1002 Things Before I Kick the Bucket
Because Eventually I Have To Die, Maybe
NaBloWriMo
Nov 1st
On Sunday, my friend Kris, who is the all-star behind my favorite blog Popingay, suggested we embark together on the magical journey that is NaBloWriMo (I think he assumed it stood for National Blowing Writers Month).
This all began when our mutual friend Mikaela said Ian was coming over to work on a project. Kris and I pressed her for details. She refused, stating:
“You’ll make fun of us.”
She was right. After a hearty dose of laughter over the fact that she and Ian participated in NaNoWriMo annually, Kris and I mocked their nerd-dom for several minutes, loudly. At some point, Kris remarked that there was now a NaBloWriMo. I thought “that would be the perfect opportunity to get back on this blogging horse” and Kris thought “I’m a manwhore with a weird writer fetish.”
So we decided to embark on this beautiful writing/blow job journey together. I look forward to a month of fitting in a daily dose of terrible writing that no one reads but my mom. And that’s just because I make her proof read my work.
Coming up:
Nov 2: Tattoo
Nov 6-9: Issues of Substance Conference in Vancouver, BC
Nov 12: Homovember (the terrible holiday I concocted and plan to make my friends celebrate with me, as per item 204 on my list)
Then it’s 2012 the year we all die or whatever.
North Koreeeeeear*
Jul 12th
* North Korea, according to North Koreans in English propaganda movies, is pronounced like this. FACT.
I suppose most people’s idea of a vacation is Hawaii. Maybe Mexico or even Punta Cana. Some might be adventurous and dream of one day laying on the beaches in the South of France (I’m looking at you Beyonce). That’s all nice and well, but I have a certain expectation that any travel I partake in will eventually lead to me being buried due to a well-earned gun shot wound. Roughly translated: I have a powerful obsession with North Korea and possibly an unhealthy fascination with visiting this Powerful and Prosperous Nation (yeah, that’s me, quoting North Korean propaganda). People find this incredibly odd and confusing. (Apparently the economy in North Korea is in direct offense to the beliefs of Canada? – but their website calls me “friend”! So it’s TOTALLY OKAY GUYS!). This reaction has always been alright, because my obsession makes me quite a celebrity amongst my friends – in that I am obviously some kind of spy sent from the Democratic People’s Republic to gather information about what capitalist pigs are up to these days (I like to send Kim-Jong Il pictures of potbelly pigs in Lincoln hats).
Side note: One time I got …rather… drunk at a gay bar and was telling these people in the bathroom how I went to North Korea and fell in love with this guy and when he told me he loved me I said “hahaha I choose FREEDOM!” When I started laughing and confessed I was joking, my friend Andrew punched me in the arm. My friend Andrew is a jerk.
So why the fascination with North Korea? Let me tell you in the only way I know how - NUMERICAL LISTS ORGANIZED BY DECREASING LEVELS OF HUMOUR.
Side note: I know this blog post will probably remove any possibility of ever going to the United States again. I take my “journalism” seriously, okay?
1. The Vice Guide to North Korea. If you have Netflix, if you have YouTube, if you have the ability to click that link, I sincerely suggest you watch this documentary. In return, I will not deny that this documentary helped turn my fascination with the nation into an interest for visiting. When did I first visit The Official Webpage of The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea to look at travel options? Yes, after the first time I watched this film. Later on Kimjongilia would make me feel sad about North Korea for a while, but that was fixed by watching the Vice Guide again! YAY!
2. My Imagination. Picture it: Gadhafi and Kim Jong-il meet the day of their trials at the Hague for crimes against humanity, their eyes lock across the room. This was it; the reason for their murderous reigns thousands of miles apart. They approach each other from across the room, or whatever the Hague is like – I don’t care enough to find out. Eyes still locked, Gadhafi says “I really like your special brand of crazy” and Kim Jong-il replies “your style is impeccable…I mean those sunglasses….” As they are dragged away, they scream out “I LOVE YOU SO MUCH” to each other and vow to be reunited. These are the things that occupy my mind most of the time. Can you imagine a charcoal sketch of this moment? Can you imagine bringing that sketch to North Korea and getting Kim Jong-il to sign it?!? A girl can dream.
3. Totes Hipster. I literally know of nobody who has gone there, or who wants to go there. Where else in the world is there a destination that obscure and awful? Well, maybe like…lots of places?
4. Perspective. On a more serious note, I’m a spoiled brat. I’ll admit I have nothing on Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton, but on a global level, I’m just awful. My water usage, gas consumption, eating habits… just ridiculous. And yet I never think about these things, ever. Mostly because I’m too busy gluing feathers in some gay dude’s hair or filling bathtubs with champagne – just for funsies. I so rarely stop to think about what my life would be like if I had been born anywhere else in the world. The fact I can hop on a plane to any continent in the world tomorrow if I choose isn’t something I should take as lightly as I do. So many people ask why I’d want to go to a country that would never give me the freedom to roam as I pleased. People constantly ask me “how is that experiencing culture?” A trip to North Korea presents the rarest opportunity to be thrown directly into a culture of complete control. I can only imagine how much more I might appreciate my freedom if I spent a week without any.
5. The Landscape, people, culture, buildings…it has all the reasons people travel anywhere. My favourite site for pictures of North Korea shows it all: Wandering Camera: North Korea
I am one classy bitch
May 24th
You don’t have to know me to know that I am pure class. All class, all the time. It’s a known fact.
Okay, this is completely untrue. I am less classy than Ke$ha. At least she has nice clothes and a proper glitter budget. Suffice to say that if I had been the one marrying Prince William, I would have been removed from my own wedding. The fact is, I’m listening to “I Want Your Sex” by George Michael while at work. I’m also wearing a white bra and a black shirt. Yeah. One classy bitch.
So, seeing as how classy I truly am, it made complete sense to add “Have fondue” to my life list. I had the good fortune on Sunday to avoid being apocalypsed or turned into a Jesus Michael Jackson-esque zombie or whatever was supposed to happen, which allowed me to partake in dinner with my friend Scott (the following is my artist’s representation of Scott, since he doesn’t seem to have a website to link to…I’m confused).
Thanks to dudelol.com for this stunning rendition of Scott.Now, if you have met me, you know I tend to do brunch at Laurier Lounge, which has the best fucking brunch in the city of Calgary. I had never been there for dinner though, so we decided to go there. As I gazed over the menu all I could think was: “well, there goes my shoe budget for the year” (because I am classy and have a shoe budget). This is when my favourite and oh-so adorable waitress Genevieve suggested we partake in the (I wish I could write in rainbow glittering lettering for this) FONDUE EXPERIENCE. Three courses of fondue. FEATURING A BEEF FLOWER (again, rainbow lettering.)
Uhm, yeah. Right now. Thanks.
Do I have to mention dessert was fresh fruit with Bernard Callebaut chocolate?
Off my list. Possibly the classiest of all the additions.
421. Have fondue
I played in the snow ‘n junk
Nov 29th
Those of you lucky enough to have met me (or created me like my mom did) know I’m absolutely adorable (read: I act like I’m 5 and play it off in a positive light by describing it as adorable, because, let’s face it, I have no life skills). So it should come as no surprise to the few, the proud, the usually gay who befriend me, that yesterday I looked out my boyfriend’s kitchen window into the snowy unshovely wonderland that had taken over his backyard and proceeded to scream “I WANT TO BUILD A SNOWMAN” at the man lucky enough to be sleeping with the only five year old in North America that is legally able to consent to sex.
This was at around 9:45 in the morning. Phil, the aformentioned man (who is definitely probably not a pedophile), insisted breakfast come first because apparently filling me with protein and coffee would calm me down. He made me eggs. Cooked in bacon grease. It was awesome. Then he let me drink a 500mL chocolate milk and I spent the next hour whining about how my tummy hurt. It was not awesome.
Then it was time to go play outside! Now, I should mention that Phil is 25 and has his shit together. Like, ridiculously so. Like owns a house and wears matching socks to work together. Has a whisk specifically for making scrambled eggs. Yeah. Just for eggs. So you’d think given his togetherness at life and my desperation to go out and form snow into some kind of lumpy fat person with a weird carrot nose that we’d be able to get out of the house at play in the snow rather quickly. No. It took about two hours, from my falling over in an attempt to change leggings and Phil looking for his “awesome snow pants” which were never found (hint: I burned them because dating guys who own snowpants is social suicide [unless they are megarich Swedish ski instructors]).
Given enough time, two people can accomplish anything, so with 120 minutes under our belt (that’s right, I can add, suck on that), Phil and I were dressed to impress (or to stand outside in the snow for 20 minutes before I invariably decided I was bored). We trodded outside and proceeded to test the snow. Short answer: not packing snow. No snow man. Being the adults that we are, we did not decide to throw ice balls at the giant icicles on this roof until they cracked off and once that was over we certainly did not end up just throwing loose snow at each other for four straight minutes until Phil’s parents called from Phoenix.
Though, Phil, being the giant man-child that he is, did proceed to give me a “snow bath” after returning from his phone call which then caused me to frantically shove snow down the back of his shirt while my butt got all wet because I was still sitting in the snowbank he had pushed me into. I’m not sure if Phil was just cold and miserable or if he realized I probably would sit in the snow bank digging a snow cave until I froze to death, but he decided to call of the Snow Man Attempt of 2010. We spent the rest of the afternoon with him attempting to teach me how to play poker “like a shark” and me insisting I could go to the casino, blink a lot and act lost and someone would just give me money.
And thus, I still have yet to cross “Make a Snowman” off of my list.
Lame.
Crossed Off: Body Shot
Aug 13th
This happened a long time ago. I’m just posting about it because Mallory is hot and I was super drunk.
615. Do a body shot
Zombies Beware
Aug 11th
So, I think guns are awesome. I haven’t always felt this way, but over the past few years I have become a rabid anti-gun law type, feeling as though Canada wastes a lot of time and money ‘protecting’ us from guns. The only people who follow gun laws are people who don’t do stupid shit with their guns. ANYWAYS. Before I fall into a desperate rant about pretty much nothing, yet keeping on the topic of guns, you may have noticed I had ‘Fire a Gun’ on my life list, under #155 to be precise.
Allow me to throw into this mix: Phil, this dude I know who really, really, really loves guns. So much so that he has a membership at a local gun range. I showed up at Phil’s house a few days ago, ready for another day of watching Food Network with his parents, but instead he said “let’s go”. When asked where we might be going (in case he was planning on murdering me, I’d like to find out in advance) he replied “The Shooting Edge” . Definitely going to murder me. I mentally prepared myself for death, accepted the inevitable, and climbed in his car.
Much to my surprise, Phil was not planning on murdering me. In fact, he wanted to teach me how to properly use firearms, presumably so we could have epic glock showdowns in his house. I signed in as a guest and waited patiently with a copy of “Pheasants Forever” until a shooting bay was empty for our use. I let Phil do the talking, as I had no idea what was going on whatsoever. Phil chose a 9mm Beretta for my first experience.
After the 10 minute introduction to firearm safety and what to expect, we threw on our eyes and ears and entered the shooting bays. Holy fuck on a stick is it loud. I don’t like loud noises so I was a bit apprehensive at first, standing near the back insisting Phil go first (somewhat hoping he’d shoot me and put me out of my noise-induced misery). Our super awesome Range Officer then loaded a single bullet into the mag and made sure I was holding properly and then gave me a countdown to three and told me to fire (at the target, not willy nilly). I was still nervous at this point so I’m not going to go on a long string of “what a rush” and “I knew I was addicted”. In fact, I didn’t really like the Beretta. Too much kick and I had no idea how to aim it. Thankfully, Phil is never okay with just one gun, and insisted we try a glock.
Now, I say this in all honesty: I am going to take a glock down to the courthouse, marry it proper and make sweet, sweet love to it (I’ll allow that horrific image to sink in for a little. Also: hi mom.)
I really got into firing the glock. I love slamming in the mag, pulling back the thinger magigger, and letting loose a hailstorm of deadly lead pieces imagining all of the zombies I could be hypothetically mowing down with my murderous prowess. This is all made better by the fact The Shooting Edge has movie posters from The Crazies freely available in the bays. Needless to say I am now the proud owner of a hella dead photographic zombie.
With a sigh, I finished off the last clip, looking at Phil with my patented “I am so sad this over, do something now” eyes. Luckily, Phil either responds well to this look or is simply gun crazy, because he turned to our Range Officer and said “anyway we could fire a shotgun today?”. Our Range Officer, seeming to be just as excited as I was at the request, packed up our glock and went to get us a badass deer exploding piece of metal machinery. The shotgun tutorial was a bit longer, but worth it, because he taught us the proper technique not to get thrashed by the kickback. Phil went first (I went second, just for your own reference). I don’t care about Phil going, so I’ll talk about me and I really only have one thing to say:
Shit. I’m divorcing the glock. Shotgun wedding, for reals.
155. Fire a gun
Crossed Off!: Strippers Can Touch You in Montreal
Jul 25th
And it’s kind of skanky.
One Sunday night whilst I was in Montreal for the Explore program, my homosexual friend Abraham suggested we go into The Village and experience one of the men-only strip joints, since it hosted ladies night every week on the Lord’s Day (hah!) $5 Cover at Campus gains you entry into some basic stripping, albeit by some extremely hot men. Some of them were hot. Other’s Abraham and I decided looked like they probably ate babies for breakfast because of their ‘roid problems. Ick.
We thought it would be funny to get lap dances too, since we were there. I had heard from other chicklets in my French program who had gone to straight strip clubs that they just danced near you, they couldn’t touch you and you couldn’t touch them. Not so much a problem at Campus, apparently. The first words my stripper (my stripper, lol) said to me were ‘you can touch me anywhere’. I did not take him up on this offer. He, on the otherhand, attempted to do things that HE would have to pay ME for. I was kind of revolted. And he made me smell like cologne for the rest of the night, which was gross, because I’m a girl and I don’t particularily like smelling like a dude.
And thus ended my adventure at the strippers.
Whatever.
It got something off of my list.
306. Go to the strippers
Crossed Off!! #350 – Graduate with a BA
Jul 21st
Well, I have gone and finished something off of my life list apparently, graduating with a BA. I one-upped myself though and pulled off a double major, thus graduating with two BAs, one in History and one in Women’s Studies. Both with distinction. Holla! This was by far one of my longest tasks to complete, taking me a full five and a half years. I’ve already started looking into grad schools, because I – for some reason – included getting my Master’s on this list. Oh and PhD. I must really hate myself.
Regardless, I guess I’m proud of myself. I think I was just more excisted for retarded photo-ops.
#350. Graduate with a BA
Now to spend the rest of the day packing for the annual weeklong trip to Kingston, ON.
After 5 Weeks
Jul 3rd
I’ve decided to take a slightly new direction with this blog, wherein the focus is still my life list, but I’m more apt to just write about my day to day life and other interesting things. After taking a rather long hiatus from writing, I’ve realized I need to expand my focus in order to write both more and with more meaning.
That being said, I’ve just wrapped up a 5 week French program in Montreal, Quebec. I’m currently sitting in the airport waiting for my 8:30pm flight. It was a good trip but I can’t get over how absolutely burned out I am. I was burned out almost in the first week. I’m not cut out for the party life, and living in a University residence was party not stop. Going home is going to be a wonderful experience.
For the rest of the summer, it seems I’ll be going around Canada with some more abandon, hitting up Vancouver and Kingston. Looking into school programs and my future as well. Looking forward to blogging once again. <3
Happy New Years
Jan 1st
This basically sums up my feelings towards all the hoopala around New Years and New Years Resolutions. It possible sums up my feelings toward morality, life and existance in general.
All that being said, school is finally done, for the time being at least. 2010 is the year when I do everything and anything.