Archive for December, 2009|Monthly archive page

When Would I Have to Know How to Spell Thesaurus?

Let me tell you something you may not know about me.
I’m a dreamer.
I go through life plans about 5 times a week.
If you ever hear me say, “I’m going to…” Chances are, I won’t, or I’ll get side tracked. Like going to Europe after college. That was like… 8 years ago.
I’m also impatient.
I’m a hard worker but some things are just too hard.

For as long as I can remember I’ve been singing. I was a back up singer in 3rd grade for Bob Schneider.

I was in fact a rainbow kid, and we sang in malls in and around Kitchener. I learned my first mic etiquette from this time.

I was in fact a rainbow kid, and we sang in malls in and around Kitchener. I learned my first mic etiquette from this time.I got all the solo’s in school and never had to audition. I did theater in college and didn’t get into the 3 year program because of my immaturity, which at the time was b.s., but looking back, so true.

I got all the solo’s in school and never had to audition. I did theater in college and didn’t get into the 3 year program because of my immaturity, which at the time was b.s., but looking back, so true.
I started singing in bands not long after I started my backup diploma and have been doing that since.

I started singing in bands not long after I started my backup diploma and have been doing that since.
I have wanted to be a rock star since the moment my foot hit my first stage.
Since April, not so much. Once I thought about; actually thought about all the stuff I’d have to sacrifice like sleep, my bed, freedom and so forth,  I decided to be a recording engineer…

So I bought a bunch of books. Read up on it. Started volunteering at a recording studio. Started editing and setting up mics and listening to someone that knew better than I did about what works and what doesn’t.
My A.D.D. kicked in right around the 1st hour of editing drum tracks.
So, I thought to myself that I like the music business, why not start a record label?
Again, I bought a bunch of books, talked to other label owners, and was totally interested until I read that I’d have to get a bar code and a name copyrighted, and the company set up so I wouldn’t get sued, and make contacts with other companies to get what I wanted, and how hard it is to get c.d.’s on the shelves…

Then I said, fuck it. I’d rather someone else do it for me.

One day I woke up in my tiny ass crappy apartment in Hamilton and thought to myself, “Man, do I hate it here.”
So, I started looking for places to live out West, where the mountains are, and fresh air, and people that seem to be way more relaxed than I was at the present time.
And then I did the math.
2 weeks later, I bought a house in downtown Hamilton.

What. The. Fudge.
Who does that?

I’m way too wishy washy. How can I ever expect people to keep up to me if I can’t even see where it is I’m going?

Things have to be black or white. Easy, or hard. No grey areas. Nothing in between. If there’s any hint of grey than I have to find something easier to accomplish. I don’t know why or where this trait came from, but my step dad has the same thing, which is weird and I could go into a whole other argument of nature vs. nurture here, but I digress.

Know this. Amberley. Is. Confused.
Confusing.
Muddled.
Discombobulated.
Perturbed.
I love google thesaurus.
Until next time.

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Another Christmas Miracle. Batteries Not Included.

This is not your standard run of the mill Christmas happy, well to do post, so if that’s what kind of mood you’re in, than I highly suggest googling happy looking cows. Actually, here, I will for you:

I’m not too sure what to think about that picutre… I can’t believe people honestly have that much time on their hands, then again, I’m totally writing a anti Christmas blog.

Having no children of my own, (that I know of) and no one young enough to still believe in Santa, Christmas has lost its allure. It’s lost the magic that came with watching my little bro open tons of presents and going for the empty box it came in instead. It’s no longer as fun as being dragged place to place to open countless gifts from aunts and uncles and finally, that one year being able to sit at the grown up table.
But now I’m a grown up. I have to make the turkey. I have to stuff that stuffing up a turkey’s ass. I have to do all that and not burn it tomorrow morning with my mom.
I love my mom, please don’t get me wrong, that’s not what I’m saying. In fact, my mom is the greatest mom that ever lived. I’m so happy she’s mine and you’re unlucky cause she’s not, although I hope you can say the same thing about your mommy too.

I just don’t like Christmas. I don’t. The shopping for others, the opening gifts, the surprises; it’s all so glutenous. Who needs more socks? Seriously, if I needed socks, I’d go out and buy socks. Plain white ones. Not goofy looking striped ones with toes. And I don’t want anything expensive either, cause that just makes me feel bad that you spent all that money and then next year, I’m going to have to out do you with a more lavish gift than the one that came before it.

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Chirstmas sucks. You know what I think Christmas should be?

Cheerios, The Grinch, Candy Cane ice cream and some wine.
Or maybe Reefer Madness, Cigarettes and a board game.
Perhaps sleeping through the day and eating nothing but junk food from the dollar store.
That to me would be wonderful. No expectations, no frills, no rules.
No driving, no let downs and no panicking when I get lost trying to find my way to a relatives house I’ve been to once the year before.

Last year I stayed in my pj’s and sat on my couch and friends came over to hang out and we watched A Christmas Story. Some had never seen it before, which was wicked.
This year, after the turkey’s done and I’m full and everyone’s gone, I’m calling you and we’re going to cuddle in bed for the rest of the year. Sorry work, I’m calling in lame.

If I Got a Quarter Every Time Someone…

Hi.

So, heads up, I moved. I moved to East Hamilton. Well, it’s more East than I was before and far more East than I was before that. Wait.. no… it’s more West than I was before that, but still more East than I was before.

I now live near and around the corner of Steven and King. You know that one. The Pearl Company is on that very same corner and there happens to be a convenience store with an ATM one block up on Tisdale. Oh come on, you know the one! The one with all the pretty ladies standing on the corner. Ok fine. There’s only two. And they don’t stand on the same corner, they stand one on the West side and one on the East side and for all intensive purposes, they don’t like each other. They own their respective corners and no one shall interfere with their money making scheme.

yikes

yikes

 

Oh God.. That’s not right.. in any respect. Let’s try that again….

That's one way to get paid...

That’s one way to get paid…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Perhaps that’s not the proper term. To scheme would imply that they are taking something from someone underhandedly. hee hee… hand… Which brings me to my next informational piece:

They. Are. Prostitutes.

(Disclaimer: Everything else in this blog has a sexual content and not intended for some readers, so mom, stop reading nowish)

Seriously. I live by a corner that probably, and assuming-ly makes far more money than my entire block, or at least I hope they do, cause really, if you’re not making a BUTT LOAD (hahahaha) than what would be the point?

I’ve lived here for 2 weeks now and these ladies are busy. The kind of busy that makes the phrase “in the weeds” look bad.  See, the fact is there’s only 2 of them and I’m only around so much so it’s pretty easy to keep tabs on them and their dirty jobs.

Especially when they get dropped off at MY corner from a beat up Oldsmobile that looks like it was found in someone’s front yard near Kennilworth and Barton.

OR, when I pull up to their place of employment and stop at the stop sign, and they take that as a sign that I’d like to wang chung that afternoon. That’s right, you read it, the freakin’ afternoon. I worked at 10am the last two days and both of them just glared at me with lust in their eyes.

Even when I am sitting at that stop sign when traffic sucks cause now enough time has passed that their inching forward in hopes that I’ll take both of them instead of just one and some dude saves me by offering her a cigarette. Next thing I know, they’re on their way to an apartment off King St. for a jovial time, discussing politics I’m sure.

If that weren’t entertaining enough, I happen to be having a smoke, (ew, I know Trevor) on my front porch, so happy that I finally can say that I have finished painting ONE room in my house and how satisfactory that feels, and also how excited I am to watch the season finale of Dexter on my laptop in a very comfy bed. .. where was i ? Smoking… right…. so, yea, anyways, I was smoking on my front porch and along came one of those… working girls, and she turns down my street and is on the other side, and walks up the path to the dudes house that lives across from me and rings the freakin’ doorbell.

Like… really? How much do you have to pay them to make house calls? I know that a veterinarian is about $120 flat fee, so.. like… what does that make hers? And how did she know what time to go? Is it like a set schedule? Can she rely on that money month per month to save for vaccines?

This is a cat on drugs.

This is a cat on drugs.

 

Sorry.. no, we’re talking about people, not cats… right…

But seriously.. Prostitutes make house calls? I find that rather ludicrous! Doesn’t that defeat the whole thrill of the cat and mouse game? I mean, I’m going to assume here that hookers aren’t that hard to pick up regardless, but still. I thought part of the fun for them or you was to have that whole, awkward moment before the business meeting.

And how much does that creepy lazy eyed man over yonder spend per month on frivolous activities? He’s wasting his money on whores just like I’m wasting mine on a monthly membership to Premier Fitness.

I’m not really looking for answers here people, no no. I am merely stating what I see and my opinion therewith.

And don’t think I’m keeping a career change in mind in case I loose my job, or my bank account implodes. That’s gross.

You Get What You Pay For

One of the hardest lessons I’ve ever had to learn is that you indeed get what you pay for.

Think about it, compare Ikea crap to Pier 1. One will fall of the wall in about a month and the other will hang gracefully for centuries if you let it. Trust me on that one… my walls look like swiss cheese due to the many hangings and re-hangings of Ikea shit. And then this happens…

Typical

Typical

Anyway, I bought this house. REALLY good deal and let me tell you, it’s everything I could have ever wanted and then some. I mean, 3 bedrooms, PLUS a loft AND a basement and the kitchen is retardedly amazing.. I would sleep there if I’d clean the floors, but I won’t…. OH! AND the best part… Pocket doors. Yup. I’m spoiled.

I moved in last Saturday with the gracious help of many of my friends that made my life so much easier. It didn’t take very long and the beer was plentiful. Upon waking up in my brand new, new to me house, the first thing I did was make coffee, and oh, how the smell was 10 times better than it was in my 1 bedroom apartment. As I was pouring my first cup in my first home, I heard an old man cough in the basement. Now, that would have been understandable had the house been attached to another, or …. if I had a tenant…. or… something, but no. The house is completely empty and I swear to God I heard a man cough, and basements are creepy enough!

No place for a picnic

No place for a picnic

If that had been the only weirdness, I totally would have pegged it as house noises that I’m just going to have to get used to. However, that is not the case. That night, as I lay my head down on my giant pillow (name that movie, I’ll give you a skittle) I hear a small group of children laughing.

It was 4:30am

Now, I know this is Hamilton, and the parental skills may or may not be lacking in my neighbourhood, but I don’t even think crack heads would let their kids out at 4:30am. Creepy no?

I had almost forgot about these instances as it’s almost been a week and I’m A.D.D. so my brain pushes things out to make room for more things; until this morning that is. (Side note, my coffee tastes like perfume. ew)

I woke up in my very comfy new bed, under my very comfy new down comforter and all I had to do today was to put some pictures up in my office and mend some curtains downstairs. That is all I had to do until I saw the mess in the office. The C.D. tower had “fallen” over with c.d.’s strewn about like someone had thrown them with force. I alphabetized those bitches too! Where the tower had fallen was on my desk, but if it had fallen with force, there would have been a mark, or a dent, or something, but alas… nothing…. just a bunch of c.d.’s lying uncatalogued all over  the floor.

Seriously… I’m weirded out. Thank goodness I have a chick moving into the loft this weekend, or this ghost would be getting me.