Wednesday, April 25, 2007

I'm very mad at vous

Remember back when I was all "Facebook is awesome and I love it and can't believe I waited so long to join"? Yeah. Me neither.

I mean, sure, some cool stuff has come of it. Like last week, I met up with an old friend from out of town, who I had lost touch with over some...unpleasantness, and we were able to patch everything up. I'll grant you, that was pretty damn fantastic. Aside from the whole 'beer-dipped phone' incident, of course.

However, as I mentioned before, due to Facebook, I also had to spend time with my ex, and that was slightly less pleasant than having my tongue beaten paper thin with a meat tenderizer. But I thought that was it, so I could deal with it, and consider it a small price to pay. Oh how I was wrong.

About a week ago, he sent me a friend request on Facebook, along with a message about how it was so nice to see me, how it had been far too long, and how perhaps it had been long enough for us to be friends.

And therein lies my problem.

I just don't know what to do.

On first blush, I wanted to delete it and go on blissfully ignoring him, but every time I go to do that, I can't. I log in for the express purpose of blowing the request away, and then I start thinking about it, and it occurs to me that I should be able to get over everything and be his friend, even if it is only in a "anyone I have ever known should be counted as my friend" way that online communities breed. Did I say no to someone I talked to occasionally through high school? No. Did I say no to a guy I only hung out with in groups a few times more than a decade ago? No. So why can't I just say yes and leave it at that? Am I that broken? Do I need to hold a grudge that badly? Sure, things ended terribly (understatement alert!) but this was someone I held dear for a long time, a mostly good time. Do I need to count the whole relationship as a black stain on my life?

Ugh. I had no idea this whole thing was going to be so damn complicated.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

A Dear John letter

Dear John McCain,

Remember how I used to say that I loved you? Turns out I was wrong.

We've drifted apart over the last few months, what with you turning into an insane, far-right-wing hack and all, but tonight's performance on The Daily Show was the last straw. You were asked a question was about prolonging the terms of American troops in Iraq, and you managed to ramble on about how the troops think the war is a good thing, and refused to acknowledge the question, despite it being asked more than once.

I hate you just as much as I hate Rumsfeld, Cheney, or any other Republican heel who can't think beyond your party's talking points.

Don't ever call me again.

How not to write the subject line of an email

If you are sending an email from the online college application system to one of the applicants a few days before the deadline for accepting offers from schools as a reminder to fill out a survey about how awesome the system is, don't put "College Applicant Final Reminder" in the subject line. It may cause the reader to freak out and think that they didn't manage to accept the offer they thought they had over a month ago, and worry that they don't know how to use a computer.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Once upon a time... a land not so far away, a young woman was very sad. She needed to get a new phone, as hers had decided to go for a swim in a pint of Steamwhistle, and was no longer functioning in the way a phone should. So, she put on her most sensible shoes, and headed off to find a Bell Service Centre.

After a long walk down Bloor Street, she reached her destination. She took a deep breath, and entered the store. Once inside, she found herself confronted with two sales clerks. Not knowing which one to pick, she smiled at them both, and chose the one that smiled back. She explained the trials which she had been through, having been without a phone for almost a day, though she glossed over how exactly the phone had come to cease working.

The helpful sales clerk was very sympathetic. He took the phone from the woman and inspected it, to see if he could discern the problem. He turned it around in his hands, opened it up, turned it off and on, and then opened the back of the phone to see the battery.

And with the removal of the back of the case, there was an overwhelming aroma of beer. It swirled around the clerk and our heroine, and she hung her head as the clerk spoke the words she knew she would have to hear:

"That's beer. The warranty doesn't cover beer."

So she reluctantly fished into her purse for her wallet, and paid for an identical version of the broken, beer-logged phone she had bought only months ago. And she left the store not long after, a few hundred dollars poorer.

The moral? Never let friends hold my phone over a full pint. Wait, I mean, 'one's phone'. Because that totally never happened to me.

Friday, April 20, 2007

My luck sucks rocks

I was out last night with some old friends (and totally didn't get my phone dunked in a pint, despite what you may have heard) and along with lots of laughing and reminiscing, there were far too many shots consumed.

So today I'm feeling like death warmed over. All I want is to have a nice warm shower to wash away the grogginess and turn me back into a human being.

I stumble to the shower, turn it on, and nothing comes out. I spend a minute or so just looking at the tap. Then it dawns on me that I saw a notice yesterday, something about needing to work on the water system today and how our water will be off from 8:30 till 5. There will be no shower for Mabel today.

If anyone needs me, I'll be collapsed on the couch.

Dear Bell Service Centre:

Your warranty on phones covers them accidentally being dropped in a pint of beer, right?

Not that that's why I'm bringing my phone in. I'm just curious.


Thursday, April 19, 2007


I'm in the crustiest mood. I don't know why, but everything is pissing me off to no end. I'm supposed to go to dinner with some friends, and when they informed me I'm supposed to pick the place, I got irrationally angry. I'm ignoring the messgage for now. On top of my usual "bad mood" tactics of yelling at the tv or radio, and stomping around like a four year old, I actually burst into tears.

And no, I'm not PMSing. I'm just super prickly. I'm really quite the charming catch.

Saturday, April 14, 2007


Oh Facebook, what hath thou wrought?

So, we have established that I gave in to Facebook and found lots of good stuff on it. And for a while, things were hunky dory. But now, I think we're having our first fight.

Let me start from the beginning.

A while ago, Stormy created a group in Facebook, in order to rope one of our friends into joining. Again, as I keep telling you, peer pressure is awesome and you should always give into it! Anyhow, we decided that this group for people who knew our friend, the Admiral, would be open to everyone, in case some of his friends that we didn't know wanted to join. And it worked, on both counts. Our friend joined, and a number of other people found the group and joined it too. This includes ex-boyfriends. Then Stormy decided that we should have an event for the Admiral, and sent out an invite to the group.

You can probably see where this is going.

Last night was the event. We met up at a bar we all used to spend far too much time in when we were much younger, but it was too packed, so we left and went to another bar close by, but not one we frequented together. We left messages for people we knew were coming but weren't there yet, to let them know we'd changed locations. But we didn't tell everyone. So imagine our surprise when around the corner walks someone we didn't leave a message for. My ex.

I tell you, my stomach dropped out when I saw him. I thought I was going to be sick.

Now, I understand that some people can be friends after breakups and all that. But ours wasn't what you would call a 'amicable split'. It ended terribly. We were together for about 2 years, and it took me at least that long to get over the pain and deal with the issues. I'm back on solid ground now, but seeing him walk into the room, even now, 6 years after the fact, and it was like a punch to the gut, ripping off the band aid. Choose any metaphor you'd like. It was that and worse.

I did the only thing I could do. I ran to the bar.

After the initial sucker punch of panic, and a couple of gin and tonics, I was hit with the double edged sword of pity and regret.

The pity, I was expecting. I've heard things about him since our split, and the years haven't been kind to him. After we broke up, he slid down the path to crazyville. Instead of the cute young thing he was while we were together, he became a mirror image of Grizzly Adams. He had some dealings with the law. He became deluded about his own abilities, and downright mean about the abilities of others. He tried to rope friends into shady dealings. It got to the point that I wanted to deny we had ever dated.

The regret, on the other hand, was a total shock. I sat there, trying not to look at him, yet unable to pull my eyes away. I kept wondering how it had all gone so wrong, and how he could have hurt me like that (side note: Guys, don't ever, EVER, tell your girlfriend you really want to sleep with one of her best friends. Just don't.) and how the sweet, caring man I fell in love with had turned into something I barely recognized.

There was only one thing to do. Drink more.

After a number of additional drinks, I realized that I was going to have to be the bigger person, and go talk to him. This would not only make me feel better, by being the adult in the situation, but would help me get over all the squishiness inside me. So I moved over, and eventually, got him to talk. He asked if I was still working for the same company, and when I told him about my lack of a job and my scholastic plans, he remembered that I had always been interested in that field. We talked a bit about what I was doing, where I was living, and he was actually kind of sweet. I caught a glimpse of the man I had at one point thought I'd marry. It wasn't a long conversation, as he had plans to head on to another event, and that was probably a good thing. I learned last night that I haven't quite dealt with everything as well as I thought I did.

Long story not so short? We're thinking of changing the group to 'by invite only'. And Facebook? Please, if you want us to continue being friends, don't bring back any other past loves. I don't think I can take it.

Thursday, April 12, 2007


For ages, I've been walking around, telling everyone and anyone who will listen that what Gatorade should do is make Gatorade in a flavour I can handle in the morning, because the regular stuff just doesn't work for me in the morning. And now, wonder of wonders, I see they've finally done it. I just saw a commercial announcing that Gatorade now has Gatorade AM, which comes in "flavors developed to appeal to you in the morning".

Pardon my Latvian, but what the hell are flavours that appeal to me in the morning? And how are they different from flavours that appeal to me at midday or in the evening, or even in the middle of the night? The commercial wasn't forthcoming with the details, so I'm going to assume that AM flavour is extra strong coffee that can peel paint off the walls. Either that, or toothpaste.

It's tax time!

No, this isn't a gentle reminder to file your return, although you should do that. PSA over.

I just saw a news piece on ABC complaining about illegal immigrants in the US. The gist of the piece was that the IRS doesn't turn over information to immigration from illegals who file tax returns, and how this is a terrible thing, because it may be counteracting all the work of the border patrol to get rid of those horrible leeches (which really America, don't you see how insane you are with this 'we need to build a wall around us to keep undesirables out' plan? Look in the mirror, and you'll see China. Or East and West Germany. Doesn't that make you think twice?) Contrary to what I would have thought, apparently there are a number of illegals who pay taxes every year, despite not having any of the other perks or responsibilities of citizenship.

They interviewed one man who had been a bank manager in Peru, but was now illegally in the US and was working as a painter. When they asked him why he paid taxes, he said "Because I make money in this country and I want to give back to it." I can see why you wouldn't want a slacker like that in your country. As opposed to someone like Wesley Snipes, who has made millions of dollars, on top of all the other perks of being a celebrity and yet doesn't feel he should have to pay taxes at all.

I try and I try America, but I just can't figure you out.

Best. Headline. Ever.

From the Toronto Star today:

"Wonder twin powers activate Canucks in OT"

Was it in the form of steam? The article doesn't say.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007


I'm not a doctor, and except for on those long lost tapes of a third rate soap opera, have not played one on tv. But shouldn't extra strength Advil liqui-gels - you know, the ones they tell you to only take one of every four hours, due to the complete awesomeness of their painkiller ability? Yeah those ones - shouldn't they actually take the pain away in less than three hours? Or am I missing something? Because if they are so strong and amazing in their pain-killing skills, I would think they'd work, um, quicker.

In a completely unrelated story, do you think that popping 6 of those liqui-gels in 5 hours will cause permanent damage to one's insides? No reason, I'm just curious.

Sunday, April 8, 2007

Fine, have it your way

New Jersey? You're dead to me.

I'm asking nicely...

So it has come to this.

Last day of the regular season, and the last playoff spot is ours, but we need a little help to hold on to it. Come on New Jersey, help a girl out. You owe us after the Kaberle incident. Beat the Islanders today and we'll call it even.

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

I'm an idiot: update

So last night, I pick up my mail, and sure enough, among the bills and flyers for fast food, there is a folded up piece of paper, sealed with staples and with my name and the words "USB drive" emblazoned on it, with my USB key inside.

Thanks a million. I can only hope that if you need it, someone is as nice to you as you were to me.

Monday, April 2, 2007

I'm an idiot

I know, I know. This isn't exactly shocking news, but I just had it confirmed yet again.

I just got an email from a name I didn't know, and was about to delete it as spam, when I read the subject "USB Drive" and I thought, "hmmm that isn't sexual enough to be spam", and then I felt my stomach drop, wondering if indeed it was about my USB key. So, after psyching myself up, I went to check my keychain, just to convince myself I still had it. But sure enough, my USB key was missing. After calling myself a bunch of names, mostly unprintable, I opened the email, and lo and behold, it wasn't spam. It was from some nice man who found a USB key in the lobby of my apartment building. He doesn't live in my building, so he took it home, opened the files, found my email and has offered to bring it by to my place today.

While this does restore my faith in humanity - because, seriously, how easy would it have been to wipe out the files and keep it for himself? Which reminds me, you sir? Are awesome. - it doesn't show me in a good light. I have all sorts of personal information on that USB key. No, not just music that I tell other people I don't like, but I really do, but actual important stuff. Like copies of applications I've sent in for jobs. In the email, he says he found it Saturday. How many times have I used my keys since then? Tonnes. And did I notice anything was missing? Of course not. You know the saying "I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached to my body"? Well, in my case, it isn't hyperbole.

I really am an idiot.

Robert Smith, have you lost your mind?

Please, oh please tell me that this is a belated April Fools joke:

If it isn't, you will find me sitting in my bathtub, bashing my head repeatedly into the wall, downing copious amounts of booze in the hopes of obliterating this knowledge from brain by way of killing the brain cells that contain this horrible data.

Sunday, April 1, 2007


I would like to correct the following error:

Facebook, contrary to what I've said in the past, you aren't the tool of the devil. You aren't just a stupid waste of time. I reluctantly signed up for you, due to peer pressure (which is totally great! You should do anything your friends want you to), and expected to loathe you, much like I do other sites. But I was wrong. You've allowed me to get back in touch with people from my past. Going down memory lane is great fun, and that alone might be worth it.

But more importantly, you've allowed me to breach old rifts, allowed me to reach across the years and the hurt and the misunderstandings, and bring old and dear friends back into my life.

And for that, I thank you. You have my undying gratitude.