Dream Time!

A group of Mennonites (or all Mennonites) have decided that we should all battle.  Now, if you don't know what Mennonites are, then what you need to know in this situation is that the Mennonites are pacifists.  That means no fighting ever, or at least varying degrees of no fighting (some people, myself included, think it's okay to fight to save your own life or someone else's).  So the Mennonites have completely changed their ways and are going to have a street brawl.  I'm in a car with a bunch of people heading to the fight, but I obviously really don't want to fight because, you know, I haven't suddenly changed my view on pacifism and I don't want to get beat up.  We pull up in our car to Fraser and Broadway where a small mob of people are ready to fight.  They're all sort of reaching into the car and stuff, but somehow I manage to flee, and I run down Broadway and through some park where some dude is giving a seminar to a group of women on avoiding rapists.  He talks about not running in dark areas, but I have no choice, I must run through the darkened park to avoid the battling Mennonites.

Somehow I get to my home and lock myself in my room.  The next morning I go into my roommate's room because my dresser full of clothes is in there (because that makes sense), and all of my stuff is sort of pulled out of the drawers, my underwear is all hanging along the side, and everything is generally ransacked (although I remember that I owned really really cute underwears in my dream).  I go to yell at my roommate for going through my stuff, and he points out that someone wants to talk to me.  It's the dude who was the head of the gang of fighting Mennonites.  They're mad that I didn't fight and that I have such an easy life, and he's there to take care of that.  I try desperately to convince him that I don't have an easy life, because I'm totally poor - I couldn't even afford the $5 entrance fee for the fight (yes, that's right, this mandatory battle of Mennonites had an entrance fee).

And.... that's the end of that dream.  Then I was at my parents' house making a meal and there was a plate with little baby alligators on it.  I put them into the dish I was going to cook for my meal, and then when they were all in there, face up with their little eyeballs looking at me, I realized that I can't eat them!  They're tiny and cute and I'm a vegetarian for pete's sake!  Just then they start escaping and I run to open the door and let them run free, just as a mail man comes and drops off a delivery of Christmas cards for me.

Okay, Freudians... GO!

My parents are trying to ruin my vegetarianism

Recently I became a sort-of vegetarian.  Or, as I called it when I "officially" announced it (read: posted it as my facebook status so that people would know not to cook me meat if I come over to their houses), a quasi-vegetarian.  What I really am is a humane eater or ethical-tarian or whatever other douchey sounding name you want to put on it.  Basically, I got tricked into reading Eating Animals by Jonathan Safron Foer and realized that as a human being with a conscience, I could not justify eating animals that had been cultivated in such ridiculously inhumane ways.  I mean really, it's terrible for the animals, the environment, the workers, and for the people eating them.  I won't go into all the details now, read the book if you don't believe me.  Just beware that you will experience a LOT of cognitive dissonance if you are a meat-eater and have a conscience.  Seriously.  A lot.

So now, for all intensive purposes, I am a vegetarian.  I'll eat meat if the animals were happy and healthy, the workers were treated fairly, and the farm is ecologically friendly, which basically means that I don't eat meat ever.  Except that my parents have tracked down a shop in Abbotsford that they claim is all Andrea-friendly meat.  And every time I go out for a visit they load me up with meat from this shop.  I end up cooking and eating this meat because I feel guilty that my parents went to all this extra effort for me to get it and I don't want it to be wasted.

This all adds up to mean that now that I'm a "vegetarian" I cook and eat more meat at home than I ever did in the past.  It's weird and confusing.  It forces me to experience a whole separate realm of cognitive dissonance.

Also, it appears that after kaiboshing my intake of meat (at least for a little while before my parents discovered their happy meat palace), I don't really like the taste of it as much.  Especially the darker meats.  Yuck.  Unfortunately, this adds just one more layer to my fun with cognitive dissonance.

Oh, world!  What do you want from me?

Ladies: Get Your Boobs Measured!

Last week I went for the first time in my life to be properly fitted for a quality bra.  It has, no lie, changed my life.  And by changed my life I mean that my boobs look better and are more comfortable, which, you know, could be considered life-changing, depending how important you think boobs are to life.  Probably pretty important.

Seriously though, friends told me for years that I should do it and I always thought "yeah, sure, maybe someday when I feel like spending way too much on underwear."  Don't be fooled friends, this is not just underwear.  This is unmentionables.  This is lingerie.  This is brassieres.  That means it is classy, sexy stuff.  Even the practical beige one I got.  It makes me feel classy and sexy and it's beige - the least sexy colour in the history of life.  It is so worth it I can't even explain.

Also, it's not even that expensive.  I spent $110 on three bras - pretty similar in price to the crappy ones you buy at The Bay.

The place to get it done is Change if you have one near you.  If you're in Vancouver head down to the Cambie and 7th location - the ladies there are amazing.  Especially the cute redhead who fitted me (didn't catch a name).  She makes it feel totally natural to stand in front of a stranger in a bra.

Their sizes are European, which means they are smaller, which means that if you are a small-busted lady and always resented your A-cup, your boobs are going to feel HUGE.

Best Holiday Invitation Ever

This is jacked directly from Margaret and Helen, a blog where two elderly women who have been friends since childhood converse.  My understanding is that the blog was set up by one of the women's sons so that they could write each other more easily and keep in touch.  Luckily, they are opinionated and awesome.  They also appear to have gotten more into the spirit of blogging and not just using the blog as a means to write each other letters.  Here is Helen's letter to her family, inviting them all to fake Thanksgiving (oops, I mean American Thanksgiving - just a little joke kids!)  I love my family dearly, but dang!  Can she be my bonus Grandma?

Dear Family,

In a year when we almost lost your Grandpa Harold, I would expect each and every one of you to make the effort to be here this year. If only for a few minutes. I’ll make an exception for anyone who lives more than three hours away. Now that is what I expect, but clearly not what I will get. So be warned. At Christmas time what you expect to find under the tree is clearly not what you will get. I love you. Really I do. I don’t expect you to visit often, but I do expect the holidays. And I don’t think that is too much to expect.

For those of you who are coming – from this point forward known as my favorite family members – here are the house rules. Your following them will make for an unforgettable meal filled with laughter and bacon.

  1. If it jiggles, slap a girdle on it or leave it at home. I am not kidding Cloe. One step inside my door with anything made from Jello and it will be your last step. I have about 50 pounds on you so don’t test me.
  2. Rhonda. My house. Your pets. Never the twain shall meet.
  3. Mary. My sofa. Your kid’s feet. Never the twain shall meet.
  4. I have banned cans of soda. Two liter bottles of soda only. I am tired of throwing away half full cans of soda. If you are two young to lift a 2 liter bottle of soda to fill a glass, you are too young to be drinking soda un-supervised.
  5. At age 84 and 11 months, I have had my picture taken more than enough times to fill any memory photo album. The digital era has made it too easy to take way too many useless pictures. Point one camera in my direction this year and I can promise you that your camera will be used to stuff something other than the turkey. When I am gone, feel free to remember me with pictures from my best year – 1962.
  6. Texting and driving is just plain stupid. Texting and eating Thanksgiving dinner, however, is a crime punishable by no dessert.
  7. Vegetarians really should consider Thanksgiving as a holiday from vegetarianism.
  8. Any grandchild showing up dressed like a Palin girl, will leave the house dressed like a Philpot girl. I don’t need to see all that and neither does the rest of the family.
  9. The Longhorns are having a difficult year. Your grandfather is aware of that. No need to remind him. Trust me on this one.
  10. My Democrats are having a difficult year. I am aware of that. Feel free to remind me and I will, in turn, remind you of what I think of the current Republican Party. Trust me on this one.
  11. Sarah Palin having a new book is proof positive that there is something wrong with the world. I can’t fix that, but I promise that my stuffing made with bacon will make you not give a damn. So if any of you get the urge to talk about that woman, stuff your mouth full of food until the urge passes.

This year, I am thankful for my family and for borrowed time. Make the most of what life gives you. I mean it. Really.

Eco Tips and Anger

I had to take Blisstree off my google reader because they just updated too dang much and it was bogging me down.  This always makes me kind of sad when I have to filter out quality content due to quantity overload.  Now I just try to check back on the site whenever I remember, which is of course, almost never. I did come across this interesting tidbit though: the top 20 things we throw in the garbage and some tips on how to avoid them.

1. Water bottles. Avoid the risk of water bottles ending up in the trash by buying reusable ones.

This one actually drives me bonkers - there is really absolutely no need for one-time use water bottles. Okay, the one exception is when you're out and about for a day and forgot one of your many reusable bottles at home and you're really thirsty and the coffee shop people are jerks and won't just give you a cup of water. Other than that - use a freaking reusable bottle already you lazyface!

2. Tissue boxes. Instead of buying a whole new box every time you run out, save the box and just buy tissue refills. Or do it up old-school and use a handkerchief. Just launder often, please.

3. Paper napkins. Cloth napkins don’t create waste. Plus, they’re prettier.

I am actually super stoked on the idea of cloth napkins. I want to make some pretty ones so I can be all classy when I have dinner parties. Which, you know, I will do at some point in my life. If I have any happiness at all, anyways.

4. Paper towels. Kitchen towels are just as absorbent as their more wasteful relatives. And don’t worry — washing cloth towels every so often is much more eco-friendly than tossing paper ones in the trash.

5. Razor blades. Just sharpen your blades rather than throwing the blade (or the entire razor) away.

6. Counter wipes. Toxic wipes in a plastic container don’t stand a chance against the tried-and-true sponge.

I know, I know, sponges are full of bacteria, yada yada. Argument a) we've been using sponges and washcloths since they were invented and the death rate has not dropped since counter wipes became famous. Argument b) just freaking well clean it regularly and don't leave it festering in a pile of gross in the sink.

7. Paper coffee cups. Bring your own mug or travel cup to the coffee shop from now on.

8. Cotton balls. Save money and Ma Nature — use a washcloth.

9. Plastic utensils. Keep a set of real silverware at work for all your culinary needs.

10. Paper plates. Just suck it up and wash real plates after that dinner party.

11. Plastic shopping bags. You know the answer to this one: Reusable shopping bags. Liberal slogan optional.

I'm talking to you, roomie who never bothers to take the cloth bags with you even though there are 10 of them right beside the door. JUST TAKE THE FREAKING CLOTH BAGS!!!!

12. Dryer sheets. Never buy Bounce again — make your own reusable dryer sheet.

13. Printer cartridges. Just get them refilled at Walgreens or CVS.

14. Coffee filters. Think of all the coffee filters you toss in the trash every year. Buy a reusable one, or at least biodegradable filters.

15. Ziploc bags. You know that twinge of guilt you feel every time you use a Ziploc? Fix that by reusing large, clean yogurt containers to store leftovers.

16. Swiffer pads. We bet the floor will be cleaner after you use an old-fashioned mop and bucket.

The folks at swiffer are way too good at their marketing campaign. Them and Febreeze. It's creepy.

17. Baby wipes. Bite the bullet and use washcloths. We feel your pain.

18. Paper lunch bags. This one’s a no-brainer: Use a reusable sack to store your lunch.

19. Plastic soap dispensers. A refillable soap dispenser will make your bathroom much fancier (and greener).

20. Disposable contacts. Take the plunge and invest in a non-disposable pair. They can last an entire year.

Pretty thing

I love this.

Got the image off of Elephantine, a beautiful blog about beautiful things.  I'm not much for rings in general, the only one I wore on a regular basis was a birthstone ring my parents got me-one that I was forced to stop wearing because my friend's cat Action Jackson did something to it and now it is gone forever.  I think he might have eaten it.  Or worked some cat-voodoo on it.

Aren't the two kissing birds (turtledoves?) just the sweetest thing though?  I would love to see someone make a variation of this for an engagement ring so that I can ogle it or be jealous of it or be really happy to have it on my hand and not even notice the person who I've just agreed to marry.

Kissing is Weird

For the first time in my life, I have to do a stage kiss.  This is kind of bizarre, as I have been acting in one way or another since high school, and most people get at least one or two stage kisses in there when they're young, but I didn't.  I pretty consistently get cast as a matronly older lady, and I have stopped asking myself why for fear of what it will do to my fragile ego.  At any rate, this time around I'm doing some kissing.  

Let me tell you, if you've never done it, kissing someone who you have no feelings for whatsoever and aren't even really attracted to is super weird.  The presence of a director telling you precisely what to do while you're lip-locked actually makes things slightly less weird, but it's still weird.  It's got me thinking about how weird the activity of kissing is in the first place.  I mean, the pure mechanical activity is to smoosh your lips against someone else's for an indeterminate amount of time.  Then sometimes you say "you know what, this lip-smooshing isn't enough for me.  I'm going to shove my tongue in this mouth and smoosh our tongues together!"  I mean, really.  Weird.  When we get invaded by aliens, you try explaining it to them, because I've given up.

Santy Claws?

Christmas is approaching and it got me thinking... about Santa.  I never believed in Santa ever.  My parents didn't stoop to the depths of purposefully lying to their children for no result whatsoever except eventual heartbreak when they inevitably discover the truth.  There were no presents under the tree from Santa, they were from my Mom and Dad.  The people who actually bought them.  They were also under that tree a week or two before Christmas, giving me lots of time to poke, prod, and rattle the gifts trying to figure out what they were.  Also, giving me lots of time to arrange the gifts by their recipient and see which child in the family had received more presents (a direct translation of how much we were loved, of course).

I actually felt sorry for other people who believed in Santa, mostly because I was a little snotty know-it-all, but also because I knew they were deluding themselves.  A babysitter once tried to convince me Santa was real, and I just thought that it was so sad that someone that old still believed in Santa.  Hadn't she learned the truth yet?

And so, I offer, the top three reasons why Santa is effed up.

Reason ONE:

I learned in youth group that if you re-arrange the letters in his name it spells "Satan" which is obviously not a coincidence because the English language is supreme and rife with secret meanings.  The question is, does this mean that Santa is satanic or that Satan is santa-riffic?

Reason TWO:

He is CREEPY.  I am not the first to make this observation, nor will I be the last, but anyone who sneaks into peoples' houses at night, leaves presents and takes milk and cookies has issues.  First of all, some of these people are loaded and have way better things to take than milk and cookies, so where are  your priorities, man?  Second, that's way too many milk and cookies in one night and probably indicates some kind of emotion-based eating disorder.  Third, watching children, making lists of their names, checking it twice, rewarding good behaviour and punishing bad?  Sounds like a pedophilic, OCD, megalomaniac if you ask me.  What a great person to introduce my hypothetical children to.

Reason THREE:

He clearly has the power to manipulate time and space in order to travel the globe and deliver presents in one night to the children in countries that believe in him.  This is an awesome ability, a rare power, and as I learned from Peter Parker's grandpa, with great power comes great responsibility.  So couldn't he use this power for good on the 364 days of the year he is not working?  I mean, seriously.  It's pretty much the most powerful super power anyone could ever have, and he uses it to deliver PRESENTS?  I shake my head.

For the record, if I ever produce or procure children, I will follow in my dear parents' footsteps and raise them to be honest citizens of the world who know that Satan sometimes disguises himself as a gift-giver, that breaking into peoples' homes is reserved for instances of necessary larceny or crime-solving, and that if they ever gain the power to manipulate time and space, dag-nab-it, they will find a more productive way to use that skill!  Maybe like Hermione with her time-turner, they will use it to take a few extra classes in high school and eventually save an ostrich/dragon-type animal from being slaughtered.

Veggies: the saddest and most bulimic fruit around

The other day I was packing my lunch for a 14 hour day at work/rehearsal. In this lunch I made a conscious choice to include vegetables because, dang it, once and a while I remember that health is important, and that dying of gout (or whatever people who don't eat their veggies get, is not as romantic as it sounds. It just so happened that the boyfriend was present while I was doing this, and that I am extremely lucky to be dating someone who doesn't make me feel guilty about my normal and abysmal eating habits. This is evidenced in the fact that instead of encouraging me to eat the veggies, he pointed out, with the truth firmly on his side, that veggies are lame. His exact words in fact, were: "vegetables are just fruit on a diet."

I would like to amend that statement to say that veggies are just fruit on a diet that really isn't working very well.

And that was the entire point of this post.

The sound of my tears is completely drowned out by the weeping of forests everywhere

The Kleenex company, pioneers in convincing everyone that reusable handkerchiefs are disgusting*, have found a new frontier their war on trees!  Now they want everyone to believe that a hand towel in your home bathroom is disgusting.  Yep, continue to use that cloth hand towel and you'll be a spawning ground for disease and disability.  Your family will probably get the plague.  In fact, your home will likely be the source of the next big animal-sourced flu: feline, canine, or parrotine.

The sad thing is that people will actually buy these.  You know, to go along with their air-disinfectants, one-time use antibacterial wipes for ever room in the house, and individually wrapped baby wipes for ladies.

Seriously people?

*I will concede that handkerchiefs can be disgusting.  I do think that for everyday sniffles and other mucous-lite activities they are a great idea though and that they should be making a comeback.  I mean, come on! You can get them monogrammed!  Think of the possibilities: you could drop a hanky to invite the seduction of an attractive stranger!  You can find a hanky to uncover infidelity!  The possibilities are endless!  Or at least dual.

How Kittens Are Like Lady-Friends

Read this.  You will learn how to pet a kitty, and incredibly valuable skill for any person to have, but more importantly (and probably horribly anti-feminist of me to say), you will learn something about taking care of a special lady-friend.  I'm not saying it all applies, I'm just saying that when snuggle time is available, you take that snuggle time.  And when the belly (or perhaps more accurately, chesticles) are exposed, you take advantage of the moment and frolic in the backhair of the angel that is a lady's bosom.  Cut snuggle time short before you lady is ready and be ready to be night-snuggled in your sleep, taking over more and more of the bed throughout the night.

Vampires - they can't be reasoned with

It's no secret that I LOVE vampires.  I always have.  Okay, not always, but ever since my friend sat me down and MADE me watch Buffy about a year and a half before they became all trendy.  (Yes, I will insist until the day I die and/or am turned into a vampire that I liked them PRE-TRENDINESS!)  I even love, in a totally dripping in hipster-style irony way, the Twilight series.  Even more so, I love this Tumblr, where someone has picked apart the terrible writing and seriously abusive nature of the Bella/Edward relationship, through awesome images like this one:

Find more: http://reasoningwithvampires.tumblr.com/

The Sanctity of Marriage - SAVED

Because for some reason the debate is still raging on gay marriage, I decided to write my own little diatribe on the issue.  While I know it won't be nearly as hilarious as a Jack Black Jesus, in true blogging style, it's just something I've got to say, regardless of whether it's been said a million times before.

Here's the deal: even in happy-slappy Canada where gay marriage is begrudgingly legal, people say that it destroys the sanctity of marriage and then leap into slippery-slope arguments that soon uncles will be marrying their 8 year old nephews into polygamist families*.

Downward-spiral-to-horrible-incestuous-polygamist-death aside, it seems that the crux of the issue is the sanctity of marriage.  In case you didn't know, marriage is a holy, special, God-invented thing (I think he came up with it on the 4th day) that, until the recent advent of gay marriage has remained unchanging, steadfast, and true.  A perfect picture off Mommy, Daddy, and their two kids that remain a happy family unit forever and continue the population of the planet.

Now the threat to this image is not gay people.  Believe it or not, there is a group of people that violates this perfect image even more than gay people: celebrities.

Musicians!  Actors!  Directors!  Singers!  Models!  TV Personalities Who Don't Actually Have Any Talent Except for Having Really Big Hair and Tiny Disproportionate Bodies!  These people are destroying the sanctity of marriage and the family all over the place.  Marriages!  Divorces!  Remarriages!  Cheating!  Marrying someone else again!  Carting children from one family unit to the next!  Unwed parenthood!  Reality TV shows that document the whole thing!  The longest lasting relationships most of these ladies have are not with their baby daddies, but with their baby nannies.

You may doubt what I'm saying, but the fact is that it's all documented in the mainstream press.  The way I see it, there is nary a sanctimoniously married family in the bunch.  Well, maybe one or two, but heck, do we really want to risk the precious institution of marriage on this lot for one or two good marriages?  I mean, just because there's a few good seeds spattered around doesn't make the poo fertilizer.  Besides, the ones that might qualify are probably Scientologists, so we know that their marriages aren't even real anyways.

So before we start freaking out about letting gay people marry, perhaps we should clean up the stinking cesspool that is heterosexual marriage, shouldn't we?  First, as I've already pointed out, we'll outlaw celebrity marriage.  Then, naturally, we have to tighten up and start following all those rules about marriage, so remarriage after divorce is forbidden.  You married someone who turned out to be an abuser?  Tough love, sister!  Stay with him or stay single.  Next we bring back stoning for women who cheat, and what the heck, it's the 21st century, let's stone the men too!  Now, Jesus said that anyone who looked upon another person with lust in their heart had already committed adultery, so that means they're breaking their marriage contract and we have to stone them too.  Or at least ban them from future marriage if they don't force themselves to stay with their unsatisfactory spouse.  Okay, finally we round up all the people who de-sanctify marriage in other ways: using porn, open relationships, sodomy (which technically is any sex that's not missionary position), or refusing to have children all together, and make sure they either don't get married or get stoned.  Oh, and it seems to fit within this definition that anyone who doesn't get married by a Christian pastor or priest probably is destroying the sanctity of marriage, since we seem to be basing this entirely on a misinterpretation of the Biblical notion of marriage and it didn't include other religions.

Now all that's left are straight Christians who are either actually happily married with one another and want to have children, or are simmering in regret and emptiness while insisting on fulfilling their marital duties.  Marriage has remained sanctified!  HOORAY!

*Okay, first of all, that ain't gonna happen because incest is one of the few universal taboos that provokes a disgust reaction in literally every culture.  Secondly, we have lots of very strict legitimate laws protecting younguns from sexual exploitation and technically we did a reverse slippery slope on that one because it used to be considered a-okay to force children to marry adults.  Third and finally, the only real reason to oppose polygamy is the ongoing victimization and oppression of women in this lifestyle (and, if you've seen the TLC reality show Sister Wives, you'll likely also be kind of skeezed out by the whole idea that the man is clearly just playing at being king of the castle with all these women who need him sooooo much).

Halloween is a BIG Decision

I'm having trouble deciding what I want to be for Halloween.  It's my favourite holiday of the year and I always feel the need to think of something awesome.  I prefer being a character from something I'm obsessed with or a slightly under-appreciated, obscure cultural source.  Or something kind of abstract.  Past favourite costumes have been Mother Nature and Wanda (as in Where's Wanda, as in the girl in Where's Waldo, as in Waldo's girlfriend*).  I also need to think of what Buffy-related costume I'm going to wear for the Buffy Musical Sing-Along, but at least I've got the field narrowed down with that one.

So far my ideas are:

Also, maybe a tornado?  My friend made it sound pretty cute.

And that's all I've got.  I would love something that would make good use of my long curly hair, but the only ideas I can come up with are lame things like a gypsy or eighties girl.  Sorry, but the eighties have been done to DEATH.  I'm NOT going there again.  It's amazing how significant this decision becomes every year.  I just never know what to do about it and I feel like my entire reputation and possibility for happiness rests upon this decision. 

*Funny story: when I was dressed as Wanda I had a fellah in my life, but knew the relationship was going downhill and had not yet had the guts to bring it to an end yet (that came about a month later).  As I was out and about with some friends (not including the fellah), I suddenly heard someone cry out "Are you WALDO?"  I turned, and was face to face with... Waldo.  I clarified, that no, I was Wanda, Waldo's girlfriend.  My friends insisted that the crowd (including Waldo) come with us to the party we were heading to.  It was like a Hollywood moment, except that I had a boyfriend.

Why Everyone Should Join OKCupid

I know I've got myself a boy, and no, I'm not shopping around.  I do, however, love flowcharts and statistics, and have often read the OKCupid blog because they do hilarious and interesting analyses of dating site data.  One thing they've come up with is the "Flowchart to My Heart" that uses your answers to a myriad of questions to help determine if someone can date you.  So naturally, I created an account and answered 150 questions just to find out what they would come up with for me.

Can you find your way to my heart?

Let's all give thanks, shall we?

Hey folks!  It's Thanksgiving this weekend - if you live in the right country, that is.  So in honour of Turkey day (where I will likely be repealing my ethical-vegetarian status), here are some things I'm thankful for:

Find love in a laundromat (a facebook laundromat)

Does anyone know where I can find a clip of the Gain fabric softener commercial that's set in a laundromat?  I really wanted to post it on here but I can't find it anywhere.  And by that I mean I can't find it on Youtube, because that's the only place to look for video stuff right?  Sort of like how facebook is the only place to find love?

The funny thing is that as I'm writing this the commercial just came on TV again.  Really!  It's taunting me now!

Anyways, I wanted to post it because I think it's really great (oh my WORD it's on AGAIN!  I've seen it 5 times in the last 15 minutes, I swear!) that such a mainstream company is making a statement to legitimize lesbian relationships.  I mean, clearly this is about two middle aged women who meet and find a special spark in a laundromat, right?

I love it!

(PS: It's on AGAIN! - yes, I type slowly when I'm watching TV at the same time as writing a post.)

Prime Minister #4: John Thompson

Hey, remember when I was doing that thing about prime ministers.  Yeah, I'm doing that again.  For today anyways.  I think I left off at number three before, which really goes to show my sense of strong commitment to the project.  Here we go with number FOUR: John Thompson, come on down!!!  And yeah, the format's just completely out the window from now on, deal with it.

Sir John Sparrow David Thompson trying really hard not to look like a pirate.
So this dude was PM from 1892-1894.  Fun facts:

  1. His full name is Sir John Sparrow David Thompson - first middle name Sparrow?  I do declare we've had a pirate for a PM!
  2. He's got the least internet name-recognition of them all.  On Wikipedia there are no less than FIFTEEN John Thompsons listed as political figures.  Not to mention some basketball player that apparently is more famous than the fourth Prime Minister of Canada.  Priorities, people?
  3. Apparently Hollywood-style romance was part of the bill for Prime Ministers back then - his wife's parents disapproved and when they were dating he wrote her letters in shorthand to hide from them.  Is this really the kind of man we want running our country?
  4. He played hard to get and first recommended John Abbott to be PM when people asked him to do it.
  5. He won the war on the seal hunt!  And by that I mean he won the right to hunt seals.
  6. Not a role model for health and wellness, Sir Sparrow was 225lbs and 5'7".  This would have likely gotten in the way of his pirating.  Also, it caused him to die after 2 years as PM.

Photographers are creepy

My roommate is having a photoshoot in the living room with his man-crush friend.  Over the strains of "Take it Easy" and other easy-listening motel room classics, I hear him murmur the following using a voice one might call "dulcet":

"Nice, very nice."

"I'll just ... adjust your shirt..."

"Now to pleasure you."

"I just want to get it perfect."

"It's surprising I'm having such a hard time with this."

"A little bit closer to me.  Little more.  Little more.  Good."

"The more you pay the deeper it goes."

"Okay, one last safety."

"You see what I was doing there?"

"Let's go back and try one more."

"Are you okay with that? ... I need to know!"

"Let's take one of me!"

Kitten wars

I want a kitten.  I really really really really want a kitten.  Why can't I have a kitten?

This morning, I choose to torture myself by looking up photos of kittens.



I literally just died.

Okay, so my new goal in life is to get my landlord to let me have a kitten at all costs.  Here's the sitch: I had a kitten when I was looking for the place and he said I could have one.  The people who lived here before me also had one.  Then my kitten (rest his soul) got taken away by the coyotes and I learned a very important lesson about letting your cat outside, even if he is a ninja-devil-bright-eyes-in-the-sunshine-attackeralla cat before I actually moved in.  Then I figured that since I was originally allowed a cat it would be no problem for me to catsit for my friend, so I did and then kinda got in trouble from my landlord so when I asked him later if I could get another cat (I needed a grieving period before I could just go and get another cat - I'm not heartless) he said NO.  He actually said NO.

So long story short, I live in a totally shite basement suite that I quite dislike because I was searching for a place that would let me keep a pet, and now I'm not allowed to keep a pet.  I mean, seriously?

So the game is ON.  How am I going to convince him?  Any ideas?  I already had mice and tried to convince him that having a cat would help get rid of the mice, but he didn't go for it.  I don't know what else to do!  Subliminal messages?  Haunting?  Threats?  He is planning on spending four months of the winter away, maybe I could just get a cat while he's gone and then tell him that I've had it all along.  Hmmmm....

Stating the obvious.

Internet advertisers: you are stupid.

When will you learn that anything you create that directly interferes with my ability to use and enjoy the website I've visited is not going to engender any goodwill towards your company?  When my whole screen starts to go dark and a window floats into view, guess what?  That's not cool animation or a classy way to introduce your product.  That's a POP-UP AD.  You know, those things everyone has blockers for now except that you've managed to sneak past the blocks with some kind of flash programming, and that does not make you clever, it just makes you more annoying.

Also, when it starts to snow on my screen or a giraffe's head pops up out of nowhere and I have to hunt around for the little "x" so I don't accidentally click you ad?  That is also unpleasant.

I can't imagine how any of this advertising works on anyone, except that since spam ads for pharmaceuticals work (seriously, are you going to be psychotropic drugs from a spam artist?  That sounds smart.), so I guess these are bound to work too.

Perhaps what I should really be doing instead of ranting to the advertisers who are stupid or hedging their bets, is appealing to the higher judgement of the populace that make these advertising ventures worthwhile.  Educational reform perhaps?  Brainwashing?  What might work?  Any suggestions?


Beauty and happiness abound on this new blog I just found
An ode to love and kissing, there is very little that is missing.
Please check it out, it will make your day
Sadly it is heteronormative, sorry if you're gay.


Good point.

My world has been rocked by a pre-teen boy on the bus. EW - not like THAT!!!

This morning I was riding the bus to work, two stops away from my transfer point (oh Main and Broadway, what a wild world you are), when something crazy happened.

Let me set the scene a little bit better: I was on a bus full of late elementary or middle school aged children.  (Do they do middle schools in Vancouver?  I don't even know.  They were just introduced in my boondoggle hometown when I was graduating high school.)  Typically I am completely ageist and dread experiences like this.  Really, busses full of any group of people that are not exactly like me fill me with a desire to recoil in horror: children, tweens, teenagers, young university students, and old people.  I avoid them all like the age-stereotypical plagues that they become when they band together in groups.  So needless to say, I was not excited about being on a morning bus full of young snot-monsters who think they're too cool to have snot but still actually have it all over their faces, all whilst squeeling at high pitches and yelling about whatever the new thing is that kids yell about.  The bus was full and I was pushing as far back as I could to make room, all whilst burying my face in my book in desperate hope to avoid the terror of beholding such young and frightening faces.

This is when the story changes.

I look up and a boy has gotten out of his seat and is offering it to me.

May I repeat: a pre-teen aged boy offered me his seat on the bus.

What the what now, what is going on in this world???  This boy's gallant chivalry (and yes, fellahs, offering your seat on the bus to a lady does make her feel like you are gallant and chivalrous - see how it's actually not that much work to be a gentleman?) is forcing me to revisit my blatant stereotyping of the younger generations, and I just don't even know what to do about it.  I mean, what's the universe trying to tell me?  That I can't paint an entire group of people with one brush of distaste?  That sounds ridiculous and scary.

My conception of time in relation to emotion is effed up.

You know how days can fly up and down on the graph of awesome until you get all confused as to what it was really like?  And whatever you're feeling at the moment somehow seems like the only important thing that happened that day and completely overshadows everything else.  For example, today I went from feeling kind of mellow to satisfied to happy to great to productive to annoyed to really annoyed to hopeless to hopeless yet persistent to idiotic to tearful to bored to frustrated and pretty angry to happy.  Since the last feeling in the list of feelings is happy, I look back and think "Yep, today was swell."  When really, when you look over the list I think the negative emotions technically outweigh the positive ones (yes, I am too lazy to actually count them).  And each phase of emotion feels like an entire experience, like a day in and of itself.  So after my good morning of mellow satisfaction and happy productivity, I really felt like I had lived much more than a day's worth of activities and feelings.  I was done.  Then all the bad stuff started cropping up and suddenly the day was the worst day ever and all the good stuff felt like it was a week ago.  But then it got happy again and THAT felt like a whole separate day once again that was completely unrelated to the bad stuff from before.  So I've had at least 3 or 4 days already and I am just thinking about going to bed.

Actually, yes.  I need to go to bed.

Okay, bye.

Lesson #2 of using an iPod Touch as your alarm

Check to make sure the volume isn't turned all the way down.  Otherwise it's a tree falling in a forrest when no one's around - not waking anyone up.  Which leads to a philosophical question for a newer generation: if an iPod plays a song, but its volume is turned down, does it make a sound?  Answer: shut the EFF up, I'm late for work.

I'm BACK, dear lady friends!

Yeah, I haven't written in a while and yada yada well I'm not going to apologize, mother uckahs, because I haven't been writing because I have a life!  So THERE!

Anyways, I'm sick today and went to work at 11:30 and left again at 3:30 so I guess I sort of have time to write now.  Even though my friends are coming over soon to make dinner for us*, apparently, even though all I want to do is lie on this couch and watch Reality Bites while my aching sicky-muscles do their achey thing.  Ah, life.

Today all I want to do is share the ice cream cake I ordered for my fellah for his birthday.  Who's the best girlfriend in the world?  I'm pretty sure that'd be me.  I was really nervous that the folks at Dairy Queen would misunderstand my directions and the cake would come with a picture and the caption "Arrow with the name 'Ben' pointing at muscle man."  Then, of course, it would have been fodder for Cake Wrecks.

I can't figure out why it's sideways - it's not sideways on my computer.  Blogger is an idiot.

*Us = my roommates and I.  We're all a bunch of friends and a big happy family, don'tcha know!  Even though the dude roommate talks all the freaking time, even when I'm lying on the couch sick and writing a blog post about my aching sicky-muscles.

Wendy's Training Music Video

The joy overfloweth!  A 1990's Wendy's training video.  They sing and rap about how to serve cold beverages.  Doesn't it just motivate you to give great customer service?

What is wrong with the world today?

Heyyyyyy kitty... you are nice and soft.  I like petting you.  You are not aggravating me at all.  I'd better put you in the trash can.

WTF my friends.  W, T, F?

This makes me want to break into "What is Wrong With the World Today?" by our good friends Flight of the Conchords.

Things That Are Gross

  1. Coming home to see a slug on the wall crawling up towards your shoes.
  2. Being just way too grossed out to do anything about it (also, being unsure of how to best deal with a slug in a humane way because you're feeling guilty about past inhumanities towards bugs and rodents and other unwanted critters) so leaving it but then being haunted by visions if it sliming its way across your shoes.
  3. Magazines and books in the bathroom.  I mean, really?  Necessary?  I think not.  And then because of all the humidity the pages get all cronkly and wavy and it's just NASTY.
  4. Reaching into the back part of a cupboard where you can't really see.
  5. The drawer underneath the oven and anything that lives in there.  I'm pretty sure it houses mostly evil gremlins.
  6. Being unsure if your cereal is stale or not and having to taste it to see.
  7. Your face.
  8. Just kidding, your face isn't really gross.
  9. Or at least it's not gross enough to make this list.
  10. Unless you have a remarkably gross face.
  11. Then, well, I am sorry for you.
  12. But moreso for everyone who has to look at you.

This guy is so kick-arse.

Lifted directly from this Boing Boing post:
The last survivor of an uncontacted tribe from the Brazilian Amazon lives alone. He is thought to be about 40 years old. He uses a bow and arrow, and once shot a man who was trying to communicate with him in the chest. He doesn't wear clothes, and he digs 5-foot-deep rectangular holes (which serve "no apparent purpose") in the thatch huts he builds. He grows vegetables, hunts for wild game, and collects honey from stingless(!) bee colonies.
He was first seen in 1996 and has been evading loggers ever since
Monte Reel from Slate writes:
They first became aware of his existence nearly 15 years ago and for a decade launched numerous expeditions to track him, to ensure his safety, and to try to establish peaceful contact with him. In 2007, with ranching and logging closing in quickly on all sides, government officials declared a 31-square-mile area around him off-limits to trespassing and development.

Don't try to talk to him or he will shoot you in the chest.  This dude is a one-man wolf pack to the Xtreme.

Stuff Oprah Would Hate

1. Damp towels left on the floor.  I'm pretty sure every time she sees those she's all "EDMUUUUUND!!!", which is the name I imagine her boyfriend-who-she-never-marries-and-almost-never-talks-about-so-I-was-never-sure-as-a-child-if-he-was-her-butler-or-what has, because I can't remember it can't can't be bothered to look it up.

2. People who don't cry on her show.  Seriously, this one time I was watching and this guy was on who's wife had killed their three children and she kept describing it and trying to make him cry and he wouldn't and I think a blood vessel where her heart used to be popped with the effort.

3. Unfulfilled potential.  She'd totes see it in you, and just hug it out and then all your potential would suddenly fulfill itself!  She is like a unicorn for potential.  A unitial?  A poticorn?  Poticorn it is.

4. Anyone who dares suggest someone other than her be on the cover of O magazine.

5. Anyone who dares make a joke about how O magazine is all about orgasms.  Except that we already have every other ladies' magazine to have headlines about orgasms in a bold font on the front cover, so it's actually a kind of pointless joke.

6. Mushrooms.  They are so pointless and if they have any potential, they do not realize it.*

*I am pretty sure Oprah actually is okay with mushrooms and I was just projecting my own feelings of disappointment on her.  Sorry, Oprah.  I'll never do it again.

Evening of Greatness

My friend(s), picture this: I am wearing comfy, "lazy" clothes that still are kind of cute so I don't even feel like a slug; my belly is full of food; I just came back from a dance class and so am feeling ridiculously self-satisfied; I am wearing my new glasses and seeing the world in disturbing detail; and, finally, I am watching Mars Attacks! on TV.

Mars Attacks! may very well be one of the best movies ever made.  Right at this moment Martin Short is seducing an alien disguised as a decidedly non-sexy "sexy lady" through an aquarium.  Soon his finger will get bitten off and the president's life will be in peril.

Whoops!  Finger's off!  Now the game truly begins.

Seriously though, this movie gets better and better every time I watch it.  Tim Burton equals genius, and the cast is what some might call stellar.  I truly believe this movie is Sarah Jessica Parker at her best, which may not say much for the rest of her career, but she is absolutely hilarious here.  Also, Pierce Brosnan was never better and never will be better ever again.


Oh, and there are also some actually talented actors in it as well.

Now to shift to something completely unrelated, in true pro-blogger style, I wanted to mention a few places I visited today that deserve the oft-sought, ever-lauded mini-review:

Commune Cafe: A new (to me) restaurant at Nelson and Seymour.  Delish food, prices okay, just snooty enough to not serve diet pop, with hyper-trendy "communal tables" and cute conversation starters on your order number.

iDance Studios: Cheapest dance classes in town, wish they had more advanced levels of classes that were longer than 1 hour, but still a good review of the basics.

PS: Now Tom Jones is in the movie!  TOM JONES!!!

PPS: When I'm old I can only hope to be like the grandma in every way.

Every way.



I can see stuff now.

It's crazy awesome.

Actually, it's kind of scary to see how much detail there actually is on everything.  Very off-putting.

No, I don't have a picture because it is the morning and my hair is wet and instead of looking like a seductive librarian I resemble a wet-headed tired lady, but trust me when I say that they turned out awesome.

The frames feel kinda cheap, but you know what?  They WERE cheap, so there.

Now I just need my glasses chain and I'll be all set to take over the world.

Life is but a dream.

PS: I don't want to be all salesperson-y, but clearlycontacts.ca is clearly (ha! Puns!) awesome.  I got a pair of glasses including lenses for $55, and they sent me a complimentary pair of super-ugly sunglasses (sweet!  So ugly!) and a keychain thingy that has a little tiny screwdriver set for glasses repair.  For reals! It's like they care about me as an individual person or something.  Also, leads me to wonder how cheap all these products really are that they can send me so much for free, because they also gave me a gift card for a completely free pair of glasses?  WHAT?  I'm supposed to give them to someone, but I'm thinking of just ordering a second pair as a back-up or something.

PPS: I'm going to go make myself some breakfast now, wearing the glasses so I see every detail of what I make.  So educational!

PPPS: Eggs are supremely gross.  Never again.

Stop Lying to Me, Internet

So it turns out the Whiteboard Jenny was a hoax, and now maybe that airline attendant guy who jumped the escape hatch may also have been a hoax.

My question is, what is the world coming to????  I mean, I get it, it's a funny story, it's a joke, it made your joke news website that's so painfully obviously a rip off of The Onion get a lot of hits, but really?  The whole beauty of these stories is that they sing to the deepest desire of every lackey and customer service representative out there.  Now that these brilliant stories were false, I honestly am not sure if I will ever trust again.  This, my friends, is when hoaxes go too far.

Now, oh internet, I must turn to one of the greatest poets of our time to truly express how you have made me feel.  Please, read every word and hold it as the truth, for though I did not write these gems of heartwrench and agony, they speak for my soul.  Let them whisper into yours:

Even in my heart, I see
You're not being true to me
Deep within my soul, I feel
Nothing's like it used to be
Sometimes I wish I could
Turn back time
Impossible as it may seem
But I wish I could
So bad, baby
Quit playing games with my heart

Quit playing games with my heart
Before you tear us apart (with my heart)
Quit playing games with my heart
I should've know from the start
You know you've gotta stop (from my heart)
You're tearing us apart (my heart)
Quit playing games with my heart

I live my life, the way
To keep you coming back to me
Everything I do
Is for you
So what is it that you can't see
Sometimes I wish I could
Turn back time
Impossible as it may seem
But I wish I could
So bad, baby you'd better quit playing games with my heart

Quit playing games with my heart
Before you tear us apart (with my heart)
Quit playing games with my heart
I should've know from the start
You know you've gotta stop (from my heart)
You're tearing us apart (my heart)
Quit playing games with my heart

Baby, baby
The love that we had was so strong
Don't leave hangin' here forever
Oh baby, baby this is not a lie
Let's stop this tonight

Baby, ohh, quit playing games
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah
Nah nah nah nah nah baby
Nah nah nah nah

Sometimes I wish I could
Turn back time
Impossible as it may seem
But I wish I could
So bad baby
Quit playing games with my heart

Irony Plus Sadness = ?

I think Urban Outfitters just topped the charts for scenester irony.  Their latest storefront in NYC is actually made up for four false storefronts (and by false I mean that they look like four different storefronts that all actually go into one huge UO, not that they have four fake storefronts with doors that don't actually open or where you walk into a tiny closet lit only by a single pair of red eyes with a deep, whispering voice of doom - although I kind of wish I did because, hello?  Clever move Urban Outfitters!  Now you'll only get the really dedicated shoppers.)

Apparently the idea is to be ironically reminiscent of the days when New York shopping actually involved going into more than one independently owned shop instead of a couple of giant chain stores (thanks H&M, Forever 21, and of course, Urban Outfitters for making clothes that almost look like they were made by a hip local designer except that they actually came from the all-too cliched factories in China and fall apart after a couple of wearings even though a t-shirt cost $40 - seriously guys?  $40 for a t-shirt with a faux-vintage looking picture flaking off the front?  Really?  And everyone else ones one?  Thanks a lot.)

Seriously, the faux indie-designer-ness of Urban Outfitters is generally both hilarious and sad.  A few years ago my friends and I went to the Sasquatch! Festival, which is pretty much the raddest music festival accessible by vehicle from Vancouver, and is overflowing with scenesters, hipsters, and any other assortment of "cool kid" you can find.  The types who will tout all the "support local" catch phrases and pride themselves in being super unique with their independent sense of style.  Around that same time one of my dear Lady Friends had gotten a job at Urban Outfitters.  We played a game called "Spot the Urban Outfitter" wherein every other girl who walked by (and about a third of the dudes) was wearing something from Urban Outfitters.

Real unique guys.

Check yourself before you wreck yourself.


Today was officially "bad decision day."

Just thought everyone should know.

Okay, now I'm going to try to think of something real to write about.

(word)(question mark)

I have a list of blog ideas for those dry days when I have no idea what to say.  You know, those random ideas that pop into my head when I don't have time to write but seem completely brilliant at the time.  Also known as the ideas that are completely unwriteable.

Today I realized that once again it's been a few days and I have absolutely no ideas for what to write about.  So I consulted my list.  Mainly it's full of things that I thought were hilarious and really are meaningless, but one bullet point caught my eye.  One word and a piece of punctuation: "penis?"


This is a topic for a blog post?

I don't even have the slightest idea of what I was thinking.  Perhaps I was envisioning a scenario where one is lost?  Or where a person is unsure if what they're looking at is a penis or not?



This is how I spend my entire night.

I used to think Ikea was a playland of joy and happiness.  A place that was full of so many fun and happy ideas that the "d" became a "k".  Turns out it's really a dank pit of a warehouse intent on slowly breaking down the fragile psyches of 20-somethings trying to make it on their own.

Here's what happens:

Step 1: A 20-something needs furniture.  Perhaps they just moved into their own place.  Perhaps their roommates have moved out leaving them without important furnishings and/or storage solutions.  Perhaps they accidentally broke the furniture their parents gave them in an innocent beer bong incident.  Whatever the case may be, this 20-something decides that they are now a grown up and should acquire new furniture on their own.  Not so grown up they should go to Sears or The Brick for their furniture, because paying that much for stuff you sit or stack things on is really just completely insane.  They are just grown up enough to buy items that are cheaper because you assemble them yourself and are all exposed, unfinished wood.

Step 2: Said 20-something goes to Ikea and successfully selects and purchases their furnishing items, as well as a few impulse-purchased ice cube trays (they are shaped like stars!  How fun!) and tea lights (100 candles for $1?  How can you not???) - this also makes them feel more grown up because a) they can afford impulse purchases here, and b) anyone who's gone grocery shopping with a parent who "just needs some milk" knows that being an adult is all about suddenly realizing you need something when you see it.

Step 3: Our happy 20-something brings all the purchases home, only slightly dismayed that they had to actually spend real money on them and begins happily assembling the pieces.  At first it's easy.  There are pictures that are more-or-less easy to understand explaining what to do, and every successful 20-something has a basic screwdriver set their parents bought them when they moved out.  It's so easy!

Step 4: A feeling of success and pride overtakes the 20-something as the assembly continues.

Step 5: Everything goes to hell and nothing works and the 20-something's can-do attitude is shattered and they begin to question their worth as a human being because if they can't assemble a freaking bekvamustalgum, then what can they do???  I mean, they can't even find a job in the area of specialty they studied in school, but figured that eventually things would look up if they were creative and stuck to it, but if being creative and sticking to it won't even result in a successfully assembled bekvamustalgum, what will it result in?  NOTHING that's what.  PAIN.  HORROR.  HUMILIATION.


So I totally had defeated this Ikea monstrosity when one of the little screwy things I put in at the very beginning came unscrewed and the only way to fix it is seriously to undo everything else.  It only took me 3 hours to get this far, so it's not so bad, right?  I can do this without resorting to calling the boyfriend and being all little-girly about this, right?  Right?

Great, all the self-esteem I built up after the end with the former boyfriend is completely gone.  Thanks a lot, Ikea.

Yesterday was a very good day for me because...

... I mean, except for the parts about someone else being in trouble for trying to destroy my reputation. I'm 80% sure that's not going to happen.  But the boy is back!  Woo!  (Don't mess.)

Vegetables? Aw MAN!

I recently accidentally was tricked into becoming a quasi-vegetarian by Jonathan Safran Foer.  If you don't know, JSF is a totes brilliant writer who wrote two of my favouritest novels ever: Everything is Illuminated and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.  If you think I'm exaggerating when I say that he tricked me into becoming a quasi-vegetarian, you would be wrong.  Here's the (thrilling) story:

I was at the library and saw on the fast reads shelf (for non-VPL folks: that's the shelf of books that are popular so you can only have them for a week) a book called Eating Animals by my good friend JSF.  "Great!" I thought, "I've been looking for a new and awesome story that will poetically move my soul to a higher plain."  So I took it out.  Turns out it's a non-fiction that's actually about humans eating animals and the farming practices in the US and if you read it and have a conscience there is no way you will be able to continue your usual animal-eating practices.  No way.  Unless you engage cognitive dissonance for evil and choose to push it all away with some cock-eyed justification and then you will probably never question eating animals again but will lose a piece of your soul.  Sort of like how horcruxes work.

So now I am a quasi-vegetarian, which means that I have decided to maybe still eat meat if I'm, say, eating at someone's house and they slaved away at a meal for me.  And I will probably still eat turkey at Christmas and Thanksgiving.  Or at least gravy.  PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME EAT MASHED POTATOES WITHOUT GRAVY BECAUSE OTHERWISE THE POTATOES MIGHT AS WELL NEVER EXIST AND I WILL CURL UP AND SOB IN THE CORNER RUINING EVERYONE'S HOLIDAY.  The big deal for me is that I will no longer order meat in restaurants.  It's pretty much the only time I eat meat anyways because I never buy it to cook because that takes, like, fore-planning and putting some kind of effort into what I eat and who has time for that?

Here's the thing: I now know that altruism is real.  You know how people always say that there is no real altruism because people always feel good about doing their good deed and so it's selfish on some level?  Well I am very possibly the very first example of true altruism in the world.  I don't feel good about this meat-avoiding at all.  Every time I am ordering food and have to figure out what to eat instead of chicken strips or fish n' chips (because YES, fish is bad too, thanks a lot JSF you couldn't have skipped the part about how bad the fishing industry is, could you?) or a chicken caesar salad or whatever other incarnation of chicken I am instinctively driven to order, I am just miserable.  Really.  I try to remind myself that this is better for my health and the environment and the animals and the workers and humanity overall, and I hope that will make me feel better about what I'm doing, but I'm really just unhappy.  I just really want to eat chicken strips so badly.  Or bacon when I get my $3 breakfast from Bon's.  And now I can't.  Instead I will probably have to order something with lots of vegetables in it, which is just the worst.

So there you are.  ARE YOU HAPPY WORLD?  ARE YOU HAPPY JSF?  ARE YOU HAPPY ANIMALS?  I hope so, because I sure am not.  Stupid conscience.

This is how you know you are a horribly lame/amazing person

I feel like a beauty queen!!!!  This morning I emailed Jenny the Bloggess asking her to please find a way to  stop me from reading her blog because I have grown painfully addicted and am reading through back emails all the time, and I know it sounds like I was just trying to write a veiled fan email or get her to come see my blog, but really I was crying out for help because I have gotten literally nothing done this month because I've spent all my free time reading backwards on her blog.  It's a serious problem.  Mostly I blame google for inventing a reader that makes it too easy to read through back-posts on blogs forever and ever, but partially I blame her for being all hilarious and junk.

Anyways, I emailed her and she FREAKING EMAILED ME BACK.  On the very same day.  I am flubbergasted.

Since she posts emails she gets from people all the time, I'm sure she won't be offended by me posting her email to me here.  So, without further ado, this is what the magnanimous Jenny the Bloggess said to lil' old me:
I totally understand.  I've been trying to get real work done for years  but instead I spend all my time blogging.  It's like I'm contagiously ADD.

How about if I ban you from my blog?  YOU ARE BANNED!  But not really.  I don't know how to ban people.  I suck.
Seriously, how lame sad kind of okay cool interesting existent am I?

PS: Yes, I just called myself existent because, well, it's really the only truly accurate adjective I could think of.  I mean, clearly I exist if she emailed me, right?  I just don't feel comfortable putting a value judgement on myself for your benefit.

Stupid baking

Know what's the worst part of baking cookies?  Getting used to being able to go to the kitchen and just eat a cookie, or even better, some leftover cookie dough you saved in the fridge, and then having none left.

Then you have no choice but to eat yet another handful of your roommates chocolate chips that she probably actually wanted to use to bake cookies and you hope that she doesn't try anytime soon or notice that her supply is slowly going down, and she is moving out soon so maybe she'll just leave them?  Then you remember that she at least read your blog once before and might still read it and might now know that you just ate a handful of her chocolate chips and have probably done it at least one other time in the past.

Sorry, roomie.  Hugs?

The killer in me

I keep having dreams where people are trying to kill me.  Sometimes it's the running away while they chase me, sometimes it's the hiding, sometimes it's the full on fighting-for-life where I totally channel Buffy the Vampire Slayer and am AWESOME (or probably almost die but with lots of kicking that looks more like flailing), and sometimes it's just the slow, creeping knowledge that the person I'm spending time with in my dream is engaging in some plan that will end in my death.

Always my brain manages to time these dreams so that they happen right before my alarm goes off so I wake up in some kind of panicked state where I'm trying to save myself from death.  Not the most zen way to start your day, but maybe good if I actually needed to start my day with that kind of "FIND ANYTHING THAT CAN BE USED AS A WEAPON AND HIDE IN A DARK CORNER!!!" energy.

So I decided to look up what it means when you have dreams that people are trying to kill you all the time.  But before I look them up, I'm going to guess that the dream means that on some kind of subconscious/molecular level I am very important to the universe.  Probably (like some character from some TV show I won't name so as to avoid spoiling everything for y'all) my genetic structure is super amazing and could save the world if made into vaccine form, so my dreams are preparing me to either a) flee the scientists and save myself at the expense of the human race or b) flee the evil scientists who want to harness my body's amazing cells for terrible purposes.

Okay, let's see what the internet says now:
Well it depends. Let's say your a woman dreaming of man trying to kill you. Perhaps you've had a bad past with men. Or if it was someone you dont know trying to kill you. Maybe you're fearing something. A co-worker trying to kill you? Your co-worker might have gotten the position you wanted. There are all kinds of meanings for different killing dreams. I hoped this helped a little.
Answer #2:
You ate cheese before going to bed?
Answer #3:
to see a killer in your dream, suggests that an essential aspect of your emotions have been cut off. you feel that you are losing your identity and your individuality. alternatively, this dream may represent purification and the healing process. you are standing up for yourself and putting a dramatic end to something.
Hmmmm... Okay, so the moral of the story is, don't eat cheese before bed, stop having a bad past with men (because as a woman this is the only logical explanation - romance troubles), and that in my life I am constantly putting a dramatic end to something.  Sounds... exciting?  Sort of like I'm the chosen one to save all of humanity from some future blight.  That is a tough weight to carry my friends, I mean, just look at what it did to Harry Potter.

Join the Pen 15 club!

Why is it so WEIRD to buy pens?  I mean for seriously, I have realized recently that I am actually fresh out of pens.  My purse, drawers, pen cups and jars, and random surfaces around the house are ALL completely devoid of pens.  The problem is that I feel like the only acceptable reasons to buy pens are for back-to-school or if you are buying supplies for your office.  Otherwise it's just kind of weird, like I'm so picky about my pens that I have to go buy specific ones and can't just use the free ones that always show up from charities and churches and hotels and that I steal from my office (which I would totally do but my office is always running out of pens!  It's some kind of conspiracy).  Maybe that's it, I need to go stay in a hotel for a little while and stock up on free pens.  Free hotel pens are the best and would totally justify the cost of staying at a hotel.  Seriously, they write way better than those fancy pens you buy in the store.  And by "fancy pens you buy in the store" you know I mean the Bic impersonator pens that you get from the creepy dollar store where everything is off-brand.

Fun fact: did you know that the Bic company was created by some dude whose last name was Bich and he wanted to name the company after himself but was convinced that would result in his products only being purchased by douchey teenage boys so they could throw them at girls because they don't know how to flirt?  True story.  I read it somewhere a really really really long time ago.

UPDATE: Crisis narrowly averted!  I was at a make up party tonight and totally stole a pen.  HA!  Or maybe I was supposed to take it because she gave us all pens in a secret ploy to make it easier for us to keep track of products and fill in purchase order forms... Nope, that makes me sound like a lot more of a sucker.  I totally stole it.

UPDATE 2.0:  The day after writing this I came across this on The Bloggess.  Does this mean that part of growing up means stopping stealing pens?  Another reason to avoid growing up I guess.