My big New Years resoultion for 2011, is to get a life.
I've realized that over the course of 2010, I've gone from like a 4/10 in lameness, because I didn't have any friends, and don't enjoy "clubbing" ect in the city of Calgary, to like a 9/10... for no good reason at all.
I met my boy towards the end of January at last call, having followed a guy in a kilt into a bar I hadn't ventured to before. One thing lead to another, I hung out with my new boy till 5am that first night.
FFWD to the last few months of my life, I don't even know when the last time I was out past midnight was. Let alone not in-bed before 1am. There has been no random bars, and not even the meeting of strangers. Heck, I had a party this past weekend, and even then, having tried my hardest, I made it until 12:15am, then passed out in my own lameness, fully clothed with people still at the house.
My numbers game has failed miserably and will have to be re-attempted next year with another wind of positive attitude, because this lame thing, is totally not part of who I am. I'm up late today (it's 12:30am right now), but doing awesome things? nah. I'm stepping outside of my room to glance at a moon because I'm getting txts of a lunar eclipse. If these txts weren't keeping me up, I'd be sleeping right now.
And we could say lameness is allowed, as it's a Monday night. But truth be told, I have no job to go to in the morning, so that's a bullshit excuse. And oh, my life just hit a 10/10 on the lameness scale. My mom's msging me on msn. She lives in Ontario and it's 2:30am there. Even she's got the willpower to stay up past my bed-time.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Mustache
So, it is indeed the month of November... and Mo-vember is charity month as people may/may not be aware. In an order to promote mens health and raise money for prostate cancer, men are encouraged to grow mustaches (awesome!)I went out with a friend who finds mustaches hilarious, the other day. And, I could play along, draw on a mustache or what-not, but people's view of what a mustache is seems to be so false these days. A mustache: hair on your upper lip, not on your whole face. For the love of God, people! Handlebars: no, Goatee: no, Beard: no, and Scruff: no! These do not count as mustaches! The reason Mo-vember is awesome is cuz you have to look like a loser participating!
So after many many minutes of arguement, the Mo-vember rules verdict:
The definition of a Moustache:
1. There is to be no joining of the Mo to side burns – That’s a beard.
2. There is to be no joining of the handlebars – That’s a goatee.
3. A small complimentary growth under the bottom lip is allowed (aka a tickler).
Remember, it’s Movember, not ‘Beardvember’ or ‘Goateevember’
c/o the official Mo-vember website! (once again, I'm correct)
I'll Live.
For those of you who have shown overwhelming concern for my well-being (which, realistically speaking, has been none of you - thanks a lot), I was un-diagnosed for skin-cancer by an actual doctor.
It wasn't so much a diagnosis, as a glance at me and the words "nope, that's not cancer" but it has allowed me to get more sleep at night. I no longer have to drink each day in order to feel something. Oh wait, I still do that, and it seems that getting a buzz is becoming more difficult.
It wasn't so much a diagnosis, as a glance at me and the words "nope, that's not cancer" but it has allowed me to get more sleep at night. I no longer have to drink each day in order to feel something. Oh wait, I still do that, and it seems that getting a buzz is becoming more difficult.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Yesterday, I almost Fell. Again.
Embarrassment. I don’t really like to believe in the concept. I mean, what could be so bad that you could be overly self-conscious about? Falling. I don't get embarrassed often, but there's really no graceful way of falling. You can't look cool doing it, or say you did it on purpose... But more embarrassing then falling in front of your friends, is falling in front of the same friends TWICE (what up?).
So, yesterday after an awesome live show and a few cocktails, while walking in my awesome boots, which I'm cursing today, I did a ice-type slide on some asphalt, almost bringing me to a plummeting halt on my ass in the middle of the road. Almost. Even still, that wouldn't have one-up'd the time I fell over my own feet and landed on my face, oh a short 3-weeks-or-so ago alongside the same people. Except that time I was sober.
This whole ordeal (clearly it’s impacted my life drastically) got me to thinking about one of my favorite expressions on peoples’ faces, ever. The look that people get when they see someone fall has to be the one I like to see most (not that I’ll keep falling to see it). Their eyes light up with excitement and you could almost see the insults cultivating themselves within their brain, just waiting to burst out in conjunction with a long stream of laughter. But after a second, that silent-hopeful look embraces a hint of worry, in case the person, having hit the ground with a bang, actually hurt themselves; at which point laughing would just be inconsiderate. Hence the still silence continues with that look of soundless concern/hopefulness. And as soon as the victim looks up from the ground with that nod saying “I’m alright, I’m just a dumbass” everyone exhales their uneasiness and proceeds with the mocking.
I don’t know why I like this look over all others. Maybe it’s the indecisiveness of it all. Or the fact that you know a million things are running through their brains in mere seconds, all while they’re trying not to be insensitive, but not wanting to deny themselves the pleasure of laughter and ridicule. *Shrugs. I’m sure I get that look on my face also.
So, yesterday after an awesome live show and a few cocktails, while walking in my awesome boots, which I'm cursing today, I did a ice-type slide on some asphalt, almost bringing me to a plummeting halt on my ass in the middle of the road. Almost. Even still, that wouldn't have one-up'd the time I fell over my own feet and landed on my face, oh a short 3-weeks-or-so ago alongside the same people. Except that time I was sober.
This whole ordeal (clearly it’s impacted my life drastically) got me to thinking about one of my favorite expressions on peoples’ faces, ever. The look that people get when they see someone fall has to be the one I like to see most (not that I’ll keep falling to see it). Their eyes light up with excitement and you could almost see the insults cultivating themselves within their brain, just waiting to burst out in conjunction with a long stream of laughter. But after a second, that silent-hopeful look embraces a hint of worry, in case the person, having hit the ground with a bang, actually hurt themselves; at which point laughing would just be inconsiderate. Hence the still silence continues with that look of soundless concern/hopefulness. And as soon as the victim looks up from the ground with that nod saying “I’m alright, I’m just a dumbass” everyone exhales their uneasiness and proceeds with the mocking.
I don’t know why I like this look over all others. Maybe it’s the indecisiveness of it all. Or the fact that you know a million things are running through their brains in mere seconds, all while they’re trying not to be insensitive, but not wanting to deny themselves the pleasure of laughter and ridicule. *Shrugs. I’m sure I get that look on my face also.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
The Dufus that Sat Next To Me on the Plane
I love vacations. Usually you disembark on an adventure to a new place that you’ve never seen before. You’re anticipating the excitement that awaits you upon arrival at your destination; the new sights, smells, languages and people. And while vacationing, you embrace the opportunity to act differently than you normally would; you flirt a little more, step outside your comfort zone, and kick with those you normally wouldn’t lift a foot for. Vacationing is great… But the annoyance that is life always gives you a downfall. (pft, and I claim to be positive)
After traveling a couple times a year, I still hold firm to the belief that getting from point A to point B is as much the adventure as much as the destination you are trying to reach. But after the allotted traveling time, having dealt with people who’s personalities don’t coincide with yours, and wish you were back in a familiar place so you could finally relax, one idiot always seems to ruin everything.
While in Mexico on a recent vacation, the roomie and I, came across an older gentleman that was out to have a good time. He’d drink excessively, turn loud, and just want to dance. Harmless he was, and rather entertaining for the most part; but like I said, you come to your wits end eventually. As we left our resort to bus it an hour to the airport where we’d have to wait for another 3, before the another 5 spent in-flight, the busload was ready for the long drawn out day, taking an afternoon siesta, most of us… Except for this man. He was ready to serenade the whole bus, asking the bus driver to pull over at a liquor store to buy beers for the bus. How awesome would this’ve been if we were just getting on vacation? Sweet! But totally unnecessary at the farewell.
I was keeping my fingers crossed that he was not seated around me on the plane. I love the guy, but I was finished. With the roomie at the window seat and me in the middle, we were on the plane ½ hr early waiting for that one annoying passenger to get on so we could just get on with it. Normally the passenger you’re waiting for when this happens, is me, because I’m at the bar instead of the plane. But this time, it was the guy who would sit down next to me. Lucky guy is greeted on the plane with a serenade of “boos” (do that to me, I dare yah) then drunk-o sits to my right, in his non-assigned seat. Promptly, I pretended to sleep, then put the headphones in to ignore him. But despite my efforts, I was not so fortunate to be oblivious to his drinking and flirting with the flight attendants, his comments on my choice of beverage, his whining about his head phones not working, or his screaming to his friends further up in the plane. All the while, I just wanted to land and be home. Oh life, you are building up my tolerance level for a reason. My kids are gonna be fuken brats aren’t they?
After traveling a couple times a year, I still hold firm to the belief that getting from point A to point B is as much the adventure as much as the destination you are trying to reach. But after the allotted traveling time, having dealt with people who’s personalities don’t coincide with yours, and wish you were back in a familiar place so you could finally relax, one idiot always seems to ruin everything.
While in Mexico on a recent vacation, the roomie and I, came across an older gentleman that was out to have a good time. He’d drink excessively, turn loud, and just want to dance. Harmless he was, and rather entertaining for the most part; but like I said, you come to your wits end eventually. As we left our resort to bus it an hour to the airport where we’d have to wait for another 3, before the another 5 spent in-flight, the busload was ready for the long drawn out day, taking an afternoon siesta, most of us… Except for this man. He was ready to serenade the whole bus, asking the bus driver to pull over at a liquor store to buy beers for the bus. How awesome would this’ve been if we were just getting on vacation? Sweet! But totally unnecessary at the farewell.
I was keeping my fingers crossed that he was not seated around me on the plane. I love the guy, but I was finished. With the roomie at the window seat and me in the middle, we were on the plane ½ hr early waiting for that one annoying passenger to get on so we could just get on with it. Normally the passenger you’re waiting for when this happens, is me, because I’m at the bar instead of the plane. But this time, it was the guy who would sit down next to me. Lucky guy is greeted on the plane with a serenade of “boos” (do that to me, I dare yah) then drunk-o sits to my right, in his non-assigned seat. Promptly, I pretended to sleep, then put the headphones in to ignore him. But despite my efforts, I was not so fortunate to be oblivious to his drinking and flirting with the flight attendants, his comments on my choice of beverage, his whining about his head phones not working, or his screaming to his friends further up in the plane. All the while, I just wanted to land and be home. Oh life, you are building up my tolerance level for a reason. My kids are gonna be fuken brats aren’t they?
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The Bill
In my opinion, the way people pay their bills, says a lot about their personalities. Excluding your close group of friends (which one would assume offer to pay tabs on a regular basis, with a half-expectation of you “getting the next one” without any hard feelings if you don’t) who’s spending tactics are impeccable, based on the mutual understanding that the other party is not an asshole, you can judge people on how they spend.
Example: You’re out for dinner/appys/drinks with some acquaintances, and the bill comes. The table has agreed that one tab would be sufficient, and everyone could just throw in cash. One could assume that everyone would calculate and pay their own portion, then throw in a bit for the tip. Red flag one: some people are less generous than others with their tips. They actually consider things like waiting longer than usual for food, and argue that the service wasn’t “exceptional”. Others think that the waitress paid enough attention to the table, was personable and friendly, ect.
NOW, tips aside so I could get to the point of this blog: What gets me most after a fun hangout and a couple of drinks, is when, after everyone’s thrown in their portion and the bill is not shorted, the one person who counts out how much of a tip the waitress is getting and argues that she should get less. “We’re tipping 30%, and the service wasn’t that great”. Seriously?!? Everyone has parted ways with their money in whatever fashion, why is it up to this one person to judge how much of a tip one should get. Why is this even a discussion? Should everyone really take back a loonie, as if it’s really going to make a difference?
I looked over at the girlfriend of this boy, who initiated this debate at our table yesterday evening, and asked “you’re the one dating him, does this happen often?” because I was shocked that it had to take place at all.
At my favorite bar, when my friends and I go out, you better believe that the tip is almost 50% of our bill. That’s the way it should be. Otherwise, people should drink at home.
And that’s AnnaB’s opinion on that.
Example: You’re out for dinner/appys/drinks with some acquaintances, and the bill comes. The table has agreed that one tab would be sufficient, and everyone could just throw in cash. One could assume that everyone would calculate and pay their own portion, then throw in a bit for the tip. Red flag one: some people are less generous than others with their tips. They actually consider things like waiting longer than usual for food, and argue that the service wasn’t “exceptional”. Others think that the waitress paid enough attention to the table, was personable and friendly, ect.
NOW, tips aside so I could get to the point of this blog: What gets me most after a fun hangout and a couple of drinks, is when, after everyone’s thrown in their portion and the bill is not shorted, the one person who counts out how much of a tip the waitress is getting and argues that she should get less. “We’re tipping 30%, and the service wasn’t that great”. Seriously?!? Everyone has parted ways with their money in whatever fashion, why is it up to this one person to judge how much of a tip one should get. Why is this even a discussion? Should everyone really take back a loonie, as if it’s really going to make a difference?
I looked over at the girlfriend of this boy, who initiated this debate at our table yesterday evening, and asked “you’re the one dating him, does this happen often?” because I was shocked that it had to take place at all.
At my favorite bar, when my friends and I go out, you better believe that the tip is almost 50% of our bill. That’s the way it should be. Otherwise, people should drink at home.
And that’s AnnaB’s opinion on that.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Is Silence Golden?
A person I don’t recall, had told me recently, that I talk too much. Moment of reflection: yes, I do like to speak; true, I rarely have anything intelligent to say; and yet, I was unaware that I was irritating. Regardless, I said “Challenge Accepted” and vowed to go out this Halloween as a Mime. 24hours of using my sub-par acting skills to showcase my meaningless thoughts, rather than speaking them. A fairly amusing evening awaited.
Sleeping alone, the first part of the challenge went fairly well, as no one could call me out on talking in my sleep, or even prove that it happened at all. Midnight-10am, accomplished. Breakfast and tv watching was also a cakewalk: one roomie left the house, I waved goodbye; the other came home, I waved hello; easy as pie. But it was only after an hour of watching tv in silence, with my white painted face, that the roomie noticed it was acting out of the ordinary, and clued into my challenge. 3hours later, she was bored of having me not speak and tired of guessing what I was saying. *Mime shrugs* People came over to hang out, rolled their eyes at my get-up and silent drinking, and eventually we went to my favorite bar.
My personality, allows me to take a joke and almost encourages that I be on the receiving end of one. So I have to give props to those that make fun of me that night. My waitresses (who have memorized my order months ago) props for asking “what did you want to drink?, 1 what?, you want a beer?”. Props to the friends and randoms who would ask: “what? You have nothing to say?”, "why so quiet over there?". And even props to the roomie for comparing me to Lassie with that mocking baby voice asking “tell me… what is it girl?"! *Sigh* at least silence doesn’t allow me to be mean, and didn’t do any jumping jacks that night!
After the bar, I found myself at a houseparty with my 2010 Halloween crew. Lady GaGa, LL Cool J, Ceaser, Bond, and a random mime, with ½ older persons to the right, and ½ younger persons to my left. Pft, I could mingle as a mime! I made friends with the older folk: I had M&M catch me like a fish on a line only to reel me in then throw me back. And the younger folk were awesome also: Avril Lavigne and Mario took me to the basement to steal their mom’s jello shots.
But the defining moment of the night when you knew I've had enough to drink was when I pulled a boy onto the dancefloor and he started doing a table dance instead. I mimed giving him money while sitting on the floor, and then proceeded to take off his sock and swing it around my head. That’s when he kicked me in the head and I fell backward in embarrassment and agony. Now guys, I know not everyone likes clowns, and a mime is another stupid version of them, but knocking me out, is that really the answer?
At the end of the night, it seemed like everyone just wanted me to talk, but sadly, I still had nothing important to say.
Sleeping alone, the first part of the challenge went fairly well, as no one could call me out on talking in my sleep, or even prove that it happened at all. Midnight-10am, accomplished. Breakfast and tv watching was also a cakewalk: one roomie left the house, I waved goodbye; the other came home, I waved hello; easy as pie. But it was only after an hour of watching tv in silence, with my white painted face, that the roomie noticed it was acting out of the ordinary, and clued into my challenge. 3hours later, she was bored of having me not speak and tired of guessing what I was saying. *Mime shrugs* People came over to hang out, rolled their eyes at my get-up and silent drinking, and eventually we went to my favorite bar.
My personality, allows me to take a joke and almost encourages that I be on the receiving end of one. So I have to give props to those that make fun of me that night. My waitresses (who have memorized my order months ago) props for asking “what did you want to drink?, 1 what?, you want a beer?”. Props to the friends and randoms who would ask: “what? You have nothing to say?”, "why so quiet over there?". And even props to the roomie for comparing me to Lassie with that mocking baby voice asking “tell me… what is it girl?"! *Sigh* at least silence doesn’t allow me to be mean, and didn’t do any jumping jacks that night!
After the bar, I found myself at a houseparty with my 2010 Halloween crew. Lady GaGa, LL Cool J, Ceaser, Bond, and a random mime, with ½ older persons to the right, and ½ younger persons to my left. Pft, I could mingle as a mime! I made friends with the older folk: I had M&M catch me like a fish on a line only to reel me in then throw me back. And the younger folk were awesome also: Avril Lavigne and Mario took me to the basement to steal their mom’s jello shots.
But the defining moment of the night when you knew I've had enough to drink was when I pulled a boy onto the dancefloor and he started doing a table dance instead. I mimed giving him money while sitting on the floor, and then proceeded to take off his sock and swing it around my head. That’s when he kicked me in the head and I fell backward in embarrassment and agony. Now guys, I know not everyone likes clowns, and a mime is another stupid version of them, but knocking me out, is that really the answer?
At the end of the night, it seemed like everyone just wanted me to talk, but sadly, I still had nothing important to say.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Did she just say that?
A blast from the past, and Ontario, came to visit and hang out for a bit. This girlicious friend I used to live with, is the girl that will go out with you and drink and dance all night. And thanks to random nights out with her, I have 11 more numbers to get before my "numbers game" could officially continue.
While at my favorite bar with a cute boy I know, for my own amusement, I told him to go up to my female friend and tell her an awesome pick-up line.
The line: Hey, How do you like your eggs in the morning? Scrambled or fertelized?
Girlicious: Oh, I'll take em any way you make em baby
Boy: For real?
Girlicious: Yeah, I love when a man cooks for me
Boy: So would you like them scrambled or fertelized?
Girlicious: Scrambled, over-easy, poached, whichever, as long as I get breakfast!
Boy: Haha, I give up.
Girlicious: Oh are you talking about sex? I don't want a baby... but a little sperm up there never hurt anyone!
That was two drinks in. I'll let you use your imagination as to where the night escaladed from there. How do you not love her?
While at my favorite bar with a cute boy I know, for my own amusement, I told him to go up to my female friend and tell her an awesome pick-up line.
The line: Hey, How do you like your eggs in the morning? Scrambled or fertelized?
Girlicious: Oh, I'll take em any way you make em baby
Boy: For real?
Girlicious: Yeah, I love when a man cooks for me
Boy: So would you like them scrambled or fertelized?
Girlicious: Scrambled, over-easy, poached, whichever, as long as I get breakfast!
Boy: Haha, I give up.
Girlicious: Oh are you talking about sex? I don't want a baby... but a little sperm up there never hurt anyone!
That was two drinks in. I'll let you use your imagination as to where the night escaladed from there. How do you not love her?
Thanks, That Just Made My Day
Today I got diagnosed for skin cancer by a hearing aid practitioner who knows because she "googled" it.
Now for those who know me, you know I don't "believe" in doctors. I mean, I believe that they exist, they have to be super smart, and they apparently make a shitload of money. But as far as my health (amongst other things) goes, I'm more of a "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" kinda person.
With that being said, when I went hiking a few summers back and fell of the mountain to fuk up my ankle, it may as well have been broken, and yet, I refused to see a doctor. The reasons? 'Glad you asked'. First off, refer to the last blog about "waiting". I've had enough bad experiences with offices that I'm done with it. Especially if the advice they give me at the end of the day is "don't walk on it". 2nd off, I'm a firm believer in the fact that advil and whiskey can cure more than people let on, and therefore, unless I'm in dire pain, I prefer to just wait it out.
Furthermore, I think of doctors a lot like I think of religious leaders. They only tell you what you can't/shouldn't do. Don't sleep around. Don't drink. I'm young enough to enjoy life, and I really don't want to be lectured on all the things I shouldn't be doing. Who's that band that sang "if it feels good do it... even if you shouldn't... don't let doctors bring you down"?
But at the end of my work day today, I got bluntly told that I have skin cancer. Well thanks to the non-experts out there, I'll take your opinion into consieration. But as far as a real doctor is concerned, unless he's super sexy making me so infatuated that I can't wait to go into his clinic and wait hours on end just to see him and take my clothes off in front of him, I'm just gonna pass. Thanks though, hearing I'm gonna die just made my day. *rolls eyes*
Now for those who know me, you know I don't "believe" in doctors. I mean, I believe that they exist, they have to be super smart, and they apparently make a shitload of money. But as far as my health (amongst other things) goes, I'm more of a "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" kinda person.
With that being said, when I went hiking a few summers back and fell of the mountain to fuk up my ankle, it may as well have been broken, and yet, I refused to see a doctor. The reasons? 'Glad you asked'. First off, refer to the last blog about "waiting". I've had enough bad experiences with offices that I'm done with it. Especially if the advice they give me at the end of the day is "don't walk on it". 2nd off, I'm a firm believer in the fact that advil and whiskey can cure more than people let on, and therefore, unless I'm in dire pain, I prefer to just wait it out.
Furthermore, I think of doctors a lot like I think of religious leaders. They only tell you what you can't/shouldn't do. Don't sleep around. Don't drink. I'm young enough to enjoy life, and I really don't want to be lectured on all the things I shouldn't be doing. Who's that band that sang "if it feels good do it... even if you shouldn't... don't let doctors bring you down"?
But at the end of my work day today, I got bluntly told that I have skin cancer. Well thanks to the non-experts out there, I'll take your opinion into consieration. But as far as a real doctor is concerned, unless he's super sexy making me so infatuated that I can't wait to go into his clinic and wait hours on end just to see him and take my clothes off in front of him, I'm just gonna pass. Thanks though, hearing I'm gonna die just made my day. *rolls eyes*
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Waiting
There are very few things in life that I hate more than waiting. I’ve never had much tolerance to just sit around and wait for something. Back in my concert going days, I never stood in line to get into a show. I would get there when everyone was already in, even if it meant missing the first act. I would bud in line or make friends with a door guy who could get me in via the back. But standing in line and just waiting, is not what I did.
Even now, I can’t stand the concept of waiting. It just blows my mind. There is always something better you could be doing instead. That’s why airports frustrate me so much. There’s so much time to kill when you’re there, and it seems like you’re just sitting around wishing something would happen.
It’s funny how my deep hatred for the act of waiting has anger flooding through me as I write this. And even so, as I write this, I’m waiting for a boy to show up. A boy, who is out doing things rather than just sitting around. And on the other end of that spectrum, I’m trying to think of things to do while I kill time waiting for him.
Numerous words come to mind to describe my actions. But none of them are of a positive nature.
Even now, I can’t stand the concept of waiting. It just blows my mind. There is always something better you could be doing instead. That’s why airports frustrate me so much. There’s so much time to kill when you’re there, and it seems like you’re just sitting around wishing something would happen.
It’s funny how my deep hatred for the act of waiting has anger flooding through me as I write this. And even so, as I write this, I’m waiting for a boy to show up. A boy, who is out doing things rather than just sitting around. And on the other end of that spectrum, I’m trying to think of things to do while I kill time waiting for him.
Numerous words come to mind to describe my actions. But none of them are of a positive nature.
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