.piNk♥cruSh.

Drinking Diet Coke® makes you a liar.

Fri, 04 Dec 2009 14:31:41 -0500

*Note: This is going to be offensively rude. But sometimes the truth hurts ~~other people~~.

I regularly creep this girl’s FB profile in what I can only categorize as confusion/intrigue/horror. It’s much like a police officer (or fire fighter, Fedex delivery man, guy who lives in the apartment above yours and ignores you so fiercely that you start to question whether or not you’re invisible) that you just can’t help but stare at for an inappropriately long time.

She’s probably got a far more interesting social life than I do, I’ll give her that, but her photos are a regular mix of this guy who looks like he eats people, girls who inevitably end up shirtless and a loh-hottt of sparkly* eye shadow. And it’s more than kind of disturbing.

I’m fully aware others may creep my profile to make them feel better about their lives, but is this really about that right now?

I’m unsure what it is about me lately that screams “APPROACHABLE,” but it’s as if every freak person in a 50 km radius has been uncontrollably drawn to me these past 2 weeks.

I thought I was only supposed to carry my rape alarm at night, but today proved that people are just as likely to grab you on the street at 8:45am than they are at any other point in the day.

The guy this morning was a bit more My New Haircut than I-just-escaped-from-camh but he still felt compelled to talk to a strange girl. And that gets him a public mockery, just like the VoiceMale guy.

“Hey, do you know where the nearest subway is?”

“Like, the food place or public transit?” [I don’t know why I ask stupid questions that elicit further conversation.]

“Haha you’re funny. So what are you doing up so early?” [What am I doing up so early? What is your popped collar doing up so early? - At this point, I’m starting to think I’m being Punked. “Ashtonnnn! ASHHHTON!”]

“I have to go to work. Bye.”

[He grabs my bag by the stupid seat belt-like straps all over them.] “You didn’t tell me where the subway was, girl. Do you think I could call you sometime?”

“Does that usually work for you? Grabbing girl’s purses on the street? Classy.” [As I wrenched the bag out of his hand and shivered while walking away. I was pretty much mugged.]

I’m still at a loss as to where basic human decency went so horribly awry……

Hello, Commissioner.

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 17:16:00 -0500

Last week I had a bad week with random, strange men talking to me and touching me with parts of their body. More than it irritated my dearly protective boyfriend, it reminded me of when I was almost attacked in university.

Something I apparently chose to block from my memory.

I never assume something “like that” is going to happen to me. I appreciate concern but I’m usually too stubborn to ‘need’ help. Until I’m stupidly sitting in the front seat of a St. Catharines cab and the driver is running his hand up and down my thigh. Then, I’m not too proud to beg for help.

I was far too drunk for my own good, annoyed with my friends and be it hell or high water, I was going home in a cab. Being so used to the tame drivers of Stratford, I hopped in the front seat.

I didn’t even notice him being particularly creepy until I felt his hand on me. And then his words all in my head. He wanted to take me somewhere. He was done work. No one would have to know. [Like WHO? The police? When they were examining my molested body in a ditch somewhere?]

“I don’t have any money to pay for the cab! Can you stop at a bank machine?” [There was one by the school that had one of those doors that you have to use a card to get into. I knew full well he wasn’t going to let me go into a corner store or anywhere with a person working.]

“You don’t have any cash at home? I don’t mind waiting.” [Ugh, what a CREEP]

“None, sorry. I’ll be super quick, I promise.” [Panic. Panic. Panic.]

He hesitantly unlocked the door and I grabbed my purse. I went into the all glass ATM thingamajig (oddly, that word isn’t spelled wrong?) and calmly tried to pretend to take out money as I called the only person I knew had a car and was probably sober on a Saturday night, Batman.

You know, “I want to talk Batman to you”? Him.

I don’t like to make it a habit of scaring the shit out of people needlessly, but there are sometimes when you just can’t help but sob uncontrollably and want to curl into the fetal position in front of an ATM.

I would love to tell you this week’s been better and although no erections have touched me, KC and I awkwardly ran into creepster #3 from last week while we slummed it at McD’s today. I am so terrible at remembering the fake names I make up - I need to start sticking with one and being consistent.

Or start carrying my rape alarm.

No you may not have my job.

Tue, 01 Dec 2009 17:45:29 -0500

“Hi I’m wondering if I can speak to the hiring manager?”

“Well, we don’t have one specific hiring manager, hiring is more on a departmental basis. May I ask what position you’re calling to inquire about?”

“Administration.” [keeping in mind, this is my job]

“Well we don’t currently have any administration opportunities available.”

“In the near future?”

[umm.. am I leaving my job anytime soon?] “I don’t believe so, no.”

“Am I talking to the secretary?” [ugh, I haaaate that term – and no, I’m not “just the secretary”]

“Sure.”

“Can you please let me talk to the President of the company regarding employment opportunities?”

“If you’d like to submit your resume for consideration, you can go to our website http://www._________________.com for information on how to do that.”

[she hung up before I finished my sentence]

I’m sorry, you’re being rude to me when you’re trying to openly take my job? Well that’s interesting. Much in the same way you’d consider a documentary about postage stamps interesting.

Wait, that’s not French. You must be an idiot.

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 15:52:05 -0500

There are times when I wish Facebook would send notifications saying, “____________ has ignored your friend request. Think back. Are you two really friends? Were you ever really friends? Did you call each other, spend time together outside an academic setting or share secret crushes? Was there some deciding incident that could have prevented the future possibility of becoming friends? If you really can’t figure it out, then perhaps they just don’t want you creeping their profile and knowing strange and intimate details about their life. Sorry bud.”

It would be a lot easier if people were a bit more direct.

Although I’m fully aware that my gender are the first ones to blame for people being so incredibly fake to each other. Whoever started that “oh no, girls don’t masturbate” rumour is more than obviously an idiot. I wish more people were direct with their sexual behaviours when asked what they’ve done that day.

“Oh you know, the usual: went grocery shopping, paid some bills online, walked the dog, touched myself, got a haircut. Nothing special.”

For me, the fake-ness started when I was still going to the babysitter. I understand, out of cost and convenience, why my parents forced me to go to this child-hater, but when the line was drawn between what a 5 year-old child is saying versus her 30 year-old caretaker; well let’s just say I got the shit end of that stick.

She had a huge, mousy brown ‘fro-like hairdo and her house was as ugly as her children were. They had hideous names and even worse personalities (if that’s even what you’d call them) and they all absolutely hated me.

The child-hater always reminded me of this teacher who was murdered by her husband (yeah, I’m morbid like that), which might explain why she was always angry. She only gave me peach Freezies (knowing full well that I didn’t like peach), made me watch soaps with her while the other kids decorated gingerbread houses and when I was “bad” I was forced to stand on the top step of the basement with the door shut and the lights off until I stopped crying.

It was kinder-hell. And definitely where I first learned what it meant to be fake. My mother had no idea. Yeah, yeah, I seemed to have underestimated her sneakiness.

On Friday, the roomie babysat her nephew. He’s perfect and tiny and looks like a little man, but as adorable as he may be, he made my ovaries close up shop. Out of sheer terror.

Yes, I realize that my grandmother had all of her children by the time she was my age – do you think my family lets me forget this? Nooooooo – but times are different now and when my bank account regularly gets pissed off at me for buying ridiculously impractical coloured flats and American Apparel t-shirts, I can only imagine how resentful it would be with me for shopping at babyGap.

I dislike people who think turtlenecks are stylish, I’m obsessed with glee and I wish my ripped jean jacket was a little bit longer so I don’t look like I’m a Stitches advocate when I wear it (although I am all about bang for your buck). I love Mr.NB’s kitty because it reminds me of a dog, I wish I had fake moustaches, crazy hats and glasses and full-head animal masks to have random photo shoots with and I am trying to mentally prepare my Christmas spirit for whatever bullshit my father has in store.

This little blonde doesn’t want to play nice anymore ♥

Fine, I’m a hypocrite.

Fri, 27 Nov 2009 12:22:39 -0500

I’m a bitch about customer service. Having worked [and survived] in CS (that’s industry slang, yo’) for a number of my “golden” years, I would argue that I know what good customer service looks like.

It looks a bit like ass-kissing, only to a slightly lesser degree and without so much teeth. And based on every experience I’ve ever had with Rogers and Future Shop, I know what bad customer service looks like too. It looks like the norm.

Not Norm, as in a guy named Norm, but norm as in, normal. It looks like what walking into Tim Hortons on College and Spadina looks like every day or what shopping at American Apparel looks like if you’re not a hipster. It looks like they could care less that you being there actually helps keep them employed and almost like your presence there is a nuisance. Except not almost.

It’s kind of like what Kanye West would be like if he were a job industry.

I just rolled my eyes after hanging up the phone with the UPS Customer Service Representative. She was nice. Really nice. She asked me who she had the pleasure of speaking with and asked how my day was in a chatty kind of way.

She was one of those “like” girls who made everything she said sound like a question. A question she was really, REALLY excited about. She was helpful, courteous and easy to understand which she drove me absolutely insane because I had no reason to be frustrated with any part of the conversation. I was frustrated because I kind of wanted to be her friend but you can’t just go around asking phone operators if they want to be your friend because they sounded nice on the phone.

I was frustrated with myself.

Let me tell you, I don’t think I’m as vivacious as I once was. This morning I felt like I was hung over when I woke up, but really all it was was sore feet and exhaustion. But last night was fun. Busy. Randommmm.. And after weeks of finding it hard to care to really do anything, it was a nice change to be away from my house.

I didn’t really know what to expect from Leona, but she did not disappoint. Her acoustic version of Bleeding Love gave me shivers all the way until we got to Kool Haus. For anyone who’s never been, it was a dirty, grungy warehouse with asshole security and incompetent coat checkers. Sorry, I should say, camera checkers. Because they absolutely took my camera away from me and charged me $2.50 to do it.

On top of the ATM eating $20 on me, M getting into an altercation with the head security guard and having the bartender stand there waiting for her tip, I must have missed the memo that said: “In order to fit in at this concert, you must be 14-16, must look exactly like LIGHTS (hair colour, hair style, attire, etc..) and must make out with your dirty, skid boyfriend between songs, screaming and holding up your cell phone light a lighter.

M and I were approximately the oldest people there and knew every word to every song.

What a great Thursday.

Happy weekending. Behave yourselves ♥

Give me that apple, Snow White. I’m not afraid.

Thu, 26 Nov 2009 14:03:56 -0500

I’ve finally started writing bits and pieces of my book again. I’ve given up on reading for pleasure for a while because I feel like I never have time to put everything else on hold. Instead of falling asleep to Law & Order or Twilight (who am I kidding?), I could pick up any one of my five, half-read books I have strewn about my room, but getting up at 4 am to turn off my bedroom light is just an annoyance I’d prefer to avoid.

I’ve never wanted to smoke a joint more than I have in the past week. And I’ve never been much of a recreational drug user. With the exception of taking a drink laced with MDMA once, my drug-use has never extended much past the occasional bong hit.

For whatever reason, I smelled someone smoking pot the other day outside my bedroom window (my window acts like a wind tunnel, sucking in noise and smells from the street below) and ever since; I’ve been craving that release.

My mother would be so ashamed.

My lulu is rammed full today. With my change of boots, dress, sweater, boyfriend blazer, lunch, day planner, makeup, cameras (yes, I packed 2) and TTC day pass, I’m probably more prepared than I have ever been in my entire life.

But when one has intimate sit down chats with Leona Lewis and concerts like Owl City (yeah, you know you love to hate him) and LIGHTS to go to, one must be prepared for anything. And to be prepared, I bought one of the cutest dresses I have ever seen. One of the cutest dresses I have ever seen that looks like absolute hell on me.

Ah well, you can’t win ‘em all.

At least it’s been a couple days since a dirty, 50-something man rubbed his paint-splotched pant-covered erection on my ass. Please do not be mistaken; this isn’t a metaphor for anything.

I just really never saw anything like that happening to me. Toronto came with plenty of warnings and disclaimers: Don’t set your drink down at the bar. Don’t walk alone at night. Don’t stand too close to the subway tracks. You get the idea. But no one warned me that I would have the ‘pleasure’ of a man with dirt under his fingernails and urine stench on his clothes, pushing his body into mine on the streetcar. Maybe if I had been warned I could have prevented the semi-frequent boner flashbacks I had for the couple of days after.

I’m off to play dress up in the bathroom for some of my co-workers.
Have a lovely [Thurs]day!!

PS. What did volcano me say to volcano you?
I LAVA you… ♥

Bonjour. Merci. Au revior.

Wed, 25 Nov 2009 13:42:00 -0500

“Within ourselves lies a drive, a force that only makes sense to us. It is that force, that drive, that can make a person crazy. Crazy is only what you make of it, in the past, most people have been trained to think that crazy is a negative thing… but I repeat, crazy is only what you make of it. Crazy is a state of mind comprimised of desire, anger, knowledge, courage, fear and devotion. Crazy makes a man and a women fall in love, crazy makes musicians and artists talented. Crazy makes a dying man take his own life. Make what you will of this but I cannot believe I would be any better off “sane”. Therefore I am, and will remain, crazy.”
– Marilyn Monroe

Yep. Me too.

I don’t care what anyone says, people who are dead-sane are boring. And everyone knows guys dig girls who are a little messed up.

And girls dig guys who, at any moment, could suck blood from their necks, so it works out pretty well for both sides.

And I take birth control, which is likely to make me not only crazy, but give me a semi-serious psychotic disorder. Hmmm..

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Saturday was Mr.NB’s birthday present hockey game. Everyone expected the Leafs to lose, based on a lot of factors (the fact that they pretty much suck, their losing streak, Ovechkin, etc…) but for some reason, they pulled it together in the shoot out. I was slightly drunk, the atmosphere was slightly insane and although some dirty hooligans behind me decided to yell at me while I walked to the washroom and I bashed my knee on a railing, the night was really, really fun.

I’m slowly becoming lower-maintenance, I just need to figure out how to stick with the outfit I had on to begin with and I’m golden.

Tomorrow is an exciting day. Although I tragically had to turn down secret dinner plans with A, M and I get to go to not one but TWO fantastic shows in one evening.

First, Leona Lewis is having an intimate chat and live performance at the Rogers Theatre with CHFI radio and then later on we’re going to see Lights @ Kool Haus! What, whaaaaat?!?! La la laaaaaa…. sometimes great things do happen to real people. Like, Extreme Home Makeover and, you know.. Justin Bieber?

I’m excitedddddd. Okay, I’m really excitedddd.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I’ve never been good at accepting presents, really. Not even for things like Christmas and my birthday. I like people making big deals out of things and although presents are nice, I never really know how to accept things people went out of their way to get for me. As ridiculous as that may be.

I could never be one of those people who accept presents from strangers and let men dote on them with expensive gifts and dinners. I’m not all that classy to begin with. I shop at Urban Planet for *eff sakes.

Although I do loooove this Tiffany’s ring…………..

And now I’m being bombarded with questions about what I want this year for presents. I have no idea. I’m privileged. I don’t need anything. I want to be treated better at my job, I want the loft out of my room and my desk taken away. I want my dad to want me as a daughter (although sometimes I’m really on the fence about this). I want my own puppy (when I’m ready), I want better money-management skills and I want a Passport so, one day, I can move to an exotic island off the coast of Greece and write for a fabulous European-based magazine via correspondence.

Ahhhh Christmas time. So where the *eff is the snow?

PS. No tax on Joe Fresh items tomorrow and Friday! HOLLAAAA*

Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 16:47:00 -0500

I watched it.

Yes, yes, I watched it.

I patiently waited for the roomie to go out last night to avoid having to justify why I was about to watch something I swore I had no interest in seeing.

It was like I was patiently waiting for her to leave so I could turn on porn and walk around naked. Which I obviously wasn’t.

And you know what? I looooo♥ooooved it. Not in a screaming pubescent girl kind of way and definitely not in an “Edward Cullen, I want to have your babies” kind of way. But in a “made me re-evaluate my definition of love” kind of way. Anyone who craves blood for a living and chooses not to eat his girlfriend out of love is an A+ gentleman in my eyes.

And not to mention it kind of made me all giggly and nervous just watching them almost get it on. I felt like I was 15, blacking out during my first kiss all over again and coming to, saying things like “I didn’t realize how interesting The Simpsons is” and “MYFRIEND’SNAME!!”

Today is Friday, which means my week from hell is almost over. I’m very over feeling under-valued (or apparently, not valued at all) while doing three people’s jobs and still trying to maintain my sanity.

And when I’m making about as much as a Starbucks employee, it really makes me wonder what the hell path in life I took that lead me to feeling like an incompetent child. Mind you, at least I’m not the girl who grabs her guy friends’ asses in front of their girlfriends while textually propositioning them for sex. I leave that to the pros.

On the plus side, month 4 of not speaking to my father has been going successfully, I guess. Although, I fear his Scrooginess may subside for the holidays and we will have to play Father-Daughter again for a month until my birthday is over. Nothing screams “Christmas Spirit” like eating McCain tasty taters and watching Cash Cab with a dad you haven’t spoken to in months.

That may make me a bitch, but it also makes me honest. And it’s not like I haven’t tried to be nice. It’s just that effort can only fly solo for so long.

Maybe this is a weird thing to think and even weirder to say, but sometimes when I’m out and about, I see people and think to myself, “I could see myself being friends with that person.” Most of the time they’re girls and most of the time it’s because they’re talking on their phone or standing in a way that doesn’t actually make me want to rip out my hair and put gum in theirs.

Once, a girl went on to her friend for 15 minutes about her boyfriend’s love of pulled pork sandwiches, yesterday I heard a girl tell her ex that she was on her way over to drop off his stuff and wanted to use his shower (“What do you mean your girlfriend might think that’s weird? We slept together first. So? So?”) …SO,Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting! when I come across someone who cuts it short and sweet, I can’t help but wonder, if it wasn’t weird to approach strangers in that way, could we be friends?

Happy weekend, everyone. I’ll let you know how the hockey game goes (although I’d already bet money on the Leafs losing if Ovechkin is or isn’t playing).
XO

love.starved.love.stoned.love.struck.

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 17:37:54 -0500

Some people have zero sense of when to keep their mouth shut. Myself included sometimes, so I shouldn’t bitch. But, from what I’ve learned about people with excessive mouth-opening problems, is that it almost always gets back to someone you probably didn’t want it to get back to. Regardless of whether or not it was a big deal.

I’m at a loss as to why anything amazes me anymore.

So last night, amongst me feeling super weird and being slightly wine-drunk, my roomie’s family called me to tell me they believed that she had been kidnapped. And was being held by a man in a car for some sort of ransom.

This isn’t even a lie.

For approximately 35 minutes I was on the phone between her voicemail her boy[friend?]’s voicemail and between her brother and her sister trying to make sure she wasn’t being driven out to a country road somewhere. I’m not even entirely sure what happened to make anyone think she was anywhere but safe but the “Silent” feature on the phone is apparently a terrifying thing.

I’m still feeling weird.

In light of me having to re-write the entire GM article for December’s WP, my knee-slapping good evening of sitting around in my wooly socks, underwear, watching GG/The Hills/The City and pigging out on poutine from Burger King prrrrrrobably isn’t going to happen. But if it does, sans wine will be in full effect.

I’m not aiming to end up like my father anytime soon.

Soooo…

I don’t think red lipstick looks fantastic on anyone. The male species needs to be a bit more understanding - if they bled from their vag 4-6 days a month, they’d be bitchy too. The truth doesn’t always feel good, but the aftermath often does. I would argue that people who are addicted to alcohol are sometimes just as unwell/destructive as people who are addicted to Facebook. Happily is the best way to end a movie. And making coherent sentences when you’re trying really hard to sound like you know what you’re talking about is one of the most difficult things I have to endure on a daily basis.

Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day. ♥

My Past Will Haunt Me.

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 13:45:00 -0500

This morning I saw love♥ at Tim Hortons. A guy (who looked slightly like Michael Jackson – which is completely irrelevant) and this girl were getting tea and although he seemed happy, he also seemed so completely oblivious. In a good way.

It was the way she looked at him – no one else came close to existing. It was probably because he looked at her a certain way once, or said something more perfect than she imagined in her head or how he touched the small of her back as he let her go first through a doorway. Because that’s all it takes, really.

The same as all it takes is a look or a tone of voice or a couple of words to make your stomach clench, your heart race and your voice catch in your throat as you try to wrap your head around your broken heart.

You cry and cry and try to validate yourself through empty bar kisses but the only thing that really makes you want to peel yourself off the bathroom floor is time, distance and being able to look yourself in the mirror and know that life will go on without you if you don’t start meaning it.

The hurt hurts less after a while.

*Eff it. I want to watch Twilight. I keep seeing all the cutesy pictures of What’sHerFace and What’sHisFace kissing and being all blah and vampirey and ridden with angst. G.damnit, I’d like to know what people are obsessing over! It’s now a matter of tricking someone into watching it with me and not ruining my mood by either hating it openly or giving away critical plot information.

I’m not particularly angry right now. Work isn’t upsetting me, I’m not being a crazy girlfriend, I’m not hungry or tired or grumpy, having woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I’m just blehhh, which is almost more annoying than being in a bad mood with no explanation.

I am, however, annoyed that you can’t buy “fun sized” chocolate bars any other time of year besides Halloween. You’re a freak if you keep your Halloween candy around too long, because, if you don’t recall, the second Halloween is over, it becomes Christmas. And having Halloween candy around at Christmas is just weird.

I’m not one of those girls who’d take chocolate over sex or breathing but the week before “that time of the month,” all I can think about is how *effing amazing half a Coffee Crisp would be. But only half, and that’s just a problem.

Last night the Rivoli was fantastic. We got to talk openly about sexual issues, blabbed about university life and talked about where our lives are headed. On paper, I have the dream job (pause for laughter*), the dream apartment and life seems to be heading in a positive direction. Although I am actually writing, I do actually have a crazy-amazing boyfriend and I’m living in the city of opportunity, I kind of feel like I missed a step somewhere and something isn’t sitting quite right.

Maybe I’m missing a puppy. Or having been on a plane. Who knows what it is… but for now, I refuse to move and have it all come crumbling down.

Humpty Dumpty did it and look where he ended up.

x♥ Loves.

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

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 16:31:12 -0500

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.

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 22:26:48 -0500

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.

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 14:33:00 -0500

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!

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 13:45:30 -0500

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…

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 19:36:00 -0500

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

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 12:00:00 -0500

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.

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 13:18:43 -0400

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.

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 16:18:00 -0400

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!

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 17:07:00 -0400

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

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 15:24:11 -0400

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