So I turn on my computer with the excited notion of finally making a new layout for my blog when - alas... I forgot I reinstalled Windows on my laptop a month or so ago after an epic crash due to 97 viruses who had made their home on my hard drive.

Okay, so I have to reinstall Adobe Photoshop quickly. No big deal.

UMMMMM.

Minus the fact that the photoshop c.d. is NOT in the photoshop case, on the shelf where it never moves from on my desk. FRUS. TRA. TION. To the max!!! Where the fuck did I put it?!

I'm such a basket case. I have a brilliant idea and now I can't work on it. And I looooaaathe that Gimp program. Tried it once. Hate. Hate. Hate.

So now I'm turning my already mountain of a desk upside down and things are sliding off and I already stepped on my cruising Rolling Stones c.d. and now I'm all flustered.

Someone's got a case of the Mondays!!!

I fucking hate that saying.

UGGGGGHHH.

I have one of those headaches where it feels like your entire brain is self-destructing and your skull is about to explode. And like your eyes are removing themselves from their sockets in an extremely painful fashion.

Rad.

It's probably due to the fact that I haven't been to the optometrist in like 39048 years and I reaaallly really need a new prescription. I've picked out like 3 different pairs of frames I like, but to actually get in there and get the ole eyes checked out is super low on my to-do list. Well, until my current painful situation. Oh well. Loading up on Advil liqui-gels is going to have to do for now.

The only reason I'm excited for work tomorrow is because I get to see blonde man. No, I don't know his name. No, I don't plan on approaching him to find out. His beauty is something to be marvelled at from afar. Until I grow a set and talk to him. Maybe that'll be later this week. This madness can only go on so long...

In EXTREMELY radical and exciting news I get my hair AND nails done on Wednesday. So excited. Sooooooo excited. Did I mention the general feeling of excitement?

My dog has deposited five different toys at my feet. That's his call for attention.. better play with him before he decides to fart a cloud of mustard gas to catch my attention.

There. Was. Frost. On. My. Car. This. Morning. NOT IMPRESSED.

Which means Mr. Winter is closer than I thought. I refuse to discontinue the wearing of flats sans socks.

That is all.

Wow, Canadians, good work. $250 mil spent on an election and nothing changed. Super. Juuuuust super. Looking forward to enjoying the cuts to the arts. HON. EST. LY. Not impressed.

In much, much lighter news, I finally bought new mascara today as when the existing tube was that odd crunchy yet gummy consistency for the third day in a row, I decided it was time to toss and replace. I always let things run down until I am absolutely fresh out of everything. Then I have to do a huge cosmetics/toiletries run, which IS super fun, but also pretty stressful the morning you realize you have like an ounce of shampoo left, you have to squeeeeze the shit out of your toothpaste to get a bit out, your foundation is all weird and won't blend right, you still use your blush/powder/bronzer brush trying to shake out a little powder that might still be lodged in the deep dark recesses of the hairs, and then the epic battle with the mascara which is waaay too thick to go on right.

Ugh. The joys of getting ready for the day as a girl.

Despite the crisis in my bathroom this morning I did actually manage to make it on time(!!) to work this morning, a morning right after a long weekend filled with turkey and lying around, I might add. Even with enough time to spare to stare at the cute guy across from me that I am currently lusting after and grab a coffee. Which I burned my tongue/lips on, unfortunately. I hate that feeling, it lasts all day and nothing really tastes right.. probably due to the fact I scorched off the top nine layers of epethelial cells. Whatevs. The sacrifices one must make to stay properly caffeinated!

Happy Thanksgiving to all you fellow Canadians out there! I hope you gorge yourself and feast like a king tonight or tomorrow or whenever your big family dinner extravaganza is.

Jesus. I don't know, maybe something to do with that 15 lb. bird defrosting over there in the sink? Call me crazy but.. yeah maybe something along those lines.

OKAY. If you're a Twilight fan, you must watch the new 2 minute + trailer which is in HD and fucking glorious. A good version can be found here. God. I swear I've watched it like 84727 times. And I'm hardly exaggerating. I can't write anymore because I'm going to watch it fullscreen again.

Stupid Jamie-Lynn Spears has gone and gotten herself knocked up again. AND she is quoted in some sort of Entertainment Weekly type magazine as "having the best life ever & everything I could ever want" type spiel. Uh, right. A few illiegitimate children, free-loading b.f. and crazy as fuck sister. So. Jealous.

Also, she believed that, and I quote, "one couldn't get pregnant while you're breastfeeding".

Glad those genes are being reproduced en masse.

Okay. So at work there's this guy I've been spending some time staring at (that sounds so creepy haha) across the office. When I'm there I can't stop looking over at him, I'm just so curious about him. Sounds normal right? Well , what makes it weird is he is insaaanely not my type. First, he's blonde. Usually I don't like the fair-haired guys. Also, he seems kind of shy. And maybe a little awkward? I don't know. Anyway, not what I'd usually go for.

And I keep telling myself, ugh, don't waste your time if you don't really want this in the first place. But then there's this weird phenomenon that is forcing me to momentarily totally ignore my instincts and kind of pursue it anyway.. I don't get it!

Let me assure you I'm absolutely not the type of girl who gets desperate and will lower her standards just to have a guy on her arm at all times, so it's not about that. It's just like this constant battle in my head between side A going "don't go there he's not your type" and side B "you have nothing to lose go nuts, he's there, do something about it". Faaaaaack.

Honestly. I'm a basketcase. Haha.

Surprise surprise, it's past 1 a.m. and I'm still wiiide awake. With nothing to do but blog. I did finally get caught up on all my missed t.v. episodes.. aka... the hills and the tudors.

Oh sidenote- new song you must d-load pronto! Another Way To Die - Jack White & Alicia Keys. It's super rad.

Okay, okay. You're probably wondering what's with all the random posts all on the same day. Well friends, my old blog/site host decided to be retarded and so I had to transfer effing EVERYTHING to my blogspot account. So, it's taken a few days to get it up to date. So change your bookmarks, blogspot is my new home.

I'm going to try to update more often, and all that jazz. Get excited.

Oh, and I got a new blog template. Likee?

So.. there are nation-wide elections going on in both Canada and the States right now, as you probably (and hopefully..) know already. The english leaders' debate is on t.v. tonight, and honestly it is ridiculous. Avoiding questions, calling names, passing the blame, changing the subject. How old are we here? Like honestly. You're running to lead the fucking country and you can't answer a simple question in the hot seat. God. No wonder no one votes. It's not because they are lazy or don't want to, no. It's because there aren't any eligible, competent candidates to vote for.

Alright, I'll confess. Sometimes there is nothing better to do during a boring lecture when you've been through all of your friends' facebook pages, there's no one on msn, and the hottie you used to check out turns out to be gay. Seriously, give 'er a go. You'll be surprised what comes up.

Oh, and I'm warning you, if your name is anything remotely exotic sounding, do not, I repeat, do NOT click on Google images. The number of strippers/internet whores who post explicit photos of themselves which have their exotic fake name as a keyword is astounding.

Alright kids, story time.

Once upon a time, I was a wicked tennis player. Well, I still am, it just took the back burner when I got competitive with dance. And university tends to take up a bit of time also.. anyway.

So as I was saying, tennis. It was a real passion of mine. Started with a summer camp to see if I liked it, upon my mother's wishing as she was a prostar when she was young (prov. championships, etc.). I liked it. No, I loved it. So, classes on the weekends it was. Eventually that wasn't enough and I needed more. Solution? Private lessons.

Sweet deal, I thought, as I have always been competitive, and impatient, so group classes and sessions proved to be extremely irritating as I absolutely hated waiting for the weaker players to grasp new techniques or keep up.

Then, the first private lesson finally arrived. I walked into the club house as the owner/club pro spoke through his thick Russian accent, "you vill like coach, yes?". I said yes, I hope so, and I walked to the change rooms wondering who was going to be my new private instructor.

I started stretching and warming up on my favourite indoor court at the club, the one at the verrrry end, opposite the doors. Then the doors opened and in walked Kris. And god, was he ever fucking gorgeous. His muscles actually rippled under his shirt/pants/whatever he was wearing that day.

Anyway, turned out he was only like 3-4 years older than me, blue eyes, and just fucking dreamy in every sense of the word. Oh, and he was a pretty rad coach & wicked tennis player.

After two weeks or so the chemistry was undeniable, and eventually Kris mentioned that we should hit up a movie sometime. YEESSSS.

Frick I'm running late to meet my mother for sushi, I have to cut this story short!!

Long story short: we went out lots, my game improved exponentially, and all was good.. until things got heated. It was good because he was a little older, pretty experienced, and a great guy, but eventually, if we'd have a fight... practice was pretty fucking awkward.

Why did we break up? My conscience started to eat away at me when I realized we had reached a point where it was impossible to keep our private relationship out of the club and the highly judgemental environment that existed there. I wondered if we were out of line, a player dating her coach? And then there was the cliched 'we were at different points in our lives'.. and we were.

It truly was a mutual thing, we had some good times and some good nights, but it just had to come to an end. Probably the only relationship I'm not bitter or broken up about. I actually ran into him at a club a few weeks ago, and we had a great chat.. aand.. exchanged our new cell numbers. Super! Haha actually I can't wait to go out with him. Anyway. I gotta run. That's all fo now!

SUNGLASSES. Honestly, I am obsessed with them. I almost have as many pairs of sunnies as I do purses.. and let me tell you, that is no small feat! I do realize now that this post is ridiculous and pointless, but I just wanted to share my love of this fabulous accessory.

Tonight A and I were discussing men, (as per uzh), but in particular, the fascinating phenomenon of the ability for a guy to totally quash one's libido. I'm not referring to such qualities like bad teeth, having a lax attitude to deodorant, or not being able to get ole' Schooner up and sailing, non.

What I'm talking about, is confidence.

This is so often commonly mixed up with that other nasty personality trait; arrogance. Which is just SO fucking annoying to deal with. But anyway, back to the post at hand.

Walking the fine line between having the right amount of dominance and showing off that you do, in fact produce testosterone; and being a cocky asshole is hard, sure. But I am a firm believer that it is easier to tone down Mr. Jock-whose-shit-doesn't-stink-and-gets-all-the-bitches than inject manly man into Mr. I'm-shy-and-can't-assert-myself.

I just can not, can NOT deal with guys who don't display what they want! Granted, a pre-req for that is actually knowing what they do want, which is a totally different issue unto itself which I don't dare get into... but always having to make the decisions, never being surprised or always calling the shots.. not only is it tiring, but once you get the guy in the sack chances are it'll be like you're a on a movie set directing a young, new actor; who bless his little heart is so eager to please, but just gets so wrapped up in "am I doing okay?" "are you sure?" "was I good?" that it toootally cools the jets.

And let's be clear, by dominant I don't mean whips and chains, nor am I only referring to bedroom activities. No. I mean, guys, do the female race a favour and assert yourself. Whether it's asking the girl to dance, spontaneously taking her out, or pushing her up against a wall and holding her hands above her head, trust me. You won't regret it.