Thursday, December 14, 2006

ThePeach's Random Life Happenings

Nothing major has happened to me recently, but several minor humorous events took place. I shall now list them for you:

1. You Know, Keeping Your Shape in Shape has its Rewards
AsianCymbals sent me THIS link. I almost died. I don’t even know what I can possibly say about it, since the commercial really says it all.

Now my wish to be my age in 60s/70s isn’t as strong. Because, although I do wish to have a nice shape, I don’t know if I could be a mind-sticker.

2. I Made a New Friend
TheCrip and I went out for wings and booze on Tuesday. A couple of his guy friends were there, and we joined their table. I should preface this story with the fact that I was wearing a Senators t-shirt during a Leafs game. I’m awesome that way. Anyway, TheCrip goes to introduce me to one of the burly mens, and here is how that went:

TheCrip: Peach, this is BurlyMens.
ThePeach: *sticks out hand* Hi.
BurlyMens: I won’t touch her fucking hand as long as she’s wearing that fucking shirt. *slams back a beer*
ThePeach: *sits down* Why? Can’t stand that we’re the better team?
BurlyMens: If you weren’t a chick I would punch you in the face right now.
ThePeach: I get that a lot. So, my name is ThePeach.
BurlyMens: My ex-girlfriend’s name is ThePeach. Now I want to stab you in the throat.
ThePeach: Awesome.

After a few drinks and some racial jokes, BurlyMens started warming up to me.

BurlyMens: So, what do you do for a living?
ThePeach: I work at the University. My boss wants to rape me but they pay me to sit on my ass all day, so it evens out.
BurlyMens: Dude, I can’t believe you just dropped a rape-bomb! You hardly know me!!
ThePeach: You introduced yourself as wanting to stab me in the neck.
BurlyMens: It’s still true.

3. TheBoss Made Me Uncomfortable
We had our work “non-denominational festive party” this week. It was at TheBoss’ house. He picked a night when he wife was out of town to hold the party. Awesome. There were about 8 of us there, and here are some of the things he said during the party:

TheBoss: So, you know when you use a bar of soap in the shower and it gets really tiny and thin when it’s almost gone? So you press all of the little soap slivers together into one slightly larger soap sliver?
TheBoss: If I use that sliver to wash my ass, it will go straight up my asshole!
ThePeach: oh god.

Co-worker: So, I used to be a drama major. Once we did this really cool exercise where we had to act with paper bags over our heads and-
TheBoss: I like it when girls have bags over their heads. You don’t need to see their face. Not in the sack.
ThePeach: oh god.

TheBoss’Kid (6 years old): Wanna see me do my exercises???!!!!
ThePeach: Sure, child.
TheBoss’Kid: *goes through series of situps, pushups, and jumping jacks*
ThePeach: Very nice, child.
TheBoss’Kid: *gets on all fours and starts thrusting his pelvis towards the floor*
TheBoss: Heh, ya. He caught me doing that to TheWife once and I told him it was an exercise.
ThePeach: oh god.

So, that was the work party. Merry Christmas!

4. My Dad Hurt My Feelings
I talk to my dad on the phone about once a week. He usually asks about my love-life, which I can handle. But this I could not handle:

Peach-Dad: So, how’s the love-life?
ThePeach: Uneventful, Dad.
Peach-Dad: Really? Why don’t you just get married, already?
ThePeach: Because I don’t think it would be very romantic when I have to drag a street-hobo down the aisle and pay him in used needles to marry me.
Peach-Dad: Well…that’s ok. I think you’re just going to be one of those girls that never gets married. You’ll just be one of the types that stay single forever. Alone.
ThePeach: I have a cat.
Peach-Dad: He’ll die eventually.
ThePeach: *sniffle*

5. My Kitten Gives Me Mixed Messages

Here is what I go through every single day when I get home from work. The kitten has been alone in the apartment for about 6-7 hours at this point.

*warning* some of you may be shocked and appalled to learn that I talk to the kitten in a disgusting baby-voice that makes me hate my own being. I apologize for this.

ThePeach: *opens door* Hewwo?? Where is de kitten??
Milo: *trots up to ThePeach with wide eyes and an adorable shiver of excitement*
ThePeach: Dere he is!! Dere he is!! I missed my kitten!!
Milo: *audible purring. Starts trying to climb ThePeach’s legs*
ThePeach: OHHH what a good kitten! What a good kitten! *Picks up Milo*
Milo: *purrs loudly enough to shake his own body. Pats ThePeach’s face with his paws and rubs his own face into her neck. Starts licking her cheeks with his little raspy tongue*
ThePeach: I missed de kitten, too! GOOD WITTLE BOY!! GOOD WITTLE BOY!!!!
Milo: *continues licking and purring*
ThePeach: OHHH MY WITTLE GUY IS SO CUTE! AND – hey, did your ears just get pointier?
Milo: *eye twitch*
ThePeach: Did your pupils just dilate? Why is your tail whacking me in the back of the head? WITTLE GUY!! YOU’RE STILL CUTE!!
Milo: *clamps onto ThePeach’s face with his teeth. Doesn’t let go. Continues to purr loudly*
Milo: BITE THIS, MULLLAFUCKA!!! *sticks pointy teeth into ThePeach’s wrist veins. Starts batting at ThePeach’s arm with his claws. Continues to purr loudly*
ThePeach: Motherfuck!! Why don’t you love me???!!!
Milo: By the way, I pood on the bath-mat today.
ThePeach: *sob*

So, I think that pretty much covers my week so far. It was pretty par for the course.

He wants you with a good shape…shape with Tab!


Saturday, December 09, 2006

Proof That Jesus Hates ThePeach

Oh, for fuck sakes…

Why do these things always happen to me?!

So, last night was fun. TheHippie came to visit and we got drunk and watched Mean Girls with TheCrip. Then TheHubby came home and we all smoked the bong and watched Almost Famous. This, of course, led me into several of my well-known pot-rants:

1. The 70s were awesome. We should have been our age in the 70s so that we could all be on acid and Quaaludes all the time. And we could sway to the music while we were high on these beautiful drugs. And TheHippie would have a big shagalicious van that we could travel the country in. And we could grow our hair to luxurious lengths and experiment sexually.

2. I would like to have been a groupie. I would have very much enjoyed traveling the country with hot rockers and servicing them sexually as I’m high on an endless supply of acid and Quaaludes. That would have been the perfect job for me!!!

3. Kate Hudson is so adorable that I would consider going dyke just to be with her. Even though she wears incredibly high-waisted jeans in the movie. Speaking of which, isn’t fashion fucked?

4. Fashion is fucked. It really is. Do you ever think about how bizarre it is that we put so much effort into our appearance based on what society tells us is attractive at the time? Fucking society. And isn’t it fucked how much fashion changes through the years? Look at those high-waisted jeans and knit tops…that was hot in the 70s. Now it is no longer hot. Fashion, man…it’s fucked.

5. You know what else changes throughout the years and is fucked? Music, man. Music is fucked. Look at how much it changes. I mean, hundreds of years ago we listened to fucking Gregorian Chant for fun. Then we had rock and now we have hip-hop? It’s all so fucked.

After the movie, TheHubby and I slow-danced in the kitchen to “Tiny Dancer”, which I was singing despite the fact that I don’t know any of the words:

ThePeach: Ballerina!! You must have seeeen her…dancing in the…land
TheHubby: Oh my god, we’re so in love!
ThePeach: Bluuuuue jean baby…L.A…crazy…
TheHubby: We’re so in love and the whole world knows it!
TheHubby: We’re the cutest couple ever because we slow-dance to music of our own making!
TheHubby: My skin is itchy.

So, around 2 I started to crash bad. I was drunk and high and minutes from passing out. People were starting to scare me and I could feel the ‘noids coming on something fierce. I needed to be in my bed, stat.

So we decided to call a cab. It would be the fastest way to home and safety.

TheHippie, TheCrip and I crawled into the backseat of the cab when it arrived and breathed a sigh of relief. Home was but a quick cab ride away.

The car pulled into the street and very slowly made its way south. The car started getting slower. And slower. We were almost at a stand-still. We all assumed this was happening inside our heads and not in reality. All of us but the cabbie, who started swearing in French. We turned the corner, the car sputtered, and stopped.

Cabbie: Zut! Tabernac! Shit!
TheCrip: zzzzzz
ThePeach: Why…why god…?
Cabbie: I ran out of gas. Shit!
TheCrip: zzzzzz
ThePeach: Why god…why do these things always happen to me…when I’m high?
Cabbie: SHIT!

Yes, my car to safety, the vehicle that was supposed to deliver me from the ‘noids, ran out of gas. Of course. Of course.

The cabbie sat there all puzzled and the 3 of us sat in the back seat freaking out, high as motherfuckers.

Cabbie: Shit!
ThePeach: *whispers* oh god, we’re all going to die.
TheHippie: *whispers* We are. We really are.
TheCrip: I…wanna…be…in bed.
Cabbie: Maybe I’ll try the engine one more time…
ThePeach: *whispers* we’re going to die out here, and then he will rape us all.
TheHippie: *whispers* I don’t want to be raped!
TheCrip: Why…why…
Cabbie: Hey, maybe there’s enough gas to do this after all…

No, French cabbie. There was not enough gas to get us home. There was only enough gas to drive, slowly, into the middle of a busy intersection and then stall for good in the path of oncoming traffic. That was the final straw for the ‘noids.

TheHippie: *gripping tightly onto the Peach* OH GOD WE’RE GOING TO BE HIT BY MULTIPLE CARS AND DIE!
ThePeach: *sob* I HATE YOU, JESUS!
TheCrip: We could just get out of the cab, you know.

TheCrip eventually left the safety of the cab to push us out of the intersection as the cabbie steered us to the curb. TheCrip should get a medal for that. The cabbie should not.

Another cab came and we got into that and were safely delivered to our homes and beds and, for some of us, angry kittens.

Why can’t anything ever happen normally for me? Of course my fucking cab runs out of gas in the middle of an intersection when I’m high as all sweet Christ. Of course it does. This is proof that Jesus hates me.

But, when Jesus makes your cab stall in an intersection when you’re high, the next day he gives you a hobo santa, midget, and one-armed cripple to make up for it.


Only in UniversityTown...

...would this be a normal occurance.

I was walking from my house to meet TheHippie at the discount department store downtown. We wanted to look at discount department store winter boots. I knew they would be cheap and that every coked-out baby-momma in town would be sporting the same pair, but I didn't care. I'm a townie now.

Anyway, as I turned off my street to walk down the busy downtown street, I witnessed the following at the intersection:

1. A homeless person dressed as santa, ranting incoherently at the passer-bys and scaring the children.
2. A midget (it might have been a dwarf. It was wearing a long coat) darting across the street.
3. The one-armed cripple zooming down the sidewalk on his scooter, orange flags flowing in the wind majestically.

Drunk hobo Santa, a scurrying midget, and the one-armed cripple all at once!!? It's everything I wanted for Christmas!! I WAS good!!

Thank you, Santa. And thank you, Universitytown.


Monday, December 04, 2006

ThePeach has a Girl's Night Out

Here is how my girl's night out ended on Friday around 4am. That is me passed out on TheCrazy's ass. TheCrazy is also passed out. That is permanent marker on her back. That is my hand-writing. Yes, that does say "cum dumpster". That is my sense of humor when I'm drunk.

That is CockDoc's camera. I don't want to know what else is on there...


It’s Raining Inappropriate and Sexually Suggestive Mens (Halleluiah?)

You know the expression “when it rains it pours”? Well, in ThePeach’s life, when it rains it fucking hail-storms/floods cities/causes Katrina-esque damage (is it too soon to allude to Katrina? Fuck it – I’m starting the trend, bitches).

It had been a relatively dry couple of weeks, mens-wise. School had shit all over me and I spent the next little while trying to desperately keep afloat of the feces. I’m still barely keeping my head above the poo, but I’ve accomplished enough that I can finally update my fucking blog. This means that all of you can stop fucking harassing me now. TheCrip/TigerCat/TheNurse: you especially. TheCrip: you most especially. No, I will not get chicken wings with you just because you miss having the sex with TheHippie!! I have work to do so BACK OFF!!! (I still love you and I promise I’ll send you those tapes of TheHippie and I making tender love to each other someday soon).

Right. So, my point is that my trampage was put on hiatus. Also, I have a lot of personal shit going down and I’ve been hiding in my apartment to avoid dealing with my life. Don’t worry, I’ve been having a lot of fun eating zoodles out of the can and talking to the cat. It’s been awesome.

Anyway, today – within a 1 hour span – I received 2 suggestive emails/messages from mens. Not just any mens, either: mens that are unfortunately extremely inappropriate for me to date/bang.

Let’s start with Mens1:

Pros: Cute, funny, nice, seems to think I’m cool (which implies that he’s fucked in the head. Which turns me on.)

Inappropriate: Works in my lab. Office banging = no-no. I am his superior. He is 3 years younger than me. I am his elder. Also, he is a fire-crotch and we all know my rules about that (CoorsLight was a fire-crotch. He was also an alcoholic, but apparently I let that rule slip!).

We are kind of buddy-buddy, and then today he sent me this message on facebook (copied word for word, I shit you not):

Subject: The Best Date of Your Life
Hey Peach,

I called Chuckey Cheese, and they said that they don't have the resources on hand to give you the meal that I asked them to provide for our date until between Christmas and New Years, so we'll have to wait for Caviar chez Chuckey.The whole thing got me to thinking though, i mean, sure, we could wait for the date, but what if a police officer met you, then i'm screwed right? I mean, i only have the construction worker and the Native American costumes, so i'd be at a severe disadvantage here. I came to the conclusion in the end that i need to snap you up before a cop does though.

So then i thought, hey, why not have Peach come over to residence. I've got a super firm single bed, and that's what all women really want, so i could have you over, show off my digs, maybe get someone in trouble with my don power to make you a bit weak in the knees. Of course the key to the whole plan is that you'll be far from home, so when it gets dark and cold you won't want to go home cause it's so far, so i'll graciously offer to cuddle with you, and that'll be the end of it once you see me in my sleeping shorts (they're shiny).

The best added perk about the residence date though, is that there's a TV room to watch movies that no one uses, so you end up with a projection TV, the worlds best couch, and sometimes a chocolate bar. And of course me. Sometimes i even wear whipped cream for desert. It might be a stretch for the first date, but i could be convinced. I guess it all depends what you wear when you come over and how much you're flashing the twins around and trying to aggressively make out during the slow scenes in the movie.

give it some thought, let me mom says i'm special and unique, so if you pass this up you'll never get a chance like it again.


Ya…Ya. Not too sure how to handle this one. I laughed a lot (good laughing, not evil bitch laughing) when I received this message – so much so that I believe the janitors in my building now think I do meth in the afternoons. Which means they’re going to start knocking on my door and asking to borrow my pipe because their parole officers confiscated theirs.

I’m quite tempted to say ‘yes’ to his night of whipped cream body-suits and twin-flashing, but it would be wrong. Dirty wrong…

ThePeach’sBeast: I like dirty-wrong.
ThePeach’sMorales: …*crickets chirping*
ThePeach’sBeast: I like dirty-wrong.
ThePeach: Shit.

No, definitely wrong. I work with him and I usually like to kick mens out in the morning, not discuss statistics and photocopy surveys together (yes, these are some of the things I do at work when I actually work. Although usually I just spin in my chair and eat timbits. But I don’t like to do that with my man-meats either).

Conclusions: Inappropriate and wrong. Dirty wrong…. No, just wrong.

(dear Mens1: if you read my blog, I apologize for posting your message. I’m a whore that way. But I only posted it because I find you so hilarious. Good Hilarious. Dirty hilarious…shit, no. Fucking beast.)


As I was reading the message from Mens1 and urinating myself in laughter, I received an email from Mens2.

Pros: Cute, funny, smart, nice, bang-able.

Inappropriate: Goes to my gym. He’s a secret gym-admirer. I don’t want to bang someone who has watched me limp my way through a painfully slow 4 km run and then pass out afterwards in a pool of my own sweat. It’s not hot. Equally important: do not want to run into someone I made dirty with post-coitally at the gym. I don’t need another reason to avoid going, for fuck’s sakes! I already have: FauxHawk, school, rain, tv, my uterus…just to name a few.

Anyway, he has my e-mail address (what can I say? I’m fucking adorable and mens ask for my contact info) and here is the e-mail he sent me today (para-phrased):


Nice seeing you at the gym. Sorry if I couldn’t stop staring at your jugs while you were on the treadmill; green is your colour!



Well, I can’t fault the guy for staring at my hypnotizing wrack as I bounce along on the treadmill. Why do you think I run in front of the mirrors? To stare at my beautiful wrack, that’s why! And green really is my colour.

But no, banging someone who I am guaranteed to see on a regular basis afterwards would be awkward and messy. Bad messy.

ThePeach’sBeast: He likes your jugs.
ThePeach’sPracticality: …*wind whistling*…
ThePeach’sBeast: He likes your jugs.
ThePeach: Shit.

Conclusion: Too awkward!! Too messy!! Hot messy…NO. Messy messy.

So, that was my day. When it rains it pours inappropriate sexually suggestive men. The beast needs to be fed. I am thinking with my brain instead of my good-girl. For now.

Fucking beast.