Villains and mad scientists are going to do villainous and mad sciency shit. It’s what they’re good at.

I guess they got the point, huh*?

I accidentally read an email I shouldn’t have read. In all fairness, I was asked to read through emails to find something specific, but what I found instead made my tear ducts kind of start to well. And made me feel completely incompetent on a variety of new levels.

Ask [almost] any of my past employers [except Starbucks], and they’ll tell you that I have the work ethic of one of those donkeys that carry people up mountains. I do things outside of my job description, comfort zone and moral obligation because I like my mama knowing that I’m not just one of those people who gets handed all their successes in life.

I’ve actually had to work for it.

It is literally killing me to sit at my desk right now, knowing that Battle Studies came out today with a new song that wasn’t leaked on the internet last week.

I just thought I would express my agitation at this because I keep staring at the clock, wondering how much time I could put it ahead without people noticing that I’ve left early.

So far, I’m at 6 minutes ahead… Annnnnd I’m drooling.

The roomie’s ex-roomie, B!! is in town for a couple of days so amongst going with her to get her tattoo tonight, going for dinner and some girly shopping (HELLOOOOO! Urban Planet on Queen’s having this crazy Buy One Get One For $1 sale on EVERYTHING in the store), I get to spend some quality time with my ex-university life.

I realize that daydreaming of smoking a joint, eating an entire pizza and watching Rocky Horror Picture Show in our underwear may be ‘living in the past,’ but who cares? I had a car, I had a wild streak, I thought I had my whole life ahead of me to grow the hell up.

I just wonder how I got myself into this mess so quickly. Ah well.. only a couple months until my birthday. And my birthday makes everything seem so much more sparkly*. And pink.

Which I’ve been told is one of my flaws - you know, being too girly and pink and sparkly*. Logical, asshole.

xoxo love you.

Yep, we’re all crazy for a reason.

I’ve had more than one person in my life tell me I’m crazy. I make some questionable decisions and I have some mortifying proof that I’ve crossed the line of sanity one too many times.

I read a study this morning that gave me a pretty good defense for the next time I start to go a little bonkers. Besides having my period.

By analysing blood samples from the lovers, Dr Donatella Marazziti, a psychiatrist at the University of Pisa, discovered that serotonin levels of new lovers were equivalent to the low serotonin levels of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder patients.

Great. Because I don’t ALREADY think I’m OCD sometimes.

Yesterday I bought this pair of suuuuper wooly socks that makes me want to forget there ever was such a thing as “outside.” I told myself I was going dancing tonight but a bottle of wine, my pirated John Mayer CD and my wooly socks sound pretty damn enticing.

I’ve kind of had a crap week. Solo therapy might be just what I need. Or the opposite of what I need. We’ll see, I guess.

Stratford (and surrounding area) must be terribly boring today.. But hey, you never know, it could turn around yet……..

After all, it is Friday the 13th. And people do crazy shit on Friday the 13^th (and when they’re in lust – see above).

Mr.NB’s birthday is on Monday and I couldn’t be more excited for prezzies*. I normally suck with the boundaries of too impersonal and too stupid, so I’m vair excited to announce that I feel like I might have nailed this one. *Fingers crossed*

Well, I must be off to a weekend of relaxation and crafts. Be nice. Betches.*wink*
XO

ohhhhh babyyyyyyyyy.

Bonjour, je’mappelle P♥C!

I’m eccentric, anxious and have multiple personalities. I luuuuuurve puppies, Starbucks and anything that sparkles*. I hate when people put cream in their coffee, I find grocery shopping relaxing and I have dated more Prince Alarmings than Prince Charmings. La la la la laaaaa..

I think people who wear those silver metal clips in their hair are ridiculous, I wish my imagination translated perfectly into reality and I don’t care what anyone says, I love Mary-Kate & Ashley Movies (Passport to Paris, Holiday in the Sun and When in Rome).

So shut up about it.

I once had a bad experience with “I love you.” Without boring you with details, the person who said it took it back in the most direct and hurtful way possible, and as over that whole scenario as I am, the love thing kind of still haunts my heart.

I think now, I’d much rather have someone I know doesn’t love me tell me “I love you,” than someone I actually want to love me. As screwed up as that may be, it seems easier than falling for it and getting hurt all over again. I think I’ll always have issues with trust. Which sucks for everyone else just as much as it sucks for me.

While reading an article in Macleans Magazine today, I decided that I will not be getting H1N1. I do not mean that I will not be getting the vaccine for it, I mean what I said: no H1N1 for me. Go ahead, swine of Ontario, try me. I’m not catching you. I already have other medical stuff to worry about.

I’ve been having tests done. I’ve been waiting for results. I’ve been sitting and trying not to eMedicine the shit out of my symptoms and self-diagnose because I know that only makes the waiting more un-fun. Not that any of it is fun.

You know those people who add people as Facebook friends to upset people and throw off the balance of fairness? Maybe it’s a girl thing but you know what I mean. Chances are you’ve thought seriously about doing it because you wanted someone you hate to see it. Yeah, whatever, I’ve done it. It’s Facebook. It’s not real life.

Last night, I got a vair random Facebook message from Mr.Drama. In light of approximately half of Stratford hating my guts, I think he and I have very kindred spirits. If you believe in that sort of thing – which, as it happens, I don’t.

Mr.Drama got a FB friend request from the new girlfriend of one of my ex’s. That ex and I don’t speak – EVER – but when I was home a couple months ago, I saw her ream the hell out of him for kind of saying “hey” to me as he walked by. Kind of. It was more like “hhh….” before she went all Alex Forrest on his ass.

For all she knew, he could have been wheezing.

Anyway the FB message was simple: “________ friend requested me.. DENIED!!!!!!!”

I’m one of those textbook examples of the phrase “small things amuse small minds” and I don’t even give a care.

I’m rubber and you’re glue, whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you. Unless you’re saying “I love you” and not meaning it. ♥ ♥ ♥

Where do pirates get their hair cut? At the bARRRRRRRber!

I don’t care what anyone says, pirate jokes are hilarious. They never get old.
For the past half hour or so, the roomie and I have been ignoring both class and work to text each other improvised pirate jokes and although it’s only Tuesday, I feel like this has the potential to be a highlight of my week.

That’s kind of sad…

So many things to look forward to, so many things to count down. A!!! comes this month - temporarily escaping from her ship and bringing her Italian, Disney Prince-looking boyfriend to Torontooooooooo to visit. This month it is also Mr.NB’s birthday (yay!!), John Mayer’s new CD release (if you haven’t already got your hands on the leaked version like moi) and, of course, Novembrance Day (Remembrance Day) - a day I’ve always struggled to relate to. If Johnny’s massive ego didn’t cost $100 a ticket, M and I would also be at his CD release party this month too.

Unfortunately for us, this isn’t one of those things we can just say, “meh, we’re going anyway” to. If we can’t bribe a rent-a-cop bouncer at Grace O’Malley’s, I’m fairly confident we’d fail at bringing down JM security as well.

Even if we flashed them.

Which we obviously won’t….

I’ve decided I think I want to watch Twilight. I’ve never really been one to buy-in to the things people go crazy over: Harry Potter, Twilight, iPods, vegetarianism… but with all the publicity that Twilight keeeeeeeps getting, it’s starting to pique my curiosity. Which is a piss-off in itself.

But I don’t think What’sHisFace Cullen is attractive in any sense of the word. Not when my heart belongs equally to John Mayer, Michael Buble (Canadian and perhaps stalkable – let me just quickly check here…) and umm, oh, puppies! Oh, and of course, my real-life boyfriend.

Unfortunately for my productiveness today, I rediscovered this website. It’s basically a never-ending series of “pick one” questions that both confuse you and irritate you – regardless of the fact they don’t record your results and make you feel like an asshole when it’s over.

Pick one:
- Ashley Olsen or Dancing?
- Stubbed Toes or Heatbreak?
- Google or An Orgasm?
- UGG Boots or Batman?
- Abortion or Unemployment?
- Gossip Girl or Puppies?
- Hell or Your Father? (shit)
- Facebook or Summer?

It’s almost unfair.

I secretly find Pee Wee Herman a little attractive. And yes, I’ve seen his mug shot. I’m craving an ice cream bar. I am freezing cold and am craving a cheeseburger from Harvey’s. I cried in the doctors office today, I spent approximately 1.5 hours in Future Shop and a guy spilled about a quarter of what I can only assume to be a Pumpkin Spice Latte on my new, grey t-shirt.

I have no idea what any of that means, I’m just in one of those weird-ass moods that I can’t seem to shake.

And when it all comes falling down, they’ll name the city after you…

Little girls aren’t supposed to understand real life. Even now, at twenty something, I don’t always know where to draw the line between what’s real and what I want to be real. In my head sometimes there’s even theme music.

*Sigh* I wish real life could burst out into song and dance.

A year ago (ish), accompanied by a friend that apparently a lot of people felt I didn’t need to be friends with, I went to a soccer game in Stratford. You know when you were 15 and your parents said you weren’t allowed to go to that party and it made you want to go even more? It was like that. We were adults, we knew the “risks” and we went anyway because it was kind of amusing to see people’s reactions. And because soccer could be interesting.. kind of.

There was an ex-girlfriend, an ex-friend, a new girlfriend and some people who had absolutely no opinion whatsoever on the situation and we merely innocent by-standers.

I heard yesterday that people are still talking about it, are still upset by it and will be almost positively still P-O’d about it at Christmas. Yay! Should be a grand ol’ time. Only this year, I aim to not get my coat stolen by my cousin’s psycho-betch ex-girlfriend.

The past week sucked. I worked a lot and yet, didn’t feel like I got a whole lot done, was stressed out about my health and had a general feeling of my stomach being ripped out of my body and thrown at me. Or what I can imagine that feels like.

I have some inkling of why this could was so, but at this point there’s nothing I can do about it I want to do about it. Some people have off weeks and I guess that must have been mine. Or at least that’s what I’ll continue to tell myself, at least.

When it comes to boys, girls sometimes can be a bit crazy. We often say one thing and mean another, we ask questions and get mad at you when you don’t respond the way we’d imagined in our heads. When we hang up, we always want to be called back and when we do things like cut our hair, shut off our phones for 4 hours in the middle of the day or do something nice for you, we expect you to notice and act accordingly. We expect to be held when we cry, paid attention to in front of your friends and told we’re beautiful for no reason at all. We’re impossible and unreasonable and difficult. And if we don’t want to be in a Facebook relationship with you, it’s only because we like you so much that we’d be heartbroken if your status ever went back to “Single.”

So. Monday. It’s getting close to mid-November and it’s been warmer these past 3 days than it was at the end of August. I have zero explanation for this except perhaps climate change, but on the plus side, I don’t need to start freaking out about the fact that I don’t have very effective winter boots.

Yet..

Oh, hello there pretty boots.

"He made me love him without looking at me." – Charlotte Bronte

I’m confused as to how it became Christmas-time without me realizing. Was it not just Halloween, oh I don’t know, 3 days ago?

Hmmm… if it wasn’t then my friends and I have a very combined case of idiotism. And all those girls out there who wore underwear as part of their weekend attire… well, they’ve got some serious explaining to do.

As with a lot of nights that involve a lot of girls, drinks and dancing turned into drama and people running their mouths. Myself included. I have no problem apologizing and admitting my wrongs but when I’m being made to feel guilty and awful for something that makes absolutely no sense, I find it hard to let things go as easily as I normally do.

But all’s fair in love and war, I heard. So that’s comforting to know.

Not.

On the fantastic news front, we found out yesterday that beginning December 1st, our salary cut goes away and we resume full salaries again! I wish I could high-five myself, I’m that ecstatic. Although I’ve been making it work, I haven’t loved feeling like my job doesn’t give a shit about me.

I mean, sure, it’s located close to one of the most amazing caesar salad-selling restaurants in Toronto, it provides me ample time to creep Craigslist and Facebook and Tumblr and it’s a place where I can have the boots I order online shipped to, but it doesn’t mean that they treat me nicely all the time.

I haven’t worn my hair curly in a while. I’ve gotten much too lazy and just haven’t felt good enough to pull off the curls. With the exception of Halloween because that night’s just ass-backwards no matter how you look at it.

I wonder if Halloween just doesn’t count for anything since getting called a slut doesn’t really mean it, as long as you’re in “costume” and have some sort of ears on your head. It’s just another night for every Dave and Chris and Ryan to push enough girls in short skirts up against the wall to get one of them to go home with him. Because one is all he needs to feel like a big shot. 2 would probably give him a coronary.

God, I hate guys at bars.

Well it’s only half way through the day and half way through the week which makes for an absolutely sucky time. I will persevere, though, because that’s what I do.

When life hands me lemons, I whip up a fantastic lemon meringue pie from scratch and crack out the forks.

Bon appetite! ♥

You know she’s lying if she mentions colours or uses direct quotes.

I had the most intensely messed up 45 minutes of my life last night and lived to tell the tale. I pride my life on strange things happening to me – it makes the mundane seem more enticing and it gives me something to write about without lying. And believe me, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

Well I’m sure I could… but this time I didn’t.

[Scene: Moi getting on the streetcar. Chit chatting on my cell phone to my roomie as we discussed our days, a woman with 2 children in front of me, a creepy old man beside me and a crazy looking man in front of the creepy man.]

Creepy: Do you kids want some candy?
Mom: No thank you.
Creepy: Come on, I’ve only eaten a few of them and they’re bad for my blood sugar.
Mom: No thank you. It’s okay.
Creepy: Come on, it’s Halloween. Just take it.
Mom: It’s alright, they’ll get lots on the weekend. Thanks anyway.
Creepy: Come on, take it.
Mom: No, thank you.

Crazy: GET OFF YOUR CELL PHONE. THIS IS PUBLIC TRANSIT. GET OFF IT NOW. END THE CALL. GET OFF YOUR PHONE OR GET OFF THE STREETCAR. RUDE.

[Me, finally noticing that he’s not only yelling, but is standing up, pointing and screaming at me!]

Creepy: LEAVE HER ALONE. IT’S A PUBLIC SPACE. LEAVE HER BE.

The streetcar kicked both of them off between stops, and glared evilly at me as I sat in my seat, horrified and confused. When it was finally my time to get off, I stepped onto the sidewalk and was side swiped by a guy running with a bow in his hand and arrows in his backpack.

And then some drunk old man asked me if he could be my !#$%-ing boyfriend. Mmmm nope. I have one thanks. A sober, fantastic, hunky one with impeccable hygiene and a really nice bod!

I didn’t think I’d love Halloween this year. The Wayne & Garth idea my roomie and I had didn’t exactly happen so we’ve moved on to last minute costume ideas from Google.

And then this morning on the streetcar there was a little boy dressed head to toe in a fuzzy bunny costume and I instantly missed the days where I dressed up as various Disney Princesses or Geisha girls and won best costume at school. Because with a mama like mine around, having the best costume was like breathing.

Now days, being called a “slut” on Halloween is somewhat of a twisted kind of compliment. It means you’ve successfully worn the least amount of clothes necessary to still get the point of your costume across. It also means you’ll probably have a cold for the next week or so as, in case no one’s noticed, Halloween isn’t exactly in the summer.

In the spirit of not being a Halloween Scrooge, I’m going up to GSquare now to get face paint pads, sparkles and cheap mirrors, in the event that Sick Kids does want me to do face painting for them, after all.

Ask and yee shall receive. So I asked.
♥

She is crazy, she has diamonds on the soles of her shoes.

I’ve had a belly button ring since I was 17 or so. AGS bet me that I wouldn’t get it done, even though it had been all I was talking about for months. My mama definitely did not approve, so one day at some random motorcycle convention in Woodstock, I took that bet. In the back of a closed down People’s Jewelers in a mall not populated enough to even be considered a mini-mall, on the ripped out seat of what I can only assume was a Volkswagen van, I laid down and let a man with tattoos on his neck puncture a hole in my body.

And almost passed out when I stood up. At this point my body is fine with being prodded in this kind of a way. 3 tattoos and however many piercings later, I sit back and let people do what I pay them to do – mutilate me. In less of an African-female-genital-mutilation kind of way and more of a I-tattoo-words-on-my-body-to-make-sure-I-never-forget-the-things-that-are-important-to-me kind of way.

The point is – and the point that I’ve clearly derailed from – is that I’ve been dreaming that someone rips it out. And now I can’t stop thinking that maybe I’ve outgrown it and I don’t want it anymore. I need the weekend to sleep on it. Since I won’t be spending the weekend doing anything that requires a computer. !@#$%^ %^&*#$. I have lost mine to the abyss of the blue screen (YET AGAIN) and the recurring overheating problem. Not that this should shock anyone but I am, once again, on the warpath to cut every single Future Shop employee that gets in my way. Oops. No, I will not inflict violence today.

Although I think my mama may be worried about me getting kicked out of the store. Which I won’t.

I haven’t been kicked out yet. They’ve only ever asked me to “calm down mam” once and it was after I told the guy to go !@#$ himself. Yeah…………..

This weekend it was insinuated that I was a coward for not being knowledgeable or skilled enough to be able to kill the meat that I eat - in the event that I would ever have to do that (which I wouldn’t). I was raised eating meat, like a strong percentage of the population, and after 23 years of BLTs, I’ve come to accept that I am just one of those people that lives life eating foods that involve chicken, pork and cow. Of course I don’t agree with the torture of animals for consumption and I especially don’t eat at KFC because I’ve done research on what they do to their chickens, but I shouldn’t have to apologize for being a carnivore either. Yes, I like bacon. Yes, I am part of the food chain. Yes, it might make me horrible but it makes a lot of other people horrible too. And that, I’m fine with.

And if some giants/dinosaurs/aliens had to kill and eat us to survive, I guess I wouldn’t be able to argue with it, would I?

Anyway, nothing really to report right now. I’m boring and uninteresting right now and I even cancelled my Essensity & the City appointment for tonight because the effort required to mentally prepare to walk around and feel good about myself in Yorkville is really frigging exhausting.

Happy beginning of the week! I hope you enjoy the 15 and 16 degree weather. In October. xoxoxoxox

Oh My Blog!

It’s the times that you have to force yourself to do something that you end up having the most fun. And even though I wanted to see the David Dixon show SO *effing badly, my day prior to 5pm sucked more than a lot and that was enough to almost talk me out of any attempts at being fabulous or getting out of bed. McD’s and a duvet are such fierce competitors to Fashion Week, I’m telling you.

But as the fabulous Marilyn Monroe said, “did you ever notice that ‘what the hell’ is always the right decision?”

So what the hell.. instead of heading right home after – which is what I planned on doing – the free drinks at the show invoked a desire to let loose and completely forget that I’d never felt more alone in my life. M and I headed out [martini] bar hopping from King to College and ended up getting home close to midnight. That’s pretty “party girl” for 9-5ers like us. Not unlike my university self.

The main purpose of my story is to gush about what a fantastic show David Dixon put on and to tell you that I bumped into Rick Mercer. The real one. And he’s a lot cuter in person than he is on TV or Google.

I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday that I reallllly didn’t want to have. It basically consisted of me feeling forgotten, sitting in the waiting room for an hour and then prodded for 40 minutes in an exam room. The nurse was nice, the doctor was gay and when I was asked if I wanted to have the tests done, I didn’t know how to respond.

No I don’t WANT to have these tests done but wasn’t that kind of the main reason I was there? What I wanted never really mattered to any doctor before. Not that it mattered to this one, he just seemed super cautious about things and had me sign a bajillion waivers before he left me alone in a room with a used-to-be-white curtain and stains on the ceiling.

I left – alone – feeling more *effed up than when I was on MDMA and shopped myself into a Queen West-coma. Didn’t help, in case you were wondering. It only left me feeling guilty and cursing Urban Planet for not having a better return policy.

Retail therapy, especially in a recession, doesn’t help. It kind of makes things worse. Until you need something new to wear to martini night and you haven’t had a chance to do laundry in a week and a half.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

I’m bored at work, which should mean that I am going to out at a decent hour, but will actually end up meaning that I get to wait around for an hour and a half after I’m done because some people haven’t heard of the concept of time management. Add “professional waiter-arounder” to my endless list of job titles.

That I’m not getting paid for.

It makes me want to call in with pink eye or something obscure but I won’t because, well.. I have more work ethic than one of those mountain donkeys that carry people and their luggage up really steep hills.

Anyyyyyway, I’m off to harass the phone operators at the National Student Loan place to find out why in they haven’t taken my money lately (this is something I do not wish to complain about, but when it comes to my credit, I’m not about to *eff with OSAP).

I’m also going to probably text-harass Mr.NB and Google puppies for the next hour, wish me luck, lovelies.

♥

Röslein auf der Heiden

Some girls dream of world peace, of the Kate Spade clutch they want but can’t afford and of living happily ever after. For almost a year now, I’ve been dreaming of Barbie by David Dixon and tomorrow, thanks to M, my sparkly* pink dream is coming true.

Say bonjour and ooh la la!! to LG Fashion Week 2009. Because, guess what?! I WILL BE.

David Dixon, Joe Fresh, Pink Tartan.. I have literally died and gone to every little girl and Toronto fashionista heaven (obviously, besides going on a fantasy date with John Mayer or all 3 of the Jonas Brothers – yeah, you may hate them but you know they’re sexy little things – oh God, I’m a pedophile). I just want to jump and scream and WOO HOO that I get to go to this event again this year. It kills me how great my friends are! And how random/crazy/fantastic my life is sometimes.

OH! You can bet I’ll be Wearing Love. It’s all the rage this season!

Yesterday I got to play dress up. It wasn’t one of those sad days where work, for whatever reason, feels that using me as an ugly golf gear/velour track pant model works better than a mannequin. Even though I have no boobs whatsoever.

No no, yesterday was dress up in the sense that I got to put on my most expensive dress and make a scene on College Street. In the most fun way possible.

Doesn’t matter who you are, if you’re dressed up like a prom queen, people will ogle. It was funny how many people stopped to look, as if they were catching a glimpse of something special.

Sorry to disappoint - I’m just moi. And I’m totally okay with that.
Thanks AGS!!!

So my mama knows I have sex. I’m 23, so I’m sure she knew even if she didn’t knowwww know. My dad caught me once, so that eliminated that awkward conversation (and created a whole other one), but not once have I come out and said to my mother, “I’m having sex.” Until today. She kept calling it ‘intercourse’ and it made me feel like I was talking to the doctor all over again. So clinical. Sooooooooooo unsexy.

I’m not telling you why I had this conversation with her, but let’s just say I’m in no rush to have anything like it with her again. It’s one thing sharing your dirty little secrets with your girl friends (“he told me he likes my arches”), but it’s quite another when you have to explain something to your mother, that also involves admitting that you’re not a virgin anymore.

I don’t know how I feel about this. I kind of liked her imagining me as innocent. Regardless of how far from it I may be.

I was boring this weekend. But I did get to see my super-cute boyfriend and his super-adorable kitty friend. Oh and I got to consort briefly with Mr.ILYF’s new girlfriend - who actually seems like a nice girl. It’s too bad he probably still likes my friend.

LOVE weekends.
xo