"Wanna leave but I've got to stay, I'm wondering more everyday, Montreal to Hong Kong, Where have all the good people gone?" - Sam Roberts


This has been a most odd and unfortunate week. I can honestly say I’m glad to see its ends in exactly 24 minutes. For those of you interested in the strange and often crappy things that happen in my day-to-day life, please read further for your viewing pleasure. Let’s see where to begin. After spending the week feeling like I’m coming down with the cold/flu thing that everyone seems to be contracting, it has not yet surfaced to its fullest extent, so I’ve been feeling a bit run down. Not so bad, and the editing class is still a jumble of language and button pressing in sequence I don’t fully understand (as per my previous blog for those of you that have read it and chosen not to comment, Jeff and Brett I’m looking at you).



Fast forward to Thursday night at Mr. Matt J. Danko’s incredibly swanky and fabulous formal-pot luck dinner-soiree. A very classy affair filled with suits, ties and dresses. A lot of interesting illustration and other Sheridan kids among others were in attendance. Unbeknownst to me I meet in my mingling, Mark the apparent Buddhist. Better known to Matt and his friends as “Creeps” (I find this out later). I chat with Mark and Josephine (Jo) for a while before Mark says he will soon be leaving. I find he keeps returning to the spots I’m sitting but think little of it until he asks for my cell phone number and pulls out his cell phone to add it in. I panic and being the idiot I am, give him my right number. When I basically remove myself as quickly as humanly possible from the situation I find Matt and Jen to tell them what has transpired and this Matt tells me of their affectionate nickname for him. So apparently I’m only a magnet for creeps (a theory I will later prove further).

Saturday evening we all head out to the Whistling Walrus in the Hammer for Jeff Comer’s birthday party. We drink and get the birthday boy sufficiently intoxicated, the whole time conversing with Mr. Brett Lintott in hopes of wearing down his insulting exterior to the charmer and more importantly, the beer drinker we all know and love. The evening went along very splendidly until I got groped before our departure. Most unfortunate and there’s the creep factor again.

This morning I get a frantic call from a co-worker at Bluenotes asking me to come in early. I fly from the Hammer to Oakville to assist her in my parent’s tank-sized mini van because my car was being repaired. I pulled into a drive through spot and rushed in. I came out to the van, after the mall had closed to find a note under my windshield that read “learn to park asshole” on a white envelope written in orange pen. I looked around the parking spot in an attempt to figure out what I had apparently done wrong only to discover the front wheel of my passenger side barely touched the line of the spot, clearly still allowing people to park beside me (as I pulled into a drive through spot in the first place) and allowing enough room for people to get in and out of the vehicles with comfort. I was very taken aback and saddened by this douchebags note. Lastly, no Slainte for our typical Sunday evening socializing. Here’s hoping this week proves lovelier than the last. People suck.