Here is where I try some blog necromancy.
It won't be easy-this thing has been out of commission for over a year-but, dammit, I'm gonna try.
So, what could possibly recapture the attention of my once faithful now tragically abandoned readers...
I have no idea.
Yet.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Monday, March 05, 2007
Letters from suburbia.
Greetings from small-town USA.
Well, Canada actually. But "small-town USA" sounds so much better.
I am doing my practicum here in a town of 9, 481 people who vary from quite well-off to stinking rich. I don't think I have ever seen a homeless person here, either. The houses are too expensive. Even for homeless people.
The houses here are ginormous and totally decked out. Especially the ones around the man-made lake. I think those ones go for something in the ball-park of one million dollars. Or more. Depending.
You know a place is rich when it's so small it doesn't classify as a city, yet it has its own golf/country club.
Aside from the houses, it's not a very fancy looking town. Very simple. A rec centre, a subway, a Tim's, a Safeway, a teeny tiny strip mall and a gas station.
The paper I am working for is put together in the basement of the publisher's house. By a staff of four. Possibly more. Though not many.
I think there may be an office upstairs as there is this lady who keeps wandering downstairs to talk to people. She introduced herself to me as someone from the "upstairs office." I suppose that confirms my suspicion about another office. Upstairs.
Apparently they are segragated from us. Why? I don't know. Perhaps the "upstairs office" is riddled with rare disease. Whatever it is I have the sudden urge to wash the hand "upstairs office" lady shook. Just in case.
The publisher has given me his computer and relegated himself to working on the main floor. Where there is heat.
While we all freeze in the dungeon.
However, working at the boss's desk has been...interesting.
On my first day, I noticed something sitting in his mug of pens. Something, I amusedly thought were mini nudie calendars. But no.
I picked them up only to realize they were photo indexes. Printed by London Drugs.
Photo indexes of a very naked woman. Lots of boobie and butt shots. No vag though. Thank god. Although, there could be. I didn't exactly give them a thorough once-over. I have my limits.
Ok. That's a lie.
I just looked at them again. Writing about it made me curious. They are marked "*publisher's name* school." Maybe they are for a project. They are in black and white. Yes. They are for a class. They are not hommade porn. Not at all.
The appearance of random naked pictures reeeally makes me wonder about this fancy web cam by my computer, though.
I also noticed a camera sitting on a tripod aimed out his front window. I would almost assume he was creeping on the next door neighbors, but it's pointed toward the road. It's been sitting there a couple of days now.
I want to ask. But I may regret it.
Plus, on the way downstairs, I noticed an inflatable pig on a shelf. It was a sex pig. Trust me. I checked.
This place is so odd.
Well, Canada actually. But "small-town USA" sounds so much better.
I am doing my practicum here in a town of 9, 481 people who vary from quite well-off to stinking rich. I don't think I have ever seen a homeless person here, either. The houses are too expensive. Even for homeless people.
The houses here are ginormous and totally decked out. Especially the ones around the man-made lake. I think those ones go for something in the ball-park of one million dollars. Or more. Depending.
You know a place is rich when it's so small it doesn't classify as a city, yet it has its own golf/country club.
Aside from the houses, it's not a very fancy looking town. Very simple. A rec centre, a subway, a Tim's, a Safeway, a teeny tiny strip mall and a gas station.
The paper I am working for is put together in the basement of the publisher's house. By a staff of four. Possibly more. Though not many.
I think there may be an office upstairs as there is this lady who keeps wandering downstairs to talk to people. She introduced herself to me as someone from the "upstairs office." I suppose that confirms my suspicion about another office. Upstairs.
Apparently they are segragated from us. Why? I don't know. Perhaps the "upstairs office" is riddled with rare disease. Whatever it is I have the sudden urge to wash the hand "upstairs office" lady shook. Just in case.
The publisher has given me his computer and relegated himself to working on the main floor. Where there is heat.
While we all freeze in the dungeon.
However, working at the boss's desk has been...interesting.
On my first day, I noticed something sitting in his mug of pens. Something, I amusedly thought were mini nudie calendars. But no.
I picked them up only to realize they were photo indexes. Printed by London Drugs.
Photo indexes of a very naked woman. Lots of boobie and butt shots. No vag though. Thank god. Although, there could be. I didn't exactly give them a thorough once-over. I have my limits.
Ok. That's a lie.
I just looked at them again. Writing about it made me curious. They are marked "*publisher's name* school." Maybe they are for a project. They are in black and white. Yes. They are for a class. They are not hommade porn. Not at all.
The appearance of random naked pictures reeeally makes me wonder about this fancy web cam by my computer, though.
I also noticed a camera sitting on a tripod aimed out his front window. I would almost assume he was creeping on the next door neighbors, but it's pointed toward the road. It's been sitting there a couple of days now.
I want to ask. But I may regret it.
Plus, on the way downstairs, I noticed an inflatable pig on a shelf. It was a sex pig. Trust me. I checked.
This place is so odd.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Real life or French farce?
Allo mes bebes,
I have a new story for you all.
It's quite a good example of what a day in the life of me is like. And how I unwittingly bring these zany things upon myself. Perhaps my subconscious does it to keep from getting bored. All I know is I often find myself wondering if I have accidentally stepped into some French farcical, Frasier moment.
Let me explain.
There I was, minding my own business in my own room, when it happened.
It was about 5 p.m. and I was happily going about a round of single slap 'n tickle with my battery operated friend (with my music turned up to a higher volume out of courtesy for those around me, of course) when the phone began to ring.
I was, of course, irritated to say the least. Having to get out of the bed to answer the phone is a bother enough as it is. Nevermind when you are naked all but for a sport's bra while hitting your proverbial stride.
I get out of bed (and it was freezing ass cold as my damn window is open...) and forego reaching for a random pair of pants as it's dark and I only have three rings until my phone goes to voicemail (I would have just ignored it, but it had already "killed my buzz" anyhow). So I grapple with the receiver only to be greeted with the voice of a random woman I'm positive I don't know.
"Hello, may I speak to Jennifer please?"
"Oh...hello. *trying to sound as un-naked as possible* This is Jennifer."
I don't know about you guys, but I am never more aware that I am naked as when I am caught naked on the phone with a stranger. Unless, of course, I am caught naked in view of a stranger. But, that doesn't happen quite as often.
It turned out the mysterious stranger was a woman from the art school on the other side of campus I had tried to get in touch with last week about a story for my class paper. I had already written her off as uninterested. I was wrong. And also naked.
It turned out she would love to be my "liason" with the art school. It also appeared she wanted to chat.
As I sat there, naked and cold, realizing that God really does find ways to punish you for masturbation, it occured to me: I should be writing this shit down.
It also occured to me that my music was still on. In my naked (did I mention I was naked?) haste to get to the phone I had knocked my CD player over which had apparently unpaused the very loud, vibrator-concealing music. So, after a very awkward, "Could you hold on a moment?" moment of me scuffling about in my poor, freezing birthday suit (I had to find a new way to say "naked") I managed to turn off my music and grope half-blindly in the semi-dark (I had some light because my blinds were open. I'm on the tenth floor though, so someone would reeeally have to want a peek for it to be a problem) for a pen and pad.
I perch myself on the edge of my bed having finally managed to collect myself and begin recording the down-lo the Liason woman has for me. At this point there has been so much going at once I am barely aware of my nude state anymore.
Now. Earlier, as I was planning my solo endeavour (yes, I do that. I live with three other people. It is always good to take all things into consideration before beginning...but even then...mistakes can be made.) I elected not to lock the door as my roommates (we'll call them Roommate #1 and Old Roommate for obvious reasons) are not generally intrusive and always knock before entering.
This was. Very. Stupid.
As I am mid-chat with Liason Lady my door begins to open as I realize too late that Roommate # 1 is calling for me.
I am suddenly acutely aware that i am naked. On my bed. On the phone. With a pad and paper.
"Don't come in!" I say quite urgently, thinking this will give her the message that I don't want her to come in.
Unfortunately... no.
The door continues, as if in slow motion, to open.
In a panic, i throw part of a blanket over my nether-regions as I yell, "NO! DON'T come IN!"
Finally, Roommate #1 get's the very subtle hint and quickly snaps the door shut as she squeals with amused laughter.
"Are you naked?!" she asks.
"Is she naked?!!" comes the very amused voice of Old Roommate from the kitchen, followed by the two of them cackling in unison.
"Are you ok??"
Oh shit. Liason Lady.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Yes, yes, I'm fine. Totally fine. *nervous laughter* Roomates. *cough*"
*Maliciously evil laughter and voices continue outside*
Amazingly enough I still managed to set up an interview. Whether or not she thinks I am on drugs or in need of serious mental help remains to be seen.
Oh well. She teaches at an art school. I'm sure she's used to that kind of stuff.
As for the facing of my roommates after that...it was akin to walking into jackal territory holding a raw, bloody carcass.
I am forever an endless source of amusement for those two as it is. And believe me, most of the time, they ain't laughin' with me.
Apparently they had decided between themselves that I was on the phone with Graham which was why I was naked.
I corrected them. But, when I think back on it (all 3 hours ago) "Yes. I was having phone sex with my boyfriend," would have sounded much better than, "I was on the phone with a random, middle aged, female art teacher. But, it's not how it looked. I was just trying to get her to give me an interview."
Ah. C'est la vie.
I have a new story for you all.
It's quite a good example of what a day in the life of me is like. And how I unwittingly bring these zany things upon myself. Perhaps my subconscious does it to keep from getting bored. All I know is I often find myself wondering if I have accidentally stepped into some French farcical, Frasier moment.
Let me explain.
There I was, minding my own business in my own room, when it happened.
It was about 5 p.m. and I was happily going about a round of single slap 'n tickle with my battery operated friend (with my music turned up to a higher volume out of courtesy for those around me, of course) when the phone began to ring.
I was, of course, irritated to say the least. Having to get out of the bed to answer the phone is a bother enough as it is. Nevermind when you are naked all but for a sport's bra while hitting your proverbial stride.
I get out of bed (and it was freezing ass cold as my damn window is open...) and forego reaching for a random pair of pants as it's dark and I only have three rings until my phone goes to voicemail (I would have just ignored it, but it had already "killed my buzz" anyhow). So I grapple with the receiver only to be greeted with the voice of a random woman I'm positive I don't know.
"Hello, may I speak to Jennifer please?"
"Oh...hello. *trying to sound as un-naked as possible* This is Jennifer."
I don't know about you guys, but I am never more aware that I am naked as when I am caught naked on the phone with a stranger. Unless, of course, I am caught naked in view of a stranger. But, that doesn't happen quite as often.
It turned out the mysterious stranger was a woman from the art school on the other side of campus I had tried to get in touch with last week about a story for my class paper. I had already written her off as uninterested. I was wrong. And also naked.
It turned out she would love to be my "liason" with the art school. It also appeared she wanted to chat.
As I sat there, naked and cold, realizing that God really does find ways to punish you for masturbation, it occured to me: I should be writing this shit down.
It also occured to me that my music was still on. In my naked (did I mention I was naked?) haste to get to the phone I had knocked my CD player over which had apparently unpaused the very loud, vibrator-concealing music. So, after a very awkward, "Could you hold on a moment?" moment of me scuffling about in my poor, freezing birthday suit (I had to find a new way to say "naked") I managed to turn off my music and grope half-blindly in the semi-dark (I had some light because my blinds were open. I'm on the tenth floor though, so someone would reeeally have to want a peek for it to be a problem) for a pen and pad.
I perch myself on the edge of my bed having finally managed to collect myself and begin recording the down-lo the Liason woman has for me. At this point there has been so much going at once I am barely aware of my nude state anymore.
Now. Earlier, as I was planning my solo endeavour (yes, I do that. I live with three other people. It is always good to take all things into consideration before beginning...but even then...mistakes can be made.) I elected not to lock the door as my roommates (we'll call them Roommate #1 and Old Roommate for obvious reasons) are not generally intrusive and always knock before entering.
This was. Very. Stupid.
As I am mid-chat with Liason Lady my door begins to open as I realize too late that Roommate # 1 is calling for me.
I am suddenly acutely aware that i am naked. On my bed. On the phone. With a pad and paper.
"Don't come in!" I say quite urgently, thinking this will give her the message that I don't want her to come in.
Unfortunately... no.
The door continues, as if in slow motion, to open.
In a panic, i throw part of a blanket over my nether-regions as I yell, "NO! DON'T come IN!"
Finally, Roommate #1 get's the very subtle hint and quickly snaps the door shut as she squeals with amused laughter.
"Are you naked?!" she asks.
"Is she naked?!!" comes the very amused voice of Old Roommate from the kitchen, followed by the two of them cackling in unison.
"Are you ok??"
Oh shit. Liason Lady.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Yes, yes, I'm fine. Totally fine. *nervous laughter* Roomates. *cough*"
*Maliciously evil laughter and voices continue outside*
Amazingly enough I still managed to set up an interview. Whether or not she thinks I am on drugs or in need of serious mental help remains to be seen.
Oh well. She teaches at an art school. I'm sure she's used to that kind of stuff.
As for the facing of my roommates after that...it was akin to walking into jackal territory holding a raw, bloody carcass.
I am forever an endless source of amusement for those two as it is. And believe me, most of the time, they ain't laughin' with me.
Apparently they had decided between themselves that I was on the phone with Graham which was why I was naked.
I corrected them. But, when I think back on it (all 3 hours ago) "Yes. I was having phone sex with my boyfriend," would have sounded much better than, "I was on the phone with a random, middle aged, female art teacher. But, it's not how it looked. I was just trying to get her to give me an interview."
Ah. C'est la vie.
Friday, January 19, 2007
You are a pirate!
Avast my buccaneer muchachos,
I know I promised some people I would post "soon"...and then didn't. So, to make amends I have a lovely little prezzie for you all.
Ok...I'm a liar. I just think it is awesome and I want everyone else to see it too. But that has to count for something. Right?
Whatever the reason, you all must go here: http://gprime.net/flash.php/youareapirate because, frankly, it rocks my business socks.
However, be warned. You may never get it out of your head. Ever. It is contagiously catchy. Like the ibola virus. Or crabs.
Apparently it's from this kid's show called Lazytown. The full KAREOKE (because who doesn't love kareoke?) version of the song is on youtube and it is fantasmic. Full of pirate puppets, a pink haired girl, much dancing and yar har-ing. If you truly love pirates (or me), you must watch it. Now.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_sLGU1pGAE
Now that I have shared this bit of deep fried gold I can rest easy knowing that I've done my part to make the world a better place.
P.S. I shall post a story soon...ish.
I know I promised some people I would post "soon"...and then didn't. So, to make amends I have a lovely little prezzie for you all.
Ok...I'm a liar. I just think it is awesome and I want everyone else to see it too. But that has to count for something. Right?
Whatever the reason, you all must go here: http://gprime.net/flash.php/youareapirate because, frankly, it rocks my business socks.
However, be warned. You may never get it out of your head. Ever. It is contagiously catchy. Like the ibola virus. Or crabs.
Apparently it's from this kid's show called Lazytown. The full KAREOKE (because who doesn't love kareoke?) version of the song is on youtube and it is fantasmic. Full of pirate puppets, a pink haired girl, much dancing and yar har-ing. If you truly love pirates (or me), you must watch it. Now.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_sLGU1pGAE
Now that I have shared this bit of deep fried gold I can rest easy knowing that I've done my part to make the world a better place.
P.S. I shall post a story soon...ish.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Sextravavganza. (Part II)
Ok. Part two.
It's really completely unrelated to part one aside from the involvement of sex, but it is still tres cool.
I met Sue Johanson.
Sort of.
Technically I bumped into her and said, "Sorry" to which she replied something to the effect of "Oh, that's ok."
But STILL. I met Sue of Talk Sex with Sue!
That woman is my hero.
She was at SAIT giving a talk on sex (natch) and I went (also natch).
It was so friggin' awesome. She is the coolest speaker ever. She was hilarious yet informative. I feel I have been re-educated on the matter.
I wish I'd gotten sex talk like that when I was younger. Only not. Because I think I would have offed myself if any of my teachers had tried to mime a little boy with a boner or if my mom talked about "lunch at the Y" (if you don't know what that is...maybe it's for the best).
It was good times...except for the creepy guy in the first year of my program who came and sat down beside me.
He's like a white(r) Michael Jackson (in fact, that shall be his new name). Girly-man voice and everything. THAT'S how creepy he is.
He kept turning to me and make creepy comments. I kept looking forward to avoid eye contact...there is no way I going to look at or talk to him while someone is talking about vaginas and sex toys.
As far as I'm concerned, this guy has no penis.
In fact, for the greater good of the planet, I hope he doesn't.
I wouln't be so anti-Michael if he wasn't so inappropriately touchy. He works the graveyard shift on weekends in res and is constantly touching residents...and me, until I cold-shouldered him enough that he finally got the message.
But, I digress.
My point is, Sue is awesome. And she talked to me.
My life is now complete.
It's really completely unrelated to part one aside from the involvement of sex, but it is still tres cool.
I met Sue Johanson.
Sort of.
Technically I bumped into her and said, "Sorry" to which she replied something to the effect of "Oh, that's ok."
But STILL. I met Sue of Talk Sex with Sue!
That woman is my hero.
She was at SAIT giving a talk on sex (natch) and I went (also natch).
It was so friggin' awesome. She is the coolest speaker ever. She was hilarious yet informative. I feel I have been re-educated on the matter.
I wish I'd gotten sex talk like that when I was younger. Only not. Because I think I would have offed myself if any of my teachers had tried to mime a little boy with a boner or if my mom talked about "lunch at the Y" (if you don't know what that is...maybe it's for the best).
It was good times...except for the creepy guy in the first year of my program who came and sat down beside me.
He's like a white(r) Michael Jackson (in fact, that shall be his new name). Girly-man voice and everything. THAT'S how creepy he is.
He kept turning to me and make creepy comments. I kept looking forward to avoid eye contact...there is no way I going to look at or talk to him while someone is talking about vaginas and sex toys.
As far as I'm concerned, this guy has no penis.
In fact, for the greater good of the planet, I hope he doesn't.
I wouln't be so anti-Michael if he wasn't so inappropriately touchy. He works the graveyard shift on weekends in res and is constantly touching residents...and me, until I cold-shouldered him enough that he finally got the message.
But, I digress.
My point is, Sue is awesome. And she talked to me.
My life is now complete.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Sextravavganza. (Part I)
So, here's a new post for you.
I have recently attended two very sex-central events. They were both equally disturbing and hilarious.
The first: The Naughty and Nice Sex Show.
Damn, do I ever love this thing. It's basically a sex trade show. Toys, lingerie, different kinks and sexual preferences all with their own booths. There are even workshops taught by porn stars. Believe me. I attended one last year.
I also demoed a sex swing. That ruled. And I have the pictures to prove it.
However, this year was even better.
This year, my friend's husband got me into bed. A bondage bed.
As we're all walking through the show, the ever-loving husband turns to his wife and says, "I want to see Jen on that," and gestures toward a very...interesting looking bed.
Black, fleecy sheets with what appear to be velcro restraints for both hands and legs attached.
The wife...emphatically agreed. And offered to take pictures.
I, of course, happily agreed to do it.
So, they flag down the woman running the booth. She straps me in. Suddenly a cowd gathers.
Lovely. I wish I hadn't worn the jeans with the gaping holes in the thighs.
It wouldn't have mattered so much, but I had my legs spread.
You know, so the booth lady could mount me.
I was then moved into several different positions in order to demonstrate the many different ways you could 'take' your partner while they are bound in the bitch position.
I gotta say. I didn't mind being the bitch. *cough* Anyhoo.
The velcro restraints were suprisingly strong. And, apparently the big selling point: they don't chafe. Which was true. I was chafe-free by the end. Although, it's not like booth-lady really put me through the paces.
All in all, it was awesome. I would so do it again. And, if I had the cash, I would totally buy those sheets.
However, you're gonna have to take my word for it. The pictures didn't turn out.
I have recently attended two very sex-central events. They were both equally disturbing and hilarious.
The first: The Naughty and Nice Sex Show.
Damn, do I ever love this thing. It's basically a sex trade show. Toys, lingerie, different kinks and sexual preferences all with their own booths. There are even workshops taught by porn stars. Believe me. I attended one last year.
I also demoed a sex swing. That ruled. And I have the pictures to prove it.
However, this year was even better.
This year, my friend's husband got me into bed. A bondage bed.
As we're all walking through the show, the ever-loving husband turns to his wife and says, "I want to see Jen on that," and gestures toward a very...interesting looking bed.
Black, fleecy sheets with what appear to be velcro restraints for both hands and legs attached.
The wife...emphatically agreed. And offered to take pictures.
I, of course, happily agreed to do it.
So, they flag down the woman running the booth. She straps me in. Suddenly a cowd gathers.
Lovely. I wish I hadn't worn the jeans with the gaping holes in the thighs.
It wouldn't have mattered so much, but I had my legs spread.
You know, so the booth lady could mount me.
I was then moved into several different positions in order to demonstrate the many different ways you could 'take' your partner while they are bound in the bitch position.
I gotta say. I didn't mind being the bitch. *cough* Anyhoo.
The velcro restraints were suprisingly strong. And, apparently the big selling point: they don't chafe. Which was true. I was chafe-free by the end. Although, it's not like booth-lady really put me through the paces.
All in all, it was awesome. I would so do it again. And, if I had the cash, I would totally buy those sheets.
However, you're gonna have to take my word for it. The pictures didn't turn out.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Triumphant return?
Guess what, all.
I am coming home for Christmas!
So, mark the 20th of December on your calendar as the happiest day of your year as that is the day of my glorious (albeit temperary) return.
I'll be leaving on the 5th of January, so be prepared to put on brave faces to hide your dismay that day.
I am tres excited to be coming home. Yay.
See you then!
Love moi :)
I am coming home for Christmas!
So, mark the 20th of December on your calendar as the happiest day of your year as that is the day of my glorious (albeit temperary) return.
I'll be leaving on the 5th of January, so be prepared to put on brave faces to hide your dismay that day.
I am tres excited to be coming home. Yay.
See you then!
Love moi :)
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Journey to the heart of the jungle (Part II): You asked for it. Here it is.
Ok, you piranhas, here it is.
I hope it lives up to all this massive hype. Don't blame me if it doesn't. You rushed my creative process :P
Anyhoo. Let's begin the tale, shall we?
************************************
So, there I lie in all of my half-naked, four-shaped glory. Feeling a slight breeze on my...you know.
She went for the pot of hot wax and spreaded 'er around with her wax-stick tongue depressor thingy.
It was a little hot. But not so bad. Almost relaxing.
But not for long.
*rrrrip*
Oh my. Such a disturbing sound. It's almost worse than how it feels. Almost.
To be honest, the pain wasn't so horrible. It was fleeting. Though I won't deny feeling a little raw after...
After a few turns at mercilessly tearing out my comfortably rooted hairs she began the 'obligatory chat.'
You all know what I'm talking about. The 'how ya doin,' 'where ya from,' that everyone in the service industry worth their tip starts up if they know they'll have to spend more than two minutes of their time dealing with you.
Not that it's a bad thing. But, for most people, there is a time and a place.
Fortunately, I am not one of them.
*rrrrip*
Her: So, you go to school at SAIT?"
Me: Uh huh. I live in res.
*rip*
Her: Oh, cool.
Me:*flinch* Yeah. It's alright.
After that, some random chat about the suckiness/non-suckiness of res ensued. It was awkward and bumpy at first...no. Not that. The chat.
Well. That too.
Now, to be honest, the idea of chatting with the skinny girl who's body hair is probably only visible under a magnifying glass didn't really jive with me, but I started to get into it. Talking is my thing after all.
Plus, it was better than silently listening to my yeti heritage be torn from my body. Not to mention the post-rip sting. It was a good distraction from that too.
Me: Sooo, um, where'd you go to school?
*rrrriiiiip*
Her: Prince George.
Me: *blidsided by pain and extreme coincidence* Really? Me too! Weird.
Her: Cool. I went to DP Todd. Where'd you go?
Me: DP Todd too, actually...
*rip*
Her: Wow. I wonder if you know anyone I know.
Me: Maybe.
She proceeded to list off a few people I'd never heard of, or perhaps just didn't care enough to rememeber, as a vague idea of who she might be began to creep into the back of my mind, unnoticed for the moment.
Until...
Her: Do you know (a guy we will call Huge Crush from grade 9. For obvious reasons.)
Me: *has a VERY good idea of what's coming* Yeah. I gradded with him.
Her: Really? He's my little brother!
*rrrrip*
Me: Seriously?!! I was like in love with him in grade 9!
(No, I have no idea why I said that either.)
Her: Wow, what an interesting way to meet.
*rip*
Me: Yeah, "Here's my crotch. Nice to meet ya!" (Yup. What comes outta my mouth boggles my mind too.)
Her: I'll just tell him we met while I was waxing your eyebrows.
Funny lady.
Her: Oh. Would you like the back done?
Me: Uh, sure...(the back?)
Her: Ok. Flip over.
I'll leave the rest to your imaginations.
So, that was my brazilian experience. In all, very funny and not as bad as it's made out to be.
The after effects are nice too...although, I won't deny feeling a bit like a 12 year-old girl.
In conclusion, anyone who finds upkeep of their underpant area a hassle, I would definitely reccamend the full monty (aka Brazilian wax. It was rather liberating. And heck, I made a new friend!)...unless you don't like pain. Then I would suggest growing out your leg hair, changing your name to Rainbow-Dawn and developing a liking for granola, because au naturel is the only truly painless alternative.
But, that's just my opinion.
I hope it lives up to all this massive hype. Don't blame me if it doesn't. You rushed my creative process :P
Anyhoo. Let's begin the tale, shall we?
************************************
So, there I lie in all of my half-naked, four-shaped glory. Feeling a slight breeze on my...you know.
She went for the pot of hot wax and spreaded 'er around with her wax-stick tongue depressor thingy.
It was a little hot. But not so bad. Almost relaxing.
But not for long.
*rrrrip*
Oh my. Such a disturbing sound. It's almost worse than how it feels. Almost.
To be honest, the pain wasn't so horrible. It was fleeting. Though I won't deny feeling a little raw after...
After a few turns at mercilessly tearing out my comfortably rooted hairs she began the 'obligatory chat.'
You all know what I'm talking about. The 'how ya doin,' 'where ya from,' that everyone in the service industry worth their tip starts up if they know they'll have to spend more than two minutes of their time dealing with you.
Not that it's a bad thing. But, for most people, there is a time and a place.
Fortunately, I am not one of them.
*rrrrip*
Her: So, you go to school at SAIT?"
Me: Uh huh. I live in res.
*rip*
Her: Oh, cool.
Me:*flinch* Yeah. It's alright.
After that, some random chat about the suckiness/non-suckiness of res ensued. It was awkward and bumpy at first...no. Not that. The chat.
Well. That too.
Now, to be honest, the idea of chatting with the skinny girl who's body hair is probably only visible under a magnifying glass didn't really jive with me, but I started to get into it. Talking is my thing after all.
Plus, it was better than silently listening to my yeti heritage be torn from my body. Not to mention the post-rip sting. It was a good distraction from that too.
Me: Sooo, um, where'd you go to school?
*rrrriiiiip*
Her: Prince George.
Me: *blidsided by pain and extreme coincidence* Really? Me too! Weird.
Her: Cool. I went to DP Todd. Where'd you go?
Me: DP Todd too, actually...
*rip*
Her: Wow. I wonder if you know anyone I know.
Me: Maybe.
She proceeded to list off a few people I'd never heard of, or perhaps just didn't care enough to rememeber, as a vague idea of who she might be began to creep into the back of my mind, unnoticed for the moment.
Until...
Her: Do you know (a guy we will call Huge Crush from grade 9. For obvious reasons.)
Me: *has a VERY good idea of what's coming* Yeah. I gradded with him.
Her: Really? He's my little brother!
*rrrrip*
Me: Seriously?!! I was like in love with him in grade 9!
(No, I have no idea why I said that either.)
Her: Wow, what an interesting way to meet.
*rip*
Me: Yeah, "Here's my crotch. Nice to meet ya!" (Yup. What comes outta my mouth boggles my mind too.)
Her: I'll just tell him we met while I was waxing your eyebrows.
Funny lady.
Her: Oh. Would you like the back done?
Me: Uh, sure...(the back?)
Her: Ok. Flip over.
I'll leave the rest to your imaginations.
So, that was my brazilian experience. In all, very funny and not as bad as it's made out to be.
The after effects are nice too...although, I won't deny feeling a bit like a 12 year-old girl.
In conclusion, anyone who finds upkeep of their underpant area a hassle, I would definitely reccamend the full monty (aka Brazilian wax. It was rather liberating. And heck, I made a new friend!)...unless you don't like pain. Then I would suggest growing out your leg hair, changing your name to Rainbow-Dawn and developing a liking for granola, because au naturel is the only truly painless alternative.
But, that's just my opinion.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Journey to the heart of the jungle. (Part I)
Ladies and germy things,
C'est moi. Making a rare appearance to bring you funny stories and news-type stuff.
In me-news, I shall be departing to St. Louis on October 25 for a journalism conference. I am quite excited; it should be awesome.
Let me rephrase that: It damn well better be awesome for the near $650 I had to spend on airfare.
That doesn't even include hotel and food. Eep.
As if purchasing expensive plane tickets doesn't put enough of a dent in my bank account, I now have a tendency to shop when I am stressed (which is a lot). I am also being aided and abetted in this habit by my shiny new credit card with a $1000 limit...I have developed a taste for expensive things too. This isn't good.
I usually buy at least one item of clothing or expensive beauty product per weekend. That doesn't even include my coffee habit.
Some examples of my new expensive taste: Starbucks nearly every day, the many items of new clothing I have purchased (new blazer, $40; 2 new scarves $5 (such a good deal!); cute new hat, $20; stripey long-sleeved shirt, $22; kitchy earrings, $6...that's just what I rememberfrom the past two weeks. There is more. Much more.), an eyebrow wax from my favourite salon (yes, I have a favourite salon), $40 face cream set (it did do wonders for my skin though!), $30 cream to keep my brazilian wax looking pretty...oh yes, the $60 brazilian wax, did I not mention that? Funny story...
A little whil ago I was having "one of those days" so, at the suggestion of a friend, I scheduled myself a brazilian wax.
Now, many wouldn't think a single girl with slim to nil prospects would need a wax of this magnitude. But, as I have mentioned before to some people, I am convinced that someone in my ancestral gene-pool fucked a yeti, leaving me with some undesirable hair issues. Therefore, a brazilian wax was a very welcome prospect.
Needless to say, I was a little nervous and not looking forward to bearing it all to a complete stranger under non-alcohol induced circumstances, but it really wasn't so bad.
As a matter of fact, it ended up being the funniest thing that ever happened to me.
The girl doing the wax was very nice, and led me to a little room with relaxation music...and one of those lie-down tables you see in the doctor's office. Odd. At least there were no stirrups.
Then she tells me to take off my pants and underthings and gives me a towel-sarong thing which I had initially thought was to help maintain my dignity. I looked in the mirror. Nope. Definitely had nothing to do with dignity.
Then I was forced to walk in my towel-sarong from one room to an identical room across the way for some unknown reason. I think she was just bored and needed a laugh. Some lady getting a pedicure saw me. Whatever. I bet her feet are nasty.
So, I get into the new/exactly-the-same room and am told to lie down and remove the pointless towel-sarong (Seriously. I don't see why I couldn'y have just kept my pants on for the jaunt across the hall then just dropped trow when we got into the new room. But noooo.).
So, I get on the table and realize the room really is like a doctor's office. Little counter with a sink. Jars of stuff used to torture people. Little tray table of instruments by your little lie down bed. Only instead of a scapula or a tongue depressor, it was a jar of hot wax...and tongue depressors for applying the wax. Ok. They aren't tongue depressors, but they look like them. The girls know what I'm talking about.
(I think doctor's should really take note. The relaxation music was quite nice.)
Once on the table, I'm told to keep one leg straight and one leg bent, like my legs are making a number four (Keep in mind, I have nothing on below my waist at this point.). I'll give you a moment to picture this...and laugh your ass off, or be extremely uncomfortable. Up to you.
Then, it began.
On that note, I have to be off.
To be continued...
C'est moi. Making a rare appearance to bring you funny stories and news-type stuff.
In me-news, I shall be departing to St. Louis on October 25 for a journalism conference. I am quite excited; it should be awesome.
Let me rephrase that: It damn well better be awesome for the near $650 I had to spend on airfare.
That doesn't even include hotel and food. Eep.
As if purchasing expensive plane tickets doesn't put enough of a dent in my bank account, I now have a tendency to shop when I am stressed (which is a lot). I am also being aided and abetted in this habit by my shiny new credit card with a $1000 limit...I have developed a taste for expensive things too. This isn't good.
I usually buy at least one item of clothing or expensive beauty product per weekend. That doesn't even include my coffee habit.
Some examples of my new expensive taste: Starbucks nearly every day, the many items of new clothing I have purchased (new blazer, $40; 2 new scarves $5 (such a good deal!); cute new hat, $20; stripey long-sleeved shirt, $22; kitchy earrings, $6...that's just what I rememberfrom the past two weeks. There is more. Much more.), an eyebrow wax from my favourite salon (yes, I have a favourite salon), $40 face cream set (it did do wonders for my skin though!), $30 cream to keep my brazilian wax looking pretty...oh yes, the $60 brazilian wax, did I not mention that? Funny story...
A little whil ago I was having "one of those days" so, at the suggestion of a friend, I scheduled myself a brazilian wax.
Now, many wouldn't think a single girl with slim to nil prospects would need a wax of this magnitude. But, as I have mentioned before to some people, I am convinced that someone in my ancestral gene-pool fucked a yeti, leaving me with some undesirable hair issues. Therefore, a brazilian wax was a very welcome prospect.
Needless to say, I was a little nervous and not looking forward to bearing it all to a complete stranger under non-alcohol induced circumstances, but it really wasn't so bad.
As a matter of fact, it ended up being the funniest thing that ever happened to me.
The girl doing the wax was very nice, and led me to a little room with relaxation music...and one of those lie-down tables you see in the doctor's office. Odd. At least there were no stirrups.
Then she tells me to take off my pants and underthings and gives me a towel-sarong thing which I had initially thought was to help maintain my dignity. I looked in the mirror. Nope. Definitely had nothing to do with dignity.
Then I was forced to walk in my towel-sarong from one room to an identical room across the way for some unknown reason. I think she was just bored and needed a laugh. Some lady getting a pedicure saw me. Whatever. I bet her feet are nasty.
So, I get into the new/exactly-the-same room and am told to lie down and remove the pointless towel-sarong (Seriously. I don't see why I couldn'y have just kept my pants on for the jaunt across the hall then just dropped trow when we got into the new room. But noooo.).
So, I get on the table and realize the room really is like a doctor's office. Little counter with a sink. Jars of stuff used to torture people. Little tray table of instruments by your little lie down bed. Only instead of a scapula or a tongue depressor, it was a jar of hot wax...and tongue depressors for applying the wax. Ok. They aren't tongue depressors, but they look like them. The girls know what I'm talking about.
(I think doctor's should really take note. The relaxation music was quite nice.)
Once on the table, I'm told to keep one leg straight and one leg bent, like my legs are making a number four (Keep in mind, I have nothing on below my waist at this point.). I'll give you a moment to picture this...and laugh your ass off, or be extremely uncomfortable. Up to you.
Then, it began.
On that note, I have to be off.
To be continued...
Friday, August 18, 2006
The verdict is in.
I'm staying.
I got a loan from the bank. So, essentially, I have signed my soul away for one more year of school.
Better make this one count.
I got a loan from the bank. So, essentially, I have signed my soul away for one more year of school.
Better make this one count.
Monday, August 14, 2006
I'm back. And stranger than ever.
I know I've been AWOL with the posting lately, but I haven't had a lot to say. Especially after the trip back home. About 95 per cent of the people who read this were there, so they know all about what happened (like the piercing and what not). For the most part... *shifty eyes*
My muse of writing inspiration was also recntly beaten and strangled to death by the demon of unavoidable stress and worry (Hence the lack of posting.). Usually I keep the little bastard caged, but he escaped into my bedroom...and is probably still there, which, as you all probably guessed, is why he hasn't been found and re-caged. Perhaps cleaning my room is the answer to all of my problems. Doesn't matter. I'll never know. -_-
The poor little muse was found clutching a scrap of paper with a very amusing dirty joke on it. It was her last ditch attempt at trying to get through to me... *sigh* She was so sweet.
Right now I have a rental until a suitable new muse of writing inspiration can be found. It's just not the same though. The rental is a middle-aged, obese man in a toga. He smells like mothballs and farts. I'm blogging more out of fear that he'll talk to me than anything else.
He invades myspace bubble and his breath could peel paint. I hope they send the replacement soon. And I hope he or she will wear something under their toga...*shudder* So much hair...
Meanwhile, I'm half hoping the demon running wild in my landfill of a bedroom will just happen to take Smelly McHairy-Balls out as well. I won't count on it though. With the muse murder on top of that whole recent terrorist, plane incident, security is being beefed up EVERYWHERE.
School is starting soon though, which is exciting but it's also the reason for the escape of the dastardly stress demon.
I became distracted when I found that I may not have the funds to continue on with my second year...and he made a break for it. Now I'm kinda flipping over having to make some irritatingly difficult decisions. I have a hard enough time deciding which toothpaste to buy (Whitening or cavity fighting? Enamel protection or breath freshener? Why so many choices?! Just WHO can decide???), so this is just ridiculous. Plus, have you SEEN my room? Who can think in a mess like that?
So, to sum up, I may be seeing a lot of you guys a fair bit sooner than Christmas. I don't know for sure yet. I'll probably know after today. I'll keep y'all posted though.
Speaking of posting, I told Nic I would post a story of his on here because it amused me so greatly. He made it up to keep me from extreme boredom while I worked my exceedingly unexciting graveyard shift. And it did. So, here it is:
Once upon a time there was a little mouse named Blinky.
Blinky lived in a little hole in the middle of the field.
One day, while Blinky was out foraging for food, a bird came to him.
The bird said, "Blinky, why do you dig in the dirt like that? Don't you know that clean, fresh food grows on bushes and in trees?"
Blinky realized the error of his ways, and set out travelling to find these bushes and trees. It did not take him long, although he had never left his field before.
At once, he set out to climb the tree to see what food might be found at the top.
At the top of the tree, he found...
The bird!
And it said, "SillyBlinky, I am an eagle."
Then the bird ate Blinky.
The moral of the story is: People have comfort zones for a reason, and it's not always a good idea to leave them.
Pretty darn good for a story made up off the top of his head.
I think Nic should forget all that computer crap. His true calling is writing children's stories. Nothing like a shocking death to make the kids sit up and listen.
As a matter of fact, I think we've all learned a valuable lesson here today.
That lesson is: Nic likes to kill mice. Stay away from him, or you could be next.
My muse of writing inspiration was also recntly beaten and strangled to death by the demon of unavoidable stress and worry (Hence the lack of posting.). Usually I keep the little bastard caged, but he escaped into my bedroom...and is probably still there, which, as you all probably guessed, is why he hasn't been found and re-caged. Perhaps cleaning my room is the answer to all of my problems. Doesn't matter. I'll never know. -_-
The poor little muse was found clutching a scrap of paper with a very amusing dirty joke on it. It was her last ditch attempt at trying to get through to me... *sigh* She was so sweet.
Right now I have a rental until a suitable new muse of writing inspiration can be found. It's just not the same though. The rental is a middle-aged, obese man in a toga. He smells like mothballs and farts. I'm blogging more out of fear that he'll talk to me than anything else.
He invades myspace bubble and his breath could peel paint. I hope they send the replacement soon. And I hope he or she will wear something under their toga...*shudder* So much hair...
Meanwhile, I'm half hoping the demon running wild in my landfill of a bedroom will just happen to take Smelly McHairy-Balls out as well. I won't count on it though. With the muse murder on top of that whole recent terrorist, plane incident, security is being beefed up EVERYWHERE.
School is starting soon though, which is exciting but it's also the reason for the escape of the dastardly stress demon.
I became distracted when I found that I may not have the funds to continue on with my second year...and he made a break for it. Now I'm kinda flipping over having to make some irritatingly difficult decisions. I have a hard enough time deciding which toothpaste to buy (Whitening or cavity fighting? Enamel protection or breath freshener? Why so many choices?! Just WHO can decide???), so this is just ridiculous. Plus, have you SEEN my room? Who can think in a mess like that?
So, to sum up, I may be seeing a lot of you guys a fair bit sooner than Christmas. I don't know for sure yet. I'll probably know after today. I'll keep y'all posted though.
Speaking of posting, I told Nic I would post a story of his on here because it amused me so greatly. He made it up to keep me from extreme boredom while I worked my exceedingly unexciting graveyard shift. And it did. So, here it is:
Once upon a time there was a little mouse named Blinky.
Blinky lived in a little hole in the middle of the field.
One day, while Blinky was out foraging for food, a bird came to him.
The bird said, "Blinky, why do you dig in the dirt like that? Don't you know that clean, fresh food grows on bushes and in trees?"
Blinky realized the error of his ways, and set out travelling to find these bushes and trees. It did not take him long, although he had never left his field before.
At once, he set out to climb the tree to see what food might be found at the top.
At the top of the tree, he found...
The bird!
And it said, "SillyBlinky, I am an eagle."
Then the bird ate Blinky.
The moral of the story is: People have comfort zones for a reason, and it's not always a good idea to leave them.
Pretty darn good for a story made up off the top of his head.
I think Nic should forget all that computer crap. His true calling is writing children's stories. Nothing like a shocking death to make the kids sit up and listen.
As a matter of fact, I think we've all learned a valuable lesson here today.
That lesson is: Nic likes to kill mice. Stay away from him, or you could be next.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Something to tickle your funny bone.
Ok, this is just a joke that was sent to me and I found it amusing (and so true.), so I thought I would post it for you fine folks.
Enjoy.
One morning a husband returns after several hours of fishing and decides to take a nap. Although not familiar with the lake, the wife decides to take the boat out.
She motors out a short distance, anchors, and reads her book.
Along comes a Game Warden in his boat. He pulls up alongside the woman and says,
"Good morning, Ma'am. What are you doing?"
"Reading a book," she replies, (thinking, "Isn't that obvious?")
"You're in a Restricted Fishing Area," he informs her.
"I'm sorry, officer, but I'm not fishing. I'm reading.
""Yes, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment. I'll have to take you in and write you up."
""If you do that, I'll have to charge you with sexual assault," says the woman.
"But I haven't even touched you," says the game warden.
"That's true, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment."
"Have a nice day ma'am," and he left.
MORAL: Never argue with a woman who reads. It's likely she can also think.
Hee hee.
Enjoy.
One morning a husband returns after several hours of fishing and decides to take a nap. Although not familiar with the lake, the wife decides to take the boat out.
She motors out a short distance, anchors, and reads her book.
Along comes a Game Warden in his boat. He pulls up alongside the woman and says,
"Good morning, Ma'am. What are you doing?"
"Reading a book," she replies, (thinking, "Isn't that obvious?")
"You're in a Restricted Fishing Area," he informs her.
"I'm sorry, officer, but I'm not fishing. I'm reading.
""Yes, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment. I'll have to take you in and write you up."
""If you do that, I'll have to charge you with sexual assault," says the woman.
"But I haven't even touched you," says the game warden.
"That's true, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment."
"Have a nice day ma'am," and he left.
MORAL: Never argue with a woman who reads. It's likely she can also think.
Hee hee.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Houston...we have a mouse.
Good morning all.
It is 4:00 a.m. and I am occupying my time at work by chasing a mouse around the lobby.
I'm not really sure how he got in here...ok, the main doors were left wide open for a few hours, so I have some idea.
Still, I was quite surprised when I looked under the desk earlier and saw the bag in the garbage can was suspiciously moving around.
Garbage bags aren't supposed to do that...Suddenly the little sqeaker popped up, shimmied his way around the rim, behind the can and disappeared as quickly as he showed up.
I called out, "Mouse? Mouse! Where did you go, little mousey? Come out. You are so cute. Yes you are. Mouuuuse..."
Oddly enough, this did not entice him back into the open. Nor did it do anything to make me look non-insane to my co-worker(Who happens to have quite the thing for me, I might add. This situation makes for some awkwardness when attractive males come by the desk...), whom we shall call Speed Racer. He's in a wheelchair. Shut up. It makes sense (and yes I know I'm going to hell.).
Speed wasn't as impressed by the appearance of a rogue rodant as I was. His exact words were:
"They carry disease you know."
My counter: "But he's so cute!"
Yup. That's why I never lasted long in debate.
When the mouse didn't reappear I concluded that he (let's call him Julio) was not so much a rodant as a spirit. A ghost-mouse, if you will.
It made perfect sense to me. Julio had appeared and disappeared without a trace. It was almost eerie. There are very few beings who can appear and disappear so quickly and stealthily.
He was either a ghost or with the CIA. And last I heard the CIA closed down their special mouse ops unit due to stray cats eating several of their undercover agents. So, ghost it was.
An hour went by without sign of Julio. Then another. I had soon pushed my little ghost-mouse to the back of my mind in favour of work-like things (Ok, MSN. Happy?).
I was all by my lonesome when suddenly...I wasn't anymore. I looked up just in time to see Julio shoot across the other side of the lobby.
I leapt from my wheelie chair and bounded over to the couch that he had scurried behind, cooing and calling all the while.
"Moouuuse! There you are! Come ooout cutie. Come on....mouse? Come seee me."
Seeing as how I was alone, I continued in this fashion as I got on my hands and knees to move the couch around.
I don't really know what I hoped to accomplish by doing that. The damn thing was lightining fast plus I really didn't want him to bite me so I wouldn't have touched him.
I guess I was just bored and the mouse amused me. I'm sure I amused the guards monitering the security camera too.
Julio was always one step ahead of me though. Every time I managed to move one section of the couch he was gone to the next. It was slow going as I was afraid I would move the couch and hear a squishy little squeak of mouse death.
When I finally moved the last possible section of couch Julio made a break for the hallway and completely disappeared. Again.
Now I am completely convinced he is a ghost-rodant. I saw where he went with my own eyes but the second I blinked...poof! Mouse-o gone-o. Very weird.
He's like a little mouse magician.
In fact, I am changing his name.
Julio shall henceforth be known as Houdini.
Fitting, no?
It is 4:00 a.m. and I am occupying my time at work by chasing a mouse around the lobby.
I'm not really sure how he got in here...ok, the main doors were left wide open for a few hours, so I have some idea.
Still, I was quite surprised when I looked under the desk earlier and saw the bag in the garbage can was suspiciously moving around.
Garbage bags aren't supposed to do that...Suddenly the little sqeaker popped up, shimmied his way around the rim, behind the can and disappeared as quickly as he showed up.
I called out, "Mouse? Mouse! Where did you go, little mousey? Come out. You are so cute. Yes you are. Mouuuuse..."
Oddly enough, this did not entice him back into the open. Nor did it do anything to make me look non-insane to my co-worker(Who happens to have quite the thing for me, I might add. This situation makes for some awkwardness when attractive males come by the desk...), whom we shall call Speed Racer. He's in a wheelchair. Shut up. It makes sense (and yes I know I'm going to hell.).
Speed wasn't as impressed by the appearance of a rogue rodant as I was. His exact words were:
"They carry disease you know."
My counter: "But he's so cute!"
Yup. That's why I never lasted long in debate.
When the mouse didn't reappear I concluded that he (let's call him Julio) was not so much a rodant as a spirit. A ghost-mouse, if you will.
It made perfect sense to me. Julio had appeared and disappeared without a trace. It was almost eerie. There are very few beings who can appear and disappear so quickly and stealthily.
He was either a ghost or with the CIA. And last I heard the CIA closed down their special mouse ops unit due to stray cats eating several of their undercover agents. So, ghost it was.
An hour went by without sign of Julio. Then another. I had soon pushed my little ghost-mouse to the back of my mind in favour of work-like things (Ok, MSN. Happy?).
I was all by my lonesome when suddenly...I wasn't anymore. I looked up just in time to see Julio shoot across the other side of the lobby.
I leapt from my wheelie chair and bounded over to the couch that he had scurried behind, cooing and calling all the while.
"Moouuuse! There you are! Come ooout cutie. Come on....mouse? Come seee me."
Seeing as how I was alone, I continued in this fashion as I got on my hands and knees to move the couch around.
I don't really know what I hoped to accomplish by doing that. The damn thing was lightining fast plus I really didn't want him to bite me so I wouldn't have touched him.
I guess I was just bored and the mouse amused me. I'm sure I amused the guards monitering the security camera too.
Julio was always one step ahead of me though. Every time I managed to move one section of the couch he was gone to the next. It was slow going as I was afraid I would move the couch and hear a squishy little squeak of mouse death.
When I finally moved the last possible section of couch Julio made a break for the hallway and completely disappeared. Again.
Now I am completely convinced he is a ghost-rodant. I saw where he went with my own eyes but the second I blinked...poof! Mouse-o gone-o. Very weird.
He's like a little mouse magician.
In fact, I am changing his name.
Julio shall henceforth be known as Houdini.
Fitting, no?
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Easy to please.
Coolness!
I have now talked to two of the Phantom of the Opera cast members. Very briefly, but there was conversation none the less.
I filled out a work order for one and gave the other the key to his room.
This job rules.
It doesn't take much, does it?
I have now talked to two of the Phantom of the Opera cast members. Very briefly, but there was conversation none the less.
I filled out a work order for one and gave the other the key to his room.
This job rules.
It doesn't take much, does it?
Friday, June 30, 2006
Shafted. And not in the good way.
Let me elaborate on that last post.
I have just been given the shaft by the guy I was talking about in an earlier post and I am, of course, not happy.
He has decided he has too much going on in his life to get involved with someone but wants to be friends and who knows what will happen down the road...yaddah blah...yaddah blah.
Right.
And I am really an Irish Setter in a wig.
He has spent nearly a month making and breaking plans with me and when we finally manage to keep a date he suddenly realizes he can't handle getting involved with anyone right now. Fantastic. Had his realization come a little earlier, there was a very cute (although inebriated) young man who I would have been a lot more responsive to when he asked if he could blow on my neck (See? My job can be interesting.).
No. I would not have let him do that...I won't lie, I thought about it briefly, but no. However, I would have been more apt to arrange a sober meeting.
But no. I was all hung up on Mr. Indecisive. And now the cute neck blower is gone. Never to return. Dammit.
Isn't that just how it goes?
Like I said. Monkeys. It would be a lot simpler.
I have just been given the shaft by the guy I was talking about in an earlier post and I am, of course, not happy.
He has decided he has too much going on in his life to get involved with someone but wants to be friends and who knows what will happen down the road...yaddah blah...yaddah blah.
Right.
And I am really an Irish Setter in a wig.
He has spent nearly a month making and breaking plans with me and when we finally manage to keep a date he suddenly realizes he can't handle getting involved with anyone right now. Fantastic. Had his realization come a little earlier, there was a very cute (although inebriated) young man who I would have been a lot more responsive to when he asked if he could blow on my neck (See? My job can be interesting.).
No. I would not have let him do that...I won't lie, I thought about it briefly, but no. However, I would have been more apt to arrange a sober meeting.
But no. I was all hung up on Mr. Indecisive. And now the cute neck blower is gone. Never to return. Dammit.
Isn't that just how it goes?
Like I said. Monkeys. It would be a lot simpler.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
This will be brief.
If guys are the ones with the balls, then why don't they use them?
That's all I want to know.
That's all I want to know.
Yet another update. I can't seem to stop.
Hey y'all,
It's odd how I had blogging impotence for so long but then after one random quickie I'm ready and rearin' to go more often than ever. Must have been something I ate...or had prescribed to me.
The little blue pill of posting genius. A modern medical marvel (Man, I love alliteration-can you tell?)
Anyhow, I have news! Guess who is going to see Phantom of the Opera live next month.
I'll give you a hint: It's not your friendly neightborhood Spiderman. Well, I suppose it could be. I mean, he does have that secret identity after all. Crafty bastard. He could be any one of the many audience members. But no--IT'S ME! I am going.
I'll take a moment now to let you all go green with jealousy.......4...3...2...1.
Ok. Now for the even cooler part.
That's right. I said even cooler.
I know what you're thinking. You are thinking, "You are a crazy, insane fool. It can't get any cooler."
Oh-but it can-and it does.
Are you ready for this?
The cast of the show will be staying in the building that I work and live in.
A real. Live. Broadway. Cast. Here. In my building. How cool is that?
I'll probably get to meet them and everything. This job rules. I will never complain about doing graveyard shift again (Ok, that's a lie. I totally will.).
*insert clever segue here*
So, I crossed yet another thing off my "Things to do before I die" list last night, and this one was way cooler than peeing in a park.
I rode a motorcycle.
It was extremely cool-terrifying when I realized just how close you are to being flung to your doom onto the solid, unforgiving pavement and having your skin grated like cheese by ragged gravel at any moment--but extremely cool none the less. It was such an awesome rush. I'd love to do it again.
You think I'm kidding. But no. The common sense part of my brain is not registering at all on this one.
I guess as long as I am having fun, the possiblity of death, dismemberment or severe maiming isn't really a factor in my decision. You really don't have to get up all that early in the morning to pull one over on my survival instinct.
It seems I am easily tricked into fatal situations. Just convince me that it'll be fun and I'm there.
I'd make a terrible superhero.
Go figure.
It's odd how I had blogging impotence for so long but then after one random quickie I'm ready and rearin' to go more often than ever. Must have been something I ate...or had prescribed to me.
The little blue pill of posting genius. A modern medical marvel (Man, I love alliteration-can you tell?)
Anyhow, I have news! Guess who is going to see Phantom of the Opera live next month.
I'll give you a hint: It's not your friendly neightborhood Spiderman. Well, I suppose it could be. I mean, he does have that secret identity after all. Crafty bastard. He could be any one of the many audience members. But no--IT'S ME! I am going.
I'll take a moment now to let you all go green with jealousy.......4...3...2...1.
Ok. Now for the even cooler part.
That's right. I said even cooler.
I know what you're thinking. You are thinking, "You are a crazy, insane fool. It can't get any cooler."
Oh-but it can-and it does.
Are you ready for this?
The cast of the show will be staying in the building that I work and live in.
A real. Live. Broadway. Cast. Here. In my building. How cool is that?
I'll probably get to meet them and everything. This job rules. I will never complain about doing graveyard shift again (Ok, that's a lie. I totally will.).
*insert clever segue here*
So, I crossed yet another thing off my "Things to do before I die" list last night, and this one was way cooler than peeing in a park.
I rode a motorcycle.
It was extremely cool-terrifying when I realized just how close you are to being flung to your doom onto the solid, unforgiving pavement and having your skin grated like cheese by ragged gravel at any moment--but extremely cool none the less. It was such an awesome rush. I'd love to do it again.
You think I'm kidding. But no. The common sense part of my brain is not registering at all on this one.
I guess as long as I am having fun, the possiblity of death, dismemberment or severe maiming isn't really a factor in my decision. You really don't have to get up all that early in the morning to pull one over on my survival instinct.
It seems I am easily tricked into fatal situations. Just convince me that it'll be fun and I'm there.
I'd make a terrible superhero.
Go figure.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
"Forbidden" or just fucked up?
Hola amigas and amigos,
Breaking news: The Princess bought TP. I repeat. The Princess bought TP.
I am overjoyed. Paper towel is just too scratchy.
On top of this, she has begun to talk to me more lately. I still don't see us staying up nights to giggle about boys while braiding each others's hair (and that is only partly because I am crap at braiding hair.) but it is something.
Speaking of boys (Shut up. A bad segue is still a segue.), there is one somewhat present in my lil' ol' life right now. Sort of. It's hard to explain...but I shall try, seeing as how I did bring it up.
(He is quite cute, has tattoos, a goatee and plays guitar. Num.)
It is a complicated matter that I promised I wouldn't talk about...so, all I will say is that I met him on the job and it is technically against the rules for us to date. More for him than me I think. He could be fired, but I don't think I could. I don't really know.
Now, the whole "forbidden" thing sounds exciting, but I have found it's really not. Especially when both your schedules seem to work out to never having the same time free.
"Forbidden" is not sexy. "Forbidden" is the ultimate cock block.
I would rather be getting some while publicly cheered on by 100 overly enthusiastic cheerleaders with his boss and co-workers at the top of the cheering pyramid , than mysteriously lying low and not getting any. At all.
I suppose this whole thing could be more fun if he felt like sneaking around at the risk of getting caught. But he cares about his job. Go figure. :P
At this rate, the name of my blog will never change...
Ok, I joke. I mean, yeah, I'd love to get some-who wouldn't? But I do genuinely like the guy from what I've gotten to know of him. It is seriously frustrating that I hardly even get to talk to him on the phone.
It's my own damn fault though. I went after him when I knew the rules.
But, in my own defense ...I didn't actually think he'd like me back! That almost never happens.
Nothing is ever simple is it?
If it were, we would all still be monkeys and my biggest problem would be getting at the fleas in my hard to reach places.
You're scratching your head now, but the profoundity of this statement will hit you later today.
Mark my words.
Breaking news: The Princess bought TP. I repeat. The Princess bought TP.
I am overjoyed. Paper towel is just too scratchy.
On top of this, she has begun to talk to me more lately. I still don't see us staying up nights to giggle about boys while braiding each others's hair (and that is only partly because I am crap at braiding hair.) but it is something.
Speaking of boys (Shut up. A bad segue is still a segue.), there is one somewhat present in my lil' ol' life right now. Sort of. It's hard to explain...but I shall try, seeing as how I did bring it up.
(He is quite cute, has tattoos, a goatee and plays guitar. Num.)
It is a complicated matter that I promised I wouldn't talk about...so, all I will say is that I met him on the job and it is technically against the rules for us to date. More for him than me I think. He could be fired, but I don't think I could. I don't really know.
Now, the whole "forbidden" thing sounds exciting, but I have found it's really not. Especially when both your schedules seem to work out to never having the same time free.
"Forbidden" is not sexy. "Forbidden" is the ultimate cock block.
I would rather be getting some while publicly cheered on by 100 overly enthusiastic cheerleaders with his boss and co-workers at the top of the cheering pyramid , than mysteriously lying low and not getting any. At all.
I suppose this whole thing could be more fun if he felt like sneaking around at the risk of getting caught. But he cares about his job. Go figure. :P
At this rate, the name of my blog will never change...
Ok, I joke. I mean, yeah, I'd love to get some-who wouldn't? But I do genuinely like the guy from what I've gotten to know of him. It is seriously frustrating that I hardly even get to talk to him on the phone.
It's my own damn fault though. I went after him when I knew the rules.
But, in my own defense ...I didn't actually think he'd like me back! That almost never happens.
Nothing is ever simple is it?
If it were, we would all still be monkeys and my biggest problem would be getting at the fleas in my hard to reach places.
You're scratching your head now, but the profoundity of this statement will hit you later today.
Mark my words.
The great TP fiasco.
Bonjourno ma bellisima audience,
It has been brought to my attention that I have a job where I sit at a computer all night long, and, therefore, have no excuse not to update.Since I can't readily think of any excuses, I'll concede that point.
Here is your update, you heckler.
I have now moved into my summer room on the tenth floor. Good view and good roommates (these things are not necessarily related).
The girl I live beside is kind of high maitenance and hardly talks to me or the other girls. And she never replaces the toilet paper. Ever. Why? No clue. I assume she uses it from time to time. At least, I really hope so. Although, lately I have noticed the roll has looked suspiciously untouched from the last time I have used it. Odd. I suppose it's even odder that I noticed that.
Perhaps she uses a different method of excretion. One that doesn't require toilet paper. That might explain why she doesn't feel obligated to replace the sad, empty cardboard roll. Or maybe she sneaks her own in everytime she uses the bathroom. That would be weird. But I suppose that fact that I am fixating on this is a little weird too.
She even brought her own furniture, including a big vanity with a mirror and her own bed (not that I can blame her for that one. Residence beds are iffy at the best of times. Why else would they be made of vinyl plastic?). Her res one now sits in the living room blocking my access to the internet plug in.
Still. She is better than Slutty McBurps-Too-Much.
I shall dub her, The Princess.
There is your update. Not too exciting was it? You get what you ask for.
Ciao.
It has been brought to my attention that I have a job where I sit at a computer all night long, and, therefore, have no excuse not to update.Since I can't readily think of any excuses, I'll concede that point.
Here is your update, you heckler.
I have now moved into my summer room on the tenth floor. Good view and good roommates (these things are not necessarily related).
The girl I live beside is kind of high maitenance and hardly talks to me or the other girls. And she never replaces the toilet paper. Ever. Why? No clue. I assume she uses it from time to time. At least, I really hope so. Although, lately I have noticed the roll has looked suspiciously untouched from the last time I have used it. Odd. I suppose it's even odder that I noticed that.
Perhaps she uses a different method of excretion. One that doesn't require toilet paper. That might explain why she doesn't feel obligated to replace the sad, empty cardboard roll. Or maybe she sneaks her own in everytime she uses the bathroom. That would be weird. But I suppose that fact that I am fixating on this is a little weird too.
She even brought her own furniture, including a big vanity with a mirror and her own bed (not that I can blame her for that one. Residence beds are iffy at the best of times. Why else would they be made of vinyl plastic?). Her res one now sits in the living room blocking my access to the internet plug in.
Still. She is better than Slutty McBurps-Too-Much.
I shall dub her, The Princess.
There is your update. Not too exciting was it? You get what you ask for.
Ciao.
Friday, April 07, 2006
The Piddling Paradigm.
Something I can cross off my "Things to do before I die" list:
Urinating "farm-girl" style, in a park. Without pants.
I think I did it wrong. Apparently the true farm-girl style involves having your pants still on. But it is a step in the right direction. Baby steps you might say. Which are all I could take with my pants around my ankles anyway.
I'm told the correct way is to balance while keeping your legs forward and leaning the rest of you back. I, however, have troubles with balance on my most sober of days--this definitely wasn't one of those.
I never would have done it had I not had to pee after a large quantity of alcohol and then wandered off to a park far, far away from any toilet I had access to. There was no other choice because when I gots to go I gots to go. The pros of the public piddling far outweiged the cons.
It's a good thing no one else (that I was aware of) was in the park aside from my friend (who we'll call Ani-Pheobes because she reminds me of a combination of Pheobe from Friends and an anime charcter) or I might actually be somewhat embarassed. (Scratch that. No, I wouldn't.)
Pheobes had to tinkle too so we both took opposite sides of a large pine tree to commence our respective business.
Conversation went something like this (keep in mind, we were quite tanked):
*sounds of tinkling on some very unfortunate grass*
Me: Ha ha! I can heeear you!
Pheobes: Noooo!
Me: Ahaahhahahhaa!
*more tinkling sounds*
Pheobes: HA HA! Now I can hear you!
Me: Ahhh! Stop listening!
Me: *sounds of furious wrestling with pants*
Me: Hey...can you help me tie my shoes?
Pheobes: What?! Why?
Me: Because I took them off.
Pheobes: ...Why?
Me: Well, how else was I supposed to take my pants off?!
Pheobes: Why did you take your pants off?!
Me: So I could take off my underwear.
Pheobes: ...
Pheobes: *insane laughter* You're supposed to keep everything on when you do it!
Me: Shut up. I would have peed on myself.
Pheobes: You're supposed to lean back THEN pee.
Me: I would have fallen!
Pheobes: *more laughter*
Really, there should be a diagram of how to do this "the proper way." It seems impossible to me.
Oh well. I'm just thankful that I was still "with it" enough to realize that my pants needed to come off beforehand. That's all I'm sayin'.
Urinating "farm-girl" style, in a park. Without pants.
I think I did it wrong. Apparently the true farm-girl style involves having your pants still on. But it is a step in the right direction. Baby steps you might say. Which are all I could take with my pants around my ankles anyway.
I'm told the correct way is to balance while keeping your legs forward and leaning the rest of you back. I, however, have troubles with balance on my most sober of days--this definitely wasn't one of those.
I never would have done it had I not had to pee after a large quantity of alcohol and then wandered off to a park far, far away from any toilet I had access to. There was no other choice because when I gots to go I gots to go. The pros of the public piddling far outweiged the cons.
It's a good thing no one else (that I was aware of) was in the park aside from my friend (who we'll call Ani-Pheobes because she reminds me of a combination of Pheobe from Friends and an anime charcter) or I might actually be somewhat embarassed. (Scratch that. No, I wouldn't.)
Pheobes had to tinkle too so we both took opposite sides of a large pine tree to commence our respective business.
Conversation went something like this (keep in mind, we were quite tanked):
*sounds of tinkling on some very unfortunate grass*
Me: Ha ha! I can heeear you!
Pheobes: Noooo!
Me: Ahaahhahahhaa!
*more tinkling sounds*
Pheobes: HA HA! Now I can hear you!
Me: Ahhh! Stop listening!
Me: *sounds of furious wrestling with pants*
Me: Hey...can you help me tie my shoes?
Pheobes: What?! Why?
Me: Because I took them off.
Pheobes: ...Why?
Me: Well, how else was I supposed to take my pants off?!
Pheobes: Why did you take your pants off?!
Me: So I could take off my underwear.
Pheobes: ...
Pheobes: *insane laughter* You're supposed to keep everything on when you do it!
Me: Shut up. I would have peed on myself.
Pheobes: You're supposed to lean back THEN pee.
Me: I would have fallen!
Pheobes: *more laughter*
Really, there should be a diagram of how to do this "the proper way." It seems impossible to me.
Oh well. I'm just thankful that I was still "with it" enough to realize that my pants needed to come off beforehand. That's all I'm sayin'.
Monday, April 03, 2006
My post not so premier.
Bonjourno,
The school year is almost over and I am so glad.
Not just because I will be done the never ending parade of assignments; it will also be time for new roommates. Hallelujah.
Seriously, the situation is driving me insane. Compared to this, living with my family has its merits (don't quote me on that). At least when me and my parents annoy each other we say something about it. It may not be in the most polite, loving way...loud bouts of yelling and screaming may, and usually do, ensue but at least we get it out there.
It's very different here. No one says anything about what's bothering them. Ever. At least, not to anyone's face.
It is a passive agressive mine field around here, and tension hangs like an icky veil of...ickiness.
If someone has a problem they talk about it with...anyone but the person they have a problem with.
I am not claiming innocece here. I do it too. We are just so far gone in this habit that it's pretty much too late to stop.
Well, Hermit-pants isn't bad for that really. At least, not that I've heard. Because she doesn't talk.
And the girl who lives on the same side of the dorm as HP(Hermit-pants), is actually cool. She's an arty, sceney, punk rock type with a dash of nerd in her. Which is probably why we get along (She loves Harry Potter, how could I not like her?). I like her and we are actual friends.
And though she is definitely not short on opinions, she hates confrontation so that would explain why she doesn't speak up. Which is sort of my reason too, but not.
She comes from a traditional Asian family and is very tidy, so I think my sometimes slobbery bugs her, but she doesn't really say it. It's amusing to hear her talk around that when she is ranting about what a slob our other roommate is.
Now, this girl, the so far unmentioned roommate, lives beside me on my side of the dorm. I've gotta say, the people in charge of finding compatible roommates must have been high. We just don't work together. We are very different. But not in the opposites attract kind of way. If you get my meaning. Which I'm sure you do.
I am against ranty blogs so instead of ranting I shall be as positive as possible.
Like, I loved the times she brought random guys home and had sex with them in the room next to mine. Thin walls are great. (That's ok though. I have a loud vibrator. We're even.)
And I adore the way she reminds me of how I have left my straightner or the stove on in that charming tone that suggests my stupidity is going to set fire to all of residence.
Or that quirky habit she has of not bothering to rinse her dishes before leaving them in the sink to rot for weeks (no joke) and then complains because "this place fuckin' stinks."
I also can't get enough of how judgemental she is about the people I hang out with when I have never said anything about the obnoxious douchebags who have made frequent appearances at our place.
I have to stop here or I may just burst and spew joy everywhere.
The school year is almost over and I am so glad.
Not just because I will be done the never ending parade of assignments; it will also be time for new roommates. Hallelujah.
Seriously, the situation is driving me insane. Compared to this, living with my family has its merits (don't quote me on that). At least when me and my parents annoy each other we say something about it. It may not be in the most polite, loving way...loud bouts of yelling and screaming may, and usually do, ensue but at least we get it out there.
It's very different here. No one says anything about what's bothering them. Ever. At least, not to anyone's face.
It is a passive agressive mine field around here, and tension hangs like an icky veil of...ickiness.
If someone has a problem they talk about it with...anyone but the person they have a problem with.
I am not claiming innocece here. I do it too. We are just so far gone in this habit that it's pretty much too late to stop.
Well, Hermit-pants isn't bad for that really. At least, not that I've heard. Because she doesn't talk.
And the girl who lives on the same side of the dorm as HP(Hermit-pants), is actually cool. She's an arty, sceney, punk rock type with a dash of nerd in her. Which is probably why we get along (She loves Harry Potter, how could I not like her?). I like her and we are actual friends.
And though she is definitely not short on opinions, she hates confrontation so that would explain why she doesn't speak up. Which is sort of my reason too, but not.
She comes from a traditional Asian family and is very tidy, so I think my sometimes slobbery bugs her, but she doesn't really say it. It's amusing to hear her talk around that when she is ranting about what a slob our other roommate is.
Now, this girl, the so far unmentioned roommate, lives beside me on my side of the dorm. I've gotta say, the people in charge of finding compatible roommates must have been high. We just don't work together. We are very different. But not in the opposites attract kind of way. If you get my meaning. Which I'm sure you do.
I am against ranty blogs so instead of ranting I shall be as positive as possible.
Like, I loved the times she brought random guys home and had sex with them in the room next to mine. Thin walls are great. (That's ok though. I have a loud vibrator. We're even.)
And I adore the way she reminds me of how I have left my straightner or the stove on in that charming tone that suggests my stupidity is going to set fire to all of residence.
Or that quirky habit she has of not bothering to rinse her dishes before leaving them in the sink to rot for weeks (no joke) and then complains because "this place fuckin' stinks."
I also can't get enough of how judgemental she is about the people I hang out with when I have never said anything about the obnoxious douchebags who have made frequent appearances at our place.
I have to stop here or I may just burst and spew joy everywhere.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Ma poste de premier
Hello, my obviously bored chums.
This is an attempt at a telling of the "behind the scenes" of my oh-so-riveting life away at college.
Here I shall give the down and dirty details of life with my class and roommates that I can't divulge on my MSN space because some of the people I talk about may read it...
Not that I talk behind people's backs...but venting is very theraputic, friends.
Where to start?
I have three roommates. Though I usually tell people I have two.
The reason is, the third roommate...is a hermit. Really. She is terminally shy. And Christian. And foreign. She just moved here from Asia a couple of years ago.
She always seems so nervous and tense. Perhaps she is hiding something sinister. Like drugs. Or dead bodies. I shall dub her, Shifty McHermit-pants.
Shifty spends nearly all her time in her room. She doesn't even have a TV, so I don't know how she does it. She must have something very entertaining in there (I've only ever caught a slight glance of the room once...and it was dark. Suspicious.). However, she does come out from time to time to cook, though, if we come home home while she is in the process, she usually speed cooks and just takes her food to eat in her room. Odd.
She hardly talks to the rest of us. It makes things very awkward. We all used to try and have conversations with her in the beginning, but they all just kind of died in the air and left me wondering how it was possible to murder a conversation so brutally before even saying 10 words.
A conversation with her usually went like this:
Me: Hi *Shifty!
Her: *tentatively* Hi
Me: So, how's your day going?
Her: Good. *looks around for escape*
Me: Sooo, classes going well?
Her: *nods*
Me: That's good...
Her: Mmm...
Me: Sooo yeah.
Her: Ok. *Walks away*
Conversation over.
That is how you know a conversation with her is done. She stares blankly and says, "Ok." Then just walks away...
It's a little insulting actually. Which is why I gave up on her.
Now if I actually SEE her during the day, I usually just say, "Hi," to which she responds with a "Hello," at which point we go back to pretending the other one doesn't exist. Like I said-awkward.
However, she is nothing compared to the host of zany characters that continue to appear in the production that I call, "Ma vie de crazie." So stay tuned for updates, mes amis, and prepare to laugh, cry, gasp and be utterly disturbed.
Later Dayzzz
This is an attempt at a telling of the "behind the scenes" of my oh-so-riveting life away at college.
Here I shall give the down and dirty details of life with my class and roommates that I can't divulge on my MSN space because some of the people I talk about may read it...
Not that I talk behind people's backs...but venting is very theraputic, friends.
Where to start?
I have three roommates. Though I usually tell people I have two.
The reason is, the third roommate...is a hermit. Really. She is terminally shy. And Christian. And foreign. She just moved here from Asia a couple of years ago.
She always seems so nervous and tense. Perhaps she is hiding something sinister. Like drugs. Or dead bodies. I shall dub her, Shifty McHermit-pants.
Shifty spends nearly all her time in her room. She doesn't even have a TV, so I don't know how she does it. She must have something very entertaining in there (I've only ever caught a slight glance of the room once...and it was dark. Suspicious.). However, she does come out from time to time to cook, though, if we come home home while she is in the process, she usually speed cooks and just takes her food to eat in her room. Odd.
She hardly talks to the rest of us. It makes things very awkward. We all used to try and have conversations with her in the beginning, but they all just kind of died in the air and left me wondering how it was possible to murder a conversation so brutally before even saying 10 words.
A conversation with her usually went like this:
Me: Hi *Shifty!
Her: *tentatively* Hi
Me: So, how's your day going?
Her: Good. *looks around for escape*
Me: Sooo, classes going well?
Her: *nods*
Me: That's good...
Her: Mmm...
Me: Sooo yeah.
Her: Ok. *Walks away*
Conversation over.
That is how you know a conversation with her is done. She stares blankly and says, "Ok." Then just walks away...
It's a little insulting actually. Which is why I gave up on her.
Now if I actually SEE her during the day, I usually just say, "Hi," to which she responds with a "Hello," at which point we go back to pretending the other one doesn't exist. Like I said-awkward.
However, she is nothing compared to the host of zany characters that continue to appear in the production that I call, "Ma vie de crazie." So stay tuned for updates, mes amis, and prepare to laugh, cry, gasp and be utterly disturbed.
Later Dayzzz
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