How's this for a Back-From-Holiday Post?

And by holiday, I mean hanging out in my living room playing computer games and dancing like MJ on the Wii.

It was probably way scarier than this movie.

So last night at around 1AM, I decided that I should probably go to bed like normal people. So I started to go through my whole go to bed routine; check the doors to make sure that Andrew locked them, check to make sure that Andrew fed the cats, wash face, brush teeth, pass out. After the face washing and before the teeth brushing, I realized that Lucy wasn't following me around like she usually does at night. I called her, nothing. So I go to check what was going on. The night of terror started there.

I found Lucy in the living room, staring under our piano. (Yes, we have a piano. Cause we're awesome. I'm just proud of owning a piano.) Both of the cats we're staring under the piano too. I'm thinking they probably just lost one of their toys, so I grab a flashlight and look with them. I find their toy mouse, which is extremely realistic. I then distinctly remember thinking "Wow, I don't remember it having shiny eyes." As I stand up, I see that their mouse toy is on the couch.

Reasoning quickly helps me figure out that oh my God, it's a real mouse under the piano.

She must have Misunderstood the Meaning of "Lunch Date"...

I went on a lunch date with Cow Eyes today at a local Indian restaurant. The waitress was acting really awkward the whole time; really fake smile, fumbling over words, eyes darting between Cow Eyes and I. Seriously, I've never seen someone act so awkward, especially someone working in the service industry.

Cause this is exactly what every single lesbian couple looks like.

I eventually put two and two together. Cow Eyes was rocking the fabulous short hair, androgynous look. We had little personal space and ate off each other's plates. Miss Stereotype-Believing Waitress thought we were lesbians!

I later asked Cow Eyes, and she thought the same thing.

Way to go, Waitress! She probably thought we listened to lots of Melissa Etheridge, moved in together after the second date, wear fanny packs and don't wear bras. And we that we were a P.E. Teacher and a pro golfer who had seven cats.

It obviously ain't a diamond that's this girl's best friend! *double snap*

God must be Punishing me.

Although I have no idea why.

I left the dog in the house for the day because it was so cold outside. So how do I get rewarded? With this.

As soon as I finished making this video, the shock melted away and I cried. A lot.

-----------------------------

Update: I can now laugh about it. God and I are on good terms again; we fist-bumped and everything.

I turn Friends into Lesbians

Or so think their moms. (You know you just saw the title and said LESBIAN WHAT?!)

Way back before I met my Hick man, I was hanging out with his cousin Miss Love all the time. I slept over at her house all the time, we danced our asses off at house parties, heck, we were "married" on Facebook. So you know that shit was official.


More like this.

One of those times, I had stayed the night and the next day was spent outside so by the end of the day, we were disgusting. So we decided to take a quick shower. So she lent me her old one peice tie dye swimsuit, put on her other swimsuit and we hopped in together.

Lucy the Bird.

My dog just spent 10 minutes pawing at the blankets on my bed, moving them around to make a big nest. She then proceeded to lay down right next to the nest. Go figure.

Parents at the Mall

Ok, so this is basically a rant against certain parents I see with their children at the mall. I saw all of this last weekend and it pissed me off so much that I didn't stop complaining for days. Andrew told me to leave him alone and to just write it on my blog. So TA-DA!

Acceptable for the mall?  Uh, no.

1. Clean your children. I saw a kid at the mall with a face full of dried up chocolate and ice cream. Was he currently eating? No. It was dried up. It looked like he ate an entire Dairy Queen for breakfast, and it was 2 pm at that point. Is it really that hard to clean your kid? Keep a few baby wipes on hand? Bring your kid to the restroom to clean them up? Hell, even do that gross grandma thing where you lick your thumb then rub the dirty off with it. Cause letting your 6 year old kid run around the mall with a dirty face makes us wonder how bad is the rest of the family's hygiene. Body odor? Skid marks?! (Yeah, I went there. You're welcome for the mental image.)

2. Dress your kids. This is also a hygiene issue, but is mostly a laziness thing. Why can't you dress your kids before going out in public? Really, why? I saw what looked to be a 9 year old in FULL PAJAMAS. It may have even been a onesie. But it wasn't only him. He appeared to have two younger siblings, all decked in pajamas. These were clearly from the night before (cause really, why would you make your kids start the day out in fresh pajamas?) and like I said, it was around 2 in the afternoon. The mom was all decked out like she was Victoria Beckham. Cause clearly, she had to look her best for the paparazzi. Stupid Posh-Spice wannabe (if you wanna be my lover.. )

I totally had this picture as a poster when I was a kid.

3. DON'T LEASH YOUR KID! I'm going to try real hard to not turn this into an angry rampage. But I can't make any promises. I saw multiple parents at the mall with their toddlers and young children on leashes, walking them like a dog.

For Godsake, just don't make them sing.

Now why in the world do you need to leash your child?! Unless you need a walker or cane to walk, you're child is mentally disabled or disturbed, or you have 5+ kids like the Wharvey Girls in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?", you have absolutely no excuse for using a leash. Are you really so lazy that you can't keep an eye on your child, hold its hand or carry it? Is it really so difficult to keep an eye on your child that you have to put them in a cute backpack that has a rope attached to it? These women only had one child, or if two, the second one was much older and able to take care of itself at the mall.

Seriously, I've seen women with more kids than the Von Trapp Family Singers deal with their children in public without restraining them in halters. So what makes the other woman so incapable to deal with one child? If you want to use a leash so bad, buy a goldfish! CAUSE CLEARLY YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THE CAPABILITIES TO HANDLE A DOG!

Now that I've resorted to "yelling", I'm gonna stop myself now. But c'mon people, don't leash your child. Don't. Do not. Okay, I'm acutally done now.

An Hour-long Photoshoot and this was the Best we Got.

Happy Holidays!

From our family to yours... you know, your family... or just you, if you're an attention whore.

Anyways, eat lots of sweets and hug a jolly fat man.

---------------------------------

P.S. Got some hilarious outtakes from that photoshoot. Will be posting them later.

P.P.S. Thanks mom for being our patient photographer!

Overheard at Work III

Boss, to the other Boss: Hey Kara, can I take a picture of your box?.. I mean a box, not your box!

Both burst out laughing.

I work in a mature environment.

To Redecorate or not to Redecorate?

What, I can't stuff a pillow in them?!

That is the question.

And when I'm talking about redecorating, I'm talking about my blog design. Cause Lord knows I can't afford to do anything to my house. We're wayyyyyyyyy too broke for that. The last thing I bought for our house was gorgeous new red pillow covers for the living room way back in the summer. But then it turns out I actually bought placemats. So I ended up with two placemats that didn't match our kitchen. And so, not wasting the $14 I had just spent, I attempted to drape them over the armrests on the couch. Which means they fall to the floor in ten minutes and stay there for weeks. But damn it, I'm not giving up on them!

Woah, tangent. Getting back on track now.

I'm not sure if I still like the colour scheme and background. I don't know. I know that when I go to a blog regularly and it suddenly switches looks, I'm like "WOAH! I'm a creature of habit! I CAN'T HANDLE THIS!" so I don't want to inflict that confusion and anxiety on anyone else. But I also want people to open my blog and automatically think "Wow! This site makes me feel like a magical unicorn! I must read this blog so that I can feel even awesomer! I'M SO EXCITED, I'M MAKING UP WORDS!" I want it make people euphoric; like a good LSD trip. But better.

Yes, I am asking for alot from my background pattern. A ridiculous amount, in fact. I realize I can be kinda intense. But that's just how I roll.

Lucy has distorted self-perception. I can say that, because I have a BA in Psych. Which means absolutely nothing.

So this morning, I'm sitting at the dinning room table, eating my breakfast and getting ready to go to work, when my dog Lucy decides to climb on my lap. She starts with just climbing the top half onto me, but after a few minutes, she tries to inconspicuously get all of her 61 pound body onto my 14 inch wide lap.


This is the dog spread out over my queen size bed. I am not a
 queen-sized person. Also, notice the use of Tika as a pillow.



Needless to say, I noticed. But after a minute of struggling, we actually managed to get her to lay down on my lap.

And that, my friends, is a Christmastime miracle.





The Knight is a Metaphor for what?!?!

Warning. This post is messed up. Andrew thinks I should delete it. I probably will. But it just shows what sleep deprivation does to me.

Last month, I felt like absolute crap. One night, I had gotten up at around 3 a.m. so I could have a one-hour date with my toilet playing Spin-the-Nausea and Seven Minutes in Disgust. It was lovely, really. Also, while feeling sick, I have the weirdest bad dreams, like people chasing after me and some guy being hit in the head by a pocket watch, which then somehow melts his face. Yeah, I'm not even going to question it at all.

So the night after, my tired brain was determined not to have weird-ass dreams and thoughts. My brain decided it was going to be kept busy while trying to fall asleep so it would have less chance of having messed up dreams. (Apparently, that night I thought that the bad dreams were causing the nausea, and not the other way around. Proof of my declining common sense as the hour grows later. Really. Now that I think about it, it's the stupidest reasoning ever.)

So, how did my brain keep busy? By deciding to invent a Fairy Tale. Based on the biological happenings during conception. Yeah, I'm actually serious.

It's Christinetime! Damn, I mean Christmastime!

I always write my name instead. It makes for very confusing Christmas cards.

Last weekend, I finally realized that we were into December. So we decorated our place for Christmas. Ish. We don't have much for decorations, it's basically just a tree and.. well actually, it's just the tree. Here is a summary of the event through photos, captions and the piece de resistance, the video.

Andrew preparing the tree. Notice Sako's
head next to the big box on the left.

AND Sako's in the box now. Big surprise.

LET THERE BE LIGHT! Now onto decorating.

I'm BACK!

Sorry I've been MIA for so long. I was hard at work on my thesis presentation that was presented to the other thesis students and the whole of my university psychology faculty. And I literally just finished my presentation. And I AM RUNNING ON ADRENALINE RIGHT NOW! AHHHHHHH

It's like someone just stuck an epipen into my heart. Minus the hives or swelling up or something. Seriously. One of the professors commented afterwards on how energetic I was throughout my presentation. I don't know if he's saying I was being bubbly, or manic.

HEART GOING SO FAST!

I'm going shopping soon. Because my current high will make me impervious to my usual cheapness (financially). I will also be using big words, because THAT'S WHAT INTELLIGENT PEOPLE DO! I'm chronically smart and currently GENIUS. No filter. I have no filter right now.

I could do anything right now. I usually suck at skating, but I feel like I could compete in a figure skating competition. Or wrestle a bear. I want to go to an arcade and play Dance Dance Revolution.



Put me on expert, cause I'm about TO
CREATE A REVOLUTION WITH MY FEET.

The girl sitting next to me is a total Hipster condescending Debby Downer. She's on her cell using big words. Shopping now. Screw editing.

Tika Love

Here's some recent photos of Tika the cuddler. Here's a bad photo of me, while Tika is always adorable.

Woah, bad angle. My child hands look like giant hands.
You're looking at the hands now, aren't you? 

Andrew needs some Tika lovin' too.

Here's some more pictures of her.

She's a tubby Rockstar.

Getting Lucy II - (Or, "Thank God I Have a Box of Old Clothes in the Trunk!")

Chapter 2

So off we went to get Lucy, the newly-named dog. We drove to the sound of my Beatles anothology blasting. I sang along (i.e., yelled at the top of my lungs), Andrew occasionally grumbled.

We met Lucy's old owner in a parking lot of Wal*Mart (she was a classy woman). She said Lucy came with a doggy bed and toys, but apparently she ate too much and got sick on all her stuff (the dog, that is) so the woman threw it all out. That was fine, I just bought another bed and some toys at Wal*Mart.

The first picture of Lucy I ever took.

And so began the drive for hell. What should have been a one and a half hour drive became three hours. At first it was great; she happily sat on my lap, as cute as can be.

But after 15 minutes, she started drooling a lot, then gagging. Eyes wide, I screamed "SHE'S GONNA HUUUUUUURL!" as I frantically grabbed a plastic shopping bag and held it in front of her face. She then vomited in the bag.

Hardly detered, I turned to Andrew and said "I caught it! I actually caught it! We are so going to rock at this!". He gagged in response, although I didn't need to put a bag in front of his face. We stopped somewhere and threw out the bag.

The Blair Sako Project

Those are the eyes of a heartless cut-throat.

This is a video of Sako under the couch, being a ninja killer to Lucy's pterodactyl toy. Drama is increased through the use of nightime filming.

She's a Prehistoric Predator. SHE'S A SABER TOOTHED TIGER!

We support her choices as a nocturnal assassin.

Meow.

Manchu Wok with Booster Juice Makes us Crazy

Or at least, I assume it's that combination Andrew and I had for supper today that turned us both into basket cases. Many little things happened while Christmas shopping after our delicious food court date, but the highlight was definitely when we hit PetSmart.

I was walking around with Andrew following behind me when I spotted ginormous dino bones. They were too expensive, because Andrew and I are cheap and broke. That is when I heard a sort of crashing noise behind me. I turned around to find a big cardboard box displaying giant dog beds, and Andrew's legs sticking out of it, kicking like a drunk can-can dancer. It turns out Andrew thought he could just sit on the pile of pillows without them all collapsing. Turns out he was wrong, because he fell back in the box and temporarily disappeared, minus the legs.

It was beautiful.

Like this, but in a giant box of dog beds. And no cigarette.

I immediately burst out laughing, to the point of almost heaving. He got himself out and stated "It looked a lot sturdier. Like a couch or something."

Then, wanting to replay the moment over and over again, I ran to ask the checkout girl if the store had security cameras. She asked me why (probably thinking I was the dumbest thief in the world.) I explained the situation. She asked me when it happened and in what corner of the store so she could watch it later. Andrew got embarrassed.

I hope Andrew gets known as the Box Crasher by the PetSmart staff.

------------------------------------------
In other news, I GOT ELF COSTUMES FOR THE CATS. Pictures will appear shortly.

Bi-weekly Time with Andrew

I like to call this special time "When I start yelling, it means they wrote it in Caps."

Pretty much everyday, I get bored answering phones. So one of my go-to websites for a little pick me up is damnyouautocorrect.com, where the proof is presented that iPhones like to make you send inappropriate messages to your parents and pastor by changing your words, like this:

HahahahahaBLURGH!

I then read approximately 5 pages of these texts, trying extremely hard not to laugh outloud. This results in shaking, crying, occasional snorts, and finally the feeling that I'm going to throw up. Right before I start heaving, I change websites to something more tame, because throwing up in public is so 7th Grade.

Okay, back-story ended.

This is what happens. Every other week or so, I'm sitting on the couch with Andrew when I suddenly remember autocorrects, how they rock my world and how Andrew avoids reading like the plague, and so wouldn't have read any lately. I turn to Andrew and say "Hey, do you want to read some damnyouautocorrects?!" He answer "Ok". His facial expression rarely matches the manic joy on mine.

My Kittens turn me into a Four Year Old

Here's the thing. Before these little fuzzballs, I had never really had cats in my life. My mom had a cat flip shit on her and jump on her head when she was a kid, so she's hated them/been terrified of them ever since. She'll totally deny it, but she does.

HOLY SHIT WATCH OUT MORGAN FREEMAN!

 Because of this, the only cat I knew growing up was my aunts' cat called Souris. And he was an asshole. He was fat, orange, and had a vendetta against me for some reason. Every time we went to visit, I would try to convince him that I was a great person and that we could be best friends and I would give him cat nip and toys IF HE WOULD ONLY LOVE ME GODDAMN IT! But he would only hiss at me and I would run away.

He looked like this, but I swear I never threw him in the water.

But even in this practically nonexistant relationship with cats, punctuated by bad experiences with an ironically-named cat (look it up, non-French people), I still felt like we could have a wonderful connection.

So after Andrew and I got Lucy, a black lab/border collie puppy on cocaine, I felt like I could totally handle a cat. I mean, you really just have to water them every once in a while and keep them in the sun, right? So I pestered Andrew non-stop to get one. After all, me being a good girlfriend, I wasn't going to just go and get one without his consent. Although I could get one against his will.

Point: I'm very, very persistent. I do not give up or back down. Andrew is neither strong willed, nor stubborn enough to win against me. So after three weeks of Andrew holding out, I could see he was starting to crack. So I took advantage.
We got Tika one day, and got her sibling Sako the next. I named them after guns in an attempt to appease the Hick Gods.

And ever since then, I have been in a permanent state of amazement.

A Peace of my Mind.

I hope there's no tide coming in... Also, GROOVY, BABY!

While driving like a madwoman back to work from a meeting with my academic advisor (damn thesis. Making me eligible for higher-paying jobs through further education. I SHAKE MY FIST AT YOU.), a Mini Cooper drove by with both the driver and passanger flashing me a peace sign. I am so cool.

I also texted Andrew immediately to tell him how cool I was. Which probably canceled out my freshly-acknowledged coolness.

Getting Lucy - (Or, What's in a Psychedelic Name?)

Chapter 1

During springtime this year, my mothering instincts kicked in full force. I needed something to care of and Andrew just wasn't cutting it.

I went on kijiji.ca, also know as the Canadian Craiglist (minus the personal ads that are solely created for one night stands and people who collect dirty underwear) to find a dog. That's when I found her.



"Are you my new mommy?" "YES, YES I AM!"

She was four months old and absolutely adorable. I emailed the woman and said we would take her. The woman said we could pick her up next weekend. I then notified Andrew that we were going to be parents to a furry child. (I probably should have done it the other way around, but I'm a non-traditional kind of girl.)

Woof.

Lucy's name was originally Jasmine, but since I had already had a dog with that name when I was a kid (named after the Alladin princess), and Andrew grew up living with a girl with that name, we had to change it. Andrew was a little (read: extremely) apprehensive about getting a dog. Mostly because we were getting her the day we were moving into our house (and especially because technically, we didn't even legally own the house when we moved in. So we were basically squatters in our own home.). This is is how he displayed his uncertainty.

Andrew: We shouldn't be getting a dog.

Me: But it's cute and you love dogs!

Andrew: We shouldn't be getting a dog.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

Imagine rage in her eyes. Way more rage.

Me: I have an idea! Why don't we dress up the kitties for Christmas?! They can be little elves!! And you can dress up as Santa and Lucy will be a reindeer! Like Rudolf or something! And I'll be Ms. Claus!

Andrew: Then we would all hate you.

In Other News.

Today is Old-Men-Hit-on-Christine Day. I don't know where they posted the memo, but everyone else seems to have gotten it.

Yep, I'll leave it at that.

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P.S. I seem to have mediocre post-vomit. The posts just won't stop. And they're mediocre. See, even my attempts at elaboration are mediocre.

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?

-----------------------

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

Sad Sunday. Better than Maladjusted Monday but definitely not as fun as Ferocious Friday.

Ever had one of those days when you're so bored, that you want to punch someone, just to make life a little more exciting? Yeah, that was my day yesterday.

I did a little painting this morning for a family portrait due by Christmastime, but needed a break from it after painting for approximately five hours straight. So then I took Lucy for a walk, helped Andrew insulate her pen for the winter, cleaned up the shed a little, brought in the Christmas decorations, did some laundry and read part of a book.

Then, my streak of productivity came to a screeching halt. My brain decided to develop a sudden and crippling addiction to computer games. And I went full-out nuts for absolutely no reason. I NEEDED to play a game. And I had no computer games. So I desperately began searching online.

My avatar was so much
hotter than this chick.

Long story short: I ended up on this site. A site for tweens to collect and take care of virtual pets. I made an online account (SillySprite343. Hey, they suggested the name, not me.), dressed up my little avatar and rode around on a virtual scooter, collecting virtual eggs that hatch into tigers and stufff (which  probably explains the increase in teenage pregnancies, if this is where they're getting their sex ed info.)

So, after collecting about 37 eggs and getting angry at my virtual scooter for it's lack of coordination, it dawned on me that I was playing a game for 11 year old kids. And I almost cried.

So I decided to do something a little more age appropriate. I folded clothes. And I almost cried.

It was one of those days that I questioned Andrew why he was with me. He said it was because I made him look stable in comparison. 

In other news: I'm shedding like a MoFo. It's like my scalp got confused and decided it was summertime. In Africa. Which is a continent.

Squeakity, Squeakin-Squeak!

So, I was shopping at PetSmart last night with my parents when I started checking out the dog toys. There I found the squeaky toys, which I love to give as gifts to dog owners because they drive them nuts. I took one, and as soon as I squeaked it, another one squeaked across the store. All excited, I automatically semi-yelled:


This photo adds no comedic value to this post.
But it will make you go "AWWWWWWWWW!"

"We're communicating!"

Turns out, the squeak was not across the store,  but only behind me, where a worker was putting away toys. Flustered, he apologized to me. Which only turned my elation into confusion. I thought we were connecting, man.

------------------------------

Did anyone think of Kronk from The Emperor's New Groove when they saw the title of this post? Yeah, me neither...

I am Angry at Smart Set

Earlier this month, I realized that working a "Grown-up" job would require a wardrobe that doesn't involve just wearing over-sized shirts and leggings. It involves over-sized t-shirts, leggings and accessories. So I went shopping. (Andrew thought I was simply using this as an excuse for spending more money. He was right.)

So off I went to our local mall, where I bought from multiple stores, including Smart Set. That is where I spotted a little waist belt, seen here. You know, to prove that underneath the giant shirts, there is a hint of a figure.

It was cute. It was boho-chic. It was on sale.

I bought it. Obviously.

I wore it for the first time today. With a long grey long-sleeve shirt, full black leggings (which are actually ninja long-johns. Yes, I am serious.), wodden beads string necklaces and wooden and multi-metal bangles. It looked fabulous. It said "I'm working on contract, so I act like I don't care about my job, but I'm actually so amazing that you want to keep me permanently anyways."

So as I'm sitting at my desk, I feel like I'm rapidly losing weight. Knowing that the opposite has a much bigger chance of happening, I try to figure out what's going on. My belt was getting looser. Because it was detaching itself on one side. The awesome leather/pleather/I-don't-know-what front was no longer stuck to the elastic back. I was unraveled, literally. Here is a figure to better summarize.

It turns out, on that side, the elastic wasn't even properly sewn in, explaining why they put them all on sale. Shody, simply shody. I don't know what to do now. Do I boycott all Smart Set items? Do I demand a new one? Do I write a letter to the company with clothes manufacturing tips included? I am just so lost.

I am now walking around with seemingly uncoordinated accessories and no waist. In an over-sized shirt and leggings. Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd back to square one.

Update: Duck-taping the back of the belt together is not effective. And yes, I know it's spelled "duct".

Welcome to Canada!

It snowed all day yesterday.

Yep, that's all I've got so far.

Bitch, please.

Okay, I am going crazy over here.

As I have previously mentioned, I work in Marteking as an Administrative Assistant, or Ass. However, I was recently given an additional task, which is to help the media team to scan articles featuring our work and then add them to the website to help promote our success. This task was added to my workload to help lighten the load of the media team.

However, this has led one person to give me EVERY SINGLE ARTICLE EVER WRITTEN IN THE HISTORY OF CANADA. Why? Because these articles and magazines used to fill their office, while they now occupy every single part of my desk (cause I don't have an office, since I am reception). It's like they decided to play "pick-up 52" but couldn't find a deck of cards and so used every paper they could find. 

Imagine the cat is my desk

While their office is now skeaky clean, my desks keeps getting looks and comments from other people as if I was a mother giving a cigarette to a baby. Seriously, I feel like I now need to take blood pressure medication, I am so stressed out from this mess. I'm amazed I can even reach my keyboard.

THIS IS SPARTAAAAAAA!

And everytime I move my mouse it makes a sound that's a cross between a rodent, a skeaky toy and a bad impression of a monkey. It is driving me FUCKING CRAZY! Seriously, every damn day I have to listen to this mouse. I swear I will one day chuck it across the room out of pure rage.

I need a Xanax or a Valium. Cause shit is gonna get ugly.

Update: I have cleaned up my desk; I now have two skycraper piles while the rest of my desk is clear. I am now passive agressively bringing the articles back in the person's office one at a time.

Second Update: I just realized that they blacked out the naughty bits of the Deskcat. This makes me happier.

Pregnancy Mystery Partially Solved

So, last night, my friend Miss Love starts texting me.

Miss Love:  What's up?!

Me: Finishing work.

Miss Love: What are you up to tonight?

Me: Working on my thesis. :(

Miss Love: Are u prego?

What. The. Ruck. How the hell did we get back at this?! Seriously. I thought we were over this shit. At this point, I am extremely peeved. Okay, I'm hella pissed off. While I feel like going apeshit on my friend, I calm myself down and write to her in a more friendly manner.

Me: WHAT? No! Where the hell did you get that?

Miss Love: Nanny and Grampy said that.   

AH HA! So it is Andrew's grandparents that are spreading the rumor. Not only did they tell her that, but they also told her twin, and Lord knows who else in the family. I would say really nasty things right now if they weren't so old and cute (really, they are so adorable). And they give us ah-mazing homemade bread and butter. And they sometimes let me name their cows.



So Andrew and I actuallty had to call some of the family to do damage control, assuring people that we did not want baby clothes for Christmas. And I got so pissed that Andrew let me know that he'll talk to them to let them know that "no, I am not carrying developing offspring within my body" (thesaurus.com defined the word "pregnant" that way, so I will too).

I need to develop a six-pack and walk around in a bikini all the time.
-----------------------
Say the word "manner" a bunch of times. Think about it, really think about it.  What a weird word. I almost didn't use it because I got really confused and started doubting whether it actually is a word or not. Man-ner. Ma-nner. Mann-er. ManER.

My Life Will Soon be Complete

Beauty and the Beast will be in theaters in January.

IN 3D!

All is right and beautiful in the world. I have never been so excited at the thought of putting on those ridiculous 3D glasses over my real glasses. I already feel sorry for Andrew, and the other people in the theater that will have to listen to my sing-a-long.

Maybe I'll dress up for the premiere.

I Could Have been a Great Stalker

In High School, I was unapologetically weird. Not the I-wear-black-and-dream-about-blood weird, nor the staple-my-arm-for-fun weird (which we had at my school), but more the I-love-singing-Disney-in-the-hallways-and-want-to-be-a-bobblehead-doll-when-I-grow-up weird. In essense, I had no shame, a quality that hasn't changed. Luckily, I had a small group of friends that embraced my inner weirdness and who joined in.

Being in a graduate class of 64 in a K-12 school, everyone knew each other and many had even started daycare together (which makes boyfriend selection quite difficult, as you've most likely seen every single boy eat a worm at least once, a memory that doesn't incite attraction). Another effect from bring raised together was that we all seemed to turn slightly gay (gay as in "awesome!"). I don't know why, but everyone liked to hold hands and be more affectionate than what is socially accepted. Digression ended.

One of my many projects created out of sheer boredom at school was to create the creepiest stalker letters possible. To up the personal touch, the letters were composed of an acronym poem usign the target's name. They usually looked something like this.

S-T-E-P-H-A-N-I-E

Sometimes, I dream of what life would be like if everyone in the world but you and me died.
Then, I could watch you without anyone ever getting in my way
Everytime I see you, I just want to put you in a cage, so I can watch you all day.
Please keep your blinds up are at all times, so I can watch you when you sleep.
Have you noticed how I start heavy breathing when I think of you?
After I watch you shower, I record in my journal everything you did, and how it made me feel.
Never wash your sheets.
I smell them as soon as you leave the room.
Even though I have to go to class once in a while, I installed cameras in your room, so I never have to miss what you do.

LOVE FOREVER,
Your # 1 Fan,
Me

Clearly, I had amazing potential as a stalker.

I started out giving out the poems to my friends (it's how I show my love), but word spread about my talents. Were people creeped out? Was I shunned? Hell no! My school was full of freaks. I started getting commisions and special requests for stalker poems. I must have made at least 25 of these in one year.

...Yeah. That's it.
First person to comment gets their very own innappropriate stalker poem!

I Should not Shop at Costco

Why should you not shop there anymore Christine, you ask? Is it because you spend too much every God damn time? Because you visit the sample ladies so much that they start giving you the stink eye? Because you always get lost and have to call Andrew so he can find you?

No. But yes.

Today, Andrew and I went to Costco in an attempt to finish our Christmas shopping. Instead, we bumped into my parents there and I ended up getting angry. But not at my parents, cause they're cool.

It all started in the toy aisle, where I spotted this:

WHAAAAAAAAAAA!

Pardon the following language.

Who the FUCK is this pony? Belle isn't a little Bitch, she rides Phillippe, the big ass work horse!

Big Ass Workhorse

Weak Ass Pony

Seriously though, Belle is way too much of a bad ass to ride on this little wimp of a horse. She has shit to do and that anorexic My Little Pony won't cut it. I was pissed. So pissed, that I said all of these things out loud in the middle of the store, waving around the box like I could shake it into being awesome. But that was just the beginning, because I then spotted this:

 And this.

 And this.

 GAH!

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON??!?! At least Belle actually had her dad's workhorse in the movie, but the rest of these princesses didn't have any horses. Sure, the Princes had horses, but the only time any of these girls sat on them is when they were being led by their handsome Princes into the Sunset, where they would each have seven children and then die in childbirth. Brutal, but probably true.

So let's go through them quickly.

• Ariel. IS A MERMAID. The only thing she would be riding is a seahorse, and those are fucking small. Yes, she gets legs, but they're damn weak. She could barely walk, so how in the hell is she going to grip the horse with her legs? And Eric doesn't look like he'd let her ride around the countryside alone. Asshole Eric.
• Jasmine. She's an Arabian Princess. She doesn't need to ride a horse. She probably has a fricken elephant to carry her around. Or thirty war slaves.
• Aurora. Is a little bitch. Riding a horse is too scary. Seriously, she's scared of everything. Strange man awesomely singing along with you. Scary. Actually, now that I think about it, Aurora doesn't do anything the entire movie. She sings in the woods, runs away, gets sent to her parents, pricks the damn spindle, sleeps, gets kissed, marries and dances. What a passive little bitch. I'm done talking about that wimp.
• Snow White. Same deal, total wimp. She was scared of the woods, do you think she'll ride her own damn horse? Nuh-uh. She is made for singing, cleaning and looking pretty. And eventually popping out babies.

I know you want to make money, but what the fuck is up with this, Disney??? What's next, Disney Princess dolls with colour coordinated Range Rovers?? Or Disney Princesses, Biker Chicks?

And let's not even talk about the ridiculously long-ass manes the ponies all have.

At this point, my mom got embarrassed, because I had actually started to yell these things, and people were staring. And I was in the middle of the kids aisle. So she ripped the Barbie box from my hand and dragged me away from them. I was still ranting by the time we got to the cheese section.

Yes, I am a grown woman getting pissed about Disney merchandise. Deal with it.