googe

This must be embarassing. Go to the website...before they realize that their name is missing an "l".

commencing countdown, engine's on

Just a few more pointers (from the recruiters at the office where I work):

1. Have a vague idea of why you came.
2. Have a vague idea of who you came to meet with.
3. Don't have your girlfriend fill out a spell test for you.
4. If she does, make sure she gets more than 32/56.
5. Write legibly.
6. When you ask permission to have one of the display apples, don't take three.
7. Don't stare at your interviewer's breasts.

ground control to major tom

When applying/interviewing for a job, here are a list of tips that might come in handy:

1. Speak English. At least a little.
2. Wear deoderant. At least a little.
3. Don't dress like P. Diddy.
4. Don't misspell your name. Twice.
5. If a door doesn't open when you push it, try pulling.
6. Spritz cologne/perfume, don't douse.
7. When asked what your preferred salary is, don't respond, "As much as possible."

with love from norway

This is a clip I've watched approximately 14 times. In a row.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Qhuad5UIVE#GU5U2spHI_4

so i think i can dance

I flipping love this show*. I watched the season finale last night on TV and nearly wept with joy. Then sorrow, as I attempted the moves myself in my apartment (Boerger outed me - yes, it's my secret hobby...but then I've seen Boerger do some moves on Barkman's livingroom floor that should be performed on stage) on, as we will all recall, an ankle recovering from spraindom.

Dumb. Because now it hurts a little more than it did yesterday. But I managed one killer piroette.

The dancers on this show astound me. Pulling off Fosse moves like it's child's play... The routines are flawless and so full of energy. And there's always at least one or two moves in an episode that make you nearly spill your tea and stare at the screen in mute shock. Are bodies meant to bend that way/spin that fast/kick that high? And, in the case of Heidi and Benji's mambo (as featured in above pic): is that legal to show on primetime TV? Raowr.

Makes me wonder why now, NOW, in my recent gimpiness do I feel most inspired to take dance lessons again (friends have been subtly encouraging)

When my amazing technicolour dream ankle heals, it might be time to take that piroette out of my apartment.

*Credit must be given to one spectacular boy in particular, who first introduced me to S.Y.T.Y.C.D. at a summer BBQ many months ago, and whom I still think of fondly every time I watch it. Thanks, Mark.

pop goes the ankle

Shannon seems to be the only one posting about injuries in the blogposse that I hang with and I was beginning to feel left out.

So I decided to sprain my ankle.

Scene 1: late departure from work, miss last bus out to church, wait at Dixon and Kipling for the 58 Weston, in a blizzard, decide to grab a tea to prevent hypothermia, prance over small snow bank, misjudge mound's exact shape, land...askew.

A sickening pop, an even more sickening feeling (complete with dizziness, nausea, hot/cold flashes, throbbing, and delirious laughter through tears), a bus ride and a 10 minute jaunt - why?! - to TACF, and I was able to lean on Mel's hug, Sticks' donation of Kleenex, and my Extremely Hot and Attentive Boyfriend's piggypack to Firehall later that night.

Scene 2: wake up, swing legs over side of bed, traverse to bathroom, blood rushing to already swollen ankle produces sharp, stabbing feeling, vision of bathroom blurs, crawl way back to safety of bed.

Unfortunately the injury prevented me from attending a bridal shower for the Illustrious Kate Dias-Soon-To-Be-Graham and landed me in a hospital waiting room for two hours with my dad later that afternoon. Blasted snow drift.

b&e

Yesterday, home sick from work, I was lying in bed at around 11:00 a.m. when I heard the sound of keys at my door.

Strange.

Door opens.

Andrew's voice: "Hello?"
Me: "Hello?"
A.V.: "What? Hi!"
Me: "Hi..."
A.V.: "What are you doing here?"
Me: "Um, what are you doing here?"

The conversational ping-pong match continued, out of sight of each other (Andrew not moving from the door and me not moving from the bed), until we had ascertained that my sick day had just foiled Andrew's stealthy bouquet-of-flowers drop.

And why a bouquet of flowers, you ask? Just because. I would have swooned if I had not already been lying down.

A vase filled with water, two cups of tea and a serendipitous mid-morning chat later and I was back in bed (having taken lots of vitamin C, because he told me to), drifting off to sleep with a grin on my face.