TOO BIG, too small and Just Right

The Goldilock's Conundrum, otherwise known as:

Does size really matter?

(By the way, this question goes both ways, for men and women. Anyway, if you keep reading you know what you're getting into)

Last night Manders and I went out to Balthazar, just because its so fricking cool. I was just there the weekend before but it certainly made an impression on me. What it is is a bar/lounge/club/restaurant in a Italian style villa. One large room is for the diners. It has a fab menu, funky artwork and a live DJ who spins beats that almost makes you want you to drop your vanille creme caramel and dance. There's also a Fred Astaire musical that's projected onto a artfully decrepit wall. The beauty of the place is, once your done eating, you can grooove on over to the bar and mingle with Vancouverites, or head over to the other room which is more the red lights/loungey/dance floor fun.

Anyhoo, that was the setting, and you know the cast. Now we talk about the script.

"Ever been with a man who is too small or too big?" M asked innocently.

Thankfully I have not been with either, though as you know, I haven't been with many men in general, so I'm not sure I was the best person to ask.

I asked her if she had. She had been with both, a man she dubbed "pencil dick" and a man that was "hung like a horse."

"Both sucked," she said. She made a jabbing motion with her finger and added sound effects to help me visualize (which I didn't want to): "Poka, poka, poka." Like someone ramming a glue stick in you (sorry, again this was her analogy).

~Too small~

She then told me about the guy who was so large that she cried out "Don't hurt me!" Or something like that when she saw it. I'm not sure, but from the way she described, I don't think she even got very far with him.


So this got me thinking...does size** really matter when it comes to sexual satisfaction?

~TOO BIG~

I would hope not, but then again I wouldn't know. But what I have heard from others is that when they are, erm, "less-blessed" they often make great lovers because they realize their, erm, "short-comings"(giggle) and make up for them in generous ways.

I've also heard that men who are "very-blessed" often don't know what the hell they are doing and don't bother putting in any extra time and attention because they think they don't have to. Like Samantha Jones said, "Men who are too good looking are never good in bed because they never had to be."

Is there any truth to this? And, while we are at it, does the same apply to women (boobs and all)?

Personally, I don't think its the size at all, but what you do with it, that counts. In the end, I believe its more about the man who owns it than anything else.

**average size being 5-7 inches.
Disclaimer: Please excuse the crude pictures. We were bored.

Once Faithful, Always Faithful(?)

Yay! It's Friday and you know what that means...well, nothing really...except it's Friday the 13th (spoooky). And it also means that most of us don't have to work tomorrow, therefore we should be in a good, nay, GREAT mood.

Also thought I would try and ruin this mood by posting about something a bit, er, heavy. Whoo-hooo!

It's about Cheating. Dun, dun, dun.

I find it funny how in this day and age, being faithful to your loved one is considered a virtue and not something we really should be taking for granted.

I've heard this from a lot of women, "Yeah, we have our problems. At least he wouldn't cheat on me." Meaning, they stick with a guy who A) a liar B) or jerk C) a weasel or, heaven forbid, D) verbally or physically abusive. And all because they think he wouldn't cheat on them.

Since when did "not-cheating" become something that people should be praised for? Shouldn't this be inherit, isn't it common sense and courtesy, not to cheat? When did it become something of a unicorn?

That's one thing (I have a bunch of things). The other thing is, when it comes to the adage "Once a cheater, always a cheater," does this hold any truth?

I was cheated on (many times) by a guy who had cheated on every girl he had before me. Should I have seen it coming? Yes. Did I? Yes. Why did I stay with him then? Cuz I'm an idiot. I should also mention that I never had proof of his cheating until after we broke up and we were both 16 at the time. So, because he cheated on me and everyone else, does that mean his next girlfriend should have been concerned (I would be, but that's for other reasons)? Do we have any right to base someone's present on their past? As I have gone through the humiliation and heartbreak of being cheated on, this may make me more inclined to distrust a man who has cheated on someone in the past. Then again, maybe I would have to take in certain factors, such as, why did he do it? How many times did he do it? What was the relationship scenario? But even if they have all these "legitimate" excuses to their actions, does that ever make it right?

Another thing (I told you there were lots of things) is the differences between men and women when it comes to cheating.

I think most women's biggest fears are that their men will cheat. When it comes to men, I'm not sure if that fear registers or not. So, if you are a guy, is it something that you worry about? And if it isn't, why? Is it because by nature, women are naturally more loyal than men, whereas men are polygamous bastards who need to plant their seed everywhere? Or is this just a stereotype that we are taught to believe (I would hope so). Are men just as concerned as women about being cheated on? Or are they naive enough that they don't worry about that sort of thing?

The last thing I want to discuss, is that is there anything you can do to prevent someone from cheating on you? You know the saying "she drove me to do it." Can you really excuse that behaviour on something that the other person did? And is there a way to prevent cheating from happening in the first place?

I know ONE of the reasons why my ex-bf cheated on me was because I didn't put out enough. Keep in mind, I was 16 and if you were in my shoes, you wouldn't wanna put out all that much either. But, it does make me think. If I did have sex with him everytime he wanted, would that have prevented him from cheating? While I'm at it, if I gave him more space, lost more weight and became a doormat, would that have prevented it too? It's tough to say, but I do know that a lot of women do an awful lot of preventitive measures to try and prevent their man from straying...but in the end, I guess it's really a matter of fate. Try all you might, but if a guy (or girl) is going to cheat, he's (she's) going to cheat. Or is that all baloney?

Keep in mind, of course, that these are theoretical questions, and if you are in a loving relationship, your trust in that person is what really should stop you from worrying about being cheated on. Still, it feels sometimes like it's a very basic, primal fear.

Out of the fire, into the frying pan

I thought that by moving on from the rent-paying world and onto the mortgage-paying world, I would be free of a lot of problems. One such problem as the LANDLORD. Oh yes, we all know what a pain in the ass landlords can be (and who made them Lords of the Land, anyway?).

But it was very naive of me to think that way, considering that instead of having a Landlord, I now have a Property Manager.

And my property manager is a fucking bitch.

Not only do I pay a huge amount in property fees each month (paying her bloody salary) but I also pay for my parking space.

My parking space which apparently was not paid for this month. For reasons unknown to me, really, since I gave them a void cheque and a note saying it was ok for them to withdraw the money out from my account. Which is what they did previously and what I assumed they would continue to do. But, apparently, competence is a month by month thing.

I only found this all out as I was accosted by my PM (that's Property Manager, not Stephen Harper, though I would have prefered him) in my parking lot.

"You!" She snarled in her gruff Yugoslavian voice, marching towards me. "You no pay! We tow your car!"

I looked over at my friend, who, tipsy on wine, looked at the PM with interest.

"You sound Hungarian, are you from Hungary?"My friend casually enquired.

"No!" Shouted the PM and then turned back to me. "You didn't pay your fees. I was going to tow your car. We have been thinking about it for weeks. You pay or we tow it NOW!"

They had known I hadn't paid for weeks, and only now I was being informed about this? Not even being informed, being yelled at in public? And they were just going to tow me, without any warning whatsoever, written or verbal abuse?

(keep in mind that this is the same manager, who when she saw me a few weeks ago leaving the building, asked me "Who are you? Where did you come from? You're a guest, who are you with?" To which I replied, "Um, I live here")

Anyway, so I tried to speak, to tell her that I thought I had paid since they were authorized to take my money from my cheque, like they had done the month before.

"But I did-" I started.

She waved her angry, diminutive hand in my face, "No! I don't care! No excuses. You pay Andrew the money now or we tow. OK? We tow your car!"

She waddled off in a huff. I looked at my friend, not sure of what to say. I looked up at the building and the people that were peering out their windows at me. Great, this was just what I needed. A building and a PM who hate me.

Now I just have to find out who Andrew is.

Lost and Loving It

I should start off apologizing for last night's depressing post. Honestly, I don't know what got into me. It's like even thinking about drinking a bottle of wine tricked my mind into thinking that I already drank one and then all mayhem broke loose.

But yeah, it was so bad that I spent the better half of the night crying (for no apparent reason) and then thinking up ultra-cynical future posts, with titles such as: "Love is an Illusion", "Are We Ever Happy?" and "Lies We Tell Ourselves."

Then I woke up this morning and thought "what the fuck was I going on about?" Sure, I'm not exactly bounding about with a smile on my face, but it's nothing like last night. Or was that because I did one of those things that when you wake up, you can't remember what you were upset about, until later on in the day when you have had more time to think about it? Or maybe it's just PMS.

Time will tell.

********
On to Lost!

Last nights episode was one of the best I have seen in a LONG time. I don't know how they did it, but they managed to pack so much info and turning points into one hour (not even, with commercials). Here are the highlights:

*Sun is an adulturess whore. Yes, she had an ongoing affair with that bald dude and yes, it seems like the baby is probably his.

*Sun's daddy walked in on them NEKKID.

*Jin was asked to take a hit out on the bald guy, without knowing why. Oh, but Sun's daddy knows and he's the one who told Jin to kill him "because of family honor."

*Jin couldn't do it at the last minute but then bald guy took matters into his own hands and jumped out of a high rise window. So, in the end, bald guy dead on Jin's car, Sun feels ashamed about being a whore and Jin has no clue.

*Sayid and Jin hatch a stupid plan which places them on the beach with guns and Sun alone in the boat. Guess who comes aboard the boat? The Others. And guess who finds Sun with a gun in her hand? Some Other chick. And what does the Other chick say:
"We are not the enemy Sun. Put down the gun. I know you Sun (insert Korean last name here). I know all about you, and I know you aren't a killer."
And what does Sun do? Shoots the chick right in the chest! Whoooo go Sun! Being pregnant sure changes a person.

*Oh right and then Sun is found out and she jumps off the boat and swims to Jin and it's all good. And poor Jin, has no clue. STILL. What's he gonna say when the baby comes out bald and Korean? Oh. wait.



*Ah and in the most sensational point of the night, Sawyer risked getting tazered at the slave labour camp by kissing Kate. She tastes like strawberries and he tastes like fish biscuits. And of course, he got tazered. But not before he got hold of an AK-47 and threatened to blow everyone away. But then that Juliet chick threatened to kill Kate so he had no choice but give up. Which is when he got tazered.

*Danielle's daughter (Alex) wants her dress back from Kate.

*Henry Gale is really Ben Linus or something and he has been living on the island all his life. They do have contact with the outside world, and the Others ARE able to leave the island and so he was able to tell Jack that George W Bush has since been re-elected and that the Boston Red Sox won the World Series. Which Jack did not believe until Ben showed it to him on the TV. That was probably the most poignant moment of the show. Jack realizing that if he does as Ben asks (when the time is right, he says) Jack will be able to go home. And of course, proof that the Others can in fact leave. So why the hell are they still there?

On a final note, the preview for next week reveals another hell of episode. Not only will we find out what the hell happened to Eko, Locke and every other person (remember them?) on the island, BUT it appears that the hatch blast blew off Desmond's pants. So YAY for Nekkid Desmond!

Tune in next week.

Therein lies the rub

*cough* I seem to have found a drawback to living alone.

You're often alone when you don't want to be. And playing Coldplay on rotation does not help either.

The thing is, I do love being alone. I think I make excellent company. But I've been alone for the last three days, sitting by myself in my apartment. Yes, I've waxed (and waned) and used my time wisely. But like houseguests who start to smell like rotting fish after a few days (I think that's how the saying goes) I think my own company is starting to stink.

It doesn't help that my boyfriend and I live 30 minutes apart, so it's not like I can just drop by his place anyway. There is no room for spontaneity. We have to schedule our time together. We have to make 'dates' with each other. And the thing is, I'm the one who is always free. Isn't that sad? What happened to my busy life (or was that called University?). Yesterday I made plans with a friend, and then she bailed. Then she came out to see me tonight, but only for a quick bite and not for the episode of Lost like I had thought. And then my other friend couldn't make it over for Lost either. Boo.

So, I watched Lost alone (and which I will post about tomorrow...hoo boy, was that a doozy). Which I hate to do, because this is the type of show you need to watch with people (see above, re: a doozy).

Which makes me think: I need a hobby. Why is everyone else in my life busy except for me? Do I need to take on more responsibilities (please, GOD, say no)? Am I only feeling sad and lonely because I am in a relationship and therefore am sad and alone when I don't see my guy (keep in mind I don't see him often anyway)? And if so, when the hell did I become so pathetic? How come when I was single (THREE whole years), I was happy as a clam to hole up in my apartment and do whatever the hell I wanted, for weeks at a time. And now, if I go without seeing my boyfriend, or hanging out with people for more than four days (is four days a long time?), I get all weepy and self-loathing and weak?

Seems like a good time to delve into a bottle of wine, but I can't even do that because of my self-imposed no-drinking policy (2 1/2 weeks and counting without a drop).

*sigh* I don't want to be this weepy, pathetic shit. Bring back the Independent Woman.

What a woman will do for a man

There is a lot that women do for their men...at least, there is a lot that I do for mine. One of them involves inflicting bodily harm on myself.

Last night I reveled in the pleasure of living alone and decided what a good time it would be to indulge myself in a bit of pampering. Well, maybe it wasn't pampering, per say...

It involved my bikini line and a tub of hot wax.

I'm not going to go into much detail, because I don't believe in inflicting pain on anyone else aside from myself, but I will say a few things.

Normally, I use deplitory creams for hair removal. It's quick (kinda), easy and doesn't hurt a bit. It gets rid of ALL the hair too, so you can put it pretty much everywhere. Only problem is, it doesn't leave you as smooth as waxing and grows back pretty damn fast...which means you have to apply it every other day and then it starts to be a big pain in the ass.

So, I thought, why not try waxing. Yes, I realize I am insane for trying this by myself, but I'm too self-concious to just spread it for some chick at a salon and besides, I like a challenge. I tried waxing with cold strips before but they don't so much yank the hair out as they just broke it off at the surface and all you were left with was yucky stubble. Which would explain why it didn't hurt so much.

Anyhoo, last night I armed myself with the scalding tub of goo (didn't need strips which was cool), a cup of Earl Grey tea and a sugar-free oatmeal cookie and prepared to go bare. As in Brazilian. As in, all gone.

The worst part was when I spread the hot wax on (OW, should have waited till it cooled off) and waited 20 seconds for it to harden so I could rip it off.

This is when it hit me: "Oh shit. I think I've made a mistake. This is going to hurt like hell, isn't it?"

And then you realize that it's too late. Wax on, wax off. The only way to get the stuff off was to rip it out. I bit my lip and let it rip.

I must say, after my initial reaction (which was ##$%^&^@*!), it didn't actually hurt that badly. Of course, it hurt enough that I could only do half of myself.

The other half I will do tonight, after watching Lost and perhaps taking a few Advil. Now, here comes the bad part about living alone. I have never have anyone to see my wonderful wax job.

Boo.

But anyways, this brings me to the things that women do to please their men and keep them happy. Keeping myself tidy is something that I do, along with ALWAYS wearing matching lingerie, dressing nicely and making myself look presentable.

Do note though, that my boyfriend does not ask me to do these things, nor do I think he would care if I didn't do these things. Maybe he doesn't even notice, I don't know. That's not the point. The point is, that these are the types of things that women do, in order to keep their men happy, even if their men don't give a hoot anyway. But if women feel it will make them happy, it in turn, will make the women happy to do it. After all, my boyfriend says he loves it when I wear a wifebeater and cargo pants. But that's not going to stop me from dressing up (besides, aside from like Giselle, who looks hot in cargo pants anyway? I just look like a skid, which I was at 16.)

So what do you women think? What do you like to do for your man? Or do you subscribe to the uber-feminist view and think that we are just degrading ourselves by succumbing to societal stereotypes? And you men (I know you are out there) is there anything a woman does for you that you appreciate? Is there anything that YOU do for them?

Disclaimer

I have a painful post of which I will get to later, but before I go any further, I must say a few words about my previous post.

First of all, I appreciate all the support(?) and opinions that have flooded in on the topic. 60+ comments is insane and from now on, if I don't get 60+ comments, I will be bitterly dissapointed.

But I think a lot of people misinterpreted me. The point of the post was to state my opinion on the subject, provide argument fodder via the study and see what everyone else had to say. Which is basically what happened. But...

Some people took it to mean that my boyfriend is pressuring me to move in with him. That's an unfair and gross generelization on his behalf.

My boyfriend is not pressuring me to move in with him. In fact, he hasn't asked (and after this, probably never will haha) and we have never discussed living with each other. The only thing we have discussed is our differing opinions on the subject. To put into context, we have only been going out for about 8 or 9 months, and different views aside, we both know that moving in together is something that won't be discussed in any serious way for a very long time. The whole moving in together thing is a very big step to make if you have only been together a short amount of time. Plus, there is the fact that A) he would not ask me to move in with him since he has a roomate, lives in New Westminster and I just bought my own apartment, in downtown Vancouver, and have a mortgage to pay. And B) I would not ask him to move in with me (not only because of what I believe), my apartment barely has enough room for my clothes and he has a cat and my apartment does not allow pets. And don't be so naive as to think he would get rid of the cat. He would sooner get rid of me.

So there you go. Again, thank's for your support and it's nice to know that one day if the subject ever does come up, I will know what you think about the whole thing and to know that I am not alone. Most of the comments have been very nice, more than generous and I LOVE hearing everyone's conflicting and torn opnions on this volatile subject. Keep it up, this is what free speech and blogs are all about!

In the meantime, we are both very happy in our lives as it is and are eager to keep it this way. As for the pity posts from people worried that I will never get married because of this, all I have to say is this: what makes you think I wanted to get married anyway?

Anyway, if you have a particular view on the subject, still feel free to comment on the post below...let's see if we can get it up to 69!

The Cohabitation Conundrum

This is a post that a lot of you are not going to agree with. I can tell already because out of every single person that I know, I am the only person that feels this way.

I, for me, personally, do not believe in living together with a man before marriage. Let me rephrase that. I do not believe, for myself, that I would live with a man if I a) wasn't engaged b) didn't have an idea of where the relationship is going or even c) wasn't moving to a foreign land. If either A, B or C is met, then maybe I would reconsider my whole choice. But until then, I'm standing firm.

So, why make this choice?

Again, this is for me...not what I believe others should do. A lot of people I know cohabitate with their partners and they are happy. Sure, none of them are married or even engaged (well except one...but they already have a kid..yay AJ!) but I suppose they are all in our mid-twenties so it's kinda early.

So why then? Well, to put it simply, I love living alone. I hated having roomates and even then, atleast with a roomate you can shut your door and retreat to your room. With your partner, where the hell are you going to go when you want privacy? I love having my own schedule. I love having my own routine, where I can do my own little things, without having to bend to someone else. I love that I can sit around in my underwear, peel off my nail polish, eat a block of cheese and listen to bad music and no one can say boo. I like getting up in the morning and not have to schedule bathroom time. I like that I can throw my clothes on a pile on the floor. I like that my bathroom products have taken over my bathroom, to the extent that I can't close my cupboards.

I like the fact that not seeing my bf everyday makes it all the more sweeter when I do see him. I like having the chance to miss him (and I especially like that he can miss me).

And I like the fact, that one day when I do get married, I will have enjoyed my single life fully, having experienced what its like to live alone and that I got the most out of it. After all, once you are married, you can't turn back (unless you divorce, but who wants that). Once married you have YOUR WHOLE FREAKIN LIFE to live with the other person. Why rush into that before marriage? And doesn't moving in together for marriage, make marriage that much more new and exciting?



Here are some other downsides that I think about cohabition: a) A lot of couples become bored and complacent. They think, "What's the point of getting married? We're practically married already." b) As if a breakup isn't hard enough, now you have to find a new place to live! c) A lot of people do it for the wrong reasons... such as saving on rent ("Well, we are each other's places most of the time anyway and it would be cheaper")

Now I think I've screwed myself over for taking such an unpopular stance and for being, what I've been told, a bit naive. My own boyfriend does not agree with me. Having lived with a girl for four years before, he knows what its like to really get to know someone. I have not lived with someone, therefore I do not know the dynamics of what happens when you live together. Apparently, the relationship changes A LOT. This is probably why most people who live together DON'T make it to marriage. They get to really know the other person. And they don't like it. However, I also believe that you can learn just as much about someone without having to invade their single lives.

So there you go. I believe what I believe, and my bf believes that he wouldn't even consider marriage unless he lived with a girl beforehand.

Sometimes, I wish I did share the popular view. On the otherhand, if both people are happy having their own lives and having their own opinions on it, then what's the rush? Maybe that's a problem too. A lot of people rush into cohabitation thinking that it's the "next" step for them.

I do have to point something out though. There were a few studies conducted about couples who live together before marriage:

In theory, living together should help the odds, right? It should help prevent some bad marriages from ever occuring - shouldn't it?

Here's the surprising catch: for more than a decade, sociologists have measured that people who have cohabitated before marriage divorce more, not less.

According to this blog, which examines the most famous of the studies, there are several interesting factors about this study that was done.

1. It turns out that couples who moved in together with the full-intent of marrying - maybe they were even engaged - do not divorce more than those who never cohabitated.

2.But couples who moved in together because it was convenient, or because they felt they needed a trial period - those are the ones who tend to get divorced more often. Why didn't this filter work? Well, many couples who "try it out" do break up before marrying, but many of them also just follow the path of inevitability. They had reservations, but they get acclimated to those, and they believe they can live with it. They pretend, "It won't be a problem." Many couples who get divorced will tell you, "The warning signs were there, I just didn't think it would be a problem." So many of these couples "try it out" and ignore the evidence, if you will. They marry anyway, and somewhere down the road they realize "yup, it's a problem." This could be as mild-mannered as a personality conflict, or as major as alcoholism, or somewhere in between - like sexual compatibility.

Similarly, there are other websites(this one being straightforward and simple)who evaluate and answer this suprising fact. One site**** even has a panel of experts dissecting the question why the risk? More sources, such as CNN, Psychology Today and various universities also examine this hot and surprising topic. If you feel the need to butt heads with me, I suggest you visit these sights and read up on it a bit first.

So, while there is a ton you people out there who live with their significant others, or did live, I ask you...how many of you are married now? And if you did get married, did you find that living together before worked...or are you divorced? Do you think it doesn't matter? And if you don't live together, why?


****Sorry, link was wrong. This is the right one.

Who better, you bet!

Right, so last night I went to The Who concert.

I'll admit, I wasn't too excited about going. After all, I had bought the tickets back in July, so while I was excited on the day I bought the tickets, I had kind of forgot about it on the days...months...working up to this date.

But, nonetheless, Ross and I made our way over to GM Place for a night of loud classic rock. I felt a bit bad for Ross, since he was coming with me and didn't know anything about The Who, except that Pete Townshend was charged with kiddie porn or something a few years back (at least I think it was kiddie porn. I should really do my research before I write this crap but I'm going through Turkey withdrawl and can't be fucked). Anywho, Ross also only knew such songs as Who are You, Won't Get Fooled Again...and pretty much any other show featured on CSI. So it wasn't exactly like he was a huge fan, and come to think of it, I'm not really either since my Who albulms consist of The Best of the Who. And that's it. But, I do love every song on that albulm.

But enough of that. On with the concert review.

In one word: Rockstatic! (I know it's not a "real" word, but it's my blog so I can make shit up if I want to.)

The opening act was called Rose Hill Drive, some band that no one has ever heard of. But despite that, they had awesome 70's Rock hair, and an awesome 70's rock sound. They managed to blow out my eardrums, which was good cuz it then didn't hurt so much when The Who came out later. Ross was convinced that it was the former band members of Hanson, if the former members of Hanson had kept on growing their hair from the MMMBop days and had regressed back into Zeplinesque rock.

Then, after the band finished and before The Who came on, the lights came on in the stadium. It was so interesting to see all the different types of people who came to this almost-sold out show (why it wasn't sold out surprises me...perhaps because it fell on the Thanksgiving long weekend. But come on. It's classic, man!). There were little kids, teengaers, aging hippies, seniors, rock chicks, biker dudes, families...there wasn't any demographic that wasn't represented at this show and that suprised me too. For some reason I thought we would be the youngest ones there but how naive that was to assume that my generation wouldn't have found the magic that is The Who.

Let me paint a picture of the atmosphere for you here. Two girls my age to my left. A rock couple in front of us. A mom and her two teen daughters down further. A dancing and ecstatic Kenny Rogers look-alike and his wife, complete with aged leather The Who jacket and a fringed suede jacket for her. Three aging rockers behind us, complete with three fat spliffs and they are smoking all of them at once. The air smells like pot, warm beer and hot lights. The sound is of thousands of people chanting "Whooooooo." (Are they saying Who, or Who-urns? I was saying Who-urns.)

Daltry and Townshend came out in fine form, to the tune of I Can't Explain (with montage of the band in the 60/70's, including Keith Moon and John Entwistle, who died two years ago). As the concert wore on, it was obvious that these old men still knew how to rock your ass off. And even though Daltry and Townshend are the only two surviving members, the subsitutes did a great job. The drummer was none other than Ringo Starr's son, and the guitarist is Townshend's brother.

Daltry, looking spry and fit in his blue jeans and Elton-esque glasses, sang as clear as bell, and kept up to his old antics of swinging the microphone around (many times I thought he was going to smack Townshead, or himself, in the head with it). As for Townshead, he still has got it all in him. Not only did he rip the shit out of that guitar (or guitars, since he changed his guitar about a million times) but his jumping, kicking and famous windmill arm technique were still in action. Especially that windmill arm. It was present in any song that required them to "rock out."


Townshend, back in the day.


If curious, check out some short, shaky and shoddy footage of Teenage Wasteland/Baba O'Rielly.

Highlights of the night included the last song of the night, Won't Get Fooled Again, which I think was worth the price of admission alone. Just the way that Daltry screamed his gruff "yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" just before the end (Meet the new boss/same as the old boss) sent shivers down my spine. It was like he hadn't changed since they last went on tour, 20 years ago.

Then of course, there was an encore, which was epic in itself. A combination of Pinball Wizard (thank GOD, since I ws get distraught that I hadn't heard it played yet), Sparks (which is my favourite Who song, ever since hearing it on the Almost Famous soundtrack) and finally See me Feel Me. It left the audience singing their hearts out and waving their lighters and cell phones in the air.

The Verdict: The Who doesn't act a day over 1975. And my ears are still ringing. It was impressive, indeed.


***
Next up: The Rolling Stones on November 3rd, with opening act Van Morrison. Yay!

When I was 17....

A dear but crazy friend of mine recently got an old roll of film developed. We aren't sure exactly of when the photos were taken, maybe when I was 17 or 18. I don't remember the day or anything, except we are at White Spot, probably hungover and afraid of our existence in this cold cruel world. It's weird to see photos of times you don't remember, not even remembering that there were photos taken. It's also weird to compare yourself to recent photographs. You can't help but think, Gee, back then I had no clue what to do with myself, did I? The evolution is clear. Unless I still don't know what to do with myself. Then I guess it's not so clear.


Crystal and I in 1999(or 2000. Not sure)








Crystal and I in 2004 (or 2005...not sure)





***
Happy Thanksgiving to all the Canadians out there. Once again, I am alone on Thanksgiving with no turkey to speak of. It's all right though. Usually we just order KFC cuz we are a bunch of lazy bastards. Turkey is for Xmas. Plus, my parents are immigrants from Norway and Finland and Thanksgiving just isn't very important to us. What are we giving thanks for again? I can understand the American Thanksgiving because of the landing at Plymouth Rock and all that. But our Thanksgiving doesnt even fall on the same date every year. What's up with that?

I'm going to see the who?

That's right. Tonight I am going to see the "loudest rock band on Earth".....

The Who, live in concert. Townshend. Daltry. Loudness.

Yup.

The Greatest Upset in the History of Football(?)

This morning, a nice, quiet, cozy Saturday morning, my alarm went off at 8 AM. The alarm never sounds so harsh as it does on a day in which you really should be sleeping in.

But today was not the case. Today there was an engagement at 9AM at the British Ex-Servicemen's Pub.

This is not the first time I have been summoned to this creeky old pub in the wee hours of the morning. My first time can be told in semi-great detail here. And since our (meaning Ross's) team won yet again I can't help thinking that I am some sort of lucky charm.

Anyhoo, the game went on and the bar was divided roughly in half. In corner we had Scotland and their game and in the other corner, well no, in the rest of the bar, we had the English watching their own 2008 Uefa qualifying match, albiet on the giant screen. Too bad their game sucked. I don't think it was the smartest idea for them to kick David Beckham out of the squad...isn't he supposed to be really good and bend it like himself and all that?

But that's a different game and one that amounted to nothing. Here, in our wee corner, we had the ultimate underdogs, the "shite" (quoting a Scotsman so I'm allowed to say it) Scottish team and the French. Oh the French, who not only have won the World Cup in years past but were in the finals this year (remember that little headbutt incident and the whole insulting yo mama and sister thing...man, if that were to happen every time some guy insulted someone's mum or sister...I think Ross and Jeff would have headbutted each other into oblivion ages ago). So, needless to say, it didn't look so good for the Scots. In fact, the consensus was that a draw at 0-0 or 1-1 would have left them ecstatic.

But, as luck and the graces of God, would have it, Scotland actually managed to sneak a beauty of a goal, 67 minutes in. The winning goal was scored by this guy --->
Gary Caldwell, whom would usually be called a Munter or a Git because he plays
for the Celtics and not for the beloved Hearts of Midlothian (who,
by the way, beat out both the Celtics and The Rangers for the coveted Tennant's Cup this year). But today, all of that silly footy hooligan shennanigans were put aside and the Scots played as country, as a nation, as a team, damn it!


Of course, a lot can be said for this guy-->
Craig Gordon who does play for the Hearts and who managed to frustrate the crap out of the French by casually dismissing everyone of their attempted goals.

See, with Zidane gone and no one else to take his role as supreme headbutter (or Golden God of Football), France has to conceed victory to the Underdogs that is (excuse me, was) the Scotland team.

And to get other nations to hate me further, I must add that England played Macadamia nuts(Macedonia) and it was a draw. 0-0. Gee, that's just too bad.

The only downer to the fact that Scotland won against France 1-0, and now is at the top of their group for the UEFA Cup, is the fact that we are not in Edinburgh tonight, drinking like idiots and causing riots of national importance. Of course, we can do that here too. If you see a car driving down the street with a drunk Scot puking out the pasenger window and the Scottish flag being waved from the driver's seat, it just might be us.

Just a Wannabe Slut

Remember, way back in the day, when the word "Slut" used to be a bad thing? When calling a woman "Easy," "Slutty" or "The Town Bicycle" would add up to a justifiable slap in the face?

Well, I can't help but think this just isn't true anymore.

When did women whose bed posts are covered in many notches, become revered, or admired, or even...cool?

And when did women start feeling ashamed for not having that many sexual partners?

This is a bit of a dicey topic, (especially for someone like me, who does not have the comfort of annonymity) to blog about. But it's something I think about often, especially on the Blogsphere, where so many a blog are devoted to sexual escapades with random people, and how these people are applauded for their racy way of life.

The problem is not that these women (I'm not going to comment on men, because I haven't found guys to be more or less sexually picky as before) are loving sex, getting it wherever they can. Whatever works for them, whatever floats their boat, whatever makes them happy is great. Good for them. Girl Power, the Feminist Movement and all that shit.

No, the problem I find with the fact that being a slut is now something you should achieve to be, is that the social stigma that was once associated with it has now been transported on to the girls who don't have casual sex, the girls who can count the men they've fucked on one hand and the girls that believe love and sex go together. I'm not saying I am one of these girls (though I am two out of the three). In other words, the "prudes" are the ones who are looked down upon.

It something that should just be in high school (where I was in fact called a lesbian by my "good" girlfriends because I only had sex with my boyfriends and not random guys) but has now spread into societal norm. Gone are the days where women were once praised for being selective, picky, chaste, or even, gasp, a virgin. Now, it seems to me, that both men and women are judgemental of the women out there who don't subscribe to the whole "Cooler Than Thou Sex Kitten" point of view.

I know I've had both men and women (my friends too) who give me a look of pity when I tell them that my number of partners isn't in the double digits. They think I am missing out on life, that I am naive, innocent and ignorant. But let's take a woman who has only slept with one man but has had sex every single day, for the last 5 years. Does that make her a prude or "sexually deficient" when compared to a woman who has slept with 20 men, all of them one night stands?

When has being selective about our sexual partners become a gauge of how sexual we are?

It's even gone so far, as that I feel like a freak of nature for my choosen status. I even envy all the women out there who can have casual sex with whomever they want, whenever they want because, in a way, it's a form of power that I just can not possess. When your boyfriend* has slept with a ton of more people than you, you feel terribly un-powerful, disposable and un-special. If I slept with a lot more men, it would level the playing field. But I know that I just couldn't do that, and if I did, it would go horribly wrong. I would probably get screwed over (pardon the pun) or a disease or end up with a stalker or just get attached to a guy when really my point would have been to just have sex without attachment.

Maybe it's just that Sexually Empowered (to be PC) women are now considered the "coolest" women in society, and boy do they know it too.

And I, little ol' me, am someone who will never be "cool."


*see comments

Hi-Diddly-Dee, No Overtime For Me

So, there are new developments on the "job front."

The first one deals with rejection.

I was rejected from a job that I didn't even apply for. Yes, I have a feeling it has to do with the way I handled the interview. And no, I didn't want the stupid job. But, God Damn it, rejection hurts!

In a polite email I was told "Your skill set is not applicable for this position."

Keep in mind that this was for what amounted to a computer programming position and nowhere on my resume does it say "Computer Programming Experience."

Are they idiots? I could have told them that! What, did they see "Journalist" or "World Traveler" or "Passed Math 11" on my resume and think, "Hmmm. She would be perfect for computer programming!"?

Sigh.

Then I find out that we (us temps) are no longer eligible for overtime. This both sucks and blows. First of all, I get paid a lousy wage, so OT was the only perk to the job (aside from the 8 hour breaks). It was the only way I would be able to pay my mortgage AND have a life. Now, with no opportunity for more money, I'm barely able to make ends meet and I have no life. I went to buy my lunch yesterday ($5) and my debit card was declined. And I have a $500 overdraft!

Now comes the regret...Why, oh why, did I buy a pricey pair of new boots? Why, oh why, did I go to Ikea? Why, oh why, did I lose my last cheque? Why, oh, why did I buy that dress? (Cuz it was cute, Damn it, and on sale. That's why!)

I think I'm going to have to auction myself off on Ebay again.

SATC and HNT

Though the two acronyms seem unrelated (though you know Samantha would be doing HNT right now...more likely FNT)they both raise interesting questions.

First let's discuss HNT. For the longest time, I had no idea what HNT stood for. Sure, I haven't been blogging for all that long, so I didn't know that there is a phenomenom on the Blogsphere called Half Nekkid Thursday, where bloggers (anonymous and not) will post pictures of themselves, half naked. Now I want to know...Do their bosses not mind them coming to work half-naked? Does HNT ever border on pornography? Where the hell did this whole day come from? And would I ever consider posting a picture of myself on my blog, half-nekkid?

Of course, I don't know the answers to any of these questions, except for the last one. That answer is no. As I am at work and wearing jeans and a t-shirt that says "More Cowbell" I don't think I could even remotely resemble anything sexy, let alone half-nekkid. Of course, if anyone does do this, I would like to know your reasons for it...and any answers to the above questions.

*******

The second part of this post, is about SATC, or Sex in the City for those whose accronym (am I even spelling that right?) knowledge may need some help.

Mainly it is about SATC and it's effect on the male population. As we all know, most females watch SATC and swear on it like the Bible. Though it is a TV version of a single woman's life (ie, who the hell would spend $40K on shoes on a journalists salary? Who can wear a tutu in real life and look cute?), most of the show resonates with all women out there, single or not. Stuff happens on the show, to which you cry out "OMG that happened to me!" or, stuff may happen in your life to which you cry out "OMG just like Carrie on SATC!"

But as some women follow the show, relate to the characters and covet their choices in life, a lot of men don't give a rats arse about the show. In fact, a lot of men HATE the show.

To which I would like to ask, why? If you are a man (or you have a man) who hates SATC, why does it rub you the wrong way (is it because of the hunk below)? If you are a man (or you have a man) who loves the show (I know one or two), why do you like watching it? And if you are a man who doesn't like to admit he watches, fess up. We know who you are.






My contribution for HNT------------>

More LOST than ever

Last night was the hotly anticipated Season Premiere of Lost, and in true fashion, it raised more questions than it was supposed to answer. Although, sometimes I think that the writers will actually never answer any of our questions and instead will continue to tease us like a Virgin in a low-cut top. However, one website has a list of questions that the producers said will be answered this season. We hope.

That said, they did (kinda) answer a major question during the season opener. We finally found out where the Others live. OK, well kinda. Apparently they live in a Wisteria Lane-type community which would look perfect in any Californian town, only their town happens to be on the Island, in what looks like a huge crater. A town in which they have bookclubs, read Stephen King's Carrie and don't seem to believe in anything supernatural or hokey pokey (which contradicts wildly with the whole ghostly, creepy crap that goes on in Craphole Island).

We were also introduced to a new character, Juliet, who spends the better half of her morning in this peaceful sham of a Utopia, listening to "Downtown" and trying her darndest not to bawl her eyes out. Word on the street is that Juliet will be Jack's love interest for the season (until she drowns in that aquarium or gets blown away by Michael or something....speaking of, will Walt and him ever come back? I loved that kid. He creeped the crap outta me).

As for Kate and Sawyer, its pretty obvious what is going on here. Could she look any cuter in that sundress and could Sawyer be any sweeter by giving her his only fish biscuit? I think it's safe to say that with Jack occupied with Juliet (is she the chick from CSI Miami?), we are gonna get some Team Sawyer Skate action (Skate = the combo of Sawyer and Kate). This I have been waiting for all season. I'm sorry but the two misfits belong together, they understand each other and for Kate, Jack is too much "holier than thou" and cries way, way too much...("Whaaaaaa. Daddy issues. Whaaaaa. Sarah left me. Whaaaaa. Can't save everyone. Whaaaa. Party of Five").

Of course, the questions I have now are: why are they living on the island in a suburban sub division (not too far off from my theory that Club Med is on the other side of the island)? Why was Kate crying when she came back from her surreal breakfast on the beach with Henry Gale (Ben)? Why did Ben lock Juliet in the room with Jack, even though he could have easily saved her? Why is Jack's ex such a bitch (why did she seem to derive pleasure from seeing him suffer)? And, excuse me, what the hell happened to every other frickin person the island such as yum-my Desmond?

Tune into next week, I suppose.

Your thoughts?

Getting comfortable

An email appeared suddenly in my inbox, springing upon me without warning:

"Hi Wanderlusting. You have been selected for a job interview within the blahblah division. Please meet us at Starbucks at 2:30 for your interview."

I don't recall applying for any jobs within EA, so you can imagine I was a bit confused as to why I was being forced to have a job interview within a division I had never heard of. The blahblah division? What a stupid name.

So, at 2:30, I flounced (yes, I sometimes flounce about at work, though stomp like an elephant most of the time...usually in the morning)over to Starbucks and sat down with three people from the blahblah division. One of the interviewer's I had seen before, flouncing about the office. I was a bit confused about her gender before, but now I know for sure. It is a her.

Anyhoo, I had my interview. They explained there were two different positions that they were trying to recruit for and they figured it was best to start with us losers (read: temps). I don't know what the positions are really about because all I got out of it was that it had to do with getting the computers to test the game, and not actually having to test the game yourself. Kinda like a phantom is playing with the console.

That sounded fine and dandy, but I was getting a bit aprehensive. I was getting so comfortable with my team and NBA 07. I was enjoying the fact that my working hours and my breaks blend into each other so that I can't tell whether I am on my break or not. Maybe they won't want to hire me, I thought. Maybe I can stay in my perpetual break and not have to learn anything new.

But it seemed they really liked me and were impressed by my resume. Damn it!

Then came the questions...

Q: Ever had a manager you didn't get along with?
A: My last boss was a dick and a horrible human being.

Q: It says here that you know how to use Office and Excel...
A: Yeah, no, I don't. I did the Excel test for the temp agency and failed splendidly.

Q: So, what are your favourite kinds of video games?
A: I don't normally play video games. I hate them.

Q: What do you like best about working as a game tester?
A: I get to blog on the internet all day long.

Q: Uh. So, what brought you here to EA?
A: I applied for the job as a joke and here I am!

Q: Well, thanks for dropping by....

I hope to hell that my honesty isn't endearing.

4 8 15 16 23 42 - My Addicton Returns

That's right folks. It is Wednesday, October 4th (or 4rth, according to one website) and my drug will finally be in my veins again, as of 9 PM tonight.

I'm talking about the greatest show on Earth: Lost.

It returns after a summer hiatus with a vengence and I plan to be there for the entire ride. You see, for me, Lost is more than a show. It's a hobby. For no other TV show have I joined chat rooms, watched episodes over and over again, bought fan mags and books and hugged other people who also love the show.

It all started at the end of Season One. I bought the DVD, thinking that I should get into this show but should probably watch it all at once, from day one. From then on, I was hooked, as was my mom, my friends and anyone else who would waddle into my life and go "Lost? Never seen it." It is the result of my diligent conversion that I have turned people on to the show, and I'm not done yet. Anyone out there not seen it? GO and get Seasons one and two, be prepared to spend a few days holed up inside and you will immerge a Lost-addicted butterfly (or Moth).

So what do I want answered tonight (or atleast in this season)?:

*Is Claire Jack's half sister (remember his dad banging on the door in Sydney, demanding to see his love-child)?

*Will Kate choose Jack or Sawyer?

*Who is the father of Sun's baby?

*Who are these Other's and why am i so fond of the big guy with the fake Beard?

*Will Charlie stop acting like such a tool?

*Are Locke and Mr. Eko alive?

*Who will Eko beat next with his Jesus stick?

*With Ana Lucia and Shannon dead, who will be the resident bitch?

*Will the cast please stop getting arrested for driving offences?

*When will Hurley ever have sex?

*Will anyone get to have sex and not die immediatley afterwards?

*Do they have tampons on the island?

*And finally, will we see more of Desmond? yum-my!

Oh la la, c'est la vie

Remember when I went to Paris last year?

No?

Well, I do. And its a place that has been on my mind ever since.

I went alone, as I do, and still managed to have the best time ever. I mean, how could I not? I had ten days in the City of Lights and I maximized every aspect of it. I stayed near the Eiffel Tower in a quaint hotel, as well as in a virbant hostel in the equally vibrant Montmartre area. I walked until my feet bled, saw 10 museums in 3 days, got stood up by a Parisian man, stalked by a Tunisian man and climbed the bell towers of the Notre Dame.










Of course, though I had a blast by myself (as I do)there was lot to be said about going with someone as well. Now that I have done the whole "travel Europe by yourself for three months" thing, I feel it might be nice to go back with someone.


And so it all started with one sentence in an email from Ross the other day: "Fuck it, let's do Paris." Now I'm pretty sure he meant the city and not Paris Hilton. Nonetheless, it set forth a chain of events and here I am now, blogging at work and looking at my itinerary for our Seattle to New York to Paris flights, booked for December 20th to January 3rd.
Now, we are just flying into Paris, taking the train down to Lyon to visit his sister and then fly outta Lyon to Amsterdam to Glasgow to Edinburgh just before Christmas. We'll spend a jolly week in Aberdeen/Edinburgh, perhaps take in a Hearts game, before flitting back to Paris on the 28th for 6 days of...um, sight seeing and New Years Eve.

Of course, this will all be during the dark days of winter but shut up. It's New Years in Paris, damn it. Anyway, last time I went I was sweating like a pig 24/7, so this might be a nice change of pace. Besides, wasn't it during the winter when Carrie went with that creepy old Russian guy to Paris? Not that Ross is a creepy old Russian guy or a Mr. Big. No wait. Nah, I won't go there.

I love being productive at work.

Muscle Relaxers and Fine Dining

So I held true to my word. Right after work, I zoomed over to a pharmacy and bought some extra-strength muscle relaxers. I popped a few of them and wondered what would happen. Mayhem? Anarchy? Lethargy? Giganitism?

An hour later, I was sitting in my car, staring blankly at the steering wheel and waiting for Ross to leave his house so we can get going. Perhaps not the best time to take the pills, since they say Do Not Drive on the package (albeit in small letters) and Ross and I had dinner reservations at 8PM. Despite all the drama-rama over the last week, it was still our 8 month anniversary and his father had slipped a one hundred dollar bill into my hands before he left.

"Take Ross out somewhere nice."

I think it was his plan to get us back together. I know Ross was afraid I was going to take the money and run, spend it on shoes. I thought about but decided that I was hungry. And I like to share.

Anyhoo, we had booked a night of fine dining at the Stonegrill. I had heard about the place before, how they bring raw food on steaming Volcanic rocks to your table. Ross looked a bit aprehensive, especially about the whole raw food thing, but I figured if it weren't for the generous donation from his dad, we would have never gone to a restaurant like this. When it's not your money, you can afford to be a bit more adventurous.

And I was feeling quite adventurous, especially after taking the pills. I felt my entire body starting to relax and then my hands went numb. Not good when driving. But I made it all the way to Vancouver, although Ross looked like he wanted to take over the wheel for a bit. I must have had a stupid grin on my face (normally I drive with an angry scowl).

Yet, somehow, the pain in my shoulder (and now neck) had not gone away. So I popped some more pills and we made our way down to the restaurant. It wasn't very busy, but the setting out on False Creek is phenomenal. Lots of twinkling lights, the spans of the Granville and Burrard Bridges, the wee ferries that putter back and forth.

Then we opened the menu. There were instructions on the menu. They gave you instructions on how to eat your food. I don't know what I was expecting. I knew it had something to do with rocks and stuff. But I assumed that they cooked it at your table. Or just served your food on a rock. But, in fact, they serve you the raw food (steak, seafood etc...but not chicken, thank God)which is sitting on a 400 C degree Volcanic rock. It doesn't start cooking until you slice into it. Which means you cut a slice of raw steak. You press the peice against the rock and hold it there for as long as you need...2 seconds for rare, 5 for medium, etc.

After the waiter showed us how to do it, we were off and running. I think Ross was as happy as a pig in the shit, as for once, the steak was done just the way he wanted it and he didn't have to either send it back or eat it and be miserable. It was, as he said, "Magic, best steak I've ever had." Plus, having your own little cooking station at your table makes you feel a bit like Jamie Oliver.

I had the Ahi Tuna and Salmon combo, which is quite safe considering I will eat either of those raw anyways.

All in all, it was a fantastic dining experience, even if I was as high as a kite during most of it. I'm surprised my head didn't slam down against the hot rocks, or that I didn't stand up and cry out "Stellaaaaaa!" (I really wanted to but my muscles wouldn't allow for it). I was also so high that I forgot to bring my camera (I know, I know), so you can bet we wil be going back.

Anyhoo, go check it out. Pricey but worth it. And though I thought it wasn't a chain, they do have Stonegrills in various cities around the world. Yum.

****
BTW I still have the pain in my shoulders, although now it feels a bit tenderized. I've taken a pill or two this morning (can't remember how many) hoping it will either go away and/or I will have an excuse to act like Elaine from Seinfeld:

Sugar High

Arg. It started with a horrible, sickening pain in my right shoulder. Maybe this is a side-effect of gameplaying...worker's comp, here I come. Not that I'm actually playing anything. Hmmm. Maybe its a result of blogging. Either way, I was dying here so I took two tabs of Alka Seltzer cuz it's all I had in my bag. No doing.

Then I bought Advil from the makeshift pharmacy. I've taken three pills. I'm still in pain.

So, I think, what will make me feel better? CANDY! Despite being on a NO SUGAR diet (which doesn't mean no nookie), I had a relapse last night and went to 7/11 for Nerds and Bottle Caps. I ate some bottle caps last night before bed. Then I woke up at 5AM because of the darn cat and ate some more. Then I got up in the morning and ate the rest before I brushed my teeth. I got to work and polished off the rest of the Nerds.

NOW I WANT MORE SUGAR! RAAAAAAR! So, I get up to go to the vending machine and see all the chocolates of the world. I don't really want chocolate, I want teeth-rotting stuff, but I give in. I put in a dollar.

And the machine spits it out. Repeatedly.

I wonder if it was trying to tell me something?

*****
On another note, I have found my costume. A basic black vinyl jumpsuit (+ a black leather corset I already own), a short, dark wig and blue contacts.

Soon, I will go from this: to this:

October already?

Didn't really realize it until this morning, when I looked back at my post from yesterday.

It said, October 1st.

And all I have to say to that is, What the Hell?

Now don't get me wrong, I love fall. Crisp mornings, crunchy leaves, golden colours, excuses to go shopping for a new wardrobe, cute boots and the whole shebang.

But my, that came fast, didn't it?

Of course my favourite part of fall is Halloween, which happens to be my favourite holiday. I know it's not technically a holiday but in my books it is. It's right up there with Xmas! In fact, I think October will be devoted to Halloween posts...or maybe just one or two.

Anyhoo, here comes a new dillema. What to be for a Halloween? I've always put a lot of thought into this, and I'm always a movie character or actor: Marilyn Monroe (twice), Holly Golightly, Cinderella...

Last year I was Uma Thurman from Kill Bill. It was pretty cool but the costume was hot and sweaty and originally made me look like I was wearing a giant yellow garbage bag. I had to do a hell of a lot of adjusting, not an easy feat for the alteration challenged such as myself. Somehow though, I managed to take in about 6inches worth of material on each leg (and around the bum) and I took in the jacket by a row of heavy duty safety pins running down the spine. But in the end, it was a hit, I looked cool (so I thought) and I was the only Kill Bill around.

Although I did spot the Black Mamba. We had a tussle.

So, it's time to start thinking...what shall I be? I was thinking, so far, as being Kate Beckinsdale from Underworld. Getting a dark, short wig, blue contacts, going all pale and slipping on a badass, black leather suit.

Damn. I've gotta start working out.

Here comes trouble

Like I said, it follows me wherever I go. For example, Saturday night:

Trouble Magnet

My friend since grade one finally made the trek out to see me and my new place (she has two kids and lives in Surrey so its not like she can grace me with her prescence all that often). Anyway, we decided to have a nice girls night out on the town. Wait. Before we go any further, I just have to say: Like my new boots and dress?

Anyhoo, I had gotten a phone call from an unrecognizable person, and was told to go to the Roxy. It sounded like whoever it was was having a great time, even though it was only 9pm. Turns out it was Poonam, who was out on the town with her bf Ben and their friends. Well, to make a long story short, we went to the Roxy. They were all hosed. They got into a scuffle with the bouncer which later turned into a 15 person brawl, spilling out onto Granville street.

Poonam and I hiding from the cops. Might as well take a photo.

The velvet rope was used as a weapon, people were shoved against streetlights, shirts came off and chaos ensued. Amanda and I had to flee the scene as it threatened to engulf us. Later we found Poonam and her bf hiding out in a tatoo parlour, waiting for it all to die down. Turns out her bf Ben was wanted by the police and they were on the lookout for him. So, we hankered down there and spent a good 20 minutes hiding out from the cops. Don't know what much I had to do with it but I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. Besides, it was kinda exciting and I think it made Amanda's trip out here worthwhile.

So after that we parted ways. They went on to cause more mayhem, I'm sure, while Amanda and I went to the bar/lounge/club Balthazaar, which is just down the road from me. It was pretty cool, no cover and awesome food. Music was good too and they have a small, hot and sweaty dance floor in an adjoining room which is great if you want to groove after eating. The drink list was amazing too. They had a Kir Royale, which I drank all the time in France. Normally, it's white wine and cassis but here it was made with champagne which made it all more tempting. I was this close to having a glass, but I stuck with my diet pepsi. What a good girl I am.

Then, keeping with the Saturday tradition of seeing people from work while I'm out on the town, I ran into this guy (see above) Owen, who is a fucking riot. He's Irish which might have something to do with it, as all Irish people I know make me laugh like hell. Turns out he lives down the block from me (as does the guy I met last week) so now it seems I'll have three carpool buddies. Yay.

****

Keeping with the good girl scheme, I went to church today. It's not that I deserve a pat on the back, but since I never go and have been feeling out of sorts and confused lately, I thought it would be good for me. Turns out it was the right thing to do. Though I was nervous about going alone (and afraid it was going to be one of those stiff, boring, judgemental churches) it ended up lifting my spirits. Plus the eccentric pastor did a sermon on Vancouver, which was dead on. For example:

"Vancouver is not a bad city. It's the people in the city that are the problem."

Amen to that, I say. I should know. I drive everyday.