TL;DR - Suicidal crab is suicidal

Today feels like a MEMORIES MONDAY!
I feel like I may have told this story before, but a quick search of my blog tells me that I haven't so I simply must preach this cautionary tale:

REASONS TO NEVER OWN HERMIT CRABS


A couple years ago I owned 3 hermit crabs.  It struck me as a good idea to ask for them for my birthday.  I've had fish before and these guys seemed to require similar maintenance. I tried my best with the information at hand, but I realize in hindsight that properly taking care of hermit crabs requires specific dietary and humidity needs. Maybe this is why I am now plagued by re-occuring nightmares where I discover I own a fish/hamster/animal as a pet but it is now dying because of my lack of care. Guilt dreams, they will be the end of me.

WHOA, TANGENT. Lets get back on track here:

So I have 3 hermit crabs, and I tried my darndest to take care of these things. Even so I named them Crab 1, Crab 2, and Crab 3 so as to not get too attached. Despite this, Crab 3 is my favourite.
They live in a small terrarium with a wire mesh back and lid to it. The crabs enjoy climbing up the back wall of the terrarium and then incessantly 'plucking' at the mesh lid in the middle of the night. The noise becomes taxing on my nerves and I eventually move the crabs to another room.

Additional to this, the larger, stronger crab continually picks on the smaller crab, and I'm beginning to worry for it's safety.  I begin yelling "LOVE EACH OTHER" when it gets too violent and all 3 crabs rapidly retreat into their shells.  This makes me sound like a cruel crab-mama but I did take them out of their cage and feed them grapes/bananas and let them run laps in a cardboard box I'd set on the ground. Y'know, normal fun-fare crab stuff.

Good things seldom ever last though, and thus came about the death of Crab 1.  This wasn't too traumatic of an event, as I noticed #1 stopped moving around one day, and when I went to pick it up, it's lifeless body fell out of it's shell. Saddened and slightly mortified by what hermit crabs look like out of their shells, I dispose of the body and carry on with life.

Then comes death of #2.  This one was slightly more terrifying, perhaps brought on by the increased humidity I attempted to create in the tank.  #2 hadn't emerged from it's little crab hut in a few days and when I attempted to investigate I found it dead, and unfortunately it had begun growing mold. Nevertheless I am not as shaken as with #1's death, since #2 was always the meaner crab of the group.

Life goes on for many weeks, and Crab 3 is livin' in luxury without having to be bullied by the other 2. Sometimes I take it out of it's tank and it sits in the palm of my hand while eating grapes. Despite how GOD DAMN CREEPY hermit crabs are, we form a bond.  Every morning I wake up to change it's water and give it fresh food, and one morning before school I happened upon a terrible event:
I see the empty shell laying in the middle of the crab tank.  Ecstatic I think perhaps Crab 3 has finally moved into one of the larger shells I've provided for it, but no, the other shells are empty.  Suddenly I see a lone claw in the corner of the tank. WTF? As I take a quick scan of the scene I notice another claw in the opposite corner, along with legs strewn along the perimeter of the tank and finally, my limbless crab, dead behind the crab hut. With no time to thoroughly evaluate this situation I clean up the mess and head to university, vowing to never own hermit crabs again. The whole experience lasted around 6 months, and I can't tell if that's a sign of a successful crab venture or not, but I'm thinking its the latter.

Later I would do a little research and find out that this limb-shedding spectacle is indeed a "thing" for hermit crabs, wherein they go crazy and walk laps around their environment, gradually ripping off all their own limbs until they die.

HEY MAN, WE'VE ALL THOUGHT ABOUT DOING THAT, AM I RIGHT?

And that, gentle readers, is a species I no longer feel any kinship with. Even looking at a picture of #3 makes me shudder.

I work in mergers and acquisitions

HEY ALL,

The other day my friend, Carli, and I were shopping in the store I frequently visit to oogle over the expensive pair of biker boots I want.
I suppose there's no reason to continue looking at them when I've already convinced myself the purchase would be impractical, but I just can't help it!

They sell a series of wrist watches made entirely out of reclaimed hardwood (I mean, save for the watch mechanism) and I'm intrigued. I consider buying one made out of raw unfinished wood, but Carli asks the salesperson if they will handle water well, since we frequently have to wash our hands in the hospital.

He says they're sealed and splash resistant, so it would be okay.

I nod, and ask "What about if I get blood on it?"
This is a legitimate question to ask since respiratory therapists often deal with blood and sputum/phlegm.  I fail to mention my occupation choice to the salesperson prior to this though, and he says "Yeah... that would probably stain.."
"Oh, thats no good then," I lament, and lose interest.

Carli pays for her things and we leave.

LATER: I come upon a revelation that perhaps the sales guy was a little confused as to what I plan on doing that would entail my (apparently very serious) concern with blood getting on my accessories.

Also, to anyone who's heard the news of the American Psycho remake going into production: I WORK IN MURDERS AND EXECUTIONS.

World history

DEAR DIARY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yesterday I saw Matt for the first time since he'd gone out of town 2 weeks ago.  This doesn't seem like a huge deal in the broad spectrum of all life's problems, but call me soft-hearted (I KNOW, ITS AMAZING HOW PEOPLE CHANGE...) I missed him.

To celebrate, we go out to dinner. I decide to go to Mongolie Grill.

Matt picks me up and as we're walking to the car I tell him we don't have to go to Mongolie Grill if he doesn't want to.  I express concern that, I know he doesn't really like chinese food.

"They don't really serve chinese food, Larissa," Matt says.
"I know, I guess its just general asian food ---"
"--- In fact, I think the wall, that famous wall the Chinese people built.... it was actually built to keep the Mongolians out of their country and culture," Matt says.



CHECK MATE.

Pic unrelated!

Hand gestures

HI DIARY,

I get a lot of flack from people for giving other drivers the finger while driving.
Now I know I have road rage. I'm the type to yell incessantly at other cars* or slow down when some asshole is tailgating me, but those two offenses out of the way, I'm not crazy.
I don't cut people off, and I don't run other drivers off the road. I also generally obey the speed limit +/- 15% of the speed limit.

But I'm trying to not give people the finger... as much.
So today when I was turning left in a parking lot, and the guy across from me was driving straight, and CLEARLY failed to notice the stop sign he was supposed to stop at, I prepared myself to give him a "thumbs down."
And when he didn't stop and almost hit me, I went to give him the gesture, but
DANGER DANGER, THE WIRES IN MY BRAIN HAVE CROSSED
I'm not used to NOT giving the finger, and something went wrong,
I gave him the thumbs up.

Wait a second.
I realize my infraction in a split second and resort to pointing at the stop sign and yelling, to myself, THERE IS A STOP SIGN! and continued driving.

Needless to say I'm sure the other driver assumes I'm bi-polar.


* ASIDE: Yelling is a pretty guilt-free thing I do to get the rage out, as my windows are often closed. But I do still fondly recall a fine summer day when I had all my windows down (since my A/C was broken) and I let a fellow driver into my lane.
I do this frequently because it makes me feel philanthropic.
BUT THEN THE DRIVER DIDN'T COURTESY WAVE, and livid about the lack of driver etiquette I yelled WAVE TO ME, GOD DAMNIT.

Clearly the other driver had their windows open too, because a meek hand was raised just high enough for me to see, and a furtive wave was executed.
Yeah. That's right. YOU WAVE. EVERY TIME.

TAKE ME AWAY, ALADDIN!

Today's entry is going to be a short entry.

Today Matt and I went to Tim Horton's in the local Esso station to pick up lunch.
[For anyone wondering how their new lasagna casserole is: mediocre]
[[For anyone who reads my blog and for some reason isn't from Canada: TIM HORTONS IS THE SHIT and VERY RELEVANT. ALL THE TIME.]]

As we walk towards the counter, Matt points out that the slurpee machine next to the counter is blowing air out of it's fan.
The slurpee machine is blowing air at floor level, towards a mat in front of the Tim Hortons counter.
AND
AND
AND?
The carpet is wavin' around blowing in the artificial wind like a magic carpet.
Matt must understand how these tiny miracles amuse me, and he says "Hey, check out the mat." (Aside: He says check out the MAT, not MATT, because I don't like cocky guys who speak in third person, PHEW.)

I let out a little squeal of excitement.

And we walk up to the counter, Matt stands aside while he places the order, and I stand square in the middle of the mat.
And I look up at Matt when he's done ordering, and say:
"ITS A WHOLE NEW WOOOORRRRLLLLLD"

Cool story

HELLO WORLD.
I woke up 2 hours before my alarm today LIKE A BOSS.

Yesterday I wore my new toque to school. Its knitted out of rainbow yarn and I think it adds a bit of happiness to this HORRIBLE WINTER WEATHER.

So I'm sittin' in class, right?
Right.
So I'm sitting in my usual spot near the back of the class by the window, because:

1. The radiator is there and its warm, &
2. I'm too lazy to sit up straight so I like to lean on the wall and daydream

Sometime during the lecture my instructor gazes wistfully in my direction, sighs, and says out loud "That's disgusting."

I stare straight back at him, and point to myself and say "Me?"

He doesn't reply. Perhaps he hasn't heard me, so I slowly raise my hand up to my head and pull my toque off my head with a look of disdain.  

Now he's seen me though, and he says "NO, NO, The weather! The weather outside is disgusting."

PHEW.

Pretty sure he mumbled something about rainbow yarn under his breath though. WHY I AUGHTTAAAAAAA

Every time someone tells me "Cool story bro" I get all offended and start launching into another coolstorybro story about how my original story was indeed a cool story and then people say "Cool story bro" again. 

Crossover plotlines

Zelda has played a large part in my life lately. Free from exams at school for the last 2 weeks I've been getting more and more hours in on my AWFUL emulator, and lemme tell you I am a master at playing games with the arrow keys now. Y'all who actually have the N64 and use the joystick don't know how good you've got it.

But since Skyrim came out this weekend Matt insisted that I'd have fun making a character on it. I generally have more fun watching people play RPGs than actually play them, but I gave 'er a go and created a fantastic warrior nord woman with sweet purple war paint on her face. I KNOW HOW TO CHOOSE 'EM. I don't really get the ins and outs of Skyrim though, and having never played the previous games I'm a little lost. For the most part I'm having fun just taking stuff of desks and shelves, mainly apples and cabbages. I go outside and notice a chicken walking around, and I wanna take the chicken too. I've got my crosshairs on the chicken and I'm pressing A, A, A, AAAAAAA. But its not working.

DA HELL, SKYRIM.

"I WANT TO TAKE THE CHICKEN," I cry out.
"Its not Zelda, Larissa," Matt corrects me. Man after my own heart.

WHATEVER, simple mistake. Perhaps its for the best because those cuckoos throw a hell of a bitch fit anyway. PIC IS RELATED.

Good Talk

HEY GUYZ!

Blogging has been slow lately because once a month I suffer from a painful affliction where I... lead a really boring life.

Here is an anecdote to make it up to you:

A few days ago I found myself trapped in another painfully awkward conversation with my father, as I often do.

I suppose it stemmed from the fact I insinuated he was too old to appreciate the social advances that technology has brought to our lives.

I say this mostly because any sort of conundrum I find myself in my dad describes as being due to "That damn social media!" (Even if the issue was the vending machine taking my money, but IT PROBABLY HAD TO TO WITH FACEBOOK.)

Anyway, I guess I've managed to offend him.

"I KNOW HOW TO TEXT," he says. I know this much at least because sometimes he texts me at school saying internet broken. please fix.

To prove the aformentioned point to me, he lets me know that "Your mother and I sext all the time."

Dear god, no.

My mother pipes up: "Since when did we sext?"

"When you were away in the summer we sexted all the time," he says.

My mom scoffs, "What, like me telling you I miss you?"

A-HA! Mother-burn!

While writing this down in hindsight the situation seems funny, but at the time I wanted to NIP THIS CRAZINESS IN THE BUD, and I tell my father I don't want to hear them talk about sexting (for the love of all that is righteous and good.)

"Well did you use winky faces?" - Larissa

"I don't know how to make the winky face on my phone." - Father

"THEN IT ISN'T SEXTING. OKAY? GOOD TALK." - Larissa

AM I RIGHT OR AM I RIGHT?

Y'know how some teen abstinence groups like to use the phrase "Sex changes everything"? Yeah, pretty sure winky face changes everything too. ;)

SEE? NOW ALL MY BLOG READERS THINK I WANNA BONE.
AND THE PIC ISN'T RELATED.

Kittens, inspired by.. KITTENS

Blog title refers to a delightful youtube video I think you should all look up POST HASTE.

Anyway: This blog entry involves MEMORIES FROM THE PAST!

Every year there is an open house which everyone in my program is obliged (read: forced) to participate in. As open house this year is fast approaching, I remembered a lovely tidbit from last year that I must have put away in the dark corners of my mind until now.

Last year our program's theme was a haunted carnival of sorts. We had games involving guessing types of sputum (or "phlegm" for all you non respiratory therapy buffs out there,) pig lungs set up on ventilators, etc. For every station you visited you got a delightful halloween themed sticker.

The first open house day is usually attended by highschool students forced there by their own schools, so the excitement level is usually pretty low. Nevertheless I am really pushing my sputum game and making lively chatter with the attendees, UNTIL!:

A group of guys comes up to my station, I'm gonna say they're around 15 or 16.

They feign interest at the sputum game, but since I'm a generous person I offer them stickers anyway.

I ask the guys if they want a pumpkin sticker, or a ghost, or maybe even a cute little kitten wearing a witch hat, and one of the guys, OBVIOUSLY the lady's man of the group says "I'll take the cat, I love pussy."

Hmm.

Perhaps he thought this would somehow bag him a successful older girlfriend but I'm not sold.

We exchange an awkward stare for a few seconds (mostly due to the fact he's a few inches shorter than me) and I tell him "Well you're not getting any from me so you can have a spiderweb sticker."

YOU LIKE APPLES?

HOW DO YOU LIKE DEM APPLES?

Pic unrelated, except for maybe being the story of this guy's life one day:

BOOORRRRNNN FREEEEEE

Dear Diary,

Perhaps I've mentioned in the past how my mother encourages me to live on the wild side, such as when she says "Larissa, just don't wear a bra!" or when I ask her if my shirt is too low, or my dress is too short, she says "Flaunt it while you still got it!"

Too bad for her she has a prude for a daughter!

Today after taking a shower I stepped out to realize, TO MY HORROR, that I'd forgotten to bring my towel into the bathroom with me.

Poking my head out the bathroom door, I tell my mom in the kitchen to avert her eyes so I can make the scandalous dash to my room.

She obliges.

But when I get to my room, which has two floor to ceiling windows that face the main street, I realize, TO MY HORROR AGAIN, that I've left my curtains open.

"NOOO," I yell, "MY CURTAINS ARE OPEN," and I run to the next room to conceal myself.

My mother hears my cries and says "There's people outside, they'll witness you!"
"NOOO," I yell again, and I ask my mother "REALLY?"

"YEAH!" says my mom, "YOU SHOULD FLASH THEM!"

Oh mother.

She says I can just grab another towel from the linen closet if I'm so outraged, but after a few more seconds of humming and hawwing in the nude, I tell her I'm gonna just go into my room anyway.

"If they don't like it they don't have to look," I announce, to which my mom yells back: "ATTA GIRL."

This has nothing to do with my scandalous past outlined in this blog entry.

Making an idiot of myself at school

I think the title is pretty self explanatory.

Case 1:

Walking to the parkade with classmates at the end of school, we are accosted by two young men with a video camera.

They say they are doing a segment on the parking situation and want to know if we have any opinions.

Carli and Emily give a firm "No thanks!" and continue walking, and despite the fact I'd spent the entire day feeling like an ugly scrub, I apparently couldn't resist the camera and said OKAY :D

I don't know what to say, so Carli gives me a few lines and I spew them out with the same grace as a parrot repeating phrases for crackers.

Nevertheless, I state my case gracefully, but then

because I am impossibly and hopelessly awkward, I do that STUPID FINGER-FUN POINT at the camera and give a lil' wink.

HONESTLY?????

I hope they edit that shit out. I just can't stop myself.

Case 2:

Today in my cardiovascular class we're discussing something I obviously didn't retain enough to make this story relevant.

ALRIGHT SO ANYWAY

We're discussing combining two things to create something else, and my instructor seems to think this is an appropriate time to make a digimon reference.

WOW.

He asks if anyone in the class ever played with digimon cards, because there's apparently some move called "Digibind" where you combine two of the cards together. HOW DOES HE KNOW THIS?

Eager beaver that I am, I thrust my hand into the air.

"You played digimon cards?" my instructor asks.

"Oh.. no," I correct, as I place an eschewing hand in the air, "I only played pokemon."

"Oh wow, so you had the Charizard card then I guess," he jokes.

"Holographic, even," I say, but he isn't paying attention anymore.

"What was that? Nevermind, it doesn't matter."

"First edition, even..." I say

"Alright getting back to the lesson.."

What really blows my mind though, aside from the fact I talked with my college instructor about pokemon in front of the entire class, is that he's gotta be pushing 50 and somehow knows what digimon is.

I give this blog entry 4/10 on the funny scale today.

A true gladiator

GOOD EVENING WORLD!

Gosh darn I sure have been writing more blogs than usual lately. Lets see if this has an indirect relation to my grades this semester.

Yesterday I went out for dinner/movie time with Matt for our anniversary.

Time flies! Feels like only yesterday when I started throwing his name into blogs without ever properly explaining his role in my life.

(Not an imaginary boyfriend, even.)

We wait around for a while until we're seated at our table. Our waiter for the night stops by and makes some menu recommendations for us.

I need not your recommendations, waiter, for I read the entire menu online before coming to this restaurant and have made my decisions in advance! HA HA!

(Is this neurotic? Because some people seem to think so, but I just like efficiency.)

Anyway, the waiter says to us: "Alright my name's Matt, you guys, so holler if you need anything," and walks away.

Because I am incapable of listening properly, I lean over the table to my-Matt, and wide-eyed, whisper: "HIS NAME IS MAXIMUS!?"

Matt looks at me, deciphering my cryptic code.

He pauses, and says "No, Larissa, he said his name was 'Matt, you guys."

Oh.

Well now any service we received from Not-Maximus was gonna be sub par, for sure.

Surely he didn't have a dramatic and heart wrenching story of how he became a waiter, either.

Pic unrelated to the blog topic, but very related to how depressed I get when faced with simple first world problems.

Unappreciated genius

We're gonna just start this with an unrelated pic and then get to the meat and potatoes:


Now then:

Often my pop culture references are not appreciated in my house.

Allusions to old videogames or mayhaps a movie quote are both heard, and eschewed. (A GREAT WORD, Don't you think?)

"Eschewed" eschewed though, I frequently talk about my day/unfortunate circumstances at home, to which my father always replies, whether or not he was even listening, "WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD, LARISSA."

When he can't find the remote for the TV and I say this to him, he does not appreciate his brand of comedic genius to the same extent.

C'est la vie.

Yet every time he says it I always want to say "Coulda sworn I took the blue pill."

In fact, perhaps I have but the joke went off with so little success I have eschewed it from my mind.

(BING BANG BOOM)

Sadly Matrix references are not enjoyed in my house.

NOT RELATEDLY: Neither are 90s pop band references either, witnessed when my father was discussing frustrations with his 7 member cover-band with my mother.

My mother replies "Well its always hard to keep everyone happy in a group of 7."

This is true.

Comedic genius that I am, I offer my wisdom: "Yeah man, S Club 7 couldn't make it work."

YET: CRICKETS.

Coulda SWORN there ain't no party like an S club party.

NO ONE APPRECIATES MY CAPSLOCK OR HUMOUR.

Welcome to the real world, Larissa. Turns out I was just eating Mike & Ikes all along.

Winter Accessories

Yesterday I went to the football game with HB.

I always make sure to wear my glasses at sporting events so I can see the ball/puck, otherwise I get baited into supporting the other team with traitors cheer, and my cheer-reflexes kick in before I can see what the hell is going on.

NeWaiZ~* there were two memorable moments involving NOT the game, but the cheerleaders.

Moment 1:

We are watching the cheerleaders as they're pepping up the crowd, and one guy has another cheer leader on his shoulders.

HB leans over and says "I bet that guy loves his life."

"What?" I ask, its pretty loud with all the "DEEE. FENCE!" happening.

"I bet that guy loves his life."

"That guy lost his wife? Wow."

"No..."

"How do you know he lost his wife?"

"Uhh..."

I have gone down in history as someone who routinely mishears things, then feels a need to repeat my interpretations out loud.

MOMENT 2!

Cheerleaders are again pepping up the crowd, when a male cheerleader goes to lift a female cheerleader onto his shoulders again. But he really under-shoots it, and ends up placing her right on top of his head. Crotch meet skull.

I giggle and let HB know of the mistake.

Later you can see two male cheerleaders talking to each other making gestures towards their heads, clearly running a play by play of the mistake.

I giggle again and tell HB the guy was wearing the cheerleader as a hat.

HB laughs.

"Like one of those winter toques where they have a scarf attached to it. Getting cold? Just throw an ol' leg around your neck!"

PIC RELATED! INCONCEIVABLE.

Like that. But less fuzzy wild animal, more lower torso.

I am not witty enough to title this today

TODAY'S BLOG IS GON' BE ABOUT POKEMON.

I mean, my bio to the right has clearly stated that I am a pokemon master, and has for many many months, but lets face it: my poke-skills are sub par.

HOWEVER!

HB introduced me to a website where I can play pokemon games on an online emulator, and BY GOLLY, my life has changed.

Mostly due to the fact that playing Zelda games on my n64 emulator is getting significantly difficult when I only have the arrow keys to navigate.

Point being: This blog entry may seem un-funny to those who never played pokemon, but thats your fault, not my lack of humour. Jesus.

INTRODUCTION OVER: NOW TIME FOR MY STORY.

Yesterday I met up with mah crew for lunch and we started discussing halloween costume plans. This is serious business as I plan my halloween costumes a good year in advance. This year I plan on being a NOT-SLUTTY, OKAY, interpretation of a storm trooper. Though I have toyed with the idea of dressing up as Ash Ketchum for a while now.. I also thought of being the infamous MISSINGNO.

"I just wanna print out a huge pixelated grey image and glue it to cardboard and wear it," I say,

"And people will come up to me going 'YO WHAT ARE YOU?' and I'll say 'I'm missingno., silly.' Then later they'll go talk to a guy dressed as an old man for halloween and reach into their pocket and go 'WHAAAAT? UNLIMITED MASTER BALLS? HOW CAN THIS BE?"

Yes. How can this be indeed. Just a little bit of pokemon magic.

More unbelievably: THIS PIC IS RELATED.

and master balls.

ARTISTICALLY UNTITLED

I don't go out much anymore.

Mostly this is due to the fact that i am:

1. Cheap and hate paying for alcohol and cabs
2. Have too much pride to let randoms buy me drinks all night to remedy #1
3. Unable to deal with hangovers anymore

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT, I figured I'd throw caution to the wind last weekend and headed out to the bar with HB.

Now, I'm not opposed to a bit of banter with random members of the opposite sex. As long as there is no straight up "Yo babe u wanna git with this tonight?" talk I will entertain a 3 minute conversation.

BUT SOMETIMES

SOMETIMES I can't help but be a little mean when a guy won't get the hint. And thus, the PICKUP LINE PUTDOWN CATEGORY was created.

Highlights from a conversation with a man who was wearing the rings of a 6-pack holder as a bracelet (yeah, it wasn't really starting well..):

6-pack: You know, you're being kind of rude.

L: "Yet you're still talking to me."

6-pack: "Well I just like a challenge."

"But I'm being rude to you! You like bitches."

"No I don't!"

"Yes you do. You probably whine about how girls always like assholes but YOU, you like bitches!"

and

6-pack: "Are you playing games with me?"

L: "Like zelda, or... what are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying.. lets say I have a chance with you tonight.."

"Then you're using a game shark and you're cheating."

Shoulda known the gameshark line would set off a wave of nostalgia that could not be stopped.

Eventually he left, along with his polite, normal friend who watched the whole fiasco with HB.

Because HB,

HB always gets the normal ones.

PIC UNREALTED!!!

Lowered expectations

Dear Diary,

Last night I went out to the ol' avenue to watch my friends get drunk while I waited to drive them home.

Sounds like my idea of a good time!

Later on in the night I accompanied Elyse outside to watch her smoke (I really am the life of the party) when a rather disheveled looking young man walks past us.

He walks past us, stops, slowly turns around, and with a completely straight face, says "I would."

Uhhh.

Being raised as a poised and grateful young woman, I say "Thanks," and he gives me back the finger-gun point and takes this as an opportunity to strike up a conversation with us. DAMN, my inability to keep my mouth shut just turned this into a

PICK UP LINE PUTDOWN BLOG ENTRY.

PICK UP LINE PUTDOWN BLOG ENTRY.

PICK UP LINE PUTDOWN BLOG ENTRY.

PICK UP LINE PUTDOWN BLOG ENTRY.

PICK UP LINE PUTDOWN BLOG ENTRY.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say this guy isn't very suave with the ladies. Our conversation goes as follows:

Disheveled-Guy: "OH? UHHH, YOU'RE WELCOME."

His utter surprise at the fact I said thank you really makes me wonder how low his expectations were for this delightful exchange. Perhaps he gets off on the "EWWW YOU JERK" response. I told him as long as he was being sincere then the thank you stands. Though my analysis of his pick-up lines was probably starting a tiny little explosion in his head, because he responded:

"Yeah man. So uh.. do you like to party?"

(POST SCRIPT: REALLY?????? Party like snort lines of da yayo off stripper tits or.. play Scategories?)

I reply: "Thats a pretty loaded question so uh.. yeah. Sometimes. Probably not though."

DG: "'Cause we're partying at The Rack tonight!"

"Great! I'll meet you there." (Brush off attempt #1)

DG: "Hey do you know Brayden?"

"No."

DG: "Oh man you should totally meet Brayden."

"Awesome, tell him I say hi when you get to The Rack!" (Brush off attempt #2)

DG: "Yeah, okay. See you there."

I'm sure me and Brayden are really gonna hit it off. Last time a guy asked me if I wanted to party replied with some variation of "I don't want to have sex with you," and got my invite rescinded POST HASTE.

On another note, don't you hate when you meet people that are clearly speaking in bold text all the time? I CAN TELL.

Naturally this pic is unrelated:

Moment of Zen

I think one of the reasons I hate the water park,

aside from the terror that the wave pool horn strikes into my soul,

is that time I went down the Nessie's Revenge water slide

and as I was about to hit the end I reached to plug my nose

but the force of hitting the water caused me to punch myself in the face.

That or the time I sat floatin' around on a tube for an unknown amount of time before someone alerted me that my boob was playing bikini-peek-a-boo with the entire wave pool.

Pic unrelated.

Good deeds

THIS ONE GOES OUT TO JOSE!

Today I saved a worm.

Today I walked out of my door to go to work and saw a worm just doin' it's little worm dance on the sidewalk. I decided to engage in conversation with it (LIKE A CRAZY LADY) and says to the worm, I says:

"Worm, what are you doing on the sidewalk?"

Worm says nothing.

"Well I'll help you."

And I pick it up to put back in the dirt, but find myself overcome with the question of: was it going from the flower bed to the lawn, or the lawn to the flower bed? Or do worms even have the intelligence to make a decision of "POINT A TO POINT B, NOW!!"

I take a leap of faith and kick a little hole in the lawn to set the worm down in. Good deed for the day complete!

(Which means anyone else I ran into for the day was in for a WHOLE LOTTA BAD DEEDS.)

Naturally whilst driving to work I find myself feeling a little bit of guilt about if, hey, maybe the worm was actually trying to get from the lawn to the flower bed and I really hindered his efforts by putting him back on the lawn. But in all honesty, the little fucker was starting to dry out on the concrete, so nuts to him.

I often find myself feeling like a good citizen for helping to save defenseless insects but in all honesty, when a bumble bee gets stuck inside, and is relentlessly trying to fly through the window.. when that bumble bee refuses to GET IN MY DAMN CUP for transport to the outside world I just say "You are not cooperating, bee" and kill it.

I have a life to get on with.

Pic unrelated.

Vision issues

SOOOoOoOooo~*

The neighbour to my work has a big black dog that the owners seemingly don't feel the need to put on a leash

or keep in a yard

or train

(Country folk, I tell ya)

And I constantly see it running down the highway or across the road in a field.

As an animal lover I always want to call it to me to save it from the treacherous minivans lurking on the road, but my boss has a spidey sense for dog lovers and yells DON'T CALL THAT DOG OVER HERE whenever it comes within my sight

(which, according to my blog title, you can assume isn't the best, but is sufficient enough for me to justify not wearing my glasses at work.)

INTRO DONE, LETS GET TO THE JUICY STUFF!

So I'm driving to work the other day and as my reliable ol' Escort crests the top of a hill, I see it.

A large dark mass in the middle of the road.

And I think OH NO NO NO NOT THE DOG.

As I drive closer I detect a second colour to the black lump: RED.

And I think OH GOD NO NO NO.

I've gone into sadness mode and start to slow down my car, I see red spilling out from the black mass and I assume someone's hit this poor dog and its now bleeding in the middle of the road.

(Darwin's theory aside, even if the dog is dumb enough to run on the road I'd like it to still be alive.)

And as I approach beside the dog, I see that it is not a dog at all

but a black bag filled with garbage, the kind with red built-in ties to close it when its full.

Still though...

LITTERING. >:(

MAMA SAYS

I blog less and less lately because most interesting things in my life can be summed up in sentences short enough to go on Twitter.

Which means no one wants to read them anyway, RIGHT?

But for those who don't read my twitshit, I have summed up a recent twitter rant I'd like to share:

Why do guys feel the need to ask me if "___ inches is small?" What do I look like, the reigning authority on penis size?

How many penises do these people think I've seen? My standard response is "Totally, but I only sleep with amazon black men so I'm biased,"

a phrase I think was coined by the great HB. ITS NOT A PICK UP LINE, BOYS, ITS AN INSULT.

"Hey I herd u liek being a slut so I figured I'd ask your opinion on my penis length as you seem to be well versed in this subject."

My mother just told me "Well Larissa, you're either a shower or a grower!" "MOM I DO NOT WANT TO DISCUSS THIS WITH YOU."

...

Surely she's not the reigning authority either despite her factual tidbit. SO DON'T BOTHER ASKING HER EITHER, BOYS.

ITS A FRAPP!

GOOD EVENING INTERNETS.

Today's tale is one about school because I'm boring and mundane:

Last week I was enjoying a very rousing 2 hours of ventilators lab time. We're doing an activity that involves putting in basic parameters and whatnot, but one of the steps makes no sense to me.

I call over one of the lab instructors, who I'll admit is one of my most favouritest (due to the fact ever since I told him I like Lord of the Rings he manages to make references in class about pneumonia being like a bunch of dead orcs after a battle.)

BUT I DIGRESS

So I call him over, and I says to him I says, "This question doesn't make sense."

(Stunning intellect, I has.)

The instructor then tells me, to my surprise, that it isn't meant to make sense, its supposed to make me learn by realizing the question is impossible.

"Oh I see," I say, "Its a trick question."

"Yes," says my instructor.

"Its a trap," I say.

"Yes."

"ITS A TRAP!" I say again, and write in big letters across my notes the same phrase.

My instructor looks at me. Silence.

"Its a trap?" I say, dejected.

Lord of the Rings fan does not equal Star Wars fan. :(

ADMIRAL, WHATS THAT FROZEN BLENDED BEVERAGE YOU CAN GET FROM STARBUCKS CALLED AGAIN?

Next time I'll save the red ones for you

A couple days ago I accompanied my mother to Ikea and bought shit I don't need, mainly a hanger for all my scarves and a laundry hamper that is divided for lights/darks.

OKAY, okay, these things are moderately handy, but I also bought a big heart pillow with arms, which is not as fun to hug as I thought (must be the lack of hug reciprocation) and a bag of "swedish fish," which I was skeptical about at first but gave into their delicious candy potential.

Later that day, I get a call from Matt.

I offer to watch a movie with him in the evening. "I have candy," I say, "Gummy fish candy." (This sounds more appetizing in my head,) "Except I ate all the red ones because they taste the best so you only have an array of citrus to choose from now," I say.

Girlfriend of the year. I'm SOOOOOOO thoughtful.

WHICH GOT ME THINKING, RIGHT?

WHY do they feel the need to include one good flavour and 3 flavours no one even likes in most assorted candy packages?

Perhaps some of you like the orange candies. I am not judging you. Perhaps some of you even like a tad of lemon every once in a while.

But no one ever wants lime.

And guaranteed no one ever needs lemon AND lime, or occasionally LEMON-LIME flavouring (only if its in Mountain Dew form, plz.) So why do candy companies feel the need to provide both the yellow and the green?

And don't even get me started on when you give all your green coloured candy away because you hate lime and then realize you were giving away your green apple flavoured jolly ranchers ALL DAY LONG.

Hospital tales

Dear Diary:

For the last 3 days I've been sloggin' the trenches doing my clinical rotations at the hospital. My eyes have been opened to the wonders of stab wounds to the neck, doctors elbow deep in a woman's C-section, and people overdosing on drugs.

At one point, a very non-chalant doctor was discussing the state of a severely sedated, old male patient in ER. We were planning on rolling him to his side and a nurse asked us to wait as she applied some gloves to her hands, for safety purposes.

"Naw, don't bother putting gloves on," says the doctor, "I doubt this guy has gotten around."

Hey man, don't judge a patient by its cover!

Then the doctor pauses, and says "He does have a big dick though."

(I try my hardest to avert my eyes from patient genitalia.)

Then the doctor pauses again, and says "May just be from the edema."

TALE NUMBER TWO:

I'm in the elevator going down after finishing my shift. I hold the door for a patient and we make casual-talk as we're going down, (OOOOOH-errrrrr, JUST KIDDING EVERYONE HE WAS OLD AND HAD A MULLET.)

Anyway

The patient says to me "Its nicer weather out today."

I tell him I wouldn't know, I haven't been outside for 12 hours.

"Oh, long day then?" says the man. I nod my head.

"Man, what do you do with all your money?" he says.

OHHHH

Ohhhh I get it, he thinks I get paid. He thinks I don't work all these 12 hour shifts for free.

I couldn't bring myself to explain to him that I'm on practicum, and since I apparently get off on lying to strangers I turn to him and say "I pay things off" despite the fact I'm still coasting student-loan free. (Huzzah!)

"Good answer," says the man and exits the elevator.

WHAT DO YOU THINK I DO? BUY FERRARIS AND DO COKE?

I shoulda said I buy ferraris and do coke.

Pic unrelated:

I had such dreams

Today during lunch hour I sat silently contemplating my life, mostly the lack of chocolate bar in my life, and I decided to pay a visit to the vending machine.

I thumbed through my change purse to find the $1.50 needed, and came to the revelation that I'm gonna pay for as much of the charge in dimes as possible, just to spite the vending machine, because it keeps giving me back dimes and nickels in change.

SO FRUSTRATING.

C'MON VENDING MACHINE, I KNOW YOU HAVE SOME QUARTERS IN THERE.

Personal vendetta.

Natasha comes with me to the vending machines, and we each station ourselves in front of one.

I begin placing dimes in the slot, and it takes the first 3, but decides my 4th dime just ain't good enough for it.

VENDING MACHINE, SRSLY..

I start forcefully putting the same dime in the coin slot over and over saying TAKE IT, TAKE IT and eventually the machine complies.

I yell over to Natasha, "Ya just gotta be forceful with the things."

I know my machines.

When I look to Natasha, she stands facing me, full of remorse.

She says to me, she says, that the machine has stolen her toonie. She presses the coin return button but nothing comes out.

"Don't worry Natasha, I got this," I say, and I slam the heel of my palm down onto the coin return button.

Jingling of coins is heard, but nothing in the change slot.

Another press. Nothing.

I slam my palm down onto the button again and hit my hip against the glass and

and

AND

SUCCESS.

Natasha makes congratulatory noises.

"YOU JUST GOTTA SHOW IT WHO'S BOSS" I say

to a crowded hallway.

"I feel like I'm treating these machines like my hoes. :( " I say.

to a crowded hallway.

Stares ensue.

ON A RELATED NOTE: I once took a career aptitude test that said I'd make a delightful vending machine operator.

Who knew!

Equality for All

DEAR DIARY

Last night I attended the a birthday party at one of the local hot spots, by which I mean a billiards pub in a strip mall. S'HOW WE ROLL.

I'm at the bar buying the birthday girl, Elyse, a shot, when we are accosted by a young drunk man who wants to buy us some drinks.
We get into a lively conversation about my septum ring, and he's amazed how I can flip it up and be BUSINESS and then flip it down and be PARTY TIME. (His words, not mine.)
He makes me show the bartender.

ANYWAY
NEWAIZ
AnYwHo000000

I tell the guy we want some Dirty Hooker shots, which as far as I know is just red sour puss and vanilla ripple, but I love using the "No, the drink, not the ones under the bar" joke.
(The best thing about randoms at the bar is I get to use my golden jokes OVER AND OVER ON DIFFERENT PEOPLE)
((AND WHATS UP WITH AIRLINE FOOD?))

We drink the shots and at this point I guess he decides to figure out if Elyse or I are single, and he asks us where our boyfriends are.
Elyse points hers out right away, and I look around... I can't find mine.

IT DOESN'T MEAN I don't have a boyfriend, he's just not in my visual vicinity!
Let a man roam, I say!
But before I can account for my lack of male counterpart, the random figures me out:
"Wait a second.. you're a lesbian, aren't you!"
Elyse tells him that YES, YES SHE IS.

The guy erupts into self-congratulatory laughter: "I KNEW IT, I KNEW IT!"
"Just because of my nose ring?" I say. C'mon man.
"You walked in with that girl with the short hair didn't you! She's your girlfriend!"

This guy has all the stereotypes down pat! JUST BECAUSE SHE HAS SHORT HAIR???

I decide to play this up a bit and pull the 'you better not be offended with my alternative lifestyle!' card. I let him know there's "NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING A LESBIAN OKAY?"
"No man, no man, that's awesome. A little of this, a little of that... Awesome." (Cue hand gestures to depict what this and that mean) ... and he high fives me, telling me to have a good night.





LATER I TALK TO ALIX, OUR FRIEND WITH THE SHORT HAIR:
"So that guy at the bar totally thinks you're my girlfriend and I didn't correct him. He's pretty creepy so I'm gonna need you to roll with it on this one."

TWO MORE HORRIBLE TALES

#1:

A week ago I was buying some boots at Zellers.

Yeah, I know y'all have moved on to Walmart but I SUPPORT CANADIAN COMPANIES.*

*Buyout by Target notwithstanding.

N E WaIz:

I'm standing in the cashier line with my cheap-ass boots and I'm waiting for the cashier to get off the phone and end her conversation with what appears to be her middle-aged child about what she should make for dinner. (ENTHRALLING.)

While I'm waiting for her to ring my purchase through my phone rings.

For many a month now I've had my ring tone set to the Bed Intruder Song; I just cant get enough of it.

SO MY PHONE RINGS, its in my jacket pocket.

CLIMBIN' IN YO WINDOWS

And I'm fumbling to put the boots on the counter and put down my wallet and other shopping bags,

SNATCHIN' YO PEOPLE UP

but I'm not going fast enough to stop it...

TRYNA RAPE 'EM

.

And I finally snatch up (LOL) my phone and hit the "ignore" button,

But its too late.

The line's been said.

And the elderly couple behind me looks unamused.

NUMBER TWO

In class this week we were comin' up on our 7th hour of lecture and my mind was turning to mush.

I'm pretty much done with concentrating at this point, and note that Natasha's water bottle is sitting on top of the table we share.

I bump the table leg with my leg and watch the water in the bottle ripple.

No response from Natasha.

I bump the table again.

Natasha looks at me.

I bump it again, and I say to her, "There's a T-rex coming."

Natasha starts to giggle and puts her hands to her mouth to muffle it, but I lean in wide eyed and stop her.

"BE CAREFUL," I say, "THEIR SIGHT IS KEYED TO MOVEMENT"

Jurrasic Park was on last weekend.

Pic unrelated:

NO OFFENSE

In all political correctness I will start this blog entry with apologies for any racial stereotypes that may follow; TIS IN JEST!

This Christmas break..

This EXTREMELY SHORT Christmas break, because I choose to be schooled in places that don't see the benefit of proper time off..

Matt and I went for a quick jaunt to the mountains.

While there, we decided to go on a hike.

(Aside: Hiking up trails in Ugg boots, while the right side of the trail is bordered by CLIFF, and you have absolutely no grip, is inadvisable.)

Wait, you're hoping this blog entails me falling down a mountainside and breaking all my extremities?

Not so, fans, not so.

Not so, haters, I'm sorry.

We park the car at the start of the hiking trail, and as I'm about to close the door an Asian tourist runs up to me.

OKAY I am not generalizing here, there was a tour bus that many people of asian heritage departed from, he was a tourist.

He runs up to me, and asks if I have any tissue.

"YES, ACTUALLY," I realize, and I reach into my purse to grab one from my little tissue purse-pack.

I previously bought two printed-upon packs of tissue, one with a scene of a snowman printed on it, and the other, well..

"YES, ACTUALLY," I say, and I hand him a tissue, "I mean, its Hello Kitty tissue though."

"Thats fine," says the man, and he takes the tissue.

And when he looked

he looked pleased.