Must...stay...awake...

I'm longing for July 14th with all of my heart!
When that sweet, sweet day rolls along, don't ask me fo' nothin! I've got a pressing engagement with my sofa for another session on the

SOFA OF DOOM!

Movies, and sloth a-plenty, baby!

I'm so used to having a little respite from life at the end of the spring semester of YouthWorks, but this year, I've been barreling straight through for a solid two months, and I figure if I stoutly deny the feeling that I'm nearing a burnout, it will work. But you know what? I do love my work, and it's so rewarding (if not yet financially).

And there are many exciting things ahead for me this year, I just know it! Well, some things I'm planning, and some things I know will come to me. But more on that later. I've got to get back to work (yeah, I know, like you couldn't see that one coming!)

Vacation!

Yes Babies,

I was surely only four days away from a meltdown of Mariah Carey-sized proportions.

But then I hopped on a bus to Perth to meet Mom and some of her friends at their gorgeous cottage 3o feet up on a cliff overlooking a beautiful lake. Ah. And now I'm in the spare room at Mom's chillin' and about ready to curl up in bed with a Maeve Binchy book and just drift off into sleep again. Once again, Mom is always a cure for whatever ails me.

Work's been good and very productive (the show is going to be spectacular, I've tried my hand at choreography for the first time and it's really working out well) but nevertheless stressful at the same time. This past week I'm sure I lost a year off my life. However, all is well, nothing was broken that couldn't be fixed, and so here I am, enjoying a lovely getaway with Mom. We're going to eat beautiful healthy foods, go the gym, I'll do her nails and brush her hair, and we'll just ol' talk every day. Also, I'm going to get some colour on this body of mine. Hoo boy!

Man, my mom has become such a friend. I can tell her things I never thought I would, you know? I really feel that as much as I'm her daughter and that she'll always want to take care of me, spoil me (yeeeaaagghhh! h'ray!) and protect me, that she also trusts and respects me as a woman. I'm a lucky girl. I have so much love in my life (amazing family, terrific friends and wonderful colleagues), I have health and strength and beauty. I am a wealthy woman. I am so grateful, right now. I can't stop smiling. And the things in my life that are not yet as I would wish them, are really not so bad at all. When I think about it, I have everything I need, right now, and nothing but good things coming my way, if only I'll have the eyes to see them and recognize them. Even bad things can turn out for good.

I mean, when I consider my divorce, and how much that had hurt me and all that I had lost, I can't help but also think about what I have gained, and what I've been saved from. I believe with all of my heart that the very best incarnation of me is being made manifest in my life. Right now.

So, before I drift off to sleep, I'm going to tell you right now that I love you. I love you for staying with me over these past two years.

Also, if you wouldn't mind sending some positive helpful hopeful vibes that I regain my lost luggage, that would be great too. I know I'll get it back, and very soon, but hey, there is strength in numbers, right?

nighty night...*m'wah!*

Once again...

I'm back to sleeping on the BTW couch.

Ridiculous.
And on another random note, I just love carbs. But that's just because I'm so tired that I crave simple sugars. Which means lots of croissants. *ahhh...*I love bread. And cereal. Particularly Kashi GoLEan crunch. Too bad it don't love me back.

Ugh. Bloat. But the carb coma! Pain and pleasure all at once. Argh...If I wasn't so broke and I was ever home and awake for more than two hours in a day I'd make all my tasty raw food vegan recipes that I was making back in March and April. Convenience food becomes shakes and green juices. But I'd rather eat bread right now. Because sometimes, liquid nutrition, convenient as it is, just isn't very comforting or satisfying.

Blah blah, whine whine whine, complain complain complain. I'd still rather be doing what I'm doing that work some office job. As exhausted as I am, I'm growing so much as an artist and am learning new skill sets all the time. This job gives me amazing learning opportunities. If only I didn't live below the poverty line.

Those were the days

It's incredible to me that there was a time I spent entire days on my sofa watching DVDs and eating takeout.

I miss my friends. I miss my sofa.
And now I'm going back to work.
I have much to tell! (Nothing new per se, just what's new with me.)

Dun, Dun, DUNNNN!

When the moon is in the seventh house and Mommy and Fabian buy you a tv and you begin the first leg of a touring production of a play that requires you to play upwards of five roles (not all of them human) with singing and African dance and physical work that basically requires that you be in a squat for an hour at a time (either walking about with your booty mere inches from the ground or else to try to shave off a foot of your height) and you're premenstrual and inhaling all the carbs you can find (oh tasty tasty waffles!) and so anxiety ridden that you sleep 3 hours a night then you are ripe for a week of...

THE RETURN OF
THE SOFA OF DOOM!!!

Yes, darlings. Mom and Fabian came to town last weekend and stayed overnight which was so awesome! (It was her birthday, and yet they bought me a TV. How big of a spoiled brat am I? Or irresponsible starving artist, whatever.) Basically, I'd come home from the show with a DVD, a bag of cookies (or a box of waffles!) and other such sugary delights and pass out on my super-duper sofa in front of my beeyoutiful new TV in my brand new comfy pajamas (also courtesy of my Mom-Long Live my Mom!) in under thirty minutes, only to wake up twelve to fourteen hours later in order to just make it for my next call. Working out at the gym did not happen much. So I am now heavier than Miss Tyra. I guess that's what I get for gloating.

But I'm getting back on track this week! (Mainly because I have no choice.) However, I'm probably still going to neglect you. As long as I'm being honest, here. Unless of course you are willing to join in on the sofa sessions of sloth.

On another note: is it just me, or are there a whole lot more crazy people on the metros these days? And why do they all come up to me?

Just for one weekend...

I'd like to actually sleep in my own bed. No no, not because I've been up to any type of tomfoolery, that's not where I'm heading.

(Truth be told, I have an awful premonition that tells me that sort of thing will never ever happen again for yours truly. No shopper wants to buy damaged or used goods when they can get something new. But nothing is written in stone, never say never, someday I'll be in another relationship, whatever blah blah blah.)

Okay, now that my little sleep-deprivation-induced pity party is over, what I mean is, in my bed instead of on a couch. Two weekends ago I had guests over so I let them have my bed and I took the couch. This past weekend, I worked so much and until so late, it was actually smarter to sleep on the couch at Black Theatre Workshop than to go all the way home and come back downtown again to open the gym at quarter to six in the morning.

Ah, to have a long, lazy morning in bed on the weekend. How awesome would that be?

For the love of dairy products...

Food is so fan-frickin-tastic! Sure, my tummy is like a basketball stuffed full of bread and sugar and fat, but it's just so doggone good! Even if I am a little burpy and farty right now. Dairy, as good as it is, has never been good to me.

Meh, I can always train like a marine tomorrow. (And you KNOW that I will. That crazy Loren has given me a new program that I guarantee, if it doesn't prove to be the death of me, will give me the physiology of a 15-year-old. Oh yes, I'm determined to beat his score on the Fit Test. Heh heh. And when I do, I will gloat. Loudly and often. I will not be a gracious victor. I'm just warning you all now. Judge me if you will! It's just because he gloats about having a 16-year-old body and is shaped like the letter Y. I think it will be good for him to be beaten by a girl. Yeah, I want to help to develop his character...that's my motivation, uh-huh, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. )

But darlings, believe me, I am going to earn it. I need memories of sugar, chocolate, french fries, red beans and rice and pie to comfort me through the long weeks and months of brown rice, chicken breasts, egg whites, and broccoli ahead.

Mmmmm....fat. *drool!*

I'm at my dad's place eating pastries and drinking coffee and Courvoisier and listening to the Dreamgirls soundtrack. We are all being as loud and sassy as we know how to be, and it's oodles of fun. I'm storing up a lot of memories to tide me over in the upcoming weeks, because things are going to get hairy.

So there is a slight chance that I may tend to be neglectful in the upcoming weeks. Please don't get mad at me, I know it's not fair, but you may have to be the one to call me more times than I will call you. But I will do my best to try to keep my work and social life balanced. A little kick in the shin from time to time will remind me to keep my head up and looking around me instead of just the row that I'm ploughing. If you catch my drift.

Anyway. Loving you!
Merry Christmas!

Goodbye James Brown. You may have ended up crazy, but you were still the greatest.

Whatta weekend!

In the end, Friday night I had sushi and a vodka soda, which was quite tasty. I've only managed to workout today for the first time since, because I was too tired out by my weekend to safely exercise, and I felt the onset of a cold coming on. Very congested and boogery. (Sorry, that was gross, wasn't it?) And then there are the raging hormones that only Aunt Flo can provoke.

Saturday night, against my better judgment, I joined my colleague Quincy for a quick salad and a drink on Saturday night, but as there was a play closing at the Mainline Theatre that weekend, a whole mess of friends dropped into La Cabane and stayed to talk with us. I love hanging out with Quincy. He's solid gold, baby. It was a late night, but it's so nice to get to connect with people, you know? I think my new beverage of choice will be vodka. It's less sugary and not as full of mold as beer or wine. And your breath doesn't smell. And because of the taste, I'm less inclined to overindulge.

I of course, I did end up eating something bacon-y this weekend, at Eileen's house. It was pizza. (And if chicken wings and fries and mayonnnaise happened to find their way into the fray, it was an accident. Yeah, that's the ticket.) It was only because I was up on Sunday morning at a thoroughly unholy hour to go take my CPR certification course, and then spent the afternoon playing Dance Dance Revolution with Eileen, Thiery, JJ, and JF. Pure jokes! I am not a coordinated chick AT ALL. Scandalous. We also played Mario Kart and then watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. (Again! I lurrrve Ralph Fiennes...)

So I slept over at Eileen's, which sort of meant that I slept in, because I got to wake up at 5 am instead of at 4 to go to work. It was awesome. Of course, I was still tired and sore from my last workout on Thursday (it was a doozy--the head trainer at my gym obviously has obviously been taken in by that Fit Test and so he gave me a doozy of a training program. Anyway.) and after a quick stop in to the office I found out something marvelous!

There is a chance that I may get a job teaching Theatre part-time at Vanier College! Pray hard for me! Send out all your bestest good vibes so that they know that I'm utterly fabulous and fall all over themselves to offer me a job. Shoot, I'd even take it if it was offered somwhat grudgingly. This means that if I can hang on to that job for awhile, well, who needs the MFA to be able to teach at a postsecondary level? I'll just accumulate the equivalent in teaching experience! Ooh, it would be so awesome to be able to not work three jobs!

But of course, Monday evening was crap. Deeply crap. Crappity crap. Luckily, there was no vodka in the house, and cigarettes are not an option, so I had to settle for channeling my anger into the self-destructiveness of eating a double bacon cheesburger, fries and onion rings.
(But truth be told, it was SO tasty. Thank God for comfort food.)

Yesterday had lovely moments in it, even though the soundtrack of the movie of my life was an unending refrain of crap. crap. crap. you're worthless. go back to bed. you're a waste of flesh. crap. crap. crap...
But getting back to the lovely moments, because they WERE there. I found out something really amazing about the play that I was in last year: Blacks Don't Bowl. I'm not allowed to say anything until it's made official next Monday, but suffice to say, it's awesome news. Already, we were nominated for a MECCA award for Best Ensemble this year (we didn't win, but it's still pretty amazing that my first professional play is so critically and popularly acclaimed). I also had a great time with Sandra, just talking, eating (healthily) and watching Nacho Libre. That film had such potential to be awesome, if only Jared Hess had been able to get Jack Black to dial it down about two notches. Oh well. It's still the only other Jack Black movie I've ever liked. (The other one was School of Rock.)

I think I'm back on track today, though. I've moved beyond feeling sad and depressed to channeling all my anger, hurt and other such icky feelings into the monster of a workout that Laurent had planned for me. And it worked. I was a beast. In the best possible way. I actually arrived at some new strength goals today, which is really cool. I'm so close to leg pressing 100 pounds, it's not even funny. And I can row 100 pounds. I can compress 120 pounds with my hip abductors and adductors. And all the while, I listened to Chaka Khan's I'm Every Woman on my discman. I feel much better now.

Ah, but will it hold? Tune in next time, I guess. Or not.

I love my bed so much...

I'm thinking of giving it a name. I mean, we've got a relationshiop here. But it has to be a good name that means something. I think I'll research some lovely latin or greek-based name that means lethe or forgetfulness or nirvana or something.

All I came up with was Visa. Because it's everywhere you want to be. And also, because I can't help but feel that sooner or later I'm going to have to pay for all the time I've been spending in it.

(Also, my neck really hurts because I did a stage combat class tonight. I will definitely be putting a heating pad on it. Owee.)

Pimpin' Ain't Easy...

I'm sure y'all remember that show "Pimp My Ride" which was a really ridiculous concept when you think about it. I'm all for helping people to have safe and reliable transportation, but stuff like popcorn makers, cappucino machine, DVD players and the like in your car is just ridiculous. No one needs to have their car tricked out like that. If you're going to invest money in extra luxuries, don't put it on a car which will only distract you from your driving or assure that your car gets jacked.

But Darlings, I have taken pimping to the next level. Pimpin' ain't easy, it's true, but this has been among the most worthy investments I have ever made in my life. I'm talking about pimping your bed. Now before you all start getting the wrong idea and think I'm going to change my name to Slickback or something, hear me out.

Thanks to Stephanie, I have just inherited the most comfortable bed of my life, this wonderful queen-sized orthopedic mattress and boxspring. I had gotten an awesome duvet and sheet set with a high thread count as a wedding gift, and so it was as comfortable a sleeping experience as I have ever had. But last night, I bought this gel-filled mattress cover and new pillowcases. Dy-no-mite! It has never been so hard to get out of bed as it was this morning.

If you aren't gellin' right about now, you gotta get on it. As Angela so wisely pointed out to me, you spend about a third of your life in bed, so make it count.


And speaking about pimpin...
This is a very peculiar clip, but if I tell you more, I'll spoil it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-feLDOpJfYg

I've sniggered over this one ever since I saw it yesterday.

It really works, too!

Finally, my beloved El Bill came by to visit and bless my new apartment with liquor and barbecue. We couldn't eat our way through the chicken and the whole hawg, courtesy of Bar-B-Barn, but we sure tried. The ribs in particular, were the worst hit. Man, did I ever sleep well that night. I think it was the ribs. But it might have been easing down every tasty, greasy, biteful with yum-yum-yummy Graham's six grapes porto. (I have since learned that all port is made with more than six grapes, and the "six grapes" thing is just a name. Thanks, Bill.)

And..."Thanks, Ribs!"

Oh, and I've decided...

That I'm having my Housewarming Party on Sunday, October the 8th, at 3pm.
Y'all know how to reach me. RSVP and I'll give you the directions and whatnot.

I was going to wait until I'd finished decorating and painting and all, but I figured, if I just get on with it, I can get decorating advice and liquor and your company all at once. How can it possibly get better than that?

If you can't make it that day, let me know. I'll invite you to my Collective Hosing Party. (All you non-Canadians, get your minds outta the gutter, because we are gonna park ourselves on the

SOFA OF DOOM!!!!!

and the nefarious

ARMCHAIR OF DISASTER!!!!!

and eat and drink and blather on...or not, if we decide to watch DVDs or play video games. Just basically be lazy as a group. Bacon pizzas are optional.) Date TBA.

Call me y'all or email me or something. Or not.

I have spoken.

Those were the days my friend...

There are not many things that I enjoy reminiscing about when I think back to the days of my adolescence. Being a bit overweight, a little geeky at times, not running with the popular crowd (I ran with the artsy kids) and basically mediocre at all sports...Never quite as snazzy on the fashion tip as my peers, it was irksome to be sure. I'm of mixed race and never could get the black swagger thing down pat, I seemed too "white" for black people to really want to claim me as one of their own. Mind you, I was dark skinned enough to get trailed by store security personnel and to be told, "Nigger, why don't you go back on your boat to Africa?" As my friend Quincy says, how can I go back to somewhere I've never been? Anyway.

Would that I had grown up in Montreal. When I finally managed to get popular enough to be elected to student council, I realized that it stopped being a badge of acceptance. Being different in Montreal, on the other hand, would have been a fine place to live, and the pursuit of popularity would not have been so important, I think. But then again, maybe not. Teenagers are notoriously stupid about stuff like that.

However, I did manage to make some awesome friends in Toronto during my teen years. I had a blast doing theatre and chilling with my friends. I had found early on in life the one thing I did better than anything else (although I wasn't aware of it at the time). I had really cool acting gigs that gave me the opportunity to travel to neat places. I had great grades without having to try very hard. But there was something that stands apart in the singularly wonderful things of my adolescence. One something that takes me back and makes that whole hellish period all alright.

Video games.

How many fabulous hours of hosing around did I spend in front of the Nintendo, playing all the Mario Bros. Games that were available, Metroid, Mike Tyson's Punch Out, Donkey Kong, Tetris (which would brand itself on my brain for hours after I stopped playing)...Whether playing alone or with friends, it was always all good. I never got mad at the Nintendo. Not even when my sister threw it at me during a particularly nasty altercation and it gave me a bruise did my love for the Nintendo ever abate.

And so, I spent hours playing Nintendo with Eileen yesterday and this morning, and I felt young again. But the good kind of Young. Not the young and socially stupid kind of Young, not even the tireless and physically sound kind of Young (I am suffering some backache and tension from pressing on the controller buttons with all my might), but the kind of Young when you really could forget all your pressing problems in the face of a brightly coloured virtual world and all of your mistakes are do-overs, even when you die you get to come back to life, and winning is the best thing in the world (but not the only thing in the world) but not so much that you ever tire of finding new challenges to beat. (Incidentally, Eileen's Korean name is Ye-Young. Coincidence? I think not.)

I feel good. I feel young. But I've hosed around long enough. It's time to get back to work.
It's time to grow up.

For now.

But then again...

I may have been suffering from the heat so much because of the mass quantities of food I consumed over the weekend. I watched silly movies like Dodgeball and Galaxy Quest and 13 Going on 30 with Bill and it was jokes. I had every intention of eating healthy food with her you know. And if Baileys, Pepsi, pizza, chicken wings and ice cream did happen to pass my lips, I have a little comfort in recalling that there were also some carrot and celery sticks that got in there somehow. And wowee! the barbecued jerk chicken and potato salad at Dad's the next day! I also made Great Big Pitchers of Mojitos.*mmm...drool...*

However, I am perfectly willing to own that my discomfort may have been the result of some indigestion. You can't eat as cleanly as I did all week and then blast your body with that kind of salt, fat, wheat, alcohol, and dairy and expect to get away scot free. But what a way to go!

(By the way Bill, I mentioned Steve the Pirate to Solonor who affectionatly sends the usual "Hello Butthead" greeting.)

And little Jasmine slept over at our place last night. Stephanie is looking after her for Jenny to give the poor woman a badly needed night out. It's pretty hilarious. Jazzy has taken over the whole entire apartment. She's EVERYWHERE, man. She's like a puppy, running all over the apartment. But she's so sweet natured and affectionate and clever. It's so funny: Stephanie will say something to Jasmine, who will look back at her in puzzlement, and and then turn to me for the translation in French. Because Jenny always speaks to Jazzy in French and Jasmine's dad speaks English, but she doesn't see him that often so her understanding of English has not kept apace.

Man, looking at Jasmine this morning, I recalled a time when I was actually that small.
I was a fetus.

S'up, yo.

First of all, I'd like to welcome all the new visitors to the blog! As long as you don't need me to be diligent about phoning and hanging out with you to feel the friendly love vibe I'm sending y'all, we'll get along fine! Huzzah!

Anyhoo.
It's the first time I've been the office all week, and I'm not particularly proud of that. I am a lousy (awesome?) boss this week. Sure, I had work-related obligations on Monday that kept me out of the office, but what have I done since then?
Well, I'll tell you.
A whole lot of nothing.
Yeah, I said it.

Well truth be told, I ate a lot and watched videos too. That's something.
But not on the Sofa of Doom.
Oh no, not this time. It was on the Armchair of Disaster!
It's a little less comfortable for sleeping, you know, 'cause your legs dangle over the arms and it cuts off your circulation and you get a crick in the neck. So, although it's a nice place to visit at first, it's nowhere you wanna live.
But all in all, it's a good choice if you only want to take a short trip on the Debauchery Train.
Actually, to do myself justice, I did manage some light cooking and housework too, so I wouldn't be such a total slug and freeloader.
Sigh.

How did I fall off of the Wagon of Productivity, you ask? It's all about me and Steph being in mourning over her imminent departure. Instead of crying and getting depressed, we ate baba ghanouj, crackers, old-fasioned donuts and drank white wine while watching Def Poetry Jam. She provided all of the edible and drinkable goodies, I provided the entertainment. It was all about taking some time out for the kind of therapy that does a body good and doesn't cost $120 an hour. (Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

When you're waiting on a paycheck, there are not a lot of fun times to be had. Yeah, okay! I have no equity and live from paycheck to paycheck. I also haven't filed my taxes yet. What's more, I also can belch like a trucker on command. I do have immature and flaky dimensions to me. It's all part of my charm. Yeah, that's it! And on top of it, those people who look at me and feel superior because of it, well, shoot, I've just boosted their self-esteem, so that's sort of like a good deed, isn't it? Maybe I'm storing up brownie points in heaven!

The living situation is nowhere near resolution, I really wish I could just do the ostrich thing and hope the problem goes away. But of course, if I do that, I'll have gone beyond crazy black lady to crazy homeless black lady, and how does that uplift the race, I ask you? Sigh. Gotta make some more phone calls and start praying for a miracle, because deep down, I do believe that things have a way of working themselves out.

Wellllllp...
I've run out of things to say. Except this. I saw the latest version of The Producers yesterday, and although it was entertaining and I liked the new songs, nothing touches the original Mel Blanks movie. That may be because it's Zero Mostel and Gene-frickin-Wilder, it may be because I watched it with Bill and because we ate lots of Bar-B-Barn ribs and chicken (Okay, I ate lots of ribs and chicken, most of them, in fact. I'm surprised poor Bill didn't pull back a stump. You know, I'm occasionally shocked and appalled at the mass quantities of food I am capable of consuming in one sitting, but I'm getting off the point.) and drank champagne.

But then again, all of our movie fests took place during my year of post-surgery convalescence. That's when I learned to love the lazy, Baby. Lots of molasses cookies and vanilla soy milk, video games, movies, trips to the Jean-Talon market and other such fun have melted into a stream of con-fun-ness.

Okay, now I'm really finished talking. For now.

Chillin' like a villain

Yes indeedy Dahlings, that's how it's been goin' down these days.

Been hanging out with Mom for the past couple of days, and it's been deeply wicked. I've been eating, sleeping, reading, eating and braiding my hair. Lot of eating, lot of braiding. Wait till y'all see me. I may be puffy, but I look good.

Under normal circumstances, braiding would have been replaced by shopping, but the sad reality is that I am once again po' and since I won't be able to afford trips to the hair dresser for at least another month, I figured it would be worth it to invest some time in a 'do that will last for a month, be lovely and time-saving in the mornings.
(Well, not that I actuallly get to work before noon since I'm completely useless in the morning, but you get my drift.)

Because if you know black women's hair, darlings (and I do) it is involved. Can I get a witness? Whether your hair is permed or you're rocking a natural or doin' the dreadlocks thing, it's a lot of work. Brigitte has neatly avoided the pitfalls of time-consuming hair by rocking a really short 'fro, but then again, she's petite and feminine, so it works. If you've got a big 'ol pumpkin head such as myself, a short 'fro looks like a short stop on the road to Transamerica, if you get my drift. Anyway.

And let me tell you, hanging out with Mom and Fabian has given me tons more material for the dictionary. I've gotta write it all down before I forget.

I actually feel a wee bit guilty because I haven't gotten much work done and I really did intend to get some stuff done. What can I say? It's the hair. In fact, I am altogether too ashamed to admit how many hours of work have gone into this coif'.
But doggone it, I look good.
Heh heh.

And how am I doing lately, you may ask? Ahhh....
It's worth mentioning that Mom is proving to be, as usual, a wonderful balm for all that ails me when life gets lousy. Not everybody gets a supafly mom like mine, as we all know. Supafly moms aren't perfect, but they are so, well...supafly, that even their flaws are a part of their charm. It shows you how to bear up under your own with grace and fabulosity.
Yeah, I'm so chill that I wonder if I'll be able to bring it back home with me. I guess we'll all find out.

We Shall Overcome...

Ah yes, dahlings, soon, will come a day that I get to bed at a decent hour, when the madness of work slows down a wee bit (not because of me being reasonable or anything, y'all know I'm a workaholic, but when my system just crashes) and you know what that means, don't you?

JUNK FOOD EXTRAVAGANZA
ON THE SOFA OF DOOM!

Yeeeah, baybee...I've decided to just accept that this is my pattern for now. Why fight it?

So, sign up now to join in my Festival of Sloth and Debauchery next week. Bring yourself and some DVD's and let the good times roll! I'm serious! My whatless hours begin on Tuesday, May 9th at whenever I roll out of bed and onto the sofa, and basically will last until Friday. Saturday is the beginning of grocery day and housecleaning day, and organizing my files day and other responsible type things. I'm taking appointments right now. Y'all know my cell number, call it! Drop me a line in comments! Send me an email! But do it before next Monday night when I finish the final strike of the set for our super-D-duper Youthworks show (May 6th and 7th)
or else I may not be awake to take your call. I'm just sayin'

I've begun a swear jar last week because my potty mouth got out of hand and when I got up to 10 dollas, I said to myself:

"Self, this is getting expensive, You obviously need to stop stressing and learn how to surrender. You can't control everything, what will be will be, do what you can, and let the rest take care of itself."

And then I respond (oh yes, we've gotten to that point, I'm in deep trouble, I have conversations with myself now, I'll have to bring it up with my therapist. Crap.) :

"Shut the *&$#&*@^ up, you. I'm working here."

Alright, alright!

I'm actually not looking for a job. Yet. I'm still hoping to win the lottery.
Nor have I done my taxes.
The first is a big deal, the second, not really at all. Last year's revenue was scandalously little. I'd have made more on welfare. It'll take me all of ten minutes to do my taxes. Anyhoo. (Are you quietly judging me? Cut that out!)

So, I was listening to a CD of me singing for the first time in donkey ages, and it made my throat tense up just listening to it. Yo, I need to take some voice lessons again. Picked up some bad habits while doing the Casino tour. Yikes. Oh well, no time or money to fix it right now, so the folks in the Niagara Falls Casino lounge this weekend are just gonna have to lump it, aren't they? Momma needs to pay off her Visa!

Perhaps instead of getting a real job, I can just barrel full-steam ahead into doing my M.F.A. 'Yeah, yeah,' says the little judgment voice in my head (who invited her along anyway?) 'be a grown up, go immolate yourself at the temple of commerce like everyone else, blah blah blah,' but you know what? The thought of working as an office drone ever again makes me want to cut out my tongue with a spoon.

And while I'm riding that Immaturity train to Avoidance, I'm going to stop by my mom's next week to be spoiled. For weeks. Ta-da! Okay, maybe not weeks. Maybe just two of them. That's right, I'm bouncing out of Montréal, bébé and I'ma gonna eat all the West Indian food I can handle. Within reason of course. And going to the gym everyday. Yeah.
Eat your hearts out, suckas!

By the way, to my buddies who visit, it's okay to drop me a line and say hi! Let me know you've stopped by!

Ciao 4 now Dahlings...*m'wah!*

Blech

Rainy...
Harry.Potter.Binge.Not.Leaving.Bed.Except.To.Eat.