on a plane, on a plane.

...off to see the city girls again. Oh, KoL!

I have been in such a musical mood lately. No joke! The charming and ever-present Ros5 and I have been on an Oasis bender for the past couple of days. We're a musical duo, and really, we'll sing just about anything. What's really fun is when someone recognizes what you're wildly resounding, and either joins in or says "hey, I like that song!" It's great.

Question: what the fuck is an iDog? I received one as a "winter gift" (see: I didn't celebrate Christmas), and I was confused as all hell. Isn't that for, like, tweens? Last time I checked, I didn't have braces and listen to Miley Cyrus. I mean, even when I was a tween, I couldn't stand that sort of stuff. Sigh. It's the thought that counts, right?

I am so so so looking forward to New Year's Eve! We're all going to be looking quite fly in ties and dresses, sippin' champagne and feigning class. It's going to be Sasha FIERCE. Seriously; Beyonce? Y'on glue, girl? Alter egos are better reserved for evil geniuses and the mentally retarded. Just sayin'.

I think I'm going to chop my mop and throw some life back into it soon. Red, Fred? Maybz. It was such a nice hue last time around that I am strongly considering doing it again. As for hair-flair? I've been lurkin' styles on google, and so far? Nothing to write home about. Ain't that shame?

It's Tuesday, and you know what that means! You should also know that this week's pick of the week is about as awesome as having your eyelids stapled open. Or surgically removed. Or both. Ja, I'm disappointed, but I'm sure redemption will come 'round next Tuesday. Or at least I'm hopeful.

So what have I been up to lately? Not much.

PTFO!

no expectations.

For the record: I hate snow.

There's no being polite or politically correct about it - I hate snow. It's hard to walk in, it's dangerous to drive in, and it's cold as fuck. There's no mild distaste; no modest dislike. Hate and only hate. Hatehatehatehatehatehate!

I love reading personal ads on craigslist. Especially the missed connections ones or the intimate encounters. So fun; here's my favourite from today:

Title: I Should Have Approaced You - m4w (Starbucks in Chapters)

Message: I was reading photo mags - you were in line to order a coffee - our eyes met and there was a connection.
I was stupid and left the store.

Please note the spelling of "approached". Is it wrong that I'm offended by spelling errors? Like, I'm not sure if I'd respond to something like this when the guy's an obvious dumbass. Okay, that's harsh, but...you know.

Regardless of incorrect spellings, I wish shit like that would happen to me. Sigh.

By the way, this is my other favourite. Isn't that dirty? My god.

infamous thursdays.

So, I've come to the adjudication that there are three types of sexual intercourse.

1) Having sex: this is your routine "hey, it's a Wednesday...you know what that means" sex. This is the kind of "doin' it" you do after being with someone for a long time. It's boring.
Often associated with: birth control pills; bickering; flannel pyjamas.

2) Making love: this is sex with a purpose - babies. The tender kind with the frou-frou name describes married-couple-looking-for-offspring sex, 70s casanova sex and the kind you have the first time you do it with someone you really, really care about. It's got the love factor right in the name.
Often associated with: a lack of condoms; fine wine; Barry White.

3) Fuckin': this is the dirty bitch sex. This kind happens randomly between two (or more) really drunk, really horny individuals, or between really freaky couples who are really into each other. There's no tip-toeing around this kind; it's loud, proud and rough. It's often regrettable, but never forgettable.
Often associated with: emergency contraception; copious amounts of tequila.

My main lady bought me an iPod for ho-ho. The new gal's name's Fjola and she's a charming shade of purple (obvvy). Don't worry, I haven't given Yolanda the ol' heave-ho. I can't just leave her like that after all we've been through together. BFFs!

I had an amazing time at Scooty and Dylan's place last night stealing kisses and getting felt up. I have to say, there's nothing more satisfying than having a gay man be jealous of your ass. Apparently, my backside is exceptional. E-dubz was a drunk train wreck and took a big old piss on the front steps of Scoot and Dylly's condo. NBD! Hilarious, regardless, and I hurt today from how hard I laughed last night. Incredible quantities of fun!

Siggy-Ho-Cho was in high demand today at SBUX. We made mad tippage which we are all very eagerly awaiting the divvying up of. You know, I love money. Straight up, there is nothing in this world that I love more. Actually, that's a complete and total calumny: there's nothing in this world that I love more than money and Bump. (<3) Bump, by the way, is a walking machine now! Can't nothin' hold her down, no sir. And Guppy is growing like a weed - at least 3 inches long by now, and a whole 2 ounces. We hung out tonight, Guppy and I, and I have a feeling that this new little person is going to be amazing. My sister is absolutely glowing.

Alright, I'm off like a dirty apron.

P.S. Bon Voyage, Emily. Have a ballin' good time in Maui, you lucky cunt!

come play in the milky night.

Tootsie has been hiding under my bed for 3 days now. I tried coaxing her out with the promise of the future, but she just doesn't see the point. I miss her companionship.

I was eating mandarin oranges naked in the bathtub last night when I had a moment of clarity. And so I started writing a novel.

Amazingness (<--not an actual word, by the way): tonight, a customer at work taught me how to do the Japanese version of "rock paper scissors". I've never felt happier.

The gracious and gorgeous Scott and Dylan have invited me over for a Christmas Eve cocktail party tomorrow night, and I am incredibly excited for it. It's semi-formal and should prove to be a beautiful time for all involved. I'm going to bring some appetizers with me, I think; one should never show up to a party empty-handed.

I have nothing else very exciting to say, other than that I'm working for 16 days straight without a day off. I'm getting really worn out, and I find that I'm incredibly irritable lately. The good thing is that I'm accruing an incredible amount of over-time. In other news, I spent 3 hours the other night watching Flight of the Conchords in the dark on my laptop, because the power went out and I had nothing else to do.

Well, I think I'm going to hit the fucking hell out of the hay now. In other words, I'm going to bed. My bed is pretty much my favourite place to be these days. Example? Last night, I went to bed at 8:30; this morning I was up at 11:30. It was incredible! I have to be up at 4 am to shower and prettify myself for another day in paradise.

I feel like my ramblings lately are blander than pre-packaged airplane food, y'know? It's all just "work-related-bullshit-blah-blah-blah" and "obscene-amounts-of-vodka-with-my-gay-friends-blah-blah-blah", or "my-life-is-boring-and-average-blah-blah..you get the picture". In response to that, I promise to blog about something really interesting on Thursday! Oh, you just wait. It's going to blow your fucking mind and make you rethink all the things you've come to know and trust.

Well, maybe.

Also, Ross (<3) and I talked about the Oasis thing, and he likened it to being somewhat of a ripoff of the Beatles success tactic...whatever that means. People find it very strange and somewhat offensive that I have no love for Ringo, Paul, John and that other guy (George?); whatever, I'm over it. Apparently my "head is glued to my ass" and I "can't really know anything about music" if I haven't got any knowledge of the Beatles. Yeah, right.

P.S. This week's pick of the week is Beast's "Mr. Hurricane", and I highly recommend it. So stop by a 'bucks, grab a latte and a free pick card. So worth the visit.

Miss Teen Wordpower

If the internet had an ass, I'm pretty sure my foot would be shoved half-way up it by now. My connection has been M.I.A. for the last little while. I feel like maybe it's hiding from something. (Mafia connections? Whatever.)

On a lighter note, I now live in Antarctica*, and you should know that penguins also drink coffee*. It's very cold and snowy here, and I'm definitely missing the warmer weather I had grown so accustomed to.

And now for a critical analysis: on my drive home tonight, I was very much so "rocking out" to the sweet, sweet melody of Oasis' "Definitely/Maybe", and I couldn't help but notice a similarity between the song "Slide Away" and smash hit "Wonderwall" from previous album "(What's the Story) Morning Glory". Then, upon arriving home and listening to "Stop Crying Your Heart Out" from "Heathen Chemistry", I couldn't help but note a similarity between that song and the aforementioned. It seems as though every Oasis album has that one all-too-important mellow jam on it that sits apart from the rest of the album. It also seems as though a certain formula has been constructed to make every song just similar enough to be attractive and worth the listen, but dissimilar to make your average bear not catch onto the fact that all these songs are the same. My feelings on this are varied, because while I feel it's important to come up with new and original material for each album an artist puts out, I also know that artists get a lot of pressure from record companies to release new albums and that creativity doesn't come from a faucet that you can turn on and off. Also, I enjoy the songs on the albums, so I guess in the end, that's all that really matters.

Interesting observation #2: the closer we're getting to the big day, the less and less people have been wishing me a "Merry Christmas". Oh, don't worry, I'm not losing any sleep over it, I just find it particularly interesting. I think it's because, the closer we get to it, the more people start dreading it and therefore don't want to remind themselves of it. Or, maybe it's because they're just thinking about too much to think about trivial shit like wishing someone well during the holidays. Isn't that interesting? No? Oh, fuck off.

I went to the mall yesterday, and it was the biggest mistake of my life.

So, that basically sums it up. Keep it real.

* = indicates complete lies.

en meme temps.

Ho, ho, ho.

Jessica flew in from Calgary tonight; boy, were her arms tired. Hurkhurkhurk.

Speaking of tired...that'd be me. Starbucks Coffee, Tea and Slavery has given me a charming 43 hours this week, 43 next week, and 46 the following week. I do, however, get to enjoy Christmas eve sans labour. And that, boys and girls, is the only day off I get for the next little while. I would complain a little more, but really, I did this to myself. I made my mocha-laden bed, and now I will lie in it. Shucks.

In other news, when I say I'm illin' lately, it don't mean I'm coo'. Methinks I'm a few white blood cells short. Fuuuuuck. Mama always said try to take good care of yourself, but lately I've been putting myself on the back burner. Who has time to be mindful of their own well-being when there's like, 40 gazillion other important things to handle throughout my day? I'm the CEO of FMcG - I ain't got time for any other shit.

So here's a ground-breaking idea for you to ponder tonight while you're laying in bed, unable to sleep: in order to sustain diversity, we have to promote hate and intolerance to a certain degree. Think about it. If people like each other too much, varying races will intermingle and create new flavours of offspring until eventually everyone will be 5% asian, 5% african, 5% caucasian, etc. So so so, if we like this little mosaic of diversity our world's got going on, we've gotta stop fuckin' around so much. I'm not saying you can't feel mad love for your homies from the east or the south or whereever, I'm just sayin' don't feel it so much, you know? It's just an interesting thought to think, so give 'er.

I have to go to bed now; I'm due up and out by 4:30 (in the a.m.) to steam some 'nog for a bunch of queen bees and wannabes.

Fuckin' holidays.

sweet, sweet Jesus.

Hometown? Tag-ethed. Tiny golden quails flow in flocks for all to see.

....and I thought it'd be a mundane Monday.

I had my bank account completely raped on Saturday. Merci beaucoup, ICBC! Driving is such a beautiful thing until you have to pay for shit like gas and insurance. Fortunately gas is headed southward in the number department, but it's a stab in the kidneys every time I fill 'er up. I did, however, get 45 litres o' fuel on Sunday for a mere 39 bones. Not too shabby. So, in rebelling against myself for being so responsible, I went out a blew a bunch of dollars on things I perhaps do not need so much. Example: 4 new CDs. In my defense, they were all on sale (minus one), and I really had wanted them. It's a Christmas present to myself, I figure, even though I hate Christmas/am not celebrating it. A-ha...shaaaake. Taper jean girrrrrl with a motel face. I'm disgustingly obsessed with K.o.L.

I'm Captain Cabin Fever. I need to P.T.F.O. this t.o.w.n. soon-ish, just to reiterate what I've been saying now for a few months. Apparently I can't get a real transfer from you-know-where until the 6 month mark, so that's a bit of a downer. I figure I can just cool my jets until March and then bounce. Ain't no thang.

I bought a crown with matching earrings and necklace tonight. Purple rhinestone hearts. Silver accent beads. $4.94? Best investment all year day. Wait: that's a lie. Golden spray paint was the best; le crown enhanced that's beauty, so it gets mad props.

Goodnight.

P.S. My seez-ter is prego. Again.

where do we go from here?

Goodbye, "No Shave November".

I'm so relieved it's December, you guys. Last year, I really faultered on the whole "no shave November" schtick - like, I gave up after about 4 days. This year, however, I gave 'er full force, and let me tell you: I could have been mistaken for a French Canadian man. I was going to leave the legs as is, because it's winter and therefore cold, but I figured I might as well just do some maintenance for my own benefit - it's not like I'm getting laid any time soon.

So, Noel Gallagher should know that I've been cheating on him a lot lately with Thom Yorke. Can you blame me? His voice is smooth as a bitch. I picked up the "best of" CD a few weeks back, and it's been on heavy rotation in l'automobile ever since. It's nice to have all the really illin' songs presented in a nice little package like that. Still on the list of CDs to snag? "Slanted and Enchanted" par Pavement, s'il vous plait. I ordered that like, forever ago at HMV, and they've yet to deliver. That's okay, though, considering that I ordered "Dusk at Cubist Castle" (The Olivia Tremor Control) from there back in August, and am still waiting on that, too. Reliable? My ass. I place more confidence in accurate results from a used pregnancy test.

"Hey, it already says I'm not pregnant! Cool."

Speaking of babies, I'd like to throw a shout out to my homie/niece, Summer. It's her one year escape from the wombaversary, and let me say, the year has gone by incredibly fast. Bump's aging makes me feel timeless, however, and I can appreciate that.

It's hard to blog and talk to boys at the same time. What's a girl to do?

Je m'aime beaucoup, aussi!

-FMcG

coffee, tea and sympathy.

The espresso gods gave me a day of rest. How thoughtful, right? This basically means that I slept in and did S.F.A. all day long. Lucky me.

Saturday night was particularly interesting. I went to this crazy art party downtown that was masquerade theme. I don't know what it is, but there is something uber sexy about only seeing someone's eyes. All enigmatic and shit. Damn! Anywho, I had a decent time but for future reference, here's a "note to self": don't wear heels. Ever. My back is killing me today, and I walk like a drag queen in them, but my legs looked fabulous and that's all that really matters. End of story. I caught some girls snorting cocaine off the sinks in the bathroom when I went to call Emma.

"Hey, you bitches, this isn't Cheetahs!"

I embarrassed the poor girls, and I actually felt kind of bad about it. Afterall, it was a party. After the downtown scene died down, I headed over to the lovely and charming Scoot's place for some peach vodka Smirnies and some gay porn. We are so in love. Emma came along, too, with a nalgene full of vino. She got drunk and decided we needed to find an open McDonald's A.S.A.P.; it had been 6 years and she needed nuggets. We didn't find one, but instead bonded over pedestrian harrassment and the Kings of Leon. My life is beautiful.

Goede nacht, beauty.