Friday, 4:53 p.m. I realize that it's bait to write the day and time on my blog, but really, getting fired is so not the worst thing that could happen to me.
I cleaned my desk today. The receptionist said she could smell it from the stairway. The guy who sit next to me said it smelled a lot better than the junk food I eat every day at lunch.
Today I tried to get gossip from someone and they were very unresponsive. I hate that. And I had bought her a coffee (bribe) to try grease her up before I attempted to pry all the juicy details out of her. Nothing - all I got were cryptic sentences. No even full sentences, more like cryptic fragments. I wanted my coffee back.
4:58 p.m.
I have to pee. That should take 2 minutes.
yours,
sbg
a quickie.
just so i don't get out of the habit of blogging (again) i'm going to write a quickie. it's going to be so quick i'm not even going to use capital letters. but i have to make time for punctuation, for clarity's sake.
today i watched the most ridiculous video on an entertainment website devoted to celeb gossip. i mean, it's all bullshit i know, but today was especially ridiculous. it was a 3-minute video of nicole ritchie and joel madden getting off a plane and walking through the airport. that's it. the headline was "joel and nicole return from their vacation!" i guess i clicked on it because i thought it would be more interesting than that. nope, that was it. the two of them walking through the airport. the highlight was when they zoomed in on nicole holding a pillow over her swelling pregnant belly.
it's like the whole "stars, they're just like us!" feature in one of those rags like US Weekly or In Touch. they're all so friggin stupid, like "they talk on their cell phones!" or "they have lunch with their friends" or "they go grocery shopping". i kinda get the idea behind it, but it's such a waste of three minutes, i'm ashamed to even participate.
hey, that wasn't so quick. i'm a pretty fast typer though, i guess that's why.
i'm sorry to have wasted your 3 minutes on this blog. but misery loves company.
love your super-fast-typer-blackgirl
today i watched the most ridiculous video on an entertainment website devoted to celeb gossip. i mean, it's all bullshit i know, but today was especially ridiculous. it was a 3-minute video of nicole ritchie and joel madden getting off a plane and walking through the airport. that's it. the headline was "joel and nicole return from their vacation!" i guess i clicked on it because i thought it would be more interesting than that. nope, that was it. the two of them walking through the airport. the highlight was when they zoomed in on nicole holding a pillow over her swelling pregnant belly.
it's like the whole "stars, they're just like us!" feature in one of those rags like US Weekly or In Touch. they're all so friggin stupid, like "they talk on their cell phones!" or "they have lunch with their friends" or "they go grocery shopping". i kinda get the idea behind it, but it's such a waste of three minutes, i'm ashamed to even participate.
hey, that wasn't so quick. i'm a pretty fast typer though, i guess that's why.
i'm sorry to have wasted your 3 minutes on this blog. but misery loves company.
love your super-fast-typer-blackgirl
what i've learned
There are so many things to be learned from moving back in with your parents. For me, I don't think I ever realized all of the things my parents can't do. Sometimes I say to myself, "Thank God I'm home or these people would be housebound and starving!" It just astounds me that I lived 2 hours away from these people for 10 years and somehow they managed to survive. But now that I'm home...
The following is a list of tasks my parents regularly ask me to do:
1. Drive through the car wash
2. Buy Tim Horton's
3. Move the cars in the driveway
4. Grocery shop
5. Decide on and purchase Sunday dinner
6. Read the dishwasher manual
7. Set the VCR (um, hello? Can we get a PVR already!)
8. Buy oil for the car
9. Put gas in the car
10. Make something in the crock pot
That's the short list. It's not even a good list... I have to give you the scenarios so you can get a real picture of my life here.
Scenario 1 - Saturday morning
Me: (sleeping in bed)
Mum: What time are you planning to get up?
Me: Um... what? huh?
Mum: What time are you planning to get up? I have a lot of things I need you to do today.
Me: Well, I didn't really make a plan (yawn).
Mum: (still standing there)
Me: I guess I'll get up now.
Mum: Get up whenever you want, I just thought you would want to get up now because we need to grocery shopping and then get the computer desk and buy a gift for so-and-so and...
Me: Well, it's not like I'm sleeping anymore. I'll just get up.
Scenario 2: The next morning
Me: (Lying in bed at Steve's house)
Ring, ring.
Me: Hello?
Mum: Are you still sleeping?
Me: (Sigh) Why, what's up?
Mum: I just want to know when you're coming home.
Me: I have to drop Steve off at work for noon.
Mum: Okay, are you going to bring Tim Horton's when you come home?
Me: (Sigh) Sure.
Scenario 3: Last Friday night
Me: (downstairs eating dinner)
Dad: Marsh! I need you to move the car.
Me: (pause) Uh... is Mum standing right next to you?
Silence. Giggle. Door slam.
The end.
love sbg
The following is a list of tasks my parents regularly ask me to do:
1. Drive through the car wash
2. Buy Tim Horton's
3. Move the cars in the driveway
4. Grocery shop
5. Decide on and purchase Sunday dinner
6. Read the dishwasher manual
7. Set the VCR (um, hello? Can we get a PVR already!)
8. Buy oil for the car
9. Put gas in the car
10. Make something in the crock pot
That's the short list. It's not even a good list... I have to give you the scenarios so you can get a real picture of my life here.
Scenario 1 - Saturday morning
Me: (sleeping in bed)
Mum: What time are you planning to get up?
Me: Um... what? huh?
Mum: What time are you planning to get up? I have a lot of things I need you to do today.
Me: Well, I didn't really make a plan (yawn).
Mum: (still standing there)
Me: I guess I'll get up now.
Mum: Get up whenever you want, I just thought you would want to get up now because we need to grocery shopping and then get the computer desk and buy a gift for so-and-so and...
Me: Well, it's not like I'm sleeping anymore. I'll just get up.
Scenario 2: The next morning
Me: (Lying in bed at Steve's house)
Ring, ring.
Me: Hello?
Mum: Are you still sleeping?
Me: (Sigh) Why, what's up?
Mum: I just want to know when you're coming home.
Me: I have to drop Steve off at work for noon.
Mum: Okay, are you going to bring Tim Horton's when you come home?
Me: (Sigh) Sure.
Scenario 3: Last Friday night
Me: (downstairs eating dinner)
Dad: Marsh! I need you to move the car.
Me: (pause) Uh... is Mum standing right next to you?
Silence. Giggle. Door slam.
The end.
love sbg
my alleged penis
I keep getting these spam messages about how to enlarge my penis. For some reason, I take personal offense to these messages, and not in a prudish, feminist way -- I'm like personally insulted. It's ridiculous really; I know how spam works and I understand they don't know me and are not saying I have a penis, and a small one at that. Today however, I feel it has taken a personal turn for the worse - now it's seems they're trying to "relate" to me by using ebonics in the message. Observe:
From Glyndwr qaz to me:
hello superblackgirl
All i want for christmas is a big phat penis
From Agnethe Stephenson to me:
Yo yo yo superblackgirl
get a MASSIVE penis today
Apparently the spam genius behind this has ignored the "girl" (which would indicate I do not have a penis) and the "super" (which would indicate that if I did have a penis I am obviously quite content with myself) and have chosen to focus on the "black". Big PHAT penis? Yo yo yo? Racist.
All I have to say is that Glyndwr and Agnethe better watch their backs or they're going to get a big phat penis in the eye.
love your gangsta sbg
From Glyndwr qaz to me:
hello superblackgirl
All i want for christmas is a big phat penis
From Agnethe Stephenson to me:
Yo yo yo superblackgirl
get a MASSIVE penis today
Apparently the spam genius behind this has ignored the "girl" (which would indicate I do not have a penis) and the "super" (which would indicate that if I did have a penis I am obviously quite content with myself) and have chosen to focus on the "black". Big PHAT penis? Yo yo yo? Racist.
All I have to say is that Glyndwr and Agnethe better watch their backs or they're going to get a big phat penis in the eye.
love your gangsta sbg
it's all for ME.
I was hesitant to write this blog, because I didn't want to tease everyone by posting one and then never doing another (I'm actually trying to be considerate, even though it sounds like I'm an egomaniac). But dear, sweet, wise McKinley says the blog is for me, not just everyone else. So it's all for me, and if someone out there gets a little enjoyment out of it, then I've done my bit for humanity today.
Now that I'm actually writing it, however, I have no idea what I wanted to say. I know when my sister came home this weekend there was so much classic material from my mother that I felt the urge to write a blog. My mother is a very jealous person, which is very strange to me because she totally doesn't seem like the type (i.e. when we were kids if we got into a fight with a friend or someone didn't like us, my mother would always say "don't ever let anyone think you need them more than they need you." Very comforting in elementary school). Anyway, she's going on and on about how my dad was flirting with the waitress at the breakfast place they go to on Sundays. Apparently he had the audacity to ask the waitress if she had a good trip (she went on vacation in the Caribbean) and if she was going back for Carnival. That's the story of my dad flirting with the waitress. I was like, "Wow, Dad is insatiable. You should divorce him immediately." Then she said I don't understand because, "I don't jealous people." My bad.
Lately I've been really jealous of pregnant women and mothers. It seems there's a lot of time off work associated with the two. When you find out you're pregnant, you have a zillion doctor's appointments, and apparently you just go home when they're finished instead of coming back to the office. When you're a mother, you get all of your children's sick days in addition to your own, plus you get to be late or leave for their important occasions - first day of school (drop off AND pick up), class play, first trip to the zoo. It's so much better than getting a few extra breaks because you're a smoker. Motherhood is a MUCH better excuse than "women's problems". Now if only I liked kids better than I liked cigarettes...
love your super baby-less blackgirl
Now that I'm actually writing it, however, I have no idea what I wanted to say. I know when my sister came home this weekend there was so much classic material from my mother that I felt the urge to write a blog. My mother is a very jealous person, which is very strange to me because she totally doesn't seem like the type (i.e. when we were kids if we got into a fight with a friend or someone didn't like us, my mother would always say "don't ever let anyone think you need them more than they need you." Very comforting in elementary school). Anyway, she's going on and on about how my dad was flirting with the waitress at the breakfast place they go to on Sundays. Apparently he had the audacity to ask the waitress if she had a good trip (she went on vacation in the Caribbean) and if she was going back for Carnival. That's the story of my dad flirting with the waitress. I was like, "Wow, Dad is insatiable. You should divorce him immediately." Then she said I don't understand because, "I don't jealous people." My bad.
Lately I've been really jealous of pregnant women and mothers. It seems there's a lot of time off work associated with the two. When you find out you're pregnant, you have a zillion doctor's appointments, and apparently you just go home when they're finished instead of coming back to the office. When you're a mother, you get all of your children's sick days in addition to your own, plus you get to be late or leave for their important occasions - first day of school (drop off AND pick up), class play, first trip to the zoo. It's so much better than getting a few extra breaks because you're a smoker. Motherhood is a MUCH better excuse than "women's problems". Now if only I liked kids better than I liked cigarettes...
love your super baby-less blackgirl
