You are a federal holiday

It is Friday so it is pretend to look like you are actually working when really you are shopping online for slutty birthday dresses and also reading blogs day. The blogs, they are good today. Thank you collective Canadian blogging community, you are entertaining.

I have also been looking around the internets for interesting things to do with a boy if and when he returns and if and when he decides to telephone. I am thinking local music or obscure art gallery but I am finding lame-o events instead. It is no matter, I don't even know when he is coming back. I don't ask questions like that because (a) I don't really care and (b) I get annoyed when people ask me things like that. One of those statements might be fictional.

Today I went to my most favorite sandwich shop in all of little downtown STP. It is slightly ghetto-fied but they have all the things stupid Subway does not, like sprouts, avocados, and garlic bread. In all of my years of supporting their business there has never been a tip jar. This surprises me because this is America and people expect you to tip them if they hold the door open for you. Taped to this tip jar there was a portrait of two gorgeous children. The little girl had barrettes in her hair that matched the color of her shoes and the little boy had the cutest afro EVER. What kind of con-artist tapes pictures of their children that scream "I am a single mom and my kinds are gorgeous and please help give them a good life by leaving a generous tip in this here jar. Thanks!" A really good con-artist. I left a $3 tip for a $6 sandwich. I don't even like children!!!!

I am a sucker and it is because I always make these little stories in my head about how people's lives must suck and how I should fix it by giving them money. For instance, the waitress at Applebee's must have four illegitimate children with different fathers and is beat by her boyfriend every night but only stays with him because he pays the rent. In real life she probably lives at home, goes to community college, and drives her daddies Lexus. The lesson is, tell me your life sucks and I will probably buy you dinner.

School resumes on Tuesday. Fuck shit fuck I haven't finished that English course and I haven't bothered to look at my grades from fall semester. I know, you are disappointed. All I have to do is put some words on some paper about books and poems I have already read one thousand times. That is exactly why I can't do it. BORING. I even have to write an essay explaining the strengths and weaknesses of Eliot and the instructions specifically say not to be overt about your hatred for the man. Impossible. The hatred will consume the syllables and there will be secret code words embedded between the lines and when you put them together they will say, "Eliot is the devil".

Oh well, I made a concerted effort to pay attention to my use of the past tense today when I wrote an essay during my lunch break. I also avoided using sentence structures requiring which and that because when I read over some stuff I have written recently I am annoyed by my reliance on those stupid words.