New Tech Is Pretty

Thursday, March 24th, 2011 – surrounded by chaos, urge to play mariachi songs

Last night I spent an enjoyable half hour shoving Lindor chocolate truffles into my pie hole in a joyous, chocolate procession, while loading 707 episodes of my favourite TV shows (yes really) onto my shiny, new, external drive, to save my computer from expiring under the weight of them. I also moved 97 movies and copied a metric fuckton (official U.N. measurement) of back-up photos and music. Oh it’s so light now. My little computer is a slim, dancing diva, freed from the weight of all my media, its happy little quad cores daintily flitting around like M and Ms, bouncing inside Oprah’s belly, on a spring morning. I will say this. USB 3 is a fine invention. Holy crap yes. Because who has 2 hours to sit and wait for a bunch of files to transfer? Not I. These ones zipped in. I have the attention span of a small, excited fish, therefore, this is paramount.

I also bought a new mouse. A tiny, chrome coloured, mini-mouse that fits precisely in my delicate lady hands rather than my last mouse which was like clutching a dinosaur egg with buttons and obviously made for someone with transformer-sized hands who eats steaks the size of a table top while burping battle songs

As a side note, Google-searching for terms like “lady mouse” and “sexy mouse” can only bring nightmares like a mouse I found shaped like a vagina. Find it yourself. You’ve been warned.

Speaking of mice, I haven’t seen Baxter in months, thanks to those of you emailing me to ask about him. I assume he and Maybelline are living it up somewhere warm for the winter and not hiding under the dishwasher taking incriminating video of me, red faced and puffing, in yoga poses again...

Sometimes Life Is Pants

Tuesday, March 22nd 2011 – crashing, sandwiches, working out important problems

I’m a busy fucker this week, you guys. I’m so busy I’m running around like a blue-assed fly, trying to do things, then not doing them because I remember something else more important I have to do and get confused about which to do first, so I do neither, then there’s a sort of Mexican stand-off situation so I have to give in and go get a terrifically gargantuan coffee, after which I find I can suddenly do FIFTEEN THINGS, ALL AT THE SAME TIME, WHILE YELLING ENCOURAGEMENT AT MYSELF VERY LOUDLY, then crashing very suddenly two hours later and sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth and talking in tongues.

I may need to decaffeinate, seriously.

Anyway, this is how busy I am. I have a tube of Cadbury’s Mini Crème Eggs in the fridge and I’ve been too preoccupied to even to eat those. There’s a chance I may have a fever or something that might change the entire future of mankind.

I have a helpful hint for you all as well. Don’t wear sweat pants. Ever. I mean sweat pants are ugly and possibly harbouring extreme evil and should be for sports and running type things only, but we all wear them in the house sometimes and well, it’s winter, they’re cozy, it’s cold out, they’re comforting, you can nap in them, you can run out to the store in them, you can paint in them and do yoga in them and then you can totally eat chocolate and cheese and cake and tequila and pizza and your pants still fit and you’re still cozy and comfortable and happy and munchy but then, suddenly, you have to go someplace where there are people, so you put on real pants with like…a waistband and a zipper and well… What is this fresh hell? Some horrible bastard TOOK YOUR PANTS IN! Probably while you were sleeping. And now it’s like squeezing four pounds of dough into a two pound loaf tin. It’s all the sweat pants’ fault for seducing you with comfort, for luring you to the edge of the abyss then pushing you over, for not telling you to say “when”. Say no to sweat pants. They are fuckers and they will shrink all your other pants.

It’s the only possible answer.

I swear I had a real reason to post this entry and I can’t, for the life of me, remember what it was. To distract you, here’s a new tiny painting for you instead.

Minnesota: Where The People Are Hearty and The Rain is Purple

Friday, March 18th, 2011 – Cadbury mini-crème eggs in fridge, fire in my heart

Hey guess what you guys get for the weekend? A little thing about Minnesota, written in the morning when I’m drunk with incoherence. How lucky are YOU?

Minnesota. Home of corn-fed, wholesome, ruddy cheeked blonde people of Germanic and Scandinavian descent, who all talk funny. That’s pretty much the general consensus by people not from Minnesota, who don’t quite realize Minnesota’s rather tremendous helping of awesome. Because it’s a fine, fine state – at least in the summer time, when it’s hot, dry, pretty and filled with lush, albeit flat, scenery and more lakes than you can shake a stick at. Whatever that means. Also, its state drink is milk. I’m not even kidding about that, it’s milk. Having said that, apparently the state muffin is blueberry, which probably complements milk, nicely. I don’t know. My mind’s still officially blown that the state drink isn’t icy cold German beer served in a colossal, horny stein.

Minnesota, you’ll be overjoyed to learn, is the 32nd state of the 50 United States and one of the biggest, even though around 60% of its residents live in or around the Twin Cities of state capital St. Paul and Minneapolis – a city filled with art, culture, an interesting light rail system and more importantly the kick ass home of great bar food and Tiki drinks, Psycho Suzies. It’s also dear to my heart because it houses the only “Sonic” for miles around.  Frozen cranberry limeade? I think so!

Minnesota is one of the more liberal states in the country, probably because in winter, it’s way too cold to get fancy with the conservatism. Hell, Minnesotans will kill and wear a bear if it keeps them from the frigid temperatures. You know…allegedly. When they’re not too busy ironing their lederhosen and making pierogies.

Wikipedia helpfully informs me that Minnesota’s temperature span can go from its record low of minus sixty degrees F. to its record high of 116 degrees F. (and I can attest to this) so either way, whenever you’re in Minnesota you’re in for some form of temperatural distress. I may have made that word up just now, but doesn’t it sound impressive? Anyway, if visiting the state be prepared to either freeze your balls off or sweat your ass off. However you look at it, your netherlands lose.

Did you also know that Minnesota is the most northern of the United States, besides Alaska? Because it is. It’s practically up in Canada and in fact, if you hang around East Grand Forks long enough with your guard down, there’s a chance a secret ninja army of Canadians will come down and kidnap you and haul you over the border on the back of a moose, just so they can keep you in their basements to hear you go, “Ya, ya, you betcha it’s cold, ya!”

Sorry, I got sidetracked by fantasy for a moment there…

The heathen contingent, you ask? 13%. Wow Minnesota. You let me down, Minnesota. Take a walk on the wild side, why don’t you? I should note, this number rises to about 53% when I’ve been there and there’s been a local beer tasting.

Finally, you can’t really mention Minnesota without talking about dainty, purple, strawberry flavoured, singing elf, Prince (or *$%&@^$ as he’s probably now known), the Minnesota Twins baseball team or the Vikings, whose atrociously loud t-shirts adorning the ample personage of busty, blonde girls, seem to fill the senses with purple panic.

And that about does it for Minnesota. It’s early on Friday morning, for crying out loud, what do you want, something that makes SENSE? Have a joyous weekend!

Snack Sized

Wednesday, March 16th, 2011 – zoning out, harbouring serious St. Patrick’s hate, requiring haircut

Apparently it is zero degrees today. I’m not sure if Canada's just not having any weather – maybe a weather strike since everyone's so fed up with winter – or if it’s actually a sign that maybe snow is about to start melting. I’m bouncy with excitement. However, my excitement was somewhat short lived after I realized that I’ve bought four Tim Horton’s coffees in the last week, during their famous, “Roll up the rim and win” season, fully believing my cup contained the keys to a new Toyota, a tropical island vacation, a lifetime’s supply of chocolate, a new season of “Lost”, or at the very least a free goddamn coffee and for what? Nothing. I hereby suggest they should change the name of their stupid game to, “roll up the rim and weep, LOSER”.

There, I feel better for having got that off my chest.

How are YOU fine specimens today? You’re all looking fancy. Yes indeed. Fancy and flirty. But seriously, put on some underwear.

My mood is a bit uppity today. It’s the changing of the seasons (and the clocks). I go from worrying about the people in Japan, one moment, to thinking about nude vs. bright nail polish in the next. I go from debating the intricate nuances of the French language, to “OMG, the Slatkin & Co. ‘pink sangria’ candle at Bath and Body Works might be the most heavenly scent ever invented, I want to take off all my clothes and rub it all over me.”

I also strongly suspect there’s a rogue wire in my bra making a bid for freedom. Something pointy is definitely interfering with my mellow in that region.

Lastly, why does Gwyneth Paltrow keep bleating indignantly about the supposed 10lbs of weight she had to put on for “Country Strong” and how her body repulsed her afterwards? She looked the same skinny, undernourished string bean she did before, to me. Maybe it was 10 lbs of angst, Gwyneth? Eat a goddamn sandwich and shut up.

It All Comes Down To Satan and Pie

Monday, March 14th, 2011, mid-March, still kinda wintery

I can’t really fathom what it must be like to be in Japan right now, amidst a giant crock pot of fuckery, where every conceivable force of nature or man, seems to want to wipe your very existence out.

 It’s making for most unsatisfactory thoughts and I’m thousands of miles away. Those poor people? I wager they’re not sitting there safe and comfortable, sipping hot coffee and sucking on some toffee chocolate balls, like I am. They’re trying to be someplace where there’s less possibility of expiring from radiation sickness, lava or their house falling on them. If they still have a house. This is making me frown an unnatural amount.

I hate to mention him again, but I have slightly worrying idea that Charlie Sheen might factor into this. It seems the more insanity he spouts, the harder Japan gets pounded. I’m pretty sure there’s a correlation there somewhere, if we just look hard enough…

Anyway, here’s to those people having some sanity and semblance of normalcy restored again someday.
In other news, I’m not sure what I did to deserve this, somewhat illiterate, word verification:

So close, Blogger, so close

Finally, for the person (and you know who you are) who emailed me the other day complaining about the severe and unforgiveable lack of pie charts on my blog recently, here, just for you, is a long overdue pie chart.

Happy now? Okay.

Rocky Mountain Hi!

Friday, March 11th, 2011 – aaaaaaaaaaaaagh

So are we all ready to learn something outstanding about Colorado?  I’m sure you’ve been camped out here since Monday, trembling with excitement.  Who can blame you?  

Let’s get on with the titillating subject of Colorado’s claims to fame.  To sum it up succinctly, it has snow and mountains and old people, the Columbine massacre and Hunter S. Thompson.  The end.

I’m kidding. Mostly.  It also had John Denver, who named himself after its capital city.  Mr. Denver had a great love for Colorado, a penchant for flying (and crashing), and the haircut of a 1970s’ Bavarian milk maid.

You’d have to be Rocky Mountain High to sport that hairstyle
I’m not even going to mention the shirt.  Oops.  Just did.

Okay. Here’s some pseudo geography for you.  Colorado forms the north eastern corner of the “four corner” states and is stock full of every kind of scenery imaginable – forest, sand dunes, mountains, plains, desert, mesas, canyons, rainforests, jungles, black holes and quicksand.    At least some of those are true, which ones, are entirely up to you.

Colorado is obviously famous for its snow sports and mountain resorts like Aspen and Vail, due to its hosting the state’s most famous residents, the Rocky Mountains, which take up most of the western half of the state, while plains and forest land occupy the eastern side. The Continental Divide also runs through the Rockies. I’m not sure what continents it divides exactly, but I like to imagine they’re the continents of “batshit insane” to the east and “bat-Sheen insane” to the west.  See what I did there? Now who’s winning?  I am. 

Most of Colorado’s population lies east of the mountains – in cities like the state capital, Denver and its close northern neighbour, Boulder.  Now if we can talk about Boulder for a second here.  I always imagine Boulder was named by idiots.  They reached the foothills of the mountains, surrounded by giant stones, started a settlement there and then thought, “Hmmm.  What to name this rocky outpost… Oh I KNOW!”
  
Nowadays, Boulder is a liberal city, known for its generous sprinkling of patchouli scented hippies, who arrived in the 1960s and never left, the illegal substances that come with hippies and a bunch of university students, who possibly also come with illegal substances and who smell even worse than hippies.   Screw all that though.  Who else when they hear about Boulder, immediately thinks of Mork and Mindy?

I used to love “Mork and Mindy”.  What was I thinking?  Any dude that hairy who was as annoying  as Mork in real life would get his ass handed to him in ten seconds. 

Also a popular destination in Colorado is its second largest city, Colorado Springs. Now I COULD go and look it up on the Information Super Highway and tell you all sorts of interesting true facts about it, but I prefer to think that it was named after some very special hot springs that contain the fountain of youth, which might explain why these little Colorado residents have been nine for about fourteen years.

.

Lastly, you’ll be thrilled as I was to find out that a whopping 25% of Coloradans are delightfully dirty heathens, making it the highest percentage of any state we’ve covered so far. Hooray! I also like to think that fine statistic is due to the above young gentlemen and their potty mouths. Who doesn’t love South Park?  A moron, that’s who.

And that about does it for Colorado.  I know it’s a little thin, but goddamn it, I’m tired.   You all have a fine weekend, okay?

Can You “Like” a Tantrum?

Wednesday, March 9th, 2011 – what is my skin tone, croissants, like, like, like

People, what’s up with everyone having to “like” every damn thing? Has the whole world turned into Facebook now? Are we going to have to click “like” buttons in the supermarket when they have an especially abundant crop of tomatoes? Are we going to start actually growing crops and inviting people we hardly know to water them? Will real life “poking” of strangers ever be legal?

I don’t WANT to “like” everything. I DON’T like everything. And even if I loved the shit out of everything, I don’t really care if the rest of the world knows I like it or not. Because, I know they don’t ultimately CARE. Plus I don’t give a giant donkey scrotum if YOU “like” something or not, all I want to know from anything is, will it entertain me, bring me cake on demand or fuel my flagging ego with flattery.

For the record, I don’t click “like” ever. I object to even having the option to register my indifferent opinion. Which isn’t even an opinion anyway, it’s a generic statement. It just means “I read this thing you posted and somewhat concur with your opinion but in the grand scheme of things I don’t really care and have already moved on and this is merely a reflex reaction as the button was there and I am a sheep.” If I like your article/post etc., I'll leave you a comment not click some button.

Really I just don't like being told what to do.

Where’s my “This Sucked Balls” button? Or maybe a “You are clearly bonkers” button? I’d settle for a good, hearty, “Fuck off” or "who gives a rat's ass?" option. On the positive side, there could be a big, blingy "You are a genius and deserve cake" button for those very extreme occasions you just can't help yourself and have to declare your admiration.

I’m starting to think people who “like” stuff have an addiction because they seem to feel they have to “like” anything they see that they don’t actively DISLIKE. I protest, I really do. I also just know some wise ass is going to find a way to “like” this entry, just to fuck with me. So don’t do that. Because I have boots and they have a magnetic attraction to your ass.

I think that’s it. Please continue and I’ll take my bad ass mood someplace else.