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| Well, there's apparently a month left in the Year of the Tiger. I can't help but feel like it's my birth-right to have something magnificent happen over the course of the next four weeks.
In an odd way, I feel rather prideful of the fact that I was born in the year of the Tiger. I'm sure you skeptics would say it's all a load of bullshit, but I say it's because I was born in the year of the Tiger. We're like the Jay-Z of the Chinese Zodiac. When I visited China (Epcot at Disney World), I found a "Year of the Tiger" teacup/plate set, which I loved. Unfortunately, only the display set remained. I asked one of the women behind the counter if they had any others, and she smiled and tapped her nose and slipped into the back only to return moments later with it wrapped up prettily.
I feel certain that this example has nothing to do with the exemplary service Epcot employees are expected to display at all times, and everything to do with the fact that I was born in the year of the Tiger.
In hindsight, I did learn a lot this year. I learned a lot about myself, and am, I suppose, a little bit wiser as a result (a little bit wiser). I'm certainly stronger. I recall hearing something about 2010 being the year of the Metal Tiger, which I believe meant it would bring monetary changes, influence careers, etc. I did get an unexpected promotion this year, and did make a few leaps and bounds in the acting field. I feel like I'm on the right path now (for now), career-wise, so I suppose 2010 was wonderful in that regard. It certainly had its ups and downs, but like I said, I do feel stronger and wiser and more independent as a result. I've learned to rely on myself more instead of others, and am learning to like and trust myself a little bit more. I surprised myself this year, and I'm genuinely excited to discover what 2011 holds.
( 2011 )
With all that being said, I'm not entirely optimistic about 2011 so far, as my dog was my kiss at midnight, and shortly after that she puked. Yes, I rang in the New Year cleaning up doggy vomit.
Maybe 2011 is the year of the "Puking Dog" and no one told me. - Mood:contemplative
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| You've died brutally and unexpectedly in the past two films I've seen you in, and I can't take it anymore.
That being said, it's Christmas. That's the only explanation you're getting as to where I've been these past few weeks. I'm enjoying work, I do love helping people find the perfect gift (the hopelessly clueless husbands in particular), but I've fallen behind on all of my own preparations. I have all most of my shopping done, but my biggest "to-do" involves shipping all of my parcels to my friends in the US and the UK. If I'm ever Oprah-rich, that's the first menial task I'll hire a minion to do. Ship stuff. I always watch Little Women as I wrap parcels and prepare my packages for shipping, and I can always determine how prepared I feel for the holiday based solely upon my response to the film. If their camaraderie warms the cockles of my heart, I know I have all of my bases covered. If I want to smother Jo by the third time I hear the word "Marmee", I know I have much left to do.
This year was one of those years I was secretly rooting for Jo to actually murder Amy when she arrived home to find her manuscript burning. I actually got mad when Beth suggested they take their bread and give it to the less fortunate. It just seemed excessive. I'm not sure excessive kindness exists, but if it did, ( that would be a fine example ) - Mood:cranky
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| What a day.
I opened the shop this morning, and was delighted to see that our first Christmas window display was up! The storefront window looks frosted, and the display beyond makes the store appear to be part of Santa's workshop. It reminded me instantly of the classic Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer film. Minus the Island of Misfit Toys. That was just cruel and unnecessary. Feeling very much in the holiday spirit, I made my merry way inside and instantly put on the only festive playlist I have. Hallowe'en! After a man walking by witnessed me re-enacting Touch'a Touch'a Touch'a Touch Me, however, I opted for some Tori Amos instead and refrained from dancing for the remainder of my shift.
The highlight of my day occurred later on, at around four in the afternoon. I was helping another customer when my co-worker (and frenemy), Sean, asked me how to punch the new soaps into the scale in order to determine the price of a rather large chunk of Angel's Delight. By "large" I don't mean enough to last a few months. I mean enough to last a year. Or five. To put it in perspective, it was a Hagrid-size hunk of multi-coloured, jelly-bean scented, sparkly soap. It was bigger than Sean's head. In case you're wondering, it came to nearly $250.00. I assumed the man buying it was intending on cutting it up himself and distributing it amongst friends/relatives, and didn't think twice about the purchase until I saw the second man who had come in with him gesticulating over his shoulder. I thought he was silently poking fun at his friend, and the fact he'd just dropped over two hundred dollars on glittery soap, but this was not the case. Oh no.
Sean was a bit hesitant to accept the platinum American Express card being waved in his face, and made a vailiant effort to confirm that the man truly desired the $250.00 slab of multi-coloured soap. This was the reassuring response he was offered:
"It's just fucking money!"
So, Sean wrapped up an entire quarter of soap, and the man meandered out. The second one, who had been gesturing wildly in exasperation, paused long enough to turn back and say-
"I'm his limo driver- he drinks too much!"
Sure enough, he threw up his hands and followed the guy (and his bag of soap) out to a limo parked on the side of the road. I wonder if he's sobered up yet, and is now wondering what exactly the $250.00 glacier of bright pink stuff is doing in his car.
I couldn't help but be reminded of the episode of The Animated Series when Poison Ivy kisses Bruce Wayne beneath the mistletoe and takes him on an unwitting spending-spree with Harley. I bet this is what happens when Bruce Wayne actually drinks (fact: it's always Ginger-ale in his champagne flute). He walks into any store with a bright sign, points to the brightest thing in it and proclaims- "I want THAT."
Later he's giving Alfred the silent treatment and brooding in his cave, contemplating the overabundance of impulse buys he has spread over the bat-computer keyboard, and a few months later Robin unwraps a $300.00 chunk of Angel's Delight as his only Christmas gift.
In other news, this past weekend was Hallowe'en!
( BOO! )
I honestly cannot believe it's already the first of November. Where has this year gone?! I'll be 24 in 24 days. I'm going to go watch Dexter...
...then cry myself to sleep. - Mood:confused
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| Today was my first day off following two opening shifts at work. For the record, I actually do enjoy opening, I could just do without the "waking up" aspect of it.
Needless to say, I looked forward to sleeping in today, but was woken up before nine by an entire flock of sparrows battling to the death over the bird seed my mother had set out. I would have felt like a Disney Princess, except instead of braiding my hair with their little beaks they were making more noise than the entire cast of The Real Housewives of New Jersey at an open bar. I laid there for a moment, becoming increasingly incensed, only to realize that at some point throughout the course of the night I'd been shanked. That's what it felt like, anyway. In reality, Shark Week had commenced and so I staggered out of bed despite the protests of my uterus.
I spent the morning curled in the fetal position, and only rose when someone knocked on the door at around eleven. It was the postman, my favourite one because he looks sort of like Jackie Chan except fifty years older. Spirits lifted already at the prospect of a present (for me?) and the sight of Jackie Postchan, I opened the door and promptly had a parcel thrust in my face.
"Are you Margan?" he inquired. I'm actually Meghan, but I might start going by Margan. It makes me sound like a ( nemesis of Merlin )
Finally, we got home. I dried her off and did the dishes, then moisturized my hands with a bottle of moisturizer I'd taken from the "Return" bin at work. It's my FAVOURITE one and you can only get it on-line! It was begging to be taken home! I slathered it all over my hands and forearms before realizing it may very well have been tampered with. Someone may have poisoned it and returned it for kicks and now it was all over me. I called my mother at work and left her a message that said-
"You need to phone me back, I might be dying."
She never called back. - Mood:cynical
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| Well, it's nearly 11:30 and I just got home from work.
You might be asking yourself- is she a Paramedic? A neurosurgeon? Batman?
Close! I sell soap.
The reason I'm home so late on a Saturday night is because closing the tills took about an hour longer than it should have. Why? ( There are two potential reasons. )
After a Saturday night like this one, what's left to do besides laugh at your own misfortunes? - Mood:aggravated
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| I'm far too tired (and lazy) to post my favourite photos from my recent trip to Chicago properly, so please excuse the formatting (or apparent lack thereof)!
Click for the full size image!( Gotham City ) - Mood:rushed
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| Until now!
Apparently while the men in the film industry mature, the women age.
I suppose this is the reason why actresses in their early twenties feel compelled to go under the knife before they have even hit middle-age, while "silver foxes" like (my personal favourite) Harrison Ford are permitted to age gracefully, without any unnecessary pain or time wasted in recovery (ear piercings aside- I'm certain Calista made sure he twirled it every night before bed).
I found out recently that the majority of women who come from Non-Western backgrounds suffer from no menopausal symptoms. No depression, no weight-gain or loss, no sudden hot flashes- no nothin'. If you don't believe me, ask Yewoubdar Beyene, a medical Anthropologist from Ethiopia. She conducted a study on its impact in a wide variety of countries because she was so shocked to discover, upon her arrival to the USA, that women in the States dreaded menopause, instead of looked forward to it.
"Coming from a non-Western background, I was not aware that menopause causes depression or any other emotional or physical illness. I only knew that menopause was a time when women in my culture felt free from menstrual taboos."
According to Beyene, suffering as a result of menopause is a "biocultural phenomenon".
I was initially shocked by this revelation, and I even doubted the research until I looked further into it.
It does make sense, though, when you consider the world we currently live in. A world where women unrealistically distort their bodies negatively, while men distort theirs positively- and it's no wonder. Helen Mirren recently appeared topless in a photoshoot, and the sight of her sixty-two year-old breasts submerged in water warranted such comments as-
"look, i know she looks amazing for her age, but these pictures make me really uncomfortable."
"SAGGY, WRINKLY, GRANNY BOOBS. DNW."
"Yeah but showing off your sexuality when you're 25 should be different than when you're 65..."
"This makes me uncomfortable."
You know what makes me uncomfortable? The fact that young women supplied these remarks.
Pardon me, Unicorns, because apparently the mystical creatures responsible for such witty repartee are immune to aging.
I could take this opportunity to embark on a tirade that would make Russell Crowe and Christian Bale look like Simon & Garfunkel, but I'll refrain. The majority of the people that follow this Blog are intelligent enough to be spared the long-winded rant that would attempt to elucidate my present frustration with the absurdity of such remarks. They're upsetting and unfortunate, but I can only hope I needn't explain why. I'll merely end this by saying that I feel so sorry for the people who feel that a woman's sexuality expires with age. - Mood:sick
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| Well, another TCAF has come and gone. If I were a witty character in an Indie comic, I'd probably be moping right about now.
My good friend Kim came down to stay with me for the duration of the convention-
Cassie was not the most gracious host.
Kim and her writing partner, Ari (pronounced "Airy", not "Ah-ree", as I soon discovered) had just finished the first draft of the first chapter of their up-and-coming novel (the film rendition is set to star me and Sean Bean- expect an on-set romance) and were looking into a few different publishers. I'll say this now- whoever snags them is going to be SO RICH lucky!
I'm likethis with the authors, so I have the first chapter sitting on my shelf, but the rest of you are just going to have to wait. I assure you, though, it's well worth it. If you're a fan of adventure, history, archeology, Indiana Jones and/or excellent story-telling, you're going to absolutely adore it.
( The Abominable Charles Christopher! )
Before Kim headed home, we visited the Harry Potter Exhibit currently featured at The Science Centre (I was, naturally, sorted into Gryffindor), and although they did not allow us to take photos of the exhibit, we did manage to take ( THESE! )
According to SCIENCE, -1 people share my specific characteristics. So basically I'm not even human.
As if I needed a test to determine that. - Mood:mellow
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