Tag Archives: Funny

Your 21 Year Old’s Typical Amsterdam Post

I went to Amsterdam.

Originally, I was planning to go by myself. But my three guy friends, who are also studying in Ireland (from Canada), decided to go at the same time and I wound up meeting them there.

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I have too many goddamn pictures of this goddamn sign.

The first night was a blur of a pub crawl, featuring unlimited vodka shots and feeling like Jane Goodall observing the guys strategizing and picking up girls.

The pubs all had smoking sections where people would just get high in these half outdoor/half indoor areas. Blurry memories of some guys from LA sharing their spliff with me. (Because world travel as a Canadian means you literally just meet Americans and no one else). Red lights and half-naked prostitutes gave the streets a nice atmosphere as we walked from one bar to the next.

I vaguely remember buying a waffle covered in chocolate and glazed strawberries and bananas. I kept thinking “Michelle if you leave this waffle in the cab I will never forgive you(me?)” as I was taking it home to eat in bed, because that’s what I do when I’m drunk and I’m disgusting.

I, however, forgot I was staying at a hostel and wound up silently giggling and eating this waffle in the top bunk trying not to wake anyone up or smack my head off the ceiling.

My friends apparently got home okay and they don’t remember how, but they do remember the “French girls”, whatever that means.

I also bought myself a little surprise for the morning because when I checked my purse there was a mysterious brownie in it.

Ah, what they hell, I ate it.

Amsterdam: 1, Me:0

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The only photo I have of that night says more than words really can.

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Public Service Announcement of the Day

Ahem.

I would like to warn you all about the dangers of accepting weird guys you’ve just met on SnapChat*.

No, it’s not the random dick pics. That’s almost expected with the way my luck has been going lately (where do I meet these people?). It’s not the possibility of randomly clicking his name when sending some ugly face to your friend. It’s not even the awkwardness that comes with a dead SnapChat connection.

It’s that some guys are really really really freaking weird and will send you videos and photos multiple times a day of their friends doing exercises, drinking beer, or even–cringe–MySpace-style selfies (and some guys are nearing 30)…even if you don’t respond.

Just a warning.

It may be hilarious, though. So it’s up to you.

File this one under “things I learned in Saskatoon”.

It may look nice, but this city is harbouring a hoard of awkward SnapChatters.

It may look nice, but this city is harbouring a hoard of awkward SnapChatters.

*for all of you very confused people: SnapChat is simply an app (that’s like a…program…on a smartphone) that allows you to send others photos or videos for only a few seconds until it deletes itself. It sounds more boring than it is.

 

Late resolutions

I have a big mouth.

I can’t help myself.

I say stupid things that are risky. I enjoy ranting and sometimes people enjoy hearing me. (But really, most of them probably want to punch me in the face. I would, too)

My new resolution: Shut up. Just shut up.

You know how every time you go out drinking you spend the next day re-living all the stupid shit you said as it slowly creeps back into your memory? Oh my god how are people still friends with me?

This is a static state for me now [which may or may not have to do with how often I go out drinking. Shh.]

We need a support group, some sort of Big Mouths Anonymous where we chat about how addicted we are to the attention that delivering a mildly-amusing rant brings. But no, we can’t stop. We keep going. We want to be heard, dammit! I assume we’d all hate each other, because who likes people with big mouths?

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I should print this out.

Heres to a new, quiet, spring. And no, I will not complain about the weather or the people who won’t shut the fuck up about the fact that it’s snowing in April. Yes, we know, it happens every year.

Oops.

The Highs and Lows of the Gym

With Old Navy’s recent sale on spandex capris, I thought I’d finally hit the gym after buying my pass in January. I know. Shut up.

The gym at my school is an odd one, because it’s tiny and it’s a solid half an half of students and old, rich people who live in the surrounding old, rich community.

There are even a section of treadmills labelled with imperial measurements.
(For those of you who don’t know, Canada switched to metric in the 70s, so those who went to elementary school a long time ago still usually use imperial. Including my parents. Yes, mom, there are 100cm in a metre. I wrote it down for you. It’s on the fridge.)

I’ve made some slight observations.

Good: Old people don’t check you out while you work out.
Bad: I think.

Good: I’ve realized that the elliptical is a magical machine that doesn’t make my knees want to crumble into dust when I use it.
Bad: Have you ever tried looking coordinated on an elliptical?

Good: I climbed the lovingly called “stairs of death” back up to campus without losing my breath after the gym.
Bad: The stairs of death exist.

Good: The new spandex capris and a cute t-shirt aren’t too shabby.
Bad: They are now covered in sweat forever.

So there you are. My adventures at this weird thing that humans go to as a supplement for our lazy-ass lives of leisure so we don’t die of cardiac arrest at 28 while reaching for that last slice of cheesecake.

Necessary disclaimer: Not me.

Necessary disclaimer: Not me.

TV Expectations

They’ve lied to us. High school was not as positive as Degrassi or as fun and good-natured as Sabrina the Teenage Witch. There was no usual “hang out” that wasn’t full of angry looking 12 grade boys trying to buy Chinese food at lunch and scaring away the local families (it happened. There were complaints. Our students were assholes.)

No. My high school was in the middle of no where, overcrowded, and run by people who thought it was more important to ensure students weren’t on their cell phones at lunch than worrying about actual learning.

No one gave a shit about the football team (this is Canada, after all, where we have yet to build a 60 million dollar football stadium for a high school) and what is school spirit? Our colours were grey, silver, and black. What a cheerful-looking crowd we would have been.

So, whatever, TV never depicts real life, unless you live in the American South, where I assume every single high school on TV is modelled after.

University matched up slightly better, taking into account the majority of students at my school commute. We have pub nights and things, woo!

Now I just hope Friends wasn’t a lie. Or GIRLS, just…you know…without the awkward nakedness.

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or the awfully unflattering outfit choices by Dunham

Well, actually when bus passes in your city cost a student $106 a month and rent is at least $700 with a few roommates…it looks like my parents are going to be roommates for a while.

Hopefully no awkward nakedness.

And maybe, if I work really hard and score an actual full-time job after I graduate that’s not the retail hell my peers are stuck in, I’ll be able to almost afford a shitty apartment with a bunch of roommates. We’ll see. 

Signs of Growing Up: Part 1 (Embarrassing photos included!)

I am old enough to realize that worrying about if my bangs will sit properly or not is not worth my time. I had a revelation and then I found some scissors.

Goodbye, high school hair.

And because I love to humiliate myself on this blog, now is the time for an awful photo montage (well, not really a montage) documenting the journey of my frustrating bangs over the last 4-5 years or so. Here you go:

This was probably the best my bangs had ever looked…EVEN THOUGH I COULDN’T SEE A THING. (ft. giant nose zit. Thank god grade 11 is over.)

But then they did this….

…so then I retaliated with some bobby pins…

…and then eventually gave up.

Then some pictures were posted where my forehead looked like this

So I did this!

Now I feel like an adult who can actually see out of both eyes.

A milestone, really.

Where did that week go?

I suppose it’s good that the days and weeks are just flying by, since I can’t wait to start at my new university this fall and get back into nerd-mode. The blog is taking a hit, though! Sorry guys. My 8 hour workdays turn into 12 hours with the commute. I get home at 10:30 some nights and go right to bed so I can get up at 7am the next day. *sob*

A long winded explanation for a disappointing blogging schedule. Ah, so cliche.

Anyway, how about an update on the past week?

Last last Sunday was the pride parade in Toronto.

I have never seen so many happy, smiling people on Yonge street in my life. The pride parade falls on the last day of pride week, which is one of the largest gay pride festivals in the world.

I love it. People from all walks of life come out to show their support for the LGBT community; even the Toronto Police decorate their cruisers and take part in the fun!

Cue the bad iPhone photos (but hey, at least I got a good spot in the crowd!)

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I have discovered my new beer replacement. I hate beer. I know, sue me. I should be kicked straight out of Canada, right?

I hate going to bars and being the only one to not order a pint of Keiths. Gin and tonic, please? Yes, that’s what I said.

In comes Strongbow. Oh, dear, glorious cider. Not bitter at all. Finally, something that I can order and enjoy with a meal at a pub!

I went to the LCBO to pick up a bunch. Three different LCBOs were completely out of Strongbow. What? Apparently their warehouse is empty! WHAT?

I suppose I should have taken the free one that guy offered me on the RT. His LCBO bag exploded and the cans rolled everywhere, I offered him an old shopping bag I had in my backpack. A good deed for a nice can of cider sounds like a deal, but I was too modest.

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I got a little too drunk at a bonfire after work on Sunday night. The last text I sent my boyfriend (who is in another province for the summer) was a picture of an empty subway car on my way home, and then I didn’t respond to anything else. Whoops, didn’t mean to scare the crap out of you, sorry.

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I kid you not, the caption was “All alone.” What is wrong with me?

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Last Wednesday I got bit by a pony. There is now a pony-mouth-shaped bruise on my thigh, and now I know not to tighten the saddle so abruptly. Lesson learned.

The worst part is that I now realize that covers more than a week! Ahh!