Getting ones ears, which were pierced and spaced, cut open with a scalpel and sewn back together to fix the holes that one intentional put into them is not fun.
But Six at Exotics, Thank you.
He did an amazing job, and everybody should go and see him to get something pierced.
In other news, only 8 days until my Canadian departure. I am not looking forward to it.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
| You Goin' My Way?
I respect cab drivers. I do. It must be a horrid job to have. To chauffeur the drunk and tired all over this huge city has it's burdens. I'm sure they have some fun, and interesting stories to tell.
Assuming you could understand what they were actually saying.
I know that I am not the only one that has bad luck with cab drivers. I have also heard my share of stories from friends. Martin, for example, after work one night was asked in a thick Middle Eastern accent 'You like to party?'
That's not a question you want to be asked by an immigrant stranger, who's cab you have just got into, alone, at 4 a.m.
Last nights / this morning's ride home was so bad, that it inspired this post. We will call the driver Omar, for lack of another racially stereotypical name. Also, that was his name as indicated by the large, laminated licence that I think is handed out automatically to anybody entering this country from that area of the world.
It's the same reason why Asian people are instantly given the deed to an Asian restaurant, or convenience store.
I'm sorry, but sometimes, stereotypes are true.
Back to the cab:
Now, many of you, I'm sure, are familiar with the 'Cab Etiquette' bylaws. The laminated sign posted on the back of the passenger seat of all Taxis in the city. The ones that indicated how the Taxi and it's driver should operate. This, as many of you know, is very rarely the case.
We can go over exactly how Omar broke most of those rules. (I am paraphrasing the rules, slightly).
"A knowledgeable driver, who speaks English and knows city geography."
I would gather, since he asked me where Broadview and Danforth was 13 times, his geography is slightly off. Made more evident when finally he said he knew where it was, and then turned the car around and proceeded East from Danforth and Dawes. The complete wrong direction.
Needless to say that speaking English was not one of Omars skills and talents. But then, neither is listening, driving, or personal hygene.
"A safe driver, who obeys traffic laws"
Excellent rule. Very important if you choice, as a passenger, to arrive at your intended destination alive.
Omar was much more concerned with answering his cell phone, and talking very loudly into it then actually paying attention to lights, other cars, and the two people he almost hit at the corner of Pape and Danforth. Even after the near miss, he was oblivious. Happily chatting away while the two people moved to the sidewalk and tried to re-start their hearts.
Omar also seemed to have a problem staying in one lane. Or, at least the RIGHT lane. He was in a hurry, this much I gathered. So much so that Omar would continuioisly vear into on-coming traffic in an effort to get around the cars in front of him. Cars that were, for all intensive purposes, driving safely. Omar, however, needed to maintain his speed of approximatly 234 MPH down the Danforth. It's the best speed to drive when you are talking on your phone.
"Driver uses Cell phone only in an Emergency
I can say this: In the cabbie world, Omar is a really popular guy. He may be the Brad Pitt of Taxi drivers. Despite his body odour that rivals the smell of the indoor Rhino exhibit at the zoo, and his lack of any intelligence whatsoever.
"A quiet ride, if you request it"
Besides the aformentioned cell phone use, Omar was rocking out to some music.
In fact, he had found the best station possible. It was playing Mohammed G - Kenny G's not quite as talented Middle Eastern equivelent. And it was LOUD.
I asked him to turn it off, and he was nice enough to reply: "What?"
After I sharaded my way through an explaining of what I wanted him to do before I threw myself from the cab, he obliged, and I was treated to the shreiks of another ethnic music. It made for lovely ambient noise, perfectly underlying Omar's phone converstaion.
"A clean taxi interior"
Assuming you could understand what they were actually saying.
I know that I am not the only one that has bad luck with cab drivers. I have also heard my share of stories from friends. Martin, for example, after work one night was asked in a thick Middle Eastern accent 'You like to party?'
That's not a question you want to be asked by an immigrant stranger, who's cab you have just got into, alone, at 4 a.m.
Last nights / this morning's ride home was so bad, that it inspired this post. We will call the driver Omar, for lack of another racially stereotypical name. Also, that was his name as indicated by the large, laminated licence that I think is handed out automatically to anybody entering this country from that area of the world.
Customs Agent: "Welcome to Canada, where are you from?"
Omar: "Pakistan."
Customs Agent: "Here's your cab licence."
It's the same reason why Asian people are instantly given the deed to an Asian restaurant, or convenience store.
I'm sorry, but sometimes, stereotypes are true.
Back to the cab:
Now, many of you, I'm sure, are familiar with the 'Cab Etiquette' bylaws. The laminated sign posted on the back of the passenger seat of all Taxis in the city. The ones that indicated how the Taxi and it's driver should operate. This, as many of you know, is very rarely the case.
We can go over exactly how Omar broke most of those rules. (I am paraphrasing the rules, slightly).
"A knowledgeable driver, who speaks English and knows city geography."
I would gather, since he asked me where Broadview and Danforth was 13 times, his geography is slightly off. Made more evident when finally he said he knew where it was, and then turned the car around and proceeded East from Danforth and Dawes. The complete wrong direction.
Needless to say that speaking English was not one of Omars skills and talents. But then, neither is listening, driving, or personal hygene.
"A safe driver, who obeys traffic laws"
Excellent rule. Very important if you choice, as a passenger, to arrive at your intended destination alive.
Omar was much more concerned with answering his cell phone, and talking very loudly into it then actually paying attention to lights, other cars, and the two people he almost hit at the corner of Pape and Danforth. Even after the near miss, he was oblivious. Happily chatting away while the two people moved to the sidewalk and tried to re-start their hearts.
Omar also seemed to have a problem staying in one lane. Or, at least the RIGHT lane. He was in a hurry, this much I gathered. So much so that Omar would continuioisly vear into on-coming traffic in an effort to get around the cars in front of him. Cars that were, for all intensive purposes, driving safely. Omar, however, needed to maintain his speed of approximatly 234 MPH down the Danforth. It's the best speed to drive when you are talking on your phone.
"Driver uses Cell phone only in an Emergency
I can say this: In the cabbie world, Omar is a really popular guy. He may be the Brad Pitt of Taxi drivers. Despite his body odour that rivals the smell of the indoor Rhino exhibit at the zoo, and his lack of any intelligence whatsoever.
"A quiet ride, if you request it"
Besides the aformentioned cell phone use, Omar was rocking out to some music.
In fact, he had found the best station possible. It was playing Mohammed G - Kenny G's not quite as talented Middle Eastern equivelent. And it was LOUD.
I asked him to turn it off, and he was nice enough to reply: "What?"
After I sharaded my way through an explaining of what I wanted him to do before I threw myself from the cab, he obliged, and I was treated to the shreiks of another ethnic music. It made for lovely ambient noise, perfectly underlying Omar's phone converstaion.
"A clean taxi interior"
Omar liked to smoke, that was apperent from the cigarette buts that filled the ashtry, and the floor of the front seat. I'm a smoker, so I can't judge.
But whoever was in the back, really liked chips. And had eaten at least 13 bags, all of which were scattered across the floor.
____________________________________
And why did I not just get out? Some things are so aggrivating, and beyond beliefe that you just need to stick with them.
Now, I'm going to get some chicken balls and a soda.
talk soon
x's and o's
-Remy
Thursday, June 11, 2009
| Brava, Remy. Brava! |
Guess who put his brand new passport that he needs to move to Florida through the washing machine today?
Guess.
Yah, me. HIGH FIVE!
I'm praying that it drys and has minimal damage, so I don't have to pay the $100 plus rush service to make sure I have it in time.
If anybody knows how to properly dry a Government document, please tell me.
Guess.
Yah, me. HIGH FIVE!
I'm praying that it drys and has minimal damage, so I don't have to pay the $100 plus rush service to make sure I have it in time.
If anybody knows how to properly dry a Government document, please tell me.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
| Tick, Tick, Tock... |
2 hours.
2 hours, I've been sitting in front of this blank text box, where I now write, making it less blank.
I occasionally checked Twitter to see what Kevin Smith was doing. But he is probably in bed, like a normal person. I filled the rest of my daily dose of Silent Bob by going through some old message boards on ViewAskew.com.
And then, back to the empty box. And my empty head.
Maybe it's just late, but I have nothing to say tonight.
I felt the urge to write something witty, and had an idea, but couldn't seem to get it out properly. I'm hoping it's because I'm tired, not because I'm out of ideas. Which I'm not. Urr..
Instead you get another pointless blog about nothing. Literally nothing. Something steamed from my insistence to not leave the box empty.
I will tell you this. I am happy. Not regular happy. But actually happy.
Talk soon
x's and o's
-Remy
2 hours, I've been sitting in front of this blank text box, where I now write, making it less blank.
I occasionally checked Twitter to see what Kevin Smith was doing. But he is probably in bed, like a normal person. I filled the rest of my daily dose of Silent Bob by going through some old message boards on ViewAskew.com.
And then, back to the empty box. And my empty head.
Maybe it's just late, but I have nothing to say tonight.
I felt the urge to write something witty, and had an idea, but couldn't seem to get it out properly. I'm hoping it's because I'm tired, not because I'm out of ideas. Which I'm not. Urr..
Instead you get another pointless blog about nothing. Literally nothing. Something steamed from my insistence to not leave the box empty.
I will tell you this. I am happy. Not regular happy. But actually happy.
Talk soon
x's and o's
-Remy
Monday, May 25, 2009
| Fear Factor |
I have been prone to nightmares lately. This is a strange occurrence for me, as I've never had them before. I'm not in-tune with the spiritual world of dreams, so I don't pretend to know what they mean. Of course, I could look up the symbolic meaning of the images I see as I sleep. I do not however because: A) I'm really lazy, B) I assume these assessments were written by a 42 year old woman who still lives in her Mother's basement, wears to much cheap faux gold jewelry and sweaters her Grandmother knitted her for Christmas 20 years ago, and C) I don't care all that much.
The nightmares are rather simple. No more complex than you average slasher flick. Standard plot, usual cast of characters. In this particular one, I was forced to watch an alternate version of me kill my friends in alphabetical order (Sorry, Aaron and Amanda. Will, you have lots of time, start running now.). I am not making the alphabetical order part up.
All this got me thinking about what it is I'm afraid of. And it turns out, lots. Here are a few of the things I thought about:
Death is a big one, folks. I know a lot of people are afraid to die. Although I am one of them, it also seems rather foolish to me. Why be afraid of something you can do nothing to alter? It's the only certainty in life. And this got me thinking about another list. Things I would like to do before I die, for whatever reason. This is the kind of list that will keep on growing. But here's a few to start it off:
Talk soon
x's and o's
-Remy
The nightmares are rather simple. No more complex than you average slasher flick. Standard plot, usual cast of characters. In this particular one, I was forced to watch an alternate version of me kill my friends in alphabetical order (Sorry, Aaron and Amanda. Will, you have lots of time, start running now.). I am not making the alphabetical order part up.
All this got me thinking about what it is I'm afraid of. And it turns out, lots. Here are a few of the things I thought about:
1) Falling down stairs in public
2) Falling up stairs in public
3) People who walk to close to me late at night
4) Not being successful enough
5) Moving far away
6) Never getting married, or having a family
7) Marrying the wrong person
8) Wolverines
9) The movie 28 days later coming true
10) Death
Death is a big one, folks. I know a lot of people are afraid to die. Although I am one of them, it also seems rather foolish to me. Why be afraid of something you can do nothing to alter? It's the only certainty in life. And this got me thinking about another list. Things I would like to do before I die, for whatever reason. This is the kind of list that will keep on growing. But here's a few to start it off:
1) Win the WWE championship in a Steel Cage Match.
2) See my television show on air
3) Stick my hand into a fire-ant mound
4) Dissassemble a car, piece by piece. Then, give all the pieces to a kid and tell him if he can put it together again, he can have it.
5) Sleep with at least one famous person (preferable Scarlet Johanson)
6) Dress, and live like a pirate for a week
7) Pink belly a Nun
8) Get photographed by Annie Leibowitz
9) Eat an entire jar of mayonnaise
Talk soon
x's and o's
-Remy
Thursday, May 21, 2009
| Pictures of the Heart |
As promised, here are the pics from Heart. Once again, some didn't turn out as I was forced to act like James Bond and sneak the pics.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
| Conversations With an 8-ball, Volume One |
I thought it would be a mighty good idea to have a little Q and A time with the mightiest of all psychics, a Magic 8-ball that I found laying around.
Here are the results.
Q - Will I be successful in Florida?
A - Concentrate and ask again.
Q - Um. Okay. Will I be successful in Florida?
A - Cannot predict now.
Q - Why did you not say that the first time?
A - My reply is no.
Q - I'm already annoyed by you?
A - My sources say no.
Q - Argumentative little bastard. Am I going to be begging Kristine for my Old Nick job two weeks after leaving?
A - Concentrate, and ask again.
Q - Oh, no. I'm not doing that again. Try this, will the Blue Jays make the play-offs?
A - My sources say no.
Q - That sucks. Do I have a crush on somebody?
A - My reply is no.
Q - See, now I know you are lying. Because I do.
A - Reply Hazy, try again.
Q - Who are these 'sources', anyway?
A - Yes.
Q - That's not even a source.
A - Don't count on it.
Q - Psh. I'm not.
A - Reply hazy, try again.
Q - You already said that?
A - Outlook Good.
Q - Oh, see. Now you are testing my patience?
A - It is certain.
Q - How would you like it if I smashed you on the floor?
A - Most likely.
At this point in the procedings, I raised the 8-ball above my head and threatened it.
Q - I'll do it.
A- Outlook not so good.
Q- It's sure as hell not. For you.
A- Don't count on it.
Q- Oh, a tough guy, eh?
A - As I see it, yes.
Q - Fuck. Fine. I'm keeping you around. Plus, I'm scared of whatever bizarre liquid is inside of you. I'm positive whatever it is did not originate on this planet. Also, I may need you for comedic blog purposes later.
A - My reply is no.
Q - Are you saying I'm not funny?
A - Ask again later.
Q - You're right, I guess this blog is pretty new.
A - Reply hazy, try again.
Here are the results.
Q - Will I be successful in Florida?
A - Concentrate and ask again.
Q - Um. Okay. Will I be successful in Florida?
A - Cannot predict now.
Q - Why did you not say that the first time?
A - My reply is no.
Q - I'm already annoyed by you?
A - My sources say no.
Q - Argumentative little bastard. Am I going to be begging Kristine for my Old Nick job two weeks after leaving?
A - Concentrate, and ask again.
Q - Oh, no. I'm not doing that again. Try this, will the Blue Jays make the play-offs?
A - My sources say no.
Q - That sucks. Do I have a crush on somebody?
A - My reply is no.
Q - See, now I know you are lying. Because I do.
A - Reply Hazy, try again.
Q - Who are these 'sources', anyway?
A - Yes.
Q - That's not even a source.
A - Don't count on it.
Q - Psh. I'm not.
A - Reply hazy, try again.
Q - You already said that?
A - Outlook Good.
Q - Oh, see. Now you are testing my patience?
A - It is certain.
Q - How would you like it if I smashed you on the floor?
A - Most likely.
At this point in the procedings, I raised the 8-ball above my head and threatened it.
Q - I'll do it.
A- Outlook not so good.
Q- It's sure as hell not. For you.
A- Don't count on it.
Q- Oh, a tough guy, eh?
A - As I see it, yes.
Q - Fuck. Fine. I'm keeping you around. Plus, I'm scared of whatever bizarre liquid is inside of you. I'm positive whatever it is did not originate on this planet. Also, I may need you for comedic blog purposes later.
A - My reply is no.
Q - Are you saying I'm not funny?
A - Ask again later.
Q - You're right, I guess this blog is pretty new.
A - Reply hazy, try again.
talk soon
x's and o's.
-remy
x's and o's.
-remy
| My Heart |
So, what's it been? 5 days. I'm slacking.
So, I shall start by telling you all that I am madly in love with another man's wife.
The man? Cameron Crowe.
The wife? Nancy Wilson.
Sorry there, Cam. I don't care if you directed 'Almost Famous' (Which I love, sir.) But I want your wife somethin' fierce. And if the chance arouse, I would not hesitate to do what Rita Wilson did to Tom Cruise in another of your films, Jerry Maguire. I would feel bad about it, I'm sure. And the result would not be favorable for me, this I also I know. But damned if I wouldn't try.
It was Thursday. A beautiful day. Jason 'Dirty' Howarth and I were on our way to Casino Rama. The reason was the soon to be object of my celebrity lust, and the band she plays with, Heart.
I won't go through the entire show, instead, I'll just say that they were AMAZING. They covered Tom Petty (You Wrong Me), and, much to the delight of Dirty and myself, Zeppelin (Going to California, and The Immigrant Song) as well as their own stuff, natch!
Highlight for me? Well, a couple, since you asked.
First, the fact the when the lights went out, the Old Nick crew, Kris, Marty, Me, Dirty and Mo, stormed the stage which landed us all in the very first row. And by first row, I mean leaning against the stage. I was so close to Nancy that I could have slapped her for being such a kick-ass rock-star. Second, their cover of the Who's Love Reign O'er Me.
Hi. They owned that song.
Anne Wilson, also, is a complete rock star. Her stage presents is incredible. And the strut, oh, the strut. The strut was topped only by Nancy's (*swoon*) high kicks and hops.
I will have pics up shortly. Not many from the show, as we were not suppose to take pics where we were standing. But, I snuck a few in there. Had to.
And if anybody asks, don't mix strawberry Gatorade and Vodka together. It seems like a good plan, but when the ratio of Vodka far exceeds the Gatorade, it tastes like rubbing alcohol.
We'll talk soon.
x's and o's.
So, I shall start by telling you all that I am madly in love with another man's wife.
The man? Cameron Crowe.
The wife? Nancy Wilson.
Sorry there, Cam. I don't care if you directed 'Almost Famous' (Which I love, sir.) But I want your wife somethin' fierce. And if the chance arouse, I would not hesitate to do what Rita Wilson did to Tom Cruise in another of your films, Jerry Maguire. I would feel bad about it, I'm sure. And the result would not be favorable for me, this I also I know. But damned if I wouldn't try.
It was Thursday. A beautiful day. Jason 'Dirty' Howarth and I were on our way to Casino Rama. The reason was the soon to be object of my celebrity lust, and the band she plays with, Heart.
I won't go through the entire show, instead, I'll just say that they were AMAZING. They covered Tom Petty (You Wrong Me), and, much to the delight of Dirty and myself, Zeppelin (Going to California, and The Immigrant Song) as well as their own stuff, natch!
Highlight for me? Well, a couple, since you asked.
First, the fact the when the lights went out, the Old Nick crew, Kris, Marty, Me, Dirty and Mo, stormed the stage which landed us all in the very first row. And by first row, I mean leaning against the stage. I was so close to Nancy that I could have slapped her for being such a kick-ass rock-star. Second, their cover of the Who's Love Reign O'er Me.
Hi. They owned that song.
Anne Wilson, also, is a complete rock star. Her stage presents is incredible. And the strut, oh, the strut. The strut was topped only by Nancy's (*swoon*) high kicks and hops.
I will have pics up shortly. Not many from the show, as we were not suppose to take pics where we were standing. But, I snuck a few in there. Had to.
And if anybody asks, don't mix strawberry Gatorade and Vodka together. It seems like a good plan, but when the ratio of Vodka far exceeds the Gatorade, it tastes like rubbing alcohol.
We'll talk soon.
x's and o's.
Friday, May 15, 2009
| An Apology |
Okay, so this is not an entry.
Just an apology that I have not written in a few.
I assure you that when I get home tonight, and after I take a much needed (even though I just woke up) nap, I'll have some new entries!
x's and o's.
Just an apology that I have not written in a few.
I assure you that when I get home tonight, and after I take a much needed (even though I just woke up) nap, I'll have some new entries!
x's and o's.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
| Oh, and PS |
Go see Star Trek.
It scores +11 points for awesome. Made far superior by the company I enjoyed it with.
There are some important lessons in this movie too, especially if we are going to survive for the next few hundred million years.
- Make sure you always have the most dangerous material in the entire galaxy on hand at all time. And lots of it.
-Genocide is okay, but only if you are you one of the last people alive from your race, and it's for inter-stellar revenge.
-Don't be talking about Spock's Momma. He will choke you, and it will hurt.
-Don't start messing with time-lines. Shit will get fucked up. And you will score no points.
-Iowa, it would seem, is going to become the technological mecca of the universe.
-Little Kirk=win, Little Spock=win. Both get High Fives. Little Kirk for out-driving the police, and Little Spock for beating up Vulcan bullies.
Hrm... I'm sure I could think of more if it was not an hour after I said I was going to bed in the last post.
For real. Good Night.
x's and o's
-Remy
It scores +11 points for awesome. Made far superior by the company I enjoyed it with.
There are some important lessons in this movie too, especially if we are going to survive for the next few hundred million years.
- Make sure you always have the most dangerous material in the entire galaxy on hand at all time. And lots of it.
-Genocide is okay, but only if you are you one of the last people alive from your race, and it's for inter-stellar revenge.
-Don't be talking about Spock's Momma. He will choke you, and it will hurt.
-Don't start messing with time-lines. Shit will get fucked up. And you will score no points.
-Iowa, it would seem, is going to become the technological mecca of the universe.
-Little Kirk=win, Little Spock=win. Both get High Fives. Little Kirk for out-driving the police, and Little Spock for beating up Vulcan bullies.
Hrm... I'm sure I could think of more if it was not an hour after I said I was going to bed in the last post.
For real. Good Night.
x's and o's
-Remy
Monday, May 11, 2009
| Single Unit, Part Two: Room for Two |
So, we were going to discuss, a while back the difference between good and bad bed fellows.
Now, let me state that when it comes to the good, I am running entirely on memory. I have not had good company in that department in some time, at least company that meant something to me.
And sure, you'll say, "Remy, you were with Mothra for some time, wasn't she good to sleep next to?" That to me is like asking, "Isn't it nice sleeping next to your laptop power supply?"
To which my answer to both is the same: " Sure it is. It's warm and comforting in some strange way. It makes a relaxing hum, like some wonderful bio-tech lullaby. But if the voltage is a little screwy, or the plug is slightly out of the socket, or you accidentally kick the blanket slightly off it's feet, the whole place can go up in flames. "
So, Mothra=bad.
Laptop Power Supply=Good.
At the very least, the power supply doesn't yell at you for sliding quietly under the sheets at 3am, having stayed up to watch a Mythbusters marathon. No, see, the power supply would just keep humming happily away, luring me into dreams of busting myths while throwing crash test dummies in front of every moving object on the planet.
There will be no concern over the fact that you got up at 8am, about 10 minutes before you have to go to work and didn't make the bed, while the power supply is still in it. Apparently, OCD works during REM too.
The power supply won't jump on you in the morning, after you've worked a twelve hour day, which finished four hours previous to the jumping, demanding you get up to tell her where the thing that you MUST have missplaced is. When you assure Mothra that you have not touched the thing in question, she gets angrier, and asks why nothing is EVER where it was before I MUST have moved it. Mothra even maintains her anger when she finds the thing in her purse, where she left it. This one is not so bad, as I am not even awake enough to understand a)What's missing, b) Why I'm being yelled at, and c) Who's yelling at me. Not the power supply, the power supply will let me sleep, and look for it himself before blaming (note I said blame, not ask) someone else.
Now, there are certain parts of sharing a bed with somebody you're in a relationship with that are a given. Sex, sure, but that's a whole other train tunnel. What I'm talking about here is cuddling.
The power supply will almost always cuddle, not try and get away. Unless it's really hot in the room, then the power supply will try and cool down by blinking his little green light in a non-verbal request that some space remains, less both of you end up with the same fate as the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz.
Cuddling to me is important, there's a sense of security in it that you can't get with sex alone. It's comforting and nice. Especially at bed time, especially when you share that time with somebody. It's a very intimate setting.
See, to me, one of the big tests of a good relationship was if I could not just sleep, but sleep soundly next to somebody. Mind you, this is hard to do when your significant other hangs upside down from the roof in slumber. If I dose off, and wake-up in almost the same position I fell asleep in, the test is passed. If I try and cuddle somebody, and I am greeted like I just tried to kill a baby Koala with a circular saw, the test is failed. Not the power supply, which will always be right next to you. It can't even climb walls, because it's a laptop power supply. It has no legs.
So, in short, you would much rather sleep next to the power supply. Because it's a metaphor for good company. Company that respects your sleep, and enjoys the fact they are sleeping next to you, and you to them. Company that wouldn't mind the occasional snuggle. Company that you just can't resist kissing on the forehead right after they fall asleep, because at that moment they look just the perfect amount of beautiful.
It's not recommended that you kiss the power supply, unless you put some rubber between you and it.
That's it for me, kids. It's late /early.
So, I retire to my bed, with company that will always be perfect: myself. The silence of me sleeping is one of the most relaxing things to me. Um.. yah. Until later, I leave you with this...
Now, let me state that when it comes to the good, I am running entirely on memory. I have not had good company in that department in some time, at least company that meant something to me.
And sure, you'll say, "Remy, you were with Mothra for some time, wasn't she good to sleep next to?" That to me is like asking, "Isn't it nice sleeping next to your laptop power supply?"
To which my answer to both is the same: " Sure it is. It's warm and comforting in some strange way. It makes a relaxing hum, like some wonderful bio-tech lullaby. But if the voltage is a little screwy, or the plug is slightly out of the socket, or you accidentally kick the blanket slightly off it's feet, the whole place can go up in flames. "
So, Mothra=bad.
Laptop Power Supply=Good.
At the very least, the power supply doesn't yell at you for sliding quietly under the sheets at 3am, having stayed up to watch a Mythbusters marathon. No, see, the power supply would just keep humming happily away, luring me into dreams of busting myths while throwing crash test dummies in front of every moving object on the planet.
There will be no concern over the fact that you got up at 8am, about 10 minutes before you have to go to work and didn't make the bed, while the power supply is still in it. Apparently, OCD works during REM too.
The power supply won't jump on you in the morning, after you've worked a twelve hour day, which finished four hours previous to the jumping, demanding you get up to tell her where the thing that you MUST have missplaced is. When you assure Mothra that you have not touched the thing in question, she gets angrier, and asks why nothing is EVER where it was before I MUST have moved it. Mothra even maintains her anger when she finds the thing in her purse, where she left it. This one is not so bad, as I am not even awake enough to understand a)What's missing, b) Why I'm being yelled at, and c) Who's yelling at me. Not the power supply, the power supply will let me sleep, and look for it himself before blaming (note I said blame, not ask) someone else.
Side note: Mothra had always assumed that I had a little cubby stash full of things I hid from her. Examples: Sewing needles (I don't sew), stethoscope (I'm not a doctor, or nurse), Polysporin (I had no open wounds). This list is much longer, but I'm sure we shall delve into that again soon.
Now, there are certain parts of sharing a bed with somebody you're in a relationship with that are a given. Sex, sure, but that's a whole other train tunnel. What I'm talking about here is cuddling.
The power supply will almost always cuddle, not try and get away. Unless it's really hot in the room, then the power supply will try and cool down by blinking his little green light in a non-verbal request that some space remains, less both of you end up with the same fate as the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz.
Cuddling to me is important, there's a sense of security in it that you can't get with sex alone. It's comforting and nice. Especially at bed time, especially when you share that time with somebody. It's a very intimate setting.
See, to me, one of the big tests of a good relationship was if I could not just sleep, but sleep soundly next to somebody. Mind you, this is hard to do when your significant other hangs upside down from the roof in slumber. If I dose off, and wake-up in almost the same position I fell asleep in, the test is passed. If I try and cuddle somebody, and I am greeted like I just tried to kill a baby Koala with a circular saw, the test is failed. Not the power supply, which will always be right next to you. It can't even climb walls, because it's a laptop power supply. It has no legs.
So, in short, you would much rather sleep next to the power supply. Because it's a metaphor for good company. Company that respects your sleep, and enjoys the fact they are sleeping next to you, and you to them. Company that wouldn't mind the occasional snuggle. Company that you just can't resist kissing on the forehead right after they fall asleep, because at that moment they look just the perfect amount of beautiful.
It's not recommended that you kiss the power supply, unless you put some rubber between you and it.
That's it for me, kids. It's late /early.
So, I retire to my bed, with company that will always be perfect: myself. The silence of me sleeping is one of the most relaxing things to me. Um.. yah. Until later, I leave you with this...
| The Lioness and the Mouse |
So, this story is going to be based, obviously, on one of Aesop's fables, called the Lion and the Mouse. It just so turns out the story fits well into a real event that happened last year...
Remy's Fables
presents
The Lioness and The MouseThere once was a mouse, that lived on the warm plains. The mouse did not venture out much, as he lived very close to a pride of lions.
The lions were proud and fierce creatures, save one, a beautiful lioness. She had fur that gleamed in the sun, and teeth white as ivory.
The Lioness knew of the Mouse, and often would leave treats for him outside his dwelling.
One day, while he was out enjoying a drink, the mouse came upon the Lioness. She was laying on her side, with damp eyes. Her paws were red, and swollen.
"Beautiful Lioness," said the Mouse, "What is the matter?"
"I have stepped on glass shards, left here by hunters. And the glass is in my feet," replied the Lioness.
"You have always been nice to me, please let me help you."
The Lioness looked worried, but soon extended her paws toward the Mouse, and he carefully removed all the glass.
Before long, the Lioness was back with the pride, running, playing and hunting.
Hopefully, she will never forget the Mouse.The Moral: Always heal the Lioness, so she can move on and do amazing things.
| Snob Company Awards: Category Two |
Award: The "I'm Utterly Useless, Like Paris Hilton" Award for Lifetime Acheviement in being useless.
Presented by: The winner of Survivor Eleven
This is, my friends, the most competitive category at the Snobbies. There are so many things to consider. Do you focus on a group, or an individual? What is the definition of useless?
use·less (y
s
l
s)adj.
Presented by: The winner of Survivor Eleven
This is, my friends, the most competitive category at the Snobbies. There are so many things to consider. Do you focus on a group, or an individual? What is the definition of useless?
________
use·less (y
sls)adj.1. Being or having no beneficial use; futile or ineffective.
2. Incapable of functioning or assisting; ineffectual: He panics easily and is useless in an emergency________
Some only fit into one of the two of these meanings. For example:
1. Being or having no beneficial use; futile or ineffective. Examples: Infomercial hosts, Nicole Richie and Gangster Rappers.
2. Incapable of functioning or assisting; ineffectual. Examples: George W. Bush and un-potty trained lap dogs.
In order to receive a nomination in this category, you must be one of the few that fit into BOTH definitions. This truly is a Herculean task. Being both completely dysfunctional, and having no use is indeed a rare quality. Although, I assume, not rare enough.
I know there will be people out there that don't agree with these nominees. Where is Lindsay Lohan? They will say. I'll tell you where. Not here. Why? Because she is entertaining. That's why. Who doesn't want to watch somebody fall apart in front of their eyes? We know she's not a lesbian, but we like watching her pretend. Britney too. We watched her go from sexy pop-star, to a trailer dweller in a year.
With out further a do, the most useless of the useless. Ladies and Gentleman, the nominees for the 'I'm Utterly Useless, Like Paris Hilton' Award for lifetime Achievement in being useless. And it comes down to two amazing finalists...
Of course she was going to win this award, folks. It's named after her. Like you didn't see it coming. What better victor than everybody's favorite attention-whore.
Paris personifies useless in every facet. The leader of the 'I'm famous because I'm rich' sect, who apperently spends the majority of her time looking for best friends, on television, and giving below par head in night vision.
Congrats, Paris, you win a dozen elbows to the larrynx.
And them crabs be ichy, aren't they, Paris?
Okay, okay. Here's Lindsay...
1. Being or having no beneficial use; futile or ineffective. Examples: Infomercial hosts, Nicole Richie and Gangster Rappers.
2. Incapable of functioning or assisting; ineffectual. Examples: George W. Bush and un-potty trained lap dogs.
In order to receive a nomination in this category, you must be one of the few that fit into BOTH definitions. This truly is a Herculean task. Being both completely dysfunctional, and having no use is indeed a rare quality. Although, I assume, not rare enough.
I know there will be people out there that don't agree with these nominees. Where is Lindsay Lohan? They will say. I'll tell you where. Not here. Why? Because she is entertaining. That's why. Who doesn't want to watch somebody fall apart in front of their eyes? We know she's not a lesbian, but we like watching her pretend. Britney too. We watched her go from sexy pop-star, to a trailer dweller in a year.
With out further a do, the most useless of the useless. Ladies and Gentleman, the nominees for the 'I'm Utterly Useless, Like Paris Hilton' Award for lifetime Achievement in being useless. And it comes down to two amazing finalists...
_________
Nominee
The Cast of 'the Hills'
Lauren: So, how is work going?
Whitney: Like, hard, but like, I like it.
Lauren: Is it tough?
Whitney: It's like challenging. Like, the other day, I was like, at a runway show and I was like "Go, Go, Go!" to all the models. It was, like, great.
Lauren: Wow! That sounds like your dream job.
Nominee
The Cast of 'the Hills'
Potentially the dumbest human beings on the planet, with what I'm sure is the combined I.Q. of a loaf of Wonderbread, only not nearly as usefull. Try making a sandwich out of Brody Jenner.
Let me add this conversation as proof of the riveting intellegence one finds on the show:
Let me add this conversation as proof of the riveting intellegence one finds on the show:
Lauren: So, how is work going?
Whitney: Like, hard, but like, I like it.
Lauren: Is it tough?
Whitney: It's like challenging. Like, the other day, I was like, at a runway show and I was like "Go, Go, Go!" to all the models. It was, like, great.
Lauren: Wow! That sounds like your dream job.
Is it really any wonder why people have no hope for the youth today? Remember though, these kids are young, and have plenty of time left to aggrivate us.ne
Now, I'm not going to get into a big anti-Jesus thing here. I'll save that hole-ripping for another day. And believe me, that day is coming. And the hole I tear into religion will be as wide as the 'Virgin' Mary's ... nevermind.
Needless to say, without the mightiest of all fictional characters, we would have 1 /4th the war, and much less disagreement between people who believe that we are all sinners because two naked people ate a cursed apple off a tree, because a talking snake told them too, and those of us who are not retarded.
The one saving grace this nominee has is being the base for the very funny 'Baby Jesus' prayer in the film 'Talladega Nights'. But, as this is a lifetime acheviement award, who better than a man whos bullshit has been useless for 2000 years?
Nominee
Jesus of Nazereth
Jesus of Nazereth
Now, I'm not going to get into a big anti-Jesus thing here. I'll save that hole-ripping for another day. And believe me, that day is coming. And the hole I tear into religion will be as wide as the 'Virgin' Mary's ... nevermind.
Needless to say, without the mightiest of all fictional characters, we would have 1 /4th the war, and much less disagreement between people who believe that we are all sinners because two naked people ate a cursed apple off a tree, because a talking snake told them too, and those of us who are not retarded.
The one saving grace this nominee has is being the base for the very funny 'Baby Jesus' prayer in the film 'Talladega Nights'. But, as this is a lifetime acheviement award, who better than a man whos bullshit has been useless for 2000 years?
_______
... and the Snobbie goes too
_______
... and the Snobbie goes too
_______
Paris Hilton
Of course she was going to win this award, folks. It's named after her. Like you didn't see it coming. What better victor than everybody's favorite attention-whore.
Paris personifies useless in every facet. The leader of the 'I'm famous because I'm rich' sect, who apperently spends the majority of her time looking for best friends, on television, and giving below par head in night vision.
Congrats, Paris, you win a dozen elbows to the larrynx.
And them crabs be ichy, aren't they, Paris?
Okay, okay. Here's Lindsay...
| The Hose and the Soda |
Here is a story. It makes no sense at all. It's really dumb. I hate it. But, please keep in mind that I am about 72.4% drunk, and I assure you this blog will return to it's normal witty form tomorrow.
The Horse and the Soda
There was a horse. He was grey-ish. He had a name, but could not remember it. Oh, and his soda pop was warm.
He decided to go looking for some ice.
Up and down the street he walked, all the while people giving him strange looks. Then, he saw a store that sold ice. The horse realized he did not have any money. How does a horse get money?
He spindle kicked an small boy. But the boy had only change. Then he robbed a bank.
He went back to the store, and putting the bag of ice on the counter, he realized something.
"Wayne! My name is Wayne!"
"You can talk?!" exclaimed the shop keep.
"Hey, I guess I can. And why am I drinking soda, anyway? I'm a horse" said Wayne.
"You should write this shit down," said the shop keep.___________
If that made even one of you smile in the slightest, it was worth it.
x's and o's.
See you in the a.m.
x's and o's.
See you in the a.m.
| Snob Company Awards: Category One |
Award: Best Facial Hair in a Supporting Role
Nominee One: Charlton Heston's "So what if I look like a homeless man? I'm doing god's work" beard from 'The Ten Commandments'
Nothing says religion like unruley facial hair. What better way to garner legions of followers then looking like a homeless man.
Not to take anything away from the story, we were all intrigued with a grown up Peter Pan. But the real star of this show was Captain James T. Hook's jet black face frock. Attended to by the pirate guru of style, Mr Smee, who used oddly squeaky ear wax to obtain the perfect handle angle. The Snobbies would also like to give honorable mention to the wig and eyebrows.
Nominee Three: Will Ferrel's "I'm more than likely standing outside your window right now' copstash from 'Anchor Man'
Stylin', cool, and with the perfect amount of arogance and creep, this one, my friends, is for the ages.
________
Now, before we annonce the winner, we will give honerable mention to some facial hair that can't be ignored.
Ladies and Gentleman, Madonna's dauther Lourdes.
Those brows are as good as any mustache, and the soft tufts of her teen-stash are really coming in nicely.
______
And the Snobbie goes to ....
______
______
Chewbacca the Wookie'Star Wars'
He's soft-spoken, generally mild mannered, an incrediable baseball player and hairy. The greatest of all Wookies pulls this one out by a light-year.
Well done, and congrats to all the nominees.
___
___
Coming up after the break:
The "What Are You? Fucking Retarded?" Award for Stupidity
The "I'm Utterly Useless, Like Paris Hilton" Award for Lifetime Acheviement in being useless.
The "I'm Utterly Useless, Like Paris Hilton" Award for Lifetime Acheviement in being useless.
The Chuck Norris Award for being Chuck Norris
And a musical performance by The Sunshine Band (No KC)
_______
Oh, and Madonna, seriously, spring for some waxing. I fear your daughter's head may soon be consumed with her own hair.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
| Single Unit, Part One: A King Bed For One |
I woke up this morning with the idea to write a short something about how amazing Carole Pope was last night. However, I shall wait until the weekend is over to suck Miss Pope's non-existent dick. Except to say this, a) She was amazing, and b) She was really fucking amazing. If you didn't get chance to come to the Old Nick last night, I suggest you get there early today.
Instead, I got up today wanting to share how thoroughly happy I am to be single. Wait. No. That's not true. Not single, just single from my last girlfriend. For the purpose of this post, we shall call her "Godzilla". No, no ... "Mothra". We'll cal her "Mothra".
And thus starts a multi-part adventure into a failed relationship where I will bash not only my ex, but myself as well (A little bit).
I realized how nice it was to wake up and not role over on top of some Amazonian wench who sleeps engrossed in a blanket of her own wings, and will spend most of the day (if I'm unlucky enough to have it off), trying to suck my blood.
I liken her soul-sucking abilities to that of a Dementor, the famously merciless guards of Azkaban prison. Many times I too, to paraphrase Ron Weasly, felt like I would never feel joy again.
There's a wonderful joy in stretching out in your own bed. Being able to take up as much room as possible. I've slept far better this way, ie. NOT cowering in a corner. And I am thankful I have the chance to now.
That's not to say that company isn't welcome. It just has to be the right company.
____
As I must depart for work, I emplore you to stay tuned for the continuation of Part One. Which I will get around just as soon as I can.
For now, I drag my single, slightly hungover yet very happy ass towards the subway. Which is also an experience I would sometimes like to have alone. Subway car for one? Yes, please.
____
See you tomorrow, my babies.
x's and o's
Instead, I got up today wanting to share how thoroughly happy I am to be single. Wait. No. That's not true. Not single, just single from my last girlfriend. For the purpose of this post, we shall call her "Godzilla". No, no ... "Mothra". We'll cal her "Mothra".
And thus starts a multi-part adventure into a failed relationship where I will bash not only my ex, but myself as well (A little bit).
| Single Unit |
Part One
|A King Bed For One |
Part One
|A King Bed For One |
I realized how nice it was to wake up and not role over on top of some Amazonian wench who sleeps engrossed in a blanket of her own wings, and will spend most of the day (if I'm unlucky enough to have it off), trying to suck my blood.
I liken her soul-sucking abilities to that of a Dementor, the famously merciless guards of Azkaban prison. Many times I too, to paraphrase Ron Weasly, felt like I would never feel joy again.
There's a wonderful joy in stretching out in your own bed. Being able to take up as much room as possible. I've slept far better this way, ie. NOT cowering in a corner. And I am thankful I have the chance to now.
That's not to say that company isn't welcome. It just has to be the right company.
____
As I must depart for work, I emplore you to stay tuned for the continuation of Part One. Which I will get around just as soon as I can.
For now, I drag my single, slightly hungover yet very happy ass towards the subway. Which is also an experience I would sometimes like to have alone. Subway car for one? Yes, please.
____
See you tomorrow, my babies.
x's and o's
Thursday, May 7, 2009
| Ladies and Gentleman, Carole Pope |
'Tis the eve of Carole Pope playing two shows at the Old Nick.
Not sure who Carole is?
How about an international superstar. Winner of many awards. The lead singer of Rough Trade. How about those things, huh? You like that? You will.
$15, doors open at 7pm.
You should be there. I'm not saying that you'll get in, as every lesbian within a 100 mile radius is going to show up, but you should try. Really, what's the harm? If you get in, you'll be witness to an amazing show, from an incredible musician. If you don't get in, find a comfortable spot, ask our resident glue sniffer (Gluetenant Dan), he can show you a good one, and you'll be really close to the front of the line for the Saturday show.
In the meantime, go to Carolepope.com or Old-Nick.com
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
| Social Etiquette, Part One: How I Learned to Stop Hating and Love People Who Cuddle on Escalators.
Complaining. Good way to start.
All it takes is one trip to the lovely Yonge-Dundas square to aggravate you for the rest of the week.
As long as you first start your adventure in the Eaton Center.
So, I shall start simply, by relaying a slew of things that happen there (frequently).
1) People who cuddle on escalators, and block the left side, which those of us with half a functioning brain know is reserved for people who have better things to do than block escalators. I get that you are in love, I'm happy for you. Just get out of my damn way.
2) Anybody that tries to talk to me while I have my iPod on. Earphones are in because I don't want to hear about your life story, or how your wallet got stolen and all you really need is three dollars to get a bus back to Thunder Bay, or about Jesus. I'm trying to memorize the words to every Magnetic Fields song of the 69 Album.
3) Anybody with a hickey. I don't care how young/old you are, it makes you look like a douche. And for those of you hickey sporting tweens that travel in packs, find a hobby, other then letting horny 16 year old boys eat your neck.
4) Why, oh Why? Do you really, honestly find it necessary to cruise through the mall on your long-board. I'm sure if we weren't looking at you with disdain, we would all care about your hipster-cool status complete with unkempt hair and wallet chain. I'll make you a deal. You get off the board, and walk through the mall like a normal person, and I won't make fun of your skinny jeans and size 13 feet.
Look, for the most part, I'm okay with insanity. I work in a bar. I enjoyed Girl, Interrupted. But don't come over to me spreading crazy around like it was strawberry jam. I'm libel to push you into a bike rack.
There should be more like the dude at the top and his awesome Spider-Man chalk drawing.
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