Thursday, 31 August 2006

Mom? You May Want to Skip This One

I once polled my single male friends to ask them if they could tell when a woman they were with was having an orgasm. I mean, could they REALLY tell. And if so, how? While the resounding initial answer was "Of course! Duh! I am a manly man!", after a few beers, most of my guy friends admitted that actually they weren't really quite sure exactly all the time kind of.

You see, this is tricky stuff. We women are told time and time again Do. Not. Fake. Orgasm. Just don't. And I agree. And we're told to talk about sex, but don't talk about sex. Cosmo tells us to go wild and crazy. But some of us aren't built wild and crazy. Some women are shy in bed, some women are very bold. We're all different. Mentally, physically, emotionally, sexually. One thing we do have in common? All us womenfolks? We like orgasms. But? It's tricky. Morals and upbringing and religion and mental blocks's not always easy for a man and woman to be in bed and manage to get the woman off as much as she'd like. Or, sometimes, at all.

Any man who watches a lot of porn (guys in your early twenties, are you listening?) has a possibly unrealistic expectation of what their girlfriend is going to be like in bed. Rapturous moaning, wild flailing, shouting of "baby baby, yes baby" and screaming at the appropriate time. (ie. When the male porn star is ready to.. uh... finish) In porn (so I've been told, never having seen the stuff myself, ahem) the women orgasm regularly, suddenly, explosively, loudly, repeatedly, at the same time as the guy, without messing up their hair or makeup because he's THAT GOOD and a real man. Not quite reality. Why?

Well, some women aren't loud. They don't narrate or give play-by plays. Some women don't achieve orgasm through [fill in blank] or [fill in blank again] alone. Some women can't orgasm. Most women need more than a porn star performance. And? For most women there are emotions and feelings and thoughts involved because it's not a job. And it's not being recorded for profit. ( I know, sometimes it is, but come on, I can't get in to all the possible exceptions to the rules people!)

So it's tricky. At what point does a woman sit a guy down and have a talk about what's missing... or what's not happening? There's ego involved. A lot of it in some cases. And often, it's not that sex is bad or that it always has to end in a round of orgasms for all, but.. maybe it'd be nice. So? How do you tell him, and when? Early in the relationship perhaps? But what if you two just haven't had the time to get to know each other's ins and outs so to speak ( Heh, nice pun, I rock!) Once the relationship's been established a while? But then you're setting yourself up for stress and stress in bed is never good.

Some women will fake an orgasm instead of dealing with the whole "honey, I don't mean to crush your little macho man self image or anything but..." talk. From the hilarious, wine-filled conversations I can remember, I know that many of my girlfriends have faked an orgasm. Usually to get an inexperienced lover off of them so they can get some sleep already.

It's certainly not easy. Any of it. But I know which of my boyfriends could tell. I also know which of them couldn't tell and didn't seem to care anyway.

I also know that the one time I decided it was worth it to sit a particular ex down and gently discuss the whole "you can't really tell can you?" issue? It was tricky.

I got a hilarious phone call six months after he broke things off with me:

Him: "Hi, it's me." (He's very, very drunk. It's very very late. I haven't heard from him in months)Him: "I was just wondering. Is the reason I could never make you orgasm because you're a lesbian?"

Me: (Pause while brain processes what was just said) "Um... no?"

Him: "Oh." (Long Pause)
Him: "Could I get a blowjob?"

Me: "Um....No!"

Him: "Uh. Ok. Bye." (Click)

Me: (Takes phone off hook. Shakes head at ex. Goes back to sleep.)


I guess for some guys, thinking that your girlfriend isn't into guys is easier on the ego than believing that you're not quite the stud you always imagined yourself to be. *shrug*

DISCLAIMER: To my family? I've never had sex as am still saving myself for marriage. This is all rumour and hearsay and.... and... look over there! (Runs away while they're distracted)

Tuesday, 29 August 2006


You'll never guess who I met today! I met God's Gift To Women!!!!!

Hang on.. sorry. I totally got the story wrong.

I met a guy who *thought* he was God's gift to women.

Completely different.

But amusing.

Some of the Outrageously Bad Breakup Lines I've Been Handed

I need to focus on my rugby.

Do you think your Mom and Dad will let you move back home?

I know she was in bed with me all night, but we were just talking, I swear!

I got what I needed from you already.

I'm moving back to Ontario. Tomorrow.

I want to move out of our place and into a basement suite with my buddy so he and I can smoke. Are you coming or...?

I've just suddenly realized that I don't want to be tied down to one person.

I should probably tell you. I kind of have a girlfriend.

And my personal favourite:
A sudden lack of communication. (a.k.a. Maybe if I don't call her she'll just figure it out.)

Monday, 28 August 2006

With Thanks to Tanqueray

Sometimes I wonder how many relationships would never start if alcohol was not involved. How many people wouldn't get the guts up to flirt or ask for a number or relax on a date if there was no glass of wine or gin and tonic? Did that sentence even make sense? What's with all the double negatives?

Maybe it's because I tend to be shy at first. Maybe it's different for naturally gregarious folks. And it's not that I don't enjoy the company of others, it's just that when you're with someone who's made a point of taking you out to get to know you . . . well, that can feel like a lot of pressure. And if you add to that my turn-into-a-dork / over-think-everything tendencies around guys? I can count on one hand the number of first dates I've had that never became second dates... All were alcohol free. I'm not 100% sure why. But I have my suspicions.

This might not have boded well for me a few years ago when being in a relationship really mattered. Now, though, I'm more likely to be able to meet and talk with a guy without feeling like it's going to be the end of the world if he doesn't ask me out again. I don't need a drink anymore. My sponsor told me so.*

*I'm kidding! **


Disclaimer: Please drink responsibly. Don't drink and drive. Underage drinking is way not cool. Don't sleep with someone you don't know when you've been drinking. And, in no way am I suggesting that you should drink before or during dates just because you're shy. Drinking is the devil's work and very bad for you. (There now, have I covered my ass legally or what?)

Sunday, 27 August 2006

Olly Olly Oxen Free!

Also known as "Home free!" Which I am.

Some of the more astute readers may have noticed that I managed to get a few comments up and responded to while I was away. I did not perform any miracles, the keyboard came back. Just like the cat. (Which meowed at my door when I locked him out. That cat and I have a polite dislike of each other. He begs me to pet him... then he bites me when I do. I don't like him. I put up with him because my friend really seems to like him. And is keeping him. It's a good thing she has a dog I adore.)

I also got a phone call just before I left on Friday informing me that I was being transferred to a new branch of our office and my panicked whimpering at my friends for "AccesstomyworkemailaccountpleasepleaseIneedtheinternet" actually turned into a "Hurray!Ihavecomments!" moment (Or four! You people rock!)

So, I'm back. Had a lovely time. Managed to not panic about work for several hours at a time. Yay me. And no, this is not going to turn into a work blog. For many many reasons.* But, my posts could become less frequent as I find all sorts of ways to stress out about change and new things and change. And.. did I mention not liking change? Or new things? Yeah.

So.... hi. I'm back. Let's distract me by thinking up stories I can tell about boys.. and men... and cute guys.. and stuff. Okay? Okay!

Oh, and by the way. I'm totally relying on you people to let me know if my links are ever broken. Cuz I'm not as web savvy as I might like to think I am. So tell me if they don't work kay? Just like I'd expect you to tell me if I had lettuce stuck between my teeth. Or Oreos. Those things get all over your teeth and good eh?

*Another reason is that me blogging about my work would be terrifically boring. Unless we get that cute temp to cover for me while I'm moving or something. Let's all cross our fingers for cute temps. Ooooh, or cute staff at my new location! That'd make it all worthwhile no?

Friday, 25 August 2006

Auto Reply: Away From Laptop

I know I know.. it's a laptop... I can BRING IT WITH ME. That's not the point. It's an amusing ode to those emails you get when someone's away at work. I know you know what I'm talking about. It always kind of gives you a shock because so-and-so emails you back instantly so you open the email right away because it must be an important answer and then you get the whole Auto Reply: I am away from the office. I will respond once I return from doing the thing I am doing. You know exactly what I mean. Right?

Anyhow. I'm heading off for a few days to visit a pregnant friend who does not live on the same land mass as I do. I'd take my computer but they don't have wireless and I don't know how to plug this thing in to whatever it is they have over there.

So you'll all just have to play nice, read my archives, go check out my linkies and leave me lots of comments. ( Which won't get posted because I can't even access the internet over there to approve your awesome comments because my friend just informed me that her father in law's girlfriend has borrowed their keyboard so they can't use their home computer at all. Bwa?)

So, think of me. Far from home. Stuck in a house with a large bellied, possibly hormonal lady and No. Computer. Access. At. All!

I may feel caged in. Trapped.

I may, in fact, feel like a dog stuck in a bag.

(Hey, this could totally turn into a Seinfeld episode! " Dog? In a bag? Dog in a bag? Well, no soup for you!")

Thursday, 24 August 2006

You Know Who You Are

That's three times now, my dear. And I'm sorry that my brain wasn't fast enough. I probably should have stopped and said something witty like "You're following me aren't you?" (Wait..that's not witty) ... said something witty like "You should really just give up and ask me for a date you know." ( Actually, that's not really witty either. Let me just leave it at: ) I probably should have stopped and said something.

I would have, but I was too busy processing the fact that there was that cute guy I'd run into downtown twice yesterday and here he is again in London Drugs. And wait.. is he wearing the same thing as yesterday? Do I care? Can I still just barely see his tattoos hiding under his shirt? I can. I don't know about dating a guy with visible tats. My Mom would freak. My Dad would freak more. Oh my, he recognizes me, he totally does! Thank goodness I actually wore something hot out to pick up my photos when I'd usually just wear a t-shirt and sweats.* Hmm..he is cute isn't he. He seems nice. Nice smile. I'm so glad there's nothing embarrassing in my basket. I won't even go down aisles that have anything embarrassing in them today. Just in case.

And in the millisecond that all of that ran through my tiny, empty little brain, I'd already flashed you a huge smile and walked on down the aisle. I am SO COOL.

So anyway, hotstuff. Seeing the same cute chick randomly three times in two days? It's a sign. Some sort of sign. Like the "Manager's Special" signs they put out at London Drugs**. Sorry no rainchecks, limited time offer only. Say something next time. And then you could be a firsthand witness to the babbling craziness that is me. You lucky lucky guy you.

*the only reason I wasn't in sweats on the 5 minute run to the store and back is that I'm cleaning out my closet and trying to get rid of things I haven't worn in years. I stopped for a break wearing a cute shirt that I usually save for dates. Save yourself the trouble... I'm shaking my head at myself already.

**London Drugs is like Boots for you British folks. Or like.. uh... ( I actually don't know any US stores that are like London Drugs in the States...anyone? ) for you American folks.

I Wonder

Last night I had a great, long dream about running. Not running away from bad guys, ( I used to get chased a lot by Tintin's Thompson twins. Wearing yellow rainslickers. It was terrifying. They always had a motor boat. I could never get away.) but just running.

Running around and around this track. Some sort of massively long track that was the length of a marathon but inside a highschool or college or something? Maybe it was in Texas. It was really big. I dunno. I had to do lots of laps. I only got two done before I woke up. (Damn alarm.) My coach was thrilled with how well I was doing because it was a training session but I was winning and therefore doing great honour to my Country. Like when Team Canada played Team Russia during the Cold War or something. I was good. The running was awesome.

My dream running felt like flying or soaring; effortless and easy. It was perfect-temperature-breeze-blowing-my-hair, light-on-my-feet kind of running. Now, I'm not a runner ( I walk on the treadmills people. Walk!) but if I could run as easily as I did last night? I don't think I'd bother doing anything else. Not even work. Or eating. Definitely not sleeping. I'd just run. It was that good. I didn't want to wake up. (I should call up the runners I've dated and ask them if it feels like this when you're good at it. Or maybe I should just avoid calling my exes. Yes, that's a better idea.)

Except, today? I'm tired. Totally exhausted. It's like I didn't sleep at all last night. So I'm wondering...

Maybe all that running tired me out. Like, my body was so busy running it forgot to sleep.

What? Maybe it did! Seriously.

It could happen.

A Conversation I Wish I'd Never Had to Have

A year or three ago I was staying over at a boyfriend's place and was brushing my teeth when he came into the bathroom. This was a not entirely uncommon occurrence as we often would brush our teeth together before bed. ( A la Mad About You)

"What are you doing?" I asked, toothbrush halted mid-brush.
"Going to the bathroom." He replied.
"But you're sitting down." I pointed out, helpfully waving my toothbrush in his general direction.
"Yep. Just like I said," he chortled, "I'm going to the bathroom."
"But...(horrified silence as he picked up a magazine) But, I'm in here! I'm brushing my teeth!" I spluttered.
"Ahhhhh, the romance is dead." He said, grinning at me.
"Gah! ACK! Teeth! Germs! Poison! Death! GROSS!!!! (And other assorted garblings)" I squealed as I ran out.

The romance did indeed die that night.

It wasn't entirely his fault, he was a good guy. He just wasn't aware that I grew up a delicate flower with the understanding that pooping is a private thing and one does not discuss, nevermind allow someone else to witness, one's ... pooping-ness or state of poop-osity.

Because while I'll admit toilet humour can be mildly amusing at times? Being the butt of toilet humour*? Not so much.

*Heh heh. I said butt!

Tuesday, 22 August 2006

It's Three, Three, Three Posts in One!*

Just in case any of you thought I was hallucinating with the "Oh my gosh there are so many University aged people back in town all of a sudden" spiel... I wasn't. There are. How do I know? They were all at the gym this evening. Well, I guess not ALL of them, but still. A massive influx of eye candy (Er, I mean... nice looking fellows.) Shall have to endure (nay, enjoy!) it while it lasts since they'll all be gone come mid-terms. (Seriously, there were noticeably more young people at the gym today. It was kind of bizarre. Especially since yesterday it was practically all seniors.)

Anyhow. Allow me to proceed.

To the guy in the red shorts: I wasn't actually staring at you. I was trying to figure out what the tattoo was all over your left arm. Sorry.

To the guy on the treadmill: I'm sorry I didn't hang around and talk more when you asked for my help. I probably should have asked if you were new in town or something and blah blah blah what's that? You want my number? So I'm sorry I didn't pick up on your cues there buddy. It's partly that I'm kind of dumb that way and only realized once I got home that you probably didn't really need help starting the treadmill (seeing as it instructs you as to what to do each time you touch a button.) But it's also that I was on Treadmill #4. Which means you were on Treadmill #5. It was mocking me. Had I stayed and chatted with you, that machine would have sabotaged things and you would have ended up with severe injuries of some sort. So I abandoned you. I'm sorry. It was for your own safety really. I hope you're ok. Plus? I'm clueless.

To the Australian guy with the cute girlfriend: Come on buddy. You deserve better. I mean, she didn't even put down her gossip magazine when you wanted to show her the Time article you'd just finished reading. I'd have at least put my gossip magazine aside to read your article. Don't sell yourself short Aussie dude. You have an accent. This is big. Many of us Canadian women will fall all over you and your accent. Use your power wisely my friend.

To the cute guy with the nice smile who asked if I needed him to get out of the way when I was mid-way through a circuit: You can get out of my way any time baby. (Wait.. that doesn' t sound right.)

* I have no idea where this title came from. Sometimes I get a bit giddy after the gym. It's the endorphins, I imagine. Let's just pretend it never happened.

Post #33: In Which I Remember That This is a College Town

There are young people everywhere all of a sudden. The older I get, the younger they seem.

They are out in quiet couples, arms wrapped around each other. They are out in loud crowds, populating the pubs and streets late into the evening.

The nighttime driving is more erratic... or maybe drunken.

I was visiting some friends near the University the other night. Around 9:30pm, there was an explosion of laughter outside and a sudden knock on the door. A glance out the window showed 10 or 15 young guys running around in their boxers, running up driveways, knocking on doors, and running away. As pranks go, knocking on doors and running away is pretty harmless. Doing it in your underwear, however? Well, that puts it somewhere between brave and amusing.

The young dudes came by again about 15 minutes later. The streakers ( are you streaking if you still have some clothes on? ) were having a good, if somewhat loud and drunken time. It reminded me of how much fun my first year at UVic was.

I left to head home around 10 and was just getting into my car when two of the young guys approached me. I was bracing myself for a drunken come on and was surprised when they politely asked me if I'd seen anyone pick anything up.

It turns out they had left their clothes ( and one of them, his brand new shoes and wallet ) on the curb and someone had taken them. Which is a bummer. I asked them if they were going to report their clothing stolen but they were too distracted by the fact that it was "so lame that someone had taken their hoodies" to hear me. Besides, what would you say to the police... "Someone stole the clothes I left on the road when I was running half-naked through this neighbourhood knocking on doors." ?

It really was too bad that someone put a damper on their evening. However, it's also kind of funny. It was tempting to drive around the block to see how many of them were going to have to walk home pants-less.

I hope they get their stuff back. I'd hate for karma to deal with them so harshly.

Besides, it'll make a way better story if it ends happily.

"Dude.. this one time? In first year....? "

Sunday, 20 August 2006

Because I Forgot That Most Things Around Here Close Early on Sundays

Sometimes I put off making a decision until it's too late and the decision is forced on me. Often this results in a feeling of relief, as in, "Whew, I don't have to do X because it's too late now and I didn't really want to in the first place."

This evening, however, it resulted in more of an "Oops, I'm an idiot" kind of feeling. *Smacks self on forehead*

(tells self to just pat forehead gently next time as that hurt and we don't really need to be cruel)

To Y'all

A local radio station here, the Q, claims to have seven (maybe nine) listeners.

In that spirit, I would like to say a hello to my three readers!
HI! You guys rock! ; )

p.s. This is a way funnier joke if you actually live here and listen to the Q. Trust me.

Saturday, 19 August 2006

Tell Me This

What happens when two shy people meet each other and like each other?

Why is it easier to say "I had fun, I'll call you" rather than "Thanks, see you around" if you already know you're not going to call?

Why do people cheat ? Or, maybe the question is... why do people ignore that feeling of "I know what could happen here...I need to stop."?

Why can't every attraction be reciprocated?

What do you do when your gut is telling you to run, but your heart is convinced you should stay?

Should you get into a relationship you know isn't going to work in the long term?

Is there one soul mate for every person? Just one?

What if you never find that someone?

What if you spend your life wondering if the one you have isn't the one you want?

Who pays for whom on a double date?

How early in a relationship is it ok to start celebrating anniversaries?

Why does it seem no one in Hollywood stays married anymore?

Would I be brave enough to actually approach any of the people on my "Five Famous People I'm Allowed to Sleep With" list and ask them to help me cross them off my list?

What if I wanted to sleep with the character in a movie and not the actor? Would it be rude to ask said famous person to be someone else in bed? (Am I the only one who's wondered this?)

Are homophobes scared of themselves when they masturbate?

Friday, 18 August 2006

The Morning After

There's nothing worse than waking up in the morning and discovering that not only are you not alone in your bed, but that you don't remember inviting anyone to join you the night before.

Oh, except maybe it's worse when you wake up in the morning, throw the covers off, and discover that there's a live moth in your bed.

Because once your brain processes that? Ewwww! Ewwwwwww! There'samothgetitoffgetitoff!

I don't even want to know how long it was there or where it might have crawled.

And I bet he won't even call. The bastard.

I need a shower.

Thursday, 17 August 2006

That Was a Really Weird Drive Home


Two young guys were standing at the corner of Fairfield and Moss (which, while not in the middle of nowhere, really isn't anywhere at all.) They were both in dress shoes, suit pants, a white shirt and tie. As I was waiting for the light to change, they turned and walked down separate streets, perfect 90 degree angles from each other. Their determined walks seemed to suggest that they were upset with each other, or with whatever it was that had landed them in that situation. There was no one else around, no concert I could see, no dates walking away in fancy dresses. I really wanted to pull over and ask one of them where they were coming from, where they were going, and what was going on.

I kept on driving.

An older guy was standing in front of an empty floral display. Next to him was a skinny, black doberman. The man was wearing gloves. The kind of gloves that police officers and bouncers wear so that they don't get blood on them when they're dealing with "difficult" people. It wasn't cold enough for gloves.

I kept on driving.

In a dimly lit street, I saw a skateboarder coming at me, in the wrong direction, on the road. He held his hand up in a weird sort of wave when I turned my highbeams on so I could avoid running him over. He seemed annoyed that I had noticed him.

I kept on driving.

There were three very expensive new cars parked outside an Elementary school, each with a shiny "N" plate hanging in the window. There was no one around and no houses near. I wanted to know where the party was. But I kept on driving.

There was a man on a bike, pulling his belongings along behind him on a trailer and a big white truck with moving blue and pink LED lights on the back panel. Parked. Stationary. Glowing. Someone with no money passing the excesses of someone with too much.

There was a weird feeling the whole way home tonight. I can't quite explain it. I somehow got the feeling that it wasn't quite safe or sane out there. So I just kept on driving.

Yet Another Reason I Love My Family

In a desperate attempt to convince my brother that Benji, the winner of this season's So You Think You Can Dance, (dance. . . dance. . . dance!) is not gay, my mother made the following statement:

"You just think he's gay because he can do that hip twisty thing, and you can't!"

I think the ensuing laughter somewhat lessened the impact of her point.

But, really, he's SO not gay.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

To the Seriously Hot Guy at the Gym (No...Really Ladies, He Was THAT Hot!)

Ok, so listen... we're going to have to work something out here. You can't go to the gym at the same time as me ever again ok?

What's that? You want to know why?

Um... well, I'm hoping you didn't notice, but as I was *casually* (yeah right) walking from one part of the gym to another, passing near you for no particular reason, I kind of tripped. And tried to pretend I hadn't. And I blushed. And felt really stupid.

See, despite what my loyal readers might think, I don't go to the gym to meet guys, I really don't. REALLY. (no, really... seriously) So it's distracting to me when there's a hot guy like you there. It throws me off my game. I end up embarrassing myself.

So, seriously hot guy? Find some other times to go ok? Not while I'm there. I need to maintain focus. And not trip.



ps. Oh, and I should probably tell you...I took quite a few delicious photos of you!

pps. *Austin Powers voice* With my mind, baby! *end voice*

ppps. Um...because you're totally not allowed cameras in the gym. That'd be like, really creepy.

Wednesday, 16 August 2006

Teenage Boys Aren't Nice

I remember one day in highschool, grade 10 or 11, running across these two guys in the breezeway. They were both popular guys and I had a huge crush on one of them and an only slightly lesser crush on the other.

The guys call me over and tell me they have something to ask me. I stand there (trying desperately to look as if I didn't care that these two cute, popular boys were talking to me...ME ! in front of everyone) and they ask me if I shave my legs.

I was embarrassed by the question but didn't want to show it so I shrugged and said yeah, shaking my head in that way that teenagers do when you've asked them a stupid question.

Now, I was already nervous and uncomfortable at this point but, I really wanted to impress the guy I liked. I was pretty sure he was going to ask me out in the near future and figured that this was his way of flirting.

My crush asks me again if I shave... I nod. His buddy asks me if I shave all the way or if I stop at my knees. I was confused by the question, but thought that if they were asking, it must not be cool to stop at the knees, so I shake my head.

"So you shave everything?" my crush asks me, a grin spreading across his face. I shrug, (thinking he must mean underarms as well) flustered, and nod, embarrassed to be talking about shaving at all.

They look at each other and start laughing, high fiving each other. It's not a friendly laugh and I realize immediately that I've said something wrong. I just don't know what it is.

I shrug and smile, pretending I'm in on the joke too, and I walk away.

At some point it hits me... they were asking me if I shaved everything. And I had somehow told them that yes, I was the kind of girl who shaved...everything.

It may not seem like much now, but at the time, I was completely humiliated.

I don't know if they meant to be mean. I like to think they didn't, but I know some teenagers don't mind getting a laugh at someone else's expense.

It's the same with some adults.

Just not any I'd date.

Make Us Laugh

(Asian Backstreet Boys) 

Guys, not taking yourself too seriously is a good thing. We ladies really like to laugh.

Now, I'm not saying you have to go as far as these guys... just remember to have fun.

Tuesday, 15 August 2006

To My Ironing

I was just wondering if maybe sometime you might manage to straighten yourself on your own? If sometime I put you in a nice neat pile for a few days, could I come back and find you wrinkle free?

Just so You Know

Yes, there are women...girls...chicks...ladies... grown up females who, upon meeting a potentially dateable man, will check to see how their first name goes with his last name. I, by the way, am totally one of those women. That's right.. I'm a name checker!

The thought process is just like it was in highschool:

Hmmm... Victoria Pitt? ...maybe... Victoria McConaughey ? ...nah, too many syllables... Victoria Plant? Yes! That'll work! I can now officially marry Robert Plant.

I just don't think his wife knows.

Monday, 14 August 2006

To the Very Attractive Guy Unloading Some Big Bag Outside the Y

Did you not see me staring at you from my friend's car with my mouth hanging open because I had stopped talking mid-sentence upon seeing your hotness?
Yeah, that was your cue to drop the bag you were shouldering (you strong manly man you) run over to the vehicle (I would totally have told my friend to stop driving) and get me to roll down the window so you could ask for my number and date me, hence falling madly in love with me and living happily ever after with me and my run on sentences.
So be faster next time! These opportunities pass us by so quickly.

To the Incredibly Loud Bang That Just Woke Me Up From a Nap I Didn't Need to be Having Anyway


No.. seriously... is someone blasting or something? Did half my building just fall down?

OK heartrate.. let's get back down to a normal rate now.


To the Guy I Met for Coffee

Dear Coffee Guy,

I'm sorry that five minutes in to our "not a date" we ran into my ex. That didn't leave me in the openest of mindsets. I maybe should have called it an afternoon right then and headed home.

Or maybe I should have headed home when you started talking about porn.

Running into that particular ex + you telling me about your favourite kind of porn? = Not. Good. Date. Karma.

So, C.G., thank you for my caffeinated beverage (I don't drink coffee, which makes it awkward when someone asks me if I'd like to "go for coffee") and please lose my number.

To Any Single Males Reading:

When a girl you don't know very well goes all quiet after running into an ex-boyfriend of hers? It's probably a good idea not to start discussing the intricacies of less than delicate things you have run into on the interwebs. Also? If you really like her? Maybe suggest you call it an early night and continue some other time.

Oh, and? Let's change the phrase from "Do you want to grab coffee sometime?" to "Do you want to grab coffee or something sometime?" Because a) some of us don't like coffee, and b) coffee breath is stinky and makes me not want to kiss you.

Thank you.

To the Woman I Can Hear Crying

Sweetheart, he's not worth it.
Trust me, he's not.

Cry all you need, then move on.

Don't let the hurt make you feel less than beautiful, or less than amazing. It just wasn't meant to be.

My brother always says " No relationship works until the one that does. All relationships end until the one that doesn't ".

Please don't hurt for long.

I'm sorry you're sad, I understand, and I'm thinking of you...

Sunday, 13 August 2006

To the Guy Outside Darcy's a Few Weeks Back

Hey buddy,

My friend thought you were really cute. Reaaaaaaaalllly cute.

So cute, she was working on another drink to get the courage up to talk to you. She was saying that she'd totally sleep with you.

And then?

You pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one up, and started smoking.

And that was it. Over. Done. She no longer wanted to meet you or date you or sleep with you.

See, the thing is, the intelligent, gorgeous, awesome, single women I know? They wouldn't date a smoker.

Neither would I.

So, buddy... quit smoking.

You'll get more chicks.

Take my Advice on This One

Cheerios need to be eaten with a big spoon.

Most excellent photo borrowed from a flickr user under creative commons license : )

Saturday, 12 August 2006

This is a Test

I don't tend to read blogs that don't have photos. I didn't think I'd ever have my own site ... blog ... thingy ... so I never thought about what I'd do or how I'd do it.

None of my entries so far have had photos. Something about having my own images rattling around the internet makes me uncomfortable and I have a lot of photos I wouldn't post. So this is a test. I'm posting a photo. I'll leave it up for a while... or maybe not. Let's see how it feels.

Ahhhhh, Young love on the beach.

Maybe if I like it I'll back-post and add photos... or something.

Or not.

To the Elastic Around the Left Ankle of my Favourite Sweatpants

Where did you go? And why? Why have you left my pant leg all floppy and long?

To M. Night Shyamalan

Dear Sir,
I am watching your movie (no, not that one, the other one, no, not that one.. yes, that's the one!) in broad daylight. On purpose.

Sunny daylight.

And I'm still getting freaked out!

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! Things are trying to get me through my big bright window!

You're good. Gooooooood.

Yours sincerely,
A frightened fan.

To the Really Large Spider on the Ceiling of the Hallway I Have to Walk Past to Get to the Laundry Room

Please, please stay where you are.

You see, if you move at all, I have to start wondering where you have moved to and that will make my skin feel all crawly and I will start jumping at large piles of dust that kind of look like spiders.

If you would be kind enough to just stay in that exact same spot and not move until I have finished my laundry it would greatly relieve my mind and allow me to freak out less.

Thank you.

ps. Even writing this post has made me feel kind of creeped out. Ack!

pps. I'm sorry I laughed at the kid dressed as Spiderman this morning. It just looked funny.

UPDATE:Yay! Thank you!

Friday, 11 August 2006

To That Person I Can't Identify Because They Might Somehow Figure Out I Was Referring to Them and That'd be Embarrassing

Remember when I left you cookies and that note telling you you should come hang out some time?
And remember when you left a note saying yeah for sure we should totally hang out and thanks for the cookies?
And then remember that time I left another note taking you up on your offer and suggested we hang out that very night? Or, soon, if not that night...SOON?
Um.... That was a while ago. And? I'm ahead by a note.
So just so you know, it's ok that you don't want to hang out and chat. Really.. it's cool. I'm over it. But dude, you're totally missing out.


Trust me.

And I'm not talking about the cookies.

Thursday, 10 August 2006

Regarding The Movie I Just Watched

To the artistic people in charge of "The Shape of Things"

1. You really really REALLY needed to talk to and work with the people who created the cover art and trailer for this movie.
a) It wasn't a romantic comedy... why did you create artwork on the front of the DVD that makes it appear so? And, no, I'm not being unreasonable here... I've seen a lot of romantic comedies. A LOT. They all look like this on the front.
b) Why did you make all the characters on the front of the DVD look all hot and sexy. Or was that ironic?
c) Where was the warning that the movie wasn't going to be good?

2. Sometimes stage plays don't translate well onto the screen. This is a good example of that. I understand the theory and the statement and even the irony, but you can't coat the heavy point you were trying to make with a Hollywood gloss and expect it to work.

3. I think I could have liked this movie. Y'all did a weird job with it.

4. Maybe the play is better.

5. "Seduction is an art" is a really lame catch phrase thingy.

To Ebert and Roeper:
1. Did we even watch the same movie? Maybe you were reviewing something else?

To the person who rented the movie: ( yes, me )
1. You didn't have to watch the whole thing you know. It really wasn't that good.

To Paul Rudd:
1. I forgive you... you're still cute.
2. But really, you were the best part of the movie. Sorry about the ending, that must have sucked for you.

OK, Let's Just Get This Out of The Way

To everyone at the gym, cute guys, people I kind of know, colleagues, acquaintances, etc,

I don't wear my glasses to the gym. I don't have a big prescription and I really only wear them driving at night. Not wearing my glasses at the gym, however, means that if you are across the room, you look kind of fuzzy to me. So, if I ignore you? It's because I can't see your face to know it's you. If I stare at you? I'm probably trying to figure out if you are actually cute or just cute because you're fuzzy. If you smile at me and I just blankly stare back? Fuzzy.

Sorry 'bout that!

Wednesday, 9 August 2006

To My Hormones

We did not just cry at a movie trailer did we?

We did?



Let's not tell anyone though, ok?

Oh. Ok.


Tuesday, 8 August 2006

To the Cute Blond Guy at the Gym

Dear other cute gym guy,
I didn't know if you glancing over at me a few times and then coming into the stretching room right after me was supposed to mean anything or if it was just co-incidence. I'm sorry if it was a big ol' hint that I just didn't pick up on. Next time you might want to actually talk to me or something.

Monday, 7 August 2006

To the Guy Screaming "Fucking Whore" at 2 am Last Night

Dear Sir,

If she is indeed a fucking whore, as you so vociferously announced repeatedly last night, then I think you are better off without her. If she is, however, not a whore of any kind, then shouting at the top of your lungs over and over that she is? Well, that's not going to win her back.

By the way, you have an amazingly loud voice and excellent tone. I could clearly hear your thoughts about this lady and I'm sure several hundred other people did as well. You should think about shouting for a living.

No, seriously...

Sunday, 6 August 2006

To Treadmill #5

I know what you're doing.
I saw you doing it to someone else last night!

You lull the user into thinking that you're going to stay at the same pace for the amount of time indicated. And just when the user is comfortable? YOU STOP!

After you made me trip and fall and wonder what I'd hit accidentally to make you stop so suddenly five or ten hundred times, I decided you were possessed. By the devil.

(Or something imp-ish, because I'm sure the devil has bigger fish to fry, so to speak.)

And I've avoided you like the plague ever since.

And then I watched, from the safety of Treadmill #4, while you let eeeeeeeveryone else use you with nooooooo hiccups or startling stops.

I had started to think it had just been my bad luck but, last night, I watched as you suckered that poor man into run-stop-run-STOP-run-run-STOPping on you. Did you see me glaring at you out of the corner of my eye? Shame on you Treadmill #5, shame.

I know what you're doing.

To the rest of you:
Why I haven't complained to the people in charge about Treadmill #5 you're wondering?

Well, sillies, I don't want Treadmill #5 telling all the other Treadmills that I'm a troublemaker and need to be punished. Just to be on the safe side, ya know?

*crosses fingers, knocks on wood and pats lucky rabbit's foot*

Heh, just kidding!

I don't have a rabbit's foot.

Saturday, 5 August 2006

To the Absolutely Massive Moth That Just Found Its Way Into my Living Room


Listen... I've locked myself into my bedroom. Please leave out the window I left open. Please don't crawl under my bedroom door to suffocate me.

To the Cute Baseball Hat Wearing Guy at the Gym

Thank you so much for the smile and the wink, you totally made my day.
If, however, you were hoping I'd come talk to you or something? Well, I'm going to need a little more than that. As in, you coming and talking to me first.
Cuz, I'm clueless like that.
Please don't steal stuff from here, it's not nice. But leave a comment, why don't cha? And drink more water. It's good for you.

P.S. If you think you know me? You probably don't. If you're sure you know me? Pretend you don't. I'll never admit I know what you're talking about anyway.

P.P.S. All this stuff is copyright from then til now (Like, 2006-2019 and then some.) Kay? Kay.