No Really – It\’s Just My Face

And the newest member to grace my ever-growing shitlist?

That would be the TIM HORTONS AT UNIVERSITY & COLLEGE IN TORONTO. Yeah. The one right on the southwest corner there, in the kind of underground mall, right attached to the Queen’s Park subway stop.

Yeah. That one. Don’t go there. And if you do, mock the Assistant Manager (I believe his name was Zia) incessently. Cuz he’s a dick.

Here’s why: The boyfriend and I were out one night walking Zoey the dog. I decided that I wanted a warm, caffeinated beverage to pep up the trip. I popped into the Timmie’s at University & College. It’s a new Tim Horton’s, it was only recently opened. But Tim Horton’s is a wonderful place…..each one is the exact damned same. It’s phenomenal.

So I went in and asked for my medium double-double, and a cup of tap water for the boyfriend who was outside with the pup. The guy behind the counter goes, ‘Is the water for here or to go?’
I told him it was to go, I just wanted tap water in a cup. I thought it was the fact that he could hardly speak English that made him confused. But it wasn’t. He understood what I wanted. I ask for water in a cup ALL the time at Tim Horton’s, cuz the boyfriend drinks like, 300 litres of water a day. Really.
He then says: “Sorry, we don’t do that.”
I frowned in confusion. “Don’t do what?” I asked.
“We don’t give out cups of tap water. If you want tap water, you have to drink it in a glass mug.”
Me: *Stunned silence* “Um, are you shitting me?”
Him: “No ma’am. We don’t give out water in cups, since you aren’t paying for it.”
Me: “Well, here, take a dime. I guarantee you that that cup cost you less than a damned dime.”
Him: “No ma’am. We don’t give out water.”
Me: “You’re totally fucking with me, right? Cuz I’ve been to practically every Tim Horton’s in this city and they ALL give out water. Is this just your policy?”
Him: “Yes. My boss says it costs too much.”
Me: “Okay. Well, inform your boss that since he didn’t want to lose a penny, he’ll now lose a customer. You guys make a great first impression. Cancel my coffee please.”
Him: “But ma’am, we already have your coffee ready for you!”
Me: “Well, dump that $1.24 down the sink. Explain that to your boss. Nice meeting you, I won’t be back!”

ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME???? Did we lose a war? Do I live in some arid, sun-drenched, completely parched desert country? No! I live in bloody Canada, the country with the most fresh water in the world!

I mean, his problem wasn’t even the water. He’d give that to me….in a mug. It was the cup that they were unable to part with. I offered them 10 cents for a fucking paper cup. You cannot possibly tell me that when you ordered 5 million cups, they couldn’t cut you a deal for less than 10 cents a cup.

I totally plan on going in and just being a jackas customer a few more times. For the hell of it, you know? And for my Toronto readers, spread the word guys! Don’t go there. Or if you do, point and laugh at Zia. He’s a boob.

My plan will be this. I shall go in, all sweet and innocent-like. I will ask for a tea. I will ask them to double cup it, since Timmie’s always serves its tea at approximately 463 degrees above 0. Like, BOILING hot. They HAVE to double cup it or you’ll singe your fingers.

I will also ask for a MUG of tap water. Are you following?? Yeahhhhh. I’m then going to remove the second cup from my tea, and pour my mug water into my newly found disposable cup. I will then slam down the mug, all triumphant-like on the counter. I’ll laugh maniacally, cuz they’ll have to pay for the cup AND to wash the mug. I’ll point and laugh at Zia and skip merrily on my way. I might spill my water on the floor too. Who knows, right? Depends on how much of a dick Zia’s being that day.

Mahahahahaha. The possibilities for mayhem are endless.

Moral of the story? Don’t deny me what I want! I shall broadcast your horribleness to the 3 people who read my blog and scheme up horrible things to do to you that shall never come to fruition!

Ah, Talea, you evil genius, you.

Christmas Trip Update

I know, you’ve all been on the edges of your respective seats around this little blue and green planet for the last couple of days, wondering at all hours ‘Has Talea made a decision yet? About Christmas? And her psycho hose beast mom that comes with it?’

Well folks. I have.

Get ready. Get comfortable, put down your drink, chew whatever you’re snacking on. Do that little seat wiggle when you’re intending on leaning on for a really good, shocking piece of news. Here it comes:

Wait. First, I want to thank you all for your input. Seriously. Though in the end, since the responses were all over the place, you all served only to confuse me more, I still enjoyed reading your thoughts.

So.

I’m going home. With a twist. I had my ticket booked for the 14th, but I cancelled it and got a different flight for the 19th.

So now I’m only spending one week with crazy maternal unit, and I have a credit waiting for another flight that I decide to take in the next year, on any regularly scheduled flight that WestJet may decide to offer me. The man on the phone was very polite.

SO, this means that you will be DELIGHTED with my ‘live from Saskatchewan’ blogs and updates about my holly jolly Christmas experience.

That’s all I’ll bore you with on this topic. Goodbye now!

I’ll be home for Christmas?

Alright faithful followers….I have provided you with hours of head scratching, though provoking, thrilling and hilarious reading with which to kill the time at your respective workplaces (I know you look at work, since my stats drop significantly on the weekends, don’t lie to me). Now, it’s time that you give something to ME.

I need your opinions. I’m currently in a bit of a festive dilemma here, and need to make a decision by Dec 1. So get reading and advising! Dispense your wisdom upon me please! The dilemma is as follows; I’ll do it in point form, for ease of reading and such.

• I am currently booked to go home for Christmas for nearly 2 weeks. It is expensive to go home and going for less time than this is completely uneconomical.
• I didn’t go home for Christmas last year, for the first time ever. I’m the oldest grandchild on both sides, and this was an unprecedented and somewhat frowned upon move.
• My mom is kind of a psycho hose beast. She is largely the reason I hesitate to go home this year and the reason I didn’t go last, though I blamed money.
• I don’t see my family very often at all. I live very far away. I haven’t been home in over a year, and haven’t seen my extended family in over two years. This really breaks my heart, since I LOVE my extended family. It’s the immediate one that I gots the probs with.
• I want to go home. I love Christmas time at home. Until Christmas DAY that is. Christmas day is always a fucking nuclear meltdown disaster, complete with screaming, yelling, slamming of doors, driving away to mysterious destinations, mutterings under ones breath, etc etc. I want to see my grandma, my aunt, my other grandparents, my cousins (the ones whose names I remember) and the prairies. I CRAVE the prairies.
• If I DO go home, I have to stay with psycho hose beast mom. My family is the only one that lives in a city different than the rest of the extended family, so there’s no way to stay at Grandma’s and pretend like I’m not totally cutting mom out of my life. By staying with psycho hose beast of a mother, I will shorten my life significantly through stress. I will spend two weeks fuming in anger, screaming at the top of my lungs, listening to her cry about what a bitch I am to her, blah blah blah blahhhhhhhh. It will generally suck big ass. And I will only get to spend one day with the extended family ANYHOW. With my crazy, super angry mother in tow, ruining the fun for everybody. How festive!

Alright. So. Do I go? And subject myself to a totally shit two weeks, where I will further solidify my disdain for the woman who birthed me? But get the opportunity to see the extended family for a few mere hours and get to solidify my total love for them?

Or do I not go? And save myself the horror that is my Christmas and my mother, but disappoint my entire family. They ALL know that my reason for not coming last year was aforementioned psycho hose beast and not money. They won’t hold me accountable for skipping out again.

I kind of want to start my own holiday traditions and decorate my own place. So if I stay here, I’d be loving that. Plus, I can always fly home in like, February when the airlines don’t rape you with jacked up prices and spend more time with the extended family.

WHAT DO I DO? Seriously, all suggestions are fair game. Please. I’m freaking out here.

Green is the colour, football is the game!

So Saskatchewan is in the Grey Cup (Canuck version of the Superbowl, with fewer nipple extravaganzas) against Winnipeg (boo Winnipeg, no one likes you).

And the Grey Cup this year is in Toronto. And I’m LOVING it! I was just out and about for this evening and let me tell you, the downtown core is filled with my prairie people! I’m going crazy, I love it, I love my folks from back home! So far, I’ve approached six total strangers and talked to them about Sask and wished them a good time here in Toronto.

People from Sask love to talk about Sask, and they’re all advertising the fact by walking around in green wigs, green shirts, green toques, and Roughriders jerseys.

I’m loving it. I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight, I’ll just roam the city trying to connect with my prairie counterparts and talk good old prairie things, like beer, wheat, tractors, weather and cow tipping.

Oh yeah, Go Roughriders! Btw, the title of the post is the first line of a song I remember singing back home in 1989, the last time the Riders won the cup. I don’t remember the rest of the song. If you’re from Sask, feel free to educate me in the comments section.

I ams what I ams.

So as we all know, I’m an unstoppable eating machine and I was just heading downstairs to the old food court to pick up some Talea fuel. I was marching along, doing my thing, when I thought I heard my name. Now, I don’t have a name like, ‘Jen’, that probably gets called out all the time to several different people, so I know when I hear my name, the person probably knows me. Especially if they pronounce it right (do not get me STARTED on the pronounciations I get).

I turned around to try and see who it was, turned the other way, and only noticed who it was when they waved. Directly in front of me. Like, two feet away. See, I’m stuck in my head a lot and really pay no attention to the minions milling about me during my daily excursions.

So I apologized (cuz I actually like this person) and said, ‘Yeah, I guess that’s why I get the ‘gee, that Talea girl sure is rude!’ thing a lot’. He stepped back and goes, ‘You’re not rude! You’re uh…….focused!’

Which kind of cracks me up. Cuz let’s just call a spade a spade……I’m rude. But I love it when people try and come up with other adjectives to describe me. I’ve gotten: focused, intense, extreme, hardcore, ‘a straight shooter’, direct, serious….a whole list of ’em. 

It’s as though people are scared to inform me of myself. They think I’m unaware of how I’m being perceived. I’m a smart cookie, I’m aware of my actions and the reactions of those around me. The thing they all seem to miss is: I DON’T CARE. I know I’m rude, and I’m okay with hearing it. It’s kind of like saying, ‘Gee Talea, you’re brunette’. Yeah, I know, thanks.

Here’s a few examples of just how unbelievably rude I can be (the first one even shocked me with its degree of total rudeness):

1) You need a bit of background info for this; our photocopier is a total piece of shit that throws a tantrum each day. We rely on it for 60 different companies on the floor, and I’m the one that takes the heat when it breaks down. Which is ALL the time.
So we had photocopy technician man come by on a Wednesday; he couldn’t fix it. He came back on Thursday; it beat him again. He showed up on Friday to try and make the damned thing work. When he finally did, he came up to me to explain what exactly had been wrong with the machine. I was already pissed, cuz the machine had been out of service and he’d been in my office clanging around with his plumber butt for half a week. So he comes up to me and goes, ‘Well,you see, the super roller was hitting the compressor dooby, and the intaker mechanism was rubbing the such and such and the paper sucker upper was……..’

I cut him off.

I put my hand up in between our faces, and made the universal hand motion for ‘blah blah blah’ (you know the one, how you make crude shadow puppets talk? Opening and closing your hand repeatedly, hitting your fingers against your thumb?). Yeah, so I blah blah blahed for a second, then I ACTUALLY said, “Yeah. Okay. It’s all Japanese to me, my friend.”

As I was saying it and flapping my hand in this dude’s face, I thought to myself, ‘Talea, what the HELL are you doing? You don’t do that! That is RUDE!’

The worst part? This dude was Korean. When I said ‘Japanese’ instead of the more commonly used ‘it’s all greek to me’, he gave me the weirdest look. I then realized what I’d done. Hahaha. He thought I was inferring that I couldn’t understand his accent. What I really didn’t understand was what he was talking about. But I ended up looking rude AND like an ignorant racist. Now, when I’m being racist, rest assured I’m at least informed about my skin deep judgement. I knew this guy was Korean. But he thought I thought he was Japanese. “Gahhh, they all look the same to me! Ahyuck!”

Ha, after he fixed the copier on Friday, it promptly crapped out again the following Monday. He returned on Tuesday to fix his shoddy job and I didn’t feel nearly as bad about being a rude ass bitch to him. Every time he talks to me, he’s very nice now. I think he’s freaked out by me.

2) Background for #2: Insert ‘phone system’ where ‘photocopier’ is in the above scenario. Our phones are SHIT. They are voip phones run by a horrid company who shall remain unnamed. Not for their sake, for mine.

So after weeks and weeks of the system shutting down and leaving the whole office incommunicado, the phone system just shut off once more one day. Luckily though, the phone tech guy happened to be here. I could hear all the clients swearing and marching towards me with pitchforks and flames. I leapt out of my chair and went to the service closet where I was greeted by Mr. Phone Tech’s ass.

“Hey!” I yelled. He backed out of the closet and looked at me like the crazy bitch I am. “The phones just died…….AGAIN!!! What did you DO in there?”
Mr. Phone Tech guy stands up and starts explaining to me about how he didn’t mean to and that what happened was, the cords were tangled and he had to get this and he had to and then…..
Me: “I don’t care. JUST FIX IT!!!!!”

He widened his eyes as in, ‘Shit, do I ever feel bad for whatever guy is stuck with you you crazy femnazi’, then got back to work.

Best part? My boss was right there and witnessed my total impatience for retarded Phone Tech. She said nothing, but laughed in his face. It was kind of awesome.

3) I’m totally rude in general public areas. I like to inform people of normal societal rules, which, though unwritten, shall be enforced with the fury of a Torontonian who’s just had a rough fucking day. I yell at people all the time. When I’m getting off the subway and they stand in front of the doors, not allowing me to get off, but also not allowing them to get on, I’m fond of loudly asking, ‘How the hell am I supposed to get off if you’re all STANDING there? Maybe that’s how it works where you’re from, but not here….MOVE!’  The same applies to those people who walk on the left side of the street. You’ll often here me scream, ‘We walk on the RIGHT in Canada!’ to tourists or people who have moved to Canada just last week.

Rude? Um, yes. It is. I know. But somehow has to keep people on the straight and narrow. Do your job, don’t make excuses and follow the rules!

If it makes me rude, it’s okay. I like me. I’ve found a few others who like me too. I’m just making up for all those people too ‘nice’ to speak their mind.

Nice never got anybody anywhere. Bring on the bitchiness! And though I may be intense, direct and serious, do NOT forget to include ‘rude’ when describing the blog you’ve just read in disbelief to your real world friends.

Talea’s out of ideas…hey, that rhymes!

I still can’t think of anything to write about, so I stole this meme from Reg and Emerald. 

1. My uncle once: had this ‘lady friend’ named Rose, who nobody knew much about. She showed up to all the family events, but nobody was sure if they were married or not. She never said much. This uncle was my Uncle Shit. I have no idea why he was named that. He just was.

2. Never in my life: have I ever done any drugs. Never. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever even held a cigarette…huh….

3. When I was five: I skipped a grade. That’s right kids, I’m a smarty pants! They wanted to skip me two grades, but my parents wouldn’t let them cuz they were worried that would hurt me socially. Little did they know, I’d turn out to hate everyone anyways, so it wouldn’t have made a difference. Oh well.

4. High School was: luckily, one of those things where you don’t realize the degree of horribleness until you’re out of it and looking back. Ugh. High school was lame. I was a nothing kid. Not a loser, not a jock, not popular, not in the chess club, I was just there. I got into a lot of arguments with teachers though.

5. I will never forget: the moment I found out my grandpa died. I remember everything. Where I was, what I was wearing, what went through my head…..awful.

6. I once met: uh…..I don’t know. I haven’t really met anybody famous. I met the director of the Saw movies (which I love). I’ve met mediocre celebrities, but none are coming to mind right now.

7. There’s this girl I know who: wronged me. Once. That was the end of that. I found her. I reamed her out in public. I made a BIG fucking scene at her work. I’m talking HUGE. All the customers stopped and stared, all her co-workers came from wherever they were and stood there, listening to me scream at the top of my lungs. I wasn’t screaming very nice things either. Hahaha. MWAHAHAHAHA. She got fired from that job after. I’d like to think it was partially due to her tendency to ‘have crazies come in and scream like nuts during work time!’ Cunt. I hope she gets hers. Karma’s a bitch, honey, it’s a realllll bitch.

8. Once, at a bar: I almost got kicked out, cuz I put my head down on the table cuz I was tired. They didn’t want to be responsible for me dying of overdrinking, so they told me if I did it again, I was out. Pft. Losers.

9. By noon, I’m usually: Ready to quit my job. The only thing that stops me is money. Seriously, if I could afford it, I’d run out of here screaming. I’m also

10. Last night: I debated about whether or not I should actually go home for Christmas. I also knitted. I ate some food. I probably watched TV too. I dont know. I’m sorry, that was a boring answer.

11. If I only had: everything I wanted, life would be divine.

12. Next time I go to church: will probably be Christmas Eve, only if I don’t go home. If I do go home, then who the hell knows. Haha, I said hell in a sentence about church. My family isn’t terribly churchy. If I go, it’ll probably piss my mom off. Cuz, well, what doesn’t?

13. Terry Shiavo: should not have been forced to stay alive in that state. They should have let her die with dignity and respect instead of forcing her to be a vegetable and be humiliated nationwide. People should put aside their petty arguments when it comes to people’s rights to die. Sheesh.

14. What worries me most: is pretty much everything. Yep. I’m a worrier.

15. When I turn my head left, I see: This guy who just walked into reception who has the scariest reception to Michael Jackson that i have EVER SEEN. He has the horrible nose, the too tight skin, the inability to look me in the eye when answering basic questions as to his business here…..this guy is WEIRD.

16. When I turn my head right, I see: A door. A door to the rest of the office, which I try desperately to avoid.

17. You know I’m lying when: I don’t lie. I never lie. I’m brutally honest. I see no point in lying.

18. What I miss most about the eighties: was the fact that I was a kid and didn’t have to work for a living. Also, Saturday morning cartoons were awesome back then. I also miss jelly shoes, synthesizers, big hair, blue eyeshadow and shoulder pads. Haha. Kidding, I don’t miss any of those. I’m not crazy.

19. If I was a character in Shakespeare, I’d be: that one who fell into the pond and died cuz they were too in love with their reflection. Or wait……that was Greek mythology, wasn’t it? Or Roman mythology? Did Roman’s have mythology? Where am I? Who’s touching me?

20. By this time next year: I’ll be superstar famous. And if that fails, then I’ll probably be doing the same shit as I do now. I have no crazy dreams or goals. I’m too lazy and apathetic to try that hard. Who am I kidding? By this time next year, I’ll probably be asleep.

21. A better name for me would be: nothing. I love my name. I think a prefix might be appropriate. Blunt Talea, Snarky Talea, Super Awesome Talea. The list goes on, really.

22. I have a hard time understanding: idiots. I don’t get them. They seem to do things that make no sense. And I don’t know how they get dressed in the morning. I also don’t understand chemistry or physics.

23. If I ever go back to school I’ll : sure as hell not go to University. What a waste of time. I’d go to college, and actually learn some practical and useful skills. Plus, I’d be way smarter than all the college kids, so I’d feel pretty good about myself.

24. You know I like you if: I don’t patronize you. Or, if I smile near you. It’s a bit easier to tell if I DON’T like you though. Um, just kind of trust me……..you’d know. (See #7).

25. If I ever won an award, the first person I’d thank would be:  huh. You know, I honestly don’t know. Probably the boyfriend, cuz he backs me up no matter what stupid thing I’m currently obsessed with.

26. Darwin, Mozart, Slim Pickens & Geraldine Ferraro: Have nothing in common so far as I can see. Um, root beer, palm tree, George Washington & pond scum. Same idea.

27. Take my advice, never: deny me my naps.

28. My ideal breakfast is: one cooked by my Grandma. She always makes coffee and just some toast. But it’s good, cuz my Grandma makes it.

29. A song I love, but do not own is: Probably most of them. I don’t own much music at all.

30. If you visit my hometown, I suggest: dressing warmly. And not talking about Toronto. And for the love of all things holy, pretend like you care about farming and do NOT try prairie oyster. Locals will try to trick you into it. Don’t fall for it.

31. Tulips, character flaws, microchips & track stars: I love tulips, character flaws are what makes stuff interesting, I couldn’t give a shit about microchips and track stars are total freaks with too much time on their hands. Go sit down and eat some donuts! Geez.

32. Why won’t people:  stop trying to make small talk with me?!?!?! I hate it! I don’t do it, and I don’t even try to pretend like I do. Yet they continue……

33. If you spend the night at my house: you’re probably too drunk to drive. That’s kind of the only reason I’d let you stick around. I like my privacy. Get out of my house.

34. I’d stop my wedding for:  I have no idea. I’m not big on getting married to begin with……I’ve never thought of it.  A medical emergency?

35. The world could do without: oh, don’t even get me started.

36. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: go bungee jumping or go into space. You could not pay me enough to ever do either of those.

37. My favorite blonde is: This is a dumb question. Next.

38. Paper clips are more useful than:  most people I encounter on a daily basis.

39. If I do anything well, it’s: bitch and moan.

40. And by the way: I’m always right.

Dear War Dodgers:

Recently, there have been a few kids from the old U.S of A coming up here to good old Canadialand.

Now, one can hardly be surprised by that, as it is the home of: Beavers, maple syrup, me, toques, chesterfields, poutine, me, a lower drinking age, better beer, the list goes on and on people. Who wouldn’t want to come up to our Winter Wonderland?

But these young lads have come up for something different. They have come up to proudly proclaim to the world at large: “We are pussies! Big losers who seem to be proud of being such total pansy-asses!”

You see, these young boys fled the horrid dangers of America (?) and tried to claim fucking REFUGEE status in Canada, since they were enrolled in the army and didn’t ACTUALLY want to fulfill the duties that came along with that position. In short, they signed up to fight for their country, but when push came to shove, they chickened the fuck out.

So they came here and actually think they have ground to stand on!! HA! Let’s all point and laugh, shall we?

I have several problems with this, and shall proceed to mock them mercilessly. Onwards we go:

– The definition of ‘Refugee’ as according to the Canadian Immigration folks is: “refugees are persons who are outside the country of their nationality and have a well-founded fear of being persecuted.” These boys will not be persecuted. They will be asked to follow through on a promise that they made while of sound mind and fulfill their job duties. You don’t qualify……leave!

– They claim that they don’t want to take part in a war that is in their mind illegal and immoral. Um, last time I checked, you didn’t get to pick and choose your wars. Kind of like, I don’t get to pick and choose what stupid paperwork I have to do. Also, I didn’t know that thinking was part of the army requirements. I kind of thought that thinking was discouraged. It goes against the whole ‘command’ thing. Whatever, maybe I’m just an idiot, right?

– Grow a set, guys. Nobody forced you into the army. Times are not so dire that they’re doing drafts right now. You voluntarily enrolled. Oh, you thought it was just an easy way to get an education?? Well, guess what, now you get to pay for that education

– Get the hell out of my country you wankers! I do not want to support you in any way shape or form, since you are perfectly capable of doing so on your own, you just choose not to. I do not feel sorry for you.

– Oh, but guns are scarrrrry! The desert is hottttt! What do I do if I see Osama? I dont think camoflauge is really my ‘style’. SHUT UP! You whining pussies. You are what is wrong with the world today. Nobody follows through on anything and there’s no real men anymore dammit! What do you think you’re fighting for? A country that you have and a lifestyle that you lead, that people FOUGHT TO MAINTAIN. Ugh. I feel like smashing their heads into the sidewalk.

– Did you seriously think you had a shot at getting into Canada? As a refugee? Are you fucking kidding me? You dudes are retards.

These guys piss me off. It’s a pretty basic rule…..action = consequence. In this case, that can be translated as…..enrolling into army = possibility of going into war. Oh, you didn’t THINK it would happen? Again, please see above for the army doesn’t equal thinking argument.

Take some responsibility and follow through with your choices. These guys are probably some stupid ‘baby daddy’ losers too. ‘Well, I don’t know, I mean, is the link between sex and babies really solid? Shit, I didn’t know!’

My advice to these guys? Go home, serve your country for as long as you are told, then come back home. Sit in your house with oven mitts on your hands so you can’t touch anything, or worse, sign any contracts. Never make any promises. And don’t try to ever tell anybody your ‘war stories’. Because you don’t deserve the respect.

And BYYYYYYYY the way. I’m fully aware that this topic may piss some people off. Probably random people who somehow stumble onto the page, not my awesome followers and minions. Dear people who are planning to freak out in the comments about how fascist I am, and calling me names: go ahead. I don’t care. I don’t know you and you probably aren’t worth it. Just be aware that I”m not going to get baited into an argument with some left-wing pussy. My rebuttal will simply be ‘no’ or ‘you’re wrong’. It’s my blog. Don’t you have some protest to get to?

More Talea for everybody!

There’s a meme going around where you write down seven facts about you that your blog readers wouldn’t necessarily know. And since I’m totally up shit creek for thinking of stuff to write about, I’m going to take the easy way out and partake…..

1) I’m deathly afraid of flying. Which gets a bit tricky when you live 3,000 km’s away from your family. I’m TERrified of flying. I never used to be, I used to love it. However, every time I fly it gets worse and worse, which isn’t normally the way it goes, but whatever. Ironically, I went on a hot air balloon ride a few years back and had an absolutely amazing time.

2) I was in ballet for 13 years. And I was good dammit! As a spinoff from this one, I cannot stand poor posture. Push your shoulders back! Sit up straight! Suck in your stomach! Most of my memories from dance include my teacher screaming, ‘Girls!’ over loud music.

3) I used to play the trumpet. I was good at that too. I used to take it and hide in my house when we had babysitters, then blast it in their face when they’d come looking for me. It was fantastically amusing.

4) I’m a perfectionist and there’s nothing more in life that I hate than looking stupid. Therefore, if I try something and suck at it, that’s it. I will not try again. Because I truly believe that I should be perfect at it from the first time I try, and I won’t continue with something if I think it’ll make me look dumb. The only exception to this has been knitting. I sucked at it at first, and that seriously pissed me off. But I really wanted to know how and I’m now knitting my little heart away.

5) I have a tattoo on my back that says, ‘When you saw only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you’ It’s to represent the time of my life three years ago where I was so sick I nearly killed myself. Problem was, I was so sick I couldn’t get off the couch long enough to get some sort of deadly implement or ingestible substance. The only explanation I have for getting through that time is the help of a being much larger and stronger than me. I love the tattoo more than I had imagined I would. It means more to me than I can explain to anyone.

6) I was a hand model in grade 10 or 11…….I dont remember. Apparently, I have nice hands. Who knew?

7) I have never been on a date. Ever. And no, I’m not a troll (one day, I’ll put a pic of myself up here, I swear). I’ve been with the boyfriend for seven years, but we never went on a single ‘date’. I find the whole phenomenon very odd and I’m glad I don’t have to do it. People ALWAYS ask when we’re getting married. We aren’t planning on it. Yes, even after 7 years. I just don’t believe in it.

Lest We Forget

So, like any good respectable Canadian, I observed Rememberance Day yesterday.

I went to Old City Hall and watched the processions and such and went on my merry way. I figure that the least I can do for the tens of thousands of people who risked their lives, or lost their lives, trying to fight for me and my comfy lifestyle is to stand in the cold for an hour or so and pay my respects.

I truly believe that this is a worthy tradition and it should be honoured and passed down. The most meaningful part to me is the moment of silence. I loved that yesterday, the intersection of Queen & Bay was shut down to traffic, overrun by people and was completely silent for two minutes, everyone there for a common cause.

Everyone except the four bitches in front of me. Dear ho’s: The next time you come out to these events, do a little research. A moment of silence is intended to be SILENT, so that you can reflect upon the ceremony and pay tribute. A moment of silence is NOT intended as a great time for you to giggle, gossip, roll your eyes and act like 4 year olds while you are in fact, 40 year olds. Yes, it is very easy to hear one another without the din of everybody else in the background, I understand this. You stupid cows have no idea how close you were to getting kicked in the back of the knee.

Honestly. If you cannot shut your useless, fat traps for two minutes when you voluntarily attend a ceremony, that’s fine. But you most definitely deserve to be beaten. Probably caned. I think that for every meaningless word that falls out of your ugly mouth during these two minutes, you get one smack to the back, courtesy of a veteran’s cane. These men and women stood there in battle away from their families, away from their country, terrified, alone, uncomfortable and lacking basic human needs like shelter and food, being shot at, fighting for faceless countrymen back home.

SHUT. UP. You disrespectful fools.

I’m sorry. I had to get that out there. It seriously irritates me. Trust me ladies, your life is not so important that you simply cannot relay some type of information to each other between 11 and 11:02.

That is all. Lest We Forget.

P.S…….I totally made it onto the front page of the free daily newspaper in Toronto. Sure, I’m like, a millimetre big and pretty grainy, but I’m there in the crowd! Woop! 15 minutes of fame? Check!

Time to hibernate!

Oh boy, winter!!! This weekend seemed to solidify the fact that yet again, the earth has done its little dance and winter is a-coming. It was cold and I was cranky.

Oh lord help me. Being a prairie girl originally, you would think I’d be used to it. In Saskatchewan, there are only two seasons: Winter and July. Seriously, we’d have snow by October and it’d still be around until mid April.

Unfortunately, with all this snow, we couldn’t even do fun stuff with it. We couldn’t ski, cuz it’s the damned prairies. And we couldn’t play in the snow very much, cuz it was -40. (For all you Americans, -40C is the same as -40F……they converge right there, at the axis of BLOODY DAMNED COLD), and we’d freeze all of our appendages off. Our only decent skihill was Blackstrap, aka ‘The Pimple on the Prairie’. It is literally an old garbage pile that somebody covered up with some dirt, added a chair lift and voila, a ski hill right there in the prairies! Niiiiiice. We went there on a field trip in grade six and I promptly fell down the bunny hill, flipped around a few times and landed on my back with my knee sticking out at an angle that knees do not stick out at. And my stupid skis didn’t come off. Aren’t they supposed to come off when you fly through the air? I don’t know, that’s what I was told. But I don’t know of many skiing pros in Sask, so they might have been full of shit.

I do remember a lot of ice fishing back home. See, since it got so cold, the ice was always thick enough on the lakes to set up a little shack with a fireplace, drill a hole in it and sit 3 inches away from all your closest friends while waiting for some fish to be dumb enough to bite. You’d trek out to the middle of the lake, enter the shack, take a seat in what was eerily remeniscent of a camping ground pit toilet and drop your line in the lake. And then…..you just sit. You put a line in the water and just…….sit. In the cold. And wait. Looking back, I’m not quite sure what was so appealing about this activity, being that I was underage and couldn’t even get drunk. Huh. Who knows.

I remember constantly having to shovel out our old truck during the winter. It was this old piece of crap that had absolutely no weight in the back and it would fish like mad until it would inevitably just smack into the side of some damned snowbank.

Once, in grade 2, I had just come home from school and had the ominous warning of ‘don’t stick to your tongue to something metal’ fresh in my head. I’d learnt it that very day. So….I did it. I stuck my tongue to my house’s aluminum siding. And got my face stuck to my house. Shocking, I was actually a really smart kid. Just not that day. I promptly ripped my face backwards and left half my tongue on the side of the house. Smart Talea, reaaaaal smart.

What else do I remember about the horribleness of winter? Well being the tough prairie folk we were, we did not ONCE have a snow day. Despite three foot snowfalls and -65C weather (honest to god, I shit you not, it hit -65C once in grade 8 with the windchill and NOTHING shut down), everything always remained open. Cuz dammit, that’s why we plug our cars in at night, dontchyaknow!? A little snow? Just drive on it! What are you, from the east or something? Can’t drive in the snow? You’re fired!

I remember my eyelashes freezing shut after I breathed out. The water from my breath would bounce off the scarf covering my nose, hit my eyelashes and flash freeze, making me blind. It was fun. This happened with nostrils all the time too. Super duper fun.

For these reasons and dozens more I have probably blocked from my conscious mind, I am NOT looking forward to winter. I never do. I hate it. I hate being cold. I hate walking all carefully on ice. I hate waddling around in six layers like a fool. I hate how early it gets dark. I hate ruts in the snow. I hate not feeling my ears or fingers for months at a time. I hate that I will inevitably slip on the ice and fall on my ass, to the amusement of bystanders and to the disdain of my aging tailbone.

Cripes. I hate winter. This year, I’m out. I’m joining the polar bears and sleeping through it. Come find me in April. I cannot do it anymore. I can’t. Don’t forget to send presents though. Christmas and my bday are both in winter. Thanks.