Tag Archives: Humor

Why are there so many centipedes in my house?

I am okay with spiders. I have held a millipede in my bare hands by choice. I have dissected an earth worm and a cow eyeball.

I, however, cannot handle house centipedes. They…just…bleh. Gross.

Last week, after the longest and worst commute of my life (read: 40 minute subway delay and more!) I got home at 11pm, pulled back the sheets on my bed and found two of these motherfucking things frolicking in my beautiful clean sheets.

It’s war.

Next question:

WHY ARE THERE GIANT PICTURES OF GROSS SUPER-LONG-LEGGED CENTIPEDES ON ALL OF THESE LINKS? WHY? 

I suppose I shall be picking up every type of insecticide ever.

These things will rule me no longer.

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Most of my problems in life revolve around shoes

At the ripe old age of 20 (that counts as a 20-something right? shh!), I have realized that the amount of shoes I need to cover every situation in my life is infinite. I should probably not attempt to have all possibilities covered,  because it will never happen. Living in Canada and having to deal with snow, ice, and the dreaded road salt almost doubles the amount of shoes I need. (Seriously, do you know how much road salt this goddamn city uses? You can walk down the street on a dry, snow-less day and still come home with your shoes covered in stains. It’s magical.)

Over the past few months, I have needed shoes for everything from gardening to going to “the club”. I’ve needed job interview shoes, walking the dog shoes, winter job interview shoes, winter boots, spring sandals, fancy flats and casual flats.

My biggest issue is WHAT SHOES DO I WEAR WHEN? Maybe I’m a little “slow” when it comes to this, but I’m lost. All of these situations require a specific style of shoes. I can’t imagine a hiring manager’s face if one were to walk in with these on (and these happen to be some of the easiest to find or buy shoes EVER. Why? Why these?) :

Will someone please tell me where I’m supposed to wear these, other than accompanied with a black spandex 20cm long skirt at a club?

Apparently I’m also cursed, because every single time I go to the mall looking for something specific (jeans, a new school bag, low-heeled black pumps), I wind up finding 10 beautiful sundresses I resist buying because I’m off track.

I won’t find anything I need that week, of course. The next week I’ll go back looking for sundresses, instead I’ll find 10 pairs of perfect black pumps but no sundresses.  Pure evil.

Also, lets not forget the fact that I am “blessed” with wide size 10 feet, that sometimes spill over to the size 11 rack (I’m 5’10”, okay?).  Some places don’t even carry size 11s.

The worst part is when, in January, I’m being marketed shoes that look like this:

Oh, for fucks sake.

I can imagine some idiot shoe designer, sitting in his LA office, thinking “oh, we’ll give those women in cold climates some boots for the winter! Open-toed to cool down the feet, of course, and suede because suede really holds up to salt and snow.” You suck at your job and should be fired.

I suppose they’re okay for the fall, but the whole idea that I’m supposed to wear these with no socks (for the open toes) makes me cringe because they’ve got no ventilation.

I even went to the big warehouse sale, the Petite Feet Shoe Sale, in Markham the other day. I was looking for some multi-purpose black, low-heeled pumps, and I came home with these:

But they turned out to only be $40 so it’s totally okay I have no idea where I’m going to wear them, right?

I mean, should I just say “screw it,” only buy heels for now on, and be that crazy lady on every reality show who wears heels everywhere no matter what?

I guess I need to cut those “CROCS EVERYWHERE THEY’RE AWESOME SO COMFY!” people some slack, eh? Haha, no.

Sidenote: if you have size 6 feet and live in the GTA, check out the Petite Feet Sale at the Markham Fairgrounds this weekend. Seriously. Half the warehouse is dedicated to you lucky bitches.

The Grammys & Twitter: Do I Laugh or Cry?

I’m sure you have seen by now the screenshots of the idiotic remarks on twitter last night. One batch was about girls, children, who tweeted crap like “Chris Brown is so hot I wish he’d beat me!” and other things they’re just too ignorant and immature to understand the offensiveness of. I’m not going to get into that, because that would be one hell of a blog post.

No,  I’m talking about this phenomenon of idiots who are resistant to Google, for whatever reason.
Apparently “just Google it” has turned into “just ask on twitter and wait for someone else to Google it for you.” Anyone who has ever been on Yahoo Answers will attest to this, as your physical urge to punch someone/something rises with every post read. Don’t ever go on Yahoo Answers. Just don’t.

Look at this.

I have nothing left to say. I bet they try and CTRL+F textbooks.

It’s not even a Paul McCartney-specific thing. How many times have you posted something like “Yeah I love this new song by the Sexy Tigercats*” and someone asks “whut r they a band”

*Fake band-name, aka my future girl group I dreamed up as a delusional child. I would advise against Googling that. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

For those of you who think like me, take note of http://lmgtfy.com/ and http://justfuckinggoogleit.com/, the most beautifully useful websites ever.

I will never understand this. Here is my totally lame cartoon that was funnier in my head (my graphic design-studying boyfriend left his adobe-[legitimately]-equipped-laptop at home, and I couldn’t resist). Missing are various Justin Beiber CDs, as I couldn’t put myself through drawing those on this trackpad.

Enjoy.

I can now use Illustrator, be warned.

The Worst Condiment

I have never liked it on anything except fries, and even that is a stretch.

Ketchup. Ugh. There is nothing better to ruin a good hot dog or hamburger (or veggie dog/burger, pour moi) than an overzealous friend who puts ketchup on it for you while you save them a seat. It’s like someone handed you the original Mona Lisa, in all its glory, and you decided to silk-screen Kim Kardashian’s face overtop.

The crazy Heinz green and purple ketchup almost got me to come around as a child, but the discontinued it before I could make a second trip to the hot dog stand outside Canadian Tire

Pretty impressive ketchup-applying skills, kid.

My distaste of ketchup solidified when I started dating a guy who loved it, and was a horrible house keeper. He also didn’t know how much ketchup he’d need, and always overestimated. This resulted in, you guessed it, dirty plates with little puddles of ketchup on them sitting around. Have you ever smelt ketchup in that context? Say goodbye to your appetite.

I am a mustard supporter. Mustard 4 eva. Dijon, honey, whatever. As long as it’s got that nice bite to it and it’s not red, I’m down.

"Beautiful mustard" according to Google Images

There is this restaurant in Summerside, PEI that serves the most delicious chipotle mayo-type sauce (I have no idea) with its beautiful, crispy fries. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. With so many delicious alternatives, why ketchup?!

"You know what they put on french fries in Holland instead of ketchup?" "What?" "Mayonnaise." "Yuck!"

Pulp Fiction may mock it but I’m just waiting for IcelandAir to offer me a good deal. TTYL, Ketchup-fiends!

Sometimes My Own Generation Confuses Me

According to Wikipedia (I only use the best resources for my blog), we are Generation Y. This roughly includes people born in the ’80s and early ’90s, if my loyal online encyclopedia is being truthful.

I realize I’m not a revolutionary by pointing out that sometimes people my age are ridiculous, but hey, it’s 2012 and all the original ideas have been used.

Some things I just don’t understand:

1. Wearing sweatpants or *gasp* pajamas outside. To go see people. Or go out to eat. Yes, I own sweatpants and even pajamas, but they for the house, to get the mail, or to walk the dog.

I wore sweatpants to school ONE DAY in grade 5. I remember it vividly. They were light heather grey with a light blue stripe running up the side. I was feeling uncomfortable all morning, and then our very well-dressed French VP came in to visit the class. Seeing her in all her Holt Renfew glory made me feel like a bum, so I went home and put on jeans at lunch. I never wore them again. Even on pajama days in elementary school, I was too uncomfortable to leave the house wearing PJ pants. Maybe that’s just a deep-rooted mental issue with me, but people, put on some goddamn normal pants!

Glamorous

2. Dubstep. Okay, this is obvious. Mostly, I don’t get the obsession with Skrillex. What is cool about this guy, who used to be part of a screamo band? You can’t even sing along, what is this nonsense? I could do an entire post on music. I’ll save that for later.

3. Modern video games*  I kind of gave up on buying new systems after the GameCube, and even that I picked up with my Christmas money a year later for a used price of $80. From what I’ve observed from my boyfriend’s PS3, these new games are like mini-movies and have absolutely no multiplayer (or if there is one it is the lamest thing ever) so you’re forced to only befriend people who have their own PS3s and the game itself. And can we implement a mandatory “skip” button for the cut scenes? I JUST WANT TO PLAY THE GAME. I would express my love for my N64 but I don’t want to come off as a douchebag hipster. (Super Mario 64 was the best game of all time, just saying.)
*Portal 2 was actually pretty okay.

This could be 100 different PS3 games.

4. The beautiful orange skin/bleached hair combination. This isn’t unique to me, most people I talk to also don’t understand. That doesn’t stop it from happening, though. Do these girls enjoy looking like fake, plastic barbie dolls? Or was a genuine accident with a drunken hair stylist or a fall into a vat of tanning lotion?

5. iPods 24/7. Yes, I have an iPod, and now an iPhone. I brought it to high school a few times, but the cords tangling were more hassle than they were worth. I don’t care if you listen to your iPod, but it’s the people who act like they cannot live without it I don’t understand. It’s the kids with the earbuds in (whether music is playing or not, it’s still rude) who are trying to answer the clearly annoyed cashier’s questions. It’s the kids who freak out and argue for half an hour with the teacher about why they should be allowed their iPod in class. It’s the oblivious people who have their shitty music on so loud on the subway at 7am that you can hear it through their earbuds when you’re standing 20 feet away.
Hey guys, you will not melt like the wicked witch of the west if you take your earbuds out for an hour. Trust me, you’ll be okay. And the dubstep will still be there when you get back.

Also you probably don't want to get killed because you didn't hear that tractor trailer.

I’m not a complete recluse from people my age. I do go on the Facebook, I Twitter, and I make the blogs.* I can whip up a fine batch of jello shots and waste a whole afternoon looking at university memes on Facebook. I’ve also seen Harry Potter, so don’t come to remove my Generation-Y membership card just yet!

*Completely intended.

This is satire. I repeat, this is satire. Do not be offended. 

The Mysteries of Leaving Messages

In the past two weeks, I have been trying to contact three different offices (2 school, one doctor’s) for various reasons. These offices have completely abandoned the old “stay on the line and someone will pick up in a minute” routine, favouring leaving a message as the only option.

I haven’t received a call back from any of these. I’m dumbfounded, and rather than call again and leave a bunch of angry messages, I’ll hypothesize and give them the benefit of the doubt.

Possible Reasons Why No One Has Called Me Back:

1. I have a lisp that only comes out when I’m on the phone, and no family member has ever said anything about it, nor can I tell. Therefore it sounds like I’m saying “No, it’s cool, don’t call me back please” instead of “please give me a call back! I’ll be here! Waiting!”

2. Every time my message is being heard on the machine, someone slips over a stray power cord and falls on the “delete” button before I’m able to recite my phone number.

3. There is a secret hierarchy of area codes, and 416-ers are always called back promptly, 647-ers are laughed at left to rot. (Yes. I have a 647 number. Don’t talk about it, it’s a sore spot.)

4. The office workers are so used to deciphering heavy accents and mumbled words that my clearly-spoken phone number has thrown them astray.

5. My phone is broken and will only let through the most annoying and nosy telemarkers.

6. The person listening to my message used to date someone with the name Michelle and it hurts too much to listen to the rest.

7. My phone voice is so beautiful and professional they think it’s a recording/robot and are too annoyed/scared to call back.

8. There is a secret code embedded into the robot message heard when you first call the office. I did not mention the secret code in my message.

 9. April Ludgate interns as a phone answerer at all three of these offices.

I have no idea. In all honestly, I don’t know why I haven’t gotten a call back. Is it normal to have to wait two weeks for something like this?