An Apple a Day

I just found out that as part of the recruitment process for teaching in Korea they require a medical exam with a urine sample. I don't want to freak out and cancel the trip or anything, even though that was my first instinct, but I just think maybe it wouldn't hurt to consider some alternate options. Say, developing countries without doctors? Sounds like paradise. The last time I successfully gave a urine sample was 5 years ago. Five. And that required an elaborate water consumption regimen, abundant use of faucets for audio therapy, and two unsuccessful attempts before I got any in the cup and most on my hand. Surely there must be an easier way to get this liquid gold, for example, just brainstorming here, a large needle inserted through my stomach to extract the urine? That sounds waaaay easier. I usually try to view this personal defect in a positive light, for example, on road trips I never request to pull over to pee. For roadside turnouts, novelty oversized statues, fruit stands, corn stands, seafood stands in landlocked areas, interesting foliage and diner's with the word 'Ma' or 'Pa' in the name, yes. Peeing in a dirty gas station, no. I'll hold it for another 4 hours, thanks. Then there's the added bonus of my blood pressure being alarmingly high as soon as I go near a man with a stethoscope. Never trust a man who thinks he can find your heart with a glorified necklace. The only way to my heart is through food Doc.

But I think this is going to be ok. I bet Korean doctors are way nicer than Canadian ones. I bet the language barrier will be no problem and I won't have to mime 'I can't pee' (for the record though, it'll be legs crossed, semi-crouch, shaking head vigorously and arms waving 'no' over my crotch). I bet Korean doctors are really understanding too. I bet they're kindly old men who are never rude, or in a hurry and willing to accept a pinkie promise that I've never done drugs in lieu of my bodily functions. Yes, definitely. This is how it will have to be.

Also, they're all cartooons, which is why they're so nice, and they give rocks as medicine.

Unrealted note: why have I never seen this picture? This seems like something I should have come across on my extensive internet time wasting travels. Also, listed on the first page when I google image searched 'korean doctor.'

Today I saw a man roller skating while pushing a baby stroller. I assume this means the gay adoption debate has ended favorably.

Tim-tim makes a funny:

"You know how when you're watching a movie and the nerdy guy is talking to the hot chick and you think, he's the perfect guy for you! Right there in front of you! I like to look at it from the other side: there is no perfect guy, and one of you will be killed by zombies by the end of the movie."

A New First, A New Low

Today a man said "FUCK YOU!" to me, and I realized that I don't think anyone has ever said that to me. Excluding, of course, family members and anything said in jest. I don't believe I've ever caused anyone to be so excrutiatingly angry that they said that to me in the direct sense. "Fuck her" said in private, behind my backside, sure. "That fucking bitch" whispered in a corner as I hit on your boyfriend near the punch bowl. "Get fucked" as I exaggerate the details of a particularly bad story, but never "FUCK YOU!" from a non-blood relative.

In the interest of fairness to the accused, I may have potentially incited the incident. However, if you call to scream at someone before 10:00am about the cost of shipping and handling fees after you've already read, agreed to and paid them, you should well expect the response to be heavily dosed with sarcasm. Their is a direct correlation between Time Coffee Has Had to Reach My System and Level of Detectable Sarcasm on the graph of my morning work time. That is not to say I get less sarcastic after the caffine kicks in, but rather I better hide it so it's mostly for my entertainment and less as a means of passively expressing my opinions to the raging morons of the world.

The best time to call and exemplify the qualities of a rectum is actually directly after one of your fellow brethren has called. I'm so hell bent on proving I'm not a horrible human being I'm liable to take any telephonic abuse your filthy mouth has to offer.

This cake was made by people who have never said 'FUCK YOU!' to my face:

A New First, A New Low

Little Baby has a Brother

The other baby can walk. In a manner of speaking.

Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump fwaaap. Pause. Thump thump thump thump Fwaaap. Giggle. Thump thump thump. Pause. Fwaaap.

A toddler running in feetsy pajamas running around above you is a very distinct sound. So is the sound of a diapered bottom hitting the floor. And while the sound of a baby laughing is funny on youtube (seriously. double seriously) I far prefer the sounds of my empty uterous. If you put your ear next to my ovaries you can hear a tumbleweed roll past but right now I can't enjoy it over the racket that is our future. Plus it's 11:46pm, what kind of raver children are you raising? Take the extacy soother out and get them to bed already.

A Classic Whodunnit

I yank open the freezer door. The handle jiggles, loose in its hinges, as the cool air hits the my face. There's no light in the freezer, there never is, but I know intuitively where it is. I thrust my hand deep into the frozen box, my upper arm skin jiggling just like that damn door handle. 'Must remember to do triceps curls before bed,' I thought, immediatly ignoring the good intentions of my brain.

The box is cool and moist in my hand. A shiver runs up my spine and my mouth starts to water. I thrust back the lid, shove my spoon inside and - egads! What coufounded scoundrel could be capable of such horror?!

Chocolate! Where in god's sweetened frozen dairy name is the chocolate???

Regaining my composure after my initial shock I stifle a sob and go back for a closer look. Notice the bottom of the box, see how the packaging shows through in small lined patches. Small lined patches, say, about the width of an index finger?! It would appear this criminal was the hands on type, and no doubt a double dipper.

Is their no dignity or rightousness left in this tattered mess of a world? What will become of society if everyone eats the chocolate first? Will we starting picking the smarties out of the trail mix??? No. Becuase we're not damned animals. We're all on this crazy ride together and for god's sake you' ve just got to scoop perpindicular for an equal distribution of flavours. If not for me, then do it for pink. Poor, poor, pink. An obvious underdog in the cut throat world of neopolitain ice cream. Chocolate? Always a hit. Vanilla? Classic. Pink? Pink. Not even a real flavour, there's nothing strawberry about it. Pink has it's place; bubblegum, pepto bismal, raw meat, but by god pink just doesn't cut it in this tough love icecream trio.

I shovel a scoop into my waiting mouth, and then another and another. 'Let me love you pink,' I cry, as the brain freeze takes over my frontal lobe, 'Everything's going to be ok, you'll never be alone again, we'll always have each other!'

We'll always have each other.

Little Baby Lives Upstairs

A baby has moved in to the apartment above my bedroom. I am assuming that the baby is living alone because surely if there were also adults in the apartment they would make the damn thing stop crying. Right? But then who is doing the loud stomping? Is it the baby flailing itself about the house becuase it lives alone but hasn't learned to walk yet? I realize the baby probably doesn't yet understand what it's like to work 65 hours in one week, but I'm sure if it had then it would appreciate that I would prefer to listen to the sound of myself crying, and not it's pathetic little 'oh my diaper is poopy' crying. My metaphorical diaper of life is poopy, ok kiddo? Put that in your college fund and smoke it. I think the previous tennants sporadic, jerky sex noises were even preferable over this, becuase at least I knew he was going to finish up in a matter of minutes and then not get laid again for months. This kid will probably keep crying until he's twelve, at which point I assume he'll get a guitar and learn to play emo music.

The Internet Fucks With My Mind

I started watching Undeclared tonight, as part of my 1205 step program to become Seth Rogan (#7 convert to judiasm for the jokes) and the second I saw the character Lzzy I thought to myself, "I have totally seen this woman with a cock in her mouth."

I'm a little bit startled because I don't actually watch a lot of porn (except novelty porn, which I watch probably too much of because I think it's totally necessary to make sure everyone I know has seen two kinds of dinasour porn as well as meatloaf farts) but I was totally, completely certain I'd seen this woman take it from behind like a champ, and I could vividly picture her making that half sexy moan-half in pain moan that the porno ladies do so well.

So I cruise over to imdb, totally contemplating my moral dignity and then I find it: Californication. She's the girl Charlie cheats on Cokey Smurf with. So she's not a porn star, she just plays one on tv. And I'm not a pervert, I just watch a lot of tv.

And now, back to allthingsanal.com.

Things I have learnt today:

- Never be the lowest man on the totem pole at a film shoot.
- Sometimes you can be so tired that even food can't help you.
- You should eat the stolen leftover catering anyway.
- Eating it in bed tonight and spilling means breakfast in bed tomorrow.

On Monday I only have to work eight hours! In eight more days I get a whole day off!

Another Day Older

Apologies for the lack of bloggy blog blog posts, Thanksgiving hit Chez Cool in a hard way and I have had about half of my regularly scheduled sleeping hours and about twice the designated drinking times. The result is the complete removal of my vocal box, which is super stellar given my chosen profession. Nothing gives a perv a reason to be pervy like a smoky, raspy voice. Perv on pervs.

Last night instead of reacquainting myself with my rem cycle I went to bed at 9:30 pm and then woke up at 11:30 pm to drag my sleepy ass to the Dan Mangan show. My body resisted this curious torture but only until the show started. I was going to write a gushy post about how much I just love love love him and want to curl up inside his guitar and have him carry me around, singing in his angelic baritone voice until we find the robots and give them the love they need. In the fluorescent light of day though, away from his magnetic smile, this seems to be at best lame, at worst very lame. However, if that robot reference is gibberish to you, youtube/myspace/stalk this man and get ready to let the love flow.

But I am going to get gushy about the goodness that exudes from this man's eyes and smile, and the wonderful communal feeling during his show, although in fairness this is likely due to the abundant Vancouver ex-pat population (after their scenery, climate and pot Vancouverites love nothing more than each other). During Robots he passed out tambourines, drums and bells to the crows and everyone swayed, sang and clapped as he walked through the crowd. How lovely.

This comes after a perfectly wonderful week/end, filled with shared meals/bed spaces with so so many good people. Among these is my favorite boyfriend who is incapable of a bad mood, has an inconcievable amount of energy, and can rally a crowd like none else. His same communal mindedness leads him to believe that a crowd of strangers can, and need, to do the limbo in a bar without that limbo song (you know, that limbo song). More importantly though, he's good looking. Thank god.

This post has been less humorous than I generally strive for, so let me end on a joke that Dan Mangan told last night: have you heard about the new corduroy pillows? They're making headlines. Think about it.

Love fest over. Drysdale out.

For Christs Sake

I have been collecting a lot of interesting tales from my time on the front lines of the boner pill hotline and there are definitely some good ones which I'll share with you at a later date but this one takes the cake for today. It's long, but it's good, please allow me to share.

I get yelled at a lot during the 8 hours a day my ear is connected to a headset. A lot. The advertisments we send in the mail feature flexible young women in a variety of positions, as well as a plethora of engorged male members. It's clearly stated on the outside that the envelope contents are of a sexual nature but still people allow their 3 year old daughters to open and read it. It is my job to remove the names of screaming people from our system. Screaming people don't buy product.

Today a woman with a spicy vocabulary and a strong set of lungs called in for this purpose. Before she did this however, she tore up the mailing into little pieces. Tiny pieces. Shreds so small that apparently she couldn't read the nine digit number I need to take the name off the list. Nor could she find the name of the person it was addressed to. What she did have was her name, of no use to me since it wasn't sent to her, and creative uses of four letter words. She could also clearly see the 'dirty bitches' that are 'all over this shit' that I 'kept fucking sending to her.' I asked her to please not swear at me, that I don't actually work for the company, I work for a call centre for many different products and would take her name off if she could give me the necessary information (she could not). I cannot possibly convey with written words the tone of the next thing she said, it is something that only the human voice can accurately convey, but imagine if you will this being said with the most utter disdain one can muster. She said, 'Oh you think your some kind of fucking little angel don't you?' I told her I was hanging up the phone and did so.

As luck and perserverance would have it, this little firecracker called back and to my great misfortune and wishful thinking I recieved her call once more. The hang up had increased her fury. My continued inability to help her without the relavent information also increased her fury. She told me that not only was she furious, but the priest was as well.

Excuse me?

'Yeah, you've been sending this perverted porno to a rectory,' (pause for giggle at the word rectory. Also porno, who says porno?).

You're calling from a church? And you've been swearing at me for the past five minutes??

'Don't you worry about that.'

Well I'm just a little surprised-

'Father Thomas is very upset about this and I'm going get him on the phone right now.'

-no! Wait, hold on, I don't want to speak with Father Thomas, I really don't think-

'Father Thomas speaking.'

Sighhh.

In the end the good Father was more committed to the Christian values of not being a cunt face than his wayward underlings. He was also successful in piecing together the porno confetti and getting me the information I needed. Thank you Father, peace be with you.

This is where the second part of the story comes in though, and it's good, so don't go refresh your facebook just yet. Father Thomas told me that the name the mailing was addressed to was in fact the name of a recently convicted child pornographer. Now, far be it for me to give props to a child pornographer, but I think you must admire how wickedly hilarious this is. This pervert got himself on a mailing list for sex products but then had them sent to a Catholic church. I mean he had to look up an address of a church, decide which one to send it to, get himself on a mailing list, give the faulty address and his only reward was to imagine how angry this would make them when they got it. That's fucked up. And kind of hilarious. Alternatively, as a child pornographer perhaps he thought he and the priest shared some common ground and was trying to reach out to him. I'm not saying. I'm just saying.

This is also the second time in two weeks that I've been yelled at by a member of the church. It would seem that doing God's work makes you a little testy. I don't want to criticise His management style or anything, but if these are his representatives on earth I would think he might be considering some layoffs. And now is not the time to be an unemployed nun.