Author: K.

The Top 10 Lessons I Learned Backpacking Across Europe

#1. Don’t actually backpack. A suitcase will work just fine. And keep the skin on your shoulders intact.

#2. Go to the bathroom everywhere you can, even when you don’t have to. You do NOT want to be stuck somewhere contemplating the repercussions of actually peeing your pants on this train. And don’t be scared to poop. It’s going to happen.

#3. We all need next to nothing, most of the time. So remember than when you pack.

#4. Be okay on your own. You really can take care of yourself, especially when it counts.

#5. It’s okay to get homesick. Just keep it in check and think about how much you’ll regret wishing you were home when you get home.

#6. You’re not a paid photographer (unless you are), so don’t spend your trip sussing out Instagram or profile pics. BE on your trip, in the moment(s). Take photos of the things you genuinely want to remember if it happens to work out.

#7. Then print them. I’m just such a big fan of keeping up actual hard copy photo albums, I think everybody else should, too.

#8. Acidophilus. Buy it. Take it daily. Refer to #2 on this list if you need more information.

#9. Take care of yourself. In that, don’t get sick. Wash your hands, get some sleep at some point, and try to find a vegetable or two. The only thing worse than being sick is being sick anywhere that’s not home. Or being sick AND hungover anywhere that’s not home. Trust me.

#10. You may come back exactly the same as you left, and that’s fine. Don’t expect this to be some life changing holiday on which you find the meaning of life. That kind of pressure will just ruin things. If you do decide to view things a little differently during or after your trip, rad; if not, rad.

-K.

Today I Said “Obvs” to the Vice-President of Finance

Today I said “obvs” to the Vice-President of Finance.

Today … this afternoon … I said “obvs” to the fucking Vice-President of Finance.

This was followed by some deep and dark self-reflection. Have I really sent that many texts? IM’ed with just a tad too much passion? Has my basic ability to form small, simple words in the context of a term so common even toddlers can understand and use it perfectly gone out the window, along with my ability to actually use my cell phone to call people?? I think it has. But what can I do? If I start talking in big words I would just be seen as loquacious albeit condescendingly sarcastic with a touch of good humour (aka a total douche). Yet if I continue on this path I’ll be saying LOL NM JK to my boss at my next review and before you know it I’m texting everybody from my imaginary cell phone because I can’t afford a real phone because I live in a refrigerator box BECAUSE I’M BROKE AND HOMELESS … unless you count that refrigerator box as my home, in which case I just live in a really shitty house and have no money … which still sucks anyhow.

Fuck it. I’m going to start being one of those people who correct grammar on Facebook. THEY HAVE FUCKING SPELL CHECK. I feel it is my duty to society, and also to my own integrity, to point out those opinionated assholes who can’t even distinguish between “they are” and “those people’s property (whether it be a name or whatever the fuck)” despite the fact we all learned it back when Pogs were selling like crack on the playground.

10 points for the most expletive-filled paragraph ever written on PGPT, and 10 points for trailing off and having no real conclusion to this post.

I Just Can’t Party Like I’m 15 Anymore

I’ve recently come to a startling realization: I’m boring. Call it what you want – dependable, predictable, reliable – I’m boring as shit. Gone are the days when I used to get a tattoo on a whim (a phase evidenced by my hesitation to ever go swimming with my boyfriend’s family lest they see the tokens of my wilder youth), when I would – nay, could – get wasted every night of the week and get into shenanigans of epic proportions and still make my 8 a.m. class the next day; an era when you never knew what I would do next. Now you know exactly what I’m going to do next. You probably know it before I even do. Originally I was hoping this post would somehow weave into all these reasons why I’m NOT actually boring, but in fact still super cool and awesome fun, but instead all I can think of are all the reasons why I just can’t party like I’m 15 anymore:

  • I fall asleep before midnight every Friday
  • I pay my bills the day they’re due
  • I always signal
  • My taxes were done the day I got my T4
  • I know who I’m having sex with next
  • I still play Mario, just like I did in 1994
  • My hangovers take entire weekends to get over

Is this just a natural, late-twenties state of depression that is reached when your body finally can’t keep up with the absolute shit haul you’ve just pulled it through, lined with shots and pub crawls and trysts? I mean, don’t get me wrong, as I wouldn’t trade my bf for the world, but maybe when you’ve settled into a relationship with somebody that you’re still really into, even after arguing over name brand versus store brand Sidekicks (or “Compliments” for you poor folks like us) in the aisle of a local Sobey’s while a two-year-old kid with glasses gawks on at his inevitable future of domestic bliss, you just sort of stop caring about being new and exciting? Fuck that. I’m gonna go do something crazy. Soon. Like stay up past 10 on a weeknight. HIDE YO KIDS!

Am I The Only One …

  • Who feels super weird about watching America’s Funniest Home Videos when people submit clips of their kids doing things naked like taking a dump in the tub?
  • Who had hidden food because I really want to eat it later and not share with you?
  • Who has forgotten to either shave one entire leg, or just created the first landing strip for legs by missing a whole row, and then GONE OUT ANYWAYS?
  • Who thinks that a ton of babies are actually really ugly?
  • Who doesn’t understand why so many chicks will take pictures of themselves in their car and then post them on the Internet? Like, not even ON the car … just IN it. With a seatbelt on.

Maybe it is just me.

K.

Conversations With Your First Pregnant Friend – K. Edition

So, as S. mentioned we have a friend who is pregnant. Our first pregnant friend! We were talking this morning about all the stuff that goes along with that. I mean, if I’m not going to be on a roller coaster that dives into a hot tub with a beer in my hand, what else am I going to do for nine months?? Frankly I’m terrified at the concept. However, being the awesome friend that she is, she was able to show me all the amazing positives of being pregnant:

  • “Can you help me move?” – nope, I’m pregnant
  • “Want to go for a hike?” – nope, I’m pregnant
  • “Can you make me breakfast?” (baby daddy) – nope, I’m pregnant … YOU make ME breakfast
  • “Want to do a 5K run and walk for cancer?” – nope, I’m pregnant
  • “Want to pitch in money for XXX’s birthday?”- nope, I’m pregnant … need money for the baby
  • “Want to go to the club for XXX’s birthday?” – nope, don’t want to be the pregnant bitch at the bar

This list should be my mother’s best friend right now, as it’s convincing me that maybe the whole thing is worth it. Oh … I guess that whole baby part could be pretty cool too.

Just not yet.

K.