Turn down any date invitation with ease and grace! A how-to guide by Chanel.
The subject for tonight’s lecture can be easily twisted to fit in the same category as rich people whining about the complications of having too much money; a non-issue. But don’t be fooled—it is a real issue for many women, an issue I feel it is my personal duty to address with my timeless wisdom.
I’m talking about unwanted advances from men. Sometimes it’s the sweet guy you recently befriended who is clearly into you while you are just trying to be friendly. They ask you out for coffee or something. You cringe a little on the inside, because hello, you don’t like him like that.
Maybe you accept, because you’re nice or whatever. I always duck and dodge.
As I was sitting in the dentist’s office today, contemplating life’s mysteries, I had a stunning revelation: Maybe instead of spending time coming up with new and creative ways to avoid men and escape their unwanted advances, I should get a boyfriend. Preferably, a fake one. Even better if he was gay, married or into someone else. Fabulous if he was all three.
Laundry day
“I think it’s time to do laundry”, dog says.
One of the assumptions people make about me that I find most amusing is the one that involves me being an uptight “clean freak”. You know—one of those crazy people who keep their living spaces spotless and have an aneurysm when you don’t use a coaster. Sounds lovely, really, but it’s not me.
I usually tend to wait until I’ve run out of clothes to wear and/or can’t walk through my room to do laundry/cleaning. The two are basically synonymous to each other, as they almost always get done at the same time. Unfortunately, neither get done nearly as often as they should.
Lucky in cards, unlucky in love
Over this past summer, I probably played more card games with more people than anything else. It was a fun thing to do when you’re out in the middle of nowhere with no internet, no phone, no city life to speak of and surrounded by a ton of friends.
So we played. We played President, Egyptian Rat Screw, five more rounds of Egyptian Rat Screw, and then more President. It was that or hiking, and as I learned on the last Saturday afternoon of my middle-of-nowhere adventure, hiking is not among my strongest talents.
Wanted
Setting: Subway – 3490 Kingsway in Burnaby, around 7pm, Saturday October 25th.
You: Henry, from Czech Republic, white iPhone, bacon and chicken sub on whole wheat bread with ranch dressing, no olives. Lives just off Kingsway. Party Saturday night. The lady behind the counter said I was pretty and you agreed. You told her you were too shy to ask me my name, so I told you instead.
Me: Chanel, half Fijian, quarter French, quarter British, no iPhone present, veggie sub on whole wheat, Italian dressing, with olives. Lives by Killarney. Was heading to North Vancouver.
They say strangers are friends you just haven’t met yet. Hi. :)
Last words
For the last couple hours, I have been listening to a life struggle on the brink of death.
I refer to a fly that is trapped somewhere in my room. I don’t know precisely where he is, but I can hear him. Once every minute or two, he frantically attempts to escape from where he is stuck. It makes a buzzing sound. In the last hour, that buzzing has become less frequent. All I can think is, gosh, that noise is irritating. I hope it stops.
Do you know what it means when the buzzing sound stops? It means the fly is DEAD. It means that there was a living creature somewhere in my room, struggling to stay alive, and I sat by listening to his death pleas, doing nothing, and the only thing that crossed my mind was, “gosh, that noise is irritating”, followed by, “hey, I should blog about this!”
If this fly was a human, you’d be coming at me with the police and handcuffs. If this fly was a dog or cat, you’d be coming at me with pitchforks and PETA. But this fly is a fly, and everyday in the world people are putting flies out of their misery, and nobody bats an eye.
If we bring humans, household pets and household pests down to their simplest form, they are all lives. They are all alive. They all have eyes. They all have hearts. They all even have nervous systems. Earlier this month, I dished out a small portion of my savings fund to save my rabbit’s life. There are people in the world who hunt rabbits for fun. Who am I to decide who’s more superior to live?
White flag
There will always be people in the world who will try to tear you down.
We don’t always mean harm, even if we cause it. It has been said before that we can only hate the things in people that we ourselves have within us. Sometimes, we lash out; problems, clutter and baggage in our lives can wear down our abilities to be empathetic and cut our human patience short.
Sometimes, it’s just a matter of being in the wrong place, at the wrong time. There are times in life where we are more quick to snap; more quick to find an outlet to release our own frustrations and shortcomings on to someone else. One day we’ll feel bad that that outlet had to be you.
Professions that make bad husbands
Alternatively titled, “Why Chanel could be end up a cynical spinster”.
- Doctor: Big ego, on a power trip, married to work.
- Lawyer: Will argue, likes to be right, married to work.
- Artist: Poor. Crazy. Over-the-top philosophical. Always looking for meaning in things. Will get into “inspirational” moods at any given moment. Work = Life, Life = Work.
- Musician: Poor. Cocky. Wishy-washy. Not too bright. TROUBLE.
- Writer: Poor. Sometimes emo. Possibly intellectual. Works if you’re a writer.
- Pilot: Cocky. Flirty. Girlfriend in every zip code.
- Recording label owner: Used to people falling at his feet. On a power trip.
- Contract killer: Cold. May have trouble expressing how he really feels.
- Psychiatrist: Good communication. Too rational and analytical. Possibly married to work. May assume he “understands” you when he really doesn’t.
- Entrepreneur: Always looking to start something. Next it could be a relationship with another woman, if it isn’t a new business venture with the next Donald Trump. Married to work, or poor and faking it.
- Hairdresser: Constantly surrounded by girls. Forms emotional bonds with girls who tell him their life story. Usually very talkative and outgoing (bad if you’re not).
- Professional Poker Player: Unstable. Gambles. Sleeps around. Will wear sunglasses indoors.
- Computer programmer: More interested in his computer(s) than you.
- Director: Good: Takes charge. Bad: May end up in charge of everything. Also: What happens On Location doesn’t “count”.
- Wal-mart greeter: Not terribly financially stable.
- Investor of any kind (stock market, real estate, etc.): Often very materialistic. Obsessed and/or attached to money. Cocky. Unstable.
- Used car salesman: Greasy hair. Sleezy. May have a lying problem.
- Fashion photographer: Sometimes sleezy. Flirty. Promiscuous. Around too many nearly-naked models. Possibly a modelizer.
- Househusband: Does all the cleaning and cooking. Also does all food shopping. Sleeps with any woman while wife is at work. (Thx, Roro!)
- Politician: Big ego. Likes power/possibly controlling. Never keeps promises. Tends to quit in bad situations. (Thx, Ann!)
- Journalist: Nosey. Can’t keep secrets. Loves to gossip. Never commits to a single relationship. (Thx, Ann!)
- Landscaper: Never totally clean. Bad back/shoulder that requires daily massage. Sees no issue with dancing on ladders with power tools. (Thx, Kaiti!)
- Fitness trainer: Big into being fit; bad if you’re not. Sleeps around with fit women; extra bad if you’re not one of them. (Thx, Joe!)
- Police: Big ego. Always on a power trip. Anxious to pull out the “piece”. Has a stick that gets longer when he whips it out. (Thx, TL!)
- Baker: Creative. Precise. A little too prone to an early death-by-chocolate. (Thx, Lizzy!)
- Chef: Not unless you want to be Mrs. “20-to-lose” for the rest of your life. (Thx, Larissa!)
Anything to add?
If you enjoyed this post, consider giving it a stumble. (Thx, Vered!)
Hi, Twilight fans!
Within the last twenty-four hours, I have devoured Twilight, New Moon, and 110 pages of Eclipse. That’s roughly 700 pages in the spanse of about 16 hours, or an average of 43 pages an hour if you don’t include the food breaks, cleaning my room (gone are the used kleenex, much to my mother’s satisfaction) and four lengthy phone calls; two business-related, two personal.
I am not as impressed with the series as I had hoped to be. Many of my girlfriends have claimed obsession and undying love for the series (and Edward), but I somehow don’t feel the same way—yet.
Furthermore, this is possibly the first instance of me ever reading a book which I did not closely identify or connect with the lead character/narrator. Maybe things will get better, but I have found Bella to be irritating at times and irrationally obsessed with Edward, and Edward to just be… well, not all that captivating. That, and I just don’t feel the connection between them.
This is extremely puzzling to me, as I am normally a huge fan of vampire fiction and fairly easily satisfied, literarily-speaking. (Did I just invent a new word? Yes, yes I did.) I am hoping Eclipse and Breaking Dawn will help this series make a comeback in my books.
Am I alone here, or has True Blood just spoiled me for life?
Weekend puppy goodness, also, mucus.
I’m posting photos of my pup in lieu of actual writing, because alas, I have nothing to write about. As my previous post predicted, I have been sick sick sick since, although only feeling “better” today—and by better, I mean I can talk and swallow, but I’m still a walking mucus machine who has been living in her darkened, used kleenex-scattered bedroom for the last two days. Appeal, I has it!
To be honest, there is so much wtf going on this photo, I’m not even sure WHAT to say. For someone who doesn’t know the story or situation behind this photo, questions arise, questions like: Why is there a toilet in the background? or, why does that dog look like he is flying into the light? or, why is his tongue out? or even, how tall is the person taking this picture?
I’ll let you form your own conclusions. In case you’re wondering about the shirt though, it says:
WHO TO BLAME?
My sister. (That would be me.)
The dog. (That would be the thing in his arms.)
Flying monkeys (The photographer, maybe?)
I just love how pathetic he looks here. He hates baths (actually, water in general—I wonder who he got that from?), but has yet to learn that digging in the mud for two hours = bath before you are allowed to roam the house. I have to give him credit for pulling pathetic puppy eyes in hopes of getting out of being bathed, though!
Just not a late night kind of gal
Normally, one has to do a fair amount of hard partying to wake up the next morning feeling like a semi truck ran over you, backed up, ran over you again and then body slammed you against a concrete wall just for good measure. In my case, all it takes is working until 1 am two nights in a row.
Welcome to my life. My mother worked night shifts when I was a baby, and now I am incapable of staying up late without severe repercussions the next morning. Forget whatever society has told you to infer from the following phrase; this is The Morning After from hell.
You might be thinking, 1 am? But that’s just when I start to get active! And yeah, it isn’t even close to the latest I’ve ever stayed up either—but there is a phenomenally huge difference between staying up until 1 am and working until 1 am. Staying up until 1 am doesn’t involve coherent thought processes and proper spelling. Working until 1am does. (Or at least I hope it did.)
Since it was partially my dear mother’s fault, she has suggested some rather good remedies to dull the effects of being molested by a semi truck:
- Homemade soup
- Chocolate cupcakes with vanilla frosting
- Bubble bath with Epsom salts (waiting until before bed for this one)
- Dancing With the Stars: The Result Show taped from last night
- Four more hours of the same work I’ve been doing until 1 am for the last two nights
With exception to the last, they’ve all been pretty delicious suggestions, although not much of a help to my current condition. In fact, there is only one thing that will help my pounding head and achy body, and I have to wait until the sun goes down for that. Early sleep, here I come!
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted my bed more.
Two steps forward, one step back
On a good day, the pattern of my life can be described in only six words: Two steps forward, one step back. On a bad day? It’s those words, only in reverse.
Today is feeling like a two steps forward kind of day.
How is your day going?
I guess I have a heart after all
Every since my rabbit’s death, I’ve surprised myself at how well I’ve been taking it. Friends would send me condolences by email and by post, and I would just stare at their words and not feel a single thing, like why are they sending me this? Tiggy who?
After a week of this, it started to concern me. Why was I acting like this? I’m not a complete stranger to death. I’ve only ever had one person close to me die, but I’ve never before had to witness the moment where life crossed into death. What was wrong with me? Why was I completely emotionless? Did this mean I just didn’t care about her? What kind of stone cold bitch with no soul was I?
I had two options. Either,
1) I was handling it rationally. My heart was on the same page as my mind: It does no one any good to cry over something you can’t fix. She’s dead. Move on. (Cuts like a knife, but it’s the truth, isn’t it?)
2) I was in denial, and pushing every memory of her away to the secret room in my brain where I hide everything I don’t want to remember.
Armageddon!
My father may be one of the few people on this earth to find the whole worldwide recession slash stock market crash combination amusing. Every day, without fail, he will turn on the TV when he has a free moment just to see how bad things have gotten since he last checked, and when the dow drops fifty million points and another bank goes bankrupt, he yells out the news to whomever is in the house at the time, following it up with, “the armageddon! it’s the armageddon!”
He is having way too much fun with this.
And how are you doing?
Things that are still hard for me to do:
- Answering emails, replying messages and returning phone calls within 72 hours
- Letting different areas of my life intermingle (personal, business, etc.)
- Being upfront with people and not sugarcoating how I really feel
- Going to bed before midnight
Things that are getting easier for me to do:
- Spending money on clothing
- Losing weight instead of gaining it. (Now at 130lbs, without even trying at all!)
- Putting pride aside in matters of relationships
- Letting go of my perfectionist tendencies where it doesn’t count
Things that are, surprisingly enough, no longer an issue:
- Talking on the phone with people I don’t know
- Eating less, eating slower, eating earlier and eating more often
- Running errands in the neighborhood and/or walking the dog without wearing a “proper” bra
- Drinking lots of water and taking my vitamins daily
One man’s trash…
… Is another photographer’s treasure.
A couple weeks ago, I met Marissa for breakfast at the Naam and a little photoshoot. These pictures are from the Commercial drive area of Vancouver. It’s definitely an interesting part of the city; full of culture, art, and organic foods… It’s also a bit of a hippie/drug area, depending on what part you’re in.
Like most neighborhoods in large cities, some parts are nice, and other parts, not so much. Guess which parts we took pictures of?
Don’t read this. Just don’t. Are you reading this? Why are you reading this? Don’t read this.
Please, just don’t read this. Don’t read this. Don’t read it. No seriously, don’t.
You don’t care. What’s the point? Don’t. Don’t read this.
Don’t read this. Really.
I was watching the Ellen show yesterday morning when she played this video for the first time on national television, and HOLY MOTHER OF TRIPLE FROSTED CUPCAKES. After the third “don’t vote”, I swear to god my left eye twitched and my brain briefly contemplated watching Sarah Palin’s interview with Katie Couric again. Without stopping. You know, for therapy.
This entry is all over the place. Kind of like your mom, i’d say, except I don’t really make jokes like that.
I took these photos in the middle of September, but never really got around to processing them until now. They were taken in English Bay on an unusually warm, sunny weekend, and true to form, the beaches of Vancouver were a little full while the rest of Vancouver was… also a little full.
That’s Vancouver for you: The slightest inclination of good weather (GOOD WEATHER? WHERE?!), and everyone and their pink swarovski crystal studded Jack-A-Poos are out of the house. You can’t make the stuff up, folks. Not even a bit.
About the redesign: Stone cold silver
As some of you have already noticed, this site has changed dramatically this past week. Not only is this the first “dark” design for this website, but a couple things have been added and taken away from the site structure and content itself, namely:
The sidebar
In the interest of having a design that is simple and cleaner looking, I’ve scraped all the extras a sidebar usually has: latest twitter post, categories, recent posts, etc. In it’s place is a clean, slightly more modern looking descriptive navigation. Also for the first time, the navigation side by side to the content, as opposed to above.
Lifecasting
This is an entirely new feature that has been in the works for a month or two now, only cleverly hidden behind the title of my tumblr. I’ve now integrated it into the rest of the site, giving it the same look and feel, as well as navigation, so can flip between this and the rest of the site seamlessly. My twitter updates are also streamed into here, as text posts. The lifecasting stream has its own RSS feed separate to this blog, and you can subscribe to that here.