Cross-Canada Family Adventure

This blog is obviously a failure, as my personal life is not, by my own standards, interesting enough to maintain it.  HOWEVER, it's about to get pretty interesting because the fam and I are setting off on a whirlwind tour of western Canada as of this Friday afternoon.  That being said, I have created another  blog (one with purpose and that I promise to keep updated) to keep family and friends informed on our whereabouts should they be so curious.  Since I have a whopping five followers here, I figured I'd fill you all in, in case you wanna jump ship to blog numba deuce.

FOLLOW ME, WON'T YOU?

boundingbeula.blogspot.com

(& yes, I may have sampled the first three and half or so sentences for my first entry from a pre-existing entry in this blog, but the topic overlapped and my creative juices only flow so far so I gave myself a free pass.)

Kthnxbai.

I Was Hiding Under Your Porch Because I Love You

Prepare to gag on the cuteness which I will now put before you. Up - I know you weeped into your popcorn. If you didn't, you obviously hate your parents. And the elderly. And adorably plump children. You hate your parents, the elderly, and adorably plump children if you have yet to see and/or found nothing touching about Up. And the theme song! Did it win an Oscar? You bet your happy ass it did. Da doo doo dooo - da doo doo doooo... Which reminds me that I have been meaning to download it for months. Another nod to how good I am at following through with things. *Cough*LikethisblogIhardlyeverwritein*cough* Case in point, I am pissed that the couple pictured above (kind of) thought up the idea to base their engagement photos on this movie because a) I am not engaged and b) Never would have thought to do this even if I were. Seriously, RUDE. Everyone should make a point of studying the things I like and then never coming up with great ideas that involve any of those things unless previously approved by me. Kthaaanx. In all seriousness, these pictures make me want to just sit on my bed and weep for four hours. I know nothing of this couple other than that their names are Lynnette and James, their favourite movie is Up (WHAT?) and James wrote this little love diddy to his real life Ellie:

Lynnette… I have a confession, I am in love with you. It is not the ‘usual’ love, but the love that makes me remember the little things, the ‘boring’ things. It is the boring things in life that I will remember the most. The memories of jumping over sidewalk cracks to how the clouds talk to us. You make me remember the moments. It is that love that makes me believe. Belief that I was there when you were a toothless kid. Dancing through life, only stopping to hold my hand. Letting me know that anything is possible. I am in love with you, ‘my greatest adventure’.

It's just ALL TOO MUCH, isn't it? There's obviously no point in anyone else ever getting married now. Well played, Lynette and James. Here are the rest of my personal faves (read: all of them) for you to get all fucking sappy over:

THEY EVEN RE-CREATED THE GRAPE SODA PIN. Son of a bitch. & There are actually more pictures to be found at Wildflowers Photography if you're that emotionally starved for love and affection.

You better get a dog and name it Dug and name your first born Russell, Lynnette and James. And rescue a snipe named Kevin and throw a crazy man from his own blimp full of talking dogs. Yeaaah. Yeah, MAYBE THIS WASN'T SUCH A GREAT IDEA AFTERALL, HMMMM?

Photos via WeddingChicks

Why Dontcha Do Suh'in?

Severe thunderstorm watch in effect. Oooh, looks ominous. Granted, it hasn't progressed to 'warning' yet, so I'll let this gross inaccuracy slide. I do hope it storms tonight, though. Best sleeps.

So, I will acknowledge the fact that I had previously promised to never allow real life to distract me from blogging duties for more than five days at a time but unless you want to continuously read posts such as, "Stubbed my toe today. Upsetting." then it's for the best that I hold out until I have at least a paaaaragraph's worth of useless shit to share with you. My useless life (oh, time for my meds), however, has allowed me ample (who else pictures a bosom when they hear that word?) time to write about the lives of others in my cousin Lisa's celeb gossip blog, Starcastic Beeotch. I've got a few posts under my belt over there so go, have a gander, follow it, read it, laugh, cry, rejoice. We'll refer to it as the cream filling between the chocolate cookie crusts that are my own personal posts. Delicious. Also delicious is my post about Christina Aguilera's new vid for Not Myself Tonight, which you will find there. Can't very well profess my love for her and post the song without following up with video news, now can I? Consistency, chaps. I'm made of it. Sticking to the blonde poptart (is there any other kind?) theme, I would like to share with you my discovery of 'Radio Britney.' You find this rare gemstone under Radio --> Top 40/Pop in your iTunes and then you proceed to listen to every Britney song/remix/live performance ever made of all time, forever, in history. Run, children. Run to it.

It doesn't even feel like the weekend, as I had to bring work home with me. My current employment is quickly transforming me into the most bitter of Bettys. And I do not look like a Betty, so it's lose/lose to have to be a bitter one. This transcript is due Wednesday and the only way to have it done in time is work on it over the weekend. Do I get paid an increased wage? Nope. Did my wage go up when minimum wage went up? Nope. Did I just run the entire office by myself for a week and not burn it to the ground? Sure did. (And if it had burned to the ground, it would have been nooo accident, I tell you what.) I'm praying to the baby Jesus of Winebagos that this cross-country dysfunctional family road trip of 2010 is actually going to take place. An entire summer in this town is daunting, to say the least, and if I'm to make it to Toronto (eeeee! Just peed a little bit) in one piece, I will need an out. Even if that out comes in the form of being trapped within Beula's confinements for a month+ with my family. Talk about blogging material.

I wanted to get up early and go for a walk, possibly even jog (HAHAHAHA), this morning and instead rolled out of bed at noon and didn't leave the house all day. I wonder what tomorrow will bring? Hold yer breaths.

I Think Our Hands Just Made A Baby

"Hopeless emptiness, now you've said it. Plenty of people are onto

the emptiness, but it takes real guts to see the hopelessness."

I finally got around to watching Revolutionary Road (also known as Titanic: The Sequel - c'mon, Winslet, DiCaprio, AND Bates?) last night and aside from being profoundly disturbed by it, I really enjoyed it - which, when you get right down to it, isn't all that shocking since I love the crap out of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio. I have Britney Spears/Justin Timberlake feelings about the two of them. You know, like, just be together forever and all will be right in the (my) world. I wonder if dear old Mendes (Winslet's recent ex-hubatron and director of the film) saw it all unraveling before his eyes while shooting this? I realize he was the one to end the marriage, but can you really blame him when every one of her acceptance speeches involved teary-eyed, heartfelt gushes confessing her love for Leo, only to be followed by a: "And my dear, wonderful husband, who I love so much" (to be read in an English accent for full effect, please)? So while I usually feel some measure of sorrow when my fave celebs are dealt a bum hand in the marriage department, this one just opened the doors for all my wildest dreams to come true. Okay, Kate and Leo spam-time is over. But I thought the movie was brilliant, as were the two of them in it. And I especially love an ending that makes you stop and evaluate what you just saw and that allows you to draw your own conclusions about its message. Like 17 Again, which I also watched this weekend. He, too, almost cost himself everything he loved most in the world because he blamed his wife for the fact that he was never given the chance to become a college basketball star. Trials and tribulations, man, trials and tribulations.

Clearly, my weekend has been filled with meaningful excitement. I did go out Friday night (go ahead and gasp, I won't be offended) and basked in the sweet melodies of local karaoke wonders and mullets. It was just the three of us for most of the night because, as luck would have it, we picked a night where no one else decided to go out. But I still managed to do enough damage to cause myself a severe case of the vodka/tequilla morning sweats that forbade me from functioning in an upright position until 3:00 p.m. Booyah, grandma. I must say, though, I find the weight of Sundays to be quite debilitating. How are you to enjoy yourself when the shitpile that is Monday is merely hours away? Worst. Not to mention Boss Man and Boss Lady are in MEXICO until Friday, living the good life, while I'm stuck at the office with Boss Lady's Mother. She's a dear woman, but never stops talking. Usually just out loud to herself, but you never know for sure until you've already walked all the way to the office to find out that, yes, t'was a one woman conversation. Or perhaps it's an, "Oh, you've got an email here" so, all right, let me come see what it is. "Oh, it's just saying that the last email you sent was read." Oookay, GREAT. Thank you. Do keep me posted on those.

Overworked and underpaid makes le moi one whiny bitch.

Photos via Variety & Just Jared

Bringing Home Beula

Isn't she lovvvvvvvely; isn't she wonnnnn-DER-ful. Isn't she preeeecious, less than one minu - all right, so she's 20 years old. That only adds to her charm and numerous bounding capabilities, as far as I'm concerned. & really, who else need be concerned? Bloggers, meet Beula. This big, beautiful she-beast is the result of the 13 hour Beula-bound journey that I subjected myself to, along with the company of Pere and Frere, yesterday, all day. Poor Mere was confined to the unmovable abode due to work obligations, but all the while eagerly awaiting her ship to come in. Unfortunately, the ship isn't ACTUALLY in yet and, therefore, the title is somewhat misleading, but they just need to give ol' Beuls a spit shine (& hopefully a carpet shampoo. That pink monster at the front? Whoaaa, gag me.) and get her road ready (and, you know, have us actually pay the rest of the sale price) and then she's allll ours.

I don't know if you've ever been lucky enough to make it to Jumbo Land (this may not be the legit name for it; gamers retreat) in a game of Super Mario Bros. but it happens to be loosely based on my family. My dad is a large man who just so happens to like large things. Thankfully, mind you, not brand new and shiny large things. Like Beula here. You see her fly by you on the highway; you don't think, "Well, they're loaded", you exclaim, "HOT DOG! I bet they are having a GOOD time." Detracts from the pompousness and adds to the charm. You see how that works? Same goes for our enormo boat. She's old, of the same colour scheme as Boundind Beuls, but happens to be 26 feet and sleep four people. The truck? A '79; Maw needs a step ladder to get in. (I do not, but should probably use one anyway for the viewing convenience of anyone who happens to be watching from behind. It ain't pretty.) Poopaw works a mere 10 minutes away and you can already hear him coming when he hits approximately eight. The TV downstairs, roughly 56 inches, but it's no plasma flatscreen. If it were hollow, I could probably live inside it comfortably. So you get the point.

Here at Redneck Junction, we go big and bring it home.

Jump Up Ya'll

Before I begin, I must (literally, I'm being forced to) give credit where credit is due and point out my usage of the acronym SFA (read: 'sweet fuck all') in one of my previous entries. According to the Beef, "Nobody else says that, you know." So I would like to take this opportunity to announce how much I love him and appreciate his willingness to share his unique, super hip lingo with me towards the betterment of my blog. SYFA : )

Ever since I started this blog, I knew I would one day devote an entry to the surreal splendor that is Steven Seagal: LAWMAN because that's just the kind of impact it has had on my life. Honest to God, how many of you have known the world's best kept secret and haven't let on until now? The Beef and I discovered it while flipping through the channels in our hotel room in Ottawa and sat in muted wonder, for what eventually became two hours, at the sights unfolding before our eyes. I really can't even put into words the 'reality' of this reality show. I don't think Steven Seagal is a real man. Howwwww has no one publicly outed him as a man of the law before the creation of this show? Or maybe I am just not a die-hard Seagal worshipper and shouldn't be anywhere near as shocked by this as I am. But let's be real for a hot second, if Steven Seagal ever pulled you over or knocked on your door at 3 a.m. to deliver some unfortunate news... ? WHAT? I don't even. You may as well just strike me dead on the spot for a variety of reasons that I can't explain.
Unfortunately, that was the first and last time I will ever be privy to the ludicrous wonders of Steven Seagal's many passions as he was recently accused of sexual harassment and sex trafficking (that panda suddenly looks like it's weeping, doesn't it.) Seriously. I am having just the WORST day. I can only get out of my bed on one side, but it was the wronnnnng one today. (I definitely hijacked that from my FB status and I don't even care. You read it twice and you like it.) But innocent until proven guilty, Steven. Innocent until proven guilty. I may tune in another day.

Like I said, today has been a real fucking rotten sack of turd but there was one thing that managed to make me laugh until I had tears in my eyes and I believe it says a lot about me as a human being. Perusing through some gossip blogs, I came across a post about probably the most horrifyingly repulsive movie that will ever be made, The Human Centipede, and I wish I didn't have to say anything more about it than that, but what I'm leading up to requires a little context, so here goes:
themovieisaboutacrazeddoctorwhoattachesthreevictimstogethermouthtoanus
tocreateahumancentipede.
*EXHALE* Ew ew ew ew FREAKING EW. So, before knowing this, I entered the post to see what the hell it was about, and what people had to say about it, and came across this:

Commenter1: You know, if it's mouth to anus, the girl up front has it the best. She gets to like, eat food instead of shit.
Commenter2: But he [person in front is actually a man] has to deal with knowing what he's doing to the others. I couldn't eat.
Commenter3: Right? I have trouble taking a dump if there's someone in the stall next to me. Can't imagine the stress of pooping into someone's mouth.

HAHAHAHAHA. Literal 'lmao irl' happening here. I relate to the fears of public pooping, which is maybe why I find this so hilarious, but whatever. I don't feel I should ever have to justify the humour in this to anyone. Case in point, that is the best thing I will have read/heard all week long. Praise the Interwebz.

Anyway, I'm exhausted. I just want to curl into a ball and have Phil Collins sing me lullabies.

Photo via TVjab

Jack Frost Chapping At Your Ass

I would like to quote a distinct phrase from my last entry, posted not more than 24 hours ago, in which I described the weekend weather as "freakishly beautiful." (I may have been in Ottawa but my northerly sources have confirmed similar swass-inducing temperatures in Timmins.) Well, LO AND BEHOLD, the world has once again righted itself and shat all over my front yard.

Let this read as a PSA for anyone considering a leisurely trip up north (HA. z'ifff.). TURN YOUR CAR AROUND. Here is what I saw upon gazing at the abomination that await me out my front window this morning and then on my drive to work. The radio announcement of the 15cm to come caused an involuntary "ARE YOU FUCKED?" to fly from my lips while alone in the car.

Now feast your eyes on two comparison shots taken a mere eight hours later:

I, unfortunately, didn't think to capture the bare roof of the ol' bird muncher in the first shot so as to elicit louder gasps of horror, but playing "Spot the Differences" here shouldn't result in a spontaneous case of the sweats. Might I add, there is currently no end to Mother Nature shitting the bed in sight.

Sweet baby J.

Patio Lanterns

"Here's a song that's as fun as getting champagne bubbles up your nose; and we all know how fun that can be." -- local radio DJ (& I use that term loosely.) Weird on it's own, right? Well the song that followed had no mention of champagne whatsoever, nor was it a particularly fun tune. Sometimes you need to get away, just to know that there are real people who know real things and are fully connected to the real world out there. Or, you can go to Ottawa for the weekend and get asked every five minutes for your spare change by a man down on his luck and to which, "AM I TIME TRAVELLING?!" may seem like an appropriate response for some.

Intro aside, I've been a bad blogger. Bad blogging skills aside, green tea lattes made at home taste like sweet, green ass compared to the stuff you overpay to have someone else make you at some established caffeine machine.

Thursday night. All aboard the l'auto bus for a never-ending journey to the land of O. My bus driver had a moustache full of secrets. There was a man who looked like he had no recollection of what marbles even looked like, nevermind having just lost a few, and sported a red flannel coat with a white, winter headband, dotted with tiny roses. Questionable as a fashion accessory, yes, but apparently made a pretty good night cap when it came time to snooze. Man with bladder problems who couldn't seem to help himself from molesting my hair every time he passed by. Sun burnt woman with vacation braids. Oh.. the vacation braids. It's all well and good while in a tropical locale, but people... you will eventually be returning to your sub-zero homes. Leave your braids on the beach. It's not cute. My very own seat partner (the bus was packed the entire way there. What thrills.) got into the good books fast with the peace offering of a Lindor chocolate egg, but slowly worked her way out again with repeated cell phone calls using her outdoor voice and frequent "DUDE"s.

All in all, it was a weekend well spent and much needed. The weather was freakishly beautiful for this time of year and we indulged in Parliament, patios and hangovers all weekend long. Finally got to see my beloved Tran after missing her on the first breakfast round in February (where I was graced with the company of two of my other AA lovelies, however) and spent some quality time with Streetbox & friends before she makes her grand departure back home this upcoming weekend. Spent the majority of Sunday travelling back to the Beef's (b/f+phonetics=beef) house for glorious Easter dinner with the fam, rocking out to shawtys on the dancefloor the whole way. Traffic was a bitch. Needless to say, way too much travelling occurred this weekend and I could have killed a busload with my looks on the way home. Bed is good. I never want to leave.

I leave you with this: Dad purchased tickets to the Dixie Chicks/Eagles in Winnipeg for this June and we are totally getting our Chevy Chase vacation on winebago style. Photo documentation will most definitely ensue.

I promise to never get distracted with real life for more than 5 days at a time ever again.

Photo via About.com

Don't Look At Me

It's been an exhausting couple of days for reasons that need not be blogged about in detail for the whole world to read (I know the whole world reads this. Don't even worry.) and there appears to be no end in sight with another day of overtime at work tomorrow and then a harrowing and vomit inducing bus ride to Ottawa for the weekend. The bright side of said bus ride means ample opportunity for people watching, since the underbelly of the world appears to flock to bus terminals like horseflies to a steaming pile. I promise to diligently keep notes and report back my findings. I find myself far too concerned with the backgrounds and personal struggles (that I conjure up all on my own without a shred of proof to back it up, which, at the end of the day, is probably far more demeaning then hurling any silent insult ever could be) of complete strangers to really take that much joy in people watching anymore. I don't know when my world shifted, but we're all just out there trying to make it work the best way we know how, right? So what if that involves a citrusy ensemble with plastic bags around your feet and a shopping cart full of nothing in particular?

I have mixed feelings about a weekend away for a whole shitpile (theme of the night?) of reasons, one being the fact that I have to fare thee well Streetbox McGee (I promise that was English) as she is moving to a far far away land, often referred to as 'Calgary' (cal-gah-ree) in mythical legends. It just hammers another nail into the coffin within which my Ottawa life lies. It's a heinous crime how fast time is permitted to move. Can we impose some kind of speed limit, here?

Unfortunately, I saved this little diddy until just before bed, so the ability to write with clarity about anything of substance, which is the NORM around here, is failing me miserably. Speaking of diddy, just remembered the man I quietly observed at the hospital, whose job cannot be determined as he sat around doing SFA all day long, who took it upon himself to bellow out to no one in particular that, "Bottom line, Roman Powlanski is a DIDDLER." J'taime Timmins and District Hospital.

Let me close this entry by highlighting an area of pure, unadulterated, adolescent joy for me because CHRISTINA AGUILERA fiiiiiinally released her goddamn single, and while I found it underwhelming upon first listen, I will play the shit out of it until it becomes the holiest thing that's ever graced my ear drums. I know she likes to "live a little" between albums to ensure all her songs are meaningful and come from a special placeblahblahblah.. but mother mary, the album STILL doesn't come out until June 8th. How am I to live off ONE song for TWO months? And leave your judgements at the door, alright, people? She's gaudy and horrendous and I love it.

Now tickle your ears with this little shanty:

Bonne Nuit.

Photo via ChristinaAguilera.com

Tea Gives Phoebe the Trots

If this weekend has taught me one thing, it's that I am perfectly content with never seeing the outdoors as long as there is a constant stream of Friends, Seinfeld, Will & Grace, The Golden Girls, or Roseanne on t.v. So there's a frightening glimpse into how I've festered over the last 36 hours. It has also reminded me of how freaking incredible Heath Ledger's performance in the Dark Knight was, as I briefly broke away from regular programming to indulge in a little cinematic adventure. Honeslty, though, never once while watching that movie does it occur to me that Heath Ledger is under there. Only the good die young.

I've decided to dedicate today's blog to three websites that possess a certain je ne sais quoi that keeps me coming back for more when Facebook and Oh No They Didn't just aren't cuttin' it. I would like to descend in order from most to least frightening. Come along, won't you?

1) We have ALL done this at some point in our lives, regardless of gender, race, creed, sexual orientation and every other factor that makes the world go 'round. Something about a camera lens causes us patrons of the world to contort our faces into this unsightly shape and, in the most severe cases, is accompanied by an involuntary throwing up of the peace sign. (The use of "throwing up" is no mistake in that sentence.) All introductions aside, I give you:

STOP MAKING THAT DUCKFACE!

Anyone who knows me knows I am just as guilty of committing duckface as any frat brat out there and if it weren't for my disabling of tagged photos on ol' FB, you'd have more than enough ammo to support this claim. HOWEVER, the discovery of this website has instilled in me a conscious determination to refrain from partaking in this horrific phenomenon anymore. It may be a gradual process, but one day, & with the help of the sobering images found at this site, I will be duckface free. I do attribute my tendency to duckface to the fact that I don't much love my own smile, but I know there's a way around it that doesn't involve duckfacing, and I'll find it.

2) I am the proud owner of a large (exact weight to be determined), fluffy, sassy white rabbit named Ellen (will also respond to Petunia and Peach). That being said, it's safe to say I'm slowly morphing into a 'crazy rabbit lady', a "you complete me" situation. Right? Run for the hills. Anyway, when I stumbled across this gem, it was a right click+save to favourites type deal.

DISAPPROVING RABBITS

CTRL + ALT + DSPRV

I never appreciated the inherent disapproving nature of a rabbit's face until this site brought it to light. I promise it's time well wasted whether you have your very own bunnicula (flashbaaaack. Remember that book?) or not. The captions are what really seal the deal on these sour-faced fluffballs, so kudos to the creators for their keen ability to peer into the inner workings of tiny little bunny brains.

3) I LOVE CAAAAAKE. Cake and cake decorating. If I could make a sweet (pun!) living decorating cakes for the rest of my life, just hand me the icing tube and let me rrrrip. Sadly, my past creations work pretty diligently against this as a possible career path, but I worship those who make it happen. As blown away as I am by a box of Crayola Crayons constructed entirely out of cake, I'm pretty sure I enjoy a good cake disaster just as much, if not more. Voila:

CAKE WRECKS

Don't worry, "Jett" - those poo-bats are so disturbing,
no one will care whose cake this used to be.

The appeal of this site is pretty self-explanatory. You'd be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't love cake (if this applies to you, please stop reading and don't come back here ever again), much less cake gone horribly wrong at the expense of others. Poor Jett and his poo bats. They showcase a hefty percentage of amazing cakes, too, depending on whether you want to "ooh" or "ahh."

Duckface, rabbits, and cakes; my work here is done. If I've helped just one of you waste even an iota of your time, I've done my job. Procrastination is the key to prolonging life after all; so, you're welcome!

Photos via AntiDuckFace, Disapproving Rabbits, & Cake Wrecks.

Hobo Chic

Eating watermelon makes me sad that it's still -10 and lower (higher?) outside. You had your chance, Winter. YOU HAD YOUR CHAAAANCE. The watermelon I speak of was one measly chunk scavenged from the leftover bowl o' fruit provided for the tight-bunned, pinky-lifting, nasally batch of lawyers during their meeting at work today. (This is a sweeping generalization and does not apply to the pleasant, humble and down to earth bunch who I have come in contact with/am related to - Starcastic Beeotch, haiiii - and whom possess full use of their sinuses.) Back to my point, however; summer fruit eaten after windstorms and arctic temperatures recently returned to wipe out the freak streak of ridiculously warm and lovely weather caused serious symptoms of SAD for me this afternoon. (That's an acronym, not a word. Ya don't know, Google it.) Speaking of which, the work week has now come to an end and it's safe to say that the highlight of it was the confused gentleman who happened upon our business Wednesday afternoon. It went something like this:

Man walks past window, carefully reading business name and description on the door (all the while clad in an intensely dark and circular pair of sunglasses), almost passes by and then rethinks it and backs up again to the door. Man opens door and sticks head inside but not a limb more. Enter inquisitive and apprehensive receptionist (yers truly): "Hello." Man replies by entering through the door completely. Still no words. Looks around as though trying to make sense of where he is and how he got there. Curious/increasingly terrified receptionist: "Can I help you with something?" Man mutters to himself that perhaps he is in the wrong place, which consequently eases receptionist's mind and reassures her that he must have a legitimate question of some sort. "Do you speak French?" he asks. Receptionist apologetically tells him that no, she does not. Enter Boss Woman.
Boss Woman: Hello, how can I help you?
Man: Do you speak French?
Boss Woman: No, I don't but there is someone here who does.
*Retrieves Boss Man*
Boss Man: Hi there, what can I do for you?
Man (in ENGLISH): Do you want to buy this?
*opens plastic bag to reveal used pot with a price tag on it reading "$14"*
Boss Man: No, thanks. I'm good. Sorry about that.
Man leaves. Guess he wasn't in the right place after all.
Boss Man: Why did you tell that guy I wanted to buy a used pot?
Confusion for everyone.

I usually make love to the pooch at work, so I welcome strange and unpredictable interruptions such as this. Poor guy. I wonder how he came to the the price of $14. There must be something about that used pot that only he knows about. It should probably stay that way.
There will be no more pooch love for the next little while, however. It is apparently transcript season and every law office in the province has called to order transcripts from previous meetings. I'm pretty sure one of the lawyers from the last one I typed was Tom Hanks. In the one I started today, a combination of Mila Kunis/Elisha Cuthbert/the ginger from Glee seems to be leading the questioning. So far, no John Travolta. On that note, I leave you with a little game of "Spot the Differences":

CAN'T UNSEE.

Photos via OhNoTheyDidn't 1 & 2

Well, All Right. It's Okay.

Initiation into the blogging world, commence.

Tardy to the party. I know.

Listening to She & Him. Haven't checked out any of their stuff until now. It suits a particular mood. I think I dig. Not to mention Zooey Deschanel is the cutest thing I've ever seen. It irritates me a little bit.

This is one of those rare instances where I actually do need more ways with which to occupy my time. Living at home and working a 9-5 ("what a way to make a livin' / barely gettin' by / it's all takin' and no givin"; Dolly knows her shit) has already propelled me into the life of a middle-aged paper pusher. Wake up, go to work, come home, tv time/computer time/story time (in no particular order), go to bed. This is my own fault, I realize. You're only bored if you're boring. But c'est la vie - c'est MA vie, for now. This is what saving money in hopes of having a more exciting life (hello Toronto, see you soon) does to a person/student.. pudent? Sterson?

Alas, exhaustion. Hello and goodnight, bloggers.
It's been lovely meeting you.

Photo via SheandHim.com