wildcat

Wow! Look how sunny it is outside! I suspect I may have gotten high on Vitamin D! Exclamation points comma exclamation points period. A list, as if to say "Wildcat Day to Day Annotations," something along those lines:

1. Spend an hour getting the resume adjusted, deciding how to format it to include everything I need on one page. Succeed. Experience a brief moment of elation before immediately questioning myself. Elate, debate, elate, debate.

2. Receive convoluted, bizarre phone call from Michael, with regard to the status of the Big Green Van of Death. Stolen, you say? Try to negotiate with the cellular reception and provide basic comfort.

3. Manage to get all the bills organized and into their correct envelopes. Stamps. Re-glue the phone bill's envelope after inevitable fuck-up.

4. Dress for success: navy pin-striped suit with white dress shirt. Debate merits of tucking in shirt or leaving untucked. Tuck it in anyway, downstairs in the washroom with a wonderful lighting. Spend half an hour getting everything you need organized. Fight with hair product and the mangy mass of auburn hair. Not even a mop, not even mod.

5. Stop for five minutes on the street downtown to talk to Michelle, vis-a-vis hanging out sometime soon to see her new place. Marvel at the fact that both of us are dressed up for business-style dealings. Consider incorporating, and conducting a hostile take-over on Bolen Books for requiring retail experience. Settle for De Biers, despite the try-hard gaudiness of diamonds on a young woman (to paraphrase Audrey Hepburn).

6. Hand in resume at the British Columbia Royal Museum. The big one with the ridiculous clocktower out front. Wish I could go have a look at the Tibet exhibit like random hot French people ahead of me in line. Fail to name-drop because of a lack in opportunity, but look sexy and watch the girl give the resume to the appropriate superior.

7. Go to the bank to deposit Christian's half of the cable bill money. Dump the bills in the mailbox.

8. Spend money on a cheap haircut: thank Gods for male chromosomes! Become convinced that the hot barber doing my hair is from Trinidad, fail to translate the convolutated quotation tattooed to the underside of his forearm. He says almost nothing, which is preferrable. The long, brooding hair is cut away and the handheld vibrator is applied to the back of my neck and shoulders. Brood on the question of when exactly the bulgingly masculine environment of Jimmy's Barber Shop became a comfort, rather than alienating.

9. Take the hot bus home. Avoid embarassing eye contact with the anorexically-thin guy I made an ass of myself in front of at the bar about three years ago.

10. Come home, take off all my clothes, and put on something comfortable and summery.

11. Cookies! Also, consider the curious tendency of Fay Weldon to write about aging couples with fidelity problems and a proclivity for having a faggot son and a dyke daughter. Especially in relation to how often those children end up in relationships with transgendered people. The Fuck?

12. Add Jess to the Friends of Wildcat. Belated, but whatever.