About the author

So I was just reading about a book (I will not tell you what book because I'm embarrassed), and the little blurb about the author read, "Ms.               is the author of the bestselling books                   and                  . She lives in England." That is the saddest short little bio I've ever seen. Who else is she? Much more than that I'm sure. The following is what my little blurb would say if someone other than me was awesome enough to publish anything I write (and let's face it, that is unlikely. There is just too much awesome here for anyone to handle): 

Ms. Awesome is the author of the legendary blog Neither Here Nor There, not to be confused with other inferior blogs entitled Neither Here Nor There, of which there are many. You'll know which is the correct one when you see it. It's the one with all the awesome and is endorsed by Cindy Crawford. 

Ms. Awesome hails from the land of ice and snow (Canada) but has spent short stints living in California and Switzerland. In California she was a house cleaning illegal immigrant whose claim to fame was possibly having seen Britney Spears' hand reaching out of a limousine window. In Switzerland she was a student. Her research from this time has proven that chocolate is, in fact, a food group. Her claim to fame in that life was having gained 20 pounds in four short months. 

In her spare time, between her very serious and important job of blogging, Ms. Awesome is an aspiring geographer and musician. She is most famously known as a geographer for her work on conserving nature for the sake of the rich middle class. Her most famous song to date is a little ditty entitled Weird Mosquito, inspired by her boyfriend. She currently lives in Toronto with her pets, Raisin the evil cat; Hawkslee the mentally challenged dinosaur; and Brian the fully grown boy. 

Ms. Awesome realizes that many readers may find this little biography ridiculous. Well, you know what readers? SO'S YOUR FACE!

Booyah!

Bonus Material:

If you've made it to the end of this post, you get to see the bonus material! This should make you feel special and good. So, without further adieu, I present your prize: 

Dios, ayudame

Warning: This is not a fun post. It's pretty self-indulgent, since I really have nothing to say and am just felling bad about life in general this week for no reason at all. Ok, it's not really for no reason at all. It's because of my brain (is my brain mySELF, or just part of it?). I'm feeling very frustrated about school, money, being disorganized and having zero will-power. 

I decided not to make any new years resolutions, and then about five seconds into the new year started talking to myself about how I'm going to be all healthy this year, and how I'm going to be organized for once, not waste time on the internet etc. Um... in retrospect, those sound like resolutions. Dammit. And I'm already failing at them. 

Exhibit A: Will-power AND organization fail combo

I went grocery shopping yesterday. Not a difficult task, right? I have been doing a pretty good job of shopping only the outer aisles of the store (you know, where all the fresh non-processed stuff is), but yesterday I had to get some baking things, so I ventured into a middle aisle. Unfortunately, I made a wrong turn and ended up in the cookie aisle. If you know me well, you know that cookies are my downfall. Give me cookies over cake any day. So first this nice "healthy" box of coconut lime cookies started calling to me. Next thing I knew it was in my cart. I mean, it really wanted me more than I wanted it, and who am I to say no to a needy box of cookies? And then I found the Jewish cookies. These cookies are basically my childhood in a box. I had been looking for them FOREVER! So how could I not buy them? 

What I didn't need to do was eat half the box in one extraordinary "I'm feeling sorry for myself" sitting. And why was I feeling sorry for myself? Due to organization failure. 

I returned home from the epic shopping trip to the grocery store and the butcher's. I had about 8lbs of meat, 4 litres of milk, and 3 litres of Perrier. These on top of about $100 other dollars worth of other less heavy, but still significant in quantity, groceries. I managed to carry all of these groceries from my car to the entrance of the building. My assigned parking spot happens to be the furthest away from any entrance. 

Anyway, I get in the door, one grocery bag at a time (there were about 8 of them). On the other side of that door is a hallway. At the end of that hallway is another door that lets you into the main part of the building where the elevators (and my abode!) live. You need a key to get through this door. This is the point where I realize that I don't have my building key. Or my apartment key. Instead of putting them back on my keychain after entering the parking garage, I threw them on the passenger's seat. So, I decide to leave the groceries and go back to my car. Except I need the building key to get back into the parking garage... Um... *insert colourful language here*. I'm stuck in a hallway between two locked doors with half my weight in groceries. Solution? Eat half a box of Jewish cookies. Add two coconut lime for good measure. 

For those of you who are worried that I am blogging from that hallway a day later, never fear. I was rescued after half an hour by a kind woman named Stephanie. Who turns out to be my neighbour across the hall. Yay! I have a nice neighbour! That makes up for the one that won't make eye contact. 

Here is a money management fail:

Yeah. People who don't have money and are unemployed for the month of December (aka. OHMYFUCKITSCHRISTMAS month, where did all my money go?) should not spend that much money on lingerie, or anything for that matter. And how cliché am I buying myself lingerie when I'm feeling down about stuff? Ugh. And now I'm feeling self-loathing... which means I'm prone to spontaneous lingerie shopping. It's a vicious cycle, people. 

Aaaaaaaand school fail:

I have no freaking CLUE what my thesis is going to be yet. I didn't do as well on my kajilion page context paper as I'd hoped, and instead of reading for background info, as I promised myself I'd be doing this morning (and every other morning this week), I have been doing this:

God damn Robot Unicorn Attack. 

Also, my brain hasn't been able to focus on anything academic this week, but it has been hard at work producing the following gems: 

1. I wrote a song. The only lyrics to this song are "Weird mosquito."

2. I coined the term "Pigathor", or, as we say in English, "Thunder pig."

3. I had the following conversation with my boyfriend-

         S: B, did you know there's a fucking cat in here?

         B: What!? Of course I know there is a cat in here. We have a cat.

         S: Oh... I was pretending like we didn't have a cat.

         B: Yeah. We have a cat. We have a parrot too.

         S: No we don't! How many times do I have to tell you she's a dinosaur? 

              I have a pet dinosaur.

         B: She's a dinosaur? 

         S: Yeah.

Dios, ayudame. 

Peace,
S

Google Ads rocks my socks

Thanks to my last post, which can be found by clicking ICI, this is the new target advertising from Google that I found upon signing into Gmail just now:

I love Google.

How Fifth Third Bank made me realize that I am America's Personal Jesus

Dear America (and your son, the Fifth Third Bank),


I have been within your borders for just over a week now, and I'll be gone in just a few days. Our time together has been short, but it has definitely been sweet. However, I am deeply alarmed about the current economic crisis, and I can't really see this supposed upswing that people are talking about. And I know why. You can blame it on the Fifth Third Bank. 

WTF America. WTF.

Maybe if your financial institutions could do math you wouldn't be in such dire straits. I wrote this equation for you to help you out:

This is a really special equation because its solution also equals me dancing maniacally while screaming "Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goldies, Be bop a lua baby what I say!!!!" But that is neither here nor there... we need to get down to business. The business of saving your butt. I am going to teach Fifth Third Bank how to do math.

Firstly, Fifth Third, your logo does not symbolize "fifth third". Numerically, 5/3 means five thirds... which is really kind of dumb, because that is the equivalent of 1 and 2/3, or 1.6 repeating. No one would ever really say five thirds. So, I have conveniently renamed your establishment the "One Point Six Repeating Bank." You're welcome. Also, if you insist on keeping your stupid nonsensical name, you need to redesign your logo to actually represent Fifth Third, which would be some variation of "5th 3rd". Again, you are so welcome. I am saving your ass. I am like the Jesus of your ass. I need to stop talking now. 

But seriously, I could be your Jesus, and here is why: 

Holy crap. We all know that Urban Dictionary is the 2nd most reliable source on the whole wide internet, after Wikipedia. And speaking of Wikipedia, it is from Wikipedia that I have learned that the Fifth Third Bank was named thusly because it was created as the result of a merger between the Third National Bank and the Fifth National Bank. Since this came about during the time of prohibitionist ideals, naming the bank "Third Fifth" was considered inappropriate because it could be misconstrued as a reference to three fifths of alcohol. Um... what!? 

I have another equation for you:

Just sayin'.

Actually, if you really think about it, 5/3 is more moonshine than 3/5. I have a new drinking game to play when I visit America! My friends and I will each drive around with a large bottle of moonshine in the passenger's seat of our respective cars. We will set out at random, not knowing where the other is headed and will drive for 10 miles. For each Fifth Third that we pass we are obliged to do 1 and 2/3 shots of moonshine. Whoever is the drunkest upon our return wins! The usual rules of driving also apply (you know, like 5 points for striking down middle-aged folks, 2 for morbidly obese people (easier targets) and 20 points for taking out cyclists, etc.), so tally up those points too. The drunker you get, the better you are at the normal rules of the road. Fun for the whole family!

I need to wrap this up because I am ruining my own cause by talking too much about nothing, but you can clearly see that I am not responsible for this drunk driving. Fifth Third and Wikipedia basically forced me to play this game at gunpoint. 

So, to sum up, dear America, Fifth Third Bank is responsible for the current economic crisis and drunk driving. That is one evil institution. If you want to get back on track you must close out your accounts with Fifth Third and re-open them in banks that can actually do math and take DUIs seriously. Really, banks have one purpose, and that purpose is to manage your money effectively. HOW CAN A BANK HOPE TO DO THIS IF THEY CANNOT DO SIMPLE MATH??? Seriously. I put no faith in this bank and neither should you. Would you trust a serial killer? Cuz this bank is basically a murderer. 

I realize that Fifth Third may sue me now, but I'm not really worried because they are liable to put a decimal point in the wrong place and add a ridiculous amount of zeroes. They would be like, "MORE NUMBERS = MORE MONEY!!! LET'S ADD ZEROES!!!!!! WeEEEEeeeEEeEeeeEE!!!!!!!", and the result would be a law suit for .00000000000000016 million instead of 1.6 repeating million. Dumbasses. Also, they are probably really confused by the telephone, as calling a lawyer would involve typing in a combination of numbers, and Fifth Third bank, as we know, is no good with numbers. I can practically hear their distress. 

Peace, 

S

P.S. I just Googled "stupid bank names" and guess what the first hit is? An article from back in July of 2008 about supposed federal regulations to forbid stupid bank names and the last paragraph mentions that this would have affected Fifth Third! This article was written by Quinn Quimbley, but it's just as well that clearly no-one read it or listened to it, because Fifth Third is still in existence, and Quinn Quimbley is not a Greenberg, and therefore could not possibly be your Jesus, America. Thank God I'm here for you. 

5/3

Vicious Rumours

Dear World,


The internet is a powerful weapon that has been turned against me. While the internet has brought us wonderful things like "Charlie Bit my Finger" and that ridiculously cutesy kitten getting tickled, it has also provided an enhanced avenue for gossip. Essentially, it's made gossip into scuttlebutt on crack... however, it has also given me a reason to use the word scuttlebutt in context. Then again, it has also caused me to feel somewhat alarmed that not only do I know the word 'scuttlebutt', I KNOW WHAT IT MEANS. Wow. 


Anyway, point being, a rumour has been spread about me on the internet. Here is the picture that has sparked the controversy: 

Sexy Bitch

I happen to enjoy this picture because most pictures of me actually come out looking like this:

Kimono Shopping in Japan

Now, there is really nothing particularly wrong with this photo, I just look like a total dork. And I am a total dork in real life, so hey, this is a more realistic representation of myself. I'm sure y'all can understand that when a nice photo comes along I have to take it and run. My eyes are only slightly squinty in the first photo, and my huge gigantic Julia Roberts smile is somewhat tamed by the fact that I took the picture of myself (total loser, I know) and didn't have anything real to smile about at the time (I was taking a break from my job as resident lizard catcher (that part is no lie)). 

Anyway, what I need to make clear is that I HAVE NOT HAD BREAST ENHANCEMENT SURGERY!

The truth about my boobs is that they are tricky. I have already briefly mentioned my war with Victoria's Secret. They have made it their mission to try to stuff my breasts into A cups for some reason, no matter how many times I have told them they don't know how to use a measuring tape. I have had two jobs where I had to fit bras, and I can guarantee you, it's not that hard. The last time one of their girls tried to tell me I was a 34 A I made her bring me a bra in that size so that I could demonstrate to her how wrong she was. I put on the bra, she took one look at the overflow of flesh (I seriously looked like I had 6 boobs. 2 in the cups, 2 on the inside, and 2 just beside my armpits. That is either a serious nightmare, or every man's dream. EXCESS BOOBS!), shrugged, and told me that's what I measure so she can't help me. Amazing customer service. 

Look at these images and tell me which one makes you think of breasts:

Picnic

Conveniently Boob-shaped Mountains

Well, you may be interested to know that Victoria's Secret has been fooled by the power of the picnic. That's right people. I have what those in the know call "Picnic Breasts." Here is how the lovely salesgirl at Tryst Lingerie described my lady bits, "Most breasts are like mountain tops. You get up there, admire the view and then ski on down. With a picnic breast you get up there and realize how inviting it is, so you spread out the blanket, pull out some food and stay awhile." That's right people. Lunch is served daily inside my bra, so eat up. That sounded way more suggestive than I intended. It's really not sexy to put food inside your bra, nor are you invited to attend any luncheons therein should I choose to host them. 

The end. 


Peace,
S

P.S. I bet you will think about my boobs when eating lunch tomorrow. 

P.P.S. Jesus probably still loves me, despite it all.