I got towels for my birthday. Towels and a t-shirt and some books.

Last night was weird. Legitimately strange moments of recognition occurred at Ross’s birthday BBQ. Not only was Sonny in attendance, the first time I’ve seen him after he left my teenaged self abandoned in the far off wastes of Burnaby approximately seven years ago, apparently I should say hello to the entire readership of GothicBC as this is one of the journals fed through there. Hi! I wasn’t aware that you folk were watching this or that my journal was on any other website. *waves* Pleasure to meet you, I’m sure.


Also notable was Steve, the Baron Steffano, being too floridly drunk to call me names, (if anyone has that man’s e-mail address, it would be appreciated, as I don’t know if the one I have from a half decade back still works), and a moment of pure dumbstruck when Tyler arrived and asked who invited me.

Before the BBQ, I had a morning job interview at Rocky Mountain Chocolate. They liked me so much that I apparently get to make my own shift schedule. I start Friday at six-thirty. I think this is going to become a Tuesday and Thursday evening job, honing my retail-ness and chocolate eatery to a knife sharp edge.

I’m trying to be surprised a little at this week, nothing painful has happened, nothing too bad. Everything of note has been uplifting and a turn for the better. I’ve been able to clear every hurdle and land two jobs in the process. I’m embracing this change, though it might be only that the universe is old and had to take a break from screwing me. I imagine an older man taking a cigarette break in front of a television showing war explosions, the heavens outside the window all multi-coloured dust clouds and black suited angels counting grains of sand. Entropy kicking back with a martini, looking over and thinking, “She’s a damned fine gel but I’ll get to her later”. (For some reason, I imagine Entropy as Welsh).

In between the interview and the BBQ, I had a phonecall from circus-folk and lindy hoppers, (an unstoppable team, I suspect), to come join them on their pubcrawl. Mistakingly assuming such people are sane, I called around eleven p.m. from the BBQ only to discover that the crawl went apparently from noon until 6 p.m., early on purpose precisely so they would be drunk all day in preparation for the swing dancing that was to go until five in the morning. I am intensely sorry I could not afford the cover charge. There isn’t an angle from which that doesn’t look like something I would enjoy.