Carpe Le Tampon Diem

   You should always change your tampon as soon as possible when the time strikes because you never know when an acquaintance of yours is going to have a seizure on a Megabus and you'll be asked to come into the bus terminal to make some calls.

Street Names

   My favorite part of small town Ontario are the incredibly cutesy street names. I get to see them a lot at work while I input information, so I'm becoming quite an expert.
   Cute is as cute does, but being the naturally sullen person that I am I started playing a new game at work called, Depressing Street Names. I think its valuable too, because street names like "Lover's Lane" are harmful to the perpetually lonely, which is probably a greater population than the perpetually blissful.
   A healthy alternative to Lover's Lane might be Forever Alone Drive.
   Also, located in somewhere in Ontarian oblivion (probably Brantford or Nepean), is Happy Hollow. A real street! I would prefer Hollow Happiness, because lets tell it like it is folks.
   Last but not least, I stumbled upon Owl's Foot Road the other day. First I thought of changing it to Owl's Head Road, but then I thought, to hell with it, we're all postmodern, why not make it Owl's Small Intestine Road.
   I have a blossoming future in city planning.

French Language in the Workplace

   The office I work at is predominantly Francophone. For the most part, its not an issue; I can understand French with a 90% degree of efficacy, speaking is another story but I make do.
    I was in French immersion from grade four through grade eight. You know how if you have to memorize something as a kid it stays in your brain forever a lot of the time? Well most of the things engraved in the soft mush of my brain forever are in French. There are a lot of songs, my personal favorites being, Qu-est qu'il ya Dans La Forest and another one about going to check out animals, the chorus loosely translating to, "you can call me crazy, you can call me silly, but I swear I just went to see the animals!"
   I don't know who writes these gems. Probably the same guy who writes Busta Rhymes's raps. Maybe it's Mr. Rhymes himself!
   Anyway, when people speak to me in French at work, and I fail to understand whats going on, after a while I just want to launch into a verse of Qu-est qu'il ya Dans La Forest, which is basically just a repetitive list of the stuff that you find in a forest.

Unveiling of Real Cool New Blog

   We're all super excited (me and... just me, actually) to unveil a cool new project/ stupid way that I spend my time now:

 www.reasonshenevercalledagain.tumblr.com

   RHNCA is the result of many a conversation, as both a speaker and a listener, about why in god's name he never called again. Check it out for some knee-slapping humour mixed with a teaspoon of soul-crushing desperation!

PS But don't stop reading this blog either. You're just going to have to make more time in your schedule for both. Maybe cut out carbs. 

Super Saving Money Tip #6

   Since I haven't written one of these in a while, I imagine you are flat broke. Fear no more, because this one is real practical.
   Ladies, I think you've all had that moment where you're getting dressed to go out on the town, being desirous of looking hot and dangerous. You got your nails done, hair done, everything did. The long and short of it: you hope to make a man wanna speak Spanish tonight. So you pull out your freak'um dress and you're gonna put on some tights underneath because as fly as you are, you haven't shaved your legs in five (hundred) days. You are ready. This is your night. LOL NO JOKES ON YOU.
   Turns out your tights have a walnut-sized hole right near the crotch. Or maybe there's a run (also originating in the crotch area) going all the way past your knees. Don't nobody want to speak Spanish to you now! You may as well just stay in and wait half an hour for the first ten minutes of Friends to buffer on Putlocker then fall asleep at nine o'clock in a pile of your own used Kleenex.
   Hey girl, I've got news for you. You don't ever have to have a sad girl night again on account of your holey tights.
   Tights are expensive, and to be real, they'll all do you like that first pair. You'll wear them cautiously as you can, being  careful not sit sit on any wooden surfaces that could be splintered, and after maybe six (at best) wears they'll get runs. I know, oh I know.
   You don't gotta buy a new pair ever again. All you need to buy is a black magic marker. Simply put your ratty tights on and begin colouring in your legs as necessary. I did this just the other day, and I can easily say it is worth the scrubbing for the next three weeks to get your legs back to leg colour. Besides, after the first few washes the marker fades to green, and thats pretty cool, right?
   My only suggestion, ladies, is that if you are anticipating someone taking off your tights before the night is through you might run into some difficulty with this scheme since it might look like you carry the Bubonic Plague. But who knows, I'm sure some people are into that.