twitter, what the hell are you and why do i use you?

Everyone has a goddamn Twitter nowadays. Why? What the hell? I mean, if it was all just a bunch of normal people chatting with each other and having mutual respect, then that's cool. But celebrities have it. Like... Tila fucking Tequila and Kim Kardashian and shit. And all the tween dipshits are saying 'omg kristen stewart said that  rubbing honey in your eyes will make them turn golden like EDWARD'S omg i'm soooo getting my boyfriend to do that.'

No. You know what, fuck you. I disagree. I think the Twitter rule should be that if you're gonna be on Twitter, you have to respond to people. It's the internet. Nobody is superior. It doesn't matter who you are in real life because on the internet, we're all idiots and that's a fact. I don't care if you're Michael Jordan, if I reply to your tweet with 'haha, i know mike, them white folks is WHACK', you have to respond to me. It's not fair that just because in real life you're a celebrity, you get to be an asshole on Twitter and only talk to other skanky celebrities. You're being a drama queen. I watched  your show from beginning to end. I drew you a picture. I voted for you. I VOTED FOR YOU DAMNIT.

When I'm a celebrity, I'm going to treat everyone like equals. Celebrities nowadays are douchebags. I remember watching part of the filming of I Robot and as Will Smith was coming onto the set, he saw me watching and he waved. Why can't everyone be cool like Will Smith?

If you're a celebrity and you're reading this, I demand equal rights. If I wanted to, I could wear meat dresses and paint my face like Ziggy Stardust and make crappy music too just so I could make a twitter and be an attention whore.

/endrant

PS., if you hadn't noticed, I don't know if 'twitter' needs to be capitalized or not. Where's my old English teacher when I need her?

not so long ago i was just a young lass in plaid.

I know I just posted an entry but I wanted to add another little one because I just made a formspring for you guys. Feel free to ask me anything, no matter how vile or awesome or mathematic. I'll do my best to answer it truthfully, but if I lie, you can't tell me you weren't expecting it at least a little bit.

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/ohaiwaldo

this starbucks is like an episode of star trek.

I traveled into the city today. It’s a pretty big change to go from a little town where everyone knows everyone and people are all pretty normal and friendly to the city where a woman with bright pink hair in a full gold outfit just glared at me like I was the one that looked like a royal sceptre with a pink bauble on top. A man just walked by with no hair but a little tuft at the very front of his head like maybe he was balding but too embarrassed to just go ahead and shave his head. It’s a very different feel here in the city. Asians are everywhere; there’s a study group to the left of me, they’re serving my coffee, they’re flocking through the streets. This isn’t my home and contrary to Step-Mom’s hopeful beliefs, it never will be. To get here, I had to get on the bus. This isn’t a big deal in my home town but here, the bus is serious business.

We were all taken from the ferry and crammed onto one bus like sardines, about fifty little Boonies people stuck together. There was this pleasant Irish woman I’d taken the bus with on the other side(the safe side) and she got on the bus again with me on the city side of things with her young daughter in her stroller. Her daughter was nearly two and had the blondest hair and bluest eyes. She was adorable and her mom’s accent definitely made me happy. What didn’t make me happy was the child screaming and crying on the bus.

Why? Why do babies do this? They scream, they toss a fit, they tantrum like no other, and then they fall asleep. Is it just a final act of rebellion because they know they’ll fall asleep soon? Was it just her way of pissing Mom off one more time as payback for stuffing her into that stroller? Or is that legitimately how they’re trying to communicate? Hearing that baby screaming and wanting to punch it made me realize and determine for certain that I’m never allowed to have kids.

I’m uncomfortable here. This isn’t my element. I moved from a small town to a smaller town and this isn’t somewhere I feel happy or safe and so, in an attempt to maintain some sort of dignity and find some semblance of security and home, I tripped directly into Starbucks. It’s packed with people, woman-in-gold, Asian study groups and the exact same Christmas album I play at my work. It’s like being in a different dimension. I know this place, I’ve been here before and it’s somewhere I spend a lot of my time, but it’s different. It feels like home but it also does not.

I don’t belong here. I want to go home.

I wonder

Okay so I`ve been sitting in this coffee shop since about ten o`clock today and this is the... fourth day I've done this? I have no internet at home, still, so I just sort of hang out here no until they kick me out for not buying enough to justify my staying here all day. They're pretty cool though. The owner offered me a job, which is sick as hell, and I just realized how much of a douchebag I sound like sometimes.

Anyway, at the lunch hour rush about two hours ago there was this group of older people sitting at the big table across the cafe from me. There was one Asian lady who had the most high-pitched speaking voice ever and, even worse, the most high-pitched laugh. I was really wondering how much trouble I might get into for walking over there, slapping her senseless and telling her to shut the living hell up. It probably wouldn't be great for business at all and I doubt they'd let me hang out in there any more once I beat up an older Asian lady and screamed at her. Of course, maybe they'd keep me around to weed out all the weak and useless.

There's also this redheaded fellow who works here. I'm pretty sure his name is Liam because I'm an eavesdropper(It's how I make friends; I listen in on conversations and then I put in some witty interjection so that they realize right off the bat that I'm considerably cool, and on top of that I hear like a bat) and I heard the boss asking him to do something. Anyway, he's kind of your quintessential ginger kid and I really want to be his friend, if only to have a ginger friend. I'm not sure what it is about them but I'm hopelessly drawn to redheads. Bryce Dallas Howards is my perfect celebrity crush and even though I say I'm not a lesbian, I would definitely I should stop this sentence right now because I feel like if I continue, there's no going back. Anyway, I'm trying to think of a way to, um... make a new friend. Without being creepy. My dad always tells me to just go up to people and be like 'hey, you wanna hang out?' but I'm not thirteen any more, this isn't a swimming pool and it's kind of awkward to just go up to someone and ask if they want to go places or do things with you right off the bat, especially if you know their name and they don't know yours. You just end up looking like a right creeper that's probably going to rape them, kill them, rape them again, then cut them up and stick them in your freezer so you can eat them bit by bit.

I honestly have no idea how I've ever made friends in my life. I think I made one friend once when I was about five and then every friend I've made since then has just been because of that friend. Like... that one friend introduced me to people and then those people introduced me to other people and it just continued from place to place until now. Now that I live somewhere new and and foreign and cold, I don't have any extensions of friends here. I only have my dad and his girlfriend. Char is really cool but my dad likes telling me to 'go to beach parties' to meet people.

Thanks, Dad.

I'll go get really drunk, fuck some random people, pass out on your couch and give birth to a bastard child nine months later. People that go have drunken orgies at the beach kind of aren't people I want to be friends with. It actually sounds like a really retarded idea. I may as well just become an alcoholic right off the bat. Then I can go to AA meetings and meet friends there. "Hi, my name is Willow and I love to drink, shoot up and FUCK. Who wants to hang out? I'll let you do me!"

On a happier note, I have the biggest chocolate chip cookie in front of me I've seen in my life. Fuck you lactose intolerance, I'm gonna be a damn rebel today.

Let's hope my windpipe doesn't close up.

RE: being easy

So I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately; about all my friends on facebook breaking up and then getting with someone new, people having big fights about who slept with whose boyfriend, about Gossip Girl telling young women that it’s not okay for a girl to be single and not having sex. I was talking about it with a friend a few minutes ago and she said the appeal to being a slag is that it’s easy. It’s easier to have sex with no strings attached and not get your heart broken than it is to go on dates and find the right person and fall in love. I can agree with that. It probably is a lot easier to walk into a bar, go up to a guy and say ‘You can have sex with me’ than it is to go up to a guy and ask him what he does for a living and try to build a relationship on nothing at all. It’s easier to be easy and that’s a great argument for slag-ism, but being a comparative kind of person, I had to find something to compare it to.

So I guess sex is like that thing on the other side of the big chain link fence. You’re on one side, it’s over there, and you can see it. Great. You could go through the gate because that would be easy and practical and chances are you wouldn’t get hurt going through the gate. You’d go through and you’d get to your goal, easy as pie. The other option is to go over the fence. This is not very practical, it’s difficult, it’s time consuming and you could very easily fall or get your foot caught in the links and hurt yourself quite badly. But I don’t remember ever climbing over a fence without humming the Indiana Jones theme, and I don’t remember ever climbing over a fence and not feeling incredibly accomplished and badass and awesome, even when I did fall and hurt myself and cried the bitter tears that go hand in hand with potentially stupid decisions. I’d get to my goal(hurt or not) and feel extremely hardcore for it. Yes, I might have to spend a little while on crutches because I twisted my ankle and got hurt and yes, there may well be more fences.

But I climbed it, didn’t I?

Can you say that, or did you just use the gate like everyone else?

Being good at minesweeper is like suddenly realizing you’re a legitimate genius, you know the cure for every illness and you could easily sketch out a blueprint for a working time travel device.

I haven’t had internet for the past few weeks. I’d love to say I’m fine with it, that I’ve been getting a lot done and all that faff, but the truth is it’s been killing me. I’m a great fan of the internet and all it has to offer me so when the neighbours I’d been ‘borrowing’ wireless from cut me off/stopped paying their bills/moved, I died a little bit inside. Luckily I found a few ways to pass the time. First, I borrowed a bunch of movies from a friend.

I borrowed Hotel Rwanda, The Code, Don’t Mess With The Zohan, Zack & Miri Make a Porno, The Producers and X-Men: Origins.

Hotel Rwanda was the saddest movie I’ve seen in my entire life. I’ve watched it twice and I’ve cried about sixteen(I’m so not even joking about that number) times because of it. It’s the best role I’ve seen Don Cheadle in and it was based on a very, very true story which makes it all the sadder. I really appreciated this movie. If you’re looking for something to inspire you, Hotel Rwanda rocks but it’s extremely sad and very disturbing.

The Code was lame. I love Antonio Banderas and Morgan Freeman but it was really sub-par and that made me sad. It tried to keep you guessing but instead of the ending being all ‘OH MY GOSH it was the butler all along’ I felt a little more along the lines of ‘I see what you did there. Next movie.’

Don’t Mess With The Zohan was gay.

Zack & Miri Make a Porno… if you haven’t seen it yet, you really should. I thought it was great. It had everything I love in it; coffee, porn, Craig Donaldson, Lester the Molester and a Canadian boy taking it up the pooper from a lady. There’s also a legitimate porn star in it; see if you can guess which one it is. Not only was it hilarious, naughty, disgusting and slightly arousing but it also had undertones of cute romance so a couple could easily watch it and the guy could enjoy the fucking and the dirty humour and the girl could enjoy the sweet romance story hiding behind Jason Mewse’s beautifully groomed nutsack.

The Producers is the balls, in a good way. Can’t even describe it in words. Matthew Broderick can definitely have the key to my chastity belt.

X-Men Origins. Jesus. Never make me watch his travesty ever again. It was a disaster in the worst way. Bad acting, shitty story line, awful, awful writing. I’m pretty sure there is absolutely nothing they could have done to make that movie worse.

Actually, that’s a lie; they could’ve put Taylor Swift and Keanu Reeves in it.

So that’s what I spent my first week doing. I’d go to work, I’d come home from work, I’d be a crazy cat lady for a while and then I’d watch a different movie. I also had a Lord of The Rings commentary marathon with myself over the course of a few days. That wasn’t depressing at all. The second week was a blur of colour and sales. I’m not even sure I was conscious at all. Now we’re beginning the third week of no internet and by God, let me just say I am over-fucking-joyed.

The good news is I actually caved and ordered Telus to hook my shit up. By the end of this week I should be running wild and free on the internet again and that brings me some hella joy. I’ll be paying an arm and a leg for it every month(thank God I’m a starfish) but all that really means is I have to give up my WoWing for a while. It could be worse.

What I was getting at with this, though, was the point that when you have no internet you get really good at the games your computer comes with. Which reminds me, second week was filled with Sims 3. I begged my mommy to buy it for me like a true pussy. Don’t judge me, I got desperate. Anyhow, the games your computer comes with should include solitaire, spider solitaire, backgammon, some other shit and minesweeper. I played solitaire for a while until I realized I was just hitting H the whole game and gave up. Then I switched to spider solitaire and realized I couldn’t beat my high score, got frustrated and sketched a zombie. Then I started playing minesweeper and my life changed.

You will always suck at minesweeper in the beginning. If you’ve never played it before, you can expect to be fucked constantly. Once you figure it out though and you start getting slowly better, you feel like a MENSA member. You can do anything in the world once you figure out minesweeper. I felt like a genius when I won for the first time.

On a change of subject, apparently I’m fighting an infection of sorts because my lymph node feels like a grapefruit hanging off of my jaw and I’m becoming delirious. I started out drawing Harry Potter as a unisaurus-rex creating a rainbow. Awful things followed it. I’ll just leave you with my creations that occurred throughout the night as I became more tired, more ill and more fascinated with the different brushes in paint.

There you have it. My regression from relatively normal and colourful to...

I'm going to go back to work.

Promises are for chumps, Cumulus Discord deserves to be famous, MGG is making a Halloween album and I found my carpet today

Yes. I made you a promise last time that I would finish that post and I didn't. Get off my back.

First off, I'd like to talk a little bit about Cumulus Discord. I met Alexander at a fundraiser in a little bistro and I'm pretty sure I started off the conversation talking about Hobbits because I got nervous like I usually do when I meet new people. This fellow is extremely charming. I'm not sure if I'd say he's as charming as Starbucks Man, but he definitely struck a chord with me. I went about being a creep and located his myspace through his facebook and thoroughly enjoyed his music for a second time. Now it's about time you did too. Cumulus Discord brings out the romantic in me. I can't quite say why but Catching Cotton and Freedom to Fall both make me want to get on a big boat and let a stranger paint me naked and drop my grandmother's necklace into the ocean. Not sure where those particular urges are coming from. Point is, go check him out and give him your love, and if you like his music go give some props to Skye Wallace and Bronwyn Malloy. These are some talented dub-cee(west coast for gangsters) artists that for sure deserve more love than they have right now.

Secondly, Matthew Gray Gubler's Halloween album? I think this one might have to stew a bit with me. It's not at all the I'm unprepared for a Halloween album or that it's Matthew(that actually makes it about ten times more awesome, as well as ten point six times more relevant) I think it's just that it's something new. We as humans don't seem to be too receptive to things that we don't know by heart as a general rule. He's done pretty well for himself, MGG, so I'm sure he'll get on just fine. I just thought I'd express my mild hesitance. Maybe it's just because he wasn't as impressed with my solar-powered laser grizzly as I was and I'm slightly but not overly bitter about it.

Sorry for a link overload tonight.

Lastly(I hope), I saw my carpet today. I'd forgotten that it was there purely because for the month I've been here, clothes have been strewn over the length of my apartment. I don't own a dresser and that's my best excuse. Anyway, in a frantic search for my birth certificate I did the unthinkable and cleaned. Now I see a carpet and for the first time I'm noticing the floor has a weird little peak and slant in it; the imperfection makes it all the more real. I didn't find my birth certificate. Char is going to be very mad at me. I need to come up with a good excuse in 5.5 hours before we head into town or she's going to rip my skin off like Pyramid Head.

Things I've learned working in a clothing store and a few things I wish would come to be

So I've been working at a clothing store for three months now, I think, and I've learned some very interesting things as well as wished some other things. I'm very fond of lists right now so I'll make you another list, this one regarding things I've learned working in a clothing store and a few things I wish would come to be.

1. *I've learned that there are about thirty-seven different shades of pink alone. Not being a pink person myself, this is a bit of an uncomfortable realization for me. How many times have I accidentally worn mountbatten pink without realizing it? How many fandango shirts have I complimented in passing? And if there are thirty-seven shades of pink alone, how many shades of blue are there? How many shades of yellow? It's... terrifying, to be honest.

2. Smell has a lot to do with how much you sell. Not your smell, I mean, but the smell of the store. If people enjoy your store's smell they're more likely to stay longer and the longer they stay, the more crap they buy. It's pretty badass.

3. If your current wardrobe is shit, you'll spend your entire paycheck the moment you get it.

4. I wish it was acceptable for saleswomen to do the running man with customers in the store. I've never tried it but I feel guilty even when I do it when I'm alone. I don't think I could perform said old school dance with other human beings around without getting stage fright and throwing up into my hand but feeling really embarrassed about it, causing me to put said throw-up into my pocket. Don't even ask why I came to that conclusion because I have no answer for you and the pressure of not having an answer will invoke stage fright.

5. It's totally not spelled 'tye-dye'.

6. Knowing what a pashmina is and how to tie it is a pain in the ass but it's necessary.


I promise I'll finish this when I get home. I suck at doing things.

*amaranth, amaranth pink, brink pink, carmine pink, carnation pink, cerise, cerise pink, cherry blossom pink, coral pink, dark pink, deep carmine pink, deep pink, fandango, french rose, fuchsia, fuchsia pink, hollywood cerise, hot magenta, hot pink, lavender pink, light pink, light thulian pink, magenta, mountbatten pink, persian pink, persian rose, pink, puce, rose, rose pink, ruby, salmon pink, shocking pink, tea rose, thulian pink, ultra pink, variations of pink.
The thirty-seven shades of pink. I wasn't lying.

I really do wish I had a better excuse

Yeah, I disappeared for a while. I'm sorry but at the same time I'm not. I was getting settled in my new place and I just didn't have time for silly things like blogging. I'm here now though. Lord knows how long that'll keep up.

Since I have been gone so long, I decided I should have something to prove that I wasn't just being mean and neglectful and trying to keep you all(chortlechortle) on your toes. I have compiled a list of lessons I've learned during my first three weeks of living on my own as a proper adult. I know most lessons only stick if you learn them yourself but at least you'll have some idea of what to expect. If you already are an adult, feel free to sit back and laugh at my failures.

1. Watching Criminal Minds at 4:30 AM and then thinking you can actually cram two and a half hours of sleep in before work is completely ridiculous. First off, we both know that when you actually want to go to sleep you're never able to but when you're with friends and watching a movie you can fall asleep without a problem. Secondly, you just finished watching an episode about young girls being abducted and tortured. You live on your own with a cat that thinks more about his own balls than you. If someone breaks in, you are officially dead. There's no way in hell you'll be sleeping.

2. You can't fix your own toilet. I understand that you'd really like to be handy and smart, I really do, but the more you play with it the more you break it. This rule applies to most household things; sink, shower, toaster oven, that one loose tile you thought you could just glue.

3. You have to do your own laundry. A lot of you knew this already and that was on your to-do list. You have a hamper and laundry soap and a roll of quarters so you can go down to the laundromat and be an adult. That's all fine and dandy, but this also means you actually have to do it. Do not wait until flies gather around your overflowing hamper and you're forced to fashion a diaper-like structure out of an old toque to make up for the fact that you have no clean underwear.

4. Nobody's going to wake you up and tell you to go to work. If you don't have a great alarm, set some jogging pants next to your keys in the morning. You will be running to work.

5. Don't watch crime shows at full volume. Your neighbours worry when they hear girls screaming and crying in your apartment.

6. If Dad offers to buy you groceries, say yes or you'll be eating a different piece of your second-hand couch every night.

7. Don't get sick. Mom isn't there to make you chicken soup. You can only call in sick so many times. On a happier note, this means no more rectal thermometers. Or was that only in my family?

8. I realize you think you'll look like an idiot if you wear your helmet while riding your bike to work, but you'll look like even more of an idiot when you fall and hit your head because your motor skills suck.

9.  The best lessons are ones you forget and have to relearn over and over.

Going back to places you were when you were younger is a really weird experience

Sorry about disappearing for a few days, my one follower. I had to traverse home to pack up all my crap and move it out here. There was a whole buttload of stress associated with that trip and the move and I'll just be very glad when it's over. I could go into it but I'd really rather not. Instead, I'm going to talk about visiting places you knew once a while later.

To be honest, I wasn't away from that city for too long. Three months, maybe? To say it was somewhere I grew up and knew when I was little would be inaccurate but I've definitely gone back to my elementary school when I was older and it was really freaky. Anyway, I went back and already things that seemed so huge felt tiny. Things change really fast. When you're in your school the gym seems huge, especially if you're fat and you hate running and your gym teacher's like 'If you don't run twenty laps of this immense gym in five minutes, I'm going to hate you for the rest of your highschool life'.  You go back later on and it seems so small. You wonder why you ever made such a huge fuss.

This is going to be a really shitty post. It's so... broken and disconnected. I started it yesterday and now I'm trying to finish it but I'm just not into it. I kicked a wasp out of the air at the store a little while ago and met the love of my life on omegle so I'm kind of all over the place. I'm just gonna end this here and I'll write something that isn't shit later on.

I always wondered if there was a panther somewhere that was actually my brother

Why do people bring their tiny dogs with them everywhere? I guess I can see that it's sort of a fashion thing and why would you get a little dog if you didn't want to carry it around the mall and into Starbucks and shit like that. That's fine, I guess, but you'd probably look less like an idiot if you just got knocked up and carried a baby around. This isn't my way of condoning teenage pregnancy or anything like that, I just think that it would probably be about the same principle with a baby not to mention that when you walk around with a baby, you have a reason to bring it with you. You can't leave a baby at home all day and take it out for walks periodically. You can't just leave some dry food in a dish and trust your baby to feed itself. You can't give your baby a ridiculous name just to go along with the times because that baby will grow up and cry him or herself to sleep every night. A dog really won't care if you name him Yippy Long-Stockings. Well, he might a little. You can't tie your baby up to a fire hydrant outside and just assume it's not going to be kidnapped while you get some coffee. Basically if you have a baby, you can dress it up with pom-poms and fluffy dresses just like you would with that tiny dog of yours and you can carry it around all over the place without hearing a single complaint. Some places don't like your tiny dog stinking up their fine establishment.

Does anyone remember that old Charlie Brown episode/movie where Charlie Brown went to visit his girlfriend in the hospital and Snoopy and Woodstock tried to find him because they thought he left them for good? And everywhere they went had signs that said that no dogs or birds were allowed and that 'No dogs allowed' song was playing in the background?

That's the most vivid memory I have of my childhood. I just thought about that again now and I was wondering if anyone else remembered it. Also, that Gargoyles show. And Cyber Six. Now that was a fucked up show. She was a man by day, a crime-fighting chick by night and her brother was a panther? Her arch-nemesis was a little boy. It was a bit of a trip. I feel like I can safely blame those few years of gender confusion on this show.

The place I lived in when I was younger had a pretty big basement and it was down there that I had sort of my 'kid room'. This kid room was where I could go to watch TV, play on my playstation and sketch my childhood crush Yu-Gi from Yu-Gi-Oh into my notepad. Unfortunately to get to said kid room, I had to go down this long, spooky hallway and before I could get to my room I had to pass that one portion of the basement that still just had rocks for flooring and plastic on the walls. It was a huge empty space with no lights and the only thing between me and it was a flimsy sliding wooden door.

 Every night when I wanted to go watch TV I had to pass this room(which I called the 'werewolf room') and it scared the living shit out of me. Luckily at night, I was a superhero. I could battle werewolves and beat up vampires and nobody stood a damn chance against my seven-year-old self. I was a force to be reckoned with, I tell you.

Logically, if I was a superhero at night then I would be a man by day. Right? That's what Cyber Six taught me anyway. It may sound weird to you but trust me, if you grew up watching fucked up shows like Cyber Six you'd be a little bit confused too.

Every night I reach down and I'm like 'This is my fallopian tube'

I had an unproductive day yesterday. This isn't really surprising for me because I'm an unproductive person. I tend to have a lot of difficulty completing the simplest of tasks because they usually seem really pointless to me. I was supposed to write a blog post yesterday and then do some other, extra-curricular writing for something else. Neither of them got done. I suppose this is a good thing because I was at work so technically I should have been working on actual work stuff anyway, but I'm kind of sad I didn't get more done. I guess it has a lot to do with the fact that nothing interesting or exciting happened yesterday. I sold some clothes, I bought a dinosaur t-shirt and I talked to one of my extremely stupid friends about rape(I told you, this is a rape-y blog). It was pretty uneventful.


I'm pretty sure at one point I said that something I didn't like could suck my fallopian tube and he said 'Oh I will ;D' and I had to explain to him what exactly a fallopian tube is, which he responded to with "Oh. I thought it was a man part. Every night I reach down and I'm like 'This is my fallopian tube'." I laughed so hard I cried and then I laughed about it again this morning.

I told you nothing very exciting has happened. I need to catch a bus in two hours, but that's about as exciting as my life is right now. I'm going home to pack up all my shit for my new place which hopefully will be free on Sunday. If it isn't, I'm going to be living out of a gutter or something. I have nowhere to put all my shit so I need this place to be free. Of course if I had my 60's VW I could just live out of my van. People would be like 'Hey, so what's your address?' and I'd be like 'Fuck addresses, I live out of my van bitch.'

Looks like the motivation well for me today is a bit dry. This could be really long and impressive and interesting but I just haven't got it in me. I'm sorry. There's no commitment here. It's sad but it's true. I'm going to end this here before I get too boring.

Maybe if I write down things as they happen to me I'll have a better memory so I can blog them later but probably not

It was a very good morning. I bought some giant yellow and blue glasses yesterday at the Dollar Store when I forgot what I went in for and since I woke up alone this morning, I figured it was a great time to put them on. I spent an hour standing around in the bathroom, singing along to Justin Beiber and James Blunt and trying to be a liquid flow dancer without much success.

Anyway, like it said,  very good morning. I was almost late for my bus and I forgot to eat or pack a fork which meant I couldn't eat my lunch either but it was okay because I had a fantastic morning and because of this it would be a fantastic day!

No.

I need to get into the habit of thinking things will go wrong as soon as life gets good for me. It never fails. As soon as I find twenty bucks on the ground, someone I owe money too will remind me and the twenty will go as fast as it came. If I manage to fit into a pair of really awesome jeans that are perfectly priced, I'll spill something oily on them and they'll be instantly ruined for the rest of my life. If I have a good morning, the rest of my day will go down the drain and force me to visit the video store for something sweet to assuage my desire to maul someone for funsies.

I guess it started with the fact that I didn't bring a fork. I should have but I was an idiot which really is no surprise at all. I'm at work for seven hours and I've forgotten a fork. I'm forkless. Considering this is a new town for me, I can't just call someone and ask them to bring me some noms or a fork because that would be rude and I'd get someone to deliver but it's such a small down that nobody delivers at all, let alone to a clothing shop nobody's heard of. 

Luckily for me(note the foolishness in this statement) I had a banana! All would be well in the world as long as I had this banana because when I don't eat I get cranky, much like el chupacabra. I reach around in my backpack and produce a beautiful, unbruised banana. Godly. Unfortunately, I got in a little snowboarding accident last winter and chipped my front tooth. I haven't been able to get it fixed but it's caused some nerve damage that brings me some pretty intense pain now and again. I wish I had known today was going to be a tooth hurting day because I went after that banana like you wouldn't believe. 

I'm already bored of this story. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even started with it. To make it really short, my day has sucked so far and I have two more hours to hang out here and be a pathetic, faily mess.

I need a bath when I get home.

It sucks fancying the boy that works at Starbucks because coffee makes me ill

I think the boy that works here at Starbucks is very handsome. He's like a short haired Teddy Geiger and when I walk by him, he smiles at me. I think he does it to be polite but he's got to realize realize that sometimes being polite is foolish. His attempts at being polite lead me to believe that maybe I'm not an epic failure. I happen to be really incapable of flirting. I seem to believe that flashing a man my 'gun fingers' will make him think I'm something special. Talking about my hairy feet and blaming them on the fact that I'm part hobbit is supposed to bring men in but instead, it drives them off for some reason. Because of the realization that I'm actually truly romantically retarded, I try my best not to talk to boys at all. I see a boy, I smile like a dog that's just gone and shat on the rug and try to get away as fast as I can which usually just results in me making a complete idiot of myself and inadvertently telling the whole town not to be friends with me.

Anyway, this boy is very handsome and very charming. I don't know him at all but I'm... enraptured? I don't know what that word means and I can't look it up because I'm busy being awesome. So he works at Starbucks. He's a barista and he makes me happy. The only problem with this is that coffee makes me sick. I mean like quite sick. I have to pee every ten minutes, I blow up like a balloon and I spend about half an hour locked in the bathroom to stew in my own shame. The only thing that brings me and Barista Boy together makes me feel like if someone touches me, I'll burst into a million Waldo chunks and they'll have to put me in a jar and try to reconstruct me out of my own bits of flesh and pig parts.

EDIT: My cousin reminded me that Starbucks sells tea too.

It's now 9:47PM and I'm very tired. I told myself I would get a good sleep tonight considering I didn't sleep well at all last night but obviously this just isn't going to happen. I thought for a moment I'd truly overcome my fear of the undead a few nights ago but as I approached the bathroom tonight to fetch some Gold Bond powder(I'm allergic to aluminum so basically every time I use normal person deodorant, I get a rash. Hot, yeah?) I had a brief fantasy in the pitch black that I'm too frightened and alone to relay in detail but basically it scared the shit out of me and now I can't sleep. I effectively spent the last hour and a half plucking my eyebrows and waxing my dreadlocks on the bathroom floor. To say it was a real display of adulthood and will power would be highly false. When I'm out on my own, I'm quite sure I'll be calling my dad every night to come over and check for zombies at 2AM because I heard a spooky noise outside that sounded like the rattling death gargle of the undead. See, I just scared myself again. Sometimes when I do that, I'll punch around in erratic directions. If I were a zombie sneaking up on someone and she just started punching the air, I'd think she was some really badass mofo and if she actually managed to hit me, holy shit. She must be a fucking ninja to know I was coming and to hit me without looking. I would run as fast as my deteriorating legs would take me. My only defense against my own imagination is the imagination of others, usually wielded in the form of an awesome movie. Tonight, it's Dodgeball. It has been Dodgeball since I accidentally took The Anchorman to work in my laptop, removed it from the CD drive to try burning some songs onto a different disc and left it under the counter with all of the sad garbage bags and the watering can I've never found a use for at a clothing store.

On a lighter note, we watched the 11th Hour tonight. It really inspired me for a moment. I was motivated. I was a force to be reckoned with. I was unstoppable. It inspired me to do my part and then some, and inspire others to inspire others. I started thinking about ways I could recycle within my own personal unit like maybe taking an old shirt that has a rip in it and transforming it into a rag, a couple of rags, or a fancy hat. I could make a point to wash my clothes in cold water to conserve energy and plant a lot of... plants. Of course, then came the question of how to start with this life-changing project of mine to save the earth. I figured the best way to begin would be by not having sand mysteriously gathered in my sports bra and that was the end of my inspiration. Good intentions are hard.

Doing things on a worldwide scale is even more difficult when you can't really plan ahead or look into the future. A lot of people can sort of make goals and see themselves where they want to be on a realistic level. I'm not really that sort of person. I can see tomorrow and I can see today. If anyone asked me to seriously look at my life and say where I'll be ten years from now, I think I'd have an aneurysm and just sit there drooling on myself and making unintelligible noises. I can fantasize, if that counts at all. I can make up happy little pretend worlds in which I'm married to Taye Diggs and I'm a famous actress who lives in a house on the beach with solar paneling and two dogs(a bull mastiff named Ralph or Watson and a great dane named Sherlock. I don't like female dogs because they're real bitches) and my cat Iago. I would study starfish and cephalopods in my spare time and I'd have a very expensive treadmill so that I could have a body like Beyonce without having to go out for a hike when it's bear season or when it's pouring rain like it has been recently.

Realistically though, I see myself doing nothing. In ten years I'll be sitting in my 'bright, spacious bachelor suite' with my cat and my laptop, blogging alone at quarter after ten about my fear of zombies and romantic retardation. It's a sad thought and I hope it isn't true but knowing how driven I actually am, it's likely.

I was hoping by now my melatonin would have kicked in but I see that just isn't happening so I'm going to close my eyes, listen to Dodgeball, remind myself that nothing bad happens in Canada and force myself to sleep.

If that doesn't work, I'll just go to Starbucks in the morning before work.

Moonwalking saves all social situations

I wanted to get to Starbucks way earlier today but I wound up walking in the park with a dog for most of my day. I got here at three and posted the blog entry I wrote last night, as you probably saw, and then I began to focus on the world around me.

First off, we have no internet at home. This means that a family outing entails the three of us sitting in Starbucks, fighting over the one outlet and not talking. I went to go sit in the other corner of Starbucks because the outlet was taken by two other jokers(Dad and S-Mom) so I had to join a weird fella on the arm chairs. He responded slowly. Not like... 'let me think about that' slowly but genuinely slowly. It was like slightly retarded slowly. I felt uncomfortable right off the bat and it wasn't because of the pauses. It was because during the pauses, he stared at me without a single break to blink. I think he had see-through eyelid like lizards do that was always covering and moistening his eyes. It was disturbing. Terrifying. I wanted to leave because I'm a panic queen and I was already feeling vulnerable because when I entered the coffee joint, I walked straight into the door. So I sat next to the slow-talker without visible eyelids and we had a very awkward conversation about Camp Sunshine and how he is a missionary even though he seemed extremely gay and had his ears pierced and obviously moisturized his hands. I needed to get away.

"Well my family's in the other corner and I'm going to go join them."

It seemed so safe. I thought it would result in the typical 'oh alright, nice talking to you' but no. He broke out into dramatics. He had the gay hand flop going on, he crossed his legs, and he said 'what do you think I am, a woman?'

I had to get out. I moonwalked halfway through Starbucks to avoid this painfully agonizing social situation I found myself in. Somehow I thought that this was acceptable. I thought it was more acceptable than just turning around and walking away. I guess I assumed that if I embarrassed myself in front of this man, he would feel better about being rejected. He didn't want to be stuck with a weirdo Michael Jackson wannabe anyway.

Although I can't see why, especially after watching me lose an epic battle with a glass door.

Get out of my life Leighton Meester

Okay, so it's 10:41 PM(that's nearly two hours past my bed time, thank you) and I'm playing Warcraft III. I glance over at the TV, and there's some sort of horrible montage on with True Blood, Gossip Girl, Supernatural, 90210, Vampire Diaries and I'm pretty sure that one with the gay guy was that American model show. Project Runway? Anyhow, I'm feeling pretty repulsed with TV right now. It started out pretty good when I got home. Austin Powers was on and life was good. I'm watching NCIS right now(I think. I can't tell these crime shows apart any more to be honest. My only giveaway is Horatio Crane) and the fact that that hideous montage with Katy Perry, the skankbag of the century, playing in the background came on while I'm trying to watch my stories is very personally offensive. I'd like to lodge a complaint to CW11. This is bullshit. I'm watching a crime show. Would you really expect, as I tune in to someone being raped and tortured over a span of three days, that I'd really like to see clips of Ed Westwick and... uh... Blake Lively having sex and the girls from 90210 taking off their tops? Do you really think I want to see Leighton Meester's coke-addicted face on my TV? You need to think about your target audience, Television. You can't just throw random-ass commercials in here and there because you're being paid. Don't be a dumbass. Use your common sense.

ANOTHER GOSSIP GIRL COMMERCIAL. Fuck off. I'm not even joking. Leighton Meester, get your face off of my television. Chace Crawford, I don't care how beautiful you are. You make out with Leighton Meester. I have to hate you by default. I don't know any of these people personally but the fact that they're on TV and I'm not makes me very bitter. That and the fact that they have sex lives which I, obviously, do not. I think if I did have a romantic life of some sort(or even a personal life) I wouldn't be sitting at home on a Saturday night watching a crime show and blogging about how much I want to stab my TV in its face with a water-sword. That's probably the gayest thing I've ever said but I don't care. I'm very upset. I'm personally offended and I feel I have the right to file a personal complaint.

On the note of being personally offended, I was coerced into watching the Bratz Kids Sleepover movie. I'm not ashamed to say that I didn't mind watching it with the little girl I was baby-sitting. I am ashamed to say that when I had to go back downstairs by myself and the bathroom made a funny noise, I was a little bit freaked out and ran back up the stairs.

Man, this episode of NCIS is really nerve-wracking for me. It isn't so much that this woman has been tortured and raped, it's just that she was kept on a boat and I get really seasick. I think if that were me, they'd let me go. I'd just puke all over everything. I'd cry and puke and try to clean myself up pathetically only to puke all over myself again. I wouldn't be very sexy.

I have the feeling this is going to turn into a bit of a crude blog. I'm sorry. Really, I should apologize now because I don't know who's going to be reading this and if you get hurt feelings easily, this probably isn't the best reading material for you. I should have put a disclaimer on this blog before I-- holy shit, is this a prolonged episode? OH SHIT I KNOW WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN! They just quoted Nitsche and I think I know how this is gonna end. Gideon's gonna get the shit shot out of him by the Gollum-looking kid. OH SHIT. OH SHIT. DUCK.

...

I really hate 'to be continued' episodes.

PS, I was going to end that there but I saw that Rainn Wilson is going to guest star in this episode and had a little spaz attack. I'm in love with the entire cast of The Office, along with anyone who may have had a little cameo in it. I'm the same way with Scrubs.

Pointy sticks and babysitting

I'm a little bit paranoid. Zombieland made me terrified of public bathrooms. I'm scared of bears eating my face. I'm scared of rejection, failure and vampires. Really, I'm a pretty unstable mess. I'm also afraid of being abducted and raped and tortured but I've found a method to dealing with most of my fears.
First off, I always tell myself that nothing bad happens in Canada. It's true. You never watch a horror movie that takes place in Saskatchewan. You'll never hear about werewolves terrorizing Prince Edward Island. In Zombieland, did they meet a Vancouver or a Toronto? No. No they did not. Truth is, nothing bad ever happens in Canada.I'm pretty much safe based on that rule alone.
Secondly, if something really important is coming up, I'm very sure I can't die. If I have my first day of work tomorrow or next week even, I can't die. If my birthday is coming up(or anyone else's birthday) I can't die. I won't die before a party, before a social gathering, when something exciting might happen or when I'm getting ready to go somewhere. I can't die when something important is on its way because they need me for said important thing. The universe can't do that to me.
Third, I walk around with sticks now. I really don't want to get raped and I'm barely five feet tall so basically, I'm a sitting duck.I don't think anyone in their right mind would rape someone with a stick. Just imagine it; a short, Hobbit of a girl with dreads walking around and swinging a stick. It just radiates the message 'if you try to rape me, I'll stab you in the stomach with this pointy fucking stick'. I don't think I would try to rape someone with a stick. I also plan to go for the eyes. I'm pretty sure I could gouge someone's eyes out pretty effectively.

On that note, I'm babysitting at the moment. I'm kind of a crappy babysitter. I don't really babysit, I just make contests like 'how far can you walk on your hands' contests. I never participate because I'm 'too old'. I tell them to run up and down that extremely steep hill outside as many times as they can while I sit at the top of the hill with some tea and watch. It's not that I don't care, I just don't know how to interact with children. They don't get my humor. I make a joke about Jeffrey Dahmer and they just look at me. If I keep them busy with physical tasks(betting usually works really well to get them on their feet and running. Children will go to great lengths for a quarter, because if they get four of them they can buy a cool toy at the dollar store or a candy bar) then I don't have to talk to them except for the occasional 'Wow, you're fast' and 'How many more times can you do that?'. I'd be a bad mother too. I wouldn't have a conversation with my child until he or she was twenty. That would be an awkward day.
Another trick I use is the drawing trick, if they're young enough girls. Young girls love to draw so if I ask them to go draw me their very best farm picture, they'll be gone for twenty minutes pouring over a piece of paper and a bin of scented markers. I think I should actually start being a good babysitter, I think I'm being paid for this crap. Luckily, some fond admirer is here to fawn over the child like a crazy person. I really hate the high-pitched baby voice people use for children and dogs. 'OH LOOK AT YOUR ICKLE FAAACE OH MY GOD YOU SHO KYOOOOT!'

I'm going to go tickle this child.

Listening to Coldplay makes me feel guilty

I think that maybe by listening to Coldplay, I'm projecting the idea that maybe I want people to think I'm really deep. The truth is, I'm not. I'm a pretty shallow person. I listen to Coldplay because I enjoy the sound of music. If you think I can understand the meaning behind anything they're saying, you've fallen into society's trap and you think I'm a deep, intelligent individual. I'm okay with that. In all honesty, if you do believe that's who I am then I'm probably starting off better than I thought and maybe I should stop talking about what a shallow person I am.

This is my fourth attempt at a blog. I find myself always failing at it because I don't have the attention span or the patience to write as often as I need to in order to keep up a blog. I also don't think I'm very interesting but sometimes things happen to me that I really want to tell someone and I just moved to a new town so there's nobody to tell. I'm going to start off with a clean slate and tell you that I'm a new adult who's afraid of zombies and plays World of Warcraft in Starbucks when she should be working on her fourth attempt at a blog. I'm living on my dad's couch because the current tenant of my apartment refuses to leave. I can't really tell you why I left my old place of residence. Moving was a spur of the moment decision. I'm pretty sure that one morning I'm going to wake up alone in my bright, spacious bachelor suite and realize I'm nowhere near capable of being an actual adult. The whole idea of paying rent and going grocery shopping and getting bills in the mail is somehow romanticized with teenager even though not a single adult in the world would say that it's the fun times we make it out to be. It's kind of like explosive diarrhea. Not a single person in the world who's experienced is would recommend it as a pastime, but anyone that hasn't had it can't help but be fascinated by the concept. It has the world 'explosive' in it so it has to be pretty amazing, right? Then one day they'll eat some bad shellfish and spend the next four days sitting on the toilet and bawling, soon to be added to that percentage of people that have experienced explosive diarrhea.

I just finished a very pleasant conversation with my co-landlord. Yes, in the midst of my avid blogging about diarrhea, my landlord popped by. As you can see I'm all class all the time. I'm moving into my new place soon. Soonish. We're hoping that's the case anyway. The current tenant is-- hang on, I think I already said that. Well, my point is, I really have to pee and I just made a new friend with the lady behind me in the pink sweater. We're going to chat for a while about writing, I'm guessing, and then I'm going to go babysit someone's kid. I'll leave this here for today just because I don't necessarily need to drag this on. It's a bit like beating the blog with a bag of dead turtles. I'll do some work on this later on when I'm not trying to talk and type at the same.