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.