Prattle on
Friday, April 29, 2005
So, I know I have complained about street fashion before and I don’t want to come off as a clothing tyrant, but I saw something yesterday evening that made me question someone’s sanity.

Remember about a year and a half ago when for some reason girls were wearing all of their clothes at once? Like a pair of jeans, a knee length skirt, four shirts, a cardigan and about 12 beaded necklaces. I think it is safe to say that they looked like morons. Anyway, thankfully that age group reads Vice on the regular and thankfully Vice publishes pictures of people looking like idiots, because, they published a picture of two of these girls and called their style “Partying” and made fun of them. The “partying” style stopped soon there after. Yeah Vice! Well, soon there after, for some reason, a few girls decided that their mom’s old slips were really pretty and they started wearing those as actual outer wear (they may have picked this up from Goth girls wearing black slips, but for some reason, Goth girls can get away with it). That also seems to have stopped. I am not sure why – I rarely read Vice, so perhaps there was another little article. Mind you, I think it may have stopped because people came to their sense and realized that most slips are made from really cheap polyester, from the lace on the bottom to the stitch in the seam and yes, they look cheap and in order for slips to really look good, you have to be at home and in the dark.

Well, it seems my girl at the street car stop at Carleton and Sherbourne NEVER reads Vice and is in some sort of fashion time warp. She had rewound the partying look and threw in a dash of old slip. That’s right, over her blue jeans this girl was wearing a turquoise bottom slip. She looked like an idiot. The slip was even a little too big and FULL of wrinkles which makes me think that she found said slip at the closest Value Village and just HAD to have it!

What she needs to know is this: Slips are lingerie. They belong under your clothes or, if you wanna show off a nice slip, they belong in the bedroom with your lover, mood lighting and perhaps some slow jams. In that scenario, slips look HOTTT (That’s hot with three t’s)! But in the cold light of day, they make you look like a moron.


On Feb 4th I wrote a blog about my boss using the term Mullato and me telling him that the term is antiquated. Well, my roommate and I talked about this for hours and as the topic meandered into the borderline crazy we got into the realm of animal husbandry leading to a post about Ligers and Tigons a few weeks later. Well, GRC just sent me this link:
Yes people, it's a Zonkey. That's Zebra + Donkey.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
So, I am turning into a diet degenerate. Not only am I on the tiramisu program to fatty fatty fat fat, the other night I had a Dr, Pepper Float. A DR. PEPPER FLOAT! What the hell is wrong with me? Is a Dr. Pepper float EVER necessary? The damn intern bought poutine for lunch and now I want poutine. GrrrrrrrrMmmmmmmPoutine……

One of the other interns told me about Oprah’s diet. You exercise six times a week and you can’t drink. Well, you can drink regular liquids, but you can’t have alcohol. No martinis. Ouch.

That’s OK because my triumphant return to the YMCA is near. Really, I have only been away from the gym for a week and a half but lethargy is a seductive drug and I am just two evenings on the couch away from permanent potato-hood. So, I went to capuera last night and had a good workout. A good sweaty workout.

I don’t know why I let these things slide. I NEVER regret going to the gym, but if I have to take some time off because I’m sick (I was sick a couple times this winter), it is so easy to fall right off that treadmill. Mind you, I think Oprah is crazy and years of her yoyo diets have probably ruined her body to the point that she has to take drastic measures to make sure her weight is under control. Exercise six times a week? I have an idea, why not exercise to stay fit and have an otherwise active life and obsess less about your weight.

I went to a personal trainer once and I remember he said two things: “You are lucky to have legs like that – they are a gift.” As if I was going to forget that, I almost wrote it down and had it notarized. He also said “It’s obvious where you carry extra weight.” He meant my chest, ‘cuz I’m a busty bitch. He said a bunch of other stuff to, but I think I stopped listening. I am pretty sure his main lesson was “Not all women are supposed to be a size 3.” It’s a good thing because I stopped chasing that dream in high school.

Now I am just rambling on. Chances are I’ll have some ice cream after dinner – or maybe before.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
So, is everyone else as attached to their panties as I am? Because, I really am. When I was a young teenager, on the day I got my first job, my mom said to me “Debbie” (please imagine her speaking in a Guyanese accent) “Debbie, every time you get pay, you must always buy a panty.” I don’t think my mother knows how much I took that to heart. But I may well buy 52 pairs a year.

However, there are some pairs that I can’t seem to do without even though they are way past their prime. I can’t stop wearing them even when it has become painfully obvious that I should throw them out. Parting with particular pairs that have special significance is almost impossible. Like the pair I wore to my cousin’s wedding or the undies I had on the night I chatted with Canadian Icon, Master T after the Maxwell concert. There is no way I’ll ever get rid of my panties with that extra special portrait of former Prime Minister, Pierre Elliot Trudeau on the front.

You know what ends up happening? These panties become so useless that they fall down. It’s a good thing I often wear pants. Once, a few years ago, while wearing a skirt, my panties came down as I walked through the office. That’s right, at 4:32pm on November 14, 2000 the pink lace hit the floor. Thankfully, I worked for the government and the office was deserted. But imagine what could have happened.

I’ve been thinking about this because last night I did a lot of laundry. While at the Laundromat (which, unfortunatly is not a special place where a cute boy named Matt does your laundry for you free of charge!) I noticed that not only did I wash a ridiculous amount of underwear, but there were pairs in there that I forgot I owned. Perfectly good panties, yet, I continue to pull on the classics. I guess I am a creature of habit.
Monday, April 25, 2005
So, on Saturday I was invited to the first Seder of Passover 2005. Love it. I love holiday dinners of any kind and while I am neither Jewish nor religious, I really like tradition and I really really like large meals that celebrate traditions. Let me tell you folks, I had been looking forward to this for 2 weeks. You should see me at any sort of traditional gathering. I am in it to win it! Let’s eat, let’s talk, let’s drink together.

The meal was planned by two of my friends and they did an excellent job (although it was touch and go for a while in terms of the location). Anyway, my friend made this 24 page booklets for the Hagada – I think that is how you spell it, I mean that’s how it is pronounced - and we read the whole thing together. I dare say, everyone’s favourite part was the leaning to the left and drinking wine bit. In all honesty, my favourite was the part about kids. I really think traditions and holidays are only complete if there are children around, but I’m a cheese ball.

I think Passover was made for me. I mean I really do. Why, because questions are encouraged. ENCOURAGED. I am FULL of questions. Also, there is random singing – well, not so random, but there is singing. Also there a little treasure hunt for matza and drinking in binge format. AWESOME! Then when you finally get to eat everything tastes so good, because you are SO hungry!

While the dinner was great there is always a freak that has to do something irritating. There was this guy there. We’ll call him Steve because that is his real name – I think. Anyway, I knew Steve was a bit of a weirdo when he read from the Hagada booklet like he was the voice-over for a CBC documentary. Please help yourself.

That was irritating enough, but then at the end of the night as I was having a conversation with a friend of mine, Steve did the unthinkable. Without even saying anything to me, without even having a real conversation with me the guy walks up and puts BOTH of his hands into my afro. That’s right, he touched my hair. You can imagine my anger. This guy doesn’t know me from Adam, yet he feels that he can pet me. So, I look at him and say “Get your hands OUT of my hair.” He recoiled in terror. As he should have, I was mad. What is wrong with people like this? I refused to make things more comfortable for him or to laugh it off. He needed to get a message. The message: Stay the hell away from me, freak.

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