I once got dumped over dinner and was so upset that I left my wallet at the table when I stormed out. My cheap, yet resourceful table companion who had just moments before broke my heart into a tiny grains of it’s former self- used my bank card to pay for dinner. Because I may pick soulless, callous men to break my heart, but I will make sure they will always know how to get a free dinner.

But that’s not what this post is about.

A few weeks after that event, I went out with friends to wash away my self pity with cheap pitchers of glorious honey colored ale. The three of us sat laughing in a crowded pub having one of those life changing discussions that can only come when you are young and believe that your words alone can change the world. Our cheeks were flushed with laughter and beer when I noticed some of the Ex’s friends had come in and were sitting close. We exchanged awkward hellos and quick head nods. The night progressed.

I’m not sure how it happened, but eventually a bridge was made between our two tables and someone brought up the Ex, in flattering terms. I swallowed a thousand stinging rebuttals and slid out a scoff. The conversation elevated. I can’t be sure who mentioned the fact that he used my bank card to pay for dinner (but I AM sure this was not said in flattering terms), but suddenly above the pub’s music,- the symphony of laughter, of glasses being put down too hard the table, of cell phones ringing, the door creaking open, the vroom of cars passing by, of the swish of the waitresses skirts as they hustled to the next table and the boom of university guys ordering another round, I heard from the mouth of one of his friends:

“Well, you were a stupid bitch if he knew your pin number.”

I suppose it would be a cliche to tell you that such words felt like a slap against my cheek, but such words would also be true. My eyes watered with shock and my face stung with embarrassment. I felt eyes looking at me and found no words would articulate my thoughts. Suddenly my stomach was near my ankles. I wanted to go.

But that’s not what this post is about.

My normally non-confrontational friends leaped into action. There was finger pointing. And hands thrown in the air. There were words said at high decibels, sentences that I could only think of but could not find my voice to say. I sat there and watched as they pummeled these guys for their insensitivity and lack of consideration. For their cruel words said when they were not needed, and certainly not wanted. I was shocked at how strong my friends were- but I was more shocked at just how much comfort I found in their actions. I wish I would have said more, did more but I always find that it’s 17.9 million times easier to stick up for someone else than for myself.

This incident has been replaying in my mind for the last few days. I had written the post about the copycat and then tried to let it go. It unsettled me more than I could say. When writing is something you do that helps you understand who you are- having someone copy your words feels like they are copying your DNA. It’s as though someone is passing off your diary as your own- and getting credit for it.

But then? Then, I read your comments. And emails. And facebook emails. And 20SB emails. And text messages. And instant messages. And twitter comments. (Twitter, why can’t I quit you?) And it reminded me that although blogging is an individual activity- we each chose what we want to write about, we chose what we share and what we don’t, it IS a community. It’s the idea that at the end of the day when there is someone who is unraveled by the state of his/her world, either by nasty commenters or copycats or sick family members or losing a job or a pet, or feeling lost or not wanting to be found- that there are people who will rally for you. Who will say the things you cannot say, who will support you when you are struggling to support yourself.

So thanks. For doing that for me. And if a group of unruly and thoughtless men ever say something to you in a crowded pub when I’m there? Know that I’ve got your back. Then, and any other time it’s needed.

That’s what this post is about.

Let’s play a game called “See how many posts this person stole from me”. I stopped counting after the first two pages because I actually started to cry. Because not understanding things usually leads to tears. Or drinking. And my liver and I are currently not talking after Vegas.

Filed under “things I do not understand” people who steal posts about Oprah’s big give. Or being called the c-word. Or birthday wish lists. Seriously. Who steals someone’s birthday wish list?

For example: Here is what I said about my birthday wish list. Here is what she said. Here is what I said about “Here I Am“, and here is what she said. what I said about the C word, here is what she said

This one might actually be my favourite. I wrote 3 sentences about what I was addicted to, and look what she wrote.

I’ve linked to her (against my better judgment) because I wanted others to see how psycho some people are. I’ll delete the link later though- such a person doesn’t deserve a long-term audience.

This is the second time this has happened to me (that I know of). What do you all do when it happens to you? Confront the person? Ignore them? Make a voodoo doll of them and wish bad luck?

* How I Found Out… (I’m working on responding, and getting reader updated AND emailing everyone who has left me such nice emails but I thought I would add this in since so many people are curious)

Ally was scrolling through CDP’s blog and clicked the link near the bottom (under “check it out”) where CDP has already called this person on copying HER stuff. Ally read one of the posts and knew that she had read it before and let me know. I suppose that might be all you can do in these situations- tell someone if you think they’ve been copied. Thanks Ally!

Bonjour my friends! I am back! First of all, let me give a big huge thanks to Brookem for filling in (and writing the nicest, most lovely post that filled my heart with happiness- seriously, anytime a post involves Hills talk, I label it a 5 star event). She really is fantastic and our Hills emails should pretty much be filed under “A” for awesome.

Now. Vegas. There’s so much to say, it’s hard to figure out where to start. So, let’s do it this way. Below are 10 statements. Some are true and some are false. Figure out which ones are true, and you will have a pretty good idea of the awesomeness that was my trip. And if you are the first person to get them all right- I will send you a big, heaping pile of smiles.

1. I rode an elevator with a groom and a bride in her wedding dress. TRUE

2. I went to STOMP and am now a hand-clapping, foot-stomping lunatic. TRUE

3. I got the greatest picture of the fountains! FALSE. It was on our list of things to do but… it just never got done.

4. I rented a car, drove to the Hoover dam and took pictures of my friend in a plastic construction cap. TRUE! YEAH!!

5. I fell in lust with a Republican named Matt. FALSE. I COULD NEVER.

6. I made $6 by rating shampoo scents and a scary movie theatre trailer while drinking from a 16 ounce container filled with strawberry margarita love. TRUE. The movie is called “Creep” and is about the Nazi occult (I think??). When the creepy, gore-filled trailer comes out- don’t blame me. I gave it poor marks.

7. Victoria’s Secret screwed up my purchase and I walked out with a t-shirt I didn’t pay for. TRUE. Seriously. I’ve got mondo good luck when it comes with the free clothes yo!

8. I spent too much money on blackjack. FALSE. I gambled once on the last day. I lost $25, my friend made money, then we split her money and I won on that. I think we ended up $7 ahead. I’d much rather spend the money on clothes than gambling.

9. I stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower. TRUE. Paris Hotel, you are beautiful!

10. A strange man told his friend he wanted to suck my toe rings. HARD. TRUE. Uncomfortable in so many ways….

As for calling Vegas, “LV”- that was inspired from a conversation where it was decided that calling Vegas “the V” just didn’t feel right. And by that I mean, it didn’t seem correct to label a city that holds so many wonderful shopping centers and works of art a name that reminded me of the word vagina.

Now. I’m off to print photos, unpack, catch up on blogs (google reader- I’m refreshed! Your smug triple digit number of ‘unread posts’ does not scare me. I shall win this battle!), nap and dream about a time where breakfast was free and someone else made my bed when I left my room.

Sigh. Anyone want to plan a trip??

(Oh! Also… time to share a little known dorky interesting fact about me. When I first went to the US in the late 90’s, I got a few quarters that had the states on them. For reasons I DO NOT UNDERSTAND, this idea of collecting all fifty state quarters settled into my brain and it became an obsession. Collecting these quarters while living in Canada was difficult because our dollar was always so bad that people held onto American money here like it was a piece of the Holy Grail- or the key to getting your hair to look identical to Jen Aniston’s. After the big LV trip however, I’m pleased to report that I’m much closer to my goal. States I currently have: Utah, California, Connecticut, West Virgina, Maine, Delaware, Rhode Island, Texas, Louisiana, California, Michigan and Wyoming. If you have any states that I don’t have and want to do some sort of trade, LET ME KNOW!)

Firstly, since Miss Brandylu asked that I hijack her blog whilst she’s away in Vegas (lucky lady), and last night is when The Hills! made it’s debut back, I had to pay proper tribute and do a shoutout for that alone, first and foremost.
 
I’m Brookem, I’m a Hills addict, I like men with a good HOH, and Brandy is one of my most favourite bloggers.
 
I’ve been reading Brandy’s blog for about a year or so now?, and I remember being hooked when I read this post.  Brandy and I, despite our geographical distance, seem to be in tune and in sync and on the same page with just about everything. 
 
From our affinity to layered men, shared fondess for grocery shopping, love of a good pair of shoes and retail therapy, swooning at George Clooney, both having dated seemingly the same man, pretty dead on exact same taste in music, and SATC lust, Brandy and I?  We get each other.  There’s not a post of hers that I read which I am not in some way feeling/thinking/doing the same thing in my very own little world.  And though she trumps me on the ability to lay on the wit and charm in ways that I can only aspire to, the list of things we share in common just seems to go on forever.
 
And while she’s away, living it up with her ladies in Vegas-land, I felt it was only right to post on a Tuesday, a day when Miss Brandylu and I would be ripping an email to one another, rehashing The Hills moments.  Tearing apart asshat Spencer, questioning why it seems Lauren doesn’t just TELL Brody already that she sweats him, and laughing at (our favourite character) Whitney’s aloofness.
 
Your girl will be back later this week!  Be sure to get on her case about how many men tried to pick her up (because they will, she’s as adorable as you may have imagined, in case you are wondering), and how many tequila shots she had in one sitting. 
 
Now there’s one thing we don’t have in common… having a handle on The Tequila……

I’m drunk and in the Las Vegas airport. Beside someone who keeps talking about how she is apart of a UN delegate. She has said very articulate things.  I have spent the last 26 minutes thinking about how much I love drinks that come in 64 ounce containers and Banana Republic sales.

I hurt in many places, but I do believe Las Vegas is magic!

So is spellcheck.

I promise there will be a better update soon!

If you watch this and don’t feel like it’s changed your life for the better, I will give you your money back. And a kidney for your trouble.

And on a completely different note- tomorrow I will be partaking in the most exciting and rewarding part of my job thus far- the elaborately planned out leprechaun hunt. Picture it- two teachers, 30 students, hidden clues in the playground, fake gold, maps, face paint, leprechaun nets, and taunting notes from smug (but grammatically correct) leprechauns.

I’m pretty confident we will not catch a leprechaun, but that we will have fun trying. Except for my mini-Walter. He will hate every second of it, complain the whole time, mope and groan and then when we finish, he will stomp his feet in anger that it’s over.

Because in the world of grade 2, the land of backwards logic- this makes perfect sense. Sort of like planning complex leprechaun hunts on your days off.

Happy St. Patricks Day universe!

It’s impossible to immerse yourself in a new job, to live it, breathe it, and not find yourself changed by it.

The proof of this change came last night over dinner….

While sitting with friends (some old, some new), the cute guy two seats down from me put down his napkin and said that he couldn’t eat another bite of his sandwich because he was full.

I promptly replied “See if you can eat two more bites. Then you can be done.”

It wasn’t until I looked up from my meal and heard everyone laughing did I remember that I wasn’t eating my meal with picky 8 year olds who hate eating their lunch.

But for the record, the guy DID eat two more bites. And then we shared a dessert.

Something an 8 year old would never do.

Hey, it’s okay…

- to not spend more money on shoes than you do on rent. As much as I want to be SJP, I need a roof over my head more than I need new shoes. (And that might have been the most difficult sentence for me to ever type).

- to believe in karma only after you’ve just done something selfless.

- to find that your best Saturday nights involve take-out, movies and pajamas.

- to believe food tastes better when you don’t use a fork.

- to not understand EVERY. SINGLE. COMPLICATED. rule/regulation regarding the Presidential campaign. I’m pretty sure no one does. Not even the Blitz.

- to conduct some of your best conversations over instant messenger.

- to flirt with someone you don’t want to date. (I like to think of this as ‘exercising the flirting muscle’. I may not be ready for a marathon, but stretching often makes sure I stay in form and ready for the real thing to come along)

- to not enjoy texting.

- for your deepest fantasies to involve your bed- and getting 9 solid hours of sleep.

- to secretly believe you would win American Idol if you auditioned.

- to like Mondays.

- to know that not everyone is going to like you, but still be hurt when they don’t.

- to miss The West Wing SO MUCH IT HURTS. sigh.

- to feel awkward talking to someone when they are eating a banana.

- to realize that you care a lot about the mascara running down your face when you are in the middle of a deep and ugly cry.

- to be counting down the days until “The Hills” comes back to television.

- to not want to be facebook friends with anyone from highschool.

- to have nothing to add in a conversation about Russian literature. Or daytime television.

- to blame the spam folder for emails you are late in replying to.

(Alternative titles to this post: “Things I do, so they should just be generally accepted as good ideas” and/or “This idea was stolen from Glamour magazine, one of the only beauty/fashion magazines I can tolerate because it doesn’t feature $9,000 dog carriers and there are no sex tips that involve donuts/midgets/ peacock feathers dipped in magical gold dust”).

If there has one thing I’ve learned while putting this post together it’s that I have the fine motor skills of a drunk elephant. Seriously. Those little numbers I’ve created using my mouse and Paint? Yeah, those babies took 17 minutes and a shot of rum to create.

And now that I’ve tossed out my back up career as a serial origami instructor (an origamist? *Origami Jedi?), let’s move on to MOOSE (as you seemed to want to know about)!

So in case there is any confusion, we are looking at an ice cube tray and at the far end of it (the tray should be facing you when you ’shoot’- the end with the 1’s should be closest to you) is a cup filled with a vile and delightful concoction (more on that later).

Equipment Needed:
- aforementioned glass filled with vile and delightful concoction.
- ice cube tray
- one quarter
- wit, cunning and a liver encased in steel

Object of the game:
To “win” a player successfully shoots the quarter into the tray, and gives enough drinks to the other players that they weep with mercy. Be careful though- only quarters that land on the right side of the tray (from numbers 1-8, or however high your tray goes to), allow you to ‘give drinks’ to other people at the table. If you bounce the quarter and it lands in any numbered square on the LEFT side, you have to drink that many drinks. Follow that? Basically, right is good, left is bad. Now, to make it more interesting (and to tie in the name of this game), anytime a quarter bounces into the LAST square (on either the right or left side of the tray- in the case of my lovely tray above the #8 spot would be the “moose slot”), players must quickly raise their hands up to their ears in a moose gesture and yell out “MOOSE!”. The last player to do this must drink whatever you have all agreed to put into the cup. A players turn continues until they miss the tray. (For the record, the first time I played this I was horrible at bouncing quarters off the table. At the time I blamed my rum/vodka blend drink. Now I’m thinking I might just not have any coordination in my body).

For example…
If I went first and bounced my quarter in to the #3 space on the left side- I would have to take three drinks. If I bounced it on the right side of the #3 space- I could give three drinks- either three drinks to one person, or two drinks to one person and one to another, or one drink to three people. I would continue going until I missed (which, just so you know- wouldn’t happen now because I bounce quarters like a pro. And is it just me, or did that last line sound like a line from a rap song?)

Also, keep in mind that you can split up the drinks you award to other players so you are not taking the lightweights to the hospital at 7:30pm. If you have got it into the last square three consecutive times, you get to make up your own ‘rule’. When we played, the ‘rule’ was anytime anyone said anything that you could add a “TWSS” to the end of it, the first person to say it got to make everyone else drink something of their choice. Let me just say, I was awesome at that. I also realized I have a mind that would make Hugh Hefner blush.

Lastly ( I swear this isn’t nearly as complicated as I’m making it sound) anytime someone leaves the table they must say ‘time out’. If they DO NOT SAY “TIME OUT”, you keep playing and can keep awarding them drinks until they a) yell ‘time out’ from the bathroom where they praying to a higher power to end their misery or b) come back to the table. Smart players play quickly when someone has left the table without comment, you can really rack up the drink score on them.

Okay, now that I’ve put up an entire post about a drinking game, I’m going to find a kegger and smash something against my forehead.

* Genius brought to you by Egan

Hi. Remember this? Let’s begin!

Greta-a-Sketch asked “What was your first kiss like?”

My first kiss was… wet. And I think I saw stars. Not because it was overly romantic, but because I had no idea that you were supposed to breathe while kissing. I sort of.. held my breath. And then when my ears started to pound I let out this big GASP! And the boy looked all pleased with himself like his kissing technique (of darting his tongue all over my mouth) had left me breathless. Men.

She also asked, in addition to phalanges, what other words do you like?

I’ve had a post sitting in my drafts box for a few months that entirely about words I like. Maybe it’s because I’m a reader (or maybe I’m a reader because of this?) but I like words. I like the way they roll around in my tongue, the way they make my mouth feel. Here are some of my favourites: soliloquy, Borneo, zing etiquette, sultry, allegory, luminescence, caterpillar, whiplash, cord, mesmerizing, Connecticut, bellicose, cork, encrusted, ravishing, loquacious, embark, lavender, omnipresent and superfluous. A sentence like ” The mesmerizing soliloquy by the sultry caterpillar produced a zing in my lavender encrusted heart” may make no sense but it’s pretty much like an orgasm for my mouth. (Oh, and Ashley, I promise phalange is an actual word. Though it does sound like a made up word doesn’t? Sort of like, igloo. I always thought that word sounded dodgy.)

Pam asked, “what words do you hate?”

Ointment. The C word. Oh, and the term ‘tube steak’.

Tori asked, “do you wear perfume? If so, what kind?”

Perfume is something that I either LOVE or HATE depending my mood, my outfit, the position of the Earth. It’s pretty random. Most days I like leaving the house with something, but other days the idea of wearing perfume seems like TOO MUCH WORK (this goes against the theory I had in university where perfume was often put on instead of showering on those mornings I had little sleep because last night there was a special on jugs of beer. Because I valued pitcher specials as highly as my expensive education).

Here are a few from my current rotation: Island hop Spray by Gap (hello heaven? You come in a bottle!), Eternity by Calvin Klein, Deep Red by Hugo Boss, Mediterranean by Elizabeth Arden and Fantasy by Britney Spears (though I haven’t wore this since I subbed a grade 6 class one day and found out that I was wearing the same perfume as the entire girl population of the class) and Pure Seduction by Victoria’s Secret. Holy shit. I own a perfume called Pure Seduction??! I feel sort of like a tramp. I had no idea that was what it was called- I just buy the bottle with the pink flower on it. But closer inspection has revealed that this little bottle of magic has a name. Now what kind of grade two teacher goes to work smelling like something called “Pure Seduction”? That just seems wrong.

Lisa asked “What is your most deformed body part?”

I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that I knew INSTANTLY what I was going to answer with. It has to be my right foot. Also known as the foot I broke in three spots attempting to do the worm at a wedding. Do I know how to do the worm? No. Have I EVER known how to do the worm? No. Did a few wobbly pops somehow warp my mind into thinking that I could do the worm if I just visualized me doing the worm? Yes. And do I hate myself for using the term ‘wobbly pops’? Absolutely.

The foot actually healed wrong (shocking-considering I was put in a walking boot and walked on it for 2 months since I work crutches as well as I work chopsticks) and now it’s sort of… crooked and lumpy. Man, I’m getting you all so hot right now aren’t I? Apparently I need to get it re-broke but that means, at least two months not being able to drive. And although I love the idea of piggy back rides and accessorizing my cast, the idea of not driving for two months is about as pleasant as getting a root canal while listening to Ashley Simpson.

And in case there was any misunderstanding- I’m fully aware that the word ‘lumpy’ is the worst word to use to describe a body part. Although, if I was wearing Pure Seduction and flashed you my crooked foot, I’m sure I would melt your heart.