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.
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.
