The New Year of First World Problems

This year I spared myself the pain of failure of New Years Resolutions by cancelling them out totally. This is demonstrated by the fact that this post was started in January as a “New Years Resolution post“ but is only successfully published in March, Why? Because the pressure to follow through with blog posts  is WAY less.

For the past couple of years, I’ve had some hipster feelings about New Years Resolutions. People tell me all about theirs and I just sink into an emo abyss. New Year Resolutions are soooo oppressively mainstream. I came to this conclusion when I miserably failed at my lenten resolution a few years ago. If I didn`t have the willpower to keep my daily coffee intake to under three dessert bowl sized coffee mugs for 40 days, why cause more self-inflicted low self-esteem?

In my last post, I told the world that I became one of Canada newest landed immigrants. I’d like to think that the patriotic honeymoon phase will last eternally but the truth is, my newly minted Canadian status has been lacking some of its intial lustre lately.

Hardly two months after I became a resident and all the hoopla of immigration died out and my all friends stopped offering to take me for “celebratory coffees”, reality set in that my life hadn’t changed one bit.

The weather still displays asshole-like behavior, I still ride the same buses and Rob Ford is still the mayor of Toronto.

Mayor Rob Ford

Mayor Rob Ford

But I feel a sense of pride to be able to call myself a Torontonian even if the word ‘Torontonian’ sounds like a name given to baby T-Rex.

One of the things that became very apparent now that I’m an official resident was an overwhelming realisation of first world problems. They were always there and they`re now significantly magnfied since I don`t have third world problems to deal with anymore.

Here are some of the worst first-world problems I`ve had to deal with. Read it and weep for me.

1) The “high“ setting on my hair dryer is not high enough.

How hard is it for Sears to carry a brand of  hair dryers whose high setting doesn’t feel like a pair of butterfly wings fluttering around a lotus flower in the morning sunshine? Now I have to wait for this shitbox piece of crap to burn out until the next useless Conair I buy on sale. Life is pain.

2) The inability to cut avocadoes.

Anybody else think Canadian winters are the worst time to buy avocadoes? Those little bitches are hard as nails to cut up. Anyways, being the overflowing wellspring of patience that I am, I thought of a genius plan of quickening the avocado ripening process. Put the avocadoes in a brown paper bag and use my useless hair dryer to blow bursts of warm air in the bag. Fruit likes warmth right? Is avocado a fruit? My parents, past science teachers or anyone with two and half functionally firing neurons would have probably sighed with hopelessness at the sight of someone blowdrying avocadoes. No guacamole till April. Life is pain.

3) When your lipstick is done perfectly and you have to Roll up the Rim:

Every year, Canadian coffee chain Tim Hortons contributes significantly to seasonal depressive disorder by inflicting the ever popular “Roll up the Rim” upon overcaffienated Canadians. Throngs of people line up at Timmies every morning, noon and night for their double-doubles with excitement and anticipation at the prospect of biting off the rim of a paper cup to see just how much of nothing they won. It’s like the shittiest orgasm in the history of life. You keep building up to the promise of something sweet ( a free stale carrot muffin) only to have all of it crashing to pieces around you when you get nothing. Because there is nothing like the words “Sorry, please try again“ to pep up your mojo.

No stale muffin, no lipstick and no orgasm. Life is pain.

Here’s one my co-worker Kat ranted about the other day:

4) When you go home after a long day at work and your mother has dinner waiting for you but it`s something that you don`t like:

“I absolutely HATE it when I go home exhausted from work , and my mother has dinner waiting for me and it`s cauliflower. Yuck. So what if I`m still living at home? At 27. Rent free. ” Life is pain.

And for the grand finale…

5) When the hardest life choice you have to make comes down to deciding beween a coffee maker and toilet paper:

My coffee maker died right around  the time I ran out of toilet paper and I felt the world closing in on me. Since I do not own a vehicle, I could only carry home one of the bulky items from the store…toilet paper or a coffee maker. It is important to note that this impossible decision took two whole days to make, during which I exhausted all my emergency TP.

In the end, toilet paper won. Shit happens. For everything else, there’s Starbucks. I came up with a plan that was winning at life: I ordered the coffee maker online so it would be delivered straight to my house and went out to Shoppers Drug Mart to buy toilet paper. I wouldn’t have to lug home a large coffee maker box and toilet paper was light enough for my delicate frame to lug home.

But of course this first world universe had to shit on my parade. The very large bulk supply of toilet paper that I brought home that night turned out to be all paper towels instead (because I clearly cannot read labels). Three days later, I found a note on my front door telling me that Purolator dropped by to deliver my coffee-maker but since I wasn`t home to sign for it, I would have to go all the way to the post office and pick it up my myself.

I took that note and walked in the cold to the post office to pick up my brand new coffee-maker.

Now I have limp hair, seven rock-hard avocadoes, wasted lipstick, back pain from lugging home a coffee maker, frost bite, and a shit load of paper towels. But life is definitely less pain when you have coffee and toilet paper.  

What are some of your first world problems? 

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Friday Chronicles: It’s totes the weekend!

In the eloquent words of Rebecca Black…it’s FRIDAY!  Good job all you hard-working angel-faces and welcome to this week’s edition of The Friday Chronicles. I’ll be honest, it’s kind of been a slow week in the news. Partly because I’ve been walking around in a zombie-like state after my Montreal weekend of sleep-deprived goodtimes. And partly because the news hasn’t been that LOLZ worthy.

Nonetheless, I’ve been working hard on bringing you some Friday randomness to finish off your work week.  So kick off your shoes, pop a Valium and get ready for this week’s roundup of the world’s ridiculousness and mediocrity.

Let me  begin with a news item that highlights the failure of not finding an actual news item:

1) Karen learns about One Direction and some new slang  from her patients:

Shakespeare rolled in his grave on Wednesday when my 42-year-old patient informed me that her 16-year-old daughter “totes loves One Direction.” I puzzled over the numerous questions that came to mind when I heard that sentence. Like for example, does her daughter have a penchant for tote bags? Does she only like to drive on uni-directional streets? Would I go in the Guinness Book of Records as the first 25-year-old to display symptoms of dementia? After finding out that One Direction was an MTV spawn of pubescent fetuses making 16-year-old girls feel indie about not having Beiber fever, I realised that maybe I was going totes going cray-cray after all. Translation: I’m getting old.

Hey girl, why choose one Beiber when you can have five?

Speaking of fetuses…

2) Jennifer Lopez is reportedly dating one:

Jenny from the block in a recent interview with Vogue, told the world that her 24-year-old boyfriend Casper Smart is “a good egg” . Just how much of a bad egg was Marc Anthony? Bebe Smart, who shares his first name with everybody’s favorite ghost, indeed does share some of the same personality traits with the friendly spirit. They are both look friendly, and according to Cray-Cray Lopez, Bebe Smart is “sweet and loving” too which really just means that he’s good in bed.  Most of all, they actually look like alike. Hmm..

Casper the friendly fetus

Casper the friendly ghost

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Moving on…

 3) Gordon Ramsey sues a Montreal eatery for 3 million buckeroos:

I’ll be honest. The only reason this story made it to the Chronicles is because it involves food, drama and Montreal. Ramsey basically lost his shit when Montreal restaurant Laurier BBQ cut him out as a business partner and defamed his name. The chef, who’s famous for defaming other people, denies that he even agreed to operate the restaurant or act as a consultant. Now he’s suing  for 2 million in potential revenue loses from a restaurant he claims he never agreed to operate, $500,000.00 for defamation and the rest of it for expenses that go with being the giant divo that he is. Just goes to show, never mess with the Ramsey for revenge is a dish served with a *beeep*ing 3-million dollar lawsuit.

4) Teens worldwide take to “The Cinnamon Challenge”:

No, this is not a cute little Starbucks promotion for some new line of cinnamon infused baked goods. Perhaps something like “I challenge you to try out our new questionable vegan cinnamon onion cupcake absolutely free.” Alas! No vegan cinnamon onion cupcakes for anyone…which I guess is just as well. Instead, it is a disturbing phenomenon wherein in a display of colossal stupidity, teenagers have been swallowing a teaspoon of cinnamon. The adrenaline junkies from this bunch of pubescent Einsteins have also attempted to inhale it. Which begs the question…whatever happened to glue? Or crushed Tylenol? Or cough medicine? Or cocaine? I miss the good old days when you didn`t have to go snooping around your mother`s spice rack everytime you got bored.

More about the cinnamon challenge here.

5) New Jersey runs out of toilet paper: (Clearly by now you can see that this has indeed been a slow week for The Friday Chronicles)

Trenton residents seem to be quite literally shit out of luck. This past week apparently saw some budget cuts in New Jersey’s capital city which was serious enough to wipe out toilet paper supplies from police stations, fire stations and some municipal offices. If you read last week’s edition of the Friday Chronicles, you might recall that I ran the story of Anita Narre who suffered the shitty problem of not having a toilet. In dire situations like this, Trentoners must turn to the philosophy of WWAND -What would Anita Narre Do? Or as my best friend and New Jersey resident Bernice would say “Make friends with a Kleenex box”.

Full Story here.

6) St. Patrick’s day celebrations turns awry in London, ON:

Riots broke out in London, Ontario when some drunken fools took to the streets and started…well rioting I guess. I decided to go with this story with excited intentions of making lame jokes about the irony of how St. Patrick stood for everything opposite of rioting and breaking glass windows for no apparent reason. But then I stopped and thought, wait…what the heck did St. Patrick exactly do? Upon extensive investigation on Google, I found nothing. He did help shoo away some snakes, although that was later dismissed as a rumor spread by rambunctious leprechauns. My patients, who are mostly old Catholic Italian nonnas were interrogated in this matter as well and the verdict of the masses was unanimous. Poor St. Paddy was now essentially being seen as the patron saint for parades and beer. Sometimes Ireland and alcohol-poisoning. But mostly just parades.

Full story on the riots here.

And that my lovely friends, is my weekly round-up for you. I hope you all have a restful weekend. You totes deserve it! Until next time, be good and hide yo’ cinammon.  

Double Crossing Monday Morning

So folks, its Mix-crap Monday again and of course I have my usual spaztastic stories for your Monday evening entertainment. Today’s involves:

– An age old Catholic tradition.
– My love-hate relationship with the damn 77.
-The gas station bathroom from hell.
 
None of these things have anything in common but just for kicks, I will attempt to tie them in together in the end somehow.
As most of you know, I ride the 77 every morning to work. To be honest, the 77 is slow. One sees turtles, snails, dead bugs and other seemingly lifeless objects trudging along faster. That being said, I thoroughly enjoy my morning commute. There’s nothing like riding along, listening to some great music, being one of the first to witness the sky lighting up for the day with the caffeine drug of choice in hand. This morning was no exception, except that today, I did not get my usual seat next to the pleasantly plum Indian lady. Courtesy of my usual Monday morning Starbucks almost-had-a-heart-attack run (I never learn), I got bumped down to economy class (the back of the bus).
 
Once my bus hits Promenade Mall, (this is roughly the mid point of my journey) I bust out the rosary and pray my heart out for various things like world peace, a good day for my bus buddies, family, friends, and of course for me not to do something foolish and/or idiotic at work that would get me yelled at or fired. Today though, I did not have the warmth and comfort of the pleasantly plump Indian lady and the chattering little Filipino ladies around me.
Today I was surrounded by mean looking, weird smelling construction workers all shooting me judgemental looks everytime I almost dug out the rosary. Making the Sign of the Cross was another ordeal. I could not bring myself to do it. With every ticking moment, I panicked. Cross yourself now! Think of all the people your not going to have time to pray for if you dont. Think of world peace! I decided I will do this for world peace and made the most pathetic Sign of the Cross.
 
The day went without a glitch. Work was a breeze! And when the clock hit 3:45 I happily began to pack up…when alas! Some woman walked in, insisted I spend 20 minutes talking to her about socks for cold feet and booked her a thousand appointments. By then I had missed my bus. I caught the 4:30 and got off on the highway to take the 77 home. I waited. And waited. I finally get on after half an hour.
 
Fiften minutes and 20,000 more people on the bus later, we hit the worst traffic in the history of traffic. We crawled along for another hour. In that time, I got hit bad by the pee monster. I was in serious pain and we were still on the highway with no end in sight. Fast forward to another 45 minutes when I got off the bus HALF AN HOUR before my stop almost in tears and limped to the gas station before my bladder burst. I dance around frantically until the man inside was done, got in and looked around horrified.
 
Lets just say this bathroom made bus station bathrooms in India look and smell like God’s garden in paradise. I peed for what seemed like forever. I then reach for the toilet paper only to find a piece of gum stuck in its place. GROSS! Not to mention, I was literally piss out of luck on the toilet paper.
I touch every thing with my sleeves, wash my hands and ran for my life out of there.
 
Forget swine flu or H1N1 or whatever fancy names you kids give the flu these days. I think I may have caught something even more deadly that evolved in the 3 minutes I spent in there.
No zumba class for this tired little toilet-paperless girl today 😦
 
Now as I sit here typing this in my warm bed, sipping on some not-so-delicious Cranberry tea, I look back fondly on my day with the words “good riddance” swimming in my head. Let me just say this, next time I feel shy or weird or downright embarassed to make the Sign of the Cross, I will try to remember that along with world peace, end to hunger and to not be a fool in life, I will also need time to pray for a bigger bladder, lesser traffic and bountiful toilet paper. Maybe I’ll even do a double cross…just for good measure.
 
And might I say, kudos to you for making it to the end of this long rant! 😉