All Apologies

This has been one CRAZY MO-FO week in more ways than one. I won't go into the details because I like to hold off on them for awhile (as some of you know) and I simply have not had the time to blog. Not because I am so called "happy" but because I am so called "stressed" to the maximum. Rest assured I will fill you in on my hell week starting next Tuesday but until then I am going to be a busy little bee.

Plus it is the Canada Day long weekend and I am getting shit-faced on our boat. With Josh, my dad and the Object of My Affection (whom I am now dubbing Rockstar just because he is - kinda). Me and three boys (Ok, one boy, one man and my dad!) Oh, could it possible get any better?

Yes it can:



See you after the weekend!

Oh the joys of ...

I just had a most wonderful weekend which consisted of drunken antics at a rock concert, 3 AM Denny's, my childhood best friend's Staggette party (my first one ever)...

...and much-needed and profuse amounts of giddy, high-schoolesque making out. Sigh. Honestly, a lot can be said for some good old-fashioned action. None of this "let's jump down each other's pants right away" business, but just slighty innocent tonsil hockey on the side of a busy downtown street - or outside of Denny's. It's a forgotten art, I tells ya!

I would love to elaborate more (though you are probably happy I'm not because I would only make you feel disgusted) but I am afraid I am under the influence of being in a happy bliss bubble, so I will just leave you with a post about Facebook that I contributed to Peter deWolfe's blog Burt Reynolds Mustache on Friday. Enjoy!

Flattery will get you everywhere

I've never been one to accept compliments very well - but there are some that absolutely make my day. Yes, I often hear "you're beautiful" or "you're pretty," which of course is very nice to hear but in actuality it makes me really uncomfortable. Mainly because I don't believe it myself so I think these people are just humouring me. Or just being very unoriginal (but by all means, that should not stop you from saying anything!)

But to hear I am "smart" or a "great writer," well, that really puts a smile on my face. And today, I received - to me anyways - the best compliment of them all. I was beaming...like this picture of me in my elevator...with....people:




The object of my recent affection, whom I have been trying to make laugh ever since I met him because he happens to have the most wonderful smile ever, told me today that "You make me laugh so much - in all honesty, I don't think I have ever met a funnier girl."

Success! Of course, most of you are probably scratching your heads and thinking "she's funny?" But, meh, you oughta meet me. Actually, don't - I'll just disappoint you.

Of course, this compliment is coming from a guy whom I think is just the wittiest guy that I have ever met, so it really means a lot. Sigh...there I go, beaming again.

So, what is a great compliment to you? When people say you are a good person? A great singer? A sexy beast? Fill me in...

BTW - this is Josh and I at my recent party - despite what it looks like, he is not the object of my affection. Well, not in that way...

Do opposites attract...or subtract?

We’ve all heard the saying “opposites attract” but how many of us actually believe it to be the truth?

Personally, I tend to think that the opposite of opposites attract….whatever that may be. I tend to gravitate to people who are like me, who laugh at the same things I laugh at and like the same things I like.

But perhaps this isn’t what the saying means. What, really, is opposite? Is it someone whose personality is very unlike yours? Or is it someone whose interests and appearance stray from your own? For example...take Lady and the Tramp (see above, left)...the two dogs couldn't be more opposite but one spaghetti meal later and BLAM! Instant love.

The other day I was talking to a friend from work about meeting people you used to go to elementary school with. I pointed out that the novelty quickly wears out when you realize you have nothing in common with them. To that, he said, “Well what’s the fun in that? I don’t want to meet people that I am like. I want to meet people that I am Unlike. Like lion tamers…” and so on.

So when they say, opposites attract, what kind of opposite are we talking about here? And is there any truth in the matter? Or is it more of opposites attracting and then not lasting?

For example, take someone like me. I am fairly quiet (I think), I dress up quite a bit (and rarely dress down though I have my days) and my taste in music is quite particular…though I love classic rock, hard rock (of today) isn’t quite up my alley (the 90’s though, was a different story…I recently acquired Sirius Satellite radio and by far my favourite channel is the 90’s Alternative and Grunge Channel. Pure bliss!). So, for someone like me to go out with a guy who is in a rock band (let’s say, guitarist), would be quite weird, right? Wouldn’t a better match for this person be an alterna-girl with two-tone hair, cargo pants and trainers?

Or would this possibly work because perhaps we have the same sense of humour and love all the same movies and shows (and the ability to quote them endlessly and never get tired of it)? OR do you need more than that? How much do you need in common to make something work? Does it matter at all?

Looking back, everyone I have gone out with had many differences as well as similarities. In fact, my last relationship ended because we were “too different.” Apparently, this takes some people over a year to figure out…and apparently, you can think you are the same as someone, all the while they are actually thinking the opposite. And thus apparently, being “different” can be seen as a bad thing to some.

That said, the fact there were some differences opened me up to whole bunch of new experiences and things. My high school boyfriends introduced me to new music (Bad Religion, Nine Inch Nails), while my last boyfriend introduced me to football (AKA soccer), which I have actually grown to love and am SO excited to go to the Vancouver Whitecaps VS LA Galaxy game in October (HELLO DAVID BECKHAM!) and Arrested Development (which ironically, has led me to “bond” with others who like the show and thus starting a whole new set of things in “common”).

So what do you think? Is it best to pair up with people who are like you? Do opposites really attract – and do they last? What really matters in the end?

Age aint nothing but a number

First, an update on yours truly…
My new roomie: I am having a blast with Josh – he truly is the most fun, level-headed 18-year old who has ever graced me with their presence. It will be sad when he eventually goes – not only will I lose my dancing in my underwear partner but I will lose someone I can drag out to the movies and to dinner every night. He’s like a boyfriend in training that listens to me talk about boys, lets me subject him to MST3K, BBC’s The Office (season one, thus far), Extras and Arrested Development (still, season one, thus far) AND does the dishes while I am at work.

My job: Crazy good. I’m bonding with the receptionist L again (who is truly lovely), getting kudos from the execs (B patted me on the back the other day and told me I was doing a good job), writing for the newsletter (it felt so good to be writing articles again, and having complete creative control over the thing) and sharing with other employees on Facebook – including my boss. Plus one of the execs is back from her honeymoon and she is putting me more in charge of different avenues – one of which include spreading my expertise to crafting Keynote presentations. And she also just added to Facebook as we speak. Good Lord! Anyhoo, we had a photo shoot too and soon my picture will be up on the company website.

On the down side (cuz there always is one), the ex-office manager who was moved/promoted to a different position, has been micro-managing me. My own boss is aware of this and is pissed about it because it in her words, “I don’t f*%%#^&* micro manage you, who the F%#$$ is she to do that to you?” Apparently it’s not just me though, she treats L like her bitch, giving her a million things to do a day that she could easily do herself. It got so bad that L has been bursting in tears at work and had to write the girl a letter – which did not go down too favourably. There is some bad blood now-which I, thankfully, am not involved with. Still, I’m a bit wary. I appreciate that the ex-office manager wants me to succeed (as she says in her frequent and LONG emails to which state everything that I should be doing in my job), but I do not appreciate that she also sends these emails to my boss, as if to say “if Lusty isn’t doing this stuff then she’s not doing her job.” Luckily, my boss doesn’t appreciate the emails either.

Life in general: Is fabulous FINALLY – and I’m not exaggerating or saying it for the hell of it. Maybe it’s the Bible, maybe it’s reuniting with old friends, maybe it’s just about time, but I’m finally at the point in my life where I am waking up in the morning with the most excellent smile on my face. I’ve been in the most buoyant, joyous state, which I first thought was a good mood but now I realize it is just me. And I love me! The darkness has finally past and June has-so far-turned out to be s’wonderful and s’marvelous. Yes, there have been a few moments of pain but they never linger, never last and before you know it I’ve forgotten about it. It just seems like an old, vaguely remembered life that I have closed the door on and now I’m just so excited for the here, the now and what lies ahead. My heart is healed, I feel complete and I am moving on. Things always work out for the best and this is no exception.

Anyway, my topic for today’s post is about AGE.

I have always thought that I would never go out with someone that was my own age or younger. This is usually because of the adage that girls mature faster than boys, as well as the fact that everything is still inexplicably linked to high school. It compartmentalized ages into neat groups and you were usually chastised for stepping out of them (case in point: my first boyfriend was 16 and I was 14…and I thought I was soooo cool. However, if a girl in grade 11 went out with a guy in grade 9…well that would be so “Harold and Maude”).

And even in our adult years, it is still somewhat of a novelty when a woman goes out with a younger man. While the reverse is accepted and actually encouraged, the woman usually gets the label of “cougar” (see Demi Moore, Cameron Diaz etc).

Again, I guess it’s because the assumption is that older men are more secure, successful and mature while younger men are just boys. Yet, there are 28-year olds who live like they are in a college dorm. There are 30-year olds who think their idea of an investment is a $10,000 television and still work at their high school job. And I know women who will only date 40-year olds, lulled into a false security of “maturity” when they are plainly ignoring the fact that there is a reason a 40-year old man is with a 25-year old girl.

So, is it unfair to exclude a guy just because he is younger? Does 16 months make that much of a difference? What if the guy is amazing, with a wise, sweet soul, feels warmly electric when he touches you and makes you laugh like no one else can? What if he not usually your type – do opposites attract (AAHH, ignore that question, that’s for a future post).

Or does age really matter in the end…I know the heart doesn’t know age, but our minds and logic do. Are younger guys just for “fun” or are they a risk worth gambling on? Your thoughts – Women, would you and have you dated a younger man? What happened? Men, have you dated an older woman? Pros and cons?

Disclaimer: before anyone jumps on their horse about this, I would like to clarify that I am NOT talking about Josh (he does read my blog, btw, and says hi) because, good heavens, 8 years is a big difference…I’m just talking about a few years here, and, also, I am not necessarily talking about anyone specific. I am just curious, ‘tis all…

Tall, dark and handsome? No thanks...

I would like you all to note that I actually wrote this post about a month ago. There are some corrections to be made, mainly the facts that at the time I wrote this, I really wasn’t ready to be in a relationship and the guy actually gave me an underlying creeps. Which is probably why I wasn’t attracted to him. Upon our second encounter, my opinion was only solidified. The guy really isn’t all THAT good –looking, combined with the creeps and a general feeling on wariness are all perfect reasons why I wasn’t attracted to him. But I thought the whole point about the scenario was still valid so I decided to still post it below…

What equals attraction? I know this topic has been all over the blog world, with people such as Rachel and Indy putting their two cents in. I have given my two cents already. I stick by it:

First of all, it comes down to chemistry, a spark between people – usually brought on by several characteristics: similar sense of humour (very important), kindness, loyalty, intelligence, a passion for life, ambition and thoughtfulness. This is my list mind you and everyone has a different one. And I still stick by my vote that MONEY is not important to me in the least. Yes, says Indy, this is probably because I have money. But so what? It just doesn’t matter to me – ambition does, but that is not ruled by the all-mighty dollar. I want a man to have goals for himself and his life, to want to strive to get there – whether these goals mean selling his paintings on the street or what have you.

Looks are important – this is always stressed by everyone. But what about them? ATTRACTION is important, not looks. I can be attracted to the strangest people (Conan O’Brian, or Jack Black anyone?) that are not conventionally good-looking just because something else they possess pulls me towards them (mainly humour, fun, good-spirit etc).

So, thankfully, the homeliest guy can be found attractive to me if there are other factors that surpass that and add up to the thing called “chemistry.”

But can the most handsome guy be found bland if the chemistry lacks?

Or maybe, just being TOO attractive can render someone unattractive.

I met a friend of a friend for drinks the other day – while I knew what he looked like and had been talking to him for a while, I was SHOCKED to meet him face to face.

He was tall – 6’4”, in a snazzy pinstripe suit and tie, shiny aviator glasses, nicely browned from recent days in the Indonesian sun. Oh and he looked like a BETTER looking version of James Franco. A 6’4” James Franco look alike.

My first thought, “I think I’ve seen this guy on the cover of GQ” followed by “he is WAY too good-looking to be seen with me.”

Maybe I am just easily impressed – a suit and tie does do it for me everytime (love that old-fashioned glamour), I suppose because I very rarely see guys my age wearing one (GQ was 30 and had to wear one for work). I also notice that I rarely see any guy that I would consider “hot” – maybe because attraction for me always happens after I get to know them. So when I see someone who would – by Hollywood standards – be considered “gorgeous” - it’s a bit of a novelty.

As we walked down the street to the Freehouse bar overlooking English Bay, I couldn’t help but feel like I was with a celebrity. This guy had every woman on the street turning heads. Suddenly I felt like laughing my ass off – I felt like the dumpy female with the hot guy and imagined all the women going “how did someone like her get someone like him?”

It was a turn-off, actually. I want to make clear to you all that this was NOT a date of any sort, this ridiculously good-looking dude was in fact a friend. And that could be why- even though I and everyone else on the street could plainly see he was extremely attractive – I was just not “attracted” to him. I didn’t want to see him as anything more.

As we sat down and talked for hours, I did note that there were things that would come into my whole list of things that I find attractive – we did have a similar sense of humour, especially when it came to quoting The Simpsons and Caddyshack. We both loved Classic Rock and were going to the Police concert at the end of the month. We both paid our dues at Vancover Film School.

But alas, there just wasn’t a spark. Which was fine with me because I honestly did not want there to be one. I just want to make friends, meet new people and have some fun.

It just struck me as kind of odd though, that the main excuse I was using for why I didn’t “like” this guy was because he was too good-looking. But it’s true. Because being ”really, really ridiculously good looking” means a lot of bad things in my books (Blue Steel is the least of these).

Maybe I am unfairly putting GQ guy into a box but in my opinion and experience, really good-looking guys are unfaithful. They cheat. They can’t be monogamous. They have no sense of loyalty. They are conceited. Vain. Shallow. Arrogant. Uncaring. Unkind. Flaky. Bad in bed (according to Samantha from SATC because “they never had to be good”). Have roving eyes. Expect perfection from those with them. They are fake. They have no faith. You can never trust them. They are good liars. They induce insecurity.

GQ was also actually an actor, looking to get into modeling. An actor? No thanks. Again, I am stereotyping but usually, actors aren’t the smartest cookies. Their ambition and passion (when present) I admire but….

And then I think, who is the shallow one here? Here is a guy that most girls would be interested in for shallow reasons, and then I find I am not because he’s not good enough for me…in other ways. Can shallowness just be about appearances or does it extend to someone not being smart enough, funny enough, kind enough – or are all these factors just a matter of what floats your boat?

Can you ever be too good-looking (males and females)? Is it too much of a good thing? Do really attractive people sometimes face the same problems as really unattractive people? Can something that is so highly praised in this shallow society we live in, actually work against you? Or is it just me – I need more than just a pretty face…and I don’t care if that makes me shallow or not.

Just some nonsensical nonsense

To copy the great old Indy (erm, I meant old in the wise sense…not in the physical sense…but sense you’ve been holding out on us via a picture –although I have seen a picture of you once mwahahaha – you really could be like 80-years old) anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I do not lack of things to blog about, in fact I have many interesting, hopeful and joyous things – for example, I have discovered, through certain avenues, that a great deal of joy has returned to my life...well, that or my intake of Matcha Tea lattes have increased ten-fold and thus I have spent my days bouncing around like a kid on a pogo stick and shouting friendly obscenities at the world. I have NOT had a Matcha Tea latte today, for your information, which might explain why this blog is making little to no sense whatsoever. But I have had a few chocolate covered espresso beans…or more than a few.

But I digress….to what, I am not so sure. OH YES! About Indy, well it’s not about Indy but a certain thing he does on his blog which addresses questions some people have googled which have then lead them to his blog. I heart Sitemeter for just this purpose.

*One will always stick out in my mind: “My boyfriend likes to wear my garter belts”

Now, I am not sure how they got turned to my blog since this has never happened…not my knowledge at any rate. I think I would have noticed if I had showed up at a boyfriend’s house and he was resembling Dr. Frankenfurter. Or perhaps just the whole act of wearing one’s bra on their head might through you off.

So to this person, I say, “Good for you for wearing garter belts. It is a lost art (which I have talked about on Blogtalkradio with the once infamous Wombat), and one of which I am not fully embracing at the moment since summer is on its way and bare legs take precedence. BUT when your boyfriend likes to wear them, that may be a problem. Look, I am all for the kinky stuff but even I draw the line at your bf wearing your underwear – garter belts are just a bit too far. But to each his own….or your own, as it were.”

“There is always that one that have your heart”

This made me sad to read…mainly because the grammar is really picking at my brain. To them I say, “I had hope the person that have your heart ain’t a grammar liking type of people therefore you aint never got it back.”

“A quiz to find out if you have an overbite”

This one freaked me out, mainly because I had just had a discussion with someone over overbites and how practically everyone has one. He argued that I did, I pointed out that so did he and then came to the conclusion that how on earth can you eat properly if your front teeth line up on top of each other? Aside from that though, I don’t have the words "overbite" on my blog anywhere so I have no clue how they get directed to my blog but anyway. To this person I say, “You don’t need a quiz. You have one. Unless you look down and all you can see if your lower teeth. Then you probably have an overbite. Or are missing half your face.”

“Smile, it makes people wonder what you are thinking”

Yeah. After they label as you as an escaped mental patient. Who doesn’t wonder what mental people think?

And last but not least, “I want to be successful but I am not getting anywhere.”

Amen. Please, if you have found some tidbit of advice somewhere on my blog, do let me know. Though, I really hope it doesn’t involve muffins in any way, shape or form.


I was going to end this blog here but then I decided that I should probably fill you all in on the scenario with the 18-year old boy because some people have the Mrs. Robinson theme ringing in their ears and I would really like to put a stop to it (PS if the ringing doesn’t go away, you may have tinnitus).

My friend Kelly’s brother is staying with me for a few weeks. He is 18, his name is Josh and he is from New Zealand. Now, I know what you all are thinking so SHAME ON YOU, YOU PERVERTS! Josh, as I remember him, was a tall, gangly, goofy, pimply-faced 15-year old who loved Broadway showtunes. So get your heads out of the gutter…I mean, I was already with Kelly’s older brother, what kinda of girl do you take me for? I’m not gonna tag team her whole family.

Anyhoo, yes the lad will be staying with me in my tiny, 430 sq, foot apartment starting Friday night. He’s on a one-year working visa and just needs a place to crash until he gets a job and a place of his own. Now, I realize it may take a while for him to do so but I also know that Josh is as responsible and trustworthy as a guy can get so I have no doubts that he will accomplish everything he is setting out to do. Besides, he will probably want to be out of my apartment pretty fast after he finds out I like to blast Faithless and Lily Allen at 6:30 AM and dance around in my underwear.



Reminder: Remember to put on pants.

The Police Were Arresting

Or so that would be the headline if I was back in Journalism school, crafting out one cheesy headline after another.

The Police kicked off their reunion tour last Monday in lil ol' Vancouver at GM Place. I was fortunate enough to snap up tickets way back when (I couldn't tell you when), only because they added a second show. Stupid me though, landed two tickets together and I gave them up because I didn't like the seating. After that, I was never able to get a pair again (a similar thing happened with Justin Timberlake concert - that and the fact that ticketmaster.com's verification words screwed me up for about two minutes - seriously, why do they start out hard and then get easier? Shouldn't it be the opposite?).

Anyhoo, I had the two tickets which were on opposite sides of the stadium and over the course of the last few months I was trying to sell them. No such luck (the fools). Someone even suggested I give them to charity - and I kinda did. I gave the nosebleed one to fellow blogger Kass and saved the more expensive one for myself (hey, I'm already pretty generous!).

Kass and I before the concert, thinking about Sting's hot peice of ass

Best decision ever (and I am sure Kass can to attest to that). The Police were utterly amazing. That concert was up there with Damien Rice...and Coldplay...and The Who...man, I have seen a lot of good concerts!

Nonetheless, it was fucking awesome (pardon my French). I found I knew all the lyrics, sang my heart out to every song and almost cried at some point (I'm afraid I'm very emotional and yes, I cry when I am happy or having an out of body experience). The fact that I was sitting (standing, rocking out) alone didn't bother me at all. I wonder why some people have such problems with doing things by themselves, like going to concerts, movies, dinner alone? It can be utterly rewarding.

Anyhoo I am not going to give you a play by play of Sting, Andy Summers and Stuart Copeland's genius show because I am sure any review will tell you how awesome they were (and how Sting's ass cheeks can crush walnuts in those tight black pants of his). And how Elvis Costello, Diana Krall and Trudie Styler all walked past (imagine, they were 20 rows back from the stage! But I guess Trudie see's enough of Sting's arse at home). But I will display some of the footage from my video camera which I tucked into my bra and snuck into GM Place.

PS I swear to God that is not me singing along....honestly....









Every little thing she does is magic...


A really shaky version of Can't Stand Losing followed by Roxaaaaaane (which sounds better, except for that person trying to sing along)...

Dos and Donts of this week

I can learn a lot in seven days...


DON'T think you'll never have to learn what the receptionist does because she says she never gets sick and therefore the chances of having to sub for her for the day are nill. Because one day, she will get sick and you will freak the fuck out because you have no idea how to do shipping.


DON'T go on dates with guys thinking that just because you say you got out of a serious relationship they'll know it means you just want to be friends. They don't want to be just friends. They just want to do you - or worse - want an actual relationship. You have only yourself to blame when you freak the fuck out and run for the hills because you can't handle any more complications in your life.


DO trust your instinct. If there is something about a guy that is off-putting and makes you feel uneasy - even if you cant place it - go with it. Chances are there is a reason for your intuition and you don't want to stick around to find out.



DON'T start your night by saying, "hey I haven't been drunk for a long time." You will get very, very drunk.




DON'T get very very drunk when you are still mourning over a past relationship. You will end up walking home alone at 3 AM and crying your eyes out to all the bums and drag queens on Davie St. They will provide very limited comfort.


DO be glad you deleted your ex's number from your phone otherwise you would have drunk dialed him and told him how much you still miss and love him instead of telling the random bums and drag queens.

DO realize how vulnerable you still are and that despite your troubles, you are still you and your morals have not changed. DON'T try to be something that you are not and don't put yourself in situations that expose your vulnerability - protect yourself.

DO accept the fact that your family is your family and there ain't a thing you can do about that. They won't change. Accept it.


DON'T drink and Facebook. No good can come of it.


DO make plans with those people from elementary school that you haven't seen in 20 years but realize that 20 years is a long time and once the novelty wears off, you most likely have nothing in common with these people. You CAN have too many friends sometimes.



DO realize that some people just can't grow plants.



DON'T miss the season finale of LOST. You will kick yourself afterwards, especially when you discover your computer is too slow to download it and you may have to go the whole summer without knowing what happened.


DON'T stop eating in general just becuse you've found it's the quickest way to drop 5 pounds. One day, you will get hungry again.


DO start eating breakfast again. A morning jog followed by not eating till lunch is not healthy.


DON'T wear hair extensions that are in bad condition. You have very lovely, soft hair - you don't need a rat's nest of crap to muddle it up.


DON'T blog about work too much because there is always a small chance that someone you work with could stumble across your blog. Hasn't happened yet but I wouldn't be surprised.


DON'T bitch about your work - and a certain executive - to a fellow blogger while in Starbucks because you never know if that said executive is actually at the counter ordering a drink.


DO pretend you don't see him and steer the conversation elsewhere as quickly as possible. Do breathe a large sigh of relief when you realize that he has only been at the counter for a few minutes and for the last few minutes you have been talking about relationships and NOT work.


DO keep busy and have lots of fun-filled days with tons of different friends. But remember to make time for yourself as well.



DO feel accomplished for giving up coffee, soda and binge drinking for a month - especially at a time that would more than warrant it. Extra kudos for going for jogs at 630 AM.


DON'T start drinking coffee again if you hate it. Caffeine is good if badly needed - otherwise drink things you enjoy. Like Matcha Tea Lattes. Yum.


DO feel a bit nervous at the fact that an 18-year old boy will be living in your one-room apartment with you for a few weeks.



DON'T get drunk around the 18-year old boy.


DO realize that you are still gonna have good days and bad days and when the good days start to outnumber the bad days, you know you are on the right track to healing. Also remember that time is a bitch.



DON'T underestimate the power of forgiveness. It doesn't mean you are weak, it means that you realize how unhealthy it is to hold a grudge. You don't have to forget, but you can forgive.



DON'T ever apologize for being you.




DON'T beat yourself up for telling everyone that you are doing OK - and believing it - only to find yourself crying later. Crying is good. Let it out and move on.


DO be proud of yourself for getting through four weeks of a broken heart. Yes there will be more weeks to come - but you've survived this far.


DO plan on making June - and the following months - the best months ever. Respectfully close the lid on May, accept it for what it was and don't look back.

Karma's a bitch and so am I

I have a confession.

It has come to my attention that I really, REALLY love it when people get their just desserts. You know, when someone is doing something they know is wrong or bad and they don't care - their ignorance is bliss until it comes back to bite them in the ass.

What I love even more is being the person who helps brings a swift kick to their rear-end. It gives me some weird, perverse kind of satisfaction.

Sometimes, if I see someone get busted, I'll give a gleefull giggle. Take the speed demon who darts in and out of lanes in order to make the left-turn signal, only to get stuck in the middle of the intersection and then pulled over by a cop around the corner who saw the whole thing and gives them a big ass ticket. Or the driver who tries to bypass the long line and cut in ahead by using the Buses Only lane, only to get pulled over by a cop who was just waiting for them.

This happens almost everyday on my commute and each time I clap my hands together, give out a girlish squeal and make sure they see my smug "serves you right" look - sometimes I may even give the cop a respectful "thank you for doing your job" nod. Especially if they are cute. I just can't stand cheaters - mainly because I do things the right way and it's not fair if they get away with it when I am sticking to my principles (and usually missing out).

Sometimes though, it's a matter of taking things into my own hands. It's Death Wish all over again.

A few weeks ago, I zipped home in order to quickly get dressed and make my way to Spin Class. As I pulled into my parking lot I noticed a car parked in MY SPOT!

Well that did it. I was LIVID and ready for action. I parked next to it, ran upstairs to get changed and called the towing company.

I pay a lot of money each month to park there, I do not need this incovenience of some fucking moron using MY space when I need it.

So I called Buster's Towing and they said they would send someone out right away - only problem is I would have to be there to sign the car away and I had my workout to attend to. The towing people suggested I leave a note for the person and if they are still there when I get back, to give them a call.

I went back out to my car, planning on driving it to class since I was now in someone else's space illegally, and wrote a scathing note, which pretty much told them that they messed with the wrong person and that if they didn't have the car moved by 730, that I would have it towed with NO EXCEPTIONS.

There was a pitiful little note in their windsheild too - Visiting Someone in #407 - but that only made me angrier. Fuck that person in #407. Do they expect ME to go out of my way and knock on their door, politely tell them that they parked in my spot? Park on the bloody street, not in a reserved spot you ignorant slut.

Anyhoo, the note worked.

Of course, this wasn't the last of my own vigilante justice - a few nights ago, a weeknight, at one am, two blonde, tanned skinny bitches were hanging outside a car in the parking lot with a Kevin Fedderline look alike. They were drinking, being annoying as fuck, giggling like brainless twats and the K-Fed guy kept mooning them.

It's getting warmer now and since I don't have a fan anymore, I have to sleep with the windows open which means their reverberated titters come right into my flat. Even through my earplugs I could hear them yell and flirt and fawn over each other. Who the hell were these fucknuts and why were they disturbing everyone in the neighbourhood? It's a bloody Monday night, people have to work in the morning!

So. I. Called. The. Cops.

This isn't the first time I have called cops on people. I get a sick kind of pleasure out of it. Sure, Friday, Saturday night - be loud, be morons, fuck if I care. But when it comes to disturbing MY sleep on a worknight? No mercy here.

While I waited for the cops to show up, I looked out my darkened window like Mr. Burns, twittering my fingers and muttering "Excellent" and a few "Mwahahahas."

Of course, 2 minutes before the Vancouver PD came around, the threesome decided to take their bimbo gigglefest elsewhere. Then an hour after that, they came back. The cops pretty much came for nothing - but it did make me feel good to know that I could call on them at my disposal.

And then. It just made me feel really old. When did I become Miss No Fun? Or maybe this is just MY Karma for having so many damn, loud parties when I was younger - there was never a party at my place that the cops didn't show up at. Was this my punishment for torturing my old neighbours all those years ago?

I guess Karma can be a bitch - and sometimes, when it needs a hand, so can I.

There's always time

"Time, there's always time
On my mind
Pass me by, I'll be fine
Just give me time"

Time.

If there is anything in the world that is so universally poignant, it's time.

Try as you might, you can't fight time. You can't hurry it, you can't slow it down - oh, but if only we could.

Time never does what we want it to do. This steady, consist, unflappable enitity behaves (at times) as if it has a mind of it's own. Like it wants to rebel against us, us petty, insignificant humans who so desperately wish they could control it, to mold it to suit our needs. It laughs in our face, it does what it wishes and we can only go along. We have no choice. We are all victims of time until our time is up.

How many times has a vacation gone by so quickly - before you know it, you are back at home, back to where you started. It's like you never left. Nothing has changed - time has made progress on bringing you back, it's neglected the things you wanted changed. That - takes more time.

How many times have we flipped through pictures and are reminded that "it was only a year ago." Or perhaps, we think "Wow, it's been a year already."

How many times we have wanted time to speed up - long days at the office, sitting through a boring lecture or a bad movie, counting the days until you see a loved one again. Time can go so painfully slowly.

It's about time. Time is fleeting. Time heals all wound. Things take time. People waste time. People lose time. People need more time. People try and kill time. So use your time wisely. Time is the wisest counsellor of all. With good times, bad times, perfect timing. Time is of the essence. There is no time like the present. Time after time, time and time again. Time is the only thief we can't get justice against. Time flies when you are having fun. Time makes more converts than reason. There is a time for every matter under heaven.

Time takes time.

Let me repeat that: Time takes time.

The pain you feel in the short-term feels so unbearably long, and the happiness you will feel in the long run, seems even longer still.

Then of course, there is happiness in the short-term which feels shorter than it should and sadness in the long-run that could not come faster.

So try as you might, whatever option you choose, you still don't have a choice. Time sweeps us along, heading down that path we are all meant to go on. But when and how we each get there - is just a matter of time.

Unleashing my inner "Brunette"

I am a natural blonde.

Meaning, I was born blonde, had light blonde hair until I was 12 and even now my natural color is that ashy, blah color - still blonde though but dull as dishwater. Of course, the hair color I have now is fake but I am truly a blonde genetically, if not at heart.

Apparently though, I am also a brunette. Being a blonde you get to be the brunt of all the blonde stereotypes, ei; you are flaky, dumb, stupid, an airhead etc. Brunettes are always seen as the smarter, reponsible, dependable types.

I fight the blonde stereotype all the time. Maybe because I have an impish face, or that I am of short stature or that I have curves. But people LOVE to assume I am an idiot.

I know, of course, I am not an idiot. Yes, I can be a major flake at times but that is due to just not paying attention. I also forget a lot of things (but surprisingly, remember the random or significant, personal stuff). I do know I am smart, I have a lot of knowledge of odd things that I like to unleash on people - I used to impress my last boyfriend with this all the time. Maybe it's because I used to read all the World Book Encyclopedias from front to back when I was a wee lass.

Anyhoo, lots of people in university and high school thought I was setting myself up for failure by doing things at the last minute. Here we have a blonde who also slacks off and doesn't get anything done until a deadline is breathing down her neck. Didn't look like a very smart equation to some.

Now you all know I love to do things at the last minute because it is the only way to get things done. I have been given half lectures on, "maybe your work would be better if you didn't do things at the last minute" - but you know what, I don't have to do better work. Sure, if I spent the time, maybe I would have gotten an A in International Media or I could do it with minimal effort at the last minute and get a B. I tend to pick the latter. I'm lazy.

So, as you know, I felt some "procrastinator's revenge" when I completed my Early Modern European History course.

I asked for one extension and never used it.

I finished a 5-month course in 5 days. A HISTORY course, to boot. While working full-time, no less.

During those 5 days I read 4 dry history text books, sheets of notes and excerpts, and wrote 3 essays. Oh, and a three-hour exam.

It. Was. Brutal.

I swore that I would never do anything last minute again and I sat in worry, wondering how badly I botched the whole course.

"As long as I pass, as long as I pass," I kept muttering it over and over like a mad woman.

Then yesterday I got my mark in the mail....

.......
....

I got an A.

Like I said before, if God wants me to stop doing things at the last minute, he really, really should stop rewarding me like this.

What makes me smile?

And I mean really smile, in that nose scrunched up kinda way that I often do (see above)? Too many things, I tells ya, so I've got to admit it's far from a complete list. Read on through though, and maybe what makes me smile, makes you smile too :D

*Coming home to a clean place (though the act of cleaning does not make me smile)

*Planning things - whether it be a Beer Tasting class, dance lessons with a friend, road trips and upcoming travels (ahem, like to Italy)

*Going into a bookstore - I could spend hours in them

*Having a place to call all my own

*Reading about a foreign country and picking out the best reasons why I should go visit this place - and then think about how cool it will sound to say, "Im going to Ulaambaatar next year"

*Looking at my bookshelf and realizing I have tons of great books just waiting for me

*Drinking a beer in the sun

*Being on the boat - doesn't matter if it's rainy outside or winter or if I am in the middle of the Sea of Cortez and gagging for land

*When a friend does something thoughtful (like send you a funny card when they know you are feeling blue)

*Sleeping in on a Saturday when you know you have the whole weekend still ahead of you

*Long weekends

*Dogs. Any kind. Puppies especially. I will squeal

*Being on the back of a horse

*A fresh breeze ruffling my hair

*No line up at Starbucks (or indeed any place)

*A thunderstorm or windstorm

*Lesley Neilsen

*Finding new TV shows to love

*Looking through photo albums

*Going to new restaurants

*Exploring new neighbourhoods

*Finding a piece of clothing that you know no one else will have

*Taking photographs

*Audrey Hepburn movies

*Writing scripts/novels especially when I get to the point where I could just keep going and going - this is when my heart truly soars and I feel whole

*Having faith

*Seeing people who are truly in love and thus being reminded that it does exist

*Plotting where to travel to in the coming years

*A big, new, thick...magazine

*Days when I realize it's OK that I am not perfect, and OK to be me the way I am

*Trying on a dress that makes me feel like an angel

*Fitting in to an old pair of (skinny) jeans

*A fragrant, warm breeze on a calm, dark night

*Taking off my bra

*The first time of the year when you put on flip-flop/sandals/jandals/thongs

*Finding money you didn't know you had in random places

*The warm glow from windows in the night

*A head-bobbing Bill Cosby

*Waking up early, thinking you have to go to work and then remembering it's the weekend and you can sleep as long as you want

*Ikea

*Watching the previews before a movie in the theatre

*Grocery shopping for the night's dinner you have planned

*Light snow falling at night

*Looking at pictures of palm trees, a white beach and cool, clear aquamarine water - and imagining what it would be like to there

*An appreciative smile from a cute guy

*A free drink (or free anything really)

*Having a radio play your song request

*Going out for Breakfast (especially IHOP, yum)

*A nice, juicy mango

*An unexpected compliment

*A full tank of gas

*Summer dining on a patio

*Finishing a crossword puzzle

*Quoting or having someone quote Friends, The Simpsons, Airplane... (Pivot!)

*Having coffee and reading the paper outside in early morning sunlight

*Finally seeing results of a workout

*Having friends who appreciate how silly I am

*The sound of a dog slurping water out of a bowl

*The first Eggnog Latte of the year

*My Homer Simpson slippers

*Reminiscing over old memories

*Disneyland

*Fluffy warm towels right out of the dryer

*Xmas songs

*Seeing candid photos of yourself

*The Simpsons Halloween Specials

*Finding people who love the same quirky things as you (ie, Mystery Science Theatre, Paul Simon, etc)

*Last-minute plans

*Getting to McDonalds in time for an Egg McMuffin

*A fresh sheet of bubble wrap

*Watching funniest animal videos

*The sound of lawn sprinklers

*My ability to see the bright side in everything

*Finding out that I was charged/paid too much on something and getting credited

*Making people laugh

*Getting the best seat on an airplane/bus/train and having no one sit next to you

*To be proud of how far I have come in my 25 years - and to know my life is just getting started

Sorry it was so long, but honestly I could go on and on - and hey, you know what, that can't be a bad thing, can it? I hope you too find things that make your face shrink up with glee (see below).

Ten Stupid Things

A best-selling book by Dr. Laura Schlessinger (yes, the Dr. Laura you hear on the radio), "The Ten Stupid Things That Women Do to Mess up Their Lives" is one of Oprah's favourites and something that you wish you could pass on to all your girlfriends. It's sort of like a survival manual to being a woman, albeit in hindsight, and I know that no matter how much you don't want to admit it, every woman reading my blog has commited at least one of these stupid things that inevitably fucked up their life in some way, shape or form.

Chapter One: Stupid Attachment

These women have no goals or dreams except in relation to a sympathetic man with a hero complex.. She feels she is nothing without him, who becomes her only reason for living. Both feed off each other’s fears of rejection, so she whines and demands while he wises up eventually and dumps her.

Too many of us do this (I plead guilty) because it is easy to do. You can easily lose track of yourself and mistake attachment and comfort for other things – you forget who YOU are when you are with him. Not good at all.

Chapter Two: Stupid Courtship

This mistake occurs because women are so desperate for a man that they don’t care what kind of loser he is. They dive in despite the telltale signs. Desperation breeds from not developing interests and goals for yourself, so the “female escape route,” aka men, is taken as a socially acceptable means of avoiding becoming an individual through attachment.

I know a person who hasn’t been single for more than a few weeks in the 10 years I have known her. She doesn’t know herself, and has admitted this, but is too afraid to find out.

Chapter Three: Stupid Devotion

A 42-year old woman listener lists the reasons why she’s still devoted to an ass of a husband: ”Number one, I don’t have to change. Number two, I don’t lose what I like in the companionship and security aspects. Number three, it would be uncomfortable making a transition to being alone or with anyone else. And number four, I guess, I would take it personally…his negative perception of me must be right.?

How many times have you heard this from women, especially a friend or two of yours in which you wish she would just open up her eyes and see…and yet sometimes, like this woman, they do see and choose “ignorance is bliss.” Very sad, but very common.

Chapter Four: Stupid Passion

These women confuse feelings of passion for the presence of mature love. They are carried away with the high of it, have sex too soon, give up their career dreams and get married out of desperation and not love. Divorce results usually.

Chapter Five: Stupid Cohabitation or “The Ultimate Female Self-Delusion”

Cohabitation (living with your boyfriend hoping that it will lead to marriage) is the "ultimate in female self-delusion," Mrs. Schlessinger says, "Dating -- not living in -- is supposed to be about learning and discerning." Cohabitation involves "no public commitment, no pledge for the future, no official pronouncement of love and responsibility. Theirs is essentially a private arrangement based on an emotional bond. The 'commitment' of living together is simply a month-to-month rental agreement. "As long as you behave yourself and keep me happy, I'll stick around."

No wonder the subchapters within this section are titled like “Cohabitation as a Lease with an option to buy?” “When hope can hurt you” and “Living in = Giving in.” But with stats like these – a Columbia University study cited in New Woman magazine found that "only 26% of women surveyed and a scant 19% of the men married the person with whom they were cohabiting”- it’s easy to see what Dr. Laura is getting at.

Chapter Six: Stupid Expectations

Schlessinger starts out talking about a couple who were her clients. At first Maureen needed help with her nervous, crying baby, but Dr. Laura suggested that her husband Kenny join them (the baby stayed with a sitter after the first nerve-wracking session) and she discovered their very different expectations of marriage caused by unresolved pain from their parents. Spouses of similar ilk cannot heal the wounds made by parents.

Women also fail to realize that relationships are hard work. So many women want to get married, or get married, or go into relationships, thinking that it's going to be hearts a fluttering all the time. SO NOT TRUE.

One of my favourite quotes is from a Maroon 5 song:

"It's not always rainbows and butterflies but compromise that moves us along..."

A lot of women (and yes men) think relationships should be easy - and they usually are - to an extent. Too many of us give up when the going gets tough, not bothering to work through the problems. No wonder the divorce rate is so high. People give up at the first hurdle and walk away. No one said a relationship - or marriage - for that matter was a piece of cake. It's a lot of work, even for the best of relationships. Women get unrealistic expectations from movies, novels, a lucky friend.

Chapter Seven: Stupid Conception – “There are no accidents, usually”

Just because a man says he loves you that does not no how mean that he wants a child with you or even marriage. Some women believe the fairy tale that she’s found Prince Charming just because “he said he loved me!” or maybe she’s trying to force marriage.

I can not tell you how many people I have known, met, heard of who do the whole baby before marriage thing JUST to ensure the marriage. It’s more common then you think – look around at the women who have kids but aren’t married. A good majority of them would LOVE to be married to the father, he just isn’t falling for the trick. Sure, there are women who don’t want marriage, or wants a child and doesn’t care so much for the father/mother relationship – but that is not usually the case.

Chapter Eight: Stupid Subjugation

An example from Dr. Laura’s show: "I’ve never been able to forget a case dating from when I first opened my counseling practice. The woman was a caller in her late twenties who had a problem with her boyfriend. He liked her well enough, but didn’t want her two little kids around at all. In fact, he was pressuring her to give them away. Her question, believe it or not, was “What should I do?”Naturally, she didn’t want to give up her kids, but she didnt want to give up the guy even more. How freaking crazy is that?

Chapter Nine: Stupid Helplessness

Instead of getting angry when guys treat them with disrespect, these women wonder if they should and if the guy gives a decent excuse for it, she accepts it willingly, even though she’s unhappy and lacking a sense of validation.

Chapter Ten: Stupid Forgiving

If you’ve ever caught yourself or heard a woman saying, “I know he’s adulterous, addicted, controlling, insensitive, violent, or fill in blank, but other than that, he’s great” then you have witnessed stupid forgiving because the speaker is attached, helpless, subjugated or deluded.

Of course we have all been there, but hopefully we learn as we get older and go through relationships, figuring out what we deserve and demanding it from those we love.


All right, so what do you think? Do you agree with all ten things? I know I sure do. Is there anything else you would add? (Personally I think there should have been a chapter on emotional spending, cuz, well, credit card debt can fuck up your life. Why do you think there are so many lazy, greedy and undisciplined bloggers out there asking for handouts from people on the net to pay for THEIR debt?)

Fiesta Friday

That's the name of the "Mexican themed" party we are having at work today.

It's in honour of two new employees, though really, my boss C is just looking for an excuse to get her drink on. I got a call at 4PM yesterday.

"Hey, so I'm gonna have a welcome party tomorrow," says C.

"Sounds good."

"Since you are the writer, do you mind writing an email to the staff and letting them know. Wait! What should the theme be? It's Friday!"

"Ummm, Fiesta Friday?" I suggested as a joke. I am all about alliteration.

"Perfect! We could make margaritas!"

"And drink Corona. With lime!"

"And eat chips and salsa!"

And so I went to off to compose an email to the staff letting them know that we will be doing tequila shots in the last hour of the work day. I signed my email with a picture of The Three Amigos.

Not a bad way to start the weekend, if I do say so myself. Should be followed by drinks downtown with co-workers too (don;t worry, we have taxi vouchers in case anyone wants to get shittered - I know one French Canadian co-worker has her eye on them). And then later tonight, a night out with the "amazing ladies..."

Oh, that's right. I didn't blog about last weekend with the "amazing ladies." Well, I won't go into details, but I will leave you with some photos in which you can create your own conclusions and write your own story of what happened.

No really. I dare you.

And BTW, the lucky guy in the pics is a fellow blogger I recently met, whom you can read about on his blog here. Only caveat: his blog doesn't have sexy pictures of crazy girls, so you will probably just end up coming back to this post again ;)

Happy Weekend!

PS - If anyone wants to see me as a ten-year old (not too different from the pics above - erm, except for the boobs) check out my other - and finally updated - blog.

A Monumental Evening

Last night was one of those nights in which you get some much jam-packed goodness out of it, you can't believe it's a Monday.

Or you can, when you wake up on Tuesday morning after three hours of sleep and go into work with a hangover.

Oh, but it was worth it.

First off, I got home from work to discover my three essays had arrived.

Yup, the ones that I wrote last Monday and Tuesday night, a mad dash scramble about historical crap which I learned about the day of. Or actually, during the essay.

The first essay (which was actually the last one I worked on), I got 65% on. According to Ross, this is amazing because the teacher's comments on the essay state that I didn't even answer the question. Yet, I still got 65%.

The second essay, I got 87%.

And the third essay, I got 90%.

90% on a history essay (The French Revolution was a Victory for the Aristocracy: Discuss) in which I wrote in two hours on material I read at the same time I was writing it.

See, why do things ahead of time if you can make zero effort and procrastionation work for you? This only strengthens my belief in procrastination. Screw it God, if you don't want me to keep doing it, then why keep rewarding me?

So that was nice. A nice start to an awesome evening: Ross and I were off to see Damien Rice.

Last week I checked his website to see if by chance he was coming to Vancouver and low and behold, he was. In a week! I snapped up a pair of tickets and started counting the days till I could hear a live version of "Blower's Daughter."

We had a few beers before the concert (dieting be damed - OK, it was Coors Light. And I HAD gotten up at 7 that morning to put in a jog before work, if you can believe it) so we were nicely toasted by the time we got to the theatre. Then we settled into our seats and got ready for some pretty and depressing music.

And this is where Damien surprised. He rocked our socks off. Yes, there were a few sweet ballads - including "Amie" as part of the encore, performed by only Damien and his guitar, no mic...brilliant. And a few tumoltous piano songs ("accidental babies"). But the majority his songs he totally rocked complete with flashing lights, driving guitar and angst-filled wailing.

Up there with Coldplay, Damien was one of the best concerts ever. He was dead-on, one of those artists who sounded exactly like he is on the album albeit better because being live it had that extra kick.

However, this wasn't just any other ordinary concert. There was a reason why I was able to get tickets to this show - the hockey game was on, thus the whole city was either at the game, or were watching it at a bar.

At GM Place, the Vancouver Canucks were in game 7 against the Dallas Stars - a home game. I totally thought the Canucks were going to lose as they were losing by the time we got to the theatre and well, I always say "expect the worst." But during the concert, you couldn't help but notice the glow from people's phones - they werent taking pictures of Damien, but checking the scores of the game.

Then slowly, one person would do a silent cheer. They would wave the score with their fingers and mouth "we won" to the next person. Pretty soon the audience was abuzz and buy the time the song ended, people started hooting and hollering and cheering. While I am sure some of it was for Damien, it was also for the Canucks clinching the 1st round of the playoffs. Um, or something like that.

During a break Damien commented on how the venue wasn't nearly as full and that the front few rows were empty. Someone yelled out "That's because everyone is at the hockey game"
"Yeah," said Damien, "and how are the Canucks doing?"

"We won!" someone cried out and there was cheering for about 2 minutes.

"Well, lucky for you people, the people who are missing this because they are at the game - well, you can take their seats."

There was suddenly a mad dash as people in the orchestra were making a mad dash to the front. I'm sure the ushers were really happy with the seat-switching, but hey, it's Damien's concert, if he wants us to have better seats then we are going to take him on it.

He was also a total performer - someone yelled out the song "Rootless Tree" and Damien asked, "Do you want me to play it on guitar or piano?" What a charmer that Irish man is - totally obliged our hockey crazed crowd AND took a random request.

But back to the hockey. The concert let out at 10ish and even though it had been over an hour since they won, the streets were a riot. Ross and I plunked ourselves down on the corner of Robson and Homer (Robson being "the street" of downtown) on a bar patio and watched, amazed, at the jubilent celebrations.



Cars drove past, waving canucks flags, people were honking non-stop - imagine horns blaring from hundreds of cars for hours and hours. Random people were hugging on the street, people were shouting, cheering, dancing in the streets. 500 people overtook the traffic at the corner of Robson and Burrard. It was nuts and made me quite proud to be Canadian. I had no clue we got so worked up over hockey, and even though I am not a fan myself, it was absolutely infectuous.

And we aren't even in the finals yet. Good Lord, imagine if we won*?

Finally, at 2 AM Ross and I stumbled back to my place where I managed to cap off the evening with an earth-shattering event.

For the first time in 15 months of dating...."it" happened.

That's right.

I farted.

Yes, I have been the girlfriend who has never broke wind in front of her boyfriend, much to his dismay (because apparently that's unatural). That's not to say I don't cuz I am quite a stinky girl, but only alone. However, last night out it came. Luckily, I was on the other side of the room.

The look on Ross's face was pure shock.

"What was that?"

He didn't even believe it when I told him. I think he was actually happy it happened, if not amazed, even though it meant my untarnished image (aside from the constant burping) is gone forever. One fart and there goes my 15 months of ladylike restraint.



BTW - If you don't know Damien, but like lyrical, haunting music ala David Grey, Coldplay, etc. please go download Damien Rice's "Blower's Daughter."

And there have been interesting (re: sucky) developments at my work - I'll fill you in later this week.

*I know what happens when we lose. We lost the cup in the final game in 1994 and we had the cities biggest riot. Angry hockey fans practically burnt downtown to the ground.

Addendum: Because no one seems to know who Damien Rice is (seriously, I've had like ten people ask) I am going to post what I think is his best song and video - The Blower's Daughter, from Closer.

Journalism Girls Gone Wild

There are two things going on tonight which at first seem unrelated but in the end might end up being one in the same.

1) I am having a night out with some of the J-Girls (drunken classmates from university whom I have not partied with since graduation last year). Remember this photo album?

Drunk College Girls

Yes, those girls.



2) The Girls Gone Wild film crew is in town this weekend and will be hitting the clubs of Vancouver.


Coincidence? I think not.


BTW - Not that I am lifting my shirt up for anyone but I am going to be bringing my camera and prentending to be part of the film crew. Just doing my part for my loyal male readers out there ;)

On the bandwagon, again

First things first.

I finally gave into Facebook.

Over the last wee while, I had been getting friend requests from various people. I ignored them, dutifully.

That is, until I read an article in the Globe and Mail, about how Facebook isn't just for the youngins. So then I figured, hell if these journalists are on Facebook, perhaps I should be too.

I mean, it's not MySpace - which, sorry, I will never join....probably because I have a blog in which to pimp myself out on and that takes up enough of my time - and now that time will become even more precious as Facebook sucks.you.in.

Seriously, last night, the hours just flew by, especially when I discovered the whole checking out people you went to high school with. Who was still hot? Who got fat? Who had kids? Who looks the same? Etc...

And then this mornings, the reprocussions of Facebook settled in.

Apparently this thing sends an email to EVERYONE in your email accounts. That's a lot of people.

Now people I haven't talked to in years are popping up, psycho ex-boyfriends whom I thought I would never hear from again (and with good reason), people I worked with once upon a time.

It's nuts.

And it's now another thing to distract me from work. Not that I need it, but man do I love being distracted from things I should be doing.


**********


Voila!


Below is the infamous picture of my leap in Kakadu National Park, Australia, in 2001.



If you want the recap, listen to my BlogTalkRadio interview (link on the previous post). Otherwise, know that I will be posting the full-version of this story on this blog or my travel one sometime soon. And know that for someone with a fear of heights, leaping over a hundred foot deep chasm was one of the scariest things I have ever done!

Ever faced your fears?

Little known love tests

It has come to my attention that there are at least three succinct ways of telling how much a man loves and/or adores you.

1) He buys you Tampons/Pads

This is usually the first indicator in a relationship of how comfortable you are around each other. Maybe in the third month or so, this situation will come up, and if he is willing to go and purchase these items with little or no hesitation, you know you have a keeper.

That said, I don't know many men who have refused to do this...they probably don't like it (although, come on, it's obviously not for THEM) but will still quietly do this potentially embarrassing favour.

2) He buys you Yeast-infection Medicine.

Depending on how long you are together, this is also one of those things that will come up sooner or later. If he is willing to run to the drugstore to pick up a tube of Monistat 7, Douche-related items or anything else that would make you yourself get red-faced over, then it's a sign that this guy is in love with you. And you would hope it would be love, because once you get on the topic of yeast infections, I think all "romantic and mysterious" ideas about you will be tossed out the window.

It's a bonus too, if you don't actually ask him to do this but he offers.

3) He buys you Hemmroid medication.

This is a tricky one because unlike the first two, this medication could be for him. It gets even more tricky when he has to pick up an embarrassingly named brand (Anusol, anyone?) and even more embarrassing when he might have to ask the pharmacist questions.

"It's, uh, for my girlfriend"

"Sure it is"

I think if you find a man who will willingly - and without complaints - do any of the above (and especially all three) you have a real keeper. This man not only adores and loves you but will stick by you through all of life's embarrassing problems. Cause, honestly, what could be mortifying than discussing "hemroids" with a loved one?

What are your "Little Love Tests?" Surviving a night of dual food-poisoning (ala Charlotte and Harry in SATC)? Willingly subjecting himself to an evening of bonding with your hard-nosed father (ala Ross and Mr. Green in Friends)? Or even allowing himself to be dragged to a showing of The Vagina Monologues?


****
Thanks to all who tuned into BlogTalkRadio and caught my interview with Wombat and Eileen. If you missed it, click here to have a listen. I haven't done this yet though because I can't stand to hear my own voice but I encourage you all to.

Though for the record, I do have some wonderbras (VS makes the best) but I only wear them on "special" occasions and apparently I made up the answer "Stirrups" because I genuinely thought that's what he was asking me. Stirrups or Suspenders? Hell, anything but suspenders.
Unless ,Wombat, you meant "Stay-up" stockings or garter belts (suspenders) and then my answer would have been...hell, that's a tough choice. I'm still gonna go with stirrups.

And I only had one Caeser (the drink).

And please, Kamloops people, refrain from sending me hate mail.

And I will post my pic of my now infamous leap tomorrow.

Only as old as you feel

Forgive me for my lack of posting as of late but I've been super busy lately, in life, work and play. Hopefully that will ease off but I've had other priorities to deal with, aside from blogging - shocking, I know.

The first part of this post is a forwarded email I recieved from my "tres adult" friend AJ. The second part looks back on my Friday night last week. Both parts contradict each other. Perfect.

The 25 Signs That You Have Become An Adult

25. Your houseplants are alive, and you can't smoke any of them.

- Um, no. I don’t have plants because I forget to water them. I have giant red tulips that just kicked the bucket, no matter what I did to save them. I guess it just wasn't mean to be. Can't smoke them either...I tried.

24. Having sex in a twin bed is out of the question.

-Sex is never out of the question, twin bed be damned.

23. You keep more food than beer in the fridge.

-True…but the food is old and moldy, so what does that mean?

22. 6:00 AM is when you get up, not when you go to bed.

-This is a half-truth. I sure as hell don’t get up at 6, but don’t usually go to bed at that time either. Though it did happen a few weeks ago.

21. You hear your favorite song in an elevator.

-Cuz I just looove Micheal Bolton

20. You watch the Weather Channel.

-Hey! I’ve always watched the weather channel, even at age 15. I like to know things. Sadly, you don’t know much because they are always wrong. Why does 40% chance of rain always mean rain?

19. Your friends marry and divorce instead of "hook up" and "break up."

-Friend who sent me this is getting married. All others still hook up and break up. But that just might mean that my friends aren’t adults yet… and neither am I.

18. You go from 130 days of vacation time to 14.

-And how it sucks. But atleast I get paid for my vacations now...

17. Jeans and a sweater no longer qualify as "dressed up."

-They never have. Though, since the dress code at my office is casual, I have been wearing jeans and sweaters a lot. Interesting. The CEO of my company wore jeans and a hoodie to the office today, so...

16. You're the one calling the police because those %&@.. kids next door
won't turn down the stereo.

-I’ve always been this person. And even in my own home, I am constantly turning down my stereo to be mindful of the neighbours. But at someone else’s party? Up the volume goes! They aren't MY neighrbours. Wooot.

15. Older relatives feel comfortable telling sex jokes around you.

-Ewwwwwww. NO. That is NEVER OK.

14. You don't know what time Taco Bell closes anymore.

-Mmmm. Taco Bell.

13. Your car insurance goes down and your car payments go up.

-Car insurance is as bloody expensive as always. And I don’t even have car payments because it’s paid off in full, so that must make me a Super Adult! But it's a Neon.

12. You feed your dog Science Diet instead of McDonald's leftovers.

-I’m not adult enough to have a dog. See question #1.

11. Sleeping on the couch makes your back hurt.

-My couch was also my bed for 6 months…it’s a super comfy Ikea sofa bed. So, no, it doesn’t make my back hurt.

10. You take naps.

-I started as an infant and haven’t stopped since.

9. Dinner and a movie is the whole date instead of the beginning of
one.

-What? What kind of date extends beyond a dinner AND a movie?
Oh….

8. Eating a basket of chicken wings at 3 AM would severely upset,
rather than settle, your stomach.

-Everything upsets my stomach, but after a few pints I think it would definitely settle it. Or at least sober me up.

7. You go to the drug store for ibuprofen and antacid, not condoms and
pregnancy tests.

-WHAT? So, being more of an adult means you DON’T deal with pregnancy and safe sex? Who made this shit up? Personally, I think you go to the store to buy pregnancy tests, condoms AND ibuprofen and antacid to deal with the stress of thinking you are pregnant.

6. A $4.00 bottle of wine is no longer "pretty good shit."

-There are $4.00 bottles of wine out there??? That IS pretty good shit!

5. You actually eat breakfast food at breakfast time.

-Sure beats eating seafood linguine, caeser salad and a crème brule at breakfast, doesn’t it? Sheesh.

4. "I just can't drink the way I used to" replaces "I'm never going to
drink that much again."

-I use both. What does that make me?

3. 90% of the time you spend in front of a computer is for real work.

-LOL!

2. When you find out your friend is pregnant you congratulate them
instead of asking "Oh shit what the hell happened?"

-How about, “Congratulations, you’ve fucked up your life”?

And the number one sign you are getting old is:

1. You read this entire list looking desperately for one sign that
doesn't apply to you and can't find one to save your sorry old ass.

HA! Apparently not so old yet, my friend.


*******************
Then the opposite happened.

Last Friday, Leanne and I headed out to Commercial Drive for Kass's Bday dinner. She and her crew was SUPPOSED to follow us on to Crush nightclub but fate intervined and caused all cabs to ignore her. That was just as well, because....

Well, I had been to Crush before, and remembered that it was a swanky joint, a "champagne lounge" as it is billed.

Problem was, I went there when I was 21 years old. And guess what? Everyone there was STILL 21!

Scantily-clad and insecure girls tottered through the club on spindly heels, looking for guys to give them attention. The guys were giving them attention, young horndogs as they were. It was just one big, fake show, a venue for the young and horny to showcase their "talents" and feel validated.

Leanne and I sat in our lounge seats and literally did not move for the whole night.


"Boy, do I feel old," Leanne said in between sips of our high-school retro Bacardi Breezers. "What are we, like 30?"

It was true. We were definitely the oldest there. Guys didn't even approach us, not that we even looked remotely approachable as we lounged back in our chairs and surveyed the scene in amusement. Funny thing was, if we were 21, I would have been crushed by this lack of attention. But now we just found the whole thing to be funny. We were able to walk out of that place with our self-steem still intact.

Not that we didn't try to fit in and act like attention whores....






But alas, in the end, the only attention we got was from a fellow Oldie.


Bald and British, this nutritionist from Leeds was the oldest guy in the place and took solace in two little old ladies like ourselves. I think when our conversation turned from the clubbing scene to what vitamins we were taking and how were our careers working out for us, that we knew...it was time to go.

Plus it was getting late and we needed to get our required eight hours.