The Birth of the Post-It Bandits

Everyone who knows me KNOWS I love me a good, clean prank.

I thought, hey, what better thing to blog about, than the thing I have an affinity for more than candy. And I'm a girl who LOVES her candy.

I am talking, of course, about Post-It Notes.

Maybe it's that I used to be a sales representative for an Office Supply company? Maybe it's that I have a terrible memory, and therefore the company of stickynotes makes me feel more organized? Maybe it's just because I think it's hilarious and am a complete jerkoff who loves messing with my friends's shit? Whatever it is, when I think back to this simple little prank's humble beginnings, it's strange to think that it has come this far into my world. That I have people in multiple countries locking their doors and hiding their keys. Yet.... where there is a will, there is a way, my good friends.


This is a tale of 3 girls, who were bored one night, juiced up on Tim Hortons double doubles, and decided to mess with some shit.

One evening, I watched prank GOLD on television. Someone had post-it noted a vehicle. This made me laugh incredibly hard. The sight of those separate squares of colorful paper, flapping in the breeze, did something to my funnybone. That night, my friends and I were going for a car ride, like we did so often. I got into the car, exclaiming, "I WANNA POST-IT NOTE A CAR!!" This, my friends, is the innocent phrase that started it all. We realized that we had about 10 minutes until Safeway closed, so we drove there and bought as many packs of post-its we could afford. Unfortunately their selection was limited for our late night hilarity, so all they had was our standard canary yellow. After a quick discussion of who, where and how, we determine we should drive out to Bow Island (yes, an hour out of town) to our friends' humble family abode and strike them. Small children = early bedtime.
Although the drive is tedious, there's nothing like the giggles of anticipation regarding imagining covering a Chevy Blazer with Posties. There is much talk about strategy, patterns, and how to execute said strike with greatest skill and stealth.
So after covering the Blazer with 1,200 little 3x3 squares of sticky paper, we are pleased with ourselves, and drive back.









This was in the early days, a time when we did NOT lay claim to our pranks. In fact, we went out of our way to try to deflect attention from ourselves. The little town of Bow Island was shocked and shaken, mostly with passerbys and their cameras, clicking away like Japanese tourists at Disneyland. And so it began.

There have been many strikes that are "note-able" *snort chuckle guffaw*. But the real strike.... the BIG one, came one year ago.

The coup. The shrimp in the stirfry. The Santa in the parade. The turkey of the thanksgiving. The climax, the untoppable, the little chewy Turkish Delight pieces in the Big Turk.

Our friends disappeared for 2 weeks, and got married in BC. They left my partner in crime with the keys to their unit in a 4-plex. This is how it was planned by Partner in Crime and myself.

Text #1: So, they're gone for 2 weeks and you have the keys.
Text #2: Yup
Text #3: Wanna post-it their house?
Text #4: YUP!

8,875 post-it notes, 18 hours, 3 main assholes and 6 helpers later, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

It was fantastic. It will live on in Team Awesome history as the greatest prank ever pulled. We are Jerks. And you are fools to give us keys to anything. These folk will be finding post-its forever. Because not only did we cover walls, ceiling fans, doors, windows, dressers, etc... but we also hid them in any place we could. WE HAD A WHOLE WEEK. Lining drawers. Rolled into pez dispensers. Behind photos. Rolled into toilet paper. In boxes. In photo albums. In the roll of aluminum foil. These victims will be singing the praises of Team Awesome's greatness for years to come. Or cursing us. Meh, whatever.
Also, by the time of this strike, we had become so accustomed to post-it noting people's crap that we were now taking the credit for it. (Once you realize that your friends think it's hysterical, due to the fact that it's total harmless fun and funny as all shit, you want to be acknowledged for hard work and brilliance.) And when I say, taking the credit for it, I mean we changed every single photo and picture in their house to pictures of ourselves. Yeah. We're those guys.

And just in case you think, hey! Why haven't they been messed with!? We do it to each other, my friends. Example: I went on vacation. Although I knew it was an unwise decision to give Partner In Crime the keys to my place, I still did so, knowing full well that I would be coming home to SOMETHING. Furniture upside down, Calgary Flames shit all over my place (ps. already happened once before), bedroom in the living room, walls painted, who the hell knows. They had a damned month. Well, imagine my shock and awe (and, honestly, DISAPPOINTMENT) when I came in and everything was, not only in it's rightful place and not messed up, but CLEAN!!! Almost.... TOO clean... What the hell is wrong with these people. Are they completely helpless without me? They had a month to mess with my shit! What is wrong with them!? Idiots. That month when I started moving, I discovered why. Under all of my pictures, under my doormat, behind picture frames, lining the birdcage, under mugs.... POST-ITS. Nicely done. Impressive. And hilarious. When something is funny, you can't be mad: Fact. Actually, my roommate just found one in the lid of my martini shaker last night. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

But let's just review that some of our friends bring this shit on themselves. They practically BEG for us to fuck with their shit.

Dumb Friend: "Wow, since it's summer now, I should start locking my trailer, to save it from you bitches and your shenanegans."
Translation: "Hey, I don't lock my trailer. You beautiful and intelligent women should decorate it with squares of brightly colored sticky paper soon."


But, just in case you all think that we're one-hit wonders, wearing out one prank until it's not funny anymore, I'll have you know that we are multi-faceted pranksters.
We have filled a front lawn with grid-like patterned forks. We have plastered multiple people's houses and cars with pictures of our faces smushed against the glass. We have left "presents" for people on their front doors, vehicles and mailboxes in the form of play-doh wangs. Just recently, in an effort to remind our friends to lock their garage, we decorated it with cutouts of Playgirl wieners. Yeah, it was awesome. We cut them out, mounted them on cardboard and hung them from the rafters. Did you ever see Seven with Brad Pitt? You know where they go into that room with the dead guy and all of the air fresheners are hanging up above the bed? Picture those air fresheners being naked dudes hanging from the rafters of a single car garage. Beautiful. Artistic. Wang-o-rific. On their boat? Yup, skin anchors abound. Although, this is the first time there was a bit of collateral damage. In the style of innocent bystanders.... small wee ones, in fact.
Daughter: "Mamma, why is him holding hims penith?"
At least mamma thought that it was balls-funny.

So, as I write this small tale of hilarity, I am waiting for inevitable notification from my latest victim. What will it be? "You bitches" is usually the standard.Last night's strike, likely in a beer fueled deep slumber, has no idea that he will be rubbing the fuzzies out of his eyes, stepping out from his apartment complex for his morning cigarette, all to find his little Fiero decorated in 3x3 and 1x1 fluttering colorful squares of sticky paper, decorated beautifully to resemble the General Lee (with a few other added touches). Complete with Confederate flag on the roof, "01" on the side, "DODGE CHARGER" on the bumper, and some lovely racing stripes to top it off.






Am I expecting payback from our long string of victims? Oh hell yes. I know my day will come. And I can only hope that it will be as astoundingly glorious and mind boggling as the shit I have done to them, all the while being considerate and hilarious. But I will tell you one thing. As long as Team Awesome is around, there is most likely going to be shenanegans. The moral of this story? Forget to lock your doors. Get to know your neighbors (they're usually the most encouraging), go to bed early, wear earplugs, and above all..... be sure to have a great sense of humor.

Oh look, here's a text message now...





And so it continues......

Mein Blahg.

Alright. Due to the popularity of my travel blog, it has been requested that I blog my life. To which I said, "Do you actually think I'm that interesting? Because I sure don't". But, since I'm a self-indulgent prick and am a sucker for outlets where I can be funny, here it is. Don't expect this to be a daily thing. I most likely will only blog when something funny happens, when I'm reflecting on funny things that HAVE happened, or if I have something to vent.

Okay, first off, my birthday was 3 days before I left for New Zealand. So I was sent on my merry way in style. Since it was recently discovered that I'm suddenly allergic to kiwifruit, the theme of this birthday was 'laughing at Amber's expense'. And they did. But it was more than fun. I was picked up by my friends dressed as kiwifruits, which of course induced a dramatic scene of "Amber Goes Into Anaphylaxis" in the car. I was soon adorned with pink headdress (that, incidentally, I had made for a friend for HER birthday. Complete with antennas that say "I'm The Birthday Girl!" and "Get Me Drunk, I'm Worth It"), and a Booze Xylophone (which was a make up for my lack of Booze Guitar). And soon I was also wearing a shirt that was made for me that said, "WARNING: I'm allergic to hairy kiwis!" Of course, Burt Reynolds came to the party, and soon thereafter, things got even more fun.

Let's run through what I can remember:
1. I was permitted to hit drunk Brits over the head with drink trays while they sang Alouette. Made the waitress laugh.
2. Assaulted a man passed out at the urinal in the men's bathroom. Had his buddy take pictures for us.





3. My birthday cake? A zombie head My Little Pony. Yup. Pony head. Complete with tongue out, blood, dislocated eyeball and a spinal column. My friends rock.
4. Friend nearly knocked herself out and broke my brother's new phone. Playing a fishing game.
5. Friend and I drank most of our booze through a rubber hose.
6. Another gentleman friend, the whitest human I know, showed up dressed as a white guy impersonating a Maori bodybuilder. HYSTERICAL
7. One question... kinda personal... umm.... dyadouche?
Honorable mentions: Paper Facebook page, the Morals Pool.

Now, I'm in the middle of moving. Getting out of the basement of loud noises and cold showers, and into a condo. My friend's roommate conveniently moved out last month, which is great because we had already been talking about me getting the hell out of the dungeon before I went postal and went on a homicidal rampage.

And, as life returned to the half-norm, soon it was time to clean my little bird's cage, my weekly responsible duty to take care of the little feather plucker. I remove the soiled Medicine Hat News (which is basically all that rag is good for most of the time), and... wait. What's this? Is it... yes... it is... the tray is lined with bright green Post-It Notes. Uh Oh. This isn't good.. I decide to begin packing, by taking down the posters and pictures my little living room was adorned with. Imagine my surprise when I removed the first poster, "Fiddler On The Roof", and discovered little sticky sheets of 3x3 yellow paper hidden underneath. Oh my. Let me guess. I slowly walk towards my whiteboard, and, squeezing one eye shut, lift it by a corner away from the wall.... Yup. She's Post-It Noted underneath EVERYTHING in my house. Well done. Well done. I know you bitches were in on it. I can feel it. Not like I didn't deserve my comeuppance one way or another.

I also had a moment, starting Friday, when I began searching for two of each animal. Because the skies opened, and the rain came. And boy, did it come. And with the rain, came the flooding. So my humble city and surrounding area became submerged in water. State of Emergency, evacuations, bridges being swept away, towns being buried, boat and helicopter rescues, houses and barns being swept away, and even a portion of the major highway across Canada soon was gone, and resembled a mini Niagra Falls rather than a stretch of prairie highway. Thankfully, I have heeded the advice of Stevie Wonder and the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and have an affinity for "Higher Ground". So there was no worry of being in the flood plane for this land dweller. I did keep my water wings handy though.

I went to dinner theater, which led to going to their cast party, which led to a sewing needle in my foot, which led to me going home. Cut to my home: I headed up the porch stairs, and immediately heard the loud piercing noise of a smoke alarm. I ran as fast as my legs could take me to the basement, (I even did the pre door-opening doorknob touch test to see if it was hot.... see fire safety classes in elementary school? You weren't just talking to dumb drool-faced kids with zero attention span. It was actually retained. Well, maybe not by the kid trying to lick his own elbow, but I apparently learned something), and slowly opened the door. The only alarm going off IN my basement was poor Sawyer-bird, who was flipping out and squacking like I was watching a Discovery Special on The Sounds of the Parakeet. So I ran upstairs and started knocking on the doors.... no one home... looking in windows... I don't SEE any smoke or flames...

So after my phonecall to 911, the fire engine shows up. (Fire Engines are even cooler when they pull up to YOUR house: Fact). They inform me that this is the second time they've had to come, and that they think there's possibly water in the electrical system, which is effecting the smoke detector wiring. Good. It's now 1:30am, my heel is throbbing, and myself, and old fireman and two burly young firemen are hanging out on the porch, waiting for them to rouse the wee tenant from her slumber party down the street to get in the house without them having to wreck shit. The older, really friendly fireman who's jacket says, "Kellogg" on it and I are talking.

Amber: "So, I bet 98% of your calls are not infernos, probably a general waste of your time, huh?"
Cereal Box Fireman: "Yeah, that's about right, most are something like this. False alarms."
Amber: "Huh. That's a bummer. (looking at young firemen) Well, at least false alarms keep you boys... um... limber, eh?"
Cereal Box Fireman: (hiding his obvious chortling) "Yup, gets us out and about at least."
Amber: "That's nice."

Hey. It's not every day you get visited by the fire department and get to be a creeper. I can check something off my bucket list now.

And for right now, I'm just packing, working, coffee-ing with friends, etc. That's about it that I can think of. Huh. Blogging eh? I didn't know my life was interesting enough to blog about. I guess time will tell.