2 Tales of Consequence

Tales OF consequence? OUTRAGEOUS.

Number One:

There is a guy at school who always seems to be in the same hallway I am. I don't know why, but he's always around. He asked me for change for the vending machine once. Naturally I've noticed the fact that BRO IS ALWAYS WHERE I AM so I look at him, and inevitably we sometimes have awkward ugh shit we just had eye contact moment.

Its kinda unenjoyable.

(Aside: My spell check is saying "unenjoyable" is not a word but considering I've been using it for years I'm gonna keep truckin' on that one.)

Today I was with Natasha at the water fountain and Hallway Guy happens to walk by. OF COURSE.

Except this time he comes up to me and says "Hey how's it going?"

WHAT?

I tell him I'm fantastical, and make note of the fact he's always around and ask if I'm supposed to know him.

Somehow he manages to turn the conversation to breakfast, and asks me why I'm eating pretzels at 8:30 in the morning.

I tell him its because I hate flavour.

I said "I only ever eat pretzels and water with a bit of sugar mixed in for zip."

"Really?" he asks.

"Alright you got me, I use Splenda."

MAKING FRIENDS IS TOUGH.

Number 2:

Yesterday I was talking with my mother about how, despite the fact I see Matt a fair amount during exam time, I am actually doing schoolwork while I'm with him.

I says to my mother, I says:

"I mean when I'm with him I'm studying, I'm not just dicking my time away."

Pause for reflection.

Have I said something wrong?

My mother apparently doesn't catch on to the inadvertent pun I've just made, but no matter, I decide to make things uncomfortable anyway by saying "Wait, okay that was a bad phrase to use."

Mother stares back at me.

OHHHH LARISSA, MASTER OF THE AWKWARD.

Christmas/Ignorance

This is a conversation I had with HB, about realizing things you should have realized long ago:

Larissa: This is like how last week I realized the "I saw mommy kissing santa claus" song isn't about the mom totally cheating on the dad with santa

Heather: IT ISN'T?!

Larissa: Because the dad is DRESSED as santa!

Larissa: I was assuming the kid thinks SHIT MAN how am I gonna hide this from daddy!

Heather: Oh...well I knew that

And here I was thinking the mom was just a bit of a fame ho' for Christmas cheer.

And for all you crazy cats out there looking for some bangin' slow jams to make out with your special someone on a bearskin run in front of a fire to, I suggest: THIS

Smooth moves

So this weekend HB and I got drunk.

I AM NOT ASHAMED TO ADMIT THIS, RANDOM PERSON WHO SOMETIMES COMMENTS AND SAYS I HAVE A DRINKING PROBLEM.

As drinking often causes, we decide to go to the washroom at the bar.

It is a two-stall washroom; HB takes the right stall.

I look at the left stall and notice that the door is closed, but I gingerly push on it to see if anyone is inside. Since the door opened, I assumed the stall was unoccupied..

UNTIL:
THERE IS A MAN STANDING THERE.
Just takin' a wee.
"OH!" says Larissa, "Sorry..." And I step back and close the door.

At this point the guy realizes his infraction and says "OH SORRY, is this the girl's bathroom?"

HB pipes up and asks him if he didn't notice the lack of urinals. He says he thought it was a little strange, but he really had to go.

Hey man, it happens.

This whole 'non-chalant conversation with a man in the women's washroom' thing is striking me as a little odd, but he finishes peeing, leaves the stall and begins washing his hands.

I step inside the now-unoccupied stall.

"Hey, do you girls still do that hovering thing?" the man asks as I close the door.

"Uh, sometimes..." I reply...

"K cool, I don't know if I peed on the seat or not."

REALLY?????

PUN MACHINE

Dear Diary,

Now that I've deactivated my facebook to try and focus on finals, (day 4 completed!) I have less of an outlet for writing all my fun daily updates about my day and now I HAVE TO BLOG ABOUT THEM.

Case Study: Facebook Deactivation

Cons: I stare at a blank computer screen and read Miss Manners articles more often than usual

Pros: MOAR BLOG, MORE FOCUSIN'

THIS IS MY STORY FOR TODAY:

A guy in my class tells me how he spilled coke on his brand new textbook.

That sucks, brotha.

We don't really talk much so I guess he doesn't get my humour; this is how the exchange went down:

Guy: "So I spilled coke on my textbook last night."

Larissa: "That sucks, but couldn't you have just dusted it off?"

Guy: "Uh, no.. it stained the pages."

Larissa: "No, like... nevermind."

Cocaine humour, wasted on the young.

Why Not to Talk To Strangers

Dear diary:

A while ago I was out on Whyte ave with Matt for a delicious lunch at Two Rooms.

After lunch I decide I need to walk to the other end of the avenue to get a body suit for my --- fantastic, by the way --- spanish bull costume for halloween. As we're walking due-west, I'm holding Matt's hand (I can be romantic!) and we walk past a rather gruff looking fellow sitting on a bench.

As soon as we pass, he starts yelling.

He yells at us, he yells, and says "HEY BUDDY, HEY. HEY WHY ARE YOU HOLDING MY GIRLFRIEND'S HAND LIKE THAT?"

LOL.

Matt brushes it off; dude's just being crayzay, right? But I can never resist an opportunity to yell at strangers.

(I MEAN, it says I like yelling at strangers RIGHT THERE in my blog description on the right panel.)

And I can't help it! I don't even know its happening until I feel my head turning around and I yell back: "I'M SORRY BABY, I'VE MOVED ON!"

"But I love you!" says the man

"I love you too," I say, and we keep walking. A woman sitting on the next bench overhears and says "He says that to everyone."

Damn, I felt special :(

LATER:

We're walking back to the car and have to pass the same bench, with same creepy man perched upon it.

Damn.

I try to keep a calm composure as we pass by him again. And things seem to be all peaches until, after we pass, Mr. Gruff pipes up again:

"DAMN LOOK AT THAT ASS, MMM BABY I'D LIKE A PIECE OF THAT ASS."

OKAY JUST BECAUSE I SAID I LOVE YOU DOESN'T MEAN IT WAS GENUINE.

Lesson learned, Larissa, lesson learned.

Whats in a name?

Good afternoon (non-existent) fans!

As usual I haven't blogged lately, but that doesn't negate the fact I lead a CRAZY ENTERTAINING AND AMAZING LIFE, turns out I'm lazy.

TODAY'S BLOG ENTRY IS A CONVERSATION WITH HB ABOUT GENTLEMANLY NAMES:

Larissa: "If I have a kid, I wanna name him Finnaeus. Fin for short."

HB: "Fin like THE END or Finn?"

Larissa: "Finn*"

HB: "The End would have been better."

HB: "Because a child is the end of your social life."

WORDS OF WISDOM.

Lets pay our respects..

The other day I was taking my dog for a romp at the local off-leash park, a wonderful place filled with trees and trails and doggies galore!

On our journey's I saw a crudely made wooden cross stuck in the ground near some bushes and I walked closer to see what the poop was up.
Upon further inspection, I see that its a little grave, freshly dug surely as there's some wilted daisies laid on top.
Marking it is a cross made of leftover plywood, filled with children's writing, mostly about "Jesus loves you, Peanut" and "You were very stinky but you were a cute hamster."

Breakin' my heart.

Naturally I pull out my cell phone to document this morose moment.
As I'm fumbling around in my pocket to grab the phone, my dog surely catches on to what's happening and shoves his nose into the dirt covering the shallow grave.

"NO SATCHEL," I yell and pull him back.
SATCHEL, NO, PEANUT DIDN'T DESERVE THIS.

Why would you bury your dead hamster in a locale extremely populated by animals with swift digging paws of various sizes? Surely Peanut's apparent stench doesn't help the situation.
Admittedly I contemplated putting some sort of log over the grave site to avoid a potential (and scarring) "Peanut; Unearthed and on the Path" incident, should the owner come back to pay respects, but apparently didn't sympathize enough to bother.

On the plus side, I was alerted to the fact that its spelled "HAMSTER" and not "HAMPSTER."
I guess I'm learning the wrong lessons in life.

LONG LIVE PEANUT.

Halloween

I think it may not come as a surprise to most people that my life is filled with fail.

FAIL.

This weekend's issues involved mostly sleep deprivation, but also a bit of HUGE bruises on my knees from falling onto a hardwood floor during a limbo contest, a touch of locking TWO sets of keys in my car at a hall party, thus locking mine and HB's jackets in the car as well, waiting freezing in the cold for half an hour for a cab, locking HB and I myself out of my house, and having my phone die all in one night.

BUT I DO FINE, I DO FINE.

In reality Matt picked up both our asses up, provided us with clothes and housing and used his AMA membership to get my keys and ship our asses back to my car in the morning...

BUT I DO FINE, OKAY.

This year I decided to dress as Super Mario for school, a Bull/Big Horn Sheep for Friday, and the regular nurse costume on Saturday.

I realize the nurse costume is a little uncreative, but sometimes the pickup-line-put-down opportunities are too great to put this one away yet.

Naturally I was pretty upset at the hall party due to the aforementioned incident of no sleep and no keys, so perhaps I was a little more sassy than necessary:

"Nurse, I feel sick."

"Go puke then."

"Wow, you're a bitch."

"/shrug"

"Nurse, I think I'm having a heart attack!"

"Sorry, I'm off duty tonight."

"Nurse, I think I hurt my arm!"

"Honestly man, I don't know shit, this is just a costume."

Tale of horrible consequence

My life is always "horrible consequence" this, "horrible consequence" that.

This tale doesn't take much introduction.
I drive a '97 Escort. Its a pretty ballin' car. The most ballin' part about it is the tape deck adapter I use to listen to my iPod.

I don't listen to the radio.
I am FM-deficient, I know little about top 40, unless I'm dancing to Apple Bottom Jeans at the bar, as previously stated.

For the last year I've been doing really well with my tape deck. We have fantastic singalongs and the sound quality is superb. But lately the stereo has been randomly ejecting the tape non stop.
Usually I can right this issue by warming the tape up on the heat vents and periodically pressing the "TAPE" button when I hear it start to get angry. (The stereo and me, we're quite emotionally connected.)

BUT TODAY MAN. TODAY WAS NOT MY DAY.
It wouldn't work at all! Ejecting every 2 seconds, no lie.
I spent half the ride home screaming at the top of my lungs at this thing because it makes me SO ANGRY. Few things make me that angry but this issue has gone on LONG ENOUGH. I start spitting strings of profanity I didn't even know existed.

God damn piece of shit cheap fucking chinese manufacturing!

Its just unbearable for me. I yelled myself into silence then rode in silence for about 5 minutes until I made the executive decision to destroy my tape deck adapter.
Yes, I know, maybe it was just an off day for the stereo, and it would have worked tomorrow, but I decided to focus on therapy instead of logic.

I look at the stereo, and I say to it: I am going to stomp the shit outta you when we get home.
JUST YOU WAIT, TAPE.
I ride home in a zen like state. Park the car. Walk up to my back door, calmly pick up a crow bar, and go to town.

My mother comes to the doors and asks what the hell I'm doing.
"Its been a rough ride home, Mom"



But now I definitely have to buy a new tape deck adapter.

BOOTS WITH DA FURRRRRRR

This weekend I went out on the town with Becky and Benjamin. We did out-on-the-town stuff, like dance to the Ghost Busters theme.

Becky decides it would be a good idea to forcefully slap my ass. She obviously doesn't have proper hand positioning, as she managed to thoroughly injure her index finger while doing so. At first I didn't believe her but WHOA NELLY it was swollen.

My ass feels proud.

Later on Becky tells the story to our friend Brendan, throwing in a tidbit that goes something like "Larissa must have buns of steel!" Obviously needing to verify the statement, I told Brendan how I used to have to do 100 squats per kickboxing class as a warm-up.

Brendan looks at me, "Larissa when is the last time you've done an actual proper squat?"

(Its general knowledge I left kickboxing classes before they were done due to hand injury/laziness.)

SO BRENDAN LOOKS AT ME, RIGHT.

Who does he think he is, questioning my physical exercise routines?

I pause to consider an accurate answer, look back up at him, and say:

"Well last night I guess, while I was dancing to 'Apple Bottom Jeans'"

Pic unrelated: How dirty is your mind?

Can't trust children

On Saturday this weekend I went to the mall with Ben and his friend Ameil, to help them buy clothes with my impeccable female taste.

Later, Ameil was getting his hair cut and Ben and I were waiting on the chairs in the lobby of the salon. A woman walked past us to pay up front for her haircut, and her daughter trails behind her.

I don't usually like kids, I'll admit, but when they're all of 2 years of age and haven't learned to have their own opinions yet they're SOOOOO CUTE.

Ben waves to the little girl and she stops, wide-eyed, and waves back to him.
Cue Larissa going "OHHHHH SO CUUUUTE."

The little girl walks up to her mother, who's about to leave, and Ben says to the little girl "Where are you going? Home?"

The little girl stares back at us again, and slowly raises her arm. I figure she's going to wave goodbye to us, but that's when she closes her fingers, one by one, until only her index is raised, and she points upwards towards the sky.

Ben and I go "OH SO CUTE" again, but really, I was thinking "SHE'S AN ALIEN!"

Tales from the Crypt Keeper

DEAR DIARY, THIS WEEKEND I MADE SHENANIGANS WITH HB AS USUAL.
THE FOLLOWING THINGS HAPPENED:

We go to Hudson's with a few friends, and decide to go outside to get some air. We're standing on the street corner and Heather says she's cold, so I do my maternal duty: put my arms around her and rub her back to warm her up.
Its what friends do, okay!

As we're standing there, our friend Derrick lets us know that the cab driver situated right beside us is watching our tender moment, creepily.

Never passing up a chance to weird people out, I keep rubbing Heather's back.
Then I lock eyes with the cab driver
and start mime-spanking Heather and nodding to him.
Heather clues in and plays along.

Cab promptly drove away. Some people can't take the heat.

TALE NUMBER 2!
We are taking a cab home after a delightful night of dancing, and the driver is playing top 40 songs on the radio.

Now I'm not the biggest top 40 fan in the world, but sometimes you can't fight the beat.
Sometimes you can't BEAT UP THAT BEAT, am I right?

ANYWAY OKAY.
So we're taking the cab home and the driver cranks the music for us, as we sing Katy Perry songs in the back seat. Some new song comes on that I apparently love and I'm pullin' out my best still-sitting-in-the-backseat dance moves.
As we pull up to the next stop light, the driver turns around and asks me if I'd like to get out of the car, to dance on the street instead of in his cab.
I mean, a girl's gotta have some freedom of movement, right?
Dejected, I said no, I was good, and toned down my raising of the roof.

Can't stop the party!

In other news:

Ways to Hit on Someone

#1: The Wrong Way

Walking down the street the other day with Becky, we approached two men our age, who appeared way too drunk for a Wednesday evening.
(HEY, we all gotta let loose sometimes, right?)

As we pass by them, I know one of them is gonna say something, so I gear up for STRANGER-TALK (My favourite!)

"HEY, can I buy you girls some breakfast?" yells one of the men. I hate when guys do this. Breakfast now? Or breakfast in the morning after you've successfully brought me home? I AIN'T SO SLOW, DRUNK MAN.

"FOR SURE, BUDDY, give me a call some time!" I yell back at him, as Becky keeps ushering me further down the sidewalk.
"But I don't have your number!" Smart cookie, this one.
"Sure you do, its written on the bus-stop bench two blocks down the street!"
"Oh. Thanks!"

/EVADED


#2. The Right Way:

Larissa:
My friend picked me up while I was outside and attempted to carry me inside the bar again, but since he's 6'3" he almost rammed my head into the top of the door frame, but I grabbed onto the door and went "NO!

Jon:
I'm like 6'5" so id bump your head into the heavens where you belong baby

Making new friends

Dear Diary:

On Friday I went to see Richard Vission for the 2nd time courtesy of Easylove/The Internationals. I need to take a dance-party break, as I'm starting to become broke, and sick. Irresponsibility FTW!

ANYWHO,
Afterwards I volunteer my cab-hailing skills to end the night, and while doing my signature hand-wave, a passing homeless man strikes up a conversation.

(OKAY, maybe he wasn't homeless, but just really enjoyed 2-AM walks and smelling dirty. Anything goes.)

Homeless-man, seeing that my cab hailing skills are not generating any success, he says to me: "Pretty girl like you shouldn't have any problems getting a cab!"

I can see Heather look at me like she doesn't want me to respond to this guy, but I can't pass up a conversation!

"I KNOW MAN, but its peak hours or something!" says Larissa
"Well just throw a little leg out," - says Mr. Man.

I look down at my ensemble. I'm wearing a a short black and teal dress with some black tights to ensure proper ass-coverage with a dress that short.
(PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT TO SKANKY 18 YEAR OLDS: WEAR SOME.)

ANYWAY

"Well just throw a little leg out," - says the man,
and I look down,
and I look back at him,
and with the most serious face/angry voice I could conjure I say "I'm wearing leggings."

LIKE CAN'T YOU SEE, BUDDY?

Heather promptly lets me know I need to STOP TALKING TO RANDOM MEN, and I finally wave down a cab. Must have been the leg I threw out when she grabbed me away from the conversation.


In other news I had a great dream about a panda bear and a hippopotamus fighting to the death in a lake.

Pic unrelated.

Outta-Context Facebook Chat Moments

Kenny

haha ya how the fuck did you end up at the same party as that cool guy

Larissa

It was a friend of my coworker. He's the cousin of the guy who's house it was. So strange! He was actually nice, we went through a nature book together as I yelled "FUCK THOSE SNAKES" and "YEAH MAN I LOVE SHARKS"

DARLINGS, I'M BACK

I've taken a long hiatus from my blog for reasons of: Fun shit only happens when I'm drunk.

And yes, yes, I could always conveniently fail to mention in my blog that I HAVE very well been drinking when this fun, bloggable shit happens, to keep all you NOSEY PARKERS with too much morale at bay.

BUT Y'KNOW.

I have become zen.

To prove my point, here is a story that doesn't have to do with drinking at all:

/fade to dream sequence

I have a habit of not having the ability for internal thought. Friends who hang around me enough will notice this when I have arguments with myself, or answer my own questions.

Similarly, given outlets such as twitter, and facebook statuses, I tend to write everything that comes to mind. /Check out my twitter for proofs.

APPARENTLY THIS IS ANNOYING.

Darin tells me one day, after seeing his news feed flooded with posts from HB and I, that he is blocking both of us from his front page so as to not have to see our incessantly stupid conversations. I was, how do you say... AGHAST.

a-ghast, -adjective. Struck with overwhelming awe or amazement.

Needless to say I was hurt.

Later that night I wrote a long winded message on HB's wall about how we should talk a lot of shit about Darin, since he can't see any of our updates anymore.

Darin signs online.

I says to Darin, I says: "Do you know what the main problem is with blocking us from your news feed?"

"What?"

"You can't see me talking shit about you on HB's wall."

"Damnit how do I put you back on my newsfeed!"

"Its too late, everyone thinks you're gay now."

Pic unrelated.

I DEMAND A REFUND.

Dear Diary,

When you go to Tim Hortons, and you order a blueberry bagel, with strawberry cream cheese, do you not expect to get exactly that?

I can humour maybe just putting regular cream cheese on it instead of strawberry; these things happen.

When you order, additionally, a blueberry bagel with just butter on it, what do you expect?

Life is filled with many unexpected twists and turns, but I can guarantee you never expect, when giving the aforementioned order, to receive two blueberry bagels with slices of processed cheese in the middle.

True story.

How the HELL does that happen?

And for the record: No, it didn't taste wrong, but it definitely didn't taste right, either.

People change

Yesterday my father and I got into a debate about what to do with the family of magpies that has decided to live in the trees outside our house.

They're annoying as shit, yes, I know, but my dad says he wants to kill the birds with a BB-gun.

I do have a touch of the humanitarian in me, so I am voicing my opinion against this; what if he only injures the bird instead of killing it? It'll suffer! And why should we take the life of an innocent bird?

The conversation eventually dwindled down and I went out with HB and Elyse later that night.

CUE: MORNING, and I wake up to a horrible headache surely brought on by my bad decisions of last night.

I'm curled up in my bed as Elyse is quietly playing Queen on my laptop to pep me up, and the god damn magpies start squawking again.

They WON'T. STOP. SQUAWKING.

I'm moaning about how much my head hurts and these magpies aren't helping. But I'd rather not have to get up and do anything about it.

SQUAWK. SQUAWK. What, are they having some sort of magpie debate about what to do with the family of humans living in the house beside their tree?

I'm slowly going crazy.

Finally I decide I'm sick of these magpie's shit, and get out of bed.

"I'm going to go throw rocks at these things," I tell Elyse. She nods in understanding.

Begrudgingly I walk to the front door, ready to lay the smack down, and when I step outside I see my father standing in the front yard, looking at the birds as well.

We exchange a knowing glance.

I look at my father, and I says to him, I says:

"Kill them."

A tale of horrible consequence

Today we are gonna talk about work.

I talk about work a lot.

At work, people talk to me a lot. About their problems. About their ex. About how much they hate their life.

Sometimes about their torrid affairs.

They often cry.

Sometimes they openly admit to me, "Sorry for taking so long, it just gets lonely and its nice to have someone to talk to out here."

I AM NOT A CRISIS LINE; I have become damn good at my sympathy-voice but oi vey.

ANYWAY:

Today one of the other assistants, Darin, and I got in a fight.

This doesn't usually happen; the last time we got in a fight was when he accused Sandra Bullock of cheating on Jesse James while he was cheating on her. ITS A SERIOUS ISSUE, OKAY?

But we started getting into a heated discussion about religion and you know how I get.

I start getting very frustrated and end up yelling at him. Darin tells me to drop the subject and at this point I'm pretty furious that he's not letting me speak. I huff and puff and blow the house down storm out of the office to go pick up lunch for everyone.

(Side note: My storm-out was only like a 5/10 on the storm out scale, I ain't no diva!)

WHATEVER THOUGH RIGHT, everyone needs a good storm out every once in a while; I was hungry and in a bad mood. SO SUE ME. (LAWFIRM JOKE, LOLOL)

However, I get half way to the parking lot when I realize that I've forgotten all the money to buy lunch... back in the office.

God damnit.

I consider that maybe I'll just pay for lunch myself to avoid having to make a fool of myself, but I'm already feeling silly about having a bitch-fit...

Fine.

I turn around and run up the stairs to the office again.

Deep breath, grab the doorknob, storm back into the office and before anyone can say anything I announce:

"Okay so forgetting the money to pay for lunch has severely lessened the effectiveness of my storm-out," and quickly grab the money from my desk drawer.

In the background, the other assistant, Michael, bursts into laughter.

I storm back towards the door, pride thoroughly dimished, turn around and say,

"And Darin I'm sorry for telling you to shut up,"

and storm out for the second time.

:|

Making a dramatic exit: not my forte, obviously.

On, and for the record, lunch was mediocre.

PONDERIN'S

I SAID WITHIN REASON.

Yesterday at work I decided to show everyone the grape-in-the-microwave trick mentioned in the previous blog entry.

Best secretary ever!

I had to, damnit. While telling the story of punching Kylie in the face, people seemed to think I was just being abusive, so I had to demonstrate the awesomeness ---

Wait, that's a legit word? Spellcheck seems to think so.

OKAY SO ANYWAY,

To redeem myself, yes, I DID have to use the workplace microwave to cause a plasma-party with the grapes that someone conveniently has left in the fridge for weeks.

That said, I forget what I was actually going to write this blog entry about so fuck y'all, here's a facebook chat gold moment:

Ben:

i am dangerous because i seem non-threatening then all of the sudden the girls banging me and she is all like "how did this happen"

Larissa:

God Ben, with talk like that I'm amazed I haven't found myself in the same situation

My birthday!

DEAR DIARY: Yesterday I turned 21!

It was fantastic.

The night involved many memorable moments, including the following:

1. Waiting with Kylie in my house before we head out for dinner, I suddenly remember that youtube video showing how to make a grape explode by putting it in the microwave.

I've been wanting to try it for a while, and decided to MAKE IT HAPPEN in the kitchen.

So: it happened.

I'm so excited that the grape actually went all PLASMA EXPLOSION that I that I thrust both my hands into the air giggling and going "YEAHHHHH!!!" and promptly punched Kylie in the face.

2. While at the bar celebrating my birthday later on, I meet a man who is also celebrating his birthday there.

We exchange happy birthdays, and he asks for a birthday hug.

OKAY, Its the man's birthday, afterall. So I go to give him a hug annnnd he picks me up.

WHY DO PEOPLE ALWAYS FEEL THE NEED TO PICK ME UP?

Naturally I'm wearing a moderately short dress and he clearly hasn't watched any instructinal youtube videos about how NOT to pick up a female in a dress, and he shows my underwear to the entire bar.

Happy birthday!

Fortunately I considered the fact that my dress was short and someone might pick me up, since it always happens, so I made sure to wear appropriately covering pantaloons.

PEOPLE THESE DAYS.

Substance Abuse

Dear Diary:

As I mentioned in my previous blog entry, I stayed home from work yesterday due to being betrayed by chocolate pudding and getting food poisoning.

I sent my boss an e-mail yesterday morning saying I probably had the stomach flu, because when you are the secretary, who answers the phone when you are too sick and need to call in?

NO ONE.

I feel much better today though. My boss was a little concerned and asked me how I was doing:

"Are you okay today?" he asks me.

"Yeah I think it was food poisoning, I'm fine now," says Larissa.

"Is that just your way of saying you were too hungover to come into work?"

(NO FAITH IN ME!)

"NO NO NO," I defend, "I was just really sick, I couldn't sleep all night."

"Do you have a crack problem? I'll pay for your rehab."

(EVEN LESS FAITH IN ME!)

"NO I swear, I was just sick," I say.

"But Larissa, what happens when you're addicted to crack?"

"... You get sick and stay up all night." I say. INSERT FROWNY FACE :(

This is what your brain looks like on drugs:

I ASSUME.

Hygeine

Good morning world!

I write today from my couch, as opposed to my desk at work, due to suffering from food poisoning after FINALLY making a huge batch of chocolate pudding I've been craving.

Pudding, never does anyone any good.

NOW, lets reminisce about going to a birthday party at a bar this weekend; the same bar holding parties for a stag, and an irish rugby team.

SHENANIGANS ENSUE, of course.

HB and I try our damndest to fend off people gettin' creepy on us, its a full time job.

One man is wearing a large blue corduroy house coat and a blonde wig, he's doing magic card tricks for me. Another man is probably a foot shorter than HB and trying to give her a drunken lap dance. Just another day in the life...

At one point I go to the bar to get myself a water, because YES I WAS NOT DRINKING.

Waiting for the bar tender to take my order, I hear a voice to my right say "Did you put perfume in your hair?"

WHAT?

I'm a little weirded out and turn my head to see a greasy, creepy guy looking me in the eye.

"No.. why?" I say.

"It smells really nice," says Greasy-Guy.

OH? Did I give you permission to smell my hair?

"Thanks," I say, and turn my head towards the bar tender for a moment, before looking back at Greasy-Guy and say, "I washed it for the first time this month today."

Accordingly, G.G. stops paying attention to me at that very moment.

Larissa's charm levels: Still at maximum power.

Colloquialisms in 3D!

Colloquialisms.

Now that is a god damn good word.

I use it every so often, maybe 4 - 5 times a month.

One colloquialism I enjoy using is "Beggars can't be choosers." I often use it when someone asks me if they can borrow a pen, and I give them scissors instead, and they get all upset.

Hey man, beggars can't be choosers.

Imagine this:

HB and I decide to hit up our faaaaavourite go-to, O'Byrnes, for some 35cent wing night. Its moderately cold outside so obviously we sit on the patio because we are true Albertans.

We sit ourselves down on the edge of the patio right by the sidewalk, and enjoy our food over a rip-roaring conversation about how OUTSTANDINGLY AWESOME the new version of Blackberry Messenger is.

Its like going from Windows Messenger to MSN VERSION 7!

Ah-mazing.

Inbetween bites of food and tech-talk, I guess the local bum-folk have decided to rummage around, and a panhandlin' man pokes his head through the patio fence to ask us for money.

He says something along the lines of "Hey ladies can I have a 5 dollar bill?"

(BILL? THIS AIN'T VEGAS, BABY.)

Naturally HB stays cool and collected and I scream because I am the jumpiest person in this city.

I tell the guy I have no money. C'mon.

Because Heather has a heart she offers the guy a toonie and a loonie.

"I'd really rather have 6 dollars for a pizza sub from Subway" says the hobo.

"This is all I have," says Heather.

"Don't you have 3 toonies?"

"This is all I have."

"What about another 2 dollars?"

"This is all. I. Have." says HB.

ARE YOU SERIOUSLY bargaining with us, crazyman?

Finally he pisses off. It took everything I had not to yell "BEGGARS CAN'T BE CHOOSERS" because it would have been so perfect.

We resume eating our food, as HB grumbles:

"He could have gotten half a pizza sub for $3.75."

Beggin' ain't about profit. What a SWINDLER.

I mean, in a pinch... just get some ketchup.

Mountain Moments

Good morning world! (Good afternoon?)
I'm back from a delightful trip to the mountains this weekend with Kylie and Brendan and Co., and enjoying getting back to work as the resident scapegoat at this lawfirm for all the angry clients.

NOT.

To distract from my day being about a 3/10 though, here are two notable stories from my adventures:

STORY NUMBER ONE:
This is a short story that involves re-injuring my injured thumb (see 2 blog entries ago.)
I've been taking good care of my injured digit, and while I still can't quite open up a bottle or turn on the bath taps propertly, I'd say we're healing up just fine.
But you know meee....
While engaging in some pre-bar drinking at our hotel room, we all decided to watch FOOTLOOSE on the tiny provided television set. I had seated myelf on the window sill to see the nightlife outside and naturally got excited by the dance sequences. I can't help it!
CUE: COPYING THE MOVIE.
Kevin Bacon is just RIPPIN' through the forest, dancing in the barn, carthwheels, hand gestures! I'm immitating it all in the window, surely looking like some sort of poor, red-light-district window dancer to the world below.

Obviously its not a career choice for myself.
I feel I'm being moderately entertaining though, until good ole K. Bacon throws his hands back, and keeping in stride, I do as well, swiftly ramming my fists into the side of the wall re-injuring my thumb. Lovely.

STORY TWO:
After a night of dancing at the Hoodoo lounge below our hotel, which was preceeded by a short conversation between Brendan's friend and I:

"So where are we going?" "Hoodoo." "You do..." ".... Do what?" "Remind me of the babe?" "YES, THAT WAS A TEST AND YOU PASSED!"

Obviously one of my favourite movie references.



ANYWAY,

Beligerently yours, we exit the bar and two men engage me in a conversation about how "the best guitarist in western Canada" is staying at their hotel, in the penthouse suite.

OH?

I look sternly at them as Kylie and Brendan watch from a distance, and say "Are you trying to invite me to your hotel room?"
I AIN'T NO FOOL!
Guy #1 decides that in order to break down my angry barriers he'll dance with me, grabs my hands, and starts humming some unknown song.
We start doing a little mountain jig, I suppose, but 20 seconds in he stops humming, but continues to try and dance with me.

Excuse me? That shit don't fly.
Cue stern look #2, and I say to him "Keep humming."
"What?" he says, perhaps I'm being too pushy?
"Keep humming, damnit! You don't just start dancing with me and then stop humming!"

Mid-sentence Brendan decides its time to go and him and Kylie grab/drag me away from them.

"But what about our hotel room!" the guy yells back at me. Brendan continues to escort me away. I point at him with elegance that can only be compared to to Buddy Jesus from Dogma.

"PENHOUSE SUITE, RIGHT? I'll be there buddy! I'll be thereeeeee!"

Words of Wisdom from Larissa

I have nothing good to write about today so I'm gonna post a few "facebook chat gold moments" (which, to be honest, are really just things that I say to other people that I think are funny, because I'm very self absorbed,) and an unrelated photo.

Back to basics!

Larissa on... Pregnancy:

Pregnancy is like a gumball machine. Its exciting to see what you get but the flavour wears off fast.

Larissa on... Instant messenger etiquette:

You know what I fuckin' hate?

When people type "haha lol"

Nothing is that god damn funny.

And finally:

Picky picky!

Lesson Learned

Dear Diary:

Thursday I went out with KERRTALK, and we got some bubbletea to feel cultured.

Naturally I decided to push the limits and order an avocado smoothie; which admittedly was pretty decent tasting until it got warm. Not so much...

Anyway, turns out I'm not only rowdy when I'm drinking (I AM NOT AN ALCOHOLIC OKAY,) I'm actually just always rowdy.

I'm sure taking kickboxing doesn't help.

On the drive home, somehow Kenny and I (or just me?) decide that it would be a good idea for me to punch Kenny in the arm to prove I'm gaining strength from my classes.

Scene:

Kenny parks the car outside my house.

Larissa says: So we doing this or what?

Kenny nods.

We both get out of the car.

LARISSA ASSUMES KICKBOXING STANCE, TAKES A COUPLE TEST SHOTS, AND THROWS HER PUNCH.

Kenny stands stoic.

I recoil my hand and go "OW OW OW OW WHAT THE HELL" and grab my hand.

I've done something to my thumb.

(And no, for all the smarmy bastards that are asking "Well did you have your thumb inside your fist?" I did not. I at least know how to make a proper fist.)

Do you know how hard it is to put on jeans, with one hand, with your non-dominant hand?

Do you know how shameful it is buying a bottle of wine the next day, with one bandaged up hand, telling the cashier you hurt it kickboxing (since you don't wanna sound like a completely crazy bitch,) and then you can't get your debit card out of your wallet with your gimp hand, so the cashier offers to help, and you say I GOT THIS.

Do you?

I hope this shit heals. Kenny's shoulder: 1, Larissa: 0.

Another reason why I'm (not?) charming

I feel my friend base is so used to my personality flaws that I forget to tame myself around the general public.

Case in point:

Today I was pretty swamped at work. Everything is breaking, technology-wise, meaning the printer won't work, the photocopier jams, and applications on the computer decide to stop performing properly.

Nothing puts me in a foul mood faster than broken technology; especially when the office I work in lacks anyone hired to be tech support.

ESPECIALLY when other people try to offer unwarranted help, because I AM tech support, and I have outrageous amounts of pride with these issues.

ANYWAY OKAY SOOOOOO,

I am feeling pretty high strung today, and I'm filing away a bunch of papers.

The paralegal, Darin, is trying to print things on the printer that I stole from him, so I now have even less space around my desk than usual, and in the midst of all the commotion, I manage to paper-cut the front of my middle finger.

UGH! Its pretty big.

Cue typical Peter Griffin "AHHHHH. AHHHHHHhhhhhh," noises while I clutch my finger.

Darin goes "Are you okay?"

--- This is all pretty typical, I know.

I quickly shut up my whining, let go of my finger to inspect the damage, and say "Yep. Ah here it comes,"

and before I know what I'm doing I'm squeezing the area around my paper cut to make it bleed.

(Am I the only one that does that? I have a fascination with my own injuries.)

(I'm only doing this to assess the definite size of the paper-cut, its hard to tell if it isn't bleeding!)

Darin kind of stares in amazement.

But wait, it gets better,

I grab a pen and make two little eyes with eyebrows above my paper-cut, so it looks like an angry face with a set of red lips.

I put my pen down and get back to work.

And for a moment, life is zen, until I look up and Darin is still staring at me.

"Oh god, did I really just do that?" I say. Rhetorical question.

"BUT I MEAN, don't you sometimes poke your bruises because its fun the way they hurt?" I ask. Rhetorical question.

"I can't believe how strange I am," I say. No response needed.

Darin looks at me.

He says

"Yep."

And walks away.

Words of Wisdom from my Father

My father just returned from a business trip to Las Vegas.

He says to me:

"And the strip clubs, wow, its like $50 dollars just to get in the door!"
"Well Dad, did you go in?"
"What? No. Why would I pay $50 dollars to see boobs? I've got the internet."



And there you have it!

Around

Dear Diary,

Yesterday I finally became a real woman and got my navel pierced.

I've been avoiding getting it done all my life due to the fact it is "every high school girls' right of passage," according to HB. And it is true.

BUT I'm almost 21 now, so its totally acceptable right?

But until I remember its there, I'm going to keep hitting it with things and going AHHHHHH out of pain, I'm hoping my awareness increases by tomorrow.

Last night I accompanied Elyse out to Filthy's for a friend's birthday party.

It was an alright time.

At one point I was walking back to our table from the washroom, when a man (from Wales, apparently) grabs my shoulders and stops me.

"Where have you been all my life?" he says

I look at him.

Well, where have I been?

"Around," I say. Silence.

He begins to tell me how much he wants to marry me (TRUE STORY, but I'm sure he says this to all the girls,) when right beside us some guys get into a fight.

Guy #1 decides to hit Guy #2 in the head with a glass, and of course the bouncers are on them like..

like..

like an old woman in a wombat suit handing out coupons with her mouth to supermarket customers.

(Dream I had last night, it was great)

ANYWAY, POINT BEING:

Mr. Wales decides to be all chivalrous and grab on to me to somehow shield me from the fight going on.

I suppose this is gentleman-like, right? But I'm uninterested, and again I have to go and get rowdy and rude.

Scene:

Mr. Wales is trying to pull me away from the fight, he looks down at me and says "Are you alright? Are you okay?" He's ohhhhhhhhh-so concerned.

Larissa is uninterested, she doesn't need any protection from no UK-born man! Especially one who's already asked her twice in this short conversation to go home with him. (Does that actually work? It must if he's still asking.)

I ignore his questions of whether I'm hurt, as I try to struggle free from his arms yelling at the two guys, "HUG IT OUT, BITCHES! Hug it out!!"

He lets me go, surely out of fear.

I shake his hand, and say "Don't worry, I'll be around."

FIN.

Mother Moments

My mom and I get along pretty damn well.

She accepts me for who I am.

Sometimes I call her when I'm bored at work, and say things like "YO MOMMA" and "K PAYCE" to open and close the conversation.

She usually says "Uh okay!"

She called me at work the other day to discuss what we are going to have for dinner that night.

She knows I love talking about food, what a good mother!

(As an aside, I have been watching an astounding amount of OLN and Food Network lately. I coujld live off these channels. Mantracker, Man vs. Wild, Iron Chef and Good Eats ALL DAY LONG.)

We're talking about making portobello mushroom burgers and I'm trying to convince her its a good idea.

My mother says "I don't know Larissa, I really want to but I don't have nice buns."

She's obviously referring to hamburger buns, but I'm never one to give up an opportunity:

"Come on now mom, don't be so hard on yourself," I say.

She giggles despite the fact I just kinda BA-ZING'd her.

I am pretty pro at being a daughter.

Coincidentally we did not have burgers for dinner.

HEY! What do you call two red heads in a fight?

GINGER BEEF.

I have a crush on billboards.

Dear Diary:

On Sunday morning kylie and I had our first kickboxing class.
This is like, a kickboxing boot camp. Our trainer is mean!
AND SCARY.
(Though I made a joke about kicking ass and taking names and I think he smiled. I'll charm him good, then maybe he'll stop threatening "This is the LAST time I wanna see your feet touch the ground during the crunches set, LADIES.")

!!!!
Terrifying.

Needless to say I got my ass whooped. I've not worked so hard in years, and my thighs are so sore I can barely walk.
Seriously.
I'm walking like a baby tyranosaurus rex taking its first steps.
VISUALIZE THIS.
My thigh muscles keep spasming and forcing my leg back and it sets me off balance. The only way to keep it from happening is to lock my knees, and then I walk like a toy soldier.

Naturally my boss decides that yesterday would be a good day to send me walking down town to deposit some money in the bank.
I try to tell him I can't walk normal, but he inquires whether I'm doing Muay Thai or regular kick boxing.
"Just regular kind," I say.
"Oh," says my boss, pauses for a moment... and leaves the office.

OH? OH WHAT? I guess this means I'm still doing the bank run.

Instead of taking the stairs out to my car, the quickest route, I take the elevator to save on PAIN and walk around my building to the parking lot. Excessive hobbling ensues.
Hobble hobble.
I stop to look up at a billboard on the lot for a while, because I hear chirping, and find that there is a bunch of baby pigeons with their mother living in between the billboard.
AWWWW.
I stare up at it for a while and smile, then continue my journey through the parking lot.

Hobble.
Hobble.
I finally get to my car. Getting in and out of it is the hardest part of transportation right now.
I open the door and grab onto it with both hands for support as I try to throw myself ass-first into the drivers seat.
I'm swearing under my breath and going "OW OW OW," its a long arduous process, and I finally manage to get myself adjusted and start the car.

Still parked, I look out the front windshield, and there is a man leaning up against the building.
He's smoking a cigarette.
He's obviously been smoking it for a while, as he throws the butt on the ground and stomps it out.

(I have enough humility to realize that my adventure comes off to a third party not as a quest full of the miracles of life, triumphs of strength and agility, but as a crippled person who stares lovingly at inanimate objects for unacceptable amounts of time before swearing at her car.)

And when he looks
he looks at me.

Annnnnnd SCENE.

Waiting for the day I get assaulted

Its been too long since I've posted up a proper "pick up line put down" blog entry!

Last night HB and I attended a show hosted by Easy Love for Villains, and while I've seen Easy Love in action before, I've never gone to one of their actual events before, and gat damn was it ever awesome.

Point being on this blog, though:

We arrived around 10, the place wasn't too packed so we sat down at a large booth.

I don't know if this is mistake #1 or not, because having empty seats around you is just asking for someone to come saddle up beside you.

Normally I wouldn't mind people saddling up beside me, but I always get the crazies!

Cue: Man in a full track suit sitting beside Heather (albeit friendly, so I'm not gonna bring this guy down,) and a... clearly innebriated on SOMETHING man, sits beside me.

Conversation goes as follows:

Drunk: "Soooooo, what seems to be the problem here?"

L: ".... There's no problem."

Drunk: SILENCE.

L: SILENCE.

Drunk: SILENCE

L: "Is that seriously your opening line?"

Apparently it was.

I look at his friend, who will from now on be known as TRACK PANTS, and he says "What seems to be the problem?"

(Is there an echo in here?)

L: "Your friend's opening line."

Track Pants says "Oh... he's not my friend"

Aside: He's totally this guy's friend, but T.P. has just become ashamed of him.

They introduce themselves and leave the table. I figure I've shut this one down fast enough, but sure enough, Drunkie comes back!

He sits down beside me and moving his hands around to the beat, leans in romantically:

"So... you gonna buy me a drink?"

Larissa says: "No."

"Why not!"

"You're drunk enough already"

"No I'm not!"

"I don't buy drinks for men."

"Maybe you should start!"

"You know, when the day comes that I really do want to get a man shitfaced and take advantage of him, I'll buy him a drink. But today is not that day."

Drunkie laughs because I'm soooooo hilarious, and then looks at me again, I guess waiting for me to be more cooperative.

I'm done talking here.

Finally the guy wanders off, leaving his keys on the table (as a gift for me, surely) and I turn to HB and tell her that one day I'm gonna get Snooki-punched Jersey Shore style for being so rude to guys.

Heather says, "Its all part of your charm, though."

POW, RIGHT IN THE KISSER.

I'm sincerely capable of being friendly under the right circumstances, I swear.

Alternate desktop decor

For those that aren't a fan of the uppity attitude of Courage Wolf, I have made an alternate Depression Dog background to cater to those who are feeling a little more ... grim:

In other news, I think I've mentioned before that I like to refer to myself as The Hammer.

I have ceased introducing myself to men at the bar as "Hi, I'm the Hammer," although I may begin doing it again should someone start hassling me.

ANYWAY, I'm THE HAMMA because if you need something started, Imma start that shit for you.

I had my middle name on Facebook set to "Hammer" for a while, but when the fake-middle-name trend really took off, I deleted it. But I'm back!

And it astounds me how many people think it may really be my middle name.

Usually I just tell people "Yep, my parents were crazy hippies," and it seems to suffice,

except for that one time I said "Yeah, and my brother's middle name is Sickle; my parents are communists."

Why do people always believe what I tell them? It must be my outrageous stone-face.

This blog entry also includes: A BLAST FROM THE PAST!

Aww yeah, fashion statements from highschool that keep on rollin'. I didn't wear my CCCP scarf nearly enough this winter.

Must not be a dinosaur in a clever human costume, I caught you last time.

Today was really slow at work so Darin said he was going to find me a man on craigslist.

I know, I know, you'd think this is a really great idea, but I'm not really down with stomping on men with heels, having my feet worshipped, or guys that write ads all about how tired they are of jerking off.

True story.

(Does that work?)

Needless to say, prospects are looking grim.

SPEAKING OF GRIM,

I recounted today to Darin about how when I was young, I would play a football video game on the Super Nintendo with my brother.

And how we got to pick our own team colours and names.

Usually I picked things like "PANDA BEARS!" and "FLUFFY BUNNIES" I guess, because I was only 6 years old, but one day I decided I would really up the ante and pick a name that was hardcore. Something that makes a statement about how fearsome my team is.

Accordingly I made my team colours blue and pink, or something along those lines.

And the name?

I was going for something a little death related, something with a little.. je ne sais quoi...

Something channelling that character with the skull and the black hood..

Ah yes, the Grim Reaper.

Its a shame my spelling skills weren't so grand back then though.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE WELCOME TO THE STADIUM, IN THE PINK AND BLUE, THE GRIM RAPERS!!!!!

And I mean, as far as rapists go, they're not well liked, right? But the grim ones are the worst.

Cornering you in an alleyway, and just really bringing you down before they assault you.

Life can get pretty rough sometimes, I cannot forebode it getting any better for you. The rain clouds are really coming down on your parade today...

The worst part is when you're really excited about your team name, and all 6-year-old high-pitched say "MY TEAM IS THE RAPERS!" while waving your pudgy little arms in the air...

And then your mother has to, casually, explain to you that you probably shouldn't exclaim that with a smile.

KIDS SOMETIMES.

I also made a background for my computer at work of Courage Wolf to keep me inspired throughout the day, which I have made available to you just one click away to the full-sized version:

AND THAT was how my Tuesday went.

Dreams really do come true

I love bunny rabbits.

I think this comes as no surprise to most people I know.

I have a section in my very diligently organized photos folder on my computer, dedicated entirely to photos of rabbits.

Back when I worked at the car dealership, my screen saver on my computer consisted entirely of photos I had taken of the rabbits that live on the car lot.

YEAH SO...

Last night HB and I headed down to Fluid for a beach themed party, musics provided by Easylove/The Internationals.

This is Larissa. See Larissa plug. Plug, Larissa, plug!

Needless to say on a Sunday it wasn't as packed as we're used to, BUT THAT SHIT DOESN'T MATTER.

(THERE WAS WATER GUNS!)

We danced until the music stopped playing; that's the proper way to do a night.

BUT ALL THIS DOESN'T MATTER

Because on the way there, we encountered a thing of great beauty: a man dressed up as a rabbit.

I'm not talkin' creepy joke-costume, shirtless man in his underwear and bunny ears. --- I'm not down with that.

I'm talkin' full fledged mascot, big foam bunny head!

As we walk towards him, I knew what had to be done.

And perhaps we both did it at the same time.. I can't quite pin point who held their arms out first,

(Probably the bunny-man, actually, but if my reaction time wasn't a little stunted due to consumption of alcohol, it would have been me!)

--- But was like a scene from a romantic movie, openly running into each other's arms, except it was night time on the street, not a sunset field of flowers.

And uh.. there was a homeless person sitting on the sidewalk.

In other news:

Bella wants to turn into a vampire but Edward won't let her!

As well, I found a half-bottle of vodka in my trunk the day my long weekend started.

I generally try to not talk at length about drinking on my blog because some anonymous people feel the need to leave comments accusing me of alcoholism.

(No, I'm still not over that, ANONYMOUS.)

BUT, due to my obnoxious personality, I will say this: Finding a bottle of vodka in your trunk before a long weekend begins is like the universe is saying "Thank you, Larissa, for being awesome, now get your party on."

So suck on that, do-good-ers.

Not a true story

Last night I could swear something was watching me sleep, so I set up a video camera in my room, and...

and..

Swords and Offices

Yesterday I bought a huge box of paper for the office, but since I'm weak and can't carry a box of 5000 sheets of paper, I left it in my trunk.

SO THIS MORNING! --- My boss, Nav, asked for my keys so he could carry it up to our 3rd floor office, (a great feat,) and he goes down to the parking lot.

I turn to Darin and say "Man... I have so much shit in my car, I hope Nav doesn't think I'm crazy."
I mean I am, to a decent extent, crazy. Anyone who has ridden in my car has seen the kind of shenanigans that go on in there, such as:

1. At least 6 empty plastic bottles at one time. I always plan to recycle them
   and never do
2. A pair of running shoes, except one is up by the windshield.
3. Random socks
4. A tomahawk stick
5. A plastic sword
6. About 5 pairs of sunglasses, 2 of which are STRAIGHT OUTTA the 80s
7. Clothes and gloves of all kinds

So he comes back in with the paper, and hands me my keys, and says "Did you know there is a plastic sword in your car?"

(As an aside, I suppose I never put it in writing on this blog that I once hit a car due to playing with the sword at a stoplight. Always stay focused, kids!)

"Yes," says Larissa, and I giggle.
My boss calls out to Darin, and says "HEY DARIN, Guess what Larissa has in her car!"
But Darin already knows. He tells Nav I once shook the sword at him while we were driving down the street after work.

I considered mentioning the tomahawk stick, and how if you slide the sword through the slot where the ax blade is supposed to go, you get a TOMAHAWK-SWORDDDDD.
But I didn't.

I get a little more interesting every day.

Routines

The light on my alarm clock --- the one that's supposed to light up to let you know you've turned on your alarm --- its broken.

This would seem like a really trivial thing, considering it is but one small, dim, red LCD light that says "HEYYYYYYY your alarm is totally turned on," but it is causing a small, yet incredibly annoying distress in my life.

Every weeknight, I go to bed, and before I go to bed, I turn my alarm on, because I so totally love waking up at 6 AM.

And every time, after I turn my alarm on, I climb into bed, and I grab my lap top, SUCH AS I AM DOING RIGHT NOW, and I sit with my head propped up at a convenient, yet uncomfortable angle on my pillow.

And I lay there.

And I look at my alarm clock.

And I think.. did I turn it on?

I could just set my phone alarm clock... just to make sure.

But the light isn't on. Is that because its not turned on? Or is it turned on?

So then I get up,

get out of my bed (which, if I'm lucky, has been previously warmed by my dog's furry body)

and check.

And of course, its always turned on.

So I wonder why it is, that I can remember phone numbers from random drunk men at the bar, and file numbers of countless clients at work, and the street address to Maury Povich's god damn show at 15 Penn Plaza, Grand Ballroom, New York, NY, 10001, BUT NOT THAT MY ALARM HAS BEEN TURNED ON?

To brighten up this blog entry, here are FB chat gold moments:

Larissa talking to Brendan:
Every god damn time I type "part" my fingers instinctively add a "y" to the end of the word.
Is that bad?

Larissa talking to Becky:
"I'm going to keep saying "Vagina" to Patrick until he says "I don't get it" and then I'll say "AND YOU NEVER WILL."

Baby seals

I have nothing interesting to talk about today, except the weather, which is something Canadians freaking love talking about.

Instead, here is a photo of the world's cutest photo-bomb:

Back pain and jokes

Today I am in pain because:

1. I burned my tongue on late-night butter chicken on Saturday.
2. I apparently am incapable of getting more than 4 hours of sleep.
3. I somehow managed to throw my back out during lunch due to an ill-timed combo of eating chili and coughing. This may or may not have anything to do with my AWFUL posture and/or scoliosis. FTW!
   

Because of this, I have nothing exciting to write, so I will provide you with a Facebook Chat Gold Moment:

Larissa: Hey, did you hear that joke they don't tell gay people?

Ben: No

Larissa: ...

Ben: Dammit

Nope, not even an unrelated picture today.

Sobriety = Crime

This weekend, HB, Kylie and I decided to hit up our second Full Moon Party. Its about time I've been the DD, so I decided to shake ass and cover myself with paint all on my own free will.

The party itself was great until my purse decided to get stolen, because its a whore, or something.

HB and I had set our purses down on the stage in front of us to have more freedom to dance like white girls, and I'll have you know we were taking very good care keeping our eyes/hands on the purses.

But as luck would have it, you look away for a split second and it goes missing.

Rule number one: Don't carry your keys, credit cards, license, SIN number, cash, and cellphone all in the same place.

YEAH I KNOW.

After frantically looking for the purse for 20 minutes I give up, and manage to find Kylie and HB in the crowd, when we decide to position ourselves near the exit door to see if anyone walks by with the purse in tow.

I'll ruin the surprise now: Someone pocketed my cash and driver's license and ditched the purse, so I got it back from security the next day, despite having cancelled all my credit cards/phone. Lucky break, Larissa!

My dad later told me it was probably a good idea I did not catch a person with the purse, or I would have attacked them and gotten in more trouble with the police than the original culprit.

You know me so well, Father!

SCENE: WAITING AT THE EXIT DOORS:

I guess I was looking like a girl who's purse had just gotten stolen, as it prompted two guys to hassle me for "it wouldn't kill you to smile, you know."

OH EXCUUUUUUUSE ME, PRINCESS.

I end up being entertained by them while keeping an eye out for my purse, and in true Larissa fashion managed to throw out a few bodily harm threats along the way (YES, this happens when I haven't been drinking as well, turns out I'm just crazy!)

Mike, as I have know learned his name, decides that a good way to cheer me up is to put my pink sunglasses on and pin me up against the wall.

I know, I know, you'd think I'm totally into the sunglasses play, but I'm not.

"Let go of me," I say.

"No," says Mike.

I take a deep breathe:

"I will head butt you," - Larissa

"You'll break your glasses."

"I don't care, I will head butt you, now let me go."

"Why don't you just punch me, then?"

"Fine, let go."

And he does.

OH, ohhhhh, you thought I was joking?

I pride myself on following through on warnings and clocked him in the neck.

"OHHHH MAN, WHY THE NECK?"

"Because it hurts my knuckles to punch people in the jaw."

He offers me his number but then says "WELL I GUESS YOU DON'T HAVE A PHONE, LOL"

LOLOLOL.

He doesn't have one either, so I offer to just remember his number.

He doesn't believe me on this one either, though I figure he would have learned I'm serious after the neck punch.

Because I do have an amazing propensity to remember useless shit, I memory-bank it and Kylie, HB and I leave after bargaining with the coat check to get my jacket back sans-coat-check-ticket.

NEXT MORNING, I WRITE A TEXT MESSAGE TO HIM:

"Hey, this is Larissa, the girl who punched you in the throat last night. Add me to facebook if you forgive me."

Yeah, I got a friends request.

/THAT charming.

I require more supervision

We're gonna start this blog out with a Facebook-Gold moment:


HB knows this story already, and I'm pretty sure she's the only one that reads this blog anymore.

(HI KENNY?)

(KENNY?)

(K fuck you then, DENZIL?)

(DENZIL, HI?)

Anyway:

When I was 7 years old I took a trip to my parents' lake lot. I took trips there a lot.

Its about a 2.5 hour drive, and I usually brought toys to amuse myself, but y'know how I can get: ridiculous.

About halfway through the ride I guess it hits me that a good idea would be to take the suction cups off the window-shade-thing, and stick them to myself.

Sticking it to my legs, arms, and stomach doesn't work, but WAIT,

EPIPHANY: Forehead.

It works wonderfully.

The thing about being young is, you don't connect that the root word of "suction cup" is "suction."

I left that suction cup on my forehead for an hour.

Worst hickey ever.

Indie Females

AND NOW, A POST OF CONSEQUENCE!

I have been straying away from my indie roots these days. The last year I managed to completely abandon most of my favourite indie bands to enjoy my electro and rock roots.

(As an aside, I hate favourite songs that remind me of unfavourite people. Never share playlists!)

However, it seems that rocking out to my favourite angry tracks has been causing me to speed, and I've therefore decided to seek a life more zen.

Enter: Ellie Goulding. My new girl-crush, among many. I've seen her labeled as "folktronica" which pisses me off to no ends; sub-genres just GRIND MY GEARS and only give people a reason to feel "arts-ier than though."

Anyway, indie-electronica is my new favourite, and Ellie is spot on (not to mention the vast amount of remixes her songs seem to inspire.)

(I'm also not mentioning how freakin' cute she is.)

Coincidentally I just bought glasses like that, AND have a septum ring. Just call me Mitch!

Wait, not cute enough? REEEEEEMIX:

I KNOW!

Her first single just hit the market, Starry Eyed, and while it's no longer at number one on the charts in the UK, its still up there. I'm on a fit of listening her album, Lights, and following her gig locations on her Twitter waiting for her to come to Canada-land.

All Ellie-love (and HYPAHLINK PARTY) aside, I've also found myself another interesting female fronted band, known as Marina and the Diamonds

YEAHHH, COLOURS!

Marina and the Diamonds has a sound that I originally wasn't the biggest fan of, but the more I listen the more I appreciate the lack of a stereotypical vocalist, and I realized that I am sometimes a tasteless idiot.

Marina makes me want to dance in farmers fields and go on road trips.

She wrote a song about a robot. 'Nuff said.