Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Pearl in Pearls.
The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play.
Guarding her puppies. Look at Jesse! Told you she was a doting mother.
There. I feel a little better.
One thing we openly share is a love for our old chihuahuas. Mickey's beloved dog Loki died last week. He was devastated.
Mickey and Loki
This morning, I received a message on my facebook wall from my brother, notifying me that The Little Dog "isn't doing well." I am also crushed.
Cyntia aka Beeeebeeee aka The Little Dog is my crotchety 12 year-old chihuahua.
To Benjamin -- Of all the awful things to write on a facebook wall!! That jerk knew I would freak out. It's like five in the morning in Toronto right now-- and I can't do a damned thing but sit here and hold a bedside vigil for the least photogenic dog in the world. Cyntia Louise.
Get well, Cyntia!
Sidenote-- Yes, I called her Cyntia Louise. All of my dogs have middle names. I love naming things, and middle names are like a bonus!
Some of my old dogs' full names:
Henry John James (distinguished, right?)
I need to get a life.
***LITTLE DOG HEALTH CRISIS UPDATE****
8:30 a.m. in Toronto.
Cyntia is fine. I just got word from my mother who said that my dear brother, Benjamin, was merely being an arse. If I weren't so relieved, I'd be really, really pissed.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
A few weeks back two of my best friends decided, unbeknownst to each other’s plans, to both start a blog. It was right around this time that I realized how similar these two loveable little smart-ass friends of mine are. As mentioned in both Gord and Mere’s recent posts, they are both Leos, both lefties, and both big sports fans. They also both love telling friends about their masturbating exploits, were both, sadly, born in 1985, and both of their favorite-things-of-all-time-lists include coffee, animals and caesars. But above all of these similarities, the most striking similarity is their gritty, unrelenting competitiveness. (Now if anyone reading didn’t know those things about Gord or Mere, you can skip the rest and vote for me now. Assuming you did already know all that, read on…)
Now if I were about as wise a gambler as Gord is, I’d bet they were really born as the love-child twins of loving parents, Heidi Klum & Larry David; accidentally mixed up in the hospital with Gord and Mere’s parents’ real children and subsequently raised as their own. But then again, we all know Gord isn’t a very good gambler.
Yes, yes, I understand the whole point of writing a blog is that you don’t have to be a professional to do it, but shut up, this shit isn’t as easy as it looks, and I’m trying to pay a compliment. Because, before the flagrant insults and humiliations get dropped, I’d like to say that in all honesty, out of everyone I know, Mere and Gord are probably the best people to write funny, cynical, pop-culture-inspired drivel. And it is for their insights (as well as the caffeine surges brought to me all day by the tireless coffee boy at my office) that I can happily make it through a day at a desk job.
So when it came to being invited to write a guest post on Mere’s rapidly-expanding blog I reacted in the same way I react to everything else related to the cyber world: moderately interested at best, and overpowered by a “yeah, mayyyyybe when I feel like catching up with the times” approach. And possibly, ask for sexual favours in order for me to comply. I was happy with that. And to my knowledge so was Mere. Soooooo, I guess I have to sarcastically thank my good pal Gord for his commitment to accept ANY challenge at ANY time, and for calling this what it has become, an all-out-no-holds-barred blog war, for expediting this process and giving Meg and I a deadline.
But let’s get to the point, shall we? We all know you’re still reading to find out something you don’t know already about Mere. That was the criteria for my post.
So I had to think hard about my "assignment". It went like this...should I use this platform to tease the hell out of my nerdy, computer-addicted sweetheart?
The answer was yes. So here goes…
Bet you didn’t know that when she’s bored she tries to type out the lyrics to songs faster than the singer can sing ‘em. Yeah. Seriously. Even I didn’t know that until yesterday. I mean that’s really the kind of thing you gotta LIVE with someone before you see them do weird neurotic shit like that. But again, Mere’s a litttttle competitive, even if its with herself.
Here are a few more lovable bits of quirk:
Mere takes any spare 60 seconds in a day as an excuse to spend 3 hours online.
Mere thinks an hour’s walk is just a warm-up.
Mere would rather kiss a dog on the mouth than 9 out of 10 people her age.
Mere actually thinks Smarties are better than M&Ms.
Mere asked me within the last 10 months which pedal in a car is the brake. Sadly for me, I was in the passenger seat at the time.
Mere’s biggest beef with Gord and his blog is that he wrote about his love for Britney before she could.
Now I won’t blather on any longer, because if any of you readers out there are like me you’re reading this at work right now and are not interested in getting caught by the boss on filthy sites that include images of the world's top underwear models and mentions of dry-humping a television at the sight of a certain overweight Spanish actor who’s face resembles that of Keith Richards. Trust me, I've been caught. Lots.
I hope you enjoyed the change-up in commentary, sorry if it blows, I was never really one for deadlines.
I’m out like the chance of the leafs, raptors or jays making the playoffs this year…
They’re certainly not the most conventional amorous tastes, but they’re mine.
Roll up the Rim season has begun in Canada, and I'm feeling a mite homesick. So in the spirit of all things Canuck-ian, today I will speak on my embarrassing, long standing *Canadian* celebrity crush.
Anyone reading this in Doha should bail out now, because this post won't mean a hill of beans to you. Then again, neither will the turn of phrase 'hill of beans.' Just...go away.
I think a lot of Canadians develop crushes on public figures relegated strictly to local telvision. George Stroumboulopoulos is the best example of a Canadian sex symbol who gets little play outside of the Great White North.
Canadian celebrity crushes are personal and special. Since these men are local, maybe Canadan women think we actually have a chance.* Most of my friends have that one Canadian figure they would give it all up for.
*Ed Note. Hahahaha
Kara, for example, loves Matte Babel.
Jen H. and half of the country would die for George Stroumboulopoulos. DKM lurves Jennifer Hedger.
And my mom pines for Michael Ignatieff.
What? He's dapper.
Knowing I'm in good company with a bunch of other nerds, I present to you my *Canadian* celebrity crush.
I know, right? Like come on, Meredith. You know better.
The things is, I don’t! I’ve had a thing for Daryn Jones for years. This isn't something I'm getting over.
How it all started. Years ago, My brother and I were obsessed with the ROGERS cable show Buzz with Daryn and Mista Mo. I was a mere sprite when I fell in love with the awkward, theatre nerd looking Daryn Jones. I developed a crush in the way that any guy who is older than you, is on television, and is funny is totally hot.
Jones fell off my radar after Buzz ended, temporarily replaced by Jake Gyllenhaal or someone else who is likely gay. My DJ fire was rekindled when he joined the MTV Canada team in 2006. Suddenly, Daryn was everywhere and I was all, heyyyyy. I lived across the street from the MTV building, and poor, poor DKM had to listen to my exciting DJ sightings on a regular basis.
Me: Guess what! I Saw Daryn in Subway. I saw Daryn in Aji Sai sushi, and he ordered takeout. Daryn was at Hemingway’s but then he left really quickly!
Me: I know!
DKM: Did you talk to him?
Me: Oh my god. Hell no. What do you take me for?
*Here is the perfect opportunity to thank my lucky fucking stars I actually found someone to love my sorry, sorry ass.
I would never approach him in public, but I totally added Daryn to facebook when he joined MTV, which is twice as lame.
For the record, Daryn is a fantastic creep target. He has over 4,000 fans who watch MTV Live and immediately write on his wall. It's like the teenage mind, encapsulated on one webpage. Unreal stuff, though I'm pretty sure the erosion of grammar and spelling can be traced to Daryn’s facebook wall. For serious.
At one sad moment, when I was single and drinking heavily I sent him a private message on facebook. Clutching an inbred puppy in one hand (not a metaphor) and a box o’ wine in the other, I called him foxy or something equally offensive.
Ladies, that what you call playing it cool. I was that girl. How embarrassing for me.
The story doesn’t end there. I finally met the object of my affection last summer. And surprise! I didn’t try to hit on him.
What happened: Elisha and I went to our local watering hole one sunny afternoon, where Daryn happened to be enjoying the afternoon. It's the stuff dreams are made of, I KNOW.
We sat on the patio and strategically placed ourselves in his eye line. We amplified our conversation to an unnatural level, invited our friend Kara to join, and loudly ordered Jagerbombs (it was about 4 p.m.). We behaved like obnoxious fan girls but SOMEHOW our tactics worked. We shared a few rounds with Daryn and his posse that afternoon and I lived to blog about it.
At one point, Elisha ordered a round of Jagerbombs and offered one to Daryn. He essentially called us a bunch of douchebags, but drank one anyway. I love him.
I don't clearly remember what I said to Mr. Jones when we met. I got drunk in a hurry to silence any nerves. Alky! I do recall the part where he said I shouldn't go into PR because it would eat my soul...or something. This was the day before my successful interview for a PR position, but whatever. I probably should have listened.
All in all, it was a super day.
Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.
Friends, I hope this admission will inspire you to send me equally embarrassing stories of Canadian celebrity fandom. I would especially like to meet the ladies who want Peter Mansbridge and/or Rex Murphy. I know you're out there, lurking in the darkest corners of the interwebs.
Are you excited for DKM's guest post tonight? Me too.
It must be said however, that I feel badly putting him through this. He never asked to be a part of my sick blog. His only crime was loving me!! Poor sod.
Anyways we're celebrating an anniversary of sorts tonight (we got engaged on the 24th) so I can alleviate my guilt then by being a darling. Peace to be restored in mere hours.
After weeks of silence on the job front, things have really picked up. I have three meetings in the next week or so, so excuse me if I disappear. I have an interview Thursday in front a panel of ladies which is only slightly intimidating...probably going to vomit.
All right, enough of this. Time to write some drivel!
Sunday, February 22, 2009
In the past, I've been nice and mentioned Gord's blog several times, because his site probably isn't as popular as mine and could use the hits. These selfless acts were thrown back in my face yesterday. Read on....
On his blog, Gord invites readers to challenge him. Most challenges to be accepted --trivia, feats of strength, jumping contests, etc.
Okay, okay, we have some things in common. We're both left-handed, Canadian leos, born under the sign of the ox, who like sports and booze and sex and writing blogs. But I promise, the similarities go no further than that.
Whatever, it's on!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
DKM has a deadline and everything. Sooo profresh! He has until Tuesday afternoon to defend his honour on Hack the Bone.
You're really good looking. Please be kind.
**I can't BELIEVE I found this photo. That man breaks my heart. I could look at him all day.
Before I talk about the Oscars, there's a few things I would like to say. Please listen, as they are important. HaHaHa.
There were a lot of first time visitors on Hack the Bone yesterday. I'm happy for the level of traffic on this site because it inspires me to keep writing blather, but it also makes me nervous. I'm paranoid the only people visiting this website, beside my cool friends, are the feds looking to shut me down for violating everything that's decent in Doha.
Well, if they shut me down, I'll go out encased in a burning fireball of vulgarity!
I really shouldn't post today -- I'm running on four hours sleep and am liable to say things I shouldn't. I went to the only club in Doha* last night and then played a rousing game of cops and robbers until oh, five in the morning with DKM. Good times.
*My thoughts on the Doha club scene are summed up nicely in this blog post by Gord. Doha's the same, minus the drugs. Music in Doha clubs is played 8x louder than music in T.O. clubs. I could feel the ince ince beats in my heart last night. Awful stuff.
So hey-- here's some news. We're getting a visitor in a few weeks. One of DKM's oldest friends, Anny is coming from Toronto on March 5th. I'm pretty pumped because Anny is wicked. PLUS she's going to bring me some of that wonderufl clam + tomato goodness. CLAMATO. No big deal, I've only been craving a caesar from the minute I got off the plane in England. I could certainly use one right now-- it's possible I'm still drunk.
Went back and read what I just wrote. Cops and robbers? Definitely still drunk. Our poor taxi driver haha.
Why do I still smell beer? Did I sleep in a keg? Yuck.
I'm thankful for many, many things. I can make fun of beloved heroes like Oprah and Michael Phelps without any flack. I'm happy to see my boyfriend take off his belt, because I know I'm not about to get a beat down. I have a wonderful family, largely based in the maritimes of Canada, where I can always go for intense games of trivial pursuit and Frank Sinatra sing-a-longs. My life is rich.
I'm a lucky girl, so I feel like an asshole when I complain about trivial things, but this site demands it so I soldier on. The Academy Awards airs Sunday. The Oscars are my most favouritest event of the year.
*Sure, I said Westminster was my favourite event of the year, but that was like, two weeks ago. Keep up.
The Oscars start time is four in the morning in Doha. The thing usually runs 3+ hours long, so if I watch live (which I will) it will be a sad, lonely event.
I run an Oscar pool every year. It's a perfect excuse to take my friends' monies and not feel bad about it. Somehow, each year I have managed to not let my friend Tamara join the pool (same girl with master password to porn site, owns a vampire bat, pop culture hero) because she's the only person who could beat me. She's not allowed to play, ever. Also not invited? The asshole who beat me in UWO pop culture jeopardy two years in a row. Fucking loser cost me $1000, then asked me out. He is my nemesis and though his name alludes me, I certainly remember his stupid face.
So yea, I loves me some Academy Awards bullshit. When I was in grade school, my friend Gerred and I would watch the Oscars each year, have a sleepover and miss school the next day. Our moms were the awesome because they understood the magnitude of such an event.
The Oscars brings happy memories, but I think my beloved television event may be a touch depressing this year.
I'll probably sit alone in this big apartment at four in the morning, dressed in evening wear, eating snack food and getting drunk. I will yell at the screen whenever Javier Bardem appears. I will hurl venemous insults at that poor kid from Twilight because Twilight is stupid and inescapable, and I can blame him. I will spill chips on my cleavage. I will start dry humping the screen when Javier speaks. Pathetic.
Perhaps I will spend the evening on msn/skype/facebook chat. If any of my friends are home on Sunday, please meet me for an online date. We can be uber-pop culture losers together. It's pretty lame, but not THAT lame, right? Ya...thought so. See you Sunday.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
A lot of my tastes suck. I have John Denver and Carly Simon albums in my library. You cannot play these at parties. It would be hard for people to have fun when Denver's duet with Placido Domingo is playing. Nobody wants to get misty at a party.
Now for a moment of brutal honesty. I'm going to write down the next five songs that come on shuffle, no cheating, and we'll see how cool I am today. OKAY GO....
1. Walking the Dog -- Rufus Thomas (good start)
2. 2080 --Yeasayer (I don't even know what this is. Seriously confused...listening....not hating it...still don't know how it got on my computer)
3. Black Swam -- Thom Yorke (From his solo album The Eraser. To be fair, my brother downloaded this, he ups my cool factor)
4. Black Cow -- Steely Dan
5. Stronger Than Me -- Amy Wino
Okay, that could have been a lot worse. If I were someone else reading this, I would totally want to be my friend. Steely Dan? Ya! This girl fucking rocks. Thank you iTunes, for not playing the Pussycat Dolls and humiliating me in front of these nice people.
I promised to write about yesterday’s interview but sadly, there’s no comical story to go with. I can be super profesh when I have to. Boring. As for the result, buddy’s company only has full-time sales positions available (eww sales) but can offer me freelance writing/copy editing jobs on the side. I’m down to get paid to sit at home and write stuff. It will tide me over, as I soldier on with the job search.
I went to that Glenfiddich dinner last night. Five courses of bland, Scottish food. Tepid haggis. Overcooked steak. I didn't eat much so I filled up on wine. It was fun, besides the part where I tried aged whiskey and pretended to like it to fit in. I can still taste that shit this morning. My tongue is pissed.
We were at a table filled with cool, interesting people, with the glaring exception of the guy who sat next to DKM. He was an insufferable prick – the type of man who thinks it's cute to openly disrespect the serving staff. He called everyone working “Ahkmed,” even though they were clearly Pilipino. Not sure how that dude has survived in Doha without having his tongue cut off.
My grandmother taught me to be wary of those who treat waiters poorly. Their moral fiber won't hold. She also said not to trust people with “sharp faces,” because they are usually sneaky. Here is a person with a sharp face: Note the jarring angles. Not to be trusted.
This is my new favourite cat in Doha. He was spotted at the golf club last night, eating scraps from a neighbouring table.
I could not believe how fat and proud this little guy was. He is clearly the king of Doha’s feral cat scene. All other kitties must pay respect.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
This situation calls for Pump Up Music Day! I capitalize in hopes it will become a national holiday in the future. During Pump Up Music Day, one must assemble playlists that put you in a fabulous frame of mind-- The right tunes at the right time, and you’re ready to take on the muthafuckin’ world.
Pump Up Music Day comes from my brother Benjamin, who used to play Norman Greenbaum’s Spirit in the Sky before every exam. He would bop around and get so excited to write a bloody test. It was inspiring. As an older brother, Benjamin is a kickass influence. Even when he beat the shit out of me, I still learned something. This is the same brother who would buy me a chocolate bar for every successful bodycheck I threw in hockey. Benjamin is probably the only reason my girlfriends think I can beat them up, even though I’m quite small.
And yes, I’m going off topic here, but my friends and I often rank ourselves in order of who would win in a fight. Lindsay is usually ranked first, then me, then Kate, then Danielley, then Mal (don’t tell Mal, she thinks she’s the strongest haha) and finally Cath. She comes last because she possesses the soul of a lamb and bruises easily. We’ve never tested this theory, because that’s what I’m planning for my bachelorette party. Feats of strength! No boys allowed.
As for my Loose Moose friends—Kelly wins the girl fight hands down. Nobody wants to fight Kelly. She’s this smoking girl who is also really tough. I love Kelly because like me, she tries to beat people up when she’s drunk. Our friend Kara once narrowly survived a cab ride with Kelly, emerging with severe bite marks and bruises. Totally hot.
Back to the matter at hand. My pump up playlist depends on the severity of the situation one faces. You can create a pump up playlist for any scenario, really. Even sad ones. Have you ever made a breakup pump up playlist while drunk? Makes for an interesting evening.
If I’m about to write a joke exam, like sociology of marriage, for instance (no disrespect, soc majors-- I can't help it you chose to sleepwalk through university), a lighthearted songlist will do. This Charming Man, by The Smiths is always always included.
Today, at this moment, I’m all over Band on the Run, by Paul McCartney & Wings. I listened to it six times yesterday and was accused of “killing the song.” I’ve been listening to Band on the Run for years and I’m not sick of it yet so shutttt up your face.
I’m also crazy about Wedding Bell Blues by Laura Nyro. You might not recognize the title or the artist, but giver a listen. You’ll loves it, I promise.
After I’ve worked myself up to a near frenzy, it’s time to cool down with my all-time favourite song. Meredith's number one song of all time. This is a big fucking deal people.... it's Sleepwalk by Santo & Johnny. This song is pure romance. It takes me places I’ve never been and I absoultely adore it. I want it played for me as I walk down the street, every day. I know you didn't listen to the other songs, but this one tune demands it. Go. NOW.
I’ve included YouTube links to all of these songs to further your musical education. I’m sorry if you’re at work and can’t listen to Sleepwalk, because it will instantly put you in a good mood. Give it a listen sometime and see f you don’t instantly crave a malt shake.
I feel better already.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
I'm a huge facebook creep.
If you’ve stumbled on this website, don't know me well and feel weird about reading—please don’t, because I’ve probably cyber stalked you at some point. It’s how I do.
My favourite targets for spying are the people I once knew – the peripheral facebook friends. The people who added you when they friend requested everyone they ever met as soon as they got a facebook profile. I haven't seen them in years, which makes them all the more interesting.
It's super creepy to look at their photos and read their walls, but I don't care. I like to make up stories about people and this is an easy way to do so.
Former flames are also fun to creep, but that goes without saying. I'm waaaatching you.
My strange facebook habits lead me to all kinds of awesome profiles. I'm going to share some of the great things I've found lately. If you’re the target of any of these nuggets, please don’t get weirded out and delete me as a friend. Call me a fan instead.
I have a facebook friend named Bone Grinder. I went to high school with him. His name used to be Dexter, but now he goes by BONE GRINDER. Bone Grinder is sooo much better. I wish I had the nerve to change my name to something awesome, like Flesh Gnawer, but I’m too chicken shit. Bone Grinder, if by some kiss of fate you are reading this, you and your band – Creep Colony, are welcome any time in Doha. I will gladly put you up and find you gigs. I am 100% serious.
Creep Colony, stolen from facebook.
A guy I went on one date with in high school also changed his name. He’s a magician and illusionist now (I know, right?) and instead of going by his given name George, he’s calling himself Roux. I would give you more hilarious information but…he deleted me from facebook. I didn't even notice until now. Was it because I didn’t put out at the EX? Fucker.
Those 25 Random Things notes are pretty hot right now, eh? Most of them are hysterically boring, but I still read every single one. Reason I hate myself #5.
1.) Most people start these notes with a disclaimer as to why they’re writing them. I.E. I can’t believe I’m actually writing one of these stupid things. Those are the people who spend four days writing the most detailed lists I have ever seen. Nerds.
2.) I respect the people who come right out and say that they're writing the notes because they like talking about themselves. We’re all self-serving assholes. Own it! I write a god damned personal blog, a thinly veiled exercise in narcissism, because I like talking about myself. Own it friends, own it.
3.) A lot of my facebook friends have “unnatural fears” of snakes, or heights, or death. Nobody cares! Why can’t I know just one person who is irrationally afraid of Tom Hanks or shoelaces or banana pies?
4.) This particular point offended me: I have never been good at being friends with girls, and have only ever had 2-3 "close" girl friends at one time. Girls are mean, and petty, and gossipy and melodramatic, and many seem not to like me. Fuck you too, lady!
5.) Most of the notes aren’t that bad, I'm just a h8r. I totally appreciate the people who take the time to write funny and thoughtful lists. This guy I took a seminar level English course with at UWO has written my favourite note thus far. He and I didn’t always get along-- he was smarter than me, and I would go home and stew about it after class every week. He’s an interesting fellow and has 12, 406 pages worth of Bibles in his apartment. Who keeps count? I love it.
6.) The notes would be infinitely more interesting if someone else wrote them about you. I would love to write 25 things about my roommates from university. Now that would be stimulating.
For your enjoyment, some favourite points from my friends' 25 Random Things notes:
11. Trying to be like Hulk Hogan, I used to cut the bottoms out of old No Frills bags and wear them like tank-tops over my pale Irish skin only to rip the bag from the middle in two parts.
14. I have experimented with drugs. Actually it’s been more of an extended clinical trial.
9. I like to pretend I cant do things so other ppl will do it (ie cooking and cleaning)
1. I am named after Austrailan 80's actress Rachael Hunter. My middle name is courtesy of an 80's pop singer. My parents enjoyed the decade's pop culture...
16. I have grown used to conducting elaborate and lengthy conversations with myself in a bid to better articulate my various positions. It's surprisingly effective, and I recommend it wholeheartedly to everyone.
1. I have played a game of Trivial Pursuit that ended in a physical fight.
Fine, that last one was mine.
Monday, February 16, 2009
I was looking for pictures of sporty animals because tonight, I golf. Evening is the best time to play in Doha. It's just too damned hot to play during the day. I like going to the golf club-- you can booze lots while talking to the stray cats who miaow at you while you eat. No rabies, please.
I just got back from the health club, had myself a massage. Nice place, but the shower was suspect so I left before washing up. I’m covered head to toe in massage oil. I know, it's gross. I’ll shower when this spectacular sun goes away and I’m sick of watching YouTube videos of old time country ladies. That might be awhile…
You probably noticed the stunning photo of Ms. Parton. It's a slow news day (sunday at 4 in the morning in Toronto) so let's address things that aren't timely in any way.
I have girl crushes on country singers, with Ms. Parton sitting high atop the twisted pyramid of my love. This obsession with Dolly goes back, but there’s a host of other ladies-- Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn and Tammy Wynette -- who make me happy.
Their music makes me feel all funny inside. You can be in a great mood, put on a Patsy Cline album and within the hour, feel utterly and desperately broken. Want to feel sorry for yourself RIGHT NOW? Click here.
Music aside, I love their style. I admire women with big hair. Sometimes when I’m alone, I try and style my hair like Tammy Wynette’s. It's crazy hard and I always end up looking like a lion.
Dolly and Tammy have kickass hair, but an honourable mention goes to Conway Twitty. For a dude, that is some boss style. Makes me wish I were a flea, so I could live there.
I'm posting this entry now, so in the future, when I write diatribes about Dolly's songwriting or Dolly's boobies, you'll know where it's coming from.