So when T-J harassed me this morning to do an update I got all indignant. Like, dude! I only did one like, 3 days ago… I’m fresh out! I give and I give and all you greedy little sucklings want is more. Well, she was joking so I’m not angry or anything… we just like to yell at each other from time to time. Keeps things fresh, y’know? Gets the blood running and adrenaline pumping. However, my life and mind is only so interesting and nothing too much occurs within any given amount of time. I wish it was more action packed but sadly with Mr. Stinky off at school half the week, not having a second car and no bat cave yet in the subterranean – the contractors are slightly behind due to material shortages they say. Shortage my ass! Somebody’s gonna get fired real soon and sent packing with a couple of backhands to go with – I do a lot of MSN chatting, housework and nose picking.
Think of me as your toilet… or better yet, the toilet at your friend’s place whom you’re visiting. See, when you do a number two but you don’t want everyone else to know that you did one and you want to get out of the washroom real fast coz not only did you do a real big, stinkified job but the longer you’re in there, the more obvious it becomes that you weren’t just interested in making a tinkle and oh wow, hopefully nobody needs to use the toilet too in the next few minutes before the air clears coz your contacts are fogging over in your eyes but crap! one flush wasn’t enough so you keep pushing the lever down to will the stuff down the hole but it won’t go coz the tank hasn’t refilled yet! That’s me, that’s exactly where I am right now. If you’ll just be patient, my reserves will fill up again and I’ll have more crap with which to shove in your face and entertain you. Right now though, I’m sitting here making poopy analogies and typing run-on sentences that would no doubt send any literary stickler into convulsions of consternation due to the linguistic mutilation going on.
I’ll let you know when the tank has been refilled. Hopefully soon too. Too many posts revolving around toilet issues lately.
October 18, 2006
October 15, 2006
Girls’ Night Out With Bacon and Pie
Fucking Blogger, I finished a post and the site loses the whole thing. Now I gotta remember what I wrote but it won't be same…
Recently we had a girls' only night out. I love these dates with Emma because it gives us the opportunity to talk freely and gossip with abandon. No distractions, no superfluous explanations, no having to give background information, and no censoring occurs at the table. We understand each other so well that we can cover a lot of ground in a short span of time and I can totally assure you that we were indeed industrious with the topics.
Felt like fries, ordered a Cowboy Burger which was topped with bacon. Ever since the Bon Echo trip I’ve been craving bacon. I normally don’t eat bacon since to me it’s strictly a camping food and it’s messy to make but it spoke to me from the menu. We didn’t have any bacon on our trip. We had peameal bacon, or as you Americans call it, Canadian bacon but not bacon bacon. And this isn’t to slam Goose since he asked for a menu review which I (sort of looked at and) agreed to, and made all the meals but on the best of days we barely manage to pay attention to him anyway so… oh, sorry. Not important, not important.
So I separated the bacon and burger, ate the latter and came back to the first. If we hadn’t been in such a public place I would’ve spat it back out. It was wrong, the timing and the mood were both completely wrong. Needless to say the rest of it got tossed. Sorry bacon maker, but it just wasn’t what I wanted. I pouted and Emma sympathized... she look at it but didn't touch either and had wanted bacon on the camping trip as well. We agreed that next time there would have to be an abundance of bacon so that we could gorge ourselves bacon-happy.
And maybe no strawberry rhubarb pie either, I’m good if we stay away from that stuff for awhile. Heck, let’s just take pie out of the equation completely; we lost half of it anyway. Well… if you want to get technical I probably ate and subsequently “lost” about 1/3 of it myself before we lost the second half of the pie so it would’ve been almost the entire thing that got written off. What happened, you ask? Such apt students, a good question indeed. What follows is hearsay since neither Emma nor I bore witness to the event. I do remember looking at the ground and my shoes a lot, something down there must’ve been fascinating, and she was trying her best to hold me up (sort of) when a couple of raccoons decided to join the party and eat some pie… which had been forgotten and left out of the picnic table. Duh! We're normally very good with putting food away but when the alcohol hits like that pretty much everything else falls by the wayside very quickly. We were regaled with tales of Mr. Stinky and Goose fighting valiantly to rescue the damsel pie in distress from the marauding pirates via kicking (Mr. Stinky) and throwing empties (Goose) at them only to lose the bounty to the bandits who left with full bellies and probably sore rumps too. All this while I was feeding nature…
Only a whole bunch more months before we can go camping again! With bacon! And no puking! From me anyway… and I want to see how Emma tackles the squirting wiener next time! Another event I missed due to having been passed out. We should put a moratorium on fun stuff that happens when I'm incapacitated because it should be about me anyway, right?
Psssst! She doesn’t have to read this…
October 13, 2006
You Can't Make This Shit Up!
I had a doctor's appointment today and needed to fill out a prescription. Waiting at the pharmacy counter my eye caught sight of the business card rack. The slots for everyone who worked there were full, all but one. Somebody was obviously very popular so being the nosy bitch that I am, hovered in for a closer look. When I understood his popularity I had to pretend to be mature and refrain from bursting into laughter but the child inside reached out, grabbed one and shoved it into my pocket anyway.
Thanks to Adobe Photoshop and Mr. Stinky's graphic designing skills I present to you an honest to goodness, genuine business card with a little bit of tampering done for the purpose of saving this guy from complete embarassment and slapping me with a fat lawsuit of some kind. I swear on the hair upon your child's head that this is not a joke but I might want to frame the original anyway for posterity because it's just that good. Either that or go back and swipe a handful of them. I'm a humanitarian, I know. I'm practically a saint.
Thanks to Adobe Photoshop and Mr. Stinky's graphic designing skills I present to you an honest to goodness, genuine business card with a little bit of tampering done for the purpose of saving this guy from complete embarassment and slapping me with a fat lawsuit of some kind. I swear on the hair upon your child's head that this is not a joke but I might want to frame the original anyway for posterity because it's just that good. Either that or go back and swipe a handful of them. I'm a humanitarian, I know. I'm practically a saint.
October 10, 2006
And You Thought I Was A Lady...
If there ever was any remaining bit of doubt on your part (why?) as to the Ivory pureness of my character, you should know that I watched Jackass Number Two and totally loved it. Oh my god, you may think, how can such a beautiful, intelligent, articulate, funny and thought-provoking lady such as Stinky T enjoy such juvenile and low-brow garbage that is Jackass? Oh my dears, how much you still have to learn about me, not only did I enjoy it, but Mr. Stinky and I screamed and laughed loudly in the theatre along with everyone else also in attendance and then ran home for some gleeful pee afterwards.
We watched poor-quality downloaded episodes of Jackass months before everyone else outside of the States knew about it. I would offer to bring these videos to parties and be subsequently turned down when the host heard of such "stunts" as the Poo Cocktail and Vomit Omelette. 6 months later, these people were watching and crowing over the exact same pranks and stunts they were too ma-toor for earlier...
Seriously, you need to see this movie. It's all about the kind of pee pee and poo poo humour that defines and rocks my world. Turn away from the adult world of responsibility and sensibility for a few hours and come into my universe. You'll laugh, you'll cringe and maybe even gag a few times but it'll be worth it because you'll have seen how depraved and base people can be, and it's all for fun.
We watched poor-quality downloaded episodes of Jackass months before everyone else outside of the States knew about it. I would offer to bring these videos to parties and be subsequently turned down when the host heard of such "stunts" as the Poo Cocktail and Vomit Omelette. 6 months later, these people were watching and crowing over the exact same pranks and stunts they were too ma-toor for earlier...
Seriously, you need to see this movie. It's all about the kind of pee pee and poo poo humour that defines and rocks my world. Turn away from the adult world of responsibility and sensibility for a few hours and come into my universe. You'll laugh, you'll cringe and maybe even gag a few times but it'll be worth it because you'll have seen how depraved and base people can be, and it's all for fun.
October 06, 2006
What Do You Mean "Where's the Fire?"?!?
We've had notice that we were going to get a fire drill one of these days and I knew it was going to be today because it's Friday. They may be onto something.. these events should happen on the last work day of the week. Then we can all go home early and enjoy a slightly longer weekend! I should run for ruler of the world, I'd make such cool rules for us all.
I have to say now that we've had it I'm sorely disappointed. It's like, that time, that guy, who you were totally crushing on offered to show you the backseat of his totally blinged out car with the killer CD stereo system, leather seats and rad race car engine when the reality was a horribly repainted Cavalier, complimented by the bubbled up Crappy T self-tinting job, coffee can muffler in the back held up with what was once a coat hanger, a Discman hooked up to his cassette player and a faux leather throw his mom tossed over the backseat to protect passenger asses from the crazy, killer springs popping through. Mercifully, the tour was short and you ran away. Fast. But not before macing the lust out of his baby blues, the lying skid.
Sorry, back to the present. My mind likes to tangent off occasionally. At precisely 1010am we were told "10 minutes". I got all excited like a puppy being told she's going out for a walk and ran to the washroom to pee. Came back and put on my sweatshirt because it's a little cool out, don't want to stand outside whimpering in my t-shirt. Tick tick tick tick... Getting antsy. My half-hour break starts at 1100, we went and came back from doing lines I mean, whatev.. and still nothing. I knew it had to happen soon so again, I ran to the washroom to do my thing and bore down because I didn't want to be the schmuck left behind on the can should the building burn down.
Finally it happened and I just about pushed and kicked everyone down the stairs so that I could get a prime standing spot on the sidewalk and greet the firefighters. I looove fire alarms, firefighters are h-a-w-t! It should be a professional career to ogle and squeal at them, at least for me anyway. Somebody pay me to be a firefighting cheerleader, damn it!
We're standing on the sidewalk and I hear no sirens. I don't like that. The alarm got turned off and we went back in. No firefighters. I very don't like that. Sure it was a drill, and it makes total sense that they won't be coming to our imaginary rescue because somebody out there might legitimately have an emergency which would require their presence and assistance but what the hell! That fire drill sucked. Ass. Goat ass. I hate you all.
I have to say now that we've had it I'm sorely disappointed. It's like, that time, that guy, who you were totally crushing on offered to show you the backseat of his totally blinged out car with the killer CD stereo system, leather seats and rad race car engine when the reality was a horribly repainted Cavalier, complimented by the bubbled up Crappy T self-tinting job, coffee can muffler in the back held up with what was once a coat hanger, a Discman hooked up to his cassette player and a faux leather throw his mom tossed over the backseat to protect passenger asses from the crazy, killer springs popping through. Mercifully, the tour was short and you ran away. Fast. But not before macing the lust out of his baby blues, the lying skid.
Sorry, back to the present. My mind likes to tangent off occasionally. At precisely 1010am we were told "10 minutes". I got all excited like a puppy being told she's going out for a walk and ran to the washroom to pee. Came back and put on my sweatshirt because it's a little cool out, don't want to stand outside whimpering in my t-shirt. Tick tick tick tick... Getting antsy. My half-hour break starts at 1100, we went and came back from doing lines I mean, whatev.. and still nothing. I knew it had to happen soon so again, I ran to the washroom to do my thing and bore down because I didn't want to be the schmuck left behind on the can should the building burn down.
Finally it happened and I just about pushed and kicked everyone down the stairs so that I could get a prime standing spot on the sidewalk and greet the firefighters. I looove fire alarms, firefighters are h-a-w-t! It should be a professional career to ogle and squeal at them, at least for me anyway. Somebody pay me to be a firefighting cheerleader, damn it!
We're standing on the sidewalk and I hear no sirens. I don't like that. The alarm got turned off and we went back in. No firefighters. I very don't like that. Sure it was a drill, and it makes total sense that they won't be coming to our imaginary rescue because somebody out there might legitimately have an emergency which would require their presence and assistance but what the hell! That fire drill sucked. Ass. Goat ass. I hate you all.
October 03, 2006
How To Go
I had a medical appointment yesterday after work in Scarborough and needed to take the TTC to get there since I don’t have a car. But that’s OK because I wouldn’t drive to work anyway, I very much dislike traffic, taxis and well… everyone so commuting via public transit seems to be the least of all evils.Of course I had to pee when I got there. I pee a lot. I drink a lot of water which produces a lot of pee, it’s a vicious cycle. I tried to drink less but then I get thirsty. What the frig. Good thing I was early (I’m an early person, I don’t get along well with late people. If I invite you over for dinner and say be here by 7:00pm that’s when the door locks, not when you get into your car from home. I’m a bitch, get used to it) because it gave me time to go to the washroom.
I’m not a fan of public washrooms for all the obvious reasons but just looking at doorknobs and any surfaces projects into my mind nasty imagery of people picking their noses, scratching themselves and digging lunch out of their teeth right before touching whatever it is I need to touch. Hi, paranoia? It’s me, Stinky T, I do believe we’ve met.
I needed a key to access the washroom and started laughing as soon as I walked in. People on the floor must’ve gotten spooked when they heard my harsh cackle echoing down the hall but not see me. I wish I had a camera, as creepy as that sounds going into a public restroom, but it was just priceless.
Tacked on various walls were photocopied signs on coloured paper saying something like:
Ladies! If you must must must must pee on the seats…
Please clean up after yourselves!!
It had other stuff too, like you wouldn’t do it at home, why do it here but that was the gist of the message that mattered.
Who the hell pees on the seat on purpose?? I know that we all have aiming issues sometimes which results in wet seats or drippy rims, especially after drinking or in the middle of the night and the lights stay off.. or both, but peeing right on the seat? That’s issues, man. Someone must have a thing for splashing themselves all over or something equally gross because that’s what happens when pee hits the seat. And to have to be told not to do it? That kills me. Grown women all over the city have to be scolded into not making a mess. Bwah!
Sorry, the moment's over. I didn’t pee on the seat and therefore didn’t have to clean anything up. The key got brought back to the office with my pinky stuck through the key ring to minimalize germ transfer and the day ended just like any other with dry toilet seats rejoicing in the city.
October 01, 2006
Finale
Good morning readers. I seem to have lost track of time, oh right, shortly after the last posting I passed out on the couch leaving my guests to fend for themselves. I only recently stirred from my sleep but only because I needed to pee and somehow stumbled off to the washroom. After that, I ate a pear. I was hungry. A few friends are still here and informed me that while passed out I was found to be in several very ladylike positions on the couch during the course of my sleep. I hope there was no photographic evidence because I know how smashed I was, alcohol makes us into very good contortionists. Curiously, my calves are pretty sore right now. What the hell was I doing?
Asked them how long I was out for and they said, "Ummm... about 3 hours." I didn't believe them until I looked at the clock and saw what time it was. Holy black out period, batman! I'm fairly sure that I would still blow over because I can still feel the liquor but at least I'm mobile again. Therein ends the experiment which I now know was horribly spelt in the first post making it practically indecipherable. Sorry about that. Now we know how stupid we are after drinking. Let's not do this again. Don't drink and write. Goodnight y'all, I've got company to entertain downstairs. And it won't be in the passed out fashion this time.
Asked them how long I was out for and they said, "Ummm... about 3 hours." I didn't believe them until I looked at the clock and saw what time it was. Holy black out period, batman! I'm fairly sure that I would still blow over because I can still feel the liquor but at least I'm mobile again. Therein ends the experiment which I now know was horribly spelt in the first post making it practically indecipherable. Sorry about that. Now we know how stupid we are after drinking. Let's not do this again. Don't drink and write. Goodnight y'all, I've got company to entertain downstairs. And it won't be in the passed out fashion this time.
Sobering UP
Ohhh... I don't feel so good. At least it didn't take me 3 minutes to log in this time because I kept typing in the worng udnsername and password but I'm currentlyu on the couch taking deep beraths and waiting for the aolcohol to pass. Ebereyone's downstairs plaing pool but I don't thin I can stand up straight anybnore. That's a bnad sign. The poorer my posture the worse I'm doing, it's my alcholoidc gauge. I might pass out soon coz i"M getting sllepy too but it's OK. Gorss, I just burped and something soru scamp up. Mini bard s are gross.
Why am I such a cheap drunk? I eman, horribly cheapl. If you meat me in a bar and bougth me one drink I'd be yours for ht e night... as long as you hold me hari back while I soil your shoes in the back alley or wherever we end up o n nour rjoanmantic sojourn. THis is making no sense. My head hrts and my pulse is racing I ened to lie down even more but at least I don't have the spins. Those are no good mYU butt is itchy and I just tooted but I forgot that I have guests over. I hope they didn't hear coz it's was kind of loud but I think I'ts OK. I thini ti hahppend after they went hdownstairs czo I woudl'tve heard laughing.
I realy o'dt feel so good. I better go ijust in case.
Why am I such a cheap drunk? I eman, horribly cheapl. If you meat me in a bar and bougth me one drink I'd be yours for ht e night... as long as you hold me hari back while I soil your shoes in the back alley or wherever we end up o n nour rjoanmantic sojourn. THis is making no sense. My head hrts and my pulse is racing I ened to lie down even more but at least I don't have the spins. Those are no good mYU butt is itchy and I just tooted but I forgot that I have guests over. I hope they didn't hear coz it's was kind of loud but I think I'ts OK. I thini ti hahppend after they went hdownstairs czo I woudl'tve heard laughing.
I realy o'dt feel so good. I better go ijust in case.
Exsoeirnemnt
Heh, I've always wanted tot ry this. Got compnay tonght, alcholg is flowign. Want to tknow if i Can type alfter a few. No backspacing or editing, I'm having a good time.
IT's actulaly not bad, I'm still coherent although m y chair's not under my butt which forces tme to knell on the groudn and my chin is on the desk. YWe're playhhign musci but Incan't listen because my heart's going fast than the beat and it's all out of soync. Boom boom boom boom boom boom!
Ispetted in wet earlier and my sic's wet but I dunon't kjknow why or waht i stephed in. But it's OK s=co it's dry now. It's a friends' birthday so we didn birthdya shots. Whisey yrye's not great but I can handle it. I'mf eeeling reallyh happy right now. My head hurts. I fnd that I get headaches when I drink, don[t know why. I shoudl be going downstairs now to rejoing iht eoiogroup or else they'll thihnk I"m thirwong thrwoing thorwing throwng throwiong throwign throwing up but I"m not. Do'nt need to make that msitake like that last week. Grosss. I walk skind of wobbly but can still handle stairs. Why's imy heart going so fast when I drink? TI's crazy. OK, maybe I'll come back later, sounds like they're havign lots or fun downt sthere. GOod night!
IT's actulaly not bad, I'm still coherent although m y chair's not under my butt which forces tme to knell on the groudn and my chin is on the desk. YWe're playhhign musci but Incan't listen because my heart's going fast than the beat and it's all out of soync. Boom boom boom boom boom boom!
Ispetted in wet earlier and my sic's wet but I dunon't kjknow why or waht i stephed in. But it's OK s=co it's dry now. It's a friends' birthday so we didn birthdya shots. Whisey yrye's not great but I can handle it. I'mf eeeling reallyh happy right now. My head hurts. I fnd that I get headaches when I drink, don[t know why. I shoudl be going downstairs now to rejoing iht eoiogroup or else they'll thihnk I"m thirwong thrwoing thorwing throwng throwiong throwign throwing up but I"m not. Do'nt need to make that msitake like that last week. Grosss. I walk skind of wobbly but can still handle stairs. Why's imy heart going so fast when I drink? TI's crazy. OK, maybe I'll come back later, sounds like they're havign lots or fun downt sthere. GOod night!
September 26, 2006
Colours
It started with good and bad. As children we're taught lessons at mom and dad's knees to watch out for strangers and bad people. Illustrations in our story books always showed the evil characters as ugly, wart-ridden, malformed subhumans. We learned to delineate the people we could trust or like by their appearances and first impressions, making opinions based on black and white. As we grew a little older it became evident that judgements drawn from how beautiful a person was on the outside couldn't be used as the litmus test for determining friendship or worthiness. False niceties were learned, used and identified depending on our moods, attitudes and expectations of others. Friends became a thing to toss around, exchange and refund at the lunch table on a regular basis. We bartered for what we wanted, left behind the refuse and in the end came out of some difficult growing years bearing battle scars won by crossing that line in the sand with our allies. Our worlds became shades of grey and we knew that even things set in stone would eventually erode away from the daily bashing from the elements we call life.
Each passing moment teaches us something new about the way the world works, so splendidly laid out if only we would open our eyes. When we wipe away the blur of ignorance to get a glimpse of the truth it hurts and we're shocked and we can't believe that nobody ever told us before how foggy it can be. The truth is that there is no such thing as black and white or shades of grey because then it would the simplification of an equation that can't be solved. To assign a colour to life would spell the end of discovery and questioning, and making things defined as we see fit would only serve to close our eyes again to the world outside of our minds when we should be pushing the boundaries and sharing ourselves with each other.
I can't tell who is a good person and who isn't anymore, I used to think that it was so easy and relied on snap judgements to instantly like or dislike someone. 'Good' is so subjectively used and loosely defined that it doesn't even really mean anything anyway. The more people I meet the more I see how little I know of the human composition and how complex relationships can be, no matter how casual or deep they are. I have some very good friends now who started off as bugs on my windshield, most probably for some slight I can't even remember. Then there are others with whom an instant connection was made and we thought we'd be friends forever. Disagreements were the melodramatic annoyances of others we couldn't understand and our differences only made us link up together to form a stronger bond. After awhile there were bound to be chinks in the armour and cracks in the mortar. After awhile it became apparent that we weren't really that alike to begin with, or maybe we were so alike that we see reflections of ourselves in each other that we didn't really want to see, and the differences we had embraced were starting to smother the relationship until one of us let go and we fluttered away until there was nothing left.
People I had thought were solid and trustworthy turned out to have as many faces as there are cards in their wallets. People you thought you knew enough suddenly became a complete stranger you can't reach or connect with and it makes you wonder if you could be one of these people. I open my mouth to see if the tongue inside is forked and turn my head to see if there's another face back there. I can see how devious and flawed you are but I can't see my horns no matter how many mirrors there are and how unbiased I try to be because the truth is I see me the way you see you.
Each passing moment teaches us something new about the way the world works, so splendidly laid out if only we would open our eyes. When we wipe away the blur of ignorance to get a glimpse of the truth it hurts and we're shocked and we can't believe that nobody ever told us before how foggy it can be. The truth is that there is no such thing as black and white or shades of grey because then it would the simplification of an equation that can't be solved. To assign a colour to life would spell the end of discovery and questioning, and making things defined as we see fit would only serve to close our eyes again to the world outside of our minds when we should be pushing the boundaries and sharing ourselves with each other.
I can't tell who is a good person and who isn't anymore, I used to think that it was so easy and relied on snap judgements to instantly like or dislike someone. 'Good' is so subjectively used and loosely defined that it doesn't even really mean anything anyway. The more people I meet the more I see how little I know of the human composition and how complex relationships can be, no matter how casual or deep they are. I have some very good friends now who started off as bugs on my windshield, most probably for some slight I can't even remember. Then there are others with whom an instant connection was made and we thought we'd be friends forever. Disagreements were the melodramatic annoyances of others we couldn't understand and our differences only made us link up together to form a stronger bond. After awhile there were bound to be chinks in the armour and cracks in the mortar. After awhile it became apparent that we weren't really that alike to begin with, or maybe we were so alike that we see reflections of ourselves in each other that we didn't really want to see, and the differences we had embraced were starting to smother the relationship until one of us let go and we fluttered away until there was nothing left.
People I had thought were solid and trustworthy turned out to have as many faces as there are cards in their wallets. People you thought you knew enough suddenly became a complete stranger you can't reach or connect with and it makes you wonder if you could be one of these people. I open my mouth to see if the tongue inside is forked and turn my head to see if there's another face back there. I can see how devious and flawed you are but I can't see my horns no matter how many mirrors there are and how unbiased I try to be because the truth is I see me the way you see you.
September 24, 2006
Bon Echo 2006
Went camping with a few friends this weekend and I guess it was fun. I mean, I sort of enjoy their companies and there was plenty of alcohol to go around so it can't be all bad. Right?
There was rain, lots of it. Not great for any trip but you can't control the weather and the saving grace was that it mostly rained overnight while we were all tucked away/passed out in our tents. It was mostly nice during the day, except for the short bout of pouring rain during our hike but we were all dressed for it so that was OK.
Highlights and lowlights:
Goose getting a palmful of ass
It's not quite as sexy as it sounds although he can now proudly say he got some action. I was on Mr. Stinky's shoulders tying up a tarp for the impending rain and already had some drink in me. Heights and balance are in short order on any given day but especially when wobbly pops are involved. I must've leaned back a little too much at one point because suddenly a hand was on my butt to steady me I presume, and just as fast it was gone. Haven't quite decided if he was being sneaky there or not but it's OK, I have a nice butt. I'll let any of you cop a feel too, we'll start the line up shortly and you can take a number.
Too many wobbly pops
It's been a very long time since I got completely wasted. It'll be a very long time before I revisit that nightmare again. Nothing like standing bent over in one spot because you know that the next move or any other position will induce violent vomiting to signify that you're having a good time. The only positive outcome I could see was that I simultaneously fertilized the trees and fed the wildlife in several spurts. And by spurts I mean forceful eruptions. And you also need to know that strawberry rhubarb pie revisited tastes disgustingly horrible. There's a special feeling with the knowledge that the sensation of vomit knocking on your uvula's door will stay with you for a very long time.
Campfire conversations
What was said around the burny centre of both nights will stay there but you may be told that we had some great exchanges and laughs. We talked about our feelings, or lack thereof and vented about stuff. Extra points for having imbibed on the juices of lowered inhibitions, I had a hand alongside Emma in asking some wickedly inappropriate questions but we got answers. We now probably know more than we should for females. Scandalous.
Chipmunks on crotches
Now that totally sounds dirty. While we were sitting around Mr. Stinky and Goose started feeding the local chipmunks peanuts. Then it got elaborate with peanuts going up their legs and onto their knees. The activity evolved into a trail of nuts being placed on my legs and I have to admit I've never had so many cameras aimed at my crotch area. It was so Paris Hiltonesque it suddenly made me feel self conscious to have my legs wide open like that, and all so we could get a rodent to crawl up my leg. Have I made this story sound dirtier than it should? Golly. Hahaha...
OK, perverts. Here's some proof that I'm not into chipmunks. That way. On Saturdays. .......wait, what?
There was rain, lots of it. Not great for any trip but you can't control the weather and the saving grace was that it mostly rained overnight while we were all tucked away/passed out in our tents. It was mostly nice during the day, except for the short bout of pouring rain during our hike but we were all dressed for it so that was OK.
Highlights and lowlights:
Goose getting a palmful of ass
It's not quite as sexy as it sounds although he can now proudly say he got some action. I was on Mr. Stinky's shoulders tying up a tarp for the impending rain and already had some drink in me. Heights and balance are in short order on any given day but especially when wobbly pops are involved. I must've leaned back a little too much at one point because suddenly a hand was on my butt to steady me I presume, and just as fast it was gone. Haven't quite decided if he was being sneaky there or not but it's OK, I have a nice butt. I'll let any of you cop a feel too, we'll start the line up shortly and you can take a number.
Too many wobbly pops
It's been a very long time since I got completely wasted. It'll be a very long time before I revisit that nightmare again. Nothing like standing bent over in one spot because you know that the next move or any other position will induce violent vomiting to signify that you're having a good time. The only positive outcome I could see was that I simultaneously fertilized the trees and fed the wildlife in several spurts. And by spurts I mean forceful eruptions. And you also need to know that strawberry rhubarb pie revisited tastes disgustingly horrible. There's a special feeling with the knowledge that the sensation of vomit knocking on your uvula's door will stay with you for a very long time.
Campfire conversations
What was said around the burny centre of both nights will stay there but you may be told that we had some great exchanges and laughs. We talked about our feelings, or lack thereof and vented about stuff. Extra points for having imbibed on the juices of lowered inhibitions, I had a hand alongside Emma in asking some wickedly inappropriate questions but we got answers. We now probably know more than we should for females. Scandalous.
Chipmunks on crotches
Now that totally sounds dirty. While we were sitting around Mr. Stinky and Goose started feeding the local chipmunks peanuts. Then it got elaborate with peanuts going up their legs and onto their knees. The activity evolved into a trail of nuts being placed on my legs and I have to admit I've never had so many cameras aimed at my crotch area. It was so Paris Hiltonesque it suddenly made me feel self conscious to have my legs wide open like that, and all so we could get a rodent to crawl up my leg. Have I made this story sound dirtier than it should? Golly. Hahaha...
OK, perverts. Here's some proof that I'm not into chipmunks. That way. On Saturdays. .......wait, what?
September 21, 2006
Summer Showdown
I know that there are only a couple of days until the end of summer 2006. I know that soon it'll get cold, people will start coughing, sneezing and boogering everywhere, the ice and snow will fall, the biting winds will blow up our pant legs showing no mercy for frostbitten cootches and we'll all lose our beautiful, glowing tans, thus turning into walking zombies who blend into the rest of the dead and winterized world. That was a really long sentence.
I'm fighting the change of seasons tooth and nail. Despite chilly mornings where I can see my breath and afternoons which do little to warm the soul I am still in my summer clothes. Until it gets unbearably frigid I have sworn an oath to wear skirts, sandals/heels and tank tops to work. I march proudly up and down the hallways on a daily basis looking like July when everyone else is already dressing for February and telling me to put on a sweater. To be honest, most times I'm not feeling the cold which is ironic considering how much guff I get for having less body fat than some others (this is totally out of my control as I can eat like your mom on a menopausal day). My toothpick arms still sun-kissed and bare are a testament to how I will not falter in my quest to keep summer around a little longer.
You should support me, my rented minions, in this epic yearly battle. Soon I'll be posting messages full of blah and wah describing how incredibly S.A.D. I am, how uninspired and sucked dry of life and energy... all because of the cold. I can't wait for this current cold front to snap that so we can enjoy Indian Summer 2006. Wait, is that a derogatory term now? Hahaha... what movie/show was that from? "Indian." "Dots or feathers?" Ha! I love me some snarky humour. That may be why I'm so universally loved: unapologetically unpolitical.
Back to the point. Lift my arms when I falter, carry my feet when I stumble for I shall prevail. In almost exactly 6 months' time I promise if you join this fight with me I shall bring back the warmth. The sun. The joy. Because come on, what else are we gonna do right? A happy Stinky T is a blogging Stinky T and as long as I'm happy what the hell else matters? I mean, I love you all... big and small. Wait, come back.
I'm fighting the change of seasons tooth and nail. Despite chilly mornings where I can see my breath and afternoons which do little to warm the soul I am still in my summer clothes. Until it gets unbearably frigid I have sworn an oath to wear skirts, sandals/heels and tank tops to work. I march proudly up and down the hallways on a daily basis looking like July when everyone else is already dressing for February and telling me to put on a sweater. To be honest, most times I'm not feeling the cold which is ironic considering how much guff I get for having less body fat than some others (this is totally out of my control as I can eat like your mom on a menopausal day). My toothpick arms still sun-kissed and bare are a testament to how I will not falter in my quest to keep summer around a little longer.
You should support me, my rented minions, in this epic yearly battle. Soon I'll be posting messages full of blah and wah describing how incredibly S.A.D. I am, how uninspired and sucked dry of life and energy... all because of the cold. I can't wait for this current cold front to snap that so we can enjoy Indian Summer 2006. Wait, is that a derogatory term now? Hahaha... what movie/show was that from? "Indian." "Dots or feathers?" Ha! I love me some snarky humour. That may be why I'm so universally loved: unapologetically unpolitical.
Back to the point. Lift my arms when I falter, carry my feet when I stumble for I shall prevail. In almost exactly 6 months' time I promise if you join this fight with me I shall bring back the warmth. The sun. The joy. Because come on, what else are we gonna do right? A happy Stinky T is a blogging Stinky T and as long as I'm happy what the hell else matters? I mean, I love you all... big and small. Wait, come back.
September 20, 2006
Cheap Feel
Apparently I got one today. Everyday after break my friend Amy and I wash our hands before returning to our desks. It's a good routine to get into, especially having witnessed firsthand how questionable some people's hygienic habits are. I personally am not shy to say that I wash my hands like, 50 times a day. I am singlehandedly keeping the soap and lotion people afloat, I am their economy! Well, me and scads of horny, single guys out there whose Saturday dates consist of a magazine, a sock and that trusty bottle of Jergens.
So today Amy had a magazine in hand and before the purification of the hands she put it down on a nearby cabinet. We were gabbing away so I didn't register that action. She finished first and I was next. Still jabbering like a pair of budgies, we headed back towards our office but not before she stopped in her tracks to pick up said magazine. Me being the uber aware person living the keyboardist's life, kept going. At the last minute my body reacted before my mind did and the feet stopped moving but that doesn't do much for inertia and to right myself I tripped and flew towards her. I should add that as this happened a few people were having an informal meeting a few feet away from us, in an office made of glass.
I tripped and gravity pushed me into Amy. We stumbled together a few steps, burst into cackles at my clumsiness and then she proclaimed that I had violated her by grabbing some boobage. We couldn't stop laughing and started doing that hyper speech at several octaves higher than normal trying to calm down. When that finally happened I admitted that in the passing moment of gracefulness I didn't feel what she said I should've felt. She reenacted the incident to me, perhaps to refresh my mind. Nothing. I proposed that the next time we have such a close encounter we should slow things down and experience it in slow motion because I figure if I'm going to grab some boob we should at least both know what happened and enjoy it together, right?
So today Amy had a magazine in hand and before the purification of the hands she put it down on a nearby cabinet. We were gabbing away so I didn't register that action. She finished first and I was next. Still jabbering like a pair of budgies, we headed back towards our office but not before she stopped in her tracks to pick up said magazine. Me being the uber aware person living the keyboardist's life, kept going. At the last minute my body reacted before my mind did and the feet stopped moving but that doesn't do much for inertia and to right myself I tripped and flew towards her. I should add that as this happened a few people were having an informal meeting a few feet away from us, in an office made of glass.
I tripped and gravity pushed me into Amy. We stumbled together a few steps, burst into cackles at my clumsiness and then she proclaimed that I had violated her by grabbing some boobage. We couldn't stop laughing and started doing that hyper speech at several octaves higher than normal trying to calm down. When that finally happened I admitted that in the passing moment of gracefulness I didn't feel what she said I should've felt. She reenacted the incident to me, perhaps to refresh my mind. Nothing. I proposed that the next time we have such a close encounter we should slow things down and experience it in slow motion because I figure if I'm going to grab some boob we should at least both know what happened and enjoy it together, right?
September 19, 2006
Skids and Dives
Sounds like some backyard water sport. It's really not. This past weekend Mr. Stinky and I took a trip around Lake Ontario. We took the Seaway Trail around the southern end of the lake and up around to Kingston or thereabouts before heading south back home. Along the way we stopped at several cities and towns, nothing to write home about and camped at several state parks. I must say though, Kring Point State Park was a really cool stay as most of all its campsites were on the St. Lawrence River waterfront and we watched several barges chug through. We picked a fairly private site and enjoyed a fire-cooked dinner of salmon and potatoes right on the lake.
Last night, back on terra firma Canada we stayed at Presqu'ile Park south of Brighton. I guess it was a nice park, but nothing outstanding. We needed dinner, I didn't feel like cooking and cleaning afterwards so we headed into town. Nothing to be found in Brighton so off we headed to Trenton where one of the first places to eat was called "Rednecks Pub" with the requisite swarm of hogs sitting in the parking lot. Seedy looking, like a dive. We didn't eat there but it brought up fond memories of another time not long ago...
Mr. Stinky entered a marathon in Massey, a small town between Sudbury and Sault Ste. Marie. He placed a hold on a room at a local motel in town for the weekend and we were told what signs to look for as it was "kind of hidden". The day of, we arrived at Massey and set about looking for this motel. When we landmarked all the signs the motel guy told us to look for, we slowed down and whaddya know, there it was if a little run down. We pulled into the drive and the spidey senses just exploded.
Stinky T: 'Girls Girls Girls'?
Mr. Stinky: There's the motel.
Stinky T: But it says 'Girls Girls Girls'!
Mr. Stinky: Oh shit, are you serious?.... It's all one building!
Stinky T: That's disgusting, I don't want to stay here! We're not staying here!
Mr. Stinky: But all the other places are booked for the race and this guy's got my name and cell phone number down...
Stinky T: I don't care, we're not staying here. If the strip joint is attached to the motel can you imagine how much DNA is all over that place?!? Nasty!
Mr. Stinky: Heh, I guess we wouldn't be getting much sleep with the music and all and I need a good night's sleep for tomorrow...
Stinky T: Eek! There's a man in the office window, see him? He's on the phone and he's looking down at us. Let's go! Let's go let's go let's go let's go!!
Mr. Stinky: Shit, he's watching us! What if he knows it's me? What should we do?
Stinky T: Reverse! Let's go! Let's get out here, I don't care if he's watching us. Let's go let's go let's go let's go!!
That, my friends was a total dive run by a skid. A skid in his stained undershirt smoking and talking on the phone, staring at people coming up the drive like a hungry guard dog waiting to pounce. I shudder to think of what his motel rooms are like and the kinds of stains, diseases and memories left behind from the side jobs performed after the lap dances. Luckily, we found another roadside motel a little farther away for accomodations. It was almost a dive too, but the landlady was nice and the place was clean. After the first motel, I could hardly complain.
P.S. Remember how I said I had some crazy neighbours who love cranking the a/c? It's say what, mid-teens now outside and their unit is just the little engine that could, outcooling the Arctic. Nuts I tell ya.
Last night, back on terra firma Canada we stayed at Presqu'ile Park south of Brighton. I guess it was a nice park, but nothing outstanding. We needed dinner, I didn't feel like cooking and cleaning afterwards so we headed into town. Nothing to be found in Brighton so off we headed to Trenton where one of the first places to eat was called "Rednecks Pub" with the requisite swarm of hogs sitting in the parking lot. Seedy looking, like a dive. We didn't eat there but it brought up fond memories of another time not long ago...
Mr. Stinky entered a marathon in Massey, a small town between Sudbury and Sault Ste. Marie. He placed a hold on a room at a local motel in town for the weekend and we were told what signs to look for as it was "kind of hidden". The day of, we arrived at Massey and set about looking for this motel. When we landmarked all the signs the motel guy told us to look for, we slowed down and whaddya know, there it was if a little run down. We pulled into the drive and the spidey senses just exploded.
Stinky T: 'Girls Girls Girls'?
Mr. Stinky: There's the motel.
Stinky T: But it says 'Girls Girls Girls'!
Mr. Stinky: Oh shit, are you serious?.... It's all one building!
Stinky T: That's disgusting, I don't want to stay here! We're not staying here!
Mr. Stinky: But all the other places are booked for the race and this guy's got my name and cell phone number down...
Stinky T: I don't care, we're not staying here. If the strip joint is attached to the motel can you imagine how much DNA is all over that place?!? Nasty!
Mr. Stinky: Heh, I guess we wouldn't be getting much sleep with the music and all and I need a good night's sleep for tomorrow...
Stinky T: Eek! There's a man in the office window, see him? He's on the phone and he's looking down at us. Let's go! Let's go let's go let's go let's go!!
Mr. Stinky: Shit, he's watching us! What if he knows it's me? What should we do?
Stinky T: Reverse! Let's go! Let's get out here, I don't care if he's watching us. Let's go let's go let's go let's go!!
That, my friends was a total dive run by a skid. A skid in his stained undershirt smoking and talking on the phone, staring at people coming up the drive like a hungry guard dog waiting to pounce. I shudder to think of what his motel rooms are like and the kinds of stains, diseases and memories left behind from the side jobs performed after the lap dances. Luckily, we found another roadside motel a little farther away for accomodations. It was almost a dive too, but the landlady was nice and the place was clean. After the first motel, I could hardly complain.
P.S. Remember how I said I had some crazy neighbours who love cranking the a/c? It's say what, mid-teens now outside and their unit is just the little engine that could, outcooling the Arctic. Nuts I tell ya.
September 13, 2006
Vertigo
This site, Mimi in New York is one of my favourite reads. She's a magna cum laude Cambridge grad who went to New York to become a journalist. Troubles with getting her papers and visas resulted in finding work at strip clubs to make rent. If you've got rainy days, read her blog. She is an amazing writer and an absolute word wizard, sometimes I don't know how she does it. If nothing else, read the latest entry Vertigo for a glimpse of her life and why I enjoy her blog so much.
September 11, 2006
For T-J
This picture is so funny I stole it from her corkboard to show the rest of you. You so have to imagine the entire scene as it played out. Beautiful.
You know that this giraffee's (you have to say it like it's spelt) got to be blonde.
You know that this giraffee's (you have to say it like it's spelt) got to be blonde.
September 09, 2006
Graphic Burp
Yesterday after another day of slogging through the keyboardist's life, I went to meet Mr. Stinky at his work so that we could go out for dinner and miss the usual Friday commute home. While he was finishing up I surfed the internet at his desk and visited one of my bookmarked sites. I hadn't been there in a few days so there were several posts I needed to catch up on and the funniest, seriously, funniest thing I've read in a very long time had me in tears. Being that we were in a work environment, and not mine because I have no problems letting loose the howls of hysteria at my workplace, I had to stay somewhat quiet. I was choking, shaking and in stitches. The second reading required, due to blurry wet eyes during the first one, didn't fare so well either.
It's graphic and detailed so if you use your imagination you might feel as if you were him at that moment partaking in the sensory overload... I hope you find it as entertaining as I did. As a caveat, don't eat or drink while reading. You know, just in case.
Culture Shock
It's graphic and detailed so if you use your imagination you might feel as if you were him at that moment partaking in the sensory overload... I hope you find it as entertaining as I did. As a caveat, don't eat or drink while reading. You know, just in case.
Culture Shock
September 06, 2006
Train Piece
Everyday at 4pm The Shuster and I jet out of hell and head for the train station. We talk about all the pointless nothingness we did that day and bitch about whatev, it's pretty much a set ritual. We usually get to the station shortly after 410pm and the train leaves at 425pm. Those last 10 minutes or so consists of a countdown to see who our neighbours will be. Sometimes we act like crazy people, put our bags on the seats next to us and sprawl all over the ones we're sitting on in order to discourage seat buddies. We're not trying to be obnoxious but being a big guy, it's pretty uncomfortable having anyone sit next to or across from him. I'm Asian, I grew up crammed in the car with 19 other people anytime we went anywhere so I can deal. But I prefer the North American standards of space. Sometimes we just gotta deal, you can't not let someone sit if they want it right?
There have been times when we've had to move. Not necessarily because we didn't want to sit with people but because of what they bring into our environment. There are no private sanctuaries in public transit but you hope that society still retains a bit of decency from time to time. At the end of the day most people want nothing more than to relax and enjoy a little peace and quiet because chaos is just on the other side of the train doors and everyone's got to get out some time.
I don't need to hear about Cindy, her boob job and what you think of her melodramatic high life from four rows away. The way I see it, whoever you're talking to is beside, across from you or on the other end of the cell phone pressed up against your face, not halfway down the train. Likewise for groups who insist on making their conversations include the rest of us, thanks for trying to be so involving but no one gives two shits about what you're talking about. Seat change.
I shouldn't be able to smell the disgustingly thick and putrid bouquet you call cologne or perfume. No one should smell like a dumpster that's been sitting out in the sun full of decaying hot garbage mixed with cheap vanilla or horse testicle sweat. It's not alluring! Your 3 metre cloud of death makes me want to vomit through my ears, I'd rather smell B.O. than your designer testicle sweat! Seat change.
I realize that people are hungry after work and need a snack; I can't justifiably get mad when they bring food onto the train but I do anyway. You ever notice that if you get some sort of fast food such as fries from McDonald's they smell and taste like deep-fried paradise? The same cannot be said for someone else's fast food, that shit smells like sour poison. This odour anomaly applies for all fast foods there are out there and I can't explain it but we don't wait around for the stink to waft away because it doesn't. It clings and hangs and lingers until I want to vomit out my ears. Seat change.
Who says sitting in the train is less stressful than driving home? Sometimes it's so not. I may be more sensitive than usual (remember my wolfish senses?) to certain smells but really, there are so many other irritants presented on a daily basis. Can you tell I don't like people? I need a bubble. Like the Jetsons. Why haven't they invented those yet, damn it!?
There have been times when we've had to move. Not necessarily because we didn't want to sit with people but because of what they bring into our environment. There are no private sanctuaries in public transit but you hope that society still retains a bit of decency from time to time. At the end of the day most people want nothing more than to relax and enjoy a little peace and quiet because chaos is just on the other side of the train doors and everyone's got to get out some time.
I don't need to hear about Cindy, her boob job and what you think of her melodramatic high life from four rows away. The way I see it, whoever you're talking to is beside, across from you or on the other end of the cell phone pressed up against your face, not halfway down the train. Likewise for groups who insist on making their conversations include the rest of us, thanks for trying to be so involving but no one gives two shits about what you're talking about. Seat change.
I shouldn't be able to smell the disgustingly thick and putrid bouquet you call cologne or perfume. No one should smell like a dumpster that's been sitting out in the sun full of decaying hot garbage mixed with cheap vanilla or horse testicle sweat. It's not alluring! Your 3 metre cloud of death makes me want to vomit through my ears, I'd rather smell B.O. than your designer testicle sweat! Seat change.
I realize that people are hungry after work and need a snack; I can't justifiably get mad when they bring food onto the train but I do anyway. You ever notice that if you get some sort of fast food such as fries from McDonald's they smell and taste like deep-fried paradise? The same cannot be said for someone else's fast food, that shit smells like sour poison. This odour anomaly applies for all fast foods there are out there and I can't explain it but we don't wait around for the stink to waft away because it doesn't. It clings and hangs and lingers until I want to vomit out my ears. Seat change.
Who says sitting in the train is less stressful than driving home? Sometimes it's so not. I may be more sensitive than usual (remember my wolfish senses?) to certain smells but really, there are so many other irritants presented on a daily basis. Can you tell I don't like people? I need a bubble. Like the Jetsons. Why haven't they invented those yet, damn it!?
August 31, 2006
Making Words Aloud
Sitting in front of my computer with a big, white screen devoid of text I'm at a loss. I want to write something, creative words and such are floating around in my head and I know I have the ability to make feeding the cats and popping my gigantic zit sound like a cool adventure. There is nothing.
I've been feeling quite contemplative lately. There just seems to be so many thoughts running around, not quite coherent but completely whole. I find myself drifting off into that other plane of consciousness quite often but always getting yanked back out abruptly and before I'm done. Sometimes I can sit in one spot and think for hours, about everything real and imagined. I like thinking as there are no boundaries inside and nobody to question the deliriousness of my logic. As loud as I can be at times I think that I'm much more an introvert as I am more than comfortable with the same silence that make people squirm and bring up the weather.
In these past few days I wrote something that turned into a two page exposition, a topic which began quite lightheartedly benign but evolved into a very personal and affecting diary entry. I let Mr. Stinky read it and he thought it was good. He also questioned whether I would publish it or not. I haven't quite decided, it seems much too deep down private to let others see, yet is probably the most honest account of me that I've ever expressed. Don't hold your breath for it to appear here anytime soon.
I can talk. Oh my god, I can talk so much that sometimes it's hard to shut me up. But when my mouth isn't opened is when I find myself most profound. I've always found it much easier to write things down than to vocalize them but sometimes I feel that I need to share something of me. That seems to be why I wanted to have Mr. Stinky read my essay... I wanted him to know but my words don't work the way they do when I say them to myself. This way I was able to keep the integrity of the message and at the same time lay it all out on the table. It's not quite the most ideal way to communicate but for now I suppose it'll have to do.
I've kept a diary for years, keeping inane, momentous and show-stopping events in the hereafter. These past few years I've been lazy and only write once in a very long while and I think it's why I started this blog, not really for you but for me because I like words. I like the way they connect and make sense. The fun patterns they make all over the page. The way they let me tell my stories and someone else wants to read them. If I could, I would be constantly writing and therefore constantly updating.
I can clearly see how horribly unorganized and disjunct this post has been, and embarrassingly so. Normally I'd go back, slash and burn the words until they flow: beginning, middle, end. But today I think I'll just leave it as visual proof that lately I really can't seem to connect the dots. If my words won't even work imagine the abomination when I try to speak... As many trains of thoughts as I have, it's just like rush hour at the station but nobody knows what happened to the damn schedule.
I've been feeling quite contemplative lately. There just seems to be so many thoughts running around, not quite coherent but completely whole. I find myself drifting off into that other plane of consciousness quite often but always getting yanked back out abruptly and before I'm done. Sometimes I can sit in one spot and think for hours, about everything real and imagined. I like thinking as there are no boundaries inside and nobody to question the deliriousness of my logic. As loud as I can be at times I think that I'm much more an introvert as I am more than comfortable with the same silence that make people squirm and bring up the weather.
In these past few days I wrote something that turned into a two page exposition, a topic which began quite lightheartedly benign but evolved into a very personal and affecting diary entry. I let Mr. Stinky read it and he thought it was good. He also questioned whether I would publish it or not. I haven't quite decided, it seems much too deep down private to let others see, yet is probably the most honest account of me that I've ever expressed. Don't hold your breath for it to appear here anytime soon.
I can talk. Oh my god, I can talk so much that sometimes it's hard to shut me up. But when my mouth isn't opened is when I find myself most profound. I've always found it much easier to write things down than to vocalize them but sometimes I feel that I need to share something of me. That seems to be why I wanted to have Mr. Stinky read my essay... I wanted him to know but my words don't work the way they do when I say them to myself. This way I was able to keep the integrity of the message and at the same time lay it all out on the table. It's not quite the most ideal way to communicate but for now I suppose it'll have to do.
I've kept a diary for years, keeping inane, momentous and show-stopping events in the hereafter. These past few years I've been lazy and only write once in a very long while and I think it's why I started this blog, not really for you but for me because I like words. I like the way they connect and make sense. The fun patterns they make all over the page. The way they let me tell my stories and someone else wants to read them. If I could, I would be constantly writing and therefore constantly updating.
I can clearly see how horribly unorganized and disjunct this post has been, and embarrassingly so. Normally I'd go back, slash and burn the words until they flow: beginning, middle, end. But today I think I'll just leave it as visual proof that lately I really can't seem to connect the dots. If my words won't even work imagine the abomination when I try to speak... As many trains of thoughts as I have, it's just like rush hour at the station but nobody knows what happened to the damn schedule.
August 30, 2006
Baseball Players Are Pussies
Please don't try to dissuade me or defend them because I'd just laugh at you if you tried. Remember last year when Jeter dove onto the turf and laid there wracked in pain for a good 10 minutes like he needed his last rites? They may have wheeled out the stretcher... lord, they may have brought the whole ER down onto the field, I'm not too sure. But what did he end up with? A bruised thumb. Ohmigod!
When I heard that Chacin left the game last night with a crampy finger all I could do was roll my eyes. Dude, walk it off! Suck it up and play through the cramp. It'll eventually go away on its own. What the hell.
How do hockey players get their teeth knocked out and come back for their next shift? How do they break a leg but manage to hobble back to the bench so the next guy can jump on the ice? How can they stand in the hallway to get that gaping hole stitched up and return to the game? Inconceivable! (The Princess Bride was on a few days ago. Oh Westley....)
I don't know what breed of men they have in the MLB but seriously, let's tone that suck factor down a few notches. Nobody wants to hear about female cramps and pains but if a baseball player gets a cramp we want to send him get well cards and pretty balloons. This world makes so little sense that it's practically inconceivable.
When I heard that Chacin left the game last night with a crampy finger all I could do was roll my eyes. Dude, walk it off! Suck it up and play through the cramp. It'll eventually go away on its own. What the hell.
How do hockey players get their teeth knocked out and come back for their next shift? How do they break a leg but manage to hobble back to the bench so the next guy can jump on the ice? How can they stand in the hallway to get that gaping hole stitched up and return to the game? Inconceivable! (The Princess Bride was on a few days ago. Oh Westley....)
I don't know what breed of men they have in the MLB but seriously, let's tone that suck factor down a few notches. Nobody wants to hear about female cramps and pains but if a baseball player gets a cramp we want to send him get well cards and pretty balloons. This world makes so little sense that it's practically inconceivable.
August 19, 2006
Saturday Quickie
Bike riding to a nearby supermarket, we stopped at a red light. On a nearby light post I noticed a piece of paper taped onto it with the little cut-off flaps at the bottom for easy ripping.
Stinky T: Hey! Quick Divorces from $300!
Mr. Stinky: Haha! Look, someone already took one (of the flaps with convenient 1-800 number).
Stinky T: Haha! Wow, $300.
Mr. Stinky: $300... I could afford that.
Stinky T: Hey we'll go half, $150-$150.
Mr. Stinky: Done.
Stinky T: Niice!
Stinky T: Hey! Quick Divorces from $300!
Mr. Stinky: Haha! Look, someone already took one (of the flaps with convenient 1-800 number).
Stinky T: Haha! Wow, $300.
Mr. Stinky: $300... I could afford that.
Stinky T: Hey we'll go half, $150-$150.
Mr. Stinky: Done.
Stinky T: Niice!
August 16, 2006
Starburst Attack
A few fortnights ago an incident occurred which forever changed the dynamics between T-J and I. It wasn't planned and nobody was injured severely but it was gut-bustingly funny and became an instant classic. To this day when we retell the story it's a slapstick comedy reenacted in tandem coz it's always funnier that way.
I'm not a sweet snacker, I prefer to munch on salty foods instead. About the only time that I crave sweet stuff is when I'm PMSing. I don't know why. Sometimes I will even want chocolate but that's rare. I'm not a fan of chocolate as it does nothing for me. The mind just boggles. Back to the topic.
I hadn't had Starbursts in awhile so when I saw that they were on sale I bought a bag of the assorted flavours. I was enjoying them immensely at my desk and asked T-J and Shuster if they wanted to share in my bounty. Shuster came over and grabbed a few while T-J held out her hands for me to toss one over. We work about 10 feet away from each other so you'd think no problemo, yes? But if you did then there'd be no story to tell.
For the record I was planning on gently tossing it over so that it would land in her outstretched hands. Somehow the synapses grossly misfired because I winged the damned thing at her and because her hands were kind of head level guess where the Starburst went.
In the instant I let it fly my mind said "whoops!". In the half a millisecond (what would that be?) before the candy hit her, she must've seen the imminent strike because her head turned away from me and her hands morphed from catcher's mitts to shields. In the silence of the office we heard a small "tock!" and T-J's "AAAAAAOoow!!"
When the rest of that second passed we burst into laughter. My profuse apologies were drowned pitifully in the undertow of our tear filled hysteria and everytime I tried to explain my intent a fresh wave of mirth would burst forth. Why do we have boxes of kleenex on our desks? It's definitely not to combat nasal drip, unless it results from laughing. Nay, the kleenex is to aid in our recovery after such events of stupidity, especially when T-J revealed that as she shied away from the Starburst missile and yelled in reaction to being hit, a big gob of drool fell from her mouth and onto the floor. We laughed until it hurt, then we laughed some more until it got numb.
I don't even know if she ended up eating that candy. I can't remember coz all that laughing caused me to black out and forget the rest of the day. What I do know is, you can only get away with such acts of violence against your friends. If it had been anybody else and I had laughed to the brink of pissing myself, I can assure you that formal complaints would have been drawn up and issued. That would be followed by severe scolding and an indefinite ban on candy with pointy corners. And that's so not fun when that's about all we care for.
I'm not a sweet snacker, I prefer to munch on salty foods instead. About the only time that I crave sweet stuff is when I'm PMSing. I don't know why. Sometimes I will even want chocolate but that's rare. I'm not a fan of chocolate as it does nothing for me. The mind just boggles. Back to the topic.
I hadn't had Starbursts in awhile so when I saw that they were on sale I bought a bag of the assorted flavours. I was enjoying them immensely at my desk and asked T-J and Shuster if they wanted to share in my bounty. Shuster came over and grabbed a few while T-J held out her hands for me to toss one over. We work about 10 feet away from each other so you'd think no problemo, yes? But if you did then there'd be no story to tell.
For the record I was planning on gently tossing it over so that it would land in her outstretched hands. Somehow the synapses grossly misfired because I winged the damned thing at her and because her hands were kind of head level guess where the Starburst went.
In the instant I let it fly my mind said "whoops!". In the half a millisecond (what would that be?) before the candy hit her, she must've seen the imminent strike because her head turned away from me and her hands morphed from catcher's mitts to shields. In the silence of the office we heard a small "tock!" and T-J's "AAAAAAOoow!!"
When the rest of that second passed we burst into laughter. My profuse apologies were drowned pitifully in the undertow of our tear filled hysteria and everytime I tried to explain my intent a fresh wave of mirth would burst forth. Why do we have boxes of kleenex on our desks? It's definitely not to combat nasal drip, unless it results from laughing. Nay, the kleenex is to aid in our recovery after such events of stupidity, especially when T-J revealed that as she shied away from the Starburst missile and yelled in reaction to being hit, a big gob of drool fell from her mouth and onto the floor. We laughed until it hurt, then we laughed some more until it got numb.
I don't even know if she ended up eating that candy. I can't remember coz all that laughing caused me to black out and forget the rest of the day. What I do know is, you can only get away with such acts of violence against your friends. If it had been anybody else and I had laughed to the brink of pissing myself, I can assure you that formal complaints would have been drawn up and issued. That would be followed by severe scolding and an indefinite ban on candy with pointy corners. And that's so not fun when that's about all we care for.
August 15, 2006
Just Add Water!
We've got Sea Monkeys in our office. They were on sale at the toy store and we decided they'd be the perfect addition to the ambience of our hard-working environment. I should tell you that this is the second generation. The first, may they rest in peace, were mercilessly slain in the historic event known as the T.R. Massacre*. I shall not divulge the tyrant's name, as he might slap me with a big, fat libel suit and as much as I cherished the pets I don't have the kind of money to go to court over such frivolity. Sea Monkeys are a cutesy name for a species of brine shrimp. They are itty bitty little swimming creatures, kind of like lice or moving dandruff. They come freeze-dried in little packages and magically become animated when you mix them into a jar of pre-treated water like you would make lemonade.
They’ve essentially become the centrepiece of our office as we get frequent visitors throughout the day to check on their growth, numbers and watch them buzz around the tank. Everyone drops by to see them, it’s like freak circus central! I tell ya, this office is full of fre.. characters!
I’m happy to report that second generation Monkeys are thriving. After the T.R. Massacre we learned our lesson, there are now colourful signs all around the tank warning people not to touch or pick it up. Anytime a visitor gets too close to the pets we immediately screech out warnings which include promises of dire pain and torture should they disregard the signs. So far the combination of warnings have proven to be superbly effective.
So now, a little bit wiser and a little less soaked we are all living harmoniously with our sea creatures. Hopefully it stays that way coz I like that they are such an attraction and draw many new and returning visitors to our cozy little office. All it took was mixing a few things together to bring forth life! Playing god makes Stinky T ve-ry happy.
*Coles Notes version of the genocide: T.R. picked up the tank to look at it and proceeded to spill it all down his pants, namely his crotch. Now I know it’s not rocket science, but if you see a container filled with water why shake, tip and turn the thing upside down? I know, right?!?
August 14, 2006
Expand Your Lungs
The weather lately has been beautiful, the humidity has snapped and although it can get hot under the sun, you can’t beat hanging out in the shade. Mr. Stinky and I enjoy the outdoors; we bike, garden, hike, camp and go for walks… even on those yucky, sticky days. I figure you can’t be a constant shut-in, right? Everyone needs to go outside to relax, get some fresh air and have some fun when they can, especially since the majority of us go into a state of semi-hibernation come winter.I’m coming to the realization that a lot of people don’t agree with me, a lot of people don’t like to breathe outdoors air or be outside. The past week or so, we’ve enjoyed having the windows opened and the a/c off. There is almost always a lovely breeze coming from the lake and it feels nice… different from manufactured cool air. I’ve even been using the side burner of our BBQ more often, just to be outside. However, all through the day and night, our next door neighbour’s a/c is running. And loudly at that. These last few nights temperatures went down to the low teens but I’ve deduced they like it much colder than that. I don’t even know what their bills are like but to give you a hint: they moved in about 6 months after we did and once as I was doing some gardening I looked at their meter. The numbers were already much higher than ours. Yowza!
It’s not an isolated case either, I’ve been told by some that their windows do not open. At home if the heat’s not on, then the a/c is. Not only do I find this quite wasteful in terms of unnecessary hydro use, which translates to further lining the pockets of our energy providers it leaves me with the question of why we don’t like natural, fresh air? Do we believe that it’s better inside? Not to get all scientificy here and I won’t be referencing anything, but I’m pretty sure that most studies between indoor and outdoor air have proven that the latter is usually cleaner and fresher. Or perhaps the age of artificial living has moved in whereby we don’t do or use anything unless it’s not in its raw state. Intriguing.
In any case, I don’t know why it’s on my mind. I don’t suppose it’s an issue of right or wrong, just different mindsets. But if you can before it gets cold, go outside and enjoy the weather. It doesn’t get any better than right now.
August 08, 2006
Back!
Days Gone: 4
Mileage Claimed: ~50km
Bear Encountered: 0
Moose Encountered: 1
Bug Bites: Stopped counting after the first one
Scary Storms: 1
I'm back. Rest your weary, little hearts, we made it safely back out the bush. Although for the rest of this post you will think of me as Lumpy T instead of the usual as I'm covered in bug bites, scrapes and bruises. More later.
We were gone for 4 days, and as stated above the round trip was roughly 50km worth of rowing and portaging. There was a lot of rowing; my arms and shoulders are sore but I held my own. Sometimes it felt like all we did was stroke... stroke... stroke... but we actually moved at pretty good clips. I've learned to look far off to where we were going, not in front of me, especially if we were rowing across the current coz then it gets trippy. Like we were travelling diagonally, or sideways which, when it was super windy was definitely the case. There was also the fear that we might tip over. Back country canoeing/backpacking is quite different from being in the familiar. We couldn't just whip out cell phones to call for help if anything bad were to occur. If something happens to you out there you're pretty much fucked. Ain't nobody gonna come rescue you coz how would you call them and how would they know where you are anyway? Since our packs were 30-50lb they'd be dead weight and sink so fast we wouldn't even see where they hit the water. All the gear and food would be gone in an instant, thus severely handicapping us. I was super vigilant in my quest to keep the canoe upright.
We were careful not attract any bears to our campsites. I'm pretty happy that we came out having never met each other, although according to park statistics it actually is very rare to see one of these creatures. Park rangers are lucky if they see one or two a year. Good odds for me.
On the second day we stayed on a small island littered with moose poo, actually moose poo dots the entire park. They're not very picky about where they go... think also of roughly two dozen chocolate Timbits in one pile. At about 4pm, while we were hanging out in our campsite which is located in the clearing at one end of the island Mr. Stinky and I heard branches snapping and something walking in the bush. We looked up and saw a huge brown shape walking through the trees, its footsteps thumping the ground so heavily that we felt them. The camera came out and we waited. The shape turned into a very impressive bull moose taller than Mr. Stinky's height of 6' and came as close as about 6 feet away from where we pitched our tent. We were very excited due to our proximity, plus they usually don't come out in the middle of the day. It got spooked and jumped into the lake to swim back to the mainland. We stood and watched the whole time while it grunted and huffed the water out of its nose. Absolutely awesome.
I don't like using bug spray so I endured the bites. I find that the first bite is the worst; after that they all sort of cancel each other out so although I tried to swat them away, kill them or do the Mosquito Dance I did get bit but only had to use the spray once.
The last night of our trip it stormed. You could hear God noisily inhaling from somewhere down in Alabama before blowing it across the land... winds in the city cannot compare in terms of strength and noise. The lake was choppy and it rained. I had visions of us trying to make our way back come morning with lashing winds and pouring rain, and me screaming at Mr. Stinky "I HAAAATE youuuuu!! You did this to meeeeee!", not unlike how I imagine it might sound in the delivery room. Luckily for us it cleared up in the early morning and we got out without any incident.
After days of eating trail mix and dehydrated foods we headed to Kelsey's for our celebratory gorge. Tossing aside the skimpy lunch menus we devoured the entrees of choice and several hours later stuffed ourselves silly again. Heaven.
Mileage Claimed: ~50km
Bear Encountered: 0
Moose Encountered: 1
Bug Bites: Stopped counting after the first one
Scary Storms: 1
I'm back. Rest your weary, little hearts, we made it safely back out the bush. Although for the rest of this post you will think of me as Lumpy T instead of the usual as I'm covered in bug bites, scrapes and bruises. More later.We were gone for 4 days, and as stated above the round trip was roughly 50km worth of rowing and portaging. There was a lot of rowing; my arms and shoulders are sore but I held my own. Sometimes it felt like all we did was stroke... stroke... stroke... but we actually moved at pretty good clips. I've learned to look far off to where we were going, not in front of me, especially if we were rowing across the current coz then it gets trippy. Like we were travelling diagonally, or sideways which, when it was super windy was definitely the case. There was also the fear that we might tip over. Back country canoeing/backpacking is quite different from being in the familiar. We couldn't just whip out cell phones to call for help if anything bad were to occur. If something happens to you out there you're pretty much fucked. Ain't nobody gonna come rescue you coz how would you call them and how would they know where you are anyway? Since our packs were 30-50lb they'd be dead weight and sink so fast we wouldn't even see where they hit the water. All the gear and food would be gone in an instant, thus severely handicapping us. I was super vigilant in my quest to keep the canoe upright.
We were careful not attract any bears to our campsites. I'm pretty happy that we came out having never met each other, although according to park statistics it actually is very rare to see one of these creatures. Park rangers are lucky if they see one or two a year. Good odds for me.
On the second day we stayed on a small island littered with moose poo, actually moose poo dots the entire park. They're not very picky about where they go... think also of roughly two dozen chocolate Timbits in one pile. At about 4pm, while we were hanging out in our campsite which is located in the clearing at one end of the island Mr. Stinky and I heard branches snapping and something walking in the bush. We looked up and saw a huge brown shape walking through the trees, its footsteps thumping the ground so heavily that we felt them. The camera came out and we waited. The shape turned into a very impressive bull moose taller than Mr. Stinky's height of 6' and came as close as about 6 feet away from where we pitched our tent. We were very excited due to our proximity, plus they usually don't come out in the middle of the day. It got spooked and jumped into the lake to swim back to the mainland. We stood and watched the whole time while it grunted and huffed the water out of its nose. Absolutely awesome.
I don't like using bug spray so I endured the bites. I find that the first bite is the worst; after that they all sort of cancel each other out so although I tried to swat them away, kill them or do the Mosquito Dance I did get bit but only had to use the spray once.
The last night of our trip it stormed. You could hear God noisily inhaling from somewhere down in Alabama before blowing it across the land... winds in the city cannot compare in terms of strength and noise. The lake was choppy and it rained. I had visions of us trying to make our way back come morning with lashing winds and pouring rain, and me screaming at Mr. Stinky "I HAAAATE youuuuu!! You did this to meeeeee!", not unlike how I imagine it might sound in the delivery room. Luckily for us it cleared up in the early morning and we got out without any incident.
After days of eating trail mix and dehydrated foods we headed to Kelsey's for our celebratory gorge. Tossing aside the skimpy lunch menus we devoured the entrees of choice and several hours later stuffed ourselves silly again. Heaven.
August 03, 2006
Bear Warning
I'm off to my weekend portage tomorrow. Mr. Stinky and I are heading up to Algonquin for a long weekend of canoeing, camping, bugs and skinny dipping (!). I'm very excited as it's my first experience. We're regular car campers but this time we're going a step further into the bush and away from life. It's our mini vacation... as a regular vacation seems to be out of our reach right now so this'll do.
I've never camped where the land belongs to the bears. I'll have to be careful and remember not to smell too yummy to one of them but I'm sure if I smell like hot dog Mr. Stinky'll remind me to change my clothes before bedtime. If one should get agressive, I can assure you that I will not be playing dead or curling into the fetal position. Why you ask? Simple. If a hungry and angry 800lb beast decides that he wants to nosh on some Stinkyback ribs I hardly think that I'm a good enough actor to remain calm until he's done and goes away. I really do not believe that calmly presenting oneself on a platter surrounded by sprigs of green garnishings will discourage a hungry being. No, presentation is a large part of eating and I for one am not willing to look like a yummy dish for Ursus grumblytummyus.
Instead I resolve to fall into total panic mode whereby squawking like a chicken, running back and forth, jumping into the lake, flapping my limbs around and throwing gear at it like my toothbrush, pillow and underwear, for some reason will totally make sense. I will not be the generous main course of the night for the damn bear. I will convince myself that my actions are deterring him from clamping down on me even though my clear and rational mind knows that I'm just whetting his appetite.
So, dear readers, I plan on returning Monday night. I'll be tired so don't expect me to rush to the nearest piece of technology to update you on how I got a soaker, hiked up some hills and made potty in the bush. You can however, check here on Tuesday since I've got the day off from work and should have some time to type. If I don't make a peep by Wednesday you may safely assume that Mr. Grumblytummyus greatly enjoyed some Stinkyback ribs and you'll need to tell the rangers that they'll probably find me in random piles of bear poop.
I've never camped where the land belongs to the bears. I'll have to be careful and remember not to smell too yummy to one of them but I'm sure if I smell like hot dog Mr. Stinky'll remind me to change my clothes before bedtime. If one should get agressive, I can assure you that I will not be playing dead or curling into the fetal position. Why you ask? Simple. If a hungry and angry 800lb beast decides that he wants to nosh on some Stinkyback ribs I hardly think that I'm a good enough actor to remain calm until he's done and goes away. I really do not believe that calmly presenting oneself on a platter surrounded by sprigs of green garnishings will discourage a hungry being. No, presentation is a large part of eating and I for one am not willing to look like a yummy dish for Ursus grumblytummyus.
Instead I resolve to fall into total panic mode whereby squawking like a chicken, running back and forth, jumping into the lake, flapping my limbs around and throwing gear at it like my toothbrush, pillow and underwear, for some reason will totally make sense. I will not be the generous main course of the night for the damn bear. I will convince myself that my actions are deterring him from clamping down on me even though my clear and rational mind knows that I'm just whetting his appetite.
So, dear readers, I plan on returning Monday night. I'll be tired so don't expect me to rush to the nearest piece of technology to update you on how I got a soaker, hiked up some hills and made potty in the bush. You can however, check here on Tuesday since I've got the day off from work and should have some time to type. If I don't make a peep by Wednesday you may safely assume that Mr. Grumblytummyus greatly enjoyed some Stinkyback ribs and you'll need to tell the rangers that they'll probably find me in random piles of bear poop.
August 02, 2006
The Blue File
A co-worker came into our office just now. There are three of us in here: T-J, Clueless and me. Usually when our manager comes in to ask us questions we sit in our chairs looking blankly back at her slack-jawed, hoping someone else knows the answer, any answer. H owever, our manager's questions usually make sense as they are logical and specially designed to make us squirm in our seats. This question, well..... I've changed a few details to keep things ambiguous but yah...
Co-worker: Excuse me, have you seen the blue file?
Magnificent 3: .....................?
The Shuster a frequent visitor sits and observes.
Co-W: It's a blue file.
M3: .........................?
Co-W: I'm looking for the blue file.
M3: .......................?
T-J
Co-W: No no, it's an existing blue file.
T-J
Co-W: No, it's got stuff in it. It's a blue file.
Clueless: It. would. help. if you had an address…
Stinky T: Do you have any other information about the file?
I should tell you that Co-W is notoriously secretive, nobody knows why. If you locked her up in solitary, tortured her within an inch of her life and threatened any and all kin she's got she still probably wouldn't tell you what colour the sky is if she didn't feel like it, so divulging this bit of information surely must've torn pieces out of her heart and soul.
Co-W: ..........Uh...It says..... "6 Pink Elephants and 20 Toes".
M3: OH H ! OK, that file! Yah, we don't have it.
Co-W: No? Are you sure you don't have that file? (Wanders around, poking her little nose everywhere) It's a blue file.
M3: Nope.
Co-W leaves. I look over at Nancy T-J and the Shuster and they're both sitting v-e-r-y still, trying to hold something in. I decided to find out what that something could be.
Stinky T: So.. I'm looking for a woman... She's a woman. An existing woman.H ave you seen the woman?
Co-worker: Excuse me, have you seen the blue file?
Magnificent 3: .....................?
The Shuster a frequent visitor sits and observes.
Co-W: It's a blue file.
M3: .........................?
Co-W: I'm looking for the blue file.
M3: .......................?
T-J
Co-W: No no, it's an existing blue file.
T-J
Co-W: No, it's got stuff in it. It's a blue file.
Clueless: It. would. help. if you had an address…
Stinky T: Do you have any other information about the file?
I should tell you that Co-W is notoriously secretive, nobody knows why. If you locked her up in solitary, tortured her within an inch of her life and threatened any and all kin she's got she still probably wouldn't tell you what colour the sky is if she didn't feel like it, so divulging this bit of information surely must've torn pieces out of her heart and soul.
Co-W: ..........Uh...It says..... "6 Pink Elephants and 20 Toes".
M3: O
Co-W: No? Are you sure you don't have that file? (Wanders around, poking her little nose everywhere) It's a blue file.
M3: Nope.
Co-W leaves. I look over at Nancy T-J and the Shuster and they're both sitting v-e-r-y still, trying to hold something in. I decided to find out what that something could be.
Stinky T: So.. I'm looking for a woman... She's a woman. An existing woman.
The office erupts into peals of laughter and tears of hilarity. We can't get over what just happened. Like complete idiots we put the incident on repeat and keep on asking each other where the blue file is. T-J is yanking out sheaths of kleenex by the handfuls in an effort to dam up the flow of streaming tears, while snorting and snuffling, trying to catch her breath through her laughter in what I can only think of as some sort of hysterical epileptic seizure. The Shuster is shaking tremulously in his chair so much that I didn't know if he'd ever be able to stop and wiping his eyes in futile. All the while I'm trying to keep a straight face. The rest of the day is a wash because about the only thing we can talk about is the blue file.
As of the time of publishing we still don't know where that darn blue file is.
July 31, 2006
Mazel Tov!
Oh dude! I just realized it's been a year since I started this. That surely must be the coolest thing you were told today.
July 30, 2006
Hand-Drawn Questions
> Didn't Snow White and Cinderella suffer from mad cases of morning breath when their princely saviours on white horses awoke them from their deep sleeps? Also, how did they also not mess their beds or get bed sores?
> How come Pepe Le Pew's horny obsession with the black cat was seen as funny and not as what it really was: stalking, sexual harassment, sexual assault, dry humping and practical rape?
> I know we all knew that the Beast was a cursed human prince on the inside, but Belle sure as hell didn't and fell in love with him anyway. Wouldn't it be beastiality if he didn't turned back and they consummated their true fairy tale love? This question also works for Roger and Jessica Rabbit. Friggin' pervs.
> Wasn't Jem ever concerned that Rio was two-timing with her alter ego Jerrica when she wasn't around? And how come Jerrica was OK with him getting some rockstar nookie with Jem, while we're at it? Someone's got both identity and self-esteem problems if you ask me.
> Was Tweety a boy or a girl, coz he had some raging eyelashes and pouty lips and no discernible genitals. Maybe the question should really be: Pre-op or post-op...
> Why did no one ever kill that pansy-assed sidekick of the Mighty Hercules? Even as a kid I thought that Newton was the most annoying thing ever and I bet he was "touched" too. How can you trust a boy who prances around constantly anyhow?
> The Amazing Spiderman, when he swung along the city's skyline doing his spiderly patrol thing at the end of the episode after he had saved Gotham, Grayskull or whatever, where did his webbing attach onto? Heaven, perhaps?
> Were He-Man and She-Ra siblings or lovers for pete's sake?! Or maybe, BOTH...
> When they concentrated real hard, clenched their fists and stuck their rotund little bellies out to give the Care Bear Stare and/or Care Bear Cousins Call, did any one of them ever accidentally push out a fart?
> How come Charlie Brown never bitch-slapped or kicked Lucy in the head after she pulled the football out from under him? I bet that would've made her think hard the next time she tried that stunt.
> When they were flying around in Neverland did any of the Lost Boys ever take a peek up Wendy's nightgown? Coz I would, if only to make sure that her bloomies didn't say "Wednesday" on a Thursday. Eeew..
> I was probably 4 when I watched Bambi and nobody would tell me what happened to his mom. What's up with that?
> How come Pepe Le Pew's horny obsession with the black cat was seen as funny and not as what it really was: stalking, sexual harassment, sexual assault, dry humping and practical rape?
> I know we all knew that the Beast was a cursed human prince on the inside, but Belle sure as hell didn't and fell in love with him anyway. Wouldn't it be beastiality if he didn't turned back and they consummated their true fairy tale love? This question also works for Roger and Jessica Rabbit. Friggin' pervs.
> Wasn't Jem ever concerned that Rio was two-timing with her alter ego Jerrica when she wasn't around? And how come Jerrica was OK with him getting some rockstar nookie with Jem, while we're at it? Someone's got both identity and self-esteem problems if you ask me.
> Was Tweety a boy or a girl, coz he had some raging eyelashes and pouty lips and no discernible genitals. Maybe the question should really be: Pre-op or post-op...
> Why did no one ever kill that pansy-assed sidekick of the Mighty Hercules? Even as a kid I thought that Newton was the most annoying thing ever and I bet he was "touched" too. How can you trust a boy who prances around constantly anyhow?
> The Amazing Spiderman, when he swung along the city's skyline doing his spiderly patrol thing at the end of the episode after he had saved Gotham, Grayskull or whatever, where did his webbing attach onto? Heaven, perhaps?
> Were He-Man and She-Ra siblings or lovers for pete's sake?! Or maybe, BOTH...
> When they concentrated real hard, clenched their fists and stuck their rotund little bellies out to give the Care Bear Stare and/or Care Bear Cousins Call, did any one of them ever accidentally push out a fart?
> How come Charlie Brown never bitch-slapped or kicked Lucy in the head after she pulled the football out from under him? I bet that would've made her think hard the next time she tried that stunt.
> When they were flying around in Neverland did any of the Lost Boys ever take a peek up Wendy's nightgown? Coz I would, if only to make sure that her bloomies didn't say "Wednesday" on a Thursday. Eeew..
> I was probably 4 when I watched Bambi and nobody would tell me what happened to his mom. What's up with that?
July 23, 2006
Asian Addiction
It was the summer of 199... 8? 9? Whatever. I went to Taiwan on a student exchange program. My intentions were good, I wanted to learn the language, immerse myself in a different culture and see the world. Only later did I hear that the trip was infamously known as the "Love Boat"... a 6 week opportunity for horny teenagers to indulge in all their sexual fantasies without the fear of mom and/or dad walking in and impeding the copious amounts of copulation going on.
Whatever the case, what happens in Taiwan stays in Taiwan. Needless to say a lot of stuff happened that will provide me plenty of memories to last a long, long time. What really struck me, was that no matter where the people came from, Asians will be Asians. In the age right before digital cameras came along (or were in the everyman's price range), everyone was packing. Film canisters were everywhere, we had all scoped out the cheapest, fastest best developing places. The fact that I had to think about what those containers were called and how film become pictures tells me that indeed, the traditional 35mm camera is very passe.
I brought 6 rolls of 24 exposure film for my 6 week trip. That's.. 144 pictures. After the first week people were running around with multiple albums in hand stuffed full of pictures to show their new friends. I couldn't understand how anyone could take so many pictures! By the end of the trip people were going home with cases of pictures while I had my 6 rolls of memories to bring back to Canada.
Everywhere I go I see Asians toting cameras around and clicking at any and everything. I've seen a busload of tourists run after squirrels taking pictures and countless group pictures being taken with ever multiplying cameras appearing with every click. I've had to suffer through countless torture sessions looking at the vacation pictures of friends who took 8000 pictures when 20 would have sufficed. It's nice that you had fun, but it was your vacation. Your pictures really don't mean anything to me, just like mine won't tickle your soul either. The context just isn't there for me. And if every picture contains a stock shot of you and your honey posing in front of whatever interesting there is in the background that you've just obliterated, tedium soon turns into thoughts of putting a bullet in someone's head. I'm not too picky about where that bullet goes...
What do people do with so many pictures? Mr. Stinky and I rarely print our pictures and when we do, after a week or so it gets tossed in a random corner or shelf. Would taking 144 pictures versus 1444 really mean anything to anyone after time passes and you forget who that bunch of people in your pictures are anyway? Where are my Taiwan pictures? In a box. Somewhere. When was the last time I looked through them? Sometime awhile ago. Besides a few fond memories, would I really care about what all those people from around the world are doing right now? Probably not.
Perhaps I was short-changed a few Asian genes while hanging out in my mother's womb. I don't seem to be Asian enough in many respects. I should've shot out of there with a camera in one hand and chopsticks in the other, smelling of mothballs and driving a Japanese economy car. Instead I might have introduced myself to the world while driving a pickup truck with my cursing finger extended and a big ol' sneer they hoped was a smile on my face.
I may be pissed off at something... what that is isn't quite clear to me at the moment.
Whatever the case, what happens in Taiwan stays in Taiwan. Needless to say a lot of stuff happened that will provide me plenty of memories to last a long, long time. What really struck me, was that no matter where the people came from, Asians will be Asians. In the age right before digital cameras came along (or were in the everyman's price range), everyone was packing. Film canisters were everywhere, we had all scoped out the cheapest, fastest best developing places. The fact that I had to think about what those containers were called and how film become pictures tells me that indeed, the traditional 35mm camera is very passe.
I brought 6 rolls of 24 exposure film for my 6 week trip. That's.. 144 pictures. After the first week people were running around with multiple albums in hand stuffed full of pictures to show their new friends. I couldn't understand how anyone could take so many pictures! By the end of the trip people were going home with cases of pictures while I had my 6 rolls of memories to bring back to Canada.
Everywhere I go I see Asians toting cameras around and clicking at any and everything. I've seen a busload of tourists run after squirrels taking pictures and countless group pictures being taken with ever multiplying cameras appearing with every click. I've had to suffer through countless torture sessions looking at the vacation pictures of friends who took 8000 pictures when 20 would have sufficed. It's nice that you had fun, but it was your vacation. Your pictures really don't mean anything to me, just like mine won't tickle your soul either. The context just isn't there for me. And if every picture contains a stock shot of you and your honey posing in front of whatever interesting there is in the background that you've just obliterated, tedium soon turns into thoughts of putting a bullet in someone's head. I'm not too picky about where that bullet goes...
What do people do with so many pictures? Mr. Stinky and I rarely print our pictures and when we do, after a week or so it gets tossed in a random corner or shelf. Would taking 144 pictures versus 1444 really mean anything to anyone after time passes and you forget who that bunch of people in your pictures are anyway? Where are my Taiwan pictures? In a box. Somewhere. When was the last time I looked through them? Sometime awhile ago. Besides a few fond memories, would I really care about what all those people from around the world are doing right now? Probably not.
Perhaps I was short-changed a few Asian genes while hanging out in my mother's womb. I don't seem to be Asian enough in many respects. I should've shot out of there with a camera in one hand and chopsticks in the other, smelling of mothballs and driving a Japanese economy car. Instead I might have introduced myself to the world while driving a pickup truck with my cursing finger extended and a big ol' sneer they hoped was a smile on my face.
I may be pissed off at something... what that is isn't quite clear to me at the moment.
July 20, 2006
Blame Game
The headlines these days are all focussing on the troubles in the Middle East and getting people out of harm's way. Actually, I haven't really been reading or watching the news because everyday is the same dredge. I don't find that the news is "news" per se, more like media hype and exploitation of suffering and pain. In the winter it's all about how cold it is. Cold alert! And the snow and ice, oh the pain, the pain! In the summer we can't stop talking about how hot it is. Heat alert! Smog alert! Red alert, shields up!
But back to this topic. Really, you don't think all of this war stuff was happening before it suddenly became sexy and Pulitzer Prize-worthy? You think this whole Israel-Muslims-Christians pissing contest haven't been going on since forever? Look up The Crusades, they've been pissed off at each other since they defined "pissed off". What I'm noticing now, though is that there's a lot of news coverage on the evacuation of people from the Beirut, Lebanon area. And even louder are the bleets of the angry people who blame their governments for not doing enough, especially Canada.
?????????? Enough? Enough what? Why is it your government's responsibility to bail your ass out when trouble a-cometh? Why do you need to rely on someone else to rescue you when your life of milk and honey suddenly turns into vinegar? This I don't understand because it wasn't the government of Canada who put them in Lebanon in the first place. It was their conscious choice to live and raise families or vacation there and knowing that there is a risk of war or being attacked, they should have taken that into consideration before going and maybe even have a back-up plan if something were to happen. Which indeed, happened. Having dual citizenship is great, but if you don't live here, don't pay taxes and speak of Lebanon as "your country", don't expect us to rush to your aid at the first sign of trouble. It's my damn tax dollars that shuttles your freeloading butt out of the danger zone so don't run to anyone with a camera, microphone or notepad complaining how the Canadian govenment took too long, it should be ashamed of itself and needs to do more to take care of its own people.
The point is, you knew things were happening. Maybe not at first, but the signs were there and when it got bad you still had time to jet yourself out of there. But no, you sat home and did nothing. Then you expected Canada to have waiting cruise ships sitting in your harbour ready for you to leave. And I bet that when things settle down you'll be on the first plane back to Lebanon. I also bet that if bombs weren't dropping all around you, there wouldn't even be a passing thought of Canada in your head. Want someone to blame? Look in the mirror. Grow up and take some responsibility, someone has to and in this case it's not the government's fault.
Look, I don't want people to die. I just don't like the heaping mounds of shit Canada has to sit in everytime something happens. To extend an olive branch of goodwill, my Morden Centennial is starting to bloom. This is from me to you, please get out safely.
But back to this topic. Really, you don't think all of this war stuff was happening before it suddenly became sexy and Pulitzer Prize-worthy? You think this whole Israel-Muslims-Christians pissing contest haven't been going on since forever? Look up The Crusades, they've been pissed off at each other since they defined "pissed off". What I'm noticing now, though is that there's a lot of news coverage on the evacuation of people from the Beirut, Lebanon area. And even louder are the bleets of the angry people who blame their governments for not doing enough, especially Canada.
?????????? Enough? Enough what? Why is it your government's responsibility to bail your ass out when trouble a-cometh? Why do you need to rely on someone else to rescue you when your life of milk and honey suddenly turns into vinegar? This I don't understand because it wasn't the government of Canada who put them in Lebanon in the first place. It was their conscious choice to live and raise families or vacation there and knowing that there is a risk of war or being attacked, they should have taken that into consideration before going and maybe even have a back-up plan if something were to happen. Which indeed, happened. Having dual citizenship is great, but if you don't live here, don't pay taxes and speak of Lebanon as "your country", don't expect us to rush to your aid at the first sign of trouble. It's my damn tax dollars that shuttles your freeloading butt out of the danger zone so don't run to anyone with a camera, microphone or notepad complaining how the Canadian govenment took too long, it should be ashamed of itself and needs to do more to take care of its own people.
The point is, you knew things were happening. Maybe not at first, but the signs were there and when it got bad you still had time to jet yourself out of there. But no, you sat home and did nothing. Then you expected Canada to have waiting cruise ships sitting in your harbour ready for you to leave. And I bet that when things settle down you'll be on the first plane back to Lebanon. I also bet that if bombs weren't dropping all around you, there wouldn't even be a passing thought of Canada in your head. Want someone to blame? Look in the mirror. Grow up and take some responsibility, someone has to and in this case it's not the government's fault.
Look, I don't want people to die. I just don't like the heaping mounds of shit Canada has to sit in everytime something happens. To extend an olive branch of goodwill, my Morden Centennial is starting to bloom. This is from me to you, please get out safely.
July 18, 2006
Duck Duck Goose
We decided to have some friends over on Sunday, so I invited Emma and Goose (explanation to follow) for a small, intimate evening together. The plan was for a nice, easy bike ride along the Waterfront Trail followed by (non-group) showers, dinner and then just hanging out. Seems easy, right? It started out innocently enough, it was friggin’ hot and muggy but since we live by the lake temperatures are usually much more tempered by it and even on the hottest days in the City, there is a cool breeze that comes off the lake making the outdoors that much more enjoyable.
The ride was pleasant enough; we rode roughly 15 km, round trip. There were lots of families out for picnics and family fun days and it was nice to see so many people having a good time. On our way back, I was riding with Goose who, at this point in time hadn’t been dubbed with said moniker yet, while Mr. Stinky and Emma were a ways back. All of a sudden a gigantic Canada Goose flew out of nowhere and almost crashed right into Goose’s head. I let out a scream of surprise and got a super close-up of a goose butt that I never wanted to see and he ducked and swerved while the bird flapped frantically, finally landing on the grass a few feet away. As I looked back, Emma is laughing at Mr. Stinky who was flying across the grassy field trying to spook the lounging birds, one of which had just spooked Goose and I.
After the feathers settled down we laughed about the incident. There aren’t many stories you hear about which includes almost being taken out by an unprovoked waterfowl and especially since that thing was so big we were pretty sure that Goose would have been knocked to the ground. I rationalized that perhaps the goose had lousy vision or had just consumed a heavy meal and couldn't quite attain normal flight altitudes. But now you know why his name is Goose.
The rest of the evening was pretty normal, we had fun, we ate, hung out and went home. Last night as I was talking to Emma on the phone, she was also on MSN with Goose. There were several threads of conversation going on at once making things a little confusing at times. While we talked about whatever, she would also interject with Goose’s replies as well as her responses to him as per their conversation.
Somehow or another the topic of handjobs came up. As she was typing that due to the incident, it was entirely logical that we change his name to Goose, I made a comment to her about giving out handjobs. All of a sudden she said, “I think that’s a good nickname for me.” Stunned, I blurted: "..HANDJOB?!?” Now it was her turn to be bamboozled and she shrieked into my ear, “WHAT? Wh… no!! That’s what Goose said!” Of course at this point we both dissolved into laughter because the timing was just so perfect that the two conversations came together like that and how do you time coincidence anyway?
That’s my Goose story, I think it’s a keeper.
The ride was pleasant enough; we rode roughly 15 km, round trip. There were lots of families out for picnics and family fun days and it was nice to see so many people having a good time. On our way back, I was riding with Goose who, at this point in time hadn’t been dubbed with said moniker yet, while Mr. Stinky and Emma were a ways back. All of a sudden a gigantic Canada Goose flew out of nowhere and almost crashed right into Goose’s head. I let out a scream of surprise and got a super close-up of a goose butt that I never wanted to see and he ducked and swerved while the bird flapped frantically, finally landing on the grass a few feet away. As I looked back, Emma is laughing at Mr. Stinky who was flying across the grassy field trying to spook the lounging birds, one of which had just spooked Goose and I.
After the feathers settled down we laughed about the incident. There aren’t many stories you hear about which includes almost being taken out by an unprovoked waterfowl and especially since that thing was so big we were pretty sure that Goose would have been knocked to the ground. I rationalized that perhaps the goose had lousy vision or had just consumed a heavy meal and couldn't quite attain normal flight altitudes. But now you know why his name is Goose.
The rest of the evening was pretty normal, we had fun, we ate, hung out and went home. Last night as I was talking to Emma on the phone, she was also on MSN with Goose. There were several threads of conversation going on at once making things a little confusing at times. While we talked about whatever, she would also interject with Goose’s replies as well as her responses to him as per their conversation.
Somehow or another the topic of handjobs came up. As she was typing that due to the incident, it was entirely logical that we change his name to Goose, I made a comment to her about giving out handjobs. All of a sudden she said, “I think that’s a good nickname for me.” Stunned, I blurted: "..HANDJOB?!?” Now it was her turn to be bamboozled and she shrieked into my ear, “WHAT? Wh… no!! That’s what Goose said!” Of course at this point we both dissolved into laughter because the timing was just so perfect that the two conversations came together like that and how do you time coincidence anyway?
That’s my Goose story, I think it’s a keeper.
July 17, 2006
July 14, 2006
Haircut
Got one a couple of days ago. Cut I like. Salon, I did not like.
My hair got to be about halfway down my back. It was starting to get heavy and boring. I cut my hair like, once or twice a year... certainly not the recommended three to four months or whatever the experts say. Actually, I think my last cut was about this time last summer. Nice. So since the trips to the salon are a rare occurence, it's a big deal for me. I ask for everything to get chopped off so I can start all over again. My hair currently sits on my shoulders. Nice and short.
I decided to get my hair cut at a salon near work because it'd be so much more convenient if I just use my lunch hour and not have to go home, get the car, drive to the salon and so on. I had been to this place before for my summer pedicure which I wasn't too impressed with but I thought, feet and hair... different parts, different people.
I made my appointment the day of, going in person to tell them I wanted a cut at 12:00pm with a Director Stylist. At 11:48am, just as I was about to leave for my appointment the phone rang and they said there was a mistake. They had to push it back to 12:30pm. I was OK with the time change since it seemed like an honest mistake. When I arrived at the newly agreed upon time, I was taken to the colouring chair instead of the hairwashing station. The stylist asked what colour I wanted. ?? I told her I was there for a cut. She went to check the book at the front and front desk girl came and told me I was there for an updo. ??? I said no, I was there to get. a. hair. cut. There was some grumbling and such, no apologies for me, and a demand to know how and when I made the appointment and who I talked to.
After we cleared the air my stylist went to work. She was good, super good. She was fast and knew what she was doing. We didn't talk. None of the people there spoke to their clients. None of them smiled either. It was a surreal experience, like I was in some world of haute couture where everyone's so cool they're bored. Whatev. I didn't feel like small talk anyway.
When she was done I went up to pay. The bill was more than I had expected. Turns out instead of a Director Stylist I was attended to by a Master Stylist which means she's good enough that they charge me extra. I'm not opposed to paying what they charged since I thought she was worth it, but seeing's how I had specifically asked for an apple and they gave me a pickle it was unnerving. All the more so because they had screwed up every single detail of my appointment. To err is human but in this case they went errrrrrr and I didn't get an apology.
I paid but I don't know if I want to go back. I should be OK though, since I have a whole year to find another place to visit. Either that, or the anger fades in time and I end up back there again.
On a topic totally unrelated to hair, there is a light bulb on its last gas molecule, prong, whatever, above my computer which means it's exactly where it should be to drive me bananas. It's flickering and making the "tink, tink..... tink" noise constantly making it tremendously hard for me to concentrate on my work. I want to start throwing things at it just to shatter the tube and make it stop but then I'll probably get in a lot of trouble when the guy comes to fix it. He probably won't arrive until 3:36pm today, just in time to keep my last thread of sanity from blitzing out and causing me to go on a huge paperclip throwing, paper crumpling, chair spinning, plug unplugging rampage. Heh... remember Rampage? Sigh.. I have to find my happiness somewhere. With all the flickering I might start to think I'm suffering from a mini stroke or something. At least it'll provide an alibi for my climbing and punching things and eating people. What?
My hair got to be about halfway down my back. It was starting to get heavy and boring. I cut my hair like, once or twice a year... certainly not the recommended three to four months or whatever the experts say. Actually, I think my last cut was about this time last summer. Nice. So since the trips to the salon are a rare occurence, it's a big deal for me. I ask for everything to get chopped off so I can start all over again. My hair currently sits on my shoulders. Nice and short.
I decided to get my hair cut at a salon near work because it'd be so much more convenient if I just use my lunch hour and not have to go home, get the car, drive to the salon and so on. I had been to this place before for my summer pedicure which I wasn't too impressed with but I thought, feet and hair... different parts, different people.
I made my appointment the day of, going in person to tell them I wanted a cut at 12:00pm with a Director Stylist. At 11:48am, just as I was about to leave for my appointment the phone rang and they said there was a mistake. They had to push it back to 12:30pm. I was OK with the time change since it seemed like an honest mistake. When I arrived at the newly agreed upon time, I was taken to the colouring chair instead of the hairwashing station. The stylist asked what colour I wanted. ?? I told her I was there for a cut. She went to check the book at the front and front desk girl came and told me I was there for an updo. ??? I said no, I was there to get. a. hair. cut. There was some grumbling and such, no apologies for me, and a demand to know how and when I made the appointment and who I talked to.
After we cleared the air my stylist went to work. She was good, super good. She was fast and knew what she was doing. We didn't talk. None of the people there spoke to their clients. None of them smiled either. It was a surreal experience, like I was in some world of haute couture where everyone's so cool they're bored. Whatev. I didn't feel like small talk anyway.
When she was done I went up to pay. The bill was more than I had expected. Turns out instead of a Director Stylist I was attended to by a Master Stylist which means she's good enough that they charge me extra. I'm not opposed to paying what they charged since I thought she was worth it, but seeing's how I had specifically asked for an apple and they gave me a pickle it was unnerving. All the more so because they had screwed up every single detail of my appointment. To err is human but in this case they went errrrrrr and I didn't get an apology.
I paid but I don't know if I want to go back. I should be OK though, since I have a whole year to find another place to visit. Either that, or the anger fades in time and I end up back there again.
On a topic totally unrelated to hair, there is a light bulb on its last gas molecule, prong, whatever, above my computer which means it's exactly where it should be to drive me bananas. It's flickering and making the "tink, tink..... tink" noise constantly making it tremendously hard for me to concentrate on my work. I want to start throwing things at it just to shatter the tube and make it stop but then I'll probably get in a lot of trouble when the guy comes to fix it. He probably won't arrive until 3:36pm today, just in time to keep my last thread of sanity from blitzing out and causing me to go on a huge paperclip throwing, paper crumpling, chair spinning, plug unplugging rampage. Heh... remember Rampage? Sigh.. I have to find my happiness somewhere. With all the flickering I might start to think I'm suffering from a mini stroke or something. At least it'll provide an alibi for my climbing and punching things and eating people. What?
July 06, 2006
Randomosity
> I’m a party pooper with this World Cup thing going on because I don’t like the diving culture of the sport. I don’t like hearing from my friends “Who cares? You’re in it to win!” because that’s exactly what we try to teach our kids not to do. Winning is important, but not at the expense of the spirit of the game and your dignity. I don’t pretend that diving doesn’t exist in any other sport but it seems that this is the one game in which it is so prevalent that it’s infused, encouraged and a skill to be mastered. The attitude in soccer right now is not sportsmanlike at all and it disgusts me. And please get off the road where cars belong. Gumming up the streets coz you feel the need to celebrate will only further the anger felt by people like me and directed at people like you.
> I notice that I walk like a man. Squared shoulders, head up, perfect posture and big, purposeful strides. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not, since it seems all the other women in the world (that I have observed) walk differently. We’ve got such gaits as the slouchy, shuffling death march, the jiggly boobs, swinging hips walk and stompers. I like that I don’t walk like that, but I worry that I might look butchy when I walk…. wait, why do I even care what you think?! Feh.
> When girls take pictures and they sweep all of their hair to one side, over their shoulder and let it hang down their chest and then either do the demure head tilt to the side or so that they are looking coyly up into the camera I just want to slap the piss out of them. Why? Why do they think that’s a good pose? Who told you that you look attractive? Who the hell wants to look at the hair hanging down your chest? That demure little smile looks so disingenuous that I just can’t believe it reflects your personality. It’s a picture damnit, relax and smile. This leads me to my next point.
> Everyone takes a bad picture once in awhile. Deal with it! Don’t get all immature and destroy, crop or cut yourself out of a picture just coz you don’t like it. The picture doesn’t make you look fat or ugly, that’s just the way you look. I’m not saying you are fat or ugly, that is just. how. you. look. So grow up. You may not be used to it coz we all look at you more than you look at yourself and we all have image issues anyway which results in seeing only what we want to see in the mirror. Conversely, pictures don’t make you look hot when you’re not. It’s reality, stop holding out for the “perfect” shot coz there’s no such thing (if we’re aiming for your standards).
> I love getting sun and tanning. I know about the risks of sunburn, skin cancer, sunspots and premature aging and yet I still tan. I figure I’m in my prime now so why wouldn’t I want to look good? Ain’t nobody gonna check me out when I’m 60 and think “She’s old and dumpy with the nylons wobbling around her ankles but damn she’s got nice skin! I think I’ll ask her to have some Metamucil with me!” Is that youthful ignorance? I don’t bake long enough to get too dark or burnt so I don’t feel that I’m killing my skin at a crazy rate. And I know that I increase my chances of developing skin cancer with the sunnage and all, but after reading multiple reports about how we’re all bound to be afflicted anyway by (any kind of) cancer during our lifetime I can’t say that I’m going to stop enjoying mine. By no means do I have a cavalier attitude towards this disease as I’ve had close dealings with it and I wouldn’t tempt fate by gulping down a bucket of PCBs. But since my body and environment are continuously swimming in a toxic stew, I’m resigned to the fact that cancer is inevitable, not a maybe.
> To the guy at the drugstore who saw me slowly heading towards the cashier, grabbed his stuff and ran (I’m not joking) to her even though there was nobody in line, dude. We don’t all have to be first all the time. If you’re that eager to give somebody else your money, be my guest.
> I notice that I walk like a man. Squared shoulders, head up, perfect posture and big, purposeful strides. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not, since it seems all the other women in the world (that I have observed) walk differently. We’ve got such gaits as the slouchy, shuffling death march, the jiggly boobs, swinging hips walk and stompers. I like that I don’t walk like that, but I worry that I might look butchy when I walk…. wait, why do I even care what you think?! Feh.
> When girls take pictures and they sweep all of their hair to one side, over their shoulder and let it hang down their chest and then either do the demure head tilt to the side or so that they are looking coyly up into the camera I just want to slap the piss out of them. Why? Why do they think that’s a good pose? Who told you that you look attractive? Who the hell wants to look at the hair hanging down your chest? That demure little smile looks so disingenuous that I just can’t believe it reflects your personality. It’s a picture damnit, relax and smile. This leads me to my next point.
> Everyone takes a bad picture once in awhile. Deal with it! Don’t get all immature and destroy, crop or cut yourself out of a picture just coz you don’t like it. The picture doesn’t make you look fat or ugly, that’s just the way you look. I’m not saying you are fat or ugly, that is just. how. you. look. So grow up. You may not be used to it coz we all look at you more than you look at yourself and we all have image issues anyway which results in seeing only what we want to see in the mirror. Conversely, pictures don’t make you look hot when you’re not. It’s reality, stop holding out for the “perfect” shot coz there’s no such thing (if we’re aiming for your standards).
> I love getting sun and tanning. I know about the risks of sunburn, skin cancer, sunspots and premature aging and yet I still tan. I figure I’m in my prime now so why wouldn’t I want to look good? Ain’t nobody gonna check me out when I’m 60 and think “She’s old and dumpy with the nylons wobbling around her ankles but damn she’s got nice skin! I think I’ll ask her to have some Metamucil with me!” Is that youthful ignorance? I don’t bake long enough to get too dark or burnt so I don’t feel that I’m killing my skin at a crazy rate. And I know that I increase my chances of developing skin cancer with the sunnage and all, but after reading multiple reports about how we’re all bound to be afflicted anyway by (any kind of) cancer during our lifetime I can’t say that I’m going to stop enjoying mine. By no means do I have a cavalier attitude towards this disease as I’ve had close dealings with it and I wouldn’t tempt fate by gulping down a bucket of PCBs. But since my body and environment are continuously swimming in a toxic stew, I’m resigned to the fact that cancer is inevitable, not a maybe.
> To the guy at the drugstore who saw me slowly heading towards the cashier, grabbed his stuff and ran (I’m not joking) to her even though there was nobody in line, dude. We don’t all have to be first all the time. If you’re that eager to give somebody else your money, be my guest.
July 05, 2006
Toast
That's what I look like after a weekend under the sun. I think I look gorgeous and ain't nothing you say will change my mind. We went up to the trailer Friday night and had a relaxing couple of days. We bobbed around in the lake, laid on the boat, played some tennis, rode around on the bikes and laid on the boat some more. I have lost my pasty winter pallour and have achieved ultimate yummy summer glow. Hooray for damaging UV rays.
The only poopy thing about the weekend was that I lost my sunglasses, I don't remember how they jumped off my head but I suppose I wasn't paying attention and they went into the drink. Now I don't look quite as cool anymore when I'm out in the sun. I complained that I'm all squinty when I go outside now and Mr. Stinky relayed his sympathies by saying, "Aren't you always squinty anyway?" Sucky... I have to go buy a new pair now. Bah.
So now I'm back to work and back to reality. I feel good and refreshed. I feel so good I might do something productive today! Two more days until the weekend, weeee!
The only poopy thing about the weekend was that I lost my sunglasses, I don't remember how they jumped off my head but I suppose I wasn't paying attention and they went into the drink. Now I don't look quite as cool anymore when I'm out in the sun. I complained that I'm all squinty when I go outside now and Mr. Stinky relayed his sympathies by saying, "Aren't you always squinty anyway?" Sucky... I have to go buy a new pair now. Bah.
So now I'm back to work and back to reality. I feel good and refreshed. I feel so good I might do something productive today! Two more days until the weekend, weeee!
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