Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Milo is Fat; Angry

My first clue should have been when his ass got stuck in his cat-house entrance. Or maybe when he started spending his entire day stretched out on the floor and rolling around on his back like a quadripalegic. Or maybe when he stopped playing with his toys. Or maybe when he jumped on my stomach while I was sleeping and knocked the wind out of me and almost made me piss my bed. Or maybe when he started eating entire bags of cat food in 2 weeks.

But I couldn't ignore it when we took him to the vet and he weighed in at a hefty 12 pounds, which made the vet laugh out loud and FauxHawk shake his head in shame.

I don't care what you fucking say. He's beautiful.

Just let them gorge on their kibble in peace. Fucking paparazzi...

Friday, June 22, 2007

ThePeach is a Muffin-Whore; Fat

Hello, bitches! I’m back. No, I was not on an exotic trip or partaking in something exciting. I was writing essays and studying my face off and crying and not sleeping and wearing dirty clothes because I’m afraid to go to the Laundromat again and eating lots of muffins. June was a fun month. School is awesome. Deciding to take summer courses was a great choice. I do not regret it. My new muffin-gut and under-eye circles circa. Whitney vs. Bobby agree: studying is fun!

Ok, so here is what I’ve been up to all month:

1. Class

I decided to take two full-credit courses summer courses. That’s the maximum that they let you take, because apparently two full-credit summer courses are a lot of work. They also recommend that you do not attempt full-time employment when you take summer courses. I scoffed at the University registrar’s suggestions, and decided I could definitely handle two full-credit summer courses plus a full-time job. Eat me, University. You don’t own me!

It’s 6 weeks later, I have just finished one of my two courses, and I want to die. I literally want to be dead, because at least then I could lie down in a quiet place. In 6 weeks I have read over 10 full-length novels, many homosexual poems, and written 6 essays plus a seminar presentation and a final. I have also gone to work every day and done things that have nothing to do with my courses, like run statistics and talk to prostatitis patients and read celebrity gossip while I eat muffins. I hate English. I hate books. I hate my job. I love muffins. I hate studying. I’m still tired.

Now I would like to discuss the other students in one of my summer classes, because I think it’s important that you understand what I was going through every morning from 9am-12 for 6 weeks. It was a small class, maybe 25 people, and it was a seminar – so we were expected to talk. Some keeners took this to the extreme, and I would now like to introduce you to:

a) Chatty Deaf Guy who looks retarded but isn’t.

I swear I don’t have a vendetta against the deaf. This guy just really pissed me off.

Chatty deaf guy who looks retarded but isn’t talks the most of any person in class x10. He literally answers every question, often cutting other students off because he can’t hear them. It’s like he wants to prove to us that he isn’t disabled, but maybe he should re-consider his bowl-cut hair, striped t-shirts, socks rolled up to his knees under sandals, and heavy mouth-breathing if he doesn’t want us to think he’s a tard.

Chatty deaf guy who looks retarded but isn’t has a cochlear implant, which is a super fancy gizmo surgically placed in the temporal lobe of his brain that allows him to pick up sound-waves transmitted through a special microphone worn by the professor (whoa, my psyc degree just paid for itself. That 30k was totally worth it.) He has learned how to talk, but can’t properly hear himself when he does it, and thus is goddamn LOUD. Also, he sounds like…well…a deaf guy. You know, the thick, high-pitched lispy voice? That is the voice that answered every goddamn question asked by the prof, every day for 3 hours, for 6 straight weeks. None of us could understand a damned word, and neither could the prof. But he didn’t give up; no. Chatty deaf guy who looks retarded but isn’t dominated that classroom.

Prof.: So, what do you make of the British imperialism in Dickens’ “Hard Times”?
ThePeach: *snicker under breath* Hard…and Dickens…heh.
Attention-seeking Fug: Well, when I read the book this weekend, I thought that-
Prof.: …Yes. What else did you guys think? Attention seeking Fug?
Attention-seeking Fug: Ok, so when my grandma used to read my nursery rhymes as a baby-
Prof.: …Let’s take a 15-minute break.

This brings me to my next annoying classmate:

b) Attention-seeking Fug with bad hair/face.

Attention-seeking Fug with bad hair/face likes to talk about her life in response to questions posed by the prof. It doesn’t matter what the question is, attention-seeking Fug with bad hair/face will find a way to make it personal, and will take 20 minutes to tell her story because every second word she uses is “Like”, “Well”, or “You know”. This would be bad enough if she weren’t also unfortunate to look at. But attention-seeking Fug with bad hair/face is greasy, has huge bug-eyes that I don’t think I have ever seen blink, has hair that may or may not be a wig from 1964, and wears clothes that are just a little too tight for her…um…pleasantly proportioned physique.

Finally, my personal favourites:

c) Pasty nerd-couple with matching hairstyles and shoes.

Pasty nerd-couple with matching hairstyles and shoes are either dating or the fucking grossest brother and sister I have ever seen in my life. They walk into class hand-in-hand and do not stop touching each other for the entire duration of the 3 hour class. They also answer every single question asked by the prof. The female counterpart of pasty nerd-couple with matching hairstyles and shoes talks less often than her boyfriend/brother(??), so I don’t want to punch her in the throat quite as hard as I’d like to punch the male counterpart even though she lisps. Male counterpart of pasty nerd-couple with matching hairstyles and shoes talks in a fake pseudo-british accent and likes to tie in his answers with other great literary classics to show off to the prof that he has read them. Which he probably does, aloud, while touching himself and staring wistfully at the female counterpart. I imagine that this is how pasty nerd-couple with matching hairstyles and shoes have relations.

Pasty nerd-couple with matching hairstyles and shoes look like the same person, and, frankly, it scares the hell out of me. They both have skin that has never seen the sun. They both have those puffy nerd-lips which are somehow paler than their actual skin. They both have long, stringy, ratty brown hair which falls at their shoulders. It is never washed. It is always matted along the scalp. They have the same figure. Seriously. And not in the slightly ok way where a chick has no hips or tits. No. Pasty nerd-couple with matching hairstyles and shoes are BOTH CURVY. The male counterpart has HIPS, which he accentuates in his TIGHT BELL-BOTTOM JEANS! It confounds me.

Pasty nerd-couple with matching hairstyles and shoes also wear matching outfits every single fucking day. I am serious. I’m talking right down to the socks and shoes. The matching shoes, by the way, are brown and blue fake adidas, or as I like to call them, Fadidas.

This couple scares the hell out of me. Maybe it’s because I can’t tell them apart. Maybe it’s because I can’t tell which one is the woman until one of them speaks and either has a fake British accent or a lisp. Maybe it’s because I think they might each have both male and female genitals. I can’t say for sure. But I can say for sure that I want to punch them both. In the throats. A lot.

So, this was my class. Apparently summer courses bring the lepers out of hiding.

2. Muffins/Poop

What with all the exhaustions and stress of the past 6 weeks, my body has been craving lard. I have slowly but surely let my diet go to pot. It started with bagels, then became bagels with cream cheese on top, which turned into bran muffins, which morphed into chocolate chip TimWhore’s muffins every day for the past 2 weeks. A muffin a day keeps my uterus at bay. And I think they might be brain-food, because I apparently study harder and write better with a chocolate muffin churning around in my gunt.

The rest of my body, however, is not pleased with my recent addiction. This was evidenced yesterday when I went to the gym with TheHippie for the first time in a month. Even putting on my gym clothes sucked my will to live. Apparently muffins and lulus don’t mix well. In the change room, TheHippie and I whined and moaned about the run we were planning.

ThePeach: Seriously, I don’t want to do this. This is going to suck. I’m already winded just from putting on these fucking pants. Let’s go to TimWhores and buy muffins.
TheHippie: Why!?? Why can’t we just be fat?? Why??
ThePeach: I’m already tired. I want to lie down. I don’t want to run. Running is for lesbians.
TheHippie: Why, god??! Why can’t being fat be ok? Why do you force us to be thin??!

Well, we did run. And it did suck. My muffin-gunt bounced along with me for the full 6km. Afterwards, I did not feel athletic or proud.

ThePeach: *pant* Why do we do this? I hate this. I hate exercise. This was 45 minutes of my life that I will never get back.
TheHippie: *wheeze* Why, god?? I just want to be fat, damnit.
ThePeach: *pant* Uuuugh the muffins are not pleased. No. They are angry that I am trying to exorcize them from my gunt.
TheHippie: Let’s go get some deep-fry.
ThePeach: Amen.

Apparently, the FDA has released a new diet pill which may be the answer to my prayers. If my prayers involved shitting my pants and farting oil. “alli” is a new OTC drug which has apparently been flying off the shelves in the States since it’s the first FDA approved OTC diet pill. According to the website, http://www.myalli.com/, Alli works by blocking the body from absorbing the fat in your diet. Well, that sounds wonderful. Ideal, in fact!

But that fat has to go somewhere. And it does, my friends. It goes straight to your anus, where you will apparently shit and fart oil uncontrollably while you take this drug. I am serious. It’s listed right on the website:

What are treatment effects?
alli™ works by preventing the absorption of some of the fat you eat. The fat passes out of your body, so you may have bowel changes, known as treatment effects. You may get:
- gas with oily spotting
- loose stools
- more frequent stools that may be hard to control

Umm…oily spotting? So, we’re talking splatter farts, here. Oil-splatters. From the ass. No, that is not ok.

The website also has the following to say:

“You may feel an urgent need to go to the bathroom. Until you have a sense of any treatment effects, it's probably a smart idea to wear dark pants, and bring a change of clothes with you to work”

So, basically the drug manufacturers are telling you that it is inevitable: you WILL shit your pants. You WILL shit your pants, and your shit WILL be oily, and this greased-up shit WILL seep through your clothes and ruin them. You WILL have a constant stream of greased-up shit running out of your ass, and you WILL need to wear Depends. You WILL smell homeless. And this drug is flying off the shelves in the States, where the fatties would rather greasy-shit their pants than put down the milkshake.

So, after some deep soul-searching, I have decided “alli” is not for me. I have enough issues in my life without adding shitting myself to them.

Well, I had several other topics I wanted to mention in detail in this post, but I am running out of time and space. So I’ll try to sum up each topic in 2 sentences:

3. My New Bike
I have a bike now. It’s red.

4. The Cat
Milo ate his way through a plastic bag of treats this morning while I slept, consuming both the plastic and the entire contents of the bag. Then he threw up in a neat pile on the place-mat on my kitchen table…and then I decided that he probably doesn’t actually have a digestive disorder, but is bulimic.

5. TheAmazon’s Birthday
It was TheAmazon’s birthday last weekend and we got gunned and went dancing and she took her top off and threw street-meat at her boyfriend. We also found a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest, and I named it Bert…Bert died, and I am sad.

6. Sex
I’m having it! The rut in our sex life that I like to call “FauxHawk’s 4-month stint as a baby-catcher, gyna-sewer, and sleep-deprived slave-horse” is almost over, and my selfish whore of a vag couldn’t be happier.

Ok. I’m out of steam. Plus I’ve been writing this at work for the past 2 and a half hours, and I feel like maybe I should do something productive before I leave early to smoke pot and eat sushi with TheHippie and Cleavage.

I work hard for my money,


Monday, June 11, 2007

ThePeach's Job is Slightly Less Glamorous than TigerCat's Job

Here is the difference between my job and my sister's job:

It's 1:00pm and TigerCat rushes into my office to say hello after running a catering event on campus. I can hear her heels approaching my office before I see her. She is wearing a pin-striped suit, dangly earrings, has her hair styled, and has a blackberry strapped to her waist.

I am wearing baggy discount capri pants and a crusty tank top. My hair is still wet from my shower. My makeup is smeared with sweat after biking to my office. My hair is askew from my bike helmet. I am sitting cross-legged and bare-foot in my chair and reading about Paris Hilton on the internet. When TigerCat enters my office, I have a plastic plate with 4 cookies on it on my lap and a hotdog hanging out of my mouth. There was a free bbq on campus and, as free food always excites me, I look pretty pleased with myself. The hotdog is literally shoved halfway down my throat. Ketchup and mustard are dripping down my hands and and my chin. I am the picture of grace and femininity.

TigerCat: *checks blackberry* I have 10 minutes left on my parking meter so I thought I'd say hi before I drive my boss' car back to work.
ThePeach: I have a bike. *swallows hotdog*
TigerCat: God, I'm sweating in this suit.
ThePeach: My bike is red. *licks ketchup off forearms*
TigerCat: I just catered a lunch for the Urology department.
ThePeach: I just ate a free hot dog. *scratches head*
TigerCat: Well, I guess I should go get the car. Umm...do I see 20 empty water bottles lined up along the side of your desk?
ThePeach: *eats cookie* Ya.
TigerCat: Are they yours?
ThePeach: Ya.
TigerCat: Are you a crazy person? Are you hoarding water bottles now? Do you urinate in them and then hide them in places around the office?
ThePeach: *eats 2nd cookie* Recycling is in the hall. If I get up to recycle, I have to put my shoes on. Unless I want hepatitis.
TigerCat: So you just hoard all of your empty water bottles along the side of your desk in a perfect line until you decide to put your shoes on?
ThePeach: Ususally one of my office-mates recycles them for me. *whispers* I think my office-mates think I'm crazy...
TigerCat: *eyes water bottles warily*
ThePeach: cookie?
TigerCat: Thanks. Oops, gotta run!

And then she rushed out of my office in a whirl of pin-stripes, corporate professionalism, and judgement. I could hear her heels clicking as she ran down the hall.

It was a tasty hotdog.