Sunday, December 28, 2014

Week 52 of 52: Harley's in the living room

You know when you are out on a date with a really smoking hot dude (or dude woman equivalent) and the conversation has that beautiful ebb and flow to it. You know the type of conversation where you are both on the same page about everything, from your stance on ethnic profiling to your views on dogs whose owners put them in sweaters. It's like you have found your soul mate but you don't dare say that shit out loud because that's fucking crazy, seeing as you just met this person 3 hours ago.

Finding myself in a similar situation, me and smoking hot dude (SHD) find that we have shut down the coffee shop we were on our "date" at. What does one do when their amazingly awesome conversation abruptly ends (because someone lost track of time) and yet you don't want the conversation to end goddamnit! You suggest somewhere else of course.

And sure maybe a less adventurous type would suggest another coffee shop or bar or somewhere public where the chances of you being abducted, raped, mutilated and having your dead body dumped in a ditch somewhere are slightly lowered. But that's not me, no I like adventure, I like to stare danger in the face and say fuck you! So I say:

A: Well I would invite you back to my place but it is kind of a mess (if a fight for my life does occur I would rather it happen at his place as blood is so hard to get out of the carpets!)

SHD: We can go back to my place it's just around the corner?

Score! Dude is local, this means when I run screaming from the building in terror I can run home instead of having to flag down a car, putting myself at further risk for abduction. It's true! The probability of you being abducted again, after surviving the first abduction, increases by 75%! It moves up to almost 90% for the third! And 9 out of 10 of those second abductions happen after you are picked up in a car that you flagged down to help you. True story and no I'm not basing my statistics on all the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies!

So we head back to SHD's place. We are kind of just hanging out in the kitchen talking some more, and maybe it is all the coffee I drank but I feel like I'm getting a good vibe from this guy. I don't think he is going to kill me, but instead I think he is going to make out with me. Oh but wait. He wants to make us a drink first. Someone needs to tell this guy he is a 0! I need 0 drinks to make out with him. But wait a minute, what does that make me? A 1??!! or a dreaded 2!! WTF! I thought we had something here.

So while I'm busy reading into things, he says I can go into the living room. Good idea! Getting away from him will certainly help clear my head. And that's when I see it:



 There's a fucking Harley in his living room. I just stand there in shock, actually I took a quick pic with my iPhone and tweeted about it first and then I was in a state of shock. So I say:

A: Harley's in the living room. Just in case you were looking for it...

But SHD doesn't answer me because he is in the kichen still making some crazy ass cocktail that apparently takes over 5 minutes to make! Either he is a fucking shitty bartender or he is going to roofie me. Someone needs to tell him that he does not need to drug me to have sex with him...well actually, that was before the Harley in the living room. Now I'm just not sure. He may have to roofie me after all.

Finally SHD enters the living room and hands me my drink. I look at the Harley and back and him, waiting for an explanation. 

SHD: (raises his glass to mine) Cheers.

Cheers?! Are you fucking kidding me?! There is a fucking Harley in the living room!? Why won't he acknowledge the fucking Harley in the living room?!

Perturbed by his total lack of regard for the Harley in the room, I look down at my drink, it's green. I don't think I can drink a green drink unless...

A: Did you put kale in here? (He has the opportunity to redeem himself, from not acknowledging the Harley in the living room)

SHD: Kale? No. What's kale? Is that like the new spinach? (And he fucked that up.)

Naturally, I drop my drink, getting the unearthly green liquid all over his hardwood floors. 

A: OMG! I'm sorry. It must have slipped. (Yeah i'm not going to drink your non-kale green drink you fucking rapist!)

SHD: No worries.

A: I need to use your washroom.

So I excuse myself, leaving him to clean up his rapist tincture off the floor. I take a deep breath to calm myself. How can he not know what kale is?! And what is making that drink green if it isn't kale?! And why does he have a Harley in the living room!!??

Fuck this. I know myself I won't calm down until I have answers. So I start going through his medicine cabinet looking for clues. Perhaps he is a sociopath? Still that doesn't explain his complete ignorance regarding kale. After perusing the pharmaceuticals, I find nothing alarming (read: nothing that I've been prescribed before at some point in my life). I do find a box of condoms (3 condoms left), some floss and a glass full of dirty toothpicks. How do I know the toothpicks aren't clean? Because I can see the blood and bits of food on them, that's how! Weird but not sociopath behaviour...still doesn't explain the Harley. I examine the box of condoms again. Value pack! and they aren't even close to expiry!! Obviously this guy has a lot of sex, like a lot of it. Do you know how many condoms are in those value packs?! Like 50 if you buy them from Costco.  Ugh

Well I've lost interest in SHD by this point. But how to get out of here without it being awkward...I know!

I force myself to vomit into the toilet, which is pretty easy for me to do thanks to that one year in high school where I tried being bulimic. Of course he knocks at the door to ask if I'm ok. I moan in agony, it must have been something I ate! We can thank my many years of theater for that performance.

Before I leave the bathroom I put on the finishing touches, tousle my hair in a non-sexy way but more a "I just spent the last 20 minutes vomiting in your toilet" way. How do you do that? Easy! Grab a bit of your chunky puke and put it in your hair. Now do a forward fold and get all the blood to run to the top of your head.

Exit bathroom clutching your stomach and make sure to moan. The more dramatic the better.

Why does this work? Because no one wants to have sex with a person who has food poisoning and has vomited all over the place. Well, unless they are a sociopath...in that case you are pretty fucked!

Thankfully SHD was not a sociopath and I will get to ring in 2015 alive and well.



Saturday, December 20, 2014

Week 51 of 52: I swear my bitch face means I like you!

Some days I think of the world and all the people in it (7 billion!!) and i marvel at how that came to be. I mean clearly there are a lot of dudes out there successfully shooting their loads into girl's vaginas and getting them pregnant. And no this is not a blog post about how many people are having unprotected sex, or how many women in the world do not have access to safe abortions, or how many women are being raped blah blah. NO this is about me and how I'm not having sex at all. I just want to know how these people are hooking up in the first place.

And no this is NOT about how I want to get pregnant so calm the fuck down not every woman out there with a uterus wants to reproduce!

Ok rant done.

Now back to me and my complete inability to hook up. Actually, fuck that, it's really more my complete inability to talk* to a guy that is interested in me and proceed to the first stage of "going on a date".

* Talk is defined as me having an intelligible conversation with some semblance of a normal  trajectory so the dude can follow and actually get to the part where we decide to hang, instead of him walking away thinking "WTF was she talking about?"

Alright, I was just asked a very important question. How do I know they are interested?

Yeah, well I don't. Sure it is pretty safe to say that everyone is interested in fucking me but dating me...yeah, that is not so easy to decipher. And according to Google there are some varying opinions on the matter. So I could get into that here or you could just assume, like me, there is always the potential for dating until proven otherwise.

Wow! This is sure fucking tangenty, this is a good example of what "talk" is not (see * above, if you are totally lost).

Ok. Here we go. I am almost certain that the signals I'm giving off are not being interpreted as "hey, Andrea seems interested". Yup, pretty sure that is not happening. And here are the top three examples of how I'm making things not happen in the dating department:

#1 - striking up a conversation with someone that the only reference point is a thought in your head. Yes, it's important to introduce the topic before diving into said conversation with your crush. OR you can take the naively optimistic approach and think "it makes for a memorable first impression!?" Ok, maybe not, but it does shed light on the fact that I'm awkward and if that is really going to be an issue for the guy I like then it probably isn't going to work out for us.

#2 - cockblocking yourself by looking like a cold ass bitch! yeah, i have a tendency to get nervous around guys I like and my defence mechanism is to get all stonefaced bitch like...because looking like a bitch really brings all the guy's to the yard. I'm working on not defaulting to bitch mode, I swear, but when I walk into the gym to see my personal trainer and all the hot male trainers and client men turn and check me out as I walk the length of the gym to the locker room...dude! That's fucking awkward! I get I look like a supermodel and am used to walking catwalks during New York fashion week...wait a minute, no that's not me at all! But very flattering for you to think of me though.

#3 - telling the guy you like that you can't date right now. And not saying it once to him but several times on various occasions...yes, I do stupid shit like that. Although in my defense I couldn't date (see blog post - And that's why I'm single - part 3) but that doesn't really give the impression that I'm interested in him either.

Clearly there is work to be done. It feels like a lot of work actually. Maybe I will just ask you out next time I see you. Seems easier that way. And frankly way less effort than me working on being "normal".

WTF is Andrea talking about?!
 

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Week 50 of 52: Drive-thrus, dumps and trail racing

--> I know you are wondering what’s the deal with this week’s blog post title? And I will tell you just as I told Chris the other day as he drove us to a trail race.

A: Drive-thrus, dumps and trail racing – this will be the name of our reality show!

Let’s back up a bit and let me preface this post with an Andrea factoid: When I’m nervous I use humour. You can easily tell how nervous I am by how sick and twisted my jokes become.

The idea for this reality show was my brain’s desperate attempt to distract it from worrying about the upcoming trail race. The race that was about to happen in approximately 1 hr and 15 minutes.  And it doesn’t matter that it was just to be run for fun because I was fucking exhausted from starting a new strength building routine that week and doing 45 minutes worth of tabatas the day before. Not exactly taking it easy before arguably what is considered one of the most challenging races in the region. Yeah, I was fucked and my brain knew it.

What’s the show about? Well let me tell you, as I told Chris on that ominous Saturday morning.

A: The basic premise will be me and you driving through various drive thrus and having you order a chicken sandwich and a bowel movement. And craziness ensues.

Naturally, Chris was a tad baffled. As I imagine so are you.

C: Why would anyone watch that?

To Chris, this is the craziest shit he has heard this morning. After all, he is hanging out with me, things have a high probably of getting crazier. But to me, this all seems pretty logical, a natural progression of the day’s events thus far. But of course I’m ADHD, so what is logic to me is not always making sense to anyone else.

That being said, I swear there is logic to this idea and here it goes. This is what happened today: Chris picked me up, he started talking about wanting to eat chicken, and started joking that we should pick up a 20-piece tub of fried chicken as pre-race fuel.

Of course, I’m nervous, and pretty sure I have not had enough fuel for this race and on top of all that I find Chris’ talk of chicken absolutely revolting. So naturally, I turn the conversation to something I think Chris will find disgusting, which may prove to be challenging since eating greasy fried chicken is not considered disgusting (he is British after all). 

I start talking about how I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to have another bowel movement before the race starts. Me talking about bowel movements is not shocking in terms of the topic, seeing as I talk about my bowel movements ALL THE TIME. But it is when I get descriptive with them, that is the line you don’t want me to cross.

And I don’t cross that line, not this time. Because Chris takes it to a whole different level by suggesting that maybe some greasy chicken would help get things moving.

C: Want me to pull into that drive thru (points at fast food joint that specializes in “chicken” products) and we can order you a chicken sandwich and a bowel movement.

So now we see that the concept for the show really comes from Chris. Although, in his defense he wasn’t thinking reality show he was thinking of clever ways to annoy me. And he was on a roll. And he is in hysterics and really can’t stop laughing at how great and funny he is.

Naturally, I can’t have any of that. And that’s when it hits me! Yes, this could be a reality show. Time to shut the laughter down Chris!

C: Why would anyone watch that?

And now we have come full circle. Feel in the loop now? Good.

A: everyone would watch it. It would be on MTV.

C: Why MTV? They play garbage all the time.

A: exactly! Given their history of television productions, they are the most likely to air this crazy ass shit.

Chris is dubious. And I will note that he is no longer laughing.

A: It will be like Tom Green.

Now Chris is angry. Apparently Chris doesn’t think Tom Green is funny at all. Now this baffles me. Actually not really, after all, Tom Green is Canadian, and Canadians are well known for their off kilter sense of humour. Chris is not Canadian, he is British. So he doesn’t quite understand the humour of us witty Canadians.

Which I further illustrate to him through this hilarious story from my early days as an angst filled teenager hanging out in the blue collar neighborhoods of Hamilton. Basically my story shows how Canadians are so funny and Chris has no sense of humour.

Begin Andrea soliloquy:

So, I had this bf who really sucked at cooking. He was having his buddies over for a BBQ and he tried to make a bunch of hotdogs and ended up burning them all. There ended up being about 20 shriveled little black hard as rock wieners which he was going to throw out. But I had a better idea. As my bf ran to the store to get some edible food before anyone showed up, I decided to decorate the tree outside by the BBQ. I ended up stringing up all the burnt wieners to the tree branches with floss. I wanted the tree to look like it had burnt wieners floating around it. Kind of like some strange art installation which would be the center piece of this BBQ. I thought this was the best idea ever! Mostly because I came up with it and it is fucking hilarious and more so because it would be so funny to see the guests faces as they arrived. Nothing beats the shock and looks of horrors that burnt wiener tree received that day. Priceless.

When I’m done with my proof that Chris has no sense of humour, I’m crying from laughing so hard and Chris is so quiet, I have to check that he is still driving the car. And I find Chris staring at me with that same look of horror my bf’s friends did that lovely summer day where wieners floated around trees.

C: Dude that’s not funny. Why is that funny?

A: Actually Chris, I think what you meant to say was how is that not funny?!

Chris shakes his head in disbelief and I believe he says something about me not making any sense (hard to tell with his accent). But I’m convinced that the drive thru dump show would be an instant hit.

A: You know what would make it better Chris? Adding trail racing to it!

Now I know Chris says something but I really can’t make it out because of the accent (he really should come with subtitles).

A: Dude, picture it. How funny would it be to see us vomiting in the woods during a trail race because we ate fried chicken right before? So funny, right?! Plus by adding trail running we are hitting all the demographics!

I feel like Chris finally gets why this reality show would be funny and/or profitable, because he’s not disputing any of this anymore and kind of looks like he is pondering the idea in his head. Either that or he is hoping if he doesn’t engage with me anymore maybe I will drop the topic. The same tactic one takes when they come across a black bear in the woods. Do not engage back slowly away and it will leave you alone.

Unfortunately for Chris I’m not a black bear and I keep talking about it for the remainder of the ride, which to Chris no doubt felt endless. Because let’s face it, when I get an idea in my head, I just won’t let it go. I’m like the starving lion who hasn’t eaten in days and then finally comes across a young gazelle who isn’t fast enough to out run me and I just obliterate the shit out of it.

Chris knows, that I will be sucking the bone marrow out of this idea. And I’m not 100% sure but this truth may have gave him the extra push to pass me during the race. Because he knew if he passed me, he would be getting a break from the madness that is my creative genius.

So before he ran out of ear shot, I made sure to yell after him:

A: The show will be like Kenny vs. Spenny! It will be awesome!

And Chris was gone. He did quite well on that race. No doubt, he will thank me later.


Sunday, December 7, 2014

Week 49 of 52: For those who wonder...my funeral

-->
A few days ago, my sister and I had the pleasure of speaking with one another on the phone. We haven’t talked in awhile so it was nice to catch up. And as we were wrapping up the phone call, I happened to say:

A: So, just so you know, you will be in charge of my funeral arrangements when I die.

S: What?! (fair enough, she was a little surprised by the trajectory the conversation just took, I mean who ends a phone call like that?!)

A: yeah, in my will, I leave it to “however you see fit”.

S: so what am I supposed to do?
Funeral - Hunter S. Thompson Style

A: I don’t know, I will be dead, so do whatever you think is appropriate given the situation.

S: so like if I wanted to cremate you and shoot your ashes out of a cannon, that would be ok?

A: Well first, I’m dead so I don’t care what you do really. And second, it’s a great idea if you think that is what the people want to see at my funeral.

S: what people?

A: you know, people. The people who will attend or want to attend...if there is a lot of them you may want to televise it. Or, I don’t know, maybe you will feel that it is appropriate to chop off my head, place it in a jar of formaldehyde and parade my head from town to town across the country just so everyone can feel like they got to attend my funeral.

S: ok…so you want your head on display in each town.

A: well yeah, think of it like a book tour but with my head in place of the book. You could do a speech at each town, maybe even a reading from my blog. I don’t know man, it is whatever you consider appropriate given the situation at the time of my death.

Selfie at a funeral
S: ok…but your head is in a jar…I just can’t imagine a situation where that is appropriate.

A: look I don’t know, I’m just saying you could do that if you wanted to is all. I’m not saying you have to do it. I’m basically telling you that you have options.

The conversation ended at this point, likely due to my sister being in hysterics or a faulty overseas facetime connection. Not sure which, maybe both. But this is what I do know, if Paulo gets involved in my funeral preparations it won’t resemble a book tour, it will be a reincarnation of the Jim Rose Circus but on crystal meth (or whatever psychedelic drug is popular when I’m dead and gone). I shudder to think of the madness that would unfold on that somber day and I’m relieved I will be dead and not have to experience any of it.



Saturday, November 29, 2014

Week 48 of 52:That's right, nothing is sacred, even your private journal.

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Andrea is really great, I like spending time with her.” – Paulo

Seriously, you are still upset about this...sigh
It’s true, Paulo actually said this. Well, actually he wrote this, in his private journal the day after we met. The entry was dated August 31, 2002. Paulo has known me a whole year longer than I have graced the West Coast with my presence.

Not only does this quote highlight how great I am (which coming from Paulo is like actually putting me at god level), this also highlights the fact that I go through my friend’s journals looking for references of myself. It’s true. If you have a journal and I have come across it, you can be assured that I have gone through it.

But before you get all upset and shit with me about how I’m invading your privacy blah blah, let me explain 2 things that really show how this is your fault:

I spent 3 hrs reading this crap for nothing!
1. Anything you have to say about me really should be said to my face. It is a much better use of my time than having me read through your boring writing scanning for my name. Just take a note from Paulo. He keeps his journals in electronic format, so all I need to do is use the search function to find my name, super easy! It’s opportunity cost really, by now I could have solved whatever issue the middle east is having this week instead I was stuck reading your journal. So stop being so selfish and depriving the rest of the world from my greatness and just tell me how great I am already.

2. I don’t retain any of your writing unless it relates to me. So you sleeping with your cowboy cousin (who looks like a young slightly stoned looking Paul Newman) in his trailer at the last annual family reunion you attended (and you weren’t even drinking!!), yeah, I don’t really care about that stuff. Sure it can be kind of funny when I read it the first time, like how your cousin fucked you on his kitchen counter which was so sticky (because he never cleans!!) your underwear got stuck to the counter and you had to rip it to get off the counter. And then you spent the rest of the night wearing half ripped underwear stuck to your ass and wondering what was that sticky stuff on the counter anyways. Yeah, it’s funny. But really where am I in all of this? That’s right this isn’t about me, this is your journal after all. So why do I care about you and your sex capades with your cowboy-trailer-park-living-Paul-Newman-looking cousin? Oh right, I don’t.
Yes, your cousin is hot, but I still wouldn't have fucked him.

So what we can get from this post is very simple: 

1. There is a high probability that some tribe of lumbersexuals out there considers me their god. And,

2. You really need to calm the fuck down and stop being angry with me that I read your boring ass journal that barely even mentioned me. I wouldn’t have to go looking for compliments in your private writings if you just told me how awesome I am all the time, like every day. So really, this is your fault. As it always is because god can never be wrong.