Plus, a guy pretending to be Marilyn Monroe (no mention of marriage to the Doctor), and another guy pretending to be a Playboy Bunny.
Seriously. Awesome people.
In other news, I have two essays due on Friday that I haven't started because OH GOD MOFFAT WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?!?!? SOMEONE ANSWER THE QUESTION ON THE COVER OF DWM ALREADY!
So I was on the bus, sitting near the back, reading a magazine with my headphones in. I was the only one there. Then, this guy came on and sat right by me. He was mentally disabled, so my tactic of looking completely absorbed in what I was doing wasn't exactly completely effective. He brought out his stuffed toy duck, who was wrapped in a blanket, and told me that she was in a car accident with him, and the hospital had wrapped her in a blanket and put a neck brace on her, and that the neck brace they put on him in the ambulance had had duckies on it. I did my best to be polite, and pet Gracie when he asked me too, but when we got off at the same stop, I walked away a bit quicker than usual. I have enough trouble ending conversations with people who can pick up on social cues, and I really didn't want to push Gracie around in a cart.
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In other weird work news, the other day was my second ever floor shift. On floor, you have to do theatre checks, basically go into each theatre, make sure the movie's running properly and the theatre is at a comfortable temperature, and that no ones doing anything they shouldn't be. We have Gulliver's Travels right now, so I spent an extra long time checking that one in order to see Catherine Tate, because I'm seriously still in love with Donna forever and ever. More interesting than that, when I went into Love and Other Drugs, what do I see but Anne Hathaway's boobs. Honestly, not what I had expected when I woke up that morning.
You know what's weird? When I'm working in the box office, people sometimes ask me if I've seen whatever movie they're thinking about going to. The answer is usually no. They always act surprised. I don't get it. Yeah, I get free movies, but I don't have the time or inclination to go to every freaking movie. Don't act so shocked when you find out I haven't been to Saw 3D or some chick flick.
Okay, I'm procrastinating just a little. Can you tell I have a ~2000 word essay for English due on Tuesday? And a report for Pop Music due then as well? And a ~3100 word 'blog' for Classics due Thursday? None of which I've started. And I work for ~10 hours tomorrow. And I have to renew my driver's license before the end of the month. This week is gonna be fun.
( AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME )
The crazy thing about this is, we were just talking earlier about how none of us are serious Bieber fans, or Bieber fans of any sort really, but we still all had mild fangirl reactions to him. It's just that it's rare enough that celebrities come through the area, even for concerts and stuff, that to see someone, anyone!, was insane. Especially to see them at the damn cheap theatre!
My sister had writing camp this week, and today she mentioned how one of the authors there was saying how everyone has a story, or something to say, and that it was a great message and total truefax. But then, the next author came up and was all "Yeah, I disagree with her. You don't need a story to tell. I once wrote a poem, I don't know what it means now, and I didn't know what it meant then." I chose to play Guess-the-annoying-idiotic-author game. "R.P. MacIntyre?" (And yes, I had to google how to spell that.) We went on to have a nice rant about what an egotistical douche he is. He talked at our school when I was in grade 12, and was also at writing camp that year. I hate him with a passion. He doesn't seem to write because he wants to, or even because he likes to, but just because he somehow gets a paycheck. And that just rubs me the wrong way. And he's just creepy.
Oh, and hello to new friends!!
My one sister was also delighted, but I wouldn't let her near them (if my stuff gets broken, it's usually her fault).
My other sister basically rolled her eyes at me for being a nerd (whatever miss SRC first vice-president).
And my mom, well, she thought it would be an actual screwdriver. One that, you know, drove screws. She resolved to pay more attention to what I buy online. I am left wondering, who buys screwdrivers online?