1/30/2011

And I will not send you a picture of my cooter either.

"She's a 'wait until marriage' kind of girl. I am getting cock-blocked by Jesus. But I really love her, so I guess will be waiting. Though I may have to take care of my urges elsewhere," he said.

Now, I do not feel that it is my place to pass judgement on others, but I could not help it in this instance.

Love? Really? Are you certain? Because, silly as the notion may be, I had always thought that, if you truly loved someone, you did not go out and actively do things you know would cause them pain.

If your girlfriend is waiting until marriage to have sex and you do not feel that you can wait that long to have sex, it is disrespectful and selfish to go out and have sex with someone other than your girlfriend. It makes you a douche bag... A huge, huge douche bag. You are not noble for refraining from pressuring your girlfriend into sacrificing her beliefs to appease you. You are a simply a dick.

So, in short, no, I will not send you a picture of my breasts.

1/21/2011

To be fair, anyone could give me the injection

"Hold on just one second," I said into the receiver as I waived down a colleague. "If I wanted to get a B12 injection, could you give it to me?" I asked.

"Yes, that is something I could easily do," she replied.

"And would you have to give it to me on the bum, or could I get it in the arm?" I asked.

"It can only give it to you in the ass," she said, narrowing her eyes. I swallowed visibly before she took pity on me. "I am just kidding. I could give it to you in the arm," she finally said.

"Okay, thank you!" I shouted to her as she walked away and then I returned to my phone call. "Sorry," I said into the phone, "I had an important question. That was one of the nurses," I explained.

"I had hoped so," replied a voice from within the phone.

1/07/2011

Sisterly Love

"Hello?" I answered.
"There is some weird shit going on here," she whispered.
"Like thousands of dead birds and fish weird, or is it something else?"
"No, like the power is off and I do not know what is going on. And then I turned on my computer and on the main screen there is a naked picture of me," she said flatly.
"Are you drunk?"
"No. There are naked pictures of me," she repeated.
"On the Internet, or just on your computer?" I asked.
"Do you know who took this picture?" she asked me, as if genuinely looking for an answer.
"Ugh, no," I replied. "You are in India. I am in Canada. I do not know who is taking naked photos of you."
"I am not naked in the picture," she sighed.
"You are the one who told me there is a naked photo of you on your computer screen."
"There is!" she exclaimed, "it's me! With my tits out! Where did it come from?!"
"I have no idea where it came from. And there is no way that you are not drunk right now. Are you awake in the photo? Do you appear to be aware in the photo that it is being taken?" I asked, but, alas, my questions were met with a series of indiscernible mumblings and silence.

A few minutes later, I think she said something about crawling under the bed to either hide or die, but I could not tell you for certain.

I am pretty sure this is her way of letting me know that she misses me and is excited about my upcoming visit in March.

1/06/2011

Next step: get a raise

Each morning, the staff meets to tell each other how we are feeling.

"I am well," I always say, because that is the grammatically correct thing to do. Some days, I interject additional comments into my morning reports. "I am not sure that I am actually doing as well as I think I am because this morning, when I first entered the building, I realized that my shirt was on inside out. I had to go into one of the washrooms and switch it around before anyone noticed."

Other days, I tell my coworkers about shaving my legs or exciting things that I have eaten. "Here is the bad news though," I whisper, "when I got here, I realized I only managed to shave one of my legs. Guess which one...."

Based on the number of Christmas cards I received this year, I feel that I am fitting in well. I have experienced nearly a year of full time employment and still generally enjoy waking up each morning to go into work.

1/03/2011

The cat ate my pot

The President is an addict.

There. I've said it.

One day, a coworker gave me a little bag full of catnip. "Here," she'd said, "I found this in my cabinet yesterday. I don't have cats anymore, so I thought you might like to have it."

And so I brought the catnip home and put it in the drawer of one of my bedside tables. I proceeded to go out (I forget where) for a couple of hours, trusting that all would still be right with the world when I returned home.

It wasn't though. I opened the door to my apartment only to find it entirely disheveled. As I am not always the best of housekeepers, this did not overly worry me until I looked at my bedroom. The cat was laying on the middle of my bed, eyes wide and glassy. Scattered all around my bedroom was catnip and shredded pieces of plastic from what had once been the bag containing the catnip.

Oh yeah, there was lots of cat vomit too. There was cat vomit on the dog's bed. There was cat vomit on the floor in front of the door. There was cat vomit in my closet. There was cat vomit on the top of my dresser. Essentially, the cat had made a game out of vomiting as many places as he could.

"You have a problem," I told him sternly. After all, he had actually figured out a way to open up my side table and remove the catnip from it.

Needless to say, I decided not to enable his habit and have since ensured that he has zero contact with catnip. And this all seemed to be working fine. The cat, no longer able to access his drug of choice, turned to other ventures and took up hobbies like pulling at my area rug and crocheting. All was right with the world again... until a few hours ago.

You see, Internet, it was a few hours ago that I entered my bedroom only to find my feline companion sprawled out on my bed, chewing on a plastic bag that contained some of the marijuana that I am obviously just holding for a friend. "You douche bag!" I exclaimed. "That is not yours!" The cat did not care though. The cat does as he pleases, and, knowing he is an addict, I should have known better than to keep anything like that around him.

I am pretty sure that marijuana does absolutely nothing for cats, but I will state that the cat has spent the last two hours literally running from one end of the apartment to the other. This is fairly standard behaviour for him, but usually he does not do it at 4 am (or at least not while I am awake).