WorldWideWaterCooler

I need a vacation.

That is all.

Starting tomorrow, I’ll be off for 2.5 weeks, housesitting for dearheart and her fiancee while they zip halfway around the world so she can suck up to her future mother-in-law (kidding! I’m sure there’s no sucking up necessary!).

Although I won’t be far from home, I don’t plan on returning to my apartment to replenish supplies after I leave for work tomorrow morning until sometime Saturday afternoon.

Do you think I’ve packed yet? HAH. Of course not.

I have high hopes of getting to sleep at a decent hour for once, and packing in the morning.

Instead I’ll probably go to bed way too late, sleep in later than I want to, and throw stuff together haphazardly, hoping I didn’t forget my toothbrush or clean underwear.

This is how I keep life exciting people. But don’t try this at home - I’m what you’d call a professional.

Hey, you! Yes you, the hundred or so extra people who swung by yesterday to check out what I had to say.

Hi! Welcome! Can I get you a drink?

Now, I know every once in a while I write something remarkable, and get some extra visitors, and some of you even stick around for a little while. I like that

But yesterday - sheesh! Not only did my traffic go up about 25%, but my page views and bandwidth more than DOUBLED!

So obviously you were hanging out, sifting through the archives. Did you like what you saw? You’ve been here for a while… getting hungry? I’ll fix some sandwiches.

Now while I could snoop through my access logs and find out where all y’all are coming from, that’s a pain in the ass, and I just don’t have the time or desire. But I would really like to, shall we say, Maximize the interaction I have with my readers - which is your cue to click on the little comment box and say “hi.”

You don’t need to include your real name, or real email address - just make something up and stick it in the boxes. Then leave a little note and tell me how much you love me. Or how much you hate me. Or how you take your coffee - I really don’t care. Just say something.

In the meantime, I’ll be here… waiting… wondering…

Does anyone know of a skilled and honest mechanic within the Downtown/Burnaby/North Shore area?

My car needs a tune-up, and I just don’t have the time to get out to the home of the parental units and take care of it with dear ol’ Dad. Last time it needed some sort of repair, I tried to wait until I “had time” and it barfed up the drive belt all over the freeway. I’d rather not do that again.

Thanks in advance if you can recommend someone. I’ll be sure to drop your name when I go in, so you’ll get any sort of referral bonus or good juju the shop may want to pass your way.

Thanks to going hardcore with the extracurricular activities, I’m in a world of hurt today.

It’s the hurts-so-good kinda hurt, but still… ow.

So why is it that I’ve been sitting around whining since about 8:00am, and just now (at 3:37pm) realized that hey, maybe I should take some Advil?

Obviously because I am a big dork. Is there any other explanation?

To Pleat, or Not to Pleat. That is the Question!

Here’s the answer: FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, NO!

Ok, so the answer is a bit more complicated than that. The wearing of pleats by men (because women should really never wear pleated pants, period!) is a tricky art that should only be attempted by those who know what they’re doing, or have a woman around to help them.

The pleated pants that Darren referenced in some earlier comments (pictured here) are ok. However there is a certain male body type that can get away with pleats, and if you’re not a Gap model, chances are you’re not it! Do you have anything that might be construed as a “belly”? NO PLEATS! Do you have large thighs (due to muscle bulks or body type)? NO PLEATS!

The thing with pleats is that they add extra fabric to to the front of your thighs. If they’re not able to lie absolutely flat from waist to mid-thigh, they’ll just pucker and pooch out and look silly. This means that if your beer-gut prevents you from actually wearing your pants on your natural waist, or means that your body does not have a flat surface from navel to crotch, you can NOT wear pleats.

And if you have large thighs - either because of your genetic makeup, or from a lot of muscle bulk in the area, having pants with extra fabric there will likely make you look somewhat disproportionate. See how there’s some extra bulk of fabric on the thigh of the model? If you have large thighs in proportion to the rest of your body, your pleats will either stretch out over your quads and look like spandex (if you buy the pants to fit your waist), or billow around your body like the MC Hammer pants of yesteryear (if you buy them to fit around your legs). Try poufy sleeves instead (and if you didn’t get that I was kidding with the poufy sleeves, you’re beyond any fashion help I could give).

The other issue with pleats that makes most men wearing them look ridiculous is that they require pressing. And not just running the iron over them hoping for the best - but actual proficiency to get them to lay flat. Most guys I know will just wash their pants, and either hang or fold them, then put them on without even going near the iron (do you even own an iron?). This usually results in the pleats not being flat, and doing the poochie-outie-thing right below your belt, making it look like you’ve got a really low-hanging spare tire. Either that, or the act of folding the pants will result in the creases being mangled, resulting in your pants making it look like Picasso attached your legs to your body.

Either way - unless you’ve got perfect waist to knee body proportion, AND the desire and knowledge to properly press your pants (or someone around who will do it for you), please just say no to pleats.

One Stick.

For to beat the masses of eligible bachelors off with.

I prefer a nice heavy teak.

Thank you.

The major reason for the spontaneous combustion of the not-quite-relationship I just got out of, was the gross misrepresentation on the part of the guy (let’s call him Mike, cuz that’s his name, and I told you that already) about exactly who he is and what he’s about.

Let’s just say that when we discussed our personalities waaaaay back in the beginning, I said I was a certain personality type. He claimed he was a certain personality type that I happen to get along with quite well. As time went on, he said he’s really a personality type that I don’t get along with all that well, but he really wants to explore the side of him that’s the type I do get along with. That wasn’t exactly the truth either. Confused yet?

I never made any illusions about who I was or what I was about. Then one day he tried to persuade me to change. That was the day I knew it would never work out. And it wasn’t a little change he wanted - this was way outside my comfort zone. So far that I’d need a passport and probably a special visa to get there.

Had I known who he really was from the beginning, I would’ve put the kaibash on the whole thing before it even got started. He’s a nice guy, but knowing who he really is from the beginning would’ve saved us both from a couple of fairly awkward months. I just don’t get the point in pretending to be something you’re not. You’ll never find what you want that way.

And now, just because I can, a list of totally petty things that I would’ve been willing to overlook, but drove me UP. THE. WALL. about this guy:

-HORRIBLE Kisser. Like, worst I’ve ever encountered. Sad but true. Although he can, Man should not kiss with (stiff lips and) tongue alone. Picture if you will (or don’t if you’d prefer not to): open mouth, seal it with other open mouth, swirl tongue around while leaving lips completely still. Drooling ensues.
-He wore pants with pleats. PLEATS!
-Goofy teeth! (Not horribly goofy, but I’m strangely hyper-sensitive about teeth.) For Christ’s sake, your father is a doctor! Don’t tell me you couldn’t have had braces when you were younger!
-No sense of humour. I know I’m completely un-funny, but at least I make an effort, which is usually amusing enough in and of itself. Not being able to take a joke is a total dealbreaker.

So there you have it.

Upon reflection, I think I only stuck around as long as I did because I was just so amazed that I found someone I didn’t immediately hate after the 2nd date, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with that. Now I know: wait a couple months, and it’s quite likely I’ll find something worth dumping him over!

So Mike, NO SOUP FOR YOU!

Next!

Shortly after I finished ranting and raving at one of my best friends the other day, he looked me dead in the eyes and said:

You are such a GIRL. Have I taught you NOTHING?

It was just the kick in the teeth I needed to finally make me realize what a chump I am capable of being.

As lovable as I am, I sometimes forget that some people’s issues will prevent them from seeing me for the goddess that I clearly am. I know, my sheer awesomeness is just too much for some people. Have I also mentioned that I’m modest?

All that aside though, I am just not feelin’ it with the new guy. And his behaviour as I’ve relayed it to numerious friends demonstrates that he’s probably not all that into me either. As time goes by, the guy I seem to be dating now strays further and further from the person I thought I was getting to know. Which is nothing short of remarkable, because I hardly feel like I know him at all. It’s not from lack of trying, but every time I try to have a serious conversation, he turns it in another direction - either that, or suddently decides it’s time for sleep. Granted, we’re both busy people and sleep is a precious commodity, but in this case, it also seems like a coping mechanism.

He says he knows he “plays his hand close to his chest” and that I shouldn’t take it personally, and that I should keep prodding him. But I do have a bit of self-respect hiding in here somewhere. I’m not about to drag someone’s heart out of their chest to claim it as my own. A heart not given freely isn’t one worth having.

The best relationship advice I’ve ever heard is from a former co-worker of mine, describing how he knew his fiancee was “the one,”

I knew things were different with Julia, because right from the get-go it was so easy to be together. Everything always clicked - it’s never been that easy with anyone else. And from what I’ve experienced before, it never ever gets any easier than that first period of time when you’re falling in love with eachother. When being with her was so easy and felt so right, I knew I had a good thing and I shouldn’t let it go.

That’s how the beginning was with any former boyfriends whom I’ve really, truly loved. Easy. The answer to everything was always just being together - the rest worked itself out. And it always did get harder, and ultimately the relationships didn’t survive.

But I do know what falling in love with someone who’s falling in love with you feels like.

And this isn’t it.

UPDATE: And I grew some balls, and it’s over. No hard feelings, no regrets. BRING ON THE BOYS!

Holy crap, I am crazy amounts of busy these days. Seems like I’m not the only one though. I just made a dinner date with a friend, and we had to make it for nearly two weeks away! Sheesh. I don’t really mind it though, having things to do and people to see makes me feel really alive and vibrant - something I went without for a few too many years.

Except when it takes a toll on my health. I realized when I only managed to stay awake for about 7 hours on Sunday that maybe I needed to be a little nicer to myself.

So in the midst of all the craziness, I have actually found some time to take care of myself a little better. My fridge actually contains food - real food, not the processed convenience type. I’m setting up workout dates with a friend starting this week. I’m also journaling my diet and exercise, just to try and keep me honest about how I’m treating myself.

Unfortunately, this means that my house is falling apart. I can probably handle most things without bringing in a cleaning service, but oh my god the laundry. I’m at the point where I’m feeling like it’s probably easier to just go shopping, rather than find time to wash anything.

So here’s where you come in, dear local readers: Do you know of any drop-off laundry services (preferably Downtown or in the West End) that are a) reasonably priced and b) won’t steal my panties for nefarious purposes?

Barring that, do you know anyone who wants to make a few quick bucks doing my laundry for me? I’ll drop it off, sorted, along with detergent and fabric softener. All they’d have to do is wash, dry, and fold it. I’ll come pick it up within a day or so. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Bert’s Back Babies!

Things have settled in now, and I thought it was worth mentioning that I’ve actually grown quite fond of my roommate. While he’s still kinda nutso, it’s an endearing kinda nutso. My kinda nutso.

A few recent incidents that make me smile:

•When he was loading the dishwasher, he asked me to help him with the detergent cap, stating “Uh, Jen? How do you open this? I think it’s Ray-Proof!”

•When he was leaving town to go to a stag, I said “Have fun!” and he answered “Oh I’m sure I will! I’m so conservative, and the guys I’m going with are really pretty crazy - they draw me out of my comfort zone a little and I get to experience I lot of stuff I wouldn’t have the balls to try on my own.”

•I’d been hoping a finicky belt on my car would last through the weekend - it didn’t. So my car was towed to a shop in Coquitlam (about a 20 minute car-ride, or 45 minute bus trip away), because BCAA only covers tows up to 5k or to the closest shop. I had to drop off the keys & sign the paperwork for it to be fixed this morning, and he not only drove me out there, but waited around for 20 minutes while I talked with the shop guy, and drove me back home.

Snaps for Ray everyone! I think he’s a keeper!

I arrived as The Constantines were finishing up their last song. The verdict here is that they probably didn’t suck.

Next up was Sloan, whom I thought were just this side of hideous. They weren’t rocking the crowd AT ALL, and kept yelling “If you don’t start going crazy the Foo Fighters are gonna kick our asses!” You know, a little less talk about going crazy, and some more actual going crazy would’ve probably worked better. Start it up and the crowd will probaby follow. There were a couple of their hits that wound everyone up for the moment, but the energy didn’t continue.

Also, people will cheer for you if they like you. And if they do it, let it be, don’t make them change it. Eventually, about 6 songs in the crowd started chanting “Sloan Sloan Sloan Sloan” etc. And the IDIOTS were like “no, you’ve gotta do it like this… “Slooooo-oooooan” (think the hockey raspberry for the opposing goalie). Of course, nobody cared, and nobody followed, and that killed the energy AGAIN.

The Verdict: If Sloan’s coming out, don’t bother.

On to our headliners, the Foo Fighers: AMAZING. Not the best show I’ve ever seen, but they exceeded all of my expectations and showed the crowd a very good time. Their set was fun: very basic on the stage, just mics and a drum kit, backed by a pastiche of old speakers precariously stacked to the rafters. It felt like they invited us into their garage to watch a saturday afternoon practice. The video screens were fragmented, and augmented the show, instead of displaying it outright, which I loved. Even when I’m sitting 3 rows away, I find my eye will so often gravitate to the video instead of the artist - but my eyes rarely left the guys for the whole show. They also had a wraparound LED display that they started behind, which rose to the ceiling and added another dimension of lights and effect. And there were lasers, which are ALWAYS cool.

The music was a perfect blend of old and new material. From what I remember they started with In Your Honour (the title track of the new album), and also played Best Of You, DOA & The Last Song. They may have also played Hell, but I can’t be positive. Older songs included Hero & Stacked Actors.

The Highlight of the night for me was when Dave Grohl stepped up to the mic with his guitar, and performed the softer version of Everlong. It’s one of about 5 songs on earth that, if I’m lucky enough to be present to hear the artist sing it, I’m fairly sure it’ll bring me to tears, and this one delivered. If that wasn’t good enough, they followed it immediately with the loudest, hardest, extended version of Monkey Wrench I’ve ever heard - the tears instantly dried and I screamed myself hoarse. I really could’ve gone home at that instant and been happy.

I was pretty blissed out at that point, so I don’t really remember what came next. The encore included some really old stuff that I didn’t know, as well as Dave & Taylor swapping places for Cold Day In The Sun. It was a huge treat to see Grohl behind the drums - though the song’s got a distinctly country feel to it, so he wasn’t exactly rockin’ out back there, which would’ve been nice to see.

Foo Fighters Verdict: Fantabulous. Well worth the price of admission.

After last night’s Foo Fighters concert, new guy and I met up for a quick minute with a good friend of his (we had been holding their stuff as we were in the stands and they were on the standing only floor). It was like a page out of the soap-opera bar-star days all over again. Very odd. Very disconcerting. (More after the jump if your feed isn’t indicating that.)
(more…)

Snippets of conversations* from the past few days:

“Whoever invented pizza dips deserves a prize”
“Totally. They deserve a blowjob.”
“Or some really good face - really any oral sex at all”
“For sure. With a finger up the ass”
“With Extra lube.”
——————————–
“Apparently I like it when you do that thing you do. My sheets, however, are probably not as pleased”
——————————-
“Stupid car. Squeals when it’s going, squeals when it’s stopping.”
“It obviously needs to be greased up a little”
“Yah - bring on the lubrication!”
“Cars are like fisting.”
“Fisting?”
“Yes - when you think you’ve finally got enough lubrication, add some more”

*While I will fully admit my presence, I can neither confirm nor deny my participation in any of these exchanges.