Spare A Square?

Uh... Hi. I'm still here.

I started my internship at the radio station, and haven't been home much otherwise. That leaves me with little time for interwebbery, nevermind blogging.

And so, I'm gonna continue with the music memories from a couple of posts ago.



Blood, Sweat and Beers

LOCATION: The St. Catharines Yacht Club, St. Catharines
YEAR: 2004
PUBLISHED - February 21st, 2008

On my mom's side, which is the Irish side, my family can be a crazy bunch. Since she is one of 9 children, it is also a large bunch. Needless to say, when we get together it tends to make for an interesting time.

On one such occasion, a few years back, we were all out on a hot summer night. My Uncle Harry is in a band, and they were playing outside the Yacht Club in my city. (Don't be fooled by the Yacht Club -- it was still a full-on classic rock set.)

The place was packed with people, which was ok since it was an outdoor show. The music was great, the beer was flowing, and everyone was having a great time. When my family drinks, which a lot of us like to, we also like to dance and sing along. This particular night was no exception.

Now although my uncle's band plays a lot of great songs, most of which I know, I always want him to play "And When I Die" by Blood, Sweat, and Tears. Sometimes they will, sometimes they won't. That night I yelled it out between every song, no doubt being obnoxious. They did not play it.

At one point, as we were dancing, my older cousin Nikki pretended to do the classic "Elaine Benis Dance" from Seinfeld. If you aren't familiar with it, it's pretty much all fingers, thumbs, and bent-kneed kicking. Not pretty by any means.

Being an expert "Elaine Dancer", I was quick to correct her and show how it was REALLY done. I was in top form that night, like I was channeling Elaine herself. People were clapping and laughing, so of course I continued. Silly me.

Next thing I know I'm flat on my ass on the concrete.

One of my uncles picked me up, and everyone asked if I was ok. I was beyond embarrassed, so I shook it off. Another song came on, so I started dancing (normally, this time) to show that I was unhurt. My cousin Leah asked me to go inside to the washroom with her, so I went. She had to practically carry me back outside, since my foot had swollen to the size of my head and I could no longer walk.

Elaine Benis broke my foot.

Right before my Dad carried me off to the car to make my mortifying exit, my mom put in a special request to the band.

And so, before I left, my uncle's band finally played "And When I Die" - for the poor girl who was dumb enough to break her foot doing the Elaine dance.

Yeah. I'm that sad.

Forget About Your House of Cards, And I'll Do Mine

I've been hearing and reading a lot about Do Over Day lately.

I don't really know where it came from, or what it entails, but man... the things I'd do over.

Regrets are a bad thing to have, but Do Over Day seems to give an excuse to think about em.

So, let me see here...

If I could re-do my childhood, I woulda kicked some ass instead of being tormented by evil little girls.

If I could go back to when I was 19, I would've found a way to have my professor dealt with instead of dropping out of college because of him.

If I could go back to my last relationship, I would've ended things far sooner than they had ended, for sanity's sake.

If I could go back to being 23 and temporarily single, I would have dated more and drank less.

If I could re-do my early days dating C, I would've changed everything one way or the other.

If I could talk to my teenage self, I would tell her that she was a hell of a lot more amazing than she she ever gave herself credit for. And with a swift smack to the ass, I'd send her off to take over the world, instead of being consumed by it like I currently am.

And finally... If I could go back to the last time I had a Fat Girl Platter, I woulda ordered 20 more of the buggers and frozen them for future FGP consumption.

There's my shortlist.

What would you freaks do? Tell Momma all about it.

Licensed To Chill, Winston

I've decided that I'm going to share a few things that I wrote for a music website last year. They're bound to be more interesting than my "woe is me" drivel of late.

I wrote tons of these, and they're supposed to be my "memories" that certain songs evoke. But honestly? Some are true. Some aren't. As I post them, you decide which is which.


Brass Balls

LOCATION: High School Gym, St. Catharines
YEAR: 2001
TAGS: basketball, gym, game, songs, Beastie Boys
PUBLISHED: February 22, 2008

My high school had a Teachers vs. Students basketball game planned, which was sure to be a good one since we had some talented players.

As the resident music junkie, I was asked to make a mixed CD for the game. So I did. As the game went on, my boyfriend and I sat in a small room off to the side which held the soundsystem, so I had full control of the music. When I wasn't switching songs, I'd watch the game in the doorway and laugh and how badly our teachers were getting schooled by my friends.

At one point when I was in the doorway, my friend Beckie was trying to get my attention from the stands, which were directly across from where I was standing. I couldn't figure out what she was trying to tell me, so I motioned for her to come down and see me.

She made her way down stands, and through the sea of people. She had to exit the gym through the door on her side, and come back in through the door on my side in order to avoid the game going on. It didn't work.

As soon as she stepped back into the gym and started coming towards me, the basketball went rogue.

SMACK!

Right to the head. Beckie was down for the count, sprawled on the court. The game stopped. Everything went still. No one made a sound. I signalled for a teacher, and then ran back into the sound room. I picked up the microphone and said "Can we please get a nurse down here, we have an injury". With that, I threw on Brass Monkey to distract the onlookers.

Beckie was fine. The game went on (students won, of course). And the injury was forgotten.

Except by Beckie. To this day, she cringes when she hears Brass Monkey. She didn't know the song before I played it, but she sure does now.

Party Heart-y

Friday night we had a Valentine's/Anti-Valentine's party to attend.

The Lads (hockey team), and the lovely ladies of the Blackhearts put on an awesome shin-dig: "The Lads Have a Heart-On".

Took too many pictures. Signs of a good time.

"Wake up, C. We gotta go."

"Gdflkshdskjhdf..... I'm awake. I'm ready. Where are my shoes, woman?"

Ah, fun with "put-your-head-here" pictures. Get yer hand off my fake bum, Don Cherry.

I think I make a better dog.

Jeffy & I bug Tom to play our requests.

... and the dancing commences.

Nick and Paul - who I think looks like Henry Rollins. Yes? Anyone?

Didn't realize that Stu was putting money down my shirt. Before the pic, he was just waving it in my face.

Shoulda taken it, in hindsight.

Tanya worked the kissing booth, so Jeff gave me a loonie and sent me in for a kiss.

See that smile? Yeah. She liked it.

Chimp & Bear love is hard to top.

Unless its a chimp loving my boyfriend. Nice lapdace.

Miss Claire showing showing us her sultry side.

When heart-shaped balloons are turned sideways, they are boobs. Big red boobs with cleavage and erect nipples.

One-stop boob shop.

Thanks for the dance, Bryce.

The name tag that Mike made me wear.


Good times, hockey folk. Good times.

I Gave You All The Love I Got, I Gave You More Than I Could Give

Today is the day of love.

This year, it's a quiet one. Just us and the dogs, hanging around. To me, that's perfect.

So, Happy Valentine's Day to everyone. Whether partnered up or single, show some love for somebody today.

This is one of my favourite songs by one of my favourite bands.

Deftones' cover of "No Ordinary Love" by Sade.

The lyrics aren't necessarily fitting, but hey. I likes it.



Oh.

And to that guy that I date and co-habitate with.....




Happy Valentine's Day, C. I love you.

Please pick your pants up off the floor.

Love,

K.

Black Gold, Texas Tea

I've had the theme song from the Beverly Hillbillies in my head all morning.

So, being the weirdo that I am, I felt I had to re-write it.

Please, sing along with me, even though I shoved too many words in each sentence. I call it - The Ballad of the Nouvelle Parkdalien:

Come & listen to a story 'bout a girl named Kris,
A St. Catharines chick who felt that something was amiss.

Then one night, she went & met an older boy,
Who got the chick to date him, though she tried to be coy...

Next thing ya know, ol' Kris had up and moved,
Toronto was her home, though her friends had disapproved.

Although she was a writer, that was mostly put on hold,
She needed somethin' different and that gig was gettin' old.

Craig had higher sights for her, he knew she could be great.
But Kris was searching for a job that she could not locate.

The ruins of the workforce meant that she had much to learn,
And so, in radio this chick is gonna intern.



Yep.

Suck on that, Jed Clampett.

Negative Nelly

Bad days are in full force. When they pile up, it can be debilitating.

When things aren't going well, I have a habit of making them worse. It's sad when you look back and see just how long you've been telling yourself "things will turn around! They have to get better!"

Man... I hate to say it, but I really want a cigarette right now.

And my friends.

Anyone have any positive words, or something that proves the world isn't going to shit?

Cuz if so, I'd love to hear it.

--------------------

Edit:

This dramaful post was brought to you by lack of sleep and self pity.

Please visit our sponsors.

Designing Weekend

Friday night we went to the chimp's place for beers, buds, and Boosh.

Good times were had by all.


The next Vanna White - trust me.

The Lovely Laura showcasing her wine spillage, and the baking soda used to clean 'er up.

The story is re-told in Liam's post, which also shows me some luuurve.

Meow.


The next day, Craig and I went to the Interior Design Show - it was work-related for him. I just wanted to see stuff 'n junk 'n things.

The pic above is outdoor furniture. Fun.

Even more fun?

This weather-proof outdoor television.

The boy was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

Poor girl.

She was in this thing, dancing all day.

I suppose it was supposed to symbolize a bird in a cage, but I have no clue what that had to do with home renovations.

"Are you trapped in your outdated house like a bird in a cage? Come to "BlahBlahBlah Home Renovations" - and let our styles set you free!"

Nope. That just didn't work on any level.

Moving on....

These were very cool. And the American guy that made them was really nice.

Picture chain things. Don't make me explain em.

Ah.

Chairs attached to a wall.

Symbolizes society's need to... um... sit. On walls. Jauntily.

Oh, shaddup.

I just now realize that the guy behind Craig is checkin' out his ass.

I don't blame him. It's rather nice.

No touchy.

Beam me up, Scotty.

If I tell you the price of these, you'll throw up on me.

I just got this shirt cleaned - no thanks.

Where's Waldo?

Can you spot the blogger in blue, and her sidekick manfriend?

(Here's a hint - She's holding the camera. It has a flash. Go into the light!)

Yeah.

I'm all designed out.

Bitter You, Bitter Me, My Better Half Has Bitten Me

You all know I hate to exercise. But months ago, I tried.

That membership has long since ran out. And I've been sitting on my ass, doin' nuthin.

Just a-sittin'.

So the other day, for fun, I decided to do a Billy Blanks DVD that Craig had bought me around Halloween (because of my brief stint doing Tae Bo).

Yeah.

That.


I tried. It made me angry.

Man... I still hate Billy Blanks.

He was not a happy part of my morning.

And so, the next day, I went a different route. I got out my old exercise trampoline and had a crack at 'er again.

(It didn't come with dog hair, I added that myself. Pretty, yes?)

The good thing about this guy? I don't have to hear Billy Blanks or his overly-skinny helper speak at all. I listen to songs that make me wanna jump in odd spastic ways.

Allow me to show you examples of songs in my Trampoline Playlist (do not judge the selections. They have feelings too, and the 80's and 90's were a hard time for everyone.) :



Hole - Jennifer's Body

I scream along adequately. The neighbours think I have issues. They're right.



Anthax and Public Enemy - Bring The Noise

The happiness that this song has brought me, since I was little, is too much to mention. I'm very glad no one made a video of me dancing and freaking out to this at my sister's wedding in November. *whew*



David Bowie - Magic Dance (Labyrinth Soundtrack)

You remind me of the babe.



GNR - Mr. Brownstone

Drugs are bad, mmkay.



Depeche Mode - Enjoy The Silence

...and I do. If silence is actually loud noises coming from my speakers in a timely fashion, accompanied by my off-key harmonies.



Nirvana - Breed

Ah yes, what's Courtney without a little Kurt?



RATM - Kick Out The Jams.

I like the original. But the Rage version makes me move. On a trampoline. Rhythmically-ish.

So there's a taste of what Kristen listens to while forcing herself to pretend to exercise. Very exciting stuff.

Ted Nugent Would Be Proud

Crikey!

On today's adventure, friends, we're going on a hunt for the narcissistic and extremely elusive blogger!

That's right - Blogger Hunting.

Stay close, as they are quite unpredictable and may lash out at any moment. They have digital cameras and know how to use them.

But first - let's review the common traits of a personal blogger, shall we?

Because how do we know we have a blogger in our midst, and not just a regular Joe?

Here's how:

1. They disguise themselves with tourist-like behaviour. Taking pictures of buildings, street signs, even cups and other random things as if they've never seen them before. It's a ruse! They have seen them before!

2. While having an interesting conversation with you on MSN, Gmail, or Facebook chat, they ask you "Do you mind if I post this?" and it confuses you. Sorry buddy, you've got a blogger!

3. They have an overabundance of self-taken pictures, from every possible angle, using every possible expression. They tend to not like any of them, but they will continue until they do.

4. If you overhear one talking to another, saying things like "they Googled 'fat girl fetishists that own monkeys', and ended up on my site!", you're definitely in a blogger zone.

5. You hear people calling them by something that is definitely not their name. It seems to be an internet name, but is used more like an alter ego. That's blog-speak for "I'm a blogger".

6. On top of the multitude of self-takes, they seem to have an alarming number of pictures that are posed to fool you into believing that they had no idea the camera was there. Even though it was in their hand. And they pressed the button. And then reviewed it. But they had no idea!

Shhhhh! Be very still!

...I think I've got one. Should I shoot her?