GROUNDHOG DAY.

Groundhogs everywhere agree: six more weeks of winter! Giddy up.

Now tell me, crazies from PETA, how would we get such an accurate prediction about the forthcoming winter months if we used a mechanical groundhog? Eh? Can a machine see its shadow and scurry back into its hole? No.

It would be a lie! A clever little computer program, probably based around the Weather network's forecast, instead of the trusty mysticism and intuition of a fat and cute rodent.

Plus Wiarton Willy totally luuuubbbs his job. He sits around with a feeling of emptiness all year until February 2nd when he gets his chance to shine. Do you guys really want to be the ones to take that away from him? Hmmm?


ps. Better watch who you decide to pie in the face while you're in Canada, lest you be labeled a terrorist.

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."

to be 30.

Well, it's a pretty sorry time in the life of a writer when the writer hasn't written for seven days.

But I haven't anything to say.

Life is boring. I'm pretty sure I've successfully hermitized myself. One of the only things I've been successful at in a long time. Sadly.

I'm going to end up a 30 year old who feels the need to get shitwrecked at parties and say really obnoxious things really loudly and dye her hair platinum blonde and in general be a plastic whorish type lady because of my wasted youth.

Which reminds me, I did go out the other day when aunt brought me to a 30 year old version of a house party. It was, at moments, fun, and had delicious jello shooters. There were two types of people there: the chill ones getting a bit tipsy and having a bang-up time, and the ones who despite being 10+ years older than me were acting about three years younger than me. The latter group included at least one plastic whorish type woman (PWTW). I think she even took a shot of amaretto from between her ginormous fake boobs. Pure class. She was the first person we ran into coming in the door. I briefly tossed around the idea of leaving.

At one point the host of the party couldn't be found (we found out later that he was pissed that people were hiding bottles and caps around his house and went outside to cool off. Apparently alcohol makes him a real pain in the ass Type A.) and PWTW, no doubt believing she is being incredibly helpful pipes up with "O my god, he's MIA. O. My. God. He's. M. I. A. He's MIA! OMG. O my fucking god, he's MIA. He's MIA. O my goddddd!"

No word of a lie, that is exactly what she said.

I wanted to punch her right in the silicon boob.

Instead, I stood behind her and imitated her, silently mouthing her words, much to my own amusement.


Ps, I changed the song of the week. Give it a listen, Regina Spektor is amazing.

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?

Ketchup and Mustard.

You know what makes me angry? The news.

I may have mentioned this before, but I think it warrants being stated again: media are all too often just fear mongering pundits either seeking to be the lap dogs of the sitting government, or to be the personal critic to those in power. And when I say critic, I mean in the they-watch-their-every-move-for-nit-picky-things-they-can-call-them-out-on-like-what-they-put-on-their-burgers way, and not the watch-dog-pointing-out-relevant-flaws-in-the-way-they-govern way.

Take for instance the recent Obama burger ordering fandango. I mean, Dijon mustard for heaven's sake! For REALS? Is there nothing better that the news can waste their time talking about? Laura Ingrams like ripped him apart for *gasp* NOT PUTTING KETCHUP on his burger and opting for "elitist" type mustard! Is he even American if he doesn't get ketchup on it? And she was dead serious about it. She was appalled or something.

And what's really, painfully stupid is that the media reprimands Obama for going out to a burger joint for lunch with his ol' pally Joe, saying "O look, Obama looking for a photo op. He's trying to show he's just a regular guy, He's trying to show he's not elitist (and failing...Dijon mustard! Geeeez), he's blah blah blah...." But who is making this a photo op? Who is making it a big deal when it reeeeallly doesn't need to be? Who is turning a hunk of beef with mustard on it into the top story on the six o'clock news?

Dear Media, what you must realize, is that it takes two to tango, so to speak. When Obama gets a regular old cheddar cheese burger, it's not a story unless you make it one. SO DON'T. Fuck.

This is a trend I see mostly on American news, but I think it's unfortunately making its way into Canadian media as well. Bum and doubly so.


So ya. Journalism is looking like less and less of an appealing job these days. whatever. I think I could do my own thing. Work for a non-conglomerate, non-profit, non-American owned alternative media outlet perhaps. I think the point is moot anyways since I'm in all likelihood going to get the boot from the journalism program.

But I don't care. It's full of pretentious brown nosers anyways.

But I actually do care. I have no idea what else to do.

Maybs I'll take history.

But then my parents (both with chemistry backgrounds, one with a PhD and one with a Masters. I was kinda destined for sciences until I kicked destiny into a dumpster and chose Journalism) would really make fun of me. They already think that since I'm an "arts" student, they had it WAY harder than me and that half my credits are jokes. History would send them into a fit of alternating horror and laughter from which they would never recover, and I would never hear the end of.

I shall think more on this subject once I have actually been told if I am a failure or not. Gee I can't wait.

Sometimes, I LOVE people.

This morning I met a neighbour from a few doors down I've apparently had for years but this being suburbia, I of course, have never seen before. This I decided is ver ver unfortunate, since she is a slightly elderly woman who saved my ass today.

I was in my house, making toast, confident that I had at least another seven minutes before I had to go get the bus. So when I ran out of butter to put on the toast (which is rice bread and tastes like shitter if you don't basically soak it in butter), I thought I'd have time to get more out of the fridge. Well, I didn't and I closed the fridge door, only to see the bus driving by out the window.

I grabbed by toast and bolted out the door, hoping I could run out in front of the bus and the driver would have good enough reflexes to stop before squishing me. But the bus was too far to run in front of it....so I chased it. And I know that damn driver saw me, but he is a sadist and kept driving. DEUCH BAG. I even shouted at it, and jumped up and down, and just in general made a real prat of myself.

Anyhoo, just then this lady walks out off her house and says "If I drive you to a stop, can you catch the bus?"

O my goodness, I have a guardian angel. Or at least really good bad timing.

Pant pant pant...deep breath, gasp. "Yes please! Thank you soooooo much."

What ensued was a car chase with all the nail biting suspense of watching a plant grow, and all the speed legally possible in a residential area, minus some speed for the caution and good sense of the woman driving the car.

And WE MADE IT! Caught up to that bus, hells ya.
My new old neighbour is now my hero.

When I got on the bus, the driver laughed at me. Fucktard.



Moral of the story: for every asshole out there, their is an equal and opposite type person who is a lovely human being.... hopefully they are around when you miss the bus.

Calm the tweeting you big Twit. (that was a complement)

You know what i don't like? Twitter.

People are going crazy over this thinger, and I don't get it. Are they just super psyched that they can, in great detail (or as much detail as you can fit into 140 characters or less), chronicle their life as it occurs? Yes I think that must be it. People can't go around announcing to everyone their life's story, so Twitter is the next best thing.

But I will never get it. No sir, not I. I do not want to be a tweeting twit or whatever they're called.

I mean really, do I ever need to let people know what I'm doing at all moments of the day? No.

Maybe if I was doing something worth updating people on every five minutes like fighting an epic battle in Antarctica against rabid penguins or sky diving from the International Space Station (which wouldn't work, I know....but could you just imagine?) I would get it, but as it is all I'd have to put up is "shit, my prof's mic isn't working again and I can't hear her tiny mouse voice because I'm not sitting in the front row" or "bkdwiuf I'm drunk and Metric is whoaaaa awesomeee..." or "at this point, ALL I WANT OUT OF LIFE IS TO RIDE THE NEW DOUBLE DECKER BUSES THAT ARE CRUISING THE TRANSIT SYSTEM!" (which is so true...). Shit like that.

So I stay away from it, so as not to get addicted to yet another dumb internet thing...like Facebook, or fmylife.com, or this....I have room for only one more addiction in my life an I intend for that to be crack. Just kidding kids. Don't do drugs. Ok, maybe just marijuana, but only a bit.

Could you imagine if there was something like Twitter around in the Middle Ages? Or the French Revolution? Or various other times in history where this technology has no business being?

O My giddy God, that would have been so fucking hilarious.....seriously picture it:


Hey there! KingLouisXVI is using Twitter.

guess they weren't kidding.
11:43 PM July 14th 1789 from Web

just realized my country is planning to storm the Bastille by reading the ParisMob twitter page. C'est une blague? Oui je pense.
7:56 PM July 13th 1789 from Web

maybe I should stop taxing the shit out of poor people....nah.
8:43 AM July 12th 1789 from Web

person in charge of handing me underwear gave me the uncomfortable pair + found rooms i never knew about in Versailles.
3:23 PM July 11th 1789 from Web

apparently food is short in Paris. Marie just told some whiners to got eat cake. FUCK YA!
5:54 PM July 8th 1789 from Web

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok I had way too much fun doing that, and I've accidentally let you all see how much of a nerd I am. (I use the term "you all" very loosely).

Now I should probably get off this and do something constructive with my life, like all the 10 more pages of an essay have to finish. But I don't want to. I'll get the shakes and start twitching and have all the classic signs of withdrawal.

Plus history essays about women suffrage in Canada aren't the most interesting things to write.

GAH.
Must.. rip. self ...away... from. blogge...

Rockin out to a little Native Land music

Home again.

O look, the Junos (like the Grammies but only for Canadian musical types) are on. O Canadian music, how I love thee.

Except for Nicklecrap, sometimes known as Nickleback, but only to the supremely dim and those who have zero taste in music. I loath Nicklecrap. And what's with the mop Chad Kroeger insists on wearing on his head? O no wait, that's just his hair. Or that small animal, possibly a vole, clinging to his chin? Wait. Ya that's his beard.

I could go on, but I'll restrain myself.

And they did something right again this year and got Russel Peters to host again. Excellent.


In other news, I discovered today that all it takes is a big camera with a Nikon neck strap to officially be a photographer. I ran around my aunt's bridal shower with my camera, snapping pics, and everyone seemed to think it was my job or something.
Meh, works for me.

It's all for "U"

I think I have established by now that I am Canadian. If not, well I am. Get over it.

Anyways, for you foreign peeps, you may not have noticed that we often use excess letters in words that really don't need to be there but make the word look better.
This happens for one of two reasons:
a) We were once owned and severely whipped by Great Britain, and we adopted GB's way of spelling things.
b) we are half french. Sometimes we are just mixing up the two languages. I for one throw "E"s onto the end of words that don't need them. That is one of the few parts of French immersion I have retained.

So what really annoys me is when something or someone Canadian fails to spell things the Canadian way. Like my CANADIAN HISTORY prof once spelled favourite and omitted the U....I am assuming that there is a U in favourite. If there isn't, then there should be, damnit. This is Canada after all. We spell colour with a u. Unless you are on my university learning system, which was apparently done and revised by Americans.

This gets to me. I mean, Canadians have precious few things in their everyday lives that might engender a sense of nationalism. Wierd spelling is one of them....Hockey is the other. Face it world, we are the best at it. How many times to we have to beat Russia to prove it?

So seriously, write "symbole" with an e. Spell licence with a c. Be in constant confusion as to whether the r is before or after the e, and when in doubt, just put it before (like in centre or litre). Commit criminal offences not offenses. Then get caught by the police not the polise.


I'm just kidding about that last one by the way.

Resolution? ya right.

I don't make New Years Resolutions.
They are crap.

Face it, who actually follows through on them anyways? NO ONE.

Because they are just something people say they'll do so they for one moment make themselves believe they may actually do them. And then they don't. And then they say "o shit" and continue with their lives as though the resolution had never been made.

I am a tad bit angry at present. I am taking out my anger on new years resolutions, because guess where I spent my new years? At home, with my crazy family and some neighbours and my uncle and my cousin and my littlest brother's best friend's family.

I think my friends have abandoned me. I tried calling all of them multiple times on land-lines and cell phones and smoke signals and Morse code and telegraphs and Batman-type sky-lights (well, mostly just the first two things) to no avail. So, instead of spending new years eve with my friends getting loaded, I spent it with people in my house trying to get loaded as fast as possible so I could endure the evening.

There was really good food. And my uncle and I drank a whole bottle of wine. And I had beer and shots and so on and just kept drinking. So by the time midnight came along, I at least looked happy. And I halfway was, just bummed that my apparent friends had neglected to tell me what their plans were, even of they had of just called to say "don't bother waiting for us to call, 'cause we're all going to a party without you. Bye."

Which, incidentally, they did. They didn't call me, but I got an email from one of them tonight saying sorry (lie), I forgot you were coming home for new years (lie) and sorry, we went to a party without you because two of us were invited to it, and the other three are going as the plus ones (does that even make sense? 3 people as the plus ones for the 2 invited?). So, well.... ya. That sucks.

So I amused myself that night by being super witty. Or at least I thought I was being witty in my state of tipsiness. And I believe I told everyone that I was wearing red underwear. You know, for good luck and so on.




And to make a long story short, I have no new years resolution.