Month: January 2015

Team Too Much: There’s no such things as TMI

The following TMI post was from the lovely Britney at All Things Britney Lee. Since I love oversharing, I immediately got to business answering these Q’s which are rather tame and not at all TMI.

Still, here’s what you should know about me…

The Questions:

What are you wearing?


Ever been in love?

Yes! Currently am, fank you very much.

Ever had a terrible breakup?

December 2013 , I like to pretend that never happened.

How tall are you?

Contrary to popular opinion, I’m 5″7.

How much do you weigh?

I’ll give the Hollywood answer of 115 (which really means 130lbs)

Any tattoos?

Just the birth mark on my butt that looks like Australia.

Any piercings? 

Just my ears, you kinky freak.


I had to look this up. Apparently, this means my favourite combination of characters in a fandom. So, I’ll have to say Joe March and Laurie from Little Women. But for everyone else who isn’t spiritually 60 years old, I’ll say… Ross and Rachel.

Favorite show?

Gilmore Girls seasons 1-4 only.

Favorite bands?

I’m more of a singer songwriter type, but right now I’m liking Bastille, Arkells, and as an ode to my 19 year old self, Incubus.

Something you miss?

The luxury of ignorance, youth and possibility.

Favorite song?

Even tougher call! I’ll give you some faves 1) From my youth – Dig by Incubus 2) Makes me cry – The House that Built Me – Miranda Lambert 3) My favourite pop-tastic song: Teenage Dream – Katy Perry (yes, I know)

How old are you?


Zodiac sign?


Quality you look for in a partner?

A best friend who makes me feel like a jezebel in the sheets.

Favorite Quote?

 By Billy Shakespeare – All’s Well that Ends Well untitled

Favorite actor?

Hands Down.


Favorite color?

Black (shut up kids you say it’s not a colour).

Loud music or soft?

Soft please.

Where do you go when you’re sad?

Straight to bed with my pup or my cat.

How long does it take you to shower?

10-15 minutes. But then I sit down for another 10. So…let’s say…25 mins.

How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?

Not including shower? 45 mins.

Ever been in a physical fight?

Just scraps with my sister as teenagers.

Turn on?

Wit, humor, a great kiss

Turn off?

Arrogance, Axe body spray, strong opinions.

The reason I made a blog?

Sometimes nobody’s around to talk to, so I essentially created a blog so I wouldn’t look crazy talking to myself.


  1. Weather (can’t control that bitch)
  1. The Ocean (think planes crashing into them, what lives in them, boats sinking in them)
  2. Unplanned Pregnancy (WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?!)

Last thing that made you cry?

I had a sad dream and woke up really upset!

Last time you said you loved someone?

My manpanion before sleep last night, my dog before I left for work this morning.

Meaning behind your blog name?

It’s me, being a straight shooter!

Last book you read?


The book you’re currently reading?

I am currently book-less!

Last show you watched?

I’m knee deep in a Law and Order SVU binge.

Last person you talked to?

Some rando at the gas station who said it was going to snow today.

The relationship between you and the person you last texted?

Kit – ONE of my best friends.

Favorite food?

Raw cookie dough, cookies, peanut butter, peanut butter cookies…

Place you want to visit?

Paris and London are booked for May. So next will probably be….Australia to visit Matt’s family, or Italy so I can get fat.

Last place you were?

Bed. The most perfect place on earth.

Do you have a crush?

Obvi, who doesn’t?

Last time you were insulted?

My sister called me a prude the other day, then my cousin called me a prude…if it weren’t true, I’d be insulted.

Favorite flavor of sweet?


What instruments do you play?

I just play heartstrings

Favorite piece of jewelry?

My grandma gave me a pair of diamond earrings that her mother left her.

Last sport you played?

Matt and I went skating, tonight is volleyball!

Last song you sang?

Ghost – Ella Henderson

Favorite chat up/pick up line?


Have you ever used it?


Last time you hung out with anyone?

Last night Kit and I went out for vodka soda’s and sweet potato fries.

Who should answer these questions next?






“The next suitable person you’re in light conversation with, you stop suddenly in the middle of the conversation and look at the person closely and say, “What’s wrong?” You say it in a concerned way. He’ll say, “What do you mean?” You say, “Something’s wrong. I can tell. What is it?” And he’ll look stunned and say, “How did you know?” He doesn’t realize something’s always wrong, with everybody. Often more than one thing. He doesn’t know everybody’s always going around all the time with something wrong and believing they’re exerting great willpower and control to keep other people, for whom they think nothing’s ever wrong, from seeing it.”
David Foster Wallace, The Pale King


Voice envy: Ella Henderson edition

I haven’t written in forever. If you care, I’m sorry. If you don’t care, well tough tits, cuz I’m still sorry.

I started writing this piece last Friday as part of a Friday Five, but then life blah blah blah work, blah blah commitments blah blah naps got in the way.

Anywho, let’s talk music!

In the fifth grade, my teacher was the choir coach. Choir leader? Choir conductor? Choir man? Whatever. He was the head of the choir and auditioned singers for a prestigious gig: To sing at the superintendent’s father’s funeral.

I was a little fame hungry back then, and seeking approval (my parents divorced months earlier, it explains so much) so I volunteered to audition. I’m not lying, I sang the shit out of “Yahweh, I know you are near” or as the Hebrew kids know it, “YHWH I know you are near. ” I made the final cut and was pretty confident this meant I had a solid future in singing, but during puberty, instead of getting boobs and a period like a normal teenage girl (that came later guys, I swear) , my voice changed and like Ariel under the sea, my singing voice was gone.

I became obsessed with amazing singing voices. So when I heard Adele, Carrie Underwood, Lea Michele (yeah I said it) etc. I was mesmerized.


The latest chick to make my voice envy list is Ella Henderson, the British export who came in 6th place on the UK version of the X Factor. So…the GOOD X Factor.

Henderson made the rounds in Toronto this week promoting her new album and I’m hooked. Henderson is 19. NINE-F*CKING-TEEN! Do you know what I was doing at 19? I was finally growing boobs, that’s what I was doing. Perspective, people!

Henderson is amazing. She’s like the Adele I need to tide me over until Adele comes back with more songs that will make me cry in public. I’m obsessed with her single “Ghost.”


Have you heard? It makes me feel soulful inside, which says a lot because people usually ask me if I even HAVE a soul.

Take a listen and tell me what you think.

What are you listening to these days? Who gives you voice envy?

Look at all the f*cks I give : A polite rage

You know how some women, mostly celebrities but whatever, say that when they reach a certain age they’re just like, “f*ck it”?

I think 27 is my certain age.

I’ve noticed lately my tongue is a lot sharper, my voice doesn’t quiver when I’m speaking in front of a group of people, and I’ve stopped wearing eyeliner. All of which, are surefire signs that zero f*cks are given on a daily basis.


Maybe I’m noticing it more because I’m around guys all day, everyday, but men are VERY quick to question women. I work with a great team of dudes, who try desperately to make me feel welcome, but I’ve noticed they don’t accept my answers as fact. If I say something, anything about my car, school or my relationship, there’s never a, “right on” or “good for you” that women so politely pepper into conversations. Instead, I get, “well did you think of….,” or “what about…” lots of “yeah but…” and my personal favourite, “But you have to think of it like this…”

Son, I don’t have to think of anything. If I wanted to, I could spend my entire day just thinking of what it would be like to live on an island with Bradley Cooper and the various ways I could use coconut milk as a personal lubricant.


I remember once I watched the award-wining documentary “E! True Hollywood Story: Mary Kate and Ashley” and the girls gave the best piece of advice I’ve ever heard, “No is a full sentence.”

Let me just snowball that into “Everything I say is a full sentence…unless I start choking midway through a sentence, kindly help me and then let me finish my thought.”

I don’t do double-talk. I say what I mean. Which gets me into a lot of trouble, but who cares. The point I’m trying to make here, gentlemen, is that when I stop talking, that wasn’t an invitation for you to cross-examine me.

I watch Law & Order. I listened to Serial. I know how this shit works. I speak, then you speak. We stick to small talk, smile at the coffee machine and go about our business.

Is it just me?

Is it because my voice makes me sound like a fifteen year old boy?

I’m sure there’s a way I could parlay this into a damsel in distress manipulate the dudes to get what I want type deal, but that’s way too much effort and frankly, I think that would crush my soul and have Gloria Steinem knocking on my door to take away my feminist badge.


Get out of here, Gwyneth

Some people just don’t get it. The “popular” girls at my high school didn’t get it.

Here’s what I mean by “it” : I don’t like you and you aren’t funny

Gwyneth is trying. She’s trying hard to sell that crap movie Mordecai with Johnny Depp. More than anything she’s trying to sell herself as relevant and act as if I’ve forgotten the mess that was Shakespeare in Love.

Guess what, I didn’t.

So when I see Gwyneth on Jimmy Fallon and hear her on Howard Stern trying to change her image, I think the following:

1) No

2) Shallow Hal was your best film

3) No

I can’t.

I don’t even want to embed this but I feel you need to see what I’m referring to.

I would take a Lindsay Lohan 2007 interview denying being on drugs than listen to Gwyneth talk about anything.

All pants are torture devices

I’m having an issue with pants today. Just like I did yesterday, the day before and the day before that, and the day before that.

I hate pants.

I’m not one for skirts or dresses and am basically a never-nude, but I despise shopping for pants of all kinds (unless they’re pajama pants).


I usually buy pants in bulk, like, four of the same kind. Most people think I’m wearing the same pair over and over again, but I’m not. It’s hard for me to find pants that fit. My bum’s too big, my hips are too wide and I have what I consider to be, fat knees.  I usually buy from Dynamite because they’ve got nice stretchy dress pants, but I’ve noticed lately threads have been pulling and they’re not looking too cute.

So now I must go buy new pants.

The pair I’m wearing is a size too large (boo hoo, wanna be skinny bitch) and I’ve literally got them hiked over my belly button like a 80’s sitcom Mom. My crotch looks like it’s a foot long. I think some of the men in the office are having penis envy.




I’m in need of a shopping trip.

Or I can just let myself go, quit my job and only wear pajamas.

Decisions, decisions.

Current mood: Biting

You ever realize you have absolutely said too much?

Taken a joke too far?

Left the door from “inner thoughts” wide open so that you spit out words that run as fast as a woman kept locked in a basement as a hostage for 12 years seizing the moment and making a break for it without shoes on?

Yeah. That’s the kind of day, err… days I’ve been having.

Sometimes when I’m left alone (like I am at work) I become a neglected only child and get so excited to see people or talk to them I just spit up insults when I really mean to be funny.

Like, asking your Polish immigrant friend if by “car” he meant horse and buggy. Or asking someone who is trying to lose weight if they eat fruits and vegetables. Or, suggesting someone become the Bachelor Canada to work on his intimacy issues when really, you’re just a woman scorned.

Step 1

Open mouth

Step 2

Insert foot

Step 3

Take a shame shower and cry

“I’ve got a bad case of the 3:00 am guilts – you know, when you lie in bed awake and replay all those things you didn’t do right? Because, as we all know, nothing solves insomnia like a nice warm glass of regret, depression and self-loathing.”

– D. D. Barant


Lunchtime chats

Since I have zero friends at work I’m spending my lunch hour reading. Which, to be honest, isn’t that bad. It’s something I always complain I don’t have enough time to do, so it looks like having no friends has been a blessing in disguise!

Here’s a nice quote to ponder on your lunch.

“And when the event, the big change in your life, is simply an insight—isn’t that a strange thing? That absolutely nothing changes except that you see things differently and you’re less fearful and less anxious and generally stronger as a result: isn’t it amazing that a completely invisible thing in your head can feel realer than anything you’ve experienced before? You see things more clearly and youknow that you’re seeing them more clearly. And it comes to you that this is what it means to love life, this is all anybody who talks seriously about God is ever talking about. Moments like this.”
— Jonathan Franzen, The Corrections 


The Bachelor: Girl, Interrupted Edition

Sometimes I wonder whether people are on the Bachelor just to make a name for themselves. I mean, half of all the contestants move to Hollywood and sign mediocre endorsement deals, but last night I was convinced there’s one girl who should move straight form the small screen to the silver screen: Ashley S.

Yep, that’s right. I’m calling it. Ashley S, the seemingly disturbed hairstylist from Brooklyn must be an actress or at the very least a woman who’s anti-psychotic’s went missing with her luggage.


She works with sharp objects for a living. That’s terrifying.

I like making fun of Bachelor crazies, but last night was like a cross-over episode between the Bachelor and Intervention. I half expected to see Ashley S. hiding in the kitchen of the house huffing aerosol cans of keyboard cleaner. At first I thought, “Well, this girl’s drunk.” Then it grew to, “wait a minute, is she some sort of space age prophet sent from the future to kill zombies and tell Chris about following his heart?” and then I just decided she was an actress, a plant from the Bachelor to mix things up after last year’s disastrous Bachelor season with Juan Pablo.

I can just see the board room now:

Executive 1: We need to distract everyone from the fact that we misjudged a Latin lover and gave a douche bag his own show for 10 weeks. Any ideas?

Executive 2: Virgins!

Executive 3: Widows!

Executive 4: And a crazy girl!

You know that’s exactly what happened. There’s no way Chris, our little farmer with a heart of gold, would willingly go out of his way to keep someone who in Iowa would be dropped off on the side of the road like a box of unwanted kittens and left for dead. “She’s using the village resources!” That’s how small town folk rationalize things, duh.


What else can we talk about from last night’s episode?

Oh right. Ashley I. The fake lash enthusiast with zero time for sex. I like that the Bachelor casts virgins on the show, but I don’t like how this chick is handling herself. It’s kind of like watching a Duggar want SO BADLY to front hug. DESPERATE. At one point, after telling another contestant of her V-Card status, Ashley I went to Chris and like a real-life Princess Jasmine said, “Rub my magic lamp belly button ring and make 3 wishes!” At which point the devoured his face like a scene from a horror movie. I guess all virgins are different, but I can guarantee, when I was a 21 year old virgin (which I was), the last thing I was saying was, “Wanna rub my tum tum?”

Loca. You’re all loca.


If I were an American farmer I would take great offense to the fact that ABC seems to cast alcoholics in hopes that it appeals to the “down home every man” that is Chris. I get it. Iowa looks boring, and it clearly hasn’t registered with any of these chicks (Except the Fly Fishing Enthusiast Tara) that they’ll be spending a majority of their time at a legion on Friday nights square dancing or that the town dentist is also their only veterinarian and the local grocer. WHATS WITH THE ALCOHOLICS!? WHY NOT CAST ANOTHER GIRL WHO GREW UP ON A FARM?!


Jordan . The other drunk. Source

Methinks Chris is getting all the hot girls out of his system and will wind up with someone like Whitney, who’s voice will call the cattle home from the fields. Seriously. Lovely girl. But my ears. My virgin ears.

I hope that wasn’t too spoiler-ish for y’all.

So far, my girls are still in the running.

Sorry this wasn’t a full play by play, but like. It’s 8 am and technically I started work 2 minutes ago.

A newly single Andi Dorfman is not impressed.


Am I excited for next week?

*whispers* Absolutely

Golden Globes – Best & Worst Dressed

I’m a simple girl.

I have simple tastes.

Most of my meals involve ketchup and I buy lots of Covergirl products.

But I feel as though it’s my responsibility as a woman with two working eyes to judge those who dare put their profession and personal life in the spotlight.

So let’s get this bitch movin’

WORST Dressed:

Girl, you tried it. You’re too old for this look J.Lo and you know it. There’s going to be a lot of people on Instagram saying her look was flawless, but I’m here to tell you otherwise. Her look had one flaw: It was desperate.


Honorable mention for worst dressed:

Lana Del Ray.

You look like you need a can of Red Bull, a time machine and a shower. Try again.



I don’t pray often, but when I do it’s either me hoping that I get my period or that I can age flawlessly. Last night I said a little prayer to Oprah and asked her to tell me Julianne Moore’s aging secrets, because this woman is the definition of beauty.

She showed up to win.


Honorable mentions:

Emma Stone and her pantsuit.I like the fact that if there was a fire, she could sprint out of there or you know, get drunk and do a cartwheel. I salute you, Emma.