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.