Monday, August 3, 2009
Brief Update
I just realized that I love Anthony Bourdain and his show "No Reservations." There is a related widget, whatever the heck that is, at the bottom of this page. It's off-center. I don't like that but I don't know how to fix it. Despite this, I hope you enjoy its content as much as I do, for some reason.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Post Number Fifteen - Summer Hiatus
Hello world! It may look like I've gotten blazy (blog-lazy) in the past little while, but actully I've just been posting on the travel blog that I created to document my Summer adventure in BC. Basically, I've moved out West for the Summer to take some Creative Writing courses at Douglas College. Anything worth knowing (and believe me, there isn't much of it) is documented in my travel blog. Check it out! http://mickie-goes-west.blogspot.com/ BONUS!!!: It is (for the most part) a video blog, so you get to see my chubby-chic l'il face and hear my tape recorder voice telling you all you never wanted to know about my travels - holla!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Post Number Fourteen - Offish Nineteen!!! (Hoot Hoot, Holla Holla!)
It's pretty late. Been dressed up all day. Have yet to take off tiara. My own birthday's not even 2 hours old. Sleepy - want pyjamas. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. Happy Birthday Baby Girl! Aren't you glad we were born in the same hospital room? It's such a good story. Oh, and I bought a beer for Pete tonight (pictured below); that was probably the most thrilling thing I've done all semester. And I got ID'ed and got in because I'm old enough! The bouncer dude was so happy that it was our birthdays (or so I like to think). Look, I'm letting words speak instead of pictures. I'm so bad a shutting up. Okay, here it goes!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Post Number Thirteen (ooh, freeeaky) - Put a Lid on It!
So, if you've taken the time to read my earlier posts, you'll know that for the most part, they're primarily me whining about my life lengthily and poor-worded-ly. Well, you'll be happy when I tell you that this post is not going to be like the others. "Yay," you'll think. However, your happiness will be short-lived when I tell you that this post will instead primarily be me whining about a specific topic. "Boo," will be your prevailing sentiment. However, being a total dorsch, I take pleasure in tormenting you, so my thought of "Hee," will be simultaneous to your "Boo." All thinking aside, I will now take foray into the world of things that annoy me [this world is slightly bigger than my thighs and slightly smaller than the ego of a blond guy].
Okay, I know I'm probably going to take a lot of guff for this but here it comes: baseball caps. They drive the bejeezus out of me. There is no faster way to make yourself look scruffy, disrespectable and poor than to slap a cap on the ol' noggin. I'm sorry but it's true. I know lots of people who wear baseball caps and there are even some who I've been able to develop affection for, despite their be-capped-ness. And to these people, if I hurt your feelings with these words, I sincerely apologize. But I do not and will not retract my previous or forthcoming statements on this matter. There are only three types of people in this world who should wear baseball caps: people playing baseball; people watching baseball (the cap-wearing of watchers should be restricted to AT THE GAME); and people who are making fun of people who wear baseball caps for any reason other than the two previously stated. Yeah, I know some people have to wear baseball caps for work. But that doesn't make them look any less stupid. And really, these people should be outraged - one or two company bigwigs thought they they could make more cash dollahs by latching on to this idiotic trend and now all of the lower level employees, who were already degrading themselves every time that they asked if you wanted fries with that, now have one more bullet point to add to their "Why You Should Go Postal On Everyone You Know" list. And what's so cruelly ironic is that the capitalist fatcats at the top of the company food chain, the very ones who suggested that their front-line minimun-wage slaves wear the baseball caps, would never, ever be caught dead wearing such a headpiece (except in their private box at Yankee Stadium) and the fact that they never wear these head-shaped moron-indicators is the reason that they're so successful. The company brass know that they're separated from the working masses because they were clever enough to realize that: a) they had a better chance at success if they never wore baseball caps themselves; b) they had a better chance at staggering wealth at the expense of the masses by forcing their underlings to wear baseball caps, thus preventing the proletariat from achieving financial success and hording more wealth for themselves.
Yeah, I just demonstrated how the use of baseball caps in company uniforms relates to the Marxist view of capitalism. It will come as no surprise to you that I have to beat good-looking guys away with a stick.
Anyway, all extremely valid arguments in favour of Communism aside, I will now discuss why I hate to see baseball caps on people who aren't forced to wear them. You look stupid, that's why. I'd hate for anyone to think that I dislike all hats; there are indeed many hats that, in my opinion can give their wearer a stylish or dashing appearance. A good fedora or porkpie, for example, is great for a genuinely cool musician who is trying to evoke musical ramblers and troubadors of days of yore. LADIES: BEWARE OF IMITATORS - science wing boys, whose senses for what attracts women have been honed by spending hours wooing fair elven maidens on World of Warcraft, and who have carefully developed skills of disguise and camouflage thanks to oodles of experience designing costumes for Renaissance fairs, will often don similar hats in an attempt to trick you into thinking that they're a musician long enough for you to feel guilty for not going out with them when you discover the truth. You can usually tell which ones are Sci-Wing from the long, black, awkwardly-hanging trenchcoats and the long, black, awkwardly (read: 'un') -washed hair. (Lordy, I am so mean. They're just trying to live as best they know how, for Oprah's sake! And James Sudul knows, I'm no pinnacle of perfection myself.)
Now, once again, I rein myself in and return to the point. Despite my appreciation for certain hats, it would take nothing short of a miracle to make me believe that baseball caps are acceptable social attire, let alone appreciate them. Allow me to lay out my reasoning behind this belief in easy-to-follow numbered point format: 1) As I stated above, certain hats can be flattering for certain people - baseball caps are flattering for no one. At best, provided the man wearing the cap is a Greek god, it covers up his soft, perfect locks, hiding them from the world [later leaving him with the distinct 'I-just-wore-a-ball-cap-and-now-there's-a-ring-around-my-head-like-I-just-had-my-head-stuck-in-a-toilet-bowl' kind of hat head] and the protruding duck-bill of a brim hides his striking Just-Fell-Into-A-Cool-Ocean/Warm-Chocolate/Jewely-Emerald/Description-for-Hazel eyes. Long story short, on good-looking guys, baseball caps obscur and mar perfection. That's the good-looking ones. 2) Baseball caps emphasize imperfections -> So, I heard you wanted to cast huge black shadows on your already gaunt face - why don't you try a baseball cap? You say you want to make your chubby face look rounder by eliminating any balance provided by your hair? I think a baseball cap is just your speed. What's that? You want to make your ears stand apart from the rest of your head, thereby completing your look of chimpanzee-like perfection? Friend, have I got the cap for you! -> They're not flattering. 'Nuff said. 3) Now, this complaint can be extended to the behaviour of mankind in general, but I'm going to try my best to stick to ball caps from now on. As a society, over the years, we've become more relaxed about proper behaviour in public. And overall, things seem to be going pretty well with that - as a woman, I appreciate being able to occasionally get out of the kitchen and mingle with people of both genders in the public sphere. But seriously boys (and I address this to boys because they're the major culprits in the baseball-cap scandal; any girls who make the mistake of wearing one have enough problems of their own without having to deal with my censure) would it kill you to observe even a slight iota of decorum and remove your hats when you go inside? Or at least at the table? I know that these caps are the vessels containing your souls, but please, do a favour for the annoying, whiny girl and show just a little respect. I've been in the kitchen all day cooking your meal, the least you can do is doff your hat before you hoover your food like a pig. 4) Baseball caps that are worn by people other than people playing/watching baseball always indicate that the wearer is some sort of "wannabe." If you're wearing the standard, team-logo, curved-brim cap, you 'wannabe' athletic. But you ain't. Those who can't play, coach; those who can't coach, teach gym; those who can't teach gym wear ball caps and fake an interest in sports. Either that, or they actually are athletes and they want everyone to know this - their egos are so massive that they can only be contained by the supernatural powers of the ball cap. If you're wearing the two-sizes-too-big, G-Unit (or similar label) cap with the flat brim and the sticker still visible on the underside of the bill, you 'wannabe' a G, for some reason. And you might in fact be a 'G', but I'll be darned if you ever become a genuine, Snoop-Dawgie-Dawg, Fiddy-approved Guerilla Unit, you white-boy, class-skippin', poor-freestylin' pothead. Respect your elders and your betters. If you're wearing a semi-flat-brimmed, comically or nostalgically logo'd cap and claim that you're wearing it ironically but actually can't go a day without it, even though you spend hours on your hair, you 'wannabe' a rebel-scene-punk-skater or some approximation thereof. You want girls to notice your flair for the unusual, but you're too busy noticing yourself in the mirror. Just like all of the other guys with the exact same hat. If you're wearing a trucker hat, you 'wannabe' a ...... trucker? American Eagle model? Owner of the next available vehicle from "Ted's New-to-You Trailer Lot"? I don't know what you want to be... but good luck with that...... If you're wearing your cap backwards, you 'wannabe' back in the nineties. And as much as I agree that those truly were the good old days, your cap should have stayed back then, where it was 'fashionable.' And really, even then, only the Carter bros could do it right. "If you Wannabe my lover, you'd better take off that cap...". If you're wearing any other kind of ball cap, keep it to yourself, I don't want to know about it. Better yet, donate to some poor, starving professional ball player who can't afford his own. James Sudul knows, they need it more than you do.
I know that I'm reading too much into this, but to me, the baseball cap signifies so many of society's current wrongs - the ultra-convenience and disposability that come with consumer culture; the lack of respect for the surrounding people and environment; the fact that boys just don't get it (and I don't just mean 'it' as in ball caps. I mean 'it' as in, everything.) To me, a baseball cap says "I just don't care." And that's not an attractive quality in anyone.
Okay, I know I'm probably going to take a lot of guff for this but here it comes: baseball caps. They drive the bejeezus out of me. There is no faster way to make yourself look scruffy, disrespectable and poor than to slap a cap on the ol' noggin. I'm sorry but it's true. I know lots of people who wear baseball caps and there are even some who I've been able to develop affection for, despite their be-capped-ness. And to these people, if I hurt your feelings with these words, I sincerely apologize. But I do not and will not retract my previous or forthcoming statements on this matter. There are only three types of people in this world who should wear baseball caps: people playing baseball; people watching baseball (the cap-wearing of watchers should be restricted to AT THE GAME); and people who are making fun of people who wear baseball caps for any reason other than the two previously stated. Yeah, I know some people have to wear baseball caps for work. But that doesn't make them look any less stupid. And really, these people should be outraged - one or two company bigwigs thought they they could make more cash dollahs by latching on to this idiotic trend and now all of the lower level employees, who were already degrading themselves every time that they asked if you wanted fries with that, now have one more bullet point to add to their "Why You Should Go Postal On Everyone You Know" list. And what's so cruelly ironic is that the capitalist fatcats at the top of the company food chain, the very ones who suggested that their front-line minimun-wage slaves wear the baseball caps, would never, ever be caught dead wearing such a headpiece (except in their private box at Yankee Stadium) and the fact that they never wear these head-shaped moron-indicators is the reason that they're so successful. The company brass know that they're separated from the working masses because they were clever enough to realize that: a) they had a better chance at success if they never wore baseball caps themselves; b) they had a better chance at staggering wealth at the expense of the masses by forcing their underlings to wear baseball caps, thus preventing the proletariat from achieving financial success and hording more wealth for themselves.
Yeah, I just demonstrated how the use of baseball caps in company uniforms relates to the Marxist view of capitalism. It will come as no surprise to you that I have to beat good-looking guys away with a stick.
Anyway, all extremely valid arguments in favour of Communism aside, I will now discuss why I hate to see baseball caps on people who aren't forced to wear them. You look stupid, that's why. I'd hate for anyone to think that I dislike all hats; there are indeed many hats that, in my opinion can give their wearer a stylish or dashing appearance. A good fedora or porkpie, for example, is great for a genuinely cool musician who is trying to evoke musical ramblers and troubadors of days of yore. LADIES: BEWARE OF IMITATORS - science wing boys, whose senses for what attracts women have been honed by spending hours wooing fair elven maidens on World of Warcraft, and who have carefully developed skills of disguise and camouflage thanks to oodles of experience designing costumes for Renaissance fairs, will often don similar hats in an attempt to trick you into thinking that they're a musician long enough for you to feel guilty for not going out with them when you discover the truth. You can usually tell which ones are Sci-Wing from the long, black, awkwardly-hanging trenchcoats and the long, black, awkwardly (read: 'un') -washed hair. (Lordy, I am so mean. They're just trying to live as best they know how, for Oprah's sake! And James Sudul knows, I'm no pinnacle of perfection myself.)
Now, once again, I rein myself in and return to the point. Despite my appreciation for certain hats, it would take nothing short of a miracle to make me believe that baseball caps are acceptable social attire, let alone appreciate them. Allow me to lay out my reasoning behind this belief in easy-to-follow numbered point format: 1) As I stated above, certain hats can be flattering for certain people - baseball caps are flattering for no one. At best, provided the man wearing the cap is a Greek god, it covers up his soft, perfect locks, hiding them from the world [later leaving him with the distinct 'I-just-wore-a-ball-cap-and-now-there's-a-ring-around-my-head-like-I-just-had-my-head-stuck-in-a-toilet-bowl' kind of hat head] and the protruding duck-bill of a brim hides his striking Just-Fell-Into-A-Cool-Ocean/Warm-Chocolate/Jewely-Emerald/Description-for-Hazel eyes. Long story short, on good-looking guys, baseball caps obscur and mar perfection. That's the good-looking ones. 2) Baseball caps emphasize imperfections -> So, I heard you wanted to cast huge black shadows on your already gaunt face - why don't you try a baseball cap? You say you want to make your chubby face look rounder by eliminating any balance provided by your hair? I think a baseball cap is just your speed. What's that? You want to make your ears stand apart from the rest of your head, thereby completing your look of chimpanzee-like perfection? Friend, have I got the cap for you! -> They're not flattering. 'Nuff said. 3) Now, this complaint can be extended to the behaviour of mankind in general, but I'm going to try my best to stick to ball caps from now on. As a society, over the years, we've become more relaxed about proper behaviour in public. And overall, things seem to be going pretty well with that - as a woman, I appreciate being able to occasionally get out of the kitchen and mingle with people of both genders in the public sphere. But seriously boys (and I address this to boys because they're the major culprits in the baseball-cap scandal; any girls who make the mistake of wearing one have enough problems of their own without having to deal with my censure) would it kill you to observe even a slight iota of decorum and remove your hats when you go inside? Or at least at the table? I know that these caps are the vessels containing your souls, but please, do a favour for the annoying, whiny girl and show just a little respect. I've been in the kitchen all day cooking your meal, the least you can do is doff your hat before you hoover your food like a pig. 4) Baseball caps that are worn by people other than people playing/watching baseball always indicate that the wearer is some sort of "wannabe." If you're wearing the standard, team-logo, curved-brim cap, you 'wannabe' athletic. But you ain't. Those who can't play, coach; those who can't coach, teach gym; those who can't teach gym wear ball caps and fake an interest in sports. Either that, or they actually are athletes and they want everyone to know this - their egos are so massive that they can only be contained by the supernatural powers of the ball cap. If you're wearing the two-sizes-too-big, G-Unit (or similar label) cap with the flat brim and the sticker still visible on the underside of the bill, you 'wannabe' a G, for some reason. And you might in fact be a 'G', but I'll be darned if you ever become a genuine, Snoop-Dawgie-Dawg, Fiddy-approved Guerilla Unit, you white-boy, class-skippin', poor-freestylin' pothead. Respect your elders and your betters. If you're wearing a semi-flat-brimmed, comically or nostalgically logo'd cap and claim that you're wearing it ironically but actually can't go a day without it, even though you spend hours on your hair, you 'wannabe' a rebel-scene-punk-skater or some approximation thereof. You want girls to notice your flair for the unusual, but you're too busy noticing yourself in the mirror. Just like all of the other guys with the exact same hat. If you're wearing a trucker hat, you 'wannabe' a ...... trucker? American Eagle model? Owner of the next available vehicle from "Ted's New-to-You Trailer Lot"? I don't know what you want to be... but good luck with that...... If you're wearing your cap backwards, you 'wannabe' back in the nineties. And as much as I agree that those truly were the good old days, your cap should have stayed back then, where it was 'fashionable.' And really, even then, only the Carter bros could do it right. "If you Wannabe my lover, you'd better take off that cap...". If you're wearing any other kind of ball cap, keep it to yourself, I don't want to know about it. Better yet, donate to some poor, starving professional ball player who can't afford his own. James Sudul knows, they need it more than you do.
I know that I'm reading too much into this, but to me, the baseball cap signifies so many of society's current wrongs - the ultra-convenience and disposability that come with consumer culture; the lack of respect for the surrounding people and environment; the fact that boys just don't get it (and I don't just mean 'it' as in ball caps. I mean 'it' as in, everything.) To me, a baseball cap says "I just don't care." And that's not an attractive quality in anyone.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
In Addendum...
Four cow stomachs: the rumen, the reticulum, the omasum and the abomasum. I've known this since I was three. Look it up.
Post Number Twelve - I Need to Get a Hobby
So I took a poll today. Turns out that I am officially the third least interesting person in my entire university, ranking only behind the chick who's writing her thesis on the comparative evolutions of the common rock barnacle (v. boringus) and the speckled beach barnacle (x. mindnumbingus) and the first place winner, the boy who collects paint samples of his favourite colour - taupe. And the fact that he would care about such a thing is probably based on some strange psychological condition of his, which would thus make him interesting. So that makes me the second most boring being on campus. Add to this the fact that I completely made up the barnacle girl and taupe boy, the conclusion can be reached that I am severely uninteresting.
I wouldn't necessarily say that I'm dull, because I see dull and uninteresting as being two different things. If I was dull, I wouldn't wear offensively violently-coloured clothing, which I do, and I wouldn't walk around yelling "THIS ISSS LESLIIIEEE" in my creepy-guy-on-Youtube voice or doing my Nicki-on-Video-on-Trial-Britany-Spears-Impression, which I most certainly do (usually, I do it after every meal, when I have a food baby - GIMME GIMME...). But being legally insane doesn't actually make me interesting. To me, someone who's interesting is a person who has an ability, talent or deep knowledge of something that I don't. Basically, if someone's passionate about something, that makes them interesting. So where does that leave me? What do I like? Well, I like lots of things - guitar, clothing, history, movies, whales, pogs (althought that's really more nostalgia than a current interest), pop rocks, most of my friends, Risk, the Old West, yada yada yada. But am I passionate about anything? Meh. Am I talented? Nope. And I haven't been 'smart' since Grade 8. I mean, sure, I can name the four stomachs of a cow, but that's just useless fact, not knowledge (besides, who can't?). What I really want is to be GOOD at something. And not just 'pretty good,' but the kind of good that makes people go "Sheesh! She's GOOD!" But I kind of already feel that it's too late. Now is the time that I want to be able to show off. I mean, sure, I could sit and practise guitar every day until I'm fifty and become utterly fantastic, but, in the immortal words of the girl who turns into a blueberry in the Gene Wilder version of Willie Wonka, "I want it NOOOW!". I want to be able to impress people with the dazzling abilities that I don't have. But it doesn't matter anyway, because everyone knows that you can't force yourself to be passionate about something. You can like some things more than other things, but when you're passionate, I suspect that you're not in the dark about it. You just know. It's all you can think about. And of course, I'm assuming all of this, because I'm passionate about nada.
I enjoy a lot of things, but I have yet to come across anything that I like enough that it's always on my mind. And that I'm darn good at. I'm not going to lie, I've developed an unlikely and fairly impressive hula-hoop ability, but that's a party trick, not a passion. And besides, there's not really enough room to hula-hoop in rez rooms anyway. I mean, heck, even Science Wing Kids have their uncanny Dungeons and Dragons/Manga-drawing skills. And while these skills may not impress the general population, they at least impress other SWKs, which is better than I'm doing.
The other problem is that I'm a phony. I've never had to spell phony before and it looks kind of weird and possibly incorrect. Nevertheless, it's true. I mean, does anyone really know who they are, internal window to the soul, blah, blah, we get it, everyone feels that, now move on. But I feel like I've lived a sheltered-ish sort of life. Which has definitely had a positive effect on my health and psychological well-being. But *DEEP ALERT! DEEP ALERT!* I feel like I'm not real. And in this case, I mean italics-real, not lost-in-the-cosmos real. It just seems to me that if I ever do find that I'm interested in something, what is my first reaction? Woogle. That right there was a fusion of Wiki and Google. So I insta-Woogle anything that I'm interested in. And I kind of feel like that's cheating. Take, for example, the blues. That there is my fave genre of music. I want to know more about its history. What do I do? Woogle. But isn't that a contradiction, because the blues at its core is about the oral tradition, passing stories, lessons and information from one generation to the next through song. I doubt that I just expressed my feelings very well, but to me, using the modern to learn about the timeless makes me feel like a fraud. That was beautiful and emo.
So, long story short, I'm an uninteresting, untalented, unintelligent, woogling phony. I'll be sure to let you know if this changes.
Wow. I am so sorry that this is so long. If you made it to the end, you officially win the game (yeah, I have the power to do that. No big.).
I wouldn't necessarily say that I'm dull, because I see dull and uninteresting as being two different things. If I was dull, I wouldn't wear offensively violently-coloured clothing, which I do, and I wouldn't walk around yelling "THIS ISSS LESLIIIEEE" in my creepy-guy-on-Youtube voice or doing my Nicki-on-Video-on-Trial-Britany-Spears-Impression, which I most certainly do (usually, I do it after every meal, when I have a food baby - GIMME GIMME...). But being legally insane doesn't actually make me interesting. To me, someone who's interesting is a person who has an ability, talent or deep knowledge of something that I don't. Basically, if someone's passionate about something, that makes them interesting. So where does that leave me? What do I like? Well, I like lots of things - guitar, clothing, history, movies, whales, pogs (althought that's really more nostalgia than a current interest), pop rocks, most of my friends, Risk, the Old West, yada yada yada. But am I passionate about anything? Meh. Am I talented? Nope. And I haven't been 'smart' since Grade 8. I mean, sure, I can name the four stomachs of a cow, but that's just useless fact, not knowledge (besides, who can't?). What I really want is to be GOOD at something. And not just 'pretty good,' but the kind of good that makes people go "Sheesh! She's GOOD!" But I kind of already feel that it's too late. Now is the time that I want to be able to show off. I mean, sure, I could sit and practise guitar every day until I'm fifty and become utterly fantastic, but, in the immortal words of the girl who turns into a blueberry in the Gene Wilder version of Willie Wonka, "I want it NOOOW!". I want to be able to impress people with the dazzling abilities that I don't have. But it doesn't matter anyway, because everyone knows that you can't force yourself to be passionate about something. You can like some things more than other things, but when you're passionate, I suspect that you're not in the dark about it. You just know. It's all you can think about. And of course, I'm assuming all of this, because I'm passionate about nada.
I enjoy a lot of things, but I have yet to come across anything that I like enough that it's always on my mind. And that I'm darn good at. I'm not going to lie, I've developed an unlikely and fairly impressive hula-hoop ability, but that's a party trick, not a passion. And besides, there's not really enough room to hula-hoop in rez rooms anyway. I mean, heck, even Science Wing Kids have their uncanny Dungeons and Dragons/Manga-drawing skills. And while these skills may not impress the general population, they at least impress other SWKs, which is better than I'm doing.
The other problem is that I'm a phony. I've never had to spell phony before and it looks kind of weird and possibly incorrect. Nevertheless, it's true. I mean, does anyone really know who they are, internal window to the soul, blah, blah, we get it, everyone feels that, now move on. But I feel like I've lived a sheltered-ish sort of life. Which has definitely had a positive effect on my health and psychological well-being. But *DEEP ALERT! DEEP ALERT!* I feel like I'm not real. And in this case, I mean italics-real, not lost-in-the-cosmos real. It just seems to me that if I ever do find that I'm interested in something, what is my first reaction? Woogle. That right there was a fusion of Wiki and Google. So I insta-Woogle anything that I'm interested in. And I kind of feel like that's cheating. Take, for example, the blues. That there is my fave genre of music. I want to know more about its history. What do I do? Woogle. But isn't that a contradiction, because the blues at its core is about the oral tradition, passing stories, lessons and information from one generation to the next through song. I doubt that I just expressed my feelings very well, but to me, using the modern to learn about the timeless makes me feel like a fraud. That was beautiful and emo.
So, long story short, I'm an uninteresting, untalented, unintelligent, woogling phony. I'll be sure to let you know if this changes.
Wow. I am so sorry that this is so long. If you made it to the end, you officially win the game (yeah, I have the power to do that. No big.).
Monday, January 19, 2009
Post Number Eleven - I Opened a Can of Bitter-B-Gone...And it Was Tasty
So I'm sure at least five of my posts contain expressions of my bitterness towards a variety of people/places/situations/nouns. Well, good news world - I am bitter no more! Despite the amount of bitterness scattered throughout my blog, I've never really thought of myself as a particularly bitter person. I know bitter people. I love them. They're very funny. Not intentionally, of course, but I often find that quirky, unintentional humour is far more surprisingly entertaining than the Cracker Jack variety. Whatever the heck that means. However, [the] reader[s] of this blog may see me as being particularly bitter because this blog is my medium for the demonstration of any of my emotions apart from happiness. And the reason for that is because I want this blog to be funny. Happiness is fantastic, but it's not funny.
Anyway, back to the actual point of this post (Woah, there's actually a point! [well, only kind of]). Yes, I am officially bitterness-free (by the end of this post, the frequently-used word 'bitter' and all of its affiliates will no longer have any meaning). I am now a free woman. I have seriously gone through an internal revolution and am seeing the world in a new light. This is a new beginning for me. I feel like Hilary Duff after she shed her Lizzie Maguire cocoon and completed her 'Metamorphosis' into a quasi-respectable artist in her own right. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss the revelation that instigated the elimination of my bitterness. Let's just leave it at I know for certain that some people are good at the core and some are just not, and I've been given information that allows me to distinguish between the two. This may seem like a thing that a bitter person would take pleasure in, but it's actually very liberating. I feel like I can finally go back to being myself - whoever that is (Bob Dylan reference!). And actually I think this is even the perfect opportunity to do a little personal overhaul. My plan of action is to just be better, in any way that I can (except maybe at writing essays - I'm apathetic towards improving myself in that regard. I don't think that mediocrity in essay-writing should be a fatal flaw. [That's probz why my GPA is a solid pretty darn low.]). Long story short, "what a glorious feelin', I'm happy again!"
Okay, so this post wasn't particularly funny. I apologize sincerely. (Right now I'm working under the [probably flawed] assumption that at least one or more of my previous posts were mildly to moderately funny). I'm hoping to get back on the humourous, whining about my life track very shortly. I'm very sorry if this post had any trace of an uplifting message. I know it's awful when other people have an epiphany that leads to happiness and you don't. Please don't be bitter about it.
Betty Botter had some butter, "But," she said, "this butter's bitter. If I bake this bitter butter, it would make my batter bitter.
Anyway, back to the actual point of this post (Woah, there's actually a point! [well, only kind of]). Yes, I am officially bitterness-free (by the end of this post, the frequently-used word 'bitter' and all of its affiliates will no longer have any meaning). I am now a free woman. I have seriously gone through an internal revolution and am seeing the world in a new light. This is a new beginning for me. I feel like Hilary Duff after she shed her Lizzie Maguire cocoon and completed her 'Metamorphosis' into a quasi-respectable artist in her own right. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss the revelation that instigated the elimination of my bitterness. Let's just leave it at I know for certain that some people are good at the core and some are just not, and I've been given information that allows me to distinguish between the two. This may seem like a thing that a bitter person would take pleasure in, but it's actually very liberating. I feel like I can finally go back to being myself - whoever that is (Bob Dylan reference!). And actually I think this is even the perfect opportunity to do a little personal overhaul. My plan of action is to just be better, in any way that I can (except maybe at writing essays - I'm apathetic towards improving myself in that regard. I don't think that mediocrity in essay-writing should be a fatal flaw. [That's probz why my GPA is a solid pretty darn low.]). Long story short, "what a glorious feelin', I'm happy again!"
Okay, so this post wasn't particularly funny. I apologize sincerely. (Right now I'm working under the [probably flawed] assumption that at least one or more of my previous posts were mildly to moderately funny). I'm hoping to get back on the humourous, whining about my life track very shortly. I'm very sorry if this post had any trace of an uplifting message. I know it's awful when other people have an epiphany that leads to happiness and you don't. Please don't be bitter about it.
Betty Botter had some butter, "But," she said, "this butter's bitter. If I bake this bitter butter, it would make my batter bitter.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
To Mickie, Love Blog
Dear Mickie,
You are a beautiful, strong, independent and incredibly charming woman. How could I possibly stay mad at you?
I forgive you.
Love,
Blog <3
P.S. The answer is yes.
You are a beautiful, strong, independent and incredibly charming woman. How could I possibly stay mad at you?
I forgive you.
Love,
Blog <3
P.S. The answer is yes.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Post Number Ten - So, How About That Local Sports Team...?
Dear Blog,
I know it's been a long time since I've communicated with you. And believe me, I feel awful about it. I could give you my list of excuses: I was really busy studying for exams; I spent a lot of time at Christmas with my family; nothing exciting enough to blog about happened to me; I got HBO. But these are, like I said, just excuses. The truth is, I've gotten slack in my side of the relationship. Well, that just won't do, Blog. You're better than that and we both know it. Please, Blog, please forgive me! I would despair to think that things have become cold and awkward between us! I couldn't bear to have to go back to simply making small talk with you - you with whom I've shared my deepest feelings, stupidest moments and bitterest (real word?) actions. There are only a handful of real people who know me as well as you do, Blog. And, to tell you the truth, my relationship with you has lasted longer than any relationship that I've had with a real guy. But you knew that already, didn't you? Blog, rest assured that I intend to devote more time to you in the weeks and months ahead! I won't lie to you, there may be lapses in the time that I spend with you, but I promise, I'll work on it! Blog, you mean so much to me, and I hope that you feel the same. After all, no one real has the patience to listen to me, and it's highly unlikely that anyone actually reads you. We're all that each other has! And Blog, did you really think that I would leave you hanging like that? That I would just quit you cold turkey? Never! I have more class than that! If I was going to leave you, I would show you the respect you deserve by telling you the truth, face to monitor! I would never, ever, tell you over msn, just like I wouldn't trick you into starting a relationship with me!! (Whoa, did I just go there? Yes I did.) Because I do respect you, Blog, and I am not a coward! To conclude, Blog, I would once again like to beg your forgiveness and to reaffirm my committment to you. Blog, I have a serious question that I would like to ask you: Will you go steady with me?
I know it's been a long time since I've communicated with you. And believe me, I feel awful about it. I could give you my list of excuses: I was really busy studying for exams; I spent a lot of time at Christmas with my family; nothing exciting enough to blog about happened to me; I got HBO. But these are, like I said, just excuses. The truth is, I've gotten slack in my side of the relationship. Well, that just won't do, Blog. You're better than that and we both know it. Please, Blog, please forgive me! I would despair to think that things have become cold and awkward between us! I couldn't bear to have to go back to simply making small talk with you - you with whom I've shared my deepest feelings, stupidest moments and bitterest (real word?) actions. There are only a handful of real people who know me as well as you do, Blog. And, to tell you the truth, my relationship with you has lasted longer than any relationship that I've had with a real guy. But you knew that already, didn't you? Blog, rest assured that I intend to devote more time to you in the weeks and months ahead! I won't lie to you, there may be lapses in the time that I spend with you, but I promise, I'll work on it! Blog, you mean so much to me, and I hope that you feel the same. After all, no one real has the patience to listen to me, and it's highly unlikely that anyone actually reads you. We're all that each other has! And Blog, did you really think that I would leave you hanging like that? That I would just quit you cold turkey? Never! I have more class than that! If I was going to leave you, I would show you the respect you deserve by telling you the truth, face to monitor! I would never, ever, tell you over msn, just like I wouldn't trick you into starting a relationship with me!! (Whoa, did I just go there? Yes I did.) Because I do respect you, Blog, and I am not a coward! To conclude, Blog, I would once again like to beg your forgiveness and to reaffirm my committment to you. Blog, I have a serious question that I would like to ask you: Will you go steady with me?
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