Also, sometime this week (the 23rd, I think), marks way too many years that I've been doing this whole 'blogging thing'. I'm not sure if it's sad or not, but... it's weird to read past entries and see how things were for me x number of years ago, or how my 'voice' has changed as I've evolved and grown *old*.

Secondly, next month, on Valentine's Day, will mark two years that I've had Thena in my life. She actually turned 2 around the beginning of the year, and Venus will be 2 sometime this summer, according to my math. My kitties are old and annoying, especially when Venus chews on my fingers. I keep threatening to get another kitty to keep her company, but the Smooshy doesn't seem to care for that thought.

In addition, the Smooshy and I have officially started our apartment hunt. The apartment that we saw last night (two, actually, in the same dwelling) was advertised as being at a major intersection downtown, but was actually the opposite end of one of those major streets (about 5 blocks away from my last place, which was 4 blocks away from this major intersection). The smaller place was fairly nice, though smaller than my current place; the second apartment had a neat loft area where the second bedroom was, as well as some additional space. Unfortunately, they were asking $1275 for it, which is out of the budget for Smooshy and I, and not raally worth it for that location. No matter; we're still looking. In fact, we have appointments to look at places tomorrow and Saturday, and I've passed along one or two others to him today.

I hope that any place we do find has good neighbours; I'm getting really tired of the inconsiderate louts I keep finding myself living next to. :P
Who knew that, at this illustrious stage in my career, I would have the great fortune of becoming an 'expert' on bed bugs, of all things?

Suffice it to say, I may never travel, sit on a couch, sleep in a bed, or hug another human being as long as I live.


Once upon a time, I worked as a receptionist for a local animal hospital. We answered the phone with, "[Name of animal hospital], [our name] speaking." I said Jen; it's what I like to go by.

There were areas where notes could be left for the receptionists. In my section, I kept a list of names that people had called me other than Jen -- this included, from memory, Denise, Dan, Ian, Jan, Jane, Janet, Janine, Jeanie... I don't think I have an especially masculine voice, so the male ones were a bit of a stumper. The rest are, while not always especially close to Jen, at least understandable.

I made a few appointments today to look at some apartments in the region. I spoke with one woman, and as has been my habit with all of these calls, I identified myself at the start of the call as Jen [last name] -- partly force of habit to add the last name, it's true.

Somehow, out of Jen, she got Chantale. When I corrected her at the end of the call, as we were finalizing the appointment, she asked me somewhat incredulously, "Didn't you say your name was Chantale?!"

Uh... no?

I'm a bit afraid if she's part of the management team.
In case you missed it before, here's the best blonde joke ever.


So, Tory government, eh?

Well, I'm happy for the change, but not necessarily for the party choice. I'm willing to give them a chance, but lemme tell you -- if Harper decides to try to touch the marijuana bill, the gay marriage bill, or a woman's right to abortion... we's gonna have words.


Okay, so, it's a bit of a bad thing when you never update your website anymore. I just updated The Whore's Boudoir for the first time in let's not say when. Partly it's because I'm heading out of town for the weekend, and figured I'd leave you guys something to discuss in the meantime. Also, it's partly because I finally had something I wanted to write about.

There's been many rants I've wanted to post that were work-related, but I've always been very careful to keep that side censored, and it's something I'm practicing even more. Also, blah blah busy blah blah knitting blah blah video games.

I started classes last week. I can finally remember the name of the course -- Public Communications Campaigns. Some of the reading I got to do the other night included such winning phrases as 'communicating communicatively,' 'nouning,' 'verbing,' and 'sense-making'. That last one isn't too bad until you realize that it was the reason for the 'nouning' and the 'verbing'. I could give you lessons in the subject matter, but I seriously doubt many, if any, of you want to benefit from my coursework.

It still feels a bit weird to talk about 'my undergrad' and 'my grad'-level courses. I don't think I sound pretentious in class when I mention doing my undergrad, since we're all there for the same end purpose, but it still feels weird sometimes. It's also odd to be surrounded by all of these people who have lived lives and done incredible things, and I look at my little lifetime and feel like I haven't done much of anything -- at least not career-wise. It doesn't really help that I don't really know what my dream job is (although I keep saying it's doing communications work for the Humane Society), so I keep plugging away and learning and amassing skills. I'm certainly not wasting my education or my time, but sometimes I just feel like I'm not doing much of anything. This may be old hat to many of you.

Anyhow, this isn't my usual, 'oh my god, my life is going nowhere' complaint, so don't worry about that. Just an observation, more than anything. :) It is weird to think that just two years ago I was thinking that I wasn't qualified to do anything other than sell books, teach clarinet, work at an animal hospital or at a radio station, and now I've had more than a couple of interviews and potential opportunities based on my skills alone. It feels nice to be employable, even if some people think communications work is bullshit. :)


Yesterday I took a shower and wrapped my towel around me, as is my habit. Thena was perched on the back of the toilet tank, waiting for me to finish, as is her habit. She jumped up on my back, as she is sometimes wont to do, and her hind claws were digging into that apparently tender area between my shoulder blades and below my neck… nicely positioned in such a manner that there was very little I could do to dislodge her, especially as her not moving was causing me enough pain as it was.

I poked her stomach, I tried to push her feet, and all of this amused her about as much as one might expect. She started growling a little and gearing up for a fight. Now, picture me bent over at the waist, with a decently-sized cat perched on my back in a perfect position for me to do absolutely nothing. She’s angry, I’m in pain, and somewhere in there I started crying and she finally moved. I can’t remember the exact order of events, but I’m fairly certain I was crying for a bit before she deigned to move. I could tell by the feel of her getting off my back that one of her nails had been twisted in my back in such a manner as to make the whole process even more unpleasant.

I can’t exactly explain why it was I started crying, or even crying as strongly as I did. Possibly an overreaction to stress (after all, I was going back to work the next day), possibly just a reaction to the pain (and it was), or possibly just PMS. Whatever the cause, it continued for a bit after she had left, and I felt somewhat emotionally wonky for some time after that.

This morning, in my attempt to rush through my lunch preparations and catch the next train on time, I managed to slice my left index finger with the tip of the knife I was using to cut my apple up. It was deep enough that it bled for a while, even with the firm pressure I was applying. Once the bleeding had essentially stopped, I roused the Smooshy for a comfort hug and some pity. Oddly enough, I had somewhat pictured myself cutting my finger before it happened, though I remember picturing a deep slice at the knuckle, which seems to be my favourite doom-and-gloom visualization.

Hopefully these aren’t portents of the year to come; I have no reason to believe that 2006 will be a bad year. With any luck, this year will see big changes happening – in fact, some of these are potentially already underway. But until they’re more definite, I probably won’t be speaking of them too much (though some people are already in the know).

Although in a final slightly ‘down’ omen, the copper ring that my aunt gave me for Christmas is turning my finger grey/green (yeah, I know), but also appears to be either developing or losing a coating on the outer surface. I may have to retire this ring, which would be a shame; for now I’m just trying to see if I can outlast the oxidization (some rings I have had turn your finger strange colours, but then stop; we’ll see if this is to be one of those). Thankfully, although it does need some resizing, the ring from the Smooshy has caused no problems thus far.

I’ve also decided that my birth control is that which is responsible for my loss of libido, and will be endeavouring to make improvements in that regard. I have another prescription that I can revert to for now, and if it once again tanks my mood or doesn’t seem to be helping, I can speak to my doctor. Fortunately I’m due for a physical in a few months and can address the problem then, but in the meantime, it’s a tiresome subject to continue spatting about, especially if it’s – at least to some extent – outside of my realm of control.

And on a final note before I wrap this up and head off to the gym, I’m going to be trying to write short descriptive pieces that will appear on The Angry Apostrophe. This will be a way for me to practice describing things, people, places, events; I feel this is one of my weaknesses as a writer. Maybe from there I can move on to writing actual stories – or at the very least it will be writing again. Although at some point I may post the beginnings of the piece I was writing that was my version of an “Office Space”; the only problem is coming up with what I actually want to say. I have great ideas for characters and so on, but very little for actual plot/conflict. As I’ve said before, I feel this is an important part of stories, although maybe I’ll write something that doesn’t have much conflict and turns into the next classic.


Sometimes... sometimes I wish I could say what I think.