Looking For Love

In the past week I've noticed that people have been finding my blog by googleing some of the most obscure shit. I'm all "What the hell you creepo!" and then I have to realize that I wrote about whatever it was that they were searching for, so, maybe I'm the creepo. Anyways, here are just some of my faves:

"Nick Lachey souveniers"

"Her pants, pee stain"

"Billie Pipers breasts"

"I eat bits of shit for like breakfast" (which gramatically doesn't even make sense?)

"Zit under mole"

A while back I wrote about a store in surrey called "Talize" and that's been feeding me a steady flow of traffic ever since. Unfortunately when that traffic gets here and realizes that my blog has nothing to do with a second hand store selling used underwear, they become very dissapointed.

If I were to use the almighty analogy, it's kind of like finding out that your local weed dealer now only sells coke.

Not exactly what you were originally going for, but in retrospect, muuuch better.

Update Central

I've been neglecting this sweet little piece of internet ass as of late, so I figured it was about time I showed my blog some affection. I had a post all written out the other day and then my computer decided to give me a piece of her mind and CRASH. We've since talked it over but I'm still pissed off.

I'm sorry I have to interject in my story right now to say that Nigella Lawson just made a salad dressing with pickle juice. I threw up in my mouth a little bit right there. But man oh man, if she gets those boobs from eating all the concoctions she makes, then count me in for pickle juice salad nastification. Sometimes I'm not sure if I believe she can cook. She's so sloppy with everything and it seems like all she does it eat anything in sight and let all the weight go to those knockers. God I love my new cable.

Alright, back to it.

Blah, blah, blah, my life is so stressful, I had lots of midterms...feel sorry for me? Please?

Thoughts on Nigella Lawson as a fraud, hottie, source of jealousy when you're eating mini wheats for dinner?

A Religious Technicality

My crazy religious studies prof was explaining to our class yesterday that in the Hindu religion there are classes and castes. The classes are broken down into 4 groups, but the castes he says, are seemingly endless. Castes are something you're born into, and tend to be things like professions or skills. He gave us some examples, being a black smith, a baker, or even being a prostitute or a thief. I mean, that really had to suck for people following the Hindu faith way back in the day when they realized that their "destiny" was to be a hooker just like mommy.

Someone raised their hand and asked whether or not people tended to be included a combination of castes? My prof said that, no, most people generally fulfilled one caste in life and that was it.

I really really wanted to put up my hand and suggest that thieving hookers probably existed, therefore having a life that comprised of atleast two castes, but I worried that my humour would go unappreciated.

Hell, I bet there were even thieving hookers who loved to bake!

It's All About Perspective

Everyone will inevitably have that one class in their semester that they'll think of as their "suicide class". It falls smack in the middle of the afternoon so that the lecture hall has had a chance to become a perfect incubator, the kind that renders you defenseless to the persuasive powers of sleep. As you nod off and dream about Mexican donkey's that just wont go in the direction you want them to no matter how nicely you ask you'll start to hear a voice talking. But wait -- It's the donkey talking! What is he saying? He's trying to tell you that 10,000 years in hell is really not all that bad compared to eternity. Pretty smart for a donkey you think. Then you realize that the donkey has been sleeping, you've been sleeping, and that was actually you're crazy prof who said that. Tap, tap on your shoulder, it's your turn to check off your name on the attendance sheet.

Yeah that's right, I'm "present".

Eventually you'll have to wake up and sit through the whole other hour of class. The suicide part refers to the last unendurable hour. Oooh that last hour.

My suicide class has really been kicking my ass lately. I decided yesterday while sitting in the agony of that class that there is one thing that ends up getting me through it each week. My prof is a real whack job and I imagine he sits at home and meditates with a plate of boiled cauliflower sitting beside him. Why cauliflower you ask? Or maybe you didn't ask because you don't care and you're speed reading this between sips of your mediocre coffee at work. Regardless, its cauliflower in my mind because that's what you eat if you figure you'll reach enlightenment; you don't need flavour because the escape from the cyclical process of eternal life suffering, death, and rebirth far surpasses hot sauce.

Anyway, what gets me through is when this whack job comes out and says the most random quote that makes me (and only me goddamnit why does no one else in my class laugh?) laugh.

Yesterday he said that being reborn as a squirrel wouldn't be that fun. No wait, he stood and thought for a moment.

"I think it would be ok! Yeah yeah, a squirrel is just fine."