Sweet talkin'.

I just got off the phone with an investment advisor from the bank. I have no idea what the hell he just said to me, but I think I might have agreed to something sinister.

Guys could learn a lot from these phone investment advisors. That dude could have probably convinced me to do just about anything. ANYTHING. He didn't even sound hot, I was just super confused.

I wonder how this will turn out? Only time will tell...

Ummm...

This is my favourite part of any Flight of the Conchords song EVER:

"Sometimes when I freestyle, I... lose confidence."

Me too, Jemaine. Me too. Honestly, is there anything more terrifying than someone looking right at you and saying, "Quick, say something funny!" Holy shit.

The best I can ever manage to come up with is to simply yell, "PANTS!" It's my go-to. Why, I do not know. It's not even funny. (Well, it is funny after you have spent at least 30 mins repeating the word over and over again.)

Mawwidge...

Yesterday my Grandma informed me that she would like me to get married, already. Not because she thinks I am missing out on love and companionship or anything like that. When I said I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to be married, this is what she said:

"I'm not trying to rush you or anything... but do you realize that when you get married, you basically double your income? Think of all the spending you could do! Buy a condo! Buy some shoes! It's so great!"

Damn her and her logic.

Unfollow.

If you use Twitter, then you are probably familiar with the pain and heartache of the unfollow. Sometimes it comes in waves, like when you say something horribly offensive. Or perhaps you have made one too many puns. Or maybe you talked about hanging out with no pants on... AGAIN. *ahem*

There are things like Qwitter, which send you an email and tell you who unfollows you and which tweet made them leave. I don't play that game, because I know my ego is far too fragile to deal with that sort of information. However, sometimes I discover by accident that people have unfollowed me. This sucks, because it is always someone that I follow and therefore think is hilarious and awesome.

I'm not going to lie to you. It is a little upsetting to know that someone has given up on you. Especially if it's someone who you have come to admire and appreciate. But you have to remember, it's not personal.

I like to look at the unfollow as less of a, "YOU SUCK, YOU TALENTLESS HACK." and more of a, "It was fun while it lasted, but your brand of comedy just really isn't resonating with me at this particular point in my life. Good luck in your future endeavors."

That's nicer, isn't it? An amicable parting of ways.

"Unfollows are a little easier to take if you imagine them zipping away in a little boat, while you stand on the shore waving farewell." - me, from Twitter

So if you unfollow me, you can imagine me waving from the shore and calling out after you, "Bye! Have a safe trip! See you around!"

Then I go back home and sit around in my underwear so I can write about sitting around in my underwear.

Crap. You aren't coming back, are you?

BORING.

A thought occurred to me just now, as I sat here staring at my computer screen.

"You know what Google needs? More stuff to look at."

No. It doesn't, actually. But whatever. ANYWAYS, this caused me to start exploring all the crap that I have attached to my Google account. I came across something that I hadn't noticed before: Orkut.

What the hell is Orkut? It seems to be a little like Facebook... or is it the other way around? Does anyone use it? Should I use it?

I probably won't, because let's be honest. As if I need to further immerse myself in social networking. AS. IF. I am a little curious about it though. So, if you have used it or know anything about it, let me know.

Also, I am very bored right now. Please entertain me. KTHXBAI.

Found.

I found this in the alley near my house.

Somewhere, there is a very pissed off whore of a Barbie doll who has nothing to wear to the Poison reunion concert.

Brrrrr.

Even in the middle of summer, this room will always be freezing cold when I am going to bed. Always.

No, seriously. Always.

Poor people love Twitter too.

This makes me laugh... and not just because I'm in it. In fact, I'm probably the least amusing part of the whole thing. I'm totally okay with that.




Downward: Twitter Stories from Moe Levin on Vimeo.

(@ErsatzMoe)

Buzz.

So... it is 1:10am and I am still awake, despite feeling tired. I have also managed to bruise my hand by fiddling around with a gadget that I can't get to work. Not cool, man. Not cool.

...

...

...

OH HEY, MAYBE I SHOULD LIVE BLOG THIS. WHAT A GOOD IDEA.

1:12am: Oh, hey. What's up, 1:12am? What. Is. Up.

1:14am: I look pretty adorable in my pj's.

1:17am: Hey, remember when I used to read books? HA!

1:18am: I should probably get back into that. I've gotten dumber since I stopped. I'm sure of it.

1:21am: At least I don't live in the east, because then it would be like, 4:21am and I would be SUPER PISSED OFF.

1:25am: I need an insomnia buddy. Who wants to volunteer?

1:26am: No, seriously. I need you to entertain me.

1:28am: Part-time position, starts IMMEDIATELY.

1:30am: I bet I can stand on my head.

1:31am: I cannot stand on my head.

1:36am: I wish I had some cheese.

1:38am: How often can you Google yourself before it starts getting weird?

1:40am: Your mom goes to college.

1:41am: Just hangin' out. In the dark. With my eyes open. Again.

1:48am: I JUST YAWNED. This is promising.

1:50am: And now, time for a little interpretive dance number.

1:52am: And now, time to act like my foot doesn't hurt from stepping on that pen.

1:55am: If I sneeze one day and my eye pops out, I'm going to be very upset.

1:56am: OH, COME ON!

1:58am: I bet there is a pea under my mattress. It is the only logical explanation.

2:00am: This was way funnier the first time.

2:02am: I'm bored. Who wants to go operate some heavy machinery?

2:04am: It could be worse. I could be living in Manitoba. (No offense.)

2:05am: I take it back. But only the no offense part. SUCK IT, MANITOBA.

2:10am: I'm going to stop now.

2:11am: Ugh.

Good night. Morning? Whatthefuckever.

Hot and Cold

A friend posted this on Facebook and I think it is amazing. The best part about it is the back-up singers.



YOU! BUT YOU!

Workin' it.

I don't know what it is about today, but I just feel like DANCING. I want to dance while I'm wearing these pants and then when I get home I'll dance around in no pants.

I still don't understand why the guys I work with don't support regularly scheduled dance breaks. Whatever. They probably couldn't handle these moves anyways.

Ummmm... here. Dance to this. It's what I'll be dancing to allllllll night long:

17 again.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT THE MOVIE OF THE SAME TITLE.

This is about how I feel like I'm 17 again, as I sit here listening to the new Depeche Mode album. I can't even tell you how much time I spent sitting up in my room swooning over Dave Gahan and dancing my heart out. It was the one fond memory I have of being a teenager. EVERYTHING ELSE SUCKED. Which actually kind of explains why I listened to Depeche Mode so much.

ANYWAYS... they still sound amazing. Heart. Heart, heart, heart.

Those are nonsensical words!

Dang diggy dang, etc.



My booty loves this song. As do my ears, but you don't really care about that, do you?

You're the best!

I got an email this morning that said, "Thanks! You're the best!"

So of course my brain goes into full on Joe Esposito mode right after reading that. This is what I have been singing all morning:



I'm the best. Around. Nothing's ever gonna keep me down.

I have proof. IN WRITING.

I ran. I ran so far away. I ran. I ran all night and day.

AND THEN I COLLAPSED IN A HEAP ON THE FLOOR IMMEDIATELY UPON ARRIVAL AT HOME.

10K is pretty far. It makes parts on your body hurt that you didn't know could hurt. It also makes you hungry. Really, REALLY hungry.

Yeah. I have no idea how old this salsa is.

Nice one, IDIOT.

Need some bad ideas? Look no further.

Tonight I am going for all you can eat sushi and Korean BBQ. Which will be followed the next morning by a 10K run. A 10K run that I have not trained for. I'm going to die. I'm going to vomit in public and then I'm going to die.

I still have a whole day to contract some sort of illness. (Which also qualifies as a remarkably stupid idea.)

This can't possibly end well.

It's just like in real life!

So I had heard about this video before, but never actually had the patience to watch the whole damn thing. Hence why I just figured out that I'm actually in it. Say whaaaaaa?

Basically, there was this conference in where some Germans read tweets from Favrd out loud in English and videotaped it. They are all sort of grouped thematically, and it ends up being rather hilarious and weird. Especially with those cute little accents.

Here's the link. They start speaking English at the 16:00 min mark. I pop up somewhere around 21:00 ish.

Nobody laughed at mine. See? Just like in real life.

The ritual.

I have this thing that I do at least once a week. Usually more. Typically it is on Friday nights, but it can happen any time I happen to come home to an empty house.

I put on my iPod.

I put on this song.

I dance. I dance like I need the money. I dance like the fate of the universe depends on it. I dance like a hybrid James Brown/David Byrne robot.

I do the Molly Ringwald, mixed with the froog, topped with the most intense motherfucking shimmying you have ever seen. I flip my hair, I clap my hands, I shake my ass, I stomp my feet.

At the end of the song, I collapse on the bed or in a chair and grin. I stay there for awhile, because acting like an idiot is kind of exhausting. God, do I LOVE acting like an idiot.

Try it. You'll never want to be clever again.

NOTE: The video is weird and creepy. It's the only full version of the song I could find, yo! Maybe you should minimize it, ignore all the murdering and just listen to the song.

Adorbs.

(via Brie)



I'd like to wild rumpus with you, sir. Rowr.

It's too early to call this one.

Despite my tempting offer of Spock money, there were no takers on the whole face-licking thing. Really, guys? Really? I know of at least 3 mildly creepy people on the Internet that would let me do that for FREE. In fact, they would probably pay *me*.

Wow, I just really creeped myself out there. Haha, good thing I still have comment moderation turned on! OMG. Gross. Why did I go there? Why?

ANYWAYS... no thanks to you lot, I am feeling a bit sniffly today. This has some potential. The idea is to have it hit its peak levels on late Saturday night/early Sunday morning. It's pretty much the perfect crime. Except that it is not a crime and is far from perfect.

This still feels a bit weird. I'm not saying I would lick a face for money... but you know what? In the interest of full disclosure, I'm just going to say it. I'd totally lick a cute face for free. But only a cute one.

Still weird, right?

Kidnapped!

I was standing at the bus stop on my way home, with my headphones in and the music turned WAY up. So I didn't hear anyone sneaking up behind me. Not until they grabbed my shoulders and shook me while yelling out, "HEY BUDDY!"

I almost had a friggin heart attack.

Luckily, it was my cousin. My cousin who happened to be on her way over to pasta dinner night at our aunt and uncle's house.

So I got free dinner AND a ride home. Amazing. This sort of thing could never happen if I move away. Something to think about...

Help a kid out.

So here's the story:

I am signed up to run a 10K race on Sunday. I have not trained for this. This is why I need your help.

If you are sick, I need you tell me so that we may arrange a time for me to come by and lick your face. You've got germs. I need germs. I have a five dollar bill with the Spock face drawn on it. You totally need that, NERD.

Payment will be made upon successful germ transfer. I'm hoping to be bed ridden by Saturday evening. Thank you in advance for your cooperation.

Dancing in the Dark

When Bruce Springsteen is feeling creatively frustrated he gets mad at his producer, storms off and writes what ends up being one of his best songs EVER.

When I get creatively frustrated, I eat too much candy and then my tummy hurts. Then I go on the Internet and tell it that my tummy hurts. Then people read that my tummy hurts and they are all, "LAAAAAAME." I would be in agreement with them on that one.

I think Bruce has the right idea. He also has a butt that looks really great in jeans. I'm just sayin'.




There is no embedding allowed for the REAL video, featuring one Courtney Cox. RIP OFF.

Rock.

Ten bucks says you've probably never been to a wedding where they played this song:

Josie Cotton - Johnny, Are You Queer from http://ephemeron.vox.com/

Awesome. Just awesome. Brie rocks!

Party on, Wayne.

Holy shit, am I tired.

I haven't had a full night of sleep since Thursday. I've spent the past 3 days on the go, visiting friends, hanging out, wandering around, drinking tea, playing with a dog, dressing up, dancing, drinking, talking, laughing, joking, smiling, staying up late, waking up early, meeting new people and watching two of the most adorable people on the planet get married to each other.

I'm tired, but it's a good tired. Thanks for the awesome weekend, buddies!

And now I'm hoping for a glorious 10 hour sleep coma. *heart*

OH. NO.

You know what I hate? Publishing things and then noticing typos way after the fact. Especially on Twitter, where if you notice them too late you can't delete or edit them.

That being said, writing this in my current state of DRUNK is probably not the best idea I have ever had.

Have mercy. Will travel.

At the time I was watching episode 5 of 6 Full House episodes and working on what would be the equivalent of my 3rd or 4th margarita, a thought occurred to me:

"Dude. I still have to pack. What if by the time I'm finished this drink, I'm totally loaded? I'll end up packing 7 pairs of underwear. AND NO PANTS."

It's cool, though. I totally remembered pants. I think.

ANYWAYS... back to the Full House marathon. First of all, my crush on John Stamos is now back in full effect. If we start dating, he's just going to have to accept the fact that I am probably going to want to call him Uncle Jesse sometimes. Eventually, he will grow to love it in a somewhat inappropriate way. It will be awesome.

Secondly, that show is funnier than I thought it would be. I'm like, 82% sure that the tequila may have had something to do with that. Or maybe season 1 was just loaded with amusing little moments. YEAH. TEQUILA.

Crap. It's late and I'm still WIDE awake. I know I'm only going on a little tiny trip, but I can't help but be a little excited. I'm still hoping to be able to take one big trip this year... hopefully on my birthday. I dream about hopping on a plane to go spend a week finding myself by getting lost in a big, new city. But in the meantime, I'm going to get lost by finding familiar things in a small city. And it will be lovely.

Get the heck out.

Tomorrow I'm leaving for a weekend away in Victoria. I do believe this counts as a
mini-vacation, which is CRAZY because I almost never take vacations. Not even mini ones! I'm pretty excited about it, because I haven't been back there in years. Even more exciting is that I'm going back there to watch Erin get married! Squee! It's going to be way fun, yo!

There is one tricky bit, though. I really want to take my computer. Is that lame? I just really like the Internet, yo. I don't want to have to try to catch up on 3 days of Twitter. I KNOW. I HAVE A PROBLEM. SHUT UP.

But seriously. I want to take my computer.

I should really just buy a goddamn iPhone. Then I wouldn't have this problem.

I wear the pants.

I was folding laundry when I looked down and saw it. A GIANT, FUZZY, WINGED DISGUSTING BUG.

Naturally, I screamed like a girl and ran down the hallway. "OH MY JESUS LORD FRIGGING CRAP WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING????"

I crept back down the hallway to look at it again. Then it moved. "OH MY GOD KILL IT KILL IT KILLLLLLL ITTTTTTT!"

I looked around. There are no boys here. Boys are supposed to kill bugs. But there are no boys here.

"Sack up, man. Sack up."

Yeah, I did it. I shooed that little bastard right out the door.

What? I couldn't handle killing it. I guess this means I get to keep my lady parts after all.

One thing at a time.

Yesterday I decided that multi-tasking is for jerks. I friggin' HATE multi-tasking. So I'm not going to do it anymore.

If you think about it, multi-tasking is actually a really stupid concept. I can't understand why so many people encourage it. If I give all my attention to one thing at a time, that one thing will be done properly and will be done well. If I take my attention and divide it between two things, each thing is probably only going to get done half as well. Every time I add another task into the mix, I increase the likelihood of fucking everything up. Which totally happens to me. A lot.

It just makes sense to take the one thing that is consistently fucking with your shit and remove it from the equation. We'll see how this works out. It might mean that I don't blog or update Twitter as much, but hopefully when I do up date them, what I write will be better. Or something like that.

So SUCK IT, multi-tasking. SUCK IT LONG AND SUCK IT HARD.

I must admit, turning people away is going to be kind of enjoyable. I'll get to stick my hand up in the air and say things like, "Can I get back to you in a moment? I'm in the middle of something." Or perhaps, "Hold up! Wait a minute!"

Or maybe I'll make a sign. A passive-aggressive one! Those ones always work the best.

This is going to be great.

Pretty Young Thing

Yesterday I bought some pants from Lululemon. I bought some pants that were a full 2 sizes smaller than what I normally wear.

Now, my first reaction to this was, "HOLLA!!!!!"

But now I'm kind of annoyed that I'm so happy about the number on a pair of pants. I'm not a different person because there is a tiny number on the tag of my pants. I'm not a better person because of it.

I'm a better person because I got them on sale, bitches!

I didn't even have to lie.

Tonight I attended my college reunion. It was weird. Mostly because I realized that I graduated FIVE YEARS AGO. Holy shit.

When I finally got to the campus, I was hit with a flood of memories. I suddenly became VERY nervous. I was going to have to walk in there and tell my old profs what it is that I am doing with my life. OH SHIT.

But you know what? It was great. Talking to my old teachers wasn't how I imagined it to be. We did talk about what I am doing now, but what we really talked about wasn't about my job. It was more about me as a person. How I've learned about life and what I've learned about myself. How I plan to evolve and continue to develop.

Though it put me into debt and turned me into a crazy person, I don't regret it. Those were the most intense, exhausting, exciting and wonderful years of my life. I walked out of those doors a completely different person from the timid girl who first walked in. Leaving that reunion brought back some of the optimism I had when I first graduated. The world doesn't seem to be full of much promise these days, so I am glad to have felt it again, even if it was only for a moment.

Also, they had beer there. So that was alright.

Don't Panic.

It is pretty hard NOT to panic when people you know keep losing their jobs. I can't help but think that I could be next. That would pretty much suck because I have no backup plan, no emergency fund and no big idea.

I don't know where my towel is, yo.

If only this sort of thing could be fixed by popping over to Bed Bath & Beyond...

Slick.

There is a cute boy who apparently lives in my neighborhood. We both catch the bus at the same time every morning. Today I stood beside him the whole way, which was very exciting. I was doing that whole "I'm not looking at you, BUT I'M TOTALLY LOOKING AT YOU" thing, quite successfully, I thought.

When it came time to get off the bus, I had to lean over to ring the bell. This involved a complex operation of ducking under his arm, ringing the bell and then standing upright again. It looked so cute and adorable... UNTIL I WHACKED MY HEAD ON A POLE.

A year ago, a lesser confident me would have been pretty mortified. But now? Whatevs. Injuring myself in ridiculous ways in public places? That's just how I roll, yo.

Let it go, man. Just let it go.

I have inherited many wonderful traits from my father. Including my inherent desire to run a joke into the friggin' ground. I have to work REALLY hard to fight the urge. I fight it every day. EVERY DAY. It is painful.

On the off chance that I actually manage to say or write something that is well received by my audience, my first instinct is to keep the joke going. Like, forever. Even though I know it won't work the second time, because it NEVER works the second time. But I almost feel like I need to take it further.

Sometimes I cave and I just go with it. This is usually followed by a lengthy period of shame, in which I replay the moment over and over in my brain. Usually in slow motion. If it was actually recorded, I bet you could pinpoint the exact moment where I realize just what I have done. The look on my face probably reads something like, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh no." (Yes, with that many h's.)

The only reason I'm writing this now is because I'm trying to distract myself long enough to make me forget about doing it again. Because I want to. Right now. I won't, because in my heart I know that the beautiful little joke I crafted last night deserves to stand alone in the spotlight. The follow up joke would only serve to tarnish it.

But seriously. It is killing me. KILLING ME.