Bustle & Blow

These are the things that have bothered me lately:

1. This woman on the bus kept popping her gum. You know how some women do that. They snap it in their mouths for whatever reason, making this loud "pop" every ten seconds. I felt like turning around and asking her why she was doing it, if it made her feel cool and/or special, and then shatter her dreams and tell her that no, it doesn't make you anything but a gum snapper.

2. I got a 70 on a paper on which I worked very hard. I'm so frustrated that I can't get amazing marks on papers. It'll happen soon, hopefully.

3. The entire lower half of my face hurts due to a ginormous pimple on my lip. Why does this happen to me? Is my face rebelling? I know you're covered in freckles, face, but deal with it!

4. I have to trek somewhere to do laundry tomorrow after work. I hate having no laundry in the apartment. Why did I think I could survive just going to a laundromat? Why? Who duped me into thinking that? Who? Some mysterious jerk, that's who.

5. No one is around this summer. I have never spent so much time alone in my entire life. I'm not that interesting when I'm alone. How do people entertain themselves?

6. The dog upstairs will not stop barking. It's this old spaniel thing and it barks and craps (which is, I guess, all dogs really do) and I'm so tired of it. I guess my landlady is gone for the weekend, because when she is home, I hardly hear it. If she hadn't withheld the information that she owned a dog, I wouldn't have moved in here in the first place. Ugh. Dogs.

Well, I guess it's only six things. That's not that bad.

Oh, wait.

7. No one, except Athena, is helping me decide anything on my new blog. I need help or I'm going to make a stupid decision! Geez.

Okay, I'm done now.

--Jam

Citrus Fruit

I'm having a lazy day today. I've been lounging around, watching reruns of Manhunt, which is the prettiest show ever made, and eating bagels as though they were popcorn. It's classy, I'm aware.

Now I'm just working on the new site a bit, and I need a catchy name. I've come up with these names (and others that did not have the available domain names):

The Crimson Lime
The Burnt Lemon
Indigo Gab

I'm trying to think in terms of what my logo and layout would be like, and both .blogspot.com and .com have to be available, the latter just in case I decide to expand later.

Anyway, let me know what you think. If you have any ideas, let me know!

Off to slack off some more.

--Jam

Life Is Grand

Reasons why:

1. Rihanna's Umbrella is at the top of the Billboard Music Charts, for the second week in a row.

2. It is 19 degrees outside. Nineteen. No rain. Nineteen. Love.

3. New Songs:
September - Cry For You Weirdest video ever. Well, maybe just weirdest outfits ever.
Erasure - I Could Fall In Love With You The song is fun, dancey, but this homemade kissing video is rather nauseating. Don't say I didn't warn you. Just minimize it and listen instead.

4. In my search for new music, I found this hilarious dance video. I watched the whole thing simply because it is so hilarious. I especially love her cleavage shirt and her blue/pink auras. Classic.

5. My room is a gigantic mess. I don't care one bit.

6. There is a new mocha at Starbucks. Raspberry Mocha. Guess where I'll be tomorrow. Yep. Mochatown.

7. I got ridiculously drunk this weekend. My friends (a couple) had a huge fight, so I left, went to different friends', and had an amazing time with about twenty lesbians. One of them said, "we all love you! You can be one of our token gay boys." Love it.

8. Sex and Money by Paul Oakenfold is still as good as ever. Here, for old time's sake.

9. I met someone at the party, one of the many lesbians, who thought the name "James" is the best name ever, AND she had twice as many freckles as me, making me not the freckliest person there.

10. Freckliest is a word! Seriously! That's insane!

11. I'm going to play tennis today! The "cdntennispro", as this lovely old blog suggests, hasn't played in probably two years. Time to put these guns to good use.

12. My arms are tiny, but I still call them guns. Booyah!

13. It just is!

--Jam is not the freckliest

The Dish

I'm starting to have dish dreams. Dreams about dirty pans and millions of dishes piled up all over the place. Water spraying in every direction. Total dish chaos.

Oh, wait, that's my job. Right. Not a dream. Awesome.

Dishwashing is by far the most bizarre job I've ever had. I've been a piano teacher, a receptionist - many different, lovely positions - but none have the strangeness that washing hundreds upon hundreds of dishes does. It is completely mindless, quite possibly the "easiest" job in terms of my brain, and it very straight-forward, no skill involved.

Rinse dishes. Put dishes in tray. Put tray in dishwasher. Take tray out of dishwasher. Repeat.

Every now and then I'll get a pot or a giant plastic bucket (do not ask me what those are for) to switch things up a little. Excitement galore! Ooh, I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it!

The problem with the job, as you're all probably wondering because everyone thinks dishwashing is the perfect career choice, is that there is no order regarding the rest of the employees! The waiters dump dishes everywhere, drop things on the floor and walk off, the chefs put pans on the floor and don't tell me they're there or that they're eight-billion degrees - it's all just ridiculous. I'm going to suggest some sort of reorganization because holy god. Ho. Ly. God.

Sorry to ruin the fantasy of the perfect job. You'll just have to move on to dog-walker and/or luggage handler.

--Jamwasher

Work is the Word

Yesterday, I had the longest work day of my life.

It started off with the usual bus trip into Mount Pearl, the very-neighbouring city to St. John's. I get to work thirty minutes early, as usual, because the bus runs every hour. Efficiency is the word.

I get into the bank, read Wicked 'til my shift starts. This overbearing woman does a skill-build on these call things, with which I have nothing to do. The shift goes by fairly quickly, each customer saying "Well, I haven't seen you before!" I always reply "Yep, I'm the new guy." Over and over. And over. Yep, I'm the new guy. Yep, I'm the new guy. Yep, your face is stupid. Yep, shut up or I'm going to close your account.

The shift ends, and I immediately go home, change, and go to the first night of my new job. The dish bitch at a cute little restaurant downtown. I'm trained by a seventeen year-old who dropped out of high-school and works as a dishwasher full-time. It was a weird experience to say the least. I got the hang of it after about fifteen minutes. Apparently the last guy, the one before me, lasted two hours. He asked where the bathroom was, got his coat, and walked out. Class is the word.

The work isn't difficult, just tiring and repetitive. I kept working steadily, and my baby-trainer kept telling me to take a breather, so it's really only fast-paced if it's ridiculously busy, which it isn't most of the time. The job requires me to continuously spray things, so my hands feel very funny today. They're confused with all the moisture and cleaning products. It's okay, hands. You can hold a liquor bottle later.

Today, I go back in for a dish shift. I would like to work up to waiter, but I don't know if that's a realistic goal. Then again, I don't know how long I want to be a human dishwasher. Money, or energy?

Conflicted is the word.

--Jam is actually the word.

Listen to: The Way I Are by Timbaland, even though the title is a grammatical headache.

The Grandma and Grandpa Factor

My grandparents were put into my life for different reasons than most others'.

I didn't have the usual relationships with my grandmas and grandpa. Most visit their grandchildren now and then, send them money, see them on holidays. Not to say that they don't love their grandchildren, but the relationships are normally separate, even distant.

With my parents in disarray with their divorce and erratic work shifts, I was a lone three-year old. No cat to snuggle with when they fought, no friends to fall to (who really does at three?). Luckily, I had Nana and Grandma there to guide me.

Grandma, or May, was my knowledge. I stayed at her house every other week, and I could draw an exact map of the way it stayed for the entire time I was there. The gold and green couches, the mirror next to the bathroom that showed my growth every time I left my room, the stars on my ceiling that she brought back from Newfoundland, the orange wood stove in the rec room and the red leather chair that took its place, the piano-painted-red that I spent hours upon hours practicing on, Grandma sitting next to me. She taught me so much, from my appreciation for literature to my piano skills. She always made me drink my milk and eat my "little trees". Sometimes we would walk down to Dairy Queen, take the cones back to the park and just sit on the swings or on a bench and watch the sun set. She taught me morality, sensibility, integrity, and every day, told me that she was proud of me.

Nana, or Winifred, was my spirit. She would stay with Mom and I every other week, and we went through so much together. We raced in the park, laughed for hours at an old video game, struggled together to get through exam review. She would do art homework beside me, so we both had something to show for it afterwards, and I was always jealous that she had so much talent. I loved going to her apartment - I used to stay on weekends, just to see that my Nana was so cool; she had her own apartment with a balcony, and it smelled like my Nana: comforting and protecting. She introduced Sheba when I was 12, and I can still picture the little white kitten looking up at me for the first time, knowing that we would have a great friendship, the little deaf kitty and I. Nana showed me generosity, strength, pride, and what it meant to be full of life.

Nana soon grew old and had to stop driving, eventually moving in with my Uncle. I grew up, our visits stopped, and I saw her monthly, if that. My disappointment in aging grew. I hated that this had to happen, and just wanted to run through the park once more, to see who would win the race.

Grandma passed away two days after I returned from France in 2000. I have never cried so much in my entire life. I was angry at myself for not being there: how could I go to France when she was sick? I was angry at her for leaving: what would I do without her? How would I survive? Who would knit me musical Christmas stockings and help me practice piano? Who?

Grandma's death fell hard on Grandpa, Gordon, with whom I had hardly any relationship. He had softened from the harsh man I knew growing up. Once I could have adult conversations with him, I realized he was there all along, helping me with homework, "toughening" me in his own way. When my mom and Paul, my father, refused to help me with school in 2004, Grandpa stepped in and co-signed a loan and told me "You have it in you to succeed. Don't screw it up."

Currently, he is in the cardiac ward of a hospital over one thousand miles from where I am, possibly getting surgery on his aging heart. I've called, but haven't managed to talk to him yet. I can only hope and pray for the best.

* * *

At my grade eight graduation, I won three awards and was nominated valedictorian, or class president. During my speech, I glanced over to my family. My mom and Paul were as far apart as possible in the line of community-centre-seating; they both were clearly content, but on their faces seemed accustomed to my success. My Uncle sat next to my mom, smiling ear to ear at me, cheering me on in his head. Between my Uncle and Paul sat Nana, Grandma, and Grandpa: all crying. Nana, faced stuffed in tissues. Grandma with her warm smile. Grandpa with tears down his cheeks, trying to hold it in, like a true McDonald.

I paused in my speech, if only for a split-second, and smiled.

* * *

I realize now that I am not, and have never been, alone.

Nana calls me from time-to-time to check up on me. She is always so happy to hear that I am succeeding, and I attribute my fun spirit to her. She has striven through so much and I am proud to be a descendant of her strength.

Grandpa not only signed the loan, but he always wants to know how I'm doing in school. He is genuinely proud of me in all my accomplishments, and I am genuinely proud to be even half the man he has been.

I keep Grandma's picture next to my bed wherever I go. She is smiling down on me from wherever she is with her warm and loving soul in her smile. I drink milk like crazy, and could not survive a week without broccoli. I treasure each day because of the things I have learned from her, in her life and in her death.

* * *

My grandparents mean the world to me, and I hope my mom will be as important a presence in my children's lives as my grandparents were in mine. I can only dream that I will be as close to anyone as I have been with them.

Please pray for my Grandpa.

--Jam

"There's a Jam in My Soup!"

After much deliberation, I have come to realize a couple of things:

1. Jam's Blog gets whiny. Oops!
2. No one wants an emo blog.
3. Emo bangs look ridiculous on men and women! Go figure.

Therefore, I have decided to do something rash. Something shocking and daring. Something that will blow. Your. Mind. Gasp.

Well, not that shocking. I wouldn't want to thrust you into a state of panic or anything!

I've decided to split Jam's Blog. *hears rumbling in the audience* Now, now, listen to me before you jump off a bridge.

Jam's Blog will remain as a personal blog for all my friends. It will basically stay the same as it is now, with less "five days in a row of posting" jazz. That kind of jazz is called "not having a life in the summer". The new blog will be topic-based, with articles on different issues, ranging from outrageous fashion trends (Crocs, anyone?) to social observations. It will remain light, but it will be more focused than Jam's Blog has been. The new blog will be more like my rants, all the time!

The reason for all of this is that I want my blog to be more public, gain publicity, but in order to do so, I need to make it less personal and less emo. I do still need a place to rant about the Pauls and Michaels of my life, and I want to keep in touch with the few people who read it, so it will stay.

So, the new blog will be launched at the end of the summer-ish. I need your help. What do you envision a successful opinion blog that is mostly humorous (and is mine) to look like? Colours, shapes, themes, etc. And what should I call it? I thought about just "Jam", but jam.blogspot.com is taken by some retard named Jim who has posted once in 2001, saying "This is pretty cool!" There is nothing cool about what you're doing to me Jim. Nothing at all.

Think of a name that is so catchy. It doesn't need to have "Jam" in it. "Love is Blonde" is a terrific example. It's easy to remember, but it's original, and it says something about the content available, that it will be light and related to love and blondeness. Now, who doesn't L-O-V-E that?

Alright. I need your help. Give me your thoughts on names and layout ideas, and I'll keep ya'll posted on what's to come.

--Jam, split in two

The Potential Break-Up Song

Well, fancy seeing you here!

I start my new job in nine hours. I suppose I should go to bed soon, but my mind is going eighty miles a minute.

First off (so we can get it out of the way, once and for all), Michael is finally just toast. By toast, I mean gone, not bread. And by gone, I mean out of the picture, not physically gone; that happens on Wednesday. We went for lunch/coffee something the other day, and he needed to work on his thesis again, which is completely okay. I respect that he's dedicated and I understand he needs to get work done. I suggested he stay at my place that night, and he said he had to work and wouldn't be able to, as if it was such an outrageous request for me to suggest at all. At that moment, something in me snapped into place, something that should have snapped a while back when he was treating me like dirt. I just got my stuff, said "Good luck with it" (which could apply to anything - I'm so clever), and left. I deleted him from my phone, my email, from any way that I could possibly get in touch with him or remember him fondly in any way. Now, to find another summer fling. ...anyone?

Last night, I experienced my first beer-drunk, and let me tell you, it was not pleasant. Why do people get drunk off of beer if it feels like that? I was dizzy and slurry and ridiculous. I'll stick to liquor, thank you very much. Today, while I was sleepy and shaking off my beerness, I vegged out all day. Read some of Wicked, downloaded a new game, watched some TV; it was quite relaxing. On a side note, CBC gave me the worst and best of TV today. An animated horse movie called "Spirit" came on first. If anyone has seen that movie and survived, I'd imagine they would agree with me in saying "What the fark was that?" It was like a big-budget-but-artsy animated flick. The horses just neighed a lot and ran around, the native guy jumped up and down and shrieked, the bad white people yelled and shot their guns: classic. Oh, and horses can smile now, by the way. Even though they can't talk, they can have facial expressions and many human qualities. Good ol' accurate animated films. DreamWorks, you're making us all proud. Neigh. After the horsies came a David Suzuki special on green living. It was retardedly interesting! There was a house made of hay, another made of dirt. There were even houses that had contraptions that produced their own energy! Solar panels, thermal-something heat, wind power. Groovy, baby! All-in-all, Al Gore would be proud of my television selections today.

As I said earlier, I start my job tomorrow. I have mixed emotions. I really don't want to spend the next two months working in a bank again, but at the same time, it will be nice to be on some sort of schedule and making money. The bank is way in the middle of nowhere, which is the huge downside, but hopefully I can transfer to the downtown branch next summer. I also got a call from a restaurant, so I have to call them back tomorrow. Cross all your fingers! ALL of them.

Today was Father's Day, and not only did Paul not receive anything from me, but my grandpa also had a heart attack. Um, what the hell? It was only a minor one. He's stable, actually quite bored, in the hospital, so everything's okay there. It's just odd, to say the least. I think anything to do with paternity in my family is just messed up. Paul hates my grandpa, I hate Paul, life goes on. "It's the way God intended!"

One more thing: update your blogs! With no MSN and no Facebook and no anything, I check blogs all the time. Like, three times a day. Maybe five. Liz, Julia, and Heidi are keeping up, but the rest of you need to hop on the bandwagon. All the cool kids are doing it. Don't you wanna be cool? Peer pressure! Peerpressurepeerpressure! Mwa ha. That's right.

"Wanna" didn't come up in my auto-spellcheck as incorrect, but "okay" did. Right.

--Jam is a real word.

Listen to: The Potential Break-Up Song by Aly & AJ

Saturnday

Ola mi amigos!

(I have no idea if that is correct/actual Spanish. It sounds like it could be?)

Yesterday, I had the interesting pleasure of being taken to a movie by my aunt. My cousin, 12, wanted to see The Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer. Since he is spoiled rotten (literally), and gets everything he wants, he gets to see it on opening day. I said I'd go, as I had nothing pertinent to take up my time. I mean, the movie can't be that bad, can it?

Yes. It can and it was and it is two hours of my life I will never get back. Ever.

The script was ridiculous. The special effects were interesting, but not spot-on by any means. The plot was outrageously predictable, as well as impossible. (For example, Mr. Fantastic has a side project that he keeps hidden for the majority of the film - ooh, I have goosebumps! - which turns out to be a gigantic jet, without a roof by the way, because ya know how people can survive flying without roofs, that can divide into four separate mini-jets! Yes, one man, a scientist no less, can not only design this jet, but build it, too. Of course! Who can't build a jet that divides into four parts? I think they teach that right after the letter F and right before 2+4.)

The acting was terrible - some of the worst I've ever seen. Jessica Alba, a completely beautiful girl, could not act if her life depended on it; good thing the straight men won't notice. Mr. Fantastic, played by Ioan Gruffudd (yeah, I hadn't heard of him either), was plain silly. I looked him up, however, and apparently he was in Titanic as a minor officer character. Go figure? The Human Torch, played by Chris Evans, was gorgeous, but also really can't act. He plays Alba's brother in the film - coincidence they both can't act? I think not. The rock guy isn't worth mentioning or looking up. He was as much an actor in this film as Michael J. Fox is in Stuart Little.

When all seemed lost (and my Glossette supply had run dry), Dr. Von Doom walked onto the screen, and my heart sighed. Not at the character, or the character's name (what were comic creators thinking in the 60's, I will never know), but the actor. Julian McMahon, one of my gigantic (and newfound since I saw him in Premonition) celebrity crushes. If you don't know who he is, go watch something with him in it, and you'll love me for it. He's strangely handsome, possibly "dashing", although calling someone dashing kind of hurts my soul.

In the end, the Silver Surfer destroys the evil thing he was originally working for in order to save Earth, which makes total sense. After that happens, there is no talk of the great sacrifice the Surfer did for them, the terrifying evil Galactus that was going to swallow the planet, the location of Doctor Doom, the fact that none of the Four are actually Fantastic, nothing. They just walk down a burning street in South-East China (because throughout the movie, they had to show not only Big Ben and the Pyramids, but also the Great Wall, of which they take out a huge chunk. No biggie - you're the Fantastic Four!) and discuss the future of the Four, being all connected-this and team-that. Lovely.

All-in-all, do not see this movie. I know some of you crazy cats were thinking of it, but, just, no. I forbid it.

Oh, I forgot to mention that while Galactus is traveling to Earth, he destroys Saturn's rings. Yea. They don't exist anymore. Silly death-cloud-monster. Good thing the Surfer just flew inside and blew you up. Makes total sense.

--Jam

PS: Holy cow. Sorry for all the parenthesis. I promise less next time (unless I forget).

Daemonistic

A new movie, The Golden Compass, is opening in theatres in December, and holy crap, it looks amazing. Check out the site to see the trailer and all the neat effects and jazz.

It also has a section, which each of you should complete, that tells a person his/her daemon, the outer soul that accompanies the person in the world of this film.

Mine, in the beginning, is (was) a raccoon. As a "child", or a newborn soul, I have twelve days to mold my soul into its final form. After twelve days have passed, the soul is final and cannot change further.

Please roll over the box below and answer the five questions about me and my deamon Haythia. After you are finished, you will have further changed my daemon into something more appropriate for me. In the end, thanks to everyone's honest and knowing opinions of me, I should have an accurate daemon for my personality.



Please only answer the questions once, no matter what animal comes out at the end. After you're done, do it on your blogs so I can come and make you a pretty animal.

--Jam and Haythia

June 14, 10.50pm: OMG! I'm a tiger! Wooooot. GRR!
June 14, 11.30pm: Um, who turned me into a ferret? Can someone fix that please, lol.
June 15, 12.40pm: Well, at least I'm back to a raccoon. It's been changed eight times. I sent it to more than eight people. Slackers.
June 15, 8.52pm: Who made me a chimpanzee? You're banished.
June 16, 12.30am: Back to raccoon again. Thank god. That monkey was giving me daymares.
June 16, 1.27am: OH MY JESUS. I'm a LION! Uhhh.. STAY! Sit! Lie down! Never move!
June 16, 10.48am: He's still there! Omigosh, if I stay a lion, I'll be a perfectly happy camper in my random fantasy land.
June 17, 4.45pm: Rawr. Still a lion! It says I still have 11 days to go. Weird.
June 21, 10.22pm: I had been a lion for five days, and now I'm a freaking monkey. Who did this to me? *needs revenge*
June 23, 10.55am: And now, I'm a tiger again. Wonderful. You people are playing with my soul. Kinda literally.

Editing Mitsakes

I picked up the Memorial Muse yesterday. It's rather thin these days, but I guess that's due to the summer lull.

The front page story was about the lack of exploration of abandoned buildings. Hardly relevant to anything, but whatever. St. John's isn't exactly fast-paced. The first half of the article is dedicated to thoroughly describing the decaying ruins of an old hospital. This is news, people. Sorry, wrong punctuation. I meant to say: this is news, people? The first sentence to break into reporting anything factual says that "there was group called the.." There was group? Me fail English?

I can't believe that a paper, no matter how small, could use an article so uninteresting, irrelevant, and on top of that, grammatically incorrect, especially for the front page.

Many people have suggested that I try out for the paper, write articles, all that fun stuff. I, however, have standards, and those include not ruining my reputation by writing for this paper before I even have a reputation. This paper is known for spelling mistakes, crosswords that are missing entire rows of boxes, and comics that stand to be disgusting and pathetic. At least pathetic is funny on some level.

I'm aware that I make mistakes on my blog all the time. The difference, however, is that I am writing this on a whim, finishing one of my "articles" in a matter of minutes. I have no one to edit this before I post it. The Muse does, or at least the Muse should. It's a disgrace for a school well-known for English and the Arts to have a paper as ridiculous and embarrassing as this.

So, to all of you out there who go to Brock, my former stomping ground, be proud of the Brock Press. Surprisingly, it's something to be proud of.

--Jam

Boom Boom Ba

I miss.

.random car-ventures with Leanne around the GTA.

.going to a random concert because I thought the guy singing was hot.

.getting my mom to drive me to a concert with my boyfriend.

.the excitement of overtly hiding my boyfriend from my mom.

.thinking my dad was the most impressive person I would ever know.

.having my laundry done by my mom, somehow wrinkle-free.

.laughing until my sides hurt with Athena.

.or Lilly.

.or anybody. I guess I laugh a lot.

.wanting to DDR so badly so I could get better and compete with Heidi.

.dancing in-sync to Holic with Heidi.

.feeling accomplished.

.not wondering if the future will pan out.

.Assam tea by President's Choice.

.that drink Orbitz with the floaty balls in it.

.wondering how the hell they just float there.

.doing something different with Sarah every time I saw her.

.recording an awesome radio show with my friend Lindsay on my new computer, complete with Windows 95.

.seeing Babel or Amelie or Memento for the first time.

.the way my grandma would lay beside me until I fell asleep every night.

.running through Mohawk Park with my Nana.

.the way Natalie would get excited about my life, no matter what I was telling her.

.figuring out what the hell Craig was saying with his British accent.

.figuring out why men were so strange and overtly gay at Rendez-vous.

.having the bus stop directly across from my house.

.knowing Kitty was at the end of my bed every night, protecting me.

.a lot of things.

--Jam

The sun needs to come out now.

Slacktalk

Yo peeps.

So I'm chillaxing in the library again. This time I'm alone in this tiny little room on the fourth floor. It has no ceiling, so anything I do is echoing through the entire floor, which is so quiet, I can hear people pulling books off the shelves. No joke.

Today's been kind of a bad day. I spent the night at Michael's which is a normal occurrence but last night was so strange. I got drunk off whiskey and coke (Never drink those. They made me insane, or insaner.. something.) and then got into it with Michael over gay marriage. He believes that gay marriage should not be legal and that homosexuals should be trying to abolish marriage as a central social institution rather than conforming to marriage. Something like that. I, obviously, am very for marriage, as I talk about my wedding and my "husband" all the time. I was very drunk, and although the night remains very blurry, I remember abruptly ending the conversation by saying "I'm done talking about this" and rolling over.

I think him and I are just parting ways. I mean, we're going to when he moves in just over a week, but I think we're doing it earlier. As in basically now. We have a lot of fun together, but something isn't right. It was great dating him and having someone there for a while but I am well aware that we aren't "meant to be". I'm having conflicting emotions over the entire situation and am not sure if I'll see him again after today at all. I don't know what he's thinking, however I know non-positive thoughts are in his head of me as well. Then again, I do think he's great and I love discussing issues with him, so it's not really that that is pushing me away. I dunno.

Then, to make things all the more interesting, I can't stop thinking of one of my exes. He's just there, sitting in my brain, even while I was drunk and lying in bed with Michael. He pops up (in my mind) every month or two, or longer if things are particularly smooth-sailing. Probably not super healthy, but I'm sure it will go away once life shifts a little bit.

Hah! I just had a sneezing fit. I'm sure the entire floor just heard that. That's what you get for dropping that book a half-hour ago, fourth floor. That's what you get.

On top of the boy-weirdness, my book bag broke, so now I have to carry it around, rather than slinging it over my shoulder (like a continental soldier). I can't wait 'til I start work and have some extra dough so I can buy whatever the hell. Whatever the hell indeed.

Why do old men grow their beards out so they're like a foot long and all gray and fuzzy and nasty? Are their chins really that cold? Do they store food in there? Money? Pets? Stationary? Miniature societies?

Um, I'm sitting beside a window, overlooking some other buildings and a parking lot, and some gray-haired woman is walking and talking with another woman, pointing to my window. Creepy much?

I should be working on an essay I have due on Thursday, but I forgot Hamlet at home. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

The end!

--Jamtalk

EDIT: So, because I'm the winner that I am, I just looked in my bag to find a pen, and found Hamlet. I've wasted the last two hours doing nothing because I "forgot" it, when really, it was crying out to me from my broken bookbag the entire time. I could do an hour of essaying before class, but, nah.

You Never Call, You Never Write

Hey folks and folk dancers.

I'm sitting here in a booze-smelling library study room, not wanting to do work while, apparently, Michael sits across from me working on his thesis. He could be totally lying as I am the one with the monitor facing the big voyeuresque glass window facing into the library, but I suppose I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

The library makes me angry, like a bear when he can't catch any fish. I assume that would make a bear angry; it definitely would make me angry. Michael and I came into the library to find a lot of high school students just loitering around in their baggy jerseys and skin-tight skank-tops, as teenage boys and girls dress respectively, although I'm sure fashion trends will change in the next twenty years to reverse that. (Can't wait.) They were talking loudly in the computer commons, until this rent-a-cop in a bright yellow jacket motioned from across the room for them to get out. I love how they know who the teenagers are, and I love that the teenagers know that the rent-a-cops know that they are teenagers, as they always have their eyes peeled for rent-a-cops.

We proceeded to the fourth floor to find a study room. Normally they're all full (during the school year), but since it's the summer and is late at night, we just thought they'd all be empty and available. Empty, yes. Available, yes. Locked, yes. I ran downstairs to sign one out:

Me: Hi. I'd like to sign out a study room. *holds out student card*
Library Girl: Sure! Do you have your student card? *smiles WAY too much*
*looks down* Yes.
Great! *takes card*
Oh, I'll need that for more than one person.
*frown* Well, how many?
*question-mark face* Just me and one other person.
*bigger frown* Well I need to see this person.
*angerrr..* Oh, he's just upstairs.
*giant smile* I'm sorry. I need to see him. *hands card back*
*shock* Oh. Um. Well that's silly.

So then I walked all the way up to the fourth floor, got Michael and all of our stuff, trekked all the way downstairs so that the girl could take just my card and give us a room. Lovely.

I wrote my Grandpa a letter today. I would just call him, but I have no clue in hell what I would say. He's one of those people I greatly respect and admire, but really don't have much in common socially, so it's very difficult to talk to him. I figure he will enjoy receiving a letter (I know I would). I want to start writing people letters more often. Email is fine most of the time, but written letters are so fun to get and correspond with. MSN and all that crap is just too convenient. I've noticed a lot of people haven't contacted me since I got rid of the convenience modules, but I have been getting more emails than I ever did before, so thanks to the people who have been emailing. Makes my li'l ol' day.

I was reading a couple old posts of different people and I have to say that Liz's Blog has gotten so much better. I hope some day we can actually meet because the way she writes presents her as this aware, hilarious person. Maybe that's too much to live up to? Oh well - she can do it. I don't even know if she reads this anymore. Fingers crossed?

One more little story and then I'm done for the day.

I had a second interview at a call centre today. The first was an open interview on Saturday where they put me through a bunch of computer tests. I aced them like a... an ace of spades? For instance, I did a typing test and did 73 words per minute. Ya. I rock. My second interview today consisted of:

Arriving at 9am, right on time, after a 35 minute bus ride.

Waiting at the front desk while a woman (who obviously worked there) argued with the receptionist about where to put her gigantic, muddy bike.

Being taken into the HR room to sit for twenty minutes, reading the Newfoundland Herald. (For those of you who have not heard of this glorious publication, it's Newfoundland's ridiculous attempt at an entertainment magazine. It had three pages on a returning butterfly. Yeah, baby.)

Being taken into the computer rooms to take computer tests. The same tests I took on Saturday.

Being taken back to the HR room once they realized this.

Being taken into the office of the interviewer, Bridget, who was over fifty, had a lisp, and dressed like a homely turnip farmer.

Being asked about my lack of availability due to my day job. Being asked to quit my day job and drop my university course in order to be "completely flexible".

Leaving, quite disgustedly.

So, needless to say, I will not be a call centre bitch. Ever. Bridget, seeing my most-likely impressive computer scores, tried to get me to consider applying in July for other positions, but followed that up by saying I could work the night shift during the school-year. Uh huh. I'll get right on that.

No reason: slugs!

--Jam

All The Best Cowboys Have Daddy Issues

A bunch of people have commented or noted on my father, so I thought today I would talk about him and the background of my relationship with him.

When I was four, my parents separated. I grew up living with my mom, however because my mom worked the night shift, I would spend alternating weeks staying at my dad's mom's (Grandma) house and having my mom's mom (Nana) stay with us. Therefore, for the majority of my childhood, my grandmothers had far more to do with my upbringing than either of my parents.

During this time, from age four to approximately age thirteen, I didn't see much of my dad. Although he lived in the same city and was not an "estranged" father by any means, it seemed he did not make an overwhelming effort to see me or have much to do with me. There were no specific times or dates set up when I had to see him, so I guess he took that opportunity to be single and free, including me whenever he felt appropriate.

As a young child, I adored and respected my father, as most boys do. Over time, through different incidents and through his actions, it occurred to me, without influence from my mother or any other individual, that my father was not a nice person. He would be nice one day and a complete angry bastard the next. He was self-righteous and although he was a devoted Christian, his actions and words made him into a Christian hypocrite, unfortunately donating to my feeling on the subject today.

At ten, my mom met my step-dad, around the same time my father met my step-mother. Although I am not close to either of these people, my step-mother has made a much larger negative impact on my life. Along with my father, she is judgmental, and frowns upon non-Christians. She has a severe hatred for homosexuals, contributing to my self-ostracizing from the family and to my closeted status with the majority of my family today. The only benefit of her joining the family was that she had two children: my now-step-brother Josh and my now-step-sister Brittany.

At thirteen, I stopped going to church with him and the other members of that side of the family, which I'm sure made me a heathen of sorts in his mind. At sixteen, his mother, my grandmother, died of cancer. My grandma had been the most influential person in my life and was the strongest reason I continued to have contact with my father. With her gone, it became increasingly difficult for me, especially as a teenager, to want to make time to see him. I wanted to develop a relationship with my siblings, however, so I continued to try to make an effort.

Before my grandmother passed away, my father and my step-mother had a child: my brother Jacob. He is now seven years old and has been raised to look down upon non-Christians, homosexuals, and has a temper, similar to my father. I'm sure that both parents are proud they have raised a "knowledgeable" child who will grow up and continue a Christian, judgmental family. Jacob is the son my father never had.

At eighteen, finished high-school, I decided to attend university, to which my father contributed money. After my first year, I worked during the summer and was unsure whether or not I was going to return, as I was not receiving good marks and did not enjoy myself. In June, I called my father from my Nana's house, which was conveniently down the street, on my lunch break to tell him I would be attending for a second year. I calmly told him that if he could contribute, that would be great, and if not, that I would get a job. Either way, I was just informing him. He exploded, saying that I was wasting money and much more that I have actually repressed, and told me to "fuck off" and then hung up on me.

Since then, my father has contributed to my schooling through mandatory child support payments (which have now ended). I have talked to him less times in the last three years than I can count on both hands.

I have grown up without a father. My step-father was simply a man living in my house whom hardly spoke two words to me a day, and my real father was not only not present in my upbringing, but has been a negative, horrible figure throughout my life. This coming year, he has said he will pay for my tuition. Unfortunately, no matter how much money he donates to my future, he will never be considered a "father" to me.

I have talked about him in the past tense because my concept of him has changed so much in my lifetime. The man I loved at five has become the man I loathe at twenty-two. In the future, when he has exhausted the money he feels obligated to give me, I will call him by his first name if I am forced to see him, which will not be often.

There you have it. Although it may seem like I'm overdramatizing the entire relationship, sadly to say, I'm not. I consider myself a stronger individual because of this lack-of-relationship, and for that, I thank him. He has made me realize that although we look alike, we are very different. My inner desire to be a father stems from him. I will have children. I will be a better father to them than he was to me. I want to make that difference in the world, that at least my children will grow up knowing they have a loving, strong father who will be there for them, no matter what.

--Jam

Iguazu

Iguazu
Spanish, meaning big water.

I got a job! Praise Jebus! Hallelujah! I'm officially a banker once again. No starvation for this Jam!

In a way, I'm glad for these extreme scares and horrible things that happen. Because of them, I am able to put things into perspective and realize how great things are the rest of the time. I feel like I'm on the right course now, that things are slowly getting better. This job just signifies that I can overcome the obstacles that come my way, no matter what.

I bit my tongue today and it reminded me of a moment in my life. In my last year of highschool, I had this sore on my tongue and it wouldn't go away. It was such a pain. I couldn't eat properly, it hurt to kiss my (then, secret) boyfriend, and a small part of me remembered where my father had had cancer: in his tongue and throat. I pretty much knew that wasn't it, that it was just an infection, but it was not a comforting thought to have lingering in the back of my head.

After I had had the sore for many weeks, I was in the car with my dad one day and just mentioned the sore. He replied to me "oh boy, guess what you might have," implying that it was cancer. My father, the person who should be there for me and dislike any pain or suffering I may incur, took enjoyment in the fact that I would have to experience what he went through, which I'm sure was an excruciating experience for him.

I overcame the sore shortly after, as well as I have overcame my father. I believe that he was put into my life as a test. He is something else, an emotional hurdle, that I am meant to leap over in order to succeed.

I don't know why I thought of that, or him, today but there you go. A snippet of what has happened to me to make me who I am.

--Jam

Poor Boy

Hey sexy lady, out on the floor. Something something something.. la la laaa la.

How are you fancy folks today? This is the third day in a row that the warm weather is here and I am lovin' it, in true McDonald's fashion. Thank Jebus for the weather though, because this lack of money business is not all it's cracked up to be.

Sure, from the outside, you see "lack of spending" and "minimalizing" and "losing weight due to lack of food", but don't be fooled! It's actually quite painful to go through a Starbucks withdrawal! I want a Booster Juice. See, I have extreme spending habits. I'm aware of this. I just wish I had been more aware of my bank loan so I could have slowed down on the Orange Mochas. (Holy Jebus, those things are addictive!)

I just don't get why the fark I can't find a job? I mean, I use words like "fark" and "Jebus". What more do they want? I'm going out again today to sell my soul to a call centre, but with my luck, even they won't be hiring. I may have to break down and become a McSlave or a Burger King. I think if I did, my money would feel greasy, and I could never use greasy money to buy Starbucks. That's just wrong. They don't want money born out of grease.

At least I look pretty great today. My hair's getting so long. I almost want to cut it out of habit, but thankfully, I have no money, so it'll just have to keep on growin'. Take that, subconscious fear! Take that! Yeah, I thought so.

Ooh, big news! In the fall, my friend Lilly and I are going to be getting our own radio show! *insert screaming audience here* We're gonna go to the university radio station, who are apparently always looking for volunteers, and demanding our own show. I hope it works. We wanna do a talk show with music as well as we have very different musical tastes. It will be the greatest thing since ever.

Speaking of tastes, it has come to my attention that no one knows how to spell "tasty". There is no such word as "tastey". That's a big lame word. Stop it.

--Tasty Jam

Don't Stop the Music

Hello, you gorgeous punkin' pies, you!

Well slap me upside the head and call me Kazooie! It's the second day in a row on the cursed island of Newfoundland that we have warm weather! Yesterday it reached 22, and today it's 25! Oh Emm Gee. I'm gonna wear shorts today! Shorts! In Newfoundland! Insane. Lovely, but insane.

So, let's talk about boys, shall we? I've been seeing Michael an awful lot lately. As I had mentioned before, we're dating without labeling it as dating, which I guess is okay. He leaves in two weeks, so I'm forcing myself not to get attached. It's not too hard to do, since before three weeks ago, he was a complete jerk. It's a funny situation. It took me ignoring him and essentially forgetting about him for him to come back and make an effort. I'm not really sure what he's thinking, what he wants, but I keep my distance, even when we're right beside one another. On the positive side, it's very refreshing dating an academic. All my past boyfriends have been working or, way back, in highschool. None of them were truly interested in knowledge and academia as I am or as Michael is, so it's a different experience dating Michael. It's shown me what I want in a relationship, and really, what I don't. As Ben said to me yesterday, "everything happens for a reason." I don't know if I fully believe that, but I know that I have learned a lot from my experience with Michael and have grown due to it.

Now, onto Rihanna. Does anyone else love Rihanna? I mean, she's only nineteen and is on her third successful record. Umbrella is the catchiest song of the year, and there is another song on the album, "Don't Stop the Music", that is phenomenal. You can take my word for it that it will be a gigantic dance hit. A lot of people have been putting down Rihanna, that she's copying Beyonce, and all this crap. Rihanna is Bajan (from Barbados) and is far younger with a different sound than Beyonce. Personally, I like Rihanna's music a lot more. Can't we all just get along?

I went house hunting on Monday as I've decided to move out of my li'l bachelor place. For those of you who don't know why, it's like living in a tiny apartment in the 70's in the middle of nowhere with no kitchen sink. I need normality for a change. My friend Melody mentioned that she and her friend Mike are looking for a place, so I suggested we all live together, and we lived happily ever after. Oh, wait. House hunting first. We haven't found one as of yet. I saw a gorgeous place right downtown, but they wanted the lease for July 1, not August 1, so alas, it blows away with the wind. ..or something. I'm the only one physically looking as I'm the only one in St. John's of the three of us, so that's super fun. I boot around downtown, buying Booster Juice and running from bums. Good times. At least once I do find a place, I'll be living downtown, near all the activity, with a good friend, and a real kitchen. I have goosebumps just thinking about it. Don't you? You should.

Well, time to get this day going. I'll leave my money troubles 'til later when I have more info. Lata gatas!

--Jam, under your umbrella.

Wakey Wakey

Hey peeps!

I don't have time to chat to you-all right now. I'm having major money stress, as I just found out my student loan is OUT. ...as in gone. Oh my.

So I'm having a minor panic attack while I wait 'til my mommy gets home from work so I can freak out.

Anywho, I have lots to talk about:

Summer Romance
Rihanna
Money (obviously)
House Hunting

I'll get to all that jazz tomorrow-ish when I blog. I just thought I should post that I'm alive so that the 100 people that emailed asking me to update my blog can take a wee breather.

Ta.

--Jam the Poor Man