Flents

This is a Meta-Sad-Sigh.

As I was looking around my room for things for me to Sad Sigh about, I happened to see the eye patch sitting on my desk that I bought because I thought the guy on the box was kinda hot.

You can see a picture of it right here:

See?  He\'s hot!  I\'m going to call him \'Flenty\'.

As you can see, he’s mightily attractive, but I couldn’t find a good picture of him when I did a standard google search.

So…….

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Degrassi Downfall

It’s Friday night and I’m at home alone watching a marathon of Degrassi: The Next Generation. For the past month I’ve missed it, and here it is in full force, and I feel like I can’t walk away. I could be out (if I had friends) doing something productive (drinking) but no, I’m perfectly content sitting on my lazyboy, melting in the heat wave, watching my beloved Canadian dorks get their drama on. I blame Daniel for his Degrassi obsession and generally introducing me to bad TV, Kristin for forcing me to continue watching “two more episodes” to watch JT get shanked (which is probably when I was officially hooked), and The N for playing it non-stop.

Hollaback Girl ain’t so Bootylicious

After years of separation from my one true gay love, Mike, I found myself back in his arms and heart at Miyabe on Castro along with Daniel and Seaslut. A few large Sapporo beers later we were at The Mint for some cheesy karaoke – or so we thought. Turns out they’re very serious about their Karaoke at The Mint although the first act, a lesbian singing “Stronger” (Kanye, not Britney) as Julie Andrews, was not a true indication of acceptable karaoke practices. When Daniel finally succumbed to peer pressure and started drinking he used his buzz for evil and signed me up for my favorite atrocious song, Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl.” Refusing to go on stage without their presence we stumbled to the front of the bar and were quickly admonished by the “KJ” for not letting him know we were going to share the stage. I poured my soul into the song, belting out the lines “Uh huh this my shit” and “This shit is bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s” like there was no tomorrow.

Let’s just say, The Mint gays that night were a tough crowd. Bar patrons ignored us and the front row looked at us with annoyance throughout the entire performance. When we finished screaming into our mics not a single pair of hands clapped for us, leaving us to depart the stage in shame, my Harajuku girl dreams dissipating with each step. We sat in the back, embarrassed, as old gays won the crowd back with show tunes and other ballads, all the while flipping through the catalogue for our redemption song which was of course “Bootylicious.” In true Destiny’s Child fashion we argued over who got to be Beyonce but got over our differences long enough to go on and rock the song. We were thrilled with our performance and convinced that the crowd loved us this time around. Something tells me we were just drunk.

No worries. It’s just my {hockey} pride.

See, this is the reason I don’t like to admit that I’m a hockey fan.

This past week, as the Stanley Cup Playoffs have begun, and Sharks gave a very generous freebie to the Flames, (them Flames is gonna be CHOMPED tonite, them is), I seem to have caught a significant amount of flak from my colleagues. Not flak in the professional, ‘Oh, you shouldn’t be talking about Black People/Gay People/Hindu People/Arctic-Americans like that’, kind of way, but more in the ‘let-me-make-fun-of-you-until-all-you-can-think-of-is-regressing-to-infancy
-so-you-can-suck-on-your-momma’s-teat’ kind of way.

Por ejemplo:

Dennis: {Blah blah blah, something super-endearingly nerdy about Jonathan Cheechoo.}
Unnamed, VERY MEAN Co-worker: You know… when you talk about hockey, it doesn’t make you sound butch. It makes you sound desperate.
Dennis: Gasp! (I actually say ‘Gasp!’ here.) Well I never.
UVMC: No, but serious, what’s a gaywad like you talking about hockey? Can you even spell ‘hockey’??
Dennis: That is so totally unfair. I come from a hockey town! Besides, I have every right to talk about hockey. You’ve all been talking that motherfucking Bracket Tournament for, like, the whole month of March.
UVMC:
You know it’s not called that, right?
Dennis: What’s called what?
UVMC: The Bracket Tournament. It’s March Madness. The NCAA Basketball Tournament. It’s a big deal. The brackets just refer to the betting that goes on. You filled one out. You guessed that Oral Roberts was going to take the title.
Dennis: Shut UP! I did?? Are there any hockey brackets in the office that I can get in on? I know I’d win that one.
UVMC: No. Nobody likes hockey, except you, you idiot. Continue reading