Edgar Allan Bro

On a related note:
The starbucks Elyse and I drank today was green tea lemonade.
I comment on how our cups say "GTL" on them, not understanding that it's an acronym for our beverage of choice.

Elyse laughs and says not to feel bad, because she didn't even know what "Doomed to Fail" was until a few weeks ago.
Wait, what is doomed to fail?

"You know, doomed to fail, DTF."

I pause,
"No no no, Elyse, that means Down to Fuck."


(Or in the case where Ben yells out loudly in the mall that I am DTF, and I yell back I AM ONLY DOWN TO FUN. FUN ONLY.)

Oh,
well,
But in a society commentary kind of way, I suppose the two term could be interchanged.

Once upon a midnight guido, I needed to feed my libido,

the cabs came near and I headed out the door.

While at Karma, fists are pumping, I'm dry humping,

when someone asked me how I always score.

"Gym, Tan, Laundry," I revealed, "'Tis my daily chore,"

Quoth the raven, "At the Shore."

Original Larissa poetry, timeless AND thought provoking.

Hall and Oats

Today Elyse and I took her new puppy out to Whyte ave to flaunt it's cuteness and make friends with every dog lover in town.
Unfortunately the puppy had a habit of squealing loudly at everything it was excited about, and subsequently it sounded like we were collectively beating it non-stop.

At one point Elyse stops in at Starbucks to get us some dranks and some water for the dog. Of course, the puppy is stricken by the notion that it's Elyse is gone, and starts yelping in despair at her disappearance.
I'm trying to keep it away from the entrance/door to ensure it doesn't get trampled, but it keeps yelping and I pick it up to console it, and also to not have red paint thrown on me by any passing PETA members for animal abuse.

CUE: WHYTE AVE DIRTY HOMELESS MAN,
Let me preface this by saying I don't have any issue with friendly homeless people. A man had asked us if he could pet the puppy earlier and told us about how if you take care of a dog then it'll take care of you. Almost a little heart warming. We told him to have a good day.

BUT LETS JUST GO OUT ON A LIMB HERE
And add on the determiner of:
If you come saddle up beside me while I'm holding a distraught puppy, and I think that maybe, maybe you just wanna pet the dog, but you put your arm around me, and with a twinkle in your unfocused eyes you slowly shift your hand down to give my waist a sensual lil' squeeze, and you say
Hey
hey


Do you got a dollar?

I can't go for that, no no, no can do.

Sheeple and shootouts

SO HEY GUYS

Last week at work I was on the phone with a customer discussing the intricacies of bulk landscaping rock, including such fan favourites as:
"What colour rock are you looking for?" "Oh.. just rock coloured."
and
"Okay, but what size of rock, can you describe it? We have many different types of rocks." "Its rock size."

And as I'm talking on the phone, everyone suddenly crowds around the window because there is a FRICKIN' SHOWDOWN HAPPENING ON THE STREET.
I'm talking white cargo van, men in gas masks pointing a long barrel rifle at a man with his hands up.
A lady in the yard is taking a video on her iPhone, this is the world we live in now.

The men with the guns are wearing jackets that say "POLICE" on the back, but wait, why are they coming out of a white unmarked van?
One man yells "GET THE FUCK ON THE GROUND" and starts leading the man with his hands up towards the front of the van.
WHAT?
Wait... WUT?

Apparently I'm from the hood because when a girl I work with starts to shout "OH MY GOD HE'S GOT A GUN" I forcefully shush her because I'm on the phone, and
like
it would be poor customer service to yell about guns with a customer around.

Suddenly all the hootenany seems to end and they all shrug and get back in the van and drive off like good buddies.
WHAT?
What did we just witness? Maybe the gun was just a paintball gun and this was some weird idea of bro-time civilian fun? Was it a police drill? Why didn't the police warn us?
We debate if we should call the cops to find out what we just saw.
My boss says "But that was the cops."

WHAT?
So no one called.
On the way home I call Matt, who is pretty much always the voice of reason in this blog, and tell him what happened.
And we he tells, he tells me: "You probably witnessed a kidnapping."

MIND: BLASTED.
PIC IS UNRELATED.

Oxyclean

2 weeks ago I moved from my childhood room upstairs with timeless butterfly wallpaper, into my basement. This is a big step in my gradual transition into adulthood, obviously.
HOWEVER,
In the last 2 weeks I have had to kill 6 large spiders down here, (and one moth, DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED.)
One was in the shower with me and I frantically began trying to mash it with my shampoo bottle but it was IN THE CORNER and the bottle was TOO BIG and when I finally frantically jabbed at it with the end of my razor it some how lost all its spider web leggies and I had to wash them all down the drain. This constitutes as spider death #4.

Now I understand spiders are part of basement living, but THIS MORNING I DECIDE TO GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS ISSUE.
I have a theory that they are coming in from the window in the laundry room, so I climb up on the cabinet below the window to inspect it. Its completely filled with spider webs, and when I blow some air on it I can see a spider move inside.
I arm myself with some oxyclean spray (for science!) and let 'er rip, to discover that the spider inside the web is huge and its trying to escape it's oxyclean death... and it makes a break for it from the window sill.
The sheer terror or the size of this thing sends me into instinct mode, and in true survival fashion I gasp and  fall backwards off the cabinet onto the laundry room floor, where my dog greets me happily now that I've made a commotion and it is apparent I'm awake.

(For the record, pain can not stop me and I quickly got up to squish it; spider #5.)

I worry now about the fact that: if I've hit the spider motherland with an oxyclean A-bomb, they're going to all flee into the general real estate of the basement.
I worry now, that they're going to come find me.
I tell Matt this on the phone, complete with my theories of inner spider-thought dialogue, and Matt tells me that I'm crazy. I tell Matt that they're going to leave their window sill home and come into my room, and Matt says, that's not how spiders think.
I tell Matt this, and when I get home from work I go into my room and THERE IS A GOD DAMN SPIDER ON THE WALL ABOVE MY BED.

SO
LIKE.
UHHHHH.
Spider #6.
And when I went to vaccuum up all the webs in Spider Mother Land to put an end to this, there were no live spiders to be found. Its too late. They have dispersed.
Every day that goes by without killing a spider.. I wonder where that spider went. And every time a hair brushes against my neck I assume its a spider and punch myself in the carotid.
This picture is FUCKING RELATED even though I'm pretty sure I've posted it before.

CAPITAL LETTERS

HELLO WORLD! I HAVE NEGLECTED YOU SO MUCH.
Summer 2012 goal is to START THIS SHIT UP AGAIN. I'm gonna start pretending that people wanna hear about EVERY MUNDANE DETAIL OF MY LIFE and WRITE IT ALL DOWN.

This summer I tried my darndest to get a job in my field of study but turns out I was just born to sling rocks at a landscaping yard. I'm tuff all over.
To kick off my 1,000th promise to start blogging more, here are a few highlights of being hit on at work in a series I like to call:
PICK UP LINE NOT REALLY PUT DOWNS.


It seems I've lost my witty, calloused touch. Turns out I'm actually a nice person.
Tale #1: A young man comes in and his debit card is giving him trouble. Being an experienced technologist, I tell him my special trick of wrapping the debit card in receipt paper, and when I swipe it it magically works. I send him on his way.
HOWEVER
He comes back ten minutes later. He needs to get a refund as we were out of stock on an item he wanted. No matter, I tell him he can try to swipe his card again or I can do the receipt paper trick.
He contemplates my offer and says, "Nah, we better wrap it."
There is a short, yet noticeable pause in our interactions with each other, and he states again, "Better just be safe and wrap it up."
I look him in the eye and say "Yeah... I was gonna make that joke too but I didn't think it would be appropriate."
OH BUT WHEN CUSTOMERS DO IT ITS OKAY.


This was an exciting day though, because the only men that hit on me are old men. Without fail, if I don't get a comment from an old man at work I'll get one at the grocery store or in a parking lot somewhere. I guess I just have that old world charm, what with my large septum ring and all.
I pretty much have an old man fan club in this city. I asked Matt if he'd like to join and gain the title of Youngest Fan Club Member. He'll probably have to contemplate that one though because I'm sure the weekly meetings would be all shuffle board and trying to remember my name.