Beware of Strangers: A Christmas Story

I was going to make a second Christmas post to follow up my first one. But today I'm just not in a Christmassy mood.

Instead, I'd like to tell you all a story. It's a story of strangers, different paths crossing, and...uh... stop lights. Yeah, and rolling papers. Intrigued? Shouldn't be.



I was walking to work this morning, and stopped to wait for the light so I could cross. A man comes up and mumbles something, then apologizes. I smile and half laugh politely because he looks embarrassed, like he meant to speak but thought better of it.

Man - "You have a beautiful smile."

Me (flustered) - "Oh. Thank you!"

Man - "Really, very beautiful and genuine. Do you have any rolling papers?"

[excellent segue on his part, no?]

Me - "Nope, I don't. Sorry."

Man - "Of course. You've grown out of that habit. I haven't yet." (looks embarrassed)

Me - "Oh, I don't think you have to grow out of it necessarily."

Man - "Yeah, it's the lesser of two evils."

Me - "Right."

Man - "I mean, you've never heard of anyone going out raping and killing people because he was on marijuana right?"

Me - "Ha... no, guess not."

Man - (laughing weirdly) "But hey, maybe it'll make me do that. Who knows." (mumbles weirdly, moves closer to me)

Me - "Ok, bye!" (crosses street)


Moral of the story?

There isn't one. The ending just creeped me out, and I felt the need to share.

Backstreet's Back.... Alright???

I have a confession to make.

You ready for it? Here goes....

I used to have a really popular Backstreet Boys website when I was about 12.

That's right. Backstreet Boys.

For those of you who know me, or have been reading la blog long enough to know my likes and dislikes, you are already well aware of my love for metal, "rock", classic rock, alternative etc - and my general disdain for most things "pop".

The same was true when I was younger. For me, the heavier the music the better.

And yet...

I had a Backstreet Boys site.

To be fair, I also had another site dedicated to metal bands and the lovely long-haired men who were in them.

But the Backstreet Boys site absolutely blew up. It was INSANELY popular, and I cannot even tell you why. This blog hasn't seen even a fraction of what that site got. My guestbook was huge, the chatroom was always full, and my fan mail never stopped.

My poor little heavy metal site suffered in comparison.


I think the main reason I liked those damn Boys of Backstreet was due to one AJ McLean:

He was the "bad boy" out of the 5, and I was pretty much in pre-teen love with him. (Didn't he end up with a drug problem? Sigh...)

I just thought I'd share that little bit of info with you. I had forgotten about that site until the other day - when I googled it, I found write ups and info about the page that no longer exists.

Ah. It feels good to get that off my chest.

Blog friends that share together, stay together. But if you judge me, you will endure my wrath.

BSB4EVR, yo.

Preppin' For The Fat Man

And so it begins.

With one Christmas party under my belt, it means that the season is here...






Christmas is my favourite time of year. The past two, for a few different reasons, were more difficult than usual and didn't feel the same.

And so, I'm going to do all I can to ensure that the Christmas Spirit is alive and well for me and la famille this year.

And thus brings me to todays topic:

Getting Into The Christmas Mood: Step One - Christmas Movies

Y'all ready?

First up - National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Watched it last week, and it made me wanna decorate right then and there.

Next... A Christmas Story.

This one is near and dear to my heart, since parts of it were filmed in my hometown, St. Catharines. Most notably, this scene:




And the third clip for your Christmas viewing pleasure - Scrooged.

Maybe not so Christmassy and "warm, fuzzy feeling" for most people, but it's one of my favourites:




While I love all the regular traditional movies and shows, these ones suit me best.

Merry December, folks.

Don't choke on your egg nog.

Silicone Boob Tube

We don't have cable.

Shocked? Don't be. We used to, but we lost faith in Rogers and didn't keep it when we moved. Needless to say, our non-cable stations are lacking.

So, until we go back to some form of cable, our TV show choices are pretty slim. When we don't feel like watching Tv-On-DVD or random movies, we're pretty much stuck watching crappy sitcoms or *cringe* celebrity gossip shows.

Ugh.

Mind-numbing bullshit. And these shows are endless. Access Hollywood, Entertainment Tonight, E Talk, and the WORST... The Insider. This is a show where not only do they follow the lives of people who are only famous for being semi-famous, but they have DEBATES about them.

One day it was on in the background while the boy and I were making dinner or something. This was a day or so after Patrick Swayze died, and the hosts (comprised of wannabe actors and D-list celebs, including Star Jones and maybe Kathy Griffin) had a debate about whether or not Patrick should have quit smoking.

Honestly.

The man just died. Debating about his smoking habits as though their opinions matter is just... sad, and disrespectful.

Bottom line, these shows make me insane.

And this is why we spend more of our time watching and re-watching Seasons 1-8 of Family Guy.








Ok.

Now I feel a bit better.

Heart of Gold Chains and Neon Hats

For those who don't know, this chick loves Neil Young.

Indeed I do.

I also love to randomly spit out the entire theme song to Fresh Prince of Bel-Air at odd times of the day, including during important conversations of a serious nature.

Let's call it my own special breed of Tourettes.

And so, when I heard about this video, I had to see it.

Without further ado, I give you:




plus



equals




I gotta admit, Jimmy Fallon. Ya done pretty good.

Grey Matter Matters

The following is a short list of random things I often think about, and therefore often discuss to no end. There are no real answers. Only speculation.

- If you can be overwhelmed and underwhelmed, is there ever a point in between where you are simply 'whelmed'?

- If a bad person is considered to be an "unsavoury character", why are good people not referred to as "savoury"?

- Who was the meathead that started incorrectly putting an 'a' in definite and definitely? Definate does definately NOT exist, but thank you to all who continue to make the 'a' part of a team that it does not belong on.

- I am not disgusted. I am simply gusted. I am also not dismayed. So, I guess I am mayed.

- Y do ppl type actual letterz & emailz in weirdo txting shorthand? Ur hrting my hed. lolllzzzz. idk. I'm old or something.

- If a tree falls in the forest, does anyone hear? Oh wait. That one's been done. Without a real answer.

- If you are "under the weather" when you're sick, do you feel "over the weather" when you feel better than good? And if you feel normal, are you just "the weather"?

That is all. For the moment. The rest have left my brain at this time. There will be more soon, unfortunately for you all.

Moulin Rouge

We've lived in our "new" place for about half a year now. So for half a year, we've lived with the horrible "apartment off-white" colour that they all come with.

We've been meaning to paint. Really. We know the colours we want.

We just didn't do it.

Til now. The three walls that wrap around the kitchen (one in the front hall, one in the living room, one in the desk area) are FINALLY painted red. It went a li'l something like this:

C - Surprise, Kris! I bought paint while you were at work. Look at me... paintin'!

Kris - Didja tape it right? Is the shade right? Shouldn't we have drop cloths? What if the dogs get paint on them?

C - The paint is kinda pinkish.

Kris - NO! NO PINK! YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT PINK!

C - Oh, nevermind. Not pink anymore.

Kris - whew.


Kris - Since you won't allow me to paint, I'm just going to take pictures of you. You're pretty when you paint. But you should paint shirtless. I'm just sayin'.

C - It's been a day already. Stop taking pictures of the walls.

Kris - Can't help it. Need to take pictures from different perspectives at different times of the day.

Jack - Mummy? Why are the walls bleeding?

Kris - Shhh, dog. Want a treat? Then be quiet.

Jack - You DO look like that lady in the painting.

Kris - That's it. No treat for you.

Daisy - Look over there!

Jack - I am! I am!

Daisy - Mummy... Daddy... I have to show you something...

Daisy - I couldn't help myself. The paint looked fun, so I rubbed up against it. I was wrong. It was not fun.

Jack - I'm a good boy! Where's my treat?

Kris - Aw, I have a red dog. Like Clifford.

C - Who?

Kris - Clifford The Big Red Dog. Ah, nevermind. It'll go away on its own, right?

Jack & Daisy - Sooo.... treats?

Gagged.

Yep. That's right. It's time for another "Letter To Random Person Or Thing" post. Today's victim/ recipient? Lady HatchetFace. I mean Gaga.

Dear Lady Gaga,

You and I, we seem to have a problem.

I'm starting to think you have put some kind of hex on me, a voodoo curse that makes people completely insane in an undetectable manner.

Why do I think this?

Well... as of late, I've been falling asleep at the usual time. Sleeping a solid few hours. But it seems that almost every damn night at around 2am, I wake up. I look at the clock. I think "Oh, good. I've got quite a few hours yet. Back to sleep I go", and close my eyes, waiting for sleep to hit.

But you know what hits instead?

This:





Yeah.

This damn song plays in my head over and over until 6am. Not the whole song, mind you. Just the beginning part where I'm convinced that you are speaking in hieroglyphics.

Hieroglyphics, I say.

I can't sleep, Miss Gaga. Can I call you Gaga? I think that since you keep me up every night, we're past the usual pleasantries. Gaga it is.

I realize that I work at a gay & lesbian radio station, and will therefore never escape your wrath. I also don't really hate you, I am just sometimes frightened by you. I enjoy how you push the envelope. Just push it elsewhere, and let a chick get some rest.

Respectfully, if slightly fearfully yours,

Kristen

p.s. - with most of the fucked up... uh, excuse me... I mean artistic... outfits you wear - how the hell can you SEE?

I am intrigued.

Until next time, Gaga....

So... same time tonight?

It's Rude To Stair

It is widely known and well-documented how much I truly hate working out.

(See: here ...um, here ...and, oh... here, too)

To summarize, the thought of excercising generally brings about this type of facial expression:

Yeah. Pure joy, really.

But alas and alack, while my metabolism has been MORE than gracious to me, I'm not getting any younger.

I have no muscles. I am weak. I am unhealthy.

Chick's gotta do some movin' or it's all downhill from here.

So what do you do when you hate the thought of joining a big stupid gym with confusing machines and judgy, judgy eyes?

You take the stairs, my friend. You take the stairs.



I live in a building with a lot of stairs. 15 floors, I think.

So I'm making use of what's right in my home.

I'm just starting out, so there hasn't been much to speak of yet. But I'm feeling it. And I know that running up, up, up and down, down, down as much as possible will be a lot better than the sitting, sitting, sitting, and eating, eating eating that I do.

I'm hoping that, in time, my ass will be so toned and lifted that it'll be reachin' for my neck.

(Yeah, I realize that made no sense. So?)

And if I ever want to travel and excercise on the go, I'll just borrow the Bluth Family Stair Car.

I hope to avoid hop-ons.

Breakin' The Law, Breakin' The Law

At the request of my significant other, I am going to post about a dream I had the other night:

It was one of those far-too-real type dreams. Everything was pretty much the same as real life. C and I lived where we do now, only the apartment in the dream was a bit bigger and better.

(It's my dream, I can upgrade if I want to.)

Anyway - as it happened, we ended up in a bit of trouble. It seemed as though my dear law-abiding boyfriend was somehow fixing Leafs games along with our lovely friend Jeff (of Hockey Night In Canada, which may explain things) and got caught.

Not only were they in trouble legally, but the backlash from regular hockey-loving folk was quite bad. Death threats and what-not.

And so, one night I was alone in our dark, floor-to-ceiling windowed, slightly-maybe-kinda-larger-than-normal apartment, when two men came to my door. They informed me that C was in a LOT of trouble, but the biggest danger was the angry mob of pissed-off men who wanted him dead post haste.

He was going to have to go into hiding, also known as The Witness Protection Program.

And therein was where this chick got emotional. In order to stay in a relationship with my boyfriend, I was going to have to move to the States (I think Michigan?), dye my hair blonde (again?!), be re-named Rita (Dexter's wife? No thanks.) and leave a job that I had really wanted.

When C finally came home, he was ready to pack up and leave. I was not. We got into a huge heartbreaking discussion about whether or not I was going to come with him or not.

I woke up crying.

I'm fully ready for the comments about how the dream relates to my relationship, lack of commitment, blah blah blah. But trust - In real life, you'd be reading a blog written by a newly American blonde chick named Rita.

Moral of the story? Witness Protection Program = Kristen crying herself awake.

And to the Toronto Maple Leafs? Don't make this dream a reality.

Win. More.

Thanks.

Forgot To Remember

Dear "other blog",

I'm writing this to you in apology.

It has been brought to my attention that I've neglected you, ignored you, and possibly even betrayed you.

Be assured - it was not purposeful.

It's just that I had other things going on. Events. Life stuff. You know how it is.

Like Halloween! That just passed...

Yes you're right, I did recycle an old costume.

You know me so well.

But it was fun nonetheless.

And before that?

Well, there was Dave & Tally's wedding:

We may have danced like drunken fools.

And we were the only couple to slow dance / sing loudly to GNR's "Patience".

But y'see, that's exactly why I didn't post about it to you. That's just not your kinda thing.

And before that, you ask?

Oh, lots of things happened.

And while I may have posted about them on this blog, I want you to know... I'm not playing favourites.

In fact, I just posted something new for you. Right now.

See? A new post!

I DO still love you.

So no hard feelings, ok?

*whew* Thanks.

Sincerely,

Me

p.s. - Oh... right... about that whole "changing haircolour" thing. I, um... did that. Sorry. Forgot to tell you.

Salty Tears

I remember a time when nothing would make me cry.

No movie ever made me cry until I was 12 or 13 and watched the Disney version of Hunchback of Notre Dame and bawled with my best friend Vicky.

I was upset at how they treated him.

Now, I'm 26.

And certain things make me really emotional.

Stupidly so.

Observe, example A - a friggin' NOODLE commercial, no less:

I watch this. And I cry.

Craig called me in to the living room yesterday to watch me cry at this commercial. He laughed at me. But then HE cried too.

You can't hide from this one. It'll getcha.

Poor little salt boy.

I'll be your friend. You don't have to cry.

But I hope it makes you feel better to know

that I'm crying like a freak

right beside you.


Sigh.

Hollow Weiners

Oh hey, everyone.

Did you know it's Halloween this weekend?

Riiiiiight. That.

I usually like to have a well-prepared costume weeks in advance.

This year however, I do not.

And so this Shambled Rambler is scrambling for a ramblin' shambled costume.

I need to turn this:


... into something semi-awesome.

But here's the thing - last minute chick costumes usually end up cheesy, skanky, or just plain bad.

Try googling Halloween costumes for women. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Here are a few I found:

Tin Chick.

Right. Instead of Tin MAN. But, by turning him into a woman, you must automatically bring out the tits and get as close as you can to showing the ass and babymaker.

Since most people believe the Tin Man preferred men, I don't know that he'd go for this.

Next!




Harry Potter....Girl?

Cuz that's not Hermione. That's Harry Potter as a woman.

Not my thing. I'd definitely Avada Kedavra that one. (That's right, I read all the books. And liked em, too. Wanna fight about it?)

Onward and upward....



Ah. Wonder Woman.

I considered this one, what with the new dark hair and such.

We found an AWESOME vintage Wonder Woman costume from the 70's or something. Gotta love vintage shops. It would have been perfect, but it was too big.

Such is my luck, friends.

And so... on I go, journeying forth to find something to turn me into someone else for a night or two.

But I may just find a masquerade mask

throw 'er on

and be done with it.


Tra la la, folks.

The Friendly Giant Would Be Proud

I used to be a Floor Fixator.

Assuming no one has any idea what I'm talking about, allow me to explain.

When I was younger, I watched the floor as I walked. I couldn't help it. I found out when I was in highschool that people had different perspectives and ideas about my floor staring.

Some people, before they actually met me, thought that I stared at the floor because I was a bitch and had no need to make eye contact with any of the lowly humans around me.

Others knew that it was because I was just plain scared. In my own eyes, I was the lowly human.

Over the years, I've done my damndest to change that. It's no wonder some people took advantage of me - they could tell my weakness by taking one good look at me. How much self esteem can one person have, when they're too afraid to even look up in a crowd?

I hadn't thought about it too much. Until today.

Walking to work, I passed a woman who was staring at the ground ahead of her as she walked. Because I had noticed, I realized that meant my head was up.

In the past few months especially, I realize that I have made a conscious effort to keep my head up as I walk. It makes a difference.

When I pass the horrible gang dudes that yell disgusting things at me, or homophobic insults at others? My head's up. They can't know that I'm scared of them everyday, because I know what they'll do - I've seen 'em.

When I pass the bitchy predatory girls who automatically hate every other woman in a ten foot radius? My head's up. I look em in the eye, because my fear of them is long over.

Point is, I'm learning. And changing. And maybe becoming more like the tough-shit chick I'm really good at pretending to be.




And now I look up.

Waaaaaaaay up.

Anniversary Of An Uninteresting Event

Two years ago I went on a date.

It was a first date.
He was from Toronto. I lived in St. Catharines.
He drove all the way down to see me.

We didn't know each other that well yet, and first dates always make me nervous. Especially because I wasn't used to dating men so much older than me.

Being the control freak that I am, I offered to drive us around for the night. We met in a Kelsey's parking lot off the highway.

A little strange, a little new.

He had asked me what I wanted to do.
So I made him come to the lake with me and go on the swings.
I am a swing freak.

Any man that will go on swings with me on a first date - with his good shoes and swing-hating ways - is automatically a good catch.

...at least until he tells you about the time he ate a spider. But I learned to look past that.

We then went to a bar, where we managed to procur a hidden corner booth in the basement. Conversation was not a problem. A good sign.
Unbeknownst to me, a couple of my friends were there for drinks and stopped by for a moment.
I got the thumbs up. He passed the test for them.

Having just gotten out of a long-term crazy relationship, I needed more convincing.

Fast-forward two years:

Guess I quickly became convinced.

Add two dogs. One cat. An apartment. Love, stress, friendship, jobs, bickering, smiling, laughter and life. Major ups and major downs.

A partnership.






Happy two years, boy.

Thanks for the dates. You must've been a good kisser.

Hair I Am

So.

I guess no one will sing "Leggy Blonde" to me anymore...




And no one will will tell me I look like these and other random celebrities...


l

... simply because I'm blonde.

After all the indecision, and the literal YEARS of "to dye it or not to dye it",

I've finally taken the leap.

It may seem small and insignificant to most people. Understandably, as it is just dye.

But for me it's a re-invention, and an opportunity for me to actually do something I've been scared of for so long.

Change is good. And when I look in the mirror, I see something different. I see a chick who isn't going to hide behind her hair and lie down and take the "blonde" assumptions and incorrect ideas that people had of me.

I'm lovin' the dark side.

So be happy, readers and friends.

The bitching and inability to make a decision

is

officially

OVER.

Bye bye, bleach. I've moved on.

J-E-L-L- Oh, no you didn't!

Everyone knows the saying "the proof is in the pudding".

And so I must ask:

WHY is the proof in the pudding?

WHAT is it proof of?

And WHO put said proof in the pudding?

Was it Cosby?

I'll bet it was Cosby.

Hey Cosby - next time put your proof somewhere else.

I'ma eat my pudding. And I don't want to accidentally choke on any of your elusive "proof".

Thanks, Doctor Huckstable.

A Shambled Bathroom PSA

Recently, signs went up in the bathrooms where I work:




Reading them daily makes me think.

Are people not washing their hands anyway, and therefore need to be reminded and threatened with H1N1 before they do?

So,

I made up my own sign:

Look for it in a bathroom near you.

(editors note - Yes. I misspelled genitals. But really, you shouldn't be touching your gentials either.)

White Night

Last weekend I experienced my first Nuit Blanche.

It's pretty much a city-wide art extravaganza, with art installations set up throughout Toronto.

Crazy awesomeness could be a better description.

And so, our favourite Arts & Media Power Couple, Bob & Laura, were our official tour guides and drinking buddies for the evening.

Better late than never, here's my re-cap:


Ready to go!

Three of us looking up at one of the first pieces we came across - I call it "Big Damn Silver Bunny Thing"

Please keep in mind that I had been into the rye prior to and during these shenanigans.

Bob & Laura can out Nuit Blanche any Nuit Blancher. Who else has homemade matching shirts?

No one. That's who.

This is also art.

It's called "One Eyed Mongoloid Hides Behind Man With Facial Hair"

Ok, ok, there's more coming...

Hey, Dave! Who are you?

Dave, if you read this. Email me. I wanna know why YOU get this kinda recognition.

A crazy group of fun-havers.

Another art installation - garbage bags. Laura is nicely asking you to pick up your trash.

Give a larbage.

Throw out your garbage.

This picture is my favourite.

To me, it looks like Craig is suggesting things to Laura that Bob is not impressed with.

We didn't. Whoooops.

What's in the coke bottle?

Couldn't be rye. Just couldn't be.

Ant thing at the Cameron House. These things crawled up the walls.

At least, as far as I can remember. Oh, the foggy brain I have...

I pose in front on an old car because my boyfriend asked me to.

Mama does what Mama's told.

Pylons!

Lit up pylons!

What's better than pylons?

Nothing.

So... I really like pylons.

On our way home, Craig and I passed this.

I'm realizing now how much my pictures fail to explain our night. Did I mention there was rye involved?

The hordes of people romaing the street was unbelievable. After mapping our walk, we now know that we walked 10km across the city.

This is how you a) expand you horizons artistically b) spend time with friends c) get hours of cardio and d) do it all drunkenly.

The. End.

Kristen View

Everyone is going nuts about Google Street View today.

So I checked it out.

Searched my house. Searched my work. Searched the way home from work.

And look what couple I found pictured on said Street View.

Nice.

I've always wanted to be a blurred face on a public website.

Thank you Google for making a little girl's dream a reality!