....is Canada Day. The best day of the year. Ever.
Last year, my intolerably ridiculous parents decided that of all the days in the year, we had to use July 1st as a traveling day. I spent Canada Day last year in a car with my two bickering brothers, my cranky mom and my tired-of-this-shit dad, coming back from my grandparents' house six hours away.
Their horrible, horrible judgment meant I couldn't partake of the joyous festivities!
Clearly, they do not love Canada as much as I, otherwise they would want to express their love by walking the streets of the Capital in a drunken haze. Nothing says "I LOVE CANADA!" like dressing in red and white and being publicly shmammmered.
This year shall be different. I will not be driving anywhere (because that would be very irresponsible, now wouldn't it?). I will be doing something fun, though I should probably figure out what that is going to be.....
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
This is why I write.
I always contend that keeping a video blog will only end up making you look like a fool.
This belief is probably due mostly to the fact that I would look like a major tool if I ever tried to "vlog." My voice sounds funny when it is recorded. My face looks funny when I speak. I am constantly mistaken for my little brother when I answer the telephone:
Aloha!
O hey kiddo, your mommy home?
No, everyone is currently at work.
Are you home all alone?
Yes actually. By the way, who do you think you're speaking with? 'Cause this is Alice.
O geez sorry, I thought you were your brother....
Ya, no doubt.
So I picture myself on Youtube saying these things instead of writing them, and I physically cringe. If this were a vlog, you'd see how grimacey my face can get.
Just be thankful it isn't.
But some people can pull them off. Like this person in Australia. She is kinda funny. And now I really really reallllllly want to go to a sci-fi convention. I will find one, and I will make the best costume ever, and I will go. It wold be eleven levels of kick ass fun.
In Conclusion: I shall start a vlog.
In real Conclusion: Never.
EDIT: she is not kinda funny. She's fuckin hilarrrr.
This belief is probably due mostly to the fact that I would look like a major tool if I ever tried to "vlog." My voice sounds funny when it is recorded. My face looks funny when I speak. I am constantly mistaken for my little brother when I answer the telephone:
Aloha!
O hey kiddo, your mommy home?
No, everyone is currently at work.
Are you home all alone?
Yes actually. By the way, who do you think you're speaking with? 'Cause this is Alice.
O geez sorry, I thought you were your brother....
Ya, no doubt.
So I picture myself on Youtube saying these things instead of writing them, and I physically cringe. If this were a vlog, you'd see how grimacey my face can get.
Just be thankful it isn't.
But some people can pull them off. Like this person in Australia. She is kinda funny. And now I really really reallllllly want to go to a sci-fi convention. I will find one, and I will make the best costume ever, and I will go. It wold be eleven levels of kick ass fun.
In Conclusion: I shall start a vlog.
In real Conclusion: Never.
EDIT: she is not kinda funny. She's fuckin hilarrrr.
I spy 150 YEARS IN PRISON
The CIA is recruiting.
Or are they?
Yes, actually, I'm pretty sure they are. John Stewart says they want all the laid off investment bankers and peeps from Wall Street who stirred the downward spiral that is the present day economy. Ergo, not me, as even I am not that big of a fuck up.
I think I'd like to be a spy. I could work at CSIS, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. Jah man. Seriously, I can scale walls and speak French, so I'm pretty sure I have all the necessary requirements.
ps. Bernie Madoff was sentenced to 150 years in the big house. No not one of his mansions, prison duh. But MSNBC has keenly pointed out that the bad man, according to a regular life expectancy, only has 12.6 more years to live. So, overkill maybe? But then, he isn't exactly a regular person. He swindled people out of millions. Now, you'd think that kind of deed would weigh heavily on his mind and the stress of knowing how awful of a person he is would reduce his life span, but when you're as stupidly rich as he was, you can, in fact, buy years of life.
Or are they?
Yes, actually, I'm pretty sure they are. John Stewart says they want all the laid off investment bankers and peeps from Wall Street who stirred the downward spiral that is the present day economy. Ergo, not me, as even I am not that big of a fuck up.
I think I'd like to be a spy. I could work at CSIS, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. Jah man. Seriously, I can scale walls and speak French, so I'm pretty sure I have all the necessary requirements.
ps. Bernie Madoff was sentenced to 150 years in the big house. No not one of his mansions, prison duh. But MSNBC has keenly pointed out that the bad man, according to a regular life expectancy, only has 12.6 more years to live. So, overkill maybe? But then, he isn't exactly a regular person. He swindled people out of millions. Now, you'd think that kind of deed would weigh heavily on his mind and the stress of knowing how awful of a person he is would reduce his life span, but when you're as stupidly rich as he was, you can, in fact, buy years of life.
Monday, June 29, 2009
A List of Ten Things.
I don't generally (o looke, I spelt it rite!) consider myself in any position to be giving out fashion tips. I don't think I'm particularly good at critiquing style or anything. I mean, getting dressed in the morning usually consists of a trip to my floor (because I literally trip over all the shit on it) where I pick up a clean pair of pants and a shirt, and then maybe a walk across the room to my belts and ties and scarves and feather boas and other crap like that, and then I put it all together to get an outfit that may or may not match.
But, when I read this, I simply felt I must weigh in with my (perhaps misguided) opinion. It is one of those dumb "top ten" articles that are always the first thing I see when I sign into my email that I feel I may as well read. It is by Heather Adler, and it's about 10 fashion trends that were started by celebs and we all regret in retrospect.
The thing is, I don't regret all of them. In fact, I find myself disagreeing with Ms. Adler at every turn.....
1) "The Rachel" (refering to the mid 90s style of haircut popularized by Jennifer Aniston in Friends)
Ok, actually, I may have to agree with this one. So, moving on...
2) "Shoulder Pads" Adler says: "In that crazy, mixed-up time in our lives known as the ‘80s, nothing really seemed to make much sense, but why the world decided women should go for the football player look continues to stand out as a point of particular inanity."
Right, well, shoulder pads weren't so hot, but I think that they didn't just come out of nowhere. I believe that back in the 80s, women were still kinda breaking into the professional world, and in an (ugly) effort to b
e taken seriously in a male dominated career, they made their shoulders more masculine. Because, as we all know, to this day, pay grade is determined by one's shoulder to shoulder measurement.... a sad reality involving glass ceilings.
However! Some people seeking androgyny and futuristic/blast from the past looks seem to be able to pull off these pads. Like the world's current ambassador to pop culture, Lady Gaga.
I personally do not wear them because my shoulders are already somewhat monstrous. Not good for buying blazers, great for equal pay.
3) "Legwarmers" Adler says: "After the juggernaut that was “Flashdance” swept the world, youths everywhere started donning leg warmers, perhaps in a misguided attempt to fool people into thinking they were dancers. Suddenly, these useless little tubes of fabric were available everywhere and in every colour: Speckled leg warmers! Floral leg warmers! Neon leg warmers! The rarely seen but mystical striped ankle warmers! If you were one of the people who wore these to sweaty clubs in the dead of summer, hang your head in shame."
They are not useless! They keep your legs warm! Duh. As a proud owner of at least three pairs of the things (one of which is *gasp* NEON GREEN) I can attest to the veracity of that statement. And if people happen to think I'm a dancer, well so much the better.
But ya, if you wear them to a sweaty club, you're pretty dumb.
4) "Stupid Baby Names" Adler says: "Way before adopting foreign orphans was all the rage, stars were breeding amongst themselves and producing celebuspawn, which they quickly cursed with ridiculous handles."
Agreed. But I will not make fun of the ludicrously named kids because the spawn of famous icons are people too. But seriously, hello parents of these children with o so weird names, why would you do that?
5) "Dressing like your crazy, alcoholic uncle" Adler says: "When Wood
y Allen’s “Annie Hall” came out in 1977, it suddenly became cool to look like a dishevelled dude. Women everywhere copped her style and started wearing socks with high heals (never a good idea), loose-fitting jackets and vests , and developed a taste for ties. Avril Lavigne would later bring back the latter trend and it proved to be equally obnoxious."
First of all, I don't have an alcoholic uncle, but I've got an alcoholic grandpa, and he doesn't dress nearly as well as this Annie Hall character. Second, it has always been cool to dress like a dishevelled dude. Vests and ties are perfectly fine. In fact, I wear them all the time. My only regret is that people sometimes believe that I wear a tie in homage to Avril Lavigne, which is not true in the least. I wore a tie first, thanks very much.
6) "Shoes that look like medieval torture devices" Adler says "Ever since “Gladiator” came out in 2000, designers have been cranking out something that looks like a cross between a shoe and a bondage device and peddling them to unsuspecting women. For some reason, this continues on today and society has yet to realize it looks dumb."
First of all, YAY for bondage.
Second, how did everyone in the world but her miss that memo?
I'll tell you why these are still in fashion: every woman secretly wants to be a dominatrix. So for the women who can't because it is not socially acceptable/they already have a day job, the next best thing is to wear these wild and crazy shoes. I applaud these wild and crazy shoes. They don't look dumb, but they are slightly intimidating (it's the backup plan to the shoulder pads...if your very large shoulders don't get you an equal salary, then beat the shit out of your boss with your medieval torture device that is cleverly disguised as shoes).
They look like they'd be a rather masochistic thing to wear, honestly.
7) "Tiny, little cars suited for clowns, not people" Specifically, Adler is speaking of the Mini Cooper. She says, "The tiny, bug-like auto has remained at the forefront ever since, despite the fact just looking at one diminishes your masculinity by 25 per cent."
I like the Mini Cooper ok? And what this woman is saying is that small cars are associated with femininity, and big cars are for REAL DUDES. Thank you so much for your overt play towards gender stereotyping, Heather. This is how I think: small cars are associated with smart, environment loving people, while big, gas guzzling cars are for the people who obviously have money to burn on filling their stupidly big gas tanks and don't care for the environment. SO.
Also! Clown are people too.
Don't try to tell them otherwise, or they'll kill you in your sleep.
8) "Drag queen makeup" Adler tells of how the 1963 Cleopatra movie sent girls into a tizzy dolling up their eyes with alotta colour and fake eyelashes. And how this is bad.
In case she hasn't noticed, this look for the eyes is quite in style. For girls...guys....little kids who raid their mother's makeup drawer.... everyone, really. Plus, why she be raggin' on drag queens? They are the awesomest. Don't knock Drag Queens or they'll knock you out.
9) "Tight, white, polyester suits"
Adler, shockingly, does not dig these suits. Or John Travolta. She may think that being the mother in Hairspray was a bad thing for him, but I thought it was sosososososo funny.
If I had a suit like that, I'd wear it EVERYDAY.
And I would disco too.
Everyone would say I was sick cause they'd be catching my Saturday Night Fever.
BAM.
10) "Capri Pants" Adler fondly refers to them as "the bastard child of shorts and pants," and asks, "Hey, do you want to make yourself look shorter and fatter in one easy step? Wear some Capris!"
Capri pants are comfy, and great if your street floods just a little and you wanna walk around outside without having to roll your pants up. Also, they are sometimes called "Clam diggers" because people can regularly be spotted digging for clams in them. Again, no pant rolling necessary! Ergo, Capri pants are just fine.
Also, my five foot frame really can't look any shorter, so do I care? Nah.
That's it.
ps. see that tag down there that says "fashion sense"? Well, I bet this is the first and last time I use it.
But, when I read this, I simply felt I must weigh in with my (perhaps misguided) opinion. It is one of those dumb "top ten" articles that are always the first thing I see when I sign into my email that I feel I may as well read. It is by Heather Adler, and it's about 10 fashion trends that were started by celebs and we all regret in retrospect.
The thing is, I don't regret all of them. In fact, I find myself disagreeing with Ms. Adler at every turn.....
1) "The Rachel" (refering to the mid 90s style of haircut popularized by Jennifer Aniston in Friends)
Ok, actually, I may have to agree with this one. So, moving on...
2) "Shoulder Pads" Adler says: "In that crazy, mixed-up time in our lives known as the ‘80s, nothing really seemed to make much sense, but why the world decided women should go for the football player look continues to stand out as a point of particular inanity."
Right, well, shoulder pads weren't so hot, but I think that they didn't just come out of nowhere. I believe that back in the 80s, women were still kinda breaking into the professional world, and in an (ugly) effort to b
e taken seriously in a male dominated career, they made their shoulders more masculine. Because, as we all know, to this day, pay grade is determined by one's shoulder to shoulder measurement.... a sad reality involving glass ceilings.However! Some people seeking androgyny and futuristic/blast from the past looks seem to be able to pull off these pads. Like the world's current ambassador to pop culture, Lady Gaga.
I personally do not wear them because my shoulders are already somewhat monstrous. Not good for buying blazers, great for equal pay.
3) "Legwarmers" Adler says: "After the juggernaut that was “Flashdance” swept the world, youths everywhere started donning leg warmers, perhaps in a misguided attempt to fool people into thinking they were dancers. Suddenly, these useless little tubes of fabric were available everywhere and in every colour: Speckled leg warmers! Floral leg warmers! Neon leg warmers! The rarely seen but mystical striped ankle warmers! If you were one of the people who wore these to sweaty clubs in the dead of summer, hang your head in shame."
They are not useless! They keep your legs warm! Duh. As a proud owner of at least three pairs of the things (one of which is *gasp* NEON GREEN) I can attest to the veracity of that statement. And if people happen to think I'm a dancer, well so much the better.
But ya, if you wear them to a sweaty club, you're pretty dumb.
4) "Stupid Baby Names" Adler says: "Way before adopting foreign orphans was all the rage, stars were breeding amongst themselves and producing celebuspawn, which they quickly cursed with ridiculous handles."
Agreed. But I will not make fun of the ludicrously named kids because the spawn of famous icons are people too. But seriously, hello parents of these children with o so weird names, why would you do that?
5) "Dressing like your crazy, alcoholic uncle" Adler says: "When Wood
y Allen’s “Annie Hall” came out in 1977, it suddenly became cool to look like a dishevelled dude. Women everywhere copped her style and started wearing socks with high heals (never a good idea), loose-fitting jackets and vests , and developed a taste for ties. Avril Lavigne would later bring back the latter trend and it proved to be equally obnoxious."First of all, I don't have an alcoholic uncle, but I've got an alcoholic grandpa, and he doesn't dress nearly as well as this Annie Hall character. Second, it has always been cool to dress like a dishevelled dude. Vests and ties are perfectly fine. In fact, I wear them all the time. My only regret is that people sometimes believe that I wear a tie in homage to Avril Lavigne, which is not true in the least. I wore a tie first, thanks very much.
6) "Shoes that look like medieval torture devices" Adler says "Ever since “Gladiator” came out in 2000, designers have been cranking out something that looks like a cross between a shoe and a bondage device and peddling them to unsuspecting women. For some reason, this continues on today and society has yet to realize it looks dumb."
First of all, YAY for bondage.
Second, how did everyone in the world but her miss that memo?
I'll tell you why these are still in fashion: every woman secretly wants to be a dominatrix. So for the women who can't because it is not socially acceptable/they already have a day job, the next best thing is to wear these wild and crazy shoes. I applaud these wild and crazy shoes. They don't look dumb, but they are slightly intimidating (it's the backup plan to the shoulder pads...if your very large shoulders don't get you an equal salary, then beat the shit out of your boss with your medieval torture device that is cleverly disguised as shoes).
They look like they'd be a rather masochistic thing to wear, honestly.
7) "Tiny, little cars suited for clowns, not people" Specifically, Adler is speaking of the Mini Cooper. She says, "The tiny, bug-like auto has remained at the forefront ever since, despite the fact just looking at one diminishes your masculinity by 25 per cent."
I like the Mini Cooper ok? And what this woman is saying is that small cars are associated with femininity, and big cars are for REAL DUDES. Thank you so much for your overt play towards gender stereotyping, Heather. This is how I think: small cars are associated with smart, environment loving people, while big, gas guzzling cars are for the people who obviously have money to burn on filling their stupidly big gas tanks and don't care for the environment. SO.
Also! Clown are people too.
Don't try to tell them otherwise, or they'll kill you in your sleep.
8) "Drag queen makeup" Adler tells of how the 1963 Cleopatra movie sent girls into a tizzy dolling up their eyes with alotta colour and fake eyelashes. And how this is bad.
In case she hasn't noticed, this look for the eyes is quite in style. For girls...guys....little kids who raid their mother's makeup drawer.... everyone, really. Plus, why she be raggin' on drag queens? They are the awesomest. Don't knock Drag Queens or they'll knock you out.
9) "Tight, white, polyester suits"
Adler, shockingly, does not dig these suits. Or John Travolta. She may think that being the mother in Hairspray was a bad thing for him, but I thought it was sosososososo funny.
If I had a suit like that, I'd wear it EVERYDAY.
And I would disco too.
Everyone would say I was sick cause they'd be catching my Saturday Night Fever.
BAM.
10) "Capri Pants" Adler fondly refers to them as "the bastard child of shorts and pants," and asks, "Hey, do you want to make yourself look shorter and fatter in one easy step? Wear some Capris!"
Capri pants are comfy, and great if your street floods just a little and you wanna walk around outside without having to roll your pants up. Also, they are sometimes called "Clam diggers" because people can regularly be spotted digging for clams in them. Again, no pant rolling necessary! Ergo, Capri pants are just fine.
Also, my five foot frame really can't look any shorter, so do I care? Nah.
That's it.
ps. see that tag down there that says "fashion sense"? Well, I bet this is the first and last time I use it.
Song of the Week
I was finally able to change the song of the week because I'm at work where the internet actually functions. At home of late, I have been restricted to Google searches and it's pretty well a 15% chance that the search result I click on will actually open. I am sometimes able to look at blogges, but I can't comment or post anything.
Anyhoo, Song of the Week is going out to Michael Jackson. The man was as mad as a hatter in his later years, but damn could he sing and dance. You can not deny the dude had talent and then some.
Or you can, but I'll fight you.
Anyhoo, Song of the Week is going out to Michael Jackson. The man was as mad as a hatter in his later years, but damn could he sing and dance. You can not deny the dude had talent and then some.
Or you can, but I'll fight you.
post 111.
One Hundred and Eleven is a great number.
Just sayin'.
And also, sea anemones have invaded puppies. And made them glow.
That's just wonderful, since people have been trying to save space and energy by eliminating the need for night lights for years. So there you go.
And I have tried to publish this post since Saturday about 27 times, but the internet at my house is the shitter. Really, for what you're getting, it is not worth this hassle.
Just sayin'.
And also, sea anemones have invaded puppies. And made them glow.
That's just wonderful, since people have been trying to save space and energy by eliminating the need for night lights for years. So there you go.
And I have tried to publish this post since Saturday about 27 times, but the internet at my house is the shitter. Really, for what you're getting, it is not worth this hassle.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Well. on the Tequila?
O. Wow.
One year ago this moment, I was getting wasted out of my mind at my aftergrad party. Earlier that day, I said goodbye to high school, stupidly believing that graduation means you can leave behind the kind of drama that high school is full of. Well, you can't, but whatevs...
And thinking about what happened a year ago tonight, I remember why I started this here blogge in the first place. The wild and crazy events of that night ended up growing into the reason I eventually entered as a naive writer into the bloggosphere.
The whole night had a rather surreal feeling. Probably because I was very intoxicated. I learned many lessons that night, learned a lot about myself, and mostly had a bomb time. But by the end of the night, I was thoroughly terrified and mightily relieved.
Some things I learned:
1) People who take Ecstasy with their alcohol are clinically insane for a few hours.
2) Shit happens on crowded buses, and while everyone around you might be completely gone in a drunken daze, they still can see you and remember what happened the next day.
3) Gay guys are extremely fun and low pressure to dance with.
4) Tequila.
5) there are more, but this list is getting annoying.
It was a weird evening. My cousin was visiting from California, so she came with me to Aftergrad. My date and I went to prom and everything together, but were never really together. He had off-handedly asked me to prom during English class one day because he had no date. I had known it was coming and said yes because I wanted a corsage (which he didn't get me anyhow, so what was the point?). The two of us had been going through that awkward time before two people start dating, but we had never actually bothered to start dating. I was minorly interested in him, but looking back, I have a feeling that that interest was mostly to mask the bigger interest I had in someone else.
Anyhoo, the after party began well, despite my deadbeat date. I had a fake ID, so I got an alcohol bracelet, allowing me to spend heinous amounts of money on tiny, overpriced, under-liquored drinks. I discovered Tequila and mostly stuck to straight shots of it. I learned it makes all inhibitions just vanish. Other drinks just kind of mask them, but Tequila, dear God....it's like you can't figure out why you had qualms about doing certain things in the first place. Like any societal pressures, any dos and don'ts nurtured in you, any anything go *poof* and you just act. Am I going to fall asleep against the chest of this guy while still dancing with him? Yes, yes I am.
Fairly early on, a girl started going a little wonky. It looked like she had just managed to overdrink really fast, but as she got stranger and sicker, it was evident she had taken something besides alcohol and we were pretty sure it was Ecstasy, though she denied it the whole time. We brought her to the washroom where she puked and was sometimes seen flailing in an alarming manner, then puked some more. We took care of her in shifts. But then I got really tequila-ed up and forgot about her.
I danced up a storm. I danced with a gay dude who had "officially" come out just about a month or so before graduation (but everyone had known since....well probably since the beginning of high school). I danced with a guy from the year below us who is like 6'2" and moved like he was a giant cushion (which was why I fell slightly asleep....my head only reached his chest area). I danced with a group of friends. I danced with my date for a bit and then watched him dance with my cousin as I disco-infernoed like it was 1969. I danced while waiting in line for liquor. I danced with the girl I had secretly fallen head over very little feet for.
I was so busy dancing that 3am rolled around and people started to file out of the club area to the buses to bring us back to the city, and I didn't notice. About a third of the partiers got on to one of the two buses, the doors snapped shut and it took off. The rest of us were woken from our dancing stupor by raging bouncers screaming at us to get the fuck out of there and on to the fucking buses.
Too many people piled onto the bus. Three or four people to a seat, more lying across people's laps, and more in the aisle. I was sitting with the girl I had been dancing with. In the seat in front of me sat my cousin and my "date". Making out. I was gawking at them, they were seriously going at it. At one point, my cousin turned to me, suddenly realizing through her drunklyness what she was doing and gallantly asked me if I wanted her to stop.
No, I said. Then I was unable to contain myself any longer and I burst out laughing. It was so funny. The subtle irony. By all means, I said, keep at it.
So they did.
And I was sitting with this girl.
.
.
.
Anyways, by the time the bus reached the Perkins restaurant we were to be dropped off at, rumours were circulating. Clearly, drunkeness does not make people blind. My buzz was wearing off slightly and there was a little seed of fear growing in the pit of my stomach. But still, my blood was about 65% tequila and I could ignore the irksome feeling for a while. We got off the bus, and my cousin, girl, and I went into the washroom of the Perkins where the bright light seered our eyes and also revealed the giant hickey on my cousin's neck. Laughing ensued.
And look, there was Ecstasy girl wobbling her way out of the restaurant with....who is that? Her mom. Ouch. Well, she's alive. Insane looking, but alive.
Next morning I was sober and scared out of my wits. How many people saw? How many people did they tell? What the fuck had I been thinking (well obvi, I wasn't thinking, my brain was elsewhere, shacking up with tequila and making bad-judgement babies)? Why did I drink soooooo much tequila? Where does inhibition go when it is forced on vacation by a bombardment of alcoooool? Sure, just about every bus seat had one or two sets of people makin' out, but they wouldn't be the gossip on everyone's lips the next day. There was also a itty-bitty button of relief holding closed my cardigan of fear. Just a little relief cropping up saying the truth....is....goood.
And with my wierd mutant blood, I was not hungover. Small perk.
I scarcely spoke to that girl after that night. My infatuation had been warped into fear and I'm pretty sure, that's a chemical change that cannot be reversed. Fear lead to guilt at not caring about what she might have been going through. Hence the blogge was started as a place to deposit all the swirling ridiculousness going on in my mind.
'I had so much to say, and no one to listen,' (Jerry McGuire, which I am currently watching). I couldn't talk about it with my friends because how would they react?
So, blogge.
Side Note: I can talk to my friends now. Whatta difference a year makes.
PS. That was an annoyingly self-involved poste. I'm truly sorry.
One year ago this moment, I was getting wasted out of my mind at my aftergrad party. Earlier that day, I said goodbye to high school, stupidly believing that graduation means you can leave behind the kind of drama that high school is full of. Well, you can't, but whatevs...
And thinking about what happened a year ago tonight, I remember why I started this here blogge in the first place. The wild and crazy events of that night ended up growing into the reason I eventually entered as a naive writer into the bloggosphere.
The whole night had a rather surreal feeling. Probably because I was very intoxicated. I learned many lessons that night, learned a lot about myself, and mostly had a bomb time. But by the end of the night, I was thoroughly terrified and mightily relieved.
Some things I learned:
1) People who take Ecstasy with their alcohol are clinically insane for a few hours.
2) Shit happens on crowded buses, and while everyone around you might be completely gone in a drunken daze, they still can see you and remember what happened the next day.
3) Gay guys are extremely fun and low pressure to dance with.
4) Tequila.
5) there are more, but this list is getting annoying.
It was a weird evening. My cousin was visiting from California, so she came with me to Aftergrad. My date and I went to prom and everything together, but were never really together. He had off-handedly asked me to prom during English class one day because he had no date. I had known it was coming and said yes because I wanted a corsage (which he didn't get me anyhow, so what was the point?). The two of us had been going through that awkward time before two people start dating, but we had never actually bothered to start dating. I was minorly interested in him, but looking back, I have a feeling that that interest was mostly to mask the bigger interest I had in someone else.
Anyhoo, the after party began well, despite my deadbeat date. I had a fake ID, so I got an alcohol bracelet, allowing me to spend heinous amounts of money on tiny, overpriced, under-liquored drinks. I discovered Tequila and mostly stuck to straight shots of it. I learned it makes all inhibitions just vanish. Other drinks just kind of mask them, but Tequila, dear God....it's like you can't figure out why you had qualms about doing certain things in the first place. Like any societal pressures, any dos and don'ts nurtured in you, any anything go *poof* and you just act. Am I going to fall asleep against the chest of this guy while still dancing with him? Yes, yes I am.
Fairly early on, a girl started going a little wonky. It looked like she had just managed to overdrink really fast, but as she got stranger and sicker, it was evident she had taken something besides alcohol and we were pretty sure it was Ecstasy, though she denied it the whole time. We brought her to the washroom where she puked and was sometimes seen flailing in an alarming manner, then puked some more. We took care of her in shifts. But then I got really tequila-ed up and forgot about her.
I danced up a storm. I danced with a gay dude who had "officially" come out just about a month or so before graduation (but everyone had known since....well probably since the beginning of high school). I danced with a guy from the year below us who is like 6'2" and moved like he was a giant cushion (which was why I fell slightly asleep....my head only reached his chest area). I danced with a group of friends. I danced with my date for a bit and then watched him dance with my cousin as I disco-infernoed like it was 1969. I danced while waiting in line for liquor. I danced with the girl I had secretly fallen head over very little feet for.
I was so busy dancing that 3am rolled around and people started to file out of the club area to the buses to bring us back to the city, and I didn't notice. About a third of the partiers got on to one of the two buses, the doors snapped shut and it took off. The rest of us were woken from our dancing stupor by raging bouncers screaming at us to get the fuck out of there and on to the fucking buses.
Too many people piled onto the bus. Three or four people to a seat, more lying across people's laps, and more in the aisle. I was sitting with the girl I had been dancing with. In the seat in front of me sat my cousin and my "date". Making out. I was gawking at them, they were seriously going at it. At one point, my cousin turned to me, suddenly realizing through her drunklyness what she was doing and gallantly asked me if I wanted her to stop.
No, I said. Then I was unable to contain myself any longer and I burst out laughing. It was so funny. The subtle irony. By all means, I said, keep at it.
So they did.
And I was sitting with this girl.
.
.
.
Anyways, by the time the bus reached the Perkins restaurant we were to be dropped off at, rumours were circulating. Clearly, drunkeness does not make people blind. My buzz was wearing off slightly and there was a little seed of fear growing in the pit of my stomach. But still, my blood was about 65% tequila and I could ignore the irksome feeling for a while. We got off the bus, and my cousin, girl, and I went into the washroom of the Perkins where the bright light seered our eyes and also revealed the giant hickey on my cousin's neck. Laughing ensued.
And look, there was Ecstasy girl wobbling her way out of the restaurant with....who is that? Her mom. Ouch. Well, she's alive. Insane looking, but alive.
Next morning I was sober and scared out of my wits. How many people saw? How many people did they tell? What the fuck had I been thinking (well obvi, I wasn't thinking, my brain was elsewhere, shacking up with tequila and making bad-judgement babies)? Why did I drink soooooo much tequila? Where does inhibition go when it is forced on vacation by a bombardment of alcoooool? Sure, just about every bus seat had one or two sets of people makin' out, but they wouldn't be the gossip on everyone's lips the next day. There was also a itty-bitty button of relief holding closed my cardigan of fear. Just a little relief cropping up saying the truth....is....goood.
And with my wierd mutant blood, I was not hungover. Small perk.
I scarcely spoke to that girl after that night. My infatuation had been warped into fear and I'm pretty sure, that's a chemical change that cannot be reversed. Fear lead to guilt at not caring about what she might have been going through. Hence the blogge was started as a place to deposit all the swirling ridiculousness going on in my mind.
'I had so much to say, and no one to listen,' (Jerry McGuire, which I am currently watching). I couldn't talk about it with my friends because how would they react?
So, blogge.
Side Note: I can talk to my friends now. Whatta difference a year makes.
PS. That was an annoyingly self-involved poste. I'm truly sorry.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
AHAHA. These are jolly times.
O my. Someone in India searched "JOLLY FUCKING" (all caps) and low and behold, a Google search where my lovely, misspelled URL is the very first listed search result!
This a milestone in my blogging experience. A proud, proud moment, only slightly tainted with shame at the search term used. But whatevs. Can't have everything.
I'll bet the person was soooo disappointed when they stumbled upon a blogge post about a Christmas song.
~~~~~
In other, less exciting, but more relevant news, the Liquor Control Board of Ontario (LCBO) strike date has been pushed back to allow for talks to continue with the provincial government. The workers' Union wants to change the fact that 60% of the LCBO's workers are part-time, thus not receiving benefits. The government says "Fuck no.*"
For those of you who live outside of Ontario and don't know what the LCBO is, it is basically one of two institutions allowed to sell alcohol in the province. The other its the Beer Store.
Once upon a time there was prohibition in Ontario and other parts of Canada. It didn't last all that long (except for in PEI, where it raged for 48 years of shear hell, from 1900-1948. I'm sure they were fine though...they had their potatoes and Anne of Green Gables to keep them occupied) but in Ontario, when it ended, one of the agreements was that all sale of alcohol would be closely regulated by a government body. I volunteered to be that body, but the LCBO was formed instead.
It's not a horrible thing. There are worse things than the government having a monopoly on the sale of hard liquor. Like, say this. But it's still pretty bad.
Everyone in Ontario was under the impression that at midnight last night, the LCBO would go on strike, thus leaving the population without the lifeblood - I mean, liquor - they can't live without.
Seriously, I've heard that if the average blood alcohol level of the population of Ontario goes below 0.044, the death ray pointed at Toronto is deployed and meese take over the legislature. (This might actually be an improvement though....)
Anyhoo, so last night, thousands and thousands of crazed dependents stormed their local LCBOs and cleaned out their shelves. Ordinary citizens were forced to spend wicked amounts of money on bulk purchases of their favourite liquors. Car trunks were piled high with cases of wine, Vodka, rum, and wierd foreign beers that you can't buy at the Beer Store. By the end of the night, when the commotion subsided and the stores closed, all that could be heard was the whispers of the Ghosts of Liquors past through the vacant shelves. And mournful, banshee-like wails of customers banging desperately on the doors, who had arrived at the store just moments too late.
In Ottawa, the rush wasn't quite as bad as elsewhere, being that we have Hull so near, with its SAQs and Depanneurs (french for "sketchy corner store"), it's grocery stores and Costcos (beer in bulk cases is a marvelous thing). But in Toronto, the threat of a strike loomed with the most dire consequences: Pride Week is right now, with the parade taking place on Sunday, and I'm not sure, but I think they fuel their floats with Cosmos; the garbage collectors arealso poised to strike at any moment on strike and the large segment of the population that was planning on riding out the strike and rancid smells by being drunk the whole time might now be forced to move on to plan B - building a ladder up the side of the CN Tower (how that would help, I don't know, but these are the people whose plan A was to be drunk) and we all know how hammers and nails falling from that height can be a nuisance to the people they land on; and of course, the death ray. So the LCBO stores were mad houses.
Said one "19" year old girl to the Star Toronto, "It is very unsettling for university students who worked hard and want to party [but won't be able to do so because they will fall victim to the death ray.]"
The apocalypse has been averted - at least for now.
I'll drink to that.
*I'm paraphrasing. What they actually said was "Fuck no you goddam fucking union. Suck my over-extended budget, you good for nothing - hey is that camera on?"
This a milestone in my blogging experience. A proud, proud moment, only slightly tainted with shame at the search term used. But whatevs. Can't have everything.
I'll bet the person was soooo disappointed when they stumbled upon a blogge post about a Christmas song.
~~~~~
In other, less exciting, but more relevant news, the Liquor Control Board of Ontario (LCBO) strike date has been pushed back to allow for talks to continue with the provincial government. The workers' Union wants to change the fact that 60% of the LCBO's workers are part-time, thus not receiving benefits. The government says "Fuck no.*"
For those of you who live outside of Ontario and don't know what the LCBO is, it is basically one of two institutions allowed to sell alcohol in the province. The other its the Beer Store.
Once upon a time there was prohibition in Ontario and other parts of Canada. It didn't last all that long (except for in PEI, where it raged for 48 years of shear hell, from 1900-1948. I'm sure they were fine though...they had their potatoes and Anne of Green Gables to keep them occupied) but in Ontario, when it ended, one of the agreements was that all sale of alcohol would be closely regulated by a government body. I volunteered to be that body, but the LCBO was formed instead.
It's not a horrible thing. There are worse things than the government having a monopoly on the sale of hard liquor. Like, say this. But it's still pretty bad.
Everyone in Ontario was under the impression that at midnight last night, the LCBO would go on strike, thus leaving the population without the lifeblood - I mean, liquor - they can't live without.
Seriously, I've heard that if the average blood alcohol level of the population of Ontario goes below 0.044, the death ray pointed at Toronto is deployed and meese take over the legislature. (This might actually be an improvement though....)
Anyhoo, so last night, thousands and thousands of crazed dependents stormed their local LCBOs and cleaned out their shelves. Ordinary citizens were forced to spend wicked amounts of money on bulk purchases of their favourite liquors. Car trunks were piled high with cases of wine, Vodka, rum, and wierd foreign beers that you can't buy at the Beer Store. By the end of the night, when the commotion subsided and the stores closed, all that could be heard was the whispers of the Ghosts of Liquors past through the vacant shelves. And mournful, banshee-like wails of customers banging desperately on the doors, who had arrived at the store just moments too late.
In Ottawa, the rush wasn't quite as bad as elsewhere, being that we have Hull so near, with its SAQs and Depanneurs (french for "sketchy corner store"), it's grocery stores and Costcos (beer in bulk cases is a marvelous thing). But in Toronto, the threat of a strike loomed with the most dire consequences: Pride Week is right now, with the parade taking place on Sunday, and I'm not sure, but I think they fuel their floats with Cosmos; the garbage collectors are
Said one "19" year old girl to the Star Toronto, "It is very unsettling for university students who worked hard and want to party [but won't be able to do so because they will fall victim to the death ray.]"
The apocalypse has been averted - at least for now.
I'll drink to that.
*I'm paraphrasing. What they actually said was "Fuck no you goddam fucking union. Suck my over-extended budget, you good for nothing - hey is that camera on?"
Few Odd Thoughts
When life gives me a cantaloupe, I say "What the fuck? Where are my lemons? I was going to make scrambled eggs."
The first place I would loot in a riot would be a pitchfork store. The second would be a torch store. After that, I would slay an ogre.
The worst superhero to be is Mothman. Does he exist? Dear god I hope not, because all he would be good for is flying over and over again into light bulbs (which I'll admit, would be helpful if we were attacked by a SQUADRON OF EVIL GIANT LIGHT BULBS!) and eating the clothes off your enemies (which would be funny, if you cared to see your enemies naked).
I live in mortal terror of being bitten by a radioactive moth and becoming Mothman.
I live in mortal terror of eating the clothes off my enemies.
The plural of "moose" should be "meese"
That is all.
The first place I would loot in a riot would be a pitchfork store. The second would be a torch store. After that, I would slay an ogre.
The worst superhero to be is Mothman. Does he exist? Dear god I hope not, because all he would be good for is flying over and over again into light bulbs (which I'll admit, would be helpful if we were attacked by a SQUADRON OF EVIL GIANT LIGHT BULBS!) and eating the clothes off your enemies (which would be funny, if you cared to see your enemies naked).
I live in mortal terror of being bitten by a radioactive moth and becoming Mothman.
I live in mortal terror of eating the clothes off my enemies.
The plural of "moose" should be "meese"
That is all.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Dumb.
Life is not like a box of chocolates. It does not come with a map.
It also does not taste all that good.
It also does not taste all that good.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Hometimes
Finally. Work day over.
Today felt as speshully long.
I HPLCed the same thing three times.
10:39 PM NOTE: I can still see the graph of the HPLC in my head. I think it is stuck there forever. Whatta waste of space.
Today felt as speshully long.
I HPLCed the same thing three times.
10:39 PM NOTE: I can still see the graph of the HPLC in my head. I think it is stuck there forever. Whatta waste of space.
Woeful religion
I was debating whether or not to post this, because it is a rant that sort of fails at reaching a point, but I figured why not? Read on but expect confusion.
My house has been overrun with my extended family this weekend. And for some reason, whenever we get visitors, my mom feels the need to fatten us all by feeding us massive amounts of food periodically throughout the day. Don't get me wrong, it's delicious, but now I feel ill. And my walk feels slightly more like a waddle.
They all gravitated to our house because my little cousin who lives in o-town also (as opposed to most of my family), had her first communion. She's seven years old, the daughter of a broken marriage, not to mention of two parents with vastly different religions: Catholic father and Hindu mother (though religion is not really the reason they separated....that happened mostly because my former aunt is a psychotic bitch of the first water). And already she's being introduced to the tricky world of making decisions about her faith.
They all gravitated to our house because my little cousin who lives in o-town also (as opposed to most of my family), had her first communion. She's seven years old, the daughter of a broken marriage, not to mention of two parents with vastly different religions: Catholic father and Hindu mother (though religion is not really the reason they separated....that happened mostly because my former aunt is a psychotic bitch of the first water). And already she's being introduced to the tricky world of making decisions about her faith.
I couldn't imagine being in my cousin's position. In my family, sacrements are kind of a big deal. For a little kid, they kinda have the feel of a birthday party.... you get presents (generally with a Jesus-type theme) and your family gathers and you have cake. So you get them, it's exciting and it's what your parents want, and then later in life, when you're my age, you can freak out and realize your religion is a lot more than just bread and wine and a boring hour spent listening to a dude talk every week, and you can either continue on with religion as your bff or you can fumble around trying to decide how exactly you fit in to it all (or don't). Except, in my cousin's case, she has a mother who literally told her she shouldn't get her first communion because she could never be Hindu again.
Which is complete bullshit, she can explore whatever religion she damn well feels like someday when she's old enough to grasp what exactly religion is. Plus it is absolutely irresponsible of her mom to put her own daughter in the position of having to chose her faith. It's like asking her to choose between parents.
She is probably the smartest darn seven year old I've ever met, capable of using reason and judgment beyond her years, but she's just a kid. Seven. To her, first communion is finally finding out what this Jesus-infused bread tastes like followed by presents. Her mother basically told her she would be less acceptable in her eyes if she decided to go through with her dad's religious traditions. How can a mother say make their child feel like they are second class for doing something that half her family wants and approves of but that she really doesn't understand? Even a crazy mother
like her?
like her?My cousin has steadily been shying away from Hinduism for some time now, and it's not because she feels Catholisism is more welcoming or logical or that the worshipping space is nicer. No, it's really because her mom is nuts and controlling. So the stories of Ganesha and Saraswati and Rama get associated with a mother who is driving her up the wall.
I found it difficult enough as a daughter of a Protestant father and a wickedly Catholic mother to reconcile the differences between my two parents, and on the surface, the differences in their actual beliefs are almost non-existant. So how my cousin is dealing, I don't know.
When you're little, religion really is defined by your parents. Maybe by your teachers too (especially, if like me, you went to a Catholic school and it was a class you took each year).
As a little kid, I once asked my mom if I could stay home from church that week.
Why? she asked.
Because it's a waste of my time, I said.
She didn't like that. She didn't see that I had faith, that I could have faith, without following dogma and sitting through masses I didn't always listen too. Sure I listened to the readings, because some of them are pretty interesting (I mean, you have to say, a bush that can burn and issue orders to Moses at the same time is pretty awesome), but I would tune out the homily, the parts the mass would fly right over my day dreaming head.
Needless to say, I had to go to church that day. And every week after.
And now I'm just sick of it.
I'm tired of the whole institution.
I'm tired of that fact that despite many people who have their religious belief separate from their political values, there are constantly those who would use Christianity as a fan to keep their political careers aflame.
I'm tired of listening to sermons for the sole purpose of perhaps catching the priest condemning gays, so that I could storm out of the church and never go back.
If I am going to have faith in something, I think it should be on my own terms.
Because I certainly don't care to believe in a God who would despise me for being me. Holy crime of the century. Geeez.
Last week, my brother who is fifteen actually used passages out of the Bible to try and get my mom to let him stay home from church. It didn't work either, in fact, he might as well have said "church is a waste of my time" for all the good his argument did. (it probably also would have helped if he hadn't have mixed up two different bible stories, but whatevs.) He isn't a child anymore but he still isn't "allowed" to make decisions about religion. I guarantee you, once he moves out of my parents' house, he will never go to church again.
Anyhoo, my cousin looked super cute in her little white dress and had a slightly awed look on her face as she went up to get her very first communion. And that's what I like to think about mostly. How much she enjoys it all now. Because I can say with almost certainty that someday she won't.
Wellll, that's all. I couldn't seem to make the rant that was occurring in my head a cohesive argument, so if you made it this far, I commend you.
Wellll, that's all. I couldn't seem to make the rant that was occurring in my head a cohesive argument, so if you made it this far, I commend you.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Song of the Week and 2 days? Song of Six days? gah.
I'm a failure. I don't remember what day I made the "Song of the Week" link, so I dunno if it's been a week yet or not. Maybe I should just change the song?
All my readers (haha - choke...sigh) will be so disappointed in me if I don't do this link properly every week....that is, if they even noticed it was there in the first place.
I bet it's only been about three days.
All my readers (haha - choke...sigh) will be so disappointed in me if I don't do this link properly every week....that is, if they even noticed it was there in the first place.
I bet it's only been about three days.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
My true calling
O shit.
I'm gonna be a fuckin rapper.
This is definitely the revelation I've been waiting for.
I may have to change my identity though, because droppin' rhymes about growing up in suburbia wouldn't exactly be hardcore. Or interesting, really....
....everyone with cookie-cutter yards - yo ho
i can see naked neighbours through their window - oh!
guess they've never heard of blinds - o no.
or maybe they're just doin' too much blow.
all the houses on the street are the goddamn same
the guy next door doesn't know my name
seven in a row are cuttin' grass again
fuckin noise'll put me out my brain.
And there you have it, the birth of a great artist. I will go far.
I'm gonna be a fuckin rapper.
This is definitely the revelation I've been waiting for.
I may have to change my identity though, because droppin' rhymes about growing up in suburbia wouldn't exactly be hardcore. Or interesting, really....
....everyone with cookie-cutter yards - yo ho
i can see naked neighbours through their window - oh!
guess they've never heard of blinds - o no.
or maybe they're just doin' too much blow.
all the houses on the street are the goddamn same
the guy next door doesn't know my name
seven in a row are cuttin' grass again
fuckin noise'll put me out my brain.
And there you have it, the birth of a great artist. I will go far.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Everywhere A Sign
The signs on the doors in the building where I work make me feel slightly like a secret agent. They are waaaaay coooool, almost to the point where I'm tempted to steal them. But then I think, "if I steal this sign, how will people know that if they walk into this room, they will be bombarded by a massive amount of radiation and/or get test tubes hurled at them by scientists desperate to guard their secrets*?"
There's this one biohazard sign that is cool enough just as it is, but then underneath it it says "Containment Level 2." It made me wonder what could be in there that needs a level two containment. And also, what is a Level two containment? So I looked it up. And here's what could possibly be in that room (it is rather alarming, so if you're easily sent into a hypochondriac-type panic, I suggest you stop reading NOW and go to the hospital complaining of a high fever, a cough, greyish skin tone, and being so irritable you don't want to be held) :
"Risk Group 2 infectious agents include, for example: E. coli; many salmonella; some fungi like ringworm; California encephalitis viruses; human herpes simplex viruses; many influenza viruses; Transmissible Gastro-enteritis of swine; Mouse Hepatitis Virus; and a few parasites."
SWINE? The FLU? HERPES!?
O. My. GOOSHHHHNESSS.
I know what's going on. They are making an incurable, wasting disease in the form of a Herpes/Swine flu hybrid. I knew it.
This is horrible.
Of course, the biohazard signs aren't the only ones that pique my interest. There's this one that says "No Window Washing" and has a squeegee with a big red circle and line around it. I gotta get one of those for my windshield when I drive downtown.
*Happens aaaaalllll the time.
There's this one biohazard sign that is cool enough just as it is, but then underneath it it says "Containment Level 2." It made me wonder what could be in there that needs a level two containment. And also, what is a Level two containment? So I looked it up. And here's what could possibly be in that room (it is rather alarming, so if you're easily sent into a hypochondriac-type panic, I suggest you stop reading NOW and go to the hospital complaining of a high fever, a cough, greyish skin tone, and being so irritable you don't want to be held) :
"Risk Group 2 infectious agents include, for example: E. coli; many salmonella; some fungi like ringworm; California encephalitis viruses; human herpes simplex viruses; many influenza viruses; Transmissible Gastro-enteritis of swine; Mouse Hepatitis Virus; and a few parasites."
SWINE? The FLU? HERPES!?
O. My. GOOSHHHHNESSS.
I know what's going on. They are making an incurable, wasting disease in the form of a Herpes/Swine flu hybrid. I knew it.
This is horrible.
Of course, the biohazard signs aren't the only ones that pique my interest. There's this one that says "No Window Washing" and has a squeegee with a big red circle and line around it. I gotta get one of those for my windshield when I drive downtown.
*Happens aaaaalllll the time.
Monday, June 15, 2009
The hazards of Vacation.
Can you outrun a mudslide? This guy can. Not only can he outrun a mudslide, but also the house and the shed that came with it. It is not surprising though, since he's a Newfoundlander, and they have to run away from moose all the time. I think I'd prefer running from a mudslide.
Hopefully by July the rain will stop in Newfoundland and the mudslides will halt so that when I go there for my family vacation (dear god. family vacation.) I don't get smothered by the land (honestly, I didn't even think it was possible to have mudslides in Newfoundland. Isn't it just a great giant rock?). I should probably get back in shape before we go, just in case I have to run for my life. Or fight off a Viking.
Don't get me wrong, I'm ridiculously excited to go to Newfoundland. But with my family? Not so much. There is going to be lots of driving to see the sights, and someone is going to snap (mom). By the end, everyone will be grumpy, because we're not all that great at spending large amounts of time together.
My dad today even asked if he should bring along the family on his business trip to Vienna, and though I'd lovelovelove to go to Vienna, I said "No no, a thousand times no! Are you crazy? Do you think I'll be able to handle TWO family trips in one summer? It'll be a freakin' miracle if we all make it back from Nfld alive as it is..."
And I'm not sure if I mentionned this, but I'm back in Journalism next year. Not sure if I'm happy about this or not. Surprised yes, but pleasantly so? Dunno.
Hopefully by July the rain will stop in Newfoundland and the mudslides will halt so that when I go there for my family vacation (dear god. family vacation.) I don't get smothered by the land (honestly, I didn't even think it was possible to have mudslides in Newfoundland. Isn't it just a great giant rock?). I should probably get back in shape before we go, just in case I have to run for my life. Or fight off a Viking.
Don't get me wrong, I'm ridiculously excited to go to Newfoundland. But with my family? Not so much. There is going to be lots of driving to see the sights, and someone is going to snap (mom). By the end, everyone will be grumpy, because we're not all that great at spending large amounts of time together.
My dad today even asked if he should bring along the family on his business trip to Vienna, and though I'd lovelovelove to go to Vienna, I said "No no, a thousand times no! Are you crazy? Do you think I'll be able to handle TWO family trips in one summer? It'll be a freakin' miracle if we all make it back from Nfld alive as it is..."
And I'm not sure if I mentionned this, but I'm back in Journalism next year. Not sure if I'm happy about this or not. Surprised yes, but pleasantly so? Dunno.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Do you REALLY need a seatbelt to do barrel rolls?
NOOO. Well yes, I guess you do actually.
They have clipped the wings of the Snowbirds! The fleet of airplanes, built in the 1960s, has been putting on aerial shows for ages, and it has come to light that they have faulty seat belts. So now they are grounded until they can be fixed (and even once they get better belts, they may be retired permanently because they are SO old).
Now what will we use for airplanes? National Defence may actually not have any other planes. The Air Force may be reduced to hitching together Canada geese and riding on their backs. Though the geese have already proven they're more than capable of bringing down planes, so this may in fact be an upgrade.
O hey, 99th post. Sveeeeet.
They have clipped the wings of the Snowbirds! The fleet of airplanes, built in the 1960s, has been putting on aerial shows for ages, and it has come to light that they have faulty seat belts. So now they are grounded until they can be fixed (and even once they get better belts, they may be retired permanently because they are SO old).
Now what will we use for airplanes? National Defence may actually not have any other planes. The Air Force may be reduced to hitching together Canada geese and riding on their backs. Though the geese have already proven they're more than capable of bringing down planes, so this may in fact be an upgrade.
O hey, 99th post. Sveeeeet.
wierdssss.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
United: Stanley and Sidney
O hey so Pittsburgh won the Cup. The Stanley Cup, in case you live under a rock that's not in Canada (incidentally, if you live under a Canadian rock, you still know what the Stanley Cup is).
Good job, it was nice to see 22 year old Sidney Crosby hoisting the Cup. It was the next best thing to a Canadian team actually winning. The best thing would have been if Montreal had won, since the last time they did, it was 1993, and while I was a miniature die hard Canadians fan, I can't remember it at all.
Didja know that Sid the Kid is the youngest captain to ever win the Stanley Cup?
He needs a new nickname. Don Cherry dubbed him Sid the Kid, but that can't last much longer, because our little prodigy is growing up. So I think his name should be "Sidney the Kidney." or "Sidney Bean the Kidney Bean." Though the latter might be a mouthful for the announcer to say whilst commentating the game.
Good job, it was nice to see 22 year old Sidney Crosby hoisting the Cup. It was the next best thing to a Canadian team actually winning. The best thing would have been if Montreal had won, since the last time they did, it was 1993, and while I was a miniature die hard Canadians fan, I can't remember it at all.
Didja know that Sid the Kid is the youngest captain to ever win the Stanley Cup?
He needs a new nickname. Don Cherry dubbed him Sid the Kid, but that can't last much longer, because our little prodigy is growing up. So I think his name should be "Sidney the Kidney." or "Sidney Bean the Kidney Bean." Though the latter might be a mouthful for the announcer to say whilst commentating the game.
Penguins....
...just became much more intriguing animals.
Gay penguins? Love it. In your face all you homophobes and definitely-not-homophobic-because-I-have-this-one-gay-friend-but-I-just-can't-approve-of-their-lifestyle (cough Sarah fucking Palin cough) people out there who, from their vast collection of anti-gay arguments, whip out the "human beings are the only species that choose to couple with members of the same sex" argument every so often.
Well, ha. Maybe you can look a high school kid who's struggling with their sexuality in the eyes and tell them what they are feeling is wrong. Maybe you can tell two women in love that they can't get married while simultaneously wearing a sandwich board proclaiming "God Abhors You" (and not subsequently feel like killing yourself because 1- you clearly don't value love, and that would indeed be a miserable existence and 2- you're wearing a fucking sandwich board, and not in a joking, purposefully self-deprecating way. Or for the cashmoney). Maybe you can go through life advocating for such drivel as Prop 8 (not just baring people from rights, but taking them away now) and not feel like you're committing a serious crime. Maybe you're totally cool with all that. Maybe it makes you feel righteous.
But could you live with yourself if you stood before the ridiculously cute, tuxedoed bird and gazed into those beady, little black eyes, so trusting and so innocent, and told him he was going to hell (and don't say anything about animals not having souls, that is sooooo beside the point) for shacking up with his boyfriend in his ice cave? Could you crush his little penguin heart like that?
No, you couldn't. Noone can resist the power of a flightless, tapdancing, ice-dwelling, gay bird.
Or maybs you could.
How could you be so heartless?
Gay penguins? Love it. In your face all you homophobes and definitely-not-homophobic-because-I-have-this-one-gay-friend-but-I-just-can't-approve-of-their-lifestyle (cough Sarah fucking Palin cough) people out there who, from their vast collection of anti-gay arguments, whip out the "human beings are the only species that choose to couple with members of the same sex" argument every so often.
Well, ha. Maybe you can look a high school kid who's struggling with their sexuality in the eyes and tell them what they are feeling is wrong. Maybe you can tell two women in love that they can't get married while simultaneously wearing a sandwich board proclaiming "God Abhors You" (and not subsequently feel like killing yourself because 1- you clearly don't value love, and that would indeed be a miserable existence and 2- you're wearing a fucking sandwich board, and not in a joking, purposefully self-deprecating way. Or for the cashmoney). Maybe you can go through life advocating for such drivel as Prop 8 (not just baring people from rights, but taking them away now) and not feel like you're committing a serious crime. Maybe you're totally cool with all that. Maybe it makes you feel righteous.
But could you live with yourself if you stood before the ridiculously cute, tuxedoed bird and gazed into those beady, little black eyes, so trusting and so innocent, and told him he was going to hell (and don't say anything about animals not having souls, that is sooooo beside the point) for shacking up with his boyfriend in his ice cave? Could you crush his little penguin heart like that?
No, you couldn't. Noone can resist the power of a flightless, tapdancing, ice-dwelling, gay bird.
Or maybs you could.
How could you be so heartless?
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Reality's got Nothin' on Fiction.
You can tell it's summer by the fact that there is nothing to watch on le tele. (In fact that's the only way you can tell these days, since the weather is manic and seems to think it's fall.) So I'll be casting around for something to watch....you know, some dumb, mind-numbing show, because most of my regular shows are on hiatus, but all there is are reality shows.
Ok, I said something mind numbing not mind murdering so that I have to go on a respirator and so on. Sadly, that is what happens when I only find shows like The Whor - er, pardon me, The Bachelor (or The Bachelorette as the case may be), Canada's Next Top Model and Big Brother (is it on every night?).
What's with reality TV taking over the world? Did they have it back at the dawn of television in the umm...20s?.... or was that when the TV was invented and then it really started to catch on in the 50s? I dunno...whatevs.....shows you how much I paid attention in "History and Philosophy of Journalism*." No I think this reality TV bullocks is a new phenomenon. Except there was that one reality thing back in the day....I think it was call Gosh Darn It the TV is Broken, Now I have to Interact with my Family. That show is still running today actually.
Not all reality shows are bad I guess. I quite enjoy So You Think You Can Dance. Canada version or otherwise. I just can't stand Mary Murphy and the way she screams every 17 seconds. It is mildly amusing though, since her face doesn't really move because she eats Botox for breakfast.
Speaking of TV, the Much Music Video Awards (MMVAs) are coming up on the 21st. On the 13th, Much Music starts giving out wrists bands to get into the audience. Midday today, people (I'm guessing those who are members of the Cult of the Jonas Brothers. They are co-hosting. Ick-o-rama) began lining up in downtown Toronto to get them. Really hardcore people with couches and tents and games to pass the time.
I was debating going down to Toronto to get a wristband, because Lady Gaga is performing. That thought lasted about seven seconds, from the start of the MMVAs commercial until the point when they jubilantly announced that the Jonas Hoes would be there. Not even for Lady Gaga could I fathom subjecting myself to an evening of those purity ring wearing posers and their teeny-bopper fanatics. I'd puke. Or die.
I'd totally wait in line for a day and night if it weren't for those Jonas Hoes being there. It would be like camping out in the city. In downtown Toronto. Slightly scarier than camping in Ottawa, but much less scary than camping in say, New York City. Hey, you know what the difference between camping in the wild and camping in New York is? Well in the wild you need bear spray, and in NYC, you need a gun.
*without a doubt the most useless, required waste of my life, EVER. I think the goal of the prof was to prepare us should we ever in our future journalism careers find ourselves transported through time and space back to ANY other era....we'd know the hot methode of communication of the day and would be able to seamlessly continue our jobs despite being in the middle of Renaissance Italy [printing press WOOT] or Prehistoric Anywhere [grunts and clubs YAY] or 14th century North America [smoke signals and "the oral tradition"]
Ok, I said something mind numbing not mind murdering so that I have to go on a respirator and so on. Sadly, that is what happens when I only find shows like The Whor - er, pardon me, The Bachelor (or The Bachelorette as the case may be), Canada's Next Top Model and Big Brother (is it on every night?).
What's with reality TV taking over the world? Did they have it back at the dawn of television in the umm...20s?.... or was that when the TV was invented and then it really started to catch on in the 50s? I dunno...whatevs.....shows you how much I paid attention in "History and Philosophy of Journalism*." No I think this reality TV bullocks is a new phenomenon. Except there was that one reality thing back in the day....I think it was call Gosh Darn It the TV is Broken, Now I have to Interact with my Family. That show is still running today actually.
Not all reality shows are bad I guess. I quite enjoy So You Think You Can Dance. Canada version or otherwise. I just can't stand Mary Murphy and the way she screams every 17 seconds. It is mildly amusing though, since her face doesn't really move because she eats Botox for breakfast.
Speaking of TV, the Much Music Video Awards (MMVAs) are coming up on the 21st. On the 13th, Much Music starts giving out wrists bands to get into the audience. Midday today, people (I'm guessing those who are members of the Cult of the Jonas Brothers. They are co-hosting. Ick-o-rama) began lining up in downtown Toronto to get them. Really hardcore people with couches and tents and games to pass the time.
I was debating going down to Toronto to get a wristband, because Lady Gaga is performing. That thought lasted about seven seconds, from the start of the MMVAs commercial until the point when they jubilantly announced that the Jonas Hoes would be there. Not even for Lady Gaga could I fathom subjecting myself to an evening of those purity ring wearing posers and their teeny-bopper fanatics. I'd puke. Or die.
I'd totally wait in line for a day and night if it weren't for those Jonas Hoes being there. It would be like camping out in the city. In downtown Toronto. Slightly scarier than camping in Ottawa, but much less scary than camping in say, New York City. Hey, you know what the difference between camping in the wild and camping in New York is? Well in the wild you need bear spray, and in NYC, you need a gun.
*without a doubt the most useless, required waste of my life, EVER. I think the goal of the prof was to prepare us should we ever in our future journalism careers find ourselves transported through time and space back to ANY other era....we'd know the hot methode of communication of the day and would be able to seamlessly continue our jobs despite being in the middle of Renaissance Italy [printing press WOOT] or Prehistoric Anywhere [grunts and clubs YAY] or 14th century North America [smoke signals and "the oral tradition"]
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Head Butt.
I have this thing, it's called Dunnowheremyheadends Syndrome. It's hereditary. Its symptoms include large bruises on my forehead, swollen bumps under my hair, and loud thunks followed by a string of obscenities. And also embarrassing moments when I get out of my car at work and plow head first into the door frame. People are always around when this happens.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Can I get a What What up in here?
One bridge down. Or I mean up. Or you know, s'all good, yo.
Afterward, I came home to find a pile of colourful little rubber bits in the living room and was informed it was my brother's "parsley" he made by shredding about a hundred water balloons with his safety scissors.
My question is, who does he want to choke to death with his rubber spices?
June 9 Update: His plan was actually to hold the rubber bits over his older brother's head and threaten to drop them if he didn't let him use the computer in three....two....one....
Afterward, I came home to find a pile of colourful little rubber bits in the living room and was informed it was my brother's "parsley" he made by shredding about a hundred water balloons with his safety scissors.
My question is, who does he want to choke to death with his rubber spices?
June 9 Update: His plan was actually to hold the rubber bits over his older brother's head and threaten to drop them if he didn't let him use the computer in three....two....one....
Um...I think you're on fire.
I'm going to attempt to mend a bridge over coffee tonight that I somehow burned the fuck down last month. I'm not even sure why it went up in flames....I set such a small fire (translation: what I did wasn't even all that bad, but whatevs).
I apologized and everything quite some time ago, but these two self-proclaimed non-grudge holders are really really hanging on to this grudge. There are some other people who are pissed at me for some reason or another, and if I may let the bitch in me out for a moment, whatever I did to them (and I can't actually remember because I was quite intoxicated) they had it coming. Trust me, they soooo did.
I'm not vindictive, but they really pissed me off.
I'm kind of wondering now if it's even worth it to try and repair these friendships....this particular group of friends is quite judgmental sometimes and it drives me a tad up the wall. O well, we shall see, won't we?
Anyhoo, bridges are stupid. Who builds a bridge for a relationship anyways? Really, if you want it to last, make a goddamn road.
I apologized and everything quite some time ago, but these two self-proclaimed non-grudge holders are really really hanging on to this grudge. There are some other people who are pissed at me for some reason or another, and if I may let the bitch in me out for a moment, whatever I did to them (and I can't actually remember because I was quite intoxicated) they had it coming. Trust me, they soooo did.
I'm not vindictive, but they really pissed me off.
I'm kind of wondering now if it's even worth it to try and repair these friendships....this particular group of friends is quite judgmental sometimes and it drives me a tad up the wall. O well, we shall see, won't we?
Anyhoo, bridges are stupid. Who builds a bridge for a relationship anyways? Really, if you want it to last, make a goddamn road.
My music at Work
If I was a rock star, I would be a cross between Emily Haines, Elton John, and a Tickle Me Elmo on crack. I would sing like Emily (not really but a girl can dream can't she?), dress like Elton (sometimes) and go nuts like an Elmo (always).
I would also just in general be like David Bowie. Freak out in a moonage daydream, ooooo yeah.
I reserve the right to change my mind about what kind of hybrid rock star I would be at any time.
You could probably throw some Viking into the mix too.
I would wear horns.
I would also just in general be like David Bowie. Freak out in a moonage daydream, ooooo yeah.
I reserve the right to change my mind about what kind of hybrid rock star I would be at any time.
You could probably throw some Viking into the mix too.
I would wear horns.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Sleep evades me
I am bored and I can't sleep. I can't write. I can't even play the piano because that would wake up everyone in my house.
And my friend just drunk IMed me saying she got back from a "mini ewr ofehtger" (translation: a mini get together), and it was "sicjjjjj" (meaning "sick") and that she wishes that a friend of hers (not me) had have been there.
O great. Thank you so much for telling me all about a party you didn't invite me to, and then wishing that some person was there. It's so nice of you to take five minutes between getting home and passing out to tell me what I missed.
Fuck life in general.
I'm going ot get the wine out of my closet.
I am literally a closet alcoholic ahahaha.
Just kidding.
But not really.
But really.
But not.
And my friend just drunk IMed me saying she got back from a "mini ewr ofehtger" (translation: a mini get together), and it was "sicjjjjj" (meaning "sick") and that she wishes that a friend of hers (not me) had have been there.
O great. Thank you so much for telling me all about a party you didn't invite me to, and then wishing that some person was there. It's so nice of you to take five minutes between getting home and passing out to tell me what I missed.
Fuck life in general.
I'm going ot get the wine out of my closet.
I am literally a closet alcoholic ahahaha.
Just kidding.
But not really.
But really.
But not.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
So what does THAT mean?
I'm on a bit* of a Lady GaGa kick these days. Consequently, my ten year old brother is too. He always seems to pick up on my musical obsessions and take them on himself. Like with Alanis Morissette, Neil Young, that song by Sublime "Wrong Way," Metric, Johnny Cash, Elton John..... MJ's "Billy Jean" and a whole lot more.
So lately he's been prancing around the house singing "Boys Boys Boys," a song off GaGa's album The Fame. Here is a sample of the lyrics:
I like you a lot LOT
Think you're really hot HOT....
Boys boys boys
We like boys in cars
Boys boys boys
Buy us drinks in bars...
And so on. This coming from a boy who says, and I quote "My first priority is girls, my second is getting in shape to impress them." Alas, I find him a child of many contradictions haha.
I mostly just get a kick out of him liking the music I like (and sometimes he learns the songs just from hearing me sing them at home), but not only does he run around the house (and everywhere else) singing these songs, he also asks me questions about them. And when the artist has an album full of mature (or immature, depending on how you look at it) content, the questions can be hilariously awkward at best, and bordering-on-corrupting-his-mind at worst.
They can be really specific too...
[line from Metric's Succexy: "Every ten year old enemy soldier thinks falling bombs are shooting stars, sometimes, but she doesn't make wishes on them."]
Brother: Why would a bomb be like a shooting star and why is an enemy soldier only ten years old? What does Succexy mean?
Valid questions and easy to answer. And he's not one of those kids who asks questions and then doesn't care about the answer. He actually listens, so I can get all philosophical and whatnot, something that if I do with other people, it drives them up the wall.
{EDIT: That line is actually from Metric's IOU . My mistake. Both songs are really good.}
[line from Lady Gaga's Paparazzi: "We're plastic but we still have fun."]
Brother: What does she mean by plastic people having fun?
Again, not an awkward question. Easily dealt with.
Me: Well, she means that she is fake, people are fake and have fake personalities when they go out to clubs and so on they just put on a mask and... no not a real mask, a figurative mask.... and on some superficial level, it's all still fun.
Brother: O I thought it meant people with plastic surgery.
Me: Sure that too.
But then his little ears begin to pick out words and phrases he is not familiar with and he starts asking for definitions...
[line from LG's Pokerface: "...'Cause I'm bluffin' with my muffin"]
Brother: Sister, what's a muffin?
Not quite so easy anymore. But I decide it's better for him to know what it really means, so he doesn't get up in front of his class and sing that song, because, trust me, he would totally do that kind of thing. He's the biggest drama queen I've ever met.
Me: It's a vagina.
Brother: (uncontrolable laughter). So how do you lie with a.... that thing?
Me: I dunno. She just doesn't love the guy I guess. (This is not exactly what it means, but I wasn't about to get into the whole thing when she said she thought of women when she slept with her old boyfriend.)
Brother: O ok. (thoughtful pause) Is she a prostitute?
Me: No. Well...no.
So my parents weren't too pleased with me divulging that kind of information to my brother. I could tell by the look on their faces (slightly aghast with eyes oogling like pairs of googly eyes), since they were sitting in the same room as us. So next time I got a question like that, I censored myself.
[line from LG's LoveGame: "I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."]
Brother: What's a disco stick?
Me: It's umm... this cane-like stick that Lady Gaga has that has a light-up crystal on the end and she uses it during her shows as a prop. She um.. dances with it.
That wasn't even a lie. She has a stick like that, but that is most definitely not what she is talking about in the song. But my dad was in the car with us when the question was asked, and he was wearing that look on his face like "dear Godddd....why does this music exist?" so I thought I would filter my words for his benefit.
At least my father has the good sense not to say something like "O this pop music will never last." He learned from his dad's mistake. As a child he was told that this Rock and Roll business will fade out as sure as anything, and that people will be listening to Hank Williams long after Rock has died and been forgotten. (To which I answer, who is Hank Williams?)
*slight understatement
So lately he's been prancing around the house singing "Boys Boys Boys," a song off GaGa's album The Fame. Here is a sample of the lyrics:
I like you a lot LOT
Think you're really hot HOT....
Boys boys boys
We like boys in cars
Boys boys boys
Buy us drinks in bars...
And so on. This coming from a boy who says, and I quote "My first priority is girls, my second is getting in shape to impress them." Alas, I find him a child of many contradictions haha.
I mostly just get a kick out of him liking the music I like (and sometimes he learns the songs just from hearing me sing them at home), but not only does he run around the house (and everywhere else) singing these songs, he also asks me questions about them. And when the artist has an album full of mature (or immature, depending on how you look at it) content, the questions can be hilariously awkward at best, and bordering-on-corrupting-his-mind at worst.
They can be really specific too...
[line from Metric's Succexy: "Every ten year old enemy soldier thinks falling bombs are shooting stars, sometimes, but she doesn't make wishes on them."]
Brother: Why would a bomb be like a shooting star and why is an enemy soldier only ten years old? What does Succexy mean?
Valid questions and easy to answer. And he's not one of those kids who asks questions and then doesn't care about the answer. He actually listens, so I can get all philosophical and whatnot, something that if I do with other people, it drives them up the wall.
{EDIT: That line is actually from Metric's IOU . My mistake. Both songs are really good.}
[line from Lady Gaga's Paparazzi: "We're plastic but we still have fun."]
Brother: What does she mean by plastic people having fun?
Again, not an awkward question. Easily dealt with.
Me: Well, she means that she is fake, people are fake and have fake personalities when they go out to clubs and so on they just put on a mask and... no not a real mask, a figurative mask.... and on some superficial level, it's all still fun.
Brother: O I thought it meant people with plastic surgery.
Me: Sure that too.
But then his little ears begin to pick out words and phrases he is not familiar with and he starts asking for definitions...
[line from LG's Pokerface: "...'Cause I'm bluffin' with my muffin"]
Brother: Sister, what's a muffin?
Not quite so easy anymore. But I decide it's better for him to know what it really means, so he doesn't get up in front of his class and sing that song, because, trust me, he would totally do that kind of thing. He's the biggest drama queen I've ever met.
Me: It's a vagina.
Brother: (uncontrolable laughter). So how do you lie with a.... that thing?
Me: I dunno. She just doesn't love the guy I guess. (This is not exactly what it means, but I wasn't about to get into the whole thing when she said she thought of women when she slept with her old boyfriend.)
Brother: O ok. (thoughtful pause) Is she a prostitute?
Me: No. Well...no.
So my parents weren't too pleased with me divulging that kind of information to my brother. I could tell by the look on their faces (slightly aghast with eyes oogling like pairs of googly eyes), since they were sitting in the same room as us. So next time I got a question like that, I censored myself.
[line from LG's LoveGame: "I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."]
Brother: What's a disco stick?
Me: It's umm... this cane-like stick that Lady Gaga has that has a light-up crystal on the end and she uses it during her shows as a prop. She um.. dances with it.
That wasn't even a lie. She has a stick like that, but that is most definitely not what she is talking about in the song. But my dad was in the car with us when the question was asked, and he was wearing that look on his face like "dear Godddd....why does this music exist?" so I thought I would filter my words for his benefit.
At least my father has the good sense not to say something like "O this pop music will never last." He learned from his dad's mistake. As a child he was told that this Rock and Roll business will fade out as sure as anything, and that people will be listening to Hank Williams long after Rock has died and been forgotten. (To which I answer, who is Hank Williams?)
*slight understatement
Thursday, June 4, 2009
I am the Scientist.
Today, I ventured out of the office, away from lists and carbohydrate pamphlet designing, and into the lab! The real lab, where they boil water for more than making just coffee and instead of mini-fridges with half-eaten, slightly rotten lunches in them, there are massive, -80 degrees Celsius freezers with live cell cultures in them (I think).
I got to run the High Performance Liquid Chromatography (HPLC) thinger, which is kinda like a big, ubber expensive sifter, except instead of panning for gold, you're trying to get a particular pure product out of a mix of other byproducts of your reaction. And instead of a pan it's a metal column with silica gel inside that separtates different things blah blah blah.... ok so it's really nothing like panning for gold, because panning for gold would be more interesting. At least there would be fish in the river. There are no fish in the HPLC. I hope.
[Click on the link for a description of HPLC that may or may not make more sense than the gibberish I just spouted]
So instead of starring at my computer screen in the office, I starred at the computer screen in the lab, watching the progression of the HPLC. Mesmerizing stuff, it really is. It is pretty much like watching a line graph slowly forming across the screen. Whenever the line formed a peek, I had to collect the solution coming out of it in a test tube. I dunno what it was.
When it was all collected, I got to FREEZE DRY it. Like astronaut food. Except if you ate whatever it was that I freeze dried, I'm not sure, but you might die.
I got to run the High Performance Liquid Chromatography (HPLC) thinger, which is kinda like a big, ubber expensive sifter, except instead of panning for gold, you're trying to get a particular pure product out of a mix of other byproducts of your reaction. And instead of a pan it's a metal column with silica gel inside that separtates different things blah blah blah.... ok so it's really nothing like panning for gold, because panning for gold would be more interesting. At least there would be fish in the river. There are no fish in the HPLC. I hope.
[Click on the link for a description of HPLC that may or may not make more sense than the gibberish I just spouted]
So instead of starring at my computer screen in the office, I starred at the computer screen in the lab, watching the progression of the HPLC. Mesmerizing stuff, it really is. It is pretty much like watching a line graph slowly forming across the screen. Whenever the line formed a peek, I had to collect the solution coming out of it in a test tube. I dunno what it was.
When it was all collected, I got to FREEZE DRY it. Like astronaut food. Except if you ate whatever it was that I freeze dried, I'm not sure, but you might die.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
I am banging my head against the wall for Two reasons:
the friction keeps my head warm, and I am bored like a bored thing on boredom tablets.
I am at work, "working" but mostly just freezing my ass off. It is so cold in this "building." It is my belief that it is really a fridge masquerading as an office building. I also believe that if I ever use quotation marks in speaking like I just used them above, I will punch myself in the face.
The people who control the climate in this place need to turn off the AC. Haven't they realized that June has come but the heat has failed to come with it? Seriously. This is like living through the longest March of my life, followed by a never ending April.
It is so cold in here that I need to periodically take walks through the halls just to get my blood to circulate properly. It is so cold I make coffee 17 times a day just so I can hold a warm mug. It is so cold, the temperature is inducing hibernation....I feel like I've died and they decided to cryogenically freeze me.
They say an uncomfortable work environment makes people more productive (or at least Better Off Ted says that) but I am here to say that is false. Sooooo false. Look at me. I'm so uncomfortable, I've decided to proclaim it through the internets, and the amount of time I spend meandering through the corridors must add up to the equivalent of several lunch breaks, not to mention the amount of coffee I'm drinking makes me a complete spaz and induces a severe form of ADHD. And also -
O MY GOSH there are so many chemicals on this list! It NEVER ENDS. Well, actually, it just did. I finished it. For the past few days I've been making a table of generic drug names and their chemical structures. It was tedious and long and sososososoooo boring. On the bright side, I now know that Viagra is actually Sildenafil citrate and it looks like this:
I am at work, "working" but mostly just freezing my ass off. It is so cold in this "building." It is my belief that it is really a fridge masquerading as an office building. I also believe that if I ever use quotation marks in speaking like I just used them above, I will punch myself in the face.
The people who control the climate in this place need to turn off the AC. Haven't they realized that June has come but the heat has failed to come with it? Seriously. This is like living through the longest March of my life, followed by a never ending April.
It is so cold in here that I need to periodically take walks through the halls just to get my blood to circulate properly. It is so cold I make coffee 17 times a day just so I can hold a warm mug. It is so cold, the temperature is inducing hibernation....I feel like I've died and they decided to cryogenically freeze me.
They say an uncomfortable work environment makes people more productive (or at least Better Off Ted says that) but I am here to say that is false. Sooooo false. Look at me. I'm so uncomfortable, I've decided to proclaim it through the internets, and the amount of time I spend meandering through the corridors must add up to the equivalent of several lunch breaks, not to mention the amount of coffee I'm drinking makes me a complete spaz and induces a severe form of ADHD. And also -
O MY GOSH there are so many chemicals on this list! It NEVER ENDS. Well, actually, it just did. I finished it. For the past few days I've been making a table of generic drug names and their chemical structures. It was tedious and long and sososososoooo boring. On the bright side, I now know that Viagra is actually Sildenafil citrate and it looks like this:
It doesn't look very blue to me....
I wonder what boredom tables would look like.......
Edit: And when I say "tables" I mean tablets.
I wonder what boredom tables would look like.......
Edit: And when I say "tables" I mean tablets.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Merry Jolly Fucking Christmas
My new favourite Christmas song. Nevermind that it is nowhere near Christmas... this song can be listened to at any time of the year.
I'm not sure, but something about the song tells me it's not actually about Christmas.... something in the way GaGa says "Ho Ho Ho" makes me think she's not referring to the jolly laugh of a giant bearded man in red who sneaks into your house at night and eats your food.
I'm not sure, but something about the song tells me it's not actually about Christmas.... something in the way GaGa says "Ho Ho Ho" makes me think she's not referring to the jolly laugh of a giant bearded man in red who sneaks into your house at night and eats your food.
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