Attention Facebookers: Your status is gay and no one gives a shit.

Alright, so first and foremost, I would like to sincerely apologize for my recent disappearance from Jamal's Corner. I had a rather intense schedule of eating, watching endless hours of "Say Yes to the Dress" and other intellectual television programs on Slice (such as "Wedding SOS" and "The Last Ten Pounds") or spending time with my cat this summer, and found it very challenging to pay the corner a visit. However, now that I have hundreds and hundreds of pages to read on politically and economically underdeveloped nations and the film and television industry in Canada (yes, they do in fact exist) I have no problem returning to Jamal's corner for some casual offensive and highly warranted bitching. Today's topic: people who change their facebook status to the most gayest, lamest, pathetic, irrelevant and uninspiring things. It's going to take me some time to fully break down and explore the plethora of categories to which I am so politely (not) referring. Let's start with the very personal things, including emotions, experiences and everyday happenings of life of which people feel the need, for whatever reason, to share with the rest of their facebook friends. Example 1: the activities in which you are participating that day, or activities in which you already participated that day, such as, "Just had a delicious breakfast now off to work 3-11, then movies to see Inception, bbm me!" Jesus Christ, no one gives a shit, like REALLY. AT ALL. The only information even possibly relevant or useful to me in that status would be pertaining to the fact that that person will be at the movies that night some time after 11:00 pm, and I should hence avoid going so as to prevent an encounter with such a loser. That may sound alarmingly harsh, but seriously, no one cares. And if someone does actually care, and is compelled to either "like" or comment on such a ghastly facebook status, then that person is now equally, and quite possibly more lame. The only acceptable things to put in one's status relating to the events occurring during one's day, include if you're leaving for an interesting or exciting trip such as a shopping excursion to Buffalo, New York or Canada's Wonderland (totally kidding). I'm referring to exotic and actually exciting destinations such as Italy or Brazil or the Antarctic; that is something I would like to hear about- not the new high score you achieved playing Guitar Hero that day or that you went to Cora's for a yummy brunch with the girls! lolz! Other acceptable statuses: if you won the lottery, if you got a new pet (cute!), new cell phone number (people need to know that), if you got a blackberry and now have a *pin*, if your sister, brother, or any other close relative recently gave birth to a new human, if you're hosting a pool party that evening or if you graduated university- those things are fine to include in your facebook status. Now onto other things that are NOT okay to include in your facebook status: things relating to a relationship with your girlfriend/boyfriend/significant other/boo/hubby/sugar momma/sugar daddy/fuck buddy/best friend. No one gives a shit if you got dumped, and if you make your facebook status "So heartbroken, don't know how I'll ever recover from this" you are so gay and probably deserved to have been kicked to the curb. What does one expect to happen when he or she changes their facebook status to something like that? No one is going to "like" a status that reads, "So lonely, just lost the love of my life" or "Oh my god I hate you, you will regret losing me, I am so over you, asshole." Wow. Wow. WOW. First of all, a facebook status similar to the ones above are just so awkward, because people probably know the person to which such a status is addressed due to the fact that that person's facebook profile also states who he or she is in a relationship with, so it is VERY clear to whom they are referring. Furthermore, why would you want to promote the fact that your boyfriend or girlfriend cheated on you and that you hate them? Are you expecting someone to "like" that? It is simply awkward, seriously TMI and so uncomfortable for people to read. I understand that you may be upset, furious and want to let that person who broke your heart know how you feel, but let's remember that irrational actions have consequences, so, unless you wish to look like a retard or you want to make others uncomfortable, then please, refrain from changing your facebook status to something relating to your pathetic break-up- we're already going to be reading on our homepage that so and so ended their relationship and that so is now "single." Also, for all you catty bff'l's out there, if you get into a big fight with your best friend PLEASE refrain from changing your facebook status to something along the lines of, "Bitch, I fucking hate you, we are so done," or "Just when you thought you knew someone, all trust is now lost." Once again, nobody cares. These are all personal things that when broadcasted publicly on something such as facebook, will cause unnecessary drama and conflict and will also cause people to raise their eyebrows at such petty and lame behavior. The next thing I would like to harshly criticize in relation to people's statuses on facebook is when people feel compelled to insert the lyrics from Top 40 songs directly in their status. The one that comes to mind the most is this summer's hit song "Airplanes." Soon after this song came out "I could really use a wish right now..." was blowing up my facebook homepage as the status of so many people. Like, why? Just, why? What are you trying to express? That you like the song and it's stuck in your head? Newsflash: that's happening to 500 million other people who aren't deaf. Another popular song that made it into statuses of so many lost souls was Jay-Z's and Alicia Keys' number one hit "Empire State of Mind." The fact that people changed their facebook statuses AND the title of facebook albums to lyrics from this song is terribly troubling. I mean, why? What is the fucking point? So foolish. You may be reading this while simultaneously thinking to yourself that I have no right to attack innocent and most likely very kind people and the history of their facebook statuses, when I, myself, have had recent facebook statuses such as "I finally have a pencil case" or "Super pumped about the homeless man's blood I had on my upper thight today." These are entirely pointless and irrelevant to anything whatsoever and that is what makes it acceptable for me to change my facebook status to such seemingly retarded things. The problem with other facebook users is that when they change their facebook status to something such as "TiK ToK" or "Just gonna stand there and watch me burn" or even worse, "too many times I have been fooled by you but no more," these people are one hundred percent serious and that makes them one hundred percent lame and in no way, should their facbook statuses be acceptable as publicly accessible information.

Exceprts from my 2005 Diary: PART 1

Alright, so I've decided to shake things up a bit and share with all of you some more excerpts from my alarmingly embarrassing journals from my tweenhood, however, this particular excerpt is from my 2005 journal. I have no idea how, but the excerpts from this journal, in which I am writing as a grade 10 high school student, are even more embarrassing and cringe-worthy than the excerpts from my journal two years prior. I am distressed to admit that I was living a sad life that consisted of an odd vocabulary, troubling priorities and a rather skewed perception of what was socially acceptable or "cool," possibly even normal, as a teenager. This particular excerpt, as mentioned above, is taken from my grade ten journal, and is the first entry, recorded on Monday, June 27, 2005. It appears that I have taken a break from packing for a trip to jot down some of my most insightful and pressing thoughts. Later in the entry, I confess something of which even I found shocking. I would like to point out that nothing has been modified, and this excerpt is unfortunately presented in an identical fashion to that of the original copy in my pink journal, apart from the alteration of certain people's names .

"Ahh, a new journal, how lovely is this! And Kacey's gone to camp so I won't have to hide you 24/7. I must admit this journal is quite snazzy. So, I am in the midst of packing for the best trip of my life: SAN DIEGO!! I'm going with my soccer team, I can't wait. We fly out this Wednesday @ 9:00 am and we're going to Los Angeles and from there we're driving to San Diego. And tonight is the biggest game of our lives! At 8:30 we're playing St. Catherines. Oh man I'm nervous, but pumped. Except, I won't have my contacts , which sucks, but I'm getting them tomorrow for San Diego, so it's alright. Anyway, school's out for the summer, as of last Friday! WOOT! It felt so good to be done my exams...yah, I had three of them, poooo! But this summer is going to be amazing. But back to the trip, I am so bad at packing. I can't put any outfits together until the last minute, let alone a week before. I'm just packing a variety of my nicest clothes and keeping my fingers crossed! Me, Kelly (1 of 3 best friends), Emily and Katie are all sharing a room at the hotel for 5 nights. That's a lot when you think about it. Oh wait, it's actually 6 nights, oh man! Emily's great, but her mom is the female version of Hitler. No joke. Every ten minutes she'll be in our room checking up on us. Cool! My mom isn't coming, she's still at school. Teachers don't get out until the 29th or 30th. Anyway, I need to get away from my mom for a nice little week. Just a small break, not like she doesn't need it either. But anyway, shes going to kill me soon enough. I'm just starting the pill (no, I'm not having SEX yet) and it's only a matter of time until she finds out. I'm so sneaky though. The birth control has so many bonuses. Apart from the fact that I might gain 10 pounds (hopefully it goes right to my chest) it's going to clear up my acne and regulate my period. I do feel bad though for lying to my doctor and to my mom. Oh well, sometimes a girl just has to take matters into her own hands. Sucks though if this backfires. How? In what way? I don't know but with me something always goes wrong. But I'm trying to be positive. My god, it's hot! I'm going to collapse tonight at the game. Ohh, the game, I almost forgot! I'm going to continue packing and drink some water. Bye!"

I didn't realize how mortifying it was until I was actually typing it out. What a terribly sad life I had as a teenage/human being in general. To think that going to San Diego would be "the best trip of my life" is truly worrisome. I mean, really? And I'm really happy that having outfits picked out for "the best trip of my life" was something that actually induced stress in my life. As I recall though, soccer at this time in my life was in fact the center of my universe. My summers literally revolved around my soccer team, League Cup and life-changing trips south of the border. I was convinced I was the next Mia Hamm. Thus, my apparent intensity and passion, including sentiments of nervousness and "pumpedness," are very understandable. Although I sound somewhat like a enormous loser, I do recall how important soccer was to me and am able to accept using phrases such as "Oh, man" and "I'm pumped" when talking about soccer. However, as a twenty-one year-old looking back at other parts of this excerpt, in particular the ones addressing my new prescription to the "pill," I am beyond ashamed and will continue to cringe every time I read it. As I recall, I was convinced that the only way to banish my acne was to take "matters into my own hands" and start using the pill, something of which a friend told me would solve my skin woes. Furthermore, I'm really glad to know that gaining ten pounds and "hoping that it goes to my chest" was one of my top concerns about starting the pill, and not something along the lines of I don't know, my mother finding out and jumping to the conclusion that her baby girl is some loose promiscuous tween- which, let me tell you, I definitely was not, I mean I was too busy playing soccer, right? Upon reading this entry, it appears that I went on the pill for the joint purpose of clearing my skin and augmenting my cup size. Regardless of my senseless reasoning, this news is appalling. My poor mother. Had she found out that her soccer superstar daughter had not only gone behind her back to their family doctor, but about something as serious as starting the birth control pill, she would have had a heart attack or a stroke. Jesus Christ I had a lot of nerve. I also find it rather alarming how quick I was to switch topics, and to have used such words as "snazzy" and "pooo," along with the unnecessary addition of o's. I am curious as to whether or not my sister, despite being away at camp for the summer, ever got her paws on my journal from 2005. I can only pray that she didn't because if I read something similar to this in her journal, I probably would have gone directly to my mother to report such foolish behavior and thinking. RIP my Grade Ten soul; may no one ever share an identical frame of mind.

Excerpts from my 2003 Diary: PART 1

I didn't think it was possible for me to have been as cool as I was back in the day, but the diary from 2003 of which I recently re-located confirms my maturity, sensible reasoning and intuition as a fourteen year-old living in Burlington, Ontario. The following is from a lovely tan journal given to me by my aunt for Christmas in 2003. Nothing has been altered except for the names of most people. I would also like to point out that I am still in contact with the majority of these people. This specific entry, as you will soon find out, was written on New Year's Day. I discuss a wide variety of events and topics, including the events of the night before, my hopes and dreams to start a rock band, my New Year's resolutions and boys.

"Me and Nicole stayed up talking last night until 4:15 am! It was insane and we got up at like 12:15. Anyways, I am like suddenly obsessed with Rock music (ever since I got the DVD Freaky Friday and ever since I saw the movie School of Rock). It's so much better than that rap crap! And I'm in two rock bands now. It's great. Me, Meg and Alana just formed one called *First Class* (I obviously came up with the name). And me, Ches, Meg, Lo, Cass and John are in one too. I'm actually just pretending to be in one with them, so is Meg. I stayed on the comp for two hours after Alana left, just listening to Rock. I love Three Days Grace!! Anyways, it's a brand new year. A fresh new start. My New Year's resolutions are to lose weight, be true to friends, get a job, manage my time more wisely and to live life to the fullest. Managing my time will be the hardest on the list, especially on days that I have sports. Anyways, Kacey came home from New York today. I got a Louis purse and handbag. They're so fake and you can tell but oh well. I also got a roxy purse, FCUK sweater (soo cool) and a roxy NYC shirt. Kacey got so spoiled, I'm crazy jealous. Anyways, I am so into Dylan. But he's so shy :(. If we go out, he better not be as shy, cause we would never talk. I really want to kiss him, he's so cute! But yah, I have to go read my Anne Frank book for English. I only have three days to finish it and do a book report. Wow, it's 1:35 am! I have to get up sooo early :(. Anyways, I'll write later, might not be until Saturday, I don't know."

I'm glad to know that my priorities in life at age fourteen were to lose weight, be true to friends and live life to the fullest. And manage my time more wisely. Unfortunately, *First Class* did not record any hits or go on tour. However, my friend Carly has a collection of home video recordings of herself, myself and other friends from that era dancing to S Club 7.

Tying the knot at 21: Do or Don't?

It has recently come to my attention that more and more people these days are choosing to marry at a young age. Although getting married at the ripe age of sixteen used to be the norm in society, ever since the woman transitioned into the working, powerful and ambitious woman, society began to see a pattern in which women were getting married much later into their 20s and even 30s. In 2010, that trend, it would seem, has taken yet another turn. Married couples are becoming significantly younger once again. Celebrities especially have decided that life is simply too short, why wait? Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt are just one example of a celebrity couple that chose to tie the know at an extremely young age, and we all saw how that turned out- Spencer became extremely aggressive and exhibited puzzling and perplexing behavior, while Heidi proceeded to have part of her back removed in attempt to heighten her appeal, as well as quadruple her breast size (if we can even call those planets on her chest 'breast'). The fact that their choice to wed at an early age not only led them to an overly predictable divorce, but that it also destroyed the public's perception of them as individuals (Heidi is now commonly referred to as an alien with boobs and Spencer is now the angry midget with frosted tips) is reason enough to chill out on dishing those vows. You're probably wondering what prompted me to write about young couples getting married? It lately came to my attention that two individuals with whom I attended High School recently became engaged. For obvious reasons, such as the fact that I myself, am the same age as these individuals and have only ever had one relationship with someone of the opposite sex OR the fact that I currently live with my MOTHER, I found this information quite alarming. I mean, really? At age 21, you are totally positive that you are done scoping the scene, trying different flavors, and are ready to settle down, FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, with your current boo? I mean, this is marriage we are talking about, not some all-inclusive vacation to Mexico for a week of sex and pina coladas. I'm not sure if these couples are aware that while their friends will be out dancing and taking body shots off of the opposite sex (or same sex, you never REALLY know these days what people are feeling) you and your husband or wife will be sitting at home watching re-runs of 7th Heaven, trying to decide which episodes are appropriate for your future children to watch. Or the two of you might be at Home Depot picking out tiles for your kitchen- for which your parents are probably paying. Even worse, a few years down the road, let's say three years into your marriage, you may have popped out a baby or two. I'd like to clarify that at this point, you are 24 years old, married (and to someone who probably used be very attractive but due to the comfort level that now exists between the two of you, has probably let themselves entirely go and now pains you to look at and be reminded that they are your spouse) and now have children. So, while you are breastfeeding your child or cleaning up his or her fresh vomit, your friends are out clubbing, out for dinner, shopping or having crazy intense sex with someone they met on a beach in Bali. You probably haven't even had sex since your baby was conceived due to the fact that you've put on thirty pounds and decided that brushing your hair was no longer a priority and your husband can't even stand to look at you, let alone climb on top of your naked fat body. Apart from the fact that getting married at a very young age completely defaces your social life in every possible way (trust me, no one my age would go out for drinks with a married couple the same age- that would be as painful and as awkward and as featureless as their wedding day), your wedding would probably suck and be entirely unmemorable due to the fact that you are TWENTY-ONE and have absolutely no finances to pay for your wedding, let alone any knowledge to plan a wedding. Yes, as the young bride, you may have watched re-runs of "Say Yes to the Dress" but unfortunately Fairweathers doesn't sell wedding dresses. And your paycheck from Manchu Wok isn't quite enough to buy you a wedding dress that won't have you cringing when you look at your wedding album ten years from now- that is to say, if you and your spouse even last ten years, which is doubtful. Marriage at twenty-one is just not feasible, I simply do not see the logic anywhere. Number one: you are poor and lack the necessary knowledge to plan and host a wedding. For many individuals, their wedding day is the most important day of their lives and it should be made as special and as memorable as possible. The only memorable image of a young couple's wedding that I can conjure is the bride passing out after a few too many wine coolers. Number two reason for which you should avoid getting married at the age of twenty-one: you are so young and should be enjoying all that life as a twenty-something has to offer. I am not suggesting that one should break up with a serious boyfriend or girlfriend who may in fact be possible spouse potential, I am simply arguing that one should not be substituting body shots, foreign flings or alcohol-induced bad decisions for diapers, daycare or movie nights. If you're madly in love with someone then just wait it out, there is no harm whatsoever in doing that. Trust me, no matter how cool or "fun" you and your spouse may in fact be, once you're married at age twenty-one, none of that will matter. You are now old and weird and no one will want to hang out with you. And if your wedding doesn't have an open bar, I wouldn't expect myself or anyone else under 30 to show up. Tying the knot at 21 is a definite and very pronounced "Don't."

The ups and downs of temporary unemployment.

Before I begin, I would like it to be known that I am not forever unemployed and that this fantasy world in which I am currently residing is just temporary- I officially get off my idle ass as of June 20th. For now, however, and since my return to the suburbs of the GTA, I have been, for lack of a better term, a bum. I have been on a thirteen-day vacation. I wake up every morning around 9:30 am by choice (after an untroubled sleep averaging ten to eleven hours- the result of going to bed at the elderly hour of 11:00 pm), make myself a very flavorful and nourishing smoothie (courtesy of a wide selection of fresh fruit, yogurts and juices- all of which I did not pay for), relax either on the couch while channel surfing some of the most wretched morning television to exist or curl up on my porch with my latest novel. After I've digested my wonderful smoothie it's time for my daily exercise: a run along the gloriously polluted Lake Ontario. Seeing as everyone else in society is at work during this time, my runs are peaceful, uninterrupted and judge-free (thanks to a deviated septum and the fact that air enters and exits only one of my nostrils- sexy, right?- I often fall short of oxygen and emit sounds and noises similar to that of a dying bird). I return from my runs feeling both tired and alive, yes, all at the same time. I then spend some time on my living room floor with Jane Fonda from the early 1980s, toning my inner and outer thighs, buttocks, and abdominal muscles. When I turn Jane off, it's time for a nice shower and then a well-deserved lunch. By the time I've eaten my lunch, cleaned up and downloaded the latest episode of Vampire Diaries (Season 1), I'm usually quite exhausted and before I can do anything else, I need a good nap to recharge my batteries. Upon waking up from the most serene one to two hours of my day, it is time to spend some quality time with Ninja Video, my cat and the undeniably appealing cast of Vampire Diaries. By the time I get through two episodes, my mother comes home from work full of energy and conversation. She either starts making dinner or has to go to tennis or some other rendezvous, to which I am not invited (which is never a problem with me). Either way, I am bound to delight in a delectable dish, prepared by either myself or my mother. I always offer to clean up afterward- I mean it's the least I can do, right? These are all the "ups" of being unemployed; I have countless hours to spend as I wish, with little to absolutely no parental supervision, and nobody to make me feel guilty about it in any way. The "ups," however, come to a sudden halt just as the last of the kitchen counters are wiped down. My mother, who has a life and a job, either putters away in the garden for the remainder of the evening, locks herself in the dining room to mark schoolwork (she's an elementary school teacher) or jogs off to some fitness class at her gym. And so, I am alone again. However, it is not so blissful and carefree at this time. Why, you ask? I am suddenly oozing with guilt. Despite the fact that my mother is so happy to have me home and have someone else to talk to other than the cat, she casually reminds me, without fail, every night, in between bites at dinner, that I am making absolutely no money right now, not a cent. And she is so right. I have absolutely zero income at the moment, absolutely nothing. Now, that I am staying at home, with no bills to be paid and no groceries to be bought, this shouldn't lead to me losing sleep at night- and trust me, it doesn't- my means to go out and spend money do not exist. I do not have the financial cushioning to go out for dinner with friends, enjoy a few rounds of happy hour, go to Starbucks and pretend to enjoy an over-priced coffee, or go bowling. As a result of my temporary unemployment, my life and self-confidence no longer exist after 8 pm- nor does my social life. As I struggle to find a comfortable position on the couch (which was SO effortless earlier that day) my mind is racing with anxiety over poverty, idleness and self-doubt. I am no longer enjoying myself, I am suddenly bored, nervous and ashamed. I feel trapped on that couch, alone and afraid that this feeling will never go away. After watching a wide variety of crap on the television- crap that I used to be able to enjoy so easily- provided by either Slice, TLC or the Women's Channel (unusually fabulous by the way, just fabulous) I decide that I can no longer endure any more "downs" of temporary unemployment and decide to call it a night. I head upstairs with low spirits, brush my teeth, wash my face (meh, if I feel like it) and crawl into bed. I usually just lay there for a good five or ten minutes, reflecting on the failure I have become and I begin to panic over the possibility that I will forever lead an idle, undeserving and pathetic life. It isn't until I remember that I really want to know how Olivia, the main character in the novel I am presently reading, is doing and what type of conundrum she's gotten herself into, that I quickly push my woes to the back of mind and reach for my book. I turn my lights out about twenty minutes later and before dozing off into a splendidly long sleep, sigh a big sigh of relief knowing that I won't have to worry about a thing, more specifically my current and very temporary unemployment, until 8pm the next night.

Dogs: Are they really a man's best friend?

Ever heard the saying, "A dog is a man's best friend?" I'm going to assume that you're a member of society and that yes, you have in fact heard this saying at one time or another in your life. I'm going to argue here that not only do most dogs suck, but that they are actually the opposite of a man's best friend. Best friends do not expect you to feed them on a daily basis; best friends do not expect you to voluntarily pick up their warm, fresh feces without you even having to ask; best friends do not expect you to set time apart from your day, EVERY day to take them on walks (during which you will be expected to pick up their feces with your hands); best friends do not wake you up in the middle of the night because they have to take a piss; best friends do not eat your shoes (unless something is seriously wrong with them); best friends do not expect to make sure they're healthy by organizing yearly appointments with their doctor; best friends do not expect you to decipher what a loud "woof" or a soft "woof" actually means; best friends don't expect you to take time out of your day to throw various objects including sticks, balls or frisbees for them to chase after and retrieve. Nope, none of my best friends have ever made partake in any of the above- UNLESS, I was getting something in return. Dog lovers reading this may be entirely appalled by what I have just said. Some of you may be thinking, "Well, of course I get something in return for all of these things I do such as loyalty, love, protection and....friendship from my dog." Oh, you are a sad soul. Do you think your dog actually likes you? Do you think he respects you? He doesn't- he is simply hungry, striving for survival, and has become so accustomed to you as being the provider for things such as food, warmth and shelter that the illusion of him actually loving and needing you is so easily created. Are you really convinced that when you come home from work, errands or merely being away from the house for an extended period of time that when your dog comes dashing to the door, it is because he wants to talk about your day at work, or what you got up to on your lunch break, or how fresh the produce was at the grocery store? No, do not be silly. That dog is either hungry or has a full bladder and knows that you are the person who will be able to relieve these two things. Do you actually think the dog wants to chat about life? Catch up? Discuss current news? Wrong. And what about when most dogs (I say most and not all due to the fact that some dogs are so pathetically small and have no way of reaching) greet you by shoving their muzzle in between your legs? Is it normal for one's best friend to sexually violate them every time they see each other? I should hope not. Perhaps I will ignore the random boob graze or awkward butt rub with a best friend as a result of one too many cocktails, but on a regular basis? Absolutely not; no best friend of mine will be shoving their face in between my legs, forcing me to endure a form of sexual harassment and then expect me to pick up their poo. The concept that a dog is a man's best friend is simply absurd and idiotic. And to be quite frank, any human that actually does consider their dog to be their best friend has some pretty low standards when it comes to BFFs. You should be having fun with your best friend and partaking in fun activities such as parties, pedicures, going to the movies, going out for dinner or going shopping! Picking up your best friend's shit should definitely not be on that list.

Saying 'goodbye' is always hard; Hannah will be the hardest.

As my third year at McGill officially wraps up- my bags are packed, my last shifts at the Redbird Sports Shop have come and gone (which currently has no air conditioner and I'm basically sweating as much as R. Kelly at a six-year girl's birthday party) I am heading back to the homeland tomorrow for a glorious three months of home-cooked meals, curfews, chores and cable. From the second I stepped foot on McGill turf I have not been home for a period of time longer than two weeks. This is largely due to the fact that I have been continuously cursed with the worst exam schedule almost every December, an arduous sales position at American Apparel, and a summer spent in Banff which commenced only two short days after arriving home from first year, AND a summer spent in Montreal. Thus, my main point: my move back to the suburbs is a seriously big deal and it is stirring up some painfully conflicting emotions. The main attraction of 2349 Lakeshore is obviously my cat. She's usually so moody during my two week stints at home because she knows I'm just going to be leaving her shortly, so being home for an extended amount of time will really give us some time to work on our relationship. Leaving Montreal isn't going to be all that easy though. Just like my relationship with my cat, I've also created some very important and influential relationships in Montreal. My most cherished relationship in Montreal is not with my roommates (deal with it, Mere), my landlord, the bi-polar woman who lives above me or the man who curb-side masturbates in the ghetto- it is with Hannah, the lovely, charming and wholesome woman behind the counter of Super Dep. Hannah is literally an angel. There are so many positive things I could say about Hannah, as well as the wonders of Super Dep. For those of you non-ghetto residents, Super Dep, on the corner of Prince Arthur and Parc, is one of Milton Park's finest Depanneurs. With a wide variety of beer, wine coolers, liter bottles of the cheapest and most disgusting, yet appealing wine (in red, white and rose- my friend Jay's favourite), five-cent candy GALORE, the freshest sour keys on the block (trussst me- I would know), a respectable selection of one's basic groceries, magazines, gum and even some hygiene products for those of us who forget to regularly bathe (tragedy) Super Dep is all anyone could ask for. It simply is the best Dep, and I would start a petition for it to have its name officially changed to "Best Dep" but "Super" is the next best way to describe it. Now, onto Hannah. Hannah is one of the many Asians to work at the plethora of Deps in the ghetto and surrounding area, but I will argue here that she is easily my favourite Dep employee. She is ALWAYS in a good mood (with the exception of Friday and Saturday nights at around 10:50 pm with a rather large line-up of those ghetto residents who decided to go out last minute and needed some bReWz) and she is always smiling. On top of her genuinely caring and kind character, she is always looking out for the wallets of her loyal customers (like me.) When buying beer, my financial well-being is always one of her top priorities. She never lets me complete a transaction without letting me know that I could be getting the same kind of beer for less money if I were to simply switch from bottles to cans or a six-pack to a twelve-pack- she literally is heaven on earth. The amount of money she has saved me is unimaginable. Of course, all the money I have saved on beer has more than likely been spent on the holy goodness of Hannah's enormous selection of five-centers and sour keys- and long nibs, cannot forget the long nibs. I am more than happy though to spend an extra few dollars here and there at Super Dep, even if it means spending money I wouldn't have spent in the first place. Seeing as I frequent Super Dep, on average, about five times a week, my interactions with Hannah have become more personal over the last two years. She knows my name, she knows about my love affair with candy, she feels comfortable enough to comment on how tired I look sometimes (which, quite frankly, I could do without, I mean I own a mirror-but hey, honesty is always a good policy) and she knows I'm going to ask for cash back, so it's simply a matter of inquiring how much I'll need. This summer is going to be awfully strange with Hannah. "Deps" do not exist in the suburbs of Ontario. Sure, we have "convenience stores" but these do not sell beer or wine and the employees usually only allow two or three teens in the store at once (yes, I still consider myself a teen- it makes my crush on Justin Bieber more legit) and none of them provide the same customer service as Hannah. One thing I will not miss about Super Dep, however, is the male employee there (Hannah's brother, cousin or hubby maybe? I'm actually not sure). Regardless of the details of their relation, he sucks. He has requested that I only put twenty candies in a bag, and if I want more than twenty (which I always do, let's be serious) then I have to put them in another bag. Does he know how annoying that is??? I really should talk to Hannah about that come September.

Is anyone truly happy with their age?

Don't worry. This is not one of Carrie Bradshaw's mind-blowing columns about dating and sex. You know, at the seven minute mark of every SATC episode, where Carrie has experienced some life changing event on the sidewalk or while shopping with Samantha, and it becomes the topic of her latest column? Well, if you have a penis you probably don't know what I'm talking about, but for the straight ladies, you most likely do. I am, however, seriously asking the question, Is anyone ever TRULY happy with their current age? When we were young and donning Northern Getaway outfits, we filled our seemingly boring days with fictitious games such as House, Doctor, Nanny, Teacher or Chef- all games during which we pretended to be triple our age, grown up, settled into adulthood and a shiny career; a time and a place in which we all could not wait to be! I cannot count the number of times I would put on my mother's awkwardly unattractive kitten heels she wore to Church sometimes and painted my lips red and "pretended" that I was living out my one true dream as an "adult." In my mind, being an adult was COOL, fun and simply WAY better than being a kid in every possible way. However, as I sit here at my desk (oh god, sorry if I sound like Carrie), unemployed, unmotivated, bloated from eating my emotions, and on the verge of depression courtesy of the fact that I have just completed my third year at one of Canada's top universities and the best gig I could score myself was a 15 hour work-week at my school's Sports Shop, I'm really loathing my eight year-old self for actually wanting to be an adult with responsibilities, and sleepless nights accompanied by anxiety attacks and heart palpitations. If only I knew that being an adult can actually suck. We were all so naive believing that adulthood would be glamorous, liberating, full of choice and opportunities. Oh, how we were wrong. I cannot tell you the number of times in the last year I have longed for the carefree days of my childhood. My most pressing concern as a child was whether or not my mother had packed me a Joe Louis or an apple for recess snack (yeah, I was a fat kid, obviously I crossed my stubby little fingers for a Joe Louis), or whether or not my soccer team would be assigned a "cool" team name (I remember getting White Caps one year and I was so pissed off- I really wanted to be the Rebels) or whether or not my mom would let me stay up until 8:30 to watch the latest episode of Full House with my sisters (I don't think I've ever not watched a re-run...Peggy never let me watch Full House, ugh). My point is, the woes and worries of children are jokes compared to what we are expected to deal with as young adults, and I find it so ironic that as a child I could not wait to be an adult, and would have skipped adolescence just to get to the time and place where your parents couldn't dictate what to wear, eat, and the hour of bedtime. Although I do enjoy being my own life boss, I am really not that good at it. Cell phone bills, group projects, birth control, job interviews, anxiety, emotional baking, negative balance bank accounts- these types of things which we deal with on a regular basis, were definitely, in no way, components of my childhood game of "Adulthood." I would do anything right now to be a child again- to have my meals made, my bills paid, absolutely ZERO life responsibilities except to stay away from strangers. As children we got away with everything! The number of times I pissed my bed and my mother felt SORRY for me? If I called my mother and told her I pissed my bed she would be embarrassed and tell me to grow up and get my act together. As children, there is no act to get together, no job to show up to, no bills to be paid, no readings to be read. Life for children is blissful, carefree, and something I pine after far too often these days. I could even opt for being 65 right now, retired and somewhere warm. Yes, I probably wouldn't look as good, my skin wouldn't be as soft and I'd probably have chronic this or chronic that and be wearing a diaper, but at least I'd be less stressed! Old people aren't even allowed to be stressed- it's bad for their hearts! Seeing as no one has managed to design a fully functional time machine yet (google "Time Machine," though, the shit that will pop up is somewhat alarming), escaping to my wonder years is unfortunately not an option. Thus, as far as I can tell, I'm going to have to find the courage and deal with my quarter-life crisis head on, or stick it out until I'm 65 and living what my 21 year-old self perceives to be the "dream."

When dealing with Justin, it is important to read between the lines.

Ok, so, Justin Bieber, is undoubtedly one of my new favourite people, or kids, I should say. I'm going to take the liberty right here and now to coin the term "Biebermania" to explain the pop sensation and cultural phenomena he has become. His catchy love ballads are irresistibly addictive, and have most certainly climbed their way up on my itunes "Top 25 Most Played" (sad, I know, but shit happens). He has taken the tween/teen/young twenty-something female population by storm and it doesn't appear that he will be letting up anytime soon. On top of the fact that he has possibly reached greater heights of popularity than the Jonas Brothers (yep, I said it, deal with it) he has paired up with some seriously established and LEGIT artists. With having only released one album, he has songs with Ludacris and Usher. I mean, Ludacris sort of went off the radar, but Usher will always remain one of the most worthy and accomplished R&B stars in the industry. I mean, he is no doubt so smooth, so ballin' (thanks to his Confessions album) and a person who delivers serious street cred. Sure, Usher has done about 1000 duets and remixes, but with a sixteen year-old white boy with an emo slice? Dayum, Bieber, boy is stepping up. Despite the fact that he recently hit the ripe ago of 16, and yet still looks like he's 12 sometimes (not that this makes me have any less of a HUGE crush on him, which essentially makes me a pedophile), all of his songs are about love, heartbreak, the struggles of heartbreak, the agonies of heartbreak, the ups and downs of heartbreak and the eventual end of heartbreak. For a sixteen year-old, it seems that Justin has a lot of experience with love and heartbreak, which makes sense, right? I mean he's sixteen. Just because I was still watching the family channel and eating fruit roll-ups at that age does not mean that all sixteen year-olds are not as experienced with love as I was. Sometimes, however, I can't shake the feeling that he really has no idea what he's talking about. OR, on the flip side, he knows exactly what he is singing about in his songs, and is simply a marketing genius who is able to cleverly convey two entirely different messages that appeal to two different age groups. Let's take his song with Usher, "First Dance." It is a great slow jam, has a solid beat-something you can relax to yet also shuffle your feet to perhaps- and Usher is in it, so like, just because of that single fact, the song is obviously that much more bomb. Moving on to the actual lyrics of the song however, stirs up some confusion. When I first heard the song, I was all like, "Aw, JB, sewww cute! Singing about his first dance with a girl he likes! That is seww preshy!!" But, then, after listening to it a few more times my naivety began to waver. I mean, he's supposed to be talking about sharing his first dance with some other young sixteen-year old girl at prom. But lyrics such as, "Girl I promise I'll be gentle , I know we gotta do it slowly. If you give, give the first dance to me, I'm gonna' cherish every moment, 'Cuz it only happens once, once in a lifetime," really don't create an image of two teeny-boppers sharing an awkward first dance together. This sounds a lot like Justin planning on getting it in for the first time after prom, probably in some five-star hotel room that his manager had to sign for (you have to be eighteen to book a hotel room). The whole "Girl I promise I'll be gentle," really does not seem to be discussing one's first dance. I mean, how gentle does one have to be when SLOW dancing? Maybe if they were bumping and grinding or something, I can understand how an injury might take place, but slow dancing? Justin is clearly talking about losing his virginity to this girl. A very close look at his lyrics is not only indication of this, but the fact that USHER, one of the most sexual beings on this earth is accompanying young JB on this track, makes it beyond clear that "First Dance" really is about losing one's virginity. Such a BOLD move on JB's part. Luckily for him, his young and clueless fans would have no idea, but as for me, a much more sophisticated and informed fan, I know exactly what JB is referring to. Regardless of his songs' hidden messages, he is still the adorable Justin Bieber to me, whose songs I still shamelessly sing out loud and request at clubs.

Exams are over, it's time for mindless television.

Hey guys, guess who's back? After a very long and exhausting exam period, consisting of awfully late nights, daily visits to the pita man in redpath (I always hope for the brown man, the white man just does not know how to properly secure the pita's ingredients), countless quarters spent on chocolate covered almonds at the 25 cent treat machine and about one hundred unnecessary flex dollars, I am back. The one good thing about exams, besides them being a thing a of the past, is the fact that you get to suffer with your friends. I find that exams even bring friends closer together, what with all the tears, anxiety, coffee (monster cookie) breaks and stress. But, now that exams are over, I get to spend time with the people I really care about. No, I'm not talking about my roommate Meredith, who i barely saw during exams, or my family, or Hannah at the super dep, I am referring to the really important people in my life, the people who I depend on for happiness, laughter, insightful conversation, enlightenment, and a fresh perspective on life. I am talking about the cast of the Hills, the City and Gossip Girl- just your usual television characters/real people (some not so real, ahem, Heidi Montag, the wonder woman of plastic) one would expect a third year McGill student to form a somewhat obsessive bond with. Anyways, life just got so much better when the Hills, the City and Gossip Girl became a part of my life again. The Hills has obviously reached new heights this season. Kristin is back and being kristin-y as ever (and I never realized how manly her voice was) and Heidi is also back, new but-not-so-improved. The girl looks like a circus freak. Her breasts are bigger than the moon, she can't even move her face, courtesy of her chin job, nose job revision (actually?), her eyebrow life (which has made her look like she is always really shocked about something), and the fat she had injected into her cheek. She openly admitted to wanting to look like Barbie and also confessed her dream of having even bigger breast, size H to be specific (H for Heidi). Anyways, her new name is Hidi, for hideous. She looks so awful that her own mother, who is supposed to love her unconditionally, couldn't even bare the site of her daughter's new look. My favorite part about the whole Heidi Montag makeover, however, is the frail state in which the operations left her body. Whenever she ventures out of her L.A. bungalow to go show off her new bod and "friends" go to hug her, Heidi, immediately pulls back and mumbles (because that's all her face will allow her to do), "oh, be gentle- surgery hug!" Surgery hug? SURGERY HUG? Who the hell would want to hug her in the first place? The girl looks so scary, and god forbid she start to cry in front of small children- her face does this weird morphing thing whenever she starts to cry; it doesn't really move while she's crying, it sort of just slowly goes into this weird squished version of her already terrifying face. Anyways, enough about Hidi. Her hubby, Spencer Pratt, is also losing it...or shall I say, his "marbles." He has reason to believe that the world owes him everything and that no one is worthy of his trust, friendship or sanity. He has become obsessed with crystals that he believes will ward off all evil spirits of downtown L.A. Unfortunately for him, he really is not getting the memo that what these crystals are actually doing are making him look like a gypsy at a flea market wearing way too much jewelery, as well as Chewbacca with his new facial hair. The Hills tell a sad story of a group of very sad people and their very sad lives- and I couldn't thank MTV more for polluting my brain with their nonsense every Tuesday night.

What the HELL is she wearing?

Oh my god. I came across this picture and I'm honestly just so confused, and not just by the fabric RiRi is wearing as clothing, but by her hair, by the alarmingly sharp looking studs on her shoulders and her floating microphone. This is NOT the way to dress yourself in public, or alone in privacy for that matter, because God only knows what one could have planned while wearing this....thing. I usually back Rihanna, even when she petitions to get raped in her lyrics (cue "Rude Boy"), but this is just so bizarre. I'd like to point out how convenient it is that a strip of fabric is covering her nipple (thank god). Obviously the "designer" of this item had everything covered! NOT. Let's evaluate the missing gaps of "thing." Where did they go? Did she eat them? Did the designer eat them? Did Rihanna eat too much backstage and burst through the "thing?" Is she short on cash and couldn't afford to purchase enough fabric to cover her entire body, or is the creation of this "thing" due to the fact that her stylist is a total reet (retard) and the only on Rihanna could afford? One would anticipate that after all the "What Not to Wear" sections of celebrity magazines in which Rihanna has frequented, she MIGHT get the point that the public often considers her somewhat of an oddity (understatement). I can guarantee that Chris Brown is looking at this picture thanking his lucky stars that he doesn't have to be this person's "boo" anymore. This outfit has led me to the definite conclusion that Chris Brown did much more than just physical damage to Rihanna when he beat her up because it is quite clear that mental damage also occurred. No one in their right mind would wear this, I mean it just does not make sense- the shoulder studs, the carefully measured missing portions of "thing," the floating microphone and a hairstyle which makes it look as if she is bald on the right side of her head. Why? Why is she doing this to herself, to me and my eyes? And to the poor children in China who had to make the fabric? I really wish she hadn't worn this, it's just upsetting on way too many levels, and I think Chris Brown is partially to blame. Shame on you, Chris!

Miley's Latest Work: "The Last Song"

This Easter weekend I had the pleasure of going to see Miley Cyrus give acting another shot in her latest movie, "The Last Song." Do I regret my decision to spend 8.99 to watch Miley pout and suck the face of someone four-hundred and ninety-eight times hotter than her? No, absolutely not. Although the movie did have its ups and downs- the downs were VERY down in fact- and I was found myself often in the dark and unable to follow the seemingly simple story line, I found it bearable, and at times, enjoyable
The movie takes place somewhere in a small town in Florida. Miley's character "Ronnie" (short for Veronica, which quite frankly makes no sense to me whatsoever) is a troubled teen who is forced to move to her Father's house in Florida with her younger brother for the summer. To be brief, Ronnie is a lost teenage soul, who gave up playing the piano after her parents divorced and since then has expressed her emotions through shoplifting, failing her SATs and rejecting her acceptance to Julie Arts.
On her first night in town, Ronnie is obviously out mingling with the locals when she coincidentally and unknowingly meets the LOVE of her life: Will. Will, played by the unbelievably sexy Liam Hemsworth (google him girls, you will NOT be disappointed) is a muscular, superbly tan volleyball player who spills Ronnie's strawberry milkshake all over her as she accidentally strolls through one of his games on the beach.
Anyways, if you have half a brain, you can figure out what happens next: Ronnie and Will fall in love, spend their summer days making out on the beach and saving sea turtles. Trouble in paradise strikes at the halfway point when Ronnie finds out that Liam knows the true identity of the person who burnt down the local church, which up until then had been framed as her father, who, oh, has cancer, which the plot line casually left out for the majority of the movie. Obviously, upon finding this out, Ronnie's world comes crashing down and she dumps Will, who she believes to be a traitor and a liar (really, Ronnie, he was in the middle of telling your dad the truth?) To add to the confusion, the scene prior to Ronnie lashing out, her and Liam proclaim their love for each other (how long had they been "dating," again?) and Liam confesses that pleasing his family is so hard these days ever since his brother died in a car crash a year ago (uhhhhh??)
To be clear, within a period of about ten minutes, Liam and Ronnie exchange the "L" word, Ronnie finds out Liam knows who really burnt the church down, and as a result, feels entirely compelled to call him a liar and lose her shit on the beach while dumping him, and her father is now in the hospital about to die. To say that myself and the rest of the theater were somewhat confused with how all of this happened to unfold, would be an extreme understatement.
The rest of the movie includes scenes of Ronnie and her dying father bonding and spending quality time together- playing the piano, Ronnie learning how to make pancakes, walking on the beach- you know, all the important stuff- during his last living days. His death is slightly melodramatic; Ronnie is in the house when she hears a sound from outside. She proceeds to go to porch, only to find a glass of water knocked over, water on the ground, and her father's limp and dead body sitting in a Muskoka chair. Shocking. Devastated, Ronnie feels that it's up to her to finish the song her father had been working on but was unable to finish due to his illness....hence, "The Last Song"- right?? Anyways, she works day and night before the funeral trying to prefect her father's song. At this point in the movie, Will is MIA. As far as the audience is concerned, he is dead, a ghost and has moved on.
It's the day of the funeral and Ronnie is barely holding on. How is she supposed to go on without her father- the same man she shunned for three years and only decided to pay attention to upon him receiving a death sentence? As Ronnie is about to sit down at the piano and play "The Last Song" for all those at the funeral, the doors to the Church swing open, and there stands Will, looking as sexy as ever. It doesn't matter that no one knew where he was, or whether or not he was even invited to the funeral, he showed up. Ronnie gasps, then smiles and plays her heart out on the piano. The scene is uncomfortably cheesy and we all know what's going to happen next. You got it: after a series of pouting, apologizing and some heavy lip-locking on the beach, Will and Ronnie are back together, Ronnie decides to go to Julies Art, and Will vows to leave Vanderbilt and transfer to Columbia so that the two of them can be together in the city.
The ending would have been perceived as precious and romantic, but I was still too distracted and confused by the hard-to-follow story line, which makes me seriously doubt my intelligence seeing as it was a Miley Cyrus movie. However, if you're in the mood for mushy teen love, some serious eye candy (ahem, Liam Hemsworth, get in me) and feel that you will be able to tolerate Miley Cyrus's permanent pout on her face and poorly masked Southern accent, then I suggest you go see this movie. You might find yourself feeling hurt, however, by the fact that Liam Hemsworth and Miley Cyrus are now dating in the real world. How much does that suck?

Ladies, please.

Alright, this post is dedicated to all the girls out there who believe that doing keg stands and regurgitating beer all over their newest silk top from Urban Outfitters is "sexy." It's time to wake up, ladies: keg stands are not sexy and they send the entirely wrong message. I have never done, nor have I ever attempted to do a keg stand in my entire life. This may be somewhat related to my inability to successfully chug any alcoholic beverages, but the point is that I have saved so much dignity in avoiding being whipped into the air on a diagonal, held up and fondled by strangers trying to maintain my balance- all the while, guzzling beer. Firstly, keg stands are messy. You show me one person who has not been liberated from the firm grasp of strangers after a keg stand who does not resemble a young infant after being burped by his or her mother. After a keg stand, you are covered in spit, sometimes sweat, and most certainly beer that has more than likely already been in your mouth and throat but has managed to find its way out again (ew). Keg stands are no makeover at Macy's- they are messy, demanding, taxing on one's system, contaminated and the FARTHEST thing from feminine, let alone sexy. A girl who chooses to commit her frail body and weak stomach to a keg stand is under the very erroneous impression that in doing so, Travis, her crush in the corner of the room (but not too far away that he won't be able to witness her humiliating stunt) will catch his eye by proving how cool and wild and hot she is. Wrong. There is absolutely nothing sexy about being tossed up into the air by a bunch of frat guys who secretly think you're heavier than you look and would much rather hang out with their grandmothers than see your flabby stomach hang out of your shirt, and having beer squirt out of your mouth and into your face in all possible directions. What, do you think you're going to come down from that keg stand, beer drooling down your face, on your shirt, and in your hair, and all of a sudden seem SO alluring to the guys in the room? No. Absolutely not. Unless there is a guy in the room who is into butch girls who can keep down more beer than they can, then sorry ladies, keg stands are masculine and will never find themselves a tasteful bearing in your lives. I'm just curious as to why females think men will find it sexy that they can chug beer upside down for as long as they can. Do these girls also think that entering a hot dog eating contest will result in guys chasing after them? The fact is that guys will not find this sexy. Keg stands are designed for humans with penises. They are something in which guys take part in as a means of demonstrating their strength and superior chugging capabilities in comparison to other guys, and with the hope that some dimwitted girl in the room will find it impressive enough to sleep with him. Girls do not and should not need to do keg stands in order to attract attention from guys, unless they are looking to be "one of the guys," which, quite frankly, is an issue in itself. The point is that keg stands are not a sport in which women should partake. They're dirty, contaminated, more often than less have girls on display in the air in unflattering positions for all to see, and there is simply nothing whatsoever, sexy about beating a guy at the one thing he may only be good at in life.

Mean Girls: Best Movie Ever

The movie "Mean Girls," starring lifetime loser Lindsay Lohan, Rachel McAdams and the wonderfully witty Tina Fey, is what I like to call a silent masterpiece. This movie is my all-time favourite- I literally can watch it over and over again. The reason for which I call it a silent masterpiece is because it really does not receive as much credit as it should. Because the movie has "girls" in the title, many males are hesitant to watch the movie, or simply do not find any immediate appeal due to the title. For those who choose to pop a copy of "Mean Girls" into their dvd player, however, soon realize that this is the best movie ever made. Reason #1 for which the movie is amazing: it is accurate. Girls are absolute bitches and this movie depicts young females in a high school environment almost too perfectly. The girls in the movie are cruel, catty and cold. The new girl in school- Kady (Lindsay Lohan)- finds herself eating lunch alone in a washroom stall after suffering from an embarrassing incident in the school cafeteria- no one wanted to sit with her- even the band freaks wouldn't invite her to take a seat at their table. This kind of stuff actually happens. I found myself in the exact same position after urinating on a police officer at a school dance after a few too many Mike's Hard Lemonades. It was my first time drinking and needless to say, my behavior landed me a three day suspension. Going back to school was terrifying- I just could not face Burlington Central High School's student body after pulling a stunt like that. Thus, I made my friends eat lunch with me in the third floor washroom for the next few weeks until things calmed down and some new scandal entered the scene. We didn't eat in the stalls of the washroom, however, that is just downright unsanitary. The point is that girls in high school can be horrible- and if you're not in the cool crowd, then fuck, you're screwed. Reason #2 for which this movie is amazing: it is extremely offensive. Tina Fey's script has the characters dropping racial bombs, gay bombs and lines that the Family Channel would never dream of airing. I bring up the Family Channel because often "Mean Girls" is categorized as a young teen flick but that categorization could not be more far off. "Mean Girls" is no "John Tucker Must Die," "Freaky Friday" or "Crossroads" taking on the challenges of adolescent angst and first kisses; "Mean Girl" deals with all that bullshit but in a way that can only be enjoyed by those who possess an actual IQ. When I was thirteen and saw the movie I did not nearly enjoy it as much as I did five years later. This movie is on an entirely different level than your average teen movie. Thirteen year-olds cannot appreciate the humor of a gym teacher having an affair with two students of his, who both happen to be Asian twin sisters who think they are ghetto fab. Thirteen year-olds cannot appreciate the humour of Damien, the token fat gay guy, seriously singing "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilera at the annual Christmas Pageant. Thirteen year-olds cannot appreciate the humor in Karen suggesting a trip to Taco Bell to cheer Regina up- which Regina furiously refuses because of the fact that she's on an all-carb diet. See what I mean? Reason #3 for which "Mean Girls" is amazing is related to what I was just discussing- all the small, masked humor that really can only be recognized and appreciated by those who aren't sensitive and enjoy a little offense here and there (moi.) My favorite example to use to explain this closeted humour within the film that makes it so sensational is the scene in the hallway after a gym class at school. Kady and her lesbian-friend, Janis, attempt to sabotage Queen Bee Regina George by cutting the nipples out of her shirt while she is busy in gym class. The plan backfires and the following scene depicts female students strolling the halls modeling tops and shirts with the nipples of their shirts also cut out. One girl in particular is given a screen shot- she's ugly, in a wheelchair and wearing a shirt that says "Lucky Girl." I had to explain to someone why that was funny. Let me repeat: I had to explain why a paraplegic wearing a shirt that says "Lucky Girl" was funny- it literally broke my heart. I will agree that the joke is cruel but it is also wildly hilarious. The film, with its twisted plots of gossip, cat fights, cheating, lying, student/teacher affairs, diet sabotage and even incest (Karen repeatedly tries to hook up with her first cousin Jason), "Mean Girls" is simply the best.

Rihanna's Swollen Face Leads to Loose Box: A Lyrical Analysis of "Rude Boy"

Alright, so, as everyone knows Rihanna's loving boyfriend Chris Brown beat the shit out of her just over a year ago. After being a no-show at the Grammy's, the media blew up and rumors were spreading like HIV at a male YMCA. The truth soon came out that pop sensation Rihanna had suffered from a serious case of domestic violence and abuse from boo Chris Brown. Rihanna, despite the hardships she was forced to endure and the amount of Mac foundation she had to wear to conceal those big, dark, nasty bruises on her face, was able to rally and came out of the whole ordeal on top- literally ON TOP. The lyrics of her latest hit single "Rude Boy" reveal something very different than the attitude of a young woman who was recently beat to bits by her lover. "Rude Boy" is literally Rihanna's 'fuck me now anthem.' Her heart may be out of commission but her box certainly is not. She opens the song with "Come here rude boy, boy, can you get it up? Come here rude boy, boy, is you big enough?" First things first, Rihanna clearly did not graduate high school, because that sentence just does not make any grammatical sense whatsoever- ARE you big enough would be the correct way of saying such an elegant sentence, Rihanna. She must have been getting filled the day this lesson was being taught at school. Secondly, she is being way too forward about wanting to get banged, I mean she already got banged out, she should probably take things a little slower. Thirdly, the secret is out- Rihanna loves a big disco stick- she likes a nice big penis to pleasure her and what a great way to give a shout out to all those 'big enough' penises out there than through music?! The song only gets more promiscuous as we shift from the opening chorus to the first verse: "Tonight I'mma let you be a rider, Giddy Up, giddy up, giddy up babe." Well. This line can be interpreted in many ways depending on the extent of one's imagination, but my initial interpretation is pretty clear: Rihanna is looking for some serious sexual healing. Rihanna is choosing to deal with the turmoil, emotional and physical pain caused from the boyfriend beats in a very curious way. Whereas the majority of women probably seek the shelter and protection away from men after suffering any type of domestic violence, Rihanna is looking to get filled and by something big, something that can 'giddy up'- whatever that is even supposed to mean. The next selection of lyrics I would like to examine are "Buckle up, I'mma give it to you stronger, Hands up, we can go a little longer." Hmmm, so we have 'giddy up' and now 'buckle up.' This is a very interesting combination of sexual commands. It appears that Rihanna is interested in creating an environment in which one get off based on the idea of a horse and an automobile. I'm finding it very difficult to conjure up something kinky and erotic that deals with both horses AND cars, but hey, who knows what Rihanna was thinking- clearly she has suffered one too many blows to the head.... By releasing this song, which by the way, is an amazing song to exercise to (the BEAT is fist-pump worthy), Rihanna is sending out the wrong message. Instead of promoting women's rights or donating money to some women's shelter, Rihanna is positioning herself in the eyes of the media, young girls, horny boys and lewd men with her legs wide open and ready for business. Although I do credit Rihanna for being able to get back on her feet and continue to release songs, I am somewhat turned off and confused by her sudden longing for yet another rude boy. I mean, wasn't Chris rude enough?

VOTE HARPER, HE LOVES KITTIEZ!

Stephen Harper may not be Canada's favorite Prime Minister, but on top of being able to play the piano, sing, and collect coins, he is a cat man! MEOW! I understand that a lot of Canadians are upset with Harper and his irresponsible decision to prorogue Parliament during the 2010 Vancouver Olympics, his policies that do not support free contraception for women in developing nations, and his distastefully unpatriotic comments toward Quebec's distinct culture, but I think everyone needs to seriously step back and recognize what kind of people like cats. That Harper is such the feline fan that he is says a lot about what kind of man he really is. Stephen Harper probably loves to snuggle, play with yarn occasionally and fall asleep to the peaceful sound of his cats' purring. Clearly Stephen Harper is not only a family man, but a cat man as well. Most men feel the urge to associate themselves with big, brave, fast, strong dogs- dogs with which they feel mirror their qualities as men- perhaps a bulldog, a boxer, a sexy black lab or a pug (guys who own pugs, however, might want to reconsider that decision seeing as they are mirroring an image of uselessness, laziness and fugliness). Anyways, the point I am trying to make is that Harper is nothing like your ordinary man- he doesn't need a strong dog by his side to represent himself in the public; he isn't ashamed of the fact that he may in fact have a soft side, that he enjoys a little tickle of his kitten's whiskers on his cheeks from time to time, or curling up on the couch with a bowl of fro yo and his feline friends curled up at his feet. He even brings his cats to work, which is a clear indicator of his commitment to maintaining their well-being and happiness. His feline fixation also demonstrates that he is selfless because regardless of his busy schedule, Harper refuses to neglect those close to his heart. Harper is being open and honest about his passion for pussies, and isn't that what all Canadians are looking for? An honest politician?

I will not be voting in any McGill elections.

At this time of the year, students from all faculties, departments and student-run organizations are "campaigning" for positions for the upcoming school year. My facebook is daily bombarded with notification after notification, notifying me that "Bob Nobody" and "Jennifer Who-Gives-A-Shit" is running for 'internal' or 'external' something or other for AUS or MUS. Newsflash: your platform consists of absolutely nothing whatsoever that would actually be benefical to the student body, and you don't actually care about making a difference. The people running in these "elections" (and judging by my faceook there are about one-hundred and twenty positions for which people are running) the majority of them are only looking to add bulk and substance to their resumes and nothing else. These positions are not paid, they do not require any inordinate level of competence and once people are 'elected' to these positions, nothing actually gets done- their actual influence is very small. One girl who was running for some insignificant position for the AUS came into my anthropology class a few weeks back to "campaign." This consisted of her stating her name- which not ironiocally, I forgot- and spat out a few sentences about her "platform." She said something about promising to have the AUS branch out more to the Montreal community, if she were elected. That is quite possibly the worst platform EVER. McGill students, especially those coming from out of province or even other countries, do not give a shit about the Montreal community- just like the Montreal community finds us students to be a nuisance. Why would someone even propose that? If you're looking to gain support based on a thirty-second spiel to a classroom of students who probably are not listening anyways, why the hell would you not say something that would actually grab their attention? Something such as lowering the costs of the cranberry and lentil wraps at the Redpath cafeteria, or maybe firing the new white man who works at the Pita station, seeing as he NEVER gives me extra hot peppers? Students do not care about the community in which they live in so long as they are not being directly affected. The only thing that could possibly lend incentive for me to vote (and that has to do with the Montreal community) would be extending the hours of Deps in the ghetto. The Deps close at 11:00 pm every night of the week, and this truly does break my heart. Sour key cravings can hit at any time, and it is downright disappointing that I often have to wait until the next morning. That, however, is probably the only thing that affects students in the Montreal community. So please, do not pretend that you care about the city in which we live in when we all know that within that city, is the McGill bubble- our true community. Instead, try proposing something that actually affects us, such as the price of wraps as mentioned above, or having flex dollars accepted at Liquid Nutrition. Also, if you're ugly, why are you even bother to run? Good looks might catch the attention of students, but standing in front of an audience promising to do things that no one finds relevant or benefical, is not going to get you any votes. I will not be voting in any McGill elections because a)The people running suck and are only doing this to stack their resume, b)I'm too lazy to run, and remaining true to my bitchy tendencies, feel no desire to help someone climb the student political ladder and c)unless these people can lower the cost of tutition and the fruit bowls in the cafeteria, then they really have nothing at all to offer me.

Spring has officially arrived at McGill (Warning: VERY offensive)

How do I know this? Because the student body's lesbian population is out in full force. Now that the temperature is warming up and the snow is magically melting away, chick couples have reclaimed their positions on the steps of the Arts Building, lower field and a plethora of other locations on campus. They are everywhere. I am not against gay people, I truly believe that they are real people, with real emotions and that they should not be discriminated against for their lifestyle choices. However, this does not mean that I want to see lesbian lovers sucking face under the sunshine in between classes. I am already extremely caught off guard when two grown women are holding hands, and it isn't until I remind myself that these two women are just looking to find happiness and love, that I am able to compose myself. However, kissing is an entirely different story- there is just something nauseating about two chicks tonguing it. And because these carpet-munching couples are typically cultural studies students (sorry guys!), their appearances are slightly eccentric and they are quite easy to spot in a crowd- you know, usually wearing black, only wearing one earring in the form of some feather, military boots (so stereotypical- I know) and they probably don't shave. And because it is warmer out, they are more than likely broadcasting their hairy limbs. But all this hatred goes back to my whole issue with PDA- no one needs to see it. Despite the fact that society has made great strides in accepting, or at least making the effort to turn a blind eye to lesbian and gay couples, some people in society are rude and cruel and believe that they have the right to abuse, harass and discriminate against gay people. It is for this reason why I believe gay people should restrain from petting, lip-locking and canoodling on campus. Despite the fact that I would personally benefit from this, I think that the benefits are far more superior for same-sex couples. In getting it on privately, same-sex couples can avoid having food thrown at them, hateful stare-downs and being called horrible names. So REALLY, I am just looking out for these people. Warm weather and melting snow should not serve as justification for same-sex PDA. It serves as justification for me enjoying ice cream on Toonie Tuesdays and skipping french class. So if you are a girl, who is into another girl, and if you haven't already thrown rocks at me, then please refrain from smooching your dykey date. K Thanks!

Dear Serena, shut up.

I am a big fan of Gossip Girl. It has got to be one of the least intellectually stimulating shows out there, but it has consistently entertained me over the course of its three seasons. It has great fashion, exciting and unexpected storylines, sex, drama and some seriously attractive characters (Nate Archibald, get in me). The show, unfortunately, does have one serious downfall: Serena Van Der Woodsen. Omfg that girl is the most annoying character to have ever been created by any writer in television. I think she may even be more annoying than Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, and THAT is saying a lot. I will not deny that Serena is stunning with her luscious blond hair that nearly touches her ass, her flawless skin, never-ending legs and suprisingly stacked rack. It is a shame that her beauty cannot transfer over to her acting. Her acting on the show is hard to explain. She doesn't really say much. She's usually too busy whining, pouting, spreading her legs, or texting her latest victim. Speaking of victim, Serena LOVES playing the poor, innocent and helpless girl. Nothing is ever her fault- not the time she slept with her best friend's boyfriend, not the time she overdosed on cocaine and killed a man, not the time she stole the key to Constance's pool, not the time she passed out and missed her SATs after a late night party sesh with Georgina, not the time she fell in love with a married man- nope, she had no control over those things! Serena is just too obtuse, naive and moronic for anyone to actually feel bad for her. And her pouting is getting really old. According to the storyline she is approaching her 21st or 22nd year- no pouting is done at that age, so please, Serena, just stop, you look retarded. Another area of concern surrounding Serena is boys. Serena has got to have the most loose box ever- she has slept with so many men. She claims to have been in love with all of them, but let's get serious, the girl likes to get filled. From Dan to Tryp, to Nate, to Carter, to that radom hipster artist fag she was into for a while, the girl is a skank, and her "omg all I do is sit at home and think of you" act is really getting old. The last episode with Nate was just too much to deal with- the girl is just dumb. Of course Nate uninvited you to the French Ambassador's dinner, you opened up wide the second you saw him! You didn't even wait until you had a bed to use- she really does not leave much to the imagination. What's worse is that Serena got it in on the floor of her best friend's gorgeous apartment with her best friend's first love and ex-boyfriend. How that works, I am unsure, but it obviously led to Serena pouting for the rest of the episode until her and Nate settled their dramatic issues and got freaky in the coat check room, which conviently had a cushioned bench at the back where no one would see them. Anyways, I feel sorry for the girl. No guy can actually put up with her antics and they either lie to her, break up with her, or leave her alone and unconcious after a deadly car crash (Tryp- such a gentleman). I don't blame them though, the girl is gorgeous, but fuck, she is beyond irritating.

Whistling and other sounds that bother me.

I hate whistling. I don't care how well somone can "carry a tune," whistling is hands down one of the most annoying sounds created by the homo sapien. I can't even begin to describe the pain I wish to cause someone who is whistling. It is old-fashion, gay, and oh yah, fucking annoying. A man just came into my place of employment whistling at an unnecessarily loud volume. I wanted to punch him. He was already an annoying customer, seeing as he came into the store in the first place, asked for some McGill discount (those do not exist unless) and on top of everything was WHISTLING while talking to me. I was THIS close to "politely" asking him to shut the fuck up, but then he asked to see a pair of workout gloves my store sells. Anyways, he finally bought his shorts and left the store. Unfortunately, I will now be haunted by the sound of his whistle for the remainder of my shift. Whistling is only one of the many human sonances that drives me insane. I hate human sounds in general- my ears are extremely sensitive and pick up every sound around me. Conviently, I also have a very short temper and humanly sounds are not conducive to keeping me calm and collected. If you're wondering what kind of "sounds" I am referring to, then you probably make them and I secretly want to punch you in the stomach. The ultimate worst human noise in the world is the smacking of one's gum. There is nothing (with the exception of rich people who dress foolishly and wear bejeweled Ed Hardy clothing) that upsets me more. I can hear it a mile away and until it ceases to exist, that sound will be the only thing I hear and I will not be able to focus on anything else. I seriously believe that today's education curriculums should consist of a class on etiquette, just the basics, nothing too extreme. Some of the lessons would include "how to politely chew your gum and avoid people around you wanting to inflict physical pain on your body" or "how to talk and chew food separetly" or "how to breathe normally" or "how to shower." The last one does not really relate to human sounds, but it remains to be a serious issue in society today. Another sound that is devastatingly bothersome is heavy feet. Heavy feet can and do ruin my day. The people who live above me walk around their apartment as if they have bricks tied to the bottom of their feet. And they are constantly scurrying! Someone walking to the bathroom should not wake me up, unless that person is blind and tripped over something and fell on the ground. This post is making me uneasy, so I'm going to have to end it here. Moral of the story, however: 1)Don't whistle, ever, no matter what. If you are in a good mood about something, just smile- it doesn't make any noise and if you're attractive and have had braces, then it might even be a treat for someone. 2)If you're going to chew gum then make sure I cannot hear it. It seriously gives me anxiety and you sound like a cow. 3)Pretend you are sneaking out of the house every time you walk anywhere- espeically inside. Or go buy really thick slippers.

My French Teacher

My french teacher is a serious mystery to me. First off, he has the most atrocious french accent I have ever heard- he is the epitome of that dirty, unbearable Quebecois accent. And he makes it rain when he speaks- luckily I sit far enough away from him to avoid getting wet. Anyway, the fact that his accent makes me cringe is not the subject of this post. The real mystery surrounding my french teacher is his fashion- if we can even call it that. His favorite brand is Lacoste. How do I know this? He has showed up to every single class except for one, wearing either a Lacoste polo, male cardigan, blazer or turtleneck. The turtleneck was hands down the worst of his wardrobe choices, seeing as men should not wear turtlenecks, especially if they have breasts and Oprah-like rolls, which he definitely does. His hair is another story- he looks like Sideshow Bob from the Simpsons except with an added ten pounds of product. He's also fat, so like, I won't even go there. I know it may seem like I'm being a bitch, but that's because I am. If a man has enough money to buy Lacoste polos and other assorted garments, then he also must have enough money to get a personal trainer, stylist and a haircut. We get it buddy, you like Lacoste, but guess what? You still look like an idiot and all 75 students in your class have to not only listen to you, but look at you for 3 hours a week. My eyes are about to fall out. And this man is clearly very intelligent; he is teaching a French Literature course at a competitive university and is working on his second PhD. Thus, this man is not mentally retarded or anything, making his wardrobe and hairstyle an absolute mystery. If you are rich enough to buy Lacoste polos in bulk, then you must have enough money to buy a mirror to acknowledge your faults, and then buy a stylist and maybe a personal trainer. It pains me to see wealthy people dress foolishly. If you have money, then please, do something respectable with it, by ensuring your your fashion, figure and hair does not make me want to commit suicide.

If I Had a Million Dollars

If I had a million dollars the first thing I would do is spend as much of it as possible on myself. Let's face it, people always SAY they would give money to charity if they won the lottery, but that is absolute bullshit, especially if they only won a million dollars. A million dollars really isn't that much money and it can be spent pretty quickly. And for those people who have their minds absolutely set on looking like a hero (that's really all it is) and end up donating some of their new winnings to a charity of some sort, well, they are one hundred percent going to regret it in the future. Why? Because one million dollars simply is not a lot of money and they're going to be pretty pissed off when they no longer have enough money to purchase those rock speakers they’ve had their eyes on for a while or pay for that hooker’s abortion. It is, however, enough money to spend on myself and improve the quality of my life. So here is what I would do if I had a million dollars. First things first, I would go to Costco and buy a lifetime supply of sour keys, because let's be honest, they are the best type of candy that exists on this entire planet. I don't give a shit if you think differently; you are stupid and wrong in so many ways. Secondly, I would pay off all of my student loans, including my sisters' because they are such a DRAG and prevent you from living life to the fullest after you have graduated university (or so I have been told, I am currently still completing my undergrad). Thirdly, I would do something extremely extravagant for my mom, Peggy, the dancer. I'm not sure what exactly I would do for her, she's always wanted a magic carpet so maybe one of those, or a trip somewhere, like Disneyland, or I could just keep it simple and get her a season's pass to Wonderland. After this I would still have a lot of money left over. If you're like everyone else who goes to McGill you probably think really highly of yourself and remain convinced that if you won a million dollars you would definitely donate at least some of it to charity. Wrong again. If you're smart and really do value yourself as a person, you will be quick to realize that whatever amount of money you donate to a charity from your one million, will not make a difference in the world. If you think that donating one hundred thousand dollars to some cancer charity or peta movement is going to change the current shit situation of our world, then you, like the people who did not spell my name correctly on my birthday, are fucking retarded. Do you really think that shedding some of your winnings is going to solve world hunger or end genital mutilation? The answer is no; vaginas will still unjustly be split open and children in Africa will still be walking around with potbellies. The world today is an absolute tragedy but why should your life mirror its pitiful state? Winning the lottery is not a charity's ticket so some random donation from some random person who randomly won a million dollars. Winning the lottery is someone's ticket to everlasting happiness and an infinite supply of sour keys. Winning the lottery is not a punishment; it is a stroke of luck that should be enjoyed by the winner, and that winner alone. The decision to keep one's lottery winnings does not make that person selfish or heartless. That person is realistic and intelligent. The person who wants to donate money to a charity is the foolish one...you don't owe little Zumba down in Africa anything. It is not your fault that he is hungry. It is unfortunate that he is hungry, but it is due to a history of white supremacy, colonization and power struggles- none of which are any of your doing! So go ahead, go buy whatever the fuck you want, no matter how ridiculous or useless it may be. That money is yours and you may do with it is as you please.

***If you are offended for whatever reason by this post, I am sorry. I did not force you to read this, so piss off.

PDA in the Library

PDA in the library is entirely unacceptable and the amount of which it takes place in the libraries on campus is downright distasteful. I already do not give a shit about the information my brain is trying to absorb as I "study," and I most certainly do not give a shit that the girl sitting beside me (who I thought was a lesbian) actually has a boyfriend. This literally always happens to me: I think I have found a beauty seat at the library next to some quiet asian who will not disturb my studies and then BAM! I look up from my course pack and this mute asian is legitimately sucking her partner's face off (sometimes it is hard to identify partners during the act). I don't understand why people cannot just get their fix before coming to the library where single students are actually trying to study. Either these couples are addicted to sex, new to sex, don't really go to McGill or don't have any other friends with whom they can go study and spend some time away from their partner. The library is for studying, socializing, facebooking, and not getting filled. If you want someone to park their car in your garage, then please, for my sake and everyone else's who is actually trying to study, please go do it in the privacy of your home or at least in a bathroom stall somewhere nearby. Even kissing in the library is horrible because it produces the most godawful sounds I have ever heard. What kills me the most is when the people are ugly, because there is nothing worse than watching two fugly people mack while im busy trying to memorize Canada's Constitutional amendments. I seriously cannot take it anymore and I'm not going to. This is a fair warning to all you couples out there: stop getting filled, making out, "cuddling," petting one another's genitalia and being GAY at the library. I will call you out and embarrass the fuck out of you. And if you're an ugly couple, it will only be worse. I don't care if you guys "look good together," you've been warned.

Ladies & Gentlemen: Peggy the Performer

Hey guys, this is a picture of my mom at my cousin's wedding last June. As you can see, she is a phenomenal dancer, she really knows how to get low and work it out. Some of her favorite dance moves include the dutty wine, floor sweeper and pop-lock-and-drop-it. No one is really sure what dance move she is performing here, but clearly it is one-of-a-kind and she is really feeling the beat. My mom normally dances with her eyes closed because that way she can truly feel the music and will avoid being distracted by less-experienced dancers around her. My cousin Matthew (the guy to my mom's right) would probably be a distraction to my mom seeing as he really is not performing any original dance move- it is your average "hands up" sort of movement. Music and dancing is a big part of my mom's life. When she's not gardening, finishing up home improvement projects or watching Dragon's Den, she loves to turn on the cd player and just let loose. She loves to dance and sing, especially when she has had a bottle or two of wine. Weddings are not the only places my mom enjoys dancing at, she always enjoys dancing and singing at home alone or while we are in the car and one of her favorite songs comes on. Hilary Duff or Coldplay are some of her favorite recording artists to dance to. She doesn't really like rap, but that's probably because she doesn't like black people. Her performances in the car aren't usually as impressive as her land performances due to space confinement and the fact that she has to keep her eyes open and on the road, therefore preventing her from really feeling the beat. My mom has seriously considered auditioning for "So You Think You Can Dance." The main reasons for which you haven't seen her on the top 20 yet is because she's one of the most selfless people on this planet. She understands that for some of the teens on the show, dancing is all they have going for them and she doesn't want to hog all the spotlight. Also, pets are not allowed on set and my mom feels really uncomfortable leaving Cheebah home alone for more than eight hours. Regardless of winning any titles though, my mom is a pretty well known dancer. She's been asked to perform in videos of Ja Rule, Ludacris, and 50 cent. Unfortunately, due to their skin colour she had to turn them down, but she's confident that in the future, more recording artists of Caucasian descent will invite her to perform alongside them on camera. My mom has a pretty busy schedule but when she's not teaching in the summer, she has been known to perform at birthday parties and other celebrations, so if you have a summer birthday, then you might just be in luck.

***My mother is not actually racist. She is a loving and caring woman whose life goals include solving world hunger, meeting Queen Elizabeth before she bites the dust and performing live on stage at the Grammys as one of Lady Gaga's backup dancers.

Chatroulette: The Possibilities Are Endless

You may or may not be familiar with www.chatroulette.com. If you don't know what it is you are definitely missing out on some of the best and cheapest entertainment out there. It is a brand new service for one-on-one text, webcam and microphone-based chat with people around the world. It's pretty much the greatest thing ever. My favorite time to go on chatroulette is usually when I am feeling hungover or sad about something because it a serious pick-me-up! My roommate and I are obsessed. We are both pretty eccentric girls who are always up for a good time and this website delivers the laughs one hundred percent of the time. But chatroulette can be visited by anybody no matter what type of mood they're in. If you're feeling bored, then chatroulette is a great way to meet people from different places all over the world and for free. We met a boy named Stephen who was a naval academy student from Philly (not the creme cheese). He was really cool, and contrary to popular belief surrounding chatroulette, he was not a creep. He didn't reach for his penis once. But who knows, you might be in a kinky or sexual mood, but might be single and therefore getting it in isn't always that simple. Chatroulette offers a lot of naked men and women masturbating alone, in groups or participating in oral sex and orgies. I usually F9 ("next") people like this because I'm in a serious relationship with someone and she would consider this cheating, but it is always funny to see a penis pop up on the screen once or twice. Chatroulette also offers cultural experiences. Not only because you have the opportunity of meeting people from other places of the world, but because they are often dressed up in clothing that is representative of their culture. My favorite people to meet on chatroulette are celebrities. Once my roommate and I were having a pizza party for two and we decided to amp up the excitement and go on chatroulette and the Jonas Brothers (so cute!!) popped up, but she accidentally hit next. Boy, was I pissed, but I'm pretty sure I saw Mary J. Blige on it one night so I figure there is a high probability that I will get to see more a-list stars in the future. If this post has not convinced you to become a regular user of chatroulette, then all I can say is that you're really missing out on a great opportunity to meet new people and improve your computer skills.