This Blog Ain’t For Everybody, Only the Sexy People

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salt-n-pepaI work in the rentals department of a trucking company (which shall remain nameless). I get to work a half hour before we officially open in order to get everything ready for the day. This entails walking around our massive yard every morning and noting down what trucks are there.

It’s boring work, so I usually listen to music on my iPhone while I walk around. Until tragedy struck that is.

A couple of weeks ago I dropped my, still relatively new, iPhone 5 in the toilet. Me, who almost never keeps their phone in their pockets (that’s what boobs were made for).

When I heard the splash I froze. My life flashed before my eyes in slow motion (and by my life I mean every tweet I’ve ever tweeted, every text I’ve ever texted). It was like I lost every single one of my friends in one fell swoop. It was my own personal apocalypse.

I hastily grabbed my phone out of the depths of the (thankfully) crystal clear water. I rushed to the kitchen and plunged the entire sodden mess into a bag of rice. I didn’t even remove the case or wipe it down. Let me just update my resume “Doesn’t perform well in a crisis”.

I kept my phone in a bag of rice for an entire week. It was the hardest week of my life. I think every time you kill an iPhone you lose a piece of your soul to it. Sort of like Voldemort and his Horcruxes.

Sadly, my iPhone did not make it. I was forced to replace it as the water damage was too extensive. Because of this, I was unable to back up my phone to my computer before replacing it. Which means I currently have no music on my phone.

Almost no music. While trying to download a new ringtone I inadvertantly downloaded the full song.

And that is the reason why I’ve been listening to “Push It” by Salt-N-Pepa on repeat every morning at work. That’s a half hour every day for those of you that don’t retain what you read too well.

So, if you ever happen to see me busting a move in the wee hours of the morning, don’t judge. Just push it, push it good.

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If Hugh Hefner Had Less Money He’d Probably Want to Date Me

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happy-old-man-holding-dollars-thumb7860284I was sitting on my deck, enjoying some of the few fleeting moments of sunshine and warm weather Edmonton has to offer. Minding my own business, watching the dogs as they gambol around chasing dried leaves and pooping and just generally doing what dogs do.

Suddenly, my afternoon’s peace was cruelly shattered. I heard our creepy, possibly (okay, pretty well definitely) alcohol and drug addled neighbour talking to the dogs through the fence. In baby talk. Sidenote: Have you ever noticed that almost everyone uses baby talk when talking to animals but it’s only not annoying when you do it? Like clicking pens.

I did the adult thing, I slid off the deck and stealthily crept into the garage. There was absolutely no way I would have made it into the house without being spotted and forced into conversation. I silently closed the door behind me and stood in the humid, dusty, semi-darkness of the garage, waiting for my roommates to return home and protect me.

I spend a lot of time hiding from people in my own home. It’s like a really tame horror movie. Or Home Alone (one of the first two, not one of the multitude of bastardized sequels that followed). Instead of trying to kill me though, people just try to interact with me. The life of an introvert.

Finally, my roommates returned home. Unfortunately, my neighbour heard their arrival as well and invited himself over. His method of greeting leaves a lot to be desired. Upon entering our home he walked up behind me and tickled the back of my neck.

I’m not 5, in case you haven’t gleaned that fact from reading the foul-mouthed inappropriateness of this blog. I also am not in the habit of flirting with dudes old enough to be my father. Seriously? Neck tickles? Fuck right off.

I reacted with an over the top noise of disgust suitable for a Broadway Stage and a Skywalker-esque, “Nooooooooooooooo!”

You might think I’m overreacting (hyperbole is kind of my thing) but, let me take you back to a happier time. A time before the loss of my innocence.

New Years Eve 2012: I’m sitting on my couch in a tank top and jeans getting ready for New Years. Nothing fancy, just a few beers at my friend’s house and some swimming in the cement pond (that’s right, I have a friend with an indoor pool. Be jealous peasants).

The aforementioned neighbour enters, stage left. Conversation ensues. We discuss New Years plans. He let’s slip that his legal name is actually Allison (a fact my roommates have not let him forget since). Our neighbour gets up to leave and asks if I’d like my New Years kiss now. I retched and answered something along the lines of “Heeeeeell no”. He then repeats his offer to my roommate Emily, miming a tongue kiss redolent of a cow licking its nostrils. That’s when tragedy struck.

Allison swoops down on me and plants one in the region between my neck and shoulder. I was horrified. There is not enough soap in the world to erase that flesh memory. Believe me, I tried.

So, now you know. I’m a creep magnet. Old men find me irresistible. Our neighbour is not the first, I work with truckers and mechanics, that place is a hotbed of sexual harassment. If I’m destined for this life I just wish the old men would be eccentric billionaires intent upon leaving me their vast fortunes. Is that really so much to ask?

The Unexpected Caller

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PeepholeIf you remember that scene from “Silence of the Lambs” where the girl is trapped in a hole, buck naked, you might understand my afternoon. Let me break it down for you.

After a long, hard days work there is nothing I like better than stealing a few precious hours before my roommates get home to roam the house nude. And by roam I mean lie on the couch eating Cadbury mini eggs whilst pondering where I went wrong with my life. Seriously, doctors should start prescribing mini eggs as mood stabilizers.

Let’s recap. I’m laying on the couch. I’m naked. I’m nomming on mini eggs. Suddenly, disaster strikes.The front doorbell rings.

Needless to say, I panicked. I looked longingly down the hall to my room, knowing in my heart of hearts that there is no way I could get there without having to dash past the front door. The front door with the giant semi-transparent window which would do next to nothing to hide my nudity.

I did what anyone in my situation would do. I crawled across the floor, behind the kitchen island and essentially threw myself down the stairs and into the basement. Luckily, my phone was in my hand when the doorbell rang and so it came with me.

So there I was, hiding in my own house like Jodie Foster in “Panic Room”. Except instead of KStew I had my phone and the remnants of my dignity for company.

Trapped in the laundry room with no hope I used a lifeline and called a friend. My roommates only solution was to don some dirty laundry and make good my escape. Unfortunately, there were no clothes in sight. Our usually overflowing laundry room was down to a few hand towels in the dryer. And hand towels would not conceal even my bountiful left tit.

After several minutes of nervous laughter (my roommates were due home any minute with a gaggle of rock stars – no seriously, Death by Robot. Check them out here) I finally uncovered an old shirt to hide my shame and Oregon Trailed my way out of the basement. I stealthily crept to my room lest the doorbell ringer was still lurking on the other side of that damning pane of glass.

And thus ends the story of my tragic debasement. Something to tell my cats about when I get old.

I feel that these are not the problems of normal, responsible adults.

50 Shades of Crap

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50-shades-of-greyI recently posted a challenge to myself. I want to read more and I want to read better. Thus, the book list was born. The challenge has begun and I’d like to bring you up to speed on my progress so far.

The Book List Challenge

1. 1984 George Orwell

2. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn Mark Twain

3. The Alchemist Paulo Coelho

4. Alice in Wonderland Lewis Carroll

5. All the King’s Men Robert Penn Warren

6. All the Pretty Horses Cormac McCarthy

7. The Ambassadors Henry James

8. And Then There Were None Agatha Christie

9. Anne of Green Gables L.M. Montgomery

10. Beloved Toni Morrison

11. Brave New World Aldous Huxley

12. Brideshead Revisited Evelyn Waugh

13. Bridget Jones’s Diary Helen Fielding

14. The Call of the Wild Jack London

15. The Canterbury Tales Geoffrey Chaucer

16. Catch-22 Joseph Heller

17. The Catcher in the Rye J.D. Salinger

18. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Roald Dahl

19. Charlotte’s Web E.B. White

20. Cloud Atlas David Mitchel

21. The Color Purple Alice Walker

22. A Confederacy of Dunces John Kennedy Toole

23. Count of Monte Cristo Alexandre Dumas

24. Crime and Punishment Fyodor Dostoyevsky

25. Darkness at Noon Arthur Koestler

26. Don Quixote Miguel De Cervantes

27. Dracula Bram Stoker

28. Dune Frank Herbert

29. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test Tom Wolfe

30. Fahrenheit 451 Ray Bradbury

31. A Fine Balance Rohinton Mistry

32. Go Tell It on the Mountain James Baldwin

33. The Golden Notebook Doris Lessing

34. Gone With The Wind Margaret Mitchell

35. The Good Soldier Ford Madox Ford

36. The Grapes of Wrath John Steinbeck

37. Gravity’s Rainbow Thomas Pynchon

38. Great Expectations Charles Dickens

39. The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald

40. Gulliver’s Travels Jonathan Swift

41. Hamlet William Shakespeare

42. The Handmaid’s Tale Margaret Atwood

43. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone J.K. Rowling

44. The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter Carson McCullers

45. Heart of Darkness Joseph Conrad

46. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Douglas Adams

47. Howard’s End E.M. Forster

48. In Search of Lost Time Marcel Proust

49. Invisible Man Ralph Ellison

50. Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë

51. The Kite Runner Khaled Hosseini

52. Les Miserables Victor Hugo

53. Life of Pi Yann Martel

54. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe C.S. Lewis

55. The Little Prince Antoine De Saint-Exupery

56. Little Women Louisa M Alcott

57. Lolita Vladimir Nabokov

58. Lord of the Flies William Golding

59. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring J.R.R. Tolkien

60. Madame Bovary Gustave Flaubert

61. Main Street Sinclair Lewis

62. The Maltese Falcon Dashiell Hammett

63. Memoirs of a Geisha Arthur Golden

64. Middlemarch George Eliot

65. Midnight’s Children Salman Rushdie

66. Moby Dick Herman Melville

67. Naked Lunch William S. Burroughs

68. Native Son Richard Wright

69. Northern Lights (The Golden Compass) Philip Pullman

70. The Old Man and the Sea Ernest Hemingway

71. On The Road Jack Kerouac

72. One Hundred Years of Solitude Gabriel Garcia Marquez

73. A Prayer for Owen Meaney John Irving

74. Pride and Prejudice Jane Austen

75. The Remains of the Day Kazuo Ishiguro

76. The Scarlet Letter Nathaniel Hawthorne

77. The Secret Garden Frances Hodgson Burnett

78. The Secret History Donna Tartt

79. A Separate Peace John Knowles

80. The Shadow of the Wind Carlos Ruiz Zafon

81. Sister Carrie Theodore Dreiser

82. Slaughterhouse-Five Kurt Vonnegut

83. Sons and Lovers D.H. Lawrence

84. The Sound and the Fury William Faulkner

85. Stranger in a Strange Land Robert Heinlein

86. Swallows and Amazons Arthur Ransom

87. The Time Traveler’s Wife Audrey Niffenegger

88. To Kill a Mockingbird Harper Lee

89. To the Lighthouse Virginia Woolf

90. A Town Like Alice Nevil Shute

91. Tropic of Cancer Henry Miller

92. Ulysses James Joyce

93. Under the Volcano Malcolm Lowry

94. War and Peace Leo Tolstoy

95. Watership Down Richard Adams

96. The Way of All Flesh Samuel Butler

97. The Wind in the Willows Kenneth Grahame

98. Winnie the Pooh A.A. Milne

99. Wuthering Heights Emily Brontë

100. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance Robert M. Pirsig

I’ve managed to cross three more books off the list, “To Kill a Mockingbird”, “Great Expectations” and “Anne of Green Gables”. I’ve read all three of these books before. But here is what I’ve learned, or more accurately, had reaffirmed.

“To Kill a Mockingbird” makes me cry every time. God damn is that ending touching. Not to mention the fact the Boo Radley is the best literary character of all time. Yes, you read that correctly, OF ALL TIME. Don’t argue, he even has a band named after him. Straight up baller, yo.

I’ve also learned that Dickens is a lot harder to read when it’s not the condensed version for children. I’ve played you all for fools! I haven’t technically read the complete version of “Great Expectations” until now. Don’t care. I’m still counting it.

I remember when I read it as a child it seemed a bit disjointed. Having now read it in its entirety I can say without qualms that it is still my favourite Dickens novel. Go drown yourself in a bowl of gruel Oliver Twist. You’re not the coolest orphan by far.

Speaking of orphans, let’s move on to “Anne of Green Gables”. My copy of which is falling to bits. That should give you an idea of how many times I’ve read it. Spoiler alert: Matthew dies. I cry. A lot. This is why I can’t read sad books in public.

You might be thinking that 3 books in 2 months is pitiful. Maybe you should eat a bag of dicks. You don’t know my life! To be truthful, I haven’t only been reading books off the list. No list tells me what to do, it’s not even my real dad!

Among the other, less literary books I read between the book list was “50 Shades of Grey” or as I have dubbed it “50 Shades of Crap”.

How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways. In all seriousness though, here’s a list of reasons why “50 Shades of Grey” is worse than stepping on Legos.

1. The only thing about this book that made me blush was how terrible the writing was.

2. What in the name Elvis’s gold toilet is up with Anastasia’s inner Goddess? It’s like a really lame Great Gazoo.

3.What is with all the product endorsements? Apple, Converse, and Blackberry must have shares in the book sales.

4. This quote, “He’s in gray sweatpants that hang, in that way, off his hips…” What in Aretha Franklin’s diet plan does “in that way” mean? Are we talking about sweatpants boners? In what dimension is that a panty melter!

5. The book was written in 2011, what 20-year-old in 2011 doesn’t have a smart phone of some kind? Bitch, please.

6. The only books that should refer to the medulla oblongata this much are medical textbooks.

7. “Laters, Baby”. No. Just, no.

8. The image of Christian Grey whipping the tampon out of Anastasia before sex will haunt me for life. It’s worse than the memory of witnessing my sick roommate hawking a golf ball sized loogie onto the floor. Still makes me gag.

I could keep going, but I think you’ve got the gist of it. I won’t lie to you (I only do that to my doctor) but I do plan on reading the sequels. If I don’t it’s like not finishing a book and that’s just not my scene. Unfortunately, my local library does not have any copies available and I’m not sure how willing I am to borrow a book that hundreds of women have read while masturbating. I can just imagine what those things look like under a black light.

Happy Valintestine’s Day

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valentines_zombie_by_dieelster-d5ikc0tValentine’s Day has come and gone. Since my advanced state of singlehood has yet to develop into cat collecting I spent the day handing out cupcakes to Edmonton’s homeless (because hey, homeless need love too!) and wandering West Edmonton Mall with some hip cats, nothing says Valentine’s Day like kick ass boots and banh mi.

While we’re on the subject of Valentine’s Day I’d like to pose a question to all you dynamic duos out there. What in the name of seamless panties is with all the stuffed animals?

Flowers, I get. Chocolate, makes sense. Bitches love that shit. But, what earthly purpose does a stuffed bear holding a heart proclaiming “I love you beary much!” serve?

Do gents (I love that word. It brings to mind men in suits and bowler hats with pocket watches and luscious walrus moustaches. Like these dudes) get offended when you inevitably relegate these “treasures” to the garbage bin? Or are they meant to be a lasting token of your (barf) love?

If the “lasting token of your love” situation is your goal gentlemen, let me impart some age old words of wisdom. Diamonds are a girls best friend.

Speaking of precious gems, I was driving home from my selfless good deed (it’s tough for chubby girls to part with cupcakes) and as I was frantically winding my way through rush hour (cursing like a sailor, of course – and I don’t mean Sailor Moon) I was stopped at a red light behind a car covered in zombie themed bumper stickers.

Now, let me ask you, what kind of person covers their vehicle in “Zombie Hunter” and “Zombie Outbreak Response” bumper stickers and then slaps a “Baby on Board” sign in the back window?

To me, that is the equivalent of grabbing a bullhorn, ringing a dinner bell and shouting, “Come and get it zombies! The most tender meat you’ll ever eat!”

I know exactly what you’re thinking. Two things. Firstly, zombies can’t read. Well, excuse me Mr. or Ms. Zombie Expert. You may be right. But, what if you’re not? Are you willing to take that risk with your precious little bundle of joy? I tried really hard to rein in my sarcasm on that statement. How was I?

Secondly, you’re wondering how I know that babies are the most succulent, tender meat. It’s simple. Veal is delicious, melt in your mouth meat. Calves are kept in pens and slaughtered within months of their birth, before they get a chance to get tough and muscly. Babies are small people that live in pens (and cribs). The same principles apply. Dummy.

Arthur is a Child and Children Don’t Know Shit

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arthur-library-cardYou’re right Arthur, books are fun. They’re a gateway into other worlds, other times and other lives. Books are an escape, an adventure, a journey. I adore books.

I’ve always been a voracious reader, ever since I was a very small child. I devoured books, reading one after another without pause. I stayed up late most nights, solely because I was unable to put down my current book. My mom yelled and I was always cranky in the mornings but I had to find out what happened.

In elementary school the librarian taught me how to use the computer system so I was able to check out books myself. I think she just got sick of my revolving door book borrowing.

I could probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve not finished a book. Even when they’re awful I can’t put them down or I’ll be left wondering what happened.

Unfortunately, Arthur was wrong about the first part. Finding time to read is fucking hard. Especially once adulthood sets in. The Hobbit recently came out in theatres and it then became doubly apparent to me how little time I have for reading.

I originally read the Hobbit in grade 4 but I decided, in honour of the movie, to reread it. While I was at it, I began reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy. For the first time. Ever. I know, I suck.

This may be the longest it’s ever taken me to read a book. Multiplied by three. It’s taken me longer than it took the Jews to wander the desert to finish these books. Longer than it takes to play a game of Risk. Longer than it takes my computer to load porn… I would guess.

The worst part is, I bought a library card 4 months ago and haven’t used it once. So, I’ve resolved to read more. Not only that, to read better. Without further ado, I introduce,

The Book List Challenge

1. 1984 George Orwell

2. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn Mark Twain

3. The Alchemist Paulo Coelho

4. Alice in Wonderland Lewis Carroll

5. All the King’s Men Robert Penn Warren

6. All the Pretty Horses Cormac McCarthy

7. The Ambassadors Henry James

8. And Then There Were None Agatha Christie

9. Anne of Green Gables L.M. Montgomery

10. Beloved Toni Morrison

11. Brave New World Aldous Huxley

12. Brideshead Revisited Evelyn Waugh

13. Bridget Jones’s Diary Helen Fielding

14. The Call of the Wild Jack London

15. The Canterbury Tales Geoffrey Chaucer

16. Catch-22 Joseph Heller

17. The Catcher in the Rye J.D. Salinger

18. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Roald Dahl

19. Charlotte’s Web E.B. White

20. Cloud Atlas David Mitchel

21. The Color Purple Alice Walker

22. A Confederacy of Dunces John Kennedy Toole

23. Count of Monte Cristo Alexandre Dumas

24. Crime and Punishment Fyodor Dostoyevsky

25. Darkness at Noon Arthur Koestler

26. Don Quixote Miguel De Cervantes

27. Dracula Bram Stoker

28. Dune Frank Herbert

29. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test Tom Wolfe

30. Fahrenheit 451 Ray Bradbury

31. A Fine Balance Rohinton Mistry

32. Go Tell It on the Mountain James Baldwin

33. The Golden Notebook Doris Lessing

34. Gone With The Wind Margaret Mitchell

35. The Good Soldier Ford Madox Ford

36. The Grapes of Wrath John Steinbeck

37. Gravity’s Rainbow Thomas Pynchon

38. Great Expectations Charles Dickens

39. The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald

40. Gulliver’s Travels Jonathan Swift

41. Hamlet William Shakespeare

42. The Handmaid’s Tale Margaret Atwood

43. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone J.K. Rowling

44. The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter Carson McCullers

45. Heart of Darkness Joseph Conrad

46. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Douglas Adams

47. Howard’s End E.M. Forster

48. In Search of Lost Time Marcel Proust

49. Invisible Man Ralph Ellison

50. Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë

51. The Kite Runner Khaled Hosseini

52. Les Miserables Victor Hugo

53. Life of Pi Yann Martel

54. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe C.S. Lewis

55. The Little Prince Antoine De Saint-Exupery

56. Little Women Louisa M Alcott

57. Lolita Vladimir Nabokov

58. Lord of the Flies William Golding

59. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring J.R.R. Tolkien

60. Madame Bovary Gustave Flaubert

61. Main Street Sinclair Lewis

62. The Maltese Falcon Dashiell Hammett

63. Memoirs of a Geisha Arthur Golden

64. Middlemarch George Eliot

65. Midnight’s Children Salman Rushdie

66. Moby Dick Herman Melville

67. Naked Lunch William S. Burroughs

68. Native Son Richard Wright

69. Northern Lights (The Golden Compass) Philip Pullman

70. The Old Man and the Sea Ernest Hemingway

71. On The Road Jack Kerouac

72. One Hundred Years of Solitude Gabriel Garcia Marquez

73. A Prayer for Owen Meaney John Irving

74. Pride and Prejudice Jane Austen

75. The Remains of the Day Kazuo Ishiguro

76. The Scarlet Letter Nathaniel Hawthorne

77. The Secret Garden Frances Hodgson Burnett

78. The Secret History Donna Tartt

79. A Separate Peace John Knowles

80. The Shadow of the Wind Carlos Ruiz Zafon

81. Sister Carrie Theodore Dreiser

82. Slaughterhouse-Five Kurt Vonnegut

83. Sons and Lovers D.H. Lawrence

84. The Sound and the Fury William Faulkner

85. Stranger in a Strange Land Robert Heinlein

86. Swallows and Amazons Arthur Ransom

87. The Time Traveler’s Wife Audrey Niffenegger

88. To Kill a Mockingbird Harper Lee

89. To the Lighthouse Virginia Woolf

90. A Town Like Alice Nevil Shute

91. Tropic of Cancer Henry Miller

92. Ulysses James Joyce

93. Under the Volcano Malcolm Lowry

94. War and Peace Leo Tolstoy

95. Watership Down Richard Adams

96. The Way of All Flesh Samuel Butler

97. The Wind in the Willows Kenneth Grahame

98. Winnie the Pooh A.A. Milne

99. Wuthering Heights Emily Bronte

100. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance Robert M. Pirsig

I’ve read 18 of the books on this list, they’ve been highlighted. I plan on rereading them all, excluding the Lord of the Rings. I literally just finished reading it. It was tedious (the fuck was up with all the singing?!) and I’m no glutton for punishment. Except when it comes to ice cream, I’ll eat that shit until I explode.

I’ll be updating you periodically on my progress, so just let me hang on to the illusion that you care.

If Bing Crosby Lived in Edmonton he’d be Dreaming of a Green Christmas

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BingIt is officially winter in Alberta (In point of fact, it has been since Halloween. This is why I don’t do houseplants or pets. I’m neglectful). Which means instead of bitching about how hot it is, everyone, including myself, is bitching about how cold it is. Or how bad the roads are. Or how early it gets dark. Or how late it stays dark in the mornings. Basically, people are bitching and it ain’t pretty.

Remember as a child how Herculean a task dressing for winter was? A hundred layers of clothes beneath a cumbersome one piece snowsuit, replete with mittens attached by a string (how many mittens did I lose as a child? Almost as many as I lose socks now). As soon as the final zipper had slid into place, usually with a good chunk of neck skin (or was that just my mom?) you inevitably had to pee. Bad.

But remember how warm you were? Like a butterfly in a cocoon. Like meat in a burrito. Now that I have some say in how I look I never seem to be warm enough come winter. Apparently, I need my mom around to dress me. The other day I was at the mall (and when I say the mall I mean THE mall) and I was dressed for winter. At least I thought I was. Even inside the mall I was cold. And that’s when I saw her.

A little girl was walking with her mom, bundled up head to toe in her one piece snowsuit and nomming on a cookie the size of her face. The picture of utter contentment. Warm and full of sugar. I was super jealous, I want that life.

I find that, as an adult, certain things just do not bring me the joy they used to. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not some neurotic, depressed individual who yearns for their youth. I’m cool with being an adult, there’s booze.

Let’s get back to the cookie. I enjoy a good cookie, always have, always will. However, as an adult cookies are followed by a hefty load of caloric guilt. Which is just wrong, adulthood is supposed to be all about the freedom to eat cookies for dinner, isn’t it?

In an effort to continue my cookie eating ways (and hopefully reduce the number on the scale – how it mocks me!) I’ve been dabbling in yoga.

I’ve been chubby for as long as I can remember. And only in the last few years have I begun embracing my curves (Figuratively of course, I don’t go around hugging my spare tire or giving my Oprah arms a handshake). I do, however, want to live a healthier lifestyle. I’d like to outlive my many cats so that when I die they won’t desecrate my corpse.

The problem is, I’m not a fan of most forms of exercise. I’m more of a good food and drinks kind of gal. I read books, listen to music, watch movies, sew, bake, cook, and most recently, knit. All fairly sedentary activities.

Then I tried yoga. I actually kind of adore yoga. I would equate the feeling yoga gives me to how I imagine a cat feels when it does one of those really colossal full body stretches (There I go with the cats again).

To summarize. I’m slowly leading a more active life. Just in time for the carb laden feast that will be Christmas. All thanks to yoga for getting me motivated and reminding me that exercising doesn’t have to make me hate my life.

And the very best part is I’m getting back some of the flexibility I lost when I broke my leg. Which means I’m getting that much closer to a career in the Cirque du Soleil. Or porn.

It’s a Christmas miracle.

Liebster Blog Award

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I was recently nominated by nikkiinhighgear for the Liebster Blog Award. My first thoughts upon seeing my nomination were something along the lines of, “How cool! I’ve only written a few posts” (I’m busy and undisciplined. Learn to deal). Also, “What in the name of pageant moms is a Liebster Blog Award?” And most importantly, “What will I wear to accept my award?”

Upon further research, namely actually reading the post, I came to the realization that I was not on my way to fame and fortune. My crushing disappointment had me confined to my warm and cozy (and best of all non-judgemental) bed for weeks. Just messing with you. It was more along the lines of, “What is this? Facebook circa 2006?”

In all seriousness though, I checked back through my Facebook account. There is definitely a note entitled “List 25 Things About Yourself Than Tag 25 Friends to do the Same”. After reading it, I have come to the conclusion that my younger self was a complete fucking retard.

That may be the worst thing about Facebook. There’s permanent evidence of how lame you used to be immortalized on the internet. Back in the day we only had to contend with photo albums full of awkward photos that only got pulled out when Mom was feeling nostalgic (or vindictive).

It makes me wonder if 5 years from now I’ll be reading this blog and asking my many cats if I’m still this lame. And if I will have figured out proper punctuation.

In the interest of living dangerously, I’d like to present, for your viewing pleasure, The Liebster Blog Award.

11 Facts About Yourself

1. I think e-readers are sheer blasphemy. I’m a voracious reader. In school I was even teased for being a bookworm (still stings). And, while I don’t read as much as I used to (thanks a lot cable), I still have a deep and abiding love for books. To me, an e-reader is the equivalent to fake boobs. Sure, they look nice and don’t wrinkle with age, but it just doesn’t feel the same as the real thing. Plus, you can read books in the bathtub.

2. I’m an old soul. I like old books, old movies and old clothes. I firmly believe I should have been born in any era but this one. I would have made a top-notch hippie, or flapper girl, or sweet little housewife (I would wear the shit out of those dresses).

3. I’m incredibly OCD about music. I’ll get stuck on one song or album and listen to it exclusively for weeks at a time. Right now (and ever since Thanksgiving) it’s Mumford and Sons’ Babel album. If you haven’t heard it yet, your life has no meaning.

4. I would make a highly inaccurate, albeit, hilarious tour guide. Your move Fort Edmonton.

5. I curse like a sailor. Fuck is a word that is near and dear to my heart. Namely because of its incredible versatility. You can insert it (or one of its tenses) anywhere in a sentence without compromising the grammatical integrity. I also have a deep disapproval of people who use the terms “friggen” or “freaking” or any other bastardization of the word fuck. Everyone knows what you mean. Say it right or don’t say it at all. Basically, harden the fuck up.

6. Whenever I hear or read the phrase, “Oh yeah” I visualize the Kool-Aid Man. I don’t care if it’s weird. It just feels right.

7. I dig the zombie genre. Don’t get me wrong, I also enjoy vampires, werewolves and their ilk but, zombies have a special place in my heart. Or braaaaaain? I think zombies are more appealing because they’re still scary. Vampires and werewolves have become too romanticsized. Especially since the Twilight love triangle. Nobody wants to knock boots with a zombie though.

…Maybe a necrophiliac.

8. I love to cook and bake. I find it relaxing. And delicious.

9. I’m not a hundred percent sure how it started but, people seem to like to buy me dick gifts. And by that I mean they give me gifts shaped like dicks. Nobody has been leaving severed dicks on my front steps. And hopefully they never will.

10. I have an inordinate fear of tucking my dresses/skirts into my underwear. It stems from my first remembered embarrassing moment. I was quite young, 3 or 4, and my grandparents were hosting some sort of shindig in their home. My maternal grandfather has 7 brothers and sisters so I have quite a large extended family. The majority of whom were attending this event. I had gone to the bathroom and when I emerged my always charming father was kind enough to point out (loudly, in front of everyone congregating in my grandparents basement) that I had tucked my dress into the back of my underwear and tights. People laughed. I was filled with shame. Thank you Daddy.

11. I am terrible with money. Has anyone else ever bought a crystal making kit just for fun? When they were in their 20s? Sidenote, science is fun!

11 Questions FOR YOU (From my nominator)

1. What last made you laugh?

My roommates’ asshole dogs. I secretly love them.

2. Spontaneity or stability?

Spontaneity. I get bored easily, typical Gemini. Amiright?

3. What is your least favorite word?

“No.” Don’t tell me what to do. You don’t know my life.

4. What would your name have been if you were born the opposite sex?

I was named for my Grandpa Joe, and for the Dolly Parton song. But I would assume that, had I been born with and outtie, my parents would have just gone whole hog and named me Joseph.

5. Sweet or salty?

Why don’t we have both? Unless I’m PMSing, then I must have salt.

6. What is your current fitness goal?

To exercise. I have been incredibly slack lately and it’s showing.

7. What is your current #1 goal in life? (I know we all usually have many goals to work towards)

My number one goal would be to go back to school. I want to do something awesome and challenging. Deep sea welder? Sand castle architect? Pet psychic?

8. Work or school? What do you do/take?

I work for a truck leasing company in the rentals department. It’s soul sucking to say the least.

9. Are you a morning or evening person?

Definitely evenings. I wake up at 5:00am everyday for work. The only time you should be awake at 5:00am is if you haven’t been to bed yet. Real life.

10. Do you wear pajamas to places other than at your house?

I don’t really own pajamas. A couple of nighties that would be highly inappropriate in public (hello jugs!), a few pajama shorts, and one lonely pair of flannel pants that I never wear. So that would be no.

11. What’s your favourite way to stay active?

My Wii fit. I’m looking into starting step aerobics from home though. I just need to find the perfect pair of leg warmers. And maybe a nice camel toe inducing leotard.

My Nominations (I actually had to go on a big ol’ following spree to find 11 nominees)

1. nikkiinhighgear (My nominator. Is this allowed?)

2. The As-Is Department

3. A Drawing A Day

4. Kim Rendfeld

5. Elles Adorant

6. I Swear Too Much

7. Norbrook’s Blog

8. MyADDMoment

9. A Big Life

10. Thrift Your Heart Out

11. AdrianCharlesHoran

11 Questions for the Nominees

1. What would you do for a Klondike Bar?

2. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you choose to live?

3. White or red wine?

4. Gene Wilder or Johnny Depp chocolate factory? (Sidenote, Johnny Depp is the only man who can still go by “Johnny” after 15 and still be sexy)

5. What do you like most about your job?

6. Who was/is your favourite Spice Girl and why?

7. What would you consider the biggest insult to yourself?

8. What is the strangest item in your home?

9. When was the last time you climbed a tree?

10. Do you make your bed everyday? (This is a no judgement zone people)

11. What is your favourite holiday? Why? (Birthdays count)

“Cooking with Honey Boo Boo” Would be the Worst Show Since “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo”

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And by worst, I mean best.

I love to cook. I also love to eat, but that’s another blog post entirely! Hey-o!

When I cook I like to make things that are interesting or different or challenging or just straight up impressive. I make food to show off, essentially.

I tend to spend way too much of my budget on food. Out of season produce, special oils, vinegars and sauces that I’ve only ever used for one recipe are all fair game. I also have a very impressive collection of dried herbs and spices.

I’ve never been content to cook the same old thing everyday. I crave variety and enjoy experimenting, sometimes with disastrous results. I enjoy making things from scratch that are likely easier and cheaper to buy ready-made off the grocery shelves. That being said, homemade ricotta is infinitely more satisfying than store-bought.

Ethnic cuisine is probably my favourite thing to cook, it’s interesting, varied and usually unfamiliar, which makes it a challenge. My preferred cuisines are Cajun/Creole, Asian and Italian. The last of which brings me to the topic of this blog post.

The other week I had a horrible cold. We’re talking cold sweats, fever dreams (Don’t watch shows about vampires and zombies while feverish and heavily medicated. Not ever.) and a horrible, godawful hacking cough that hung around for weeks after. I ended up taking a couple of days off from work in order to hasten my recovery (and wallow in self-pity) and while home sick I caught up on a lot of television.

I’d been wanting, nay, yearning to watch Here Comes Honey Boo Boo ever since I discovered such a wonderful train wreck of a show existed. I first fell in love with the tiny freak show known as Honey Boo Boo while watching Toddlers and Tiaras (I’m a horrible, Neanderthal of a person. Move on.) and I was ecstatic to discover I could now observe Honey Boo Boo and her entire family in their natural habitat. I could be the Jane Goodall of Rednecks.

One particular episode both shocked and appalled my poor foodie heart. Mama was making her family their favourite dinner, “sketti”. In doing so, she revealed her secret recipe for red sauce. It involves microwaving a generous amount of margarine and ketchup. You then toss it on your spaghetti noodles. Voila! Authentic redneck cooking. As Honey Boo Boo would say “You’d better redneckognize”.

Let’s pause here so everyone can push down that horrible wave of nausea.

Now, perhaps “sketti” is a delicious white trash meal, similar to elbow macaroni mixed with a gelatinous can of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom (seriously, it’s surprisingly delicious). Regardless, I will never willingly put so much of a teaspoon full of this putrid combination anywhere near my mouth.

“Sketti” was probably created back in WWII as a means of extracting information from enemy soldiers. I’m not sure of the validity of this theory (when did they invent ketchup?), but I imagine eating “sketti” to be the equivalent of torture. Just go with me on this one.

It probably doesn’t help that I have always had an aversion to ketchup. That first squeeze of nasty ketchup water, the lid covered in a gooey, sticky ketchup crust. Not to mention, any attempt to remove said crust with a damp cloth or under a running tap inevitably contributes to the aforementioned ketchup water quandary. I’ll take “Things That Make Me Shudder” for $500 Alex.
Ketchup is just one of the things my food snobbery rears its ugly head at.

There, I said it. I think I’m above ketchup. It’s something I’ve never been overly fond of. That being said, don’t even try to give me a burger without a generous squeeze of ketchup. Michelle Pfeiffer know what I’m talking about.

Mullet Jesus Lives!

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The exclamation point in the title of this post may seem awfully presumptuous to you. However, it’s the only way to fully express my relief at the reunion between myself and Mullet Jesus.

Remember that scene in Talladega Nights where they’re all sitting around the dinner table talking about how they picture Jesus? Well, from the moment I saw Mullet Jesus I knew that forevermore, this was how I would envision Jesus.

I first saw Mullet Jesus while wandering the shops of Whyte Avenue. As we browsed the shelves of the Junque Cellar my eyes alighted upon a framed print which seemed to glow with an inner light. I’m totally bullshitting you about the inner light thing, I ain’t crazy.

From the moment I saw Mullet Jesus, I wanted him. However, after being on the receiving end of a well deserved judgemental eye, I walked away from Mullet Jesus. For all I knew, this was goodbye forever.

I couldn’t get him off my mind. I knew I had to have him, I wanted to hang him in my home and gaze upon his loveliness. That high, majestic forehead, the piercing gaze and that Uncle Jesse-esque growth of hair. They haunted my dreams. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat – I’m going to stop myself there, who am I kidding, I could eat, I can always eat.

I did what any sane person would do. I went back, intent upon a joyous reunion. I hunted high and low for my mulleted saviour. Just when I had begun to despair, I saw him. Hanging proudly upon the wall amongst other, lesser Jesuses (Jesus’s? Jesus’? Jesii? What is the plural form of Jesus?).

You may think that I am dramatizing myself and, perhaps, you’re right. But let me break it down for you. Let me explain to you why Mullet Jesus tugs at my heart-strings (Sidenote: Is there any such part of that particular organ? Maybe I should have paid closer attention to my high school biology classes.)

On with the show! The reason we (You know you do. Embrace it!) love to love Mullet Jesus is simple. Mullet Jesus is the epitome of all things cool. He is rebellious, early twenties Jesus. Before the mullet, Jesus was a good kid. He got good grades, never missed a day of class (for reals, dude’s got a mother fucking plaque), he respected his parents, didn’t smoke, drink or do drugs and he cleaned his room every Saturday. And I’m not talking about just shoving everything under the bed and into the closet. I mean a legit clean with lemon pledge and a vacuum.

When I picture Mullet Jesus I picture him in a sweet ’80s jean vest over leather jacket combo, riding his trans am around and picking up bitches. Mullet Jesus probably smoked a lot of joints in his parent’s basement (Hell connotations anyone?) while blasting Metallica in the background. I like to think Mullet Jesus has a dangly cross hanging from his ear. Just like Jason Patric in The Lost Boys.

Eventually, the mullet transformed into a beautiful sweep of luscious hippy locks. Jesus started doing good works and traded in his biker boots for a pair of rope sandals. But he never stopped smoking the ganja, after all, what’s a hippie without his grass?

When I saw his hair
I knew it would change my life
Bless you Mullet Jesus
–Rishi 3:17