The man on the radio greeted me with that line this morning, and followed it up with “the temperature is -40 with the windchill today.”  Fuck you, radio man.

I am currently in my sweet-jesus-just-hold-out-for-a-few-more-days-til-Mexico countdown – we leave at 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning for a week in sunny, hot, relaxing, wonderful Mexico.  I couldn’t be more excited.  The beach and a few good books and cold beers and delicious fruit and snorkelling…I’m ready to burst with anticipation!  That, and food.  Good lord this weekend has essentially consisted of eating, eating, self-shaming, and then more eating to cure the feelings of shame.  Gross.  I got back from a four-day sales conference in Toronto on Thursday night – at which I essentially ate my way through the presentations of new books coming out this season – and then this weekend we had a family dinner extravaganza: a Christmas dinner at our place on Saturday night, and Hanukkah dinner on Sunday night.  Both were lovely and went really well, but both consisted of eating my weight in all things health-related (read: cheese, potatoes, more cheese, and dessert).

This is going to make for an interesting bathing suit-related Christmas vacation.

Two weekends ago I took part in a 5K run at the Forks to raise money for the Salvation Army.  This run takes place annually around the country, and Winnipeg had the highest turnout this year, second only to Toronto.  Pretty impressive for a town that is currently frozen solid at -40.  Granted, it was only -10 that morning, so it was bearable – although the first 15 minutes or so were painful as I have vents in the bottoms of my runners and snowy feet make for a painful run.  While I completed the run at about 7 minutes slower than my usual pace, I was pretty happy overall, considering that I only got out for four runs in preparation for the 5K, and hadn’t run outside since the flowers were still in bloom.  It’s pretty amazing how much your body can remember.  Equally amazing is the amount of progress I can undo in such a short period of time!  Hot diggity.  Now that the mercury has hit “Unholy” I won’t be running outside that much, but I still have the remnants of an overpriced gym membership, a pass to a hot yoga studio, and a few more classes left on my boxing pass – not to mention a goddamn elliptical trainer in my very own home.  Time to make use of this shit, for my sake and the sake of those spending a bathing suit-clad week in Mexico with me.  I can almost hear the stampede.

While I have a hard time focusing on more than one major goal at a time, this week work is taking a back seat to ME.  Bring on the hot yoga, massages, and pedicures.  It’s the Winter of Jessica.

So I’m at work yesterday afternoon, and my Dad gets a call from the woman that rents the business unit that’s attached to the front of our house.  I can hear from my Dad’s responses to her that she’s bitching about Matt and I – my Dad’s saying things like “Okay well I’m happy to talk to them about that” and “Yes and they have to have privacy too” and the like.  I walk over to the desk of the student that’s working for us and let him know that Dragon Lady is bitching about me on the phone to my Dad and eavesdrop from there.  I poke my head into my Dad’s office and make eye contact with him and he smiles and rolls his eyes.  When he gets off the phone I ask “Alright so what’s her problem this time?” and am completely surprised by his response: “Well it seems that she can smell pot smoke all the time and is concerned because one of her clients is a cop and has been asking about it.”

Woah…what?

My Dad continues, “She says that she smells it most during the week, and particularly on Monday mornings.  She saw Matt as he was leaving for work at 9:00 a.m. a few Mondays ago, and when she went into the office she was overwhelmed with the smell of marijuana.”

The idea that Matt’s doing bong rips before work is hilarious.  But, that doesn’t really make sense since he starts work at 8:30 a.m. and also he’s not a fucking degenerate.  We’ve figured out that she can smell it Monday mornings the most since the weekends is generally when we partake the most in our medicinal rituals, and now that the furnace is on, it recycles the air from our deviant pot-fueled drug parties into her office (as the building is all connected – it was one big house renovated into a smaller house and business unit).  Apparently she’s been spraying Febreeze like nobody’s business to try and cut out the stench of our out-of-control habit.

So now I guess we have to hotbox the bathroom or blow it through a toilet paper roll with a dryer sheet wrapped around one end (ahh, memories of yesteryear).  We certainly don’t want her cop clients busting down our door and breaking up our hippie love circles.

After realizing that my dreams of sandy beaches and fancy drinks with umbrellas in them were not meant to be, I thought that my summer vacation was kiboshed.  But, always the amazing friends that they are, the lovely folks in Montreal responded to my desperate, last minute e-mail request for a possible Montreal retreat with a resounding “yes!”  On top of that, I got in touch with my cousin in Toronto, and she immediately arranged for me to stay with her and her amazing fam for the weekend.  Thanks to these people, my vacation was a hit.

I flew in to Montreal on the morning of Friday, July 17th, and was even able to get the remainder of my pre-workshop assignments completed on the plane.  This trip, like every trip I make to Montreal, was fantastic.  After Montreal, I took a train to Toronto with Dallas and Brian (the last train before the VIA rail strike began…phew!) and went to stay with my cousin, Tannis, and her family.  From there, I went to Vancouver for Simon Fraser University’s Book Editing workshop to learn the ins and outs of editing non-fiction.  Overall, my two weeks away this summer were amazing.  Here are some highlights:

1. Roller Derby

The final match before the championships for the Montreal Roller Derby League was held on Saturday, July 18th, and it was quite possibly the most fun I’ve ever had at a sporting event.  The arena was filled with an eclectic mix of people – older couples, children, young people, drunk people – but the atmosphere was positive and exciting.  We were lucky enough to have the boyfriend of one of the players sitting with us, so he explained the rules, some of the ref’s calls, and some of the team strategies as they played out on the rink.  We drank beer (two for $5!), cheered loudly, built a beer-amid, and came up with our own roller derby names (Wrath of Khan, Mark my Words, Dallas Does Derby, and Brian Gofuckyourself).  It was all kinds of fun.  The after party, held at Caigibi, made for some hilarious shenanigans, and was eventually taken to Mod Night at Blizzarts.  There, we danced to awesome 60s music while an Elvis movie played on the screen behind the DJs.

2. Cheesecake and Birthday Wishes

My 28th birthday was on Monday, July 20th, and I had an amazing day.  I woke up early, went for a run, and got dressed up to spend the day shopping.  Karen, Lee, and I spent a relaxing few hours on their back patio before heading over to Dallas and Brian’s for an absolutely amazing Thai dinner prepared by the gracious hosts themselves.  Karen, Lee, Dallas, Brian, Mark, and I relaxed, drank wine, talked, and enjoyed a delicious banana chocolate cheesecake care of Dallas’ amazing culinary skills.  Mark and Brian left for band practice and Karen and Lee retired for bed while Dallas and I stayed up talking about the realities of growing older, the increasing frequency of friends’ nuptials, and terrible shoes.  We capped off the night, after Brian returned from band practice, with some It’s Always Sunny.  Best birthday ever.

3. Just for Laughs with Aziz Ansari and Marc Maron

On Tuesday night we all met up on St. Denis, which was blocked off for the Just for Laughs Festival.  We had dinner at a cheap little Thai restaurant and made our way over to Theatre Saint-Catherine for the Aziz Ansari show.  The theatre itself only seats maybe 100 people, so the show was small and intimate, which was excellent.  All of the performers that night were great – the opener was hilarious, Aziz was funny (albeit a total name-dropper), and the ‘free’ show after Aziz, Marc Maron, was an hour spent drifting between the extreme depression and boiterous laughter.  That guy can tell a story, but Jesus H. Christ he’s got issues.  I even saw Gary Gulman in the audience.  Exciting!

4. Yoga with Karen

One of the things that I look forward to every time I visit Montreal is going with Karen to her yoga class.  Not only is her class itself relaxing and challenging, all at the same time, but the drive there and back gives us a chance to talk and catch up and I really value that time to and from her class.  She’s an amazing yoga instructor to boot, so those classes are good for my body as well as for my soul.  Provided I don’t fall over (ha!).

5. Tattoos with Tannis

After a joke about getting matching Jem and the Holograms tattoos, Tannis and I spent the week leading up to my arrival in Toronto frantically e-mailing back and forth to try to decide on a tattoo design that we could agree on.  What started as a joke became “one of the greatest ideas we’ve ever had.”  Tannis booked us an appointment at TCB Tattoo in Toronto and the swallows were inked into our skin – hers on her ribcage, and mine on my arm.  Matching tattoos may be cheezy to some, but they’re always fun for me.  I’m so glad we got them done.

6. The Badass Shoe Museum

A running joke for the weekend in Toronto: I mis-heard Tannis when she said we were going to the Bata Shoe Museum, thinking she said the Badass Shoe Museum.  Badass or not, it was a great outing with her, Todd, and the kiddies.  Who knew shoes could be so interesting?

7. Birthday Dinner with the Family

On Saturday night, Tannis invited the rest of the Toronto Family – my aunt and cousin – over for a birthday dinner.  Spending time with my family for my birthday felt like being at home, and I was really touched that they went all out, with a cake and everything!  Just being able to hang out with those adorable little kids and to see the members of my family that I rarely get to see was a real treat.  Plus, the cake caused me to fall into an amazing a chocolate coma.

8. Beaches Jazz Festival

After the birthday dinner, my aunt very graciously offered to look after the kids so that Tannis, Todd, and I could head out for the night.  We met up with Tannis’ friend Bianca at the Beaches Jazz Festival.  Queen Street East was blocked off for what seemed like miles and miles, and makeshift stages were set up at every block where different jazz or blues bands would play.  It was amazing: there were tons of people, great music, and we had an awesome night filled with beer and jokes.  The night ended with us waking up my aunt as we microwaved dinner leftovers at 3am.  Good times, good times.

9. Vancouver Solo Redux

The Book Editing program was excellent – just like last year, I met some great people, learned a hell of a lot in a short period of time, and had a chance to see some more of Vancouver.  I met up with my cousin and his girlfriend for dinner one night, and, given that this year’s workshop was much less intense than last year’s, I was able to spend some time alone during the evenings walking around, taking photos, and enjoying some patios.  Vancouver’s record-breaking heat wave was a welcome change from the dreary and rainy weather I’d faced in Montreal and Toronto, and back at home in Winnipeg.  It was a sweaty good time, and I welcomed the solo time to relax and unwind in the sun.

Hoooo doggy.  I’ve been recently enjoying the travel-related benefits of my job, having returned last week from a two week jaunt to Montreal, Ottawa, and Halifax.  It was fun, tiring, boring, exciting, and refreshing.  Now I’m back, I’m starting to slip back into my regular routine, and I’m writing this from work when I should probably be reading manuscripts (as I said, back to the regular routine).

Montreal was, as per usual, fantastic.  I stayed with both Karen and Dallas & Brian, as Karen left for Winnipeg (just my luck) two days after I arrived.  We spent the weekend catching up, doing yoga, dressing up for our Mad Men-themed party, sitting in the park, and destroying painfully douchey dudes at pub trivia.  It was all kinds of fun.

The Mad Men party was Dallas’ idea, as her birthday was a week earlier and, let’s be honest, everyone likes a theme party.  We dressed up in our gear and headed to Hotel de le Montagne, which boasts a classy lobby and lounge area, complete with cougars and creepy old dudes.  From there (drinks were $7.50 each, which didn’t really jive with the 50s/60s era theme we had going) we went to Copacabana, which is essentially a room with tables and chairs and beer.  The wall is painted with palm trees and a beach scene, which apparently justifies the name.  After many a beer and drunken laugh at the Copa, we headed to the Main for some late night poutine (or “poots” as Mark would call it).  I had potatoe latka-related chest pains after scarfing my latkas like the world was ending.  That beer sure makes a person lose any sense of control.

Peter informed us after the fact that our Mad Men party quite closely followed with what White People Like:

When you say the words “we should have a Mad Men party,” white people will immediately latch onto the idea and begin planning. By the end of the day, they will have picked proper attire and emailed you a drink and hors d’oeuvre menu. In the days and weeks leading up to the party white people will be thinking of clever ways to make it more authentic.

We’re so white.

Ottawa and Halifax were work trips, and both had their good times and their very trying times.  The Congress of the Humanities and Social Sciences was held at Carleton University this year, so I got on a bus for Ottawa on Tuesday morning and headed to Carleton to work at Fernwood Books’ display at the Congress Book Fair.  This year was a particularly sucessful year for us – especially in comparison to last year’s coma-inducing Book Fair at UBC in Vancouver.  While I enjoyed working at the Book Fair and the opportunity to check out one of Brian’s presentations, my five days in Ottawa were spent in an exhausted haze, after what felt like a month of drinking beer and eating bad food in Montreal.  The fact that it rained every single goddamn day in Ottawa didn’t help, nor did Ottawa’s air of boredom (is it just me or is that place a yawnfest?).  I did get to spend some time with a friend that I went to the U of Manitoba with – who’s now doing his PhD at Carleton.  That was certainly the highlight of the Ottawa leg: we went to a pub/restaurant that had live music – two men on pianos and one on a bass, who were taking requests.  “Piano Man” was requested about five times.  Outside of selling books at the Book Fair, I was able to walk around and check out some of the other booths, and picked up Shuck, a novel by my friend Mark’s partner Daniel.  I read it in two days, as it was not only incredibly engaging, but extrememly well written and funny.  You should check it out here.

Due to some poor flight plans, I flew home on Saturday night and spent approximately 18 hours in Winnipeg before flying to Halifax on Sunday afternoon.  With the stop over in Toronto, the trip to Halifax took a whopping seven hours – and my Dad and I arrived in the Halifax airport to find that a fire alarm had permanently sealed the doors to the baggage area, thus forcing us to wait for almost an hour for our bags to come out on that little conveyor belt that I’m always so worried I’m going to get my fingers caught in.  The Fernwood office is just outside of Halifax, in Black Point, so we rented a car and headed out into the rainy night for Bev and Errol’s house.  After careening down some particularly terrifying windy roads in the dark with the rain pouring down on us, we made it to the house and to bed by about 1:30 a.m.  The next two days were spent meeting – which was beneficial for a number of reasons, one of which being that I hadn’t actually met half of the Nova Scotia office staff until then.  The office is in what is essentially cottage country, which made for some beautiful walks and views:

We went into Halifax on the second night for dinner, and stopped at Peggy’s Cove on the way in so I could be a tourist and take lighthouse photos.  It was truly gorgeous, and the feeling of salt in my hair from being so close to the ocean was refreshing.

We left Halifax on Tuesday evening, and I got back to Winnipeg around 11:30 p.m.  With Thursday and Friday spent manning (womaning?) a book display at the University of Winnipeg, and the weekend spent working on the new house, it’s taken a while to feel like I’m back to my normal schtick and not running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off.  For now, I’m in Winnipeg, and focusing on Matt and my upcoming move, after which I will be planning a trip to an as yet unknown tropical destination, and a week in Vancouver for a book editing workshop.  Winnipeg hasn’t even had a sign of summer yet and it feels like these supposed “summer” months are already booked up.  Somewhere in there I need to get back into some sort of guilt-induced running and exercise regimen, and try not to guzzle beer whenever acceptable. Two weeks away from home and I’m a complete disaster.  Crossing my fingers that after the rest of the summer’s events I don’t end up developing a split personality or subscribing to Scientology.  Sweet Xenu.

Matt and I are officially moving once our lease at Shithole Apartments, aka Bedbug Haven is over.  My parents bought a house on Broadway, across from my old high school, that has a storefront business unit in the front, and a residence in the back.  It is, by definition, business in the front, party in the back.  Much like this Adonis:

I have never been more excited to move – which is most definitely one of the most excrutiatingly painful experiences a person can go through.  I hate moving.  I hate packing shit, I hate trying to fit all of my crap into those tiny wine boxes from the liquor store, I hate the inevitable distractions of perusing those papers I wrote for my second year political philosophy class.  I didn’t care about Machiavelli then, so why do I get so caught up in him when I have 24 hours to move?  God.

Anyway, this new place is pretty sweet – we have three bedrooms, a big living room, a huge kitchen with a breakfast nook and a dining room, and a basement which will hold…drum roll…our own washer and dryer!  No more scrambling to get your dirty undies into the washer before the person whose laundry basket has been sitting next to the machine for the last 6 hours decides to mosey on down and scream at me for jumping him in line.  And poor little Smokey will finally have room to explore and stretch his hairy legs.

There are minimal renovations to be done, outside of replacing all of the windows.  It’s mostly just cosmetic – painting rooms, replacing the vanity in the bathroom, ripping up the ugly carpet on the stairs, removing the stupid pantry in the kitchen.  Even though we’re only tenants, and renting the place from my parents, we’ll still have a say in paint colours and, to a certain extent, other renovation decisions.  It’s like a practice home!  The woman who lives in the storefront unit, however, is a grade A cuntbag (an opinion gathered after a number of encounters with her that were less than pleasant), and has a lease until the end of February, so unless we can convince her cranky ass to move out early, Matt and I will have to live with her and her bitchy antics for a few months until Fernwood can move in.  The thought of walking to work in my slippers with a cup of coffee in my hand is enough to make me climax.

Once bitchface moves out, we’re going to do a few renovations to the office area – knocking down walls, painting, removing disgusting carpeting – and as of this time next year I will be the happiest person alive.  I know that I have a history of difficulty in separating work and homelife, but I’m hoping the physical separation (the wall, that is) between my home and where I work will be enough to keep me in line.  It really will just make my life simpler, and cut out all that travel time to work and back, and make getting to the gym less a pain in the ass than it is now.

Part of this new chpater in our lives involves some financial planning and budgeting.  Now that we both have full time jobs with decent salaries (not to mention my recent bonus and raise – oh snap!), we’re planning for things like buying a 42″ plasma TV, a new computer, surround sound, our trip to Mexico in December, a Wii…it’s all very exciting, and I feel like such a grown-ass woman thinking about all of the fancy new grown up shit I’m going to have and be able to do.  Our trip to Mexico is actually for my family’s reunion – we’ll be there for a week over Christmas – but we’re also planning on taking a trip ourselves sometime after that.  Meghan and I are planning on taking a week at an all-inclusive in some tropical locale (it doesn’t really matter, does it?) this summer, and all of this planning and doing is really making me happy.  I feel less like a bumbling fool and more like someone who is finally reaping the benefits of all of those years in school, relying on student loans and happy hours to get by.  Karen was right – now’s the time I get to actually do what it is I’ve spent my 20s preparing for.  Holla!

The only downside to all of the fireworks and happytimes associated with being somewhat mature is that I’m incredibly worried about my money.  I’ve NEVER worried about money before (unless I was threatened with eviction/expulsion/etc) – I was a huge believer in the ‘it-will-all-work-itself-out’ manifesto, which did get me pretty far in a fairly stress-free manner.  But now that I actually have some cashmoney to put away for something fun like a big TV or a trip to Jamaica, I’m totally terrified that I’m going to blink and realize that I just spent $3000 on shoes or blew all of my savings on weed and licorice.  I’ve spent a fair amount of money on myself in the last four months, that’s for sure, but I saw that as justified.  I was merely allowing myself the properly-fitting and good quality clothes, shoes, necessities (you know, like shampoo that isn’t called Pert or socks that aren’t sold at Dollarama or a bra that doesn’t create the unfortunate spillover effect) that until now I couldn’t afford.  I have all of the clothes I need, I have shoes that fit me and are comfortable and won’t fall apart in a month, I have a camera whose batteries aren’t held in place by my thumb as I take a photo, I have hair that is all one colour, my bills are all paid on time and in full, and I’m pretty much good to go on all fronts.  What I’m afraid of now is that I’m going to end of making the wrong decision and sitting on the beach in Mexico will actually turn into crying into my pillow in Winnipeg while my family enjoys the cervesas and chulos that I’ve let slip through my fingers.

This, it seems, is a sign of adulthood.  I’m worried about debt repayment and credit ratings and mortgage approvals.  What is my credit rating like?  Were they serious in 1999 when they told me, after I went to Australia and didn’t make a credit card payment for five months, that I would have a permanent mark on my credit report?  Should I be worried about RRSPs and long term savings and a down payment on a house?  What does amoratized mean?  Should I be putting money away now for when I’m old and beligerant?  When should I buy a car?  How do I buy a car?  What the hell is going on here?

Despite what appears to be a nervous breakdown when I put it all into writing, I think that the combination of my traditional easy-going outlook on all things chedda and my newly developed concern for not blowing my wad on poprocks and purses is probably a good thing.  I can keep myself in check without getting so overwhelmed and crazy that I fail to take advantage of promising situations that present themselves to me.  I mean, really, when is the best time to go to Jamaica?  Right now, that’s when.  So, given that I can keep my shit together without either becoming a tightwad or a loosewad (is that a thing people say?  Because if not, it should be), I think I’ll be okay.

Holy fucking shitballs.

That’s pretty much the summation of my thoughts and feelings these days.  Jesus creepin’ shit.  I cannot wait until this course is over, until winter is over, until this cold comes and goes.  Hot damn.  Things have been so incredibly busy – or, at least, busy enough that I can’t survive on my regular schedule of living life by the seat of my pants – and it appears that it has all caught up with my body, which is now aching and sore like the morning after a night of beer bongs.

That could have something to do with the weekend of debauchery I just endured – which seems to happen only when my weeks are filled with work and, come Saturday, I feel the overwhelming desire to get as drunk as I possibly can, have slurred and likely embarrassing conversations with people I don’t know, dance like I’m having a seizure, and abruptly leave when my body tells me it’s time to cap off the night with some violent retching.

Keeping it real.

Classes have been getting more and more difficult to manage with work life.  It’s sales season right now, which means that I have to schlep myself out to the universities and meet with professors all day and try to sell them books for use in their fall courses.  Most of the time the meetings are pleasant – I don’t meet with professors who wouldn’t be interested in the kinds of books we sell – but sometimes it can be a little trying.  And, always, it is exhausting.  Not that I’m doing that much walking around, unless I’m at the University of Manitoba (the campus which is considered the third largest ‘city’ in Manitoba), but being ‘on’ all day long and being able to think on my feet in meetings with professors from all different disciplines gets to be a wee bit grating.  Luckily, after March, I should be done.  I really only spend about six or seven days at the universities, but it still manages to tire me out.  More importantly, though, it means that sales keep me from the regular goings-on at the office, and things start to pile up, emails start to collect unanswered, and things start to fall under the radar (like an upcoming conference for which I forgot to order books: eff).

There are only seven more classes left in the term.  Seven.  Hot diggity.  Today was a bit of a gong show as I’m starting to feel the sickness set in.  Matt had it last week, and now I’m getting it.  After spending yesterday walking around the U of M in my new boots (heels for 8 hours: I’ve made a huge mistake) and coming home to spend five hours marking papers, today I had little to no energy to get dressed, let alone lecture (I did manage to clothe myself, though).  Luckily, however, they didn’t give a rat’s ass, and were happy to have me let them leave early.  The remainder of the course is structured around the students writing a final research paper, so these last few classes should be less stressful to prepare than, say, 30 minutes on comma uses (again: I’ve made a huge mistake).

Bright side?  Oh yes, there is one.  My Dad finally called the real estate agent yesterday, and he’s going to start hunting for a duplex for us.  Matt and I are so ready to move – apartment life is the shits, particularly when you live in a building that seems to derive its heat from what feels like a single match burning in the basement.  Our apartment is unbelievably cold.  Even criminally cold, if you ask me, and it’s time to get the eff outta here.  I think Matt will be happy to save all the money he’s been spending on new socks as our uneven floorboards are apparently out to get him.

For now, it’s TMZ and mint tea.  (Note: that sounds weird if you say it out loud.)  My body hurts and I’ve purposefully neglected the gym today, opting instead to buy some fancy cheese and olives with the intention of watching home reno shows and celebrity trash while I stuff my face with gouda and brie.  Course prep tonight involves brainstorming ways in which I can help the junior mints perfect their research questions, which may all come out sounding something like “How does Mike Holmes consistently rule so hard?” or “Why does TMZ hire staff that have no knowledge of pre-2001 celebrities?” or “Who is that sassy little dude on Sarah’s House and how can I become friends with him?” 

Time to get to work.

My brother has been working at the office two days a week since December.  He’s a real piece of shit.

Arth: “Hey Jess did you get my email?”

Jess: “I haven’t checked, hang on…”

* “Dinglenuts”: A term often used by my father when referring to a particularly ignorant, unintelligent, or otherwise aggravating individual.

This morning at work we kept getting spam faxes from some company in the states selling Steel Buildings (“Winter Clearance! Huge Reduction on Steel Buildings! Call Tom at ext. 940!”), so I called the number they provided to remove your fax number from their fax list, but still kept getting faxes from them.  It started to piss me off because I was trying to print labels and these damn faxes kept coming through and fucking everything up, so I decided to give Tom a call and tell him to shove his damn steel buildings.

I called the number and asked the operator to put me through to extension 940.  After a while someone answered the phone in an incredibly thick, somewhat high-pitched New Jersey-sounding accent:

“Shipping!”

“Yeah is this Tom?”

“Tom? Naw he’s gawn upstairs he’s got a big orda in he had to unload this mornin’, won’t be back for a while, you got an orda with him?”

“No, actually I’m calling from Canada and we keep recieving your faxes and I’ve called the number–”

“Yeah, oh man, you know they buy the lists, they buy em from U.S. Steel, they got these erectahs and buildahs, cuz we got pretty good deals ya know?  So they buy them lists and somehow they got ya undah erectahs and buildahs.”

“Yeah, well we’re actually a book publishing company in Canada, so we don’t have any use for steel–”

“Oh yeah you know I get these calls a lot, I got two yestahday, one, I said, how come we’re faxing a Doctah’s office? That don’t make no sense!  I’m sorry ya know, I’ll take ya numbah and give it upstairs and see what they can do, I’m real sorry.”

“Oh, well, it’s no problem.”

How can you be mad at someone with such a charming accent, talking a mile a minute, cutting you off to say things like “erectahs and buildahs”?  You can’t.  Now I kinda wish I was in the steel building industry just so I could be in touch with that guy on a regular basis.

I’ve realized over the past few weeks that this course I’m teaching has essentially taken the place of my thesis: I had a couple of months off of anything academia-related, and come January I’m right back into assignments and research and writing, with a little grading and hand-wringing to top it all off.  I’ve been complaining to myself (and likely to others, a problematic habit I’m not proud of but can’t seem to shake) of how tired and busy I am, but I think this is a state that I enjoy being in, despite my exhaustion and the fact that I don’t have weeknights or Saturday afternoons free anymore.  I like being busy, having responsibilities and projects on the go.  It keeps me feeling useful and productive, and is a nice excuse for going to bed at 9:30 p.m. on a Sunday night (hell yes).

Granted, I think that the next time I teach this course (assuming there is a ‘next time’), I will feel much more comfortable with the workload, as the preparation of lectures is something that takes up a huge amount of my time, and being prepared well in advaance is something of which I haven’t been able to enjoy the luxury.  Knowing what to anticipate from students and how to best explain things are things that will quite clearly come with practice.  I suppose I just have to bank on the hope that my students appreciate that I am honest and upfront with them about what I know, what skills I have, and what I have to offer them.  Apparently ‘comedic flare’ doesn’t fall into any of those categories.

It’s taken a while, but I’ve fallen into a fairly easy routine – up at 7am, work, gym, dinner, lecture time.  It honestly makes the weekends that much sweeter.  And, if this weekend was any indication, working all week seems to cause a mass exodus of inhibitions come Saturday night.  Yeesh.

Last night was the CCPA’s annual fundraiser.  This year it was held at the Pyarmid Cabaret and featured the musical wizardry of Jessee Havey, John K. Sampson, and DJ Kasm.  I have been helping out a bit over the past few weeks – getting posters up, asking businesses for silent auction donations, and creating as much of a buzz as I can on facebook.  I have recently come down with a mighty cold/flu, but managed to drag my sickly ass out to the Pyramid last night for the festivities.

The evening was a success, I think.  There were a fair amount of people there, considering the less-than-ideal amount of advertising that went in to plugging the event, and it seemed as though everyone had a good time.  Jessee Havey, who I had never heard sing before, was amazing – she has a beautiful, soulful voice that made me wish I could sing.  John Sampson was awesome as per usual, and although many of his songs made me want to burst into tears (there’s something about the quiet, acoustic sound and soft lyrics that had me connecting his songs with my own life), his rendition last night of One Great City was stellar.  Every time I hear that song I get all nostalgic for my city, particularly these lines:

The driver checks the mirror seven minutes late
The crowded riders’ restlessness enunciates
The Guess Who sucked, the Jets were lousy anyway
The same route everyday
And in the turning lane
Someone’s stalled again
He’s talking to himself
And hears the price of gas repeat his phrase
I hate Winnipeg

While I was disappointed that many of my friends did not come out to support the CCPA last night, it made me so happy to see Gosia and April there – both of whom stayed the night and bought lots of silent auction tickets – and when I told Matt that I was happy that he came, he responded “I wouldn’t miss it,” which made me all warm and fuzzy inside.  It’s nice to know who I can count on.  So thanks, guys.

Now I’m back at work, with the fundraiser behind me, dealing with a cold that just won’t quit.  With Halloween only a day away, something I’m usually giddily excited about, all I can think of is sleeping the weekend away, and I somehow find myself blaming the city for getting me sick.  Damn transit, damn cold, damn people coughing on me.  I hate Winnipeg.