First off, everybody wipes their butts. Unless you have an unfortunate health condition, in which case, be consoled by the fact that you don't have to buy toilet paper, because that stuff is expensive. I have searched for creative solutions for cutting back on toilet paper, but really, its just something you have to have.
I have taken to swiping full rolls of toilet paper from public places and am on my way to being a full on cat-burglar (I was going to use some sweet wordplay there, but apparently "scat" no longer just means regular ol' poop). One time I almost stole a roll of toilet paper off of a cleaning lady's cart, but lets just pretend I did. I did take a roll of toilet paper from the library once though, because the dispenser was broken and the cover had flung open.
I have held jobs where I have to clean bathrooms so I know a bit more about toilet paper dispensers than the next man. I know that the keys to the dispensers are either made of very thin plastic with large grooves, or are just a simple zig-zag shaped hunk of plastic that fits like a puzzle piece into the like shaped lock. So I got to thinking, whats stopping me from making my own zig-zag shaped key and making off with six month's worth of TP? Nothing, I said to myself, nothing is stopping me.
Ok, so there are a couple of things you can try to replicate the zig-zag dispenser key. You can try to get a couple the short, thin objects and stick them in the slots at the right angles, which would probably work fine, as long as you're able to push them all down into the hole in sync. However what I would recommend, would be to fashion your own zig-zag key out of folded tinfoil. Tinfoil is actually pretty sturdy once its compact enough and you could definitely reuse the key as much as you want once you've found just the right design. Who knows, if you're into making this thievery part of your identity you could even wear the thing on a necklace, I don't think that would be a super weird thing to do. It would make for good party discussion too: "oh this? Yeah, back in '06 I used to steal lots of toilet paper. These crab cakes are delicious, whats your recipe?"
PS. When you succeed in locksmithing these dispensers, they tend to swing open really fast and bang against the side of the washroom stall really loudly if you don't catch it in time. Be sure this doesn't happen to you, I don't want to foster a bunch of clumsy apprentices.
The Almond Live In 3D
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Michael Bublé
Let me tell you why Michael Bublé should be loved and appreciated by all. Michael Bublé is fantastic because you can listen to him in any and every mood you may find yourself in. I discovered my love for senor Bublé after my very first breakup which, at the tender age of fifteen, was deeply traumatic. Naturally, the crooner covers some real good breakup songs, and also has his own original breakup/ forever-alone song "Haven't Met You Yet". If you haven't heard this song, I give you permission to stop reading now and go Youtube it. Are you back yet? Is your life changed? Yeah, I thought so.
But Michael Bublé is not just for the newly single fifteen-year-old, no sir. If you are feeling happy, he is the best person to listen to because he will make you even happier! If you are manoeuvring your way through Boxing Day sales, he is the best person to listen to because he makes you feel energized and on a mission! If you are feeling sad for no reason, he is the best person to listen to because he will cradle your face in his hands with his voice and make you feel instantly happier, and like you are not all alone!
Why would anyone not like that? He looks like big teddy graham in a finely fitter suit! Sometimes he is accompanied by backup singers dressed as mounties. Mounties, I say! He is so cute always, even if you're a man who is not into other men, or a woman who is not into men, its can't be denied: he is adorable. But mostly he is wildly talented and the best at making people feel better in any circumstance! I've used so many exclamation points, so you know I must be serious!!
But Michael Bublé is not just for the newly single fifteen-year-old, no sir. If you are feeling happy, he is the best person to listen to because he will make you even happier! If you are manoeuvring your way through Boxing Day sales, he is the best person to listen to because he makes you feel energized and on a mission! If you are feeling sad for no reason, he is the best person to listen to because he will cradle your face in his hands with his voice and make you feel instantly happier, and like you are not all alone!
Why would anyone not like that? He looks like big teddy graham in a finely fitter suit! Sometimes he is accompanied by backup singers dressed as mounties. Mounties, I say! He is so cute always, even if you're a man who is not into other men, or a woman who is not into men, its can't be denied: he is adorable. But mostly he is wildly talented and the best at making people feel better in any circumstance! I've used so many exclamation points, so you know I must be serious!!
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Slutty Halloween
Halloween post round 2. You may have noticed, if you have eyes in your head, that some girls like to dress in ways that would not make their mothers proud on Halloween. I don't like to use the word slut, but... yeah, sometimes people dress like sluts on Halloween. So I thought, hey, to each his/her own and I thought up some slutty costumes:
1. Slutty plastic bag.
2. Slutty ghost.
3. Slutty Napoleon Bonaparte.
4. Slutty worm.
5. Slutty Hurricane Sandy.
Right now, you might be reading this and thinking "those are not the slutty costumes of my youth, in fact, those are not eve hot costumes". The way I see it though, is if you're going to go for a slutty costume, why not make it hilarious too. I was super close to going as a slutty ghost one night, I even took a picture of myself in costume:
So legit. But unfortunately I sweat a lot and I need a costume that provides optimal ventilation and minimal sweat stains. Also, if I ever had to show my ID I would be kind of up the creek. So maybe its a better slutty costume for underage kids who want to sneak into like little rebels.
So if you're in the market for a slutty costume this year, I encourage you to seriously consider the list I have provided. Nothing is funnier than something that is not funny wearing a bra.
1. Slutty plastic bag.
2. Slutty ghost.
3. Slutty Napoleon Bonaparte.
4. Slutty worm.
5. Slutty Hurricane Sandy.
Right now, you might be reading this and thinking "those are not the slutty costumes of my youth, in fact, those are not eve hot costumes". The way I see it though, is if you're going to go for a slutty costume, why not make it hilarious too. I was super close to going as a slutty ghost one night, I even took a picture of myself in costume:
So legit. But unfortunately I sweat a lot and I need a costume that provides optimal ventilation and minimal sweat stains. Also, if I ever had to show my ID I would be kind of up the creek. So maybe its a better slutty costume for underage kids who want to sneak into like little rebels.
So if you're in the market for a slutty costume this year, I encourage you to seriously consider the list I have provided. Nothing is funnier than something that is not funny wearing a bra.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Agressive Tendencies
I had a history teacher in high school who once said "I drink, I get drunk, I fall down". While I can't quite relate to that experience, I can understand having that one thing that always happens when you drink a lot. In honour of l'Halloweekend I think we should take a minute to appreciate those bizarre tendencies.
I have developed a strange angry streak lately when in states of mild debauchery. I tend to get kind of vocal about things that I would normally bottle up inside, little things, I don't go full on Maury Povich. Nobody is ever accused of impregnating me, or of sleeping with my boyfriend. I mostly just have outbursts of rage at offensive people who pose no threat to me, or at least who I would easily be able to run from should they try to pursue me.
A couple of weeks ago, for example, these douchebags were hollering out of their car windows at me and my girls. All of a sudden I was overcome with gumption, turned around at them and yelled across the street, "What'd you say about my mom?! What'd you say about her motherfucker?!". I was definitely speaking in caps locks, but I don't like the way all caps looks, so just imagine it.
Yesterday I was at a big Halloween party, dressed as Avril Lavigne (my boyfriend was Chad Kroeger, it was pretty great), and I guess I was full of the spirit of punk rock because I did some serious yelling. I was in the backyard and this place had three floors, each with a balcony, so naturally people were spilling out of the house onto the balconies. But when people started dropping things off the third floor balcony I just yelled up at them something along the lines of stop doing that (the word motherfucker was probably in there somewhere, if I'm being honest with myself) and "you could kill someone!", which isn't untrue. So really, I was doing everyone a service by drawing attention to irresponsible behaviour with more irresponsible behaviour.
These powderkeg habits have kind of come out of the blue which is the main reason why they are funny. When I'm talking with my roommates the next morning, these stories always go over really well. Hopefully they brightened your morning the same way that they brightened mine, after I took a minute to remember them that is.
I have developed a strange angry streak lately when in states of mild debauchery. I tend to get kind of vocal about things that I would normally bottle up inside, little things, I don't go full on Maury Povich. Nobody is ever accused of impregnating me, or of sleeping with my boyfriend. I mostly just have outbursts of rage at offensive people who pose no threat to me, or at least who I would easily be able to run from should they try to pursue me.
A couple of weeks ago, for example, these douchebags were hollering out of their car windows at me and my girls. All of a sudden I was overcome with gumption, turned around at them and yelled across the street, "What'd you say about my mom?! What'd you say about her motherfucker?!". I was definitely speaking in caps locks, but I don't like the way all caps looks, so just imagine it.
Yesterday I was at a big Halloween party, dressed as Avril Lavigne (my boyfriend was Chad Kroeger, it was pretty great), and I guess I was full of the spirit of punk rock because I did some serious yelling. I was in the backyard and this place had three floors, each with a balcony, so naturally people were spilling out of the house onto the balconies. But when people started dropping things off the third floor balcony I just yelled up at them something along the lines of stop doing that (the word motherfucker was probably in there somewhere, if I'm being honest with myself) and "you could kill someone!", which isn't untrue. So really, I was doing everyone a service by drawing attention to irresponsible behaviour with more irresponsible behaviour.
These powderkeg habits have kind of come out of the blue which is the main reason why they are funny. When I'm talking with my roommates the next morning, these stories always go over really well. Hopefully they brightened your morning the same way that they brightened mine, after I took a minute to remember them that is.
Friday, October 26, 2012
C'est L'Halloween
Bonjour mes petits brioches. C'est l'Halloween. Ok, well maybe its not quite l'Halloween yet, but its is l'Halloweekend. So now is the time for me to share my life with you. This year is proving to be quite a houseparty l'Halloweekend. I went to a houseparty last night, I'm going to a bigger houseparty tonight, and tomorrow there is a houseparty that I will probably not go to because I'm too cool.
I have roughly a million friends visiting because I am so popular. Except actually, half the people from my high school moved to Montreal after they graduated so the other half comes up to visit them on l'Halloween it seems. Needless to say the estrogen level in my apartment is equivalent to that of a Cocoa 70 at nine pm during exam time.
Last night, I was winter in the four seasons with two of my roommates, plus my honorary roommate ("she doesn't even go here!"). We pulled it together pretty last minute, and we looked hella fierce if I do say so myself. It felt weird being in the Christmas section (yes, they already have one) of Dollarama during l'Halloween though. The security guard in there was seriously on the prowl though. Usually, he just stands at the exit of the store, on the semi-regular occasions that he is there, but yesterday he was walking through the aisles looking very menacing. I came up with a phrase that I'm going to start using around exams or when I'm feeling real stressed: busier than the shop detective at Dollarama. As they say.
So yeah, Halloween.
I have roughly a million friends visiting because I am so popular. Except actually, half the people from my high school moved to Montreal after they graduated so the other half comes up to visit them on l'Halloween it seems. Needless to say the estrogen level in my apartment is equivalent to that of a Cocoa 70 at nine pm during exam time.
Last night, I was winter in the four seasons with two of my roommates, plus my honorary roommate ("she doesn't even go here!"). We pulled it together pretty last minute, and we looked hella fierce if I do say so myself. It felt weird being in the Christmas section (yes, they already have one) of Dollarama during l'Halloween though. The security guard in there was seriously on the prowl though. Usually, he just stands at the exit of the store, on the semi-regular occasions that he is there, but yesterday he was walking through the aisles looking very menacing. I came up with a phrase that I'm going to start using around exams or when I'm feeling real stressed: busier than the shop detective at Dollarama. As they say.
So yeah, Halloween.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Walking In The Urban Environment
I propose to offer a semester-long class called Walking In The Urban Environment, targeted at urban numbskulls. The class would need to be a semester long because some city slickers appear to know so little about sidewalk/stair-climbing etiquette that we need to start from zero.
First lesson: the sidewalk. Some people seem to have it confused with a church aisle or a crazy-slide. Let me make this clear, the sidewalk is not a place for you to bounce around and dart through pedestrians like you're in a Hitchcock film. No. Just, no. Nor is the sidewalk a place for you to walk at a maple syrup pace. There is a time and a place for that, and its called your wedding. However, if you continue to carry through life being labelled as a slow-walker, no one will ever want to marry you, so listen up! When taking the sidewalk, single file is best. Walking in twos is acceptable, and threes is never permissible during rush hour. To those who say "but I have 3 best friends, the charter of rights says that we can walk freely as we please!", to you I introduce a radical new concept: walk in pairs! Crazy, I know.
Second lesson: stairs. Stairs are like a folded sidewalk, designed to help people move in an upwards direction, from floor to floor. Usually in a busy building people need to use the stairs. If you find yourself overwhelmed by the frantic nature of stairs, I suggest you take a step back and observe first. Usually, if you look at stairs, you can make out an organized flow of traffic. The most important thing to remember when using stairs is that you are not Moses. By no means should you ever walk directly through a current of stair traffic, in opposition to the flow. There is always a better way.
Third lesson: escalators. Escalators are even easier than stairs because they are doing the work for you. Therefore it is puzzling as to why so many city dwellers do not know how to properly participate in escalators. Like stairs, there are lanes. Usually, the right side is for standing (meaning people who face forward, in a single file line), and the left side is for people who have more urgent schedules and would rather walk up the escalator. People choose to walk up the escalator because it is faster. Remember, people who want to walk cannot walk if there are two people standing side by side. This makes the people who want to walk very angry and they often complain to their friends about the experience.
This has been just a taste of what I will offer in my Walking In The Urban Environment class. I would say it may even be an essential service, like EMS and the police.
First lesson: the sidewalk. Some people seem to have it confused with a church aisle or a crazy-slide. Let me make this clear, the sidewalk is not a place for you to bounce around and dart through pedestrians like you're in a Hitchcock film. No. Just, no. Nor is the sidewalk a place for you to walk at a maple syrup pace. There is a time and a place for that, and its called your wedding. However, if you continue to carry through life being labelled as a slow-walker, no one will ever want to marry you, so listen up! When taking the sidewalk, single file is best. Walking in twos is acceptable, and threes is never permissible during rush hour. To those who say "but I have 3 best friends, the charter of rights says that we can walk freely as we please!", to you I introduce a radical new concept: walk in pairs! Crazy, I know.
Second lesson: stairs. Stairs are like a folded sidewalk, designed to help people move in an upwards direction, from floor to floor. Usually in a busy building people need to use the stairs. If you find yourself overwhelmed by the frantic nature of stairs, I suggest you take a step back and observe first. Usually, if you look at stairs, you can make out an organized flow of traffic. The most important thing to remember when using stairs is that you are not Moses. By no means should you ever walk directly through a current of stair traffic, in opposition to the flow. There is always a better way.
Third lesson: escalators. Escalators are even easier than stairs because they are doing the work for you. Therefore it is puzzling as to why so many city dwellers do not know how to properly participate in escalators. Like stairs, there are lanes. Usually, the right side is for standing (meaning people who face forward, in a single file line), and the left side is for people who have more urgent schedules and would rather walk up the escalator. People choose to walk up the escalator because it is faster. Remember, people who want to walk cannot walk if there are two people standing side by side. This makes the people who want to walk very angry and they often complain to their friends about the experience.
This has been just a taste of what I will offer in my Walking In The Urban Environment class. I would say it may even be an essential service, like EMS and the police.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
The Almond's Super Saving Money Tips #3
This time around we have a two in one, so buckle your seat belts, two tips for the price of one. This one's for all my Martha Stewarts and Ty Penningtons out there! Home decorating is not easy when you are a pauper, thats for sure. But if you have expensive taste, and need to know how to make a house a home, you have come to the right place. The best part, is that lots of home renovation requires a contractor, and lots of expensive "bits". Drill bits, gear bits, plank bits. There's only one thing you need to know for home decor from here on out: a hammer is your best friend.
Fact: people love exposed brick. Does your life suck because you hate looking at your boring plastered walls day in and day out? Well don't sweat it, exposed brick is just a smash away.
The open concept home is also mucho popular. There's nothing like breaking down some barriers to create a more modern, welcoming space. If there's one thing that we can all agree on, its that having to constantly open and close doors is exhausting, and can even lead to catatonic depression. Some would suggest unhinging the door first, but I say make your home unique by creating a natural "mouth of a cave" type entrance to your rooms. All you have to do is obliterate the wall surrounding the door. The best part is that no two doorways will be alike. You can even refer to your domicile as a literal man cave.
*Special credit to my design team for suggesting exposed brick, thank you roommates*
Fact: people love exposed brick. Does your life suck because you hate looking at your boring plastered walls day in and day out? Well don't sweat it, exposed brick is just a smash away.
The open concept home is also mucho popular. There's nothing like breaking down some barriers to create a more modern, welcoming space. If there's one thing that we can all agree on, its that having to constantly open and close doors is exhausting, and can even lead to catatonic depression. Some would suggest unhinging the door first, but I say make your home unique by creating a natural "mouth of a cave" type entrance to your rooms. All you have to do is obliterate the wall surrounding the door. The best part is that no two doorways will be alike. You can even refer to your domicile as a literal man cave.
*Special credit to my design team for suggesting exposed brick, thank you roommates*
Monday, October 22, 2012
Fabergé Eggs
How fucking killer would it be to have a Fabergé egg in your home? Very killer, that is the correct answer. I don't mean having one in the fancy mansion of your dreams, I mean in your home that you live in right now. Just have a bedazzled golden egg chilling on your coffee table or something.
You would come home from work or class every day, starbucks in hand, holler to your roommate or lover that you're home, and casually toss your coat down next to your fucking Fabergé egg. People would come to your place to pre-game before going out on the town and you could play flip cup round the egg. It wouldn't even have to be Easter. It is a decorating choice that transcends seasonality. Its not like anyone would really see it in your home and be like "ermahgerd its soooo tacky to have that out after Labour Day", and if anyone did say that you can just raise your hands to the sky and say "whatever, I have a Fabergé egg. What have you done today?", and that will be the end of the discussion.
You would come home from work or class every day, starbucks in hand, holler to your roommate or lover that you're home, and casually toss your coat down next to your fucking Fabergé egg. People would come to your place to pre-game before going out on the town and you could play flip cup round the egg. It wouldn't even have to be Easter. It is a decorating choice that transcends seasonality. Its not like anyone would really see it in your home and be like "ermahgerd its soooo tacky to have that out after Labour Day", and if anyone did say that you can just raise your hands to the sky and say "whatever, I have a Fabergé egg. What have you done today?", and that will be the end of the discussion.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Independent Ladies vs. The Pussycat Dolls
I feel a little uncomfortable posting about The Pussycat Dolls given that I've mysteriously been getting some traffic from a full blown porn site. I am hyper sensitive to using vaguely erotic words and phrases now. Like, can I even say things like "full blown" anymore? If you're here from the hardcore porn site, why? I genuinely want to know what mutual interests I have in common with you, because I can promise you right now that there is significantly less female genitalia involved in this blog than where you have just come from. That being said, lets talk about suggestive music videos.
Ok. So, yesterday I was walking home, listening to my ipod on shuffle, and The Pussycat Dolls started playing. Remember them? Just barely? Yeah, same. They surfaced in that weird year when there were a number of female pop groups born over night, and only one girl in the whole group ever really sung, and you had to wonder whether these ladies were formerly mid-class prostitutes.
I mean, more power to you, going from streetwalker to musical phenomenon; it is a great rags to riches story. Rock on, sisters. I support being forthcoming with your past and sharing your story of overcoming the odds. However, I cannot get behind former-prostitutes turned musical ensembles who maintain their former wardrobes. Using your success story to inspire others who might feel similarly oppressed is one thing, but using your body to sell music is more selling sex than it is songs. It should also be mentioned that The Pussycat Dolls were probably not formerly prostitutes, but more likely former backup dancers and/or daughters of people with money. I heard a rumour that the lead singer used to be a stripper, but thats as close as it gets to identifying them as sex workers prior to their short-lived musical careers. Their songs are catchy, and some even had a decent moral message if you dig deep enough ("I Don't Need a Man" is necessary for all independent woman playlist), and god knows I listen to enough pop music, so I'm not trying to play it like I am above the Top Forty. This is just one example of the age old question of how women are portrayed by the music/film industry.
I'm going to run with the example of "I Don't Need a Man". The lyrics are all about not needing a man to feel good and complete. However, the music video would suggest otherwise. While there are no actual men in the video, it is mainly comprised of The Pussycat Dolls strutting around in their underwear, showering, stripping down behind backlit magenta screens (you know, the kind every woman has in her bathroom), and painting their toenails in the most suggestive manner possible. The video could just as easily have been a girls night out (or in) type thing, the kind of things that actually make me feel like I don't need a man to validate my confidence. But I can tell you right now that nobody (no matter how sexy they feel) paints their toenails with their asses at a ninety degree angle to the rest of their body (does that make sense? Whatever, you know what I mean). Its simply not efficient.
I know this isn't a new debate. It just gets me riled up because I have a few Pussycat Dolls songs on my ipod and I like them. I listen to them while I am sweating profusely at the gym or while I walk down the street pretending I am the sassiest girl in the world. But I don't listen to them while I'm whipping my hair about in my open concept shower or dancing around in my lace-spandex bodysuits, because being the fabulous, independent woman that I am, I simply do not have the time or desire to do those things.
Ok. So, yesterday I was walking home, listening to my ipod on shuffle, and The Pussycat Dolls started playing. Remember them? Just barely? Yeah, same. They surfaced in that weird year when there were a number of female pop groups born over night, and only one girl in the whole group ever really sung, and you had to wonder whether these ladies were formerly mid-class prostitutes.
I mean, more power to you, going from streetwalker to musical phenomenon; it is a great rags to riches story. Rock on, sisters. I support being forthcoming with your past and sharing your story of overcoming the odds. However, I cannot get behind former-prostitutes turned musical ensembles who maintain their former wardrobes. Using your success story to inspire others who might feel similarly oppressed is one thing, but using your body to sell music is more selling sex than it is songs. It should also be mentioned that The Pussycat Dolls were probably not formerly prostitutes, but more likely former backup dancers and/or daughters of people with money. I heard a rumour that the lead singer used to be a stripper, but thats as close as it gets to identifying them as sex workers prior to their short-lived musical careers. Their songs are catchy, and some even had a decent moral message if you dig deep enough ("I Don't Need a Man" is necessary for all independent woman playlist), and god knows I listen to enough pop music, so I'm not trying to play it like I am above the Top Forty. This is just one example of the age old question of how women are portrayed by the music/film industry.
I'm going to run with the example of "I Don't Need a Man". The lyrics are all about not needing a man to feel good and complete. However, the music video would suggest otherwise. While there are no actual men in the video, it is mainly comprised of The Pussycat Dolls strutting around in their underwear, showering, stripping down behind backlit magenta screens (you know, the kind every woman has in her bathroom), and painting their toenails in the most suggestive manner possible. The video could just as easily have been a girls night out (or in) type thing, the kind of things that actually make me feel like I don't need a man to validate my confidence. But I can tell you right now that nobody (no matter how sexy they feel) paints their toenails with their asses at a ninety degree angle to the rest of their body (does that make sense? Whatever, you know what I mean). Its simply not efficient.
I know this isn't a new debate. It just gets me riled up because I have a few Pussycat Dolls songs on my ipod and I like them. I listen to them while I am sweating profusely at the gym or while I walk down the street pretending I am the sassiest girl in the world. But I don't listen to them while I'm whipping my hair about in my open concept shower or dancing around in my lace-spandex bodysuits, because being the fabulous, independent woman that I am, I simply do not have the time or desire to do those things.
Friday, October 19, 2012
My Life as a "Margarine Lover"
The other day I heard one of the top ten, no top five-- actually, tops three phrases that no girlfriend ever wants to hear from her boyfriend. "You love margarine". Actually I'm pretty sure thats the top one phrase no girl, or any person really, wants to hear from their significant other. He said it as a joke, but I should also mentioned I was also wrapped in a duvet, suffering from chronic morning back pain, like I do.
The moment was sparked by the fact that I like to spread a little margarine on my pancakes before pouring on the ol' maple syrup. I would be so down to put butter on my pancakes if it was around. I can't stress enough that I really don't have a preference. I buy margarine for my life, probably because my parents always bough margarine in our family home, and because butter makes me fear carpal tunnel. I didn't think it was a bad thing necessarily, but being considered a margarine-lover is a serious problem.
My roommates all eat butter. Haha that sounds like I mean to say they just eat spoonfuls, but I think you know what I actually mean. But yeah, they don't use margarine, which has caused great disparity when we're making cookies. But we have overcome even that, so it is disconcerting the I am now the girl who loves margarine.
Gentlemen, a word of advice, never observe that your lady "loves" any product of the butter family, because she might write a blog post about it, and everyone who reads it will think you are a dummy.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
The Rich vs. My Sims
Rich people scare me. I suppose the incomprehensible wealth of the extremely rich frightens a lot of people for many social and political reasons and for what the existence of such crazy wealth says about the world we live in. But rich people scare me because they are rich enough to create houses that are nicer than those I can create for my Sims (with cheats of course). Essentially what this means is that there are people out there who's riches exceed my imaginative power. Imagination is the process on mental creation, and there are people who's material creations are greater than that which I can create in the all-encompasing field of my imagination, which best manifests itself in terms of this discussion on the Sims. I am not even talking Sims 1, this is beyond Sims 3 wealth. These people can afford the nice furniture and the most expensive stone walls that Sims players develop carpal tunnel to get. And these men, women and small children do not have to live vicariously through gibberish-speaking virtual people. They buy the most expensive couches offered, and then they use their own real butts to sit on them! It saddens me. I could buy the biggest Sim plot of land, build the wackest tiered Sim house with a swimming pool on every level and choose the best Sim decor- greater than anything I will ever possess in my life- and have the finest bathroom in all the Sim land, and these people have real houses that are infinitely better than that. The most treacherous part is that they have real life things that I can't even imagine. I can't really describe them because they exceed my imaginative realm.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Social Media, a Balance of Me + Ideas
I applied for a writing position at a couple of cool online news/events/fashion writing stuff things. I think I would be a good candidate because I am so articulate. Now one of the websites I applied to is following me on Twitter, which I was initially excited about because I'm hoping that means they have at least some interest in me and want to see how I write otherwise. Thats just my thoughts, call me crazy, but its more promising than not being followed right?
Pressure's on though now because all I tweet about is farts (for real, I had to delete a tweet about lactose intolerance because it was just too much). Also, I don't know how to use the internet, and my attempts to send them my CV were proof of that. First, none of the email links on their new website were functional, nor was their general address. I had to resort to tweeting at them to get their attention. They responded by telling me to "DM" them my CV. Great. Awesome. Except I had no idea what that meant. I had to look it up on the search engine Google, maybe you've heard of it, and apparently it stands for direct message. So I messaged their Facebook page. Is that not the most social media-y job application process you have ever heard of?
Hopefully it makes me stand out. And then hopefully my writing makes me stand out (for the better) even more. I'm relying on my Twitter account, therefore I need to start tweeting about events and stuff. First step figure out how to properly use @'s and #'s. And no more details about gastrointestinal processes.
Pressure's on though now because all I tweet about is farts (for real, I had to delete a tweet about lactose intolerance because it was just too much). Also, I don't know how to use the internet, and my attempts to send them my CV were proof of that. First, none of the email links on their new website were functional, nor was their general address. I had to resort to tweeting at them to get their attention. They responded by telling me to "DM" them my CV. Great. Awesome. Except I had no idea what that meant. I had to look it up on the search engine Google, maybe you've heard of it, and apparently it stands for direct message. So I messaged their Facebook page. Is that not the most social media-y job application process you have ever heard of?
Hopefully it makes me stand out. And then hopefully my writing makes me stand out (for the better) even more. I'm relying on my Twitter account, therefore I need to start tweeting about events and stuff. First step figure out how to properly use @'s and #'s. And no more details about gastrointestinal processes.
Goats
There is a cliche that runs through many tragic love stories. Perhaps cliche is not the right term, but what I mean is that there is a common moral that often resurfaces; a moral as old as time itself. First love dies hard as they say kind of, and it is for that reason that people cannot compete with goats.
Many a budding romance, or even many aged romances have been stifled because one member of the relationship is in love with a goat. Real people cannot compete with the memory of a goat. The love of a goat, cut short before its time, makes the heart bleat. Goats are tender and loyal lovers, making them a tough act to follow. That is to say anyone who comes after will have big hooves to fill.
So if your beloved breaks down in tears telling you of a former lover, just remember: you can't compete with a goat.
Many a budding romance, or even many aged romances have been stifled because one member of the relationship is in love with a goat. Real people cannot compete with the memory of a goat. The love of a goat, cut short before its time, makes the heart bleat. Goats are tender and loyal lovers, making them a tough act to follow. That is to say anyone who comes after will have big hooves to fill.
So if your beloved breaks down in tears telling you of a former lover, just remember: you can't compete with a goat.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Grocery Shame
Dear groceries,
Stop it. Just stop. You know what you're doing and I want you to stop. You know I'm a sucker, the whole universe knows I'm a sucker, and looking into my bag of groceries, I'm sure the whole universe is having a good chuckle right now.
I had an hour and a half between work and class. I was going to go to Pharmaprix to avoid getting a lot of groceries (naive) so I wouldn't have to lug bundles to my night class. I just wanted to get some KD or something small and stashable like that to eat quietly when I got home tonight. Jokes on me. The fucking joke is/was/will always be on me, because groceries are sick fuckers who will win every time.
I noted that KD was on sale, so basically Pharmaprix was pointing a gun at my head and forcing me to buy four packs for five dollars rather than pay a dollar fifty for one. I decided to peruse the aisles since I had so much time to kill. Worst idea I've ever had. After perusing for a little bit, I noticed a number of desirable sale items and thought to myself that sine they were on sale there was a magical veil over them which made them not actually count as real purchases.
As soon as I grabbed a basket I was a goner.
Bear in mind that I'm shopping at what is primarily a drugstore, so I did not buy fresh produce or hearty meats, instead I bought things like biscuits, Mrs. Fields cookies (glorified lard), and I threw in some deep cleansing nasal strips too because as you can imagine after reading my grocery list, my face is a blackhead farm.
This has been the most shameful grocery trip in recent memory. I didn't even have a friend at my side egging me on, I was barely even egging myself on. I was in a a full blown trance and now I actually have to eat all these delicious carbs. I guess this isn't really a complaint, more a cry for help.
PS. After I got home from class, I wasn't even hungry. I am now going to bed with the promise of gluttony in my future.
Stop it. Just stop. You know what you're doing and I want you to stop. You know I'm a sucker, the whole universe knows I'm a sucker, and looking into my bag of groceries, I'm sure the whole universe is having a good chuckle right now.
I had an hour and a half between work and class. I was going to go to Pharmaprix to avoid getting a lot of groceries (naive) so I wouldn't have to lug bundles to my night class. I just wanted to get some KD or something small and stashable like that to eat quietly when I got home tonight. Jokes on me. The fucking joke is/was/will always be on me, because groceries are sick fuckers who will win every time.
I noted that KD was on sale, so basically Pharmaprix was pointing a gun at my head and forcing me to buy four packs for five dollars rather than pay a dollar fifty for one. I decided to peruse the aisles since I had so much time to kill. Worst idea I've ever had. After perusing for a little bit, I noticed a number of desirable sale items and thought to myself that sine they were on sale there was a magical veil over them which made them not actually count as real purchases.
As soon as I grabbed a basket I was a goner.
Bear in mind that I'm shopping at what is primarily a drugstore, so I did not buy fresh produce or hearty meats, instead I bought things like biscuits, Mrs. Fields cookies (glorified lard), and I threw in some deep cleansing nasal strips too because as you can imagine after reading my grocery list, my face is a blackhead farm.
This has been the most shameful grocery trip in recent memory. I didn't even have a friend at my side egging me on, I was barely even egging myself on. I was in a a full blown trance and now I actually have to eat all these delicious carbs. I guess this isn't really a complaint, more a cry for help.
PS. After I got home from class, I wasn't even hungry. I am now going to bed with the promise of gluttony in my future.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Quarterly Review
I am often afraid of my mind. For example, I can't watch anything moderately frightening because my imagination just takes all scary things to the next level. For real though, I can't even watch Beetlejuice. Another example, I legitimately only have nightmares, and really violent ones too, which is made even more troubling considering the fact that I avoid all gruesome images like the plague, like Beetlejuice. Yesterday though, I thought of the scariest thing that has ever crossed the desert of shadows that I call my mind.
I am having a quarter life crisis. As in, I was casually having a crisis, and I realized that I am a quarter of the way through my life pretty much. My plan was to die somewhere around thirty nine so I don't live long enough to experience the repercussions of twenty-first century orthodontic tools like the handheld heat lamp they shove into your mouth. As you may have guessed, I am not ten years old (although I was just as jaded at ten) so I am calculating this quarter of my life in relation to living as long as a normal person in North America (barring the effects of modern orthodontics).
A quarter of my entire flapping life is gone. I only have three more periods this long before I am swimming with the fishes (I should be so lucky as to die at sea, I'm sure I'll go in a much more mainstream way than that). What have I even done with myself up until now? I mean, I was the french language valedictorian of my elementary school, one time I got a nosebleed because my friend punched me in the face accidentally, and I danced on stage at a dubstep show last year. Gold medal life. The way I'm headed at this point, maybe I'll get to emcee a friend's wedding, get hit by that same friend accidentally with her car, and have a seizure on stage at a dubstep revival show.
I know that I haven't done much because I am young and youth is meant to be spent in classrooms. God, that sounds even more depressing than being a quarter way through my life. I feel like I better get started on my plans for getting struck by a car.
I am having a quarter life crisis. As in, I was casually having a crisis, and I realized that I am a quarter of the way through my life pretty much. My plan was to die somewhere around thirty nine so I don't live long enough to experience the repercussions of twenty-first century orthodontic tools like the handheld heat lamp they shove into your mouth. As you may have guessed, I am not ten years old (although I was just as jaded at ten) so I am calculating this quarter of my life in relation to living as long as a normal person in North America (barring the effects of modern orthodontics).
A quarter of my entire flapping life is gone. I only have three more periods this long before I am swimming with the fishes (I should be so lucky as to die at sea, I'm sure I'll go in a much more mainstream way than that). What have I even done with myself up until now? I mean, I was the french language valedictorian of my elementary school, one time I got a nosebleed because my friend punched me in the face accidentally, and I danced on stage at a dubstep show last year. Gold medal life. The way I'm headed at this point, maybe I'll get to emcee a friend's wedding, get hit by that same friend accidentally with her car, and have a seizure on stage at a dubstep revival show.
I know that I haven't done much because I am young and youth is meant to be spent in classrooms. God, that sounds even more depressing than being a quarter way through my life. I feel like I better get started on my plans for getting struck by a car.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
The Cheetos Dilemma
You know Cheetos? If you don't, get the fuck out. Right. Now.
You know when you're eating Cheetos? If you don't, what the fuck are you even doing with your Cheetos, perv? So when you eat the Cheetos, there is a particular issue that is most commonly associated with but not limited to the Cheetos brand. You'll have a similar issue when you eat other powder cheese snacks. You get the cheese powder on your fingers, and its gross and you want to not have it on your fingers. If you're alone, you probably lick your fingers after the powder gets unbearable and continue eating from the bag like the pitiful lard cow that you are. Things get a little messier if you're eating with friends because you either have to wash your hands a psycho amount of time, and give yourself OCD, or suffer with the powder which is physically impossible. Not eating Cheetos is also impossible.
No self respecting lard cow would lick their fingers in front of their classy friends and then stick their hand back in the bag. Simply, no. So whats a girl to do then, I ask you? Its the ultimate catch 22!
You know when you're eating Cheetos? If you don't, what the fuck are you even doing with your Cheetos, perv? So when you eat the Cheetos, there is a particular issue that is most commonly associated with but not limited to the Cheetos brand. You'll have a similar issue when you eat other powder cheese snacks. You get the cheese powder on your fingers, and its gross and you want to not have it on your fingers. If you're alone, you probably lick your fingers after the powder gets unbearable and continue eating from the bag like the pitiful lard cow that you are. Things get a little messier if you're eating with friends because you either have to wash your hands a psycho amount of time, and give yourself OCD, or suffer with the powder which is physically impossible. Not eating Cheetos is also impossible.
No self respecting lard cow would lick their fingers in front of their classy friends and then stick their hand back in the bag. Simply, no. So whats a girl to do then, I ask you? Its the ultimate catch 22!
Friday, October 12, 2012
Game of Thrones
I watched the first season of Game of Thrones online in about a week and a half flat. I became very addicted very fast. I got sidetracked with the less fine things in life like school work and a social life, so I only got through about four episodes of the second season over the month that followed. I think its probably one of the best shows on TV right now, however I am very faint of heart, so it was only a matter of time before I had to stop watching for one reason or another.
Given the supernatural/spooky/things-that-lurk-in-the-woods-and-eat-babies, overwhelming physical and sexual violence, and the constant depiction of festering wounds I'm surprised I even lasted this long. I would take a poll of what you all guess finally got to me, but I don't know how to use technology so I'll just tell you it was the sexual violence. Its just a little too troubling for me (I am thinking of one scene in particular, I don't know if it qualifies as sexual violence or just disturbing subject matter, but there were naked people involved). I am very impressionable, and I cannot stress enough that I don't have dreams, I only have nightmares. Its true. I'm not lying, I wish I was.
It kind of breaks my heart that I have to stop watching though. It really is a good show. I could read the books I guess, but I'm illiterate. In addition to being well written, I think Peter Dinklage is one of the most talented guys around, also, I want to be the real life version of Daenerys Targaryen, dragons and all! This is a bittersweet moment in my life, and probably the hardest breakup I will ever go through.
Given the supernatural/spooky/things-that-lurk-in-the-woods-and-eat-babies, overwhelming physical and sexual violence, and the constant depiction of festering wounds I'm surprised I even lasted this long. I would take a poll of what you all guess finally got to me, but I don't know how to use technology so I'll just tell you it was the sexual violence. Its just a little too troubling for me (I am thinking of one scene in particular, I don't know if it qualifies as sexual violence or just disturbing subject matter, but there were naked people involved). I am very impressionable, and I cannot stress enough that I don't have dreams, I only have nightmares. Its true. I'm not lying, I wish I was.
It kind of breaks my heart that I have to stop watching though. It really is a good show. I could read the books I guess, but I'm illiterate. In addition to being well written, I think Peter Dinklage is one of the most talented guys around, also, I want to be the real life version of Daenerys Targaryen, dragons and all! This is a bittersweet moment in my life, and probably the hardest breakup I will ever go through.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Glockenspiel Down the Corridor
I swear my roommate is listening to glockenspiel music on repeat right now. I'm not complaining, I think its hilarious. I'm sitting in the living room and roughly eight feet away in her bedroom is one roommate undoubtedly watching Homeland on her computer, but to my right, down the corridor all I can her is the chimes of what I'm guessing is a glockenspiel. *Special note: I spelled glockenspiel right on the very first try! Boom, roasted!*
Hearing a glockenspiel from down a corridor is the only way to hear a glockenspiel. Some intruments are meant to be heard as part of a symphony orchestra in Roy Thompson Hall, others are best listened to after three glasses of ten dollar wine in your ex-boyfriend's basement but the glockenspiel experience is exclusive to being heard from down a corridor. It would really be great if instead of energy saying lightbulbs fixed to a track on the ceiling we had torches of real fire mounted on the walls (which would be made of granite in an ideal world). That would really the be very best way to listen to a glockenspiel. And instead of being played from a 2009 laptop, glockenspiel quality would be at its peak if it were being played by an eleven year old boy who's parents died in the french revolution.
Maybe I'm just being picky. I should be happy to hear the sweet chimes of what can only be a glockenspiel- certainly not a soprano metallophone at any rate. I will never hear the classic orff instrument in ideal circumstances, the kind of noise that would make a blind man sing (you heard me). For now I am simply thankful to have heard and loved the music at all.
Hearing a glockenspiel from down a corridor is the only way to hear a glockenspiel. Some intruments are meant to be heard as part of a symphony orchestra in Roy Thompson Hall, others are best listened to after three glasses of ten dollar wine in your ex-boyfriend's basement but the glockenspiel experience is exclusive to being heard from down a corridor. It would really be great if instead of energy saying lightbulbs fixed to a track on the ceiling we had torches of real fire mounted on the walls (which would be made of granite in an ideal world). That would really the be very best way to listen to a glockenspiel. And instead of being played from a 2009 laptop, glockenspiel quality would be at its peak if it were being played by an eleven year old boy who's parents died in the french revolution.
Maybe I'm just being picky. I should be happy to hear the sweet chimes of what can only be a glockenspiel- certainly not a soprano metallophone at any rate. I will never hear the classic orff instrument in ideal circumstances, the kind of noise that would make a blind man sing (you heard me). For now I am simply thankful to have heard and loved the music at all.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
The Almond's Money Saving Super Tips #2
Its that time of year again folks, time for The Almond's Money blah blah blah #2!
This one's for all you folks out there who like to enjoy the finer things in life. I will teach you all I know, for I fancy myself quite the wine-conaisseur, and that is what this super tip is about: wine conaissance. Thats french I think. It is recently of late that I have discovered my talents for wine tasting and even more recently that I have come to specialize in wines for under ten dollars. If you're really fancy I'm sure you could find a very good six dollar wine that is only legal in some parts of southern america, but as it stands I am only taking into account beverages that are 100% legal and 8% alcohol or higher.
My special gift for sniffing out cheap wines at the liquor store came with my discovery of Citra. In Montreal, you can get a bottle of Citra for 9.95$. That's a litre bottle, not some nancy boy 750 mL shit, if you're going to drink cheap chardonnay at least let something be manly about it! Since my debut on the wine scene I have discovered another Italian wine (can't remember the name due to permanent brain damage from ingestion) that rings in at a meagre 8$ per litre. Now thats what I'm talking about! Some say I am slowly on my way to drinking distilled goat's pee, but I like to think its gotta at least be cow pee.
If wine isn't really your thing, the internet is a great place to meet with real life scientists living out of their parents' basements who can tell you exactly how to separate the alcohol from regular household products such as nail polish remover, paint thinner and mould. Some of these may not necessarily be drinkable, but I am sure with the help of a syringe, nothing can stop you!
PS. Temporary or permanent hallucinations may result from the latter methods, but if you've read this far I'm assuming you're into that.
This one's for all you folks out there who like to enjoy the finer things in life. I will teach you all I know, for I fancy myself quite the wine-conaisseur, and that is what this super tip is about: wine conaissance. Thats french I think. It is recently of late that I have discovered my talents for wine tasting and even more recently that I have come to specialize in wines for under ten dollars. If you're really fancy I'm sure you could find a very good six dollar wine that is only legal in some parts of southern america, but as it stands I am only taking into account beverages that are 100% legal and 8% alcohol or higher.
My special gift for sniffing out cheap wines at the liquor store came with my discovery of Citra. In Montreal, you can get a bottle of Citra for 9.95$. That's a litre bottle, not some nancy boy 750 mL shit, if you're going to drink cheap chardonnay at least let something be manly about it! Since my debut on the wine scene I have discovered another Italian wine (can't remember the name due to permanent brain damage from ingestion) that rings in at a meagre 8$ per litre. Now thats what I'm talking about! Some say I am slowly on my way to drinking distilled goat's pee, but I like to think its gotta at least be cow pee.
If wine isn't really your thing, the internet is a great place to meet with real life scientists living out of their parents' basements who can tell you exactly how to separate the alcohol from regular household products such as nail polish remover, paint thinner and mould. Some of these may not necessarily be drinkable, but I am sure with the help of a syringe, nothing can stop you!
PS. Temporary or permanent hallucinations may result from the latter methods, but if you've read this far I'm assuming you're into that.
Monday, October 8, 2012
100th Post Bonanza!!
Holla at yo girl, this is my 100th blog post to date. Well done me. I was motivated to write a post now because I am procrastinating my homework, and I had just peeped that 50thingsiwanttodobeforeidie is trending on twitter, so I thought, lets up the stakes on this. In celebration of 100 posts about nothing, here is a post about 100 things I don't want to do before I die!
1. My poetry readings on syntax and line structure
2. Utter the phrase "not while you're living under my roof"
3. Utter the phrase "No daughter of mine (etc)"
4. Have children
5. Find a cat turd on my pillow
6. Cry during Kung Fu Panda 2- oh wait, that already happened
7. Listen to Somebody That I Used to Know ever again
8. Develop arthritis
9. Be cheated out of whipped cream at Starbucks
10. Run into an ex when my hair looks like a haystack
11. Laugh so hard I fart a bit
12. Eat a bad carrot
13. Receive negative feedback on something I worked really hard on
14. Get jalapeno in my eyes- too late, but I don't want it to happen again
15. Hear the word "melon" ever again
16. See pictures of dictators with kittens
17. Lose things
18. Fight with my mom
19. Get anything below a B+
20. Die in a fiery plane crash
21. Die in a watery plane crash
22. Have my husband run off with the maid
23. Miss out on pie
24. Run out of battery
25. Experience back pain- might be hard considering the diagnosis of chronic back pain that I have received already in my life, I am so young. How is this possible?
26. Watch my friends get mistreated by men
27. Watch my friends get mistreated by women
28. Have beer spilled on me
29. Break a bone
30. Lose an adult tooth
31. Alzheimers
32. Divorce
33. Get any more paper cuts
34. Watch a varsity football game
35. Buy overpriced cereal
36. Puke on myself
37. Eat a placenta
38. Cry so hard I fart- is that even possible?
39. Gossip anymore
40. Fall from a great height
41. Get trapped in an elevator
42. Accidentally burn the house down
43. Drive anyone to the airport
44. Lose my keys
45. Lose all my money in the stock market
46. Get the spins
47. See a father get publicly humiliated in front of his child(ren)
48. Watch Avatar
49. Get my wisdom teeth out
50. Gain 100 pounds in a month
51. Gain 100 pounds in a week
52. Gain 100 pounds in a day
53. Die in a pool of my own blood
54. Not get the chance to say goodbye to someone
55. Pay more than 10$ for a haircut- if only...
56. Family music night
57. Pay tuition
58. Get the flu
59. Experience the bacon shortage
60. Skydive
61. Parcour
62. Jury duty
63. Homewreck
64. Get fired from a job
65. Get fired literally by a fire
66. Bungee jump
67. Horribly disfigure my beautiful face
68. 10k mud portage
69. Hear another 69 joke
70. Get up and grab my computer charger
71. Karaoke
72. Make out with someone who's just eaten a lot of spaghetti
73. Watch all the horror movies
74. Lose a foot to diabetes
75. Spill mustard on a blouse
76. Lick an ice cream cone in such a way that the scoop falls off the cone
77. Give birth to a baby wolf
79. Be able to say I've seen every Twilight movie
80. Clog a toilet at someone else's house
81. Anything involving phlegm
82. Have to speak to the handful of people I know who I really genuinely dislike
83. Sympathize with a drunk friend
84. Get a finger wart
85. Get a face wart
86. Get a spray tan
87. Get a sunburn
88. Get a tapeworm- except I think thats trendy now
89. Shave my head
90. Lose a good friend
91. Have to drink my own pee for survival
92. Receive a letter of rejection
93. Pay late fees
94. Develop Diverticulitis
95. Get anymore fucking pimples on the middle of my forehead
96. Accidentally scratch the pre-existing pimple on the middle of my forehead
97. Wet the bed
98. Wake up screaming
99. Identify a body
100. Fall up the stairs
1. My poetry readings on syntax and line structure
2. Utter the phrase "not while you're living under my roof"
3. Utter the phrase "No daughter of mine (etc)"
4. Have children
5. Find a cat turd on my pillow
6. Cry during Kung Fu Panda 2- oh wait, that already happened
7. Listen to Somebody That I Used to Know ever again
8. Develop arthritis
9. Be cheated out of whipped cream at Starbucks
10. Run into an ex when my hair looks like a haystack
11. Laugh so hard I fart a bit
12. Eat a bad carrot
13. Receive negative feedback on something I worked really hard on
14. Get jalapeno in my eyes- too late, but I don't want it to happen again
15. Hear the word "melon" ever again
16. See pictures of dictators with kittens
17. Lose things
18. Fight with my mom
19. Get anything below a B+
20. Die in a fiery plane crash
21. Die in a watery plane crash
22. Have my husband run off with the maid
23. Miss out on pie
24. Run out of battery
25. Experience back pain- might be hard considering the diagnosis of chronic back pain that I have received already in my life, I am so young. How is this possible?
26. Watch my friends get mistreated by men
27. Watch my friends get mistreated by women
28. Have beer spilled on me
29. Break a bone
30. Lose an adult tooth
31. Alzheimers
32. Divorce
33. Get any more paper cuts
34. Watch a varsity football game
35. Buy overpriced cereal
36. Puke on myself
37. Eat a placenta
38. Cry so hard I fart- is that even possible?
39. Gossip anymore
40. Fall from a great height
41. Get trapped in an elevator
42. Accidentally burn the house down
43. Drive anyone to the airport
44. Lose my keys
45. Lose all my money in the stock market
46. Get the spins
47. See a father get publicly humiliated in front of his child(ren)
48. Watch Avatar
49. Get my wisdom teeth out
50. Gain 100 pounds in a month
51. Gain 100 pounds in a week
52. Gain 100 pounds in a day
53. Die in a pool of my own blood
54. Not get the chance to say goodbye to someone
55. Pay more than 10$ for a haircut- if only...
56. Family music night
57. Pay tuition
58. Get the flu
59. Experience the bacon shortage
60. Skydive
61. Parcour
62. Jury duty
63. Homewreck
64. Get fired from a job
65. Get fired literally by a fire
66. Bungee jump
67. Horribly disfigure my beautiful face
68. 10k mud portage
69. Hear another 69 joke
70. Get up and grab my computer charger
71. Karaoke
72. Make out with someone who's just eaten a lot of spaghetti
73. Watch all the horror movies
74. Lose a foot to diabetes
75. Spill mustard on a blouse
76. Lick an ice cream cone in such a way that the scoop falls off the cone
77. Give birth to a baby wolf
79. Be able to say I've seen every Twilight movie
80. Clog a toilet at someone else's house
81. Anything involving phlegm
82. Have to speak to the handful of people I know who I really genuinely dislike
83. Sympathize with a drunk friend
84. Get a finger wart
85. Get a face wart
86. Get a spray tan
87. Get a sunburn
88. Get a tapeworm- except I think thats trendy now
89. Shave my head
90. Lose a good friend
91. Have to drink my own pee for survival
92. Receive a letter of rejection
93. Pay late fees
94. Develop Diverticulitis
95. Get anymore fucking pimples on the middle of my forehead
96. Accidentally scratch the pre-existing pimple on the middle of my forehead
97. Wet the bed
98. Wake up screaming
99. Identify a body
100. Fall up the stairs
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Happy Canadian Thanksgiving
I'm going to list all the things I am thankful for very quickly and off the top of my head because I used to do a lot of improv and my life is an improv.
I am thankful for my friends and family, blah blah blah unoriginal, I am thankful for Toronto Blue Jay Brett Lawrie's butt (didn't expect that one to follow so closely after family), traffic signs- especially the walking man, my special talents (namely the ability to make my face look like a potato), potatoes, Greek salads, unfortunate people on Facebook, the things I've written that I still like, markers, smelly markers, wild turkeys (if you're not my dad, you will never understand why), Temagami Ontario (save Wolfe Island!), Tina Fey, 30 Rock, Parks and Rec, Zooey Deschanel's Emmy dress, tequila shots (if I'm feeling twirly), my beautiful mermaid hair, Bridget Jones's Diary, my sanity, red meat, french fries, 50% off sales (I've been to Zellers a lot in the past little while), turnips (those fuckers are cute), cats, Grumpy Cat, my fingers, my health, lack of pneumonia (my friend has pneumonia right now), vitamin C tablets, sea salt, comfy chairs, seasonal drinks, exposed brick, Atwater Market, cardboard boxes (nothing more satisfying than a good cardboard box), when my grandma sends me 20$ in the mail, Prince Harry (keeping the monarchy real since 1984), the bands I like, posters, my job, 100% in any context relating to me, good shampoo, the 24 hour diner down the street from my apartment, winter tires, my family cottage, when strangers give you compliments, turkey(!), Ogilvys's Christmas window display in Montreal, The Bay's Christmas window display in Toronto, Christmas lights, warm socks, hot chocolate- ok, I have to cool it on Christmas, its still 2 months away, cute notebooks, waterproof spray, the Neti pot, toasters, cream cheese, pumpkins, reversible raincoats, friendly taxi drivers, Arrested Development, people who read my blog (you keep me young), the recorder (like the instrument not the device), Chinese lanterns (the plant not the fucking lantern), Pokemon Silver for Gameboy Colour (that shit raised me), my grandparents, desserts, the sense of accomplishment I get when I achieve dessert making, the smell of vanilla, rainy days, peonies and all other beautiful flowers, when people give me flowers (not like a cute couple reference, my parents used to give me flowers for every dance show I was ever in), scotty dogs, Puffs Plus Kleenex, Aloe, plaids, when you get a seat on a subway and offer it to an old person and they refuse, canoes, the like button on Facebook, bread, bread, bread, carbohydrates, any of the five moments in my life when I have had a moral compass, Kate Middleton, the 90's (if not for the 90's I would not be here), funny pictures of cats, and NOTHING ELSE.
I am thankful for my friends and family, blah blah blah unoriginal, I am thankful for Toronto Blue Jay Brett Lawrie's butt (didn't expect that one to follow so closely after family), traffic signs- especially the walking man, my special talents (namely the ability to make my face look like a potato), potatoes, Greek salads, unfortunate people on Facebook, the things I've written that I still like, markers, smelly markers, wild turkeys (if you're not my dad, you will never understand why), Temagami Ontario (save Wolfe Island!), Tina Fey, 30 Rock, Parks and Rec, Zooey Deschanel's Emmy dress, tequila shots (if I'm feeling twirly), my beautiful mermaid hair, Bridget Jones's Diary, my sanity, red meat, french fries, 50% off sales (I've been to Zellers a lot in the past little while), turnips (those fuckers are cute), cats, Grumpy Cat, my fingers, my health, lack of pneumonia (my friend has pneumonia right now), vitamin C tablets, sea salt, comfy chairs, seasonal drinks, exposed brick, Atwater Market, cardboard boxes (nothing more satisfying than a good cardboard box), when my grandma sends me 20$ in the mail, Prince Harry (keeping the monarchy real since 1984), the bands I like, posters, my job, 100% in any context relating to me, good shampoo, the 24 hour diner down the street from my apartment, winter tires, my family cottage, when strangers give you compliments, turkey(!), Ogilvys's Christmas window display in Montreal, The Bay's Christmas window display in Toronto, Christmas lights, warm socks, hot chocolate- ok, I have to cool it on Christmas, its still 2 months away, cute notebooks, waterproof spray, the Neti pot, toasters, cream cheese, pumpkins, reversible raincoats, friendly taxi drivers, Arrested Development, people who read my blog (you keep me young), the recorder (like the instrument not the device), Chinese lanterns (the plant not the fucking lantern), Pokemon Silver for Gameboy Colour (that shit raised me), my grandparents, desserts, the sense of accomplishment I get when I achieve dessert making, the smell of vanilla, rainy days, peonies and all other beautiful flowers, when people give me flowers (not like a cute couple reference, my parents used to give me flowers for every dance show I was ever in), scotty dogs, Puffs Plus Kleenex, Aloe, plaids, when you get a seat on a subway and offer it to an old person and they refuse, canoes, the like button on Facebook, bread, bread, bread, carbohydrates, any of the five moments in my life when I have had a moral compass, Kate Middleton, the 90's (if not for the 90's I would not be here), funny pictures of cats, and NOTHING ELSE.
Friday, October 5, 2012
The Poetry Reading Tonight
I was at this poetry reading tonight for a class. I am not an avid goer of poetry readings, but I can appreciate the value and sometimes they're pretty cool. I wasn't in the right mood tonight, but I was like whatever, sometimes there is free wine at readings and if I'm bored at a reading I like to get a little drunk- so sue me!
There was no free booze at this reading but I'm also not an alcoholic yet so it was ok. I was sitting beside this girl in my class who I spoke to for this first time and I wish I hadn't because it is my belief that she is a stuck-up ignoramus. Thats right, ignoramus! She has always seemed kind of cold in class but I try not to be stuck up, maybe she's just shy in our class of fifteen people.
Anyway, before the reading began she started off on how she didn't want to be there, had no idea who the poet was, poked fun at the poet's last name a little bit, she hoped it would only last fifteen minutes blah blah blah, cry me a river buttercup. THEN during the reading, she was continually tapping her foot so fiercely that I could feel it in my chair too, she also proceeded to twiddle her thumbs and make comments under her breath. For real, do you really need everyone to know how much fun you are not having? Does twiddling your thumbs make the time pass more quickly? No. No it doesn't you. Also, when we all applauded at the end of her reading, like sane people do, because we live in a society, she did a slow clap. It was all I could do not to slow clap her across the face!
I can't get over that someone who aspires to be/ probably calls herself an artist would be so disrespectful and close-minded towards a fellow artist- a Pullitzer prize-winning artist at that. Even if you don't like her work, there's something to be learned. Being critical is one thing, being rude is another and frankly I found her behaviour totally unacceptable. If I weren't the spineless toad that I am I would have told her how rude I thought she was being.
I guess it goes to show that no matter what community you're in there will always be people who feel the need to shit on everything. It just strikes me as totally backwards in a small Creative Writing program; its like, if you know everything then why are you in school? If you can do this on your own and have nothing to learn, then just go be a successful artist- I dare you. Make me dislike you more than I already do, I promise you it will be hard.
There was no free booze at this reading but I'm also not an alcoholic yet so it was ok. I was sitting beside this girl in my class who I spoke to for this first time and I wish I hadn't because it is my belief that she is a stuck-up ignoramus. Thats right, ignoramus! She has always seemed kind of cold in class but I try not to be stuck up, maybe she's just shy in our class of fifteen people.
Anyway, before the reading began she started off on how she didn't want to be there, had no idea who the poet was, poked fun at the poet's last name a little bit, she hoped it would only last fifteen minutes blah blah blah, cry me a river buttercup. THEN during the reading, she was continually tapping her foot so fiercely that I could feel it in my chair too, she also proceeded to twiddle her thumbs and make comments under her breath. For real, do you really need everyone to know how much fun you are not having? Does twiddling your thumbs make the time pass more quickly? No. No it doesn't you. Also, when we all applauded at the end of her reading, like sane people do, because we live in a society, she did a slow clap. It was all I could do not to slow clap her across the face!
I can't get over that someone who aspires to be/ probably calls herself an artist would be so disrespectful and close-minded towards a fellow artist- a Pullitzer prize-winning artist at that. Even if you don't like her work, there's something to be learned. Being critical is one thing, being rude is another and frankly I found her behaviour totally unacceptable. If I weren't the spineless toad that I am I would have told her how rude I thought she was being.
I guess it goes to show that no matter what community you're in there will always be people who feel the need to shit on everything. It just strikes me as totally backwards in a small Creative Writing program; its like, if you know everything then why are you in school? If you can do this on your own and have nothing to learn, then just go be a successful artist- I dare you. Make me dislike you more than I already do, I promise you it will be hard.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
What my Gym Membership has Taught Me.
I used to be someone who makes fun of physical fitness. To a large extent, I still am- I love a good joke at the expense of people who take care of their bodies, and I think thats acceptable because I’m not hurting anyone’s feelings. If you work out and hear me say something like, “Elliptical? More like pass the potato chips! Am I right?”, you know that I’m making more fun of myself than I am of you. The difference between my humor now that I have a gym membership and prior to its addition to my card wallet is that I am a little less insecure. I still fire off those timeless zingers at my own expense, but now I have a secret little chuckle to myself about breaking my personal record on the stationary bike.
I still would not consider myself to be a fit person, I’m just a little less made of spaghetti than I was before (I’d say its like 73% now). I used to have this intense mental block about working out (look back far enough in the archives, I wrote about it) before I observed several facts when I started going to the gym regularly.
Fact 1: There are so many people who go to the gym and do fuck all. Seriously, I don’t mean people taking a five, or even ten minute water break after doing something productive. I am talking about men (I’ve only seen guys do it because it usually starts off as me checking them out, but I’m sure there are some ladies doing it too) who sit at weight machines for up to fifteen minutes, and just sit there. I’m sorry, but if you’re already sitting there, you could do something right? These are often people who appear to be in good shape, so I really don’t get it. Is it just a way to kill time before class- to come to the gym and sit? In short, what this has taught me is that you should never be intimidated by babes at the gym because you are actually making a lot more effort than all the people who aren’t at the gym, and even some people who are at the gym. There’s a difference between exerting yourself and sucking (like I tend to be particularly good at) and just not trying.
Fact 2: Don’t be insecure about that panty-line. The number of times my lardy brain has tried to convince my well-intentioned brain not to go to the gym because I will have a panty-line with my bike shorts is ridincinky-donk. Seriously. Ladies and gentleman, if someone takes note of your panty-line, its because they were checking out your ass.
Fact 3: A sweat rag is nothing to be ashamed of. Nobody knows how long you’ve been there, who cares if you have hyper-active sweat glands. The entire NBA have sweat rags, and they've basically all scored Kardashians, so sweat rags are obviously doing something right.
Fact 4: Just because you don’t have a crazy neon LuluLemon tank top, it does not mean you are any less badass, it just means you didn’t spend sixty bucks on a shirt designed to soak up sweat. Thats why you have a sweat rag- duh!
Fact 5: Just because you have a crazy LuluLemon tank top, doesn’t mean you have to prove anything to anyone. You march to the beat of your own drummer comrade!
I hope these life facts have been eye-opening. I trust you will all pass them down to your children. If I think of any more things the gym has taught me I’ll let y’all know.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
The Almond's Money Saving Super Tips #1
I am going to begin a new money saving super tips series, I plan to call it The Almond's Money Saving Super Tips. Fun! So much fun!
Ok, number one. Do you ever want to go to restaurants but then are like "oh wait, I'm a bum and my main source of income is stealing pennies from public fountains"? If the answer is no, then you can get the fuck out of here fancy pants, go enjoy the leaf-blower that you probably have. I usually just avoid restaurant awkwardness by not going to restaurants, but sometimes friends have birthdays or a hottie asks you to lunch or people want to go work on a group project over nachos. So here is a teeny tiny money saving tip for how you can cut down your bill when you are forced to eat out.
The waiter asks if you want still or sparkling water. Tell him/her that you would prefer if he just put a straw in your water so you can blow your own bubbles. Sidenote: you can whip this one out at dinner parties too and impress other guests. You could bring a jug of homemade sparkling to potlucks as well to avoid the cost of making your own dish. Bam! Two in one! You can thank me later, for now get your ass off the couch and enjoy your homemade sparkling water.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Living the Dream (Foood Stylez)
Today, I lived the dream. I know what the dream feels like now, and it feels like food in my stomach, and then in my intestines and the rest of my digestive system. Specifically, the dream is the taste of food in my mouth that other people made for me- and not just on one occasion but I kept this going all day long!
I wish I could say I achieved this without sleeping with people in high places. My boyfriend lives on top of a hill, and he made me brunch today before class. It was a fried egg with tomato on a bed on lettuce on a futon of toasted wheaty bread, in case you were wondering. Rock on boyfriend/slave, I salute you!
Next, during work I stole someone's stale cheerios, because the beauty of working the evening reception shift is that all the real people leave the office at five. This was the most underwhelming of my meals since no one "made" it for me, since it required no making, but I thought it deserved an honourable mention.
After work I had an hour and a half to kill before my next class so I went to a cafe and got a chai latte. Thank you tight pants barista. I wasn't going to buy food, but there was a croissant staring me down so I ordered that after telling myself it wouldn't end up in my stomach for like two seconds. I assume tight pants barista didn't make the croissant but some sucker who is not me made it!
After class, I came home for my typical eleven pm Monday dinner courtesy of me from the past. I made spaghetti sauce and refrigerated the surplus. The spaghetti tasted distinctly like herbs and garlic with a hint of time travel.
Last but certainly not least, my roommates made carrot cake with cream cheese icing and all. I just finished nomming on that delicious morsel of vegetable cakeness. It was literally the icing on the cake of my day of other people feeding me. Thanks everyone, I'll remember you in my will!
I wish I could say I achieved this without sleeping with people in high places. My boyfriend lives on top of a hill, and he made me brunch today before class. It was a fried egg with tomato on a bed on lettuce on a futon of toasted wheaty bread, in case you were wondering. Rock on boyfriend/slave, I salute you!
Next, during work I stole someone's stale cheerios, because the beauty of working the evening reception shift is that all the real people leave the office at five. This was the most underwhelming of my meals since no one "made" it for me, since it required no making, but I thought it deserved an honourable mention.
After work I had an hour and a half to kill before my next class so I went to a cafe and got a chai latte. Thank you tight pants barista. I wasn't going to buy food, but there was a croissant staring me down so I ordered that after telling myself it wouldn't end up in my stomach for like two seconds. I assume tight pants barista didn't make the croissant but some sucker who is not me made it!
After class, I came home for my typical eleven pm Monday dinner courtesy of me from the past. I made spaghetti sauce and refrigerated the surplus. The spaghetti tasted distinctly like herbs and garlic with a hint of time travel.
Last but certainly not least, my roommates made carrot cake with cream cheese icing and all. I just finished nomming on that delicious morsel of vegetable cakeness. It was literally the icing on the cake of my day of other people feeding me. Thanks everyone, I'll remember you in my will!
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