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!
Monday, March 9, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The tale of my journey through Europe.
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.
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.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
I'm 500 meter dashing it to Europe!
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.
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.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Angsty teen love is so hawt.
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.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
What’s the most politically correct way to say Merry Christmas?
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.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Goodbye University. You'll be missed.
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.
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.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Nothing good ever happens after 2am
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!!!
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!!!
Sunday, November 9, 2008
This week in pictures: copulation, trannies, and post-election fever
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.
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.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
and then I said, "this is what blogs are made of..."
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.
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.
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