Apparently sometimes I don't title things, but then I do

I hate public transit because of the rage it inspires in me, but I also like it because it gets me places, like the zoo. Actually, I've never taken the bus to the zoo because it seems like it would take a very long time, but I like knowing that should I need to, I can. Regardless, back to the rage. For the most part, it's not frustration with public transit itself, except for the times I run into mean bus drivers and the like. It's all about the obstacles I inevitably encounter on the way the second I want to use it to get anywhere on time. Like if I decide to cut through the mall to go to the bank for money to buy tokens, then it is guaranteed that two very stationary people will stand in front of me side by side on the escalator. Even as I stomp behind them to try to get their attention, my heels clanging on the metal grates, they don't ever think to move, and then when I make my way down to the subway, I can just see it pulling away as I get to the bottom. Then all I can think about for the rest of the day is how those escalator people made me late.

Today, my irritation was with an old man on the street and a woman with a stroller. Then I thought I might be evil. But then I thought, no, they deserve to have me screaming at them in my head. If they can't keep up, they shouldn't be in the game. What game, you might ask? And, if you are asking that, you should probably get out of it too, because I want to win and you're holding me up.

To calm the rage, I went out for dinner with my friend Sparrow Goslin. We went to find dessert at this random cafe because it had a name that made us go. I'm going to be secret about the alluring name because it might be a future surprise for someone else. Could it be you? Probably not, so don't get your hopes up. My cake had a cream puff swan, and I ate the neck first. Later, I felt sick, and I'm pretty sure that, rather than being because of the excessive sugar consumption, it was because the cream puff swan was trying to peck its way out.
We sat beside a big fishtank, which was risky since we'd just eaten sushi, and you know they can tell. This tank had a very large fish, which I'm sure would have eaten us right away if it weren't for the small bit of glass protecting us. If I'd fallen in the tank (I'm not sure how you fall in a household fishtank, but I'm sure it happens all the time), I'd have be gone before you could say "Hey, look at that crazy cream puff swan!"

Sparrow thought it would be cruel to have such a large fish in such a small tank. She might have had a point, he did have to make a three point turn every time he turned around. I think that could be easily remedied by lobotomizing the fish when you first get it to eliminate his memory. That way, each trip across the tank will seem like a new adventure to him. He might forget how to three point turn and break himself, but he'll forget what it was like to not be broken pretty fast, and thus won't even notice it. It'll be like Memento, but with fish. Actually, didn't that movie start with murder and end with more murder? That guy didn't live a very good life at all. Now I'm kind of worried about my amnesiac fishy. Glad I thought this one through first.

Happy song: And Your Bird Can Sing by The Beatles. Really, I coudn't think of a song today and just started scrolling through my music, so it pretty much won out because it starts with an "A". But it's also pretty cheery for a song that's pretty much like "Screw you. I don't care if you have a bird; I still think you kind of suck, you jerk." That's me paraphrasing. But I like to think I usually paraphrase pretty accurately. Anyways, as someone who has never owned a bird, I appreciate the sentiment, so it gets to be happy song; even though it definitely has, at the very least, irritated undertones. Oh, but I would get rid of the part where they say they'll be around if the bird owning person changes their mind, because, seriously, I don't care if they get bored of their bird, I'm still worried about various bird related diseases I could contract from them.

2 irritating people baking cake and cleaning windows

I signed into Facebook this morning and found a Telus ad written completely in French. I hear a lot about Facebook privacy concerns lately; I mean, I myself have expressed fears that Mark Zuckerberg is vying for world domination. But, with all the information they must have on me, if they were such evil geniuses, don't you think they would have figured out by now that I speak English?

The following is a copy of the ad: "Trouvez l’hippo et vous pourriez gagner: un voyage, 15 000$ et des HTC Hero. Aucun achat requis, des conditions s’appliquent." I figured out hippo, trip and $15000. The hippo part I knew partially because there was a picture of a hippo beside it, which clued me in. Despite them not getting my native language right, I was still a little frightened by the hippo part, since it is well known that a search for "hippo bus crash" on Google will bring up this blog as the number one hit (well, it's well known to me, and apparently to Facebook). So, I wasn't sure if Facebook was trying to send me a message, like, "Hey, we know that you write conspiracy theories about us on your blog and we will crush you with the power of a Telus trip...in French," or, "Hey, look, nothing sketchy going on here, we can't even figure out what language you speak, lol ;)" (then they would give the shifty eyes, the creepy dead Facebook shifty eyes).

When I reloaded the page just now, suddenly the same ad was in English. It's like they're reading my blog as I write it. Damn you Facebook and your terrifying hold on me.

Today, I was reminded of my most horrific of horrifying blind dates, which was mainly documented in my one and only attempt at stand-up. I had the opportunity today to remember some of the more awkward moments that I needed to cut from my routine due to time constraints, but, with the advent of blog, I now have the opportunity to share them with the world.

Before the date, we'd had a few online conversations that should have given me a clue as to what I was dealing with, but I have a horrible tendency to add an "ironic" or "sarcastic" tone where I should be hearing "literal" or "terrifyingly awkward" tone. Soon after meeting, he admitted that he was confusing me with another girl he'd been talking with simultaneously. "Were you the one who said she didn't like playing games?" he asked. I wasn't. In general though, I think it's best to assume that people don't enjoy dating games, and that, if they're one of the few that actually do, part of the game is probably making you think that they don't like playing games. Because of this fact, I have never once encountered a male or female who said, "You know what I really like in a relationship: games." My point is, in the future, if you're trying to figure out which of the two girls you've been wooing online you're talking to in person, try to use something more specific than "Do you hate playing games?" Unless you mean Parcheesi, because that could be distinguishing if that's one of the only things they choose to reveal in initial conversations. If that was what he meant, I do like playing games, especially the Game of Life, because I like the part where I get to imagine I have little peg children (all the fun of children without the lack of sleep and need to feed them...ooh ooh, or the painful delivery). Actually, it's surprising that all the people in that game are so thin, considering that they drive everywhere. That is one of the many ways that I feel the game of life is different from actual life.

At another point, he asked if my shoes were comfortable, because they were "very noisy". When I said, "Umm, no, but I guess they're a little noisy," he replied, "No, not noisy, that's insulting, I mean..umm..." It wasn't actually so much insulting as weird and off-putting. If he'd been doing better in general, it might have phased me more. He also told me I was shorter than he'd expected. Considering I'd stated I was 6 inches shorter than he'd told me he was, and with 1.5 inch heels I was pretty much eye to eye, I couldn't quite figure out why he would think commenting on my height was a wise move (maybe your thinking, "Eye to eye? Maybe he had a freakishly large forehead?" But he didn't).

Today, I got the greatest idea ever. I learned that window cleaners on high-rises get paid a lot because of the dangers involved in the job. Apparently, peregrine falcons will sometimes attack them on the job. Naturally, I thought that it would make a great reality TV show. I think people would be especially amused if you cast 2 really irritating people who are bound to feud, but who can't actually get away from each other without plummeting to their deaths. I'd probably watch it, unless something with delicious cakes shaped like things you shouldn't be able to shape cakes into is on. Maybe if my irritating window washers also happened to be designer cake decorators...hmm...I really think I might be onto something, especially since the cake would probably attract more dangerous birds. I just don't know how you would get so much fondant up there. Maybe there could be a third annoying guy that drops whatever ingredients they need from the roof. Yes, that would work well. Delicious and terrifying, that's what I look for in my TV.

I nearly forgot a happy song today. Hmmm...since there are a lot of fireworks outside my window, I'm going to throw out Fireworks by the Tragically Hip. It's not one of my first choices, but when I think about it, I've never not felt awesome listening to it. Also, fireworks are pretty because they are made of light...and fire. Loud fire.

Drunk.

Day three of blogging. I promised myself when I started this that I would do it everyday, so, here I am, blogging. On day three. I think I can do it, I managed it with my journal for awhile. I said "I'm going to force myself to journal every day," and I did, even when it was entirely unnecessary, like the night where my entire entry was: "Drunk." Actually, I think it was one of my better entries. Quite insightful.

Since I don't really have a good blog topic but I don't want to fall out of the habit so early, I'm going to just write about my day and see what comes of it. I woke up this morning and did a bunch of stuff that I now forget probably involving coffee and showering. At some point I decided that dressing would be a good idea if I wanted to emerge from my apartment at some point, which is about when life became difficult, mainly because yesterday I decided that laundry was not worth my time. A fine decision, but it didn't leave me with many options as I stared into my closet.

I eventually decided to wear a black skirt, but, due to recent weight loss (new apartment with hardwood floors + socks = incredible calorie burning dance parties + many new bruises) combined with no discernable source of income, most of my clothes are a few sizes too big, and this particular skirt was already a size bigger than needed because I bought it on sale ("cheap over-sized clown skirt...score!"). So, it almost fits (read: can stay up...kind of), but not quite enough that I couldn't guarantee that if someone decided to pants me they would meet even token resistance.

Although I've never encountered anyone trying to pants me, even when actually wearing pants, it's an important daily consideration, because I know the first day I don't think about it is the day I'm going to be the victim of an unexpected pantsing. You may be thinking, "What would be the point in attempting to pants someone in a skirt?", to which I say, "Good point." But the Boy Scout in me likes to always be prepared, even when I'm not quite sure what my hypothetical assailents motivation could possibly be (fine, you caught me, I wasn't actually a Boy Scout, but the Brownie motto, "Lend a Hand," has never once helped me avoid an embarrassing pantsing).

After much cost-benefit analysis of my outfit, I was finally ready to hit the world . And I'm pretty sure some stuff happened there. Ooh...there was cake at some point, cake that I ate with my hands off of a paper towel, which I think just makes it more delicious because it was all like "Haha, you can't eat me because you don't have plates or utensils" and I was like "Think again, m.f." Actually, that cake probably explains the coherence of this post, cause my blood sugar is a little wonky now. Totally worth it though, if only to show the sucker who's boss (it's me, by the way, I am boss).