90% Chase

When Chase and I worked at the call centre, there was a little dude there who called his wife from the lunch room on every break. He rarely, if ever, spoke to an actual person, and he would always leave these really long, creepy messages on their answering machine. He would launch into these excruciatingly embarrassing speeches that went something like “I’m just starting my break. I just wanted to call and say that I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you as much as the sun. You are my everything. I love you I love you I love you. I’ll call again at the end of my break. I love you.”

It was actually pretty sad, looking back on it, him leaving these long love messages on a cold, uncaring answering machine day in and day out. 

Anyway, sometimes, if Chase leaves me a message, he’ll launch into one of this guy’s monologues and, because I am a horrible human being, it cracks me up every single time. 

Last night, I drunk-dialed Chase (Lindsay is in town and I polished off a half bottle of wine at Phil’s place before I realized how smashed I was), and launched into my own version of Creepy Guy’s testament of love. At the time I thought I was a genius, but now it’s only partly amusing. I wrote it down in my cell phone as a reminder to post it, though, and now I feel obligated to share it: “I love you I love you I love you. I love you more than the sun. I need you more than water. My body is made up of over 90% Chase.” 

Feel free to use that if you’re ever writing a romantic letter to a loved one.


On a completely different note,  I heard a little girl on the bus refer to a cell phone as a “celephone” the other day. So cute! So logical!


I Pooped!

TMI DISCLAIMER: Um… If you don’t like it when people talk about poop, maybe it would be best to skip over this entry. For those of you who, like me, have no shame or who just aren’t that squeamish, carry on.

Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that I don’t use public bathrooms unless ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY, and only to pee. I never ever poop where strangers are also doing their business. It has nothing to do with the cleanliness of public restrooms, and everything to do with the potential audience. I don’t like to pee because I think people are listening and judging the amount of time it takes me to go. What if I have a really long pee? Will people think that I’m gross? What if it’s really short? Will they think I am weird?

I only recently started peeing in public bathrooms. I still hate to do it, but if it comes between peeing my pants and using a common toilet, I’ll choose the toilet every time. Sometimes, if it’s just me and someone else in there, I’ll get stage fright and I’ll leave the bathroom. Sometimes, I make a show of russling toilet paper and flushing the toilet before washing my hands and exiting even though I haven’t actually gone, only to run to another bathroom a few seconds later. Sometimes, if I’m sure the person didn’t see me come in, I’ll just turn around and run.

Pooping is the worst, though. What if people can hear me? What if I toot? What if it splashes? What if I they can smell me? I get bouts of IBS-like symptoms after eating, and still I refuse to use public bathrooms. Back when I was working at the call centre and Karen lived very close, I would borrow her keys and run to her place to use the washroom. It happened so often, my frequent trips to her house during working hours came to be known as “key breaks”.  Once, someone overheard me ask Karen for her keys and assumed that I was borrowing her car to drive myself to the hospital. She told Chase, who called me in a state of panic, assuming I was dying.

Now that I have moved to Toronto and my commute to work takes over an hour each way, I don’t have the luxury of key breaks. I don’t even have the luxury of a single-stall bathroom like I did at the call centre. It’s just rows and rows of cubicles as far as the eye can see. There have been times when I contemplated going home sick rather than poop in a strange bathroom, but I always managed to make it to the end of the day. Always, that is, until yesterday when I had to muster up all of the courage I had, and face the reality of the public toilet head-on. 

Luckily, yesterday the office was like a ghost town, and I was assured a pretty private washroom experience. It was still unnerving as hell, though. I brought a little can of air freshener with me that I’ve been keeping in my purse for forever for just such an emergency (a trick my friend uses), and I quickly sprayed a little before I started to doubt whether it was wise to mix the smell of poop and oranges. I also flushed the toilet at least five times, abiding by another friend’s rule of “don’t let that shit hit the water”.  There were a few moments of panic while my body was fighting itself, and I wasn’t sure if I was pushing or holding it in, but I DID IT!! I actually pooped in a public bathroom. I have never been prouder. Go me!! I pooped!

Getting Fresh in 2009

Chase and I went to Rob’s to party on New Year’s Eve. I had big plans to get drunk and rowdy1, but I spent the majority of the night whining about being sick, and sleeping off a nasty cold. The highlight of my night occurred when I crawled into bed with my friends Rob and Steph after I realized that Chase was going to spend the night passed out on the bathroom floor. In the wee hours of the morning, I reached across Rob’s sleeping body and said “Steph, I can’t even feel you”. Then I put my hand on what I THOUGHT was her outer thigh, a few inches below her bum. Apparently, what I really did was pat her crotch and pass out with my hand cupping her vajayjay. Whoops.

The funniest (and funnest) part of this story is that Steph just went back to sleep. I wouldn’t have even known what I had done if she hadn’t told Chase about her late night molestation. I feel vaguely like a creepy old woman, but every time I picture myself absently patting Steph’s vagina, I giggle.

1I can count the number of times I’ve gotten drunk and rowdy on one (maaaybe 2) hand(s).

Steph ad I
Steph and I model with the xmas gift she gave me.

In The New Year…


1. Moving to a new apartment and living like an adult again (no roommates, nicer stuff, and generally making a permanent home for Chase and I. I am envisioning many dinner parties and guests).

2. Dexter being 100% house-trained and mellowing out a bit.

3. Getting pregnant (toward the end of 2009, depending on pesky things like financial stability, job security, the desire to have children, etc.).



1. Save money

2. Continue to be more social (including joining more classes, clubs, etc.)

3. Lose weight

4. Update more

5. Craft more

6. Catch up, and stay caught up, with my friends and pen pals (especially with a Miss Nadine, who is long overdue for a fun package),.

7. Being more responsible and accountable in all areas of my life.

There Is Something Very Wrong With Me…

I was on the subway the other day, and three men walked on. Two were very attractive in a jock-y kind of way, and one was sketchy, tall, too thin, and had hair that was almost long enough to reach his bum. I checked them all out, and even though I acknowledged that the two jocks would be better suited to me, I knew in my heart of hearts that I’d sleep with the weird, skinny dude (if I was single, of course) before I even considered the other two.

It made me very sad.

Now For Something Completely Different

This video made me love Beyonce:

I can’t stop staring at her butt. I am a lesbian for Beyonce’s butt.

Three’s Company?

Ever since I agreed to move in with my fiance and a chick he has a crush on, my friend has been ranting about how my life is NOT a Three’s Company episode. As if that’s a bad thing. As if it wouldn’t be awesome living with Jack and Chrissy (I would totally be Janet), having my meals made for me by a hot guy who respected me enough not to sleep with my roommate… I should be so lucky!

If my life was a sit-com, it wouldn’t be light and fluffy like Three’s Company. I was telling Jeremy yesterday that it will probably be more tragic and twisted like Arrested Development. I waver between feeling like everything is going to be okay, and feeling like I’ve just screwed up my life in a very monumental way.

The minute I do something embarrassing or soul-crushing, I immediately think “at least it will make a good story!”. Between my living situation (move day is Sunday), and my new job (which I feel vastly under qualified for), I am sure I will have hundreds of posts for you in the days to come!