The more time I spend in public the more I realize certain people make me wish I could rip off my face, exchange it with Nicolas Cage’s, then lick things…and stab them.
- Gym preeners. This goes for both genders. Girls, you know who you are with your perfect fucking ponytails and false eyelashes. Stay on your elliptical and we won’t have an issue. But it’s the MEN that really chafe my ass. If you need to spend 20 minutes picking a zit or putting that one stray piece of hair back into your fauxhawk you better make damn sure it’s not directly in front of my form check.
- Mirror mavens. If a public restroom is the size of a low income RV and you’re not washing/urinating/defecating/vomiting you don’t need to be here. The next time I have to wait to rinse my hands because you’re applying stage makeup to the whore suck marks running down your décolletage I’m going to walk around and caress your mouth. And I think you know where my hands have been.
- EVERYONE WHO WALKS SLOWLY THROUGH A CROWDED AREA, WAITS UNTIL THEY’RE AT POINT ZERO OF A CONGESTION ZONE AND STOPS TO CHECK THEIR PHONE. There’s a special place in hell reserved for all of you.
- The “I don’t even like girls, I get along waaaay better with guys” girls. Who the fuck are you trying to kid? You’re the bitch all the other bitches who say the same fucking thing are talking about avoiding. And the funny part is most of you hang out together. Do you think saying this is going to sprout you a cock and make you one of the dudes? You do realize being one of the guys means you’re probably not going to be sucking crotch with any of them right? Get over yourself, when it’s all said and done there’s a night where you sit at home with a flock of women and paint your toes to the notebook…don’t even try to tell me it hasn’t happened.
- Indecisive orderers. If the line up to place is around the store, why…WHY…would you ever think it’s appropriate to wait until you get to the till to glance and the menu, humming and hawing about what you want. You’re damn lucky the rest of the people behind you haven’t had a chance to order their piping hot beverages or someone would be getting a third degree facial. This goes for any self serve counter too. I know exactly what I want. If you don’t, fine, but get between me and my costa rican rocket fuel to mull around and voice your displeasure that hazelnut fruit puff garbage juice doesn’t seem to be available and shit’s going to go down.
- Time liars. You people, are just downright offensive. I can appreciate the inability to read analog and predict precise time intervals but if you know you’re going to take a few hours, don’t say ten minutes. Just don’t. Eventually, I will track you down and quarter you. I don’t care if you’re prepping Ryan Reynolds naked in a turkish bath for my own private enjoyment, my time is far too valuable to spend waiting for you to be where you’re supposed to be.
Thanks for listening, let’s all try to tone down the suck.
Don’t throw that shit away ladies.
Happy Valentines Day my lovelies!
I think it’s time we talk about feelings. My heart just rips apart into a billion little heart pieces to see so many unhappy on this delightful pretend holiday. Valentines day is about love, and not necessarily just the love between you and your sexy sexual sex partner. Do you remember when you were a kid, right before people started noticing looks and clothes and intellect…way back when everyone was on a level playing field? Valentines day was AWESOME. Everyone gave out cute cards, laden with puns and favored cartoon heroes. I recall being beyond excited to dive into that little hand crafted box taped to the back of my chair just to see what wonders it held. Back then valentines day was about showing the world that you were capable of generosity and able to spell your own name in crayon. What changed? NOTHING. Today is still about generosity, caring, and showing people that you can give a shit. It’s about showing your soul-mate(s) that they are the apple of your eye. A soul-mate doesn’t have to be a romantic partner either, it’s anyone who gives you that blanketing comfort. It’s the person you share that special connection with, and lord knows there can be many in your lifetime. It may be a parent, a child, a friend, a pet, or even that guy in California who you happen to share everything in common with even though you’re a billion miles away …cough cough. Everyone has a somebody; even Hades had Persephone and the Grinch had his dog. The trick is to remember that you have these amazing people in your life, and not dwell on those you don’t. Valentines day is a day to spend time with your soul-mate, and if you can’t, to spend time thinking about them and letting them know that they’re on your mind.
I heart-shaped-emoticon you all!
Anyone else start exhibiting.
I still remember the first time we connected. Within moments of meeting we were discussing Foucault and I knew there would be a special place in my life for you. Through the years you lost touch with our mutual friends; some bridges were burned, yet you always made it your mission to never put me in the middle, in a place I’d be forced to choose, and for that I promised to always cherish our friendship. Some of my fondest memories are with you talking about everything under the sun; about politics, religion, philosophy, art, literature, and science, often until into the early morning hours over bottles of fine wine and good food. You loved the things I loved, hated the things I hated, and brought a unique passion to everything you did which I know was lost on many. I could always count on you to lend an ear and a shoulder, even to my most trivial of problems. I know that without you I would never have met many of the challenges in my life with the grace and dignity that you bestowed upon me. You were my big sister, my confidant, one of my closest friends. It was the little things that made you special to me. The year I was too sick to stay out and you halted the party at ten so everyone could celebrate an early new years before I left to rest, the birthday you took me to NKOTB and relived your childhood with me, the time I was struggling to stay on my feet and you gave me a job, these were all reminders of how you cared for me.
I hope you are at peace now, that the emotional and physical barriers to your happiness are behind you, and that you have finally reunited with the friends that were lost to us, too soon. Although I pray my time here is not as short-lived as yours was, I hope when the time comes you will find me, so I can share with you all the wonderful places I went carrying your memory with me. I promise to be strong, to honour your memory, and to keep in my heart a place reserved only for you.
Until we meet again, I’ll always love you.
But after realizing I had three midterms next week I spent 40 minutes speaking in a shitty Sean Connery accent. To myself.
….I’ll take ape tit for 400.
When a photo of David Boreanaz surfaces and each comment references Bones.
It’s Angel. ANGEL.
I was a cheeky. Little. Whore.
Captain’s log, star-date: see earth date. I believe I have gone into a false nesting state.
In three days, I’ve cooked: 1 batch zucchini bread, 6 tubs bran muffins, 2 rancher steaks, 1 pan kale chips, 47 protein bars, 1 crock pot green chili, 14 mini quiches, 1 canister sweet tea, and 2 piri-piri chicken breasts.
And I’ve cleaned: 6 loads of laundry, 2 bleached floors, 1 re-calked bathtub, 7 loads dishes, and 1 cat.
Unsure yet if this means I am to face imminent demise. If so, I can only pray I will be offered the opportunity to fall on my own sword. It is a proud death, a warrior’s death.
-the quivering ball formerly known as PC
- So, I see you enjoy the use of pomade
- I know how to milk a wolf
- How bout you go-go-gadget get your ass in the shower and take me some pictures
- What HAVEN’T I tiger balmed?!
- You seem like more of a ham guy
- Do these boobs make my pecs look fat?
- I couldn’t help but notice you through your bedroom window. Hahaha, I’m totally kidding. *whisper* I’m not kidding.
- I like your um…*point at crotch, run away*
You’re welcome, to all the ladies who have scooped up one of the poor souls I’ve damaged this week through my creeping.
i hate when someone says to me “you should have come”
- 1 lb ground turkey
- 2 onions, chopped
- 6 cloves garlic, chopped
- 2 tbsp olive oil
- 2 tbsp mexican chili powder (can use regular if you can’t find mexican)
- 1 tbsp cumin
- 1 can (19 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
- 3 red chili peppers, chopped
- 2 cups salsa verde (recipe below)
- 1/2 cup water
- 1 red pepper, chopped
- 1 bunch cilantro, chopped
- 12 tomatillos, husked and rinsed
- 5 jalapeno peppers
- 1 poblano pepper
- 1 medium onion, quartered
- 1 tbsp white vinegar
- 1 bunch cilantro
- salt to taste
- water as needed
Directions (salsa verde):
Set oven to broil and place jalapenos, poblano, tomatillos, and onion on a baking sheet. Broil so skin of peppers and tomatillos begins to blacken, turning so everything gets cooked evenly. Allow to cool. In a large blender add the pan contents along with the vinegar and cilantro. Pulse until everything is chopped, and begin to add water until you get a good puree. Add in salt until the taste is to your liking.
In a large pan brown the turkey breast with the olive oil, onions, garlic, and spices. Add mixture to crock pot with the peppers, salsa verde, beans, and water. Cover and cook on low for 4-6 hours. Stir in cilantro.
This recipe will keep for quite a while in the freezer. It comes out pretty spicy so if you want a milder batch, tone down the jalapenos in the salsa recipe and/or omit the chili peppers.
Current tally of f*&%#ing shit up while on high dose levonorgestrel.
Spastic crying fits: 5
Strangers I’ve yelled at: 2
Friends I’ve yelled at: 4
Cats I’ve spooned: 1
Electronics I’ve broken: 0.5 (…it still ‘technically’ functions)
Cars I’ve been allowed to drive: 0
1-10 pain scale: 82.rippingoutmyinsides
1-10 fatigue scale: 15
Ex’s I’ve had to begrudgingly ask for hugs from: 1
Hours spent dancing while manic in the garage: 6
Hours spent rocking back and forth watching cartoons: 3.5
Pounds sweated off for no specific reason: 4
Current spirit animal: Screechy from the Care Bears
I’ve been told I should acclimatize after 6-9 months at which point I’ll probably be publicly exiled to somewhere in rural northern Manitoba. I will accept my fate and reign as queen of the mosquitos.
The next individual I see asserting that a lack of specified muscle definition in novice weightlifters makes the ‘legitimate’ female athletes look bad will be greeted with a swift palm to the nose bridge, followed by a limp-body farmers walk to the hospital.
Are my lifts real now?
There is always going to be a percentage of the population who like to bring you down, who want you to lend an ear to their pessimism, and who would enjoy nothing more than to have you join rank. Most of us have been guilty of shaming or some related bad behaviour whether we know it or not, and it’s our ability to acknowledge our mistakes and move past them that helps to define who we are.
What grinds my gears the most is our capacity to swiftly forget where we originated. We gain knowledge and skills through practice and dedication; it’s important to remember that fact. Nothing is inherent, and there is no excuse for exuding malice toward the work others are putting into starting their journeys. Being a beginner at anything is harrowing enough, and setting unrealistic standards for these individuals then chastising them when they cannot be reached serves no purpose. Those who are experts in their field should be commended for the effort they have put into their passions, but you too were once a first year student, a first time lifter, a white-belt, a burgeoning poet, etc. Experience does not mean you duty bound to help, but by no means does it give licence to hinder. Not all who begin are going to exceed, or even finish, but wouldn’t you rather aid in someone’s success than have their failure on your hands?
Just consider this the next time you get your knickers in a wad over the actions of a new recruit. I myself am often neither fast nor strong enough. My apparent lack of knowledge on multiple subjects and insufficient muscle definition offends some, and will continue to I’m sure…but at least I’ll have friends at my funeral.