shallow ladyparts

Workin' on a Saturday...the curse of the broad who never seems to make enough money to match her lifestyle.
Beautiful weather outside, classical 96.3 inside.
Not to be a total hippy, but the seasons are a changin', bro!!!
It went from being violently windy, making it almost impossible to bike to and from work, to shockingly beautiful "walking around/maybe i'll take the long way home" weather in a matter of a week, which always brings out the HOLYSHITERRR'ONEGETDOWNTOQUEENSTREETANDWALKSIDEBYSIDEWITHYOURGAGGLEOFLOUDFRIENDS!!! in everyone.
While waiting for dinner last night, I noticed that this change had allowed everyone to step just sliiiightly out of their wardrobe comfort zone, for the first time in 2009.
Girls were wearing ridiculously tall shoes, and dudes were feeling confident enough in their selection of grotesquely silk screened blazer, that they were able to begin throwing out pickup lines to the girls teetering on S/S '09 footwear.



Only a month and a bit until I bid farewell to my cocoon of an apartment.
I've learned a lot from this apartment:
- the whistle that the drug dealer in the alley behind my window uses
- when you're neighbours with the couple that run the convenience store across the street, you get sweet deals when you're in a financial / emotional rut
- I will NEVER AGAIN live in a place without a bathtub
- having more than one window in the summer months is a luxury that I've lived without for far too long
- when the microwave is within arms distance from your bed, you know there's some rearranging to be done
- kitty litter gets EVERYWHERE in a small, cramped space

Perhaps one day I will have a few of these galloping around my yard?!
BACKYARD BBQ SEASON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


If my tax return actually had any "return" to it....


Does anyone with time on their hands, and access to a lot of free printing supplies want to make up a few business cards for me?!


I'M A NETWORKING MACHINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes this is all I have room for in my brain....

Would You Ever Date A Mentally Retarded Person? from Pot Psychology on Vimeo.


Day off #2

Parental (fridge) units

Growing up, I was in and out of the hospital, for on average a week at a time, at least twice a year, every year, for 12 years.
I had a reflux kidney, which pretty much boiled down to feeling like the most intense UTI you've ever had in your life.
Every time I went into the hospital, my classmates got to dedicate an entire day of classes to making me sweet "get well soon" cards (that are still floating around in my parent's basement somewhere).
Needless to say, I became pretty accustomed to atmosphere, and accompanying dreaded hospital smell.
I thankfully grew out of the condition when I hit my teen years.
Overall though, I was never scared of the hospital.
To me, it was a place where the really nice nurses hung out with you, you got to watch copious amounts of television in bed, and there was always at least one serving of jello a day!!!!
Now fast forward to Friday night, when I revisited my relationship with my friend, "hospital."
This time I was on the other side - the visitors chair.
I dread being a visitor at the hospital.
Every time I've been a visitor, the moment I walk through the automatic doors, I begin the bawl.
Perhaps my negative feelings sprout from the time I visited my grandfather in the hospital, when I was about 8.
He had just suffered a heart attack, and was recovering nicely.
I clutched my mother's hand as we entered the building.
We took the elevator to the appropriate floor, and made our way to his room.
When we got there, we were faced with an empty bed.
Confused, my mother stopped the first nurse to walk by.
"Do you happen to know where Mr. Ballingall is?" my mom asked.
"He's gone! He left us over an hour ago," the nurse said, very bluntly.
Now - to an 8 year old's ears the phrase "he's gone" means "he's passed on." When really, good ol' gramps was probably already out on the golf course, or washing his sweet Cadillac at the car wash.
Anyway, back to my spinning, young mind, that thinks that her beloved grandfather has bitten the bullet, without having the chance to say goodbye.
My bottom lip starts quivering, and I begin my routine of tears, and run into the nearest stairwell.
The nurse joins me on the step, and begins to assure me that her choice of words were simply poorly chosen, and that my grandfather will be fine.
She then went on to add:
"You know - your grandfather is lucky to have a grandson that cares about him, as much as you do!"
(Perhaps an important side note: Throughout my career as a kid, my mom always found it convenient for me to have the ever popular mushroom cut, as it was easily managed, and with me being a total tomboy - why not?!)
I stood up, gave the nurse the most disgusted face that an 8 year old girl who's just been called a boy, can give, and stormed out of the stairwell.



"What's your name, lil' angel?" "Cassandra.....TAXIIIIIIIIIIIII!"

The most exciting thing that happened to me this weekend? Finding something to take the mold/mildew off the ceiling of my shower. The heaven's have sung, and the title of their song is Tilex.

Thank you, Guy Anderson, for sharing your YouTube searching expertise with me on that faithful Friday night. What started out as an innocent attempt at going to this:
Fri Apr 3, 8:00 pm - Sat Apr 4, 3:00 am
Motown Party @ 751, 751 Queen St. W Motown swingin' and some remix action-$5

turned into a very crammed location, with teenage girls who'd never heard of the simple hairstyle, entitled "the ponytail."
When your hair is sticking to me?! It's time for me to jet!
Embarassingly enough, that was probably the first time I've been to a crowded bar, in a few monthes...which leads me to a challenge that has been given to me:
Once the weather gets nice, I will be throwing myself into a different social situation, at least once a week, in hopes that I can meet people, who I will eventually want to befriend.
I totally need to do this, but it's also beginning to freak me out.
You see, going out and "making friends" never really works for me. I usually make sure that I know at least two people at an event, and then I coast with them. Having people to latch onto (although I'm sure it annoys the shit out of them), really helps me not flip out when in public.
I'll be the one hyperventilating in the corner, trying to woo potential bros.


Looking back

Bro, I'm stiiiilll dreaming about that burger that probably cost me 3 years of my life, earlier this week!
Now whenever I find myself debating on what to eat for lunch and/or dinner, I'm reminded of that mountainous brick of glorious burger.
Sure the weather is starting to change, and yeah - I know that means that I'll be faced with not having the luxury of hiding behind 4 layers of clothing.
But maybe if I explained myself to everyone that passes me:
"I'm usually more buff than this, I've just developed this wicked burger habit! I hope you understand?!"

Since that faithful burger night, I have attended 69 Vintage Buy The Pound's birthday party, where thanks to Guy Anderson, I walked away with a sweet NAVY SUEDE BLAZER.
(I later found it that it was previously owned by a Real Estate agent, as I shoved my hands in the pockets, to reveal a ReMax pin, or two....)
I have also the daunting task of packing up all of my shit. Living in the same dinky bachelor apartment for 4 years has made me that master of making every inch of that space occupied.
In the next 2 months, let me know if you're in need of anything relating to living in small quarters. I may pout, and insist that I need two blenders, but just kick me in the shins, and take the shittier blender.



I'm gonna be needin' one of dem wands to dial the phone soon.....

I don't believe I've ever eaten something so bad for me, that the feeling of heartburn, when I'm still in the process of ingesting, was as bad as it was last night.
I'll go into more detail when my fingers don't feel like they're made of bacon, and cheese.