Small fish in a small pond...

Tonight I felt like a real, honest-to-goodness, journalist.

I left the office at 5:30, then had an hour and a half to kill before council. So I found this classy pub...

(Oh ya... by the way... I have, like an internship and junk. I'm, like, totally almost done school. I'm a friggin' grown-up)

And I had this awesome dinner, read the agenda, grabbed a coffee and walked down to the town hall.

(It's a weekly newspaper, community owned, in a small town. I commute.)

I love township council. I thought I loved Toronto City Council. But it's seriously, the highlight of my week. There are only 5 councillors, the regional councillor and the mayor (as well as a treasurer, CAO, clerk and deputy clerk.)

That's 11, for those keeping count. Toronto has 44 councillors alone. Even TDSB has bigger meetings than the Township.

I talk to the mayor once a week. Press has its own desk in the council chambers. Press is consulted for lunch breaks. Free coffee. Councillor2 and I are on a friendly, first-name basis. Councillor4 is following me on Twitter.

Council meets on Mondays, and I spend Sunday nights giddy with anticipation.

I've fallen hard for municipal politics. And to think, this time last year, I was dreading covering the municipal election.

But there's always something quick and dirty at a council meeting (story, that is.) I love the 'average Joes' who come out to watch. And you get to know some of the personalities through the cast of characters that parade in, to speak to council.

Sometimes, I wished I lived there.

Ya, I'm pretty much done with Toronto. Maybe another year in the city, and then it's off to greener pastures for me. Will I be gone forever? Fuck no, I'm a city girl after all. But 5 years? 10?

(I asked a question during council. And it wasn't a stupid question. But I got nervous.... LAME.)

Which brings me to another point. I'm SHY in Township. ME, who called out deputy chair, John Parker in an interview. Who had the first interview with Jane Pitfield after her defeat to, well, Mr. Parker.

I think... in Toronto I feel I can be forgotten. If I fuck up, I'm just yet another faceless media. But in a town with only a handful of reporters and a handful of sources, you can't have annonymity. And people know who I am. People remember me. And let's face it, I know fuck-all about small towns. I feel I don't even know the lingo anymore.

One thing's for certain: I love municipal politics, whether in a small town or the big city. I'm curious to cover it provincially and federally. Hmm... maybe I can convince Doc (my boss) that I should cover the next provincial shindig. Our MPP is presenting a private members bill about commercial fill, which is a HUGE "hot-button issue" in town.

(Ya see what I did there, right? I said "our" MPP.)

Oh, on a somewhat related note, I've decided I want to be a municipal politician when my hypothetical children are in high school. I was going to run for trustee, but now I'm wondering about small-town councillor. Oooh or finally realize my life-long dream of marrying a farmer.

Here's a treat:

Mmmm... panic

So I've neglected my poooooor Twitter. (I start too many posts with 'So' I think...)

And there's really no excuse. I update FB a thousand times a day via text. Twitter is just as simple.

But I'm an attention whore. And 90% of tweets go unread. And I can't sign on to FB without a notification.

So I actually went onto Twitter today, followed some of my friends who added me eons ago (sorry) and updated my ridiculously out-of-date profile.

Next stop... the blog... and I just can't bring myself to update my "about me" section. It means erasing The Observer, The Courier and even my retail job (naw, didn't quit, but I'm now part-time).

I'm pathetic.

In moronic news... I sent a verrrrrry stupid text to Irish. Or, at least I thought it was to Irish. I just assumed she was the last person I texted (and usually, she is... I need a bf...)

So, who was the last person I texted?!? TWITTER. F....M....L....!

In an unexpected twist of irony, my effort to utilize Twitter more has made me NEVER want to use twitter EVER again.

I realized my error almost immediately. And then panicked, trying to figure out how to delete the tweet.

On a possibly related note... I think that if you've found my Twitter, then surely you've been here too... And I just wanted you to know... that I googled you. And even though I may have more to hide, you have more to lose. (Why does this sound like a threat? I wanna be your friend, but I don't know what the rules are...)

This is why you're an asshole...

It's not often that you get stabbed in the heart and the back simultaneously.






*Just let me be a drama queen, I'll calm down.

Fuck titles...

Mainly, I don't know what to write. I don't know who I am and who I want to be and blah blah blah all that angsty J.D.Sallinger crap.

I'm starting to look at other chick's blogs, thinking, 'this bitch is fucked' and I don't really want to be that bitch. Also, don't want to be the bitch who calls other bitches, bitch.

I realize it's 2011. But all I wanna do is watch Jersey Shore. Fuck goal-setting and reevaluating your life.