well, i didn’t get the turkey bacon. i didn’t do laundry. i did watch lots of television. i did eat broccoli (it wasn’t officially on the list). i did go to bed after will & grace, even though i didn’t really watch it. another wasted evening. whee.
i woke at 5:23am and didn’t roll over and go back to sleep. instead, i got up, got ready and was at work thirty-five minutes early. my dad walked in a couple of minutes ago and said “what brought you here so early? guilty conscience?” gee, thanks dad.
today, we’re going out for lunch to the thai place, then i think we’re ordering chinese at meghan’s tonight. grease! mmm! oddly, i’m disappointed that i won’t be able to make fajitas at home. oh well, i can do that on saturday.
i have a bone to pick with spice bottlers. there’s a recipe i want to try that has tumeric and curry in it. i’m familiar with neither of these spices. so, i’m looking at the bottles of spices in the grocery store and they’re over five bucks apiece. i mean, that’s a lot of coin to drop on something you don’t even know if you’ll like, let alone use again. yeah, i know i could buy some from the bulk bins, but then i’ll have a million little baggies floating around in my cupboard and that just looks tacky. plus, spices don’t keep that well that way. the real kicker was that i turned around and saw a 2.2 POUND (1 kg) bag of tumeric for half the price of the itsy-little bottle of tumeric!! see? it’s all a scam.
so, i get to leave work in fifty-five minutes. what will the ever-exciting heather do then, you wonder? well, she will do, in this order:
♠ drive out of the parking lot
♠ light a cigarette at imperial & canada way
♠ stop at safeway to pick up turkey bacon for marie
♠ check the mail, anxiously awaiting notification of the video card’s arrival
♠ eat something for dinner
♠ watch the three hours of television currently taped
♠ do laundry
♠ watch friends, survivor and, will & grace.
♠ go to bed immediately following will & grace in a futile attempt to rest enough so as not to be a zombie again friday
i just slammed the very tip of my right-hand middle finger in the bathroom stall door very. very. hard. it has swollen up about fifty-percent. the nail is slowly darkening. amazingly, i can still type. i have to be very gentle with it, though.
fuck. it hurt so much i almost cried.
i’ve been back from the island for two days and i haven’t yet turned my computer back on. the end must be near, for this is most assuredly one of the seven signs.
don’t breathe and drink tea at the same time.
i was twenty minutes late for work this morning. it was a combination of a late night, a dream which half-convinced me it was three-thirty instead of six-thirty am, the need to put gas in the car, a long line-up at the gas station and transit strike bridge congestion. not that i really care, most mornings i’m early. i figure it all gets sussed out in the wash.
i did see a couple of interesting things on the way to work. first, a cute guy right in front of me in the gas station line-up made his tim hortons exactly the way i do: three-quarters french vanilla, one-quarter straight coffee. second, was the man in the bmw in front of me in traffic. he pulled out a banana, held it at shoulder height, peeled it and took one delicate bite of it before laying it down somewhere out of sight. i’ve seen people put make-up on, shave and even use drumsticks on their steering wheel while driving, but i’ve never seen anyone eat a banana so carefully.
as i’m getting settled in this morning and trying to eat my breakfast, anna comes over and stands beside me. ugh. i knew what this was going to be about. “i’d like to learn payroll,” she says. i told her sure, and explained to her that i had to time it properly and a bunch of other bullshit. she finally left and then, just as i’d taken a bite of my sandwich she asked me if i’d want to go to lunch some time. what do you say? “sorry, i can barely stand to be in the same room with you for eight hours when we don’t talk, i don’t think we should be alone in a restaurant with only each other as company.” i suppose i could handle it if i managed to drag marie or debbie along for backup… ugh. ugh. ugh!
and, i have a union meeting to go to tonight… SHIT. i forgot to program the vcr to tape survivor. i don’t know if i can go now. shut up. you have your priorities and i have mine.
I want somebody who cares for me passionately
With every thought and with every breath
Someone who’ll help me see things in a different light
All the things I detest I will almost like
I don’t want to be tied to anyone’s strings
I’m carefully trying to steer clear of those things
But when I’m asleep I want somebody
Who will put their arms around me and kiss me tenderly
i want this bike. yup. mrawr.
i reckon that fifteen pounds is a resonable amount of weight to strive to lose between now and the time i go to seattle. that will bring me down to where i was last august, and i will be able to wear my “skinny” clothes again.
skinny clothes! ha!! one size does not skinny make.
so, yeah. portion control. impulse control. alcohol control. exercise. exercise. exercise. lovely… i just *can’t* wait.
ugh.
i best not quit smoking now. maybe i should start taking the chromium again. although, i blame it for some rather unladylike side effects.
my neck is *still* sore, by the way. that’s three days (four if you count the lingering twinge today). hopefully my disgustingly uncomfortable futon will put my skeleton back into it’s proper order.
i miss jason. but, i don’t believe what my magic 8-ball said about his missing me as well.
that lady smells like cat. or musty steamer trunk. no. pipe cleaners. she smells like pipe cleaners.
if you have a full version of windows 98 second edition you don’t need, you can donate it to the “heather shannon foundation for pc improvement.” shipping will be refunded upon request.
today, i wish i was invisible.
why is it that fat guys can get hot chicks, but fat chicks never get hot guys (unless they’re camren manheim)?
when men lose weight, their dicks get bigger; but, when women lose weight, their breasts get smaller.
when i close my eyes and listen to his voice, i design the most beautiful spaces. i wonder if this is my calling, my niche. i was only waiting for him to unlock the potential. but, once i hang up the phone, i don’t know how to make my ideas real. they exist only in that late night telephone comfort zone. that frustrates me to no end.
haiku:
children can’t grow up
if there is no reason to.
keep me in first grade.
i think it’s totally appropriate that she has hot pink hair on easter sunday.
i don’t like eating dead things any more.
they are the girls you avoided in high school. big hair, stretch jeans, $13 zellers pumps. on dressy days, they would wear their white tube skirts and lace stockings, a matching black bra & panty set visible through the cotton.
they smoked and wore too much make-up. their boyfriends were named “matt” and “bud” and “spike”.
when they talked, you could hear their rasping voices through doors, a warning to use a different bathroom unless you liked being sniffed at and called “priss” as soon as the stall door shut.
mack jackets and high tops, never laced to their high tops. you knew these girls slept around. what else were they good for?
i finished reading my book so i’m filling the pages with brain dump which i will later transcribe into greymatter (brain dump. greymatter. how appropriate.) and post online where i will wait for paige and goddess to write something flattering and supportive; dan to write something to make me laugh out loud, scott to write something short and sarcastic and (the shorter) heather to write something to remind me of why she’s my friend.
these are the core of my audience, at least the contingent who talk back via my cgi-powered medium.
with each comment i will feel fulfilled, my ego tank topped up with enviromentally-friendly, ethanol-blended fuel.
until the next time.
they come closer together now.
soon, i’ll never be satisfied.
it is a tender blizzard of unfettered linen chiffonade worn by hordes or emasculated mon-chi-chis with their brittle testosterone. my liquid nightmares coagulate like burnt toaster strudel and i can’t help tasting your keystrokes — they make me sob and pray for daylight.
i’m going to the island to visit my mom for a couple of days. i’m not very excited about it. i’d rather stay home. so, yeah… have a good sunday/monday/tuesday.
my saturday:
sleeping in until eleven.
coffee.
coffee.
more coffee.
laundry.
checking email.
dishes.
cataloging commodore 64 components.
hockey.
hockey.
more hockey.
waiting for phone call.
shower.
still waiting for phone call.
blogging.
on my way to the theatre to see the aforementioned film (which was brilliant, by the way), i came to a stop at a nearby intersection where my route required i make a left-hand turn. the light was green, but i had to wait for the oncoming cars and the band of migrating christians to clear the way.
migrating christians, you ask? why, yes. although, i’m not entirely sure they were garden-variety christians. more likely, they were catholics, if the five-foot tall crucifix they were carrying was any indication. i can only assume they were headed for the catholic church just two blocks from where i encountered them, for the holy land is in the opposite direction they were travelling.
why would i be going to hell, you’re probably wondering. because, as the sea of christians parted at the yellow light and i made my way through i thought to myself:
get out of the way! hitting christians on good friday would completely fuck up my karma!
and i laughed, quite loudly, for an entire kilometre.
so, yes. i’m most assuredly going to hell.
it’s friday the thirteenth! actually, not being a horror flick afficianado, i have no idea if jason was the goalie mask guy from halloween or what. it just made a good title.
so, while the rest of the world avoids the black cats, ladders and cracks in the sidewalk today, i’m going to go buy a lottery ticket and gamble on cards tonight. friday the thirteenth is notoriously lucky for me.
it wasn’t so for a classmate in ninth grade. she had spend the entire day freaking out about the impending doom about to befall her because of the date. i kept telling her not to worry. i thought it was working until she ran a sewing machine needle through her index finger during home economics class. an example of self-fulfilling destiny, i’d say.
thinking we’d watch the hockey game and then play cards until the wee hours, i went up to meghan’s after finally finding the last fucking dream key in 40 winks. we did watch the hockey game (we lost, but shouldn’t have), had dinner (they had perogies, i had frozen pizza), dean fell asleep, meg & mark were yawning every 40 seconds, so i came home at ten thirty and watched my tape of survivor.
hopefully they’ll all have naps tonight so we can actually play cards.
today, i’m going to finish drinking my quota of caffeine then i’m going to go see bridget jones’s diary this afternoon. i’m of two minds about going to see it. i’ve read the books and really, really enjoyed them, so i’m worried that they’ve butchered it and i’ll once again be disappointed by a celluloid rendition.
i have one concern though. in the second book, bridget has to interview colin firth. well, colin firth is actually playing the man bridget is involved with in the second book. if they film the sophmore offering, who will play colin firth? they can’t substitute him, it’s integral to the story (who else can they film glistening in the sunlight?). it’s a horrible, confusing logic loop.
there’s a hole in the bucket, dear liza.
i renewed my car insurance & got the oil changed. my insurance payments dropped a whopping $.14 a month, despite my collision deductable is now $200 less. yay. the oil change was free. the garage didn’t replace my oil cap the last time i was there and the coupon was their meager attempt to cow me after returning to them with my engine covered in crude.
then i came home and ate a bag of potato chips. good thing i did some aerobic work this morning, huh?
it will have been 85 hours since i’ve had a cigarette.
i haven’t decided if i’m going to smoke this weekend. i’ve been vacillating between wanting one *now* and thinking that it might just stick this time. i haven’t gotten any of the initial benefits of non-smoking yet, other than the improved morning breath. my sense of smell hasn’t returned, nor does anything taste significantly better. i’m blaming that on the slight stuffy nose i’ve had for the last week, though.
i’ve actually done rather well this week. yeah, i can hear you: “three days, man. that’s not quitting.” shut up. my victory may not be majestic, but it’s mine. even if i smoke a pack this weekend i know i’ll be able to put them away during the week again. that was my first milestone: not smoking when i’m alone.
sitting in my pajamas, drinking coffee, watching talk shows… yes, i’m digging this having thursday off gig.
how is your day going? =)
although i’m feeling decidedly better about circumstances which have surrounded my personal life, i’m still not mended. i just wish the flashbacks would stop. they hurt too much.
may i have a lobotomy, please?