Monday, June 23, 2008

Looks Like Somebody's Got a Case of the Mondays!


How was your day? Mine was worse. Here’s why:

1) Sexercise

We are a weird bunch in my office. One of my OfficeMates is getting married in a month and is dieting like a motherfucker (doesn’t need to. is beautiful), the other thinks she’s “fat for an asian” (isn’t. is tiny asian stick insect.) and thus hordes food in the tiny, smelly lab fridge, and the other is me – do I really need to explain? – and so it’s safe to say that the mention of weight, food, and dieting is a common theme in our daily discussions. We usually discuss these topics as we pork out on Tim Hortons, actually. Yum, irony tastes like muffins and shame.

Ok, so as usual I was chowing down on a bagel and discussing how much I hate exercise, but how much I loved having a personal trainer.

ThePeach: *licks butter off bagel* God, I don’t want to go to the gym tonight.
OfficeMate1: *sips iced-cap* But aren’t you meeting your personal trainer?
ThePeach: Ya, I am. *pours sugar into tea*
OfficeMate2: *takes 1 bite of cookie. Hordes rest of cookie in a napkin for later consumption* Is he still cute?
ThePeach: *guzzles tea* Ya, he’s pretty cute I guess. So young, though! He’s like a baby!
OfficeMate1: *sips iced-cap* A hot baby!
OfficeMate2: *slips fingers into napkin. Sneaks 1 crumb of cookie into mouth. Folds cookie back into napkin for later consumption*
ThePeach: He’s not even good-looking. He’s actually really, oddly skinny. I think it’s just the fact that a man is touching me while I sweat and breathe heavily that is attractive. My brain gets confused and thinks we’re having sex. Sex that I pay for. He’s like….my baby prostitute.
OfficeMate1: *sips iced-cap* I wish I had a baby prostitute.
OfficeMate2: *sneakily slips cookie-in-napkin into back-pack, which is full of other cookies-in-napkins which are saved for later consumption* Me too.
ThePeach: No. You actually don't wish that. It is a sad thing to have a baby prostitute. *sucks remaining sugar out of sugar packet*

So, the fact that I have a baby prostitute was a sad realization. But not the cause of my bad Monday! You just wait!

2) Scrabulous, or why AsianCymbals is a WHORE. A fabulous whore.

AsianCymbals and I have been playing Scrabulous on Facebook for a few weeks now. For those not in the know, scrabulous is scrabble. On facebook. If this doesn’t sound exciting, maybe you should get a job where you sit on your ass and troll the interwebs for any form of entertainment while you count down the minutes until you can go home and watch Dr. Phil. Or maybe you should eat me. Whatever.

AsianCymbals has been FUCKING PONING me at scrabulous. So far we have played 5 games and she has won each one. I used to think I was good at scrabble. Until I played the sorceress AsianCymbals and her vocabulary extraordinaire. The embarrassing thing is that, each time I lose, my stats go up on my facebook profile. So anyone who reads my profile can see that I am being fucking PONED at scrabulous. This includes my new Master’s program classmates who recently added me as a friend. The classmates taking the WRITING Master’s with me. The writing at which I am supposed to be skilled. And here I am, getting fucking PONED at scrabulous. This had to stop.

So, feeling the pressure, I resorted to cheating in our last game. AsianCymbals and her bingos and her triple word scores and her fucking “qat” would finally FEEL THE PAIN OF LOSS. I was referred to a wonderful cheating website by a fellow cheater, and I was literally sweating with excitement and anticipation. I had the first move. I looked at my letters, and thought I could make “snare” for 10 points. Not bad. But what would the cheating website tell me I could do? I typed in my letters. Huh. Apparently I could put down “anaerobes” for a bingo and 85 points. And that, my friends, is when I fell in love.

But a funny thing happened today, bitches. We finally finished up the game, and guess who won? GUESS WHO WON??? AsianCymbals fucking won!!!! I cheated and she still beat me!!! OH, VILE SORCERESS, YOU HAVE THE DEVIL’S POWERS! I put down fucking “anaerobes”, and “foh”, and “ceria”, and “trigs” and all other kinds of words that I previously thought didn’t exist, and I got bingos, and triple word scores, AND SHE STILL BEAT ME! And it’s not like the cheating didn’t come at a price. Oh, no. I was RACKED with guilt the entire time. I felt like an awful human being for cheating at scrabulous with my dear, dear friend. My dear, dear friend who just had a baby, for god’s sake! Here I was picturing her hovering over her computer with a baby screaming in the background, all sleep-deprived and weak, scrabbing with one hand while she latches the baby to her swollen boob with the other, trying to find the strength just to make one more word - and I was cheating!!! And yet, despite the days of guilt, the whore poned me. Again.

After the game, we had a little chat:

ThePeach: FUCK! How did you beat me again????
AsianCymbals: Hahaha, I don’t know.
ThePeach: No, seriously!! HOW???
AsianCymbals: Heh.
AsianCymbals: What?
ThePeach: *sobs* I know. I’m a horrible person. But you still beat me!! You beat the cheating website, woman! HOW???
AsianCymbals: Ok, hang on. Let me put down the baby. I don’t want him to see what I’m about to type.
ThePeach: *sobs*
AsianCymbals: Ok…I cheated, too.
ThePeach: …WHAT.
AsianCymbals: I’ve been cheating. At scrabulous. I’m sorry.
AsianCymbals: I’m so sorry.
ThePeach: OH MY GOD.
AsianCymbals: I know.
ThePeach: We were both cheating???
AsianCymbals: …ya.
ThePeach: That’s kind of…hilarious.
AsianCymbals: Ya, we’re both pretty awesome.
ThePeach: What’s wrong with us??
AsianCymbals: Do you think they have scrabulous in hell?
ThePeach: Yes. But no cheating websites. And all of our words will be 4 letters long and the game will take 6 weeks to finish.
AsianCymbals: *shudder*

Ok, so this was also a sad realization. But STILL not the cause of my bad Monday! Are you ready for it??

3. Don’t Feed The Spawn.

TheBoss came down to our office at around 1pm today. He brought his 4-year old son. The son looked a little…sedate. TheBoss said the son had the flu. TheBoss left the son in our care. What could go wrong?

He seemed kind of listless and sad. We fed him a cookie. The son then barfed all over the desk, the chair, the wall, himself, and the floor. We cleaned it up. We cleaned him up. The office smelled of child-puke and cookies for the rest of the day. The child whimpered in the corner while TheBoss remained in his office to avoid the puke disaster.

And that is why my day was worse than yours.


Thursday, June 19, 2008

FauxHawk Fails Man-Test; Manhood

So, I have a personal trainer now. I know how ludicrous this sounds. My mom bought him for me as a graduation present, which sounds nice in theory. And then you remember that this is my mom:

Mom: Hhhhi Hhhhoney. I got you a present for graduating.
ThePeach: Oh, you didn't have to do that!
Mom: I am giving you 20 personal training sessions at the gym.
Mom: Well, not so much "giving", as "transferring"...they were my sessions, but I bought a treadmill so now I don't need them anymore.
Mom: Now you can get in shape in time for you to go to grad school!

So, ya. I am being personally trained. By a 21-year old meat-head named Greg. I like to call him my personal hottie. But not to his face. That would be weird. He is cute, though. And I do enjoy male attention, even if I have to pay for it. Or, rather, my mom has to pay for it. Is that weird? Ya...

I've had 10 sessions with Greg so far, and the little man works me pretty hard. I sweat like a line-backer around him, so I've given up on appearing in any way attractive to him. Plus this conversation didn't help things:

Greg: Try this stretch.
ThePeach: Ugh, I can feel my rolls of fat touching when I do this.
Greg: Ha, you don't have any fat!
ThePeach: Yes, I do! Rib-fat! Look! *points out rib rolls*
ThePeach: I can fit things in there! Like pennies! Seriously, I've tried. Once, my sister and I got high and we put a lit joint in my rib roll. It didn't move. It was like my rib fat was smoking!
ThePeach: Wow, it's not so funny when I say it out loud.

I get awkward when I exercise.

So anyway, I feel like I am starting to see some results from my sessions. I feel a little tighter in the ass region, and possibly in the quad region. It's not like I needed to lose weight, but some toning would be nice considering that my triceps flap in the wind. Bingo wings! Bingo wings!

So, last night, at the bar, surrounded by FauxHawk's beautiful, stick-thin friends, I discussed this with him:

ThePeach: I think I'm starting to see results from my personal training sessions. I feel a little more toned. What do you think, can you see a difference yet?
FauxHawk: No, I don't think so.


I punched him in the ribs with my slightly toned arm, and my tricep flapped angrily.

ThePeach: You mean, you really don't see a difference at all?
FauxHawk: No.


ThePeach: Oh. Well, I think I see a difference.
FauxHawk: Oh. Well, I guess I don't look at you that closely.


At this point FauxHawk's danger-meter finally kicked in, and he tried to back-track by telling me that I was already toned and that's why he wasn't noticing a difference, but it was too late. He had already failed the man-test. To the gentlemen out there: a word of advice. ALWAYS LIE. ALWAYS. LIE. ALWAYS!!!!!


He tried to appease me by ordering nachos, which my toned arms shoveled into my mouth with speed and agility. Greg would be so proud.


Monday, June 09, 2008

UniversityTown's 15 Minutes of Fame

We made the news today.

Stats Canada released the results of a national study today, and UniversityTown has been rated the city with the second-highest rate of hate crimes in the country. Not bad for a city of 100,000 people. We’re second only to Calgary, where I can only assume they still practice lynching and the running of the Jews.

Seriously, wow. Shame on you, UniversityTown! I’m not sure why I’m shocked. Maybe because there are like 3 ethnic people who live here. Seriously, I think there is one black person. And he’s in jail. I am not kidding. This is the whitest town I have ever lived in. First of all, there’s the University itself: 95% rich white kids, 4% poor white kids on scholarships, and 1% rich urban Asians who dress, act, and look like white kids. The town itself is then divided into two halves: 1) those affiliated with the university/hospital, ie. rich, white professors, doctors, and researchers; and 2) those affiliated with the prison, ie. poor, white, uneducated addicts. We each keep to our own sides of the train tracks. Sometimes we rumble. Sometimes it involves elaborate song and dance numbers. Sometimes I get my life confused with “West Side Story,” but I digress.

When you're a Jet,
You're a Jet all the way
From your first cigarette
To your last dyin' day.
*snaps fingers*

So, I started thinking about these apparent hate-crimes, and wondering how we could possibly have the second-highest in the country unless they have ALL been directed to the one black guy or the one Asian grocery store, and that’s when it hit me like a soggy matzah ball to the forehead: The Jews! UniversityTown hates Jews!

I’m not sure why. The mayor is Jewish. The 3 richest families in town are Jewish and they own and control most of UniversityTown. Maybe the aforementioned poor, prison-affiliated families hate them? Actually, that might be it exactly. Maybe the prison-affiliates should put down their crack-pipes and stop making FAS babies long enough to find jobs? Just a thought.

There have been various “swastika incidents” in UniversityTown in the past few years, but there’s one example of ignorance that really pops to mind. I call it:

God Smites the Haters

Last year during hockey playoffs, FauxHawk, myself, and various assorted friends frequented a certain pub/restaurant every game night. They had a big-screen tv, a stocked bar, and a deep-fryer, and thus met all of our requirements for hockey-watching. One night, after the game was over, FauxHawk and I went up to the bar to get our bills. The following occurred:

FauxHawk: May I please have my bill?
Grizzled, trashy waitress: The Jew wants his bill!
ThePeach: *jaw drops*
FauxHawk: *jaw drops*
Grizzled, trashy waitress: Shouldn’t you be buying everyone’s dinner? You’re a Jew! You’re rich!
ThePeach: …wow
FauxHawk:…no, just my bill.
ThePeach: *kick*
FauxHawk: and hers.
Grizzled, trashy waitress: Hey, are you related to the mayor?

It was surreal. I could not believe the words were coming out of her mouth, but there they were; spilling out of her chapped lips and yellowed snaggle-teeth like word-vomit. FauxHawk and I were in complete shock. I was furious and wanted to beat people up, or at least call the manager and get that sludge fired, but FauxHawk wouldn’t let me. He calmly shrugged it off. I guess he knew God was on his side. Oh, those confident chosen people!

Two weeks later, the pub burned to the ground in an accidental electrical fire. I am not joking! God smote the Nazi pub! Don’t fuck with the chosen people.

I guess my point is thus:
1) UniversityTown is despicable
2) Always unplug your deep-fryer at night
3) Don’t fuck with the Jews.

ps – Guess which city took the #3 spot? CapitalCity.

Saturday, June 07, 2008

ThePeach Has a Confession

I am girly.

There. I said it.

I own about 30 pairs of shoes. I will not leave the house without lip gloss. My cell phone is bright pink. Most of my clothes are pink or a variation of pink. I scream when I see spiders. I just spent $200 on a flat-iron. I cried in the Sex and the City movie. I had to ask FauxHawk if my laptop has a dvd burner. For 3 years, I paid an extra $8/month on my cell phone bills in order to have call answer – which I never figured out how to activate. I keep a stuffed animal hidden beside my bed.

Why am I telling you this?

Because I like to think I’m not girly, and I like to think I hate girly chicks, and I like to think I’m a tough-assed motherfucker, and then I have to go and rent “P.S. I Love You” – quite possibly the most ball-shriveling chick flick since “Beaches” – and cry for the entire 2 hour fucking movie. 2 hours of crying in a chick flick starring Hillary Swank: the horse-faced girl. I have become everything that I hate.

I need a hysterectomy.


Monday, June 02, 2008

ThePeach is in a Cheery Mood Again and OH FUCK OFF

Hi, Kittens.

You’ll be happy to know that the brain ninjas are gone again and I’m back to my cheery, surly self. I was feeling pretty shitty all last week, what with the headaches and the ninjas, and I apologize to any poor souls (FauxHawk) who had to put up with me (FauxHawk), listen to me bitch (FauxHawk), and/or lose a hand in the attempt to touch me (FauxHawk). I’m much better now.

I wrote myself a prescription for a potent and powerful ninja-drug on Thursday, and it looked a little something like this:

2 large bagels
1 30 minute deep tissue massage from gay Indian man with surprisingly strong forearms
1 3 hour nap
1 low-cut shirt
5 hours of binge drinking with friends
1 slow-dance with TOP
1 tongue-kiss from TheCrazy
1 orgy offer from 2 Swiss mens witnessing tongue-kiss
1 $100 bar tab
1 stumble home in hooker heels
1 bottle of mouth-wash accidentally dumped down leg
1.5 hours rough, drunk, minty (mouthwash) sex.
2 orgasms
1 scarred kitten
4.5 hours drunk-hobo sleep
1 self-proclaimed sick day
0 hours work
1 large bagel

By Friday afternoon I was completely cured.

The happiness streak continued as FauxHawk and I decided to drive to CapitalCity that morning. We had brunch with my grandpa, who told us all about his recent senior’s cruise down a local river. They played shuffleboard, had a live boogie-woogie band, and ate soft food. His room was “adequate” and he met some “nice fellows”, although there were a few “hot-shots” who “thought they knew everything”. Ok.

After brunch we drove over to my new apartment building so I could check out my new place. I was pleased with the lack of rodents and sewage-free bathroom ceiling. Also, there’s plenty of room for Milo to gallop around in, and a garbage chute which promises fun kitten adventures: Milo finds new slide; eats garbage; paces air-ducts for eternity. Also, I discovered a little piece of UniversityTown in my new building, so I know I’ll never be home-sick: the landlord is the EXACT clone of the fat, surly, snaggle-toothed, mulletted woman who serves poutine at the UniversityTown Bubba’s!!! I’m going to get loaded every Friday/Saturday and go to her office and try to order some fries “wisssh hextra curdsssh.” I wonder how long until I get evicted? 3 weeks? 3 days? I’ll keep you updated.

After we checked out my new digs we went to FauxHawk’s house to drop off his laundry for his Mom. (Editor’s note: he is 33 years old). While there, his Mom conversed with us (please imagine in thick Hungarian accent):

FauxMom: Hello my dahlings! *hugs each of us*
FauxHawk: Hi.
ThePeach: Hi!
FauxMom: I just bought food for dinner tonight! 6 sharp!
FauxHawk: Oh…ok.
ThePeach: *kicks FauxHawk in shins. Hard. Shoots daggers at him*
FauxHawk: Oh, um…Peach and I had plans to go out for dinner tonight…I promised her…
FauxMom: 6 sharp. Don’t forget to pick up the Challah and the wine and, dahling, I really think you should shave.
ThePeach: *sigh*

It was hard to be mad when the woman was so obviously excited to feed us. Plus there’s no way to say “No” to a Jewish Mother. Seriously, it’s in the Torah.

FauxHawk went upstairs to shower and shave and I chatted with his Mom in the kitchen. The next thing I knew I was elbow deep in matzah-mix and was being tutored in how to make matzah-ball soup. It turned out delicious. I might be a Jew now. The next day I came back to UniversityTown and hung out with a friend all night. On Sunday FauxHawk and I went to TheMarried’s house for dinner and some intense Wii mariokart racing. I, of course, was Princess Peach. I lost.

This morning I officially convocated from UniversityTown University. I went to work early so I could pick up my diploma and the program which proves I graduated with distinction. I felt smart and wonderful, basking in the glow of my relaxing weekend and sense of accomplishment.

Then I came to work.

It started out well enough. I FINALLY finished entering the never-ending stack of motherfucking data. 200 30-page surveys, all painstakingly entered over a 1-month span. I acquired arthritis of the hands, quasi-modo of the spine, and retardation of the mind as a result of the non-stop data entry. It's an understatement to say I was pleased to be finished. Enter TheBoss:

TheBoss: Peach! How goes the data entry?
ThePeach: I FINISHED!!! I FINISHED!!! The world is a beautiful place again!!! *gets up to do a happiness jig*
TheBoss: You’re finished?
ThePeach: *lifts leg to begin happiness jig*
TheBoss: You’re not finished. What about those 3 boxes of data in my office?
ThePeach: *sets down leg* There are 3 boxes of data in your office?
TheBoss: Ya. You didn’t know?
ThePeach: No. They’re in your office.
TheBoss: Oh. Maybe I should have told you.
ThePeach: *sob*
TheBoss: Hey, is that a box of chocolate?
ThePeach: *sniffle* Ya, my Dad bought it for me this weekend.
TheBoss: *mouth full of chocolate* It’sh not bad tashting.
ThePeach: *sob*
TheBoss: *takes another bite of chocolate* Meh, I’ve had better. *takes another bite* By the way, before the end of the day I want you to run frequencies on every variable in the data-set.
ThePeach:…there are literally thousands of variables. Tens of thousands.
TheBoss: It should only take an hour.
ThePeach: It will take me THREE DAYS! MINIMUM! *wails*
TheBoss: OH, and I still have to go over the value labels with you. When are you going for lunch?
ThePeach: Now.
TheBoss: No, I need to talk to you. I’ll be back down in 5 minutes, k? Don’t go anywhere. *takes another bite of chocolate* Man, this chocolate is kind of shitty.
TheBoss: Ha, you’re funny. See you in 5.

This was at 12:15. It is now 2:45. I’d gnaw on my chocolate bar to sustain me, but the fucker ate most of it with his greedy little mouth.

What’s that, ninjas? Burn the place to the ground?

Looks like I need a refill on my prescription.

*opens bottle of gin* LET'S GIV-ER!!!