Made-up stories are much more fun. At least in my head.

My friend, Sam, and I were texting this morning afternoon about our dinner plans for tonight and which clothes to wear...

Sam: I have to go to the Pharmaprix [pharmacy] anyway and the SAQ [liquor store] is across the street. I want to have to option to wear my black skinny jeans but I ripped them in Toronto.

Me: Oh no! How'd you do that? Is it a crotch-rip? No time to take them off?? Tsk tsk, Sammy, you shouldn't rip your pants for sex.

Sam: LOL, no you asshole! It happened as I was getting into a cab to go meet [deleted]! Imagine my face!?! It's the seam in the inner thigh. It was thinning because they're old and cost $9.

Me: I think crotch-rip for sex is a better story so I'm gonna go ahead and believe that's what happened.

Sam: Yes, you would. I guess it does sound more exciting.

Me: I won't tell people that story though, unless you bring it up. Then I'll have to call you a liar and tell my version which will probably become more and more vulgar every time I tell it. It may be best that we just never speak of this again. Best for everybody.

Sam: Done. Conversation over.

Something I should have posted about a year ago.

So guess what?!? Zayd's back! Remember him? My super awesome roommate who moved out in May and went home to Jordan for the summer? Yep, that's the one!

This is great for two reasons:

1) Zayd is the best roommate because he takes out the trash and does the dishes and all I have to to do is bake him cookies, and

2) I'll have something to write about again!

He's not even fully moved in yet, but he will be in about 20 minutes. I'm not helping him move because I'm lazy and I really wanted to post about our text conversation from about 40 minutes ago. I don't waste time when I don't want to. I was initially thinking of writing about the vibrating egg on my desk that I thought was a mouse living in the walls but this is much better. Definitely.

Earlier:

Zayd: Hey! I think I'm going to move in tonight, maybe in an hour or so. Is that cool?

Me: No problem!

Zayd: You should have time to call the strippers and chill the champagne.

Me: I don't have strippers or champagne but I've got beer!

Zayd: So my return is worth a single beer... you have a way of flattering people, did you know?

Me: Beers. I have beers. And cookies!

Zayd: Fine.

Me: See that's the problem with you Arabs, you're never happy with just one of anything... 5 wives... 72 virgins... it's excessive!

Zayd: 4 wives, 72 strippers! It's my destiny, you infidel!

Me: LOL! Just wait, you're wives will all be overweight and your strippers straight out of the 281 (the 281 is a male strip club for those of you who don't know. It's not unlike Chip-N-Dale's). Your G-d has forsaken you!

Zayd: How can he forsake me if he IS me?

Me: Haven't you ever made a decision you immediately regret?

Zayd: Tried to piss in the sink once

Me: Well there you go!

Zayd: You're just jealous you can't do that.

Me: I can totally pee in a sink! I've done it several times!

Then he said he had to get his things together to move them and that he'd be here soon.

I Don't Even Know Who I Am Anymore...

So I’ve been deathly sick these past three days. So much so that I could barely muster up the energy to blow my nose let alone go in to work. A friend of mine, who found out I was sick, was kind enough to send me a few emails to see how I was doing. Here’s one he sent today:

“How are you feeling today?
When is your birthday?”

Even though I’m sick my scepticism and sense of playfulness has not been affected by illness. My response:

“I'm doing much better today. Still congested like a mucus-filled watermelon but I bought some sudafed so tomorrow I will be a doped-up, mucus-filled watermelon!
My birthday? Why do you ask? I won't give you the exact date; instead you'll have to work for it... My birthday is 5 days after Hitler's and 4 days before Saddam Hussein's.”

About an hour later I receive this:

“…As for your birthday, if you're going to give me clues, you better get
your facts straight and/or take a math class. Unless you were born on
the exact half second that straddles the time-line between April 24th
and 25th, there's something wrong with your skill testing question -
either that or the google doesn't know birthdays - please fill me in -
but I'm going with April 24 (?).”

After reading this I was like no way is there something wrong with my math skills! Then I googled Saddam’s birthday only to find that it’s on the 28^th of April and NOT the 29^th like I’ve been saying for most of my life!!

This is the second time this week that something I’ve been completely convinced of for my whole life turns out to be false! The other thing has to do with the citrus family…

Conversation between me and another friend who will be referred to as “He”:

Me: I can never pronounce the ‘r’ properly in French. I always roll it of the back of my throat and not off of my tongue like you’re supposed to.

He: No. That’s Spanish, off the tongue. French is the back of the throat.

Me: Yeah but listen, ‘argumes’. I can’t say it right.

He: What are you saying?

Me: ‘argumes’, the French word for citrus.

He: That’s because it’s ‘agrumes’ and not ‘argumes’.

Me: No. it’s ‘argumes’.

After about 2 minutes of back-and-forth I run to the kitchen to grab a box of camomile and citrus tea to prove my point. I prance back into the room…

Me: See!? (I read off of the box) ‘Agrumes’. Wait. Damnit! Since when are they calling it ‘agrumes’?!?

He: Since always.

Me: But… but I’ve been calling it ‘agrumes’ my whole life! You mean to tell me I’ve been walking around like an asshole saying ‘argumes’ and no one has ever bothered to correct me!?!

He: I guess so.

So not only can I not pronounce my “r’s” properly, I’ve been wrong my entire life about the French word for citrus AND I’ve been dishing out false information about my birth date. No wonder everyone always says happy birthday to me on the 24^th. I have to rethink my whole life now…

If Only I were Alley McBeal... Or Neo from The Matrix

Do you remember that show Alley McBeal? You know, the one about the lawyers who are borderline personality disorder and constantly have visions of what they "like" to do in a situation as opposed to what they actually do? Yeah, that one. With the dancing baby. Exactly.

Well, I live moments like that on a regular basis. Not dancing baby moments (I do NOT day dream about dancing diapers, believe you me), but moments where you'd like to say or do something but end up doing or saying the "socially acceptable" thing instead. I'm telling you, I drop-kick people with my mind ALL of the time.

More so since I've started working at this new job. I'm not going to write too much about the place itself because I've heard stories about people getting fired over saying shit about their employer online. But I'm not here to bitch. Not really. And I especially don't want to lose my job because, regardless of the situations I experience (like the one I'm about to share with you), I actually like my job... a lot... please don't fire me, Employer!

Okay, so one thing I have to deal with on a regular basis are men with an "old school" mentality. The mentality that asserts that men are smarter, stronger, and generally better than women. Now, I'm no feminist but, shit, even I get offended by this type of attitude. The best thing is when an "old timer" male insults your intelligence. I love this.

Living in Montreal, I speak French on a regular basis. Now, I'll admit that my grasp of the French language isn't at all solid. I have, what I like to call a functional French. I can hold a conversation but I make mistakes, particularly concerning the feminine and masculine. I also tend to speak Quebecois French, which pronounces an "a" like "ah", so "la maison" (the house) becomes "lah maison". The French from France do not like this and correct me all of the time, which is fine, and really not the point of this post.

The point of this post is to share an example of the "old timer" mentality. The man who thinks he’s better than me. The following conversation occurred between myself and a client, an Anglophone man in his 70s who thinks he ought to teach me a thing or two in French:

Me: How was your lunch, Mr. B?

Mr. B: It was good, thank you.

Me: Excellent! Well, have a great afternoon!

Mr. B: (in the most condescending tone) À demain... that's French for 'see you tomorrow'

Me: WTF?!? Do you really think I don't understand French!?!?! You goddamn weasel!

And then I proceed to jump up onto my desk Matrix-style and drop-kick the bastard.

Obviously that last part didn't actually happen because first, I'd get fired, and second, I don't actually know how to jump up on to my desk Matrix-style. This is what really happened...

Mr. B: (in the most condescending tone) À demain... that's French for 'see you tomorrow'

Me: (with an innocent tone) Of course it does, Mr. B! (I added a little retarded giggle to make him feel like he'd taught me something). See you tomorrow!

I was seriously pissed by his remark. I mean, dude totally heard me speak French before, who the eff does he think he is!?!? I needed to have my revenge. Yes, I'm vindictive like that and I tend to hold grudges for stupid things like this. Not for the big stuff, like having to break up with someone because they won't stop randomly showing up at my house, but the little things for sure. HUGE grudge holder right here.

So the next day, when he showed up to eat lunch and drink too much wine, I greeted him as follows:

Me: Bonjour, Monsieur B!

Mr. B: Bon matin.

It should have stopped here, but it didn't...

Me: Comment allez-vous?

Mr. B: Uhh... bon matin.

Me: C'est une très belle journée, non?

Mr. B: (becoming frustrated and impatient) Uhh... bon matin.

Me: (following him with my eyes as he tried to escape upstairs, huge smile on my face) Bon appetit!

He never tried to teach me how to speak French again.

Little Girl: 1, Big Man: 0

Zayd Sayd, Part 1

I have to write a critical review for one of my classes but I don't feel like doing it. Well, not that I don't feel like it, more that I'm not feeling creative enough to write a clear and concise piece of academic literature. So instead, and in hopes of getting my creative juices flowing, I'm going to write a post (the first of a series I hope) that I've been putting off for about two weeks.

So my roommate, Zayd, is quite the paranoid android; remember the time he lost his eyes!?! Yeah, well that was just the beginning.

About two weeks ago, I emerged from my cave to find him staring into the fridge with a confused look on his face; this is why:

me: Hey! What's up?

Zayd: Did you go out on to the balcony today?

me: Yes... why?

Zayd: Because the door wasn't shut properly and I thought someone had broken in and put a rotten zucchini on my shelf. (pulls out the zucchini from the fridge)

me: No. That was me. It was on my shelf and it's gross and I thought it was yours so I put it on your shelf.

Zayd: That doesn't say much about what you think of me.

At this point I just started laughing and began to walk away when...

Zayd: Oh, and I got a weird message the other day.

me: Really!? What kind of message?

Zayd pulls out his phone to show me this:



Apparently Zayd Sucks.

me: Wow! That's a mean message... I wonder who would write that on our stairs...

Zayd: I don't know. I interrogated the other roommates and they both said they didn't do it. I even called one of my old roommates 'cause I thought maybe he came by to leave me this nice piece of work. He said he didn't.

me: Well, I don't know who it could have been. I mean, it's not as if the writing is familiar or anything.

Zayd: I looked at some of your stuff and saw the some of the letters are the same...

me: Hm... that's really weird.

And with a big, honest-looking smile I left the room. Then I asked him to send me the picture so I could eventually post it here and share the mystery in hopes of finding out who did it.

The mystery is still unsolved, but I'm pretty sure that I successfully convinced him that it wasn't me... Pretty sure.

Stealing eyes is not my business... Unfortunately.

I'm still getting to know my new roommates. I've been living here just over a month and due to the lack of an Internet connection (which was finally set up about a week ago) I haven't been spending much time here, or with them.

My male roommate, Zayd, is a pretty funny guy. I knew we would get along as soon as he ate all the my banana-chocolate chip bread. Since then, as long as I keep baked goods around he supports any decisions I make regarding the household. He's Arab, which would lead one to believe that he's very serious all of the time, but he's actually quite the joker and I'm pretty sure he thinks everyone is out to get him. For example, here's how our morning conversation went:

Zayd: (looking for something) I can't find my contacts

Me: Really... Well I don't know where they are... I haven't seen them. (I'm smiling the whole time, not because I'm hiding something but because I suffer from "Schadenfreud", which basically means that I laugh and take pleasure in the misfortunes of others. Zayd doesn't know this about me yet and misinterprets it)

Zayd: (with skepticism in his eyes) That seems very suspicious... I hadn't accused anyone of taking them...

Me: Yes, Zayd, I woke up this morning and thought to myself "how could I fuck with Zayd??? I know, I'll steal his eyes!!"

Zayd: (stops, thinks for a moment, then continues his search) That would be a really good way of fucking with me.

He still hasn't found his eyes and has been giving me weird looks all day. I didn't steal his eyes but now I wish I had.

UPDATE

Zayd is certain that one of us is fucking with him. He's begun interrogations with each of us asserting that we all "know something!!".

He has also decided that I am evil for suggesting he tear apart his bed sheets to look for his eyes. He said that though I may bake cakes for kids, I am evil. He's starting to get to know me!

2ND UPDATE

He found his eyes!! They were in the garbage, where I jokingly suggested he look. I swear I did NOT put them there...

A Letter to my unreliable neighbour

Dear Neighbour,

When you asked to park your boat in my driveway for the winter in exchange for shovelling the driveway I was under the impression that you meant that you would shovel my driveway. So far we have had three snowfalls and you have shovelled once, and your work left something to be desired. Shovelling a driveway means taking the snow and moving it off of the driveway, not piling it up in an unorganized fashion, clearing a path to your parked boat, and leaving streaks of snow all over the place.

Also, if you haven't noticed during past winters, we like our driveway clean, like down to the pavement, so people can walk up and down without fear of spraining their ankle or worse. Your work is less than satisfactory and if it continues you will find your boat and its ugly tempo-shelter in the park...

Get it together.

Sincerely,

The person who just spent half an hour fixing your terrible work