Thursday, January 29, 2009

The True Story of my Inbred Puppies

Be warned because I’m about to attack your sensibilities. This is a post about pupppiiiiiieeeeeessssss! The twisted story requires context, so if you’re not interested go ahead and look at the pictures below.

In September of my last year as an undergrad, I was on the phone to my mother in Toronto. There is something you should know about my mom— she really, really likes dogs. There was a point in my childhood, between the ages 10-13 where we went from owning just one sweet dog, to five awesome pooches. My parents split up a year later and I like to think my poor mother had been filling the void in her romantic life with canine companions. But that’s neither here nor there.

So on this fateful night in September 2006 (with only one dog still living, a crotchety old Chihuahua named Cyntia) my mom tells me she's tinkering with the idea of getting another puppy.
Immediately I was like, "Go for it! I think you should do it. Hooray for puppies. Hooray for everything!!" And she was all, "good, because it’s on its way over." That settled that.

So turns out the pup had a brother, who was sitting in the car when our new pooch (Pearl) was dropped off. WELL, my mom was not about to let any other family take this dog (who we named Jesse Noodle), because Lord knows what might happen to him. She had no choice but to rescue the dog from a bleak existence.
**Ed Note: I’m pretty sure Jesse Noodle was going to a family with kids, but my mother still thinks she saved him from dog molesters or something.

Meet Jesse and Pearl:
Oh man, I want to squish their faces and chew on their velvety ears and brush them and love them.

Later on, we decided that I should take Pearl to London for my last year at UWO. It was a great decision-- my tolerant roommates loved her and she grew up well-adjusted and friendly, if a little addicted to pot. KIDDING! Please don’t call those peta freaks.

When my time at school was up, I went home to Toronto, reuniting Pearl and Jesse Noodle. They were still young and weren’t neutered, so we got that taken care of immediately. Jesse Noodle went to the vet and got snipped. Poor guy was crushed.
Female dogs are a little more complicated, so we had to wait a few weeks to get Pearl spayed, but as it turns out, we were too late. Pearl was with child. Jesse was triumphant! He squeaked one through.
Yes fuckers. My beautiful virgin dog was pregnant with her brother's baby. It was not cool, but we went with it. It's like what my friend said to me when I broke the news, "they're going to be all crossed eyed and take the special classes at school."

Now before you get all judgey and condemn me for being soooo irresponsible, let me just say this: piss off It wasn’t an ideal situation but, *spoiler alert*, everything turned out just FINE.

Three months later, I was drunk and acting stupid at the Underground when I got a call from my mom. “Pearl’s having puppies,” she said. Pearl had delivered two already, and there was no way I was going to miss the entire birthing of my doggy children.

I hopped in a cab, sped home and of course, got caught in traffic about four blocks from my place. I threw some money at the driver and proceeded to hoof it. So I was sprinting through Yorkville at two in the morning, screaming “I’M HAVING PUPPIESSSS” at the top of my lungs. I looked like a drunken banshee, but this was no fire drill. It was go time.

I made it upstairs and dove beside the closet where Pearl was delivering. Jesse Noodle was sitting next to her like a worried father (I totally picture him now in a top hat, smoking a cigar), and my mom was having the time of her life. Three puppies were out, with three more to go. I sat and cried my drunk eyes out as Pearl delivered three slimy sacs of grossness. I was so proud of my little dog and could not wait to play with the puppiessss in the weeks to come.

Okay, you’ve waited long enough. Here are some photos:
The First Night. Pearlie was a doting mother, she didn't let Jesse near the pups for three weeks. She was pretty pissed at him for what he had done.

Tucker, the big one. He now lives with my brother's friend Jamie and is HUGE. I can't explain it.

The Runt. Look at the stupid face I'm making, vanity clearly taking a backseat to fuzziness.
I can't tell you what kind of dogs they are, because we don't know. Each puppy looked different from the last, and they are definitely not purebred.

Needless to say, the dogs brought endless joy and entertainment to my life that summer. I had six puppies running around for nine weeks and each day I thought my heart was going to explode from the cuteness. It was debilitating. I hardly slept. Often I would lay on the floor and just watch them walk and make noises.

What I wouldn't give to spend another day watching them squeak and fight.

It was a very sad time when the puppies started going to their new homes. My mother did a rigorous screening process, resulting in most of the dogs going to people we knew. I say most of them, because my mom couldn't bear to part with "*the runt*

*The runt* was a tiny thing, with one eye slightly bigger than the other. I called her Wonky, after Paris Hilton and her wonky eye (don't think I like Paris Hilton-- this was my way of making fun of her every day). The name stays true to this day, but my mom also calls her Liza, especially in front of company. You can imagine why.

This is Wonky now. She's in Toronto and I miss her silly little face.The message here, friends, is that life doesn't always happen exactly as planned, but usually finds a way to work out.

*I totally stole that quote from the episode of Frasier I watched last night. Thank you, Dr. Crane*

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

You're not impressing me, Scarlett Johansson

Scarlett Johansson has covered Jeff Buckley's song "Last Goodbye" for the He's Just Not That Into You soundtrack.

That sentence is all kinds of wrong.

Click here and listen for yourself. Now, please listen to the original. Everything's going to be okay.

I must give Ms. Johansson her due for excellent taste in musical artists. Her first album, composed entirely of Tom Waits covers, is fucking theory. According to some, the record is actually pretty good. I decided it sucked before it came out and never bothered to listen.
So I can appreciate her ideas, but man, this girl gives herself way too much credit. Jeff Buckley is arguably one of the greatest singers of our time, with a crazy range and vocal emotion that makes me want to off myself (in a good way). And Scarlett presents to us, on a chick flick soundtrack no less, this tepid trip to snoozeville. I could do without.

Go back and look at her boobs already, I know you want to.

Doha and Toronto are Different. Part 2

It's time I took a quick break from playing freecell for the last....TWO HOURS!? Fuck.

One might say I have too much time on my hands. Well, fuck you! I don't have a job here yet. Freecell is comforting. Probably because I'm soooo good at it, and I feel better when I'm kicking something's ass. You should watch me play text twist. I promise you'll feel worse about yourself after about three minutes. I'm so good it will immediately affect your self-worth.
Ed note: I wrote this last night but didn't post it because I got drunk instead. All it took were two glasses of wine and one gin and tonic. My tolerance abandoned me in Toronto. This is a shame, I used to be really good at drinking. Now I'm hungover, wearing a bathrobe, and stalling until I have to put in my contacts and brush my teeth.

So anyway. I'm heading to Dubai this weekend. If I make it on the plane, my visit will be infinitely more successful than the last time I didn't go to Dubai.

Funny story actually....

Back in May, my man friend forgot to get his exit permit, which you need to leave the country. We got held up at airport security and missed the flight. A lot of yelling, bitch eyes, some crying and then the silent treatment followed. It was quite a display.

In the end, everything turned out between me and DKM. We stayed in Doha but got put up at the Ritz. He then more than made it up to me on the balcony. (Note to DKM, be careful what you wish for).

That story wasn't funny at all. Apologies.

For me, the exciting thing about Dubai isn't the nightlife, the spa treatments, or the sweet hotels. It's the pigs. You can't get any pork in Qatar, being a Muslim country and all. Though this breakfast place here serves something on a club sandwich that looks and tastes a lot like ham. Honestly, it's probably cat. Ignorance is good eating.
So yea, I'm pretty excited to get obliterated and eat some bacon the way it was intended-- hungover

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Javier Bardem Could Save the World

If Penelope Cruz wins the Oscar this year, her boyfriend and my number one imaginary sex partner, Javier Bardem will present the award. Holy fuck hotness. And yes, Javier Bardem. Don't give me any shit about how he looks like was beaten by a shovel, because I am not hearing it. And no, I haven't seen No Country for Old Men in fear it will disrupt my wet dreams. I prefer him as the salacious man whore in Vicky Cristina Barcelona, a role he was damn well born to play.

Javier should only act in movies where he makes out with a lot of women. I truly think he could save the economy with that shit.

Think about it: Bardem releases six films in 2009, wherein he plays a pizza delivery boy, cowboy, fireman, etc. who constantly disrobes and defiles a string of buxom actresses.

No plot. Dialogue only in spanish. Absolutely no subtitles. The films, seen by mazillions of people, net a record box office. Levels of happiness and security skyrocket, inspiring a renaissance of good old fashioned spending. People everywhere, inspired by Bardem's bed antics start dating, and attached couples head out on romantic nights out (spending money, obvi). Everybody puts all of their cash back into the economy, and the recession is over. Take THAT Obama.

No there's no pot in Doha, why do you ask?

On an unrelated note, here's a photo of me creeping on Adam Scott (the only hot golfer, allegedly boning Kate Hudson) at the Qatar Masters a few days ago. I have another 30 photos from the five minutes he stood in front of me, but I won't put those up. The one is embarassing enough.

Hey! Turns out these are related, as both out me as a skeezy perv. I love when things come together like that.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Doha and Toronto are Different. Part 1: Internet Restrictions

So the prudish government here controls and monitors the Interwebs, making it difficult (but not impossible) to enjoy porn sites from the comfort of your own bedroom.

Let me explain why this is so shitty, besides the obvious. A few weeks before I left Toronto, my incredible friend gave me the master username and password to an adult site which shall not be named. This info grants free and unlimited access to awesomely gross videos, and I can’t even open it. Tragic! Like I’ve said, I hate squandered opportunities and am willing to pass on said info to the highest bidder.

Another favourite pastime of mine, which the Doha man refuses to let me enjoy, is something I call synched porn. One night, at home after drinking heavily, I was speaking to my buddy on facebook who was watching YouPorn videos at the time. I logged on and we simultaneously played really disgusting clips, while commenting on their calibre. It was awesome.

My message to you, friends back home in Toronto is this: the next time you’re watching a girl get gang banged on a boat by a posse of clowns and team mascots, be sure to pause and thank your lucky stars for Canada, and all the sick freedom it allows.

Barack Obama is a lefty

This shouldn't surprise you, considering the awesome company he keeps. Other lefties include the messiah David Letterman, Matt Groening, Oprah Winfrey, Angelina Jolie, Bill Clinton, Jerry Seinfeld and yours truly. Basically the best people on the planet are second-hand (pun intended) citizens unable to use normal scissors and whose hands get inky and dirty when they write in pen.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

I hate these smug jerks


I may be a super-loser culture-monger, but there are many phenomena I can’t be bothered to pay attention to, until it’s about five years too late.

Case in point: I started watching Lost two weeks ago. Dumb dumb dumb. I bought season one from the counterfeit DVD operation running in an Indian supermarket. I had zero interest in Lost when it debuted, mainly because it sounded fucking stupid. I filed it away with the other action-packed sci-fi type shows that I actively ignore. Unfortunately, after five-ish years of hearing about the great and all powerful LOST, and getting fucking sick of it, I started to watch.

After a frenzied trip to my favourite DVD store two nights ago, I’m now halfway through season two and…I hate myself. I don't even enjoy it but I’m so embarrassingly addicted, I have chosen Lost over sex three times. The show is scary and gory, and I truly despise most of the characters. Like, shut up Matthew Fox. You are playing Charlie from Party of Five stuck on an island, let’s see some range goddamnit!
It takes a lot out of me to sit and watch three episodes in succession—I leave emotionally drained and tired, but I do it anyway. I totally hate myself.

I should have started watching Lost like a normal person, in one hour a week doses five years ago. Stupid! This is totally like the time I refused to read Twilight because I was fucking smart, then, when I was 35, swallowed the books in an afternoon and was 13 years too late to stalk Robert Pattinson.

I see my future and that is definitely happening.

UPDATE *** Apparently my life is doubly ruined asI'm now forced to watch an episode of The Wire every night. I’ve only watched one episode, but already hate it more than Lost so I’m just screwed.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Men in the Gulf are different

I moved from Toronto to Doha just over three weeks ago. The transition has been smooth. I’m having a great time exploring my new city, making friends and being without work. I’d rather be employed, but there are sponsorship issues blah, blah, blah and administrative BS to work out.

While lazing in employment limbo, I’ve immersed myself in all things Doha. I drive (am chauferred) instead of walk, shop excessively and drink really expensive cocktails in hotels. I've also visited the club (yes there's only one) several times, something I stopped doing in Canada before I was legally allowed inside. I even joined the Qatar facebook network. Turns out, being female with hair and eyes makes you a target for private messages from the lonely/bored men with whom you share a city.

For your amusement, exhibit A (I’ve removed names to preserve dignity):

I've seen your photos with ***, she's a good friend of mine, I met her in Dubai,
and being completely honest, I couldn't resist sending you a message telling you
that I have seen alotta beauty in my life but your beauty is outta this world,
good god!!! he was taking his time creatin' you!! LOL....I'm sorry but whatever
I've just said sounds very cheesy! I'm not like that, but I just had to say

Exclamation pont is the mayor of comma city. My favourite part is when he drops the nastiest line ever and claims he’s not cheesy. This message reeks of expired gouda. It would have been almost funny if he wholly embraced the cheese and dropped an equally bad follow-up line. Something about how sore my ass must be after falling from heaven. I hate squandered opportunities.

When I didn’t respond, I received this message a few days later:
No reply Miss Canadia??!!!
Not sure where Canadia is, but it sounds exotic.

That same day, I received a less offensive message from another local bloke:
hi , h r u ? wish u have anice morningi would be honored if u allow me be ur
friend & accept to add my name to ur friend listmy name is **** , i m 28 ys
single doctor from egypt works here in qatar since june 2006 as doctor of
construction company here,, usually i dont go out so often , thats why i try to
make friends through interneti wish u answer me, & hope my message didnt
bother u

This one made me a little sad. At least he's polite. Poor, tragic boy in the desert with no one to call his own. Doha can be a lonely place. If I had moved here with no friends, no contacts, I’d probably be talking to my towels by now. Warm, fluffy guys they are. Still, there are sites like qatarliving and iloveqatar which have forums for internet dating. Then again, if no one wrote me, who would I make fun of on Hack the Bone?

I don’t have a public facebook profile— That shit is for attention whores and local DJs. I also don’t broadcast my relationship status. As my wise friend Lindsay says, who happens to be in a happy, committed relationship with a hilarious dude, “I never want anyone to see the little broken heart beside my name. It’s embarassing.” While I don’t necessarily have to worry about that anymore, I am engaged after all (lah dee dah), my fiance doesn’t broadcast his status either, and if he won’t do it…well, I have my pride, damnit!

Maybe we all should read this story about a British man who killed his wife because of her ‘single’ facebook status. That ish would never go down in Canadia.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Thoughts on Ben Mulroney

He’s a knob. End of post.

I’m just fooling. That would be far too easy. While I’d love to side with the majority of the blogosphere and write him off as King of the douches and a silver-spoon fed ninny, I can’t agree. After working in somewhat close proximity to the guy, I can’t say I hate him.* In fact, I think he’s a bit of all right.
*Ed note. When I started working there I really, really wanted to hate him. It would have been so fun. Alas, this was not to be.

In Defense of Ben Mulroney

1.) He really is that perky and excitable in person
I know what you’re thinking. A grating television persona amplified in real life = very bad thing! When I realized that his cheery on-screen “act” wasn’t a farce, I softened. I saw a lot of on-air talent and celebrities who were unpleasant and miserable off-camera, and his happiness was refreshing. He was nice to everyone, even the horrendous Twilight super-fans and the weenie guy who followed him around all day.*
* I probably shouldn’t divulge that, but I live in a different country now, weenie can’t touch me!

2.) He’s tall
Everybody is short these days. He’s not. For the win.

3.) He has good taste in YouTube videos
As a huge Neil Patrick Harris fan, I was aghast when Mulroney was raving about Dr. Horrible’s Sing-along Blog and I was totally unawares. If you’re unfamiliar, please take a half hour one evening, and enjoy. It’s top-notch entertainment, and really, anyone who appreciates the genius of NPH can’t be all bad.

4.) He has more edumacation than I
Bitch has a law degree. It puts my post grad diploma in public relations (JOKE) to shame, and I can’t help but respect people who stayed in school longer than I did.

5.) He didn’t go into politics
While I would give a kidney to see him square off against the blindingly beautiful Justin Trudeau (and watch Canadians shit themselves), I think it’s cool he didn’t follow Daddy to Ottawa. If given the choice, I’d rather interact with a Halle Berry-type than a Belinda Stronach. I hope to answer this question differently when I’m out of my 20s. Man, I’m vacuous today.

6.) He looks like he can party
I like to enjoy a casual 24 now and again, and judging by this photo, so does Ben. Dude clearly doesn’t take himself too seriously. Respect.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Link Happy

Mid-week YouTube gifts from me to you:

  • Please enjoy this video of a man singing puppies to sleep.
  • I don't know what's funnier. Jim Gaffigan's bit about hot pockets or Louis C.K. making fun of his two year-old.

Things I Like

I'm not going to mince words here. I like stuff. Profound, right?

I am an obsessive, culture-sucking phenom. I'm like the Alex Ovechkin (Crosby is a troll) of reading and looking at things. If it takes 10,000 hours to become a master at anything (Thank you Malcolm Gladwell for that, though the rest of Outliers was a waste of fucking time), then I truly must be the master of crap.

Here are a few of the blogs I like to waste time on. Remember, this is an expert's opinion so I'm not going to lead you wrong here.
*Ed note: This is so much better than editing my fiance's paper, which is what he thinks I'm doing right now. Sorry, DKM. You're still really good looking and what not.

1.) Dlisted
If Perez Hilton were actually funny and really, really fucking twisted, he MIGHT produce something like this. Probably not though, because that man is an awful cow. If you're not comfortable with frank discussions of celebrities' no-no holes, and if you never evaluate which way you'd have to face Carrot Top in order to fuck him, skip it. Michael K's humour is probably too highbrow for you anyway.

2.) Fuck you, Penguin
This dude is the high priest of precious animal hilarity. He would tell that very bold kitten in a frog's hat to go fuck themself and I'd proceed to fall off my chair.

3.) Drunk Jays Fans

Despite everything I planned for myself, I really like baseball. Especially those ahole Blue Jays. I started watching baseball again (no self-respecting girl watched the Jays in the late nineties, I'm sorry) only to be super nice to my boyfriend and hopefully receive dinner or other favours in return. This mindless half-absorption of games turned into an all-consuming summer hobby. Why does there have to be a fucking three and a half hour baseball game every god damn day from May to October!? Is it because the players can go out every night, get rat faced and still perform to the best of their abilities the next day? Is baseball even a sport? I hate it sooo much.*
*I love it I love it I love it.

What was I saying? Oh yea, Drunk Jays Fans. They know their stuff and they are really, really funny. Particularly that Stoeten fellow. I like to think they are also really hot, but that's probably a pipe dream.

Those cover life's most far-reaching and important topics: making fun of celebrities, sports and funny animals. Enjoy.


OooOoh...Inception. Sounds dirty.

This is my first post on my second blog. I created another site two years ago but abandoned it after deciding my online persona was boring and haven't been back since. There was just too much fluff. I believe in upholding the sanctity of the Interwebs, where only the most brilliant minds and prolific writers come to play. Hah.
I'm going to give this another shot, mainly because I recently moved to Doha, Qatar and have the time to be a geek for once, but also because I have a talent for finding obscure, hilarious and unsettling things online. These gems are meant to be shared and I'm happy to do just that here.
Like the Tracey Ullman Show's Simpsons, Hack the Bone should have a rough beginning with hints of potential. The site's name is stolen from the excellent Simpsons episode where Lisa and Bart join a hockey team. I'm a fan of the underrated Lisa, and her righteous performance in goal brings the LOLs.
"Milhouse, knock him down if he's in your way! Jimbo, Jimbo, go for the face!
Ralph Wiggum lost his shin guard! Hack the bone! Hack the bone!"

I loves me a competitive, angry brainer.