Sweaty Tits and Heavy Boxes

Fact: If you make an awkward joke to your gynecologist when she’s doing her ‘business’, things will get uncomfortable.

Fact: It’s totally worth it.

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So, it’s hot as balls in Toronto right now.  Walking around with sweaty tits and impending pit stains makes a girl feel pretty sexy, if I say so myself.  Nothing removes panties faster than tit sweat. 

Don’t quote me on that.

(Actually, I changed my mind, please do.)

There are many reasons to curse this heat, but overall it’s pretty awesome. The season of park drinking is upon us and that pretty much means that life is worth living again!  Nothing says vacation like a bottle of wine (vodka?) on a park bench surrounded by a bunch of crazy, strung out junkies. (I’m looking at you, Allan Gardens.)  Seriously though, fuck all y’all and your tropical vacation pictures on Facebook. I’m tired of looking at your stupid face on the stupid white sand beach in your stupid bikini. Befriend a junkie and lie in the sun in your underwear like the rest of us.

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Since I’ve been bitching and moaning about moving for far too long, I figured it was worth throwing in a little bit of an update/you don’t have a motherfucking choice and you’re going to hear about my move whether you like it or not.

:)

Update 1: Uhaul vans smell like corn.
Update 2: We kicked moving’s ass, and made it our bitch.

All of our shit is now sitting in our (soon to be) apartment with a stranger while I crash at my wonderful friend’s house until Friday.  I am 89% sure that the stranger will not steal/break/pee on my stuff. I probably should have put in a special request for ‘no urine’ when dropping off our shit, but what can I say? I like to live on the edge a little.

So now I’m covered in tiny bruises and a grimy feeling that doesn’t seem to want to go away. If I left the house 2 hours earlier this morning, I probably could have been mistaken as one of the hookers that hang outside of (endearingly nicknamed) Hooker Harvey’s.  (Yes, I did just compare myself to a prostitute.)

Moving out of the apartment was a little bitter sweet. I said my silent goodbyes to Keith and Roberta and thanked them for imposing their presence upon me over the past 2 years.  Without them, I never would have known what a raccoon fetus looks like, or what it sounds like to have something living in your wall, scratching inches away from your head at 5am. 

Sorry, I don’t mean to brag.

In honour of Keith, and leaving him behind, I’ve dug up an old text conversation my good friend Ivan and I had after one of my Keith encounters.

If you don’t want to lower your IQ, you should consider skipping this all together.

Raccoon Conversations

Interpreted and reenacted by Britt & Ivan

Britt: Do u think, when raccoons communicate, they ever talk about -or even have the ability to talk about- things that have occurred in the past? 

Ivan: Like, 'Hey man! Remember that pizza crust from last Thursday? IT TASTED LIKE TITTIES.'

Britt: Yes.

Ivan: ... then no. 

Britt: Example… Keith would be all "Yesterday this crazy fucking woman yelled at me that it was time to get up and told me to get my act together."

Ivan: "I GOT SKOOLED, YO."

Britt: "Oh no way, bro. I got poked by a child carrying a stick. Pretty annoying."
Britt: "Daaaamn dude. That shit’s one of my pet peeves"

Ivan: "You should have seen this pigeon, homie. She was aaaaall up in ma grillz"

Britt: "I hope you fucked that pigeon up. They play their games. Get all risky and fly all close for no reason."

Ivan: "I found me a boob slingshot. Epic, bro"

Britt: "Do you mean a bra? Like, for boobs?"

Ivan: "Dude. Don't ruin this for me."

Britt: "Let's go sling our shit at other animals. I got beef with a squirrel."
Britt: "Also: totally ate blue cheese today by accident. You know that shit makes me allll bloated, gurl."

Ivan: "IMMA CUT THAT BITCH SQUIRREL. She stole my nuts"
Ivan: (Wink)

Britt: Aw hellz nah!

Fin.

Craddle the Whiskey: A Fun New Game!

It’s hump day y’all, so you’d better be humping. And if you’re not humping, you’d better be thinking about humping and cradling a bottle of whiskey between your tits to make yourself feel better for having an inadequate sex life.  

I’m not going to apologize to you guys (I’m an asshole, remember, assholes don’t say sorry), but I am going to give you a heads up that my life is fucking crazeballs right now so my ‘free time’ has been stunted. This means that I’m finding less time to be funny, and more time to be insane. (On an unrelated note, does anyone have any suggestions on how to go about burning down a house without it being retraced to me? Just kidding! (Probably. LOLZ*))

*For those of you new here, I promise I don’t use LOLZ on a regular basis. Maybe.

My roommate and I have (I think) finally narrowed down an apartment to move into. This means that I’m in the throes of moving and all of the glory that comes along with it. (Listen, I know you don’t want to hear about it. Listening to someone talk about moving all the motherfucking time is extremely annoying.  In fact, I’m pretty sure that if you were in my general vicinity for even 2 hours you’d probably try to wrap my telephone chord around my neck and gag me with a stapler. Okay, fine, maybe that’s my fantasy. Whatever. You get what I'm trying to say.)

Stapler gags and office sex jokes aside, I should probably just admit to you that there is no point to this post and you’ve wasted however many minutes it has taken you to get to this point. (2 minutes? … maybe 10 minutes if you’re fucking slow and/or have been cradling aforementioned tit whiskey. I'm hoping for the latter.)

In the spirit of having nothing funny to talk about, I’d like to offer you a representation of what I look like most of the time these days. 

Damn that vodka was good.

*Disclaimer: That’s not me in the picture. 

 

If you need me, I’ll be on the floor in my rubber gloves. LOLZ ;) 

For Rent! 2 Bedroom Skankden!

Moving sucks balls.

More specifically, trying to find an apartment to move into sucks balls.

On the first of June, my roommate and I have to move out of our tiny, shitty apartment, and so far, we’re up Shitcreek without a fucking paddle. We’ve been on the lookout since March, and to put it bluntly, I might stab the next fucker that shows me a shitty apartment.

At the very least, I will pee on their floor.

Our list of ‘must haves’ is not obscenely long, and, in my opinion, it’s not too demanding. We need doors and closets… and a floor that doesn’t smell like cats/rotting food/feet.  I know that sounds pretty luxurious, but what can I say? I’m a pretty fancy lady.

I’ve grown to resent every ad that gets posted. They’re riddled with lies and omissions. People just need to be honest and upfront about the shithole they’re renting.

I decided to write a few ads that seem far more realistic based on my experience and my overactive imagination. 

Enjoy.

 

 

 

 

Besides the depressing lack of apartments available, there are a whole slew of other things to keep in mind. Mainly: every motherfucking building in this city has bedbugs, cockroaches and an alcoholic landlord.  At best, they have 2 of the 3, and I’m 90% sure that if it doesn’t have all 3, it’s probably haunted with some sort of ninja/deathwish poltergeist. 90% sure, guys. For reals.

Now, somebody bring me a goddamn cocktail and a motherfucking place to live. 

Pronto!

I Hope You Like the Taste of Slaps

I’m going to be honest with you guys, there is a lot of shit that pisses me off.

You can pretend to be surprised by that statement, but I’ll know you’re just being polite- and quite frankly, if you’re the ‘polite’ type, I’m not sure we’d get along. You should just call me a crazy bitch like the rest of ‘em so we can move forward and develop a normal relationship.  

Good.

What was I saying? Oh right, a lot of shit pisses me off.

I don’t think I’d classify myself as an ‘irrationally angry’ person. Generally speaking, my anger is entirely rational and it spawns from other people’s ignorance and general douchebaggery. If you’re going to parade around like you’re the motherfucking king of Asshole Castle, then chances are I’m going to want to slap you. Really fucking hard.

I decided to make a list.

People I Want to Slap Really Fucking Hard

• People who don't know how to walk

A word to those of you who decide to randomly stop walking to check your phone/pick your ass, if I’m behind you when you stop, you might wake up with a new hole.

• Loud cellphone talkers

Seriously. Shut the fuck up. No body wants to hear about Becky’s questionable decisions and your inability to hold down tequila. You’re just as slutty as Becky and you know it.

• People who let their kids run amuck in public washrooms

Your 4 year old can’t be trusted not to piss on everything. Keep that thing on a leash.

• Girls who relentlessly look at themselves in the reflection of windows they're walking by

 Let me make this easy for you: You look like a bedazzled asshat. With a cameltoe.

• My Landlord

To put it lightly, this man deserves a hot iron to the testicles.

• Guys who are constantly 'adjusting' themselves

Everyone knows you have a penis. Congratulations! Chances are if you need to touch your junk that much, you should probably get that checked out. Or you need to lay off the G-Strings. One of those.

• People who drink light beer

Fuck you. Drink better beer, pussy.

• People who always try to top your story

Listen, I understand that something sort of, kind of, not really at all similar happened to you once, but I don’t want to hear about it and quite frankly, you’re about to learn what my foot tastes like. I hope you’re hungry.

• People who breathe really loudly at the gym

Seriously, broseph, are you giving birth?

• People who wear UGGs

You’re wearing boots named after the abbreviation of the word ‘ugly’. It is no coincidence that they’re motherfucking ugly.  People really will buy anything, won’t they? Maybe I should start a purse line named “VAG”. (You can bet your ass they’d all be made with a soft, pink lining.)

• Elderly people who chew really loudly

Just kidding. I’d never hit an old person. Probably.

• The guy that never toasts my bread correctly at the sandwich place where I get my breakfast

Who the fuck likes burnt toast? Probably your mother. I hope you like the taste of slaps.

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I know you guys will have some good ones, so let me hear ‘em. What makes you want to shove your fist through someone’s face? (Now there’s a sexy mental image!)