Willpower: Apparently I Have Some

My friends, it’s been a long journey. But I’ve finally made it to 30 days with absolutely no drinking or other… related behaviours.

Say what?! You heard me. Suck it, societal norms.

I’d just like to give a shout-out to my n-words who bought me cran-sodas at the bar and told me I was fun without alcohol. Because I am. Quite possibly even more fun.

Needless to say I’ve learned a few things about myself and other people in the last month and I’d like to share them with you via words. I’ll just let them flow out of my fingertips filter-free starting…..nnnnow.

1. RED BULL is not an equivalent to drinking. Yes, it gets you hyped up and you feel like dancing all night but so does cocaine and cocaine is certainly not good for you. I regretted it as soon as 4:30 am rolled around and I was lying in my bed practically convulsing with energy. “Maybe I’ll just not sleep and go to the gym in an hour?” I thought to myself. This thought was immediately followed by a ‘crash’ that would put the god damn movie Crash to shame. Sorry, Sandra Bullock. I slept for days and dreamt of sword-fighting on unicorns. Never again.
2. People really don’t like hearing that you’re doing sober things. I received several text messages asking what was up for the night and I slowly learned that people do NOT respond when you tell them you’re playing Scrabble. And ask them to join, because your cat doesn’t know how to spell.
3. Ordering cranberry sodas at the bar makes you feel very, very pregnant. The bartender nods and turns away, just to turn back and repeat your order. Wait. You don’t want… *looks down at stomach, back up to face* Sure, sure. Coming up.
4. And on that note, what the fuck is with the size difference between non-alcoholic and alcoholic drinks? You order a bar rail drink and they give you a tiny ass six ounce cup and fill it – over-flowingly – with ice, three-quarters full with liquor and then a minuscule amount of your choice of mix.  But then you order the same thing sans alcohol and they give you the biggest cup they have in the restaurant, sometimes a pail if it suits them, and little to no ice. Like, thank you, I did want to look 12 years old tonight! I’m so glad you could help me with that. Hmm, it’s almost as if they don’t want you to come back to the bar and order another $2 drink. Coincidence? I THINK NOT.
5. Drunk people do not respect your personal space. I think that’s a given, and almost everyone knows it. But one thing you should refrain from doing is telling them politely to respect it. I swear, you tell one guy to take his arm off your shoulder and a hush falls over the entire bar. Everyone looks over. Did she just do that? That poor guy, he was just trying to be drunk. What an insensitive bitch. LESSON LEARNED, just walk away.
6. Some people will stick around, some people won’t. I kind of expected that. But the weirdest thing about it all is finding out who is purely uncomfortable socializing with someone who’s not fucked up. I was totally fine after a few weeks with going out (to some places) while my friends were drinking around me. But then you run into people who literally do not know how to have a conversation with someone who’s not on that level. You’re going to have challenges later in life if that’s a problem you’re facing.
7. I LOST SO MUCH STOMACH WEIGHT. Almost a big enough reason to continue not drinking on it’s own. But I gotta add wine back into the mix.

Biggest lesson learned is that I increased my happiness tenfold. I can wake up early, eat well, treat my body well. I get the lure but I had too much trouble resisting it, so the step back helped. Thirty days might not be a lot in the big picture, but man did it change my perspective on a lot of things.

So with that done, I’m moving on to my next challenge. Thirty days eating paleo. It can’t be too hard if I’m allowed to eat bacon.

xx

KG

Has Drunk Snapchatting Become The New Drunk Texting?

I woke up this morning after a wine/champagne/vodka-filled Tuesday evening, scanned my phone and found to my relief no remnants of misspelled text messages or undesired conversations with undesired people. Phew! Right? Wrong.

It took a little while longer but I opened my Snapchat – for those of you who use this, my name is ‘kristengray’, send me pictures of things – and found out that I had indeed sent some messages last night. Photo messages. Now if that doesn’t sound unfortunate enough, I can’t view them today due to the nature of Snapchat. Ummm…

Did Snapchat just become the new drunk texting?

This is problematic. It’s easy enough to pass off drunk texting as a mistake. “It seriously was not me that texted you last night saying you had more perfecter boobies than Kate Upton. That was my friend playing around on my phone.” Ha ha, say goodbye to that excuse.

People already have this idea in their head that Snapchat was designed to be used to send dirty pictures (from what I hear, 90% of the time it’s not). Now what happens when we combine that with liquid courage? Some nasty ass drunk sexting, that’s what. This is definitely a worst case scenario of this app but I’m looking toward the future and seeing what may just be inevitable. Drunk usage must come to an end I tell you!

We should establish some guidelines, from me to you. I don’t want to receive 10 second long nudes. I don’t even want to receive 1 second long nudes. I dont want to see your face in a mirror because chances are, you have an iPhone 4 or 5 and you can use the selfie option like the rest of us. I don’t want to see a picture of you in bed, clothed or unclothed, unless it’s funny. I especially do not want to see a picture of you in bed with someone else, clothed or unclothed, unless they are a sewer monster and I get a chuckle out of it.

That being said, feel free to draw dicks all over your Snapchats. Get creative with it, maybe even draw a dick where the Canadian Parliament clocktower is (I’m totally going to do that)! I love creativity, I even reward creativity because I have a strong urge that makes me want to one-up your hilariousness.

Let the Snapchat competitions begin…

Side note: I have a lot of people giving me positive feedback about my sarcastic single girl blogs, but I don’t want to overdo it. If you have anything that you’d like to hear me blog about feel free to throw some ideas my way. I write them for me, but also for you. I want to make your every day better because I LOVE YOU. Yeah, you.

Enjoy the rest of your Wednesday!

KG

Why Are You Single? How To Answer This Question and More

You might not have guessed this (ha) but I get asked this question all of the time. By my British Grandma. Sometimes by my parents, but I think they’ve perceived how uncomfortable the question makes me.

But seriously, if you’re a loveable human being you probably get asked this question quite often. Some endearing person of the opposite sex will ask you, “why are you still single?”

Excuse my French but what the fuck are you supposed to say in response to that? Why am I still single? Maybe because I don’t give a hoot about societal norms and how I’m supposed to behave. Does age twenty require me to be in a relationship without exception? Maybe I’m single because I get too intoxicated to behave like a good girl. Maybe I meet too many good guys. The question doesn’t have a proper answer.

But this question has lead me to peruse all of the obstacles to dating in your twenties. What makes it so difficult? How can we overcome this? I have some answers for you. And for you, sad and lonely nerd-man. And also you, girl with very little hope. Have faith.

My very first and probably most important piece of advice for you:

Know what you’re looking for.

• If you’re looking for a one-night stand, then that’s just grand. You might be young, you might be old, it really doesn’t matter. Just know what you’re seeking and that’s what you’ll find. If you pretend to want something more from a girl you meet at the bar, you’ll wind up with her in your bed the next morning french-braiding your cats hair and knitting her name into a blanket for your bed. Not cool.
• If you’re looking for a relationship – do me a favour. Don’t seek it at the bar. You’re going to end up sitting at home alone on a Friday night expecting a visit from ton amour and what do you know? Something came up. You look on Facebook the next morning like a total stalker and they’re tagged in 57 pictures from the bar. Doing shots off of a girls fake tits. Don’t get mad, because I warned you.
• If you’re looking for something casual don’t get involved with someone you know is clingy. That shit gets messy. They start planning your wedding on Pinterest before you’ve even gone on an official date together. You need to end it pronto or prepare for a bombardment of love and affection your emotionally unstable self is probably not prepared for.

My next piece of advice:

Know how to make yourself social medially attractive:

• No, I don’t know if that’s an actual term but I have just coined it.
• Don’t be desperate. I’m going to make a rule for you that’s easy to follow: no more than 2 selfies in a row, posted on your wall or posted in your profile pictures.
• Don’t, for the life of you, tweet incessantly about going to the gym. It’s okay if you do it here or there but if it looks like you’ve planned it, time after time, it gets a bit monotonous and almost like you’re trying to shove it in our faces (you are, right?).
• Be light-hearted. No one wants to see your sappy tweets, country song lyrics, or #ThingsGirlsSay hashtags. We know what girls say. 50% of us are of the same species so cool your jets. Hashtag single girls are the ones I referenced above who knit their name into a blanket for you for Canada Day. I know, right? No one gives presents on Canada Day. SHE DOES.

Next in line:

How to Answer The “Uncomfortable Question”:

• Tell your friends, family and members of the opposite sex that you’re tired of stooping for someone below your level and you’re waiting for Mr. Right, who just so happens to make over 500 K per year. 
• If you have some obsolete ethnic combination, tell people you’re searching for someone who matches said combination. That wonderful 1/2 Jewish, 1/4 Indian, 1/4 Taiwanese, with Republican heritage but changed his/her views to Democratic after witnessing a shark attack along Venice Beach. They’re out there somewhere, and your heart belongs to them.
• Tell this to your family especially – you’ve dated too many drug dealers to know that the type you once had has put you in way too many life threatening situations, so you’re searching for a new type… one that preferably doesn’t spend all of his time trying to barter you off in compensation for an unpaid debt.
• OR, you could just use my go-to. You’re waiting to become famous so that you can marry Miguel.

People in today’s society make ‘being single’ out as if it’s a bad thing. You’re in your twenties, not a spinster. Being single precedes the avoidance of awkward family interviews, returning gifts that were heartfelt but unattractive, and the revealing of qualities that are unpleasant but bound to make their way to the surface. Like your obsession with hand sanitizer, or cleaning the toilet bowl after every use. You people know how fucked up you are.

That being said, I love each and every one of you for your own individual qualities. Don’t give that shit up for the chance to be with someone who isn’t just what you need.

Love from,

A wine drunk KG

xx

I’m Having a Cheese Party, And You’re Invited.

I was sitting here just trying to think about something to write about, since I haven’t posted in a little while. What’s on my mind? What’s new and exciting? Not too much, my friends. So I dug deeper. What are my passions? What excites me?

That’s when it came to me. It was almost like magic. I should blog about cheese.

Why not, right? Realistically, cheese is probably my biggest passion in life. If I could be anything when I grow up I’d be a professional cheese taster. But I heard that field is really competitive and usually you have to study in France so I decided to stick with my current path.

But what a life that would be. Mmmm…

Just got drool on my keyboard. Moving on.

You cheese rookies might be thinking, ‘how is she going to write a whole blog about cheese? Is food not an inanimate object, with very few properties aside from taste?’

FALSE.

Looked at through professional and loving eyes, cheese can be seen as a friend to some. Even a lover. Cheese will be there for you in the middle of the night when you’re all alone, scared and hungry. Its package will be wide open (because you probably got into it earlier in the day, too) waiting for you to come open the fridge and dip your hand into the cheese drawer.

Let’s look at our friend Havarti, my personal favourite of all the cheeses. It’s such a talented cheese, being tasty when cold, grilled, melted… I could go on for days. This particular cheese reps several flavours that will show your tastebuds a good time. I’ve even heard through a reliable source that they make coconut-flavoured Havarti cheese. It’s almost as if other foods want to be Havarti so bad that they just throw their flavour at it to try and confuse you. Don’t be confused. It’s still cheese.

Not to be forgotten, though, are cheeses such as ‘cream’, ‘cheddar’ and ‘curds’. These are all types of cheeses but they’re totally different. What? Yes! I don’t know about you but I like variety in my life and cheese is one of the most varied foods out there. The possibilities are endless.

You can quite literally put cheese on anything and it wouldn’t be weird. You just have to say, “what? I like cheese” and most people are like, “wow you’re right so do I! Put some feta on my cereal too.”

To summarize, if you’re not a friend of cheese, you’re not a friend of mine. And you’re definitely not a real person. You shouldn’t be allowed to vote.

CHEESE PARTY TIME.

If you’d like to join me in consuming mass quantities of cheese while simultaneously throwing away all of the scales and mirrors in my house, send me a message. I’d love company!

I’m so so serious right now.

KG

How To Deal With *Emotional* Females

You can substitute emotional for hormonal, or chocolate craving demon soul-suckers. Whatever pleases you.

Since I’m writing this blog I’ll be honest with you – I currently fall into this category. I know, I know. Fuck women tears, I’m hard as nails and all of that nonsense. But when push comes to shove, I still have the same damn babymaking organs inside of me and they still cause me to get. a little. emotional.

Or a lot.

These past few days in particular I’ve been all up in people’s business like Oprah Winfrey and I can’t catch a break. I had so much aggression inside of me this morning I went to the gym and worked harder than the dude training to be a bodybuilder (confession: that’s a full out lie but it felt like it).

So you want to know how to deal with us? I think that’s a fair enough request. We get to have our way with an excuse that generally flies, unless you want metaphorical daggers shot at you. Who knows, she might even have a real dagger. Or knowledge of kickboxing.

Here’s my advice to you, from the perspective of a hormonal devil woman:

1. Carry an unfinished chocolate bar with you. Seriously, wherever you go. You could be sitting in class or at work and have the chick next to you flip out because you don’t have an extra pen for her to borrow. But you know what you do have? Chocolate. She will be sated and you will enjoy the rest of your time beside her free from elbow jabs.
2. Don’t make unnecessary noises. It’s a proven fact that you’re going to get smacked in the groin if you walk past a hormonal woman while you’re whistling in high spirits. Do that inside your head, save yourself the pain.
3. Rehearse some scripts. You don’t have to be a Hollywood actor to please a grumpy female. Just let her chat your ear off, find some skin coloured ear plugs, nod and say, “Oh no, that does sound awful. Are you sure you’re okay? I’ll kick their ass. No way! Gosh, you’re such a strong, powerful woman.” See, not so hard to remember, is it? You can (and most likely will have to) do that in your sleep!
4. Midol. Sounds excessive, but it’s an investment that I can’t stress enough. It will pay off. Slip some Rohipnol in there to shake things up. Surprise! That one fell asleep!
5. Don’t, I repeat, don’t buy her drinks at the bar. Little bit of whiskey on the gums works for babies, but babies also have a lower alcohol tolerance and don’t know how to speak. You think her rants about her day were bad before? Wait until you buy her that shot of Jack Daniels. Her day will turn from a shitstorm into a full blown hurricane. Don’t stay in her path.

These basic guidelines should leave you headache-free and could potentially prevent a groin injury! Don’t take them lightly. I know, I come from the gender of ovaries. We try to come in peace but sometimes it doesn’t work out that way. Prevention is key!

I’m heading to a comedy show tonight to cure my woes. Prepare the flood safety kit, Hurricane KG is gonna hit Ottawa tonight.

Growing Up: How To Make It Not Suck

I can’t stop eating Timbits.

But I mean, I might as well get it out of my system while I still have the metabolism of a twenty-year old, right?

Wrong.

My metabolism is already going down the drain. Along with a lot of other things I took pride in as a teenager, such as my tolerance for alcohol. Maybe I’m drinking more because I’m legally able to, but seriously? I cannot stress how embarrassing it is that I can’t hold my liquor as much now as I could when I was house-partying at the age of 16.

I’m gonna have to make the adult switch to green soon enough.

It’s crazy watching oneself age. I know I’m not old by any means, and don’t get me wrong. I am fully going to take advantage of the excuse being a twenty something provides for “acting a fool” and “getting my freak on” and “twerking” because I probably won’t be able to do any of those things in five years. Unless I get a job that pays me to party. Isn’t that everyone’s dream though?

Another Timbit down the hatch. Tuesday’s don’t do it for me.

Thinking about getting older freaks me out, a little bit too much. I start thinking about all the tough decisions I’m going to have to make, and new skills I’ll have to learn.

• Am I going to have to learn how to cook and clean? Or will I make enough money to hire someone to do that for me?
• I don’t look good in knee length skirts. Does that skill come with age, or will I have to wear pantsuits? Will I be wearing suits at all? What if the laws change and people don’t wear clothes?
• At age 40-50 I’m going to have to make a very tough decision. Live with my wrinkles or get Botox injections?
• Old lady boobs scare me. But I also don’t want to have rocks for tits like Regina’s mom on Mean Girls. What will I do?
• Everything gives you cancer now-a-days. Should I just become a hermit now while I’m still healthy? Wait, bad idea. That would probably give me cancer too.

See? It’s scary shit, growing up.

There are some perks though. Namely raising children to be little mini versions of yourself. If my kid is anything like me, they’re going to be the biggest little shit ever. I can’t wait to pick him up from school after he gets detention for calling a four-eyed ginger over in Red Rover. Or maybe my little girl will call the pretentious popular girl a twat. I’d pretend to be pissed until we were on our way home and then we’d high-five and go get ice cream.

Another perk? Intimidating people who are younger. You can literally scare the shit out of a group of teenagers because they think you have authority. Now combine the two perks – scaring the shit out of your kids’ friends. I can do that effortlessly. I can’t wait to catch them smoking pot together so I can scold them and take it away from them, and then go get baked in my room and watch TV.

Maybe getting older isn’t so bad after all. Futuristic KG is still gonna be fly…

Blog ya on the flip side,

KG

Why My University Degree Doesn’t Define Me

I don’t know when exactly it happened, but I figured it out.

I figured out what I want to do for the rest of my life.

Not in the exact sense in which I have a direct path to a direct goal, but in a looser sense where I simply want it to guide me. I want to do what I enjoy and the rest of the pieces, I believe, will just fall into place.

I want to write.

I don’t know what, or how, or where. I don’t really even know why. I just know that I enjoy it and I’ve always been taught to do what I enjoy. These past two or three months have been immensely helpful in guiding the direction that my life narrative is going to take. Firstly, the creation of this little blog has helped me express some personal opinions and crack some jokes here and there. Secondly, my university education has come to mean something to me. Not that I looked at it as useless before, but now I see how it’s going to help me.

University degrees are pointless in the regard of “forming a career”. Okay, maybe if you’re getting your undergrad finished, heading to medical school or law school afterwards, and becoming a professional they aren’t. But graduating from some arts program isn’t going to thrust you into a career path. Far from it. You need to do that for yourself. So what is the point of digging this debt hole and burying ourselves in it? Opening up our minds. Hearing different opinions of our peers and of our professors before we’re old, closed-minded individuals, grumpily dismissing any views that aren’t lined up with our own.

One of my professors said just last week, “Your degree doesn’t define what you will become. It’s a starting point, but you have no idea where you’ll be in ten, twenty or thirty years. And that’s okay.”

God – I love that professor. Honestly, he made me feel so relieved. I’ve been cramming my brain with ideas about my future and how I’m going to get where I want to be when I realized, I really don’t know where I want to be. But I know what I want to be doing – writing. I want to have the freedom to travel and see and do the things I enjoy while getting paid to do so. If that isn’t the life, I don’t know what is.

If you know me, you’d know I change my mind frequently regarding my future career path. I changed from Nursing to PR, then briefly considered Law School (fuck that). Then I mulled over the thought of International Affairs and Foreign Policy (I still don’t really even know what it is, to be honest).

From here on out, I’m not wasting any more energy planning a straight and narrow path. That works for some people, but it’s simply not me. I believe that we are who we are, and we all have a purpose and a passion. We need to find that passion and expand on it; twist and stretch and shape it until it becomes a masterpiece of our own design. I don’t think you can live happily without doing the things you love, and avoiding the things you despise. Some people can follow a direct path from Day One and some people need time to experiment with their lives. Make changes and see what happens. You’re never too old to explore your options.

And with that, the corniest of lines I’ve ever written, I will bring this blog to an end. I sound like I just tried opium for the first time and I’m really stoked on life. Seriously, Mom, I didn’t!

Just in a better mood than I have been for a long while.

Peace out, it’s been a slice,

KG