So I received an invitation (through Facebook, naturally) for a going away party for a couple of my former roommates/friends. They're from Newfoundland so their wanting to leave my shitty and bland hometown for an even more boring version of it (my hometown is where Newfoundlanders come to die) is beyond me. Wait, or is it the other way around? Actually, they win because they won't have to deal with the influx of fat Portuguese children wandering the streets with a bicycle in one hand and a bun in the other, waiting to replace the one already stuffed into his or her face in Newfoundland.
It's sad to see them go, despite not having seen or talked to them in months but it's their home and I completely understand the yearning for home.
My only qualm with this party is the likelihood of running into my ex at this party. Chances are at 90%. Now, we all know how immature and just how badly I would handle such a situation. So I've come up with a few scenarios to deal:
A) Dress provocatively hot (despite Dave and Allison's parties to be infamously casual or costumed -- and I'm going with the former on this one) and ignore him from the other side of the room.
B) Dress provocatively hot and talk to him like everything is just so spectacular and glam in my life.
C) Dress provocatively hot and ignore him from the other side of the room whilst talking to my (obvious) boyfriend who is provocatively hot himself.
D) Dress provocatively hot and talk to him like everything is just so spectacular and glam in my life and make sure to introduce him to my (obvious) boyfriend who is provocatively hot.
E) Get shit plastered. And dress provocatively hot.
Hmm ... quite a dilemma I am in. Well, we at least know what I am going to do for sure ... get shit plastered. I'm planning on asking my boyfriend to accompany me to this party but know he will turn it down because he is very anti social and hates most kinds of people (most whites, some Asians and all blacks. Hispanic and Natives are alright with him). So C) and D) are out. Or I can just take a page out of womens' magazines when giving advice about similar situations and make the encounter quick and courteous and be sure to always act like a lady.
While dressing provocatively hot, of course.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Things that piss me off:
People who pronounce Italian "EYE-talian".
Not having Charmin brand toilet paper.
Chocolate stains around the spout of a milk carton of chocolate milk.
Insecure girls that insist that they are not insecure.
I ate about 4 chocolate bars in one sitting today. I got that dry feeling in my mouth but couldn't stop because it was fucken delicious.
You know you're getting old when you go to the suiting section of a men's apparel website to gawk and get mildly turned on by men in Ralph Lauren Purple Label suits.
People who pronounce Italian "EYE-talian".
Not having Charmin brand toilet paper.
Chocolate stains around the spout of a milk carton of chocolate milk.
Insecure girls that insist that they are not insecure.
I ate about 4 chocolate bars in one sitting today. I got that dry feeling in my mouth but couldn't stop because it was fucken delicious.
You know you're getting old when you go to the suiting section of a men's apparel website to gawk and get mildly turned on by men in Ralph Lauren Purple Label suits.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
So I finally hauled ass this morning and ran 10 kms (9 and a bit, but who's counting?). I'm pretty perplexed at how well my body adjusts to over activeness, considering I smoke like a Jewish grandmother. Funny how taking a 'leisurely' stroll downhill nearly kills me but running uphill gives me enough adrenaline to bite the head off a newborn child with glee.
So my brother bought a BB gun a couple of weeks ago and didn't bother to tell me (we never call eachother when we should -- like, when my sister ended up in the hospital -- but we always make sure to at least Facebook the other to brag about snatching Call of Duty: World at War 5 minutes before midnight struck) so I was morbidly/blissfully surprised when I went home to my parents' house and was pummeled by plastic red BBs.
After I lost my shit, I wrestled the gun away from my brother and headed outside to hunt. And by hunt I mean shoot at urban pests. No such luck. Fucken squirrels are getting quicker by the generation. I went inside and told my brother to put away the popcorn popper and that if he was hoping for some fun times with the BB, to not bother because it was slim pickings outside.
(I just read that last bit and just realized how hillbilly I sounded. I do not hunt squirrel for meat. I just shoot them with BB guns. You know, for fun.)
My brother looked at me horrified and asked if I really was looking to shoot a squirrel. I told him that it's not as bad as it sounds. He looked at me with more horror when he realized that this wasn't the first time I shot at an animal more useless than a college girl under a chastity oath. He resumed with the last little bit of respect he had for me when I told him that I never killed them, you kind of just put them in a daze and it's funny to watch them before they regain conciousness and scurry away.
Bored with a lack of alcohol, we did what two young adults with a BB gun would do:
Walk into our younger sister's room and proceed to empty the reserve on her napping body.*
* She was under 2 layers of blankets and was not harmed in any way. We hope, anyway.
So my brother bought a BB gun a couple of weeks ago and didn't bother to tell me (we never call eachother when we should -- like, when my sister ended up in the hospital -- but we always make sure to at least Facebook the other to brag about snatching Call of Duty: World at War 5 minutes before midnight struck) so I was morbidly/blissfully surprised when I went home to my parents' house and was pummeled by plastic red BBs.
After I lost my shit, I wrestled the gun away from my brother and headed outside to hunt. And by hunt I mean shoot at urban pests. No such luck. Fucken squirrels are getting quicker by the generation. I went inside and told my brother to put away the popcorn popper and that if he was hoping for some fun times with the BB, to not bother because it was slim pickings outside.
(I just read that last bit and just realized how hillbilly I sounded. I do not hunt squirrel for meat. I just shoot them with BB guns. You know, for fun.)
My brother looked at me horrified and asked if I really was looking to shoot a squirrel. I told him that it's not as bad as it sounds. He looked at me with more horror when he realized that this wasn't the first time I shot at an animal more useless than a college girl under a chastity oath. He resumed with the last little bit of respect he had for me when I told him that I never killed them, you kind of just put them in a daze and it's funny to watch them before they regain conciousness and scurry away.
Bored with a lack of alcohol, we did what two young adults with a BB gun would do:
Walk into our younger sister's room and proceed to empty the reserve on her napping body.*
* She was under 2 layers of blankets and was not harmed in any way. We hope, anyway.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Things that pissed me off today:
Dhalsim and his punk ass ability to knock me out from across the screen.
Lack of Diet Coke in my system.
Half breed Asians.
My mother.
Anyway, according to some psychiatric journals I am more prone to hating my mother since I am the first born child born to a young mother. Being a girl just ups the ante like Charles Barkley at a Blackjack table. (Not too sure if that analogy works, but it stays.) It also doesn't help that she's bipolar and can be emotionally volatile and that I'm just bat shit insane. And my poor father just gets caught in the crossfire for sowing his seed within my mother to create me. I forget where I am going with this ... I just want to stress that I do a very good relationship with my parents. But when we piss eachother off, it's like the Vietnam war all over again. Fucken commie bastards. I digress.
I was talking to my mother on the phone today and I was eating some sort of meat pie. My mother then snarks something about me getting fat. So then I (being a piss mouthed cunt) said "I get my ass from you". She then pretends to not understand what I meant by that so I call her out on using the immigrant card for the 78, 194th time and proceeded to berate her for not being able to pick up the English language after 22 years. Things I said may have included:
"If I can learn how to speak fucken German, you can at least know when I'm saying 'Fuck!' to you!"
"Sprechen the English, mom?!"
"What the fuck have you been doing for the last 22 years, then? NOT speaking English, that's for fucken sure."
"How is it that someone as retarded as Dad learned how to speak it fluently but you still suck?"
"Seriously mom, don't even bother coming to my convocation because I definitely won't have you to thank when I accept my diploma FROM AN ENGLISH SPEAKING UNIVERSITY THAT TAUGHT ME IN ENGLISH."
"WHY DO YOU KEEP CALLING ME IF YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM SAYING TO YOU?!"
Her response?
"I don't understand." Le sigh. My mother is either the most inept person in Canada or the smartest for utilizing her visible minority-ness so effectively.
Dhalsim and his punk ass ability to knock me out from across the screen.
Lack of Diet Coke in my system.
Half breed Asians.
My mother.
Anyway, according to some psychiatric journals I am more prone to hating my mother since I am the first born child born to a young mother. Being a girl just ups the ante like Charles Barkley at a Blackjack table. (Not too sure if that analogy works, but it stays.) It also doesn't help that she's bipolar and can be emotionally volatile and that I'm just bat shit insane. And my poor father just gets caught in the crossfire for sowing his seed within my mother to create me. I forget where I am going with this ... I just want to stress that I do a very good relationship with my parents. But when we piss eachother off, it's like the Vietnam war all over again. Fucken commie bastards. I digress.
I was talking to my mother on the phone today and I was eating some sort of meat pie. My mother then snarks something about me getting fat. So then I (being a piss mouthed cunt) said "I get my ass from you". She then pretends to not understand what I meant by that so I call her out on using the immigrant card for the 78, 194th time and proceeded to berate her for not being able to pick up the English language after 22 years. Things I said may have included:
"If I can learn how to speak fucken German, you can at least know when I'm saying 'Fuck!' to you!"
"Sprechen the English, mom?!"
"What the fuck have you been doing for the last 22 years, then? NOT speaking English, that's for fucken sure."
"How is it that someone as retarded as Dad learned how to speak it fluently but you still suck?"
"Seriously mom, don't even bother coming to my convocation because I definitely won't have you to thank when I accept my diploma FROM AN ENGLISH SPEAKING UNIVERSITY THAT TAUGHT ME IN ENGLISH."
"WHY DO YOU KEEP CALLING ME IF YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM SAYING TO YOU?!"
Her response?
"I don't understand." Le sigh. My mother is either the most inept person in Canada or the smartest for utilizing her visible minority-ness so effectively.
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