Is that really you Santa Claus?
Click here. Santa really does exist!
Click here. Santa really does exist!
One of the items in my stocking from Santa this year was a bottle of mango body wash and a shower puff. I was very excited about this because I love the smell of mangos and I hadn't used a shower puff since the late '90's. Yesterday, I was giving my whole body a really good lathering when just before I was heading for my b*tt cr**ck I realized that the puff I was using was not my bright orange one, but the big purple one that belonged to one of my roommates. I literally said "aack" and stopped scrubbing my body in mid-lather. I quickly rinsed the soap from my body and gave the puff a good rinse as well. Okay, so here's the problem, I wasn't really grossed out because I had used someone else's puff but rather, I felt a huge pang of shame and guilt that I had scrubbed my body with it. Now I'm wondering, should I tell my roommate that I used her puff, or would it be better that she never knew of the offence? What would you prefer? Oh, and if she is reading this, I'm very, very sorry. It will never happen again and I did actually stop before I got to my cr*ck...hopefully we can get through this together.
Stop the presses! Call in the dogs! Mr. P has found this website! *aack!* Actually, I gave it to him because for some reason my blog is VERY easy to search for now. I googled "bryanna and vancouver" and it was the first hit. Oh, and "bryanna and mr.p" shows the same results. So, I decided that in order to gain some control over the situation, I would just reveal it to him myself, which I believe is the better alternative to him finding it a month from now without me being aware and perhaps saying something incriminating or embarrasing (like I have not already). Posts about Mr.P will dramatically decrease from now on...don't be too sad...pervs.
#1. Write something interesting in my blog at least 5 times per week.
[UPDATE: I HAVE BEEN GIVEN THE "POPE'S" (READ: MOTHER'S) BLESSING TO BE AS CRASS, CRUDE AND BLATANTLY PERVERTED AS I WISH...WHICH IS GOOD FOR YOU BECAUSE I WAS ACTUALLY GOING TO WRITE ABOUT MY WEEK OF ACID REFLUX]
As I am heading to Kamloops tonight for the holidays and will be immobile with gluttony for the next 4 days, I thought I would spend some of my (work) time to wish everyone a Merry Christmas! Which, on further thought, is actually pointless because I will be spending Christmas with most my readers. So, here's a little update to keep you busy until I get back next Wednesday.
"You're trying to kill me slowly, aren't you?...AREN'T YOU!!" This has been my mother's opening line on the phone for the past two weeks. And, as I predicted, last night I heard that exact line when I answered the phone at approximately 7:00 pm. Now, you're probably wondering why I allowed my mother to read my website in the first place. It's simple...I like readers. And because I don't pay to have it hosted, my site is rarely (besides yesterday) visited by "randoms". I have come to look forward to comments more than I look forward to e-mails, which is strange because I absolutely abhor having people proof read my academic essays. But, my blog is different. My blog is my "creative" outlet now that I don't have courses to take at school *sigh*.
One of my co-workers searched for my blog and found THIS!! Scroll down until you see the heading The Curse of the Super-Chick...I'm waiting for my check in the mail!
Ladies, we all know her. That super-chick (credits to DD for the term) inside all of us. She rears her ugly, needy, emotional, over-analytical head every once in a while and no matter how hard we try to push her out of the way, take a step back and look at things (read: relationships) objectively, she always seems to make an appearance when the stakes, meaning your heart getting broken, get a little bit higher. Suddenly, everything your unsuspecting partner says or writes in an e-mail gets broken down piece by piece like you're a CSI. You start to question why he waited an extra day to call you. "He usually calls me every day" you may say to yourself..."perhaps this is his way of 'pulling away'??" And that brings me to another topic altogether, this concept of men "pulling away" (not to be mistaken with *ahem* "pulling out" ha ha ha ha ha ha ha SORRY MOM!!). Why do men seem to always "pull away" when the relationship gets a little more serious, when everything is almost perfect, when you feel like you could actually find yourself falling in love with them...? It's when you feel or "sense" this "pulling away" that you transform into that somewhat crazy version of yourself that cries when he says he's spending the night with "the boys", that cries when he doesn't return an e-mail, that cries when you see puppies...errr...anyways, I'm sick of it. But, for now, I'm just going to smile because faking a smile produces the same happy effect that a real smile does... "oh the shark has great big teeth dear and he shows them. . .pearly white!"
Utterances of the english language in the past week:
Do you remember the post in which I described some of Mr.P's vital stats...um..well..last Sunday I was looking at him ( pretty closely) when I noticed something was weird..I literally took my index finger and my thumb, forced his eye open really large, and said in an embarrased, surprised tone, "you're eyes aren't brown?". Yeah..they aren't brown. They are a combination of grey, green, and blue....he thought I was crazy, but I told him that before our first date. I'm sure he's thinking right now, "what did I get myself into?".....
At about 10:00 a.m. while pleasantly enjoying myself in my little glass fish bowl (Teena: fish bowl = my office with three other girls; hamster cage=the company office) my Stomach e-mailed my Brain...this was in the subject line: Yo, fool, I'm hungry. You forgot to eat breakfast! Even though my brain got the message, like me, it decided not to reply. An hour later, Stomach left a very nasty message in Brain's voice-mail message box (the contents of which are not suitable for this g-rated blog). This time Brain sent Stomach a text message that read: IT'S 11:00. WAIT 1 MORE HOUR AND I PROMISE I WILL MAKE IT UP TO YOU.
Sometimes I feel like I'm in a hamster cage....actually, in a fish bowl within a hamster cage...the hamsters in the cage are always bustling about, while the fish occasionally swim around and pretend to look alive, but mostly they're suspended in the water, fins subtly moving, looking dazed and uninterested...The hamsters being very intrigued by the fish in the bowl..always look inside...there's a sign that says "don't tap the glass!", but sometimes the hamsters can't help it...the fish are just too flashy to ignore. Oh well, in 4 months I'll be flushed...and will probably miss the room-temperature water...but most likely NOT.
**Yes, I know it's been a while since my last (good) post. And, yes, you have come to rely on my daily banterings and hilarious (if only to me and my close relatives) anecdotes....BUT, I'm not a machine people, being THIS funny is hard (not to mention that I got a bit paranoid about posting these on the *cough*cough* Company's time) ...okay, so without any further ado...**
- While waiting for Mr. P to give me a ride home the other day, he 'mistakenly' called my house when trying to reach his EX (now, "good-friend", two years post break-up) ... to which I replied --- what would Freud say about that? (do you detect bitterness, insecurity... *ahem* jealousy in my tone??? What?! Me?! Never!! No, REALLY, I'm taking this 'friends with the Ex' thing pretty well I think...and, uh, no...that is not the sound of my teeth grinding...whatever **hmmpf!!**... FYI: there will be (don't you worry) a (juicy) post about this "topic" soon, but I'm waiting to figure out what I truly feel about it before I start the blogging process)
- When the sisters commented on the size of my (reletively speaking) HUGE cajungas... I simply replied...what would Freud say about that?
- When a close friend divulged to me that a "good spanking" evokes the same pleasure that she and I share for an eight layer hazelnut chocolate cake at True Confections...I simply replied (and attempted to raise my right eyebrow a la Carrie Bradshaw )...say it with me people: WHAT. WOULD. FREUD. SAY. ABOUT. THAT. MISSY?
- Every time I give my number out to a man whom I am a/. not attracted to b/. somewhat repulsed by AND c/. unable to carry a mature conversation with...I usually think to myself, "self, what would good ol' S.F. say about that, huh? No, really?? What's wrong with you woman?!! How many men do you have to employ the avoid-with-the-help-of-caller-ID tactic on until you get it through your (fabulous) thick scull...that your idea of politeness is your messed-up way of self-validation...?? Err...I digress...*'scuse me, for that outburst*
- Lastly, when my Mom inevitably calls me up (and actually gets in contact with me) with a somewhat "suggestive" quote from my blog still fresh in her mind, perhaps from this blog entry, disgruntled and mortified by my "blunt disclosures" I will reply....well, by now (hopefully) you-know-what.
- SIDE NOTE: I just had an ingeniuos idea...bracelets with WWFSAT on them...of course, pronounced W. W. F. Sat.
2.5 months ago I dated a firefighter. We met at a pub in Yaletown, went on two dates, I told him my five year plan, he didn't call me after our 2nd date, I didn't call him and, frankly, I really didn't care. It was the easiest 1 week relationship of my life. It ended as quickly as it started and the good-bye was not "sweet sorrow". In fact, there was no good-bye...it just ended, period. Or so I thought...
Someone mentioned to me on my way to *ahem* the Ladies Room (it appears I spoke too soon), that perhaps I could have the Flu...this possibility had not crossed my mind. Ever since my summer of "the Great Illness" my perception of what being "sick" means is somewhat distorted. Here are my symptoms. . .(warning: some of them, actually all of them, aren't pleasant).
Here's an update on my life (since yesterday):
Buffalo Bratwurst Sausage, that is. When I eat it, it makes me feel like I'm the type of person who would enjoy a 3 week hike in the woods (which I am SO not), buy organic vegetables (again, me? I think not!! (stole that line from "Anonymous")), and have a Golden Retriever (I like my dogs small, thank-you-very-much).
Good-morning! Veronica Shaw here. Taking over for Bry. That girl never learns. After the afternoon she had yesterday in the company toilet, I told her a coffee and low fat blueberry muffin was probably not a smart idea...she responded with "WHATever V! You don't own me!". So, now she's in the same predicament as yesterday...having to endure the "Again?!!" comments from the guy who sits by the woman's washroom. Don't worry, she's already apologized. I SO own her...
[FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DO NOT LIKE "BATHROOM HOMOUR" STOP READING NOW. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. . .PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK]
The process from real life to blog entry usually goes something like this:
Well, I'm off to Kamloops tonight to perform some top-secret-christmas-present-preparations. I better get a seat to myself on the Greyhound bus or someone's just going to have to put up with my legs in their lap! Ha ha . . . just kidding. But seriously, I really want my own seat, I even stuffed a pillow in my suitcase so I could snooze on the way there. I'm finally going to get my pictures from Halloween developed. For those of you who don't already know this, I was a ballerina for Halloween. It was the "awesomest" costume ever! My hair was pulled back into a classic ballerina bun, with a red ribbon tied into it. My costume consisted of a huge red tutu, a black corsette, black tights, black ballerina shoes, and a little black cardigan. I of course took full advantage of the event and wore a lot of make-up. A LOT. I'm talking RED lipstick, thick blush, and lots of eye make-up. It was fabulous. FAB. U. LOUS. Hopefully the pictures are fabulous as well. I was supposed to be the "Performance Ballerina" and DD was the "Practice Ballerina", but everyone kept on confusing me for "Dominatrix Ballerina". . .which got me to thinking. . .but then I realized that if I wanted to be Prime Minister one day, having a somewhat "questionable past" would not be good for my credability, so I resolved to use my costume only for Halloween. It is hanging on my closet door, as a constant reminder of how fabulous I can really be. Till next year red tutu. . .till next year.
[I STARTED WRITING THIS BLOG YESTERDAY, BUT WAS NOT VERY MOTIVATED TO FINISH IT. . .SORRY TO MY LOYAL READERS]
Actually, I feel like explaining the "Mr. Persistent" pseudonym today, so here it goes. . .
If you have read my To Meet or Not Meet entry, you will already know that I met Mr. Persistent on *ahem* Lavalife. . .(yeah whatever, I am SO not a loser. . . right?). I allowed him to add me to his MSN Messenger list and we chatted off and on for about a month. He really wanted to meet, but I was extremely apprehesive (I watch Oprah too much) and was full of excuses as to why I couldn't, plus, somehow my life seemed to be crawling with men at that time . . . men from my distant past, men from my recent past, and men from my "S.A.T.U.R.D.A.Y" nights out with my single and also fabulous friend DD. I didn't see how I could possible allow another man into the "mix", so I TRIED to cut him out of my life and stopped replying to his e-mails. Cruel? Perhaps. But give me break. . .we hadn't even met in flesh yet.
However, every 3 weeks or so he would send me an e-mail. They were always very sweet, never bordering on creepy, stalkerish, or desperate. He said things like, "I haven't heard from you in a bit so I was wondering what's up and how you're doing?" and "I still would like to meet you, what's good for you?". I thought I had succeeded in my "catch-and-release" tactic when he finally e-mailed me saying that he would stop e-mailing me if I did not return his last e-mail, but two weeks later he e-mailed again. When I read the first sentence and I qoute: "Hey ya lil brat! I lied!!!" I knew this was a man that I had to meet. The fact that he called me a "brat" made me laugh and brought a smile to my face weeks after the fact. So, two days later, with the approval of my great co-workers, I e-mailed him back. I apologized for my bratty behavior, he forgave me and we made plans to meet.
That was two weeks ago and I'm still kicking myself for not agreeing to meet him sooner. He's great. We're great. Everything is Great. However. . . I've dated enough to know that things can go from "Great" to "Horrible and Awkward" in the dating world just as fast as I can smell a cake in the office the moment it enters the building. (Alayne, I know you're laughing about the last sentence. . and to that I say WHATever!). PLUS, and this is a big one. . .he's a Capricorn (I'm a Pisces)! I'm not really into that stuff, but I was so happy when I read this: *courtesy of astrologyzone.com*Capricorn's earth element and your water element blend beautifully and make a fertile combination. The sum total of your relationship is gentle support and caring. In bed, things should be great. Capricorns are delightfully slow and thoughtful in their approach. Your Capricorn will love your imaginative style and your deeply spiritual approach to the relationship.
**NOTE: THE SENTENCE IN BOLD. WHICH OF COURSE, MOM, WILL ONLY BE VERIFIED ON OUR WEDDING NIGHT**
Okay, you pervs. . .that's all you're getting out of me at the moment. . .I will update you later, but I will refrain from writing too much about Mr. P, as it would be rather embarassing if he happened to find my website. . .although if he does stick around it will be funny for us to look back on this.
So, you're probably wondering why I titled this My Latest Obsession. It actually has nothing to do with Mr. P, but with a Blog I stumbled upon recently. Actually, "Blog" is not a worthy word to describe it. Fabulously addictive and wonderfully insightful is better. I do not recommend my male readers to take it on, it's Sex and the City meets Bridgette Jones, with the added bonus that it's non-fiction!! It's such a great blog, the writer is now actually publishing a book. So, you're saying to yourself stop blabbing already Bryanna and give us the address!! Okay here it is: www.breakupbabe.blogspot.com. I suggest you start from the beginning . . .
P.S. A co-worker and I have been reading it like it's a bestselling novel. She's finished it already. . .I've made her swear not to reveal to me how it ends!!
My technological deficiency became rather apparent yesterday when I tried to place a site counter on my blog. As you can see for yourself, my blog still does not have a site counter...and I lost two hours of my life that I will never get back again. I'm very curious to know who actually reads this thing, so I've created a short survey. All you have to do is copy the questions below and paste them into the comments section...you don't even have to answer all of them. Thanks!