Cucumbers before bed

I saw Maunie, Myles, Dave, Keith, Tieg and Eric on Jerry Springer.  Eric had blue spiked hair and Tieg was yelling wildly "You know she don't wanna have no more damn kids!!" 

I'm never eating cucumbers before bed again.

Creepy neighbour

Like, the day before yesterday when I was leaving for work, my 80 year old neighbour told me,

 "You look like a sexy rocker chick."

 ... and yesterday when I was coming home from work, "You look like a sexier version of that flashdance girl."

It's like rocket science

I'm interrupting my jubilant to do list making ... okay I'm finally doing what I should have done days ago, why don't you just go fuck yourself? ... to tell you a few things that came to light for me whilst on the toilet:

1. I'm done with this red hair.  I'm going way dark again.

2. I am wearing underwear called,"Barely There". Only it's everywhere. From upper thigh to above the belly button. Perhaps if I painted some sort of thong pattern on them they would have the appearance of being sexy while still being the most comfortable thing on my ass since pumpkin pudding.

3. My hair is sort of sticking up in the back but not in my cool mohawk pattern, but more of a "whoohaa who scared you?" type array. The question then is,"Is it worth the effort to actually brush it out when I am still in my thong and wifebeater?" 

4. This toilet sits way low to the floor when I'm wearing heels.

Convivium, fornicatio, prae omnibus aes

As the Canadian populace awakes with deep sighs of relief, for we are a well prepared people ( for the most part) there are those that are cussing like sailors with turrets.  Many of our proud and noble populace embarked upon their farewell to summer's last hurrah in the wee hours of the morning, while the roads were clear and the frustrations ever so low.  Now the few that waited until late this morning (much to our nations shame and mocking) are stuck inside their vehicles bumper to bumper, grumbling, grousing, and scowling at their progeny as they attempt to reach their cottages and the relaxation held within.

Then there are those of us whom have just escaped our captors, shucking off the dregs of our servitude seeking sleep and wine.  Not necessarily in that order.  My partner in crime, my ride or die gal-pal and I are two of such indentured babes.  We were in fine form last night, skipping into work 5 hours late.... for our. last. shift....before we begin our new adventure come Tuesday.  Gluttons for punishment as we are, and two self empowered women whom honour the hustle we've decided that diving headlong into a six day work week is worth it when the payoff is fairly sizable for us.  Long may our hustle live!  This of course most notably ensures that for the foreseeable future that we shall have no life.  At least not outside of work.     

This weekend is our last grasp at Convivium, fornicatio, prae omnibus aes.  Though we are aiming for only one of the three.  Which one remains even a mystery to us.  

“Partying, fornication, and above all debt” 

Pieces of Me

I used to enjoy dancing the night away and greeting the day with a group of friends regaling the night's events with them by my side.  Now I find myself spending the night's I don't work, alone with a book in my hand; getting lost in a whole other universe.  I'm told that there's this spark in my eyes when I get excited and am truly passionate about something.  That I've a fire in my soul.  I enjoy talking about everything and anything; and I'm far more open-minded than people thought I would be.  I can still wish only good for those who've hurt me.  I hope to someday find someone whose love doesn't need to be questioned.  To welcome into my life another who supports, motivates and appreciates me for exactly who and what I am.  I know I am better off today than I was yesterday.  I know who I am and what I stand for.  Laughter, loyalty, passion, growth, acceptance, and forgiveness. 

Pieces of me, those which strengthen and make me vulnerable just the same.

Per aspera ad malam occupationem

Day's off never actually are.  I have many times over now, covered on shifts that are not mine.  Those shifts that are short of staff, or that have far too many newcomers to be deemed effective often call upon myself, Sista, or both of us to correct the mayhem that far too often occurs.  Today was no exception.  My Sista was unable to attend the insanity, thus I marched to my own beat whilst refraining from rolling my eyes at the turkeys surrounding me. 

The most difficult portion of the day, was precisely the day.  I am a night shift worker, I embrace all things night.  So to be awake while the sun is so high in the sky, is apocalyptic to me.  Still I muddled through, moving at the speed of light; showing those around me what the meaning of hustle is.  Each at one point or another attempted to tell me to slow down, or to "pace myself".  To what level of slowness, or pace they were referring; is unclear.  I dare say, they are simply lay-with a capital Zee.

“Through adversity to a bad job”

Less than eloquent

Time crunches, schedules crammed into 12 hours when they should in reality take 36.  Neck breathers, handsy strangers, and just far too little caffeine.  There are moments I am less than lady like, less than polite, less than eloquent.  And far too abrupt.  When the dance halts, and each limb is filled with such tension that every inch of each tendon coils so tightly with a desire to strike in much the same fashion of an angry Cobra...