Category Archives: Guest Bloggers

Calgarians are not your average folk.

While little miss Alice is off gallivanting across the East Coast with Blondie, I’m stuck in corporate Vancouver crunching numbers.

Who am I you ask? The Well-Intentioned Heartbreaker of course. And even though I’ve been avoiding my own blog for nearly a week, as Alice’s best blogger friend* I’ll still hold down the fort for her.

As I moseyed my way over here this morning, I tried to think of what to write that wouldn’t disappoint after Falwless’ post yesterday on Ridiculous Google Sponsored Ads. I mean really, what can top that?

My first thought was to post on Ridiculous Yahoo Sponsored Ads, but bloggers usually aren’t too happy with the whole “plagiarism” thing. And I’m not really out to make enemies. Or too many of them at least.

Then it struck me that Alice lives in Calgary. And, wait for it, I used to live in Calgary. I mean, I got out of there as fast as I could, but I did do a quick stint in the wonderful world of the cows. Though, I shouldn’t lie, I don’t remember seeing a single cow while I lived in Calgary. This may be because cows in Calgary are simply a myth, or because I was too drunk at all times to notice my surroundings.

Alice is 100% correct when she says Calgarians drink. They drink when they’re happy, they drink when they’re sad. And they especially drink when they are mad. They drink before school, during work, and once they’ve retired. Anytime is a good time to drink in Calgary. Happy Hour is more like Happy 24 Hours. I worked at a bar while I lived there, which was a blast, but if you plan on doing this, don’t plan on getting anything productive done. You will go to work, get off at 3am and then party with your coworkers until 7am. You will likely crash at one of their houses, and wake up around 3pm and go shopping. You will go home, get ready for work, and press repeat. For months on end. Just letting you know..

Another thing I noticed when I lived in Alice’s hometown is that Calgarians are immune to the cold. I nearly died every single time I stepped outside in the winter. Inhaling air below freezing nearly made my lungs collapse. I dressed in parkas and snowboots and everyone else was still rockin‘ their flipflops. Everyday I was all “These people must be part fucking Eskimo.”

Also? Calgarians think that plugging their cars in at night so the engine doesn’t freeze is normal. It isn’t. It’s totally weird and I always forgot. Oh, and they go “warm up their cars” before leaving places like restaurants and stuff? I never did. Now that I think about it, Calgary is probably the reason my car is currently on it’s last leg.

I do give Calgarians props for being totally, insanely friendly as I made a bazillion friends there pretty much overnight.. (though now that I think about it, this is probably related to the drinking).. But I’m totally with Dizzy who thinks Alice should pack up and settle down in Vancity.**

*I don’t think Alice wanted me to say that. She’s worried you’d all be jealous.
**Alice, if you’re worried about moving to Vancouver because we don’t drink as much as Calgarians, I’ll totally pick up my old Calgary habits and make you feel right at home.

Ridiculous Google Sponsored Ads (book report by Falwless)

Hi there, dummies! It’s me, Falwless, from over there at Lots Better Then Your Blog, filling in for Alice today. I probably don’t know most of you readers, which really is a shame. I mean, for you, mostly.

When Alice invited me to* do a guest post on this here little web diary of hers, she didn’t tell me I’d actually have to come up with the post on my own. I mean, I’m new to this guest post crap. I thought, you know, since she invited me, she’d, like, leave me some material and I’d just type it out or edit it or whatever. I dunno. I was all, pshaa, bring it on! Easy peazy, beezy!

But then I got here and nothing. There’s nothing to greet me but wilting plants and strange-looking people. I effing hate you, Alice. You and this dumb mediocre town.

So, I guess I have to pull from my magical box I lovingly call “Oh Shit What The Hell Is There To Write About Today?” Yeah, I know what you’re thinking–this is gonna be good. Strap in, monkeys.

About a month ago I was searching The Google for something I can’t even recall now, and a really strange sponsored ad popped up on the right side that had nothing to do with what I searched for. So, because I am made mostly of things like “awesome” and “more awesome” and “no godforsaken life whatsoever,” I started punching in random search queries to see if The Google could make me laugh.

Well, my wishes came true. Enjoy this little Average-Land foray into Ridiculous Google Sponsored Ads.

Search term: fetish smelly feet

As expected, really. Niiice.

Search term: cows

What questions could this survey possibly ask?

Search term: grey hair

Yes, calm the eff down, google searcher. Jesus, get a grip, would you?

Search term: ham radio

Don’t we all aspire to be hams?

Search term: I hate you

Interesting sales tactic. Reminds me of my blog, actually.

Search term: dry cleaning

This wouldn’t be funny except for the word “extreme.” HOLY SHIT! SOME CRAZY ASS DRY CLEANIN’ START UP TIPS, PARTY PEOPLE!

Search term: puke

Shop around, people. Don’t pay too much.

Search term: senior citizen

I don’t know if you can find one in particular (Grandma?), or if you just have to take the next one available…

Search term: look young

The shittiest sponsored ad ever. FAIL. (Is that even a real website? powerWIGHT? WTF?)

Search term: sucks

The best sponsored ad ever. WIN.

Search term: toilet paper

I’m most interested in the reviews.

Search term: advertise website

Hmmm. Maybe the owner of that top ad should rethink things.

and, last but not least:

Search term: weight loss

Way to motivate, google ad. Way to motivate. Nice work.

All right, that’s all, ladies and gentlescrotums. If you enjoyed this, then you will surely** enjoy the other daily nonsense I type on my blog, so maybe it’s time you stopped reading Alice’s stupid little diary here and read mine instead! SHHHH! Don’t tell her I said that!

Seriously, though, don’t tell her or I will hunt you down, I swear to god. Don’t even try me, loser!

* demanded that I
** most likely not

Big Sister is Watching

AttachedMama here to guest blog for Alice today. To introduce myself, I am Alice’s big sister, Dizzy. Alice and I are opposites in many ways. Growing up, she was always known as the “pretty one”, while I was the “smart one”.

Really, you could just as easily have called us the “one who cares enough to spend more than five minutes on her appearance in the morning” and the “one who knows how to lie to teachers and do a decent job on projects at 5 in the morning the day they’re due so she can skip school and no one will care”. The ironic part is that now I’m the one who is married and she is the one with the high-paying corporate job. So much for labels.

I like to think I was a good big sister. I tried to be helpful and answer Alice’s many questions patiently, if not always honestly. For instance, the time she asked me why two of the knobs in the middle of the stove elements were blue, and two were red. I told her the blue ones were cold and the red ones were hot.

Alice was a good little sister too. When we were in the ER later waiting for Alice to be treated for the second-degree burns on her hand, she neglected to mention that she had been touching the burner to find out if it was really cold.

Though we sometimes fought like cats and dogs growing up (quite literally, I have a scar on my arm still), we were friends too. We shared a room for a long time, and our father gave us a ridiculously early bedtime (my cousins still tease him about sending us to bed at 9pm while on vacation and we were both teenagers). So early, that many nights we could sit and read long after lights out, simply because the sun was still out.

In the winter when it was too dark to read, but we weren’t tired yet, we would crawl into bed together and whisper and giggle. We would watch for the light in the hall that told us we’d been too loud and Dad was coming, and jump into our own beds to pretend we were sleeping. We even made up our own Morse code, thinking that tapping it out on the dresser in between our beds would be quieter than the whispering. (It wasn’t, though it did take Dad some time to figure out where the tapping was coming from.)

We both went to a French Immersion school and could speak French fluently. We used this to our advantage when meeting new people in order to talk right in front of them without their understanding what we were saying. I remember some vacations when we would meet new kids and start talking French to each other while playing. We weren’t always saying bad things (though it was always fun to make fun of others when they had no clue what you were saying), so we didn’t understand why it bothered the other kids so much. E-way ere-way also-hay uent-flay in-hay ig-Pay atin-Lay. What can I say, we’re a multi-talented family.

I was thrilled when she shared her blog with me. I moved to BC eight years ago, but we still keep in touch via MSN and e-mail. Lately, many of our conversations center around me trying to convince her that Vancouver or Victoria are infinitely better places to live than Calgary. I’m not sure if I will ever convince her (though seriously, who would choose that over this), but if I can’t make fun of her in person, at least I can do it through the comments on her blog.

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