Why Boobin Needs A Cell Phone

My celebrity sightings at the restaurant have increased two points to...I think 4 or 5 now. Today, Mats Sundin stopped in for an early breakfast with his female friend. This happened around the 9am hour...around the time that Boobin was just lolling around amongst the stacks of books at Chapters, only a few storefronts down. See, had he had a pager or a cell phone, I could have called him and told him about Mats's surprise visit and Boobin could easily have been stalking lolling around the restaurant with me instead. Ah well. I'm sure Mats will stop in again if he hasn't already left for some ice-time in...where ever he might be going. And if you're wondering who the other celebrity point is for, it's just for Mats--I'm sure at least Boobing would agree that Mats counts for two points himself.

On a nearly entirely other note, after working at the restaurant this weekend, I've come to the conclusion that I want babies. Lots of them. They don't necessarily have to be mine, but I want babies. They're just so CUTE!

Well, His Days Were Cool

On Monday, my first table of the day turned out to be a business meeting trio. Being the first table of the day to serve, I figured that I'd give them the best service I had, but alas, when the bill was paid (with an Amex Corporate Card, no less) I was tipped a mere 9%. After the trio walked out of the restaurant, one of the other servers came over to inform me that I had just served ex-Premier of Ontario, Bob Rae. Figures.

Out Of The Dog-House

Because I haven't posted in so long, it would seem as though I'd never gotten over that starry night. The truth is, all was forgiven and forgotten by the next day (actually, later that same day to be more exact) and I have been taken star-gazing since and managed to acquaint myself with at least two new constellations. "Could Have" has now become "Have."
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Back From The Dead

A half explanation: Boston NACIVT 2004.
An extra quarter of the explanation:

As for the rest, you'll just have to ask for the link.
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No Excuse

A public apology needs to be made not for my hiatus from blogging, but more so from my hiatus from emailing. I have no excuse, just an apology. Especially for the one the following letter is for:

Dear, dear, dear, dear Little Sean,

I'm sorry. I never changed my email address, and I hope you never change yours. The lame excuse: "I was SO busy." The real excuse: I don't have one. For you, the one who was always there to literally lend me support, there are no words which I could hope to use in order to deem me worthy of forgiveness. I can just cross my fingers and wish my hardest that this public apology and letter will at least have you writing to me once again. I miss you.

The short:
    I have been busy.
The long:
    I got a new job over the summer as you may or may not have read about. I'm the server that commutes too far to work too long for not enough money that loathes her boss and hates the uniform but enjoys her co-workers and even more so enjoys her regular and surprise/interesting clients. They tell me I have a nice smile which always makes me smile some more. Despite their kind words and gestures, I tell myself that I've started looking for another job.

I played volleyball at least twice a week, though sometimes as many as five times a week. It was never too much. All that court time culminated in the Labour Day Long-Weekend tournament randomly picture above. A blast, just like last year.

Through volleyball, I met "The Guy." He is so named because he is not Guy B, and he is not even Guy A; he is "The Guy" because there are no others. I know, Little Sean, that you once called me a walking, raging hormone, and indeed, you were correct. But I'd like to think that I rage no more. We'll talk.

I stopped checking my emails. There is just TOO much spam. I hate spam. You're a computer guy, help me. My MailWasher program still takes too much effort out of me when trying to disern which Penis Enlargement emails ARE for me and which aren't. I end up spending more time deleting than I do actually reading or writing anything. I just gave up. I've resolved to try sifting through the junk one last time, but after that, you and I may just have to call each other.

Another thing hampering my email checks is the fact that my beloved Brodder is gone. He's up and moved out to University Life on me. Now that he's gone and no longer a fixture in front of the computer monitor, my parents tend to actually turn the computer off at the end of the day. It's strange. I never thought it would make a difference in my life, but now, even though it takes only 25 seconds for the CPU to boot up and present me with my Windows XP desktop, I more often than not couldn't be bothered to wait that long. It's just not the same.

Now that summer's out and school is in, well, I'm back at school. Hopefully that means more time for me to spend waiting here for the computer to turn on and my email to run through various spam cleaners. We'll see how it turns out. But in the meantime, I will clean my Inboxes and discover what hateful messages you may have sent there (since those are the only kind I should deserve from you at this point). I hope you're still well, I hope that Rogers has reinstated your web-access/download capabilities (Brodder was in awe of you when I told him that you actually downloaded enough to be cut off), I hope the love of your life is well (I'm speaking both of your comics and of your girlfriend), and I hope you'll forgive me and give me another undeserved, yet fighting chance to be your friend.

Always yours,

mel of the hood.

Readers, hope for me.