motherfuck!

I once read this excellent article in the National Post about people who fuck up job interviews. People who tell strange stories, or put on their resumes that they were once nude models (both of which I've done...). The woman author, whose name I can't remember, said that she admires people like that... people who are just so strange they can't help themselves. They're better dinner guests.

Well folks... I've fulfilled those requirements. Not only have I put on my resume that I've been a nude model, followed by the description that it's "just what it says it is"... but I've also told people that I wanted to be a bird in job interviews, as they nod like I'm an idiot. (They asked me what kind of animal I wanted to be... apparently the appropriate answer is "chameleon").

Tonight, the real point of this story... I went to a potluck with all my professors and fellow art historians. Fucking went all out. I just couldn't stop myself from talking about boobies, and drugs, and.... Lord Beaverbrook. The weird just didn't stop coming--- "one should navigate the party in the pattern of the golden mean." The kicker, though... the story about the sky full of bums... we all remember that story... where there was a rainstorm in Alberta and the sky afterwards looked like a field of bums. I even mentioned that the really big one was God's bum (I didn't say vagina... that I at least omitted). oh my god. instant conversation stopper... people looked at me like I was crazy, nodded, and then walked away after a "well..."I know it's fun being weird...but sometimes I wish I wasn't so weird... it scares people off... and it isn't good for schmoozing. I may make a very interesting job interview... but I don't know about dinner guest. I would have blamed it on the booze, but I wasn't really drinking.

In other news... went out the local gay bar, Unity III.... the first two burnt down or went straight and then gay again.... I can't remember. so many shirtless hot guys.... all of them unattainable. they all danced like fags though.... I'm not being offensive, I just mean that they danced like, super gay. boxer-briefs. sweatbands. spiky hair. and gay. In the top forties room, it was full of underage teens, getting all sexual to Paris Hilton and tasteful porn. needless to say, i thoroughly enjoyed myself, and danced until 3:35 a.m.

dated Oct. 12, 2006