Everybody's Got Their Sumthin'...right?

It is my firm belief that Everyone has their something. That thing that only they are good at...or at least better than the hordes that surround them. My friend Justine, she used to be the pool player. Now she's the carpenter (don't laugh, all my friends in some way or another embody uber-lesbian in some way or another...). Kelly? She's the grumpy one who somehow knows Everybody. Or at least makes it a point of getting to know everybody. And me? Well I used to be the strong one.

Maybe that's why it sucked to realize that in comparison to some, I'm a lightweight. And when I say some, I'm actually talking about the worst person in the wordl to be compared to...and lose. The ex. I'm not stronger. Just taller, apparently. And I drink more beer (translation: I'm waaaay more fun).

So if I lose strength, what do I have?

Well, I used to know how to make at least two Origami animals. But I've since lost the skill, so no. I don't own a gun, or am not a member of the NRA, so she's scarier (even With my usual stern glare and mohawk). I'm witty, but I've never talked to the ex, so who knows. She may be a regular Carrot Top. I Do let people punch me in the stomach every once in a while, but I'm sure that's not necessarily viewed as a Pro by all.

I know I've got something in there, it's just gonna take some digging. Past the video game prowess, on the other side of steak cooking awesomeness and somewhere near neverending well of charm, I'm sure there's a little leprechaun of hidden talent that's just waiting to jump put an surprise the world! And then Global Domination will begin!

...unless the hidden talent is like, pen balancing or something...then Global Pen Championship Domination will Begin!!!

Friday Five

So this is something my girlfriend does. This five questions on Friday thing. And since i personally am a Huge fan of lists of five (which I'm sure will come out in blog form eventually), thought I might give it a try:

Is it me or you that I'm afraid of?

1. What's missing from your life?
A steady source of income, a steady sense of personal security, a lazy boy with a fridge and back massager in it.

2. Do you like to get drunk?
If you knew me you'd realize that this is a silly question. I'm a career drinker. It's in the genes...

3. Have you ever kissed a stranger?
Without knowing their name? no. Actually, probably no all around. It's always people I know and hang out with that end up with my tongue in their mouths.

4. Do you smoke?
Cigarettes? not anymore...But I AM pretty "smokin'"...(oh yeah, I had to write that)...

5. What makes you happy?
Right now? Lots of things. Good writing. Sunshine. Having a good time with my friends. Open bar events. And of course, Kate (even though she didn't put me down on her list...feel free to let her know she's a heartless cad in my comments...i'll forward them on to her...).

Customer Service can lick My...

Okay so maybe I've never worked at a job that requires much customer service...or Any really...at all. Yes I've never worked in the service industry, so I may not know every side to every aspect of the whole story. But I've never really cared all that much about knowing all the info before forming my opinions, so why start now?

Fact of the matter is, if you're running a restaurant, even a crappy fast food chain, I would tend to think that there are some logical decisions involing the service of your customers, and some illogical decisions. Logical? Friendly mannersisms, asking the right questions, not peeing on the food. Illogical? Putting a person who can't do math on the till, getting the guy with no arms to clean the bathroom, and getting the REALLY FAT SWEATY GUY WITH SUPER ECZEMA ON HIS FACE TO DRESS THE BURGERS AT A HARVEY'S. I mean, C'MON!

So we're on our way to Oakville last night, and we decide, hmm, hungry, let's stop and get burgers. We stop at a Harvey's, line up, and order food from the lovely apathetic young woman behind the counter. Then we wait and eventually get called up to the "dressing" area to guide an employee into putting crap on our meat. Out walks this rather large man (no this isn't a size thing...read on) and steps up to the counter. At first I hesitated, thinking this might be a joke, nope, he's the guy, tell him what you want.

You have to picture him. Severely obese, shirt popping open at his belly (literally), only One glove on (and not even on the hand he did most of the food touching with), coughing towards the food, Huge beads of sweat on his face surrounded by MASSIVE FLAKEY BITS OF SKIN. There was even skin flakes all around his collar and on his shirt. Seriously. Now, I've had friends with really bad eczema. No big deal. Probably not the people i would ask to stand over my food while violently shaking a mayonnaise dispenser since it was almost empty.

I honestly thought it was a joke, or a hidden camera thing, or they just didn't like us (until I noticed that this was the guy serving Everyone). But no. This was customer service at it's finest. Needless to say, we all ate the food, then felt real crappy afterwards...


p.s. Just came back from Wendy's. They didn't give me any cutlery. Ever tried eating a salad with your hands? It super sucks.

Canes, Walkers, and Bad Bad Jeans

What is up with Old People Pants? Like, seriously, it's like you get old, and you lose all sense of aesthetics. Do people over the age of forty not know how to pick out jeans?

So I'm at Swiss Chalet, picking up my bosses greek salad, and in walks a son, a mom, and a grand-mom, all wearing denim. Sure enough, the son's look fine, but mom and granma are "all bad' and "all worse". Mom's wearing those deep blue Levi's with the real hip hugging form and tapered legs, stopping about an inch short of her pants (before I get any flack for this, no they didn't look poor...c'mon, they were at a restaurant for lunch, it can't be a money thing...). But Mom's were a frikkin treat compared to Granma. 'Cause Granma was wearing what I've seen soooo many old woman wear...Granma jeans.

You know the ones....faded to light blue, real flimsy material, super short, and No Pockets! Christ! When are people going to learn that jeans are meant to have back pockets! (sorry sweets, i know you have a pair of non-back pocket jeans...i ignore it 'cause i really like having sex with you...). Jeans without back pockets do Nothing to make your ass look better, and Everything to make it look worse. Especially when you're really old! (when's the last time you saw a granma and thought "reowr, nice ass").

You just know that the whole non-back-pocket thing was invented by some guy who has a total ass fetish and just couldn't sell denim chaps as a marketable product. Just no good. Really.

So to all the ladies out there, hugging their assets with a thin layer of denim sans pockets, a few words: pockets rock. They add texture and mystery to the bottom. Layers. A cool place to slide your money and hand into. And they stop your ass from looking flat...even if you don't have a flat ass, "no pockets" will make everyone think you do, so please reconsider.

Really, good jeans are important. Anyone can look good in a good pair of jeans. The right choice is essential, yes, but that is why jeans kick ass. So much selection, you don't even really have to pay that much if you know what you're doing (although you Do tend to pay for what you Get...still, I don't think I'll ever pay triple digits for denim...that's just pushing it...). They're the universal clothing equaller (i know it's not an actual word...piss off). Take advantage. Buy good jeans. Or at least get someone under forty to tell you when yours suck.

Lord have Mercy

I've turned into "that" person. You know, all smiley and singy. Comments on my super happy mood are everywhere. And everyone is rolling their eyes. It's...(gasp)...love...ish...

So now, I oogle girls, but just to look, not to try and sleep with. I apologize when I hit people. And I do nice things...often. Who is this stranger? The "hood" would chew me up and spit me out...or join hands with me and perhaps break into a West Side Story-ish song and dance? (highly unlikely, I know, but one can dream.)

Thank goodness my daydreams are in colour.

Like the Sands of Time...

Alright fine, all is well. All is as it should be. We talked, and then had a fantastic 24 hrs. And now there's the meaningful gazes, the long touches, the unbelievably-annoying-to-everyone-else shmoopiness. How'm I supposed to look tough when I'm all giddy and doe-eyed?

So I figure, maybe I mug some yuppies, challenge a High School Football team to a rumble, and eat fifty hard boiled eggs, and I'll be back on top of intimidation mountain. Kick Ass!

Sleep? What sleep?

Apparently when I think about stuff too much, it keeps me awake. Okay, apparently when anyone thinks about stuff too much they stay awake, but I'm not talking about anyone else here. Just me.

And last night, I thought...didn't sleep...much

This ex-girlfriend thing is bugging me more than I thought. It's in there, muddling around my brain, making me all itchy and stuff. So I guess now's the time that you sit down and have a talk. Maybe the talk. 'Cause these days, any talk could be the talk.

Maybe there's something to that whole arranged marriage thing. You're in it, you have to make it work. I hear they have a super low divorce rate. And I bet they never fear conversations like the one I need to have today. Curse it all really.

I tell ya, if I wasn't such a fan of sex, and that kissing thing, maybe the cuddling thing, the companionship, those warm cuddly feelings, you know all that stuff...if I didn't like any of that stuff, then I tell you, I'd be Single! Ya!

Dating the Ex

So here you are, you've got this great new girl, and it's just the two of you, in your bubble, alone...with her ex-girlfriend. What the hell do you do with that?

Here's the thing. We started this whole thing about a month ago, when the two of them were still dating, so I guess I'm not entirely blameless in this. Dramam ensued, the ex was let go, and this is the easy part right? Where my new girl and I stare into each other's eyes, bask in the sunshine, and summon butterflies to land on our hands and shoulders. Sounds nice doesn't it? Would sound a whole lot nicer if the cellphone wasn't signalling a new text message from guess who.

I get that we all have stuff we need to deal with at the end, and beginning, of relationships. Parents, schedules, amphetamine addictions, what have you. Right now, I just want to be dealing with Kate (that's my chickie-boo's name) and dealing with us and getting to know each other. I could do without the flowers that Exy sent (I find that if you add a "y" to the end of anything, it makes it cuter...less harmless...almost fluffy...). Or the e-mails...the phone calls during sex...often...

Now don't get me wrong, I'm the supportive type...the one you can talk to, about anything. Five in the morning, I'll get in my car, drive to the 24 hr. drug mart and buy you that decongestant so you can sleep. And yes, I want you to be able to talk to me about..."her"...but damn, I'm human and someone, somewhere is aching for a kick in the teeth (not Exy though, too crazy aggressive...I'm gonna aim for like the members of Simple Plan...or those chicks who stare at me funny when I use the Girls bathroom...).

Okay, aggression gone. And I know it's gonna be okay. 'Cause either it's gonna work out for us, or it just wasn't meant to be. How very Zen of me.

Until then, I'm just gonna keep being my same old charming, helpful self...who sometimes stretches my kicking leg, you know, just in case.