Sunday, February 27, 2011

And Balanced On The Biggest Wave, You Race Toward An Early Grave

Behold! My guide to going to shows where you don't know much about the bands you're seeing:


1. Go with fans of said bands, because their excitement and fan-icity will be contagious. Also pick people who allow you to bite them in photos, and hope that they have the ability to steal weaponry from Darth Vader's Sith-y security. Don't ask, just trust me.



2. Take one normal photo, if for no other reason than to prove that you're capable of it.



3. Use the force, Luke. Maybe I made out with Darth Vader, maybe I didn't. Maybe his light sabre is bigger than it looks in the movies. ...maybe it isn't.



4. Smile. God loves you. Y'know, if God is that guy who hangs out at the corner, yelling about the impending apocalypse and telling you that you're beautiful before he asks you for change and spits in his hand. Cuz that guy's totally sweet on you.



5. Eat before the show. Because if you get hungry during, I won't always allow you to use me as a snack (But buy me a beer, and we'll talk about it...)


6. When you see someone wearing an article of clothing that you just happen to have made up a word for - give 'em credit. In this case? He's wearing a Dandy Mandigan. A cardigan for a man that just happens to be dandy. Dandy Mandigan.


7. When you inevitably make friends with every single person you see, it is always a good idea to remember people's names by associating songs with them. If no song exists, make it up. In this case? Meet Jeremy. He spoke in class today. Eddie Vedder said so.


8. Use your friend to practice punching so you're fully prepared when the gropers come along. The gropers will always come along. But you'll be ready - and if punching doesn't work, a swift kick to the groin is always effective.


9. Make this face and scream a lot. That way all those crazy young folks around you will just assume that you belong. Your awesomeness will radiate with this face... that, or people will be frightened and stop groping you. Win win.



10. Everyone will likely end up talking to you. Be nice to them, they have feelings too. Except Darth Vader. He's an emotionless asshat. But that's another story....

Enjoy the show, whoever the crap they are.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

This Town Don't Feel Mine, I'm Fast To Get Away

I suppose, for the sake of this story, that it all started with our Friendly Neighbourhood Pervert, Masuka.

A couple of posts ago, I asked for that button that magically made everything easy.

So yesterday, he sent me this picture:


After that, a tall dark stranger (henceforth known in this post as Mr. TDS) made me go look at an apartment that I wasn't going to look at. It was a bit further west than I had planned on living, and we all know that I am a stubborn mule-bitch. A picky, picky (yet equally awesome) stubborn mule-bitch.

But Mr. TDS convinced and pretty much dragged me there.

Alas, alack, and long damn story short - as of March 5th, Toronto will once again be Kris-tastic. After almost a year of hiding out in Niagara, it's time to get back up to Crazytown and be one with the crazies.

If you're happy about this news, you can thank Masuka and Mr. TDS. Masuka sent me this email today:

"I take full credit for you getting your apartment cuz i pressed the easy button."

Touche.

But Mr. TDS takes credit for finding the apartment, making me go see it, and convincing me that I'd be stupid not to take it.

So merci, boys. Merci. Now which of you are going to take credit for helping me move that day?


Here we go again...

You ready for me, Trawnna?

Not bloody likely.



Tuesday, February 22, 2011

My Fingers Wrap Around Your Words & Take The Shape Of Games We Play

They say that no matter who you are are (yeah, even you), there will always be someone
smarter
richer
better-looking
more successful
more liked
etc...
than you are. Always.

I'm perfectly fine knowing that.


But I also know that nobody, not even someone with all the traits that I don't possess, will ever be more me than me. It's something I'm pretty damn good at. My triumphs and fuck-ups are mine and mine alone. So are my quirks, abilities and infinite flaws.

So maybe that one guy is better at origami than I am. He can fold you a paper swan in his sleep. One-handed.

But that's cool - I applaud Foldy-Man! Because I've got secret magical skills that he doesn't have. I'm like a unicorn. Or Alf, if Alf was magical.

And maybe that one chick's milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. But what about the lactose intolerant ones? Doesn't anybody think of them?

I do. And that's why my draft beer brings all the boys to the bar.

It's all about balance.

So, ya see... my point is that we all kick ass, even if others are better at ass-kicking than we are. You're a Mathlete, I'm a Word Nazi. Let's high five and do lunch (but you're buying, cuz you're richer and more successful than me).

Kumbaya, my friends.

Oh - I forgot to mention one more skill I'm kinda proud of - I'm a little bit psychic. And that is how I know that you will be finished reading this blog post right after this word.




Saturday, February 19, 2011

Everybody Wants Me To Be What They Want Me To Be

A Shambled Public Service Announcement:

If you are renting out an apartment,
but having trouble finding someone who wants it,
make an appointment with me.

Chances are, someone will come by right before I do
- and they will take the place as soon as they see it.

But please, when you write the email letting me know that the apartment is gone?
I'd appreciate it if you held back from typing:
"It's been rented! G'luck finding a home, sucka!"
Cuz I'll cry.




In other news no one needs to hear about, my stress levels are off the charts in all aspects of everything. When things lack stability, I feel a little (read: lot) lost.

So, I've been searching and searching for that big damn red "Easy" button, but that's about as impossible as finding a place to live.

Commercials lie, folks. I'm sorry.

Other than that slutty chick from highschool and maybe all of your exes, nothing is easy.



Luckily, Mike Patton makes it look good.


Tuesday, February 15, 2011

In A White Sea Of Eyes, I See One Pair That I Recognize

I got a message from a reader asking me to "spill my Valentines Day shenanigans".

Sorry to fail you all, but... there were no shenanigans to be had. On purpose.

I decided to decline every offer. All dinner dates, all "hangouts", movie dates, and even beers with friends.

Instead, I spent it with the very best Valentine a chick could ask for.


Daisy.

I didn't have to buy her presents.

I didn't have to dress up (or get dressed at all, for that matter).

I didn't have to do much of anything, and she still cuddled with me.

I watched a movie, had a beer and ate fatty snacks - no judgment from my Valentine.

I'm a traditional girly sometimes...and I always spend Valentines Day with the one I love most. So I did.


Just so happens that this year that "person" was four-legged, very cute, gave a lot of kisses and spent most of the night passed out in my bed.
 
Yeah. Not so different from most of my past boy Valentines. Guess I have a type!

There you have it. While you were all out on hot dates and dressed to the nines, or having "Anti-Valentines" drinkfests with friends - I was at home with my dog and perfectly content.

Wanna fight about it?

So Happy Discount-Chocolate-Day-After-Vday, hosers. I love you all.

(Except for that one guy, but c'mon... nobody can love that guy.)

Hugs 'n ass slaps,

The Not Totally Bitter Single Chick


Saturday, February 12, 2011

Choke Me In The Shallow Water


I used to be terrified of dogs when I was young. Couldn't be in the same house or walk on the same street as one.
Then I owned two and love them more than anything.

I used to be blonde because I thought that attractiveness was surely related to the lightness of one's hair.
Then I went dark and stopped caring what others may prefer.

I used be scared of the idea of living alone. It was never my plan, and it wasn't something I ever wanted.
Then things changed, and now I crave it and can't wait to have a space that is my own.



I used to have everything planned out - my entire life was on a timeline, and every milestone was scheduled by my own (and others') expectations.
Then I took a detour years ago, and now I have no idea what'll happen next. It's a clean slate that I'm excited for.

I used to be afraid to be myself, and I often withdrew and allowed others to control situations. I thought I had no right to take charge or be proud of my quirks and personality.
Then I realized that I was wrong. I am who I am, and I'll let everyone know it. There's no one I need to impress or cater to.

I used to fear everything.
Now? I'm slowly learning to welcome change and turn the fear into curiosity, a challenge to overcome before moving onto the next.



A person is made up of so many different sides. Constantly evolving and becoming who we truly are, regardless of circumstance and sources we can't control.

I'm not who I was before.

I'm so much better.

David Bowie predicted it, and he is never wrong.



Wednesday, February 9, 2011

An Extra Feeling Inside Her Soul Makes Her Cry


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

Ok, not really.

But I spent the last couple of days in Toronto and got snap-happy in my hotel room. I figured it was a good way to prove that I do more than drink beer and swear at hooligans as they drive by on their new-fangled transportation machines.



For example, look at how domesticated I am.

That's an iron. And pants. To be ironed.

Am I good at it? Shit no. But it only took me about 15 hours to make the pants and shirt wearable.

Check yo'self, Martha Stewart. Once I learn how to make a bundt cake using flour, a blowtorch and some Elmers glue, you're out of a job.



Please note that the hotel room work station did not face the TV.

That's great for productivity and all, but how was I supposed to find out if Billy was sleeping with his sister's best friend who was actually his half-sister who came back from the dead - twice?

I'll never know.


Luckily the work was finished in time for some Southpark-watchin' from a bed that could fit about 10 of me.

Not that I counted.

...but yeah, I counted. 10. 10 Kris', ah ah ah!



Always take time to sing in your shower head, even if you are not presently taking a shower.



Then when I did take a shower, I could creepily look into the bedroom through the shower's window-wall. 

Useful for a horror movie. Glad I didn't realize it at the time.


 My new job title is Professional Disgruntled-Looking Seat Tester.



Hunger kicked my ass, so I dragged my slothy self into the cold streets and stopped at Grindhouse Burger Bar.

My food decisions are always good - those were honestly the best onion rings I've ever had. Ever. And as a Fatty-Gross-Greasy Food Connoisseur, I've had many.



The burger.

So big I named it Porky (no I didn't).



Food coma. Thank god for the bed.

After work the next day, I met Masuka over at CBC for a bit. I like interrupting people at their places of employment.



This is the tree from Mr. Dressup.

I tried to climb up so I could visit Casey & Finnegan, but they didn't seem to be home.


The Tickle Trunk.

I kinda wanted to steal it and bring it home, but didn't want to get Masuka in trouble. I'm nice like that.

Then off to the train station I went, to wait a couple of hours for a train that would cart my ass home to Niagara.

Le fin.



Sunday, February 6, 2011

First It Giveth, Then It Taketh Away

Attention Kmart shoppers...

Through emails and other messages of the interweb-delivered variety, some of you have been asking where my next video blog is hiding. Well, I'll tell you. It's so well-hidden that it pretty much doesn't exist.

Yeah, that's my way of saying I haven't had the time.

And so, in lieu of freshly edited clips of my ramblings and perverted tidbits from our dear Masuka, I'm throwing a couple of old videos up on ye olde blog to appease those who are tired of reading.

April 2010 - a li'l intro clip from Patrick and yours truly that you may or may not recall:




2008 - Learning the two words that make Jack pose without fail, and sadly offered me years of entertainment (Also featuring Booey the cat - RIP, buddy):



2007-2010... buncha clips from different stuff through the years. The moral of this story is that I've always been a dork:



Pick your poison, then have a nap.



Friday, February 4, 2011

I'm Burning Your Pictures, Still My Love Remains The Same

Friday starts with an 'F'. Y'know what else does? Formspring.

My high level of observance may have just knocked you on your collective asses. Get back up on your chair, and let's begin matching random questions with equally random answers.

I emptied my brain just for you.

Do you love where you live?

My cardboard box is awesome. But no, you can't come over.

If you mean St. Catharines, yes. I like it, I just don't want to live here. It's where I grew up - I have family, friends and a life here, but I've outgrown it in a way. I'll always be happy to come back and visit once I'm in Toronto again (soon).

There's a chance you're talking about Toronto instead, and if so - yep. I do love it. I hate parts of it, too. That's why it's my boyfriend. We fight, we make up, I do the laundry and it takes out the trash. Then we cuddle.


Are you still on dating sites? If so, have they worked for you at all?

Blech.

Yeah, I assume my profiles are still up. It's been many, many months since I've signed in to any of them. Too much work. Couldn't keep up with the messages, I wasn't really interested, and I actually felt bad ignoring so many. I didn't take it seriously, it was just a way to pass the time.

It works really well for some people. I'm just not into it right now. I meet a lot of people in person (I'm friendly, bitches!), and am already too busy compartmentalizing the annoying whiny dudes, the assholes and the good guys.

How fun. Happy Valentines Day, hosers.


How long after two people start seriously seeing each other can they consider moving in with each other?

Never.

But seriously, who knows? When I moved in with an ex, some said it was too soon and I disagreed. Other people wait a long time. Sometimes it's for convenience - you both need a place to live. If you're practically living together anyway, it may be a good idea. Use your judgment, but don't ever, ever move in with someone if you're not sure. That's a recipe for bad news bears. Shit changes when you live together, but some parts of it can be pretty awesometastic if you're a good fit.

However... If you snag an apartment I've got my eye on, I will hurt you. Ka-friggin'-pow.


Do you ever see yourself as a wife?

Yep. When the right dude comes a-knockin' on my door (or a-messaging me online, as it were), I'd love to be a kickass wife and one day have two equally kickass kids. I like the family idea; I've always wanted it. Pretty badly. Plus the career and all that other crap.

I want everything, dammit. And I want it packaged up in a pretty red bow.


Doesn't mean I won't one day become a cat lady residing alone in a basement somewhere, living on Kraft Dinner and memories of better times when members of the opposite sex weren't horrified by the mere sight of me. That could happen. My crystal ball's broken at the moment, so I can't give exact details just yet.

Meh.

We'll just hafta wait, won't we?



Tuesday, February 1, 2011

At Ease With The Thought That This Nova Won't Burn Out

Bless me readers, for I have sinned.

It's been a few days since my last blog post, and... ah, who am I kidding? I was never good at being Catholic when I was young, so how can I remember this confession stuff now?

I confess nothing. NOTHING!


I was in Toronto all weekend, and there was just no time to ramble.

Alas and alack, I am back to bring you tales of shambled-nicity.


Yesterday afternoon, I found myself aimlessly wandering downtown Toronto by myself. A meeting had ended early and I wasn't due to meet my sister for another couple of hours. Insane freezing cold weather aside, it was kinda nice to just hang out alone and re-discover all the familiar places from King West and Queen West to Yonge & Dundas.

A li'l Kris time never hurt.



While wandering, I saw a guy ahead of me who was asking people for money. Not a rare Toronto sight by any means, of course.

He was well-dressed. Expensive shoes, new jeans, nice hat, and a warm jacket. When I saw that he wasn't just asking for change and backing away, I knew what I was in for.

Lucky me - when I got to the corner he stood at, the light turned red. I was stuck.

Right away, he turns to me and says, "Do you have any money for me?"

I shook my head and said sorry. I didn't have any change to spare.

Lemme put this in perspective... when I see people on the street asking for change, and they are non-invasive and you can tell they really need it? I'll give change if I have it. In my old 'hood there was a guy that my ex and I gave change to when we could. He was nice, he needed it, and he appreciated it.

But this guy? Different story. And he refused to believe that I had no change.


So, we stand on the corner. I'm freezing my ass off while he seems quite comfortable in his big warm coat and nice clothes. After I politely tell him that I have no change, he becomes pissy and gets right in my face.

"You know what, lady?" he half-yells, "I've seen 6 other black men asking for money on the street today. No whites. Because all white people are rich and don't give a shit about the poor black man. You rich white people don't care."

I explained to my dear new friend that, although white, I was not rich by any stretch of the imagination. I decided not to point out that his clothes were much nicer than mine. Likely wouldn't help the cause.

He disagreed with me anyway.

"Poor white people is a myth. All you white people get $4,000 cheques every week and laugh at the poor black men. Don't try to tell me that you don't, white girl. You're not hunting for a job."

Knowing that I'd be fighting a losing battle, I bit anyway.

"There are no $4,000 cheques in my mailbox, and I busted my ass in a job hunt for a long time. I know a hell of a lot about being poor. And that white man in tattered clothes asking for spare change across the street may disagree with your views."

The light changed green. Perfect timing.

When I looked back, my well-dressed yet misguided debater was already onto the next "rich white girl."

Just another day in downtown Trawnna.



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