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