Swipe Left

Alright, folks. I must, MUST tell you all about a date I had recently. As you guys know by now I am single and although I am not quite ready to fla-mingle and get into another relationship, I’ve been hitting up the dating scene. I mean fuck, why not….free dinner, free movie….right?

Now, I am not really one for dates. Perhaps it has to do with never really going on one. My last relationship lasted eight years, and I can’t even remember us going on a date ever. Any who, so ya dating scene, is so not mine, but hey, it’s 2016, gotta stretch out a bit and try new things.

Lets get to the story now.

So I knew this guy, lets call him Bruce. Now, that is so not his name at all, but I always thought he looks like a Bruce. I always pictured Bruce’s as big burly men, slightly toned, but not enough to be a juice head. Bruces should be tall, polite, and mysterious. They generally have big foreheads, short brunette hair and only wears glasses to read.

So Bruce and I have known each other for years. In fact, he was one of the first people I met when I moved out here back in ’05. We went to the same university, and for the first two years in school we were involved in each other’s social circle. Eventually, he left to do a field study across the world. We kept in touch through emails, Facebook and even writing letters. (YASSS, it’s true, I still write letters.) 

When he came back a year later, we didn’t really see too much of each other. We had different majors, I made new friends, and he made new friends. We just drifted apart.Don’t worry friends, it’s not a sad drift. We just didn’t really have much in common anymore.

So flash forward to 2016.

I was getting fitted for a costume for this ‘Masquerade’ scene for a terrible, terrible movie. (Hint: 50 shades of terrible). While the designer was sewing me into a gigantic gown, I noticed a Bruce size man across from me. He was being attended by another lady. This Bruce size man, was wearing a mask and a tuxedo. (OH so mysteri-o-so). Not going to lie, I was slightly turned on.

To my surprise this Bruce size man was having the time of his life. He was smiling, chatting up the costume fitter and then he started to sing. Wait for it……When the moon…..is in the southern sky….and Jupiter aligns with Mars……

I couldn’t help but have a laugh. Just a little. So as he is singing, and as I am watching this Bruce size man do so, I belt out…. Age of Aquarius! Hey, can you blame me. This lady had been sewing me into this gown for what felt like hours, and this Bruce size man was my only form of entertainment. On top of that, I wanted to bang him.

He looked up at me. He smiled. Looked down. Then back up. Then back down. And did this rrepeatedly for a time. What a fucking wierdo…..Then he looks back up one more time….and…..Caitlin Ann! It is you? What the fuck is this man going on about. Of course it’s me, it’s been me since ’87. But who the fuck is this dude? Caitlin Ann, it’s me, Bruce. SFU? Resident buddies? Book club? HOLY FUCKBALLS! Took me a second to realize it was him. It’s the mask, man. Sorry it’s been too long my friend. {Side note: I never belonged to the book club officially, I just went for the food.}

Now I am all for conversation. I am also all for shooting the shit with strangers. But I am also for this lady to stop sewing me in this gown, and for this semi- awkward conversation to be over.Luckily it was. His fitting was done. FUCK MY LIFE! Now, I’m going to be on set with this fucker…Let me just clarify some things here. He’s a nice guy, I like him, but I wasn’t looking forward to making up small talk with an old friend. On top of that, my want to tap his ass, lasted a span of seconds and I was over it.

So yadadada…yadada….get on set…..shit happens…..yadada yadada….asks me on a date…..yada yada yadada….

Flash forward to the date.

Havanas on Commercial (Already, Bruce is getting points.) I LOVE HAVANAS. However, he loses points when I have to meet him there, because he still rides a bicycle.(Yay, for being environmentally friendly, but nay for being a pain in the ass for pedestrians and drivers everywhere).

So I arrived late, which is incredibly unlike me. I am usually the first bitch on the scene, but I wanted Bruce to know, that I have changed. That I am now, a woman, no longer a girl. No longer, Caitlin Ann but, Cait. 

Hes there already. Of course he is.

He greets me. Now, I’ve should have known it in this moment that this wasn’t going to be worthwhile. He walks over, arms wide open, gives me a hug and… wet willies my ear. MY FUCKING EAR. DUH FUCK?! I haven’t been wet willied since Full House fucking ended. I seriously felt violated. On top of his gross nasty ass fingers, being inside my ear, I haven’t cleaned my ears in months. Ugh…..

Moving on.

We get a table. He pulls out a chair as though it is for me and then proceeds to sit on the chair himself. He then laughs. DUH FUCK? Is this kid playing with me. Who the fuck are you? We are damn near thirty and so far you finger banged my ear, and teased me with a chair. So I quickly order myself a scotch (two of them, both doubles). 

So we for the most part we were just catching up. But he was constantly interrupting everything I was saying. LIKE EVERYTHING. I’m all for two sided conversations, ya know. I don’t want to hear my voice all the time, but I also don’t want to hear someone else’s cutting me off. At some point the conversation was becoming one sided. In fact, Bruce compiled all his stories of the last 9 years, we haven’t seen each other. Get this, Bruce pulls out a fucking piece of paper, that had a list of what he wanted to cover. NO JOKE! He opened it up and went down the list. I heard everything, from his time in Austrailia, his threesome in New Orleans, his Masters Degree, the time he stole a gerbil from a pet store and sold it too his coke dealer, toilet papering his ex’s house, the new book club he’s the Chairman of, his Halloween costume of every year since and the list goes on and on and fucking on…..Friends, this was so exhausting. I tried not to listen, but killing kittens would have been easier.

Alas, now we are eating. Maybe with food in his mouth, I can enjoy my meal. Nope! Not even close. He talked about where he is now in his life. How much money he has, all the people he knows, where he lives now…So I ordered myself a couple more scotches (singles this time, I have to drive after all).

By the time the bill came, Mr.Money Bags, has forgotten his wallet. (Mic Drop). I was actually shocked. I grab the bill and just as I am about to grab my card, he orders himself another beer. As much as I wanted to bounce ASAP I wasn’t going to stiff the server. I paid.

Ladies and gentlemen! PRIZE FOR THE DOUCHIEST OF DOUCHE BAGS, GOES TO THIS FUCKWAD RIGHT HERE!

So bills paid, we walk out together, asks me to come over. I decline. I let him know it was ‘interesting’ catching up and I wished him all best and B lined for my car.

How the fuck did I think going on a date with this lad would be fun?I mean we drifted apart years ago, why would I even entertain rekindling an old friendship. Honestly, what the fuck was I thinking. Not a great date. Not by any means.

Definitely swipe left for this fuck, GEEZE!

 

Advertisements

The White Whale

Well, well, well, folks…you missed me, haven’t you? I know, I know it has been quite some time since I put my beautiful poetics on the good ol’ inter-web, but alas, the time has come. I shall name this one….

The White Whale 

A tale of a girl with a rapist’s mentality to conquer a total babe. Two years in the making! (Hint: she totally nails him…..DDAAAAAAYYYYYYUUUMMMM)

crazy-man-with-white-whale-cartoon-fun-hd-wallpaper

This tale starts, with a very starry eyed, lonely, horny, girl (That’s me). I was nearing the end of a relationship and my eyes were already wandering. What new crop does the world have to offer me? Now, working in an industry where I am constantly surrounded by alcohol and assholes, the world was my oyster and my oyster was definitely enjoying the hunt.

Now, I assure you, I was a good girl. While still committed to then said boyfriend, all I did was look. Then looking turned into flirting (harmless albeit), then flirting turned into touching myself thinking of other people, which turned into screwing my partner and thinking of other people, which turned into….BITCH, YOU GUESSED IT. Single Cait, at your service.

Once, I was single, I was ready to FLA-MINGLE, spread my mother fucking wings/legs and fly/ride.

One night, after a long boring ass shift, my coworker and I decided to flood down to a hole in the wall place to sip some brewskies. We sat our butts at what seemed to be the only spot available in this dive of a bar, and then……a bright light shone on yours truly and this beautiful angel of a man emanated from the…..NAH….TOTALLY FUCKING KIDDING.

Don’t worry I won’t give your hopes up. We sat down, and this dude walks over throws down his menus and says ‘Cait, what can I get you?‘ Cait?Duh fuck you mean, Cait? This handsome mother fucker knows my name?… Clearly, he saw the potentially cross-eyed and confused looked on my face and politely reminded me, I was still wearing my name tag. Smart ass.

I will say this, what I thought was our first encounter…well…my curiosity was mildly, and I will repeat mildly peaked when this blonde hair, (still don’t remember the colour of his eyes), fit, beast of a babe walked into my sights and decided to show me whose boss. Ladies, my eyes where on fire, my heart was a thumping and my vagina was tingling all over!

After a couple of cheeky beverages and some late night nasty grub, our bills were handed out. Fuck, I made maybe 80$ that night in tips and ending up spending 180$, FAAACCKKK, but YOLO so…. I give this bodacious of a server my hand, full of cash to pay my debt and he slyly whispers in my ear….“I didn’t know your name based on your name tag, I knew your name because you served me last week” MOTHER FUCKER! Not only is he sly, but he’s polite, and cheeky and a babe. A total fucking, babe….This moment, this very moment folks, is when I knew I will bang this cocky ass, one day. I will conquer him…just you wait beautiful, beefcake, just you wait…..

***

Flash forward to some point in the future…

***

My reputation as what some would call a ‘slag’ and what I would call a ‘connoisseur of men’ began circulating the town. Perfect, I thought, this is totally my in. Mr. babe-a-licious server, was quite the Casanova himself. Slutting around the New West streets, like the little man whore he is. (Fuck, surely if anyone could tap that, I could) We, were alike, two harlots, screwing left, right and centre. I’m telling you folks, you couldn’t find any other two hussies who were meant to do the sideways shuffle. Seriously, Christian Mingle couldn’t even find a more slut-tastic match. (Side Note: All of Gods children are hoes).

Every so often, my coworkers and I would head to the hole in the wall, spend all our tip money, and talk about fuck all. While these conversations were quite riveting, I was off daydreaming about Mr. Womanizing Cad. Sure enough, a few scotches in I would attempt to make these daydreams a reality. How? Well, with my wry wit of course!

hey handsome, is my vagina sweating or are you just that hawt!

hey sexy thang, I don’t need a spoonful of sugar to swallow you.

hey man of my wet dreams….. 

So what, I was completely out of practice. I haven’t had to pick up a dude since I snatched my ex up back in ’08. But, he liked it, I could tell. Obviously, he was used to being nothing but a sex object to all the  ladies (I’m sure a few of the old bags carpal tunneled the shit out their digits just thinking of him). BUT! As I was saying he liked it. I mean no I didn’t bring him home with me ever in those times, but he laughed. And you know what if that’s all I could get from this guy, I’ll take it…….for now. MUAHAHAHAHAHA….

This charade lasted two years. TWO YEARS FRIENDS! Do I have persistence or what? No man has ever resisted my charm, and as much as it drove me crazy that he was consistently shutting me down, I wanted him more. He was my the unattainable, the irresistible, he was my white whale. Call me Caitlin, I will not be left afloat, I will conquer.

Eventually the white whale left the hole in the wall, and my want to go evaporated….For a moment and only a moment I thought, maybe I won’t succeed in my mission. But only for a moment!

We surprisingly reached out to one another at some point. Sexting and sexting and more sexting and then BAM!

NAILED IT!

Haha, now it didn’t quite happen like that, but I assure you its rather dull and well, a lot of dick pics folks, a lot of fucking dick pics.

So this moment, right. This moment that I had built up in my head for two years, this moment that was supposed to be ethereal and euphoric. Ummmm….was not so. He was too much in his head. At least I thought he was. I suppose it is a lot of pressure though. You have one girl who has been wanting  you for so long and now you are concerned you can’t deliver. Fuck, I was concerned at one point he couldn’t deliver either. Eventually, he delivered all over my chest and we passed the fuck out.

Now, I’m like a ninja in the mornings. I always leave before the sun comes up. In this case, part of me wanted to stay, and the other part wanted to leave asap. I followed my other part.

So kind of awkward right. You build up all this stuff in your head of how you imagine that moment to be, and it wasn’t what you expected. Either way, my mission was accomplished. He came, I conquered.

So at some point we decided to have another go at it. We realized the first wasn’t that ideal, lets try a second. So we did, and then tried a third, a fourth, a fifth, and then when he started asking me about my family while I was riding him, I realized…..nope! Not meant to be. We gave it a go, and more than a few times, and it just ain’t in our stars to create beautiful sexy sideways sessions.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret anything. It also wasn’t terrible either, our bodies just didn’t jell. And yes, he is still on my top 10 list of booty calls, and being 7 ain’t so bad.

This, my folks…is the story of my white whale.

#nailedit

The Big H

Seems like the last few months my days start incredibly early. Most of the time it is before my 7 morning alarms go off, but I don’t mind. One morning however, it was not so wonderful to wake up. Not only was I up and not so enthusiastically at’em, but 4:30 is a little too early for me. So body, I’m not a farmer, fuck off.

The last couple weeks or so I have been having stomach and chest pains. It legit feels like a leprechaun jigging on my chest. So, Not, Cool. So alas, this pain never fully goes away, instead it’s been a constant. Straight up fucking annoying. Some days it is almost unbearable. Now, I am what I call a….tough cookie. But ouch, man. Seriously.

I am quite stubborn. That’s a fact. I strongly dislike going to hospitals or clinics in every way. The smell, the sounds, butt fuck everything. Most people think of hospitals as a place for healing. To me, its sickness and death. I will refuse and refuse to go. I could have a harmonica shoved up my asshole, and I still would refuse to go. Most likely, I would call up all the Plebians who owe me favours and tell them to finger my harmonica. I would rather lick butter off a prostitutes dirty ass butt crack than go see a doctor. HELL! One of the last times I saw a doctor they couldn’t find my hymen.  MY GOD DAMN FUCKING HYMEN. The doctor thought it was playing peek-a-boo…MY HYMEN PEOPLE!  HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY THIS. For fuck sakes, fuck hospitals and fuck doctors…..fuck.

Okay, moving on…

One of my closest friends advised me over the last few weeks to go see a doctor. Come on Cait, what is the worst that could happen? Um thanks closest friend, let me tell you what could happen.

  1. A shit ton, fool!
  2. A SHIT TON, FOOL!

I simply refuse to go. Caitlin, says no, closet friend, Caitlin says no.

The chest and stomach pain was constant and consistent. I was dizzy, I was drowsy, either I was puking or my ass was puking. Now, I know what you are thinking. This bitch is knocked up. Sorry folks, hate to break it to ya, but unless my fingers are shooting spermies I am as un’-pregnant as humanly possible. If I was preggerz, meet Jesus Junior, the Second Cumming of Christ.

Almost forgot to mention, I am on meds too, but ya’ll know that so…. Yeah, the obvious side effects aside from cracking myself up and being awesome, I get constipated, faint, can’t think straight, I feel like a pansey, and I have the occassional slurrrrrr-rrrr-rring of words. I’m telling you, if they were casting Judy Garland’s BioPic I would knock that shit out of the park.

So all these forces seem to be building up inside of me. That one morning I was sweaty, the world was spinning, I couldn’t breathe, I’m telling you folks, I was one symptom away from seeing a baby crawling on the ceiling. I am alone. Who do you call when you are alone? No one is home. I got my cat plotting my death already, and my dog is licking his balls in the corner.

11745834_10100508642189933_6844818290448706980_n{SIDE NOTE: My boy Barrie is such a mythical Saint Bernard This cuddly beast has no idea what is going. Saint Bernard’s are supposed to be heroes. SAVE ME, BARRIE ST. BERNARD, SAVE ME! Granted, they are known for saving people from avalanches, the alps and people with colds. So I will let it slide, my boy Barrie. I mean the fact he was sitting in the backyard the other day trying to catch the wind with his mouth…whelp! It says it all.}

Okay, back to being alone. Who the hell am I going to call at this ungodly hour? I certainly do not want to call the parental units, not only would it worry them, but them being on the other side of the country is in all essence, useless. Sorry mom, sorry dad. I also thought, and this was a rather quick poke of a thought, to call some of my friends. However, the majority of them either don’t drive or do not have a vehicle to drive. Plus, the last thing a friend wants to hear is, can you please walk me to the hospital? So friends, maybe, you could get your license or a car  and then I could call you, and you could be like a ‘real’ friend…..just saying…

So looking at my phone, I realize I really only have one option. Call the ex. Fuck my life, this is so not ideal. SO. NOT. IDEAL. I call him, no answer. THANKGOD! Not meant to be. I understand, no one wants to pick up the phone this early in the morning, let alone knowing it is from your ex. It’s fine really, It’s a sign. C’mon Cait, you are a big girl now. Definitely not forking up 80$ for an ambulance, so lets drive. Smart thinking, I know! I went to university where all the smart thinkers come from. I put on my jacket, can’t forget pants, grab my Nikes, dish out my Id’s, snatch up the keys and Oh, I can’t forget my driving gloves! KIDDING! Driving gloves are for pussies, and for people who duel. EN GAURD!

So at some point between my front door and my beloved car, Robin I passed out. No joke. I woke up to rain and wind and what I am sure was once a slug smeared on my cheek. MMMkkay… maybe driving is out of the question.

Somehow I find myself crawling my way back up the stairs, baby steps, Cait, baby steps. I can hear my phone. Its ringing. Someone can save me! I increase speed, which really isn’t fast at all at this point. I’m racing to my phone, I reach the top, only to realize my phone was in my pocket the entire time. Seems legit.

Who is it? The ex. I pick up and was doing my best to play it all cool. I went to five years of acting school for this moment, FAIL! I caved. Oddly enough he was on his way with little Plum dog for the pups to play. So….

FLASH FORWARD TO BURNABY GENERAL HOSPITAL.

No line up, practically no hospital personnel either. I’m in a room and on a bed within one hour. The ex heads back to my place to keep an eye on the pups. It was for the best, he seemed agitated and annoyed at my conundrum. I’m sure driving an ex anywhere is on no one’s To Do List. Part of me wanted him to stay, especially since I have driven him to the hospital more times than I could count, but I needed to be alone. I had to do this on my own. We are not boyfriend and girlfriend anymore. We are just friends and that’s okay.

So I am in Room 1. FYI not a real room. Just a bed surrounded by curtains. There was a gentleman on one side of me in Room 2. He sounded like quite the comedian. He was cracking wise with the nurses, telling them stories that ranged from a one-legged prostitute he fell in love with in Bali to tea-bagging a donkey. Come to think of it, not much of a gentleman. Oh and he was in the hospital for….get this… full on corkscrew lodged in his head. Yup, 8 stitches later and a bandage that somewhat resembled a yamaka. L’Chaim.

Now, these hospital gowns, don’t even get me started. They are frail, not flattering and seriously, you can never have enough coverage, (which reminds me I need to switch my life insurance.)

11904718_10100532930141683_8754819215513386869_nSo anyways in my barely there hospital gown, nurse comes in to take my blood. She even says it in a creepy Transylvanian way which she thought was hilarious. I‘ve come to take vyer bloooood! I thought it was nonsense. I even told her to go back and re-enter like a real person. She did, such a trooperSo she grabs my left arm and can’t seem to find my vein. Stabs me anyways. MOTHER FUCKING OUCH! Painful! Incredibly so. Seeing my discomfort, she pulls out the needle, lets my blood drip on my beautiful hospital gown and proceeds to take blood from my other arm. I should have let the crazy bitch play Dracula. Be good to my right arm lady. It’s all I got until I find myself a man. She places cotton balls on my arms, both sore, my stomach is in pain, I can’t breathe, my veins are throbbing and all of a sudden…..a lonely tear drop falls from my eye. Then 2, then 3, and then the water works. I hate crying, I cry even more just knowing I can be an ugly crier. S.A.D.N.E.S.S.

Anyways, Room 2’s mom comes and picks him up. Enter, Room 2’s new patient, crazy lady. Why she be crazy? Let me tell you. I am there in my little ‘room’ crying. She starts crying. I get louder, she gets louder, I get even more boastful and operatic and she hulks it out even more. We sound like a whales, just a couple of swells I tell ya. MAAAOOOO WAHHHHH MAHHHHaaaa….Ahem, I am competitive by nature, its a gift, there is no denying it. So I use my years of voice training to …WAHAHAHAOOO BAOOOOOOMEOOOW MEOW…

This beautiful moment friends, goes on for quite some time. At some point my crying turns into uncontrollable laughter. The sad, sad story we were sharing turned into the funniest fucking moment of my life. AND THIS IS BEFORE THE DRUGS PEOPLE! She however, was not amused. She went silent. Later, Room 2 crazy lady. it was a pleasure. HAHAHA.

So non-bloodthirsty nurse comes in and mixes me up a frothy cocktail of grossness. It was straight up, gnarly. I sucked it back, channeling my college drinking days and I CAN’T FEEL MY MOUTH. Yes, she forgot to mention the numbness in my mouth that would happen with this shot. Clearly, she didn’t enjoy my whale talk as much as I did.

Follow blue line to x-rays. Follow blue line back to bed.

Pain, still so much pain. If I can’t handle this, child birth is not an option. I will order my children on eBay. Props to all you momma’s shitting out kids. Props Mom,

So the ex calls. I can’t talk. I’m trying to, but I sound like Leo DiCaprio from What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. FUCK. MY. LIFE. Or in my case, FEEEOWKK MWAI LIFEEE….Like actually.Where are the actually drugs! This numbness, the mouth shit does fuck all.

I am such a baby. There was a man with a corkscrew stuck in his head, IN HIS HEAD! The fucking thing didn’t even phase him. Whereas me, a 27 year old, single, semi-independent woman Is whining over a misunderstood tummy ache. WHAHHHH!!!

Doc comes in, injects me with wait for it…..morphine! And oh my if you haven’t had morphine, I encourage you to have a go. You haven’t lived until a doctor jabs you in the backside (now I know why hospital gowns don’t close at the back), with a big ass fucking needle. The needle hurts, but the morphine feels like candy. I can’t talk and now I can’t think for myself. Clearly, every man’s dream girl.

So at some point, sprawled out on the bed, face down in a star fish position, gown back flaps wide open the doc revisits me. Lets me know I’ve been out about half hour or so. He gives me the down low. (The Doctor’s down low may or may not be featured in a future blog. After all, I should probably keep some things a mystery from you folks.)  So yada yada, yadada….basically in one ear out the other. The Doc will have to invoice me, seriously I’m high on all your hospital candies, drooling and not even noticing that I am drooling and this is the moment you decide to tell me what is wrong with me. SO. NOT. IDEAL.

What a day it was folks. It will hopefully be a long time before I decide to visit the big H again. Hopefully, my friends will have cars, and I won’t need to call the ex. Or I could not be cheap and take an ambulance ride. BUT WHATEVER….Now, excuse me while, I instagram the hole in my back from the biggest needle ever.

Cait Tid-Bits #1

I am going to start trying something a little different now in my blogging. Not worry, I won’t get to sappy. I’m thinking from time to time I will write little blogs here and there revealing things about it. Just little tidbits to let you inside my mind a bit and muck about. 

Here goes!

ImageI despise Ryan Gosling. I DO! I can’t quite put my finger on it either. Part of me things he is completely over-rated and the other part can’t get Young Hercules out of my head. 

All I know is if he Hey Girl‘d me I’ve smack his ass (and no not in a form of coitus).

 

I once confused someone’s fart for a two egg breakfast…

My favourite pass time is sleep.

I am claustrophobic. Like actually so. Getting into an elevator is like shitting out a brick. It’s hard and rough, but somehow I get through it. Airplanes are the worst for me, I’m ordering beers every time turbulence hits. (I once saw a cat on the airplane wing, but that wasn’t the beer)

I play the shit out of video games. Through and through. I can’t rush through any game, I need to find all the nooks and cranny’s. Games with zombies aide me in overcoming me fears of not being able to find hidden gems and achievements. LEFT FOR DEAD my friends, DON’T BE A HERO.

ImageYou know how they say, you are what you eat? Well, after a hearty bowel movement I tend to take a look back, you know to see if she sinks or floats. A couple of times for a couple of days it was all blue. I’m talking about Queen Elizabeth royal blue. I’ve never been able to look a blue sour candies the same again.

After a long 8 hour drive to my grandma’s with 5 passengers and a dog in a crammed vehicle my claustrophobic ass could not wait to get out of the damn clown car. Unfortunately, the old man pushed the breaks a little to far and as I was leaning forward my dog flung backwards and my finger….my poor finger….it was my dogs first unintentional enema. The poor pooch couldn’t look at me for a week.

My grandma knocked me out when I was a wee little lass. After her countless calls for me to go to bed, I put my acting skills to use and pretending to sleep on the couch with my eyes open, while Dallas was on the TV. So be the good, kind lady she was and still is she picked me up by the ankles, carried me up the stairs and my head hit the banister on the way up. Needless to say I was sleeping like bear hibernating.

I stole money from my mom’s purse so that I could buy rocks from my little sister’s rock selling store. I feel it was a terrible investment.

There is this place under my ear, close to my jaw line, that I loved to be kissed on.

In high school, I received a marriage certificate. My husband, Ewan McGregor. My mother’s response: Great Scot! He sure was, wasn’t he.

When my V-card got swiped, I cried like a baby.

The smell of curry makes: my skin shrivel up like a prune, my nose burn, my stomach churn and makes me want to vomit. I would rather eat worms then be near the terrible smell. (For those of you who don’t know, my first experience with Indian food, left me hugging porcelain for three days.)

 

It’s Been Awhile

Miss me folks? I know it’s been awhile, like two and a half fucking months awhile…well here’s the deal. I’ve been meaning to write, and by meaning to I mean I have been writing, furiously in fact, unfortunately not to you lovely birds, but alas, that has all changed.

So here’s the deal. I’m insane, full on looney bin material. Cray-cray I tell you what! Let’s start with, well the beginning of the summer shall we?

July 12th or something like that I quit my job. So for those of you who don’t know I currently, work as an actor, writer and model in Vancouver, but when I am not doing such things I am/was working as an assistant manager at an out of school day care facility.

I loved the job, and when I say loved the job I was absolutely captured by it. I loved the flexibility of the schedule that came with it, I loved the nature of it and most importantly I loved the kids. Absolutely so! Unfortunately, in all actuality it was not meant to be.  For everything I loved about it, there were at least two things I strongly disliked. Now, I know many people have a job they despise with a boss who is heavily medicated for their “ass-hole-ness”, but this job, trained the life out of you completely.

You see, this job was perfect! My employer and I made a deal that whenever a gig came up that involved me modeling or acting I was able to take time ‘off’. Not only that, but I worked with kids my entire life, so spending time with them and getting paid was essentially an Oscar away from a dream. I loved these little kidlets.

I started working at the facility April 2010 and come fall 2010 I was promoted to Assistant Manager, now for some that may seem like quite an accomplishment, but with staff changing more than me changing in a day (PS I change at least three times a day), it wasn’t that much to look up to.

Regardless, I established a great relationship with the parents and an amazing relationship with the children. I’m telling you, these kids were absolutely the most innovative and hilarious kids I have ever worked with. I knew, one day I would leave the facility to pursue my ultimate goal of being an actor, but I didn’t realize how soon it would come, not only how soon, but how it wouldn’t be to pursue my dream, but pursue taking a stand and not putting up with anymore bullshit.

Bullshit of course coming from the management side. Now, let’s be just be clear here, if only for a moment. My employer, as a person was crazy and potentially bi-polar, however despite my diagnosis and I assure you I am no doctor, she was a pretty cool lass. She was an older lady, clinging to her youth in mock-up fashions and belated trends. Some may call her passionate; I call it off her meds. Now in a work place as you all know, things are professional and should not be personal. No matter how constructive I attempted to be she took my advice personally and no matter how cynical and personal she was with me in ‘advice-giving’ I did my best to take it professionally, but from time to time it was rather difficult.

I looked up to her in the way that a future committed to an asylum person would look up to her. But over the years the relationship became, tense and purely unrelenting. I would come home every night complaining about my boss, I would speak to co-workings complaining about my boss and they would do the same. In fact the facility was full of complaints from children, co-workers, school teachers and parents regarding my boss, but what could I do?

I in so many words approached my boss, using poetics to sugar coat how her behavior was, but she wasn’t getting it and simply danced around it more than I did. So I continued to allow her to make a fool of herself when I fool was needed, and often times when it was not needed. I guess in some selfish way it made me feel better about myself, especially, when parents and teachers would comment on her antics. Of course though, as I am a lady with an ego, I attempted yet again to let her know to simmer down, pop a pill and get laid, just so it didn’t look like I was working with someone from One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. This time not so poetic, and still she danced around.

So with a mentally unstable boss, she hired her kind, mentally unstable people. Not to worry, she did hire some golden ones, some perhaps with more competence than she. But for every golden staff there were two morons being hired. It was only a matter of time before the staff worth keeping was dropping like flies.

While all this was going on, not only was the boss of her rocker, but she completely broke it. She would say things, and not remember saying them, or tell me one thing and tell another staff something completely different. Not only that but, whenever she made a mistake, she took no ownership, passed it on to someone else. She led staff members with a leash and I was no dog. I was tired of her treating staff like plantation servants!

Alas, there is so much I can say, but just venting about this is sucking the life out of me. But allow me to finish here.

I was very loyal and honest to my employer. I was willing to learn and grow as a youth worker and person. But there was only so much I could take, before I was busting from the seams with fury. So long story short (and trust me this is the short version) I quit. I didn’t want to quit. I knew it was coming at some point, just a year earlier than expected.

I love those kids, absolutely so. And now that school is beginning my heart goes out to them and their parents. I wish them all the best and wish that I would have been able to say the good-bye, ‘see you later’ that I wanted too.

PS: Dear Friends, this venting has ended, now for more of my usual fucked up blogs!

Choosing a New Career Path

Today I have been brainstorming other possible employment choices.

Perhaps I can sponge automobiles.

Make strategy guides for video games.

Pick up people’s pockets.

Perform Polenastics.

Be inseminated by spermies.

Sell my farts in a sealable cup.

Become a super hero.

Create socks that never get lost in the dryer.

Become a professional pie taster.

Clip my toe nails and sell them at a lemonade stand.

Aide the elderly in road crossing.

Be an alarm clock.

Fish for crabs and no not the fishing kind.

Become a Jew.

Charge people for eye fucking.

Watch the world through binoculars.

Blow bottles to create boom booms.

Crop dust naughty bits.

Take pictures of hobos defecating in front of graffiti.

Take pictures of nuns in front of graffiti.

Model radiation suits.

Be an alter boy.

Alter boys.

I can be a dog walker and walks cats.

Donate/be paid to give my boyfriends body to science.

Invest in nipple counting.

A Proctologist

Certify myself in quarter flipping.

Uncork blow holes for whales.

Learn to Bible bump.

Take professional selfies.

Become a Ryan Seacrest impersonator.

Be paid to sniff belly buttons.

(To Be Continued)…

Sandy Sweet Dreams

A couple weeks ago I had the worst nightmare in the ENTIRE WORLD! Please let me exaggerate on this one.

In my dream, WAIT! HOLD ON! I got a beef to pick with Mr. Sandman here. Sandman or Sandy (as I call him), is supposed to make you fall into your sweet, sweet Slumber Land, giving you happy dreams of unicorns and Obi-wan Kenobi’s slaying Care Bears with his giant Jedi lightsaber. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED SANDY! Apparently, he decided to take a night off…meh who can blame the lazy fucker anyways

So with Sandy pushing my needs aside, my subconscious took over. (By the way subconscious-Fuck you, your drunk)

My Dream:

ImageThere is me, with a big belly. Like big enough to knock a mother fucker out. I’m wearing no make up. I’m in a hospital. My boyfriend is there. He tells me I am pregnant. I freak out, because I didn’t even know I was knocked up.Plus I’ve been killing it at the gym and now all those ass-kicking moments of me staring into the mirror while I lift my 2lbs of weights is wasted. Now,I got a big ass belly and an alien is just about to burst through my loins. (fuck you loins, fuck you baby alien).  I’m determined to go natural (fml). Nothing is making sense. Swiftly and without much pain, I release the beast from my gaping vagina. Pick up this kid which squirts blood all over my face. SHIT JUST GOT REAL! Then…..

I wake the fuck up!

No, shitheads, I’m not pregnant and I don’t plan on shitting out kids anytime in the near Imagefuture. But this so-called dream freaked me the fuck out. I wish I was officially afraid of the cock. I don’t need no seed implanting itself into my watering hole. However, I realize this cannot be so, as I need my daily dosage of my man’s cum gun. (Yasmin you’ve been good to me so far, don’t let there be a Mr. 1%).

I know I’m dramatic. But I’m an actor, what do you expect.

Anyways, whenever I have a dream and/or nightmare that sticks out in my mind, I have a tendency to dwell on the nightly visions until I look them up, either that or speak to my psychic Ima FulloShyt. So since it has been a couple weeks since this dream and Ima FulloShyt is out of town, I pulled out the old dream dictionary, (by pulled out, I mean I Googled)

***

Here are my findings:

If you dream you are pregnant it symbolizes:

You’re growing and developing. (Um no shit Sherlock, I’m on my way to menopausal.)

The birth of a new idea. (Yeah, I got some ideas, but I’m too retro for new ideas.)

If you dream of giving birth it symbolizes:

Fresh beginnings. (No matter how fresh beginnings are, they will never be as fresh as my farts or my vagina.)

Anticipation or anxiety when thinking about birth. (No really? I always thought giving birth would feel like 10 Asian oiling up my body for a shiatsu massage, plus the possibility of finally having a wide set vagina really makes me want to baby make like Easy Bake)

If you see a baby in your dream it symbolizes:

The pure, vulnerable and non-corrupt side of yourself. (Could I really be a virgin?)

***

ALRIGHT! Enough of this Dreamology crap.  From now on, I’ll be sleeping with a dream catcher under my pillow, blankets between my legs, and I’ll make sure to take a shot of some illegal knockyouthefuckout through a tranquilizer dart to fill my head with happy thoughts before I hit the bed. Either that or masturbate (nothing like a good workout before bed).