Just some random thoughts, awkward things, on the super level:
- Why do all manufacturers of industrial bathroom products have two names? (ie: Kimberly Clarke, Matthes Williamson, etc)
- Have you ever played chicken with people on the sidewalk? Like staring them down until they move out of the way or until they force you to do it? I usually win, cause I'm a girl and I'm wearing heels, but I swear, there's some smaller Asian women who really give me a run for my money!
- The word "practicable". Really? I mean, really?
- I have never had milk come out of my nose but I so badly wanted it to when I was younger. Now I ever wonder why I wanted it to. Though part of my wishes I had achieved it - just so I'd know.
- I hate buying toilet paper and then making eye contact with people. It's like the minute they see you're carrying toilet paper their thoughts go to your bathroom use. And let's be honest with ourselves, as natural as the process is, random people thinking about your bathroom use is unattractive.
- For me there are really only two seasons: Wearing Socks and Not Wearing Socks. Currently, this season is Wearing Socks. But I am constantly scared that for some reason, I will have to remove my shoes and people will see my socks. This fear has resulted in me matching my socks to my outfit. Socks that no one really ever sees. I actually spend energy on this.
- I think I would be a good poker player. In general, I'm very spastic. I think it could hide my tells very well.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Thursday, April 03, 2008
This past weekend as I walked into Tim Hortons to buy my mom some Roll Up the Rim coffee, a little boy sitting with his parents looked up at me and announced to his family, "Look! The nuns have arrived!" Yeah, thanks kid....only in Brantford.
Friday, March 14, 2008
What "being from Brantford" means....
It's Bran-Furd, not Brant-Ford.
There are streets calles Strawberry Lane, Sandy Row and Winter Way.
10 minutes from the farther point to the other further point.
Cockshutt Park is where you go to watch fireworks, eat cotton candy and get bittern by mosquitoes. At any other time of year you can't say the name wtihout giggling.
The Bell Homestead is a rite of passage for every single person living within the city - whether you're a new immigrant, moved from a bigger city, a smaller city, or are in grade 3. This is a necessity. You also must churn butter, bake shortbread and clean laundry old skoole.
Every street, no matter what, will either curve or at some part, become a hill.
You do believe that you will be the next Wayne Gretzky...along with your parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbours, minor league hockey coach, the zamboni driver, etc.
Speaking of zambonis, I know the first woman to ever drive a zamboni in Brantford's Civic Centre. (Hey Linda!!!)
The most degrees of separation anyone has from anyone else is always 2.
We grew up with an awareness that hockey isn't Canada's national sport. This is.
Angels Diner is considered right up there with Montana's and Kelsey's as a "fine dining establishments". *shudder*
The Moose is not a moose.
There has never been a line up at the movie theatre, except when Shrek 2 came out.
A bush party really does mean just the bush. But it is imperative to know which bush. Otherwise, you could end up wandering alone in the dark for hours. I still just mean the bush.
Too many things were given Aboriginal themes - Mohawk Park, Eagle Place, the Grandwoodlands, etc. They became so normal that it was weird when you realized where the names came from.
5th Street stops. Then starts again. 3 blocks over.
My neighbourhood was a gold mine for kids to make a killing when: 1) collecting Halloween candy, 2) shovelling driveways in winter, 3) setting up lemonade stands. Why? We were surrounded by the elderly and the retired!!! There wasn't a kid to be seen for blocks!
There are streets calles Strawberry Lane, Sandy Row and Winter Way.
10 minutes from the farther point to the other further point.
Cockshutt Park is where you go to watch fireworks, eat cotton candy and get bittern by mosquitoes. At any other time of year you can't say the name wtihout giggling.
The Bell Homestead is a rite of passage for every single person living within the city - whether you're a new immigrant, moved from a bigger city, a smaller city, or are in grade 3. This is a necessity. You also must churn butter, bake shortbread and clean laundry old skoole.
Every street, no matter what, will either curve or at some part, become a hill.
You do believe that you will be the next Wayne Gretzky...along with your parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbours, minor league hockey coach, the zamboni driver, etc.
Speaking of zambonis, I know the first woman to ever drive a zamboni in Brantford's Civic Centre. (Hey Linda!!!)
The most degrees of separation anyone has from anyone else is always 2.
We grew up with an awareness that hockey isn't Canada's national sport. This is.
Angels Diner is considered right up there with Montana's and Kelsey's as a "fine dining establishments". *shudder*
The Moose is not a moose.
There has never been a line up at the movie theatre, except when Shrek 2 came out.
A bush party really does mean just the bush. But it is imperative to know which bush. Otherwise, you could end up wandering alone in the dark for hours. I still just mean the bush.
Too many things were given Aboriginal themes - Mohawk Park, Eagle Place, the Grandwoodlands, etc. They became so normal that it was weird when you realized where the names came from.
5th Street stops. Then starts again. 3 blocks over.
My neighbourhood was a gold mine for kids to make a killing when: 1) collecting Halloween candy, 2) shovelling driveways in winter, 3) setting up lemonade stands. Why? We were surrounded by the elderly and the retired!!! There wasn't a kid to be seen for blocks!
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
The Man in the the Moon (my secret's out)
I remember watching a movie once when I was younger. The memories are still pretty vivid - it was a Saturday afternoon in the summer, I was sitting in the family hoping I wouldn't be asked to help with any of the gardening, I was sitting in my favorite chair.
It was a movie about a girl who had a crush on a boy. An older, cuter, neighbour boy. They go swimming. He works on a farm. Then she realizes he has a crush on her older sister when he helps with the groceries. Then there's an ending that really breaks your heart.
Of all the things I remember, I don't remember the name of the movie. I still think back to that day when I first saw it, how sad I was, how much I liked the characters, how much I didn't...
Then walking through Best Buy one afternoon, my eyes passed over the clearance rack. I saw a movie with a young Reese Witherspoon on the cover and I thought to myself, "Well she sure didn't have that gawky adolescent phase". As I slowly read and re-read the back cover, it dawned on me. This was the movie. The movie.
You know when there's a movie you love and you want the world to know you love it? For some reason, this one didn't. I was embarassed. What if people thougth I came in here looking for this movie? I quickly put it down and hurried out of the store like I stole something.
Random? Yes, I like to be a little random.
It was a movie about a girl who had a crush on a boy. An older, cuter, neighbour boy. They go swimming. He works on a farm. Then she realizes he has a crush on her older sister when he helps with the groceries. Then there's an ending that really breaks your heart.
Of all the things I remember, I don't remember the name of the movie. I still think back to that day when I first saw it, how sad I was, how much I liked the characters, how much I didn't...
Then walking through Best Buy one afternoon, my eyes passed over the clearance rack. I saw a movie with a young Reese Witherspoon on the cover and I thought to myself, "Well she sure didn't have that gawky adolescent phase". As I slowly read and re-read the back cover, it dawned on me. This was the movie. The movie.
You know when there's a movie you love and you want the world to know you love it? For some reason, this one didn't. I was embarassed. What if people thougth I came in here looking for this movie? I quickly put it down and hurried out of the store like I stole something.
Random? Yes, I like to be a little random.
Monday, March 03, 2008
All the things I wish I'd said
To the guy who takes everything as a personal insult - I know you want the world to revolve around you but it doesn't, so get over it!
To the girl who thinks her world is coming to an end - Shut up! Far worse things have happened in much greater numbers to people whose lives were worse off to begin with. Complaining about it so much just makes you sound like a whiney brat.
To the guy who loves to tell others I'm not qualified for my job - I got it. You didn't. Deal with it.
To the girl who can't get her crap together - You're like black hole that sucks the energy out of the people around you, complaining about your workload, and the drama you hate, yet promote and how difficult even the tiniest things are. Please refer to earlier message to " girl who thinks her world is coming to an end".
To the girl who refuses to complain about anyone - I can respect what you're trying to do, it's just when you walk up to me with that look on your face and you half start a rant that you never finish, it leaves me more pissed off. Do me a favour, instead of coming up to me to say those things, pretend to have the conversation wtih yourself. Start it with yourself, end it with yourself.
To the girl who I insulted - You deserved it. You did. You deserved it for the years I sat by, ignoring the things you said about me behind my back. At least I got the satisfaction of seeing how you felt after hearing it.
To the girl who thinks her world is coming to an end - Shut up! Far worse things have happened in much greater numbers to people whose lives were worse off to begin with. Complaining about it so much just makes you sound like a whiney brat.
To the guy who loves to tell others I'm not qualified for my job - I got it. You didn't. Deal with it.
To the girl who can't get her crap together - You're like black hole that sucks the energy out of the people around you, complaining about your workload, and the drama you hate, yet promote and how difficult even the tiniest things are. Please refer to earlier message to " girl who thinks her world is coming to an end".
To the girl who refuses to complain about anyone - I can respect what you're trying to do, it's just when you walk up to me with that look on your face and you half start a rant that you never finish, it leaves me more pissed off. Do me a favour, instead of coming up to me to say those things, pretend to have the conversation wtih yourself. Start it with yourself, end it with yourself.
To the girl who I insulted - You deserved it. You did. You deserved it for the years I sat by, ignoring the things you said about me behind my back. At least I got the satisfaction of seeing how you felt after hearing it.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Gimme a P, an R, an O...I'll finish the rest later...
I am plagued by proscrastination. (Self-induced of course, cause I'm too Type A to let anyone else force me to proscrastinate.)
I know that I have a briefing that needs to be done. I know it. But instead, I took a leisurely lunch with the girls and chatted about wedding plans. I frantically bid on (and lost) an auction for the Spice Girls "World Tour That Isn't Quite" tickets for my sister and her best friend. I tried to put myself into a sodium-induced-coma by eating too salty french fries, which didn't work. I took a nice long walk to the water cooler to drink water that tasted funny on my tongue (I think because of the high levels of sodium I just ingested). I went to the bathroom just to wash my hands. Twice. I applied lotion to my hands. Twice. I have decided to post on my blog. I'm only doing that once.
I just don't wanna write this briefing, even if is to get approval for a program that will help thousands of people get off welfare this year. Okay, well I do wanna get the approval. I just don't wanna be doing it now.
Update: I have also now peeled a clementine. If that doesn't seem like a big deal, it's cause you must not know that the smell of citrus on my skin makes me want to commit suicide. I guess this means another trip to wash my hands along with all that follows.
I know that I have a briefing that needs to be done. I know it. But instead, I took a leisurely lunch with the girls and chatted about wedding plans. I frantically bid on (and lost) an auction for the Spice Girls "World Tour That Isn't Quite" tickets for my sister and her best friend. I tried to put myself into a sodium-induced-coma by eating too salty french fries, which didn't work. I took a nice long walk to the water cooler to drink water that tasted funny on my tongue (I think because of the high levels of sodium I just ingested). I went to the bathroom just to wash my hands. Twice. I applied lotion to my hands. Twice. I have decided to post on my blog. I'm only doing that once.
I just don't wanna write this briefing, even if is to get approval for a program that will help thousands of people get off welfare this year. Okay, well I do wanna get the approval. I just don't wanna be doing it now.
Update: I have also now peeled a clementine. If that doesn't seem like a big deal, it's cause you must not know that the smell of citrus on my skin makes me want to commit suicide. I guess this means another trip to wash my hands along with all that follows.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Another day like this...
Breathe in for luck,
breathe in so deep,
this air is blessed,
you share with me.
This night is wild,
so calm and dull,
these hearts they race,
from self control.
Your legs are smooth,
as they graze mine,
we're doing fine,
we're doing nothing at all.
My hopes are so high,
that your kiss might kill me.
So won't you kill me,
so I die happy.
My heart is yours to fill or burst,
to break or bury,
or wear as jewelery,
which ever you prefer.
The words are hushed lets not get busted;
just lay entwined here, undiscovered.
Safe in here from all the stupid questions.
"hey did you get some?"
Man, that is so dumb.
Stay quiet, stay near, stay close they can't hear...
so we can get some.
My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me.
So won't you kiss me,
so I die happy.
My heart is yours to fill or burst,
to break or bury,
or wear as jewelery,
which ever you prefer.
Hands down this is the best day I can ever remember,
I'll always remember the sound of the stereo,
the dim of the soft lights,
the scent of your hair that you twirled in your fingers
and the time on the clock when we realized it's so late
and this walk that we shared together.
The streets were wet
and the gate was locked so I jumped it,
and I let you in.
And you stood at your door with your hands on my waist
and you kissed me like you meant it.
And I knew that you meant it,
that you meant it,
that you meant it,
and I knew that you meant it,
that you meant it.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Workplace Etiquette
When you congratulate a co-worker on getting married, make sure they were married somewhere other than in the dream you had last night!!!!
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
It's a thing...
In a conversation with my fiancee, I had to use that phrase to explain my piont - It's a thing!
What was I explaining? Food. Well an idea of food at least. I have been ruminating on an idea for a while and I finally decide that this idea had best become a theory and part of that process involves letting people know the idea, so it can take hold as a theory. And what, exactly, is my theory on food, you ask? It's a thing...you'll know what I mean in time.
I believe that everyone (Martha Stewart included) has one food or meal or snack that they will eat, for the pure enjoyment of eating it, but will never, ever, offer it to anyone else. It's a food that they keep to themselves, not beacuse it's too good to share with anyone else. Because it's too embarassing to share with anyone else. There are just some things that you eat or the way you eat them that you can do privately, without anyone knowing and it makes it fun or enjoyable, but the idea of sharing that with someone else would be - well, could be - embarassing!
You just don't know how they would take it. Maybe they'd laugh at you, embarassing you for the choice of food you have secretly indulged for years. Maybe they'd make a face (much like the face I make when I see people eating tuna), again embarassing you for your excitement over the food. Maybe you just don't know how they'd take knowing that this is what you actually look forward to eating when you're alone - and the potential embarassment is enough to keep your mouth shut. But whether you share it with others or not, you know it's there.
My fiancee didn't quite understand what I was talking about. I had to resort to my tried and true phrase of, 'It's a thing!" - cause it is! It's a thing that people have and people do! To which he politely said, "Okay". He always was an accepting one.
I'm not sure if I'm ready to let the world, or at least the handful of my blog readers, know exactly what my "thing" food is. Sort of because it's linked to a elementary school incident where I ate a large quantity of one food and have never quite managed to live down the reputation (thank goodness no one I know now talks to my elementary school friends!). Maybe in time I"ll share it with others...maybe if others share their food with me. But know that even if you don't want to, you're not alone. It's a thing we all have.
What was I explaining? Food. Well an idea of food at least. I have been ruminating on an idea for a while and I finally decide that this idea had best become a theory and part of that process involves letting people know the idea, so it can take hold as a theory. And what, exactly, is my theory on food, you ask? It's a thing...you'll know what I mean in time.
I believe that everyone (Martha Stewart included) has one food or meal or snack that they will eat, for the pure enjoyment of eating it, but will never, ever, offer it to anyone else. It's a food that they keep to themselves, not beacuse it's too good to share with anyone else. Because it's too embarassing to share with anyone else. There are just some things that you eat or the way you eat them that you can do privately, without anyone knowing and it makes it fun or enjoyable, but the idea of sharing that with someone else would be - well, could be - embarassing!
You just don't know how they would take it. Maybe they'd laugh at you, embarassing you for the choice of food you have secretly indulged for years. Maybe they'd make a face (much like the face I make when I see people eating tuna), again embarassing you for your excitement over the food. Maybe you just don't know how they'd take knowing that this is what you actually look forward to eating when you're alone - and the potential embarassment is enough to keep your mouth shut. But whether you share it with others or not, you know it's there.
My fiancee didn't quite understand what I was talking about. I had to resort to my tried and true phrase of, 'It's a thing!" - cause it is! It's a thing that people have and people do! To which he politely said, "Okay". He always was an accepting one.
I'm not sure if I'm ready to let the world, or at least the handful of my blog readers, know exactly what my "thing" food is. Sort of because it's linked to a elementary school incident where I ate a large quantity of one food and have never quite managed to live down the reputation (thank goodness no one I know now talks to my elementary school friends!). Maybe in time I"ll share it with others...maybe if others share their food with me. But know that even if you don't want to, you're not alone. It's a thing we all have.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Epiphany of late
I will not see Atonement. Not until I have read the book and formed my own judgment on it. Why? Not because Hollywood has this way of massacring lovely stories. Not because it wouldn't be nice to see James McAvoy with his lovely blue eyes on a large screen for a few hours. Why? Because Kiera Knightley has a way of turning everything she acts in to pooh!!!! That's right - POOH.
I don't dislike her per se. There's nothign tangible that I can connect to my dislike - except the way all stories she acts in are somehow butchered beyond recognition. But besides that, nothing really.
As an ode to my dislike of Kiera Knightley's ability to somehow have used lovely classical fiction as a means of establishing herself as a wannabe period actor, I will provide to you an e-mail on my sentiments after breaking down and finally watching Pride and Prejudice. Enjoy (or not).
Don't even get me started on King Arthur.
I don't dislike her per se. There's nothign tangible that I can connect to my dislike - except the way all stories she acts in are somehow butchered beyond recognition. But besides that, nothing really.
As an ode to my dislike of Kiera Knightley's ability to somehow have used lovely classical fiction as a means of establishing herself as a wannabe period actor, I will provide to you an e-mail on my sentiments after breaking down and finally watching Pride and Prejudice. Enjoy (or not).
(in an e-mail addressed to my best friend)
I have spent some time watching the Pride and Prejudice of 2005. As you so traitorously watched it with another companion, I feel I should, nay, MUST, share with you my thoughts....
First, did they even read the book? I think not. I think that when the time came to write this screenplay, they consulted the people of the falsely named King Arthur. Because if the movie could be another further away from the actual book, well, I would've probably had to shoot myself after watching it. They must have just coincidentally chosen the name Pride and Prejudice...yes, that's it.
BUT if in fact they did seek to make this movie based on the book, let me share a few "What the hell...!?!?!?!?!?!" moments:
WTH!?!?!?!?! #1: You know at the ball. The very first one. The one where Lizzie gets so artfully snubbed by Darcy. According to the niceties of the time, I think that would most adequately be the equivalent of, oh, a rave!!! Seriously, all the jumping and clapping they may as well have been on drugs.
WTH!?!?!?!?! #2: Bingley. What was that about??? Bingley's character was supposed to be a gentleman. Gentle-man. Let me bring to mind some other gentlemen, so that we may appropriately have examples with which to base our judge of this character. Atticus Finch. Lon from the Notebook. Ashleigh from Gone with the Wind. Tim Cruise circa Penelope Cruise. Bingley was no gentleman. What Bingley was - was like a flighty teenage girl. Hair dyed an unnatural colour, with too much hair product. Hell, his body even resembled a teenage girl's! And the - THEN - when he practices how to propose to Jane. Oh my god, reminiscent of when junior high school girls walk up to their crushes outside the gym after school and ask them to the dance. I swear, the movie would've just been better without him. And that's saying a lot. Like the movie could get better. Rubbish that it was.
WTH!?!?!?!?! #3: Pemberly - It flipping looked like a museum. First, we went to the painting room. Then we went to the naked sculpture room. The bust of Darcy? Talk about asexual, you could barely tell if it was male or female. And Lizzie peeks into Georgiana's room. Did they even research what houses we like back then? And what is she suddenly - a voyuer? At that moment I was worried the movie took a turn for the 18A rated.
WTH!?!?!?!?! #4: Mr Bennet - his teeth were too white for his age. And he looked like what I imagine Christopher Columbus to look ike first thign in the morning during his old age. At the end of the movie where he says, I could not part with you Lizzie blah blah blah, why keep that? When you take out all the other stuff, why keep that? The entire attachment between them was nonexistent. He was like an absent father. He should've been paying alimony.
WTH!?!?!?!?! #5: You knew this was coming - Elizabeth. Elizabeth was supposed to capture all of the polished refinement of the era and yet, yet still break the mould with her wit, her ability to laugh off the frivolties of daily life, to satirically comment on those around her, to embody grace and poise, but keep a childish innocence and openness. She did not shirk the rules or break the rules, but she played within the rules better than anyone else. Oh right, that was only in the book. No no, in the movie, Elizabeth was pretty much bipolar. A subdued bipolar. She either cried or laughed. But always in quick succession. And never very much. The girl spent all 3 hours in the verge of a nervous breakdown! I'm not saying this out of my bias for Keira, the girl could kill me with any number of swords. But please...I mean, there's a reason why this character is admired by women all over, throughout time. that she's cool cause she's living through all the crap women go through but she comes out unscathed. This lizzie practically cried all the time and before anything even happened to her. her and Bingley. They could be BFF. For each others birthday they should buy each other pink diaries with locks!
WTH!?!?!?!?! #6: I'm saddned to say, Darcy. So much went wrong here. Darcy should have commanded the scenes. Darcy with his pride, his looks, his intellignce. You hated him but at the same time he never really gave you reason to hate him. He was not handsome. He was not charming. He was not proud. He was not mysterious. He was not logical beyond reason. He didn't have that strange inability to be witty. He didn't fight against anything. He meekly accepted the nothing he was given in the movie. He did not deliver his lines with any sort of conviction. I swear he was mumbling. He was not in love with lizzie. He looked more in love with his sister!!! he looked like he was forced to be in the movie against his will! I can't love him, not like this. We can't be happy together, we won't be happy! !
I have spent some time watching the Pride and Prejudice of 2005. As you so traitorously watched it with another companion, I feel I should, nay, MUST, share with you my thoughts....
First, did they even read the book? I think not. I think that when the time came to write this screenplay, they consulted the people of the falsely named King Arthur. Because if the movie could be another further away from the actual book, well, I would've probably had to shoot myself after watching it. They must have just coincidentally chosen the name Pride and Prejudice...yes, that's it.
BUT if in fact they did seek to make this movie based on the book, let me share a few "What the hell...!?!?!?!?!?!" moments:
WTH!?!?!?!?! #1: You know at the ball. The very first one. The one where Lizzie gets so artfully snubbed by Darcy. According to the niceties of the time, I think that would most adequately be the equivalent of, oh, a rave!!! Seriously, all the jumping and clapping they may as well have been on drugs.
WTH!?!?!?!?! #2: Bingley. What was that about??? Bingley's character was supposed to be a gentleman. Gentle-man. Let me bring to mind some other gentlemen, so that we may appropriately have examples with which to base our judge of this character. Atticus Finch. Lon from the Notebook. Ashleigh from Gone with the Wind. Tim Cruise circa Penelope Cruise. Bingley was no gentleman. What Bingley was - was like a flighty teenage girl. Hair dyed an unnatural colour, with too much hair product. Hell, his body even resembled a teenage girl's! And the - THEN - when he practices how to propose to Jane. Oh my god, reminiscent of when junior high school girls walk up to their crushes outside the gym after school and ask them to the dance. I swear, the movie would've just been better without him. And that's saying a lot. Like the movie could get better. Rubbish that it was.
WTH!?!?!?!?! #3: Pemberly - It flipping looked like a museum. First, we went to the painting room. Then we went to the naked sculpture room. The bust of Darcy? Talk about asexual, you could barely tell if it was male or female. And Lizzie peeks into Georgiana's room. Did they even research what houses we like back then? And what is she suddenly - a voyuer? At that moment I was worried the movie took a turn for the 18A rated.
WTH!?!?!?!?! #4: Mr Bennet - his teeth were too white for his age. And he looked like what I imagine Christopher Columbus to look ike first thign in the morning during his old age. At the end of the movie where he says, I could not part with you Lizzie blah blah blah, why keep that? When you take out all the other stuff, why keep that? The entire attachment between them was nonexistent. He was like an absent father. He should've been paying alimony.
WTH!?!?!?!?! #5: You knew this was coming - Elizabeth. Elizabeth was supposed to capture all of the polished refinement of the era and yet, yet still break the mould with her wit, her ability to laugh off the frivolties of daily life, to satirically comment on those around her, to embody grace and poise, but keep a childish innocence and openness. She did not shirk the rules or break the rules, but she played within the rules better than anyone else. Oh right, that was only in the book. No no, in the movie, Elizabeth was pretty much bipolar. A subdued bipolar. She either cried or laughed. But always in quick succession. And never very much. The girl spent all 3 hours in the verge of a nervous breakdown! I'm not saying this out of my bias for Keira, the girl could kill me with any number of swords. But please...I mean, there's a reason why this character is admired by women all over, throughout time. that she's cool cause she's living through all the crap women go through but she comes out unscathed. This lizzie practically cried all the time and before anything even happened to her. her and Bingley. They could be BFF. For each others birthday they should buy each other pink diaries with locks!
WTH!?!?!?!?! #6: I'm saddned to say, Darcy. So much went wrong here. Darcy should have commanded the scenes. Darcy with his pride, his looks, his intellignce. You hated him but at the same time he never really gave you reason to hate him. He was not handsome. He was not charming. He was not proud. He was not mysterious. He was not logical beyond reason. He didn't have that strange inability to be witty. He didn't fight against anything. He meekly accepted the nothing he was given in the movie. He did not deliver his lines with any sort of conviction. I swear he was mumbling. He was not in love with lizzie. He looked more in love with his sister!!! he looked like he was forced to be in the movie against his will! I can't love him, not like this. We can't be happy together, we won't be happy! !
Don't even get me started on King Arthur.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
My Rant: Imposing cell phone etiquette
I don't understand this need for constant communication with other people. Over the past couple of days, the same people have repeatedly complained about my cell phone "habits" (I guess you would call them). Though I don't think they're my habits, so much as they are my personality.
Who made it a law that if you ever receive any form of communication (call, text, voicemail) on your cell phone, you are morally obligated to return it immediately, punishable with the threat of hours of nonsensical complaining?
Here's the situation: Sometimes, I'm in meetings. During the days, my cell is on silent and I forget to put it on vibrate. Other times, I am on the phone when you send me a text. I sleep as well. Why do you feel that because I own a cell phone that none of these things are valid reasons for me NOT answering you!?!?!?!!?
My personality is such that I don't mind not seeing my friends or speaking to friends on a daily basis. Every couple of days, weeks, in some cases months is enough. I will check and in when i check in, we catch up on each other's lives, enjoy a chat, share some funny stories. I do not need to know how many times they brushed their hair, what their garbage can smells like or the last time they did their laundry. But hey - that's just me.
What's wrong with talking to people when you need to? I am the first to admit that I'm not the role model to have when it comes to keeping in touch with people, but I make my efforts and I'm honest about it. BUT if I know I am going to see you everyday, for a good chunk of time, I don't need to also be in constant communication with you over text messages.
Now I'm getting complaints from people (well one person started it, complained to others, now they're complaining to me about it) that I don't reply ever. It's like if I don't have the same habits of being glued to my phone as they do, then I'm rude.
I feel like if it's really necessary to speak to me, uregntly, about something, give me a call at work. Otherwise, it can wait. I try to keep updated on the calls, the voicemails and the texts I receive, but if you're flooding my inbox with useless stuff when I'm at work, out with other people, running errands or carrying grocery bags, then have the courtesy to wait for a response when it's convenient.
Having a cell phone does not mean that you must be at the beck and call of the people who have your contact information. It means that it is easier to get in contact with a person. The rules that apply for a landline shoudl apply for a cell phone - and if you tell me that you have caller ID and have never avoided a call then you must be Martha Stewart like and it's kinda creepy.
Even after all this, it hasn't changed anything. That person will continue telling people that I selfishly use other people, people will still complain to me, I will have to choose whether to give in to them or tell them off, but for now, I just say screw it.
Who made it a law that if you ever receive any form of communication (call, text, voicemail) on your cell phone, you are morally obligated to return it immediately, punishable with the threat of hours of nonsensical complaining?
Here's the situation: Sometimes, I'm in meetings. During the days, my cell is on silent and I forget to put it on vibrate. Other times, I am on the phone when you send me a text. I sleep as well. Why do you feel that because I own a cell phone that none of these things are valid reasons for me NOT answering you!?!?!?!!?
My personality is such that I don't mind not seeing my friends or speaking to friends on a daily basis. Every couple of days, weeks, in some cases months is enough. I will check and in when i check in, we catch up on each other's lives, enjoy a chat, share some funny stories. I do not need to know how many times they brushed their hair, what their garbage can smells like or the last time they did their laundry. But hey - that's just me.
What's wrong with talking to people when you need to? I am the first to admit that I'm not the role model to have when it comes to keeping in touch with people, but I make my efforts and I'm honest about it. BUT if I know I am going to see you everyday, for a good chunk of time, I don't need to also be in constant communication with you over text messages.
Now I'm getting complaints from people (well one person started it, complained to others, now they're complaining to me about it) that I don't reply ever. It's like if I don't have the same habits of being glued to my phone as they do, then I'm rude.
I feel like if it's really necessary to speak to me, uregntly, about something, give me a call at work. Otherwise, it can wait. I try to keep updated on the calls, the voicemails and the texts I receive, but if you're flooding my inbox with useless stuff when I'm at work, out with other people, running errands or carrying grocery bags, then have the courtesy to wait for a response when it's convenient.
Having a cell phone does not mean that you must be at the beck and call of the people who have your contact information. It means that it is easier to get in contact with a person. The rules that apply for a landline shoudl apply for a cell phone - and if you tell me that you have caller ID and have never avoided a call then you must be Martha Stewart like and it's kinda creepy.
Even after all this, it hasn't changed anything. That person will continue telling people that I selfishly use other people, people will still complain to me, I will have to choose whether to give in to them or tell them off, but for now, I just say screw it.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Best lines from the last 24 hours...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
If clean had a taste, it would be Evian!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
But real life is what's we're trying to escape in our Kelly Clarkson songs.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Asking nicely doesn't get you more fries at the drive-thru.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
If clean had a taste, it would be Evian!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
But real life is what's we're trying to escape in our Kelly Clarkson songs.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Asking nicely doesn't get you more fries at the drive-thru.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Aftermath of the bomb-drop: Coffee Crunch
A few weeks ago my branch announced a major re-organization of the structure. They were bringing new people in, people had to compete for jobs they were already in, and the way files were distributed was going to change - along with the people handling them. Of course, I was affected in this re-org. Most of my team stayed together, but I was moved as far away from them as possible (structurally). Physically I was still in my office. The re-org wasn't to take place til November, but I, of course, was moved right away. I switched files, teams, managers and got over it.
Then today, another bomb was dropped. Big one that shifts the way that business is done at my branch. After that news was shared, the little whisperings and speculative remarks began. A co-worker and myself decided to take a walk to find Del Monte popsicles and discuss the happenings. That's when I came across the "Coffee Crunch".
Up until today, I had never eaten any Haagen Dazs ice cream. I was innocent of all the deliciousness it was advertised to offer. So, I bought my cavity filled mouth a $4 Haagen Dazs Coffee Crunch ice cream bar.
It was...interesting to say the least. I always thought it was an old person ice cream brand. I don't know, maybe it's cause it always seemed to cater to a more sophisticated pallete. Or maybe because the packaging pattern resembles furniture likely to be found in Ms. Havisham's house. Either way, it seems my initial conjecture was correct.
The ice cream itself was a nice consistency. Thick, yet soft. The outer coating was a little too sweet for me, made only sweeter by the chunks of biscotti (the "crunch" part). The ice cream was not too sweet, a very real coffee flavouring - which let's be honest, it's the most important part of this whole endeavour.
Halfway through I started to get a sickening stomachache. You know the kind that you get when you think you've eaten something not quite halal? It's like your body's rejecting the food, because it can sense that it's not supposed to be in you. I grabbed the box and read off the ingredients. The ingredients were enough to make me ickier! Liquid egg yolk??? Milk chocolate and vegetable oil coating??? That did not make it sound any more appetizing!!! I continued my search for the unhalal ingredient listing. It must be there somewhere! This has to be one of those rare ice creams brands that are unhalal and uncool.
Alas, there was nothing not halal about it. My stomachache was due to something else - I'd forgotten how eating ice cream makes you feel sick when you're lactose intolerant.
Then today, another bomb was dropped. Big one that shifts the way that business is done at my branch. After that news was shared, the little whisperings and speculative remarks began. A co-worker and myself decided to take a walk to find Del Monte popsicles and discuss the happenings. That's when I came across the "Coffee Crunch".
Up until today, I had never eaten any Haagen Dazs ice cream. I was innocent of all the deliciousness it was advertised to offer. So, I bought my cavity filled mouth a $4 Haagen Dazs Coffee Crunch ice cream bar.
It was...interesting to say the least. I always thought it was an old person ice cream brand. I don't know, maybe it's cause it always seemed to cater to a more sophisticated pallete. Or maybe because the packaging pattern resembles furniture likely to be found in Ms. Havisham's house. Either way, it seems my initial conjecture was correct.
The ice cream itself was a nice consistency. Thick, yet soft. The outer coating was a little too sweet for me, made only sweeter by the chunks of biscotti (the "crunch" part). The ice cream was not too sweet, a very real coffee flavouring - which let's be honest, it's the most important part of this whole endeavour.
Halfway through I started to get a sickening stomachache. You know the kind that you get when you think you've eaten something not quite halal? It's like your body's rejecting the food, because it can sense that it's not supposed to be in you. I grabbed the box and read off the ingredients. The ingredients were enough to make me ickier! Liquid egg yolk??? Milk chocolate and vegetable oil coating??? That did not make it sound any more appetizing!!! I continued my search for the unhalal ingredient listing. It must be there somewhere! This has to be one of those rare ice creams brands that are unhalal and uncool.
Alas, there was nothing not halal about it. My stomachache was due to something else - I'd forgotten how eating ice cream makes you feel sick when you're lactose intolerant.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
I'm gonna need to disclaimer this one...
It's true folks. After that last post which was all globally aware and what not, this may prove to be a let down. I apologize in advance.
People, I am pissed! That's right. I got back from my business trip up in Northern Ontario, which I will blog about once the anger has died down a little. After my flight, which was not as uncomfortable as the flight there (where I got elbowed in the head repeatedly while sitting between two very very large men - but again, that is a post for another time), I got into a limo. This is standard, since I'm on the company bill and the limo and taxis from Pearson are fared (meaning they have a flat rate depending on what part of Toronto you're going to) so there's not much difference between the prices.
If anyone's ever taken an airport limo or taxi from Pearson, you know it's usually an "uncle" driving you home. Usually I don't mind. They sorta see a girl of their own kind and they want to make sure you don't end up with one of those other drivers, the handful that come from Eastern Europe.
Let's return to today's trip. I get into the limo. I give the driver the nearest major intersection to my aparment, which is standard practice. He proceeds to ask me if it's north or south or such and such street. I say north. he then asks if it's east or west of this other street. I say West. Jolly good and we're on our way.
I notice as we take the exit off the highway that he's in the wrong lane. I mention it to him that he should probably take a right and get no response, so I keep my peave and put my trust in Uncle. (I once guided a driver I had before and offended a limo driver cause I guess he thought I thought he was incompotent, but that wasn't the case. I was just really tired and wanted to get home after my flight had been delayed).
I sit back and watch all the big houses go by, he comes up to the intersection nearset my house, we turn onto my street and since he hasn't yet asked the building number I gave it to him. He then says, It's halfway. I'm confused and ask, Halfway to what? Apparently, I'm halfway between one major intersection and another major intersection and I should've told him the other major intersection, because then he would've come from the other direction and taken this street and that street and then turned. My response? Oh, okay then.
But nooooo, he doesn't let it rest there. Uncle proceeds to tell me another TWO TIMES how I should've given him directions. To both these I respond with silence.
It's only when he says, Next time tell me the number first that I finally get pissed.
Excuse me? What were you doing that was so important when I came along and asked you to do your job? Oh, oh, what was that? Leaning against your car staring off into the distance? Yeah? Then shut up! Do not tell me what I need to do the "next time" cause that's assuming I will ever get a ride in your limo again! I understand that you're a little anal and want to know exactly where you're going right away, but then instaed of asking me what general direction out of north, south, east and west my building is located, ask me the stupid number when I first sit down! And then, THEN, why do you insist on beating a dead horse? You said it once, and then again, and then again, and then that one more time you thought when you told me how I should have given you directions to my building that it would suddenly change things somehow? Four times Was that really necessary? Let's get something straight...I am not your wife, I am not your daugther, I am not any acquaintance of your's - you cannot lecture me. I have hired you to do a job for a fee. Just do it. I don't need to be told how I should have hired you to do that job. I did my part, now you need to do your's. Without talking.
Anyway, when I finally did respond I think he knew he'd lost his tip. Too bad for him, I'm a very good tipper. Especially when I'm on the company bill.
People, I am pissed! That's right. I got back from my business trip up in Northern Ontario, which I will blog about once the anger has died down a little. After my flight, which was not as uncomfortable as the flight there (where I got elbowed in the head repeatedly while sitting between two very very large men - but again, that is a post for another time), I got into a limo. This is standard, since I'm on the company bill and the limo and taxis from Pearson are fared (meaning they have a flat rate depending on what part of Toronto you're going to) so there's not much difference between the prices.
If anyone's ever taken an airport limo or taxi from Pearson, you know it's usually an "uncle" driving you home. Usually I don't mind. They sorta see a girl of their own kind and they want to make sure you don't end up with one of those other drivers, the handful that come from Eastern Europe.
Let's return to today's trip. I get into the limo. I give the driver the nearest major intersection to my aparment, which is standard practice. He proceeds to ask me if it's north or south or such and such street. I say north. he then asks if it's east or west of this other street. I say West. Jolly good and we're on our way.
I notice as we take the exit off the highway that he's in the wrong lane. I mention it to him that he should probably take a right and get no response, so I keep my peave and put my trust in Uncle. (I once guided a driver I had before and offended a limo driver cause I guess he thought I thought he was incompotent, but that wasn't the case. I was just really tired and wanted to get home after my flight had been delayed).
I sit back and watch all the big houses go by, he comes up to the intersection nearset my house, we turn onto my street and since he hasn't yet asked the building number I gave it to him. He then says, It's halfway. I'm confused and ask, Halfway to what? Apparently, I'm halfway between one major intersection and another major intersection and I should've told him the other major intersection, because then he would've come from the other direction and taken this street and that street and then turned. My response? Oh, okay then.
But nooooo, he doesn't let it rest there. Uncle proceeds to tell me another TWO TIMES how I should've given him directions. To both these I respond with silence.
It's only when he says, Next time tell me the number first that I finally get pissed.
Excuse me? What were you doing that was so important when I came along and asked you to do your job? Oh, oh, what was that? Leaning against your car staring off into the distance? Yeah? Then shut up! Do not tell me what I need to do the "next time" cause that's assuming I will ever get a ride in your limo again! I understand that you're a little anal and want to know exactly where you're going right away, but then instaed of asking me what general direction out of north, south, east and west my building is located, ask me the stupid number when I first sit down! And then, THEN, why do you insist on beating a dead horse? You said it once, and then again, and then again, and then that one more time you thought when you told me how I should have given you directions to my building that it would suddenly change things somehow? Four times Was that really necessary? Let's get something straight...I am not your wife, I am not your daugther, I am not any acquaintance of your's - you cannot lecture me. I have hired you to do a job for a fee. Just do it. I don't need to be told how I should have hired you to do that job. I did my part, now you need to do your's. Without talking.
Anyway, when I finally did respond I think he knew he'd lost his tip. Too bad for him, I'm a very good tipper. Especially when I'm on the company bill.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
My goal: To start with just one
I had a lovely afternoon. Lovely why? Well, because this afternoon I spent watching a two hour film of the most depressing human tragedy in recent years. And it reminded me what it means to care.
This afternoon, one of my best friends, my younger sister, her friend from our hometown and I caught
Shake Hands with the Devil at TIFF. The movie is, as most movies about the topic of the Rwandan genocide are, absolutely amazing. Amzing in the sense that the massacre of innocent men, women and children is pitted against the backdrop of apathetic Western nations, while still capturing the very real, very rich and very beautiful Rwandan country and cultures.
This movie, however, was something more for me. It's been a long long while since I've looked up Lieutenant General Roméo Dallaire as a hero of mine. To be able to see the chilling events from his perspective (albeit in two hours) is something that my imagination couldn't think up, even while reading the book on which the movie is based. I've attended, read and heard talks by Major Brent Beardsley and Stephen Lewis, but never had that same opportunity with Dallaire's work (save for a few UN addresses posted online).
So fast forward to today...when sitting 3 rows ahead of me, was Romeo Dallaire himself. I didn't know what to do with myself. This was the man who led a few hundred troops to save the lives of over 30,000 people. 30,000 people who were forgotten by the international community. 30,000 who weren't added to the 1 million who lay slaughtered after 100 days of genocide. I expected Roy Dupuis, Deborah Kara Unger and James Gallanders to be there. Obviously, they starred in the movie (and were also in the same row as him). But Romeo Dallaire himself, sitting there - the though hadn't crossed my mind!
Before the film began, the director spoke about the conditions Dallaire put on making the movie about his role in Rwanda. He said "Tell the truth, make the story about Rwanda and the people, and don't make a hero out of me". You could tell during the numerous standing ovations given to both the film, and to him when he was invited to address the crowd of 1,500, that he still wasn't comfortable with being thrust into the spotlight of "hero" to thousands. If his apparent discomfort wasn't enough, his autobiography details his years in therapy as well as his attempts at suicide in order to forget what he saw in Rwanda. He saved the lives of 30,000 people but was unable to convince the international community that with the added enforcement of a few thousand troops the entire genocide could have been prevented. And he sees that as not only the world failing Rwanda, but his failure as well.
Managing what he did. Surviving what he did. And having the courage to continue to speak about it - I don't see that as failure. But then again, I've never saved anybody's life, let alone an entire nation's.
This afternoon, one of my best friends, my younger sister, her friend from our hometown and I caught
Shake Hands with the Devil at TIFF. The movie is, as most movies about the topic of the Rwandan genocide are, absolutely amazing. Amzing in the sense that the massacre of innocent men, women and children is pitted against the backdrop of apathetic Western nations, while still capturing the very real, very rich and very beautiful Rwandan country and cultures.
This movie, however, was something more for me. It's been a long long while since I've looked up Lieutenant General Roméo Dallaire as a hero of mine. To be able to see the chilling events from his perspective (albeit in two hours) is something that my imagination couldn't think up, even while reading the book on which the movie is based. I've attended, read and heard talks by Major Brent Beardsley and Stephen Lewis, but never had that same opportunity with Dallaire's work (save for a few UN addresses posted online).
So fast forward to today...when sitting 3 rows ahead of me, was Romeo Dallaire himself. I didn't know what to do with myself. This was the man who led a few hundred troops to save the lives of over 30,000 people. 30,000 people who were forgotten by the international community. 30,000 who weren't added to the 1 million who lay slaughtered after 100 days of genocide. I expected Roy Dupuis, Deborah Kara Unger and James Gallanders to be there. Obviously, they starred in the movie (and were also in the same row as him). But Romeo Dallaire himself, sitting there - the though hadn't crossed my mind!
Before the film began, the director spoke about the conditions Dallaire put on making the movie about his role in Rwanda. He said "Tell the truth, make the story about Rwanda and the people, and don't make a hero out of me". You could tell during the numerous standing ovations given to both the film, and to him when he was invited to address the crowd of 1,500, that he still wasn't comfortable with being thrust into the spotlight of "hero" to thousands. If his apparent discomfort wasn't enough, his autobiography details his years in therapy as well as his attempts at suicide in order to forget what he saw in Rwanda. He saved the lives of 30,000 people but was unable to convince the international community that with the added enforcement of a few thousand troops the entire genocide could have been prevented. And he sees that as not only the world failing Rwanda, but his failure as well.
Managing what he did. Surviving what he did. And having the courage to continue to speak about it - I don't see that as failure. But then again, I've never saved anybody's life, let alone an entire nation's.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Contrive-rsy
I seem to have taken a hiatus from blogging. Well, perhaps not a hiatus per se as I was never a regular blogger to begin with, but I have taken an unscheduled break. A lot of things happened, many of which were blog-worthy. And I swear, every morning on the TTC ride to work I come up with some great ideas. But when I sit down at my desk, all the creativity gets sucked right out of me.
*Shocking realization alert*
The government does suck your personality out of you. Wow...I had no idea until I just wrote that sentence above that working here has done that to me.
Anyway, whenever I started a post up until now, it always felt contrived. So I thought to myself, why not pay tribute to all things contrived in this contrived post? Here goes...
*Shocking realization alert*
The government does suck your personality out of you. Wow...I had no idea until I just wrote that sentence above that working here has done that to me.
Anyway, whenever I started a post up until now, it always felt contrived. So I thought to myself, why not pay tribute to all things contrived in this contrived post? Here goes...
- The movie, Becoming Jane. All of it. Every single minute
- My branch's management and their approach to "the staff"
- Stephen Harper's attitude to everything that matters
- My attitude towards the state of my sister's hair
- Small talk with Aunties who want me to marry their sons
- My interest in their sons
- Canada's attempt at showing the world that they really do care about soccer
- The entire Heidi-Spencer story line from The Hills
- People who buy organic bananas
- The idea of young mall walkers
Any to add?
Monday, July 16, 2007
Loaft
My life is on cruise control.
I don't remember pressing that button though.
You know the feeling...the one where there's nothing really exciting going on. You meet old friends and realize nothing's really changed since the last time you met. You wanna go out and do something fun, but realize you can say to pretty much everything, "Done that".
I thought I was doing okay. I thought, My life's not that empty. I probably manage to do about as much stuff in one week as you hear Lindsay Lohan doing in one night. And given the alleged drug problem, I think that's the pace any other normal person would operate on.
But then it happened.
The moment that it all clicked that...
My
Life
Is
Boring
Last week, I was eating my lunch and I took a sip of my pop, then FROZE. I couldn't understand why it tasted so funny. Coke wasn't supposed to taste like that at all!!!!! Until I looked at the can and realized, I'd bought root beer that day to "switch it up".
I don't remember pressing that button though.
You know the feeling...the one where there's nothing really exciting going on. You meet old friends and realize nothing's really changed since the last time you met. You wanna go out and do something fun, but realize you can say to pretty much everything, "Done that".
I thought I was doing okay. I thought, My life's not that empty. I probably manage to do about as much stuff in one week as you hear Lindsay Lohan doing in one night. And given the alleged drug problem, I think that's the pace any other normal person would operate on.
But then it happened.
The moment that it all clicked that...
My
Life
Is
Boring
Last week, I was eating my lunch and I took a sip of my pop, then FROZE. I couldn't understand why it tasted so funny. Coke wasn't supposed to taste like that at all!!!!! Until I looked at the can and realized, I'd bought root beer that day to "switch it up".
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