It's been well over a month. I know. Shuddup.
School is heck-heck-hectic, and not very enjoyable. You know what you don't want to hear on the first day of your professional writing class?
"Look forward to a really lonely life."
Shozbot! Because living on an island is not enough, right? I'm really just going to remain confident that this is a sample of the "sage like" wisdom that every professor seems to think they have and completely dismiss it as utter hoopla. Cover your ears, my kiddies and let the adults hear: I don't like university. At all.
And now, not to sound like a radical or Oi! skinhead, but I'm beginning to think that university is for chumps. People are teaching me the things I already know, and then throw me a mark of their evaluation of how well they think I think I know it. Still following me? Kudos. Most of my classes are also value judgment and opinion based, which seems very ha-ha to me because my ass is handed back to me as a wad of cookie dough whenever I do try to form an opinion. Fuggedaboutit. Needless to say, I think I'm deserting the little island that could next year, and seeking higher ground. Bonjour, Quebec?
Doing what there, though? Go to school, sure, but for what? Writing? The more and more I hear of writing, the less and less it seems like a lucrative job opportunity. Not to sound like a hell-bound Monopoly man, but I'll be needin' me a job after I do my hard time (4 years, $40,000 - seems hard to me). Writing isn't where it's at. Really, nothing's where it's at anymore. Job security is the stuff of legend, put in the back of the filing cabinet with all those blurry photographs of UFOs. So, what can I do (with a drunken sailor)? There's always the sell-my-soul-to-capitalism-and-be-a-business-major option, but I just like my arts too dang much. The business-types, they aren't a dying breed like us true art fags. You know, the ones who don't try so hard.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
F McG's Guide To Friendlationships.
So, you want to make some friends*, eh? Follow these simple steps, and you too can have plans on a Saturday night.
1. Pick Your Target
My prey? An England import in my film class who seems half hippie, half grunge but all woman. Cool people have friends with accents; pick wisely.
2. Make Contact
Tiptoe around conversations; doing the basic intro mumbo jumbo works very well if both you and your prey are in a new situation. We talked about school - progress achieved!
3. Plan A Follow-Up
If the intro checks out, hint at a follow-up. A simple "see you next class" can suffice as a non-closure statement, or you can take it the next level and do a preemptive (and potentially risky) light hang-out session. I offered to save my foreign exchange buddy a seat in our film lecture; phone numbers were exchanged for textability. Score.
4. Do Your Research
You'd never go to a job interview without snooping out a few deets about the company; the same goes for potential pals. Facebook works very well for macro-stalking, but if you want to get an even more intimate look, do a discreet follow-around. Creepy? Maybe. Informative? Highly! You might find something in common that could benefit you for step 6. Harrie Best has an unprotected profile, so I never had to deal with the latter. My findings? She's a bit of a drunk, but absolutely adorable.
5. Maintain Your Presence
If you like what you see, don't fade away. I make a point of always sitting near Harrie in our film class and creating conversation. I feel like only a couple more classes until...
6. Make Plans
These don't even have to be extensive weekend long affair types of plans, either. If you're in a school environment, offer to meet for coffee to go over notes. My girl Harrie? I'll probably fake having a shitty school week when she asks how I'm doing and then suggest we go for beer. If you find during your creeping that you've got something in common (like music), use it to your advantage. Extra cash? Buy two tickets to a local show and pretend like a friend ditched.
Ex. "I was supposed to go see the New Pornographers with my pal Johnny this weekend, but he's got the swine. I've got this extra ticket now; d'you like the New Pornographers?"
*When used on romantic opposites, this method can drum up some love action. Or at least a bathroom quickie.
1. Pick Your Target
My prey? An England import in my film class who seems half hippie, half grunge but all woman. Cool people have friends with accents; pick wisely.
2. Make Contact
Tiptoe around conversations; doing the basic intro mumbo jumbo works very well if both you and your prey are in a new situation. We talked about school - progress achieved!
3. Plan A Follow-Up
If the intro checks out, hint at a follow-up. A simple "see you next class" can suffice as a non-closure statement, or you can take it the next level and do a preemptive (and potentially risky) light hang-out session. I offered to save my foreign exchange buddy a seat in our film lecture; phone numbers were exchanged for textability. Score.
4. Do Your Research
You'd never go to a job interview without snooping out a few deets about the company; the same goes for potential pals. Facebook works very well for macro-stalking, but if you want to get an even more intimate look, do a discreet follow-around. Creepy? Maybe. Informative? Highly! You might find something in common that could benefit you for step 6. Harrie Best has an unprotected profile, so I never had to deal with the latter. My findings? She's a bit of a drunk, but absolutely adorable.
5. Maintain Your Presence
If you like what you see, don't fade away. I make a point of always sitting near Harrie in our film class and creating conversation. I feel like only a couple more classes until...
6. Make Plans
These don't even have to be extensive weekend long affair types of plans, either. If you're in a school environment, offer to meet for coffee to go over notes. My girl Harrie? I'll probably fake having a shitty school week when she asks how I'm doing and then suggest we go for beer. If you find during your creeping that you've got something in common (like music), use it to your advantage. Extra cash? Buy two tickets to a local show and pretend like a friend ditched.
Ex. "I was supposed to go see the New Pornographers with my pal Johnny this weekend, but he's got the swine. I've got this extra ticket now; d'you like the New Pornographers?"
*When used on romantic opposites, this method can drum up some love action. Or at least a bathroom quickie.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Two posts in one day, like a true gangsta.
I completely forget to mention this, though it's relevancy to the previous post (or lack thereof) warrants it it's entirely own shout-out.
NOEL GALLAGER PTFO'D OASIS.
Can you believe that shit? When I heard that, my heart felt like Hiroshima in 1945.
That man right there? That man is a heart breaking sonuvabitch.
I can't talk about this. It hurts too badly still.
NOEL GALLAGER PTFO'D OASIS.
Can you believe that shit? When I heard that, my heart felt like Hiroshima in 1945.
That man right there? That man is a heart breaking sonuvabitch.
I can't talk about this. It hurts too badly still.
no teacozy without irony
I feel like a lobotomy patient, but with less drooling.
This is the slowest summer of my life. I chalk it up to the anticipation of school settling in combined with having no friends and working all the time. I ventured to find a hobby today, which proved to be more difficult than I could have imagined. I suggested to BF that maybe I should just practice being a raging alcoholic, but apparently that doesn't jive so well. Thus, the googling began.
Really, anything that's done continuously and with enjoyment could be considered a hobby. That's right, adolescent boys of the world! Shaking hands with Mr. Willy is a gay ol' hobby! Anyways, with that said, there's a really broad range of things that I could take up to keep me busy. Among the gems I found on the internet? Baking, scrap-booking and crime scene evidence collecting. Baking really counteracts the whole dieting schtick I've been on, so that one's trumped. Scrap-booking is for soccer moms who drive Mazda MPVs and wear festive sweaters; crime scene evidence collecting just seems illegal. I'm back to square one. This site is helpful, but more or less just makes me feel inadequate as a crafter.
(My mum used to do dried floral arrangements when I was a petite fille, hanging out in my dad's shop for what seemed like days; she'd emerge smelling of spray paint and hot glue only to have a cigarette or make dinner. When she was finished her creations, she took them to the Christmas craft sale. What fun!)
Making dried flower arrangements is not a hobby that appeals to me, but making stuff is something I dig f'sure. I handmade a postcard today before work, and it was satisfying enough. Good start; I patted myself on the back. One step closer to having a real hobby - I'm testing the waters. If handmade postcard making fails me, I'll just teach myself to knit. Problem? Solved!
P.S. I bought my textbooks for school, and it was like a $337 bitch slap.
This is the slowest summer of my life. I chalk it up to the anticipation of school settling in combined with having no friends and working all the time. I ventured to find a hobby today, which proved to be more difficult than I could have imagined. I suggested to BF that maybe I should just practice being a raging alcoholic, but apparently that doesn't jive so well. Thus, the googling began.
Really, anything that's done continuously and with enjoyment could be considered a hobby. That's right, adolescent boys of the world! Shaking hands with Mr. Willy is a gay ol' hobby! Anyways, with that said, there's a really broad range of things that I could take up to keep me busy. Among the gems I found on the internet? Baking, scrap-booking and crime scene evidence collecting. Baking really counteracts the whole dieting schtick I've been on, so that one's trumped. Scrap-booking is for soccer moms who drive Mazda MPVs and wear festive sweaters; crime scene evidence collecting just seems illegal. I'm back to square one. This site is helpful, but more or less just makes me feel inadequate as a crafter.
(My mum used to do dried floral arrangements when I was a petite fille, hanging out in my dad's shop for what seemed like days; she'd emerge smelling of spray paint and hot glue only to have a cigarette or make dinner. When she was finished her creations, she took them to the Christmas craft sale. What fun!)
Making dried flower arrangements is not a hobby that appeals to me, but making stuff is something I dig f'sure. I handmade a postcard today before work, and it was satisfying enough. Good start; I patted myself on the back. One step closer to having a real hobby - I'm testing the waters. If handmade postcard making fails me, I'll just teach myself to knit. Problem? Solved!
P.S. I bought my textbooks for school, and it was like a $337 bitch slap.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Like Cats and Dogs
Okay, I have no idea what just happened.
See, I live in this shitty little basement suite and above me live the home's owners, an early 30's guy, his wife and their new baby. All I know about her is that her name is Tracey and she's got a really annoying voice. Anyways, I feel either a suicide or a divorce coming on. Why you ask? Well, I'm about to tell you; hold your horses.
They always fight. Like, this became overwhelmingly apparent on my first night of living here, when at about 2 in the morning I woke up to hyperventilating scream-crying over my head. Their bedroom is situated right over top of mine, same goes with the kitchen. Well, tonight was especially interesting. I usually only can hear the muffled and hushed half-yelling of a couple who clearly aren't in love anymore, but tonight, I could make out entire sentences. She was yelling about something that has apparently happened in the last two months and over the last 7 years, and how she feels she has to leave and take their baby with her to get him to "sort his shit out". I feel it's either a drinking/drug/gambling addiction, or he's cheating. Both are win. And then there was some sobbing. And then there was some stomping. And then he left.
:O
To be continued?
See, I live in this shitty little basement suite and above me live the home's owners, an early 30's guy, his wife and their new baby. All I know about her is that her name is Tracey and she's got a really annoying voice. Anyways, I feel either a suicide or a divorce coming on. Why you ask? Well, I'm about to tell you; hold your horses.
They always fight. Like, this became overwhelmingly apparent on my first night of living here, when at about 2 in the morning I woke up to hyperventilating scream-crying over my head. Their bedroom is situated right over top of mine, same goes with the kitchen. Well, tonight was especially interesting. I usually only can hear the muffled and hushed half-yelling of a couple who clearly aren't in love anymore, but tonight, I could make out entire sentences. She was yelling about something that has apparently happened in the last two months and over the last 7 years, and how she feels she has to leave and take their baby with her to get him to "sort his shit out". I feel it's either a drinking/drug/gambling addiction, or he's cheating. Both are win. And then there was some sobbing. And then there was some stomping. And then he left.
:O
To be continued?
Saturday, August 22, 2009
carrot top
I'm dying. My hair. Again.
Maybe.
I've been dying my naturally honey blonde hair various brown and auburn shades for the last year and a bit, and I'm finally sick of it. I've got a good inch of blonde roots, and while I'm considering just growing it out and being a blonde again, I'm kind of not down for having perpendicular Cruella DeVille hair for the next couple of years. Knowing me, I'll get six months into the grow-out process, say fuck it and throw a box of grocery store dye on it, and regret it a month later when my blonde roots creep back and I am once again reminded how beautiful my blonde hair is. So I'm considering going bright red, and while the carpet will certainly not match the drapes, there are perks to looking like Neko Case, who I (not entirely coincidentally) love. Bright red, while exciting and fabulous, is notoriously hard to maintain as red tends to fade very quickly. Aaand I kind of want to be blonde, actually.
So here are the options:
1. Go and have my hair colour-corrected to the tune of $500.
2. Go to the pharmacy and buy a box of bleach. Go to the liquor store and buy a box of Smirnies. Fly at 'er. I could potentially have all my hair fall out, but fuck if that's going to discourage me.
3. Go to the pharmacy and buy a box of temporary red hair dye. Slather it on and hope for the best/a quick fix.
I'm going to let this roll 'round the ol' noggin for a few days before I make any decisions. I think I could rock my blonde hair again now that I'm older and not so insecure about what people assume about blondes. And like, who knows? Maybe blonde hair would compliment this Karen O haircut I've got.
Maybe.
I've been dying my naturally honey blonde hair various brown and auburn shades for the last year and a bit, and I'm finally sick of it. I've got a good inch of blonde roots, and while I'm considering just growing it out and being a blonde again, I'm kind of not down for having perpendicular Cruella DeVille hair for the next couple of years. Knowing me, I'll get six months into the grow-out process, say fuck it and throw a box of grocery store dye on it, and regret it a month later when my blonde roots creep back and I am once again reminded how beautiful my blonde hair is. So I'm considering going bright red, and while the carpet will certainly not match the drapes, there are perks to looking like Neko Case, who I (not entirely coincidentally) love. Bright red, while exciting and fabulous, is notoriously hard to maintain as red tends to fade very quickly. Aaand I kind of want to be blonde, actually.
So here are the options:
1. Go and have my hair colour-corrected to the tune of $500.
2. Go to the pharmacy and buy a box of bleach. Go to the liquor store and buy a box of Smirnies. Fly at 'er. I could potentially have all my hair fall out, but fuck if that's going to discourage me.
3. Go to the pharmacy and buy a box of temporary red hair dye. Slather it on and hope for the best/a quick fix.
I'm going to let this roll 'round the ol' noggin for a few days before I make any decisions. I think I could rock my blonde hair again now that I'm older and not so insecure about what people assume about blondes. And like, who knows? Maybe blonde hair would compliment this Karen O haircut I've got.
Friday, August 21, 2009
vroom!
I've seen commercials for Wendy's new boneless chicken wings and KFC's grilled chicken. They scare the fuck out of me. Almost as much as staying up until 3 watching a Reese Witherspoon movie marathon instead of going to sleep so's to get up early for work like a good little coffee slave - which I did on Tuesday night. Run on sentence!
I can't get over pre-teens these days. I got my first cell phone when I was sixteen years old. Lately, I've seen kids as young as probably 10 toting keybo cell phone blackberry 3g phones - Hannah Montana ringtones, Hello Kitty cellphone charms. And these same kidlets are already slaves to Planet Starbucks, slurping down grande strawberries and cream frappuccinos purchased with the money their parents threw at them to get rid of them for the day. The worst part? They think they are so cool. Bitches.
...Wow, am I really this petty over a bunch of dim-witted tweens who haven't even sprouted a pair of tits yet? Whatever; not important.
But you know what is important? The fact that the pumpkin spice latte is on it's way back to a 'bucks near you in 9 short days. I will be the first in line to receive a single grande pumpkin spice frappuccino blended coffee, and a slice of sweet, sweet pumpkin loaf. September and October are certifiably my favourite months.
Fuck yeah!
P.S. That skank boifwend o' mine went and saw Inglourious Basterds without me tonight. Tarantino is dirty genius. I want my belly to be ripe with his seed.
Too weird? I want Taco Bell.
I can't get over pre-teens these days. I got my first cell phone when I was sixteen years old. Lately, I've seen kids as young as probably 10 toting keybo cell phone blackberry 3g phones - Hannah Montana ringtones, Hello Kitty cellphone charms. And these same kidlets are already slaves to Planet Starbucks, slurping down grande strawberries and cream frappuccinos purchased with the money their parents threw at them to get rid of them for the day. The worst part? They think they are so cool. Bitches.
...Wow, am I really this petty over a bunch of dim-witted tweens who haven't even sprouted a pair of tits yet? Whatever; not important.
But you know what is important? The fact that the pumpkin spice latte is on it's way back to a 'bucks near you in 9 short days. I will be the first in line to receive a single grande pumpkin spice frappuccino blended coffee, and a slice of sweet, sweet pumpkin loaf. September and October are certifiably my favourite months.
Fuck yeah!
P.S. That skank boifwend o' mine went and saw Inglourious Basterds without me tonight. Tarantino is dirty genius. I want my belly to be ripe with his seed.
Too weird? I want Taco Bell.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)