Things that aren't going to be awesome

Holiday staff party

1.) it's in the building
2.) it's on a tuesday in the afternoon and only goes until 7pm
3.) 2 drink tickets each MAX
4.) itsinthebuildingonatuesdaycashbar

c'mon! it should be the law that staff parties have to be total debauch fests with the company picking up the tab - to make up for the fact that we spend most of our lives breathing in recycled air and getting office bum (for the record i don't have office bum YET, but i'm sure it's only a matter of time)
the last broadcaster i worked for held their "holiday" party in february and as cheesy as it was, there was tons of food and all you can drink champagne.
yet another dagger in the debate between public and private.

mouse poopozao

Dream analysts claim that vermin (specifically rats and mice) represent the seedier, darker side of our subconcious. They allege that the image of rats in dreams calls up something so filthy, so tantalizing from the innards of one's mind that one has completely repressed these desires or thoughts in their waking life.

I have reoccurring and quite vivid dreams of rats and mice on an alarmingly regular basis.

For me the rats are representative of themselves. I find rats disgusting, terrifying and nauseating. The mere hallucination of one, scampering across my kitchen countertops is enough to send me in to a panicked state so intense, I have to keep a midnight vigil to ensure one such creature doesn't crawl up my butt while I'm asleep.

So you can imagine then, the horror I felt yesterday evening when I discovered tiny pellets of mouse poop behind the dish rack.

Really, I blame myself for having bragged across the city that I didn't have mice, not a one. Even after several naysayers claimed that everyone in Toronto had at least one mouse. Enraged, I said, "not me asshole." Well, hats off to you asshole, because I've got one.

I haven't actually seen the mouse, but I have thought I've seen the mouse at least twice now. Its mysterious brown droppings weave a trail leading to the back of the fridge, naturally the most inaccessible place in the whole apartment. And of course I can't get to the source of the problem, whatever mouse hole this disease-pig is crawling through to get in and out of his, no doubt, filthy mouse house.

So shortly after the poo discovery, or pooscovery as it were, I ran to the local corner shop to buy up their trove of mouse traps. Ugh, the inhumanity of choosing between sticky, rat sized fly paper or archaic and seemingly cruel (even for my most hated of all enemies) rat traps. I chose the more humane option of sticking a mouse in place via non-poisonous glue, left alive to scream its tiny screams of terror through the night. Of course if guilt gets the better of me, I can remove the mouse using oil. Preferrably scented lavender oil accompanied by a gentle, full-body mousessage.

As of this morning: Mouse:1 Niazi: 0
(meaning there are no screaming mice on any of my well placed traps. bugger!)