So I come to this here neglected weblog, and sigh a sigh of discontentment. Still 5 comments?? I know I haven’t written in a while but after 6 months you’d think a few measly people would have had at least something to say, right?
Not nearly as excited (or wallet-draining) as being approved for a mortgage but hey, it’s something.
In more exciting news I’m in the very last week of my CELTA program. Yes, I actually have moved back home (yeah, there’s a few stories I’ll be saving for Slit-Your-Wrist-Sundays) but it’s been mostly not too bad. I have become a hermit living sequestered in the dark confines of my room.
The course itself is amazing. Amazing, hard, fun, interesting, stressful, informative and nerve-racking.
I’m really not looking forward to going back to being a waitress. Le Sigh. Although, seeing as how I saved the $2500 for the course in about a month, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to save a ton of money before I leave for Central America in the fall.
PS – who lives along the West coast? You’ll be getting a visit from me. I’m planning on driving down so get those couches ready.
Anyhow, I’m done my course at the end of the week and am planning a big trip to Edmonton to celebrate (for those of you who don’t know, going to Edmonton to celebrate is like doing something really un-fun to…uh…celebrate. I suck at analogies today. My brain hurts.)
I’ll have lots of time and lots of stories once I get back…
Saturday I was resigned to the fact that I had lost my drivers license, my bank card, my passport, and more importantly my Shoe-aholic Spending card. That’s a free pair of shoes right there bitches!
I got home from work to find a taxi drivers card and a note telling me if I ever wanted to see my wallet intact again, bring $500 G’s in unmarked bills to the top of the Calgary Tower at midnight. Actually, it may have only said to call him, but it could read either way really.
They ended up calling me the next day with directions to their headquarters to pick the wallet up. Thank the sweet baby Jebus. That wallet is my life.
Yesterday I finally had a chance to head up to the place to grab my wallet with the intention of going to see my financial adviser and get that banking done afterward. Of course when I get there they can’t find my wallet anywhere and they insist that the driver must still have it.
Finally after fifteen painful minutes (my cab’s meter was still running outside!) they managed to track it down and finally I could say I win at life.
Until I got to the bank and realized I was 10 minutes too late for their 4 o’clock closing, only to walk to the next branch to get there 5 minutes after they closed at 4:30.
Here’s another example of the kind of week I’m having:
This video is pretty self-explanatory
Party Dress FAIL
I’m generally a good cook. I don’t necessarily need a recipe and if I see something on TV or in a restaurant I can imitate it pretty well. However, baking isn’t my forte – unless it comes from a box or has very precise instructions.
For example, I once tried to make a meringue of sorts and was busily beating my egg whites to a frothy texture. The recipe said to use cream of tartar to “stabilize the egg” and give it a better, firmer texture (that’s what she said). I didn’t have any so I thought “cream of tartar, tartar sauce; po-tay-to po-tah-to”.
The other day I saw a recipe for homemade macaroni and cheese. I was in the mood for something warm and comforting – like grilled cheese and tomato soup or mom’s meatloaf or dad’s chili. I went down to the store and bought all the required ingredients that I didn’t already (think) I had at home.
The recipe for the sauce is basically melted butter, add flour and brown it, throw some evaporated milk, a ton of sharp cheddar, swiss etc., some mustard powder, salt and nutmeg. Sounds delicious, no? So here I am slaving away (not caring that the recipe apparently feeds an army).
The sauce tasted awesome, but there was something off about it that I just couldn’t put my finger on. I threw the pasta in, mixed it all up and put it in the oven after topping it with some homemade bread crumbs (parmesan, crumbled bread and butter).
After it was done baking I helped myself to a bowl, trying to think of what the ingredient was that tasted a bit strange. Suddenly I realized that I had mixed up my container of flour for my container of…icing sugar.
Luckily she can get to the back door from inside her place.
Unluckily she was out of town for the weekend.
Needless to say, I had an interesting day Saturday killing time before heading to a friends birthday that night. I ate lunch at one restaurant, got coffee and sat for two hours, ate supper at a different restaurant, went downtown and had a few drinks with some friends who happened to be at the pub and finally hopped the train down to my friends house.
My friend who does not have a computer at home. There went my NaBloPoMo dreams.
I stayed at her house last night and we all went for brunch this morning. We declared today as “slit-your-wrist Sunday” because every single song on the radio was emo-inspired. That and we were hung over from the piss water “champagne” graciously provided to us by the bar. The bar that is called Snatch.
They may as well just call the bar Vagina and stop with the clever euphemisms.
This is the type of place that when you’re standing in line to use the ATM, some guy starts talking to you and when you reply, he says (verbatim) “sorry I uh…wasn’t listening. I got distracted,” while staring at your boobs. “So uh, can I buy you a drink?”
Oh gosh, really? So I can perpetuate every guys ideas of girls at bars? You know why don’t I just take my dress off right now?
Ya, no thanks, I’ll pass.
Pickup line FAIL
Anyway, this morning at brunch I ordered a Bailey’s and coffee (a little hair of the dog). Blondie turns to the waitress and says:
“Ummm, I’ll get a Baileys and coffee too…but can you hold the Baileys?”
I am sort of seeing O/N but I’ve learned to never put all your eggs in one basket (or is it counts your chickens before they hatch? One of the cliched, overused terms fits here I’m sure).
So far I’ve had Great Success (like Borat). If great success means a bunch of douche bags email with such witty repartee as: “Hey babe wanna msg me?” and “your hot lets met”. There was also this gem in my mail box this morning: “hey lookin for a little love just somethin on the side summer fun” from a married fellow with a picture of his 6 pack looking slightly deteriorated.
I don’t know about you but I love being the little somethin on the side for summer love. I’m sure his wife approves too.
The reason I joined was to avoid douche-baggery and cheesy pickup lines at the bar – is that too much to ask? Also, to have a good laugh at all the stupid idiots out there who really think emailing a girl three words (hottie lets chat) is going to render her quivery with desire and immediately she’ll respond with a “your place or mine?”. Obviously it must work for some guys or they wouldn’t all still be doing it.
I don’t think the whole internet dating thing is for me. I guess I’ll stick to meeting guys at the bar, drooling on their sleeves while trying to shove a drink in my hands and incoherently mumbling sweet-nothings at my cleavage. Isn’t that how everyone found the man of their dreams?
Alice: Got a package yesterday…how was your week?
O/N: Good for you! Guess this means I’m out of a job 😦
Alice: Hardly. I ordered them in a drunken stupor, plus it’s more fun with someone else
O/N: Yeah, don’t hurt yourself
I was waiting for a cab outside my house Saturday night, on my way to karaoke (don’t judge) and I heard the neighbors a few doors down playing guitar and singing. In the spirit of being neighborly I decided to go over there and say hi. I walked into the backyard:
“Hello, I’m just from a few doors down and heard the music here. I can’t find a lighter to save my life; do you guys happen to have one?”
So this one girl says “There’s a light right there,” pointing to a tiki torch. After I awkwardly light my cigarette, trying not to engulf my hair in a huge ball of fire, the girl gives a little laugh and says “Oh, I actually do have a lighter”.
Sunday we’re rafting down the Elbow River, drinking beers, just minding our own business when we see a group of police officers standing on the shore. Normally I wouldn’t be too worried because the cops are fairly lenient on the Elbow. However, we didn’t have any lifejackets and they began to yell at us.
“Girls in the grey raft! Hey! Girls with the palm tree! Get your lifejackets on!” Keep in mind this river is waist deep at the highest point and most people bring their small children to wade there. It’s not dangerous.
We pretended to root around for the jackets (our boats being so deep we couldn’t find them and all). One of the officers made a half-assed attempt to bike along the shore beside us for a minute and then gave up. Onward-ho we went.
Further down the river we stopped our convoy of five rafts to have a little beer and suntan break on the shore. As we’re lounging by the river we see two cops walking along the banks, stopping to talk to rafters occasionally. Partially because we were drunk and partially out of fear of reprimand for the lifejacket situation we all jumped on the rafts and pushed away from the bank yelling “oleee, ole ole ole!” Yes that’s smart – call more attention to yourselves.
As we were fleeing the cops, one of the rafts ran into a large stick and punctured. Then, in our hurry to rearrange ourselves on the remaining rafts, one of the girls jumped in hers and onto the paddles which promptly snapped in half.