Sometimes I need to get out of the house…

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Sometimes I really need to get out of my house. I try and get stuff done while I’m at home, but that never happens. That stuff is usually homework for school. And by “usually”, I mean “always” because I’m a a procrastinator.  I say that it’s going to happen, but I’m lying to myself. I start off really motivated to get shit done and then…it just never gets done. So I just have to leave. I need to pack up my laptop and study materials and go find a new place to sit and work. Usually that place is my favourite Starbucks where I can people watch, drink my favourite caffeine enhanced beverages, and actually get some work done. Don’t get me wrong, I love my place, but…

When I’m at home: My bed looks so inviting and lovely to sleep in. Maybe I’ll just nap for 15 minutes…
When I’m at Starbucks: ESPRESSO! I NEVER WANT TO SLEEP AGAIN! My fingers are flying across my keyboard a squillion clicks per minute and my mind is ZIP ZIP ZIPPING!

starbucks-iced-espressoWhen I’m at home: I suddenly start craving the most complicated foods that I can think of making. Like a cheese omlette. Or grilled cheese sammiches and soup.
When I’m at Starbucks: ESPRESSO! I NEVER WANT TO EAT AGAIN! ALL I NEED IS IN ESPRESSO! In between frantic thoughts and even more frantic typing, I shoot back mouthfuls of my chosen drink that is jam packed with ESPRESSO!

When I’m at home: I go pee every 20 minutes even if I don’t have to go and take 15 minute naps while I’m on the can because…well, because it’s better than doing my homework.
When I’m at Starbucks: ESPRESSO! I NEED TO PEE SO BAD, BUT I CAN’T LEAVE MY LAPTOP SO I’LL HOLD IT IN AND KEEP TYPE TYPE TYPING!

When I’m at home: Is that dirt on my floor? Why is my room suddenly clean and why has 5 hours suddenly gone by?
When I’m at Starbucks: ESPRESSO! I don’t need to do anything but drink espresso and type wildly! And twitch. Why is my eyelid twitching?

When I’m at home: Clearly I am getting nothing done. I should just get a good nights sleep and start again tomorrow in the morning.
When I’m at Starbucks: ESPRESSO! I NEVER NEED TO SLEEP AGAIN! I could do this all night, but seriously I need to pee. And seriously, what is up with all these weird twitches I’m getting everywhere?

Sure I got a little crazy when I’m at Starbucks, but my word count is at 1278/1000 words, so all I have to do is spend the night editing this paper down and making it sound coherent and pretty and try to ignore the weird twitchy thing that my right eyelid is doing. And keep drinking Red Bull to avoid crashing off the weird amount of espresso that I knocked back while I was out doing my homework.

Upside: I’m more done than I was before.
Downside: If I jump too hard on my bed I slam my head off my ceiling.

I also do believe that in the end, I have hammered this paper out. Now I just need to refine it and make it pretty like the finest of stolen Orc treasure.

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The Shit Facebook Tells Me

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So I realize that it is once again Wednesday and I’m putting a post up. However, Word Press decided to eat yesterday’s post and I rage quit. As a result: Here is Tuesday’s post…a day late. Again.

My younger sister and I communicate quote a bit via Facebook and text message. You can often find the two of us bickering, bantering, and brandishing our verbal swords with each other all over our Facebook posts. Just like the rest of the world, Tiff and I use Facebook to stay in touch, entertain ourselves, and share our lives. Except lately…Facebook has been sending some really weird messages to us. And now that I think about it, Facebook is a bastard because here is what Facebook has been telling me for some time now:

5. YOU’RE GOING TO BE ALONE ALL YOUR LIFE IF YOU DON’T DATE NOW! – I’m pretty sure that Facebook resents my single status just like some of my friends do because it spends just as much time as some of my friends trying to set me up with man after man after man. At first Facebook tried to send me to a website for dating black guys. After I failed to click that link it decided to try and hook me up with cowboys. Now that I use my phone for most of my Facebook needs, I no longer have to look at those sidebar ads. So Facebook spams my news feed with Zoosk. Apparently like 20 of my friends like Zoosk and use it to find great people to date. Personally, I would use it just so I could hone my Body In The Basement Radar. Because Zoosk looks like an awesome website where I can go and see weird naked men showing off their wieners and performing weird North American mating rituals that I’ve never heard of. These are probably the men who have bodies in their basements and I want nothing to do with them except Facebook keeps telling me…

Excuse the typo. I apparently need to proof read my Facebook posts.

Excuse the typo. I apparently need to proof read my Facebook posts.

4. YOU’RE GOING TO BE ALONE ALL YOUR LIFE IF YOU DON’T DATE NOW! – The other day I was scrolling through all the awesome posts that my friends and family make when out of nowhere Facebook told me that I needed to like this page for this blog called “The Spinsterhood Diaries”. Now I’m not knocking this blog because it was really well written, but I was a little offended that Facebook felt the need to really push the message that I’m going to die alone and my self cleaning vacuum is going to clean up my remains and no one will ever know what happened to me. I also would have been more entertained had Facebook directed me to “The Crazy Cat Lady Diaries”. I personally just feel like I’m going to be more of a crazy cat lady because Facebook seems to think that…

3. YOU’RE GOING TO DIE ALONE BECAUSE YOU DON’T HAVE NEARLY ENOUGH FRIENDS! – Facebook doesn’t seem to understand that I don’t want to most of the people that it recommends to me. I left my small town to get away from the girls who I continually wanted to kick in the taco. I don’t want to have them popping up in my morning news feed. But FB is determined that I collect friends so it wants me to add the friend of the friend that I’ve never met, the kid of the lady who works at the pharmacy back home, and some obscure girl who graduated from my high school eight years before me. Sadly for me I don’t want to be one of those friend collectors who eventually will mentally snap and turn their friend collection into a body collection that I taxidermy and have tea parties with. I’m just not that type of girl. Facebook doesn’t care though because it also tell me…

2. NOT ONLY ARE YOU GOING TO DIE ALONE! YOU’RE GOING TO DIE FAT AND ALONE! – One of the most common ads that pops up for me are the pages that I need to like so I can learn how this one mom lost all of her baby fat in just two weeks with this one simple trick. Actually I find these ads the most annoying because it’s always some skinny bitch doing an activity that I hate so I feel resentful and stabby. Then instead of drowning someone in a lake, I drown my sorrows in the bottom of fruit smoothie because I’d rather eat healthy than like a page that will sell me a product that will make me poop my esophagus out my arse with just one easy pill. But you know what? Facebook sometimes has fun ideas. Like all the times that it’s told me…

1. YOU NEED TO HAVE SHINY RHINESTONES GLUED TO YOUR VAGINA! – Vajazzling. It exists and Facebook recommends it. I seriously can’t complain about that though. Shiny things make me happy and who wouldn’t enjoy a sparkly vagina?

What does Facebook tell you? Will you take any of it’s advice? Vajzzling. What are your opinions on it?

I got a job!

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I got a job last week. I gave the news to both of my parents separately.

After I was told I was hired, I was so stoked that I just had to call home and tell my family. Only my dad was home at the time and this is how the conversation went:

Me: Guess what?!

Dad: What?

Me: I got a job!

Dad: What corner?

Me: A good one. I had to fight some bitch for it, but I got it.

Dad: That’s good.

Me: Yeah, it’s a high traffic area.

Dad: Awesome. Good for you, baby. Where are you working?

Then I told dad where I was really working. No, I am not employed as a hooker. I’m really a student assistant for the Aboriginal Centre at my school. I can honestly say that I am pretty darn excited and grateful for the opportunity to work where I will be this semester.

My mom wasn’t home just yet so dad said that he would get her to call me back when she got home. This is how the conversation went when my mom called me a little while later:

Mom: Hey, baby, how’s it going?

Me: It’s going great! I got a job!

Mom: What?! Really?! That bugger. Doing what?

Me: Working at the Aboriginal Centre at my school. Who’s a bugger?

Mom: Your dad. He told me to call you because you were feeling blue.

Me: No. I’m pretty effing excited!

Mom: That’s great, baby. Good job!

Needless to say, I’m excited, my parents are happy for me, and I’m not a hooker.

A few weeks ago this happened…

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The doorknob came off the door. In the bathroom. When I was on my way back to work from lunch.

The doorknob came off the door. In the bathroom. When I was on my way back to work from lunch.

I don’t even know how to tell this story, but it is single handedly one of the most ridiculous things that I have ever done to myself and I feel like I need to share it with the world. Or the people who read this blog. Samius and Mom, I know you’re totally reading this right now. Except mom already knows that happened because I called her while I was locked in the bathroom. Lots of other people know this happened too because I Facebooked it while it was happening.

So what happened?

Well, I locked myself in the bathroom.

How did it happen though?

Through pure forgetfulness and the fact that I’m lazy. The night before my dad and I got into a fight that kind of went like this:

Dad: Rai!

Me: What?!

Dad: Don’t say “what”! Come here!

Me: Ok!

Dad: Don’t say “ok” and just lay there! Get in here!

Me: What is it?!

Dad: Come look!

Dad was in the bathroom and he had been in there for more than a couple minutes so I was a little weary of going into the bathroom. I have a fascination with bodily functions and I had to have gotten it from somewhere. My dad, in this case, was the most likely candidate because he was yelling at me to come look at something in the bathroom.

Me: What is it?!

Dad: Just come look!

Me: No! Tell me what it is first!

Dad: Fine! Don’t look! Don’t come crying to me when something bad happens to you!

At that point, I figured I should just get off my lazy ass and go look. Dad was yelling at me for a reason (this time) and I was sure it was a good reason. Not that he wanted to show me something gross. Or get mad at me because he pulled my hair out of the bathroom drain. Or that I had done something gross and he wanted to get mad at me for it.

What he showed me was the back part of our bathroom door knob broken off from the rest of the door. After 23 years of use, and probable abuse, the doorknob at finally broken. Except the only part that was broken was the part that would allow you to escape the bathroom after taking a most prodigious poop that was threatening to choke you with its stink and no amount of air freshener could make the smell go away. In fact, you probably would poison yourself with air freshener trying to cover the smell before you actually got rid of the stink. Yeah, what my dad showed me meant that if this were to ever happen to me, it would mean my death.

After a quick discussion, my dad and I both decided that a closed bathroom door meant that the door was locked. Dad yelled the results of this discussion to my mom who was in the kitchen and could probably hear us.

Well, after all of this I forgot that the doorknob was broken. The next day I was home alone for lunch and seeing that it was almost time to go back to work, I wandered into the bathroom to do my after lunch business. Out of habit I shut and locked the door behind myself.

At that point I was locked in my bathroom. The upside was that I had my cellphone with me because I was leaving for work. The downside was the fact that I got no cell reception in my bathroom. I wound up posting my shenanigans on Facebook because there was nothing else I could do and after 15 minutes of being locked up, I was bored. I also had to tell one of the girls I worked with to tell my supervisor that I was going to be late coming back from lunch. I was also looking for someone to come let me out.

I tried to crawl out my bathroom window, but found that that while this worked when I was in my early teens, but didn’t work in my mid-twenties because my boobs are like a gazillion times bigger than they were when I was 14. However, when I tried to escape through my window, I found that I got one blessed little bar of cell reception and called my mom to ask for help.

It was then she reminded me that I could go out the door that led into her room. Except that it was blocked by shelving thing and it was kind of heavy and would require that I make a mess that I knew I wouldn’t clean up because I was late getting back to work. And because I’m lazy. Moms next suggestion was to use a knife, if I had one, to jig the door open.

Setting myself free with a throwing knife that I happened to have on hand.

Setting myself free with a throwing knife that I happened to have on hand.

Of course I had a knife. My house is a nice house like that. We usually have something lying in a place that it shouldn’t be. Like a three inch throwing knife that I shoved in a make-up bag the last time that I cleaned the bathroom. It was in the bathroom because I used it to kill a mouse at some point in my teens because our cat had a bad habit of brining mice into the house to play with before she killed them. Except my sister and I would usually wind up having to catch and kill them.

After some jiggling with my little throwing knife, I was free! I got to rush off to work and prepare for the teasing that I was going to get when dad got home and I had to tell him what I’d done.

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