Olgs does runway and is still sick

I just about started writing this in third person but midway into the topic sentence I was already annoyed. I don’t know if writing in third person is more juvenile or pompous. I haven’t figured that out yet. And now for a brief update:

1. Had my first real runway show on the weekend. Doing runway is really quite entertaining. It involves sitting backstage for 4 hours with 24 emaciated 16 year olds waiting for the show to start. Needless to say the pubescent claws were out in full force.

2. The disease I contracted last week has now morphed into some strange condition in which I have a symbiotic relationship with some kind of slippery grey creature who resides in my lungs. Too much? Sorry.

3. A part of the deal made with my parents to allow me to live the frivolous lifestyle of a slashy this year was the promise that I would apply to and attend some kind of graduate school in September of 2006. Seeing as the deadlines for applications are approaching, I figure I have two weeks now to:

-write the GRE
-write a statement of intent
-find 3 profs who don’t think I’m a total retard
-write 2 essays on 2 different topics
-come up with a documentary proposal

It’s like a full course load and I’m not even in school. Leaving it to the last minute is just my way of keeping the experience authentic - I don’t think that I handed anything in on time during my 4 years at U of T.

I fell in love with a place in my mind

Today is officially my first day as a full time slashy. I have shed the shackles of corporate Canada to live the unorthodox life of a model/actress/bartender (the last of the three components of slashy-ism serving as the only reliable source of income). I woke up this morning at 10 am (10 am! Post morning rush hour! No more subway commutes complete with weirdos and unidentified touching) hoping to do all of those things that only those without day jobs do: Watch daytime tv, run errands to government offices, workout at a nearly empty gym. However I opened my mouth to let out a small cry of glee only to have a bizarre silent squawk escape my lips. Of course. My first day of freedom has to see me sicker than I have been in a really long time.

I got out of bed and crawled to the bathroom where I proceeded to ingest any and all tablets and syrups my medicine cabinet had to offer. I then assumed the fetal position on the couch and have only moved slightly since. I have called everyone I know to come take care of me/keep me company, however I am beginning to realize that perhaps this change of career and pace is going to be a lonely one…. Everyone I know is a nine-to-fiver.

Happy Birthday to the bestest coolest Dad in the whole wide world

Happy 50th Birthday Tatus!

I want to be like you when I grow up.

Fa la la la la la la la la la la

Is there any place left on Earth that is immune to Christmas? If so, how do I get there?