Thursday, May 29, 2008

ThePeach is in Rotten Mood; Interwebs Help

The brain ninjas are back.

The brain ninjas attack without warning, kung-fu’ing all over my cortex and judo-chopping my synapses. They hiiii-yah my lobes in my sleep.

There are about 30 brain ninjas working on me right now, and the result is not pretty. I’m in a shit-fucking-awful mood. You would be too if you had brain ninjas.

I read somewhere that creative/artistic people are more sensitive than regular people. One quote I really enjoy is that “artists are lightning rods for human emotion” – we not only have to be more in touch with our own range of emotions in order to create meaningful work, but we tend to be more sensitive and empathetic to the moods of others around us, as well. Lightning rods. In other words, if you’re in a piss mood, try standing next to a creative person. They’ll suck the piss right out of you.

(side note: heh)

You know I’m right. Look at some of our most valued artists: Anne Sexton tried to kill herself 3 times before she successfully oven’ed her head. Virgina Woolf walked into a river with weights tied to her feet. Van Gogh cut off his own fucking ear. Some people might label these people as depressed, but I know better.

They were all suffering from undiagnosed BRAIN NINJAS. Anne Sexton didn’t want to die – she wanted to smoke the fuckers out. Virginia Woolf was just trying to drown the judo-chopping assholes. And Van Gogh? He was probably trying to tunnel his way to the ninjas to declare full-fledge kung fu WARFARE. I wonder how many undiagnosed cases there are out there? How come there’s no “walk for the cure” for brain ninjas? No pledge forms to stop nunchuck attacks? Not even a single bake sale to support the eradication or throwing-stars? I’m going to start printing t-shirts: “SAVE THE ARTISTS! SUPPORT THE AEBN (Association for the Eradication of Brain Ninjas) TODAY!”

Luckily, I am aware of one treatment option: hilarious internet videos which exploit amputees, the elderly, and the incarcerated. If you feel yourself suffering from brain ninjas, I would seriously recommend the following treatment dosage (repeat as needed):

Every day brings us closer to a cure.


Sunday, May 25, 2008

Just Another Reason

You know when you binge on an entire large movie-popcorn the night before, so you wake up and have massive movie-popcorn gunt-bloat, so you squeeze into your lulu pants and trundle sadly off to the gym, and when you get there you look in the mirror and pat at your bloat wistfully, and then you decide that maybe you’ll adjust your ponytail before you start the sweatin’, and while you’re winding the elastic around your hair the elastic snaps and breaks, and then you spend 15 minutes digging through the balled-up receipts and mouldy socks in your gym bag trying to find a spare elastic, and you find zero elastics but approximately 37 bobby pins, and you contemplate going home because you just CAN’T do the sweatin’ without your hair pulled back, but then your popcorn-baby gives you a kick in the gunt (ooh! He’s gonna be a fighter!), so you determinedly start jabbing at your head with the 37 bobby pins until all of your hair is pulled back, but you look like some kind of hobo-medusa creature, and you’re so very ashamed of your appearance, especially compared to the perfectly lulu’d gym whores with their sleek tresses pulled back with lulu headbands, so you exercise on the elliptical in the very back corner of the gym in the hopes that no one sees you, and the more you bounce on the elliptical the more your medusa-hobo hair starts slipping out of the 37 bobby pins, so by the time you’re finished working out you look like a medusa-hobo creature who just got tossed around in the spin-cycle of the washing machine, and when you’re finally done the sweatin’ and have hopefully aborted the movie-popcorn gunt-baby you brave the public once more to walk to the Food Basics, and then they’re out of FUCKING BAGELS???!!!

God, how I hate exercising.


Wednesday, May 21, 2008

The Joys of Work

I took a brief (ie. 1 hour) break from data entry and paper editing today to have an msn conversation with my good friend ThePilot. I was going slightly bat-shit from hours of repetitive, mindless work, and a total lack of natural light and/or fresh air. I knew ThePilot would talk me off the ledge.

ThePeach: ThePilot, I need stimulation.
ThePilot: I’m your man!
ThePeach: Mental stimulation.
ThePilot:…totally knew that’s what you meant.
ThePeach: Please, help a bitch out. I’m dying. I beg you to entertain me.

So, ThePilot engaged me in some talk about the tv show “The Office,” and I sent him a picture off the lab website of TheBoss to show him just how eerie the resemblance to the character Michael Scott is.

ThePilot: OH MY GOD
ThePeach: I know! It’s terrifying!
ThePilot: HOLY SHIT!
ThePilot: Hey, there are other pics on your lab website.
ThePeach: Oh, ya. I’m in some of them. I look murderous.
ThePilot: Holy shit, is this a picture of your office??
ThePeach: Yep. Isn’t it depressing?
ThePilot: This is the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen. Seriously, I’m surprised you haven’t jumped yet.
ThePeach: I don’t have a window. At this point, we both became so overwhelmed with the bleakness of my office that we were inspired to write a series of spontaneous Haikus to capture our emotions. Here they are. I call this series “Spontaneous Overflow of Powerful Feelings: My Office”:

festering warren
filled with spite, malice...rancour
I hate you so much
- ThePilot

stark unpadded cell
my spirit screams at data
burn it to the ground
- ThePeach

I have met shit stains
that bring me more happiness
than my place of work
- ThePilot

Data keeps coming
I interpret words of man
1 1 0 1 0
- ThePeach

the light, it burns me;
fluorescent, flickering hate
please god, kill me now
- ThePilot

Windowless labyrinth
Tim Hortons: my trail of crumbs
Eat your way to light
- ThePeach

the soul has no worth
we are no more than numbers
me: psychologist
- ThePilot

TheBoss: my warden
Brings me stale bread and water
Eats it while I watch
- ThePeach

I’d really like to apologize if any of you killed yourselves whilst reading those. Please don’t haunt me.

I’m going to finish off with one final haiku:

Peek into my day
Don’t you wish you worked here, too?
Feel my pain, bitches


Tuesday, May 20, 2008

ThePeach's Life Defined

A few weeks ago I added a stat-counter to my blog. I’m a whore for readership but I’m also curious about how often my blog gets read. I guess that makes me a curious whore: the curious little ginny.

Anyway, this site blows me away. It is a stalker’s DREAM, ie. MY DREAM. I can see who reads my blog, how long they stay there, how often they check, and what page they come from. For example: an unknown IP user in Japan googled “Kraft LiveActive Cheese” on May 7th, ended up hitting my blog because of THIS entry, and then read through my archives for 20 hours! 20 hours! I’m taking over Japan! Like Godzirra, but with slightly less mayhem.

I decided to see what other items people have googled when they’ve hit my blog, and this is the list stat-counter gave me (word for word, scout’s honour):

Shiny shorts
Dating a gynecologist
Kraft liveactive sucks
We fuck guys like whores on tequila
cycling shitting pants
motorboat her
diaper pyramid
Canada yamulkah
Kitten vomit
Satanist fasting to break up families
labia lickers
spy cleavage
you can see down her shirt
peach love lesbian
Cat pee
Drank until I puke

This is my life. These are the key-words to my life. Shiny shorts and kitten vomit and drank until I puke.

This is my legacy. This is my legend.


ps – bonus marks for anyone who can figure out which stories these keywords are matched to. I think I got all of them.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Another Meeting with TheBoss

TheBoss rushed into my office about 5 minutes ago and asked me to stop whatever I was doing and listen to him carefully:

ThePeach:...ok. Listening. *places one ipod headphone into ear*
TheBoss: I need to you do some quick and important research for me RIGHT AWAY.
ThePeach: Sure.
TheBoss: I need you to find out how long lunch meat can be left out before it goes bad.
ThePeach:...I need more details than that.
TheBoss: Say someone left a lunch meat sandwich in their gym bag for a while...when is it not ok to eat it?
ThePeach: Define "a while."
TheBoss: I don't know, man!
ThePeach: I need to know how long the lunch meat sandwich was unrefrigerated.
TheBoss: Maybe two days.
ThePeach: And does this sandwich have mayo on it?
TheBoss: Ya.
ThePeach: Was the gym bag left in a cool place?
TheBoss: No.
ThePeach: Don't eat it, Boss.
TheBoss: ...
ThePeach: Don't eat it!
TheBoss: Ok, what if I already ate it?
ThePeach: Well, now this is in God's hands. Maybe have a glass of water.
TheBoss: I don't feel good.

I'm a known risk taker when it comes to expiration dates (for example, mouldy bread can still be eaten if you toast the bejesus out of it, mayonnaise can be kept forever as long as it is chilled, and eggs don't go bad - they grow into chicken), but even I would draw the line at that sandwich.

He might die.


Monday, May 12, 2008

ThePeach's Productive Sunday

FauxHawk was working at the hospital all day/night Sunday, so I was left to my own devices. I decided I should be productive for once in my life, so I carefully planned out my day around the following tasks:

1. Do laundry (sit on washing machine so hobos and hookers won’t steal clothes)
2. Go to gym (run at least 5km on motherfucking treadmill so freshly washed pants will fit better)
3. Go to Shopper’s Drugmart (buy painkillers to counteract crippling pain of treadmill binge. Also, buy candy.)
4. Go to Pet Store (buy Milo new cat-brush to attempt to tame the mange that is his fur).

Before I set out on these tasks, I thought I would sit in front of the tv for 20 minutes while I ate lunch. This was my undoing.

I had no idea Sunday tv was so FUCKING BEAUTIFUL! The movies! My god – the movies! Long story short, I ended up watching 6 movies in a row. You read that right. 6 movies. In a row. So, my productive day ended up looking like this:

1. Watch Corrina, Corrina on Peachtree tv (cry when Whoopi forgives Manny. Ponder at enormity of Whoopi's head. Cry when Molly sings to Grandmother.) 2. Watch Terms of Endearment on The Women’s Network (cry from when Shirley MacLaine says “I’ve been so foolish! All this time I thought it would be a relief when her suffering ended, but it’s not! It’s not at all! Oh, it’s the most horrible thing in the world, isn’t it?” to when movie actually ends 20 minutes later. And then for another 15 minutes afterwards.) 3. Watch Pay it Forward on Peachtree tv (cry when Haley Joel Osment is stabbed by child with mullet. The humanity!) 4. Watch Serendipity on Peachtree tv (cry when John Cusack learns to believe in fate and soulmates. Wonder if FauxHawk is soulmate? Decide Milo is probably soulmate. Pet Milo lovingly. Milo bites hand. Cry.) 5. Watch Selena on Peachtree tv (cry when Jennifer Lopez is stabbed. Also cry because she accomplished her dreams. Wonder if I will ever accomplish dreams. Current dream = Queen of the Cheeses) 6. Realize I have just watched 10 hours of tv. Raging headache. Decide I should accomplish at least one thing from my list.
7. Walk to Shopper’s Drugmart to buy painkillers for crippling movie pain and candy for the hungers.
8. Shopper’s Drugmart has been closed for 2 hours. Walk home sans advil or candy. Hang head in sadness and headache.
9. Headache becomes unbearable. Curse tv movies. Tear house apart for any sign of painkillers. Look through all old purses. Look in all pockets. Finally find an advil under a dirty sock in my laundry hamper. Consume with relish.
10. Feel better. Turn on tv. Watch Selena. Again. Cry at her spirit and beauty.

So, that was my day. I can’t be sure, but I *might* have PMS.

Also, I realized at about 1am that every single movie I watched except Serendipity ended in death. One by stabbing, one by shooting, one by tumour, and one by old age. I didn’t sleep very well after that. I could feel death’s icy finger jabbing me, and I’m pretty sure the ghost of Selena salsa’d through my bedroom two or three times. When I did finally fall asleep at 3:30am, I dreamt that my new apartment in CapitalCity had a toilet in the middle of the kitchen floor, and that the walls had all been knocked down so that I shared my space with a commune of meth-addicts who lived next door. I woke up at 8am with the cat sleeping on my throat, his mangey un-brushed fur in my mouth and nose.

That’s a pretty random way to finish up this post.


Friday, May 09, 2008

Ah shit.

I just met TigerCat downtown for some TGIF-I managed to go another week without punching TheBoss in the throat-I ate a donut every day this week and I'm depressed-my pants feel snug and I'm not sure why-what do you mean it was the donuts?-fuck you, it's my clothes-let's buy new clothes - shopping fun! The plan, seeing as how my poor mastercard is still in recovery, was just to go to the ghetto department store and buy some discount heels to prop my ass up a little and thus give off the illusion of a non-donut lifestyle.

Here is what actually happened:

$30 on discount shoes.
$200 at the pants store.


It was an accident. I just went in to look. Then things got kind of blurry and the next I remember is standing on the sidewalk with a pair of jeans in my bag and a $200 mastercard receipt in my hand. Somewhere, the mastercard phone-lady is cackling with pleasure and TheNurse is getting her bitch-slap hand ready.

My name is ThePeach and I have a pants problem.


Tuesday, May 06, 2008

ThePeach Waxes Poetic

I’m feeling sentimental today. I’ve been feeling sentimental for a few days, actually. It’s an alarming change from my baseline emotion of bitter hag, but I’m feeling out the territory and so far it’s not entirely unpleasant to feel…how does one say…happy? Perhaps the cold tar in my heart has oozed into the shape of a happy face, or maybe the acid on my tongue burned away the evil parts of my cortex.

Or maybe I had jungle-sex this weekend and it brought the love (blood) back to my heart (lady parts), if only temporarily.

Regardless of the reason (sex), I’m going to capitalize on this feeling (love via sex) to share some uncharacteristic (loving) thoughts with you, my gentle reader (recipients of love).

ThePeach’s Not Entirely Bitter Thoughts:

1. Fauxhawk = Love
Let us begin with Fauxhawk, the giver of sex. I know I make fun of him for being in touch with his feminine side, but this weekend he got in touch with my feminine side and I’m suddenly feeling quite loving towards my sexy, hair-hawked, loofa-scrubbed man. After 4 years he can still rock my world, he DVRs all my favourite shows for me, and tonight he’s letting me drag him out to what promises to be a horrific family dinner with my Mother and some long-lost family of cousins with whom she decided to re-connect and fake family intimacy. I’m expecting two hours of:

Mom: Peach, these are your 3rd cousins. Let them sit in your lap.
ThePeach: I’ve never heard of these people before.
Mom: That’s it, little cousin, climb into Peach’s lap! Let’s get all friendly and intimate like the family we are! *forcibly dumps 8 year old girl onto my lap*
Girl: *screams* STRANGER!
ThePeach: Mom! She doesn’t want to sit on my lap!
Girl: *screams* STRANGER!!!
Mom: Oh, wait…sorry, that wasn’t your cousin. I’m confused because I’ve never seen them before. *removes screaming girl from my lap* You can go back to your Mommy now, little girl! *lifts new 8 year old into my lap* Now, THIS is your cousin. Say hello!!!
Girl: *screams* STRANGER!!!
Mom: God, don’t you just love having such an intimate family? How lovely!!!
Girl: *pees pants*

And yet he’s still coming. Probably for the free dinner, but still. That’s love.

2. My Friends = The Sunshine of my Life

In 2 weeks I am going to my friends’ annual May 2-4 cottage weekend of debauch, bacon, and love. I cannot wait to be reunited with my dearest bitches:

- Cleavage: Flying all the way in from Englaaand just so I can motorboat her British Cans. She might be coming for more reasons than just the boatin’, but none are as important.
- WeeOne: Ah, my precious WeeOne! Flying all the way from Vancouver! I plan to roll in the dewy grass with her at 4am after a good night of the pots. The grass = nature = we are animals = she gets it.
- TheHippie: We have been separated by distance, but our love keeps us together. Let us reunite into Peachie (Hippie + Peach) and converge our souls once more.
- TheHubby: I propose a commitment ceremony. I’ll work on training Milo to carry rings on his back, and you get started on those meat and cheese pies for the reception!
- QueenB: This year, I’m going to make you touch my boob for real. TOUCH IT.
- TheCorporate: Darling, I look forward to bacon, bitching, and over-sharing. I have stories. I want yours.
- Workahol: Welcome back to Canada! Let us celebrate with cheeses, gin, and…gin.

I’m going to come back from that weekend like I always do: 10 pounds heavier, 20% less liver functioning, 15% less brain cells, and 100% in love.

3. There Has to Be Something…

Nope, I guess the power of sex can only do so much.

No, wait!

4. TV = Yes.
I forgot my lover, TV. TV has been especially wonderful lately now that the writer’s strike is over. I love how all my favourite shows have been mashed up into one fabulous night, so that my Thursdays go as such:
9pm: The Office. (DVR Grey’s Anatomy)
10pm: Lost (DVR ER)
11pm: Watch DVR’d Grey’s Anatomy.
12pm: Watch DVR’d ER.
1am: breathlessly discuss all shows with TigerCat. Ponder the mysteries of Lost. Propose theories. Question motives.
1:30am: sleep. Dream of Sawyer/Jim/Luca/a non-gay George.

Also, Grey’s Anatomy, which has unfortunately been anti-climactic this season, did deliver this precious line last week:

Callie: (to Meredith and Christina) Do people ever think you two are a couple?
Meredith: No, because we fuck guys like whores on tequila.

Perhaps the writers are reading my blog?

Ok, I think I’ve exhausted my happies for one day. I think dinner with my Mom tonight will extinguish the rest of them. Tomorrow I’ll be back to my old self.

*tar in heart re-forms a middle finger*