WorldWideWaterCooler

I was out shopping with Neil last night, picking up a few things at the local pharmacy.

Since I had Gravol on my list, and had already been tasked with picking out an appropriate bubble bath for his new soaker tub, I asked him to run and grab some for me.

He picks up the Gravol, throws it in the basket, we check out and go home.

So imagine my surprise when I actually looked at the package and saw something was not quite right with the wording. Check out the picture and see if you can figure it out.

His response when I pointed out his error? To laugh maniacally and say “Good luck with that!” of course. Jackass.

At least there wasn’t an urgent need for the medication, and I can return them for something a little more appropriate.

In the meantime, all either one of us has to do is utter the word “Gravol” and we burst out laughing uncontrollably. So those weirdos busting a gut over there about absolutely nothing? That’s us. Nothing to be alarmed about, just carry on with your business.

Dear Tequila,

Fuck you, and the horse you rode in on.

No Love,
-Jen
**************

Other than that, Friday night’s party was a blast! I packed my modest apartment with an assortment of nearly 50 friends and friends’ friends, and a pretty good time was had by everyone. Everyone except me that is.

For the first time ever, my party-throwing skills went straight to hell, and *I* was the one playing firefighter pretty early into the evening (I’m told I disappeared sometime around 10-ish).

Thanks to my incapacitation, some well-meaning friends, an angry neighbour and an overzealous rent-a-cop, the whole shebang was shut down sometime around 11:30pm.

Lessons learned:

-Scott and Riann are “bite the bag” Superstars (photoset coming soon).
-When inviting more than 4 guests over, trying to have a drink with each of them is a MISTAKE.
-Papaya & Mango salsa looks about the same going down as it does coming up.
-Mexican food before drinking = ok, Mexican food during/after drinking = deathwish.
-Even when I am drunk, I make some killer Margaritas.

So Muchos Grazias to everyone who made it out! And apologies for the debacle that was.. uh… me.

Also… I have a lot of leftover tequila… any takers? For some reason, I’m not all that interested in it.

happy dog

Originally uploaded by skyec.

Yes, I know that when you love someone, you love them for who they are and not what they have.

But I can’t help but be thrilled that Neil’s got a really kickass dog. Other than the fact that she’s named Sasha (and really, I’m not a fan of human names for dogs - you’re supposed give your pets names you can’t get away with giving your children), she’s a gorgeous creatures and one of my favourite dogs on earth.

I have actually taken to calling her “the Stepdog,” so that if things go tits up, I can claim some visitation rights.

While I’ve been a dog person all my life, and my parents have always had dogs while I was growing up, some of the strange things she does take a bit of getting used to:

-She has a knack for laying exactly where I’ll trip over her in the middle of the night.

-She hardly ever barks. Except for at 4:00am in my strictly “no pets” building.

-She delights in taking two craps when I’ve only brought one bag.

-She tries to join in the fun when Neil and I are gettin’ busy.

-She likes to lick the water off of freshly showered legs (creating the need for another shower).

-She tries to lick the wet spot on the sheets. Yes, that wet spot.

Despite all that, I’m still totally smitten by her. How could you not love that face?

As usually happens when you are seeing someone on a level that your schedule dictates whose house you’ll be sleeping at that night, the boy had a pile of dirty clothes at my place.

And since I was doing laundry anyway, I figured I’d toss his dirty clothes in with mine (cuz I’m just sweet like that - all those losers from before really are missing out!).

That’s when it happened.

I discovered his man-funk is actually strong enough to nullify the effects of laundry detergent!

See, he has this shirt that he runs in. It’s allegedly a technical fabric, and as those fabrics do, it dissipates the sweat and nastiness throughout the whole garment to keep you dry. Dry, and very very smelly. He’d gone running in the shirt 3 or 4 times before it made it into the laundry. You do the math.

Into the washing machine it went, then into the dryer.

As I was emptying the dryer, I pulled the shirt out, and with it wafted that familiar foul aura. I didn’t believe it at first, but a few cautious whifs (remember, his armpits can smell like feet people) later, it was confirmed.

The shirt STILL stank!

After a wash cycle with Tide with Febreeze, Lavendar Vanilla Fabric Softener, and two Outdoor Fresh dryer sheets, it still smelled exactly like man-funk.

After a 10 hour soaking with more detergent and some time to line dry, the funkiness has somewhat dissipated. Now it smells like detergent and chemicals. Not pleasant, just different.

If the man can do that to a simple shirt, if his odiferoius self is strong enough that laundry detergent is no match for his essence, I shudder to think of what I may have gotten myself into.

She: Want a Frosty with that?

He: Hmm…

She: You know you do…

He: Sure, a small one I guess.

She: (into the talking box) Ok, and… two small Frosties.

He: …

She: I was totally gonna get the medium, but you had to go and make the reasonable choice…

He: I wonder if they can make ‘em with skim milk?

She: **sigh**

Some of you may remember I was contemplating getting a tattoo while on vacation. It didn’t actually happen, but it came damned close!

I was perusing the Miami Ink website, and lo and behold, they had an open call for applications to be tattooed on the show! So, with the help of Mel and Jen, we toodled off one day to shoot some film (an application requirement for all out-of-area submissions) to sell me to the show’s crew.

They did get my video, and did call and invite me down to their casting offices. Unfortunately, the timeline didn’t work out. I was in Cayman (because of the trip extension) when they wanted to have me in, and was arriving home when shooting was about to start.

But never fear! While you won’t see me on TLC any time soon, I’ve posted my audition tape here for you. Enjoy!

Haircut blogging. Because I’m too busy for anything more substantial.

Between trying desperately to get everything finished at work, and get everything prepped and packed for my trip, I’ve barely had time to think.

That, and someone’s been keeping me up WAY past my bedtime (which is why I look stoned in the photo - really I’m just running on about 3 hours sleep a few days in a row).

We’re into the home stretch, and it’s now a mere 5 sleeps until Vacation! And so I present to you (more for my benefit than yours) what I will need to am going to attempt to get done (in addition to that whole “full-time-job” thing) in the next few days:

Monday:
-Order T-shirts for rowing crew
-Attempt to clean up house so it’s not filthy and/or smelly when I get home
-Laundry
-See friend’s musical
-Start packing
-Make list of things I still need to purchase for trip

Tuesday:
-Hair Appointment, cut & colour
-Contemplate hiring maid service
-Make final hotel bookings & submit final travel documents to airline for potentially speedier departure
-Yoga class
-Deal with all technology hardware/software I need to bring (laptop, mp3 player, camera, etc.)

Wednesday:
-Shopping trip for the things on the list from Monday
-Set up payments for any bills due during the time I’m gone
-Look around in disgust at the cleaning that still needs to be done and make mp3 playlist instead
-Mani/Pedi
-Hot Hot Heat at the Red Room

Thursday:
-Bikini Wax on my lunch break
-Work a billion hours to finish up everything that needs doing at work while I’m gone
-Say a little prayer that things don’t disintegrate in my absence
-Last-minute rowing practice
-Boat unrigging and loading onto regatta trailer
-Pack rowing gear for weekend regatta
-Give up entirely on cleaning, and adopt “frat house” as new decorating theme

Friday:
-Finalize packing, and cry at seeming lack of space for copious amounts of duty-free liquor and carribean rum cake
-Take thievables out of car
-Confirm plans with friends to water my plants, drive me to the airport, pick me up from the airport
-Schlep two sets of luggage to carpool driver’s place
-Pick up Crew T-shirts
-Head for Seattle

Saturday:
-Wake up at Ass O’Clock
-Rig boats at O-Dark Hundred
-Race shortly thereafter
-Collapse
-Race again
-Unrig and load boats
-Tear-ass back to Vancouver, considering the folley of not booking a flight out of Seattle instead as I panic the whole way back that I’ll be stuck in an 8 hour border traffic lineup
-Go to Airport and FLY AWAY!

My Tim Horton’s Roll-up losing streak now stands at 0/15.

And life couldn’t be better.

Remember I mentioned that I only win at the Roll-Ups when something catastrophic happens. Boyfriend dumping, Job ending kind of terrible.

It seems that the opposite is also true.

The more I lose, the better things seem to get.

-Work is gearing up yet going well, and it looks like leaving for Vacation won’t be as catastrophic as I imagined.

-My car has gone an unprecidented amount of time without needing any large-scale repair or maintenance.

-My landlord came by to check out the bathroom, and offered a $200 rent reduction for the month of April (because of the reno-hell) without me even hinting at asking for one.

-I’ve rediscovered snowboarding, which has been about eleventy-frillion shades of awesome.

-I’m completely adorable (thought I’d just throw that in there for anyone who wasn’t sure).

-I had a really, ridiculously good date last night. 8th Grade drawing names in hearts good. Getting home and closing the car door on my finger (ok, kindof ow) because I’m giddy and distracted good.

And now that I’ve completely jinxed myself, I assume things will start going wrong almost immediately. In which case, where’s my fuckin’ cookie, bastards!

In manic preparation for the impending tropical vacation (10 Sleeps Away!), I’ve been going to my local fake ‘n’ bake to get a base tan.

While there, I noticed that my winter hibernation has left me with an ass that, while still fabulous clothed, is a bit more ample than it was over the summer and bears very slight resemblance in texture to an orange peel. Yes. The dreaded “C” word. No, not that one - that I’ll use. The other one. Cellulite.

Now I know some people are more prone to it than others. Even at my very tiniest, I’ve never had flawlessly firm skin. But it was a whole helluvalot less noticeable in August than it is now. And in somewhere around 264 hours, I plan on spending the majority of my days in a bikini.

So, what did I do immediately upon noticing this?

Contemplated my options over an extra large cookie and a full-fat latte, of course.

Originally uploaded by melodrama.ca.

Is up with the weather lately!?!

(really, just an excuse to post this cute pic, courtesy of Mel, taken during the monsoon last Wednesday)

Five hours and many hundreds of dollars later, I have a single jacket.

My mom, however, could’ve used a sherpa.

It’s Saturday night, I have invites to four parties, and none sound as good as spending the evening recouperating on my couch.

Ok, so not mine as in they borrowed it and used it on TV and gave it back.

But I did find it pretty odd to recognize my unremarkable Old Navy underwear making a cameo on Godiva’s the other day. Apparently the wardrobe coordinator and I have the same taste in undergarments.

So, of course, thanks to TiVo, I paused it and took a picture to record the moment for posterity.

When I started getting super busy (and lazy), I started breaking the first rule of lingerie ownership. I began putting my bras in the dryer.

Of course, as is to be expected when one does such a foolish thing, they are quite a lot worse for wear.

In fact, I am now down to two serviceable bras. One white, one black.

And even they are not fitting so well these days. The cups are lumpy and misshapen. I am riding up and spilling over and losing straps down my shoulders.

I did order some more online, but they are not here yet. I am praying they won’t be much longer in arriving.

In the meantime, if you see some poor uncomfortable girl with lumpy-looking boobs, constantly adjusting her upper-body undergarment, that would be me. I don’t mind if you stare (heck, I would), but please also send a fast-freight thought to my new bras that they get here soon!

Dear Internets,

I am tired. TIRED. This whole “having a life thing,” well I just don’t know how people do it.

I get up early in the mornings, earlier than I need to for work, because it’s the only time of day I have left to do things like laundry, and empty the dishwasher, and clean the bathroom, and try to clean the layers of dust off of everything.

Then I go to work all day. Somebody’s gotta bring home the bacon around here!

After I finish working most days I go to the gym. I’m going more often than not now, since there are rumours going around that I have an ass worthy of adoration, and I’d hate to let it go to hell and start disappointing people!

And once that’s all done, I still have to go to Yoga, and see Friends, and practice Rowing, and continue to torture myself with Dating.

I am assuming that somewhere in there I am also eating and sleeping, because I am not dead yet, just tired.

So, I have assembled a list things that need to change ’round these parts:

1. I need a houseboy. I am not that messy, but I need someone who will do things like dust and vacuum and scrub the toilet. He should also do laundry, and will not turn my whites pink, or shrink my good sweaters. Bonus points if he can also give pedicures.

2. I need a chef. I will consider someone who can be a chef-slash-houseboy. This person should ensure that my cupboards are always stocked with a lot of stuff that’s good for me, and a little of the stuff that isn’t, but I like to eat anyway. I don’t need a lot of fuss for breakfast… some juice, coffee, and maybe toast. However I do expect an interesting and convenient lunch to be packed and ready for me to take to work, and a balanced meal ready for me when I get home.

3. I’d like a chauffeur. I do not like taking transit, but I do miss the time I had while on transit to read and plan my day, instead of watching the road and cursing other drivers. I have no desire to return to riding the peasant wagons with the unwashed masses, but I think having a man and a car at my beck and call would be a nice compromise between the two.

4. I am seriously contemplating changing my entire social strategy, and will start holding court. Instead of jetting off to various and sundry locations to see people, I’ll just post notices that I’m holding court on X date at Y time, and my adoring public can come to me for a change. This would also be a nice time for Chef to practice his h’ors d’oeuvres, and for Houseboy to fan me with palm leaves and feed me grapes. Also, since I live a whole 25 minute transit trip out of the metropolitan city limits, I could send Driver to shuttle my people to and fro.

5. And after all this, wouldn’t having a Prince Charming to round out the package, and eliminate the dating thing be nice? I think so. And (shh! don’t tell anyone! I don’t wanna jinx it!) I may have actually found one…