>
Holiday Season! (thanks Vesper)

1. Eggnog or Hot Chocolate? Hows about an eggnog hot chocolate? Ah Starbucks.
2. Does Santa wrap presents or just set them under the tree? Santa wraps teeny presents but the big ones, like ponies and such, are left unwrapped.
3. Colored lights on tree/house or white? Coloured.
4. Do you hang mistletoe? No, but perhaps I should over the door at the ‘Second Cup’ (ooh cute coffee shop girl)
5. When do you put your decorations up? No specific time…generally a couple of weeks before the xmas day.
6. What is your favorite holiday dish? Tough call but I’m going to say mash potatoes.
7. Favorite holiday memory as a child? Xmas eve dinner at Gran’s and then opening the xmas pjs afterwards.
8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? I was 8. I asked. Something just didn’t add up.
9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? Definitely.
10. What kind of cookies does Santa get set out for him? This year Santa is getting truffles. If he doesn’t eat them all first.
11. Snow! Love it or hate it? Snow and I have a difficult relationship. I like the big, fat snowflakes and I like snow on cozy evenings. I do NOT like snow when I’m trying to get to work and the buses are slow or when I have to shovel it. Then I flippin’ hate snow and wish it was dead.
12. Can you ice skate? Sort of. I can skate in that I can move on skates. But I never stop. I just glide gracefully into the wall. Or bushes. Or whatever.
13. Do you remember your favorite xmas gift? Again tough call. Let’s do a top five list shall we? ‘lots-a-heart’ elephant from mum and dad, ring from DM, red slippers from Ian, earrings from Heather, and kick ass hat from Aunt Marilyn. These are my big ones.
14. What’s the most important thing about the holidays to you? Remembering those less fortunate and giving generously. We should always do this but I think it’s particularly important around this time of year what with the cold and the religious factor (which I think is crap, but others really care about and tisn’t fair that they should have a crappy presentless, foodless time).
15. What is your favorite holiday dessert? Pudding!!
16. Favorite Holiday tradition? Watching Charlie Brown’s Christmas.
17. What tops your tree? An old angel that A.’s mum gave us.
18. Which do you prefer–GIVING OR RECEIVING? Giving. But receiving doesn’t suck.
19. What is your favorite Christmas Carol? “So this is Christmas”, “Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas”, and “Please Come Home for Christmas” (but the last one only if sung by Bon Jovi – shut up it’s awesome).
20. Candy Canes? Oh most definitely.

>

a) Four jobs I have had in my life:
1- dishwasher (awful awful and more awful)
2- waitress (better money, still awful)
3- retail management (*vomit*)
4- research assistant (yay!)

b) Four movies I would watch over and over again:
1- Reality Bites (oooh Wynona)
2- When Harry met Sally (oooh cheesy loveliness)
3- Love Actually (feel good and funny)
4- Sliding Doors (oooh Gwyneth Paltrow)

c) Four places I have lived:
1- Prince George, BC (born there – delightful pulpy-mill smell to it)
2- Qualicum Beach, BC (spent pre-teens and teens there – would probably feel better about it if this wasn’t the case)
3- Toronto, ON (hands down toughest years of my life)
4- Wolfville, NS (schoolio)

d) Four TV shows I like to watch:
1- Friends (‘cause I’m old school like that)
2- Sex and the City (hot hottie hot)
3- The Daily Show (hot hottie hot for different reasons)
4- Frasier (love LOVE Niles)

e) Four places I have visited:
1- London (14 and too young/stupid to appreciate)
2- Normandy (see above)
3- Anaheim (oh DisneyLand)
4- Idaho (school trip. Good potatoes)

f) Four websites I visit daily:
1- http://www.theglobeandmail.com (newsage)
2- http://wherethesmarmat.blogspot.com (laughage)
3- http://www.charityvillage.com (jobage)
4- http://www.bbc.co.uk (more newsage)

g) Four places I would like to be right now:
1- at a concert (any concert but am craving Mayer right now)
2- in the bath with some wino (with bubbles and tasty book received from A. on me b-day)
3- at my mum or dads (missing home)
4- Wolfville (missing friends)

h) Four of my favourite foods:
1- plain ultra fattening yogurt (SOOOO GOOD – the more fattening the better)
2- oatmeal (every morning)
3- dark chocolate (no explanation necessary)
4- pizza (I can eat more than anybody. Just watch me)

Still haven’t found a new job but I’m optimistic. I have further incentive too – our xmas CD at Jacob came on today: Britney Spears, George Micheal and some hideous Simple Plan song. It’s time to go. Oh holy hell is it time to go.

>I begin this post by dispelling an old myth.

Myth: The customer is always right.

Reality: The customer is rarely, if ever right. The person serving the customer is right, largely because that person works in the f’ing store.

Example Dialogue:

Idiot customer: You know, the other Jacob Junior is selling this shirt at a lower price.

Me: No, they aren’t.

Idiot customer: Well they are. I was just there.

Me: Well, they aren’t. I don’t know what to tell you. But if by some crazy chance they are, which they aren’t, then why don’t you go back there and buy it you fool, and leave me alone to hate this job in peace.

In other news, I’ve reached a depth of depression previously unknown to me. Those of you who know me well are aware of these phases but I bet you haven’t seen me this low. Quite the achievement actually. Gold tarnished star for me. Recently, I have found myself (much to my personal disgust) getting teary-eyed at kittens, and the smell of xmas tags, and sappy, idiot, lame-ass songs on the bloody Jacob Junior cd. Sensible people get depressed and cry over cool things like death and destruction in foreign lands. I cry over Rascal Flats or whatever the hell their names are. It’s pathetic on a level that I don’t even want to think about.
However, while I’ll never be able to pin down the source of my depression (aside from a general neurotransmitter problem) I am now able to pin down the triggers. F’ing retail is an f’ing trigger. I hate my job so much it hurts. I hate getting on the bus knowing that my destination is the bloody shopping mall and that I’m going to spend 8 hours peddling jeans and t-shirts made by five year old Bangladeshi kids only to get back on the bus and listen to the evening moron crowd of loser teens with pants the size of a small country hanging off of their asses natter on about “bitches ‘n guns ‘n shit”. I hate pretending to care about the KPIs, CRs, $/Trans, SRs, PIPs, and so on. I hate screening resumes and seeing myself write down “not Jacob” on them as if Jacob isn’t a clothing store but a crazy social standard that people have to live up to. I hate that I know certain articles of clothing are going to fall apart and that the customer is wasting their money but that I can’t say anything. Etc. Etc.
Previous bouts of depression have seen me wallow for two to seven days, generally in bed, watching “When Harry met Sally” or “Reality Bites” on repeat, eating ice cream with a side of fries. But this doesn’t get me anywhere. Well, that’s not entirely true. It does make me feel bloated but content. But there is no long term fix. So this time I’m trying a new tactic. I’m going to actively take hold of my depression and choke it with activity and ambition. I’m going to, in other words, find a new job.

But now I must head to my f’ing horrible job. Stay tuned.

>Sample dialogue of an all too common customer service situation which may lead me to do one of the following: stab the customer with the most readily available object (clothing hanger, clothing u-bar, etc), or stab myself with the fake-apple scented, sparklely green pen which has been assigned to me.

Me: “Hi there. Are you looking for something in particular?”

Idiot Mother: “Will this t-shirt fit my daughter?”

Let’s set aside for a moment the fact that this question does not answer my question, which is annoying by itself. The only appropriate answer to this annoying question is “I don’t know.” But what I really want to say is “I don’t know you silly cow. YOU gave birth to her. YOU live with her, and have done for the past 10 years. I, on the other hand, have never laid eyes on your offspring and therefore have absolutely no idea if this random t-shirt will fit her. Ideally this shirt fits the average ten year old. But how do I know if your child is average? She could be a whale or, judging by your over-tanned-stair-mastered-to-death-self, anorexic. I just don’t know. And frankly I don’t care. Die.”

Sigh.

>
Every night I tell myself “self, tomorrow you are going to get up at 5:45am, have a relaxing shower, eat a healthy breakfast, and leisurely walk to the number 97 bus stop.” Every morning, at around 6:20am or so, I yell at myself (and anyone else who will listen – generally the cats) “self!! What the fuck is your problem?”. I spend the next half hour running around like a mad woman, tripping over the cats, cursing at my container of mousse for getting clogged up, really cursing at it for suddenly dumping 12 lbs of mousse into my hands, misplacing my bus pass 100 times, and finally falling out of the front door, cold coffee in hand, only to stumble down five flights of bloody stairs because the elevator has, once again, decided to disappear into the abyss.

About a week ago, I was having one of these all-too-common mornings. I ran out the door completely certain that I was going to have to hire a jet plane to make the number 97 when I looked up through my retardedly messy and stupid bangs (see previous post) and saw a number 8 bus parked in front of my apartment. Now, the number 8 goes directly to the number 97 but generally leaves at 7:01 or 7:16, the first of which I always miss and the second of which is way too late. I looked at my watch. 7:10. Huh. Counting my lucky stars that the bus was late/early, I ran up to it, leapt on, and was suddenly greeted by a cheery “GOOD MORNING!”. Stunned, I looked up to see a smiling bus driver.

A smiling bus driver?

In Ottawa?

One has only to live in Ottawa for a couple of weeks and take the bus with semi-regularity to realize that the bus drivers in Ottawa are some of the rudest and certainly the lamest bunch of people I’ve encountered in the customer service industry. I understand why to a certain extent. Spending my day listening to a billion stupid questions like “will this bus take me to China?” when the bus clearly only goes to the local shopping center would get annoying. And then there’s the smelly people, which Ottawa seems to have a lot of. And the idiots who decide to stab one another on the bus. Or the nutbars who try, unsuccessfully, to argue their way to a free ride. But I’ve seen bus drivers in Ottawa yell at women with strollers for no reason or give attitude to poor kids who are just asking for directions. I’ve seen bus drivers slam doors on people, not stop at the stops even when the bell thingy is pulled, and forget to change their signs so that people (me) get on a bus that’s supposed to go one place (work) and then doesn’t (fuck) and the bus driver says “oops” and just disappears leaving people (me) in the middle of buttfucknowhere. Every bus driver I’ve ever encountered here has grunted at me when I get on the bus and say “hello” and has taken away all of my inspiration to say “thank you” at the end of my ride.

But I digress.

So I get on this number 8 bus. And it takes me swiftly to the number 97. And I get to work on time.

The next day, I’m late again. Again I run outside looking more than slightly frazzled. Again I look up through hideous bangs and see a number 8 bus at exactly 7:10. Interesting. I hop aboard and am again greeted by a cheery “HELLO THERE!”. And every morning since has been the same. I’ve checked the schedule, and there is no number 8 bus that is supposed to stop at 7:10. I’ve called the OC Transpo line and there is no number 8 bus scheduled to stop at 7:10. I’ve watched the 7:01 bus leave and have noted that the 7:16 bus which appears behind my number 97 at just the right time. I can only conclude that the number 8 bus which arrives at 7:10 is a magical bus complete with magical, and happy, bus driver. And this makes me happy.

That’s all.

>
What the hell is wrong with me? I have had the same hair on my head for 26 years (minus 1-2 years of shaved headedness). I know what’s going to happen when I do certain things like pop rollers in or straighten it or what have you. So why the HELL do I think that bangs/fringes are a good idea? I know what happens – I’m sitting on the bus and I see this hot woman and she has a kick ass fringe and I think “boy, I’d sure like to have hair like that”. And then for the next couple of days I become obsessed with bangs. I check out a million different pictures and I think of new cutting techniques I could use that would work with my hair. Throughout this time, the voice in the back of my head – the intelligent but all together too quiet voice – says “no no no, remember what happened last time?” But ultimately I ignore this voice, rather the voice is distorted or drowned out by the much louder and considerably stupider voice in my head that says “bah you’ll be fine!”. And so I do it. I cut the damn bangs. And for the next 6 months I wake up every morning cursing myself and the bloody extra 100 minutes I have to spend fixing my stupid hair.

Fuck.

>Why hello there.

I am finally connected to the interweb and just in time too. Withdrawal symptoms were starting to drive me bonkers. I need my BBC, G&M, CBC fuel not to mention my daily dose of Savage Lurve. Anyways, an update:

A. and I have been here in our nation’s capital for just over a month. We left Wolfville on September 5 at the ungodly hour of 4am with two angry cats and too many bulging suitcases and landed in Ottawa a couple of hours later with two furious cats and not the faintest idea of where we were supposed to be going. After waiting for our rental truck for about an hour or so, we spent the rest of the day getting lost in Ottawa, keeping the cats from killing each other, and spending a ridiculous amount of money that we didn’t have on the various items we didn’t have which was basically everything (thanks go out to Ikea for having such cheap knick knacks and do dads).

The apartment, which we rented without ever seeing it first, is actually pretty spiffy. We have waterfront property (if by waterfront one means a swimming pool that looks like the world’s toilet) and a sweeping view of Ottawa Hydro. To our right is a quaint little housing project full of bad ass gangstas – well, wanna-be bad ass gangstas. The inside of the apartment is actually pretty great, especially when compared to the closet I was living in in Wolfville. There is an actual kitchen which does not double as a hallway AND a walk-in closet. Plus we have hardwood floors which is good because of the cats.

Ah yes the cats. Seb and Zoe. Doodle and Z-bone. King Doodle-banger and Zoeburger. Or whatever. Watching these two sort out their differences has proven to be better than television. Seb, an eight year old cat who up until recently was enjoying middle age and his 20 hour sleep schedule, has now been forced to accommodate a hyperactive teenage female cat who insists on sneaking up on him and biting his ass. Zoe is perhaps the boldest, if not the stupidest cat I’ve ever encountered. Far from being discouraged by the fact that Seb is three times her size, Zoe actually follows Seb around the house waiting for just the right moment to bounce on him and then gets pissy if he decides to retaliate. Poor Seb has taken to hiding in the kitchen cupboards to escape his roommate (Zoe hasn’t figured out the cupboards yet). Stay tuned for Zoe’s perspective on this living situation.

So we moved in. And then the task of finding employment could no longer be ignored. A. landed himself an interview with a temp agency the second day we were here and was quickly hooked up with a fantastically horrible job at a call centre. Luckily he was quickly able to upgrade himself and now has a spiffy job that I don’t understand but which I know doesn’t involve call centre-ing. I also know that he gets weekends off and this of course means that I hate him.

I, honours graduate of political science, have managed to nab myself a shockingly boring job as the assistant manager of a jacob junior. I am responsible for a myriad of tasks such as tracking sales, scheduling, folding, and telling other people how to sell ridiculously over-priced clothing made by 5 year olds in Indonesia to horribly bitchy 13 year olds and their terrible mothers in Canada. I won’t get into the details here because I have a post about retail brewing but know this: my brain is dying and my soul is being sucked out of my eyeballs. I-hate-retail.

I must cut this post off now as I have to leave for the one hour bus ride to work during which time I will knit part of a scarf, read the Feminine Mystique, and attempt to drown out the morons around me with Rage Against the Machine, Tool, or similar.

Things are good though.

>hello all. I am in Ottawa but I have no internet access because Rogers sucks big time ass. Know this though – I love it here :). The apartment is kick ass, the cats haven’t killed each other and A. is a rockin’ good roomie. I’ll write a proper post when Rogers stops sucking ass and starts hooking up my internet (some time at the end of September).

Mwah to all. I miss you Wolfville!

>1. My full name is Angela Caroline Livingstone.
2. My nickname in highschool was ‘goat’
3. I hated my nickname in highschool almost as much as I hated highschool.
4. But not as much as I hated middle school.
5. I grew up in Qualicum Beach, British Columbia.
6. I initiated my first kiss because my boyfriend took too long.
7. I was nine.
8. I had five boyfriends in grade seven and didn’t like any of them except the last one.
9. I broke up with him after I got a bad haircut so that he wouldn’t do it first.
10. I left the break up message on his parents answering machine.
11. We dated again in highschool for three years.
12. I had a crush on Kate Moss in highschool.
13. I won second place in the Solo Vocal competition at the Lionel Hampton Jazz Festival in Moscow, Idaho.
14. I was an honours student but told people that I failed stuff so they wouldn’t bother me.
15. I smoked a pack a day in highschool.
16. I don’t know how I was able to afford that.
17. I hated gym with the passion of a thousand burning suns.
18. I was ready for university at 15.
19. But the urge left me at 17.
20. I went to the University of Victoria for two years.
21. I can count the number of times I went to class in that time on two hands.
22. I got drunk for the first time when I was 14 but it was an accident.
23. I didn’t drink again until I was 19.
24. I have never tried: ecstasy, heroin, lsd, or mushrooms.
25. I moved to Toronto when I was 19.
26. I had 1000$ in my pocket and nothing else.
27. I often had to ‘jump’ the GO Train to get to work.
28. I spent one night stranded on the streets of Toronto because I missed my train and couldn’t afford a cab home to Port Credit.
29. I worked for William Ashley China Company and they made me change my name to ‘Sharon’ because they already had an Angela working there.
30. I quit after a week.
31. I dated a 40yr old bartender briefly when I was 20.
32. I love Guiness.
33. I worked for the Gap on Queen.
34. I only did it for the discount.
35. I applied for a job at Lettieri Café because I had a crush on the owner.
36. I got the job but the owner turned out to be a sexist jerk.
37. I didn’t know myself in Toronto.
38. I worked at a goth bar called Zen Lounge.
39. My boss bought me a vibrator for xmas.
40. I lived with two strippers and a fabulous lady named Ayns.
41. I went to hairschool.
42. I hated hairschool so much that the thought of it still makes me cry.
43. I really wanted to teach yoga.
44. But I didn’t think I’d be good at it.
45. I didn’t think I was smart enough for university.
46. I applied to Acadia because it was far away from Toronto.
47. I almost didn’t go because I was offered an assistant manager position at Starbucks.
48. I’m glad I came to Acadia.
49. My GPA was 1.8 when I got to Acadia. I had a 3.85 my last semester here.
50. I majored in political science at Acadia because a customer at the hair school thought I would be good at it.
51. In my time at Acadia, I have had a crush on four professors: Dr. Duke, Dr. Dennis, and both Dr. Franceschets.
52. I love spicy food.
53. I met my first live-in boyfriend in residence at Acadia.
54. Our first date was at DQ.
55. We moved in together in May 2004.
56. He moved out in April 2006.
57. I can’t listen to Coldplay because of the memories that make me sad.
58. I learned the most about life and myself from my last relationship but some of that has hurt my new one.
59. I have a ridiculous fear of earwigs.
60. I don’t mind spiders.
61. I don’t have many close female friends but the ones I have are amazing.
62. I hate when people don’t understand line-ups.
63. Some people are confused about my sexuality.
64. I don’t blame them.
65. I’ve made a lot of mistakes but they’ve been good for me long term.
66. I used to think I needed to have kids to justify my existence.
67. I used to think I could never get married because I thought I would feel like somebody else owned me.
68. I’ve never wanted to change my last name. I never will.
69. I have a pet cat.
70. Her name is Zoe.
71. I also have a shiny new boyfriend.
72. His name is A..
73. I worry that he’s eventually going to realize that he’s made a terrible mistake.
74. I love when he makes me mixed cds.
75. And the fact that he understands my coffee addiction.
76. I haven’t had a panic attack in months.
77. I love red wine but have developed a taste for white.
78. I would eat red curry every day if I could.
79. I’m lactose intolerant.
80. I didn’t figure that out until a year ago.
81. I was in a lot of pain for a long time.
82. I still eat cheese and chocolate because I just don’t care.
83. I have to wear ankle socks otherwise my circulation gets cut off and my ankles get huge.
84. I used to act and I really liked it.
85. I have dodged a couple of bullets.
86. I like walking alone.
87. I tried being vegan but I missed seafood.
88. I drink three cups of coffee per day.
89. I love soy milk before bed.
90. I hate going to bed in an unmade bed.
91. I miss my short hair.
92. I miss my piercings.
93. I hate my thesis.
94. But I still want people to read it.
95. I’m moving to Ottawa in 5 days.
96. I think this is the best decision I’ve made in years.
97. I’m going to miss Wolfville.
98. I sometimes wish I could do this year over because I know I could have done it better.
99. But then I might not have met A..
100. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

>
In preparation for the big move, I am going through my possessions, trying to figure out what is crap but worth keeping and what is truly crap. It has come to my attention that I am a terrible deal in this little move-in relationship thing. How so? Well let’s see….

Here’s what I bring to my relationship:
-a great cat
-my smiling self
-1 billion dollars in debt
-1 spiffy coffee mug with a shoe on it
-various clothes and shoes
-two rubbermaid containers full of yearbooks, photos, artwork and books.
-a bitter, jaded, evil twin who is prone to fits of rage and extensive political rants.

Here’s what A. brings to our relationship:
-a great cat
-his smarmy self
-less than a billion dollars in debt.
-a TV
-a Playstation
-better books including the Harry Potters I haven’t read yet
-a toaster
-a microwave
-a futon
-fabulous cooking skills

You see? I’m useless and debt-ridden. So sexy. I could say that there is probably something wrong with A. for wanting to move in with me, but I think it’s more that I’ve managed to fool him into thinking that I’m a well-balanced individual. Or some such thing. Poor A..