superblackgirl speaks

living in the moment

2010-05-11T22:16:00.000-04:00

I just realized that the idea of living in the moment is kind of a crock. It's like, living in the moment is an okay notion, but those moments start piling up and next thing you know you're living in the future that you haven't planned for because you were too busy living in the moment. Maybe living in the moment is for things like skydiving... since that moment could be your last.

That was going to be the end of this post, but it sounds a little gloomy. I don't want this post to be confused for my suicide note or something. Take it as this -- I'm reserving my living-in-the-moment moments for a cool beer on a downtown patio on a summer day. But since it's raining, I'm making plans for the future.

love,
sbg

CoCo has got to Go Go

2009-10-22T01:20:00.000-04:00

My friends and I were recently discussing the merits of Cougar Town and my position was that the biggest problem is Courtney Cox. The neighbours - great. Busy Philipps - gotta love her. Paper buddy - take your shirt off. But Courtney Cox's character Jules is loud, pushy, annoying, and mostly not funny. Is this what Botox does to Monica Geller?

Take tonight's episode. She's going out with this hot younger guy and she doesn't like the way he kisses. Great premise - I've had my own bad experiences with the "Toronto Tongue", as we rowdy girls used to call it. But she's openly criticizing him, going so far as to demonstrate with an apple what he should be doing. The whole thing was so unappealing that I find it hard to believe that he would even want to kiss her after that. I could have wanted to kiss a guy for 10 years and if he did that all the desire would scoot right out of me. This guy has known her for like 10 days, all of which she made him wait to have sex with her. I think he would be so horrified by that Public Display of Insanity that he would run for the hills. I mean, seriously -- She's dragging him around like a puppy, making him sit in on an intervention for her ex-husband, and then forcing him to kiss her while her best friend rates his technique. Is there anything less sexy than that?

For the purposes of my higher education, I may continue to watch this show. But since my classmates and I have taken to writing unexpected deaths of main characters into our beat sheets, I have a feeling that Coco will be falling down an elevator shaft very soon.

P.S. What am I doing awake at this hour?
love sbg

Is this what people do in the mornings?

2009-09-16T07:53:00.000-04:00

Having been awoken by the sound of a jackhammer drilling through the ceiling over my bed -- oh wait, that was the blender -- I decided to take this opportunity of being awake an hour before my alarm was set to go off to give an update on the new life plan. I must warn you that I might be a little grumpy (as evidenced by the opening sentence of this post).

So it's Week 2 of school and it already seems like an eternity. Ha, ha. But truly, it is difficult getting used to have 3-hour classes morning and afternoon with just an hour lunch break. As for the instructors, they're all great. Funny, smart, interesting and cool. So far, Terry is my favourite (because he gives us two 15-minute breaks) and Dennis is my least favourite (because he didn't give us a break at all). Just kidding - did I mention I'm tired?

For those of you who are interested, there are a lot of different classes - a few on writing, TV production, TV directing, and TV critique. As you might imagine, in TV critique we get to watch TV and critique it. So evidently, I've been preparing for this class my whole life. Assignment 1 is to watch a new fall show and write a review. Perhaps I will channel my morning grumpiness into a particularly scathing review (Mischa Barton and The Beautiful Life better watch their backs).

I had an interesting conversation yesterday. I was having lunch with four girls and we were talking about being graded. I said that I didn't feel the need to get grades because regardless of what anyone else is doing, I'm going to try to do my best work. And really, if anyone is going to fuck off and do nothing, it will only help me in the end because that's one less person with whom to compete. So one of the girls says, "Wow, that's really cutthroat." Ha! Apparently in my new life plan I am a cutthroat person, which is the clearly the antithesis of what I've been in basically every other experience in my life. I think I like it.

Now if I can just channel that into my Scrabble game, I'll be a winner all around.

love sbg

Why Tim Hortons is Ruining My New Life

2009-09-10T12:57:00.001-04:00

So this is the first week of school, and in keeping with my new life resolve, I have been leaving myself a minimum of half an hour to get to school, even though it's only 15 minutes away. With my extra time this morning, I decided to stop and get a tea from Tim Hortons. Apparently, the rocket scientists who work there cannot distinguish between tea and coffee, a fact I did not realize until I was pulling out of the parking lot and the coffee aroma began to fill the car. Because of this error, I had to stop at Williams for a latte before class, which then made me late for class.

In the spirit of a friend's letter to a scissors-packaging manufacturer, I have drafted this plea to the big guy himself:

Dear Mr. Tim Horton,

In my extensive Tim Hortons experience in the Southwestern Ontario region, I have determined that approximately 50% of the time that I place an order for steeped tea I receive coffee instead. Now, I know you didn't achieve global domination of the coffee shop market with that standard in mind, so I feel it is my duty to inform you that your order-taking process may be too complicated for some of the employees at the Tim Hortons franchises.

In your defense, I'm sure you felt that typing an order into the computer as someone places it, and then having a second person read that order and fulfill it, would be straightforward enough. Sadly, this is not the case. I have not yet identified if the problem is the listening, the typing, or the reading, but one or all are clearly too challenging for some of the employees.

I attempted to come up with a new order-taking process for you, but when I tested your current process with a roomful of chimps, they were largely able to get it right. So instead, I suggest more rigorous screening for potential Tim Hortons employees. Exercises such as repeating a sentence you have just spoken, or perhaps reading a few words you have written down (might I suggest words like 'tea' or 'coffee'?) might be a stepping stone to finding that elusive model employee.

I assume you will want to address this problem immediately, especially since the general population is already none-too-pleased at the recent price increase. I look forward to your timely solution and also to receiving the steeped tea I did, in fact, order.

Sincerely,
sbg

Wedding Nightmares

2009-09-07T15:52:00.000-04:00

It may surprise you to read this, but I actually like weddings. I like when the groom chokes up in the middle of his vows, when his new father-in-law gives a speech and says, "welcome to the family, son", and how the bride really does look more beautiful than she ever has before. But I went to a wedding this weekend that had me giggling in the church and cursing at the reception hall. Here's how it went down:

The Ceremony
The minister hit all the usual highlights - Love is patient, love is kind, it does not envy, it does not boast, etc. But then, just before the bride and groom exchanged vows, he gave this big speech that started like this: "Marriage has the potential for tremendous pain (long pause) and joy. When you choose to enter into a union like this, you can be hurt so much more than if you were single, because you're putting your happiness into the hands of another person." It went on and on like that, and then he said, "With this in mind, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" Um, is someone supposed to say "I do" after that? Kudos to the minister for actually making singlehood look attractive at a wedding.

Then the time came to exchange rings. After the best man handed the ring to the groom, the minister said, "Place the ring on the bride's finger... as far as it will go... and repeat after me." Really? A fat comment during the wedding ceremony? I would have punched him in the face.

The Reception
Surprise, surprise, I was the only black person there. Luckily, since I consider assimilating one of my superppowers (is that bad?) I was not worried. But perhaps I should have been. There were five people at the table - two couples and one single guy. The couple to our right and the single guy introduced themselves. The couple to our left refused to meet our eyes and made no moves to introduce themselves. At first, I just chalked it up to bad manners, but then another (white) single girl joined our table and they instantly started chatting her up. And it didn't end there. The whole night, they refused to speak, or even look, in our direction. They wouldn't offer or pass us the bread, they kept the white wine all to themselves - offering it only, of course, to their new single girl BFF. They did occasionally speak to the couple and single guy to our right, unless of course they were talking to us, in which they also were shunned.

But I rose above. I was the bigger person. I did not punch anyone in the face. I did not comment that the wife looked old enough to be the husband's mother. I merely smiled when she mentioned that her son gave her away at their wedding. When the water jug was refreshed on my side of the table, I made it accessible instead of drowning them both in it. And the second that we were able to talk to and congratulate the bride and groom, I got the fuck out of dodge.

love sbg

New Life Plan, Part B

2009-09-02T16:13:00.003-04:00

Today was Orientation #2, which was for the TV writing and producing program. This was the opportunity to meet the program directors and see who I will be wowing with my brilliance for the next 8 months (self-esteem - check). True to my word, I arrived at 8:55 am (orientation began at 9). Not late - check.

After a quick survey of the people in the room, I deduced I may be the oldest person. However, I did not wear heels (check) and therefore could not be confused with the teacher. I was also not sweaty (thanks to free trial of clinical strength deodorant, courtesy of Max).

First disturbing sight - the words "Welcome to Humber!" written on the whiteboard. Thankfully, there was only one exclamation mark. Turns out that the program directors had no idea who wrote it on the board and mocked it endlessly - check for both of them.

The orientation was amazing and though there was the distinct absence of chocolate muffins, I am getting more and more excited about this new life plan. I even managed to get a little one-on-two face time with the directors when I stayed back to read a list of shows that would suit spec scripts (brown nosing - check).

There was a barbecue after the orientation that promised food and entertainment. Food - check. Entertainment - Fail. A "DJ" was playing MC Hammer, Hammertime. Um... huh? The plus side is that the DJ was obviously my age or older. Unfortunately, by virtue of having a hotdog and diet coke, I was swarmed by bees and had to leave early. So I guess it's possible that entertainment arrived later, but if that was the preview, I probably didn't miss much. Plus I got my free bag - check.

So that's it. Day 1 of my new life plan starts next Tuesday, so stay tuned.

love sbg

P.S. Random discovery of the day - Only people who aren't fat complain about being fat. Real fat people don't bring it up in the hopes that nobody else brings it up either.

New Life Plan, Part A

2009-09-01T23:14:00.002-04:00

Well, I'm back. Back in Toronto, back at school, back to my blog. As you know, I'm a big fan of the new life plans - though in the past, I've tended to like making them more than following through with them. But I finally seem to have come up with one that will stick. For those of you who don't know, I'm renting the basement of a friend's house and starting full-time studies at Humber next week, taking a one year post-graduate course in Television Writing and Producing.

I was invited by Humber to attend a "Mature Students Orientation" today. Apparently, some of my old life seeped into the new one because I arrived 10 minutes late. Note to self: The reason why everyone wears running shoes is because it's a little easier to trek across campus when you're not in 5-inch heels. So I arrive sweaty and disheveled, and have to walk in front of the projection screen to find a seat. Exactly the entrance I planned. And I think everyone was looking at my shoes, but not in a "they're so fabulous" kind of way.

So we're going through a list of anxieties that mature students tend to have when they're returning to school. And while a lot of the items are things I can relate to, I'm fixated on the number of exclamation marks used in the slides. Seriously, does it need to be: Help is available!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But I digress. Of the many interesting points raised, one woman mentioned the challenge of concentrating on one thing for an extended period of time, i.e. a 3-hour lecture. Case in point - the orientation was only an hour and a half, but halfway through I was more interested in the chocolate muffins than the slides.

While my mind was wandering, I also noticed a pair of Luke Perry-esque sideburns... on the woman sitting in front of me. I wanted to take a picture, but it was a "mature" students orientation so it seemed inappropriate.

In the end, I realized there were a lot of people who had more to stress about than me - kids, daycare, mortgages, etc. So it was a good day. And I took a chocolate muffin on the way out.

Tomorrow is the program-specific orientation. I plan to be early, though it's already midnight and it starts at 9 a.m. My old life's insomnia strikes again.

stay tuned,
sbg

Philly the Wonder Guard Dog

2009-01-05T16:26:00.003-05:00

I may have complained a time or two (million) about my dog, but generally speaking she's a good guard dog. I feel safe that if any of Stratford's burglars or rapists (read: crystal meth addicts) entered our apartment, Philly would start barking like crazy and hopefully, her Rottweiler instincts would kick in and save the day. However, I recently discovered one emergency in which Philly will be no help whatsoever: a fire.

Here's how I discovered the flaw in Philly's guard. We were making dinner a few weeks ago and for whatever reason, the kitchen filled with smoke and set off the smoke alarm (and for those of you who know me, this has nothing to do with my lack of culinary skills). Since the kitchen window doesn't open (!), S and I started opening all the other windows in the apartment and attempted to open the door so some of the smoke would escape. Apparently, Philly also took this as her chance to escape and proceeded to make her way out of the apartment and down the stairs. We coaxed her back in and had to shut the door. For the next 15 minutes while Steve and I were standing on chairs using records to fan the smoke alarm, Philly was hiding in the bathroom. Yes, that's my rough-and-tough rottie.

A few days later, the same thing happened (again, it wasn't me). Everyone assumed their usual positions – Steve and I fanning the alarm, Philly in the bathroom. But here's the funny thing: I assumed she was just in the bathroom, crouched in the corner or something, but when I looked in on her she was in the bathtub, hiding behind the curtain! It was actually pretty sad because she was literally shaking in fear, but it was also the most adorable thing so I had to take a picture.

P.S. What was NOT so adorable was that she was shaking her effin dog hair all over the bathtub. And if you recall, cleaning the bathtub is my job.

Oh, Philly.

~sbg

The pursuit of knowledge

2008-12-24T15:08:00.001-05:00

It's Christmas Eve and I'm sitting in the lobby of a certain Toronto library that would not grant me access to their stacks because I'm not a U of T student. Nor do I carry around my student card from York, since I graduated 6 years ago. Given the Pentagon-esque security they have here, we were quite certain the concern was not that I would steal books. I wondered, are they afraid I might leave here with some (gasp) knowledge? But no, the policy is not to take away from the other students who are here using the library. Um, did I mentions it's Christmas Eve? I think I just saw some tumbleweed roll by. I blame Christmas for this. My general theory right now is that everything that goes wrong is Christmas' fault. In other news, I'm writing this from my blackberry... How cool is this?

Revolution!
sbg
Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

“Celebrity” “Look-a-like”

2008-12-04T16:46:00.002-05:00

I had to put both of these words in quotations because a) I'm not sure these people can be considered celebrities, and b) I'm not sure I actually look like them. I figured I would open it up to public opinion (and potential ridicule).

A little back story is in order. You know how some people always get compared to a certain celebrity? Like my friend Sonia looks like Marisa Tomei, I think M.K. looks like Charlize Theron, and poor Kate has gotten Bette Midler on more than one occasion.

Sidebar: Writing this just reminded me that when I worked at Fuel, whenever someone was hired we would try to figure out what celebrity would play them in "Fuel: The Movie". Usually this was based on looks, except in The Bean's case, who felt her essence could only be captured by Parker Posey.

Anyway, the one person I would get compared to was Enuka Okumu (pictured below). In fact, the last person to mention I looked like her was my hairdresser, who turned out to have done Enuka's hair on occasion as well. Note – this girl has definitely come into her looks over the years. In the days that I was being compared to her, we were both hot messes.

Recently, the Smith family (M.K. and her parents) have compared me to Tre Armstrong (also pictured below). While this thrilled me to no end (please, take me to her makeup artist immediately), I don't actually think I look like her. And apparently neither does S, who looked at me like I was crazy when I mentioned it. And no, that look was not followed by "You're way prettier than her!"

So what do you think? I'm guessing that there are 5 people who read this blog. I expect to hear from all of you.

All I want for Christmas...

2008-12-02T21:01:00.003-05:00

... is a one-way ticket to L.A. You know how people say what they would hate about being in a warm climate over the holidays is waking up on Christmas morning and not seeing snow? Yeah, I'm not one of those people. I think I used to like Christmas, but now when I think about Christmas I think about winter and when I think about winter I get the blues. Bah humbug. I can't remember what it means, but I feel like it's what you say instead of "meh" at Christmastime.

I made a Christmas wish list this week. These are my top 3 items:

1. Winter tires
2. Remote car starter
3. Insulated boots

The rest is just fluff.

The worst thing about Christmas is how everybody else is so into it. Yesterday, December 1, the Christmas carols began on the radio. I could just tell they were like counting down the days until they could start playing The Christmas Song by Hootie and the Blowfish. Then there's S and the tree. And the stockings. And the lights. He even went and bought a tree skirt today (um... how about you buy some groceries?) Even my tv has turned against me -- my shows are either Christmas-themed or on hiatus.

Between the gift buying (which I haven't started), the party planning, the card signing and the decorating, I'm already on Christmas overload and it's only December 2nd. Can someone talk me out of my snow-covered funk? Comments are encouraged.

All I want for Christmas is global warming,
sbg

Liberated or Lazy?

2008-11-17T15:30:00.001-05:00

I've always considered myself a liberated girl, duckin' and shunnin' domesticity whenever it reared its ugly head. But lately as the list of things I don't want to do gets longer and longer, I've started to wonder if the real issue is that I'm just really lazy. Check out the list and feel free to judge (me) for yourself:

1. Cooking
Like my mother, I hate cooking and am always looking for an excuse not to do it. While my mother prefers pretending she doesn't know how to do anything (Mum: I don't know how to make the pizza! Me: Do you know how to read? 'Cause it's all on the back of the box), I prefer inviting myself over to other people's houses. I do have one specialty – eggs – but unfortunately it is usually a morning food, and I also hate mornings.

2. Cleaning
While I get a modicum of satisfaction by seeing the toilet bowl gleam from my efforts, I generally hate cleaning and hate even more that it is an unavoidable task (we used to pay my aunt to clean when I lived in Toronto, something that horrified many of my friends). At my parents' house, I used to leave the cleaning until Sunday night. I would start at 8:00 pm with the bathroom, and then at 9:00 I would clean the living room during the commercials of Desperate Housewives. At 10:00 I would vacuum. Now that I'm in Stratford, S and I have divided the house so I clean the bedroom and bathroom, he cleans the kitchen and living room. Unfortunately, anyone who lives with a man can understand the true horror of having to clean up someone else's hair from shaving. Not even horror, really, but more the injustice of it all.

3. Walking the dog
It's like having a child – they're really cute when they're cuddling with you, but when you have to give up your leisure time to actually take care of them in some way, it's like *sigh*.

4. Going to the bathroom
Sometimes I'm lying down, snuggled in my robe and a blanket, drinks/snacks/cigarettes aligned in front of me – the perfect relaxation set-up. Then my bladder starts calling. And I think, "God, how annoying. Who wants to get up and go pee?" I had a doctor who once asked me if I hold off going to the bathroom (not sure why – I was there to get my ears checked) and for some reason I was honest and said yes and then he gave me a big lecture about ruining my bladder. It's a lasting guilt trip that usually gets me up (at the next commercial break).

5. Shaving my legs

I'm one of those people who leaves it for so long that I live in fear of my pant leg accidentally riding up. Of course, when you leave it that long, it's all the more annoying to shave because what could be a 5-minute routine becomes a 20-minute ritual that takes a pack of razors. And razors aren't cheap.

6. Creaming my body
Since I'm always late, having to spend an extra 5 minutes that I don't have creaming my body just feels like one more of life's little annoyances. Because I'm black, ashy-ness is a very real concern in my life. But I just hate being naked and cold and trying to put the cream on the tips of my fingertips to reach that ubiquitous space in the middle of my back.

I could add other things – grocery shopping, doing laundry, refilling the water jug – but I think you get the point. I've decided that I need to be rich so I can pay to get all of this stuff done. Except for creaming my body, I guess. But perhaps with all the time saved from getting the other tasks done, that one won't seem so daunting.

Lazy and lovin' it,
sbg

My weight loss "plan"

2008-11-05T08:59:00.000-05:00

I was just about to write a very long message back to Cari from Ditch Diets (see comments on "How I got to my suicide weight" - I'm hoping it isn't spam and I will charm her into being a regular reader). My answer is long enough to be a post of its own and short enough to be written on my lunch so here it is.

The truth is Cari, I'm a bit of a superplanner. I come up with new life plans all the time. I love making plans. I'm just not so good at the execution.

But in answer to your question, every time I decide to lose weight I automatically start doing the South Beach Diet, because I did it once and it worked great. What I consistently fail to remember is that I don't know what lightning strike made me stick to it then, but it has never struck twice.

(sidebar: In case you're wondering, the one time that I stuck to South Beach was for an acquaintance's wedding where I was going to see a lot of people I hadn't seen in a long time. The motivation being that I didn't want them to talk about what a chub-a-roo I had become).

So back to the plan. Currently, I try to eat light breakfasts (yogurt with granola or eggs w/o bread) and light lunches (salad with chicken), try to only snack on fruit (a lot of people go apple-picking around here, so there's been a basket in the office for weeks), and try to work out 6 times a week (cardio x3, weight/strenth x3).

Note: Tere's been a lot more "trying" than "doing", so that's why I've lost a mere 9 pounds in 2 months.

The weight loss challenge at work is for money (every week you pay $1 for every pound you lose and $2 for every pound you gain) so I thought that would be really good motivation. Apparently it isn't as strong as what other people think of me. But I will be trying harder as the date approaches and I have less and less money. Being overweight and broke during the holidays is a recipe for you-know-what.

sbg

An amendment to "The McJinx"

2008-11-04T12:17:00.003-05:00

I just thought of something - maybe blogging every day is a bad idea. I mean, they'll only get less interesting (especially since my life is so g-d boring). Plus, I should keep 'em wanting more, right? Like if you can have pad thai every day, not so exciting. But once a week, maybe twice? That's like the best week ever.

So my amendment is that the post should have been called "The McFavour".

mclove sbg

The "McJinx"

2008-11-04T10:00:00.000-05:00

Right before the end of the day, McKinley mentioned how much I've been blogging. Though I was nothing but pleased by the comment at the time, I'm convinced that she put a hex on me, which I have named the McJinx. The McJinx has devestating effects, such as:

I have nothing to write.

I'm at a loss for words.

I'm blank.

This is a testament to how powerful the McJinx is. I always have something to say. Seriously, try getting a word in edgewise -- it's not easy. Ask everyone I know.

But I refuse to break my streak, so I will soldier on. I warn you, it won't be my best work so feel free to stop reading now. Speaking of streaks, S had a streak of playing Xbox every day for over 400 days. While all the sane, non-hermit people in the world realize that being home every day to play Xbox for over a year is not so much an accomplishment as it is really, really sad, S had a hard time accepting it (he comforted himself by blaming me - see "The Streak is Over" on his blog, www.achievementpopped.blogspot.com). The good news is that later he said he felt like breaking the streak set him free. The bad news is sometime after that he mentioned we should go camping. Apparently he wants to be free in the woods. I prefer the hermit version of him now.

This is just one of the many, many things S and I do not have in common, all of which have become increasingly clear since we moved here. Rather than list everything we don't share, I'll list what we do:

1. Rock Band
2. Granny Smith apples
3. Gordon Ramsey

That's enough, right?

Keep hope alive,
sbg

How I got to my suicide weight

2008-11-03T11:30:00.000-05:00

In the true spirit of blazé teenagers, my friends and I established "suicide weights" when we were in high school -- as in, "i would kill myself if I ever got to this weight." Of course at that age, filled with high metabolism and self-esteem, this seemed like a safe statement because it was a good 30-40 pounds away. I think you know where this is going.

In September, my coworkers and I decided to have a weight-loss challenge at work. Using the office scale, we all weighed ourselves for our first official entry in the OMG Fat Ass competition. I really didn't know what to expect, since I renounced my scale some time ago (see February 20, 2007 entry). As it turns out, I have not only reached, but actually SURPASSED my suicide weight. Since the other participants were not interested in a murder-murder-suicide pact, I decided instead to analyze how this happened. After much reflection, I've figured out the exact culprints. And oh yeah, I'm naming names.

1. York University: +15 pounds
The much-dreaded freshman 15. What is it exactly? The cafeteria food? Endless cups of double cream/double sugar coffee? I can't pinpoint it, but I know this is where it began. Talk about the price for higher education. I will likely finish paying my studen loans before I lose that original 15 pounds.

2. Fuel Advertising: +10 pounds
My coworkers (and so-called friends) regulary encouraged me to finish their lunches after I finished my own. They revelled in how many I could finish. Given how undervalued I was at that job, I could only delight in their praise. Oprah would have a field day with this one.

3. Joel "One Love" Regular: +5 pounds
For a good 3 months, Joel, Linda and I adopted what I call the "Regular routine" -- five days a week, we would walk to Joel's apartment after work and drink a big bottle of $7 red wine. I'm pretty sure I gained at least five pounds during this period of my life, but I can't be sure since I was sooo drunk.

3. The Bean, a.k.a. Rina Bang: +5 pounds
Oh Rina, with your delightful conversation and irresistable company. Many a day was spent with you, a big plate of pad thai and fried tofu. That's right, I found a way to make tofu unhealthy (and delicious). While it definitely added to the predicament I'm in now, this one was definitely worth every pound (and pound and pound).

4. Burrito Boyz, butter chicken, Marble Slab, cheese croissants: +5 pounds
Due to availability, some are more to blame than others.

Sorry to call you all out like that, but I think we all have to take responsibility for what could have been the death of me. Wish me luck in my weight loss challenge -- the winner is deemed OMG Skinny Bitch.

9 pounds and counting,
sbg

A little insight into Stratvegas

2008-11-02T20:17:00.003-05:00

Periodically, I like to search the web for job opportunities. Sometimes it's because I'm in a "Gonna leave it all behind and start anew" kinda mood; other times it's because I think, "If I work closeby I will never have to wake up 15 minutes early so I can scrape off my car in the morning". So as I was looking around today, I could think of no better audience for what I found than my blog readers, who are well aware of my amazing (insert John McCain air quotes) job karma. Here is a taste of the employment opportunities available in the city I now call home:

Hog farm worker

Pork Production Technician

Chicken Catcher

Wow... there's a whole world of new animals available to me now! I thought I would just have to write about cows for the rest of my life (working in the Dairy Capital and all), but no -- I have the opportunities to be among hogs and chickens too. Please don't be jealous, dear readers. You "big city" types can go to the park, eat a hot dog, and just wait for the pigeons to come to you.

e-i-e-i-o,
sbg

A Halloween Tale

2008-11-01T13:41:00.006-04:00

I have always loved the idea of dressing up for Halloween. What I realized this year is that getting a good costume requires money, of which I have very little. In the past, I have one for low-budget costumes like my domino outfit:

But this year, I was going out in real public among grown-up, gainfully-employed people who I knew would spare no expense on their costumes. So I had to figure out how to get a costume on my limited budget. I searched the internet and settled on Storm from X-men (with no regard to the slightly lofty ambition of dressing up as the most beautiful woman in the world). I got a white wig from Value Village and a coworker offered to lend me a cape. I figured I would wear a black top and black pants and make an X for my belt out of the leftover felt from last year's domino costume. Done and done. Total cost: $6.99 (for the wig).

Fast forward to the night of October 30. I'm trying on the costume and I look like a hot mess. Never mind the fact that I'm not Halle Berry... I have a wig that is called "Surfer Boy" and a cape that could fit 3 people. I look like an Emo magician.

So it's Halloween morning and I'm frantically running around trying to get something (with about a million other people... what's their excuse for waiting until the last minute?). Every decent costume in the costume store is 90+ dollars -- I don't think so. I leave the store defeated and then... a stroke of genius... I have a white wig and I'm a black woman. That can only mean one thing -- Mary J Blige, bitches.

So I bought a few accessories, grabbed my faux fur jacket from about 10 years ago and wore a my black shirt, jeans and pointy boots. I was a little concerned that no one would understand my costume and I would have to answer questions about it all night, but I was pleasantly suprised that MJB is known even is waspy London. So the moral of my Halloween Tale is that with a little creativity, a recognizable Halloween costume can be achieved on a budget. It may be a little ghetto, but hey -- it's Mary J.

Total cost:
Wig: $6.99
Sunglasses: $5.00
Earrings: $5.00

love sbg

M.K.

2008-10-31T09:12:00.001-04:00

My Kathryn. Magnificent Kathryn. Meticulous Kathryn. My-hero Kathryn.

I'm not just writing this because I promised Kathryn I would. I'm writing this because while this blog is bound to be filled with my whining, complaining and general bitter rantings, there is one area of my life in which I have been ridiculously blessed: friendships. The people who (like it or not) have to talk me off the ledge on an almost daily basis. In fact, it was one of my many breakdowns that brought M.K. (a.k.a. My Kathryn) into my life.

As you know, I have developed many close friendships at work. Friendships so dear to me that I tend to stay at jobs longer than I should just so I can be with them (read: Fuel). So after my best OMG friend had the nerve to get pregnant (thus solidifying that she would be leaving me for a year), she further dared to go into labour early, so I was not amply prepared for her departure (sidebar: she let me name her baby, so we're all good).

Anyway, after B left, I lasted about a month before I had a total breakdown. It wasn't pretty, so I won't get into the details. The important thing is that I knew I wouldn't be able to survive without another person to help me through the days (and the workload). And that's how Kathryn came to work as an intern at OMG.

She couldn't be any better if I conjured her up myself. Almost from the beginning, she was "pickin' up what I was puttin' down." She not only gets me, but she actually participates in all my craziness. For example, we share a pen -- a beautiful blue pen with a built-in blue highlighter that can only be used on the days that we don't work together (so we are sharing something even when we're apart). It's like the sisterhood of the travelling pants, except it's a pen, it doesn't travel, and we're not 16 (although M.K. is depressingly closer to 16 than I am - her one and only flaw).

I could go on and on about how amazing/adorable/funny/smart she is, but it would only either bore you or make you jealous. If you really want to know just how wonderful she is, check out her brand new blog: thatswhatsmithsaid.blogspot.com (and by brand new I mean she started it today, so bear with her).

In closing, I figure that depite my whining, complaning and general bitter rantings, I must have done something right in a previous life to get the kind of friends I have. I love you all to bits and pieces. Feel free to post a comment and love me back.

love your friend-aholic sbg

Goodbye couch, hello world

2008-10-30T14:30:00.000-04:00

My life coach had a radical suggestion -- that I get away from the television and start writing. I didn't bother to explain my current love affair with the PVR; I knew she wouldn't understand like you, dear readers. You have seen me through the loss of my digital cable, the pain of being forced to watch the TV guide channel, then the joy of getting my father to install the digital box in my basement and process of becoming an insomniac from staying up all night to watch shows on time-shifting.

So I said I would except I didn't. Wouldn't you do the same if you were me? I had a reputation to maintain -- a self-professed tv addict who can tell you something good to watch every day of the week. Imagine my horror on a Tuesday morning when my coworkers asked, "Did you watch The Hills last night?" and I had to say - gasp - no?!

But then one day, I thought I would try a little experiment. I decided to only watch the shows that I truly loved. So every day I would assess how much I loved a show BEFORE I tuned in (since I correctly identified that I would probably keep watching something once I started it). And as it turns out, I don't actually LOVE that many shows. I think I was just caught up in the hype... in my own, sick, "give me TV or give me death" hype.

So as of late, the number of "my programs" has been radically reduced. I've actually become quite a critical viewer. Now I can see that nothing ever really happens on The Hills. That the "models" on ANTM just get lazier and more annoying. And Ugly Betty... well, I need to save something for the summer.

So look at me everybody...goodbye couch, hello world,
sbg

p.s. There is an unfortunate addition to my TV schedule: Judge Judy, courtesy of S. Don't even get me started.

I blame Rock Band

2008-10-29T20:19:00.003-04:00

I've decided that I blame Rock Band for my blog/writing absence. Since Rock Band is basically the only thing S and I have in common, I've spent a lot of time with a plastic guitar in my hand rather than a pen. But on the advice of my lifecoach (I'll get to that later), I'm going to start blogging again.

I believe when I started this blog many moons ago, I began with the hardest part of transitioning to life in the Forest City. Now that I've moved to Stratford, a.k.a. Stratvegas (it's supposed to be ironic), I will begin again:

1) I've somehow managed to make my world even smaller. London's population is approx. 350,000 (for you Torontonians, that's about the size of Brampton), while Stratford's population is approx. 30,000 (comparable to the amount of people in the Eaton Centre during the Christmas season).

2) I've left the lunacy of my mother (and the appliances with minds of their own) for a whole new brand of crazy (more to come on that later, I'm sure).

3) Apparently, I've entered a black-people-free zone (except for Roy, best known--by me--as the black guy who works in the factory in Tommy Boy).

This is not to say I haven't gained anything in the move. First and foremost, I get to be with the love of my live -- the PVR. Let's just stop for a moment and all hail the beloved PVR. Oh, how I love thee PVR.

Now before anyone judges me for not putting S at the top of the list, just remember that my beloved sister also ranked below the digital cable two years ago. So technically, you can (and probably should) judge me, but at least I'm consistent.

Of course being with S and the dog is anothe pro to my new life. We have our own little world going on here, almost 100% confined to the apartment (except when the dog forces me outside to walk her). If anyone out there is fearing that domesticity might ensue from my new living arrangement, fear not -- S recently compared me to Peg Bundy in the kitchen. Just pass me a smoke and some bonbons.

I don't want to overload you with the exciting details of my life all in one post, so I'll leave you wanting more. You want more... right?

love sbg

homoerotic baseball terms

2007-10-26T16:00:00.000-04:00

i was recently forced to write a small blurb about an outing to a Jays game for work. which in turn forced me to look up baseball terms on the internet because i know nothing about sports and i wanted to say something a little better than "we hit a home run with this one!" (sidebar: i actually tried to write that and my fingers rebelled of their own will). anyway, i found this "baseball slang dictionary" that had quite a few interesting terms. i know all sports involve a lot of same-sex touching, but baseball has actually worked their homo-eroticism into the slang. let's play a little Balderdash:

Caught Looking
Slang definition: Striking out on a called third strike. (sidebar: HUH??)
My Balderdash answer: When a man sneaks a peek at the goods in the urinal next to him.

In the hole
Slang definition: The batter scheduled to hit after the hitter who is on deck.
My Balderdash answer: Sex.

Moon Shot
Slang definition: A home run that is hit particularly high and long.
My Balderdash answer: Anal penetration.

Pickle
Slang definition: When a baserunner is caught in a rundown.
My Balderdash Answer: Penis.

Rubber Game
Slang definition: The deciding game of a 3 or 5 game series that is tied 1-1 or 2-2.
My Balderdash answer: A game to decide which guy wears the rubber (and therefore penetrates the rubber-less).

And this weird one, just for fun:

Five o'clock hitter
Slang definition: refers to a hitter who hits well in batting practice (which is held around 5:00 p.m. for night games) but not well in games.
My Balderdash guess: A guy who comes home from work and hits his wife if his dinner isn't made.

now, i'm going to Staples for the fourth time today.
love sbg

the great pumpkin heist

2007-10-03T13:08:00.000-04:00

children beware - there's a pumpkin thief on the loose. apparently a farm in exeter (a.k.a. the boons outside of london) was recently the victim of a pumpkin heist. according to the police and the farmer, it looks like it was a professional job.

um... are there professional pumpkin thieves?

okay, okay, this is actually serious. it was 5,000 pumpkins. the thief stands to make a pretty penny if he/she were to sell each at $5-$10 a head (pun intended). and as the farmer tells it, pumpkins have been scarce this year. but it's just so ridiculous that this is headline news. not murders, not drugs, but pumpkin thievery. oh, my bad -- professional pumpkin thievery.

my guess is that this is more than a one-man job. pumpkins are heavy. and they can't just sell them all at once, or it would be suspicious. it'll be like canal street in new york - they'll come up to you mumbling while you're walking down the street, "pumpkins, big pumpkins, great for carving, i'll sell them to you cheap" and then you'll have to go to some dingy parking lot where they'll have the pumpkins in the back of a van.

i bet there's a lot of pumpkin envy around here. like, who has the biggest pumpkin, who carved it the best, most innovative or some shit like that. my coworker's husband carves about 4 pumkins at halloween. her mother carves about twenty. seriously, who has the time or inclination to carve 20 pumpkins if not to make the neighbours feel inadequate?

when i lived in toronto, i was one of the people who turned out the lights to avoid kids coming begging for candy. then i had to hide in the bushes when i wanted to have a smoke, lest i be spotted by an errant trick-or-treater.

anyway, if you see a pumpkin rolling down the street, it has probably escaped and is making its way back to the farm. it probably has valuable information about where the other pumpkins are being stashed too. do what you must.

always,
sbg

the effin' flies

2007-10-01T12:14:00.000-04:00

there is nothing more annoying than flies. well, bees maybe. but bees are kinda scary, which takes away from the annoyance. but flies - they just won't get the eff out of your face. right now there is a fly, one of those big fat ones, flying around me at my desk. AT MY DESK. on friday there was one trapped in the car with me and while i was driving on the highway and it was like landing on my forehead. WHILE I WAS DRIVING ON THE HIGHWAY. i kept trying to kill it with a little stuffed teddy bear i got in my mcdonald's happy meal.

i just hate the effin' flies. that's all.

love sbg

7 minutes

2007-09-28T16:53:00.000-04:00

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.

2007-09-26T16:50:00.000-04:00

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

what i've learned

2007-09-25T13:57:00.000-04:00

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

my alleged penis

2007-09-24T15:25:00.000-04:00

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

it's all for ME.

2007-09-21T11:02:00.000-04:00

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

you know you're getting old when...

2007-05-07T13:09:00.000-04:00

My lack of blogging is 100% due to my obsession with Facebook. But I'm getting over it. This week, after having two "you know you're getting old when" moments, I started missing my blog because it really is the perfect place to write about these random thoughts and share them with my former audience of five. Anyway, here it is:

1. I did some major shopping from Thursday until Saturday and my favourite purchase was a magnetic spice rack. It's so cool. The base has a magnet (that I stuck to the top of the stove) and each spice container has a magnet at the bottom. Even though I am not particularly good at cooking, this new spice rack may change my dislike for the process. My food will be very spicy and aromatic. I plan to take a picture of my beloved spice rack and show it to everyone. Other aging people may actually want to see it.

2. Last Wednesday my friends and I had a long discussion about our digestive systems and bowel movements. Mel was laughing her head off because in the old days we would have been discussing boys, crushes, weekend plans, drinking, sex, or any other young/fun topic. These days, we discuss the length and shape of our feces. Not only sad, but disgusting.

Those are the first 2 signs that 30 is just around the corner. I'll keep you posted on if I have any silver hair spottings or penchants for buying stirrup pants.

with geriatric love,
sbg

The Gay 80s

2007-03-03T11:28:00.000-05:00

I was just watching MuchMoreRetro and the WHAM! Video for “The Edge of Heaven” came on. So I’m looking at George Michael in his suede bolero-style fringe jacket, gyrating all over the stage in his skin-tight jeans and he just seems so incredibly gay to me that I can’t believe there was ever a moment in time that people, including me, didn’t know he was gay. It must have been quite easy (not emotionally, of course) to be in the closet in the 80s, if dressing like that didn’t mean you were gay. Because all guys dressed like that—and we thought they were hot.

Not that there’s anything wrong with people being gay. But there is so much wrong with that jacket I can’t even begin to tell you. And yet, it was the style. In the 80s, I was probably visualizing George draping that jacket over my shoulders as we walked hand-in-hand on the beach.

Splitting Hairs

2007-02-24T21:57:00.000-05:00

something i thought about on saturday night while preparing to go to the embassy: (anyone who has ever lived in london will stop for a moment here to be horrified by the fact that i went to the embassy and actually put on makeup/nice clothes to go there. get over it and keep reading)

i was complaining to lori that as i get older, i have to start plucking hairs out of my chin. and of course I don't notice them until they are long, curly, and--let's be honest--bear a close resemblance to pubic hair. i usually remember when i am rubbing my chin for some reason (pondering life's great questions perhaps?) and then i feel these coarse little hairs protruding from an area that was once smooth as a baby's bottom. then i'm all paranoid about it thinking, just because I didn't notice them, doesn't mean no one else has.

so on the bright side, though i am slowly growing a beard, i have also picked up quite a few eyebrow hairs in my old age. this almost makes growing a goatee worth it, having spent the better part of my lifetime addicted to dark brown eyeshadow and an angle brush in an attempt to make my super-thin, sparse eyebrows look normal.

i've included this picture of my new beautiful eyebrows. i have spared you all a shot of my hairy chin.

you're welcome,
sbg

5 Minutes of Me

2007-02-23T16:49:00.000-05:00

4:49
So strange that Cracker should post a message about dreaming about me, when I had a dream about Fuel last night. Mike was trying to get me evicted from the building (I came to visit someone I guess) and I was freaking out and we were both screaming at and insulting each other. It was weird. Maybe it would have been better if there was a Magic Bus in it.
P.S. I can't believe she still has the dog.

4:53
I bought a T-shirt on Wednesday. It made me really happy because it seemed so encouraging. If stores are selling T-shirts, that means there is an end to this fucking weather somewhere in sight. I am wearing it today, under a sweater of course. Fucking wind chill.

4:55
I think it was Tuesday that I realized I am totally addicted to people being interested in me. I'm like a dog--anyone shows me the least bit of interest and I'm hamming it up, running to get the ball and do tricks. I think it's probably pretty pathetic, but to be honest, I'm not the least bit disappointed in myself. If I was, I guess I'd be a cat.

4:58
The last excruciating minute. Lots of pressure to make this interesting. I think instead, I'll just ride it out.
...
...
...
Hmm... still 4:58.
....

4:59
Bye.

~sbg

Renoucing the Scale

2007-02-20T21:38:00.000-05:00

I forgot that I promised McKinley the story about why I renounced my scale, so here it is: My friend Sonia made me this Weight Loss Tracker in Excel because she and I made a plan to eat healthy, work out, and lose about 2 pounds a week (read: New Year's Resolution). Anyway, after a slow start, I was actually eating quite healthy: fruit and nuts for snacks, salad every day for lunch, fairly sensible dinners. Plus, I'm going to Pilates 3 times a week and the gym 3 times a week. So I step on the scale, feeling quite proud of myself, only to discover that I have gained weight. I was so pissed. Maybe it's muscle, maybe my dinners weren't as sensible as I thought, maybe a million things. But I decided then and there to renounce my scale. I was proud of my progress and that scale threatened to derail all of my good feelings. Though I never thought I would be one of "those" people, I actually feel good just knowing that I'm being active and not pigging out (except for the occasional 2 lunches--old habits die hard). Losing weight is no longer the goal. Maybe I'll always be chubby, but if I quit smoking, I could end up living longer. Which may or may not be a good thing... I'll keep you posted.

If this was a movie, or I lived in a high-rise apartment, I would have thrown my scale out of my window and watched it fall in slow-motion until it crashed into a million pieces. If this was a comedy movie, it would have hit another chubby person.

weight ain't nuthin' but a number,
~sbg

To Make a Long Story Short(er)

2007-02-20T20:32:00.000-05:00

I was writing staff biographies at work recently and thought, "I wish instead of writing these standard bios --he worked here, he did this, blah blah blah-- we could tell a story about a person that sums up who they are as a person." Since it's not likely my boss will go for this idea, I thought it might be a fun exercise for the blog. Just for you. Well, a few of you anyway.

Max Fabulous
Max goes into Tim Horton's and orders a steeped tea.

Chick behind the counter: We don't have any.
Max: You don't have any? Like, you ran out?
Chick: We don't have any made.
Max: Well, can you make some?
Chick: (Sigh) You'll have to wait. It's going to take like 10 minutes.
Max: No, actually, it takes 4 minutes. And yes, I'll wait.
Chick: (Bigger sigh + eye roll)

Chick reluctantly attends to her job, getting steeped tea ready and turning on the timer. 4 minutes flashes in red. She looks over at Max to see if she has seen the timer. Max is smiling smugly. Chick turns around.

4 minutes later...
Chick: (gives Max the tea) Sorry about the wait.
Max: (not smug anymore, but glowing with the satisfaction of being right) No problem.

And that sums up Max's personality in a nutshell. Asks for what she wants (especially steeped tea), points out when you're wrong, is slightly smug when she's right, but at the end, still a very nice and polite young lady.

McKinder
At J's house, probably the second or third time we met. J and the boys leave McKinder and I alone at the house while they get food or something. Within 10 minutes, she and I are on the ground, listening to Bohemian Rhapsody and singing at the top of our lungs, likely the start of the landlord's case for J's eviction. For the next hour or so, we sing songs and dance. By the time the boys return, we're basically best friends.

That sums up McKinder's personality to me because it really doesn't take long to fall in love with her. And anyone who's been to karaoke with her knows she puts her heart into every song and it's totally infectious.

The Bean
(Note: This is less of a story and more like the perfect Bean day)
Meet at Red Room, order Pad Thai and Fried Tofu. The Bean always encourages me to eat more. Literally, I could be opening my mouth to say "No, I'm full" and she'd shove a piece of the tofu in my mouth on the "No". Next, go to Chapters. Grab way too many books and then sit at a table across from each other and make notes, read funny/interesting parts to each other. Random guys come up to us, seemingly to ask a question, really because people are just drawn to Bean. She talks and entertains them much longer than they deserve. Then, a movie. When we went to the see Rent, we left the theatre making up our own words to the tune of "Seasons of Love". When we went to her house, she made me still more food and we changed into our pyjamas ridiculously early to watch the movie. The Bean also is highly supportive of naps.

This is a perfect Bean story because she's up for everything, can make anything fun, and likes to feed me. At more times than I can count in a Bean day, we're laughing and trying to out-joke each other (i.e. challenge each other's spaces). And contemplating punching someone in the face.

I'm stopping now, because it's been like an hour and I'm not sure anyone other than these 3 people read this blog anymore. If anyone else wants their personal story done, let me know.

~sbg

Short Stuff - A Retrospect

2007-02-16T17:27:00.000-05:00

-- Note: I'm never going to be a superblogger like McKinley. I guess blogging is not one of my superpowers, as it were. But it is a part of my latest Life Plan (this would be Life Plan #4080, or something ridonkulous like that) so I decided that I would start with this, which I wrote on August 30, 2005 at 8:34 PM. I have no idea why (it's pretty random). Enjoy this compliments of the new and improved sbg--

SHORT STUFF

After a lifetime of wishing I had grown just two more inches, I’ve decided it’s time to face the facts: Puberty has (long)passed and I’m irrevocably short. But instead of cursing my mother (i.e., damn her pint-sized side of the family!), I resolved to put on my 5-inch heels and start looking at the advantages of a smaller stature. Perhaps I didn’t get short-changed after all.

I’m a renter, and part of my lease is not smoking in the apartment (it’s a basement). Since I’m also a cheater, I don’t actually go outside, I sit in the doorway so I can still see the TV (did I mention I’m also a couch potato?). Keeping my legs bent, I can fit horizontally in the doorway quite comfortably. It’s the kind of position that is only an option for the vertically-challenged.

Here’s another thing: If I ride the Greyhound and am lucky enough to get two seats to myself, I can actually lie down and get a decent rest. Handy for 2-hour trips, a necessity for anything longer.

It comes in handy in the romance department too. While my 5’5” and taller friends worry about the man of their dreams being shorter than they, I would be hard-pressed to find a man (who is not a “little person”) shorter than I. So I can wear all the high heels I want and probably still only skim the shoulders of the average man.

My tall friends also tell me they hate to be with a group of short women, because they feel like gigantic beasts. While I feel a little bit like a freak show walking around with my girlfriend who’s 5’10”, I must admit that her height might make me appear small and dainty, which isn’t a bad thing.

Rebuttal

2007-01-22T12:57:00.000-05:00

I think it's mildly humorous that I'm about to refute my own point, but I have to say that one thing I hate about my previous post/argument is that Rosie started it. The thing that I don't like about "Bleeding Heart" Rosie is that she's all up in arms defending people when they're overweight, unattractive or gay. But when it's someone else, I don't know, say Chinese people, this is what Rosie has to say:

"Ching chong. Danny DeVito, ching chong, chong, chong, chong. Drunk. The View. Ching chong." -Rosie on The View re: people in China talking about Danny DeVito being drunk when he was a guest on the show.

Isn't that funny? Oh wait, it isn't. I guess since Rosie isn't Chinese, they're fair game for ridicule. But when the issues hit close to home for Ms. O'Donnell (see above) then she's quick to get defensive and make the rest of us feel bad. So basically here are the rules according to Rosie:

-It's NOT okay to make fun of people if they're ugly, fat or gay.
-It is A-OK to make fun of people because they have accents, speak a different language, or are in another country.

Now, I'm not completely refuting my previous post. I do feel bad when people (American Idol judges included) make fun of people for "surface" reasons. But I include the following in "surface":

1. Speaking Ebonics to black people
2. Making fun of black people using Ebonics and stereotypes
3. Doing bad and inaccurate impersonations of ANYONE'S accent (i.e. Italians - Who wantsa some spaghetti-a?)
4. Making someone's biological characteristics responsible for their inability to do something (you know what i'm saying: Asian eyes and driving - totally ridiculous)
5. Assuming someone does/eats/says anything based on their ethnicity (there are too many to even give one example)

There are probably many more that I could write, but my lunch break is over. Feel free to contribute if you like.

Revolution!
sbg

When Idol Turns Ugly

2007-01-19T10:01:00.000-05:00

I was a huge fan of American Idol the first few years... I adored Kelly Clarkson, loved Ruben's eyebrows (maybe you had to be there) and was moved by Fantasia's voice and spirit. But as the years went on, I have to admit on some level I was just going through the motions. As a self-professed TV junkie, it's bad for my rep not to be tuned in to one of the most highly-watched shows. I think I got a little turned off by how they dragged everything out. The results show? Spare me. But there are a few things I've always liked: the really good singers, Simon's rude comments, making fun of Paula's clapping and obvious drug/alcohol problems. So I hear on the radio today that Rosie O'Donnell made the following comment regarding the second episode of the this year's Idol:

(the situation, for those who didn't watch, was that Simon insulted this guy Kenneth Briggs by saying he looked like a "bush baby," then laughed with Randy Jackson and Paula Abdul after the contestant left)

"Isn't that what America thinks is entertainment? To make fun of someone's physical appearance and then when they leave the room laugh hysterically at them – three millionaires, one probably intoxicated... The whole thing, it's terribly sad to me."

On the radio they defended the judges and the show by saying that nobody forces the contestants to sign up for the show, they get their 15 minutes of fame (which is probably what they're looking for) and used William Hung as an example of someone who was mocked/ridiculed by the judges but went on to have a moderate amount of success. Well, maybe that's overstating it. But at the very least he extended his 15 minutes to an hour or two.

But is all of that really a justification for what the judges did? I have no problem with Simon telling people anything regarding their questionable talent. Sometimes I feel sorry for them, but really, that's what they signed up for. But does a person who enters a talent competition really sign up for being criticized for their appearance? Do they sign up to sing, or to be told they are fat, ugly, creatures from the jungle, strange looking, or gender benders?

Maybe they do sign up for it. I mean, we're on Season 10 or so of Idol at this point, so by now you've seen how many people Simon has made cry for whatever reason. But I think what Rosie is really saying is, "Why do we find that funny?" And I think she has a point. I think it's hilarious when they show the people who can't sing, and it's made all the more funny when the people are especially awkward-looking. My favourite Simon line ever is this:

Contestant: I'm a blank canvas. You can do anything you want to transform me into the next American Idol.
Simon (holding up pen): This is a pen. Not a magic wand.

Classic. But I didn't like it when Simon was commenting on Mandisa's weight last year. I thought it was mean and completely uncalled for. I know we live in a world where appearance is important, I realize it's especially so when you're going to be on TV. But when did it become okay to just call people ugly or fat to their faces? Is that an England thing? (Mckinley?)

I don't know what I'm really getting at here. And I'm not necessarily pointing a finger because I do watch the show, and I have talked shit about how people look (behind their backs) and I have laughed at least once or twice. Maybe I'm really looking for the answer... why is that entertainment to us?

In sin and error, pining
-sbg

(i stole that from a book)

Men.

2007-01-15T09:09:00.000-05:00

I don't get men. They have made themselves seem like simple creatures under a load of bs rhetoric about how confusing women are. You want to know how you can understand a woman? Talk to her. Do you know how you can understand a man? Seriously. Because if you do, please reply. I'd love to know.

Or perhaps I'm overthinking it, as many people who know me would be apt to say. Maybe I just don't want to accept that men today aren't radically different from cave men. All they want is to eat, sleep, and have sex. Actually, the cave man of the new millenium wants to watch cable and play video games too. But is that the only real difference?

Who can understand why a man who seemingly loves you is unwilling to sacrifice any of his wants and needs in favour of yours? Or one who appears to be "over" you randomly calls you? How about the married man who cheats but won't leave? The casual acquaintance who does crazy things to impress you but won't ask you out? The man of principle who turns out to be just like the rest of them? This isn't just me, people. These are the men that we all know and for some reason love.

I do love men. But I'm so tired of their mixed messages that I've contemplated making my new words to live by "Being a spinster ain't so bad". I may just embrace that, in the end. Make that my superpower.

"show me someone not full of herself and I'll show you a hungry person"
(written by the glorious nikki giovanni, embraced by sbg)

3 Feet High and Rising

2006-12-08T11:55:00.000-05:00

I don't know how widespread the news is, but last night we Londoners had the worst snowfall since 1977. In the last 24 hours there have been over 200 accidents in London and surrounding areas (and they say Toronto has crazy drivers!). Luckily I'm working from home today, so I have yet to really brave the cold outdoors (I did spend 45 fruitless minutes outside shovelling). Someone told me it's like that movie "Snow Day" out here, but I wasn't one of the few people who saw that movie. Just kidding, I think it might be one of the few successful Cuba Gooding Jr. movies. There's just something about him I don't vibe with. As my mother would say, my blood doesn't take him. But I digress. I took a few low-quality pictures on my phone to share with you, since it's kind of hard to explain just how much snow there is. To give you a mental picture, I went next door to borrow a shovel and the snow was up to the middle of my thighs.

Enjoy the pictures and please, no mocking. The first person who writes me a message about how great the weather is where they are gets a cyber-punch in the face.

The Pink Elephant

2006-11-27T17:00:00.000-05:00

For the last few days I have been completely transfixed by the Michael Richards (a.k.a. Kramer from Seinfeld) debacle. Any bubble-boys and girls out there who haven't heard the story can just Google his name and read all about it. But don't believe the hype -- you absolutely must go to a site and watch the video footage of Richards at the comedy club. This is not just about him using the N-word.

Ah, the N-word. The subject of much debate and little agreement. I love how the context of what he said, the way in which he said it, the other horrible things he said have all disappeared in favour of discussing whether or not people should be allowed to say nigger. Yeah that's right, I said it. And guess what? I think I'm allowed. Wanna know why? Because I'm black. Some say that's unfair, and maybe they're right, but tell me this: Is it confusing? Because I really don't think so. Please tell me how can this be confusing:

Black = You can say it.
Not Black = You can't say it.

Perhaps because it begs the question of who or what defines blackness. Which is a fair question. But I'm willing to bet that the group of people in the world for whom this question applies are not the perpetrators we're trying to stop from spreading their racist propaganda.

Yeah, I said it: RACIST. That's the Pink Elephant in the room. I find it interesting how people are trying to AVOID saying it. "He went crazy", "He has a rage problem", "The words just flew uncontrollably out of his mouth", "He had too much to drink", are the catch phrases you'll hear out in the world -- and by the way, that would be what the "Not Black" group of people
are saying (another distinguishing characteristic). In fact, the only not Black person I can recall even using the word is Michael Richards himself. He said, "I'm not a racist--that's the insane part about it." Was everyone else waiting to hear him say "I have lots of black friends" too??

But why are we afraid to say he's a racist? Because it can't be taken back? Well, neither can the things he said, as his feeble apology proved. Or are we not saying it because we believe it isn't true? I'm sorry, but in my mind when you couple calling someone a nigger repeatedly with a reference to lynching, that pretty much makes you a racist. I have a feeling that if I said something like "Listen kike, 50 years ago I'd have had you in a gas chamber", it wouldn't be defendable, even if I was a personal friend of Mr. Seinfeld himself.

So I guess to me the debate should really be about what makes someone a racist. Here is the definition of a racist, as found on dictionary.com:

1. The belief that race accounts for differences in human character or ability and that a particular race is superior to others.
2. Discrimination or prejudice based on race.

Now here are some of the comments Michael Richards made:
"50 years ago we'd have you upside down with a fucking fork up your ass".
"Throw his ass out, he's a nigger".
"Oh, this shocks you. To see what's buried underneath".
"It was uncalled for you to interrupt me you cheap motherfucker."
"That's what happens when you interrupt the white man."
And according to the men he was speaking to, he also said "When I wake up in
the morning, I'll still be rich and you'll still be a nigger."

I'm not saying definitively that he's a racist--I'll never know what goes on inside his head. What concerns me is that the world is trying so hard to say he isn't. It basically closes the possibility of any real dialogue we could have as a society about "what's buried underneath" all our political
correctness.

I watched a lot of news coverage about this, and then I finally saw an interview with the 2 men Richards was addressing. And they said that it was all bad, but the worst part was when he referenced lynching. That's what really hurt, and what made them really scared. And I thought, "Yes, that's it." Which made me a little sad because it made me think, is it only Black people who will ever really get it?

I know that there are people in the Not Black group who do get it, those who will be reading what I'm writing here and truly understanding. But sometimes it really sucks to live in a world where people are so willing to dismiss it as something else, or disregard it because he's famous, or forgive him because he didn't mean it.

In closing, what I really want people to take away from this post and this incident and everything else is that people shouldn't be so quick to say the world had changed, that racism doesn't exist, or that black people need to just "get over it". This is why our defences are always up -- because when they're down, it can really hurt.

If anyone has gotten to the end of this very long post, I appreciate you reading my rant. This is a far cry from what I usually write, certainly from my lively sex post. But it's equally important (and equally disgusting).

feeling purged,
sbg

Blog Etiquette and other mysteries

2006-11-06T13:58:00.000-05:00

I basically assume that everyone who reads my blog are people I know. But every now and then I'll get a message from someone I don't know, and I'm not quite sure what the blog etiquette is. I always go and check out their profiles or blogs. But do I post a message back on my page or on theirs? And if I post a message on their page, then shouldn't I be writing about them? I can't very well go to their blog, read it, and then post a message about me and my blog... can I? I just don't know. I certainly don't want to have something else to feel guilty about... apparently, that is not superblack behaviour.

Another thing I'm wondering is if there's some kind of "blogger big brother" out there who will get me in trouble if I write inappropriate things. Here's why: I recently had a bunch of conversations about weird sexual acts and their equally strange names. I believe the conversation was the result of a friendly game of porno password, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, my friend's boyfriend told me a bunch of them, and they had ridiculous names like "cherry cheesecake" and "abe lincoln". So I was like, "This is all a load of crap. I could make up any weird sexual act, give it some silly name and that doesn't make it something that people actually do." But I was curious, so I started to look some of them up and I found an online encyclopedia of them... like from A to Z! So I wanted to post the link because it is mind-boggling what people think of in this world. But then I started to worry that I could get booted off blogger for promoting sexual deviance or something. If anyone out there knows the protocol, hook a blackgirl up with the details please.

But I did make up a few. I'll tell you the names and you can just use your imagination for the rest: "Crazy Tom" and "Hot Fudge Sundae".

I am a sick, sick woman.

~sbg

Could I be more excited?

2006-11-03T15:20:00.000-05:00

My faithful readers will remember that I had a picture taken after I successfully passed my driver's test. I decided to post it today with this amusing little anecdote:

I was showing a girl a work some pictures that Max sent me and we came across this one. So I was like, "Oh, my mom took that after I got my driver's license." And she was like, "Aw, that's so cute! Do you have any other old pictures?" Rather than say, "That was actually taken 3 months ago," I just mumbled something like, "Uh... no. That's the only one."

Sometimes I forget that most people get their licenses when they're 16. And if they are grown-up when they take the test, they probably don't go with their mothers.

On the plus side, I obviously still look quite youthful.

adoring you,
sbg

Chris's secret soon-to-be blog

2006-10-26T18:52:00.000-04:00

it's so confidential, he wouldn't even let me use it as the title of this blog.

chris is beside me right now, lighting up the library with his jacket. representing both where he gets his duckets and colour coordination.

chris was kind enough to come visit me for the one hour i have free. we figured out that this is the first time we've seen each other since i left toronto. here is a snippet of our "catching up" conversation:

chris: so how are things?
me: good.
me: what's up with you?
chris: nothing much.
(chris gets text message)
(i start looking for books on cd)
me: i need to go on the computer.
(while computer is loading)
me: hey, my boss caught me playing mcdonald's monopoly online.
chris: have you won yet?
me: yeah, some stupid snapfish pictures.
chris: me too.

that basically catches us up to now.

we had pictures, but library nazis won't let us save them on the computer.

my hour is up,
sbg

ps i'm at another computer now, so i'm uploading the pictures. take that, central library. you can't hold us down.

I'm protesting titles right now*

2006-10-23T15:07:00.000-04:00

I don’t have any really good excuses for not blogging, but let me give you a few bad ones I came up with:

1. I was actually trying to do a podcast instead of a blog, but it turns out that my technical savvy stops at programming the VCR. So I’m back to good old writing. Pass me the scroll and ink, please.

2. I have been extra busy because I now have to run band practice three times a week. Which means instead of getting home at 6 o’clock (ten and a half hours after I leave in the morning), I get home at 8:30 (thirteen hours after I leave the house in the morning, a.k.a. fourteen hours after I wake up in the morning). So I get a whopping hour and half to do whatever I want at home before I should be asleep for the next glorious day.

3. Nothing of note has happened.

What makes me laugh about this blog is that it has become yet another thing to make me feel guilty. As many of you know, I have a little guilt problem. For example, I started taking yoga on Wednesdays at lunch, but I don’t really like it. I am also taking Pilates on Tuesdays and Thursdays at lunch, and I really like it. So I want to quit yoga, but I feel guilty. I feel quilty because I don't want the teacher to think it’s her fault, since a bunch of us are quitting, and yet we are all continuing with Pilates. But the alternative is paying to do something I don’t want to do. Just like Chicken Little hair. I felt guilty to say, “Why is my hair grease mania?” and so I ended up paying money to look like David Spade in Joe Dirt. Anyway, the point is that I feel guilty when I’m not writing in the blog. That's why I make bad excuses.

It’s funny that I just wrote, “The point is…” because I’ve been saying that since I was twelve years old. Isn’t that crazy? Like I knew the point at twelve. My friends would always tease me because I said it all the time. And I didn’t even realize it until the grade 8 yearbook, when we had a section that listed everyone’s favourite saying and that was mine. When I think of things like that, I think I must have been a very obnoxious child.

Feeling guilty because this is so short,
sbg

*I don’t feel I can handle the added pressure of coming up with a title. I’m very fragile right now.

Quote of the Week

2006-09-28T11:41:00.000-04:00

I was watching a news clip of Tiger Woods speaking at a press conference,
re: an Irish magazine saying his wife was a big dirty porn whore. Tiger was quoted saying, "It is unacceptable. I do not accept it". Wow, he speaks so well! But can I just say that this could all be a simple misunderstanding? His wife is so generic white woman it would be really hard to distinguish her in soft porn focus. She's medium height, blond hair, slim build, and attractive. I mean, for all we know, it could be Cuba Gooding Jr.'s wife in that porn.

Anyway, Tiger's eloquent words lead me to reflect on some unacceptable things I've noticed, so I thought I would share them with you.

1. Old man in restaurant
My friends and I went to a restaurant for our monthly "Diva's Dinner". When the girls get together and the wine is flowing freely, it tends to get a little loud. But hey, we're having a good time, talking, laughing, and enjoying our dinner. Then this old man behind us gave us the subtle sign that the volume was a little too high for him. That sign was scrunching up his eyes, plugging his ears, and then moving his hands in a "keep it down" motion. The truth is, any way he chose to tell us to shut the hell up would have probably pissed me off. But the hand motions? Unacceptable. I do not accept it. Except in that case I did, because he was mad old and I didn't want him to have a stroke or anything.

2. The return of domesticity
I don't know if you've all heard, but domesticity is back. Apparently there are women my age who are married or living with their boyfriends who simply have to make dinner. Like, they seriously can't go home and do nothing. Or get him to make it. And when they do have a night out, or go on vacation for a few days, they make dinner and freeze it for their men. Their 30-year-old men. They do it all--cooking, cleaning, laundry, feeding the dog. There's a slight possibility that garbage still falls under the man's jurisdiction, but don't quote me. Okay, I know I sound all judgy-wudgy. But the truth is, I'm just afraid my boyfriend is going to find out and realize that I've been scamming him with that whole, "independent women don't do things like that". Because these women are all independent and smart. So despite what Rina thinks, I've decided I'm much too lazy to get on the domesticity bandwagon. Now if my boyfriend would like to get on it, I would definitely accept that.

3. The Western clones
If you're a white girl and you go to Western, you have a new uniform for a night on the town: a tank top, a jean mini-skirt over black leggings, and stillettos or flip-flops. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this outfit per se, but when you're looking at a line of about 200 girls outside of a club and 80% of them are wearing this outfit, it's a bit strange. And it's so Western. When I was 18, the Western uniform was B.U.M. hats, Western sweatshirts, hospital pants, and Teva sandals. I'm not saying absolutely everyone wears the same clothes, but I challenge you to honestly say there isn't some kinda crazy cloning going on there. You know how Western is known for its Science department? Uh huh. Just think about it for a minute.

That's my word,
sbg

My Life in 10 minutes or less

2006-09-19T16:52:00.000-04:00

The sad thing is that the update about my life may not even need a full 10 minutes. But I digress...

Minutes 1-5
I made a fatal error in judgement last Thursday when I decided to see Metric without the Bean. What was I thinking? Don't get me wrong, Metric was great. But it seemed the crowd had a little T-dot-itis, as a large number of them stood in front of the stage with their arms hanging limply at their sides. It was also very un-crowded, for reasons unknown to me. Emily Haines kept thanking us for being a small crowd, but wondered if she too was a little peeved by the lack of enthusiasm when she asked (midway through a song), "Do you guys know this song?" And she wasn't being coy.

Minutes 5-10
I've started to really question why I am so inexcusably lazy. I complain about being unfulfilled and uninspired, yet I do nothing to change my life. I like to say that it stems from the womb, where I apparently found a comfy spot and never moved--so much so that my mother thought I had died in her belly. Fast-forward to right now and that comfy spot is the couch. Similar to the nurture/nature debate, I think this falls in the genetic/generation debate. Is this laziness woven into my DNA, or is it my peers and People Magazine that force me to do nothing but ingest pop culture?

Minute 11 (I need it, hooray!)
I'm using my connection to other people who know people to gain friends at work. A coworker told me that she really liked Esthero's brother. I told her that I had a good friend who was best friends with Esthero, which meant she was only 2 degress of separation away. She was duly impressed by my Kevin Bacon-ness.
(Bean, I might need your help in the future).

Minute 12
No time to proofread. I'm out.

sbg

Gotcha!

2006-09-14T09:21:00.000-04:00

4 more minority spottings, on 4 separate occasions.
The last one was cute. Score!

Coming Out

2006-09-10T23:29:00.000-04:00

Titles are becoming a problem for me. In the spirit of what this entry is going to be about, let me share this little secret with you: I just spent 5 minutes trying to think of a title. And I do this all the time--even when I'm just sending an email. There, I said it.

A coworker showed me this blog called PostSecret... In a nutshell, people write secrets on postcards anonymously and send them to this person who posts them on a blog. There's actually a book of them too. It's a blogspot thing, if you want to look it up.

So in the spirit of that blog, I decided to write some of my secrets in this entry. It obviously isn't anonymous because to the best of my knowledge, everyone who reads this blog knows me. And given that, these are probably "secrets" I would tell you if it ever came up anyway. But at least I'm posting, dammit. Here I go:

1. Sometimes I cry when I watch "What Not To Wear". When the people are all emotional, and they talk about how the experience changed their lives and they feel better about themselves, and then they see their families and everyone is so happy, I'll actually have tears streaming down my face.

2. Since they started airing, I've taped Beverly Hills 90210 every day.

3. When the TV Guide that has the new fall lineup arrived, my eyes lit up and I clapped my hands with glee.

sidebar: I just realized that the first 3 "secrets" have all been about TV and will probably come as a surprise to NO ONE.

4. I wish I was mysterious.

5. I wear Spanx.

6. Every night when I go to bed I spend at least 15 minutes having pretend conversations with people.

7. I make up speeches in my head, like if I won an award, at my sister's wedding, and even at someone's funeral.

8. I made a CD for the car and put Kelly Clarkson's Since You Been Gone on it twice.

9. I've eaten an entire box of Kraft Dinner for dinner on more than one occasion.

10. When I first saw Tom Cruise jump on Oprah's couch, I thought it was sweet.

Well, that's it. Some of my not-so-deep dark secrets. I expect ridicule and mocking to follow in the form of comments.

Feeling exposed,
sbg

The Art of Communication

2006-09-01T17:50:00.000-04:00

I realize that my mother is often the subject in this blog, and in that regard, often the object of my ridicule. But for God's sake, could the woman give me any more material?

Since I have mastered the art of driving, I am using her car everyday. Mostly for work, but I like to have a little "me" time out on the road too. So I guess my parents have been discussing giving me that car, and to that end, were wondering if I could afford insurance. This is an almost verbatim transcript of our conversation:

Mum: Do you think you can afford the insurance for the car?
Me: How much is it?
Mum: A lot.
Me: How much is a lot?
Mum: I don't know... I just know it's a lot.
Me: Well, how much do you pay?
Mum: Since I had that accident, it went up a lot.
Me: Uh... could you ballpark it for me?
Mum: I don't know... $500?
Me: A month?!
Mum: Um, yeah... uh... I don't know. Ask your dad. I just know it's a lot.
Me: (Sigh)

I'm not even going to recount the conversation I had with my dad about it... just decrease the "a lot" comments by half and replace them with the similarly vague, "it depends".

The art of communication at it's finest, folks. I guess you can see how I ended up the articulate woman I am today.

In other news, the job is going well. While I'm not necessarily more confident in myself, I think my boss is more confident I can actually do the job. As I explained it to a friend earlier today, whenever I manage to say something interesting and creative during our brainstorming sessions, my first thought isn't "Yay Me!", it's more like "Okay, I'm not getting fired today. Whew." Which means that sadly, my quarter-life crisis lives on. Insatiable bastard.

It's crazy... so many things that I dreamed about before I moved have come true: I got a job in my field. I got my driver's license. I'm not broke (thanks to today's paycheque). Yet still, I have these feelings of restlessness and discontent. I guess I'm more high-maintenance than I thought.

But I'm not unhappy. And while that doesn't sound like much, compared to how I felt in January, that's a lot (for lack of a less-used term). On the even brighter side, I think I've knocked off more than half of my New Year's Resolutions list, which is unheard of for me. I'm doing so well, I'm actually considering using my gym membership.

Look out 2007!
sbg

Overkill Espiritu

2006-08-25T17:04:00.000-04:00

You can all thank “Overkill” Espiritu for inundating me with requests to write another blog entry. Everyone else who sent requests successfully added to the pressure. I hope you’re all proud of yourselves.

Many of you know that I started a new job recently. For my own protection, in anticipation of the shit I may talk in the future, I won’t say the name of the company. Let’s just say I have found employment in which the expectations are high, to say the least. And after all my ranting and complaining about how I can do more than walk and talk, it turns out I don’t want to do much more than that. I miss low expectations. I miss playing my travel poker game at work. I miss What Not To Wear and Beverly Hills 90210 (just kidding, of course I’m taping them). But all in all, as grown-up jobs go, I’ve got a pretty nice set-up. The people are cool, the work is giving me great experience for my future grown-up life, and I’m catching up with a lot of people on MSN. Just kidding, boss.

An interesting thing happened today: I saw 2 black people. Oh, did I mention my new job is located in a town whose population is 34,000? And of those 34,000 I can only verify that 2 of them are not white. I guess I won’t be starting a superblackgirl revolution here (all part of their master plan, I’m sure). I’ll keep you posted if there are any more minority spottings.

I discovered something else very strange today. I’m doing a story about Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and I noticed that the focus is supposed to be “Reaching Unattached Women”. I was like, What the hell? Isn’t being single hard enough? As it turns out, “unattached” in this case means without a family doctor (which therefore means no one is prompting you to get checked, which means your cancer could go undetected). So my theory is that as bad as it sounds to be “unattached” in a social world, in the medical world it means you could die. Or maybe it means that in both worlds, I’m not sure. Anyway, you need to check yourself before you wreck yourself (that would be the slogan if the campaign ran on BET).

In other news, does everyone know I got my driver’s license? Despite being blown off by my driving instructor on a few more occasions, including the lesson I was supposed to have before my test, I managed to pass with flying colours. Well, that might be an overstatement. Soaring hues, perhaps. I wanted to include my “before and after” pictures (my mom took them at the DMV) because I think it’s funny how they look exactly the same. Before: Delirious smile (I was really nervous). After: Delirious smile (I was really happy). Anyway, if you know me, you can imagine.

Does that satisfy everyone’s sbg craving? Harass me with emails if I ever take this long again. But I guess I don’t need to tell you that, bean.

Revolution! (that’s for you, Max)
sbg

Who's the Worst Blogger in the World?

2006-06-22T22:39:00.000-04:00

I think it's me. Certainly the laziest. But in my defense, I have started training for my new job, which does not leave me a lot of time to be blogging. You see, I had it all planned out: my hours are 3-11, so if I wake up by 10 a.m., I would get enough sleep, but still have at least 3 hours to accomplish something before I had to get ready for work. Now, I've managed the waking up part, which truly is something to be celebrated because anyone who knows me knows I love to sleep in. But by the time I make a coffee, breakfast, check my email, watch The View and What Not To Wear, I basically have to get ready for work. So the system has not been perfected yet.

So here's the recap of my life. On my first day of training, I was waiting in the lobby and I see this guy walk in who looks familiar. I sneak a few sidelong glances at him and realize it is my very first boyfriend, whom I have not seen in about 13 years. I dart outside to call one of my friends (she wasn't home), and he comes out and says, "I thought that was you...". The crazy part of this story was that I was just talking about him, wondering what had ever happened to him. Who would have thought that after a month-and-a-half together, then 13 years apart, we would end up in the same place? The funny thing is that when I was talking about him the few days before I saw him, I was telling my friend that the reason we broke up was technically because I was "square" (his words), but really because we had nothing to talk about (which was a problem that could not be overcome with making out a lot, since I was apparently so "square"). We chatted a bit, but I found that I still don't have much to say to him. And since I'm not interested in making out with him, I guess there's nowhere to go from here.

In other news, my trainer at work hates me. I've decided it's for one of 3 reasons:

1. She's a woman, so she's is totally immune to my charm
2. I ask her too many challenging questions. Every time I ask a question, she either says "We're going to cover that later" or "You don't really need to know that" or "Just follow what it says in the training guide". Which all translates to me as, "I hate you".
3. Because I'm black.

I really didn't want to have to pull the race card, but when in doubt... it's always right there for the picking. Anyway, I've made 2 friends and they totally see it too.

The worst part is that I really don't think I'm going to like this job too much. There are waaaaaay too many rules. They actually suggested that we buy timers so we don't exceed our break or lunch times. If I have to walk around with an egg timer on a lanyard, it's time to find a new job.

In other news, my driving instructor and I made up (read: he remembered he had to take me on lessons). Today we stopped at Tim Horton's and he tells me that he's trying to train himself to take his coffee black so he won't have to use so much cream and sugar. Then he says, "I guess I just have to get used to it. You know--Once you go black, you never go back!" Is he flirting, or is it just me?

sbg

Very Inappropriate Things

2006-06-05T23:23:00.000-04:00

Thursday
I was on the College streetcar, reading a book, on my way to get a much-needed fix of Red Room and Rina. The driver turns on the microphone:
"Sorry folks, there's a lot of construction on College Street here, so we're going to be a little delayed."
Not a problem. Thanks for letting me know. More time to read, I guess.
"Yup, they're doing a lot of construction around here."
Okay then. Reading.
"I think this is the most construction they've ever done in this city."
Interesting. Can I read now please?
"Pot holes are popping up like crop circles around here."
Put bookmark in book. After a few blissful yet misleading minutes of silence, I open the book again.
"Oops, better not hit the police officer here."
Sigh. Bookmark.
"Hey, it's not raining over here."
Wow, the weather report right up to the minute.
"Ever wonder why it rains in the west, but then it stops in the east?"
Nope. I was wondering what my book was about though.
"Maybe we're closer to the equator, heh heh."
Hey, a live show. This is almost better than my very interesting book.
"Spadina next, Spadina. Coming right up. Spadina."
My stop. Unfortunatley, I'll never get to hear the end of his monologue, "A Streetcar Driver named Annoying".

Saturday
I was at my aunt's graduation ceremony at Canada Christian College. In the tradition of all graduation ceremonies, it was mad boring and mad long. So in keeping with my family tradition, my sister and I went outside to have a smoke (the tradition started when my mother and I did this at my sister's high school graduation, subsequently missing her receiving the diploma). So we're outside of the building smoking, trying to be innocuous, and this guy comes up to me and says, "Hi. I saw you before and I think you're very beautiful. Can I have your phone number so we can get to know each other?" Hello, Mr. Impropriety. We're at a graduation at a Christian college, for God's sake. If this guy saw me, thought I was attractive and thought, "What would Jesus do?", I don't think the answer would be "Treat this like a singles bar and go get her!" So I say, "Sorry, I have a boyfriend." He says okay and walks away. Then he stops a few feet away, turns back and asks, "Uh.. you have a boyfriend?" Uh... did I stutter? What did he think, that I had a boyfriend when he was in front of me, and got single when he was five feet away? Sorry buddy. But God Bless.

Monday
My mother came to pick me up from Steve's house, but decided to let me drive back. So I'm driving along and she asks me how Steve is doing. I say he's fine. She says she should have asked him herself becaue he walked me out but she didn't get a chance, blah blah blah. I say it's okay, he's doing fine. Then she starts saying how he's looking good, he's looking more manly (he hadn't shaved in the week I was gone) and that he looked like he put on a little weight. Um, okay Mom. Then she goes on and says how the weight looks good on him, how it fills out his face and stuff, and how it makes him look sexy. Uh, excuse me Mom, I just swallowed a little bit of vomit. So I revert to being fourteen and say, "Ew... Mo-om! That's sooo gross!" And she's like, "No, I don't mean it like that, I don't mean sexy, I just mean he looks more attractive. Not attractive to me, but just... oh never mind." Even though she's lived in Canada for about a million years, she still hasn't mastered the finer nuances of the Western phrase book. Like that you don't call your daughter's boyfriend sexy or attractive. Did I mention that my mom is afraid to say things to me now because she thinks I'm going to put it on the internet? Say what you want about the woman, but she does know me well.

Predictably yours,
sbg

The Drought is Over... Kinda

2006-05-24T13:24:00.000-04:00

I thought this day would never come. I feared I would be unemployed for all enternity. I believed I was destined to become a Dr. Phil fan no matter how hard I fought it. But alas, the drought is over. I am employed. I have officially joined The Soft Society (for a definition, see www.schmusic.com/flash.html).

It seems someone has finally recognized that my skills extend beyond walking and talking. You may remember that I recently attended a job fair where I charmed the pants off (not literally) a male interviewer. Well, it worked. As of June 19th, I will be a customer service professional at a call centre . I have accepted the challenge to sit, pick up a phone, and talk--simultaneously. Watch out world! And while it means I will miss my 4 o'clock ritual (me, mum, and Oprah), it also means that I will be getting a paltry but much-needed paycheque every 2 weeks. And getting a lot more use out of the VCR timer.

This employment has come just in the nick of time. My dad is in between jobs for a few weeks, which means I will be at home with BOTH of my parents. Between my dad monitoring when I wake up in the morning, and my mom with her "psychic" abilities (she predicted the phone would ring about 5 minutes ago), not to mention their near-constant bickering, there is little peace to be found at home. They just pick-pick-pick at each other, it's only a matter of time before all that negative attention would turn to me. I'm getting out, and I'm taking what little self-esteem I have left with me.

But there may be a down side to my sudden surge of hire-ability. I recently completed the in-class portion of my driver's education, and have started the in-car lessons with my male instructor. But today, totally uncharacteristic of my usual encounters with the opposite sex, he forgot about me! I sat on my front porch waiting for him to come and he never showed up. I thought about it for a long time, and decided there's only one explanation for this drastic turn of events: Getting a job has killed my mojo. Sigh. My future is looking sadly devoid of free drinks.

To end on a brighter note, I met an extremely nice and generous man from a local publication who gave me some great advice on freelancing in London. It is so nice to live in a city where someone will actually meet with you to give you guidance, despite having looked at your blog with your scary Chicken Little hair. Or maybe I have a little charm left in me yet.

-sbg

Just call me Chicken Little

2006-05-05T14:03:00.000-04:00

This one is for my faithful readers out there who are jonesing for more posts from the superblackgirl. The subtitle to this one is: My trip to the hairdresser.

I've had the same stylist in Toronto for the last 5 years. We have an understanding. She knows that I tend to play it safe on the hair tip, "just wash and blow dry", is what I usually say. Every now and then I get bored, or she gets bored, and we'll do a little cut, a little colour, a little sumthin' sumthin' to keep it interesting. Well, the stylist I went to in London added a little too much of sumthin'--that would be grease. As my sister and I would say, my hair was "Grease Mania". She purposely did not face me towards the mirror, so I had no idea what she was doing back there while I watched the Young and the Restless. At some point, I felt like my head was getting a little heavy, but I dismissed it. I mean, she's a professional, right? Just because we're in her apartment and she washed my hair over her kitchen sink, doesn't mean she doesn't know what she's doing, right? Wrong. Oh, I/it was so wrong.

When she finished, she said, "Shake your hair out a little". I tried, but unfortunately my hair was so grease-laden it would barely move. Remember that scene in Flowers in the Attic when the evil grandmother pours tar in Carrie's hair when she's sleeping, and when she wakes up she can barely move her head? Yeah, I'm Carrie.

So I paid her (yes, I paid her. I'm a punk, I know) and left, got in the car with my mother, and proceeded to have a total freak-out. I couldn't even touch my head I was so grossed out. The only good thing was that my mother's hands and arms were really ashy, so I told her to rub them in my hair to oil them up. It worked, but she could barely grip the steering wheel after that.

So we're driving home with the windows down, and we pull into the Tim Horton's drive-through to get coffee. My mother looks at me and says, "I wish I had a camera". It seems the wind had blown my hair-don't around a bit, and it was frozen in it's wind-blown position due to all the grease. As it turned out, I had my camera phone. So that's me up there, and that's the story. Hope you enjoyed it.

sbgreezy

The Job Fair and the Fracas

2006-04-27T21:25:00.000-04:00

Today I woke up very early (or, very early for the unemployed) to go to a job fair. It was for a call centre job of course, but I figured since the company has to hire 350 people, maybe one of them could be little old me. I also liked the fact that it would be over all at once--bring your resume and references, have a first interview, a second interview, and then take a computer test. Acutally, what I really liked was being able to use my brand-new resume and not having to write a cover letter. I'm really so sick of cover letters.

I was lucky enough to be in the first group of people who went in, and we watched a promotional video about the company. I'm sure you can picture it--some chick sitting at a computer pretending to be on a real call, then someone else, a "manager" probably, comes behind her and puts a hand on her shoulder, and the camera zooms in as they share a smile. I have to say, it looks like a great place to work!

So I had the first interview with a woman, let's call her Old Stoney, and she was totally stone-cold-ice-face with me the whole time. You know how when you talk and explain a situation, and the person you're talking to sometimes nods, smiles, or makes agreeable noises? Not Old Stoney. She just sat there staring at me, not saying a word. And anyone who knows me know that when someone does that, I just start blabbering on. So it didn't go well.

But the second interview brought something that I have never encountered in the countless interviews I have gone on in the last year: A man. Ah yes, men. Anyone who has read my previous entries will remember that I can charm a man into many things. This was no exception. To be frank, this guy LOVED me. We even had to do this role playing exercise where I have to try and sell him business cards, and I suck at sales, but he not only bought the cards, but he bought the more expensive ones. Let's just say if it was up to that guy, he would hire me and marry me.

Anyway, keep your fingers crossed for me. It's not like my dream job or anything, but it will definitely fulfill the dream of getting a paycheque, which is enough for now.

Some final notes:
1. Today my mother asked me if I was finished with the straightening iron. I said, "Yes, I turned it off." But you know what I forgot? To unplug it. So I said to her, "What is it that you think is going to happen if we don't unplug it? That it will turn itself on and burn down the house?" And she said yes. I think she's really got a point here. I know I hate it when those pesky appliances turn themselves back on. They should really invent some that don't have minds of their own.

2. Today on MSN Entertainment I read the best word, "Fracas" used in the best sentence: "Rapper Snoop Dogg and five associates were arrested after a fracas at Heathrow Airport." I'm pretty sure that's how Snoop himself put it.

3. Chris Rowe is back on the dating scene with a vengeance. Ladies, tell your friends. Mothers, lock up your daughters. Just kidding.

Charming my way into employment?
sbg

Why Oprah Exists, or, An Amendment to My Rant

2006-04-20T21:20:00.000-04:00

I watched Oprah shortly after writing my elitist rant and was completely ashamed of myself (hmm... is that the real mission of the Angel Network?) I was confronted by young women in the world who have suffered horrors I scarcely encounter in my spoiled, suburban life; girls who have struggled beyond having to put jam on crackers or salsa on rice. And to increase my shame, they were smiling. Happy. Ebullient. Completely and totally the opposite of whiny, bratty me.

This is why I need cable--to make sure I don't turn into a complete asshole. Now just imagine how enlightened I could be if I had ALL the channels.

I never should have stopped reading my self-help book (I'm with you McKinder, bring on the healing! Haters be damned!). Or perhaps I shouldn't have blown off those scientology guys. Sure Tom Cruise is crazy, but he's also crazy-happy, so he must be doing something right. Vitamins and exercise... right Tom?

By the way, I turned down the Rogers job. And dodged their subsequent call regarding my unpaid bill.

All my clouds have silver linings,
sbg

An Elitist* Rant

2006-04-20T14:36:00.000-04:00

In the harsh light of a particularly bad day, I've decided that I got a raw deal in the life department. No, not in terms of the healthy, able-bodied, good family, roof-over- my-head kind of way, but in the i-did-the-right-thing-and-this-is- where-it-got-me kind of way. Today I got offered a job going door to door to sell Rogers home phones, internet, and cable. Now, don't get me wrong, I think Rogers has been pretty good to me. I know I've complained in the past, but their constant phone calls do stop when I pay the bill. And they've only cut me off like 3 times. And I just upgraded my phone for free. But when I was considering taking this job, I realized the only reason I would take it was to have a job. Period. And I thought, what exactly did I do wrong that I am in the position where I have to take a job that I don't want just to have a job? Well, let's run through my life choices for a minute.

I did well in high school. I went to university. I double-majored, despite additional time and finances. I have a loan that I will be paying back for the rest of my natural life as a result of this education. I worked. I worked 2 jobs sometimes. I took extra classes. I volunteered. I struggled, was constantly broke, didn't buy an excessive amount of clothes, wasn't (overly) promiscuous, gave money to the homeless (and apologized when I couldn't), barely did drugs, maybe drank a tiny bit more than I should have but not enough to send me into a 12-step program, and basically tried to be a good, kind, responsible human being as often as possible. And after all of that, I get offered a job that when I asked what skills it required was told, "Well, you need to know how to talk." Okay, so let me get this straight: I need to know how to a) talk, and b) walk (door-to-door). Skills I just happened to have mastered at the age of about 5. So basically I could have been hammered every day, taken ecstacy, shrooms, acid, coke, and any other number of drugs I never did, had a litter of kids, blown off university, gone on more than 1 vacation, screwed my way around the world, had a wardrobe that didn't consist of sweaters I've owned for 10 years, and would still be able to come back to London to get this job.

So the morale of this rant is don't be too hard on yourself. And if you have kids, don't be too hard on them. Because no matter what they do, as long as Rogers exists they will always have a place in the world, right next to me.

"If you can walk and talk, you can get a job on my block"
-sbg

*I know I sound like an obnoxious snob, but it really stems from my crippling self-pity. Which is almost as attractive as elitism, I know.

Being Unemployed is a Full-time Job

2006-04-19T18:05:00.000-04:00

I've actually been too busy to write a new blog. How does that happen, you ask? I think it could be because I still think my weekends should be free of work or anything relating to work, and I just came back from a long weekend away. Yes, I felt I needed a vacation from my life of leisure.

I had a perfect T-dot day on Saturday. First, Red Room, Pad Thai and the Bean. An unbeatable combination. It was a gorgeous day so we went walking through Kensington (I almost went to a psychic, but frankly I was scared about what my future holds), and went 3/4 of the way into a zillion stores. We also hit 3 bookstores: #1, where we had Starbucks lattes and were potentially recruited for scientology (creepy guys, unexplained arm touching, lurking by the exits--what else could that be about?). #2, where we had to go to the (gasp) self-help section for the book we were looking for, and #3, where I bought a book for $1 (the good news is that I actually had a dollar).

Today was a banner day though: I actually worked. FOR MONEY. That's right, I made a whole 40 bucks today (before tax). I spent 4 hours calling people to tell them that they were getting a new financial representative. Out of the 170 calls I made, I talked to 45 people, got hung up on twice, and realized that all numbers in Chatham start with 354. So all in all I think it was a productive day. And despite my meager earnings, I've decided to look at this as the potential end of the volunteer curse. Keep your fingers crossed. And take the pins out of my voodoo doll, for God's sake.

Momma needs a new pair of shoes,
sbg

10 Things I Hate About My "Life"

2006-04-11T23:30:00.000-04:00

1. Having to explain what I'm doing in London everytime I meet someone new or run into someone I haven't talked to in a long time.

2. Having to look for sunglasses with my mother, who picks up a thousand different versions of the exact same pair and then dismisses them all for the exact same reason.

3. My dad coming home at 6 o'clock and upon seeing me in my robe saying, "Did you just wake up?"

4. Having to dial a million numbers whenever I make a long distance call because I have to use a calling card (to avoid a dad freak-out when he sees the phone bill).

5. Having nothing to say to Steve on the phone because neither one of us has a job or a life. And yet we still call each other 5 times a day.

6. The old-school fuse box in this house where you can't tell which fuse blew, and since they're not labelled, we have to unscrew and replace every single bloody one of them to find the problem.

7. The toaster oven in this house where the on/off switch and the toast button are both broken, so we have to plug it in, then we broil the bread, then unplug it. Every single time.

8. The BASIC cable. Do you realize that I can no longer complete the TV Guide crossword? I don't even know who I am anymore.

9. The radio station that seems to only play songs by Bone Thugs-N-Harmony. Or artists that sound like Bone Thugs-N-Harmony.

10. The fact that I start another volunteer position tomorrow. I'm tutoring Grade 3 & 4 students in math. Yes, I said math. God help them.

E=MC... what now?
sbg

Volunteer Extraordineer

2006-04-07T21:43:00.000-04:00

I'm typing this from the computer lab at Fanshawe college where I am waiting for Lori to get her school work so we can go to her house and do it. Anyone who knows Lori will not be surprised that:

a) she was supposed to do this BEFORE she came to get me
b) she said it was only going to take 15 minutes (45 minutes ago)
c) she doesn't know what she's doing

So I'm on the computer msn-ing with my 11-year-old cousin who told me, when I said I was still looking for a job, that she has one. That's really fantastic. Between my cousin and Jenny's boyfriend, all the jobs all over the world should be gone by next week. The good news is that my volunteer career is really starting to take off. I have so much volunteer work I don't even have time to get paid. If I was in Toronto, I would be living in a cardboard box by now. But on the plus side, I would be ALONE in that cardboard box.

Life with my parents continues to amaze me. I don't think that writing the conversations we have would even do them justice. It's a special blend of crazy and ridiculous that just doesn't translate into the written word. Just know that I've taken to smoking in the basement again. I think I'm actually helping them because if I wasn't picking up a cigarette, I might be picking up a blunt object.

Back to my cousin: apparently, she has a website too. I told her she should write a blog on her website and everyone could log on and read about her life. It seems like she has a lot more going on than me. She'll probably get married before me. I'll probably have to ask her to bear my children because my eggs will dry up while I'm waiting to be able to afford to have a baby.

Lori's finally ready to go do her homework. By tomorrow, I will be an expert on Salvador Dali. Maybe I can get a volunteer job at a museum or something.

I'm poor but I'm kind,
sbg

the shower scene

2006-04-04T23:08:00.000-04:00

On Saturday night the girls and I went to Robinson Hall, a club that boasts two of my favourite things about London: no cover and $4.50 drinks. Given that I'm still unemployed(!), drinks only seemed cheap for so long. After four gin & tonics (read: a half hour) I decided to use my considerable charm to score free drinks. Luckily, this club also had plenty of my third favourite thing about London: drunk white guys with cash. Needless to say, it wasn't long before I was sipping a beer. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see none other than my old shower pal from high school. A little older, surprisingly cuter, and strangely body-hair-less. Turns out he's a male model now. Here's the history: we were good friends in grade 9 and 10, and one day when he came over I suggested we take a shower together. To this day I'm not really sure why I said it, but it was a very illicit suggestion to two 15-year-olds, and it was fraught with a lot of heavy "necking" (that's for you, reen).

I was so excited to see him (read: drunk), threw my arms around him, and promptly forgot about the boy whose drink I took (much to his chagrin, but whatevs). We started talking and soon he brought up the shower, just as I knew he would. And then, just as I knew he would, he brought up the one thing that makes the shower far less illicit then you might think: I wore my bathing suit. Now, let me explain. I was a fifteen-year-old virgin. I was going to have a shower with a boy I had never even kissed. And my boyfriend had just broken up with me because I was "square". Need I say more?

I tried to justify it ("I looked hot in that bikini") and he laughed. I tried to rationalize it ("I let you take the top off!") and he agreed. Then I pulled my trump card ("Right after that you dissed me for Ang DiVincenzo"). And he bought me a drink.

And that my friends, is how we do it in the L-dot.

Charming my way into a nice buzz,
sbg

Electricity is a privilege, not a right

2006-04-01T18:57:00.000-05:00

Ten years away from home made me forget a few of my parents' quirks regarding electricity and other privileges in this house. I had forgotten that in this house, we don't flush the toilet EVERY time (sorry Jenny, I know you hate my toilet talk). Apparently, flushing is a practice saved for "the deuce". Or if I'm in the living room and happen to wander upstairs for something, I may return to find that the television and/or lights have been shut off. It's the new 5-second rule: Leaving something "on" for any longer is just wasting power. And even if you think you're being frugal by turning an appliance off, what you really need to do is completely REMOVE the cord from the outlet. That's the ticket, folks. I knew I would find a get-rich-quick scheme somewhere if I moved back to London. Did anyone know how much electricity ironing uses? Ask my dad. From now on, I'm just going to lay my clothes underneath my mattress at night. Wake up and they're warm AND pressed.

But through all the adjustments, I had one thing that kept me sane--I could smoke in the basement. Maxine and I have many fond memories of lighting up in this house, and that alone made the move to London just a little bit easier. Until this morning:

MOTHER: I couldn't breathe last night with all that smoke.
ME: [frozen silence]
MOTHER: I think it's coming through the vents or something.
ME: [almost imperceptible nod]
MOTHER: I think I must be allergic to the duMaurier.
ME: [reluctantly] Well, I can smoke outside if you want.
MOTHER: Yeah okay, if you want.

Another parental quirk I forgot: It's not her idea, it's mine. Tricky mo'fo.

Chillin' by the (gasp!) portable heater,
sbg

Day 3

2006-03-28T23:54:00.000-05:00

Day 3 in London. Day 2 of my job search. Here's something to know: Job searching is just as excruciating in London as it is in Toronto. Here's why: In Toronto, there are many jobs that I could not get. In London, there are many jobs that I do not want. I should have learned how to drive a truck. Or learned how to drive period, since at least 75% of the jobs I look at require a valid driver's license. But that thought leads me to all that I have accomplished since I have returned to my hometown:

1. I drove home from the mall (roughly 2 blocks, no street lights)
2. I applied online for my birth certificate (cross that off the New Year's Resolution list!)
3. I unpacked all but 1 box (which coincidentally is the 1 box that I never unpacked from my last move)
4. I changed my phone number and address (which means Rogers will still be able to call me incessantly)

I think that's it. Not that exciting, but progress is progress. Right now the biggest issue in my life is this loud-ass keyboard. It's 11:59, my parent are sleeping down the hall, and I'm sure they're wondering why there is a machine gun going off in the kitchen. Sorry folks, that's just me typing. Hopefully, I will get everything together to hook up the internet on my laptop so I will be quietly typing downstairs in the near future.

Here's a quiz: What has been the biggest adjustment since moving to London?
b) Living in London
b) Living with my parents
c) Living without my sister
d) Living without digital cable

If you guessed d, you are correct. Sorry Maxine, but think about how you felt when I almost took The Mirror Has Two Faces. Tell me, how do people live without the guide? Am I really expected to turn to that TV Guide channel and wait for it to scroll? AND not know what the show is about, thus forcing me to watch the first 5 minutes? I'm tearing up, I have to stop.

Well, that's about all the news for now. Hopefully my next post will have news of my new job. Keep your fingers crossed that the Fred Astaire Dance Studio calls me back. I think I can teach the seniors a few tap dances.

Give me digital or give me death,
superblackgirl