Karaoke all the time

Especially on Tuesday nights.

Last night I went to an amazing bar in Church/Wellesley village and indulged in one of my more wholesome (yet totally embarrassing) addictions: karaoke. Literally any time a friend has texted or called and suggested karaoke, my immediate answer is yes. I will karaoke on a Tuesday till 2 in the morning (apparently).

I went to the bar Crews and Tangos last night for karaoke with DJ Elyse (who has a killer voice, btw) and it was madness. The house was reasonably full for a weeknight, and more and more people showed up as we gained momentum. The crowd was amazing – someone from my party sang a duet with a girl he’d never met before just because they each loved the other’s performance so much. The enthusiasm was incredible and everyone was just so positive, it was a fabulous atmosphere for both nervous beginners and obnoxious old-timers like me.

My friend Robyn is the one who is mostly responsible for feeding my insane karaoke addiction. Seriously, we go out mostly on weeknights because that’s where the karaoke is. Robyn this is all your fault. (Check out her tumblr if you like .gifs, Dr. Who, and Dr. Who .gifs.)

Advertisements

Well, now you have it.

Fleshlight likes my blog.

Couldn't be prouder.

So this is what it feels like to hit the top.

Comics are back!

After weeks and weeks of me forgetting to post comics keeping you at the edge of your seat, Comic Tuesdays have returned! Here’s the comic that heralds their triumphant new beginning:

This is why I buy lots of hair elastics. And snake venom antidote.

Yes, this happened one day. Literally. There were snakes. I should probably have told someone about this, but honestly, I was just happy to escape while not being turned to stone. The Toronto transit system is just rife with character(s).

LOOK AT MY FRIEND ALICE

She is Internet famous, which she compares to “when the barista knows your order.” Still, I think it’s wicked cool. Here she is with Second City parodying The Hunger Games:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fu-kv3YVqwA

She also attained Internet Fame over the summer with her “Harry Potter: Which House are You?” spoof, in which she played (according to Youtube comments) a “braindead Hufflepuff.” Having never read either The Hunger Games or Harry Potter, I can only assume she hit some sort of nail on whichever end is its head, because she’s been getting rave reviews (and also getting compared to Felicia Day in appearance).

So there you go. Via degrees of separation, you may now consider yourselves readers of a blog whose writer is friends with someone who is Internet Famous. Doesn’t that make your day just a little bit brighter?

You can check out Alice’s website here: http://alicemoran.com/

 

Cross border shopping

The great Canadian tradition! Spending our money in another country – and even though it’s currently worth more than American money, prices still haven’t been adjusted to reflect that. Why do we still do this? It’s not even Black Friday…

But on the other hand, their stores carry some products ours don’t. Worth it? Maybe…

(Limping) Life Lessons

Last Monday my left foot decided it’d had enough of this crap and stopped working. More specifically, it developed shooting pain from the fascia to my heel. Naturally, I assumed the worst (plantar fasciitis) and all trips to the clinic and x-rays have so far proved inconclusive. I’ve been limping all week – even Tuesday, when I worked a double – and I’ve learned things about how the world views people. I’m just not sure what the things I’ve learned mean.

For example: With a limp, most people actively ignore me. Panhandlers, buskers, solicitors, those annoying money-gatherers from Sick Kids, even guys who were about to catcall. All silenced when they notice my uneven gait.

The people who don’t ignore me stare at me, as if they’re trying to diagnose me with their eyes. (If only.)

I also learned that if you walk with a limp, with a double-scoop of Honey Crunch on a sugar cone, at 10 p.m. by yourself on a Friday night in February, people are really going to look at you funny.

I did a music

Here it is!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ef_gmD1dP88&feature=youtu.be

And on my channel you can see the rest of my musics.

I like musicking!

Monty Python’s “Medical Love Song”

While I won’t waste your time writing out the lyrics to this epic love ballad here, I will  post a link if you feel like wasting time later (and that way you can’t blame me because I clearly gave you a choice):

http://www.metrolyrics.com/medical-love-song-lyrics-monty-python.html

This (without all the VD) is what my body is singing to me right this very minute. It’s very romantic. (Except again, I will repeat for emphasis, without all the VD.) (Or penises.)

So we’ve already gone over my dental trauma. Wisdom teeth, 30 kajillion cavities, and now they’ve gone and only filled the ones on the left side so the molars are too big and keep giving me a headache. Plus, my blood test for diabetes came back negative, so I have no idea what caused me to go from 0-30 in a year and a half.

But enough about gross things like teeth and mouths.

Yesterday, for no reason whatsoever, my left foot just up and stopped working. Well, it stopped wanting me to be able to work it. So it stabbed me in the fascia and now I can’t bear weight. I had two shifts today at two different restaurants with a 10-minute walk between them that turned into an 18-minute hobble. I am 22 years old. Why is my body treating me like a 90-year-old??

So, in conclusion, best Valentine’s day ever? I think so. Pardon me, I’m going to go sleep until Family Day.

 

 

(and as a post script, shouldn’t Valentine’s day be, oh, about 9 months before Family Day, instead of six days?)

The Bestaurant

That was the basest pun I have ever written. You now as reader get to make the choice whether to be awed by its majesty or stop reading right now because I’m obviously the worst person ever.

Now that that’s overwith, I’d like to elaborate on my nomination for the Bestaurant. It’s the place I work now – a restaurant aptly named “93 Harbord” – and it is quite easily the best place I’ve ever worked. (Except for that one time I worked for the CBC, that job was cushy as hell. What other national broadcasting station will give a 15 year old her own office??)

Anyway, now that my days as Maeby Bluth Funke are over, I’m working off my little tootsies at a restaurant curiously no longer titled Cafe Metaforia. It’s a Middle Eastern/Moroccan restaurant owned by a jovial, charming man who likes to sit down with his guests over a plate of dessert that he made himself and has offered on the house to people he likes (and sometimes people he just likes the look of). I’m working right now as a hostess/bartender, as training to become a full-time server, and even so my tipout has often been higher than the tips I was making at my old bar. My boss is there every single day, in the kitchen and out on the floor, and it’s pretty much a guarantee that he will have a conversation with every single person in the restaurant by the time he leaves. His personality, his business acumen, and not to mention his delicious menu are the reason there are so many repeat customers – I’ve even seen return visitors in the two weeks I’ve worked.

But I have to say the number one reason why this is the best place ever is the free food that front of house staff are given at the end of the night – a night which, by the way, is over by midnight at the latest. Kitchen staff always prepare too much food when the restaurant opens, which means by close, the servers and I are treated to couscous, rice, or quinoa piled high with tagine, kebabs, biryani, or whatever melange the staff has simmering still by the time the guests have left. Sure beats half priced cheeseburger springrolls at Joe’s.

Mah teef hurp.

SPOILER: some gross medical-y stuff ahead. Teeth, blood, needles, gross bits.

The weirdest thing about taking Tylenol 3 is when you stop taking it for a bit, then start again. You never realise the fog you were in until you’re out and your mouth hurts and you have to swallow everything whole so all you’re eating is noodle soup and jell-o and you’re deathly paranoid about getting food stuck in the space where your teeth used to be and your mouth still isn’t closing properly and EVERYTHING IS GROSS.

Sorry.

I had a blood test today (because what with all the massive amounts of cavities, plus my recent extreme and consistent thirst, and a ten year history of hypoglycemic shakes, in addition to a family history of diabeetus, we thought it was prudent to check), so I fasted and didn’t take any pills till I could see a doctor. Thankfully I was able to see one by 2 pm today, so the fasting was over quickly and I returned to my drug induced stupor shortly thereafter. My haemotologist was amazing, though. She sat me down, no nonsense, I looked away, I thought I felt the needle pinch, then about 30 seconds later she was removing the tournequet and throwing away the needly bits and there were two full vials of blood on the table. Well done, ma’am!

I responded in disbelief, exhaling a “wow!” as I stood up to grab my jacket. “You’re good!” I grinned, as the hunger and faintness began to kick in.

“And you have lovely teeth!” she responded. “You say something nice to me, I say something nice to you.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my “lovely” teeth were the very reason I was in her clinic today.