I'm a Musician, I'm on YouTube

I was cleaning out my trunk and found the bag of goodies my aunt (who hates me) gave me for Shitmas. The contents include:

One Resident Evil Extinction, promotional t shirt.
One deck of extra large "casino quality" playing cards.
One Surf's Up, promotional tube necklace. Stickers included inside.
One cheap ass "Eternity" watch. "Japan Movement, Quartz Accuracy." (wtf does that mean?)
One CD titled Rainy Days & Mondays. Various artists no one gives a shit about.

I haven't been playing my guitar since I've been getting laid on a regular basis. Of course this doesn't stop me from telling random strangers at bars that, "I'm a musician. I'm on YouTube."

Impressive.

Hey Bus Driver, Fuck You Too!

I recently read an article about how the majority of transit drivers in this city are stressed right the fuck out. I believe it. But I also believe some of them are just plain old dirty assholes who want to make my life and the life of others a living hell.

Example: I'm on the bus and the driver keeps YELLING at people to, "move back." A phrase we are all familiar with. But this guy was going to slit shins if you were not behind the yellow line. You know, "that guy." So I'm watching this dude thinking I should get off and walk because his rude comments to innocent people were starting to stress me out and make me lose what little faith I have for mankind. So we stopped to pick up a lady and her child who just started walking so she was having a hard time getting the two of them up the stairs and he starts yelling at her to get on the bus.

But then there was a glimmer of hope. A warm-hearted belief that this guy had a soul when he looked at the angelic-haired toddler and asked how old she was. When the lady answered with a smile on her face, "she's three," the devil himself replied, "children three and over are not free, lady."

***I do have to give a shout out here to my morning bus driver who makes me stand for five minutes begging for a transfer after hitting the gas so hard I fly into the railing and either spill my coffee or bruise my arm. I love you.

I Forgot How Much I Hate Valentine's Day.

I also hate that Valentine's Day makes me hate it!

I wish my idea of love wasn't influenced by the media's representation of romance, but it is. I even made a short film called, In Search of Romance, the ending was not fruitful.

I don't remember ever receiving anything for Valentine's Day, even while in a relationship; which is fine because apparently I'm bitter about the day anyway. I think what stabs me the most is when I have to listen to stories or look at flowers and gifts other women receive all day.

For example: my roommate this morning found a diamond necklace her man (who lives three hours away) hid in her room last week. She was on the phone with him and I was called in to confirm what a wonderful gesture it was.

I am happy for those who have found love but that doesn't ease the ongoing confusion I deal with every year on this day. Maybe I'm a bitter, used up whore or perhaps I'm still scarred from my first Valentine's Day experience in grade five when my boyfriend dumped me because my Valentine's Day gift wasn't as good as he has anticipated. You never know with matters of the heart.

Sincerely, Mr. Stiff.

Every time one of my ex lovers is dumped, they always ask me, "was I good in bed?"

Do they really expect me to tell them the truth? And why do they think sex might be the only reason they were dumped?

Quote of the day:

"Do you REALLY think she would have spent the past two years with you if you were bad in bed? No. She dumped you because you're an emotional cripple."

My online dating adventure continues to prove my theory that I have bigger balls than most men. You just have to trust me on this one. But I'm still hopeful. I receive at least five messages per day and might respond to one every two weeks. It really depends on what a man has to say for himself. Here are a few examples of what I will not respond to.

From, Hotwithtopdown:

ur cute, i wannna like make out with u

Two days later:

i see ur cute face and i just wanna lay u donw and make hot love to u

I have the option to share my interests on my profile. This does not mean you have to include ALL of them in one message to impress me. Example:

I think we should find a nice quite place and exchange digital images over blueberries and brie. Or I just bought this realy nice book on modern sculpture that I haven't looked at yet, maby you could spill some olive brine on it?

What the fuck does that mean?

My favourite thus far was the business proposal (too long to post) ending with:

Sincerely, Mr. Stiff.

I Saved the World, Again

I can never describe my dreams in words because they would make no sense. But I can tell you I often save families from burning houses, am one of the last survivors of Armageddon and I save the World from alien invasions.

But this particular dream, I believe, has more meaning.

There was a pool in the middle of the city centre where most of society congregated. The pool had a massive wall on the south side and thriving on this wall were slimy appendages, moving slowly around each other incubating baby aliens in the pool's depth. The understanding was; as long as we didn't disturb the unborn creatures, the aliens would never come to Earth. But we all knew they were coming and it seemed sooner than later.

So one day I decided to take a machete and wack the shit out of the appendages. My crew, who were a ghetto hipster army that had been preparing to fight the aliens didn't understand why I would do that. It made perfect sense to me: I didn't want to live in fear anymore. I knew what was coming and I just wanted to get it over and done with. I was ready for the fight so we could start over.

My ghetto troop was ready. We were armed with weird weapons and machinery we made, dressed up like New York hipster soldiers, running around gunning down aliens and dropping like flies because these aliens were fucking huge. We had to get into our van and drive to the country where the farm house was and the only weapon that would save the World. I was hanging out the side door with one hand, wearing army shorts, a white tank top, a hot scarf and red heels, screaming and gunning down flying saucers and shit as my long, curly hair blew wild in the wind while we sped through crop fields to our secret hideout.

I don't remember the rest. Only me sitting alone feeling an end of a magnificent battle, loneliness then solace after realising my defeat.

The End.

2 HOT 4 U

I've been online dating and it makes me want to shoot myself. BUT I can't seem to meet any men in this city so I really have no choice.

I have to share with you some messages I've recently received.

This is my favourite:

So I'm sure that you know that men are extremely visual. It is your photos that has me stopping here, and writing to you. Not that you're the prettiest girl here (please don't take that personally.), but after scrolling through profiles for an hour, your photos are only ones so far that talk to me.

I mention on my profile that proper grammar is a must because after perusing the site I came to the disappointing conclusion that most of the male population can't spell.

Example:

my grammer is goods....lol No seriously, goodday and HAPPY NEW YEAR!! How are you my name is ____ I love dancing kitcchenparties....love em...lol So how are you on this blah of a witer day in 2008 ha I said it finally been waiting to write it or type it lol it is 2008 hope yours goes well

Of course I get straight up sexual offers:

your hot and u look so delisiious i bet you taste good to lol you know what i mean i love to eat sweet things

WTF!

And the most entertaining of all is the rap song message:

So it's a New Year, What are YOU going to do?I know i'm saying: Hi, Hello there, How are You?My Rhyming is a Memory Solution to help jump start your Resolution.To Meet someone New, you may want to TrySometinNew.Are YOU willing to trade a Message OR Two?I just made my move, it's time for you to your's,... Drop me some lines... because Ultimately the Choice is Your's.YOUR MOVE.

Phat Beats, Sweet Tracks

I'm tired. Work has been kicking my fat ass two sizes smaller.

My roommate and I had a Shitmas party on Saturday. It was one of the best parties I've ever been to. For realsies. Think of the biggest kitchen dance party with post-it notes. Apparently we were all writing down shit people said and suck them to the fridge. There is still evidence of my drunk all over the house like the note I found today.

"I'm a lesbian, but only on Saturdays"

P.S. I have the sweetest side-step shimmy, ever.