A Million Little Pieces of a Blog Entry

I literally have had a million things a day race through my mind: things that are interesting and thoughtful and perhaps have the possibility to change a small part of the world. So I think to myself all the time "I am definitely going to blog about this". But here I am at 1:50 in the morning, winding down from a long shift at the restaurant, sitting at my computer with nothing to say. I almost feel like the drive to be perfect or to have the 'perfect entry' is stopping me from saying anything at all.

Here were some of the things I wanted to tell you about, but now can't be bothered to get into:
1. I think I'm going to be a canadian bobsledder. At 22 years of age, I don't think there's any other way I'm going to make it into the Olympics. There's a girl who goes to U of T, got recruited to the bobsled team in OCTOBER, and is now in Turin. I need this hook up! I mean, I've got nice strong legs. I could push a sled 50 meters and hop in. I could take the bumping around. This is the Olympic mentality!
(just in care you think my reasons aren't legit, I have a friend named Adam Say who is pictured below, who wants to be an Olympic speedskater just so that he can wear the skintight wind cutting body suit that highlights his weiner. So there)


2. Our kitchen counter (which I am excited about because it's from Ikea) is elevated off the floor by little legs so that the cupboards don't scrape the tile when we open them. Underneath the counter, therefore, there is a 2-inch high dark space that we like to call "THE OUBLIETTE" (the name, of course, taken from the movie "Labrinyth" with Davie Bowie, where there is an Oubliette for prisoners -or a 'hole of forgetting'- with the only entrance in the ceiling. Fine. Oubliette at 83 Borden comes into play because I obviously have bad housekeeping karma, and instead of putting my dust into a dust bin, I sweep it into the Oubliette. The Oubliette is now filthy, smelly, and poofs big piles of dust into the air whenever we move our kitchen rug. Our house therefore, is never really clean, and the next person who moves in and dares to shift those Ikea counters around is going to have to deal with the wrath of David Bowie from the 1980s.

Well, with those pearls of wisdom, I officially sign off for the night. Who knows? Maybe I'll be smarter and less awkward tomorrow.