Pimpin'

You all read Jowie's blog right? Well, in case you don't, go read this. Just the best entry ever! About Sci Fi! And me! And photo manipulation!

Queen Vicky

High off of Studio 60 fumes! Are you watching it? Don't you love things that are awesome?

Picked Jo up from the bus station yesterday and wandered around downtown taking pictures like I was a tourist, as if I haven't been living in this city for the better part of 22 years. Snapped this picture of Queen Vicky. Caption read: A model wife and mother.

What more can us ladies hope to achieve?*

*There better be something else or I'm screwed.

Druuuuuunk

See the thing is, I'm drunk right now. Jowie came down for a visit and we wandered around my illustrious hometown for quite a few hours and then came back to my house and drank the vodka that's been hiding in my freezer. Jo's the drunkest she's ever been! I know I'm probably going to regret posting this tomorrow but I need an outlet right now!

I've been resisting the urge to message people and tell them that I'm drunk and that I love them. I never really understood drunk dialling before. But I get it now. There's something about being drunk that makes you want to talk to people and, in my case, tell them how you think they're awesome.

We already yelled at Susan over the phone and I think she was tickled pink by our chemically altered state. You tickle me pink Susan!

I'm just going to go ahead and take this chemically induced opportunity to tell you that I think you're all awesome and if I had your numbers and just a little less will power I'd probably call you all to tell you.

And just like that, I'm unemployed again. Same old story: temp worker screwed over by the man. I'd like to be bitter, work up some of that anger I'm known for, but I'm far too in love with the fact that I don't have to go into work tonight to care. I have an interview tomorrow with a portrait photography studio and I hope to take many pictures like this one of The Lonely Island dudes. Really, I'll just be glad to have my hands on some professional photography equipment and not candy, no matter how many trite pictures I have to take.

Also? Chavez called Bush a devil. It's like he's saying what I'm thinking. And saying.

I don't know what's so Swedish about those berries.

So I really do hate night shifts. That's officially official. The sheer confusion of half believing it's not night time and working for eight hours is hard for me to articulate. Leaving work, just as the sun is coming up and feeling like you're going to die if you aren't in a bed immediately is even more jarring. Coming home to people eating breakfast and getting ready for work and school is, perhaps the weirdest of all.

This morning, however, my tiredness manifested itself as giddyness. Gave my dad a good laugh on the way home. Said things to my stepdad like, "Seriously, is anyone surprised that Willie Nelson has weed?" (Apparently he was arrested or something for having a pound a half of it. Or so MuchMoreMusic tells me.) I mean really, just let the old man smoke his weed and leave him alone, he's 72 and he has a big long braid, what could a little (lot of) weed possibly do to him at this point?

Taped Studio 60. Watched it when I dragged my groggy ass out of bed this afternoon. Matt and Danny are my new boyfriends and, clearly, are in fact boyfriends. Period.

I missed the first fifteen minutes, 'cause I'm losing my mind but the internets has come to my rescue once more, apparently NBC put the whole premiere online.

Okay, scratch that. Turns out that the video isn't availabe in my area. What area is that? NORTH AMERICA? Fascists.

It occurs to me that I'm still a little loopy.

You really can do everything on the internet.

Designed my own pair of Chucks. They say Toni on the back. Slammin'

I really wish I was watching Little Miss Sunshine right now.

Stop ruining my life.

It occurs to me that I'm going to miss the premiere of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip thanks to the godforsaken Candy Factory.

Studio 60
Pros
-Aaron Friggen Sorkin
-Matthew Perry
-Bradley Whitford

Cons
-None

Candy Factory
Pros
-none

Cons
-many eg. interfering with Studio 60 watching.


Thank god for torrents or this Pros/Cons list would be ultra depressing. If any of you (Susan) breathes a word of this show to me before I manage to get my hands on it, I'm going to put you through the fuzzy peaches packaging machine.

Round Up.

She's going to conquer your lands and she's going to look stylish while she does it.

Cover for the hit album: Broads on Board.

The Candy Factory: Day 1 and a half.

So I've got a full day of working at ye olde candy shoppe under my belt now and am staring into the impending doom that is my first night shift. There is no Willy Wonka. There are no Oompa Loompas. We don't even make the candy. The candy gets made at another factory and shipped to our factory. Apparently that's cost effective. What do I know?

I suppose, then, that I should refer to it as The Candy Packaging Factory but that just doesn't have the same ring to it. Makes it sound like what it is: a place where candy hatred begins.

My work outfit? Consists of:
-hyper butch steel toed shoes
-a hair net
-a smock designed to extract the maximum amount of sweat from my body (The amount is quite high, in case you're wondering. It's been a full day and I'm still a little parched)
-ear plugs

I don't hate it exactly, but (presumably because I'm a snob) I'm left with this idea that I'm too good for the job. And I have to believe that I'm destined for something better in the long run. But for now, for a couple of months (the only way I could persuade myself into the factory) it should be tolerable. It's ridiculous, my dad works in a factory and my grandpa worked in a factory (and on the railroad, which is much cooler). It's just that I'm surrounded by grisled women who've clearly been smoking for 76 years and have no interest in imparting their years of hard earned factory experience on a sweaty and nervous Toni. It's also that at the orientation for this place, they reminded us that we had to shower regularly. Thanks. I had one of those 'is this really happening or did I smoke too much peyote' moments. Then I started screaming "I have a B.A.H." in my head. Like, I know it's not the same thing as saying you have a Nobel Peace Prize, but it has to count for something or my head is just going to explode right now.

Crazy from the get go.

Only a couple of hours into our marathon Guelph Day, Susan and Jowie obliged me by hamming it up downtown. It was an emotional roller coaster, being back in Guelph and getting substandard haircuts at 8 AM and seeing a bunch of plays and getting a little wasted and a little stoned at a party. It was really nice to see people and squeal and yell at them for being in school when we weren't. Someday it'll be me again, I swear to baby Jesus!

In other news: It looks like I'm going to be working in a candy factory. Temp assignment, which I'm unreasonably glad of right now. I'm so scared of committing to anything right now, that a short term job seems just peachy. Logic is not really operating on your "human" principles in my brain right now.

4.7 people have already demanded that I steal chocolate for them, tucking it into various parts of my clothing and body. I feel like firing is in my near future. Jo's concerned that bathing in the stream of chocolate whilst taunting umpa loompas might be against company policy. I'm definitely going to have to have words with someone about that policy.

Putting you on notice.

Consider this me putting Fergie on notice, Stephen Colbert style.

Dear Fergie,

Stop ruining my life with your horrible song. I was looking at my London pictures the other day and your charming little ditty popped into my head like some sort of unwanted soundtrack. "How come everytime you come around, My London, London bridge, wanna go down like." Lyrics (the ones that are in recognizable English, unlike the majority of the song) like this make me think about your song far too much. What is your London Bridge? I know you're not in charge of the real thing! Is it your underwear? Or is London Bridge a metaphor for you? Do YOU "wanna go down"? Your oral sex issues/wardrobe malfunctions don't concern me. Stop ruining my favourite city with your puerile, nonsensical, Gwen Stefani-wannabe song.

It occurs to me that this isn't the first time you've been in trouble with Toni. I had an issue with My Humps too. If trends continue I'm going to have to sic my goon squad on you.

Ear-bleedingly yours,

Toni F. Bank

My dearests.

Lucky for me, the night got a whole lot better after I ditched the fam. My dearests, Susan and Jo, came down for a little visit and hilarity ensued. A mad dash to Starbucks ended in disappointment, no frappos for us, but a trip to Shopper's did us real nice.

Susan was v.v. tired and full of caffeine. For much of the mad dash to Starbucks, Deanna was in charge of poking Susan to see if she was still alive. She was, much to our delight. "Too tired to die," she said. But that didn't mean that she wanted to stand up in Shoppers.


And here we have Jowie, fearless driver and children's candy devotee, trying to work out the candy she bought at the story. It was harder than you might expect. There was some confusion as to what was plastic and what was candy. "Is that a cat?" she asked, as I snapped this picture.