"dear jenn,
I have a paper due tomorrow and I dont know if i can finish it in time. do you have any suggestions on staying awake and alert enough to finish writing this essay"
*(Note: I'm not even kidding. This was actually sent to me! Me of all people!)*
This advice is supremely unhealthy and should not be taken. If you die of a caffeine overdose, it is not my fault, kthx.
Dear Sleepless,
Way to leave your paper to the last minute. S'ok, for I am the world's mightiest procrastinator. Your exercise tonight starts with the couch cushions. Your job is to find approximately $4 in change. Now, your quest is to go to the variety store of your choice and pick up some Red Bull or the equally putrid energy drink of your liking. While you are out, you may as well pick up a 2 L of the pop of your choice, a couple extra large Tim's coffees, and some instant coffee. (No, not to drink - to snort.)
Start with the Red Bull to get your caffeine level up. Move on to the coffees and then the pop. Not only will you be full of caffeine, but you won't be able to accidentally fall asleep because you will have to pee every 2.6 seconds.
Get a baseball cap and affix a small light to it. You won't be able to sleep with the light in your eyes. Also, check out the Nap Zapper of Kenny vs. Spenny fame. As soon as you tilt your head, this device will emit a terrible, shrill beeping sound.
"The Nap Zapper is the guardian angel for drivers. This product can protect you and your passengers from accidents due to drowsiness. The Nap Zapper is worn over the ear and has an electronic position sensor. When your head nods forward, it sounds a loud alarm to instantly awake you and alert your passengers." (Quote from their website)
I always thought my guardian angel would be something that emits a loud alarm. "You're about to fuck up your credit! ALAAAARM!", "You're about to date a loser! ALAAAAAAAAAAAAARM!". But not "YOU'RE ABOUT TO NOD YOUR HEAD! ALAAAAAAAAAARM!". My grandma gave me a coaster once that says, "Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly". I wonder how fast one of these things can fly across a room? Anyway, to keep yourself awake, you could just imagine one of these fuckers with wings and a halo against the trippy background of your choice.
Also, lots of candy and chocolate is probably a good idea. Avoid things that will make you sleepy, like decaffeinated tea, booze, the stuff that the California Gubernator just told us is "only a leaf", Canadian television, and mathematics.
Get up from your computer often and stretch. Put cold water on your face. Cuss out your roommate for no apparent reason. Worry about the state of your finances. Borrow someone's cat. Your paper will be written before you have the chance to fall asleep.
Don't forget your guardian angel!
Best,
Jennifer "caffeine queen" Loos
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
QWERTY & Cats: The Bane of My Existence
By notion of some freak flag, I have been blessed with both a love of words and the ability to type fairly fast and relatively accurately.
This leads to today's 3 AM rant: QWERTY.
I was typing up something that was nine pages, and while I type boring things, I think about trivial things. Like the arrangement of the keyboard, and how I really don't type according to the Almeda standards that were ingrained into our heads at a tender young age. In fact, I rarely rest on the home keys. I never use my pinky fingers for the letters Q,A,Z, or P, opting to use my ring fingers instead. Of course, any self respecting typing teacher will tell you that I am evil for my many substitutions. But it works for me, damnit, and typing nazis be damned!
Someone asked me the other day how I learned to type so fast. I didn't tell them the truth - too many games of Tangleword between the ages of 12 through 15 really did scar me for life. They taught me a lot of words that nobody uses and how to type too fast. I may not type correctly, but I can kick your ass at Tangleword.
Legend has it that QWERTY was originally developed to, in fact, slow typists down because of problems with old typewriters jamming. So why are we still using it?
We're owned by it. Duh.
I tried to learn to type on the Dvorak keyboard once and my brain just about leapt out of my head. No. I don't understand QWERTY, but when I'm 64, I will still be using QWERTY. You can pry it from my cold, dead, arthritic hands. It probably won't be too hard, because my wrists will have carpal tunnel and therefore no feeling (aside from the fact that I'll be cold and dead, you know.)
And that is why QWERTY is my first love and also the bane of my existence.
In othernews points of obviousness, the cat is also the bane of my existence.
The cat is a very furry animal. The cat has a lot of fur. The cat sleeps on my pillow. I sleep on my pillow. Even if I turn the pillow over, cat hair still gets all up in my nose and makes me sneezy and itchy and generally full of hatred for the cat. I know I complain about this cat every single day of my life. It is the most inconsiderate roommate I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.
I have sleeping problems. The cat is nocturnal. I get up at 4:30 a.m. to pee. The cat wants to play. Aww, isn't that cute...the geriatric cat wants to play. Must play with geriatric cat - who knows how many days geriatric cat has left in her? What if I don't play with her and something happens to her? Won't I feel guilty then? So Geriatric cat and I play a rousing game of "catch the crumpled paper" until Geriatric cat tires of it and I am wide awake.
I am laying in an uncomfortable position. The cat climbs up on me and falls asleep. And damnit, if I move, the cat is going to wake up. And the cat is cute. And old. So I sleep with a freaking charlie horse so as not to disturb the cat.
The cat enjoys weak tea with lots of milk. I enjoy strong tea with very little milk. I fix the cat its own saucer of tea, which it daintily drinks by dipping its paws in the saucer and licking them. And then it climbs back into my bed, and gets little tea dribbles all over my pillow. Aww, isn't geriatric cat cute? Geriatric cat is slightly sticky.
And then I think to myself: this is a cat. For a living, it meows and eats and produces twice its weight in excrement, and then sleeps on my pillow. Why, oh why, do I cater to its every whim?
Geriatric cat is bitchy. I have had ex-boyfriends that were very afraid of this cat, and with good reason. It is a great judge of character.
Geriatric cat is my bodyguard, my confidant, and my most trusted counselor.
She is only slightly the bane of my existence.
This leads to today's 3 AM rant: QWERTY.
I was typing up something that was nine pages, and while I type boring things, I think about trivial things. Like the arrangement of the keyboard, and how I really don't type according to the Almeda standards that were ingrained into our heads at a tender young age. In fact, I rarely rest on the home keys. I never use my pinky fingers for the letters Q,A,Z, or P, opting to use my ring fingers instead. Of course, any self respecting typing teacher will tell you that I am evil for my many substitutions. But it works for me, damnit, and typing nazis be damned!
Someone asked me the other day how I learned to type so fast. I didn't tell them the truth - too many games of Tangleword between the ages of 12 through 15 really did scar me for life. They taught me a lot of words that nobody uses and how to type too fast. I may not type correctly, but I can kick your ass at Tangleword.
Legend has it that QWERTY was originally developed to, in fact, slow typists down because of problems with old typewriters jamming. So why are we still using it?
We're owned by it. Duh.
I tried to learn to type on the Dvorak keyboard once and my brain just about leapt out of my head. No. I don't understand QWERTY, but when I'm 64, I will still be using QWERTY. You can pry it from my cold, dead, arthritic hands. It probably won't be too hard, because my wrists will have carpal tunnel and therefore no feeling (aside from the fact that I'll be cold and dead, you know.)
And that is why QWERTY is my first love and also the bane of my existence.
In other
The cat is a very furry animal. The cat has a lot of fur. The cat sleeps on my pillow. I sleep on my pillow. Even if I turn the pillow over, cat hair still gets all up in my nose and makes me sneezy and itchy and generally full of hatred for the cat. I know I complain about this cat every single day of my life. It is the most inconsiderate roommate I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.
I have sleeping problems. The cat is nocturnal. I get up at 4:30 a.m. to pee. The cat wants to play. Aww, isn't that cute...the geriatric cat wants to play. Must play with geriatric cat - who knows how many days geriatric cat has left in her? What if I don't play with her and something happens to her? Won't I feel guilty then? So Geriatric cat and I play a rousing game of "catch the crumpled paper" until Geriatric cat tires of it and I am wide awake.
I am laying in an uncomfortable position. The cat climbs up on me and falls asleep. And damnit, if I move, the cat is going to wake up. And the cat is cute. And old. So I sleep with a freaking charlie horse so as not to disturb the cat.
The cat enjoys weak tea with lots of milk. I enjoy strong tea with very little milk. I fix the cat its own saucer of tea, which it daintily drinks by dipping its paws in the saucer and licking them. And then it climbs back into my bed, and gets little tea dribbles all over my pillow. Aww, isn't geriatric cat cute? Geriatric cat is slightly sticky.
And then I think to myself: this is a cat. For a living, it meows and eats and produces twice its weight in excrement, and then sleeps on my pillow. Why, oh why, do I cater to its every whim?
Geriatric cat is bitchy. I have had ex-boyfriends that were very afraid of this cat, and with good reason. It is a great judge of character.
Geriatric cat is my bodyguard, my confidant, and my most trusted counselor.
She is only slightly the bane of my existence.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Dear Tim Hortons
So's I walk up to the Tim's gal an' I sez "get me a large double double please" and she hands me this cup with like... SNOW on it. And a bunch of kids SLEDDING. And a golden retriever gleefully playing in the snow.
Today is October 28. It is not even Halloween yet.
If you're going to use a special fancy cup, at least save it until after Halloween!
Or maybe even have a nice cup with a poppy on it that says thanks to our veterans.
But a bunch of kids gleefully enjoying a snow day? Oh fuck no.
Today is October 28. It is not even Halloween yet.
If you're going to use a special fancy cup, at least save it until after Halloween!
Or maybe even have a nice cup with a poppy on it that says thanks to our veterans.
But a bunch of kids gleefully enjoying a snow day? Oh fuck no.
Fuck you, Mattel
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvZRcJHRtOE&mode=related&search=
Yes, this is brilliant.
If I ever have a little girl, she will only be permitted to play with colourless wooden blocks.
Yes, this is brilliant.
If I ever have a little girl, she will only be permitted to play with colourless wooden blocks.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
advice #0005
Dear Jenn,
I met a girl on an online dating site and we really click. We spend all night talking to each other on aim and we have even changed out facebook statuses to "in a relationship". I think we are getting pretty serious; I've even checked out airfare prices to Illinois but I'm still slightly skeptical. What do you think I should do?
Dear Slightly Delusional Seeker of Online "Love",
You met her online and you really "click", hey? I'm happy for you.
Fundamentally, I know a lot of online relationships have worked out well, because whenever you mock online dating fifty people line up behind you to say "I met my wife/ex-wife/husband/escort/fuckbuddy/stalker online and it's working out wonderfully!". Good for you.
Changing your Facebook status is not really a big event. If you both are desperate people, seeing "In a Relationship" on your Facebook page might give you a hit of self esteem when you look at it. It doesn't really mean you're "in a relationship". One could argue that you and I are currently "in a relationship" - I am the writer and you are the reader. That's a relationship. We've become a Facebook centralized society. I could write on Facebook that I am the Queen of England. This doesn't make it so. You are currently "in a relationship" with someone you've never met. That's a little odd to me.
Being the crazy old maid that I am, destined for a life of lonliness and being a crazy cat lady - I would say proceed with caution. I can't tell you whether this "relationship" is worth persuing, because frankly, I know you're going to persue it anyway.
If you want to do the online dating thing, I'm tempted to say go to Craigslist and find someone closeby, at the very least. That way you don't have to spend all sorts of money and relocate. You can see her in person before you climb into her bed, just in case she's really gross or a man or something. You always have an out if you're close to home - "I think I forgot to turn off my coffeemaker!" is one of my favourites.
So, I'm going to tell you to think very hard about this girl and whether you're willing to carry on with a long distance relationship. Do you like her or do you like the idea of her? Also, you need to stop seeing Facebook statuses as milestones. They're not.
Hope you don't catch anything that's hard to pronounce!
Jennifer "hope you ask for proof of health" Loos
I met a girl on an online dating site and we really click. We spend all night talking to each other on aim and we have even changed out facebook statuses to "in a relationship". I think we are getting pretty serious; I've even checked out airfare prices to Illinois but I'm still slightly skeptical. What do you think I should do?
Dear Slightly Delusional Seeker of Online "Love",
You met her online and you really "click", hey? I'm happy for you.
Fundamentally, I know a lot of online relationships have worked out well, because whenever you mock online dating fifty people line up behind you to say "I met my wife/ex-wife/husband/escort/fuckbuddy/stalker online and it's working out wonderfully!". Good for you.
Changing your Facebook status is not really a big event. If you both are desperate people, seeing "In a Relationship" on your Facebook page might give you a hit of self esteem when you look at it. It doesn't really mean you're "in a relationship". One could argue that you and I are currently "in a relationship" - I am the writer and you are the reader. That's a relationship. We've become a Facebook centralized society. I could write on Facebook that I am the Queen of England. This doesn't make it so. You are currently "in a relationship" with someone you've never met. That's a little odd to me.
Being the crazy old maid that I am, destined for a life of lonliness and being a crazy cat lady - I would say proceed with caution. I can't tell you whether this "relationship" is worth persuing, because frankly, I know you're going to persue it anyway.
If you want to do the online dating thing, I'm tempted to say go to Craigslist and find someone closeby, at the very least. That way you don't have to spend all sorts of money and relocate. You can see her in person before you climb into her bed, just in case she's really gross or a man or something. You always have an out if you're close to home - "I think I forgot to turn off my coffeemaker!" is one of my favourites.
So, I'm going to tell you to think very hard about this girl and whether you're willing to carry on with a long distance relationship. Do you like her or do you like the idea of her? Also, you need to stop seeing Facebook statuses as milestones. They're not.
Hope you don't catch anything that's hard to pronounce!
Jennifer "hope you ask for proof of health" Loos
advice column #0004
Dear Jenn,
Do long distance relationships work? I met a guy last winter when my family was skiing in Quebec and we totally fell in love. The only problem is he lives 6 hours away from me. I really like him and I want to make our relationship work. What advice to do you have about maintaining our relationship?
Dear Not Jaded,
Before you start to read this, do us both a favour and go buy a pint of double chocolate fudge brownie ice cream and amickey 26er of the hard liquor of your choice.
Back? Good.
My dear friend, I hate to break it to you...but no. Long distance relationships do not work.
Blah blah blah, skiing, Quebec, totally fell in love. Cute story. I'm happy for you. But darling, you are not in love. You are probably in lust and might even be in like, but you are not in love. Somewhere in the Book of Love, it says that it is not possible to love someone until nine of the following twelve conditions have been met: he's bought you a car, he's bought you a house, he's bought you a ring, you've done his laundry, you've cleaned up his toenail clippings, you know what he talks about in his sleep, you know his first pet's name and he knows your's, you have a toothbrush at his house, you've stolen his clothes on more than one occasion, you've bought him a razor/deodorant/other item pertinant to personal hygiene, he's woken up next to you in the morning and not been afraid, and/or the sex isn't absolutely terrible.
He's going to tell you he loves you, and you're going to think you love him. You will spend lots of money and time taking journeys to visit him. But oh, something/someone better will come along, yes. Something tempting. "And oh, my darling Not Jaded will never know! Muahaha!". And then he'll feel guilty. And then he won't call you. And then you'll be wondering, constantly wondering. And then one day he'll grow the balls to tell you that it's over. And this "relationship" that you've soaked so much of yourself into is over.
So I advise you to get rid of the ski boy and get some new boyfriends. I suggest Ben and Jerry (it's okay, they're cool with it!), Mr. Jack Daniels (he will certainly help soothe your weary soul), Colonel Saunders (fried chicken makes everything better), Ronald McDonald (nothing better than intestinal distress to remind you you're alive), and Mr. O. Pekoe of the Lipton tea company.
Tell long distance boy you have a mission to walk across Mars or something, and have to leave the country. That way you leave yourself an out if you're ever desperate and need him back. But you won't.
Ta!
Jennifer "not going the distance" Loos
Do long distance relationships work? I met a guy last winter when my family was skiing in Quebec and we totally fell in love. The only problem is he lives 6 hours away from me. I really like him and I want to make our relationship work. What advice to do you have about maintaining our relationship?
Dear Not Jaded,
Before you start to read this, do us both a favour and go buy a pint of double chocolate fudge brownie ice cream and a
Back? Good.
My dear friend, I hate to break it to you...but no. Long distance relationships do not work.
Blah blah blah, skiing, Quebec, totally fell in love. Cute story. I'm happy for you. But darling, you are not in love. You are probably in lust and might even be in like, but you are not in love. Somewhere in the Book of Love, it says that it is not possible to love someone until nine of the following twelve conditions have been met: he's bought you a car, he's bought you a house, he's bought you a ring, you've done his laundry, you've cleaned up his toenail clippings, you know what he talks about in his sleep, you know his first pet's name and he knows your's, you have a toothbrush at his house, you've stolen his clothes on more than one occasion, you've bought him a razor/deodorant/other item pertinant to personal hygiene, he's woken up next to you in the morning and not been afraid, and/or the sex isn't absolutely terrible.
He's going to tell you he loves you, and you're going to think you love him. You will spend lots of money and time taking journeys to visit him. But oh, something/someone better will come along, yes. Something tempting. "And oh, my darling Not Jaded will never know! Muahaha!". And then he'll feel guilty. And then he won't call you. And then you'll be wondering, constantly wondering. And then one day he'll grow the balls to tell you that it's over. And this "relationship" that you've soaked so much of yourself into is over.
So I advise you to get rid of the ski boy and get some new boyfriends. I suggest Ben and Jerry (it's okay, they're cool with it!), Mr. Jack Daniels (he will certainly help soothe your weary soul), Colonel Saunders (fried chicken makes everything better), Ronald McDonald (nothing better than intestinal distress to remind you you're alive), and Mr. O. Pekoe of the Lipton tea company.
Tell long distance boy you have a mission to walk across Mars or something, and have to leave the country. That way you leave yourself an out if you're ever desperate and need him back. But you won't.
Ta!
Jennifer "not going the distance" Loos
advice column #0003
Dear Jenn,
I've been working the same job for over 2 months and I still haven't received a raise. It is my belief that, after working my ass off, I deserve some kind of monetary compensation. How should I approach my boss with this sensitive subject?
Dear Raiseless,
You need to tell your boss that he is a cheap bastard, without coming out and saying "you are a cheap bastard". Luckily, I have never been in this situation.
I would take Mr. Cheapskate aside and ask him if there is a convenient time for you to meet in his office to discuss a matter of concern. If you work in a call centre, tell him you'll meet him outside in the smoking area...same Bat time, same Bat channel.
Whether or not he promised you a raise when you were hired, pretend to be confused about the promise of the invisible raise. Bring it up casually. Say, "When I was hired, I was told that I would get a raise after two months. I was just wondering what I could do to increase my performance to get it to a level where I would be worthy of this raise."
Corporate soul suckers love this shit. They really do. You're inquiring as to how you could increase your performance, to meet your bosses' goals. You're not whining and throwing a tantrum about the lack of raise. Keep your cool. Talk sweetly. Explain that you've had another offer of employment, and they pay $x more per hour, and you'd love to stay with current company but you really need the money. Pretend to cry at the prospect of leaving. And the training! Think of all that money the company wasted on your training! How terrible that they'll have to train another person, when you already know the job!
If boss doesn't eat this up and give you the raise, he's a stupid moron and you don't want to be working for him anyway. You're just looking out for his business, after all!
Jennifer "couldn't raise the dead, probably won't try" Loos
I've been working the same job for over 2 months and I still haven't received a raise. It is my belief that, after working my ass off, I deserve some kind of monetary compensation. How should I approach my boss with this sensitive subject?
Dear Raiseless,
You need to tell your boss that he is a cheap bastard, without coming out and saying "you are a cheap bastard". Luckily, I have never been in this situation.
I would take Mr. Cheapskate aside and ask him if there is a convenient time for you to meet in his office to discuss a matter of concern. If you work in a call centre, tell him you'll meet him outside in the smoking area...same Bat time, same Bat channel.
Whether or not he promised you a raise when you were hired, pretend to be confused about the promise of the invisible raise. Bring it up casually. Say, "When I was hired, I was told that I would get a raise after two months. I was just wondering what I could do to increase my performance to get it to a level where I would be worthy of this raise."
Corporate soul suckers love this shit. They really do. You're inquiring as to how you could increase your performance, to meet your bosses' goals. You're not whining and throwing a tantrum about the lack of raise. Keep your cool. Talk sweetly. Explain that you've had another offer of employment, and they pay $x more per hour, and you'd love to stay with current company but you really need the money. Pretend to cry at the prospect of leaving. And the training! Think of all that money the company wasted on your training! How terrible that they'll have to train another person, when you already know the job!
If boss doesn't eat this up and give you the raise, he's a stupid moron and you don't want to be working for him anyway. You're just looking out for his business, after all!
Jennifer "couldn't raise the dead, probably won't try" Loos
advice column #0002
Dear Jenn,
It's Virginia again. I recently moved in with a roommate who I can't stand. She has taken over my apartment! Any suggestions on how to keep her from ruining my life? Please help! I'm at wit's end!
Dear Virginia,
I have had some very awesome roommates and some fairly terrible roommates, so I can definitely empathize with your situation.
I know you are a kind hearted girl, so it may be hard for you to take my advice. You are going to have to be passive aggressive enough that this bitch will want to move out.
Start with the bathroom. You need to call your grandmother and inquire as to whether she has any shower curtains from 1976. Shower curtains of this era are typically the world's most disgusting shade of green, or feature "interesting" prints. Once you've secured the world's ugliest shower curtain, you need to put it up and do a complete revamp of your entire bathroom. Miss Bitch's toothbrush now lives in an old Leon's mug, on top of the toilet, next to the air freshener spray. Cover it in barbeque sauce for a stunning visual effect! And if bitch has too many bars of soap or bottles of shampoo, toss them out and say you threw everything out that had DC Blue #7 in it because you learned it's made by children in a small factory overseas and you don't agree with it. If Bitch gets angry, accuse her of being a hardcore supporter of child labour.
Move to the kitchen now. You've joined a newcult religion that doesn't let you eat anything but oatmeal. You also have a problem with sleep walking and eating food, so everything that isn't oatmeal needs to thrown away for you to maintain your spirtual fulfillment. If Bitch says you're being unreasonable and that you threw out all her food, remind her that there's plenty of oatmeal and a seat for her at your next "meeting".
In the living room, remove the television and any stereo equipment. Replace them with a game of Pictionary and a harmonica. Explain that you are moving towards a simplified lifestyle. Disable any wireless Internet capabilities you may have in your house and dispose of all cordless phones and remote controls - as you are concerned that the "rays" from these items cause cancer. If she explains that this is unreasonable, tell her that you are just looking out for the goodness of her health. Does she really want to get cancer?
A few days of this peculiar behaviour, and your roomie will be looking for new housing, probably on the other side of the city. At this point you get to send the shower curtain back to your grandma, buy some tasty new groceries, and invite some cute boys to come over to hook your TV and stereo back up.
Best of luck!
Jennifer "if that fails, just quit paying the bills" Loos
It's Virginia again. I recently moved in with a roommate who I can't stand. She has taken over my apartment! Any suggestions on how to keep her from ruining my life? Please help! I'm at wit's end!
Dear Virginia,
I have had some very awesome roommates and some fairly terrible roommates, so I can definitely empathize with your situation.
I know you are a kind hearted girl, so it may be hard for you to take my advice. You are going to have to be passive aggressive enough that this bitch will want to move out.
Start with the bathroom. You need to call your grandmother and inquire as to whether she has any shower curtains from 1976. Shower curtains of this era are typically the world's most disgusting shade of green, or feature "interesting" prints. Once you've secured the world's ugliest shower curtain, you need to put it up and do a complete revamp of your entire bathroom. Miss Bitch's toothbrush now lives in an old Leon's mug, on top of the toilet, next to the air freshener spray. Cover it in barbeque sauce for a stunning visual effect! And if bitch has too many bars of soap or bottles of shampoo, toss them out and say you threw everything out that had DC Blue #7 in it because you learned it's made by children in a small factory overseas and you don't agree with it. If Bitch gets angry, accuse her of being a hardcore supporter of child labour.
Move to the kitchen now. You've joined a new
In the living room, remove the television and any stereo equipment. Replace them with a game of Pictionary and a harmonica. Explain that you are moving towards a simplified lifestyle. Disable any wireless Internet capabilities you may have in your house and dispose of all cordless phones and remote controls - as you are concerned that the "rays" from these items cause cancer. If she explains that this is unreasonable, tell her that you are just looking out for the goodness of her health. Does she really want to get cancer?
A few days of this peculiar behaviour, and your roomie will be looking for new housing, probably on the other side of the city. At this point you get to send the shower curtain back to your grandma, buy some tasty new groceries, and invite some cute boys to come over to hook your TV and stereo back up.
Best of luck!
Jennifer "if that fails, just quit paying the bills" Loos
my advice column! first letter!
Dear Jenn,
My boyfriend broke up with me a month ago and still hasn't given me my stuff back. What should I do?
Sincerely,
Virginia*
*names have been changed to protect the innocent
Dear Virginia,
This is a problem I have had before. Sometimes men like to hold on to whatever shards remain of the relationship, long after you have broken all the picture frames and thrown darts at the photos.
I have a suggestion for you. Like many of my suggestions, it is not ethical. Virginia, I have two words for you: pregnancy scare.
Phone him up and tell him you need him to come to the doctor with you "for some tests". Sound rather worried on the phone, and tell him how badly you need him there. If he has any fraction of a heart, of course he will go with you. If he has any fraction of a brain, or a tendency toward paranoia, of course he's going to worry about these "tests". They're either for pregnancy (18 years of child support, anyone?) or some terrible STD. Or mono. Actually, they could just be for iron levels in your blood, but he's not going to think of something like that. No.
So once you have him baited to meet you at the medical facility of your choice, you phone him again. Sound equally distraught. Say that circumstances in your life are changing rapidly and you need your stuff back because you're not sure how long it will be before you get sent to the convent.
If you have any of his sweaters and he asks for them back, say you need to hang on to them for a little while - he can have them back in approximately nine months when you don't need them anymore.
Now your ex is scared out of his mind, thinking that you are carrying his child. He's going to want to be on your good side, so he can convince you to terminate the "pregnancy" or put the "baby" up for adoption or move to Timbuctu.
You'll have your stuff back before your "doctor's appointment".
Good luck!
Jennifer "don't trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die" Loos
My boyfriend broke up with me a month ago and still hasn't given me my stuff back. What should I do?
Sincerely,
Virginia*
*names have been changed to protect the innocent
Dear Virginia,
This is a problem I have had before. Sometimes men like to hold on to whatever shards remain of the relationship, long after you have broken all the picture frames and thrown darts at the photos.
I have a suggestion for you. Like many of my suggestions, it is not ethical. Virginia, I have two words for you: pregnancy scare.
Phone him up and tell him you need him to come to the doctor with you "for some tests". Sound rather worried on the phone, and tell him how badly you need him there. If he has any fraction of a heart, of course he will go with you. If he has any fraction of a brain, or a tendency toward paranoia, of course he's going to worry about these "tests". They're either for pregnancy (18 years of child support, anyone?) or some terrible STD. Or mono. Actually, they could just be for iron levels in your blood, but he's not going to think of something like that. No.
So once you have him baited to meet you at the medical facility of your choice, you phone him again. Sound equally distraught. Say that circumstances in your life are changing rapidly and you need your stuff back because you're not sure how long it will be before you get sent to the convent.
If you have any of his sweaters and he asks for them back, say you need to hang on to them for a little while - he can have them back in approximately nine months when you don't need them anymore.
Now your ex is scared out of his mind, thinking that you are carrying his child. He's going to want to be on your good side, so he can convince you to terminate the "pregnancy" or put the "baby" up for adoption or move to Timbuctu.
You'll have your stuff back before your "doctor's appointment".
Good luck!
Jennifer "don't trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die" Loos
of bars and fights with bicycles
so i woke up this morning with a rather peculiar problem that apparently i was too drunk to notice last night.
my bottom lip is swollen and a bit bloody and the inside of my chin is like...torn up.
i can only surmise that i got in a fight with a bicycle.
i hope.
my bottom lip is swollen and a bit bloody and the inside of my chin is like...torn up.
i can only surmise that i got in a fight with a bicycle.
i hope.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
CBC Radio 2: Love
On Saturday, I turned my radio on to CBC Radio 2. I haven't turned it off since.
I can see you there, behind your computer monitor, giving me that look like you're going to commit me. But for serious, this radio station is love.
They play classical, they play jazz, and after 1 AM they play tonnes of indie music that I would never otherwise hear. And the best part is, if I like a song but can't remember the lyrics to look it up, I just have to pop on their website and click on playlists and I can find out the title, artist, album, composer, length of the track, and all that.
This is the perfect mix of music to write to, to sleep to, to think to.
So fuck yea, this geek listens to the CBC. And will probably continue doing so for a very long time.
Don't judge me.
*runs*
I can see you there, behind your computer monitor, giving me that look like you're going to commit me. But for serious, this radio station is love.
They play classical, they play jazz, and after 1 AM they play tonnes of indie music that I would never otherwise hear. And the best part is, if I like a song but can't remember the lyrics to look it up, I just have to pop on their website and click on playlists and I can find out the title, artist, album, composer, length of the track, and all that.
This is the perfect mix of music to write to, to sleep to, to think to.
So fuck yea, this geek listens to the CBC. And will probably continue doing so for a very long time.
Don't judge me.
*runs*
CBC In Depth - Violence in Nursing Homes
http://www.cbc.ca/news/background/nursing-homes/index.html
No one can say this has come as a surprise.
"What training there is, has been deemed in many circumstances to be inadequate because it still leaves low-paid personal support workers ill-prepared to deal with a nursing home population that is older, sicker and more mentally unstable than they were even 10 years ago."
Well, no shit, Sherlock. Offering the PSW course at Career College is an awesome way to get it more accessible to the public, but I have to wonder the specifics. Take for instance, my class. I love my whole class to pieces, they were all very amazing women for the most part. But... out of the eight of us, only two of us spoke very fluent English. Now, you mix a program that welfare is willing to pay for, the promise of a good job, a relatively easy course with fake credentials, and what do you get? You get an uneducated, egotistical little newbie.
Let me explain the "fake credentials" part. Graduates from TriOS and similar schools have to take this big test set by the National Association of Career Colleges. This is so obviously an advertising ploy, but to someone who wants a job, any promise of extra "college" credentials is like the fist morsel of food you've have in a month. No job posting I have seen has required that anyone pass the NACC, specifically. All you need is a PSW diploma and you're totally good to go. Now, I say egotistical because a lot of these girls, bless them, come out with 80% but still do not know their stuff. And it's scary. False confidence.
So you get these wide eyed wanderers out there in the nursing homes and do you think they remember ANYTHING they learned in school? No. The short staffed situations forced them to find short cuts that went against the book.
Do you think the elderly are well cared for? It's no fault of the staff at the nursing homes, not by an inch or a mile, but they are so understaffed it's not even funny. This leaves them with students and volunteers who have good intentions but are poorly trained.
This leads to outraged elderly people who do not understand why they can't get the time from the staff that they deserve. It's a terrible thing to bathe people as if they are on an assembly line, but it's the way it has to be for everything to work out with funding issues. The confused and outraged elderly are perceived by tired staff to be ungrateful for the care that they do get. Residents are violent towards each other because they are confused or they are in the wrong wing and are not getting the care that they need, either because no one has had the time to correctly assess them, or because there is no room in the wings they need to be in.
"Nursing homes in provinces such as Ontario have become so violent and dangerous for staff, that ministries of labour are targeting the homes for beefed-up inspections."
You can inspect these places until you are blue in the face, and make sure that their kitchens are up to code and that the residents' laundry is getting done as often as it should be. But until you address the underlying problems - the fact that PSWs are not trained well enough, are bullied by other staff, and that students and volunteers are being used in incorrect roles in our nursing homes - then you are not doing a damn thing to improve the lives of these residents. Pair this with the "minimums" that the nursing homes have to uphold, and a businessman behind the scenes pocketing thousands of dollars, and you are left with a system with more holes than anything else. I don't know if there's a whole lot the Ministry of Labour can do. It's not like all the staff at a nursing home can just walk off the front lines and leave hundreds of people in soiled briefs. But I don't really know if our Government understands that.
Hey, Dalton - wanna come do a gig with me? It starts at 6:30 am. Bring rubber gloves. (That's right, bring your own. The nursing home can't afford to provide them.) We'll start changing briefs and trying to get people dressed while we only have one lift for the whole floor. We'll probably get yelled at by some nurses on the way, just because we're us. We'll take the residents down for breakfast and I will feed and you can change beds, or visa-versa, whichever you'd prefer. Hope you don't hurt your back. There's no benefits. Oh, and you work for free. You're a student! See you bright and early! Ta!
No Love,
One of your extremely pissed off minions.
No one can say this has come as a surprise.
"What training there is, has been deemed in many circumstances to be inadequate because it still leaves low-paid personal support workers ill-prepared to deal with a nursing home population that is older, sicker and more mentally unstable than they were even 10 years ago."
Well, no shit, Sherlock. Offering the PSW course at Career College is an awesome way to get it more accessible to the public, but I have to wonder the specifics. Take for instance, my class. I love my whole class to pieces, they were all very amazing women for the most part. But... out of the eight of us, only two of us spoke very fluent English. Now, you mix a program that welfare is willing to pay for, the promise of a good job, a relatively easy course with fake credentials, and what do you get? You get an uneducated, egotistical little newbie.
Let me explain the "fake credentials" part. Graduates from TriOS and similar schools have to take this big test set by the National Association of Career Colleges. This is so obviously an advertising ploy, but to someone who wants a job, any promise of extra "college" credentials is like the fist morsel of food you've have in a month. No job posting I have seen has required that anyone pass the NACC, specifically. All you need is a PSW diploma and you're totally good to go. Now, I say egotistical because a lot of these girls, bless them, come out with 80% but still do not know their stuff. And it's scary. False confidence.
So you get these wide eyed wanderers out there in the nursing homes and do you think they remember ANYTHING they learned in school? No. The short staffed situations forced them to find short cuts that went against the book.
Do you think the elderly are well cared for? It's no fault of the staff at the nursing homes, not by an inch or a mile, but they are so understaffed it's not even funny. This leaves them with students and volunteers who have good intentions but are poorly trained.
This leads to outraged elderly people who do not understand why they can't get the time from the staff that they deserve. It's a terrible thing to bathe people as if they are on an assembly line, but it's the way it has to be for everything to work out with funding issues. The confused and outraged elderly are perceived by tired staff to be ungrateful for the care that they do get. Residents are violent towards each other because they are confused or they are in the wrong wing and are not getting the care that they need, either because no one has had the time to correctly assess them, or because there is no room in the wings they need to be in.
"Nursing homes in provinces such as Ontario have become so violent and dangerous for staff, that ministries of labour are targeting the homes for beefed-up inspections."
You can inspect these places until you are blue in the face, and make sure that their kitchens are up to code and that the residents' laundry is getting done as often as it should be. But until you address the underlying problems - the fact that PSWs are not trained well enough, are bullied by other staff, and that students and volunteers are being used in incorrect roles in our nursing homes - then you are not doing a damn thing to improve the lives of these residents. Pair this with the "minimums" that the nursing homes have to uphold, and a businessman behind the scenes pocketing thousands of dollars, and you are left with a system with more holes than anything else. I don't know if there's a whole lot the Ministry of Labour can do. It's not like all the staff at a nursing home can just walk off the front lines and leave hundreds of people in soiled briefs. But I don't really know if our Government understands that.
Hey, Dalton - wanna come do a gig with me? It starts at 6:30 am. Bring rubber gloves. (That's right, bring your own. The nursing home can't afford to provide them.) We'll start changing briefs and trying to get people dressed while we only have one lift for the whole floor. We'll probably get yelled at by some nurses on the way, just because we're us. We'll take the residents down for breakfast and I will feed and you can change beds, or visa-versa, whichever you'd prefer. Hope you don't hurt your back. There's no benefits. Oh, and you work for free. You're a student! See you bright and early! Ta!
No Love,
One of your extremely pissed off minions.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
It must be rainy and cold.
My room is in the basement, so sometimes I don't really know what's going on outside unless I go upstairs.
My cat, however, is a great meteorologist.
If it is cold and/or rainy, she climbs right up on my chest and purrs her little head off.
And she purrs. And she purrs. And she purrs some more, as if to say, "Aren't you glad I'm here to keep you warm?".
Yes, Socks. I'm very glad you're here to keep me warm. I'm very glad I can stretch my feet out without getting them bitten.
Anyway, I've shaken the cat off my chest and I'm going to bed. Doctor's appointment in the morning. Woo.
Cheers,
jennifer
My cat, however, is a great meteorologist.
If it is cold and/or rainy, she climbs right up on my chest and purrs her little head off.
And she purrs. And she purrs. And she purrs some more, as if to say, "Aren't you glad I'm here to keep you warm?".
Yes, Socks. I'm very glad you're here to keep me warm. I'm very glad I can stretch my feet out without getting them bitten.
Anyway, I've shaken the cat off my chest and I'm going to bed. Doctor's appointment in the morning. Woo.
Cheers,
jennifer
Monday, October 22, 2007
Paper...book?
39 minutes ago, I picked up a book from my mom's sewing room, after being assured by two generations of Moms that reading would, indeed, assist my insomnia. (One of these moms was my mom, and the other was her mom, so natch, if it helps them, it should help me, right?). Moms know things. That's why they're the moms and we are the not-moms.
So I go upstairs to my mom's sewing room and flick on the light. My mother, bless her, sleeps as if she is a security guard constantly doing the night shift at a museum full of one-of-a-kind historical artifacts. I'm actually not sure if she sleeps at all, but I do know that she has slept before because I have witnessed it on rare occasions. This woman will wake up if you wake up, in another room. She will wake up if you even think about waking up. How she does this, I am not sure. Anyway, sure enough, as I was in the sewing room trying to peruse something that didn't have a half-dressed man covered in butter on the front (yo, what's the deal with Harlequins, anyway?), she was roused from sleep and came to inquire as to what I was doing.
(Note: This whole mom-constantly-on-guard thing saved me from a lot offun terrible things throughout my high school years. Sneaking out of my house is practically impossible and involves a series of carefully executed plans, right down to the type of footwear that must be worn to successfully escape, and the fact that you have to wait to zip up your coat until you get outside. I've said too much.)
Anyway, so I grab a book, mom goes back to bed, and I sit down to read the book. It's something to do with vampires.
I read eight pages. I put the book down and grab my computer, where I can read pages and pages and pages of whatever kind of crap I want, and not have to follow a storyline at all.
Oh, how being part of the Facebook generation has, indeed, ruined me.
I don't even know how to read anymore.
In Short:
This book would be easier to read if it were set in Facebook format. The vampire guy could have a status message. Eg: "Vampire Guy is thirsty." Then vampire guy could post a short note about the trials and tribulations of his life, and vampire queen could post a photo album to keep us up to date of how many people she's bitten and converted to vampire-ism. Then we'd all know. And there'd be no reason to kill trees.
Also, on a completely unrelated aside: I don't know why I never drank milk before. It's not gross like I thought it was. And it's cold. Maybe the big, bad Bessie with the M-I-L-K has finally infiltrated me. Shit. Seriously though, I'm limiting my caffeine consumption in an effort to curb my sleep issues, so I've been drinking milk instead of coffee and tea. (It's funny because when you're a kid you're like, dying to be old enough to drink coffee. You get old enough to drink coffee, and you're astounded when you re-discover milk. WTF?).
Anyway, I'm going to go read a few more pages of Vampires Sucking Souls And Probably Falling in Love Somewhere Around Page 137 and then try to sleep.
Be well,
J.
So I go upstairs to my mom's sewing room and flick on the light. My mother, bless her, sleeps as if she is a security guard constantly doing the night shift at a museum full of one-of-a-kind historical artifacts. I'm actually not sure if she sleeps at all, but I do know that she has slept before because I have witnessed it on rare occasions. This woman will wake up if you wake up, in another room. She will wake up if you even think about waking up. How she does this, I am not sure. Anyway, sure enough, as I was in the sewing room trying to peruse something that didn't have a half-dressed man covered in butter on the front (yo, what's the deal with Harlequins, anyway?), she was roused from sleep and came to inquire as to what I was doing.
(Note: This whole mom-constantly-on-guard thing saved me from a lot of
Anyway, so I grab a book, mom goes back to bed, and I sit down to read the book. It's something to do with vampires.
I read eight pages. I put the book down and grab my computer, where I can read pages and pages and pages of whatever kind of crap I want, and not have to follow a storyline at all.
Oh, how being part of the Facebook generation has, indeed, ruined me.
I don't even know how to read anymore.
In Short:
This book would be easier to read if it were set in Facebook format. The vampire guy could have a status message. Eg: "Vampire Guy is thirsty." Then vampire guy could post a short note about the trials and tribulations of his life, and vampire queen could post a photo album to keep us up to date of how many people she's bitten and converted to vampire-ism. Then we'd all know. And there'd be no reason to kill trees.
Also, on a completely unrelated aside: I don't know why I never drank milk before. It's not gross like I thought it was. And it's cold. Maybe the big, bad Bessie with the M-I-L-K has finally infiltrated me. Shit. Seriously though, I'm limiting my caffeine consumption in an effort to curb my sleep issues, so I've been drinking milk instead of coffee and tea. (It's funny because when you're a kid you're like, dying to be old enough to drink coffee. You get old enough to drink coffee, and you're astounded when you re-discover milk. WTF?).
Anyway, I'm going to go read a few more pages of Vampires Sucking Souls And Probably Falling in Love Somewhere Around Page 137 and then try to sleep.
Be well,
J.
Bed Real Estate
I did the math. Well, rather some site that Google found did the math for me.
My cat Socks, at age 14 in cat years, is the equivalent of a 72 year old woman in people years.
Socks spends a great deal of time sleeping, which is fine, because I too spend a great deal of time sleeping. Socks' preferred place to sleep is my bed, which is okay, but my preferred place to sleep is also my bed, and so sometimes we run into conflicts about who gets what real estate on it.
The prime piece of land is the head of the bed, right where the pillows are. This is the equivalent to lakefront property in the eyes of my cat. I have mapped out this phenomenon for you in Paint:
The area in red belongs to Socks. The area in orange is variable, dependent upon Socks' mood, but usually belongs to Socks. The pink area at the bottom sometimes belongs to Socks' archenemy, Babycat. Socks likes to occasionally pretend that they have an alliance of some sort, just to trip me up. If Babycat is on vacation or sleeping elsewhere, the area in pink belongs to Socks. The area in green is the only fraction of the bed I have managed to successfully defend, and therefore I am permitted to sleep there (for now). I must take special care that my head does not escape the boundaries, nor may my feet be extended into the area in pink. The sentence for such a misdemeanor includes a wide variety of cruel and unusual punishments, varying from a quick, forceful nip of discipline (though she is 72, Socks has taken great care of her teeth and doesn't even have dentures yet), to a steaming gift of digestive problem aftermath for me to step in in the morning.
Don't ask me why a cat who weighs less than ten pounds, and her five pound feline counterpart, require 85% of a double bed. I do not know. I do not know why my pillows are prime real estate, as they lay their entire bodies on them, and do not use them to support their heads. On the off chance that I actually get to use my pillows, they are covered in a veritable coat of cat hair that would make Cruella DeVille swoon with delight, you know, if she were into that sort of thing.
In short, I do not understand bed real estate when it comes to cats. Or how a 72 year old, crazy, deranged, deluded, dementia-fied, crabby, snarling, lazy beast came to overtake my sleeping quarters.
My cat Socks, at age 14 in cat years, is the equivalent of a 72 year old woman in people years.
Socks spends a great deal of time sleeping, which is fine, because I too spend a great deal of time sleeping. Socks' preferred place to sleep is my bed, which is okay, but my preferred place to sleep is also my bed, and so sometimes we run into conflicts about who gets what real estate on it.
The prime piece of land is the head of the bed, right where the pillows are. This is the equivalent to lakefront property in the eyes of my cat. I have mapped out this phenomenon for you in Paint:
The area in red belongs to Socks. The area in orange is variable, dependent upon Socks' mood, but usually belongs to Socks. The pink area at the bottom sometimes belongs to Socks' archenemy, Babycat. Socks likes to occasionally pretend that they have an alliance of some sort, just to trip me up. If Babycat is on vacation or sleeping elsewhere, the area in pink belongs to Socks. The area in green is the only fraction of the bed I have managed to successfully defend, and therefore I am permitted to sleep there (for now). I must take special care that my head does not escape the boundaries, nor may my feet be extended into the area in pink. The sentence for such a misdemeanor includes a wide variety of cruel and unusual punishments, varying from a quick, forceful nip of discipline (though she is 72, Socks has taken great care of her teeth and doesn't even have dentures yet), to a steaming gift of digestive problem aftermath for me to step in in the morning.Don't ask me why a cat who weighs less than ten pounds, and her five pound feline counterpart, require 85% of a double bed. I do not know. I do not know why my pillows are prime real estate, as they lay their entire bodies on them, and do not use them to support their heads. On the off chance that I actually get to use my pillows, they are covered in a veritable coat of cat hair that would make Cruella DeVille swoon with delight, you know, if she were into that sort of thing.
In short, I do not understand bed real estate when it comes to cats. Or how a 72 year old, crazy, deranged, deluded, dementia-fied, crabby, snarling, lazy beast came to overtake my sleeping quarters.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
lmao
Hahahahahahhaahhahaha.
For shits and giggles I did one of those Facebook tarot readings.
That's what it threw back at me.
Oh, life.
Grammar Whore War: I won't tell you what that punctuation is for, but I will tell you what it's NOT for.
Dear Fellow Netizens,
I wish not to dissuade you from speaking your opinions on the Interwebz. However, could I please offer some words of wisdom?
The following are some very basic words and grammar points to see you through your next Facebook post, blog entry, message board post, fucking creepy as hell dating ad, IM, status message, or whatever the hell it is you are doing on the Internet.
1. Exhibit A: The Period
The period is one of those things you learned about in public school. It ends a sentence, and when read aloud, provides for a pause. So, without these little dudes, we'd all be speaking like an excited Britney Spears on crack in the junkfood aisle of the Supermart. "Ohmigod we totally have to get pretzels and Cheetos and pork rinds and Doritos and Cheezits and oh my gosh by the way does anyone know where Sean Preston is oh he's just out playing in traffic so it's okay oh we have to get orange juice!".
So without the period, we'd all be speaking like washed out pop stars on acid. You heard it here first, kids.
2. Exhibit B: The Comma
The comma is the one that stays on the ground, not the one that flies in the sky (').
Our sky flying friend is the apostrophe.
The two, though they look similar, are not interchangeable. (I have actually seen people do this.)
The comma does not signal that something belongs to someone (e.g. Clark,s Pigs), nor does it make something plural ("Clark,s pig,s are going to take over the world!!!!!").
Basically, if you have no sense of what the comma is for, don't attempt to use it. It will keep all of us sticklers a little bit more sane. And that's a good thing.
3. Exhibit C: The Apostrophe
The apostrophe is quite possibly the most misused tool in my toolbox. (No, that's not a euphemism for anything dirty, but if you give me a minute, I could make it one.)
People seem to think that an apostrophe can make any sentence better.
Or that it is like a four way stop for the letter s.
No, Virginia. In order to make a word plural, never ever ever ever do you incorporate my innocent friend the apostrophe. If I see a sign at a store one more time that says Diaper's, or Widget's, or Banana's, or anything to that effect, I am going up to the manager to inquire what possession of the diaper or the widget or the banana that he is trying to sell to me.
4. Exhibit D: &
Oh, the ampersand. I love you. You take a word that is three whole letters long and make it into a symbol. Kind of like Prince's name. You're efficient - a Bic lighter as compared to matches. And that's why I love you. However, scene kids have lately taken to whoring you out as a symbol of high fashion, when they type things like this:
"&& i wAs jUsT wAlKiN 2 tEh mAlL && hE tOtAlLy sMiiLeD @@ mE && i jUsT kNo iTs lUv."
Okay. That was painful to type. First of all, parents - if your child is communicating with other individuals of the human species using such language, you need to be shot for allowing such vile abuse of the English language to occur under your roof. Honestly. This is equivalent to screaming, "I AM A STUPID WHORE WHO CAN'T SPEAK ENGLISH AND USES PUNCTUATION MARKS AS A FASHION STATEMENT!" to a stickler. The children cannot be shot because they don't know any better.
So, Ampersand, I am sorry. Maybe someday we can go out for drinks and I will promise to try to alleviate this terrible thing that has happened to you.
5. Exhibit E: Your VS You're.
People! People! This is not difficult. Yet, it is something we see every day.
"You're" is the one that means "you are". That's what that little apostrophe guy means. He means we've taken something out (in this case, a space, and an a) and smooshed two words together (in this case "you" and "are"). And that's what it means. "Your" signifies something that belongs to me. So if you say "YOUR ANNOYING!" I am going to look puzzled and reply, "My annoying...what?"
It's a tough shake being a grammar geek. Nobody really understands the horror we feel when someone does something that they should know better than to do. For instance, quotation marks as emphasis. No. Just don't. An underline is a tool for emphasis. Italics are a good tool for emphasis. Quotation marks are good tools to denote quotations.
Anyway, I have to stop obsessively obsessing about the terrible state of punctuation today and actually go to sleep.
Be well,
Jennifer
I wish not to dissuade you from speaking your opinions on the Interwebz. However, could I please offer some words of wisdom?
The following are some very basic words and grammar points to see you through your next Facebook post, blog entry, message board post, fucking creepy as hell dating ad, IM, status message, or whatever the hell it is you are doing on the Internet.
1. Exhibit A: The Period
The period is one of those things you learned about in public school. It ends a sentence, and when read aloud, provides for a pause. So, without these little dudes, we'd all be speaking like an excited Britney Spears on crack in the junkfood aisle of the Supermart. "Ohmigod we totally have to get pretzels and Cheetos and pork rinds and Doritos and Cheezits and oh my gosh by the way does anyone know where Sean Preston is oh he's just out playing in traffic so it's okay oh we have to get orange juice!".
So without the period, we'd all be speaking like washed out pop stars on acid. You heard it here first, kids.
2. Exhibit B: The Comma
The comma is the one that stays on the ground, not the one that flies in the sky (').
Our sky flying friend is the apostrophe.
The two, though they look similar, are not interchangeable. (I have actually seen people do this.)
The comma does not signal that something belongs to someone (e.g. Clark,s Pigs), nor does it make something plural ("Clark,s pig,s are going to take over the world!!!!!").
Basically, if you have no sense of what the comma is for, don't attempt to use it. It will keep all of us sticklers a little bit more sane. And that's a good thing.
3. Exhibit C: The Apostrophe
The apostrophe is quite possibly the most misused tool in my toolbox. (No, that's not a euphemism for anything dirty, but if you give me a minute, I could make it one.)
People seem to think that an apostrophe can make any sentence better.
Or that it is like a four way stop for the letter s.
No, Virginia. In order to make a word plural, never ever ever ever do you incorporate my innocent friend the apostrophe. If I see a sign at a store one more time that says Diaper's, or Widget's, or Banana's, or anything to that effect, I am going up to the manager to inquire what possession of the diaper or the widget or the banana that he is trying to sell to me.
4. Exhibit D: &
Oh, the ampersand. I love you. You take a word that is three whole letters long and make it into a symbol. Kind of like Prince's name. You're efficient - a Bic lighter as compared to matches. And that's why I love you. However, scene kids have lately taken to whoring you out as a symbol of high fashion, when they type things like this:
"&& i wAs jUsT wAlKiN 2 tEh mAlL && hE tOtAlLy sMiiLeD @@ mE && i jUsT kNo iTs lUv."
Okay. That was painful to type. First of all, parents - if your child is communicating with other individuals of the human species using such language, you need to be shot for allowing such vile abuse of the English language to occur under your roof. Honestly. This is equivalent to screaming, "I AM A STUPID WHORE WHO CAN'T SPEAK ENGLISH AND USES PUNCTUATION MARKS AS A FASHION STATEMENT!" to a stickler. The children cannot be shot because they don't know any better.
So, Ampersand, I am sorry. Maybe someday we can go out for drinks and I will promise to try to alleviate this terrible thing that has happened to you.
5. Exhibit E: Your VS You're.
People! People! This is not difficult. Yet, it is something we see every day.
"You're" is the one that means "you are". That's what that little apostrophe guy means. He means we've taken something out (in this case, a space, and an a) and smooshed two words together (in this case "you" and "are"). And that's what it means. "Your" signifies something that belongs to me. So if you say "YOUR ANNOYING!" I am going to look puzzled and reply, "My annoying...what?"
It's a tough shake being a grammar geek. Nobody really understands the horror we feel when someone does something that they should know better than to do. For instance, quotation marks as emphasis. No. Just don't. An underline is a tool for emphasis. Italics are a good tool for emphasis. Quotation marks are good tools to denote quotations.
Anyway, I have to stop obsessively obsessing about the terrible state of punctuation today and actually go to sleep.
Be well,
Jennifer
Saturday, October 20, 2007
dear body
Dear Body,
As further to our conversation of approximately two hours ago, when I first decided it was getting near time to put you to bed, I would like to inquire as to why you are finding it so very difficult to actually close your eyes and nod off.
Over the past few nights, we have tried several methods to no avail. Radio on, radio off, radio on a timer. Rock music, country music, CBC Radio. Sleeping pills, no sleeping pills, Gravol, reading business textbooks, not reading business textbooks, reading PC Magazine, not reading PC Magazine. Writing before bed, not writing before bed. We've tried coffee (not a good plan), herbal tea (sort of a good plan), plain water (cold and room temperature), warm milk and cold milk. We've tried reading CNN. We've even attempted to see what the hell is up with Christianity -- we still don't understand, but at least we tried. We've read websites about museums and historical artifacts, which should surely make you want to sleep. We've tried late night walks, we've tried avoiding late night walks. We've tried warm pajamas and not-so-warm pajamas, and various bedclothes ranging from only a sheet to a few layers of blankets. We tried drawing pictures and cuddling with teddy bears. You are stupid, dear body, and I do not know what else you really expect me to do.
However, during the day, dear body, the second your eyes see the sun they scream in fear and close automatically.
Are you a vampire, dear body? No. You did not grow up eating Countchocula cereal or anything of that sort. So why on Earth do you insist on being nocturnal?
Please answer at your earliest convenience.
Love,
The Brain that Runs You
As further to our conversation of approximately two hours ago, when I first decided it was getting near time to put you to bed, I would like to inquire as to why you are finding it so very difficult to actually close your eyes and nod off.
Over the past few nights, we have tried several methods to no avail. Radio on, radio off, radio on a timer. Rock music, country music, CBC Radio. Sleeping pills, no sleeping pills, Gravol, reading business textbooks, not reading business textbooks, reading PC Magazine, not reading PC Magazine. Writing before bed, not writing before bed. We've tried coffee (not a good plan), herbal tea (sort of a good plan), plain water (cold and room temperature), warm milk and cold milk. We've tried reading CNN. We've even attempted to see what the hell is up with Christianity -- we still don't understand, but at least we tried. We've read websites about museums and historical artifacts, which should surely make you want to sleep. We've tried late night walks, we've tried avoiding late night walks. We've tried warm pajamas and not-so-warm pajamas, and various bedclothes ranging from only a sheet to a few layers of blankets. We tried drawing pictures and cuddling with teddy bears. You are stupid, dear body, and I do not know what else you really expect me to do.
However, during the day, dear body, the second your eyes see the sun they scream in fear and close automatically.
Are you a vampire, dear body? No. You did not grow up eating Countchocula cereal or anything of that sort. So why on Earth do you insist on being nocturnal?
Please answer at your earliest convenience.
Love,
The Brain that Runs You
random quote found in a google search
"Creativity is a bloody nuisance and an evil curse that will see to it that you die from stress and alcohol abuse at a very early age, that you piss off all your friends, break appointments, show up late, and have this strange bohemian urge (you know that decadent laid-back pimp-style way of life). The truly creative people I know all live lousy lives, never have time to see you, don't take care of themselves properly, have weird tastes in women and behave badly. They don't wash and they eat disgusting stuff, they are mentally unstable and are absolutely brilliant."
-Toke Nygaard
ah yes.
-Toke Nygaard
ah yes.
The Sex Lives of Fictional Characters: WTF?
So it was released all over the news tonight that at a press conference or some such jazz, Ms. J.K. Rowling was asked if Hogwart's Headmaster Dumbledore had ever been in love, to which she replied that Dumbledore was, in fact, gay. This was met with cheers from the audience, and Ms. Rowling replied that if she'd known it would have been met with such a great reaction, she would have told us of Dumbledore's flaming homosexuality at an earlier date.
I have three words to sum this up: What. The. Fuck?
Now now, before you get your panties in a knot - I am not homophobic. I don't believe that people choose their sexuality any more than they choose their skin colour... it just is. But Dumbledore? Gay? It's just sort of hard for me to get my head wrapped around. He's Dumbledore. He's old and stuff. He's supposed to be like, asexual or something.
So I can picture all the churchies that hate Harry Potter with a passion, writing out their laundry list of things wrong with the series, "OMG! IF LITTLE JANIE READS THIS SHE WILL CERTAINLY CATCH TEH GHEY!", and the fanfic writers going, "OMG! THIS IS SOOOO AWESOME! THINK OF ALL THE SLASH FIC-SHUN WE CAN RITE!1!!!!11!!!" and it really hurts my head.
Oh, JK. Who wants to play "Who's Next Out of the Closet: The HP Edition"?
I have three words to sum this up: What. The. Fuck?
Now now, before you get your panties in a knot - I am not homophobic. I don't believe that people choose their sexuality any more than they choose their skin colour... it just is. But Dumbledore? Gay? It's just sort of hard for me to get my head wrapped around. He's Dumbledore. He's old and stuff. He's supposed to be like, asexual or something.
So I can picture all the churchies that hate Harry Potter with a passion, writing out their laundry list of things wrong with the series, "OMG! IF LITTLE JANIE READS THIS SHE WILL CERTAINLY CATCH TEH GHEY!", and the fanfic writers going, "OMG! THIS IS SOOOO AWESOME! THINK OF ALL THE SLASH FIC-SHUN WE CAN RITE!1!!!!11!!!" and it really hurts my head.
Oh, JK. Who wants to play "Who's Next Out of the Closet: The HP Edition"?
Friday, October 19, 2007
date local...what?
I present to you the advertisement that was at the left of my Facebook profile this afternoon.
I am very interested to see what a Candian is.
Is it a person made of candy? A person from a country made of candy? A country of illiterates who just think they are from Candia? A Nigerian scammer that wants to send me $100.0000?
Oh Candia. Sure, this could just be a typo. But whoever made it obviously had to pay money to put it on the interwebz. I know our dollar is awesome today, but still...
So I guess I still need to invent the dictionary. And spell check. And fucking weed killer for whatever is photoshopped on Candia bitch's head.
I will not "click here to see more", Miss Giant Flower that looks like the Spanish Fruit Lady from Sesame Street.
Oh, Candia, I stand on guard for thee.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Today's elaborations
So I'm sitting at the office right now eating a bagel and cleverly avoiding actual work/waiting for more pages to proof.
I have decided that I am totally writing a book to chronicle the insane meanderings of my life thusfar. It is going to be a lighthearted comedy full of sarcasm and, as I try to put in most things, a healthy dose of cynical laughter. It will follow me through school, and eventually the big city, and back to hicksville. It is tenatively titled 1001 Things Not to Do With Your Life.
My beautiful sham fiancée Dawn-Marie has accepted the position of editor, and we have decided that we are quitting boys for a while, and therefore we are engaged. (No, I'm not a lesbian. But this is a good way to stay off of boys for a while, no?). ;)
lol. So anyway, that's the downlow.
More stories to follow when I'm not supposed to be working.
I have decided that I am totally writing a book to chronicle the insane meanderings of my life thusfar. It is going to be a lighthearted comedy full of sarcasm and, as I try to put in most things, a healthy dose of cynical laughter. It will follow me through school, and eventually the big city, and back to hicksville. It is tenatively titled 1001 Things Not to Do With Your Life.
My beautiful sham fiancée Dawn-Marie has accepted the position of editor, and we have decided that we are quitting boys for a while, and therefore we are engaged. (No, I'm not a lesbian. But this is a good way to stay off of boys for a while, no?). ;)
lol. So anyway, that's the downlow.
More stories to follow when I'm not supposed to be working.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Hardee har har!
Oh, life, you've really played the fastball on me.
Take what little sanity I have left and pull it out from below my feet.
Dare you.
And yet, as every single crutch I've had goes away, every little sparkle of a glimmer, wrought with excuse after excuse after excuse -- I'm too numb to really get mad anymore.
I take it back.
I would give anything for one week to have nothing dramatic kick me in the ass.
Take what little sanity I have left and pull it out from below my feet.
Dare you.
And yet, as every single crutch I've had goes away, every little sparkle of a glimmer, wrought with excuse after excuse after excuse -- I'm too numb to really get mad anymore.
I take it back.
I would give anything for one week to have nothing dramatic kick me in the ass.
Running, running, as fast as you can...do you think you'll make it?
So basically everything is still a mess. It's cool. I've come to terms with everything being a mess.
Never this many things all at once, but hey, I made it through last year and I can kick this year's ass. (Read: I will kick this year's ass).
So the plan's gone a bit askew, but upon deeper thinking I think it's best that it went askew now as opposed to later. I can't go back to my old ways. Numbing everything is fine until you run out of things to freeze yourself with. Or money with which to freeze yourself with.
So, to everyone I've potentially hurt by my backing out, and every opportunity I've missed by my backing out - I humbly apologize.
Will be going to the police station on Tuesday, getting a crim-rec-check, and faxing it directly to County HR, resubmit the resume and all that jazz to the Bobier... effectively, I'm calling this mission Dutton 3.0.
Wish me luck.
Never this many things all at once, but hey, I made it through last year and I can kick this year's ass. (Read: I will kick this year's ass).
So the plan's gone a bit askew, but upon deeper thinking I think it's best that it went askew now as opposed to later. I can't go back to my old ways. Numbing everything is fine until you run out of things to freeze yourself with. Or money with which to freeze yourself with.
So, to everyone I've potentially hurt by my backing out, and every opportunity I've missed by my backing out - I humbly apologize.
Will be going to the police station on Tuesday, getting a crim-rec-check, and faxing it directly to County HR, resubmit the resume and all that jazz to the Bobier... effectively, I'm calling this mission Dutton 3.0.
Wish me luck.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
today: a mishmash of words and pictures in lolcat form.
point the first:stupidcat is a whore.
i came home from the office and here she is on the couch, all posed out like she's queen of all shit. for serious. in my next life, i am going to be a cat. lookit that. she's like "ya, it's 2am... i gots ma head on the pillow, ma legs stretched out... and ur steelin ma eyesafety with ur camerabeam."
fuck off, stupidcat. i can't even go to the bathroom without you following me. you are a disgusting, vile, repugnant, smelly ass animal.
and i envy you like hell.
i even made a coffee cup castle to show you, dear reader(s).stupid bitch.
point the second: sugar, dun dun dun dun, oh, honey honey, dun dun dun duhn, you are my candy girl, and you got me watchin' you
in an effort to curb my sugar consumption, while my parents were away, i did a bit of an experiment. that's right. for SCIENCE. or laziness. alas, either way. i didn't throw my sugar packets out for a few days. this is two or three days of sugary goodness. now, i know this is unhealthy. 2 packets of sugar time an infinite amount of cups of coffee/tea is definitely spelling trouble. however, me without caffeine is a very scary sight, indeed.
point the third: im in ur politix misunderstandin u.
this is true. i do not understand politics. or politicians. or referendumbs (the b is there on purpose). doing some readin' and writin' tonight, one of the articles on the interwebz said that the low turnout at the election this year was due to young people and their apathy to a structured society. it's not like that at all, motherfucker. it's not that we don't care. but ur politix is stoopid, even lolcats can tell you that much. let's see what you fucks talked about this year, shall we? oh, the catholic school system. which has been pointed out to be extremely discriminatory. now, if you're going to fund a catholic system, shouldn't you be cheerfully funding a muslim system, a jewish system, a church of the flying spaghetti monster system, etc? as a devout pastafarian, i can only hope and dream that my future children will someday attend the Academy of His Flying Noodliness. for serious. (not that i would ever dream of pushing my religion on my future children. innocent until proven guilty, my friends. but if they CHOSE to attend that school, why should they not be allowed? oh, that's right... carbohydrates aren't jesus. i get it.)
this is molly. (2005 - 2005)she was a politishun who fought for equal rights among species.
it took her a long time to type up proposals and false promises, but she enjoyed the exercise.
the stress got to her and she died in a barren cage of rage and inequality just before her first birthday.
some would say that if healthcare was in a better state, and that if rats were recognized as people, she would have made it.
i think karma got her.
she never voted.
in other news, if you don't have the new radiohead album "in rainbows", get it.
i've never been a big radiohead fan, like at all. but i got it coz it's free.
and it's actually rather mindblowing.
Friday, October 12, 2007
black tea
in an effort to keep the winter pounds off, i have taken to trying to drink my zillion daily cups of tea without sugar or milk.
i don't know if my tastebuds will adjust to this foul neccessity, but time shall tell.
i don't know if my tastebuds will adjust to this foul neccessity, but time shall tell.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Hey, Life
People often lament that the twentysomethings of this world are greedy, materialistic bastards who are never happy with anything. I am so sick of this. Why on Earth do we judge people's "richness" on a monetary figure? Seriously. With the fall leaves starting to change, I've had a lot of time to think about my current situation and those around me. Strangely, I've pretty much managed to keep company of relatively sane, non-materialistic people, so I suppose I might not be seeing it head-on. I hate money. I hate everything about it.
I would be happy if I could just know that I would be in a stable situation, and in a few years have a relatively normal life. I want a house, I want a car, I want kids (peddle yer ass backwards - not any time soon). It seems that most people want these things in their late twenties / early thirties, and I know I should not be one to compare to everyone else, but I have to wonder if I'll be stable enough to even think about accomplishing anything before I'm like... a hundred years old. I don't exactly have the best track record.
I want a job I like, seeing as I have a degree that I like well enough. I want to go back to school eventually because I know I should have gone to university all along. And I will. Even if it's just part time courses while I do grunt work. Fine.
I want a computer on a nice desk where I can sit and write. I want things I've written already framed on the wall behind it. I want to stop relying on people for money, for food, for happiness.
I want to grow up. I hate how, indirectly, I will be three years old for the rest of my life if I stay here. I hate how the demons follow me here no matter where I go. It's rather amazing. I cannot live this life as it is anymore.
So, Sunday is a new start. Clean slate.
I'm scared as all hell but excited at the same time.
Hopefully in six months I look back at this period of my life in awe.
That's kind of how I look back on the past three years.
I would be happy if I could just know that I would be in a stable situation, and in a few years have a relatively normal life. I want a house, I want a car, I want kids (peddle yer ass backwards - not any time soon). It seems that most people want these things in their late twenties / early thirties, and I know I should not be one to compare to everyone else, but I have to wonder if I'll be stable enough to even think about accomplishing anything before I'm like... a hundred years old. I don't exactly have the best track record.
I want a job I like, seeing as I have a degree that I like well enough. I want to go back to school eventually because I know I should have gone to university all along. And I will. Even if it's just part time courses while I do grunt work. Fine.
I want a computer on a nice desk where I can sit and write. I want things I've written already framed on the wall behind it. I want to stop relying on people for money, for food, for happiness.
I want to grow up. I hate how, indirectly, I will be three years old for the rest of my life if I stay here. I hate how the demons follow me here no matter where I go. It's rather amazing. I cannot live this life as it is anymore.
So, Sunday is a new start. Clean slate.
I'm scared as all hell but excited at the same time.
Hopefully in six months I look back at this period of my life in awe.
That's kind of how I look back on the past three years.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
when you dream, what do you dream about?
I had a dream about two black snakes chasing me and one of them bit me then I woke up all sweaty. Could you tell me the significance of the snakes?
It would depend on the association you had with the dream. Did you struggle with the snake or did it wither and die after it bit you? Gillian Holloway, Ph.D. identifies being bitten by a snake as meaning different things. She says, "In many dreams a single snake will come to bite you, and you may in fact be bitten after a brief struggle. To your amazement though, you will not die, and may find that the situation is not as bad as you thought." According to Holloway you have this kind of dream if you are struggling with some problem, relationship or challenge. "Such a snake-ordeal is an important signal that you are going through a kind of initiation; a psychological and spiritual trial that has the potential to change your life for the better if you deal with it bravely and with a clear heart. You may have to give up something you thought you couldn't, or take a stand for your principles or faith."
http://www.dreamsnightmares.com/snakes.html
Oh.
The plan
The plan includes the steps to take to be free of all of this.
The plan involves many late night walks.
The plan involves many late night talks.
The plan involves stepping out of my bubble and using what I've been given.
The plan involves creativity and other things that have been stifled over the years.
The plan involves no longer giving a fuck what anyone else thinks.
Approval of the plan is not necessary nor is it really wanted.
The plan involves my stripping my soul down to the very core and not giving a damn what anyone else thinks. I will not let what has happened to me over these past years be wasted. Everything shapes a person in some way, shape, or form.
The plan involves a hippy girl and a journey that is just beginning. And a lot of coffee.
Bottom line: there is a plan.
Bottommer line: it will prove you wrong.
The plan involves many late night walks.
The plan involves many late night talks.
The plan involves stepping out of my bubble and using what I've been given.
The plan involves creativity and other things that have been stifled over the years.
The plan involves no longer giving a fuck what anyone else thinks.
Approval of the plan is not necessary nor is it really wanted.
The plan involves my stripping my soul down to the very core and not giving a damn what anyone else thinks. I will not let what has happened to me over these past years be wasted. Everything shapes a person in some way, shape, or form.
The plan involves a hippy girl and a journey that is just beginning. And a lot of coffee.
Bottom line: there is a plan.
Bottommer line: it will prove you wrong.
Monday, October 8, 2007
dear karma
Dear Mr. or Ms. Karma,
I would like to make a further inquiry as to our original contract as signed on March 15, 1986.
I would like to propose that you re-evaluate my current standing. As I understand it, "What comes around" is eventually supposed to "go around". While I do not consider myself an exemplary citizen by any means, I fail to understand the constructiveness of my current situation.
I've bought lunch for random homeless people when I did not have the money myself. I once had coffee with a hobo at a Greyhound station. I've tutored for free. I have a college degree in ass wiping and diaper changing. I've tried to approach every situation with the most open sort of mind that I could.
Perhaps you are trying to do this in a reverse method, whereby you give me the crap first and the good after that. However, I would really appreciate a response at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
Jennifer L. Loos
I would like to make a further inquiry as to our original contract as signed on March 15, 1986.
I would like to propose that you re-evaluate my current standing. As I understand it, "What comes around" is eventually supposed to "go around". While I do not consider myself an exemplary citizen by any means, I fail to understand the constructiveness of my current situation.
I've bought lunch for random homeless people when I did not have the money myself. I once had coffee with a hobo at a Greyhound station. I've tutored for free. I have a college degree in ass wiping and diaper changing. I've tried to approach every situation with the most open sort of mind that I could.
Perhaps you are trying to do this in a reverse method, whereby you give me the crap first and the good after that. However, I would really appreciate a response at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
Jennifer L. Loos
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Saturday, October 6, 2007
yesness
so bry got the apartment.
this is brilliant news.
no couch hopping!
any producers interested in a real-life production of will and grace?
also: new template.
yah.
this is brilliant news.
no couch hopping!
any producers interested in a real-life production of will and grace?
also: new template.
yah.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Smiley Jenn face
"Put on your smiley Jenn face that I saw in the halls of this school and you'll be working in no time! I really believe that - and in you. Forget about the past, and think of this as a new start for Jenn. You deserve a nice fresh start in your new PSW career!
B
PS - I'll email you the places that I'll send your Resume so that you know to expect a potential call from them. Good luck!"
....
squee.
....
squee.
I motherfucking did it.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Okay, so you all know I'm a fairly odd character. Sometimes I get a little too odd and such.
But today, today I motherfucking did it.
I got the balls to write it all down. Every little bit of it. What's broken, what I need to fix, how I could possibly go about fixing it. I did some reading. Lots of people have recovered from situations worse than mine.
So then I got the balls to call the school and talk to B, the career counselor. Why so long, you ask? I was under the impression that I was in a flood of trouble. But I'm totally not. So it's gravy, my friends, GRAVY. One course that I had finished wasn't flipped over to complete, and now it is, so whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! (Like, way to think, you like...failed college... because how do you fail career college?)
My friend called and was like "and you went to college...why?" and I was all... uh... certainly not for the fun of it. And like, I graduated with Honours! Like, ninety something percent!
So, bottom line -- I'm waiting for one phone call from R, and I'm totally an all-the-way college graduate.
I specified that I will be needing full time hours and/or two jobs, as I will have to get some sort of housing. They're rather confident they can hook me up right away, which is awesome.
Say I get $15/hr and I only get part time (say 25 hours) , that's still $1500/mo. ($2400/mo if full time).
Part Time:
If rent is $600, that leaves me $900.
Food & Toiletries: $160/mo ($40/week)
Phone/Internet: $150/mo ($37.50/week)
Bus Pass: $75/mo ($18.75/week)
Allowance (clothes and entertainment): $160/mo ($40/week)
Total: $545
Which leaves $355 remaining.
The $300 goes towards the debt.
The $55 goes in a savings account in case of emergency.
$300 towards debt means $75 a week, set up on a cycle that would go such as this:
Week 1: Laptop
Week 2: Credit Line
Week 3: Roger's
Week 4: Credit card #1
Week 5: Credit card #2
Week 6: OSAP
According to my calculations, I am $16,700 in debt. So, at that rate, even with interest disregarded, it will take me 4.28 years to pay off everything if I'm only working part time.
Nows, if'n I can get full time or two jobs, I will be laughing. Observe:
$15/hr * 40 hours * 4 weeks = $2400/mo
Say rent is $600, so $1800 left to barter with.
The incidentals remain the same:
Food & Toiletries: $160/mo ($40/week)
Phone/Internet: $150/mo ($37.50/week)
Bus Pass: $75/mo ($18.75/week)
Allowance: $160/mo ($40/week)
They still total $545, leaving $1255 to "play with".
Best case scenario, I put $1000 on the debt every month.
That's $250 payments every week.
$250 * 52 weeks = $13,000
$16,700 / $13,000 = 1.28 years til I'm debt free.
So like, things are NOWHERE near as dire as I thought they were. I thought I was looking at debt until I was like a hundred and fifty and that there was like, no point in trying. But no, Virginia, luckily, this is not the case. I just have to learn to stick to a budget and not do anything dumb.
Okay, so you all know I'm a fairly odd character. Sometimes I get a little too odd and such.
But today, today I motherfucking did it.
I got the balls to write it all down. Every little bit of it. What's broken, what I need to fix, how I could possibly go about fixing it. I did some reading. Lots of people have recovered from situations worse than mine.
So then I got the balls to call the school and talk to B, the career counselor. Why so long, you ask? I was under the impression that I was in a flood of trouble. But I'm totally not. So it's gravy, my friends, GRAVY. One course that I had finished wasn't flipped over to complete, and now it is, so whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! (Like, way to think, you like...failed college... because how do you fail career college?)
My friend called and was like "and you went to college...why?" and I was all... uh... certainly not for the fun of it. And like, I graduated with Honours! Like, ninety something percent!
So, bottom line -- I'm waiting for one phone call from R, and I'm totally an all-the-way college graduate.
I specified that I will be needing full time hours and/or two jobs, as I will have to get some sort of housing. They're rather confident they can hook me up right away, which is awesome.
Say I get $15/hr and I only get part time (say 25 hours) , that's still $1500/mo. ($2400/mo if full time).
Part Time:
If rent is $600, that leaves me $900.
Food & Toiletries: $160/mo ($40/week)
Phone/Internet: $150/mo ($37.50/week)
Bus Pass: $75/mo ($18.75/week)
Allowance (clothes and entertainment): $160/mo ($40/week)
Total: $545
Which leaves $355 remaining.
The $300 goes towards the debt.
The $55 goes in a savings account in case of emergency.
$300 towards debt means $75 a week, set up on a cycle that would go such as this:
Week 1: Laptop
Week 2: Credit Line
Week 3: Roger's
Week 4: Credit card #1
Week 5: Credit card #2
Week 6: OSAP
According to my calculations, I am $16,700 in debt. So, at that rate, even with interest disregarded, it will take me 4.28 years to pay off everything if I'm only working part time.
Nows, if'n I can get full time or two jobs, I will be laughing. Observe:
$15/hr * 40 hours * 4 weeks = $2400/mo
Say rent is $600, so $1800 left to barter with.
The incidentals remain the same:
Food & Toiletries: $160/mo ($40/week)
Phone/Internet: $150/mo ($37.50/week)
Bus Pass: $75/mo ($18.75/week)
Allowance: $160/mo ($40/week)
They still total $545, leaving $1255 to "play with".
Best case scenario, I put $1000 on the debt every month.
That's $250 payments every week.
$250 * 52 weeks = $13,000
$16,700 / $13,000 = 1.28 years til I'm debt free.
So like, things are NOWHERE near as dire as I thought they were. I thought I was looking at debt until I was like a hundred and fifty and that there was like, no point in trying. But no, Virginia, luckily, this is not the case. I just have to learn to stick to a budget and not do anything dumb.
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