After the rose

Last night, I took the opportunity to unwind at a friend's house and indulge in a little guilty pleasure called “The Bachelor”- or in the case of this season, “The Bachelorette”. Meet Bachelorette Ashley- a reject from last season’s “Bachelor” show and quite possibly, the most annoying girl on the planet. This lady seriously embodies all that is wrong with girls and therefore obviously provides never-ending entertainment- like watching a pink, glittery train wreck that flips its hair a lot.

Now, I don’t really give a shit what Ashley is like. I’m not her friend, and I don’t think she would support my mission to wash my hair as little as possible in life- HOWEVER, it is that she is the epitome of what is wrong with SO many girls I know that gets my fingers typing.




In one word- desperate. This girl has desperation oozing from every pore in her body and – as you can imagine, it isn't a pretty sight.




Girls, take note of what is wrong with this nut-job and consider the issues as they may apply to your own lives. Seriously, let's get rid of all this crazy.....




Thing the first- Desperation is never cute. 
So, Ashley takes her first date to Vegas wherein she forces him to try wedding cake, pick out a wedding ring and march down a Vegas chapel aisle to “test” him and see if he is ready for commitment. I get that this show is about finding your husband/wife and I also get that for most, dating- and especially dating in your late 20’s- is much of the same. I am still pretty sure that if you touch on marriage within your first date as it could apply to the 2 of you- you are nuts. Nothing screams desperation like moving that fast. Ladies, please.
If you feel the need to plan your wedding with your new boyfriend- refrain- not because you shouldn’t be yourself but because you should try to be a less psycho version of yourself.
So how did her “test” work on the show? Well, she ended up canoeing through a man-made pond in Vegas, eating dinner and locking lips with one of the more boring bachelors, albeit a cute one. It was magic- and by magic I mean vile. This is what happens when you are so blatantly desperado that you invite your date to a chapel- you end up with a boring man, a boring kiss and yet you will convince yourself that this is “the best date of your life”. I die.




Thing the second- A different kind of desperation.
The highlight of the episode was Bentley- a bachelor who is such a player that he even admitted to being a player. Listen, it’s not like I haven't dated assholes- because I sure have- but it is fucking brutal to watch this idiot girl make a prince charming out of a toad. Where the other men, (who for now, we will assume are gentlemen despite the obvious loser quality they all share for being on such a stupid-ass show), wanted to sit and talk with her and get to know her- Bentley wanted to get down to business. He even used the amazing line, one I haven't heard since high school of “ I don’t feel like talking” before kissing her. Red alert. If a guy who you are hoping will marry you one day uses a super-corny line on you and/or shuts you up in a get-to-know-you session to make out- he isn't the one for you. I promise. I learned this the hard way, as have many of the ladies in my life but if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck- it’s a duck- and by duck, I mean douche-bag. They both start with a D- deal with it.




Thing the third- a call to the dark side.
Ladies, if a dude shows up in a mask, refuses to take off the mask and claims it is because he wants you to get to know him as a person first, then as a physical being- run. Run fast. Ashley, our paragon of good sense, kept her mask wearing bachelor again this week. The dude wears a fucking mask. And of course, it isn't even a good mask- you can totally see his face and unless he’s sporting some Mike Tyson tattoos on his eye, I am pretty sure you can tell exactly what he will look like unmasked. Of course, this all leads back to desperation because only a self loathing desperate girl would entertain such a psycho. I think that a good rule of thumb would be that if the guy you are meeting for the first time ever shows up with a mask, cape, or sword or any other device/costume that could suggest that he roams the streets at night as a vigilante or serial killer, run. 




Thing the fourth- playing games.
So on one of the one-on-one dates (I hate myself for knowing the terminology and using it so casually- oh, one-on-one dates- fuck me) she decides to flip coins to determine everything they will do. Hand in hand with desperation usually comes indecision. If you were confident enough to make some decisions and not “leave it to fate” you would likely be confident enough to throw the losers to the curb and be single over being an ass. Either way, here she is flipping away to decide everything from the ever-important red or white wine conundrum to whether or not she will give this guy a rose. Listen, logic would suggest that if you are having mixed feelings about someone and you are not certain- the answer is no. In life, there are lots of grey areas but do you want your lover to be one of them? Unsure means no- not “I’ll give it a chance to see what happens” how many times has that ever worked for anyone in love? no?

Peoples, don’t be Ashley. She says at one point that she is so happy that the guys are excited that she is the Bachelorette and she is so happy that they like her- please don’t settle for so little. Too often I watch as friends date guys and the central thesis to their relationship is that he likes her, plain and simple. Well he damn well better like you- that should be a given not a bonus.

Anyways, will I continue to watch this crazy needy stage 5 clinger as she gives women a bad name everywhere? Hell yes I will- I love me some reality TV but be forewarned ladies, and gents- this kind of dating only makes you a complete idiot- do not emulate the Bachelor/ette.  

Good weekend, bad salad.

What a beyond nice weekend this past one was. Perfectly sunny and temperate days were lightly sprinkled with tiny boughts of rain (not including yesterday's massive attack) and people were out and about with sunburns aplenty, vouching for a day spent neglecting proper skin care- please see next post.

I am a lucky girl to have the best family and the best friends with whom to share this glorious weekend with as my fiancé was out of town and I love company more than anything!

So, let’s begin with the good since I am in a mildly adequate mood and once I begin ranting, I am bound to revert to the foul mood I was in this morning being stuck on the subway with a hairy mans back pressing into my body as he radiated 400 degrees of heat.

The good.
We have such great markets to explore. Saturday was spent in TO down on Front street where we walked around St. Lawrence market. Alls I can say is thank god for the Koslicks mustard man. Does he not, every Sunday, scent the halls of St. Lawrence with his incredible fried pemeal bacon pieces which he doles out sparingly for your mustard dipping pleasure? I wish I could store him and all his mustard varieties in my pantry- if I had a pantry- and it wasn’t weird/ pseudo illegal to keep people in your pantry.

Anyways, from there we walked over to the Distillery market. Have you been to the Distillery? No? You should go. Here’s why. Every Saturday and Sunday the Distillery hosts a craft market. About 50 or so vendors set up in booths and sell their creative goods. Especially notable is a lovely lady named Lisa who sells flowers and a booth which samples olive tapenandes. Please love them.

In addition to market madness you can also check out all the actual distilleries including the new sake one filled with, of course, sake and uber stylish Asian girls in ridiculously high heels.

Sunday was spent at Aberfoyle market- this is about an hours drive away and every Sunday is home to a bagillion antique dealers who set up shop and sell their creepy/ wonderful goods. You can literally buy anything from used light bulbs to antique Tiffany lamps. I swear I found a doll that comes alive at night and murders small children amidst a row of used license plates.

Point is that I love markets, aggressively. I am always a huge proponent on supporting local art and culture initiatives- which you will see now that it is finally summer and I begin to leave my house and venture out again...

To finish the weekend I had dinner with my sister and 2 of my most favorite of all girls to hang out with and over Venison cured meat and Fred Flinstone sized ribs at Czehoski’s, we delved into territory that would make a pervert blush and with the help of an especially light red zinfandel, our voices raised several octaves despite the obvious need for us to have toned it down- such is life with these ladies- love you all.

So overall, really nice weekend- spent quality time with my fam, with my sister in law to be, friends.... Perfect way to enjoy the extra day off.

The bads.
But now, sunshine and rainbows aside, I take you back with me to the Distillery and invite you to my dinner. I’m not going to name the dining establishment we chose whilst down there but dear undisclosed dining establishment, you really suck.

Here was the “special” that night. A roasted beet salad with crumbled goat cheese. Having eaten probably a whole pig at the mustard guy’s booth in St. Lawrence, I was hoping for a lighter dinner so I was delighted to hear about a salad option, I adore beets and felt like they would substantiate an otherwise drab salad. The salad was 8 dollars. I asked the waiter “is this salad filling enough for a meal?” (it was listed as an appetizer so fair question, I think) he replied “of course.”

Oh you shitty little waiter. Did he not, but 15 minutes later produce a small plate with 8 pieces of shaved beet a tiny finger pinch sized clump of green and the littlest bowl in the world- like could fit in a dollhouse sized- of goat cheese dressing stuff that looked/tasted like mayo.

Fuck you.

What kind of a meal is that? For who would this plate be filling? It would be an appetizer for a 5 year old. Maybe.

I get it, I get it. You are a big fancy restaurant and everything should be micro sized and overpriced but 8 shaves of beet the size of my thumb pad? That’s not a meal in anyone's standards, unless your chef is an elf from Disneyland. Is he an elf? A very happy elf who believes that beets and magic will fill you up?
That my parents meals both sucked at 40 dollars a plate was no shock but at least they came in human size...

Anywho- what did you do long weekend? Whatever you got up to, I hope it was fabulous.   

Music is my iphone

Having been quite sick for the past few days and home with only the repetition of various House Hunters shows on HGTV to keep me company (and sane), I had too much time to fill and winded up spending a lot of it on my iphone playing fruit ninja.

Fruit Ninja is a game where pieces of fruit are flung on the screen and you use your finger as the sword to slice up those pieces of fruit and watch as they splatter on the background wall. The objective is to slice up as many fruits as you can in 60 seconds. Brain science? No. A 2 hour time waster? Absolutely.

This game is the most fucking addictive thing you can imagine- I dream fruit every night.

And, of course, in our ever competitive relationship, my fiancé and I have an ongoing war to determine who the real fruit ninja is- (me- naturally). It has gotten so bad that a few nights ago, the romantics we are, we both lay in bed and played on our respective iphones until we couldn’t see straight and had to go to bed. That is how epic this game is (or how incredibly lame our sex life was that night).

All this leads me to my ultimate point. iphones are just so awesome (and I am a fruit ninja).

When everyone around me started getting iphones and I was stuck with my blackberry, I made up a million reasons why I didn’t even care that I didn’t have an iphone. I praised the glory that was BBM and the way that I could so easily open a PDF email. I hailed RIM for being a Canadian company and demeaned the keypad on the iphone as archaic.

Was I ever an ass.

Point 1. BBM is the worst. To think of the amount of times I stressed because I knew you read my message and hadn't responded/ the amount of times I wanted to read your messages but didn’t want you to know I had read them- the whole thing just brought about a new kind of relationship politics. I want to be able to read my messages as they come- because lord knows I live with my phone at my side- and then respond to them when I want to. I do not want the message sender to be able to essentially track me as I go along my day, knowing the precise moments where I chose to receive messages.
I was all like, “how will I talk to people without BBM”- it is simple really, I either call them ( I find that I actually call and speak to more people than I used to now) or I text message them. With the fun bubble conversations on the iphone, texting is really so much less old school than it seems and just as effective in getting your message across. 
So in short, do I miss BBM? About as much as I miss ICQ uh-oh.

Point 2. The emails. Really? Who was I kidding about PDF emails? Am I a business rock god? And if I was, and it was essential to my job function that I be able to read such emails, wouldn’t the company just get me a blackberry for said purpose. Yes. And in the meantime, my daily groupon blasts that overwhelm my inbox and make me feel important, show up just fine. Do people really PDF me in my casual life? No- and please don’t.

Point 3. ok, so I sold out on this point because MAC certainly isn't a Canadian anything. But, Apple is so wicked and some good things come from America right? Like the Olsen twins, and Jersey Shore.... Ok, bad examples (ish) but if Canada made a super amazing fantastic technology like Apple has, I’d be all over that like a fat kid on fudge (mmmmm fudge).

Point 4. The keypad. WAY better- plus auto correct on iphone is the funniest thing ever. Please refer to www.damnyouautocorrect.com to see what I mean.

And enjoy

Karma is a bitch, bitch.

So forgive me dear reader, as this post is yet another about my joyous rides on the subway whilst commuting to and from work.


To me, the subway has yet to loose its panache. I love being at one with the city and having absolutely no control over things like the subway randomly stopping at Summerhill Station for 20 minutes resulting in the scowling man at the door scowling harder. Does it bother me? Not in the slightest- my timing is in the TTC’s hands and there is nothing I can do about it. I relish in this- for now. Sure, one day I may learn to abhor being pressed up against my fellow passengers in a sweaty car of BO- but for now, it is AOK by me.


What does really get me irked about the subway is the total lack of humanity displayed by my fellow riders- this shouldn't be too surprising though I guess seeing as human stupidity outside the subway is really just as ridiculous- I guess the subway just concentrates the level of idiots into a smaller and more confined space.

Anyways, so yesterday I got to the subway a bit later than usual having had trouble logging off my computer. Getting to Bloor late is the absolute worst because people are total pigs and it seems that if I get there on my usual time I miss the hoards of these animals. Yesterday was not that case.


So, the good thing about the behavior on the busy platforms is that people make somewhat of a line so that we can all sort of file into the car once it unloads. In theory, this would be systematic and just perfect but of course for those of us who feel that they are more deserving of space on the next car out and cannot stand to wait the whole 2 more minutes should they miss the current car.


Enter blond bitch. Blond bitch is the woman with 3 big shopping bags full of crap, a giant wavy jacket and a large body size who is quietly maneuvering herself over to the front of the line. Without regard for the pseudo order to which we are all adhering to, she finagles her way over, closer and closer to the yellow line. Of course, she isn't in fact quiet as her huge self is hardly unnoticeable and I am watching her knock everyone around her with her carry-on.
Look, I’m not saying that if you shop or weigh an excess of 200 pounds that you shouldn’t be able to ride the rocket- all I am saying is that common human courtesy would suggest you don’t cram your fat ass in.


So, subways comes, she is obviously shoving her way in closer before those on the train have gotten off. Enter seriously old Chinese woman who has been patiently waiting at the yellow line.  She doesn’t carry a cane but walks as thought she should and is so shriveled and small that she would be swallowed alive by that blond bitch. I stand back and watch- somewhat in horror, but mostly not surprised, as blond bitch hip checks the old lady and shoves herself into the closing doors.
I have to laugh as I watch the doors close on her shopping bag trapping it in the doors. I silently pray that that bag is carrying eggs or tomatoes.


Gone is that blond bitch of a woman, left on the platform, looking defeated is the old lady. I think to myself that her bags being trapped in the subway door is hardly “revenge” enough on the blond bitch for being such a blond bitch.

Thankfully, when all seems lost and the plight of humanity seems lackluster at best- in comes pretty girl in purple coat to save the day. In her pretty purple coat, she managed to not only make way for, but escort the small old lady onto the next car as most around her stood back to let her through.
We need more purple coats, less whore bag bitches and really, if I can be so bold as to go there- better TTC cars.

Second to hating people in condensed areas I also wish that once you were on the car you could hold onto something and not smash into the bald man behind you playing World of Warcraft on his ipad. Dear TTC- regarding your handles...... just saying.

Who puts padding in their shorts?

To my fellow spinners, and others;

In 2011, with my commitment to being fit, and the looming notion of the white dress I will have to wear, I have become a gym rat. 


Ok, gym rat is really way too aggressive of a title for me in that I hate the gym, hate most things about being there, curse in my head throughout my whole workout and leave as soon as I have done the mandatory time I prescribe myself of an hour. I guess gym rat also doesn’t work since I don’t own the seemingly staple uniform of a full lulu lemon outfit complete with a cute color coordinated headband, I don’t have my own gloves for weight lifting, nor did I, up until recently own headphones suitable for running- or a bra suitable for it for that matter.


But I go, begrudgingly. 


So by that effect, I am a gym rat. I diligently show up every single day less 1 day of rest and don my Joe Fresh workout gear (that I finally purchased last month after feeling more than inadequate amid the designer gym girls), pull my hair back in a pony and work it.

This is how I met spinning.

I was headed to my yoga class because, although I despise everything that is exercise, I have actually fallen in love with yoga and use it as a twice a week workout to reward myself for the rest of the god awful crap I do like squats. 


So, heading into yoga on a Monday night and the class is jammed. So full in fact that I could not find a space on the floor large enough to accommodate my sun warrior stance. I hate being smushed into a gym studio forced to have other people breathing down my neck so I opt to try anther class. Fortunately, my gym offers many so I walk in the next room- the spin room. Since the class was about 5 minutes in I really didn’t have time to debate my choice and hopped onto a bike- failing to adjust the necessary elements which would lead to intense subsequent arm and back pain in the days to follow- and span.

About 5 minutes further in I wanted to die. I thought to myself, "self, this is just what hell must be like". A crazed jacked up woman screaming at you from the front of the room to “give it all you’ve got” while people pedal while literally grunting everywhere. The man beside me was sweating so badly in the first 10 minutes that he had formed a full puddle on the ground and the girl to my other side, well, lets just say she was certainly not wearing deodorant and sweating just as much as the human pool man. 


Plus, my vagina hurt. There, I said it. I felt like I was being impregnated by the bike seat and my ass was numb.

I was just about to dismount and scuttle out of the room when the girl in front of me turned around- obviously, it was a friend and she was with another friend and I thought to myself “if I leave now, they will know I am a fraud”

- as a side note, and back to the gym rat idea-I love for people to think I am hard core. I LOVE being able to answer the “what are you doing tonight” question with “just hitting the gym”- it makes me feel like Hercules. As such, peer pressure always gets the better of me at the gym and anytime I see someone I know, I have to work that much harder.

But, once I made the commitment to stay in the class and ride on, it went by super fast.
The great thing about spin is that it is about 45 minutes, and possibly one of the best all around body workouts out there. You work your ass off, and even if you, like I did in that fateful class, don’t up your resistance and really work it- you are still working like a total crazy hyena bitch. You seriously burn about 400-500 calories in 45 minutes- beat that stairmaster.

Plus, because you are working SO hard, you reach an almost nirvana state of mind and the time just blows by.

Also, they play super good music that helps transport you out of our foot smelling gym room and onto a mountain or somewhere else sexy and inspiring.

So, needless to say, I spin now all the time. Can you imagine how I almost wet myself when I found out that there was spinning in my new office building (and yoga too)!!!!!!

I do 3 days of spinning, 2 yoga and I seriously feel fantastic.
However, it is not all rainbows and butterflies. My vagina stopped hurting after 1 time, my ass has never recovered. I see that the hardcore spinners, the ones that have their own shoes and shit bring padded bike seats or have padded shorts- I think it is so embarrassing but contemplate it every time I pass a sports store- im sure I will cave and buy those stupid diaper shorts sometime.

Anyways, spinning- so great. I took a class last week and the instructor ran it to the soundtrack from Tron. I died.  

Hip to be square?

So, not that I ever had false illusions that I was a mega cool person- when you wear glasses that mimic Harry Potter you can rest assured that you are not so super cool- but I also didn’t realize that I am a dork. I think.
So as you may know by now, I have a new job and as such, I have the pleasure (torture) of meeting all these new people. I hate meeting people. I am always sure they think I am a total spaz- mostly because for some unknown reason I tend to mumble my otherwise well articulated words into weird sounds and then turn red and slink away. I think I am one of those people that to know me is to love me- I just hate the getting to knowing part..
But of course, in any new situation, there are a lot of generic topics ad questions about your general interests. I have been listening to the answers I give and have come to the grand conclusion that I am not the coolest cube in the ice tray.

The evidence:
-my co worker asks me what I did all weekend- I go into a 15 minute rave about the Board Game café where I spent my entire Saturday playing Carrcasson (obviously no one has heard about this game or knows what the shit I am talking about) and Fireball Island while dreaming about the huge game of Dungeons and Dragons (or something like it) at the table next to me.

-I reveal my lifelong obsession with WWF (WWE) wrestling and when the person I am talking to begins to reference some older wrestling characters and I think he is into what I am saying I ask if he had seen the comeback of the Rock (that just happened). Of course he hadn't because I am sure that only me and American inbreeds still watch wrestling with a vengeance.

-the one (and only) time I go outside to smoke with some of the girls I work with, instead of lighting my cigarette, I turn on the lighters attached flashlight. This happens 4 times in a row.

-I have said “oh neat” about 200 times so far. Neat? Really? Neat? Is it? Is it neat?

Shall I keep updating on this one?

Suffice to say that mostly every minute I do something to embarrass myself.