Wednesday, September 29, 2010

We Could Plant A House, We Could Build A Tree

Lovely. Your ol' pal Kris is experiencing the triumphantly horrible return of the "Low Days". They're well-documented throughout this bitch-ful blog and, as we all know, the ever-present depression only serves to fuel their jerk-infested fire.

You know the days I mean. When nothing goes right. Everyone seems like they're out to hurt you. All news is bad news. Bullshit is plentiful. Things that were on the upswing drastically changed directions. People suck, things suck, I suck, you suck.

Rainbows, lollipops and evil Satanic monkeys. Yep.

And so, since it looks like these low days have gotten comfortable and are sticking around for awhile, I'm gonna need your help. Can ya handle it?

Here we go...

- Don't let me give up the Toronto job hunt. Lie to me if you have to, but tell me I need to keep going. Smack me on the head and remind me that I don't want to be in Niagara forever.

- Warn me if you think I'm dating someone very, very wrong for me, just because I sometimes get lonely. That's what I do. People like to remind me of it often. Keep reminding me. (And send me a list of compatible men, complete with headshots and musical tastes. Thanks.)

- Don't beat me up for any mistakes or bad decisions I've made. That doesn't help. Trust me, I'm learning on my own. Besides, remember that time? Yeah. I don't bug you about that now do I? I do? Sorry.

- Don't ever, EVER allow me to become a cat lady. I don't like cats much. They hate Daisy.

- Tell me over and over that "doctors are my friends... doctors are my friends..."

And lastly...  please deliver one awesome Toronto job, one wicked apartment, one amazing boyfriend... and a Big Mac, 5 beers and a cheesecake. That'd be ever so helpful.

I'm so happy to have friends like you guys. Shucks.

Monday, September 27, 2010

We've Had Our Share Of Hard Times, But That's The Price We Paid

Dear Grape & Wine Festival 2010,

I feel like we need to talk.

First of all - I'm officially changing your name to Drunk Fest. Really, that's what you are. You're Christmas for the imbibers, and you give us all an excuse to drink in the streets.

I'm not complaining. Just stating facts.

This year I dubbed myself Sober Sally, and tagged along for the ride.

Saw some bands. Saw some people. Saw some grapes. (That's a lie. I saw no grapes.)


These are the faces of Drunk Fest fans. Can you sense their excitement?

I will hand it to you, Festival o' Alcohol.... you do give me an excuse to creep in the background of other people's pictures.
And we all know that's a past-time of mine. 

That and ballroom dancing.


See? Creep, creep.

I must've pissed off the Grape & Wine gods, though.

Surely I've done something to make you very, very angry with me.

Is it because I took pics that my Cait will kill me for posting? 

Is it because I attempted to breakdance in front of people after doing the Carlton dance?

Or wait... oh no...


I know what I did.

I couldn't leave well enough alone.

I could've let Tim & his band do the Skid Row songs by themselves.

But no. Of course not. That's crazy talk.


Apparently stealing a dude's hat makes me think I suddenly have magical powers that allow me to hit Sebastian Bach's high notes.

I cannot. Ever.

So to all the innocent bystanders and audience-folk.... I apologize. Truly.


And perhaps it was my musical non-stylings that caused the Grape & Wine Festival to send an evil migraine to my sober brain and make me turn into a pumpkin by midnight.

That's what ya get for being good.

So next year? This means war.

Love 'n beer,


Friday, September 24, 2010

Nobody Loves Me, It's True... Not Like You Do.

I want us all to be friends.  Y'know... buds... pals... amigos 'n junk.

In order to make that happen, we need to get to know each other better. So I've made this week's video for you - to learn about your dear friend Kris, and how her dorkiness has shaped her years.

This week there are no questions.
No Masuka.
No forcing Daisy in front of a camera against her will.

Instead? I'm giving you yet another opportunity to make fun of me. (And if you've known me for a few years, you just might be in here.)

Strap on your white high-tops, we're goin' for a ride.

(For those who can't view embedded videos, jump over to YouTube: Shambled Rambler

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

You Can't Hold Me Down, Cuz I Belong To The Hurricane

I know, I know. We've been over this before. We discussed it. I got your input. We laughed, we cried, we played Battleship. But I'm bringing the topic back once more.

Pickup lines.

Yep. Again.

But this time I want to talk about ways guys 'n girls try to pick each other up. For the sake of this blog post, I use men as an example. Sorry, but that's what I deal with.

Ladies, if you're looking to be hit on a lot - go to a concert of the rock and/or roll variety. But prepare for the creeps. At this last one, I was meowed at. Leered at. Talked up by a guy who could've been my father. And then there were what my cousin and I lovingly(?) refer to as the "Suit Jacket Guys". They were wannabe-yuppies who stare, point and talk about you as if you can't see or hear them. My evil eye that I hoped would tell them "Screw off, Suit Jackets. We're watching Alice in Chains", did not register, since one of them fed me some cheesy lines and gave me his friend's business card.

What else is there?

The Facebook Pick-Up : "Saw your picture, wanna go out?"

The Asshole Who Uses People : "I only slept with your friend to get to you."

The Shy Dude : "My friend thinks you're hot."

The Straightforward Approach - "Hi, I like you. Wanna go out with me?"

There's too many. And I'm not knockin' em all - obviously some work, and have worked with me (since I haven't always been single). Some are cute, some are creepy - some are so strange, you've gotta question the guy's mental health.

What have you got? I wanna hear them.

Aaaaand.... go!

Monday, September 20, 2010

Come Outside And See It, But Pack Your Heart You Might Need It

Come with us now on a journey through time and space...

Or maybe just a recount of my Saturday in Toronto. Don't get bored yet, that'll happen shortly.

Picture it. A Saturday afternoon in Toronto. Two chicks with hours to spare before their concert. What do they do?

Well, we got Leah's nose pierced at Blackline. Random impulsive piercings are her forte.

Then we visited Marty at the Banknote, because beer and appetizers are the best way to prepare for a concert.

It's proven. I just proved it.

I met a cute buoy.

With too much time to spare, we sat by the lake at Ontario Place. I thought about jumping in, yet did not. Exciting, no?

My froghead brings all the boys to the yard.

Don't be that guy - The guy (or chick) that wears the tshirt of the band he's seeing. Don't ask why, but it bugs me.

So. The concert. Let's talk.

Deftones... blew me away. Chino (the lead singer) has somehow gotten BETTER since I saw them 11 years ago. So much energy. Such a good mix of songs, old and new. One of the best shows I've ever seen.

Amazing. I was a happy li'l Deftones Freak.

Don't mind the pic, my zoom doesn't work.

Now, onto Alice in Chains. I've been a fan forever. Grew up listening to their old stuff. I knew that seeing them with the new singer would be really strange, but that wasn't the weirdest part. They played so many new songs, which I figured they would, but I was so surprised to see that the crowd knew every word to the new stuff, and was clueless about the old songs.

That disappointed me. Good show, but I still wish I could transport back to the early 90's and see 'em with Layne. Watching someone else sing 'Nutshell' was just odd to me.

End rant.

After the show, we went to Kelly's birthday party full o' faux mustaches and fun-tastic wigs.

But don't worry...

I played along, too.

I have now posted the ugliest possible picture of myself that I ever could, complete with unibrow, a disappearing upper lip and wonky eyes. You, my friends, are welcome.

I'm tight with Keith Hernandez. Your jealousy fuels me.

Oh, Toronto. I miss you already. Long distance relationships are tough; let's figure out a way to be together. Now.

Friday, September 17, 2010

They Say Everybody Steals Somebody's Heart Away

Your shambled-type-rambler over here was stuck in bed all day yesterday. My brain and stomach decided to combat each other for my affections, and both lost. Which means I lost.

Now they're each having a time out.

Being sick in bed oddly reminded me of being in middle school. And today? Well, today I'm a bit better. Except that I vaguely resemble a reject from Night of the Living Dead.

I feel pretty. Oh, so pretty...

In other non-whiny news, tomorrow this chick and I shall be headed back to Toronto to partake in a concert of superhappyfuntime proportions.  

Deftones and Alice in Chains. 

Oh, really? Two of my favourite bands? Gosh, that's sure swell!

(I will try not to close my eyes and pretend that Layne Staley is alive and onstage. I said try.)

Expect some interesting pictures and video. But also don't expect it, because you know I rarely come through.

Can't help it. I often get too wrapped up in my favourite boyfriend that I forget about cameras and blogs. It's the rare occasion that my current life gets fun.

And yes - it IS slightly weird to consider a city (Toronto) my boyfriend, but so what? He's nice to me. 


Colder weather means bring on the leather.

And so I shall.

Happy weekending, ya hosers.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

There's Always A Better Point of View, A Better Way To Do The Things We Do

Hello children.

Do you like stories about crackheads, stripper names and cute dogs? Of course you do. It's storytime! (Be forewarned - it's a long one)

People often ask me how I got Daisy. They figure that because she's a blue-eyed, all-white (read: rare and freaky cute) Jack Russell, I must've gone somewhere fancy.

Well... no. Not so much.

Daisy is a rescue through Jack Russell Rescue. The ex (henceforth referred to as "C") and I decided we wanted a chick dog to be a playmate for Jack, our other JRT. C had rescued dogs from the organization before, so we went right back to it. He found her on the site, we were saddened by her story and kinda intrigued by her strange look, so we signed up for her. And the bizarre adventure began.

C spoke with the girl who was giving Daisy away, and we made plans to pick her up in downtown Hamilton. We went to the apartment building and called. No answer. Having no idea what unit they were in, our only way of getting a hold of the owners was to call. Over and over. And over. No answer.

We circled the apartment building for hours, trying to figure out where they were. We spent forever just trying to find a way in the building so we could get our new girl and go home. But something was not right. The place was sketchy, they knew we were coming, and yet - nothing.


Finally, a man went out to his balcony. We called up to him, and he let us in the building. After explaining why we were there, he told us that there was a guy on the floor above him who had a bunch of dogs that were always barking. He wished us "good luck", and up we went.

We figured out which apartment they were in by calling their number and listening closely for the ring. We heard it, and they ignored the phone call yet again.

When we knocked on the door, we were greeted by the sound of dogs going absolutely crazy and a man screaming at them. He yelled "Misty, shut the fuck up!" a few times, and we knew we had the right place. Daisy's name used to be Misty, 'til we got her and changed it. (My dog is not a stripper.)

A girl opened the door and we were swarmed by dogs. Six of them, if I remember correctly. One of them was a little white Jack who was so happy to see new people. Another was a tiny Jack Russell puppy, Daisy's last baby, who kept jumping on me sweetly although he had a maimed paw.

The place was awful. A tiny bachelor apartment with overflowing ashtrays everywhere and newspapers on the floor for the dogs to pee on. I can't describe the smell, it was so bad. It housed 5 or 6 dogs, one cat, and two adults in that small space.

The man hid in the kitchen because he hadn't put pants on. We explained who we were to the girl. She was nice enough, but you could tell she got herself caught in a bad situation. Her eyes were glazed; she sat on the bed like she couldn't move as the man kept screaming at us from the kitchen. Lovely words like "Where's my fuckin' money?" and "Who the fuck are you?", etc, etc.

This was a crackhouse. They bred dogs for drug money, that much was apparent. Daisy had been their babymaker until she couldn't do it anymore - she no longer served a purpose for them, and that's why they got rid of her.

The girl kissed Daisy goodbye and gave us the leash. I felt for her, but she knew she was letting Daisy go to a better situation.

With tears in our eyes and our new dog at our feet, C and I got out of there as quick as we could.

On the ride to Toronto, we were fighting tears and anger because we wanted to go back and take the rest of the dogs. We felt so bad. But we couldn't do anything.

C and I knew right away that Daisy (no longer Misty) would have some issues. She was skin and bones, undernourished, had no idea how to walk on a leash or interact with new dogs. She was a sweetheart, ready to cuddle at any moment, but very afraid of being punished. Broke my damn heart to know that she was treated badly. If an arm was raised around her, she'd bark or cower. We have reason to believe her former owner hit her quite a bit. The signs of abuse were obvious.

She was a big part of our family immediately. Looking at the pictures above, you can see how well she fit with us, and loved her new best friend Jack. She became a happy girl, and she's the best thing I've ever known.

This is my girl now. Healthy, happy, fixed and very far away from her old life.

She is very loved, even by those that aren't around.

Moral of the story?

My bitch is the shit. And crack? Well, crack is whack.

The end. (You won't find a happier ending than this one.)

Monday, September 13, 2010

Anyone Who's Ever Had A Heart Wouldn't Turn Around And Break It, & Anyone Who's Ever Had A Part Wouldn't Turn Around And Hate It

Someone recently told me that my blog should be a place where I confess things. I don't necessarily agree, but what the hell. Let's give 'er a go.

Bless me blog-readers, for I have sinned. It's been 27 years since my last confession, and - waitasec. That's the wrong type of confession.

Warm it up, Kris!

Instead, here are slightly embarrassing ones.

- I rap to myself a lot. Yup. Rap. I make up lyrics as I go. What's that... freestyling? No one in the world will ever hear proof of this, but I'm actually pretty good for someone who doesn't listen to rap. I'm a kickass rhymer. Don't mock me.

- I imagine specific conversations with people, usually scenes of me confronting someone who I'm pissed at or feel general hatred toward. Sometimes these conversations keep repeating over and over in my head. Funnily enough, I actually ended up sort of confronting someone once and, completely unexpectedly, said pretty much the exact words I imagined myself saying. It was almost as if I practiced a script. Come think of it, a few more four letter words would've made it better. And maybe a kick to the shins.

- I hate talking on the phone, unless you're my boyfriend. Is that weird? Yeah. Probably.

- I've always wanted to be on TV, but never did anything about it. And no, YouTube videos don't count.

- This isn't a confession, since I've said it before. But still. I want people to follow me around, saying "Warm it up, Kris!"

Yes, I am a loser... but let's blame this song. (It's the only song that even remotely has my name in it, so it's my only option. Gosh golly gee, thanks Kris Kross!)

"Wrap it up, Kris!"

I'm about to. Bye.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Look At All My Trials & Tribulations, Sinking In a Gentle Pool Of Wine

Next Saturday, I'll be heading back to Toronto for the Deftones/Alice in Chains/ Mastodon show. I'm excited to see the Deftones again; it's been over ten years since I've seen them.

Because of that, I was recently reminiscing about when I was 17. A decade has gone by since then? Holy crap.

Even crazier, I realized that I started dating my first serious, long-term boyfriend at 17 (when that thought popped into my head, I immediately got online and reminded him of how friggin' old we are. It feels like 5 years since we dated. He probably doesn't agree.)

When I was 17, if you had asked me where I'd be in ten years, my answer probably would have been (with a shake of my blonde hair and a flip of my Catholic school kilt):

"I'll be a successful author with a rock-solid deal for more novels; newly married, hoping for two kids; playing guitar and singing with my band on weekends; TV show in the works; living by the lake in St. Catharines with a big backyard and a swing. For me."


Sorry, teenage Kris. Things changed.

I wonder if that kilt still fits.

The ten years after 17 twisted and turned in ways I never expected - great ways, nasty ways, irreplaceable ways. A lot of it has been quite a ride.

Some of those old predictions may still happen. Some won't, because I no longer wish for 'em.

Maybe when I'm 37, I'll look back on my 27 year-old self and laugh. Just a little.

Where did your decade younger self think you'd be now? And where will you be ten years from today?

Thursday, September 9, 2010

You're Staring At Me Like I Need To Be Saved

It's another vlog day. Shazam!

In these 8 minutes of non-HD video randomness, we discuss solar-powered vibrators, using tweezers to kill small animals, the positive use of big t-shirts, and the sounds of a garden... uh... Soundgarden. Yeah, my garden doesn't sound like Chris Cornell. Doesn't look like him either.

But I digress.

Here's the vid.

Please note - the last minute and a half has some wonky dubbing. So, to make it tolerable, let's pretend it's a Kung Fu movie and THAT'S why my lips aren't moving along with the audio. My karate is stronger than your karate.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

All Alone In A House That We Were Living, All That Love Just Walked Out The Door

The Tuesday after Labour Day weekend is always a weird one. Some people head back to work, some head back to school... there's usually a feeling of new beginnings associated with today.

Well, maybe not for me. It's just another day of writing, job hunting, and adding yet another post to Ye Olde Blog.

In the spirit of schoolin', I'm going to answer some questions - we'll call them "word problems". And today, boys and girls, we're going to learn about men's shirts, songs to cry to, and the joys of swearing via some Formspring questions.


My fiance dumped me and I found out he was sleeping with someone right away. Can you reccommend (sic) good songs that I can cry or scream to?

Lovely. Aren't some men (and women) just wonderful? Sorry to hear it. I'll get on board with the platitudes and tell ya that, whoever you are, you deserve better. Everyone does. That's painful and reeks of disrespect and bullshit, so after you've done the crying and screaming? Forget him. Trust me. Real, live good dudes do exist.

Now, onto songs... I could have a long list for you, but let's stick to basics. I'm leaving out my usual metal tunes for once, and sticking to some therapeutic swearing.

Get emotional to this song:

Say "Fuck you" over and over with this one:

This one went viral on la web recently. But damn is it ever catchy. Feel a bit better with it:

Be strong, chick.

What makes you feel sexy?

Usually I'd say being with someone who helps me feel that way. But that's a long damn time ago, save for guys I know who regularly say sweet things. But honestly? Mens shirts. Is that weird? Lingerie is great and all, hell so is being naked, but I feel most sexy in a mans shirt. Just a shirt, nuthin' else, not made up or anything. I don't know what it is about it - but I like it.

That said, a man in one of my shirts? Not so hot. And I have pictures to prove it.

And with that, I bid y'all adieu.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Guess All I've Got To Say About Karma's True, Cuz All I've Got Left Is A Black Balloon

Well, it's Saturday. First Saturday of September, in fact (yeah, yeah I can hear the collective groans from the summer-lovers). The wind outside is one cool sonofabitch, and y'know what it's tellin' me? It's sayin' "Hey... Kris... don't bother blogging about a dumb in-depth subject, just throw some random updates out there and go have a beer on the porch swing."

With that kinda logic, who am I to disagree? And so... today's random updates:

- Last night I had a dream that Alexander Skarsgard (Eric Northman on True Blood) was my hot new boyfriend. I don't usually go for blonde guys, but I think it's his general "badassedness" that I dig. Sad to wake up and realize my leather-clad, 1,000 year-old boyfriend wasn't real. He was really sweet, oddly enough. Well, y'know... in the dream. (Yes, I'm suddenly 13.)

- The job hunt continues... I've made some wonderful contacts, especially for future opportunities, but I haven't yet found the great gig that will bring me back to Toronto to begin the new life I've been anxiously waiting to kickstart. I haven't lost hope - it's coming. Stay tuned.

- I'm starting a new review website with my buddy, Smack. We're looking for real reviews on pretty much everything and anything. If you wanna write a review about something, or want us to review it for you, email me:

- I've recently finished a book called What Happy People Know by Dan Baker, at the request of my counsellor. Between that, and counselling itself, a lot of things have been put into better perspective for me ( read this post from my other blog to see what I mean). The depression and anxiety attacks are still there, probably always will be, but my focus has changed. Things are getting better, if only because of how I view everything. This chick is stronger than she used to be. Bout time.

And on that happy(?) note, I wish you all a fun-tastic Labour Day weekend 'n junk.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

You're Burning Out, You're Black & Grey. Something I Would Never Say.

I really like looking at my stats sometimes and seeing what search phrases people used to get to my page. For the most part, they just search Shambled Ramblings, or my name, or random song lyrics (cuz, in case ya didn't know, the majority of my post titles are lyrics.)

But sometimes there's some downright weird or funny ones. I like to try and figure out which post these searches could possibly be linked to. And I kinda wanna talk to this people. Won't ya join me?

People searched:

Screwed on the beach -Ya lost me with this one. So I searched it on my blog and it came up with this post. Beach, yes. Screw, no.

Hot girl gets boys - Makes sense, right? Don't know how that got you here.

Hot Toronto Kristen - Yes, it's quite warm in Toronto right now I hear...

Manson Claus - Damn right, Manson Claus!

Silicone Boob Tube - I honestly get this one a LOT. Daily. Just cuz I named a post stupidly.

Prank Calls "I'm Daisy" - Why would you call someone, pretending to be my dog? Not nice.

How to spell "belated" - You'd be surprised how often people search this to get here. This post's fault.

"It's not about love"- Then what's it about? Beer?

"I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen"-  Sigh. Lloyd Dobler, why don't you exist?

"How to say I'm sad that you're leaving" formally - Like this: "Hey. I'm sad you're leaving. No, really."

weird things that happen at the chimo hotel ottawa - I have no words. I dunno what that is, or how it got you to my blog. But please.... enjoy your stay.

claustrophobia at onoir - Ah yes. My claustrophobic dinner fun.

what the effing crap that angel guy just felt me up - I get this a lot too. The video still makes me laugh too much.

how to win a girl back - I dunno, stop being an asshole? Call her and apologize?

hammy sink - Hell ya. Weird Al + Ozzy Osbourne.

fried brain from alcohol - Did you Google this to see what it looks like? An egg, friend. An egg.

We're routin' for ya - Well thanks, I could use the support. You can be my bra. My Life Bra.

toronto news parkdale stabbing on july 9 2010 - Don't worry dudes, it wasn't your ol' pal Kris!

Neon hats - People search "Neon Hats" a lot. Probably NOT looking for this.

"toronto island" red ant- I know those ants well, from my only trip EVER to the Island. We had fun.

betty had bigger breasts than veronica - Depends on the days, actually. Its cool, cuz I've been both.

goetz female stand up comedy - Me? Stand-up comedy? I don't even like standing up, nevermind comedy.

cereals made in mexico - Krisperanto!

sebastian bach leather - Well, yeah. I've got him here at the Patch Cup... here with an impersonator, and here with his wisdom in a McDonalds. I love me some Sebastian.

FEMALE PEEING - Oh no! Female peeing! Females DO that?

My husband is cheating on me and he hides text messages that they send to one another, I cant believe my husband is cheating what do I do? - I don't know how this search got you here, but I'm very, very sorry. And whoever you are, you deserve better than that kinda bullshit.

"fetch me my longsword, ho" - I say that a lot. I said it at Halloween.

NICE BOOBS - Where?!

not my chair not my problem - People search this a lot to get here. It's cuz they wanna watch this and laugh, like the awesome people they surely must be.

boys sexy weners - Can't say I've ever blogged about "weners". Not even sexy ones.

"Behavioral condition of attraction often resulting in constant obsessive behavior, and general emotional euphoria" - That's from when C made up a word to describe our "state", years ago. Why did you search that? How?

emotionectomy - I'll take two, thanks!

Keep 'em coming, searchers! I require entertainment.

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