It's not uncommon.

My pursuit for Jenga...and now, Guido's.

2009-12-17T17:43:00.000-08:00

This blog is about a few events that occurred between the week of December 6th to the 11th.

Let me bring you back to last Tuesday. You can probably guess that I spent the night at my favorite weekly hangout…Bingo!

It was the week after my regretful defeat, and I set out to attend bingo not to win, but to drown my sorrows in copious amounts of beer. We grabbed our table and without even asking for anything, our waiter promptly brought us over a coke and a grasshopper. We looked at him with this “OMG! WE HAVE A USUAL” face. It was an incredible moment. I’ve always wanted to be a usual patron somewhere with a usual drink…and now I’m that person!

Bingo proceeded as usual, however, this week I wasn’t as focused as I usual am…mostly because ever time I looked up at the prize shelf, there was no Jenga in sight. Then, in round 2, after a few too many, I looked down at my bingo card and then looked at Kate, and in great confusion said, “hrmm, I think I have a bingo?!!”.

I got a fucking bingo, and guess what, there was no beautiful man yelling bingo at the exact same time. There was no rock paper scissors. No ugly defeat. I’d won. But this is just my fucking luck; I’m a solid winner and the only prize I wanted was ripped away from me in a terrible blood bath. I scanned the prizes for a while and finally decided on Hungry Hungry Hippo’s, which I guess is a pretty good prize in itself... still not Jenga, but what can ya do. Later on in the night, Steve (the host), told me that if he found Jenga again that he would just give it to me as a gift so I would no longer need to suffer through the ups an downs of bingo play. I was extremely flattered but in all honest, as brutal as my luck seems to be, my quest for Jenga is just too fun to give up and accept as a gift.

The night had many ridiculous moments and ended in a game of 3 am scrabble with new friends. Needless to say, it was one of the best nights ever.

Fast forward to Thursday night.
My staff party.
All I can say about this is that I work with some of the most hilarious and remarkable people in the world. We drank our way through quite a few bottles of wine, and then as the party died down, the mission began.

So you’re probably curious as to what this “mission” is?! Or you’re not…but I’m going to tell you anyways…

I want to date a Guido.

No don’t get your panties all up in a knot! Let me explain!

After watching Jersey Shore, I was struck with the idea about how unbelievably funny it would be to date a Guido for 2 weeks. If you haven’t seen Jersey Shore, let me just provide you with a peak at the most amazing show currently permeating our airwaves…

(sorry the quality is so shitty, it’s all I could find)

CAN WE PLEASE YELL ABOUT THIS FOR A SECOND!
Holy fuck. I still can't believe this show exists. Whoever created it deserves a fucking trophy. I had no clue that there are actually people out there who are proud to call themselves Guido’s and Guidette’s (the female version of a Guido.) IT’S TOO MUCH! Seriously, I’m out of breath thinking about how exciting this show is.

What I love the most is how excited these people are to parade their Italian heritage. I’m betting that the majority of these Guid’s are 5th generation Italians, and are just clinging to any ounce of Italian heritage they can. This happened in my high school too; there were loads of self-proclaimed wops who thought they fucking owned Italy, when their mothers, uncles, brother was the only Italian person in their family. If anyone’s a fucking Guido up in here, it’s me. I’m as pure bred as they come.

Anyways…back to what I was talking about.

Let’s just look at the men in the show for a second so you can truly understand my reasons for wanting to date one….

On the left here we’ve got Pauly D. Apparently this guy is 29, even though he looks and acts 15. It takes him 25 minutes to blow out his hair and he brought an entire fucking box of Dippity Doo with him so he’d never run out. Most of my favorite scenes from the show include Pauly D. Like the time when him and JWOWW (yea, you heard me right) were laying on his bed making out, and he just whipped out his peen to show her his cock ring. After that, she was all “shit, I just saw your penis!” She also has a boyfriend. No big thang.

The next night, her and Pauly D were grindin’ in up in da club, when she proceeded to take off his shirt, leave the club with it, and then went home to eat ham. TOO GOOD! So bitch is at home substituting processed ham for sex, and Pauly D’s just chillin’ at a club with no shirt.

Next in line is “The Situation” – you have to say this with an extremely harsh Jersey accent in order to get the full effect. He has this nickname because he’s got "abs so ripped up, it's called the situation," his words, not mine. He thinks he’s the absolute shit and says things like, “it’s not a matter of if we’re going to hook up, it’s just a matter of when I decide to”. He said that about a roommate named Sammi who made out with him (at a club of course) and then proceed to make out with another guy in the house that same night. Poor Situation, I guess yo’ killa abs just weren’t hot enough for her.

The last two are Ronnie and Vinnie. Neither really do anything of much importance, however, in the first episode they showed Vinnie’s Mom cutting his turkey for him. Precious.

So back to my mission. Let’s just pretend I managed to give out my number to a “juiced up, tanned Guid” – as one of the female characters likes to call them. He’d then take me on a date…probably to a club where we’d grind and he’d try to get in my pants. But I’d be a prude and the next time we’d maybe go out to a lounge for Pina Colada’s. The stories would be fucking endless. Could you imagine the shit they’d say? And the amount of Ed Hardy they’d wear!? It would be out of this world.

It’s officially my new life goal. I’m going to meet, date, and dump a Guido. I'll have to end it prior to actually having sex with them, because that would just be too far…and I’d imagine that during the act they’d pout their lips, flex their muscles and grunt in the most displeasing manner. Not only this, but I imagine they'd probably say shit like “YAAAAA GIRL, check out my cock piercing…I know you wanna choke on that!”

BLAGHHHHH!!!!

ANYWAYS! Night one of my mission to date a Guido didn’t really go as planned. We hit up the Roadhouse and luckily there were plenty in sight, however, I began to quiver and dry heave anytime one approached us and attempted to grind up on me. The second night of the mission happened in Banff, but I was distracted by a very skinny Aussie with ironic facial hair...so I didn't really get an opportunity... One day though, I’ll get the courage to dry hump a Guid in da club, and subsequently force a date to happen. And then hopefully I’ll be able to write a blog entitled “The Time I Dated A Guido.” It's going to be superb.

My quest for Jenga...

2009-12-06T10:39:00.000-08:00

Every Tuesday night, me and my friend head out to challenge out hearts and minds and play us some bingo... well, “punk rock bingo” as it is officially called. Our first time there I was scanning the selection of prizes and came across what I was certain was about to be the best thing I could ever own…Jenga.

And I’ll bet you’re wondering, “why Jenga, Nicole?” Well I’m so glad you asked! See, I have a tremor in my hands. They shake involuntarily at most given times, and I can neither help it nor stop it. The shaking is heightened with stress and nerves, and surprisingly diminishes when I consume alcohol. So let me just set the stage for you. Let’s pretend that you and I are playing a game of Jenga. It takes a finite skill and persition to pull out those tiny block things without knocking the whole fucking thing down. Now imaging me, with an incredibly unstable hand venturing toward the tower to attempt to pull out a Jenga piece. You see it? That’s a major fucking fail. I would never win. And even if I drank to prevent my tremor, that would no longer help me because I’d be so distracted by being intoxicated that I’d probably forget what was happening or pass out face first onto the game.

Now I’m sure you’re thinking that this is fucking ridiculous…Why own a game you’d never win? Well, because it would be hilarious. I’d never have to be competitive because I would just lose. And then anyone playing with me would feel so good about themselves because they would always beat me! All I can see is a wonderful, win-win situation.

Anyways, we’re getting off topic here…

Earlier this week, we ventured out once again to play us some bingo. I usually walk in the bar with high hopes of taking home the big prize, however, 100% of the time I leave with a frown on my face, and ache in my heart and no Jenga in my hands. We went up to purchase our bingo cards and bantered a bit with the host, we’ll call him Steve, who is also aware of my insane quest for a game I’ll never win. We grabbed our dobbers and sat down... If only I knew then how the night was about to unfold.

We began round 1…
No luck.
No bingo.
Still no Jenga…

We were feeling a little discouraged at this point, like we do every week, but figured we’d stick around for another round, because, well, we just had to.

On to round 2…

It’s black out bingo round. If you’re not familiar, you basically have to dobber every last one of the numbers in your square in order to win.

I’m one number away from blacking out all my squares….

Because I’m an extreme pessimist I though to myself, “here we go again…this will probably just end in disappointment...”

Then Steve yells out, “WHO NEEDS A G FOR THE WIN?”

I look down…

I needed a fucking G…

He then proceeds to yell, “52!!!!!!!!!!!”

I look down.

HOLY MOTHER MARY SON OF GOD!

BINGOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

I stood up and yelled with ever ounce of my being…but I was too fucking slow.

Apparently some dude at the table near us had called bingo a fucking millisecond before me.

Luckily, in fairness, Steve decided that we needed to have a best out of three rock, paper, scissor-off in order to determine who would go home with a big prize, and who would go home with a weeny consolation prize and a shattered ego.

There I was. So. Fucking. Close. I could just taste those fucking little wood blocks…

On a side note, the guy that I was up against was a dreamboat. We’d been commenting on his insane man beauty all night.

That’s not really relevant though....back to the story.

First round of rock-paper-scissors: he wins…

Second round: I take the cake…

It all comes down to this….

Are you ready??

Like, are you seriously fucking ready? Because I’m about to blow your fucking mind.

He picks rock… and I pick fucking scissors.

FUCK!

But just wait, it gets much more devastating. Like we’re talking The Notebook fucking devastating.

There are about 64 prizes to be won at bingo, and what fucking prize does the pretty man decide to take???

FUCKING JENGA!!

It was slow motion... I yelped out and had to use all my strength to keep me from falling to the ground in desperation...

“NOOOOOOO, please don’t take Jenga!!!” It was like I’d lost a loved one in battle.

This would go down as one of the top 14 saddest moments in my entire life.

After I got off stage I ran up to the beautiful man and told him how he’d just ruined my entire life, and how Jenga had been the bane of my existence for a solid 7 weeks. I even went on to tell him about my tremor and the hilarity that would ensue from playing a round with me. He laughed pitifully and then proceeded to tell me that he’d go smoke but maybe he would come back and “we could find a way to trade.” Surrrrrrrrre.

I told him that it was cool, and that he’d won fair and square. He was probably just saying that because he thought I was going to go home and cut myself whilst thinking about him merrily playing Jenga.

And you know what the real kicker is… When we initially sat down at our regular table, we noticed a group of people crowding around a small table beside us, and I, as the wonderfully kind person I am, offered up our section to them as it was bigger and had more room. They were grateful, and I smiled, and said it was cool, but then warned them sternly, “You can have this table, but you CANNOT take Jenga if you win!” They thought I was joking, of course, so they laughed it off and sat down….and guess who was sitting at that table…

DING DING DING!
YOU FUCKING GOT IT… attractive man that stole my dignity and my prize. I fucking warned them! Well, in all fairness I think he came after that incident, so I guess he was kind of innocent…however, it's still an annoying coincidence I needed to point out.

So that’s that. Can you even fucking believe it?? Because I certainly cannot. No one wanted Jenga for the 7 fucking weeks I’d been going, and then when I FINALLY get a goddamn bingo, the one person that wins with me wants the EXACT same prize I want. I’m a seriously unlucky individual.

In consolation I got a gift certificate to Tubby dog…. So I guess I’ll just go and drown my sorrows in some gourmet wieners.

Because I feel like gloating.

2009-11-30T19:21:00.000-08:00

**I meant to post this a long time ago, however, you know me – procrastinator extraordinaire – and this is why you’re just seeing it now)**

So, no big deal or anything, but I totally fucking met George Stroumboloupolus…

It was a moderately temperate Friday evening early in November. I was drunk (no surprises there) and at the bar with my friend. We’d been sitting with some serious asshats for the past hour (they were buying us drinks, and I never turn down free shit). But we’d had enough of talking about skank weed and construction work with them and were desperately seeking an escape root. Luckily, asshat number one spilt an entire beer all over us and we stood up abruptly and pulled out a snarky “thanks a lot!” and stormed off to the washroom to ring the beer out from our clothes (I was not about to waste that free beer I’d just earned). But just as we were making our way through the crowd, he appeared…

His man beauty was overpowering. I don’t think I’ve been that excited about something since I saw Hanson live in concert.

I knew what I had to do.

Luckily, I was just drunk enough to have the courage to approach him and tell him how much I adored his show and vampire good looks. I don’t really remember how the conversation went, but I’m sure I said a lot of wickedly lame things pertaining to his immense awesomeness.

Unfortunately he was a lot shorter than I would’ve suspected, and as I was talking to him I was forced to do my mini squat routine as to not appear so giantess while beside him. This didn’t make me love him less though. He was soooo charming, and funny, and nice, and intelligent, and he spoke to me like I was the only person in the entire room…
Swoooooon.

What a motherfucking dreamboat.

Sadly, people started bombarding him shortly after we began talking, but I guess that’s what you get. I stalked him a little near the end of the night and saw him leave the joint with some blond haired floozy.
Sigh, the bimbo’s always get the prize. (That kinda rhymed!)

I’m over it though. I got to have a nice, respectable conversation with the most attractive man on Canadian Television.

So in other news, I totally got an Iphone! Now for some this may mean little, but for me, it’s like that small girl getting her proverbial pony. Seriously, this thing entertains me, teaches me things, allows me to communicate with people…. I could go on. It’s literally the best companion one could ever have.

You know what my favorite part about it is…You know when you’re out with friends and you’re debating about some random topic and one person is all, “No, it’s this” and the other person is all, “No, it’s that” and then it goes on for hours until someone finally gets home and googles it and text messages the other person and is all “I TOLD YOU SO!” and then the other person feels like total shit?
WELL! Now I can just whip out my iphone and google the FUCK out of that shit and find out right on the spot. No waiting. No wondering. The answers are right before me. Which also means I never have to wait to parade my glory. Now, I know, there are people out there with cellphones that have internet too, but I dare you to compete with me in a google-off. My iphone will find the answer faster than you can say “balls”.

I guess I’ll stop gloating now.
I do want to leave you with one thing… consider it a gift; a gift of great happiness. Why? Because it has a fucking penguin in it! That shops! And wears a penguin backpack!
It’s so fucking cute I could just puke. (That rhymed too! God, I’m brilliant)

So it’s been decided...

2009-10-14T19:53:00.000-07:00

I’m an utterly shitty blogger.
It’s been over a month since I’ve posted, and the worst part…I didn’t even realize it. Today while I was reading an inspirational email forward with cute dog pictures… it dawned on me, ”Jesus, I haven’t written anything in weeks!!” And the only reason it dawned on me was because I was thinking about how fucking awful the forward I was reading was, and how I get like 16 a day that all contain pictures of animals and say things like “hang in there” and “when all else fails, just laugh!” Actually, I have no idea why that made me think of my blog… but whatever.

So I guess this is really just a post to notify you, my 3 readers, that for a short time I did forget about you…but then I remembered! Aren’t you thrilled! I do have ideas for posts, but I just need to find the time to actually write them…and when I do you’ll be in for a big treat. Kind of like when you find a kernel of popcorn in your couch cushion. Ahh, life’s little pleasures.

But to tie you over, I’d like to share with you the best email forward I’ve ever received (and I’m serious about getting 16 a day). It made me laugh aloud and nod my head in agreement. And no, it doesn’t contain any pictures of cute animals, but I’ll add one at the end just because I like you…

1. More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.

2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

3. I don't understand the purpose of the line, "I don't need to drink to have fun." Great, no one does. But why start a fire with flint and sticks when they've invented the lighter?

4. Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you're going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.

5. That's enough, Nickelback.

6. I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

7. The letters T and G are very close to each other on a keyboard. This recently became all too apparent to me and consequently I will never be ending a work email with the phrase "Regards" again.

8. Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn't work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or FAQ's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.

9. There is a great need for sarcasm font.

10. Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the f&*% was going on when I first saw it.

11. I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I'll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone's laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond earlier) to prove that I'm still the only one who really, really gets it.

12. The other night I hit a new low at an open bar. I had already hopped on highway blackout when, inevitably I had to find a bathroom. Eventually I decided it was probably on the other side of the bar so I tried to walk over there, but ran into a guy coming the other way. We played that, Both go left, Both go right game to no avail, so I finally put out my hand to guide myself past and that's is when I realized, yup, that's a mirror I just tried to walk through. And the guy on the other side is me. Even cats can re cognize their own image.

13. How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

14. I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.

15. I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

16. The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to finish a text.

17. A recent study has shown that playing beer pong contributes to the spread of mono and the flu. Yeah, if you suck at it.

18. Was learning cursive really necessary?

19. Lol has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I have nothing else to say".

20. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

21. Answering the same letter three times or more in a row on a Scantron test is absolutely petrifying.

22. My brother's Municipal League baseball team is named the Stepdads. Seeing as none of the guys on the team are actual stepdads, I inquired about the name. He explained, "Cuz we beat you, and you hate us." Classy, bro.

23. Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart",all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart".

24. How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear what they said?

25. I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent a dick from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!

26. Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using 'as in' examples, I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete idiot. Today I had to spell my boss's last name to an attorney and said "Yes that's G as in...(10 second lapse)..ummm...Goonies"

27. What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?

28. While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it...thanks Mario Kart.

29. MapQuest really needs to start their directions on #5. Pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

30. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

31. I find it hard to believe there are actually people who get in the shower first and THEN turn on the water.

32. Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.

33. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.

34. Bad decisions make good stories

35. Whenever I'm Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don't mind if I do!

36. Is it just me or do high school girls get sluttier & sluttier every year?

37. If Carmen San Diego and Waldo ever got together, their offspring would probably just be completely invisible.

38. Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I'm from, this shouldn't be a problem....

39. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you've made up your mind that you just aren't doing anything productive for the rest of the day.

40. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after DVDs? I don't want to have to restart my collection.

41. There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

42. I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

43. "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this ever.

44. I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There's so much pressure. 'I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren't watching this. It's only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?'

45. While watching the Olympics, I find myself cheering for China. No, I am not of Chinese descent, but I am fairly certain that when Chinese athletes don't win, they are executed.

46. I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Damnit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What'd you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?

47. I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

48. When I meet a new girl, I'm terrified of mentioning something she hasn't already told me but that I have learned from some light internet stalking.

49. I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it's on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.

50. Why is a school zone 20 mph? That seems like the optimal cruising speed for pedophiles...

51. As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.

52. Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

53. It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.

54. I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

55. I think that if, years down the road when I'm trying to have a kid, I find out that I'm sterile, most of my disappointment will stem from the fact that I was not aware of my condition in college.

56. Even if I knew your social security number, I wouldn't know what do to with it.

57. Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, hitting the G-spot, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time...

58. My 4-year old son asked me in the car the other day "Dad what would happen if you ran over a ninja?" How the hell do I respond to that?

59. It really pisses me off when I want to read a story on CNN.com and the link takes me to a video instead of text.

60. I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.

61. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

62. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lites than Kay.

63. The other night I ordered takeout, and when I looked in the bag, saw they had included four sets of plastic silverware. In other words, someone at the restaurant packed my order, took a second to think about it, and then estimate d that there must be at least four people eating to require such a large amount of food. Too bad I was eating by myself. There's nothing like being made to feel like a fat bastard before dinner.

There's a whole surplus of people out there bred for judgement...

2009-09-12T03:00:00.000-07:00

You know when you look at someone and you think to yourself, "I could never be friends with that person." Sure, it's kinda mean, and sure, you shouldn't "judge a book by it's cover," but there are just those people that you can't fucking stand to look at, and you just know that even if they're fucking brilliant and hilarious, being around them would be such a challenge that securing a stable relationship would be utterly impossible. For someone like myself, these people are plentiful in the world. Here's a prime example: men with excessively large muscles.

You know the guys i'm talking about… the "juice monkeys," the steriod swiggers, the "working out is my passion" types - fuck those guys, I hate those guys. I hate that their pecks are bigger than my breasts and I especially hate that their arms can never comfortably hang beside their body because their tricep muscles are too big and won't allow it. And they don't have necks. AND they have cheesy ass tribal tattoos and/or armband that are exposed when they wear their too tight t-shirts with the sleeves ripped off. I look at these people and think to myself how unpleasant it is to be to be in close proximity to them… let alone talk to them…or, god forbid, be friends with them.

Another prime example: this guy…

Fuck him. Who the fuck does he think he is? Stop pouting your peach gloss coated lips like a little bitch and take out that dumb ass piercing. And what the fuck is with that “I’m looking into the infinite distance and thinking about deep shit” stare.
But just wait...it gets 653 thousand times worse...

OH MY GOD. He wrote a song a Carrera...and compared it to a hot girl! What fucking brilliance. If I were that chick I'd jump the fuck out of that car. Dying would be a much better option then listening to him pronounce "mirror" as "mayor." Fuck you, Karl Wolf, I hope someone abruptly kicks you in the face.

A few things that annoyed me today: A list.

2009-09-10T17:45:00.000-07:00

1) When girls try to dress up lulu lemon pants. Seriously, just because you paired them with a collared shirt and high heels doesn't make them look any less like workout pants. And please do not even give me the "but they're SO comfy, girlfriend" spiel. NO! That does not justify it. You look silly.

2) Female radio DJ's. They ALWAYS alter their voice to try and make it sound sexier/cuter/more annoying. What's the deal? Just talk how you normally would. The truth is, they're probably unattractive and think that by altering their voice to sound like a luscious phone operator or a cutesy wootsey school girl, people listening will automatically assume they're hot. Gag me. I hate the radio in general, and then as I'm forced to listen to it at work, I don't want to feel even more aggrivated by their annoying squeels and attempts at being funny. I should go on the radio and just use my harsh normal man-like voice just to prove a point. Though, then people would probably call in and be all "Girl, you must be flippin hideous!"

3) Those 100 calorie chocolate bars. How unsatisfying are those things?!

Because I really like to complain about life.

2009-08-27T20:31:00.000-07:00

You know those days that make you sigh and think, "god, life's really annoying sometimes"? Well, today was one of those days...actually, the last two days have been one of those days.

Let me go back.

This story begins on Wednesday morning. I woke up, severely late, only to discover that I had two incredibly itchy and enormous mosquito bites. I was pretty certain I’d contracted them while at an outdoor work staff meeting/”team building” the day prior, but I had no time to ponder the situation and continued drying my hair.

Part way through the day, as I was sitting at my desk when the itching had become unbearable and I turned to my co-worker and said, “Jesus, I have this mosquito bite that is so fucking itchy!!!” I then proceeded to pull down part of my pants (it’s on my hip) to show her. Alas, the mosquito bite was no longer a bite, but more of a giant tennis ball like mass of bright reddness. Her response, “holy shit! maybe you should take some benadryl or something”
So I did. And then I was stoned. I’m not even kidding you. Not sure how or why it happened, but I went into this daze and was staring into the distance for a good 45 minutes until I finally realized I was utterly stoned and should probably go home, sleep it off and then head to the doctors...

And that’s what I did. But instead of going to the doctors, I slept for 5 hours. Seriously, that benedryl was fucked up! I figured though that I could just put it off and find some time today to go.
WRONG!
Fast forward to this morning. I get to work (late yet again) and am asked to pull up stats from this fucking excel database thing that I have no idea how to even open. My boss indicates to me that it should be my “number one priority” – which basically means, “do it…or else!” So I did it. I put aside lunch AND my daily sudoku for it. Now that’s fucking dedication.
Finally, after I drudged away for a solid 9 hours, I finished this wonderful/potentially inaccurate stats page and decided it was time I see a doctor. With it being way past regular doctor hours, my only option was the urgent care clinic.
After waiting for 2 and a half fucking hours, I finally got let into the back where an insanely good looking male nurse took my blood pressure and then asked me some general questions about allergies and so on, until he nonchalantly posed this little doozy… “when was your last bowel movement?”
I don’t think words can even begin to describe how insanely awkward I became at that very moment. And what was even more awkward was that the hawt male nurse just sat there with this, “seriously woman, are you 5?!” look on his face.
I was humiliated, and all I could think of was that now this beautiful man would never want to sleep with me because he knows when I last pooped.

Finally, after waiting for 3 hours, the doctor came in and told me that I’m probably just having a reaction to a bug bite.
WELL NO SHIT!
He also suggested that I take some benadryl and if that doesn’t help, to come back again.
Ugh... no thank you! I’d rather spiders lay eggs in my wound than be asked about my bowel movements again.

And now I’m here... eating boiled eggs and popcorn for dinner. I had a laughing cow cheese too, but I accidentally sat on it.

Sigh, life.

Old Balls.

2009-08-24T15:41:00.000-07:00

As you probably already know, I went to see Blink 182 a little while ago and even though I was initially school-girl excited about the whole experience, it definitely didn’t end up being as stellar as I had originally hoped.

For the weeks leading up to the show, me and my friend would sit on the phone or email whilst at work and talk about how excited we were to re-live all our pre-teen fantasies. Instead, when we actually arrived at the show it just reminded us that we’re old balls. And that going to "punk rock" shows is difficult and exhausting. Especially on a week-night.

The second we got there we realized we’d made a terrible mistake by purchasing floor tickets. Seriously though, who did we think we were!? 16-year-olds with stamina?! No. We don’t like standing, nor do we appreciate being jammed into a massive clusterfuck of perspiring yougins jumping up and down. In the day that might’ve been considered “fun,” but my definition of said word has changed drastically. Now, “fun” is a bag of Hawkins Cheezies and an episode of 30 rock.

Anyways, we decided it would be best to abandon our tickets and see if we could find us some seats so we could comfortably enjoy the show from a safe distance.

The beginning of the night sounded a little like this:

"My back really hurts."
“I'm tired.”
“Work was really stressful today.”
“I don't think I want to be surrounded by sweaty pop punkers that are undoubtedly going to jump up and down for the entire show. I just don't have the stamina like I used to.”
“Me neither.”
“Should we try and find some naive under age fan that is desperately wanting to experience what it's like to be in a mosh pit and then suggest that they pay us an increased ticket price in exchange for their tickets?”
"Yes. Yes we should. Then I can sit and enjoy a malt and watch all the crazy floor people steadily acquire other peoples sweat whilst jumping franticly."
"This plan is excellent."

Luckily, we stumbled upon a couple of innocent looking boys with club seats just dying for their chance to partake in the pop-punk front line action. We suggested that they give us a bit of money for the trade of the tickets, but when they hesitated we figured that a comfortable seat is enough compensation. We handed them over the tickets and watched their small eyes light up with the kind of excitement that only a first-time mosh pit experience can bring.

At that moment I sighed a bit internally and wished that I hadn’t turned into a business-casual-wearing, in-bed-at-9 working woman - but I figure this is just one of those moments in life where you realize that you just need to move on, because some things are only meant to be enjoyed when you’re 16. This is with the exclusion of teen-movies and television dramas. They may be made for 16 year olds, but they are meant to be enjoyed by any age. Don't let anyone tell you differently.

Regardless, the show was still fun; I danced a little in my seat, ate a large vanilla/chocolate swirl malt and judged people. Now that's my idea of a good time!

I'm a horrible, horrible blogger.

2009-08-20T21:15:00.000-07:00

I realized that I’ve become completely pathetic when it comes to actually posting, but the truth is, life is just too tiring. I know what you’re thinking, "excuses Nicole, you're full of fucking excuses" - well, yes, this might be true, but I really am exhausted all the time. Ask my friends. I never go out anymore because I have the bed time of an 85 year old woman. If I'm not in bed by my regular time, I can usually be found sitting on my couch, bobbing my head lazily, and often times falling asleep sitting up. It’s really quite pathetic.

So I'll bet you're super curious as to what else is going on in my life?

Ya, i knew it...

Not to burst all your hopes and dreams, but if I’m not sleeping or working I can generally be found sitting on my couch watching 30 rock. Or bitching about working full time and life. I really like to bitch about life. The odd time i'll go outside, but I usually prefer to stay indoors. The sun and heat can become really overwhelming.

But I’ve decided that it’s finally time for me to stop being so lame! I’m going to start doing things! And I figure when I actually leave my house and engage in normal social activities, I’ll begin to have things to write about again! And that means more blogs! So if I’ve not already lost my entire readership, I’m here to let you know that I’m back, and I promise that I will do my very best to marginally entertain you on a semi-regular basis.

I'm breakin' out the studded belt...

2009-05-18T12:53:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, as I was sitting on the couch wasting away and watching irrelevant programming, I stumbled across a little piece of news that got me way more excited than I think it should’ve. Here’s how my excitement went…

Much music: “So it looks like Blink-182 are coming to Canada for their reunion tour”
Me: “what! WHAT! OMG! OMG! PLEASE COME TO CALGARY!!!!”
Much music: “They’ll be playing shows in Vancouver, Calgary…”
Me: “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

*pick up phone

Me: “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”
Friend: “What?!”
Me: “BLINK ARE COMING!”
Friend: “WWWWWHAT!!! We are soooo breaking out our studded belts and punk rock girl t-shirts!”

And that’s exactly what I plan on doing. Because yes folks, I have a Blink 182 shirt that says, and I quote, “punk rock girl.” And it’s written in pink. And has a nautical star.

Sometimes I wonder how I have friends…

That’s not the point though. I’m flippin excited! The last time I saw them was, like, the 3rd best day of my adolescent life.

I have a story, and it’s filled with drug abuse, lost teeth, and titties.

2009-04-10T15:51:00.000-07:00

A couple weekends ago, Julia and I went to Fernie for a night to snowboard, drink and, well…that’s all. We ended up meeting a group of engineers there that were occupying at least 8 rooms to either side of ours. They gave us free beer, and although it was PBR, we forgave them for their incessant ruckus. Our new friends decided to take a journey into the town of Fernie and hit up one of the local bars. I was a bit sceptical at first, but I’m now so glad that I decided to take that journey because at that bar I met the most ridiculous woman ever.

Her name was Sharon. She was probably in her mid-30s and she loved, loved, LOVED to flash her titties about. This is actually how we met Sharon. I’m not really sure how it all came to be, but all I remember hearing was, “OH SHIT, she just flashed us!” For some reason Sharon ended up sitting at our table and I knew right then that she was the type of person great episodes of intervention were made of.

“My name is Sharon. S-H-A-R-O-N. And I’m an addict.”

I then became so infatuated with getting to know what Sharon was all about that I risked my safety and hygiene to do so.

Me: “Are you from Fernie, Sharon?”
Sharon: “Can I tell you ssssomething? I had to get away. I had to get away from all the dope, so now I’m here and I’m fucking working at boston pizza. SssssHhhh! Don’t tell anyone! And I use to live in the motel, but fucking tonight, I’m just going to sleep in a bush!”

She also pulled out the classic addicts line, “this is the first time I’ve been fucked up in months, is that too much to ask?! To get drunk just this once?!”

Right Sharon. Stop kidding yourself; you’ve been drunk since birth.

This was it. Sharon was going to be the story of the fucking night and I knew it. It was one of those, “this is SO going in my blog!” moments… which meant I had to find out more. Luckily, she thought I was “sincere and beautiful” so she freely disclosed the depths of her personal struggles to me. She told me about where she grew up, her time on the streets, her time in jail, and her gang involvement. She was a goddamn train wreck and I was front and fucking centre to watch the show. After unveiling all her deepest secrets and then trying desperately to kiss me, she moved forward over my lap and this is when it happened…the climax of the story…HER FUCKING TOOTH FELL OUT. And can you guess where it landed. That’s right! ON MY FUCKING LAP! I didn’t really get what was going on, but in the haze I looked up at Sharon with one tooth missing and she chuckled, picked up her fallen tooth and exclaimed, “HARHAR! My tooth fell OUT!” She then proceeded to jam it back it to her gums like nothing ever happened.

Fucking brilliant.

After the tooth incident, things proceeded to go downhill for Sharon… but uphill for my entertainment. She thought it necessary to open her top and flash her boobs yet again. (Below is a brilliant photo taken RIGHT after she exposed herself.)

This time, however, she wasn’t so discrete. The bouncer of the bar came over in a fiery rage and told her she was kicked out. This did not please Sharon. She started yelling and then threw up her leg in a rage, stating to me that she was going to “round house kick this fucker to the face.”

Man, I couldn’t make this up if I tried.

The bouncer tried everything to get her to leave but she was a crazy, angry bitch that just wouldn’t give in. Sharon was right pissed by this time and you could see her prison learnt anger building. She asked me if she looked like she was controlling her anger well. Clearly she wasn’t, but to avoid getting round house kicked in the face by a meth addict, I suggested to her that that she was definitely controlling it, and quite well in fact.

After about 8 minutes of this back and forth unbearable tension, Sharon finally left the bar.

Later that night I stopped the bouncer and asked him what had happened to the beloved Sharon, and with an obvious disgust he proclaimed, “I sent her to jail!”

Poor Sharon. The cycle continues. And even though she probably doesn’t remember a thing from that night, I do, and I plan on holding it with me forever. But really, how often can you say that a meth addict lost her rotting tooth in your lap???

Yea, that’s what I thought.

Congrats on the nuptials

2009-03-31T12:29:00.000-07:00

So you all probably know by now that I have a serious girl crush on Mandy Moore. Don’t ask me why, because I can give you no definitive answer. I just think she’s awesome. So it came to my attention while reading Jezebel the other day that she got married! And to whom you’re wondering?

RYAN FUCKING ADAMS!

Man! She’s just the luckiest bitch in the whole world! I’ll bet he sings her his pretty acoustic version of Wonderwall all the time.

Sigh.

Where’s my Ryan Adams?

As a sidenote. I LOVE that she's taller than him. Even with flats on!

Managing your disappointment and surviving the post-graduate blues.

2009-03-30T09:01:00.000-07:00

So I’m thinking I should probably write a self-help book. I had an idea for one a couple years ago, but I never really went through with it. It was intended to be more of a pessimistic view to life. For example, my first helpful tip was going to be “expect nothing out of situations and you’ll never be disappointed!” Sure, it sounds horribly depressing, but trust me, it’s not! Lets look at a couple examples.

For one: first dates. If you go into a first date expecting absolutely noting out of it, then even if it’s just moderately fun, you won’t be disappointed. Now, if you expect for it to go really well and are really optimistic about it, and it turns out to be, once again, only moderately fun, well, then you’re going to be really disappointed.

Another example: job interviews. You can’t go in expecting you’re going to get the job because then if you don’t you’re going to be, I repeat, disappointed! (Are we seeing a trend here?) Rather, if you go in expecting nothing, you’ll walk away unaffected. Now, I’m not telling you to expect the worst out of situations...I’m merely suggesting that you learn to expect nothing.

Obviously this is not a helpful tip for the majority of people who are “glass half full” type folk. But for people like me, who like to avoid the perils of disappointment, it’s a rule I try to live by.

But this is not what this post was destined to be about.

I decided yesterday I’d write a self-help book for lost university graduates. I even researched on Amazon to see if there were already a lot of these books, but to my surprise, it appears as though all the self-help books directed at my peer group are about how to succeed fiscally post-convocation. None of them were about how to deal with the sheer boredom you face without term papers and classes, or about just how lost you feel in the real world.

Though, I’m thinking I’m going to have to get myself through these post-graduate blues before I start throwing out advice to other sore losers. Though! I'm on the right track because come April 6th, I'm going to be officially employed at a 9 to 5 job, business casual clothes and all!

Though, if I started writing the book right now, chapter one would be still be something along the lines of:

“Save yourself the grief and disappointment…JUST FUCKING STAY IN SCHOOL!”

Nick fucking Carter is back.

2009-03-21T17:54:00.000-07:00

Now lets get a few things straight here. I use to love the Backstreet Boys. Nay, I still love the Backstreet Boys. Nothing warms my heart more than “As Long As You Love Me” – and nothing makes me want bust out some rhymes like “Get Down” – we’re talking about serious classics here people! Nick, AJ, Brian, Howie, and regrettably Kevin, made songs that will forever be the soundtrack to my preteen years. Ah, what a beautiful time that was. Actually, it wasn’t. I was tall, lanky, and dare I say, a bit ugly. Thank god I grew out of that*!

*What I bet you’re now thinking: NO YOU DIDN’T! You’re still ugly! Hahahahah.

There, now you don’t have to think of that clever insult yourself. Look at me, such a fucking Samaritan.

Ok, back to Nick. So times were rough for BSB after the wonderful 90s left their side. They had to resort to having families or trying for solo careers. Nick decided on the latter, though he should have really just started performing on broadway (I hear that’s what all the washed up pop idols are doing these days). But apparently Nick just turned into a drug addict. Oh! What’s that? You didn’t know he was an addict?! Well neither did I, until I stumbled across this little video of him on Ellen:

Oh, and here's a better look at that nice little picture of him in People:

Like what the fuck Nick Carter? Where did those abs come from good sir? Maybe you’d like me to rub some oil on them??

ANYWAYS!

He’s always been the one that was on the verge of being fat, but now he’s kind of hot, and ripped, and I hate myself for having to say that. But really, HE WAS NEVER AN ADDICT! Sure, Aaron Carter was addicted to meth, but in all that time I never once heard that Nick was any kind of addict.

I’m calling a publicity stunt. He got hot and now he needs to play the sympathy card so he’s going to throw out this sad moronic story about his no good parents feeding him beer when he was two. Yea right Nick, you’re such a liar.

Just you wait. Give him 6 months and he’ll have a solo career, a clothing line, and a cameo on Extreme Makeover: Home Addition. Then he’ll yap non-stop about his fucking fake addiction and how it changed his life.

Puke.

What? Another post about your lack of career...

2009-03-21T11:21:00.000-07:00

You know what would really spice up my life and my blogs…a really interesting job. Now I’m not talking about being an events planner for Alberta Arts or anything, because albeit that would be an interesting job for me, it wouldn’t be one that conjured stories. I want a job where ridiculous shit happens. Stories so good that when you come home from work and your darling significant other asks you how your day was, you can reply with some fascinating tale about incest and adultery instead of replying with the same old...

“well, omg, Sue was being such a whore today! I asked her to staple these timesheet documents and you know what she said to me... No! SHE SAID NO! WHAT A WHORE!”

But say you didn’t work as a receptionist and you worked instead as a counsellor at a high security prison, or a nurse at an insane asylum. You know how many amazing stories you’d have about people hurling fecal matter, or lunatics thinking they’re the saviour?? The answer is many… you’d have many.

The best part is... people actually want to hear those stories! People really like hearing about fucked up shit. Well, I like hearing about fucked up shit, so I’m assuming that everyone else does too. But really, we wouldn't have the news or 20/20 if people didn’t! People don’t care about Don the accountant that eats too many Snickers and smells potently like steak. They care about the crazy woman that's in love with a fence*, or the dude that killed his whole family while high on meth.

*Actually, there is a woman out there in love with a fence. My friend showed me this documentary the other day called “Married to the Eiffel Tower”, and it was about objectum sexuals which are people who fall in love with objects and have sexual and romantic relationships with them. No, seriously, I’m not even shitting you. This one woman was in love with the Eiffel tower, the Berlin wall, a fence and the golden gate bridge (clearly she’s a polygamist). It was seriously fucked up shit. Seriously.

If you feeling like spending 40 minutes being shocked and insanely disturbed then definitely watch it (the link is below). But I’m warning you: it’s highly unsettling; so don’t yell at me after you’ve watched it and been creeped out beyond all repair.

Seriously messed up shit. Part One.

I love cutting Barbie's hair off and making her a man.

2009-03-13T17:37:00.000-07:00

This underemployed deal sucks. I thought that I’d be able to make the most of it and take my time to write my novella or make a film or read a few books, but instead I’ve used my time to watch an unnecessary amount of Felicity and bake… oh god do I ever bake. And then what do I do? I sit down and eat my calorie saturated creations. Which means I’m officially sad. I sit at home eating baked goods and watching 90s dramas about college life. If I keep this up I’m not only going to be a bored underemployed graduate, but I’ll be fat.

Maybe it all just comes down to the fact that I’m incredibly lazy. Most people would take this time and I don’t know, run a marathon or reorganize their house or volunteer, but I use my time to lament about my lack of career, my useless degree and my strange desire to overwork my oven. Seriously though, I’m even too lazy to post regularly on my blog!

And if you’re wondering, yes, I’m applying for jobs. I’m even applying for receptionist positions, which after working as a receptionist for a summer, I vowed to myself to never sink that low again. I really don’t want to be hired to be the bimbo at the front desk who wears a headset and answers the phone in a chipper, high pitched, “GOOD MORNING! (insert lame company name here). HOW MAY I DIRECT YOUR CALL?...(pause)...ONE MOMENT PLEASE!!!"

God. I'm going to end up turning into one of these hussies...

"Look at my fantastic computer skills and the ficus behind me! It's also my job to water it! I'm so blessed in my career. Receptionist work is real rewarding!"

"CALL ME! hehe! Not only am I marginally competant at answering the phone, but I've been know to fellate to get ahead! No pun intended! heheheheh!"

**************

God help me.
(And by God help me I mean... God, find me a job!)

Because I’m bored and underemployed

2009-03-09T16:37:00.000-07:00

Aren’t you excited?!* Here’s my “25 random things you might not know (an probably don’t care) about me list”!

*(You don’t actually have to be excited. I’m not really that excited about it. But here it is anyhow. Plus, because of my underemployment I have no funny adventures to speak of, so this will have to fill the void…)

1. I absolutely love Mandy Moore. I own almost every single movie she’s in and I can pretty much quote all of them by heart. It’s pathetic really, and I’m not really sure why I’m so infatuated with her. I think it’s because she’s tall.

2. I use to despise being so tall but now I’ve just learnt to embrace it. I actually think it’s one of my defining characteristics. “HI! I’m Nicole, and I’m tall!”

3. I wear Britney Spears perfume. I love smelling like a twat-exposing, awesome music making tainwreck. (I guess also, 3.5 would be that I really, really like Britney's music.)

4. I’m way too sensitive for my own good. I’ve been known to cry during commercials and Disney movies.

5. I’ve always wanted glasses but sadly I have the most acute vision ever. Like I’m talking shoe-in-entry-to-the-airforce quality vision.

6. I still don’t know my multiplications tables by heart. This embarrasses me more then it probably should.

7. I love the thought of being in love.

8. I have no clue what I want to do/be in life. Mostly, I just want to be happy.

9. I love hanging out with my family. They’re an insanely fun bunch of people.

10. I was popular once in my life. It was in grade 6.

11. I really want to go on the Real World. I'm curious as to which one of the archetypal characters I'd be.

12. I got in a fight once in grade 8. I beat up a boy who was in a grade below me, and who was also smaller than me. The next day his biker gang mom chased me down and threatened to kill me (literally). I said sorry but I have no remorse. Her kid was an asshat.

13. I try to avoid talking about my parents with people I don’t know so they never have the opportunity to ask me about where they are now.

14. I feel sorry for ugly babies and their parents. Mostly because they’re constantly being lied to… “ohhh, what a cute baby!”

15. I actually really enjoyed high school even though I was, by definition, unpopular.

16. I regret ever quitting piano lessons.

17. I lived in the same house for the first 19 years of my life. Leaving it was heartbreaking. Sometimes when I drive past it I’ll sit out in front of it and stare in to try and catch a glimpse of what it looks like now. It’s seriously creepy.

18. When I was a kid I was certain I was going to have 2 kids and name them Austin and Kerry.

19. I’ve recently discovered my love for avocadoes.

20. I tried being a vegetarian once after seeing this really horrific peta video. Unfortunately it only lasted a few weeks. Though, I still don’t eat veal.

21. I judge people I don't know more than I think is ordinary or healthy. I can’t stop though.

22. I lose a retarded amount of hair. When I’m in the shower I have to stick it to the wall to ensure it doesn’t clog the drain. I’m certain I could make at least 10 toupees a year with my rejected strands. Sometimes I wonder how I’m not bald.

23. I want/need a full time job desperately. Not only for the money, but to keep me from wasting away on my couch.

24. I've never seen a single Star Wars or Indiana Jones film. I know it's weird. I'm going to watch Star Wars soon though, I promise!

25. Getting blog comments makes me the happiest girl in the whole world!

The tale of my journey through Europe.

2009-02-21T17:16:00.000-08:00

After 3 intense weeks of train catching, sightseeing, partying, and skip-bo playing, I’ve finally returned home from Europe. I had a blast to say the least, and now I’m dreading being home. Though, I can’t imagine spending another week living out of my backpack; it would have undoubtedly killed me. I seriously don’t understand how people backpack around for 6 months. I’d feel so incredibly dirty all the time…in more ways than one! WHAT UP!

Anyways. I’ve decided instead of posting a very long drawn out tale of all the places I saw and things I discovered, I’m going sum up every place I went in one line. Ok. Go.

Paris – I didn’t like it the first time, and it provided me with nothing better this time round. Leaving it was the highlight.

Nice – I want to live here in a marvellous French villa overlooking the ocean with my insanely attractive French lover. We’ll spend our days writing our respective bestsellers, eating cheese and he’ll help me with my French.

Barcelona – Fell in love with this city and drank dehydrating Spanish beer with some amazing new friends. Discovered that Spanish men are ridiculously attractive. I want to bone them all.

(I know what you’re thinking, “Nicole you idiot, you’ve gone WAY over your one line limit!” So you know what, because I can, I’m changing my limit. UNDER 10 LINES. GO.)

Bern – 13 Canadian dollars for a McDonalds meal! PREPOSTEROUS! This is how I’ll forever remember Bern. It was also quaint and relaxing, a great place for skip-bo and German language MTV. (That should totally be their slogan.)

Prague – Wanted to swim naked in the Danube but sadly my dreams of re-enacting my favourite Mandy Moore film were crushed with that dreaded season commonly referred to as winter. So much beauty and cheapness in Prague, I loved it all. Absinth even allowed me to invent a new language called Henglis. And its motto: Bringing last letters to the forefront.

Berlin – I had a fabulous, party hard time in Berlin. We met a handful of really interesting people and even though there was a certain incident with a certain German boy, it was all worth it.

If you’re curious about said incident, it basically boils down to this: 18 year old German boy and an ugly stupid girl are dry humping and making out in a very empty bar (they literally started making out after knowing each other for 6 minutes). Once finished, girl looks terrified and tries to signal her friend. Friend doesn’t respond because friend (who’s equally ugly) is trying to hit on cute British boy. So I, being a fucking good Samaritan, whisper in ugly girls ear “do you need help getting away from this guy.” She then yelled “yes” pleadingly in my ear and proceeded to grab me in the most consuming hug I’ve ever been apart of.

While we were hiding out in the washroom the crazy German burst in and proceeded to scold me in broken English for taking away his woman. Finally, upon returning to the dance floor he then decided it appropriate to call me a “dumb bitch” over and over. I replied with a “listen here fuck head, don’t you ever call me a dumb bitch again! SHE DOESN’T WANT YOU, SHE THINKS YOU’RE AN ASSHAT!” The language barrier really didn’t help because his weak English didn’t understand what I was trying to say. The ugly girl then proceeded to hit on another dude, and, if I could take a wild guess, I’m going to assume she made out with him too and then realized her mistake after it was too late. I’m not really sure why I took all that abuse to save her dumb ass. Ah well, hopefully I’ll get some kind of karma point out of it.

The next night he decided to follow our group around again, but this time he thought it appropriate to hit on me in the creepiest way possible. There was a mutual dislike of the creepy German shared amongst the people in our group, but no one knew how to make him go away. I won’t be surprised if he ends up in jail for rape charges in a few months. Dink.

That explanation turned out to be a lot longer than expected. Sorry.

Besides creepy 18-year-old German rapists, Berlin was, again I say, amazing. Recent and compelling culture and crazy industrial techno clubs that open at 2am...what more do you want!?

Amsterdam – I don’t really know what to say about Amsterdam. I think I thought I’d have more fun there. Lots of pot was smoked though. Oh, and I turned 23. Man, I’m old.

Nottingham – The last leg of my journey. I got to spend time with a far away friend (Sean!) and go to clubs that have not yet realized the sheer stupidity that is carpeting in a bar. I can’t even begin to imagine the volume of vomit absorbed into those babies. UK boys made me squirm; they were unbelievably “fit”… in all respects. Lentils, cheap vodka, Heart, shirtlessness, and poor quality air mattresses will also be remembered.

And that, my friends, brings me to the end of my European tale. I hope you learned nothing and everything at the same time.

I'm 500 meter dashing it to Europe!

2009-01-15T17:36:00.000-08:00

After one failed interview attempt, I’ve given up on trying to find a job. That’s right, I’m that lazy. No, really though, they basically told me that my dreams of becoming a journalist are few and far between. First, I have to go back to school for at least another 2 years. That’s right, because 5 and a half weren’t quite good enough. When I finally get out of school I’ll have competed 7 and a half fucking years of post secondary. I COULD’VE BEEN A DOCTOR!

Anyways, then I’ll be right back at the bottom drudging away to find an internship where I’ll make… wait for it…$8.40 an hour. That’s right, I’ll be making $5.60 less than what I make at my current place of employment. AND, the best part, I’d actually have to do shit! Then, upon completion of said internship, I’m not even guaranteed a job! And even if I do get a job I’ll probably only make 30,000 dollars a year. (This is what she told me in the interview, like, how friggen depressing is that?!) Want to know how much that works out to an hour? $15.62.

Boy oh boy! I can’t wait to have 7 and a half years of schooling and 2 degrees behind me and then make a whole 1.62 more than I do right now!

I think I might just become a lifer here at my nice little concierge job. The title sounds pretty cool so why not, right? This way I figure I’ll have time to actually write blogs, and maybe, just maybe, someone will see my little publication here and think “boy, that Nicole’s marginally funny, maybe we’ll pay her to continue writing random, useless personal anecdotes.” Bingo! I’ll have it made.

But because life doesn’t ever do shit like that for me, I’ve decided to run away to Europe. I’ll come back of course, but the whole thing sounds so much crazier if I say I’m running, sprinting even. Oh, I like that. I’m sprinting away to Europe! I’m going to pack my backpack, hop on a transcontinental flight, and fall in love with some buildings. Oh, and I’ll drink. A lot. Because if drunkenly traipsing through Europe can’t set my life in order, I don’t know what will.

Angsty teen love is so hawt.

2009-01-11T15:59:00.000-08:00

I'm really worried for teenage girls right now. Their visions of love are probably incredibly skewed and idealistic. Hell my visions of love are skewed and idealistic, but that’s mostly a result of teenage melodramas occupying my formative years. I’m probably just as guilty as they are for absorbing myself in dreams of whirlwind romances and youtube-montage-inspiring love, but I’m apt to think there is something doing even worse things to the fickle teenage girl heart. The culprit you ask? Twilight.

Now, I began reading the book because the hype was inescapable. My 13-year-old niece and my 23-year-old friend couldn't get enough, and the conversations I had with both were almost identical. They both said something along the lines of:

"OMG TWILIGHT IS SOOOOOO GOOD! I LOVE EDWARD! OMG! I WANT AN EDWARD! OMG! YOU HAVE TO READ IT! OMG! I READ ALL FOUR BOOKS IN A WEEK!"

I was convinced; I had to read these books and I was almost certain I was going to fall in love with them. I'd then become deranged, obsessive, and google Robert Pattinson on a daily basis. I'd join every Twilight devoted facebook group and glitter glue "I heart Edward Cullen" onto my faded jean jacket... but I never did.

First off, the book is poorly, poorly written. And not only that but why does she consistently try to interject big frilly words into her shitty writing? It doesn't make the book sound sophisticated. Like how many times can you possibly use the word “incredulous”?! IT’S NOT EVEN A GOOD WORD! Just think how many teen girls are going to start using the word “incredulous” in their papers about polar bears or the West Indies. The answer is many.

I also couldn't deal with how insanely unrealistic their love was. Really Bella? You were completely and irrevocably in love with him after 6 fucking days?! You were willing to DIE for someone you knew for mere months?! God. Give me an effing break.

And then there's Edward. If I could give 13 year olds any advice it would be that no man is like Edward (well maybe there’s 3 or 4, but they’re probably gay). You'll probably never find a ridiculously HAWT god like chiselled rich boy that wants only you and says the most perfect things at the most perfect times. He's not going to spend an entire day asking you questions about yourself, nor will he fall head over heels in love with you in 6 fucking days and tell you so. HE WON'T, OK! Just like he's never going to take you sailing for an entire summer or brush your hair before you have sex by a fireplace. It just won't happen, so give up the dream.

Granted in the book he's what, 100 some years old? So I guess he existed in a time where chivalry meant something, and as much as I want it to still, it doesn't anymore and teenage girls need to understand this. If he were actually a 17-year-old boy he would've already fucked Bella silly.

I will admit right now that a good part of me enjoyed reading it and I definitely found myself consumed by it. It was seductive, yes, and strangely addicting. And now I'm just so involved that I NEED to find out what happens. Will he make her a vampire?! Will they finally bone?! I friggen hope so!

I guess it is a teen romance so I probably shouldn’t spend too much time tearing it apart, but for the love of pete we need to think of the children! THE CHILDREN! I can't have my niece waste 30 years of her life looking for the Edward she might never find.

But hey, what the hell do I know anyway? Maybe the universe will send me an Edward to prove me wrong.

God, let's hope.

What’s the most politically correct way to say Merry Christmas?

2008-12-25T14:49:00.000-08:00

It’s probably Seasons Greetings, but only asshats say crap like that.

(sidenote: I’m making asshat popular in 2009. I think it has potential to reach a “douche bag” level of fame. But more on that later)

Merry Christmas lovely readers; I hope your holiday is filled with faux fire warmth, fruitcakes and knitted sweaters from your nanny. Oh, and Home Alone, because it's not Christmas without Macaulay Culkin's crazy antics.

I like to watch this when my stress levels reach vomit-inducing highs

2008-12-08T15:47:00.000-08:00

Goodbye University. You'll be missed.

2008-12-03T16:06:00.000-08:00

The end has come. In just one day I’ll be finished classes, and in a little under 2 weeks I’ll be done all my papers, and subsequently, my undergrad career. Now, you’re probably all thinking, “this is so exciting Nicole! You’re done! No more papers!”

NOOO! YOU’RE WRONG!

This is not exciting...a life with out the constant stress of looming deadlines, preposterous academic jargon, and last minute paper writing is a life I don’t want to live! Part of me is excited, yes, because this semester has been nothing short of a nightmare, but the rest of me so desperately wants to sign up for courses in the winter and just continue on...never graduating, and never entering the real world. The second part of my unwavering fear is this “real world” everyone’s so quick to mention to me. I live in a real world thank you very much; it just doesn’t consist of a 9-5 job that I hate. But as much as I try to avoid the thought, come December 15th, I’ll be thrown right into that pitiful hell known as the real world...and I’ll be lost...completely and utterly fucking lost.

What will I say when people ask me what I do? I’m so use to firing off, “oh, I’m a student.” And their immediate response, “oh, cool, what are you taking?” But now it’ll be all, “well, I just graduated, and the economy reeks like shit, so I have no job prospects, and well I’m applying to grad school, but I’m not sure if my grades this semester are going to cut it, so I’ll be lucky if I get in...and if I don’t get in you ask, well, then I’ll cry.”

As much as I’ll miss that sweet aroma of academia, I won’t miss the institution know as the U of C. Wait...that’s not entirely true. I’ll miss stuffed buns, the ejaculatory covered circle couches, the 10th floor of the library, and getting drunk at noon on BSD...yea, I’ll miss all that.

Maybe I’ll take the optimistic high road, because now that I’m done toiling away with my academics I’ll be able to do all that stuff I’ve been meaning to do, like leisurely read! And watch lots of box sets! And potentially make money! And, if I really get the academic itch, I’ll begin writing papers for that sheer joy that only a well-written thesis statement can bring. And then I’ll post them here! Ahh, the glories of a blog.

Well, back to the papers. Wish me luck as I enter into unknown territory where people make more than 14 dollars an hour and don’t talk about the feminist nature of the ninja turtles.

And because it seems marginally appropriate:

Excuse me while I go drown myself in a vat of my own tears.

Nothing good ever happens after 2am

2008-11-14T00:52:00.001-08:00

It's 2:20 on a friday morning and I'm awake, high on the buzz of caffeine and academic dreams! I induced this high with a few cups of pop and lots of sugary goodness. I did however manage to complete the most vile paper (on time!) which at one point suggested a "binary opposition equating the boy with femininity through his cow."

Well anyways, the reason for my impromptu visit (where?) is to discuss a matter that has annoyed me to the point of "blogging my inner thoughts and feelings" - yuck. I'll try to keep this as heartless as possible, and say 'fuck' a lot...I'm certain that will prevent this from becoming a whiny pathetic agnst fest...no, wait, that'll just increase its "i'm so daring and rebellious I say fuck, like, fucking, every fucking sentence" angst.

Fuck. Scratch that.

My body doesn't handle caffeine well, or sugar for that matter, and well, I indulged a lot, and even enjoyed some twizzler pull and peels (though, I opted not to pull and peel, because that would've just been tedious and time consuming, and i'd be left irate and the licorice would've lost its flavor and charm. Then i'd become uninspired and unable to perform on an academic level - therefore, pulling and peeling= bad, bad time)

Back to my point. After completing my paper which used the words "affirm" "dichotomy" and "antithesis" far too much for any papers good, I watched 2 episodes of gossip girl (OMFG Serena, how could you, like, even WANT a relationship with him?!) and then creeped on facebook for a staggeringly long while. What is up with people and their need to share their inner most thoughts and feelings on their status?! Or, what's even worse, why oh why do they feel the need write a pathetic and shameless status revealing their inherently flawed disposition. Are they looking for some e-sympathy, cause I can give them some real fucking sympathy. (That was, hands down, the WORST threat ever uttered)

Ok, but seriously now, get a blog or something.

This post is really only directed at one person in particular, and I'm fairly certain this individual doesn't read my blog, and if they do, well, HEY THERE! BFF?! No, really though, they don't...they can't...right? right? I NEED SOME SUPPORT HERE PEOPLE!

I know I wrote a blog about this very topic a few months ago, but I just felt the need to say it again...nobody gives a shit that your iguana died and you can't get it up. (that was never mentioned in a status... i just made it up, as you can probably tell because it's not funny, or neat, or based in any sort of reality, and you know what...i'm rambling...this is NOT a stream of conscious blog, I am NOT one of those people!)

I'm certain I'm going to wake up in the morning and regret this...damn you caffeine and your sleep prohibiting powersss!!!

This week in pictures: copulation, trannies, and post-election fever

2008-11-09T14:51:00.000-08:00

Picture this: 52 hours, 650 square feet, 2 grilled cheese sandwiches, 2 salads, 1 bag of popcorn, 2 bananas, 1 bowl of mini wheat’s, a box of hair dye, an “E! True Hollywood Story” on Dawson’s Creek, and season 3 of How I met Your Mother. This my friends, is how I spent my Friday and Saturday.

It appears more reclusive and painstakingly boring than it actually was. Yes, I may have stained my bathroom door with dye, and gained a few pounds, but I laughed and cried, and learned that “Josh is really a lot like Pacey.” Thanks, E! True Hollywood Story, thanks.

So it’s time for me to clear out my pictures folder at work!

This is Britain’s oldest virgin! She just turned 105, and has never been laid! She's adorable, but her facial expression just screams, “I cast judgement unto you, YOU FORNICATORS!” Well, I’m sure it would be a little less harrowing than that, but you never know, some elderly woman can be real pistols!

And on a completely related note: apparently there was a sex shop down in the States that was giving away free vibrators to anyone that voted.

Not only is Obama making history, unleashing hope on millions, and changing lives, but his victory means that these two twats LOST! I’m so glad we’ll never have to see “speidi” walking around LA with a riffle, a six-pack, and their hideous attempt at political campaigning.

Here’s a close up of their shits, whoops, I mean shirts:

Seriously, faking photo ops is sooo last year.

I was watching Anderson Cooper the other night…like I do a lot of nights, dreaming of his luscious silver locks and crystal blue eyes…right, uhh, so… I got to thinking about aging. Why is it that when women age they just get furrowed, loose, and unattractive, but as men age, they become “distinguished” and “sophisticated”? You know what, fuck that! Damn those silver foxes and their ability to still get all the women they want (and in Cooper’s case, men). It makes me sick! In fact, it makes me so sick I want to make sweet passionate love to him to cure myself.

Oregon: electing hot Tranny Mayor's since 2008.

I’ve always had a thing for Oregon; I’ve never actually been there, but I perceive it to be a place where everyone drinks like alcoholics on Intervention, and calls all-dressed chips “Canadian.” I’m not sure if it’s because they’re raging drunks, or just really awesome people, but a city in Oregon just elected America’s first Tranny Mayor. His/her name is Stu, and he was a dude for his first stint as mayor, but this time around, he decided to run as a lady, new breasts and all! And he...i mean, she, won by a landslide! It’s weird that a small city in Oregon will elect a tranny, but California, a supposedly progressive state, banned gay marriage.

If you haven't, go see Zack and Miri Make a Porno...or don't, and just go read the review I wrote about it.

and then I said, "this is what blogs are made of..."

2008-11-02T11:39:00.000-08:00

Friday night I ventured out to celebrate my second favourite holiday of the year, Halloween. I spent a mere 12 dollars on my costume and 2 hours HAND SEWING it. You don’t know how many times I pricked myself with that gosh darn needle.

We must stop for a second though and think about the logistics of Halloween; someone thought up a holiday where young kids gallivant through the streets, knock on strangers door and then walk away with candy. It preposterous! Who is responsible for this utter madness! I want to give them a prize!

Mr. Inventor of Halloween is probably stirring in his grave now, thinking about how his innocent holiday has turned into what it is today. And I probably don't need to repeat myself a thousand times and use the phrase "whore fest" again. So I won't. You get the point.

So back to my night out.

I won the best costume prize! (I was a giant crayon in case you were wondering) I think I won the prize only because I was persistent on mentioning to everyone that “I HAND SEWED MY COSTUME! BY HAND! WITH A NEEDLE! AND THREAD!” Plus, when the actual prize was given out there were probably only 15 people in attendance, so the odds were already in my favour.

At the end of the night I hit a brick wall and realized that I was far too drunk to function. I took a lay on the couch and then fell asleep for a good while, periodically waking up to write the most incoherent text messages, ever. Finally, Jeff came to rescue me from myself and walk me part way home. On our journey we stopped to get some pizza and because I was unable to stand for more than 2 minutes at a time, I took a seat and watched. And watch did I ever. Drunk people are great. It’s really amazing how social everyone becomes at 2:30 on a Saturday morning.

I find the first set of people who I watch intently; the girl, who’s less than attractive is wearing a sailors outfit, and the guy she’s with, who she clearly just met, is wearing some boring, generic costume; he was probably a vampire, I don’t really remember. Then, for some reason, they decided to talk to me. It was probably because in my drunken state I was staring at them with the most scornful look on my face:

“You sure look unhappy, don’t you want any pizza?”
“I’m not not unhappy, I’m just waiting for my friend.”
“Oh cool. What are you?”
“I’m a crayon. A red crayon. See. I HAND SEWED IT!”
“OHHHAKHLSDHAHAHAH! That’s awesome! Can I take a picture!?”
“No.”
He then proceeded to take a picture of me.
Some random guy now has a picture of me in a giant crayon costume on his phone. I hope he makes it his wallpaper.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the pizza shop there were two girls wearing the shortest black skirts, corsets, and orange and black thigh high socks. They had pumpkins on their skirts, so I’m going to assume that they went at “sluts with pumpkins on their skirts,” but don’t quote me on that. One of them, we’ll call her Darlene, was chubby and unattractive, but as she stumbled around the pizza place I watched as all the guys in the joint gave her this “I’d totally fuck you silly” look. Poor Darlene. I hope she finds love someday. In the 10 minutes I was in the pizza place, her and her friend managed to chat up, pick up, and then leave with two random guys. One was dressed as a doctor, and I’m certain to think that he used some awful line like “I’m a gynecologist! Can I take a look?”

A midst all the commotion and activity, every three or four minutes you’d hear some drunk douche bag yelling incoherently. It went a little something like this:
“AHHHHHUHHHHHHHHHHhggggggggggggggUHHHHHWOOOOOYEEEAAAAA”

Once Jeff finally got his Pizza, we left, parted ways and I spent the rest of the journey walking home alone, because a cab was near impossible to find. I figured that wearing a giant crayon costume amongst a bunch of slutty outfits would be like wearing sweatpants in a strip club; I was certain no one would even look my way.
Apparently I was wrong, and in their drunken quest to get laid, the men of the evening were hitting on anything and everything, even giant crayons.

Two guys walked past me and used this line:

“You looking to get laid tonight?”
“Not by you!”

ZING!

A homeless man then came up and asked me if I had some matches. He seemed nice enough so I gave him the pack I had and then started talking to him about Halloween and my costume. He laughed and thanked me for the matches. It’s funny when a homeless man is the most coherent and sober person in the middle of belligerent 20 something’s. I’d be proud if I were him.

If you were wondering, I made it to my apartment safe and sound, but vowed to never again walk home alone wearing a HAND SEWN red crayon costume.

Warning: vulgarity below.

2008-10-28T15:06:00.000-07:00

On my quest to find a suitable Halloween costume, I came to the conclusion that it’s impossible for girls not to turn into raging whores come the 31st of October. While paroozing through the store I learned that the choice costumes for girls in Halloween costume providing shops consist of 6 options:

1)slutty nurse
2)slutty cop
3)slutty whore
4)slutty maid
5)slutty school girl
6)and my favourite…the big ass slutty slut bag.

SERIOUSLY! Why can’t I purchase a costume that doesn’t make me look like a 2 cent floozy? It seems like people can make anything slutty these days. In one store I saw this:

“A naughty inmate costume” – well of course inmates are naughty – they’re murderers! (well, and drug-traffickers, robbers, etc) Guys, would you really wanna take a Karla Homolka impersonator back to your apartment? I bet knowing she raped and murdered two teenage girls would really get the conversation going. What’s with society! My god!

Here are some of the other costumes that make me question the existence of morals:

Disney did not intend for snow white to become a whore! She lived with 7 dwarves, not 7 pimps!

“Hey God, when you’re, like, not creating natural disasters and letting people through the pearly gates, wanna meet me for some alone time, wink wink?!!”

Since when have God’s messengers been tramps?! One of the commandments of angel life is “though shall not fellate more than 100 men per lifetime” – I can tell you right now that God doesn’t want angels on his crew that have gotten more ass than a high security prison inmate.

A slutty referee. I hope she falls and turf burns her snatch.

I can tell you right now this girl doesn’t even own a drivers licence. Racecar driving is a skill, and the only thing she’s skilled at is spreading her legs.

A sexy straightjacket costume? Really? I'm pretty sure that mental instability is not normally considered attractive.

AND LOOK! You can even turn your beloved pooch into a slutty school girl! God, dogs must hate Halloween.

After realizing the female section of the store had nothing of offer me, I headed to the mens section. It's not much better. Basically you can be a giant dick (literally) or some kind of offensive and/or cliché costume that made me want to pour franks red hot in my eyes.

I’m absolutely appalled at the state of Halloween these days. It’s probably my second favourite holiday, and now it’s just a big hussy convention! For the love of god people, stop dressing like you’re helga the whore!

And because I love embedding youtube clips into my posts, here’s one that fits perfectly(skip to the 5:27 mark...or watch it all, because Mean Girls is amazing)

Listen girls, I have no problem with you personally, but I think if you want, just go as a slut for Halloween. Just wear your lowest shirt and your shortest skirt and call it a night!

And the card attached would say...

2008-10-25T16:42:00.000-07:00

You know when you have a ton of school stuff to do, but you'd rather fellate a hot curling iron than actually do it? Yea, that's me right now. GOD! And you know what's even worse, the fucking U of C is just determined to not let me graduate with a film minor. I've been in University for 5 and a half fucking years, just give me my goddamn degree so I can be on my merry way and attend a real post secondary institution that isn't run by a pack of retards. Man oh man.

Anywhooo, to waste time, I decided to go on youtube...Here are some highlight videos of my day.

Remember kids, "zombies don't eat candy, only brains." I should get that on a t-shirt.

I really like Hayden Panaterriere. She delivers that last line with a real punch!

Ok, watch this next video closely...especially the last few seconds...

IT'S RIDER STRONG!!! OMG!!!
What? You don't know who he is? Uh, HELLO! Boy Meets World! It was definitely one of the better mid-90s sitcoms.
But seriously?! Where has he even been this last decade!?
Well I wikipedia'd it and found out that he's really been nowhere. He starred in a movie called Cabin Fever, and Cabin Fever 2...the sequel I’m going to presume. I’m sure it was a raging success.

These were some of my favorite interesting facts about Rider:

Rider writes poetry, his poems have appeared in several literary journals, including "Hidden Oak," "The Chiron Review" and "Poetry Motel." One of his poems was even incorporated into an episode of Boy Meets World.

How precious is that?!

In 2004, he graduated Magna Cum Laude from Columbia University as an English major. It was there, he wrote the foreword for fellow Columbian Steve Hofstetter's "Student Body Shots".

MAGNA CUM LAUDE! (you know, i honestly have no clue what that exactly means...but it sounds fancy…so I’ll go with it.)

Strong remains good friends with his former Boy Meets World co-stars Danielle Fishel, Ben Savage and Will Friedle. He even guest starred in several episodes of Kim Possible, for which Friedle was a regular cast member.

I can just see it now, him and Topanga meetin' up for some venti decaf lattes at Starbucks and reminiscing about the good times they had on the set, and how SHE DATED LANCE BASS! Holy hell! Hold the train!

Her most visible relationship was with Lance Bass, who revealed that he was gay in 2006.[4] Of Bass's sexuality, Fishel said, "It wasn't a shock for me. I found out probably a year or two after we broke up. People magazine was not my first time knowing Lance was gay! He is an awesome guy, he was an awesome boyfriend and he is still a very good friend of mine."[5]

Topanga Lawrence and Lance Bass. This coupling has regained my belief that love really can be beautiful.

Now, this one’s for you my loyal reader’s. You’re all awesome…like chocolate filled chocolates and Barney Stinson.

Thank you...for being a friend.

OMG! TTYL! WTF! BBQ?! NO...HSM3!

2008-10-24T09:40:00.000-07:00

This my friends is the day every 14-year-old girl has been dreaming about for the last 2 months...well, every 14 year old girl and myself...oh, and Jeff too. You might be asking what this occasion brings us? A new Jonas Brothers album? A new Barbie? A new Britney song? No, my friends, today is the opening of HSM3!! And for all of you that don’t get the lingo, that’s High School Musical 3!

WHO’S EXCITED!??!

I AM! I AM!

Ok, so before you start leaving nasty comments questioning my taste, let me give you some of the reason why I actually like High School Musical movies.

1) Zac fucking Efron.

He’s a babe. A total friggin babe. Sure he looks like Malibu Ken, but he’s wholesome, AND HE SINGS! And I know what you’re thinking, “fuck Nicole, he’s like 15” – actually, you’re wrong! He just turned 21! Which means, he’s only a year younger than me…well a year and a bit I guess…so there!

2) It’s a musical! And more specifically, it’s Disney! Remember when Disney movies use to have really amazing songs that you’d sing all the time? I do! Gems like, “hakuna matata,” “ a whole new world,” “I’ll make a man out of you,” “be our guest,” “under the sea,” “PART OF YOUR WORLD” OMG!

Disney songs were amazing. Then they hit a decline…a recession one might call it…and they began to suck. This though turned around when, dare I say it, high school musical came out. Now, don’t get me wrong here, the songs from HSM will NEVER be on the level of the aforementioned songs. Disney simply cannot make masterpieces like they once could…but they’ve put in a solid effort; the songs are catchy, upbeat, and they linger in your head long after you’ve seen the film.

3) I can’t really think of another reason, but I will tell you this: the movies are incredibly cheesy and over the top, but I get a bizarre enjoyment out of movies that target prepubescent females. I just can’t help it! And I won’t apologize for it!

Also, remember when I was having that dilemma with the whole “boom-bust,” “recessesion-idontknow” thing…well after wikipediaing it for a solid 15 minutes, I couldn’t find anything. They just kept calling the opposite of bust, or recession, a boom! I swear to everything holy that there was another name for a boom. One article called it “recovery or prosperity” – but that just doesn’t seem right. You know what the worst part is? I totally got an A in first year econ.

This is as political as i'm going to get.

2008-10-05T15:52:00.000-07:00

This morning at work, for some reason, I was reading the Calgary Sun. I was bored OK! Anyways, I stumbled across this article with the title “Thanks for not voting: Some young people doing us a huge favour.” The beginning of the article starts talking about voter apathy in 18 to 24 year olds, and presents some stats…blah blah…then, the author goes on to say “that last thing we want in this country is young people voting.” No, no, just wait, it gets better.

“While most people in that age range have recently managed to free themselves of certain myths – I’m special, a man in a red suit brings me presents at Christmas, the Jonas Brothers rock – they are still, by and large, unsophisticated cement heads”

Alright! Fine! You caught me! I like the Jonas Brothers! I have a terrible weakness for brother pop trios! But that’s beside the point! Now, I will agree that there are a lot of “cement head” 18 to 24 year olds out there that act like raging dickheads and don’t know the first thing about politics or what is good for our country, let alone themselves…but there’s a vast population of young people out there who actually know what’s going on, and care. I care. I’ve voted in every election since I turned 18. (this is me gloating) Frankly it was a big step in my life that first time I went out to the polls. I’m surprised my family didn’t buy me a dairy queen cake to celebrate the occasion.

Here are more quotes from the article:

“They’re fresh out of school and have been raised in a culture that replaced such outmoded values as Duty, Honour, Country with Recycling, Diversity, Hugging”

“Frankly, If young people find the Canadian voting process intimidating, we’ve got a bigger problem here than voter turnout…we’ve got a generation of giant wussies on our hands and the only solution might be to round them up at gunpoint and run them through boot camp or something”

“If young people are wondering why they don’t like their government, it’s simple. Because I vote. And you don’t”

I officially have all the answers I've ever needed, thanks mr. sun journalist.

But on another note, this video is pretty funny...

A fecal error.

2008-10-04T11:46:00.000-07:00

I had an epiphany. I’ve come to the conclusion that shitting yourself is potentially THE funniest thing that can happen to a person. Now, you can’t just go out and crap your pants and hope that everyone will think you’re a comic genius…there has to be a story.

I bought this book entitled “I hope they serve beer in hell” by Tucker Max. I saw it at Urban Outfitters and I though it looked interesting. Basically, he’s America’s biggest douche bag, and he goes around and gets unreasonably drunk, acts like an ass, and sleeps with inhumane amounts of women…and I mean, inhumane!!!!! amounts. We’re talking triple digits here. Furthermore, he went to Duke Law School, so he’s smart. He’s an intelligent dickhead, which makes me a little sick. Anyways, the book is ridiculous, and captivating at the same time. It’s like an anthropological study into the lives of those guys you hate. Anyways, I was reading the book one night and it comes to this story about how he got unreasonably drunk and shit himself. I thought I’d share the story... (also, I’ve got a case of writers block, so I figured I’d just allow someone else to be funny for me)

“I hadn't realized how supremely shit-housed I was until we stumbled into our room at the Embassy Suites. Have you ever been so drunk you forgot that you have to shit until the last minute? Well I was at that stage. I nearly had my pants completely off when SlingBlade snaked past me and got into the toilet first. Fine, I go get out of my bar clothes and change into a t-shirt and pink Gap boxers to sleep in. I wait patiently for about three minutes, then I start pounding on the door, screaming at him that I am going to shit on his bed if he doesn't get out of there.
A short time later he opens the door laughing his ass off, and says, "That was perhaps the most prodigious shit ever. I just put that toilet into therapy."

I take a gander into the bathroom. It looks like Revelations. The toilet is overflowing, brown shit water is spilling out all over the bathroom floor, and the tank is making demonic gurgling noises.

THE MOTHERFUCKER CLOGGED UP A HOTEL TOILET!

Hotel toilets are industrial size; they are designed to be able to accommodate repeated elephant-sized shits, and their ram-jet engine flushes generate enough force to suck down a human infant, yet skinny ass 170-pound SlingBlade completely killed ours.

I nearly panic. I let loose a flurry of unintelligible curse words at SlingBlade, punctuated by a "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!," and knock over the lamp in my dash out of the room. The turtle is sticking his head out, and he is coming whether I am on a toilet or not.

I figure that there must be a bathroom somewhere in the lobby, so I shoot down the hall and hop in the elevator. Once in the lobby I can't seem to spot a bathroom anywhere. So, I head around the corner to the front desk, which doesn't face the lobby. It's about 4am, and no one is at the desk. I furiously hit the bell for at least a minute--CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG --until some poor lady comes out with sleep lines all over her face and tells me that the bathroom in the corner of the lobby.

I turn the corner from the front desk into the lobby and realize I don't know which side of the triangular lobby she is talking about. I don't have time to go back and ask her, and I see a white door at the end of the left-hand side, so I quickly waddle towards it. Why am I waddling? Because I have to physically hold my butt cheeks together to prevent myself from crapping all over my pink Gap boxers. One of the prouder moments of my life.

I nearly bust the door off it's hinges as I plow through it. I hear a loud, "AYYYY!!," that almost literally scares the shit out of me. I jump back to see that this is a janitor's closet, complete with a small Mexican lady janitor. I momentarily contemplate taking a dump in the janitors bucket, but decide against that, mainly because of the presence of said female janitor.

I try to be as diplomatic as possible, considering that I am about to crap my pants:
Tucker "WHERE IS THE BATHROOM?"
Janitor "No, no se habla Ingles."
Tucker "WHAT?!? Huh, uh...DONDE ESTA FUCKING BANO?"
Janitor "AYA, AYA!"

She points across the lobby. About 60 yards from where I am standing, at the complete other end of the lobby, there is a set of doors that have a large "Restroom" sign over them. Right where the front desk lady said it would be, except on the opposite side of the lobby.

I have about half a second to make a crucial decision: I can either sprint and hope I make it there before I shit in my boxers, or I can stick my thumb up into my ass and shuffle the 60 yards to lavatory freedom. The decision is simple: I break into a full-on dead-ass sprint.

I am a decent athlete, I played football, baseball and basketball in high school, and I stay in good shape. I have run from cops before, I have run from guard dogs, from a legitimate drive-by shooting once while in Kentucky, but I don't think I have ever run that fast in my life. Nothing motivates like the prospect of being covered in human excrement.

Unfortunately, I was not fast enough. It went something like this:
-20 yards into the run I feel my boxers start to sag.
-30 yards into the run, about halfway, I feel my ass crack and legs get noticeably wet.
-40 yards into the run, my boxers have slid down to mid thigh. I am struggling to keep it together.
-50 yards into the run, I can feel wetness all over me and little specs of something hitting the back of my head and ears.
By the time I get to the bathroom door, the end of the 60 yards, I have completely lost it. I am shitting myself. Full on crapping in my pink Gap boxers.

I step out of my boxers as I crash through the door. Shit is puddled in the seat. I blindly hurl them away from me, and nearly break the door to the first stall. I plop down on the seat and immediately slide off, because my ass is covered in slimy, runny feces. All the while, my butt hole is spouting forth waste. I finally get situated on the toilet and lose perhaps 20 pounds in the next 2 minutes.
During a short respite in my nearly superhuman flow of crap, I notice that the toilet is almost completely full of shit, so I flush. Predictably, the toilet overflows. Great. I move to the next stall, and continue my little adventure, except this time I courtesy flush every few seconds.

By the time I finish, I am physically exhausted, completely dehydrated, and my eyes are tearing up from shitting so hard. I laugh at the inadequacy of toilet paper to clean my body. I take my shirt off and see that the back of it is completely covered in little specks of shit that my heels kicked up from the diarrhea that ran down my legs as I ran. I throw the shirt in the trash, and then see the mirror. My pink Gap boxers are crumpled in a ball on the sink, with a thick black streak leading from the top of the mirror down to them. This is their final resting place.
Completely naked and covered in my own poop, I chuckle, because at this point if I don't laugh I have to cry. As I open the bathroom door to the lobby, I think to myself, "Who else on earth could be having a worse night than me?"

My question is immediately answered.

I see a trail of shit, starting very wide at my feet, getting progressively smaller until it apexes at the chunky white shoes of none other than the small Mexican lady janitor.

Her eyes met mine. We may have been separated by numerous religious, language and socioeconomic barriers, but the "What the fuck just happened?" expression on her face crossed all boundaries.

Now really--picture this scene: I am butt-ass naked, crap plastered all over my ass, legs, back and head, standing about 20 yards away from a Mexican maid, with a trail of black liquid shit leading from her directly to me. What would you do? I wasn't sure. I don't think there is any defined etiquette for this situation.
I shrug my shoulders, say, "Uhh, sorry. I mean, uh--lo siento. Good night. Buenos noche--or whatever," and calmly walk to the elevator.

From the glass window in the elevator, I can see her sobbing. The rest of the lobby tells me why: Not only had my legs kicked shit up on the back of my ears and head, they had sprayed little specs of poop all over EVERYTHING. The couches, the walls, everywhere.

Come to think of it, she wasn't sobbing. I believe "hysterical crying" would be a better descriptive term. Oh well, someone has to clean up my messes, and it sure as shit isn't going to be me.

When I get back to the room, SlingBlade is already in bed. He rolls over, takes one look at me and, never one for sympathy, begins laughing uncontrollably. He literally has to stop laughing because he strains his abdominal muscle. It takes him five whole minutes before he can get the words out,
SlingBlade "Where--where the fuck are your pants?"
Tucker "FUCK YOU ASSHOLE. This is all your fault, Mr. Rhino Dump. If you hadn't had that miscarriage in our toilet I wouldn't be COVERED IN SHIT!"

He couldn"t stop laughing long enough to respond. I took what remained of my dignity and got in the shower. As I was cleaning the poop off my back, I could hear him yell out:
"This is clear proof that there is a God, and he is just!"

I'll call this one a picture blog.

2008-09-28T12:47:00.000-07:00

Picture one.

I remember looking at this photo and thinking, “MY GOD Katie Holmes is a giant!!” Then I sulked around because I realized that I too feel her giantess pains. I think she just looks so gargantuan because she’s beside Tom Cruise, and well, he’s an asshole.

I hope I can find a suitable bachelor that’s over 5’11, because that way random people on the street won’t think I’m dating my younger brother.

Picture numero two

I laughed for a god 16 seconds when I saw this picture. Then I read the caption, which was for the MTV reality show 'true life', and that episode was about people who stutter. This woman has a stutter, and I, my friends, am an awful human being.

Picture Three

This isn't a picture so much as it is a book. I discovered it recently and wondered who might benefit from a book like this? Is it a children’s book? Do they want to teach children that bodily functions are a normal part of existence, and that we should not fear the poop? Then I thought, maybe this book is for people like myself, who can’t fathom the notion that celebrities poop. It's hard to entertain the idea, you know? I get this picture of Brad Pitt taking a crap and it’s highly unsettling. Though, the thought of anyone pooping is kinda gross.

Picture Four

Peter Patrelli would be an amazing boyfriend. He could fly me places! And he’d never die! And he could time travel! Though, last season he did abandon that marginally attractive Irish girl in the future. I can overlook that though.

I'm a Vampire (though this blog has nothing to do with that)

2008-09-22T17:59:00.000-07:00

Do loud breathers know they’re breathing loud? There’s this dude that sits next to me in class sometimes who breathes like a freaking snow blower. Either he’s got inhumanly small nostrils, or it’s booger city up there. I think he should just consider breathing through his mouth from now on.

On a completely unrelated note...I’m really bored. For some reason when you have an extraordinary summer, and return to the sullen and pitiful urban landscape we like to call Calgary, everything seems really boring. And lame. And you spend your nights eating tiny Halloween chocolates, watching Party of 5, and thinking about how you can really relate to the characters. Sometimes you leave the house only to discover that your distaste for the city and its people is still there, and then you run back inside your apartment and begin reading one of the 3 novels you have on the go. That’s right, 3! They’re all collections of work, like essays, or short stories, so none really have a narrative sequence that needs your constant attention. What was I talking about? Oh, right, boredom. So yeah, my life is fairly boring right now. I’m thinking though that this is just one of those recessions in life...much like in economics. You can’t always be in a period of boom and prosperity; sometimes you have to recess. Is it boom and recession? No, it’s boom and bust right? But there’s gotta be another word for boom...?

Maybe I’ll write a self help book, something like “The booms and busts of life: understanding the rough times using simple economics.” It’s destined to be a best seller.

ANYWAYS. I thought I’d tell a story about a simpler time. I was talking to a certain friend today, and he reminded me of all the crazy shit I did as a teen. That’s right, I was once a rebellious, no-holds-barred, unruly teenage. My friend’s mom use to say we were “rebels without a clue.” You know, instead of “rebels without a cause.” – right – anyways, she was completely accurate; we were without a fucking clue. One night, after watching a lot of CKY and jackass, we decided it would be a great idea to play “fire in the hole.” Now the object of the game is to order a “litre of cola” at your local McDonalds drive thru and then upon receiving said “litre of cola” you throw it back in the window and then drive away…not too abruptly though, you need to ensure you see the pain on the face of the drive-thru worker. Oh, and you also have to scream, “FIRE IN THE HOLE” whilst chucking the cola through the window.

I always felt really bad, and was never the one to do the actual throwing, because I just knew that woman in the McDonalds window was working minimum wage just to put food on the table for her infant son, who had alzheimer's and whose father was wrongly convicted for stealing a television and is now serving 10 years in prison. We only managed to successfully do it once, and we watched in slow motion as the extra large coke flew through the window, and the small acne ridden worker looked down at the cup and then up at us with a look of sheer horror, and dismay, and probably thought “NO GOD! WHY! THAT LIMITED EDITION POKEMON JUST ISN’T WORTH THIS GRIEF!” We laughed for a good few days about it, but deep down we were all ridden with guilt. We never admitted it though, because, well, we were way too friggin cool for that shit.

Whatever, like, you know?

2008-09-17T15:42:00.000-07:00

I’m in a blog frenzy these last few days…apparently I’ve got a lot to say. Actually, it’s more that I hate doing actual work, so instead I just write a bunch of gobbledygook (what a flipping fantastic word!), and then post it for you to read. Oh, beloved readers, you make the sun shine brighter... all 4 of you!

I was on myspace the other day, and I know what you’re thinking, “myspace is totally 2 years ago, you weirdo!” And yeah, sure, maybe it is, but sometimes I like to check it. One day someone’s going to send me a message on myspace telling me how cool and awesome I am, and then if I don’t log on, I’ll never see it, and we’ll never be friends, and that would be a right friggen tragedy.

So while I was on myspace, I found a survey, and thought to myself, “god, surveys are, like, so 2 years ago…I’m, like, totally going to do one!” – you see, being on myspace MADE me talk like that.

So I stole the survey, and then got really fed up with all the lame balls questions, so I deleted most of them and just kept a few that I actually wanted to answer.

1. How do you feel about the person who texted you last?

It was jeff. I feel great things for Jeff.

2. How's your heart lately?

It’s beating quite nicely. No murmurs to report. If I were Mandy Moore in Chasing Liberty though, i'd have to say "it's a little bit broken" and then make this "i'm so cute and tragic face"

3. Where is your phone?

You mean where is my blackberry? God, freaking simple-minded cell phone users! You’re all no-good bags of trash!

4. Do you like country music?

3 words: Garth. Fucking. Brooks.

5. Are looks important?

Attraction is all relative. You know, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” But there of course has to be a physical attraction or you’ve got nothing more than some ugly dude sitting in front of you.

6. Have you ever had someone sing to you?

Yes! I have actually. It was really cute and I just remembered about it right now. And, no, it wasn’t Taylor Hanson...but he did look deep and longingly into my eyes while he was singing, “mmmbop, dippadopppadooooboppp.” It was a beautiful moment in our blossoming relationship.

7. Do you believe in love?

Pshh, love’s overrated, just like Burger King and The Arcade Fire.

8. Will you get married?

I don’t know, why the hell don’t you tell me you lousy survey? Will I? Will I pop out some pesky rat children right after? Huh? You think I have all the damn answers! No! I don’t! And so what if I’m a spinster for the rest of my days??! Huh survey? What’s wrong with that?!!

7. Are you happy with yourself?

I’m awesome, why wouldn’t I be.

8. Who's the funniest drunk person you know?

Who wrote this survey? Seriously! Jump off a 3rd floor balcony!

9. When was your last encounter with the police?

Who's asking?! I’ve had a few actually. Why don’t I tell you about one. One time, in high school, after having a toga party, we took a venture on over to the local watering hole (swimming pool) where we were going to sneak in for a late night dip. On the way there, in a drunken mess of a state, my friend and I decided to moon this mini van. Funny, I know. Turns out said mini van was an off duty cop. He pulled over and yelled a bit, and showed us his badge, and then drove off. We then proceeded to illegally sneak into the public pool. I was some kind of awesome back then.

10. Do you regret some things you've done in 2008?

I figure, why regret anything? What you do makes you who you are, right? It’s stupid to dwell on things that you can never change. Just embrace them. One day you’ll look back at it and laugh... or cry... you know, whatever.

11. What did you want to be when you were a kid?

I wanted to be a few things. I first wanted to be Elizabeth Manly.

She was so awesome, but my mom told me I was too tall to be a figure skater. Sad, I know. Then I wanted to be a doctor. That dream was really short lived. And now, I want to be a retiree, and live the sweet life eating fig newtons in my 1986 Chieftain 26' Winnebago...

Straight out of the recycle bin

2008-09-16T23:34:00.000-07:00

After reading the adbusters article about hipsters, I had this immediate urge to write a response. I thought the article was true and hilarious, but the ending was pretty retarded. I figured I might as well post it, my response that is, because I’d just end up deleting it from my computer, and well, that’s no fun. There may be no logical insight to the whole thing, but I’m not too worried...read it if you please...

Hipsters just need to grow up and admit that they are in fact part of a group. So to get the ball rolling…MY NAME IS NICOLE, AND I, REGRETTABLY, MIGHT BE A HIPSTER. (except – I don’t think I’m doing anything really unique…I like to say that I like what I like because I just like it. Or maybe subliminally I think I should like this stuff so I’m always on the cusp of coolness. Clearly… I have no fucking clue.)

I guess it’s really going to come down to what the hipster will do for society? Are they going to be a self-denying subculture that vanishes in a few years with only a cloud of American Apparel cotton left in its wake? Or, will we fondly remember the hipsters as the group that made strides to progress our cultures ultimate coolness? Most other movements and subcultures are fondly remebered for inspiring, creating, and moving civilization along. The beats had the drugs and the literature; the hippies had the freedom, the protests, the love and the drugs; and the punks, well, the punks had their rebellion. Even grunge had its thing: uncleanliness.

I’m not sure that I believe that the hipster culture is going to be the cause of societal failure. Hipsters might not be advancing civilization, but who really is these days? Western civilization was already doomed, hipsters or no hipsters. We’re a culture of apathy, egocentrism and oblivion; we do nothing, we say nothing, and therefore, we really know nothing. We aren’t failing at the hands of wannabe artists and DJ’s adorned in thick rimmed glasses; we’re all failures. I get that we need a movement from a counterculture to try and shake the pot and change our ways, but hipsters just won’t be that group. We should just leave them to ride their fixed gear bikes, paint their art, and dance their dance.

I'm the queen of guilty pleasures...

2008-09-15T22:02:00.000-07:00

I went to see Hanson.

Yes, the 90’s brother band that resembled girls is back, and back with a vengeance. They came here a few nights ago and it was pure magic. I got to relive all my childhood fantasies. Listening to mmmbop live was like eating buttered corn in a field made of daisies.

I spent a lot of my youth denying the fact that I liked Hanson because, well, it was largely uncool. But now, I'm not really prone to caring too much about what's cool and what's not. I like Hanson, and specifically, Taylor Hanson. He’s one fine specimen of a human being. It makes me swoon when he plays the grand piano with his supple skin and his golden locks tossing about.

What an effing dreamboat.

He’s mormon though, and has 4 kids and a wife. It’s a damn shame.

To whore or not to whore...

2008-09-14T12:54:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about becoming a whore to the consumer world and completely selling myself out via my blog (I'm broke!). I’ve got to test the waters first just to make sure the whoring out market is right for me. My first client is Jeff. He’s not paying me anything, as of yet, but for right now I’m going to do it out of the goodness of my heart. He doesn’t have any products to sell, so I’m just going to have to sell him. So here’s to you JEFFY!

Why YOU should pick up your very own Jeff!

Jeff is awesome.
He likes Star Wars.
He has dreams of ponies and unicorns dancing together in jungles made of lollipops.
He always informs me that if he were born a girl he’d want to be just like me*. How sweet is that?
Jeff is a sweet boy.
Sometimes he drops his ice cream and cries jelly bean tears.
He likes pina colada’s and getting caught in the rain.
Jeff comes in 1 size….5’7 and ½.
Oh, and he really likes to read.

*He’s never actually said that specifically, but I just know that he’s thinking it! Am I right, or am I right?

If you, or anyone you know needs some promotion, contact me. I’m available to sell-out any day of the week.

This just isn't going to work out.

2008-08-31T16:29:00.000-07:00

Summer’s almost over, and you can’t even believe how unhappy this makes me. I start school again on Tuesday, and that not only saddens me, but terrifies me, because in a mere 4 months, I will be what is know as a “graduate.” Eww! This is the point in your life when people start saying shit like “welcome to the real world” or “what are you going to do now that you’re in the real world.” You know what, screw you! AND your real world!

Anyways...A little while ago I was talking with my sister on the phone, and she was trying to tell me that I use far too many swear words in my blog. I told her that they were just there for emphasis, and not to make me sound like a potty mouth. You know, like instead of just saying “he was a douche bag” you say “he was a fucking douche bag” – it makes the individual sound that much more foul. Now, my sister is very much one of those “optimistic” “glass half full” “let’s be positive about things” type of person, so she suggested that I write an optimistic blog about things that I actually like, instead of constantly talking about shit…I mean…stuff I hate. So this one’s for my sister. And if it sucks balls...I mean...if it disappoints you, blame her and her awesome attitude!

After staring at the computer screen for a short while, and forcing myself to not write about the douche bags at the Oasis concert, I’ve decided to just write down a list of some things that I actually like...some I might even dare say I love. This is just to prove that I actually have positive feelings toward things, and people. But after this, I’m back to my regularly scheduled societal bashing.

Item #1

Pictures of pretty houses. Apartments that make you want to become all artsy and hipster and “escape to Paris and fall in love.” That phrase would never come out of my mouth though, because I hate Paris. Oh man...this whole optimistic thing is already proving to be challenging. Anyways. I like homes with chandeliers. Oh, and cute bikes...

Item #2

Sex and the City. I’ve decided to devote much of my spare time to watching the entire series. It’s pretty much amazing. And, because everyone always likes to decide which character they most resemble…I’m Miranda…bitter and sarcastic, yet still funny, compassionate, and intelligent. We both also have long necks.

Item #3

Bread. My logic is fairly simple: carbs = love.

Item #4

Cute couples...

Especially if they are over 70...

Item #5

Cute boys with nice beards.

I used the word “cute” far too much. I resent myself for that. I guess I’m still a girl though, and that gives me some kind of genetic urge to use awful words like “cute” “adorable” and “oh my goodness!"

Well, clearly I like more than 5 things. I like dogs too, and sushi, and my apartment, and orange juice, and notebooks, and mushrooms, and black and white movies...you know...but this isn’t a facebook profile...I was just trying to show you that I’m not just a crazy cynic... I like shit too.

FITY FOR A TEABAG!

2008-08-27T17:30:00.000-07:00

This is a tale of male strippers, and it comes with a warning... If you dislike talk of penis, teabagging, and/or strippers, this blog is sure to offend you.

One fine night in Montreal, me and a few friends decided it would be funny to check out the male strippers in the local gay village. Now, I’ve seen male “dancers” before - you know - the ones that appear at the “ladies nights” and all they do is dance seductively, take off their shirts, and then rub their “pecks” down with some oil? These "dancers" never actually get naked, they just prance around in their tighty whities and make all the girls crazy. The point is they aren’t actually strippers. The strippers in Montreal actually get naked…and I mean, balls out naked.

The second we stepped into the bar we knew we’d entered an alternate universe where the men were now the objectified lifeless crack addicted whores, and the women were psycho sex fiends.

We sat at the back and took it all in. Before I went, I was told by a number of people who’d previously gone that all the strippers were actually really hot, but I have to say that I disagree. This is probably because I don’t find really built douche bags to be particularly good looking. Actually, I find them fairly unattractive. I can guarantee if I’d seen any of those men randomly walking down the street, I wouldn’t look twice... Or, I’d look twice, laugh, and think, “Shit, another idiot with a popped collar and a faux hawk.”

Anywho! Then they got naked! The part everyone has been waiting for! I have to tell you, I saw far too much flaccid penis for one lifetime. Some of the men just couldn’t get it up, and then danced around while their penis just hung limp, like a sad, sad puppy. I felt kind of sorry for those flaccid men...I’m not really sure why. Now, it’s not that I’m against the penis, but really, men shouldn’t be leaping around and dancing with no clothes on...it’s simply just not attractive.

There were the guys though that could get theirs up, and they got all the ladies. And these ladies were friggen lunatics! They’d put their 20-dollar bill in their mouth and lie down on the stage and let the gross naked stripper rub his balls all over her face. One stripper even took this chick, flipped her upside down, and stuck her face in his junk, presumably tea-bagging her. She probably had a fity in her mouth.

It was all very, very disturbing. And not to mention, the strippers looked like zombies on far to much cocaine. The way they danced was in no way attractive, and they were clearly dead inside, like most strippers I guess. I kind of wanted to put their clothes back on them, take them for a nice warm coffee, and tell them that they are better than this, and that someone, someday, somewhere, will love them.

There was this moment during the night where I had to go to the washroom. It was horrifying. I was holding my purse firmly with two hands, much like an old woman would when walking through a heard of fifteen year olds. On my way to the washroom, because I was concentrating more on hugging my bag then looking forward, I ran right into one of the strippers. Like, my forehead rammed into his enormous pecks, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He proceeded to give me this creepy look and then rubbed my back…I quickly lowered my head, let out a yelp and ran towards the washroom. On my quest to find the washroom I stumbled across the “secret rooms” where the women get their private dances from the strippers. That, or they just go into the room and pay 15 bucks to get tea-bagged. I’m going to conclude that’s what actually goes on.

To finish the night we ate some poutine. Mine had hot dogs in it. I’m only now realizing how gross that might appear...on all levels.

So, in closing, I’ve decided to use a timeless, tired, and overused cliché to create a new slogan for the male strip club:

Cover: 5 dollars
Cost of a single beer: $6.50
Seeing lunatic women get teabagged by male strippers: priceless

dolla dolla billzzz y'all.

2008-08-12T15:09:00.000-07:00

Dear readers, friends and confidants,

I’m sorry for my absence. I’ve been in Montreal for the last 5 weeks, and I drank too many 40s. You might be asking yourself, “what does 40 drinking have to do with actually writing in your blog? Were you drunk all the time, you goddamn alcoholic!?” Well, no, I wasn’t drunk all the time, but I did loose a number of brain cells. It’s simple really; a litre and a bit of beer priced at a mere 4.67 can really affect your intelligence. It still hasn’t fully recovered. My intelligence that is. I probably should have said, “I haven’t fully recovered’, but that would've been far too grammatically correct, and right now, that’s not in my cards.

So, for now, I’ll give you this article I wrote about the reasons I hate the stampede…which isn’t a surprise, seeing as I hate everything and everyone… No! just joking! I like you!

http://www.glossmag.ca/issues/11/socialite/1-calgary-stampede.html

I’m going to stop writing now because I’m pretty certain I’m coming across as 6 year old with a speech impediment. Please check back in a while. I have many interesting stories to tell.

Sincerely yours,
Nicole

fourmis! partout!!

2008-07-14T13:36:00.001-07:00

Oh dorm living. It’s one of those things that you never really understand until you actually get to experience it. Going from a 680 square foot comfortable apartment, to a 100 square foot room has its disadvantages. First there’s the bed. As a taller female, I often have trouble finding places to sleep that actually fit me. I grew out of my twin size bed when I was about 8, but my parents didn’t believe me and made me sleep in it until I was 14 or so. It sucked. I’d actually forgot how much I hate twin size beds until I’ve recently been forced to again sleep in one. The ones here though are extra awful because they’re essentially a piece of foam covered in a thick plastic. I’ve nearly fallen off the thing a hundred times, but luckily I wake up right in time when I realize how close I am to landing in a pile of dead ants.

This brings me to the ants. For some reason, I’m the only person on my whole fucking floor who has an ant infestation. In order to try and kill off my guests, I’ve created what I like to call “The ant trap hell death gel fence.” I presume they’re living in the walls because when I first got here there were none, but then I dropped a piece of my granola bar, and didn’t think much of it and when I woke up one morning it was covered in ants! I immediately went out and purchased two forms of ant killer; a liquid gel like substance that you just squirt all over the ant colony, and then these little house things that lure the ants in because they think its food, and then eventually they find out it’s poison and they yell “RAID” and die. Kind of like in Mean Girls when the teacher is all, “don’t have sex because you’ll get pregnant and DIE.” Actually, it’s not like that at all, but I really like that line in the movie, so I had to throw it in somehow. ANYWAYS… I decided to put two of the house things down, and then I barred off the area with an insane amount gel killer to make a fence like device. And now I have this….

(blogger decided to hate me today, and that's why you're not looking at a picture of dead ants. Use your imagination. And if you don't have one, look on facebook. And if you're not my friend on facebook, then how the heck did you find my blog? If you like it though, please message me, i'd love to hear from you. especially if you're a straight male. I don't have many heterosexual male readers.)

Even with the bugs, the communal showers, and the eau de fecal matter, dorm living is pretty fun. It’s unusual to me to have neighbours that actually want to talk to you. At home, my neighbours and I try very hard to avoid each other. Mostly we communicate via mat stealing.

Other than dorm life, Montreal is fucking amazing! I'd love to give you a day by day recount of all the awesome things I do, but that would just make you jealous, and then you'd hate me, and because you're reading my blog, I like you, and I don't want our relationship to be burdened by your persistent jealousy. So i'll just tell you that sometimes I’ll be out drinking and having a great time and think to myself, “shit, I’m totally getting paid to be here. Dope!” Even though I don’t fit in my twin size bed, I sleep easy at night knowing that in a week I’m going to get another 325 dollars to use towards eating and drinking 40s… and all I have to do in return is learn me some French. C’est fucking fantastique.

Ou est le bibliotheque?

2008-07-07T12:40:00.000-07:00

While reading Cosmo today in my ant infested dorm room, I learned some very, very useful informations. And yes, informationS, because I learned a plural of things. For example, in the article “7 things you think will make you happy…but won’t,” Sonia Lyubomirsky. PhD shared this useful fact with Cosmo readers, “happy people are more likely to be in long-term relationships and are better liked than unhappy folks” Like, NO SHIT! I don’t think you need a fucking PhD and a ridiculous last name to pull that one out of your ass. God, I could have told you that and I barely have a useless undergrad degree. Happier people are better liked? Really? Because I was under the impression that I should be extremely surly and depressed around people and they’ll immediately gravitate towards me and want to hear me bitch and complain about my sad pathetic life. I should probably try that out here, since at this current moment my friend list is a big fat zero*. Except for maybe the woman in the bakery where I bought the most wonderful tomato bocconcini panini today. It had panini bread with black olives baked into it! Jesus, it was like heaven in wheat form.

I guess you want to hear more about Montreal, and less about the interesting and ridiculous things Cosmo has to offer. Well, Montreal is good. It’s only been two days, and I’ve not yet started my classes, so I’m hoping that’s where I’ll meet some interesting folks. I’ve had a few measly conversations with a few people. One was a French boy who could barely understand me, and I could barely understand him. After everything he said in French I’d give him this unsure look, and then he’d attempt it back to me in English. Needless to say our conversation was a touch awkward**. I’ve also just realized that I don’t really know how to approach people. I’m generally just introduced to people, and then we become friends. It’s a weird concept this ‘making random friends’ shit. I wonder too, if after I make a friend, do we have to wait a little bit until we start hanging out all the time, or do we just dive right in because we’re on time constraints. Fuck, I don’t know, apparently I’m more socially inept than I once thought.

*I now have like 6 new friends! Go me! Last night after I wrote this self-deprecating blog, there was a mysterious knock at my door…and guess who it was…
**random French boy that lives on my floor. He was there to invite me to a floor party that he had planned. So I went to the floor party and I made friends, and had good times and frankly, I’m not as socially inept as I once thought.

I composed a poem to express my joy via rhymes...

Shit is good, friends I did meet.
Montreal is sweet.
I have blisters on the feet.
Let's compete.
I wear deet.
MEAT!

A month of much content.

2008-06-12T14:47:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the life of unemployment. Currently it’s 2:46pm, and today I’ve watched 3 episodes of Dawson’s Creek, ate 1 bowl of minute rice, and I’ve not yet bathed. Nor do I plan to. What’s the use really? I plan to spend the rest of the day doing the laundry I’d intended to do a week ago, and watching more Dawson’s Creek, because I’ve missed Joey’s crooked smile, and Dawson’s general aura of idiocy combined with his painfully ugly face...

Then there’s Pacey, who never ceases to flatter and charm me. Yes, I know he’s not a real person, but I’ve spent most of my adolescence searching for my very own Pacey. Of course I haven’t found him, so I guess if you’re out there, Pacey-like-individual… I’m waiting… but not in a creepy, desperate way, more in an endearing, princess looking for her prince kind of way. Though, I’m sure saying this here is pretty pointless, as 99.9% of my readers are gay men. Shout out!

Besides the greasy hair and grotesque amounts of Dawson’s Creek, I’ve been having a fabulous summer. It all began in Vegas, where I rolled in style with my female family members. Vegas can really be summed up in a word: tacky.

Then I ventured over to Florida, to experience Disney World, and Miami. I wrote a blog when I got home, but never got around to posting it. So I’m going to insert it now….

Disney creates magic. So much palpable magic they can barely contain it within their Mickey shaped walls. Last year was my first ever venture into a Disney park…I was 21. Clearly my parents neglected my infantile needs. Needless to say, it was the most magical place ever. You really are unable to be unhappy in Disney Parks, and maybe this is a bad thing, or this is the best way to keep small children from lashing out at their parents. All you have to do when they’re having a temper tantrum is look at them sternly and suggest, “tommy, we’re at Disneyland, you’re NOT ALLOWED to be sad! Mickey mouse will come eat you if he sees those tears.” And that’s that. The kid shuts up, you laugh a little inside, everyone’s happy.

Now I had a few issues with Disney World. First of all, it’s too big. It’s the size of fucking Boston! You can’t walk from park to park because there’s an interstate connecting the two. Scratch that…I mean connecting the 4 parks and 2 water parks! I think Walt went a little crazy when making Disney World. Now I understand he wanted to make you feel like you’ve left reality and entered this inescapable world of bliss, but it’s just too much magic for any one person.

After we spent 4 days gallivanting across the great land mass they call Disney World, we ventured over to Miami. I had my skepticisms about Miami. I was certain I would feel completely inadequate aesthetically speaking. I envisioned a place where people never wear clothes, and all the women, with their incredibly perfect bodies, rollerblade around in pink bikinis and Oakley sunglasses. Sadly, I didn’t see a single bathing suit clad rollerblader, but I did see this man:

He had NO shame. His shame glad was clearly replaced with a second awesome gland, because to have the cahoonas to wear that tiny thong on the beach is something only a truly awesome person would do. I’m certain this man is a professional beach goer. He most likely worked as a financial planner for 40 some years, and was married with 3 kids, and loved his wife dearly. They had a 5 bedroom home in upstate Connecticut, and would spent summers at their cabin in the woods. One day, he woke up and discovered he wasn’t happy in this life. He packed his bags, abandoned his family, bought a thong and sought out a life of pleasure in Miami. He now spends his days on the beach and his nights at the clubs looking for a two-bit floozy. Meanwhile the wife and kids are struggling to stay afloat in Connecticut, where the wife works as a secretary and a waitress on the weekends. Soon though, she’ll meet another man, who her kids will hate, but she’ll adore. Eventually thonged man will realize his immoral life is becoming boring and return to the wife. At this point she’ll inform him that she’s in love with another man, and he’ll saunter off into the night, gaze up at the moon, and howl, “WHY ME!”. Cue credits.

The other thing I saw in Miami was homeless people. I’m forced to disagree that the homeless in Miami have it good, because I’m certain they’re crazier than the average homeless person. Most homeless males had wheelchairs to which they’d ride around and then sometimes find themselves in the middle of an intersection, not sure how they’d ended up there. Most of the time cars would just honk and drive around them, as if it were a daily occurrence. Eventually they’d wheel themselves out, but then, 10 minutes later, you could find them lost in the intersection once again.

The women were equally crazy and all carried around strollers and various child like paraphernalia. Often their stroller would get stuck somewhere and they’d growl and groan as they yanked it out. I’m bound to conclude that all this craziness is due to the weather. For the better part of the year it’s 30 plus degrees, and for the remainder of the year, it’s hurricane season. So either you’re being swept away by 400 mile an hour winds, or you’re intolerably hot and sweating uncontrollably.

I can attest too, that the heat makes you crazy, because at one point in our Disney adventure we’d come across a 34-degree day, and there was no escaping it. I couldn’t stop sweating, and that made me so angry and exasperated that I’d sweat more thinking about how angry I was. I almost started crying. It was a bad time in my life, but I’m certain it was all because of the heat. And it’s not a dry, can’t breath heat, it’s a humid heat where you’re always moist, whether you like it or not. Obviously the homeless have no escape from this heat, and I’m sure they’re equally as bothered as I was to be sweating. Plus at the end of the night I can go back to my air conditioned hotel room and take and nice shower, and they are forced to sleep in the sweat soaked clothes all night, and then wake up to find themselves lost in an intersection.

All in all it was a good time. Then I went to Sasquatch, kanye, and engaged in other various forms of crazed summer fun to which I’ll elaborate on later.

A permanent piece of my medium-sized Canadian heart

2008-05-11T18:25:00.000-07:00

Could Tokyo Police Club be any more awful? Why the answer is an astounding YES, they can. I sometimes feel bad for them, because they’re so boring and homely, and they try to make good music, but they just fall so short.

I recently heard their latest musical catastrophe, a song called tessellate, which if you’re wondering means: “To form into a mosaic pattern, as by using small squares of stone or glass.” I’m certain the pale, scrawny 13 year old lead singer was all:“I heard this word today guys, and it’s like super awesome cool rad, and I think we should like totally make it a song!”
The other 13 year old, pale, scrawny, guitar player adds, “but like dood, we totally can’t make a whole song with just one word!?!”
Finally, the humble Jewish boy* in the band, (see above, he’s got like 7 sandwiches in hand), suggests, “but guys remember when we had that song where we chanted our own band name the whole time?? Why don’t we just do that again, but just say TESSELLATE in a mock British accent over and over.” Then, in unison, they applauded the brilliance of the Jewish band member! Hooray! Bar Mitzvah! Shalom! Hanukah! (* I’m Jewish so I’m allowed to make sly remarks on the topic.......well I’m not actually Jewish per se, but if I’d had the choice to be born either Jewish, or not Jewish, I’d chose the former.)

The song goes on to talk about how “broken hearts will tessellate…tonight.” God, what brilliant lyricist; they’re so poetic and endearing. Their 13 or so years spent on this earth have given them such beautiful insight into the world of severed hearts and unrequited love. When I hear that lyric I’m forced to envision axed cow hearts cauterized together to form a lovely mosaic pattern. Remember in high school when they forced you to dissect a cow’s heart? And it was fucking creepy as shit, and people spent the majority of the class running around and screeching at the top of their lungs every time someone touched the fucking thing? And it smelt like formaldehyde? And when you finally got the courage to cut the thing open, you had to saw for like 10 minutes? Meanwhile, your lab partner continued to yelp with ever motion of the knife? And then you finally got so fed up you cut off the aorta and chucked it at your feeble, annoying partner? Good times. Though, I was in “advanced placement” biology, so it’s probably just something us “90 percent average” kids did. Man we had it good.

I’ve forgotten what I began talking about. So now I’m going to stop…and leave for Disney World! Feel free to be jealous, because you know deep down in your tessellated heart that Disney brings on the magic like no other.

Collars Erect! "Why the popped must be stopped"

2008-05-03T16:28:00.000-07:00

The Collar Popper.

They're the quintessence of what it means to be a douche bag...actually, I’m lead to believe that they coined the term. I hate them. I hate how they walk around in their too tight, pastel, American Eagle polo's with the collars popped. They're usually found in packs with other collar poppers who are equally as arrogant and dim-witted.

Often, the collar popping clans will get together on Friday nights in a pre-bar ritual I like to call “getting yourself psyched to knock up some whores!” They begin by all standing in front of the bathroom mirror in their effeminately coloured polo’s, lubricating their hair into faux hawks. Once they’re done that, they pause, pucker their lips, turn to their cohorts and yell, "COLLARS UP!"

Once at the bar, they're usually found hitting on females and saying things like:
"Hey baby...wanna GRIND?!" or
"you see how my collar's popped? yea, well my penis is popped for you hunny! ZING!....wanna GRIND!?"

Sadly though, the girls will generally accept their offer to overtly gyrate their hips on the dance floor, and often will end up sleeping with these tools. The reasons why they do this are two fold:
1)They are drunk to the point of being deaf, blind and mute...we'll call it a Helen Keller drunk (and I’m going to hell!)
2) They make equally appalling clothing choices. Ie...they wear valour sweatpants with sexual innuendoes on the ass...

They can also be found wearing clothes 3 sizes to small, causing the oh-so-dreadful muffin top...

I think there are various levels of collar poppers. There are the infrequent poppers who’ll do it just when going to the bar, or various other social outings that require a slight ego-boost. Then there are those that do it daily. These are the ones that’ll sometimes wear 2 coloured polo’s together and upturn BOTH collars. They’ll generally combine a baby blue, and a light green, or a pink and a light yellow, but their absolute favourite combination is the baby blue with the light pink…

I'm really quite perplexed as to how their collars manage to stay so erect. They must use starch, because it seems to me that any regular cotton polo would just fall over, especially whilst grinding, drinking and engaging in countless gestures of male camaraderie.

So, this all leads me to wonder why people are so intent on popping their collars when the trend clearly died in early 2006…and it wasn’t even cool to begin with. I’ve come to three conclusions:
1)The popped collar provides an exclusive membership to a secret underground society to which us “regular” folk aren’t privy. They hold meetings in caves and discuss the benefits of the popped collar. Then they drink candy apples and reassure their heterosexuality.
2)Upturning the collar protects them from the elements. It’s like a built in scarf. Wind, rain, cold, sun…the lower two inches of their neck will always be protected.
3)And finally, it can be used to cover those regrettable “love bites” from the muffin topped Helen Keller they picked up at the bar the night before.

The trend may never die. But to each their own I guess. In the meantime, if I see you with a popped collar, I will turn it down for you, even if you throw your finger in my face. And before you turn that collar back up again, ask yourself if it’s worth it to have the general populace look at you like you’ve just mugged a pony.

IDIOTS!

Let's move to New York, bootleg whores, and fuck with the stars.

2008-04-29T18:01:00.000-07:00

I so desperately want to be a resident of New York. Life would be legendary there. I'd no longer be just Nicole, i'd be NICOLE FROM NEW YORK! I'll wear sharp clothes I can't really afford..

…and I’ll live in a 300 square foot loft in the upper east side.

I'll date a man who wears skinny ties, and always looks suave.

He’d be Jim Sturgess preferably, but I’m not picky…

I’ll be sophisticated and my friends the same. We’ll go to magazine launch parties, galas and drink champagne. I’ll have picnics in central park with my tall, attractive, skinny tie wearing lover. I’ll wear red lipstick and buy Chanel. Eventually I’ll begin to make money from whatever lucrative career I take up, and I’ll use that money and get a bigger upper east side apartment, and more Chanel. I'll also have this most wonderous library loft...

That, or I’ll move to Brooklyn. I already have a mighty fierce accent so that's no problem. I'll live in a 250 square foot room above a hungarian pastry shop.

Truthfully though it'll be half pastry shop, half illegal prostitution ring. Their slogan will be "SEX and a complimentary STRUDEL!"

Either way I think I’ll be ravenously happy.

"Dude, you forgot your cowboy hat!"

2008-04-25T16:29:00.000-07:00

As promised, I give you the top 11 reasons I LOATHE Cowboy’s with a fiery passion (the bar, not the people).

Let’s start this with a story. My friends* 18th birthday. It’s a Thursday night, so it’s 25-cent "draft." Draft referring to a mixture of piss and colt 45 siphoned into a large vat and then offered to patrons in Coors light glasses. Tricksters!

So she’s brought to Cowboys by her obviously unsympathetic friends and the second she got into the bar she became angry and distasteful. Atop the anger, she consumed roughly 15 glasses of “draft” and finally became confrontational which is extremely out of character for her, as she generally despises altercation. Well, that is unless it involves stupid people.

Any ways, my friend ended up stealing a beer from one of the tub girls and saying some rather nasty remarks whilst doing it. She was then literally, and I mean literally, thrown out of the club. She proceeded to yell contentious remarks at all the bouncers…basically she told them all to ‘fuck their mothers.’ Not her best moment.

After this she took a seat out on the curb, alone. She was then told that sitting anywhere, in or around the bar was illegal. Illegal she thought? For one, bouncers are not law enforcers, they’re beefy guys with attitude problems, and the curb isn’t owned by the bar, it’s owned by the city. She then began to yell further profanities at the bouncers hoping to wear away their muscular exteriors, but alas, they just threw her coat in her face and sent her on her way.
**
She was eventually rescued by her friends who attempted to get her back in the bar but the bouncers proved to be sharper than she thought; they looked directly at her friends and said, “this ones not comin’ back ever! ya hear!”

Reasons I hate Cowboy’s: A list
1) They allow… no wait… they suggest that people wear cowboy hats year round.
2) They encourage female patrons to wear the lowest possible tops and the shortest possible skirts, which equals nip-slips and twat exposures.
3) They are certain to target males with shoes that aren't fine Italian leather. I guess runners just don’t cut it for line dancing.
4) They’re racist.
5) They give people draft (*see above)
6) When you open their website (I had to…for research!) an insanely loud country song comes blaring through your speakers and sings “I LOVE THIS BAR.”
7) The website also has a nice note from Paul Vickers: “You are the reason that Cowboys became famous. Because of your commitment, support and unconditional loyalty, you have genuinely become the foundation of Cowboys’ legendary existence.” Legendary existence! Fuck that!
8) Paul Vicker’s is the biggest douche bag to ever live.
9) They have hay…in the bar.
10) Their bouncers are retarded cowboy hat wearing fucks who take more steroids than the average female body builder.
11) And last but not least, they have a sign out front saying, and I quote “the most beautiful girls walk through these doors” – HA! How about you try “the whores lost their way to the crack house and ended up walking through these doors”

*There was really no “friend” per se… It was me. I was the terrible drunk girl who told bouncers to fuck their mothers. I thought I’d wait until the end to mention it so to try and keep a smidgen of credibility.
**Other things happened in the time period between the coat throwing and the friends coming...but to save a shread of dignity, i'm just going to say it DID NOT INVOLVE VOMIT.

William Shatner hates hockey too.

2008-04-21T18:08:00.000-07:00

I’m not certain what it is about sports that brings out the douche bag in everyone. I didn’t watch the game last night, nor was I really even aware they were playing a game…the Flames that is. I did however find out they won, and not because I inquired, I was just awoken from my post-work, pre-paper writing nap by people that felt the need to honk directly outside my apartment building. Good thing it was cold out, because it subdued the besotted fans from taking over the streets in their corresponding jerseys, yelling profanities, and showing their genitals. Not to mention the honking. Seriously people, honk once, twice, a few times even… I’ll deal, but don’t park your car outside my apartment and lay on your horn for 5 minutes straight… that’s just annoying. Also, don’t rig your car with some high performance horn that belts out the hockey theme song continuously. (Side note: I’m inclined to think that a hockey theme song does not actually exists, but let’s just pretend for arguments sake.)

Furthermore, why do you need 7 games to decide the winner of a series? How about you just play one game like every other sport on this fucking continent…fine, ok, baseball I think has best of 7…and maybe basketball…but I hate those too…so there! Sports are so self-righteous. 1 game works fine for football, and soccer, why can’t it work for you, hockey, baseball and basketball?? The Superbowl comes down to one game, and it’s significantly more epic than watching 7 games. I can just picture the various affluent, elderly sport league owners sitting around and contemplating how they could milk this sucker dry:

“Let’s make it 7 games not just 1!”
“That’s genius! Then people have to buy tickets to at least 4 games, and that’s another 4 plates of Nachos, and at least another 64 beers they’ll need to consume. Because we all know watching sports is only entertaining whilst inebriated”
“JUST THINK OF THE PROFIT!”

Then there’s the red mile. Could you be any more retarded Calgary? Well you could I guess, you could be Edmonton and make up other shitty coloured miles when you have an even less talented team. I think the whole red mile thing is massive propaganda for the city to try and prove to the country our awesomeness. Meanwhile Vancouver and Toronto just laugh at our boring, ugly face. You can’t claim to be awesome if your team loses and your city is vapid wasteland of oil swindlers and boring people. I’d be surprised if the Flames even make it through this series, but if they do I’ll be sure to devise a plan involving balloons, fowl liquid like substances, and my 13th floor balcony. Watch out belligerent hockey fans…I’ll get you!

On another side note, Cowboy’s is opening again, and it’s far to close to my apartment. It’s just going to add fuel to the already massive fire of douche bags infesting our lands. Though, this might aid in peeling the baby prostitutes away from the repulik, which would be nice. Though, you know, I think I might just get a job at cowboys and anticipate the day when they offer me surgically enhanced cleavage and a gold studded cowboy hat!

Stay tuned for a long list of the reasons why I loathe cowboys with an unwavering passion.

I call this one a short list.

2008-04-13T17:29:00.001-07:00

1)In recent weeks I’ve been told that I bear a striking resemblance to both Feist, and Cat Power. One group of men was even questioning asking me whether or not I really was Feist, but alas, I shattered all their hopes and dreams of meeting her when they found out I was just Nicole. Though, I think that people are just confused by my bangs. They’re all “Straight brown hair! Bangs! MUST BE FEIST!” Yes, my hair does look a lot like Feist’s and Cat Power’s hair, but this does not mean we have the same facial structure. So, I give you exhibit A:

I'm on the top left incase you were confused by all our similarities, *coughOURHAIRcough*

2)On my daily venture into the world of celebrity blogs, I found out an interesting little piece of info. Not only will Gossip Girl be making its return with all new episodes…there’s a plot twist!! They are going to be adding a GAY character. I capitalized that only to give it prominence, like AWESOME, or NICOLE! Any ways, I’m not sure what to think about this. Are they going to turn one of the characters gay? Or are they going to bring in a new character and make him gay? See, from my coveted knowledge of all things pre-teen, I discovered that, in the book series they make Dan gay. Now, I love the gays, but really? Dan? Can’t we straight girls be left with some good ones?! Now, I’m a little sceptical because obviously Dawson’s Creek was the first teen melodrama to have a gay character…and a lead character at that, and Jack was so fucking rad, so topping him is going to be a mighty endeavour. Seriously, they were SO ahead of the times. Shit. Anyway, I wikipedia’d “gay characters in teen dramas” and was left with very few. There’s Jack or course, Willow and Tara from Buffy, Marissa from The OC, who, might I add was only gay for like 5 episodes, which culminates to what I’d like to refer to as “the writers trying desperately to make Marissa appear interesting.” They failed. She died. I win. Then they mentioned a character from One Tree Hill who they referred to as “Anna: the bisexual Latina!” I can’t even fathom how awesome she’d be. A bisexual Latina! Though, in my head this “Anna” would look more like this Hispanic transvestite I once saw. But she’s probably still cool, and potentially harbours other Mexican transvestites, and offers them a tranquil existence in Tree Hill.

3)I was trying to come up with a list of men over 50 I’d have “relations” with, and I could only think of 3:
3.Daniel Day Lewis. Why? Well, he’s got a chiselled jaw line and a nice set of peepers.
2.Patrick Swayze. Why? Because “he’s like the wind,” and plus, he totally fucking took baby out of that corner.
1.Jim Cuddy. He’s my number one, because he’ll sing me 5 days in may while we canoodle by lake Ontario, in front of a fire, and there’ll be butterflies and puppies frolicking in the near distance. Magic I tell ya.

Our love is, like, so deep.

2008-03-16T14:27:00.000-07:00

I’m not the type of person to wear my heart in my blog…or anywhere for that matter. But there are some people out there that do, and their heart is everywhere; their facebook status, their blog, in your face…it’s like you can’t get rid of it. Their depressing forthright sentiments of lost love and found love makes you want to stick a fork through your eye...no, wait, just maybe forcefully press it with a spoon...i'm not that overdramatic. There’s a time and a place people, and your status ain’t one of those! Seriously, write in a journal, a book, make a movie, those are the places where we should see overdone weepy emotions. Anyways, I’ll stop judging, cause I watch Dawson’s Creek, and that’s got to be a big point of contention.

Anyways, I had a point in all this…actually more of a story. In one of my classes we did this exercise where you just write without stopping or questioning or going back, you just write whatever might pop into your head at that very moment. And it was a neat experiment, I guess try to awaken the unconscious thought…something to that extent. So basically mine ended up being a page long talk about bears, their different colours, and how when I go camping I really just wish that a bear would come and chill with us. He’d be wearing duckies and a matching rain coat and be named Chester.

So I was under the impressions that everyones was probably pretty fucking random…but then, post-experiment people were asked to share their work with the class, and the majority of the class had these grandiose statements about the perplexities of life, or ostentations poetry that they claimed “infused their bones” as they wrote. Now I’m not saying those weren’t good pieces of writing, but seriously, do people really think like that all the time?? Like common, we all debate life a lot, and think about love, and the distresses of being alive, but my mind never uses fluffy poetic rhetoric to convey those emotions. It generally just rants, or has one way satirical arguments. I tried the experiment again, but this time decided to make myself think and write like those people…so this is what happened…

I awoke today safe from the perils of life, from the anxiety of uncertainty and from unscrupulous love. I awake and I am lost. I awake and I am free. I dreamt of you last night, you freed me from my neuroses and drove me to light, you said poor girl you’re tired now, you’re in need of a cure, your distraught heart is overdone, and this is a loud of bullshit….

I can’t do it. I feel creepy, and weird, and that my friends is in no way a reflection of how my mind thinks… and plus, I write like shit that way. Some people can express their calamities through big savoury words, but me, I like it simple. So, basically, through that entire thing my mind was really thinking this:

Man that cottage cheese was good. Creamy and fresh, and in a singular little container; like yogort cottage chese, but not, because there wasn’t yogurt…but cottage cheese. Shit. Whoever invented yogort-contained cottage cheese is probably fairly awesome. Fuck, you know what I realized, I don’t know how to spell yogourt…I think I’ve spelt it 16 different ways already. Damn. I should get on that. I do know how to spell ACTIVA though. So maybe that counts.

I think it boils down to the fact that I suck. OR, that I’m awesome, because I don’t have live with a brain that thinks in haikus all the time.

Porky and Buckwheat.

2008-03-07T16:39:00.000-08:00

Things I've recently begun to hate:

1. The republik - why - because it's turned into this whore factory where 12 years old girls get fake ids, dress like baby prostitutes and shriek loudly whilst grinding their cooch on some ugly dudes thigh. Then they produce the boys, most no more than 13, with popped collars, white suit coats, hair gel, and a singular diamond earring. I hate them all. I did however find some entertainment in outwardly mocking them, and turning down their collars, but that was all. It's too bad that the republik took this sad turn, because now the name is completely destroyed and everything it once stood for is abolished into a mess of hair gel, and syphilis. So, to conclude, I’ve made a promise to myself to never step foot in that godforsaken whore house they like to call a bar, for if I’d want my spirit sucked out of me, I’d die.

2. Pompous, pretentious assholes. Yes. I hate them, and their attitude. I guess this isn't a recent discovery, but more of a need to declare it.

Things I've begun to love:

1. HEROES! Claire! Peter Petrelli! HIRO NAKAMURA!
2. The looming prospect of summer! I can't wait for it. I want to quit my job, go to disney world, camp, drink on my balcony, road trip, and maybe even sneak into gated swimming pools after hours.
3. Celery! There’s so much you can do! You can put peanut butter and raisins, or cheese whiz, or just some ranch dip; the possibilities are endless!

Another uninnocent, elegant fall into the unmagnificent lives of adults.

2008-02-23T10:05:00.000-08:00

Well i've officially seen more of the mayor than anyone should ever see. That's right, the mayor in spandex...not a proud moment. Apparently he's friends with the man that lives in the penthouse of the building I work in. I'm certain they just meet up, sit around in spandex, and make shady deals. Then they jog.

Sasquatch line up comes out on monday. I'm fairly stoked, as the cure are already confirmed, and apparently REM, the national and modest mouse are basically confirmed. God, i love the national. I'm hoping Jose Gonzalez plays as well...I think that would make my summer...it would be just a full set of beautiful, beatiful, soft loving perfection.

I've got an idea...lets eavesdrop!

2008-02-10T16:00:00.000-08:00

So I came across this site called "Overheard in New York" and the concept is fairly simple...people overhear people saying retarded things, and then send them in to the site and they post them using blantant stereotypes to describe the stranger. It's basically a documentation of peoples stupidity. Sadly, I spent a good hour reading it...and here are some of my favorites...

Black guy: Excuse me, brotha, may I borrow your phone for two minutes?
Old man: Sure.
Black guy, on phone: Wassup, baby? I'm on the line for the liquor store right now... What the fuck you mean 'What line'? The line to get into the fuckin' liquor store! ... I said, the fuckin' line fo' the fuckin' liquor store! You fuckin' retarded? I said the fuckin'-- Oh, okay. [Hangs up, handing the phone back] She already got the liquor!
______

Queer boy: So last night, me and my friend were being all catty and talking about our friend who got a really good job... I was really jealous and pissed, but then I realized -- she may have an awesome job, but she's never been to Disney World. Then I felt better about the whole situation.
______

Teen girl #1: Where did the stereotype that blondes are dumb come from?
Teen girl #2: Poland.
______

Woman on cell in bathroom stall: Well, shit, I wouldn't had his baby if I'd known he was on drugs! Hang on... No, I'm in da bafroom. Da bafroom! Ok, later.
______

Woman #1: I know he be my baby's daddy.
Woman #2: Yeah? How?
Woman #1: They be lookin' the same. He got no teeth and my baby ain't got no teeth eitha'.
______

Dude: ... So I'm, like, sitting there and she just keeps staring at me! So you know what I did? I threw my pizza crust at her forehead... And she started to bleed! I mean, that was some hard pizza crust, man! And you know what did said? Nothing! She just kept staring!
______

Drunk sunbather: Have I told you I hate kites? I just hate them. They make me want to vomit. Also, I don't like adjectives, so don't call this a 'tasty sandwich.'
______

Mother to toddler: Baby, don't cough like that. People are going to think you have TB, and then no one will want to be your friend! [To friend] I probably shouldn't tell her that, should I?
Friend: Probably not. You're going to give her a complex.
Mother: Shit.

One final note: Hellga is totally DOPE!

A New York Christmas...

2008-01-06T12:31:00.000-08:00

I can’t even begin to describe how amazing Christmas is in New York. The magic was palpable. Christmas morning we woke up, opened presents, had breakfast then hopped on a plane to New York…flyin first class! It was me, my aunt and uncle, my sister and my cousin, and we were the only people in first class, it was great. We got a gourmet meal, legroom and all the alcohol we wanted.

We arrived in New York at 7 their time so we went to our hotel, which was a highlight, but more about that later, we got changed and went out for Christmas dinner. After dinner we went to the tree in Rockefeller!! It was sooooo pretty, I felt like such a dork because I was taking pictures like a mad woman and had this massive smile on my face. Not to mention we could see half of the tree from the window of our 48th floor hotel room! The Palace hotel where we stayed is also where they shoot a lot of the scenes from gossip girl. One of the people that worked there fulfilled my 14-year-old fantasies and took my reluctant family and me on a tour of where they film! I found a clip on youtube that shows the front of the hotel so nice and Christmasy!

So the next day we got up early and shopped all day, as it was boxing day. We went to Chinatown and bought hoards of fake purses in the sketchiest joints ever. My favourite was this little Asian woman that came up to us and asked if we wanted to see the showroom they had, so we followed her for a couple blocks, it to an alley way, past a fist market, down some stairs, and first she had to walkie talkie the guy and make sure the coast was clear before she let us in. It was disguised as a children clothing store and then you walk in there and the lady opens this secret door. Fuck, it was the funniest shit ever, but they had the nicest knockoffs I’ve ever seen. Then my uncle opened the door to leave and the little Asian woman yelled so loudly and slammed the door and then yelled that she needed to radio out before we could leave because the police might see. Periodically I’d burst out in fits of laughter while in the showroom because it was unbelievably sketchy.

Then we went out for dinner and over to the tree once again. Then the next day, our last one, me and my sister tried to hit all the tourist sites, we took the subway everywhere, which was wicked, and we saw grand central, the met, central park, and ground zero. We missed the empire state building, but there was just not enough time in the day. We went to see the Lion King that night which was SO amazing, holy. Then we went out to eat and then out to time square to look around. New York is beyond amazing… I can’t even describe it.

Then off to Mexico where we family bonded for 7 straight days. Lots of alcohol flowed, and we engaged in far to many full contact sports. Sadly, bad weather, ant bites and Mexican flu were also a part of it, but that didn’t stop us from continually partying. And that my friends was how I spend my Christmas holiday’s.

Your angst needs proper syntax.

2007-12-23T10:14:00.000-08:00

HOLY SHIT. I’ve just come across the single worst group of people in existence. I decided to sign up for one of those playlist things you put on your facebook, so I’m going to sign in and at the bottom there are pictures of people that already have playlists. This one girl intrigued me so I clicked on her. Firstly her name was “x_emo_boy_lov_x” and her picture was absurd, I can’t even describe the utter emo-ness of it. I tried to copy it on here, but it wouldn’t work. So I went to her page, and low and behold I entered I world to which I’d wish I never had.

First, let’s read her bio…

“i‘m so lonley.
i have a boyfriend, but he is always gone,
so i cant ever see him.
i hate going to school.
i am always left out.
its not easy having two friends thast ignore you for eachother.
i am always in the shadows.
my homelife is unbarable.
IT SUX ASS!
man do i get treated like shit.
i am emo...please dont judge.
and yes i cut my wrists the other night, but thats not
the only reason that i am emo.
my only escape is my music.
i love music. it is my life.
there isnt really anything interesting in my life.
well, i think you get the point.
my life sux and that is all there is to it.”

FUCK. This shit is GOLD. Solid. Fucking. Gold. This girl is one of a kind. I’m sorry, I hate to be mean, but seriously this is the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever read. I laughed hysterically for a good 15 minutes about it. I think my favourite line is “i am emo...please dont judge. and yes i cut my wrists the other night, but thats not the only reason that i am emo.” Poor girl, suffering through all the trials and tribulations that every single fucking teenager faces. Get a grip honey, and a life, and stop vying for attention.

Seriously I had no idea these kids still existed. They do though, in mass, despicable quantities. I was so interested in this small girl that I decided to check out her “buddies” and low and behold I found SO much good shit.

First we have this boy, he’s 16 and wearing no shirt in his profile picture. His name is “Daviee loves Chelsea”

Here’s what his bio had to say:

“I LOVE EVERY SINGLE 1 OF U THAT ACTUALLY LOVE ME 4 WHO I AM NOT CUZ I'M HOTT!BUT I LOVE U GUYS!!!!!!!N I HOPE THE BEST 4 ALL OF U GUYS! N CHELSEA I WAS'NT CHEATING U COULD ASK ANY1 U WANT!I KNOW I DID'NT BUT IS NOT LIKE U BLIVE ME RIGHT?BUT I WANNA WISH U THE BEST IN THE WORLD N IF I EVER HURT U IN ANYWAY I'M SRRY I LOVE U N ALWAYS WILL U STIL MEAN THE WORLD 2 ME N AFTER ALL THIS IM GOING BACK 2 DRUGS!SO...I'LL DIE PRETTY SONE SO I'M NOT GOING 2 MAKE UR LIFE A PIECE OF SHIT DON'T WORRY!WELL U HAVE A HAPPY LIFE LOVE U!BABy!”

Just because you’re “sad” doesn’t give you permission to use improper spelling. And do you seriously have a penis? Because judging by this pathetic declaration I’m guessing you lost it, along with your ability to be coherent. Also, why the fuck are you wearing your heart in your bio?! No one fucking cares that you did drugs and that you’re not going back. Nor do they care that you cheated on your internet girlfriend, and that you’re going to die “sone”…god, I can only hope this is an avowal of suicidal intentions. How much fucking attention do you need?!

So his girlfriend, the one he didn’t cheat on, she left him this endearing post:

“heyllo lovey!! ^-^ i writed a poem...its kinda deppressing...=| ubt its still perty good... i posted it on my blogs under ~LOVE+HATE~ yup...lolz LOV YOOH!!!”

Ok, first of all little one, you “writed” a poem?? What are you, 3?! I’m just certain it’s the fault of the government for allowing these kids to spell like chimpanzees. “LOV YOOH” Holy shit. I’m going to assist these children in slitting their wrists because by the time you’re 17 you should stop talking like a retarded fuck.

Just wait though, the girlfriend gets even better…

Her bio:

“OH MI GAWD!!!!!! frenchtoast raped you....o.o
Im 16 and yes im emo.
IM IN LOVE WIT SUMONE!!!! waffles.....o.o
I LOVE Hello Kitty, she is emo! lol. dont make fun of me she is a cute emo kitty and she is awesome! Hello Kitty rox yur sox off!”

First of all, Hello kitty is not emo, she’s asian, and secondly, jump off a ladder and minimally injure yourself. Maybe a little pain will be your answer to life’s most basic queries.

I’ve never wanted to hurt a group of innocent youngsters like I do right now. I cannot believe people actually talk/write like this. My heart hurts thinking how horribly they are destroying the English language with their god-forsaken slang. I don’t know if you can even call it slang.

I spent a good solid hour going through different kids profiles and they were all the same shit. At first I though, maybe it’s just a joke, no one’s actually like this…right? But no, no, they really are like this, and there is a whole community of them out there just waiting to slit their wrist and spell improperly. The saddest part is that most of the kids I found were from Canada.

So I thought 15 year old emo kids were bad. No, there are worse… 37 year old Chris Brown fans...

“DIS B YA GURL KRYSTAL A.K.A LA LOCA B.K.A SEXY RICAN. REPIIN DA HAVEN ALL DA ER-DAY.IM HALF PUERTO RICAN AND HALF CUBAN IM ALSO PART MEXICAN.OOOOOO YEA TO ALL DA HATAZ OUT IN DA WORLD DAT BE HATIN ON ME N MY HOMEGURLN OR MY HOMEBOYZ FALL BACK AND KEEP HATIN WE ARE LOVIN DA ATTENTION YALL ARE OUR BIGGEST FANS.YALL TALK SHIT AND CAN'T BACK WAT YALL SAID ^ BUT ME N MY GURLZ ALWAYS SAY WAT CUMS 2 MIND AND WE COULD BACK ER-THING UP.WE HAVE EACH OTHAZ BACK EXSPECIALLY MIS CHOLAS I LUV DEM 2 DEATH.WELL DATS WAT I HAVE 2 SAY 2 ALL MY HATAZ OUT DURR IN DIS WORLD”

***Nothing was edited or changed. I solely copied and pasted. I’m sorry to anyone I stole writing from. Yes, this is most certainly a violation of FOIP, but you put it out there for the world to see, and I saw it, and therefore stole it. If you’d like to speak with me regarding your stolen words, message me, but please for the love of god use vowels, punctuation, and a dictionary. Otherwise I’ll just laugh at you, and post your email, so your stupidity can once again shine.

Na na na na na hey hey, carry me away.

2007-12-22T17:01:00.000-08:00

I was bored again at work today. What a fucking surprise. You know all those stats that study office workers and find out how much time they waste on the internet? Well I’m presumably on the very end of that bell curve, because I literally spend 9 out of the 10.5 hours I work on the internet...doing nothing. The best part though is the fact that it is what I’m suppose to do. I'm paid to sit here, look nice, say hello, and fuck around on the internet. All. Day. Long. Today though, I ventured beyond my usual blogs and frivolous searching; I decided to read a book. I managed to read all of Into the Wild, which was riveting until the author decided to become all self involved and devote a few chapters to his own unscrupulous journey in Alaska. No one cares though, because clearly you didn’t die, which makes your story less tragic, and therefore, just boring.

Then I watched Gossip Girl, and let me tell you, it made me ten fold more excited for New York! Jesus. I can't stress enough how amazing teen dramas are. They suck you in and take this hold over you to which you’re unable to relinquish. This then lead me to start thinking about forgotten 90's teen sitcoms.

Exhibit A. Breaker High.

This was one of my favourite shows as a youngster. I remember they re-aired all the episodes one summer, I think I may have still been in high school, but ever night at 11 I’d turn on YTV and re-live the brilliance. You don’t know how often I dreamed about being on a cruise ship for high school. I’m just certain Ryan Gosling would have gone no where without this show.

Exhibit B. Student Bodies.

Kooky drawings and newsroom antics. Nothing else needs to be said.

Exhibit C. Hang Time.

I hope I'm not the only one who remembers this show. It was on Sunday mornings. The girl was on the guys basketball team I believe. She was fly.

Exhibit C. City Guys.

A black guy, a white guy, and the ties that bond them. These two were always just traipsing around the city getting into all sorts of crazy shenanigans.

Exhibit D. Step by Step.

Suzanne fucking Somers.

Seriously, I can’t stress it enough, the 90’s were amazing! Between YTV and TGIF, I don’t think television has had a better moment in history.

You're a part time lover and a full time friend.

2007-12-21T17:03:00.000-08:00

There are a slew of movies I want to see, but alas, no one to see them with. I'm going to have to find a movie going friend, where we can solely be friends that attend movies together and then talk about them after. If anyone requires this kind of friendship, and would like to take me up on my offer to be your movie going friend, please contact me. Unless we've already attempted to be friends, and it didn't work out, then don't bother.

Maybe though, I’ll just end up going myself. The one thing I dislike about going to movies alone though is my sob fests. I tend to cry whilst watching pretty much anything, even if it has a ridiculously happy ending, I’ll cry because I’m happy for the characters. I'm a real nut bag sometimes. For example, I watched stranger than fiction while in Vancouver, and that movie killed me, I cried through the whole thing, and even though the ending turned out happy, I still cried. The people I was watching it with were, luckily, my friends, so they didn’t judge me for my outburst, but I fear if a stranger saw me in the theatre, all alone in the corner drenched in my own tears, they'd think I’m a head case with emotional problems. Then they'll go and tell their friends and anyone who'll listen about the crazy girl at the theatre who wouldn't stop crying. Now, granted, my crying does sound a little nutty, but I’m sensitive! I have too much empathy for fictional characters. I just can't help it. Now I’m exaggerating when I say I cry at EVERY movie, cause it's usually about 1 in 3. With Dawson’s Creek episodes, it’s about 1 in 2.

Next, I want to see Juno.

To Call for Hands of Above

2007-12-19T17:41:00.000-08:00

My Christmas spirit is beginning to dwindle. I hate shopping malls and shopping people, and their persistent need to touch you unexpectedly. I’d be a much better person if the woman in superstore today didn’t feel the need to lean over me and cordially place her snatch in my face while I was deliberating which littlest pet shop playhouse looked least like a choking hazard. God. Well on a better note I leave in 5 days! This is not without much panic though, as I’ve not shopped, packed, wrapped, laundered, or bathed. Though, I’m certain this can be remedied by Wal-Mart’s special 24 hour Christmas hours! Fuck, you don’t know how excited I am to go and purchase my family some low-price useless goods made by a poor fingerless leper child in Asia. SCORE!

PS. I'm in love with this cover.

If I am lost for a day... try to find me.

2007-11-22T16:45:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I like to look for jobs on the internet. Usually I'll go on craigslist and search through random cities and see what kind of jobs I could aquire if I say, moved to Milan, Auckland or even Budapest. I think I do it not because I'd ever want to be a sous chef in Amsterdam or a custodian in Barcelona, but because I want to know that if ever life here gets depressingly unbearable, I can pack up and leave and find a means of providing for myself in somewhere far far away.

So today I found what might be the single best job description ever: Freelance Blogger. Are you for serious? That has got to be the best occupation ever! And you want to know what they were asking you to write about... your travels. This company paid you to travel around Australia and blog about it. That’s it. You didn't even require any previous blogging experience; you just needed to have engaging, informative writing, and who can’t do that!? What a fucking slice! I'm no long aspiring to be nothing; I'm going to aspire to be a freelance blogger!

Funniest. Shit. Ever.

2007-11-17T13:44:00.000-08:00

Too much bubbly.

2007-11-13T18:14:00.000-08:00

Magnum Mondays have officially begun; last night being our first. Five solid hours of television and a magnum of Champagne…heaven I tell you, heaven… and with one hour dedicated to revisiting past Dawson’s Creek episodes, a girl couldn’t be happier. But seriously, Dawson’s Creek taught me all there is to know about life and love! (I just love trite sayings) Really though, I think it just gave me unrealistic views of love…because there will be no fireplace, or hair combing, or sailboat, there will just be a whole lot of awkwardness, with someone that will never say endearing things like “I’m going to count to 10 and then I’m going to kiss you”

I’m really sad to have to go back to school tomorrow, four days off was just grand. I slept in a lot, and let me tell you sleeping is the past time I love the most, and probably because it requires no effort, concentration, or physical ability….you just lie horizontally and that’s it. Even when I can’t sleep because I’m ridden with anxiety, I still find comfort just being in my bed, under my covers, not sleeping, just thinking about all the random and retarded shit in my life that’s making me oh so anxious. Usually it’s very lowly stuff that one usually doesn’t become anxious about, but me, I’m just consumed by it, and it doesn’t seem to ever want to go away. Then there are the days that everything seems to cause me some kind of grief, like why my shower curtain continues to let water escape from my shower and pool on my bathroom floor?! I’ll just never know.

This week is looking good…perogies, Mother Mother, and birthday parties.

Insipid.

2007-11-06T17:24:00.000-08:00

School and work are both big vats of suck right now. School has its general awfulness which consists of me not reading/studying/putting in any effort, so clearly I guess it's my fault. Then there's work, and it generally sucks, but people seem to be more annoying than they usually are, and then there is the fact that the computer here is sucking some major ass and not wanting to open word, making it difficult for me to do any homework, which feeds right back into the school vat of suck. It's a never ending cycle of suck.

So I lost my I-pod today. I went to try on a shirt and I forgot it in the change room, and when I realized 5 minutes later I ran back to the fitting room and asked the woman working if she'd seen an i-pod. She then decided to stand in front the fitting room I was in and replied in a high pitch mumble, "eeeoohhhuhhhiiiiiuuuhhhohhhf"and then she was all "nope nope nope no ipod here" and then I got really frustrated and demanded to see inside all the fitting rooms. Alas there was no I-pod. Then I proceeded to ask all the other workers in the store, and they all just gave me a really puzzled "uhhh no," so then I went to the front counter and asked the guy there, and he took down my name and number, and not even 10 minutes later called me back to say they'd found my i-pod, all I have to say is thank god for Dennis, cause the incompetency ran so high in that store.

I was in such a hateful mood today apparently, cause I was hating store, my prof, Christmas, and the stupid train officials...but seriously do you really need 17 fucking holsters on your belt?! Other than your ticket pad you hold nothing of importance, therefore an 64 pocket belt is unnecessary. You know what else is unnecessary...their need to persistently wear sunglasses. No Mr. train man, they do not make you appear menacing, nor do they make you look more like a cop, because you're not a cop, you issue tickets to people who didn't pay their way on the train. They are also awful at their jobs, because this summer I managed to ride the train for free, they even checked me for my pass, and I just showed them my school ID, and when asked about my expired sticker I started in on this sob story about how I didn't even realize it was expired, and that I feel terrible for taking advantage of the system without even knowing it. Shame on me. I'm certain that after this karma is going to bite me in the ass and I'm going to get stopped without my ID, and they are going to have no sympathy, and train constable is just going to whip that ticket sheet out of his 96 holster belt and show me.

One's Pointing His Tree Branch at Me

2007-11-03T09:04:00.000-07:00

ugh. I had the worst sleep ever last night. It was one of those sleeps where you never really sleep, and you just leap hurdles around your bed, and hope that it'll tire you out so you'll eventually stop looking at the alarm clock every fifteen minutes wondering when you can just get up and not have to go through this agony. That is what I felt like last night, and now I’m at work, being angry and sucky.

So last night I took the train to go see modest mouse and I was bombarded by hosts of scenies, which are much like tweenies, as they are scensters that have not yet fully developed. Anyway, scenies galore, and one crazy man wearing a trench coat and talking about how fucked Calgary is, and that "everywhere you turn someone’s fucking holdin’ a knife at your throat and shit." Then he proceeded to talk about how Calgary no longer has true Calgarians and that every "tom, dick and fucking harry has moved here from everywhere else, they takin’ over tha city." Then he was all like "that's why I carry a gun." Then this dumb scenie decided to be like "EXCUSE ME... did you say you had a gun" and he was like, "haha no you must've heard me wrong" and she was all "uhhh like no, i'm pretty sure that's what you said." God, what a dumb twat she was. If you suspect someone’s carrying a gun, you don't question them about it! I was just waiting for him to pull out his gun and point it at her and say "EXCUSE ME....I DOOOO HAVE A GUN...AND I'M GONNA KILL YOU FIRST YOU DUMB TWAT" That's exactly how it would have played out, then he would have killed everyone else on the train, me included, all cause some dumb scenie bitch thought she was being fucking noble. Moral discretion does not come into play when on the train. Mind your own fucking business.

My second favourite part of the train ride was this other scenie, who was probably 80 pounds, 14, and pushing the skin on his neck upwards to try and make a double chin of sorts. He then took pictures of himself with his skin flap double chin deal. God it was bizarre.

It’s kind of like walking out a door and discovering it’s a window.

2007-11-01T17:34:00.000-07:00

I don’t know if I could be any more irate than I am right now. I’m on the verge of throwing a tantrum much like a 4 year old would do, and I’d ensure to use phrases like “I hate you,” “you’re mean” and “but WHYYYY.” I would look just absurd. A six foot tall girl flailed out on the ground, pounding her fists and wailing in a generalized directions.

GAWD.

Anyways, back to why this all began. So for a split second I left the Bright eyes show last night satisfied, completely satisfied, you could even say I was remotely happy, but just remotely, lets not get ahead of ourselves. But now the feelings have just turned back into disappointment, where they should be I guess.

Here’s the story. I was just sitting here at work, bored, and I decided to check out what the setlist was like in Edmonton, ya know, just for curiosity sake. So then I come across this livejournal message board thing where this girl talks about how amazing the Edmonton show was, and then she gives the setlist, which was ten fucking times better than ours. He played 5 songs off lifted!!! 5!!! And he played a good song off fevers and mirrors. The best part though, was that he only played one song off the new album…ONE…ONE…and it was the one good song on the album. God. I should’ve have gone!! But noooo, I had to work, and study. Life stinks. But to top it all off, apparently he went to the den after the show, it was probably really really late, but still, people got pictures with him! My god. Even if he was a total and complete fucking douch, I would have just died to have been able watch his inebriated fucking ass stumble about with a pitcher of beer and be a prick to everyone. Or maybe he wasn’t a prick, and he was incredibly charming, and I fucking missed that too. Fucking hell. Nothing shows anger more than a lot of ‘fucks’ embedded into a sentence. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There. I’m angry. I guess I should probably just get over it, because I coulda, woulda, shouldas are so last year.

There. I’m over it. Don’t even worry.

Poster child for waifs across the nation.

2007-10-13T09:37:00.000-07:00

Who gets to work 21 hours in 2 days? ME! YES! And it's not even 21 hours of quality work, it's 21 hours of sitting alone in utter silence. Oh well. The new pornographers played last night, and it actually turned out to be a really good show. Probably due largely in part to Dan Bejar, and the fact that he was SO drunk, and just HATED being there. He would just stumble about, and the majority of the time he wasn't even present, and when he was he was usually sitting and playing instruments that required little to no attention, ie. the apple shaped shaker. Neko Case looked weathered, but was still amazing as always. So I danced and sweated, and it was generally a good time.

So I was told that the set list for bright eyes is looking really good, that I had to go check it out for myself. His official tour doesn't start until the 19th of October, but he just played a show in LA with their philharmonic orchestra...which just sounds amazing. So I found the set list for that show and it's actually pretty good. I'll have to look back for when he starts his really tour and check out the set lists for that...cause knowing him it won't be the same, and he'll just play the entire cassadaga album in a powder blue tux. I figure though if I look at the set list first, I’ll know whether to go in previously disappointed, and then it will allow me to cope with the fact that Conor Oberst has let me down, again.

The set list:
Don't Know When But a Day's Gonna Come
Bowl of Oranges
Make a Plan to Love Me
Old Soul Song
No One Would Riot For Less
Hot Knives
Poison Oak
Another Traveling Song
Arienette
Clairaudients
Lover I Don't Have to Love
I Believe in Symmetry
Lime Tree
---
Smoke Without Fire
Cockroaches

First two songs...SO GOOD! But what the fuck is cockroaches! A new song? Of course he’s going to close the fucking show with a new song! I just hope he’s sad, cause when he goes and puts on this “I’m in love, and generally content with life” act, I like him less. He needs to be so sad and so lonely and desperate that he gets really drunk, and can barely function.

Don't talk, it makes you look uglier.

2007-09-23T12:09:00.001-07:00

Last night I went to see the dudes at the warehouse and had the grand pleasure of encountering the biggest douche bag of probably, all time. For starters he was bald, and had a line for a beard, and by line I mean there was simply a very straight, skinny line of hair that went from ear to ear. Adding to the j-wall line beard was a more than appropriate singular diamond earring. So walking in to the room you just knew his douche bagginess was going to run high, so we kept a close watch on him throughout the night to see what kind of antics he would be involved in. So the first band began. They were actually really good, I even enjoyed them more then the dudes, and I had no fucking idea who they were. So basically this opening band had a large fan base in Calgary that consisted of frat guys jumping a lot, singing loudly, and high-fiving. Luckily for our enjoyment, line beard douche bag was a member. Firstly, he would leap and bound his way through the crowd and high-five anyone that looked interested. The thing is though, when he would high-five he would put on this face where he puckered his lips really far out and spread his eyes into this ghastly collagen lipped freak face. Then he made what I believe to be the douchiest move in history...he reached over the stage, stole the bassists’ beer, and took a nice sip out of it, then returned it. WHO DOES THAT?! I'm sure he's flattered you put your herpes infested lips on his beer. Needless to say the bassist didn't take another sip.

What was even worse though was that his friends just thought he was the shit, and they even cheered on his disgusting displays. I almost think that made them bigger douche bags. Finally the dudes came on, and after 4 hours of waiting they were less than impressive, and so were the hoards of frat boy fans. When I got home I got home I was genuinely sore from standing for so long. I don't even know how I use to go to work and stand for 8 hours, then go to a show for another 18 and stand, because there were 35 opening bands and it took another 16 hours in between sets to get their shit together...but those sure were the days.

But I thought Perooze was a word?!

2007-09-13T17:22:00.000-07:00

So I'm at work, thirsty and headachy, so I figure I need tea to relieve my symptoms, so I walk over to the nearest coffee shop. Upon arrival into the shop I'm asked if I am here for the speed dating, and I reply with "uhhh no, is that ok?!" It hadn't started yet so they let me order my tea and then made me leave. After feeling super awkward, I began to look around the room at all the people actually there for the speed dating, and it made me a little sad inside. What if someday I need to resort to speed dating!? These people weren't even ugly by any standard, and they all seemed fairly young, in their 30's most of them. I guess sometimes you need to try everything in order to get it right. I wasn't even planning to get married until my early 30's, if I find someone, and now this prospect is looking slim, because apparently when you reach your 30's there is no more time to contemplate your options, you'd better have someone snatched up, or you'll have to wait until the first timers begin divorcing in a few years. Then latch on to someone with ridiculous amounts of baggage just to avoid being terminally alone. That or a dog I guess.

She's precocious, and she knows just what it takes.

2007-09-01T11:27:00.000-07:00

I won! Three cheers for sweet victory! It was a tight race, and apparently some other chick I didn’t know was almost going to win, but then I took the crown. I’m 4 years to late for popularity, but I’m not to concerned, because I’m going to bask in the glory for as long as I can. So Pram was amazing, as I only imagined it would be, and it makes me almost sad that I wasn’t able to graduate in the 80’s or 90’s because it was an exceptional time for apparel and music. So that is all, and now it’s 3 days of 10-hour shifts, and exceptional amounts of boredom. Needless to say I’m not looking forward to it, but the good thing is I will have money and I can use to it purchase impractical things, such as thigh high boots that can only be worn with certain skirts, to which I’ll need to purchase as well.

But it's MY crown!

2007-08-31T17:03:00.000-07:00

I'm sick, and I hate getting sick because I revert back to being a 5 year old that just wants mommy and a bowl of homemade soup. Tonight though, sickness can't stand in my way, for it's PRAM! The most magical event to come along in years. I was hoping to achieve pram queen status, but I'm not certain with my illness and bad attitude that this will be attainable. Therefore I'm really going to need to up the perkiness, and wear pearls, because they have some power in making ordinary females into classy, likable babes. I think I've almost planned more for this mock prom then I did for my real one, or as they call it here, graduation. The first time consisted of stealing plastic lobsters from the banquet, then riding in a 1984 limo, and getting drunk. I had a fake ID at the time and was hoping to use it to get into some awesome club, or at least buy a little alcohol, so I could feel cool, as I wasn't going to turn 18 until 6 months after graduation, unlike most. I never got to use that fake ID anyways, because I was sharing it with another friend and she got it taken away by the cops and fined, but really, underage drinking in fields proved to be a lot more fun than any bar adventure. So off to PRAM I go...fingers crossed I'll take home the crown!

Scene too much.

2007-08-28T09:25:00.000-07:00

I can't even begin to describe the week I've been having. From last Wednesday on it has been sheer genius. There was broken city, which consisted of a lot of knowing people, which is always good. It's nice to walk in somewhere and know more than 5 people to whom which you didn't even go there with. Makes me feel so 'scene.' Which I regret to say is a good thing. Then is was Sylvan Lake and Edmonton, which consisted of late night random game, attempts at black magic, and watching only 15 minute portions of Scream, and The Craft. Then there was last night, which can only be described as the best adventure ever to value village, and to close the night, Planet Earth: Deep Sea. Firstly, I can't even begin to describe how well everything fit me at value village. Every prom dress I put on fit like a dream, and let me tell you, this never happens, especially when I had to find a real prom dress. There were many options, but I managed to find just the right little number. It's this awful corally orange colour, and has a large flower right on my tits, and being made of 100% pure polyester, you know it is of the utmost quality. Needless to say I'm pumped to wear it at Pram. Now it's today, and the fun doesn't stop. There's a little bit of work, then off to see Justin Timberlake in edmonton! What a dreamboat that one. I can't even. We have floor tickets too, so touching him is going to be almost probable. Then we stay over night, do a little shopping, come home, and off to broken city once again.

Forlorn.

2007-08-12T09:37:00.000-07:00

So I get to work today, 45 min late, and seriously hung over, to find that everything seems in tack, and that it's going to be a moderately easy day. Then an hour into my shift the alarm starts going off, the lights start flickering, and there are loud noises coming from every angle. UGH. Apparently they do generator repairs on sunday morning, like what the heck? It's over now though, so that is good, and now I can commence doing nothing for the entire day.

Maybe you would've been something I'd be good at.

2007-08-11T11:14:00.000-07:00

I came to a realization last night about two things. One is that 90's teen horror flicks were amazing! Why did I fail to remember this? Me and Liz watched Urban Legends last night and from the beginning I was certain I knew who the killer was, I thought well clearly it's not the crazy looking Janitor, or the teacher with the axe in his office, but that it most definitely is the cute journalist played by Jared Leto, in his post-mysocalledlife days...but pre-iminaterribleband days. It was an incredible time for him, it's just sad that he thought he was good at music. Any ways, back to how awesome Urban Legends was. So we thought we knew the killer was all along, and having previously seen the movie, you would think that we should have actually known, but no, they fooled us, big time and we were completely thrilled by this. Maybe it was the fact that we probably saw the movie when we were 12, but this time around it was beyond good, and I just feel the need to consistently say that it was AWESOME!

The second thing I realized, after returning from driving Liz home, is that I hate elevators. I knew this before, but last night I realized that I should speak about this fear. I hate them for several reasons. Firstly because they are SO awkward. I don't think there is a more awkward location for two strangers to be, and it's even worse when it is in a place you live, because some people feel the need to have to say "hey" or "how's it going" just because apparently we are neighbours. This then makes the situation even more awkward then previously thought, because then you have to reply with "hey" or "great, and u" when you frankly don't give a shit about this person and you just want to get into your car. So after your brief interaction there is usually a long awkward lull where you both stare in opposite directions and attempt to look as though you are either counting the floors left to scale, or you are pondering your newest work endeavour, whatever the case may be, you know that you are only thinking about how goddamn awkward this situation is. Sometimes there are those neighbours that will just talk your face off all elevator ride, and sometimes I enjoy those people, but more times I’d rather just lazily gaze at the numbers changing then engage in a conversation about how the mold has become toxic on the 19th floor, and how awful it is about the vandals. Usually the people that engage in these elevator conversations are 40 year old women, or 40 year old gay men, and clearly they are one in the same.

Finally there is the positioning in the elevator. Usually when I get on I try to find a nice space near the wall, kind of in the corner. Sometimes though the elevator is full and you are left to stand immediately in front of the door, with you nose inches away, and you'd rather risk nasal decapitation then turning around and having to awkwardly face all the other elevator riders. Then someone will always have to get off the elevator before your stop, and then you have the ever so tedious task of getting off the elevator for them to exit, and you always end up doing this half twirl type thing where you turn and then bump into the person and then go "oh, ugh, god, sorry" meanwhile everyone else in the elevator is wondering how this buffoon ever made it out their front door.

I think the worst thing in the world would be to be stuck in a elevator with an stranger, or maybe even a pack of strangers. What would you talk about? Because I can almost guarantee the "we are stuck in an elevator" convo would quickly run dry. Do you talk about your life? Make friends? Sit in silence? Panic and make the other person fear for their life? Continuously yell help? Play 20 questions? I don't know!? I think I've thought about this far too much for my own good, but I feel that someday, after years of elevator riding, I will come up with the perfect resolution to all these elevator quarrels, and everyone will be happy again. But until that day…

Bread, bags and other nasty D's.

2007-08-07T17:02:00.001-07:00

I've witnessed a lot of douche beggary recently, and I'm beginning to wonder if certain people are inherently douche bags, or if it is something one can turn on and off. I decided to consult urban dictionary for some answers. Here is my personal favourite: A person with an unbelievable size of ego without the substance to back it up and normally deludes himself that he is the "numero uno" in the universe. A douchebag is normally narrow-minded but thinks otherwise, disrespectful but thinks he is cool, thinks he knows everything but this is not the case and has a weird and peculiar habit of treating other people like dirt when in fact he is the dirt. This though, is stating that only males can be douche bags, which I’d have to disagree with, because well usually those male douche bags will find themselves a douchebaguette to date, even though there is a perfectly nice, sensible, un-slutty girl that also wants him. Instead, it always seems as though that guy you thought was charming and witty, was just a douche bag at heart, and the douchebaguette saw this from the beginning and pulled out her douche baguetty ways, and well snatched him up right under the nose of pretty, sensible, nice girl. Maybe though the pretty, sensible, nice girl is being too naive, and she probably needs to start carrying around some condoms, wearing really short skirts, and flashing her cunt in hopes that the douche bag she's had her eye on will notice she isn't wearing underwear and fuck her in the first available public washroom stall. My cynicism has taken over and I fear I am making no sense, which leads me to believe I probably should stop writing, and just move on with the fact that meeting a nice, sensible, un-douchy male is going to be an extreme challenge. Also, ridding the world of douchebaguettes will prove to be even more difficult.

Your ferns are seeking a place to grow.

2007-08-04T15:23:00.000-07:00

Last night I deemed it necessary to spend an evening being domestic. In turn I baked a magnificent batch of chocolate cookies, ate far too much of the cookie dough. Then I proceeded to clean my oven, comet my sink, fold laundry, and watch a lot of slice television, which according to the ads, is my VICE! And a hells yes to that!
My other options for the night were: 1) going to wal-mart, where I would buy useless crap at almost half the price of anywhere else. 2) Go to the mall alone, but then I realized that I would be bombarded by herds of pre-pubescent children congregating outside the gap, and then I would relish at the fact that I am in the mall alone on friday night, and leave, in a state of perpetual misery.
So thank god I chose domestication, for it boasts no sense of loneliness or frivolous spending.