Hey Young Thugs The World Is Yours

I haven't been carded at the liquor store in a long time. The legal drinking age in BC is 19 and I am, well, not 19 so it doesn't bother me. I'm not forcing my driver's licence upon the the liquor store clerk or anything.

So I'm at the liquor store tonight and the checkout clerk looks to be about 12 years old and he's, I don't know, just got this vibe about him. Let's just say that if his shirt had a collar, that collar would have been proudly popped. So I hand over my beer and he asks me how I'm doin', all shmarmy-like. We make small talk as he rings up my purchases and then he tells me he needs to check my id. And I'm all "wtf?" because for one thing, shouldn't he check my id before he rings everything through? Also, I was buying an apricot wheat ale not wine coolers, you know? But whatever, I hand over my driver's licence and he gets all squinty-eyed as he does the math and then he says, "1982? Lookin' good for 1982!" as he hands my id back to me.

Umm ... what the fuck does that mean? Looking good for 1982. I'm 27 years old!

The older gentleman in line behind me actually snorted as I took my card back and paid, silently. I didn't know what to say! I mean, I wasn't offended (it's actually kind of funny) but I was kind of taken aback.

I should have called him a whippersnapper.

Next Time You Point A Finger I'll Point You To The Mirror

May has been an effing asshole of a month (sorry - I saw MacGruber on Friday and am now referring to everything as an effing asshole of something. This will never get old.)

It started with my mom's surgery, then we were all a little blindsided by my mom not doing so well after surgery (she's totally fine now), then I had my 2-night sleep study which was much more difficult than I anticipated (I get my results next week!), then it was Shawn's birthday (which doesn't count as a bad thing, it was just slightly stressful due to non-bloggable events), then Shawn went away for 4 days and left me alone with the monster puppies, then work kind of kicked my ass and left me reeling, and then I cut part of my fingertip off.

I'm ready for May to be over, is what I'm saying.

So. My finger. I didn't cut the fingertip off, it was more the meaty part - the fingerprint part - and I didn't slice the whole thing off, it was attached by a flap of skin, but it was disturbing and gruesome and I'm blaming in on Turtle because she is the one who taught me how to sharpen my knives.

Shawn was unreachable in the studio all day so I did what any mature, self-respecting 28-year old would do; I called my mom. I called my mom and I cried and I hyperventilated and I threw up a little and then I taped my finger back together, ate a popsicle, and went to bed.

So yes, I am ready for June.

So I Crawl Underneath My Blanket Where I Can Hide Away I Know I Can't Take It

So, we all knew I was going back to buy the Snuggies, right? This doesn't come as a surprise to anyone, does it?

Well, anyone apart from Wolfgang and Stella.

Stella has perfected her "wtf?" look.

Wolfgang is still working on his.

Surprisingly, Stella didn't protest the Snuggie. Perhaps she is becoming more accommodating of my crazy as she gets older, or maybe she didn't have any fight left in her after kicking Wolfgang's ass up and down the dog park for an hour. Either way, she stayed in the Snuggie for a good five minutes before completely losing her shit.

Wolfgang loved his Snuggie. He was so sad when I took the Snuggie away (Stella was trying to eat it off his back.)

It's a blanket! With sleeves! What's not to love?!

It was definitely worth the $10 and the drive back to the pet store (and the judgment of the pet store cashier as I slunk through making my purchase) to see my pups wrapped up in fleecy goodness. Now whenever I feel blue I can put the puppies in the Snuggies and it's like instant sunshine and rainbows.

I Once Thought That Time Accentuates Despair But Now I Don't Actually Care

For the last week or so I have felt blue. I have been grumpy and snide and sad and just ... blah. Blah describes very well how I have been feeling. Vancouver can be a difficult place to live when your mood is strongly affected by the weather. Endless rain and grey skies make me want to curl up in bed with the puppies and refuse to face the world until I see a glimmer of sunshine peeking around the curtain.

The sun is shining today. Blue skies and sunshine, Doodle Jump, animal crackers and string cheese for lunch (because apparently I am five years old), the Threadless $10 tee sale, playing with my mustache keychains and having a mustache epiphany (details to come once my shop has been updated), finding the perfect shade of grey-ish / beige-ish nail polish, and the new Athlete album, are all putting a smile on my face. The sun is shining today and I am happy.

I've decided to stop grumbling about the $300 insurance deductible we have to pay to get the car fixed because $300 doesn't matter as long as Shawn is okay. I'm not going to complain about the mother-effing cherry blossoms and the nosebleeds and itchy eyes they cause. I won't even rant about how Wolfgang gets all riled up playing with Stella and then drinks a bunch of water too quickly and then barfs (always on non-wipeable surfaces) at least once a week. No grumbling, no ranting, only sunshine and blue skies today. Unless Wolfgang vomits on my bed again tonight like he did last night. And the night before.

Your Ex-Girlfriend Had A Boyfriend Who Kissed My Girlfriend

The most energy I have expended in the last week is the energy it takes to walk from my bed to the kitchen and back. I have been sick. Disgustingly sick. I-want-to-die-a-little sick. Today was the first day that I felt almost human. Not human enough to shower but human enough to drive to the giant, soulless megastore (which I hate but bathroom cleaner, breakfast cereal, gum, hair dye, and feminine hygiene products are at least 50% cheaper there than at our grocery store.)

It's Saturday night. I haven't showered since ... yesterday? Maybe? My hair was gross so I pulled it back into a ponytail. I grabbed whatever clothes were in the pile beside my bed and got dressed. My outfit consisted of jeans that I had to roll up because they dragged on the floor because I usually wear them with 3-inch heels. Canvas flats that are covered in cartoonish owls (they sound cute. They aren't. But they are comfortable.) A tank top that I've been wearing as a pyjama top for a shameful amount of days (with no bra on underneath, obviously) and a bright orange hoodie. I think it goes without saying that I was not wearing makeup.

So I head to the feminine hygiene product aisle where I have a bit of a crisis. My brand is massively on sale so of course it's sold out. I don't have a backup brand so I decide to buy a variety of brands to pick a reliable backup so I will never again have a feminine hygiene product crisis. I load up on three boxes of assorted ladybits products and head towards the cereal aisle.

Where I run into one of my ex-boyfriends ... or his identical twin brother. I honestly don't know which guy it was (which, yes, I know, makes me look a bit bad but in my defense, when I dated the guy I could always tell which one was which AND I dated him a million years ago so let's not get too judgey, okay?)

So we're awkwardly making small talk and he asks what I'm doing in the giant, soulless megastore on a Saturday night and I make a comment about how I'm sick and just stocking up on the essentials. At which point he looks in my basket. My basket of assorted lady products AND NOTHING ELSE.

It was awesome.

Even more awesome was when he craned his neck to look around me and into my basket again as he told me about this vapour mask thingy that his mom is using because she's really sick right now and the mask really works and I should pick one up. At which point I may have become really shrill as I told him it was really nice running into him and I had to go and take care and byeeeee as I ran into the nearest aisle. Which just happened to be the cat food aisle. Because nothing says "I've grown since dating you (or your brother) and I'm a mature adult with an enviable life" like buying tampons and cat food on a Saturday night.

Late At Night And The Spirit Moves Me

Dearest Blackberry,

Why did you fall into my coffee? Why couldn't you fall beside my coffee? Or just not fall at all? Please don't die. I will miss you. I'm sorry that I dropped you down that flight of concrete steps that one time. I'm sorry for the alfredo sauce incident. Please. Don't leave me.

Yours, with shame and woe,

Hillary

* * * * *

Dear Internet,

New blackberry or upgrade to an iphone?

Love,

Really Can't Be Arsed To Learn How To Use A New Phone

* * * * *

Dear Wolfgang,

I took you to my parents' place tonight so that you could cheer up my mom, not so that you could poop in my brother's bedroom.

Sincerely,

Not Amused

* * * * *

Dear Westy,

I'm sorry that Wolfgang pooped in your bedroom. I kept him close to me all night but he did manage to slip away at one point. He was only gone for a few minutes and he came as soon as I called, so I thought everything was alright. If I thought that he had pooped somewhere in the house, I would have looked for it and cleaned it up. I'm sorry that Wolfie's poop stewed in your room for a few hours until it was discovered. Thank you for sending me a funny text message when you found it instead of being mad. Also, yes, he does really poop that big and yes, it is wild.

You rock.

Love,

Totally Buying You Beer This Weekend

* * * * *

Day 26 of my month of photos: Olympic spirit around town.

I Say Love It Is A Flower And You Its Only Seed

Last night was my company Christmas party.

I think my favourite part of the night was when the wife of one of my coworkers asked Shawn when we were going to have babies (because, you know, we've been married for a year and that's why people get married ... to have the babies.) He told her (and our entire table of twelve people) that I looked so good in my party dress that he was planning to go straight home to plant his seed.

That wasn't awkward at all.

One More Cheap Suit In The Loop More Chlorine In The Pool

I met Robin and Cat for breakfast yesterday to dissect Robin's dating life. Robin is very smart, has an awesome job, is gorgeous, has a great apartment downtown, is very witty ... and finds the douchiest guys to date. She probably wouldn't say that she dates the douchiest guys; however, as her best friend, I feel I have the right to be protective of her. I met Robin when I was 7 years old so it's possible that I have unrealistically high standards for the guys she dates.

So. Robin's dating life. She is facing a dilemma and has given me permission to share it in the hopes that someone can shed some light on the situation.

Robin started dating "Burt" a few weeks ago. They have no history together; they met through work (though they don't work together) a few weeks ago and he asked her out. He took her to a nice restaurant (which he chose) and then when the bill came, he asked her to split it with him.

Here's where Robin and I disagree.

I am a fan of splitting the bill on the first date. I feel like it removes any pressure and/or expectations from the person who isn't paying. Robin feels like the person who does the asking should do the paying.

Anyway. She split the bill with him.

Her dilemma is that every time she's seen him since (a few dinners and lunches) he has made an issue of the bill. Either asking her outright to split the bill with him or making a big deal out of the fact that he paid the bill (one time. He has paid the entire bill one time and was really ungracious about it.)

Here's where Robin and I agree.

Robin doesn't feel like the guy she's dating should pick up the bill every single time. She's more than capable of paying her own way. She's a very generous person and loves to treat people. Her issue is that Burt has removed that aspect of treating each other from their relationship. (Not that they have a relationship relationship yet but "courtship" sounded douchey.) She likes to feel wooed. She likes to be treated and she likes to treat the people she cares about.

Robin was undecided about Burt. She liked him alright but money can be a really big issue in relationships. It seemed like a bad sign that money was already an issue. I had advised Robin to give Burt a chance. He seems like a good guy on paper. And then ... Friday happened.

Burt asked Robin out for lunch but she was really busy so she suggested they meet for a quick coffee. She grabbed a handful of change on the way out of the office but when she went to pay for the coffees she was $1 short. She asked Burt if he had any change and he said no, he would pay for the coffees with his debit card. And then he took $4 from Robin's hand (she had her hand out because she was sorting the change.) The 2 coffees came to $8 and he took $4 in change from Robin. Exactly half. He split the bill. For coffee.

This is the last straw, right? She should give Burt the axe, yes? I mean, he's either extremely cheap or he's setting some pretty firm "friend" boundaries.

Thoughts, comments, suggestions, advice all welcome!

'Cause You're Doing In My Nut And Do You Think I Care?

I have the throat of death again, which means that my diet has been reduced to liquids and viscous substances. I'm all about the scrambled eggs and rice pudding right now. My mom is a firm believer in the healing properties of homemade soup so I decided to make myself a giant pot of butternut squash soup. I love squash but I don't often buy it because Shawn doesn't eat it and then I'm stuck eating squash leftovers for a week. I've never prepared a butternut squash before, is what I'm saying. I was completely unprepared for all the burning and crying. Butternut squash is evil. Butternut squash can be a moody bitch . Butternut squash should come with a warning label. My left hand (the hand that held the squash as I peeled it) was swollen and painful. The skin was chapped and reddish-orange. My skin was so tight that it ripped when I tried to straighten my fingers.

Dr. Google told me that I was suffering from "cucurbita moschata dermatitis" which is just a fancy name for "wtf, nature, wtf?"

My hand is almost back to normal now, two days later, but the psychological scars remain. I think the moral of this story is that trying to be healthy is not worth the pain and agony it can cause. From now on I'm eating cheeseburgers.

I'm On The Karma Payment Plan

So I have strep throat again.

It's been a whopping five weeks since the last time I had strep throat.

Today the doctor said I have to start thinking about getting my tonsils removed. Right. I'm sure my boss will be really enthusiastic about me requesting six weeks off work. Have any of you had your tonsils removed? Did it really take six weeks to recover? That seems a bit ... extensive.

So clearly this is karma. I blame everyone who commented on yesterday's post and told me to forget helping my sister move and make better plans. Just kidding. (About the blaming part; I'm totally serious about the karma part.) Though now I have a really good excuse for not helping with the move.

Baby, Instant Soup Doesn't Really Grab Me

Hey so remember yesterday when I was all "I have to be at work even though I'm sick. I'm such a trooper. I can tough it out because I'm so strong." Well. That lasted for a few hours. And then it got to the point where I was tearing up every time I swallowed. So I went to the walk-in clinic and was told that I have strep throat (for what feels like the 80th time this year.) And I cried. The poor doctor was so fussed but I couldn't help it. (In my defense, it is a certain time of the month where hearing that one has pus visibly running down one's throat is bound to set one off.) I'm just so frustrated. I feel like I'm always sick. Since getting back from our holiday, Shawn and I have made a huge effort to eat healthier. We've started going to the vegetable market once a week and stocking up on loads of fresh produce. We eat salad at least once a day, usually twice. We've stopped eating at restaurants as much as we used to, we've cut back on the sweet stuff and the salty stuff, we've tried to make healthier versions of the takeout food we love. And yet here I am, back on antibiotics. Clearly I need to eat less leafy stuff and more fried foods. 

So I'm hanging out with the puppies today, hoping that I don't get in too much trouble when I go back to work on Monday. And because apparently I am 7 years old, my mom is coming over to take care of me. My mom rocks. She lives 20 minutes away from me (well, 20 minutes for me, with her driving it's more like half an hour) - 2 bridges away from me - but she's still coming over to make me homemade soup. 

Bad Boy Bad Boy Whatcha Gonna Do?

Yesterday started off fabulously.

The puppies didn't start their daily whinefest until after the alarm went off (Wolfgang usually starts a good two hours before the alarm goes off. I don't know why I still love him.)

Shawn woke me up the good way.

My boss is away so I get to wear cool t-shirts to work. Yesterday's said "A city built on rock n' roll would be structurally unsound." It's funny but also really relevant to my job, which brings me joy. (Just to clarify: my job doesn't bring me joy. The t-shirt's relevance to my job brings me joy.)

I got to work and realized it was Camp Day at Tim Horton's (which is just an excuse to buy lots of coffee.) (What? I do it for the kids!)

See? Fabulous!

Things started to get less fabulous around midday.

I went to grab sushi for lunch. The sushi place I go to is set up with coolers filled with prepared rolls on the left and a cash register directly in front of you when you walk in. I've been going to this sushi place for almost four years. As soon as I walk in the door, I check to see if the spot where my roll is kept is empty (and it always is at lunch) and head straight for the cash register to order if it is. There was a lady, an EVIL LADY, faffing all over the cooler when I came in the door. Just as I got to the cash register, she whipped around so that she was directly in front of me with the roll she had just chosen. BLATANT BUDGING! Obviously I couldn't let it go - not after Monday's coffee line budging incident - so I cleared my throat. Loudly. I know, I'm an animal. So I clear my throat in that "let's both just acknowledge that you're an asshole" way and she turns around, not to apologize, but to give me the stink eye. I was thisclose to kicking her in the shin.

I went back to the office and ate my sushi. The sushi tasted a bit ... off. Three hours later, when my guts were trying to escape my body, I realized that maybe when sushi tastes wrong, one should throw it out instead of continuing to eat it. Lesson learned.

Yesterday Nilsa wrote a post on how wonderful her neighbourhood is. I left a comment bemoaning the state of my neighbourhood. She emailed me back and I realized that I had been a bit tough on my neighbourhood. It's really not so bad.

And then I got home from work.

The street in front of my building was full of scary men in body armour. Four large, black trucks filled the street with two police cars crammed in for good measure. There didn't seem to be any sense of urgency - the scary men were just milling about - so I approached the door. I asked one of the men what was going on and he told me not to worry, that my building is now "the safest building" in my city. Ha ha. He wouldn't tell me what had happened though, just that it was resolved now and he couldn't talk about it.

I got into the elevator with two police officers who were headed to the 4th floor. I live on the 4th floor. So of course the crazy sets in and I start to worry that someone has broken into my condo and murdered my puppies. Because murdered puppies warrant 6 police vehicles and no less than 20 police officers. Obviously.

I asked the officers what was going on but they wouldn't tell me anything, just that it was now safe to be in the building.

Dear Police Officers,
Telling a crazy lady that it is now safe to be in her building is not reassuring to her. AT ALL.
Love Hillary

I couldn't find any information online until this morning so I got no sleep last night (though that might have had something to do with the heatwave we're currently experiencing.)

It turns out that someone on the 5th floor was hanging out a window with a pellet rifle so someone called the police. Apparently it looked like a real rifle. I'm unclear on what a pellet rifle is or what one looks like but I'm happy that the entire freaking police force turned out to deal with the situation. I'm also happy that no-one got murdered (especially puppies!) because Shawn left this morning for a four day business trip and I would likely have to spend those four days at my parents' house if I wanted to actually get some sleep.

So to sum up: coffee = good, sushi = bad. Puppies = good, asshats with pellet rifles = bad.

All That Noise And All That Sound

Friday Faff: Eff That Noise Edition

Shawn is getting sued.

The end.

'Cause You Would Never Sue Me Baby It Wouldn't Look Good It'd Be Weird

Last week Shawn sold a pair of speakers through craigslist. There was a bit of confusion on Shawn's part about who he was selling them to and he ended up agreeing to sell the speakers to two different people. In his defence, he wasn't being malicious or sleazy - there was a genuine miscommunication between Shawn and the first person he agreed to sell them to. Shawn sold the speakers to the first person and emailed the second person to apologise and explain the situation.

The second person (hereafter referred to as Mr. D-Bag) replied that Shawn had a week to produce his speakers or he would sue him. He emailed Shawn from his work email address, identifying himself as a Realtor. He told Shawn that their email correspondence was a legal, binding contract and that Shawn had broken that contract by selling the speakers to someone else. He said that as a real estate agent, he was very knowledgeable about contracts and that he knew he would be successful in suing Shawn.

Shawn called Mr. D-Bag to try to diffuse the situation. He felt like he could talk to Mr. D-Bag to better explain the situation and make Mr. D-Bag realize that Shawn had made a mistake and felt remorse. He also offered to help Mr. D-Bag buy a new pair of speakers, using his contacts in the industry to get Mr. D-Bag a sweet discount.

Mr. D-Bag refused Shawn's help, saying that he didn't want or need new speakers; he wants Shawn's speakers. Only those speakers will do. He also reiterated his knowledge of contracts and his belief that he will be successful when he takes Shawn to small claims court. At which point Shawn asks Mr. D-Bag if this is really worth his time. Seriously. He's going to sue Shawn over speakers? And Mr. D-Bag says that yes, he is going to sue Shawn over speakers; it's not that difficult to file a claim and he can recoup the fee when he successfully sues Shawn. Shawn took this to mean that Mr. D-Bag has done this before.

Mr. D-Bag then tells Shawn that if he pays him $200 "compensation" he won't sue him. Oh yes, Mr. D-Bag throws down the extortion card. He tells Shawn he can have a few days "to think about it" and hangs up.

So of course I'm all riled up. I'm all "let's write a letter to his employer! Let's report him to the Real Estate Board of Canada!" and Shawn is all "I don't know. Maybe I should just pay him so he goes away."

Shawn's strategy is to ignore Mr. D-Bag in the hope that he will give up and disappear while my strategy is to draft stern letters that Shawn said I am allowed to send if/when Mr. D-Bag actually files a claim.

The situation is so bizarre. Using Mr. D-Bag's logic, Shawn could sue the two individuals who both agreed to buy the speakers and never showed up to actually complete the transaction. Or the idiot who agreed on the price but showed up with $200 less and pressured Shawn to still sell him the speakers because that's all he could afford to spend on them. That's what Craigslist is. It's sometimes shady and unreliable. Does that mean you should sue every time something doesn't work out in your favour?

I Got My Swim Trunks And My Flippie Floppies

When our two car payments and two insurance payments are combined, Shawn and I spend more monthly on our vehicles than on our mortgage. And that's not even considering the cost of parking or gasoline. At this rate we will never get out of our condo and into a real house.

Our plan is to sell Shawn's car and trade mine in for one we can compromise on (Shawn needs speed and power, I need a hatchback for easy puppy transportation.) We spent Saturday morning at a dealership getting my car appraised.

I am not a fan of car dealerships. I do not love cars the way Shawn does so I end up spending a lot of energy trying to tune him out while he drools over all the shiny new cars. Car dealerships smell funny. They have bad coffee. Car salespeople scare me a little (I think it's the combination of manipulation and desperation they exude.) This dealership was no exception.

At one point during the shenanigans, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I take two steps into the room and realize that I am standing in a puddle of dirty pee water. Someone had done something horrific to the toilet and caused a massive overflow. The floor was completely covered in water and there was toilet paper and other debris floating in it. And I was standing in it. IN FLIP FLOPS.

I hauled ass to the front desk to tell someone and the woman there says, nonchalantly, "Oh yeah, I know. Just go upstairs and use the employee bathroom." And then my head melted because seriously? You know? You know that there is a major flooding situation in the bathroom and you couldn't be arsed to, you know, put a fucking sign on the door? So people don't go in - IN FLIP FLOPS - and get dirty pee water on their feet? ON THEIR BARE FEET?

So my car dealership experience didn't start off too well.

Fast forward to us sitting down with a salesman and having him tell me how "amazing" it is that "so many woman are driving stick shifts nowadays." Now, he was an older guy (probably my dad's generation) who didn't seem like he was trying to be a dick. I think he was just trying to include me in the conversation because up to that point he and Shawn had been having a spirited discussion about the future of GM while I sat stewing about the dirty pee water on my feet and how I was going to have to throw out my favourite pair of flip flops and probably sterilize my feet in boiling water and that was really going to hurt a lot and wow this coffee tastes like mud. So. The salesman tells me it's amazing and Shawn shoots me a look (the "don't say anything Hillary, it's not worth it" look) and I bite my tongue and don't say something like "it sure is amazing! Did you know I can vote now, too?" and spend the rest of our time there stewing about dirty pee water and chauvinistic salesmen.

Here's the thing: if he had told me it was impressive that more and more women are now driving stick shifts I would probably find it a bit condescending but not outright offensive. But to call it amazing? The miracle of life = amazing. The Vancouver Canucks sweeping the St. Louis Blues in four straight games = amazing.

These brownies I made last week = amazing.

Women mastering the stick shift? Not amazing. Kind of cool, if you ask me. I definitely feel like a bit of a badass because I know how to drive stick. But I don't feel like it's my greatest accomplishment.

Shawn says I'm too sensitive. There is a slight possibility that he's correct; I mean, this did happen two days ago and I'm still pissed about it. I just find it really insulting that this man felt justified in basically congratulating me for being able to drive my car. Asshole. Needless to say, he will not be selling us a car (and not just because my car was appraised at over $10,000 less than what I paid for it fourteen months ago ... eep!)

You Made My Blood Run Cold And Filled Me Up With Sorrow

Dear Chris Cornell,

I was only fifteen when Soundgarden broke up; too young to fully understand the significance of such an event. Truth be told, at that time I could probably only name one of your songs ("Black Hole Sun" obviously.) I'm told that you attempted a solo career after Soundgarden - a move I am glad I was blissfully unaware of. It was not a successful attempt and you soon ditched your efforts at becoming a solo artist to form Audioslave with the boys from Rage Against the Machine. It was during this time that I realized your genius. Audioslave's music was pure, the lyrics were inspired and your voice was amazing. Audioslave remains one of my favourite bands of all time.

Seven short years, and three albums, later Audioslave disbanded due to "irresolvable personality conflicts as well as musical differences." Which was disappointing but understandable - bands break up all the time. The fact that you were planning another solo release helped ease the pain of Audioslave's demise. Until I actually heard your solo album and it was mediocre at best, boring and pointless if we're being honest.

Which brings us to your latest solo effort.

You teamed up with Timbaland for this record, which is a funny choice for a rocker. I mean, I will admit to being a sort-of-a-little-bit-I-guess Timbaland fan. I enjoy listening to the music he produces for Justin Timberlake and Nelly Furtado, but I don't think I could name anything he's done on his own. And that type of music isn't the music I listen to for enjoyment - it's the music I have on my "get off your ass and exercise, fatty!" playlist on my ipod (yes, it's really called that.)

Your latest solo album was released last week and immediately the controversy started when Trent Reznor Twittered, "You know that feeling you get when somebody embarrasses themselves so badly YOU feel uncomfortable? Heard Chris Cornell's record?" (Which, I'm not going to lie, I thought was effing hilarious.)

After reading your cutting response ("What do you think Jesus would twitter?") I had to go out and buy your album to decide for myself. My conclusion after listening to the whole album (though my ears were begging me to turn it off midway through the first track. Let me just emphasize that - FIRST TRACK), is that you are either a completely clueless d-bag or an evil genius. I can't decide which.

Your latest solo album sounds like a Britney Spears album that you're singing on. Where are the guitars? Where is the grunge? WHERE IS THE ROCK?

The rock is lost, along with your dignity.

I could forgive your foray into pop music if it was good pop music. Like I said, I'm not a huge Justin Timberlake fan but I do listen to his music when I'm in a certain mood (a fat mood. Shut up.) However, I'm sad to say that there is not a single track on your album that I like enough to put on my workout playlist. Your new songs are upbeat and have catchy rhythms but in the wrong way. For example, I have had the chorus from your first track (you know, the song that made me want to stop listening to the album) stuck in my head all day. The chorus that goes, "That bitch ain’t a part of me. No that bitch ain’t a part of me. I said no that bitch ain’t a part of me. No that bitch ain’t a part of me." So you see, memorable just for the wrong reasons.

Chris Cornell, that sound you hear? Is Tom Morello laughing. Hysterically.

Love,
A Former Fan

There's Clouds In My Shower Ghosts In My Arms

It seems that getting knocked up is the cool thing to do lately. (Seriously, I could have linked to a million more people. I can't believe how many babies are currently brewing. Then I thought I'd start linking to people who aren't actually pregnant, because how funny would that be? But then I got lazy. So. Onwards.)

I'm throwing a baby shower for my dear friend, K, on Saturday and have no idea what hosting a baby shower entails. I thought I'd bake a bunch of cupcakes and provide a location for people to come and lavish K with gifts. I didn't realize that I'd have to provide entertainment as well. (For me, cupcakes = entertainment. What can I say, I'm easy to please.)

I've been frantically searching the Internet for non-lame baby shower games (no really, I googled "non-lame baby shower games") but guess what I found? LAME BABY SHOWER GAMES. I am uninterested in anything that has to do with guessing which chocolate bar has been melted into a diaper. I am equally uninterested in pinning anything on anything (whether it be a baby in a belly or diaper pins on your sweater (also, I do not understand the point of the diaper pins on your sweater game. Surely there must be more to it than just pinning diaper pins on your sweater, right?).) As far as guessing K's weight or the circumference of her belly goes, I just want to say that I value my friendship with K and would like it to continue past this weekend.

The only games that have appealed to me so far are the Celebrity Baby Names game (where you match the crazy baby name with the celebrity parent) and Baby Price is Right (where you have to guess the price of certain baby items.) Both seem to be a bit intense though, as far as preparation goes, and I'm hoping to not devote a lot of time to this shower. I know, I'm a rotten friend. I just don't have a lot of free time this week and I was hoping to spend the free time that I do have, watching the Canucks games (there's 3 this week. 3! On top of all the other tv I watch! It's madness. Oh and speaking of the other tv I watch + madness: really Tyra? The goddess of fierce? Really?)

Then there's the prizers. Prizes! People are coming to my house (well, my mom's house but only because it's way bigger than mine) to eat my food and I have to give them presents. What the eff is that about? Obviously I think the prizes should be cock soup but I don't know how appropriate that would be at a baby shower. K would love it but I don't know if her grandma will.

Anyway.

If you've ever had a baby shower, or planned a baby shower, or attended a baby shower, and played some non-lame games, please let me know. Also, I'm sorry if I've offended anyone by labelling their favourite baby shower game as lame. But if you think the melted chocolate bar in the diaper game is non-lame, I'm sorry to tell you that you're wrong. It is so lame, it should be banned.

I Wanna See You Out That Door Baby Bye Bye Bye

Dear Pityriasis Rosea:

You have been an unwanted part of my life since early November. For the last three months you have made me feel depressed, self-conscious, and itchy. I tried everything I could think of to make you go away. You are a stubborn bastard.

I'm happy to report that as of this morning, you have been reduced to three small spots on my back, one on my arm, and one in my knee-pit. I estimate that you are 95% gone now and I cannot express the joy I feel. I hope to never see you again.

Love,
The One Who No Longer Wants To Rip Her Own Skin Off


Dear Photo Printing Company that Starts with a K and Ends with an Odak:

When you bought out the company that I was using for printing my photos, you assured me that you would fulfill my photo printings needs. You threw around words like "easy" and "seamless" and phrases like "award winning print quality" and "satisfaction guaranteed." I trusted you, Photo Printing Company that Starts with a K and Ends with an Odak. Clearly, I should have made you work harder to earn my trust.

Back in November, I ordered three calendars from you. We made three different calendars because Shawn's parents do not want calendars that include pictures of each other and my parents would rather have a calendar that included pictures of my siblings rather than pictures of Shawn's brother. It's not a complicated process at all; we made our three different calendars and I placed the order.

And then my order arrived and not only did I have three copies of Shawn's mom's calendar (and no copies of Shawn's dad's or my parents' calendars,) the quality was horrible. Despite the editing I had done through your program, the red-eye was not corrected in any of the photos. Also, there was random spots on some of the pages. I was extremely upset until I went online to check out your return policy. Whereupon I was pleasantly surprised to find that you have a 30-day unrestricted return policy. Which got me thinking ... how crappy must you be if you give your customers 30 days to return completely personalized, non-reusable product for a full refund?

Anyway, I printed off the handy, free-shipping label (remember the label - the label is important) and mailed the calendars back to you for my full refund. That was at the end of November. You told me that it could take up to four weeks to process my return so I didn't worry when my December credit card statement came and there was no credit on it. I did start to worry when there was no credit on my January statement so I emailed you to check on the progress of my return. You told me that my return had not been received yet. This was a bit worrying as I'd mailed it over six weeks before. Before I could work myself into a lather, I received an email saying that my return had been received and you would start the process of getting me my money.

This morning I got an email saying that you had submitted a credit of $42 to my credit card company and that it should show on my next statement. Here's where things get a bit fuzzy. The calendars were $19.99 each. I ordered three, which brings me up to $59.97 - I had a 30% coupon though, so my total was $41.98 plus tax. With tax, I paid $47.02. I don't know where the magical number 42 came from but I am assuming that you processed a return for three $20 calendars with a 30% discount and no tax. Which brings me to the conclusion that you live in a magical tax-free world.

I emailed you to ask why I was not receiving a refund for the GST & PST and you sent a rather snippy reply that shipping costs can not be refunded when third-party shipping is used. You then offered to send me a credit for free shipping, should I ever need to return something to you again. And then my head melted. First of all, my email had nothing to do with shipping. Secondly, are you really offering to send me a shipping credit when I already know that shipping is free (remember the free-shipping label)? Lastly, are you implying that if I order from you again, you're going to eff it up and I'll need to return my order?

I sent an email back to you asking you to try again.

It has been over two months since I returned the calendars to you, Photo Printing Company that Starts with a K and Ends with an Odak, but I am happy to report that I finally received my credit (for the full amount! With GST & PST!) today. Thank you for finally coming through. I think that we may need some time apart, though. I don't trust you anymore. The quality of your product is lacking and your customer service is dismal. I think we need to see other people. No hard feelings, m'kay?

From,
The One Who is on the Prowl for a New Photo Printing Company


Dear Wolfgang:

I'm sorry that you are having tummy issues but was it really necessary to pooh on the couch? At 3am?

Love,
The One Who Still Loves You Even Though You Are a Disgusting Pit of Germs

The Random Aspects Of Our Lives Come Together Once In A While

Google searches that have brought people to my blog recently:

is it normal for the baby to look like a monkey at 11 weeks?
Erm, I'm not really an expert on baby things, but I'd think that at 11 weeks it's normal for a fetus to look a bit monkey-like.

rosea vaseline
I do not recommend Vaseline. Calamine maybe but not Vaseline.

womanizer and proud
Congratulations.

please tie me up
Umm, no thank you?

worm wriggle stomach
I sincerely hope you are not talking about your own stomach. If so, you should get off the computer and get yourself to a doctor, pronto.

out of gas idiot
No, you're an out of gas idiot.

why are there two l's highlighted in pink
I have no idea.

dog pooh job for 9 and 12
I don't know what this "pooh job" that you speak of is and I'm not sure I want to know.

I don't care that you are crazy
Thank you!

There is a dog, he is completely black, he is standing in the middle of an intersection thats painted completely black as well. A car with broken headlights stops right before tting ther dog. How
I don't know how to respond to this. I've got nothing.

Not A Letter From An Occupant

Dear Boy I Had A Major Crush On In Highschool Who I Literally Ran Into On The Street Outside My Building This Morning:

I haven't seen you in, oh, eight years or so but you are still looking good. Your dimples are as cute as ever. I just wanted to let you know that usually I brush my hair before I leave the house in the morning but this morning I was a bit rushed. I wear makeup now too! (but not until I get to work because, you know, there's no point in wasting valuable sleeping time putting on mascara because really, who sees me before I get to work? Oh that's right, today you saw me.) Also, I don't normally wear wrinkled trousers to work - I do know how to work an iron, I just didn't have time this morning. Actually, I was planning on wearing my cute little wool dress today with adorable dark red tights, but then it was raining and it looked cold and I didn't have time to check the weather network so I just threw on the first thing I found in my closet. In the dark (because Shawn's not working this morning.) So Boy I Had A Major Crush On In Highschool, if you could maybe try to picture me wearing the cute wool dress with the adorable red tights, with brushed hair and makeup on, instead of all wrinkled and disheveled like I actually was, I'd much appreciate it.

Love,
The Wrinkly One

PS: I did not appreciate your tone when you asked "So are you living around here?" Yes, there is a lot of crack in my neighbourhood but there is no crack in my house and that is an important distinction to make. Besides, you're the one going to school there. What are you learning to be? A crack dealer? Oh snap!

PPS: It would have been nice if you could have worked your schedule into our conversation somehow so that I could, you know, take the other route to the train station on those days. Just sayin'.



Dear Lady On The Train Who Sat In The Middle Of The Floor And Read A Newspaper:

Was it necessary to sit on the floor? If you really couldn't stand for the thirty minutes it takes to get downtown, you could have asked for a courtesy seat. People are jerks but I've been riding the train for over a year now and I've never seen anyone outright refuse to give up a courtesy seat when asked. By sitting on the floor, you were taking up about the same amount of floor space of four standing passengers. Could you feel the rage of the 60 other train passengers directed toward you? Maybe you shouldn't take the train during rush hour. Just a suggestion.

From,
A Disgruntled Passenger



Dear Shawn,

Hypothetically speaking, if your wife devotes a large portion of her evening (every evening, for a week!) painting the condo, acceptable comments for you to make would include:

"Wow! You are such a good painter!"
"Your painting talent amazes me!"
"This is the best paint job I have ever seen!"

Unacceptable comments include (but are not limited to):

"You didn't use painter's tape to make a crease?"
and "I'm not criticizing your work, I'm just saying that if you used painter's tape, it would look better!"

Your wife knows how painter's tape works, in theory. You wife also knows (FROM EXPERIENCE) that it doesn't really work that well and it's easier to just touch up the uneven crease later.

Love,
The One Who Makes Your Dinner And Will Spit In Said Dinner If You Make Any More Snotty Comments About The Quality Of The Paint Job



Dearest Wolfgang,

I know that my arrival home from work is the highlight of your day. I realize that it is a Very! Exciting! Thing! and sometimes you can't contain yourself. Was it really necessary to headbutt me in the mouth, though? My tooth is still throbbing. I don't have dental insurance and if I need to go to the dentist because of this, it's coming directly out of your college fund.

Love,
The One Who Can't Put Any Pressure On Her Front Tooth Without Pain



Dear Vancouver Canucks:

You had a 3-1 lead. How could you lose 5-3? To Nashville, the lowest scoring team in the Western Conference. Smarten up!

Sincerely,
A Former Fan