Tuesday, October 24, 2006

I take comfort in yuppies.

I woke up this morning in a terrible mood.

There's nothing worse than waking up in a bad mood. There's also usually no reason for it, but this morning it was justifable. I mentally itemized the reasons why the day had started off poorly, hoping that compiling a list would soothe my nerves:

1. For this first time in a week, I fell asleep relatively quickly last night (it only took me an hour to fall asleep as opposed to two or three hours) which pleased me greatly. But I woke up from a nightmare about being attacked by iguanas to discover that it was already 10 after 11. I had set my alarm for 9:30 am, planning to get up, phone some people, do some paperwork for my corporate masters, conduct some interviews, and maybe even write a bit. It turns out I accidentally set my alarm for 9:30 PM. Two productive hours of my day already gone to nightmare-filled sleep. Shit. The day had started out badly, and I hadn't even known it because I hadn't been concious.

2. There was no mail for me. No bills, no handwritten letters, not even an envelope from my mom containing Cold Lake marriage and birth announcements clipped from the local newspaper (I love these packages from my mom- my favourite was the time she sent me the court bulletin about my ex-boyfriend being sentenced for stealing a car, a Playboy, and a pack of 70 cent gum. . .they serve as constant reminders of where I come from). Nothing. I hate it when I don't get mail.

3. Because I had slept in, my journalism assignment, which should have been slipped under my professor's door before 10am was already a "day" late.

And then there was reason #4, which was entirely my fault:

Yesterday, for whatever reason, I got this burning urge to apply fake nails. I've never done it before, and we all know I have a soft spot for fake appendages. I'm also somewhat self-concious about the state of my hands, particularly the scarring on my right hand from having severe eczema. It seemed like an activity- so why not?

Sitting down to watch Project Runway (the one television show I religiously view weekly- this is what happens when you live with fashion students), I laid out the decidedly feminine chunks of plastic, the little container of glue, and the emery board in front of me, and set to work.

I almost immediatly regretted the decision. Within 2 hours of applying the nails, I became so annoyed and disgusted with them that I cut the ends off, completely defeating the purpose of wearing fake nails. So when I woke up this morning, my nails were covered with this hard chunks of shiny plastic which pulled at my skin.

This is not the way to start a day.

Writing the list hadn't made me feel better, but I knew what would:

Less than 24 hours after their application, the fake nails were removed by soaking my hands in all the harsh chemicals that nail polish remover has to offer, except for the pinky nail on my right hand. I figured I should keep one on for good measure. That, and I kind of want to emanate a drug dealer.

I felt slightly better, but something still wasn't quite right. Determined to no longer be grumpy, I went to HMV and spent my entire paycheque on the strangest assortment of CDs I could find: Born Ruffians, Paul Simon (Graceland), Citizen Cope (Every Waking Moment), Mastiyahu and the Best of Bon Jovi.

Small better.

There had to be a solution. I was determined to be in a good mood.

It was time for a visit to my friend Robbie. He would have an answer to my problems.

"How do you feel about the token fake nail Burns? How can I possibly still be grumpy when I have a really long pinky nail? What do you think? What should I do?"

Play in the leaves.

Practice your bird lady skills. You'll need them when you're older.

But the birds wanted nothing to do with me. I think it might have had to do with my fake nail.

You're not an old lady yet.

No, I'm not old yet.

I chased the pigeons all over the park, until I was laughing so hard that water was coming out of the corners of my eyes.

Today, I love life. Today I remembered that I only need my own company to make myself laugh so hard that I cry.

And today, I realized that I'm going to be a fantastic bird lady someday.


  1. Anonymous10:18 PM

    If the bird lady thing doesn't work out, you could always settle for a cat lady. They are just a little bit more feared.


  2. My aunts becoming a cat lady. I wont let that happen to Jess. Even if I have to marry her.

    No girl I know I will allow to become a cat lady. Except for my aunt, she tossed away her life.

  3. >> constant reminders of where I come from). Nothing.

    We all come from nothing and we'll all, eventually, return to nothing. Or is it "everything"? Do we come from everything and return to everything?

    Nothing? Something? Or everything? Therin lies the great mystery!

    Paul Simon's Graceland is one of my top 20 albums. I'm pretty sure I've burned through 2-3 copies of it at various stages. If you like it, be sure to check out (1) his "Rhythm of the Saints" album (2) other recordings by Ladysmith Black Mambazo as well. I've got either if you want to give a listen. Big Paul Simon fan.

    I saw Matisyahu on the Bonnaroo web feed this summer and I found it to be more comedy than reggae. There's something about a white kid from West Chester singing "t'anks an' praises to da most high -- Jah!" that stikes me as absurd.