I think if you listen to these songs you will truly understand what is going on in my mind at any given time on any given day. Ignore the lyrics, I think they are probably all about sex. Sexy, tongue-in-cheek and likes to sing about lobsters. Yep, that's me.
Yoav - Club Thing
Mark Ronson feat. Amy Winehouse - Valerie
B-52's - Rock Lobster
Incidentally, apparently a "rock lobster" is actually a crayfish, which is not actually a lobster. But I just really like the word lobster.
[p.s. After typing this last post, I decided to check out Youtube to see if they had any clips of the song "Club Thing". Except I accidentally typed "Club lobster". There were no results.]
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Still truckin'
So after that last post I lay in bed for about three hours.
Around 2am, my roommate stumbled in drunk with a couple of friends, clearly unaware that I was in the apartment.
I hear him announce, like he is giving a speech, "okay guys, here's the deal - I only have one pillow, and one blanket, so you each get one."
They banter loudly for several minutes.
Finally, I stumble out of my room, one of my many pillows in hand.
"Boys, if you be quiet, I'll give you an extra pillow."
"Who is THAT?" The other two were quite shocked to find out a girl was in the apartment that they did not know of.
"Oh, that's just my roommate. Lisa, this is Derek. He will be asleep on our couch in the morning. Kris is also here."
He decides to pass on my pillow, pointing out that they may get sick during the night, and they promise to be quiet.
This morning I woke up to coffee in bed. Sometimes it's not so bad living here.
Around 2am, my roommate stumbled in drunk with a couple of friends, clearly unaware that I was in the apartment.
I hear him announce, like he is giving a speech, "okay guys, here's the deal - I only have one pillow, and one blanket, so you each get one."
They banter loudly for several minutes.
Finally, I stumble out of my room, one of my many pillows in hand.
"Boys, if you be quiet, I'll give you an extra pillow."
"Who is THAT?" The other two were quite shocked to find out a girl was in the apartment that they did not know of.
"Oh, that's just my roommate. Lisa, this is Derek. He will be asleep on our couch in the morning. Kris is also here."
He decides to pass on my pillow, pointing out that they may get sick during the night, and they promise to be quiet.
This morning I woke up to coffee in bed. Sometimes it's not so bad living here.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Need sleep
I woke up this morning to a car alarm going off. Immediately followed by someone honking their horn. It is now 11:30. The same horn has honked three times. In a "I am parked out front and can't be bothered to come in and ring the buzzer so I will just lay on the horn" kinda way. If this person honks one more time, so help me I will march down there and kick the shit out of their car. What part of "there are several hundred people living around this parking lot" do people not understand??
Timeless advice
- Singing makes for excellent stress-relief. So does dancing. Especially with children.
- Baby powder is a reasonable solution for basically anything. Oily hair but no time to shower? Put baby powder on it. Shoes smell like feet? Baby powder. Feet smell like feet? Baby powder. Unsuccessful attempt at home waxing that resulted in a large amount of wax stuck to your leg? Baby powder. Oh, and it's good for babies, too, so I hear.
- Speaking of random useless factoids, spraying hair spray onto ink stains before washing them usually removes them.
- You can do what you want, or you can do what other people want, but either way you are going to please the same amount of people.
- Integrity is irreplaceable. Make sure you have it, and that you surround yourself by other people that have it.
- A boyfriend can never replace all your friends.
- Give to charity, whether it be time, clothing, money, or otherwise. It will benefit you more than you'd think.
- Same goes for random acts of kindness. I guarantee if you replace every time you honked angrily at an unruly driver with a good deed for someone who deserved it, your level of happiness would increase tenfold.
- Everyone is just trying to succeed at the life they are living. Don't blame them for it.
- On average, my level of satisfaction with the decisions (both major and minor) that I have made quickly has been about the same if not better than the decisions I spent copious amounts of time deliberating on. Don't piddle away your time overthinking things, just do what feels right.
- If someone doesn't bring out the best in you, they aren't right for you. You don't deserve to be changed.
- Be carefree for as long as you can manage it.
- Nothing beats hysterical laughter at something that really isn't funny at all.
Girl power
Back in the day, I was slightly anti-women.
Seems silly now, but my experiences with women, for the most part, were moderately negative. Not so much with relatives or anything, but the girls at school. It seemed to me they were all quite nasty, talking behind each other's backs and playing cruel games for popularity - I never wanted to confide in them because everyone I know would know by the end of the day.
Then I met boys. Boys, it seemed, were my saving grace. They cared. They listened. They appreciated having a women's perspective on everything. I could trust them with my secrets, and I loved it.
In little time at all, I had eliminated the bulk of my female friends. I had a few, sure, but they were more activity friends and less close friends. This lasted for most of high school and the bulk of my university career. It was easy in high school; none of the guys had the guts to ask me out anyway. In university I had a male best friend which, in retrospect, scared most of the guys away.
Eventually I realized that male best friend was a bad idea. Soon after, I realized that, at this point in our lives, guys aren't looking for a female friend. They are looking for a girlfriend. Or nothing at all. But it's all or nothing. Consequently, when that friendship ended, so did a lot of my other close friendships, as I started finding I was rejecting far more guys than I ever had before, and that I had very few friends that actually wanted to be my friend.
One day, I decided, I had made a mistake. I missed girls. I wanted to do girly things. I wanted to dress up for no good reason. I wanted to watch Disney movies and bake and talk about how ridiculous it was that no guy could just like me platonically. I wanted to talk someone's ear off without thinking they were only talking to me in hopes that I would sleep with them. And, I cultivated new friends. Now my friends are 90% girls, and I would not give them up for the world. And I know they will always be there for me when the chips are down. Sure, I still don't like cattiness or gossip - and I can't stand it when I overhear a group of girls going, "Oh my GOD, have you SEEN Katie Holmes' new hair cut? It is SO CUTE!" but I remember that I have much better friends now, and they make me laugh, at ridiculousness. They embody the true meaning of being a woman.
P.S. I just want to say, it was very difficult to go this long without making a joke. So, I will finish off by sharing my all-time favourite compliment, which I was reminded of earlier today. It was directed towards a fairly strict riding instructor, who typically wore her hair in a ponytail but one day wore it down. One of her clients walked up to her and said, completely sincerely, "Wow, you look much less harsh than usual today!"
When I stopped laughing I spent the rest of the day telling people things like, "hey, you look much less fat than usual today!"
Sometimes a compliment isn't always a compliment.
Seems silly now, but my experiences with women, for the most part, were moderately negative. Not so much with relatives or anything, but the girls at school. It seemed to me they were all quite nasty, talking behind each other's backs and playing cruel games for popularity - I never wanted to confide in them because everyone I know would know by the end of the day.
Then I met boys. Boys, it seemed, were my saving grace. They cared. They listened. They appreciated having a women's perspective on everything. I could trust them with my secrets, and I loved it.
In little time at all, I had eliminated the bulk of my female friends. I had a few, sure, but they were more activity friends and less close friends. This lasted for most of high school and the bulk of my university career. It was easy in high school; none of the guys had the guts to ask me out anyway. In university I had a male best friend which, in retrospect, scared most of the guys away.
Eventually I realized that male best friend was a bad idea. Soon after, I realized that, at this point in our lives, guys aren't looking for a female friend. They are looking for a girlfriend. Or nothing at all. But it's all or nothing. Consequently, when that friendship ended, so did a lot of my other close friendships, as I started finding I was rejecting far more guys than I ever had before, and that I had very few friends that actually wanted to be my friend.
One day, I decided, I had made a mistake. I missed girls. I wanted to do girly things. I wanted to dress up for no good reason. I wanted to watch Disney movies and bake and talk about how ridiculous it was that no guy could just like me platonically. I wanted to talk someone's ear off without thinking they were only talking to me in hopes that I would sleep with them. And, I cultivated new friends. Now my friends are 90% girls, and I would not give them up for the world. And I know they will always be there for me when the chips are down. Sure, I still don't like cattiness or gossip - and I can't stand it when I overhear a group of girls going, "Oh my GOD, have you SEEN Katie Holmes' new hair cut? It is SO CUTE!" but I remember that I have much better friends now, and they make me laugh, at ridiculousness. They embody the true meaning of being a woman.
P.S. I just want to say, it was very difficult to go this long without making a joke. So, I will finish off by sharing my all-time favourite compliment, which I was reminded of earlier today. It was directed towards a fairly strict riding instructor, who typically wore her hair in a ponytail but one day wore it down. One of her clients walked up to her and said, completely sincerely, "Wow, you look much less harsh than usual today!"
When I stopped laughing I spent the rest of the day telling people things like, "hey, you look much less fat than usual today!"
Sometimes a compliment isn't always a compliment.
I'm lost without Lost!
You know, I'm not really one for tv. In fact, I don't actually even own a tv. We had one piece of crap for like 4 months, then it got demoted to a table, and now we just hook up my lcd monitor to the dvd player or our laptops if we ever want to watch movies - but it's not hooked up to even the free channels, something people find shocking but I've never really considered doing it. Anything I actually watched would just be time filled, there is nothing I particularly want to watch.
Time's are a-changing, though, it seems. I've gotten hopelessly addicted to Lost. I'm not one of those people who are big on whatever happens to be popular, either. In fact, up until now, the only show I really really liked to watch was Weeds, which hasn't been on for quite awhile. I'm also a fan of Flight of the Conchords, but I've only ever watched it on DVD. But Lost, is a whole other story. It's practically an addiction. I need to see it as soon as it's on. I go watch it at other people's houses every single week.
It all started on Christmas Day. I went to my father's house, as we always do around noon on Christmas day. One of the first things he said (I'm hoping it was after, "Merry Christmas!" but I can't totally remember), was, you need to see this show. I've never, ever been told by my father to actually watch tv, so I figured, this was going to be big. We proceeded to spend the entire day watching the first season of Lost. In fact, I spent the better part of my Christmas holidays watching it. I got so obsessed, I had to cut myself off - I was having nightmares and had no free time. So, I did what a true gen-Yer would do, and read the summaries of every episode for the entire second and third season, watched the finale for the third season, and then just started on the fourth season. I estimate I saved myself about 34 hours of my time.
Now, here I am, seriously needing a fix, and it turns out they aren't broadcasting another episode until April 24. APRIL 24! I could hardly wait until last Thursday. And then NOTHING? I should cut myself off until 2009 and then just watch it all at freaking once, because I don't know how much longer I can carry on like this. And if they don't answer all my questions by the end, I will be SERIOUSLY bitter, because I hate when they leave it to the audience's imagination. In my opinion, any piece of art that does that just shouldn't waste my time, because I've got more than enough imagination for the both of us, and if I'm going to imagine the ending, I might as well imagine the whole thing. It would probably be better that way anyway. Except for Lost. It would be really nice if they did this one for me. Really nice.
Time's are a-changing, though, it seems. I've gotten hopelessly addicted to Lost. I'm not one of those people who are big on whatever happens to be popular, either. In fact, up until now, the only show I really really liked to watch was Weeds, which hasn't been on for quite awhile. I'm also a fan of Flight of the Conchords, but I've only ever watched it on DVD. But Lost, is a whole other story. It's practically an addiction. I need to see it as soon as it's on. I go watch it at other people's houses every single week.
It all started on Christmas Day. I went to my father's house, as we always do around noon on Christmas day. One of the first things he said (I'm hoping it was after, "Merry Christmas!" but I can't totally remember), was, you need to see this show. I've never, ever been told by my father to actually watch tv, so I figured, this was going to be big. We proceeded to spend the entire day watching the first season of Lost. In fact, I spent the better part of my Christmas holidays watching it. I got so obsessed, I had to cut myself off - I was having nightmares and had no free time. So, I did what a true gen-Yer would do, and read the summaries of every episode for the entire second and third season, watched the finale for the third season, and then just started on the fourth season. I estimate I saved myself about 34 hours of my time.
Now, here I am, seriously needing a fix, and it turns out they aren't broadcasting another episode until April 24. APRIL 24! I could hardly wait until last Thursday. And then NOTHING? I should cut myself off until 2009 and then just watch it all at freaking once, because I don't know how much longer I can carry on like this. And if they don't answer all my questions by the end, I will be SERIOUSLY bitter, because I hate when they leave it to the audience's imagination. In my opinion, any piece of art that does that just shouldn't waste my time, because I've got more than enough imagination for the both of us, and if I'm going to imagine the ending, I might as well imagine the whole thing. It would probably be better that way anyway. Except for Lost. It would be really nice if they did this one for me. Really nice.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Lisa wants her truck back
Normally I pride myself on being an easy-going, agreeable, patient and tolerant girl but right now, at this very moment, I am just about at the end of my frustration rope (commence venting now).
I have been lending my roommate my SUV intermittently to do deliveries for his work - he owns a very small sedan so it allows him to pick up some extra work to pay off his debt without actually shelling out for a larger vehicle, and I don't really mind because driving his car from time to time saves me a little bit on gas and also gives me a chance to drive standard, something that isn't worth going out and buying another car for, but I do enjoy from time to time.
HOWEVER, and this is a big however, after the first day or two he asked if he could clean out my car. Now, you probably don't know me, but if you did, you would know that my car is home to basically 80% of my possessions. You could find basically anything in my car. I keep everything in it. Everything. Plus a lot of useless stuff. So when he asked, knowing he is putting equipment and such in the car, I agreed, figuring it would give him a bit more space. I told him to throw all the junk in boxes and don't throw out any receipts, and that was that. I figured he would clear out the back seat and trunk so that he had space.
I was a bit incorrect in my calculation. Or more, he was a bit more overzealous in this activity than I expected. When he said, "clean out," he meant everything. EVERYTHING. My garage door opener is no longer on the sun shield. All objects of sentimental value are gone, banished to this box. My steering wheel cover, which I didn't particularly like but was a gift from my brother? Gone. And I won't be able to get it back on without help. My fish sticker that my friend's niece gave him and we decided to mount on the overhead light button? Gone. I had the number for a towing company that helped me out once, and a valentine from a friend on my garage door clip, and who knows where those things are.
There is not a fucking thing of mine left in my truck, let alone the insurance papers in the glove compartment. You know, I like my truck clean just like the next person, but he took EVERY OUNCE of sentimentality out of the car for me. It won't feel the same putting it back. I'm going to have to reorganize everything. IS NOTHING SACRED? Does no one have any respect for sentimentality anymore? Is everyone so convinced that cleanliness is important that they don't even stop for a second, and think, maybe this person had these things this way for a reason? A pile of receipts, shoes, clothing, tools, and crap in the trunk, I get moving. I just never bothered to take it out. But my fish sticker? Not cool. Not cool at all. I'm going to be humming on this one for awhile. And I have no defense, because, well, he asked me (venting complete).
I have been lending my roommate my SUV intermittently to do deliveries for his work - he owns a very small sedan so it allows him to pick up some extra work to pay off his debt without actually shelling out for a larger vehicle, and I don't really mind because driving his car from time to time saves me a little bit on gas and also gives me a chance to drive standard, something that isn't worth going out and buying another car for, but I do enjoy from time to time.
HOWEVER, and this is a big however, after the first day or two he asked if he could clean out my car. Now, you probably don't know me, but if you did, you would know that my car is home to basically 80% of my possessions. You could find basically anything in my car. I keep everything in it. Everything. Plus a lot of useless stuff. So when he asked, knowing he is putting equipment and such in the car, I agreed, figuring it would give him a bit more space. I told him to throw all the junk in boxes and don't throw out any receipts, and that was that. I figured he would clear out the back seat and trunk so that he had space.
I was a bit incorrect in my calculation. Or more, he was a bit more overzealous in this activity than I expected. When he said, "clean out," he meant everything. EVERYTHING. My garage door opener is no longer on the sun shield. All objects of sentimental value are gone, banished to this box. My steering wheel cover, which I didn't particularly like but was a gift from my brother? Gone. And I won't be able to get it back on without help. My fish sticker that my friend's niece gave him and we decided to mount on the overhead light button? Gone. I had the number for a towing company that helped me out once, and a valentine from a friend on my garage door clip, and who knows where those things are.
There is not a fucking thing of mine left in my truck, let alone the insurance papers in the glove compartment. You know, I like my truck clean just like the next person, but he took EVERY OUNCE of sentimentality out of the car for me. It won't feel the same putting it back. I'm going to have to reorganize everything. IS NOTHING SACRED? Does no one have any respect for sentimentality anymore? Is everyone so convinced that cleanliness is important that they don't even stop for a second, and think, maybe this person had these things this way for a reason? A pile of receipts, shoes, clothing, tools, and crap in the trunk, I get moving. I just never bothered to take it out. But my fish sticker? Not cool. Not cool at all. I'm going to be humming on this one for awhile. And I have no defense, because, well, he asked me (venting complete).
One-track mind
So I was reading this online article on sexual health, and I think I have something on my mind because this banner appeared that said, "education" and I definitely thought it said, "seduction".
How does the internet always know I'm single?
Lisa, find your hottest single friends here!
Oh I'm sorry, do most people need an internet program to tell them who their hottest single friends are? BECAUSE I KNOW! Telling me is like rubbing it in.
On another note, it seems my roommate has gotten us a treadmill. Either that or he has started bringing his work home with him. Regardless, he is going to be fixing a treadmill, because that is one broken down piece of shit.
I'm not totally sure how I feel about it because on the one hand, it would be cool to have a treadmill and I can't afford the gym membership I semi-desperately want, but on the other hand, it's huge and will take up a whole room, and seeing as we only really have three rooms (mine, his, and everywhere else), it would be a little bit crowded. Actually, I have basically named every nook in our apartment so it seems like we have a lot more rooms than we have (living room, dining room, gym, apparently, on the other side of the dining room, kitchen, front room, cat room/large closet, washroom, etc.), but in reality, they are more like corners, and having a gym requires dividing our dining room in two, so that it would basically be the size of our dining room table.
Oh I'm sorry, do most people need an internet program to tell them who their hottest single friends are? BECAUSE I KNOW! Telling me is like rubbing it in.
On another note, it seems my roommate has gotten us a treadmill. Either that or he has started bringing his work home with him. Regardless, he is going to be fixing a treadmill, because that is one broken down piece of shit.
I'm not totally sure how I feel about it because on the one hand, it would be cool to have a treadmill and I can't afford the gym membership I semi-desperately want, but on the other hand, it's huge and will take up a whole room, and seeing as we only really have three rooms (mine, his, and everywhere else), it would be a little bit crowded. Actually, I have basically named every nook in our apartment so it seems like we have a lot more rooms than we have (living room, dining room, gym, apparently, on the other side of the dining room, kitchen, front room, cat room/large closet, washroom, etc.), but in reality, they are more like corners, and having a gym requires dividing our dining room in two, so that it would basically be the size of our dining room table.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Weather girl
Well it's 6:57 and the sun is shining, and I can feel the warmth penetrating my cheap-ass paper blinds that I've never bothered to upgrade. This can mean but one thing! The seasons are changing. That's right, we are switching from winter to summer! (Spring no longer qualifies as a season in my books - it lasts a week, tops. Fall is defined by leaves falling).
Anyway, my prediction is that by April 9 it will hit 10 degrees at least once. Usually it's actually warmer, but this year I am anticipating it to be less warm. I am more accurate than freaking Environment Canada, The Weather Network and the Farmer's Almanac combined! Well not really so much as those services are all grossly inaccurate, and I create new forecasts combining their forecasts, but I will tell you this. People who know me, call me to check the weather. Probably because they know I've already checked it, but that's irrelevant. The point is, it's almost summer. Summer will probably go back to winter from approximately May 8-May 21. But then it will come back again, and last til late September. (or in the case of last year, late October - 28 degrees on Oct. 29, anyone?).
The point is, I can feel it. This is not temporary. We are getting our spring, and soon it will be summer. Enjoy it while it lasts. Oh, and clean out your drains. Apparently there is a little bit more water kicking around than usual.
Anyway, my prediction is that by April 9 it will hit 10 degrees at least once. Usually it's actually warmer, but this year I am anticipating it to be less warm. I am more accurate than freaking Environment Canada, The Weather Network and the Farmer's Almanac combined! Well not really so much as those services are all grossly inaccurate, and I create new forecasts combining their forecasts, but I will tell you this. People who know me, call me to check the weather. Probably because they know I've already checked it, but that's irrelevant. The point is, it's almost summer. Summer will probably go back to winter from approximately May 8-May 21. But then it will come back again, and last til late September. (or in the case of last year, late October - 28 degrees on Oct. 29, anyone?).
The point is, I can feel it. This is not temporary. We are getting our spring, and soon it will be summer. Enjoy it while it lasts. Oh, and clean out your drains. Apparently there is a little bit more water kicking around than usual.
The cactus table
"I left some mail out for you the other day, did you get it?"
"I have no idea. The dining room table? Oh wait no, the cactus table."
"The cactus table?"
"Yeah, you know... the table with that cactus on it?"
"That's a cactus?"
"Oh wait... it's bamboo... the bamboo table."
"I kinda like the sound of 'cactus table'"
"Me too. I'll buy a cactus and then everything will be resolved."
" The cat is really going to hate you."
"I have no idea. The dining room table? Oh wait no, the cactus table."
"The cactus table?"
"Yeah, you know... the table with that cactus on it?"
"That's a cactus?"
"Oh wait... it's bamboo... the bamboo table."
"I kinda like the sound of 'cactus table'"
"Me too. I'll buy a cactus and then everything will be resolved."
" The cat is really going to hate you."
This song is in your head, in your head
So anyway, my roommate and I have a list of songs we are not allowed to play around each other. Typically songs one of us is addicted to and the other can't stand. I can't remember the names of the ones I don't let him play but on my list of forbidden songs is the following:
The Cranberries - Zombie
Peter Bjorn and John - Young Folks
With an honourable mention to anything by the Spice Girls and Phil Collins, which I am allowed to play in small doses. When we first moved in together I was obsessed with Phil Collins (okay, I still am), and I got all these spiteful Facebook wall posts from his friends commenting on my overplay of everything by Phil Collins.
But, I digress. My roommate is pretty tolerant of my other musical tastes, keeping in mind, I love pretty much everything. From the 60's to present.
So I came across this dance remix of Zombies, his most hated song, last night. And I turned it off before he got home. But I couldn't stop singing it.
"Lets go get dinner," he said.
"OK, but you are going to hate me."
"Why's that?"
"Zombies, zombies, zombies bies bies!! Wait. Yes, you HAVE to hear this version"
I proceed to dance around our apartment for the next three minutes singing at the top of my lungs as he shakes his head and tries to block it out. My dancing is ridiculous enough that it's hard not to watch. The song is ridiculous enough that it's hard to believe someone wrote it.
Check it out here:
So basically, I have to listen to the music I really hate for a couple weeks. Or act really cute to get my way. But it was so worth it. I implore you to serenade everyone you know along with this clip.
The Cranberries - Zombie
Peter Bjorn and John - Young Folks
With an honourable mention to anything by the Spice Girls and Phil Collins, which I am allowed to play in small doses. When we first moved in together I was obsessed with Phil Collins (okay, I still am), and I got all these spiteful Facebook wall posts from his friends commenting on my overplay of everything by Phil Collins.
But, I digress. My roommate is pretty tolerant of my other musical tastes, keeping in mind, I love pretty much everything. From the 60's to present.
So I came across this dance remix of Zombies, his most hated song, last night. And I turned it off before he got home. But I couldn't stop singing it.
"Lets go get dinner," he said.
"OK, but you are going to hate me."
"Why's that?"
"Zombies, zombies, zombies bies bies!! Wait. Yes, you HAVE to hear this version"
I proceed to dance around our apartment for the next three minutes singing at the top of my lungs as he shakes his head and tries to block it out. My dancing is ridiculous enough that it's hard not to watch. The song is ridiculous enough that it's hard to believe someone wrote it.
Check it out here:
So basically, I have to listen to the music I really hate for a couple weeks. Or act really cute to get my way. But it was so worth it. I implore you to serenade everyone you know along with this clip.
Enchanted by Enchanted!
I watched Enchanted tonight. For the second time.
And it was funny, I absolutely loved it the first time, and raved about it for months. Seeing it again, I loved it every bit as much, and it was almost like watching it for the first time. I laughed just as hard at every joke and my heart filled with joy at every lovey-joyful moment.
Even my roommate, as much as he will deny it, loved it. We were laughing to the point of crying. All throughout the movie, even the serious parts, he would burst out laughing at the thought of bees flying past confused construction workers and into Patrick Dempsey's apartment to do some serious cleaning.
The characters are all so endearing and sincere, I don't know what to do myself. And the dufus prince. Don't be so melodramatic. I don't know what that means, but I will make sure you are never queen again!
And the seriously unbelievable sexual references. But you'll have to see those for yourself. Either way, every character is lovable, the women, the men, the talking squirrels. You won't know what to do with yourself. Kids movie? I don't think so. This is one everybody is going to love. Even the boys that are, as the little girl put it, "only after one thing". But no one seems to know what that one thing is.
And it was funny, I absolutely loved it the first time, and raved about it for months. Seeing it again, I loved it every bit as much, and it was almost like watching it for the first time. I laughed just as hard at every joke and my heart filled with joy at every lovey-joyful moment.
Even my roommate, as much as he will deny it, loved it. We were laughing to the point of crying. All throughout the movie, even the serious parts, he would burst out laughing at the thought of bees flying past confused construction workers and into Patrick Dempsey's apartment to do some serious cleaning.
The characters are all so endearing and sincere, I don't know what to do myself. And the dufus prince. Don't be so melodramatic. I don't know what that means, but I will make sure you are never queen again!
And the seriously unbelievable sexual references. But you'll have to see those for yourself. Either way, every character is lovable, the women, the men, the talking squirrels. You won't know what to do with yourself. Kids movie? I don't think so. This is one everybody is going to love. Even the boys that are, as the little girl put it, "only after one thing". But no one seems to know what that one thing is.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Free blog entry with purchase of $29 glasses*
Change your view for just 29$*
Complete eye glasses for only $29.
Front page of the paper. Awesome, I think. I need new glasses. I look through the advertisement to see what the star at the end of the statement means. Nothing.
That's right. Times are a-changing. Now, it's acceptable to merely place a star at the end of a statement to indicate that there ARE stipulations, without actually saying what they are. Or even indicating that the star means there are stipulations. It's implicit.
So here I am, loathing the world, because I know the glasses are probably only $29 if I buy 14 other pairs of glasses at full price, and I refuse to even take the time to call them and find out what the catch is. Because it's just a way of getting people to come in. And I refuse to give in to that kind of advertising.
If you have a deal, you have a deal. But don't deceive people. Put the damn stipulations in the damn advertisement, or don't have any at all. But don't put a star and think that it's good enough. It just makes me bitter.
Complete eye glasses for only $29.
Front page of the paper. Awesome, I think. I need new glasses. I look through the advertisement to see what the star at the end of the statement means. Nothing.
That's right. Times are a-changing. Now, it's acceptable to merely place a star at the end of a statement to indicate that there ARE stipulations, without actually saying what they are. Or even indicating that the star means there are stipulations. It's implicit.
So here I am, loathing the world, because I know the glasses are probably only $29 if I buy 14 other pairs of glasses at full price, and I refuse to even take the time to call them and find out what the catch is. Because it's just a way of getting people to come in. And I refuse to give in to that kind of advertising.
If you have a deal, you have a deal. But don't deceive people. Put the damn stipulations in the damn advertisement, or don't have any at all. But don't put a star and think that it's good enough. It just makes me bitter.
Resembling the mailman
At a party the other night, my dad commented that I looked exactly like our mailman, at which point I announced, "and I really love delivering mail!"
I'm not totally sure people realized we were joking.
I'm not totally sure people realized we were joking.
Monday, March 24, 2008
The complexities of marriage
I've been giving it some thought, and if I ever get married and decide to keep my own last name, I want one of those hats that says, "The future Mrs. (his last name)". Except with my own last name. Because it would be way less funny if it had his last name on it.
Telemarketation: the act of scaring away telemarketers
I'm responsible for responding to someone's work cell phone while he is away on holidays. There is the off-chance that there could be some sort of work emergency and not everyone has my contact information in the event of something like that. However, it is also used as a personal phone and consequently I expect to receive a few confused personal calls from people who don't know that he is away.
Today, I got a moderately strange call.
"Hi, could I please speak to the person responsible for the gas bill?"
"I'm sorry - which?"
"The gas bill"
"Um, he's not available right now, could I take a message?"
"No, I'll call back.
At first I thought, I probably should have said it was me, knowing she is going to call back and get me and I will probably end up paying the bill for him. However, it occurred to me that if it was HIS gas company, they would have at least known his name. Hell, even most telemarketers have SOME name to go by. So it sounds like this is just a cold, unwanted, call. And no, I'm not above angrily chasing away telemarketers on someone else's phone. Here's hoping she waits at least two weeks to call back, eh?
Today, I got a moderately strange call.
"Hi, could I please speak to the person responsible for the gas bill?"
"I'm sorry - which?"
"The gas bill"
"Um, he's not available right now, could I take a message?"
"No, I'll call back.
At first I thought, I probably should have said it was me, knowing she is going to call back and get me and I will probably end up paying the bill for him. However, it occurred to me that if it was HIS gas company, they would have at least known his name. Hell, even most telemarketers have SOME name to go by. So it sounds like this is just a cold, unwanted, call. And no, I'm not above angrily chasing away telemarketers on someone else's phone. Here's hoping she waits at least two weeks to call back, eh?
I like my rum and pepsi straight and unmixed
I don't know what it is, but it seems like I can never just go to the grocery store and buy groceries without incident like a normal person.
Today I went to pick up some laundry detergent, which basically means I can still go through the express line, but I have about 8 things I really don't need.
In other words, I had detergent, a case of pepsi, two easter eggs filled with Ferrero Rocher chocolates, chocolate milk, and a lunch combo.
The guy in front of me gave me space to put it on the cashier's stand and started a conversation with me.
"Yeah, you'd think I'd be smart enough to buy the heaviest things on separate trips but nope, I'm not."
"What's with the pepsi, anyway?" he responds, "you can't drink rum with that."
"I know, I know," I say, with an audience of 5 or 6 people at this point, "but I prefer that straight."
"Yeah I guess pepsi is better straight."
"Pepsi? I was talking about the rum!"
So basically, it's 11am, and the entire grocery store thinks I'm a raging alcoholic. Just another average day in the life of Lisa.
Interestingly enough, the cashier didn't seem to want to see me go. But that's a whole other story, I think, which I would title, "Lisa doesn't understand why she gets hit on more unshowered and disheveled, when she has yet to consider brushing her teeth or hair on that particular day, than on any given day that she actually gets dressed."
Today I went to pick up some laundry detergent, which basically means I can still go through the express line, but I have about 8 things I really don't need.
In other words, I had detergent, a case of pepsi, two easter eggs filled with Ferrero Rocher chocolates, chocolate milk, and a lunch combo.
The guy in front of me gave me space to put it on the cashier's stand and started a conversation with me.
"Yeah, you'd think I'd be smart enough to buy the heaviest things on separate trips but nope, I'm not."
"What's with the pepsi, anyway?" he responds, "you can't drink rum with that."
"I know, I know," I say, with an audience of 5 or 6 people at this point, "but I prefer that straight."
"Yeah I guess pepsi is better straight."
"Pepsi? I was talking about the rum!"
So basically, it's 11am, and the entire grocery store thinks I'm a raging alcoholic. Just another average day in the life of Lisa.
Interestingly enough, the cashier didn't seem to want to see me go. But that's a whole other story, I think, which I would title, "Lisa doesn't understand why she gets hit on more unshowered and disheveled, when she has yet to consider brushing her teeth or hair on that particular day, than on any given day that she actually gets dressed."
The problem-solver
"What's that beeping?"
"I don't know, an alarm of some sort."
I search through my purse to find a pedometer I impulsively bought for around $3 last week. Apparently something set its alarm off and now I was going to have to turn it off.
I push all the buttons. Nothing. I hold each of the individual buttons down. I start coming up with combinations, pushing them and then holding them down. Nothing works. I consider throwing it out the window. No way, I paid $3 for this! I try to unscrew the back that holds the battery in. The screw is far too small.
Finally, I put it inside a mitten which I put inside a pencil case filled with stuff. Problem solved. Or so I thought.
Eventually (read: the following day) I needed the mitt, pencil case, and whatnot. I try the smallest screwdriver I own, which is intended for glasses, but achieve nothing. I place said pedometer in the middle of a box I am filling with clothes to give to charity.
That night, I am lying in bed and I hear a beeping sound. Dammit!
I put the box in the closet.
Today, I decide to clean out my closet. I try to find a place in my apartment where I will be unable to hear it. I consider throwing it out the window. I still recall paying $3. I put it in the linen closet, wrapped up in a towel. It will be there for awhile.
"I don't know, an alarm of some sort."
I search through my purse to find a pedometer I impulsively bought for around $3 last week. Apparently something set its alarm off and now I was going to have to turn it off.
I push all the buttons. Nothing. I hold each of the individual buttons down. I start coming up with combinations, pushing them and then holding them down. Nothing works. I consider throwing it out the window. No way, I paid $3 for this! I try to unscrew the back that holds the battery in. The screw is far too small.
Finally, I put it inside a mitten which I put inside a pencil case filled with stuff. Problem solved. Or so I thought.
Eventually (read: the following day) I needed the mitt, pencil case, and whatnot. I try the smallest screwdriver I own, which is intended for glasses, but achieve nothing. I place said pedometer in the middle of a box I am filling with clothes to give to charity.
That night, I am lying in bed and I hear a beeping sound. Dammit!
I put the box in the closet.
Today, I decide to clean out my closet. I try to find a place in my apartment where I will be unable to hear it. I consider throwing it out the window. I still recall paying $3. I put it in the linen closet, wrapped up in a towel. It will be there for awhile.
Quotes of the day
"Did your kids take your last name or his?"
"His, that was my gift to him."
"What did you get?"
"Well, kids."
"That's not a car, that's a hole with pieces of car around it."
"Hey, you didn't roll your eyes when we mentioned her name this time."
"I know, and now my eyes hurt."
"His, that was my gift to him."
"What did you get?"
"Well, kids."
"That's not a car, that's a hole with pieces of car around it."
"Hey, you didn't roll your eyes when we mentioned her name this time."
"I know, and now my eyes hurt."
Sunday, March 23, 2008
What it feels like for a girl
I have always prided myself on being what I refer to as a "tomboy girly girl" but I think I'm going to start leaning a bit more towards the girly side after the events that took place this week.
Twice, I have been blatantly referred to with a male reference that would not normally be used in a case which involved a girl. What the hell?
Earlier this week, myself and a male co-worker were walking towards some equipment we needed to do some work on when we passed two men also working on the property.
"How you doing, fellas?"
Alright, alright. I'll give you that I do things normally reserved for males. I'm tough. But a fella? I don't think so. I look fairly feminine. I am certainly not ugly or overly masculine. I have long hair, and a pretty-looking face. I was wearing pink boots and mittens.
Then, to add insult to injury, we were pulling into the same facility a few days later - we typically have to explain to the parking attendant that we aren't charged for parking - and we were waiting at the gate for the girl working to check with her supervisor before waving us through. I am in the passenger seat, but she can see me. I'm approximately 4 or so feet away from her. She gets on her walkie talkie and says, "I have two guys here that need to get in to work on their equipment - can I let them in?"
Two guys. Not two people. Not a couple. Not a guy and a girl. Two guys. This isn't like when someone says "you guys". No one ever refers to a group of girls as "some guys". You can say "those guys" or "you guys," but never have I ever heard someone say, "I'm friends with two guys" and be referring to one or more girls.
I need to start buying better push-up bras.
Twice, I have been blatantly referred to with a male reference that would not normally be used in a case which involved a girl. What the hell?
Earlier this week, myself and a male co-worker were walking towards some equipment we needed to do some work on when we passed two men also working on the property.
"How you doing, fellas?"
Alright, alright. I'll give you that I do things normally reserved for males. I'm tough. But a fella? I don't think so. I look fairly feminine. I am certainly not ugly or overly masculine. I have long hair, and a pretty-looking face. I was wearing pink boots and mittens.
Then, to add insult to injury, we were pulling into the same facility a few days later - we typically have to explain to the parking attendant that we aren't charged for parking - and we were waiting at the gate for the girl working to check with her supervisor before waving us through. I am in the passenger seat, but she can see me. I'm approximately 4 or so feet away from her. She gets on her walkie talkie and says, "I have two guys here that need to get in to work on their equipment - can I let them in?"
Two guys. Not two people. Not a couple. Not a guy and a girl. Two guys. This isn't like when someone says "you guys". No one ever refers to a group of girls as "some guys". You can say "those guys" or "you guys," but never have I ever heard someone say, "I'm friends with two guys" and be referring to one or more girls.
I need to start buying better push-up bras.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
A day in the life of an undergraduate
12:50pm: Decide waiting for more hot water to become available for my showering pleasure is more important than making it to my 1pm class. Text buddies to inform, will arrive at end of class.
1pm: Realize prof will be at 2:30 seminar I am attending with buddies. Decide to go anyway.
1:15pm: Shower. Get things together.
1:45pm: Leave for lunch.
2:25pm: Head to school
2:40: Arrive at school, late, but not too late. Walk into seminar. Realize I am the only non-prof there. Sit down anyway.
2:50pm: Friends arrive. No longer look like a mix between a huge loser and the most loyal student in the department. Relieved that prof for earlier class has not shown up.
3:10pm: Wine and cheese becomes available. Realize profs are all over it. This makes it fair game for me.
3:20: Professor for a course which I skipped an entire semester of recognizes me. Does not know from where. Has a good idea. Have had half a glass of wine.
3:30: I am now good buddies with every prof I have ever had. Gotten several compliments on my French. Evil past professor likes me now. Wants me to sign up for masters. He decides I am a student from a local community that worked a lot and never came to class. I decide to tell him I worked a lot and never came to class, but that I am not that student. He is satisfied. Now on second glass of wine.
3:35: Prof from earlier class shows up. I don't make eye contact. I decide if she talks to me, I like her anyway, in spite of the fact that her course is terrible. I decide I will say I am sick if she questions me. I find master's student to corroborate my story.
3:39: Prof does not acknowledge me. She should be impressed I am doing extracurricular studies anyway. Every other prof is looking at us with shiny eyes, because they are so glad we like our language studies enough to pursue them outside of class. I am well liked enough in the department to save my reputation, anyway. Every prof knows my attendance record sucks but my marks don't.
3:40: Place starts to clear out, my conversation partners start to disperse. Commence conversation with master's students.
4pm: C'est le temps à partir. I am a little tipsy. I share this with my buddy in the washroom. She is too. I have a midterm in 25 minutes. I haven't started studying, and I am kinda giggly.
4:10: I decide I will resolve this with a cookie.
4:12: I eat cookie and decide the class should tutor me for the next 10 minutes. I divulge that I have been drinking and I find German quite hilarious right now. They inform me the test should be fairly easy and teach me the basic concepts.
4:30: I am now more sober, and write the test with ease. As far as I can tell. I decide I should drink with the department more often.
1pm: Realize prof will be at 2:30 seminar I am attending with buddies. Decide to go anyway.
1:15pm: Shower. Get things together.
1:45pm: Leave for lunch.
2:25pm: Head to school
2:40: Arrive at school, late, but not too late. Walk into seminar. Realize I am the only non-prof there. Sit down anyway.
2:50pm: Friends arrive. No longer look like a mix between a huge loser and the most loyal student in the department. Relieved that prof for earlier class has not shown up.
3:10pm: Wine and cheese becomes available. Realize profs are all over it. This makes it fair game for me.
3:20: Professor for a course which I skipped an entire semester of recognizes me. Does not know from where. Has a good idea. Have had half a glass of wine.
3:30: I am now good buddies with every prof I have ever had. Gotten several compliments on my French. Evil past professor likes me now. Wants me to sign up for masters. He decides I am a student from a local community that worked a lot and never came to class. I decide to tell him I worked a lot and never came to class, but that I am not that student. He is satisfied. Now on second glass of wine.
3:35: Prof from earlier class shows up. I don't make eye contact. I decide if she talks to me, I like her anyway, in spite of the fact that her course is terrible. I decide I will say I am sick if she questions me. I find master's student to corroborate my story.
3:39: Prof does not acknowledge me. She should be impressed I am doing extracurricular studies anyway. Every other prof is looking at us with shiny eyes, because they are so glad we like our language studies enough to pursue them outside of class. I am well liked enough in the department to save my reputation, anyway. Every prof knows my attendance record sucks but my marks don't.
3:40: Place starts to clear out, my conversation partners start to disperse. Commence conversation with master's students.
4pm: C'est le temps à partir. I am a little tipsy. I share this with my buddy in the washroom. She is too. I have a midterm in 25 minutes. I haven't started studying, and I am kinda giggly.
4:10: I decide I will resolve this with a cookie.
4:12: I eat cookie and decide the class should tutor me for the next 10 minutes. I divulge that I have been drinking and I find German quite hilarious right now. They inform me the test should be fairly easy and teach me the basic concepts.
4:30: I am now more sober, and write the test with ease. As far as I can tell. I decide I should drink with the department more often.
Officially ending my relationship with mannequins
So, I went to a tanning salon yesterday.
I know, I know. I'm so vain. Half the time I am sitting there thinking, wow, these people are so vain! Wait... I'm here too! Dammit!
And no, I'm not one of those people that justifies it by saying I do it for the vitamin D. Bullshit, take a vitamin or spend 15 minutes outdoors. You know you are doing it to look good. I tell myself I do it because I feel better about the way I look and I also enjoy the heat and relaxation. It's as if I'm on vacation for 8 minutes at a time, and I like it. I don't do it excessively, either.
Anyway, I signed up for this 3 visits for $3 at a new salon to try it out. I've been going at the gym and I still have piles and piles of unused minutes (they had a fantastic deal awhile back), but I have moved and the gym is just really far away now, so I figured I'd give it a shot.
So time number 3 comes around, and the lady, who is obviously a manager, informs me that I have zero minutes left.
"Oh of course," I say, "I'm still on my 3 visits for $3 thing".
"Actually, you only have 7 days to use those three visits, the receptionist would have told you when you signed up."
"Well she didn't," I respond. And I always listen for catches like that so I don't miss out. At least then, if I don't do it in time, I knew what I was getting into.
"Well, they definitely told you. We train our staff extensively and they tell every single person who signs up. Sometimes people only hear what they want to hear and they don't hear them say that part, but we always tell the customers."
So now it's an attack on her ability to train her staff. They definitely didn't tell me. And she's accusing me of not listening, like I'm some moron. I'm pissed.
"We also have it written on the sheet you signed when you signed up," she says.
This is probably true. I didn't read the contract, I let the clerk summarize it. I have lost. I still want her to know her receptionist didn't inform me.
"Ok, if it was on the contract that's fair, I didn't read that, but she definitely didn't say anything about it or I would remember."
"If it was Stephanie or Michelle, which it probably was, they definitely told you."
She doesn't believe me. I won't be returning. Great business sense, isn't it?
I know, I know. I'm so vain. Half the time I am sitting there thinking, wow, these people are so vain! Wait... I'm here too! Dammit!
And no, I'm not one of those people that justifies it by saying I do it for the vitamin D. Bullshit, take a vitamin or spend 15 minutes outdoors. You know you are doing it to look good. I tell myself I do it because I feel better about the way I look and I also enjoy the heat and relaxation. It's as if I'm on vacation for 8 minutes at a time, and I like it. I don't do it excessively, either.
Anyway, I signed up for this 3 visits for $3 at a new salon to try it out. I've been going at the gym and I still have piles and piles of unused minutes (they had a fantastic deal awhile back), but I have moved and the gym is just really far away now, so I figured I'd give it a shot.
So time number 3 comes around, and the lady, who is obviously a manager, informs me that I have zero minutes left.
"Oh of course," I say, "I'm still on my 3 visits for $3 thing".
"Actually, you only have 7 days to use those three visits, the receptionist would have told you when you signed up."
"Well she didn't," I respond. And I always listen for catches like that so I don't miss out. At least then, if I don't do it in time, I knew what I was getting into.
"Well, they definitely told you. We train our staff extensively and they tell every single person who signs up. Sometimes people only hear what they want to hear and they don't hear them say that part, but we always tell the customers."
So now it's an attack on her ability to train her staff. They definitely didn't tell me. And she's accusing me of not listening, like I'm some moron. I'm pissed.
"We also have it written on the sheet you signed when you signed up," she says.
This is probably true. I didn't read the contract, I let the clerk summarize it. I have lost. I still want her to know her receptionist didn't inform me.
"Ok, if it was on the contract that's fair, I didn't read that, but she definitely didn't say anything about it or I would remember."
"If it was Stephanie or Michelle, which it probably was, they definitely told you."
She doesn't believe me. I won't be returning. Great business sense, isn't it?
10 reasons why mannequins are better than real men
- They are good listeners.
- They don't talk back.
- Their looks will never deteriorate.
- They are sharp dressers.
- They will never leave you.
- They have an air of mystery.
- They don't eat much.
- They don't mind if you wear comfy clothes all the time.
- They are always smiling.
- They aren't allergic to your pets.
Yes, I am still going on about the merits of mannequins.
Why.....why???
ALSO, because I feel it necessary to bombard you with three posts on the topic of mannequins, I would just like to say, I noticed the SAME TYPE OF MANNEQUINS in Ottawa today. You know what that means? That means they are everywhere!
What gets me though is, they are not any more realistic than normal mannequins. The proportions may be slightly better, but their faces are insane! And who are we kidding, anyway? People are more likely to buy clothes that look attractive! If the clothes don't even look good on a model, they definitely won't look good on an average person.
Anyway, here's a photograph of the mannequins. Coming soon to a store near you.
On second thought, if they can make this guy look good, one would think their clothes would look good on anyone. I'm actually finding this mannequin rather attractive. It's unfortunate that he has no genitalia.
Monday, March 17, 2008
afterthought
In case you happened to be wondering, for whatever reason, the mannequins which I was photographed accosting (by my mother, no less) were all suffering from hair loss. Strange, because I'm pretty sure their target audience is like 25-35 year old women, but whatever. Well, maybe. Bald is sexy, right? Oh, and the other thing is, I'm kinda notorious for liking older men. Maybe it was meant to be.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
I'm not sure what exactly this reveals about me...
At the prospect of my dating a mannequin...
Roommate: You always go for the same kinda guy!
Me: Hahaha... balding, stylish, doesn't say much?
Roommate: Tends not to move for weeks at a time, easy to clean, no genitalia.
Roommate: You always go for the same kinda guy!
Me: Hahaha... balding, stylish, doesn't say much?
Roommate: Tends not to move for weeks at a time, easy to clean, no genitalia.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Rules to travel by
We made the trip to Quebec City today. I haven't been in awhile, but here are some tips if you are ever considering it:
1. Remember in advance that unlike Gatineau, close to Ottawa, everything here is not necessarily English. There are not English menus available. There aren't piles of English people available to explain what haché means. Unlike Hull, if you don't know a word by now, you are probably moderately stuck at understanding it. This does not include heavily touristic areas where everyone can speak English.
2. Buy gas at the gas station before lunch, not after. We actually ate at a truck stop. I think it was called Big Truck Stop. It was fantastic. We bought gas at 1.08 before going in. By the time we finished, it was 1.23 a litre. Not cool.
3. Beware of deer. I don't have to tell you this one. There are progressively more terrifying and gender specific beware of deer signs the entire trek. It starts off with sets of 2 signs next to each other, that make it look like does wander into the highway and then the bucks follow them. Then there are actual images of cars hitting deer. Finally, it settles on just female deer. No wait males. Females. Males chasing females. You get the idea.
4. Don't speed in Ontario. Usually I follow this rule for Quebec. Within the first 45 minutes of our trip we passed at least 10 police cars pulling people over. No exaggeration. Within the first 30 minutes, I had my first speeding ticket in 4 years. Approximately 5 minutes later, I almost had my second. Apparently when the first guy said `slow down` he meant to below the speed limit.
5. Don't travel with my mom. Just kidding. I totally love my mom. But, you know, she has the most obscure requests. For instance, we go to a Tim Horton's. I order a café mocha. It doesn't change (as far as I'm concerned - I hate the word mochaccino) in French. My mom wants a tea. But not any tea, tea with a tea bag, in spite of the fact that they usually sell steeped tea. With three creams. On the side. Weirdly enough, they got the order perfect, in spite of my limitations in French grammar. As my mom pointed out, that's impressive even if you order completely in English on a regular day.
6. Ask if you figure that 99 cent deal is way too good to be true. Seriously. I had myself convinced it said '99 cents off' but I thought, I'll just check... and sure enough. Best deal on pajama bottoms ever.
Follow these rules, and you will be set for at least day 1. More to follow.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Why I'll never be able to seduce my way to the top
"Wow Lisa, is that shirt like, low-cut enough for your presentation to this all girls class ?"
I looked around. He had a point. I actually just wore it because it was comfortable. But if, in fact, I was wearing it because I happened to have a presentation with a peer evaluation [which I did], he made a good point. Girls don't like slutty. And on any given day there is, at most, three guys present in this course. Today, there was only him.
"Oh no Todd, I wore this one all for you [insert scandalous wink here, possible accentuation of cleavage]"
Todd and I both know it doesn't work on him. Somehow, in a fourth year university course on French Caribbean Literature with approximately 17 students, I managed to encounter someone I've known since I was 12. Who isn't a French major.
Plus, he has a girlfriend. And we were in musical theatre together in high school, so there are no surprises here.
Fiasco also known as presentation ensues, and afterwards he smirks at me.
"So, was I hot enough for an A?"
"Oh, I don't know about that..."
Next time I'll have to wear a skirt.
I looked around. He had a point. I actually just wore it because it was comfortable. But if, in fact, I was wearing it because I happened to have a presentation with a peer evaluation [which I did], he made a good point. Girls don't like slutty. And on any given day there is, at most, three guys present in this course. Today, there was only him.
"Oh no Todd, I wore this one all for you [insert scandalous wink here, possible accentuation of cleavage]"
Todd and I both know it doesn't work on him. Somehow, in a fourth year university course on French Caribbean Literature with approximately 17 students, I managed to encounter someone I've known since I was 12. Who isn't a French major.
Plus, he has a girlfriend. And we were in musical theatre together in high school, so there are no surprises here.
Fiasco also known as presentation ensues, and afterwards he smirks at me.
"So, was I hot enough for an A?"
"Oh, I don't know about that..."
Next time I'll have to wear a skirt.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
My Pet Robot
So I'm back at home today. With a few hours of free time, I figured I'd get some vacuuming done. If you have read my past posts, you know that means pushing a button and then laughing at the cat-vacuum cleaner dynamics in full swing, as I have an iRobot vacuum cleaner, basically the coolest invention ever.
Within about ten seconds, I get the "I'm in trouble" bell. I push the button to see what the damn thing needs. Please clean Roomba's brushes, it says. It actually says that out loud.
Fuck that, I say, and push the button to continue. As I walk back into my room, the robot goes straight into the kitchen and hits the cat's water dish as hard as it can, spilling water all over the floor and itself. It then proceeds to stop, and turn its trouble alert on for a second time. Please clean Roomba's brushes.
As I clean its brushes this time around, I try to recover from the fact that my freaking Robot just actively misbehaved when it didn't get what it wanted. Finally, it was on its way, and within another 5 minutes it managed to open the not-fully-closed bathroom door, and shut the door behind itself. I'm not one for internet lingo, but seriously.... WTF?
I released it and sent it on its way once again, after which it was content chasing the cat around the apartment. Oh, and my floors are now clean.
Within about ten seconds, I get the "I'm in trouble" bell. I push the button to see what the damn thing needs. Please clean Roomba's brushes, it says. It actually says that out loud.
Fuck that, I say, and push the button to continue. As I walk back into my room, the robot goes straight into the kitchen and hits the cat's water dish as hard as it can, spilling water all over the floor and itself. It then proceeds to stop, and turn its trouble alert on for a second time. Please clean Roomba's brushes.
As I clean its brushes this time around, I try to recover from the fact that my freaking Robot just actively misbehaved when it didn't get what it wanted. Finally, it was on its way, and within another 5 minutes it managed to open the not-fully-closed bathroom door, and shut the door behind itself. I'm not one for internet lingo, but seriously.... WTF?
I released it and sent it on its way once again, after which it was content chasing the cat around the apartment. Oh, and my floors are now clean.
No speaka dee Engrish
I have two close friends in my program with whom I take most of my classes, and often we laugh because we all have different first languages, and all speak three languages, which occasionally makes for some interesting dynamics.
One of their favourite stories, however, is the time I was trying to describe a play in English, my first language. The word was not coming to me, so finally I said the closest thing I could come up with. "You know, one of those things... a piece of theatre?"
"You mean a play?"
"Right. Une pièce de thèâtre"
"Aren't you the English one?"
"Really, who knows anymore?"
One of their favourite stories, however, is the time I was trying to describe a play in English, my first language. The word was not coming to me, so finally I said the closest thing I could come up with. "You know, one of those things... a piece of theatre?"
"You mean a play?"
"Right. Une pièce de thèâtre"
"Aren't you the English one?"
"Really, who knows anymore?"
Password envy
I once got a call out of the blue from someone I hadn't spoken to in about 5 months.
"Hey Lisa, what are you?"
"What?"
"What are you? I'm trying to login to my computer, and I know you set the password last year, and the password hint is "What Lisa is," so, what are you?"
"Uh, awesome? Gorgeous? [I like to talk myself up] I don't know, I could have said anything. It was last year. You haven't logged in since last year?"
"No."
"Sorry, I really don't know. Nice?"
"Nope, alright. I'll keep trying. Talk to you later."
Half an hour later, I get another call.
"You're a DUCK!"
"What?"
"I asked my roommate and he was like, don't you always say Lisa looks like a duck? And he was right!"
Sure enough, it worked. It's a good thing someone remembers how much I get made fun of.
"Hey Lisa, what are you?"
"What?"
"What are you? I'm trying to login to my computer, and I know you set the password last year, and the password hint is "What Lisa is," so, what are you?"
"Uh, awesome? Gorgeous? [I like to talk myself up] I don't know, I could have said anything. It was last year. You haven't logged in since last year?"
"No."
"Sorry, I really don't know. Nice?"
"Nope, alright. I'll keep trying. Talk to you later."
Half an hour later, I get another call.
"You're a DUCK!"
"What?"
"I asked my roommate and he was like, don't you always say Lisa looks like a duck? And he was right!"
Sure enough, it worked. It's a good thing someone remembers how much I get made fun of.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Unofficially, Post #100
So I just took the longest half-block walk to ever have existed.
As you know I'm staying at a friend's, and he has a dog that loves to play. Usually when I'm around it's limited to car rides, running around in the yard, and throwing toys, but today, I could tell, he had something different in mind.
He gave me this look. I don't know if you noticed, but there is 18 feet of snow on the lawn, and although I'm usually pretty easy-going about going in the yard when you are watching me, it is so not happening today, and there is no way I'm going on the driveway.
I stood up in understanding, and he jumped around in circles, mentally shouting, Eureka! It's walk time! Lets GOOOOOOOO!!
I found a car door high enough up off the ground to open (not the front door, alas) and retrieved my snow pants. This was going to be interesting.
What didn't occur to me was that the path was going to be less plowed than the roads, and there is snow up to my waist. Not the kind that is strong enough to hold you up, either.
It was taller than the freaking dog, a large old english sheepdog that towers over most dogs. The path is behind the house but we walked around on the road to get to it, approximately one house down. By the time I actually got behind our house, I was panting and sweating like I had just run a marathon, and there was NO WAY he was finding a place to go to the washroom here. I didn't think I'd even make it back if I went much further, at least not without snow shoes. So, I guess he will be digging a spot out on the lawn, because at least it has sides.
As you know I'm staying at a friend's, and he has a dog that loves to play. Usually when I'm around it's limited to car rides, running around in the yard, and throwing toys, but today, I could tell, he had something different in mind.
He gave me this look. I don't know if you noticed, but there is 18 feet of snow on the lawn, and although I'm usually pretty easy-going about going in the yard when you are watching me, it is so not happening today, and there is no way I'm going on the driveway.
I stood up in understanding, and he jumped around in circles, mentally shouting, Eureka! It's walk time! Lets GOOOOOOOO!!
I found a car door high enough up off the ground to open (not the front door, alas) and retrieved my snow pants. This was going to be interesting.
What didn't occur to me was that the path was going to be less plowed than the roads, and there is snow up to my waist. Not the kind that is strong enough to hold you up, either.
It was taller than the freaking dog, a large old english sheepdog that towers over most dogs. The path is behind the house but we walked around on the road to get to it, approximately one house down. By the time I actually got behind our house, I was panting and sweating like I had just run a marathon, and there was NO WAY he was finding a place to go to the washroom here. I didn't think I'd even make it back if I went much further, at least not without snow shoes. So, I guess he will be digging a spot out on the lawn, because at least it has sides.
Always the romantic..
"You smell good."
"Like Vaporub?"
"No, like aftershave. But I hope you know, the smell of Vaporub is going to remind me of you for the rest of my life."
"Like Vaporub?"
"No, like aftershave. But I hope you know, the smell of Vaporub is going to remind me of you for the rest of my life."
Walking in a winter wonderland
As I'm sitting here I'm staring out the window at a fence, trying to remember how tall it is, because it is almost gone.
Yes, I am in one of those cities that has been experiencing apocalyptic weather over the past week (and the entire winter). Well, apocalyptic is more in jest - everyone has been saying that. I, however, believe that the apocalypse will cover more than just part of North America. But who am I to judge, right?
It's our own freaking version of The Day After Tomorrow, if you've ever seen it. Not that I remember the plot or anything. I just remember there was a lot of snow and some kids were stuck in a school. But you get the idea. Snow. Piles of it.
A friend of mine runs a snow removal business and their clients' snow banks are so high they are having difficulty getting more snow on top of them - this was before the 50 or so centimetres we received this weekend (49 to be exact - and if you are loathing my Canadian-ness right now, that works out to 19.29 inches according to Google, my favourite measurement converter).
God, this is bad. It's my brother's 16th birthday today. At the other end of the city. And according to the news, if you get stuck, you are on your own, because there is no one available to help you. That's harsh.
I'm fortunate enough to own a Nissan Pathfinder. But it doesn't have snow tires. And it has a tiny volvo parked behind it that I will have to move to get out of here. The snow bank in the actual driveway, which was plowed a few days ago, is higher than the bottom of the car. Most certainly. And I am home alone. Because as I mentioned, my host runs a snow removal business. He may never come back.
Alright, alright. I need to get my act together. Wish me luck.
Yes, I am in one of those cities that has been experiencing apocalyptic weather over the past week (and the entire winter). Well, apocalyptic is more in jest - everyone has been saying that. I, however, believe that the apocalypse will cover more than just part of North America. But who am I to judge, right?
It's our own freaking version of The Day After Tomorrow, if you've ever seen it. Not that I remember the plot or anything. I just remember there was a lot of snow and some kids were stuck in a school. But you get the idea. Snow. Piles of it.
A friend of mine runs a snow removal business and their clients' snow banks are so high they are having difficulty getting more snow on top of them - this was before the 50 or so centimetres we received this weekend (49 to be exact - and if you are loathing my Canadian-ness right now, that works out to 19.29 inches according to Google, my favourite measurement converter).
God, this is bad. It's my brother's 16th birthday today. At the other end of the city. And according to the news, if you get stuck, you are on your own, because there is no one available to help you. That's harsh.
I'm fortunate enough to own a Nissan Pathfinder. But it doesn't have snow tires. And it has a tiny volvo parked behind it that I will have to move to get out of here. The snow bank in the actual driveway, which was plowed a few days ago, is higher than the bottom of the car. Most certainly. And I am home alone. Because as I mentioned, my host runs a snow removal business. He may never come back.
Alright, alright. I need to get my act together. Wish me luck.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Need any help with that?
My staff have a favourite story to tell about one of my first days managing them. Some of them have worked together longer than I've been alive, so we all had to do a lot of adjusting and getting used to each other that first summer together.
I had higher expectations than I probably should have initially, although now I know them so well I know exactly what to expect from them.
This particular day we were doing an equipment delivery. It was me and 3 grown men, plenty of muscle for moving our shit around.
I directed one of them to untie the equipment while I checked something on my car. Once he was finished, himself, this huge guy, and I all went to pull it off while the other guy watched from the ground.
We started to struggle pretty hard, which was somewhat unbelievable considering there was 3 of us. so we kept pulling, until we all realized our guy on the ground was laughing hysterically.
We turn around and look at him.
"What are you laughing at??"
He continues to laugh.
"You know those are still tied on, right?"
To this day, he says it was the funniest thing he's ever seen.
I had higher expectations than I probably should have initially, although now I know them so well I know exactly what to expect from them.
This particular day we were doing an equipment delivery. It was me and 3 grown men, plenty of muscle for moving our shit around.
I directed one of them to untie the equipment while I checked something on my car. Once he was finished, himself, this huge guy, and I all went to pull it off while the other guy watched from the ground.
We started to struggle pretty hard, which was somewhat unbelievable considering there was 3 of us. so we kept pulling, until we all realized our guy on the ground was laughing hysterically.
We turn around and look at him.
"What are you laughing at??"
He continues to laugh.
"You know those are still tied on, right?"
To this day, he says it was the funniest thing he's ever seen.
Calling in sunburnt
One of my favourite stories of calling in sick is with my cousin, who used to work for me here and there to pick up some extra money on his time off from school.
I have a lot of casual employees because my work is often weather-based, and the day before the shift, while he was working for me, I had asked him to work the next morning. Because it was my cousin, I forgot to confirm with him, but I knew he likely would have called me to let me know if he absolutely couldn't so I was counting on him.
That night, around midnight, my phone rings.
"Hey Lisa, it's your cousin... I just wanted to let you know, I can work tomorrow. I'll be there at 11."
I notice he is slurring his words. "Where are you calling from?"
"The bartender's phone. She's pretty cool. She's giving us free drinks."
Whatever. It's my cousin, I know he drinks, as long as he can work, it's cool, right?
Not so much. The next morning I receive a call about an hour before his shift.
"Lisa.... it's your cousin....... listen, I think I got a bit too much sun yesterday, and I don't think I'm going to be able to work today. I'm dehydrated and I have a headache, and I just feel awful."
"Cousin, that is a hangover. Lots of people work with them. Suck it up and come into work!" (I'm sympathetic, really.)
"No, no, really Lisa.... I'm not hungover, I swear, it's just the sun, I didn't drink very much last night, I just got too much sun.... I need to go back to bed."
Later that day, I was eating dinner at his family's house when I happened to mention the phone call from the bartender's phone the night before and that I knew full well he was hung over.
"Oh man..... did I call you?"
I have a lot of casual employees because my work is often weather-based, and the day before the shift, while he was working for me, I had asked him to work the next morning. Because it was my cousin, I forgot to confirm with him, but I knew he likely would have called me to let me know if he absolutely couldn't so I was counting on him.
That night, around midnight, my phone rings.
"Hey Lisa, it's your cousin... I just wanted to let you know, I can work tomorrow. I'll be there at 11."
I notice he is slurring his words. "Where are you calling from?"
"The bartender's phone. She's pretty cool. She's giving us free drinks."
Whatever. It's my cousin, I know he drinks, as long as he can work, it's cool, right?
Not so much. The next morning I receive a call about an hour before his shift.
"Lisa.... it's your cousin....... listen, I think I got a bit too much sun yesterday, and I don't think I'm going to be able to work today. I'm dehydrated and I have a headache, and I just feel awful."
"Cousin, that is a hangover. Lots of people work with them. Suck it up and come into work!" (I'm sympathetic, really.)
"No, no, really Lisa.... I'm not hungover, I swear, it's just the sun, I didn't drink very much last night, I just got too much sun.... I need to go back to bed."
Later that day, I was eating dinner at his family's house when I happened to mention the phone call from the bartender's phone the night before and that I knew full well he was hung over.
"Oh man..... did I call you?"
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Home sweet home
You know, I haven't been home a whole lot lately, between work and crashing at a friends close to work, I just haven't been around much.
Still, I surprised myself about 10 minutes ago when I referred to my apartment as, "My roommate's place".
It seems it has begun to belong to him and not me. But he is still my roommate.
Still, I surprised myself about 10 minutes ago when I referred to my apartment as, "My roommate's place".
It seems it has begun to belong to him and not me. But he is still my roommate.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Foot in mouth
OK, so apparently guys don't like it when girls say romantic things like, "It's okay, I'm not really visually stimulated anyway."
Not that I would say something like that.
Not that I would say something like that.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Printer follies
Yesterday at around 12:15pm I tried to print an assignment that was to be handed in by 1pm. My printer decided to have a bit of a meltdown in the emotional sense and refused to print anything at all because I didn't start it off with enough paper and it would not accept more paper once it realized this fact.
Overly long story short, 20 minutes later I am using someone else's printer and then frantically driving to school at the speed of light (or at least slightly higher than the speed limit), where I managed to submit it in the knick of time.
Anyway, about an hour ago (just over 24 hours after I sent the original document to print), my printer spit out the whole damn thing while I wasn't paying attention.
Am I the only one with a printer that needs this much discipline?
Overly long story short, 20 minutes later I am using someone else's printer and then frantically driving to school at the speed of light (or at least slightly higher than the speed limit), where I managed to submit it in the knick of time.
Anyway, about an hour ago (just over 24 hours after I sent the original document to print), my printer spit out the whole damn thing while I wasn't paying attention.
Am I the only one with a printer that needs this much discipline?
Phone confusion
I was woken up this morning to the phone ringing repetitively downstairs.
A few minutes later, a knock at my bedroom door.
"Your phone has been ringing off the hook, I just thought you might want to know."
"Uh, my phone is in here. That's your phone."
"Oh. Well they sound the same."
"Your cell phone and your land line?"
"Well, I knew the landline was for me."
We both really have trouble with this whole, phone-answering thing.
A few minutes later, a knock at my bedroom door.
"Your phone has been ringing off the hook, I just thought you might want to know."
"Uh, my phone is in here. That's your phone."
"Oh. Well they sound the same."
"Your cell phone and your land line?"
"Well, I knew the landline was for me."
We both really have trouble with this whole, phone-answering thing.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
20 minutes of reflection
With the snowfall yesterday morning, we opted to cancel a few of our staff in the morning - it was slow, and since we work outdoors we try not to subject the staff to crazy weather if we don't need to. Sometimes they are receptive to this, other times I am met with disappointment, so I typically dread making those phone calls, never knowing what to expect. The girl we were canceling is a friend of mine who had just been booked the day before, so it could have gone either way.
"Hey, it's me. I'm just calling because I don't think we are going to need you for today - it's still snowing pretty hard and we may close down altogether in an hour or two."
"THANK GOD!" she said, with a sense of urgency, "I had no idea when I was going to do that French assignment. I'll stop by to drop off the money I owe you, though. See you soon!"
I was relieved to know it wasn't a problem and 20 minutes later, she showed up to drop off the money I had lent her earlier in the week.
"By the way, when I said 'thank God' earlier... I actually meant, 'that's no problem at all, I will just have more time to work on my assignments.'"
Oh how I love delayed tact.
"Hey, it's me. I'm just calling because I don't think we are going to need you for today - it's still snowing pretty hard and we may close down altogether in an hour or two."
"THANK GOD!" she said, with a sense of urgency, "I had no idea when I was going to do that French assignment. I'll stop by to drop off the money I owe you, though. See you soon!"
I was relieved to know it wasn't a problem and 20 minutes later, she showed up to drop off the money I had lent her earlier in the week.
"By the way, when I said 'thank God' earlier... I actually meant, 'that's no problem at all, I will just have more time to work on my assignments.'"
Oh how I love delayed tact.
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