Old and out of shape.

2007-11-30, 3:09 p.m.

Hooo. I am wiped out.

Want to know what I did that caused me to be so tired? Good. I'll tell you.

I walked down three flights of stairs, crossed a parking lot, bought some ketchup, went to the bank, stood on line for ten minutes while three dudes ahead of me, I don't know, paid off their mortgages at the frickin' bank machine, withdrew money, walked two blocks home, stopped at the cafe by my house and bought a donair, walked across the parking lot to my building, stopped to pay my landlord December's rent and then walked back up the three flights of stairs.

Yeah, I'm a goddamn Olympic athlete.

And you know what? I had to wear my iPod for this excursion because the store where I bought my ketchup and where I do a lot of my shopping because it's close and convenient (and consequently expensive) has been playing nothing but Christmas carols since mid November. I hate Christmas carols. Bah humbug. I go through maybe... one day where I think it's seasonal and festive and I need to hear the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby dreaming of a White Christmas before I come to my Grinch-like senses and cancel Christmas.

It's worse this year because I have to work on Christmas Day and I can't really afford the incredibly expensive flight home. Fun fact: It is cheaper for me to fly from Toronto to London, England than it is to fly from Toronto to Regina. Ain't that a kick in the head?


Tunes: I'm also on a stand-up comic kick. Paul F. Tompkins is delightfully sarcastic and hilarious and his album, Impersonal, is perfect if you are a fan of hilarity. His bit about the Irish potato famine is soooo good.
Tube: Project Runway is, so far, kind of boring the shit out of me this season. I'm gonna need some amusing bitchery and/or drama soon.
Text: I am taking a break from His Dark Materials and reading The Body Farm by Patricia Cornwell. I know, I know! Look, sometimes you just need to read about murders instead of mystical bears and knives and shit, you know?


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