Saturday, October 29, 2005

Fruit Fly Triumph

Many thanks to alex, whose comment prompted TM and I to set up two fruit fly traps in the kitchen -- one with vinegar in the bottom, one with some very old red wine (they liked the wine very well), which have lead to the marked reduction of flying pests in our house. Hurray!

Cheers

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

The Forbidden Post

Earlier today I was told in no uncertain terms that I was NOT to blog about the following.
Come on. That's like putting a candy apple (seasonal) on a dais in the middle of my bedroom and telling me not to touch it. At all. Ever. To just let it rot within its delicious candy shell. Like THAT'S going to happen.
Anyway, TM you're not the boss of ME. Plus Mh says it's "fair game" so there.

Earlier today TM decided to declare a one-man-with-tea-towel war on all the fruit flies in our kitchen. To be fair it is pretty frickin' annoying. We get rid of one food source and they move on to another. It's getting to the point where I think we should just remove all food and EVERYTHING from the kitchen for a week and starve the little F-ers out. But of course that's unrealistic -- and this is where the tea towel comes in.

At midday there was a crash from the vicinity of the kitchen (which is upstairs in our house) and Av came running down the stairs in his underwear yelling, "Dude! You're like the hulk!" and then ran into my room and said, "Motas totally just broke the kitchen window."

Now, there's something to be said for breaking a pane of glass with a tea towel. And then there's being "the Hulk of the fruit flies" for the rest of the year.

On the other hand I don't want to give TM too much flak (he feels he's being represented as disproportionately dorky on this site). The truth is, if we saw a broken window in this house out of context, we'd all probably assume it was Av's fault (no offence dude, you know it's all good). TM is probably the most stable of all of us -- not given to random, loud exclamations or renditions of 70's and 80's feel-good hits like Mh is, and not given to blood sugar-related meltdowns or bouts of marathon nagging like I am.

Plus he did kill "like eighty of them." Which, at the expense of the window, and at this point in my patience, is still a pretty good outcome I'd say.

The really funny thing about this for me is that I remember being on the phone with DE when he was chasing a fly around his kitchen -- again with a tea towel -- and did THE EXACT SAME THING.
I just have one question: What is it about men that they feel it necessary to exert the same force to kill a fly as it takes to break a f-ing window?

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Tybalt and Chicken

Conversations I've had in the last 12 hours:

Mh: Porn?
A: Apparently it's porn as pain medication
Mh: I see.
A: We really should have a Porn'n'Chicken night.
Mh: Yeah! . . . What kind of chicken?

~~~

TM: Watch that pot by my door.
A: What? *looks around* What pot?
TM: The pot with the cutting board on top of it. It's outside my door.
A: Oh... OH! Is that another Tybalt?
TM: Yeah, as soon as I freed the other one I came upstairs and there was another one that looked exactly like it in the same spot on the bathroom ceiling. And I didn't feel like freeing spiders all night.
A: Uh huh . . .
TM: But I couldn't justify killing one spider when I went to all the trouble of liberating the other one.
A: Right.

"Today a man climbed a telephone pole..."

Today's movie recommendation: Danny Deckchair

It exceeded expectations.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Get thee to a nunnery!

Does everyone remember the goddess of industrial strength silicone? Well she's back, and this week she's weatherproofing the windows and doors of the house to make it more energy efficient (and hence hopefully save a wack of cash).
When I went into the hardware store yesterday, it took me a while to locate the stuff I was looking for. I had a plan where I would seal up the windows with that clear, flexible caulking stuff, and find some weatherproofing strip to line the doors with (because the damn things were installed with like a quarter inch of draft space around the jam -- well done!).
While I was looking at the stuff I decided I might as well talk to someone about it, to maybe get some extra tips, and the first person I could locate was this elderly man in a plaid shirt who sort of reminded me of my Grandpa -- although as it turns out I think my Grandpa is much more sympathetic to women's lib.
He went off on this whole weatherproofing tangent involving a separate storm-window kit for each window at $5 a pop, and was explaining step by step how to do it when he said, "Then you take your hairdryer and just..."
"I don't have a hairdryer," I interrupted. The man stopped dead.
And then he gave me a look that said all at once: "What the hell kind of woman are you missy? Get your ass in that kitchen and take care of your man, you wet-haired, lesbo hippie!"
Before he could voice any of his incredulity I said lamely: "I have curly hair. You don't blow dry curly hair." And settled myself nice and firmly back into my pigeon-hole. Boy did I ever want to smack myself.
The man finally continued. "Well then you can borrow one of your roommates' dryers."
I opened my mouth to inform him that all my roommates are in fact male, but stopped myself. I didn't want to be run out of his store after all.
In the end I did buy my caulking and my caulking gun (and two of his storm window kits, just to appease him) and left the store safely. I tried to thank the man for his help as I left, but he wouldn't make eye contact with me for some reason...

Ain't folks just grand?

It all reminded me most dreadfully of the time this American guy we met in Fiji, after asking DE his entire life plan, turned to me and asked, "So where do YOU fit in to all this?" I almost choked on a cracker.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Japornime

So here we are again, TM and I, left to our own devices -- unless Mh decides to bring his g/f back here and we can all hang out and do NOTHING together. As he headed out the door I said, "We could take a walk to Night Owl and see if they have any Ludwig Van Drake cartoons, and also other movies."
"Yeah," said TM. "Like porn."
"Oh!" I said. "We should have a Porn'n'Chicken night! Would RSA be down with watching porn with your housemates?"
"Uh.. I don't know," said Mh.
"Cause I feel like probably not," I said.
"We should get some Japanese anime porn," said Mh.
"RSA watches anime porn?" I asked, somewhat incredulously.
"No, I don't think so," he said, somewhat dejectedly. "I'll see you guys later."
"Bye! Close the door!"
"I think there's a name for that," said Thomas.
"What? Like Pornime?" I said.
"No," he said. "I don't think so."
"Japornime?" I said, hopefully.
He just shook his head. "No."

~~~

About half an hour later TM came into his room (where it is nice and warm, unlike mine) and said, "Hurry up with that post already I want to look up the name! I think it's Hentai and I want to see if I'm right."
"Oh my goodness," I said. "Here," and I opened up another browser window.
"Yes!" he said. "See? I was right. Hentai: 'sexually explicit animation or comics.'"

Score one for Motas. He knows the word for sicko sex cartoons. Pret-ty good.

B6

That must be the answer.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Revenge of the Leg Warmers

It's that time of year again folks, I'm sad to say, since it feels like I've had more than my fair share of this time of year this past, well, year, when the leg warmers come out of hibernation in the back of the sock drawer and persist in accompanying my calves everywhere for the next 6 months.
I've got my eye out for a fuschia pair.
FU-SCHIA!

SL's Runway Week

I'm hoping this next post will be accessible to both men and women, but if not, well girls, this one's for you.

This week I'm rediscovering the warm happy feelings of looking good everyday. My attire of late hasn't differed too much from what I wear when I'm at home -- sweat shirts, sweat pants, doubled ponytails, glasses, and very thick socks. The only difference is I refuse to embrace that age-old university tradition and wear my pajama pants to class. It's lame.
Monday morning, however, I awoke with the determination to make use of all the excellent and unique clothing I collect so consciously, and to make an effort where my personal adornment is concerned.
And let me tell you, as much as it is great to feel lazy and comfortable in class, it's also a wonderful thing to be LOOKED at again. I had kind of given up for a while. What's the use, when the only person I'm really interested in attracting is thousands of miles away and (I hope) already hooked anyway?
But then I was walking to class with TM this morning and just before we parted ways he began to laugh and said "Everyone keeps looking at you. They keep passing by and going like this." He made an up-and-down motion with his head.
"Oh God," I said, half-mocking. "Do I have something on my face?"
Of course I knew I didn't (well, I was pretty sure anyway), and I say this in all self-awareness (one cannot be modest all the time, it's simply not good for the self-esteem, and at times can be a very unattractive quality), I suspect it probably had something to do with the facts that in the boots I wore today I'm over 6 feet tall, I'm slim, I'm pretty, and dammit I looked good today (let's all not be afraid to say it).
But as TM then pointed out, my admirers were "mostly girls."
Truth is, although guys probably notice too, to a lot of them (and yes, these would be the ones you'd WANT to date) I'd probably be just as cute in the sweatpants and ratty tube socks I'm wearing right now.
So this week, I'm not dressing up to attract anyone... I'm dressing up to make other chicks jealous of me. Haha. And look, I'm feeling more confident already.
Tomorrow I'm wearing fishnets.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Today I found the new Mr. Universe

Well, I'm about to do that thing you're not supposed to do because it gets people fired. I'm going to talk about my work, but I'm not going to specify where I work, and I'm not going to give people at work my web address -- at least until this is safely tucked far back in the archives.
Today the girl who works with me, who has been training me for the past two weeks, had a couple guys visit her at work. They would leave and then come back, leave and then come back, stay for a while, leave, come back... you get it. One of them I had seen before, but the other was new. During one of their many absences, she turned to me and said (of the new guy) "Did you see that guy? He's pretty frickin' hot eh?"
I stared at her for a moment, trying hard to compose my reply, but all I could come up with was "What?"
My reaction was for two reasons -- a) I'm not sure this guy had ever in his life been what I would call "pretty frickin' hot," or even "pretty okay" and in addtion: b) HE WAS MISSING AN EYE!
I'll just give you a moment...

So she said, "Yeah, you know, the guy who's missing an eye?"
And I said, "Okay..."
And she said, "I mean, considering... he's pretty good-looking don't you think?"

Somehow I managed to get out of that conversation without saying "Dear God No!" because really, the two of us just don't know eachother well enough yet for me to say concernedly "Sweetie, listen to me, you can do SO MUCH BETTER."
I don't know how... but I did it.
What can I say, I'm a conversational artiste.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Bachelor living

I've been thinking I should say something on here about my roommates, but Av commented recently that reading my blog isn't nearly as interesting now that I live with him because the stuff I write about is always stuff I've already talked to him about. Obviously I need to make sure I'm always working with fresh ingredients.
On the other hand, why does he bother reading the print version when he's got the real thing in his living room?

Point is, I'm going to go for it. So Av you can stop reading right.... now.

Living with these guys is nothing less than hilarious, and so far there have been very few head-butting incidents, i.e. mostly they just take my nagging in stride, and lie about the dead mice in the cupboards because they know I sure as hell am not going to look myself (which by the way if you ever do again... lets just say the bakery benefits will be witheld -- that's my stock threat).
They have many little collective habits which constantly put me in a better mood. They have a tendency to sing random snippets of songs while on the way down the hall as though any movement in the house must be announced to all and sundry, which in a way is a nice communal mood. And although I'm sure the constant Super Nintendo Hockey games might get tired after a while, the repartee during the execution of said games is enough to make me not mind their taking place just outside my bedroom door.

"OH MOTAS PERIOD!" (Motas. is TM's custom player, I'm not too clear on the details, I just hear it yelled a lot)
"YOU DID THE MOVE! THAT WAS THE MOVE! I thought we made a rule not to do the move"
"That was not the move"
"INSTANT REPLAY!"
"OK, How was that the move?"
"Uh I think you mean how was that NOT the move"

etc, etc, etc.

They have also lended me endless support - technical and emotional - for my production course (the fruits of which can be obtained in a quicktime movie if you feel the inclination to watch it, email me, I'll send you a copy), and my recent publication in the Diatribe (which really wasn't a big deal, but thanks for making it one).

A lot of people raise their eyebrows when I tell them I'm living with 3 guys, and am the only girl in the house. For some reason they find it strange, and sometimes I'm pretty sure they find it sinful, which is ridiculous. I've got my own room and a housecoat. What I find strange is that reaction -- I have three great people living with me who will come and get me if I'm out somewhere after dark by myself and walk me home, who take out the garbage every week without ever once asking me to help, who deal with the dead mice in the traps (eventually), and who get mad at me if I don't tell them where I'm going to be until very late or the next morning.

Who doesn't get the warm fuzzy here?

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Blue Funk, Please Send Help

You know, when one of those just descends on you for very little reason and then hangs on for dear life as you try to shake it off? Like a little dog with its teeth sunk into your ankle? Yeah, got one, and let me tell you, my achilles tendon is freaking sore.
More interesting material later

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Personal Triumph

I got home for Thanksgiving last night at 20 to one in the morning. I had to work at the bakery until 6 pm so my only option to get home on Friday rather than Saturday was the 7:15 bus from Kingston, and the 11:30 bus from Toronto. The bus from Kingston left an hour late, and I was the second last person allowed on the first bus filled. Then, because of the horrendous weather, there was an accident on the 401 which set us back another 1/2 hour. So I was sitting there, in my seat right next to the bathroom, reading my book, listening to my music, and thinking, there is no way in hell this bus will make it to TO by 11:30. I'm going to have to phone my parents collect and figure out a way to get somewhere where it will be easy for them to pick me up. I was sitting there, thinking those thoughts, but I WASN'T PANICKING. I admit a couple times I felt it begin to rise in me, but I stopped myself WITH RATIONAL THOUGHT. I thought well don't worry, you're going to get home eventually, yes this will suck, but it's just another bus trip. And for once, it worked.
I guess the whole experience of complete meltdown in LAX has really beaten the whole travel anxiety right out of me.
So, now I just have to work on the whole grocery line up fear, and soon I'll be all set.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

My school -- but not my problem

I just got this chain email from some Comm 'O6 doinkus who has taken it upon himself to right the wrongs committed by Queen's students during Homecoming. He politely asks every Queen's student to kindly donate TEN DOLLARS to the "My School My Responsibility" fund to buy the guy whose car they trashed a new one.

TEN F-ING DOLLARS? ARE YOU F-ING CRAZY??
Correct me if I'm wrong but aren't commerce students supposed to have some notion of how things that have to do with, uh you know, MONEY work?

Does he have any idea how many people there are at Queen's? Does he intend to buy the guy a f-ing LAMBORGHINI? Has he ever heard of auto insurance?

Is he joking?

He writes:

"Hey guys,
I’m writing because Queen’s is my school.  And that means that I take what happens here personally.  As such, I feel that some of what happened the Saturday night of Homecoming on Aberdeen is my responsibility. 
Right now, Kingston residents, the Kingston police, and much of our country know us as a rioting party school.  This is because on Saturday night a good Queen’s tradition went horribly wrong and ended with destruction of a stolen car belonging to Kingston resident, Bob Hanson.  Whether or not you think the situation was caused by the police, the city, or students from other schools, the fact remains that we need to take positive action to restore the reputation of our school.
On Wednesday October 5, take $10 with you as you leave for class and donate it to one of the “My School, My Responsibility” booths set up all around campus.  Every dollar raised will go towards buying Bob Hanson a new car and restoring Queen’s in the eyes of the community around it.

Sincerely,
Jon Sinclair
Comm ‘06"


Hey Jon Sinclair,
I'm writing because Queen's is my school, and as such I chose NOT to attend the "festivities" on Aberdeen at Homecoming, because everyone KNOWS it's a freaking dumbass parade, and therefore those who attended knew full well what they were doing. I will back the city of Kingston 100% in prosecuting anyone they feel like for being stupid shits. But I WON'T give HALF MY WEEKLY GROCERY FUND to some numbnuts on a crusade without university sanction. It's called listserve jackass. I'm certainly not giving a cent to someone who uses a freaking chain letter to communicate his gallant intentions.
In addition, it's about f-ing time Queen's got kicked in the pants. It's because they make these kids feel like they're the cream of the crop (which they're not, we have just as many stupid people as any other school, see above email) that they have this attitude of f-you invincibility. Even if the WHOLE COUNTRY'S opinion of Queen's is a bit tarnished after this whole fiasco, at least it will start to approximate reality. Don't get me wrong, I like the place, but just jacking up your entrance marks doesn't equal the best university in the country. Please.
I was this close to forwarding the email to the University Principal, just to make sure she was aware of what might go down this Wednesday. Sadly I'm not a whistle blower. But I'll definitely spread the word to my nearest and dearest -- and the readers of this website, and possibly the Journal, to make sure they don't naively give away their hard earned cash to this wanker.

Sincerely
AH

Monday, October 03, 2005

Published FOR REAL

I am so proud to announce that I have finally been published in a real live publication for real. It may or may not be a campus publication which my friend is editing, hence my being asked to write for it, but in any case, when I come home for Thanksgiving I am definitely bringing everyone copies. I'm hoping my Grandma will stick it up on her fridge... right next to my brother's bonzai article from the National Post which has irked me for years now because I'M THE F-ING WRITER IN THE FAMILY DANG IT!
It all goes to show, that as with everything ever in life, it's just who you know.
Now, could some one please introduce me to Margaret Atwood.
As I'd like to be her protege.
Because Carol Shields is dead.
Gods rest her soul.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Oh, Snap!

I've been on this whole personal crusade to save my money lately. Mostly it's because I really want to go to Germany this coming December, and also I didn't work at all this summer, and therefore have only what is leftover from this past year. Which is not a lot. My friends are coming very (annoyed-ly, I think) aware of this crusade, and keep offering to spot me for stuff, which is a bit embarassing. I'm not above spending any money at all, I just want everyone to understand that I don't have a lot to throw around, which it seems more and more that they just do.
Tonight my friend K offered to put me in a cab to get to and from the club safely so that no one would have to walk home with me. Also people kept offering to buy me drinks.
I went out with a bunch of friends I've been hanging out with since first year, as well as a bunch of people I guess they've been hanging around with since I left, because I'd never met them before and everyone else seemed well acquainted.
Everything was fine with these new people until one guy's propensity to use the words (and I apologize for content here) slut, bitch, and, in my case, dirty ho-bag to refer to women. It was something I noticed about him the minute I arrived at the party, and of course immediately got my hackles up. It was obvious he was doing it to try and be funny. Apparently he finds that sort of thing humourous. Guess how much I really don't?
The situation reached a head when he asked me and K, who were walking ahead of him, "Hey, where are you dirty ho-bags leading us?"
Without a second's hesitation, or stopping to turn and face him, I stuck out one finger and said loudly, "Yeah! Say THAT to me one more time and see how many testicles you have left at the end of the night."
He then tried the "oooh I'm so scared" routine, and I kept walking, never turning around. But I guess I got the point across because half way through the night he came over to me and tried to ask awkwardly how I was doing, to which I smiled and said "I'm just FINE thanks."
I wanted to add that he needn't worry about his testicles as long as he continued his awkward semi-kowtow, but it was quite clear that I'd freaked him out enough already.
Score one for the dirty ho-bag.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

OH MY GOODNESS THAT'S SOOO GREAT!

On Thursday night I did something I haven't done since first year (and no V, I did not fall backward off a stage in a drunken stupor, nor eat an entire container of Ben and Jerrys, nor did I pick up in a bar -- I'm, um, over all that). I stayed up all night, and I do mean all night, writing a paper for the next day. Writing the biggest piece of crap paper ever I might add. I definitely slept for two hours.
Then, an hour after I'd been back in bed in the middle of the day, my brand new boss decided to call me into work for a couple of hours. In my exhausted retardation I started to say no, and then I was like, "What are you doing? This woman JUST hired you TWO DAYS AGO, and you're going to turn her down?"
So I put on my best server voice -- the best one I could muster under the circumstances -- and instead said "SURE! Why don't I do that? That IS a really good idea."
Now, for those of you who haven't heard my server voice, it's quite a thing to behold. I developed it when I was 17 and started working at the craptabulous Pub 101 in Guelph (I get to trash it now, I don't work there anymore). Normally my voice is pretty low for a girl. Recently someone told me that when I talk it sounds like a song. I'm pretty sure she was sort of making fun of me, but it was still a nice way of saying it.
My server voice on the other hand is a sickly-sweet, high-pitched sing-song, and every time I hear it coming out of my mouth I want to gag, or slap myself, but it's honestly beyond my control. As soon as I'm in that serving situation the voice manifests itself, and I use it to say various inane things like "Hey there, how're you doing this evening?" and "Hi-i, my name is A, what can I do for you?" and "Y'all ready? What can I get for ya?" Like I F-ing care.
I then finish up the encounter with things like "Okay! Have a GREAT evening/day/weekend/etc." Suddenly my use of the words great, awesome, nice, and thanks are used in purely literal terms, rather than my usual sarcastic sense.
It's horrifying.
Now it's almost 2:30 and instead of going back to sleep which is what I'd dearly LOVE to do right now, I'm going to go to the Film House and edit some footage I shot this week. HURRAY.
(Watch out now for increased sarcasm use to compensate for the extreme cheeriness, starting next Wednesday)