Asshats (Can I Title My Posts With an Expletive?)

I hate facebook. I think it's the spawn of the Devil. See, as much as I try to use it for world peace and stuff that's good for mankind (and such as) I find myself turning into a creepy stalker every once in a while. Last night for example I casually clicked on (ex)pseudo-bf's page and looked through his pictures while holding my stuffed rabbit to my eyes, rocking back and forth a little, sobbing and hyperventilating into a brown paper bag.

Kidding.

I did however look at his new girlfriend, who has a little message on her page for me - what the hell? Let's say her name is Beach (and not for the obvious resemblance to another word), she has written "Beach is: B is for Alice" um, wait a minute? Who are you? Why are you talking to me? What is this world coming to? Are you people 30 or 16?

Then I felt like an idiot because that means she knew I would look at her page. Which means pseudo has said something to her about me. Which means I may or may not look like an asshat depending on what he told her.

I do wonder though, because he told me once that this other chick, S, might find me on fb and write me a letter because she was in love with him. I laughed about it then but now I'm thinking; does he think I'll do that? Is that what he warned this new girl?

He must have a huge ego if he thinks I'll care enough to find his stupid new girlfriend and look at all her ugly pictures covorting by the beach and stuffing rib-eye in her face. Hello, I would never look at all her pictures while wondering what exactly is so great about her.

Anyway, the thing that bothers me about the whole thing is the fact that I DID find her, and he knew I would and he used that to rub it in my face like a huge asshole. Last time I checked I was a pretty awesome person, one who would never write a letter to a guy's new girlfriend no matter what he did to me. A person who would look at the pictures but feel that bitter-sweet feeling for them because it means at least he's off my hands now. Normally I would think "aw that's sweet" and move on with my life. He had to make it weird.

The worst part? I broke it off with him and now he's trying to make me look like a crazy stalker. Hell-o?! The restraining order expired three moths ago - get over it already!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a letter to write.

Revenge of the Letter Snatcher

I know there are a lot of stressful jobs in this world; lion tamer, air-traffic control tower guy, suicide bomber. Somehow I just don’t see bike messenger fitting into this category. Yes, they have to weave in and out of downtown traffic wielding their precious cargo like that crazy guy from Lord of The Rings, ready to get lost under a truck tire at any moment. Ok, so they do have to deal with the police a lot of the time (but c’mon guys – driving in pedestrian lanes and knocking over little old ladies isn’t totally socially acceptable - yet).

Sure, they have some strict deadlines and I’m sure some jackass somewhere asking them to get a package from New York to Antarctica in nine and a half minutes, but really, the rest of the time they sit out in the sun, watching women in business suits walk by, smoking cigarettes and possibly some doobs.

That’s why I get utterly mystified when my courier packages go inexplicably missing, and the courier I call to ask about it sounds like the world is caving in underneath him so he has no time to look for it now but he’ll call me back. Which he obviously never does.

If there were a horror movie based around missing packages, I would be the star – especially if said packages were actually legal letters involving millions of dollars potentially incoming to The Company. The plot would go something like this:

A hard-working girl trying to make it big within The Company always takes the necessary precautions to send deliveries promptly – even marking a big red RUSH on each important envelope. A crazed letter-hungry thief stalks each courier that has the girl’s letters and takes out vengeance upon them. Crazed guy turns out to be her boss’s old assistant, fired for stealing paperclips and toilet paper; now out for revenge. There would be some sort of secondary plotline involving a love story or possibly a plan to take over the world.

So this morning, I hand-delivered a Very Important Letter to avoid any risk of it being lost. Somehow a package was delivered to this same address last week, signed for and everything. However, no one at that company recognizes the signature. Nor can the letter be found. My plotline isn’t too far off I tell you.

Anyhow, walking over there, through the Plus 15*, I discovered one of the greatest joys of having long hair ever: a wind tunnel. Obviously I had to stop and make Marilyn-esque poses. For half an hour.

Don’t you worry; the package did eventually get there and yet again the heroine** saved the day. Now excuse me while I go fix my hair.

[Update: I just got to walk through the wind tunnel again in search of a garbage can (I'm an integral part of the team). The average price of garbage cans at The Bay is $147.99. Seriously for $147.99 my garbage can had better compact my garbage, take it to the dumpster and give me a massage when it gets back. Who the hell pays $147.99 for a garbage can? No wonder they sold the company.]

*Equivalent to a Skywalk. Otherwise known as a gerbil-tunnel that connects one building to another in the downtown core, 15 feet above the ground
** Not to be confused with the drug heroine – which I’m sure has not saved many a day, rather made many a day much, much worse. But I digress.

The Problem With the Gym

Alice: I need to renew my gym membership. Like, yesterday.

Frenchie: I need to renew my will power. Can I pay for that? I would... a lot

Alice: I think they accept your soul as payment

I meet with my new trainer this week. He is Scottish and sounds very intimidating on the phone. The first trainer I had was from Newfoundland and laughed at pretty much everything I did. And not in the "gee you sure are funny!" way. No, more of a "haven't you EVER stood on one leg on a teetering Bosu Balance Trainer while throwing a ten pound medicine ball rythmically against the floor and simultaneously doing leg presses with ankle weights on? No? Ha ha - wow you newb!" sort of laughing at me way.

I'm always nervous meeting a trainer. I actually asked for a girl trainer the first time but was paired up with the Newfie. I'm sort of glad I had a guy because although I wasn't attracted to him, I wanted to work harder to impress him. Or something like that. With a girl I'd just try to gossip with her to distract her from the fact that I wasn't really working out. At all. Ever.

The thing with the trainer though is that if they're too good looking you're embarrased to work hard. Sweat pouring down your face, arms quivering with the strain of that ten pound weight (kidding - I lift at least 12.5), real or imaginary flab jiggling everywhere as you jog in place. I need to not be thinking about what my trainer would look like naked and instead be concentrating on how many more times I can lunge before I collapse on the floor like a puddle of out-of-shape Jell-O.

Another thing? All the trainers seem to have photographic memories. "Alice! We haven't seen you in three weeks, two days and six hours! Have you been away? No? Well, you can sure tell" *wink* Do they take that as a class in preparation to become a trainer? Memorize all members' schedules. When you see a member, mark it in the little book. Always check this book the next time they are in to ensure you can embarass them with the knowledge that it's been 24 days since they were last in.

Also, what's with the hip thrust maneuver? In case you are unfamiliar, it's where you lay on your back, put your feet on a slightly raised area - like a step, bend your knees and rhythmically raise your hips up and down. Yes, just like when you're having sex - well, if you were having relatively boring sex. Somehow when I do them it always seems to be perfectly timed to the worst song. I just start with the hip thrust - and up, and down - when inevitably "This is Why I'm Hot" starts playing. Way to call attention to yourself and look like a huge narcissistic asshole at the same time.

(It's my picture and I'll make myself as damn skinny as I want to)

Hi, It's Me! Every Girl Ever! (My Version)

Hi there! Thanks for coming to pick me up! I know you told me 7:30 but I still have to put some more eyeliner on. Why don't you have a seat on my lovely couch - just knock a few of those cushions off, there ya go! Watch out for the candles though! Isn't my home lovely? I opened an Ikea catalogue and just picked a million things. Gosh Ikea makes life easy!

Excuse me while I go freshen up. Don't worry my roommate is around here somewhere, she'll make awkward small talk with you to prepare you for the evening, while making judgements about you in her head - which her and I will discuss at length when I get home!

Sorry that took so long, I have no idea what I do in the bathroom for half an hour! Gosh, I look pretty! I see you met Snookie and Sugar-Pie, my kitties! That's great that you're pretending to like them and pet them when really you are severly allergic and will probably have to take several anti-histamines later. Well, let's head out, shall we?

What a gentleman you are! Thanks for getting the car door for me, I love men who believe in gallantry. Well except when it's sexist, I get to decide when it's ok and when it's sexist! Fun, no? Don't worry I won't reach across and get the lock for you. I know it's raining out and all but I'm too busy wondering why you're taking so long and making me wait while you fumble with the lock!

What a cozy resturant you've chosen! I never choose, I always tell you I don't care where we go and then if it's somewhere I don't like you get to hear me complain about it endlessly! This is fun because it takes the pressure off me and lets me judge you yet again!

I know you told me we were going for dinner and all but I'm actually not that hungry, weird no? I guess I'll just order a salad and the most expensive martini I can find. Are you going to eat that pasta? I should have ordered pasta.

Let me tell you all about myself! I have all these friends who are the BEST ever! I can gossip with them and giggle endlessly about other people! Did you know that Jennifer Aniston is dating John Meyer? I'm glad my friends and I can talk about all that important stuff together! I know if I ever had a real problem they would probably start acting really busy and not return my phone calls but they are seriously the BEST EVAR!!

I have this heinously boring job but I still love to talk about it! Especially about the clothes other people wear there and who's dating whom! It doesn't matter that you've never met any of these people, I'll still tell you all about them! It's almost like you DO know them! How lucky are you?

Well, dinner was nice but I'm awfully tired and there's a rerun of The Bachelor that I'm dying to watch! I'm going to pretend to offer to pay for the bill, but if you actually wanted me to pay any of it I'd be shocked! I don't even think I brought any money! Then I'd have to tell all my (BEST EVAR) friends about how you made me pay on the first date!

Well here we are, back at my place! Why don't you walk me to the door so we can have an incredibly awkward goodbye? How about you pretend you had lots of fun and say that we should do it again sometime? Ok, well awfully nice spending time with you! What was your name again?