Here I am on your bed again-- it's too big for the room it's in.

I had a meeting with my manager today. End of the fiscal year, start of the new quarter. You know the thing. I'm coming up to my one year anniversary at work and my manager wanted to go over my results, I remarked to her how crazy it is that I lasted this long. After an hour going over various boring, financial things as I was walking out of her office she turned to me and said I'm wasting my time. Wasting my time and "not fooling anyone," were her exact words I believe.

Not really what I wanted to hear on a Friday morning. I guess it capped off the craptacular week I'd been having though. This week has been one of the worst I've had in a really long time. Career-wise, personally, socially. You name it. Everything found a way to slightly unravel itself and in the process make me despondent. Every now and then I start getting that same feeling I got towards the last couple of years in high school, like I've outgrown things. The cliched big fish in a little pond. Bleh.

I'm still in a pretty foul mood right now, but I've gained a little perspective and Maybe if I try just a little more, I can take myself from this dirty floor*. Ever so often I forget about the things that ground me. The people in my life, the things that I do to make myself happy. I've drowned myself in music (and forgotten to scrobble. Oops), cleaned my room, walked the dog. Re-evaluated. Bummed? Still? You bet.

Anyways, the room. It's been cleaned, but when I was going through the recent purchases and acquisitions I had very little to show. Trying to curb the spending to save for my pending January vacation.



As much as I try to be good, shoes remain my vice. So the brown oxford shoes were showcased in a post of their own, these red and black plaid pumps are from Joe Fresh. 25 bucks, who can go wrong for that price?



Note the abject squalor in the background. What? I'm not ashamed. Bring it! Found that sweater vest for $10 at some super random store at Scarborough Town Centre. The turtle neck is one of Ammi's cast offs from the early 90s and no jokes I've been rocking that thing since I was like 11 easily. Is it like a crop top? Yes. That's why it's worn underneath things, duh! Oh, also, I got my haircut at Pacific Mall. I have bangs again!



Everyone needs a pair of mustard stockings and a Nescafe briefcase. Incidentally, I recently re-discovered that under my bed. I bought in in Senegal. Whenever I see it I think of Moussa, my driver when I was there. One day when I'm far less lazy I may tell you the story of how this briefcase came to be in my possession.



I had every intention of getting a blouse made from this material (it's the blouse piece off of a very kitschy sari), but I never got around to it. With the colder weather on us I've started rocking it as a scarf. Note Oliver's smouldering manly look though. I've read a measly 39 books on this list this list, I'm sure he's read all of them. The bastard.



There's a sari store just around the corner from where I live. Last weekend Abi and I, for lack of anything else to do, headed over that way just to "browse." I walked away with two saris. I love that store because they have really retro prints, we've sort of come to the conclusion that it's unintentional, but I don't really care because the stuff is very inexpensive. Which means I don't feel bad dropping cash on them. That one was $7.50. Abs hates it, I love the pink checks. It's okay though, she and I hardly ever agree on clothing options.



So alright, this one time Abi and I totally did agree on a clothing choice. That grey jacket. We are at Vaughn Mills sometime in September and both spotted the jacket, ran over to the rack, proceeded to try it on, looked at each other and laughed. Although we were wearing the same garment we had both individually styled it so different you could hardly tell that the jackets were the same. I had my collar popped up like a big douche, the buttons undone in the front and my hands jammed into the pockets. She however was buttoned up, fully. All the way up to the throat. That's my Abi!



My cousin's getting engaged in November. Most of you know the background on that whole thing. I don't particularly want to go to it, she's a major contributing factor to a lot of the stress we as a family have been dealing with for the last little while. That's also a whole 'nother post. Anyways, I thought I'd wear a sari for the engagement, but decided not to. This is the second one that I got, paid a princely $14.00 for it. I think it looks much better on Oliver. Again, the vintage print. I love it.

Well, I sincerely hope that next week turns out to be better than the one I just had.

*Lyrics shamelessly stolen from Band of Skulls who TinyLF and I will be seeing in concert November 13th

Oi! Get off my lawn.

I feel old. Some uncharitable people would go as far as saying that I am old. With the increase in weddings and birth announcements amongst a slew of other cringe worthy life events I think I'm headed for my mid-mid-life crisis. Although I have a sneaking suspicion I've been battling that since I turned 21. I'm not grappling with any huge existential questions though. I just feel old. Literally old and creaky.

Friday night I was supposed to head out and while I was waiting for my ride I thought sprawling on the sofa would be an appropriate use of my time. Until I woke up at 1 am with a crick in my back and a strong desire to throw my PJs on and crawl into my very inviting bed. Hmm. You can guess the ending of that story. I have officially become that person who really can't be arsed to go out. My work peeps have been harassing me for weeks, fortunately my excuse of 'being a student' is fantastic and usually even makes them sympathetic. I'm not entirely sure what ruse I'll have to put forth once my courses wrap up. Oh. Who are we kidding. I'm going to be a student for life.

Speaking of work, there's been some positive movements on that front and although things are still being tweaked, I may be finding myself a more frequent guest at HQ. This means I'll eventually need to invest in corporate drone-wear. I've been seriously making an effort to expunge the student from my wardrobe and I think I've done well?

There hasn't been a jeans purchase since August 2008. Sneakers? My true besetting sin? Been able to keep that beast at bay as of May 2008. Going shopping sucks now. (I lie! Retail therapy how I love thee!) I'm on a pretty strict self imposed budget. Between my fees, textbooks and pathetic attempts at saving there isn't really much cash left for clothing or sensible shoe purchases. It's hard though! When I see shoes my first immediate impulse is to think 'wow, those would look fantastic with my jeans in X wash.' Then I need to remind myself, 'but they'll look like total ass with dress pants/a skirt/a dress.' In the ideal world I'd still get the shoes if only to wear them on casual Fridays.

There are stores that I don't even venture into anymore. I can't even trust myself to browse to see what I'm missing out on. It's too depressing. The only cold comfort I have is that even in my age appropriate attire teenagers still stop me to say they like what I'm wearing. I feel the need to point out that these are savvy dowtown dwelling teenagers, not suburban ones.

But after a little incident in class this evening I'm not so sure how discerning these kids really are. I popped over to the bookstore before class and was subsequently a bit early for my lecture (because I always over estimate the amount of time it'll take to get things done). While flipping through my book a sweet looking girl came through the door, smiled at me and sat down a few seats to my left. Apparently she registered late and this was her first day. She started asking me questions about the class, how big, how many assignments etc.

We veered off topic (surprise!) and started talking about music. That's when my fellow classmates started to trickle in. As the room filled up she stopped talking about K'naan and asked me if this class? Is it intro to first year research methods? To which I laughed a hearty laugh and informed her that she was not in the presence of undergrads. She scrutinised the class a bit more and said 'yeah, there's no way in hell that these guys were ever undergrads in any life. They look like professors.' With that scathing judgement she picked up her shiz and got the hell out of there fast.

The lesson I'm choosing to take away from this tale of misunderstanding is that I'm a hip old person. (But still old because most of my classmates are around my age add or subtract a year or three.) That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I'm notorious for getting distracted. When I sit down to study I probably can't concentrate for more than 15 minutes at a time. I'm trying to study right now. In the last hour and a half I've gone through my photographs from Nuit Blanche, addressed those two yellow envelopes above and done some online banking.

Normally Oliver is under the desk and not on top of it, but he hates studying too. Usually if I'm trying to be diligent and not paying attention to him there will be a small Oliver sized pile of toys at my feet. All his vain attempts and getting me to play with him.

I tend to be a spreader. When I'm working my desk is usually covered in crap. The above is probably the desk on a fabulous day. That giant black binder has all my notes for that terrible ghost writing project I'm working on. My OCD still runs high, yes. That is a plastic ziplock bag with colour coded post-it notes of various sizes. Each post-it has a corresponding high lighter. Then we've got the Canadian Press guide on Caps and Spelling along with Canadian Press Style Guide. It's only been a few weeks since classes started, but both of those are starting to get pretty dog eared. My wallet and iphone are always within reach. The cellphone's a given and the wallet is for the credit card. What? I enjoy online shopping. Oh, my trusty laptop. I could devote an entire series of posts devoted to you. There's my glasses case on the side beside a my gold fish snack box. It's mandatory that there's something around to eat and drink.

Poor Cedric has been sequestered to the window. I was meaning to take him out for Nuit Blanche last night, but completely forgot about him until I was comfortably seated on the subway. He's nestled between two glass Coke and Pepsi bottles. They're filled with sand from my first trip to Sri Lanka. The Barbara Sansoni doll was a gift from my Uncle who passed away, he sent it to me through my grandmother on her first visit to Canada.

Think that's 15 minutes there. It's time to hit the books again?

Boo.

| Nerdery.

New brown shoes and the Canadian Press Style Guide for this semester's course on writing press releases. Exciting!

Don't really know why, but I always have to buy a new pair of shoes before school starts. It doesn't feel like the start of a school year without them (see above for new shoes). I've gone through a smidge over two decades of first day of school jitters and excitement. Like many other scholars who've been headed back to the books this month I too view my year as 'beginning' in the fall. January is set aside for looking back at the calendar year, but September has always been about setting goals and trying to figure out how to achieve them. Unsurprisingly, 20+ years of school and I still haven't a bleeding clue. If anything the future seems so much hazier now than ever before. Of course I have an idea of where I want to be academically and careerwise in the next couple of years. The difference though is that I'm not as consumed by it.

I look back at my younger self sometimes and want her to a) stfu and b) chill the shit out. If you ask aiya he'll readily tell you that out of the two of us I was the one born with the silverspoon shoved up my ass. No denying that and I'm not ashamed of it either. This can however be problematic because I'm prone to be an irritating overachiever. Even though lately people have started to grow concerned that I'm still in school, working in a field that I never in a million years expected to be in, I don't give a shit. I'm not just managing, I'm excelling in what I do. Guess the reason why I'm generally so 'meh' about the entire thing is that I will never let work define who I am and instead I'll hang on to school for as long as I can. Even though I don't need to be doing there's still some thrill left in education.

Here's to being a lifelong nerd.

Cheers.

Lyk OMG

I'm trying to de-clutter my life, being such a packrat, it's not surprising some of the shit I'm holding on to. Found a box of old papers and letters from High School. Labro and I had a habit of pretending to write class notes while actually fully recapping daily drama. School was never really important to either of us. Yeah. I know. Look where that's gotten BOTH of us now.

Anyways, below is a prime example of what a normal set of "class notes" would look like. I re-read the note and honestly, I don't have a clue what it's referring to...I can only guess though.

Check it! (Oh, also, I believe that if you click the image you'll be able to see it much larger. Fear not though, I've copied and pasted the text below as well)



Conclusion? Not much has changed. Also, I do believe that the blanked out bits are real name call outs and also my use of salty language.

You will not believe what happened last night my gosh the amount of drama that was going on ___ ____ ____ i was dying!

Okay so I was (as usual) minding my own damn business when ___ and I started talking on icq. She msged me and i was so surprised. Well long story short she told me how she's basically ____ about my relationship with ____ and ____. LOL I didn't even know it mattered to her. Then on icq i was talking to ___ about what ___ did at lunch to you and he got really mad. (I thought he knew about it but he didn't). THEN ___ calls me up and he's telling me all about his love ish (LOL). So I call up ____ to ask her about ___ and ___ ___ pulls a fast one on me and ends up weeping on the phone. I couldn't call ____ and I couldn't call you. So ___ it was. The amount of drama.

It's kinda funny actually. It's bad but funny she's jealous of ____ and ___! He's like "WTF is wrong with them?!" and he actually said I never should have said anything to ____.

Before she started weeping I told her to cut it out with the teasing. She got really mad at me! GROW UP. I can understand what they're both saying, but that's so selfish and juvenile, it's insane man. But the thing is though, he's the type of person who doesn't like fuss. In that way he's like me...that's the exact reason why I never said anything to anyone about George. But I understand that they don't mean to do it. Thy don't know when to stop. He thinks they're doing it on purpose, he doesn't understand girls. From a guy perspective it's a big deal. He's not wrong. He so rarely expresses his feelings out loud like this and I feel bad because when he does they make fun of him. Like when he thought ___ was hot LOL.

I can't believe though that ____ got mad at me about that. That got me mad because she was acting like she doesn't care you know? Like regardless of whether she thinks it's stupid or not it's your feelings and she should respect that.

Srs Bzns

It's been busy. Nay hectic. July is nearly over and I've only got a rather hazy recollection of wtf has actually happened. Between final exams, papers and the usual gamut of summer school bullshit, Alby left to Korea for two years, a dear friend was visiting Toronto on business for a month, I was coerced into helping coordinate a wedding and doing logistics for a church conference. Unsurprisingly I am totally spent and all I want to do is sleep. I decided to knock out for a quick half an hour nap today after lunch. Which turned out to be slightly problematic because I accidentally set my alarm for 3:15 AM instead of PM. Subsequently I did not wake up early enough to shake off that assy feeling that you get when you've hit a good deep sleep. Boo.

Instead of studying or working on a pending writing project (that has been languishing for a few months) I opted to clean up my living quarters on Saturday. My standard of living can be described as being squalid at best, but I have an excuse! Did you see that whole thing earlier about me being terribly busy for all of July?

Anyways, we know what happens when I purpose to clean. Not much. Behold the fruit of my labour below.

I had one of those make or break career moments last Wednesday. Problem is I won't know if my career has been made or broken as of yet and won't find out until after the Labour Day weekend. Yeah. That's right. Early September. I lack the patience to wait that long for anything and I'm totally stressing out. The only way I've found to cope with all of this is to plan. My one year life plan for my career now has three options and all of them hinge on the answer I get in September. Since it was a director that I was meeting at the company HQ, alby and I hit the mall the previous week and found the below gem. It came with a sash of its own, but I coupled it with my grandfather's cummerbund which I'm sure I've photographed before.



Moving along. When Labro got married in May I was tasked with getting a pair of 'metallic high heeled sandals.' I was wearing the shortest dress of all the bridesmaids and couldn't get away with flats. Four inch heels and one blue bridesmaid's dress later...



While shopping for the shoes I of course browsed around and found these. I have not spent so much on a pair of shoes in a really long time. Even though they're Aldo, hot dang I don't have another pair of shoes that's made out of Italian leather as soft. Plus I think mustard is overtaking torquoise as my couleur du jour. Funny story, the cuffed jeans that the shoes are on top of? 20 bucks at American Eagle. Only hitch? The length is meant for regularly sized people and are therefore close to four inches too long for me (and they look like ass with those gold sandals).



One of my many glamorous jobs at the wedding was to herd around 30+ people around a park. Wearing a sari was not an option. I can't even sit properly in one of those let alone traipse through a poorly maintained park. (Boo to you Mayor Miller! Resolve the civic workers' strike already!) I thought I'd stay true to the Tamil roots and opted to use some silk pavadai chattai material (that I picked up from Ram Brothers down Sea Sreet) as a skirt paired with a random ancient beaded cami from Odel. It worked well enough although some of the old aunties had a few things to say. But really, when do they not?



Alby and I hit up a Jays' game earlier on in July and both walked out desperately wanting either a Blue Jays hat or tshirt. Thanks to the wonderful folks at footlocker and their buy one get one half off sale I picked up one for myself and for her as a going away gift. That hat is now safely ensconced at her apartment in Seoul. I'm going to miss you so much alby :(



I haven't worn a dress since I was in grade eight. All of that changed this year when Labro forced me into one. Then alby and I found this one for 15 bucks at bluenotes. That's when the epidemic started.



I bought this one just before I saw Transformers 2. It was probably the only good thing about that day because dang. That movie was crappy. If I hadn't seen it at the IMAX I think I may have left the theatre.



Labro and I went up to Barrie after work on Tuesday to say bye to alby. Her flight was way too early in the day for us to go to the airport (which is a real bummer because I love going there). Her parents are moving later on this summer and there was a pile of shiz stacked up for Goodwill and look at who was right on top?! That bag apparently was originally her dad's from way back in the day. So not only do I have her kid sister's hand-me-down skates which belonged to Alby and a couple of cousins before her, but I've also got Ron's bag. Pretty sweet! Oh, the cardigan is from a hole in the wall in Wellawatte. Rs 300 bitchz!



I've got a thing for scarves. Aiya found this one at the dollar store of all places and it's pretty hype. It's got Madge circa 1988 on it, her image is black and on a backdrop of different coloured squares: pink, orange, green, purple, yellow and blue. The pink top-like-thing I picked up last week while looking for someone else's birthday present. I know. I've really got to curb the shopping. As my people would say, "What to do no?"



And then it rained.



So I fished out the best umbrella I've ever had, one that I got from Arpico of all places. I'm sort of convinced that you can't really compete with umbrellas that have been designed to withstand the monsoons yo. That shit is serious.



After I tucked the camera away for the day I sat in a ratan chair and watched the rain come down.



Here's hoping for a chillaxed August.

When I get stressed out I tend to have really insane dreams. Well, I shouldn't say really insane, but you know. Which I guess goes without saying because most dreams always do have a strong element of wtf. It is however that time of year in the summer semester where there are assignments galore and midterms. That means catching up on a condensed half a year worth of reading I haven't done. To make matters slightly more harrowing I need to point out that I'm a proud student at two different universities. So on Mondays and Wednesdays I'm at U of T and Tuesdays and Thursdays at Ryerson. Oh, did I mention that in the sea of books, papers and shoe receipts that is my room I have misplaced my faithful mouthguard. That ingenious creation that stops me from grinding my teeth and saves me from insomnia. My grinding increases with stress and the insomnia from the teeth grinding brings on the effed up dreams.

Last night I wanted to go to bed early, the weekend was hectic. I've been immersed in Victorian lit (and maybe this is the reason for the dreams? All the repression?!) and wanted to take a minute to send Alby a goodbye note before she headed to Memphis. With all this swirling around in my head I went to bed at an indecent hour and had this dream.

We were headed to London, but as usual running late, got separated and boarded the plane individually. When we were in highschool and went on trips, we were Those Kids. You know, the ones that unspoken-ly got the back of the bus even if they're the very last ones to get on? This plane was no exception. Lo and behold Alby, Labro, Copto, Whoren and even Hoolia were all at the back of the plane. Apparently Labro and I were headed to South Africa after London. (Which seriously, wtf. She's the least likely out of everyone to want to do that. Also, no husband either.)

As we buckled ourselves in for take-off, a flight attendant came by, confiscated my iphone, passport and copy of George Eliot's Middlemarch. (I'm actually frantically trying to finish reading that for my mid-term on Wednesday.) This starts a series of scandalised whispers between the girls because as in real life, I look like ass in my passport picture and the flight attendant was all kinds of good looking.

We make it to London and go our separate ways. Emily leaves me for South Africa and I'm left stranded at the Heathrow (an airport I HATE) because the aforementioned confiscated documents. I head over to a kiosk and try to passively aggresively throw a civilised shit fit. Finally the same flight attendant comes by, gives my shiz back and I get upgraded to business class. (You'd think I'd have fought for 1st class eh? Even in dreams I aim low.) In a Bollywood twist of fate he turns out to be my seat neighbour and he's reading Bleak House. He turns to me and asks if I understand anything about the intricacies of the Victorian-era British legal system. I attempt to explain (sadly it is almost a word-for-word repetition on some short hand notes I made on the topic for my mid-term. I had been going over them earlier on in the evening). We then turn our attention over to George Eliot, banter on about Daniel Deronda, Eliot's supposed Christian fundie phase and her general scandalousness.

Natch at this point, I'm all "OMG. THIS FLIGHT ATTENDANT IS LYK TEH BEST EVAH!!1!one1" Then it happens. He transforms into Optimus Prime and ruins everything.

So what did we learn from all of this?
1. I am a giant nerd even in my dreams and Victorian lit is still totally hot.
2. My subconscious is telling me that I should re-look at going to South Africa.
3. Seeing the new Transformers movie really is a must.
4. I'm sort of effed for my mid-term on Wednesday.

Blurgh.

I'm feeling a bit muddled so advanced apologies for the following post. Don't judge me. It's not going to make much sense. My advice is to just look at the pictures?



The last week and a bit has seen me drag my ass out of bed in the mornings. Waking up has become decidedly more difficult in recent times. The stupid thing is that I can't sleep in past 9 AM on a Saturday morning anymore which leads me to perch with my laptop in bed to catch-up on work. Lame I know. Invariably this means Oliver manages to wriggle himself into prime laptop real estate rendering work impossible.



I've had that blazer since my first year of university. Got it for 10 bucks at Urban Outfitters in the "preloved" section. It's probably one of the cheapest things that's lasted the longest in my wardrobe. That scarf is a hacked up sarong that someone gave to Aiya thinking he'd wear. If I'm not mistaken it's from Kerala and is something called "digital" batik. Yeah, I don't know what that is either.



The above shade of blue is quickly becoming my favourite colour for this spring/summer. Aunty Esther got me that scarf for my birthday. Although it's hard to believe it looks much better on me than on Oliver. I prefer to not wear it as a burqa.



Most recent frivolous shoe purchase? Purple suede kitten heels for work. That scarf was the result of a Salvation Army rummage sometime near the turn of the last century.



Hey! Look! It's that shade of blue again. I've stopped just randomly going into stores for no reason because 1. pretty soon I will be broke (yay for school!) and 2. I have no self control.



Been rocking a lot of saris lately. This is the one I wore to Ann's wedding.



Got this one for 15 bucks. Ammi would never let me wear this for any kind of Sri Lankan-type function because um, it was 15 bucks and also it doesn't look like someone threw-up sequins all over it. It worked well for Labro's mom's 50th birthday though. (I know, I still can't get over how young her parents are either. Mine are such dinosaurs.) I love the print on it though. It feels so kitschy and I usually couple it with my Lee denim jacket with the collar popped.



Another 15 buck find. What? There was a sale. Haven't had a chance to wear this one yet, I'm thinking maybe this weekend for Labro's shower? I love the blue on this and again the kitsch makes me feel a bit squee. Alas the denim jacket will not work in this situation, the shades of blue don't go. I may need to buy gladiator sandals just to couple with it. Hmmm.



I spent most of today mucking about in the kitchen with tablecloths, bedsheets, random coasters and ramekins. I'm trying to figure out the best way to take pictures of v-manties bridal cakes, mini-cakes and cupcakes for her portfolio. Aiya picked up the cutest glass coaster sets from China town about three summers back to use outside for barbeques. Ammi is so paranoid that they'll shatter and break that they've never even seen the natural light of the sun.



He really is a good sport innit?



This February would have been Mamma and Pappa's 60th wedding anniversary. We had big plans for some sort of hoopla/family reunion, but Pappa had to go and die last year ruining all of that. This is an excerpt from the birthday letter I got from Mamma this year. You probably can't read it, but here's the important bit:

Well as for me, life is very lonely. I miss Pappa so much, I don't think I will ever get back to my former happy life. Though people say that with time life will change, I don't think it will ever be the same with me. Because ours was a very close friendship from school days and God created us for each other and he blessed us to be husband and wife. Our marriage was made in heaven and we were meant for each other. Pray for me putha to bear up this great loss..."

The story of how they hooked up is for another blogpost kids.



Speaking of grandparents though, I got a new pair of glasses that at some point in time all three of of my grandparents rocked. (The large picture is of Amammah that was taken a few months before she died and the wee one is of Mamma and Pappa just after he retired I think.)



Beginning of April is always a bit shitacular because it's the month Amammah died. You know I still have incredibly vivid dreams of her. I wake up thinking that she's alive and it feels so fantastic until I realise it's a dream. Those three books, A Tale of Two Cities, The Old Curiosity Shop and Bleak House were gifted to me by her the year I turned 10. I think I must have been in grade 4? I've got more than one copy of a Tale of Two Cities now because that original one is so tattered. That ghetto ass crocheted blanket that the books are sitting on top of is made up of leftover yarn. She used to knit for charity. Winter hats and mittens for the homeless along with baby things for low-income families. She was fantastic.



What kind of child reads Charles Dickens when they're 10? I was such a freaking nerd eh? Amammah encouraged my ridiculous reading habits and told me that any words I came across that I didn't know I should underline so that she could explain them to me in context. Not sure if she actually expected me to make it through a Tale of Two Cities or not but I carried my 2HB pencil around and made it a point to underline every single word I didn't know. This particular passage had "inexorable," "perpetuation" and "inscrutable" flagged as unknown. I still don't really know what "inexorable" means. (Those are Amammah's old reading glasses.) A Tale of Two Cities remains up there as one of my faveourite books.



When Aiya and I were really small Amammah used to make us a "white chicken curry," which was mild enough for us to eat. I don't know if other Sri Lankan homes functioned like this, but the general guideline at our place was if a meat curry was too hot for a child to eat then said piece of meat would be washed of all spices and given to non-spice eating child. This was terrible because the meat would lack all flavour. She used to make this for us as an alternative. I still get cravings for it and I can't make it exactly the way she did but the above is my vain attempt.

I wish she was still around.

They flashed a photograph, it couldn't be you.

I was taking one of my last Canadian policy pre-req courses and was meandering over to the Toronto Reference Library from the subway station. Somehow thorn and I had managed to get our paws on an early release of Picaresque and I was lost in the music. It was 2005 and my God, looking at that date I can't believe that it's been four years. That album is still very much in heavy rotation on my ipod.

I still want to get a running start, grab a 2x4 and go apeshit on that pretentious, shit head of a kid who was just about 3 months into one of the most defining years of her life. You see, lately I have been looking back at not just this last year but life in general. The things I imagined myself doing four years ahead of time in March 2005 couldn't be any different than what I'm doing now.

Not only do I work in the financial sector, I actually sort of like it. This is something that would have horrified me four years ago. If I had gotten any inclination of this back then, I'm sure I would've killed myself. The problem that I'm having is trying to explain this to my friends. Lovely, wonderful people who mean so much to me but just don't get it. The snapshot of me now is utterly unrecognisable to the person they used to know. I haven't really been around all that much. Come to think of it, except for 2004 the last 12 years hasn't seen me rooted in Toronto for 12 months at a stretch. I feel that's partially the reason why my inner circle of peeps recall a person who is wildly different from who I've become.

The choice to stick it out in Toronto was a tough one to make last July but I thought it was for the best. The initial reaction from most people was, "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?" It felt good to turn down that London job offer (not enough money! Screw you brit a-holes). It also felt good to finally feel part of things. Last year when I was trying to figure out whether or not to go to London or South Africa, I casually mentioned to one of Ammi's business colleagues that, "it would be really nice to have a permanent address where I could get a 12 month magazine subscription sent to."

You know what? It really is nice. Labro is getting married in May and I'm here. Forget the whole wedding hoopla, it's such a novel-high-school feeling for me to actually be watching everything unfold instead of getting email updates and half arsed information rallying via instant message. There's a context to life that's been absent for a long while and it's simply geographical. I never got a chance to properly get to know her fiance because I was never here! It's clear that over the last few years I haven't been holding a monopoly on excitement. My friends have accomplished and experienced incredible things too.

Labro and I were sitting in her livingroom last summer, I had just finished detailing to her about the time one of my London flatmates nearly OD'd on coke in our flat on a Sunday afternoon. She looked at me and with all sincerity said, "life must be so boring for you now that you're back in Toronto."

Being back permanently hasn't been all that bad. In December I got called in for an interview with a firm that I had been dying to work with in a position that was perfect for me. It no longer fit in with who I was evolving into though. That feeling of walking into a room and knowing you're owning it is fantastic. I charmed the interviewers and got offered the job. It felt even greater to say no and I had a surge of validation. (I know. I clearly have issues.)

Things have changed though yo, I've now actually got the time and the drive to do things that I enjoy. I am up-to-date on everyone's life! My camera isn't as neglected as it was before and I've got a guilt-free-disposable income. With all of those warm, fuzzy feelings aside, one thing I will concede: you guys are right, I am wasting my life being a drone. But cut my some slack? It takes a bit of time to bounce back from wanting to save the world and working the non-profit circle. Don't think of the current state of my life as "settling," it's not. I'm just trying to figure things out. It is nice to feel so loved and you will be happy to hear that I will be going back to school.

I am looking forward to May.

"After a heated but civil debate, Canada's largest school board voted 11-9 last night to open an alternative Africentric school to help fight a 40 per cent dropout rate among Toronto's black teens." - GTA Board Okays Black-Focused School

So it's happened. The TDSB has voted in favour of the black-only schools. I'm absolutely stunned. (So stunned that I can't even figure out an appropriate title for this post.) A friend of ours from high school is teaching math and science in one of the original pilot classrooms, I bumped into a mutual friend of ours on the subway and she mentioned to me how horrific he thought the entire thing was. Yeah, he's black, but does it matter?

This whole thing smacks of racial segregation, it's the kind of insane thing you'd expect of US politicians. The ridiculous "no child left behind" kind of thing. It's a band-aid solution at best, at worst it's going to polarise an already vulnerable and at risk group of kids. I still can't fathom how this could have even been passed.

Apathy I suppose?

Even the best of us suffer from it.

High heels and more taggery by a consonant amongst others.

I'm glad that I didn't wear heels today. Corporate servitude often decrees some sort of shmancy and totally impractical footwear and I more often than not willingly acquiesce. We are a family of shoe whores all four of us actually. As Ammi pointed out once if I was forced to beg on the street my piece of soggy cardboard with black Sharpie scribbling on it would say "WILL WORK FOR SHOES."

Dropping a load of cash which I don't have on a pair of kicks is money well spent but as I hauled ass to the Women's College Bookstore after work, and got to the door wheezy, winded and five minutes after the official close a thought fleetingly struck me. I was glad I was wearing a pair of $20 white leather flats, at that moment I don't think I have ever received more bang for my buck.

It's been pointed out to me that as of late I have become more of a hermit than even I am wont.

Out loud I blame this on the work/school schedule. But deep down inside we all know the real reason is because I've busily been getting my geek on.

First off, the referendum cometh and so does the provincial elections. (Aside: you guys better be getting your vote on! October 10.)

World Cup Rugby! Like I've pointed out before buff boys+shorts=WIN! Next.

Fall sweeps. There is good TV on again. Friday night I caught up with everything I had missed during the week. Okay, when I say "week" I mainly mean Thursday.

Private Practice, America's Next Top Model (hi Nigel!), The Office, My Name is Earl, The Office, Ugly Betty and Grey's Anatomy.

*SWOON*

McSteamy is back in my life, I suddenly feel whole again.

How is it that I was unable to watch any TV on Thursday? I was at effing work until 10 PM that's why. Apparently this is the norm in the department I'm in. A few of you were concerned, and even horrified at these new extend-a-mix hours. "Yes, yes you're getting paid time and a half, but still!" "This is a dangerous precedent." "How do you expect to juggle your school work with hours like this?"

All valid points chickadees but here's the thing. TIME AND A HALF. Possibly one of the greatest creations of all times. Also, dayum. The corporate world sort of knows how to take care of yo'ass. Even if yo'ass is not that important in the larger hierarchy. I had forgotten what it felt like to give a 110% and not be completely taken for granted, to be *gasp* actually given a cab chit to go home and dinner (from some place decent).

Preaching to the choir etc, but now I'm starting to realise why you right wing capitalist shake your head in dismay when I start outlining what I'm going to do with my life. (Hi Roshan!)

I feel dirty.

Some Loose Ends

So many moons ago N tagged me and although I am tardy, I have not forgotten. So here are the five current discs that I'd take with me if I found myself stranded on some desert.... Wait a minute? I had all five of these on my ipod when I was in Sri Lanka. (See what I did there?) They're so self-explanatory that I'm not going to bother with any prose. In no particular order:

1. Pet Sounds - The Beach Boys
2.The Joshua Tree - U2
3. The Birth of the Cool - Miles Davis
4. Give Up - The Postal Service
5. X Amounts - controller.controller

*NOTE: the CD player which is used to play the above, by some scientific cunning is attached to George Clooney's six pack. No desert island is complete without him.

And in the spirit of being a half ass, I now tag the resident fascist.

I need a haircut.

Any ideas?

I get bored at this time of year. The stress of exams coupled with the awful weather makes me feel like I'm stuck in a rut.

Usually this feeling comes on around mid-November and doesn't wane until about the end of February. This is the time of year when I usually go and chop off all my hair. Right now it's just at my waist, my bangs look horrid, they've grown down to my chin and I'm most definitely loosing the battle against split ends. I'll probably head on over to Pacific Mall and let aiya's hair stylist work his magic, the man's a genius.

Throughout the years I've employed various methods of pulling myself up out of the funk.

There was my bout of entrepreneurialism that resulted in me making close to a $1000.00 one Christmas on crocheted scarves. (What can I say, the waitresses that worked for aiya at the now defunct Red Drink Boutique weren't the sharpest tools in the shed.)

It was around this time of year that I first started tutoring high school brats in French. Stressful, and probably not really worth the pittance I used to charge for 45 minutes of my time.

I got my humanitarian on as well, one year I volunteered at a small but very well known NGO and ended up wanting to kill myself.

It was hard to juggle writing close to 1500 Christmas cards and then coming home and trying to study for university exams and doing assignments. Still high off the smell of black Sharpies all I could manage to muster was "Seasons greetings from all of us at The NGO. Hope your New Year is ____ ." (At this point I was allowed to fill in the blank with either "wonderful," "spectacular," "awesome," or "amazing" depending on who the donor was.)

Didn't really do much to help me out of my rut. However the experience came in handy much later on, because I decided that I never wanted to start at the bottom of the pile in a Canadian NGO ever. Yeah, sue me, somehow I think I'm a little above photocopying, getting coffee and writing Christmas cards. (My experiences in Sri Lanka were a million times better)

Interspersed between all of the above were random bouts of hair cutting disasters. Generally I go the haircutting route every 2 years, because it needs to grow back to butcher again. The last "haircut" I got was actually a trim, at the Cutting Station in Colombo (the only decent haircut I've ever had in that country), that was in mid-June. Time for a haircut. Stat.

What's in store for me this year? Turns out I've got a teaching gig.

That's right. You read that correctly.

I'm teaching French at an elementary school. To small children. In January. You guys know that I had a hard enough time dealing with two dogs a classrooom full of kids is just going to epitomise "fun."

Let me recap.

Before I went to Senegal I got the brilliant idea to do some work with inner city ghetto kids. My reasoning was, hey, I'm going to teach psychologically damaged street kids how to read and write in French, might as well get a head start with messed up kids in Toronto. (Incidentally this arrangement also took place at around this time of year.)

I didn't last very long. Why are kids so damn annoying? The kiddies I had in Senegal were angels compared to anything I've ever had to deal with here.

So yeah, I'm really hoping that Chinese guy will come through with the haircut. Otherwise I think I'm going to be totally SOL.

Yes. I am that shallow.

teh hawtnes

French lock Loic Jacquet

Oh my little chickadees, things have been rather busy in these parts as of late. Evil papers on a myriad of different boring topics ranging from authoritarianism in Singapore to Satan's portrayal in Paradise Lost. Kill me now.

These be perilous times I say.

Welp, things are beginning to slightly look up. I'm awaiting the arrival of my brand spanking new SLR which methinks is stuck somewhere along the 49th in a customs bin. The Alcoholic Cousin Who Has An Affinity for Vodka is on a whirlwind 5 day US Turkey Day tour and is gracing me with her presence tonight at the Beac, which should lead to some fun times. Hopefully reminiscent of the summer antics which she regaled me with in the motherland.

w00t ACWHAAFV.

And of course how could we forget the sports? NBA, NHL and added to the mix a ridiculous amount of cricket (which has led to fisticuffs between Thaththi and I over the merits of America's Next Top Model vs The Ashes). Then there's the rugby, where every weekend I get to feast my eyes on things like the above.

Unfortunately they don't show all of the games live in these parts in English, so I had to rely on the TV5 (yes, yes the infamous TV5) feed to get us through the New Zealand vs France match. FIrst off this led to some hilarious results as I was expected to provide simultaneous translations into English. Much to my father's chagrin, Rugby terms were never part of the French curriculum that I've been studying since I was 8. As a result this led me to say things such as "the ball has been liberated," and "he's in trouble for pushing." As always I'm so quick to pick up on the nuances of the language.

What's that? Yeah, I know, I even amaze myself sometimes.

Something I noticed is that aside from the language (put that in for Cap'n Obvious) French commentators, are really nothing at all like their English counterparts, their styles are totally different. I'd hazard to guess that an English commentator would have immediately mentioned something about the "new" uniforms that France was wearing to commemorate 100 years of test rugby with New Zealand. But no. I was left gaping at teh hawtness which was parading itself before my eyes exclaiming to Thaththi that yes, those French bastards have amazing style.

Small, creased, pressed, white shorts?
Check.

Incredibly thought out accessories in the form of tricoloured belts and white socks?
Check.

Hipster-esque, tight vintage jerseys complete with quaint embroidery?
Check.

All in all I thought that the dandy look suited them really well. And then? Half way through the game, the bloody commentators decide to point out that, oh yeah? Those new outfits? They're a one off.

What? Me? Pretentious? stfu.

Princess Di just called, and she wants her look back.

I know good pretension when I see it, it's a gift really. Okay, maybe it's not a gift, it's probably more like how a natural liar can spot another liar. (NB: I am an excellent liar-spotter.) Truth be told I am a pretentious bastard, and I come from a long line of them, (not bastards, but we do have a good amount of those in the family tree. And that's another post). Although this is old news, I recently found out that my stodgy old academic institution is #18 on the list of most pretentious universities in the world. Take my word for it, north of the 49th you'd be hard pressed to find a larger bunch of self-absorded, arrogant, asses bandied together in the name of academia.

Now that you know my credentials (and I'm in a giving mood now, sparing you tales from the private school I attended) it is undeniable that I.know.pretension.

Couple this with the other obvious cause for "otherness" (being the browness) and you have a recipe for the most stuck up minority that Toronto has to offer. I was reading this morning's paper when I -- with great glee -- found this article. Not only does it mention an up and coming indie group that features a Sri Lankan, but it addresses the issue of Toronto's white, and very often pretentious, music scene. I would seriously love to see it diversify, I am a music snob, but what is good music if it's not available to the masses? Accessibility is the key, if that means selling your single and having it appear in a car commercial, then so be it.

I like to play a little game called "spot the brown" when I go to concerts, (and other large public spaces). It's always interesting to take a look around and realise that you're the only ethnic minority in a room full of white faces and a smattering of black ones. This doesn't bother me, neither does it bother me that I'm practically the only brown person in the majority of my classes, or that I was the only Sri Lankan in high school (which is crazy when you think of how multicultural our fair city is.)

What does bother me is when people can't see past the otherness. Yes. I'm brown. I listen to indie music. Get over it. If anything, I find myself having to justify my musical tastes not to those who share it (aka white people) but with my other minority friends, brown or otherwise.

I have never felt like this, wanting to be white I mean. (Ya I know, that girl's Indian, and I hate the Indian comparison too, but wth, it serves its purpose for the moment.) One drawback of often being the only brown one in the room, is the awkwardness that it leads to later. For example, people are more likely to remember the "exotic" one with the "beautiful" sanskrit name more than the aforementioned exotic-sanskrit-name-bearer would ever remember the blonde in the corner.

Being an other makes people remember you. This isn't a phenomenon that's limited to me. Thathi works for a fairly large bank, most of his colleagues are white, he's got the same problem. Aiya's a chef, and not a dishwasher, there are no classically trained French chefs in this city who are Sri Lankan. Ammi? She's probably got it worse than any of us, she's in advertising, everyone is old, white and male.

There have been many an occassion when one or another of us has been out in the general public and some random person pops out of nowhere and asks us if we remember them from such and such a place. Fortunately we're all really good liars, we all fake it as if we remember. But really? We so don't.

And that?

That's the closest I've ever become to wishing I was white, so there would be an equal social playing field. Those white folks just always seem to have the upper hand.

Oh I hardly knew ya...

Where the hell did September go? I've been told that we're halfway through October already. Seriously. As the kids would say these days, double you-tee-etch?! So what's been going down yo?

Well. For starters, concerts, and lots of them even by my standards. The Weakerthans, Metric, Buck 65, Holy F*ck, controller.controller, You Say Party, We Say Die! the end of this month brings a little k-os my way and next month perhaps some OK Go and the French Kicks.

TIFF. Managed through divine intervention to catch 2 flicks, Vanaja (which was in my opinion waay too good to have been a MA thesis) and Black Book, both were amazing and I'd recomend them to anyone. Was fortunate enough to have the directors at both screenings, something that's usually a luxury for the gala screeners. But my word. Do people ever ask incredibly stupid questions? One would wonder how they managed to gather up enough brain cells to snag tickets. Despite that however, it is awesome to go into a movie that isn't necessarily hyped to the status of Babel, and create your own opinions unhampered by the mainstream press. Methinks that's the way movie watching really should be. Also, Carice van Houten was all kinds of amazing.

Mac rant. I hate the new itunes. It's like a slug. Also, I'm glad I bought a silicone cover for my keyboard back in the summer, I knew it would come in handy, and did it ever. Who knew cleaning up Vanilla Coke could be so easy?

How awesome is Belinda Stronach? She's like the Paris Hilton of Canadian politics. But Tie Domi? Really? Belinda you could have done so much better than that.

Oh ya, and I survived a pummeling at the hands of my midterms. Who knows, maybe updates will become more frequent? Nah, why kid like that.

Happy Birthday Babies!!

(image shamelessly stolen from Alby's facebook)

First off, a belated birthday shout out to Copto, and a Fresh one for Labro. Just because I didn't see either of you in the flesh does not mean your birthday beats are not forthcoming. Because they are. And I've been working out, so watch yourselves.

Secondly. I don't really know exactly what I've been doing since my last blog post, but evidently a lot because uh, I haven't found time to sight ye olde blogger-o.

Hmm...well, I survived the puppy and have come to the conclusion that if i can't afford a nanny there's no way in hell I'm having more than one child, two hyper active terriers for one week just about killed me.

I have been watching copious amounts of movies as of late. Some good some bad. Most are better left unnamed because, well, I'm a bit embarassed by my viewing selections.

A few things that I'm looking forward to in this glorious month of September.

Am counting down the 17 days and 40 minutes until I will be smooshed inside of the Horeshoe, standing stiff as a board (can't dance, and head bopping is forbidden because I look like I'm seizing) being mesmerised by the goodness that is controller.controller, because you know that Nirmala is my Sri Lankan idol, suck it M.I.A.

The Film Fest is starting! And you better believe I will be trying to score same day rush tickets for Borat Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan, but let's see if my endeavour is indeed a great success. There are a bunch of other flicks I want to catch, but I won't bother mentioning all of them, because that's tedious, and as it is no one reads half of what I write. I know you skim. Don't lie. I'd do it too if I were you.

I have a kick ass schedule, Mondays and Fridays I am free from the shackles of higher education. Which for my slower readers means a four day weekend. Every week. Until April. w00t.

The days are getting cooler which means I can start wearing layers again. And sweaters...mmm...sweaters.

After 9 long and painful years, Abs is back in Ontario! Yay for Waterloo being the only university in Canada to offer optometry or some craziness like that. Looking forward to being able to pick up the phone and call without having to calculate a three hour time difference between Toronto and Vancouver. It will be down right pleasant.

And now? I'm too lazy to continue on with this half assed list.

This post is brought to you by...

...my inability to do math, and boredom in an English lecture amongst other things.

Um. I can't do math. And neither can Alby, or Tool for that matter. But you guys know that already. Out of the three of us I'd have to say I'm the worst, Alby does accounting all day. And Tool? Well, Tool can at least multiply past 11. Don't know how good she is with long division though. Because long division? That's a freaking whole new ballgame right there.

I'm an artsy, I don't need math. The only time it ever crops up is when I'm vainly attempting to calculate my GPA, and then I just get Fanners to do it for me. However in the last week I've become painfully aware of how much I suck with numbers because the scenarios to use them in have seemingly increased. And it's only Thursday!

Scenario 1
Was buying a spiral bound notebook from Dollarama. As the name of the store suggests, all the items are priced at $1.00, but this particular notebook was 0.99. I had a $20.00 bill on me and some loose change, and I didn't want to break the 20. I tried to calculate what my total would be with tax since the GST+PST comes to 14%. A smart person (or one like me whose hindsight is 20/20) would've priced the notebook at $1.00 for the sake of simplicity. Of course that's not what I did. It ended in frustration, and I resigned myself mentally to breaking the 20. And the notebook? Eventually I sheepishly paid for it with a Loonie, one dime and a nickle. I felt charitable and let the cashier keep the penny.

Scenario 2
Wtf is up with taxes? Seriously. Usual rule of thumb when tipping your waitstaff in Toronto is to give them whatever the tax is. But what if you can't add the tax up? Then be thankful to God that you've gone for lunch with Whoren, who although will ridicule you, and make fun of your inability to add said taxes up, will eventually stop laughing long enough to do it for you.

Scenario 3
Usually when I head out to the grocery store I park by the loading bay. In order to get to the store entrance from this particular spot I've got to pass the grocery monkeys taking their smoke breaks. The beer scale rating system is awesome, and often never lies, aiya swears by it and apparently the grocery monkeys like it too. A lady walked in ahead of me and I heard different numbers being called out. 4, 3, 8, 2. I personally had her pegged at 6. But that's only because I'm such a tank and can hold my drink. So according to my calculations (at the time) this lady's difference between the grocery monkeys was only 5.

Scenario 4
Was arguing with the Auditor about the time difference between Toronto and Colombo. It went something like this...(Minus the gratuitous use of emoticons, b/c we're both slightly heavy handed with those.)

Auditor: It's not 12:30 yet.
Me: Actually it's 12:35 now.
Auditor: Oh, so it's only a 9.5 hour time difference then.
Me: Is it?
Auditor: It's 10:05 here.
Me: hang on, isn't that 10.5 hours? Because if you add 2 hours to 10:00 that makes it 12:00. Then if you add another 30 minutes that would make it 2.5 hours? But I don't trust my math.
Auditor: Let's work backwards. Now, the time there is 12:30 and it's 10:00 here. Ok?
Me: Yes. That much I get.
Auditor: Let's go back 30 minutes. Your time is?
Me: 12:00.
Auditor: 12:00. And what's my time when yours is 12:00?
Me: You're right! It's 9.5. I told you I can't do math.

So what's the moral of this story children?
Surround yourself with people who can do math. More specifically people who use math for a living, like auditors and architects. Architects who randomly make the dean's list ;) (Congrats!) Unfortunately if your architect has had major knee surgery, he'll be prone to be very mean. They get mean when they're bored, and then they say things like the below (on their blogs) when you can't do math, and use TV as a justification.

"I've been stuck at home a lot lately, since I can't move around much. Been watching some tv, and found this show, "“Glenn Beck"” on CNN Headline News. I love it. The guy is as right-wing as you'll find on TV. All my lefty organic-eating, share-the-wealth, spread-the-love, 3-cheers-for-taxes, tree-hugging, friends will hate it I think. But I love it. It'’s really informative though, not just propaganda. Check it out lefties. ;)"

For the recrod, I hate taxes. Only because I can never calculate them, otherwise? They're great!

Late Breaking News

So. Um. I'm back?

Two months in Sri Lanka.

Worked once again with the most brilliant people I've ever met, and most probably that I'll ever meet period.

Met a really dodgy Auditor. (A Clyde to my Bonnie if you will. Or is it a Bonnie to my Clyde? Maybe even a Butch Cassidy to my Sundance Kid? A Thelma to my Louise? And now? All this outlaw talk? It's just left me confused.)

Discovered I have an Alcoholic Cousin Who Has An Affinity For Vodka. (Here after ACWHAAFV). Confirmed the general suspicion that it is indeed the Tamil side of the family who knows how to party.

Watched another (more sane) cousin walk down the aisle and felt a bit queasy because, my God. We're getting old! Time's not waiting up for me and I still feel like I'm 15.

Met a friend from Toronto in Colombo and was told that I had acquired a slight Sri Lankan accent. Nearly died. My worst fear realised. Full blame rests on the shoulders of the Auditor and the ACWHAAFV. Have attempted to drop said accent but it creeps up ever so often, especially when accidentally blurting out "yeah men."

Conned an entire city into believing that I am indeed a good person with morals and a level head on my shoulder. (Yeah, is your stomach cramping from laughter too?). The farce my friends is now officially international.

Engaged in some suspect behaviour that made me feel like a bonafide Sri Lankan (and not a hyphenated one) for the first time in my entire life.

Came home 3 weeks ago. Incidentally on Canada Day, couldn't have orchestrated a better day to land.

So, that kind of sums up all the main points of the last two months pretty well I think? Suprisingly succinct isn't it? Have no fear though, I'm still long winded and verbose. Just really lazy today that's all.

This Just In
Very little time these days for leisure writing children. This naturally can be a problem when one does not have any leisure to speak of. I'm in the thick of summer school. And yeah, I ask myself every day wtf I was thinking when I decided to sign up for not one but TWO courses. As a result there are a limited amount of subjects I can blog about coherently. (But wait, when was I ever coherent?)


- Yet another grainey photo that proves I'd be an amazing spy!But this is in the name of fashion, Robert Best from Project Runway

My spare time has been spent on the following: Enlightenment philosophy and its role in political theory and the concept of lost love in the collected works of Anton Chekhov. Why such light hearted and fun subjects you ask? Papers my friend. Papers. That's all I have time for. Well. And reality TV of course. I outed my dirty TV habits awhile ago and you're already well aware of my penchant for Bollywood and collegiate humour (more specifically anything with a Wilson, Stiller or Ferrell). And now with the new season of Project Runway airing a bit earlier than usual, do you understand why I haven't been blogging? I mean, that's all the justification you need. (That and the fact that Zizou took up most of my time when I came home. But we won't talk about that just yet.) I'm behind Robert, because, um how freaking cute is he? The little pot belly and tank-top combo? Loving it! And, I'm waiting like everyone else for Vincent to have Woody Allen-esque breakdown on national television.

Well my pets, hopefully my updates will be more frequent, but I wouldn't count on it (due to the aforementioned laziness.) First let's see if I even survive this coming week. That's right! Ammi's at home and Hezbollah's got nothing on her.

Just one more 24 hour period...that's all I'm asking for.

Every year as part of their United Way fundraising campaign, Ammi's office has this great option of letting their employees "buy" a day off of work for 20 bucks with all proceeds going to the charity. Not only is it an excellent way to get practically everyone in the office to give money to a very worthy cause it also leaves folks with one less day working for the man. Everyone wins. Now only if the United Way had some sort of great mystical power to actually add an extra 24 hours to the week, making it 8 days instead of 7. (I think the Beatles were really on to something with that. Always ahead of their time those bastards.)

Anyways, why the pressing need for the 8th day? Well. I like many others in this world suffer from debilitating procrastination. As a result of this unhappy trait I often find myself working feverishly at the 11th hour on any given thing. Time management? Uh. Not really one of my strong points. However if wasting time on the internet was a major league sport, I could lead my team on to the championships undefeated and then go on to defend the title comfortably for 2 decades.

I have one last exam left on Thursday and I've had a three week study break (along with one other exam). It has been a great success pissing away all those free days which could have been spent on something more constructive than eating cookies. (mMm. Cookies.) Currently I am attempting to read 2 semesters worth of pointless drivel on the history of Canadian Foreign Relations. Exciting stuff let me assure your. I'm leaving to Colombo on Friday and normally wouldn't think of packing or even doing my laundry until Thursday night, making it a point to never sleep before flying and staying up for at least 24 hours before super long distance flights. It's the only way that I can actually sleep restfully on a plane. Unfortunately it seems like my plan for procrastinated packing has been thwarted. I have lost my digital camera.

Most of you might be able to go back in your collective memories to remember the state of my locker in highschool. It wasn't pretty. By every definition I seem to be a lot like "Monica," a neat freak at heart but also very capable of possessing one area that's a complete disaster, for her it was a closet, and for me it's my bedroom. If you take a look at my near non-existent lecture and reading notes they're organised to the point of having colour coordinated post-its and matching hi-liters along with copiously written notations in the margins, also done in colour coordinated pen. My room on the other hand is probably harbouring Osama Bin Laden unbeknownst to me. I was hoping that by attacking my room in a manner reminiscent to a US shock and awe campaign I'd be able to unearth the elusive digital camera. It hasn't been that easy friends, the camera is proving to be as wily as the Scarlet Pimpernel; my vain attempts to outsmart it through covert operations are no match for its superiour wit and I am now rather despondent.

It is with this poignant tale of heartbreaking grief that I plead for another 24 hours, to not only find my camera but also to finish my readings.

*sigh*

Broken Social Scene
So.

This is my last week of classes before finals, which means that 3 week study break I'm getting will be spent trying to get my shit together for 2 months in Sri Lanka. Right now I'm not overly excited about that prospect mainly because I will not be in Toronto on June 24th, and I really wish I was. When you lead an existence as shallow as mine the thought of dying of heatstroke in Colombo loses its appeal really fast when you realise that you could die of heatstroke at Centre Island. Yeah, once again, another summer of missing the Broken Social Scene Olympic Island concert which is one of the kickingest concerts of the year. The preliminary lineup this year seems pretty good, Feist, Bloc Party and who knows who else will be added. You know what adds insult to injury?

1. I could have gotten cheaper presale tickets earlier on this week because I'm an Inside Edge Member.
2. One of Aiya's part-time waiters is freaking IN Broken Social Scene. Which obviously translates into FREE tickets.
3. Rotate This and the usual haunts are also selling tickets, which means exploitation via ticketmaster (today at 10am if you want tickets!) wouldn't have been a necessary evil.
4. I'm already missing the Toronto Jazz Festival, which is also pretty kicking.

Instead I get to look forward to a summer spent in a capital city where "entertainment" means:
A) Going and watching painful and poorly made theatre. I've seen highschool plays better acted and written than the stuff I've slept through at the Wendt.
B) Getting drunk off your face, then proceeding to operate a motor vehicle whilst inebriated and bragging about it the next afternoon to your equally stupid friends.
C) Going to clubs where they play realllllly bad music, so bad that you just feel sorry.

Added to the above is the lack of good live music. It's either all covers (of bad music) or weird Sri Lankan metal bands (I.Know.) To put things into perspective, this is the country that professional musicians go to because their careers in the west are already dead. i.e. Peter Andre, Shaggy, Bryan Adams, Kool and the Gang and Engelbert Humperdinck are the ones I can name off the top of my head.

(What I think is the saddest thing is that people will actually drop a load of cash to go and see the above washouts. When I was there last year Engelbert was about to grace Colombo with his presence, tickets were going for 10,000 Rs, which give or take is about $100.00).

There are a lot more things to complain about, but I'll refrain from doing so right now.

What?

I'm not bitter.

OK. So I might be a little.

Damn you Broke Social Scene, couldn't you have done this concert in say, August?

*sigh*