I looked at my blog for the first time in forever today and realized someone has tampered with it, as in put a picture of two wine glasses with a cock in between them where there used to be a something presumably moderately amusing, maybe even an early 90s pop culture reference, who knows. My mind is often in the gutter, it's true, but I wouldn't just put a picture of a penis being weird in there for no reason whatsoever. Is it supposed to be familiar to me?? It's fucking weird, guys. When I get a computer, I think I'm going to start up something new because I'm now afraid of this thing...
So far I've done two grown up things today. I returned a library book that was about 3 weeks late and instead of dropping it in the return slot and never going there again, I brought it to the front desk and announced I was paying my late fees then and there. I expected it to be something like 38 dollars but it was only $3.75. Now I feel rich.
Then I bought some SPF 30. Pretty grown up, right??
Then I went to the bank and ordered personal cheques.
So that when my sister skips town in three weeks, I can inherit the authority of paying rent and bugging Mike Chui to give me his money give me his money give me his money.
That said, Mike Chui DID buy toilet paper last week....
For the first time since September.
But hey, it's one-ply.
ONE-PLY?!?!?!
You don't BUY one-ply, Mike Chui. One-ply is for desperate times. You steal it from work, or the mall, or school or a shitty house party. A roll here or there to keep you afloat until you wake up before Pharmaprix closes. Duh.
Just so you know, I don't think this shot qualifies as extreme funny. It's worth a chuckle alone in the stall, sure, but then you wash your hands and the extreme power hand dryer will blow the memory right out of your brain before you get a chance to tell all your friends.
Anyway, I feel I've accomplished so much that I'm going to become a high school jock a-hole for the rest of the day.
Get drunk, get laid, maybe get in a fight. Get a couple BJs in the stairwell, no big whoop.
Yup. So, on the spring flirting front, yesterday I was chatting with a man in a suit at work and he told me his boss had asked him to take a client to the hockey game. When he told me he worked for Canon, I said "Oh! Like the printers!" and HE said, "Yeah, and other stuff, printers, photocopiers..." To which I replied, "Well, I LOVE photocopying...." So silly it was a hit. What fun. Spring flirting 4ever. All year round, thank you very much.
"Welcome to the 21st century", texted my brother. Cool, I guess.
Bought my first 12 pack of Dr. Pepper in eons on Monday. So far so good. As you may know, I used to knock back at least 2 litres a day, along with 6 cups of coffee.
Did you know they now make tall cans of Dr. Pepper?? It's about time, you guys. You can find it at the Esso at Saint Laurent and Sherbrooke. But at Blockbuster it's 2 cans for 2 bones, which is sweet. Pepsi too, make a run for it.
Next biggie of the week is this.
TOMORROW I GET MY CROWNS!
As you may know, 2008 was the year of breaking my jaw twice and making all that early teen orthodontia go to waste, much like Justin Bieber's virginity. What do you mean, what does that even mean?? Underneath it all, I've looked like a meth addict (and NOT the Fergalicious kind...) for at least a year and a half and I'm bored the fuck out, yo.
That said, taking out my falsies is a pretty great party trick and also a decent way to figure out whether peeps are cool or lame.
A few weeks ago, I popped into Blue Dog on a Wednesday and the bartender who's there more often than not had broken one of his front tooth caps, revealing a slightly discoloured and more lonely looking tooth. He pointed it out to me right away, I guess because he felt less than pretty. I hadn't even noticed and couldn't have cared less. But since he was clearly insecure about it, I decided to whip off my falsies with my tongue and show him where the real shit's at. Like, "HEY, WHO CARES?! COULD BE WORSE!" He was grossed out in a superlame way which confirmed my suspicion that he's kind of a douche. I had an accident or two!! Hey buddy, I just engaged in a selfless act to save you from your vanity! Duh!!
One time at karaoke night when nothing was happening, the DJ played Dave Matthews Band's Crash, why, I do not know, but this guy felt the need to announce to me, "This song has helped me get laid at LEAST four times." BARF ON YOU, BUD. You're not even THAT goodlooking. And your all-over print sweatshirts really BLOW...
GET ME OUT OF HERE!!
VEESH ME LECK!!
(Wish my luck in a vaguely Russian accent, thank you very much.)
As time goes by, I get scared of this shit. Like I'll forget how to go off on tangents and be terribly inconcise, which is apparently not a word. Since fucking when, I say.
This is a week of big deals. Yesterday, I activated the apparently "cheap-ass" cell phone my friend Nick gave me in September when he crossed over to the dark side, aka iPhoneville. I had to go to the Virgin Mobile clinic in the Eaton Centre, a very scary place.
The girl there told me that my V-card I bought at Esso wasn't working because after three months without putting money on the phone, the number goes kaput.
Honey treated me like I was from another planet. Which I am, but let's be frank, I look a lot like real people that are not aliens in disguise.
Perhaps you heard a couple of weeks ago that 40% of adults in China and India are onto us, in that they believe that aliens walk the earth disguised as humans.
The truth is out there.
See: Victoria Beckam.
Soanyway. I decided that not having a cell phone kind of harshes my game. When it comes to booty calls, it's like going to McGill and not taking Ritalin. Plus, I think I'll be a killer txt flrt. Seriously you guys, I used to be really good at MSN.
"Good start, Nicola."
Okay, current events... Guru passed away last week, which brought me back to straight kicking it with my dear friend Georgia in France in the summer of 2001. It was all about Jazzmatazz. Nectar from a Mason jar, 7 dollar dress. And Marlboro Lights. And hash. Them were the days, for sure. Now, let's take it back to the high school house party...
One of my favourite BBC Radio1 DJS, Gilles Peterson, made his show this past week a Guru tribute, which you can listen to here but only for the next 13 hours, so get on it.
I find Gilles Peterson generally throws down great foreplay music. I think if you grab a bottle of red and listen to his show from the beginning with one total fox, you'll probably score at least a steamy make-out sesh. So get flirting, team.
If it were at all possible, I would love to keep him in my back pocket to provide original soundtracks to get down to. I think this is a really great idea. A house DJ to provide a musical score for your sex life. Like a personal chef but way cooler. Rather than "I'm feeling bloated, lean fish and steamed vegetables, please" it would be like, "So tonight we're feeling taking some ecstacy and fucking on the pool table. Gilles, man, we trust you so just go with our pace, and if you could throw in a little Daft Punk, that would be great."
You dig??
More big deals to be shared shortly, thanks for coming.
How much does a zamboni weigh? Enough to break the ice?? Wilkommen Sebastian Bach??
Watch figure skating?? Heard of Peter Jensen?? Hot young Swede in the lead??
He came to mind yesterday while I was watching borderline tween gals compete in figure skating, while I was at the gym.
I was on the elliptical listeing to Big L's DA GRAVEYARD when Russia's Ksenia Makarova caught my eye, a vision of loveliness in lavender.
Her outfit was no doubt an ode to Tinky Winky, the teletubby that will turn all the kids gay. (Even yours!)
I watched several more routines and stuck to me own choons, which means I listened to DA GRAVEYARD for about 45 minutes because hey, it just fit.
So I don't know what them honeys skated to but there was one routine with MURDER in the title, another with DEATH, and another that confirmed my belief that guns are supersexy especially when handled by Korean teens.
YIPEE KI-YAY, MOTHERFUCKER!
You go, girl.
When I caught up with my sister Hilary later and actually watched figure skating with sound, my ears bled on the Russian folk number. Hilary said it was more exciting than Chopin or something to that effect, respect.
Hilary got mad at this outfit from Estonia.
"Why would you wear that unless you're skating to Prince? Why? Why??"
More importantly, how did Elena Glebova get a hold of the bathing suit Hilary wore to my ninth birthday party?? You know, when we went to the Lynx game and that guy spilled beer on Julia Hutchison's head not to mention our gummy worms?? It must be the Estonian connection.
Apparently no one gets to skate to Prince and there is no Lady Gaga of figure skating?? They don't get points for costumes but there are rules about costumes...
I don't know about you, but I think this would look fantastic on ice.
Which brings to mind the bloody denim ball gowns Alexander McQueen made in the year 2000. May he rest in peace, poor fellow.
Which brings me back to London-based, Danish-born maker of fun clothes including the sweatshirt I'm wearing right now...Peter Jensen. His website shows the latest but here is one of my favourite things he did in 2005, a fashion show on ice!
Have a nice day! And don't forget to think of some new moves for THE CROSS. We're practicing on Saturday at the rink off Bernard. In hockey skates!!
What a zoo that will be, yeah, I'm going downtown to the art gallery, it's free from 1 to 4.
No, the Szilasi exhibit is still on actually, that's what I'm going to see.
You can't see this picture really, just click on it.
Christmas, that's right, that is tomorrow, isn't it...
So here's a funny video of my friend Tasha's mom getting a toaster for Christmas after she apparently went on about how everyone gives and gets toasters so you have to make sure you act surprised if you get one.
The funniest shit so far this week is that Rage Against the Machine's "Killing in the Name" made it to #1 on the BBC singles charts, 17 years after it was all the rage. Here's a wee chat with the band from the BBC followed by a live performance!!
The British couple that decided to stick it to the Simon Cowell by way of a facebook revolution, did so unsuccessfully last year, with a campaign to bring Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up" to number one on the charts. That's hilarious!
I would like to take this couple out to lunch. Maybe even invite them over for Christmas dinner... Heck, why not make them the godparents of my firstborn child?! What the hey, they can have my firstborn!
