Wednesday, November 25, 2009

In Which Several Cookies Die

War on raisins:

Dear raisins of the world,

I would really appreciate if you would no longer hide in my food. I have to say that when I bite into a delicious, delicious cookie or cinnamon bun (and/or countless other foods where you have no business), I really, really, really hate it. And that in turn makes me hate you. Just this afternoon, I was indulging in an oatmeal cookie, expecting chocolate chips, when you showed up at the party. Go back to the nursing home you’re too old to party here.

I thank you for your attention and care of this sensitive matter.


Scoot-Scoot yourself outta my life:

I had planned, and half wrote, today’s post to be a bitter diatribe about fat people. Well, not just fat people, rather morbidly obese people, particularly the kind who ride scooters, and especially the kind who chase me around grocery stores and corner me for the last cream cheese danish (…almost true story. It was the mars bar she was after). However, I have decided that those people are bitter enough without me spitting venom at them, though I did give her the stink eye and an earful for blocking the aisles for a third time!

Instead, I shall give you the link to this wonderful, wonderful website that fulfils all of your creepy people watching (to clarify, that is the watching of the creepy people, not you creeping people by watching them. Got it?). Make sure you check out the hate section.* Also make sure you have ample time to be distracted for at least 30 minutes by the brilliance of this site.

*doncha get the impression that the haters have found themselves posted here?

Cookies, cookies everywhere, somewhere amidst the crumbs:

My wonderful, talented mother, crazy as she is, made this girl some delicious, raisin-free cookies. I received them today, and they are some kind of awesome…


…Canada post seems to have not treated my treats with due care and attention. They’re squished. Except, when you squish a cookie, they don’t squish, they crumble, as cookies are wont to do. They are still tasty and delicious, they just need to be eaten with a spoon.

I’m not feeling too upset about this, because of this:

Gingey's head and leg are missing. Mum used these cookie cutters to make them there cookies, and all but one of them have suffered tragic accidents at the guillotine. So, not only are they cripples, but they're also dead. Zombie cookie! Nom nom nom!!

Please note the mother fucking gumdrop buttons! ('Not the gumdrop buttons!, You're a monster!'... I could go on)

And, please pay special attention the the crumbs that are masquerading as fairy dust. I can smell you for what you are, fairy dust. That's a lovely brand of peanut butter you're wearing.

Stay Classy*, Internet,

*oh dear


Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Jedi Mind ... Cider?

Hola, Internetters, I missed you!

I considered posting yesterday, but couldn't be bothered. My weekend was pretty blah and they were filming another goddamned tv show yesterday and I was worried. (but now I can’t stop it with the streaming of the consciousness.)

My boss hadn’t shown up for work, which is unusual and he hadn’t called, which is even more unusual. I knew that he was going to an island north of the big one, and I also knew about the storm* (hurricane?) that had come through the Seattle coast and did all sorts of damage, and I knew that boss was scuba** diving off said island. Add those nuggets together and whaddaya get? A scuba diving accident on the high seas. Naturally.

I tried phoning, but it went straight to voicemail, so I started scouring the internet looking for articles about lost divers or tragic accidents, toeing the line between “should I be concerned?” and “OMG, they’ve perished and I don’t know who to contact!”. Anyway, I did get a call just before 5 pm to say, that he and his wife were, in fact, ok, but stuck on the island due to bad weather -- Thanks for the incredibly late update, asshat! I was just about to phone the coastguard on your asshatty ass.***

*Hug called me, well, a couple of times on Sunday, the first time being 10 am, which is not acceptable. On a Sunday, dude? No phone calls before the hangover is manageable, please. Anyway, Hug and his ex-boyfriend decided to take their sailboat out on Saturday, and got caught in the hurricane and almost died. He was beside himself when I talked to him properly. And I was all super sensitive and, like, you got an awesome story, Hug! Way to live to tell the tale! Take that Ocean...Is that all you got? He was not amused, but I’m confident that he’ll come around and realise that I am not one to seek sympathy from.
**I know that scuba should be caps’ed, but I am not bothered about that at all.
***Hahaha, not really, I only call him an asshat when he really deserves it, you know, like when he drinks the last beer and shit.

Oh, what’s that? You want to hear about my blah weekend? Well, I would love to tell it to you…gather ‘round and make sure your cup of tea is fresh and hot.

1. I picked up the Jurassic Park trilogy, which is the maximum amount of fun you can have for 19.99 plus tax. If it worked. Which it doesn’t. I hate my Jurassic Park free life.

2. My apartment was properly debauched again this weekend, which now that I’m typing about it, I don’t actually want to discuss the state of my place. I don’t even want to sleep there right now because I need to bring in a pressure washer and a cleaning crew of 12 to de-yuck it.

3. I did some arts and crafts that left me with super glue all over my hands that I tried to wipe off, but was unsuccessful, so I had super glue skin all weekend. Nothing gets that bastard off skin, or at least nothing in my apartment, so, I spent approximately 72 percent of my non-crafty time worrying glue (and skin) off the tips of my fingers.

4. I had to have a talk with a woman, who’s also a friend, about texting while in company*. I said, ‘put the fucking phone away before I break it! And your head for being so rude!’ Actually, I think I really said, ‘you’re sitting at a table with two awesome people at an awesome bar and you’re ignoring us for text messages? Dude, come on!’ And, with that, the phone was put away. I would like to interject that it wasn’t me speaking, it was the peach cider, because I am an old hippie, didn’t you realise? But, in the sober light of the weekday, if I can wield the kind of power that makes people bend to my will, I will be drinking peach cider** a lot more regularly!

*This is a chronic problem and a major pet peeve of mine. All focus should be on me, all the time.
**Or was it the super glue?

5. The same night was done early after some fake drama re-enacted from a telephone conversation that number 4 relayed to the table, which took the wind from our collective sails. (ps. what a shitty sentence that was! Can you keep up?) The short story is that number 4’s ex-ex boyfriend (double ex?) is moving in with a girl she doesn’t like. The long story took at least 30 minutes, and 1 cider, for number 4 to impart all the nuances and issues she has with the situation. To which I say: madam, what business is it of yours? None! And worrying about it is a waste of time. Furthermore, I cannot support this kind of childish behaviour. So, bring on the fart jokes* and pull my finger.

*I admit that while I do have the mind of an adolescent boy, I don’t like fart jokes. Let’s talk about boobies instead.

6. I went out with my cousin T for coffee and errands which wound up in a tattoo parlour. (are they even called that anymore?) She needed to have some jewellery fixed for her facial piercings and I was being supportive. And then…the buzz of the needles, the smell of disinfectant and the aloof receptionist made me remember the joy that is...a new tattoo. A new tattoo! Of course I couldn’t scratch that itch immediately, because now you have to make multiple appointments with the artists and book months in advance! Bring back the days of the safety pin and bic pen ink, ‘cause I want one now. Watch this space!!

Handy Tips For Surviving Your Week:

1. Don’t get on a small sailboat when there is a small craft advisory, because it most likely applies to you.
2. Call if you get stuck on an island, because there are people that are waiting to abuse you on the mainland.
3. Put the phones down for a bit and enjoy the ones you’re with. We’re pretty fucking cool.
4. Don’t name your business Koo Produce, because it looks and sounds like Poo Produce, which is neither tasty nor delicious.

-Stay Dry, Anna

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Soothsayer of Gloom Over Doom

Nocturnal Wanderings

I went to see a movie last night. I almost don't even care to write about the disaster (no pun intended) that is 2012.

To preface this, I am a big fan of post apocalyptic movies. Truly. Waterworld? OMFG, give me a webbed footed Kevin Costner any day! Day After Tomorrow? Not the the best disaster film, but very, very watchable. Armageddon? I haven't actually met anyone on this earth who doesn't have a soft spot in their heart for this film, basically because it is ah-may-zing! And the list continues.

I also want to highlight the would-be love of my life that is John Cusack. The man is a fucking legend and has done so many incredible and unconventional movies, while still maintaining an elusive appeal and being so goddamn cute while doing it.

There's also the popcorn factor. I enjoy films more if I have a salty, buttery bag o' popcorn on my knee, dripping grease all over the shop. However, I never buy popcorn outside of the cinema. I just don't care for it out of context, really. And, usually, I'm all for living outside the proverbial box, but not when it comes to movies, cinemas and popcorn.

So, John Cusack plus disaster movie plus popcorn equals a good film, right? I'm sorry to tell you (and to realise it myself) that the formula failed me last night. For a consumer of end-of-the-world movies, it was bad.


The cast: What a cast!! John Cusack (big love), Amanda Peet (oh so cute!), Oliver Platt (c'mon, Lake Placid!!), Chiwetel Ejiofor (Kinky Boots*), Woody 'crazy dude' Harrelson, the Russian dude with the big lips, the list goes on and on and on... With a cast like this, the movie should have had me foaming at the mouth with doomsday glee.

There were definite parts where I was enthralled. The CGI of the world being destroyed was incredible. Earthquakes, volcano's, tsunamis, ash fallouts...those tech guys did a really good job of it.


The length. Holy dear mother of Nathan. Two and a half hours of squirmy seat action because my ass had fallen asleep and I wanted to get up and move around. (kind of like this tedious entry...I will understand if you feel the need to get up and stretch now.)

They seem to have spent all their money by the time they got to the end of the production. There was a couple of scenes at the end that were so made-for-tv that I cringed! It looked as though they threw buckets of water on people and told them to shuffle left, no right, no left, for real this time.

The plot. Now, I know it may be too much to ask for a decent plot in these types of film, but they are all so similar: An estranged/irresponsible father trying to save his family from destruction. And, the ending. The Ending....10 seconds from running into a peril, and suddenly, the world is saved. I hate that. Hate! Loathe, even. Kill them all and make a better movie.

The last con had nothing to do with the movie, as such. The cinema was so cold. Why do they keep the air conditioning in them on so high? I was almost wishing for a Snuggie so I could stop shivering.

*If you haven't seen Kinky Boots, Rick, get it. Immediately. It's so good. So good, in fact, my iPod is called "Red is the Color of ..."

Food Challenge November 2009 edition:

I fell off the wagon yesterday. I forgot my lunch midway into my walk to work. I hemmed and hawed about telling Hodge that I had to buy food, and decided to, since he has something that closely resembles honor (where the hell did he get that come from?), and out of guilt, more than anything else, I texted and asked for a pass.

He forgot his lunch, too, so, technically we're both losers but, at least, the challenge still remains.

I made a crazy good pizza, all from scratch, in spite of my gross ineptitude in the kitchen on Monday. I used this pizza dough recipe, which I think makes a nice thin, crispy base and roasted sweet potato, onion, carrot and garlic for the top (400 F for 30 minutes). Also, grabbed a bunch of cheese offcuts from Capers and threw that on, with some tomato paste that I just tossed random stuff into (mayonnaise, chicken seasoning and basil[all I had/have]). Excellent.

This entry has gotten away from me and I have realised that I do have other stuff to do!

-Ebert in training - Anna

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Where My Place of Work Becomes A Lavatory...

I have my alley back today! Huzzah and Hooray! Or do I? Do I really? This just happened... I went to my spot to have a puff, as I do when they aren't blocking it off for movies and roadworks and the like, and found a man peeing against a dumpster, 3 feet away from the sidewalk. Uhhhhhh.

Walking into my alley just now was quite like walking into a bathroom where someone is doing number two's or walking into your friends having sex, which is to say, a big, nasty surprise. I wasn't sure what to do, so I did a 180, pirouette style, and stood in front of the coffee shop, in spite of hating to smoke there.

Normally, I'm pretty unflappable and certainly have been known to do my fair share of outdoor peeing (Pee snake!! [and, um, not recently]), but I think that I have good manners enough to not pee in full view of the public. I've also seen, and not been disturbed, by the man who always begs at (what was) my local train station, pee into a cup, very discreetly, but still in full (frontal) view of the general public while continuing to ask for change. That, internet, is dedication to the task at hand! Uhhh, so to speak!

My rant, sir of no fixed address, is not directed at your public urination, as distateful as it was, but rather the lack of discretion. There are dozens of better places where you could have emptied your bladder without offending anyone, including the many public restrooms around Vancouver. In fact, not two blocks away, there is a mall. And in that mall, there is an abundance of toilets to which you can relieve yourself. More importantly, there is also a row of sinks where you can wash your pee hands when you're finished.

In numerical order, I did not appreciate the following:

  1. Nobody wants to see you tuck your junk back into your pants as you walk towards them. Tuck and zip at site of urination. I know that you like your willy, but I don't and I certainly don't wish to see it in any context, ever, ever, ever.
  2. I don't want to give you money. I have been officially traumatised by you and I'm not paying for the pleasure. I'll be handing that spare change over to my therapist.
  3. And no, you cannot use my lighter. You've got piss hands and I don't want you touching any of my personal property with your disgusting, glistening pee hands. Even the thought of if made me rush to the alcohol based lotion, which I despise, to disinfect. But you can't disinfect your soul with that, can you? I'm tainted. Gah!!

If anyone needs me, I'll be in the corner, in the foetal position, gently rocking.

-Clean Hands Anna

Note to the mugless: It's been smashed to smithereens*, sucker.

*Such a great word. Say it with a lisp, it's even better!

Sunday, November 15, 2009

In Praise of the Apple

A quick rehash of this (long) weekend:

I did a whole lot of nothing these past few days. I divided my time equally in the following ways: moping, cleaning, laundry, watching movies and drinking with friends. Not quite the productive weekend I had hoped it might be. I blame the torrential rain. I'm not being lazy if there's flood warnings, right?

A gift from a hen:

It was a dark and stormy night, for reals, y’all, last night. I got a phone call from Hug, of Sunday/Funday fame and he said he had something for me and that he’d bring it straight away. That something was actually 20 somethings, and came in a calcium shell. He brought me a pallet of eggs, a gift from America, because he is strange and a sucker for a good deal.

What does a person who now has 30 eggs* in the fridge do with them, aside from the obvious, which is to drive by pelting people with them?

*Because of the law of Murphy, I bought a dozen eggs yesterday morning.

Things that annoy me today:

The homeless man who barked at me when I wouldn’t give him a cigarette. I am becoming less alarmed at this type of behavior, as it’s not the first time this girl has been barked at on the street in recent months. Worrying? Almost definitely.

The film crew that seems to have taken over the entire street with their television antics who are being aided by the Vancouver City Police. I would like to bellow at the ever constant movie land people…give me back my alley, but they'd probably beat me up for ruining their scene.

The rain and my lack of shield from it. I left my umbrellas at the office all weekend, so spent the entire weekend inside or soaking wet, this morning included. I did this because I am an optimistic idiot.

Things that are not annoying me today:

The perfect apple I just ate! Crisp, juicy and delicious, kinda like yo’ mama!

That there is still cream in the office fridge. This is the only bonus of being all by your onesie in the office…no one is stealing the communal cream.

The coffee mug that’s sitting in the alley that’s been there all day. I wonder if someone is looking for the missing cappuccino mug, or if they’ll discover in the morning that they are, in fact, mugless.

A Challenge:

Hodge and I made a cupcake challenge for this week. We have to cook Monday through Thursday, and are not allowed to buy a meal from anywhere. The winner (me) gets 6 of the most delicious, delicious treats from Big City Cupcakes. Because I'm crap in the kitchen, me thinks I am either going to eat only fruit this week or be hungry. I do have all those eggs, though...

In conclusion (aka 'that's a wrap')

Monday so far has been uneventful, except for the penny that I rescued from the gutter this morning, as I was on my way to the office and the fact that at 4.28pm, it is very, very dark outside. It has stopped raining, though, until I decide to go home when the heavens will open, because the rain gods think it's a fucking hilarious to rain on my parade.

The joke's on you, Rain Man, I have my umbrella today!


Tuesday, November 10, 2009

On Stuff

On drinking:

Remember how I asked about your hangover yesterday? I just found an empty mickey of Smirnoff in my elevator. It's Tuesday! I guess it's after midday and I know in some circles that signals cocktail hour(s) has begun...but an office building, on a Tuesday, at lunch time?

I guess someone was really hanging for that last lemon drop, or vodka martini*, or just a good, old fashioned swig or was it hair of the dog? I'm torn between judgement and thinking c'est la vie.

My music teacher in Eastern Canada used to keep a bottle of the clear stuff in her piano and would pour herself a glass every now and then. My 7 year old self assumed it was water, until my mother told me a few years ago that Mrs. Piano was a drunk. I'm so crushed. Mrs. Piano taught me to play the ukelele, a skill that hasn't yet been useful, but I carry the hope that one day I will be kidnapped by nomads and have to play music to be emancipated. I guess what I'm awkardly trying to say is that when I see vodka bottles now, I associate it with ukelele's, and that, land of blog, is not a bad thing.

*I had my first extra dirty gin martini on Friday. I gotta say, I don't care for gin. Gin can go back to the cotton* because neither of you are welcome in my mouth.

*"according to whom?"!

On being clumsy:

I have a dream. I'm flowing elegantly across a room, head up, barely skimming the surface of the floor, people commenting on my gracefulness, me doing the Queen wave.

And then, reality, the jerk: Last week, due to laziness, I went to the A&W across the road. What does a vegetarian order in A&W? French fries. I was too lazy to get some real food, and it was raining and it was cold, so I didn't want to be outside for a prolonged period of time.

I was instantly punished for my laziness, I assure you. I mentioned the rain, right? (That's what it does in Vancouver. It rains. For roughly 14 months a year). You know what rain does? It makes wet foot prints on floors. You know what happens to those foot prints? They get mopped up. You know what happ....whatever. I'll just tell you. I walked into that so-called-restaurant, took two steps and my feet just came out from under me, Looney Tunes style. Or, rather, a bad sitcom fall.

I didn't realise it then, being soooo embarrassed, but I had hit my thigh on a stool on the way down, and have bruised my body badly. The last time I had a bruise this bad was when I went skiing and fell on a rock. This is worse. I expect to fall when I ski, I don't expect to skid all over the place, all crazy legs, when I order greasy food. Serves me right, I guess. Or wrong, because in spite of entertaining the counter staff, I had to pay in full for my fries and rootbeer and I didn't even get a free lollypop. That will teach me to order a salad next time.

And that's my stock of mediocrity depleted for the day (kinda like the vodka bottle is now empty). Hi, my name is Anna...I'll have to paper the lift with AA fliers! Anyway, must run.

As Porky would say:'s All Folks.


Monday, November 9, 2009


I was going to say Happy Monday, but I don’t want to fool you into thinking I’m Mary fucking Sunshine. Because I am not. Particularly on a Monday. An especially wet and gloomy Monday. So let me conclude by saying, since we’re all in this Monday business together: Hi. How’s your hangover?

My weekend with nuts, in a shell (like an M&M!):

I got hit on, repeatedly, by Hodge’s colleague when we were all out on Friday. We both repeatedly told Ralph, aka the octopus hands man, that I had a significant someone or other and that I wasn’t going to reciprocate his advances. Ever. Not even if I was single. You wee little man.

Aside from handsy man and hunter man*, I enjoyed my Friday, even if my neuroses came out in force after a few drinks. It would appear that I am a clean freak (some might say Nazi) after I’ve had a few and the venue happens to be my apartment; It took alot of restraint to not plastic wrap my place. I’m also slightly concerned that Ted Bundy lives in my bedroom closet, that I have to say to myself before every flight that I get on that the plane is going to crash** and earthquakes are a very scary thought for me***. (I had some serious problems in my last high rise apartment: I lived on the bottom floor and thought every night I stayes there that an earthquake would topple the whole building onto me and they would never recover my body) So, in the end, some near strangers know far too much about my secret persona (Bridget-Jones-meets-Woody-Allen-with-OCD) that I had so skilfully tried to hide.

*Hunter man was excitedly explaining that he was going to go hunting and shoot everything he saw, like, everything. Perhaps I took him too literally while he was being ‘cool, man’ because I fail to see the cool side of frivolously shooting animals that aren’t going to be used in a purposeful manner. Note to Hunter man: Pull your badly haircutted head out of your ass before opening your mouth again, because it keeps filling up with diarrhoetic shit and is spewing from all of your orifices. Douche.
***And that concludes Monday’s soapbox session. You are excused.***

**I do sincerely think that before I get on flights, and I would say that I fly a fair bit. I resign myself to the fact that if the plane does go down, there is nothing that I can do about it, and if it’s my time to go, I’ll give your regards to the man downstairs. However, this has become a double edged sword when I have caught myself not saying it and then realised, mid flight, that I had doomed my unlucky co-planers because by not saying it, the plane was going to crash. It’s complicated.

***Ha! I live in earthquake alley, where I had earthquake drills in junior high school. Hide under a desk, in a door way, hold a text book over your head and neck for protection!

Saturday was a bit of a write off. It was full of sick people (genuinely ill, not gutterminds, unlike Sunday), driving, getting lost, wanting to get lost and Ikea. I know that there are tons of people that really enjoy getting their grooves on at Ikea. I’m not one of them. I no longer find shopping fun and enjoyable, and shop like a man-woman (wanting to get in and get out, but needing to find the ‘perfect’ lamp/pillow/pair of jeans, etc). All in all, it was a very long day.

Sunday was Funday! I met my fellow apartment dwellers, Hodge and Hug, for brekkie at Theresa’s on Denman, which to date is my favourite cheap and cheerful breakfast joint. There were other destinations in the day, culminating with finding rocks at the beach and red velvet cupcakes for dessert.

It was like spending the day with two brothers, but better (since these guys can carry on a conversation which doesn’t include grunting in reply to queries)! I really am fond of my neighbours and think that I must have done something right to deserve their company, even in the meanwhile. They also buy me red velvet and chocolate cupcakes, and I’m not usually one to let a good thing go!

I also have a short week ahead of me. My boss and I have elected to work on Wednesday (though I will be going to the Remembrance Day services) and have Friday off instead. Inspired idea, Boss!

This entry has taken far too long, and I’m afraid that I have lost interest now. It’s also (conveniently) time for me to go home and de-mould my fridge*.


*Ha! Who am I kidding? Like that’s going to happen!

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Thank You, Chris Martin, You Owe Me One!

I had a bad, bad day at the office yesterday, which kinda sorta started the night before. After my boss left for the day, I put some music on and hit up some Lily Allen – don’t judge…Fuck you is an amazing song – followed by some Coldplay, because, really, Coldplay is kind of awesome in a non-committal way.

Viva la Vida, which is so much fun to listen to, came on the play list. I was singing along and grooving in my office chair, doing that weird foot dance thing, which thinking back must have looked pretty hilarious to the people that live across the street, when the music stopped. Stopped. Program closed.


It happened…

Warning!! Your computer has been royally fucked and you are infected with all these nasty viruses!! Fix it now!! Do you want to fix it now??

The sound around my (happily) vacant office was a resounding Nooooooooooooooo and I even did the dive for the keyboard, hoping fruitlessly, that if I talked reasonably to my laptop and stoked the keyboard nicely enough, the virus would go away.

Predictably, that didn’t happen. What did happen was a mad tapping of keys, shrill discussions with myself and frantic phone calls to our very unreachable IT team in Australia, who were maddeningly unavailable.

Not finding any help, I did what every reasonable person would do: I had a temper tantrum, the details of which I will spare you. It wasn't pretty.

After I scraped my fallen, tantrumy face off my desk, wiped the tears of frustration away and gave a guttural war cry, I googled my laptops affliction: Antivirus System Pro. The first hit was for a site called I read their page on what it was and how to get rid of it, which ironically includes downloading something from their site. Right. But I guess if your computer is fucked up, it’s fucked up.

I decided to wait until the next morning to deal with it, powered down and trudged home, very unhappily. Who wants a virus on their work computer courtesy of Chris freaking Martin?? Who? Nobody, that’s who! It’s embarrassing and shameful to admit that you listen to Coldplay and you have to admit that you like them. Just a little….well, a lot.

Jump to the next morning, after being coached by friends who know as much about technology as I do, which is to say, nothing, I felt fully unarmed as I faced up to my laptop. I once destroyed a computer when it caught a virus on my watch! I fully messed it up. We had to get a new one, which to be honest, wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but I felt pretty rotten about necessitating such a large purchase. Getting a new computer for work is not an option, though. Because I hadn’t backed up. Because I am an idiot.

I tried the bleeping computer fix. And fixed it was not. I’m sure it’s no fault of the bleeping computer’s site, as I have already proven that I am irresponsible in the guardianship of computers. But, still it didn’t work and I needed to fix it somehow. That, or do drugs. Lots and lots of illicit drugs, followed by vodka. At least then I wouldn’t care.

One full day of scanning, scanning in safe mode, deleting text, quarantines and removals was spent on this techie misadventure of mine. A whole day. 8.30 until 5. That’s a lot of missed solitaire, Chris. And reading the newspaper. And catching up with my favourite sites. Oh, and work. For you. I hold you personally responsible, Mr. Martin, you and your kind of awesome band.

So, in the immortal words of Ms. Allen: Fuck you (Chris Martin)! Fuck you very much (Coldplay)!


PS. If you’re wondering what I did to fix my computer, I did a system restore (as a last resort). It took literally 5 minutes and worked a treat. I should have done that the first go ‘round.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

About My Guy

I've had a bit of a struggle in the last couple of weeks. I am missing my boyfriend more than I thought I ever would, which has taken this bewildered girl by surprise. He was just here, in our city, in my apartment and bed a couple of weeks ago and today, especially, it feels like months.

When we started hanging out (read: dating for commitment phobes), I figured, planned even, that our relationship would be of the 'with benefits' variety. I wasn't, I repeat, I WAS NOT interested in any relationship when I met KB. Shortly after we met, I spelled out in no uncertain terms that we could be casually monogamous. Meaning we could have sleepovers, but only with each other. He still teases me mercilessly about the 'casual' thing. But it turned out that he gets me and thinks that I am the most beautiful, amazing creature on the planet. And I think he's pretty fucking cool, too. (apologies for that last soppy bit, all romantical like. I'm finished now.)

It took a very long time for me to say that he was my boyfriend, though no fault of his own - except for that purple hoodie that I hate. I had a big breakup, which was my biggest and involved me shifting continents (physically, but not physically ... I'm not that strong!) Ew, sorry for that last pathetic attempt at humour, it would appear that I'm on fire today - or rather, should be!

Anyway, back to me, my favorite topic of conversation.

Because of this bad breakup, I was really reluctant (and truthfully, still am) to tie myself to another man for fear of having the guts ripped out of me again. But every time I speak to him, and especially when I see him, I get a bit more drawn in. Honestly, there is so much to be attracted to! He's talented and artistic and ambitious and smart and funny. He's got great legs and what an ass. He's quite nice to look at, too, even when his hair is too long and looks like a white man's fro. (oops, I wasn't finished at all, was I?)

This guy that I really, really like, the same guy that I am bringing home for Christmas (ack!) did something kinda crazy in August. He moved to another province for grad school. This makes me equal parts happy and sad. Happy for him because he was miserable in his previous job, had always planned on going to grad school and he's found his passion. I'm sad mostly for myself and us, because he's so far away and I can't selfishly be the little spoon everyday, instead of odd weekends and holidays where we can extricate ourselves from our lives and be together.

I'm so surprised how much I miss his physical presence. There is a big void, especially at night, where he should be: At home, watching the food network, with me, on my inflatable bed/couch, snuggling and being cutesy, making people ill with our frivolous PDA. Him making advances, me pretending to have a headache. The usual.

What prompted this entry (Don't lie, I know you're dying to know.)? I received a text earlier: Just so you know I think it's getting harder not being around you. I replied: I feel completely the same way.


Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Happy belated Halloween, Internetters!

Candy highs are the best! Soo good! Especially when combined with caffeine highs! I wish I had discovered that winning combination when I was still of legitimate trick or treating age. Wouldn't my mother have loved that?

True story:

I go to my local corner store pretty regularly, even though sometimes I get asked for spare change on the street, on the corner and … in the store. Inside. Seriously. The dude that works there is mostly cool, even though he usually rocks this heinous faux hawk, had a t-shirt that mimicked (and tongue-in-cheeked) Jon Gosselin’s bestie of hideous outerwear. His shirt was blue and had a dove on it, among other things, with the tag line: Fancy Mother Fucker. Yes you are, faux hawk, yes you are!

I had a dream, perhaps inspired by his fancy shirt, that I was a tattoo artist. How cool would that job be? So naturally, I Googled how to follow my life’s new direction, and found this article. I love this for so many reasons!

  1. That it is found on! Nothing says cool and bad-ass like!!
  2. That all those people who can’t colour within the lines have to find a different life path. Sorry guys. You suck and will have to take you untalented asses elsewhere. Try accounting!
  3. That theres a “What You’ll Need” checklist!
  4. The requirement to apprentice. It makes sense, but it does seem to be a bit straight and narrow. Don’t you think?

Things that are annoying me today:

People pressure washing* the sidewalks. Honestly, guys, there's a move to conserve water. Pressure washing a sidewalk is not conducive to that. There used to be a thing they used years ago...I think it was called a broom. Get it, use it, love it! Also, you always get the bottom of my pants wet.

*As a digression, which I so love to do, my Uncle calls his pressure washer a Hotsy. I'm not sure if that's a brand name or something that he made up, but it led me to thinking of a word he did make up: Gizunder. His kid, my cousin T, operated well into her twenties thinking that this was an actual word and even convinced ESL students that a gizunder is a very real kitchen implement. You see, a gizunder goes under things, and the modern world calls it a spatula. (or sometimes a flipper, which is a dolphin not a spatula. ugh.)

The people filming a movie outside my office. I'm pretty sure that I'm an extra in your fancy pants New York/London disaster and I would like my $5 for that. See me inside when you have the cheque ready.

That it is a beautiful, sunny day outside, which has prompted the air conditioning to turn on (Hi, it's November!) and am freezing at my desk as a breeze straight from the arctic blows down the back of my neck.

Things that are not annoying me today:

I am enjoying that the straws in my can o' Coke Zero keeps fizzing up after every sip, causing a volcano effect that is way more entertaining than it really should be.

The extra packet of plum sauce I got with my noodles and veggies. Thank you lady, you usually only give me one. I will enjoy this very much and expect that this is the new precedence that you're setting.

It's a beautiful, sunny day outside. I'll get to play out there in a few short hours. Wait for me!!