pretty girls poop too

Welp, welcome to 2012. I heard that we’re all gonna die this year … that should be neat. If that’s the case, though, there are a few things left on my bucket list that I would like to take care of:

1. Quit my job, take what’s left of my “assets” aka my car, the contents of my one-bedroom apartment (although you may have to fight my boyfriend for the video games) and my amazing collection of tiny mugs from around the world (shut up), and travel. Because let’s be real – who has the time or money to actually do this in real life the way it was meant to be done besides that b*tch Elizabeth Gilbert and her stupid perfect life in that book we all read and/or forced guys that want to sleep with us to see in theatres.
2. Eat. Seriously though, if I have one year left to live you better BELIEVE I’m going to try everything under the sun before I go. Except beets. Those can stop existing any time now, thanks.
3. Write a book. Lame? I once wrote a book in Grade 2 about a girl … well, about in girl in grade 2. So it was more of a diary, WHATEVER. Seriously though, having some personal memoirs that nobody will be able to read after the end of the world would be cool, albeit completely useless I guess if everybody’s dead.
4.  Photobomb a celebrity. Heck, even a PSEUDO-celebrity would do.
5. Inappropriate list item that involves my man. I’m pretty sure his mom reads this blog so if you’re reading this, what I mean to say is we will be holding hands and going for long walks.

What would you guys do?

K.

We’ve all had them.

The dreaded drunken rants. The texts we can’t take back. The morning-after-reviews-of-messages that make us cringe with regret. Some are worse than others. Some of my own I regret … some I wouldn’t take back.

None of S.’s rants would I ever take back.

Because they are hilarious.

#1. The College Rant

Let me set the scene: it’s Halloween. We’re at a party at the college bar. It’s nearing the end of the evening and as the crowd gets wilder, it also begins to thin out as people couple off, get sick or just go home after an unsuccessful evening. S. and I had come together, as a couples costume (of course), Bonnie & Clyde. She was Clyde, and I was that tramp Bonnie. We were both only 19 (welcome to Canada, friends, where we love our beer so much teenagers are legal).

Anyways, I ran into a boy I was crushing on and flirting with real bad. Some guy who I’ve now been dating for two years and live with (or whatever), so you can see the level of my excitement at the thought of OMG kissing him upstairs in the food court where nobody could see us.

Or so we thought.

Whilst thinking that we had total privacy, who should walk – no – She-Ra Walk of Doom ­– towards us, but S., in all her drunken glory.

Fingers were WAVED.
SNAPS were given.
We got told, in NO uncertain terms, that we both sucked and to come back downstairs so that this one lesbian would stop hitting on her, already.

At the end of this glorious, surprisingly eloquent (if not partially slurred) rant, we were speechless. Her job was done. It was perfect. We had no reply.

So she spins around on her heels and positively sashays away from us, still basking in the warm glow of her smackdown. She reaches the top of a flight of stairs, to which we can only see the top, but which leads to the front door of the very busy party (see diagram A).

She casts one last glare in our direction, takes one step forward … and begins to tumble down the stairs like a Slinky back in 1989.

The crazy part? NOBODY SAW THIS HAPPEN.

Nobody.

S. topples, like a sack of potatoes, ass over hat and hat over ass, into a crowded bar lobby … and NOBODY SEES IT. Girl got away with it totally! She brushed off her dirty knees, back and elbows, straightens herself out and picks up that sashay right where she left off, like the champ she is. I only know about the fall because she told me about it. Which is why I love her, and also why this is one of my top three favorite drunken rants by S.

Stay tuned for #2 and #3!

K.

I’ve got writer’s block.

Bad.

To fix this I’ve been baking a lot and doing my nails. However, it just seems to be making my jeans tight but hot damn if my nails don’t look fresh every day. Still  no writing inspiration though.

So, they say to write what you know. Right now, I know that these nails look sick and are very easy to do. Try it out!

K.

So, I’ve just started a new job for the first time in four years. New assignments, new office, new city, new people … new bathrooms. Yup, this post is going to really take this blog back to its roots.

At my old office, I knew everybody. We had gotten drunk together, cried together, sent snarky emails followed by smiley-face emails to each other, eaten countless lunches together and hated all the same people together (the one thing I’m convinced can truly bond people). So, I knew their patterns, and I knew exactly when to use the bathroom and still get some semblance of privacy, despite the fact that my pants were around my ankles a mere 20 feet from the desk of the president of my company – a dude, no less. I had even gotten to the point where I just didn’t CARE if the girls in my office knew what was up. We had gotten there. We had broken the barrier and it was a beautiful thing.

But now. Oh God now I have to figure it all out again. I’ve just been doing what I’m sure is physical harm to myself by ignoring my body and its natural and totally normal needs – especially after chugging two litres of coffee a day – for the whole day, the whole ride home (note: I literally have to drive three different highways to get to and from work, not to mention all the city driving) and until I can convince my boyfriend, who I now live with full-time, to “just go in the other room and watch sports on a high volume for a period of time that you will not notice because God help you if you even GUESS what I’m doing or how long it may or may not take me.” This is quite a process, and I miss the freedom my old routine gave me. Do I dare try to re-break barriers with my new co-workers? They seem nice enough … do I just need to get drunk with them once? That seems to be the best “team building” I’ve ever been a part of.

Sigh. Well, until then, I’ll just continue to avoid fibre and try to stay dehydrated. That seems like the easiest and healthiest option as opposed to letting people know I’m a human being … right?

K.

I’m all for being myself around my bf, but I don’t think I’ll be offering him a cup of cheese anytime soon.

Still, mad props for the hilarious vid.

K.

• Who feels super weird about watching America’s Funniest Home Videos when people submit clips of their kids doing things naked like taking a dump in the tub?
• Who had hidden food because I really want to eat it later and not share with you?
• Who has forgotten to either shave one entire leg, or just created the first landing strip for legs by missing a whole row, and then GONE OUT ANYWAYS?
• Who thinks that a ton of babies are actually really ugly?
• Who doesn’t understand why so many chicks will take pictures of themselves in their car and then post them on the Internet? Like, not even ON the car … just IN it. With a seatbelt on.

Maybe it is just me.

K.

S. and I have a really good friend from college – a third trifecta of the weirdly close relationship we have, really – who sometimes says and does the most epic things that … well, I just HAVE to share them with the Internet. Her name is E.

Well, E. was supposed to go to a concert last night in our hometown. The band’s lead singer is dating one of our good friends so she really had to go. Unfortunately, she did not make it. But, being the champ she is she didn’t give the “Something came up,” “I got sick” or even the “I fell asleep” excuse that seems to pass more and more credibly the more we age. No. She gave us the real, true, full story. In the interest of keeping the eyes of our readers safe, so as to OF COURSE read more PGPT, and to promote honesty amongst friends, please read this shining example and  important discovery made by our good friend E.

So as per keeping the goils in the loop –

E. was a no show at PVR/Marquee room last night because her loving but non-aiming boyfriend had a surprise blowie pop-off and got it right in my eye, causing my whole right eye to inflame and become swollen shut within 10 minutes. Very inconsiderate, but he did rectify the situation by going to Shopper’s to fetch me some saline solution.  After a proper upside down flushing where I kinda felt like my eyeballs were being waterboarded while he laughed over me, it definitely felt degunked, but the swelling did not go down.  So I then took a Benadryl figuring I was having an allergic reaction to his spooge.  I then ate a giant bowl of fettuccine and got extremely sleepy.

Apparently some bodily enzymes (love dust), similar to those found in cats or dogs can cause severe allergic reactions to the sensitive ph balance found in the eye cavity. Lesson learned.

As I said to KBar last night – now I know how K. felt. Bahahahah.

Eye boogers.

XoXo

E.

(For the record, I had an infected eye that was not due to anything of the sort just last week. I guess I’m just that kid in class with the itchy eye sometimes. Not that something like this would never happen to me, knowing my luck.)

So, do any of you guys have a similar story? Don’t be shy, because let’s be real: We’ve all had a moment that’s turned from sexy to “OH MY GOD CALL A DOCTOR” in about two seconds. Plus it feels good to share.

K.

So, Big Brother 13 is upon us. I effing LOVE Big Brother, and as such, you guys have to as well. I’m confident that this year will bring more mindless drama that will fill way too much of my time and make me forget my real-life problems … and I could not be more excited.

Being the nerd that I am, I of course did some research on the teams this year to see who I should root for. Right now, I’m betting on Brendon and Rachel. This is most definitely just because Rachel is a barracuda-competitor who would probably eat her first-born if that meant she would get HOH.

I came across some disturbing slash hilarious video whilst doing this. It seems that our man Brendon decided that being on live TV 24 hours a day wasn’t quite enough exposure, and decided to send pics of his wangis to some online chick, who was probably actually Harvey Levin in disguise.

Brendon – Don’t be a cheater. And if you’re going to be, don’t cry about it. It makes the Internet judge you.

K.