Je Me Souviens

Remember that time, about two months ago, when I was talking all that shit about missing people and being lonely and needing to connect with everyone. Yeah... Fuck that nonsense.

It's all coming back to me; the reasons I hate humans: They're rude. They're greedy. They're wasteful. They're stupid. They lie. And, they can't drive.

Biscotti and Americano are all I need

Let's start with people and Romaine Lettuce. It has been linked to 22 cases of E. Coli illnesses in three provinces - only 4 cases in Ontario - and has not killed one person. To call this an "outbreak" is really pushing it in my opinion. But, because the fucking masses have spread their memes all over facebook, every moron who gets the tiniest piece of green on their plate has to call me over to make sure I'm not trying to kill them with my Devil's Lettuce. Meanwhile, there were 166 confirmed cases of salmonella from chicken in Ontario in the past year. But, I don't hear anyone questioning me about all the pounds and pounds of wings they order every Tuesday. 

Speaking of work, servers like myself form pretty close bonds while sharing common pet peeves in the workplace. In the service industry, it's us against them - ALL OF THEM. The kitchen, the managers, the guests and even the suppliers who want to deliver big boxes of stuff in the middle of lunch rush. However, sometimes, in the worst of establishments, there are servers who work against other servers. They refuse to be part of the team, won't run anyone else's food, or clean anyone else's tables. And then, there are are what we call the Table-stealers. 

Case in point, I arrive to work at 8 a.m. on Saturday to prepare for several large groups. One group of 35 people is in the section next to mine and takes up two of my tables in a five table section. (This is starting to sound alot like a math equation. Please try to keep up.) To make up for it, I've taken a "4 Top" from another section. The most action I can have for the next hour and a half is 16 people. Which is fine. The server next to me gets 35 guaranteed sales and I get half of that if I'm lucky.

This isn't fair. It just isn't. So, I filed my grievance with the United Service Workers of No One Gives a Shit About Your Problems and was promptly told that I should suck it up. In response, I grumble under my breath, "I'll just go over here and fuck myself, I guess."

To be fair, the service gods giveth and the service gods taketh away. I would probably end up making good money anyway. Regardless, as soon as the table of 35 people had food in front of them, didn't that sneaky little so-and-so grab a family at my borrowed 4 Top before I knew they were even sitting down! Meet the Table-stealer! I can't actually call her anything worse because, TBH, I think she's pretty cool... when she's not stealing tables. Meanwhile, half of my section is taken up with her party and she doesn't have to care if they camp out there all day. 

I'm fairly communist in my service industry beliefs. My dad calls me a "Fucking Lefty" all the time, actually - "From each according to his abilities, Dad!" I just think, if I can help you and you can help me, the restaurant runs smoothly and the kitchen doesn't see the hot food getting cold, then the guests aren't suffering from low blood sugar and they think the place is great so they keep coming back. Win fucking win. Everyone is happy.

Which brings me to today and how unhappy I am. Granted, I'm passive aggressive as fuck. I know this. I (usually) try to keep my opinions and my disappointment inside because I know the effect of harsh words (unless they're written online and that doesn't count). I know my anger is usually the result of being tired and hungry. Sometimes, tired of being broke and hungry for peace of mind. Instead of calmly asking for what I want, I try to practice patience and humility. Well, that never works and I end up wanting to pull down my pants and shit in a coffee shop so I can throw fecal matter at my sworn enemies. Lol. Did you see that video?! It wasn't me, but it very well could have been.

So, today, I wanted to go see a Swedish Film at the local Art Gallery. I like artsy shit like that, as I've clearly displayed in my #fluteandshoot twerking video. When I got downtown, I discovered my cell phone car charger was pooched and my phone was dead. No problem. Quick charge at the mall and I was back in business with minutes to spare at the art gallery. 

I arrived at the "box office", which was a table with one clerk, some pamphlets, and a cash box. One woman was purchasing a ticket and asking all kinds of bullshit questions. Another was waiting to buy her ticket and prepping to ask more of the same bullshit questions. Like the polite Canadian I am, I stood well back from the transaction to allow for personal space and waited to pay my admission. Meanwhile, the elevator doors open behind me and a throng of pushy, brassy, obnoxious women herd right past me and start asking bullshit questions and demanding admission. 

I said what I always say, somewhat under my breath, as I try to find some zen and humility: "I'll just go over here and fuck myself, I guess."

Can't throw it if I can't make it

I tried waiting patiently for my turn. But, more and more people were showing up and I realized, with every new arrival, I was getting more and more anxious and uncomfortable. I just wanted to NOT have to interact with anyone. I would much rather eat popcorn in a basement with Netflix.

So, I went to the Cannabis Convention instead. I'm not interested in Cannabis. I don't have any significant body pain, I don't like the way it makes me feel, I don't mind the smell, but it just isn't for me. I just thought it would be interesting and I assumed there would be good food there. You know, for when everyone gets the munchies? Once again, I was disappointed. Not so much as a bag of Doritos. Thankfully, I didn't pay the $15 admission because they were basically shutting the place down by 4:20 p.m. 

Phone still dead, I ended up getting the new Google Pixel at the mall. While transferring my data, the salesperson noticed my screensaver said, "I Hate Everyone". She laughed and then she said, "That really just made my day." We bonded over stories of mutual hatred for our species, heightened by the Black Friday experience and maybe even the full moon, and I wished her the best of luck for the rest of the season. Then, I grabbed a Beaver Tail from across the street, repeatedly said "No" to four panhandlers asking for change as I walked to my car, and drove back to the solace of my basement room where I will spend the rest of the night in blissful solitude.

I don't really hate everyone. Naomi from Telus is on my list of people to save during the apocalypse.

Sherla the Logophile Trains for a New Career

     Here I am in Ottawa! It's the 5th time in my adult life that I've moved in with Jodi because she's one of the few people in the world I can stand for more than a couple of days. So far, so good. 

Welcome Home

     My housemates are all actors, so there is alot of creative energy. Someone is learning a new song on the piano, someone is making Youtube videos, someone is baking pie, someone is doing flips in the living room... the point is, I'm in heaven. Anything I want to do is not only encouraged, it's supported. Including my childhood dream of becoming a voice actor. 

     Side note: I didn't know I wanted to be a voice actor as a child. I just remember reading all of my books out loud using different voices. I also made myself read each sentence perfectly, without tripping over a word and enunciating every syllable. I would try to get through every paragraph in one breath. Sometimes, I would even read the words backwards so I could pretend I spoke a different language.

     Within hours of arriving in O-Town, I somehow mentioned this obsession with words to Jodi. I won't call it an unusual obsession. One thing I've discovered in my 40s: you only THINK it's unusual because no one has talked to you about it. Let your freak flags fly and you will find your tribe! Anyway, she immediately found me a voice acting class that just happened to be starting the following Monday. 

     I got my first assignment via e-mail before I even attended a class. We had to memorize a poem that has since been etched into my brain forever. I have recited it fast, slow, quiet, loud, high-pitched and Barry White-esque. Oh, and I've had to say it while sticking out my tongue. https://youtu.be/nE9HhSxlzvk

     Also, we were to practice beatboxing, or making your mouth become a drum machine. AKA: A thing there is no fucking way I am going to be able to do. You know how you sign yourself up for something, or you agree to go to an event that you're kind of excited about, and then you realize you were very, very wrong to do so? Yeah, that's happened to me a couple of times.

     I'll give you a link to the tutorial, but the basic premise of my beatboxing experience is getting your mouth to do two different things while your nose and throat are doing something different. Something they really don't want to do. Like humming and kissing and spitting at the same damn time. In the end I found it fascinating, but I could have choked to death. 

     I arrived at my first class the way I used to arrive at Bible Study - verses memorized and looking forward to the food afterward. But, my first impressions were very positive and I left feeling determined and inspired, albeit, a little hungry.

     There is a good mix of people at my Power of Voice class; people of different ages, ethnicities, heights and weights. But, they all seem like good people... except for one. She used to be a teacher. I know this because she mentions it every half hour at least. She's a know it all, a grammar Nazi, she hates millennials (or anyone born after 1980), her husband, the fact that she is old, and that no one appreciates an Oxford comma. She likes to recite lines from obscure plays and then acts surprised when no one knows what she's talking about. Then, she reminds herself, out loud, how unrefined the rest of us are. She takes every opportunity to tell the young people in the class that they are inferior because none of them can put together a sentence properly and they frustrate her with their pop culture nonsense. She told the one adult male in our class that he could only ever get parts for old wizards and dwarves. 

     Let it be known, this woman ran in front of my car as we were leaving our final class last night, and I resisted the urge to run her over. 

     We did a recap of the things we've learned in the last month and I will tell you all you need to know about becoming a voice actor (IMHO). 

Let your freak flag fly and you'll find your tribe

1. Practice your consonants. Say them all loudly and proudly. Sing Selena Gomez' song "Love You Like A Love Song" and try to enunciate every L, every P, every V... I swear she uses all the digraphs in there, too. (Digraph: Proof that I learn new shit every day.)
2. Practice your breathing. Conserve your breath. Make plans where you're going to take your breaths in sentences. Sing Adele songs. "Someone Like You" is a real bitch to plan your breathing around, but so is "Water Under the Bridge". 
3. Exercise your tongue. Yeah, you thirsty bitches out there know what I'm talking about ;) Tongue Twisters are great. Let your tongue know who's boss. Touch every one of your teeth as quickly as you can. Then, try to spit some simplistic pimp shit. Channel your inner Cardi B.
4. English is fuct. You can actually start fights over how something is pronounced. For fun, invite a room full of people to recite The Chaos Poem by Gerard Nolste Trenite. More drama than playing Monopoly. 
5. Expect to be spit on while working as an actor. I am not going to practice this. I am just going to hope it never happens. There are few things in the world I like less than spit, except maybe middle aged, narcissistic teachers with a penchant for insults and being right all the time.