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Oh, the joys of extended four-day vacations at home for the holidays. My wonderful, wonderful boss gave me an extra day off. I have been on hiatus from the Internet world since then, which was surely deserved. Now if I could ask you all a small favour: STOP UPDATING YOUR BLOGS. I can’t keep up. It’s stressing me out.

I’m headed back to St. John’s tomorrow, but I just wanted to wish you all a very Merry Christmas! Happy New Year. Feliz Navidad? Bonne fete!

It’s been a great few days off, although not nearly as exciting as I expected. I miss my best friend. Last night I went to see Greener perform at the Warehouse, and I felt incredibly out of place. Fortunately, that feeling tends to disappear (as does all others) after drinking a dozen of beers and multiple shooters. I totally fooled my mother into thinking I was sober when I stumbled home at 3:00 a.m. though. Oh yeah, still got it.

Warehouse love!

Example of small town life: I was standing around talking to some friends, when we realized we were all first cousins. Cameras immediately appeared.

I received some sweet swag this year, although I’ve been really trying to take the less materialistic route lately. Everything just seems so wasteful, or maybe it’s because I’m broke. I bought such crappy presents for my family, and then left my brother’s package in St. John’s. FOR THE SECOND TIME IN TWO YEARS. I am not joking. Boy, did my mother ever complain.

So I asked for all practical stuff, like window curtains and a sleeping bag. But I was really, really looking forward to a bottle of Dior Midnight Poison perfume. It was like…my one big gift, y’know? I thought for SURE I had it. I unwrapped present after present and each time expected it to be THE motherload, and it never was. I remember my genuine shock when I reached the end of my pile. I felt like a kid receiving a jigsaw puzzle instead of a bouncy castle. It was awful, I became emotional, and I have been punching myself in the face since then for being such an irrational bitch. My parents work hard to do nice things for me.

That being said, fuck materialism. I need some retail therapy.

My "little" bro and I, having a green Christmas

I’m sitting here filling out Christmas cards (yes, less than a week before Christmas) when I realize the cheapo cards I’ve bought have the following message on the front:

’twas the night before xmas…

Now what kind of lousy, irresponsible editor purchases freaking Christmas cards with the word “xmas” on the front?! ME. That’s who.

Christmas has me stressed beyond belief. I’ve attempted shopping at least a dozen times now, and have gotten nowhere. I’d rather have FORTY WISDOM TEETH removed than step foot in that fucking mall. I have to finish everything tomorrow. I hate that I can’t buy pretty things for myself, and I’m working so hard and getting nowhere with my finances. And yes I know there are starving kids in the world, but holy crap, I want to feel pretty sometimes. Y’know? I’m tempted to stock up on lingerie just to feel better about myself.

Speaking of lingerie, I have ex-flames crawling out of the woodwork lately. They keep sending me messages and engaging in exceptionally friendly conversation, like the Karate Kid and Skank Master. I don’t fucking get it, they want to hang out over the holidays. Guess what buds? I’m not jingling your bells, I’VE ALREADY MADE THAT CLEAR.

Time to insert some cheer into this post:

This is my devil cat, Jetson. He doesn't mind the snow frosting because his soul is consumed by fiery hell.

My mother sent me this picture she took titled "Your Christmas cake." This entirely sums up her awesomely hilarious nature.

This picture is stolen from my lovely Lil Sis. Apparently this weird puppet dude was sitting in her neighbour's car. WTF?

I’ve attended at least a million Christmas parties over the past two weeks. Great fun. My REAL office work party was on Thursday, which meant I could only get a little drunk as I had to work at 9 a.m. I crawled home at 2 a.m. after dancing an epic jig with Susie-Q at Bridie Molloy’s. We were the only two left standing. TROOPERS!

Some of my coworkers and I did go to this little hole in the wall called “The Fiddler’s Pub.” Weirdest. Thing. Ever. The place was a perfect example of an ancient bay man’s pub where old alcoholic sailors come to find prostitutes. IT WAS AWESOME.

The entire place was covered in tacky 80s Christmas decorations and the walls were adorned with weird artifacts, i.e. a  bed pan, WOOD SAWS, and really old photographs. One lady was there with her German Shepherd. I started bopping to a song and one of the dirty sailors called out, “YEEEEEAHHH, SHAKE IT!” He then proceeded to do the limbo with another guy.

Last night, I attended Chef’s faculty’s Christmas party at the GeoCentre. I tried SO hard to find a giant globe to mount for Candice Does the World, but all to no avail. We had a blast though. Chef started cranking out Outkast and a bunch of other oldies, and me and my entourage basically just took over the dance floor and scared everyone off. Seriously. We were all over the place, huddled in a circle and kicking our heels up, and the next time we looked up the entire floor had cleared. So much fun.

Wearing a dress in the winter is cold. True story.

It’s been a crazy week between dealing with a massive workload, juggling a social life and coping with the worst insomnia I’ve ever encountered. Dirty Sailor is also staying with us again for a while, which generally results in us having heated Scrabble games over a Texas Mickey of Crown Royal.

I won!

So, on that note, Happy Holidays ya’ll!

Did I mention that I’ve been watering the humungous fake tree at work? Yep, it’s happened. Cubemate was transferred to the IOT for a few months, so she’s reminded me twice to water the plants. The second time around, I was watering the giant tree when I realized it looked kinda…well, rubbery. I bolted before anyone could see me and messaged CM, asking her if the tree was fake.

It is.

I then messaged my coworker who sits directly beside the tree and told him what had happened. The loud laughter of all the engineers was all I heard for about ten minutes.

Fortunately, I’ve redeemed myself at last week’s Christmas party. My lord, what a bunch! CM invited us all to her house, and her fiance invited his coworkers as well. My coworkers and I overtook the kitchen, shot jello shooters, made a giant bowl of pink punch, and proceeded to get hammered. My belt, cleverly stuck together with SCOTCH TAPE quickly became my second downfall.

At one point, someone smashed a bottle of Jameson whiskey on the floor. The boys got down on their knees and soaked everything up, and then wrung it out into a glass.

Someone drank it. There’s no surprise why they hired me anymore.

BOXHEAD is not impressed!

So I’ve discovered the downfall of living in downtown St. John’s. Holy fuckery. It’s taken two days for the city to “clean up” winter’s epic dump all over the place. I use the phrase “clean up” loosely, as the sidewalks are still unploughed and the roads are still sloppy. Walking to work yesterday was intense…I literally have to navigate sideways down THREE HILLS, and not just gentle slopes either…nope, these are badass 90-degree slopes, people. Any steeper and I’d be free-falling.

These “minor” inconveniences would be okay if drivers in St. John’s weren’t such fucking assholes. I’m actually getting angrier by the minute as I write this, I’m so fed up. I have absolutely NO CHOICE but to walk in the middle of the main road at times, because the sidewalks aren’t cleared and I need to get to the other side. However, drivers think us lowly pedestrians are just trying to piss them off, and so they speed up on icy roads, splash us, and generally just don’t give a fuck.

Yesterday, when I was making the last stretch uphill, I was walking in the middle because it was the only place I could find some traction. I heard a car coming behind me, bass blaring and all, and I assumed I had time to move aside. That motherfucker sped up, tires squealing, and forced me to jump into a snowbank.


Thank you all for checking out my new site, by the way. I’m so in love with it, I can’t wait for this one to go live. So many new people to add to my blogroll. I like how Candice Does the World reaches out to a new audience as well…daily, I’m finding new people commenting on my site, or leaving messages on Twitter saying how much they enjoy my blog. Feels absolutely amazing.

When I win the lottery, I’m flying ya’ll up here for one big party!

After much tears, laughter, smiles and heartache…Candice Does the World is finally live!

(That’s a total lie, my incredibly talented friend Shaun set the whole thing up in a matter of days and I just sat back and gave directions. The result? Pure fucking awesomeness.)

Really excited about this, I had the most insane case of the butterflies before I made the announcement. I really hope I can set up something unique, and I realy hope I can keep cranking out content as I’m not exactly travelling right now. But I think it’ll be cool to follow me as I plot my RTW trip for a few years. Sigh.
So check it out, give me some feedback, and set up some subscriptions will ya? I’m hoping to monetize this one. Now all that’s left is That’s Tangly to officially launch! Yis!

In other news, I completely forgot to mention that Meg at Lost in Thought honoured me with this award:

Thanks, Meg! I meant to mention this earlier, but was swept up in the mass confusion of my life. Check out her blog, I’m a big fan. I find reading online very difficult at times, but Meg has somehow perfected the flow of online writing so that I’m always immediately swept up in her posts. Does that make sense? She’s an all around great person with some pretty awesome travel stories too.

TOR and I are currently camped out on the futon watching the Victoria’s Secret Runway Competition thingy. If there is ANYTHING to make me want to stick a finger down my throat, this is it. Damn. I’d do all these girls. Twice.

I spent last night assembling gingerbread houses, baking cookies and making crafts with the Rangers. We totally bit off more than we could chew…by the time we left, my leader’s dinette was entirely coated in flour and candy. I don’t know where this woman gets her energy. Anyway, it did a lot to revive some Christmas spirit, as did coming downstairs tonight to find TOR surrounded by pretty wrapping paper and colourful ribbon. I have this weird fascination with wrapping presents. I’m a pro. I’d wrap my entire office space if I could. And I did. Last year.

I’m opening bets on how much sleep I’ll get tonight. I’m guessing five hours.

…Robin laid an egg?

Well you guys are just the greatest support network a gal like me could ask for. I’m recovering quite well from the giant holes in my face, and now I just seem to be suffering from severe lethargy. The thought of getting up in 6 hours for work is enough to make me want to tear out my stitches. I just want sleep.

I attempted Christmas shopping yesterday. I tend to do these things alone, because I’m bit of a gloomy shopper. As soon as I step foot in a mall I feel depressed, utterly dejected, and damned near impoverished. If it’s not on sale, I can’t buy it (although I’ll never understand the reasoning behind buying a plain t-shirt for fucking $50 just because it’s a label brand). With the CRAZED INSANITY PSYCHOTICNESS of Christmas shopping upon us, this awful mood just intensifies x100.

I grumble, and groan, and break out in nervous sweats. I have to sweep the ENTIRE MALL first, comparing deals and pricetags and merch, before I can even CONSIDER buying anything. I wanted to buy the Planet Earth series for my father yesterday, but it was $99. I discovered it later on Amazon for $36. See what I mean?

Anyway, I picked up a few small things. Nothing for mom or dad. No wrapping paper. No Christmas cards. I have to go back there, to that miserable hole. To that soul-eating sonofabitch building. Dammit.

I had an extremely quiet weekend. Girls night at JagerBomb where I looked on sadly as everyone devoured nachos and it was forbidden to me (need I describe my agony?). Everyone drank casually and I drank water. Lil Sis stayed over and we cuddled and caught up on things. She’s going to Thailand for a freaking month to visit her brother, and I am eaten up with jealousy.

Last night, some lady friends came over and we attempted watching a movie but mostly just sat around chatting. Hevs made me some wicked-awesome chicken soup. Damn I’ve been so cranky lately with all these swirly life hormones but I have amazing friends, they take such great care of me.

Then my roomies and some of their friends were getting ready to check-out the skeet pub known as Peter Easton. As they were leaving, I was upstairs in my room but I could hear them talking. Someone asked why I was staying at home.
“She just had her wisdom teeth out,” Chef said. I swear I could hear the pride in his voice. “Otherwise she’d be out, she’s a bigger alcoholic than the both of us put together.”

Damn, such a reputation to live up to.

Also did the whole Christmas parade thing today, complete with banana-hot-chocolate and Hevs. It was pretty sweet, but I wish companies would stop slapping signs onto a moving vehicle and calling it a “parade float”, and perhaps the dancers should crack a smile. It scares me how bitter I am.

So here’s a pretty perfect example of a skeet. His name is Donnie Dunphy, and chances are you won’t find him all that funny because there’s so many Newfoundland references, but you’ll get the imagery/speech. This is what I refer to as a “Newfie” accent, except mine generally isn’t all that bad unless you toss me in with a bunch of people from da bay. But that’s a different story.

Also, a delivery guy came to the house tonight with a big stack of pizzas for “Walsh.” ?! Who the HELL ordered pizza for me?

Damn, I was kinda hoping for a more dramatic update about the wisdom teeth extraction, an entry filled with blood and near-death experiences and gory adult teeth with long roots dangling from the ends.


But to be honest, the whole thing went smoothly. I feel fine, other than being ravenously hungry while my roommate is eating delicious greasy chicken right in front of me and all I can get down is a pudding. And the gauze in my mouth is still soaked in blood, and now I have big bag of bloody gauze in my bedroom. The sheer sight of it makes me want to scream. Sexy?


I was super, super freaked out about this surgery. I don’t know why, but mostly I think I was afraid of the anaesthesia. For real. I knew being IV sedated would be my best option, but I’ve heard that redheads need more anaesthesia than other people and I was terrified I’d be one of those weird cases where I’d be paralysed but totally conscious of everything going on, including a scalpel cutting into my gums.


But when I woke up after being sedated, I felt incredible. It was the most bizarre, relieving feeling I’ve ever had. I wasn’t even high, although I did kinda stumble around the pharmacy like a drunkard, my cheeks swollen with gauze stuffing and blood crusted to my lips. I crawled up the stairs when I got home and popped a few drugs, watched a movie with Chef and spent the remainder of the day camped on the futon.


The pharmacist did, however, tell me she required an enema after taking the Atasol-3o drugs I’m on. That’s the most I’ve ever needed to know about a stranger.


Then I ate ice-cream. Lots and lots of ice-cream.


Now I have a surgical glove filled with my wisdom teeth, and I don’t really know what possessed me to keep them. Does the tooth fairy visit for these sort of things? Could he or she possibly bring me $600 to help with my new websites? Sprinkle some stardust over my head so I can win the lottery and move on?


Totally taking advantage of these days off to do NOTHING. I apologize in advance for lack of drunken stories.

Oh blogosphere, how I’ve missed thee. The rest of the week has been significantly more eventful. Sorta.

I went to Kjax’s party on Saturday with the girls, which was pretty sweet since I haven’t been boozing with those ladies in awhile. Some girl brought jello shooters, and so I proceeded to eat the entire tray. So delicious, and filled with vitamins.


Then Ani and I went downtown because everybody else was super lame, and I just needed to get out in public after being confined to my house for the previous week. So we went to Dusk where we met up with Ani’s boyfriend and his buddies, and danced up a storm. Then Metro Guy popped in, and quickly weaselled his way into our dance group, thus interrupting my stellar rhythm.


I told Ani she could leave me alone with Metro Guy (I don’t know why), and we proceeded to dance a little. He claimed I did not call him, I insisted that he was supposed to call me, and so went our tango of love. Finally I tried to enter his phone number into my Instinct, but accidentally entered his digits as a text message, and ended up texting him his name. I giggled, he was appalled, and then he left.

I was then entirely stranded downtown. I remember scrolling down through my entire list of contacts on my phone in SHEER UTTER PANIC, realizing for the first time ever, I had nobody to tag along with. So I went to Whalen’s where Greener was playing, tried to stay awake at the bar, and then bummed a ride home with him.

Hot girl action

I’ve just now realized the most ridiculous thing: I forgot to mention my friend’s wedding. Yeah, I’m fucking serious. I went to a friend’s wedding on Saturday with Bob and her boyfriend. It was a small ceremony with mostly family, so the three of us stood awkwardly in church while others just stared at us like we were wedding crashers. Don’t worry, there was no one there worth climbing into bed with.


I was sceptical about the whole thing because a) SHE’S 23 and b) I never met her fiance until that day, but everything changed when I saw my beautiful buddy walking down the aisle. Did I mention the onslaught of emotion? Holy shit. I suddenly realized “Wow, I can get married now” and I felt the earth tip considerably towards the direction of HELL. I can’t even consider a wedding until five years from now, it’s the furthest thing from my mind. I mean, I do want Nate Gates to be my photographer…and I have my wedding dressed bookmarked in Firefox…and I know my colour theme will be blues…but other than that, I haven’t thought about it AT ALL.

Never mind the man in the background

In other news, Chef has returned from Morocco! My life is filled with the musk of men again! I came home last night to find three boys cooking me supper once again, and now order is restored in my life. We ate lamb tagine and rice with an apricot/prune sauce, it was incredible. Plus Chef brought me back a handcrafted teapot, and did I mention that I really missed him?


FINALLY, finally…today Jagerbomb and I had this awesome conversation about Raffi.


Candice says: did you know that the banana phone song was originally sung by raffi?

Jagerbomb says: who is raffi?

Candice says: you know, the guy who used to play guitar and sing in the woods and he’d crawl through that log

Jagerbomb says: fred penner?

Candice says: oh shit

Candice says: who the hell is Raffi

Candice says: Raffi does exist

Candice says: HE DOES

Candice says: GOOGLE HIM


Then we determined he sings “that baby beluga song.” Enjoy.


(I don’t know what the hell is up with the font in this post, but whatever, I’m spontaneous and you can’t handle it.)

It’s Friday night and I’m sitting in my bed surrounded by a bowl of popcorn, some lollipops, and mint Girl Guide cookies. Tonight, I was invited to a kegger and a Captain Morgan party, and there are currently people drinking downstairs. I chose to sit here in my bed and catch up on some work, because I’m entering a new Candice-era where I appreciate full nights of sleep and being asexual. Non-sexual? Whatever. I’m going to be picking popcorn kernels out of my orifices for months.

(Note: I’m going to a party tomorrow night, and I have plans lined up for the next two years, so I’ll be significantly more awesome once I’m on top of things. Also, I spent the night shopping and at the gym, which were both total wastes of time given the fact I didn’t buy ANYTHING [besides a necklace and earrings for myself…] and am now gorging on junkfood.)

Anyway. I had to share this story with you.

So I’m walking to work this morning, and I’m passing through George Street. There’s a man leaning into the dumpster beside The Yellow Belly Brewery. I note that he doesn’t necessarily seem like a bum, because he’s dressed more like a skeet (i.e. windsuit).

I’m walking along, minding my own business, when all of a sudden a MUFFIN skids past my feet and explodes. I look up, and the man is just standing there, cigarette dangling from the very edge of his lips in particular skeet fashion, looking back at me. I’m so genuinely intrigued that I do not even become startled or angered. No words are spoken. I understand this skeet. This skeet understands me. This skeet and I are one.

But did he mean to throw that muffin? If he were digging for food, why would he waste a perfectly good muffin? Did the muffin offend him somehow? Was the muffin a reminder of his skeet existence?

Damn, I had a really great five second video of the runners passing through Water Street with the olympic torch today. I had no intention of watching the parade, I just happened to be there. It was easy to get caught up in the excitement though; it made me want to head to Vancouver in 2010. Some guy passing by handed me two flags and I just kinda waved them lamely there on the side of the road. Go Canada. Woot.

**I just Googled the definition for “skeet” because I wasn’t sure if it were a Newfie word…turns out it means something entirely different than what I’m implying. Think Newfie hillbilly.

Things found in my purse

I pulled this beauty out of my purse the other night and stared at it momentarily stunned. Then I recalled how my bisexual friend and I were splitting a cab downtown, and she was ranting about her recent boy break-up and how she wanted to date a woman next. Her problem, she claims, is that she would be the “bull-dyke” in the relationship, and she just can’t have that.

As we were paying, the cabbie pulled out two free tickets to the strip bar and handed them to us, saying: “I thought you ladies might enjoy these.”


Someone recently questioned why I dubbed my blog “That’s Tangly.” You see, I live in a world called Newfoundland, where words are invented and distorted and reshaped, and so most of the time I have no freaking clue if I’m speaking real English or Newfie English. For me, “tangly” means “messy,” “disorganized,” and “chaotic.” “Tangled.” So when something goes awry, or if I find myself in a weird situation where my head is about to explode, I refer to it as being “tangly.”

In a nutshell, I’m very much tangly.

Another word: “deadly.” This word is used to express positive feedback about something, i.e. “That’s a deadly song!” or “Deadly website, man!” Is this just a Newfie word? Does anyone else use this word in day-to-day speech?
I think when my new blog gets set up I’ll do a video explaining how to properly use the word “b’y”. The possibilities are endless.

Due to some incredibly amazing awesome outstanding fabulous opportunities that have come my way this past week or so, it appears as though my social life will be put on hiatus indefinitely. I will not elaborate at the moment but I can assure you that this thing called life is effing great. Unfortunately, I’ve lost all feeling in my ass from sitting here for about 12 hours per day. Secretary butt, I think it’s called. Did I mention I can now flex my glutes to the tune of a song? It’s a new party favour of mine.


And with respect to my newfound responsibilities, lack of social life and the decision to cut men out of my life entirely, the following is now my idea of foreplay:



Facebook status updates

Best conversation with a stranger ever

Oh, Chad.


Don’t Forget to Check Out My New Travel Site!