Seriously, guys, they're my number four favourite...

Titles are so mainstream...

Do you know what I loathe? Tough decisions!!

Also, flying.

Let me tell ya, if you want to travel with a hair dryer and curling iron in your carry on luggage, questions are going to be raised. Also, it was a delight to have three airport officials dig through my bag, examining everything from my Spanx to my Archie comics.

And that was before I had a blog.

Who knows what kind of file the "man" has amassed on me... If you take everything I've ever looked at on the internet, every purchase I've ever made, everything I ever said on Facebook, Twitter, text, MSN, email, ICQ, Livejournal, this very blog... well...

Ya, this is going to be one of those nights where the post just goes nowhere...

And now we play the waiting game...

Aww... the waiting game sucks! Let's play hungry hungry hippos.

Today's the big day. Throw down. House jam. Box social.

I couldn't sleep last night. It felt like Christmas Eve. And this morning, I came bounding up the stairs, "Today's the day, it's finally here!!"

And somehow, miraculously, I am ready. Got my hair did, brows plucked and nails done. Called Irish, "OK, I have 2 hours to kill til Grey is in the city. How can I most effectively use these 2 hours to make this party even awesomer?"

"Grab a deck of cards," she replied.

"It's not going to take me 120 minutes to locate a goddamn pack of cards. Gawd!"

So I painted my nails, ate lunch with the parents, and realized this was probably a perfect opportunity to blog. Also, still haven't grabbed the cards!

So tonight, I shall drink my face off until I puke, in honour of Grey's and my birthdays. Your welcome.

No music today. I'm weary after crafting a 4-hour perfect party-playlist. And all the goddamn cooking. The birthday girl should never volunteer to be both caterer and deejay...

*O. I gots me a boyfriend. NBD.

Preparations must be made!

What my family is doing to prepare for the Apacolypse...

1. Mom is reading 1984 and contemplating a motorcycle licence.

2. Bro is quitting smoking and working out.

3. My Dad is building sheds on the compound.

Goddamn birthdays...

Can't sleep.

Feeling terribly insecure.

I hate myself when I feel like this.

I think I'm ovulating.

And by last night, I mean several weeks ago...

I really need more nerds in my life. I do pride myself on being a geek, and socializing with fellow dweebs, but when your computer gets infected with a virus, you quickly realize you're just pretenders, hangers-on.

What I  needed last night was a good-ol-fashioned dork, proficient in all the geek-arts.

By the end of the night, I had made up my mind to take it into a shop in the morning, and pay some geek to fix it for me. Gotta unsolvable problem? Throw money at it!!

But then Irish puts it into my head that I can fix it myself... Sure, it's a slightly complex virus, that needs more loving attention than a quick fix. But it's also a well-known virus. After sleeping on it, I awake, resolved to fix it myself. After all, why pay someone to do something you can do yourself?

It's kinda lost its timelyness...

Have ya seen {this} ??!!?

Here are some of my favourite lyrics...

Rebecca Black - Friday                                                              

7am, waking up in the morning                                              
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs                                      
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal                                  
Seein’ everything, the time is goin’                                         
Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)


Notice most narritive songs don't start with the alarm clock? There are a million-and-one boring moments in ones day. Eating cereal and waiting for the bus? Boring. You don't hear Beyonce whining about waiting in line at the ATM before going to the club.

Kickin’ in the front seat
Sittin’ in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?

OK, everyone knows shot-gun is the primo spot, so really, a moot-point. And who the hell is picking up a 13-year-old chick at the bus stop? Although, I envy the girl, if this is the hardest decision she has to make all day.

It’s Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin’ down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend

Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin’ forward to the weekend

This sounds like it was written by someone who has never actually attended a party. Or, a three year old. Or random shit I would sing pregaming it, while doing my make up.
Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin’)
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today

OK. She's not even using real sentences any more. "We so excited"? Seriously? How is this even remotely passable?

Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after...wards
I don’t want this weekend to end

Now the song takes an educational twist. Yesterday was Thursday. Tomorrow is Saturday. And Sunday comes afterwords. Wednesday was the day before last. Tuesday was before that. After Sunday will be Monday. Then guess what? Tuesday again. Then it's just three more days until Friday. Friday. Friday. Fun. Fun. Fun. Partyin'. Partyin'. Partyin'.

This song goes nowhere. 

Sad, hurt, angry and upset...

Originally posted in January...

So.... I'm not having sex.

Like right now for instance. I'm blogging and listening to Mr. Bruce Springstein like the hurtbag I am.

Like, I haven't had sex in a year.

OK, more accurately, I haven't had sex this year.

Let's not call this a manbbatical, but I'm def. taking a break from idiots and assholes.

Before this post turns into a BLAH, BLAH, BLAH I'm ooooolllllld, men suuuuuckkkk, will I die alllooooonnnee? Boohoo, Bridget Jones pity-party... I'd just like to point out that even the best of them with even the best of intentions, are essentially, cocks who think with their cocks.

So without further adieu (and because, shockingly, too many people read this blog for me to post details) here's another vague teaser, "Everything I need to know about men I learned in college"

Ironically posted six months later...

I've learned how to back-date posts.

Which probably means I will just procrastinate and then fill in the gaps at a later date.

I'm a busy journalist, what can I say.

Published six months after the fact...

Well. You know how it is by now. I stop posting when life gets interesting. Sorry that I'm too busy living my life to blog about living my life.

Besides. There are just certain things that a lady n'er blogs about.


And as for the report card? Exceeded expectations.

*editor's note: this is about sex! teeheehee. Aww... this was the makings of a delightful free ride...

Still accepting applications...

Good news! Tonight I assembled my "team alpha" in preparation for the end of the world. 10 people made the cut.

There are, literally, 10 people in my life that I would want to try and hack it with in a post-apocalyptic society.

(If curious... Thrifty, Irish, Brown, Grey, Silver, The Biebs, Sky, Irish Senior, Emm-double-you... you've been selected for your skills, strength, bravery, hilariousness and attractiveness)


(That's only nine, isn't it... you can assume you're the 10th ;)

In other news... I'm really into reading Mormon Mommy blogs right now.

How is this song equally awesome, whether I'm weepy and depressed or jubilant and content?



Also, need a tuxedo.

Surprised... AND delighted? I'm in...

I'm addicted to Google Analytics. I can't wait to come home and check it. I check it before Facebook even.

It's just so much delicious statistics! Hooray for math!

*Whine* why doesn't anyone comment other than Thrifty! She ain't my only reader! Maybe what I'll start doing is only blogging about half a sex-shenanigan and then will leave you hanging and unsatisfied until you coment inquiring more details.

*whoa! editor's note* that was meant to say sexy-shenanigan.

I'm really starting to feel like this is a one-way relationship. I'm doing all the work here, entertaining you and spilling my guts.

Also, Thrifty, I pledge to start responding to your comments.

Oh, so ya. It's ma beeday. I am, officially, old. It's time to put on some pants and be a grown-up.

The original stalker...

In October, election night, I signed up for a Google Analytics account. So I could monitor you scoundrels.

Then, completely forgot about it. Until last night. Where I completed the final step in the sign-up process.

So, in short, all of your moves are being tracked, as we speak.


I can seeeeee you!


Also, have double the amount of readers I thought I had... huh...

I'm relieved she didn't eat them...

*April Fools Update*

Text message from Mummy this morning:

"Cookies were terrible, hard as dog biscuits. Broke my tooth."

Bwahahaha

*Further update*

She was so distracted by our comedy stylings, that she forgot to pack her spagetti!! WIN!

Currently gorging self on chocolate, don't mind me...

Well it's that time of year again. It's ma beeday, so time for your regularly-scheduled nervous-breakdown and the subsequent re-evaluation of my life.

April Fools?

April Fools Day "hijinx", narry a shenanigan...

Ah, April Fools Day. My favourite holiday. I loooove me a good prank. I'm more of a spontaneous prankster, however.

I mean, April Fools Day is kinda like Valentine's Day. I like to show my love all-year-round. I don't need a Hallmark-holiday to tell me when to say 'I love you'.

And the way I show my mother that I love her is by pranking her each and every April Fool's Day.

Now, my mother. I tell her it says 'gullible' on the ceiling and she looks up. When we were kids we used to play this game. It was called, 'pretend to drive away'.

It was Dad's favourite game. My mother would return the shopping buggy, or finish up paying, or whatever, and Dad would drive away with Bro and I shrieking peals of laughter in the back seat. But she always fell for it. (And Dad would double-back, picking up a very exasperated mother.)

While we love to prank her throughout the year, the big event is Christmas. Bro, Dad and I get together, and plot a beauty of a Christmas prank.

But April Fool's Day, we like to keep it low-key. Just a token-prank, cause she's expecting it.

Usually, we just put some fake worms on her alarm clock. But, Dad's been on a toy-purging rampage. Even the Leggos are gone. The creepy crawler oven is long gone (which was, essentially, a prankster machine).

So, we got to brainstorming (and it was a damn good thing I was there to say, 'No Bro. I don't think disconnecting the fuse in her room is a good idea.')

In the end, we threw some dog cookies in a ziplock bag, with a note that they were baked by Angel (a mutual friend of ours. Who is an excellent baker. And in the past, has given us unfamiliar cookies)

Bro and I are a little concerned that Mom may actually fall for it, and eat a frackin' dog cookie. Boy will she be mad.

Other rejected prank ideas:

Replacing her toothbrush with a fork.
Hiding all the towels in the house.
Take all the food out of the fridge.
Eat all her yogurt.
Put a dog cookie in her yogurt.
Disconnect her light switch.
I'm not working with much here, folks.

*ATTENTION* today I used a free coffee... and I WON another coffee... mind, BLOWN.

We've been infiltrated...

Goddamn you red wine.

Seriously, to all the ladies out there reading this, stop dating bumbling 20-somethings and find yourself a nice, older dude.

I know I have waxed-poetic on this topic before, but ladies, I have gone out into the field, done the research, and 30-somethings are where it's at.

Sure, they're still dudes (read: oblivious) but with more practice at the game, less bumbling, more smooth. More comfortable in their sexuality. Forget the stupid dance, pretending to be shy and reserved. You'll be wined. You'll be dined. And at the end of the night... well... they tend not to disappoint.

Unfortunately for me, however, a perfect night was cut frustratingly short.

Hence, the blogging.

Now turn the lights down low, cause it's about to get romantic...





P.S. It's ridiculously easy to snag an older dude. Private message me for my 10-step no-fail program.Oh, but ya gotta be pretty.Big tits don't hurt, either.

Challenge, accepted...

Things I did this weekend:

1. Saved a child's life
2. Had a near, near-death experience
3. Snuck a boy home

A man walks into a bar...

And I'm like.. instantly attracted to him.

Not, like, love at first sight. I'm not about to get all mushy on you, folks.

He just walks into the bar... and instantly... BAM.

He looks like {this}

From then on, I realized my night could not be complete without kissing him.

Tears of a clown...

Well folks. It's finally happened. It hit me
Muthafuckin virus.
Irish and I tried to troubleshoot, but to no avail.
Currently blogging via dad's iPod touch.
Fuck. I love you Internet. I promise we will never fight again...

It might also be fun to be a madam for a day...

Did I ever tell you about the time I was a stellar wing-man? Oh yes, not a wing-woman (I can barely snag a man for myself, let alone a friend.)

But no. I wing-manned for Buddy, he got both her phone number and a lusty makeout session.

Now Buddy is asking me "first date advice". I'm playing Cyrano de Bergerac.

And it is fucked being on the other side of the fence. I've got this chick eating out of Buddy's hand.
And ya, maybe he does like her and his intentions are half-way honourable.

But it's all a fucking game.

What happened to good ol' fashioned honesty?

I'm a terrible speller.

Do you ever listen to Dr. Drew? Specifically, Love Line With Dr. Drew?

You may be familiar with Dr. Drew of celebrity rehab fame. But take away the B-list (C-list and D-list) celebrity drama, and you've got one heckuva radio call-in show. People, from across North America call in with their problems with love, sex, relationships, drugs, alcohol and everything in between. It's sometimes *fucked* up, always entertaining, and you always walk away a little wiser, a little more insightful, after a show.

I don't catch it very often. (Sunday through Thursday, 11 p.m. to 1 a.m. on Edge 102.1. Ya, I listen to The Edge, on occasion. Sometimes a girl needs a break from Zoomer Radio, OK?)

*Sidebar* notice the differences between the Edge site versus Zoomer? Please write a comparative essay detailing a minimum of three (3) ways the sites differ. What demographic do you think each of the sites is trying to reach? Explain, siting a minimum of three (3) examples. Why do you think a 25 year-old chick would prefer Zoomer over The Edge? Feel free to speculate.

And for tomorrow's show? Kevin Smith will be guest hosting. Yes, of Clerks fame. (and not much of late. Also, fuck you, Chasing Amy)
So the only logical question remaining, is, what question would I ask Kevin Smith and Dr. Drew about sex and relationships.

(Yes, I am totally the type to call into a radio call-in show. Hi, this is Veronica from Scarborough, first time caller, long time listener)

But first, musical interlude...

The fable of a drunk chic and a good time....

OK, let's break it down here. The reasons why I haven't been posting.

1. I'm sad and lonely
2. Nothing interesting happens
3. When interesting things happen, they usually involve unbloggable unmentionables
4. Weather. Depression
5. Sitting in a chair staring at a screen ALL day

But I guess it all began... Tuesday night.... at the concert....

Naw, not going to get into that yet (although, I am sufficiently tipsy enough for that). But Tuesday night, was such a perfect night of randomness, shenanigans and safety. It really reminded me... of what can happen.... when you say..... YES!! to everything.

And then, tonight.....

What a sensible choice.

But, I have a confession...

Choose your own adventure...

Sometimes, you just have a killer night.

And, well, sometimes killer nights just can't be shared on ones blog.

But this glass of red wine is urging me to spin a yarn. But, you'll have to fill in some of the blanks for yourself.

I don't get to see boys very often.

I'm lucky to have 6 cute boys in a room. Very lucky. And my journalism job is Monday to Fridsy, 9 to 5. Do you realize what kind of boys I see all day.

This is the only remotely cute one. (Mmm... mmm... i love red wine)

And at my retail job? I sell high-waisted pants to older ladies. *whispers* we don't get many cute boys!

And you would think, that for a recovering boyoholic, this would be an ideal situation.

Au contraire, I need boys. When you take me away from the boys I start considering guys like this, because that's litearally all to consider.

Otherwise, there's cute boys here and there in Uxbridge, but I never see them, ever again. It really is depressing. I do have my fill of society ladies and men-over-45 (a considerably less sexy category) in my day to day life.

And as a recovering boyoholic, the absolute worst thing you can do to me, is put me in a room with hot boys. Oh fuck, last night was a visual orgy of hot guys.

The origins of Family Day... well, sort-of...

Holy crap, I just lost one of the most beautiful and elegant post's I've ever written in my short life. Then deleted, by mistake.

And now, it's bedtime.

As for me, don't you worry about me my faithful followers. But there's nothing shenaniganarific going on right now. I feel I've failed my motto, Procrastinate Now!!

But never fear, dear Interwebbers. For this weekend marks the anniversary of my father, and brother's birth. As well, it is a most sacred holiday that Ontarian's hold dear: Family Day. Ah, for those of us in Ontario, the Family Day Holiday is more sacred and amusing then Christmas, Hallowe'en and My Birthday combined.

So, it's the least I can do, for you, dear reader. I solemnly vow, on this sanctimonious holiday weekend commemorating the sacred bonds of family ties, to go on a bender. And make sweet shenanigany tomfoolery all throughout the land.

Wish me peace, in my noble quest.

For if I shall fail, then I shall return to this blogorator device, and make up lies about how "the weekend was epic" and "it was totally boss, fo'sho"

Small fish in a small pond...

Tonight I felt like a real, honest-to-goodness, journalist.

I left the office at 5:30, then had an hour and a half to kill before council. So I found this classy pub...

(Oh ya... by the way... I have, like an internship and junk. I'm, like, totally almost done school. I'm a friggin' grown-up)

And I had this awesome dinner, read the agenda, grabbed a coffee and walked down to the town hall.

(It's a weekly newspaper, community owned, in a small town. I commute.)

I love township council. I thought I loved Toronto City Council. But it's seriously, the highlight of my week. There are only 5 councillors, the regional councillor and the mayor (as well as a treasurer, CAO, clerk and deputy clerk.)

That's 11, for those keeping count. Toronto has 44 councillors alone. Even TDSB has bigger meetings than the Township.

I talk to the mayor once a week. Press has its own desk in the council chambers. Press is consulted for lunch breaks. Free coffee. Councillor2 and I are on a friendly, first-name basis. Councillor4 is following me on Twitter.

Council meets on Mondays, and I spend Sunday nights giddy with anticipation.

I've fallen hard for municipal politics. And to think, this time last year, I was dreading covering the municipal election.

But there's always something quick and dirty at a council meeting (story, that is.) I love the 'average Joes' who come out to watch. And you get to know some of the personalities through the cast of characters that parade in, to speak to council.

Sometimes, I wished I lived there.

Ya, I'm pretty much done with Toronto. Maybe another year in the city, and then it's off to greener pastures for me. Will I be gone forever? Fuck no, I'm a city girl after all. But 5 years? 10?

(I asked a question during council. And it wasn't a stupid question. But I got nervous.... LAME.)

Which brings me to another point. I'm SHY in Township. ME, who called out deputy chair, John Parker in an interview. Who had the first interview with Jane Pitfield after her defeat to, well, Mr. Parker.

I think... in Toronto I feel I can be forgotten. If I fuck up, I'm just yet another faceless media. But in a town with only a handful of reporters and a handful of sources, you can't have annonymity. And people know who I am. People remember me. And let's face it, I know fuck-all about small towns. I feel I don't even know the lingo anymore.

One thing's for certain: I love municipal politics, whether in a small town or the big city. I'm curious to cover it provincially and federally. Hmm... maybe I can convince Doc (my boss) that I should cover the next provincial shindig. Our MPP is presenting a private members bill about commercial fill, which is a HUGE "hot-button issue" in town.

(Ya see what I did there, right? I said "our" MPP.)

Oh, on a somewhat related note, I've decided I want to be a municipal politician when my hypothetical children are in high school. I was going to run for trustee, but now I'm wondering about small-town councillor. Oooh or finally realize my life-long dream of marrying a farmer.

Here's a treat:

Mmmm... panic

So I've neglected my poooooor Twitter. (I start too many posts with 'So' I think...)

And there's really no excuse. I update FB a thousand times a day via text. Twitter is just as simple.

But I'm an attention whore. And 90% of tweets go unread. And I can't sign on to FB without a notification.

So I actually went onto Twitter today, followed some of my friends who added me eons ago (sorry) and updated my ridiculously out-of-date profile.

Next stop... the blog... and I just can't bring myself to update my "about me" section. It means erasing The Observer, The Courier and even my retail job (naw, didn't quit, but I'm now part-time).

I'm pathetic.

In moronic news... I sent a verrrrrry stupid text to Irish. Or, at least I thought it was to Irish. I just assumed she was the last person I texted (and usually, she is... I need a bf...)

So, who was the last person I texted?!? TWITTER. F....M....L....!

In an unexpected twist of irony, my effort to utilize Twitter more has made me NEVER want to use twitter EVER again.

I realized my error almost immediately. And then panicked, trying to figure out how to delete the tweet.

On a possibly related note... I think that if you've found my Twitter, then surely you've been here too... And I just wanted you to know... that I googled you. And even though I may have more to hide, you have more to lose. (Why does this sound like a threat? I wanna be your friend, but I don't know what the rules are...)

This is why you're an asshole...

It's not often that you get stabbed in the heart and the back simultaneously.






*Just let me be a drama queen, I'll calm down.

Fuck titles...

Mainly, I don't know what to write. I don't know who I am and who I want to be and blah blah blah all that angsty J.D.Sallinger crap.

I'm starting to look at other chick's blogs, thinking, 'this bitch is fucked' and I don't really want to be that bitch. Also, don't want to be the bitch who calls other bitches, bitch.

I realize it's 2011. But all I wanna do is watch Jersey Shore. Fuck goal-setting and reevaluating your life.