R@ St@us

   I spent the first minutes of NYE waiting for the streetcar, listening to songs on repeat (like I do). When I got onto the streetcar I had a hate-related epiphany: its the most bothersome when someone rings the bell for the upcoming stop before the streetcar has started moving. It just grinds my NYE gears, you know? Really though, the joke's on them because all the murderers that could potentially be a-stalkin' know where you're getting off, so hah!
   Aaanyways, I know there are worse things than people who pull the bell too early (winkwinkwinkwinkwink) but for real I do not understand. I enjoy pulling the bell as much as the next guy, but I don't want to come off as desperate. Premature bell pulling is the first step and next thing you know you're contemplating actually wearing a fedora, and not for money. Or worse, you end up in a relationship with Kanye West and all of a sudden you've got a nine month publicity stunt on your hands! Bottom line, the bell pullers are way past eager beaver status, they're just straight-up annoying beavers.
PS Please be advised that I will be unable to write or even think about anything other than Kim and Kanye's fetus for the rest of my life. So many jokes to fit in in nine months.

Selective Narcolepsy

   I hypothesize that over time humans will develop a habit/disorder/defence mechanism called selective narcolepsy. I imagine it will be something like being able to fall asleep on command, in a free will kind of way.
   When I am feeling some feelings, I like to fall asleep forever. Like right now, I just want to go to bed and fall asleep for roughly fourteen hours, but I know that if I actually went to bed, I would just lay awake thinking about feelings and food. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think the desire to sleep forever is a shared dream of nine in ten Canadians. To the one in ten who doesn't feel that way: bully for you.
   I'm surprised something like selective narcolepsy doesn't already exist. I guess it does, and its called overdosing. But for those of us who can't afford pills (six in ten Canadians), we can only hope for selective narcolepsy. Or fill our time by pretending to read books of making Face-in-Holes until we quietly fall asleep in a puddle of pitiful mediocrity.

Not Shopping

   I never go shopping, but when I do, I only like things that I can't afford. So I think its awesome when I try something on and it doesn't fit because then I don't have to spend a month not eating because I spent food money of shoes. I also love it when I try something on and it accentuates my weird body. These things make most people feel like crying, but being immune to emotions I know nothing of this feeling. I can simply leave the store with an empty soul but a full wallet.

Why I Love Him

   Okay, so I don't know if you know this about me, but I watch a lot of Say Yes to the Dress. I also have a secret wedding board on Pinterest. Whatever, sue me. Its not because I ever plan on being in a marriage, its because I like dressing up and eating cake.
   In case you're unfamiliar, Say Yes is a reality show set in a bridal salon that follows future brides' search for the perfect wedding dress. They do this thing at the start of each interview where they interview the bride-to-be about her fiance and she talks about how they met and why she loves him. I have only ever heard about five different answers to why she loves her fiance, so I have compiled a list of more interesting and perhaps more honest answers. Enjoy.

   Instead of: "I love him because he's my best friend!"
   Try: "I wouldn't say he's my best friend. I think that would be kind of sad. My best friend is Alicia (shout out girl!). He is in my My Five though."
 
   Instead of: "He's always there for me."
   Try: "Well, he's not always there for me. I'd say he's there maybe sixty- no more like forty-five percent of the time."

   Instead of: "He's my rock!"
   Try: "He's my stick of butter!"

   Instead of: "He would do anything for me!"
   Try: "He would do some things for me, but it depends whats on TV at the time that I ask him."

   Instead of: "He's the sweetest guy I've ever met."
   Try: "He's luke-warm. My ex Paul Sanchez was probably the sweetest guy I've ever met. I love him and all, don't get me wrong, but tell him dinner's going to be late and he's downright sour!"

   Instead of: "We're perfect together!"
   Try: "Look, the biological clock was a-ticking. I don't have time to just 'find' the perfect guy for me- I have a full-time job, and standing in line at the grocery store takes longer than you expect. There's no shame in settling."

Toe Socks

   Remember toe socks? How could you not, really. Toe socks are probably one of the most influential fashion innovations, nay, technological innovations of the twentieth century. Toe socks, otherwise known as fittens, are just that: mittens for feet. Not only are they stylish and the heigh of fashion always, they also serve as an uncannily effective ice breaker.
   One of my favourite parts about toe socks is that there is no such thing as a plain pair. They only come in obnoxious stripes and offensive polka dots. Finally, a sock that matches my personality and complexion! Toe socks are also safe for the elderly, because more often than not, they have padded soles to prevent slipping and sliding: walking is safe again; thank you toe socks!
   I like to wear toe socks because of the reaction they get. Nine in ten Canadians are really weirded out by individually wrapped toes. Its great! If you're sitting in your sock feet, watching a move with someone, I suggest you gingerly clutch their leg with your hand-foot. They'll be freaked out for sure!
   The beauty of the toe sock- and what a surplus of beauty there is to be found in this garment- is the feeling you get when you take it off. Its like your toes are all awkward girls at the club- standing alone in their own corners. So when the walls of the sock are broken down, all the awkward girls are thrust together and you can physically feel how weird it is.
   So much fun awaits you in the marvellous world of toe socks.

Boxes of Chocolates

   People say, "life's like a box of chocolates". I certainly hope that my life is at least ten to fifteen percent less disappointing than a box of chocolates. Its true that you never know what you're going to get, but I really hope my life isn't filled with weird unidentifiable goo. Or at least no more than is average...
   For real though, whats up with assortments of chocolate? Pot Of Gold is roughly one million dollars, and the only good ones in the box are the strawberry cremes. Who makes the judgement calls on boxed chocolates, because I would like to have a word.
   Hold up, this just in: THERE IS NO STRAWBERRY CREME IN POT OF GOLD ANYMORE.
   Is it even worth surviving the apocalypse? There's butter creme, rum butter creme (not family friendly!), and other cremes and clusters that are so boring that I fell asleep reading them. What, am I supposed to sit at home watching the Kardashians eating an assortment of underwhelming cremes? Maybe I am. Maybe this is my life. But if I'm going to spend my life watching Scott Disick throw hissy fits, I at least want to be eating decent chocolate. After all, I have some standards to uphold.

Christmas Parties

   I went to a work-related Christmas party with my mother the other night. I was definitely the youngest person there, and every conversation I was engaged in went like this;

Person: Oh my gosh, I didn't even recognize you! How are you doing?

Me: Good! How are you?

Person: Good! What school are you at?

Me: Concordia.

Person: And what are you studying?

Me: Creative Writing.

Person: Thats great. Montreal's a great city.

Me: Yeah, it really is!

THE END.

   I am not even kidding around here. That was literally every conversation I had. And every time I was being discussed while I wasn't around, people were telling my mom how I have turned into a lady (granted, most of these people hadn't seen me since I was 12, and I was wearing very tall shoes). I don't know why these people don't say these nice things to my face, as if my mother is the sounding board for all compliments. I guess they just want to congratulate her on a job well done?

   One digression from the dialogue I've given, was when I was with my mum a lot of the time people would say, "and where's David?" (David is my cool dad). And we would say, "Ethiopia". The looks on their faces were a thousand times more satisfying than the vegan pasta dinner options. Baffled party guests would then ask if we were serious, and want details. But how much detail can you really give about your globe-trotting, dream-pursuing, inspirational cool dad at a Christmas party? My answer to everyone's questions were usually just something like, "he's running away and never coming back" or "I better get some cool presents" *hint*hint*hint*hint* #Iknowhereadsthisblogwhilehe'saway.

   What I'm getting at is that Christmas parties are boring unless the food is good, and/or unless your dad is a cool ass globetrotter, and/or people think you look really fierce in that dress which justifies its purchase last summer even though you've only worn it twice. 

The Most Interesting Woman in the World

   As you well know, I don't do haircuts. But when I do do haircuts (haha doodoo), they are never enjoyable experiences. Past haircuts haven't ever been notably bad or anything, I've just never had that stylist/ head of hair bonding experience, and I will tell you why.
   Whenever I am in a hair salon, chilling in the chair, the funniest person in the world is always in the chair next to mine. Everyone in the salon always wants to talk to whoever is sitting beside me. Oftentimes its an older lady, with wooden earrings and a very loud voice. Sometimes she's a travel writer, other times she's just an extravagant white lady, but she is always infinitely more interesting than me. As I struggle to turn the pages of my magazine with my hands trapped under the smock, my hairdresser questions the most interesting woman in the world about what her plans for the future are. Nobody cares what my plans for the future are, despite the fact that I've got about thirty years more future to account for than this woman.
   Whatever, see if I care. As an act of defiance I haven't visited a hairdresser in years. So take that! I refuse to return to a hair salon until I am undoubtedly the most interesting woman there.

Not Sad Enough, You Say?

   One of the things people say to me after they get to know me a little bit is, "you should do standup". If they're not saying that, they usually say, "you look sooooo much like Winona Ryder". I take both of these things as compliments.
   I was recently out with a bunch of people from my workshop class when someone brought up the standup thing. But then they went back on it because they said that most comedians have something about them- a quirk I guess- that makes them sadder than the average audience member. I'm too mediocre on all fronts to fit into standard sad comedian categories: obesity, depression, alcoholism, Jewish. True I may be mediocre in all of these categories (except Jewish, I'm zero percent Jewish) but I know my life, and can't nobody tell me that shit's not sad:
   One time I got dumped on prom night. One time I fell from the air onto a skinny boy's head (it wasn't sexy). One time I crammed so much sushi into my mouth that I couldn't swallow and had to spit a little bit out onto my napkin. One time I fell off the bed while I was getting down to business (it wasn't sexy). One time, body sounds; oh wait, that was way more than one time. One time my father had to scoop my vomit out of a sink with a yellow cup. One time I thought I had asthma, but I was just grotesquely out of shape. One time my orthodontist  made me wear six elastics in my mouth all day everyday. One time I thought I was going to marry Ryan Seacrest.
   Needless to say, I think most comedians are amateurs on the sadness scale.

Gift Cars

   Gentlemen take note: I have never received a car as a gift. Pedestrians take note: I have never driven a car. There are all these ads on TV though that indicate that gentlemen give automotive vehicles to their wives and girlfriends as gifts. First of all, where's my car at? More importantly though, where do these fabulous husbands get the giant bows that top each new car?

   The perfect giant red bow is very contradictory to every example of men wrapping gifts that has ever existed. This leads me to believe that they give you that bow in lieu of a gift receipt. I guess if you're the kind of person that gets a brand new car as a surprise gift then you're the same kind of person who would return it to get it in a better colour. 

   Do you keep the bow? I would want to (ironically of course). Maybe you could turn it into a fashion accessory. I mean, thats what Nicole Kidman did at the Oscars circa 2007, right?

A Thought

Can we just take a minute to imagine the potential repercussions that would physically and mentally handicap a child who was conceived while "Sandstorm" played in the background?

My Hair

   Sometimes I joke about being in a relationship with my hair. But actually, the most serious, long-termiest relationship I have ever been a part of is with my hair. My haircut predates all past boyfriends. Maybe you might think that I need a haircut or that that's nothing to brag about but you are wrong. I am proud of my mermaid hair, and in many ways it is 100% satisfactory as a life-partener.
   While some silly girls carry on about wanting a man to keep them warm at night, my hair keeps my head warm at night. My hair is also more malleable and versatile than any gentleman I have ever been in a relationship with. Like a boyfriend, sometimes my hair has its bad days, but unlike a boyfriend, I can just wrap a scarf around it and all is forgiven. While I know that relationships are a two-way street, I am content to know that my hair does not give a shit what I do with my time. My hair brings out the best in me at all times, actually my hair is probably my best physical attribute. My hair never complains when I dress it up for fancy events, and providing I can help it along the way, it always makes me look good.
   Me and my hair have been together for a very long time now. I feel like when you go through a change in your life, sometimes you want to get a haircut, but no sir not me. My hair is my rock, and best of all, my hair doesn't mind if I start seeing other people.

Farmville Flashbacks

   What kind of a sicko send Farmville requests in this day and age? Everyone has a farm, that was well tended to for about 2-3 weeks in 2010, but do we really need to be reminded of how that farm which was once a shining beacon of agrarian prowess is now a decrepit wasteland? Does this deep sense of failure and realization that we are all capable of serious neglect need to be brought to the forefront of our minds once more?
   I have a lot of personal failings and I am ashamed of many things. Nothing though - absolutely nothing- is more debilitating than the memory of how I ran that ten square inch piece of land to ruin. It was my own selfish distraction, as I'm sure is the case of all lost farms in the ghost town of Farmville, that led me to forget my crops. When I think of my once prosperous fields of wheat, strawberries and corns- how lucky I was to have such diverse vegetation that seemed immune to seasonal growth patterns!- it brings tears to my eyes. I didn't know how good I had it.
   That time is behind me now though. I move through life in a guilt-ridden haze, following similar patterns of indulgent commitment and sudden disinterest (Sims Social). I had buried the Farmville horrors deep in my subconscious, only to be awakened by some ruffians who have nothing better to do than send Farmville requests two years after the internet dustbowl.

Lars Von Trying

   I am in nearing the homestretch of Lars Von Trier's Melancholia. Its really visually stimulating but, man, does it ever drag on. My understanding is that the dragging is an artistic choice, to mirror the depression/ waiting for the apocalypse that the characters are going through. But hey, aren't we all waiting for the apocalypse (21/12/12 #YOLO)?
   I have about fifteen minutes left of the movie, this will be my third instalment. I'm trying so hard, really I am. I'm considering it research for a project I've started working on and its just reminding me that there is no fun kind of research.
   Also: Kristen Dunst. I don't know. I just don't know. Used to hate her. Then I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and I thought maybe I was just being rude, that she's not that bad. But now I think I only thought that because I really liked the movie on the whole.
   Also: Keifer Sutherland. What kind of a name is that?
   The bottom line is that Melancholia is not coming easy. Unfortunately, I ain't no wimp-ass nancy boy and I physically can't call it quits at this point.

The Name Blacklist

   The Name Blacklist. Its a real thing. Everybody has names that they hate, whether you have hated them since birth or you have grown to hate them because of a person or experience. The Name Blacklist is for names that make you feel bad in hearing them; consequently these names are not names you would call your children.
   The Name Blacklist is problematic when you encounter a name that you love but then a person or event taints it. For example, you love the name Ricardo. Then a guy named Ricardo burns down your house. You still love the name Ricardo and want to name your first-born Ricardo, but not after Ricardo the arsonist. Is that a weird thing to do? I would say yes. Other people would probably say yes. For the rest of you life in conversation, you would have to specify whether you were talking about Ricardo the life-ruiner, or Ricardo your beloved son, the pride and joy of your whole life.
   Thats a pretty hardcore example, I know I would not be down with Ricardos after that. But what about like... naming your kid after someone you had a crush on in high school? I want to specify that its fully creepy to have that person as the namesake but what if you and your spouse just like that name, with no reference to the past. I want to know when it becomes creepy, and I'm going to run with the idea of child naming.
   Is it creepy to give your kid the same name as your ex-boyfriend's salamander?
   Is it creepy to give your kid the same name as an African dictator?
   Is it creepy to give your kid the name "Hamburger"?
   Is it creepy to give all your children the same names as the Kardashians regardless of gender?
   Is it creepy to give your kid the same name as your eccentric, borderline questionable gym teacher?
   Is it creepy to give your kid the same name as a fictional but extremely recognizable movie villain?
   Is it creepy to give your kid the same name as your best friend's verbally abusive father?
   Is it creepy to give your kid the same name as your middle school bully?
   Is it creepy to give your kid the same name as your boss?
   Is it creepy to give your kid the same name as a one night stand?

   Is it creepy to give your kid the same name as your neighbour's kid?
   Is it creepy to give your kid the same name as your neighbour?

   If you just like the name. I don't have the answers, and for any question you could replace "creepy" with any of the following: bizzare, socially-acceptable, awkward, disrespectful, cheeky, out-of-line, justifiable, stalkerish, uncomfortable, regrettable and/or stupid.
   You're gonna have to make a day of this one.

Pharrell

   Pharrell is an enchanting mystery to me. You're going to need to Youtube the music video for Hot-n-Fun, I would suggest Hypnotize U too, but I'm not bout the fedoras and none of those video-hoes are me, so thats problematic. He's got that sum'n sum'n for sure in his videos, but when you Google image him some rather unfortunate photos come up. Its like he was going through his pre-teen awkward phase (again, see fedora) in his mid-thirties.
   Thats another thing. How am I supposed to feel about the fact that Pharrell will apparently be 40 in April?? Witchcraft! I would say black magic, don't think I didn't see that pun, but I don't know you well enough to start making race jokes.
   Sometimes I think Pharrell might be the most alluring man in the world. There. I said it. Sue me. But then there are other times when I see this picture

and I can't even verbalize my disappointment and wild confusion. Like... who let you out like that Pharrell? Its like there's Hot Pharrell and Awkward Pharrell existing in the same world. I actually suspect that maybe he has a really awkward twin. There's no other explanation.

When You Are Engulfed in a Fiery Tangle of Anger

   When you are engulfed in a fiery tangle of anger, what is there to do? If I lived alone I would blast scary music and dress like Taylor Momsen until I literally fell asleep. But in real life, when you're really fucking angry, does it ever help to be snappy with Starbucks baristas who seem not to understand the modern conventions of serving the public? You can be as passive aggressive as you like, but making their day worse rarely makes your day better.
   Even writing shit doesn't help because most of the time, if you're like me, you end up rambling without any clear purpose of what you're getting at. I wish I knew what I was talking about, I wish I could recommend some therapeutic behaviours. I often fantasize about going to the Dollar Store and buying hundreds of glass flowers, driving out to an empty parking lots and smashing them to as many smithereens as I can manage. However I often find my physical expressions of rage extremely underwhelming because while my will may be strong, my biceps are not.
   Sometimes Eminem helps. But then you remember thats he actually seems like a relatively nice guy, and his music seems less relatable as you rage around in a furious... fury. Actually though, I'm listening to Eminem right now, its helping me in a pretty solid way.
    Regardless of what you do when you're really outrageously mad, I think we can all agree that channeling your inner zen is a load of bs invented by Lululemon to sell unforgiving yoga pants. So when you're mad, go ahead and punch inanimate objects (providing they're shock-absorbent and you're willing to replace them), scream at yappy dogs and listen to Eminem (or if you're feeling real shitty, Odd Future).

What is Tumblr?

   On the surface, Tumblr appears to be thirteen to twenty-three year-olds across the globe. But Tumblr is so much more than lonely girls and angry boys with spacers. I've decided to expand this list from just words that are Tumblr, to things that are Tumblr.

Things That are Tumblr

- "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" is Tumblr.
- Boy London is Tumblr.
- Girls with stringy hair is Tumblr, unless the girl in question is
- Zooey Deschanel who is Tumblr.
- Or the Olson Twins or Lindsay Lohan (but not funny Lindsay, sexy Linsday) who are Tumblr.
- sneak attack penises, and all other forms of unexpected genitalia are Tumblr.
- pictures of happy couples that are a lie because someone had to take that picture are Tumblr.

At any given time, you may encounter text on Tumblr, at least one if not all of these words will appear in each individual post. These words are Tumblr:

- lovely (and any of its variations, "lovelies", "my lovelies")

- stunning

- "Ok, bye"

Eyebrow Bliss

   When my eyebrows are happy, everyone is happy. You know those days, when your eyebrows are crazy for no reason and its like, "why? There ain't no Van de Graaff generator, so why are you doing this?" It would be one thing if I was surfacing from a body of water, but sometimes me eyebrows are just doing their own thing.
   My mother says people would kill for my eyebrows, and to this I say I would kill to see that fight which I imagine to be two men fighting at sundown in a Wendys' parking lot over my eyebrows. No matter what my wonderful mother says, my eyebrows have never launched a thousand ships or even a single paddleboat for that matter. That's why its even more awesome when my eyebrows are cooperating.
   Eyebrows legit make a big difference to a person's face. Example one: I'm not down with guys with just have two bricks chilling above their eyes, its like, is your forehead trying to build a house? Example two: I was lurking this girl on FB and all of a sudden she got really pretty. She was pretty before, but something was different: that something was eyebrows.
   I also have very expressive eyebrows. They could probably compete as Olympic high jumpers. Sometimes it looks like they're trying to fly off of my face, which is fine when they're all trying to fly off in one direction, but it is not fine when each hair is trying to fly away in different directions like a flock of scared pigeons. Today though, today they are looking real fierce. Unfortunately I've been cooped up inside writing papers all day.