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Whenever I’m 10 drinks in and my eyes start crossing, I experience a particular phenomenon uncommon to most drinkers. I begin seeing people as less attractive.

This often works to my advantage. I don’t feel tempted to bring men home for a tumble between the bed sheets. On the other hand, it also leads to a lot of missed opportunities, like on New Years Eve.

My friend’s party was winding down and most people were leaving, when I started talking to a guy on the staircase. We sat together and chatted for hours it seemed, I didn’t get home until 4:30 a.m. I have no idea what we talked about, all I know is that he’s a postal worker from St. John’s. I thought I had given him my phone number, but apparently I didn’t. Anyway, he made some vague reference to going home with me, which set off alarm bells in my head. When he got up to use the bathroom, I bolted like a bat outta hell.

I have absolutely no explanation for my behaviour. I’m completely lacking any sort of interest in the opposite sex. My libido-meter is at 0. It’s just not happenin’.

Anyway, the next day I was talking to KJax, our mutual friend, and she was like, “Dude, my friend loved you! He couldn’t believe you bolted!” We kinda laughed about it and then she brought up his Facebook profile.
Dude is effing hot. SMOKING HOT. I’m a moron. I did, however, run into him last night and he totally brushed me off. I guess I deserve it.

I’ve been meaning to do a New Years update, but you know what? I have no resolutions to make. 2009 was incredibly amazing. I rung in 2010 with a few good friends and a house party, and one hell of a gorgeous dress.

The sequins! Oh the sequins!

Then last night a few of my lady friends got together again at KJax’s house, seeing as how it was Caper’s last night in town. We ordered sushi and proceeded to drink all the leftover party booze, which was an incredible amount of wine, tequila, beer and saki.
FYI, shooting Fireball whiskey and Wild Africa cream liquer is a horrible, horrible combination.

We took shot after shot and ended up walking to a party, and after that, my memory is blank. But for some insanely weird reason, TOR heard me come home wheezing like an asthmatic 90 year old man…from UPSTAIRS. She said I was wheezing so hard she got up to check on me to make sure I wasn’t dying. WTFH? I have absolutely NO recollection of this. Why the hell was I wheezing? I don’t even think I walked home. Time to get back to the gym, I think.

New Years High Fivin' Hogmanay Hootenany

Entirely too much drinking on my part. Back to adulthood.

I know I’m being ridiculously gushy, and I know you’re sick of hearing about how happy I am, but seriously, I’m really, really grateful for all the support. Like Sabina pointed out in a comment, the fact that I’m 23 years old and I have a position as associate editor at such a huge online magazine is incredible. Plus the warm welcome I’ve been receiving from everyone, including the team, is mind-blowing. I feel really, really good right now. And I love being on the inside, it’s almost like that high school feeling of inclusion I never had. Hah!

 

And then of course I received another award, from one of my new favourite bloggers, and I’m pretty sure this qualifies as the greatest week ever! Thanks Carissa. If you haven’t already, check out her blog. She’s hilarious, outgoing, and totally, brutally honest. If you don’t believe me, just read her TMI posts.

Honest Scrap

So I’m supposed to list 10 things that nobody really knows about me. Tough job, considering I have no inner censorship.

 

  1. I have seizures. I’ve been prone to seizure activity for years, but always minor ones that feel like insane bouts of deja vu with nausea and panic. Sometimes even intense feelings of relief. I was prescribed medication about two years ago, but stopped taking it once a rash broke out from head to toe, and never bothered going back to my doctor.
  2. I have no idea what intimacy is. Not joking. The longest relationship I’ve ever had with a person is 0 seconds. The only guy I can somewhat claim to have dated for a few months slept with one of my good friends, banged multiple hos, and may actually be gay. Why do I suspect this? He once told me “I think I’m a little gay.”
  3. I totally believe in ghosts. I’ve felt uneasy in a number of houses due to weird events, and have been later informed by other people that they’ve felt the same way. Just a “feeling.” In this 100 year old townhouse, I feel fine.
  4. I’ve been having nightmares about t-rex since I was 9 years old, and it’s all the fault of Jurassic Park.
  5. I was a head bangin’, heavy-metal lovin’, hardcore goth wannabe in high school.
  6. I don’t fit in anywhere. I’m too artsy for the logical crowd, and too logical for the artsy crowd.
  7. I keep a list of all the guys I’ve kissed in the back of my diary. Don’t ask what the stars besides some of the names mean.
  8. I’ve written several book series as a kid/teenager, including one titled Pen Friends and another titled The Adventures of Lady and Beauty.
  9. I can’t paint my own fingernails worth shit.
  10. I was really good at drawing and painting. Then I took an art class in my first year of university, and haven’t picked up a pencil since. Going against his lumberjack appearance, my father is an incredibly talented painter.

 

I’m also supposed to award this to ten bloggers, but I’m just going to pass it on to two people I’ve seriously neglected. The first, of course, is V of Uncorked. FINALLY! An award you don’t already have! V is a kickass, sexy lawyer who enjoys shots as much as I do. She’s charmingly intelligent, witty, and has excellent taste in books.

 

The other is Cammy of Classroom Confessions. She recently went through a bad break-up, and I admire her for being honest about it on her blog. Takes guts to spill the beans. She’s sweet, talented, and an all around role model.

 

Weekend was fab! I decided last night that I hadn’t gotten “happy drunk” in a very long time, so I made it my mission to get sloshed without getting sick. Unfortunately the majority of my friends have become severely lame (seriously you guys, when did everyone become Mormon?), so the girls came over and I went downtown with Lottie and Lil Sister.

 

We decided to hit up Lottie’s Pub (not to be confused with the friend) for some cheap White Russians and Blue-Eyed Blonde shots from the hunky bartender with the rippling muscles and bald head. Did I ever mention my affinity towards bald men? It’s a little disturbing.

Blue-eyed blondes

Devil shots

I knew I had reached the goal peak of drunkness when one of the girls commented on how young everyone at the bar was, but I hadn’t noticed due to being totally intoxicated. Then Lil Sis tried to make me hit on her friend who was apparently interested in me, but he didn’t make a move, and there’s nothing I find more attractive in a man than someone who has to express interest in me via a friend. Just sayin’.

 

When we left, me being significantly poorer, I had just chatted up a guy. We stood outside for a bit and him and his buddies tried to convince Sis and I to go to Trinity Pub. Then I pulled a random lollipop out of my purse and started sucking on it.

 

Here’s a tip: If you want to command the entire attention of a group of young men, stick a lollipop in your mouth. It doesn’t matter if you’re devouring the candy like a hungry wench, they will look on completely enraptured. Awkward.

Lottie's

I've missed partying with this babe

 

 

 

 

This weekend was pretty rad, despite it being Valentine’s Day on Saturday. Yeah, I’m bitter. Yeah, it’s old. Suck it. This year embracing the holiday is the new “thing,” apparently.

 

 

K-Jax’s kegger was a blast and a half. Made some new friends, successfully seduced somebody, etc. Or I was seduced? I believe the pick-up line was “you have nice titties.” I do. I felt extremely out of place for a little while there, but then the crack-draught kicked in and I was happy happy happy. Totally in my element. There was this really cute guy there that I see on my bus EVERY morning and I wanted to introduce myself, but then I figured that would be creepy and there was absolutely no glimmer of recognition in his eye.

 

 

I went shopping the following morning and bought a bunch of stuff I didn’t need. My intention was to buy things for Mexico. I did buy two tanks though, and a whole slew of other stuff.

 

 

Our Anti-Valentine’s Day slumber party was quite the success. We had appetizers, chilli, cheese and crackers, chips, potato skins. Chocolately drinks, long island iced teas, fruity martinis, cans of beer. We were gluttonous and bloated and happy. And if that isn’t the best way to celebrate V-day, then I don’t know what is.

 

 

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT’S NOT BEER?

 

 

 

Cranium was a hit, although significantly harder while drinking booze. Actually, it was hard anyway but I had to pretend to be drunk to protect my pride at least. Then we had a topless pillow fight and all made out. I passed out in bed with Strickel around 2:30 though, which is a lot lamer than I would have expected. I have some pretty crude pictures of me humping Linus which I don’t care to share.

 

 

Linus took me bikini shopping the following day at Wal-Mart. I was so disheartened by the whole experience that I could barely bring myself to go to the gym today. Fuck bikini shopping. I left the store and ordered a DQ hamburger combo at the mall. I haven’t eaten a hamburger in more than two years.

 

 

Then, Jagerbomb, Bob and I went to see He’s Just Not That Into You. It’s entirely accurate and I agree that we have to stop making excuses to make ourselves feel better about guys rejecting us. On the other hand, it seems that all those fucking rules can actually turn into exceptions in the end, so whose really gonna stop making excuses?

 

 

Looking at an incredible house tomorrow that’s opening up in April. Three bedrooms, 1.5 baths with a JET-TUB, beautiful, located downtown, has a deck, DISHWASHER, etc. The landlord told me that they already had ten inquiries though, so competition is fierce. Better work that redheaded charm tomorrow boi. Or flash him my nice titties.

Frank the tank has been adopted. Can you believe it? Cos I can’t. God bless his little heart and all but that dog is going to be a lot of work. His adoptive parent knows this though.

 

The weekend generally involved a lot of booze, cupcakes, and dildos with flashing lights and dolphin adornments. Dinner’s graduation party was a success. We followed it with an evening of dancing to some Irish tunes at O’Reilly’s and then attempting to pick up a hooker on the corner.

 

Saturday I met with the writer ladies to exchange presents and eat breakfast at Cora’s. Boy did I ever want some sausage. All I could think about was sausage, sausage, sausage. Posh was my Secret Santa, much to my delight because she has fantastic style. She gave me a beautiful black t-shirt designed by a local artist, some ladybug earrings, a blue purse, and a magnet which pokes fun at my lack of cooking abilities. Success!

 

That evening, I attended a friend’s Birthday party with a bunch of the ladies. The highlight of the night was the Fantasia party… nothing like passing around a bunch of vibrators and dildos and musing over the best speed settings and stimulation tactics.

 

The girls and I had a discussion yesterday about how we date guys with a “theme.” For example, JagerBomb’s theme is preppy overachievers, the sort of men that generally turn into lawyers, doctors or rulers of the universe. Lottie dates assholes, which I followed up with sexy assholes. Boy do I love those sexy assholes. I danced with a guy last night who refused to believe I was a technical writer and then demonstrated that he knows all kinds of “crazy shit” cos he’s an RCMP officer from Alberta. I have no misguided delusions or hope about the future anymore. I’ll just keep dating sexy assholes and maybe eventually I’ll get it right.

 

  

I’ve been working all weekend on a training manual about echo sounding and sonar. Yeah, me with an English degree…obviously I’m the choice person to teach a bunch of military men how to use sonar. Maybe then we can discuss Wordsworth and quote Shakespeare.

 

Best quote of the night, while being crammed into the porch of Jungle Jim’s with a bunch of strangers and remarking on the shortness of some skank’s dress as she walks by on the street:

“I bet her lips are chapped.”

My incredibly sweet and possibly delusional cousin, D-Man, gave me the nicest compliment I’ve had in weeks. Months. Years. We were discussing what he could do on a first date with a dame, and I suggested the movies, but then pointed out I’m not exactly experienced in the field. He said, “I don’t understand why not, you’re amazing. Guys must be intimidated.” Well obviously that’s the reason, not because of cellulite or the fact that guys are idiots.

 

I bought tickets to Cirque du Soleil’s Allegria show in June. So. Freakin’. Happy. Also, I get to pick out new eyeglasses tonight. I’m thinking I’ll pick out some Guess or Gucci glasses. Yeah. Perhaps the label will draw attention away from my face. 

I have a terrible headache from a coastguard ship’s horn honking for about ten minutes straight. It was outrageously loud, the kind of “WOOONNNNKKKKKKKKKK” that makes your ears bleed.

 

Co-worker #1: “Someone’s boat alarm is going off. Someone’s trying to steal that boat.”

Co-Worker #2: “Is this the noise that was heard before the Halifax Harbour blew up?”

 

Pay-day. Pay-day oh joy oh bliss I get to face my bills all over again. Repeat cycle every two weeks. I count the passage of time by receiving cheques.

Meet Frank. Today Frank is getting his balls chopped off. That's how the neuturing procedure happens, right?

Meet Frank. Today Frank is getting his balls chopped off. That's how the neuturing procedure happens, right?

 

 

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