How I feel…

…when I think about my poor stolen bike. It’s been almost 2 months, but I’ll never forget you, Rusty…

I feel ya, bro.

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Good one, me.

So I’m sitting here playing Minesweeper when I come to a section of the grid where I have to fully guess where the bombs are. There is no algorithm, there are no clues, it’s just pure guesswork for about 7 or 8 bombs.

(Yes, this is a post about Minesweeper. Deal with it.)

I made it through the guesswork without a hitch, cleared the whole corner area, and literally thought to myself “Wow, that was a real minefield!”

Then I realised what the game is called.

And the goods have been delivered!

Yesterday my dad got the shirt that I mailed him. I know this because he woke me up at 10 a.m. with a phone call. When I answered said phone call, I got an earful of him singing. 

RAWR

THIS IS A THING

ENJOY IT

 

BETSEY JOHNSON SAYS IT'S TASTY TUESDAY

 

Goals of an amateur songwriter

It’s a new goal of mine to write one of those songs where like, five months after it’s released, everybody goes “THAT’S what it’s about?!?” But not in a “Pumped-Up Kicks is about gang violence?!” way, more like a “Gwen Stefani wrote a song about getting her wisdom teeth out?!” way. Silliness, in other words. No idea what I’m going to write yet, though. Maybe a thoughtful ballad about going to the laundromat because I don’t want to give my landlord another $3 just to do a load of laundry. Or an up-tempo, feel-good groove about how my rats constantly fight over food and keep me awake at night.

You know, something random.

Gung hey fat choi!

Tomorrow is Chinese New Year. So my half-Chinese, half-Irish family is celebrating in the traditional manner of our people: going to a Mexican restaurant.

Happy Year of the Dragon! Next year’s my year.

Demonstrative Compact Disc!

My band finally got the demo CD together! Wheeee! Now untolled (untold?) masses of disinterested people can listen to unsolicited alternative/prog rock in a variety of languages! Remember such goodies as “The Flood,” “Chairs,” or “Bloc Quebecois”? Me neither! And the best part is, the song named after the BQ isn’t even the French one! C’est incroyable!

If I can figure out how to harass your ears with some sweet sweet synthesized vibes and harpsichords you can bet your bippy I’ll be all over that in the next post. Nothing like 18 hour improv instrumental solos to really make a listener uncomfortable. (And make a singer feel extraneous.)

Someone was bored in the office…

I ordered a shirt for my dad off 6dollartees. It shipped today, and here is the message I got in my email to confirm shipping:

Our minions have looked over and dropped their jaws in awe at the genius
that is your amazing fashion sense. It takes true genius to pick such
impeccable design and color combinations, so naturally our crews’ first
instincts were to wear Kennedy masks, stick your order under their shirts
and flee. Luckily shock collars and therefore self-restraint have been put
to use and your order is safely packaged.

After the shocking and ‘Don’t tase me, bro’s were over, a ceremonial
candle was lit and suddenly the entire 6dollarshirts crew felt a massive
amount of dopamine release in their brains as our shipping specialist
tenderly placed the shipping label containing the following request:

[my dad’s shipping info]

As the package was sent on its way to you, our entire staff skipped out
into the street and did a full out 5-minute Von Trapp family dance routine
as we sang “So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, adieu,
Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu,” in 18-part harmony.

For the grand finale, Juggy hit the final “Goodbye” note and did a
cartwheel landing in a split.

We hope you enjoyed shopping on our website as much as we enjoyed
packaging and sending you your goods. We also hope this shipment
notification won’t leave you wondering where your package is as the
6dollarshirts Crew was VERY thorough with their shipping instructions.

Please practice precautions upon the arrival of your 6dollarshirts. Side
effects include but are not limited to: Larger biceps, defined cheek
bones, increased sexual prowess, thick luscious.. hair, attaining wealth,
promotions at work, rapid increase of IQ points, winning lottery numbers,
fat loss and double rainbows.

After this beautiful email, they invited me to send “sick and sexified pictures” of the shirt being worn. Seeing as it’ll be my dad in a Trololo shirt, I don’t think I’ll take them up on their offer.

On the Radio

Since that phrase is evocative of several songs, I’ll let you pick your earworm of choice and be stuck with it for the rest of the day. You’re welcome.

The title’s relevance is as follows: This Monday, January 16th, at 11 am, I have been invited to join CIUT (the U of T’s radio station) for an interview about U of T Idol! I’m not sure how long the interview will be, but I’ll be talking (presumably) about music and my involvement with the stuff, how I got hooked, the pusher man, etc., and I might be giving a demonstration about how to use it (i.e. they mentioned I might get to sing a few bars of the song I sang at the prelim round, Melanie C’s First Day of my Life).

If you happen to be right next to U of T on Monday, tune in to 89.5 fm at 11 am to hear me probably babble a lot, mistake my words, and try very hard not to accidentally horribly offend the three people who are listening. (In my defence, they had it coming.)

More blogs, dieting, technology, OCD and rats: A day in the life

So, statistically it seems that the more posts I write, the more views I get. Weird, that. My blogging’s kinda fallen flat over the holidays, but one in a slew of resolutions I made up last week is to write more. Easy when I don’t have a job. A, so that my blog becomes somewhat interesting (the more posts, the more likely one of them will be interesting) and B, so that I can get ready for grad school (if I’m accepted, and spend the next few months till September weeping alternately in joy and despair). (Come to think of it, that’ll be the response no matter WHAT the outcome, so I may as well start stocking up on tissue now…)

Another resolution was to lose the 14 pounds I’ve gained since summer. So far, not going very well. Granted, I only resolved this last Tuesday, after eating an entire bucket of pulled pork poutine and having my stomach decide that was all I was allowed to eat for the day; but since last Tuesday I’ve lost 3 pounds and decided that Tuesdays will not only be comic days, but cheat days. This will entirely cause me to remember to update comics regularly, as I most likely stuff my face with as many carbs will fit at a time. Carbs = comics. And possibly coronaries, depending on which oil is used to fry them mercilessly.

A resolution I really should make is learning not to be afraid of technology. My beloved 7 year old phone died by beheading almost a year ago, and the phone I’ve had since (still a flip phone) has encountered more physical damage than any phone known to mankind, yet – and this is the strange part – I have not once dropped, hit, soaked, crushed, stepped on or even so much as dampened it. Yet despite my care of it, it is currently being shipped back to Nokia to have its USB charging port reinserted. Yes, that’s right – the charging port fell out. How does that even happen? Especially to a phone that still has its plastic screen protector still on it. Anyway, the point of this long paragraph is to explain that I am terrified of the loaner smartphone they’ve given me. QWERTY keyboards don’t work with just thumbs! My nails make an odd clicky sound that I hate and the screen is so big and what protects it when it doesn’t have a cover to flip down? A text from my brother derides me first for being a hipster, then when the truth is revealed, for just being too plain stupid to use this thingummybobber. My denture glue is enough technology for me.

One more final resolution that I just came up with now: stop being so damn OCD. I once read a book where a girl developed extreme OCD and then through sheer will power became OCD about losing her OCD. For example, she would dare herself NOT to touch the doorknob three times before leaving a room, and eventually, NOT touching doorknobs became her tendency. Unless she had to use them, I assume. I also forget which book this is, so I don’t remember how it ends, but if she ends up dying of bacterial infection after NOT washing her hands constantly, this resolution’s off.

(Bonus points to anyone who can spot the OCD tendency I ignored in this post… I’m off to a good start!)

P.S. Rat update… the stripey dominant son is named Buster, the spotty adventurous son is named Bowser, and the cinnamon blue hooded Papa used to be named Barney (but for some reason I kept calling him Bryan) so now his name is Babydaddy. Nice and simple and alliterative.