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

Archive for March, 2008

My brush with Hollywood (North)

So. So, so, so.

I had a sweet weekend. The boyfriend finished up his two med interviews, defended his PhD successfully (he is now Dr. Boyfriend, PhD) and we just went out for food and drinks and relaxed. It was such a difference to have him to myself and not have him ignore me for his papers, thesis, interview prep, blah blah blah.

Saturday, I slept in and then made my merry way IN THE SUNSHINE (halle-freaking-lujah) to Kensington Market to meet Em to get my hair cut. Turns out, they couldn’t take us. Blarg. So we ambled about the market for a bit. Before that however, we fuelled up with coffee and pastries at an establishment that will remain nameless.

After drinking some coffee at unnamed establishment, I had to pee. Now, going to the washroom in Toronto when you are in a restaurant/cafe downtown is always a gamble, my friends. The washrooms are NEVER on the main level. They are almost always down a very rickety, uneven, back room staircase littered with cases of pop, mops and old phone books. I don’t know why this is, it just IS. You are led through dark, sloping halls with low, low ceilings. It’s always a scary experience. You can never tell if you’re about to be molested. Often, these bathrooms are at least acceptable. Sometimes, they’re as scary as the dank, deserted hallways leading up to them. And then…..then sometimes, they’re this:


Obviously, this is a crappy picture I took all ‘sly-like’ from my camera phone. Let me explain what we have here. I would like to nominate this for the Worst Fucking Bathroom in all of Toronto. You can see the door is not on the hinges. It is on the ground. Where I suppose you could slide it over as you sat on the throne, but it wouldn’t change the fact that the door would still only be about 4 and a half feet off the ground and any full grown, non-midget individual would get an eyeful when they walked in.

Was this not deemed something that someone should FIX? Shit, dudes. Am I actually expected to go to the bathroom here? I’m pretty sure that they have better bathroom facilities in rural Middleofnowheresistan. Do I not live in a first world country? Did we lose a war I’m not aware of??? Cripes. I just had to share that disgustingness with you guys. Am I right?

Anyhow. We stuffed ourselves full of burritos and pop and bought a few things here and there, and then split ways once again.

I came home, did the Earth Hour thing. We turned off everything, not just the lights, lit some candles, drank some alcomahols and ate some yummy food. It was good times and you could actually see stars in downtown Toronto! Truly a miracle, I tells ya. It was really nice to shut everything off, actually.

THEN….THENNNNNNN……some folks came over, more drinks, blah blah blah. We decided to go out and since it was really late, we decided to go to the neighbourhood pub just down the road instead of anywhere further. We were sitting there and I looked to my left and starting losing my shit. For sitting at a table, a mere 15 feet away from me, was a real time Canadian Celebrity.

If you’re an international reader, you’re probably either laughing or asking yourself ‘ARE there Canadian celebrities?’ Well, I wouldn’t be too upset if either of those were your reactions. Canadian television is historically….atrocious. To say the least. I don’t know who the hell watches it.

But a few years ago, someone actually got one right. There’s a show called Corner Gas, which is a comedy based on the lives of small town Saskatchewan folk. It’s shot in Saskatchewan and has a pretty strong following for a Canadian show. It’s driven up tourism to Sask a ton and is an alright show. I’m super proud of it cuz it’s all Saskatchewan and stuff. I love it, it’s like being back home, without having to deal with all that crap that comes with being at home.

And sitting near me was the resident cop from that show. I was star struck. I hmmed and hawed for almost 40 minutes about whether or not I wanted to be that loser who went up to some barely-known celeb and gush on and on. In the end, I decided I did want to be that loser. His name is Lorne Cardinal and he plays Davis on Corner Gas, the idiot cop. He was CRAZY nice. It was awesome. It resulted in this here photo (also crappy, since it was from my phone):



Then today I got my hair cut and got the cutest haircut ever. Ever. I’ll post a pic at some point. But I look cute and even *gasp* slightly less angry!!!!

Anyhow, you should all be in awe of my awesomeness and my essential Canadian-fame at this point. It was QUITE fantastical. Pretend to be happy for me. Hehehe.

The Green Aisle

Dear dear Ireland,

I don’t even know where to start. your’e so great. You gave us potatoes, red hair and freckels. Green eyes and my last name also originated there.

St. Patricks’ Day and the classic four leaved clover. The fighting Irish and…..uh….names that start with Mc.


*Insert drum roll*


Of which I am full of righ tnow,  and I have drunkenly invited ppl over. I have to go invite them in and trash talk some people right now behind their backs.

Tata! Lov eyou Iraland!

Be Careful What You Wish For…

I only speak to my mom every few months. Well, every several months really. I think few implies far too short a time period between calls. It’s more like several. And then some. Whatever. I speak to my dad somewhat more often, through secretive phone calls always made from work and never mentioned to the maternal unit.

So maybe a year ago I was speaking to her only to find out that while she had flown down to the southern USA to visit my brother at school and stopped in Chicago on the way up to see distant relatives, they had also been in Toronto for a day. Unbeknownst to me. You know, their first born, their only daughter. That they hadn’t seen in like, 6 months at that point.

Let’s qualify this atrocity. First, a few years ago I was very sick. So sick I was suicidal (not like emo-kid suicidal, really fucking wanted to die suicidal). I called my mom once out of absolute desperation at 4 in the morning her time, before escorting myself to the hospital (the boyfriend was away for work). She knew this and at no point offered to come out and stay with me.
I later found out that my brother had stubbed his toe. I don’t know all the details, but he got it cut and it got infected and it was doing some nasty shit to his toe. The reason she couldn’t fly out to see me? WELL. Because she had offered my brother that she’d fly down to help him out with his FUCKING TOE and therefore, my death wishes were obviously secondary. I mean, what if his toe fell off? He’d only have nine left. Whereas I, with my abundant lives (what is this, a video game?) would be fine, no doubt. It’s sort of parallel to our respective 16th birthday gifts. I got $40. He got a $6,000 car. I shit you not.

In the 8 years I have lived in Ontario, they have visited twice. And once was for my university convocation, which I didn’t even want to go to. I begged them not to fly in for that, cuz I really didn’t see the big deal of walking across the stage while someone mispronounced my name and I grabbed a piece of paper. Woo. Fun times. While here, they refused to leave their hotel room. Cuz you know, who wants to see Toronto as a tourist? There’s certainly nothing better to do here than sit in a hotel room, I guess.

So I was kind of miffed, but not at all surprised when I found out they had been in my fair city and not informed me of this. I called them on it, and they mumbled something here or there and that quarterly phone call eventually ended.


Then I learned something.

Kids, be careful what you wish for.

Apparently, in approximately one month, my parents will be in Toronto. This time, they heeded my complaints and INFORMED me of it. They will be at the airport for five hours. And I’m expected to be there. I shrugged it off the first time I heard about it at Christmas, but when I phoned my dad for his bday, I was reminded of it again and I think I’m truly expected to take my ass out to the airport to sit with them for five hours.

The first thing I did when I realized this was a serious situation? I told the boyfriend I was finally getting retribution for all of his family’s dinners and gettogethers, arguments and celebrations I have sat through. His family only lives 40 minutes away, as opposed to my family’s two time-zone buffer.

The look of terror in his eyes was priceless. Price. Less. He narrowed his eyes slightly and said, ‘They’re coming.’ All matter of fact. Like, from a horror movie the way a kid would say, ‘They’re coming’ when referring to the army of undeads behind them. He knows. Ohhhh, he knows. He’s been witness to the joy that IS me and my mommy interacting.

There is NO way he’s getting out of this one. Oh no. I have sat through too many holiday dinners not to be owed this one airport visit.

I have started my countdown. It’s about a month. I’m scared. My plan is to drink heavily. Maybe a few pre-visit drinks and then a few drinks at the airport, to maintain my buzzed apathy.

I should have kept my big mouth shut. This could be disastrous.

Coincidentally? Today, I sold one of the gifts they gave me for Christmas. They shipped it to my work and I hadn’t taken it home yet. It was still wrapped. So when a client asked if we had one particular item, and I knew that there was a new, wrapped one sitting at the front, why wouldn’t I have sold it to her at 100% profit?

I think that might make me the worst daughter in the world. But hey, I guess the acorn doesn’t fall too far from the tree.

Back to my original point. Be careful what you wish for. I wished they would have told me when they were gracing Toronto’s presence. And now they have. And I should have just bit my tongue.  Dammit Talea.

When working isn’t working…

I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

I went to university and I loved the subject that I was studying, but the program was useless and gave me precisely no employable skills except for being able to consume massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep immediately thereafter.

I applied for a bunch of jobs in my ‘field’ and then went to a few interviews. I managed to get offered none of them. Go me.

I took a crappy job, got a menially better one and another one after that. And now I fear I am trapped in the admin ghetto. Where I am marvellously suited for admin jobs that will never pay a lot and never really matter. They are a dime a dozen.

From what I understand, there are people in the free world who actually like their jobs. They wake up in the mornings and don’t try to convince themselves that their eyes must be blurry and the ‘7:00’ on their clock is really only ‘2:00’, so they’re good and don’t have to go to work. They wake up and get excited about putting on their stupid work clothes. They don’t get exponentially more depressed about their final destination with each approaching subway stop. These people don’t get hit by a psychological wall of tired when they walk through the work building’s doors and don’t find themselves complaining of boredom 10 minutes into the day.

Well……So I hear.

Where are these people? And how in the hell do they get these jobs? For that matter, where do people get these fun jobs I see on the picture box? All the time, I’ll be watching programs and see super fun jobs. But they’re never advertised. Ever. Trust me, I look.

I’m not entirely sure what I want to do. Lame as it sounds, I’d love to just garden and landscape all the live long day. Unfortunately, I live in Canada. Where the gardening season is an incredible 3 months long. Super.

I’d also like to work in the mental health field, with a focus on anxiety disorders. Of course, this requires post secondary education. Which I have…..but not in the right area. I could go and get a grad degree, but these seem to require that I have my UNDERgrad degree in the field too. Well fuck, if I had that, I wouldn’t need the bloody grad degree now would I?

It’s not like I don’t want to work, I do. I have daydreams where I lounge about all day with nothing to do but watch TV and maybe pop out for a coffee. But I’ve done that and even after a week, I’m ready to go nuts and take a freaking job at McD’s just to DO something. And it’s not that I’m lazy and want a job where I can do nothing all day. I hate that, it’s called working retail in a slow store. Been there. I really liked my last job, which was insanely busy and I worked 11 hour days normally, but unfortunately the whole division went down the tubes….way to go, Andy (Whoops!!! Did I just use someone’s real name??? That goes against my blog policy! Oh well. Too bad these internet machines don’t have the ability to delete things you’ve already typed. Meh. What are you gonna do, eh Andy?)

I’ve found jobs that I would LOVE to get up for every day. I have. And I’m qualified for them sometimes too! But they tend to pay $8-$10/hour. This is highly unacceptable. It’s never gonna happen. I could swing that until my savings ran out, then I’d be a bum on the street and that’s super bad for your skin, so you can see why that’s out of the question.

I stay at my job because I don’t hate it and it hasn’t driven me into the streets yet, plus it has crazy good benefits and I work with my best friend. I don’t have the luxury of quitting and then finding a new job. I’m not one of those people who can move back in with their parents or family members or have the boyfriend support me. Nope, I need a job lined up before I can leave the one I happen to have at the time. This makes it hard to go for interviews for the new job. There’s only so many ‘doctor’s appointments’ that one can have during the week. I lied a lot at my last job to take phone calls about jobs and go to interviews, but most of them just fucking sucked.

I’m really starting to get discouraged. I can do jobs that I’m not necessarily qualified for on paper, but nobody will hire me. I manage to get interviews, but honestly (and I wish I was joking, but I’m so not), I don’t make the most fantastic first impression. I look annoyed/mad/bored/snobby/bitchy/not a team player. So I’m stuck in the admin ghetto. Sure, maybe I’ll look pissy at the interview, but my resume will back me up. And I type fast.

Do any of you guys love your jobs? How did you get them? What did you have to sacrifice? Have you been happy there the whole time or did it grow on you or is it fading? People who are passionate tend to be chefs or teachers. I hate cooking and I can’t stand kids, so…uh….those are out.

It shouldn’t be so hard for me to find a good one. I’m a hard worker and I like being told what to do at work. Isn’t that what people want? A hard working gal who’ll be your bitch? Once in a while I come out with some good one liners and I can pull it together pretty well in terms of appearance.

Ugh. Now I’ve gone and made myself all depressed. But on the bright side……I get to wake up in 8 hours and head on in to the ol’ 9-5! If I’m lucky, one of the machines will have died over the weekend and I’ll walk into an angry mob demanding photocopies from a broken photocopier that I am miraculously expected to fix!

I’m not bitter. Shut up.

How dare you! I’m not that kind of girl!

There’s a reason that the boyfriend remains anonymous on this here blog. It is because he sometimes does stupid things, and is in the midst of applying to a prestigious….thing. He’s applying for med school and has actually managed to get himself a few interviews in the next two weeks.

If I mention him by name, and then tell stupid stories about him or some of the dumb shit he pulls, and the admissions committee finds out, well, it’s Kraft Dinner for us forever. So he remains anonymous until the whole process is through.

However, after that, all bets are off. No, I’m kidding, he’ll probably still remain anonymous cuz he’s not that interesting (ha, hahaha, he’s actually fairly hilarious….and he doesn’t read this blog unless I force him to listen to me read a post out loud).

So yesterday we went on a little trip to go and buy him a fancy suit and snazzy shirt/tie combo that he can wear. It was fine, it was all good. Well, except when the staff got a bit too overzealous in the fitting rooms area and cleaned out his fitting room, and then put his shirt on a hanger and put it out on the selling floor. He got kind of perturbed about that, cuz nobody could find it. On the up side, it was a nice enough shirt that they thought it was their stock. On the down side, they’ve hired people who are too stupid to understand that stock shirts would have tags and stickers on them. Whatever.

In the end, we left with a suit, two shirts and two ties for him (he has two interviews in two days in two different cities and therefore won’t have time to press a shirt inbetween…..hence two totally different shirts).

Here’s what’s bugging me though. I’ve been with the boyfriend for…..I don’t know, since the beginning of time….8 and some years now. I have never once bothered him to put a ring on my finger, cuz that isn’t my thing. He was actually ‘inbetween’ programs at university when I met him, cuz he didn’t know what he wanted to do. I’ve seen him switch programs, fight through an undergrad degree he wasn’t qualified to be in but he lied his way into, go through a masters degree, transfer it to his pHd program and listened to all of his boring research findings about cells this and studies that. I’ve dealt with all his 18 hour days in the lab and his working 15 days in a row. It’s just what he does.

And I don’t think that what someone does for a living is who they are. What he does is what he does and it isn’t why I’m with him. I was actually VERY against him applying to med school. I didn’t try to stop him, but he knew my feelings about it. He did apply, and after that, I figured I may as well support him. He’s been there for me countless times, so if this is what he wants to do, then good.

Of course, strangers don’t know any of our history. They just see me there with him, telling him what shirt does and doesn’t look good. When I critique a shirt or like a jacket, they look at me. And (Side Note: I KNOW I am making this up, but I’m really getting this vibe a LOT lately) they see my barren left ring finger. No diamonds, no wedding band. And they seriously give me this…..look. This, ‘I’m going to disregard you since you clearly only met this guy three months ago and decided to start talking to him after he told you what he’s doing with his career’ look.

I am NOT one.

Since I know that they probably aren’t doing it (with any real intention at least) and since they don’t actually say anything to me, I’m left in an odd predicament. I can’t just blurt out, ‘Hey! Stop looking at me in that accusatory manner! I’m not with him because I’m a gold digging bitch who doesn’t want to support herself!’ cuz that’d make me look crazy. Plus, it’d make me look defensive and therefore would make me look like I AM a gold digging bitch.

It’s been happening a lot lately, as he gets closer to interviews. And it’s pissing me off that people think I’m something that couldn’t be farther from what I actually am.

I mean, I’m okay with people thinking I’m a bitch, cuz I always look so mad. But a gold digging bitch? I’m not okay with that. They never actually vocalize it though, so I can’t even defend myself.

The thing is, I hate doctors. I don’t like the idea of losing my boyfriend to med school and residency for the next kajillion years.

I’m not looking forward to this if he actually gets in. I think it’s really pretty shitty of people to assume that I’m only clinging to him during this time until there’s a ring on my finger. That I’m a coniving manipulative money hungry whore who’s going to turn into Mrs. Nagsalot once he’s in and I’ve gotten him to sign a legal contract claiming he loves me.

To all the people I have encountered recently about this and to all of those whom I will encounter soon and if he gets in, after he’s in: I’m not going out with ‘med student’. I’m going out with my boyfriend, who is who he is regardless of his career. Worry about yourselves and stop giving me the stink eye.

Warning: Very Venty Post Ahead!

I am a cranky-assed bitch today, and I want to vent.

I try not to blog about work, but here we go.

One: The plain and simple truth people, is that I don’t care if your internet isn’t working. I don’t. Mine works and that’s all I care about. And since mine works, it means it isn’t the network and that means it isn’t my problem. Fix it yourself. No, I do not want to crawl around in my fancy black work pants and my cute heels, dirtying myself up, trying to plug in a new cable into the back of your computer. Why doesn’t your internet work? I don’t know. I’m not a techie. At. All.

Two, I am really getting sick and fucking tired of this insomnia shit. I am used to being a sleep whore. I can normally fall asleep the second I lie down. This week, I have lied there, staring out my window for 2 hours each night, waiting to sleep. This results in me getting seriously angry at the cosmos, and tossing and turning, huffing and puffing until I wake the boyfriend up and he goes, ‘Are you STILL awake?’ Talea + no sleep = Super Mega Bitch.

Three, I’d really like it if my stomach would calm the fuck down. I inherited my dad’s stellar digestive system (sarcasm is dripping from this sentence, btw) and my stomach is being a serious ass monkey right now. I cannot handle any more ginger ale or Tums.

Four, I would really, really, seriously, big time appreciate it if winter would END at this point. Holy fucking hell. ENOUGH already. I get it. Snow, wind, ice….check. I would really like to be able to go outside of my apartment after work and not be snowed in or be forced to put on five layers before waddling out into skin-biting winds.

Five, I called my dad last night for his bday and it just sucked. It always puts me in a funk after talking to my parents. Why? Because I could probably carry on a deeper and more meaningful conversation with a blind panda, and frankly, that’s sad. And I don’t feel like being sad, so I’m going with Crazy Assed Bitch instead.

**********NEWS FLASH***********

I interrupt this TOTAL VENT for some good news.

Emerald (my bestest bud) knows that I am a Cranky Assed Bitch today. She has just (right this second) returned from her lunch run and has returned bearing mini cinnamon buns from Cinnabon.

Giggity goo

I am now off to drown my sorrows in cream cheese icing, cinnamon and warm happy pastry delights. (Insert Homeresque drool here).

I’m not so good with the ‘scary’

I don’t have very many memories before the age of 7. I’m not sure why, but there’s only blips and flashes prior to that age. Creepily enough, the only memories I have from before age 7 are scary ones. Ones where I was freaked the hell out. This seems to have set the tone for my life. A perpetual state of freaking out over stupid, stupid shit.

One of my very first memories is from when I was four. I was in my bedroom, trying to sleep and I looked over at my wall, and I swear to you (in my four year old brain), I saw a tiger walking across the wall….you know, in shadow form. Tigers are pretty rare on the Canadian prairie, this one was a shadow cousin of the more well-known tiger tigers. I ran to the living room (being sure to jump far off my bed, since there was something that lived under there (what, I wasn’t sure, but I knew it was something) that had hairy arms and would surely grab my ankles and drag me under my bed to kill me) to let my mom know of my recent safari-sightings in my Rainbow-Brite themed bedroom. I don’t remember her reaction, but I’m willing to bet it wasn’t in line with my overblown hysteria. She probably just told me to smarten up and sent me back to bed.

One of my next memories is when I was five. My teacher had arranged for us to go over to the other Grade One classroom and watch the newest hit movie…..E.T. So we toddled over there (single file kids!) and sat on the floor, waiting for the movie to start. I had no idea what this ‘E.T.’ was, but the other kids seemed pretty hyped up about it. When I realized it was about fucking ALIENS, I was so out of there. I leapt up and ran out of the room, screaming for my teacher. I was a cool kid like that.

This began my path of shitting my pants during scary movies or shows that I knew I shouldn’t watch in the first place.

Tonight is no exception. The boyfriend is out on the town and I’m here by myself. I decide to watch that new show “Paranormal State” on A&E. Normally the show is cheesy as shit and I watch it to be proud of myself for not getting scared. Only this time, it WAS a scary one and the boyfriend is gone. Now, since I am both petrified of ghosts and have an irrational fear of the dark, I have essentially forced myself into staying awake until he gets back.

Super job Talea! Thumbs up!

Side Story: I went (AGAINST ALL THE FIBRES IN MY BODY) to the theatre with the boyfriend and another couple a few years back when The Ring came out. You remember The Ring, right?

WELL. That movie about killed me. First off, it doesn’t give you even a few minutes to get settled. That scene with the chick in the closet? GAH! So about 15 minutes in, I decided it would really be best for me to just shut my eyes. The whole movie that the film was based around? Yeah, I never saw it. I kept my eyes closed the whole time. And I was still crying from fear the whole time.

Sitting in the theatre, eyes closed, crying. I’m MEGA cool. But I was not alone. There were people in that theatre bawling their eyes out and screaming. That shit was freaky.

So I sat there and sat there, listening along, perfectly content to be blind to it all. Then….it was quiet. It was really quiet. And in my paranoid mind, I thought that the movie had ended and everyone dumb enough to watch it had died, like in the movie. Okay, that isn’t true, but curiosity got the best of me. It was dead silent.

I squinched open my eyes and saw THIS:



*Insert hyperventilation here*

I didn’t watch TV for a week after seeing this movie. I was terrified that when I turned off the TV, it would turn back on, and if you’ve seen that movie, you know that that would be BAD.

Um. Come to think of it, I think I’ll just sit here with the lights on, NOT turning off the TV, and just twiddle my thumbs until the boyfriend comes home. Then I’ll make him check under the bed for me and scare away any monsters in the closet before I go to bed. Yes. That sounds like a plan.

Tag Cloud