Hey Mr. Tally Man, Tally Me Banana (or the post where I talk about why Banana's are the devil's fruit)

I don't like me no bananas. Or carrots. (And before you go thinking that I have some Freudian fear of all Phallic-shaped foods, I don't okay. In fact, I adore cucumbers or zucchini).

But I don't like bananas. I detest them. I don't like the smell. I can't even say that I don't like the taste, because I haven't eaten a banana since I was a small child. I can't even remember when I stopped eating them. I once made a roommate remove bananas from the kitchen cause I could smell them. I don't like banana-flavoured things either. And other than a most traumatizing incident, I shall call it The Curse of the DAMN Tasty Dreamy Cream Soda, not so much as banana-flavoured lip gloss has come close to my mouth.

The Curse of the DAMN Tasty Dreamy Cream Soda
Here's the lowdown. It was my friends Joanne and Rob's wedding reception. The reception was held at a bar (as was the wedding for that matter), and so there was a magnificently stocked bar. More importantly, there was a wonderfully accommodating bartender, who, when I stumbled up to the bar and asked for something "pretty and yummy" to drink, he obliged with his speciality. I can honestly say it was one of the best drinks I have ever tasted. So needless to say, I got ridiculously drunk. In fact, to draw attention to my inebriation for years to come, I proceeded to sign the bride and groom's guestbook SEVERAL times throughout the evening. While, I'm sure the first entry of " Congratulations, I am so happy for you. Best wishes for a wonderful life together" was much appreciated, the latter entries, of "Rockin party guys, holy fuck that guy in the blue shirt is hot, who is he?" were less so. Yes IN their guestbook. I am not proud.

Anyway, after my 10th Dreamy Cream Soda, I slink up to the bar (yes SLINK - After 10 of those, I'm feeling pretty sexy). I wanted to know what was in the drink, you know, so I could make them at home. Wonderfully accommodating bartender is happy to tell me " something, something, something, banana liquor, something, something" BANANA? I do not remember the other ingredients, so don't ask. Everything he said pretty much went out of my head after my fragile world crumbled. I think I may have cried. I couldn't even taste it, and it scared me.

I have never had another. Partly because I have no idea how its made, and partly because I had a terrifc hangover. I was sick. It was the banana liquor see? Its EVIL. Obviously it was the banana that made me sign the guestbook nine times. And well, I do have some principles.


Now, the reason I brought up my loathing for the Yellow phallic fruit, is that I have noticed the following:
When you tell someone you don't like a particular food (and they do like it), they get offended. As if you were attacking their character.

I myself, am so guilty of this. When someone tells me they don't like red peppers, I'm all up in their grill about it. "What? Why? How?" My sister detests seafood. And hell ya, I'm offended. But I think that its warranted. I mean we grew up on the east coast! Shrimp, Lobster, Mussels! What kind of freak doesn't like seafood? (sorry sis - you know I still love ya!) The other day, I asked my co-worker why she didn't like Oranges or something (Because well, I like oranges, and if you don't well then you got problems), and she says to me all dead-pan "Um, the taste". And I guess that pretty much sums it all up doesn't it? We have different taste.

And even though sometimes we get tricked into consuming something we hate because its disguised in a sugary, boozy package, it all comes down to taste. And I don't like bananas. So there.

T-slo out.

And in Other News....

Well haven't I been terrible bad and not posted in AGES. Not much has been going on, so here were the highlights of my week:

1. Got a Pedicure. My toes are delicious hot pink color and my feet were crazy soft, well at least for the first few days. I want another one already because I so loved having someone massage my feet. Though, having some tiny Chinese lady rub my feet while I sat high on a chair made me feel just a teensy bit bad. I'm hoping she enjoys her job and wasn't forced into rubbing feet for a living. I can't say its something I'd be too into.

2. I went to a work meeting in London (not the cool one in England, but the lame-ass one in Ontario). The meeting was boring, but they had yummy food afterward. There were jumbo shrimps and mini quiches, and meats and cheeses and prosciutto wrapped melon, and kebob things and meatballs. Quite a spread. Obviously their company has oodles of money. Maybe I should go work there....

3. I awoke Wednesday morning to the sound of a car crash outside my apartment - looked pretty nasty. The cops and Ambulances (thats "Am-Bu-Lance", not "Am-Blee-Ance" - hee hee wink wink -love you!) were still there when I left for work and I had to take a detour.

4. I bought 2 black skirts for that wedding I'm going to, now all I have to do is decide which one I like. I know I know, they are black skirts, what could possibly be THAT different, but I like to turn small insignificant decisions into GIANT life changing ones, so sue me.

5. My co-worker and I had a big chuckle over getting work uniforms made for our department, that were velour leisure suits that had things like "I've got GAS" and "I'm Flaming" on the back. Did I mention my co-worker is a guy? (Oh and I work in the Gas industry - NO, Not THAT kind! ) Anyway, maybe it was a had to be there thing, but shit did we ever laugh. Good times. I like to drag my co-workers into my zanny world. Its pretty easy, I am Very persuasive. Honestly, though, wouldn't you think that's cool? And so comfortable.

6. Tomorrow is Friday. nuf said.

Anyway, I'm off to eat my Pizza.
T.

So I just Knocked Off Data Entry. Who could Blame me? The AC Ain't Working.

You know its hot when you just spent the last 2 hours sketching designs that somehow affix a personal fan into your underpants.

So yeah its hot. And I'm a complainer. Perfect Combo! Now if only my welfare office would get the fucking air conditioning fixed, I wouldn't spend the entire day plotting the deaths of all my co-workers who are stealing what little stale air I have left to breathe.

Seriously, if it isn't cool when I go in tomorrow morning, I may just kill someone.

T-out.

Sometimes I just want to kick it old school, Yo

I'm serious as Cancer when I say Rhythm is a Dancer.

Setting: May 1992, Nova Scotia High School Drama Festival.
Mood: Awkward

Background: I fancied myself a thespian in high school, and every year there was a Drama festival held at Dalhousie University for all the high schools. That was really the best part. It was 3 days at University, walking about feeling all snooty & mature. That year our play was The Quiet Room, or something like that. We wrote it ourselves. Our play was full of all the cliche-ridden angst you can imagine. Essentially, the play was set in an asylum and the characters were a diverse group of psychologically damaged gals. I'm not quite sure of the message of the play, it was more about having fun playing crazy people. My character was a teenage girl who talked to her dead brother Tommy. She had been babysitting him when he was killed and she felt so guilty that she went the way of the nutter and continued to chat to him. I'm sure our play sucked, but we thought it was brilliant.

The plays were shown at night, during the day we had different workshops. Improv for Dummies, Playing Dead; The Art of Soap Acting those sorts of things. In one of my workshops I met Scooby. I don't remember his real name, only that he wore a hat with Scooby Doo on it. He was a dreamy. It was 1992 folks, he was GRUNGY, and I thought he kicked it with a capital K! He was a small guy, had that I'm the shit attitude, wore a vintage T under a plaid shirt with baggy ass jeans and BIG BLACK DOCS, and that HAT! I was smitten.

Oh oh its a passion, Oh Oh You can feel it Yah

At the end of the festival, there was a dance. I was drunk. (Another perk about it being at a University) and I made my move when Snap hit the Much Video Dance screen. I slither over to Scooby, and using my VERY limited pick-up skills I asked him to dance. And I was SHOT DOWN. Jerk. But really, Rhythm is a Dancer, Tracy? Could you not have waited until some slow U2 song came on? Whatever, I went back to drinking my vodka in the 7-Up can and proceeded to get over him, which I did. Very Quickly (afterall the festival was over that night). Besides he went to school in Dartmouth, and no self-respecting Bagtown gal would date a boy from Dartmouth!

So ya, when I hear that song, it just takes me back.

T-Slo out.

Etiquette 101

How to make an Impression at a backyard bbq with 20 people you don't know:

Take a big gulp of frothy blender drink and PROMPTLY shoot said frothy beverage out of your NOSE!

Hey I never said it was a good impression.

To Dress Or not to Dress?

I have been spending far too much time in the malls lately. And why you might ask? Because I am looking for an outfit for a wedding I'm going to. And its for purely selfish reasons that I want to look good. Its because I'm going to be there ALONE. And I was thinking that if I looked good, I wouldn't look like I had to be there alone, but rather that it was by choice.Which it is, well that and the fact that its in Nova Scotia and I will be flying solo (other than little sis, who's in the wedding). Anyway, I somehow got it into my THICK THICK head that my outfit should be a dress. Not a skirt and top, but a dress. A pretty, flirty summery dress. But here's the problem, and the cause of my mall madness:

I am (dare I say) ahem... a little top heavy. I gots me some big melons okay. And so dresses that fit everywhere else, only zip up halfway up my back. And yet I keep trying them on, and they keep getting stuck somewhere around my ribcage. And as I cart armload after armload of dresses into the teeny change rooms, I get more and more exasperated!

I have just come to the realization that perhaps a skirt& shirt is the order of the day. "What took you so long dumbass? Have you not had the same body forever? Have you not always struggled with this issue? Does the fact you own but one dress, not any indication? Don't you remember that the evil clothes-making people have it out for you?" DUH!!!!

How soon one forgets when I get these visions of me floating into the wedding reception in my gorgeous flouncy dress, looking all that, flipping my hair over my shoulder and winking at that handsome single cousin-of-the-groom who is also there from Ontario, and is a doctor and is seated right next to me and who wants nothing more than to spend the evening telling me how wonderful I am and.....and....whew.. Wake up TRACY! Sorry bout that folks.

So back to the mall I will head this weekend, with the aim of finding the perfect summer SKIRT and TOP, and stop being such an idiot.

T-OUT