Christmas is a comin'!

Should I be worried that I haven't done any Christmas shopping yet? It's only 17 days til Christmas! Yikes! At work today, I was sweeping out the fitting rooms and I found someone's Christmas shopping list. She had a list of names, some with a few gift suggestions penciled in but most names just had question marks next to them. At the bottom she had written "Me" and underneath was a very impressive list: jeans, gloves (black, brown), sexy boots, belt...and it went on and on. I laughed because that's pretty much what my Christmas list looks like.

I'm so glad I put in my request for days off work at Christmas way back in October. I thought they would just say no, so I was surprised to see that I'm free from the 23rd to the 28th. So I'll get to spend a bit of time with the family. My parents are still trying to recover from all my conflicting announcements, "I'm quitting my job", "No I'm not", "I'm moving to New Zealand", "Never mind, I'm staying here". So I'll try my best not to confuse anyone over the holidays.

Future: Undecided

The results of the "Where should Kathleen go?" poll are in and it looks like the winner is Australia and New Zealand with 60% of the vote. That's the same thing I chose! So after hardly any thought, I handed in the SWAP (Student Work Abroad Program) application for the South Pacific combo, paid the hefty non-refundable fee, and less than two days later, completely changed my mind. I should have known better when, on my way to apply for the program, the little voice in my head said Don't do it! But the little voice offered no alternative life plan, so I did it anyway. It's not that I don't want to go; I definitely do and still plan to (especially if I can't get my money back). I just think it's the wrong time. The decision came as a result of one bad day, deciding I needed a change, and going a little overboard. I included "stay at Wal-mart" in my poll as a joke answer, but ha ha, the joke's on me because that's what I'm doing. I've already survived three Wal-mart Christmases. One more won't kill me. And now that the stress of moving is gone, I'm actually excited about Christmas. I'm relieved. Maybe I'm too old for adventure. Maybe Wal-mart is secretly drugging me. Either way, it felt too rushed. I need more time to plan and get excited about it. I'm going to leave major decision making for after Christmas.

Reader Poll

I forgot to mention that after I quit my job and move out of my current house, I'm going to move to New Zealand, or maybe Australia. I haven't quite decided yet. That's why I've included a poll over to the right. Everyone who reads this blog (all four or five of you) can vote for where you want me to move in the new year. At first I wanted to go Australia because I've always wanted to go there. But then I wanted to go to New Zealand because my brother will be there for a couple of months doing an engineering internship. But then I saw the preview for the new Nicole Kidman/Hugh Jackman movie and thought "Wow, Australia is so sexy. Definitely Australia". But then I saw that Australia is like 35 degrees in January. So I'm wondering if maybe I can just do both. It's almost to the point now where I've told so many people I'm going that I can't chicken out now. So please vote for your favorite location.

I've been dreaming about tornadoes lately. I've had three different dreams about tornadoes in the last month. I figured that must be some kind of dream anomaly so I looked it up. The experts all agree; it's not good. I finally found a nice neutral interpretation of tornado dreams. "A dream that includes a tornado may indicate the onset of sudden and major change in your life." I'm going to go with that.

Moving On

I hate when people interfere with my schedule so I was pretty pissed at work today when my lunch break had to be postponed because the guy who got caught stealing hundreds of dollars worth of DVDs (mostly Indiana Jones) decided to go insane and try to stab people with a dirty needle. Similar events happen often enough that I question the wisdom of having the security office/interrogation room/beating area so close to where we're expected to eat lunch. There's always some lunatic standing between me and my food. One time a crackhead ran through our lunch room trying to escape and often our friendly lunchtime conversations are punctuated with screaming and cursing from the hall. Today, Indiana Crackhead was finally subdued enough to allow for my safe passage to the fridge. I shot him dirty looks as I went by but I covered my name badge in case he was lucid enough to add me to his list of enemies. If only all the shoplifters behaved like last week's Hemorrhoid Guy, whose only crime was stealing a tube of Preparation H. When asked if it would have been less embarrassing just to buy it, he answered "Yes. Yes it would" and shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench reserved for the guilty.

Not that I don't cherish my days with these weirdos but I've decided to end my two and half year relationship with Wal-mart. My tentative last day is December 20. Since a million things could happen between now and then, I have only told a few people at work I'm leaving because nothing would be more embarrassing than having to stay after I hand in my resignation, tell off my boss, and punch a customer in the face, which is how I intend to go out.

My plan to have Shorty help me with my finances is going well so far. I think I'll probably move out of the house around December 21 and I have no intention of paying any rent for this month or the next. To be honest, I've pretty much gotten used to Shorty. He's not really a huge problem anymore, but that's not the story I'll be telling the landlord. Because he promised me Shorty would be gone the first of November, I sort of have a case. Most likely though, he won't give me a second thought, and I won't have to tell any story at all. For once I will take advantage of his negligence. I've been living free for ten days, only 40 days to go. Now all Shorty has to do is continue to refuse to leave and stay crazy. If the last four months are anything to go by, this shouldn't be a problem.

Survivor

Shorty has survived past his November 1st expiration date. He clearly isn't going anywhere. So I decided I will. I have a plan. It's ambitious and here's the twist: the success of the plan depends on Shorty staying. More details at a later date.

So just when I thought I could stop thinking about Shorty, I discover another layer of intrigue. He has started receiving frequent letters from a mystery woman. The envelopes are festooned with heart drawings and declarations of love and that's just on the outside. They are the kind of letters you would fully expect to contain naked pictures. Could this possibly be the pregnant girlfriend who wanted him dead? I guess it's possible. The letters arrive from Truro (ewww!) so there's half the mystery solved, but still. Because love letters are kind of adorable and old-fashioned, I took a thirty second break from loathing Shorty to say "Aww, that's so sweet!"

I'm always shocked to learn my enemies have friends and loved ones. When I saw that my boss had over a hundred friends on Facebook, I was sure they must all have added her by mistake but on her wall there were messages of good will and invitations to social gatherings. What is wrong with these people?

Pumpkinheads

I went to visit the Valley folk for Thanksgiving. A raucous time was had. Every year I am in charge of the family name draw for the Christmas gift exchange and every year certain people try to cheat, trying to score those easy-to-buy-for names. I have to be pretty strict.

On the way home we drove through Kentville, home of the Pumpkin People. Someday I hope to live in small town with an equally charming claim to fame. When I saw this picture I wasn't happy that I looked fatter than the pumpkin musician wearing an oversized man's shirt stuffed with a whole garbage bag full of leaves, but I got over it, and enjoyed two pieces of pumpkin pie when I got home. The guy on the ground? I just got finished kicking his ass.

Plucky Criminal Continues to Dominate Blog

If the readers of this blog are anything like my family and co-workers, they want to know about Shorty. Everyone I know asks about Shorty before they ask about me. Even my mother. I don't blame them; Shorty leads a more interesting life than I do. I don't know how a minor inconvenience became a pivotal character in my life. He's the Joe the Plumber to my Barack Obama. He has become something of a legend in my family. Relatives gather around the phone when I call to hear about his latest exploits. So here are some Shorty Fun Facts to ponder.

• He is bilingual.
• He has extensive knowledge of Halifax's sex trade + he has a criminal record. This is pure speculation, but I believe he is/was a prostitute.
• He is the go-to guy for stolen bicycles. I thought the theft of my old roommate's bike from the storage room was a simple crime of opportunity, but anything about stealing bikes Shorty doesn't know isn't worth knowing. Says Shorty, moronically unaware that I can clearly hear his conversation, to one of his buddies, "I can't keep all the bikes I steal in this room. If I did, there would be twelve bikes in here".

Before handing over my rent cheque for October, I demanded the landlord give me a definitive date for Shorty's eviction. I got my answer: November 1st. And because my landlord is a conniving bastard I confirmed: 2008. I can't wait! Will it actually happen? Will the police be involved? What will Shorty take from the house as a souvenir? Will he sneak back into the house that night seeking revenge? Stay tuned.

7th Heaven

My craptacular house is now at capacity. Seven people live here. That's way too many. A Dal TA from France just moved into the last free room. He's optimistic and full of big ideas. "Wouldn't it be great if we could walk around in sock feet or barefoot? Wouldn't it be nice if we didn't have too many dirty dishes in the sink?" You know what else would be nice? If Wal-mart paid me per stupid customer and I could use my knife to cut other things besides boxes. It's not gonna happen, Frenchie. It's almost as if he hasn't met Shorty. The good news is that all of the new roommates seem like responsible, respectful people. I actually like all of them. I have been systematically turning each person against Shorty, although he's doing most of the work. He's already asked everyone for money and cigarettes.

My Wal-mart shifts these days are mostly weekdays during the day. I don't know if I can handle these daytime workers. They take their jobs so seriously. I've always thought the daytime staffers were really rude to customers. Now I understand why. You just get so involved in your little tasks. Put hook in wall, put socks on hook, put hook in wall, put socks on hook. You develop a pleasing rhythm. Then a customer comes and asks you about a bra and you want to say "Can't you see I'm doing socks?! I can't think about bras right now! Geez!" The daytime staff would have conniption fits if they knew how little work the evening/weekend workers do. The last night I worked I spent two hours talking to a co-worker, not even talking while we worked, just talking. Then I needed garlic fingers and we spent an hour ordering, waiting for, and eating the garlic fingers. I don't normally need garlic fingers but I did that night because I was still drunk from spending the afternoon on a Class of 2008 library technician pub crawl.

My "new" job generates a lot of waste. After I empty 30 boxes of pantyhose and mittens, I'm left with a huge stack of cardboard and a big bag of plastic bags. Disposing of this garbage is the most traumatic part of my day. The cardboard goes in the baler, a big terrifying squashing machine. It's okay if I can just throw the cardboard in and run away, but if it's full, I have to turn the machine on. I'm always scared there might be someone in there. However unlikely, it is technically possible. I don't understand why if it's just cardboard, it makes a sound like crushing bones. The plastic is to be thrown into a giant recycling bin, the opening of which is at the height of a two storey building. Do you know how much a bag of plastic bags weighs? Like 5 ounces. The first day I tried throwing a nearly weightless bag that high, I knew it was impossible. The warehouse guys, who were there unloading a truck, stopped working long enough to offer tips and laugh like I was the funniest thing that happened all week. After it stopped being funny (approximately seven tries) someone finally did it for me. The next day I worked on my technique when no one was there and today I did it one try! I victory punched the air. Then I decided I should maybe work on setting higher goals for myself and possibly even start applying for other jobs.

Back Online

I'm finally back online after two weeks without the internet. I've been going crazy not knowing what's going on in the world. I made one trip to the library on Spring Garden. I had a computer booked but I still had to kick off a wild looking man who I'm pretty sure was looking at porn. Things are not looking good for my own computer so I have stolen my brother's. We don't expect him back from Australia for at least a year so surely that will be enough time for him to forget he ever owned a computer. He'll probably buy a fancy new one over there anyway. In the last communication I received from him, he said he was learning to play the didgeridoo and that wallabies roam his campus. It sounds like he's living my dream. Jerk.

My house is filling up with students. Our current population is five, which includes a Japanese physics major, a young German man who doesn't understand the washing machine, a NSCAD student who's going through a bad break up, me, and Shorty. I smell a sitcom! Shorty has triumphed over many obstacles and somehow remains living in the house. Last week an insane fight broke out between him and the landlord over an unpaid phone bill. It very nearly came to blows. I dislike them both equally so I had no favorite to win. I was hoping for some kind of resolution but Shorty is still here and things are still volatile. But the situation is not without advantages. I've really been playing up the trauma I've endured living with Shorty. The result: I haven't paid rent in three months and no one's asking any questions.

I've also lost five lbs on the Shorty Diet. All you need for this diet is a Shorty. He will eat all your food so you cannot. When you wise up and start locking up all your food, the diet continues to work because every time you want a snack you think about all the hassle it will take to find the right keys to all the cabinets and end up saying "Screw that, I'll just have some gum".

Shorty's shopping spree at Wal-mart has also opened up some interesting new challenges at work now that I know the security guards a little better. They are constantly in need of volunteers. Whenever a woman is caught shoplifting, a female staff member has to go sit with them in the security office until the police arrive. It's basically a half hour break. The first couple of times were a breeze, the culprits scared 14-year-olds. The older she-thieves are a bit more challenging. One woman offered me a twenty dollar bribe to distract the security guards. Another time, a crackhead demanded to know if I was going to testify against her. And most recently, a drunk woman, who assaulted both the security guys, kept getting up from her bench and casually wandering around casing the exit like she was going to make a run for it. I was a nervous wreck by the time she finally got dealt with. I keep doing it though. I like their crazy stories.

I got a fake promotion. I use the term promotion loosely because there is no increase in pay, just an increase in responsibility and hassle. I'm now in charge of the accessories (purses, luggage, socks, belts etc.) department. Today I was given my own knife for cutting open boxes. This is a big deal. Not just anyone gets a knife. The knife distributor woman is very stingy. She also told me I had to watch an instructional video before I could use the knife. It's a good thing I didn't laugh because she was serious. I didn't have time to watch the video today so she made me promise twice that I would watch it tomorrow.

Take Your Shorty to Work Day

It's not that Shorty's not a nice guy. He clearly is; he has invited most of the homeless population of Halifax to the house to do their laundry and have baths. I am not quite so nice and am getting very fed up with this stream of strangers using the facilities and stealing my stuff. This morning I just wanted to get out of the house so I actually went to work early. But, by some magical Shorty time warp, he was already at Wal-mart when I arrived. He must have been there for some time too, because the police had already arrived. Ever since Shorty moved into my house, I have fantasized about setting him up, casually mentioning how easy it was to steal from Wal-mart (he doesn't know I work there), then tipping off security if he ever showed up. But I ended up not having to get involved at all. Shorty got caught all on his own. I wasn't really all that surprised. I was kind of expecting it.

Later, when I asked our security guy about Shorty's fate, he said the police were taking him to booking on an unrelated matter. Unrelated matter? Why does that not surprise me? Neither the shoplifting nor the unrelated matter were enough to hold him, unfortunately. He arrived home at 2am in a mood I would describe as jubilant, cracking shoplifting jokes as he parted ways with his pals.

Last Saturday he stole my shampoo, conditioner, shave gel, razor, and toothpaste. What if I'd had a job interview or something the next day? It was bad enough that I was going to see "Mamma Mia" with Janet but if she noticed that I was especially unkempt, she was too polite to mention it. And on the topic of grooming, Shorty has a new summer haircut. I guess he finally decided to accept that he's bald. He must have read my blog. I was surprised to find how much of my distrust was based on his ridiculous hairstyle. It was probably 50% theft my personal belongings, 50% skullet.

2 bike locks for my kitchen cabinets: $15.00
Bracket, screwdriver and padlock to lock bathroom from the outside: $20.00
Knowing my stuff won't be stolen or covered in hippie dirt: Priceless

I really hope this is my last post about Shorty, but I can't promise anything.

Oh Shorty!

The non-ironically self-nicknamed Shorty continues to mess up my house and he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. I have been dropping hints that our other roommate is an angry and vengeful person and that when she returns she may have a problem with him. She's actually very kind and tolerant but I'm willing to sacrifice her reputation for this cause. I want that greasy troll packing his bags.

A grimy film appears on every surface he touches. A while back I did a thorough cleaning of the kitchen and when I was done I wrote on our whiteboard: "Kathleen, thanks for cleaning the kitchen. It looks great! I'll try not to mess it up." Not only do I get to pretend someone appreciates me, but Shorty will think someone appreciates me, and with the amount of marijuana he smokes he may think he wrote it himself. It's a win-win.

So far he has stolen crackers, toilet paper, and my mini fridge. I had hidden the crackers on a really high shelf, out of Shorty's reach but I was stupid to think I could keep munchies off a pothead's radar. He better watch himself though; he doesn't know about my subtle system of kitchen crime and punishment. It goes something like this:

He borrows flour or sugar - I mutter to myself, stomp on the stairs, and slam doors. He borrows chips or crackers - I give him a stern verbal warning to stay away from my food. He borrows Nutella or brownies - I smother him in his sleep.

To take my fridge, he would have had to remove the sign I had taped to it which said "Kathleen's Stuff". Everything I know about conflict resolution told me that I should not act on my first instincts which, in this case, were to scream "Never touch my stuff, you toxic elf!" and then threaten to call the police. But I'm not really sure how to get my point across. You can't reason with hippies. They're illogical and infuriating. He probably thinks we're sharing. He would probably think a fair trade would be my fridge for some revelation about the meaning of life he made during a drug-induced hallucination. Well, no thanks.

As far as I can tell, he doesn't have a (legal) job and spends most of his time in his room. But what could he be doing in there all day with just a radio, a futon mattress and, presumably, my mini fridge?

The phone rings constantly with the urgency of someone in need of a fix. Conversations with his woman often contain phrases like "Even if I'm in jail and you're in jail, we'll always be together" and "What did your parole officer say?". There have been other conversations with his "associates" that consist mostly of a string of obscenities, with the gist of the message being "I don't have the money."

I have moved "being robbed in my own room" back to the top of my list of fears for the first time since 2004 when I was staying in a particularly sketchy hostel in the King's Cross area of London.

Oh, and he has a skateboard. He uses it to get around even though he also stole our other roommate's bike. Can I really stay mad at a 41-year-old man who travels by skateboard?

Adventures with Shorty

For the last two months, there has been a subletter in the house. Although she was a quiet grad student, her inability to follow simple recycling instructions made me angry. I was also unimpresed with her poor dish washing skills. I'm not sure what she did to them that made her think she'd cleaned them. If I had to guess, I'd say she always used either soap or water, but never both. I just don't know how you can be so bad at something so simple. I was relieved when she moved out. Having recently met her replacement, I would give anything to have her back.

Last Saturday at 1'o'clock in the morning, Shorty moved in. I heard a commotion and went into the hall to find a dirty little pothead with a skullet moving into the room across the hall from mine, the room that smells strongly of gas and which I was planning to seal off with towels and duct tape at the next possible opportunity. In his early 40's, Shorty arrived by bike from the bad part of Dartmouth and I quickly realized my stories of mice and gas leaks were not going to discourage a man who can probably sleep through gunfire. He has a pregnant girlfriend who, by the sounds of it, is not at all happy to have been impregnated, especially by him. He can't live with her because she's "crazy, real crazy". I have identified all possible escape routes from the house in case she shows up with a shotgun and hormonal rage.

With me visiting home this week, Shorty will be all alone in the house unsupervised for five days. I didn't have time to train him before taking off. As best I could, I tried to Shorty-proof the house before I left. I locked my door, checked the smoke detectors, and put a sign on my brownies in the fridge: These brownies are not "special". Still, I shudder to think what I will arrive home to on Tuesday.

Surprise Garden

I was looking out in the backyard today and there's flowers out there! Who knew? They were probably planted by my former roommate. The cook moved out 2 months ago but she still contributes more to this household than anyone else.

Mmmmm TB muffins

Only one week left of my work term at the medical library. The end cannot come soon enough. It's going to be especially hard getting up in the morning now that I've already graduated. Theoretically, I could just not show up but then I would earn myself a bad reputation in "libraryland" which, apparently, exists.

The stress of working all the time is getting to me. I've been having long complicated dreams and I wake up thinking, "I have been running around solving puzzles ALL night. I can't POSSIBLY go to work now." I had a dream today that I was trying to explain rap music to someone. Clearly, the dream represented how out of my league I am when someone comes into the library wanting to know if we have any information on mesenteric cysts, or acute myocardial infarctions, or whatever else is on the go that day. Luckily, my photocopier skills are really more important than my medical knowledge. These doctors may be able to remove a cancerous growth from dangerously close to vital organs but that doesn't mean they can remove a misfed piece of paper from Tray 1.

Last Friday I went to a workshop with my colleagues on the Cochrane Library, an online source for reviews of medical treatments. All the other librarians brought notebooks and pens. That was the first sign I didn't belong; I only brought a doughnut. The second sign that I didn't belong was when I was late returning from the break and found myself locked out of the classroom. I had to wait in the hall for it to be over. I learned a lot that day.

Turns out the yummy free muffins I snack on throughout the day are leftovers from the department next to us - Infectious Diseases. Ewww. I'm sure their muffins are probably perfectly fine but still...ewwww.

When I used to work in a drug store I had lots of time to thumb through fashion magazines and it's really easy to start thinking that you're fat and unattractive. Now that I spend much of my day scanning medical journals, I feel much better about myself. I find myself thinking, "My hair sure does look like crap today, but at least I don't have that wrong with me."

When I'm not at my unpaid job, I'm at my barely paid job. I'm glad I didn't quit Wal-mart yet. It keeps me grounded in what I've come to know as reality. A woman came up to me the other day and told me there was something wrong with her cart. She said she got a bad shock every time she touched it. I explained to her how passing through all the racks of clothing built up a lot of friction. Seriously, if I had a dollar for every time I got shocked during my shift, I could buy Wal-Mart. But she was looking at me like she expected me to do something. This gave me a pretty good idea about what kind of person she was, so I went into my supply room and came back with a spare bar from a clothing rack and said it was our de-shocker. I touched her cart with it and told her that now she might still get some shocks, but they would be less powerful and that she could come back if she needed me to de-shock it again. It must have worked pretty well because she only had to come back once. Helping people - it's what I do. She may have been crazy but I understand her pain. I once touched a cart and got shocked so badly I almost peed myself.

Everything I know about medicine, I learned from "Grey's Anatomy"

It looks like I will be graduating. They just refuse to let you fail at community college. Even if you're kind of a screw-up, you can succeed. I had to write one extra exam in my favorite subject, Records Management and I had to spend the first two days of my vacation in North Carolina writing a Records Management manual, but it all worked out. The first two days of vacation were cold and rainy anyway and my travel companions were old and bookish and more than happy to spend a day in the local library reading and watching the lightening while I finished my work. Once I had emailed my assignment, the skies cleared and we had beautiful weather the rest of the week. I managed to get a bad sunburn the final day which we spent poolside and at the beach. Three weeks later, I'm still peeling skin off my scorched legs, but overall, it was a wonderful trip.

My graduation now hinges upon my successful completion of a five week work term. Because I wasn't eligible earlier due to my potentially failing marks, I was the last person to get a work placement. But I still ended up with the best placement, the details of which were only finalized after all the smart, hard-working students had already been placed. Starting on Tuesday, I will be at the VG hospital library, conveniently located a short walk from both my house and my gym. I originally though I would be at the Infirmary on Robie Street and was looking forward to meeting cardiologists and neurosurgeons, but since I'm at the VG, I'll have to settle for dermatologists and oncologists. Until embarrassingly recently, I thought an oncologist was just a doctor who was on call. So I think it's safe to say I'll learn a lot.

So I'm 26 now. That's pretty old. I was encouraged that people thought I was young enough that they could ask me how old I was when they found out it was my birthday. They mostly seemed surprised and said they thought I was 22. I'm happy with looking 22, but maybe that's just something people say to make old people feel better.

Murphy in the house!

I was at work today, minding my own business, when I heard a very familiar voice speaking loudly. It was local celebrity and lovable host of CTV News, Steve Murphy. He was walking around smiling and greeting people unprovoked. As he walked by my area, the young girl I work with, always friendly and eager to please, said "Hi! You're Bruce Frisko, aren't you?" It was definitely the best thing that happened all day. Mr. Murphy snapped, "Not the last time I checked." And thus ended his parade of terror. It was a completely innocent mistake on my poor co-workers part so I had to explain to her the gravity of her faux pas.

My latest issue with my house is that nobody lives in it. Two of my roomies have moved out and the other is gone to Newfoundland for a two month work term. I now live all by myself in a seven bedroom house. A girl at work asked me if I was scared living in a big house all by myself. I guess she must have been thinking of violent intruders or crazed murderers because she looked at me like I was a moron when I said that I was pretty sure I'd be okay because the house wasn't haunted. In my mind, the only viable threat to my safety would be ghosts.

Wardrobe Malfunction

Why do the skanks always ruin things for everyone else? Very soon all employees at our Wal-mart will be required to wear new store-issued t-shirts in addition to our blue vests. Apparently there were too many cleavage related complaints from customers. I don't really blame the skanks. They don't know any better; most of them grew up in Spryfield. I do blame the people who complained. You have to expect a certain level of trashiness when you walk into a Wal-mart. If you're all fancy and super high-class, you should shop at Sears.

Because my job isn't intellectually challenging, I try to make it physically challenging. If there's an opportunity to run, I do. Instead of picking things up like a normal person, I do squats. Unfortunately my cheap dress pants were not meant to withstand the punishment I put them through at work and one hour into an eight hour shift today, I squatted to pick something up and heard a comically loud ripping sound. I wasn't too surprised; it wasn't the first time something I thought only happened in cartoons happened at Wal-mart. I checked out the damage in a mirror. There was a huge split in my pants, but it wasn't too noticeable if I stood up completely straight, which I attempted to do for the remainder of my shift. I still had to keep the sales floor tidy which I managed by doing a graceful sideways dip and swiping at fallen merchandise with a clothes hanger. I survive another day. It was a bit drafty walking home.

Worst Student Ever

Early Monday morning classes are killing me. My internal clock is so messed up I never have any idea what time it is. Last night I went to set my alarm for 6am and discovered it was already 6:17am. I was actually running late. So instead of sleeping (one of my favorite things), I went to class (not even in my top 10).

Our morning class ended up being cancelled. We were all already at school so the losers went to the the library to work on assignments and everyone else went to the pub down the road. We arrived at our afternoon class (Records Management) at 4:30 drunk and all hyped up from an afternoon of cheesecake and gossip which our teacher interpreted as unprecedented enthusiasm in her presentation on microfiche.

I've been in Records Management class for an entire year now and I'm still not really sure what it is. Last year we toured libraries around the city. This year we're touring records management facilities. This month's tour is scheduled for Iron Mountain, the mother of all records management facilities. If you love files and boxes of paper, this would be the place for you. It was shaping up to be our most boring tour yet until the teacher told us that because of all the heavy lifting required, most of the employees were muscular young men. This was met by wild cheers from the predominately female/gay male twentysomething class. Because of the grated floors throughout the building, we were advised not to wear skirts or high heels, but I know of a few people in my class who won't be able to help themselves.

Spring has Sprung

It's actually kind of warm in Halifax today. Hopefully we've seen the last of what has been the longest winter in history.

Only two weeks left of school. These will be especially bad weeks because I haven't done much work all year. Will I fail community college? It's still a possibility at this point. Graduation is June 18. I will post pictures if I actually manage to pull this off. I'm not sure yet where I'll be doing my May work term but it better be somewhere awesome. I'll keep my day job though. Speaking of Wal-Mart, guess which one of the following things happened to me last Saturday:

a) got yelled at by a woman with a beard because we didn't have any plain black t-shirts that she liked

b) found out there is a hidden security camera in the locker room where I have often changed my clothes

c) had to do the work of two people because the only woman working with me took some ecstasy, claimed not to be able to tell colors apart, and took off somewhere with her cousin who had just been released from prison earlier that day.

Don't bother guessing. Of course, they all happened.

On a brighter note, I'm going on the family vacation this year! We're leaving the day after I finish classes. I wanted to go last year when they went to Florida, and the year before when they went to South Carolina but it just never worked out. This year when I finally get to go, we're going to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. There are no palm trees in North Carolina. I checked.

No matter; I'm just happy to be going anywhere. North Carolina at least promises to be a few degrees warmer than here and to provide some new scenery. I haven't been out of Nova Scotia since I got back from England two and half years ago.

One of the best parts of vacation is looking forward to going and the planning and the packing, but I'm not going to have time to enjoy any of that. I'll be lucky if I can get a load of laundry done so I actually have something to pack. And knowing me, I'll probably still be trying to hand in late assignments on the way to the airport.

My blog will likely continue to be neglected for some time.

The Flying Nunn

Christmas was good. The only downside was that my sister wasn't home. She's living in Calgary volunteering at the Calgary Zoo and working at a restaurant called Soho for a man named Chico whose website promises beautiful girls. She emailed me saying she was being trained as a docent. I didn't know what a docent was so I looked it up to make sure it wasn't a prostitute or a pole dancer. It's not; it's "a person who is a knowledgeable guide, especially one who conducts visitors through a museum and delivers a commentary on the exhibitions." At this point I clued in that the docent training was for her work at the zoo. Whew.

My favorite Christmas present this year was my vacuum cleaner. My second favorite gift was my digital camera. I'm still trying to figure it out. Here's a treat for Jim Nunn fans - pictures of Mark and I trespassing on his property. Here we are on Boxing Day enjoying the view from his patio.

Here's Mark playing with Jim's homemade catapult. In the summer, the little Nunns use it fling rocks and debris at beachgoers. The cabin that stood between our cabin and the Nunn cabin finally succumbed to the elements and fell down, so we are now their next door beach neighbors.

I was not at all prepared to go back to class yesterday. I knew I had to be there for 8:30 (in the morning!) but I had no idea what class I had or where it was being held. I went to school and waited in the lobby until I saw someone I recognized and followed them. They lead me to a class called Information Services II which is luckily where I was supposed to be, but was unfortunately as boring as the name suggests. I only vaguely remember the prerequisite course Information Services I.