The demands of a new job (and several old freelance ones) have kept me rather busy this week. Blog-updating has had to take a back seat to activities a little more related to what writers called “keeping body and soul together”. Food (and to a lesser extent, rent) may be cheap in my neighbourhood, but it ain’t free.
The CEO sees and knows all
I had to work late on Tuesday night finishing off some code for a freelance client and then had to show up at “Dos Vacas” early Wednesday morning for some strategizing and other insert-marketing-buzzword-here meetings. That left me with no time to have breakfast at home, but that terrible out-of-gas feeling when I wheeled Scorpion King II into work. I ended up grabbing some cookies from the vending machine in the kitchen, which is a venial sin in the Atkins religion.
(Ooh. Just checked the label. The cookies have 50 grams of carbs total. That could qualify as a mortal sin. I’m not sure. I’m not an Atkins theologian).
My desk in probably in the most central location of the building: the halfway point of the centremost “trench” of workstations. Our CEO Elliot often walks down this trench, and he saw me noshing on the cookies.
“Those aren’t Atkins-compliant!” he said.
He knows that I’m on the Atkins diet? Man, nothing gets by him.
Kickass Karaoke fourth anniversary
Has it been four years already?
The night started off slowly, but picked up after the first couple of songs. Tara (a.k.a Rogue), who runs Cream Soda, the Bovine Sex Club’s Thursday funk nights, brought in a number of her cute friends as part of her whirlwind birthday celebratory bar-hopping adventure. Apparently, these are ladies with good taste — they like accordions (Tara, do let me know when you and your lovely friends are stepping out again. You know, just in case you need a gentleman escort or something.)
Meryle wore the incredibly short skirt that she’d been threatening to don for so long. For some strange reason, the first thing that came to my mind was the Denny’s breakfast item “Moons Over My Hammy”. (Never heard of it? It’s on their breakfast menu.)
I took the dress accordion to the Bovine last night — something I don’t normally do — and paid the price: my high C key has been pulled up at a very high angle. Good thing I have a spare. The only accordion repair shop I know of is Caringi House of Accordions which is both out in the middle of nowhere and charges exorbitant repair fees.
With a heavy heart, I had to turn it down
I was working night when Meryle invited me over to her friend Irene’s place.
“Come over and help us make pasties!” (Warning: these are not Cornish pasties, but the nipple coverings worn by burlesque dancers. The link may not be safe for your work.)
But damn it all, I had leftover freelance client work. I can hardly wait until I can cut down my working hours to something a little more reasonable.
I mean, if you were free and a bunch of girls wanted help making pasties, you’d break every traffic law to get there pronto, wouldn’t you?
Tonight
There’s some kind of Lavalife party going on at the Lava Lounge tonight, and some of my single friends and I will be attending.
Happy Birthday, Cory!
Cory turns 32 today. It was an extremely good year for me: an amazing trip to Prague, learning to snowboard at Whistler, joining OpenCola, going out with this cute redhead, flying to fun places almost every month, and then the biggest move of my adult life: from Toronto to San Francisco.
Hope enjoy your age 32 adventures as much as I enjoyed mine, Cory!
Worst Date Ever’s next entry is in the works
I just have to finish re-introducing Crabs, and then get some actual dating action. It’ll be good. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, it’ll become a part of you. You’ll liek it much better than Cats.