That's a No...

Alexis in Alexandria

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 18:06:00 +0000

Brie's single piece of advice to me has been: don't tell people your first name; pick an alternate and stick with it." So far people have called me, 'Simo-uh-jenn', Siiiiiii, and Lena. Lena is Brie's pseudonym and mine made no sense, so it was Lena for both of us. I was mostly referred to as 'Miss Lady' which I really enjoyed and will try to get people to use this nickname when I get home.

Miss Lady and Lena have spent the last 2 days in Alexandria. We stayed at the Sheraton Montazah (MON-tah-zah) to be said with a Ricardo Montalban accent and a flourish of the hand. Alexandria sits on the Mediterranean coast and is really beautiful! The main drag borders often violent waves with a brisk breeze that serves as a nice break from the heat of Cairo. There is also a more relaxed air to this town in contrast to the hustle and bustle of Egypt's capital. I loved staying here and left feeling that there was still much more to do.

If I were to go again, i would stay somewhere closer to downtown so I could walk around. Brie and I were rarely hassled on the street, probably because our driver was never too far away. Regardless it was a more relaxed environment. At a couple of the sights, particularly the Citadel at Qaitbey (keet-bay) was the destination for lovers.

We arrived with only 40 minutes to see the entire place. As we ran around madly snapping photos we kept intruding on lovers stealing a kiss. In fact, i think it was just Brie, me, and a shitload of lovers. One really cute couple kept running into us and asked us to take their photo.

I do have to say there does seem to be an element of the hypocritical here. For all the warnings about modest dress and cover your head, and don't show your ankles, the culture here is rife with examples of wanton behaviour. There's half-naked women in arabic music videos, ladies in the restaurant with tight-ass pants or the best was the girl with micro-mini and white leather knee high boots. Still no one seems bothered by this. But take a chubby western girl and put her in a long-sleeve v-neck shirt and capris and suddenly I'm the whore!?! Right.

Oh, Brie ordered food and it's here. back in a jiffy.

Little miss Egyptian face travels to Africa

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 00:59:00 +0000

This is the one great thing about being of nondescript ethnic origin: Everyone thinks you're one of their own. As I got off the plane and lined up to get through customs the officer took my passport and asked me, "Where are you from?"

"Canada."
"You are Egyptian, no?"
"Nope, Canadian."
"You have face of Egyptian, is good."

It's great! It's my one plus, because otherwise I seem to be a big dollar bill on legs. Brie is forever pushing me past people who want to tell me their story. She sternly takes me by the shoulders, with a firm, NO and we're on our way. It's what makes us a good team. It's only been a couple of days back together, but she and I are a great team. She's got the bartering thing down like nobody's business and I'm able to get people to be nicer to us as they think I'm local. I'm sure some of it is bullshit to get us to buy this or that, but so far it's been helpful or harmless bullshit.

Brie gave a pretty accurate report of our day on her blog, so you can head there to read it if you haven't yet. It was extremely stressful walking to the museum this morning. I'd do it again, mind you, to have the experience but it was a little rough. At one point we were faced with the choice of asking for directions or crossing this 4-lane vortex of chaos. I caught site of this man and went with my gut. He didn't know English very well and it was a bit of a struggle, but he eventually got it and took us across the street with him. We were sad to watch him leave us. I would have followed him to work if I could.

The traffic here has its own indescribable rhythm. I even tried to record a video from the backseat on our way from the airport, but it still didn't fully capture the chaos accurately. Imagine there are 3 lanes painted on the road. Now add to that 4 or 5 lanes of cars trying to weave their way through to find whatever empty space is around them. Somehow as the cars seem to careen through the streets in endless near-misses, they never seem to even so much as touch each other.

The honking is also endless, but it isn't of aggression, it's more like, "hey, here I am. On your left!" Sometimes out of habit, our cabbie would honk his horn with no one around. It's like their security blanket.

After finding our way through the streets on foot, we got to the museum. It is simply amazing. At some parts it feels like you're walking through the museum storage area or back hallways; there are so many artifacts and honestly not enough room for all of them. The tombs alone are stacked atop one another like a Pottery Barn clearance sale. All the while, there is a tremendous sense of awe and history as you walk through the rooms filled with jewelry, tools, and remnants of the dead. The security is high as you would imagine, but it would blow your mind the number of people who still try to get away with sneaking a photograph of a mummy in a darkened room or shining flashlights on the encased jewelry and leaning against statues.

Later in the evening, we ventured out to eat some dinner at Abu El-Seid, an Egyptian hipster joint with a recommendation from the lonely planet guide. It didn't disappoint. Tucked away down an alley with barely any lights or sign is a great decorated door. A voice from around the corner came out and said, Abu El-Seid?. Yes, and opened the door to a dark smoky room alive with conversations in several languages. The inside walls were all carved in wood with coloured glass catching the street lights. It felt a little like a speakeasy saloon, but with a swankier clientele.

The people here are extremely attractive. The men in particular all seem attractive at any age. It is a challenge to find a mean-looking face anywhere we go. Perhaps that's an even louder alarm that we have to be wary of charmers, but thankfully, that's Brie's skill set.

Tomorrow we're off to ride first class on the train to Alexandria for a couple nights. I have no idea what to expect there and how it might differ from Cairo. Suffice to say that with measured excitement we will venture a little further. I have to say how much i appreciate being here with Brie. We seem to have a very similar sensibility and know each other well enough that this trip has been very easy for us.

My only concern at this point is the jet-lag. I'm still exhausted during the day and wide awake at night. It's 2:40am right now and as Brie sleeps peacefully steps away from me, I'm looking around for things to occupy my mind. Thank Allah for my ipod.

on being a fan

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 07:52:00 +0000

"Never get too high or too low." That's the advice many successful pro athletes try to follow. I am not a pro athlete. I am a fan. It is therefore my duty to ride to the tip top of every high and sink to the deepest depth of every low. For a Vancouver Canuck fan the last few months have epitomized the latter.

What would it be like if you went to work and for the eighth day (in a row, no less) you decide to poop on the floor. Your boss comes in and says, 'Listen, you. Your job is simple. You come to work, fiddle on the keyboard and try to go 7.5 hours without pooping on the floor. Yet everyday I come in here and the same thing: a big pile of steaming, hot shit. What do you have to say for yourself?"

You sit for a minute, ponder the last eight days and respond, "I see what you're saying. I know what I'm supposed to do. I did it before, just fine! But the crux of the matter is, sir. I'm lacking confidence." [split...splat]

It sounds stupid because it is stupid. I love to be an I-told-you-so, so I'll say it again. I knew when the Canucks signed the ancient Mats Sundin to a multi-million dollar contract that the guy would be an utter disappointment. He captained the Leafs, for chris'sakes! My concerns, when I heard that he was coming to Vancouver, were that he took such a long time deciding to play that his Vancouver teammates would question his desire to be there. I say that because if I was playing on that team, I would be like, "Took you long enough, you selfish prick."

As if that wasn't enough, he decides that at the ripe old age of 38, beyond-death in hockey years, all he requires to get back into shape is a three week stint at an LA gym. What an arrogant douche!

So, of course, he shows up, plays like a fat glory-days-clenching beer-leaguer and the Canuck front office rushes out with, "We've got to give him some time to regain his fitness." All the while, they continue to pay him millions and millions of dollars to glide around like our flippin' mascot on the ice.

On the radio today, various commentators chimed in with the same diagnosis: he's not moving his feet. He can't get to where he wants to go fast enough and ends up losing the scoring opportunity, giving away the puck or taking a lazy penalty.

When asked how he feels about the shape his legs are in, Sundin reported, "They're fine." Selfish, arrogant, and grossly self-unaware. No wonder. I was once on a team with someone like that and it was all I could do to hold in my rage. And no, I didn't play very well because of it.

Now by all accounts, I am not in that dressing room and have no idea what the team chemistry is like. But even from my distant vantage point, I can see that the arrival of Sundin has marked the beginning of a wave of losses from which the Canucks have yet to recover.

Team chemistry is a delicate thing. It only takes one dickhead to make you question your love for a sport you've been playing and loving for years. Seemingly minor changes can have great effect. For instance what about the goaltending shuffle that also precipitated the record-breaking losing streak.

When, star goalie and team captain, Roberto Luongo was injured and the team had to rely on backup, Curtis Sanford, collective nail-biting ensued. Sanford under-performed; the other backup being groomed for the future, Cory Schneider, came and went. Vancouver picked up another goalie from L.A., Jason LaBarbera, who after a couple good efforts fell back into his natural routine of sucking really hard.

So when Luongo was ready to return, the team faced a situation of one too many goalies. With an equal degree of inferior play between Sanford (popular with the team) and LaBarbera (acquired for a measly 7th round pick), the Canucks, in their infinite wisdom, gave Sanford the boot. Coupled with the disappointing arrival of Mats, is it any wonder they've been losing?

I have to say, up until the Vancouver/San Jose game, I wasn't too worried. Every team goes through a loss or two. But watching them leading the conference-leading Sharks for two periods by a goal and then seeing them retreat into their own end and not attempt any offence for fear of turning over the puck was simply sickening.

If I'm coaching a team who hasn't been playing very well and suddenly we're ahead and playing well, I'm going to do my best to encourage more of the same. What I wouldn't do, is undercut an already emotionally vulnerable set of players by saying, "It's not like you're gonna score again. Let's just stay back in our end and hope against hope that one of the top offensive teams in the league doesn't score."

So what happens? They score and score and eventually win the game. And now the team is officially in the toilet.

What does all this mean for the fans? It means that a whole host of atrocities have led us down the path to hockey hell for which none of us can help dig them out. It means that while you want to grab each player and management staff person and shake them really hard, you have absolutely no control over what happens. Your only course of action is to bear not-so-silent witness to the tragedy and gut-wrenching disappointment that is the Vancouver Canucks.

Dear Reader

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 09:02:00 +0000

I hate those Christmas show-off letters family members send around every year. They're always so full of shit and dripping with superiority and appeals for praise. Here's an idea. Save us all the saccharin headache and shove that lemon-burnt homemade paper somewhere the light of day will never touch it.

So I decided to write my own version. So without further ado, here's what happened to me this year (relax, if this doesn't make you feel better about your own life, nothing will).

Hey you,

Thanks for your letter updating me on the meaningless details of your life. Since you asked, here's what I've been up to this year.

2008 comes to an end in a little less than 24 hours and marks the end of a miserable transitioning year for me. At the start of January, I had recently finished working short term for a political party and was back at the public library shuffling magazines around in mind-numbing boredom.

In my over-eager ambition to do more (and earn more) with my life, I managed to obtain a permanent position at the aforementioned party in mid-February. It's been a relative successful change in that I had been going on twelve years at the library and desperately needed a change. However, I ended up leaving one extreme and jumping into another. While I don't regret leaving the library or taking a job earning significantly more than I was previously, I do regret that the job has reduced me to quivering rubble.

It's been stressful to say the least and while I have the confidence of my bosses, I realized rather quickly that I was in over my head. And so I started trying to make up for the lack of experience with a keen desire to try to do anything and everything that was asked of me. In an unstructured work environment, I basically was writing my own death certificate.

I've had the last few weeks off and looking back, there are definitely some good lessons to learn before I move on. I learned that I need to set boundaries for my workload and myself. Somehow, I had forgotten how to use the word 'no'. It's become pretty amazing to me that while I have no trouble telling strangers to F.O.A.D, I was unable to understand the scope of what I was agreeing to do on a daily basis. I was trying to keep up with the robots in my office who are perfectly content to spend 15 hours a day cranking out enough emails, reports and forms to choke a civil servant.

Hired consultants would later confirm to higher ups that I have been doing the work of 5 people. Unfortunately, this came after I realized that trailing behind me were the emaciated remnants of my social life and stress-induced bald spots. Seriously, this year, I lost chunks of hair.

That's what my ambition has wrought. Now I'm trying to take the positives from this situation and realizing that I absolutely have to put my foot down and not take on more than I can handle. That's a good lesson to learn. I'll take that.

The second lesson is that working in fundraising or politics is simply not for me. I care about politics and the issues in my community, but working behind-the-curtain is less about hope and change and more an exercise in frustration with mis-guided and mis-directed efforts. Oh, and douchebags. There are a ton of douchebags.

As I look forward to 2009, I hope to find meaningful work elsewhere. Work that would allow me to contribute to this blog more often. I hope to re-introduce myself to my friends and maybe bond with a few new people who think I'm neat.

And hi-fives, I need to get more of those.

As a treat for you, here's a little present from me to you.

Enjoy,

*P.S. if you send me another vomit-inducing about how awesome you are, you'll have to run and hide. Try Asia, I don't have the patience to find you amongst billions of people.

Douchebags of 2008

Sean Avery (NHL player, Vogue intern, GAP model)
- if that description wasn't enough to turn your stomach, this moron called a mini press conference before a game to talk shit about his former celebrity girlfriends who have moved on with other NHL players.
- currently suspended for 6 games and unlikely to return to the NHL

Stephen Harper (Prime Minister of Canada)
- won another minority government for Canada and after acknowledging the need for all parties work together, put together legislation to strip the parties of federal funding. Way to pave the way for cooperation in Ottawa!
- with behaviour like that, this guy is the type of person who comes over for dinner and then shits on your living room rug to say thank you.

Sarah Palin (gender-equality douchebag)
- is an explanation really necessary? I mean isn't setting the women's movement back several decades enough?
- if you need further evidence, this pretty much sums it up.

who else am I missing...?

Where have you been all my life, lover?

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 08:56:00 +0000

Hello, HD Plasma TV and PVR.

Clear, precise, quick to respond to my demands.

You've brought Conan O'Brien's big orange head so alive, it's like he's sitting in my living room.

With 200-something channels, you never cease to bore me.

Now if only Lost would start already.

A Lesson for Bad Drivers

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 08:22:00 +0000

This is the latest entry on my life's list of near escapes.

After snagging some free tickets to the Vancouver Canucks game earlier this evening, I picked up my friend, Mel in a cab for a fun night of bawdy, bad-girl behavior. While exchanging quips in the back seat, I turned to see this car come out of his lane and ram into the side of our cab. While the impact was extremely loud, our very skilled driver managed to maneuver, minimizing the impact, and stop within inches of hitting a row of parked cars.

Once we stopped, we quickly surveyed each other for injuries. Confirming we were all fine, we got out of the car. The other driver and his passenger pulled over, got out of their car and started berating our driver for, get this, "not looking."

Yea, because driving straight in one lane can get a little tricky at times.

I decide to let the cab driver (let's call him Joe) deal with them. Five seconds later I changed my mind.

I couldn't help myself. Joe wasn't defending himself, so someone had to let these people know their bullshit wasn't going to get them very far. I understand that when you've done something incredibly preventable that endangers the lives of four other people that you may want to pass the guilt onto someone else. Being responsible for an accident is a really awful thing and I can understand if someone simply can't deal with the implications.

Having said that, these people didn't scale back the hostility but began getting more and more hysterical. It needed to stop. I walked up to them and took the only reasonable action I could: YELL REALLY LOUDLY AND WAVE MY FINGER IN THEIR FACE!

It needed to be done and since Joe was obviously distracted, probably trying to figure out how many days of work he was going to lose getting his car fixed, I figured I'd step in for the greater good and clarify the situation.

I made many valuable arguments that were clear, concise and included various re-enactments of how to shoulder-check and how to identify a douchebag (I gave them a mirror).

In the end, I have no idea how it turned out. We were late for the game and decided to walk the rest of the way so as not to miss the opening face-off. However, as a parting shot, I turned to Joe and said (very loudly for the benefit of all involved), "If you need me to explain to the authorities how these people nearly killed us or maimed us to the point of leading an utterly useless and unfulfilled existence, please give me a call."

Grey's Anatomy fires Brooke Smith (Erica Hahn)

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 08:43:00 +0000

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. That's the first thing that went through my mind when I heard that ABC had fired Brooke Smith (Erica Hahn). They were apparently uneasy with the lesbian relationship between Callie (Sara Ramirez) and Erica. This is such bullshit. I had a bit of a breakthrough with this character last week. In the episode she had this great scene where she declares she's gay. Here it is.

Sometimes these monologues can sound so trite but she pulled it off so well. "I'm so so so gay! I am extremely gay." This woman is having a freakin' life-altering epiphany and they aren't going to dignify her character with an ending?

I'm so pissed I could spit nails right now. I knew this was going to be a disappointing TV season with the dearth of interesting new shows this year. But now we have to contend with the decent programs (making a valiant effort at a comeback, btw) basically lays a big turd on our collective faces.

Shonda Rhimes issued this statement:

"Brooke Smith was obviously not fired for playing a lesbian. Clearly it's not an issue as we have a lesbian character on the show – Calliope Torres. Sara Ramirez is an incredible comedic and dramatic actress and we wanted to be able to play up her magic. Unfortunately, we did not find that the magic and chemistry with Brooke's character would sustain in the long run. The impact of the Callie/Erica relationship will be felt and played out in a story for Callie. I believe it belittles the relationship to simply replace Erica with 'another lesbian.' If you'll remember, Cristina mourned the loss of Burke for a full season."

Dear Shonda Rhimes,

F*%k you and the gurney you road in on.

1. I would say that it neither "clear" nor "obvious" as to why this character was let go in such a disgraceful manner.
2. You don't issue a statement about firing an actor by talking about all the actors EXCEPT THE ONE YOU FIRED!
3. If there were problems on the set and that is the reason she was let go, then just say, "Great actor, going in another direction." You had much nicer things to say about Isiah Washington and he said 'faggot' on live TV. Brooke Smith deserved better.
4. This show has been on a one-way slide to shitsville since you got greedy and tried to helm 2 primetime hour-long dramas. Well congratulations you're now responsible for two crap hours of tv a week instead of one good one.
5. Burke and Hahn were great characters. You almost lost me after Burke left but I stuck around because shows need loud-mouthed flawed female characters like Hahn. But you saddled her with a lesbian storyline that had no support from network brass and then don't even acknowledge her last episode? You could have done better with this one.
6. What's left? More of the same. Way to build on a mis-guided, boring season four with a gutless, disappointing start to season five.
7. If you make me hate Christina, I will write you hate mail for real.
8. Seriously!

Dora on why flame-throwers are illegal

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 17:15:00 +0000

Day/Time:7:45am Saturday

Circumstances: Dora is sleep deprived, hung over and late for work. Oh and her car is still at the restaurant from last night.

Starbucks fucktard#1 : Can I help you?

me: yea, I'd like an oatmeal with nuts and berries, a tall dark roast and the globe and mail.

SF1: here's your nutbar.

me: no, try again.

SF1: excuse me?

me: i didn't order that. I'd like an oatmeal...don't forget the berries and nuts.

SF2: [shouts off into the distance] I need an Oatmeal with berries?

me: [getting ready to pull out my shiv] BERRIES AND NUTS!

SF#1: Just berries?

me: are you playing with me? Because this really isn't a great morning for games!

SF#1: oh. ok. That'll be $3.56.

me: for coffee, the paper and the oatmeal?

SF#1: oh you want coffee?

me: IS THIS NOT STARBUCKS?!

SF: $5.17

me: here.

SF: Here's your oatmeal. Anything else.

me: nope...JUST MY FUCKING COFFEE!!!!!

[and the desire to see your lifeless body dangling over the fiery pits of hell.]

My therapist says

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 08:13:00 +0000

I need to learn empathy for others.

I have empathy for people I like, my family, and old people who don't speak.

But who really gives a shit about strangers.

Apparently not me.

Old People get on my nerves

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 07:45:00 +0000

I know it's only a matter of time before we're all old and pissed about not being able to do the things we once could. But I really hope that when I'm old, I will not become a huge douchebag. I hope that if I feel like a raging homicidal lunatic because I broke my hip taking a deep breath, that I won't pick up the phone and yell at some unsuspecting stranger. I hope that instead I will say something like, "Sorry dear, I'll have to call you back when I'm not filled with pure bile and thorny hatred for all mankind."

That's what I hope.

2008 Emmy Awards: "Bleep, Blorp. You are not Welcome..."

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 21:56:00 +0000

I love reality television and I love reality hosts, but clearly the best and most important part of reality television is the editing department. Without the help of cutaways and musical foreshadowing, reality tv would probably end up looking a lot like the opening skit of last night's Emmy Awards: long, boring and soooo not funny.

After Oprah opened the show, the five nominees for Outstanding Reality or Competition Show Host took to the stage. All clad in suits (Heidi too), Tom Bergeron, Heidi Klum, Ryan Seacrest, Howie Mandel and Jeff Probst stood there looking out at the thousands of people in the Nokia Theatre ready for their big number.

Just one problem. They didn't plan one.

They apparently tossed around several ideas but since they couldn't all agree on one idea, they talked incessantly for 10 minutes about not having any opening. Tom and Heidi stood awkwardly silent (feining disdain?) while Howie sucked all the energy and good-will out of the room. Jeff made flailing gestures in an effort to shut him up, but no deal. After an eternity in hell, Howie, Jeff and Ryan left the stage. There was a moment when you thought Tom and Heidi might be able to save this...especially when they invited William Shatner to the stage. But all they did was rip off Heidi's suit to reveal a sexy black sequined number and unabashed lack of comedic talent. Later, Tom would resort to dropping Heidi on her ass. But apparently you require talent for that too as her bony body unceremoniously bounced on the stage. The camera stayed on her long enough for her to smile, get out her last line and then mouth "OUCH!"

Memo to the host(s): This is the Emmy's; not Tila Tequila on the Sunset Strip! When you been looked down on as scripted television's poor, retarded cousin, the last thing you should do is show up with NOTHING FUNNY TO SAY!

Once they left the stage it became a free-for-all, as in how many times could the hosts be insulted on stage. Jeremy Piven took a shot at them while accepting the first award of the night for Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series: Entourage. Then Neil Patrick Harris called out Howie Mandel for prattling away the evening and getting their bit cut.

The evening wasn't a total loss. Tina Fey and/or 30 Rock walked away with a wagon-full of awards and she (and Amy Poehler) was part of my favorite moment:

The Josh Groban musical interlude was entertaining.

And I'll leave you with a synopsis clip from EW.com that pretty much summed up the evening.

Cleanse This!

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 21:30:00 +0000

Today I started a colon cleanse. It's been pretty simple, there's a well laid-out meal plan and lots of different things to eat. It mainly cuts out preservatives, sugar, and dairy. It's been going relatively well, lunch prepared and packed, but I've already managed to forget the cleanse regimen a couple times.

The first time was around 11:15am (4 hours and 15 mins cleanse-time) when a co-worker brought around bite-size chocolate covered ice cream treats. I stuck my pudgy little fingers into the box, pulled out a couple and popped them into my mouth. Two chews and then panic set in as I remembered the reason I voluntarily ingested a bowl of cardboard...er...oatmeal this morning. I jumped up, raced to the kitchen and spit the two delicious morsels of heaven across the room into the garbage. I even rinsed my mouth out with water.

Two hours later, someone brought in big, fat chocolate chip cookies while I was eating my lunch of steamed fish and wild rice. I got up and leaned across the table with my aforementioned chubby digits reaching expectantly for the prize only to once again remember staying up until one in the morning to prepare my de-toxifying meals for the next day. Feeling the sting of disappointment, I yanked my hand back and sighed, "Oh, i can't have those."

This is how dedicated I am to a bright, shiny butthole.

The oldest gag in the book

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 04:38:00 +0000

I had my family over for dinner at my place the other day. Uncles, aunts, cousins and my granny. After dinner I asked for everyone's attention to say thanks for coming over, but as a joke I opened with:

Thank you all for coming. I just want to tell you that I'm three months pregnant. ha ha ha.

Everyone laughs...except my granny. Fallen jowls on a pearly green face. I continue filling in the dramatic story about keeping it and calling it Ralph regardless of its gender, completely unaware that my granny is decidedly not in on the joke.

A few minutes later I begin to notice the stunned horror paralyzing my grandmother and I quickly put her out of her misery!

"Just kidding" : the two most comforting words in the world.

Survivor Cast Revealed: Let's get ready to rumble

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 09:40:00 +0000

According to almost everyone I know, the answer to the question, "What's the best reality show," is "Amazing Race." But fuck that noise. For me, it is all about Survivor. It's physical competition, mental agility and a mensa puzzle of social dynamics all rolled into the nightmare of being stranded on a desert island. This week the cast of the seventeenth season was revealed, and it looks like another stellar season of fuck-tards who think they can win based on the most ridiculous reasons.

I have an idea. Before you sign yourself up to 39 days of heat exhaustion, starvation and the overwhelming desire to end other human life why not watch an episode or two first. Get an idea of what's going on before jumping into a situation where the possibility of looking like a huge idiot in front of your ENTIRE COUNTRY is 100 to 1.

I never know who's going to win, so you'll have to watch to see who wins. In the meantime, here are a few people who I've decided should be face-punched pronto...

JESSICA ''SUGAR'' KIPER

AGE: 29

OCCUPATION: Pin-up/actress (Gilmore Girls)

HOMETOWN: Brooklyn, NY

SUGAR SAYS: ''I want to make everyone fall in love with me. And I want to be friends with everybody. That's all I got: my personality. I'm not strong.''

I SAY: Can you really list Gilmore Girls as a credit? She had maybe 4 lines, made out with Milo Ventimiglia and chewed a lot of gum. And occupation: 'pin-up', in what crack hole is she "pinned up?" I didn't know you could just make up your occupation. If that's the case I want to be a Tequila connoisseur or a Firemen Squeezer.

KEN HOANG

AGE: 22

OCCUPATION: Pro video gamer
HOMETOWN: Westminster, CA

KEN SAYS: ''Gaming will help me because I do well under pressure. I always come through. I rarely choke. I'm the underdog, I think all the fans will root for me to win. I would root for myself if I was watching TV.''

I SAY: I'll bet you $5 Ken chokes on my fist. So cocky for 56lbs! Ken should be smart enough to know that trick thumbs will be of no use standing on a pole at high noon for hours on end after eating rice for 3 weeks.

KELLY CZARNECKI

AGE: 22

OCCUPATION: Retail sales

HOMETOWN: Buffalo Grove, IL

KELLY SAYS: ''I'm funny, and I'm fun, and I'm energetic, and I bring a positive vibe to the group — like a burst of sunshine.''

JEFF PROBST SAYS: ''The way I would describe Kelly is that she is part of the Text Message Generation. And she speaks that way, she'll say 'OMG!' for 'Oh my God!' That's Kelly. And just as a grown man looking at her I could say, 'That's charming, she's young and has her whole life ahead of her.' But as a tribemate I'd probably say, 'If she says OMG, I'll probably say GTFOH.'''

I SAY: Amen, Probst! AMEN!

PALOMA SOTO-CASTILLO

AGE: 24

OCCUPATION: Student

HOMETOWN: Downey, CA (born in Chile)

PALOMA SAYS: ''I think I deserve it. I've worked really hard in my life. I'm very competitive. I'm stubborn. I'm compassionate, and passionate.''

I SAY: "I think I deserve it." Here we go with one of the two douchebags pulling the entitlement card.
Here's a hint: Outwit, Outplay, Outlast...those are the only ways to win this game. Not what your bank balance is. Not what terminal illness your pet was diagnosed with last month. Nobody gives a crap about your hard luck past and the hurdles in your life path you faced to get on a reality TV show. Everyone is looking out for themselves, get it? That's the point of the game, so you'll just have suck it up, princess.

DANNY ''G.C.'' BROWN

AGE: 26

OCCUPATION: Maintenance supervisor

HOMETOWN: Portland, OR

G.C. SAYS: ''I will win Survivor because I need this million dollars more than anyone out here.''

I SAY: Here's the second douchebag. Who really needs a million dollars, anyway? I can see needing a few bucks for bus fare or a meal, but one million dollars? For what? Gambling debt? Back Taxes? A shirt, perhaps? Either way, you deserve a million dollars as much as I deserve to watch your dumb ass getting kicked off after all the oldies are gone. Speaking of...

GILLIAN LARSON

AGE: 61

OCCUPATION: Retired Nurse

HOMETOWN: Temecula, CA (raised in South Africa)

GILLIAN SAYS: ''I love doing all sorts of crazy things. It doesn't matter what age you are. As long as you can physically do it, do it! And hopefully they'll look at me as a mom and you know, who would like to kick their mother out of the game?''

I SAY: If there's one thing I know for a fact after 16 seasons of watching this show is : IT TOTALLY MATTERS HOW OLD YOU ARE!
Survivor contestants over the age of 40 are lucky to make it the first 5 weeks. And if they aren't sent packing by day 10, tribemates will tie you to a behemoth and drag your lame crippled body through an obstacle course to rid you of your last semblance of dignity. Good luck getting past your tribe's first elimination.
And "...who would kick their mother off the island"? I WOULD!!! Who wants their mom around while stranded on a desert island full of backstabbing, fame-hungry morons. Not me! This is a game, if someone can't help me get ahead then they are completely useless and need to go. If I've got to worry about my "mom's" feelings, I should have just stayed home!

MICHELLE CHASE

AGE: 24

OCCUPATION: Music production assistant

HOMETOWN: Los Angeles, CA

MICHELLE SAYS: ''I will win Survivor because I'm the bombshell baller. I'm bodacious, and I outwit, and outlast, and outplay. And I need a million dollars really bad.''

I SAY: "Bodacious Bombshell Baller?" Really? What you put in your mouth is none of our concern...and what in the world would you do with a million dollars? I didn't realize gonorrhea treatments were so expensive. But hey, who am I to deny someone relief from a burning urinary tract?

So there it is. It's the first bit of excitement I've felt provided by the coming Fall season. Find pics of all the contestants here and get ready for another great season of the BEST REALITY SHOW on TV!

Retail therapy

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 06:59:00 +0000

Some women buy shoes or make-up or clothes. When i need to feel better, I buy lots and lots of DVDs. They don't have to be good. They just had to have either made me

1. re-watch the ending
2. cry
3. be something that aired on 'Superchannel' from 1984 to 1992.
4. something no one has seen, Ebert-approved, that I picked up at Blockbuster on a whim and laden with such low expectations entertained.

Here are the DVD's I bought today:

5. Shakespeare in Love [2,1]. I'm surprised I hadn't bought this earlier. Gwyneth in her prime, the introduction of hotter 'other' Fiennes brother and a real-life on-set romance?

4. The Lover. [4,1] I think the voice of narrator, Jeanne could make a VCR instruction manual hot.

3. Home for the Holidays. [4] Holly Hunter is so neurotic in this movie, but there's a old lady fart joke that sets me to giggles every time.

2. Labyrinth: Anniversary Edition [3]. I could watch this and Legend over and over when I was a kid, and I did. Plus a young Jennifer Connelly and crazy puppet creatures navigating their way through time and space were spellbinding. It was my first musical....sigh, good times.

1. The Break-up [1, 2, 4]. I can hear you groaning. Definite low expectations helped make this enjoyable for me. I also liked the ending and the naked through the living room was lame and cute.

I feel much better already.

too old to screw with my sleep cycle

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 06:37:00 +0000

Saturday night I hosted a party at my house. People were invited. I even liked some of them. And at 5:30am, when there were people still sitting across from the fire pit in my back yard, i said to myself, "Why aren't I tired?"

I am too old to be "partying" like a rock star til the wee hours of the morning. But I wasn't sleepy. I was still telling stories about myself and cutting others off mid-sentence. At one point I announced, "I could totally drive a car right now, people!" And I could. There was bright sky above when the last two people crawled into the spare bedroom and we all went to sleep.

What I had wasn't sleep. It was a nap. I got up at 8:30am took down all the party decorations, washed the dishes, put the garbage out, cleaned and put away the empties and scrubbed the scuff marks off the floor. Still, no sign of weariness or fatigue.

I met some friends for brunch and kept up with the conversation without even succumbing to a slow blink. We walked back to my apartment and made plans to see a movie that afternoon. Then at 30 hours of awake time minus a 2-hour nap, I sat down on my couch for a few minutes. and fell into a coma.

It seemed so strange and exhilarating to be awake and alert for so long. I hear about people going out all night and coming home when those losers asleep at 10pm every night are heading to work. It is now painfully clear that I am one of those losers caught in a brief instant of drug-like symptoms of youth; and crashed HARD.

I got up after 13 hours of sleep and still went to work puffy-eyed, sluggish and looking 20 years older. "Yikes!", was the greeting I got when I walked into the office this morning. Someone even bought me a coffee without me asking. It was mostly likely the semi-conscious grunting and drooling oozing from my work space.

This is going to be one long bastard of a week.

To a couple people who need a big thank you. [with update]

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 06:18:00 +0000

Today was alright, until about 6:30pm...and then all hell broke loose. Every day we decide what we want to do with our valuable time. And we set aside time to do the things we love the most. Most of us are selfish with our time; that just the way it goes. Our time is valuable and we want to spend it as wisely as we can. So when our valuable time goes unappreciated; when people, who enjoy the fruits of your labour, turn around and spit in your face, it's a bit of downer.

I've organized two softball teams for the last 3 years and it's been a drama fest from day 1, but it has had it's memorable moments. I knew I could step away when I someone came aboard that had the patience to organize the team. I felt a sincere obligation not to let it all go to waste.

Last year, I decided that I would let someone else take the reins and he thankfully took over organizing a true team of misfits. Tonight it was all thrown back in his face in a supremely ugly way by those for whom he had stepped forward to help. After a minor miscommunication, they dismantled weeks of work in one ignorant power play. At the end of the evening, they got what they wanted and we worked to figure out a way to make everyone happy. But at the expense of pissing off and mistreating someone who didn't deserve it.

Next Saturday, after we've played our last game, we will get together one last time to celebrate the season. Despite all the drama of the last few months. I've been asked to speak for the group and present Paul and Chris with some tokens of our appreciation. This is what I'm gonna say:

"As tonight is officially the last night of the 2008 season, I'd like to say
what a personal pleasure it was to be a player and only a player this year. The
only way I would have stepped down as manager and coach was if I knew there
would be someone willing and able to handle this oh-so-unique group of
personalities, my own included. I can say that there are few people that I would
trust to hand these teams over to, and Paul and Chris are at the top of my list.

An average week in the life of the Decimator manager includes many
things. It includes figuring out the weekly lineups, making sure everyone knows
where the game is, where the practice is, filling the missing pieces when people
cancel last minute, representing the team on the field and handling all the
dust-ups. This one person is all things to us players: our beer caddy, equipment
manager, fundraising director, offensive and defensive specialist, and
therapist.

There aren't enough ways for us to thank you for standing up
when many wouldn't and couldn't have taken this on. Your team would like to say
thank you for being the adult that allows us to act like children and just
'play' for 5 hours each and every week from April to August. Paul, thank you for
making it so easy to give up something I really loved to do over the last few
years.

And I think I speak for everyone here when I say thank you for
taking some time out of your time out of your life, and Chris' to get us all
together to play some ball. We've gotten a little something for you with which
to enjoy the last few weeks of summer."

I sincerely hope Paul and Chris are happy with what we've gotten them. And I hope the rest of those fuckers lie awake at night feeling guilty about being such huge, ungrateful douchebags.

UPDATE: I would just like to add that I wrote the above sitting at home by myself while drinking a lot of tequila with Joy Luck Club playing in the background. I'll have to edit the above as it doesn't nearly meet the smart ass quota of my personal speeches and/or public appearances.

Ausiello TV

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Sat, 02 Aug 2008 07:53:00 +0000

I've found my new favorite show. It's Ausiello TV. I'd embed the first episode here, but I can only copy the link. How boring.

Check out this first. very funny.

This is the latest episode featuring a cameo by Keri Russell and major scoop on Supernatural...and this is just for me.

Dr. Horrible on ITunes...Fillion, NPH...you know you want it

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Sat, 26 Jul 2008 01:28:00 +0000

Here's the trailer...watch it and then download from ITunes. Neil Patrick Harris and Nathan Fillion star in a Joss Whedon production.

Teaser from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog on Vimeo.

Oh yea!

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 07:48:00 +0000

I know I'm the only one I know who still watches Grey's Anatomy, but I have to write about the return of one of my fave characters to the show...Denny...Denny Duquette! The deceased heart patient and fiance to Dr. Izzie Stephens returns as a vision to Izzie who will suffer from a brain aneurysm or something brain-ish. The rumours are rampant they're killing her off, which might entice a few people back to the show.

Regardless, he gives me happy, squishy feelings and I'll take him wherever I can get him.

Lost Piece

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 06:40:00 +0000

I had decided to move out of my mother's basement months ago. I'm 32, it's time. But I'd been procrastinating and had not taken the next step of actually looking for an apartment. One day walking with Brie and I caught sight of the bright red awning of the Granville Island Toy Store new Main Street location.

One word flashed in my brain: PUZZLES!

I walked into the store, pulling Brie behind me, and immediately spied a room-full of puzzles off to the left. This was the exact moment that I decided to seriously start looking for an apartment.

To celebrate my epiphany, I bought a Ravensburger 1000-piece mind-fucker depicting some medieval scene of a flaxen-haired maiden playing the harp amidst grey-green background and tiny little flowers. Hours and hours of solitary nerdiness awaited me.

Last weekend, I cracked that sucker open and set to work on it. Hours passed in what seemed like minutes. I managed to knock out the borders and started making piles differentiated by shades of yellow or green.

In the background, I had Supernatural: Season 2 playing for noise. I got up to change the disc and was momentarily distracted by my two favorite boys, Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles. I manipulated the menu to the "Play All" feature. Walking backwards, drooling, I sat down absentmindedly only to catch the corner of the box sending my puzzle-piece piles all over my green blanket. OHHHHHH SHHHHIIIIIIIIIT!

Momentarily paralyzed by the weight of what I'd just done...or undone, I stood mouth-agape and cursing. What can I do? How can I make sure to found all the pieces!? There are ONE THOUSAND of them, for chrissakes!

I took a deep breath and started to carefully picked up the pieces and place them back into the box. I shook out the blanket and felt confident I'd gotten them all. I began reassembling my piles and then I had to pee.

I went to the washroom, humming to myself, happy to have escaped a near-disaster. I finished my business and stood up to flush. As I pushed down the lever, I noticed something floating in the bowl. That's weird, I thought to myself. I didn't #2, nor do I #2 in square shapes.

Then as the water started to fill and swirl around the bowl I realized that it was once of my beloved puzzle pieces dancing playfully in the water below. It had somehow managed to find its way into my pants was now about to be lost to me forever. Dizzying thoughts raced through my mind: I would never ever be able to complete the picture. I would never gaze upon my finished masterpiece. I will live forever unsated.

Dread washed over me and I plunged my hand into the yellow whirlpool digging feverishly for the puzzle piece. It was like trying to fish an eggshell out of eggwhite. I wrapped my fingers around the corner of the piece only to have it slip through and disappear into the unknown.

I tried to comfort myself by thinking that it was lost once the first drop of pee trespassed the pourous cardboard. Having degraded it in such a way, it was unrecoverable even before I had realized it was missing.

I set about washing my hands OCD-style. Defeated, dejected and depressed, I wandered back to the table to look at the puzzle that would never be. Just fragments of coloured paper mocking me at every turn.

Today it sits, unfinished still. My desire to put it together waning. I look at it much like a disappointed parent perusing their child's D-laden report card. I won't be able to go back to it until the sting has subsided. For know it's serving as a coaster or a placemat...any number of things except that which it was born to be...the last milestone that would mark the end of my time in my mother's basement.

Next Christmas I'll ask Santa for a little tolerance

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 06:36:00 +0000

Today I went to my outdoor gym class. I call it gym class because calling it by its proper name, "Power Sculpt Outdoor Series," makes me sound like a douchebag. And there is enough douchebag behaviour in the class to go around.

The class is made up of 90% hard workers of varying levels of fitness and two cunts. I use the word cunt because it neatly defines the sum total of their existence. I won't lie and say that i'm working out to attain some altruistic sense of self. I want to look good! But during that hour of grunting and lifting and sweating and cursing, i'm trying to lift more, run faster and hold that plank a little longer. Nothing makes a person want to quit and nosedive into a vat of ice cream more than having to listen to two rocks-for-brains twits talk about meeting guys in A SUPER LOUD VOICE.

These two ladies come to class every week. One is a 6 foot waif and the other is her ugly friend. The first time the waif came to class, she wore stripped knee socks and a hunch back. They come and bitch about the exercises and then half-ass the routine while shouting shit like:

"Hey remember that guy that we met at the bar...he was really into me, right? He kept following me around and stuff."

Not to be outdone, the other responds , "Oh yea, fun night. My guy was really fun, but I totally forgot his number."

If by "really fun," she meant "slipped me a roofie" and by "forgot his number" she meant "woke up in a dumpster," then that I can understand. Just the use of the phrase 'my guy' is reason enough for a donkey punch.

You might be thinking, "Why eavesdrop on these Heathers?" Is it eavesdropping when you can hear them from 10 feet away on a windy morning? Is it eavesdropping when you exasperatedly exhale only to find the person next to you nodding in agreement?

Why is it that the dumber you are, the louder you speak in public?

It makes me want to jump in the time machine back to 1985 and find the two inbred retards who gave birth to these two, who were, no doubt, conceived in the back alley behind Luv Affair, and ask them for the sake of humanity in the new millenium, USE A CONDOM!

Supervising sucks balls

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 17:09:00 +0000

While I LOVE being the boss and organizing events, people and dvd collections, I've decided that I do NOT love supervising people.

Directions, comments, fuck even specific requests not to do something are somehow twisted into some dyslexic version of what was previously said.

I've supervised staff before with what I believe were successful results. I've managed large scale book sales with a number of staff having to keep them motivated to clean up after lazy, dirty people. So managing two people on a phone bank should be a breeze.

So when I say, "keep your calls to 5-7 mins max." I think those are pretty clear parameters within which a person should do their job. So when I get comments at the end of the night to say, "had an hour long conference call", I think to myself. Did I or did I not say 5-7 minutes you bald, retarded sloth???? I don't think I could have painted a clearer picture to illustrate that an hour long conference call would be outside the boundaries of WHAT I ASKED YOU TO DO!

You, numbskulls, are the reason alcoholism was invented. That and padded walls.

The Unisex Bathroom

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 01:21:00 +0000

I thought this had died in 2002 with the series finale of 'Ally McBeal'. I've heard of some workplaces instituting the unisex bathroom, for what purpose is beyond me. I enjoy being able to escape to the ladies room for a make up adjustment, or just to hide from jerks.

So last Saturday night I was at Chill Winston. A not-so-new eatery in Gastown. I was wearing bright red lipstick which requires constant upkeep. So I went in search of the ladies room. A frosted glass door with the words "RESTROOMS" told me I was headed in the right direction. So when I opened the door and saw a circular fountain-like sink with more doors beyond, I was a little confused. Each toilet is in it's own stall with a full door; three are designated MENS and three towards the back of the common area are labelled, WOMEN.

My problem is the entire common area is drenched in darkness...full length mirrors in the dark is *lightbulb* COMPLETELY FUCKIN' USELESS. I thought surely there must be a mirror in the stall. There was, but it was compact-sized and smaller than the palm of my hand, requiring contortionist skills I do not possess to see my entire face at one time.

Here were my options:

1. Use the small mirror to fix and reapply my lipstick in sections, hoping to complete my look.

2. Go stand in the darkened hallway in front of the full length mirror trying to 'guess' where my fuckin' lips are and walking back out looking like a tranny after a train-wreck.

3. Show the management my displeasure by dropping trow and pissing in their fountain sink.

I gave up, fixed myself as best I could and went to wash my hands at the conversation piece slash sink. Is this really where I want to make light chit chat with the opposite sex? What if they don't use soap? Isn't that something I'd like to find out later in the relationship? Does it encourage people to wash their hands more thoroughly if someone attractive is standing there waiting for the automatic foam to ooze out?

It must be really hard to meet people in this city if this is what it's come to.

Unproductivity and a new job title

noreply@blogger.com (Dora) — Fri, 04 Jul 2008 21:13:00 +0000

If I could be any less productive than I am today, I would be passed out under my desk with broken fingers and toes and drunk. But as I am able to function properly with no injuries to speak of, I am just a lazy bastard.

I'm thinking I should change my job title from "Fundraiser" to "The taker of money from the elderly and/or crippled." Everyday an old person comes through the door, huffs and pants up the steep staircase to hand over their money. It's the main reason we have a waiting area. We are waiting for them to catch their breath after the death-defying journey from the street entrance. One guy sat in our lobby for about an hour trying to re-gain his composure.

I have to admit a slight fetish for old people. Not the ones with dementia or the ones that are hard of hearing, that's just frustrating for everyone involved. But the completely sane oldies that walk like penguins and talk about how much a nickel could buy in their day are my favorites. I sometimes feel like shoving my fingers into the deep crevasses of their wrinkly faces. I'd like to absent-mindedly play with the loose waddle of skin hanging from their necks or examine their hands for similarities to eagle claws.

But I can't. Touching the elderly/crippled donors is strictly forbidden.