Something you should know about me: I have this unfortunate tendency to say exactly what I'm thinking without first screening it for offensiveness. For instance, one day I went by my agency, and noticed that the jacket the receptionist was wearing bore a strong resemblance to a Salvation Army uniform. "That looks like Salvation Army," I said, not realizing that in the growed up world of offices, this statement connotes shabbiness. Whatever.

Another good example is the conversation I had 5 minutes ago with Q, my BILTB:*

me: can I leave a message for the Boy?
q: I'm not sure when he'll be back.
me: I know, but since there's no telephone at the new place, it's either rocks through windows, passenger pigeons or this. You're like a garbage can...a message drop. Sooner or later, some guy in a pimp coat will come by to pick it up.
q: Garbage can, huh? Well, I've been called worse by better, lady.

Slowly, I'm building a core of people around me who won't take my words at face value. Or maybe it's the implications that are the problem. (By the way, this project has pushed back my scheme to train an army of evil mice. Just so you know.)

Lot's of stuff. Best news first: this was my last weekend at work...and I had Sunday off as well. Unfortunately, I spent it helping the Boy move into a new place with St. Stephen (which involved 2 hours in an unheated apartment with nothing to do but clean the disgusting stove, but I'm not complaining...) It's a darling little spot: orange bedrooms, Canadian ska stickers all over the fridge and a fire escape for that gritty urban artist feel. I'll miss the casual res-like atmosphere of Froghopper Nook, but I think that this place will be the scene of much fun. I still don't know where we'll be next year, as it depends on who accepts me into teacher's college - but if it's Toronto, I just may be moving in there myself after the wedding. That being so, I was extra careful with the stove.

There's also a slim possibility that Scherezade might want to move in when St. S moves out, which - I don't need to tell you - would utterly rock. She doesn't really like the Boy, so I don't think it's likely. But still, it makes me happy all the same. It's a bit of spill-over from my joy that we're talking so much lately: I feel bad that she broke up with her boyfriend, but I can't be sorry that she's back in my life.

Birthday party at the Rat's on Saturday. Very fun stuff. Ever since the Boy moved in with Q & Pixie (and consequently was inducted into Game), we've been invited to a great many parties that previously existed just on the horizon of the social group. We're still acquaintances to the group more than anything, but I have more & more fun at every gathering. And I got loaded, which always helps.

The Boy spent quite a chunk of time talking to Opera Sarah about Philidelphia. I wandered in & out of the conversation, mostly to gloat that I'd made her serious Russian persona burst into laughter last session (I achieved this with studied loopy conversation and an Etch-A-Sketch. Never underestimate the importance of foolish props when everyone is trying to act serious & important.) It's the thing I like best about Opera Sarah...that she is sometimes unable to hold back peals of laughter. Nice to be around.

Unfortunately, 5 beers + very early morning + 20 previous early mornings [does not equal] party stamina. By 1 a.m. I was curled up on the couch in a light doze and people were very solemnly suggesting to the Boy that he take me home. I'm told I looked very cute curled into a sleepy ball in my velvet vampirella dress and slutty fishnets. Interestingly enough, as the girls got drunker, they started to complement me more & more. It's rather ironic, really...just before getting dressed for the party, I'd had a brief crying fit of self-hatred. Unfortunately, I have yet to get over the feeling that I was given this body in error one morning, and if I just find the claim ticket I can go back to highschool weight. I know how foolish that is, but still.

As I made my goodbyes, I was almost completely out of commission: my contacts were sticking to my eyeballs, I had no short term memory and I was drunk enough to miss a conversation 2 feet away. I seem to recall Stacy & Q saying my name & smiling kindly at me; but I have no idea what on earth they were saying. Alcohol is the key on my back; wind me up & watch the fun. Yeah.

The Boy looks at a flyer from the wedding show:

the boy: these people are offering wedding firework solutions.
me: yeah, because we obviously have a wedding firework problem.

Just finished Automated Alice by Jeff Noon. Very very interesting. I can't even imagine the kind of literary balls you'd need to decide that you could write a threequel to Alice In Wonderland. It wasn't quite as complicated as the Carroll books (really, how could it be?), but in a way it was a lot more readable. I really enjoyed myself, and I highly recommend it even if you're not Carroll obsessed. With a jazz trumpet-playing snailman character named Long Distance Davis, you really can't miss.

* BILTB = Brother In Law To Be