Pinky's Place

"That which does not kill you will only make you stronger."

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Damn it! Didn't I tell you I ain't no one's victim?!

It must be the way I smell.

No, no. That's not it.

Is it the way I look? Nah, that can't be it. From what people tell me, I usually look quite mean and unapproachable if you just see me walking down the street. My explanation for that, is that crazies don't approach someone who looks just as crazy.

Fine, I concede. It must be some otherworldly force that guides perverts to me. Am I really a pervert magnet?!! Seriously. I thought dong man was an exception. I thought it was just a minor blip along the interesting journey I call life. Oh no. No, no. The drama isn't enough as it is.

So, not only do real perverts like to expose themselves to me in real life, but somehow, the internet perverts find me too! What the hell?!! Do I post nasty pictures and advertise booty calls? No. Are my blogs filled with raunchy stories about nurses in stilettos? No. Are my photographs of flowers and dumplings an indication that I would be interested in how you like to spend your free time? NO!!!!

Damn it.

You may have noticed my flickr badge. Right here, to the right. Yep. I take pictures. I like to post them up. I also like to think that once in a while, I take a cool picture and maybe one day be in the top 500 interesting pictures of the day. It's simplistic and naive, but hey, it doesn't take a lot to please me. My e-mail indicates that someone has added me as a contact on flickr. Now flickr, being just as naive as me, tells me that this may mean that this person really likes my photographs and has bookmarked my page so that they can look at my pictures. Oh, really? Someone likes my pictures? Finally! Someone has some appreciation for my cool angles, the steadiness of my hand, or the just the pure genius behind the photograph. So I thought.

Ok, let me see who this person is.

What, what?!! Did I read properly?!! Is that what his profile really says?!!!

Honest, I almost fell off my chair.

Now, I wish to remain a PG-13 blog with occasional swearing and cartoon violence, so I won't go into details. But what I WILL divulge, is that this guy claims to be well endowed, to the point where he can be the captain of his own pleasureboat, if you know what I mean. And I don't mean the deckhand, but he can toot his own horn. I can't say more than that, if you didn't figure it out, you're more naive than me.

First I'm thinking, this guy is just trying to get people to look at his pictures, which are most likely boring, tacky pictures of his dog or something. However, I got this nagging, weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. My mouse finger had a mind of it's own and left-clicked before I could really figure out what I wanted to do.

Yeah, I fell off my chair this time. But not before my mouse finger clicked the little x in the top right hand corner.

Well, one thing I have to say, is that, at least these perverts aren't liars too.

But shit! How much trauma can my little fragile heart take?! In any case, you're damn right I blocked that nasty mo-fo right quick. And then I cursed myself for my own foolishness. Me and my little:

"The world is a nice place (la dee dah), rainbows and kittens and lollipops! (yay!) Playful puppies and rubber duckies and jujubes! (hooray!) Macaroni penguins and chocolate frosting and butterflies! (wee!)"

When in fact, it really is more like:

"Damn disgusting perverts who can't keep their own (beeps) to themselves! (nasty!) Vile and gross and traumatic! (ug!) Cantankerous and distasteful and scuzzy! (yeah, scuzzy!) Shameless and repugnant degenerate! How dare he try to add me as a contact so that he can fulfil some sick desire for innocent eyes to pass over the by-product of exhibitionism! How dare he try to besmirch my honour!!"

I'm sure I'm not the only one out there that this sort of thing has happened to. I just really am confused as to how I would be selected to be on the receiving end. I mean, ok, in real life maybe I don't look as intimidating as I would like to think I am so maybe dong man took advantage of the fact that I don't look like I can kick his ass (which he is completely wrong about, I can SO kick his ass). But over the internet?! Seriously. Maybe there are just more perverts than I thought out there that try to recruit more perverts for kicks. I dunno. Maybe I should start posting more pictures of me beating people up as a sort of "I can whup yo' ass Shaolin monk style, young grasshopper" message.


But I guess for now, just to be clear:

If I didn't invite it, I don't want to see it cause I can whup yo' ass Shaolin monk style, young grasshopper.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Some handy info for the ladies...

Divide your age in half, and add seven.

That's the youngest guy you're allowed to date.

Thank goodness there are rules about this. A small slice of wisdom from Cosmo. Otherwise it'd just be one big free for all. Or is it too late?

Ok, so....24 divided by 2 = 12....+ 7 = ....19!!!

Alright girls! But really, I think this is a recipe for disaster. But the rules say that it's allowed!! So I haven't broken any rules....hehehe....whew! But now that I think about it, this is more of a worst case scenario, not an ideal. Well, at least I know I'm playing fair. Just thought I'd share this bit of info...could come in handy, especially with all these young boys running around trying to seduce older women. Watch out for those buggers...but at least you know who's too young to shack up with!

So now that I on!

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

...and now you will have to wait 4 months for the new season!

You know, I really hate season finales. But I really love season finales. But you know what I REALLY REALLY hate? Having my emotions toyed around with.

You know what I'm talking about.

The tease. The uncertainty. The crying, the laughing, the anger - all of it. All in a span of an hour. Or two. It's a crazy emotional rollercoaster ride and I am too weak, TOO WEAK, I say! to turn away and not watch. Because I have to watch. I have to see what happens to Denny. Does he get the heart? I have to see what happens to Burke. Does he die? I even have to see what happens to Doc, the dog. Is he going to survive through his osteosarcoma? And what about Finn, the cute veterinarian? Is Meredith going to screw this one up too?

Ahh....that time of year again.

I told myself,

"No, don't start watching these shows. You'll get hooked and no good will come of it."

But the lure was too great and soon enough, every Sunday night, I was glued to the television. I had to see what kind of mischief Meredith, Izzie, George, Christina and Alex would get into this week. Damn these clever writers of Grey's Anatomy. Even the name of the show is clever!! Hah! Grey's Anatomy = Gray's Anatomy?!! I know some of you get it.

And now, emotionally spent and overwhelmed, what is left for me? I didn't know I could cry so many times, scream that loudly and curse with such profanity. My parents think I'm insane. Only those of you who watch these misfit interns truly understand. Yes. It really is that frustrating.

Damn McDreamy. He McSucks.

So, back to the original query. What am I going to do for the next 4 months?

Watch reruns.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Lessons Learned

I hesitate to say that this was an action packed week but nevertheless it passed quickly but not completely painlessly.

Yes, officially I am done with packing books so Wednesday was my first day really off. I spent a good part of the day converting my messy pig sty of a room into an ordered messy pig sty of a room. I don't know about you, but when I clean my room, it tends to get messier before it gets cleaner. It also happens in stages over an extended period of time. Maybe I do it this way so that I don't suffer from shock going from messy to clean. I guess I do better with easy transitions going from bad-bad to bad to not-so-bad to not-bad to meh-ok to ok to zen-like-state. You know, the monks had it right. If I had my way, my room would be devoid of all crap and consist soley of my bed, a bookshelf, my tv and my computer (hey, I bet even the monks check their e-mail once in a while). But, I suppose that I will have to settle for a modern as close to zen as I can get. Which basically just means vacuuming the hidden corners of my so-called sanctuary. And maybe recycling some scrap paper. Always recycle people! I think those Mac campus environmentalist people are starting to get to me...

I have also begun my season working with the Montreal Wanderer's Rugby team. I went to my first practice on Thursday, which didn't go too badly. I do find it strange and most inconvenient that the field that we're supposed to be practicing on is actually not very accessible. By this I don't mean that it is hard to find or anything, but bizarrely, locked up. All gates that should have been open were chained up. Since it is located behind a school, it is understandable that the school entrance is locked up but the other entrance on the other side (which is a park) is also locked up. Very strange indeed. So what are players and coaches and therapists to do? Apparently, we hop fences. Now the last time I felt like a real delinquent was some time ago and my fence hopping skills had turned a little rusty. And this was a semi-tall fence. Crap. Faced with no other choice, myself and my friend, the other therapist, had to get all gangster and jump the bloody thing. Getting up was not so much of a problem. However, from atop a fence, the ground looks level...until you jump down...into a hole. Damn. The ground apparently sloped down and I landed in a hole-ish area. So down goes me. That makes a nice impression....and blast, mashed up my shin. Well, technically my tib. anterior. 2 hours later, I was faced with the same predicament. In order to leave, I had no choice but to jump back over. Ok ok. I can do this. I mean, I've hopped fences before...I've even slid under a fence. Piece of cake. THIS time, I will take off my bag so thatI will not be off balance. Getting up - no problem. Look down - flat ground, good. my thumb. Damn it! I almost had it until I put my hand out and hyperextended my thumb. Next time, I'll get it for sure...but hopefully we'll change practice fields.

But today..oh today. Yeah. Now, I promised myself that this wouldn't happen again. I swore to myself back in October that I would not be in this situation another time. I remember! Shaking my fist to the heavens while the rain poured down and soaked me to the bone leaving me to dry my pants in the bathroom until I burnt the hand dryer out. That resulted in me having to ride back to Montreal from Sherbrooke in a bus with 30 guys in a wife beater and shorts...until somebody with a brain offered me a shirt. That game in Sherbrooke was memorable, I tell you, and not in a good way. I promised that I would never again be caught in another game in the rain without a real raincoat and wellies. And yet, this morning, I looked out the window and said,

"Oh, it's not so bad. It's not raining hard. I'll just wear my new Nike Air Force 1s." My dad mentioned as I was getting ready for my rugby game,

"You should wear your North Face boots. It's raining." Nah...I think it'll be okay. It wasn't raining half as hard as it did in Sherbrooke when I was with my McGill team.

Then I find out we were playing the Montreal Irish. In Ste. Julie. It's basically farmland. That meant bad news for me.

Luckily, we had at least one thing. Bags. Even back in Sherbrooke, 4 hours in the pouring rain, my feet were dry because we double bagged our feet. People laughed, they stared and they pointed. But after 4 hours, I was the one laughing. My feet and shoes were dry. This time, we only had enough bags to go over our socks but not over the shoes. You must imagine that it was bad. A muddy field. Gross. No. It was BAD. To give a comparison, if you know the reservoir at McGill...imagine it all muddy and wet....and it still would have been a dream compared to this field. We were directed to a field that literally had a moat surrounding it. I tried not to think about my shoes. It was worse when we found out that we had to go back to the other field. So, I had to cross the moat again. Blast. Have you ever walked in a muddy spot where your shoe gets suctioned to the ground? Yeah, imagine a whole field of that. Granted, I wasn't actually playing, but I think I may have preferred to. Less painful to just jump into it and not care, than to walk with an umbrella and a kit and still get soaked because the rain is actually falling diagnally. The best was when one of my players went down and I had to cross the field to get to him. Walking was a challenge on the sidelines...on the field - it was like walking on quicksand that didn't quite suck you down the whole way. I actually got my shoe suctioned so hard that my foot came up to take the next step sans shoe. I was in a precarious state of balance. I had to reach with my foot blindly back to shove the same bagged foot into my shoe that I left behind. This happened the entire way there and back. Arg. Somehow, it finally finished. My not for me. When I got home, I spent close to and hour hosing off my track pants and cleaning my shoes. But that was really because my dad refused to let me in the house looking like I took a nap in a puddle. The shoes suffered. But not as bad as I feared. But I'm super pissed that I manage to get myself into the same sticky situation again. Bah! But I swear this will be the last time. By the end of this week I will have wellies. And a real raincoat.


Don't jump a fence and land in a hole.
Don't jump a fence and land on your thumb.
Don't go to bed at 3am.
Don't inhale your breakfast.
Don't disregard the rain.
Don't wear your new running shoes to a muddy field.
Don't forget to bag your feet. Double bag if possible (I promise, in this situation, it's ok!).
Don't poke people in the eye with your umbrella.
Don't let your dad know he was right. Ever.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Books, the karma of Cam Ward, how metro is too sexual? and pop hop

This week started with me stuffing books in boxes and it ended with me stuffing books in boxes. But in between I had some mini adventures...though nothing as shocking as dong man.

As a loyal libary attendee, I jumped at the chance to help make it brand new. You have to understand, at the Mac campus, it's almost as if we are in our own world and not really part of McGill. I was overjoyed to learn that my beloved library would be getting a face lift - translation: renovation!! No more funky orange walls (I hope), no more 70's furniture, no more stuffy dusty air. But in order to do this, all the books must be moved out. Easy, you say? Hah! My library isn't a big one, but when you start packing those books away, it seems as though books materialize out of the dusty air and never seem to end. Of course, I rows did decrease as the days wore on. But damn. I don't want to see another bound journal for a long time. Who the hell reads the Netherlands Journal of Agriculture Vol. 77 anyways?! Books books and more books? Who else better to move books than the students who virtually live at library?

Well, the monotony of books got broken up by some playoff hockey. Totally pumped for Game 6 of round one and of course that has to be the day when the bus driver decides he doesn't know how to drive and I get downtown from St. Anne's with minutes to spare before the anthems begin. Sprinting off the bus, I pulled my hamstring and ran like a cripple to the Bell Centre. Whew. Made it just in time. Ack. All in all, it was pretty crazy (especially the guys that body painted themselves in front of us). But damn. How frustrating is Cam Ward?! Deep in the throes of playoff fever, 21 273 fans screaming's over. What? Well, I have this theory. Remember karma? Our old friend? I believe that it was karma. Somewhere in the middle of the 3rd period, someone kook started a "You suck!" chant. Then some other smart ass added "Cam Ward!". So it became a "You suck....Cam Ward!" chant. So instead of us cheering our beloved Habs in the customary "Go Habs Go", the new chant became quite popular with the masses. And so karma kicks in and boom. We lose. Cam Ward wins. So who sucks Cam Ward now?

At least I got a free towel out of it.

Since exams have pretty much come to a close, some friends and I went to celebrate in the most appropriate Quebec fashion. We went for poutine and beer. After hitting up La Banquise for some poutine duleton, we went to Saint Elizabeth's for drinks. Nice place....we made ourselves home in a what I thought was a rooom designed to look like outside but it really was outside. In any case, our waiter presented an interesting mystery. A tight fitting yellow tee, nice jeans and two pierced ears - he seemed to be what is what they call metrosexual. Super nice guy, but of course "the question" came up. I actually had some doubts...I wasn't really sure. In fact, our group was sort of split on this one. But is there really a way to figure it out? I mean, is there some trick that is foolproof that you can rely on? In any case, at one point, one of my friends was ready to actually instigate a situation to see if he could elicit a reaction. But then...I figured it out. At least I think I did. My other friend (a guy) was just about to finish his beer when our waiter came by to see if he wanted anything else. He came by and said:

"You doing ok?" while his hand was resting on my friend's upper back/shoulder area.

My first thought was "Yep. He's gay."

A straight guy would not randomly touch another guy like that. Unless it was in some dire situation such as when the metro stops suddenly and it's to keep the stranger with B.O. next to you from squashing and passing the smelly germs to you. My mischevious friend who was going to make something happen saw "the touch" and agreed with me. Now, it's true that guys touch other guys (Hello! rugby? Now, those guys sometimes make me wonder) but that's when you know them. When do guys touch random other guys who they don't know from squat? Unless someone has another theory...this is what I'm going with.

On a totally different note...

I've noticed that radio stations now play a wider variety of music. Is it that maintream music is not so mainstream or is different becoming the new mainstream? Well, at least to some degree. The so-called reggae isn't real reggae. Not that I have anything against Sean Paul. And what about this rap/hip hop confusion? In any case, my friend had the most accurate description of the jarble of do-re-mi's that are saturating the ariwaves these days:

Pop hop.

And I think "How right she is."

Tuesday, May 02, 2006


Too physically and emotionally drained to blog. Need to find beverage to soothe burning throat. Only enough energy to type....FREAKIN' CAM WARD!!!

n.b. On this bittersweet day, Cam Ward dashed my Stanley Cup dreams but I have also officially passed biochem. Sucks to you biochem!