Thursday, January 27, 2011

Let Me See You Save A Soul That Is Impaired

This one's for the blondes.

In 2007, when I looked a little something like this:


I was at my usual bar with my usual friends on a usual Wasted Wednesday.

We were outside smoking like evil people do, and watched a guy climb the back fence and jump onto the patio. Whether he was underage, or didn't want to pay the couple bucks to get inside, I can't be sure. Pretty certain he just thought he was cool and wanted to make a show of it.

A bit later, I saw him talking to a guy I kinda knew. I went over and made some (surely witty and intelligent) comment about his fence-scaling skills. But before I could finish my sentence, he put a hand up to stop me.

"I don't talk to blondes."

This confused me - and no, not in a blonde way.

"What the shit?" I said back.

"I don't talk to blondes, not even pretty ones. Blondes don't deserve my time." And he turned away.

This weird little bug-looking creature had the nerve to think he was better than people with a certain hair colour? I could only assume that he had been rejected by many a blonde in his past, and his fragile (yet obviously inflated) ego just couldn't handle any more. And all blondes were stricken from this poor jerk's life.

So this morning, as I suddenly remembered this guy, I found myself wondering... What if I saw him again? Because now I look something like this:


No blonde. Just dark hair and a mouthful of nasty words for anyone that pisses me off.

I would kinda get a kick out of starting up a conversation with him, luring the idiot in with a few strategically placed eyelash-bats, fake laughs and complimentary words, and then a slight kapow to his cocky brain: 

"Sorry. I don't talk to assholes with Napoleon complexes. My formerly blonde hair is frightened by the shortness of your legs." And in a perfect world, I could punch him in the bug-face and walk back to my blonde friends, where my beer would surely be waiting.

A chick can dream.



Tuesday, January 25, 2011

No Fight Left Or So It Seems, I Am A Man Whose Dreams Have All Deserted

For one reason or another, a lot of people come to me for advice.

Is it because I'm awesome and my twisted grey matter holds all the answers to absolutely everything?
Probably.

Am I silly enough to give decent advice, yet rarely take my own because that would make too much sense?
Uh. Yep.

Dontcha wanna take my advice?

When I had my advice column, I really enjoyed writing it. It was fun, and people seemed to dig it. I'd love to start up another one - any takers, Big Publication Folks? Huh?

As it happens, because of all the fun (read: shitty) things that have gone on in the past year, lots of advice has suddenly come my way. Tables turned.

It's amazing what some people will tell you.

Some of it was well-intentioned, some was complete selfish bullshit that serviced others - not me.

Some of it I took. Some I should've, but didn't. Everything is a roll of the dice, and sometimes I like to fight common sense. We all do. Don't lie, you do it too. I saw you.


The beer heart tells your future. You will find love. In a pint glass.

So, in an ode to advice, whether sought or not, here are a few words that have come to me or caught my eye as of late. You should heed it all, because I command you to:

"Keep your true friends, and ditch the dipshits that leech the life outta you." - The Wise Masuka
  
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye.” - Miss Piggy (via Leah)

"You're fucking amazing, remember that at all times of the day. Repeat it over and over, believe it." - Secret Awesome Person
 
"Don't eat yellow snow. Don't pretend to be someone you're not in order to impress somebody. Eat your vegetables, but don't bother with carrots because they're made of evil. It's ok that you watch Jersey Shore, but people will judge you. When you feel sad or alone, pretend that I'm singing Kate Bush's parts of "Don't Give Up" - you can be Peter Gabriel. Some people suck, some things will hurt you, and sometimes you won't want to wake up in the morning... but if you don't, you'll never get to read this and know that you kick ass. You kick ass, by the way. And Big Macs make life better." 
- She Who Warms It Up.


Now let's go hug it out in front of a giant moon.




Saturday, January 22, 2011

You Love Bands When They're Playin' Hard, You Want More & You Want It Fast

I am too busy to post actual content.  These things, they happen.

Instead, I give you an example of the kind of meaningless conversations that occur after being in front of my computer for far too damn long.

Me & Leah - we were weird when we were little, too. Please note my awesome tights.

Kris - So...I'll be moving soon.
You can come visit.

Leah - good! then I can come visit! lol
hahaha great minds

Kris - and we can have brunch
we like brunch.

Leah - mmm...rhino

Kris - and i will try eggs benny for once in my life
such a rebel i am.
rebel, rebel. bowie-like rebel.

Leah - so badass

Kris - you can't handle my badassedness
i might even get ICE in my water that i drink with it
ice is the devil's frozen treat

Leah - mmm....cold & evil

Kris - like men. evil ones.
ima buy a tv today i think

Leah - tvs are good for watchin stuff
when are you doing that?

Kris - at tv o'clock.
i dont know.
when i have a free moment
so... never.
ill just watch the wall as i type furiously upon my keyboard of doom.
HUZZAH!

Leah - i was gonna see if you wanted to come over tonight...keep me company while i paint furniture awesomely

Kris - drunk company while you paint drunk furniture?
i dunno dude, im working.
all hours of your life.
do you ever get pains from your elbow that shoot up to your hair when you rest your elbow on a table?

Leah - haha. you are a million places at once.
yes, if you want to drink & paint that is acceptable.
only if you have time, of course. Otherwise, I can do it me-selfs.

Kris - i said hair
and i meant hand
pains shouldnt shoot up to your hair. no.
or should they?

Leah - maybe once or twice.
not three times.

Kris - it's been at least ten million.
ouch.


Tuesday, January 18, 2011

I Need To Be Redeemed To The One I've Sinned Against, Because He's All I Ever Knew Of Love

The interweb and I have decided to see other people lately.

I went most of the weekend without being anywhere near a computer, and I think it was much-needed. Now I find myself less dialed in at all times of the day... what a stifling relationship we had. We're much healthier this way.

Neil & I - somehow looking like different people. A magic trick.

So - It's no big secret that I'm a huge spaz. (I refer you to the Elaine Dance incident, and oh -  spraining my ankle at the WreckRoom).

Well, I was almost proud of myself on Saturday night. I had been dancing and bouncing around for hours on mangled, slanted heels without falling once. But when it was time to leave and I got to the snowy, icy sidewalk, I stupidly turned around quickly and fell. Hard. Concrete. Ouch.

Knees, elbows, chest, arms = bumps and bruises.


How attractive. Blues and purples.

At least I'm consistent. Reliable. That's me.

On another random and unrelated topic (See? Consistent!), tomorrow will be my one year Single-versary.

That's right. My first ever entire year of being single. A lot of people, myself included, wouldn't have been surprised if I had jumped into the first relationship that came my way. I usually would; I often did. But not this time. I mostly ducked and weaved and ran away (from some really great guys, no less), to sort of prove to myself that I'm fully capable of being an awesometastic single chick.

But instead of making myself a tasty cake with a big number 1 on it to celebrate my newfound ability to handle that "one is the loneliest number", I'm acknowledging it with this blog post.

And, hell.... let's be honest. I'll likely find myself in a relationship after my first week back in Toronto. So that's why I haven't moved yet....right.

The year's up - It's over! Let's do this.

Please join me in dancing around to Kris' Life Theme Song to Karaoke Forever & Ever Amen (or - KLTSTKFAEA, as it is known in many circles.):

Friday, January 14, 2011

Hide From These Days We Remained All Alone

Hermit The Blog-ger, here.

I just realized how little I've left the house since ringin' in the new year. I've been sick for the past week and a bit, going pretty damn stir crazy. Random meds and Kleenex were my only friends.

Today, luckily, I can breathe again. For now.


So since this recently Sick Chick needs to get the hell outta the house, I'm off to Toronto tomorrow. Throwin' on some dancing shoes (or, in my case, boots that died long ago), hooking up with some of my favourite people, and celebrating the birth of one such person - who will be DJing and playing a few of my most-loved bands, no less.

If you want in on this fun-tastic action, drop me a line.

I look forward to putting on clothes, brushing my hair and walking among the living again. Hopefully I remember how to speak to people. My conversations lately have mostly been with Daisy, and trust me - you don't even want to know the idiotic way I speak to her. (Yes you do.)

Bring on the supermegahappyfuntimes!

If you're not joining up with me (and if so, wtf is wrong with you?), whatcha up to this weekend boys & girls?






Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Operatic By Voice, A Fanatic By Choice

With a new season of Californication starting up again, I'm reminded of a slight affliction that some men seem to have caught since the show began.

I call it the Hank Moody Syndrome. HMS for short, cuz that's how I roll.

For those who have never watched Californication, allow me to explain (and for those who are avid viewers like myself, just hold tight).


Wiki-wiki-pedia says: Moody is an erratic but esteemed writer who frequently becomes embroiled in bizarre and in some cases scandalous situations. To put it simply? He's a charming, somehow loveable writer who screws a lot of random women and is really good at getting into crazy shit. All the while, his daughter and on-again off-again, on-again off-again girly, the "love of his life" as it were, get caught in his shenanigans and are effed up by 'em. (See Mom? I said "effed". I'm growed up.)

So, back to HMS - Hank Moody Syndrome.

More than a few guys have told me that they see themselves as real life Hank Moodys. Deep, misunderstood, judged harshly, yet with a heart of gold somewhere under that arrogant & self-obsessed persona.

I call bullshit.

For some (not all) guys that consider themselves just like ol' Hanky -  it's their excuse for being an asshole, wannabe slut, or user. It's also pretty indicative of a crapload of conceit.

Think about it, boys 'n girls.

Comparing yourself to a fictional TV character who is known for getting any and every chick he meets into bed, using his charm and looks to get out of the trouble he causes, and playing the role of "intelligent badass with feelings"? Your ego is making you delusional (save for a few. I stress that again).

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm just misunderstood. I'm like Hank Moody."

'Scuse me mister, your HMS is showing.

So guys, take my advice - don't tell girls you're interested in that you're like Hank Moody. Because while we may love the guy on TV, we don't want a real-life one who will inevitably mess us up. You may just as well call yourself a different fictional character, and leave it at that:


Giggity giggity... giggity goo.



Saturday, January 8, 2011

Though It's Cold & Lonely In The Deep Dark Night, I Can See Paradise By The Dashboard Light

Tra la la, it's Saturday.

My throat hurts like hell, my glands are swollen, and I'm throwing the blame in the direction of everyone I spent New Year's Eve with. Darn you all, with your pretty mouths and germy, germy ways.

That said, I don't much feel like thinking (what a new development, I know), so it's time for the usual fallback. Formspring questions and grainy phone pics. Huzzah! What luck! Such an exciting treat for you!


Want to be my best friend?

Nope. Unless you have Cheetos and cream soda. Then I'll think about it.

I would do anything for love, but I won't do that. What is "that"? Is it a backdoor burglar situation?

For once, a non-anonymous question! This one comes from the very awesome Dave Peris.

Truthfully, Dave... I believe Meatloaf was expressing his distaste for people who make fools of themselves for the ones they love, and so this song is about how he flat-out refuses to karaoke Paradise By The Dashboard Light in order to entertain common folk and their monkey-like friends. He is above us, you know. He is a Bat Out of Hell, and Rocky Horror elite. We are but mere mortals, willing to do anything for love. Including "that".



Do you ever do any modeling? What photographer do you use for your photoshoots?

These were each their own entry; separate questions. But I assume they're from the same person.

I've done some on-screen "hosting", but that's different. Never modelled, though I've been randomly asked. I'm chickenshit and don't know that I'd be any good. They tend to frown upon the kinda wonky faces I'm really good at. It's a gift.

As for photographers - I've never had a photoshoot, and I've never had pro photos taken. I have a few very talented photographer friends that I'm supposed to have shoots with, but not until I'm back in the city. Perhaps they can teach me how to not suck at photo-faces. 



I feel like my boyfriend is pulling away. How do I get him to love me more and make us better?

You don't. You can't make someone love you. By "making" someone, that implies that you have to pretend to be someone you're not in order to keep him interested. That's no fun. Acting is exhausting, and you're not even getting paid to do it. Screw that!

Ask him what's up, try to figure it out. Relationships take a crazy amount of work from both sides, and if one side isn't willing to do that work... well, y'know. Do what you need to to keep yourself happy.

Oh - and if you really wanna know how much he loves you? Ask him to sing Paradise By The Dashboard Light at karaoke. Using the Meatloaf Scale of Love, that should answer all your questions.



Thursday, January 6, 2011

Sing Me To Sleep

Heart pounding, and stomach sick.
Mind racing, hands sweating.
An explosion of tears threatening; waiting at the brink.
Spilled over.
Choking back each breath.
Anxiety. Loss of stability.
Shock and fear.
A breakdown.

That's how it feels. As minimally as it can be explained.

The simplest emotions can have the greatest effect, only to tear down the brave walls we build for ourselves. I'm human. I exist and feel, and it's those very feelings that bring me to my knees and make me weak. It's senseless, but very real. We affect each other. You affect me.

The moment passes.
Composure regained, if only briefly.
Until the next trigger suddenly appears to break the foundation again.

The cycle continues for me, but it won't always. It's a learning process through the years.

Have you stopped yours? Is it the same for you?


Tuesday, January 4, 2011

She's A Witch Of Trouble In Electric Blue, In Her Own Mad Mind She's In Love With You

I'm gettin' a bit serious on ya today, folks. I got this email, and a few others like it, so I figured it was best to respond publicly to give tips to those who may be too shy to ask.

Hey Kris!

I feel silly e-mailing you like this, but I read your blog every day and have always really appreciated your honesty. You write about your Depression and are very open about it which is really refreshing to me since I suffer from it also. I was wondering if you had ways of dealing with the bad days, or if you turned to medication (if that's too personal, I apologize). I just wonder if there are helpful tricks I was not yet aware of.

I love your writing, take care.



Thanks for emailing me, I'm keeping the name anonymous as promised.

So, three cheers for the bitch that is depression!

To answer your question, no - I don't use any medication. I've been told to, but I worry about side effects and changes in personality. Some like it, some don't. It may work for you. (Hell, it may work for me but I'm chickenshit. Depressed chickenshit, no less).

When I was seeing my counselor, she said that four ways to help depression were: laughter, sex, creativity and exercise.

In that case, you should run to a comedian's house, sleep with him, then write a poem about it. Shazam! Four at once! All better. Right?

Well no, probably not. Those things can help (one of the four could also make things worse...), but they aren't sure-fire fixes. And I'm no expert, but this is what I do:

- Take Vitamin D. Research it a bit, then take the dose you think is best. Maybe I'm crazy (ahem), but I actually notice when I don't take any. I feel different.

- If you inexplicably feel the need to cry, just friggin' do it. Bawl your eyes out. Punch stuff. Talk to yourself, whatever. Holding things in won't help you. Learn from Wayne's World - "If you're gonna spew, spew into this".



- Get outside. When I feel trapped in my own head and negativity gets to be too much, I leash Daisy up and head out. Exercise in any way can help clear your head. Sometimes it makes me angrier because I hate working out, but that's a different story.

- Write. Start a diary, throw all your thoughts into it. Or write whatever you feel, however you feel it. I have about 4 diaries on my computer, and I look back at them sometimes and think "Wow. That was pretty damn bad. How did I get through it?" It can help.

- ...along those same lines, try to rid yourself of the people who make you feel like shit. You know the ones I mean. Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's easy. But anyone who constantly brings you down or hurts you isn't worth your time and will only serve to make you feel worse. Take this one seriously. Some people suck, c'est la vie.

- Be awesome. Go out. Dance naked. Throw stuff at other stuff. Be weird. Hit on that guy (or girl) you think is way out of your league. Rip up papers. Purge your closet. Hug a puppy. Shave your head. Skip down the street singing "My Sharona" in Spanish. Learn "My Sharona" in Spanish.

Live life, even if it really really sucks sometimes. When you hate everything and wish you didn't exist, force yourself to get up and do something; be something. Cuz holy hell... you're so much better than the shit you're feeling.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go figure out how to take my own damn advice. Bah!


Sunday, January 2, 2011

Was A Time When I Wasn't Sure, But You Set My Mind At Ease


Another NYE over. Midnight kisses and wishes are done, champagne's all gone, dresses and heels picked up off the floor.

Oh, hello 2011. Can I ya 'Leven? Too bad, 'Leven.


These pictures are so last year.

Sadly, that joke is already old. Oh well. I am not a monkey, here for your entertainment. Am I?


 Speaking of monkeys, here is a warning for you all.

When you spend all night drinking Rodeo Clowns (rye & red bull), and you get so beyond drunk that your coherent sentences have gone by the wayside and all you can do is give the finger to everyone who walks by, I will make an example of you.

In this case, I got out the lipstick and eyeliner, and "clowned" this Rodeo Clown up real nice.

Kyle - you've been blogged.


A couple days into the new year, and I'm still keeping pretty positive about it.

I should probably mark that down on my calendar, cuz it's surely a record.


I've already put some changes into effect.

Whether good or bad, they've brought my anxiety levels down and given me a chance to re-think what I want. I'm putting plans into action, and am allowing myself to get excited about them.

This next month will have quite a few ch-ch-ch-changes. And I'll do everything in my She-Ra-like power to make 'em awestometastic.


Welcome to the jungle that is 2011. We got fun 'n games.

Axl said so. And he wouldn't lie.


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