Archive for October, 2008

Ac·quire [uhkwahyuhr] – to come into possession or ownership of; get as one’s own.

Synonyms: achieve, attain, bring in, catch, collect, gain, gather, get, get hands on, get hold of, grab, hustle, land, latch onto, lock up, pick up, procure,  rack up, scare up, secure, snag, take, take possession of, wangle, win.

So one weekend a couple peeps came to hang at my place.  One guy had never been, and remarked how he liked my apartment.  Since I love pseudonyms let’s call him…. uhm…. Bob (I’m not feeling very creative at the moment, so Bob it is).  Right.  So the conversation went a little something like this:

Bob: Wow. Nice bongos (actual bongos – get your mind out of the gutter). Do you play drums?

Me:  Nope.

B: So where did you get them, then?

M: Oh, I… uhm, acquired them.

B: You acquired them?  That’s a good way of putting it. 

M: Ya. Haha.

We threw back a few beverages and Bob noticed my guitar.

B: Nice guitar.  Do you play? 

M: Yep.  Sorta. I’m better at piano (I always have to throw that one in).  Do you play? 

B: Yep. 

M: Sweet. Give it a whirl. 

Bob strummed for a bit and then sat back and took a gander at the instrument. 

B: Whats with the number 7 on the back? 

M: Oh, uhm, I acquired that too. 

B: Ha, that too huh? 

M: Yep.  Back in the day, from highschool.  

On our way out to the bar, Bob noticed my fabulous sunglasses collection on that random shelf  I chuck my keys on. 

B: Sweet. Nice glasses. 

He was referring to my funky looking aviator glasses. 

M: Thanks. 

B: Did you acquire these too? 

M: Ha. No, I actually purchased those.  They were $7.50 at H&M.  Afforable, ya know?

B: Hmm, I might have to acquire those from you. 

M: Ha. Nice one, buddy.  But I think not. 

The next day I sat back and looked at all of the stuff in my apartment and realized that I acquired a large amount of  it.  By acquired I mean one of the following:

a) Someone gave it to me;

b) It belonged to someone else and they never took it back;

c) It was something that I forgot to return, or

d) It was something that I ‘forgot’ to return.    

Things I have acquired in my apartment include, but are not limited to:

My couch

My cats


My basketball uniform

My drill and tools

My computer

My funky coffee table, no wait, I bought that one

My computer chair

My winter coat

My kitchen table and chairs

A portion of my books

My patio chair

My instruments

Some sweet paintings

Pots and pans

Martini & wine glasses

My vacuum….

Okay, I think that’s it…. for now.  

It’s called starving artist for a reason, you know. I mean, how can I deny free stuff? Right?  Right.  And in my defense, most of the stuff was given to me, I swear it, really I do.  

Some things I’d like to acquire in the future… a winning lotto ticket, a piano, a car, a sugar daddy… this list could go on and on really, so I’ll stop there.  


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So, this morning as I headed out for break, I noticed a not half bad looking dude and his buddy chatting it up.  I generally give everyone the benefit of the doubt, so I thought, 

‘Hmmm, not bad, not bad at all.’

Until he opened his mouth.  

No word of a lie, this is exactly what he said,

‘So, like, what are carbs?  That’s like, meat, right? Are there carbs in meat?’


Is this guy from Mars?  Does he live under a goddamn rock?  I mean, come on people.  Are there carbs in meat?! 

At first I thought he was joking, but to my extreme disappointment, he was serious.  His verbal diarrhea continued as he probed his buddy some more about where carbs are, if they aren’t in meat.


What kind of idiotic question is that?  Even if you aren’t a health nut, I would have assumed that it was literally impossible not to know your basics – carbs, protein etc. as it’s all over the damn media 24/7.  Good for you, bad for you, good for you, bad for you….. 

I’m all about eating everything and anything, in moderation of course.  If I deny myself anything yummy, I turn into superbitch – or so they say. So I chose happiness….but this is not the point.  

I guess it’s true what they say – you really can’t judge a book by its cover.

Especially when the friggin’ pages inside are BLANK.

Way to ruin my fantasy, buddy.  Thanks for coming out. 


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‘Tis the season for winter coats.  As much as I absolutely loath winter (I can’t stress that enough, seriously), I do find joy, and mostly comfort, in a warm and toasty yet stylish winter coat.  Since big city slickers like to blend into, I don’t know, the concrete, with their huge colour selection of black, grey and the occasional brown, I try and mix it up with a different colour.  

Now, I’m not a complete coat snob (coffee snob – yes, coat snob – sorta), since I do own a black coat that gets plenty of wear of those nasty snowy/rainy days, or days where I feel my clumsyness oozing out and ready to strike with a fresh stain of whatever I get my hands on.

I just enjoy being different. I am an artist, remember. It’s imperative that I wear something different than everyone else, be it a piece of jewelry, (I sport a pretty sweet domino around my neck…always), a cool hat, or a funky something or other.  So, you know, stand out a little but not too much. Story of my life.

Where was I going with that?

Oh, yeah.

Winter.  Hate it.  Cold.  Coats.

My most favourite winter coat ever was a baby blue peacoat.  I wore it so much (and didn’t take care of it properly) that the lining is now literally in shreds, and not surprisingly still hanging in my closet, with the hopes that someday it will magically repair itself and/or I get off my lazy ass and get it fixed.  

Last year my coat was white and pretty damn awesome, but definitely not warm enough for my island-lovin’ blood.  So this year, thanks to mummy dearest (because you know, artist = broke-ass), I acquired a pretty sweet warm long white coat.  It’s a beauty. I was in the market for a red one, but hey, what can you do? No complaints here.  

There is definitely some serious thought that goes into wearing white. Especially with me, since I tend to spill or drop anything and everything (pretty much a guarantee here) and although this post may make me seem like some kind of high maintenance city slicker, I’m really anything but.  So for that reason, I carry a trusty OxyClean ToGo (much more effective than TideToGo, take my word for it) in my purse at all times, ready for that special embarrassing moment.  I noticed that when I wear this coat, I’m much more cautious of what’s going on around me, because, well, in all honesty, I can’t afford to buy another one.

Yesterday on my first bus, I chose to stand rather than sit next to a stinky man with a stinky backpack, so that the retched thing (the man and the backpack) didn’t touch me, and most importantly, my coat.  On my last bus, I scored a sweet seat and bounced to my tunage as the bus filled up to the rim. Of course, Girl-Who-Shouldn’t-Be-on-Transit-with-a-Beverage, stood directly overtop of me.  She loosely held the pole with one hand, and her napkin wrapped coffee cup with the other. This particular station the bus leaves from is full of twists and turns, so as it happened, of course, Girl-Who-Shouldn’t-Be-on-Transit-with-a-Beverage, twisted and turned with the bus.  At one of the twists a glob of coffee escaped, in slow motion, and missed my white beauty by a millimeter.  I gave her a look that said, 

‘You are soooo damn lucky that didn’t land on me and if you try and pull a stunt like that again it will be the last coffee you ever drink.’  

Apparently she understood, and held her coffee away from my coat.  Good. I’m glad my looks are readable, and I don’t have to subject myself as being know as ‘that crazy one’ on transit, mostly.  Only time will tell.


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So today I hopped on the bus and scored a sweet seat beside some random teenager.  I saw him fiddling with something but was in too much a zombie sleepwalk to really notice or care.  Then, over my rockin’ tunage I heard clicking sounds.  I glanced over and recognized that crazy coloured cube from back in the day.  


Who knew that even in our crazy technological savvy world, the Rubik’s Cube would still entice a teenybopper?  I remember the first time I ever saw one of those.  I was at school when a friend gave it to me to try, and double dog-dared me to solve the colourful puzzle.

 No problem, I thought.  That’s easy.  

I remember twisting and turning the squares for probably about 5 minutes until I got fed up.  I left for recess and came back with the puzzle solved. Everyone thought it was incredible that I could figure it out, and of course, I let them believe it.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, after I realized that I could never, ever, ever possess the patience to sit with this stupid cube and match all of the colours, I hid on the playground and took off every single little coloured sticker and strategically placed them back on so that the puzzle was solved.


Leave it to me to take the easy way out.  Eventually, people caught onto my little trick.  Oh well, my artificial brilliance was good while it lasted.  

Back on the bus, Smarty Pants had solved the Rubik’s Cube (the ‘correct’ way) by the time we pulled into the station.  Damn.  

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So if you have read any of my other posts, you have probably come to realize that I continually manage to randomly embarrass myself.  Yep.  It just wouldn’t be a normal day in the life, if I didn’t.  I’ve come to terms with it, and can generally laugh it off, because really, what else can you do?


So, you know, I’m a single girl with one hell of a transit commute. Among the various mind games I play to keep busy, I also try and pass the time by having harmless little crushes on random transit riders. At least it puts my vivid imagination to use. One of them rides both subways with me.  

So yesterday on the start of my trek home, I hopped off the bus and headed into the first subway station. As I began to descend down the second massive stairway, I saw one of my targets at the bottom, waiting on the platform.  He looked up and saw me coming, so I thought,

‘I’m gunna blow his mind and walk amazingly down these stairs, all business casual model stylez.’  

So there I was, concentrating hard on strutting my stuff, but I momentarily forgot that I was chewing gum.

Ever been chewing gum and then choked on your own saliva? Yep.  Not a pretty sight. It’s that kind of cough that you just can’t control. It has a mind of its own. You know, that kind of cough where people look at you with compassion and think,

‘Damn, that’s nasty.’

The cough got worse each step I took.  I had to hold onto the railing to support myself.   Needless to say, by the time I got to the bottom of the stairs, I was red-faced and coughing up a lung.  Attractiveness at its best.  Thankfully, the train came soon after.  I bolted on and immediately opened my book and pretended to read, with the hopes that anyone that just saw that lovely display was long gone.  Just when I thought the coast was clear, I glanced up and saw my target sitting across from me, smiling.  Damn. I still had a bit of a scratch in my throat and had the whole,

‘Ahem….hmm….A-HEM….mmmm’ thing going on.  I guess you can’t win them all.  

In the name of old school cliche sayings…. Smooth move, X-Lax.    


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Wow, I’m bored at work on a roll today.  No posts for over a month, and now two in one day.  Go me, go.

I’m pretty sure I’ve only mentioned my cats once since I started this blog.  Strange for me, since they produce some pretty interesting side notes.  Currently, I have two cats, but let’s back track to the very beginning, shall we?

You have no choice, really.  I’m bored – you suffer.

My mom is not a fan of living things that are not human, so until my parents separated, I was a pet-less child (except for the random carnival goldfish that I could never keep alive).  

My dad was all about getting a pet.  We both wanted a dog, but we were never home enough – him with the golf, me with the other random sports – pick one, I did it.  So daddy took me to a farm out in the sticks to pick out a little kitty.  I picked a cute orange fuzz ball.  We hummed and hawed over what we were to call the little sucker.  The woman who gave us the cat told us it was a female.  My dad wanted to call her Ginger.  I wanted everything but.  I preferred Sunshine, Pumpkin, Fuzzhead, Orangey and so on.  The vote was in my dad’s favour – 2 votes, dad – 1 vote, me. Okie.  So Ginger it was.  Ginger was the best pet ever.  Ever, ever, ever.  He lived 13 years and I loved him like he was my brother. Notice I’m saying, ‘brother?’  Yep.  So at some point I went to Europe for a month and came back to my fuzzy little friend.

‘Ginger’s not a girl anymore,’ my dad chuckled.   

But since he already responded to his name, it stuck.  So Ginger, the sexually confused cat, lived on to be one of my favs.

At some point, while I still had Ginger, I got another little sucker and named her Scarlett.  She was white and orange and cute as a button.  But all of this did not make up for that fact that she was inbred (I found this out later from the owners of her parents) and completely retarded – I’m putting that lightly.  She ended up running into a car.  Poor thing.

Ginger passed when I was living in Barbados.  I felt terribly guilty that I wasn’t there by his side, rubbing his little orange face. 

Still in Barbados, I acquired another cat in Canada.  My now ex saved a bunch of kitties from some shack or whatnot and when I came back I had a year old, grey, white and peach cat named Marbles.  She is a fat  big-boned, whiney thing, but I still love her to death.  Eventually, Marbles got lonely and now she has a little bro named Echo.  Echo is the strangest cat I’ve ever had.  He is so affectionate, and frankly, he acts more like a dog than a cat.  He begs for food, he fetches and repeats over, and over, and over again for hours on end.  These two cats try to control my life. I wake up every single morning to Echo licking my face, and Marbles pushing whatever shit she can find off of my night stand.  The interesting part is that she will move things slightly, until I move around a bit and fall back asleep. Once she realizes that I’m not getting up, she continues pushing shit, until it falls off of whatever it’s on.  Once she actually chewed about 50 pages out of one of my books.  You’d think the fatty big-boned beauty was starving or something….but no, apparently she is quite particular about what time I give her grub.  

So after all of this background info, I can’t recall a single funny side note.  They really are an odd pair, I swear it.  You’ll just have to take my word for it. 



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So obviously I haven’t written anything in a while.  Mainly because I’ve been so drained by the time I get home from work that I can barely gather the strength to put food in my mouth, let alone open my laptop.  So much for me thinking my commute was not so bad. Wrong again.  It’s about three hours daily, but at least I’ve improved my crossword skills, read some books, and have had a hell of a lot more random transit stories.  Even so, many things have happened in the past month, so I’ll do my favourite lazy-blog activity, a list:

1. The other day I managed to do a face plant on the bus.  That’s right.  A full-on face plant.  It was fabulous.  There’s tons of construction on my street, for no apparent reason, and temporary bus stop (that randomly moves up and down my street) makes it difficult for the bus to pull up to the curb, so therefore I have to stroll into a couple of lanes of traffic to hop on.  Fine and dandy.  So Mr. Bus Driver swung the door open while he was still slowly moving.  I hopped on, but my foot got caught on the step as Mr. Bus Driver prematurely swung the door closed and stepped on the gas. And off I went.  Like superwoman.  My metro pass went flying into some random stranger’s lap.  My knees had that little kid scrape on them.  Just incase anyone cared, I managed to blurt out,

‘WHOA…I’m okay.’  

One of my shadow riders, who I like to call Beige Sweater, smiled and winked as I embarrassingly looked to the back of the bus.  At least someone got a kick out of my misfortune.

2. A ghetto fabulous 15 year old boy took a picture of me on the bus one day with his cell phone.  He tried to be really sneaky about it, but the sucker doesn’t know that I have the exact same phone so it wasn’t rocket science for me to figure it out.  He waited until I was standing by the back door, ready for the next stop.  Without turning towards me, he put his phone against the back of his neck, aimed it upwards, and pressed away.  It made an extremely loud fake camera sound (nice one, buddy). He opened his phone and I peeked over his shoulder and saw my face staring back at me.  I was still pre-coffee and honestly shocked that it just happened that I really had no reaction.  I’m waiting for my head to be photoshopped onto a naked body and passed along youtube.

3. Many of the same people take the exact same route as me everyday. Especially on my last bus (although there are some that I have the pleasure of seeing for bus, subway, subway, bus).  I have nicknames for all of them, as it helps to pass the time and make my ride seem less dreadful.  Some of these nicknames include, but aren’t limited to,

Beige Sweater – always wears it

Bubba –  cute and teddybearish

Obama – for obvious reasons

Parka – this woman wears a parka even when it’s steaming outside

Kanye –  again, for obvious reasons

All That – this girl is much too special to wait in line like everyone else.

Pointy – wears the pointiest shoes ever

Dumbass – dude always rings the bell when we are entering the station.  You don’t have a choice buddy, you have to get off the bus.  Get with the program.

There’s more, but I’ll have to save some for later…

4.  I still feel the need to projectile vomit when people eat on transit.  Don’t fling your crumbs on me, and please, stop licking your fingers and touching the pole.  I can’t handle it….I just can’t.

5. Yesterday I saw someone dig for gold and wipe it on the seat.  Sick.

6. Last month there was complete commuter chaos one day when the subway was shut down for quite a while.  I’ve never seen so many pissed off people spill into the middle of traffic in my entire life.  There were 42 extra shuttle buses and each one was packed to the max.  I took the safe route and walked home.  That day, my commute totalled 5 hours.  I smiled at myself for making the brilliant decision to wear flats as I passed plenty of women with high heels tiptoeing with extremely painful looks on their faces as they had to treck it home. HA.

7. I know you’re tired, and so am I, but my shoulder is not a pillow, nor a headrest.

8. So, All That gets on at my last bus.  For this specific bus, everyone waits in two orderly lines, and pile onto the bus in single file, army style fashion. No problem.  Problem though, for All That.  She waits beside the line, and then shoves herself in front when the bus arrives.  One thing I love about big city slickers is that they won’t have that shit. No way, no how.  One day she tried to sneak in the line and no one would let her in.  She mumbled something under her breath and some Champ remarked,

‘Well, honey, maybe you should wait in line like everyone else.  It’s not friggin rocket science.’  

HA. Love it – especially since he said, ‘rocket science,’ one of my most favourite sayings. So the next day it seemed like All That took Champ’s advice.  She waited in line like everyone else.  But once the bus arrived, she still left the line and shoved herself in front, which resulted in many eye rolls and dirty looks from fellow passengers.  I haven’t seen her since. Maybe Champ took care of that problem.

9. Recently, I purposely stomped on someone’s foot who wouldn’t let me get out of my seat.  I mean, I shouldn’t have to break out my gymnastic skills if I have to get off before you.  Move it or lose it, jerkface.

10. It snowed the other day and I cried.  Literally.  Nuff said.  You must know what’s coming next, right? That’s right.  Barbados, I miss you so.  It hurts my heart. 

Right, so… hopefully my nasty commute won’t last much longer as I am moving full speed ahead on the new job front.

I believe that will result in more energy to keep this blog thing going.

But as Kanye says,

Nothing’s ever promised tomorrow, today.

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