Attack by fireworks -- Episode 2:

In which our heroine prepares to evade the maze of civillian-set explosives riddling the streets of Munich.

Yes, well, at least these fireworks aren't shaking the foundations of the buildings... or setting car alarms off... or giving me extreme attacks of panic. Hurrah!

For a bit of an idea what my New Year's might be like check this out. I think it's an okay account, except for the red underwear thing... I asked MR, and although he was thrilled with the idea of red underwear, and came back to the subject many times over the course of the evening, he had never heard of this tradition before. Therefore, my underwear... are orange. I knew you were going to ask that see?

In about 2 hours (11pm) we're heading out to a club with the infamous Mr. R. which I'm desperately trying to dress for -- you have to look good or you won't get in. And having wasted my skankiest shirt on our antics last night, I'm at a bit of a loss.

But let's talk about my extreme case of exhaustion and its cause -- which brings us back to last night. I tried really, really hard to find a good place to take V and J, and at first I thought I wouldn't succeed and that our night, and therefore all our preparations would be a bust. And then we went to the Atomic Cafe.... as it turned out, the night came to a close at 7 in the morning, with me finally giving up on V coming home (she was still out for reasons unknown to this website) and falling asleep with the light on in DE's room -- ostensibly to keep myself half awake should the doorbell ring.
Instead of the doorbell ringing, I was woken 5 times over the next 8 hours by the phone ringing. First V, then DE's friend Mark, then V again, then MR (who was delighted that for once HE had woken ME up), and then Rudi. I was actually juggling 2 phones, feeling like some important social coordinator, when the doorbell finally did ring.

Coffee
I need more coffee.
I also need to phone Rudi to tell him where we're going tonight. I need to wake up V, and I need J and our Canadian neighbour to come with my clothing order from home.

Life is just so bloody hectic, I don't know how I cope.

Have a wonderful New Year's celebration darlings.
Cheers.

Finally actually maybe probably...

dancing!

Now if only my knees and entire left leg hadn't chosen this day to completely crap out on me. creak creak. I'm such a f-ing old woman.

Time for my afternoon nap. Where'd I leave my vitamins?

I smell like a brazil nut

And it's making me hungry.
An indication that I should probably go to the grocery store, and you know, buy something so I can eat. But I'm much too lazy. Instead I feel the need for a very long and lingering... post session. So prepare yourself. I'm still in bed, have brought computer here, V is working on essays. I have only recently adopted the concept of wearing pants today. Listening to the cd that ZLA made for me at christmas 2 years ago. Waiting for inspiration as to what the hell I should do for New Year's. I'm sure there's some awesome party somewhere... finding it unaided is the thing...
ANYWAY:
V and I got back from Nurnberg last night, where we had many interesting adventures involving public transportation, many, many cafes, sandwiches, some Turkish people, and the proprietors of Lily's Asian Bistro (where even the pork tasted like fish... hmm...). We undertook to find this theatre on the outskirts of the city where they played films in original version (i.e. in English). Everything went swimmingly until we got on the tram -- and the tram decided to turn around and go back the other way two stops before the one we wanted. So we got off where we started and tried again. But this time when the tram came to the stop where the other had turned around the driver told us to all get the hell off (I know this because of my freakish ability to understand German but not to speak it, so note to all: don't talk about me in German while I'm sitting right there, because I'll understand, even if you are saying nice things...). So there we were, stranded in the dark at some random bus stop, in a hardly "nice" part of town, with no idea where the hell we are. Fuuu --. Finally we ask this little girl if the bus coming will take us to the stop we want, and she says yes, it's coming in a few minutes, and then smiles and says "Is my English good?" to which we exclaim with all the enthusiasm of people embarassed to be in a country and not speak enough of the language that her English is infact, AMAZING.
So, loooong story short, we totally made it to the theatre on time to watch Ocean's Twelve (which I must say made the whole ordeal absolutely worth it -- see it kids, see it. Best sequel around at the moment, possibly even better than the first?). Yeah us.

Okay what else?
Still no plans for what the hell we're going to do when we leave Munich, but father is still hell bent on leaving on the 9th. Boo. I'd rather not leave at all. A week and a half left till we have to move on to the next step in our nomadic existence.

Oh, and for all of you who thought I was joking about what I wrote on the OCASP thing -- that's actually what I wrote on the form. I wasn't kidding. I was having a major attack of smart ass. Needless to say it was rejected. heh heh.

Humm humm... yeah now even I'm bored.
Cheers.

p.s. Send me a freaking email. I'm feeling seriously unloved. Also, no one has EVER sent me KG's email address, despite repeated requests. So if anyone knows it, could you pass it along? Thx.

25th of December, A style

Okay so, for those of you still reading this over the holidays, I bet, I just bet you expect a christmas post, dontcha? Well okay. But only because I have something to write about.

The morning of the 25th, at 2 am, Victoria and I walked home to D&R's to sleep (finally). And man the things we saw. The party was still going strong -- people puking, people crying, and several people pissing. One in particular who actually caught my eye as I passed and gave me a once over.... while he was taking a leak. Oh baby, you know how to get me going.

"Victoria," I say. "This is some christmas, huh? You and me, out on the streets of Munich at 2 am, on our way to sleep alone for a measly six hours before we need to get up again, being checked out by drunken guys holding their d***s. I guarantee you'll never have another one like it."

Almost 12 hours later, we're rounding up our holiday with back to back episodes of Jackass, Beavis & Butthead, laundry, and craptastic quizzes from a French Cosmo.
According to the French I am under the illusion that all men are fantastic. Which many men in the world can attest is certainly not the case.

Anyway, it wouldn't be my yule celebration without a little familial tension, a little anti-christian sentiment, and a little weird ass shit.

Tomorrow I have to sing christmas carols. My dad wrote out the words to the Huron carol... because it's like, you know, Canadian and shit. Which totally means at some point my parents are going to offer us up like some choral sacrifice to the gods of paralyzing embarassment.

Sweet.

PC greetings

the christmas morning pics are up on the picture site.

Cheers

As promised:

I tried to put them in chronological order. Don't think these ones are going to make it on to the family pic website, so enjoy, those of you who are privy to this one.

sparkler! 

?? 

Joshua drinks 

Alexis drinks 

Victoria drinks 

Salt 

Drinks, and more... drinks... 

Maxi & Max 

on floor of Dad's office, with bottle of water explaining my imminent need for some orange powerade 

What gives?

Okay, no, seriously, you're all done exams. You're all lazing around somewhere. Find a freaking computer and USE it people. I'm WAITING. I'm about to start sending kitchy (sp?) hallmark christmas e-cards. Yes that's a threat. E-mail me already, gawd.

I'm definitely owed a reply e-mail from at least 8 people.
All I'm getting is Barnes & Noble mass ad-mail. It christmas, and it's depressing. Get your freaking acts together.

I realize by this verbal abuse I'm guaranteeing no e-mails. *sigh*

Cheers

OCASP is the dumbest thing ever

Off-campus Activity Safety Policy -- Only at Queen's.

So the thing that is late to be handed in to the IPO is this 6 PAGE "Safety Planning Record" which is the stupidest piece of bureaucratic crap I've ever had the misfortune to wrestle with. The second page is all blank with spaces for you to "List identified hazards associated with activities or environment (e.g. extreme heat or cold, wild animals, endemic disease, firearms, explosives, transportation, crime, violence, political instability)," -- to which my mother exclaimed "You're not going to the States for christ's sake," so you see where I get it from -- "and risk-management measures planned or taken for eliminating or reducing risks to acceptable levels. Please see the attached examples. Append additional pages as required." -- to which I exclaimed "F*** you!"
I left this page till the very last, and was going to leave it blank, but then I thought they might make me do it again. So this is what I wrote:

Hazard Identification:
Dangerous Animals (it is Australia after all, the 11 most poisonous snakes on earth and all that)

Risk Analysis:
Low risk. I don't forsee being attacked by anything.

Risk-Management Plan:
I will learn which spiders to kill on sight, and which to befriend. I will avoid swimming with sharks/crocodiles. I will learn to identify the dangerous snakes. I will become a faster runner.


Put that in your f-ing pipe OCASP.

Beer before liquor

Not just a theory.

V got here safe and sound yesterday... already we are hungover and have established that I get way more hungover than everyone else on earth. Yay me. blug. We went out with MR and J and a couple of M's friends. V's got the pics. We're so putting them up here -- just not the ones where I look about to fall over.

Mystery bruises: 1

on my ass... guess that's not such a mystery.

we're now going to take my dad shopping in the christmas hell that is Marienplatz so that he has enough guidance to get stuff for my mom.

Oh brother

My brother has started a blog at livejournal, but he won't tell me what the link is. He doesn't want me to read it. After all I've done for him, getting him home safely, stopping him from peeing in closets, standing up for him in the 6th grade. Doesn't he KNOW he could be famous by association to this website? HE WON'T LET ME LINK IT. I'm so hurt. *pout*
I'm waiting for my mother to come home with V. Any minute now I can make my escape to D&R's. Have bag packed, hair done, and black eyeliner. Hairbrush microphone here I come.

If someone knows the link to my brother's site, wanna send it to me? There can be only one reason why he doesn't want me to read it, and that's either because he's complaining about me (perish the thought, heh heh) or because he's saying things I wouldn't approve of. Therefore I am driven by an insatiable desire to KNOW.

All younger siblings may now commence throwing the tomatoes.

Wonderland

Now, does that title refer to the fact that it's finally SNOWING outside (hurrah, last Sunday of Advent, how very symbolic), or that I'm tumbling down the rabbit hole? Hmm.

The first snow always makes me happy -- eventhough two months later I want to kill it all. But this snow will hopefully take my mind off the fact that the International Programs office is being retarded AGAIN (and possibly I may have helped a little in this retardation by missing a deadline -- *gasp* A missed a DEADLINE? That NEVER happens. Well children, it did).

Snow is like a new beginning, wiping out the ugly face of receding fall with all its mouldy leaves, and leaving a sparkling surface. Today I will do laundry without complaining. And make J work too, with all the patience of a Saint (stop laughing). I already remembered to water the poinsettias (which were dying, hangover collateral damage) and put water into the humidifier. I've also found the pdf I needed from the IPO WITHOUT THEIR HELP, and will fax it to them, like the good little exchange student I really am, as soon as I get all the stupid information filled out. I really wish I could be exempt from all this Safety Planning Record crap because, p.s. MY PARENTS WILL BE THERE. What else can you possibly need?

Okay look at the snow again and breathe... starting to lose my new face happy feeling. Snow! Hurrah!

Cheers

Things I miss most about my year and a half of sobriety

(family: this next post, it's not true)

So does everyone remember when I stopped drinking? Remember how much fun I really wasn't? I know you do because you were all like "suddenly A is so lame, what happened?" Well what happened involves New Year's Eve, vodka and orange, an entire bottle of prosecco, a bench outside a realtor's office, ZLA, and not being able to pronounce the word "taxi." But it's a sad, sad story, and I don't like to remember it. So. Recently I've come out of my non-alcoholic slump with rather a vengeance. And every morning I wake up after one of these vengeful events, I remember to some degree why I stopped drinking in the first place. So, as a friendly reminder to myself for next time, I've decided to make this list. It may prove useful to you as well.

Things I miss most about being sober:
- Using the expression "crawl into bed" figuratively rather than literally.
- Not noticing how gross it is around the base of the toilet. Being blissfully unaware in fact. (This last not because I throw up -- never have -- but because I spend a lot of time sitting on the bathroom floor. Okay, not much better.)
- Having WAY more money
- Not being given guys numbers which I have no intention of calling. What? It makes me feel bad.
- Sleep.
- Dancing without one hand on the wall.
- Being able to control the words that come out of my mouth. I can't believe I just SAID that.
- Saturday mornings.

Ugh, again.

Just a very short post while my parents are getting ready to leave for Frankfurt (where they will bring me back a Victoria, hurrah!). I've added a new link, check it out. It's BC's new blog (the person not the province).
Now that I've promoted I'm going back to bed.
My face hurts.

Cheers

Christ the Load

Or is that Lode? I don't know, have to ask the korean singer I just listened to thoroughly kill some Christmas Carols.

So have I ever told you how much I absolutely hate Christmas music?
Well I do. Something to do with my mother owning absolutely EVERY CHRISTMAS ALBUM EVER MADE except the Hendrix one, which I failed to buy her last year, and plays them OVER AND OVER from December first until January. Agh.
Another thing I hate -- a hatred which has been driven into me since the age of 5 -- amateur concerts. If I had a cent for every concert I'd been to, performed in, helped with, etc. I would seriously be a Gajillionaire. No joke. Guelph -- home of the Kiwanis Music Festival, and the Suzuki School, among other musical evils. When I was 15 I finally put my foot down and said "no more." These things are seriously the root of most of my personal anxieties.

So this week, when we got the flyer for the House Christmas concert here at IBZ, I laughed heartily. But when my mother came into my room tonight, handed me a cookie (as if that would help, it's like insult to injury, here I'll make you fat as well) and told me I had to go to this concert... I raged... and then I cried... and then I may have pleaded...

Anyway, I've just returned from my own personal hell, (let's not cast any aspersions on the performers, this is my thing, they were fine) -- the only redeeming part of which was that the soprano was Korean and couldn't say R.

Joy to the woald, the Load has come.

I couldn't agree with you more lady.
Am going out to drink. And be very un-loadly. haha. oh.

BWAH!

So right now there is a man standing on a ladder, outside my window. I don't know what he is doing, scraping something, because my curtains are closed. I've never had a man trying to reach my bedroom window with a ladder. How romantic, except he's a complete stranger in coveralls.
And all I can think is what would happen if I went up to the window right now, pulled apart the curtains really fast and went

BWAH!

Would the man at my window fall off his ladder?

heh heh

GROSS

Okay I wasn't going to post again today but can I just say:
This is the most horrible thing I have ever read and I would therefore like you to share in my utter revulsion and disgust (redundant?).

Most pictures of me EVER

Okay, so I asked my brother to take my picture today, to illustrate the 40's hair pin up thing I mentioned before. And he got a bit shutter happy. I haven't had this many pictures taken of me in one go since I let KG use me as a model in OAC. And none of THOSE made up on the internet I'm pretty sure (they were, after all, much too tasteful). So I put (some of) them up. And that's all there's going to be for a while because I'm pictured out, soul stolen, and all that. At least I don't look completely insane.... in all of them.

3 

poinsettias! 

what do you want me to do? 

what are you looking at shwan? 

yeah that's the camera cord 

2 

1 

Pretty Okay

I don't know, I just wanted to start with a Canadian expression, so I picked 'sauga.
For all you non-Canadians a little education: Pretty Okay is WAY more Canadian now than "deke out" or "Hogtown." P.S. We're not in the 60's anymore. Thanks. Next time they write a book on how to be Canadian, maybe they should consider consulting ACTUAL Canadians. We don't "deke out of meetings" any more. We blow them off.

Don't worry, I'll get over this soon. Just working it out of the system.

So today I have nothing to do. Nowhere to go. No one to see. The fam is officially alone in Munich for the first time since being here. That only lasts for 3 more days fortunately.

I'm immersing myself in fashion magazines and feeling incredibly unfashionable. I've got my hair pinned up like someone out of the 40's -- but maybe that's cool?

Today a German delivery man knocked on my door. Apparently my "ask me!" aura extends beyond the walls of the apartment. There's nowhere to hide. He needed to find apartment 26, and decided to ring the door bell of 35 instead. Awesome.

"Who is that?" my brother asked.
"I don't know," I said. "But you might want to put on some pants."

My brother gets dressed in stages. When he gets out of the shower, he plays video games in his towel for a very long time. Then he puts on some boxers. This stage lasts until he needs to go somewhere in the apartment that involves walking in front of a window. Then he puts on pants. This stage can last all day, as long as he doesn't have to go outside. That eventuality provokes the donning of a shirt.

It is time for him to live on his own.

Magazines, check

So today I tried to buy some English magazines for the Romantic Comedy Action (except minus any romance, at least on my part, but I expect plenty of comedy) coming up next Monday. Unfortunately, for some reason, any magazines in English available for purchase are 11 freaking Euros (x 1.65 = CDN dollars). WTF?! So, have bought all magazines in French, which thankfully poses absolutely no problem to Victoria. Not only will we be modern empowered women with hairbrushes, but will be modern empowered women, dancing in underwear, singing into hairbrushes in French. Hot? I thought so. First stop on Monday though is H&M for new knickers, because as it is, am not fit to be seen in them.

Helpful traveller hint: Bring plenty of underwear, because once they've been through the washer a GAZILLION times per week, for 4 months, they might start to sort of, you know, fall a part.

god, the things you learn on this site, EH? (I'm Canadian, I'm allowed.) No holds barred.

Material Girl

(note: right now family is discussing whether or not to lance a blister on my brother's thumb. J is in favour, rest are not.
J: It's a pain in the ass, I want it gone.
Mom: You're a pain in the ass, I don't lance you.
J: OOOh, they say brevity is the soul of wit, but really IT'S YOU!

...OMG, my family actually talks like that...and also, they actually debate lancing blisters *sigh* I'm 21 on the brink of a teenage rebellion)

Okay so I've had some requests for more pictures (specifically of me, heh heh *hair toss*), so here's some stuff... stuff being the latest addition to my favourite fetish (the shoes), and a profile view of me without contacts or makeup (the horror), sporting the hat I just finished making, which I finished too early, and so does not reach my ears. Crap. I'm always too precipitous in my knitting. Good thing I never attempt sweaters, or my entire family would be walking around in short-sleeved mohair belly tops. Plus, I bet that look has totally been done already...

Cheers.

crappy hat 

boots! 

Things I miss most about NOT living with my family

(disclaimer to families of 20-something university students and the like, also to members of my own family: We love you, and we know that you love us, but don't we just drive eachother crazy sometimes? Okay we all agree, moving on.)

- Being allowed to use the same knife for the peanut butter AND the jam.
- Using the same cup for juice all day.
- Not doing dishes until there are no more cups for daily juice.
- Not doing laundry until you're down to your last, skankiest pair of panties.
- Coming home at 4 am (or hell, not coming home at all), and not having someone burst in on you at 9am to demand WHY you didn't come home until 4 -- yeah, thanks, gonna be coherent after 5 hours of sleep.
- Sympathy from friends and roommates when you're hungover, rather than exasperated sighs.
- No one trying to control your eating habits, drinking habits, or living conditions (No mom, I am not anorexic...)
- Having a phone conversation without having then to repeat it verbatum once you have hung up.
- Emailing someone without anyone demanding to know who, what, why, and wherefore.
- (ahem) PRIVACY
- Waking up at noon, without having already been woken up LIKE A DOZEN TIMES
- Not being referred to as "Miss Independent" (okay, to give them a break, they probably don't understand the terrible pop reference there) when you want to stamp your own damn subway ticket.
- Not being told A MILLION TIMES not to have parties in the apartment where you're staying with your girlfriend. The more you TELL me the more I feel like you EXPECT me to anyway. I'm not GOING to, let's PLEASE leave it at that.

Am regressing through my childhood and will soon be in utero.
Is painful painful process and may be completely psycho by the time I get home. Just so you're all warned.

Apologies to the service industry

As a former waitress/server/hostess etc., I should apologize, as in the last three days I have failed to tip 2 waitresses at 2 different bars. I suck at tipping in this country, because I expect to be able to just leave the tip on the table. But you can't. So I look like an idiot, leaving money everywhere. I'm probably also very embarassing to be with in these instances (sorry M&Z). Anyway, I have resolved to tip very well the next time I frequent these establishments to make it up to the poor waitresses who were so snubbed by my ignorance.
On the upside, I had a little Canadian pin on my sweater, so if they happened to see it, they probably thought to themselves "F-ing cheap American."

Today on my way home I was stopped (or almost stopped) by 3 men. My numbers are going up. Must find a way to remove the seemingly indelible chalk mark somewhere on my aura that says "Stop and talk to this girl!" I try to look very disuasive, but to no avail. The first one today said "Are you American?" and I said no CANADIAN, and he said "Ah, English or British?" And I laughed and said, "Uh, it's really all the same to me." But I was thinking, Nope, STILL CANADIAN. Anyway, the next two who tried to stop me were put off by a little smile, a negative shake of the head and a wave. Because honestly. They stand there, and 3 MILLION other people walk by them, but they try to stop ME, which means I have to stop, take my earphones out, explain that I don't speak German, and then STILL try to understand what they want. And I'm not talking homeless people either. Just regular guys. I'm wearing EARPHONES for F's sake. LEAVE ME ALONE WITH MY MUSIC.

More Interesting -- ta daah!

Today we went to Salzburg (Austria) -- my second weekend car trip in a row being completely hungover in transit. This time big lunch was salad instead of meat -- probably a better choice in the long run. Anyway, enough about me, let's talk about Salzburg. Apparently a notice went out to the entire world today that the party was in Salzburg, the place was PACKED with Americans (feeling better listening to them drawl, because they can't POSSIBLY masquerade as Canadians talking like that, I've decided) Japanese, Italians (lots of Italians?), and also the entire native population of the city, all walking around with rosy cheeks and well-oiled eyes.
So, not so much fun, AND my incredibly organized and not-drunken family FREAKING FORGOT THE CAMERA, so I've got absolutely nothing to show for all our efforts today. If I had been here to get them out the door this morning, instead of at D&R's you can be sure there would be new pictures up on the site. But never mind. We finally got back to the car, with my right knee bleeding up a storm from the interior, put in my earphones and spent the whole ride home blissfully ignorant of all other sounds and watching the colours change behind my eyelids.
When we got back J and I met the Canadians who live down the hall from us who informed us that their 21 year old son is coming for Christmas. Sooo... J and I have got ourselves our very own Munich protege! Now WE get to be the savvy ones in the city.
Tonight, after we do an Econ party thing, we're going clubbing with MR and co. Unfortunately knee will be in very bad shape. My Grandmother asked me if my knees like to dance, and I said no, they don't, but I do, so they just have to deal.
I am so spending part of my life in a wheel chair. But hey shake it while you got it, right?
Tomorrow is so going to be rough. Will have to hobble around with knees bent and head in hands. Never mind.

I'm suddenly realizing that more people read this thing than I thought. So I've spruced it up a bit. New links, new quote at the bottom of the page. Will also add more pictures of MOI, as soon as I don't look near death.

Am now completely rambling.

Had a thought today, maybe the reason that so many Americans are so strange (not saying all, or even a majority, don't get me wrong here guys) is that they don't let people drink until they're 21. It's like enforced developmental retardation. Ils le font exprès pour les contrôler, parce que tout le monde sait qu'avec l'alcool vient des idées libres, et cela, ça ne va pas. I'm sure all the American youngsters reading this will agree whole-heartedly...

Alcoholic Cooking

Def'n: 1. Preparation of food items involving the liberal application of alcohol to the food. Results in deliciously rich foods such as trifle, marinated pork tenderloin, etc.

2. Preparation of food items involving the liberal application of alcohol to the chefs. Results in virgin trifle because the chefs were too soused to remember to apply the sherry to the second layer of trifle and not to themselves. Other side effects may be helpless giggling on the kitchen floor, door-slamming so that guests cannot hear said giggling, and desperate sprints to the toilet to relieve pressure of laughing from bladder.

So the past few days I've been helping D get ready for this v. big dinner party, held last night, and working very hard to assuage the guilt of her soon-to-come outrageous phone bill which is entirely my fault ("I hope it's a funny aneurism"). Wednesday night, after we got back from dinner, where I had abstained, but D&R had not, we cracked open a bottle of fizzy wine and got down to some serious trifle-making. Needless to say it got a bit silly.

Anyway, got to sleep at 2am, thanks to said phone bill... awful awful, and woke up at 8:30 to list left by D of what I was supposed to do. So, showered, did not eat, put on cd player (had no pocket to put it in, so stuck it down the back of my pants... I know, hot), and worked from 9 until 1, at which point I was about to collapse and there was no tape to wrap the presents anyway. So -- went to Karstadt where bought tape and also baguette and camembert (my current downfall). On way out of Ubahn station was smiled at and approached by very respectable but strange young man with some request, God knows what, I honestly feel like I've got a permanent sign on my forehead that says "Ask me! I MUST know." But anyway, did not stop to help, and he left me alone with a little bow and "Ah, so." Got back, fell asleep on couch after wrapping presents in front of Room Raiders (awful, bleh), then ate.

All of which now I'm realizing is a very boring story.
So, guests did not leave until 2, D and I in our incredible state of exhaustion went to sleep at 1. This morning got up and cleaned up, putting apartment back into some semblance of normalcy while D arranged her clients' bills. She still has not packed for Fiji, but at least DE has finished his work and made the train (bravo! I understand this is such a feat for him -- teasing, teasing), so now his mother can relax slightly. Myself, am completely "knackered" as they say, and have been left here by family, who have gone to Nymphemburg Palace, and in atonement for staying here and having a nap, I will do -- guess what? -- MORE housework. Hurrah. Must go put laundry in, and vacuum. Am so impressed with self am so dutiful, and responsible. Think will go out tonight and reward alcoholic cooking with party. MR had better not be working.

Sorry
Funnier post next time when not completely retarded (f being PC anyway).

Cheers

Ping Pong

SO there's this ping pong table in the basement of our building. And my brother f-ing loves ping pong suddenly for some reason. And none of us want to play with him... anymore. The one and only time I played with him (and let's just say here for the record that he didn't beat me by THAT much) I came back up stairs with ping pong ball-shaped bruises on my chest, stomach, pelvis and forearms.

As I type, My brother has my mother lassoed into a chair (his methods of persuasion are, shall we say, rather indiscreet, the one and only time I played he carried me down the stairs over his shoulder) holding on to the middle of her belt (which is undone -- she tried to make a break for it) and rythmically slapping her with the other end. The two of them do this every once in a while.

Until I get so fed up I have to scream at them to stop.

Now all is blissfully silent.

Hallelujah for wind pipes I hope you are never silenced.

Head Trauma

D has just come home and pulled out this long contraption that looks like a whisk with the wires cut at the end. She then commanded me to take my ponytail out and began massaging my head with the ends. OMFG weirdest feeling EVER. Gave goosebumps, and was definitely ticklish. 'It's a BRAIN STIMULIZER!' she exclaimed, and proceeded to repeat the operation on R, who nearly wriggled from his chair onto the floor in discomfort. SO WEIRD, but strangely nice?
Hands up anyone else who has ever had their scalp tickled...

Identity Theft

THIS IS NOT COOL.
What the hell do they think they're doing? I am so outraged right now. Not only do they get to be the basis for Canadian Identity (i.e. we are NOT American, thus we are Canadian), but now they get to f-ing CAPITALIZE on it? I AM SO BECOMING A COMMUNIST BECAUSE OF THIS.
So now, not only can no one in Europe tell the difference (AND IT'S HUGE, TRUST ME) between Canadian and Americans, but when I tell them I'M NOT AMERICAN, they're going to think I'm LYING and that I'm just a SHIT SCARED AMERICAN. For christ's sake.
Imagine being so ashamed of your country that you actually LIE about your NATIONALITY. Uh, guy, maybe you should move.

Everytime I hear an American accent around here I cringe inwardly, and edge away slowly, so that no one around will assume that I'm part of the same tour group. On Sunday as I was getting off the U-bahn with D&R, I saw these American chicks with these REALLY good looking German guys. But obviously one of the German guys wasn't having any of it, because he was making as though to let them get on the train without him. Then this American girl turns around and says,

"Flo (or some other suitably one-syllabled German nickname) git yawr Ay-ISS on this tray-in RAWT NAY-OW."

And I thought, good god, they can't possibly think I sound like that... oh how embarassing! I was embarassed for the guy too. I hope for the sake of his own manhood he didn't obey.

Anyway, while I've tripped myself out for this year-long jaunt thing I'm on with CANADIANA EVERYTHING (keychain, playing cards, pins, patches etc, etc), these f-ing Americans (excuse all the negativity, some of them are very nice... except if they vote for Bush) are doing the EXACT SAME THING.

I'm going away now to spend some quality time with my passport. At least they can't have that.

SCREW OFF AND DEAL WITH THE FACT THAT YOU HAVE A CRAPPY WORLD IDENTITY AND LEAVE MINE THE F ALONE.

I looove Sundays

So the other day, in the u-bahn, I saw a pigeon CLIMBING THE STAIRS. No, seriously. And I was like, dude, you can FLY.
And the pigeon was like, whatever lady, every one gets to be lazy once in a while.

And that once in a while -- is Sundays.

Not a joke, the above ACTUALLY happened.

What not to do...

when you're hungover... again:
Wake up after 5 hours of sleep and phone family to pick you up for day driving in standard transmission car on very windy roads while sitting between grandmother and brother who is sleeping with mouth open snoring and head on your shoulder.

Dude, you better not f-ing drool on me.

Results of having done said inadvisable thing:
Reached restaurant for lunch STARVING for hangover food (meat!) and extremely nauseous. Only kept from throwing up in the bushes by extreme strength of will or act of god. Ate HUMUNGOUS meaty lunch and developed catatonic state (with posing) wherein could not actually form words. Is a funny thing when you open your mouth to speak, and nothing resembling any of the languages you have EVER learned is emitted. Shakes. Lots of shakes. After lunch, in department store get completely freaked out by mannequins, who seem to move...

And J f-ing drooled on me.

Awesome. Am going out again tonight.

Wha happened?

Somehow, every time my brother and I go out, no matter what my good intentions are before we start drinking (i.e. I will only have this one beer, and I will go home early, and I will get a good nights sleep, etc. etc.), the intentions seem to get lost in the bottom of a beer glass.
Last night, I was almost falling asleep in the excellent Thai restaurant. I had very little sleep on Thursday and was looking forward to an early night with my book. And yet, and yet... Brother convinces me to go out, I say okay, because do not want to run risk of him going out by himself (because then GOD KNOWS what he'll get up to). And in the end, who goes home first? Yeah... yeah. It was Josh.
I stumble back to R&D's at I-have-no-idea-what o'clock (a very kind, very small German man, who kept taking my hand, kissing it and saying 'A I have to say, you are so lovely, I am very drunken, but really, is the truth, you must never stop smiling' walked me - have recently rediscovered my mind-boggling ability to pick up, ahem, make friends with guys, a talent which my brother is very fond of because it means he never lacks for people to talk to), and thanks to my built in alarm clock (oh THANK YOU lord, I couldn't just SLEEP IN), I call the 'rents on time to ask them what the plan is for the country drive today. R&D, the excellent people, are feeling my hangover pain, and are sleeping it off still when I get up, shower, and ready myself for the pick up. How do I do this to myself.... and also why? It may have something to do with never paying for my drinks, and feeling obliged to drink them when they are put in front of me? I know, I know, it's a hard life, right ladies?

*sigh*

Had something very intelligent to say, but now do not.

I wanted to talk about the Christmas markets and how Apfelkucherl is going to make me fat again. mmm... just thinking about it...mmm.. Apfelkucherl. And Doner Kebap. And Waffles. And Crepes. mmmm...

Did I mention the Christmas markets have these amazing food stalls?

Oh, and mulled wine... can't forget that.

Must go eat something healthy now, because can feel self gaining pounds just thinking about it. Haha, talk about psychosomatic.

Cheers.

My Brother --

A: Did you get me anything at the grocery store?
J: No, nothing specifically for you, I tried to get you something interesting, but they had nothing.
A: No yoghurt? (My family and I differ on milk products - I like non-fat, they like nothing-but-fat)
J: No... You're just going to have to eat the fatty yoghurt, and become horribly obese, and die alone, lying in a pool of your own filth, attempting to wash yourself with a rag on a stick.
A: *sob*

Breaking News:

Dude, I've been quoted. Hurrah!

Also, hair has led rebellion on head (see exhibit A). Must cut off insurrection at its source. Next time you see me, I may be bald.

Am sleeping in real live (well, not live, ew that would be creepy, but you know) bed! First real live bed have slept in since August. In fact, do not even actually own real bed anymore as sold mine before I left Canada. Hurrah! Real Live Bed!

Exhibit A: Took my own picture (this is third attempt, not including attempt by mother which just resulted in large argument "You're driving me crazy!... look at my hair!", and bad picture) I look like I'm eating something, but really, I do this thing with my tongue when I'm concentrating.

Today Grandma is here! (Hence sleeping in DE's bed at D&R's) So, must go entertain.

Cheers

see my look of deep concentration? 

WHY DID I EVEN BOTHER??

and also: HOW MANY TIMES IN MY LIFE WILL I HAVE TO ASK MYSELF THIS QUESTION?? (warning, read title of blog, and expect lots re: cynicism, and capital angry letters)

So did I tell you I was audited?
I probably didn't.
It's something I like to keep as far back in my mind as possible.

Anyway, so yeah. I was audited. This summer. And do you want to know WHEN I got the letter informing me that I was being audited? Three guesses.

I GOT IT F-ING 15 MINUTES BEFORE THE AIRPORT SERVICE CAME TO PICK ME UP TO TAKE ME OUT OF THE COUNTRY FOR A YEAR.

The brilliant people at the Canadian Revunue Agency (if I was in America I'd have a hit on me after this post...) decided that since SUDDENLY this person who THEY KNOW IS IN UNIVERSITY rents an APARTMENT in the CITY OF HER UNIVERSITY --- SHE MUST THEREFORE BE SUSPECT!!

So, I take this piece of s*** letter with me, along with any other tax information that is not PACKED AND INACCESSIBLE IN THE ATTIC, FREAK out, and leave the country. Probably illegally. There will be a SWAT team at the airport when I get home next year.

Then I send the wonderful people at CRA (who, by the way, in case you're ever wondering, CANNOT BE REACHED IN ANY WAY BY EMAIL), a REGISTERED F-ING LETTER, explaining my situation, and giving them all the information it is possible for me to supply...

So I let it slip from my mind for a month or so.

Now my grandmother has come to visit us, and she brought my mail.

And what news of the delightful CRA? Have they paid ANY attention to what I sent them? Have they taken ANYTHING I said into consideration?

One guess.

They're taking all my money away ANYWAY, and charging me INTEREST on it now. I BLOODY HATE THE GOVERNMENT I COULD HAVE JUST THROWN OUT THE AUDIT ANNOUNCEMENT AND NOT F-ING BOTHERED OR WASTED ANY TIME BEING UPSET OVER IT I SHOULD F-ING SUE THEM FOR EMOTIONAL DAMAGES AAAARGH.

But we don't do that in Canada.
In Canada we send eachother polite letters.
And then ignore them.

Guess what CRA?
Nothing. Absolutely f-ing nothing.