Wednesday, March 28, 2007

TheBoss Gets In Touch With His Feminine Side

Earlier this afternoon TheBoss came down to my office to discuss a project we were working on together. And by "together" I mean "I do all the work while TheBoss downloads pictures of monkeys who drink their own urine, and then calls me to tell me about them, and then gets all the credit for the work. "

Two other girls from my office were here, and TheBoss eagerly sat down and started gossiping about people that he doesn't like. I guess he assumes that this is what females do when gathered in groups? He, of course, assumes correctly. We are a gender of whores.

TheBoss got really excited, and relayed gossip with wide, un-blinking eyes, plenty of slaps to the thigh (his, for once), and exclamations such as "OH MY GOD" and "YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" Then, realizing that he was 20 minutes late for a meeting, TheBoss darted out the door. But, before he left, he poked his wee head back through the office doors and exclaimed:

TheBoss: Oh my god, you girls are horrible!! If I were a woman we would totally all get our periods at the same time!!!

Pleasant. Plus I'm pretty sure that, if TheBoss were a woman, we wouldn't get all menstrually synchronized. The girls from my office and I would get bitchy and eat fudge, and TheBoss would complain of cramps, stagger to the washroom, and then find his palm pilot in his underwear ("I'll never lose you again!")

Did this even make sense? I don't care. I want fudge.


Monday, March 26, 2007

Charles Has A Licking Problem

Goddamn, I hate Mondays. I'm seepy. Wanna be seeping. And it's raining. Also, I've decided, after 17 straight losses, to boycott TimWhore's and their rrroll up my ass campaign. I now refuse to buy anything there. I went to Food Basics (ie. "Discount Cheezies for Crack-Ho's and Baby-Daddies") and bought my own bagels, and my own soup, and it isn't nearly as good and I'm shaking from caffeine withdrawal but FUCK YOU, TIMWHORES!!

Fuck you.

Anyway. Here is a retarded dog that cheered me up.

Meet Charles.

May he bring you a sliver of joy in an otherwise rat-ass day.


Wednesday, March 21, 2007

ThePeach Has A Ruff Day

I got barked at today. By a human.

I was already in a pretty bad mood for several reasons. I was at work, which consistently makes me a skrotsky biotch. I was sleepy. I was feeling a little (ie. panic attack-inducing) overwhelmed with the amount of work I had to do. Because I was sleepy, I felt a little fuggly. You bitches know how it goes: you’re tired, so you tie your hair back in a wet ponytail, put on chapstick, look in the mirror, decide you look like a hob-goblin, and hope that a rabid raccoon doesn’t fly at your face on the walk to work.

Also, I was feeling a leetle depressed because school has taken away my ability to have a social life, and I have basically become a bat-shit hermit. I’m one tattered housecoat and about 12 cats away from becoming a cat-throwing crazy lady. And I have PMS. Badly. The kind where I should be banned to a tent on the outskirts of civilization to squat over a pile of hay and leaves, because I am not suitable for human contact. I need a can of icing and a good bleed. Too much? My uterus apologizes. But I say piss off.

Oh, and I lost rrroll up the rrrim 3 times in a row today. I’m 0 for 14 now. Where’s my goddamn I-Pod, TimWhores? Where’s my goddamn I-Pod. I’d shake my fist in anger, but there’s no need since my entire body is vibrating from the caffeine. Fucking Tim’s. I hate you.

So, with the weight of the world on my hunched shoulders, I decided I needed some air and thought I’d go for a quick walk.

And then I got barked at. By a human.

Not even a crazy human. I could have shrugged that right off. I probably wouldn’t even have faltered, since I regularly get yelled at, glared at, and chased by the crazies who pepper UniversityTown like a subtle seasoning.

But no. This was a normal person. A boy. An attractive boy, definitely rich, in his SUV with his equally attractive and rich friends. They drove by, he stuck his head out the window, barked at me, and his beautiful friends laughed, popped their collars, and drove off towards the eating disorders clinic to throw cheeseburgers at the bulimics. Probably.

Now, on a good day, I like to think that I am at least reasonably attractive. I’m no coke-snorting runway model, but I can hold my own in a bar. I’ve broken my fair share of mens. I have knockers that just won’t quit (seriously, they won’t. Tell me how to make them stop).

This was not a good day, but I don’t think I was bark-worthy. I looked a little poopy, and I knew that, but I got barked at? Really? Like I’m a fucking dog?

I tried to laugh it off, but my uterus was noticeably upset:
ThePeach: Ha wow, what a tool.
ThePeach’s Uterus: YOU’RE HIDEOUS!!!
ThePeach: Ha, that guy really sucked.
ThePeach’s Uterus: MONSTER!!! UNFIT FOR PUBLIC!!
ThePeach: Heh…maybe I should have done my hair today.
ThePeach’s Uterus: HIDE YOUR SHAME!!! DOG!!!
ThePeach: I guess these aren’t my nicest jeans.
ThePeach’s Uterus: RUFF!!! RUFF-RUFF!!! RUFF!!!
ThePeach: *sob* I hate my stupid life.
ThePeach’s Uterus: BUY ME CHIPS, DOG!!
ThePeach: *sobs, puts coin in candy machine*

And then I came home and cried on my new, urine-free futon for 4 hours. I also watched Dr. Phil.

Maybe you think I’m over-reacting.

But I got barked at. By a human.

And my uterus has me by the ‘nads.


Thursday, March 15, 2007

ThePeach's Mom Is Difficult To Talk To

My mom is coming to visit me this weekend. She called me on Monday to inform me of this:

Mom: I’m watching a documentary about sea-kelp. I’m coming to visit you this weekend.
ThePeach: What?
Mom: I’m watching a documentary about sea kelp. It’s very interesting…*zones out*
ThePeach: Mom? Mom! MOM!
Mom: Huh?
ThePeach: You’re coming to visit me?
Mom: Yes, this weekend.
ThePeach: *grits teeth* We’ve covered that part. Why are you coming? When? Are you staying with me?
Mom: Let’s play it by ear…bye, sweetie! *click*
ThePeach: What?

She called me again the next day.

Mom: How’s Potter?
ThePeach: Who?
Mom: Potter. How is she?
ThePeach: What?
Mom: Potter, your cat. Is she still throwing up?
ThePeach: *balls fists* My cat’s name is Milo and he’s a boy. I’ve had him for a year now. And yes of course he’s throwing up. It’s all he does.
Mom: Who’s Potter?
ThePeach: My ex-boyfriend’s cat. The ex I broke up with 3 years ago.
Mom: Oh. *zones out*
ThePeach: Mom? Mom! MOM!
Mom: Hi sweetie.
ThePeach: *bangs head on wall* Mom, are you watching tv?
Mom:…*zones out*
ThePeach: MOM!!!!????
Mom: We’re watching a hockey game.
ThePeach: What’s the score?
Mom:…*zones out*…what?
ThePeach: *mutters a Hail Mary* Mom, are you coming to visit me this weekend?
Mom: Yes, I want to buy you some dress clothes for work.
ThePeach: But I don’t wear dress clothes to work.
Mom: I know you have a hard time finding dress pants that fit. I want to help you find some dress pants. I’d like that.
ThePeach: I don’t wear dress pants.
Mom: I know you like looking nice at work. I’ll help you get some new dress pants.
ThePeach: I work in a basement office. In a building full of students. The professors don’t wear dress pants. I really would have nowhere to wear them.
Mom: Let’s look in The Gap. They have such nice dress clothes.
ThePeach: Oh my god.
Mom: Is Potter still shedding? Because if she is I’m just going to stay in a B&B. My allergies will bother me too much if Potter is still shedding a lot.
ThePeach:…Potter is still shedding a lot.
Mom: Darn.
ThePeach: Indeed.

And then, today:

ThePeach: Are you getting here Friday?
Mom: Yes.
ThePeach: What do you want to do?
Mom: …let’s play it by ear.
ThePeach:…do you still want to go shopping?
Mom: Oh, that’s a nice idea.
ThePeach:…ya. Do you want to go out for dinner?
Mom: *zones out*
ThePeach: Mom? Mom! MOM!!
Mom: I’m reading a book right now. It’s very good.
ThePeach: *swears under breath* Do you want to go out for dinner?
Mom: Sure, honey.
ThePeach: Ok, where? Have you been craving anything in particular?
Mom: Or we could make dinner.
ThePeach: …really?
Mom: Well, I guess that would be easier.
ThePeach: What would?
Mom: Going out for dinner.
ThePeach: *puts down phone, screams into pillow, pick up phone* And are we still meeting up with Grandpa and TigerCat for brunch on Saturday?
Mom: Yes, at 1.
ThePeach: But Grandpa’s email said 12. He always comes at 12.
Mom: We’re going at 1. For lunch.
ThePeach: I thought we were going for brunch.
Mom: Lunch.
ThePeach: But the email said brunch. At 12.
Mom: Lunch. At 1.
ThePeach: So are we not going to the Grandpa’s favourite brunch restaurant? The one he takes me to every 2 weeks when he comes to see me for brunch?
Mom: Do they serve brunch?
ThePeach: OH MY GOD. We have been there for brunch! Together! Grandpa takes me there every 2 weeks for brunch! BRUNCH! YOU KNOW THIS!!!
Mom: It’s so sweet.
ThePeach: WHAT IS???
Mom: That he takes you out for brunch every 2 weeks.
Mom: Lunch. At 1.
ThePeach: *sob*
Mom: Bye, sweetie!

Afterwards, I relayed the convo over msn to TigerCat.

TigerCat: She’s really going fucking crazy.
ThePeach: I want to punch her.
TigerCat: Seriously, I think she is going insane. Like medically, for real.
ThePeach: Punch her right in the temporal lobe.
TigerCat: Seriously, I think she has medical problems. I’m worried.
ThePeach: Multiple punches to the lobe.
TigerCat: She told me her depression is bad again. She’s on antidepressants.
ThePeach: She’s been on antidepressants for 15 years.
TigerCat: Well, they’re not fucking working! Bitch is fucking loony!
ThePeach: Seriously…just one swift hit to the lobe.
TigerCat: She’s seeing a shrink, too.
ThePeach: Well he’s working fabulously. Where did she find him? She probably put as much research into this as she did planning our family vacations.
TigerCat: The one where she took us to the airport a day too early and we ran out of money and had to sleep in dorm rooms? Or the one where I got electrocuted in our hotel?
ThePeach: She probably saw an ad for the shrink on the side of a bus.
TigerCat: Probably.
ThePeach: And when she got there he was a real estate agent.

Can’t wait to go shopping for dress pants,


Thursday, March 08, 2007

Oh, Goody.

Oh lord god, it’s going to be a long couple of months.

I have a somewhat addictive personality. I don’t mean to say that people find my personality addictive to be around; no. Although I don’t know why they don’t, the motherfuckers. I’m goddamn charming. What I mean, though, is that I am the kind of person who becomes easily addicted to things. I’m sure this has something to do with my wholesome childhood of going to the ‘pones (“Daddy, if my pony wins can we finally go to Disneyworld?” “Shhh…Daddy is talking to his bookie”), playing the lottery (“Peach, you’re my good-luck girl! Now scratch me another gold bar and I’ll take you to Disneyworld!” *scratch* “Daddy, it’s a cherry” “Daddy doesn’t love you anymore”), and gambling with relatives on Christmas Day (“Peach, you owe Uncle Mike 20 bucks”).

The point is that I get sucked into things very, very easily. I buy Cash for Life tickets about once a week; I never win. I enter online contests every day; I never win. When I go to casinos (which I should never be allowed to do), I eagerly cash my savings into buckets of quarters which I breathlessly empty into the shiny slot machines; I never win. I enter draws, I bet, I gamble, and I NEVER WIN. EVER. But does it stop me? Fuck no! All this means is that my time is coming and my luck is bound to change and Jesus Christ I might have a gambling problem.

Anyway. I am also addicted to caffeine. Precious nectar of good, life force of all things; caffeine is my saviour. I need it. It is necessary for my daily functioning, unless I want to function at a level I could describe as “haggishly crusty and tardishly slow”. Caffeine is the spring in my step, the twinkle in my eye, and the ‘fuck’ in my ‘mullafuck’. It is the potty to my mouth, if you will. But that sounds wrong, like I drink urine. Which I don’t.

Despite my addictions, I have been able to manage them in a way which still allows me to function normally. Except for the 2 months/year where Tim Hortons owns my soul and I am powerless against the forces of all-consuming evil.

Rrroll up the Rim.

Rrroll up the Rim combines my two greatest weaknesses, caffeine and gambling, into one holy antichrist of a paper cup. It is not a good time for me. Some of you may recall how, in an effort to win, I drank so much fucking tea during Rrroll up the Rim last year that I developed a medically concerning eye twitch. My doctor strongly suggested that I cut down, but what the fuck did she know!? I would have the last laugh as I drove past her office in my new Rav-4, throwing an empty cup out the window and adjusting my eye patch. Anyway, despite drinking 3-4 large steeped teas per day (“Mrs.Chen. Your garden’s looking steeped.”), I LOST EVERY SINGLE TIME!!! All around me, people were winning donuts and coffees and all I had achieved was a neurological condition. Every time I eagerly rrrolled my goddamn rrrim and saw another “Please play again” I would hurl my cup across the office and swear like I had Tourette’s. My eye twitch finally subsided when rrroll up the rim ended, but the shame never went away. No; the humility remains.

This year, I decided not to get caught up in the whirlwind. If last year I got an eye twitch, what would this year bring? Incontinence? Seizures? Plus, I never win. Anything. Ever. And I should really save the money for more important things, like my alcohol addiction. So, I made the firm decision not to go to Tim Horton’s during Rrrape Me and confidently told all of my friends and coworkers that I would be abstaining.

I Make Lies.

The first 2 teas were against my will. They really were. They were bought for me by TheBoss, and it doesn’t count if I don’t buy it myself. I guzzled the precious caffeine and rrrolled the rrrims. I lost. Shocker. I figured the universe was trying to tell me something, and I reaffirmed my promise not to go back.

Then my office mate started winning. She won a coffee. She won a coffee again. I started getting the hand shakes. When she walked over to claim her next coffee, I thought I’d go with her. For the walk. To stretch my legs. To get out of the office. To prove to myself that I could go to TimHo’s without buying anything.

ThePeach: I really am not getting anything. I’m just going with you for the walk.
OfficeMate. Ok.
ThePeach: I really don’t want to go down this road again, you know?
OfficeMate: I understand.
ThePeach: I mean, that eye twitch was pretty fucking crazy. And I never win, ever. I’m just wasting my money and hurting my neurons.
OfficeMate: That eye twitch was hilarious.
ThePeach: It kind of was. But I think the universe is trying to tell me that I should just give up and stop gambling, you know?
OfficeMate: *to TimHo’s employee* Large Steeped.
ThePeach: Make that two. Extra sugar.
OfficeMate: *cough*
OfficeMate: *rrrolls* I won a coffee.
ThePeach: *rrrolls*…MOTHERFUCK!!!! *throws cup at wall*
ThePeach’s Eye: *twitch*

And it begins.


Tuesday, March 06, 2007

TheBoss is Ironic; a Bit of an Ass

TheBoss made me eat lunch in his office with him today, and during this time we had the following conversation:

TheBoss: Do you want some of my muffin?
ThePeach: No, thank you.
TheBoss: What about just the top.
TheBoss: Just the muffin-top.
ThePeach: No.
TheBoss: Come on, have the muffin-top!
ThePeach: I know where you are going with this, and no.

TheBoss then exploded into a fit of giggles and looked very proud of his witticism. My side-fat purred as I shoved TheBoss’s goddamn muffin in my mouth and made a mental note to set his lawn on fire. That usually gets my messages across.

Anyway, as I was chewing on TimHo’s baked sugar and lard, TheBoss started talking about how hilarious I am.

TheBoss: Seriously, you are really funny.
ThePeach: Yes.
TheBoss: I still tell everyone I know about that time you were so full that you said you were gonna have a food baby!
ThePeach: Gunther the cheese baby; yes.
TheBoss: And that email you sent me today about Office Depot throwing up in the lab? Hilarious!!
ThePeach: I sent that 3 weeks ago.
TheBoss: You know I don’t read your e-mails!
ThePeach: Yes.
TheBoss: You know, you should really think about writing comedy.
ThePeach: Uh-huh…
TheBoss: Seriously. You’re a good writer. You should think about writing some kind of comedy, like about our office.
ThePeach: Yeah…
TheBoss: You could write about the funny things that happen here, and the funny people…
ThePeach: Yes, that hypothetical situation could be humorous.
TheBoss: Man, you could even make a character like me!
ThePeach: Yes, I could.
TheBoss: Seriously, think about it.
ThePeach: I shall.
TheBoss: How was that muffin-top?
ThePeach: Tasty.
TheBoss: *giggles* NOW YOU HAVE-
ThePeach: You’ve killed this joke, by the way.
TheBoss:…get back to work.

Oh, irony.


Saturday, March 03, 2007

ThePeach Has a Reality Check

TheHubby: So, this is what our lives have come to. It's friday night, we're standing in the bathtub, smoking pot, through the window, out of someone else bong, and excited because we found a candy necklace in the bathroom.

ThePeach: Oh god. We're only one step ahead of eating a lifesaver that we find behind the toilet.

Pot makes us cool.