"I was given the weird badge but I think everybody's weird and that's the key to it. We should celebrate our individuality, not be embarrassed or ashamed of it. We all have idiosyncrasies. People do themselves a great disservice by not allowing themselves to see who they really are because they are afraid of what others might think."
Me and Johnny Depp are kindred spirits... except I'm not as cool, pretty, rich, famous or talented as him. But I totally celebrate me and my oneness fastidiously and obsessively. It's also why I'm not a people pleaser; I don't need people to like and accept me on their terms. Take me as I am or walk away fast because I'm crazy and it shows, there ain't nothing subliminal about me. Muhahahahahaha....
December 29, 2006
December 22, 2006
Conifers Are Cool
I do like my quickies. Unfortunately this has turned into the opposite of what I had planned on writing about... oh well. But then you never did come here for something literary and intelligent either so the boat's still afloat.
Read the news lately? Apparently the latest issue is the Christmas Tree that was banned by a Toronto judge from a courthouse because of concerns it might offend somebody, hurt their feelings, remind us all that we live in a multicultural and multireligious society. Oh pooh pooh pooh... Then politicians started wondering if we should have some kind of policy in place for Christmas trees before the Premier in his glory told them all nicely to shut the fuck up and mind their own businesses.
It's a tree. It's a fucking tree with pretty things hanging from its branches. Really, it has about as much to do with Christianity as Santa Claus and his flying reindeers which, are an evolutionary impossibility because see, evolution doesn't exist and flying ungulates were never created... at least I never saw any while perusing through the illustrated stories of my childhood Sundays.
I wasn't there when Mary pushed the little Saviour out away in a manger and didn't get a chance to meet the three wise men as they came bearing gifts but dude, I strongly remember gifts of gold, frankincense (Frankenstein's gift since he couldn't make it what with being chased by angry mobs waving flaming torches and pitchforks... I deduced all this as a young child because nobody bothered to explain to me what in fact, frankincense is... I doubt any of the grown ups knew anyway. It's one of those "*sighh* Just because, OK??" deals) and myrrh from the stories and songs. Since U-Hauls and trucks hadn't been invented yet I figure they needed to travel lightly, yes? OK, so they had their desert caravans and stuff but surely wise men with a caravan would have brought more for the baby Jesus? Clothes so he didn't have to be swaddled in cloth? A crib might be more comfortable than a trough and even a few of those pine tree air fresheners to give the place a more pleasant aroma would do.
And hey, listen, they were in the desert too. No pine trees around... unless they hung the ornaments and afterbirth on some nearby olive tree and called it a Christmas tree which would have been another nonsensical move since Christmas hadn't even been invented yet. And come on, who hangs ornaments and placenta together like that? It's probably not even kosher, I can't believe you thought of it.
Surely we have more important things to deal with than a Christmas tree? Perhaps the politicians can have slappy fights to resolve issues like world peace, world hunger and the meager digits in my bank account instead... Seriously, it's so pathetic the moths won't even fly out of my wallet anymore when I open it. Do you see? Do you see how in the grand scheme of things the issue of the possibility of offending someone with a tree, and I don't believe that anyone has actually raised a hand yet, is so hollow that we're forgetting the true meaning of Christmas: Me.
Read the news lately? Apparently the latest issue is the Christmas Tree that was banned by a Toronto judge from a courthouse because of concerns it might offend somebody, hurt their feelings, remind us all that we live in a multicultural and multireligious society. Oh pooh pooh pooh... Then politicians started wondering if we should have some kind of policy in place for Christmas trees before the Premier in his glory told them all nicely to shut the fuck up and mind their own businesses.
It's a tree. It's a fucking tree with pretty things hanging from its branches. Really, it has about as much to do with Christianity as Santa Claus and his flying reindeers which, are an evolutionary impossibility because see, evolution doesn't exist and flying ungulates were never created... at least I never saw any while perusing through the illustrated stories of my childhood Sundays.
I wasn't there when Mary pushed the little Saviour out away in a manger and didn't get a chance to meet the three wise men as they came bearing gifts but dude, I strongly remember gifts of gold, frankincense (Frankenstein's gift since he couldn't make it what with being chased by angry mobs waving flaming torches and pitchforks... I deduced all this as a young child because nobody bothered to explain to me what in fact, frankincense is... I doubt any of the grown ups knew anyway. It's one of those "*sighh* Just because, OK??" deals) and myrrh from the stories and songs. Since U-Hauls and trucks hadn't been invented yet I figure they needed to travel lightly, yes? OK, so they had their desert caravans and stuff but surely wise men with a caravan would have brought more for the baby Jesus? Clothes so he didn't have to be swaddled in cloth? A crib might be more comfortable than a trough and even a few of those pine tree air fresheners to give the place a more pleasant aroma would do.
And hey, listen, they were in the desert too. No pine trees around... unless they hung the ornaments and afterbirth on some nearby olive tree and called it a Christmas tree which would have been another nonsensical move since Christmas hadn't even been invented yet. And come on, who hangs ornaments and placenta together like that? It's probably not even kosher, I can't believe you thought of it.
Surely we have more important things to deal with than a Christmas tree? Perhaps the politicians can have slappy fights to resolve issues like world peace, world hunger and the meager digits in my bank account instead... Seriously, it's so pathetic the moths won't even fly out of my wallet anymore when I open it. Do you see? Do you see how in the grand scheme of things the issue of the possibility of offending someone with a tree, and I don't believe that anyone has actually raised a hand yet, is so hollow that we're forgetting the true meaning of Christmas: Me.
December 19, 2006
Hola, Malditas!
We got back last night and the first thing we did was go get some Timmy's. Isn't that sad? Anyway, I don't know a lick of Spanish but I sure do know how to pick out the juicy words in the subtitles from the TV shows. They'll be put to good use.
So the question was, can one live all week in their swimsuits? The resounding answer is hell yah. Except for in the dining areas it was pretty much all I wore around the resort.
Had a good time, did lots, slept lots and sunned lots. I aimed for a lovely golden toasty colour but SPF's got nothing on the Costa Rican UVs and I come back as dark toast. Mr. Stinky's also toasty bronze and diligently peeling all over the place. We're both itchy as hell, him from the sun but both mostly due to all the bug bites we endured. The downside to having so much exposed skin all day long is the buffet feast the mosquitoes get to enjoy as they claimed dominion over all parts of our bodies. Let me tell you, some of the bites... dude. Those bugs could've at least offered me a cigarette afterwards. Maldicion!
Flight there wasn't too exciting besides the in-flight entertainment. Guy beside me was separated from his girlfriend on the other side of the aisle and they put on quite the PDA show until about an hour into the flight when Cole's Notes version, he wanted to watch the movie and her words exactly, "Pay attention to me! You never talk to me!! We're in a relationship!!!" Dramatic Princess Alert! Histrionics I do not enjoy. These kinds of people make me want to engage in some sort of violent act upon their bodies. At first Mr. Stinky and I were amused but when the flight's 5 hours long it does get tiring after awhile. Would've been a good time to learn invisibility to dole out a backhand or two. They made a very shaky truce at the end of the flight. Oh yes, Costa Rica's very hilly.
Upon reaching San Jose airport we needed to board a regional flight to get to the resort. It
was a tiny plane, think Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom small and rickety. Looked like same era kind of nuts and bolts too. During the flight something started beeping and I had fanciful thoughts of adventures with the giant rubber raft flying through the air, sledding down a snow capped mountain and landing in a river in India to be greeted by some wizened and esoteric shaman. We made it OK, you can unclench your fists. I know you were worried a little bit.
After being tagged and released at the front desk we were left to our own devices. We had a great view of the ocean from our balcony and were happy to score such a nice location that was a little bit away from the main resort.
We went on several excursions, horseback riding, ATVing, zip lining through the canopy and snorkeling at Tortuga Island. All very fun but I have to say the best was the horseback ride. Our guide took us through the hills, farm fields and orchards, across creeks and along the beach. I don't think many things can top the
experience of galloping along a beautiful beach at top speeds. Mr. Stinky and I raced each other for what seemed like forever it was so cool. We even got to see some wildlife, like the Mantled Howler Monkey. Couldn't catch. No Christmas monkeys this year, sorry. No Christmas iguanas either, Mr. Stinky couldn't snag one of those ugly things.
I don't recommend resort vacationing unless you don't want to do anything but lounge all day long. It does get kind of boring after several days even though frolicking in the ocean with boogie boards and sea kayaks took place almost daily. There's only so much you can do from one base camp. I think I prefer cruises and car vacations much more as each day is different. The food at the resort wasn't great either, everyday it was the same stuff over and over again and the quality was marginal at best. Think cafeteria food. They claim to have two restaurants, the steakhouse and a seafood place but the latter never opened once the entire week we were there despite the fact that they kept taking dinner reservations everyday. ?? They've also erected a Discoteca which came with exactly one tune looped at maximum volume and defibrillating bass all night long. Very annoying, not easy to sleep when all you hear and feel in bed is the constant thudding into early morning. But definitely the land and people were awesome. So bottom line: Costa Rica si, (hidden message alert) Barcelo Playa Tambor, no.
To revel in our last week a little bit longer, a few more pictures from paradise. They have all kinds of crazy birds and animals down there. Here are a few pelicans waiting by the docks for the plentiful bounty of fish guts 
tossed by the local fisherman. Who doesn't enjoy a free lunch? And two of the most adorable dogs who were our faithful companions for a whole morning as we took a long trek along the ocean trail. Rental fee was one smooshed NutriGrain bar we weren't going to eat anyway, how cheap was that?
Palm trees all over the resort, not so prevalent everywhere else.
Still very pretty, as is evident from my hammock. And lastly, I've been told that I have nice feet. I know that the salty lech said that so he could get into my pants but looking at how happy they are, what more do I need to add really?
So the question was, can one live all week in their swimsuits? The resounding answer is hell yah. Except for in the dining areas it was pretty much all I wore around the resort.
Had a good time, did lots, slept lots and sunned lots. I aimed for a lovely golden toasty colour but SPF's got nothing on the Costa Rican UVs and I come back as dark toast. Mr. Stinky's also toasty bronze and diligently peeling all over the place. We're both itchy as hell, him from the sun but both mostly due to all the bug bites we endured. The downside to having so much exposed skin all day long is the buffet feast the mosquitoes get to enjoy as they claimed dominion over all parts of our bodies. Let me tell you, some of the bites... dude. Those bugs could've at least offered me a cigarette afterwards. Maldicion!
Flight there wasn't too exciting besides the in-flight entertainment. Guy beside me was separated from his girlfriend on the other side of the aisle and they put on quite the PDA show until about an hour into the flight when Cole's Notes version, he wanted to watch the movie and her words exactly, "Pay attention to me! You never talk to me!! We're in a relationship!!!" Dramatic Princess Alert! Histrionics I do not enjoy. These kinds of people make me want to engage in some sort of violent act upon their bodies. At first Mr. Stinky and I were amused but when the flight's 5 hours long it does get tiring after awhile. Would've been a good time to learn invisibility to dole out a backhand or two. They made a very shaky truce at the end of the flight. Oh yes, Costa Rica's very hilly.Upon reaching San Jose airport we needed to board a regional flight to get to the resort. It
was a tiny plane, think Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom small and rickety. Looked like same era kind of nuts and bolts too. During the flight something started beeping and I had fanciful thoughts of adventures with the giant rubber raft flying through the air, sledding down a snow capped mountain and landing in a river in India to be greeted by some wizened and esoteric shaman. We made it OK, you can unclench your fists. I know you were worried a little bit.
After being tagged and released at the front desk we were left to our own devices. We had a great view of the ocean from our balcony and were happy to score such a nice location that was a little bit away from the main resort.We went on several excursions, horseback riding, ATVing, zip lining through the canopy and snorkeling at Tortuga Island. All very fun but I have to say the best was the horseback ride. Our guide took us through the hills, farm fields and orchards, across creeks and along the beach. I don't think many things can top the
experience of galloping along a beautiful beach at top speeds. Mr. Stinky and I raced each other for what seemed like forever it was so cool. We even got to see some wildlife, like the Mantled Howler Monkey. Couldn't catch. No Christmas monkeys this year, sorry. No Christmas iguanas either, Mr. Stinky couldn't snag one of those ugly things.I don't recommend resort vacationing unless you don't want to do anything but lounge all day long. It does get kind of boring after several days even though frolicking in the ocean with boogie boards and sea kayaks took place almost daily. There's only so much you can do from one base camp. I think I prefer cruises and car vacations much more as each day is different. The food at the resort wasn't great either, everyday it was the same stuff over and over again and the quality was marginal at best. Think cafeteria food. They claim to have two restaurants, the steakhouse and a seafood place but the latter never opened once the entire week we were there despite the fact that they kept taking dinner reservations everyday. ?? They've also erected a Discoteca which came with exactly one tune looped at maximum volume and defibrillating bass all night long. Very annoying, not easy to sleep when all you hear and feel in bed is the constant thudding into early morning. But definitely the land and people were awesome. So bottom line: Costa Rica si, (hidden message alert) Barcelo Playa Tambor, no.
To revel in our last week a little bit longer, a few more pictures from paradise. They have all kinds of crazy birds and animals down there. Here are a few pelicans waiting by the docks for the plentiful bounty of fish guts 
tossed by the local fisherman. Who doesn't enjoy a free lunch? And two of the most adorable dogs who were our faithful companions for a whole morning as we took a long trek along the ocean trail. Rental fee was one smooshed NutriGrain bar we weren't going to eat anyway, how cheap was that?Palm trees all over the resort, not so prevalent everywhere else.
Still very pretty, as is evident from my hammock. And lastly, I've been told that I have nice feet. I know that the salty lech said that so he could get into my pants but looking at how happy they are, what more do I need to add really?
December 08, 2006
Lost in Space
So you've been checking constantly for something new, right? And you suffer daily because I'm not writing about the wad of bubblegum stuck on the bottom of my shoe, Naked Twister Tuesdays or the many times I trip while walking... over nothing, for your enjoyment. I hope you've made it past the withdrawal period by now because after this meaningless post you gotta wait a little longer. I know, I'm your dirty little secret addiction just as I am mine.
Or something like that.
I'm off on vacation, going to sunny (I hope!) Costa Rica with Mr. Stinky to enjoy the summer we postponed due to school. Be back in a week or so. I promise lots of pictures upon my return and as many stories as my alcohol-addled mind will retain or conjure. All those who put in orders for a monkey should keep in mind that supply is on a first come, first serve basis as we haven't tested Mr. Stinky's primate wrestling skills yet... you may just get tropical rabies instead. In the meantime think of me in my pink bikini and Mr. Stinky in this thong Speedo merrily frolicking in the crashing surf, running slow motion to some cheesy Baywatch soundtrack along the shore while beads of water cascade off our wet.. tanned... bodies.
OK, stop thinking about the thong Speedo already.
Or something like that.
I'm off on vacation, going to sunny (I hope!) Costa Rica with Mr. Stinky to enjoy the summer we postponed due to school. Be back in a week or so. I promise lots of pictures upon my return and as many stories as my alcohol-addled mind will retain or conjure. All those who put in orders for a monkey should keep in mind that supply is on a first come, first serve basis as we haven't tested Mr. Stinky's primate wrestling skills yet... you may just get tropical rabies instead. In the meantime think of me in my pink bikini and Mr. Stinky in this thong Speedo merrily frolicking in the crashing surf, running slow motion to some cheesy Baywatch soundtrack along the shore while beads of water cascade off our wet.. tanned... bodies.
OK, stop thinking about the thong Speedo already.
November 30, 2006
Overheard
Step into my world a little bit, you might not understand it but you’ll be amused… or bemused. Perhaps both. Why not?
Stinky T: I feel like an egg.
Mr. Stinky: I feel like a …. *looks away* god!
Stinky T: ??!??......... Oh! No, I feel like having an egg.
Mr. Stinky: OK then.
Stinky T: I spent way too much this weekend (shopping).
Goose: Nice, what’d you get me?
Stinky T: Couldn’t find dignity, sorry.
Eli: What happened to your elbow? (Got a bandaid on it)
Stinky T: I skinned it.
Clueless: How’d you do that?
Eli: Things get a little rough last night?
Stinky T: Yes, Amy bit my elbow.
Amy: Ouulaalaa, I like the elbow!
Eli: A salad? That's not lunch, that's an appetizer.
Amy: Have you seen the size of my box?
T-J: Oulala!!
at the same time
Stinky T: Pfftt!! *water up nose*
Spice: Oh movies! Do you have any martial arts movies?
Stinky T: ?? No. Yo, you're totally asking me coz I'm Asian.
Spice: What? No! I'm just looking for martial arts movies!
Stinky T: Oh I know how it is, I see you looking at my skin colour.
Spice: *laughing hard* If that's the case then you can come to me for drugs.
Stinky T: Or a gun.
Spice: *incoherent and laughing*
I’m on the phone with Mr. Stinky. T-J and Shuster are having their own separate conversation. Concentrating in my corner, I don't know what they’re saying. In that moment of pause when the world comes to a hush and everyone hears exactly what you’re saying without having first gotten the context, Shuster said the following, "You can grab my balls anytime you want!”
My reaction to that made T-J cry.
Stinky T: I feel like an egg.
Mr. Stinky: I feel like a …. *looks away* god!
Stinky T: ??!??......... Oh! No, I feel like having an egg.
Mr. Stinky: OK then.
Stinky T: I spent way too much this weekend (shopping).
Goose: Nice, what’d you get me?
Stinky T: Couldn’t find dignity, sorry.
Eli: What happened to your elbow? (Got a bandaid on it)
Stinky T: I skinned it.
Clueless: How’d you do that?
Eli: Things get a little rough last night?
Stinky T: Yes, Amy bit my elbow.
Amy: Ouulaalaa, I like the elbow!
Eli: A salad? That's not lunch, that's an appetizer.
Amy: Have you seen the size of my box?
T-J: Oulala!!
at the same time
Stinky T: Pfftt!! *water up nose*
Spice: Oh movies! Do you have any martial arts movies?
Stinky T: ?? No. Yo, you're totally asking me coz I'm Asian.
Spice: What? No! I'm just looking for martial arts movies!
Stinky T: Oh I know how it is, I see you looking at my skin colour.
Spice: *laughing hard* If that's the case then you can come to me for drugs.
Stinky T: Or a gun.
Spice: *incoherent and laughing*
I’m on the phone with Mr. Stinky. T-J and Shuster are having their own separate conversation. Concentrating in my corner, I don't know what they’re saying. In that moment of pause when the world comes to a hush and everyone hears exactly what you’re saying without having first gotten the context, Shuster said the following, "You can grab my balls anytime you want!”
My reaction to that made T-J cry.
November 25, 2006
Hear This
I don't need your permission.
I don't need to explain myself.
I do what I want, when I want to and however I choose.
I'm a big girl and I answer to me.
Taking offence is your problem. It's not my intent at all.
It's not you. It doesn't always have to be about you. I will tell you when it is about you. Trust me.
Nothing is wrong. I'm not mad. I'm not being exclusionary. Everything is fine.
Sometimes I just want something different.
And I don't need your permission.
I don't need to explain myself.
I do what I want, when I want to and however I choose.
I'm a big girl and I answer to me.
Taking offence is your problem. It's not my intent at all.
It's not you. It doesn't always have to be about you. I will tell you when it is about you. Trust me.
Nothing is wrong. I'm not mad. I'm not being exclusionary. Everything is fine.
Sometimes I just want something different.
And I don't need your permission.
November 23, 2006
Chest Melons
Yesterday on our way back from break, a woman walked past Amy and I. She was attractive, Mediterranean looking, slim and had a great figure. However what stuck out, literally, were her breasts popping out from a barely-there, cleavage exposing top. Approximately two seconds after we had passed her my big mouth needed to speak.
Stinky T: Duude! Her boobs are so fake!
Amy: Hahaha.. I know!! I was just going to say something!
Stinky T: I don't find them attractive at all, they're so obviously not real.
Far be it from me to belittle people who cosmetically enhance their bodies if it's what they really want to do, but wow, she so went to the wrong surgeon. Her boobs actually looked like two halves of a really round melon glued onto her chest. Real boobs are soft and droop a little, they're only obeying the laws of gravity, right? Girl had some rock hard, wicked highbeams going on and no cleavage happening. Fake boobs for the most part are easy to spot; if you can easily trace perfect circles around them while blindfolded, I guarantee that they are fake. So too if the space between their boobs is so cavernously gaping that instead of a slit there's just a trench. I could've yelled into her breasts and gotten some good echoes in return.
If she had done her homework and gotten a better pair she'd look disgustingly hot. In the meantime all I can think about is how badly she needs to cover those puppies up. In my humble opinion they seriously detract from the rest of her and that's such a shame.
Stinky T: Duude! Her boobs are so fake!
Amy: Hahaha.. I know!! I was just going to say something!
Stinky T: I don't find them attractive at all, they're so obviously not real.
Far be it from me to belittle people who cosmetically enhance their bodies if it's what they really want to do, but wow, she so went to the wrong surgeon. Her boobs actually looked like two halves of a really round melon glued onto her chest. Real boobs are soft and droop a little, they're only obeying the laws of gravity, right? Girl had some rock hard, wicked highbeams going on and no cleavage happening. Fake boobs for the most part are easy to spot; if you can easily trace perfect circles around them while blindfolded, I guarantee that they are fake. So too if the space between their boobs is so cavernously gaping that instead of a slit there's just a trench. I could've yelled into her breasts and gotten some good echoes in return.
If she had done her homework and gotten a better pair she'd look disgustingly hot. In the meantime all I can think about is how badly she needs to cover those puppies up. In my humble opinion they seriously detract from the rest of her and that's such a shame.
November 21, 2006
Model Citizens
I had bought a duvet for one of the spare beds awhile ago. Recently we decided to go get a cover for it as the holidays are coming up and it might be necessary to pull out our spare linens to accommodate drunken or tired guests. So off to Linens 'n Things Mr. Stinky and I headed. By the way, I love that store. I love any store with all kinds of linens, knick knacks, housewares and gadgets... while Mr. Stinky sighs loudly and sprawls over the towels waiting for me to browse I'm totally like a fat kid in a candy store. It's pure sensory overload as I absolutely must touch and caress every single fabric in reach. Kinda like sex for the hands, but cleaner and a huge, big medley of textures to enjoy.
Once we had mutually chosen the duvet cover of choice, it wasn't difficult as we have similar tastes, off we went to complete the transaction. By the way, it's a damask striped cover in chocolate... how bloody delish is that? On our way out of the store we had to pass through one of those stupid sensor gates which sound off purely at random and either everyone freezes or nobody flickers an eyelash. It's like playing Russian Roulette, you never know when it'll be your turn to get caught with the array of sex toys the minimum waged cashier "forgot" to demagnetize or double bag when she rang up your merchandise. (Heh.. double bag...)
So Mr. Stinky led the procession out followed closely by some random lady with several hefty bags of stuff in tow and me in the rear with my new duvet cover. The alarm went off just as she passed through and before I reached it. Everyone stopped. If confetti and balloons had started to drift down from the ceiling, bathing us in a celebratory fashion you know I would've shoved the undeserving hag aside and claimed whatever millionth customer prize they had to offer. If I had to pull down a rack of oversized bath towels to smother her objecting bleets I'd do it, I'd so do it. Seeing's how nothing fun showered from above, I leaned back a smidge and pointed a very accusatory finger at her just so everyone knew that she was the klepto who obviously needed a public shaming and if the soon to arrive police needed an extra set of handcuffs with which to lash her podgy wrists together I'd totally be the one to whip out the ones from my back pocket and be hero for the day.
The poor lady looked flustered. Mr. Stinky hollered "Run!". I edged around her like she suffered from a mad case of cooties all the while casting looks of reproach and we took off snickering into the sunset. It's the little things that bring a bit of pleasure to an otherwise mundane task; who doesn't like to witness some harmless tomfoolery? Oh sure, we could've been polite, minded our own business and not test the public's sense of humour but honestly, what fun would that be?
Once we had mutually chosen the duvet cover of choice, it wasn't difficult as we have similar tastes, off we went to complete the transaction. By the way, it's a damask striped cover in chocolate... how bloody delish is that? On our way out of the store we had to pass through one of those stupid sensor gates which sound off purely at random and either everyone freezes or nobody flickers an eyelash. It's like playing Russian Roulette, you never know when it'll be your turn to get caught with the array of sex toys the minimum waged cashier "forgot" to demagnetize or double bag when she rang up your merchandise. (Heh.. double bag...)
So Mr. Stinky led the procession out followed closely by some random lady with several hefty bags of stuff in tow and me in the rear with my new duvet cover. The alarm went off just as she passed through and before I reached it. Everyone stopped. If confetti and balloons had started to drift down from the ceiling, bathing us in a celebratory fashion you know I would've shoved the undeserving hag aside and claimed whatever millionth customer prize they had to offer. If I had to pull down a rack of oversized bath towels to smother her objecting bleets I'd do it, I'd so do it. Seeing's how nothing fun showered from above, I leaned back a smidge and pointed a very accusatory finger at her just so everyone knew that she was the klepto who obviously needed a public shaming and if the soon to arrive police needed an extra set of handcuffs with which to lash her podgy wrists together I'd totally be the one to whip out the ones from my back pocket and be hero for the day.
The poor lady looked flustered. Mr. Stinky hollered "Run!". I edged around her like she suffered from a mad case of cooties all the while casting looks of reproach and we took off snickering into the sunset. It's the little things that bring a bit of pleasure to an otherwise mundane task; who doesn't like to witness some harmless tomfoolery? Oh sure, we could've been polite, minded our own business and not test the public's sense of humour but honestly, what fun would that be?
November 19, 2006
Would That Be Brunch Or Just Nasty?
Had to come downtown for work this morning. Sighhh...
Got some liquid caffeine and deep fried sugary lovin' from Tim's for second breakfast and to keep me conscious.
Random couple buying street meat from the corner vendor. Not quite 9am.
Groooosss...
Got some liquid caffeine and deep fried sugary lovin' from Tim's for second breakfast and to keep me conscious.
Random couple buying street meat from the corner vendor. Not quite 9am.
Groooosss...
November 17, 2006
An Apple A Day...
Got a third generation iPod and I love it. Shuster and I both retreat into our sanctuaries every night on the ride home from work when the earphones are in and we engage in a duel of the leaking noises pouring forth from our ears. Well, not so much a duel as annoying the people who sit near us. I also need it to wake me up in the mornings because I don't drink coffee (bleh!) and tea only does so much to start the engines. I'm reminded of one of my professors in school who is such the coffee afficionado. He always had a coffee flavoured something in hand and I could only imagine how much gut rot he suffered. Anyway, I had a lot of lab work in this class and on occasion needed some face time with him. Very bad, as he's got horrible coffee breath. Sour. Death. Rotting insides. Putrid. Wonder if he ever noticed people retreating or turning shades of grey whenever he opened his mouth. I bet he was single too. Not just coz of his toxic emanations but he is also unfortunate looking, having scored about a -16 on my hottie meter. Sorry man, just telling the truth. Alright, back to the main topic, we've sufficiently established that I don't like coffee and my professor was (and probably still is) gross.
Sadly my iPod battery couldn't keep up with the constant use and faded so much that I had to keep it charging almost constantly just to get about an hour's worth of running time. 'Tis a sad state of affairs when I fire it up only to have it cut out unexpectedly shortly thereafter. It's also fairly hazardous to have the thing plugged in while listening at my desk and getting up to grab something. My iPod can testify that it takes some brutal beatings as somehow it violently ends up on the floor quite frequently. Once it almost fell down the stairs of the GO Train from the top level... but again I digress. I think my entire life is all about sideroads and derivations... or is it deviations? I don't suggest you follow me if you're a type A kind of person. Or normal for that matter. Might as well add sane to the list.
Mr. Stinky was thinking of getting me a new iPod for Christmas but damn those little buggers are expensive. And honestly, I like the one I have. The nice, new models in the stores just aren't the same as mine. No history nor character, all the scuffs and scratches on mine are a testament to the love we share. OK, the abuse it takes. Whatev. I don't point out your flaws... well actually I do. With glee. I'm all over the place today!
The next best thing was to replace the battery which, he did. IPod and I have fallen in love all over again. I love that now it's become portable again. I love that now I can use it for several days before it needs a recharge. I love that it's like almost new again. Apple, I think I looove youuuuuu!
Sadly my iPod battery couldn't keep up with the constant use and faded so much that I had to keep it charging almost constantly just to get about an hour's worth of running time. 'Tis a sad state of affairs when I fire it up only to have it cut out unexpectedly shortly thereafter. It's also fairly hazardous to have the thing plugged in while listening at my desk and getting up to grab something. My iPod can testify that it takes some brutal beatings as somehow it violently ends up on the floor quite frequently. Once it almost fell down the stairs of the GO Train from the top level... but again I digress. I think my entire life is all about sideroads and derivations... or is it deviations? I don't suggest you follow me if you're a type A kind of person. Or normal for that matter. Might as well add sane to the list.
Mr. Stinky was thinking of getting me a new iPod for Christmas but damn those little buggers are expensive. And honestly, I like the one I have. The nice, new models in the stores just aren't the same as mine. No history nor character, all the scuffs and scratches on mine are a testament to the love we share. OK, the abuse it takes. Whatev. I don't point out your flaws... well actually I do. With glee. I'm all over the place today!
The next best thing was to replace the battery which, he did. IPod and I have fallen in love all over again. I love that now it's become portable again. I love that now I can use it for several days before it needs a recharge. I love that it's like almost new again. Apple, I think I looove youuuuuu!
November 15, 2006
Hahaha!
Found this in my inbox from a friend. Totally made my morning.
ATTENTION
ALIENS ARE COMING TO ABDUCT ALL THE GOOD LOOKING AND SEXY PEOPLE.
YOU WILL BE SAFE, I'M JUST EMAILING TO SAY GOODBYE
He never fails to make me laugh. You can see it doesn't take much to amuse me...
ATTENTION
ALIENS ARE COMING TO ABDUCT ALL THE GOOD LOOKING AND SEXY PEOPLE.
YOU WILL BE SAFE, I'M JUST EMAILING TO SAY GOODBYE
He never fails to make me laugh. You can see it doesn't take much to amuse me...
November 08, 2006
Hooray for Choice
Remember when I railed against that controversial law in South Dakota barring women from having abortions unless their lives were in danger? I am over the moon to hear that last night's vote in the United States overturned that imbecilic ban. See we're not all sheep, some people used their minds and decided that someone else can't tell them what to do with their bodies and unborn babes. Right or wrong, whatever the woman decides to do is her prerogative. The choice ultimately belongs to the individual carrying the fetus.
I celebrate the freedom to make our own decisions, but women of the world, we need to be responsible too. Old enough to bleed, old enough to breed. If you don't want to get knocked up, take the necessary precautions. Questions, no? Then I'll step off my soapbox now.
I celebrate the freedom to make our own decisions, but women of the world, we need to be responsible too. Old enough to bleed, old enough to breed. If you don't want to get knocked up, take the necessary precautions. Questions, no? Then I'll step off my soapbox now.
November 07, 2006
Deaf Ears
That's one of my special powers, tuning people out. Went to visit a friend at his desk recently just because I wanted to take a break from work for a few minutes. Who am I kidding, I wanted to take a break from looking busy or something like that. But honestly, sometimes you need to get away from desk work, living the keyboardist's life is incredibly boring at times and taking a few minutes to chat with your friends and co-workers is really the best way to keep your mind from turning into the mush often found in the bottom of diapers belonging to babies and seniors alike.
So let's give him a name... Rigley. I don't know, I'm pretty drugged up to combat the migraine of the month which, is taking friggin' long to work considering I downed it several hours ago. I'm going to start looking into intravenously medicating myself soon... if only to get these things to work faster. Like the time I went to get my wisdom teeth extracted and passed out as they were giving me the relaxant, didn't even make it to the actual anesthesia. Oh heavens, that was awesome. Anyway, that name didn't come easy and to be frank really doesn't make a connection and I'll probably forget it once I finish typing but for this post we'll use that.
I sat down and started the conversation. Funny thing happened, and I swear it wasn't premeditated but as he talked I zoned out and my nodding and "uh-huh"ing went into auto-drive...a living, breathing bobblehead if you will. Oh come on, all you married people know exactly what I'm talking about. Engaging conversation is one thing but sometimes you just need to tune out the plebeian crap. I do it all the time, and not always on purpose. It turns on and off without prejudice especially if computer stuff comes up, I'm sure there's a ton of stuff I yammer on about to Mr. Stinky's deaf ears as well. Welcome to marriage.
But Rigley's not used to it and became offended when he realized that instead of participating in the conversation I was looking out the window. I have a thing for looking outside, I like just seeing what's going on... I also don't have a window. It's pretty pathetic. He called me back to the present and asked if I had been listening to him and without thinking of his feelings I confirmed that I had, in fact tuned him out coz he was boring me. Nice? No. Suppose I could've spared his feelings and lied, maybe something was happening outside that caught my attention but I decided long ago that tact is just beating around the bush when the more effective method of getting to the point is simply spraying the bush with buckshot and waiting for the injured to stagger out and finishing it off with a good slipper beating. I think my drugs might be kicking in judging from that last sentence.
Promptly following my explanation about unconsciously tuning people out, he resumed talking and my ears failed to work once again. It could've been the mood I was in which made me less conducive to paying attention or perhaps on that day he was just crazy boring. Since I don't like taking blame for most things we'll say it was him. The conversation ended shortly after that and I drifted back to my desk. Being bored there is better than being bored with someone else coz I don't have to pretend to my computer that I'm actually interested or paying attention. Hey, did I tell you that I am the bus driver on the express route to hell?
I wrote the above last night but needed to edit today simply because medication induces in me an odd state of incoherence and regresses my English skills to a grade 8 level. And also to report that I did the exact same thing to Amy this morning when she told me she was hungry, which resulted in her shaking her fist at me and leaving. Really, where's that Mother Theresa award I so greatly deserve?
So let's give him a name... Rigley. I don't know, I'm pretty drugged up to combat the migraine of the month which, is taking friggin' long to work considering I downed it several hours ago. I'm going to start looking into intravenously medicating myself soon... if only to get these things to work faster. Like the time I went to get my wisdom teeth extracted and passed out as they were giving me the relaxant, didn't even make it to the actual anesthesia. Oh heavens, that was awesome. Anyway, that name didn't come easy and to be frank really doesn't make a connection and I'll probably forget it once I finish typing but for this post we'll use that.
I sat down and started the conversation. Funny thing happened, and I swear it wasn't premeditated but as he talked I zoned out and my nodding and "uh-huh"ing went into auto-drive...a living, breathing bobblehead if you will. Oh come on, all you married people know exactly what I'm talking about. Engaging conversation is one thing but sometimes you just need to tune out the plebeian crap. I do it all the time, and not always on purpose. It turns on and off without prejudice especially if computer stuff comes up, I'm sure there's a ton of stuff I yammer on about to Mr. Stinky's deaf ears as well. Welcome to marriage.
But Rigley's not used to it and became offended when he realized that instead of participating in the conversation I was looking out the window. I have a thing for looking outside, I like just seeing what's going on... I also don't have a window. It's pretty pathetic. He called me back to the present and asked if I had been listening to him and without thinking of his feelings I confirmed that I had, in fact tuned him out coz he was boring me. Nice? No. Suppose I could've spared his feelings and lied, maybe something was happening outside that caught my attention but I decided long ago that tact is just beating around the bush when the more effective method of getting to the point is simply spraying the bush with buckshot and waiting for the injured to stagger out and finishing it off with a good slipper beating. I think my drugs might be kicking in judging from that last sentence.
Promptly following my explanation about unconsciously tuning people out, he resumed talking and my ears failed to work once again. It could've been the mood I was in which made me less conducive to paying attention or perhaps on that day he was just crazy boring. Since I don't like taking blame for most things we'll say it was him. The conversation ended shortly after that and I drifted back to my desk. Being bored there is better than being bored with someone else coz I don't have to pretend to my computer that I'm actually interested or paying attention. Hey, did I tell you that I am the bus driver on the express route to hell?
I wrote the above last night but needed to edit today simply because medication induces in me an odd state of incoherence and regresses my English skills to a grade 8 level. And also to report that I did the exact same thing to Amy this morning when she told me she was hungry, which resulted in her shaking her fist at me and leaving. Really, where's that Mother Theresa award I so greatly deserve?
November 03, 2006
Coming Clean
OK, I can't not blab. Keeping things under wraps for a year and a half was difficult at first but once a few lies were told it became mundane. Why is Mr. Stinky so busy all the time? Why is he leaving on entire weekend trips without you? What is he taking in school and why is it taking so long for him to finish? Why are your answers always so transparently rote and recycled?... But now that the gate has opened, ain't nothing gonna close that sucker now!
My plan was to leave you hanging for a little longer, to whisper amongst yourselves the possibilities, conspiracy theories and such. Then there would've been a day of revealing whereby I shout "Ta da!" and you all gasp in astonishment before applauding my mastery of convoluting facts, all the while feeling a little pissed off that I'm such a cunning bitch. But I have a big mouth. And I've wanted to tell everyone a long time ago except Mr. Stinky asked me not to, until the cement had set. So I resorted to tweaking details and words to tease the audience, although I did not tell a lie technically... just misled you. And boy did that work well! I freaked out a few of you guys more than a little and had to set the story straight. I am not quite the harlot your imagination got you thinking of, maybe just a little but there is no scarlet letter on my chest. (Yet. !!) However, a big congratulations to those of you who saw through the ruse and figured out the truth. Holden, I knew you were a smart cookie! I was totally waiting for your lightbulb to blink on.
Most of you know that Mr. Stinky has been in school for the past year and a half, what you don’t know is the subject he’s been studying other than what I told you under false pretenses. You see, we didn’t want to reveal anything until we felt it was time to do so and ideally, that would be about the time he finished school or found a placement. You read it here first; Mr. Stinky made the choice to become a firefighter and enrolled in school for his pre-service fire-fighter certificate. I’d like to stop for a moment and brag now. On top of a full time job, he’s pulling in a neat 4.0 GPA in his courses, sometimes sloughing through 18 hour days and entire weekends just to get his assignments done. Recently he was offered the opportunity to work in a firehall for another city within the GTA on a volunteer basis. With all the competition to become a firefighter in southern Ontario, this break provides a very good foothold towards gaining permanent employment at a hall. Taking this opening means changes and adjustments are to follow.
I couldn't be happier for Mr. Stinky as this was something he had been thinking about for quite awhile now. This also completely works for me since I don't need to remind you of my love for firefighters. It's also the refrain of this blog that as long as the Stinky girl is happy...
P.S. I'm sleeping with a firefighter!
My plan was to leave you hanging for a little longer, to whisper amongst yourselves the possibilities, conspiracy theories and such. Then there would've been a day of revealing whereby I shout "Ta da!" and you all gasp in astonishment before applauding my mastery of convoluting facts, all the while feeling a little pissed off that I'm such a cunning bitch. But I have a big mouth. And I've wanted to tell everyone a long time ago except Mr. Stinky asked me not to, until the cement had set. So I resorted to tweaking details and words to tease the audience, although I did not tell a lie technically... just misled you. And boy did that work well! I freaked out a few of you guys more than a little and had to set the story straight. I am not quite the harlot your imagination got you thinking of, maybe just a little but there is no scarlet letter on my chest. (Yet. !!) However, a big congratulations to those of you who saw through the ruse and figured out the truth. Holden, I knew you were a smart cookie! I was totally waiting for your lightbulb to blink on.
Most of you know that Mr. Stinky has been in school for the past year and a half, what you don’t know is the subject he’s been studying other than what I told you under false pretenses. You see, we didn’t want to reveal anything until we felt it was time to do so and ideally, that would be about the time he finished school or found a placement. You read it here first; Mr. Stinky made the choice to become a firefighter and enrolled in school for his pre-service fire-fighter certificate. I’d like to stop for a moment and brag now. On top of a full time job, he’s pulling in a neat 4.0 GPA in his courses, sometimes sloughing through 18 hour days and entire weekends just to get his assignments done. Recently he was offered the opportunity to work in a firehall for another city within the GTA on a volunteer basis. With all the competition to become a firefighter in southern Ontario, this break provides a very good foothold towards gaining permanent employment at a hall. Taking this opening means changes and adjustments are to follow.
I couldn't be happier for Mr. Stinky as this was something he had been thinking about for quite awhile now. This also completely works for me since I don't need to remind you of my love for firefighters. It's also the refrain of this blog that as long as the Stinky girl is happy...
P.S. I'm sleeping with a firefighter!
November 01, 2006
Laundry
So you know what I think of a certain professional group, right? This is the "thing" which I had alluded to recently, was very recently exposed and now Mr. Stinky and I are working through it together, to figure out the next step. I don't know what's going to happen or where this will take us but the cat's out of the bag now and we have to deal. Secrets are meant to be kept but they never are...
I've been sleeping with a firefighter.
I've been sleeping with a firefighter.
October 30, 2006
Makey No Sense
Ever see that Sick Kids' commercial? The one where they sing "Lean On Me"? It made me weepy which means I don't like it. Must be getting close to PMS time, PPMS. (Pineapple. Pineapple right now!) Have you all started charting me yet? I find things sometimes get really interesting in a cyclic manner. I'm gonna see where this goes, take the journey with me won'tcha...
Last week Jem (He's truly, truly, truly outrageous!) and I went down to PharmaPlus for some Hallowe'en stuff. Upon our return, another co-worker asked us the question typical of nosy grown ups with a lack of imagination for which there's never a good answer.
Co-worker: What'd you get me??
Stinky T: ....Tampons.
Jem: Wooooo! They could be super!
Co-w: I don't want those! I thought you'd tell me you got something good, like chocolates and chips!
Stinky T: ....Chocolate tampons?
Uproarious laughter ensued. Too much information? Just trying it on.
Ooh, on the way home from the GO station today, my ride and super cool neighbour stopped at the gas station to put a few splashes in his tank. I smelled Timmy's and almost started drooling. It took quite a bit of inner and physical strength to not bolt from the car and latch myself onto the teats of their french vanilla capp machine. See? Hormones, it drives you to lust for crazy things and at the most inopportune times. Why didn't I just get off my ass and go get one you ask? I can't answer that, but only because at the moment my mind said it would be incredibly wrong to do so. I bet you're beginning to see how pointless it is to try and figure out the female psyche, sense we no makey. I plead insanity, all the while cackling and pointing at the third toe on your left foot.
On the weekend while running errands I needed a french vanilla capp and two honey crullers. Mr. Stinky and his brother Jeep looked at me in disbelief and probably some disgust when I insisted that I absolutely needed two. They asked with some trepidation if maybe I was planning on saving the second for later and technically they weren't wrong coz only one fits in my mouth at any one time. If I was the crullersaurus then those suckers didn't stand a chance, they disappeared in an extremely ugly fashion leaving me to brush the sugar off my crazy lipstick-smudged face. What?
We should probably stop right now before I do some irreparable damage. I mean, it's no stretch of the imagination to say that you've been told more than you want to know and you either feel the need to sit in purgatory for weeks on end after reading what I write or go straight to the do-it-yourself route and scrub yourself raw with soap. Hey, remember in A Christmas Story when Ralphie had his mouth washed out with soap because he got caught swearing? After watching that movie I went home and licked some soap just to see what it tasted like. Don't do it.
One more thing. This, which I totally hyped up but you've most likely forgotten by now will come soon. For better or for worse I promise I'll spill and rock your world.
Last week Jem (He's truly, truly, truly outrageous!) and I went down to PharmaPlus for some Hallowe'en stuff. Upon our return, another co-worker asked us the question typical of nosy grown ups with a lack of imagination for which there's never a good answer.
Co-worker: What'd you get me??
Stinky T: ....Tampons.
Jem: Wooooo! They could be super!
Co-w: I don't want those! I thought you'd tell me you got something good, like chocolates and chips!
Stinky T: ....Chocolate tampons?
Uproarious laughter ensued. Too much information? Just trying it on.
Ooh, on the way home from the GO station today, my ride and super cool neighbour stopped at the gas station to put a few splashes in his tank. I smelled Timmy's and almost started drooling. It took quite a bit of inner and physical strength to not bolt from the car and latch myself onto the teats of their french vanilla capp machine. See? Hormones, it drives you to lust for crazy things and at the most inopportune times. Why didn't I just get off my ass and go get one you ask? I can't answer that, but only because at the moment my mind said it would be incredibly wrong to do so. I bet you're beginning to see how pointless it is to try and figure out the female psyche, sense we no makey. I plead insanity, all the while cackling and pointing at the third toe on your left foot.
On the weekend while running errands I needed a french vanilla capp and two honey crullers. Mr. Stinky and his brother Jeep looked at me in disbelief and probably some disgust when I insisted that I absolutely needed two. They asked with some trepidation if maybe I was planning on saving the second for later and technically they weren't wrong coz only one fits in my mouth at any one time. If I was the crullersaurus then those suckers didn't stand a chance, they disappeared in an extremely ugly fashion leaving me to brush the sugar off my crazy lipstick-smudged face. What?
We should probably stop right now before I do some irreparable damage. I mean, it's no stretch of the imagination to say that you've been told more than you want to know and you either feel the need to sit in purgatory for weeks on end after reading what I write or go straight to the do-it-yourself route and scrub yourself raw with soap. Hey, remember in A Christmas Story when Ralphie had his mouth washed out with soap because he got caught swearing? After watching that movie I went home and licked some soap just to see what it tasted like. Don't do it.
One more thing. This, which I totally hyped up but you've most likely forgotten by now will come soon. For better or for worse I promise I'll spill and rock your world.
October 26, 2006
Catertainment
If you've met or heard stories about my cat Iggy then you know that he's not normal. He's a little crazy, a lot stupid, kind of gay and all kinds of funny. Iggy is synonymous with "special", we do pick real winners but what would you expect if your cat came from Oshawa? *shudder*
This morning as we were getting ready for work he came into our bedroom, a place he's usually not allowed to venture into without supervision due to a propensity for peeing on our duvet. He knows what "out out out" means and is good with high tailing it out of there when he hears these words. Sometimes we'll stomp on the floor too for added emphasis and/or urgency, he's not all stupid.
Things were no different today than any other day. As Mr. Stinky was finishing up in the bathroom I went to chase Iggy out. I must've scared him coz he took off like a bullet and ran full tilt into the door, it was only opened about halfway. I stood there and watched as he mashed his face into it, bounced off sideways and landed facing me, 180 degrees off from his intended course. I'll let you decide what my reaction was:
> Filled with bucketfuls of concern I rushed over to pick him up, covering him with tender kisses and hugs, making sure that he was OK.
> Face the camera to exclaim: "That's our Iggy!!"
> Stand there looking at the cat and bursting into hysterical laughter so much so that when Mr. Stinky asked me what happened it takes several attempts to tell him what had just occurred.
Needless to say, Iggy's reaction to my pointing and laughing was a hurt expression on his cute, little face and another black mark in his book beside mommy's name. I'm thinking that page should probably be completely black by now.
Incidentally, this story isn't much different from the time we went over to some friends' place to watch UFC in the basement with the lights off.. they have a projector TV. I was shooting the laser pointer on the walls to entice their cat to dash around and moronically chase the red dot when I decided to spice things up and switch to a wall on the other side of the basement. Ever hit glass so hard that it reverberates with that distinctively deep, musical boo-oo-o-ngg-g!? In the dark I didn't see that someone had left the glass door of their TV stand opened and the cat took a header into the thing.
I swear I'm a cat lover but there must some dog lover voodoo going on... oh well, as long as they keep providing me with lots of entertainment it's all good.
This morning as we were getting ready for work he came into our bedroom, a place he's usually not allowed to venture into without supervision due to a propensity for peeing on our duvet. He knows what "out out out" means and is good with high tailing it out of there when he hears these words. Sometimes we'll stomp on the floor too for added emphasis and/or urgency, he's not all stupid.
Things were no different today than any other day. As Mr. Stinky was finishing up in the bathroom I went to chase Iggy out. I must've scared him coz he took off like a bullet and ran full tilt into the door, it was only opened about halfway. I stood there and watched as he mashed his face into it, bounced off sideways and landed facing me, 180 degrees off from his intended course. I'll let you decide what my reaction was:
> Filled with bucketfuls of concern I rushed over to pick him up, covering him with tender kisses and hugs, making sure that he was OK.
> Face the camera to exclaim: "That's our Iggy!!"
> Stand there looking at the cat and bursting into hysterical laughter so much so that when Mr. Stinky asked me what happened it takes several attempts to tell him what had just occurred.
Needless to say, Iggy's reaction to my pointing and laughing was a hurt expression on his cute, little face and another black mark in his book beside mommy's name. I'm thinking that page should probably be completely black by now.
Incidentally, this story isn't much different from the time we went over to some friends' place to watch UFC in the basement with the lights off.. they have a projector TV. I was shooting the laser pointer on the walls to entice their cat to dash around and moronically chase the red dot when I decided to spice things up and switch to a wall on the other side of the basement. Ever hit glass so hard that it reverberates with that distinctively deep, musical boo-oo-o-ngg-g!? In the dark I didn't see that someone had left the glass door of their TV stand opened and the cat took a header into the thing.
I swear I'm a cat lover but there must some dog lover voodoo going on... oh well, as long as they keep providing me with lots of entertainment it's all good.
October 25, 2006
Black Wednesday
Needed some shopping therapy yesterday so Amy and I hit the stores with credit cards in our hot little hands. We both purchased a few tops, one of which I liked so much that I wanted to wear it today. I've been feeling like black this week, have been wearing it inside and out since Monday and decided that my newly bought sweater would be donned today. Wednesday.
Problem: I just did laundry Monday night. Wash pile fresh out.
Solution: Make wash pile. I ransacked the house looking for things to wash, and gathered enough to almost fill the machine. Not a very cost-efficient activity and I'm all about saving money and energy (because it costs money) - we'll discuss my affinity for coupons, discounts and price matching another time - but I needed this sweater to be clean. There's no sense in trying to rationalize it and sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do. Besides, as a proud female I completely accept that there are occasions when I make little or no sense though I'm usually very practical. Does that bother me? Not so much. Do women in general bother me with their predictable unpredictability? Yes, but let's not dwell on such trite matters.
I'm wearing my new and freshly laundered black sweater today. Look at it, admire it, envy it.
Problem: I just did laundry Monday night. Wash pile fresh out.
Solution: Make wash pile. I ransacked the house looking for things to wash, and gathered enough to almost fill the machine. Not a very cost-efficient activity and I'm all about saving money and energy (because it costs money) - we'll discuss my affinity for coupons, discounts and price matching another time - but I needed this sweater to be clean. There's no sense in trying to rationalize it and sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do. Besides, as a proud female I completely accept that there are occasions when I make little or no sense though I'm usually very practical. Does that bother me? Not so much. Do women in general bother me with their predictable unpredictability? Yes, but let's not dwell on such trite matters.
I'm wearing my new and freshly laundered black sweater today. Look at it, admire it, envy it.
October 23, 2006
Candles in the Curry
Happy birthday to my wandering sister. On this day, a number of years ago she ripped out of my mom after many days of excruciating labour, tears, pain and probably regret that sex was ever invented. Her birth story is long, colourful and disgusting, the details that moms never forget, whereas mine is practically an afterthought. "Oh yah, you shot out like a watermelon seed." Um, thanks? I'm sending this out all the while not knowing where exactly in hell she is, other than somewhere in India. She's out seeing the world and enjoying foreign fare. We're not super close but we understand each other so maybe even without reading this she'll know I'm sending out some nice thoughts for once.
Not sure what she's riding, eating, sleeping with, sleeping where, etc. but I hope she doesn't have Traveller's Diarrhea... I hear that stuff's nasty, but then if you make a mess I suppose you could always blame one of the wandering cows for their impertinent sphincters.
Enjoy your birthday curry, H. See you whenever you come back.
Not sure what she's riding, eating, sleeping with, sleeping where, etc. but I hope she doesn't have Traveller's Diarrhea... I hear that stuff's nasty, but then if you make a mess I suppose you could always blame one of the wandering cows for their impertinent sphincters.
Enjoy your birthday curry, H. See you whenever you come back.
Screw Pacifism
Some days you just need a little Chuck Norris...
Chuck Norris Facts (a sample to whet your violent nature)
> Guns don't kill people. Chuck Norris kills People.
> There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of animals Chuck Norris allows to live.
> Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
> The chief export of Chuck Norris is Pain.
> There is no chin under Chuck Norris' Beard. There is only another fist.
> Chuck Norris has two speeds: Walk and Kill.
> Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
> When Chuck Norris does a pushup, he isn’t lifting himself up, he’s pushing the Earth down.
Chuck Norris Facts (a sample to whet your violent nature)
> Guns don't kill people. Chuck Norris kills People.
> There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of animals Chuck Norris allows to live.
> Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
> The chief export of Chuck Norris is Pain.
> There is no chin under Chuck Norris' Beard. There is only another fist.
> Chuck Norris has two speeds: Walk and Kill.
> Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
> When Chuck Norris does a pushup, he isn’t lifting himself up, he’s pushing the Earth down.
October 20, 2006
October 19, 2006
Key in the Ignition
Something's happening.
Something big.
Something big is happening soon.
When it gets figured out I'll let you know.
Stay tuned.
Something big.
Something big is happening soon.
When it gets figured out I'll let you know.
Stay tuned.
October 18, 2006
Running on Empty
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.
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 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.
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