Updates! FYIs! Oh My!

Update 1: As per the previous post, this so-called-bomb? WAS A CAMERA BAG THAT SOMEONE LEFT BEHIND. My sister told me. That’s how I found out. And certainly not from the newspaper. Why? Because apparently it’s more important to print an article on how Lance Bass came out of the gay closet as opposed to writing an article on why my defenceless belly starved because someone forgot their camera bag. Not that there is anything wrong with the Mr. Bass story; kudos on him for coming out. Plus I’m a sucker for celebrity gossip. But seriously, the Mr. Bass story does not belong on page 2 of the newspaper while the “downtown scare” gets excluded, completely.

FYI 1: Pickup lines that NO guy should use:
“Girl, your hips do not lie.” If one more guy mutters those words to me, while I’m dancing with friends, will seriously get hip-checked.
“You have nice breasts.” HAHAHAHAHA. Okay, sorry. This one I have to laugh at. My friend actually had a male say this to her. The look on her face = priceless. We were all fairly disgusted.

FYI 2: I have a dentist appointment today. I dislike going to the dentist. My dentist has a television in each of the rooms. I like watching The Simpsons while getting my teeth cleaned. I will be turning 24 years old soon and I have never, ever had a single cavity - ever. My teeth could beat up your teeth. Not sure how… but I’ll figure it out. BUT. If any of you find me online later crying? It’s because my dentist has told me that my lucky streak is up and a cavity has been found. I was serious about the crying part. I will cry.

Update 2: 15 DAYS TILL MY BIRTHDAY. I’m not looking forward to being a year older, but how often does a day come around when all the focus and attention is on you? ONCE. It’s called a birthday. And mine will be filled with fun, laughter, dancing and you can bet there will be a lot of beer, random shots and hopefully no Blow Jobs. They’re incredibly messy… This year I’ll get to celebrate by birthday twice. The only reason I’m doing so is because four of my friends will be out of either a) the city or b) the damn country. So technically I guess I just voided the whole, “…how often does a day come around when all the focus and attention is on you? ONCE.” thing. But that’s okay! Cause it’ll be my birthday! HAH.

No Food for You! NEXT!

I’M STARVING.

I went out for lunch, as per usual, and decided to go to the downtown Subway. As soon as I turned around the corner, after getting off the train, I spot police tape everywhere. Up and down the block, zigging and zagging through the streets – police tape, police men and women, police vehicles, all had taken over. And all I could think of was “must make it to Subway.”

I managed to make my way through the large crowd of people, slither under a row of tape and step into the point of destination. I had waited in line for about 10 minutes (yeah, it gets busy during the lunch rush) when I noticed the police folk directing people away from the tape. And that’s when it happened.

A policewoman stepped into Subway and grabbed our attention: “I know you’re all here to grab some lunch before heading back to work, but I’m going to have to ask all of you to please leave and head down the street. We have found a suspicious package and if it is a bomb we don’t want to see any of you injured.

CRAP. SHIT. MUTHAEFFIN’. NOOOOOOOO. FOOOOOOD.

As I started to walk away from my intended point of destination, I realized that I would not have enough time to hit another restaurant and decided that I would head towards the train station.

Now I’m stuck with a dinky bag of chips for lunch. REGULAR flavour nonetheless. Ugh.

***To the idiot that left said mystery package downtown: I hope you starve.

(Not Worthy of a Real Title)

Someone said something to me last night that angered me. I didn’t say anything about it at the time and basically acted like nothing was wrong. Once I got off the phone with this person, all I could think of was “Fucker.” And that was it. This morning, on the way to work, I recalled what this person said and again all I could think of was “Fucker.”

I’m thinking that I still am slightly cheesed off. (Cheesed off? Where the hell did that come from? Is it even a word or an expression?)

Aside from that, I’m finding that I’m becoming increasingly annoyed with a good friend. He’s a fantastic person to talk to for advice and all that typical chatter among friends, but he constantly has to throw in a sexual comment – every-friggin-where. Enough. I am so tired of things like:

Me: Hmm… oh, what to have for dinner tonight.
Him: Sausage. *wink wink* Polish sausage. *nudge nudge*
Me: No.

or

Me: I’m cramping. My “friend” is back for the week visiting.
Him: Aww, bebe. I’ll be over with some oil… maybe a back massage… you could bend over too…
Me: Hmm, no.

or

Me: I think I’m going to go do some shopping tonight.
Him: I’ll go with you. We can pick up some toys for you. (Translation: Toys at the Love Stop)
Me: Uh. Pass.

Then there is Jamie. Sir Asshole is leaving soon for six months. Leaving just prior to my birthday. Because he’s an ass like that. I’ve been worrying a lot about how I’m going to survive with him gone for that long. I realize that it’s only six months. But he is someone I talk to every day, numerous times. Sadly, I see and talk to him more than I do my family. Jerk. He better bring back wonderful gifts for me. Which I’m sure he will. He always does.

Lastly, my birthday. Sixteen days, folks. My mom recently asked me what I wanted for my birthday. To be honest, I have no clue. There really isn’t anything I need or want. Or, maybe there is and I haven’t thought of it yet.

Okay, I’m ending this post here. I honestly can’t believe how pointless it was. There’s 3 minutes of your life you’re never getting back! HAH HAH HAH.

In My Prime

When I was 18 years old I was down at the clubs. A lot. I was legal to drink and drink I did. My friends and I would be dancing till the venue turned on the lights and kicked us out.

For years upon years, I had a Grade A ass. Derriere. Butt. And that’s not just me saying it, because God only knows that I’ve always had a slight dislike for my buttocks, but all my friends believed so. They found it to be quite the grab-able commodity.

One night, while at a club in the south of the city, there was an ass contest. Think: wet t-shirt contest… only with ass; minus the wet.

My friends were pushing me to enter and since I was drunk (haaaah hah) I went for it. There were ten girls in total (all who were in great shape and rightfully deserved a spot in this challenge) and five judges (all males, one being a friend I was with).

It was a simple contest. Girls: stand there; let male cop a feel. Guys: cop a feel; judge.

Out of these ten girls, I won.

Who the hell would have thought?

Sadly, that was one of the highlights of my early, ridiculous adulthood.

That was six years ago. Now, I realize six years is a long time but during those six years my ass has lost its touch. Along with my legs. And the belly. And so forth.

About three months ago I had encouraged myself to get back in shape, start (attempting) to eat better and look good in a friggin’ bikini by the summer. Since April, I have made progress. Definitely eating better, getting exercise and I look decent in bikini. OH! And, my proudest moment of it all? Fitting into shorts that I couldn’t squeeze into four years ago. Still haven’t given up beer, though. But I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.

Anyway. Right now I’m looking into building some form of muscle in certain areas of my body (thighs, obtain Grade A ass again, lower abs) and get some cardio going to burn off the fat in those areas.

Here’s where I need help. I, AJ, have never owned a pair of err… running-type-shoes. The shoes I have always owned were skate shoes or docs or anything of that variation.

They will not do any justice in running.

Now, I know that there are runners reading this. Ahem.

Help me. Believe me. I need it.

What are good brands? Good for running, jogging, speed walking (ha ha. You all should see me speed walk. I overly exaggerate it. It makes people laugh. Possibly at me. Not with me…). Oh, and nothing that would burn a massive hole in the pocket that holds my money.

Suddenly I have George’s voice in my head: “I declare this! The summer of George!”

Move aside Georgey-boy, this is the summer of AJ!

*insert maniacal laughter*

Ms. AJ's Neighbourhood

It’s like Mr. Roger’s Neighbourhood, only it’s not. Or even better! Like Cheers, where everybody knows my name.

Last week I had made the final decision on what I wanted to get and went down to the building that my piercer and tattoo artist share.

It was like I was coming home again. It’s great when they remember your name; especially since the last time I went to visit was back in November.

During my visit, Scott Veldhoen checked up on the last tattoo he did for me and took a photo of it for his portfolio. This man makes my heart melt. No word of a lie. I had purposely prettied myself up for my trip and was tempted to “accidentally” flash him while wearing a skirt. Don’t worry. I held my cool and made sure that everything was kept in place. Afterwards, I booked an appointment for the next tattoo. Unfortunately for me, he is booked up till past Christmas so rather I got put on a cancellation list. Because what I’m getting will take anywhere from 3-4 hours, it’ll have to be broken up into two sessions - here’s hoping that I can get in before the damn New Year.

And of course, since I was there, I figured that I’d buy new jewellery. I’m only slightly ashamed to say that I spent $200 on a pair of spiral plugs, two new nostril studs, new septum jewellery and an extra nostril retainer. BUT. In my defence, my piercer gave me a massive discount. So technically $200 is a steal.

Lastly, I’d like to state a fact: When girlfriends get together and one of them starts to cry? The rest will follow. Without fail. Every.damn.time. And when you put alcohol in the mix? Things get ugly and males should keep away.

Just sayin'.

Beyond Un-censored

Before anyone goes charging in and reading the following words on this page, I believe that it is best if you stop reading here. The subsequent paragraphs are intended for my own personal ranting and raving, and honestly? Probably makes me look like a cruel and horrible person. WHICH, deep… deeeeeeeeeep down inside, I truly am not. Now I’m sure that I’ve only stirred up the curious kitty that lies in all of us, that some will continue to read it, and that some will want to give me a good cyber beating; however, thankfully for me, this is my site and technically I could write about florescent pink feces for all I care.

Anyway.



I was reading the newspaper this morning; I read an article that turned me into a pencil snapping maniac.

Although it may not be the newspaper article, here’s an online idea of what it was about: “Boat trip to Cyprus 'horrible'”

Seriously. What the goddamn fuck. What the hell has landed in your gastrointestinal tract and decided to grow shit for brains. If it were me? Trying to get on that damn boat? I would have been all, “Out of my motherfucking way assholes. I’ma land me on that filthy-assed shit vessel and save my sorry ass.”

Don’t get me wrong. I dislike crowded spaces and vomit just as much as the next person. But believe me, you, I would have taken a good puke-fest on me by ten people than sit my ass around and wait for the chance to have the Grim Reaper find room in his appointment book and rip me a new asshole… or cunt… his choice.

(Can’t say you weren’t warned. It’s even typed out on the right-hand side. “Highly un-censored”. Yeah. I guess I should bold it.)

All in all, although it may have been unorganized and crowded and disgusting and yada yada yada, I would not be bitching about it the way these people are. I would have taken whatever I could get, graciously kiss the boat and thank the higher Gods for allowing me to be one of the folks that got out safely. That, and that the boat didn’t sink. And to the fuckers that could only focus on the negative side of it all rather than focus on how fortunate they are to have been rescued?

SWIM THE FUCK BACK AND GET NAILED IN THE HEAD BY A MISSLE.

Parents Do Know All?

My sister just called me. The typical signs of panic are running its course. Lightheadedness, tightness in the throat, shivers, numbing in the hands. I need to find a bathroom. I think my parents know.

Fork in the Road

I’ve got to be honest; especially to myself. The last few weeks have not been easy.

I believed that with work slowing down I’d be able to relax, calm down and get at least 30 extra minutes of sleep a night on top of my 3-5 hours. None of this has happened. I’m finding that I’m going around in a circle that, obviously, is just.not.ending. I manage to land myself in fits of doubt in myself and others. This then drags on to the constant questions that, of course, come with no answers. That, then, concludes with tears. Many, many tears.

On Friday I promised myself that I would enjoy the weekend and party it up as if it were 1969. Yes, 1969.

Friday night I had gone out with some friends and we begun the drinking of many beers at 6:15 p.m. During the course of the evening, the males played poker and my friend Char and I took our seats as the cheerleaders. Let me tell you, she and I have perfected the MC Hammer dance.

I’d like to point out that riding a skateboard drunk is not a good idea. It is also not a good idea to ride a non-street legal, mini-motorbike down the road. Following an ambulance. With a fire truck following behind said bike. I’d also like to point out that it was not I that pulled that stunt. I can’t say the same for the skateboard incident. In the end, we drank until 6:00 a.m. No, sadly, that isn’t a typo. I did not make it home until 7:00 a.m. but it was so worth it.

Saturday night was a rough night. I’m not even going to get into details because I don’t remember much of it. All I know is that I woke up feeling beyond ill, finding lots of empty bottles and recalling something about the skate park and how there is sand there.

Sunday turned out to be productive. I did the dishes, a couple loads of laundry and took it easy. But that’s when it all went wrong. I find that I am incapable of “taking it easy.” The second I’m left alone I am filled with constant mind chatter. I recall the nightmares I’ve had over the last few months, the memories of what used to be and how I tried so hard to find things that make me happy but ended up failing miserably.

In the last few months, since the Fucktard incident, I have done more things for myself than I ever have. I got a new haircut; bought a crap load of new clothes; bought a bass guitar and amp; slimmed down about 10 lbs and 2 inches in the waist; and partied hard with friends. You’d think that I’d be a damn happy person after this. You’d be wrong.

So, I’m thinking, what else is there?

AH HAH! I know.

A new tattoo or piercing.

In the last week, I’ve felt that same tightness in my skin that typically signifies that I have GOT to get something done to my flesh (haha, what the hell) in order to relieve that addiction to the needle. PIERCING OR TATTOO NEEDLE. Geez. No offence to those that err… enjoy the other forms of the needle, but no thanks – I’ll pass. (Side Note: I am actually terrified of needles and yet no one believes me when I say so.)

Right now I am looking at the pros and cons of what I am interested in getting. I don’t have many options for piercings because of work, but I have a couple of ideas in mind and a few questions that the artist will have to answer for me. I also have many ideas of what tattoos I would like to get, but for the time being, I have it narrowed down between two ideas (maybe three… if I decide to go small).

So currently I’m debating between:

Piercing
- A venom tongue piercing (Weird I know, but I don’t like the average one tongue piercing.) (Same with the one nose piercing thing; hence the three nose piercings.) (Who am I kidding, in my personal preference this goes for all piercings.) (Maybe 15 piercings is enough and I should stop while I’m ahead.) (Screw that.)

Or

- A vertical labret (This, however, will only be done if there is a retainer available to hide it from work)

Tattoo
- A lotus flower on the top of my right foot

Or

- Can’t say. HAH. This idea is slightly more original and I don’t want some fucker stealing it (not saying that any of you would, *wink wink*). Basically the tattoo would be on the outsides of my calves (matching tattoos with each one being done a month apart) and would be approximately 5-5.5 inches high and maybe 4 inches wide (if it wraps around my leg slightly).

As of right now, I have a few ‘undecided votes’, a few ‘tattoo votes’ and zero ‘piercing votes’. Hah.

I need to figure out what to do.

They're After Me

OH MY FUCKING GAWWWWWWWWWD.

Now I am damn paranoid!@#$%&*

I saw something come at me while I was sitting at my desk.

I was all, “WHOA.”

I took out a compact mirror and checked myself out. There was something in my hair. I took my pen and flicked it off.

I thought I was safe.

Until.

The insect came back, full force.

I got a good look at it.

IT WAS A MOSQUITO COMING TO SUCK MY BLOOOOOOD.

I have enough mosquito bites. I don’t need more. I need my blood. I don’t need West Nile Virus.

I freaked out. COMPLETELY FREAKED OUT. (I’m a sissy, I know.)

I GRABBED MY PEN AND STARTED SWINGING IT AROUND LIKE A MAD WOMAN.

That’s right. I tried to fight off a mosquito WITH A PEN.

WHAT THE FUCK.

It wasn’t working (obviously). The Devil Blood Sucking Mosquito kept trying to get to my face.

I threw the pen and ran.

Literally.

I also screamed. A little.

I hope no one saw or heard.

Now my skin is crawling and I’m all shifty-eyed.

"It was her!"

If anyone comes asking you folks if you have seen the white chocolate macadamia nut cookie, I DID NOT take it…

and/or

If I suddenly come down with food poisoning or am dead, it was the white chocolate macadamia nut cookie…




Damn. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten the tempting cookie that was just sitting there in the staff lunch room… I hope it didn’t belong to someone else…

I mean. What cookie?

Note to Self: Do Not Try to Kick it Old School

Note to Self: Although you have 15 minutes left until you have the night to yourself, please, for the love of God, next time keep in mind that there are other people working too. DO NOT try to kick it old school, at your desk, to It’s Tricky by Run DMC. You WILL get Looks. You WILL be embarrassed.

Barely Surviving

Geezus. Okay. Quickly folks, while I have a few minutes.

IT HAS BEEN G’DAMN, FUCKING INSANE.

I’m still alive. Barely.

It is Day 7 of The Madness and I still have three more days to go. Will I survive till then? Doubtful.

I’ve got stuff to write, but no time to write. Tonight will officially be the first night I have to myself. ALL TO MYSELF, NO ONE AROUND. What will I be doing? Leaving the computer off, not answering any phone calls, eating healthy, maybe go for a walk aloooooone, sitting on my ass watching television and possibly passing out from exhaustion.

Only three more days.

Only three more days.

Only three more days.

Just keep telling myself that and maybe I’ll manage to pull through.

In Addition...

In addition to my previous post regarding the new shoes, I’d like to point out that I have not lost my mind and that indeed the shoes were worth it (or maybe I’m just saying that to convince myself that they were…).

Look! See! I wasn't so insane after all! I do own pretty shoes!

How was I to deny my feet the joys of these?

I'd like to point out that I am aware of my chicken legs. I've been aware of them since elementary school... and all throughout junior high... and high school. Believe me, they aren't going to get any "fuller". Lastly, I am aware of my freakishly pale, pasty, no-tan-in-sight legs. It's hard to tell in these photos because of the lack of flash when the pictures were taken. I have zero intention on getting these suckers tanned. In fact, I aim for the pasty-white look. No, that wasn't a joke.

No, really, it isn't.

Seizure Induced

Are you all prepared for a seizure? ‘Cause I know I am. Apologies for the loads of crap posts lately; it has been ultra crazy at work and the lack of sleep has been worse than usual. I’ve got plenty to write about but I’m finding that I’m only able to squeeze in a few minutes to reflect on what has happened the last few days. So until things start slowing down, I’m going to have to keep throwing out more brief posts. I know. I know. It’s pathetic.

July 1:
Oh, Canada Day! I must say, this Canada Day definitely ranked somewhere in my personal top 3.

(Okay, it has taken me 13 minutes just to type all this out. I have revised this -/me stares intently at document- addendum three times now. No more.)

The weather was perfect but I must have gotten at least 10 mosquitoes’ bites. First the gentleman and I went down to the city park where there was a Canada Celebration going on. We ended up watching a magician do his thing when he asked the crowd a particular question, ended up pulling the gentleman up to his “stage” and proceeded to do a magic trick involving the gentleman himself. I sat there watching, in all my glory, laughing hysterically like there were no tomorrow.

After the park, went back to his place, drank 3 litres of champagne between the two of us, packed a thermos with more champagne, grabbed a blanket and headed down to watch the fireworks. We then sat ourselves down and watched the fireworks, with the most perfect view, drinking “7-Up” from the thermos.

July 2:
Did he say what I think he said? I’m sure I heard wrong. Otherwise, someone is sending mixed signals and needs to get their antenna fixed.

Played a hell of a lot of bass that evening. After playing the bass so much lately, and then picking up a guitar, the guitar really does look and feel like a toy. Not that it is a toy… but… it’s just so much smaller? If that made any sense.

July 3:
Finally went out with my family to celebrate my sister’s birthday. She’s been working a lot lately. First, though, we hit the mall. I regret it. Sort of. The regret comes from buying two pairs of shoes. TWO. What.The.HELL. Me. Of all people. Allow me to explain. I’m not the stereotypical female when it comes to shoes. My idea of awesome accessorizing is all about the belt. I’ve got plenty. I try to avoid being like my sister who has maybe 20 damn pairs of shoes that are just black. WHY?! I do not understand this! I own a pair of DCs, Globes (I love them too much to throw out… even though there is a massive hole in the bottom), Converse, a pair of cherry designed flip-flops, an adorable pair of ballerina flats, a pair of HOTT black heels, two pairs of work shoes and my skank boots. After yesterday? Add a pair of really adorable, irresistible, heel-type-thingies with a ribbon that ties around the ankle and a pair of sandals that, I guess, I could have done without… UGH.

Oh, I also found out that liquid foundation will not, I repeat: WILL NOT, cover up a tattoo. I guess I won’t be wearing a skirt to work any time soon. UGHx2.

AND! After nearly a year, my sister is finally starting to pay back the money she borrowed from me for her trip. It’s a sickening amount that she borrowed. Let’s just say it’s in the thousands. THOUSANDS.

July 4:
Forty-nine minutes later, I’m finally wrapping this up.

Went to get coffee this morning and saw packets of Sweet N’ Low. I must have been traumatized from that one time because as soon as I saw the packets I got a horrible flashback and could taste the horridness in my mouth.

Happy Canada Day, eh!

Happy Canada Day to fellow Canadians! and to my readers down South! and to those around the world! Yeah, I know some of you don’t care, but meh! Tonight I will be out and aboot (hah!) getting drunk off champagne but I won’t be need a toque (hah!) because it ought to be nice out today, EH (hah!!).

(Get this, I really do say ‘eh’ a lot… so damn stereotypical of me. But! I don’t say ‘about’, ‘aboot’. That should count for something…)