Not drunk all the time!!!

I know, I know, I am a bit behind on things. Lara came to visit LAST weekend, and I am only getting around to blogging about it NOW... But believe me, if you knew half of what kind of week I just had, you'd understand why I was too busy drinking and moping to blog about a wonderful oasis of a weekend I had just a week ago that seemed liek a lifetime ago.... LARA come back!!!!I know, I know, I am a bit behind on things. Lara came to visit LAST weekend, and I am only getting around to blogging about it NOW... But believe me, if you knew half of what kind of week I just had, you'd understand why I was too busy drinking and moping to blog about a wonderful oasis of a weekend I had just a week ago that seemed like a lifetime ago....

LARA come back soon and for GOOD!!!

We went to Duncan, land of totem poles, hippies and of course, the world's biggest hockey stick. It was so fun! I hereby proclaim Duncan is Drunken no more, it is Hippiecan or something more catchy, but in that vein.

And it was actually nice out!The sky was blue, there was sunshine and I even had to dig out my sunglasses. Yah!! I'm so ready for pedicures and no scarf weather! (Not that that mean that I will be putting away my heater. NEVER!)

We met up with Amaya for breakfast at Floyd's and then just bummed around downtown. It was a fun, relaxing weekend. This seems more like a Kate update, but this happened so long ago now. I don't know what to say about it.

(REDACTED)

Walking with a Ghost

What a Week!

Ever had one of those weeks where disaster only follows disaster? Where everything you touch seems to break ( in my case, it falls… just call me butterfingers) Where even the most common mishap, say a burnt out lightbulb, is enough to drive you to tears? Well, welcome to me week. The days were not counted by nights of blissful rest but of intervals of black space between disasters and awkwardness and hardships.

These are my struggles.

A half reno-ed house that has become overcome with woodbugs. Woodbugs! We spent thousands of dollars on fancy laminate floors to be overthrown by armies of weird silver bugs that curl up into balls and frolick about MY place like they own it? No. I don’t think so. An annoying bout of butterfingers-itis that has caused me to drop a big tub of laundry detergent on my patio; a bottle of body lotion on my kitchen floor; a water bottle on my living room floor; a cellphone more times than I care to admit; and a really sharp kitchen knife which inexplicably "fell" into my leg twice in the last two weeks! An insurable case of dementia which has caused me no small amount of grief as I thought I had lost my mp3 player; my gym membership card; my passport; my gym lock; my hammer and yes, car ( which can happen a lot more often than you think when you usually park you car in front of your house but then one night you have to park it a block away and then when you leave for work the next morning your car is nowhere to be seen.. well, I guess it could be seen if I walked like two steps; but still it’s enough to give a girl a grey hair when it happens at 8 in the morning before I’ve had my morning coffee).

What else has happened?

I almost died from gas poisoning when I tried to bake a pizza in my gas oven. My illegal cable was cut leaving me TV-less on Wednesday night, ( Yes, I know, LOST and ANTM night!! So bad!!). Also, I had planned on getting shaw digital phone so I could call all my peeps whenever I want but then since I had illegal cable I decided to get a telus phone and now I have to get cable so I should have gotten Shaw digital phone in the first place!!! Oy vae!! It’s enough to make my head spin.

Then there is the bathroom saga.

Well, the saga that there is no bathroom. That everytime you sit on the toliet the back jiggles. That there is no door to the bathroom. That there is no floor. That the place is a disaster and I have been living there since March 10! Not fun! Going upstairs to have shower really early every morning! Not fun!

Then there is work.

Work is a saga unto itself. I worked overtime today. Overtime! I came in to work at 7:30 am. (Course now I am wasting that extra hour by blabbing on in my blog; so whatevs, it all comes out in the wash, right? I am starting to feel the pressure, deadlines, ungrateful bosses; know-it-all clients, unhappy co-workers. I swear If I develop a furrowed brow or a single grey hair from this job; I am out of here. Starbucks, here I come.

Then on top of all these struggles, there is the main struggle,

I am lonely.

I have not many friends here. All by myself! (please start singing that Celine Dion classic to yourself, as you read the rest of this entry). Nobody to watch TV with me. Nobody to talk to on the phone with. Nobody! No fair! I miss being busy with fun things to do and great, exciting plans. I want summer and fun and excitement. Not boring, raining winter with it’s no fun gloom and dust.

Yes, these are my struggles. It is a hard road, I've toiled, and it's always darkest before dawn and maybe I am just sleepy and have PMS...

Moved IN!!!

Yes. It has finally happened…82 days after the last big move; I am finally reunited with ALL of my stuff, in my newly-renoed place. It’s great. I love my stuff. I love my place. Even though the bathroom is not fully functional; I love my place. Even though I don’t have any mirrors or photos up yet because I am afraid if I put a nail in the wall the entire wall will crumble. (Sadly not a paranoid delusion in this place). And you know what, so, sometimes the house smells like gas, it’s not going to explode anytime soon ( I don’t think, but just in case, I’ve been laying off the candles for a while).

And even though I am in desperate need of some furniture (high on the priority list are an armoire for my television; a chair with a matching ottoman; some dining room chairs; a recliner, and a desk) the place is cozy and comfy despite its shortcomings.

I can’t wait until everything’s done ( I know, I know, it’s a work in progress; but I am impatient!) and I can’t wait until everyone sees it! I will try and get my act together and post some photos online of my place because I’m not sure when my ex-Melrose place neighbour (who do you want to be? You do have red hair like Dr. Kimberly Shaw) or my big-whig executive lotto girl or the eternal student or the leader of the Japanese Mafia will be able to get down here!

MISS YOU!!!

Nothing starts a Monday off right like Drunk Photos from 2 Weeks Ago....

The birthday boy :)

Drunk girls like to hug.

Drunk girls also like being sandwiched by gay guys.

The. funniest. photo. eva.

Sometimes it's hard being so edgy.....
Maybe I look like a crazy lush but who's that in the background looking like he knows what is going on and is still acting all crazy?
See the rest of the photos on my flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/preetadelic

Love you long time!

Happy Monday:)

Like a Poisoned Ant Crippled by Asphyxiation

That is going to be my new bumper sticker. I feel like that is the state of modern, mature (cough, cough snicker, snicker) romantic entanglements. Not really the stuff of epic romances, we’re all much too cynical and well read for any of that stuff really. But still interesting enough to stop and watch for a few moments at least. Ants are highly intelligent creatures; you know they would make adequate husbands. They work hard; work well as a team and are pretty utilitarian in the looks department. Sure maybe they aren’t the best conversationalists. Maybe they aren’t the guy you fantasized about dating when you were a young, impressionable girl, adept at letting yourself fantasize about frivolous, wonderful things like what would Jordan Knight look like with his pants off and who would you be dating when you were in your (gulp) late 20s. But they are around, and they are fast and attentive and when you do grown up things like work a career-job and tend to the home-stead and milk the cows and paint the barn; sometimes all you have time for is some simple ant-type guy that comes over once in a while with a picnic dinner and wants to watch season one of Beverly Hills 90210 on DVD all night long.

But you know, there are only 22 episodes of 90210 season one and at some time you are going to have to stop watching 90s serial dramas and decide where to go from here. With ants, there really isn’t much choice. Ants do what ants do. Have you ever watched an ant? I mean, really watched one? I have. Extensively. The when, where, why how and really why of that are fodder for a lengthy psychiatrist visit. But, I digress. Just trust me; I have watched my share of ants. When they eat some poison; they continue their little job. The keep moving that little crumb of pita bread along the designated path until their knees start to give out. And they keep trying to go, wobbly knees and all. Then their breathing starts to become labourous. They start falling down in exhaustion and yet they keep getting up and continuing towards their goal line slow and arduously. Sometimes they make it. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they literally die trying to bring that crumb home.

Wouldn’t it be smarter to just head home and drop the pita bread? Well, an ant’s brain doesn’t work that way. It will continue on the path even though the path is going nowhere slowly. It is sad and a little, tragic. But I have little sympathy for the ant (Except that he was poisoned; that is the worst way to kill an ant; but that’s not the point). The ant is so stuck in his ways. He won’t budge from his mission. I am ant: love me or lump me!

So I’m putting it out there: single guys in their late 20s are soooo ants. Stubborn in their resolve to do thing a certain way and to keep on a path that is both uninspired and endless. The ant will continue in the relationship that sees no future and will do so through bouts of un-returned phone calls; messy, loud arguments and passionless sex.
The Ant has a high threshold for pain and abuse. He will withstand the wishy-washy behaviour of flighty and overscheduled girls. He will always be around. Because he has his eye on the goal. Wobbly knees, respiratory problems, heart attacks et al.: he just wants to score. Even if the goal is ugly; like it squeaks through the knee pads of the goalie and he has to mow her over just to get close to the net. That’s his goal. The ant would never be awarded the Lady Byng trophy for sportsmanlike conduct, if you know what I’m saying.

Okay, okay. Enough with the creepy sex metaphors and ant-bashing. What is my point, you ask? Well, my point is simple. Time is running out. We are not getting any younger. So if a relationship is going nowhere; don’t be a poisoned ant crippled by asphyxiation. Get over it. Move on. The perfect match must be out there somewhere, right? Maybe, maybe not. But I do know one thing. You won’t find him by staring at ants all day.

Somebody please help Britney Spears!

What can I say about my girl, Britney? Obviously, something is not right. Obviously she is unhappy. Obviously she is crying out for attention. I choose to believe, and jab and joust me if you must, but in my heart of hearts I believe that this is just a phase. Postpartum depression, maybe? A drug problem? Probably. Maybe she is a lesbian. Okay, that would be weird. But if she needs to gyrate naked with bull dykes and shave her head to be comfortable and happy, so be it. You hear that, Britney, be a part-time lesbian if that is what you want! ( I can’t fathom the notion that she is a full-fledged lesbian; that is just too weird. She was like the iconic teen dream for like 5 years!) Just work though all your shite Brit Brit and please come through on the other side as happy and not so…messy.

I think she is in desperate need of help. Where are all her celebrity friends, now? Justin? Madonna? K-Fed? Even Paris bailed on the sinking ship that is Britney Spears. She needs some real friends and family and fans to pull her back from the brink and get her the help she needs.

It seems like she has delved from reality and gotten lost in the camera flashes and stalkerazzi. As an amateur psychologist with a deep connection to the real Britney Spears, I would say she is showing clear signs of Michael Jackson Syndrome, or MJS. She is detached from her public persona and is unable to understand why people are incensed and worried by her recent actions. She views her actions as unreal and doesn’t fathom the consequences. This is usually brought on my super-stardom ( see orginal diagnosis Michael Jackson and later diagnosis Whitney Houston); a loss of personal connection to loved ones and family members (see Michael Jackson) and an irrational case of low self-esteem. The only treatment, I, a professional celebrity psychologist can recommend, is complete and total retreat from La La Land. ( see moderate success stories: Michael Jackson – Dubai; Whitney Houston – Atlanta).

I really believed a comeback was eminent when she Fed-Xed K-Fed; but it seems the problems with dear Brit Brit lay deeper than it seemed. Unfortunately, it seems like 2007 will not be the crowning year for Ms. Britney Spears. She needs more than just a hit album to bring her back from the edge. She needs therapy; she needs a detox; she needs to leave California all together.

I really hope Britney gets it together soon. She was so fun and cute and real. Now she has become this weird caricature of herself that I’m she barely recognizes half the time. I believe she can do it. She is a fighter and she is nice and she is still only like 25. If she puts her mind to it; she can beat this, too and come out on top; where hopefully Justin Timberlake will be waiting for her.

P.S. I love you HD!

Dear Home Depot:
Thank you for building your soul-sucking monstrosity on the idyllic grounds where my love for bargain shopping was born, K-Mart. K-mart was where I used to watch my 11-year-old friend ingest a four-pack of O Henry bars after school. K-mart is where I bought my first, and hopefully not my last, pair of black acid-wash jeans ( thank-you Gloria Vanderbilt!) K-mart is where I perfected my Ms. PacMan skills. K-Mart is where I bought my first pair of boxer-shorts for a boy (Thank-you Joe Boxer happy face boxers you helped cement a relationship of late night phone calls and furtive note passing in cadets into a solid two week romance). But you know, I’m all for progress; So I didn’t care when the spot formering belong to K-mart turned into the spot occupied by Zellers and that turned into the current home of Home Depot.

You are cunning and shrewd; I will give you that Home Depot. You are big and bold and have very high ceilings and big huge doors that open up for tiny people to walk through. But that is all part of your plan, isn’t it? You make everything so big that people assume they are getting a deal. $30 for a coat rack? Well, this is Home Depot, so it MUST be a good deal. There are no service people around; so that must mean the cost of hiring employees is cut to make the products cheaper. Right? WRONG! Oh, so, so, wrong. That cost goes into their fat pockets. Their fat pockets that continue to plump away while the naïve home renovators try to deduce what exactly is the difference between a seesaw hinge and a teeter hinge (I kid you not, two ‘official’ names for two very different types of hinges at the blood-sucking HD).

But you know what Home Depot? Despite my distaste for your conglomerate, big-box marketing plan; I cannot resist you. You are a big, overpriced eyesore; but you are open late, have almost everything I need; have those convenient automatic checkouts (that give cash-back! Sweet), and offer me spacious roaming grounds to buy more overpriced, over-ambitious tools and project kits that will never make any sense but at least you have a good return policy!

Home Depot, I know you are bad. You are the Wal-Mart of home renovations. But, I just can’t seem to get enough. You give me hope that my place will one day come together. You let me saw things and I don’t even have to buy them if I make ‘a mistake.’ You let me take as many paint samples as I want and poke and nudge as many displays as I please. You let me play on the dream computer a I build my model kitchen. You let me pretend I am the pizza delivery guy knocking when I am deciding which door I want.

You made me love you, and I hate myself for it! Home Depot, I wish I could quit you! But I can’t so, I’ll see you tonight!

XOX

Anna Nicole Smith (1967-2007)

What can I say about Anna Nicole Smith that hasn’t been said already, a million times, in a million different ways? Truthfully, nothing new. She was a trainwreck. She was cunning. She was a bimbo. She was a shrewd business woman. She was a success story. She was ladled with numerous setbacks. She was a walking, talking, breathing contradiction. She was what America loves, a triumphant success story. But she was plagued by her past; her demons, that I am sure not even Entertainment Tonight will ever fully comprehend.

She was a woman full of gusto and life and exuberance. She craved attention; from anyone and everyone; even if most of the time people were laughing at her. So what? She joined in on the fun and laughed right alongside them.

She was trashy and didn’t mind showing it. She embraced her roots and histrionics and tangled web of weight gain, death, bizarre behavior and numerous affairs with a non-challant air of indifference. Anna Nicole always seemed like she was part of an inside joke that nobody else was privy to.

Whether she was looking for sugar-pie on Halloween for her reality show, the Anna Nicole Show, or asking millions of viewers if "You like my booody?" on the American Music Awards; it always seemed like she was pulling one over on the entire world.

I think the first time I noticed Anna Nicole Smith was when she got that Guess Jeans campaign in 1992. Her resemblance to Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield is what got her the gig. She was a refreshing change from the bland and personality-free Claudia Schiffer-types.

I wouldn’t really say I was a fan of ANS. But I definitely was aware of her antics and setbacks. (Who wasn’t?) But her missteps and tragedies became greater and greater in severity. Her trials were no longer funny or bizarre but incredibly sad and tragic. Especially posthumously, you can’t help but feel some compassion for her misguided and anguished soul. She was funny and crazy but underneath it all she was unhappy and alone. And it’s so sad and morbid when all these random details of her private life are coming out of every corner. I can't even pay attention anymore. It is too weird and unreal and sad.

Maybe it is a little skewed to say that Anna Nicole was an icon. That is something that remains to be seen. The more bizarre stories that come to fruition following her death the greater the myth and conspiracy stories become. The greater her persona becomes. Maybe in death she will be able to emulate her idol, Marilyn Monroe. Like Marilyn she died too soon; immortalized and sexualized forever at 39.

Her story, ultimately, is a tragic one. All the money and weight loss and success she achieved led her only into deeper water with more sharks waiting to take advantage of her. She was unhappy. She was married, with a newborn daughter and buckets of money but she was still unable to reach happiness. I can barely keep up with all the creepy new developments and innuendo being spouted off daily regarding her life and death. (Zsa Zsa Gabor’s Husband? What!!!! Frozen sperm from her dead octogenarian husband? What!!!)

All these random and gross facts are leading us further away from the simple truth. The rags to riches story of Anna Nicole Smith is over. She is dead and leaves behind a young daughter and hundreds of people fighting for a piece of her money.

I should be FROM ROLLING STONE!!!!!

Okay, while I am blabbing on about MTV reality; I can not help but announce my thorough disgust for I’m from Rolling Stone. In this reality show, a group of eager music-lovers work as interns at Rolling Stone magazine. Now, I understand this is Rolling Stone, a magazine that sold it’s soul for a covershot of Jessica Simpson in her underwear claiming she was America’s hottest housewife. Whatevs. It is a stale music tabloid with one foot in the grave; but it still reigns as the most popular music mag in the world. It still the magazine where Kurt Cobain first proclaimed his love for Sonic Youth which led Kim Gordon and the boys into a higher tax bracket in a matter of minutes. It may not be the coolest magazine on the block anymore; but it’s still pretty fricking cool. Which is why it leaves me with such a sour taste in my mouth to see all these low-rent writer-wannabes foul and fumble their way through the greatest opportunity of any writer’s life.
None of them have been to journalism school. Three of them have lost their notebooks in the two episodes I’ve watched. Even the editors are like "They seem to be having problems adding quotes into their articles" WHAT? How is that even possible?

I’ll tell you how: Because they are all pretty-boy losers that are exploiting the one ounce of integrity that was left in music journalism. First of all, doesn’t it seem a bit retarded to have a reality TV show about a magazine. People watch on TV a show about putting together something we are supposed to READ? Okay, so that’s dumb. Then, the fact that they can’t write. That’s dumb. Then the fact that they go to all these free concerts and meet all these awesome artists and all they can do is fight with each other. Okay that is beyond dumb.

I mean if one of these schmucks actually ends up working at Rolling Stone how is the fact that he or she mooned the camera or didn’t know who George Clinton was going to effect their repertoire with artists and the readers? It’s not good.

Watching this show, makes me realize that so many people have such great jobs and they have no talent to back it up. Not Fair. I should be working at Rolling Stone; or NME, or Jane Magazine or Seventeen or Tiger Beat.

Dancelife is my new teen dream...actually they are not even teens so I don't have to feel guilty.....

There’s a lot of things I’ve wanted to blog about lately. The new job; the wait staff at John’s Place’ the paint guy at General Paints; the leaked Arcade Fire album (can you say, GOLDEN?!!??), my white sockettes; my parents’ old house that somehow manages to creep out multiple groups of adults ingesting copious amounts of illegal pharmaceuticals. But before I get on to any of that, stuff. I really have to talk about what’s really up: J.Lo’s DanceLife!

It is da bomb. I love it so much. Yes. Even more than Laguna, (maybe because I can picture myself as a struggling Puerto Rican dancer better than an over-privileged, rich, beauty queen). It is the best show. The music is sooo good, ( which by the way, includes a theme song by Young Love who I heard about 100 years ago and saw open up for Lady Sovereign). Like the music is undeniably good. So good that I spent a good 60 minutes of time at my new "high-pressure" job trying to get some track listings for each episode. To no avail, I might add. But the show is awesome.

Not only are there bitchy gay boys (Hi Blake, you sooo belong in the washroom line-up at celebrities complaining about how "like No one is here tonight,"); but there’s the resident heartthrob ( Kenny, dumb your girlfriend in the Pussycat dolls and go out with Nelly Furtado; you know she wants you. Don’t worry, her high-pitched hysterics will grow on you); the underdog ( Nolan, I can’t believe you didn’t get that job with MJB; your life is NO MORE DRAMA) and… well, there’s some chicks too but they are kind of boring so whatevs.

Everyone should watch this show. I don’t care if the Canadian guy is bitchy. He is hot and a great dancer. I don’t care if Kenny has this creepy South Boston accent. He is hot and a great dancer. I don’t care if Nolan is a drug addict. He is hot and a great dancer.

Do what’s good for you. Watch Dance Life. It’s like Laguna except the people are coloured and they shop at Forever 21 instead of Abercrombie & Fitch.

I'll be your Dreamgirl, boy........

Okay so I am a bit late on the hype machine. Actually that’s not true. I was first on the Dreamgirls bandwagon but I have finally seen the goods to back up my claims. Dreamgirls is the best movie ever and Jennifer Hudson is a star.

The best thing about Dreamgirls for sure is the music. Crazy black-girl hysteronics abound and I loved the sista attitude that Effie throws around like yesterday’s news. I loved it when she pretends to get all DIVA on everyone because Martin Luther King Jr. has a record out which is the recording of his famous "I have a dream" speech. Everyone is all scared of her but she is just kidding. It is too funny.

Of course, without a doubt the best part is when Effie gets kicked out of the group and dumped by her man and she sings "I’m not going." I had seen that part before, since my favourite computer techie sent me all the Jennifer Hudson solos to watch on my computer while I waited for Victoria to catch up with the rest of the world and get Dreamgirls in local theatres. And even though I have seen her sing that song like 100 times and I listen to that song on my mp3 player almost everyday, every time I hear it, I get chills. And in a big theatre, within the actual context on the real movie, I got loads of chills. The way her fingers quake when she is trying to hug her boyfriend; the way her legs are weak and she can barely walk as she is belting out this song, this song that represents all her struggles and weaknesses. It is amazing. Period. She is the best ever.

And Eddie Murphy? What? Eddie Murphy in a full 2 hour movie without cracking some kind of fart/diaper joke or donning a fat suit? ( BTW, Am I the only one who finds it kind of perverse that he is so into wearing fat suits in his movies? I’m just saying) He is so good. I mean I loved "My Girl likes to Party All the Time," but I had no idea he had all that soul in him. And maybe it’s just my doe-eyed adoration for all-things Dreamgirls, but he should really look into keeping that pompadour hairstyle going. He looks good. The pompadour is cool. Guys should wear their hair like that again. Strap a do-rag on that mofo and you are gangsta; remove and you are ready for your entrance on a Broadway musical stage.

Last and least, I suppose no exposition on the greatness of Dreamgirls can be complete without some mention of Beyonce. She was not as bad as I had expected. And in a lot of ways, her character demanded her to be mousy and bland. She did a good job of staying in the shadows as required and then coming out and taking centre stage. But even when she was centre stage she was no match for Ms. Hudson. So maybe she is eating sour grapes lately. But it must be hard to take when you are always used to being the one who receives the most accolades. ( nevermind that it’s your mom and dad managers that ochestrate it to be like that all the time). I think Beyonce did a good job. And I liked it how as she was getting more and more famous her skins was looking lighter and lighter. Very subtle.

a month.

I can’t believe it has only been a month. A month. It feels like years. So much has happened in such a short amount of time. One month ago at this time, I was working my last day at Space4lease. Okay, maybe I wouldn’t exactly call it working. To be exact, I think I was trying not to grimace while my former-boss was trying to feed me these random porkballs at this weirdo Dim Sum restaurant in the Burrard Skytrain centre.

A month ago, I was counting bruises on my legs and cuts on my arms from a random string of accidents; that I still am not sure wasn’t covertly masterminded by the Victoria Tourism Board, or even more likely, the small but loyal contingent of my high school posse that still lurks around the still waters of Victoria.

Today, I am counting letters and punctuation marks and the multiple disciplines within the broad subject of Engineering. (BTW, there are way too many disciplines within Engineering; somebody needs to reign those boys in, it’s ridiculous!)

A month ago, I spent my nights traipsing through the cold winter air waiting for buses and skytrains rushing from workouts to dinners with friends to a shambled apartment to watch teen t.v. Today, I spend my nights, driving through sludge in my heated car, strolling leisurely from workouts, to dinners with friends, to midnight drives to discuss last week’s episode of Degrassi the Next Generation and drunken debacles from weekends past. Then I come home and watch t.v. in the nice, clean, warm abode of my mama.

Okay, maybe it isn’t the greatest staying at my parents’ place for the last month. There have definitely been some bumps along the way. But they are leaving for India this weekend and I know I will miss them. Their leaving also means another thing (no not party at my place….try as I might to fight it, I am not 15 anymore). My place needs to be fixed. Asap. Gordon Head is not where it’s at. It is too far! I want to move into my own place and get my stuff out of storage. I miss my bags. I miss my blankets. I miss my purple stretchy belt. I miss my CDs. Sniff, sniff, sniff.

But renoing is not as easy to do as it is to spell. I suffered my first and hopefully only callous this weekend from trying to pry hinges with like 30 layer of paint on them of the kitchen cabinetry. Anyone who ever said I was weak had better step off now. I am strong. Yesterday I even carried a sink. Yeah, a sink; in fact, it was a double sink. Ohhhhh yeah!!! (Picture me talking like Macho Man Randy Savage and raising my arms, excuse me, my guns, like the champ, here).

So yeah that’s my life. Exciting and new. I still miss Vancouver. Sometimes, I will catch myself calling Vancouver home to someone by mistake, out of habit, I guess. But things are getting exciting here. Everything’s working out great so far. At times, I feel overwhelmed. There are so many new people to meet, new things to do and I still want to come and share everything with all my peeps in Vancity and all my old peeps in Victoria. And I will. I promise. I love you long-time.

The. Best. News. Ever.

Mark my words, my girl is back.
2007 is the year of Ms. B.S. ( does that sound weird??)

Promise of a New Day

"And so time over time
What will change the world
No one knows
So the only promise
Is a day to live, to give
And share with one another"

-Paula Abdul Promise of a New Day

For some reason, this New Years feels a bit different. Now, granted listening to the black sheep of my CD collection that has been left to fester in my parents' basement since 1998 could have something to with my curious mood and my tendancy to quote obscure Paula Abdul lyrics ( is there really any other kind?); but really I think it is more than that.

For the first time in a long time, I find myself looking forward to the upcoming year. I'm not looking back thinking of everything that was not accomplished in 2006. I'm not feeling particluarly old, pathetic, and unmotivated ( which is kind of weird considering I am jobless and living in my parents' basement).

I don't really want to jinx myself or anything but I have a feeling 2007 will be pretty great!
I will be going to Glastonbury; some of my closest friends are getting married; I will be living in my very own grown-up place, and I'm sure lots of other cool things will happen as well!

So here's to a year full of promise and excitement and changes that for once, I am NOT dreading!

Welcome to 2007!!!!!

Best Albums of 2006

Continuing with the trend of not doing much in these post-Christmas, pre-New Year's creepy days, I have decided to create my own list of the best albums of 2006. I am nothing if not opinionated. Even more than that, my opinion is right, and if you don't agree with me then your opinion is wrong. I kid, I kid!


10. Gnarls Barkley - Crazy

Most people won't give this CD a break. Sure, it had that once-catchy-but-then-super-annoying-because-it-was-played-every-30 seconds-on-some-radio-station-in-North-America, "Crazy", but the rest of the CD is also wicked. I could due without the retro 90s psychedelia motif and the weird kitschy costumes they wear when they perform but the beats and the random lyrics are golden.

9. Morrissey - Ringleader of Tormentors

Maybe it is being back in my mom's basement over the holidays that reminds me of all my just-under-the-surface teenage angsty feelings or maybe it is just a fluke of nature that this happened to be one of teh CDs that I didn't leave in storage; but I have recently rediscovered this gem and I remember why those kids in the back corner of photography class wore those long trenchcoats and wore their hair in those cringe-worthy pompadours. Morrissey. When you want to write bad break-up poetry or comtemplate why God is so cruel to you and no one else, this is your CD. "You Have Killed Me", is one of my favourite songs ever.


8. M. Ward-Post War

Okay so I haven't actually bought this CD. But I am obssessed with M. Ward. A quick Internet search will prove that any music critic worth his salt is also obsessed with him. His music is stripped-down, melodic and beautiful. Forget Sufjan; it's all about M. Ward now.


7. Regina Spector- Begin to Hope

Okay, so maybe I didn't get into Regina Specktor until after I heard she was dating my boyfriend Julian from the Strokes, but please don't hold that against me. She is sooo cool. Her lyrics are like little stories; she actually talks about more than her broken heart (shocking)! My favourite song is "Fidelity", I probably listen to it almost everyday still, like 3 months later!

6. Jay z - Kingdom Come

Most hip hop heads label this album as sub-par; but that is an unfair rating. It's like after Michealangelo did the Sistine chapel or his statue of David; I'm sure people were like " oh this painting of this fruit bowl is no Sistine Chapel" Well, you know what? There can only be one Sistine Chapel and there can only be one The Black Album. While I will admit the first single, "Show me What you Got," was less than stellar; the rest of the CD is great. I love the new single, "Lost Ones," and "Beach Chair" featuring Chris Martin of Coldplay will be a cult classic.

5. The Dears - Gang of Losers

I have loved the Dears since No Cities Left came out in 2003. "Expect the Worst/cos she's a Tourist" was like the song of that summer for me. So when I found a leaked copy of Gang of Losers this year I was so happy. This is a CD that sounds different everytime i hear it. After every listen I discover some new clever anecdote that I didn't get before. They are so great and I vow that I will see them live in 2007!


4. Justin Timberlake-Future Sex/ Love Sounds

You know I don't really want to like Justin Timberlake. I still have a grudge from that "Cry me a River" video where he called out my girl, Britney. Then there war that whole Super Bowl debacle of 2004 where he left Janet Jackson hanging, literally. But you know what? I can't help but like him. He's hot! He's funny ( did you see SNL?)! He's talented. He's well-dressed! He can dance! He can really do no wrong! Even when he does do wrong; he goes back to doing what he does best which is create the best dance songs! "Chop me Up" featuring the Three Six Mafia is my favourite song. I hope it is his next single.


3. The Decemberists-The Crane Wife

The Decemberists are the songwriters every English Major doing nothing with their degree wants to be. Listening to the Crane's Wife is how I try to retain my rapidly fading books-smarts. Their songs are epic and swirling and beautiful and grand. Now I am gushing. Am I gushing? I love this CD. I would name my first-born the Crane's Wife if it wouldn't cause an irreversible identity crisis for my child if it was a boy. If you ever feel like you are getting dumb from too much Youtube or reading too many US Weeklies at the gym; listen to the Crane's Wife; lie down and really listen. I swear when you wake up the next morning you will feel smarter and a bit melancholy.


2. Lady Sovereign-Public Warning

This CD never lived up to the immeasurable hype from Def Jam.Maybe because all these songs were already available and released in the United Kingdom over a year ago. But it is still awesome. She is like a michevious little minx and her lyrics are totally funny and tongue in cheek. Maybe she is a drunk and will be kicked off her label soon; but she puts on a fun show and her song "9-5" was like my theme-song for the last year and a half.


1. The Killers-Sams Town

Was there any doubt? The Killers are the best band ever; even with their scraggly facial hair and Brandon Flowers' grandiose comments on the music industry. Say what you want about their posturing and personal lives but Flowers can write a sing-a-long pop song like no ones' business. There's nothing I like better that singing along at the top of my lungs to "Why do I keep on Counting" and "My List."

Post-Christmas Creepiness

There's something about the time between Christmas and New Year's that has always given me the chills. There's a stillness coupled with latent worries, overstress and unrealized holiday cheer that really creeps me out. There's still cheer inside of us all but nobody knows quite when to use it; like the leftover Eggnog in the fridge; it's around and available to drink but do you really wants to be the one to test it and see if it has gone sour.

And believe me, my "Eggnogg" is about ready to turn.

I like Christmas. A lot. I always have. But the brightly coloured decorations, fresh baked goods, and the constant barrage of family and friends gathering to do no more than bestow good wishes and cheer and merriment onto one another loses its appeal sometime between the first yearly re-telling of my family's first Canadian Christmas and the unwrapping of the last present on Christmas morning.

I would prefer a condensed Christmas; maybe three days in total instead of the de rigeur of celbrating "the holidays" from Thanksgiving until the end of the year. Come to think of it, I wold prefer to move Christmas to April. The end of the year is busy enough, without having to deal with Christmas on top of everything.

But alas, this is the way it is. Damn you Roman Calendar system!!! So we must deal with these next few days with great care. Look around you. People are tense. They are frazzled. They are hurried. They are broke. They don't want to be the one to snap. But they could. That one accidental shove; that one brisk brush past could turn their holiday cheer into horror.

Horror through a glare that can break glass. Horror through a dirty muttering under their breath that could make a sailor blush. Horror that is so sickeningly fake sugary sweet that even the brutal barrage of anger would be better. These are the horrors taht lurk around every corner over these next few days. If you are honest with yourself you know that you have been both the victim and the perpetrator of these horrors in the past. But don't be too hard on yourself.

You are a victim of your surroundings and everyone's Eggnogg has to turn sometime.

The. Funniest. Shite. Eva.

Get away from me Lil Jinx!

Have you met my recent companion, Lil Jinx? She has been with me for almost a week and I believe she has overstayed her welcome. She is crimping my style not to mention endangering my life!
I want her out! Keep her away from me! I have hosted her long enough! She has caused enough disasters to last me a lifetime.
Everyday since her unexpected arrival last Thursday, has been a swift race against Death.
Thursday she tickled me under the arms on teh bus and caused me to drop a gallon of paint on my foot, my left foot. That was her idea of a welcome wagon.
On Friday she scared me by jumping out from behind a chair and caused me to somehow break a huge glass frame and then get a million tiny bits of glass in my knee, which I had to pick out with tweezers, tweezers.
On Saturday, she entered my body and caused my lungs to almost collapse due to over inhalation of paint fumes.
On Sunday she slicked the stairs at the Club Monaco on Robson and made my fall flat on my bum and cause a huge scene in the store.
On Monday she got my finger trapped in the closet door.
Yesterday, she gave me indigestion ( if you know what I mean) from smelly alcohol-filled cheese dip at SIP.
Well, enough is enough.
Lil JINX get away from me!!!
GO HOME!!

Gonna Crash a Party!

Cami is my hero!

Christmas, New Year's, My Birthday! Oh My!

Sometimes, I wish time would stand still; or better yet: REWIND! I am not ready for today to be December 6th!
That means only 15 more sleeps until Christmas! That means only 20 more sleeps until New Year's Eve! That means only 26 more sleeps until my birthday ( cue death march here)

****Note: please do not render this rare inclusion of numbers as an invitation to remark on my lack of mathematical skils. I'm makinga point, here!

Where did November go?
Where did time to pack and move go?
Where did time to say Bye to all my Vancouver peeps, go?

So promise to still love me even if it seems like I've dropped off the face of the Earth for a while. I promise, I love you long time!