Bath + Photography = Natural Fit

This photo is way too narcissistic for Instagram, but this is MY effing blog, so I'm posting it here.

Flipper the bird

Oooooh! I'm on Plenty of Fish! Look at my profile! I'm so whimsical and lighthearted! I have shirtless pictures of me doing a handstand! The only thing I want on a date is to laugh! I have a really good orthodontist! I'm one of the 95% of people that count rock climbing as a pastime!

Anyway...

That was cynical, so let's turn this ship around, shall we?!

*turns ship around*

*accidentally mows down herd of dolphin*

*contemplates if a group of dolphins is actually called a herd*

*is too lazy to wiki that shit*

*ewwww dolphin guts everywhere!*

*ok, that last one wasn't even an action*

*Damnit!*


Phew, ship turned around! Anyway, I was on the bus yesterday and saw some dude with a plastic bag and immediately thought, "What a dick. Everybody knows to carry reusable bags with them these days!"

Then I thought to myself, "Hey, do YOU carry around a bag ALL the time? What if this guy does it, like, 364 days a year and this was the ONE day he forgot?"

Then I realized that I'd made the choice to think the worst of him. Oh, it was judgey. E'er so judgey. So I've made the decision that from now on whenever I see a stranger or anyone for that matter in a potentially negative way that I will assume better of them unless proven otherwise.

I feel we should all try this together as a social experiment. It doesn't mean bad things won't happen or that the positivity theorem won't ever be disproved. Still, it might help. As an example, imagine if a person who suspects their partner is cheating decides to not be a psycho bitch and instead just goes, "Hey, babe. I have this suspicion. Is it right?" He might be cheating, in which case, ya know, freak the fuck out. If he hasn't been though you've just saved yourself a lot of crazy bitch internal stress. Ya welcome.

Or another example, imagine if I have, like, three THOUSAND people that read this blog but only 17 follow it cause the rest are too intimidated by the awesomeness of my tag labels.

Anyway, try this in earnest. Report back and tell me how you felt doing it.

Of llamas and wontons

Life Tip: Don't be ugly and fat. Just try at least.

Been in Montreal for a couple days. It's been fun. Very chill. Lots of walking, which is great cause I'm only eating about twice a day and it invariably involves maple syrup and some kind of pork. Life really would have been so different and obese had I chosen to move here.

The dear friend I am staying with has a lovely live-in German boyfriend whose friend is also staying here. I sleep in the living room and wake up each morning to the two men speaking in German and so keep thinking I'm in the Magic Flute. I'm all, "Get yer hands off Pamina, you koksaugers!" and they're all *blank stare*.

I make friends awesome.

I went to see a concert with a couple of friends yesterday as their good buddy was playing viola in the orchestra. I was told he is 25, Israeli, gorgeous and plays the viola. They talked about him as though Jesus Christ was just the Putzie and that this fellow was the real Danny Zuko. Afterward, we all went out with a bunch of his friends - perhaps 8 of us total - to a Chinese restaurant he recommended, and I gotta say...additional life tip: Do not hype up your friends if they look like slightly attractive but slightly judgey Israeli llamas. This is not a great plan.

I've discussed "shiny people" in the past; those folks that most everyone is just drawn to like an everyday celebrity, and when you're one of the few that are not so into them...it's real awkward timez, which makes me awkward timez.* However, after about a half an hour, I just thought, "Hey, shiny asshole (He's not an asshole; I'm just being dramatic)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You're pretty eff-ing smudged," so then I regained my power of speech so oft lost around The Shinies and just continued on with the evening. Weirdly enough I had a nice moment with pretty much everyone at the table but him so the big final third life tip here is don't get weird around hyped people cause they're probably not that great and if they are that great then they will find you equally amazing and shiny instead of giving you pursed llama lips all night.

*Everything makes me awkward timez.

More like MegaFUN (Part 2)

4:01 - We depart Kingston. On our way out of town we see the Kings Court Fashion Outlet mall. Hand to god, the only three stores they have are Adidas, Nike and Laura Petites.

5:35 - Just woke up from a nap while listening to Tori's new album. All that clarinet's gotta be good for something.

5:40 - Bored shitty Internet. Start playing Hocus Pocus. Marvel at life.

5:42 - Officially arrive in Quebec and the first person I see is... an Asian. That must be some Doctor Who shit right there.

5:58 - Have to stop playing. Flaming-throwing alligators and homicidal monks are hard on the eyes.

6:09 - Contemplate how lovely it is to be in the country away from all that concrete, also if a motorcycle in French is still called a 'porc'.

6:50 - Arrive at the bus terminal in downtown Montreal. The city smells like garbage. Suck on that, Leslieville. There's a new dump-smelling bitch on the block and she comes with poutine!




12: 30 the following day - Walking down a side street in the rain with bright red and gold maple leaves strewn about the ground. I can't help but think how unfathomably different and likely better my life would have been had I chosen Montreal over Toronto three years ago.

More like MegaFUN (Part 1)

I am coming to you live from Megabus. I decided on a whim to go to Montreal to see some friends and flights were over $400 so the bus it is. I have heard tales of both woe and triumph from those that have embarked on this, the most economy of travel. The trip will take 6 hours, but they have wifi and I can watch Dexter, so really it will not be any different than any other afternoon in the past 4 months. However, I am hoping that there will be a few minor events to provide some fodder for this, otherwise I'm wasting a lot of time of nausea on this post.

12:40 - Arrive at bus terminal. Hurry to the washroom to change out of my suit, as I've just come from the 'gogue. One stall is broken with caution tape across it (yeah.) and the other is occupied by a gentleman passing a stool of roughly 5.3 kilometers. I change in front of the sinks because a) I'm classy like that and b) if I am the most egregious thing that happens in this bus terminal in, say, the next five minutes it will be nothing short of a miracle.

12:55 - All aboard and neither the wifi nor the power outlets are working. I am surrounded by three other laptop-carrying nerds and we take turns reassuring each other that everything will be fine once the bus starts. We exchange nervous smiles, tentative shoulder rubs and orgasmic sighs of relief once the bus starts and the power/wifi, yes, kicks in.

1:01 - We are about to take off drive away and the bus driver makes a few announcements. Evidently, if anyone going to Montreal gets off in Kingston to stretch their legs, they will be left behind. Bitch is hardcore.

1:02 - "There will be no alcohol permitted aboard." THIS IS BULLSHIT.

1:25 - First wave of bus-sickness from blogging. You better appreciate this, fuckers.

1:34 - I take a few photos. The girl across the aisle looks embarrassed on my behalf. Whatever. She's watching Two and a Half Men. Judgey.

1:52 - The guy across from me has chartreuse headpho-...Ok, this may be less eventful than I anticipated.

2:47 - Holy fuck cakes (New Favourite Expression Alert!), this is the shittiest wifi ever. Can't a guy watch a little Maddow and youtube? Side note: How the eff do Republicans exist in this world? They're like the Middle Earth equivalents of Orcs.

2:58 - I would punch a baby for a coffee right now.

3:01 - A dark-skinned fellow is Skyping someone in a foreign language. If I was more racist, this'd ignite a spark of terror.

3:27 - Feh. Trees. They think they're so fucking great.

3:31 - Watery-eyed septuagenarian giving me the stink eye/come hither look.

3:55 - We arrive in Kingston, the half-way point, and as such, this will be the half-way point for this two-parter cause certain people like to bitch and moan when this shit gets too long. Anyway...the canteen lady/possible transsexual whose windpipe may as well be a cigarette filter pulls up a canteen cart to the rear window. She nearly disembowels a poor lass for asking her to repeat the two varieties of Wonder Bread sandwiches being offered. Also, I notice a (relatively) attractive lad at the back of the bus who is a bit too skinny but is wearing a baseball shirt and therefore can do no wrong. I hope Coach Beast doesn't eat him too.

Good Trainer

(To the tune of "Good Mother" by Jann Arden)

I've got a weekly gig at a synagogue
I like the baldness of my head
I've got a friend that Skypes me twice a week
Got a rent-controlled apartment
I've got a transit pass

I've got a good trainer
And his squats are what keep me somewhat balanced
Feet not tripping on ground
No scrapes on hand
Or stumbling forward
Into stacking shelves

I....
I've never wanted rippled abs
No, I...no, I...
I've never wanted rippled abs
So bad...

He's bored while I'm masking just how emo I've been
Coming out, thanks to some disgusting, man-filled 'net pornography!
The he says, "We'll have to put that on hold;
We're out of time. Please show your Visa at the nurse's window."

I've got a good therapist
And his "mmm-hmmm"s are what make me sigh
Couch that's kinda round
Gross fake plant
Daddy issues confronting my inner self

I...
I've never wanted happy drugs
No, I...no, I...
I've never wanted happy drugs
So bad...

[musical break with key change]

[modulation back to original key. Bitch, make up yo mind.]

I've got rumblings in my stomach
I like that croissant over there
I've gotta mouth that loves pastry
Gotta choose
Chocolate or car(...mel)

I've got a good baker
And his carbs are what get me by
Gaining pounds
Heart attacks
From all the cream I shove in myself

I...
I've never wanted a glass of milk
No, I...no, I...
I've never wanted a glass of milk
So bad...

Gaining pounds...
Heart attacks...
Gaining pounds...
Heart attacks...

[outro, bows]

Today while on the streetcar I glanced out the window and saw a homeless man sleeping in the middle of the sidewalk with his shoes off beside him at the very top of Bay Street, which is like Canada's equivalent of Wall Street and given what is going on right now I just thought, "Oh my god, I like my feet to be cold when I'm sleeping too!"

Ok, but it even has an authenticity hologram!

Tuesday: I accompany Chief NoBalls to buy new clothes for him cause he has a job and a new-found keenness for emulating his more stylish friends' fashion decisions. We go to Zara and look at all the beautiful but on-par-with-Le-Chateau-quality-wise vestments*. It was fun, but I sorta kinda haven't earned any money in three months and no real money in over a year so I'm getting keenly aware that a $40 scarf should really not be on my weekly shopping list, despite the fact that Zara's are big and beautiful and come in jewel tones.

Wednesday: I go to Winner's to buy a white dress shirt as the one I wore to my cousin's wedding last month made me look like, in my father's words, "a homeless Zeller's cashier." I grab two and head for the dressing rooms, but as I do I notice that this Winner's has a suit section.** I riffle through it because in true Winner's fashion it is bound to be rife with disappointment, right? (PLEASE LET IT BE RIFE)


Calvin Klein

Calvin Klein

Ralph Lauren

Ralph Lauren

Other Cheap American Shit Made in Tijuana


And then...a great light descended from the fluorescent lighting Heavens and shone its glorious rays on a black, lustrous Roberto Cavalli two-button number that made even even the possibly-transexual woman beside gasp at its beauty/how much leopard print she was wearing.

I took it to the change room knowing full well that given all zee junk in mah trunk there was no way this was going to fit, and moreover praying that it wouldn't.

*sigh*

You guys...

Like a fucking glove...

So the moral*** of our story is:

$40 Zara scarf = no

$450 Cavalli suit = si****


*Evidently this refers to the robes worn by Roman Catholic clergy and NOT just a direct translation from French for 'clothes'. Fuck it, it's staying in.

**If you can't see where this is going, you got some shit to sort out.

***This is not a moral.

****WHATEVER! THESE FUCKERS NORMALLY START AT $1,200! YOU DON'T KNOW ME!*****

*****Yeah, ya do.

Ew Sucha Loser

I feel that I'm getting a little too good at this unemployment thing. Since mid-June, I've pretty much done nothing but watch TV online, work out, eat out (I spend about triple on restaurants what I do on utilities), visit Winnipeg for a bit, chill with friends, and...yeah. I recognize this was not the most sympathetic way of starting this post...

Take two: I am a bum.

I saw ESLothario last night for the first time in a year and a half. He looked good. I looked better. Not saying I'm better looking, but in the "who looks better compared to the last time we saw each other" game that goes on in my head and in which I am the only player, well, I won. Being a bum will do that to you.

I feel so much more at peace with life since I last saw him, and I didn't get all emotionally regressive but still... I dunno if we (I) can ever get over emotional trauma. It's not like we went through a break up or that there was anything traumatic in our friendship (and it was only ever a friendship), but in my head...things got a bit mucky, hence small emotional trauma. I had a hard time keeping eye contact, which, not to brag, is normally my thing *breath on knuckles, rub 'em on chest*. I just didn't want to look at him, like he was an anachronism from a time before I went back to school, stopped being a borderline alchie, and found all that inner peace shit that comes with one year of teacher education (lulz). As kind as he is to me and as well as I think of him I can't help but think it would be easier if I never saw him again. He also smelled really good and had on a sweater that was a nicer version of one I own. Whatever.

NEXT TIME: I spend outside my means.

(Chilean Sea B)ass

I don't care what those damn Chileans tell us, chocolate and chicken do not go together. It's like eating a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and ass milk.

I don't know know what 'ass milk' is and I don't care to find out.*


*Please define 'ass milk'.

I got a chocolate milk today after working out (I know! That shit's still happening! Holla!). I hadn't had it in probably 10 years and upon my first swig was dismayed to discover it did not taste as good as I remembered.

Then I noticed it was now 1% instead of 2%.

Then I remembered I was a fat little kid.

Then I added whipping cream.

It's no huge declamation to say that my output over the past year has been pretty meager. I've written just under thirty entries in the past year. By comparison, in March 2010 there were twenty posts alone.

This troubles me. Not because I'm well-known or read by hundreds. Moment of honesty: 17 followers plus a scattering of friends does not a huge base make. Still, I've encountered some really interesting and diverse people out of those 17 and I remember very fondly the kind of near-daily interactions we used to have.

I've struggled writing in the past year because I went back to school, was busier, yada yada yada...but the fact is that what really gave me a blog boner from December 2009 to July 2010 was working at a mindless job with lots of free time to observe the ridiculous people around me and write it. Plus access to MS Paint. Biiiiiiiiig factor.

The reality is that I've been trying to write from that perspective when those variables are gone. Life...just hasn't been that funny. There's been huge shifts, new points of view that come with education, less ethnic people. Okay, that last one is a lie. I was standing at a bus stop next to a guy named Noodle yesterday. I mean, really...

Still, I went back and read a few of my older entries and was surprised to find I was kind of offended by some of the things I'd written. I know I genuinely didn't mean anything hurtful by them, but was really unaware of how they might present to a stranger. This shouldn't really be a consideration when writing (which is why I'm not taking them down) but I don't think I'll ever really write in that style again.

So I'm going to try to do this again, just a bit different. It might not always be that jokey or caustic, and, let's be honest, it might get damn emo up in herr at times, but as I recently said to a friend:

We'll just try again tomorrow. Try to do better, be better. Improve. We all gotta try.