Absenteeism

Hey. It’s been a while.

I cannot apologize enough for my absence but a lot has been going on. I went away to paradise for a week; and it was lovely, thank you. And I moved to my own personal paradise; and it’s fantastic, thank you.

I feel in fairness, I, at the very least, owe you a catch up-in picture form- before I get back to being the Bianca that you know and love. Read: cussing and bitching about life.








Paradise was great; turns out it was exactly what I needed to rehabilitate my spirit and zest for life.

*****

The Neighb'



My new neighborhood is A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! Walking trails, tennis courts (yes!) and beautiful trees; I cannot wait to live it up this summer.

Room pictures to come...soon-ish.

That's all there is, abscense explained.

Cheers! It's great to be back.

Irony

Life can be funny sometimes; last week was the worst week I have had in the last 12 months. I wouldn't say the worst ever, because that would be dramatic.

It would seem that I need extreme adversity in order to take action.

I decided that I was going to start bidding on freelance writing positions; in order to make some more cash and to put my money where my, proverbial, mouth is.

I saw an ad for a freelance writer for an online men's magazine; and I figured, why not, a men's magazine might rather enjoy my foul mouth. So Saturday night after a few glasses of wine, I sat down to pen a piece of writing perfect for a mens magazine.

Let me say, I think I may have found my number one motivator...wine! I wrote a provocative piece about love and sex in about 45 minutes; edited it in less than 10 minutes and pressed send; crossing my fingers. Had I been completely sober, I, likely, would have taken more time hemming and hawing over the minutia.

Sunday I awoke, feeling like dirt, to find a reply in my inbox; they wanted my work! Hooray, I can now say, with absolute conviction, that I AM A WRITER.

So what's all the fuss about? What brilliant piece of written word did I send my new boss?
I present to you, my lovely readers, the piece that got me a job!


Love and Sex

In a man’s world, love and sex are mutually exclusive; I cannot count how many times I have watched “Cheaters” and the man (the cheat) pleads to his woman “ I LOVE you, this was just sex”. Some women fall for that; usually the variety under 21.

In a woman’s world, ideally, the sex is followed by fairytale love. We all know that to be very untrue; but that falsehood has helped generations of men bed lovelorn women.

It is a rare breed of woman that can fuck a guy and move on, wanting nothing than to have him lose her number. Most women think because this “guy” penetrated her and she put his penis in her mouth, that he somehow owes her happily ever after.

Harsh? Yes. Reality? Absolutely.

You see it’s simple, a man will say just about anything to get a woman into bed; including I love you. Ladies, hear this, if you just met him, there is absolutely no way he loves you; unless you piss Heineken and have tits that taste like chicken wings.

So what is this entire preamble leading up to? A few nuggets of wisdom for each of the sexes:

Men, if you just met her and you want to fuck her; do it. If she doesn’t ask you for anything except a ride home in the morning, consider yourself very lucky. But if she lingers in the morning and looks at you with google-y eyes, for god sakes, just be real with her. If you want to see her again, say it; it’s likely that your honesty will get you fucked again that morning. But if you don’t want to see her again, tell her; I repeat, TELL HER. Sure, she’ll cry, hell, she might stalk you for a few weeks, but you can sleep at night knowing that you were honest with her.

Ladies, if you like a guy, do not sleep with him on the first date. I repeat, DO NOT SLEEP WITH HIM ON THE FIRST DATE. I say this with the assumption that you like this guy and would like to explore a future; if you like him solely because he is delicious looking and your loins ache at the thought of not bedding him, then by all means, fuck your little heart out. My only caveat with most one night stands is that they usually suck for the woman, in all senses of the word; he will want head and the fucking part will most likely be mediocre at best. But at least you can say you did it. For those of you who want this elusive relationship thing, hold off, make him want it. Tease him for as long as you can take it; this accomplishes 2 things 1) deciphers whether he wants you or an orgasm. Trust this, men have short attention spans when it comes to pussy, they can get it anywhere, so if he just wants you for your pussy and you make him work, he will move on. 2) Allows you to determine whether you want his dick in you vagina. During this important courtship phase a man will show you his habits, does he shower? Is he chivalrous? And so on, because let’s be real, no girl wants a guy who doesn’t hold the door and will give her a yeast infection.

These are the fundamental rules to this dating game. You hate games you say? Too bad, life is a game and when you realize this and get in it; the results can, nay, WILL be mind blowing.

I think this is a pretty clever account of the differences between men and women; albeit completely one sided. If my friends were around we would be celebrating.

BOOM / I hate cars

Well hello there.

It’s been a minute since I've been here; I hope all is well. What have I been up to?

I’ve been hitting bottom. BOOM is the sound that hitting rock bottom makes.

Now we have been back and forth about my vehicular transgressions; tickets, un-renewed registration, the wrong insurance documents, getting towed etc. Oh wait! That happened on Sunday.

I had every intention of re-registering my car on Monday morning. My last cheque from the magazine was coming to me and once and for all I was going to be done with this car bullshit; Sunday night, the motherfucking night before, I got pulled over.

And god said HA!

Not having up to date registration is a ticketed offense; but because my name is Bianca Osbourne and my organization skills rival that of a preschooler, I had outdated insurance pink sheets, which resulted in an immediate tow.

The ironic thing, aside from driving for 4 months with an expired registration and getting pulled over the day before I was to re-register, was that it was a beautiful day. I had just finished chilling with 2 of my girlfriends and I was feeling optimistic about the week ahead. On my way to dinner at my parent’s house, I decided to take the scenic route in an effort to enjoy these budding days of spring and BOOM; 2 tickets, a towed vehicle and a ruined evening.

So my Monday was spent being driven around by my grandmother going to several banks, picking up checks, standing in line at the registry, standing in line at the court house, being inappropriately patted down at the court house and fighting back tears.

Funny story, the cashier who rang me through was the same bitch judge who made me take my hat off the last time I was at the court house. Times must be tough if they’re making the judges moonlight as cashiers. She’s a bitch anyways, so I hope she hates it.

Another funny story, I get to the court house and, just because it’s a day in the life of moi, there were 2 more tickets on my file that also needed to be paid in order to register my vehicle and free it from the “Police Seizures Lot”.

Great! Awesome! Isn’t it great to be me?

So this week instead of travelling to the California desert and partying with all my friends at one of the best music festivals in North America, I am staying home.

Coachella for all; No’Chella for me.


I did the math and in total including tickets, tow fee, registration et all; I have paid $1072 dollars in fines and fees.

BOOM.

***************

I hate cars.

Disclaimer: So that my mother doesn’t comment about my having it relatively good. I am aware that my situation is ALL MY FAULT; but the anger is still fresh and I need a scapegoat.

A car is like a mechanical dog; it needs to be fed-gas. It needs tags- insurance and registration. And if that bitch is caught without a leash, the fines come raining down like hot fire- tickets.

It’s like when parents ask children “do you think you can handle a dog? It needs to be walked, fed and loved”; and every kid says enthusiastically “oh yes, I promise I will take care of everything!”; and the dogs bowl sits consistently empty and it shits inside because it hasn’t been walked since the night before.

I am that kid. And I don’t want this dog anymore; it is shitting on my life.

My dog doesn’t bite other people, it bites me and now I am bleeding like no man's business.

*******

BOOM goes the girl that hates her dog.

Squatting

This weekend my mother moved out of the condo; fear not, it was an amicable end to our co habitation. She and the step papa took possession of their new place on Friday and the condo’s lease isn’t up until the end of April; so lucky me, I have it all to myself.

I've really been enjoying the solitude; I was raised an only child and “me” time is my thing. However, she took everything. Seriously, I am living like a squatter, case in point the pictures.


A mere week ago I was watching digital cable on a plasma screen television, like most people living in the 21st century. Now I watch television like they did in the 80’s, on a small grainy box, that requires I squint to see any of the finer details, like letters or expressions. Truth be told the first day of watching this archaic box, I was beyond hung over and I swear the effort that focusing required was only exacerbating my already throbbing head.


The TV is bad; the hub is worse. That’s the endearing term I have for my seating accommodations; that isn’t a seat at all. The hub is a cluster of blankets and pillows, along with my computer and a heating pad (cramps). It was fun at first but now my ass hurts. Getting up from a seated position is no problem, but getting up from the ground is a bitch. I make certain I have EVERYTHING I need before I sit down; because straight up, it’s too much fucking work getting up and getting back down again.


This whole set up is a lot like camping, which some people find rather recreational; I, however, despise camping. Black people don’t rough it, slavery was rough enough.

If I could talk to my adolescent self, I would say one thing; study harder or else you will be 24 and sitting on blankets on the floor watching a grainy $80 television. Sadly no one said that to me and here we are.

The countdown to my move is on...17 days.

De Caffeinated

2 months ago, I gave up coffee. I’d like to say it was because I wanted to be “naturally” energized; but truthfully, I was concerned my teeth were getting yellow, and I don’t want busted looking teeth. So I gave it up, cold turkey.

I will admit I was a bit of a savage the first few days, I kept to myself in order to preserve my close relationships; but after the first week it was all good. I was coffee free. I started drinking Matcha green tea powder because of the antioxidants; and I heard it helps drop pounds. I cannot vouch for the weight loss or the antioxidants; but my energy level stabilized.

Things were going well; until COSTCO happened.

My friend Chris and I needed to go to COSTCO for some catering supplies and COSTCO being COSTCO there were samples. Now I am a sucker for free stuff, I mean it; free stuff is ALWAYS awesome. Free meals, free compliments and free porn are always welcome. Especially the porn, you know what I’m talking about, porn ain’t cheap. Anyways, they were sampling Salt Spring Island Coffee and if it wasn’t free, I would have passed; but those assholes were giving full cups away for free. And I am a greedy bitch, so I had to indulge; you would have to.

Since that day I have not been able to carry on without my daily brew. I have fallen way off the wagon; we’re talking daily trip to Starbucks. And to make matter worse, from March 1 to March 15 McDonalds was offering free coffee ALL DAY; whatever size I wanted. I mean, they gave me no choice; I love free shit.

FUCK. My teeth. After a month and a half of restraint and glimmering teeth, I’m drinking coffee again.

Yesterday I was looking in the mirror, at a poorly lit public washroom and my teeth appeared as yellow as a 2 pack a day smoker; and it scared the shit out of me. How can I achieve impossible beauty with teeth the color of sunshine? Sunshine is wonderful when it beams from the sky, but sunshine yellow teeth are far less enchanting.

So after weeks of teeth staining behavior, I am giving up coffee again. I have replenished my Matcha reserves and I have adopted Crest Whitestrips as my new best friends.

And as for the coffee purveyors, Starbucks can suck my dick, they gauge anyways, $3.00 for a drip coffee with vanilla syrup is ridiculous. And McDonalds, I was only drinking your swill because it was free.

Crusin' the Cosmos

Cancer Horoscope for the week of March 18-24, 2010
“You’ve got a problem that can’t be ignored and that’s the fact that you’re so dang bored. You need a challenge, like a karmic bitch slap, to force you to draw from the strength you’ve yet to tap. This week, if you’re up to the test, you’ll be amazed at your newly found zest.”

I used to be really into astrology; in fact there was a time when I guided my life by my zodiac. Those days are gone. For the most part, I think its all mumbo jumbo; but this week’s horoscope was dead on.

I’m bored as fuck.

I mean I have a pretty interesting life, it keeps me on my toes to say the least; but there is something missing, the "fire" has gone out. And I couldn’t agree more with the “stars” that I need a bitch slap to get me going again.

Not a real bitch slap, so don’t try anything stupid…

Every day is the same; wake up, work, eat, go to bed, repeat. I have said it before and I will say it again THERE HAS TO BE MORE TO LIFE THAN THIS.

There really does.

Am I going through a quarter life crisis? Or just realizing this is what life is? Whatever it is, it’s dry as fuck and bumming me out.

So the “stars” say I need to challenge myself, but with what?

As a New Year's challenge, I undertook a healthy lifestyle and that’s going well; but I’m still bored. I'm working on my BIG project; and still, nada.

So what’s a bored girl to do? Stop complaining? Nah, that's no fun for you guys.

Truthfully, I don't what to do, or I wouldn't be writing this; but I am determined to find out. There has got to be a way out of this rut.

The search begins or continues, depending on how long you've been reading…

Any ideas?

A message from Bill Gates

Rule1 Life is not fair — get used to it!

Rule2 The world won’t care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish
something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.

Rule3 You will NOT make $60,000 a year right out of high school. You won’t be a vice-president with a car phone until you earn both.

Rule4 If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss.

Rule5 Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your grandparents had a different word for burger flipping — they called it opportunity.

Rule6 If you mess up, it’s not your parents’ fault, so don’t whine about your mistakes, learn from them.

Rule7 Before you were born, your parents weren’t as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you thought you are. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parent’s generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.

Rule8 Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life HAS NOT. In some schools they have abolished failing grades and they’ll give you as MANY TIMES as you want to get the right answer. This doesn’t bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.

Rule9 Life is not divided into semesters. You don’t get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF. Do that on your own time.

Rule10 Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs.

Rule11 Be nice to nerds. Chances are you’ll end up working for one.


‘Nuff said.

Ugh...

I am so damaged.

Another Sunday wasted watching Real Housewives and nursing a 2 liter of Ginger Ale.

The Plague

When most people think of the plague, bubonic comes to mind. When I think of the Plague, I think tickets.

Superman had Kryptonite, I have tickets.

I did my taxes and to my great surprise the government thinks they owe me money and I thought, before they wise up and take this money away, I better pay those fucking tickets.

I had plans to go to the registry to pay the piper and renew my registration; and then to the carwash to celebrate my liberation from the shackles of tickets.

Turns out, I owe more than I thought...way more. I didn’t want to let them see me sweat, so I kept my cool; but if I was being real, my jaw would have been on the floor. I knew I was in for a “treat”, when I saw the look on the customer service agent’s face; the look was a mix of pity and utter bewilderment. I lied and told her I was out the country for months, in an attempt to explain the astronomical amount of ticket fines and their late charges.

So although I received a nice honorarium from the Canada Revenue Agency, the government of Alberta has taken their share and nothing remains. I hope you all are enjoying Edmonton’s economic growth; because I am singlehandedly paying for it.

However, since I am approaching life with optimism in mind, I have found a lesson in this stupid mess…organization is king.

If I would have been slightly more organized, I would not have misplaced 4 tickets; yes, you read right, 4 GOD DAMNED TICKETS! I would have had them filed nicely in a folder with labels or better yet I would have paid them on time.

Having to dodge the cops for 3 ½ months is no easy feat; key word here is exit strategy. If I see those bitches pull up behind me, I get the fuck out of there. I have been spending lots of time in the right hand lane; which wouldn’t be too bad, if the elderly would HURRY THE FUCK UP. It must be nice to be retired and have the ability to take your sweet fucking time getting where you need to be; but I’m not, so move it or lose it grandma. I have been pushed to the point where I have actually yelled that in the direction of a cotton top driving a Cadillac Deville; the quintessential old people car. I’m not trying to rude, really I’m not; but you all know where I’m coming from.

In any case, my days of being plagued by stupid government issued pieces of paper are over.

Good fucking riddance.

Project 365

I was doing this little challenge called project 365; the premise is you take a picture a day for the whole year, hence the name project 365. I started out with a zeal that one can only muster at the dawn of a new decade.

January was great, I kept up my end of the bargain, I took a picture every day; granted some of the photos were shitty, at best; but I did it.

February is when things started to hit the skids. Blame the mid winter slump, that hit me like a ton of bricks; but I just wasn’t feeling inspired by my surroundings, therefore unable to capture it with passion. And truthfully I just didn’t want to. I don’t know how people carry around big behemoth cameras and feel normal snapping pictures. All throughout January I felt like a Japanese tourist at Disneyland, being annoying and taking shit loads of pictures; and in February I was over it and so we’re my friends.

So after some review I have decided to throw in the towel on P365. I’m a writer not a photographer and I like it that way.

Of course I will still post the odd picture, mainly because I made my parents buy me an expensive SLR; but also because I love still life, I just don’t want to be tied to it.

Besides I'm black, not Asian; and blacks don’t like the camera; it feels too much like a mug shot.

Spring Awakening

It's March Madness in Edmonton; the weather is topping the charts at 10degrees. Which is straight up madness at this time of year. The gods must be crazy or something wicked this way comes, either way the warm weather is melting the chill in this city and I feel alive again.

It has only been March for a week, and through this beautiful madness, I have been finding my sanity. I have been going on walks, lots of walks; and being sans IPod or anything from the “future”, I have had some time to think.

The short version of what materialized is this:

I am awakened...FUCKING awakened.

Blame the sun I suppose, but I feel like I can see clearly now.

What I see is what I want to do and who I want to be. All this life admin I have been preoccupied with is starting to show some results. So who do I want to be? What do I want to do? Well, obviously, I want to write; I'm also becoming slightly enamoured with media, of the social kind; which is ironic considering I still use a PC and I don’t own a fucking IPod. I was using a Discman for a while, but I felt like I was in the cast of "The Whackness", so I chose to enjoy the quiet instead.

Anyways, during this “quiet” I let the voices reign supreme and they had some very valuable input. Funny, I was ignoring them for so long and all along, they had some good shit to say. Voices in cold weather are just fucking annoying, on a warm weather walk they make for great company. We spoke for the better part of last week, which to the people on Edmonton streets, it would appears as though I need to be committed; but Martin, Janet and I (yes, they have names now) have come to an agreement, I’ll listen and they will stop talking shit about me when I can hear.

Truth be told Janet is a bit of bitch, she likes to make snide comments about money and men; initially we were battling, I yelled at her at the top of my lungs; but she had it coming. I had to apologize to the woman standing next to me, willing the light to change; she thought I was talking to her; I assured her I was talking to the voices in my head; which only made her more frightened. In any case, the voices and I are homeys now.

After all this chat, the 3 of us agreed to embark on a HUGE project, that I am so fucking excited about I could spit on a 6 year old (I wouldn’t, of course, but I cannot be held responsible for my actions at this level of excitement). So in light of my sometimes wishy-washy nature pertaining to life pursuits re: 28 jobs, I'm going to keep mum on the whole shebang until the ball is rolling and has picked up some speed.

Last week I was aiming low; now I'm shooting for the moon.

What the hell is happening to me?

Is it...

Me or are elevator rides with strangers the longest, most awkward 25 seconds?

Aim Low

“Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.”

They say this to children in elementary schools, they use it to motivate young athletes before the championship game, they even put it on posters in gyms to jumpstart the lazy; but I think they should do away with this aim high bullshit.

Aiming high, for most people, only leads to failure; but if you aim low, I guarantee you will surprise and impress yourself. I used to buy into the aim high diatribe, and admittedly it does help with the initial motivation; but failure is surely on the horizon, because that’s life. And after this failure, quitting is usually the next step; don’t believe me, just look at the stalled gym enrollments in spring and the junior high dropout rate. It’s because we are aiming too high; it would certainly explain the rise in anti depressant use.

If I were a teacher, I would have posters all over my class that would say “aim low, you will probably succeed” or “shoot for the outer layer of the ozone, you might hit the stars”; that is realistic motivation. When I have children, their only goal will be to get up, get dressed on their own and get to school, anything beyond that is gravy.

I think I have been aiming too high people, I had it all backwards. If I had been aiming low, I would feel great right now, instead “they” had me believing this moon shoot bullshit; but like I said before...Times are a changing.


So my weekend nugget of wisdom for the world is:

“Aim Low, you will probably succeed’.


Scholastic should put that shit on a poster.

I think...

Anthony Sedlak from "The Main", should stop talking with his hands. It's too much Anthony.

I think...

I just fucked up a really sweet opportunity...sad face.

Cut

They made me do it. They made me cut up my credit card; into smithereens so that I couldn’t tape it back together. Those credit counselors are smart as fuck.

I have no idea why I feel so nostalgic for that little green piece of shit, it’s not as if there was any money on it or anything; but now it’s gone forever. And I can’t get another one for…god knows when.

When I cut it up, I made a high pitch “ahh” sound like I had stubbed my toe. And I felt a deep pang in my lower abdomen like I was taking in a monster penis or something; ladies, you know what I’m talking about. I mean, it didn’t hurt, but it was certainly uncomfortable. But like any good screw, I felt better after a few pumps or in this case, some encouraging words from my “Gail”.

So it is now official; I have no credit, that said credit rating is in the toilet and I am B-R-O-K-E; but the contract is signed, the ink is dry and I am bound by law. The silver lining, and there is one, is that things are only going to get better from here.

I think...

It's the black in me that makes me nervous whenever the cops go by.

Why...

Does Avril Lavigne get to perform at the Olympics? Canadians don't even like her.

I also find it mysterious that Nickelback manages to sell albums.

I used to think Canada was the final frontier of talent...I was wrong.

Getting with the Program

As promised I am getting my life together; and although I can be all talk, you are now free to call me Action Jackson.

I started a program of Orderly Payment of Debt aka get off my back bitches; you’re going to get your cash. It’s like I have found my very own Gail Vaz Oxlade and I am on an episode of “Til Debt Do Us Part” except I’m not married, and this won’t end with my holding a cheque for $5000. But I do get to halt the financial fisting that has overtaken my life.

I’ll take it; I’m a dick girl, fisting has never been my thing.

In the meeting I expected my “Gail” to look at my history, burst out into a guttural laugh and then proceed to invite her co-workers to continue the guffaw. Instead she was really nice and not in the slightest bit surprised at the diarrhea stain I call my financial standing. After 30 minutes and pit stains like something fierce, we agreed that I need to “get with the program” NOW.

Wednesday I sign the agreement and sign my frivolous, head in the sand lifestyle away.

Even though I am about to be Edmonton bound for the next year, at least, I feel freedom on the horizon. I see a future of not having to screen my calls or burn someone at the stake for answering a 1-866 number; those fucking bill collectors change their phone numbers as much as drug dealers.

So to the dear folks at Bell, Visa, Rogers and TELUS, I will now gladly pick up your phone calls and the verbal assaults will now cease; which, by the way, I am terribly sorry about, she caught me on a bad day.

***Suze Orman would be so proud.

Quest for Cash~part deux

We have determined that I am prepared to pretend that I am a lesbian for $100 dollars; but people, it gets better.

This tale is another story of my former self’s means to financial end.

After 2 days, my LGBT honorarium was spent and I, again, needed quick cash. My former roommates girlfriend was telling me about a money making scheme someone in her class was doing; selling her underwear online. Now, I don’t wear underwear, I feel that women don’t need it, our “junk” is tucked away neatly; but if I can make money selling them online, I am sold.

I immediately devised a plan to create an underwear selling empire. I would create 3 “flavors”; hot, medium and mild, based on my love for chicken wings. And every pair of underwear came with a note; because I like to treat my peoples right.

Hot consisted of a pair of sexy underwear worn LOTS; we’re talking dirty panties. I wore them exercising, to sleep, everywhere. And the note was as XXX as I could muster; Hustler magazine style dirty. The retail price for this lovely package was $350 plus shipping and handling.

Medium was a semi-sensible pair, worn lightly; around the house, sleeping, you get the idea. The note would be considered NC-17, not R but not PG either; simply middle of the road, for those dabbling in the dirty underwear market. The retail price was $200 plus shipping and handling.

Mild was a pair of frilly lace panties, worn very lightly, maybe for an hour, just to get the scent. The letter was very coy, lots of “daddy” and “papa”, for the real sickos. I created this one to round out the “flavors”; in my opinion it was the dud of the 3. The retail price was $150 plus shipping and handling.

Truth be told, I thought the hot would sell like , for lack of a better word, hot cakes; but I only sold 1; I may have priced myself out of the XXX panty market. In any case $350 bucks for a dirty note and $2 dollar Zellers underwear, I’ll take it! I sold 2 mediums and again it was all net. And to my great surprise I sold 3 milds, all sent to Asia; apparently my panties are a sensation in the Orient.

I toyed with the idea of adding a photo of the underwear being worn, no face, just panty; but I decided that would be too much.


Why ever did you stop Bianca? You ask. Well, as easy as it is to wear underwear and pen a generic note; the logistics of sending a package to Asia and organize payment was a little more work than initially anticipated; so in true Bianca fashion, I quit.

Lately, however, I have been thinking it might be a great idea to start this enterprise again.


****Side note, this post is profanity free, SHOCKING.

Tickets UPDATE

The cops are on the hunt....

The Quest for Cash

I will do almost anything for money; the lengths which I have gone to make a quick buck are legendary. Hell, I have even sold my undergarments online, which, by the way, is very lucrative. Lately I have been racking my brain for ways to get back in the black; which is ironic because I am black, yet sooo in the red. One particular quest for cash is what I would call my finest hour.

This is that story.

I was living in Toronto, it was a Monday and I had absolutely no money for the weekend, when I saw a lucrative opportunity posted on the job search mainstay craigslist: “African Canadian lesbians needed for focus group, honorarium of $100 awarded”. Now I am not African (I’m Caribbean AND yes there is a difference) nor am I a lesbian, although I have thought about it after many a breakup. The question was could I fake being lesbian for an hour? What’s the worst that could happen, I thought; I mean they couldn’t make me lick pussy or anything, so I replied. Apparently over the phone I make a very convincing lady lover; and I was invited to participate.

Upon arrival I was greeted with a lovely assortment of pastries, sandwiches and Starbucks coffee; the LGBT really do it up royal. They corralled us into a room with a 2 way mirror and the “host”, who was a mixed race K.D Lang entered and she began by asking us all to describe ourselves; I hoped and prayed she would start on someone else; I needed something to go off of.

Girl 1: My name is (blank), I have been lgbt for my whole life, I have a girlfriend and I am completely out.
Girl 2: My name is (blank), I am still closeted to my family and I moved to TO to live openly as a lesbian.
ME: My name is Bianca, I am still closeted to my family, I, um, haven’t come out yet to my family. I used to date boys. Uh, that’s it.
Girl 4: (who I think was also fibbing for weekend money) my name is (blank) I’m out to everyone. **Seriously, that’s all she said; she could have at least tried to be convincing. I think everyone in the room sniffed her out in that second.

And for the record, the whole time they referred to themselves as LGBT, instead of lesbian; I’m not saying it for effect.

We were then handed some glossy sex pamphlets geared at safe sex. The forum was to discuss if the handouts were effective at reaching out to the “community”. They were tacky as fuck, lots of rainbows and big bold letters saying “STAY ALIVE, STAY SAFE”, even abstinent Christians would have scoffed. I decided my role, as the fake lesbian, was to play the devil’s advocate; which in this case was to tell the truth. I kept looking at the 2 way mirror and saying my responses which consisted mainly of “it’s really quite tacky”, “these pamphlets make me WANT to have unprotected sex” (which isn’t true at all but devil’s advocates say that kind of shit). Finally our K.D. came to our side of the mirror and instructed me to be natural AND to speak to the girls not the mirror. Little did she know that I am an only child and talking to mirrors, walls and the air is de rigueur.

After that I pretty much blanked out, I was thinking about what I would spend my honorarium on. Booze, for sure, an outfit for the weekend, cabs and maybe food; but truthfully food was last on my list re my former size 27 waist. An hour later, I think, they handed us our envelopes with the cash and the legit lezzies on the panel invited me to a community event, which I politely declined. I clicked my heels like Dorothy on the yellow brick road and went on my way.

To this day that is one of the easiest ways I have ever made money. Almost as easy as when I pretended to be a 2 pack a day smoker; but that’s another story for another day.

Why...

Hasn't anyone ever written a year by year guide to the 20's? It would be a best seller; it would out sell Harry Potter.

Why...

Is drinking in the afternoon sooooo much fun?

Why...

Do people say shut your hole?

There are so many. I mean, which one should I shut? My ass, my twat, my ear; there are so many holes other than my mouth.

It's like saying, "hurry up". How does one hurry upwards?

People say dumb shit...

Is it...

Possible that I abuse the CAP lock button?

Is it...

weird, if the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning, before I piss, shit or shower; is turn on the computer?

Ouch

Have you ever had someone say something to you that hurt so bad you felt like you could collapse?

I did.

It hurt.

24

Life happens fast doesn’t it? I was talking to a friend and he says “everyone is so focused on growing up, but it’s all happening a little too fast”; and I couldn’t agree more.

I too can be blamed for trying to expedite this milieu that dominates my life, this limbo; but, I mean, I am only 24. 24 is on the front end of the “mid twenties”, I still have at least 2 years of questionable behavior in me.

Being the tender age of 24 years, allows me to get completely hammered on Friday, only to wake up Saturday and woo on the radio, damaged beyond belief; a 24 year old shell bounces back remarkably fast.

I love 24.

At 24, I can quit jobs, and follow my dreams with little (moderate) consequence; the phrase “you only live once” comes to mind. These are the days for foolish, shake my head in bewilderment decisions; and you better fucking believe I am going to live it up. I am really great at bad decisions and thankfully I am still of a certain age to make them.

Thank god for 24.

Shameless

This is as close to a shameless plug this page will ever see...

Saturday February 20th, Suzy and I will be djing on the radio, from 4pm to 6pm (Mountain Time). We are beyond fucking excited; and we would love for you to join us via the airwaves in Edmonton at 88.5FM or (lucky you!) online at cjsr.ualberta.ca (click). It will be an afternoon disco-rgasm for your ears; as every GirlsClub party is about lights, music and magic!

We hope you will join us and “WHOOOSH” all your good energy our way!


And if you live in Edmonton, we, GirlsClub , dbz & kgz , French Touch dj’s extraordinaire and artist Semi Vujcic of HausOfTriangles design, are masterminding a Party of epic proportions, Friday, at the Common . Yes, that Common, one of the coolest bars in Edmonton proper. Come early, stay late and for fuck sakes be ready to party.

And if that weren’t enough, we are djing at Edmonton's Saturday hot spot HALO with the ever talented DJ Junior Brown.

So here is the round up; Friday after work, shower, shave and shit (not necessarily in that order); and come down to the Common. Get drunk, dance, pass out (at home, they HATE it when you pass out in bars)

Wake up Saturday, hate yourself until about 3:45pm, turn your radio (or internet) to 88.5FM or cjsr.ualberta.ca and listen to GirlsClub in our radio debut, sip ginger ale and get ready for round 2 at HALO.

Ok? Good! See you this weekend!

A letter to Upper Management

Dear Precise Park Link Edmonton

FUCK YOU. Not only do you own almost all the parking space allotted for Edmonton’s downtown core, you and the other parking assholes known as IMPARK; but you feel the need to continually jack people’s money, either by charging a small third world child to park for 30 minutes or eating money with your faulty machines.

Newsflash, I am on to you, those machines are programmed to steal money; you rat bastard thieves. And the number that we are supposed to call for “inquiries” leads nowhere; but you knew that already didn’t you?

Fuckers.

Would it kill you to have a FREE DAY every once in a while?

For the record I am NEVER paying again and any ticket you leave on my dash, I will proceed to wipe my ass with. If I come across one of your minions writing a ticket in my direction, you better believe the “black” in me will come out to play. That’s right, I will assault the attendant; and they won’t be able to identify me, because we all look the same anyways; I bet that’s what you think. Because along with being complete fucking assholes, I bet your racists too; yes, I went there.

And don’t you for a second think that the “tow on next invoice” scares me. I invite you to suck a disease ravaged dick while being mauled by a pit bull; yes, you read correctly, I really hate you that much.

It is now war, I will waterlog your phone lines, your fax machines and your email accounts with hate mail, TONS OF IT; because I think you deserve it; and you should get what you deserve and NO, what you deserve is NOT the $35.00 you think I am going to pay; sometimes being an asshole is THE ONLY WAY to get shit done.

Precise Park Link Edmonton
10558 - 115th Street,
Edmonton, AB T5H 3K6
T. 780.428.0007 or 1.877.426.0007
F. 780.428.1457

Long story short, Precise Park Link, I think you suck; and your kids are probably ugly too.

365/ thirty

I fell off the "365" bandwagon for a minute; but it's baaack!

Lessons in Getting Real~#1

"F.O.M.O: Fear of Missing Out…”

Since I can remember I have had the worst case of F.O.M.O. known to man; it is characterized by a sour mood and stabbing pains in stomach. I have become rather adept at hiding my F.O.M.O from my friends, as it is rather unbecoming of a lady; but make no mistake it is alive and well and eating away at my insides.

Despite this fear, I have to get used to it. Considering I simply cannot be trusted to perform as a writer when recovering from my typical weekend antics means that missing out is about to be a part of my life. And in my continuing efforts to become (more) fiscally responsible, money spending has been scaled back; the result is the dreaded missing out. Even though I know that I need to get real and get my shit together, the transition has not been easy.

No matter how good it feels to wake up on a Saturday (and) or Sunday morning free of headache, nausea and guilt, ready to attack the weekend like a newlywed couple; I still love to go out, get ridiculous and wake up in the afternoon, smelling of stale alcohol and broken promises to myself. Despite the horrid visual, I have been known to miss that smell; case and point, this weekend. I stayed home all weekend, for the first time, going with my better judgment instead of against it, and sure as shit Sunday was full of stomach pains and, you guessed it, F.O.M.O. I had a total of 2 drinks Friday and Saturday, and I was nestled in bed by the hour of 1 am; I could barely believe it myself.

Although Sunday morning was filled with pangs of regret, upon opening my wallet to find money, the pangs subsided somewhat. And my life being a constant ebb and flow; this weekend’s low ebb of party is the perfect juxtaposition to next weekend’s heavy flow. She (yes the weekend is a she) is shaping up to be a weekend of old, the weekend life that I have come to love. We dj both Friday and Saturday night and drinks will surely be a flowing; so I will get to smell that sweet scent of disappointment once again.

Despite my kvetching I realize that a part of getting older is understanding the cost/benefit of my actions and making the adult decision. But I cannot tell you how hard it is to wake up to several text messages detailing how much I am missed at the party and the debauchery that is ensuing. Even though I know that I NEED my energy for writing and plotting my world dominance via the written word and not recovering from the weekend; sometimes all I WANT to do is hang out with my friends, eschewing the cause and effect pattern that is sure to take place. We just have so much fun together; it is not uncommon to have someone fall asleep completely only to wake up and rejoin the party, just because it is SO much fun.

Nonetheless, times are a changing (slightly).

I want to travel next year; truth be told I wanted to travel this year but that is NOT going to be the case. And I have no problem missing out knowing that sunnier and greener financial pastures are around the (very long and winding) corner. I still have lots of my twenties to enjoy; and quite frankly I don’t want to be penning this same piece 3 years from now, because I couldn’t get it together today. The thought of that gives me an even bigger stomach ache than weekend F.O.M.O. Plus, I have a feeling that there are many more lessons to come in the art getting real; so I had better get used to it.

Because this is only number 1.

Quote of the Day

"Happiness is like a kiss. You must share it to enjoy it."

Bernard Melzer

Valentine's Day

I personally feel that Valentine’s Day is one of the most ridiculous celebratory occasions; and not because I am single. It’s one of those “holidays” that the restaurants and card companies can’t wait to see come around. Stores become inundated with red hearts full of cheap chocolate and flower shops jack up their prices. This crimson observation is nothing more than money grab, a way to re energize the post holiday slump; they should call it Hallmark day.

All week my television was logged with Valentine’s Day propaganda, from Oprah to the women on the View; featuring ridiculous gifts to woo your loved one, like a lovers DNA kit; the only people who need those are those bitches on Maury. I know what would woo me, sex where I get to finish first, now that’s a Valentine’s Day!

God forbid singles want to go to a restaurant on Valentine’s Day; being a non coupled person in the room, is likened to being a leper; people stare with pity painted all over their faces. Not to mention the pressure that Valentine’s Day brings; the rules are often so blurred and undefined. If you start dating in January are you expected to go all out for Valentine’s Day? Or if you have been dating for years does it even matter anymore? In my opinion if there is a lapse in romance until February 14th then the relationship might need some review.

I can get behind the idea of Santa; a guy in a big red suit delivering gifts all across the land is not terribly believable, but during the holiday season I am known to get behind many a stupid farce; blame it on the eggnog. But cupid does NOT exist, a flying baby that strikes love with an arrow? Quite frankly if I saw a baby with a bow and arrow, I would call child services on the spot; what parent gives their baby a bow and arrow? And if the little fucker managed to get an arrow off into my ass, the last thing I would feel is love. Maybe I am jaded because it’s February and I don’t have a valentines or because my valentines days of past have consisted of no gift and no sex; or, even worse, shitty sex on belly full of shit wine and overpriced food; all of which makes for an unhappy Bianca.

This year I made myself a lovely valentine’s dessert and bought myself a card; and I planned on putting one finger in the air, all the while saying “take that cupid, you creepy flying baby”.

But then I spent the evening with my best girlfriend S.; we ate heart shaped pizza, listened to music, laughed, watched "Couples Retreat" and drank wine until we were good and jovial; and something happened.

I felt love.

And it dawned on me, in the non cheesiest way possible, that Valentine’s Day isn’t for lovers; it’s for love. Love in any way, shape or form; from man to woman or friend to friend. I had been so focused on the commercialization of this day, that I had forgotten that love is all around; and this is the day dedicated fully and completely to it. And through all the commercial bullshit, love reigns and LOVE IS BEAUTIFUL; and that is what Valentine’s Day is meant to represent.


Happy belated love day!




No… that wasn’t cheesy at all.

Quote of the Day

"It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else."
Erma Bombeck

Recess

Truth be told, I have no idea what is going on with me, but I cannot seem to find any words to express how I feel. Every time I sit down to write something, I manage to come up with a clever title but as I start to write the body, I can’t. My brain is blank; I literally look up at ceiling, as if there are words painted up there or something. I was blaming the post weekend blahs, but it’s Wednesday and I am still experience a pseudo writer’s block. My mojo is waning and for what reason? I have no idea.

So in the name of preserving my image and to spare you anymore half assed posts; I am taking a break. Not a long one, just a day, to get my bearings back. I am taking today to get elbow deep into my new Photoshop book and cook something elaborate, in an effort to focus on something else other than why I cannot seem to write something inspired; or at the very least hilarious. Funny is what I do and I am having a hard time even managing that.

Hopefully tomorrow I will feel like there is something inside me that is worth sharing. But the way I feel, Friday appears to be a more realistic goal.

Quote of the Day

"I don't dream at night, I dream all day; I dream for a living."

Steven Spielberg

65

I am exhausted; more exhausted than usual. I am used to the typical Saturday and Sunday hangover lethargy; but Monday, was ridiculous.

I woke up at my usual 8 am and brewed myself the first green tea of the day; but after struggling to keep my eyes open during “The View”, I had no choice but to go back to bed for another 40 minutes. After what felt like a 2 minute nap, I managed to drag my sorry ass out of bed, for the second time and write a passable post. I then downed ANOTHER green tea and readied myself for a noon spin class, that I would have skipped entirely, if I hadn’t eaten 3000 extra calories at Sundays Super Bowl indulgence. Of the 50 minute class I managed to last 35 minutes, 1 minute longer and I would have passed out; I was the annoying loud breather in the back of the class that everyone wishes would just give up and leave. After several annoying glances from the riders around me, I could tell my welcome was worn out; so I took my ass to steam room, where I fell asleep for I don’t even know how long. I personally hate being that person snoring anywhere, but naked and sprawled in my gyms steam room is what I would call next level.

Not only did the class exhaust me, it also left me with a splitting headache, which was made worse by falling asleep in a sweltering steam room. Immediately after I returned home I went back to bed, AGAIN; if I was getting laid, by this point I would surely have thought that I was pregnant; pregnant women take 2 naps in a day, not 24 year olds. I simply couldn’t move; and since I’ve given up coffee there was nothing to do but go back to bed. I hoped that my second nap of the day would finally allow me to get my shit together; it didn’t. So I made myself my 3rd green tea of the day and got ready to start my new job; I didn’t even have the energy to be nervous, I was just too fucking tired. And although my new job is super easy, it essentially consists of me bullshitting/motivating women for 3 hours and thirty minutes; on any other day I would have been on my A game, but yesterday was more than forced. I had to pretend that I gave a shit, and normally I can bullshit with the best of them, but in the state I was in I was hardly in the mood. Introductions can be difficult; but I forgot how hard it is to be impossibly charming when coming off a weekend bender. I was pretending to guzzle water just to be able to excuse myself and sit on the toilet; at the rate I was “peeing” they probably thought “poor new girl with diabetes.”

It has been a very long time since I felt like a 65 year old in need of dialysis but the combination of 2 nights of boozing and the carbohydrate load of a Super Bowl champion aged me 4 decades. I haven’t been living the life of “health” for very long, but this weekend I didn’t just fall of the wagon, it fell on me and then I had to be taken to the hospital to have my punctured spleen removed.

I was really hoping that today I would wake up and be “normal” again; but I am still so exhausted; everything is depleted. My skin is dry, my head still hurts AND I am having a very hard time coming up with what I would deem great writing material.

So I am going back to bed.

Quote of the Day

"If you focus on results, you will never change. If you focus on change, you will get results."

Jack Dixon

Super Bowl

Partying makes it hard to write, it’s the key to busting up a creative groove. My social habits make it difficult to form a complete sentence, let alone write something worth reading. So what does any self respecting 24 year old do in a time of serious damaged-ness? I have no idea what self respecting people do, but I choose to party more.

Last night I went to a super bowl party; because my damaged mind said “I know what my body needs; 3000 calories of chips, dips, chili, dumplings, bread and booze!” I have never been to a Super bowl party, as I know nothing about football except those pants are tight and the majority of the men are tall drinks of smooth chocolate milk; but I now know that super bowl stands for super (huge) bowls of food.

I would definitely say that this would be considered a “starter” super bowl party; there were 2 men and 7 women, so there was lots of chick talk until something exciting happened; and lots of questions to the tune of “4 downs? Why four and not five?” and “so this is Eli Manning?" "No Bianca! This is PEYTON” (I heard that about 4 times). And lots of hair talk, 1 of the men and 6 of the women are hair stylists. In hindsight I wish there had been more cock at this party, I would have been little more demure with my food consumption. From the moment I stepped through the door I ate, and I did not stop; I couldn’t stop, I have a problem stopping when there is food in front me, no matter how full and distended my stomach happens to be. Not to mention that I was extremely hung-over and so long as something was going in, I could avoid anything coming out; teenagers puke, adults gorge to avoid the embarrassment, and I am a big girl now.

About the game, the saints won! Going into the game, I had no preference as to who I wanted to win. But as the game turned around after halftime and the Saints started to pull away; I instantly became the biggest Saints fan, I make no apologize for my fair weather fandom. Initially, I was disappointed as half time began, because I thought that Rihanna and Jay-Z were performing the half time show, turns out that they performed the pre game show, which I missed peeling my ass off the couch and getting my act together. The Who took the stage and to my surprise they were really really good; it was like one long CSI intro, I was waiting for Horatio Kane to jump out and say something obvious yet debonair ; he could say “I’m a less than handsome ginger” and make it look cool wearing those fucking glasses. I digress, the Who are old men, but those songs are legend; I found myself mouthing teenage wasteland wanting to reach for me lighter. I will most likely buy a greatest hit compilation in the near future.

4 hours later the game was over and I was too full to form complete sentences (the theme of the weekend) ;and, although my attention span is normally that of a 5 year old, I think I managed to stay relatively focused, thank god for food and hair talk.

Quote of the Day

"Happiness is not by chance, but by choice."

Jim Rohn

Drunk Text

I have no idea what to write. Writing every day is proving to be very tough, sometimes the ideas run dry. I have found myself trying to drum up excitement, just so I have something to write about here. In reality I use this canvas as a place to talk about my feelings, but some days I am numb; operating on auto pilot and going through the day in a haze. The other day’s life hands me golden material.

The last few days I have been rather dreary and not humorous in the slightest. I tend to be very good at putting on a good show and making it appear as though everything is all good; but that’s the auto pilot at work.

I read some blogs out there and they are filled with sickeningly sweet optimism; “I am blessed” “life is tender” blah blah blah; life isn’t fucking like that. I have a hard time believing that people can always be that “optimistic”. Life can be so shitty and when it gets shitty, I don’t sit there and say “well, I am so blessed, sitting in awe” or whatever the fuck those people say; instead I cuss and kick the air like a 2 year old at chucky cheese because that is reality. In the last 6 months, on more occasions than I can count on two hands, I have cussed and kicked the air, screaming profanity at the imaginary manifestation of my distress. Am I a shitty blogger because I don’t look at life through those annoying rose colored glasses?

I have had to delete a few bloggers, who shall forever remain nameless, from my twitter account, as I couldn’t handle the, all too frequent, annoying and naively optimistic tweets; they were water logging my home page with bullshit. I mean, don’t tweet that you have a headache and cookies will fix it. Cookies won’t fix shit, taking an aspiring and telling your kids to shut the fuck up will fix it; but I can’t tweet that, I am new to blog community, so I have to play nice.

Keep in mind that I am low on material and I am being nitpicky but there is some shit that frustrates me beyond belief, like that rose colored glasses shit; especially when my mood is less than sunny. I think it's just fine to accept that sometimes life is just shitty and it’s rather endearing to be honest about it; instead of being sickeningly sweet and offensively optimistic. Like who really believes that bullshit anyways?




***This is the writers’ equivalent of a drunken text. I am posting this because I am either still drunk and eschewed the editing process or I read this over in the morning and thought the realness I felt while writing merited some publicity.

Slow

At my age saying that I wish life would slow down, sounds absolutely ludicrous. At 24 I should be buzzing around like bee (pun intended) and quipping whenever I have the chance “I’ll sleep when I am dead”. But all I want is to slow down and quiet the voices inside my head that say I am not doing enough . Those stupid fucking voices also happen to be my personal bankers and lately their voices have hit a fever pitch.

So yesterday I got another job, 2 days before my, self imposed, deadline of Friday; and my interview skills again shone like the northern star. Hired on the spot, in and out in 22 minutes (I checked the clock). And I have to say that I am excited to have a job that every 2 weeks I can be assured that there will be some money deposited into my bank account; at least now my bankers will shut the fuck up, or at least pipe down for a little bit.

But now there is another voice that is starting to speak up, and this one is getting louder, way faster than the others. It’s almost a scream. This voice is speaking, or rather screaming, to my sanity; 3 JOBS BIANCA, SOMETHING HAS GOT TO GIVE!!! I must be careful what I say, as I have learned the hard way that writing about work has the potential to bite me in the ass; and in fact it already has; but I will say that I feel change on the horizon.

My head is cloudy with voices pulling me in various directions; I know what I have to do, but doing it, is the tough part. In the past I would withdraw and do the asshole thing; but I am 24 now and that shit is not cute, nor is it as funny as it once was. You better believe pulling no shows at 20 is hilarious, but at 24 it’s just sad. If I had my way, I would sell all my belonging, all $100 dollars worth, pack my bags, hit the road and start anew. But that shit is cowardly and so unrealistic; and I am trying to shake my, hard earned, asshole persona.

Life is happening so fast, I am changing, people are changing around me and I am overwhelmed with feelings and voices, running rampant through my body and mind respectively. I know I promised I would be funny today, but the sun hasn’t been out in days and the voices love dreary days, that’s when they speak the loudest. Do I sound crazy? Yes and maybe I am, and that is my problem. Maybe I’m manic and this is a low; or maybe I have seasonal affected disorder? I looked on WebMD and my symptoms match. Perhaps I just need a drink to drown the voices in rouge. Or maybe, just maybe, I need to shut the fuck up; but truth be told, I have never been very good at shutting up. Maybe that where the voices get it from?

I envy people on meds; the voices in their heads are sedated.

365/ twenty-nine

Quote of the Day

“There is only one success - to spend your life in your own way."

Christopher Morley

365/ twenty-eight

Last night's dinner salad. It was washed down with (lots of) wine; it's all about balance!

Reconciliation

Sometimes reconciliation is a silent affair; devoid of the pageantry and the ceremony of “the apology”. That is the case here. I wanted the ceremonious apology for myself with all its sacrifice and grandeur and I was willing to hold out for it; I am legend at holding out for it. I like to pretend that I am some sort of toughie, able to hold a grudge for as long as need be; but alas I am not, I’m just a girl who wants, rather NEEDS her friend back. I longed for the status quo of what our friendship meant to me; text messages filled with useless shit talk NOT silence. I have no idea what so many things mean, in regards to life (oh to be 24); but I DO know how high I value my friendships.

I have always been rather adept at the art of fighting; I can hold off on the apology for days, months even, forcing my “adversary” to back down and admit defeat. In battle concession is not an option, but as I get older I realize how foolish it is to not speak to someone based on a petty disagreement. I suppose it is my age showing. I wish I had some sort of humorous quip wrought with profanity to reinforce my point but I don’t, it’s too early to be witty. All I have today is the lesson that a grudge against a friend is useless and life is way too fucking short. All these big lessons; WOW, I must be a big girl.

I have very little to say today, last night was spent catching up and quietly reconciling; a night of old friends reconnecting, and forgiveness taking its course. As sappy as that is, and so unlike me, it is my reality today. I promise to be funny again tomorrow...

Fuck I really am getting old.

Quote of the Day

"Where there is no struggle, there is no strength."

Oprah Winfrey

365/ twenty-seven

Spaghetti and Tomato sauce with onion (care of the Smitten Kitchen)...I cannot say enough how delicious AND easy this recipe is. If I were you, I would make it.

Quote of the Day

"You know you are on the road to success if you would do your job, and not be paid for it."

Oprah Winfrey

Singlehood

It is official; I am the ONLY single person in my immediate group of friends. Slowly I started to see them drop like flies from singlehood, one by one going to the other side. Some fell fast, like a jumper on the 28th floor; and, some have slowly descended into coupledom. Nonetheless, I am solo, in more ways than one.

I always had Christopher, my gay husband (just like Jill Zarin’s, but way WAY better) and we spent most of our free time together; but now my partner in singledom, has found himself a mate. I am tearing up thinking about our old life (I kid). Although I really like his new man; he has taken my companion away and I am mourning his loss.


So what is a single girl to do in a group of friends that happens to be all couples? I have no idea. I could go to one of those singles mixers, but the clientele is most likely on an hour break from their “Dungeons and Dragons” game; then there is E-Harmony but when I think of E-Harmony I think of desperate women whose eggs are months away from being down syndrome babies, and I have a good 10 years before I’m there. And when I think of plenty of fish, I think of STD’s, don’t ask me why, I just do. I am beginning to think that I have good guy repellent seeping from pores as I tend to only attract sickos, perverts or handicaps; seriously handicap people love me, perhaps I appear as though I have limited brain function, that is my best guess as to why.


The fact that I haven’t been laid in what feels like forever is compounding the problem. If I was getting some play maybe I wouldn’t be so ravenous. The other day I was at the gym and the sexiest man was lifting weights right outside of my spin class, and I found myself white knuckling the bike fantasizing about all the things I would do to his sweaty body; I felt sorry for the girl next to me, as I let out some inappropriately timed moans, I blame the bike seat. All is not lost though, as I am becoming a master of the ménage-a-un; and the saying is true, practice does make perfect! I mean, I could go out and find someone to fuck, but I gave up sex on the first (or fifth) date; in my experience it’s always shitty sex and my acting skills are better used getting out of parking tickets rather than faking orgasms. Plus, I’m over that awkward after casual sex exchange, what do I say? “Thanks for nothing”, “OUCH my back you, fucking jack hammering idiot” or “why are you still here, the sun is coming up”...


I have been channeling my sexual tension into super intense workouts; nothing gets my body moving more than thinking about sweaty, disgusting, porno sex; but the classy kind of porn. I maintain that most porn’s are completely unrealistic, no female ACTUALLY enjoys getting a fist up her pussy. Any woman that can make that look pleasurable deserves a fucking Academy Award.


And all these dating shows are making me nervous. Last night I was watching “Tough Love” and there was a 39 year old woman whose title was “Miss Lone Ranger “ who was the E-Harmony woman I was talking about, jaded, wrinkled and single; with old eggs stinking of sulfur from her loins. Scary.


So it would seem that I need to stop watching dating shows and continue working out but keep the sex fantasies to a minimum. The "Month of Me" couldn’t have come at a better time; because there is only me, and no one else.

Confession Monday

It is Feb 1. This is when resolutions start to fall by the wayside, the gyms start to clear out, depression starts to set in etc. And although I would like to think that I am immune, I am not. There are clouds over the city and my mood is even less sunny. This weekend was full of realizations, the biggest being that I can’t and won’t always get what I want; that skinny bitch Mick Jagger was right.


Allow me to explain; for months I have been pining for this one man. He is dreamy, beyond dreamy if you can imagine. The moment I saw him, I thought “FUCK ME, literally, can you please fuck me”, if I had balls I would have asked him to, but I’m a chicken shit so I just tried saying it with my eyes; he didn’t get the message. For months it has been little flirty visits here and there and text messages that go nowhere. A few weeks back, I made what I thought was HUGE progress; but it turns out it was nothing, a fucking tease. So after months of wasted time, emotional energy and money (don’t ask) I AM GIVING UP on him. This weekend it hit me like a ton of bricks “this isn’t going anywhere, it just isn’t meant to be”. This was a hard one to take as I am an only child and I usually get whatever I want.

For weeks (months) my friends, being the great friends that they are, told me to wait it out, if it is meant to be it will happen, all things in due time blah, blah, blah. And for the first time I finally get it. I don’t think it is meant to be and the only thing that will happen with time is that I will get over him. What else am I going to do? I could wait for him to realize that I am amazing but he is a man so I doubt that will happen anytime soon.

I had a really enjoyable weekend with the exception of being rather bummed about the whole “man” thing. Saturday was spent partying with my comrades and I spent my Sunday in solitude, baking and liking my wounds. The alone time was nice to decompress and come to terms with the fact that I must move on. Men, relationships and love are a complete fucking mystery; I actually have no idea how to navigate the romantic world. Unless of course a successful love life consists on losers, cheaters and idiots; because if that’s the case I should be a role model to all twenty-some things on the prowl.

So for the time being I am giving up on love and relationships, they confuse me and life is confusing me enough already as it is. I barely know who or what the hell I am or doing and figuring that out should be number 1 on my list. And now it is. February is the month of me and I think it is going to be a great one! Madonna said it best, “if it’s bitter at the start, then it’s sweeter in the end”.

This isn’t really a confession, but I had to get it off my chest.

Quote of the Day

"Things always seems impossible until they are done."

Nelson Mandela

Bits and Bites from my weekend

We (theGirls Club dj's) are going to be on the radio!! It's college radio but I think college radio is the best. All the other radio stations in Edmonton induce visions of suicide; but that's just my opinion.


There are literally THOUSANDS of vinyls records and cds. And the control room is in an old bank vault...oh the ruckus we are going to cause!


My friend Semi launched his design firm HAUSofTRIANGLES and we had the honor of dj'ing the party, we were rusty; but Semi's art installation was bang on! The picture of the female is supposed to symbolize the rape of Alberta. I love art!


Sunday afternoon Matcha, from Credo coffee. I don't drink coffee anymore but if I did, I would buy it from there.


Dinner was spaghetti with tomato sauce. I got the recipe from the smitten kitchen; it seemed too easy to actually be delicious, but sometimes less really is more. I also made zucchini bread and it was divine!

And lastly, I watched the Grammy's; the highlight was Elton and Gaga; OMG yes!

365/ twenty-five

I miss this.

I am through with winter. I found it beautiful when I had Christmas to look forward to; now it's getting on my nerves. I am cold, my skin is pale (as black girls go)and I am low on vitamin D.

I understand why bears hibernate; this shit sucks.

Quote of the Day

"Nothing will work unless you do."

Maya Angelou

28

So I have made the decision to get another job. Although I am getting my shit together in almost every other area of my life, working out, eating right and such; I am still super broke. Don’t get me wrong I am not quitting the magazine sales job, as I have committed that I will give it a solid go; I am simply finding something else to substitute my income. With so many expenses on the horizon; Coachella is coming up, we need a website for our catering company and my wish list of clothes is growing by the minute, I am beginning to feel the pressure. This week was fucking a hard one, the hardest in while, my finances were as tight as a nun’s cunt (super tight); so I made the decision to go ahead and look for number 28.


You know when magazines compile a list of the “Best 30 under 30” of super twenty-something achievers? Well I am going to compile a list: Bianca’s 30(jobs) under 30. At the rate that I am going I will be at 30 by 26. I haven’t even put writer on the list of jobs, which would make it 29, but who’s counting? It’s funny, just this past December, my friend Travis was home for Christmas and we were talking about work and I said very confidently, that I would never apply for another job. I was blinded by the busy catering season and naïve to the fact that what goes up must come down; and, down came the number of catering jobs. I know that a slump is typical in January but this week I was hurting.


This morning I woke up, baked delicious bread and prowled the online community for some gainful employment. And as much as I would love to find a writing job; there aren’t any. There was one posting and it was for a political contributor; but all I know about politics is I am liberal and Stephen Harper is a fucking asshole with a small penis (as that would explain everything), so I passed on that one. I could go back into serving, but in my old age I have gotten way more brassy and I can just see myself losing it on some dickhead and his wife; so serving would be my last resort. I could do retail, but standing around, fluffing shit and telling people “no those jeans don’t make you look fat” and restraining myself from saying “ the jeans are fine, it’s your ass that looks fat” might be more of a challenge than I am willing to take on. If all else fails I could turn tricks, because the cash is just so damn good but there is that whole dignity thing I would have to wrestle with. So to say I am picky would be gross understatement.


I have given myself until the end of next week to find something. With my glowing personality and ability to bullshit with the best of them I feel that timeline is more than doable. I have always been a master in the art of the interview; I can swindle anyone into hiring me. I was a weight management counselor for fuck sakes and I was also 40lbs overweight at the time; just to give you an idea of my skills. You don’t amass 28 jobs at 24 years of age by being shitty at interviews.


So it looks like the book that I am writing, about my many adventures in the land of the employed, is about to get one more chapter.

Postponed

Yesterday I went to court, for what I STILL have no idea.

The day started out relatively well, I found a great parking spot, at meter and as I looked around at all the other cars I noticed they didn’t seem to put any money in their meters; so neither did I.

I got to the court house and went through security as instructed. I beeped when I walked through the security thing (I don’t even know what they are called); and the very butch lesbian security guard took what seemed forever to frisk me and in my opinion she was getting a little too friendly around my woman parts. I wanted to look at her and say “look lady there isn’t anything in my vagina for you, so move the fuck on”, I refrained because she looked like she would have enjoyed taking me down.

I found the court room, went in, and as expected it was an Edmonton style courtroom; so much for my “Law and Order” fantasies. The judge calls all the new people to the front of the room to check in. She looks at me and says into the microphone that I need to remove my hat. I am completely fine with her telling me to remove my hat, but the microphone was unnecessary as this room was the size of a bachelor apartment. So I apologize to her with every intention of removing my hat and the lawyer starts talking to me so I start listening to him; and, she says AGAIN even louder in the fucking microphone to remove my hat. Like lady don’t fucking get on my case because you were born with that face. I know life must be rough when you have no idea how to apply makeup and your hair is the color of dirty dishwater, but hold the fuck on, someone is talking to me.

I knew I should have brushed my hair yesterday morning. As I was putting on my hat, I thought maybe I should brush it quickly, but I left it out of laziness; and I seriously regretted it. My hair was fucking busted, nasty, hasn’t been combed since Tuesday gross; and of course there was a tasty looking man in the room; but in all reality he was probably a criminal so I wasn’t too torn up.

So now I am standing in the front of the room, looking like a comb has never touched my hair; and, the lawyers inform me that this case has been postponed. They thought they called me, but it turns out they each thought the other had informed me of this detail; stupid fucks. So I rolled out of bed, at an hour that I am not really comfortable with, risked getting yet another ticket, almost committed a felony by beating shit out of a too friendly security guard and a bitch judge; only to have to come back again. STUPID FUCKS. They tell me that I have a choice, I can wait while they get through the other cases and then set a new trial date or they can call me with the new date. I said call, but to make sure that they actually DO call this time; I also said that I am unavailable for the month of April as that is Coachella season. I put on my hat, lingered long enough just to get the judges attention, put on my best strut and walked out. FUCK YOU BITCH the microphone was unnecessary.

Looks like you will all have to wait to get the full story and I will have to wait to see WHY THE HELL I HAVE TO KEEP GOING TO COURT?

365/ twenty-four

I went to Vancouver for Christmas and I took one day for myself (I really needed it); I took that day to walk around some beautiful neighborhoods.

This picture makes me want to go back.

Quote of the Day

Doing the best at this moment puts you in the best place for the next moment.

Oprah Winfrey

Court Day

Yesterdays post was funny, witty and well written (if I may say so myself). But, how the hell do I follow that? I could write about my other favorite word, CUNT, but that word isn’t quite as well received as Fuck; and, although I love to court controversy, I think CUNT might be a little too far for the squeamish readers. Talk of CUNTS and all their many functions (I am talking about vaginas and assholes) could get really dirty and I think it may be too soon in my writing career to go there. So what the hell do I write about today? Yesterday was rather uneventful, today is surely to be interesting as I am finally going to court, for what? I have no idea. I could have called the city to find out, but I like surprises.

All I know about today is that I have to go downtown and pay an astronomical amount to park, so that I can play witness to someone or something. What does someone wear to court? I want to look official but I have no idea what my role is. Will I be in a “Law and Order” styles court room or a real Edmonton styles set up. I hope it’s the former, then I can get lost in fantasy while I sit there and act like I give a shit; which I don’t. Just for fun I should yell out "OBJECTION" and blame it on my imaginary tourettes.

I am all for the “justice for all mankind” business, but only if it doesn’t interfere with my life and the goings on of my daily existence. I know that if I was on the other end, I would be grateful for anyone who could contribute to my cause but I wasn’t asked so I can be as salty about the situation as I want. Because even if I didn’t want to show, I have to; they come hunting for you if you don’t and I’m trying to keep a low profile as I have yet to pay those tickets. Next week, I promise.

I am dreading this whole ordeal, I have so many questions. Do I have to put my hand on a bible to swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? **On a side note, I think it’s funny that they whip out the bible and expect people to tell the truth. I grew up religious and blah blah blah, but the bible is just a book. For someone who is already a liar, they might as well be sworn in on a Dr.Seuss book.** A question I have for them is do you really want me there? I can barely remember what happened last week, forget about last august. But alas the law is forcing me to go and play law abiding citizen for the day.

It wouldn’t be half bad, if I could show up at 1 in the afternoon or something; but, NO. 9:30 am is the call time, it’s as if they don’t know what time” the View” is on. Idiots.

I had better get ready, pack my snacks and get my ass to the court house….this could be a very long day.

365/ twenty-three

This is my friend Caitlin, she is a photographer. We had a photo shoot and it was fun, really fun. She used to be my boss; and now that she isn't, our friendship is WAY better.

I am certain she will attest to that too.

Quote of the Day

"Don’t limit investing to the financial world. Invest something of yourself, and you will be richly rewarded."

Charles Schwab

365/ twenty-two

I fucking love Pho, it's filling and delicious; and, all for $6.95!

Fuck

I am sure you have all noticed I have quite a fondness for the word “Fuck”; I simply love the word. Since I first uttered those words from my lips I was hooked. I was the kid who taught other kids how to swear; bitch was good one and so was shit but FUCK was the real deal. There was no other word to pretend you said, so if a teacher heard you say it, you were, for lack of a better word, fucked. Shit could be ship and a Bitch is a female dog; but, fuck was for the hardcore kids who just didn’t give a what? Fuck.

Fuck is perfect. It is like the chicken of vocabulary, it can be so many things. Fuck has become more than profanity, it’s an adjective for fuck sakes. When something is really amazing, it is FUCKING amazing; or when something really sucks, it FUCKING sucks. If something is green its green, but the most vibrant blinding green is FUCKING green. The word “Fuck” just drives it home.

I read the other day that saying or yelling “Fuck” in fact does help when something painful happens, it helps with pain management. It’s all in the mind of course, but it’s all about the mind; my new motto (as of right now, so as to prove my point) is if you can fuck my mind you can fuck my body. And you know it’s true, the first thing that happens when you stub your toe, you always, without fail, yell “fuck “(or fudge for the Mormons) as loud as you can; you can admit, we are all friends here. The more children around to hear the better; especially the “repeat everything that is said” age group, there is nothing cuter than someone else’s child running around saying fuck, fuck, fuck.

And let us not forget the best connotation of fuck there is; and, that is fucking itself. Life is made infinitely better by fucking; bad mood, get fucked and bad mood gone. Headache, get fucked, headache gone. Literally and figuratively, FUCK is perfect. Except of course when I get “fucked” over, I got seriously fucked over this summer and that shit sucked; but, I got laid shortly after it happened and you know what? Bad mood gone!

Now I am not saying this to be crass or controversial; this is simply my homage to a word that I hold so very dear; a word that has been there since I was a terrorist on the playgrounds, in times of pain and in times of extreme pleasure.

I love you so fucking much, Fuck; you are the best FUCKING word ever.