn't given the idea much merit--my dog stopped eating strange things after she got stung in the mouth by a hornet she tried to swallow when she was a puppy--until tonight. Browsing through message boards, I stumbled across a post where a woman described a golden retriever with the exact symptoms that my mutt has. Apparently, the dog swallowed a rubber Kong toy. Whole.

I'm scared to death that something is very, very wrong with her, and that it will be too late to do anything for her when we bring her to the vet tomorrow night. Both my parents have expressed their concern that maybe something is seriously wrong with her, and their comments have done nothing to alleviate my concern. Obviously. All I can do until 6:00 tomorrow night is let her sleep, I suppose, and keep trying to feed her a little bit of food at a time. And wrestle with my ever-growing internal panic.

I'm too emotionally drained right now to give any further updates on the life of Julia. Y'all will have to wait until tomorrow or possibly Thursday, when I can ascertain whether or not my puppy is okay.

Icarus has no sassy comments today.

I Pwn Your Money

2007-02-04T11:46:00.000-08:00

Listening: Elephant - boa

Where are the wisemen?
Where have they all gone to?
Did they follow the spirit children
Down the road that only they know?
And you and I know that the answer lies
Somewhere deep in the City of Skies
We're gonna go there
We're gonna see the daylight
And I, gonna fly away now
And I, gonna see that the path runs high.

Isn't it touching the way the trees hold their leaves
Into the sky?
And when the breeze blows,
All you can see is the green and gold
You and I know that the city holds the street night lights
And we're gonna find it
We're gonna find the gold that illuminates our lives
And I, gonna go so far away
And I, gonna see the stars up high.

I get this sense of impending doom today. A lot of things hover perilously overhead--like that Psych exam this Wednesday, though seeing as I did the course in high school, it really shouldn't worry me--but it's not really school stuff that I'm concerned about. Rather, it's my health.

Last week, my sister got an INSANE cold (so insane that she holed herself up in the basement to heal and I didn't see her for three days), and right in the middle of it, my mom got holy God NORWALK VIRUS. Needless to say, my house was kind of a festering mass of plague and pestilence for a while there, but my sister has completely recovered since and my Mom is functioning again, so we assumed all is hunky dory. Danced around a maypole in celebration, all that jazz.

Today though, I feel bloody awful. I got a good amount of sleep, but still I woke up feeling like a silo fell on me in the night or something. And I cannot get rid of this bloody nausea in my stomach, either. These two things alone would not normally be cause for alarm, but I tried to put my boots on earlier and fell the hell over because I was so dizzy and crazy nauseous. I can't believe how dizzy I am. The thing that really bothers me is the fact that I can't seem to make my eyes focus properly right now. I tried to scribble a line or two of Tooth and Talon (a random short story) and I'll be goddamned if I could even focus on the lines. Just turning my head makes the whole world tilt dangerously on its axis. I don't believe this.

I can only pray that I don't end up insanely ill now. In the meantime, aside from being jumped by like, bird flu or Paraskevi-strain G.U.I.L.T., life is relatively normal. Wal-Mart manager from Hell, Tim, decided to devote all of yesterday to pissing me the hell off, and yes, me personally, but that's kind of to be expected because he is, well, the Wal-Mart manager from Hell. And he is a smart alec! I should have called him on his sarcasm and slapped it in his face like the bastard sea-pig he is. But I digress.

I went to Future Shop today to replace some random electronics, expecting to pay in excess of $20. What happened instead was I got everything I needed, and Future Shop paid me $11. I didn't really understand why, but there was no way I was complaining about it.

Friday night after work I went out to Benji's, had some Chinese food, and tried to get Colette in there. All but one of these succeeded. Then I had to work yesterday for nine hours, which sucked a bit, especially when you add Tim to the equation, but whatevs. After work I went out to Matt's, where he, Cole, and Kevin were battling for control of the multiverses in Smash Bros. We watched Akira after that. I had forgotten how utterly retarded that movie was. Good, but retarded. Geez.

Today was my little cousin Meaghan's seventh birthday, and I went to the family brunch because there was nothing else to do and my Aunt Sadie cooks like holy shit amazing. I spent most of the time wandering around feeling sick and just sitting down listening to the adults rant a lot about cars and talk about the sudden death of my great-Uncle Al, my grandmother's brother, who died of a heart attack over the weekend. (This is unnerving, because this makes the 3 dead siblings of the 5 there were originally having perished due to a heart attack. I'm really hoping it isn't a genetic thing, because I would like to keep my Grandma and my Aunt Judy around for a good few more years yet, thanks.) Now me and my dad are home chilling out, and I'm thinking I should go lie down for a while and see if I feel any better.

First, however, I offer you a little case-in-point story of why I need to get out of the retail business, and bloody fast.

Once upon a time, there was a Marchioness who went to a birthday party for her little cousin. While she was there, an uncle of hers (who also happened to be named Tim, and of no relation to her Manager from Hell, thank God) decided to engage her in the ongoing conversations with a little game.

Holding out his fist, he said, "I will give you what is in my hand if you can guess how much there is", which sparked a grumble from his wife about how the Marchioness was a grown woman and would have no interest in such games, but nonetheless peaking the interest of the slightly-under-the-weather Marchioness. She agreed to the challenge, because she had faced off against Snow Demons and Venetian noblemen of greater threat (but no greater bulk) than this uncle.

Her uncle opened his hand, just long enough to reveal that there was money there and give the Marchioness a glimpse of what was in there, before he closed it again. All that the Marchioness had seen was in the space of about 0.5 seconds. This, however, did not deter her. She sat back, thought for a moment, and then said, "$2.37".

Her uncle thought this guess was hilariously exact and began to laugh. All of them had a good laugh, except the Marchioness, who was just kind of waiting there. Finally, her uncle said, "She works in retail. Hm. Maybe I'd better actually count this." So he did. And a few moments later, he discovered that there was $2.36 in his hand. Which, in accordance to their agreement, he gave to the Marchioness. Then went off to tell how scary she was to anyone who would listen.

Holy shit I need to get out of the retail business, if I can count money in half a second to within a single penny. It weirded me out.

On that note, I am going upstairs to rest because I feel like I might fall out of my chair. Adieu.

Icarus kills bacteria with steam technology.

Blog-O-Rama Time

2007-02-02T04:28:00.000-08:00

Listening: Paris Train - Beth Orton

Now you're sittin' on a Paris train
Laughin' at your own jokes again
Sun splits the trees
Into beautiful broken light.

Now I'm sitting on a Paris train
Mountain ash falls like rain
Fire burns the trees
It's a beautiful fatality.

Holy shit it has been a while. Seriously, it has crossed my mind at some point in the past week, "Shit, I should update my blog", but oi, a week is pretty bad for me, considering there are some days where I post twice in a row.

In other news, life has been going about as well as planned. I got assailed by a Linguistics midterm on Monday, and then a random Roman Civ quiz on Wednesday, and now I have to study for a Psych midterm next Wednesday and a Mythology test on Monday. On the bright side of things, everything seems to be going well in that department. I got on A on an English paper I wrote. I now do a dance.

Gen brought me pie in English class yesterday, and I'LL BE DAMNED IF IT WASN'T THE BEST PIE I HAVE EVER EATEN.

Bah. I usually ascertain whether I'm going to have a good or bad day about ten minutes after I get up in the mornings (like yesterday, when I got up and said "I'LL BE GODDAMNED IF TODAY ISN'T GOING TO BE A WONDERFUL DAY" and scared my dog), but I'm not sure how to feel about today. Yes I am going to Chapters to (finally) blow my $50 gift certificate on insane-o fantasy and trashy romance novels (it's a vice), but I have work at 5:30, which means missing at least the majority of Benji's awesome bash tonight, which makes me sadder than you can imagine. However, spooky ethereal voices (e.g. the weatherman) tell me we might be expecting snow tonight, so... I kind of hope that any weather we get deters would-be Wal-Mart goers.

Goddammit last Friday night at Wal-Mart was so boring I thought my brain was going to explode. We had a crazy-ass snowstorm, so while Jam was getting his hate on with that stupid bitch from down the street, I was running around Ghost-Mart freaking out about how not-busy it was and how some people still insisted on braving the peril of the barely-visible streets to come shopping for useless things. Also the power went out at one point, so I was running around then and being a snow zombie.

Random Employee: A what?
The Marchioness: A snow zombie. I come out when the weather is less than savory, and feast on the stupidity of the living who are dumb enough to come out shopping for retarded things when the streets threaten icy death. *begins doing a zombie walk towards some random customers* They will be my first victiiiiimth.
Random Employee: There is something seriously fucking wrong with you.

Also I was learning from another employee that apparently it is possible to be in labour for a week and not know it. True story!

Very few things are quite as satisfying as spending in excess of $300 on various commodities which may or may not be necessary and then finding out that you have money in the bank that you didn't even know was there. My brain is frolicking a little bit right now, I am considering going back and hugging the bank machine.

Those quasi-necessary items include MUN textbooks (very necessary) which I bought several weeks ago, and a haircut (not very necessary, but very worth it) that I got yesterday. My hair is short and dark and coppery-orange in places! I feel like my head will go on to Broadway and leave the rest of me behind or something.

Also, I actually finished a story recently. It's not long, six chapters and an epilogue, about 464 handwritten pages. (My handwriting isn't that big, though.) Words cannot express how accomplished I feel right now. This little piece of work won't be going anywhere or doing anything spectacular, but it's a story that I've had in my head for about two years and I am ecstatic that my muse took the initiative to come out of left goddamn field, smack me in the head with a frying pan, and coldly demand, "I want my happy ending, goddammit". And his happy ending he got, as it would have been unjust to give a story about Romanian orphans an unhappy ending.

My God I have the insanest urge to go traveling right now. Ever get that crazy feeling in your bones, where you're just like "Forget this place!" and want to pack up and trek off for grand adventures? I get that mood a lot, usually brought on by music or movies or drawings and stuff. Stupid Beth Orton makes me want to go to Paris now or something. Gah. The problem is, if I ever did decide to just pack up and get the fuck out of Dodge one day, it would be cool because my crazy uncle has properties all over Europe and the U.S. and has offered me a loan of said properties more than once. So picture, if you will. A very confused, very lost Canadian Marchioness winds up in England, with no idea where to go. No problem! Ring up her uncle and get a loan of his three-acre manor in Oxford. She winds up in France four days later, just as confused and now with a parasol or a small piano. Don't worry! Ring up her uncle and get a loan of his Parisian flat. No extra fee!

Goddammit if I'm not going to go to Europe sometime in my life and take advantage of all those offers and more.

Jam has been whimpering about our English class lately, not because he hates the prof, because she's wicked, but because he dislikes the material. This makes my brain cry a little bit, because I am absolutely in love with this course. I just love what material we're covering, like Beowulf and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and The Faerie Queen and such. Also, Prof Vecchi is goddamn hilarious. How many profs will dictate what they're writing on a blackboard like it's a war cry ("Cam-e-loooooooooot!") (insert "For the glory of" here) and then lecture one of the characters of the epic you're reading for being both a gentleman and a weenie? ("Aww, he's so naive, it's adorable! He's cute, really. Stunned and all, but--SHE'S GORGEOUS! She is an absolute knockout! And Sir Gawain is just lyin' there all "I don't wanna". Cute. Courteous. Dumb, really. But cute.") So I am making mental notes to myself, since I'm going to be an English major and kicking around this place for quite a while. Linda Vecchi: Happiness and funtimes. Mary Dalton: death on wheels, only without wheels and with a scary batcave filled with bats.

Oh man someone I know just turned up! I have been sitting here for like an hour going "wtf where are all these people I'm supposed to know" and finally one turns up. Yay for Lisa.

I met a dashing young man two days ago, but that will have to wait for a later date.

Icarus is getting called 'Kitten' by more than one person now. Holy crap!

One Of Those Days

2007-01-26T04:56:00.000-08:00

Listening: Within A Room Somewhere - Sixpence None the Richer

I breathe the mist
Floating about the stars
I can caress with velvet hands
I breathe the mist
Floating within without
This pen, this pen between my fingers.

Escape the pain
Within a room somewhere
Escape the pain
So deep inside the soul
I have no key,
No map to find.

Ever get one of those times when you have so many reasons to be happy and so many reasons to be sad that you can't decide which of the two you are, and eventually you settle into a kind of in-between state in which you function, alternating between both emotions but not really settling into either one, and only ending up feeling dissatisfied with everything in general?

This is one of those days for me.

On the one hand, I have exceptional friends. Exceptional friends with whom I would love to spend every moment of my time if it were conceivably possible. I have friends whom I have had for years, and many of whom I have only met in the last few months, who mean just as much to me. I have the prospect of spending quality time with these friends this weekend, playing WarioWare and screaming at each other and stuff. In the academic perspective, I am on top of all my school work this semester and eagerly anticipating getting the drop on my GPA. In the context of work, I have freed up my Sundays for work or relaxation, whatever comes first, which is a major advantage in regards to my psyche. I am coming up with more ideas every day for my novel, I am perilously close to finishing a short story I have been working on for nearly two years, and I am getting my hair cut next Thursday. Life is good for me right now.

And still I cannot shake the feeling that something terrible is about to happen.

Something tells me this is GLP--Good Life Paranoia--the same kind of ridiculous panicking that comes with having a happy relationship or something and then fucking it up by worrying that you're going to fuck it up. But at the same time, this niggling little doubt in the back of my head is worming its way into my psyche, and I'll be damned if it's not setting down roots and making itself quite comfortable, thank you very much.

Wednesday was the first Snow Day of the season. MUN closed all day until 5 o'clock, which meant I still had to go in at 7 for my Psychology class, but by that time I didn't really care. I caught up on sleep and loafing and it generally felt wonderful to have a day off. Also, a midterm and a quiz got bumped to next week, so I don't have to worry about studying too hard until the weekend.

So for all that life is going great right about now, I still feel kind of... bad.

On that note, I have a Classics class in ten minutes which I really should be getting to. Adios, muchachos. Make the most of your day.

Icarus really wants to go learn about Theseus, for some reason.

Surrealistic

2007-01-23T07:05:00.000-08:00

Listening: Concrete Sky - Beth Orton

You know you could save me
Save your soul, I'll save some of you
Save my soul, feel like I'm falling
Feel like I'm falling

And there's a concrete sky
Falling from the trees again
And you know now why it's not comin' round too soon
It's harder than a heartbreak too
It's tough enough what love will do.

Aside from what turned out to be a complete blast on Friday night, my weekend has been pretty cut-and-dry. Work and MUN stuff and hanging out with friends. I seem to thrive on this lifestyle! Then again, so does anyone else in MUN who has a job right now. Mlah.

Saturday and Sunday nights I ended up at Colette's house with Matt (and Kevin, on Saturday, for a time). We played WarioWare again, of course, and it was wicked. My group is ridiculous fun to hang out with and play games like this because they get so retardedly animated. (The same can be said of playing WarioWare on Friday night. My God. I still laugh when I remember it.)

Picture, if you will, five people sitting in a living room (me, Cole, Ben, Jam, and Melissa (Melissa is a new addition)), playing the angel group-game on WarioWare, screaming wildly at each other and yanking the Wiimote out of each others hands. (Yes Jam I am talking to you.) Also, Melissa's character's name was Titz, so you can imagine the hilarity that ensued.

Crazy weather hit us on Sunday and still people went to Wal-Mart. With babies! wtf, people. Seriously. It was like -30 and the winds were like 60 and it was a snowstorm. Kids deserve better than that.

My MUN lineup for the week involves a Linguistics test on Friday, as well as a Roman Civ test the same day, and a response paper on Beowulf for Thursday. Bah. At least it wasn't today, like I thought it was. Still, that means I'll have to write it tonight and tomorrow, and tonight my mouth will be all MLAH MLAH because I apparently have a dentist's appointment. Delight. However, I also have a hair appointment for the first. of February. Hurray for finally not having my head be ugleh anymore! Colours will be making their way to my head and my mom is all, "Mlah try a new colour other than red" and I'm like, "Why mess with what works?" but all the same, I leave it open to suggestions. Suggestions!

I am currently testing my uncle's taste in music by sorting through his iTunes and transfering music onto my iPod. I judge his taste sound. David Bowie, the Flaming Lips, Sigur Ros? What is there to complain about?

Icarus will catch you on the flip side.

Purring Pocket Music-Boxes

2007-01-19T04:51:00.000-08:00

Listening: So She Dances - Josh Groban

A waltz when she walks in the room
She pulls back the hair from her face
She turns to the window
To sway in the moonlight
Even her shadow has grace.

Wow, been a while. And this one won't be terribly long, as it's 9:20 a.m. and I have a Classics Mythology class to get to in about forty minutes. But I figured I ought to put something up here, just for the sake of doing so.

So, the first two weeks of MUN have gone pretty well so far. With the exception of my getting into the wrong Linguistics class and having to transfer into a different one, and then finding out that this other course has its first exam a week from today. Hurrah. Whatever, it's Phonetics and Phonology, and as long as you know where the tongue goes you're pretty much fine.

Please ignore how suggestive that sounded.

This will be my last week of retard-o Wal-Mart scheduling! I finally got around to having it changed, so now I have Sundays off to do whatever. (Mostly MUN stuff, but also sleeping. Sleeping on Sundays is nice!) My Fridays and Saturdays are still open to booking, but in all honesty, I don't care, because I have just as much fun going out after work. Also, I've had like three Fridays off in a row as of tonight, so I can't really complain.

On the note of tonight, shenanigans are in the works. I am wildly excited, because there is a mad bash planned for Benji's house tonight, and it's going to involve all the group + random MUN people + WarioWare Smooth Moves + Mariokart = squee excited! This will be like the first time that Jamalam will be hanging out with us and I frolic in delight at the prospect of what is to come. I also imagine there will be some molestation of Sake by Colette. And also some other molestation by other parties if we are all lucky enough.

I am squealing with joy right now because I am in the UC by the windows, drinking hot chocolate and watching the snow. It's not retarded snow like we've been having lately, it's pretty snow, the kind people put on postcards and stuff. Romantic snow. Which reminds me: I had a dream the other night. In it, I met this really adorable guy who I was desperately in love with but didn't seem to know I was alive. What seemed like a year later he wandered up and told me that he loved me desperately back, and then a sniper shot him in the temple.

I think it means I'm doomed to spinsterhood.

But, you know. I have the world's best people as friends, so I don't really care.

Icarus is starting to wonder about these dreams.

Clarification

2007-01-08T17:52:00.000-08:00

Listening: Sell All My Things - Rosie Thomas

In a little while I'll feel better
Gonna travel 'round the world, gonna see it all
Gonna go to Paris, maybe Rome
But I'll feel better miles away from home
Gotta figure some things out.

So sell all my things, I'm not coming home
There's nothing there to keep me there
Just heartache and panic and worries and things that'll bring me down
My head feels much clearer here...

Marchioness
Firestarter
Storm-Catcher
Proprieter of Galaxies
Startographer
Adventurer
Mercenary
Assassin
Necromancress
Thief
Greek Goddess
Empress
Abysson
Dungeon Mistress
Ultimate Investigator
Dervish
Myth Hunter
Chronicler
Technician
Analyst
Scientist
Lullaby Collecter
Music-box Manufacturer
Masquerader
Illusionist
Trickster
Rascal
Gentlewoman Death
Derangel
Dreamhoarder
Mistress of the Infernal Parade
Bluelight Guardian
Conductor of the Firefly Orchestra

*

First day of classes went quite deliciously! Waiting around for classes to start at ten was nothing short of horrendous, until Jimmy and Matty P and Benji turned up and my heart went "Yay!". The boys helped me find my way to the Education building without getting hopelessly lost in the MUNnels. How does one get lost in the MUNnels, you ask? She has to be a Marchioness, and she has to be like "OOOH STAIRS" every time she sees a staircase. Hmmm yes I do that sometimes.

So my Greek and Roman Mythology class was filled with a million billion people, some of which I recognized but didn't know well enough to just go hang out with. That or all the chairs were taken. Seating was pretty sparse. I was sitting there with my arms folded in the almost-back of the class, humming to myself about how boring it was going to be--when suddenly one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen walked into class a bit late, strolled up beside me, and sat in the available seat to my immediate left. I had six small heart attacks just from him sitting there, then two more when I passed a handout to him, and then like nine when he passed another handout to me. I said only two words to him the entire period, and they were "Thank you". Except you need to realize just what that comparison is in my mind.

Julia's Mouth: Thank you.
Julia's Brain: I want to drag you into a dark stairwell and violently rape you.

So Mythology will be a fun course. As I was leaving, I found Stefan, whom I'd somehow overlooked. Don't know how, but whatever--I now have someone I can talk to during boring periods. When I'm not plotting ways to make Gorgeous Mythology Man my own.

Stefan and I met up with Jimmy and wandered off to the UC. Over the course of the next several hours, our crowd ebbed and flowed to include (not all at the same time) myself, Jimmy, Stefan, Benji, Kelilah, Danielle, Cole, Cory, and a new chick named Ellie who is like raw happiness injected intravenously. At the very end of my excruciatingly long break (but made fun by the presence of my friends), we also met up with Jam (Jamalam! <3) and his friend Athena, who I look forward to screaming about birds with and talking to/getting to know (respectively) in English class tomorrow.

So Benji went off to find his girl, Jam and Athena went to brave the Bookstore, and Cory and I scarpered off to find our Roman Civ classroom. We went in lots of circles in the atrium but we eventually found it, and when we opened the door, I was punched in the face by happy. Not only was Cole there, but so was Rae! Turns out I am dumb and she was not in my Mythology class after all, but Roman Civ. Glee! We were a big line of loud happy, me and Rae and Cole and Cory! Also, the guy next to me introduced himself as Matthew. But apparently I get to call him Peach. Which bodes well for me not getting confused, what with the million billion frillion Matthews I know already. Our Roman Civ teacher makes me laugh a lot so things look good in that sector.

I didn't have another class following that, so I resumed last term's tradition--I followed Cole to Biology. Rae came with us and we got to listen to Sally, who has the world's most soothing voice (complete with British accent!). I was kind of drawing pictures for Cole and reading the AU CSI smut Rae was writing gleefully beside me, but it was interesting nonetheless. I believe I will make it a habit to go to that class and keep Cole company and draw and maybe nap sometimes (read "a lot"). Sally makes it impossible not to nap in that class. She is so soothing!

When Cole went home at the end of class, Rae and I hung out in the UC until I had to go home. We spent most of our time throwing around my scarfadillo and screaming about deep sea fangly fish because both of us hate the ocean thanks. Whatever, I now have a date to see Rae first thing in the morning tomorrow for hot chocolate and goodtimes! As we have mutually agreed that we are both addicted to the other, this seems most agreeable.

And sweet God I finally have new boots. Delight of the century! (If you have seen what remains of my shoes, you will understand why.)

Tomorrow is another day of fun and adventures! I am much excited. Funny how the reason I'm so addicted to MUN is not the lifestyle, but rather the friends I meet. I believe Jam said it best when he called his friends "the world's best people. My people."

Quote of the Day

Rae: Weird this much. *holds out hands to express hugeness* But I loves it. I loves it like a shrub.

Icarus feels she should warn you that there will probably be more Quotes of the Day in the coming posts.

Return to the Underground

2007-01-07T18:17:00.000-08:00

Listening: My Invitation - Sarah Slean

Damn the angry voice that keeps us quiet
The editor whose work is never done
Keeping pretty words between my teeth
And sweet confessions underneath my tongue.

She has such an awful lot of soldiers
Quite a lovely army, all her own
Night and day they stand before the fortress
Very safe, but very all alone...

The Marchioness has been indisposed as of late. The stress of MUN from the mid-September to mid-December period has degenerated into my being a purely social animal capable of functioning only in the presence of others. As such, I have spent the last month or so just staying out all hours with my wonderful partners-in-crime. Things have been pretty hectic in the interim, and I'm pretty exhausted. Dare I say that I'm actually looking forward to getting back to MUN? It gives my life a somewhat pressing sense of urgency, which it has been lacking as of late. Going back to MUN will actually force me to say, "Oh, maybe I should lie down and get some sleep, rather than staying up until 7 in the morning just for kicks".

I'm retarded. But moving on.

Not much has happened, aside from the usual shenanigans, and an amazing improv comedy show by Colin Mochrie and Brad Sherwood. I would love to go back, once more, just to experience that side-splitting hilarity consisting of The Mousetrap Game and Grand Theft Rhinocerous.

Matt is planning a ski trip for winter break! Kathleen, Cole, and I all want to go super bad and as I type this I am begging Benji to do the same. Matt's dad apparently offered him the use of a cabin up in Marble Mountain somewhere. Cole's mom didn't scream an outright "No" and my mom is cool with it as long as the weather cooperates, but things won't be solidified until later in the semester. Can't hurt to be a bit excited already, though! ...Can it?

My courses begin at 10 tomorrow morning! *minor panic* No wait. Tomorrow is looking like a wonderful first day to have, for several reasons: one, because I only have two classes with an enormous gap between them for fun and games; two, because they are both my Classics courses; and three, because they are both with people I adore. The first will be Greek and Roman Mythology at 10, and this class will be partaken of with Rae. Then I have an enormous gap in between, followed by Roman Civilization at 2 with none other than Cole.

Yes, Cole. I know you are all horrendously jealous right now, but... y'know. I can't help but feel sorry for you.

In an uncharacteristically short post, I will have to bid my lovelies goodnight. I didn't sleep as well as I hoped last night (going to bed at 7 a.m., me?) so now I'm all "Hm, sleep might be good, yes indeed". So of course the instant I go upstairs I'm gonna be all "Hm, maybe I will write a bit, yes indeed" because I do that. Adieu, my loves.

Icarus would like to be loved for stupid reasons.

Listener, Seeker, Lionheart, Passionate Philosopher

2006-12-26T22:35:00.000-08:00

Listening: Somebody's Arms - Sarah Slean

Old record playing on my own radio
And I know it's time to go
Get up and out of this black hole
Gotta get it right
Gotta quit these drugs
Gotta get inside somebody's arms tonight, tonight
Can't remember who I was before tonight, tonight
Oh, my heart is halfway out the door tonight.

Sweet city come on give me a handful of stars
I'm ready for the midnight show
Gonna light a fire on the street I love
Gonna get inside somebody's arms tonight, tonight
Can't remember who I was before tonight, tonight
Oh, my heart is halfway out the door tonight.

I know I told Benji I was going to bed (it is 3 AM, and I am truly exhausted) but some little part of me was niggling. Perhaps this is the same little part of me that, when it hears certain things, begins to quiver a bit. Specifically, when it hears music.

I know I've probably established by now that I'm something of a music fanatic, but I just feel the desire to point out a little more emphatically just what a deep niche music has carved in my life. I cannot go a single day without listening to at least some music. Sometimes I don't care what I hear, so long as it's music, but there are days when I need the cadence of instrumental pieces or the melody of purring vocals. There are days when I need to hear Imogen Heap over Tori Amos, or Sarah Slean over Vienna Teng, or Mogwai over God is an Astronaut. There are days when certain albums or certain songs will mean more to me than they have before.

My grandfather's favorite question is how much music my iPod can hold. When I give him the answer (30G) and report that I currently have over 2000 songs on it, he gets this rather irritated look on his face and asks, "Who on earth needs that much music?"

The answer is me. No matter how much music I have on my iPod, the fact is that that number will continue to grow. Music is something that fascinates me in a way that I can't express with words. Often, when I set my iPod to shuffle and let it scout through my library, I'm surprised to find a song I haven't heard in months, or a song that I've never paid much attention to. Faint subtleties in music make it all the more fascinating. An artist myself, I am dazzled by the way the beauty that musicians can weave with their medium (sound) is comparable to the beauty artists weave using theirs (sight). Take, for example, Not the Red Baron by Tori Amos. While I acknowledged that I liked it, I never really paid serious attention to the song until one night when it just hit me how beautiful it was. It now ranks among my top favorite songs.

Some songs just strike a chord in you. I opened four of my Christmas presents tonight, all CDs, which is what prompted me to write this post. The first was Sarah Slean's latest album, Orphan Music. Hearing the live tracks is like being back in that crowded, dimly-lit theatre, watching the petite slip of a woman in a red dress draw the audience to an awed hush with merely a grand piano and her own brand of art. The second track, Somebody's Arms, struck me as familiar, and I realized that she'd played it at her concert, and I'd forgotten it in the excitement. Hearing it again makes my heart pound, no matter how often I listen to it.

Mogwai's Mr. Beast had much the same effect. By the end of Auto Rock, I just felt like curling up into a little ball of contentment and purring. The third album was Awake by Josh Groban. I developed a sort of unhealthy lust for him after my mother bought his first album back when I was in junior high, though I'd fallen a bit on the wayside in the interim between his last album, Oceano. Awake quickly mended the gap with its first song, Mai. I've never heard a voice quite like this man's, and I doubt I ever will. By the time the second track, You Are Loved (Don't Give Up), finished playing, I was in my happy place.

It was around this time that I realized that a song I'd been looking for for months had finally finished downloading from its queue on Soulseek--Please Wake Up, as sung by Michael Crawford. It may be from a kid's movie, Once Upon A Forest (which, yes, I did watch as a child) but it remains one of the only songs in existence that can give me goosebumps every time I hear it.

I realized tonight that while I am primarily drawn to contemporary instrumentalists and female singer/pianists, I'm also drawn to people who seem to be only half in this world. I know immediately when they are, usually just from hearing their music or hearing them talk, mainly because I'm usually half in my own world myself. The instant Sarah Slean came onstage, I knew I was going to like her. She, like many other people I'm a fan of, has this air about her that is so obvious that you wouldn't be surprised to hear that she'd just stalked out from the other side of the Fey or something. Tori Amos' lyrics suggest the same of her, not to mention her album art (as well as a thoroughly fascinating and befuddling map from her album From the Choirgirl Hotel. It doesn't just happen with musicians--I'm the same way with writers, like the fabulous Neil Gaiman and Charles de Lint.

I always wish I knew these half-in-half-out people personally, just because I know that if I could call them one night from a dark subway station in a city I didn't know, and they wouldn't hang up on me, I know the conversations we would have would be something to remember.

Icarus really needs to stop posting when she's not really herself.

Let Your Heart Be Light

2006-12-25T18:25:00.000-08:00

Listening: My father singing the only lyrics to "Good Christian Men Rejoice" that he knows--the title.

Seriously I am sick of hearing that song today. No, I'm sorry, that fraction of a song.

Ignoring that though, this has proven to be a wonderful wonderful Christmas! I got through my shifts at Wal-Mart with little to no bloodshed, and then last night my house was assaulted by the twenty-odd relatives who usually assault houses this time of year. I thought I would escape to make a post, but my geeky cousins wanted to use the computer for something or other, so I basically spent the evening serving hors d'oeuvres and showing my artistically-inclined little cousin my tablet. Then my dad gave me a rum and eggnog and I sort of fell asleep on the couch for a while.

At twelvish I got super awesome Christmas pajamas, which I wore to bed last night. I normally have no trouble sleeping on Christmas Eve, but my dog, dressed in a festive doggie sweater, decided to shack up with me last night. This was bad because she sleeps so incredibly lightly that the smallest sound wakes her up, and then she howls like the very devil. She woke me up at 3:00, then 4, then 6:30, and I woke up on my own at 9:15 and just called it quits, so I took her downstairs and dropped her on my sister's head screaming, "MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

My grandparents and my Uncle Darren turned up at like 10:00, so my sister and I sat down and opened our stockings in the family room under the scrutiny of various eyes, followed by the opening of further gifts in the living room under various eyes. We hung around our house tooling with our loot 'til about 3, whereupon we left to go to my grandmother's house for an hour, followed by attending my other grandmother's traditional Christmas function. It was scary how retarded the second one was, because the first one consisted only of me, my sister, my parents, and my grandma, so things were quiet and relatively tame.

My other grandmother's house was like six hurricanes and four tornadoes and maybe a typhoon or two blew through all at the same time. My five little cousins, ranging from ages five to eleven, were psyched as hell and impatient from the wait. The shower of gift-opening that followed would have frightened a lesser marchioness. Everyone got some pretty impressive loot and life was wicked.

Dinner rolled around, and I made the mistake of drinking a glass of red wine before the appetizer was over. This was a mistake because it was about 7 PM, and the only thing I'd had so far today was a cinnamon bun and a cup of hot chocolate at about 9:30 AM. When I made the mistake of standing, I was briefly staggered by a wave of instant vertigo and nausea. I made my way down to the living room couch and collapsed on it, where I passed out and slept for about half an hour while the entire Miami Dolphins football team danced on my stomach and forehead. I woke up shaking like a leaf, so I dragged myself upstairs and forced down a plate of food. Almost immediately I felt better. The dessert my aunt made, some custard/croissant/chocolate souffle concoction, went a long way towards restoring my spirits.

We only dragged ourselves home at about 11, whereupon I watched my parents open their gifts to each other, which is the cutest Christmas tradition ever. Now I'm here, listening to my sister babble on about her new phone (a RAZR) and preparing to type up the list. Here goes:

What I Got For Christmas

- a video camcorder
- an iBlast
- The Sims 2: Pets expansion pack (shut up, I love this game)
- CSI Season 6 (or rather an IOU, as it only comes out tomorrow)
- Pirates of the Caribbean 2 DVD
- Anchorman DVD
- Beerfest DVD
- Sarah Slean's Orphan Music
- Mogwai's Mr. Beast
- fifty-year-old jewellry that my grandmother dug out of her closet (it's amazing, I promise)
- a mug from Wicked: The Musical
- various Christmas ornaments
- a fondue pot, identical to Kelilah's
- numerous trashy, Highlander-related romance novels, compliments of my mother
- really freaking comfy socks
- a new scarf
- a new cell phone (not as flashy as the RAZR, but still good)
- various new earrings and necklaces (plus a pair of earrings and a bracelet from Spain)
- fleece sheets for my bed omgroflmao
- a "spirit whistle" necklace
- too much other stuff to mention

I can't keep going on. All I can do is toddle off to hoard my various new acquisitions, and wish you all a safe and merry Christmas and happy holidays from the Marchioness.

Icarus is getting sick of hearing her sister singing "Banana Pancakes"

Baby, It's Cold Outside

2006-12-22T08:17:00.000-08:00

Listening: Scarlet Ribbons - Michael Crawford (Christmas Album)

I don't really see there being another update 'til maybe Christmas Eve sometime, so I might as well fill the gap. Christmas weekend is officially here, bringing with it all the joy, pressure, and unbridled avarice that this time of year is so well known for. I woke up at 9:30 this morning to the sound of my sister invading the house with a bunch of friends of hers, and was in the den when my parents came home at 10 in a spitting fury because they'd taken the day off to wrap Christmas gifts and my sister and said friends were not supposed to be here. My mom had a minor spaz-attack and stormed out to run some errands that didn't involve being home, leaving my dad to usher the ditzy teens out of the house. I was essentially forgotten in the carnage, which suited me just fine.

Last night I was kidnapped. I mean that quite literally. And this time, ninjas weren't responsible. Cole and Matty P turned up on my doorstep and informed me that I had five minutes to get ready and come with them, or they would be removing me bodily from the house. When I decided to test that declaration by using the last of my five minutes to devour my salad, Matty P shoved me out through my front door, in my socks and t-shirt, without shoes or a jacket. I was flipping out from the cold and wetness of everything, and he informed me, very coolly, that if I would just get into the car things would be warmer and dryer, so I made a break for it, and we all piled in and drove off. Only when my whining reached an unbearable pitch did Matty P turn around and go back to my house long enough to let me get a coat and shoes.

Two hours later, Matty P had a flat tire and had to change it in the cold, wet, blustering snow. Karma.

It's been snowing on and off for a few days now, which is lifting my hopes for a white Christmas. Just typing it is probably a jinx, but we haven't had a white Christmas for nearly three years now, and I just want there to be some snow on the ground come Monday. Not like last year, squick, when it rained all Christmas day.

I got dropped off at my grandparents' last night to accompany them to the airport. The reason for this was the arrival of one of my two favorite uncles, Darren, who's been living up in Fort McMurray for the past three years or so. He despises the place, but he's still under contract for another year, so he can't move back home just yet. Nobody who moves up to Fort Mac likes it, my Uncle Darren least of all. Last year he couldn't even get the time off to come home for Christmas, so that makes this year uber special.

Saturday night, another beloved family member gets in for Christmas--my uncle's boyfriend, Mark. (Yes, I know we're not actually related to him, but Mark is part of the family and if you disagree you are wrong.) The last time I saw either of them was on summer vacation two years ago, so my excitement is palpable in the air. Mark has the same cheery, addictive personality as Jam, which is probably why I felt so familiar with him when I first met him. Seeing one of either my uncle or Mark home for Christmas is rare, but both of them at the same time is on par with a Bigfoot sighting. The reason for my excitement should be obvious by now.

I have to get through three solid days of Wal-Mart before I can hit the jackpot of Christmas Day, so I'm praying that things won't be quite as retarded as I get this horrible feeling they will be. I'm working tonight from 6-11, which is never a bad shift, and I have no idea about tomorrow, but I'm working Christmas Eve from 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.. Every time I tell people I'm working Christmas Eve and then what time, they say, "Oh, that's not so bad." This is incorrect. Admittedly, it could be worse and I could be working until 12 at night or something, but the fact of the matter is that I will be at Wal-Mart for 8.5 hours on Christmas goddamn Eve, and I will miss various family traditions during that time. Also, I don't get paid extra on Christmas Eve, which just adds insult to injury. There's no real point in whining about it though, so after this paragraph, I will say no more about it.

On a lighter note, I wish to share a tiny victory with you. Back in late September sometime, I lost about thirty pages of my novel-in-progress, Usurper. I had a minor skitz, but the fact is that Usurper is my baby, and as lazy as I am, I'm not lazy enough to let it die from the loss of thirty pages or so. I've been tapping away at it in an effort to regain my lost ground ever since September, but MUN and work interfered greatly. However, Christmas break has proven extremely condusive to the creative process. As of 4:30 this morning (yes, I was up all night writing it, hush) I have officially caught up to where I left off, and (I feel) improved on the pages that I was forced to rewrite. I have since surpassed said point and progressed to the end of the chapter I was working on, effectively bringing Usurper up to more than 200 pages and nearly 150,000 words.

Now watch me do my victory dance. *shimmies*

I must be off to continue my writing streak, but I hope that all you cats have a good Christmas weekend and don't get stampeded by crazy shoppers or reindeer or turkeys or whatev'. I believe I'll be getting kidnapped from work at 11, and Saturday will probably drain me of any and all will to live, so the next time I will probably be posting will be Christmas Eve, when my house gets invaded by crazy relatives and I have to make an escape. In the interim, don't get buried by snow and for the love of God remember to finish your Christmas shopping, seriously.

Icarus wants to thank Benji for his invaluable insight and for reminding her of the golden rule: "Julia, crazy people don't wonder if they're crazy".

My Evenings Are More Hardcore Than Your Evenings

2006-12-19T08:32:00.000-08:00

Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
hola sombrero. como estas usted?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
lol
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
I am a hat
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
i actually said "hi hat. how are you(formal)?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Exactly, I'm a hat.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
yeah, i guess :P
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
whats new and exciting?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
I *have* a hat. It kicks your ass.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
lol
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
aside from "having" a hat, whats new and exciting?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Not much
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
that was elaborate...
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Okay Ben, you want the full story of what's happened to me in the last eleven hours or so? FINE. YOU'RE GOING TO GET IT.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
sure :)
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
After I finished talking to all you pandas, I went upstairs to bed. I was almost asleep, when suddenly, my window shattered!
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
*gasp!* *shocked and afraid*
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Before I could decide whether to fight bare-handed or with my nunchaku, I had a black bag shoved over my head and a whole bunch of people picked me up!
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
oh no! *cries a little, pees a little*
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
*inches away*
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
lmao
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Don't cry for me, Benjantina
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
I have more story to tell
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
lol
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
go on, and dont call me Benjantina
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Through the confines of the bag, Benjantina, I could hear angry voices speaking in a telltale familiar dialect. "Oh shit! Ninjish!" I thought, and then I tried to fight them off only one of them hit me on the back of the head with what felt suspiciously like a horse mackerel. I remember one of them making a duck sound before I passed out.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
that happened to me once, except it was a sturgeon instead of a horse mackerel
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Sturgeons hurt a lot. Anyhow
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
I woke up like five or six times but someone was always there to knock me out again. But I could hear this mechanical chopping, and I realized that I was in a helicoptor. It was pretty intense. Then when I was knocked out again I kept dreaming of butterflies and cotton candy.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
sounds like they drugged you, along with knocking you out again and again
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
That's what I figure!
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
So by the time I woke up again, I could hear some man playing the accordian and singing in French. It was godawful, so I started screaming for him to shut up. Then someone slipped the bag partway off my head and shoved a baguette in my mouth. But it was stale, so I started screaming at them to find me an eclaire, and then they drugged me again.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
...they brought you to france in a helicoptor?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
I know, right? Maybe there was a plane in there somewhere? Or maybe it had to do with ninja magics.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
i'm thinkin a combination of the two...ninja magickd from a helicoptor to an airplane so that nobody would notice anything strange upon landings...
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
That's possible!
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
So anyway. When I woke up again, the black bag was gone, but I was blindfolded. Also I could still taste that baguette, so that was kind of gross. Then I heard somebody talking, and I flipped out. Monkey Bite! My arch-nemesis. Holy fuck!
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
eek!!!!
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
BUT HE WAS TALKING TO SOMEBODY ELSE.
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
WHO COULD IT BE.
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Tune in next time: same Julia time, same Julia channel!
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
lmao
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
you had better put that in your blog

Don't worry, Benji. I will.

Icarus doesn't get that channel.

An Overdose of the Christmas Spirit

2006-12-17T07:22:00.000-08:00

Listening: Somedays - Regina Spektor

I may have decided, after my one horrible waitressing job, that LOL-Mart really was a better place to be working on account of the fact that I knew the ropes there, not to mention that I had a bunch of friends in the business at this point whom I would have missed. But that doesn't mean the place can't really get you down--especially around the Christmas season.

This time of year, the place is not only tumultuously busy with every person in the city, but it is tumultuously busy with every person in the province who come back multiple times a day. You'd think that people would get everything they need in the one go, but no--they have to keep coming back and coming back, and then complaining about how the store is sooooo busy. Blegh.

So I worked for 8.5 hours yesterday. My managers pulled a fast one on me though; they gave me my break really early, then worked me for six solid hours before giving me my lunch. Joke's on them, though. They forgot to give me my last break, so I left fifteen minutes early to compensate. Win!

I woke up yesterday with a sore eye. Assuming I'd scratched it putting my contact lenses in, I let it be and just went about my business. This morning when I woke up, the lower lid of my eye is bruised and puffy and super tender. Turns out I seem to have an eye infection. Which is just peachy.

Last night I was kidnapped by Matty P, Cole, and Stefan, and we ran around for a while causing trouble before deciding to go visit Ben. We hung out there for God only knows how long, listening to hilarious comedy skits, when Matt suddenly showed up. Matty P and Stefan left, and the rest of us hopped in Matt's car and went on an adventure, which basically consisted of blasting Queen and Red Hot Chili Peppers and giving Ben his Christmas gift and introducing him to Zero Gravity.

My Christmas tree is up! Before you know it, the whole house will be permeated by the luscious smell of fresh evergreen. My parents may want an artificial tree but goddammit if I'm going to let them before I move out. It's just not Christmas to me without a real tree.

I'll cut off here and make this a relatively short post, because I really want to sit down with my laptop and do a bit of work on my novel, Usurper. What with MUN and exams and new friends and work and everything, I have done very little work on my little sleeping beast and I believe it's feeling neglected.

Icarus wonders if Benji will eat French Toast if she and Kelilah make it.

In This Life

2006-12-15T06:36:00.000-08:00

Listening: Little Dawn - Ted Leo and the Pharmacists

But on the days and night when it's hard to breathe
And you can't believe you still walk the streets
Stretch out your weary hand to me,
It's alright.
And if you're not content to just believe
And if you don't consent to just let it be
Stretch out your legs and dance with me,
All night
('Til you don't deny tonight).

The Marchioness's Christmas Countdown: 10 days.

This is it! I'm officially done my exams. Five battles between me and a mass of paper, and I have emerged victorious. I now do a tae-bo kick of celebration.

It's 11:26 on a Friday morning and I'm celebrating my newfound freedom with a spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough (which is terribly bad for me, but then again, so are exams) and procrastinating the drying of my hair, which I will have to stop procrastinating momentarily. Partially because I'm really cold, but partially because I have to call Cole at noon and arrange what the hell we're going to do this afternoon. We're going Christmas shopping (huzzah!), and it's about goddamn time because I have zero shopping done. Seriously, not a single gift has been bought. Gaaah!

People I have to shop for: My parents, my sister, Cole, Matt, John, Kelilah, Ben, Jimmy, Kathleen. Jam and co. are getting cards because Jam had a spaz when I mentioned buying a gift for him.

Kelilah and Ben gave me the world's most amazing Christmas gift yesterday. Obsoive.

Mwaaaaaah.

This is Pocky. He is huge and fluffy and loveable and named for a delicious snack. When they pulled him out of the shopping bag it was love at first sight. He is my boy and I adore him. I spent the night snuggled on his tummy. Also I am aware that I look like a muderess here. I was just so overcome with love at the moment that I was snuggled into Pocky and wouldn't let go. (Kelilah tied his ribbon. Isn't he just edible?)

He came with a tag that read "To Julia, Love your Pandas ^^" and I broke a little bit.

If you're thinking that my head might be crazy fuzztastic here, your sight isn't off, my head is completely loco. Mainly because I was out on one of my prowls last night.

When I came home from mad post-exam adventures, the very first thing I noticed was that the weather was mind-bogglingly warm. This was like 2 in the morning, but that didn't stop me from going into the house long enough to drop off my bag, grabbing my iPod, and sneaking out the back door. I do this a lot in the summer months, but this was a Christmas prowl, so I couldn't very well start off the jaunt with anything but Christmas music. Walking up the hill from my house, I felt so strangely euphoric, looking at the Christmas lights and listening to the Tori Amos cover of Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, which is the most amazing song ever and all of you should get it immediately. The reason it's so amazing is that it always reminds me of my friends, no matter who they are at the time, so I can't help but be happy when I hear it.

After a while, I switched over to less seasonal music, and before you know it I was dancing down the street in the dead of night, laughing and stumbling and so goddamn happy that it was almost illegal. No, I hadn't been drinking, or anything of the sort. The reason I was stumbling was mostly because I was dancing downhill, and the reason I was laughing was because I knew I looked goddamned ridiculous, but I was so happy because at that moment, the dead of night on the 14th of December, everything was right in my life. I had nothing more pressing at the time than a walk when there was no one else on the street, and I knew I was going to be looking forward to a wonderful break with my wonderful friends, new and old, who have become like a small family to me.

Music has a tendancy to make me euphoric as it is, and depending on how upbeat the song is, it doesn't take much to get me dancing. City of Blinding Lights, by U2, always manages to remind me of how lucky I am, so that's what I was twirling around to in the middle of the road at 2:30 a.m. this morning, while the rest of you were all asleep.

I almost got the life scared out of me at one point, when I came around a corner and some jackass had set up a wooden cut-out of the Grinch, which looked like it was about to leap out of the trees at me. I calmed down after a few minutes and even laughed nervously to myself, but after that I took to the highway. I prefer walking there, anyway, specifically on the barricade separating the lanes. There were a couple of cars jaunting around even at that hour, so I raised a few eyebrows, but I didn't care.

I turned around and headed home at around 3:30 a.m., when the temperature dropped. Even I'm not retarded enough to stay outside long enough to freeze my ass off. (Not a word, Ben and Kelilah.) I crept back in through the back door, stripped off my clothes (because they were soaked at this point; it wasn't raining, but Newfoundland just suspends its moisture in midair so that it clings to your clothes and hair. (Hence why my head is so fluffy and retarded!)) and crawled up into bed with Pocky and Boo. I never expected to get out for one of my prowls at least until spring, more likely the summer, so I'm very glad I did it.

Now I need to call Cole for the second time and tell her to get her ass in gear. I need to Christmas shop, goddammit, and she needs to wake the hell up.

Icarus has found that she has a lot of songs that remind her of the people she loves.

The Marchioness Has An Incredible Adventure

2006-12-12T17:38:00.000-08:00

Listening: Headspin - Lukas Rossi

I know I already updated today but I just had an Incredible Adventure and I wanted to share it with the world.

I was sitting at the computer reminiscing on all those trashy bad guys I've put in prison through my skills as a sexy lawyer, when all of a sudden the mountain of CDs I have stacked next to my computer inexplicably tumbled over, raining down on my head in a shower of flashing metal and razar-sharp pain. My mother, in the next room over, wanted to know what happened and I screamed back something about gravity, but I knew the truth.

Ninjas!

Man those guys just do not know when to leave me alone. They are constantly after me and always at the most inconvenient times. In restaurants, I'll inevitably get a maitre-d' who, looking earnestly apologetic, will come to my table and say, "Miss Marchioness, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your date but one of the waiters was just hit in the back of the neck with a blow-dart which was carrying a message addressed to you. I believe it was something about a battle to the death at sundown on a beach somewhere from the Black Leopard Clan, but I was a bit distracted trying to catch the plates the downed waiter dropped to be certain." And then I have to drag myself away from my entree and explain to my date that the fate of the world rests in my hands and that if he'll just head back to my apartment I'll be back in two hours blood-soaked and carrying a strip of black fabric taken from every one of the two hundred ninjas I will have successfully slain at that point, and would really appreciate it if he could be waiting, naked, and with a decent martini.

But this is the first time they've attacked me in my own home. The sheer gall of my enemies astounded me for a moment. Then I remembered that I was under attack, and leapt to my feet, racing out of my den and upstairs to my parents' bathroom. Not for typical bathroom activities, but because the bathroom window is by far the easiest way to get onto my roof.

On the roof I was not even slightly surprised to encounter my nemesis, Monkey Bite of the Black Leopard Clan. The most feared ninja this side of Newfoundland, I have tangled with him repeatedly and even though our battles always start out being fights to the death, one of us inevitably gets chased off by lions or snatched up by a radioactive golden eagle. Our eyes narrowed and the background behind us flashed white. It was on.

"MAN WHAT THE FARK ARE YOU DOING" I shouted. Or something along those lines.

Monkey Bite shouted something back at me, but as ninjas only speak Ninjish, I didn't catch a word of it. I yelled something to him about getting a translator and then a battle of epic proportions began. Ninjas were pouring out of the woodwork, coming at me with shurikens and nunchaku and shitake mushrooms and stuff like that. I think at one point there was a panther that tried to eat me, but I kicked it in the throat with my high heel and it exploded.

By the time the battle was over my roof was littered with ninja bodies and my clothing had been half ripped off in the commotion. Also there was a mysterious wind and I had struck a sexy pose. My injured enemies had fled to the trees, all except Monkey Bite. He babbled something in Ninjish and I told him to go teach his grandmother to suck eggs. Our witty banter continued for a few minutes and then he yelled the only English I've ever heard him use--"Sassy bitch!"--and he disappeared in a puff of smoke, along with the rest of his injured ninja party, the bodies of their slain, and for some reason, the remains of my clothing.

Up until that point I didn't remember exactly why the ninjas are always out to get me, but now I did. Only one person had ever called me a sassy bitch. Well, no, wait. I call myself a sassy bitch all the time. It's Cole's pet name for me, too, primarily when she's drunk. And Kelilah's been known to use it. Okay, so a lot of people call me a sassy bitch. But only one who could be associated with ninjas. There was this gambling conman billionaire I met over in Europe the last time the FBI called on me for help (which they do a lot, because I have mad skills and am also a marchioness), who called himself the Prince of Black Jack. We had a kind of a one-night stand thing, which might have turned out to be more if I hadn't messily slaughtered his entire slew of bodyguards when they caught me hunting for my underwear the next morning. We haven't really been back on good terms since, especially since I cheated him out of roughly a million dollars (which I blew on alcohol and lingerie within a week).

So that was where the ninjas have been coming from! Suddenly things make much more sense. I was still naked on the roof during this revelation, but I had to come down when I heard my dad shouting up in askance of what the ruckus was all about. I screamed something about termites and shimmied into my bedroom window to look for some clothes. Will the ninjas return? Probably. Will I post about it? Who knows.

Icarus promises that the next post will be more normal. No, really, she does.

Yet Another Chapter

2006-12-12T11:12:00.000-08:00

Listening: Eidolon - The Synthetic Dream Foundation

A short post today, because I have to get back to studying for my Spanish exam on Thursday. Still, it's better than nothing. Right? Right? Sure it is.

Ben found me yesterday in a state of spazz, last-minute jitters taking a severe toll on my state of mind. We went to breakfast, which helped immeasurably, although my camera decided it was going to be a bitch and I learned with some surprise that the only thing Ben cannot stand to eat is egg. (Although neither of us are terribly fond of liver, either. Eugh.) Now he's going to message me all, "Aw man, why'd you have to go and post that?", not realizing it's for his own good. Memo to everyone: never feed Ben an egg. See, Ben? Now you'll never have to eat one. Unless I decide to feed one to you out of sheer mischief.

I was in a state of mind-numbing panic by the time twelve o'clock rolled around and I went in to write my Linguistics exam, but the exam gods were on my side. ("Which of these are dialects of the same language? Hah! Cantonese and Mandarin! Take that, authoritah!") They had some crazy rule in place where you couldn't leave during the last half-hour of the exam, which made no sense to me. Anyhow, I ended up not finishing at 1:35, so I had to stay for the next 25 minutes doing nothing. That sucked, but I got to prance off then and find Jam & Co.

Someone suggested we go get our marks back from Dalton, since she was in her office yesterday, and off we tromped in a big line of nerves. Rae brought up mention that our final exam was now worth 50% of our final grade, so that was... exciting. And by exciting I mean I screamed. Anyhow. When we found Dalton's office, she called us all in one by one, asking to speak to me last. Probably because my paper was a million years late, I thought, which spurred insane nervousness. When she finally talked to me, lo! I ended up getting a B+/A- on the paper. For the win.

We spent the next few hours in the Library, attempting to study and only really telling loud stories which invoked further loud laughter and having the people in the room next to us knock really hard on the wall to try to shut us up. We didn't, but meh.

And now I leave you with a discussion that Cole and I were having in regards to her Medieval Studies exam.

Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
This is how I'm going to meet my husband.
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
http://www.uvm.edu/~classics/slides/b088.jpeg
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
Danny Elfman: OH LET ME HELP YOU WITH THAT!
Me: Oh I'm naked!
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] [3/5] says:
That would be truly the greatest thing ever
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] [3/5] says:
In the future:
Kid: Mommy, how did you meet daddy?
You: Well you see, I was tied naked to a rock in tribute to a savage monster that was terrorizing the coast, and your father was on his way back from beheading an ugly bitch with the power of rock and roll...
Danny Elfman: I love this story.
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
There's nothing sexier than being held naked in chains, and a guy coming out of no where on a winged horse to save you-- who's also possibly naked.
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
LOL
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
"Perseus, returning to his native land after numerous adventures, saw Andromeda abandoned to her fate and fell in love with her. He at once promised her parents to rescue her if they would give her to him in marriage. They agreed, and Perseus killed the dragon and freed the princess."
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
He had to go talk to her parents before saving her XD
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] [3/5] says:
LOL
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] [3/5] says:
That would have gone over real well
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] [3/5] says:
Cole: OH JESUS THERE'S AN ENORMOUS MATTY P GONNA EAT ME AND I WANT TO BE SAVED, RIGHT NOW
Danny Elfman: I'll work on that. *disappears*
*Twenty minutes later*
Danny Elfman: Wicked! Your folks say we can marry.
Cole: WELL THAT'S GREAT NOW THAT MY LEGS ARE GONE
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
XD
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
Exactly!

Icarus thinks Greek mythology is relentlessly comedic.

Blissfully Happy

2006-12-10T19:41:00.000-08:00

Listening: Pretty Good Year - Tori Amos

Tears on the sleeve of a man
Don't wanna be a boy today
They say the eternal footman
Bought himself a bike to race
And Greg, he writes letters, and burns his CDs
They say you were something in those formative years
Hold on to nothing as fast as you can
Well, still; a pretty good year.

In a vastly different state of mind from last night, I feel it imperative to report... today has been a very good day. Despite my late night (bed at about 6), I managed to drag myself up at 10 a.m. long enough to call Tim, tell him as politely as possible to fark off and die, and then I went back to bed and slept for another couple of hours. When I woke up, I knew it was going to be a good day; my dad was blaring Christmas music.

Despite how I spent the day studying, I actually really enjoyed myself. I was toasty warm and listening to music and I got my digital camera working finally, and I studied enough to know that I'm going to own my Linguistics exam tomorrow. I went over to my grandmother's house, too, for my dad's birthday dinner (finally; his birthday was last week). This was goodtimes. I got to talk politics with my dad and grandfather. (When I say "talk politics", I mean "babble indiscernably so they stop talking politics".) Also: my grandmother's cherry cake = life. And my sister had the entire family in fits of laughter when she reported the tale of her Babysitting Job from Hell last night.

Calling Tim was so wonderful I felt like throwing confetti. When he answered the phone, a little part of me did a jig. I had no idea whether or not he would be working today, but clearly somebody likes me. When I informed him that I would not be coming to work, he immediately demanded the reason, to which I replied "Because I have an exam tomorrow that I will almost certainly fail unless I am home to study for it. I wouldn't have to do this, but you didn't let me leave yesterday." This was followed by a prolonged silence, during which you could just hear him kicking himself. When he finally relented "Okay" and hung up on me, I did a tae-bo kick of celebration and nearly knocked over the Christmas tree in my kitchen, but whatever.

Today wasn't all peaches and rainbows, though. I woke up this morning to discover that I have pulled the muscle between my breasts. I have to be retardedly careful about which way I move my arms--just buttoning my jeans this morning brought tears to my eyes. And no, I don't know how it happened. Also, with the onset of winter, my lips are getting dry, and it won't be long before they start chapping. Ew. I'll be stocking up on Blistex.

I have effectively ruined Ben and Kelilah. If you will direct your eyes to the right side of my page, you will discover that Ben now has a blog, and if you click on Kelilah's name, it will no longer take you to her Livejournal account, but instead to her new one at Blogspot. HURR PEER PRESSURE HURR.

Tomorrow is going to be filled with adventure. I'll be arriving on campus at around 8, where I'll be getting a study room and finishing up the last of my Linguistics before Ben wakes up at 9ish and messages me. After he turns up, we'll be getting breakfast at around 10:30 and chillin' out until my exam at 12. At 2, when I'm free again, I have to scoot to the Library (evil!) to meet Jam (fun!) and the rest of my English pals (happy!) so we can book a study room and bomb through the third installment in a horrendous Fiction course, That They May Face the Rising Sun (stupid!). There will be bad jokes and hilarity and possibly pictures. Then Jam wants us all to go out to dinner, which I am totally down with. Mmm, nutrition.

I am in such a delighted, Christmassy mood right now that every inch of me tingles. Maybe it's the fact that I'm listening to Tori Amos, but I'm feeling strangely euphoric. It's my favorite time of year, I'm nearly done my first semester at University, and I've met so many wonderful people that it overwhelms me a little bit. Yes, truly; it has been a pretty good year.

I'm gonna go get some sleep before I get all sappy and doe-eyed. G'night, pandas. Tomorrow is another day!

Icarus has noticed that she only posts lyrics when they suit her current situation.

Rant, Rant, and Relentless Comedy

2006-12-09T23:54:00.000-08:00

Listening: Concrete Sky - Beth Orton

Oh my God. Possibly one of the worst days I've ever had at Wal-Mart, topped off with the most hilarious story I've ever heard. Yes it's 4:30 a.m., but I wanted to get this all down while it was still fresh in my mind. Things will be broken up into three categories: something that struck me while I was working today, a rant about how much of an asshole my manager is, and the hilarity that happened to my little sister tonight. Let the anger and the comedy flow forth, like pure elixir!

Obesity Does Not Equal Handicap

At work today, something interesting happened before life took a turn for the worst. As I was in the middle of a rather important discussion with Brad (one of my managers), a woman came up to us and, without even saying 'excuse me' or anything else even remotely polite, charges in head-on by barking, "Do you got anymore wheelchairs?"

Brad and I turned as one and regarded her blankly for several seconds. Sometimes it takes us a little while to remember that some of the customers we get at our store are actually sub-human. When we remembered that we were supposed to be professionals, we looked back at each other briefly, then looked at the corral where our wheelchairs (electric and otherwise) are usually stationed. At the time, it was half under a gigantic blow-up carousel depicting elves riding reindeer, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that said corral was, in fact, empty. "I don't think so," Brad said in his most placating tone.

The woman looked openly scandalized, as though she had been thoroughly expecting us to have a stack of mysterious invisible wheelchairs and was horrified that they remained hidden. "How am I supposed to get around to get my shopping done?" she demanded, outraged. "I have a weight problem. I can't walk."

She abruptly burst into some litany about customer service and our supposed lack thereof, and while she rampaged on and Brad's eyes glazed over with polite disinterest, I could not tear my eyes away from her, knowing in that deep, visceral part of me that she was going to be part of my next blog rant.

The first thing I noticed about the woman was that she was considerably overweight. The second thing that I noticed was that while she was considerably overweight, she was not overweight to the point where it should have hindered her ability to walk around a goddamn store. Which brings me to the point of my first rant: obesity does not equal handicap. For Christ's sake, people.

I have seen people come into Wal-Mart from all walks of life, and the one thing that continues to astound me is how self-centered some people can be in comparison to others. Take last weekend, for example. A little old lady, obviously just around the corner from severely crippled, came into Wal-Mart with a walker and set out on her own little trek. When I stopped to ask her if I could find her a wheelchair or something to make the going a little easier, she smiled and patted my hand and told me that while I was a very sweet girl, "I can still walk, sweetie. Somebody else needs it more than I do."

Which is what I felt like saying to the blue whale today. If you honestly believe that your own inability to resist Twinkies and shortcake automatically puts you on par with the people who actually need wheelchairs, then you're a blister on the backside of humanity. If you cannot walk, you are handicapped. If you cannot walk without breaking a sweat, then you are not handicapped.

"How am I supposed to get around to get my shopping done?" Um. Walk there like everybody else, you crazy bitch?

"I have a weight problem. I can't walk." Okay. No. You walked in here under your own steam, and while you may be a little out of breath from the effort, you do not warrant special attention. People much larger than you come through those doors every day and never bat an eyelash at having to, God forbid, walk around a department store. If you can't stand to lug your own weight, then stop coming to our store.

And God help you if I catch you in one of those wheelchairs and you aren't wearing a cast or clearly in need of medical attention. I will take your obese ass down. Grow up, people.

My Manager is the World's Biggest Asshole

Moving on to the point where things took a turn for the worst this evening.

As some (or most) of you know, I'm right in the middle of exams. Wal-Mart prints its schedules several weeks in advance, which can prove disadvantageous in situations such as these. By the time I figured out my exam schedule, I was already scheduled for two nine-hour shifts this weekend. This is really bad news. I have my Linguistics exam on Monday morning, which has the most material to cover of any of my other courses. However, the majority of the MUN-oriented cashiers are pulling a stunt that annoys the managers to within an inch of their lives: calling in "homework". In essence, just phoning in and saying, "I'm not coming in tonight." This kills my superiors. Trust me.

So rather than be a bitch, I decided to compromise. I worked out a nifty little plan with wonderful Brad, which was essentially to come in, work half of my shift, and leave a few hours early to get some studying done. Brad is cool with this. He appreciates that I'm not completely walking out on them. Things are looking up. Except for one detail.

He's not the manager on this particular night. Tim is.

Allow me to illuminate. Picture every movie villian you've ever loved to hate, then paint them over with a bad dye job and that would be Tim. My entire store despises him. When I say that, I mean it. Not a single person gets along with Tim. If you break open the suggestion box in the Staff Lounge (which we employees are only too fond of doing on slow nights), all you will find are suggestions to get the hell rid of Tim. He is about as loved among us as a pay cut.

So my shift is 2:00-11:00. I am hoping to get off at around 7 to do some work. Who am I forced to ask about this? Tim. Tim is the physical embodiment of Sam Walton's wet dream. He is everything a manager should be (except for likeable). He eats, sleeps, and breathes Wal-Mart. And he's such a hard-ass for the store's sake that he forgets who's actually doing the work. So, he burns bridges.

"Well," he said when I paged him over to discuss my leaving. "I can't let you go right now. It might get busy. Tell you what. Let's wait and see as it gets closer to eleven, and I'll consider it."

You might as well have just said, Let's wait until your shift's up and I'll consider it, Tim. I know you well enough by now to know that you're not looking out for my best interests.

Tim struts off. Then, as I'm standing there trying to blink back tears of fury and frustration, he saunters back over and says, "You understand."

Oh sure, Tim, I understand. I understand that you're a soulless bastard.

Things did not get busier. Ten minutes after shutting me down, Tim sends me to zone carts, which only happens when he has expendable cashiers. Then, fifteen minutes later, he--you guessed it--sends me on my lunch. I was so filled with frustration that I had to leave the store. I went to my grandparents' house, washed my face with cold water like six times, had a cup of tea, and lay down by the fire to calm myself down, and by the time I went back to work, I didn't feel as bad. I was still angry, but I figured I'd live with it for now.

Sometime around nine-thirty or ten, it occurred to me that I should call Tim again. After all, he said he'd decide whether or not to send me home as it got later. And since it hadn't gotten any busier, I figured I had a good chance. I picked up the phone and paged him. About two minutes later I get a call back: "Are you looking for Tim?"

"Yes. Why?"

"He's gone home."

...

Excuse me?

That son of a bitch. He said what he needed to keep me quiet, and then he bailed out and went the hell home himself at 9:00, while I stayed at the store and busted my ass until 11:30--not only four and a half hours later than I'd hoped to be, but also half an hour later than I was actually scheduled to be. Obviously, I didn't get any semblance of studying done. And the bastard expects me to be back in tomorrow morning at 11 a.m. to do the same thing over again.

I have the last laugh, though. I'm not coming in for my shift tomorrow. I'm doing the very thing I sought to avoid and calling in homework. The way I see it, Tim didn't bother trying to accomodate me. Why should I bother trying to accomodate him? Let him sweat for a while. See how it feels.

Besides, if I didn't take tomorrow off, I would be working until 6, after which I would be going immediately to my grandmother's house for my father's birthday celebration (which I am not missing), giving me a grand total of about 3-4 hours to study. At least this way I can delude myself into thinking that--hey--maybe I might have a chance on this exam.

God, I hate Wal-Mart.

Cookies and Scream

As they say: every cloud has a silver lining. Mine in this otherwise dark-hearted, angry post is the story of my sister's babysitting job with a cat named Cookies.

Ever since I got drafted into the Department Store from Hell, my sister Lor has been working double time to pick up all the babysitting jobs that I was forced to abandon. Normally she has things pretty easy. Tonight, though, a certain black-and-white cat gave her a run for her money. The only thing I can say is that I would sell my soul to have been there to see this evening unfold.

A friend of a friend of my mother's called Lor in a panic this morning, desperate for a babysitter. It took some roundabout coaxing (my sister has an active social life that she hates to relinquish for the sake of actual work), but eventually she agreed to go meet this family for the first time. At first things went fairly well, according to her. She met the parents, and was introduced to the two little girls. One of them brought up mention of their cat, whom they called 'Cookies', but Lor didn't see said cat before the children were put to bed.

She was watching TV some hours later when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Assuming it was the cat, she paid it no mind. When she noticed that said movement was getting progressively closer, however, she spun her head around. Apparently, this freaked the hell out of Cookies, who took a flying leap at my sister, all claws and spitting fury. Lor, reacting out of pure instinct, lashed out--and smashed the cat against the wall.

Unharmed but obviously pissed as all hell, Cookies begins to stalk my sister. Lor, feeling unnerved, begins trekking around the circle the first floor the house makes. What she hears in pursuit is the clik-clik of Cookies' claws against the hardwood.

At this point I interrupted her. "Lor," I said. "Cats' claws are retractable. If he had his claws out, he was planning on eviscerating you."

"Let me finish my story," she groused.

Around and around they go, with myriad adventures happening en route. Among other things, this cat succeeded in not only locking my sister in a room, but richocheting off of nine or ten pieces of furniture to land on her head and nearly breaking down a door trying to go through it to get at her. By the time she was finished telling me everything, I was in fits of laughter on my bed. I couldn't get over the irony. Cookies, psycho cat of the East End.

As my sister put it, "It was like having a murderer in the house. A tiny murderer. A little, furry murderer asshole."

Epilogue

It's 5:30 in the morning, and I'm still up doing this blog entry. The last thing I expect is for the phone to ring. But it does, so I go to grab it. Late in the night like this, our callers are primarily all drunkards who can't tell the difference between my home number and Casino taxi service. Assholes.

But this is not a drunkard! I am fully expecting having to shred some ear when I pick up the phone and say, "Hello?" What I am greeted with is,

"Hello. Is Noel there?"

Noel is my father. This surprising accuracy staggers me for a second. Floundering, I repeat, "Noel?" Then, after this is reaffirmed-- "Yes, just a moment." Halfway up the stairs it hits me--Dumbass, it's 5:30 a.m. My father, along with the rest of the sane population, is asleep. I am not sane, being up all hours, and am therefore an expert in such matters. Returning to the phone, I say as politely as possible, "I'm sorry, he's still asleep. Is there anything I can help you with?"

There is. I can go wake my father.

I cannot believe the gall of this guy, but I go. My father is the Director of Safety for the local power company, which I have identified as the caller, so I figure that if someone is calling this early, it means somebody is dead. My dad is always getting called out to the rest of Canada and the States, even as far as Belize in South America, to investigate accidents. I decide this is worth my time. I go wake my father.

"Daddy? Newfoundland Power's on the phone and they're not taking no for an answer."

My dad comes down to take the call. I boil the kettle and sit there stirring hot chocolate for ten minutes, during which my father says absolutely nothing, merely taking note of whatever the dude is saying on the other end. When he finally speaks, it is to say the words, "He's okay, then." My head comes up as though I have been struck by lightning. Are you serious? All that for nothing?

My father stays on the phone for another ten minutes, then finally hangs up, growling obscenities, some of which I have never heard before in my life. He glances at me and says, "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

My sister is in my bed, where she fell asleep after completing her horrific cat story. I explain this to him briefly, then add, "Could that call have waited til daylight?"

"Not where he's concerned," my father growls, and ruffling my hair, storms upstairs to bed.

Sometimes life is just a bitch.

Icarus acknowledges that this hot chocolate is really goddamned good.

A Music Questionnaire Pour Vous

2006-12-08T21:49:00.000-08:00

Listening: Wordless May - Venus Hum

What is...

...your theme song? Toss-up between The Analyst by Delta Goodrem and Book Smart, Street Stupid by Sarah Slean.
...your favorite song? Mother by Tori Amos.
...your favorite artist? I have to choose? Eh. If there was a gun to my head, Tori Amos.
...the song you've liked the longest? Umm. My dad used to sing A Spaceman Came Traveling by Chris deBurgh to me when I was little.
...your most played song? *checks* Blue Light of the Flame by Dar Williams.
...your favorite album? Matthew Good's Avalanche.
...your most memorable album and why? Tori Amos's Little Earthquakes, because my friend Ryk gave it to me for my birthday one year. Then we listened to it over and over for two hours.

What do you listen to...

...in the morning? Usually Sarah Slean.
...during the day? Depends on my mood.
...in the evening? See above.
...during the night? Usually soft stuff, often Mogwai or God is an Astronaut.
...with friends? Video game music?
...when you're sad? Um. Certain songs from all my instrumental/piano artists.
...when you're happy? Just about everything else.
...when you feel weird? Raffi. And Vangelis. No, wait, Regina Spektor. "Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs/be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your soul/be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood/"Apres moi le deluge"--after me comes the flood."

Which song...

...always makes you happy? Speeding Cars by Imogen Heap, or Pretty Good Year by Tori Amos.
...always makes you sad? Death Came and Got Me by Rosie Thomas.
...reminds you of something happy (and what is it)? Southern Dreamer by Emm Gryner reminds me of going for drives with my dad on summer mornings.
...reminds you of something sad (and what is it)? Whispering Winds from The Land Before Time because it reminds me of facts of life that I would really rather forget.
...reminds you of being home? Falling Down Blue by Blue Rodeo, because my dad loves it.
...reminds you of being somewhere else? City of Blinding Lights by U2, which always reminds me of Greece.
...reminds you of your friends? Time and Confusion by Anberlin.
...reminds you of your family? Easy Tonight by Five for Fighting.
...gives you shivers? She's Leaving Home by the Beatles.
...makes you cry? Supernatural by Flyleaf. No question.
...makes you smile? Oh geez. Um. I Won't Dance by Frank Sinatra?
...is your newest obsession? Out in the Park by Sarah Slean.

Pick five friends and list the song you associate with them.
Only five? Aw.

Matt: Space Oddity - David Bowie
Cole: Alma Awakens - um... from.. Ninja Gaidan? I think.
Ben: When the Levee Breaks - A Perfect Circle
Kelilah: I Touch Myself - Jack Off Jill. Don't even ask.
Jam: Faster Kill Pussycat - Paul Oakenfold and Brittany Murphy.

What is your song for...

...winter? Uh. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, as covered by Tori Amos.
...summer? Easy. Summertime by Mae.
...fall? Alla Luce Del Sole by Josh Groban.
...spring? Damanged by Plumb. Why a depressing song? Because I hate spring.

Pick ten songs and what they mean to you.
This should be fun.

Bright End of Nowhere - Matthew Good:
My walking-home-in-the-wee-hours-of-the-morning-(when-the-sun-is-just-coming-up)-after-sneaking-out-of-the-house-and-walking-around-the-city-all-night song.
Sleeping With Ghosts - Placebo:
My let's-go-sit-on-a-minor-planet-and-watch-the-stars-burn-out song.
Little Dawn - Ted Leo and the Pharmacists:
My fuck-you-I'll-dance-in-the-middle-of-the-road-at-3-am-if-I-want-to song.
Blue Parade - Sarah Slean:
My it's-raining-in-the-city-and-I-can't-sleep-in-this-deafening-softness song.
Pagan Poetry - Bjork:
My there-are-only-so-many-things-I-can-tell-you-and-this-is-not-one-of-them song.
Gravity - Vienna Teng:
My the-view-of-the-city-from-the-tallest-of-trees song.
Untitled 3 - Sigur Ros:
My one-day-I'm-going-to-drive-across-the-desert-and-no-one-will-ever-be-able-to-stop-me song.
Thief - Our Lady Peace:
My headlights-on-the-highway song.
Meet Virginia - Train:
My if-there-is-a-forest-out-there-somewhere-that-has-what-I'm-looking-for-rest-assured-that-I'm-going-to-find-it song.
Mer Girl - Madonna:
My how-can-something-so-creepy-still-be-so-moving song.

That's it. The end. My musical brain is shorted out.

Instead you can play with my pet bat, Scrabble.

adopt your own virtual pet!

Icarus is going off to listening to Twin Moon.