I CAN'T PAY MY RENT BUT I'M FUCKING GORGEOUS

WELL. AT THIS POINT YOU MAY BE THINKING I PRESSED CAPS LOCK TOO HARD AND IT STUCK THAT WAY. BUT NO. I AM ACTUALLY SHOUTING!

(and also pressing caps lock would be the smart thing to have done. I just held the shift button down the whole time. I got halfway through and thought 'GEE I SHOULD REALLY JUST PRESS CAPS LOCK. O WELL FUCK IT, I'M ALREADY HALFWAY THROUGH')

Anyways. On to business. I went to LADY GAGA yesterday with my lil' brotha. And I shall speak more about that later, but right now I have an English assignment that is overdue, so I'll make this brief. Suffice it to say, I may have shouted "MARRY ME GAGA - IT'S LEGAL HERE!" several times. I'm assuming she'll get back to me on that one.

After touring, obvi.

Right, but what couldn't wait til post-English essay was the opening band: Semi Precious Weapons. They were.... wilde. Like, take-your-clothes-of-on-stage wilde (PS, don't click the link if you have a problem with seeing a man's bum. I didn't record that, but someone a few rows ahead of me did. Lucky tall bastard) (PPS, I don't give a fuck, click the link anyways, it's EPICNESS INCARNATE).

And ya... I was quite taken by them. They rocked my fucking socks. Seriously, not sure if my socks will ever recover. But that's ok, I'm willing to sacrifice socks for music. Any day.

Semi Precious Weapons even went and hung out in the lobby after the show and did autographs and pictures. That was thrilling. And they were lovely people. Cole the bassist signed my sailor hat (which I insisted my bro wear to the concert. I also made him wear my red skinny jeans and a silver belt. He was soo on board.) And Justin the lead singer had the cutest yellow plaid tights on. Jealous. I'm also slightly envious that he is a six foot tall man and can walk/dance manically around in six inch heels, while I am a 5 foot short girl who can't deal with heels period. Really, at my prom even, I wore my heels for all of 77 seconds before I ditched them under the table and danced around barefoot. o wellzz.

And that is why, when I get around to changing it, Song of The ____ goes to Semi Precious Weapons. I am a fan. In body and soul. And Facebook. HA.

Magnetic Baby - Semi Precious Weapons
Semi Precious Weapons - Semi Precious Weapons
Her Hair is On Fire - Semi Precious Weapons

There is always an over-abundance of scantily clad women in the vids.

ps. I bought a SPW T-shirt with the title of this poste on it. My mother was not impressed.

hmmm

On Friday mornings, the weekend always feels like it has so much potential. More often than not, by this time Sunday, all that potential has been wasted, and I spend the rest of the evening kicking myself/frantically doing assignments.

A+ for another well wasted weekend. Fuck.

On a happier note, I'm going to Parliament on Tuesday to watch 45 minutes of mud slinging and name calling called Question Period, when the elected members of the federal government gather to ask each other questions. It's just a whole lot of showboating and ridiculous antics. The opposition asks questions of the party in power, and everyone gets indignant. Michael Ignatieff's eyebrows become scarier, Jack Layton's mustache takes on a persona of it's own, and Stephen Harper has a constant look of smug constipation (I didn't know it was possible to be both at the same time, but honestly that's all I see when I look at him).

And then I'm going to be like a real journalist and participate in a scrum, which seems scary and useless at the same time.

Last time I was in a scrum, I was playing rugby. I wonder if they bite in this one?

..... I know I will.

I like the word "fervor"

Hello people of the world (HA)!

I did not combust, implode, explode, evaporate, or shrivel into a hollow, inhuman husk of a body from doing my project. I did, however, discover the wonders and slightly freaky effects of energy drinks. Maybe it is because I avoid them with impressive fervor, or maybe it's because of the three coffees I had prior to downing most of the energy drink, but for a good half an hour, I looked like I'd just done a line of cocaine.

The bottle says it is to "help temporarily restore wakefulness when experiencing fatigue or drowsiness" but this bottle of toxicity went way beyond being useful and put me into a state of 'wakefulness' that rendered me too fidgety, hyper, giggly, ridiculous and restless to actually get any work done. My orange-haired friend thankfully cut me off from my supply and drank the rest herself. And in the meantime, I went and ran up and down two flights of library steps in an attempt to calm myself down.

After that, I eventually went back to being a normal person, able to speak without bursting into fits of uncontrollable laughter. That was around 10:46 pm. An hour later, I took the bus home (a sketchy thing at the best of times, but midnight on a bus is a rather alarming experience. Yet I find myself there all the time) and at 4:30 am, I fell asleep with my paper not done, my computer precariously on my lap. At 5:11, I jolted awake in shear terror that it was time to leave for school, realized I had an hour and a half to finish the thing, and finished it. Success!

It's probably crap, but no matter, at least it's done. Now I can start crying on the inside about other imminent deadlines.

Goodness Gracious. Great balls of....

FIRE.

I anticipate spontaneously combusting sometime around the hour of 4 o'clock Friday morning, right around the time that I realize I will never be able to finish this blasted journalism assignment.

Just giving you a heads up in case I never post again.

We are not all polite.

Exchange between myself and Mr. Stickuphisass from across the street whilst canvasing the neighbourhood for the Arthritis Society:

Me: [ring doorbell. waiting.....waiting. nearly give up. turn to leave.]

[door opens]

Me: "O hello. How are you today?"

Mr. Stickuphisass: [stares blankly] "What are you selling?"

Me: [stricken dumb for a beat] Ah. [nervous chortle] Not selling anything today sir. [force a natural looking smile] I'm just canvassing for the Arthritis Society -

Mr. S: Not interested. [closes door before I can say 'bye' or any such parting words]


I shouldn't have bothered going to his door. I'm pretty sure that last year the same thing happened. I probably even muttered the same profanities as I walked away from his house.

On the bright side, everyone else was really nice. Even the ones who didn't give me money. And I raised $100. BooYah.



Ps. I can't believe I wrote a post on November 5th and forgot to mention Guy Fawkes Day. It's like my favourite foreign holiday. So...."Remember, remember the fifth of November, the gun-powder treason and plot. I know of no reason the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot." And yet it took me three days to realize that I forgot it.
I also love the movie "V for Vendetta."

Innuendo and other

I am a big fan of puns. I say that with no shame.... well ok, I say it with very little shame, much less than you might think.

Bad puns, good puns (is there such a thing?)....

Anyways, I did not come here to talk about puns, I came here to talk about double entendres and how the best double entendre in the world occurred today, but I got side tracked by puns...

The scene played out like this, and I'll warn you, it's vaguely sexual. Reader discretion is by no means advised:

I was downtown for a "Drop Fees" rally, because, as you may know, tuition is heinously high and breaking people under heaps of debt. And Ontario has the highest fucking tuition fees in Canada dammit.

Right, so downtown with my new orange haired friend, and I'm carrying my coat, a drop fees placard, a foam hand flippin' the bird with "F**k Tuition Fees" written on it, and my empty Timmies coffee cup. The coffee cup was blocking me from putting on the foam hand....

"You'd better throw that out," says my orange haired friend, "It's hindering your fingering."

I turned to her and starred for a solid few seconds.

"That's ok," says I. "I shall compensate with my mouth."

And I put the cup in my mouth. And carried it.


So there you go. I laughed my ass off and thought it was a genius moment.

I talk. I listen.

Have I mentioned yet that this year is infinitely less crap than last year? The crap is so much lesser, I might even venture to turn that pessimistic statement around and say that this year rocks ever so much more than last year. But that would imply that first year had anything at all that rocked about it, which it didn't.

Anywho. My least favourite thing about this year - other than the midterms, the deadlines, the essays and so on - is all the interviewing I have to do. I have to interview people all the time for assignments, but it's not the speaking to people I don't know, the asking awkward questions, or even the points in the interview when I forget what exactly I'm trying to say that are the worst aspects of being a journalism student - it's playing back the recordings of my interviews that I hate.

I can't stand hearing my own voice. I hear myself speaking to people and I think why does anyone like me? I sound like the biggest dumb ass to ever grace the planet.