Get better.

If you know me, or have read this for any length of time, then you probably know that I have a few insecurities. I've had to learn to try not to take things personally. Not everyone is going to like me. Not everyone is going to think I'm funny.

But you see, this is the challenge. It is my job to make you a convert. I want to convince you that I really AM funny. This is exactly why I need to get better at being funny. I need to always be trying harder, because even after I convince YOU, I've got to convince someone else. It's a full time fucking job. A job that I get paid for in laughter that I can't hear.

If anything, I want to hear criticism. (Of the CONSTRUCTIVE variety, anyways.) If I don't know I'm doing it wrong, I'll never be able to start doing it right.

Wait. That wasn't funny, was it? FUCK.

Today.

Today is for waking up with a sore shoulder and strange bruises on your legs and hips with no idea how they got there.

Today is for watching everyone else be angry.

Today is for having bad hair, a bad outfit and good makeup.

Today is for feeling like your head is stuffed full of thoughts. And cotton balls. Mostly cotton balls.

Today is for asking yourself what it is you really want to do with your life.

Today is for coming up with the most vague answer ever in time for the aforementioned question. (I want to make things that people like.)

Today is for forgetting that you were supposed to go to dinner at your Grandma's house.

Today is for being sleepy and stupid, but in the most endearing way possible.

Today is for being quiet.

Today is for reading old text messages and wishing someone would send you new ones.

Today is for wanting the phone to ring and feeling a little relieved when it doesn't, because you don't know what you would say if it did.

Today is for anticipating the arrival of the mail.

Today is for going to Costco.

Today is for wondering what will happen.

Today is for wanting things to happen.

Today is for knowing that the things you wish to happen probably won't and understanding that it is better that way.

Today is for not really caring about logic and wishing for things anyways.

This is serious business.

Just know that if we are having a somewhat serious conversation, there is an 82% chance that I am sitting there thinking about how badly you would freak out if I stuck my finger up my nose.

You would really freak out, wouldn't you?

For five minutes, I knew what it was like to be Aniston.

I wore my hair in a braid all day today. It looked pretty cute. But not as cute as it looks right now, in the last five minutes before I go to bed. No, really. It looks fantastic. I have seriously enviable hair right now.

No one will ever believe me.

But it happened. It really did happen.

Go ahead, ants. Make my day.

They are back. Those little fuckers are back. Every spring my house becomes infested with ants. ANTS! Ewwww. So fucking GROSS.


They came out tonight. It all started when I spotted one. Then two. Then seven. I spazzed out and ran to fetch my ant-fighting boots. (Yes. I actually have ant-fighting boots. They are also used when encountering a variety of other pests. Also, for snow. So they are mostly my snow boots.)


























See this? This is me, about to poison your ass.

I then spent a good solid 30 mins crouched over trying to follow them to see where they were coming from. I traced them back to a gap in the wall in the kitchen.

"HA! I'VE GOT YOU NOW, MOTHERFUCKERS! YOU ARE GOING DOWN!"

Not five minutes later, I was gleefully spraying them with horrifying chemicals. IT WAS AWESOME.

I bet they'll all be dead by morning. Those dumb little shits.

Thanks a lot, Mary Hart.

Surely I can't be the only one who wishes that mass media had never discovered Twitter. Before I could just tweet away in peace without anyone asking me what the hell I was doing. But nooooooo. I regularly interact with grown ups who read the Globe & Mail and watch Entertainment Tonight. They are inquisitive folks. Which is why they WON'T STOP ASKING ME ABOUT TWITTER.

So in the interest of preserving what little amounts of sanity I may have left, I have gathered up the most commonly asked questions and will attempt to answer them. Then when someone asks me, I'll just send them this link. On the e-mail. Easy peasy,.

Please note, the questions are in caps lock to make it easier for strained eyes to see them.

Q: "WHAT IS TWITTER?"

A: Um, well... shit. You're like, what... 50? So I guess you probably don't know what microblogging means, then. Okay. So. Ummm... okay. It's a website. You still with me? Great. So you use this website to tell jokes or tell people what you are doing. The catch is that you only get to use 140 characters to do it. The people who follow you can read all your updates and vice versa.

Q: "WHO ARE ALL THOSE PEOPLE WHO FOLLOW YOU?"

A: I honestly have no idea. Most of them appear to be Americans. I have no idea how they found me. Perhaps they did a search for "twitter butt drunk smartass". I don't know.

Q: "THEY ARE ALL STRANGERS? ISN'T THAT DANGEROUS?"

A: Well, about 10 of them aren't strangers. It's not my fault I know so many people who are afraid to embrace new things. ANYWAYS... I'm pretty sure it's not dangerous. They are all lovely people who make me laugh.

Q: "DOES ANYBODY REALLY CARE WHAT YOU ARE DOING?"

A: No. Which is why I almost never tell them. Unless I happen to be doing something HILARIOUS. Usually I just write jokes about random things.

Q: "WHY DO YOU USE IT?"

A: Well, part of it is because I want hundreds of people to hear my jokes without having to stand in front of hundreds of people and read them aloud. You know, because then I'd have a total emotional breakdown. The other part almost certainly has something to do with the fact that I am a middle child. But I really don't feel like getting into that right now.

Q: "WHAT IS THE POINT?"

A: What's the point of your face? (Oooh, burn!) I don't know. I suppose it makes me feel a little bit important, a little bit special and a little bit capable of making new friends.


Ta-da! There you have it. My guide to explaining Twitter to other people's parents.

YOU'RE WELCOME.

Get off the Internet.

Me: "Oh sweet. New e-mail."

Gmail: "You have a new listener on Blip.fm!"

Me: "Huh? I have an account at Blip.fm?"

Gmail: "Sure do. You also have Last.fm."

Me: "Really? Who knew?"

I'm beginning to wonder how many other things I have signed up for and promptly forgotten about. Probably one billion. That sounds about right.

I didn't know!

The other day it was Sarah Jessica Parker's birthday. Which meant that I read (and heard) a number variations on the same joke: SJP looks like a horse.

Huh? I seriously never thought she looked like a horse. I was kind of amazed to hear so many people saying that. So I took an informal poll at work today. (Only men were asked.) The consensus seems to be that yes, she does indeed look like a horse. It was almost as if they felt that mere words could not enough to convey how totally unattractive they found her. I thought this was amazing. I always thought she was kind of cute.

(Side note: Apparently Julia Roberts is also completely unattractive. She has large teeth and this is an issue for them.)

ANYWAYS... the whole reason I asked them was because of my earlier post about my own insecurities. It made me wonder if SJP looks in the mirror and thinks that she looks like a horse. She probably does. But then she puts on some friggin' Prada and forgets about it for awhile.

It also made me think about how I really want some Prada. This, I think, is the real lesson here.

An experiment.

Question: Can I be cheered up right now?

Hypothesis: No.

Process: I feel like crap. I am grumpy about it. Will I still feel like crap after watching this?





Results: I still don't feel awesome. But goddamnit, Leslie Gore tricked me into smiling and dancing a little. This really fucks up my hypothesis. Whatever.

Oh boy.

I consider myself to be a feminist. I think women are wonderful. But allow me to be honest for a moment: Sometimes being a girl is just straight up LAME.

Maybe it's just me, but I feel like I will probably always be plagued with a certain level of insecurity about the way I look. I don't see myself ever getting over that. When I use the rational, logical part of my brain to ponder this, I can see how ridiculous it is. Is anyone really going to hate me because of the little scar I have below my bottom lip? Will I actually explode if I wear a bathing suit in public and someone sees my giant thighs? Probably not. But sometimes these certainly feel like very real possibilities.


I have days where I look in the mirror and think that I am THE SHIT. As in, "Holy sweet goddamn, has anyone ever looked this good? NO. JUST YOU, HOT STUFF." However, for every one of those days, there are probably 20 others where I curse my genetic makeup because all I see is a tummy that sticks out too much, a weird looking face and a saggy bum. I think it's just something I'll always have to deal with and no amount of compliments will ever fix it. I guess it's just part of being a girl.

That being said, my hair does look very nice today. And my eyes are looking exceptionally blue.

But this shirt makes me look fat.

Mississauga, goddamn.

Mississauga! That is where my Amazon order is right now. RIGHT NOW. This is exciting stuff, people.

Holy crap do I love getting mail. Holy crap am I excited to read these books. Squee!

Yes, I am a nerd. And yes, it is hot.

That thing you do.

Just about every time I write something that vaguely references work (eg: random thing happened at work, random thing I said at work, weird crap I did at work) it is inevitable that I get the dreaded follow up question from a reader. It is perhaps my least favourite question ever in time. 

"What the hell do you DO for a living?" 

"Where on earth do you work?"

"Who in their right mind would ever give YOU a job?"

Okay, so no one has ever actually asked me that last one. But I'm sure you have thought about it on more than one occasion. 

ANYWAYS, I never quite know how to deal with these questions so I usually just ignore them. I'm not really comfortable with putting that info out there. I've always been pretty vague about what it is that I do. Probably because I have a healthy fear of getting DOOCED. 

I realize that I could probably tell you WHAT I do without telling you WHERE I do it and probably manage to keep myself out of trouble. But what would be the fun in that? For all you know, this could be my job. Perhaps it has all been just one elaborate story, crafted while I sat in my basement apartment whilst drinking coffee in my underwear. 

Actually, that job sounds kind of amazing. If you've got a line on how I might be able to land a gig like that, maybe you need to be sending me an e-mail. YESTERDAY.

Wait. I had a point. Right. So basically what I am trying to say is that I'm probably never going to explain to the Internet what I do for a living. You needn't feel bad though, because I even hate explaining my job to people in real life. I'm happy if I can manage to get away with telling them, "Oh, I work at a - ooooh, look! Canapes!" 

Shock and awe, baby. Works like a charm. 

Like ZZ Top, without the music.

Lydia e-mailed this to me this morning. It actually makes me kind of sad to see winter go away. Now I'll have to wait FOREVER to see one of these in the wild. I present to you: THE BEARD HEAD.



























Let's face it. We can't all grow sweet beards like Jesus and Jerry Garcia. Fake it 'til you make it, baby. Fake it 'til you make it.

Look at me! NO, DON'T LOOK AT ME.

I have used that phrase to describe myself on several occasions. It's very true. I want people to pay attention to me, but I am often not comfortable with the levels of attention I receive. I think this is why I have taken to blogging and using Twitter. It is sort of like having the best of both worlds. I have an audience of people to laugh at my jokes, but they aren't there staring back at me. Or are they?

Yesterday I mocked the idea of being Internet-famous... but I guess it really is a thing. Kelly wrote about it on Metblogs yesterday in response to this article from the Vancouver Sun. At first I thought it was kind of ridiculous for people to whine about it. That is, until it occurred to me that the same thing could happen to me. How friggin' WEIRD would that be?

There was one time where I was at a party and someone said they were too nervous to talk to me because they felt like I was kind of famous. It blew my mind. It had never occurred to me that some people might have the same feelings of admiration for me that I have about my favourite bloggers and Twitter idols. I mean, really. I'm just a normal girl. A normal girl that writes crap on the Internet and promptly forgets about the fact that anyone outside of a small circle of friends is going to read it.

Man. That is kind of fucked up. Here's hoping that I never get recognized on the street. If that ever happens, I fear that my brain might explode. BOOM!

You can't handle the truth. Because the truth is so AWESOME.

I say that if you are going to do something, you might as well do it right. So I have done the research. The research tells me that if you are going to be Internet-famous, you need to tell people what you are doing pretty much all the time. I totally don't do that right now. Consider this my attempt to remedy the situation.

RIGHT NOW. At 5:36pm on March 20th, 2009. WHAT AM I DOING?

I am in my kitchen. I am still in my killer work outfit. I am wearing a big necklace. I am drinking beer from a bottle. I am dancing around to this song:




I look awesome doing it.

Ummmm... now what? I guess I'll just keep dancing.

I told you the truth was awesome.

Stage fright.

Right now, I feel like I have stage fright. Which is odd, considering that I am not about to go anywhere near a stage in the near future. Seriously. This is how I felt in grade 12 right before I had to play that trombone solo in front of A HUNDRED MILLION PEOPLE.

Okay, fine. Not a hundred million. But several hundred. It was terrifying. But you know I killed that shit anyways. It was just that my legs were a little wobbly afterwards. And I thought that I was maybe going to vomit a little. (For the record, I did not actually vomit.)

Why do I feel so nervous? Eeeeeeeee!

Could have been the coffee that I had at 8am. UH-OH.

Sweet charity.

Last night, Lydia was going through the giant pile of stuff we were setting out to give to charity in the morning.

L: "Hey! Are you sure you want to give this skirt away? It's kind of awesome."

Me: "I don't know. I never really wear it."

L: "Why not?"

Me: "Well, it's kind of short."

L: "OMG. You should totally keep it. You are getting into wearing revealing clothes now. It's perfect."

Me: "WHAT? I'm into wearing revealing clothes? Why do you say that?"

L: "I read it. On your twitter. It always says stuff like 'This dress doesn't cover my butt.' and 'Hey, check out my cleavage.'"

Me: "Oh yeah... TOTALLY KEEPING IT."

And here I was, thinking nobody on the Internet was noticing my butt.

Who needs calendars, anyways?

No one knows me better than I know myself. Which is why I'm so good at finding ways to trick myself into remembering things.

I have forgotten to go renew my car insurance for 3 days in a row. It expires today at midnight, thus making the act of renewing it TODAY highly important. I knew I was going to forget about it. AGAIN. Which would have royally sucked, because you know that at 12:02am some random part of an airplane would have fallen out of the sky and demolished my uninsured car.

This is why I tricked myself by tricking people on the Internet into helping me remember to renew my insurance at lunch. I know that if an Outlook e-mail reminder had popped up, I would have hit DISMISS so friggin' hard and then continued reading Twitter. Because I read Twitter like, all the goddamn time. Wait a minute... TWITTER! TWITTER IS THE ANSWER!

So I wrote a joke asking for gold stars so that when I checked later in the day, I would remember to get insurance. Then they gave me gold stars for it. Then at noon when I went to check how many stars I had gotten, I was all, "OH YEAH, DUDE! CAR INSURANCE!"

So then I went and got some car insurance. It was kind of awesome.

The only sucky part about this is that I can't really use that joke again. Cause you know I'll need it again... for example, this could really come in handy:

"Hey guys, can you star this so that when I get home I remember to call my mom and tell her that I made it home okay?"

Goddamnit. I get in trouble for that one pretty much every time I visit my parents. I get home and like 2 hours later I get a phone call:

"OH MY GOD ARE YOU DEAD?"

Yes. Which is why it is so impressive that I managed to answer the phone.

The Hitler Wears the Exact Opposite of Prada.

So, remember how the guy who owns the vending machine where I work looks like Hitler? True story. He does. It is kind of terrifying. I'm always afraid that I will run into him when I go downstairs. It would be weird because he'd be thinking, "Why is she looking at me like that? What a jerk." Of course, he won't know that it is because I'm standing there looking at him and thinking, "OMG, HITLER."

I suspect everyone else has this same reaction to him. Which is probably why he gets away with hiking up the prices so much. I went down there today to see about some Cheetos, (Which were not there, btw. I ended up with Sour Cream & Bacon Ruffles. They do not taste like bacon. I feel robbed.) and as I stood in front of the vending machine, I was appalled by what I saw. Chips used to cost $1. Now they cost $1.15. $1.15!!!! This is highway robbery!

In my dreams, I am brave enough to confront him about his business practices. Via strongly worded note, of course. But in reality, I am hungry. So I look at the price and think, "OMG, HITLER." and I pay. Out of pure fear.

Stop pinching me!

I'm not wearing green. On purpose. I'm not Irish. I don't want to pretend to be Irish. I'm also not 12. SO STOP PINCHING ME.

One of these days, you are just going to have to accept the fact that I am not a "joiner." Nor will I ever be. So please. Just appreciate me for who I am... which today, is dressed in basic black and not looking ridiculous.

And I mean it. STOP. PINCHING. ME.

Sit Down, Shut Up.

If my parents had been able to foresee this recession, they would have given me a dollar every time they said that to me. Then I would have been writing to you from my sweet condo right now. But nooooooooooooooo.

ANYWAYS... watch this. It makes my heart happy. It makes other parts of me happy too. But mostly my heart.





Speaking of having babies... what's up, Jason Bateman? What. Is. Up.

Take a picture.

I have come to believe that I am at my most adorable state of being approximately 5 mins before I leave the house in the morning. It must be the combination of clean clothes, blown out hair and freshly applied makeup. It's a damn shame, though. No one else is ever around to see it.

But you gotta believe me... I look cute. I swear.

Which is why I took some pictures of myself before I left the house this morning. I need to make sure that I actually do look cute and that I'm not still dreaming when I look in the mirror. I shall prove my cuteness through science! The science of digital photography.

I wasn't this much of a narcissist before I got a camera. Funny how that works.

Wait a minute...

You don't care that I ate too much and now my tummy hurts! You don't care that I went to the grocery store and bought the most random assortment of crap!

I mean, seriously. What is this, Facebook? I'm so sorry, you guys. I'll try never to do that again.

I think I'm beginning to get the hang of this whole Internet thing. Be patient with me. I'll get there.

The best-laid plans.

I've made a huge mistake.

I decided that going grocery shopping on a completely empty stomach was a bad idea. So I made some lunch first.

I totally ate too much and now I feel sick.

So basically I have accomplished the exact opposite of what I was trying to accomplish.

Ugh.

A love story.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I walked into the January sample sale at Fluevog. There they were, sitting underneath a table. I gasped out loud and rushed over to pick them up. As I stroked the soft grey suede, I know in my heart that they had to be mine. I didn't care how much they were. They were so friggin' HOT.

I flipped the price tag over and I swear to you, my heart stopped for a moment. $75. They were only $75. Marked down from $300. I squealed.

That was 8 years ago. We are still together and going strong. Goddamnit, I love these boots.

Some things.

I decided that today is a day for pushing personal boundaries. So I am sporting what I believe to be "work appropriate cleavage." I don't know if it worked. I didn't get a raise or anything. YET. Technically I'm still here for half an hour, so I guess anything is possible.

In other news, I have eaten about 17 pounds of candy today. I'm really taking it to the limit. The closest I have come to eating real actual food was an oatmeal cookie. It had raisins in it. That's something, I guess. Then I ate some mini eggs and some chewy caramels and a fuckload of these Easter coloured Mike & Ike thingies. The yellow ones sort of taste like pineapple. Sweet Jesus, do I love those ones.

Whoa. See what I did there? Easter? Jesus? That was an accident. I think I might be a little bit high right now, actually.

In fact, I am so high that I have decided to publish my email address so that you can send me secret messages if you feel like it. I KNOW, RIGHT? I'm like, reaching out to my public and shit. If I wait long enough, perhaps they might reach back. Preferably in a non-creepy manner.

Do it. sarah@yowhatsthehaps.com

I might even write you back. But I promise nothing. NOTHING!

Yep. I'm totally high. Sucrose, muthafuckazzzzz!

Kidding.

For the record, I would like to make it clear that I did not actually make a barista cry this morning. Don't get me wrong, I'm certainly capable of doing so. I just try not to do it to strangers. Particularly to ones who are holding large cups of hot steaming liquid.

I did do something nice today, though. This morning when I walked into the office, I was kind and considerate enough to announce to the boys, "FYI, I'm in a bad fucking mood today."

Wow. I'd be like, the best girlfriend ever.

A bright sunshiny day.

"This morning as I looked out the window at the sun rising in the clear blue sky, I sighed and thought to myself, 'FUUUUCK.'" - me, from this morning, on Twitter.

Yeah. Today is like that. Just like that. Which is why it was kind of funny to hear this song on my iPod when I was on the bus. I kind of forgot that I had any Ben Folds albums, but I sure am glad I do. I think I need to visit them again. Because clearly he is awesome. ANYWAYS... enjoy The Frown Song:




This got even FUNNIER after I made that barista cry. WTF-ever. I'm not even sorry. I clearly said "vanilla". VAN-ILLA. Jesus.

The Internet isn't just for jerks.

Wah, wah, wah. I use the Internet whine a lot. I also use the Internet to make fun of people. Mostly, I use the Internet to make fun of myself so that other people will laugh. I think it's working. How can I tell? Because I keep getting wonderfully random little messages like this from people I don't even know:

I hope you work in the creative industry in some way or another - it and you deserve each other.

If you have ever sent me a message or left me a comment and I haven't replied, just know that I really appreciate your kind words. Sometimes I'm just not sure how to respond. I'm just not used to being showered with compliments.

So thanks, Internet. You sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.

I was wrong and so were you.

Did you think you were cool when you were 8? You were wrong. You were not in GQ. (via Brie)

Seriously. What 8 year old knows what an ascot is? This kid blows my mind.

I think maybe I want to meet a 20-something fellow with similar tastes in fashion who might perhaps be available for dates. With me. Forever.

Hide and Seek

Last night when I was getting ready for bed, this song came on the radio. Naturally, it inspired a little interpretive dance number. Yes, I danced it in my underwear. Yes, you would have been moved to tears by my delicate choreography and sensitivity to the music.

Hide and Seek ~ Imogen Heap
Uploaded by Cehcw

I never party like it's 1999, because I wasn't invited to any that year.

So today I got an email that I have been dreading since January.

"Hey guys, it's time to plan the High School Reunion!"

OH. SHIT.

I have two main issues with this. The first one being that I refuse to acknowledge the fact that I am old enough to attend one of these things. I'm still living like I'm 20 years old. But like, with way less drinking and having fun. Which brings me to issue number two: HIGH SCHOOL SUCKED.

I know what you're thinking. "But Sarah, you are clearly awesome and very attractive. How could you have possibly had a bad time in high school?"

Well friends, my swan transformation happened a little late. As in like, last month. I was not cute in high school. I was not awesome in high school. I played the freaking TROMBONE in high school. I had ugly glasses. I had bad skin. I hid my body under giant clothes. I knew more about musicals than perhaps would have been considered socially acceptable.

God, just writing that gave me flashbacks. High school is like my 'Nam or something. *shudder*

I sort of think I should go, just to show how much I have improved. But I can see that ending badly:

Me: "LOOK AT ME NOW, BITCHES."
Them: "Who IS that?"
My one friend who showed up: "That's Sarah."
Them: "Who the fuck is Sarah? I don't remember a Sarah."
Me: *sigh* "Fuck this. Let's go watch Grease again. I know all the words."

Maybe it would be easier if I had a hot boyfriend to drag along with me. But I don't. I don't even have an INTERNET BOYFRIEND. Well, not one that is aware of his boyfriend status, anyways.

So yeah. I have about 5 months to figure out how to deal with this. That means I have 5 months to flip flop on the issue before I decide not to go, or it could also mean that I have 5 months to become successful and boyfriend-ed.

I think you know how this is probably going to end up.

This is real life.

My dear friend Dave sent this to me on Facebook and I think it is kind of great. Because really, it kind of *is* the next logical step in video games. This is REAL LIFE, PEOPLE.

From Overqualified:

Dear Nintendo,

I am writing to apply for the position of game designer with your company. We have a chance here to help children experience games that are more true to life than any game before them. Computer graphics have improved and improved and improved, and some day soon we're going to have to ask ourselves where we can go next in our search for realism.

We need virtual pet games where you clean and feed and love your furry little friend and that car still comes out of nowhere so smoothly, a god of aerodynamics and passenger safety. Where you hear your father's quiet joke that night, when he thinks you are asleep.

We need a new Mario game, where you rescue the princess in the first ten minutes, and for the rest of the game you try and push down that sick feeling in your stomach that she's "damaged goods", a concept detailed again and again in the profoundly sex negative instruction booklet, and when Luigi makes a crack about her and Bowser, you break his nose and immediately regret it. When Peach asks you, in the quiet of her mushroom castle bedroom "do you still love me?" you pretend to be asleep. You press the A button rhythmically, to control your breath, keep it even.

We need an airport simulator, where the planes carry your whole family from A to B, job to job, and dad still drinks in the shower and your older sister still has casual sex that she confides might bring back a feeling she's certain she didn't imagine. Where the plane touches down and you all lean forward in your seats because of inertia, and again and again someone says "I hate to fly".

Yours,

Joey Comeau

I think he just figured out how to fight the childhood obesity epidemic. All you have to do is make video games really fucking depressing. Kids will be BEGGING to get outside just so that they might forget their troubles for a few hours.

So at least I'm not crazy.

Well, at least I'm not the only one who is crazy.

Ha! And you thought it was ridiculous when I said that I couldn't sleep because I was worried about the economy. It's okay! Because Forbes.com tells me that everyone else is having the same problem.

I'm a jerk, so I take some comfort in knowing that other people are suffering with me. Go team!

A not-so-clever ruse.

Be honest with me. Have I ever managed to give you the impression that I might be kind of clever? Or perhaps that I might even be a little bit smart-ish? If so, I really don't understand how I might have pulled that off.

I feel really, REALLY dumb right now. Welcome to the 4th level of tiredness, kid.

It seems as though some sort of zombie-related joke might be appropriate here. But... a) I can't think of one on account of the stupidity and b) I think I read on Twitter that zombies jokes are played out.

The lowdown.

Given that the ice cream cake I had for breakfast this morning made me feel slightly ill, it was clearly a wise decision for me to eat the giant cookie I just ate. Friends, this is pretty much exactly why I find myself at my current stage in life. You know, because I tend to ignore logic completely.

Whatevs, it's cool. Eventually my stomach will settle down and I won't feel like throwing up anymore. At which point I will probably eat some candy. Or drink some vodka. What can I say? That's just how these things go.

In other news, I bought some books on the Internet yesterday. I am irrationally excited about it. Because a) I will get 3 new books to read and b) they will be mailed to me! HOLY SHIT DO I LOVE GETTING MAIL. Even if I know it is coming because I paid someone to send it to me. It is still so exciting.

Here's the thing, though. Every time I decide to order books from Amazon, I get sucked into the FREE SUPER SAVE SHIPPING bullshit. EVERY. TIME. I had intended to buy one book, but then I saw the FREE SHIPPING option and was all, "FREE? In this economy, how can I possibly say no to that?" After pondering it for awhile I thought of another book I wanted and added it to my cart. I was still short. I needed one more book.

I sat there for 10 mins trying to think of another book I wanted to read, and came up with nothing. Uh-oh! But it's cool. I harassed someone on IM (it probably really does qualify as harassment, actually) and forced them to tell me the name of a book I needed to read. I'm actually pretty excited about that particular book, because I had wanted to read it and totally forgotten. So, yay!

Once more with feeling: Yayyyyyyy!

If you are reading this...

If you are reading this, that can only mean one thing:

My theory was wrong and I am not in fact dead from the intense reaction of Earl Grey tea and ice cream cake that is brewing in my tummy.

Damn. I was so sure about that one.

Wolves work in teams!

Because it has been stuck in my head for 3 days and also because there are not enough music videos that prominently feature dancing wolves.





I also really like singing "awooooooooo". Like, a lot.

Okay. NOW I get it.

So I think I have figured it out. If you want to get better at something, you just look at other people who do that thing WAY BETTER than you do. And you watch. And you listen. And you pay very close attention to how they do that thing. And then you learn from them. And then, BAM! You get better at said thing.

Amazing, no?

Allow me to explain myself.

Yes. I really did crawl under my desk today. In a short dress. While I was under there, someone brought me a pillow. Then someone else walked into the office and I had to stay under there and hide from them so they would not discover my secret hiding spot.

BUT, I had a good reason! I was like, REALLY tired after lunch. I had my head down on my desk and was mumbling about being soooooooo sleepy. It was then that I happened to look down and take notice of just how spacious it really is under my desk. So I sat up and asked my coworker if he thought I could fit under there. He said I could, and that if I pulled my chair in no one would be able to see me. You know, just like George Costanza. So I made sure there was no one coming down the hallway and I crawled up under there.

"Hey! It's actually pretty awesome under here! But, you know... mind the wires."

One of my coworkers jumped up and grabbed a little pillow from the seating area and brought it over. It was remarkably comfortable under there.

"Seriously, guys. I don't think you understand. I could totally Costanza this thing up. It'll be great!"

Just then, someone walked into the office. He stood there for a really long time, talking to one of the guys. The entire time he was there I was curled up under my desk, hugging my knees and trying to stifle my giggle fit. Because I am five years old.

As soon as he left, I crawled out, put the pillow away and got back to work. Cause I'm a grown up, yo. That's how we roll.

Always break even.

Today I learned that for every day you have where lovely strangers and lovely friends give you lovely compliments that reassure you that you are on the right path, there will be a day right after that where someone tells you that you look like Andy Dick. (Yes. THAT Andy Dick.)

I can only hope that at some point in the near future, there will be a "Holy shit, you are so attractive that you are going to explode my brain" sort of compliment coming my way.

So I've got that to look forward to.

Nerd Magic Tricks?

Nerd Magic Tricks?, originally uploaded by ringolio.

So I totally own these now. A dude at work made me take them because I seemed to think I could find someone who would give them the nerdy loving they truly deserve.

I think they are kind of HILARIOUS... but then again, I never watched the show. So maybe they are actually 7 different kinds of awesome and I am just not aware of this.

So... do you want them? Or should I keep them? Will they help me pick up dudes? Like, ones without 17 known allergies?

Two sips from the cup of human kindness and I'm shitfaced.

Yesterday I needed something to listen to on the drive out to visit my parents, so I randomly grabbed some Cd's (Yes, I know. I KNOW.) and headed out the door. The first one I popped in was Twin Cinema by The New Pornographers. It was the only thing I listened to all day yesterday. It is the only thing I have listened to today.

Holy shit. How had I possibly forgotten how friggin' good this album is? Obviously I am a giant idiot. It really is THAT GOOD. I'm so happy with myself right now for having rediscovered it. I love it so much, that I may have given it the best record review I have ever written. In the form of this tweet from this morning:

Twin Cinema! I want to use science to take this album, turn it into a boy
and date the shit out of him.

It's totally fucking true. If it were actually possible for me to date Twin Cinema, I would. I would marry Twin Cinema, and then I would change my last name to Cinema because the love is like, THAT DEEP AND INTENSE.

But for now, I will probably just listen to it seven more times. Whatevs.

What's up, sleep? What. Is. Up.

Hey! It's you! I bet you are sleeping right now! I am not.

I should probably never be allowed to have coffee EVER AGAIN.

Did you know how BORING the Internet is when no one else is on it? I might as well be living in the 90's, when insomnia was this boring simply because 2am phone calls were frowned upon.

You know what? I'm not doing this alone. I'm taking you with me. LIVEBLOGGING STYLES.

1:42am: Not sleeping. Writing this.

1:45am: Just checked twitter again. Nothing.

1:46am: Woooooooo! I got an email!

1:47am: It was just from astrology.com. Fuck.

1:49am: SERIOUSLY.

1:52am: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

1:54am: I hate Facebook even more in the middle of the night.

1:57am: Just noticed that I have like, 7 tabs open. Many of them on the same sites. Huh.

1:59am: Just hanging out. With my eyes wide open. In the dark.

2:01am: When you turn on Facebook chat at 2am, it says "0 Friends". So that's nice for the self-esteem.

2:05am: It occurs to me that I have never had to climb out my window before. I bet I could make it look quite graceful.

2:08am: Somewhere in the world, it is an entirely appropriate time to be awake.

2:11am: Someone else is awake on twitter! I KNEW IT.

2:13am: I need to make friends with people in completely different time zones. That would make this much more enjoyable and convenient.

2:16am: I think I just read the entire Internet.

2:18am: 2:18am is for assholes.

2:20am: Is it just me, or is Google Analytics like, the creepiest shit EVER?

2:24am: Well, now I'm just getting upset.

2:25am: I want... something...

2:30am: I can haz sleepburger?

2:31am: What? Your face doesn't make sense!

2:34am: Today I learned that if you flirt on twitter it is called "twirting". Which actually makes me feel a little ill. The word, not the actual flirting.

2:38am: If I move to Chilliwack, I can get a sweet deal on an apartment. OR I could stab myself in the eye. Both are kind of the same thing.

2:40am: Thumbs... can't sleep... this guy.

2:41am: I'm trying this again. For real. Computer off. Brain off. Sleep on.

Goodnight!