Apr 19, 2010

Dating Shmating...

Summer is coming and so is my period (I hope.) There is something about the summer that just makes me want to have sex date. But for reals, it’s super hard to meet someone quasi normal to go out with. I typically meet real fucking winners. Flashback: Going back to the night the Canadian men’s hockey team won the Gold, I was at a bar with my friend and she was being told how beautiful she was and I was pulled aside by a guy who said “if we went home together he’d promise to destroy me in bed.” Oh that’s so romantic! You would like to destroy me? You promise? My cha-cha is tingling just thinking about it. Are you gonna put rose petals down first Cassanova? Douche bag. I’d like to meet the hooker that line worked on.

As a last resort, I could go back to online dating but between my previous experience (which made me want to sleep with a knife under my pillow and get my hole sewn shut) and my friends experience of just plain creepiness, I fear it just ain’t gonna work. Unless that is, if these dating sites could add more categories so you know what you are signing up for. Let me explain.

If you are unfamiliar with the online dating world, there are typically 4 things that people say they are looking for.

1) Friendship
2) Dating
3) Long Term
4) Intimate Encounters (Ew.)

I think that the categories I’ve created below would be really useful so that people could lower their expectations, save a 2 hours of their life that they’ll never get back, and spare everyone involved from having to shave.

Category 1- I love my dog more than people, but it just won’t blow me.
Category 2- I am just on here to see if I am as socially inept as I believe.
Category 3-Serial dating is far cheaper than therapy
Category 4-I just want to play a game of “just the tip.”
Category 5-I look the exact opposite of my photo…still want to meet?
Category 6-I just got divorced and I need to find out if I am as emotionally fucked up as my ex says I am.

Wouldn’t this make things much easier?


P.S. Please don't ask me to try eHarmony-I did that two years ago and called and scream cried for my money back. Perfect match my ass. None of my matches were in Canada. Plus, if you haven't noticed they have used the same 4 couples for all their commercials for the past 2 years. That's a red flag.

Also, there's a good chance that people are going to write to tell me that "my friend met her boyfriend online and now they're married." Isn't that nice? I don't want to hear it.

Apr 16, 2010

The Goss

Okay. Enough with the Kate and Jon Gosselin fiasco. They have 8 kids. Good for them. The thought of having 8 kids actually sends me into a state of vajagony. (Vagina+Agony.) Literally.

If you haven't seen Kate on Dancing With the Stars, I urge you to tune in if only to watch her dead weight be dragged around the floor by her dance partner. She walks;not dances. It actually burns my eyes. She has about as much talent as Heidi Montag's left breast (speaking of Heidi, she and her douche bag husband recently appointed themselves Indian names in order to keep idiocy alive.) Omg. Even typing this I am becoming infuriated with all this H-Wood insanity. I am almost as mad as the morning I woke up and discovered I wasn't a virgin anymore. Ugh.

Anyway, back to my point. I really and truly, from the depths of my soul, do not understand what all the fuss is about the Gosselins. From my understanding wasn't she just angry all the time and he was just a douche? If that's what they are getting attention for then fire it up TLC, you can come live with me...I am typically pretty angry. Ridiculous.

Happy Friday

Creepy Scream Singer

Hi. I'm Amanda and I'm a scream singer. Sometimes when I am at the Grammys  in my car , I will purposely drive past my destination and take another lap just so I can scream sing. Pedestrians and passengers think my scream singing is destructive. But I don't care. I can't be stopped. I also pee when I sneeze-this is irrelevant but I feel like sharing is caring.

Getting back on track.

Today was a day when the nice weather and lack of sleep provoked me to scream sing with the windows down. Completely uninhibited. So I drove past my house and up into the area that my brother was working in (he's a landscaper) so I could pay him a visit. As I am driving, the wind was forcing me to choke on my hair and the sun was burning my retinas. Perfect. I spot my brother in the distance. So I lay on my horn and start cat calling him, "Ow Ow Owwwww." Through the screaming I am frantically waving and I manage to pull over in front of him. He's about 40 feet away and he's hesitantly waving back at me but not walking towards my car. So I begin screaming "what's up my brother? What's the good word my man? What is shaaaaakkkkking?" I was just trying to embarass him but as I am typing this now, I am getting the feeling I am a flat out lunatic. And ew. Who cat calls their brother?

So I began to get angry at him as he is still not moving, just blankly staring at me. So I follow up my one-way convo by screaming at him "What the fuck? Why aren't you moving asshole?" (This is how we talk to eachother...I do not speak like this to other people. For realsies.)

Now I am pissed. And then it finally dawned on me...I just assumed this was my brother. I haven't actually done my official Nanner's squint to get my vision in focus.

I squint. It's not my brother. In fact it's literally a giant man-child in a garden. I would say at the max he was ummmm 16? I cannot even imagine what was running through this childs head. It's clear to me now as to why he wasn't walking towards my car...he didn't want to be a 20/20 special. Not only am I a spinster; I am a creepy, creepy, scary woman.

I'll just do the cops a favour and pre-print my own wanted poster. In fact stay tuned for my new blog on my journey to prison..."Nanners in the Slamma."


Apr 15, 2010


Due to the high volume of crude questions I have been recieving (specifically from friends) for my advice column, I have decided to forgo the Q & A idea until I can get some of these vile images out of my head. You are sooo lucky I am not naming you and putting your questions up. In lieu of this, I have decided to discuss more important topics...such as spinsters.

When I use the term "spinster," I am not referring to someone who teaches professional cycling. I speak of single ladies who have a fear of dying in their parents basement. Generally speaking, if you are a spinster, you know it. You definitely don't need someone to remind you. I'd like to thank my mother for inspiring this meltdown post.

Mom: "Amanda, you should go google yesterday's Toronto Star."
Me in my head: OMG she's finally taken out an ad for me. Better yet, she's found a picture of me in the paper next to an article about fat people.
Me for real: "Why?"
Mom: "There was a great article in there about spinsters..and..."
Me: (Insert lack of blood to the brain and shortness of breath as I find the most appropriate words for this reccomendation...I slam my book shut and stand up and begin to storm upstairs while scream talking ) "MOM ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? DID I JUST UNCONSCIOUSLY TURN TO YOU AND SAY "HEY MOM, I'M A SPINSTER, PLEASE HELP?"
Mom "Well that's the last time I try and help."
Me: "Jesus."

It would have been much easier if she could imply I was a spinster. These alternatives would be much better.

"Hey you remember you're going to die alone right?"
"Hey don't forget to pleasure yourself tonight, because no one else will. Ever."
"Hey don't forget to change the batteries in your boyfriend. He's your only hope."
"Hey should we get you a litter of cats tomorrow or Friday?"
"Hey your cat isn't the only thing that's furry. I see you've let yourself go. Might as well."

I'm sweating. No one needs to be called a spinster..especially before bed. Being alone with my thoughts in the daytime seems so much easier than at night. I guess I should go recharge my boyfriend.


Apr 14, 2010

Got Gas?

This is the deepest of the questions that I have recieved so far. This one came from someone I know who has asked to remain nameless...

Dear Nanners,

"What do you do if you're getting a wax and you fart in the waxer's face."

Don't make eye contact and be lucky you didn't shart.

shart: a small, unintended blend of "shit" and "fart."


Apr 13, 2010

Forbidden Fruit...

Anonymous writes:
I am 29 years old. I would like to think that I am attractive, out going, and educated
My problem is with men. Shocking! I have a HUGE problem of falling in love with guys who already have girlfriends or married men. I have never followed through with any of them, but have wanted to on a number of occasions.
My question is, what is my problem? Why do I keep falling in love with forbidden fruit? Am I just looking in the wrong places?

Flat out-you are wasting your time.

Falling for a guy whose penis has a another home is super shitty. Give yourself a shake sister. Been there done that. I'd like throw up all over my computer right now because I know what this feels like. Put the goods on lockdown because you should not act on any of it. In fact, go a little amazon for a while and stop shaving if you feel it will help you to resist the forbidden fruit.

If you keep falling for unavailable men, as painstaking as it may be, that's probably the way you consciously/unconsciously like it. 5 things could be happening with you:

1) You may like drama and panic attacks-because that's all it leads to;
2) You may also like the idea of unavailable men because you know that you still have your independence;
3) You may have a fear of being in a relationship and getting hurt so the unavailable guy is way easier because the chances are super slim that anything will come of it;
4) Something has happened in your past to make you not trust a man enough to get into your own healthy relationship-liking unavailable men are convenient for your lifestyle
5) You may be delusional and actually think that he's gonna leave her for you

If you keep this up, I promise you will find yourself with a one-way ticket to Lunaticville where you'll be appointed mayor.

My apologies if this was harsh, I am sure you're an awesome girl but share your vagina  awesomeness with someone who wants it.

Reccomended reading: He's Just Not That Into You
Reccomended movie: He's Just Not That Into You

Good luck,

Apr 12, 2010

Face & Shoulders

About a month ago, I made the decision to return to my dermatologist after 4 years of dealing with the Rosacea on my face. (He's the one who gave me Botox without me knowing.) Anyway, I was tired of looking like a burn victim or as the nurse so eloquently put this morning, "you looked like someone who had been slapped in the face really really hard." Thanks.

As it turns out, upon further review of my face, my dermotologist has concluded that I don't have Rosacea. I know you are all shitting your pants with anticipation about what my skin condition is. Here's how it went down.

Doc-"Uhhh this isn't Rosacea."
Me-"Ummm, what is it then."
Doc-"Uhhh simply put, you have dandruff of the face."
Me-Insert silence.
Doc "So, just take this cream and rub it on your face and come back in two weeks. Take care."

Amazing. I have facial dandruff. What the fuck is facial dandruff? I leave my appointment and get in my car-Word of advice; no one should hear that they have dandruff of the face and drive alone. The entire way home I found myself unable to scream sing, plagued by my urgent mega-wish that there is an entire closeted community of facial dandruff sufferers...if I could only find them on Google.

I didn't...It gets much worse.

Upon revealing my secret to my girlfriends, I become the butt of jokes. As my BFF stated, "Maybe you could create your own cream...Face & Shoulders." Fucking comedian.

Getting back on track...this morning was my follow up appointment. The crazy redness in my face has subsided for the most part (in case you care). I just look like I am blushing now...nothing unusual. However, my doctor still wants to see if he can get the last of the redness so he prescribes me some pills. I just picked them up.Please look closely at my box below... This was prescribed for my face.

Let me get this straight...not only do I have dandruff of the face, but now apparently according to the description on the box (not in my box), my face has a yeast infection. I actually don't know what to do, other than the obvious...panic.


Apr 11, 2010

Wrap it up...

If you didn't read my last post, then screw you I have decided to shell outadvice to my followers. Below is a question from a reader...followed by my advice.

Okay, so what would you do in this situation...I'm dating a guy for a bit - we're exclusive (although it was never spoken about, just assumed). One day he's being nice and helping me move stuff around in my bedroom. When moving my bed, up pops a (old, i.e. prior him) condom wrapper. Note: there's also several socks, bras and dust - so it's not like I had been under there cleaning in a long time (don't judge). We had stopped using condoms (stop judging). Am I obliged to say something i.e. reassure him that this was something pre-him??? (because I didn't - just laughed it off...)

Advice please :)
Dear Biggest Fan Ever,
First of all, it would be a god damn miracle if a guy found a condom wrapper under my bed...that would indicate that I was getting laid.

I would let him know that not only is under your bed normally clean, but so is your babymaker. No one likes a slut. Give him some sort of reassurance that your vajay-jay is a one penis woman. However, if it gets to a point that he is constantly needing reassurance, then I would evaluate the amount of trust he has in you.

Also,you technically haven't had the conversation about being exclusive so neither of you can just assume that eachother's privates are on lock-down.This could be your chance to discuss being exclusive (and to get an STD test) if that's what you both want or you could choose the route of blatantly ignoring this situation.

If by chance he starts acting like a giant man-child about this then I would take any personal effects that he has left at your place, and sell them on ebay.

Hope this helps.

Warmest fuzzies,


Dear Nanners

A good friend (also the sluttiest), asked me to start an advice column on my blog. As I am somewhat famous for giving advice and making really bad decisions I thought...why not?. Here's how it works: (I figure I would explain in great detail for my dumbest friends.) You post a question in the comment field or if you are blessed enough to have my contact info then email, text, call, pin, facebook me or sleep with  me.

Nothing is off topic.

Mar 11, 2010

Ew. I Hate Today.

I should have known that when my computer crashed this morning that today would suck. So far I managed to chop some of my eyelashes off with a faulty eye lash curler, I smashed an egg all over the fucking floor in the kitchen, I hit something in an underground parking lot because I became distracted by the thought that I am kind of like a "husband fluffer," (around for the fun but never at the altar.) So I got distracted...can you blame me? I never checked to see what or who it was that I hit...I just kept driving...I am sure it's fine. And to top things off, I found an old cheese string at the bottom of my favourite purse. That's really gross and I debated writing about that but it just added fuel to my fire.

But here's the thing that agitated me the most: I had to fake laugh at people's jokes. For some reason, I feel obliged to forcefully laugh out of courtesy at jokes that aren't even remotely funny. I have a standard fake laugh which is eerily high, accompanied by an awkward head tilt and followed by an under the breath "Oh God, that's so funny." 

I feel socially responsible in particular to laugh at old people's jokes. Who knows, that joke could be the very last painstakingly unfunny words they utter. Do I entertain them by laughing or watch as they go down in a blaze of non-comedic glory?

Mar 10, 2010

My BFF...Corey Haim

Unless you live under a rock, then you have heard the news that the beloved 80's star, Corey Haim has passed away at 38.

This morning when I heard the news I immediately went to my basement to try and dig up my old posters from my Tiger Beat and Bop magazines to see if I had any Corey Haim stuff lying around. Um, what were you going to do with that Amanda? I have no idea. But I was so shocked because we were literally BFF's for an evening. True story. Until I turned creepy.

My friend Mandy, Sandy and I were hitting the town pretty hard one night in October 2008 and we were just finishing up terrorizing the men of Toronto, when we stopped into the convenience store by our apartment and met Corey Haim. This is how it went down.

In my intoxicated hungry state, I was most likely grabbing Cheetos, a frozen dinner, ice cream and chips just to satisfy the emptiness that 10 pints of beer left. We were raiding the store when we heard a bottle smash. We look over to see a gentleman heading toward the counter apologizing for the mess. Immediately, we all recognize who it was but none of us could gather any of our sentences-no not because of the beer but because it was our 80's crush in the flesh. We were silent as we relished in our celeb sighting. We left the store and did what any respectable, un-stalkerish women would do...Waited.

 We formed our very own private papparazi and threw in a few "holy fucks," and "OMG's that's Corey Haim!" There was nothing sneaky about us as we were like school girls when he finally exited the store, "Um, excuse me can we get our picture taken with you?" He was so polite and of course obliged. He was really quite shy. This is Mandy...she's a bit permiscuous.

The below photo was taken before he caught me sniffing his leather jacket. I literally couldn't believe that I was standing there with a guy whose poster I kissed nightly when I was growing up. Anyway, I was going in to smell his neck (as you would if you met any celeb) and instead I ended up taking a giant and noticable deep breathe in. My nose was pressed against his leather jacket. At this point he just turns his head and looks at me like "what are you doing?" He didn't say it but I felt it in my BFF's eyes. This photo is quite blurry but who cares.

It was a memorable evening that's for sure. I am choosing to leave out the part when we returned home and t Mandy and I refused to go to bed so we put on our party shoes and scoured the neighbourhood for him at 4am. What we were going to do if we were to find him randomly on the street...we have no idea. It sounded genious at the time.
On a serious note, this is a tragedy as he was turning his life around. My thoughts are with all those who knew and loved him and his spirit will live on through his movies.

Mar 9, 2010

We're Having an Office Pot Suck...I Meant Pot Luck

Being at home with my parents does have its advantages-the home cooked meals. However, I do have to listen to my mother talk about what her colleague Linda brought to the pot luck at work and how much she adored her recipe for her spinach dip. Fact: This may seem insensitive, but I don't really care what Linda brought to the pot luck. In fact, here is what I am thinking when my mother is telling me this story. Does Linda have any single sons around my age or at an age that it wouldn't be creepy for me to date them? Does Linda have money? Can you become better friends with her so we can spend her money? Did you bring home some left over spinach dip? This ass isn't going to fatten itself.

This conversation about pot lucks, literally just took place in the kitchen 5 minutes ago and reminded me of how much I hated office pot lucks with a firey passion. On this occassion you discover that there are 4 types of people you work with and I have broken them down into seperate categories:

1. Those who just picked up the brownies instead of baked them-which some may view as lazy;
2. Those who are Julia Child in the kitchen have 4 young children at home but yet still bring the most delicious and thoughtful dishes so that everyone else feels like an asshole;
3. Those who cook,and are in denial about how grotesque their bean salad is but they are somehow always lingering around to ask "have you tried my bean salad?" Now you have to. Again, you run the risk of looking like an asshole so you politely accept;
4. Those who actually don't bring a thing, have managed to avoid the topic when brought up but yet, you find them filing their plates and stuffing their faces in their cubicles. Bastards.

(There is kind of a non-official 5th category and that's the type of person such as myself, who enjoys watching other co-workers take a bite of something disgusting that you, yourself, just spit back into your napkin. They carefully glance up to see if anyone caught their reaction. I always do. Now that is my favourite part.)

The end result of an office pot luck could go one of 3 ways. You realize that Rose in accounting not only sucks at her job, but she is also super shitty at cooking. Now she has exposed 2 areas of her life that she is useless in. Or, Rose could still be shitty at accounting but if she brings in the best Mexican rice dish ever, then there is a chance for redemption and some meaningful high fives for her around the office. Lastly, Rose could be a star at cooking and accounting which really makes her the fucking star of the office for a few days. We hate Rose.

I once fell into category number 1, as I had a raging hangover and totally forgot to bake something. So I ran to a gourmet coffee shop, bought 24 gourmet cookies, which cost me 40 gourmet dollars, only to get my arm stuck in the door of the subway and have my cookies crushed. That was God's way of calling me lazy-and an alcoholic. No one ate my cookies.They couldn't. They were essentially shrapnel and debris from the war I fought in the subway that morning. Lesson learned-always call in sick on pot luck day.


Mar 8, 2010

I Promise to be Faithful...To My Pillow

The days of me feeling stupid for making out with my pillow are over.

A Korean man has finally upped and married his body pillow-But it's not just any 300 thread count pillow case stuffed with cotton, drawn on the pillow case is the anime character, Fate Testarossa (of which I know nothing about and intend of not researching it)

If you ask me, this guy is one lucky nutjob man. She'll always keep her mouth shut when arguing and she'll just lie down and take it like a champ in the bedroom, he can drool and fart on her and she won't bitch slap him. What guy wouldn't want that? Meeting the in-laws and friends are a breeze and that bitch really got off the hook without having to worry if everyone liked her.

Maybe this guy has the right idea.

Mar 3, 2010

The Vaginator

Hold the phone. Literally. A new Octo-Mom iPhone app is in the works pending a trademark on the new Octo-Mom game. Nadya Suleman, mother of 14 (my vajajay hurts thinking about it) will be the star of her very own iPhone application.

Here's the riveting concept: You shoot each baby out of her Cha-Cha in hopes it lands in the hands of waiting mothers. But wait, you score brownie points if there happens to be a papparazo in the room!

Screw reading the newspaper or people watching on the subway to work. I would much rather enjoy a stimulating round of playing the vaginator  Octo-Mom game.

Maybe in the next brainteaser of an app, she can shoot out her placenta.

Grossed out,

Filter, I Miss You

So last night while twittering, pinning, playing Family Feud online and sending random dirty e-cards, I recieved a text message from a strange phone number talking about "their heart and how they had an x-ray done on it and they couldn't live if I wasn't in it." I can't post the entire message as I deleted it immediately. Well, I forwarded it to a friend in case I ended up on a milk carton next week. (Do they even do that anymore? Anyway, you get my drift.)

Apparently, during the game on Sunday, I was giving out my number out like Heidi Fleiss used to give out blow jobs. What is wrong with me? My phalanges have a mind of their own once the drinks start flowing, not to mention the filter from my brain to my mouth has been withering away since high school. I had  a "what the fuck flashback" of a conversation I had at the bar the other night and I am sitting here purple faced as I type this. Here's how it went down...This convo was held in a scream talking tone in a busy bar:

Guy "So Amanda, what do you do?"
Me ( Here comes lie #1) "Well I am taking some time off to figure out what I want to do."
Guy "Do you live in Toronto?"
Me (Why couldn't I have stuck to lying?) "Well I actually live with my parents in the east end," (Now I try to be funny)
"I'll probably die there alone with 100 cats." Insert my laughter...Insert his blank stare.
Conversation over.

My girlfriends find this shit hilarious so they would rather witness a conversation like this to take place than to stop it. Hence, why I am taking out an ad for babysitter to smack me in the mouth when my filter is malfunctioning.

An old boss of mine told me that I have the ability to charm anyone. This was a false statement. Clearly, I have no idea what I am doing when it comes to the big, bad world of picking up. Purchasing Dating for Dummies is also not an option as I was embarassed enough to buy He's Just Not That Into You from a male cashier at Indigo. (It was 10pm on a Friday night and I wreaked of desperation.)

I must have been away that day when social ettiquette was taught...or when God handed out filters. My girlfriends (whom most have landed husbands) seem to have done something right. Maybe because they all slept with their significant others on their first dates? Ha. You know who you are.

Do I need to skip the small talk and show my Cha-Cha to get a date around here?


Mar 2, 2010

Drunk on Patriotism

As yesterday was a day I deemed Canada's national hangover day, I myself was suffering from an Olympic hangover. Waking up on a floor with the imprint of my BlackBerry in my neck and team Canada stickers stuck all over my body, it occured to me that I was probably not alone in this feeling. An Olympic hangover consists of a horrible taste in your mouth from last night's beer (and whatever was free), a withdrawl from cleverly arranged video montages and Tim Hortons commercials that brought tears to our eyes, and the stark realization that you can't hug strangers in the street and high five anymore simply because you're Canadian.

Two words. Sidney Crosby. Our very own homegrown hockey hero lead us to our 3-2 gold medal victory over our southern friends. I do have to mention that team USA were tough competition and they too played a great game. Okay back to my baby daddy Sidney. Let me just say that this guy has a permanent invitation to a party in my pants. Sweet mother of God, that boy can handle his stick. Before I get too carried away and this turns into erotic literature or just plain creepy, I will move on.

Watching the gold medal game in one of the busiest bars in Toronto, was an experience unto itself. It was kinda of like the Olympics for drunk people. I found myself dodging ass grabs, firing back witty comments left, right and centre, running outside in between periods to chant and dance in the street and of course guzzle my beer as fast as I could when I saw the waitress coming so I didn't have to wait an eternity for the next one. I kinda have been training for this moment since University. Only in University-I never dodged an ass grab. I did happen to meet myself a "showstopper" who took quite a liking to me as we talked for a chunk of the afternoon...that was until I couldn't remember his name when I went to put it in my phone. He was a little pissed, but I realized he was over it when he began whispering R rated things in my ear. I was so taken back I was speechless...a rarity for me as I have been known to let a dirty word slip here and there. I soon realized that as I was planning our first date in my head in between periods as he was planning on me being a hooker for the night. Thankfully I dodged that bullet.

Well  after 17 days of high impact emotion, excitement and high fives that still sting, the Olympics have come to a close. I am so very proud to be a SINGLE Canadian and I have such admiration for all atheletes worldwide that actually got a chance to live out their dreams and play in our backyard.


Feb 27, 2010

Trash Talkers on Ice

Well folks, it really does feel like a real Canadian winter now...snow is falling, people are driving like assholes and hockey's on. Speaking of hockey....

I'll be the first to admit that I would be down for a good ol' "slap and tickle" from Crosby or Iginla. I find myself watching these hockey showdowns with legs crossed, in fear of spontaneous combustion.

Tonight's battle between the Slovaks and the Canadians left me all tingly in my "no no special spot" as the Canadians beat the opposition 3-2 in a very intense game-in particular the 3rd period. (I would call it a "nail biter" but I bit them all off during an STD scare.)

Each game I try desperately to read the lips of the players as they talk smack to eachother or curse under their breath in the penalty box. I haven't seen too much of the shit talk in our friendly Olympic competition as I do in regular NHL games. Or is that me just shit talking to my t.v? Hmmm.

However, in last night's Canadian women's hockey game there was a point where two women collided and shared some words. I couldn't help but wonder what they were. Do women get as vulgar with eachother as men do? Do they use hurtful sentences such as "well at least I shave my legs you hairy lesbo." Or. " You're boyfriend gave my syphyllis." Or do they use the word C*#T? (A word I typically use while driving or shopping) I am curious to know. Or maybe I am way of base and none of these thoughts don't even pop into their head...just my filthy mind.

Until the gold medal game bitches!!!


Feb 24, 2010

Could I Have Been An Olympian?

Unfortunately my narcolepsy interfered with Olympic spirit tonight. I awoke in my clothes on my bed (unfortunately alone) during the 3rd period to find Luongo was as tight as me on prom night. Like I, he remained on his knees and deflected most shots by the KGB Russia, helping to lead team Canada in a 7-3 victory over our European neighbours.

I was a goalie once...in field hockey. I sucked and I only did it for the jacket and the free trip to Boston. I would conveniently drag my ass to the field with all my equipment during practice when the team was finishing up their 3rd lap of running. Running-something that caused me a great deal of mental anguish and judging by the size of my ass...it still does. I can't help but wonder-what if I actually ran a lap once in a while? Could I have been an Olympian? What if I watched Cool Runnings a few more times? Could I have been a pro bobsledder? I could be striking endorsement deals with Omega (the fancy watch people) and Ralph Lauren if I just hadn't been born a whiny bitch. As I struggle to find my career path at the moment this thought plagues me. However, the realist inside me acknowledges that I missed my chance and I am one hot dog away from being the next Rita McNeil.

Proudly Canadian,

***I want to give a GIANT congratulations to Ms. Shelley-Ann Brown who, as I type, is standing on the podium recieving her silver medal in bobsledding. Her and I went to public school together and this is truly incredible to watch. So proud!!!! Congratulations Shelley!!!***

P.S. Am I the only one who cries like a baby during every medal presentation for Canada? That "I Believe" song tugs at my heart strings.

Feb 23, 2010

Oh to Be a Puck Bunny

As a former puck bunny, tonight's showdown between Canada and Germany was nothing short of an orgasm. While the Germans were getting their asses handed to them, I was thinking of asses of my own.

While watching the game and spontaneously cursing, I had flashbacks of traveling to the rink every thursday night with my boobs up to my neck with my winter jacket open just enough to show my guns which resulted in random make outs in closets at rookie parties. I also chuckled (insert evil laugh) when I reflected on glaring at the other puck bunnies in the stands  and of course, participating in Canada's favourite past time-drinking beer. (Well in my case, I think it was Mike's hard lemonade which was pretty much like drinking gasoline, but either way it made me a "sure thing.")

I oozed with Canadian pride as our home and native land crushed the Germans 8-2 and I realized how much I miss men hockey. Which has led me to the decision that if I am still without child, husband and dignity in 2014, I will travel to Russia for the Winter Games to volunteer my services as the team Canada fluffer towel girl.

I always wanted to be a part of the Olympics but my fat ass just didn't know how. It's all clear to me now and I owe it to all puck bunnies across the nation.


Is That Your Twin in Your Leg?

So I have been held up in hotel Nanners for the past 3 weeks (with the exception of a couple play dates) because of a minor surgery I had on my leg. Long story short-I woke up with a giant lump on my inner thigh. As amusing as it would be to my girlfriends to learn that it was symptomatic of an STD-it wasn't. Getting an STD would imply that you most likely were getting some, and that's not the case.
I have nurses that come to my house everyday to change my bandages, clean it and stick gauze in my wound and see me freaking out with my pants off. (The last time I freaked out with my pants off, I was peeing on a stick and praying to our sweet baby Jesus, but that's besides the point.) I think it's safe to say I am a full blown hypochondriac. Every morning I pop a pain killer in anticipation of my nurses arrival and wait in fear of discovering they have found my twin growing in my thigh.

What fuels my growing fear of um, pretty much everything is a little search engine some of you may know as  Google. Anytime something goes remotely wrong with me I immediately google it. I remind myself to breathe as I am looking at the 133,000 results it has returned. Pages upon pages of horrible stories or images glare back at me as I sit in my bed and begin to twitch in horror. It also happens that I do all of my investigations of horrible diseases and medical mysteries in the middle of the night when no one is around to   bitch slap some sense into me.

I also don't think that it helps that I watch Untold Stories of the ER which typically runs as a marathon and not just one episode that you can go to bed and forget about. (I know you are thinking "turn the channel moron," but I can't. It's like seeing a real life hooker for the first time...you can't stop staring.) For instance, last year I saw an episode of a man who came to the ER on Halloween with an axe in his head. Everyone said "cool costume." For some miracle this man could articulate sentences and he managed to tell them it wasn't a costume....I mean, how does this happen? These are the things I think about. I can't even think of a situation when I have been around an axe in the past year, but still this story haunts me and I fear I will wake up with one in my head. I am crazy. I am aware. This is a tiny tidbit of what runs through my head in a given moment.

From now on, I vow to make a concious effort to limit my google searches to more important things in life; celebrity gossip and porn. Not diseases. Maybe I should install a parental control feature on the WebMD site?


Feb 16, 2010

Giant Man-Child- Need Not Apply

An hour ago a friend messaged me to help her with her online dating profile. Honesty is the best policy. Below is what I came up with.

Okay. Let’s cut the shit. There is a good chance you looked at my picture and probably thought about fucking me. And I’ll be honest, if you supply the weed and wine-it’s a possibility.

Let’s get this out of the way now. I have a former fiancĂ© who fucked me over before walking down the aisle. I took the high road and didn’t use my “crazy pass,” when that asshole broke my heart so I can find the crazy from within if you fuck with me. Don’t cheat on me-I won’t cheat on you. Simple as that.

If you act like you are 16 but suffer from gigantism (physically big but emotionally small) then I’d like you to be up front with me. In other words, I don’t want to be fooled by a man-child and their dramatic outbursts. I’ve been there and bought the t-shirt and I am selling his tool set on e-bay.

I think this profile is likely the most straight forward that you will read so if you like what you read-message me. Message me at an uncreepy time...like before 1am. And don’t say weird shit. I will delete you without a reason. Perhaps even block you.

Also, if you do pass go, please don’t try and befriend me on facebook after our first chit chat. That’s far too personal and there is a good chance that I will post something about our first date to either belittle you or gush about you.

I like to travel.


If we could only be that honest.