Thanks for the Gym Shorts and Have a Nice Day!

Living in Winnipeg is like living inside a gigantic clothes dryer with several hundred thousand other people. In the summer, we are constantly blasted with extremely forceful gusts of warm summer wind that do their best to knock over signs and embarrass anyone who is still naive enough to wear a wrap-around dress on a windy day. At times, the wind can be a pain, but when it comes to drying clothes I find it quite handy. At least, I did, until today.

The Cynic's Dream

Bronner's Soap quote of the day: "Only hard work-God's Law can save us, but if we teach only our clan? We're all hated then!"* And now, on to the post!

I'm preparing to enter the final year for my Bachelor's of English Lit. This makes me qualified to discuss 3 things:
1) English Literature
2) the fact that, for the last time, I don't want to be a teacher, for fuck's sake**
3) the fact that I am excited to take my $21,000 worth of education and put it to good use in a restaurant somewhere.****

All you need is a 12-gallon Rubbermaid

The other week, I was at the beach with my sister and a few old friends reminiscing about the good old days of our childhoods when we lived in exotic places like South Dakota and all you needed for a good time was a box of water and a tree.

Enjoy the creamy emollient lather on baby, bath, beach, body, dentures, deoderant, shaving & aftershave.

As you faithful followers may recall, last year I had an amazing epiphany in my Eco-criticism class and started taking baths in an icecream pail. As most of you probably don't know, I stopped doing that as soon as I moved back home because it is eerily, unnaturally, inhumanly cold in my house most of the time and I just couldn't handle 10 minutes of splashing luke-warm water on my freezing body in a drafty bathroom.

I recently went back to the ol' 1-gallon showering method, for several reasons: one, it is so gloriously hot in Winnipeg right now that even my house is warm enough to bathe in; but mostly, two: a friend of mine has stopped using shampoo and conditioner* and I hate her for being more eco-friendly than me.

This is what I do all day...

I feel I have dazzled you with my wits long enough, so today I will dazzle you with my day-job skillz instead. I am now famous for my ability to draw tiny little cartoon faces out of chocolate and put them on cupcakes. It's all just tracing, but when people look at it they say "wow" and when I tell them how I do it they look at my blankly like I'm trying to explain how to replace the a-v joints on a steering column*.

So annywayys admire my handywork.

oh, what, this again?

Now that I'm trying to write more regularly again, I can't help but notice that I'm failing miserably. So now I must revert to the age-old excuse that my life is too boring to write about. Want to hear about my bike-ride home in the rain today? Neither do I. It was marvelous, but that's besides the point. So read this post and pretend that I'm saying something of substance here. Something profound. Something hilarious. Something that actually exists.

In the good future days...

I often dream of the time when I become a famous novelist who lives entirely off of her earnings from creative endeavours*, and how I will have an amazing assistant whose life is made better simply by being in mine.

The general dream is that this assistant will be exactly like me except bad at writing, so that she won't pull an Eve Harrington on me (don't worry if you don't get this reference; my assistant will explain it to you!). I would pay her an exceptionally high salary for an assistant, which would make her like me, and would allow her to borrow outfits from my lavishly stylish closet whenever she chooses, which would make her love me, and she would constantly be telling people what a great employer I am. In exchange, she would be really good at all the things I am not good at, such as making coffee, cooking omelettes that remain in omelette form, finding good music to write to,  preventing me from writing in marking pen all over my body, walking in high-heeled shoes without having ankle pain (a tip she'd pass on to me, of course) and understanding how twitter works.