Mar 24, 2013

Me, Myself and the Dentist


Just like Snoop Dogg, "I dropped it like its hot" last weekend, and have found myself to be one fierce, hot mess this week. (Oops sorry! I meant Snoop Lion. Whoa, clearly I'm the idiot here.) 
Inspired by an un-Godly taste in my mouth while rotting on my couch last Sunday, I felt inspired to google diseases that could possibly cause "shitty tastes in your mouth." Ignoring the fact that my newly contracted mouth disease could have been Saturday night's 4 shots of tequila, 273 beers and a bottle of wine, I naively turned to WebMD to learn my fate. Well, according to WebMD it's quite possible the foul taste in my mouth was a reaction to me eating my twin in the womb, or a plethora of other diseases such as: Syphilis, Elephantitis, Malaria, Shingles, Clone-killing Nanovirus, Cooties, Dragon Flu, The Plague, Black Lung disease, Scarlet Fever, Skin lice, Vaginitis and Scurvy...all ideal options!  

If my words, didn't quite paint the picture of how I've been feeling, I'd like to turn it over to me in 2 years minus the penis Mr. Bob Wiley....







You're welcome. 

My nuttiness eventually landed me in the dentist's chair yesterday, since I called and complained of some phantom jaw pain which mysteriously disappeared once I sat down. Now, if you're anything like me, I loathe going to the fucking dentist. (My dentist and his staff are actually really wonderful people, I just hate getting drilled in the mouth said me, never....I'm leaving that one alone because I'm a lady.)  Come to think of it, I don't think I've said the word dentist without using the word "fuck" in it since I was um...8? Right Mom? (*Please note- my Mom now calls me and starts conversations like this:
" So, I got into your website the other day...." Followed by a long eery silence. 
My mother doesn't have the heart to tell me I write like a foul mouthed hooker, so she just opts for the long silence option, which lets every child on earth know that their parents kinda hate them.

Naturally, as I sat in the chair staring directly into the bright, shiny mouth lamp with the brightness of 10,000 burning suns, SO many thoughts crossed my mind...






Whoa! My gag reflexes have definitely improved, I'm so lucky!  
What day is it and where is my period? If I am pregnant I would name my daughter "Lil' Babs" and my son "Muskrat Love." 
Imagine Channing Tatum was in the waiting room shirtless?
Why do porn sites have a "like" on Facebook option?
I'm so sick of Pope jokes.Whoa, this hygenist has great eyelashes. 
God, Morgan Freeman is so great. 
I wonder if my right boob will eventually grow to the size of the left one?
If I opened a restaurant that only served Kraft Dinner and Pinot, would it succeed?  
Let's play a game, who is your daddy and what does he do? (Please re-read in Schwarzenegger accent)  
What if I like, actually projectile vomited right now?  
I bet that tall guy at the bus stop will try and abduct me one day. 
Imagine this ceiling collapsed and I had to rescue everyone? I bet they'd make a movie about me. 
Whatever happened to Monica Lewinsky?  
I'm gonna try and not swear until 3pm today. Hahahahahahahahahaha  
What if that man with the bag full of bacon on the bus was my soul mate? I just let him slip though my fingers... 

I should really start using a calendar and stop just "hoping" that I remember important events.  
I'm only gonna eat lettuce this week.  
Well if I'm only gonna eat lettuce, I need to finish the 3 boxes of Kraft dinner in my cupboard by Sunday night at 12am. 
I would love to dance right now. 



Well, if you didn't think I was a raging lunatic before, I'm sure you do now. 


Peace, 
Nanners 







Mar 18, 2013

Dear Gemini....

This evening as I was coming home on my pleasure rocket (my bus, not my vibrator) I creepily read my horoscope over the shoulder of the woman in front of me. According to my horoscope, my luck is about to change. Sounds promising, right? I think I have as much chance of good luck coming my way, as I do making the Jamaican bobsled team. None. So in the spirit of being a little shit and to avoid cleaning my apartment, I thought I would write my own horoscope. 


Dear Gemini, 

What a tumultuous 276 months this has been! Since the 6th moon of Neptune moved into place on the 1st of March, Mercury has positioned itself right up Uranus and will remain there until Mars plummets to the earth and kills us all in 97 years. Oh my! But don't fret dear Gemini, your luck is about to change!

March will prove to be a tricky month for all matters in your house of finance. Wake up you silly bitch! Your bank account is virtually empty. Looks like partying like a Hilton and drinking like a Lohan has finally caught up to you! Be weary of a telephone call on the 3rd day of March as this is likely not good news. As you know, every time Mars is 43 degrees north of the Sun, a new creditor is assigned to your unpaid account at Visa, and calls you from an unknown number to yell at you. Uh oh! While the planets are realigning, I urge you to fake your own death on or about the 4th day of March.

Feeling unlucky in love Gemini? Don't fret! If you're born on June 6th (plus or minus 5 days) you will meet a tiny Mexican who loves chicken, heavy breathing, playing darts and leaving you creepy messages. And here you were thinking the planet was letting you down! Meeting your Mexican is one of those rare moments when the heavenly bodies align. I caution you, June baby, if you don't settle with that Mexican, another opportunity will not come along until Mercury retrograde in 3023. Should your heart turn away this once in a lifetime love, your hymen is likely to grow back and you will die a lone wolf, covered in icing sugar and burried under a pile of dirty clothes in your bachelor apartment, while your litter of kitties try to claw their way out of your tiny apartment in search of food, love and dignity. 

As Capricorn moves into the 12th house of the sun, Virgo and Aries have collided to surround you with the world's biggest idiots. This will be particularly noticeable during your rush hour commute to and from the office, for the rest of your existence. Remember dear Gemini, public death threats to people wearing backpacks on a crowded bus, are still punishable by law, even during rush hour! While we're on the topic of death threats, your Songza playlist will get stuck on a Michael Buble song, which you did not choose, nor would you ever download,for the majority of your commute on the 13th of day of the month. I think the planets are playing a trick on you my little Gemini! Choosing between listening to Michael Buble for 40 consecutive minutes or listening to the man beside you snort his snot is certainly a cosmic joke! 

When Venus circles the 9th moon of Mercury, you will find yourself making very bad cocktail induced decisions on or about the 16th of the month. Be careful you slutty Gemini, raising a stranger's baby in a bachelor apartment is probably less fun than it looks. Watch your liquor consumption until you can trick a man into marrying you or the zodiac Gods will riddle you with STD's and female pattern baldness until the new moon in 2057. 

Don't be discouraged my sweet Gemini, good things are on your horizon when Neptune circles the earth 8 times and the sun goes horizontal to Jupiter during the new moon of Pluto in 3021! 


That seems about right.

Peace, 
Nanners  










Mar 11, 2013

Red Lips, Long Lashes...

Hello my most favourite people....

There won't be a blog post this week, but there will definitely be one next week.

BUT,  this week is a little different...I'm going to be contributing to another website (Red Lips, Long Lashes) which is all about beauty, fashion and lifestyle. I would love for you all to check it out! My first piece was posted today, titiled:
"My Nightmarish Experience with Online Dating." It can be found here:... www.redlipslonglashes.com

If any of you are on twitter follow us at @RedlipsLL

I'll be back next Monday posting my deepest thoughts as always, on Nanners Rambles.

Peace.
Nanners

Mar 3, 2013

Sweet Brown, I Love You

In case you were wondering where I've been, I've been being held captive by that Mexican little person I met a few weeks ago at the bar. We've been eating tacos and playing Jenga in our underwear. Truthfully, I've been swamped with fine dining at establishments where THIS is the decor.
Don't be jealous because I'm a baller. I was hoping by eating in a restaurant that had 3 million pics of animals in it, 2 things would happen. 1. It would be a less challenging environment for me to ask my mother if I could borrow money 6.5 million dollars to pay my cable bill-porn is pricey. (And so is renting Steel Magnolias, and Silence of the Lambs, 4 times a week. That shit adds up.)
2. Perhaps being surrounded by pics of animals, would illicit some sort of emotion in me. You see, I didn't grow up in a house with pets (and I don't count my goldfish whose heart exploded on my 10th birthday. It's an open investigation so I'm not allowed to talk about it. We're thinking it was a homicide.) So watching me around pets is officially the most uncomfortable event for other people to watch. I'd say, it's just as awkward as the time a few years ago, that my Dad saw my vagina when I wore an incredibly small bath robe, thinking he wasn't home. That was a dark dark day for me and my cooter. 

I often wonder what my face looks like when I listen to other people tell me stories about their pets. Not to be insensitive, but the new lamp you bought for your hampster's cage doesn't get my panties wet. Don't get me wrong, I'm super happy you've found love'n all, but as Sweet Brown says, "Ain't nobody got time for dat!"
If you don't know who Sweet Brown is, you're missing out. 




I'd like to take a moment to plea with the public to put me in touch with Sweet Brown, as I feel we were meant to be besties. I too, wake up in the middle of the night to get myself a cold pop. 

Sidenote, I could spend bloody hours on Youtube. Sometimes, when I'm on my period, I google Dawson's Creek montages that really creepy super-fans put together, and I cry. Like, ugly cry. Riveting stuff right? I never understood a frigan word those under-sexed, straight laced little fuckers were saying, but it didn't matter, I just wanted Joey and Dawson to be together SO badly. Who would have thought Joey would marry TOM CRUISE. Dang, that girl can't catch a break. 
Or another topic of interest, is seeing other fucked up people, so I Youtube clips of TLC's My Strange Addiction. I take comfort in knowing that I most likely will not ever have sex with my car or eat my husband's ashes or lick my pussy...cat. I usually Youtube these clips after I've gone shopping for pants and discovered new pockets of cellulite. I FEEL SO ALIVE after, you should try. 

In other news, I travelled to the tropical paradise of Pickering, Ontario to spend sometime with my mother. To understand my relationship with my mother, I've decided to break it down into increments of time, rather than launching into a full blown story, because it's the same thing. Every.Time. 

Minutes: 1-3: My mother asks me if I have brushed my teeth and has made some comment on my how bad my shoes are:
Minutes 3-5: I'm responding/yelling at my mother for the teeth brushing question with a "Are you fucking kidding me? I'm 31 years old. Of course I've brushed my fucking teeth. Don't ever ask me that again." I typically ignore the shot at my shoes, as if she feels sorry enough for me, she'll buy me a new pair. Only problem is, since my drunken high heel accident last year, my left foot looks like a clubbed baby seal so there really are no shoes that fit my foot. Whomp. Whomp.
Minute: 6-8: She asks if I'm dating anyone and I tell her I'd rather set myself on fire than discuss that.
Minute: 9 to hour 3: She tells me what pricks men are, and how I couldn't pay her enough money to be single in this day in age because society is riddled with sluts and men who have sex with strange women on their lunch hours, followed by complaining about my driving while she simultaneously slams on the "imaginary brake" that's on the passenger side, takes me shopping, then raids her freezer to stuff my purse with cans of tuna and frozen chicken....then I head back to the city. 

Although, I must say, this week she took me and the cashier at Walmart by surprise while we were standing at the register. My mother whipped out a piece of paper from her wallet, looked at me, then yelled at me in Chinese. You can probably guess by my profile photo on my blog, that I'm not of Asian descent. Well, neither is my mother. In fact, being incredibly pale, pasty and awful at accents, would pretty much sum up our ethnicity. The unfortunate part about people trying to speak in any type of accent, other than their own, is that it's often incredibly over-pronounced and VERY VERY LOUD. So you can imagine the shock on my face when my mother screamed at me in Chinese.

Me (whispering) "Mom, what the hell are you doing?"
Mom: "Speaking Chinese to you!"
Cashier: Silence.
Me: "Ummm, I realize that, what did you just say?"
Mom: "I said you're very cheap, in Chinese."
Me: "I'll be in the car."

My mother works at a school in a predominately Asian community, where she's like the Godfather of secretaries. She often comes home with tons of gifts and stories on how she "gets shit done."  Recently, she's been getting tips from some of the Chinese parents on phrases she can use on me while we're shopping. Yesterday, since her asian monologue in Walmart, wasn't nearly enough, Rosetta Stone made me sit in the car and listen to the other phrases that she's learned. "That looks bad" and "You can't afford that" were amongst the front runners. 

Well I'm done talking about the inner workings of my relationship with my mother. And I'm sure you've already checked out. Speaking of checking out, have any of you ever watched VH1's Couples Therapy? (Yes, only quality programming gets passed these retina's) But watching Angelina from Jersey Shore try and give DMX (the rapper recently released from prison) life advice, has to be one of the most fascinating things I've seen in a long time.  It's like watching a prostitute counsel a porn star. WHAT A FUCKING MESS. 

Peace Out, 
Nanners