Defective Thoughts VIRAL?!

I have heard some suspicious news from two of my bestie's (642, and Dr. BLT), that when they opened BLOGIT, their computer opened multiple windows of the page! Has anyone else had this problem? I can assure you that its impossible for a blogspot page to give you any kind of virus, but I am no techy.. I did recieve a C- in computer science, which I am pretty sure led to me planning a "passing party!"


Lets hope this small glitch doesnt interfere with the frequency of their visits to the site.. it wouldn't be the same without you two party animals!

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Guest Blogger: Triceratops

Once again, one of my biggest fans 'Triceratops' has taken a stab at some blogging of her own. She graced these e-pages a few days back, blogging about the conditions of her employment, and now she is back with the next edition. As previously mentioned, if you think you can pen an awesome posting, send it my way!

Old Man Rejection
Since my last blog I've put some thought into my life. I thought long and hard about all those ancient gentlemen who have pursued me over the course of my retail career. Those dedicated, persistent, thoughtful, admiring, and yes a little creepy grandpas who have tried their luck with me over the years. It occurred to me that all these qualities are things I look for in a man, minus the creep factor of course- but I'm sure that only develops after the age of 40. SO, if I managed to find an older man UNDER 40 he'd be everything I'd ever need!

Find him I did, a 35 year old mediocre looking, and likely desperate coffee shop owner Teq. Teq seemed to have all those great old person qualities I was looking for- plus he had yet to develop that 40+ creep factor. The love gods had smiled upon me. We had one of those magical first dates where the booze flows freely (on his tab), the conversation is stimulating (except the part where he told a crazy ex girlfriend story... Awkward), we lost total track of time and closed down the restaurant. I even managed to ignore the fact that he was a little on the short side and had a definite gay straight man vibe.I was looking into his inner self and ignoring those superficial types of things... Plus I'd had a few cocktails. The date ended with a romantic restaurant booth kiss followed by a good solid "goodnight" makeout. YES! I cheered to myself.. Old but not TOO old! This fits just right! YES! I cheered louder the next day when he called to arrange another date. A 2.5 week romance developed between this older gentleman and myself.. Until of course the inevitable happened.. My old man rejection. Old like his younger counterparts pulled the ever so subtle cease of communication followed by the really believable " you're and awesome girl but my life is insane right now, I need to focus on me." BUDDY YOU ARE OLD! You've had 35 years to focus on "you".. I'm not falling for it! Despite this pathetic cop out I remained positive. My experience tells me that behind one of man lurks another. My next older thing was not far behind! Things were fine and dandy until I received the dreaded facebook delete. How DARE he!?!? Not seeing me anymore is one thing but a facebook delete is a whole new level of rejection I was not prepared for. I can't lie.. It stings a bit. My newest old man experience has left me burnt and slightly desperate. How the tables have turned.

My advice for all you young readers is this: don't mess with old people. They have decades of experience and can sucker punch you WAM! and leave you with one less facebook friend.


Desperately yours,
Triceratops

Up For Auction

For this installment of "the contents of my art portfolio" circa 2006, I reveal my third most popular piece. This was one of my first masterpieces, and it most definitely caused a stir amongst my disturbingly eager art enthusiasts. Except of course when we had a live model one lesson, and I made her look like a robot having a mechanical malfunction. For this assignment, we were given "creative control" over what we wanted to produce, as long as it was an enlarged representation of a clipping from a magazine. Being incredibly low on resources and ambition, I vaguely remember madly flipping through a National Geographic magazine the night before my work was up for critique. I stumbled across an article about 'llama farming' and was quite interested in recreating the llama's, hoping it would show 'originality' and 'creativity', and of course to show I was up for the challenge of drawing this awkward creature, instead of something pedestrian, like a dog. However, the only thing that was awkward, was when I pinned this gem up on the wall of our art class, and taped the little original scrap of paper next to it. I remember fondly as my classmates eyes lit up as they gazed upon my beautiful creation. In contrast to the rage that filled my professors. Once again I had taken the 'cartoon approach' she so often told me to 'try to stray' from, and little did she know, I never would. When the class was asked which one they liked the best, I remember the majority selected mine. However this could potentially have been out of pity, but to be honest, it was a ray of light in comparison to the often depressing garble that the other students spent 2 weeks on. I remember giving my art teacher a "I own this classroom" smirk during this, which likely had a direct affect on my final grade.


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Name That Face!

Which two "always scandalous" Rosedale Residents were seen partying hard over the weekend, in these fantastic "costumes"? Many mentioned that they were completely out of control, so lets hope they recovered today! And No, its not DT Regular, 642..


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Did You See?

Sunnysides newest resident, take her relentless partying ways to Banff this week and let loose with her fellow coworkers? She was seen sprinting from one fantastic establishment to another up until 5am, when she eventually gave into the temptation of sleep. Lets hope she has completely nursed herself back into tip-top shape! We all know its impossible not to have a blast in the funnest location in the country!


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Poor Emily

I have been house sitting all this week, and I was rudely awoken early this morning by a string of phone calls from a desperate youth clearly on a mission to sort out her life. I managed to ignore the first two phone calls which were pulsating through the home, but decided it might be in my best interest to answer the third one, just in case it was the neighbors trying to get in contact with the person taking refuge in the house, to complain about my lack of snow shoveling etiquette. "Hello?" I asked. I tried to use my "confused as to why this person insisted on calling the house three times within 10 minutes" voice. "Oh Hello, this is Emily returning Brenda's phone call." I was so annoyed, let slightly relieved that this was all just a misunderstanding, and that I could now sleep peacefully knowing there wasn't a community witch hunt out for me. "You most definitely have the wrong number" I insisted, holding back my questions as to why she didn't get the hint the first two times that this might not be the right place. "Oh.. Is this the University of Calgary admissions office? I am returning Brenda's phone call." I instantly put two and two together to realize why this nut case had so much energy at this hour. I too placed all kinds of energized phone calls to the University some five years ago around this time, pestering the poor souls on the receiving end to enroll me. "I may have got 51% in Math 30, but my average is still 0.4% above the minimum requirement" is what I believe my argument was. I explained that I was not the admissions office at the University, and held back from telling her to turn and run from post-secondary, and start up a career at Blockbuster. Instead of apologizing, for electronically abusing my telephone lines, she quickly asked what number she had called instead. This is when I felt stupid, because I had no idea what number she had called.. all I knew was that she woke me up, and I was tired. "Umm to be honest I don't know this phone number" I casually explained, as if it wasn't weird that I didn't know my own phone number. I am pretty sure at this point paranoia set in, and poor Emily started to believe that she had been rejected from the University of Calgary, and this was their way of getting rid of her. She finally let me go, and I went back to sleep. Not 1 minute later the phone was ringing again, and I saw Emily's name on the caller ID. "Hello again" I muttered, this time in my livid voice. "Oh my gosh, did I call you again?" At this moment I wanted to tell her that she was hopeless to get into any University with her phone number comprehension and button pushing skills. I tossed the phone into my hamper in hopes my cloths would muffle the sounds of her likely imminent fifth phone call. Thankfully her brain started to function and she either dialed Brenda correctly, or simply came to the same conclusion in regards to her future in the academic world as I did.

I was further plagued by this Emily monster when I finished up my house sitting stint tonight, and upon unpacking my things at home, I found the family's portable phone stuffed into my hamper. Last time I stayed there I accidentally took home one of their TV remotes, so I am sure they will be completely weirded out when I have to drop by their home tomorrow and give back the other small appliance that I swiped. Its like I am a clepto with a nagging conscious, the perfect kind.


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Where In The World?

Thanks to technology, I can now view where all you fans are accessing this fantastic blog from.. and thought you might be interested to see who else in the World is hitting up BLOGIT!


I think we all know who that one little dot in Paris belongs too! Hope your laughing hard JM! xoxo

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The Art Gallery

As promised, I have broken the seal of my "introduction to drawing" portfolio open to my blog readers, and here is the most recent installment. This was the second part of the assignment to "take something beautiful and make it ugly" and for some unknown reason, taking a flower and making it into a hideous beast with charcoal as previously shown wasn't enough for me. I vaguely remember looking for inspiration around my apartment, and upon realizing that I was running low on food supplies and cash-flow, I was inspired by my anger towards the decomposed state of the last of my banana rations. As a side note, one of the first lessons I learned about buying my own groceries on a budget, was the shockingly low price of bananas. I don't even really like bananas, and if it weren't for the delightful fun of peeling them, I probably wouldn't give them a second glance. Anyways, upon the revelation that that evenings dinner of multiple bananas and water was spoiled due to decomposition, I decided that this could be considered a beautiful object gone ugly. So of course I busted out my shawty shoe-box art supplies and paper and started drawing.



This drawing had "desperate to find an idea" written all over it. As most students drew meaningful masterpieces, like broken lanterns that represented the hollow emptiness they feel inside, masked by the tall figure of the lamp post. As some students described their projects as "snapshots of their feelings" I struggled to come up with an explanation as to why I chose to draw a bunch of bananas. In fact I actually think the teacher may have skipped the critique section on mine, because it was clear I was mentally unstable.

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Lingo-LingNO

You may know me to perhaps bust out some very questionable catch phrases, slang, or just forms of communication in general. However I have began to notice that I have been using some incredibly embarrassing lingo at my place of work as of late, and I think it may be a direct result of my regular sky high anxiety level whilst working. Other employees are definitely starting to take notice. For example, as I passed some food to one employee, I said "Ok here you are, go Bananas!" which immediately resulted in hysterics spreading amongst the other present workers. I didnt really understand what all the laughing was about, as "Go Bananas" in my opinion, is pretty mainstream. Almost too mainstream for my liking, it just slipped out. Much worse, and more himiliating, was towards the end of my shift, and my tired verbal screening process let this gem slip out: "Alright, should I skedaddle on out of here?" I watched in horror as my peers tried to pretend that word didnt happen. In addition to these ridiculous crimes against grammar, I have noted that with increased stress and anxiety, I tend to morph my words into song. Instead of simply stating what needs to go where, I have been stretching out the syllables into annoying little songlets. "Take theeeeese to this tablllllee fooorr meee pleeeeasssee!"

I am 100% certain this is one of the mountain of reasons why I have never been considered for "serving", as most tables would get up and leave when they realized a grown adult had yet to grow out of phrases like "Okee Dokee Smokee", "Absotivley", and "Alrighty". I personally wouldnt trust anyone to serve me food and alcohol who is constantly humming outloud even when having important conversations.


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Portfolio Peepshow

Everyone knows I have tested the waters in many academic pools over my years in post-secondary, and on a whim in third year I decided to take an art class. Every thursday evening we were forced to pin up our creations from that week on the wall, and the entire class would critique each "piece of work." I always went to class on an empty stomach so I could make it through these sessions without having to be sick with worry. Each week the students became more creative when it came to speaking about my art. I was always astonished at how they managed to come up with creative ways to say that it looked as if I had digged deep within my soul to come up with my inspiration. I was by far an under achiever in this class, and perhaps learned more about how many different ways there are of saying "well thats different" instead of actual artisitc skills. I recently cracked open what was left of my portfolio (after the majority of it was sucked into the Southern Alberta coulees one windy evening as I darted from the University back to my apartment in order to catch the latest episode of Survivor) to show off to some eager relatives, and I have decided to share some of these "pieces" with you all. They will be featured over the next few days, peppered into this blog for your own enjoyment. Perhaps practice your own creative bending of words in the comment board below, so I can relive everyday as if its Thursday evening, circa 2006.

Today's masterpiece was an assignment meant to take something beautiful and make it ugly. Clearly I couldn't mess up this assignment.




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Makes Me Laugh

Season 2 best be in production.



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Malaria Bites.. Hard

Today I went to the travel clinic to further continue my days as a human pin-cushion. Today was my final visit, and I am now immune to a variety of diseases with fancy names.. my favorite of which being Polio. In the lobby I enjoyed listening to an older couple banter back and forth deciding whether or not to buy the discount mosquito nets on sale. "We'll be fine Honey, there are more bugs here then Africa." I watched the secretary bite her lip. Apparently the nets were discounted because each year they loose 10% of the mosquito protecting chemicals sprayed onto the fabric. The husband was trying to convince the wife that he heard once that if you wear this specific kind of shirt made by "the army" it had mosquito repellent sprayed right into the material. "Its like a bullet proof vest" he insisted. "So what about the mosquito's that fly right up your nose? How will the shirt prevent that?" The distressed wife asked her husband. "The shirt repels the mosquitoes away form your entire body! They are THAT powerful" he insisted. The secretary had pretty much bitten right through her lip by this point. I wanted to interject and question if they were planning on wearing this "super shirt" when they slept..every night. I am fairly certain that sleeping in DEET-dipped fabric cannot be safe. I abandoned this skit when I went and sat down in the waiting chairs, but I am pretty sure they left with a discount bug net with 80% repellent coverage. I immediately lunged for the Malaria information booklet, so I could read up on how long this couple was going to last before contracting the crippling disease. This booklet was probably the most hilarious thing I have ever read, and I brought it home so I could read it on a daily basis. It told a surprisingly detailed story of how mosquitoes can give you Malaria, and I will quote the informative booklet below:

THE ENEMY,
It is sunset-the hunt for human blood begins. She is tiny, elegant, dark spots on her wings, slender legs, with a prominent tubular proboscis, with which she will draw your blood. The mosquito enters your bedroom at night. You may recognize her by the way she rests on the wall- standing on her head with her body tilting upwards, protruding into the air like a rocket on a launching pad. She is your enemy, because only she can harbor the malaria parasite and carry it from an infected person to a new victim.

THE BITE,
Now that the burglar has entered your premises, she is waiting in a dark corner for the right moment to rob you of your precious blood. She, attracted by your warmth and the carbon dioxide you leisurely exhale, approaches silently. First, two needle-pointed stylets will stab your skin, then two blades bearing very fine teeth will lacerate your flesh like a microscopic saw, searching for a small vein.

This story was probably the most frightening thing I had ever read. I wondered if R. L. Stine had dabbled in disease prevention manuals before he hit gold with his horror stories. I am very certain I will be having nightmares this evening. If only that poor couple had the opportunity to read this before making the ridiculous decision of buying a dysfunctional mosquito net. Let us pray.


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Finding Flow

As an accomplice to my denial re: being employed, I have found myself shamelessly bouncing from one short term gig to another, with increasing gap lengths in between. The day after my position as "depressed teenager cashier" ended, I had to wake up bright and early the next day to attend the orientation of my next soul-torturing project. As advertised in the local newspaper, I signed up to become an official census taker in our fine city. Someone needs to literally go door to door to hand-count citizens, prodding them for the ever so interesting details of their lives.. and that person is going to be me. This officially contradicts my 8 month old pact with myself to never to work for "The City" ever again. This sand-solid pact was made upon last summers "summer-intern" incident. For those who are unaware, I spent an entire summer stationed in a office building lunchroom, responsible for creating City maps on a complex computer program.. sans computer. I kept this up for around 6 weeks until I realized that I could still continue to pull in my $20/hour salary from my couch at home, or suntanning in the backyard. All facts and mental breakdowns aside, desperate times call for desperate measures. When I arrived at the training session, I realized I had forgotten my photo ID, as I was greeted with a gigantic poster likely constructed by 10 paid City employees over a 2 week period. I explained to the woman who greeted me of my mistake, and waited for her to go consult her manager. "We just need to confirm that your not just some stranger off the street." I had to hold back my immediate reaction of "why would somebody fake their identity so that they could go door to door counting residents for questionable pay?" However I was left speechless by her next statement being, "and to make sure that your actually of legal age." After sweet talking the secretary into believing that I was 18, and not a complete dead beat off the street on a secret mission to sabotage the accuracy of the Calgary census results, I went into the orientation room, greeted by an ideal grab bag of people. I obviously picked the seat next to the most senile looking senior I could spot. The bright mismatched clothing, and excessive collection of useless materials, made this an easy decision. This decision payed off almost immediately when the orientation captain introduced herself and the program, and my neighbor shouted out "Where did you say we were?" How did this person even make it to this hole in the wall industrial park anyhow? I pondered. I wondered if he was ID'ed on his way in- and if they missed the red-insanity sticker that should be placed on the identification of a nut cases. Throughout the session my senior buddy was shooting ridiculous questions at the poor information speaker, and often nudged me making sure I was keeping up. Everytime we were instructed to go into our "census" pouches for an item, he would say to me "You heard the woman, get the orange one out.. no time to waste!" The only moment that rivaled this one, was when the entire room erupted into a heated debate on whether or not Co-op housing was considered rental properties, or owned ones. The woman in the back row, who practically had granola spilling out of her ears lived in a Co-op property, and fought this battle to the bitter end, insisting she was a home-owner, and worked damn hard to be considered one. I wish I had "Your Irrelevant" stickers to stick to characters like these.

I almost think the City census would be most accurate if more "strangers" wandered in from the streets, eager to do good deeds. I hope there is a post-census meeting to hear about how the majority of these people tried to complete their census routes using the yellow pages.




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Your Daily Dose

If the posts that grace this small piece of the WWW dont make you laugh.. this video will!



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The Book

I am incredibly disorganized, however I have always had serious intentions to be. At the beginning of every school year or semester I manage to buy a new day planner and used it for about 1 week, and then immediately misplaced it amongst of a million other more important booklets. However for some reason, since graduation I have started a day timer and it has been surprisingly successful. I am guessing this is because I do not have a full time job, and without meticulously planning out my weekly activities I would feel the cold grasp of the realities of unemployment. So now, I have fantastically organized documentation of my social activities for the past three months. Tonight at dinner time, lasagna created by my trustworthy chef sister, (which by the way was baked inside a piece of pottery constructed in her spare engineering time), we looked back into my past few months in my daytimer, and had good laugh at how hilarious the notes were.. for example, in February:

Sunday: Work at J's, 5-9:30pm
Monday: Find a new job
Tuesday: Work at J's 11am-1pm, & 5-9:30pm, Job fair at University
Wednesday: Find new job, Meet with Realtor to see new condo
Thursday: Lunch with Science Girl, Ski Conditioning class at 7.
Friday: Go condo hunting, work at J's 5-11:30pm
Saturday: Go to Glenbow museum, work at J's 5-11:00pm
Sunday: Coffee with 642, Find a new job
Monday: Lunch with Science Girl, Dinner with Taryn
Tuesday: Make dinner with Jamie, watch BH 90210.

Probably the best highlight are the combination of working at J's, seeking a new job, and meeting with a Realtor all in the same day. I wonder if he could see the unemployed desperation in my face as he showed me around the glorious place I surely could not afford at the moment. Or, the fact that I enrolled myself in a ski conditioning fitness class despite having no intentions of hitting the slopes all season long. Despite having no real purpose for a daytimer, I will continue to use it religiously so I can look back in more prosperous times and enjoy being employed 9-5.


PS to Science Girl; I am living in fear waiting for the collection agency to drag me away to video store jail.

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IRM Out

So as today was my final day participating in temp-hell, I figured I should summarize how events unfolded towards the end. IRM continued her rein of terror amongst the defenseless poppycock that ran the cash registers with me, until the morning float counts began to dwindle further and further away from the set value they were supposed to be, in ever so obvious amounts, like exactly $20, then $40.. then she clearly got more gutsy one day, when the float was $200, instead of the $300 they were supposed to be. The next three days she just never showed up for work, which I choose to believe is because she stole just enough cash to pay for the tasseled leather coat with patterned bead work she so badly needed- but couldn't justify paying for. Rumor has it she hasn't worked since December 2008 as a result of a $12,000 casino win, so obviously IRM is a paycheck-to-paycheck kind of monster. On the positive front, during the employee transition time on the second last day I made enough small talk with a night shift cashier to learn that all the employees thought I was stuck-up at the orientation day 2 weeks earlier. Apparently I was "putting up a front" that made me look conceited. I had to hold back my desires of confirming the suspicions, and instead took my usual route of claiming that I am just shy. Looks like my constant dirty looks of disapproval have paid off for once in my life. As all the cashiers hugged and exchanged cell numbers at the end of the final shift I split for the exit and never looked back.




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Update: One of my sources has informed me that one day as I struggled to finish my daily dose of chicken fingers and fries in the stands during one of my brief 15 minutes breaks at this national sporting event, the event cameras managed to focus in on me has I tried to beat the clock and finish my lunch on my tight schedule. Apparently a select few saw me on national television and the entire stadium saw this spectacle on the jumbo-tron. Too bad I was too desperate to finish my lunch in time to notice this humiliation. This is too much coverage for my own good for one year.

Sleep Well

My sources reveal that 642 isn't sleeping well as of late, and it is widely suspected that her recent addiction to a 1990's television program based on the supernatural, or perhaps more obviously, on an electric attraction between two lead FBI agents, is to blame. Other implications that perhaps the hours 642 spends solo with cadavers in the dead of night could be the true cause of insomnia, have been ignored.


Hey 642, Catch some Z's tonight, or start counting some sheep.

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Guest Blogger: Triceratops

Despite the countless exciting moments that I encounter in my days, I have encouraged my fellow peers to send in their blog postings, to add a little variety. Here is the first installment from "Triceratops."

I've had a long and painful "career" in retail. Since I'm praying to baby jesus that I will soon leave mall hell and join the world of the office bitch with my hopefully not useless degree, I'm going to share my years of wisdom and experience with you fine people. I'd like to call my first story and life lesson OLD MEN. They lurk in every mall and are ever so predictable. They arrive at the exact same time every night,creeping on all the young girls working hard for their money. I've had many of these such men in my life but only a few really stick out and are worthy of this blog.

SKELETOR- S and I had a long term relationship but he was a player with several other creep-on relationships on the go. He was wisely not putting all his false teeth in one basket, a true playa playa. This man was not a day over 195 and sadly about 6 months into his creeping he started to smell like urine. He walked about 0.00000000000001 km/hr, wore a leather jacket, old fishermans hat and arrived at 7:30 pm every night. Every once and a while if he was feeling real frisky he would throw in an afternoon shift (12:30 pm) for his full time working ladies. His creeptastic visits started off slow, I suppose he was easing me into the ever coveted position of "skeletor mall lady". He quickly became more aggressive complimenting my work attire and hair. He began boasting about his weekends spent boating around some lake with his dog while his wife was at home... How hunky! Based on his ability to walk/move I assume this boating was done in the bathtub and he was probably batshit crazy. Things got even hotter when he started asking me out. He was always so subtle about it, probably due to his 18th century upbringing. This lady charmer started slowly asking me about my love life just to make sure I was still on the market. He then proceeded to ask me about my plans for that particular evening, always responding with "well if I were a bit younger I would be asking you out every night!" Ya I get it gramps, you would totally tap this. Weeks of flirtacious banter went by and he did finally drink enough pediasure to feel young enough to ask me for a meeting outside of the mall security's watchful eye. I politely declined. At this point the creep factor got too much for me and I started taking extended bathroom breaks at 7:30 pm. He eventually got the hint and added another girl a few stores down to his pickup route. I have not seen him in over a year, he's most likely dead... Or boating.

Hold your breath until next time when I recount the story of old man "crisco face".
Until next time.



TriceratopS

If you want to hear more from Triceratops, leave your feedback below.

Keeping My Cool

My recent stint as "gift shop cashier" at a national curling competition as been the ultimate test of my patience, and my ability to stop myself from loosing my cool with the general population. In the typical work day, I will spend most of my time packaging up ridiculously overpriced curling memorabilia for a group of society which is apparently immune to the economic downturn. I also spend a disturbing amount of time helping middle aged women pick out sweaters and coats, and coming up with non-offensive ways to discourage them from buying a medium when they really need to invest in a large. "Its really all about upper-body mobility" I often find myself explaining, "don't let the L scare you." Probably my most memorable moment to date, was the verbal thrashing I received from one of my fellow co-workers, who I have secretly named "Indigenous Rita McNeil." Upon taking over my till at the beginning of her shift, and the end of mine, she began to rage as I neglected to organize the three most recent transaction slips. "I don't clean up no-ones messes cept for ma'own" she sneered with surprising volume, as she starting tossing everything out of the till onto the counter, which included the previously organized piles I had set out. I slowly began sorting through the mess she created whilst staring at her with amazement. "Eaaasy Rita" I wanted to say, in a southing tone. "Don't you start to think that I come in here just to tidy up these messes you make." As the countless other employees and customers gathered to view this little production play out, and told her to relax, she snapped back "Im an honest woman, and I tell it how things are! I got to where I am today because of my honesty.. and the federal government thinks so too." Rita then rumbled into a long drawn out story about how she has paid her debts back to the government with honesty, and now the Canadian Government has given her clearance to enter any country in the World she wants to, without requiring any sort of documentation. At this point I had completed my tidying of the recipts and I slowly backed out of the situation, knowing what would happen if I said what I was thinking: "don't you need documentation to prove that you don't need any documentation?" Once the manager realized that customers were fleeing the scene and dispersing back into pedestrian traffic, she interjected and talked IRM down from her fleeting rage.

On tomorrow's agenda, I intend to propose a road trip to the United States border for a trial run of Rita's claim, and to further pick at the sure-lie until another more physical brawl ensues. I of course will push the blame onto the other "winter-carnies" I work with. Todays POTD represents what I was thinking about Rita as this event was occuring.



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Making It Fit

Anyone who has taken a trip with me anywhere knows that I am guilty of not just over packing, but have severe over packing syndrome. Though my trip is still seven weeks away I am surviving my post graduation unemployment blues via stretching out all the errands I need to run in late April over this length of time. This way, every week feels as if it is the final week before I depart Calgary for much more exciting exotic destinations, or to be frank, I can space all my purchases out just enough to avoid maxing out my student visa card, which by the way has an incredibly low limit.

This weeks mini-adventure was to track down a suitable object to pack enough things into to last me 2 months overseas. This meant I had to resurface at the MEC establishment which I shamefully fled back in my job hunting days. I stared up at the wall of backpacks, duffel bags, suitcases, and all the hybrids in between, "sweet Jehovah" I muttered. I immediately grabbed the largest backpack slash duffel bag I could spot. "This isn't big enough..there is no way!" I exclaimed, likely spooking the families and outdoor enthusiasts that surrounded me. I am fairly certain that a bag the size of my house could be hanging there, and I still wouldn't believe that I could fit enough stuff in it. So many questions, so few portable travel therapists on hand to talk me down from the tower of fear I was standing atop of. "Do I need a raincoat? .. Will it rain? .. Does it rain in Africa? .. Isn't that why they have so many problems? .. I think the Nile provides sufficient moisture.." were the types of question trains choo'ing around my mind.

Soon enough, likely due to the frantic look on my face, as I had the largest backpack down on the floor unzipping every possible opening and evaluating the possibility of living out of this small space for two months a clerk came over to assist me. A worker who I trust skate skis, and camps every Monday, Wednesday, Friday. "Looks like you might have some questions?" I slowly climbed up from the floor and explained the situation, and how I have a fear of running out of backpack space. "This bag is 130L, the biggest one we sell, its more then enough room for what you need." I kept my skepticism of her qualifications to myself, and admitted that perhaps I could temporarily accommodate the possibility of getting a smaller sized bag. "You can just bring like 4-5 shirts, a pair of pants and shorts" again I tried to imagine myself surviving under these circumstances. She unzipped the bag and tried to explain why a 110L bag might be more appropriate. My mind was occupied with my vivid imagination, trying to imagine how this skimpy looking bag could hold 110, 1L milk cartons. "...do you think so?" I heard just the end of her sentence, and nodded in agreement. I explained that I would sleep on it and come back soon for a second look.



For the second time in not long enough, I was leaving this store feeling as if I should be running, or perhaps it would be more appropriate if I 'trail ran' back to my car.

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