This song really makes me wanna do the punch dance!

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Creepy People in Positions of Power Part 1

From early childhood to young adulthood,  we’ve all been raised in a world full of authority figures.   There are the ones to obviously be respected;  parents, teachers, police, etc.  But, there are also the ones who you kind of want to laugh at when they tell you what to do.  Ahem, some of them ride segways in the mall…

And nothing really against them, I mean, it’s a job and someone has to do it, but is there  a creepy personality quiz that they need to complete in order to get the job?  Kind of seems like it.  Here’s an example of my experience:

Movie Theatre Ticket Rippers

Now I have a very specific ritual of events that I go through when I visit the theater. 

Step 1: Buy tickets

Step 2: Go to the washroom

Step 3: Buy snacks

Step 4: Go into theater

Now, I think this is an excellent 4 step system to movie watching bliss, however, I was cruelly interrupted at step 2 one day last summer.

My friend and I were there to catch a matinée flick of some horror movie, cause that’s obviously the best time to be scared so you can exit into daytime.  Besides the point.   We got our tickets and started to head to the washroom.  Now, in this particular theater, there are 2 washrooms for women.  One, is at the beginning of the long corridor with all the theaters down it, ya know, like, 1-10.  The other is down the 10-20 hallway, all the way at the end.

Our movie was at the end of the 10-20 hallway, so we didn’t want to go all the way down to the washroom, all the way back to the concession for snacks, and then back down to the movie.  We figured, we’ll just go to the washroom at the beginning of the 1-10 hallway, get snacks, then head down.  This is where our flawless plan was foiled, by some crazy woman whose name I do not know. 

First of all, she wasn’t even standing at the little ticket ripping podium.  She was way ahead of it.  And let me point out that the podium is further back than the entrance to the washrooms, so you don’t actually need your tickets to get into it.   She had her hands extended for our tickets so I figured, whatever, she can rip them here, we’ll go to the washroom and be on our way.  Not so fast.   We handed over our tickets, and she read what theater we were supposed to be in.

“No, no, no, no, no, you in wrong plaaaaaaaaaaace!” she cried at us.

“Ya, we know, we’re just going to the washroom,” I told her.

She shook her head menacingly.  I took a step toward the washroom.  She stepped into my way.

“You not going in there!”

“I’m not sneaking into a movie, I’m just going to the washroom!”

“Nooooooooooo!”

My friend and I stood there with looks of disbelief plastered across our faces.  I did a quick scan for a hidden camera crew.  None. 

Crazy Face looked over to see a 15 yr old kid sweeping up popcorn and motioned rapidly for backup.  Sweeper came over in a hustle. 

“Ya?”

“You! You call for me Eugene!” screeched Crazy Face.

“Why?”

“You no argue!!! You call for me Eugene, now!”

I felt the need to interject,  “We’re just trying to go to the washroom.”

Sweeper looked confused.  “You’re just going to the washroom?”

I nodded.  “They’re just going to the washroom,” confirmed Sweeper.

Crazy Face wasn’t having any of this.

“I not getting fired for this! Call for me Eugene!”

I can only assume that Eugene was her supervisor, and hopefully not her knife wielding sidekick.  Either way, I didn’t want Sweeper to call for her Eugene, so I snatched my tickets back.   We started off towards out proper theater corridor and met another ticket ripper who was past his podium.  I handed over the tickets.  He let us in.

“Sir, am I allowed to use the washroom over there if my movie is over here?”

“Well ya,” he said.  “Anybody can go to any washroom here, you don’t even need a ticket.”

We got into the washroom and I turned to my friend. “What do you think she would have done if I’d made a run for the washroom?”

She looked at me with a very serious face.  “I think she would have called Eugene.”

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Fucking Big Brother

I know better than to get started on these ridiculous shows.  But I accidentally started to watch this season of  Big Brother and dammit I’m hooked. 

If any of you like, 7 people who keep checking my blog watch this show, then you’ll understand what I’m talking about, and for those of you who don’t watch the show, bless your hearts that you’ve managed to stay pure this summer. 

I HATE RACHEL. AND BRENDAN.         

These 2 are the fucking anti-christ!

Rachel is a VIP cocktail waitress in Vegas, and a ‘Chemist’ in her down time.  So she says.   I’m willing to bet all of her research is on how to cure the multitude of STD’s she’s acquired between her nasty firecrotchy legs over the billions of years she’s been sexually active.  Fucking slut.

Brendan is a highschool swim coach with a master’s degree in physics or something.  He’s hot, ya, at first.  Then you start to factor in that he puts his P in her V and then his sizzle factor slides from a hopeful 9 down to an ashamed and distorted 1.5. 

Don’t think so?  Pull you head out of your ass!  Look at the way he cowers around, mumbling about his ‘feelings’ and trying to console his wretched scraggly girlfriend as she pouts and cries that no one likes her.    He’s got to be so dumb!  Of all the wagons to hitch your horse to…GAWD.

The only thing I can definitively say about Brendan is that he must love horror films and being terrified, cause that’s the only reason I could ever think of as to why he chooses to wake up to that zitty, screechy, pre-op tranny fucking mess on a daily basis.  (Shudder) (Shuddering again)

Oooooh I hate Rachel so much, she looks like   Gosalyn from Darkwing Duck. But obviously not nearly as cute and not as good at fighting crime. 

And they’re both huge poor sports! They gloat when they win and then they cry and throw tantrums when they lose!  On this last episode they acted like they were going to have to donate their fucking kidneys when they couldn’t bowl properly.  When is the last time BOWLING made anyone cry?  Probably not since Kingpin, and that shit was legit.

My one saving grace in the house is the lovely, snarky, hilarious Brittany.

Bless her heart ❤

I also love Lane

He looks and sounds like a big dumb oaf, but he’s also pretty funny.  He’s part of a bullshit alliance called “The Brigade” that I won’t get into, but he’s definitely the best part of it.  And when he and Brittany combine forces, they are a comedy duo that I’m so thankful for on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.

Fast forward to the 3:30 mark for the awesomeness : )

Anyways, that’s my stance on Big Brother thus far, it’s infuriating me beyond belief but I guess goddamn CBS is getting their precious ratings at the expense of my sanity.

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Transit Trials & Tribulations

Most of us take transit sometime in our lives.   Some experiences are better than others. 

For me, times aboard the bus, train, or even a cab, are usually the worst.

Let me give a few examples,

THE SNEEZING INDIAN

A few years ago I was riding on the C-Train in my beloved Calgary.   It was when I got off of work and I was with my friend Diana, who was in school to be a nurse.  It was pretty dead on the train, and we ended up sitting in a pair of seats that were facing each other. 

A few rows down, diagonally facing me, were 2 Native American gentlemen.  They were drinking Listerine. 

Now, I had always heard of this.  In fact, where I grew up, I heard of this kind of shit all the time, but never had seen it.  Seeing it in real life was like watching a dog walk on its hind legs for the first time ever, so my eyes were pretty glued. 

All of a sudden, one of them started sneezing. Hard. He sneezed, and sneezed, I was counting the sneezes, he got to 7 sneezes…and on the eighth sneeze, he sneezed the hardest I’d ever a seen a sneeze sneezed. And it flew, down the train, into MY EYE!!!

I started to scream.  Diana started to laugh.  The natives kept drinking.

Me,   “My eye! My eye! There’s Aids in my eye! Ahhhhhhhh!!!!”

Diana, “Haaaaaaaaaaaaahahahhaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahhaaaaaaaaaahaha oh oh haaaaaaaaaaaahahhahaa!!!!!”

Me, “Bluuughhhhhh! I’m blind! I’m blind! Aaaghhhhahahahahahha!”

Native Gentleman, “Fuuuuuck man, what a sneeeeeeze ehhhhh?”

Me and Diana started running to other seats before we got any sneezy after shocks.  Diana could hardly breathe through her laughter, and I might even say she was strangely unsympathetic for a health professional in training. 

Anyways, that was fucking disgusting.  I had to wait another 30 minutes before I got home to try to wash my eye out and I was actually super afraid of catching something.  I didn’t even enjoy looking with that eye for like, another 2 weeks cause I felt it was so tarnished. 

THAT FUCKING BUS

In this case, I wasn’t even on the bus.  I was walking down 17th Avenue, which, if you know Calgary at all, is probably one of the coolest avenues it’s got.  I used to live at the top of it, and I would walk from there, to the train station, which was pretty far, but I hated to take buses and sometimes would  just rather walk. 

Anyways, so I was walking, had my Ipod on, boppin away to my music, on a nice summer day.  I wasn’t really paying that much attention to my surroundings, but I was in the lead of a pack of people.  Then a bus went by. 

It spit up a rock that flew directly into my forehead.

It might as well have been a bullet that hit me in the head the way I reacted to it.

I flew back into the crowd, I don’t even know if any of them had seen what happened, so there was a bit of confusion as to why I was suddenly yelling out swear words and flailing about.  This caused the crowd to kind of disperse onto the road a bit, blocking an oncoming cyclist.    Sooooo, the cyclist, decided to avoid hitting all those people by jumping his bike onto the sidewalk, and coming straight for me.  Then I had to make a mad dive out of his way, still screaming.   My dive wasn’t exactly worthy of a Bruce Willis movie, it was more like, a person with broken legs wearing moonshoes.

I stumbled back onto my feet, with about 40 pairs of eyes on me, wondering what the fuck had just happened. Naturally, I started to run away, contemplating if I should buy a fashion helmet for every day use.

 INDER THE CAB DRIVER

Not actually Inder

This weekend I got obliterated.  I had to take a cab home from my friends house, which was the responsible and safe thing to do.  I’ve done it many times before, to mixed results of success.  I’ve yelled at cab drivers, I’ve puked in their taxis, I’ve high fived with the cabbies, and I’ve fallen asleep in the middle of my way home.  All acceptable acts of a drunk person as far as I’m concerned. 

This time though, after me announcing just how gone I was to my driver as we departed for my place, stupid motherfucking INDER decided that he would start hitting on me.  Now I know, obviously I’m very attractive when I’m drunk.  Between my slurs, smeared makeup, and impersonations of The Count from Sesame Street, I can see how it’s irresistable to take a swipe at my digits. 

 But a cab driver is supposed to be a safe resort for you when you’re too drunk to fend for yourself.  If I’m walking in the street and some douche starts to talk to me who might be dangerous, it’s almost more acceptable, because I’m not paying him to keep me safe.  But a cab driver? Bushhhhh League!

Anyways, after we got to my house, Inder asked if he could hang out with me sometime, and I told him NO  But goddamn Inder was a persistent little asshole, and said we should hang out right now.  Put the car in park, and turned off the ignition and started to get out.  

I have never  drunkenly ran so fast in my life, except for the time I thought the pizza by the slice place was closing before I got to it. 

The next day I had to get a cab to go back to my friends and grab the car, and this guy was way more cool.  I told him what happened and he said, and I quote,

“Who the hell would want to fuck a Hindu?”   

His words! Don’t call me a racist….But I laughed.

 

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Losing Weight on Facebook

I have the unfortunate privilege of being friends with a couple other narcissists on facebook.

You might know the ones I’m talking about.   They’re in the process of losing weight, or starting a new fitness regimen, and they want the WHOLE fucking world to know. 

The first few statuses go like this,

Minerva is going for a 5km walk!

Minerva is oh my god, just finished the longest walk ever! so tired, but boy is it worth it!

Minerva is Started jogging today, walking is for pansies! But you gotta start somewhere!

Then all of their friends will write words of encouragement to these fucking mirror huggers and the cycle continues.  I’m all for self-improvement, but I hate people who do shit like this!  They just revel in the thought that people are envious of their new lifestyle and they totally get off on that notification thing being lit up on facebook.

It’s  fishing for compliments on a ‘global’ scale and I resent them for it.  I hate when they show up on my mini feed posing in front of their bathroom mirror with their phone or camera trying to make a face that shows they’re ‘serious’. Or like they don’t know they’re taking their own picture.  Or worse, they somehow get a friend to go out with them and have a self-love photo session in their backyard. 

If I wanted to spend my time being updated on other people’s weight loss/gain/see fatties in minimal clothes, I would just watch the Biggest Loser.

I could just un-friend them or take them off my feed, but that’s not the point!

Get your validation somewhere normal! Like at the bar! Or a whorehouse!

Stop putting your fucking meal plans as your statuses too, fuckwits! Nobody needs to know that gluten makes you run to the bathroom praying you don’t shit yourself on the way there! Nobody!

No one is going to call you and ask you to be an after photo!

God I’m getting worked up here! Worked Up!

It’s like they’re standing there all nonchalant in front of their mirror, secretly hoping to evoke admiration from their 100’s of facebook friends, who by the way, are not all  friends (as you can see here). 

Why not just workout and shut the fuck up about it?  Surprise people with your new physique the next time they see you. People love surprises.

I loathe when people try to get compliments. And when I see it happening, I do everything I can to shut it down. You gotta stonewall them.  And it’s pretty funny to watch them keep trying.

So once again, no real point, just had to get this out in the open, and if you’re doing this, please stop, it’s making my blood boil.

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Productive Days

Everyone likes to feel productive.  However, everyone’s version of productivity is different. 

For some, its going to work, grocery shopping after a long day, fixing dinner, cleaning the house, walking the dog, doing laundry, banking, etc.

For others, it’s waking up, feeding themselves, showering, feeding themselves again, and chugging vodka before you go to your ‘job’.

Guess which category I fit into?

It’s sad, but I know there’s other people out there like me who give themselves a hearty pat on the back for completing basic daily living tasks, and aren’t shy about basking in the afterglow.

Someone will say to me, “Hey, what’d you do today?”

Me, “Well I ate, and I did my dishes…..Yup….Ahhhhhhhhhh”

The other person almost always can’t hide their shock and admiration. 

Sometimes at night I will drink some wine and try to be creative, think of new things to write about, plot my take over of the world, but then all of a sudden, I’ve drank too much wine to trust myself that my thoughts are awesome, and I’ll start writing something else:  My To-Do List for the next day.  It’s always a barely legible scribbled piece of shit that goes something like this

TODAY!!!!!!!

Wake up!

Eat!

Ya!

Go on the Treadmill! Then go on Wii Fit!

Shower!

Mail Stuff!

Vacuum!

Laundry!

Go to work : (

Of all of the things that I write down, I cross off the ones I’ve completed, and I circle the ones that I’ll ‘do the next day’.  The circle list is usually bigger than the cross off list. And I blame the wine, I totally blame the wine, cause it’s hard to fake hula hoop on the Wii fit balance board when it’s hard to stand up at all.  So the exercise part rarely gets done.

The laundry only really gets half done, vacuuming probably will never get done until something drastic happens on the floor, and no, I don’t mean like I shit myself or anything, I just mean like, if I’m eating a rice cake, cause we all know how faulty those things are put together.

You might be thinking that showering shouldn’t be part of a To-Do List cause it’s a totally basic hygienic thing to do, but let me tell you, for me, its serious effort.   I used to live in Calgary, and it was really dry there, and the amount of showering I had to do was drastically decreased compared to now, where I live on the Coast.  It was awesome.   You might be going, ‘ewwwwwww’ but at least it was environmentally friendly not wasting the water and all. 

 Here you kinda have to shower everyday, or at least every 2 days.  This weather makes it really hard to bask in the glory of being a dirtball.   And showering is so time-consuming.  Maybe not the actual shower, cause it only really takes 7 minutes if you’re being quick about it, but it’s the aftermath.

Sidenote, don’t the words, ‘The Aftermath’ make you think of that old TV show called Top Cops? Maybe you didn’t watch it, but you should have. It was on in the 90’s, and it would be re-enacted crimes and how the cops dealt with it and sometimes it was dramatic and scary.  At the end of the dramatization, the voice over guy would go, “And now….The Aftermath” and it would tell you what happened to the criminals.   I don’t really know what I was doing watching that shit when I was 6, but hey, whatever, nobody’s parents are on the ball 100% of the time.

Anyways, so the biggest reason I hate showering is cause it takes soooooo long to get ready afterwards if you’re a girl who doesn’t happen to be one of those people who puts wet hair in a bun in a rubber band and calls it a day.  Girls have blow-drying, lotion applying, lip balm putting on, straightening/curling/touseling, putting on makeup, doing nails etc.

It’s a fucking procedure and a half and I resent it.  And the finished product is only worth it sometimes.

I’m kind of afraid of when the day comes that I’ll have actual things to do and prioritize, but I suppose until then I’ll just keep chugging along with my drunken To-Do Lists and dirty clothes.

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Accidental Eye Fucking

Have we all heard of ‘eye-fucking’? I think so. If not, here’s a quick run down.

It’s when you give someone a look that conveys your desire to have sex with them.  You look them up and down, or side to side, whatever, and your eyes send the message that you’re seeing them naked.  And you like it.

      This is a good example. 

Most people don’t do it with a finger in their mouth though, unless they’re eating wings or something.

I think that my eyes express a yearning for mischief, where in fact, what I think that I’m expressing is being lost in translation, kinda like in chinese telephone, and the message being received is that I want to have sex with everyone in my eye line.

I never eye fuck on purpose. Well, once I did.

I was at a new lounge spot and it happened to be a total sausage fest.  There were more cocks in there than on a rooster farm.  Naturally, I was enticed.    I was there with a friend, and we had a table kind of in the middle of the place.  It was dim, and it smelled of liquor and desperation. It was perfect.  There was a table of men nearby  us, and I was looking around, taking in the scene.  I saw a heavy-set guy at this table,  and I thought it might be funny to check him out, cause I felt like he probably didn’t get it much. Big mistake.  He saw me looking at him with my ‘fuck-me eyes’ and said,

“Hey”

I stared blankly at him, “Huh?”

“I saw you looking at me, what’s up?”

Me, “No….I just have a lazy eye”                        

His whole table started laughing at him, hard.  I joined in. I started smacking my hand on the table as my friend and I doubled over, the guy sat there, castrated, and the other guys at his table bought us a round of drinks.

I felt a little bad that I might have hurt his feelings, but karma has had me in a headlock since, so don’t feel too bad for him.

Anyways, there are plenty of other times, where I’m just out with friends, or whatever, and somehow, the message from my face, unbeknownst to my brain, is telling people that I’m up for action. 

One of the big problems,I suspect,  is that my eyes are terrible.

They’re cute and all, but I’m blind as shit. I squint, or I just stare. But to some, squinty eyes equals fuck me eyes, and the next thing I know, some lurch is trying to get some. With the staring, I’m not trying to get anyones attention, I just flat out can’t see. Your face might as well be pixellated until you’re 10 feet away from me, and even then, depending on what I’ve drank that night, it’s still dicey.  So I guess that makes sense, if you see someone staring your way over and over, you’d think they were interested too, but for todays lesson, maybe assume once in awhile that they can’t see well and they don’t want you.

But let’s consider that I’m not always squinting or staring. When I’m just normal. Bigtime normal. Why then? I don’t get it.  I don’t even know if I could handle the truth.

I was having a drink with another friend at a pub a few days ago and this guy started talking to us.  The conversation between he and I was pretty standard, until he told me he could ”make me squeal” and that he thought we should get a hotel room “so you can bounce around on my cock a little bit”.    

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my knees are horrible and I probably would only be able to bounce once or twice before I fell over. 

But that’s besides the point. The fucking point is, I didn’t do anything to make this guy think that sex was up for grabs, so I blame my eyes and the looks they’re secretly sending.

So now I’m really at a loss of what to do. This isn’t a sitcom, so I haven’t got a clever answer for you at the end of this episode.  I guess I’m just doomed to keep making the same accidental eye fucktastrophes and see where I wake up.

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