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Resolutions for the Rest of Us.

1 Jan

Since Jillian Michaels ruined my life last year I’ve decided to set myself up for success in 2012 by actually taking the time to make resolutions that have more depth to them than: “Get less fat.” Because I’m not fat. And I’m at the point now where taking better care of my body isn’t something I should set as a repetitive New Year’s Resolution, I should just be fucking doing it. I should be making it an actual part of my lifestyle and ingraining it into every element of my behaviour and that’s a slow and steady process, not a simple change that I can wake up on the first day of a new year and suddenly adhere to perfectly. Basically what I’m saying is that my first meal of 2012 was a cheeseburger and poutine.

Here are my resolutions for 2012 (I’m chanting “If you blog it, then it’s real” in my head right now, by the way):

  • Begin volunteering in some way. Or rather, convince people that I’m well adjusted enough to have valuable skills they may want to make use of for free. I would especially love working with young girls doing writing workshops.
  • Master a dish of food, to the point where I can boast about making “the best gawd damn [exotic and/or classic dish name here] you’ve ever had in your mouth, EVER” and then actually back it up by making it.
  • I will go to Paris and/or Barcelona with my roommate.
  • I will take a class in creative writing even though they cost a majillion dollars. (Majillion. I’m making up words to emphasize my points. I doubt that’s encouraged.)

And that’s it, because those are four pretty big things and I really don’t think I’ll have time for much else. Realism. That’s what 2012 is all about. Oh, and maybe I’ll meet a really cute and nice boy who won’t be scared away by my penchant for emotional nonsense, my need for constant verbal affirmations of love, or my tiny hands.

What are YOUR resolutions?

S.

Oh Shit, It’s Christmas

24 Dec

Nothing better than routinely celebrating a major holiday of a religious denomination neither you or your family have ever subscribed to, AM I RIGHT?!

Being back home for the holidays is always a little surreal. And by “always” I mean the two years that I’ve done it so basically, drink up from my deep well of experience. It’s strange to feel out of place in a place that was really the only place you knew for your entire life. PLACES. AND FEELINGS. AND FEELINGS ABOUT PLACES. And so on. My hometown feels like someone I used to be really close with but haven’t seen in a while; we pick up where we left off for the most part, but there are more awkward silences than there used to be. There is a gap between us that we both know is only getting bigger so we compensate with empty promises to “totally hang out more often.”

I’ve learned how important it is to stop comparing my own life’s narrative to that of my peers. But it’s not easy. Without exception, every one of my girl friends are now living with a significant other. One of them even reproduced. Like…a tiny human came out of her vagina, you guys. I met it in real life. It squirmed a lot and then it shit itself, but it was really cute. Anyways. The beautiful realization that I’ve come to is that I am not in some state of stunted emotional growth. I am not falling behind in some proverbial rat race. I choose not to chain myself to these expectations or deadlines or throw myself into situations simply because I feel obligated to fulfill these roles that I may not be ready to fill yet. I am the third wheel. I am a wheel of brie for dinner. I am whatever, whenever, with whoever. And that’s okay.

So my Christmas present to you is a challenge. Think about an area of your life where you feel like you’re not living up to other people’s standards or schedule and then UM YEAH, HI – STOP IT.

Also, I got you this picture of Snoop Dogg in a Christmas sweater smoking a blunt:

Happy Festivus,
S.

K’s Top Three: S.’s Drunken Rants – Part 1

29 Nov

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.

Be Mine, Baby Goat

13 Nov

I mentioned this briefly to you in my last post…but I made a terrible mistake, you guys.

I Googled “baby goat.”

My entire day ended. My productivity came to a screeching halt. My eyes watered. My heart burst. And now, what started out as a harmless Internet search has spiraled into a full blown obsession.

I’ll let this multimedia collection speak for itself:

OMG JUST BEING A GOAT

WHAT'S IN THE WATER? OH JUST MY ADORABLE REFLECTION, LOLZ

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then if just the simple sight of these God-sent creatures aren’t enough to make you want to punch your own face… WATCH HOW THEY MOVE:


I don’t even think this one is real. I think it’s a Japanese invention, designed to make you physically sick with cuteness:

 

Reasons why I need a baby goat:

  • It could make me a YouTube sensation
  • I’d take it for walks and get all the babes
  • I would be encouraging inner-city agriculture
  • Cats are so 2009

I understand that baby goats are like any other adorable baby creature (including humans); inevitably it will turn into an adult and get way less cute but equally as needy… but I also Googled “adult pygmy goat” and they’re not too bad. I would just donate it to a petting zoo or give it to a traveling caravan of gypsies. (I’ve also been Googling gypsies a lot lately.)

I promise this is the worst post you will ever read on this blog. It’s only up from here, folks.

S.

I’m the Worst, but These are Cool!

10 Nov

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.

OH HAY EVERYBODY

3 Nov

I KNOW, I TOTALLY MISS YOU TOO AND I’M SORRY

I DON’T HAVE THE TIME TO WRITE YOU A PROPER POST RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I’M TOO BUSY GOOGLING BABY GOATS (I’LL FILL YOU IN LATER) SO FOR NOW… I’M JUST GOING TO LEAVE THIS HERE BECAUSE IT’S REALLY IMPORTANT:

Yashar Ali: A Message to Women From a Man: You Are Not “Crazy”

Love you all…you crazy bitches.

S.

 

A Checklist For Single Ladies

21 Oct

K. was recently celebrating her 2-year anniversary with her boyfriend who she just moved in with, while I spent the evening at home dyeing my hair with some shit I found on sale for $3.99 at the drug store. BIG THINGS POPPIN.

But the fumes it got me thinking and I realized that the only way to tell if you are truly happy being single is if you are truly happy for those who aren’t. That’s when you know you’re in the right place. If you can look at a couple, see their connection and feel their happiness. When you can appreciate the beauty in two people finding each other – even when you’re not one of those people.

But being single can also suck shit. So while those women are off finding strange hairs in the shower, gaining “I got comfortable” weight and arguing about literally fucking nothing – here’s a handy checklist of things only YOU can do, you single little minx. Use this on those cold nights when you crawl into bed with nothing but a block of cheese and your own self-doubt and remember the majestic glory that comes along with being a single woman.

The PGPT Checklist For Single Ladies

  • Watch whatever the fuck you want to watch. WHENEVER.
  • Spend the money you would have spent on a significant others’ birthday present on a present for yourself.
  • Make a bingo card of various types of people you would like to date – jazz musician, doctor, children’s book author, professional bull rider, a pastry chef (highly recommended), poet (not so recommended, but whatever… MAKE YOUR OWN MISTAKES), mediocre blogger (I’m totally free tonight) scientist, former reality TV star, etc – and then go out and find them!
  • Sleep like this:

  • Snore. Don’t give a shit when you wake up looking like a badger.
  • Share your food with…umm…yeah, WITH NO ONE.
  • Reign over the temperature of your place with an iron fist.
  • Play a drinking game by yourself. When a couple is bickering in front of you, take a drink for every time the argument completely strays from what it was originally about. Take two drinks every time you’re happy to not be involved in any way, shape, or form. Order yourself three shots of tequila the moment they awkwardly involve you like total assholes.
  • Stay out on the weekend until 4AM and instead of having to “check-in” with anyone, only check your phone to do one of three things: 1)  Drunk text someone you would like to sleep with. 2) Call a cab. 3) Order pizza.

What have I missed?

S.

There Are Times

28 Sep

There are times when, for a self-proclaimed communicator and lover of the written word, I say literally the worst combination of words that could ever be chosen. Like when someone tells me something – something that is potentially a very big deal – and I feel so many complex emotions at all once it’s like they cancel each other out so I reply with:

Cool stuff, man.

Because that happened. And I can’t take it back. It happened, and it’s out there.

There are times when I am consumed with the universal truth that everyone has nicer clothes than me. Like everyone in the world is just one big, well-thought-out outfit. Is it possible for fabric to laugh at you? Because secretly, during these times, I think it does.

There are times when I am amazed at the quality of human beings around me. Even strangers.

There are times when I wish serious, legitimate, real life, physical harm on people who storm onto an elevator before I’ve gotten off.

There are times when I want to be everybody’s hero. But then I’m all like yo dawg (I call myself “dawg” in my head, see)…chill out. Just because you tend to shove all your feelings deep down into a hidden volcano doesn’t mean you have to carry the burden of other people’s broken emotions on your shoulders. But I do, you guys. That’s how I connect with people I love. I’m like a parasite, except with way less horrific side effects. You know, without the parts that are physically harmful. I won’t make you poop out your life, is what I’m saying. But I will, however, annoyingly worm my way into your heart and intimate personal problems until one of three things happens:

  1. We bond on a deeper level than you or I ever have – or ever will – with another human being (or parasite – the jury is still out).
  2. You walk  run away.
  3. I walk run away. 

Obviously one (or more) of those thing happens far more often than the other. And by “far more often” I mean basically always.

There are times when I feel like I am mediocre at a wide number of activities and silently curse those who are extraordinary at one. Those are the people who define culture, shape history, get all the babes. But there are other times when I feel like maybe this a good thing. Maybe it’s actually the people who are “okay” or “just-above-okay” at a multitude of things that make the world go round. Maybe it’s Jack of All Trades who is truly holding this world together and not Jack of The Best Jenga Player in The World or Jack of The Most Precise Turkey Carving Abilities.  Although I would definitely invite both of those Jacks to a party.

AND….there are times when I write utterly pointless blog posts like this one. But that’s what blogs are for, right? Being devoid of points but hoping that someone out there connects to it and feels a little less….pointless.

Cool stuff, man.

S.

Establishing a New … Routine

25 Sep

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.

Breaking the Barrier

15 Sep

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.

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