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..