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.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
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?"
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