Friday night was a movie night with SLM. Original plan to see Law Abiding Citizen didn't pan out because apparently the Edmonton Journal is unreliable when it comes to correct movie times, so we ended up seeing Couples Retreat. Not one of my first choices to see, but I like Kristen Bell and Jason Bateman, and Larissa bought me a bag of M&M Peanuts, so I was down (Thanks L!). The theatre is small, but it's not too crowded, and we are able to find a spot where we'll have a few chairs to put our feet up and some chairs beside us as a buffer between us and the stairs/other patrons of the theatre. Halfway through the previews, an older woman and her middle age daughter walk all the way to the very top and ask if the seats beside me are taken. Being the polite person I am, I remove my purse and tell them they can sit there. WORST MISTAKE EVER. Not only do these people talk throughout the entire movie, midway through the woman beside me lets out a HUGE fart. Her daughter begins laughing hysterically (knee slapping included) and whispered loudly "Mom, did you fart?!" to which her mom responds by nodding and giggling. That wasn't the worst part. The stench that was emitted from this woman was absolutely horrid. I was so close to gagging and Larissa could even smell it a few seats over from me. Not only did this farting continue on throughout the movie, but they were distracting as hell. I was literally biting mmy lip to keep from saying something to them, and tried my hardest to focus on the movie. The night was made slighly better when L proclaimed that the little boy in the movie had a bad case of DSL. Now for those of you who are unaware of what that stands for, here is a quick definition for you:
DSL= Dick Sucking Lips
Last night was SLM weekend night numero dos. Our night started off at a Passion Party/Breast Cancer benefit. We had to introduce ourselves with an adjective related to the party. There was "Horny Hannah" and "Masterbater Marlena" and "Lascivious Larissa" but I'm a prude so I decided to stick to "Hottie Heather." After many laughs, and delicious pink alcoholic punch (so good) and cupcakes, we headed out to Kai on Jasper Ave where Larissa's friend was spinning. To say we were surprised by the amount of Ed Hardy/ Christian Audigier would be an understatement. We sat in the lounge portion of the restaurant and ate delicious food, before heading to the bathroom. In the bathroom was the most coked- out, fake everything girl that I've seen in the longest time. We had a talk about how warm it was in the restaurant, and she made the greatest revelation that I have ever heard. "I feel so restricted when I'm wearing pants." Kylie and I looked at each other, and tried so hard not to laugh. When Larissa was washing her hands, we had a conversation about how nice the paper towels in this place were. They were almost like real towels! Fake-blonde girl's friend turned around to look at us while her friend told her that we weren't talking about them. Her friend then said "I know, I can hear them. They're just jealous because you look so hott."
...
I wasn't sure how to react to this. So we grabbed our bags and left to go have martinis at Devlins. I fucking love people.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
U + Me = Us (Calculus)
Today I was sitting in my first class of the day. I was half paying attention and half surfing the internet. I was dreading my following class, Calculus, in which I was going to be getting the results of my first midterm. If anyone knows me at all, they'd know how much I despise Calculus. I absolutely loath it. I've completed 3 classes so far in university, and each one I'm just barely passing. Which is good enough for me. I could care less about Calculus. In fact, after I finished my 3rd course, I thought I was finished. I'd never have to deal with another fucking derivative again. I was gonna stick with courses that I mostly liked and Calculus would just be a rocky, stupid bump in the road that I crossed. Unfortunately, when I was choosing my courses this year I noticed that some courses that I would be taking had a prerequisite of the next level of Calculus then the one I had. I was absolutely livid. I had to endure another semester of this torture? I'm pretty sure I complained for months after I registered.
While I was surfing the web in my Environment Earth class this morning, I thought about what class I needed Calculus for, and I couldn't remember. So, being curious, I logged on to my profile on my school's webpage and looked. I looked through all of my courses for next semester, and I couldn't find anything under those courses that said I needed a prereq of Math 214. So here I am, sitting in a class of 235 people, holding my breath, and trying to stop myself from having a meltdown. All I could think about was how much I hated Calculus and how I can't believe I didn't notice this before the add/drop date. I was going to have to endure another month and a half of a stupid class, that I didn't fucking need. I was ready to shit a brick. I was going to pop a cap in someone's ass. When I was finally forced to breath again, I decided that their must have been a course that I was interested that needed it as a prereq. I wouldn't have just came up with the idea myself. I'm not a sadistic masochist. So, I looked. And low and behold, there was a 300-level course that I was planning to take next year that required it. I breathed a sigh of relief and calmed down. Crisis averted.
Now, it's time for my actual calculus class. My prof walks in with his backpack packed with exams. I'm already feeling nervous. First of all, my class is 70% asian, and second of all I had barely understood the material. So he steps up to the whiteboard and writes down the word mean. Now, I felt lucky that this was my only class not graded on a curve, but also I was dreading knowing the average because I figured I was probably below it. So the average is 26.5/50. 53%. That is barely a D. So I'm sitting here thinking "Oh fuck, there goes my GPA." While he begins passing out the test I'm picking at my cuticles and clenching my jaw. Then he calls my name, mispronouncing my last name, just like every other prof in this school. Benedet isn't French, it's Italian -to. So I get up and grab my test, blackberry in hand, so I am fully prepared to rant at Kylie about Calculus, just like I had in my previous class. So I sit down and flip open my test booklet to the first page, and my jaw drops. There on the sheet, written in red ink, is 37.5/50. I am astonished. 75% on a calc exam? How the fuck did I manage to pull that shit off? I still don't even know. But isn't that ironic? I spend half an hour bitching to my bff about how much I hate Calculus, then half an hour later, I'm smiling in class about the mark I recieved. I am impressed with myself. I am mentally high fiving myself. Well played, Calculus, well played.
-H
While I was surfing the web in my Environment Earth class this morning, I thought about what class I needed Calculus for, and I couldn't remember. So, being curious, I logged on to my profile on my school's webpage and looked. I looked through all of my courses for next semester, and I couldn't find anything under those courses that said I needed a prereq of Math 214. So here I am, sitting in a class of 235 people, holding my breath, and trying to stop myself from having a meltdown. All I could think about was how much I hated Calculus and how I can't believe I didn't notice this before the add/drop date. I was going to have to endure another month and a half of a stupid class, that I didn't fucking need. I was ready to shit a brick. I was going to pop a cap in someone's ass. When I was finally forced to breath again, I decided that their must have been a course that I was interested that needed it as a prereq. I wouldn't have just came up with the idea myself. I'm not a sadistic masochist. So, I looked. And low and behold, there was a 300-level course that I was planning to take next year that required it. I breathed a sigh of relief and calmed down. Crisis averted.
Now, it's time for my actual calculus class. My prof walks in with his backpack packed with exams. I'm already feeling nervous. First of all, my class is 70% asian, and second of all I had barely understood the material. So he steps up to the whiteboard and writes down the word mean. Now, I felt lucky that this was my only class not graded on a curve, but also I was dreading knowing the average because I figured I was probably below it. So the average is 26.5/50. 53%. That is barely a D. So I'm sitting here thinking "Oh fuck, there goes my GPA." While he begins passing out the test I'm picking at my cuticles and clenching my jaw. Then he calls my name, mispronouncing my last name, just like every other prof in this school. Benedet isn't French, it's Italian -to. So I get up and grab my test, blackberry in hand, so I am fully prepared to rant at Kylie about Calculus, just like I had in my previous class. So I sit down and flip open my test booklet to the first page, and my jaw drops. There on the sheet, written in red ink, is 37.5/50. I am astonished. 75% on a calc exam? How the fuck did I manage to pull that shit off? I still don't even know. But isn't that ironic? I spend half an hour bitching to my bff about how much I hate Calculus, then half an hour later, I'm smiling in class about the mark I recieved. I am impressed with myself. I am mentally high fiving myself. Well played, Calculus, well played.
-H
Saturday, October 17, 2009
REAL MEN DON'T HAVE FEELINGS
I woke up an hour ago after sleeping for 13 hours. I have a headache, so exuse me if my grammar is wrong and this post doesn't make a lot of sense. I'm gonna try my best, but I'm also overly tired and ready for a nap, so hopefully I don't pass out mid-type. Anyways, onto the point...
Yesterday, while I was on the bus, one of the girls sitting behind me was bawling her eyes out. I guess her boyfriend of 2 months broke up with her or something. She wasn't just a little upset, with a few lone tears--she was full out sobbing, gasping for air, inconsolable. When she was joined by her friend, I overheard their entire conversation. How the guy didn't want to have sex with her because then it would have been worse when he dumped her, and that he wasn't good for her etc. etc. I'm sure I rolled my eyes at least 10 times, and wished that she would shut up.
This lead me to think--do I have feelings? I mean, I'm sitting there inwardly pissed off because this girl is openly upset. Am I just numb inside? Am I just an empty meatsuit walking around and judging people that openly show feelings in public? So I sat down and started working on an intellectual checklist of my feeling(s). This is what I came up with:
1. Anger: I think I'm very familiar with this emotion and it's probably one that I show the most often. This emotion is usually brought up during hockey games, especially when the Oilers are playing like shit. Yes, I am one of those people who yell at the tv. I cuss, I yell, I name call. The only other real things that makes me angry are my sister and my dad at times. Oh, and if you do something to my friends. That'll really piss me off. Unfortunately, I'm not one for confrontation, so I'll rant and rave to my friends and then I'll keep it quiet after that.
2. Happiness: I suppose I feel happiness every once and a while, like when the Oilers kick ass or a hottie buys me a shot. Or when I get a semi-good grade on an exam or an assignment (marking on a curve fucking sucks). Also, I tend to get pretty damn jolly after a couple of beers. Kinda like the soundtrack to my life at that time is that "Ain't nothing gonna break my stride. Nobody gonna slow me down, oh no. I've got to keep on moving." I think everyone feels happy every once and a while. I suppose it's the little things in life that keep us from murdering each other.
3. Sadness: Now this was a real tough one for me. I haven't cried for over a year and a half, ever since we had to put my dog down. I haven't even cried from being in pain, which is just ridiculous. I did feel kinda bad when everyone in the theatre was sobbing during "The Time Traveler's Wife", while I just sat there and wondered why everyone else was crying. I didn't even cry when they killed off George on Grey's Anatomy.
So in conclusion. I feel 2/3 of the big ones. I'm sure when the times come I'll finally feel the third in one huge dramatic explosion of emotion. I hope when that time comes someone can catch it on videotape, because it's not often that it happens.
-H
Yesterday, while I was on the bus, one of the girls sitting behind me was bawling her eyes out. I guess her boyfriend of 2 months broke up with her or something. She wasn't just a little upset, with a few lone tears--she was full out sobbing, gasping for air, inconsolable. When she was joined by her friend, I overheard their entire conversation. How the guy didn't want to have sex with her because then it would have been worse when he dumped her, and that he wasn't good for her etc. etc. I'm sure I rolled my eyes at least 10 times, and wished that she would shut up.
This lead me to think--do I have feelings? I mean, I'm sitting there inwardly pissed off because this girl is openly upset. Am I just numb inside? Am I just an empty meatsuit walking around and judging people that openly show feelings in public? So I sat down and started working on an intellectual checklist of my feeling(s). This is what I came up with:
1. Anger: I think I'm very familiar with this emotion and it's probably one that I show the most often. This emotion is usually brought up during hockey games, especially when the Oilers are playing like shit. Yes, I am one of those people who yell at the tv. I cuss, I yell, I name call. The only other real things that makes me angry are my sister and my dad at times. Oh, and if you do something to my friends. That'll really piss me off. Unfortunately, I'm not one for confrontation, so I'll rant and rave to my friends and then I'll keep it quiet after that.
2. Happiness: I suppose I feel happiness every once and a while, like when the Oilers kick ass or a hottie buys me a shot. Or when I get a semi-good grade on an exam or an assignment (marking on a curve fucking sucks). Also, I tend to get pretty damn jolly after a couple of beers. Kinda like the soundtrack to my life at that time is that "Ain't nothing gonna break my stride. Nobody gonna slow me down, oh no. I've got to keep on moving." I think everyone feels happy every once and a while. I suppose it's the little things in life that keep us from murdering each other.
3. Sadness: Now this was a real tough one for me. I haven't cried for over a year and a half, ever since we had to put my dog down. I haven't even cried from being in pain, which is just ridiculous. I did feel kinda bad when everyone in the theatre was sobbing during "The Time Traveler's Wife", while I just sat there and wondered why everyone else was crying. I didn't even cry when they killed off George on Grey's Anatomy.
So in conclusion. I feel 2/3 of the big ones. I'm sure when the times come I'll finally feel the third in one huge dramatic explosion of emotion. I hope when that time comes someone can catch it on videotape, because it's not often that it happens.
-H
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
I'm not the type of girl who gets dressed up everyday. In fact, the only time I ever dress up/cover my face in makeup is when I'm going out to the bar or a party or a fancy occasion. If it's the remaining 300+ days of the year I throw my greasy hair up into a messy bun, toss on my glasses and most likely my sweat pants and I'll be on my way. I'll admit, I'm a pretty girl, but I make myself look like a bum. If you recall reading my first post about how I've never had a real boyfriend...this is most likely why. I accept that fact. I mean, I don't care what other people think of me, but I should probably stop being so damn lazy. I'm not morbidly obese, I can get off my ass and do something about this.
So with this thought in mine, I woke up earlier today than I usually do (only 10 minutes, it doesn't take me long to make myself presentable). I straightened my hair, put on some semi-nice jeans and my new argyl sweater and put on some makeup. Now I consider myself to be part albino, and if you saw how pale I am so you would probably agree with this statement. Today, instead of putting on my rosy red blush, I looked at my sister's bronzer and figured, "what the hell, why not try something new?" I wear bronzer when I go out to clubs, because it's dark, but I wasn't sure how it would look on my pale face in the middle of a blizzard.
To say I was pleased with the look would be an understatement. Now I'm not full of myself-- I know I'm pretty, but would I call myself hot? Probably not. I figured that this was the best I have looked since the school year started. Even in the cold weather with my wool scarf and my peacoat I looked good. So I strutted my stuff around campus, feeling confident etc. etc. Then, as I'm walking up the stairs en route to my calculus class, I trip. Jacket and scarf I was carrying go flying, same with my purse. Now I am a reasonably clumsy person at times. I get horrible paper cuts and slam my fingers in doors among other reasonable stuff. One thing I can always count on is falling UP the stairs at school at least once a semester. I don't know if it's karma for the type of person I am or what, but every semester I know it's going to happen.
So out of all the days that this could possibly happen, it had to be this one. The one where I looked the best, and let alone it was the most crowded stairwell in the hallway at the time. I'm 99.9% sure that you could see my embarrassed blush over top of the bronzer. No one laughed at least, but no one helped me up either. I guess it's safe to assume that chivalry really is dead. Damn you, "The Tudors," Henry Cavill and Jon Rhys Meyers for making me believe that men had manners when they weren't having sex with you. Your propaganda won't work on me anymore.
Until next time,
-H
So with this thought in mine, I woke up earlier today than I usually do (only 10 minutes, it doesn't take me long to make myself presentable). I straightened my hair, put on some semi-nice jeans and my new argyl sweater and put on some makeup. Now I consider myself to be part albino, and if you saw how pale I am so you would probably agree with this statement. Today, instead of putting on my rosy red blush, I looked at my sister's bronzer and figured, "what the hell, why not try something new?" I wear bronzer when I go out to clubs, because it's dark, but I wasn't sure how it would look on my pale face in the middle of a blizzard.
To say I was pleased with the look would be an understatement. Now I'm not full of myself-- I know I'm pretty, but would I call myself hot? Probably not. I figured that this was the best I have looked since the school year started. Even in the cold weather with my wool scarf and my peacoat I looked good. So I strutted my stuff around campus, feeling confident etc. etc. Then, as I'm walking up the stairs en route to my calculus class, I trip. Jacket and scarf I was carrying go flying, same with my purse. Now I am a reasonably clumsy person at times. I get horrible paper cuts and slam my fingers in doors among other reasonable stuff. One thing I can always count on is falling UP the stairs at school at least once a semester. I don't know if it's karma for the type of person I am or what, but every semester I know it's going to happen.
So out of all the days that this could possibly happen, it had to be this one. The one where I looked the best, and let alone it was the most crowded stairwell in the hallway at the time. I'm 99.9% sure that you could see my embarrassed blush over top of the bronzer. No one laughed at least, but no one helped me up either. I guess it's safe to assume that chivalry really is dead. Damn you, "The Tudors," Henry Cavill and Jon Rhys Meyers for making me believe that men had manners when they weren't having sex with you. Your propaganda won't work on me anymore.
Until next time,
-H
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Drag Me To Hell
Last night I had the priviledge, and I say that loosely, of watching "Drag Me to Hell" starring Alison Lohman and Justin Long. I had previously spoken to a few people who seemed to be "scared shitless" by this movie, so I was expecting a good revival of the horror genre. Not much generally scares me, and I'm essentially immune to the effects of gore (although in "Hostel" when Jay Hernandez was forced to cut off the Asian girls dangling eyeball I did cringe a little). Drag Me to Hell was directed/written/produced by Sam Raimi who has created some amazing work such as "Evil Dead" and also some shitacular work like the Spiderman series. So really, before I threw the disc in the DVD player, I figured this movie could be pretty sweet or a huge piece of shit.
The acting in this movie was horrendous, but I really wasn't expecting much. I was however a little surprised with Justin Long's performance. He first won me over in "Jeeper's Creepers" as Darry, a boy who meets his untimely demise by a cannibalistic monster who has a fetish for smelling underwear. In Drag Me to Hell he plays Clay Dalton, the son of a rich family who is dating raised-on-a farm, loan officer Christine Brown.
The movie starts off with Christine in a meeting with this old Eastern European woman, named Sylvia Ganush who is in dire need of a manicure and some new dentures. She has a glass/badly cataracted eye which makes her even more creepy looking. Also, she seems to have some bad problems with her lungs and coughs up a lot of phlegm. She is seemingly a minor character with some pretty damn good stamina and ass kicking skills. There's a point about 20 minutes in where Sylvia and Christine are battling inside a car and the car crashes into an SUV. Sylvia's dentures fly out of her mouth, and in an attempt to injure Christine further, latches her mouth onto Christine's jaw and begins 'gumming' her. I'm pretty sure I laughed harder at this part then I have laughed in the last little while.
The whole point of this movie is that Christine denies Sylvia an extension on her mortgage, Sylvia gets pissed and curses Christine. Christine is then haunted by a 'Lamia', a demon who looks like a goat on two legs who wants to seemingly "drag her soul to hell" and feast on it for all of eternity. All in all, this movie wasn't scary. It was hilarious. From someone barfing cockroaches and maggots into a girl's mouth to embauming fluids to a talking billy goat. In terms of a "horror" movie, it's so bad it's ridiculous. I wouldn't pay to see it, and you shouldn't either, unless you like seemingly ridiculous movies such as this. I didn't want to go into a lot of detail about the movie because everyone has different tastes and I didn't want to spoil you. All in all, I'd probably rate this movie a 3/10, with extra points for the pissed off goat.
The acting in this movie was horrendous, but I really wasn't expecting much. I was however a little surprised with Justin Long's performance. He first won me over in "Jeeper's Creepers" as Darry, a boy who meets his untimely demise by a cannibalistic monster who has a fetish for smelling underwear. In Drag Me to Hell he plays Clay Dalton, the son of a rich family who is dating raised-on-a farm, loan officer Christine Brown.
The movie starts off with Christine in a meeting with this old Eastern European woman, named Sylvia Ganush who is in dire need of a manicure and some new dentures. She has a glass/badly cataracted eye which makes her even more creepy looking. Also, she seems to have some bad problems with her lungs and coughs up a lot of phlegm. She is seemingly a minor character with some pretty damn good stamina and ass kicking skills. There's a point about 20 minutes in where Sylvia and Christine are battling inside a car and the car crashes into an SUV. Sylvia's dentures fly out of her mouth, and in an attempt to injure Christine further, latches her mouth onto Christine's jaw and begins 'gumming' her. I'm pretty sure I laughed harder at this part then I have laughed in the last little while.
The whole point of this movie is that Christine denies Sylvia an extension on her mortgage, Sylvia gets pissed and curses Christine. Christine is then haunted by a 'Lamia', a demon who looks like a goat on two legs who wants to seemingly "drag her soul to hell" and feast on it for all of eternity. All in all, this movie wasn't scary. It was hilarious. From someone barfing cockroaches and maggots into a girl's mouth to embauming fluids to a talking billy goat. In terms of a "horror" movie, it's so bad it's ridiculous. I wouldn't pay to see it, and you shouldn't either, unless you like seemingly ridiculous movies such as this. I didn't want to go into a lot of detail about the movie because everyone has different tastes and I didn't want to spoil you. All in all, I'd probably rate this movie a 3/10, with extra points for the pissed off goat.
Monday, October 12, 2009
TESTING
I'm the type of person who has always been interested in blogging; I've had livejournal, myspace, etc. etc. I ususally will write a few entries before forgetting about it and letting it die out. It's not like anyone reads this anyways. But I've been reading some friends blogs lately, and I figure one more try couldn't hurt anyone, except potentially my fingers. I could probably write movie reviews, considering I work at a movie store and when I'm not out hustlin' I sit on my ass and watch ridiculous movies. Or maybe I'll rant about my beloved Oilers or shenaniganz that I get into with pals. Maybe I'll even turn this into something as cute as http://mymilktoof.blogspot.com/ but I have a feeling that would be hard to do.
I suppose before I begin the tenuous process of trying to find something witty to say (I should really start working on my wittiness skill) I should type a little bit about myself. First things first: I don't like ska. Yeah, yeah, I know my blog url is a bit deceiving, but I have a semi-good reason for this. Back in the day when I was in 8th grade (6-7 years ago?) I used to think I was real hardcore...oops... I mean hXc. I used to love punk music and ska music as well. I loved Rancid and The Casualties and wore all black and heavy eyeliner. I was a self-proclaimed bad ass who would proceed to go home and listen to Good Charlotte on repeat. I know you all see the humor in that sentence, and imma give you permission to laugh. Hell, I laugh at myself for that all the time. I even have a picture of myself from when I tried to put my long ass hair into liberty spikes using white glue. ANYWAYS, back to the point. When I came up with the concept of the username it was for AIM, and I needed something that would show off my excellent musical taste. Naturally skarocks89 was the first choice, and to my immense glee it worked. In fact, it worked on every other social networking I tried it on. So, the name stuck, and it'll probably stick with me until I can find a site where BaByGuRl6969 is available.
Secondly, I am a HUGE HUGE HUGE Edmonton Oilers fan. Seriously, right now I'm watching a repeat of the game that I just watched a few hours ago. The Oilers kicked the Nashville Predators asses, 6-1, in case you were wondering. As some of you may know, being an Oilers fan comes with many frustrations, which I'll probably be expressing on here. Comrie- YAY, Horcoff- NAY (we're paying this guy $7 million this year, seriously?). I have a couple bets this year that I'm hoping will help me bring in the dough. Comrie will hit 40 points easily if he stays on this pace.
Thirdly, I've never had a real boyfriend, but, seeing as I'm 20 and a big girl now, I'm ready to jump into the dating scene. Because of this, you might see me mention the Single Ladies Mafia (SLM for future reference) a bit. We're just three single, pretty young things who like to go out and have a good time. But we also mean serious business. I'm known as "da mouth" because I prefer to cut you with my words as opposed to a knife. Larissa is "the hammer" because she will beat you with her fists of fury, both intellectually and physically. And last, but not least is Kylie. She's known as "the undertaker." Now, I'm not exactly sure of what this means, but I have a feeling that she works her business after da mouth and the hammer get through with you. Thankfully we've never needed her to use her special powers yet. Guys usually give up after we get through with them because they see that we're not easy. Meh-- at least we usually get a shot out of it.
So yeah, if you took the time to read all that and are interested in keeping up with this shit, great. If not, whatever. It'll probably be in blog limbo sometime in the near future anyways.
-H
I suppose before I begin the tenuous process of trying to find something witty to say (I should really start working on my wittiness skill) I should type a little bit about myself. First things first: I don't like ska. Yeah, yeah, I know my blog url is a bit deceiving, but I have a semi-good reason for this. Back in the day when I was in 8th grade (6-7 years ago?) I used to think I was real hardcore...oops... I mean hXc. I used to love punk music and ska music as well. I loved Rancid and The Casualties and wore all black and heavy eyeliner. I was a self-proclaimed bad ass who would proceed to go home and listen to Good Charlotte on repeat. I know you all see the humor in that sentence, and imma give you permission to laugh. Hell, I laugh at myself for that all the time. I even have a picture of myself from when I tried to put my long ass hair into liberty spikes using white glue. ANYWAYS, back to the point. When I came up with the concept of the username it was for AIM, and I needed something that would show off my excellent musical taste. Naturally skarocks89 was the first choice, and to my immense glee it worked. In fact, it worked on every other social networking I tried it on. So, the name stuck, and it'll probably stick with me until I can find a site where BaByGuRl6969 is available.
Secondly, I am a HUGE HUGE HUGE Edmonton Oilers fan. Seriously, right now I'm watching a repeat of the game that I just watched a few hours ago. The Oilers kicked the Nashville Predators asses, 6-1, in case you were wondering. As some of you may know, being an Oilers fan comes with many frustrations, which I'll probably be expressing on here. Comrie- YAY, Horcoff- NAY (we're paying this guy $7 million this year, seriously?). I have a couple bets this year that I'm hoping will help me bring in the dough. Comrie will hit 40 points easily if he stays on this pace.
Thirdly, I've never had a real boyfriend, but, seeing as I'm 20 and a big girl now, I'm ready to jump into the dating scene. Because of this, you might see me mention the Single Ladies Mafia (SLM for future reference) a bit. We're just three single, pretty young things who like to go out and have a good time. But we also mean serious business. I'm known as "da mouth" because I prefer to cut you with my words as opposed to a knife. Larissa is "the hammer" because she will beat you with her fists of fury, both intellectually and physically. And last, but not least is Kylie. She's known as "the undertaker." Now, I'm not exactly sure of what this means, but I have a feeling that she works her business after da mouth and the hammer get through with you. Thankfully we've never needed her to use her special powers yet. Guys usually give up after we get through with them because they see that we're not easy. Meh-- at least we usually get a shot out of it.
So yeah, if you took the time to read all that and are interested in keeping up with this shit, great. If not, whatever. It'll probably be in blog limbo sometime in the near future anyways.
-H
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