Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Ommmmmm My God

Hi Kids

Today is my first official day of work at the yoga studio. The problem is: I have to wear clothes that look like I am going to go into a yoga class. But stylish. My yoga clothes are either a tank and some pajama pants that can pass as yoga pants or these Old Navy halter tops that make me have cleavage a mile long. Probably not the look the boss wants to go for. So I do have a very cute outfit to wear today, but I spent the morning making chocolate ice cream for a farewell barbeque for two precious girls from the health food store. This is chocolate ice cream with a ton of cocoa AND dark chocolate melted in it. How can you not lick the bowl, the spoon, and anything that might have come in contact with the concoction? Now my dilemna, I am severely bloated and have to be at work in an hour with me and my Buddha belly. Do you think it will pass? How about frantic sit ups for the next ten minutes? AAAAAHHHHHHH!

I don’t normally care too much about my body. In fact, I think I have a pretty sexy body when naked. Nice ass, nice boobs, pretty good legs. The belly and arms are a bit wobbly, but I like to think it adds a feminine softness to the look. I know I shouldn’t think this about myself. I don’t have a size 2 body with a six pack and rock hard arms, but I don’t care. Why can’t we all feel good about ourselves, no matter our size or shape? If you dig it, then dig it, man. And we can’t blame this shit on the boys, either. I think they are much less critical than we are (except for the ones that don’t want to sleep with us). My husband doesn’t even notice my cottage cheese thighs. Anyways, back to my original point, I think I look great naked, but clothes don’t do us ladies justice.

First of all, the sausage effect: Why are certain pants, skirts, dresses, and spanx made to give women the sausage effect? By this I mean, everything is tucked and sucked in nice and tidy where the article of clothing is, but LOOK OUT where the waistband is! All of the stuff is just sucked up to the top and spills over, like you squeezed your ass and thighs like a tube of toothpaste and it all came out on your mid rif region.

Secondly: bras that are too tight or hold on for dear life giving us two things: 1. An extra roll of back fat. That’s hot! And 2. Quadro boobs (you know, when the cup cuts your boob in half and it looks like you have four boobs rather than two).

Third: Cap sleeves. Let’s wear a shirt that cuts us right across the FATTEST part of everyone’s arms, even Mary Kate’s. These shirts are meant to look like even a skeleton could use a few bicep curls. They are sick and need to be burned in a large Nazi-esque bonfire.

I think that is all I am going to go on right now, but this is a shout out to the designers to make clothes women can really wear. We’re all fine bi-atches. We can’t all be as unbelievably gorgeous as dooce, so get on that already. I’m sick of their ideas of “big girl clothing” being Cherokee and Sag Harbor (Reitman’s and Cotton Ginny for the Canadians). And don’t give me a caftan or some other muumuu type of crap. That’s a cop out and you know it.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Things I have heard

Papaya Fruit, often called Paw Paw, Mamao, and Tree Melon, grows on what is usually referred to as a tree.

What are Tamari Roasted Almonds? They are um, almonds, roasted with, you know, tamari.

I'll have a quarter pounder with cheese, fries and to drink? Oh a Diet Coke, I'm watching my weight.

"The McChicken sandwich doesn't come with tomato." "Okay, can I get it without tomato then?"

Easter Island?" "It’s near the UK" "No its not, it’s near Australia or something." "No, it’s near the UK because, you know, Stonehenge." "Easter Island is different than Stonehenge." "Oh, well, Stonehenge is near the UK." "If by near you mean in, then yes that's true."

I heard you have a nice cooch. Oh, it’s called a blog?

Is anyone else in here?

So, tonight Ali S, Larn, and I were at the Merchant Ale House and Ali S and I went to the bathroom. When we went in no one was there, and we are talking to each other in the stalls. I am telling her how I have been pooping all day and she is telling me how she can't place a deuce at all. Then I hear a non Ali cough and say is someone else in here. I hear a voice say, "Yes, but I am amused by your conversation." So I'm okay with that, she's okay, we're all okay. I come out of the stall to wash my hands as does Ali and the other girl.

The other girl, let's call her Cool Kid, tells us we shouldn't be embarassed because she has been caught talking about or doing worse things. Yeah, whatever. Ali and I found it funny as hell. We're laughing as we walk up the stairs back to the bar to fill Larn in. Larn tells us the Cool Kid came back to her table shaking her head and told her table of other Cool Kids that we were ridiculous and made fun of us.

My message to the Cool Kid:
1. Its just shit. We all do it. Even you. And yes, your's does smell.
2. Thrift store clothes don't automatically make you cooler than me.
3. Don't, I repeat don't, be all buddy-buddy with someone then turn around and make fun of them. If you think I am ridiculous (and I am) tell me to my fucking face right there and then, biz-snatch. (a combo of bitch and snatch and very fun to say)
4. I didn't like your haircut.
5. You were with some very fugly boys. Our boys are cute.
6. You're the only one who thinks you're cool.

Monday, August 29, 2005

My Bloburb

Today was rather non-eventful; I worked at my favorite health food store with two of the wisest women ever and was playfully challenged and entertained by our colorful customers. Since I have nothing of real interest to say, I should take this time to explain what a blog (not blob, Pooh) is and where it comes from.

We all know Al Gore, like, totally invented the internet, right? Ali T and I played with the internet in a very early 1992ish with the wonderfully obscene Prodigy program. I think we had our first dealings with sexual predators by pretending "we are sixteen with huge boobies and really, really tight jeans." I think we thought camel toes were hot. They still are. I wonder if that will be the new crack to show off. I think I will pass on that fad, too. Too much bikini waxing involved.

Okay, back to what a blog is...the internet is a symposium for the intellectual, the righteous, and most importantly, the unemployed! That be me. I love the web, love it, love it, love it. Wondering where else you've seen that girl from Napoleon Dynamite? One imdb search later and yes, it’s the chic from Andre the whale! I think Ali T and I went to see that right after describing the bodysuit we were wearing to some 60 year old dude on Prodigy.

A blog is a place for us unemployed or part-timers or wannabe writers to spill our guts every day to an anonymous crowd. There are no rules, no grades, just your bored friends forced to read it religiously. My blog is exactly that. My very first literary rejection came the other day and I am sure more are to follow. I am going another route, just to keep myself writing on a daily basis. Maybe this really famous editor-publisher person will google Diddy and anal leakage and read my witty blog and want to publish it into a book a la Carrie's articles on Sex and the City. That would be freakin' awesome.

I know, I know. I should stop bothering everyone and keep a journal, but here are a few reasons why journals suck it:
1. Writing! Who writes, like with their hands? How 20th century!
2. Who's gonna read it? I'm in it for the fame, people, the fame and the pussy.
3. Who are you writing to? Yourself? That's pretty stupid. Why not dictate? Why bother at all? Don't you already know all this stuff? Are you that senile that you need to write your life story to yourself? Shame
4. Anything I do write, Ali T will read it anyways. I had a diary in junior high and I thought, hey, your best friend is a person who would never invade your privacy and read your diary. So she came over for Kudos and saw my diary on my nightstand and picked it up and read it. Of course, it was super cheese. Something like: Dear Diary, I need to give you a name so I have someone to write to. I will call you Cornelia. Much better. Dear Cornelia, Oh I like your name better already. My name is Kristen Michelle Aber...Blah, blah, blah. I can't believe Ali had the stamina to read the damn thing. Well, after the first night she read my diary, I wrote to Cornelia that night that I was pissed off at Ali for reading her (Cornelia). Of course, Ali read the thing the next day and just laughed at me. I then renamed my diary Ali. If you can't beat them...

So, that is what a blog is. The word is a shortened form of weblog. Travis likes to call it a blob or a blurb or a blurg or glob or bob. He's super cute.

The website of the day is homestar runner. Enjoy!

Greatest new Web Site ever!

You have to check out this website, especially if you are a audiophile:
An amazing wealth of information about musicians you may know or may not, but they will definitely entertain.
That's what I have been doing with my evening and thought I should share. Not to mention getting comments from all of you about how I need a job. My response: No I don't need a job, just a life. Don't hold your breath, I just don't see it happening.

I watched, like, 5 minutes of the MTV VMAs, just enough to see PDiddy, oh, I'm sorry Diddy, look like an egotistical frat boy. All I could think in his little opening sequence was how fun would it be if he had anal leakage while trying to do his dance sequence in his white suit. I mean, think about it, shit stains on Diddy. That would knock him down a few. Let's make him like us, not that I often have anal leakage.

Then I watched a blond?! LL (Lindsay Lohan) with Nelly introduce the first award. Lindsay my love, you are the tough, somewhat bitchy redhead. You went blond because...Tara Reid did? Go back to your roots, keep it real, and eat a fuckin' cheeseburger or 10.

After that I remembered the Simpsons were on and I ditched that shit. My mom wouldn't let me watch the Simpsons growing up and I think God did me a favor and kept them on the air so long so I could eventually grow up, move out of my house, and watch the Simpsons whenever I please. The funny thing is, if she gets wind that I am watching the Simpsons, she'll say something along the lines of, "You are not allowed to watch that." And of course, I change the channel to Little House on the Prairie IMMEDIATELY! (Hi Mom) Its a good thing she hasn't watched Family Guy yet.

Sunday, August 28, 2005

Yes I am spending my Sunday playing with my blog. Sounds dirty, but it is.

Reasons why Canada rocks

1. Bollywood movies on Sunday afternoons

2. Summer highs are in the 90s

3. Snow!

4. 1 year paid maternity leave

5. Gay marriage

6. Paul Gross (that's his picture)

Reasons why Canada…not so great

1. War of 1812 taunts. Really people, the War of 1812?!

2. All French, no Spanish

3. Gas prices

4. Taxes

5. All the onion soup mix in the hamburgers


I am such a bonehead. I have been all bummed this weekend that NO ONE has read my blog! I have been cursing my friends and family for their lack of loyalty. Yeah, really the e-mail I sent out to everyone about my blog I neglected to include the address. Whooo. Good job. Okay, all friends and family are no longer cursed. However, you all have no excuse to read and comment. A'ight?

Saturday, August 27, 2005

We shall call him...Papaya

The name of our garden bunny will be Papaya, a fitting tropical fruit name for our new, inanimate pet. Heather from work gets credit for that.

Travis and I went to the Port Dalhousie Carousel today for the first time ever. We shelled out 5 cents each for the ride. While we were waiting, we picked out which horses we wanted. Well, Travis got on a lion, so that's not really a horse, but you know what I mean. My horse was white with sparkly mirrors on it and a purple saddle. We managed to get on the ones we wanted even though we were at the end of the line. That's when Travis realized ours don't go up and down. He wanted to try to return his carousel ride and get his money back because of course, you can't move when the ride starts and that is when you realize that your horse won't go up and down. Nothing you can do.

Its similar to when you are at a restaurant and they bring you your food then immediately ask if you want fresh ground pepper or cheese on it. I mean, hello, you obviously haven't taken a bite yet, how do you know? Maybe it is a very cheesy, peppery dish and it doesn't need anymore. Maybe the dish is just cheese and pepper. And why are those the only things we are offered freshly ground? I like fresh ground salt. And maybe some nutmeg in my desert. Only once have I tried to enlighten a server on this and she gave me a WTF look and then I am sure garnished my other dishes with things not so fresh ground.

Mango 00003

Mango 00003
Originally uploaded by KMAD.
Its me and the Mangs hanging on the couch where it all happens. This is an older photo; I intend to get a newer one where I have at least showered beforehand.

Friday, August 26, 2005

Like a virgin...blogged for the very first time

This is my first post on my first blog and it is very exciting. No really. Props to for inspiring me to post my randomness on the web for strangers to read and use to make fun of me. So, today I went to Waterloo, ON, also a first...what a day! This is the third place in my Canada I have ever been to. I live in St. Catharines, so check one, and spent a day with my future boytoy Adrian in Toronto ( he was about 2 months at the time, so we only held hands) and now What to do in Waterloo! My friend, Lauren (let's pronounce it Larn), goes to University of Waterloo and I drove her out there to check it out. By the way, I just realized how funny this is: at University of Waterloo she has a friend named Fernando! And she's Swedish and has an odd fondness for spandex (you know, the shiny kind). No, JKing about the Swedish and spandex.

Okay, back to my day, we stopped on the way at a very cool store named Grasshopper - an incense-infused hemp and tie-dye mecca, now with more patchouli! In this back outdoor spot, probably right next to the marijuana plants, were a whole bunch of pottery things for your garden. As a thank you for the ride, Larn bought me a red clay bunny who is very cute and doesn't have a name. Any thoughts? As she was purchasing the bunny, I saw a death ball hanging up and asked the friendly hippie clerk, "Hey man, what's up with the death ball?" He looked very confused and said "Excuse me?" I pointed to this item hanging up behind him that was made out of about 8 metal spikes arranged in a starburst pattern. He informed me it was a candle holder. I said, "Cool! So when you have people over for dinner you don't like, you can seat them under the death ball and when they really piss you off, you cut the string to the death ball and they get pierced by metal spikes AND hot candle wax pours all over them. Sick!" He was not impressed. I wanted to reassure him that it really was just a joke and Larn I think said something to the effect of, "She's kidding. She eats organic, so you know..."

After the Grasshopper and the death ball, the day was just a mudslide into my massive migraine that my wonderful husband made go away.

Considering this is my first post, I'll stop here. Don't want to strain anything. Plus, don't know who in the hell might even read it so...yeah. Maybe Larn will read it since she's in it. Maybe hippie dude at Grasshopper too. Let's hope, okay?