Shambled Ramblings

Rest In Peace

2012-01-30T10:38:00.000-05:00

On Saturday night, my Omi passed away.

I talk a lot about my German traits, but don't often tell of where they came from. I guess that would partly be from my Omi; my dad's mother. She was a feisty one, and had a certain way of voicing her negative opinions that everyone kinda came to expect. That was just Omi.

But as I sat here at my desk on Sunday morning, crying over the news, the very things that we may not have considered her best traits suddenly became "the things she'll never do again". And I automatically missed them. She won't be telling me that my hair is too dark, too light, too long or too short. She won't critique my boyfriends based solely on their appearance. She won't pick a favourite between me and my sister, only to change her mind the next time we saw her.

These were the things that drove us crazy. And somehow... I miss those things greatly.

In the end, it was hard to see her worsen in that bed over the past couple of years. Her spark was gone. She didn't even tell me I was wearing too much black or that I was too pale - she rarely knew who I was anymore. I was merely just a friendly stranger who would visit, say "Love you, Omi" and kiss her on the cheek. Nothing more.

Sometimes the end is for the best, and we rely on the good memories to keep people alive. For me, I'll remember the times when I was little and she'd sing German songs. Or how she always let me hold the pretty crystal that I was so sure was worth a bajillion dollars. And I can't help but smile when I think of how she told me that I had to marry the Prince of Monaco (pronounced mo-NAH-co, of course), or maybe that nice-looking Leonardo DiCaprio boy because he visited his German grandmother every weekend. She also liked to ask if I had posters of Rick Springfield up on my wall, and if I was yet dating my fun (also gay, though she begged to differ) friend Kevan.

It's these memories that I'll hold onto.

Rest in peace, Omi.

Deaf And Blind And Dumb & Born To Follow

2012-01-27T15:13:00.002-05:00

On Wednesday, I unexpectedly got a message from my new hero, Tristan.

Knowing that I had been none-too-happy about missing out on Tool tickets, and then was too broke to buy them from someone afterward, he asked if I wanted to take his tickets because he couldn't go.

Uhh... YEAH I DO.

So instead of sitting on my ass at home as planned, watching Californication and Shameless, I was off to finally see Tool. Kapow.

My pictures... not so good.

And my phone died right away. But whatever, I don't care. I was entranced by Maynard. And we were at a fun angle as far as the light show goes... I think Matt got some fun video of that.

Partway through, a group of big dudes came along and kicked out the people beside me for being in their seats. Lucky me, a 300 pound guy ended up beside me instead. A very, very drunk 300 pound dude.

We were pretty high up, and I'm really afraid of heights. This guy is all over the place, dancing, swaying, and looking like he was going to fall over and drag me with him.He kept elbowing me in the boob with his drunken movements, so I had to tell him to stop.

The guy was a mess. At point point he decided to call his girlfriend. His side of the conversation was something like this:

"Baby...baby... I love you. Baby, I can't hear you! Baby... I'm at Tool. You're the only girl for me, ok? I'm sorry, baby. You're the only one. Baby... I can't hear you, but I called you from Tool. Baby I love you. ....baby."

Mmhmmm.

After Tool played 'Sober', the guy turns to me and Matt and yells "That is the truest song ever made! It's true for moms, dads, kids... it's the truest ever!!!"

I said "Because children should not be sober?"

"No man, it's more than that! It's so true... like how a kid might see people who are drunk...." and then he mumbled some stuff. Who knows.

That was roughly the part where his drunk friend on the other side of him grabbed me and told me to switch places with the guy beside me. Apparently they decided that I was single, and I must therefore mate with Other Drunk Guy.

No. I'm good, thanks.

So while the large drunk guys were amusing/frightening, the show itself was awesome. Very glad I got to go.

Thanks Tristan - you're the bee's knees.

And for anyone that wasn't there.... watch this. Same concert in Reno: the full show:

And no - I wasn't "that girl", and didn't wear my Tool shirt.

Happy Friday, folks.

Doesn't Mean That Much To Me To Mean That Much To You

2012-01-25T16:16:00.000-05:00

My Facebook page lists 'staplers' as one of my favourite things.

People have asked if that's actually true.

Well... yes. Yes it is.

And yes. Yes I do have your stapler.

Swingline or die.

I Assassin Down The Avenue

2012-01-23T14:43:00.001-05:00

Earlier today, the always-awesome Nick brought up a topic that I've been in many discussions about through the years. Hell, it even came up on here once or twice.

It's the importance of musical tastes in relationships.

Do partners who have similar tastes in music have a better chance of lasting?

And do most of us pick partners with the same tastes - is it a make-or-break issue?

For me personally, yes.

My long-term relationships have all been with guys who liked at least a good portion of the same things I did. One ex appealed to my metal side. Another jokingly(?) nicknamed me "rock pig", but we shared a love of music in general and had a great time at concerts. My eclectic tastes can sometimes make this easier - I'm pretty varied, and if a dude can introduce me to new sounds to love? Perfect.

But if there are no similarities in our tastes.... if he's not someone I can go to live shows with, blast my songs in the apartment for us both to enjoy, or he mocks my choices because he has shitty taste in music (by my own damn standards, of course)... then it will not work.

Trust me. I've tried. (Sorry 'new gangsta rap', dude. You didn't know who Neil Young was. G'bye.)

Am I alone in this way of thinking?

I know many couples who perhaps aren't as music-obsessed, and their tastes are extremely varied from each other. And yet, it works. For them.

What about you, reader-folks?

Can you (and would you) date someone who is your musical polar opposite?

A Monday thought for ya. Discuss.

I'll Wake You Up When This Is Over

2012-01-20T13:41:00.000-05:00

As blogging takes a backseat to business, allow me to bring you on a trip down memory lane (although, since it's Masuka-related, perhaps 'mammary lane' is more appropriate).

Long before Daisy, brunette-life and singledom, I met Masuka at the Proud FM Christmas party (prior to my actually working there). He asked me to come in to voice some commercials for him - my first time ever doing so - and then he sent me a clip of my horrible bloopers.

I posted this in 2008, but randomly came across it today. Oh, the memories...

(Mom, ignore the f-words. I said fudge. Mmm... fudge.)

I am the very picture of elegance and grace.

Happy Friday, pigdonkeys!

She's A Diamond That Wants To Stay Coal

2012-01-17T15:41:00.000-05:00

When I go out, I often forget to take photos.

And when I do take them, they're usually left on my phone and forgotten until weeks later.

So I decided to take a gander through my random shots - because the whole point of pictures is to remember those nights and capture moments (which usually consist of me being an idiot).

Like my absolute giddiness to be holding Masuka's bowtied dog, Oakley.

And the booze wall at my buddy's unnamed-yet-kinda-named bar at 1602 Dundas W.

Without a picture, I may have forgotten about the dude who made me try to do The Worm, yet another night at the nameless bar.

(I didn't succeed. It was push-ups all the way).

And, ok... maybe I just have a vast collection of photos from random nights at my friend's bar.

But years from now I may look back and say "Aw, remember that bar? What was it called again?" and there'll be no answer. See? Memories!

Why did I take this?

Who knows. Possibly to show that I'm good at multi-tasting, or that the Raptors are good at losing. A random moment in time.

This photo serves as a reminder - when I was young, I thought this statue-holding-lady was actually Susan Sarandon.

It may be because I was watching Little Women at the time, but it took years to convince me otherwise.

I had forgotten until recently.

Photos from last night at The County General were a must. You can't see it, but Joel's eating a veg dish.

A rareity.

This here blurry goodness is a smorgasbord of delicious happiness.

And THAT my friends is why you take pictures. To remember the un-shitty stuff and reflect on the tasty... um, I mean awesome... times.

...and maybe some bitchfaced times.

Either way.

You get it.

Picking Apples For The Kings & Queens Of Things I've Never Seen

2012-01-13T15:27:00.000-05:00

I know the majority of my friends and readers are musical folks. Some of you play it in bands. Some of you listen to it constantly. And some of you have heard music this one time through these little box-like things that emitted tones and other noises.

Well, I require your help.

A bunch of ya keep telling me to do more video blogs, but here's the thing - YouTube is "all up in my grill" as they (who?!) say.

Since I post music on each of the videos, I get in a bit o' trouble. This is because I have no rights to the songs, though I tell myself I own the rights to everything that was ever created. Ever. YouTube sends me emails that say "You'd better watch those songs yer posting! They don't belong to you, we can take that shit down!"

And sometimes they don't let me publish at ALL if certain songs are featured. Those emails are more like, "Silly bitch, you know that Gordon Lightfoot's record label would raise hell if you put him in a video about what your dog thinks of circumcision. And Black Sabbath would rather piss on your clips about dating than be in 'em. We're shuttin' ya down!" (note: My recollection of these emails from YouTube may be slightly hazy. One can't be too sure.)

So... I need different music. I need an intro. I need filler. I need stuff 'n junk 'n things, or my days of video bloggin' will be done. Yes, I can hear the collective sighs of relief. Too bad. I'm gonna keep posting them, I just need ideas and assistance.

Me & Ziggy Stardust (pictured) aren't quite ready. We're learning.

If you have any ideas of how a shamblin' ramblin' intro should go, throw 'em at me. And if you or your band have any songs they want featured, let me know

Tell yer friends. Use the force.

He's Gonna Win Someday

2012-01-11T14:26:00.001-05:00

Our favourite neighbourhood perv, Masuka, likes to ensure that I update my blog-o on the regular. So he sent me a bajillion topical emails; I'm posting some of 'em here with answers for my dear fiend. I mean... friend:

You've been brunette long enough, when are you going to go redhead?

My hair was red for a bit. My hairdresser also wants me to go really red... but I feel like everyone's doing that. I like the dark for now. Shutyerface.

Are you still looking for other jobs even though you're so busy with your current gig?

Non. Keeping very busy with current gig. Sourcing clients is, in itself, gig-hunting.

Has Daisy ever not liked a boy you brought home?

Daisy is a hussy. She likes all boys, everywhere. She's only barked at two people in her life, and I think they were drug dealing murderers who stole her puppies and fed her uncooked Brussels sprouts. These are my assumptions.

No.. more.. Brussels... sprouts!

You said Daisy was gonna be the mascot of your company, yet i see her nowhere in any of your company logos... why do you hate her?

Guh. Since when is 'logo' synonymous with 'mascot'? If that were the case, my mascot would be the letters M and H. She's the mascot. It's her company, I just work here. Who's the bitch?! Me, obviously.

Can a dude and a girl ever truly be friends? Don't you feel like any dude you're friends with right now is only that cuz you wont sleep with them and given the opportunity, they would sleep with you?

I blogged about this long ago. And now I feel depressed because most of my friends are male. But I'd like to think that we're all actual friends. Or most of us, anyway. Some of 'em are dirty pirate hookers.

Can you explain why you're so insecure when you're so hot? ...and where were you when i was in highschool?

I'm not as insecure as I used to be. I am what I am what I am. And when you were in highschool? I was in a heavy metal band called "Flesh Eating Death Monsters" and we were touring Europe. But our drummer left us to start a Christian rock band, and then I ruined my vocal chords in the Glasgow Screaming BitchFest of '99, so... here I am. Hi.

Flesh Eating Death Monster

Did you notice i used the appropriate version of "you're"?

Did YOU notice that I fixed the grammar, punctuation and spelling of each of your questions?

How tempted are you to correct other people's grammar when they talk to you? Like if a dude is hitting on you in the bar and says "I seen this guy", don't you just wanna smack him and be like you're too stupid to date me.

Yes. I'm liable to hit the dude and steal his beer. It's a problem I have.

I notice you like rock dudes and hang out with a lot of them... and you're a rock chick... but do you have a dirty little secret? Like.. do you secretly like star trek nerds?

I'm a sucker for a hot geeky dude. But hell, I dunno my tastes anymore. I like stuff.

Truth.

By the way, i still have a ps2 and rock band that I've been holding for you for 7 months. When are you going to come pick that up?

Right now. I'm outside your window. Knock knock.

Why are you single?

It's my new hobby. My next hobby will be yodeling. And after that? Boyfriend-having.

Once You're Gone You Can Never Come Back, When You're Out Of The Blue & Into The Black

2012-01-09T15:09:00.001-05:00

We all know that I'm crazy picky about who does my hair. I've had some bad experiences with hair stylists (orange streaks? blonde blotches? Bleached roots? Blech.).

So when I found "the one" in St. Catharines when I lived there, I vowed to never let her go. Why? Because she listens to me, and she is awesome. I always leave happy. And even though I live in Toronto, I still go to St. Catharines to get my hair done. That's loyalty, folks.

My hair appointment over Christmas had to be cancelled, and I had a bit of panic because I was only there for a few days and couldn't re-schedule. "Waddya mean I have to find someone in Toronto? What if they cut all my hair off? What if they dye it the wrong colour? What if they're MEAN?" I've refrained from going to see anyone else in hopes that I'll make my way back to St. Catharines soon and let Sara work her hair magic.

Oh, hello roots.

Yeah. Don't judge me.

So let's call this a Public Service Announcement. Don't let bad hair happen to you... and don't make bad hair happen to others. To you awesome hair stylist wannabes - please. Apply to this. It's a scholarship to the Aveda Institute which means that we, your future customers, will know that yer not gonna screw up our hair and make us cry. Ya dig?

To win, just submit a video explaining (in an awesometastic way) why you are "Born to Style". Winners get the grand prize of full tuition at one of Aveda's top hair schools in Toronto, Calgary, Winnipeg, Vancouver and Victoria. There's also a celeb panel of judges, so maybe you can convince 'em to hire you. BAM.

In all seriousness, please win this. And make the world a better place, one hair follicle at a time.

Cuz that'd be just... uh, super.

Last day for submissions is March 31st. G'luck!

Don't Come Around, I Got My Own Hell To Raise

2012-01-06T15:01:00.004-05:00

I randomly stopped at my long-forgotten Formspring account yesterday, and saw a buncha questions I never bothered to answer. So, since this migraine and neck pain has taken over my life and I'd like to refrain from bitching about it, I'll answer this gem from 11 months ago:

How do you expect to ever have a boyfriend that will put up with guys hitting on you and being creepy wanting you and complimenting you online or even in person? Would you shut it down for someone?

My Big Mac brings all the boys to the yard...

Hmm.

Correct me if I'm wrong here, but every girl everywhere gets hit on and complimented at one point or another. So if all men took serious issue with this, they'd be unable to ever date. Right? Right.

But since you bring up the online/blog aspect of it all, I'll answer that. A compliment via blog comment is a pretty harmless one. It's either a complete stranger I'll never meet, or a friend or acquaintance I already know. Therefore, when an anonymous reader says something creepy or asks me out - it poses no real issue. Obviously, nothing ever becomes of that. So it's nothing for my "future awesome boyfriend" to worry about.

I'd assume that any guy I ever end up getting serious with will know of all my online crap before we date - so if he didn't like that, he probably wouldn't date me. I shouldn't need to shut it down for anyone at this point. But if it became a problem, or things got too weird... ah, who knows. I'll cross that bridge if it comes, or throw him off of the damn thing.

A privacy issue is one thing. Anyone who doesn't want to be mentioned or pictured is not. I don't blog/tweet/update about absolutely everything. In fact, most things are kept to myself. (Surprised?) And if you'll notice all the posts where I mention "my friend" or "my buddy" and have no pictures of them? Yeah. It's because either I don't want to tell you too much, or they don't want info made public.

"My buddy" is jealous of your comments.

So... to finish answering your question: I'd expect that my boyfriend may enjoy learning about me by reading some past posts, and might like that this type of a site is a great memory preserver, should he wish to be a part of it. Shutting it down because someone compliments me would be the same as being told I'm not allowed to go to bars anymore due to men hitting on me. That's bullshit. I'm a big girl.

I've dated guys that, at first, wanted their friends to think I was attractive and then later became insanely jealous anytime another male even spoke to me. I'm as trustworthy as you can get, and a one-man girl at all times. If he was smart (and he must be, to date me. Ha!), he'd know that.

There's your long-winded answer. Future boyfriend... please take note. See you at home!

You Write The Words, But I Miss The Volume

2012-01-03T17:51:00.002-05:00

First post of a new year. Is that some kinda big deal? Nah...

I've been seeing everyone's posts, pics and updates about their crazy times on New Years Eve. My party plans changed after a suck-tastic Saturday full of bad news, sad situations, and a frozen apartment.

So, instead of dressin' up & heading out, I stayed in. A friend came and made me some dinner after fixing my broken radiators (it's lovely to longer be constantly shivering), and we spent the night watching hockey and drinking some beers (thanks to Drew).

There was also some Jaws action. Dunna... dunna... dunna...

Starting the year sober and without hangover is a pretty good way to go. That's a new one for me. Guess I'm all growed up, albeit accidentally.

I also got to spend the weekend with my favourite little guy.

Jack and Daisy are still best friends for life.

And don't tell my foodie friend Joel, but I also celebrated the beginning of 2012 with a delicious Big Mac.

Haven't had one in awhile, and oh how I've missed it.

It's the little things that had to make up for a bad Saturday morning.

I'm not making any resolutions. A new year doesn't have to mark a new beginning - I just plan to keep going with the things I'm doing and gain more personal success as I go. That's not a resolution; that's life done right.

2011 brought some of the changes I was looking for and really needed, so I don't need to bitch about how awful it was this time (you're welcome). This chick's on the right path, and onward I go. Wontcha come along?

So happy-few-days-into-a-new-year, folks.

Hope you're enjoying the freaking cold snap that hit us today. I'm not.

...is it summer yet? (Ah shit. I forgot that I wasn't supposed to bitch. Whoops.)

All The Ones You Tell Your Troubles To, They Don't Really Care For You

2011-12-30T15:07:00.001-05:00

Yesterday my blog disappeared.

Bam. Gone. About 5 minutes after I responded to a comment on my last post. In place of the shambled ramblings you currently see here was a note that said that this blog had been removed. No explanation or instructions. Just a "hey dumbass, yer blog's gone! HA!".

Hmmm.

Angry? I'm not angry...

It wasn't like that time I accidentally deleted a blog, freaked out, and then found the un-delete button. I promise. This one was outta nowhere.

So the only way to get any help is in the blogger forums (Yes, I'm still on blogger. No, I don't care that you feel it is beneath you. I'll change when I wanna, and have the time.) Some posting and investigating ensued and eventually ye olde blog was back up.

While they still didn't offer any real explanation, there's signs that someone's been trying to access my account, and apparently someone may also be copying all of my content and using it on spam sites. So if you're the dickface in question, fuhgeddaboutit. My secret special agent detectives (who double as male model man-servants) are onto you. They shall beat you and feed you your spleen. Mmm. Spleen.

All's well that ends well, and your home of boredom is back to its non-glory. Huzzah.

(In other news, our Ricky's Big Scoop contest from awhile back just ended and the winner was announced here. Didja win? Huh? Didja?)

If this site suddenly "disappears" again... lemme know. Tweet me awake or sumthin', and I'll be on the case like Nancy Drew.

Gumshoe - out.

You Had A Temper Like My Jealousy; Too Hot, Too Greedy

2011-12-28T16:12:00.002-05:00

Back in Toronto after spending Christmas in good ol' St. Kittykats.

I'm certain that more pics will surface. They always do.

In the meantime, here's a brief holiday photo purge to ease my bloggin' mind.

Dogs 'n booze. Quite a mix.

Had a great few days. Amazing food, gifts that made me stupidly giddy, fun family times and all that jazz.

Ok, so maybe there were 4 or 5 dog brawls. And maybe seeing both dogs upset and bleeding made us all sad and frustrated at the time. But... we're over it. They're alive.

All's fine 'n dandy now.

The power of nap compels you.

Can't Make It Out Alone, I've Built My Dreams Around You

2011-12-23T12:15:00.000-05:00

Here's a short but sweet(?) message for the holidays - it's not like the one from last year, but it's the thought that counts.

Right?

And, as I do every year, here's the usual song for ya:

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, folks.

I'm off to Niagara to get crazy with the family. xo

Sinatra Was Swinging, All The Drunks They Were Singing

2011-12-20T15:01:00.000-05:00

I've been too busy with work to pay much attention to Christmas shtuff, but I decided to throw up a few decorations throughout my casa to get me into the "spirit" of things.

I used to have a Christmas tree that I'd put up every year (see here, and here), but there was nowhere to store that big sucker in my wee li'l apartment. So I sadly had to get rid of the tree, which was my favourite part of the Christmas decorations.

I did, however, keep all the damn ornaments. With no tree to put 'em on, I decided to dress up my tall bookcase instead - complete with a star on top. It's like a Nerd Christmas. Kinda fitting, really.

Add a couple of beer bottles on that there thang, and you've got something that's pretty much as Kris as can be.

Yeah. It's a little sad.

But kinda fun in a way, cuz I got to "decorate" some of my favourite things.

An old pic of my grandpa with my cousins and I when we were tiny li'l brats?

Now Chrismafied! Alongside To Kill A Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby and Shakespeare's complete works, no less.

And where else can Little Women and Hunter S. Thompson celebrate Christmas with a grade-school punkass Kris and her best friend Vicky, posing on the baseball diamond?

Nowhere, dude. Nowhere.

I was about to make some kinda 'Jim Morrison is Jesus' comment, but one of 'em I believe in... the other I don't. So - my backup choices are:

He is the Christmas King, he can do anything.

or

Mr. Hoho Risin'.

Meh. Ah, leave me alone...

I see stars.

I threw random Christmas decorations around the place.

Though it still feels (and is) half-assed, it helps.

Even the Salt and Pepper guys got decorated. They creepily look like carolers at the moment. Maybe singing this? (Go Dee, GO!):

It's officially winter. Keep warm (not like you have a choice in this weather).

Ho ho ho, hosers.

You Wanna Know Why You Feel So Hollow? Because You Are.

2011-12-19T13:26:00.000-05:00

Everyone reads and re-posts those Damn You Autocorrect links. I always figure some of them are made up... but then again, I used to own a Blackberry.

No auto-correct. No idea how magically evil it was.

Well, the Samsung Galaxy has the weirdest auto-correct of all. And, for me, they seem to have a pattern.

For example: when I was trying to text the word 'married', it was changed to 'naked'. So my texts could potentially be sent like this:

"Yes, he's naked! I was there, I saw it for myself. Nothing big, a lot smaller than you'd imagine. His mom couldn't stop crying."

or

"We've talked about it before, but I really think that you and I should get naked. Our families would be so happy!"

Then I was trying to type my name...

But no. It changed 'Kris' to 'period'.

Oh, good.

"Get ready for Friday - some quality time with your ol' pal Period!"

and

"He said it's going to be The Year of Period. That's a lotta period!"

Those were amusing enough for me.

But this next one wins, hands down.

I typed the word 'relationship'. And that one, my friends, was changed to 'fellatio'.

The possibilities are endless with that gem.

"I'm tired of dating. I'm just looking for serious fellatio."

and

"That fellatio went on for way too long, and it ended pretty painfully. It was ugly."

I know you perverted, wonderful people likely have better ones in mind.

Go for it; post 'em.

Entertain me. I demand it.

She Gave Away The Secrets Of Her Past, And Said I've Lost Control Again

2011-12-16T15:15:00.003-05:00

Ah, Friday.

The day of the random blog post - for updates and extra junk that spills outta my wee brain, with accompanying pictures that are mostly dog walk-related.

Is that not exciting for you?! Come on.

Considering it's about a week before Christmas and I'm not at all ready, I went to the good ol' Dufferin Mall last night to look for some proper gift-age.

Found nothing, other than groceries. Although there was free dinner for my buddy and I at Teriyaki Experience (merci Slam Buy). So it wasn't a total loss.

Speaking of Christmas, I guess it's time to announce the winner of the Sobey's contest...

The gift card is going to you, J. Reynolds - your heartstring-puller of a comment was a hit. So send your mailing address to shambledramblings@gmail.com, and it'll go out to you right away.

Congrats!

Now don't forget to enter the other contest from Ricky's Big Scoop. Cuz dude... it's food. Awesometastic food. I'd never steer ya wrong.

So win that thing, cuz I can't.

I think there are mozza sticks there. And anyone who has read this blog long enough (or met me for more than 5 minutes) knows how crazy nutbar I am for mozza sticks. I'm having memories of late-night FGPs with the old St. Catharines Booze Crew... Fat Girl Platter Reunion, anyone?

Since today is the 16th, I have to give a birthday shout out to my dear big seester Steph, cuz the anniversary of her exit from our lovely mother is tomorrow.

So happy birfday, Steph! (Now, everyone else wish her a happy birthday... do it!)

And for my fellow beer lovers (Steph, this may also be of interest to you), the awesome Indie Alehouse folks will be featured at The Brewery Market event on Sunday. So, you should go. Because it's delicious. And it's Christmas themed. What more do you people want?

Happy weekend, pigdonkeys! Til next time...

Without A Care In This Life, It's What You Take That Makes It Right

2011-12-14T12:50:00.002-05:00

Some weeks, the ol' rambling blog has a food theme. This is one of those weeks. But the other theme right now? Contests. Yessir.

The Sobey's contest from last week is still going (you have til Friday to enter), but today... oh man. Today I'm gonna tell you about a little place that has such magical creations, it's enough to make a hungry chick like me tear up a bit due to sheer joy.

Ricky's Big Scoop is, because of the name, known for ice cream and ice cream cakes. But it should probably be called Ricky's Place of Food Awesomeness & Other Superfun Things because he's also got poutine (including an onion ring poutine... seriously), sammiches, award-winning chilli, chowders, fresh-baked bread, brownies, cookies (sometimes with bacon in 'em. Ah, bacon.)

Ugh. He needs a Toronto location, just for me. Beside my house, maybe. He's located in Niagara - I know a lot of you folks are from there, or visit a lot, so here's a contest just for you. Ya ready?

To win a gift card to Ricky's Big Scoop, plus a t-shirt to remind you of the deliciousness, here's how ya enter:

1. 'Like" Ricky's Big Scoop on Facebook, then mention on your status (making sure Facebook links it to the page): Hey @RickysBigScoop - I'm hungry! I wanna win your contest from ShambledRamblings.com.

or

2. Follow RickysBigScoop on Twitter, and tweet: Hey @ShambledRambler - I'm hungry! I wanna win the @RickysBigScoop contest!

Do both, and you're entered twice. Simple, oui? Oui. ( edit: Because apparently some people don't have Facebook or Twitter, you're allowed to enter by commenting on the blog post. Just let us know why you should win, and what you're excited to eat.)

Aaaand if you don't win, it's ok. Really. Because he'll still give you 25% off of your first visit, as long as you mention Shambled Ramblings or The MediaHaus.

BAM!

So ho ho ho, hosers. Eat & be merry. (If you win... get me a poutine. Ok?)

Rainbow powers - activate! Form of... delicious contest.

G'luck!

The Kind That Won't Wash Away, And Then Leave You In The Dark

2011-12-11T20:34:00.001-05:00

The other morning, while lying in bed, a kinda morbid thought hit me.

I live alone. I work from home. 90% of my life takes place within the confines of my apartment.

If I were ever to choke on something and die (or if some other type of freak accident were to occur), how long would it take for someone to notice?

Yeah. A freaky, stupid thought. I know.

Blame Jack Donaghy and Liz Lemon for putting it in my head long ago.

But seriously.

Is this something anyone else thinks about?

I suppose Daisy would start barking due to hunger after a day or two (hopefully before that), and maybe a neighbour will come try to shut her up and discover whatever shit went down in my apartment. So, really... the dog could potentially save me, if it wasn't too late.

Help me, Daisy Wan... you're my only hope.

Ah. Happy thoughts on a Monday.

You're welcome.

(Might be high time to nab a boyfriend, non?)

I Sell Souls By The Side Of The Road, Would You Like To Take A Number?

2011-12-08T13:35:00.001-05:00

The folks who do PR for Sobey's know that I'm always ready to blog about food. This time, it's all about perfect stuff for holiday get-togethers. Or... stuff that I wish to shove in my face at all times.

Which, in this case, meant mini cheesecakes that are covered in chocolate.

I have a weakness for cheesecake. I can't ignore it; it's stronger than I am.

So when I got these, it was a serious act of willpower to not eat all of them right off the bat.

Yes, I made myself quite proud. The pack lasted two days.

A record for me. WHERE IS MY REWARD?! Oh, right. Cheesecake.

They're meant to be shared, but I shared with no one.

I'm a selfish cheesecake-eatin' bitch. I know.

It's bad when even your dog is judging you. And she was. Trust me.

This is pretty much what it looks like when I'm talking to myself in my head.

"You can do this, you don't need to eat them all right now. But they ARE small... and freakin' delicious..."

Sigh.

Anyway, you can try 'em out for yourself. Along with the other Sensations by Compliments goodies that kick ass for the holidays.

Yer hostess gift/ surprise drop-in problems? Solved. Cuz I'm giving away a gift card to Sobey's.

Just comment on this post and tell me why you dig the holidays.

Speaking of holidays... my mom came up to visit and we ventured to the Eaton's Centre with my sister. I never go there. I also tend to refrain from shopping because I'm horrible at it.

But these monster mall reindeer are kinda fun.

And look! This one's a girl. Good on ya, chick reindeer!

So don't forget to comment & win - I'm trying to make your holidays a bit easier, and possibly more cheesecake-full.

And now I'm hungry. Again.

I'm Your Superhero, We Are Standing On The Edge

2011-12-05T23:10:00.001-05:00

I often explain to people that I'm more of a pub chick than a club chick.

I have my reasons, and was reminded of one the other day. If I've blogged this before, you're just gonna have to deal with it - I sometimes suffer from Selective Memory Loss. It happens to 28 year-olds.

Many clubs are full of creepy "Situations". Ew.

Years ago, I'd go to a bar in St. Catharines because my boyfriend at the time was a bouncer there. It wasn't my usual type of place, but I'd go to visit the dude and the bartenders and people who worked there that I liked.

One night, a girlfriend and I were on the dance floor, having the proverbial "girls night". As with all clubs and bars, dudes approached, but we politely declined. One guy didn't take it so well.

He asked if he could dance with me, and I (quite nicely) said no thanks because I was dancing with my chick, and visiting my boyfriend at work. He kept asking. Pestering. Somehow I didn't even get pissed off and yell at him. Yes, in my early twenties I was surely the picture of patience and grace. Ok, maybe that's bullshit - but I was nice to this dude. He, however, didn't appreciate my politeness.

When I turned back to dance with my friend, the guy hit me in the back of the head with his beer bottle. I shit you not. Ouch.

Now full of the German Anger we know I possess, I whipped around and yelled "Did you just fucking hit me in the head with your BEER BOTTLE because I wouldn't dance with you?!" Apparently he hadn't heard me when I explained that my boyfriend was a bouncer there. Losers are often hard of hearing, did you know that?

Beware the German Anger. It's comin' for ya.

Dude ran. He was fast for a little jackass.

He managed to weasel his slimy self outta the bar before my ex and bouncer friends could get him. Lucky.

And that, my friends, is a prime example of why I am a pub chick and not a club chick. Dealing with douchebags gets tiresome, and I prefer not to live in an episode of Jersey Shore North. I may like to dance... but it's just not worth the arrogant yuppies and the wannabe playboys.

So cheers to tasty beers with friends in places that I can actually hear our conversations, and not get hit in the head (usually).

*clink*

We Care A Lot About The Gamblers And The Pushers And The Geeks

2011-12-04T11:22:00.001-05:00

Every time you hang out with people, you should learn new things.

This past Friday night, I definitely did.

Some useless, some hilarious, some... well, some we can't talk about.

I learned the sounds that turtles make during sex. I also learned that my friends are really good at mimicking that sound exactly.

In case you were wondering, there's a big difference between the types of turtles and the sounds they make. It's slightly disturbing. You're welcome.

I also learned that at a bar in my hood, there's a new bartender who will play Faith No More and old Skid Row tunes. He also made mention of the Killer Dwarves, and understood my love for Sebastian Bach.

It's the little things, folks.

I learned that I dress like Christmas and am excited to take pictures beside any type of Christmas lights. I'm like Crazy Dork Santa.

In lieu of presents, I bring you beer and sarcasm.

Awesome bitches can read stuff. Words, sentences, paragraphs. All of it.

I learned that, too.

Wait... nevermind.

I learned that being told to pose like the Statue of Liberty is tough, because what the hell does she do with her other damn hand?

So I'm the Statue of Libation-ty.

The last thing I learned?

I friggin' hate cold weather and may hibernate til May.

Bring Big Macs and whiskey. This'll be a long winter.

Crawling Down Your Spine To Make You Stay

2011-11-30T11:41:00.001-05:00

We all know that I'm not vegan. There aren't many foods I won't eat, and my soft spot for Big Macs and over-curded poutine is well-documented.

Well, last night the awesome Steve and Sarah hosted a vegan night of taco-tasticness.... forever known as TACOFEST2011.

My first vegan meal ever (at least that I can recall.)

I've never had vegan cheese or vegan sour cream, and the non-vegan versions of both are my favourite toppings for damn near everything.

This chick was pleasantly surprised. It was all tasty.

My sister has fooled me a few times in the past with faux meat (or whatever you prefer to call it), so I knew how that was.

And I hafta say - a vegan taco is probably a good place for a non-vegan to start.

When we weren't busy creating works of art for our stomachs to enjoy, there were dogs to obsess over.

Poor guys probably got sick of me trying to make them pose for photos all night.

I have a problem. How do you think Daisy feels?

Sorry, buddy. No tacos for you.

Another first for me - vegan cupcakes.

These were amazing spicy chocolate cupcakes, made by Sherry. So damn good, the picture just makes me hungry again.

Bit too much for ya, Steve? How 'bout another japaleno?

Taco tip - take breaks, eat more. Repeat.

Remy was eyein' up the red salsa. Even I wasn't brave enough for that one.

Sarah made us all taco nametags, which we later used for a little game.

Similar to Pin the Tail on the Donkey. But not.

Selena Gomez made a brief appearance at TacoFest.

It's a little known fact that Selena is a big fan of vegan tacos. It's true. Ask Beiber.

She didn't stay up there long.

We pinned our taco nametags on her face.

I was trying to aim for some Gomez boob, but I sadly failed. No TacoTits.

Ira, are you ashamed of me for losing?

See?

She loves the taco action. And her boobs remain taco free.

Thumbs up for TacoFest!

TACOFEST2011, and my first real vegan experience, was a success. Huzzah!

Thanks for the good times, folks.

But a big 'no thank you' to whoever wished for this, though...

Snow.

Winter's here. And, to that, I say boo. BOO!

I've Got A Mind Full Of Wicked Designs

2011-11-28T14:05:00.001-05:00

On Saturday afternoon, my Blackberry finally bit it.

And bit it good.

Screen busted, and this is all that showed up. I could hear that all my texts and emails were still coming in, but I couldn't read any of them. Frustrating. Sadly, we live in a time when not having a cell phone is like losing an arm.

I needed my arm. I had grown quite fond of it.

So, I went to get my upgrade at Bell. Got the Samsung Galaxy S II (I was told that upgrades were free, so stupid me didn't realize I'd be paying for it... until everything was done and they asked for my money. Yikes.)

This phone kicks ass.

I've been taking pictures non-stop, so I apologize for the annoying amount of crap I'll be posting in the next little while.

...to which you will likely reply "But Kris, don't you always post annoying crap?"

Yes.

But now it'll be things like... shirtless dudes playing RockBand.

And sammiches.

And unamused sing-y faces.

But, as usual, I'll post beer shots.

New phone, old obsessions.

The Raiden hat came out on Saturday.

So what if I want awesometastical powers. That's what hats do.

You're silly if you believe otherwise.

See? Hat powers.

I made half of my nose disappear.

But the new phone took hold of me, and I discovered the joy of apps. My old Blackberry had none, so it was kinda like Dork Christmas.

Especially the camera apps. Aw, hell.

Does this one creep anyone else out?

Retro photos make High Park look good.

And Daisy doesn't look too shabby either.

Moral of this useless blogstory is that I am really digging my new phone. And this commercial kinda makes me dig it even more:

So if you have my number, text me with your name. Or I shall beat you.

You've Got To Roll With The Punches To Get To What's Real

2011-11-25T11:55:00.001-05:00

I read your post about being single and not needing a man to take care of you and I thought I would ask some advice (sorry if it sounds stupid, it feels a bit strange to ask for help from a stranger). My fiancé and I recently broke up after 6 years together and I'm a bit lost and freaked out at the moment. Do you have any tips for a woman who has never been alone or even lived alone before?

Teach me your ways!

Marie

I'll give you some pointers based solely on my own experience. Some people may disagree with me, but those people are what I like to call "dumbasses". Just kidding. Everyone is different, so what works for me may not work for you.

Anyhoo... my random thoughts:

1. If you're going to be living alone for the first time ever, get a pet. You're going to feel strange and lonely at first, and a pet can help with that.


It's not considered 'talking to yourself' if you pretend you're conversing with a dog. Pro tip.

2. Get out. Do fun things, get distracted, meet new people. If you're anything like me, breakups have a way of making you feel shittier than anything else possibly could - good folks can help that, even if temporarily.

3. Y'know all those things you wanted to wear/do/have/etc, but your dude wasn't a fan? Yeah. He's no longer an issue. You are free to do absolutely anything you want to. In every way. (Just don't murder people, I hear jail's kind of a downer).

Oh, you hate this colour lipstick? Cool. Move out.

4. Dating can be fun (and again, distracting), but it's probably a good idea not to rush into another serious relationship right away. It'd likely be for the wrong reasons, like loneliness and an inability to properly use a hammer. Relationships for those reasons alone inevitably fail, and people get hurt. Sometimes with hammers.

5. Do you have a lot of single friends? Good. If you don't? Try to meet some. The last thing you want to do is be a third wheel (or fifth wheel) to happy couples. They'll lead you to drink. Which brings me to my next point...

6. Beer is delicious. That doesn't necessarily help you in any way, I just wanted you to know. Poutine, too. That shit is better than men.

I can see clearly now, the beer is gone. But more is coming.

7. Everything in this old post rings true still.

8. You have total freedom. You may be sad, lonely, and unsure of what to do... but you always have options. It's hard to start over when you're used to being part of a package deal; it's like half of you walked out the door and you can no longer keep your balance. You can. Hell, I have a couple of years of blog-posts to tell you all you need to know.

And if all else fails, re-read #6 and repeat.

Good luck - I hope you find out how happy you can be alone. That's the only way you will ever be happy again with anyone else - people used to tell me that all the time when I didn't want to hear it, and they were right. (First person to say "I told ya so" gets a throat punch.)

Happy? Might as well jump.

Any other advice for our girl, reader-folks?

Like Two Sweet Peas In An Even Sweeter Pod

2011-11-23T14:46:00.000-05:00

Today is Daisy's BirthAversary.

Her made-up birthday (because no one knows her exact age or birth date), and the anniversary of the day we rescued her from the evil pantless crackheads.

I've had her for 3 years now so, for all fictional intents and purposes, she's 6 years old.

Even at the ripe ol' age of 6, my girl's still got it.

Yesterday at the park, a lady told me that she'd pay over 3 thousand bucks to take Daisy off my hands.

Not too shabby for a crackhouse puppy mill rescue dog, eh?

I could use that 3 grand, too.

But no. I've become slightly attached (read: overly obsessive and crazy-dog-lady-in-love) to my chick, hence all these bajillion phone pictures of her.

She's all I've got.

So Happy BirthAversary, my girly.

Thanks for the cuddles, the cute pig noises, and the attempts to find me a boyfriend in your awkward doggy way (you can stop that, though).

Thanks for being the kinda dog that even dog-haters love.

Thanks for curling up on my lap if I'm crying, and jumping around like a wonky drunk bunny if I'm laughing.

Thanks for going in the fridge that one night and leaving a beer by the couch for me.

And thanks for being the best damn dog ever. Now let's go chase some shit.

(Sentimental Kris moment - over.)

I'm A Perfectionist, And Perfect Is A Skinned Knee

2011-11-21T15:52:00.001-05:00

Masuka recently had a house party. I got to meet his uber cute spawn, talk to some new folks, and get overly drunk without realizing it, which is exactly what my favourite perverted friend had planned.

This is a series of pics he sent me.

I know that in the first one, I'm telling him give me his watch so I can wear it as a choker.

In the last one, I'm smelling him.Yep. Smelling him.

The rest.... well, why don't you guys tell me?

Because, at this point, your guess is as good as mine. So have at it.

Best captions or made-up storylines win an interweb high-five from yours truly, along with my undying respect (which obviously isn't as cool as a high-five).

Go!

Don't Get Any Big Ideas, They're Not Gonna Happen

2011-11-18T14:23:00.000-05:00

Oh, I'm thinkin' it's time for Email o' The Week...:

Hi there Kris,

I thought I would drop you a line and give my two cents. I have been reading your blog for quite some time, and you come across as a young woman who is put together and intelligent. Please do forgive me if this is out of line, but you also seem to have a vulnerability that I can only assume is from having no steady boyfriend to speak of. Call me old fashioned, but I think every woman needs a man to take care of them. A lovely one like yourself should settle down with a good man who will take care of you so that you don't have to.

I left out the rest, but this is his main idea. I apparently need a man to take care of me because I'm just a female - I don't know how to. (This is where you're supposed to picture me twirling my hair and shrugging while batting my big dumb eyelashes).

This email actually reminds me of that blog post I did last year about the chick who told me to be more 'delicate'.

Meh.

Like... I'm totally just a girl! Am I, like, smiling enough?

Here's the thing - I assume this note wasn't meant to be insulting. But lemme smack ya upside the head with some truth.

I am single. I live alone. I run my own business.

I do most things on my own, I pay my own bills, run my own errands, and take care of my dog and apartment and everything else on my own.

It's called being self-sufficient. Independent. And it's not a bad thing. In fact, it's the opposite.

I do not, nor will I ever, need a man to take care of all those things for me. Had that been the case, I would have settled for a guy long ago, for that reason alone. I'm single by choice, and will continue to be until I find a dude that fits my life; a guy that I'll be nuts for. That's it.

My friend, you were correct when you said you may be old-fashioned. In 2011, women are strong personalities who take care of their own shit and are damn proud of it. Relationships are partnerships, not daycares.

Bottom line - this chick's doin' just fine. Thanks for the concern, but trust that my next serious boyfriend will be my equal and not my caretaker.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get out my tool box and do some plumbing.

The Dust & The Screaming, The Yuppies Networking

2011-11-15T10:53:00.001-05:00

For a couple of years now, I've owned a Blackberry.

I liked my Blackberry. The keyboard was easy as hell to use, it did what I needed it to, and the whole damn device was a big step up from my l'il flip phone.

People often asked why I didn't get an iPhone. Well, 2 reasons. My ex picked out my phone because he wanted me to have the same one as him ('bout 2 days before we split - how's that for matching? Ha!). And second, for the life of me I could not type on a touchscreen.

I have never ever understood the iPhone snobbery. I get it - you dig your phone. Good, that's fan-damn-tastic! But I have actually heard people say that they refuse to hang out with anyone who uses anything that isn't an iPhone.

Really? It's a phone. A phone. Used for work and social stuff, yes... but still a phone.

It isn't even the coolest phone. Come on now.

And now it is about time for my upgrade, and I'm planning to switch over to Android -the Samsung Galaxy Nexus that's coming soon. It looks fun. I like fun.

If that falls through for any reason - hell, maybe I'll go iPhone. Who knows, who cares? (Again, let me re-iterate... it is a phone.)

But I'll never ever become a phone snob. Because you people with your phone snobbery make me wish to start punchin' some throats.

A bitch with an effective AngryBitchFace, I may be.

But a phone snob? No way. Not ever.

And if you no longer wanna be friends with me and my current iPhone-less ways, you could always ask Siri to find you some new ones.

I'll be over here, with my Ice Cream Sammich.

Just Like Witches At Black Masses

2011-11-10T11:26:00.001-05:00

Time for another wonked-up video blog.

This one is all about creeps, how wearing a hat somehow turns me into a dude, Legolas ears, the Sabbath that is Black, Corey Hart's perma-puckered lips, why my dog is a whore, and me telling you over and over not to be a friggin' asshole.

Ka-blam.

Cold, Cold Water Surrounds Me Now & All I've Got Is Your Hand

2011-11-07T12:50:00.001-05:00

Last week was a busy & damn productive one, work-wise.

So, in my own brain, I deserved some beers and time with my nutbar friends.

Oh, 50.

I will never consider you a gross old man beer.

At least not until I am a gross old man.

Please note Toni's Movember 'stache. No, not above her lip. Lower.

It's more of a cleavage frame. Don't act like you don't dig it.

She only hugs me when she's drunk. I'm working to change that.

That dude right there is HappyBirthdayFace. That's what I named him on my 27th birthday.

And from this picture, I shall henceforth be known as BitchFace. Fitting.

Hands Across America.

Or... Hands Across A Whelan's Gate Table.

"Ooooh!", says Matt.

"Aaaahhh!", says the group.

Dapper Jacket Man kept telling me he liked my red coat.

Then his friend stole his wallet and tried to impress us with it after skulking behind us and waiting for an opportunity to show off. Can't make this shit up.

HappyBirthdayTongue.

BitchFace is now back to the usual KrisFace.

And thus ends Friday night.

Saturday night, a lot less pics were taken... but I managed to steal one, of me in the middle of a Lads sammich.

There's my random update for the week.

We now return to our regularly-scheduled Monday programming.

Superboy, Take A Little Chance Here

2011-11-03T13:27:00.000-04:00

The Duckface.

You know what it is... the weirdly annoying pucker-y face that many people (mostly females) make in their photos. It has spawned a lot of Duckface-hate, and even some websites dedicated to it, like this one.

I try to stay away from the Duckface, myself. Looking back on really old pictures, I see where I've been guilty of it. And well... I feel shame. So much Duckface shame.

But I realized that the Duckface had to come from from somewhere. And so, I give you the Evolution of The Duckface:

It started as a kiss-face. Pucker up, blow a kiss to the camera like the flirty bitch you are.

Perfectly acceptable.

Then it was the "I'm a not-so-serious kinda gal, with my head in the clouds and my butt in some sweatpants that say 'Hottie' on the ass. I like pink a whole lot!" look.

A little less acceptable if you ask me, but to each their own. I try not to judge.

Ah. This pucker has a purpose, and it's to create some cheekbone action. Because that's all anyone is looking at. Your cheekbones. Surely no one is looking at that weird thing your lips are doing.

This one is a mix of Zoolander's 'Blue Steel', Gwen Stefani's 'Just A Girl' and Lisa Rinna's lip injections.

Meant to convey an innocent, yet empty head.

"I am a model. This is my model face. Because I model. With this model face."

It happens.

And after all of those.... you get this:

The Duckface.

Which causes everyone around you do to this:

So, my lovely ladies, how 'bout we start smiling in pictures like normal people and leave the Duckfaces to the professionals?

Quack quack.

The Wall Was Too High, As You Can See

2011-11-01T14:06:00.001-04:00

A lot of non-business-related emails come my way daily. Sometimes they're sweet & flattering. Sometimes they're friendly & nice.

Sometimes they're a bit... strange.

These ones often cause me to assume that someone's having a bit of fun with me; playing a silly joke in hopes that I'll take the creepy bait (oh, that Kris... what a gullible little girl).

That was my first reaction to this one:

Hello Kristen,

I came across your profile on Google+ and when I saw your photo, I was like WOW!! This woman is gorgeous!! You are very beautiful and look very sweet and caring! Know I have been looking all over for you! You truelly are a real dream girl come to life for me! I hope you don't mind me emailing you as your email was made visible to me as I put you in my circle of friends on Google+! Don't fret, I am not looking to hook up with you right away or anything like that! I simply felt it was important of me to let you know how I feel about you! It is totally up to you if you wish to reply back to me, but I sure would like to have you in my life as a friend or more if you are interested of course! Your a lucky girl considering I like you and all! lol. ;-)

Sincerely,
your new friend,
(I'm not adding his name, obviously)

Huh?

I rarely go on Google+ - there's hardly any info about me on there. So I assumed this was just someone being funny. I get random emails like this every once in awhile and tend to ignore them; the internet is a strange place, after all. For some reason, I didn't ignore this one. Instead, I checked out the dude's profile and creeped his social media links to see if he was real. I even emailed him back and asked if he was.

Turns out, it's legit. He's a (somewhat) normal guy.

And so, I have to ask... do these kinds of emails ever work for anyone? Really?

Because while I now realize he meant well, was trying to be nice and didn't intend to creep the shit outta me... I don't see how it could have any other outcome. Some of those comments are way overboard.

So to those who may reply and tell me that I'm a bitch for not wanting to scoop this dude up, this is my reaction to you:

Your thoughts, friend-type-people?

Lovin' You Was Like Lovin' The Dead

2011-10-29T13:19:00.001-04:00

Ah, Halloween.

Didja know it happens every year?

This year, I'm without a costume. Was going to go out on a hunt for the perfect Wonder Woman get-up, but was too busy. Or too lazy. Whichever.

I suppose if I decide to head to one of the Halloween parties, I could always recycle a costume from past years...

Like Pamela Anderson, with no Tommy Lee this time.

But without the blonde hair, I'd just be a random whore-y looking girl. Unless I wore a sign that said "Tommy Lee gave me Hepatitis!"

There's always Angelina Jolie. I no longer have the fake foreign baby I carried around, and I think I ditched the vial of Billy-Bob's blood. But it's doable.

Anyone have 5-10 non-Caucasian babies I can borrow?

And Zorro Chick or whatever that was. Re-used some form of that costume for 2 or 3 years.

I keep forgetting that I wore a dark wig for all these costumes during the blonde days. S'pose it would be pretty damn pointless to wear it over my dark hair now.

And oh yes... Veronica Lodge. Complete with Betty, Archie, and the whole Riverdale crew.

If I was ever to bring back Miss Lodge, I'd have to cartoonify her more. Without the fake "Lodge Bucks" I made, it's pretty much just me in a dress.

Of all these, late-nineties Angelina seems like the only one that could still work. Won'tcha be my Billy-Bob?

...then again, I may just forgo all parties and be boring with my still-kinda-sick dog. And if so, you know I'll be having a Type O Negative living room dance.

And hell, I could always go out as Zombie Pete Steele! Sigh, RIP dude...

You're The Star Of The Masquerade

2011-10-27T15:20:00.001-04:00

Last night I grabbed some friends and headed to 99 Sudbury for HarthFEST (thanks Sean!).

Two rooms, two vibes, a boxing ring stage.

Some band action, some burlesque action and some Andy Milonakis action.

Good times.

Got to meet some people I've been talking to for awhile, luckily proving that I'm not really Polkaroo to the online scene-people.

Saw a lot of familiar faces that I should've said hi to (and wanted to), but I'm the idiot that assumes they'd have no idea who I was and be creeped out by this weirdo chick who knows their name. This is why I always feel a hundred times better when said familiar faces approach me. *whew*

I've said it before - I'm an introverted extrovert, and a social dork.

I make friends with complete strangers, but become a bit shy with those I kinda-slightly-almost know.

Thanks to Steve for sending me all the pics he took - my ancient Blackberry was half dead and could no longer take any photos.

Yeah, yeah, bring on the Blackberry jokes. Heard 'em. Thanks.

Upgrading soon, leave me alone!

I kinda want a boxing ring for my living room. I think it would be a nice touch; a conversation piece.

And that way when I threaten to punch people in the throat (which I often do), I'll have the proper place to do so.

Watch yerselves.

Likely cursing at my phone in this pic, or proclaiming my love for Affan via Twitter.

Great shot of Sarah, Steve's awesome girlfriend.

She had a not-so-secret admirer of the night. I can't say I blame the dude!

All in all, a good night. It promised to be a "colourful event" and it sure as hell was. Kudos to those who put all the planning into it - hope it turned out exactly the way you expected!

Sadly, most people I ran into last night have ended up with a similar pic of me on their phone. Je m'excuse!

As for today, I have a sick Daisy to attend to. Looks like a night of cancelled events swapped for dogsitting!

We Want The Airwaves Back

2011-10-21T13:41:00.000-04:00

Oh, hi there.

It's Friday and I'm crazy busy, so excuse me while I use this post to self-promote the crap outta myself while you roll your eyes and seek out the next website to entertain you.

I apologize in advance. But do I mean it? Ah, who knows.

Shameless Self-Promotion #1:

I've told you that work has kept me busy. And some of you have emailed questions, wanting to know more. So... to make it easier (for me), just head on over to the Facebook page, press the 'like' button and let the adventure into my business begin.

You wanna be a client? Let me know.

You wanna join the freelance team? Show me your work, let me mock you for 3 whole minutes, and then we'll see. Come on, that's fair.

Shameless Self-Promotion #2:

On the topic of The Book of Faces, I also made a Shambled Ramblings page because some people bitched that there wasn't one. Moral of the story? Sometimes when you bitch, I'll listen.

Well, I'll either listen or kick you in the throat. Take your chances, monkeys!

Shameless Self-Promotion #3:

When Women Blogged The Earth is an article about me and 3 notable female bloggers in Toronto. So, read it. Or pretend you did, and say "Hey Kris! I read that article. Great quote about the stuff and other things. So poignant."

I'll know exactly which one you meant, of course.

Shameless Self-Promotion#4:

Do you live in Mississauga? Or Brampton? Or... whatever other cities are in that general area?

Cool. I don't, but that means you get to watch me on TV.

Next Wednesday at 9:30pm (while I'm at HarthFEST), check out 'Single In The City' on channel ten. I'm on the last segment, called 'He Said, She Said'. Watch me speak like an idiot, avoid all eye contact with the camera and be a jerkass to people.

And, uh... record it for me. Because I don't get it in Toronto, and will therefore never see it. So show it to me, because I enjoy making fun of myself a bit too much.

Self-promotion - over!

Enjoy the weekend, freaks and geeks! This chick is Niagara-bound.

Don't Look In The Mirror At The Face You Don't Recognize

2011-10-19T13:24:00.000-04:00

Burgers 'n beer.

Oh, how I love thee.

If you'll remember (you don't), I blogged awhile back about Grindhouse Burger Bar. The onion rings changed my life, and the burgers... aw, hell. I might go back right now.

Anyway. A bunch of us met up for some burger & beer time. You may recognize some of the rascals in question. And if ya don't, learn 'em up quick!

This is a picture of my Nate taking his first bite of meat in... what, two months? Three?

Worth it. He'll tell ya so himself.

He's a kickass photographartistguy. If I ask him nicely, maybe he'll do a burger photoshoot.

My favourite afternoon date partners. Love 'em. Best hugs in the city.

My sister and bro-in-law came out too, which was fun.

Brought about a bit of an Android v.s. iPhone conversation, which I'll get to shortly. Siri-ously.

Foodies. Likely sharing a foodie joke that us non-foodies don't get.

I can only assume it's not about Big Macs... Joel doesn't think Big Macs are a laughing matter.

I think Big Macs are a delicious matter, however.

Look! Nate and I have tongues! Imagine that.

Somehow I missed a picture of the lovely Jill and her supercute fiance. I'll be sure to rectify that next time. Good times, burgerfreaks!

Now... onto the phone debacle.

My Blackberry has gone tits up, so to speak. The Bell guy told me I'm due for an upgrade (yay), and I've been planning on going Android next. I just dig 'em. But, I'll admit, I'm not always the most knowledgeable chick when it comes to these damn cellular devices, so gimme your guidance if you must.

Teach me, phone Yodas.

Pick Up The Receiver, I'll Make You A Believer

2011-10-17T12:48:00.000-04:00

On Friday night, I headed to Brassaii to celebrate the birthday of my gorgeous friend Laura.

How I've missed this chick. Truly.

It was awesome to hang out with so many friends I haven't seen in a long time, and see Bob spin to a different crowd than I'm used to.

As per usual, I got in the face of dudes that try to touch me or my friends. I can't help it - I think chicks should be able to dance and have fun without being pawed at by overdressed drunk guys. Luckily, these ones played along after awhile and got the hint. I think.

All in all it was a fun time... til the next day. While I stayed fairly sober, I did drink a beer at Brassaii that smelled slightly... off. Shouldn't have done that. Was sick all Saturday, and then headed to the Lisa Hannigan show at The Mod Club.

And that brings on a whole new story.

I was pretty excited for the Lisa Hannigan show, and damn glad I started to feel better about an hour beforehand. I even wore a dress to see my girl-crush. So, there I was... pretty close to the stage, blown away by her amazing voice, loving the show... when I started to see dots in my eyes, or what I call a "brownout". It's like the beginning stages of a blackout that never quite comes.

I closed my eyes and assumed it would pass, but when I opened them I couldn't see anymore. I could see lights, but not make out any shapes or people. My friend noticed and had me grab onto him, when suddenly I couldn't breathe properly. Scared the shit outta me; I didn't know what was happening. I managed to let him know I had to get out of there, and he led me to the back where he got me some water, but I couldn't drink it. I needed to get outside and try to breathe, but he had to take me there because I couldn't see. The pain in my chest had increased and my breathing got worse. I was frightened and started to tear up, which really didn't help matters.

Luckily there was a medic there, and he sat me down, told me to lean forward and try to breathe. He gave me some water and asked me some questions, and it turns out that what happened was a result of my anxiety disorder being taunted by my blood sugar problems. How fun. And odd, because I had no anxiety - I was fine. I'm assuming the blood sugar issue was the main culprit.

Way to go, blood sugar. You asshat.

The medic had the same health issues I do, and gave me something to bring with me whenever I leave the house. It's a dextrose gel that will keep me from passing out whenever my blood sugar dips:

Yep.

Don't be jealous of my 'Dex Glucose 4', guys. Or my way to ruin shows by losing my sight and ability to breathe.

Luckily, the rest of the show was enjoyed without incident. And my girl-crush on Lisa Hannigan remains. Here's the kickass version of Personal Jesus she did for her final encore. Watch the whole thing for the fun parts, it was so good live.

What Comes Is Better Than What Came Before

2011-10-14T15:24:00.000-04:00

I have never used LOL in a sentence.

Except, of course, to type that I've never used it.

I get the concept. I understand why people use it. But... I just can't do it.

I'm more of a "ha" or "hahaha" chick. Maybe a "heh", if your comedic skills allow for it.

But LOL? Nope. If ever I actually do laugh out loud, I'll say "I actually just laughed out loud like a dumbass". That's how you know you're good.

And yeah, the subject of this post is insanely stupid - but I have certain pet peeves, and this is my damn spot for rant-age. Ya dig? It's likely my love of words that prevents me from using it. That, and its extreme overuse by the masses.

An old pic of what laughing sometimes looks like.

Over the years this "LOL" phenomenon has gotten out of hand. I'm putting my foot down (or perhaps shoving it up your collective asses). A sentence like "Oops, I slept in late!" is just fine the way it is. Don't ruin the meaning by changing it to "lol oops I just slept in! lolololololol."

Which brings me to another point - "lolololololol" technically is saying "laugh out loud out loud out loud out loud...". Just how loud are you laughing? Quiet down, damn you!

I'm in the minority here, and I know that. Most people use Ye Olde Lol in almost every sentence, and will continue to. That's fine - it's your prerogative to choose your own interweb-speak. But please don't ever expect me to use it, or start LMAOing or ROTFLing... because I'll always pronounce them as words. Le-ma-oh. Rot-ful. Yep. I do that.

I apologize that this bitchy blog post doesn't make you laugh out loud. But at least it's not all about "FML", because that shit is a whole 'nother story.

So... BRB. Or something.

We're Going Where The Winds Are Blowin'

2011-10-11T16:56:00.001-04:00

Every year the Everything To Do With Sex Show comes around, and every year I miss it. Even when I worked at Proud FM and we had a booth there each year... I was writing ads for it, and I still didn't end up going.

I always hear how much fun people have when they go - as a single, twenty-something blogger chick I really have no reason not to.

Well it's comin' around again, and this time I plan to be there. And after finding out about a fun promotion for it, I can only imagine how many of you will be going along with me. Some huge posters for the Everything To Do With Sex show will be put up around the city, and attached to some will be a pair of Baci Lingerie and a coupon for ten dollars off of admission.

If you want 'em, check out the maps here and go get some gitch!

Speaking of "Everything To Do With Sex" (great segue, Kris...), after all of our blog discussions about him (here and here), Masuka's baby was born over the weekend.

Say hi to little Evan - in this picture, he's meeting their dog, Oakley, for the first time. He's a beautiful little monkey, and I can't wait to meet him!

Congrats to Masuka and Nat! Woo hoo!

To Live In A Paper House Again, Where We Grew By The Light Of The Moon

2011-10-09T11:16:00.002-04:00

It's Canadian Thanksgiving - gobble gobble gobble, folks.

So, to thank you guys for reading and being so goshdarn nice to me, I've got a Thanksgiving giveaway for ya.

I received some info about a new program from Sobeys. You actually get to track the journey your seafood took to get to your grocery store.

A bit more about it:

From the fisherman who caught it, the boat itwas caught on, the fishing area it was caught from and the fishing method used,this system will enable you to make more informed decisions about the seafoodyou bring home. Customerscan trace their fresh seafood by inputting a unique code found on the productpackaging on www.thisfish.info. For traceable Sensationsby Compliments seafood, customers will find a unique code to inputon www.compliments.ca/madewithcare

Pretty cool, right? This kinda stuff blows my measly mind. I dig it.

Well, they gave me a $30 Sobeys gift card to give to you so you could try it out yourself. If you wanna win, just leave a comment below and tell me what you're thankful for (no matter how weird or stupid... hell, I'm thankful for cheesecake and staplers) and then check back in a few days to see if you won.

Huzzah!

As for me... I stayed in the city this holiday weekend, and will probably just spend my Thanksgiving with Daisy. Perogies count as a Thanksgiving meal, right? Or maybe 4 or 5 pumpkin pies. That'll work, too.

Happy Thanksgiving, hosers! Enjoy the tryptophan-fest!

I'm Stuck In A City, But I Belong In A Field

2011-10-06T11:51:00.000-04:00

Back with some long-due video blog action.

This one features not one but TWO perverts, a talking dog, technical difficulties & wonky hair, the sounds of my boyfriend Julian Casablancas, and some good ol' fashioned penis conversation (including the patented Circumscissors. Yikes).

Use the force, Luke.

Word.

Like Two Strangers Turning Into Dust

2011-10-03T13:17:00.003-04:00

Do familiar songs in advertising campaigns work on you?

Lately there have been an abnormal amount of songs I actually like in commercials for things that I (usually) couldn't give a crap about. Hell, in most cases I couldn't even tell you what they're trying to sell - I just recall hearing a good tune on some random commercial.

One in particular is for Gears of War 3, a new game for Xbox. Along with scenes from the game, they play a Mazzy Star song that you wouldn't normally expect in this type of commercial. But man, does it ever get 'em stuck in my head forever - so much so that I'm back to listening to them on a regular basis. And yet... I won't be buying Gears of War (likely because I don't own an Xbox).

So what are they really selling here? Seems like they're just re-selling my Mazzy Star love right back to me. And hey, that's ok. It just so happens to be a song I like to sing.

On a completely unrelated topic, Masuka needs our help.

Y'see, he's about to have a baby boy. Yes, our resident pervert-friend is married and procreating. But, in usual Masuka form, he has questions that need answers. Since I always answer them on the video blogs, I've decided to throw this one at you guys & get your opinions about the male genitalia.... yep. It's a penis post.

His dilemma:

Dear kristen...
I have spawned. Since it is a boy, I'm getting lots of questions of circumcision. As a lady, what are your thoughts on snip snip? Do chicks care if there's a foreskin? As Masuka, I'd want my spawn to get ladies. There is a movement in the western world against circumcision, but i have also heard of girls refusing to "deal" with that.... what do you think i should do???

Comment away, monkeys. And be honest. I'll give the answers to my dear Masuka in a video blog later this week.

In the meantime, I now have to go sing loudly to some Mazzy tunes and stop the image of circumcisions from flashing before my damn eyes.

Ouch.

Give Me Spots On My Apples, But Leave Me The Birds & The Bees

2011-09-29T12:24:00.000-04:00

While the majority of my blog posts are based around rants, beer and nonsensical ramblings, there are some things that I write about because I want to create more awareness; inform readers about issues that I consider to be of some importance or relevance. This is one of them.

If you live in Ontario, there's a good chance you've heard about the Mega Quarry proposed by The Highland Companies. You've probably also seen signs on your neighbours' lawns, like these ones:

But there's also a good chance that you're not completely sure what everyone is protesting against. What's the big deal? Well, lemme 'splain it to you - or, should I say, have the NDACT explain it to you (since they'll surely say something better than "dude, this mega quarry is bad news bears 'n stuff!" A vast improvement on my own verbiage, no doubt).

From their website:

This is an application for what would be the largest ever quarry in Canada and the second largest in North America.The proposed quarry site is situated on prime agricultural land, to be excavated invasively 200 feet below the water table in the midst of the headwaters for a number of significant river systems that serve a large portion of Ontario’s population.

Due to the sheer magnitutude of the proposed excavation, and the fact that it lays in a highly sensitive water recharge area, any miscalculation, oversight or other error could result in an environmental catastrophe of enormous proportions.

Like I said - bad news bears.

So, what can we do about it? There are a few things.

Join the Facebook page. Sign one of the many petitions. Get a sign for your lawn.

And, if you're local (or up for a road trip), grab a ticket to Foodstock - some of Canada's top chefs will be cooking at this pay-what-you-can event as a fundraiser in support of the movement.

The more we fight against it, the better the chances that it won't happen.

For more info, you can read all about it at NDACT.com.

(See mom? Not even a mention of beer in this post! Except that one. and the one before. Ah, nevermind...)

The Droning Engine Throbs In Time With Your Beating Heart

2011-09-26T15:21:00.000-04:00

I stopped by The Rhino for a bit on Friday to check out The Indie Alehouse's beer previews for Toronto Beer Week. While there, and then other bars on our Friday night hop, I encountered random people at different levels of drunkness (as is the norm), and it got me thinking - what does everyone do to prevent their hangovers?

Sounds stupid, but think about it. Most people have certain hangover cures, or weird little rituals to prevent the craptastic feeling that rears its ugly alcoholic head the next day. Right?

Don't forget the coffee.

For me, I always used to make sure I ate something after the bar, drank a lot of water, popped an ibuprofen and got some sleep. Boom. Done.

But over the years as my migraines have increased and stomach issues have worsened, my old tricks don't do the...um... trick. Now I have the Pepto Bismol on hand, the Gatorade, the cold head-wrap thing, and the vitamins. Even all that doesn't always work (I also have my anxiety meds to blame. Oh - and the alcohol. Right. That.)

So, I'm looking for more ideas. What do you do to prevent (or get rid of) jerkass hangovers?

*This post was brought to you by my Irish/German background and Labatt 50.

You Gave Away The Things You Loved, And One Of Them Was Me

2011-09-23T15:37:00.002-04:00

Going through random songs on my computer yesterday, I came across this little gem... Faster Pussycat's cover of 'You're So Vain' by Carly Simon. My sister will remember it well; when we were (a lot) younger, we listened to it often. I even remembered all the details of the video.

But I probably haven't heard it in 15-18 years - and listening to it now?

Painful. Borderline brutal.

Oh, Carly. This must've tortured you.

(My apologies to Faster Pussycat - I swear, I still love House of Pain. And I might still be hot for the guitarist. Shut up.)

This got me thinking... what are the worst cover songs ever done? So I asked a few people, and threw it on Twitter so I could get opinions of the masses.

The winners (or, should I say, les losers?):

Sheryl Crow covering GNR's 'Sweet Child o' Mine'.

Why was this allowed??

Limp Bizkit covering The Who's 'Behind Blue Eyes'.

Sorry, Fred. Nothing gives you the right to cover this song.

And maybe this is slightly blasphemous since it's the album anniversary and all, but...

Dare I say that she chose the most obvious song? Quite the fan she is.

As you can see, I had to put my 'thinking pen' behind my ear in order to whittle down your lists to just a mere few shitty covers. And to be honest, I am a fan of many covers. such as:

Deftones covering Sade's 'No Ordinary Love'
Jeff Buckley and K.D. Lang's versions of Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah'
Tom Waits and Cat Powers' versions of Phil Phillips' 'Sea of Love'
And the list goes on...

Agree or disagree, I don't much care.

But what are your favourite covers, and which ones make you wanna shove rusty forks in your ears?

Promise Carved In Stone, Deeper Than The Sea

2011-09-20T14:54:00.000-04:00

Another weekend. Another great wedding. Another dress.

Just kidding, I wore the same damn one as last week.

Apparently my wardrobe is not season-appropriate. So instead of judging me, maybe you should volunteer to be my personal shopper.

Aside from my actual wedding date, I managed to snag two other dates for the evening. When your real date is in the wedding party, these extra dates come in handy.

Take note.

That is the smile of a married man, folks.

And this is the face of a perpetually single chick.

Most men will recognize this pose. It tends to mean that the word "no" is somewhere in there.

Or, depending on alcohol consumption, I may say "nein", "non", or "nyet". I'm cultural like that, si?

Two of us are very happy for Mark & Stella. One of us is surprised.

Now, in order to truly enjoy a wedding reception you have to lose yourself in the moment. Go where the feeling takes ya.

Vogue if you've gotta vogue.

Fight if ya gotta fight.

And if Rickety Cricket's Gimp Cane just happens to be available at yet another wedding?

Well, it's sure to make the rounds as a dancing accessory.

Stella, the gorgeous bride, makes it look classy.

I make it look ugly.

And Mark? Mark makes it a showcase.

I'll drink to that.

Good times. Cheers to the awesome couple.

In completely non-related news, we're in the middle of Toronto Beer Week. And if you haven't been to any of the hop-tastic events yet, I have two suggestions. My friends over at Indie Alehouse will be previewing some of their craft beers at The Burger Bar on Wednesday, and then at The Rhino (this blog should have royalties from all the Rhino mentions...) on Friday night.

So, if you like beer you should probably go. Because the Indie Alehouse isn't open yet and people are chomping at the bit to try their beers. Here's your chance, hosers.

Happy beer week!

Catch Me Flying In The Sun, Catch Me Drinking Of Your Wine

2011-09-16T16:37:00.000-04:00

By now, everyone knows that the honey badger don't give a shit.

And if you didn't know? Learn:

Well the other day I was showing The Gimp where that came from, since he never understood why I keep talking about a damn honey badger who apparently gives nary a shit. That viewing led to us watching all the animal videos, narrated by whoever this Randall guy is.

Videos like... the bullfrog:

And these goats, who I want as pets. Hours of entertainment, methinks:

So there. No rambles today, just some videos that teach you crap you may not have ever known about animals, and the newfound knowledge that these entertain me.

Cuz the Shambled Badger don't give a shit.

Could've Been The Willie Nelson, Could've Been The Wine

2011-09-13T13:12:00.000-04:00

This past weekend, I ventured up to Bobcaygeon for Shaun & Patrick's nuptials.

See? Up north-y.

You should probably be warned... there may be a crapload of photos. And when this post is done? There may be a crapload more, as I'm liable to steal 'em from my fellow wedding attendees.

Yoink!

Our original weekend cottage plans fell through, we so scrambled to get a car rented and find a dogsitter (Thanks Leah & Mitch!), then we drove up to look for a place to stay the night.

Managed to snag a cute little cottage right on the lake, about 3 minutes from the wedding.

Not too shabby for a last-minute rental.

The wedding location was amazing. Absolutely gorgeous.

A black & white themed affair, so everyone matched.

Except the beer. Damn rebellious beer.

See?

Beautiful.

I need to become rich so I can buy a lakefront cottage and escape the city as I please.

Now accepting donations to the Kris Needs A Kickass Cottage Fund.

Two ladies I've missed dearly, Donna and Sabrina.

Ah, the Proud FM days.

The groom & groom. Speech time.

Little impatient, Patrick? Hell, you've only been married for half an hour!

First dance. Cue pulling of the heartstrings and females whispering "why can't I find a man to look at me like that?"

Beautiful sunset, beautiful setting. Beautiful everything.

Almost looks like Shaun & I are standing in front of a fake background.

Can I go back there now, please?

Oh, the dancing.

I found The Gimp's new cane to be a perfect dancing accessory. I somehow managed not to poke anyone's eye out, or maim them beyond recognition. Success!

Fireworks at a wedding. Shaun & Patrick do it up correctly, friends.

So... They had 'Fireworks' in 'Bobcaygeon'. I may have been the only one at the wedding who believed it was a Tragically Hip-themed event.

Leave it to the straight girl.

Good times all around.

Congrats to the lovely couple - I wish you both a lifetime of happiness and killer wardrobes.

All Your Life, You've Never Seen A Woman Taken By The Wind

2011-09-08T14:58:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was complete and utter hell.

I've mentioned before that my doctor had put me on medication to help me deal with my anxiety disorder. I've been on them since May and, with a few side effects I could manage, they seemed to help me feel more balanced. Less anxiety; more reasons to get outta bed in the morning.

When I started the pills, my doctor was sure to tell me, "Don't ever suddenly stop taking them."

Well, I didn't plan to.

A few weeks back, I called my doctor's office to make an appointment to renew my prescription. She told me that I didn't need an appointment, I just had to get my pharmacist to fax the doctor and get it renewed.

Shazam. Simple. So I did.

But when I later called my pharmacist to make sure I could come get my pills, they said my doctor hadn't responded. Strange.

Then came the long weekend. No doctor around. Still no answer, and therefore no prescription.

I had run out of pills. Completely.

It started with dizzy spells. They became more frequent but I figured if that was the only withdrawal symptom I had, I would be ok.

Next came the headaches. I've been prone to headaches and migraines all my life, so I naively assumed it would be gone by morning. I was wrong.

The next day, my headache had worsened. So had the dizziness. Added to it were non-stop puking, chills, sweats, and a feeling that my brain was disconnected from the rest of my body. I had a difficult time speaking, and my thoughts were completely out of control. I hurt, badly.

Luckily my friend was there to help me out, and he got down to the problem between my pharmacy and my doctor. It was a fax machine issue - thanks, technology. You messed me up, largely.

The pharmacist knew the severity of Cymbalta withdrawal, and helped me out. Thankfully, I was able to feel a lot better by last night. I never want to go through that again.

I don't have the words to fully explain what it felt like, because there aren't any. It's a medication that deals with the brain, and so the brain is badly affected when the medication suddenly stops.

Learn as much as you can about every medication you take. And if you need to get off of it, prepare to slowly wean yourself from it safely. Suicide is a big issue with people who are suddenly without these types of medication. I didn't know that before.

Consider this a long-ass Public Service Announcement, children.

But I promise, my next post will be a happier one. I'll be up north this weekend, attending the long-awaited wedding of Shaun and Patrick. And yes... I'll have my medication, and therefore won't throw up all over the wedding party.

*whew*

I've Got My Own Reasons To Drink Now. Think I'll Call My Dad Up & Invite Him.

2011-09-06T12:28:00.001-04:00

Although it's technically been well over a decade that I've been one, some thoughts came to me recently and brought home how very true it is.

I am an adult.

I know, I know. I've been an adult ever since I was old enough to vote, buy my own damn cigarettes and go see movies with nudity and four-letter-words ("Ha! That naked guy just said fuck! No bleeping or nuthin'!").

But the early-to-mid-twenties are really just a launchpad into true adulthood. Most of us didn't know shit about what we were doing; we were trying to figure it out by aimlessly wandering through life.

Beer helped. Always.

Then: Tongues, beer & devil horns

Now: ... what, no sneer? No alcohol??! Who AM I?

A few realizations have smacked me upside the head to let me know that 'fun' has taken a backseat to 'responsibility' somewhere along the way.

For example... about 35% of my friends used to have mohawks. Now - maybe 5%. Where'd the mohawks go, guys?

Then there's work... my mind is rarely not on my business, my clients, my upcoming new website, and my endless to-do list. And I like it. Gone are the days when my main thought was "I hope [enter random name here] can make it to the bar tomorrow night. What the hell am I gonna wear?".

Ye Olde Book of Face (or Facebook, for you young folks) only furthers the knowledge that I'm not college-age and hungover all the time. Every day a different ex-classmate is posting about their new marriage, new baby, new divorce, new house... and everyone younger than me types in this new bullshit internet language that I can't decipher whatsoever. Ah, remember words and sentences?

Sex, Drugs and Rock 'n Roll? Nah. It's now Babies, Ibuprophen and Gordon Lightfoot.

But y'know what? I'm cool with it. Bring it on.

Because no matter how much of a grown-up I am, there will always be beer.

That's the beauty of adulthood.

My Baby's Love Had Gone & Left My Baby Blue

2011-09-03T14:13:00.000-04:00

It's no secret that I love the CNE. Used to go every year, but hadn't gone since I last blogged about it in 2009.

So, a couple of days ago I went.

Yay!

Checked out the farm and got kinda sad. All the little animals make me stupidly giddy and girly, but the confined spaces bother me.

Especially the pigs. Oh, the pigs.

So, no pictures of pigs. But sleeping baby horses? Yeah. Definitely pics of that.

Don't you judge me.

These are the scouts who gave us a wheelchair for my gimp partner in CNE crime.

The scout made my job easier. He was a scout ninja.

Moo.

My favourite li'l guy, TJ the Water Bottle Bandit. Such a happy little monkey, and playing with a half empty bottle of water was enough to keep him giggly.

Excuse me while my biological clock skips a beat.

Jeff, his daddy, knows how much I freak out over babies and tried to convince me to "oops" a dude so I can get on the mommy train.

That won't be happening. No babies 'til I find a guy I actually want to stick around.

Yeah, it's proving difficult.

Claire makes cute babies.

Thanks, farmers!

When it was time for rides, The Gimp couldn't go on. So this Shambled Rambler went it alone.

All in all, fun times. I'd go to The Ex every damn day if I could.

And a cute boy gave me a piece of straw as a present...

...thanks, TJ.

One More Bottle Just To Wash The Cut Away

2011-08-30T14:38:00.001-04:00

Sometimes I think I should rent out my dog.

Is that a bad thing?

It's just that, even though she is a complete nutbar for male attention (and is good at getting it), Daisy would be the perfect accessory for single guys everywhere. A little white dog with blue eyes who bats her lashes and wants to cuddle? Yeah. Chicks go bonkers for that crap. I see it every damn day.

It's easy. A guy could rent my little dog for an hour, take her for a walk, allow women pet and fawn over her, & then properly use the opportunity to get a number or snag a date. Simple, effective, awesome.

Not a bad side business, right?

Of course, there will always be the unwanted attention. Those who use the dog as an excuse to start a conversation, and then don't get the hint that you're not interested. I come across those a lot.

Yeah, yeah. I have a dog. You have a dog. Wow, we have so much in common and should absolutely get married and start an ant farm together. Meh.

But those are often easy to get away from. Like so:

Dude Without A Clue (DWAC): "Our dogs like each other a whole lot! Hey, we should walk together everyday! I'll pick you up at your house, what's your phone number?! "

Me: "Hmm... My dog doesn't like your dog's face up her ass, she may beat the crap out of him."

DWAC: "Oh look, blue eyes on a Jack Russell! You sure don't see that everyday!"

Me: "Uh... Actually, I do." Awkwardly clear throat.

Slowly continue walking away, hoping DWAC won't follow.

That's just how it's done.

So... who's ready to Rent-A-Daisy?

I'll Be Rockin' My Rhymes All The Way To Hell's Gate

2011-08-24T14:23:00.000-04:00

Daisy and I spent the weekend visiting the parents to celebrate my Dad's 60th bday.

Happy birthday, Dad!

Also finally met their new Jack Russell chick, Roxie.

Ugh.

My Jack Russell obsession will never end. I'm fully aware of this.

She's awesome, and in love with Daisy. Far too much entertainment for me; I'm still trying to figure out ways to steal her for myself.

All your JRTs are belong to me.

I'm currently taking care of a friend who is recovering from surgery, playing nursemaid and shoving pills down his throat whenever possible while Daisy cuddles him to health.

We're as good as doctors. Maybe better. I do make a mean sammich.

This friend has made me a promise that if I am ever recovering from surgery and need help, he will return the favour and hire Joe Manganiello to take full-time, round-the-clock care of li'l ol' me.

Y'know... this guy:

It's a sweet deal. And now this important promise has been documented on the blawg, and therefore cannot be revoked.

So for anyone who wishes to hit me with a car, beat me up, or throw things at me until I'm maimed enough to need surgery? Now's your chance.

(I'm kidding. Sorta.)

Turn The Oscillator; Twist It With A Dollar Bill

2011-08-19T14:08:00.000-04:00

While it's fairly common knowledge that I tend to prefer being in a relationship, I hafta admit - being a solo chick & living alone has its benefits.

In the interest of whining less, allow me to outline some of the positive points of being single and living alone.

Y'all ready?

I can sing stupidly loud and annoyingly all day and all night if I please. And I usually do, with great pride.

No one else is forced to eat the potentially inedible food I make. Just me, but I can handle it. Usually.

My made up words and nutbar voices that I use to speak to Daisy are not heard by anyone but us. And maybe the neighbours. But who gives a crap about neighbours?

Every day is clothing-optional. Not that it necessarily wouldn't be if I lived with a guy, but ya never know when people have been invited over. Hmm.

The toilet seat? Yeah, that bitch stays down. No late night fallin' in.

I can watch whatever I want at all times. If it's a crappy 90's sitcom? No one will complain. I am the all-powerful ruler of the remote.

An entire bed to myself without anyone stealing the blankets or hitting me with rogue arms and legs during the night.

I don't have to teach anyone that underwear is inanimate and will not pick itself up off the floor. There's a universal problem that exists between men and their gitch. It's not an art installation; it's laundry.

I do what I want, when I want, where I want... etc, etc. No questions asked. No one to worry about.

Not to say there aren't downsides but I think everyone should try living alone, at least once in their lives.

Don't get me wrong - I am still on the hunt for a really great dude who I will eventually wish to co-habitate with again (assuming he exists). But in the meantime?

I'm absolutely fine being alone - just me, my chickdog, and all my quirky ways.

Just A Second Of Your Time, Any One Will Do

2011-08-16T19:48:00.001-04:00

This past weekend was spent how all summer weekends should be spent - by doing as damn much as possible with as many groups of people as possible.

And so I did.

A little random guitar action before Whelan's Gate.

I've been going to that bar for years and never realized where the patio was until recently. It's like a walled-in secret garden of awesome, and I now admit that sometimes I'm not so bright. Then again, I'm usually too busy making new friends inside. Yeah... that'll be my excuse.

No point posting the smiling pics of Toni and I - it just wouldn't be right.

Next day?

Beach! Oh how I love thee, beach. Sun damage and sand-in-places-I'd-rather-not-mention aside, you are the bee's tanned knees.

There was a discussion on my Facebook profile pic awhile back about whether or not my bikini is pink. I hate pink and refuse to wear it. It's the bane of my black, black existence.

However... I fully admit that it's a raspberry colour. Which is not pink. My friend's camera phone app slightly changes the colours, and so it looks pinker than it is. Use my towel as a reference, somehow. Yes, I do realize that I'm getting defensive about the colour of a friggin' bathing suit.

Judge me. I don't care. I shall defeat you all.

Onward...

After a visit with friends and their insanely cute baby (more on that visit later), we went to see Shaun and Patrick - they're getting married in September, and I'm excited.

We headed to the birthday party of a woman I've never met, in her newly acquired tanning salon.

Strange party, but fun! Strange fun.

Long-time readers will remember Patrick. (Do ya? Huh? Punk?)

Now, allow me to share something with you that was shown to me on Saturday afternoon, while in the Beaches (thanks Dan & Megan...how did I not know about this?). Apparently this video has gone viral in the past month or so, and caused a slew of related videos, either imitating or re-creating it. Look 'em up.

Enjoy. And prepare to be creeped out and then have this stuck in your head for a week.

You're welcome.

My Mind Is Filled With Radio Cures, Electronic Surgical Words

2011-08-10T12:59:00.001-04:00

Apparently I haven't been as forthcoming about my day-to-day crap as I used to be. Didn't think anyone would really miss that stuff, but I get emails like this and find that, in some cases, I'm wrong:

Why don't you blog as much as you used to? Some of us want an update! What have you been doing?

Well, I've been keeping busy. And I've refrained from posts along the lines of " Went to [random bar] on [random night], saw [random person] and danced with them to [random song] while drinking [random brand of beer]".

But, if that's what you want....

Went to Velvet Underground on Friday to see my friend Bob spin. This past week it was a 90's theme, so it was all about the memories. There was one particular guy who was rockin' out to every song and didn't care who was watching. My friend and I respected that, and told him so. Turned out it was his birthday, so we got to talking.

Like many people, he underestimated my musical taste and random knowledge. Somehow we agreed on a challenge to see which of us knew all the words to "Walk" by Pantera.

The song was requested. The song was played.

Obviously I knew all the words. I also danced out the lyrics as an added bonus for those who wanted something to make fun of.

I win.

Walk on home, boy...

Is that enough Big Brother-type voyeur action for ya, dear emailer?

Non?

The rest of my weekend was fairly low key. Saw some friends. Ate some food. Drank some beers.

The usual Shamblin' & Ramblin' way.

And all the while, this particular song has been the soundtrack to my crazy wonky dreams at night.

Who wants to play Freud and figure that one out?

Happy Days Are Here Again, & All The Drinks Half Price

2011-08-05T13:18:00.000-04:00

I found these glasses in my kitchen...

And had an idea.

To become a bad librarian.

But, no.

That won't work.

Rob Ford would likely get rid of me.

So I considered becoming a hipster.

I can like things ironically. I can listen to bands you've never heard of, and call them "sellouts" once you do.

Hell, I even like suspenders.

Should I be a hipster?

Shit no. I don't wanna grow a beard.

Or maybe....?

Nah.

People put accessories on dogs.

What about dog glasses?

Daisy would make an awesome nerd.

And that's gotta be better than all the other crap princess-types do to their dogs.

Right? Right?

Bah. No.

Sorry, nerd. Won't happen again.

On TV, the scholarly types are often biting the ends of their glasses.

I can do that. I can be a scholar.

See?

Look at me! I'm a scholar!

Except... I'm too messy to look like a scholar.

Alright, fine. I admit it.

These ideas bite.

Feeling Good Was Good Enough For Me, Good Enough For Me & Bobby McGee

2011-08-03T13:13:00.002-04:00

Most people assume they know what my job is. That is, until it comes up in conversation.

"So, how's... um... wait, what do you do again? You write for a newspaper?"

Nah, not exactly.

"You write commercials at a radio station?"

Used to, yeah.

"You're a hitman for hire?"

You could say that, but shhhhh.

"You're a ninja unicorn?"

Bingo!

So, what the hell do I do?

Well, I'm still a freelance writer. And I still do social media management for clients. But technically, those are just two aspects of the bigger picture.

I recently started a small creative agency, with a team of amazing freelance creatives. Any creative job a client needs done - from copywriting, graphic design, social media marketing, audio/video production, PR, etc - we do it. One-stop shop.

Yeah, you probably need us.

The website isn't up yet, but people are still finding me. For that, I give thanks to whoever is the ruler of the interweb. The team is constantly growing, and we're always looking for new talented folks and more great clients to work with.

Aside from that, I have other fun projects always on the go (some blog-related, some not), and am keeping busy. Quite frankly, my mascot thinks it's all a bit too much. She's overwhelmed.

So there ya have it. A vague description of what I do.

Don't lose sleep wondering anymore, ok? Go back to counting sheep, they're feeling neglected.

Poor, poor sheep.

I'm The Sky You've Been Burning

2011-07-27T12:17:00.001-04:00

The following took place on a popular social networking site. The conversation is real (aside from the dude's spelling and grammar which I have fixed for blogging purposes). The people are real. These are their stories.

Him - "Hey there Kristen. It's been a really long time, how are you? I hope you remember me!"

Me - "Hey [Name omitted to protect the idiotic]. Sorry, I can't seem to place ya. How do we know each other?"

Him - "We went on a date once. Does that help?"

Me - "We did? That's odd, I'd rarely forget someone I went out with. I apologize. When was this?"

Him - "Summer of 2009. Best date I had ever been on."

Me - "Summer of 2009? I was living with a boyfriend at that time, and I'm no cheater. Sorry, I think you might have the wrong person!"

Him - "No, it was you! I would never mistake you for someone else. You're far too memorable."

Me - "Honestly, we did not go on a date in 2009. Or ever. I promise you that. You have me confused for another chick obviously, and that explains why I don't recognize your name or face. Sorry."

Him - "Ok, you got me. We didn't go out. But now that I have your attention, do you want to go out with me?"

Me - "No... No I do not."

Creeper-dude... you've now been blogged.

I'm Getting Lazy; Throw Me A Bone

2011-07-22T15:47:00.000-04:00

What a friggin' day yesterday was.

Hottest day of the year, decade, recorded history - I've heard all of 'em.

Point is? It was hot.

Since my poor hot dog and I were sweating to death in our air conditioner-less apartment, a friend set us up in his office to keep cool (thank you, sir).

That was a good thing about my day.

But the way home was... not so good.

On my walk to the Queen streetcar, my shoe started to literally fall apart. By the time I got on the packed car, it was completely busted. After standing for awhile, I finally managed to hobble my way to a seat to inspect the shoe. It was beyond immediate repair.

This is what I get for buying cheap shoes (hey, at least they lasted for years).

And so, I had the fun task of walking home barefoot.

One one arm, I had my computer, books, and all the crap that went with it, plus a broken shoe and a half broken shoe.

The other hand? Reigning in a panting, crazy Daisy.

I managed to burn my feet on the insanely hot pavement, and then step in glass. Huzzah! Such luck.

By the time I got home to my sweltering apartment, I was sweating buckets and ready to kill something. Anything.

Instead, I did the smart thing. I had a beer.

Having discovered that Daisy loves watermelon and it seems to cool her down, we gave that a go too.

So, although it was hot as hell, I figured we'd be ok. We got past the worst of it, right?

Wrong.

Later that same night the heat finally made me sick. Heat exhaustion, heat stroke, whatever you want to call it - I was sick. Dry heaves, dizziness, headache...

Kris was not a happy girl.

You can probably guess what I'm doing today.

Yep. Hunting for air conditioners.

Screw you, heat & bad luck. I shall own you.

Swap The Boots For Red Shoes

2011-07-19T14:26:00.001-04:00

Well, I did it. I made it to 28. It's a strange number to me, but I can't quite figure out why. 27 felt a lot younger, 28 feels more like a "you'd better have all your shit together" age.

I'm ok with that.

I got an interesting email today. There's a site called FutureMe.org, and you can send an email to your future self. Apparently I forgot that I wrote one on July 16, 2010 - to be sent to me today:

Dear FutureMe,

Life right now sucks monkeyballs.

Remember when you used to like monkeys?

Yeah. You don't anymore.

Hope everything is better by the time you read this.

Hope you're finally happy.

Happy 28th.

Ah yes. Sunshine, lollipops and emo mood swings. 2010 was awesome.

And for the record? I do still like monkeys. PastMe was a liar and quite possibly a thief. I can't prove that, though.

I just want to thank everyone, friends & acquaintances, for all the great birthday wishes. You know who you are, and you've brought a smile to my face today. Such nice messages make the letdowns less significant and have truly made my day.

Speaking of making my day - my wonderful friend Mark sent me this earlier. It's like he knows me or something!

And now to see who I'll be spending the birthday with. Maybe no one, maybe everyone.

Maybe you.

Endless, Nameless

2011-07-17T13:35:00.001-04:00

On Tuesday I'll be turning 28.

Every time that comes up in conversation with friends, we end up talking about The 27 Club. The famous musicians who died at 27.

Kurt Cobain. Jimi Hendrix. Janis Joplin. Jim Morrison. Brian Jones. These are the more notable ones.

I recently saw this site that lists many others (including non-musicians) who died at 27 - including The Elephant Man and Jonathan Brandis. Who knew?

So, it makes me think. If I didn't make it to 28, what kind of legacy would I leave behind - what would I have been known for, if anything? How might I be described, as a non-famous member of The 27 Club?

"Remember Kris, that blogger chick who really liked beer and poutine?" or maybe "Too bad about whats-her-name. She was really good at high fives."

Hmm. That's just not good enough.

After last year's birthday, I promised myself that there'd be a lot of new changes. It was a brand new chapter. And, though it was a bit of a rollercoaster, a lot of those changes became reality. Many more are still in progress.

So, assuming nothing bad happens in the next couple of days (someone please knock on wood, damn it), I'll be making a similar promise to myself on my 28th birthday.

More positive changes. More awesomeness. More beer, poutine and high fives.

And when I join The 98 Club, you can be damn sure that there'll be something I accomplished worth remembering.

Bring it on, 28. I'm ready for your craziness.

Just Like The Ocean, Always In Love With The Moon

2011-07-14T16:48:00.001-04:00

We've all heard the saying over and over:

"If you love something, let it go."

And apparently, if it's really yours, it will come back to you. Possibly delivered by a magical unicorn who will shriek with glee that this thing you let go of is truly yours. That's real love, y'know.

Well, I've tested this theory out. Extensive and exhaustive research has led to me to call bullshit, for the most part.

Like that time I bought a cheesecake. I paid for it, so it was mine. But I gave it away, knowing that since it was mine (and I truly loved it), it would come back.

It didn't.

And when I was younger, I lent my favourite book to someone. Once again, it was my book... and I loved it... so I lent it out. Surely, it was comin' back right?

Nope. Never got it back.

Whoever has it, I hope it brought paper cuts to your thieving fingers!

Now... I know what you're thinking. The saying isn't so much about inanimate objects as it is about people. Well, then it should be more clear. Instead of "if you love 'something', let it go" it ought to be:

"if you love a living person who has the capacity to love you back, let them go (but don't kill 'em or anything, cuz relationships never last in jail.)".

There. Much better.

But even then, I don't necessarily agree with it.

Cheesy cliches like this one are possibly correct part of the time. Sometimes it actually does work that way - kinda like another one: "you don't know what ya got 'til it's gone". So you freak out & get it back cuz you screwed up. It's allowed. While it's too late for my cheesecake and my book (I'm holding back tears, here), it isn't too late for you.

If you love someone (or something), keep them. Hold them as close as you can and don't let go. Because if you do lose them, for any reason, you may never have them again.

And that, my dear hosers, is why we have leashes.

Burning Black Holes In Bad Memories

2011-07-11T20:28:00.000-04:00

Years ago, when I was going through a(nother) rough patch, a woman at work sat me down and offered advice. Along with the advice, she said "We all feed off of drama. We feed off of our own drama, and the drama of other people."

I was sad to learn that she passed away recently, and I still find myself remembering those specific words she said. They've never left me.

In so many ways she was right. We do feed off of drama - the negative, the sad, the difficult. The more it takes control of us, the more we allow it to. And voyeurs love to watch it happen to others.

The blog has been a fairly prime example of that. On more than one occasion people thought they were passing on good advice by telling me to not bother with any positive posts. According to them, readers were only interested in the ones about struggles and depression; times I was hurt or completely lost.

Is that the truth? Maybe. Probably.

But I'm not where I was before. It's not all sunshine and lollipops (more humidity and beer bottles), but every moment is an improvement. I'm doing my best to shed the worries and Perpetual Doomsday Chick persona I had, because it needed to be left behind.

I'm ok. Better than before. I'm living, and I'm doing everything on my own terms. Ah, maybe on Daisy terms too. Fine.

So, for anyone that takes issue with happier (read: not so deppress-o) words and a lot less of my own personal drama tales - the internet's a big ol' place, full of emo kids to indulge you.

And hey, they'll even give you eyeliner tips and pictures of sad puppies.

Now that I've put this crap into your brain, realize that we don't need to feed off of each others drama, or our own. It's a vicious cycle of bullshit, and I now have a strict Anti-Bullshit Policy. You can read the Terms & Conditions if you're inclined to do so.

Fine print's a bitch. But you get the point.

Smile, folks. Hold hands, sing Kumbaya and share your beer with those that currently have none in their fridge.

Ahem.

Bigmouth Strikes Again

2011-07-07T16:07:00.001-04:00

Females everywhere get it daily. The whistles, the honks, the catcalls. Surely the most evolved and intelligent of our male counterparts cowardly showing their "appreciation", usually from the window of a moving vehicle.

Be still my heart, guys.

We're told to ignore them; it's just something that happens. So, most of us do. Myself, I usually just keep walking, or laugh it off. But, depending on the nature of what was yelled out the window at me, my reaction may be a nice "in-your-goddamn-dreams-buddy" style wave, or a smile and a middle finger.

But at what point does it become too much?

The other day I was walking home from the hardware store (yes, the hardware store), and a couple of guys yelled "SLUT" at me on a residential side street. I had to wonder what brought that on. Was it my Doors t-shirt? My loose-fitting ripped jeans? No, it was probably my running shoes and all the makeup I wasn't wearing.

The sluttiest of outfits, to be sure.

How about the time I walked home from a business meeting and some yard workers begged me for a smile while grabbing their crotches at me and calling me "honey"? Is that just another thing that women should ignore? Cuz I certainly didn't.

And shouldn't it be considered not normal for someone to yell "I'm gonna fuck your girlfriend" at my male friend while I walked down the street with him? Or any of the other random body part comments that I'm supposedly meant to be flattered by?

Come on. It's ridiculous.

Years ago, when I had my meek moments and was easily scared off, this type of shit made me not want to leave the house. Now? When I find myself wondering if an outfit will attract too much unwanted attention, I have to give my head a shake. While it's easy to have fun with the harmless comments, there is a point when it does go too far.

Being called a whore while dog-walking, and hearing a stranger's play-by-play about my ass as I walk by should definitely not be the norm - for any of us.

So what's the point of this long-winded tirade?

Fight it, ladies.

No matter what you're wearing or where you're going, you have every right to do so unbothered by these drooling troglodytes. If they cross a line, give 'em a reaction they aren't expecting. Own it.

Because I know that if & when I have a daughter, I never want her to feel like less than she is, just because of her anatomy and the comments that may be directed toward it.

And guys? The intelligent men know that genuine compliments work. This other crap that some of you yell at us is the reason you're perpetually single and have to resort to spewing things out the window of your friend's shitty "done up" '93 Honda Civic. Colour us unimpressed.

This hardware store slut has spoken.

You Take The Whole Thing Baby, Not Just The Broken Parts

2011-07-04T16:02:00.000-04:00

I took a week away from blogging.

Not purposefully at first - I was just too busy. Went home for a couple of days, came back to a lot of business activity, had some events, etc... and then just decided that an official Week Away From Rambling made me feel less guilty about not wanting to blog.

Not like anyone noticed, surely.

But hell. This chick's back. Hi there.

For any of my artsy readers, you may want to be a part of The Courvoisier Collective. They sent me a kit full of info in case some of you wanted to submit an art piece.

Artwork can be photography, paintings, mixed media and printmaking, with the theme of "Renewal".

Check the website for more info, and submit your stuff now.

And before you ask, no - I won't be submitting anything. I lack skills in the artsy department.

But while I also lack skills in the sports department, I still ended up having a fairly sport-centric weekend.

Spent an afternoon over at Hoopdome.

Followed by a much more Kris-related Canada Day night of live music at the Harbourfront.

Please note that, even while blurry, Luke Doucet is still cute. As is his entire musical family.

Adopt me. Please.

Right back to the sport theme, as I hit the TFC game the next day.

Yep. Sports.

And of course I made sure the long weekend included beers, beaches, boys 'n buddies. Wouldn't be me if it didn't.

But I won't lie... I'm now tired and don't want to leave my house.

Poor little whiny girl. What a life.

Through The Roof & Underground

2011-06-24T19:50:00.002-04:00

Last night I hit Real Sports for the Raptors Draft Party. (Thanks to Raptorman Steve for the tickets!)

Fun times were had by all. Or, at least, by me.

You know I'm always a fan of free drinks and tasty food.

But the fairly well-hidden Sport Chick side of me was becoming slightly fangirl-ish at the idea of hanging out with the Raptors and the broadcasters I watch on TV all the time.

Like Matt Devlin (who is pretty damn nice, although I know a lot of Raps fans aren't exactly Devlin lovers).

And Dwane Casey, the new coach. The key to future success? We shall see.

Fans bein' fans... discussing the new pick, Jonas Valanciunas:

Welcome dude!

Photo op with Ed Davis - he did not seem overly happy to talk to fans. Bad day, Ed? Hmm..

Leo! Thanks for the wave.

"HELLO!!"

Jack was awesome. After we took this, he came down to talk and take some more pics with me.

Yep.

Thumbs up to you, Jack.

I was on a mission to meet and get a picture with James Johnson (or, as I call him - NinjaRaptor). Problem was, he stayed in the VIP section that we regular folk were not supposed to be in.

But you know me.

I make friends.

And make friends I did. With two guys that work with the Raptors (their job is pretty much to make sure the players are happy. Awesome.)

They got me into VIP and introduced me to James.

See? FanGirl. He's a flirty summabitch, lemme tell ya. That's all I'll say about that on here.

Very nice, though. Personable and friendly.

My new best friend on the left. He made the intro, he made it happen, and he had us hanging out in VIP where everything is free and everyone was 'somebody'.

Y'know... except for me.

I'm a nobody, but I can fake it well!

Sherman!

Talked to him for awhile about jobs, Jonas, the lockout and whether or not I could hire him.

We may or may not have discussed hookers. Briefly.

Can I join the Raptors Dance Pak now? No? Ok, fine.

Oh, dear.

I wonder sometimes how I get people to like me.

Thankfully, he did.

Thanks for having good humour, Devlin.

Let's pretend that the rain and heat didn't make me look haggard 'n gross.

After the party, we had the pleasure of meeting up with T (above) and heading to the Dakota for some fun live music. Reminded me of Gogol Bordello, and I maybe kinda sorta lined-danced with some strangers

I think I'm still tired.

Cobra Matte

2011-06-21T12:09:00.003-04:00

I've been fairly MIA on the interweb lately. Mostly from constant sickness, and also due to some crazy events over the weekend.

Other than being sick a lot, my weekend consisted of a not-so-fun end to my Friday night (which I'll explain), being locked out of my apartment with my unleashed dog, my sister and her husband (thanks to the bro-in-law for his ninja skills), accidentally painting my entire bathroom with Pepto Bismol (never again will my bathroom suffer the pain of indigestion), etc, etc... luckily ending the weekend with a day on the beach.

But back to my Friday night.

Headed to the Horseshoe with some friends for NXNE. Had fun, even in spite of being groped and then punched by an overly drunk kid who was then kicked out.

Cut to the end of the night, I started walking home. Having a bit of a hissy fit over an argument of some sort with one of my friends, I just kept walking on my own. Lines of communication were somehow crossed, as I thought I had been ditched and didn't realize we were stopping for food. I digress... point is, I walked home by myself because I'm an idiot.

There, I said it.

As I walked, a cabbie stopped a couple of times to see if I wanted a ride. I waved him on both times, telling him that I was fine and wanted to walk.

By the time I hit Queen & Dufferin, I was still arguing with my friend via texts and phone calls and got a bit upset. So, being the idiot that I was that night, I sat and cried for a minute - feeling stupid will do that to a chick at 4am.

And so, as I sat there crying, the same cabbie stopped again. He told me that he wasn't letting me walk anymore, and I obviously wasn't ok. Not really in the mood to argue, I went to open the door to the backseat. But he got out of the car and opened the front passenger door for me. So out of politeness, I sat in the front.

As we drove, my friend called and heard the cabbie say that he was going to take a different route to my house. Realizing that was a bad sign, my friend asked to be put on speakerphone so he could talk to the driver. With some yelling, and some threatening, he made sure the cabbie would take the direct route to my house.

During the ride, as I'm crying, the cabbie kept handing me tissues and saying "you're too beautiful to cry, you're so wonderful, you deserve to be happy", etc, etc...

We finally got to my house and I asked for the debit machine. He said "No charge."

I was confused by this, but figured he was taking pity on a crying girl he found on the side of the road. I was wrong. I thanked him and went to leave, but the doors were locked.

And so he grabbed my head and kissed me. He wiped my cheeks as he did it, and called me "beautiful" again. I moved away, and he groped me and grabbed my head and kissed me again. All the while, I'm trying to unlock the door and get the hell out of there.

Finally, I did. I bolted out of the car and into my house.

When my friend heard about this, he begged me to call the cops. But I didn't know what cab company it was, and I didn't know his name. I was in such a state that I didn't pay attention to those minor details. Now I wish I had.

I realize that, in a way, it's a bad idea to post this. My parents will not be happy; they will worry. But here's why I am - this shit is not cool. I was vulnerable, and this disgusting man took advantage of that. I don't ever want to be put in that situation again, and I don't want to hear about anyone else in it.

Don't make my mistakes.

If you're alone, always sit in the back - forget politeness if the driver opens a door for you. Always pay attention to the name of the driver and the cab company. Always have your phone available, just in case.

And always, always be prepared to kick some ass if anyone ever tries to take advantage of you. I won't make the same mistake any more.

If I ever see that asshole again? Trust that he won't be calling me beautiful much longer.

Burning In The Corner Is The Only One Who Dreams He Had You With Him

2011-06-16T18:07:00.000-04:00

Wants and needs are sometimes very different.

I need some good distractions. My current ones aren't cuttin' it.

I want things to go as I envision them. Ideas that come to fruition.

I need to make normal faces. And locate my other eye.

I want to win the lottery. Then money won't be the measure of success.

I need to think before I bite things. Do you know where that's been?

I want to find someone who gets me. Who gives me the butterflies I've long forgotten.

I need to learn how to use these. Once and for all - I'll skate, dammit.

I want to make you smile. But I only make you angry.

I need to get rid of these punks. They're plotting to eat my dog.

I want a hammock. Now, thanks.

I need a freelance website designer. Email me about projects.

I want a crazy happy feeling that I can hold onto. One that isn't forced or unsure.

I need this girly more than anything else. She keeps me in check.

I want some things I don't yet have. But I'll get 'em.I always do... eventually.

What do you want? What do you need?

And What I Learn From You Is That History Is Just The Things We Do

2011-06-13T12:22:00.000-04:00

The following message is the Shambled Email o' The Week.

I laughed, I cried, I did dishes and took a nap.

Take it however ya will, and remember - I judge all yer emails:

Dear Miss Ramblings,

The other day as I was resisting arrest for downloading too many Japanese anime movies, the SWAT team accidentally noticed the floor to ceiling shrine I have dedicated to you.

At first I though this might be my chance to escape. I figured your handsomely chiseled face would stun the stormtroopers into an erotic submission (which I was at that moment experiencing). But I guess their special anti-moonray goggles disrupted your siren song.

So yeah I am now writing you from federal prison.

But it's not so bad here, thanks for asking. They have warm food and crafts. And I of course I have you. Every time I look at my right palm, there you are, looking right back at me.

No literally. I got your face tattooed on my right palm. It's an anime version of your face that I think would fit you nicely. Ever think of plastic surgery to maybe move your eyes a little bit further apart? You know, maybe just a new hairstyle would do. Kinda spikier and bluer.

Anyways, I decided to get my left palm tattooed with MY face. That way, every time I applaud something, it's like we're having a loud conversation with short undecipherable words. But I'll know what you're saying... *CLAP CLAP CLAP* ... Yes? Seal wanna fishie?

I hope this email finds you well. I was the first person to see your last post because I have your blog on a 1 second automatic refresh. I don't think you should talk to that video guy anymore. He sounds very
normal and well adjusted. I didn't think your tongue thing was something that should have turned him on, because it wasn't for him. Your tongue is for me and our pet unicorn Isosceles only.

I knew you were talking to me in that video because my mom said she drank a lot of Labatt 50 when she was pregnant. And you were drinking Labatt 50, which I'm like 34% percent made of. So you were drinking
me and that means you like me. I think he should not be rude to you anymore and instead drive into a ditch or a Tim Hortons.

Oh look it's time to go have a prison shower. There's some nice guys in the shower. One guy even kinda looks like you if I close my eyes and hold my breath. And yes, you were amazing, of course! Just how I envisioned it to be, minus the soap and the taste.

Anyways, take care!

Your biggest fan,
Stan, the future Mr. Ramblings

So Don't You Lock Up Something That You Wanted To See Fly

2011-06-09T15:10:00.002-04:00

Sometimes when I'm in a group of people, I like to show everyone how I can fold my tongue into three.

It's unattractive. It's dumb. But I do it anyway. Just cuz I can, and most people can't.

A couple of weeks ago, a bunch of friends and I were having beers on a patio. Some of the guys were talking about how they could fold their tongue in half, so - of course - I had to one-up them all. Long story short, we shot a video tutorial so everyone can learn to be a loser like me.

Enjoy responsibly. And please keep in mind that this is probably around 1am. At a bar. A bar with beer.

Kapow!

Metaphor For A Missing Moment

2011-06-06T16:19:00.000-04:00

I swear like a sailor.
Debate like a champ.
Pound back beers on patios and in dirty pubs.
I'm happy in band tshirts and ripped jeans.

I can take what you throw at me. And dish it out better.
I'm most comfortable in a group of guys - talking shit and having a laugh.

I am, for the most part, one of the guys.

But sometimes
I just might have to remind you

That I am, in fact, a woman.

You can dress me up.

Take me out.

And find out why girls
who are 'one of the boys'
can be the very best kind.

She Lets Her Ladder Down For Those Who Really Shine

2011-06-02T19:38:00.004-04:00

This fun-haired food freak is my older seester, Steph. She shows off her culinary-ness (yeah, I make up words) over on her site, Stephfood.

Y'see, while similar in many ways, our differences are kinda major. She's the daughter my Mom always wanted while I'm the son my Dad never had.

And so, in keeping with said differences, Steph can cook. And likes to cook. (Whaaat?!)

I'm a master of toast and Kraft Dinner while she creates tasty, pretty things I can't always pronounce. (Wtf is a Papas Rellenas and Ceviche? That doesn't sound like a Big Mac and fries at all.)

Ok, ok... so I don't love cooking unless it's for someone else. And even then? Meh. Can't promise it'll be all that great.

But I swear, we're sisters.

See? Sisters.

Le Seester Steph used to be in a pretty committed relationship with vegetarianism, but they later decided to see other people. She's now become a 'flexitarian'. As such, her cooking has expanded into new territory, one that I can get on board with.

And this is where you monkeys come in. I've decided to force my dear sister to teach me how to cook one of her delicious dishes, and to put it on camera for my next video blog. The results will surely be... uh, interesting. She may want to strangle me, and I may set her kitchen on fire. Who knows?

So... what do you guys think she should teach me to cook, so that all of you can watch and laugh at my sad lack of skills?

You Don't Deserve To Be Lonely, But Those Drugs You've Got Won't Make You Feel Better

2011-05-30T15:28:00.002-04:00

If you've been coming to my blog for awhile, you'll know that I often used to talk about how to deal with the fun baggage of depression, and then finding out that I had an anxiety disorder on top of that.

A roller-coaster of gleeful times, my friends.

The reason I was so open about these things is because I was tired of the stigmas attached - this shit should be talked about. Depression and anxiety are not taboo subjects. The amount of feedback I got from people thanking me for being open about it when they weren't able to was kind of astounding. An eye-opener.

I also spoke about how I refrained from taking any medication to help me get through the tough days. Over the years, I just couldn't do it. I worried about side effects, I worried about not being myself anymore. I was scared that I would be in a constant fog, unable to feel anything.

Well, things have shifted. The realization hit - I shouldn't feel nervous to get out of bed in the morning, or anxious when I need to leave my house. I shouldn't have hour-long panic attacks while watching tv on the couch, or in the middle of washing the dishes.

Something someone said to me really hit home:

"You don't know what it's like to feel like a normal person does. You've never had that."

So, in an effort to seek some balance, I got a new (kickass) doctor and was prescribed meds to treat the anxiety & depression. Two different ones, no less.

Yep. Yer good friend Kris is gettin' into the drugs.

For those that message me frequently and ask advice on this subject, I'll be keeping you posted now & then. If this blog suddenly turns into SuperHappyFunTime Ramblings of Joy, you'll know what did it.

And for you normies who have never had to deal with depression, anxiety or wonky-brain-issues, well... pretend this post never happened.

It was just an illusion.

Lightning Is My Girl

2011-05-27T12:01:00.003-04:00

Welcome to the end of a pretty damn busy week of stuff, junk and other things.

Most of it was busy due to business shenanigans as the new endeavor starts to take off. New clients, old clients, imaginary clients.

Projects and pitches and people, oh my!

But enough about business stuff. More about that some other time, mmkay?

I managed to squeeze in some non-work-related stuff, too. Like this video interview I was part of for Social Scratch. Also known as a perfect excuse to head to a bar in the middle of the day. I'm a thinker, y'know.

Thinking 'bout hops & barley, mostly.

They interviewed bloggers and social media folk for a video that'll run all over NXNE this year, just in time for their launch.

You'll see it. You know you will.

Even if all of my pearls of non-wisdom end up on the editing room floor, it was still fun. Great group of people.

Say cheese. Or something less predictable.

On Wednesday I got a last-minute invite to a TFC game. I don't think I had been to BMO Field since that Zidane game in '09.

Please note the dark sky. And the crowd of people who will soon disperse.

Cuz oh yeah. It rained. Holy crap, did it rain.

But my Partner-In-TFC-Watching for the evening quickly ran to the vendors to pick us up a couple of sexy waterproof ponchos.

See?

You can't handle my sexy poncho. I understand. Judging by the look on my face, neither could I.

Have a poncho-rific weekend, folks. Stay dry.

Farewell My Black Balloon, Let The Weather Have Its Way With You

2011-05-24T11:01:00.002-04:00

The long weekend hit, and the weather was beautiful. Perfect for doing one of my favourite things... sitting on the deck with a beer.

Sadly, this chick was outta beer.

The horror! The anguish!

But it's as though the folks at Carlsberg read my mind (and empty fridge), as they sent me here:

ideserveone.ca

I filled out some info and ended up with a Carlsberg status card. That card doesn't lie - I definitely deserved one.

Before that, you're taken through a video of your life via pictures, as this guy explains who deserves a Carlsberg. And who might not (tsk tsk).

The end result, of course, was that I deserve one.

Good choice, Carlsberg. Smart answer. I happen to agree.

If you head over to ideserveone.ca (logged into your Facebook) become a fan, get the 'I Deserve One" app and submit a story, you can win weekly prizes. Beer prizes. Those are the best kinds.

And since I deserved one? I had one.Or two.

Patio beers with friends.

Cuz, y'know... we deserved 'em.

And hell, you do too.

Take Whatever's Left, & Take It With You Out The Door

2011-05-21T14:30:00.001-04:00

Some things are not so black and white.

The many shades of grey can add some depth, make it horrible and wonderful.

But, for me... It's time to throw some colour onto this boring canvas.

Life is way too short to live in grey. Shake shit up in technicolour.

Get out your crayons, boys and girls. Today we're gonna draw outside the lines.

Figures That My Courage Would Choose To Sell Out Now

2011-05-18T14:06:00.001-04:00

All my life, I've been fairly obsessed with song lyrics. Yes, even "Skinnamarinky Dinky Dink" held deep and profound meaning. Sharon, Lois & Bram were poets for pre-schoolers.

Relateable or well-written lyrics can absolutely make or break a song for me, and often have. Of course, the sadder the words, the deeper they cut to the core and created a new musical obsession. That's just the kinda chick I am.

It's no wonder that songs, more than anything else, have the ability to immediately transport me to a different time in my life, and bring with it all the emotions and thoughts that were involved. It's like Quantum Leap set to music. I can't always gauge where the next leap will take me.

The only downside is that sometimes I can't listen to some of my favourite songs because they take me to bad or sad places that I don't wish to tread again. Elliot Smith & I are still working on fixing our marred relationship.

That's what lyrics do.

I've looked back at old lyrics I wrote a long, long time ago... reading them, I appeared heartbroken before my heart had ever been broken; old & tired before I had even hit highschool. I guess I knew the key to drawing people in was to hit 'em where it hurt. That, and well... I was a sad, sad child at times.

Ah, lyrics.

Somewhere, there's a song with your perfect lyrics. The words are talking to you, know exactly what you're feeling in that instant. They'll make you smile or bring you to tears.

Tell me music isn't magic. I'll prove you wrong.

"You're just an empty cage, girl, if you kill the bird."