Yes, a whole two days!
But it's kind of like this: I bitch and moan about how much my life sucks when I have to drag my ass out of bed at 4:30 in the morning to go brew coffee and take shit, but then I get a couple of days off and I don't know what to do with myself. I'm like one of those experiment kids that they leave in a black room with no stimulation or emotion from birth until age 20 and then release into the world to study. Sad.
I got up this afternoon (don't judge), and promptly threw together a load of laundry and a pan of brownies, because I'm a domestic goddess. And then I sat my big ass down and got reacquainted with the dirty world of celebrity gossip. I haven't touched the stuff since fighting off my despicable addiction back in 2005, but today I dipped my toes in for just a quick feel of what the Holly-world is buzzing with. And do you know what I discovered? Not a whole fucking lot has changed. And I immediately remembered why I cut off all ties in the first place. Here's the big news:
1. Mel Gibson is a raging, racist psychopath.
Didn't we already know this? Didn't he already make a few distasteful comments that dirtied his good father image? Apparently now while he's not hitting his own infant son and import wife, he's raging about not having any money because of said family. If anyone is allowed to rage about not having any money, it's normal folks (like me). I'd bet downsizing a house or two and selling a few cars/designer duds might add some more zeros to the bank balance in a jiffy. Cock. Read about it here.
2. Lindsay Lohan is in prison.
Ha, we'll see how long that lasts. However, seeing as LiLo (unlike Mel) is actually poor these days, she doesn't have any money to buy her way out. And there are no dicks to suck in an all-female prison. Sha-boing!
3. There's this thing called Jersey Shore.
...which I imagine is a lot like "The Hills", which was also just "Laguna Beach", which all came from the afterbirth of fictional show "The O.C.". Actually, let's not kid ourselves - they're all fictional! Fortunately I gave up cable a long time ago, so I never have to subject myself to horrendous "reality" television programs.
4. I still don't like twitter.
And it's because it allows the continued whoring and self-promotion of already too-famous and spoiled "celebrities" who are really only famous for being...famous? Self-promotion is not a talent worth fame, folks. People do that at job interviews all the time, and you don't see them tweeting their opinions as facts and expecting results.
I have a brownie migraine setting in. Damn you, Betty Crocker!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Lemon
Oh, so what am I doing today?
Alright, well, I woke up at 10, ate some oatmeal, started a new painting, went for a walk, checked the mail, had some tea, ate a cookie, ate another cookie, had some more tea, wrote boyfriend a note for when he gets home, found biscotti recipes and sat down to write this. You know, that sounds like a pretty relaxing day, right? And you know, it is. I'm kind of lonely, though. I miss boyfriend when he's away at his big fancy corporate job. And what's shitty is that I'm headed to work in about 2 hours. I should really shower.
Newest condominium revelations - I'd never buy one. Ever. Before I moved in here, I thought that condos were really a smart idea. No lawns to mow, no driveways to shovel. If the roof's leaky, someone else worries about it. My mail will never be stolen - it's locked into a box in a mail room. There's a gym. There are guest suites. Etc. etc. But really, condo life isn't all it's cracked up to be. My building is full of snobby 30-something married professional-types who have yet to have kids because really, it doesn't seem like they like each other enough to reproduce because it doesn't seem like they like anyone. But themselves. I would know, because I walk by the in-house gym and spy them oogling themselves in the mirrors as they lift weights and jog-jog-jog on the treadmill. Go outside, folks. It's beautiful out there. A chance encounter with one yuppie couple whose arms were full of dry-cleaning outside the parkade elevator produce no conversation. Rather, I listened intently to them muttering to each other about suit jackets and a dinner meeting. And then I decided to take the stairs.
There seem to be some cool people in my building, though. I've just yet to actually meet them. Instead, I spy on them from the peep-hole in the door. Our suite is right outside the elevator, so I've come into the habit of running to look through the peep-hole every time the lift's door squeals open. I want to know who my neighbours are, damnit! There's a condo barbecue on the 22nd that I want boyfriend to go to, in an effort to make friends for us. He's a shy guy, though. We'll see.
I want to do some baking tomorrow. Maybe an apple crisp and some biscotti. Hell, I'll make muffins, too. I'll do anything to escape the "living in a filing cabinet" feeling.
Alright, well, I woke up at 10, ate some oatmeal, started a new painting, went for a walk, checked the mail, had some tea, ate a cookie, ate another cookie, had some more tea, wrote boyfriend a note for when he gets home, found biscotti recipes and sat down to write this. You know, that sounds like a pretty relaxing day, right? And you know, it is. I'm kind of lonely, though. I miss boyfriend when he's away at his big fancy corporate job. And what's shitty is that I'm headed to work in about 2 hours. I should really shower.
Newest condominium revelations - I'd never buy one. Ever. Before I moved in here, I thought that condos were really a smart idea. No lawns to mow, no driveways to shovel. If the roof's leaky, someone else worries about it. My mail will never be stolen - it's locked into a box in a mail room. There's a gym. There are guest suites. Etc. etc. But really, condo life isn't all it's cracked up to be. My building is full of snobby 30-something married professional-types who have yet to have kids because really, it doesn't seem like they like each other enough to reproduce because it doesn't seem like they like anyone. But themselves. I would know, because I walk by the in-house gym and spy them oogling themselves in the mirrors as they lift weights and jog-jog-jog on the treadmill. Go outside, folks. It's beautiful out there. A chance encounter with one yuppie couple whose arms were full of dry-cleaning outside the parkade elevator produce no conversation. Rather, I listened intently to them muttering to each other about suit jackets and a dinner meeting. And then I decided to take the stairs.
There seem to be some cool people in my building, though. I've just yet to actually meet them. Instead, I spy on them from the peep-hole in the door. Our suite is right outside the elevator, so I've come into the habit of running to look through the peep-hole every time the lift's door squeals open. I want to know who my neighbours are, damnit! There's a condo barbecue on the 22nd that I want boyfriend to go to, in an effort to make friends for us. He's a shy guy, though. We'll see.
I want to do some baking tomorrow. Maybe an apple crisp and some biscotti. Hell, I'll make muffins, too. I'll do anything to escape the "living in a filing cabinet" feeling.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Denver Omelette
Hi,
I don't actually recall the last time I blogged, but a lot has changed since then. I moved to Calgary. What the heck am I thinking, right? People here like country music and beef, the street lights are sideways, my nose hasn't stopped bleeding 'cause it's so dry, and there's apparently no culture to be found. Oh, but that sounds like a challenge, Cowtown. A challenge.
I guess you could say my goal over the next 3 years is to find as much culture, fun and underground entertainment as possible to keep myself occupied in this little-big northern Texas. So far, I'm not a fan. I did, however, scrounge up some snippets of info on an alternative/art house movie theatre in Kensington called the Plaza Theatre. I'll be heading up that way tomorrow night for a little grindhouse cinema documentary action, if boyfriend is willing.
In a never-ending goal to remain open-minded and positive, I'm going to embrace Calgary with open arms and smother it in my chest "motor-boat" style like an old friend, hoping for the very best. While Vancouver Island's majestic beauty is a shame to leave behind me, vacations will occur annually to visit the friends (and really, they're more like family) that I had to leave there. Also, I snagged a souvenir Starbucks V.I. mug, so like....I'm always nostalgic. Shazam!
Last night, I sat down and could name 47/50 U.S. states. Forgotten? Nebraska, New Hampshire and Oklahoma. But those are kind of like the ugly stepchild states anyways.
I don't actually recall the last time I blogged, but a lot has changed since then. I moved to Calgary. What the heck am I thinking, right? People here like country music and beef, the street lights are sideways, my nose hasn't stopped bleeding 'cause it's so dry, and there's apparently no culture to be found. Oh, but that sounds like a challenge, Cowtown. A challenge.
I guess you could say my goal over the next 3 years is to find as much culture, fun and underground entertainment as possible to keep myself occupied in this little-big northern Texas. So far, I'm not a fan. I did, however, scrounge up some snippets of info on an alternative/art house movie theatre in Kensington called the Plaza Theatre. I'll be heading up that way tomorrow night for a little grindhouse cinema documentary action, if boyfriend is willing.
In a never-ending goal to remain open-minded and positive, I'm going to embrace Calgary with open arms and smother it in my chest "motor-boat" style like an old friend, hoping for the very best. While Vancouver Island's majestic beauty is a shame to leave behind me, vacations will occur annually to visit the friends (and really, they're more like family) that I had to leave there. Also, I snagged a souvenir Starbucks V.I. mug, so like....I'm always nostalgic. Shazam!
Last night, I sat down and could name 47/50 U.S. states. Forgotten? Nebraska, New Hampshire and Oklahoma. But those are kind of like the ugly stepchild states anyways.
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