My apologies for not writing lately. There's been a death in the family. I am also being harassed over the phone by a foreign number that is calling me ceaselessly. So my plate is fuller than if I'd stocked up at the buffet at The Mandarin.
The way I like to deal with emotions is take them all out on one thing at once, because thats the way to do it, right? So with reference to the guy/person/people who keep calling my cell (legit thirty times this morning), I have started fantasizing about how much of a living hell I would make his life if I lived in Pakistan. I know its Pakistan because he sent me a text sharing this information with me. The fucks I don't give are infinite!
But there is only so much hate mongering one can imagine before one must get practical. I can't afford to fly out to Pakistan and break this guy's cell phone, and since my service provider does not offer the luxury function of the call blacklist, I have to get creative. I'm thinking the best thing to do, is to fake my death over the phone. I need to invest in a tape recorder first. Maybe record a fight scene (preferably with gunshots), car crash, mugging gone wrong- that kind of thing. Then hopefully they will stop calling. If they don't then maybe I will actually have to throw myself into traffic.
The Almond Live In 3D
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Saturday, January 26, 2013
ID Cards
Getting photo ID cards is a hassle not only in that the process is usually gruelling, but almost more so is the stress of the actual photo part once you get the ID. Passports in particular are the worst. Every time you look at it you are reminded of how unfortunate it is (not that you could ever forget really). Then to add insult to injury, you have to show it to people. There is no "untag" button.
I don't know why passport photos are the worst of all. Its like they use a special ugly lens. I have looked like a juvenile delinquent consistently for every passport I have ever had. My mother usually looks like her face is melting off in them. And my dad tends to look ill in his. Needless to say, when I used to travel with my folks, we looked like quite the handsome family.
In general, I feel like each different card shows a different look. Like how the passport is always delinguent-y for me. I look like an ingenue in every school ID card, and I usually look like a foxy mama in my health card. The irony, of course, of the beautiful health card is that in any given situation where I am showing my health card, I will probably sick or some state of physical discomfort. I can see myself in a clinic sitting opposite some sexy doctor in his office, showing him my foxy card, and then having him be like, "so your chart indicates that you have worms, tell me more about that". Seems like something that would be accurate.
I don't know why passport photos are the worst of all. Its like they use a special ugly lens. I have looked like a juvenile delinquent consistently for every passport I have ever had. My mother usually looks like her face is melting off in them. And my dad tends to look ill in his. Needless to say, when I used to travel with my folks, we looked like quite the handsome family.
In general, I feel like each different card shows a different look. Like how the passport is always delinguent-y for me. I look like an ingenue in every school ID card, and I usually look like a foxy mama in my health card. The irony, of course, of the beautiful health card is that in any given situation where I am showing my health card, I will probably sick or some state of physical discomfort. I can see myself in a clinic sitting opposite some sexy doctor in his office, showing him my foxy card, and then having him be like, "so your chart indicates that you have worms, tell me more about that". Seems like something that would be accurate.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
My Roommates Wanted Me To Write About Them
My roommates. My dear, sweet roommates: Carolyn, Siobhan, Erica and Brendan. Jokes, not Brendan. But sometimes Brendan (who is Erica's sweet, sweet bf). He changes our lightbulbs, he removes the batteries from our smoke detector. If our apartment was a song, it would be called "How to Murder Our Upstairs Neighbours" ft. Brendan by me, Carolyn, Siobhan and Erica. My roommates and I all met in residence last year, and it has been a beautiful, Buzzfeed-filled blur ever since.
Erica: You clean compulsively and I am not going to stop you. You adopted a terrarium. You emerged from your room this morning looking like a very unhappy camper, and it made me laugh. Erica was supposed to live with her cousin this year, but then the rest of us killed her cousin.
Carolyn: Wee little Carolyn, who has the worst luck in the world. If I could give you all the leprechauns I would. Especially since its her birthday this weekend, instead I am going to point and laugh as she gets belligerently drunk. Carolyn is also Tumblr famous, and is the cutest patootie.
Siobhan: You are always wearing your sassy pants, to the point that they are more like sassy legs, than pants. One time Siobhan and I drank like two beers and then were in our kitchen and couldn't stop laughing. It was prime. Sometime Siobhan and I get together and be racist, sometimes we sing songs, and last night she washed my face. Our relationship is like two one-legged dogs who are also blind but don't know that they only have one leg nor do they know they're blind.
***To protect their identities I have only uploaded pictures where they're wearing cool sunglasses.***
Erica: You clean compulsively and I am not going to stop you. You adopted a terrarium. You emerged from your room this morning looking like a very unhappy camper, and it made me laugh. Erica was supposed to live with her cousin this year, but then the rest of us killed her cousin.
Carolyn: Wee little Carolyn, who has the worst luck in the world. If I could give you all the leprechauns I would. Especially since its her birthday this weekend, instead I am going to point and laugh as she gets belligerently drunk. Carolyn is also Tumblr famous, and is the cutest patootie.
Siobhan: You are always wearing your sassy pants, to the point that they are more like sassy legs, than pants. One time Siobhan and I drank like two beers and then were in our kitchen and couldn't stop laughing. It was prime. Sometime Siobhan and I get together and be racist, sometimes we sing songs, and last night she washed my face. Our relationship is like two one-legged dogs who are also blind but don't know that they only have one leg nor do they know they're blind.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Bathroom Graffiti
The greatest unsolved mystery of all time are the identities of the people who write on the walls of bathroom stalls. Beyond grade two, it is not an appropriate form of rebellious self expression. Yet, I find myself in university, and people are still writing poems, confessions, motivational and unmotivational phrases on the walls. It makes me question whether this really is 'higher learning'.
There's this one bathroom graffiti in the english department at my school (not even conveniently located) that reads "you are beautiful" with a little flower illustration and it makes me so mad. Maybe I just need to learn how to take a compliment but it's like, you're a fucking wall. You don't know me. You don't even have eyes. And whoever wrote that doesn't know me, and if they do, I need to hang out with different people.
Also: poetry. Whats up with bathroom poetry? Its not an okay outlet. You're not going to gain a following that way. "Really love your choice of enjambment in the second stanza between 'shadow' and 'tears'", said no one ever in response to bathroom poetry. "That was really inspiring and original work in the sixth stall from the left" said another person never. I think it is the one art form that is exclusively bad.
Thats a pretty groundbreaking feat if you think about it. An entire genre of awful work. Way to be, bathroom scribblings.
There's this one bathroom graffiti in the english department at my school (not even conveniently located) that reads "you are beautiful" with a little flower illustration and it makes me so mad. Maybe I just need to learn how to take a compliment but it's like, you're a fucking wall. You don't know me. You don't even have eyes. And whoever wrote that doesn't know me, and if they do, I need to hang out with different people.
Also: poetry. Whats up with bathroom poetry? Its not an okay outlet. You're not going to gain a following that way. "Really love your choice of enjambment in the second stanza between 'shadow' and 'tears'", said no one ever in response to bathroom poetry. "That was really inspiring and original work in the sixth stall from the left" said another person never. I think it is the one art form that is exclusively bad.
Thats a pretty groundbreaking feat if you think about it. An entire genre of awful work. Way to be, bathroom scribblings.
Mascots
I have had a weird relationship with school mascots. I've been a raven and an eagle (fierce birds), a roadrunner (less fierce bird), an now I'm a bee (fierce in picnic scenarios). But the most questionable mascot I ever had was the Dandy Lion.
No, not dandelion, like the tenacious weed, like a lion that is dandy.
Is there anything less frustrating than wearing a jersey that reads "Dandy Lion" on the back? Moreover, is there anything less intimidating than taking on a team like that?
And whoever came up with that was soooo close to making a legitimately good mascot. I don't really see what the problem would have been with a lion. Its not like naming your team(s) "The Carnivorous Beasts" or "Flesh-Eating Moths". A lion is an acceptable thing. Somehow "dandy" slipped in there though thus dooming every student to ever attend Wilkinson PS to be a big ol' (dandy) loser.
Coincidentally, or consequently, our sports teams were not that A-list. It was the situation where we had the same three athletic people on every team, and the rest of us were only good in the eyes of our parents.
No, not dandelion, like the tenacious weed, like a lion that is dandy.
Is there anything less frustrating than wearing a jersey that reads "Dandy Lion" on the back? Moreover, is there anything less intimidating than taking on a team like that?
And whoever came up with that was soooo close to making a legitimately good mascot. I don't really see what the problem would have been with a lion. Its not like naming your team(s) "The Carnivorous Beasts" or "Flesh-Eating Moths". A lion is an acceptable thing. Somehow "dandy" slipped in there though thus dooming every student to ever attend Wilkinson PS to be a big ol' (dandy) loser.
Coincidentally, or consequently, our sports teams were not that A-list. It was the situation where we had the same three athletic people on every team, and the rest of us were only good in the eyes of our parents.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Playcount Bonanza
I'm going to give you a present for reading my blog. I'm going to do a show and tell of my most played songs on iTunes. Maybe that doesn't sound too exciting, but believe you me, it is entertainment at its finest.
The Almond's Very Questionable Most Played on iTunes
1. Fancy Footwork by Chromeo, 290 plays. I listened to this song non-stop for roughly three weeks in grade twelve after hearing it at a dance audition. I still listen to it from time to time, but I wanna stress that those weeks were easily grounds to be admitted.
2. Rococo by Arcade Fire, 229 plays. This is actually my favourite song ever. So... I guess thats not too embarrassing. However, what is embarrassing is that it is a staggering 61 plays behind first place.
3. Nothin' On You by Bruno Mars, 202 plays. There we go, a real questionable choice. I don't even remember listening to this obsessively. I can't rightly say it was just a phase because I evidently listened to this moderately catchy song enough to make it my third most played.
4. Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless, 199 plays. Poised to overtake Bruno Mars, probably with a piano wire. Taylor Momsen is the lead singer of this band, and as much as I initially disliked her and her image, now I basically want to be her she's such a badass bitch. This song makes me want to traipse around in a studded leather jacket and bleach my hair and have people think that I contract STIs (but really I would still be Jenny for the block, as they say).
5. Bigger by The Backstreet Boys, 196 plays. This song was released in 2009, so it is an old man BSB hit. Or not hit, actually. My bestie and I casually rock out to this song sometimes, and yes, its embarrassing but the old guys look really cute in the music video. However I did not watch the music video while racking up those playcounts...
6. The Suburbs by Arcade Fire, 177. A significant drop in plays from fifth place despite being a better song than almost all of the above. Pretty standard. Fav band. Don't be a player hater.
7. Pretty Girl Rock by Keri Hilson, 171 plays. Fun fact: one time my friends and I were trying to do the dance that she does in the music video, and on of the other party guests asked us if we were river dancing. I like to think of this song as a girl power anthem, however some would just argue that its for cocky bitches. Whatever, its given me the rattiest comeback to any insult ever, "jealousy's the ugliest trait" (works best when it is not applicable to the situation).
8. Can't Stop Partying by Weezer, 170 plays. Good one, iTunes. I know all the words to the Lil' Wayne rap breakdown in this song. ALL THE WORDS. And yes, this song comes up as "Weezer ft. Lil' Wayne" in the artists column. I have broken too many tables by dancing on top of them to this song in high school. Its sad because I'm not joking.
9. Can't Be Tamed by Miley Cyrus, 154 plays. What top played list is complete without a lil pre-haircut, post-disney Miley. Clearly a song I put on repeat a lot after trying to justify some of my life choices, to no avail.
10. Up Up & Away by Kid Cudi, 151 plays. No regrets. This is another one that I think I was really into for about a week. It was a good subway ride song, what can I say.
The Almond's Very Questionable Most Played on iTunes
1. Fancy Footwork by Chromeo, 290 plays. I listened to this song non-stop for roughly three weeks in grade twelve after hearing it at a dance audition. I still listen to it from time to time, but I wanna stress that those weeks were easily grounds to be admitted.
2. Rococo by Arcade Fire, 229 plays. This is actually my favourite song ever. So... I guess thats not too embarrassing. However, what is embarrassing is that it is a staggering 61 plays behind first place.
3. Nothin' On You by Bruno Mars, 202 plays. There we go, a real questionable choice. I don't even remember listening to this obsessively. I can't rightly say it was just a phase because I evidently listened to this moderately catchy song enough to make it my third most played.
4. Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless, 199 plays. Poised to overtake Bruno Mars, probably with a piano wire. Taylor Momsen is the lead singer of this band, and as much as I initially disliked her and her image, now I basically want to be her she's such a badass bitch. This song makes me want to traipse around in a studded leather jacket and bleach my hair and have people think that I contract STIs (but really I would still be Jenny for the block, as they say).
5. Bigger by The Backstreet Boys, 196 plays. This song was released in 2009, so it is an old man BSB hit. Or not hit, actually. My bestie and I casually rock out to this song sometimes, and yes, its embarrassing but the old guys look really cute in the music video. However I did not watch the music video while racking up those playcounts...
6. The Suburbs by Arcade Fire, 177. A significant drop in plays from fifth place despite being a better song than almost all of the above. Pretty standard. Fav band. Don't be a player hater.
7. Pretty Girl Rock by Keri Hilson, 171 plays. Fun fact: one time my friends and I were trying to do the dance that she does in the music video, and on of the other party guests asked us if we were river dancing. I like to think of this song as a girl power anthem, however some would just argue that its for cocky bitches. Whatever, its given me the rattiest comeback to any insult ever, "jealousy's the ugliest trait" (works best when it is not applicable to the situation).
8. Can't Stop Partying by Weezer, 170 plays. Good one, iTunes. I know all the words to the Lil' Wayne rap breakdown in this song. ALL THE WORDS. And yes, this song comes up as "Weezer ft. Lil' Wayne" in the artists column. I have broken too many tables by dancing on top of them to this song in high school. Its sad because I'm not joking.
9. Can't Be Tamed by Miley Cyrus, 154 plays. What top played list is complete without a lil pre-haircut, post-disney Miley. Clearly a song I put on repeat a lot after trying to justify some of my life choices, to no avail.
10. Up Up & Away by Kid Cudi, 151 plays. No regrets. This is another one that I think I was really into for about a week. It was a good subway ride song, what can I say.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Most Days I'm Not Shuffling
iPods on shuffle are like really shady ex boyfriends or girlfriends. Bear with me. Your iPod is this thing that you have a long-lasting relationship with (even if its new, you have had an iPod before, so I'm talking about like, a cumulative iPod). Like someone you date, your past is inextricably linked with your iPod.
When you put your iPod on shuffle, thats when they turn into a shady ex. All of a sudden its like you don't even know your iPod; like they don't even know you. They start making grotesque assumptions about you- like that you want to listen to Coldplay after LMFAO or that at nine in the morning, "Levels" by Avicii is something you would like. Your relationship is entirely changed. Your iPod is a totally different person, a really weird person who you would never want to spend more than five minutes with.
Putting your iPod on shuffle is like seeing an ex without your relationship goggles off. Not all exes, but the embarrassing ones. Its all the worse because its a reflection of yourself in a lot of ways. You remember that at one point you payed money to put Lil' John on your iPod. It was something you wanted. Similarly, the iPod on shuffle is a choice you made. You put yourself there and you must suffer the consequences.
When you put your iPod on shuffle, thats when they turn into a shady ex. All of a sudden its like you don't even know your iPod; like they don't even know you. They start making grotesque assumptions about you- like that you want to listen to Coldplay after LMFAO or that at nine in the morning, "Levels" by Avicii is something you would like. Your relationship is entirely changed. Your iPod is a totally different person, a really weird person who you would never want to spend more than five minutes with.
Putting your iPod on shuffle is like seeing an ex without your relationship goggles off. Not all exes, but the embarrassing ones. Its all the worse because its a reflection of yourself in a lot of ways. You remember that at one point you payed money to put Lil' John on your iPod. It was something you wanted. Similarly, the iPod on shuffle is a choice you made. You put yourself there and you must suffer the consequences.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
~~Speed Stacking~~
When I attended ghetto middle school, we could not afford textbooks for my math class. Someone smeared their faeces all over the washroom once (but thats a story for another day). But most importantly, at my school there was a full unit in gym devoted to speed stacking.
I am going to tear speed stacking a new one. Men and women all over the world who have given up on ever having a real job speed stack professionally. Its a "sport" just like washing the dishes, flushing the toilet and polishing silverware- all of which are not sports at all. If speed stacking qualifies as a sport, and me eating cake does not, then I don't want to live in this world anymore.
Let me break it down at a leisurely pace. There are these special cups (special in the way that an ugly haircut is special) that have six really important and special features according to the speed stacking website (www.lamesport69.com). The idea is that you stack and unstack the cups in a specific order (there are like 12 cups in a set), and you try to do it as fast as possible. Think you can do that? BOOM, you're an athlete!
On their website (www.buyafuckingsoccerball.com ) there are 25 words of speed stacking vocabulary under the heading "Sport Stacking lingo". My personal favourites are: ambidexterity (don't know when that became an exclusive speed stacking thing, but okay), teamwork, and cup. For those of you who didn't know what a cup was, you can legit go to the website for a full definition (www.waystobearunningjokeinyourfamily.com/cup).
Now, I don't want to shit on the party. The stacking community is probably great, and in my time as a gym class student as well as a camp counsellor, I've had several run-ins with speed stacking. But I just want you to know that a stack of 12 plastic cups (yes, cups) is 16$ at the online store. If you want all the necessary equipment to run a successful speed stacking ring, thats going to cost you up to 45$ for one set.
Coming full circle with this story: my school could afford at least six sets of stacking cups (and paradoxically necessary superfluous equipment) but not math textbooks. The boys gym class got to go outside and do real things like move their legs while the girls gym class got to sit inside and develop body image issues.
I am going to tear speed stacking a new one. Men and women all over the world who have given up on ever having a real job speed stack professionally. Its a "sport" just like washing the dishes, flushing the toilet and polishing silverware- all of which are not sports at all. If speed stacking qualifies as a sport, and me eating cake does not, then I don't want to live in this world anymore.
Let me break it down at a leisurely pace. There are these special cups (special in the way that an ugly haircut is special) that have six really important and special features according to the speed stacking website (www.lamesport69.com). The idea is that you stack and unstack the cups in a specific order (there are like 12 cups in a set), and you try to do it as fast as possible. Think you can do that? BOOM, you're an athlete!
On their website (www.buyafuckingsoccerball.com ) there are 25 words of speed stacking vocabulary under the heading "Sport Stacking lingo". My personal favourites are: ambidexterity (don't know when that became an exclusive speed stacking thing, but okay), teamwork, and cup. For those of you who didn't know what a cup was, you can legit go to the website for a full definition (www.waystobearunningjokeinyourfamily.com/cup).
Now, I don't want to shit on the party. The stacking community is probably great, and in my time as a gym class student as well as a camp counsellor, I've had several run-ins with speed stacking. But I just want you to know that a stack of 12 plastic cups (yes, cups) is 16$ at the online store. If you want all the necessary equipment to run a successful speed stacking ring, thats going to cost you up to 45$ for one set.
Coming full circle with this story: my school could afford at least six sets of stacking cups (and paradoxically necessary superfluous equipment) but not math textbooks. The boys gym class got to go outside and do real things like move their legs while the girls gym class got to sit inside and develop body image issues.
Friday, January 18, 2013
The Ol' Cold Nose
Whats it called when your snot freezes in your nose? Oh right, Canadian winter.
My dad called from Ethiopia yesterday to tell me about how much sunscreen he wears. That was definitely the least relatable information he could have told me. In Montreal it has been legit -25 which makes it feel like your butt is literally falling off (clinically referred to as "freezing your ass off").
The worst cold symptom by far is when your snot freezes in your nose though. I never know what to do. Mittens inhibit the ability to properly blow one's nose so if you're travelling you just have to keep sniffing as you feel it become more solid. Too graphic? Whatever, no nancy boys allowed- especially if you're not in a cold weather climate right now.
Its a wonder that they haven't come up with a socially-acceptable nose-hat yet. You could wear a balaclava I suppose, but then I like to be able to move around surreptitiously in public without people thinking I'm about to rob them. I was actually thinking about unhinging the arms from a pair of glasses and knitting a nose hat to attach to them.
This would solve a really insane student problem that I have to suffer through on the daily. When the person behind you in lecture has the sniffles but either doesn't have a Kleenex or refuses to blow their nose, so they just repeatedly sniff quietly (but just loud enough that you can hear it over your shoulder). If peoples' noses were warmer maybe we wouldn't have this problem. This problem thats sniffing the nation.
My dad called from Ethiopia yesterday to tell me about how much sunscreen he wears. That was definitely the least relatable information he could have told me. In Montreal it has been legit -25 which makes it feel like your butt is literally falling off (clinically referred to as "freezing your ass off").
The worst cold symptom by far is when your snot freezes in your nose though. I never know what to do. Mittens inhibit the ability to properly blow one's nose so if you're travelling you just have to keep sniffing as you feel it become more solid. Too graphic? Whatever, no nancy boys allowed- especially if you're not in a cold weather climate right now.
Its a wonder that they haven't come up with a socially-acceptable nose-hat yet. You could wear a balaclava I suppose, but then I like to be able to move around surreptitiously in public without people thinking I'm about to rob them. I was actually thinking about unhinging the arms from a pair of glasses and knitting a nose hat to attach to them.
This would solve a really insane student problem that I have to suffer through on the daily. When the person behind you in lecture has the sniffles but either doesn't have a Kleenex or refuses to blow their nose, so they just repeatedly sniff quietly (but just loud enough that you can hear it over your shoulder). If peoples' noses were warmer maybe we wouldn't have this problem. This problem thats sniffing the nation.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Poundian Don'ts
Its a serious conflict of interest to be a die-hard Creative Writing student, but also be a die-hard fan of Poundian Don'ts.
Examples of Poundian Don'ts:
- The toothbrush of despair
- The clothespin of monogamy
- The pantsuit of wrath
Maybe you can understand why I love them? I love them because they are hiLOLrious. My poetry prof last year was super duper against them, as I'm sure many people are because they don't really mean anything and are cliche. At least thats what I gather, and I get that too. Its so much easier to laugh at a Poundian Don't than to take it seriously.
I have respect for technique, don't get me wrong, but maybe its because I have no feelings and can't take anything seriously that I can only just barely resist throwing in some PD's (as they may or may not say). I wrote a poem called Ode to a Patchy Beard the other day. One time I referenced General Tao chicken- like chickens that are dressed like General Tao- in a piece. So maybe it's not the worst thing I could do to mention "the pantsuit of wrath" in my portfolio.
Examples of Poundian Don'ts:
- The toothbrush of despair
- The clothespin of monogamy
- The pantsuit of wrath
Maybe you can understand why I love them? I love them because they are hiLOLrious. My poetry prof last year was super duper against them, as I'm sure many people are because they don't really mean anything and are cliche. At least thats what I gather, and I get that too. Its so much easier to laugh at a Poundian Don't than to take it seriously.
I have respect for technique, don't get me wrong, but maybe its because I have no feelings and can't take anything seriously that I can only just barely resist throwing in some PD's (as they may or may not say). I wrote a poem called Ode to a Patchy Beard the other day. One time I referenced General Tao chicken- like chickens that are dressed like General Tao- in a piece. So maybe it's not the worst thing I could do to mention "the pantsuit of wrath" in my portfolio.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Bits of Food
This always happens when there is a communal food. The last piece, or in most cases, the last piece of a piece just sits there and no one wants to be the one to eat it. Everyone always leave the largest morsel that is still socially acceptable to leave on the platter, but small enough that people would rather not eat it than have to do the dishes after finishing it.
I would say this is humanity at its absolute worst: the inner conflict of wanting to stuff foodstuffs down our gullet but being too lazy to do a menial task required in eating it. Its like when they test six year olds by putting a cookie in front of them and telling them that they'll get six more cookies if they can go five minutes without eating the pre-existing cookie. This is how they tell that girls are smarter than boys. Proven science.
But for real. Its actually classified as torture to leave a food in front of a person and challenge them not to eat it. It also sucks being on the other side of it too. Being the person who takes the second last slice/ piece of whatever it is, and then having to gauge how much is acceptable to leave.
My roommates are having a conversation about how they like reading my blog posts when they have to do with the subject. So I'm going to give this one to them: there is a very small piece of cookie sitting in a very large plastic container on out dining room table right now. Somebody eat it. Please. I don't even want it but I feel an obligation as an eating machine without brakes to eat the piece of cookie. I almost feel bad for it. Siobhan! Carolyn! Erica! Someone eat the cookie!
I would say this is humanity at its absolute worst: the inner conflict of wanting to stuff foodstuffs down our gullet but being too lazy to do a menial task required in eating it. Its like when they test six year olds by putting a cookie in front of them and telling them that they'll get six more cookies if they can go five minutes without eating the pre-existing cookie. This is how they tell that girls are smarter than boys. Proven science.
But for real. Its actually classified as torture to leave a food in front of a person and challenge them not to eat it. It also sucks being on the other side of it too. Being the person who takes the second last slice/ piece of whatever it is, and then having to gauge how much is acceptable to leave.
My roommates are having a conversation about how they like reading my blog posts when they have to do with the subject. So I'm going to give this one to them: there is a very small piece of cookie sitting in a very large plastic container on out dining room table right now. Somebody eat it. Please. I don't even want it but I feel an obligation as an eating machine without brakes to eat the piece of cookie. I almost feel bad for it. Siobhan! Carolyn! Erica! Someone eat the cookie!
Sunday, January 13, 2013
The Worst Bank In THE WORLD
In Montreal, there's this TD bank downtown. I am a happy member of the TD bank community (is it bad to say that on the internet? Whatever, go ahead, rob me. Have fun with that ten cents). With the sole exception of this one branch in downtown Montreal, I fucking love the TD life. Its a great place to be poor.
Anyway, this one bank has gotten my goat for the past year and a half. It literally has every single goat of mine that could ever be gotten. Lets go through them, shall we?
Number 1: The line is longer than the line at Canada's Wonderland to ride The Italian Job rollercoaster. If that doesn't mean anything to you, then you can get the fuck out. Know why there's always a huge line at this bank? Because there are only ever max. three tellers open, one of which is usually the business wicket so it doesn't even count for the common folk! Three tellers would be totally fine were this branch located in the middle of bum-sex nowhere, however this is a major urban centre, with major urban needs.
Number 2: The employees are useless. Thats maybe not true, I'm sure they're great lovers and bar-patrons, but they move at the speed of time. Think about it. Not only do they take their sweet time, they also take other things like lunch and smoke breaks. Thats totally something that you are entitled to, as someone who has a job. But when I am the fifteenth person in line and I can see you eating your fucking turkey club, it makes me want to slash things. And when I have to ask you to move out of my way as I try to enter the bank because you are smoking in the middle of the sidewalk, that too is frustrating.
Number 3: The hobos. Montreal is arguably the hobo capital of Canada, and I feel for the hobos because I know this particular issue is bigger than me and/or the TD bank. However! When I am using the ATM and I am 99% sure that I'm standing on a mat that is saturated in hobo pee (how could I know this, you say? Because that ATM lobby smells raunchy), Houston, we have a problem. One time I walked into the bank, and there was a hobo sushi'd inside one of the mats. It was depressing.
Number 4: The stupid shit they choose to say to you, and the important shit they choose not to say to you. This is an extension of number two. One time I went in to buy cheques, and after waiting in the hell line the teller told me I had to go to the Welcome Desk and (I quote) "you always go to the Welcome Desk first". I'm sorry. But who has ever gone to the Welcome Desk first, ever in their life? Its not a thing! And then there was no one even at the Welcome Desk (more like the Just There For Show Desk). The security guard came up to me and questioned me because I was loitering. Eventually someone came and was very incompetent and had to call the manager over. Bottom line: took way more time than it ever should have.
In conclusion, I guess there wasn't much point to this post. I just needed to warn the internet about this particular thorn in my side. My laundry's done now... so I'm gonna.. just go get it... bye.
Anyway, this one bank has gotten my goat for the past year and a half. It literally has every single goat of mine that could ever be gotten. Lets go through them, shall we?
Number 1: The line is longer than the line at Canada's Wonderland to ride The Italian Job rollercoaster. If that doesn't mean anything to you, then you can get the fuck out. Know why there's always a huge line at this bank? Because there are only ever max. three tellers open, one of which is usually the business wicket so it doesn't even count for the common folk! Three tellers would be totally fine were this branch located in the middle of bum-sex nowhere, however this is a major urban centre, with major urban needs.
Number 2: The employees are useless. Thats maybe not true, I'm sure they're great lovers and bar-patrons, but they move at the speed of time. Think about it. Not only do they take their sweet time, they also take other things like lunch and smoke breaks. Thats totally something that you are entitled to, as someone who has a job. But when I am the fifteenth person in line and I can see you eating your fucking turkey club, it makes me want to slash things. And when I have to ask you to move out of my way as I try to enter the bank because you are smoking in the middle of the sidewalk, that too is frustrating.
Number 3: The hobos. Montreal is arguably the hobo capital of Canada, and I feel for the hobos because I know this particular issue is bigger than me and/or the TD bank. However! When I am using the ATM and I am 99% sure that I'm standing on a mat that is saturated in hobo pee (how could I know this, you say? Because that ATM lobby smells raunchy), Houston, we have a problem. One time I walked into the bank, and there was a hobo sushi'd inside one of the mats. It was depressing.
Number 4: The stupid shit they choose to say to you, and the important shit they choose not to say to you. This is an extension of number two. One time I went in to buy cheques, and after waiting in the hell line the teller told me I had to go to the Welcome Desk and (I quote) "you always go to the Welcome Desk first". I'm sorry. But who has ever gone to the Welcome Desk first, ever in their life? Its not a thing! And then there was no one even at the Welcome Desk (more like the Just There For Show Desk). The security guard came up to me and questioned me because I was loitering. Eventually someone came and was very incompetent and had to call the manager over. Bottom line: took way more time than it ever should have.
In conclusion, I guess there wasn't much point to this post. I just needed to warn the internet about this particular thorn in my side. My laundry's done now... so I'm gonna.. just go get it... bye.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Go Home Dishwasher, You're Drunk!
I have a complicated relationship with dishwashers (the machine kind). Growing up, we had a dishwasher but we never ever used it upon my mother's insistence that it was "broken" because the one time she tried to use it it "exploded". Okay, cool, whatever. At my apartment, we have a dishwasher that we thought was broken, but it turns out it just wasn't switched on... Today my roommates and I got more acquainted with our dishwasher than we would have liked.
For a couple days we've been noticing this funky rotten egg smell in our kitchen. We thought it was the sink/drain so we've been leaving lemon wedges in the grate, pouring hot water down it- all those fun activities that people love to do on their spare time. Today though, we were in for a fun surprise when we discovered the funky smell was actually coming from the dishwasher. My roommate opened it only to be overcome with the staggering egg smell- I believe there were literal stink waves cruising through the air, it was that bad- whose source appeared to be the pool of brownish water chilling in the bottom of the dishwasher. The smell was foul, almost as bad as that time I nearly drank rotten apple juice (stay tuned for that story!).
Being the positive, seekers of silver linings that we are, we were stoked to have found the source of the stench. Easy fix too, we'll just run the dishwasher to clean it out, we thought. We thought wrong. When we started running the machine, all the suds started pouring out of the dishwasher. Our first line of defence were bundles of dishtowels bunched under the machine- these served well for about two seconds. Next, my roommates approached the satanic dishwasher armed with a dustpan for scooping out the soap suds which were then emptied into the sink repeatedly. Eventually we located some tupperware and put them under the dishwasher and they fared a little bit better than our previous ideas.
Epilogue: Once the rinse cycle was finished we confirmed that the drain was clogged and had to remove the pool of dirty water in the dishwasher via variously sized tupperware. I think the moral of the story here is that tupperware is a lifesaver, and that dish racks like to take baths.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Accessorize Your Face
My go-to accessories for all seasons are pimples. I feel like a little bit of acne goes a long way, and can really change the vibe of your outfit and the overall message that you send to the world. That message usually being "I need a shower" or "I just got dumped", however it need not be limited to these.
Pimples are by far the hardest accessory to rock- even tougher than a fedora, and you should know how I feel about fedoras by now. Few people can confidently give a dissertation in front of a room full of strangers being aware of their third eye scaring everyone into submission.
What I'm getting at here is that my skin is like an angry mountainous terrain map right now and I was feeling sorry for myself for a long time until the pimple to end all pimples reared its ugly white head the other day. I realized that there was nothing I could do to cover it up (I'm not a huge makeup person): people are going to notice it no matter what. Rather than act mousy and try to strategically place things in front of my face and/or not participating in society until the pimple goes away, I decided to rock it. I am currently working the pimple like nobody's business. Today I spoke in my biggest lecture. I even went to a party with people I'm not super close with. My pimple looked everyone dead in the eyes and asked them to look deep inside themselves and consider whether a single, really gross pimple is just reason to hide yourself from the world. So when you've got a crazy pimple, girl just work it.
Pimples are by far the hardest accessory to rock- even tougher than a fedora, and you should know how I feel about fedoras by now. Few people can confidently give a dissertation in front of a room full of strangers being aware of their third eye scaring everyone into submission.
What I'm getting at here is that my skin is like an angry mountainous terrain map right now and I was feeling sorry for myself for a long time until the pimple to end all pimples reared its ugly white head the other day. I realized that there was nothing I could do to cover it up (I'm not a huge makeup person): people are going to notice it no matter what. Rather than act mousy and try to strategically place things in front of my face and/or not participating in society until the pimple goes away, I decided to rock it. I am currently working the pimple like nobody's business. Today I spoke in my biggest lecture. I even went to a party with people I'm not super close with. My pimple looked everyone dead in the eyes and asked them to look deep inside themselves and consider whether a single, really gross pimple is just reason to hide yourself from the world. So when you've got a crazy pimple, girl just work it.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Jamie Foxx
I haven't seen Django Unchained yet, but I've heard really great things and I want to see it, not so much because of the great things I've heard, but because Jamie Foxx is like a rubik's cube to me. He's got this legit acting career and wears nice suits, but then he has this weird C-list rap career! First of all, he's featured in Gold Digger by Kanye West which was like my grade seven anthem, not because I went after rich guys (or any guys) but because I thought I was hard. Anyway. Enough about me!
Except not enough about me because I have to reference myself once more. When I was in grade eleven (and did go after boys, thank you very mucchchchchch) I listened to Blame It by Jamie Foxx ft. T-pain, way more than any human being ever should. In case you're unfamiliar the song is Jamie Foxx singing to women everywhere telling them that its ok to get really drunk and hook up with him because they can just blame it on the alcohol. I'm sure Jamie preaches that to his two daughters (brb my eyebrows just flew through the ceiling).
Weirdest part about Blame It is the music video though, because its got all these really cool celebs in it: Jake Gyllenhaal, Quincy Jones, Forest Whitaker, Samuel L Jackson and, riddle me this, Ron Howard! What the what?? Cherry on the weird-ass cake; its directed by Hype Williams. The strange mix of very talented men cameo mostly in the beginning of the video (probably because their publicists showed them the lyrics and deemed the song potentially career-damaging) and the rest of it is just Jamie Foxx bobbing around in a little red room. Its hard on the eyes.
PS, Worth mentioning that Jake Gyllenhaal dons a fedora while driving a convertible (Ron Howard riding bitch in the backseat), and Samuel L. Jackson's face appears between boobs.
PPS Here's a screenshot of Jamie Foxx looking peeking out of some shutters at some babes. Perhaps hoping for something like "shawtie got drunk, thought it all was a dream so I made her say ah". Like how you say "ah" at the doctor. Like opening your mouth. Like blowjobs, people!! Read between the Jamie Foxx lines. (To be fair that is during the T-pain rap- T-pain= marriage material).
Except not enough about me because I have to reference myself once more. When I was in grade eleven (and did go after boys, thank you very mucchchchchch) I listened to Blame It by Jamie Foxx ft. T-pain, way more than any human being ever should. In case you're unfamiliar the song is Jamie Foxx singing to women everywhere telling them that its ok to get really drunk and hook up with him because they can just blame it on the alcohol. I'm sure Jamie preaches that to his two daughters (brb my eyebrows just flew through the ceiling).
Weirdest part about Blame It is the music video though, because its got all these really cool celebs in it: Jake Gyllenhaal, Quincy Jones, Forest Whitaker, Samuel L Jackson and, riddle me this, Ron Howard! What the what?? Cherry on the weird-ass cake; its directed by Hype Williams. The strange mix of very talented men cameo mostly in the beginning of the video (probably because their publicists showed them the lyrics and deemed the song potentially career-damaging) and the rest of it is just Jamie Foxx bobbing around in a little red room. Its hard on the eyes.
PS, Worth mentioning that Jake Gyllenhaal dons a fedora while driving a convertible (Ron Howard riding bitch in the backseat), and Samuel L. Jackson's face appears between boobs.
PPS Here's a screenshot of Jamie Foxx looking peeking out of some shutters at some babes. Perhaps hoping for something like "shawtie got drunk, thought it all was a dream so I made her say ah". Like how you say "ah" at the doctor. Like opening your mouth. Like blowjobs, people!! Read between the Jamie Foxx lines. (To be fair that is during the T-pain rap- T-pain= marriage material).
"Girl I know you feel good, just like you look, couple more shots you open up like a book."
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Working Against Myself
When I am trying, without success, to write a peculiar thing happens. I sit at my desk, staring at the blank Pages document that is representative of the mediocre joke that appears to be my future. My mouth starts to get dry, and within minutes I start dry heaving. My air flow becomes impaired and I start seeing little black dots in my field of vision like I've been looking at the sun too hard. This goes on for a little while, so if I'm in a public place I have to excuse myself when I feel it coming on.
THEN I feel a crazy pressure behind my teeth, and all of a sudden a pair of double jointed arms push through my mouth. I reach for my phone with my arms and text my friend who I'm hanging out with later that I can't make it. The unfamiliar arms are all red and covered in blood and fluids n' shit and they reach around the table in front of me and begin bludgeoning me in the head with my laptop. Sparks start flying and I try to fight back but I'm just so shrimpy that I am powerless.
Eventually the arms gave up on the laptop and just start pulling at my head. I don't wanna get really gross on you, so I won't go into detail about spinal fluids etc. Eventually my body lies limp and headless in a swivel chair. The arms use my shoulders for leverage as they push my lifeless body off the swivel chair. A new body emerges, its me again, wearing exactly the same thing, just the same as before. And at the end of all this, I still am left with a blank Pages document and a looming deadline.
THEN I feel a crazy pressure behind my teeth, and all of a sudden a pair of double jointed arms push through my mouth. I reach for my phone with my arms and text my friend who I'm hanging out with later that I can't make it. The unfamiliar arms are all red and covered in blood and fluids n' shit and they reach around the table in front of me and begin bludgeoning me in the head with my laptop. Sparks start flying and I try to fight back but I'm just so shrimpy that I am powerless.
Eventually the arms gave up on the laptop and just start pulling at my head. I don't wanna get really gross on you, so I won't go into detail about spinal fluids etc. Eventually my body lies limp and headless in a swivel chair. The arms use my shoulders for leverage as they push my lifeless body off the swivel chair. A new body emerges, its me again, wearing exactly the same thing, just the same as before. And at the end of all this, I still am left with a blank Pages document and a looming deadline.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Lifecheck
Sometimes I wish my life was a Microsoft Word document because then all my mistakes would be underlined in red squiggly lines. And I could just back it on up if I noticed the line. I need a spell/life-check to immediately alert me to the unsavouriness of my decisions. Immediate is the key word. Waking up on my best friend's couch with a lollipop in my hair, yeah, I know there were some mistakes that led me to that moment. But often, I do not have the mental capacity to predict bad choices, thus my need for life-check.
Some common times when I could use the squiggly line would be in the grocery aisle, whenever someone asks me if I want a third pint (always dangerous) or anytime between the hours or midnight and four am because that is when my brain turns off and satan takes the wheel. Although maybe in that last one I would be beyond squiggly lines. I might just see the line and be like, "cool, I'm skiing".
For reals though I find myself fantasizing about seeing the red squiggly line which would ultimately lead me to a more organized, wholesome life. Like a shining beacon, the red squiggly line. I pray for thee's arrival.
Some common times when I could use the squiggly line would be in the grocery aisle, whenever someone asks me if I want a third pint (always dangerous) or anytime between the hours or midnight and four am because that is when my brain turns off and satan takes the wheel. Although maybe in that last one I would be beyond squiggly lines. I might just see the line and be like, "cool, I'm skiing".
For reals though I find myself fantasizing about seeing the red squiggly line which would ultimately lead me to a more organized, wholesome life. Like a shining beacon, the red squiggly line. I pray for thee's arrival.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
A Story About a Joke
Yesterday I made a joke about Pepsi and a bunch of people laughed really hard. Then I referenced the unpopular 90's board game Operation and everyone yelled at me. Cue the George Costanza exit after the peak joke of the night. In reference to my Pepsi story, here's a thing I posted on my bestie's bf's wall- I never let a joke die so I'm riding this Pepsi thing till it passes out in the desert. Live, laugh, love. Too lazy to write a real thing:
Recently I found myself in the basement of an abandoned warehouse that a group of misfits had been living out of for a while. They had actually made it pretty homey, and I looked forward to a quiet night in with my closest pals. How could I know what was to come? If I could go back and change it... no, its best not to dwell on these things. It all started when my dear friend Lloyd started doing a lot of coke. I'm progressive, god knows I too have had my fair share of experiences others might judge me for. Over the course of the night I noticed a change in Lloyd though. He began foaming at the mouth, his eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled to the floor like an empty parachute. "Lloyd! Lloyd! Whats happening?" I called into the night but the only response I heard was the air whistling through the trees- a spectre in night. Mingled with the roaring breeze came Lloyd's deranged call, slow and quiet at first then screeching. I ran through the basement, haunted by the drug-induced wails of my poor friend. I ran to the kitchen, went straight to the fridge before returning to Lloyd who was now lying in a pile of his own vomit and mouth-foam. His tongue had swelled to the size of a three-year-old's hand. I bent close to him as he struggled to say "I'm sorry. Please remember me as I was before the coke." I cradled his head in my arms and whispered "should have had a Pepsi".
Recently I found myself in the basement of an abandoned warehouse that a group of misfits had been living out of for a while. They had actually made it pretty homey, and I looked forward to a quiet night in with my closest pals. How could I know what was to come? If I could go back and change it... no, its best not to dwell on these things. It all started when my dear friend Lloyd started doing a lot of coke. I'm progressive, god knows I too have had my fair share of experiences others might judge me for. Over the course of the night I noticed a change in Lloyd though. He began foaming at the mouth, his eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled to the floor like an empty parachute. "Lloyd! Lloyd! Whats happening?" I called into the night but the only response I heard was the air whistling through the trees- a spectre in night. Mingled with the roaring breeze came Lloyd's deranged call, slow and quiet at first then screeching. I ran through the basement, haunted by the drug-induced wails of my poor friend. I ran to the kitchen, went straight to the fridge before returning to Lloyd who was now lying in a pile of his own vomit and mouth-foam. His tongue had swelled to the size of a three-year-old's hand. I bent close to him as he struggled to say "I'm sorry. Please remember me as I was before the coke." I cradled his head in my arms and whispered "should have had a Pepsi".
Friday, January 4, 2013
Theories on Kardashian Baby X
If watching marathons of the Kardashians whenever I have access to a TV has taught me anything its that they are all about supporting and representing the family. Its going to come into the world wearing a pair of socks from Rob Kardashian's sock line. I'm sure they have a procedure where they can intravenous a pair of socks into the womb. This is 2013. It is the future now. Moving on, I certainly expect a Kardashian maternity line the spans the breadth of all things mommy-and-me: a kangaroo pouch on every type of garment imaginable (yoga, scuba, skydiving). Okay, what else? I just have so many ideas and so little keyboard! I'm also hoping for some diamond earrings for baby X, get a little Bruce Jenner up in there, then maybe ombre its hair when its long enough because I'm pretty sure every Kardashian lady has rocked that at some point. We shouldn't forget Kanye though- although amongst the Kardashians is probably the only time when he can slip by unnoticed- so I propose that the doctor who delivers the baby can wear the Dropout Bear mascot. Maybe there won't even be a hospital involved! Maybe Kim K can give birth in this mysterious mall that Kendall and Kylie are always talking about. No matter what, I'm sure the baby will be as Kardashian as is humanly possible and I just can't wait to never stop talking about it.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Spider Skeltons
What happens to indoor spider corpses? The number of spiders I have seen does not match up with the amount of dead spiders I have not seen. Where do those sneaky little guys go to die? Someone told me that they crawl back into the walls (which they insinuated is where they come from). I don't know if I was just being duped, but where else could they go? Do they disintegrate? That doesn't sound like science to me. Supposing thats a legit theory, if the walls were to be broken down, would I find them insulated with spider skeletons? That, my friends, would be some serious witchcraft!
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