Cats eating my face

Is it sad that I was so excited to get home and watch NBC’s line up last night? I love The Office. Scrubs? Come on, who wouldn’t want to have geeky sex with Zach Braff? And by geeky I mean the kind of nerd-dom that comes with being on a hit sitcom and writing your own excellent movie. I wish I was a geek. This is all topped off by 30 Rock (which, being the retahd that I am, I just discovered stands for “30 Rockefeller”). But it’s cool, it’s cool. Walking along Arbutus on my way home last night I saw that White Spot and the Cheese were jammed (how lame is it that White Spot is the place to be in Kerrisdale?) because it’s a Thursday night and those with lives go out on Thursday nights. If you were in either of those fine establishments then yes, I was the lonely looking girl whose breath misted the window and she forlornly peered in. All good, all good. I had my fried egg sandwich and NBC to look forward to. After my sandwich (which was stellar, thank you) I decided to call my mom. I mean, a mom’s love in unconditional, no? But yeah, she was watching Diet Confidential on CBC so she didn’t really want to chat. So pretty much I’m going to die alone and my fourteen cats are going to eat my face.
Okay! Enough with the pity-party. Here are some of the good things that happened yesterday that I failed to mention:
• I did not scissor kick my boss in the back of the head
• I ate two cookies after I brushed my teeth
• The checkout clerk at Safeway was really, super sweet to me. I think she was touched in the head
• I trimmed my toenails which were getting so long that they would likely be deemed a security risk if I tried to board a flight to anywhere
So in all reality, I really do have it going on. And I’m not alone in thinking this! This morning a hot guy sidled up very close to me on the bus. I’m quite sure it had nothing to do with the fact that we were crammed in tighter than what would seem humanly possible without ending up on some weird reality show that centered around the oddities of public transit (JupiterGirl: we are totally going to make that documentary!). No, I’m quite sure it was a mixture of my winning personality which is easily deduced by carefully studying the way I don’t smile – or even look – at anyone, ever, and my effervescent scent: an exotic mixture of 5th Avenue and traces of pot. Note to self: don’t smoke pot in the bedroom when the closet doors are open. I’m sure also that my wicked sense of humor was adequately evidenced when I laughed out loud at the person that didn’t exit the bus fast enough and so was carried against their will over the Granville Street bridge when they really had deigned to get off at 5th Ave. Sucker. I wonder how many cats they have…