I’ll try being nicer if you try being smarter!

Archive for February, 2008

w00t! I’m 25 and crazy as ever!

It’s my birrrrrrrrthday!!!

So far, I have had a good one. Except for the fact that they’ve put a Coke cooler in my office and now I feel like I work in some crappy corner store.

But other than that, it’s been all good. Well, except for the hangover that I’m fighting to stay awake from.

But seriously, it’s an awesome day. Well….unless you go outside. Of course it chose today to become totally freezing outside, I believe it’s around -20 with the wind, the high is only supposed to get up to -9.


But I’m still in a good mood! Even though I’ll probably have to talk to my parents tonight, when they make that awkward ‘happy birthday, now I have nothing else to say to you’ phone call.

But once that’s over with, it’ll be all good. You know, except for the fact that the boyfriend is gone tonight for a good chunk of the evening, cuz he has to supervise an exam for a course he teaches.

Okay, but all jokes aside, my day is kicking serious ass so far. I came in to work to find that my desk has been TOTALLY pimped out for my birthday, a huge cake all for me, and my boss gave me monies!

And dudes, last night??? I MET ROMI!!! She’s the coolest, sweetest gal you’ll ever meet who comes out with some good one liners, though she DID frighten the boyfriend last night. When he walked into our (mine, Emerald and Romi’s) pre-birthday/yay ANTM bash last night, it was pretty estrogen-intense in there. Romi quickly won points with the boyfriend by saying that if he hung out any longer, he’d probably get his period. But it worked, he went away and the good times continued. AND…..AND!!!! She bought me…..drum roll…..CHEEZ WHIZ AND JAM!!! Ahahahahahaaa!

I’ll post pics tonight or tomorrow of the gifts and the desk. AND of Emerald and Romi’s reaction to me forcing them to eat Cheez Whiz and jam on toast. They loved it. Ha.

I’m off to enjoy the rest of my Bday, fight vainly to stay awake at work, and eat way too much cake.


Things I like that most people hate.

The title is fairly self-explanatory. Here we go:

– I like the smell of my feet. I do. At the end of the day, when I take off my heels and opt for my snow-crushing boots, I like the waft of smell that comes from the shoe. It doesn’t smell feety. It smells good. To me at least.

– Fruitcake. I don’t care what you all say, I loves me some fruitcake. Especially with a nice chunk of cheddar cheese. Mmmmmmmm. Fruitcake.

– The taste of oranges right after you brush your teeth. I LOVE that taste. During Christmas when you can buy those crates of mandarin oranges, I brush my teeth like a maniac, so I can get that taste when I eat them. Everyone I’ve ever run into really hates that.

– Flat pop. Preferably flat Coke. Mmmmmmmmmm. This stems from when I was a little kid. Every night my mom would pour herself some Coke and watch TV. But she was incapable of finishing the whole can. So I’d get up in the morning and it’d be sitting there, flat as can be and I’d drink it before anyone else woke up. It was so sugary and good and sneaky. Mmmmm.

– Curling. As in, the game on ice. I should really dedicate an entire post to curling one of these days, it’s a hilarious game to explain out of context. But I truly love it, whereas most people would rather poke their eyes out with rusty utensils than watch it.

– Rules. I love rules. I crave rules. I hate when people don’t follow the rules. Bring on the boundaries!!

– Those gnarly little toffee candies from Halloween, in the orange and black wrappers. Sure, I broke a few teeth on the damn things, but they were so good. And since everybody else hated them, it just meant more for Talea. And yeah, that’s right, I described them as gnarly.

– Cheez Whiz & jam on toast. Okay, this is a hotly debated topic amongst me and Emerald. She thinks I’m a total freak for eating this and has decided it must be a regional thing from where I grew up (we grew up different places). Granted, everyone I’ve asked in Ontario shares the belief that I am a freak and they insist they shall never try it, for it sounds so disgusting. But I ask you……what’s so gross about it? People put cheez whiz on their toast, they put jam on their toast, they eat fruit and cheese together all the time. What’s so wrong with a little cheez whiz and jam love? Hmmmm? Back me up on this one people, I can’t be the only one.

That’s all that I can think of at this moment. I think the list would much longer if the concept was reversed……..’things I hate that most people like’. But I’d probably crash WordPress or something if I tried to post an epic that gigantic.

And so time marches on….without my permission.

I am days away from turning 25. The earth has been blessed with my presence for a quarter-century. I’m not upset about getting older. But I am upset about leaving 24.

I was upset to leave 2007, as it was such a great year for me, and I guess that goes hand in hand with not wanting to leave 24. It was good times. I don’t think I’ve been as happy as I have been in this last year since I was 12 and 13 (honestly, I look back VERY fondly on those years).

High school (13-17) was alright. It was good. I was by no means popular (mostly because I didn’t smoke or drink), but I had great friends and I had my ballet and I was good at school. But I lived at home with my very abusive mom and my very absentee dad, and that sucked.

University (17-21) was horrible. Absolute hell. I moved away from home, lost my grandpa, had no friends and eventually lost my mind. Ha, you think I’m kidding? Well, that’s for me to know and you to contemplate. I had to move back home for three months, as I was so unwell I couldn’t care for myself and couldn’t stay with the boyfriend, since he had a full time job and I needed a full time caregiver. So, needless to say, THAT sucked.

Post-Uni (21-22) was hard. Very hard. I had to pick up all the pieces of my scattered life and spend most of my waking hours coming to terms with what had happened (which no, I am not divulging) and sorting through it. I had to take a totally shitty retail job for 8 fucking dollars an hour, since I couldn’t handle the stress of a real job. I had to decide where the hell I was going to live my adult life, as I realized bouncing back and forth between Saskatchewan and Ontario wasn’t feasible. I spent a lot of time and effort getting my shit together and it seems to have paid off.

23 and 24 have been good years. I’ve made amazing friends. I’ve settled into a routine, I love where I live, I’ve essentially cut myself off from my mom, I’m good with money, I’ve found my comfort zone. I’ve found things I love to do…blogging, knitting, gabbing with my girls, fussing over my puppy, blah blah blah.

I’ve never been one who cared about birthdays. I think my last birthday party was in grade 3. But I’ve had such a good year this year, that I’m scared to move ahead. I’m scared of the inevitable changes that will crop up and that I can do nothing about. I’ve had SO MANY moments this year where I’ve stopped and looked around, or had a secondary thought going while I’m cracking up over something and I’ll think (as hokey as it sounds), ‘Don’t look now, but this is the best time of your life.’

I remember when I was sick, I would wish so badly that I could be like the people I saw crossing the streets……..where I could look at their eyes and see that at that moment, they were engrossed in where they were and were happy about it. They weren’t stuck in the past, they weren’t worrying about the future, they weren’t stressing about something they couldn’t affect, they were just BEING. I’ve managed to get to that point and I’m truly happy with my life right now. But, in true Talea style, I’m now starting to worry about when the end will hit.

All good things come to an end, blah blah blah. The age of 24 is about to do just that for me. I don’t want to be one of those losers who looks back on a few particular years of their life and gets stuck in it, tells the same stories over and over again and wishes they could go back to it. I want my good streak to continue and I’m terrified that it won’t.

Wah wah wah Talea. You’re bitching about something that hasn’t occurred yet? Yes, yes I am. This is what I do.

I need you all to tell me that it’ll still be good. It might also help if you all celebrate my birthday (the 28th) by sending me things. I dont care what really. Money, food, booze, whatever you feel like. Email me, and I’ll let you know where to ship all the goodies to. Come on! Give me something to look forward to! Ha.

I may getting older, but I’m not getting any less selfish. At least some things will never change. And I find comfort in that.

Seriously. Send gifts.

Rite or Legular? Who cares, just stop changing the plice!!

I love sleep, you all know that. So in the mornings, more often that not I sleep until the last possible moment and then rush around like a maniac trying to get myself clothed and made up and presentable for work. Usually, this doesn’t include brushing my hair (though oddly, my unbrushed hair gets more comments than my brushed hair….go figure), and it rarely includes breakfast.

Now, I have to eat breakfast every day. Not because I’m all, ‘I need my metabolism as high as possible!’ (side note: I threw away ALL my skinny clothes this weekend, realizing it’s over and they’ll never fit again), but because I have meds I have to take in the morning with food. If they’re taken without food, it ain’t pretty.

So this morning was quite typical, in that I arrived at work, unkempt, hungry and late. Meh. Deciding I was still within the acceptable range of normal Talea-late, I went to one of the food-dispensing outlets in the concourse level of the building I work in. I am hesitant to refer to them as restaurants, as they do not meet my standards for such, especially in my fair city of Toronto, the capital of restaurant culture.


I went to one of them, which is staffed entirely by Chinese women who appear to know three sentences. One woman who works there, her specialty sentence is “Hiiiiiya! Kah I hyep yoooow?” in a VERY loud, nails-on-chalkboard voice. I ignored her, as I do every morning, because I hate mornings and I hate being yelled at and I hate being hungry and I can’t stand her voice and don’t want to initiate her into any more conversation. I studied the menu board, appearing to be in deep concentration and she went on to yell at my other hungry colleagues.

I waited for a co-worker of hers to come up and ask me in a more polite, ear-friendly manner what I would like to consume for my morning meal. I requested the same thing I do every day I go there: a cheese bagel, toasted, with cream cheese.

I noticed two bowls of cream cheese sitting there and asked her if there was a difference between the two. Without skipping a beat, she waved around her knife, landing in the general vicinity of one bowl and then the other, stating: “Dis rite and dis legular”. Very matter of fact. Ah yes, the R’s and the L’s thing, it cracks me up. I opted for the rite cream cheese, as I think that it probably has enough calories as it is and the legular would be even worse for my svelte figure.

I made my way to the cash register, waiting for the crapshoot that IS the price of aforementioned toasted cheese bagel with rite cream cheese. Every day, these ladies pick a new price. This isn’t just my experience. Em has it happen to her all the time too. One day, the bagel is $1.60. The next day it’s $2.50. The following day it’s $1.90. Today, since I used Interac, she decided to charge me $0.10 extra. Now, I don’t care about 10 cents, but the point is that she never charges me. But today there was a new rule apparently.

So I started arguing with her (this is screaming-over-the-counter-at-me lady from earlier). I was asking her why her prices change every day and why today I suddenly have to pay a premium to use my debit card. Her response was ‘No. No. No no no. Nooooo, no. We no change. No no no.’

Alright, bagel witch. I KNOW you speak english. I’ve spoken to you before. I’ve even figured out how to decipher your consanant-switching. Rite and Legular? I got ya. But as soon as I start asking questions that you don’t feel like answering, you forget English?

Fuck you and fuck your bagels. I REALLY hate it when people do that. A lot of Toronto’s service industry isn’t actually Canadian. They’re ‘Something else-Canadian’, meaning they speak English as their second/third/fourth language. That’s cool. I wish I was bilingual. But I really hate that when they don’t want to deal with a customer,they just stop understanding. Seriously? Am I supposed to believe that? Or they turn to their coworker and start rambling on in a foreign language in front of me, clearly griping ABOUT me.

I think that is about the rudest thing you can do. Turn away from me and start speaking to someone else in a different language while I’m right there. Just answer my question. Tell me what a cheese bagel costs. Stop jerking me around.

So I demanded a receipt. And I will continue to demand receipts to show them how variable their pricing seems to be. I don’t care what it costs, I’ll pay it cuz I’m lazy. I’m only asking for consistency! But at least if I have pieces of paper, I can point at the prices and make the universal ‘what’s up with that’ shoulder-shrug gesture. I know they understand numbers, they’re Asian for god’s sake! (Please note, if you are offended by non-PC literature, you probably should have stopped reading after you saw the title. I will not be blamed for the offense you may be taking right now).

The WTF-gesture is universal my friends, even if English isn’t. Or if English comprehension tends to be spotty amongst those I encounter and get into spats with.

I’ll figure out this damned bagel business. And if I can’t, I’ll start pretending I don’t understand how much money they want from me. I’ll just continually thrust forth my change and feign ignorance. They’ll probably start refusing to serve me. But there’s a few other food-dispensing outlets there that I can harass until I burn those bridges too. I’ll start worrying at that point…..or probably just start waking up a bit earlier.

My thoughts on unmentionables.

I recently posted a meme where it wanted to know the kind of underwear I was wearing. I responded honestly, a thong. Awesome Friend (who works with me in real life…’the 3D world’) commented that she found this odd, since I don’t seem very ‘thongy’.This comment inspired me to write about undies. Everyone’s favourite part of a wardrobe.

When I am at work, I only wear thongs. I do not want VPL (Visible Panty Line) in my work pants. I yell at people all day to give me money, I don’t need them thinking that they can see my granny panties all bunched up in my pants. I need them to think I am a serious business wom-an!! I want my ass to look as it is: smooth, supple and lineless. Ahem. I don’t want to be walking around work all day, pulling my underwear out of my ass. The thong is supposed to be there. It stays put. I don’t have to be squirming around and excusing myself while I fight with my undergarments.

Now, one problem with thongs is that the sides tend to be thin bands of fabric. They cut into the hips, creating a pseudo-muffin top. UN-attractive. So you have to wear the side bands low down, so the muffin top can be concealed within your work pants. But then it causes fit issues down below. It’s a domino effect, really. And one I don’t appreciate. Sigh. The things we do for our asses to be as pretty as possible…

When I’m not at work, I’m a full brief kind of girl. I like comfort. Plus, thongs + jeans are not a good idea really. The discomfort is awful, plus, nobody can see a VPL through jeans so why bother? Though I find them bulky and awkward, but whatever. There’s certain parts of jeans that need to be buffered from touching your ‘place’ and only briefs can provide that sort of insurance.

My undie drawer is a varied place indeed. I’m open to different underwear types. Except boy shorts. DAMN I hate those. They ride up and they suck in every way possible. The elastic on the legs gets loose and then they get all floppy and horribleness ensues. I hate them. They give you a little ring of….bunched up fabricness around your upper thigh and that’s not what I’m going for either.

As close to porn as this site will ever get.

But that comment made me think. Why don’t I seem like a thong girl? Is it because I’m a total conservative prude? Well, probably, but not everbody knows that. I don’t think you can guess what kind of underwear people prefer. It’s a total crapshoot. A box of chocolates if you will.

One thing I’ll never understand is women who match their bras with their underwear. Um. Why? So that nobody can see it? So that when somebody does see it and takes it off, they’ll feel that their decision to sleep with you was a sound one, because you can colour coordinate your unmentionables? Fuck that. Whatever bra I can pick up off the floor is good enough for me, so long as it isn’t brown and I’m planning on wearing a white shirt. I’m not slutty like that. I hate dark bras under white shirts. But I do loves me a brown bra.

Bras………underwire or no underwire? Well, I am a 100% underwire girl. I don’t see how you can’t be. They’re just superior. Until the wire breaks through and stabs you in the sternum. That gets awkward when you have to remove it in public. Yeesh. I fucking hate that.

No matter what your underwear preferences……white, colours, patterns, flowers, thongs, briefs, boyshorts……..I think we can all agree on one thing.

Granny panties are of the devil and should be burned en masse, post haste. They are awful. I shall reference the scene in Bridget Jones’ Diary where Hugh Grant discovers Renee Zelwegger’s gigantic panties. He can’t even concentrate on the ‘situation’. He becomes so distracted by the underwear that he has to stop what he’s doing to be sure he’s not hallucinating.

Ladies, you don’t want men hallucinating in THAT way when you reach ‘critical point’ time. Do yourselves a favour………go through the drawer and throw away the granny panties. And the period panties. You know what I’m talking about. We all have them.

Yep. So those are my thoughts on undies. Also, I really hate the word panties. I do. It’s a gross word.

My irrational fears won’t leave me alone!

I have this completely irrational and unfounded fear that I am, at all times and no matter my financial situation, completely flat out broke.

I’m better than I was. In university, it was really out of hand.

I would arrive at school, totally exhausted. I really wanted a coffee. I would go through my wallet and look at my measly amounts of change, and then try to decide if I could really afford to pay $1.40 for a large.

Okay, so I HAD $1.40. Technically. But, if I got a coffee today, then I’d want one tomorrow. And it only takes just over like, a dozen coffees, and suddenly I’ve wasted a $20 bill. And I probably won’t even get that high, cuz inevitably some days I will also buy a muffin. And what of the caffeine crash in the afternoon I would surely get? Well, then I’d have to buy another coffee. Oh God, I’ll go through $20 in a week! That’s $80 a month! And THAT’S only if I spend my money solely on coffee!! But I won’t, I know I won’t! If I have the cash in my pocket, I’ll buy lunch and I’ll buy books and I’ll buy who knows what!! Then I’ll need more money. Up to $100 a month. 

And $100 a month over the course of the school year was like…….$800!! Shit! That’s like, 6 months of groceries! Or two months of rent!! Oh god, then I’ll have to take money from somewhere else to get my bus pass. Or not eat. Then I won’t be able to make my Visa payment, and creditors will come after me, and when I graduate I’ll have huge debts and what if the furnace explodes and AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

No coffee for Talea.

 That’s how it was. For years and years and years. A coffee ballooned it’s way to me being homeless, unemployed and so in debt that I shouldn’t even bother trying to dig my way out. So I lived on nothing essentially, to appease my broken brain.

I attribute this particular irrational fear to my father, who has been a banker longer than I have been alive. The man hates his job. But he does it with incredible efficiency and is unrelenting. I remember my parents ripping apart the house to find out where the receipts were for my mom’s chequebook. If it was off by 12 freaking cents, then that 12 cents had to be somewhere!! And he would stop at nothing to figure out where the money was leaking from.

Today, though I’ve seriously improved, I still suck when it comes to money paranoia. Although I always have enough in my account for 3 months rent, I will not let myself spend $50 to buy a pair of new pants for work. I won’t let myself get a damned coffee. I’m always terrified the shit is going to hit the fan, and I’m going to curse myself for spending frivolously when I need to pay for Zoey’s vet bill.

I really need to try and learn that money is just money, it’s nothing in and of itself. Anyone have any brilliant comment that will cement that into my mind? My dad always yells at me to go buy myself more stuff, to go out more blah blah blah, but then he’ll also call me when my Visa payment is late or when my account is low, cuz he spies on my account, since I bank at the bank that he works at. Talk about sucking.

Here’s some other irrational fears I have! Fun!

– The dark. Hate it.

– That I will have a severe muscle spasm while waiting on the platform for the subway, and fall onto the tracks moments before the train’s arrival, only to be squashed in front of hundreds.

– The same thing as above, but this time on a street corner with a big car.

– Flying. I hate it.

– Moldy bread. I had two bad reactions to penicillin when I was wee. Now, I inspect every iota of every piece of bread that I eat. I’m terrified of eating a moldy piece of bread.

– I honestly truly believe that there is a being/god/spirit that can hear every word in my head. I censor my own thoughts to prevent myself from greeting Satan one day.

– I will not look into a mirror when it is dark. A friend in grade 6 told me if I did, then a bloody Virgin Mary would appear. I dont need to see that, thank you very much.

– That I will die if I touch a piece of raw meat. I will not touch raw chicken, raw beef or raw pork. Because I will die if I do, for I will surely contract salmonella or E.Coli or Mad Cow or whatever the hell you get from pigs. I had to call the boyfriend from his friends place upstaris in our apartment building the other night to take the chicken out of the package and put it in the pan, because I couldn’t do it.

– I will try almost any food anybody offers me (except falafels……I’m sorry, I just can’t eat something called falafel), but every time I do, I’m convinced I am going to have an allergy to it if it’s a new food, my throat will swell up and that will be all that there is for Talea.

Anyways, I have to go now. I also have an irrational fear that my head office spies on my computer at all hours now that it’s networked, so I can only blog on this computer, which is unnetworked, which also happens to not be mine. It is Emerald’s, and she is back from lunch now.

I am off to eat my own lunch. Which obviously does not include bread, or any new foods. While I eat, I will contemplate my financial situation and try to convince myself I should really go out tonight and get new work pants. I only have one pair. People are starting to notice. Ha.

My last rant about winter, I promise. But this one’s filled with pictures!

After this, I promise I will stop making 70% of my posts about how much I can’t handle winter anymore.

So last night, I was slightly inebriated. Short story, but boring, so all you need to know is I was. And the boyfriend convinced me to come out with him and Zoey for a round of midnight puppy soccer. Fine, whatevs (yeah, I just said whatevs). So we run across University Avenue (which is about 8 million lanes wide…..or 4) southbound, unscathed. Then we have to run across the northbound side (there’s a nice boulevard in the middle, there’s pics coming up, don’t fret). So he and Zoey run, leap and skate their way across the road.

I, in my slower and less-agile wine-filled state made my way after them. Speed was of the essence, lest I get hit by the onslaught of cars just released from their holding pattern by a green light. So I ran full-out, and as I did, I realized that there was nowhere for me to run. There was a line of parked cars all beside a huge, unending snowbank which was approximately 4 feet tall, blocking my access to the sidewalk.

So I did what I had to. I jumped out of the road onto the snowbank. Only, I kind of didn’t make it ONTO the snowbank, more…INTO the snowbank. I jumped, all tipsy-McStagger-like and didn’t quite clear it. I wound up with my lower half completely engulfed by snow and ice and unable to move. Apparently I tried to stop my snow sinkage with my wrists, cuz they got all cut up by the ice and now I look like some loser emo kid who tried to cut themselves.

IT WAS FUCKING HILARIOUS. I wish I had it on video. The best part? I jumped between two random cars parked there and I happened to pick the only one who had people sitting in it to jump in front of. I’m sure they were pissing themselves. I probably made their night. Ah, stupid winter.

Anyways, here’s a few pics to back up my snow-directed rage of late:



This is my view from my apartment. Pretend to be impressed by the CN Tower. If you look in the bottom left, you’ll see a car. It was stuck there for 24 hours. A tow truck came, got stuck in the alley, and spent twenty minutes gunning it’s engine and sliding all over just to get to the car. Then, when it got there and pulled in front, it got stuck again. It took it another 15 minutes to get backed up to the car. But he couldn’t align it properly, GAVE UP and spent 20 more minutes trying to get OUT of the alley. I shit you not, the tow truck driver gave up. And those guys are like ambulance-chasing lawyers, they will hurt you to make a dollar. I couldn’t believe it.


And this is a terrible picture of Zoey, who is the only Torontonian I know who is LOVING this snowy winter.

And I’ve saved the best til last; this was the sign just outside of where we went for dinner last night:


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