Woah Woah WOAH, Ukraine!



WHY MUST THE SLAVS TAUNT ME SO?!

 Either another Slavic country discovered me, or Russia has hired Ukraine to spy on me, because yesterday was FULL of Ukranian pageviews. I'm going to err on the side of paranoia and assume that they're also trying to kill me. ("The Ukraine girls really knock me out"? I'm taking those lyrics as a warning to me from the Beatles. Thanks, Beatles!)


The Chinese dude.



As some Chinese dude said, "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." So in the interest of my survival, I'm going to learn as much about Ukraine as I can. Because the ability to spout off random facts will somehow save me in the case of an assassination attempt.

It makes sense, okay?

So, from what I've gathered, they talk with their hands alot and are super patriotic. Their version of vodka is called horylka and is made with red peppers. The average Ukranian drinks 15.6 liters of alcohol a year, which is one liter more than Irishmen. 

Someone put horseshoes, or in this case fleashoes, on a flea. The flea is in a museum. Yeah, I'm serious. Most websites talking about Ukranian facts mention this one.

Most Ukranians speak Russian, which only tells me that they're definitely spies.

Does any of this information help? No, no it doesn't. I am still completely unprepared in the case of a Ukranian attack. But what I do have is a craving to try horylka with them.

Like I did with my Russian viewers, I ask my Ukranian readers to comment on this post. If you don't, it proves you're after me. If you do, please don't yell at me. It's not my fault I'm neurotic (plus, your language is really pretty, so... that's good, right?).

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By the way, I totally saved the day at work while simultaneously filling up my exercise quota for the day. I'm like Superman, but way sexier.

Invoice Mystery (Or, Purolator is being Difficult. Like a 4 year old.)

Annnnnnnnnnnd we're back to talking about Russia.

So I'm at work, trying to find more information about a Purolator bill from months ago so that I can know which budget to pay it from. Except I have no idea who sent it. I tried to scare information out of workers by becoming an invoice nazi, but no one seems to know anything about this package we received.

So I went online. And the interweb said my invoice did not exist. Stupid, interweb, OF COURSE it exists! I'm holding it in my hand! YOU mailed it to us! It replied by telling me to call them.

Stereotyping makes me
picture him looking like this.

I called. And talked to a machine, who wanted me to talk back to it. I am anti-robot, so I just punched a bunch of numbers until it would send me to a real person. This person just happened to live in Russia. Or Ukraine or Kazakhstan or something. There was a Slavic sounding accent, I'm not an expert. The point was, he seemed very angry to be receiving my call. For my shortened version of the convo, I'll be calling him Maxim. (Remember, use a strong accent when picturing this conversation.)

Maxin: Purolator. I need your PIN.

Me: Okay, it's 622RF...

Maxim: No no no no no. A PIN has no letters. Just digits.

Me: My Package Identification Number?

Maxim: Yes.

Me: It has letters in it.

Maxim: It cannot have letters. Just digits. You sure this is Purolator? Because you are not giving PIN.

Me: But that is the PIN! It is a Purolator invoice, it says Purolator on the top, it was mailed to us from Purolator. Can I give you any other information to find the invoice?

Maxim: No no no, you are giving wrong information. I send you to supervisor person. You are not giving PIN. I cannot help you with wrong information. You need to give PIN.

The sound of on hold elevator music cut off my reply. (Thank God, cause after that, he wouldn't have helped me for sure.) The supervisor took my information, said he would call me back and never did. So I'm hovering over the phone waiting for his call. I feel like a desperate rejected woman after a bad date. Maybe he's adhering to the three day rule?

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Yes, I realize this post is boring. That's because my life is boring.

Russia: The Takeover

It's official. The Russians have taken over my blog. This is a screencap of my worldwide pageviews. TODAY.

What is the deal with Russia?!?!!?!?

Seriously, this is affecting me.

Yesterday. I overheard a family speaking Russian at the mall. This happened.

Me: *whispering* Oh my God, they're Russian.

Andrew: They're probably spies sent after you.

(Andrew clearly doesn't help the situation. )

Me: Holy shit, we have to go. NOW.

Me, Paranoid?

Ok, I'm not gonna lie, but I'm kinda getting crazy curious over here. Everyday, I check my pageview stats in the hopes that I suddenly went viral. I smile at how many people read my blog, while silently demanding that more people start reading it. Am I a complex person, or just schizophrenic? I think it's the former. Well, I hope it is... Nah, I'm just complicated, that's all J

Anyways, every day that I check, there are more and more Russians that seem to read my site. It started out with 1 pageview, but just yesterday I had 12 daily pageviews from Russia. They're starting to outnumber every country other than Canada (my home and native lannnnnnnnnd, truuuuuue Partiot loooooove, in all our sons command).

I guess the people at the bottom are about to make love???

Yeah, so what's up with the Russians? Are they actually fans of my blog? Or do they google the word Russia and I pop up because of Friday being International Christine-likes-Russians Day? Do they like it? Or do they hate me and want to cut me up and stuff me in a bunch of little Russian Matryoshka dolls? (Woah! Got a little violent there!)

Oh sure, they look cute. Until you see what's inside....

AND WHY WON'T THEY COMMENT?! Come on Russians, I need to know! I am going nuts over here!

So Russia, let me know! I love you guys and your agressive, yet sexy language and your super cool magical looking churches of awesomeness. I love that you down vodka like it's apple juice and your impossible traditional dancing. I'm not a fan of how a lot of you girls get stuck in the sex trade and the whole eating horses thing, but hey, it's all good.

Seriously, all I need is one comment from you Russians, just so I know you're not plotting my death.

P.S. Please respond in English, cause I don't even understand your alphabet.

Как сказать "Super Hot!" по-русски? (How do you say super hot in Russian?"

Andrew, while looking at my previous post.

Andrew: Wow, that chick is hot!

Me: She's Russian!

Andrew: Russians are hot.

Andrew immediately goes to kijiji.

Me: What are you doing? Trying to find a Russian bride?

Andrew: You can't do that on Kijiji anymore. (Sad face)

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Today is clearly International Christine-likes-Russians Day,

Ear Infections and a Russian

I had a really great schoool experience growing up: I grew up with the same group of kids, I got to hate on Cow Eyes, learning was actually made fun by my teachers, life was great. Except for Grade 4. Fourth Grade was known as Hell Year. But just for me. That's because my teacher seemed to detest me with an absolute passion. She was the Uncle Vernon to my Harry Potter (cause I'm so the girl-version of Harry Potter. I would have totally caught that Snitch.)

Side note:

Oh my God, it's totally true!

Her name was Mme. Dora. And she was certainly not an Explorer, nor did she have a monkey friend (if she did, I feel like we would have connected). From day one, she seemed to have it out for me.

Does Dora usually have a boner?

This woman seemed to yell at me for any reason or non-reason she could think of. I could have been picking up someone's pencil from the floor and she would have accused me of stealing it. I could have been picking my own  nose and she would have charged me with attempting to spread a viral contagion. (Hey, anyone seen the movie Contagion? Is it any good?).

Every morning, we started out class with a reading period. After a while, I ran out of things to read (I'm the Rain Man of reading). She noticed right away. I said I had read all my books at home multiple times. She told me to read books from the class library. I told her I had already read them all. So she gave me the city paper to read every morning. What in the hell kind of fourth grader wants to read the daily paper? I sure didn't. So I just drew moustaches on the photos.

She yelled at me so much that it actually started a rumor with the younger kids. During all of my childhood, I was constantly dealing with bad ear infections, so I had tubes put in my ear pretty much every other year. 4th grade happened to be one of those years. My best friend Prince's little brother later told me that Mme. Dora yelled at a kid so loudly, that the kid had to have an ear operation. (That kid was me, in case you didn't get the connection).

Fourth grade appeared to get better when we got a new student. From RUSSIA. Her name was Alena Molorina and she was going to be my new best friend. Cause she was new and from RUSSIA, MAN!

Look! A Stereotype!

Like I've said before, I get what I want. And I wanted to be awesome buddies with Alena. So I did. We did everything together for a whole month. We'd run while all my other friends would try to follow (did I mention I was a bitch child?), we had inside jokes, and we worked on school projects side by side. One of our art projects involved drawing group pictures to put in a class calendar. Since I was born in October, I did that month and so did Alena.  I drew out this awesome haunted house, so everyone could decorate it. It was a masterpeice. There were frickin turrets, shattered windows, cobwebs, the whole works.

It probably looked like this. Cause I drew like Leonardo da Vinci when I was 9.

When we presented the drawing, Mme. Dora enthusiastically praised Alena's black cat silhouette. That's it. No more compliments to the rest of the group.
Next project was free-range (Like a happy chicken. Always buy eggs from free-range chickens. Anything coming from a happy ovary will be much better than from a stressed one.). I decided to make a little booklet out of red construction paper. On the front was a drawing of my dog at the time. On the inside was a poem about her. It was glorious.

Next thing you know, Alena makes THE EXACT SAME THING, but all about her cat and with blue construction paper.(See how badly I hold a grudge? It's pathetic.) Next thing you know, the teacher is showing it off in front of the whole class, saying how creative Alena was, blah blah blah. I know now that the teacher was probably just trying to make the little Russian fit in and feel comfortable, but alienating her by making looking like an Einstein probably wasn't the best way.

Cause that's what it did with me. I slowly grew to hate her. Partly from jealousy, partly from the unjustice the teacher dealt me. I wouldn't play with her anymore. I hid my art projects from her. I rolled my eyes at the sheer mention of her name. After half a semester, she ended up skipping like 2 grades. I guess she was an Einstein.

I never saw her again, but every once in a while, I wonder what happened to Alena.

Since she's Russian, she most likely looks like
 this now. Damn that Alena and her Russian genes.

HOLY SHIT. (It's Geography Time!)

This is a picture geographically displaying my blog viewers in the past hour.

HELLO USA, RUSSIA, AND AUSTRALIA! I see you seeing me! And I now see you seeing me seeing you see me!

I just need someone from Southern Chile to view and I'll have the four corners of the world! (If the world was flat and rectangular like the map.)

Yeah, this just happend and I am already aware that I am acting desperate.