THE RUDE PRUDE DIARY

whoooo the fuck cares #2

therudeprude — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 03:52:29 +0000

I don’t care if you went for an amazing dinner, have a great evening planned, love your best friends to death, took a wicked dump, got dumped, fell in love, asked and received, thank god, picked up some tulips and they look great on your new pine table, bought a new tv and hd is amazing!, are really excited for the week, are so tired from work, had a wicked fun weekend in niagara falls, are exhausted from that crazy hard ab workout in the steam room, got a weird manicure or fucked your dog!

facebook and you people need to chill out with the status updates. It’s creeping me out. I’m trying desperately to move with the times. i’ve gone viral. i am writing a blog for christ’s sake! i’m a woman in the times. I live in the maintenant- but what is up with people constantly asking people to look at them, pay attention to them, comment on their progress in life, their career, their personal hygiene.
What does this say about us? About me? Narcissist. 100%. Our generation is full of walking, talking, ipod rockin, digital photo enhancing, apple product obsessed, dirty distressed denim indulged narcissists. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that because of the internet we have googled the fuck out of anyone who we might date and then directly after that googled ourselves to see what they will see. We’ve webcammed so much that webcam sex doesn’t even feel weird anymore. We’ve digital photographed ourselves so much that every girl knows her perfect angle, we know how to enhance the ugliest of pictures to make them look colourful and alive. We have access to everything. We can date when we want and be choosy – cause the internet’s got options. We can manipulate our image on 100 different internet profiles that we have. We can change them on the daily depending on who might be looking at them, or who we want to be. We can create almost anything including our own celebrity. Usually only to become a youtube celebrity of some sort in the hopes that that will lead you into a career, or money, or love or power.

Fickle mother fuckers I am one of you. I haven’t shat in three days. Did you need to know that? Oh, I also have a raging boner. I also want to thank my parents for being wicked. Status update you.

Who the fuck cares!?

therudeprude — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 03:40:26 +0000

We live in a world where instant gratification is a completely acceptable demand and being gay is still news worthy.

Why? Some American Idol has been pop star has come out of the closet and it making headlines….again.

Of course if the public doesn’t insist on it’s normalcy than middle american christian values will continue to rule the north american psyche. Perhaps north america doesn’t think getting up the tush is normal. Well…..fuckin’ get with it people! I can only put up with conservative/republican values for so long. Yes- my family is conservative and so is my best friend. I’m sure we all know a few of them. They aren’t the devil. I am a traditional girl with some right wing leaning views- but seriously….seriously?! We’re still going to make a big to-do about being gay?

It’s not breaking news. 1 out of 4 people are gay. I made that statistic up. But that’s not the point. We are moving forward people….Clay fuckin’ gay gay gay Aiken isn’t newsworthy. He’s a freakishly weird singer from American idol who happens to also like men. I don’t give a hoot. And did I mention that we all knew he was gay from the beginning anyway!??!? Why are people still caring?

I can’t commit to the idea of commitment.

therudeprude — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 14:58:45 +0000

How do you decide to be with someone for a year? Two years? There are so many people out there. Men, women, beautiful options walking past me on the daily. How does one decide that they are no longer going to be available to the masses. I have never been off the market. I have never taken myself out for longer than a few months. I have no bloody idea how to do it.

I am 25 years old and getting kinda worried that I won’t ever know how. Will I be an aged George Clooney when I grow up? Childless and man-less. Or womanless. I still don’t know if I’m a lesbian. Its fine for a guy to grow up to be George- but a woman just can’t. She can’t be the sexy bachelorette for her entire life. It’s not socially acceptable. Even though that’s what I have always been. I have always been the single girl. The girl who enjoys her time alone, who knows how to get a date when I want one- but would really prefer to watch movies on her couch alone. Apparently that’s wrong. That’s not what I’m supposed to enjoy.

I like time spent on my own. I’ve never had a problem with it- and I guess up until recently- I didn’t know other people did. Other people can’t stand not having something to do with someone. That’s been my whole life- I don’t know anything different. Don’t get me wrong- I have a great group of friends that keep me active and social. But I’ve never really learned to settle down with one person. If I get sick of a friend- I just don’t call them for a while, or we don’t hang out. There’s no commitment to forcibly having to hang out. In a relationship you have to hang out, or at least offer up an excuse if you don’t want to hang out. I don’t like that.

That guy that I was dating kinda made this city a lot better. I was rediscovering the city and enjoying new things about it. I miss that. I miss doing fun things with someone who liked spending time with me. Who liked holding my hand and kissing my forehead. I really miss that. I don’t know if I miss him. We didn’t laugh all that much together. I didn’t really thing he was so funny. But he treated me really well & made me feel beautiful.

Not feeling so hot. Wish he would call. I would change for him. I would have given commitment a go with him.

LOVE SONG written for me.

therudeprude — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 04:57:36 +0000

I met an Australian man last night. Today this was forwarded to my facebook account. How he found me is completely beyond me. All he knew was my first name. That’s it. I could be freaked out- instead… quite flattered. It doesn’t take much.

Immortolised

Waking up a coffee cup a newspaper unread
I had the sweetest dream last night and shes still in my bed
Wrapped up in the tangled sheets
an angel next to me

sometimes loves like loves the breeze that blows where it blows I suppose
sometimes love blooms for a day like my sweet lovely rose

glass of wine she was writing lines in a diary
I had to be a character a page in her story
wrapped up in the words she said
the angel left with me

sometimes loves like loves the breeze that blows where it blows I suppose
sometimes love blooms for a day like my sweet lovely rose

she had to go where I dont know
but we had a moment in time
but just for a day I can say she was mine

I got dumped in a parkette.

therudeprude — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 04:52:40 +0000

It’s been a long time since I’ve shacked up with someone and even longer since I’ve been dumped. I rarely meet anyone that I like in a real intimate way. I’m not sure if I’m scared of commitment or too damn proud to get attached to anyone-but either- I don’t. And then there was August 2008. I met a man who I’m pretty sure made me happy. It’s hard to say now since it’s all in retrospect. I look back and remember only the good things. My friends are trying to force me to remember the bad things.

Needless to say my crazy barometer is on overdrive. I go to yoga class and I think of him. My poses have never been as terrible as they are right now. I can’t get him out of my head. It’s driving me nuts. This isn’t me! I’m not that weirdo obsessive girl!! But, apparently…I am. What is happening here? It’s kinda nice because it’s reminded me that I’m female. Sometimes I forget that I have feelings. This man reminded me that I do. He reminded me that…..oh yeah- it’s shit to get dumped. It’s even worse when you have only been dating for like no longer than a month and your only real problem was that my sex drive was way higher than his. Wait a second- him not wanting to pound me was a pretty huge problem. Retrospect is wicked.

A song cause I’m going crazy…..

You dumped me in a parkette! You dumped me in a parkette!

I got dumped. In a small park.

You said you were sorry as miniature poodle barked.

The dog was protesting what I wish I could say.

For example: “I don’t want to get dumped on this sunny day”.

You left me alone in that north toronto mini-park.

I teared up a bit while I wrote a big question mark.

You had a hairy back and you wore fake glasses…

But still want to kiss you in front of the masses.

I’m a little bit crazy right now. I don’t care how I sound.

I wish you would call and I would hear your voice rebound.

I wish you were reading this to know how I feel.

You are a cutie with a big heart and I want my heart to heal.

You broke it a little but it feels kinda right.

Cause I feel more human than I did last night.

Mother fucker you dumped me in a park on a corner.

Why didn’t you want to fuck me, or get a boner?

You liked to kiss my forehead and hold my hand tight.

But to touch my vagina seemed out of sight.

Now’s not the time time to bitch- but it looks like that’s what I’m doing.

I want you to call cause I sure miss the spooning.

Motherfucker dumped me in a parkette.

How do I get over this? Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

I needa break.

therudeprude — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 04:37:17 +0000

Problems that need fixing.

1. I have to stop biting my nails.

2. I need to move out of my family’s basement.

3. I need to figure out if I’m attracted to men. Like, actually.

4. I need to decide if I’m moving to Los Angeles.

4a. I need to decide if being an actress is actually what I should be doing with my life.

5. I need to enjoy the fact that a singer songwriter that I met the other night wrote a LOVE song about me.

6. I need to write more, facestalk less.

7. I need to get the fuck off of facebook.

#3 THIS BLOG GOT ME FIRED!!!!

therudeprude — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 04:10:01 +0000

********** first posted on my facebook account 3 weeks ago. I was fired not 24 hours after the initial post*************I have a job…a day job. I am a woman in my mid twenties, a college graduate, a well-read individual, and a girl who believes that the world is actually my oyster and I am folding clothes for a living. How’s that for mind numbing, soul sucking hell? At least when you are waiter there’s that camaraderie with all the other waiters that none of us want to be here. Pant folding is another game altogether. I haven’t had a “real” job in over a year. Do you have any idea how amazing that’s been? Waking up when my body says; “good morning Ingrid, do you think now might be a time that you want to get out of bed?” My answer is completely dependant on my mood. Or, in many cases my alarm will wake me up because I have somewhere important to be. Like…an acting job at 6am! When I’m getting paid to do what I love, that alarm ringing in my ear doesn’t sting. It kind of whispers to me like a lover…minus the morning breath and hard on. It’s a sexy alarm and it gets me going. I haven’t even seen 7 am in a long time and now my -folding clothes gig- has me in the store by 8am. They also request you to get there fifteen minutes before each shift. Fucking Cute. I’ve reverted back to that high school stoner that I was ten years ago. The sound of an alarm clock eats away at me like nails to a chalkboard. Prying my eyelids open before sunrise with a silent plea to God to end this hell. Don’t ask me how I got conned into doing this because I really don’t know. But what the shit is busy work??? If there isn’t a customer (oh, excuse, we like to call them “guests”) in the store and all the pants are folded ever so delicately on the shelf why can’t I just CHILL?! Why can’t I just talk to the girl at the cash about nothing? It’s better than folding over priced yoga gear over and over again until my fingers feel like they are sand paper while my soul is being sucked out of me and my mind is racing on over drive about how I can conquer the world after just. One. More. Pay check. Sometimes I will protest the system, standing in my section doing nothing because at 3pm on a Monday….there isn’t anything to do! But then someone will come up to me and remind me that there has to be a sense of urgency in me. URGENCY?!?! Do to what??? I’m an actor, I know…and I can play the part of a salesgirl really well…but there is nothing urgent about this job!You know what she likes to do, when there’s nothing to actually do? She lets me in on her secret. She takes tags and hides them in pockets. “Wwwwhat?” For a split second I’m thinking that this girl is badass and I look at her with some admiration. “See, the clothes are really overpriced- so it’s a great way to tell someone about the item before they get turned off by the price” she says. That’s busy work and it’s a great time waster is what that is. I’m not lazy. In fact, I’ve been described as a “serious go-getter”. I’m goal oriented and ambitious. I have no desire to climb up the corporate ladder. This ladder, by the way, is responsible for dressing woman across North America in spandex pants. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that most of North America doesn’t look like the girls in the ads, or the mannequins in the store. Maybe if more people did climbing of any kind (rock climbing, stair climbing, mountain climbing) instead of the theoretical ladder climb…. then I might not have such an animosity towards this spandex trend pant wave. Honesty and trust are two of my core values and this job has made me a liar. Women with complexes walk in and out of my life asking me, the lycra pant expert, my opinion on what size they are. “What size do you think I am?” They cry out to me. I’ll look them up and down. Think about it for a second and then with all the honesty that I learned to create in theatre school I answer confidently: SIZE 2. Universal answer. Made the honesty is my policy mistake one too many times. So, now we go with the universal answer of SIZE 2. They fucking love me.I can’t say how long I’m going to last. I have no pride attached to this job. I can’t even laugh with my fellow workers about how fat, stupid, arrogant, annoying the “guests” are because this chain has a code of conduct that we all must follow. It’s this weird cult like thing that on some days I find myself really jiving on. “Never allow that which matters least, to give way to that which matters most.” So true, sooo true. Every day I walk in hoping to quit and somehow they either sense it- or actually like me—and finish the day by giving me a present. Free yoga gear! I’m not joking. At least in the service industry we all hate doing it- but it’s a means to an end. Am I right? Any bar or restaurant that I have worked in we can all bitch in unison about how terrible our job is and how much we hate our lives. But with this- I’ve tried. My fellow “educators” (we don’t sell clothes, we educate about the lifestyle) shun me like Demi Moore in the Scarlet Letter. (Or anyone else you can think that that’s been publicly humiliated and shunned simultaneously. A few world leaders come to mind…. let’s not get crazy here.) No bitching. Just folding. 8am till 4pm you can find me, Ingrid Haas, folding pants at the back of a store without a smile except when you ask me what size pant you might wear. It’s our little secret now. There’s no moral to this story. Day jobs suck. Doing what you don’t love to do, everyday, on the daily, really blows. Being surrounded by a corporation that disguises itself as some yogi, Buddhist, oils and spirituality haven is just plain bizarre. I can’t say that it hasn’t forced me to be more creative and light a little fire under my ass in order to get me out here. I can’t say that isn’t true. So what if I’ve been forced out of my premature “lady of luxury” days? Waking up with the sun blaring into my eyes was sometimes annoying too.

#2 Are Women the new Men?

therudeprude — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 03:43:54 +0000

I have friend named Mike….he says that “women are the new men.” He claims that we date around, we slut it up, we don’t commit, we break promises- bla bla bla. My point is…(whether that’s true or not is irrelevant) what he failed to mention was: MEN are acting like the worse kind of WOMEN. And I do not like it. Not one bit.For the last year- every date that I go on….and lord knows I don’t get out much….but every time that I do- I am faced with a terribly akward predicament.

The men who seem to want to wine and dine me always, without fail, to bring up on date NUMBERO UNO: marriage, children, down payments of things, and meeting mothers. I’m not averse to meeting your mother, or even getting married- but frankly- let’s save that shit for date number two. I was just getting into my lemon drizzled talapia appetizer when the man brings up in list form: getting hitched, when I could meet his mother, and how often he’s going to fly my Toronto tush out to LA. It was all fun and fantastical until he started talking about why the last gal he was engaged to didn’t work out. I suddenly felt the urge to drink much more of my gin mojito in order to qwell my desires to become his therapist for the evening. (To note: that extra mojito I had at the end of the evening was a very bad idea.)( Right now- I’ve been “phone dating” with a guy. “What the hell does that mean”, you may ask. Well….we met- we hit it off. However, we live in seperate cities- so we chat on the phone. On the daily. We text cute, little sexy things every now and again. We chat a lot. I like him. He’s funny, he’s nice, he seems genuine. The other night- he casually brings up in a….how do i say this?…..In a lighthearted manner? He off handedly asks me where I would like to have our honeymoon. “Cute” I thought. CUTE was my first instinct. I told him Paris, maybe some tropical destination. Thoughts of romance and passion swept over my mind like a hurricane. My heart felt a flutter. He was hitting some sort of nerve with that question. Fast forward a few nights later. My father and I were driving to a basketball game. It was father-daughter bonding and I, so rudely, answered my phone. It was him. I tried to usher him off by saying it was father-daughter bonding night- but instead of taking the hint- he insisted that I tell my father that he says “hi”. Again, kinda cute. But really….hi??? My father doesn’t know you, you don’t know my father. Now we are forced to talk about you because you forced me to tell him you said “HI”. Now family is involved and that’s when shit gets weird. “Who is he?” My dad asks me. “A guy I like, but I don’t live near, we never see other- but he’s a nice jewish boy, from a good home- so i guess that gives you reason not to freak out that he talks about marriage before ever kissing me…??” I’ve dated BOYS in the past. Young men my age who have never walked near the big “M” word. Only now am I getting out into the real world and discovering that any man over the age of 30 is quite frankly- shaking in his boxer-briefs–that he is going to miss finding “the one” and is trying to lock me down like a chastity belt….Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be an old spinster just like the next gal….and yes, men who like commitment are very hot, but let’s get realistic gents- let’s bring it down a few notches, play the hard to get game “un pokito” and trust me- we’ll be eating out of the pawm of your hand in no time. Men like to pretend that it’s women who are the needy ones- but I need to say straight up- in the last year- I have had nothing but the opposite go down. It inflames my ego a little: YES… but it’s done nothing for my love life except empower me to write this. And that doesn’t get me through a cold, November day in Canada….I’ll tell you that right now.

#1 Hello….Is it me you’re looking for?

therudeprude — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 02:40:26 +0000

so, this is the shit that made diablo cody a god, and a tad famous. ohhhh– this is what made perez hilton (not an oscar winner) a millionaire. I see. Blogging. Another form of narccism?! Sweet. I’m a product of the internet era. I get it. I’m just a little late on the uptake. My name is RUDE PRUDE….I’m Canadian and I have a lot that I’m ready to get off my chest. Here I am world of bloggers. I guess the stigma is gone now, huh?…..(all internet people are fat, balding men in virginia- waiting by their computers to find some unsuspecting 1 1 year old virgins)…. I guess that was a thing of the 90′s eh? I didn’t join so i could boast- or talk about what I makes me sooo happy. Nobody bitches, complains or writes a good break up song cause they were happy and in love. But- allow me to state the not so obvious…. I have a whole lotta love swirling through this sexy body . these are things that make me horny/happy (interchangeable really): vanilla cupcakes with lots of vanilla icing. masturbation. late nights spent with a bottle of red wine. funny viral shit. a big salad with just the right amount of dressing. artichokes. the feeling of a freshly waxed body part- particularly my vag-jay jay.an honest compliment. making out with a person that i actually like. waking up feeling really good about myself. no snow. This is a place to let it all out. A diary for the world to see. Lots of things make me angry. I’m neurotic and I want to fall in love. I don’t put out easily- but when I fall I fall really hard. How poetic, how pathetic.
This is me. Hello out there, my name is Rude Prude and I’m ready to start blogging. Love, RP.