Kegger for a Cause!

To quote Canice ('cause I'm too lazy to write something new myself):

"my friend jessica and i are holding a kegger to raise funds for the summer. she needs $6000 by june so she can go to vanuatu (the pacific) on a community development project.* i'm heading to new york city to parsons institute of art and design to study photography and need almost $3000 (it's also my birthday).

besides the kegs, other fun stuff:
- root beer and ice cream for the edgemen
- jello shots
- raffle for a texas mickey
- sweet music (spinning hip hop, party jams, retro, hardcore, dancehall, reggae, grime and pop. will take requests ahead of time!)
- pure palmerston fun

donations are more than welcome. please tell your friends!"

When was the last time you went to a kegger thrown by two girls?

*I try to avoid writing too much about my personal life, apart from where drinking and beards are involved. However, if anyone is interested in hearing about this, I'd be more than happy to share.

Courtney's 21st Birthday

After five hours of shopping (Kensington, Queen Street and Eaton Centre) Monique and I came home empty-handed, apart from groceries for dinner and a bouquet of flowers for Courtney's birthday.

But chances are, you aren't looking at the flowers in this picture.


Instead, you're wondering why there are pictures of naked ladies on our wall.

Let me introduce you to the "Say My Name, Bitch!" wall. This is what I get to stare at every morning with my coffee. It's part of the rotating artwork series featured on our kitchen wall. (Previous things on the kitchen wall has been a world map outlining all the developing countries literacy rates, and a "What do YOU remember from 1995?" poster.) This design was conceptualized by Sasha and Katrina.


Monique and I made 3-Cheese Roasted Vegetable Penne for dinner. Mike, it may not be stronganoff, but it was still delicious.


Sasha spent all day sewing a dress that Katrina wore out to the bar that night.


You know that phrase "dressed to the nines?" I think we were dressed to the 10s.


We waited in line at Mod Club for half an hour, made some friends (like this girl, who was waiting by herself) before deciding that we were bored of standing outside.


So, we went to Andy Pool Hall, where we could be bored inside instead! Actually, that's not entirely accurate. A good time was had by all, but I think we were disappointed that we had to spend $10 to get in, just because a DJ was playing shitty techno music.


If you take a closer look at the above pictures, it's evident that Mark found the music particularly distasteful.


Sonja and I.


At this point, I decided that I needed to make it appear that we were having a wild and crazy night at the bar, for the sake of maintaining the blog's reputation. Either that, or I was sick of the amount of "normal" faces I had been making all night (and we all know that just isn't my style).


Monique and Charles


Courtney, me, and Brie protectively resting her hand on the baby.


Court, me and Brie. . .


And Mark, holding Brie's purse.

After we left Andy Pool Hall, I spotted a bearded fellow outside. Approaching him, I said, "I really like your beard. I just thought I should let you know," and I began to walk away.

He stopped me. "Wait, what's your name? Do you want to go and get a drink somewhere?"

I was throughly thrown off my game. A guy had actually responded positively to my beard obsession. "I'm actually going to get food to eat with my friends," I told him, mildly creeped out.

"Is that it? Is this the end?" The guy's creepiness factor had risen a notch. I never knew that complimenting guys on their facial hair could be such a powerful tool of seduction. And the worst part is, I'm not sure I was trying to seduce.

"Uh, well what else do you want?"

"A phone number? An e-mail address?"

"I'll give you my e-mail address, but I don't have a pen or paper," I agreed, knowing that there was no way he would remember my hotmail address.

Apparently, I was wrong, because when I logged into msn this afternoon, the bearded guy had actually added me to his list. He also sent me a message that read, "You liked my beard. I liked your vibe."

Seriously, 90 per cent of guys don't even bother to call, which is why I refuse to give out my phone number. But this guy actually not only memorizes my e-mail address, but also adds me to his msn? When does this ever happen? Who does this sort of thing?

"You do that sort of thing," Chloe told me today on the phone, "I think he must be the one."

So there you have it folks, I've met the one!

Continuing. . .


Today, it was pouring rain outside, so Monique decided she'd like a blanket for the bus ride home. After rejecting a Toronto Maple Leafs, a Spiderman, and Spongebob Squarepants blanket, she decided to instead opt for a tasteful plain red choice to keep her warm.


And then, she unrolled it.

Hello, testosterone?

After a lazy, hot summer spent at Sandy Beach with my boyfriend, I was trying to find the positive aspects of leaving him and my life in Cold Lake behind, again, so that I could start university in Edmonton.

And then it hit me- in Edmonton, I could have girl friends! All summer long, I had been predisposed to breaking down and crying whenever I got drunk. In between gasping drunken sobs, I'd ask the boyfriend, "Why don't other girls like me?"

I enthusiastically began to plan what would be my first ever "girls' night out." I envisioned a group of girls, make up and hair in order, drinking sangeria and letting loose to bouts of giggles while discussing lewd sexual acts. I could hardly contain my excitement for the forthcoming weekend, and it made moving again bearable.

Except no one came.

Mike, feeling sorry for me, jumped on the LRT and showed up with beer (which is better than sangria, anyway). Chloe showed up too, with two girls in tow. Suddenly, my "first girls' night out ever(!)" had turned into Mike, beer, and some borrowed female friends, because I didn't have any of my own.

Needless to say, I was incrediably drunk when the boyfriend picked me up at the bar later that night, and in between drunken sobs I asked him, "Why don't other girls like me?!"

A lot has changed in the past three years.

I'm now living a perpetual girls' night out.* I live with four girls, and go to school almost exclusively with females (right now, I'm sitting in a room of 31 students, 29 of whom are female, 2 of whom are male, and only of 1 of which is a heterosexual male).

And for once, this isn't a rant about my dating or sex life, or lackthereof.** This is the simple, solid fact, that I went from having almost exclusively close male friends, to having only female friends in the matter of three years. And that's just unnatural.

I seriously need more testosterone in my life.

*Disclaimer: I love my female friends, especially my roomates, considering they aren't overtly feminine. I am so grateful for each and every one of them, but seriously. . .this is just getting out of hand. The fact that I suddenly have only female friends stupifies and confuses me throughly.

** This, however, could turn into a rant about how it's nearly impossible to make new male friends in a huge city because one or both parties always has some sort of underlying sexual motivation, or thinks that the other party does. I honestly think I'd have more male friends if I wasn't single, because then there wouldn't be any confusion about my intentions.

January doesn't know any better.

Hey everybody. . .


Feel grumpy? Worn out? Tired? Anti-social? Feel like curling up into bed with a loved one and never leaving (except you don't have a loved one to curl up with)? Feel like you wish the winter would finally end?

Let's play a game.

Find yourself a rooftop.


Lay back and stare at the clouds.


Soak up the sun.


The game is called "Let's Pretend it's Spring."

January doesn't know any better.

Words I Hate #1

I really hate the word torso.*

For some reason that word conjures up gory images of a dismembered bodies.

I highly suspect that this is because I first learned the word torso probably when I was in fifth grade. At the time, I was an avid reader of newspapers. (What can I say? I was a nerdy kid. . . not much has changed.) In particular, I liked the Edmonton Sun, because the more sensational the news, the better. That year, a woman was murdered in the city and her body was dumped in the North Saskatchewan River. To be specific, just her torso inside a suitcase was found. I followed the story ravenously, from beginning to end.

I spent that entire summer fantasizing about finding the rest of her body parts in old suitcases that I discovered at the dump. . .

Torso.

It makes me shudder.

*I also hate the word "trunk" when it is used in reference to the human body.

Things the Size of Sasha #1*

Things the Size of Sasha- a bouquet of flowers for her Grandma's birthday.


Can't you just imagine seeing this girl trying to navigate the subway with a bouquet that is roughly the same height as her?

*I titled this post #1, because there are a lot of things that are the size of Sasha . . .fire hydrants, mailboxes, 12-year-old boys, the counter at Blockbuster. . .well, you get the point. . .Nonetheless, it provides endless entertainment.

Monday Night in China & Election Night in Canada

Monday night at China.


We celebrated Courtney's birthday a day early with a Fuzzy Peach covered cake.


Chloe and I went out for dinner and then played Scrabble. There were no notable high scores in the game, because it was so tight. (Look at the bottom left hand corner. I was throughly impressed when Chloe played "FEN"). I was dissapointed that I was unable to play the one bingo I had early in the game ("COTTONS". If there is an anagram for these letters that I missed, can someone please let me know?)


I still won.


So did the Conservatives. Apparently wearing my green "I Like to Get It On With Boys Who Vote" shirt and rambling about "alternative political parties" all day was ineffectual.

Are you happy now, Alberta? You've waited 12 years for this.

Take note: I prefer beards over moustaches.

I woke up yesterday morning and my hair mirrored how I felt- dishevelled. I spent two hours in bed, napping on and off, and feeling frustrated about my state of affairs. And I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I'm still feeling very unsettled. (I am also concerned that this blog is becoming more and more livejournal-esque in nature. So I'm going to stop, right now.)

After showering all the worries away, Sasha and I headed down to the Rex on Queen Street for jazz music and good company.

Before we got the Rex though, we ran into Paul #2 at the subway station with his girlfriend. Readers of my former blog will remember Paul #2 as being the Paul that followed the Newfie. Friends of mine, however, will know infinitely more details about my relationship with Paul #2 and will subsequently see the humour in the little nugget of information that I am about to unveil.

I might as well just get straight to the point- Paul #2 now has a beard. I kid you not.

Anyways. . .


Jenna was in town from Montreal for the weekend visiting her boyfriend Josh.

Josh is an interesting character. He criticized Chloe, telling her that she should be more concise in nature. She mentioned something about "penile erectile dysfunction" to which he asked, "What other kind of erectile dysfunction is there, really? You never hear someone say, 'I'm having difficultly getting my nipples erect!'"

"I'm expecting royalties for my wit," he told me, when he noticed that I was scribbling down notes.


Chloe and Jenna.


Sasha and I. (The funny thing about this picture is that Natalie took it and warned me to move my head because I was going to have near-double chin action going on. It turns out she was right. But Sasha looks hot, so that's what matters here.)


Natalie (photo-posing pro) and Chloe.

After the Rex we headed to Dance Cave for a bit, but Sasha and I went home early.


But not before I ran into this kid. My favourite thing about this photo is that it is quite obvious I am stifling back a laugh that I'd been holding in probably since the last time I met him.

Chloe and I had been at an Edmonton house party in June when I met this guy, and he became quite enamoured with me. Chloe began encouraging him, and basically telling him that I would make out with him. I became angry with Chloe, until she pulled me aside and explained, "Wouldn't it be hilarious if you told him you'd make out with him, but that he'd have to shave off his moustache first? He'd probably do it!" And the sick thing is, he probably would have. (Yes, that's right boys. I'm not only worth growing a beard for, but also of shaving off a moustache for.)

Chloe is a genius.

Needless to say, this didn't actually occur, and I thought I'd never see him again.

It never fails to astound me the people that you cross paths with in life.

A Guide to Avoiding Political Discussions

Yesterday night I walked all the way down to the ghetto (which is located roughly 3 blocks away from my place) with flowers and wine to meet my hot date(s) for dinner.


Sarah and Sonja.


Who, by the way, don't own any wine glasses. (I gave the Sonja her wine in a 4-H mug because that just knocks the classiness up one scale.)


Sonja demonstrated the powers of her super-turbo death ray gun.


And by that, I mean the most sci-fi looking blow-dryer that I've seen in recent history.


John and Sonja.


Charles and Sarah controlled the music and sang after dinner.


And I took creepy pictures of love notes written to Sarah. (I found this one particularly cute. Sarah's boyfriend, Darren is a bearded individual, so he gets bonus points for writing simple but cute love notes and having facial hair that meets my expectations.)

After the singing subsided, we hopped on a streetcar (where I made three new friends including a guy who talked to me about Jesus, a guy who thought he was Mel Gibson, and an attactive younger guy whose full name was Jonathan David Paul, but sadly he lacked a beard), then transferred to another streetcar (where I made friends with another guy who had a beard and was wearing a Beer Store shirt) before arriving at Green Room to meet all the CUP* particpants.

Sarah, Sonja, Charles, John and I parted ways because the Green Room was so packed, and they left me to fend for myself.


But I made new friends immediatly. This was Plaid Shirt and Glasses from South Africa (yup, that was his full name), with his passed out friend.


And of course, all the CUP participants were there. Chloe, who works for the Gateway, had flown down with about 15 others from Edmonton for the conference.


Dave took inappropriate pictures of my cleavage.


So I took inappropriate pictures of him.


Dave was also the lucky recipient of a Jess-patented scalp massage. (I owed him 25 cents and we agreed that this was a better payment method). He also gave me the nicest compliment of the night:

"Jessica, having a conversation with you is like walking through a mine field."

This was probably provoked when to avoid political discussions, I asked the loaded question, "Which is worse: necrophilia or beastiality?"

Other David Berry facts: his favourite word is sensual, because it sounds exactly like what it means. Sensual. (Don't hesistate at all to read that word out loud. Personally, I like the word delicious for the same reason.)


James and Tim.


After Green Room, I got moody and walked home by myself in the rain.

While I was walking home, I overheard one guy quietly say to his friend (both obviously from the suburbs), "That girl's walking alone. Fuck, that's brave."


And took pictures of raccoons for my brother Andrew.

*CUP= Canadian University Press. I'm not too sure why I put this at the very bottom of the page, but it seemd like fun.

Straw becomes gold.

I imagine that it's much sexier to be a widow than a spinster.

If I was a widow, I'd wear thick, sweet perfume and wander around in darkened rooms clad only in black lingerie.



I actually got engaged this summer. Since Jacob wants to die a tragic death, and I want to become a widow, we've agreed to get married. The ceremony will take place in Tahiti (the purpose of the wedding is also so we all have an excuse to go to a tropical location and party amongst friends) followed by a short honeymoon. Of course, it will come to an abrupt end when Jacob will be attacked and eaten by a shark while surfing, and I will be left to wander dark rooms in black corsets and drink red wine.

If I end of becoming a spinster, I think I'm actually going to revive the art of spinning. It will be Rumplestiltsken-esque in nature. And then, with the thread and fabric that I've created, I'll open up a profitable side business of sewing lingerie for widows to drink wine in.

It all seems very organic and environmentally friendly in nature.