As if taking bartending classes twice a week wasn't enough, I've also started ballroom dancing lessons with a couple girls from work, and one girl's boyfriend, through Mississauga Parks & Rec.
I was kind of unsure about it at first, but it's turned out to be a lot of fun. There certainly are worse ways to spend an hour and a half than across from a pretty girl.
The lessons kind of a mixed bag; so far we've learned the Fox Trot, Rumba and Cha-Cha. The thing is that the four of us are by far the youngest ones in the class, so the pace of instruction is a bit slow in order to let the geriatrics keep up.
I'm told that girls go nuts for "cultured" guys that know how dance. I hope they don't pay too close attention though, or they'll notice my partner's bruised toes as well as her habit of trying to lead (probably to avoid being stepped on).
I bet Fred Astaire never had these problems. Maybe I should arrange it so that I do bartending right before dancing. A couple stiff drinks ought to loosen me up, and everyone knows that singing and dancing skills are directly proportional to the amount of liquor consumed. Let's hope my partner agrees.
I've decided to do something productive with my evenings and take bartending lessons at a school in Toronto. I figured that while I'm giving my liver a workout I should at least know exactly what I'm putting through me.
The classes are two nights a week for four weeks. Three and a half hours just flies by, and not because we're all getting liquored up. In fact, for the most part we're just mixing coloured water and dumping our creations.
At first I was taking this just for personal interest, but the more classes I do, the more appealing a couple nights a week behind the bar sounds. Turnover is huge in the industry, so finding a job shouldn't be difficult.
There's also the "coolness" factor to it as well. Since 9/11 the undercover martials on airplanes would say they worked as accountants to anyone beside them wanting to chat. They used this because it pretty much killed the conversation as no one would inquire further about their profession, unless they met another accountant.
The same applies to me. I can just see people's eyes glaze over when I mention what I do for a living. Even more so if I get more specific and use the term "auditor". I figure by being a bartender, I would have both ends of the coolness spectrum covered when I meet someone new. It's like having a built-in conversation piece to walk around with.
I think after a few weeks behind the bar there would be little to distinguish me from a heterosexual Tom Cruise (like you saw in Cocktail). Just don't expect me to jump the couch anytime soon.
It's late and I'm tired but I promised a friend I would write something tonight, so here goes.
I had been having issues with a stuck window in my car for the last couple of days; since Tuesday the driver-side glass would not budge an inch. I just figured it was frozen or something, even though I had scraped all the ice away.
Last night my the way home from work I managed at last to move it down a smidgen. I gently tried to help it the rest of the way with my fingers and all of a sudden the whole pane of glass fell into the crevice of the door. Of course this had to happen on our coldest day of winter. I couldn't even park the car inside our garage (on account of it being too full of crap) so I left it outside, naked to the world.
This morning I dusted the snow from inside and prepared to freeze my nads off on the way to the dealership. And freeze I did. Even after the buttwarmers kicked in Mr. Happy had retreated so far back that it became an "innie". This was on top of all the strange looks I was getting from other drivers for letting the wind through my hair in the dead of winter. Good thing for them my hands were frozen to the wheel or else they would have been shown the middle icicle.
To add insult to injury, I found out today that my bumper-to-bumper everything-under-the-sun warranty coverage doesn't include glass repairs of any sort, even due to Acura using shitty glue on their windows. Had I known this I would have opened the door myself and busted the motor. That would have been covered.
Thanks to taxi service from Diane I have my car back and I made it more or less in time for bartending school (more on that later). Cars suck. Winter sucks. Time to trade it all in for a Foster's, a surf board and a beach in Australia.
The festive red envelope is emptied from the mailbox by the postman. He drives it to the distribution centre for sorting, where it goes to the "Really Really Urgent" pile despite the fact that only regular postage is affixed.
Marty McFly picks up the envelope and carries it to his silver Delorean. The red LED's in the dashboard read, "Australia. DEC 25 2006".
He hits the gas and the car hurtles down the road. 60 miles per hour. 70 miles per hour. 80. It reaches 88 miles per hour and the Flux Capacitor kicks in. The car vanishes in a trail of flaming rubber.
Thousands of miles away and almost two weeks in the past, a postman deposits the red envelope in the mailbox of a house near the beach in the town of Avalon, just outside of Sydney. The owner of the house opens the envelope and a feeling of holiday cheer washes over her.
... at least that's what I hope will happen when I send Kay her Christmas card today. Hooray for procrastination.
One of life's little pleasures that I thoroughly enjoy is getting my hair cut. Not only does it feel good to have my mop trimmed down to an acceptable level, but for just a few bucks more I get a wash as well.
This entitles me to a delightful scalp massage with warm water and a fragrant shampoo, all the while getting an eyeful of an attractive hairstylist as she leans over to lather me up.
The only way they could improve on this five minutes of bliss would be to finish it all off with a "happy ending". If that were the case I'd be getting my hair cut once a week, maybe more.
I wonder how many would misread the menu board offering a "Fluff & Blow Dry"?
Liquid-Plumbr is a neat little product. It comes as two separate liquids in a plastic bottle that get mixed and foam up when you pour them down the drain. Ten minutes later, no more clog.
I was thinking about this last night as I lay in bed with a cold I'd been battling all weekend. Participating in the usual New Year's festivities didn't help things.
There are few things more frustrating than having to mouth breathe while you sleep. I had already tried the Dristan and was eyeing the bottle of corrosive liquid lying on the ground.
Fortunately laziness won over discomfort and I left the "foaming pipe snake" in its place. Judging by all the warnings on the packaging I probably would have vapourized myself if I didn't.
As far as interior cleansings go however, I don't think you could get much cleaner. Who needs bran muffins?
As if taking bartending classes twice a week wasn't enough, I've also started ballroom dancing lessons with a couple girls from work, and one girl's boyfriend, through Mississauga Parks & Rec.
I've decided to do something productive with my evenings and take bartending lessons at a school in Toronto. I figured that while I'm giving my liver a workout I should at least know exactly what I'm putting through me.
It's late and I'm tired but I promised a friend I would write something tonight, so here goes.
The festive red envelope is emptied from the mailbox by the postman. He drives it to the distribution centre for sorting, where it goes to the "Really Really Urgent" pile despite the fact that only regular postage is affixed.
One of life's little pleasures that I thoroughly enjoy is getting my hair cut. Not only does it feel good to have my mop trimmed down to an acceptable level, but for just a few bucks more I get a wash as well.
Liquid-Plumbr is a neat little product. It comes as two separate liquids in a plastic bottle that get mixed and foam up when you pour them down the drain. Ten minutes later, no more clog.
