Friday, 30 March 2012

The Friday Series...and: Street Criticisms!

Hello hello!

Welcome to Friday March 30th, the day when Rick Santorum was (finally) caught on camera calling Obama an n-word. Yup. What a disgusting excuse for a human being:

Wow. America, please stop supporting this waste of skin.

In other news, I went out for lunch yesterday around 3pm. I was feeling hungry, but not ravenous, and since it was so late I knew I'd be having dinner soon. I thought to myself, "Maybe a coffee and a muffin would be a good choice instead of a full meal..." But I wasn't really feeling the muffins in the shop. Then I noticed they had yogurts, and a few fruit salads, so I looked at the options for a few minutes, but $4 for a yogurt is a bit too rich for my blood. Then I noticed a selection of sandwiches, browsed those, but wasn't grabbed by any in particular. So I decided I'd just grab a coffee.

At this point the 30-something gentleman in front of me turned around...

"Uh, hey."


"I saw you were looking at the salads, and uh, then you were looking at the sandwiches..."

"Uhhh, yea...I was."

"You should, uh, stick with salad."

Thank you, Random Guy, for making me feel like a hambeast. Please go home and eat butter...while crying.

This is here because I'm amazed I can illustrate my insult! :D

Now that my ego has been appropriately crushed...THE FRIDAY SERIES pt 4!!!!!:

(Incidentally, I think that was the best bad poem I have ever written...good job me!) ^_^

Wednesday, 28 March 2012

Oh god...Did I Miss My Peak?!!!

I'm 26. Turning 27...soon-ish.

This girl is funny:

She is a successful tv comedy writer, stand up comic, and has over 1.5 million YouTube hits.

...and she's 2 years younger than me. oh god Here is her bio:
Rachel Bloom is a comedian based in Los Angeles. She currently writes for the Adult Swim show “Robot Chicken” and is developing a musical television pilot for Fox Studios. Rachel specializes in the combination of music and comedy, creating comedic music videos for the internet as well as performing live shows around the Los Angeles area. She wrote and performed two musical sketch shows at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theaters on both coasts: “Rachel Bloom is a Triple Threat!!!” and “Sing Out, Louise!” Her 2010 music video “Fuck Me, Ray Bradbury” was a viral sensation and nominated for a Hugo Science Fiction Award. Her music videos have been featured on FunnyorDie, Huffingtonpost, Buzzfeed and Wired, among others. She was also a writer for the Fox animated show “Allen Gregory.”

Now, usually when I see funny things by successful people I think "Oh cool, I can totally be doing that when I'm their age!"...This is not one of those times. This is one of those "OH GOD. Did I miss my peak?! What am I doing with my life?! OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD" times.

Folks, I've got a blog, I've got a personal website (see what I did there?)...I'm ballin' pretty hard, I know. But...what if I've peaked?

Obviously illin' like a villain.

The worry is, peaking isn't the kind of thing you'd notice...on the way up everything's coming up Milhouse, at the peak you're too busy peaking, and on the long, steady decline you're so out of touch you can't recognize failure anymore...thus the aforementioned long, steady decline...

 For years I felt like there would be no peak in my own coolness graph... like it was (to quote Morrissey) "I'm balancing life's riches against the ditches and the flat grey years in between..." ...Then I turned 17, purchased Proactiv, and realized that not being part of the in-crowd was kind of ok...because all those popular kids had was friends, money, and happiness. I mean, who needs that? Not me. Nope. I'm fine. Just doing great...over myself. Yup.


Then Mark Zuckberg birthed his Facebook baby, and that gave me such hope, because I was finally cooler than the cool kids... It provided photographic evidence that all those "cool kids" from grade school peaked at age 12 (this is really really not the ideal age at which to tap leaves so many decades of middling blah before you are finally allowed to die...). Stealing my pogs in 1994 = cool. Living at home with an impressive collection of shitty tattoos at 26 = you've peaked.

(On a sidenote, Zack is actually a really nice guy...but I think Scut would not have fared well in life...)
In the clear for a peak in the long past...but what about the recent past?!! If I have peaked, (for the record, I'm saying I haven't...BUT, IF...) what do I have to show for it?


I've traveled a bit, I married a pretty cool dude, and I've got some sweet cats...I'm also lvl 55 in Skyrim (this may be part of my problem)... Peaking now, or even worse, having peaked in high school would be a pretty bad situation... Witness exhibit grade 11:

Hai guysh!
I'm teh coolesht!

Nobody wants to have to look at this period in life and think "Fuck yea, I owned high school..."

So how does one fight stagnation and refuse to settle? I try and write something everyday, not all of it is great...but I think can say that most of it is, amiright? (oh god please say I'm right...) And I set goals for myself that I strive for everyday...some more achievable than this point I'm pretty close to concluding that I will not be an astronaut...fuck ah well.

See, you've got to look at the big picture, and not get bogged down in the random ups and downs of everyday life. So what if your 23 year old co-worker just won at Roll Up the Rim? You NEED to look at the overall trend, Claire. YOU ARE NOT A LOSER, OK? THAT TEA YOU CHOKED DOWN JUST WASN'T THE RIGHT ONE!

Breathe dude...breathe. You're gonna win that car, just one more cup of shitty tea from Tim Hortons. The next one will be good, ok? Ok.

So, Rachel Bloom, I want you to know that I stand and applaud you for your well-deserved successes. You serve as an inspiration to me, as to what I can achieve if I work hard, and am really really ridiculously good looking

But if you sleep with Ray Bradbury, I will cut you.

...Step off biatch. 

Monday, 26 March 2012

Guilty. I Know that Feel, Bro.

Having a fish tank in an exercise in guilt.

First you shell out (what in retrospect) is far too much money for the tank, filter & pump, and decorations. Then you go out and buy some overpriced fish, and feel guilty about spending so much on what amounts to mindless swimming protein.

...but then your tank looks like this, and feel guilty about not having enough plants, so you go out and buy overpriced plants to make your fish-prison less overtly cruel.

Professor Puffington, and Secretary Joan.

So, now you have your pretty plants, and pretty tank, and pretty fish, and you are guilted into buying the expensive live food option...meaning, you now have a cup of blood worms in your fridge. Your husband's constant look of disgust and disapproval fills you with a cocktail of shame and guilt. Fabulous.

BUT THEN, the blood worms have parasites, and you have murdered your lovely (expensive) fish. You are wracked with guilt over, essentially, feeding your fish death. try to illicit sympathy (read: refund) out of the sketchy chinatown pet store for selling you parasite-filled blood worms, but no. They just offer you 10% off new fish purchases.

In a rage, you hurl the evil blood worms into the toilet and commit them to the are then filled with guilt over what must be a slow, damp, poopy death.

You think back to the time you had a beta fish, which you lovingly cared for...but died, without explanation on xmas day...while your grandparents were in feel guilty and ashamed. Then you need to bury it in the frozen earth, with wet secretly begrudge the beta fish...and feel guilty about it.
RIP Soos.

17 yr old me with wet hair and bad glasses is displeased.

So you wait a few years...but the fishies throw out their pretty lures, and you get drawn in again. This time you get cheap guppies. Guppies that have live-births, and provide a never-ending stream of fish...that slowly become further and further inbred.

You think things are going so well! There are even little baby fish in the tank! You are contributing to the circle of life! Huzzah!

...But then you google guppies, and realize that typically over 80 babies are released at a time...and you see 6. Either the remaining 74 have been sucked into the filter, and you are fish-Hitler, OR, your fish are horrible cannibal fish...and you are their god.

 = GUILT. feels bad man.

The tank gets dirty, guilt. The plants die, guilt. The food gets spilt, guilt. Snail infestation, guilt. Snail extermination, guilt. Fish is deformed and seems unhappy (see below), guilt.

Eric, the deformed fish.

So, remind me why the hell I keep doing this?!

Well, sometimes, things just kind of get in a good groove. And for a few blissful months weeks days your fish tank is a source of mildly cool goodness. Your cannibal fish make pretty babies, and they even let some live and join the inbred family!



Inbred beauty!

...Aaaaand then your husband calls you at work to tell you that a fish died and the other fish ate most of it before it could be sent to a cold, damp, poopy grave... and once again:



Office bathroom update! Someone has smeared a booger and some kind of lotion on the wall. I will abstain from posting pictures.

Touché "ladies"...touché.

Friday, 23 March 2012

The Friday Series pt 3!

Still with me? Sweet.

Before I let you into another bundle of Marrissa Radley-Bean's diary pages, here's some stuff that entertained the hell out of me this week:

Sweet sweet Goosebumps.
Those eyes, those chins...flabulous.

Oh my...that's a whole lotta internets...

And now, Marrissa Radley-Bean!

Happy weekend folks! Watch out for manbearpig!:

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

A Retrospective on What Makes a Candidate "Unelectable" in a Post-911 World.

I know, I didn't write anything yesterday, but, I DO have my reasons... I'm shooting something tonight, very last minute, as part of an application involving my sweet sweet television baby that I have been writing for the past year or so.

...but that's no excuse. So I present to you an extra-long super entertaining adventure through the land of Rob Ford!

For those outside of may not know who our mayor is, but as everyone enjoys a little schadenfreude now and again, I'm sure you won't mind a Toronto-centric post...and chances are if you live elsewhere in Canada, you'll think anything I write is Toronto-centric regardless...HA. I kid...?

So let me be begin, by presenting our mayor...Rob Ford:

Thank you baby jesus that I don't believe in.
Rob Ford's signature. Yes, our mayor's signature, and not that of a clumsy fourth grader...Oh internet. You provide me with such sweet joy...

My writing is nothing beautiful to behold, but at least I have the excuse of being raised in the age of 8 years old,  I was typing almost all my school projects on my trusty 386.

But Rob Ford? That hambeast local politician was born in 1969, giving him almost his entire primary and secondary education without the advantage of computers... the only reasons for his barely literate status is...just that...the man is barely f*@#ing literate.

hurr durr...gravy!
Now, I'm not going to point my finger at the morons citizens of the suburbs Toronto that elected this manbearpig, but...OH MY GOD? WERE YOU ALL ON CRACK?!!!

The guy was a joke...yes, a joke on council for 10 years. But he starts spouting off about "gravy trains" and "respect for the taxpayer" (but never actually produced evidence of any over spending, or any viable plans for delivering the "respect" he so often soundbite'd about...), and it seems that all anybody needed was a catch-phrase.

Well, here's a catchphrase we should get used to: LAUGHINGSTOCK. This is the man that over 100k chose to lead our city, presenting his "transit plan" which baffles the mind with its idiocy... Here is someones review of Ford's video:

Ah yes, let's paint the curbs to indicate parking laws and remove the need for signs...Except of course that one of the colours means...READ THE SIGNS. The sheer stupidity of this suggestion is only made worse when you remember that Toronto usually spends several months a year covered in snow...WHICH IS WHY WE HAVE SIGNS ON POLES.

If the debacle of cancelling Transit City, then restarting it, followed by his continuous attempts to subvert democracy haven't convinced of his inability to work with are some clips from his time on council:

And my personal favourite:

So why am I ragging so hard on Mayor McCheese Rob Ford? Because he has earned my contempt. He worked tirelessly for it, and who am I do deny him his just desserts due?

I'm tired of listening to a ignorant bully stomp and smash his way through the democratic process. I'm tired of him treating hundreds of thousands of Torontonians' opinions as invalid. I'm also tired of him flipping off little girls. In fact, I'm tired of writing about Chris Farley Rob Ford... So here's a quick list:

 Any ONE of those things should have hindered his campaign...together he was and should have been unelectable...and yet here we are, for another few years, under his sweaty thumb.

Yea, it's all a little depressing...but at least this man exists on council. Thank you Adam. You are a giant douche for what happened on Ossington...but this kind of makes up for it.

To all the American voters out there, take a long look at the monstrosity that is Rick Santorum, and remember, there is no such thing as unelectable...a terrifying concept indeed...

Monday, 19 March 2012

Et tu, Google?

The auto fill-in function on Google's search box has betrayed me. Truly and deeply. Its super keener habit of offering up your previous searches has exposed every stupid question I've ever asked, every random thought that has bubbled into my head, and every attempt to win a stupid argument.

So of these searches are relatively harmless, amounting to my inability remember directions, phone numbers, or business hours...

But some are far more shameful, not to mention grammatically incorrect:
  • hipster cat meme generator i dont want
  • why are chinese dumplings so fatty
  • how to win roll up the rim
  • ecard i just called to say i love you kitties
  • bacon candle diy
  • famous infomercial products
  • diabeetus cats <-- (that shit is funny, deal wit it)

Other betray my hypochondria:
  • what does a blood clot in the leg feel like
  • burn treatment at home
  • sickipedia
  • i dreamt i had afros on my boobs
  • embarrasssing (<---oh, the meta-ness)

Some I could pass off as political, and I'd appreciate if we could all take this as evidence of my extremely active political discourse with society:

  • rich powerful men have as much right over poor powerless women's vaginas
  • ron paul abortion stance 
  • someone reported my content as abusive on facebook when it wasnt
  • noblewoman eaten in the street paris
  • rob ford stalin
  • we got a badass over here

And others are...well...they just are. Here they are with the fruits of the searches:

You're welcome.

Friday, 16 March 2012

The Friday Series! (pt 2)

Ladies & Gents,

I apologize for the lack of posts this week. I have been home sick, weeping into my pillow and cursing the world.

In return for your patience, I offer to you one of my favourite internet videos AS WELL AS the Friday Series' second installment!

The eyebrow waggle at 1:17 is fabulous.

And now that you are prepped for internet-goodness...THE FRIDAY SERIES PT 2!!!!:

I'm particularly proud of the "Ode to Brandon".

Wednesday, 14 March 2012!

Once upon a time, there was a person who looked so much like me, they were, in fact, me. And the "once upon a time" would translate more accurately to: last night.

So there I was with my husband (Mitch), walking through Leaside, wait, "Davisville Village" (since it was "the wrong side of Bayview") at 11:30pm. Our bellies were full of gelato, and we were freezing our asses off.

This is a neighbourhood that completely empties by 10pm. No people, no cars, hell, even the raccoons are in bed and dreaming about mortgages and SUVs.

So, as we walk back to where our car is parked, it was odd to see a man in his 60s sitting on a lawn with a bicycle leaning next to him. As we pass he begins babbling at us...and the reek of booze is noticeable from about 5 feet away.

At first, I'm thinking he's going to ask for money (hey, I live downtown, cut me some slack), but suddenly he burst out crying. Over the next few minutes he manages to tell us he fell off his bike and hit his head on the ground, and he needed help getting back to his buddy's place.

Obviously, we help him.

I try to keep him from falling over, and my Mitch begins wheeling the bike. Then this guy stops and puts his hands in his mouth, mumbling about how he knocked out all his teeth.

Oh god...

Ok... You need to understand that I have one and only one phobia... Losing teeth.

THIS TERRIFIES ME. I have stress dreams about my teeth crumbling into powder, crunching into my food as I chew, and getting spat out as I speak. I wake up in a cold sweat and feel sick to my stomach. THIS IS NOT A JOKE. I have even said, with complete honesty, that I would rather be dead than have dentures.

Ok, snap back to reality, Rabbit:

Picture this: I am frozen in horror, the drunk guy is spitting on the sidewalk, trying to pull out his teeth, and mumbling about how he spat out about 20 teeth on the sidewalk... and Mitch is obliviously wheeling the bike ahead.

Cheese it!
My natural instinct is to throw my hands in the air, squeal, and run screaming from this scene of horror. My brain says "Hey, listen asshole...this guy is pretty fucked up, you need to help him."

"But he is trying to pull out his TEETH!!!" I whisper back to my brain.

"Yes. As I said, this guy is pretty fucked up. This is pretty much a perfect demonstration of my theory..."

"But...his teeth..." I whine.

"Jesus, you really are a broken record...Now grow a set and figure out how to get this guy where he is going...idiot."

I resist the urge to vomit all over myself, and ask him where he is going. But, of course, he is too drunk to know where his buddy's place is. I ask him if he remembers what the house looked like...what street it was on...what his buddy's number is... This triggers something through the haze, of what I imagine is a veritable truckload of Labatt 50.

He has a cell phone... I thank all the gods I don't believe in.

He has his friend's number programmed. In thanks I offer all my possessions to all the gods I don't believe in.

...His friend doesn't answer.

I rescind all my thanks and gifts to all those non-existent gods.

He leaves a message accusing his friend as being "as useful as a screen door on a submarine"...but I think his cutting wit will be diminished by the drunken slurring.

We offer to call him an ambulance several times, but he insists if we walk him to Mt. Pleasant (the major road) he will get a cab. We assist. He waves goodbye, he cracks a few jokes. He seems to be over the initial shock he was in when we found him.

We drive away and I feel pretty good about myself. I have built up some serious good karma.


Then my muffler falls off 2 blocks from home. Karma? Pffftt.