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.)