Click the post title to see the album.

I have to say that Monday was the best Halloween I have ever had in a long time. The street was festive, the good costumes were abundant and there was a definite drop in the WTF category of outfits. You know the ones I mean. Guys and gals in kabuki wigs… and that’s it. Their entire prep time from conceputalizing their idea to out the door: 2 minutes, which makes people ask them “What the fuck are you suppose to be?” Sharkboy and I usually just point and laugh at these people and I admit that they do provide a certain degree of street-fodder, making the people who spent time, money or both, look good in comparison, but a boa over your regular street clothes does not make you all mysterious and halloweenie. It makes you look lazy.

Which brings me to Sharkboy’s and my costume. Like them? Sharkboy went as the Littlest Hobo Dog. I was your basic Cat. We found these cute adorable masks in Vermont that when you press on the nose, they either barked or meowed loudly in a tinny, corrupt digital sound file way. Now, I realize my tail wasn’t big and bushy like a cat’s but I did have the ears. All day and all night, I was called other animals other than a cat: A rat! A dog! A mouse! A Playboy Bunny! (I swear to god) I bet if I had a large billboard sign that said CAT on it, I would have been called an aardvark or something. I was going to go out and grab that board game “Mousetrap” and carry that around with me all day and hope that drunk people caught on, but that would have confused things, I am sure. However, Sharkboy and I managed to get ourselves photographed a lot. It was the first time I have ever been asked for a picture so I was having a ham-it-up-n-cheese blast!

My fave costume? Halo’s Master Chief. The guy could barely move with all the Japanese and Geek cameras going off. Second runner up was the 5th Element Opera Star in the bubble. Great costume, but bizzare execution for a busy street.

Enjoy the pics!

Proof that you should leave hairy chests alone.

Why do teen girls wear those track pants with words printed across their butts? It makes them look whorish. Especially when they choose words like “Baby” or “Wiiiiide Load”.

I’m just sayin.

Have you ever got yourself into something you’re not entirely cool with but yet you muster through anyway? The wind today at ROTC practice was brutal (Sharkboy claims that a tornado tried to take someone’s dog out back of my apartment building while I was in the shower). I couldn’t keep step, I dropped my flag a couple times and I think out of the 20-30 times we ran through the performance I got it right twice. I’m glad I’m only doing 4 parades instead of all of them. I don’t have the same feeling I did for this season as I did last year. I just feel uncomfortable, I guess. Show must go on, says Freddie.

I dont know how I am going to get through this week without peeing my pants. We’re 6 sleeps away from Miami and the cruise (that sounds like a Gloria Estafan concept album…) and I am already excited like a Japanese school girl at a cell phone convention. I tried on my old suit tonight for the formal dinners and hoooo boy it was tight. Despite my gym appearances. Okay so the last three weeks I haven’t been going – too excited! And now I’m paying for it. I’ve started a list of things I MUST take with me like The Davinci Code and my camera. Yeah I know. 2 years behind a bad trend. That’s me!

I’ve been trying to push through as much freelance work as possible and 99% of all my clients have happily been co-operative except for one client. Mine is the typical freelance sob story of a designer doing work for a committee-based client and firing off an invoice the day the work is done. Designer proceeds to sit by his mailbox 2 weeks… three weeks… 7 weeks… After a few emails and promises of payment, it looks like the designer won’t be para-sailing at Labadee. ‘Nuff said about that.

If you get a hankering for a funny, indie gay movie, rent Girls Will Be Girls. Its a movie of rapid fire drag queen rimshots while stealing…er…borrowing from All About Eve, Mildred Pierce, Psycho, Armageddon and a Jerry Lewis Telethon all rolled into one. One memorable line:

Varla: My mother always said, “Feelings are like treasures, so bury them.”

Last week the TTC announced the Pizzazz Me contest (http://www.toronto.ca/ttc/pizzazzme.htm) to improve the rider experience. Winners get a metropass!

Holy. Crap.

It’s quite clear that none of the TTC marketing department actually use the TTC. Okay I know that “they’re trying” and that if it’s so awful then they’re just doing their part to make the travelling experience a bit better. But if they actually used the service, then they’d be all “pizzazzed” over the guy I, and the rest of the northbound Yonge car had to deal with this morning. Long off his meds, this gentleman could only wander up and down the length of the car mumbling in high pitched squeaks. His pants boasted his inabilitiy to hold his bladder (thankfully this was a fresh accident because he amazingly had not started to smell of urine). He moved up and down the length of the car parting passengers like Moses. Nobody did anything.

Here’s my Pizzazz Me suggestion: Take the money from the marketing and prizes for this stupid contest and fund at lease one new security guard position. One guard will make a difference.

I’m taking things to the Dry Cleaners this morning.

I AM AN ADULT NOW!

I have recently discovered that I can make chicken soup. I’m pretty darn good at it. Its the only thing I know how to make that involves boiling the crap out of all your ingredients. How very English. Now if I could only make Nachos soup. That would be cool.

90% of all my underwear have a hole in it somewhere. I am comfortable with that.

I kill plants. Last night I went to bed with my orchid soaking in water. Squishy was only suppose to soak for 15 minutes and wound up swimming for 7 hours. When I took him out of the bath this morning, a leaf fell off. Not good for an orchid. O’Reilly, the shamrock, looks incredibly ratty for some reason and I don’t know why. Dad has moved to South America for a month and was the only person who could save him.

I am totally in love with Devil Girl from Mars. It is like The Day The Earth Stood Still meets Coronation Street meets Mars Needs Women, but the alien is a woman, she’s evil and the pub she frequents is bigger.

And I have to agree with Ms Notwellplanned. Corrie suddenly got very very good. I’m loving Katie’s blurty guilt freaks. And the hypno-ex-boyfriend. HAWT!

Reminder to Sharkboy: we need to make vacation anklets and gay crap like that.

At $49,999 it’s a steal! Who cares if it’s a copy!?

I folded shirts for THE CRUISE last night! So far the t-shirt count is hovering at about 8. That might go up.

Underwear: 9 pair
Socks: 8 pair
Swimwear: 3 pair
Pants: 0
Shoes: 3
T-shirts: 8
Dress Shirts: 3
Ties: 2
Suit: 1

If you would like to buy flowers, champagne, or colouring books for our arrival on the boat, you can do so at Royal Caribbean’s online shop (Oh come on! People post their “Amazon Wish Lists”, secretly hoping that some bored and/or lonely late night internet surfer comes across their list and says to him/herself “Golly! I think I will toss money at this stranger…”! How is this different?)

No. I will not stand at the bow of the ship and do any stupid Titanic impersonations.

Clothing update!

Underwear: 9 pair
Socks: 10 pair
Swimwear: 3 pair
Pants: 3
Dress shorts: 2
Gym shorts: 2
Shoes: 3
T-shirts: 9
Dress Shirts: 5
Ties: 2
Suit: 1
Windbreaker: 1
Day Trip Bags: 2
Sunglasses: 2
notebook: 1

I can’t frigging wait!!! Its like I have bees in my pants…fighting the ants!!

I was reminded just how beautiful life is.

Imagine having an albatross put around your neck and for years, you faithfully drag it around like an ancient mariner, kowtowing to it’s needs. You’re forced to pull you down, peck your eyes, hang off your neck – change you. At first you rage against the bird, tearing at it’s feathers and clawing at it’s beak but it’s not going anywhere. In time you accept the bird, the weight, and it becomes a part of you. Years go by.

One day someone comes from nowhere and takes the giant bird from you and replaces it with a much smaller, quieter, gentler bird. Would you be stunned? Would you be happy? Would you be mad?

I was. All three. At the same time.

I had a smaller bird given to me today. A weight removed and light came streaming in. And I stood there and blubbered and laughed and cried, much to Sharkboy’s surprise. I couldn’t stop. I had to get it out.

Despite the crazy people on the subway, the insane jerks who think that god and guns are a way to solve problems, the myopic people in power, the interweb freaks blogging about their opinions, the crummy weather, life is incredibly precious. I am grateful for every moment, every experience I have had. I plan to laugh my tits off this week. I suggest to you do the same. Promise me that sometime this week you stop what you’re doing and notice the good things around you, with you, on you.

Promise me that you will laugh. It doesn’t have to be complex set up. In fact to find the good stuff you need to just stop, step back, and observe. Its that simple.

Okay the syrupy stuff is done. I will bring you all drunken sea monkeys from Belize.

Have an excellent week!