Monday, November 30, 2009

Dear Blog,

I'm sorry.  I've been a bit of a deadbeat Mom for the past few days.  However, it's been my birthday weekend, so I've been busy with myriad birthdaylike things.  I promise to get back on track tomorrow.  Really.


Friday, November 27, 2009


Look at my pineapple.  JUST LOOK AT IT.

Yes, that's a quarter in front of it.

Cutest.  Pineapple.  EVER.  Just thought you should know.

That is all.


Thursday, November 26, 2009

Dear people who bitch about how Lost is trying to be like Twin Peaks,

I don't get it.  And because I don't get it I kind of feel like you're a bunch of morons.  Let's go through a list of differences and similarities just to clarify.

  • Small town in the Pacific Northwest vs. large island in the South Pacific
  • Lost distinctly lacks a sexy jazz soundtrack, Twin Peaks is slightly more bereft of sexy men.
  • I've only watched the first three seasons of Lost so far, but I haven't come across any dancing little people in red suits.  (Or whatever the heck it's politically correct to call them these days.)
  • Twin Peaks: 30 episodes.  Lost: 116 episodes (or more).
  • Lost is pretty to look at because it's a pretty tropical island full of pretty people with cutting edge pretty cinematography.  Twin Peaks is pretty to look at because it's art.  (No, I'm not going to get into exactly what I mean by that, and no, it's not solely because I think David Lynch is amazing.  Every single frame is incredibly well thought out - I'll leave it at that.)
  • There is no plane crash in Twin Peaks.  There is, however, an airplane in one episode.
  • Both have trees.
  • Weird things happen.
Making a comparison based on these two facts alone is kind of akin to comparing Burt Reynolds to Hitler because they both have mustaches.  In any case, the next time I have to hear "Oh, I hate Lost.  It tries so hard to be Twin Peaks" I'm going to start walking forward punching and kicking and (insert deity here) have mercy on whoever is in my way.  Somehow I manage to like them both, and I'm probably the closest thing to a Lynchian Purist you're going to find.  There.  I invented a new term for myself and put you in your place.  And I don't want to discuss it.


Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Note to Self 1

Dear Robynn,

Please remember sometime this week to replenish, replace, or dispose of things that are conspicuously missing from, are vastly outdated, or are inappropriately stocked in your medicine cabinet.  Please note (at least) the following:

1. The Rolaids expired two years before you moved to Vancouver.  That means 2004.

2. The bag of cough drops are all hopelessly stuck together (because Vancouver is humid) and you're going to need a minimum of a pickaxe to get them apart.

3. You should probably get rid of any medication of such questionable vintage that you don't even remember what it was for anymore or if it's even yours or something a previous tenant left in the suite when they moved out.

4. The bath bombs seem to have gone rancid (or whatever it is that bath bombs do when they look like something you forgot in a ditch for 6 months.  Again, let's blame the humidity.)

5. Find out what the heck the miscellaneous sparkly something-or-other of unknown origin is.

6. Your next flight is in 43 days.  You need Ativan to prevent your husband and the rest of the passengers from forcibly removing you from the aircraft mid-flight because you won't shut up about how "we're all gonna die."

6. It's time to finally say goodbye to your three packages of leftover birth control pills.  Your initial idea of slipping them into the drinks of girls at the pub who look like they could really use them, while somewhat practical, is probably completely unethical.

7. And get some new band-aids, would you?  It's a little embarrassing when you have to look all grownup and ladylike for a job interview and the only band-aids you have in the house are these:

Way to be an adult.  Oh well, at least they're not Dora the Explorer... or worse.


Monday, November 23, 2009

Dear employment-controlling forces (again),

(Please please please please please please please)² let my job interview go smoothly tomorrow.  Seriously - I NEED this.  I wouldn't be making such a huge deal out of it if I didn't.  I also WANT it really badly too.  So do a girl a favor and let it work out, would you?  Please?


p.s.  Let me know if my uterus would be an acceptable sacrifice.  I totally don't need mine.  It's stubborn, belligerent, and completely uncooperative, but I'm sure it could be better allocated to someone who actually wants one.

Dear Shopping Mall Santa from 1978,

I was digging through old photos yesterday to find a picture of my Grandpa, and I came across your photo. I started to wonder what happened to you. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only person who does this. (Not wonder about you specifically, but wonder about random miscellaneous people from my past.) Where are you now, o Shopping Mall Santa of 1978?

I’m going to put this as bluntly as possible – you look like a festive serial killer. I’m sure you’re most likely not a serial killer and I understand that’s kind of a horrible judgment for me to make based on your aesthetics alone in a 31-year-old photo, but you have that look in your eyes. (Not to mention the fact that not all legitimate serial killers look like what us commonplace non-murderin’ folk assume serial killers look like. Ted Bundy, for instance. He was totally dateable if it wasn’t for the unfortunate side effect of being bludgeoned or strangled to death.) But anyhow, let’s talk about “that look” for a moment, shall we?

I understand that look. It’s not because I’m a serial killer. I’ve never really considered being a serial killer as something that would be a viable career opportunity for someone like me. The hours aren’t so good, there’s a lot of overtime with all that cleanup, and I’m pretty sure you’d probably need to provide your own vehicle and I don’t have one. No, I understand that look because I spent a few too many years of my life working in retail.

Working in retail (and a lot of other service industries) during the holiday season is always murder (yeah, yeah, I crack me up), and you, my friend, are essentially the man of the hour every hour for the entire bloody month of December. That and you have to deal with a crapload of toddlers. I can't speak for you, but I know that always sends me straight to the baggage compartment of the crazy train.  I’m sure your look isn’t homicidal, or at least not manifestly so. And I’m sure it isn’t manifestly homicidal because I’ve had that exact look before and have somehow managed to remain relatively manslaughter-free.  No… wait… completely. Completely manslaughter-free.

In any case, I wonder what ever happened to you, Shopping Mall Santa. I’m sure by the whole six degrees of separation concept someone who knows someone I know has to know someone who knows you. If any of those people happen to read this blog, have them send me an update. I assume you’re still a man, you may or may not live in the Edmonton area, and you’re probably somewhere in your 50s. Hopefully you didn’t end up being a Shopping Mall Santa every year up until now – if that’s the case I’ll have to retract the statement that I’m sure you’re most likely not a serial killer.


Sunday, November 22, 2009

Dear Grandpa,

I've been thinking about you today.  There are a lot of things I'd like to tell you, and since I'm known to ramble I'd better get right to the point(s).

You don't have to give me all the change out of your pockets every time I hug you.  It's not part of the contract.  I mean, it's nice and everything, and comes in incredibly handy if I need bus fare or to use a pay phone (who even does that anymore?), but it's completely unnecessary.  You probably know that, but I just want to make sure you don't think I expect it, like the longer the hug the more quarters I get, or like I think you're a big, huggable slot machine or something.  You sound nothing like a slot machine.

I love how you have an entire vegetable crisper full of chocolate bars.  I don't need to explain why.  It's amazing for so many reasons that are all entirely obvious, especially if you're a woman.  Which you aren't, because you're my Grandpa.

For the record, when you told Mark that of course there was mix in the rye - the ice - that was one of the greatest moments in Grandpa history EVER.

The second greatest moment in Grandpa history was when you almost refused to have your pacemaker put in because they were going to put it in the right side of your chest.  Sure, I agree, maybe it would have been in the way of the butt of your rifle when you're hunting, but you probably didn't have to be so stubborn about it.  You know, that whole honey vs. vinegar debate.

I have to admit that I'm a little disappointed I didn't inherit the "eyes in the roof of your mouth" trait from you.  Mind you, I've never seen actual concrete proof that you have eyes in the roof of your mouth, but I can only assume that you do since whenever you're asleep in your recliner and I try to change the channel you grumble at me to turn it back.  I really wish I had inherited it, because it would make fall-asleep-on-the-couch-watching-movies-Sundays a lot more productive since I wouldn't have to keep backtracking to all the parts I dozed off through.

Anyhow, as far as Grandpas go, you're a pretty damned good one.  I love you and miss you terribly.  Can't believe it's been 10 years.


Saturday, November 21, 2009

Dear facebook friends,

You're probably wondering what's up with me telling you on Wednesday that I was getting rid of my profile, then showing up again on Saturday morning at 1:30ish a.m.  Well, here's the story.  It was kind of a mistake.  I opened my browser (which has all my passwords and whatnot saved), accidentally clicked the facebook bookmark tab that is right next to the Twitter bookmark tab (no, I hadn't removed it yet - just in case), and the rest is history.

That being said, it was kind of a... well... decent mistake.  I realized that there are some of you I actually really miss.  You're a funny, interesting, and supportive bunch.  Thanks for tolerating my "oh my god, I'm outta here" freakout moment this week, and thanks for welcoming me back with open arms.  You're good people, and don't let anyone tell you different.

And THAT, my friends, is the nicest thing you're going to hear out of me this year.  Bask in it.


Friday, November 20, 2009

Dear Universe,

Thanks for listening! I got an email today for an interview at the job I really, really want! Unemployment sucks. You were probably withholding jobs from me for a long time because I had some serious payback to deal with. I guess I understand that. I did spend a lot of time horribly embittered with you after I lost my last job (along with roughly 100 other people.) Most of them have managed to find gainful employment since, but they probably didn't ride your ass as hard as I did, universe. So for what it's worth, I'm sorry. For now, I'm going to take this interview as a sign that perhaps you're not so sore with me anymore.


p.s. If you actually GET me the job, I'll reconsider trying to find you a pony. Pony shortage or not, you'll deserve it. Maybe a little one like this:

That's actually not a pony, though. It's a miniature horse. But he's really cute! You'll also have to wait for a little while after you get me the job, because I'll have to save up some money.  Just so you know.  Actually, now that I think about it, you probably don't even want a pony.  You're the universe.  Let's face it - you can have all the ponies you want.  Let's talk terms and maybe I can do something else to appease you.  It'd be awesome if me buying a really nice handbag would make you happy.  Let me know if that works for you.


Thursday, November 19, 2009

Dear readers (all freakin' three of you),

Thanks for reading. You three are my starting point on the journey to total world domination, which in my mind looks something like the Emerald City, but that could be because I've got "If I Only Had a Brain" stuck in my head. Actually, now that I've spent a couple of minutes googling images of the Emerald City, maybe that's NOT what I think total world domination looks like. It kind of looks like it's giving me the finger. But that could be because I only got about two hours of sleep last night, I've got PMS, and I'm consequently kind of surly this morning. Screw you too, Emerald City.

Anyhow, I digress. Where the hell was I going with this?


Alright, so it's been five minutes and I can't remember where I was going with this post. I guess I'll just share some of my favorite scraps of the interweb with you.

David Lynch has an awesome feature on his website called the Daily Weather Report. It's called that because that's exactly what it is. David Lynch readin' the weather for Los Angeles. Which is awesome. Especially the one time he did it in a cowboy hat, which sadly you can't get to anymore because it was September 21st's weather, not today's. Actually, today's weather is a little cartoon of a guy sawing a log. Equally awesome. However, by the time you look at it it may not be a guy sawing a log anymore. It might be an actual weather report, or perhaps a different cartoon. Hopefully you get to see the log sawing guy, though.

If you know me well, you'll know that I think David Lynch is pretty much the coolest guy in the world. I could almost say that I wish David Lynch was my Dad, but my Dad is the best Dad in the known universe and to say that would totally impugn his work. Maybe he could be an uncle or something. I've got some pretty terrific uncles too, so he'd fit right in. Regardless, Heath and I invited him to our wedding. I think Heath may still have the email from his secretary saying that he wouldn't be able to make it due to prior engagements. Sure, he probably never even saw the invitation, but I'd like to think that it came down to a decision between our wedding and Cannes or something of equal importance.

Hm. What next?

Texts From Last Night usually has something in it that makes me snort tea all over my computer screen once a day. Most of it is about rampant college drunkenness, which leads me to believe that a lot of people out there are having way more fun with their post-secondary education than I did. I mean, I had fun in university and everything, but not "I need rehab" kind of fun.

(The Customer Is) Not Always Right also makes me giggle like a lunatic and reminds me (sometimes painfully) of my 7-odd years in retail. You learn after that long that the customer is actually WRONG 95% of the time. That was kind of our store motto. Well, not "the customer is actually wrong 95% of the time", but "the customer is always wrong". You get what I mean.

That's enough rambling. I may be back for a do-over after I've had a nap and can remember what the heck I was going to post about in the first place.


Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Dear divine forces (or whatever) that control the Vancouver job market,

Please give me that job. You know the one. The one I really, really want. It'd be super great if you could do that. You see, o forces of the universe (or whatever), you ain't exactly been so kind to ol' red of late. I'm thinking I should have some decent karma (or whatever) coming my way.

I'll totally make it worth your while, divine universary forces (or whatever). I'm good for it. I already cuddle kittens and tolerate other people's babies and such. Let me know what else you'd like, and I'll see if it can be arranged. However, if you want a pony, I won't be able to help you with that one. Since I'm still waiting on the one my Mom and I discussed about 28 years ago, I'm relatively certain that there has been some sort of massive pony shortage that the government hasn't told us about for the past few decades. In lieu of a pony, here is a picture of a cute little catball to tide you over.

Thanking you in advance.


Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Dear left contact lens,

Stop being a prick and stay put.


Monday, November 16, 2009

Dear husband,

I am truly thankful that I came home from work today and found that you had both cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom and done the laundry. I'm not being sarcastic. I genuinely am thankful. However, instead of giving me attitude yesterday when I asked if you might have time on your day off to do the laundry, leading me to believe that you weren't going to do it, you could have sucked it up and told me you'd get around to it. Why? Oh, maybe so I could have sorted it beforehand and thus ensured that all of my dryer-friendly stuff went in the dryer instead of hanging all around the apartment and all of my non-dryer-friendly underthings and whatnot didn't. It reminds me of my favorite line from Hedwig and the Angry Inch:

"You put a BRA in a DRYER?! How many times do I have to tell you?? You don't put a BRA in a DRYER! IT WARPS!!"


Sunday, November 15, 2009

Dear stupid blonde who almost hit me coming out of the St. Paul's parkade,

You are an idiot. You weren't looking where you were going, and if you had hit me, it would have been entirely your fault. I was directly in front of your car when you started moving. I noticed the fact that there were two people trying to get into the parkade as you were trying to leave, and am sympathetic to how that must have confused you. However, honking at me and giving me the finger was probably not the most appropriate solution.

The redhead who returned your flip-off Italian Style