My sister and I have the most distinguished privilege of driving a 2000 Blue Ford Windstar. Before you get all up on your high horse about how my sister and I should be happy that our parents allow us to have the use of a vehicle or that we should be content with what we have. I will first tell you that, yes I am aware of what I should be feeling, but if you saw this piece of crap you would understand what I mean.
On the driver side of the van, there is a rather large dent, of which its origin I have no understanding of. As well, the front bumper (the bottom of it) has a large 90 degree dent right smack in the middle of it that resembles as if it were smashed in by the driving force of say... a pole? Coincidently, the car runs about as smooth as a Top Gun at Wonderland. The other day when I was driving the blue van with a friend of mine, we were stopped at a light. When the van is not in motion, it has a tendency to chug, similar to that of the tractor one rides while pumpkin picking. my friend turns to me and says "Aimee, I don't think your car is supposed to do this" and I turned to her saying "Please, she purrs like a cat. Let her grunt a little".
Blue Van also has a little sputter problem. Hills, I think, are her worst nightmare. The fact that I have to drive up one almost everyday from work scares the bejeezes out of her. She sounds like the HHMMVW Hummer that the amry drives. The other day as my sister and I were putting a bike in the back, we saw that the trunk light fell out. But we were mostly convinced that we had not hit the light with the bike. My sister turned to me and said "Aimee, I think it may have been from when I closed the door". My first thought was oh great, so now every time I slam the trunk door shut the light is going to fall out...f-a-b-u-l-o-u-s. The cd player also does not work correctly. It randomly spits the cd out of the player, or decides to kidnap it, followed by randomly spitting it back out.
Even though all of this adds up to a big fat stinker of a vehicle, the blue van pulls on a special string of my heart. Right from the second week she was called back to the shop on a recall. When she goes, I will be sad. There are some extremely memorable times spent in her.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
I'm a freak of nature.
Yesterday, I decided that it was due time for a good spring cleaning of my room. Only it was in the summer time.
I began by putting my clothes away, picking up useless artifacts that I had collected throughout the days following my last clean up. Most of which were gum wrappers and hair pins. I continued my clean sweep with some dusting followed by a good use of the apple red vacuum my mother purchased. The vacuum that had just been brought back from the cleaners (pun intended) because it is a peace of crap, a HUGE lemon of a vacuum. Ever since maja brought it home, it's fallen apart.
Anyways, back to my story. So I was fed up with the way my room was situated. I have a chaise that did not fit quite right the way my bedroom was laid out. I don't know how exactly I managed, but I moved every single piece of furniture in my room - including my very large, very heavy, very solid wooden Armour that has my television on it. As well as my bed, my book self and my lounge chair.
I don't know how I manage to pull these stunts off. I surprise myself with the amount of strength I posses when I am determined. It was as if superwoman took over me, or the hulk. Or perhaps, I reckon, that I am amazingly robust. I do lift a few weights, five pounds nothing special. I pulled this Feng Shui off in under an hour though. I still find it ridiculously unreal how I executed such a top-notch Debbie Travis face-lift.
Oh-Yeah.
I began by putting my clothes away, picking up useless artifacts that I had collected throughout the days following my last clean up. Most of which were gum wrappers and hair pins. I continued my clean sweep with some dusting followed by a good use of the apple red vacuum my mother purchased. The vacuum that had just been brought back from the cleaners (pun intended) because it is a peace of crap, a HUGE lemon of a vacuum. Ever since maja brought it home, it's fallen apart.
Anyways, back to my story. So I was fed up with the way my room was situated. I have a chaise that did not fit quite right the way my bedroom was laid out. I don't know how exactly I managed, but I moved every single piece of furniture in my room - including my very large, very heavy, very solid wooden Armour that has my television on it. As well as my bed, my book self and my lounge chair.
I don't know how I manage to pull these stunts off. I surprise myself with the amount of strength I posses when I am determined. It was as if superwoman took over me, or the hulk. Or perhaps, I reckon, that I am amazingly robust. I do lift a few weights, five pounds nothing special. I pulled this Feng Shui off in under an hour though. I still find it ridiculously unreal how I executed such a top-notch Debbie Travis face-lift.
Oh-Yeah.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
My Eye Twitch.
The other day I was recollecting how long it has been since I've had glasses.
Im going 6 years now and I've had contacts for slightly shorter time period. You would think after 2136 days (give'r take a few) I would have perfected the entire movement of putting contacts into my eyes. But.....no.
I've had numerous experiences where my eye automatically closes once the contact touches my eye. When that happens, trying to pry sautered metal apart is easier than trying to open my eye. I look like a suffer from a terrible eye twitch. And then the eye goes red, like I've just hot boxed my bathroom. "No, dad, it's just my contact and the fact that it is attacking my pupil and surrounding iris"
And then there are the times when you try to put the contact in, but it slides off your eye. I've been fooled so many times by that one before. I am all ready and then BAM, I can't see anything because the contact as shifted resulting in my temporary blindness.
Currently I am dealing with the "i've put my contact in, but my eye hurts and feels uncomfortable". You know, its not quite contact-trapped-in-eye-because-i-can't-open-it, but more along the lines of "gawd damn-it! my contact is pissing me off", but you are too lazy to take it out and clean it. That is what I am going through now.
I'm in the proccess of trying to convince my parents to get my laser eye surgery. But that is a tad scary. My aunt had the surgery. She got to wear those really attractive sunglasses that old grannies wear when they have glaucoma, or cateracts or something. I think I could make the best of those shades, you know. Dress 'em up a bit with a scarf.... or a nice cane.
Im going 6 years now and I've had contacts for slightly shorter time period. You would think after 2136 days (give'r take a few) I would have perfected the entire movement of putting contacts into my eyes. But.....no.
I've had numerous experiences where my eye automatically closes once the contact touches my eye. When that happens, trying to pry sautered metal apart is easier than trying to open my eye. I look like a suffer from a terrible eye twitch. And then the eye goes red, like I've just hot boxed my bathroom. "No, dad, it's just my contact and the fact that it is attacking my pupil and surrounding iris"
And then there are the times when you try to put the contact in, but it slides off your eye. I've been fooled so many times by that one before. I am all ready and then BAM, I can't see anything because the contact as shifted resulting in my temporary blindness.
Currently I am dealing with the "i've put my contact in, but my eye hurts and feels uncomfortable". You know, its not quite contact-trapped-in-eye-because-i-can't-open-it, but more along the lines of "gawd damn-it! my contact is pissing me off", but you are too lazy to take it out and clean it. That is what I am going through now.
I'm in the proccess of trying to convince my parents to get my laser eye surgery. But that is a tad scary. My aunt had the surgery. She got to wear those really attractive sunglasses that old grannies wear when they have glaucoma, or cateracts or something. I think I could make the best of those shades, you know. Dress 'em up a bit with a scarf.... or a nice cane.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
When I grow up, I want to be a
SUPERHERO.
I saw Batman, The Dark Knight last night. a) I almost shed some tears when Heath Ledger walked on screen and b) came to the slow realization that I want to be a superhero.
I've had this discussion many times before with different individuals on the subject of any superhero, who's superpowers would one want. My answer? Rogue's. Yeah I would not be able to touch anyone, but a life of solitude in exchange for the best possible super-human power is hands down a done deal on my part. Think about it, she can have ANY power if she wanted. The downside to this deal is that in order to obtain my so-called power I'd have to be heart-less and kill a few people.
Which I don't think I would ever be able to accomplish.
Until then though, the idea of her power - A+ Rogue.
But, unless I all of a sudden have the mutan X gene, my superhero days are looking a little bit grim. I'm still hopeful however.
I saw Batman, The Dark Knight last night. a) I almost shed some tears when Heath Ledger walked on screen and b) came to the slow realization that I want to be a superhero.
I've had this discussion many times before with different individuals on the subject of any superhero, who's superpowers would one want. My answer? Rogue's. Yeah I would not be able to touch anyone, but a life of solitude in exchange for the best possible super-human power is hands down a done deal on my part. Think about it, she can have ANY power if she wanted. The downside to this deal is that in order to obtain my so-called power I'd have to be heart-less and kill a few people.
Which I don't think I would ever be able to accomplish.
Until then though, the idea of her power - A+ Rogue.
But, unless I all of a sudden have the mutan X gene, my superhero days are looking a little bit grim. I'm still hopeful however.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
My drink and my two-step.
Five dollar bills rolled up into a bra, hugging a toilet and missing an unknown number of hours of the night. No, its not some random story I heard the other day while listening closely to customers conversations. This was my weekend.
Let me begin with the underlying theme of this wild sherade. It was my cousin's 20th brithday on Saturday and the plan was that we would all go out for a good ol' time on the town... also called Hess Village.
The Party was boring basically until my fun-filled self showed up with two bottles of hard liquor and a blown-up poster of Nick Jonas for the birthday gal. I was in some nice sweats, with my hair done to perfection and my make-up looking relatively decent in comparison to normal days. I figure I would start my night off with a nice stiffy. Vodka and coke. Man it went down smoothly. So did the next one. Soon, to my utter surprise I no longer had vodka, so I shifted gears and divuldged into this blue crap that smelt like oranges. I mixed it with orange juice and the cuncoction wasn't half bad. Somewhere in this timeline I changed into my skirt-turned-into-dress outfit.
It was just after that I began to get into a tussle with one of my cousin's friend. Of course when you are drinking, everything is settled with a chug. So to prove that I was indeed the bigger man (as I was drinking along side a man about twice my size), I downed my drink and pounded my fists into the air. Champion!
Not too long after, I find myself upstairs talking to Ralph on the big white telephone. I'm not quite sure how I managed to arrive in that situation, but I was in the bathroom for the rest of the night. If my memory serves me correctly, I recall my cousin coming to tell me they were leaving and then the next her coming in to say that they had returned. I figured either a) it sucked with out me or b) I was dunzo like over-cooked quiche. I'd like to say that the first of the two is the obvious answer, alas the latter takes the prize.
I woke up in my cousin's room, as I vaguely recall changing into some clothes she handed me, at 7:21 in the morning. At this God aweful time? Well my sister was picking my shameless self up at 7:30 to drive to Muskoka. I managed to keep the car clean, but we did have to pull over on the way home. And the drive up north is a little unknown. I was unconcious on the back seat. Until 12, when my dad came to drag my ass out of the car for breakfast.
All I ate that day was muffins.
And as I changed into my bathingsuit I found a five dollar bill in my bra. I was surprised about that.
And then proceeded to go tubeing.
I'm pretty sure that I was still hungover monday morning at work.
It was exciting and the smell of orange makes my stomach turn.
If only I had been able to dance....
Let me begin with the underlying theme of this wild sherade. It was my cousin's 20th brithday on Saturday and the plan was that we would all go out for a good ol' time on the town... also called Hess Village.
The Party was boring basically until my fun-filled self showed up with two bottles of hard liquor and a blown-up poster of Nick Jonas for the birthday gal. I was in some nice sweats, with my hair done to perfection and my make-up looking relatively decent in comparison to normal days. I figure I would start my night off with a nice stiffy. Vodka and coke. Man it went down smoothly. So did the next one. Soon, to my utter surprise I no longer had vodka, so I shifted gears and divuldged into this blue crap that smelt like oranges. I mixed it with orange juice and the cuncoction wasn't half bad. Somewhere in this timeline I changed into my skirt-turned-into-dress outfit.
It was just after that I began to get into a tussle with one of my cousin's friend. Of course when you are drinking, everything is settled with a chug. So to prove that I was indeed the bigger man (as I was drinking along side a man about twice my size), I downed my drink and pounded my fists into the air. Champion!
Not too long after, I find myself upstairs talking to Ralph on the big white telephone. I'm not quite sure how I managed to arrive in that situation, but I was in the bathroom for the rest of the night. If my memory serves me correctly, I recall my cousin coming to tell me they were leaving and then the next her coming in to say that they had returned. I figured either a) it sucked with out me or b) I was dunzo like over-cooked quiche. I'd like to say that the first of the two is the obvious answer, alas the latter takes the prize.
I woke up in my cousin's room, as I vaguely recall changing into some clothes she handed me, at 7:21 in the morning. At this God aweful time? Well my sister was picking my shameless self up at 7:30 to drive to Muskoka. I managed to keep the car clean, but we did have to pull over on the way home. And the drive up north is a little unknown. I was unconcious on the back seat. Until 12, when my dad came to drag my ass out of the car for breakfast.
All I ate that day was muffins.
And as I changed into my bathingsuit I found a five dollar bill in my bra. I was surprised about that.
And then proceeded to go tubeing.
I'm pretty sure that I was still hungover monday morning at work.
It was exciting and the smell of orange makes my stomach turn.
If only I had been able to dance....
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Mid-Life Crisis... at 77?
So, today my mother informed me that she was on a mission to buy mousse for my 77 year old grandfather. Her words were along the lines of "when we were at Cindy's (the hairdresser) I told her to put something in grandpa's hair so it did not just lay there flat. So she put in some mousse. Well your grandfather just told me 'Kim go get me some of the stuff to put in my hair.'"
Who would have thought that my very blunt, right to the point grandfather would be fussing over his looks at this age?
I suppose that vanity never dies with age. If you think about it, we spend our entires lives trying to prevent the inevitable age. I figure fuck it - if I'm going to get old, let me get old. Wrinkles, dentures, bring it all. Except I am catastrophically scared of becoming bald. Men, please you've got nothing on me. As a woman my hair is my life, it is what makes me a woman. However, if it is in the end that I do go bald I always can have a wig made of my own hair that has been stored under my bathroom sink for the past 5 years. I don't think it is going anywhere. So much for sending it to Locks For Love. Some poor bald girl is.... well bald.... because I am too lazy to bring the hair that I have into a salon for THEM to mail it. Talk about a lazy piece of shit.
Whatever.
I've got good Karma coming out of my ass. Giving some child my hair to make a wig would just insure that in my next life I would be a Queen, or at least one step up in the caste system.
That's about it.
Who would have thought that my very blunt, right to the point grandfather would be fussing over his looks at this age?
I suppose that vanity never dies with age. If you think about it, we spend our entires lives trying to prevent the inevitable age. I figure fuck it - if I'm going to get old, let me get old. Wrinkles, dentures, bring it all. Except I am catastrophically scared of becoming bald. Men, please you've got nothing on me. As a woman my hair is my life, it is what makes me a woman. However, if it is in the end that I do go bald I always can have a wig made of my own hair that has been stored under my bathroom sink for the past 5 years. I don't think it is going anywhere. So much for sending it to Locks For Love. Some poor bald girl is.... well bald.... because I am too lazy to bring the hair that I have into a salon for THEM to mail it. Talk about a lazy piece of shit.
Whatever.
I've got good Karma coming out of my ass. Giving some child my hair to make a wig would just insure that in my next life I would be a Queen, or at least one step up in the caste system.
That's about it.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Jonas Hysteria.
My summer has turned into one huge Jonas Brothers jam-fest. I do not know what is it about these three lads, but they just know how to excite me. Well their music does.
I wake up to their songs stuck in my head, and EVERY day at work you can find me pouring some coffee humming one of their tunes. It has become extremely unhealthy this JoBros obsession I have.
I'll break it down for you:
(currently as I write this, 'Just Friends' is playing)
I have Camp Rock memorized.
I know almost every word to their self titled cd Jonas Brothers.
I youtube videos of them everyday.
I youtube videos of them falling.
I do believe that I will marry Kevin Jonas. Well not really. But still...
A drive that usually takes an hour I made in just under 35 minutes all in the name of waiting in line for an ENTIRE day to see the Jo Broskis at Much Music.
They are all I talk about with my one friend Jenna (Mr Joe Jonas is her man)
If they are on a magazine cover I buy it.
Once I buy the magazine I call Jenna and we giggle like 11 year old girls over the interviews.
I can't watch the Much Music interview (that I taped) because I get too excited.
I try everyday NOT to talk or think about them.
I made my mum drive to buffalo to get Jonas Brothers buttons.
When I mention 'Kevin', my mum knows I mean Kevin Jonas.
I am going to their concert on August 15th... and I will have a sign.
This is so unhealthy. What has possessed me? My inner 13 year old is coming out and expressing herself via Jonas Brothers obsession.
Just put me out of my misery.
But they are so attractive.
And catchy tunes can be so hard to get over.
ugh. Eff my life and this ridiculous Jonas Brother need.
I wake up to their songs stuck in my head, and EVERY day at work you can find me pouring some coffee humming one of their tunes. It has become extremely unhealthy this JoBros obsession I have.
I'll break it down for you:
(currently as I write this, 'Just Friends' is playing)
I have Camp Rock memorized.
I know almost every word to their self titled cd Jonas Brothers.
I youtube videos of them everyday.
I youtube videos of them falling.
I do believe that I will marry Kevin Jonas. Well not really. But still...
A drive that usually takes an hour I made in just under 35 minutes all in the name of waiting in line for an ENTIRE day to see the Jo Broskis at Much Music.
They are all I talk about with my one friend Jenna (Mr Joe Jonas is her man)
If they are on a magazine cover I buy it.
Once I buy the magazine I call Jenna and we giggle like 11 year old girls over the interviews.
I can't watch the Much Music interview (that I taped) because I get too excited.
I try everyday NOT to talk or think about them.
I made my mum drive to buffalo to get Jonas Brothers buttons.
When I mention 'Kevin', my mum knows I mean Kevin Jonas.
I am going to their concert on August 15th... and I will have a sign.
This is so unhealthy. What has possessed me? My inner 13 year old is coming out and expressing herself via Jonas Brothers obsession.
Just put me out of my misery.
But they are so attractive.
And catchy tunes can be so hard to get over.
ugh. Eff my life and this ridiculous Jonas Brother need.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
I want to ride my Bicycle.
Monday was my 19th birthday extravaganza that took place at none other than Hooters. That classy joint knows how to get down. I have never in my life taken so many shots... and still manage to walk after. I guzzled down 7 or so shots of some sauce and a few mixed drinks. I was in FINE form.
BUT the best part of the story is the next day. My lovely sister decided to wake me from my slumber to go for a bike ride. She insisted that I tag along with her to go hand in her resignation at Reitman's. Well, let's just say I am really not suited for biking. My ass hurts like no one's business. I mean that seat is not meant for comfort. The entire TWO hour bike ride felt as though the seat was trying its very hardest to violate me. Mission accomplished on the seat's purpose. I've never had this sensation of pain before when I sit down.
Just to add insult to injury, it could have possibly been the hottest summer morning to date. And we biked. For two hours.
There was an upside to all of this. I managed to have my sister pay for my booster juice and the Jonas Brothers magazine i insisted on her getting for me.
Ah, the life.
But seriously, I'm in pain.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
An introduction to myself.
I don't exactly know how to start this bad-boy. But to make it interesting and as much of an attention-getter as possible I have taken the road of introduction and began with a small description of myself. Perhaps it truly is not the best way to keep those readers interested but I figure to me-self that if those readers are unequivocally interested in what I have to rant about in future dissertations, then automatically those are interested in my suburban-coffee-shop-working life.
I would like to say that I have the most entertaining life possibly imaginable for a soon to be 19 year old girl currently residing in the bedroom that her mum helped decorate. But alas, I say with over-flowing regret that my life in suburbia can be summed up into work, school (at times), sleep, and the unwatched-partying miscreants I refer to as my chums, my Bosom Friends.
I say school at times due to the fact that I am in the process of 'transferring' schools. Let me add that the Ontario Post-Secondary School System can suck it. I have been waiting for umpteen number of months to hear back from the three schools that I applied to. I mean this is long past ludicrous and starting to edge into monotonous. It has become so redundant and repetitious that my eyes want to fall out. And I am waiting for what? A piece of paper that could ultimately be the demise of my schooling. I'm far past caring.
Anyways, things are looking up. According to one of the schools, I should hear something as of July 6th. BUT, if my schooling career is over I've wrangled myself quite the cozy 8.75$ an hour job at Williams. It seems so invigorating to continue making lattes or iced cappuccinos for the caffeine inoculated public of Hamilton. I feel sort of like the Queen Street Pimp I had the oh-so pleasure of having seen the other day. He is not a 'pimp' and I am not 'fueling people's caffeine fixes'. The world lives to revolve another day, and I continue to pump two shots of espresso into some steamed milk.
I reckon, however, that there is life past the caffeinated frenzy. Not everyone is hyped up. Take for example your everyday toker. I bet he or she is not raging mad because their cafe-au-lait has spilt. Perhaps their colossal doobie snapped, but not their coffee. The most expensive coffee bean comes from poo. How delectable can that really be? As always though, people amaze me. I do not particularly find myself being very partial to the whole coffee frenzy. If you ask me, it leaves bad breath, yellow teeth and a stained mug. Now that is something to really look forward to.
In the end, these people keep my job possible. So as much as I am slanted against its existence, I do love people who love coffee.
With that. Take your large mug of coffee, have a seat and fill in some questions about your ethnicity for that University Application.
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