Tuesday Blues

So today has not been a good day. I woke up way late for school and I felt like a complete failure. Why can't I get my lazy ass out of bed? My day hadn't even started and I felt like crap. I dressed and everything then I went downstairs to see my mom, who usually makes me feel better. To cut to the point, because I could go on and on, I didn't go to school. Although my mom was really calm about it (no punishment, no anger) I was angry with myself. I always feel like a loser on days I stay home and today was no different. Mom, Bigger and I ended up going out, shopping a little and picking up Bigger's boyfriend Stretch to run errands. We stopped at a bunch of places I like, like Value Village where Mom bought me earrings and a bottom for my quilt (which I will post here as I didn't my last one). But all day I couldn't shake the feeling that it was a bad day. We stopped at Big's work and had lunch with her and when she asked why I wasn't at school, I couldn't answer. She said "I care about you, but you won't tell me what's wrong." That's the whole problem, I don't know what's wrong and I don't have the time anymore to figure it out. I want to graduate and have a life, and I can't do that with poor attendance and shitty grades. I have to do better.
     
When we got back, there was a message on the answering machine that informed me that I had missed my practical exam for Vocal class. I was upset, but I had no right to be. I PURPOSELY skipped school today and I have to deal with the consequences. I missed a day with my friends, most of whom are not coming back next year and who I won't see so much over the summer. I missed seeing the boy I liked, and I made myself nervous about asking him out.

To help me get better, to try to help me have more good days than bad, my mom has an idea about how I can help myself. She wants me to start writing down my activities, so I can see what I'm doing during the day and try to fill my life with more things, better things. She even has goals:

1) Volunteer at a least two places, at least once a week
2) A job search done at least once a week with provided rides
3) Exercise at least once a day, just one activity (with the extra weight and the diabetes, this is big)
4) Spend a little time doing a relaxation activity (her term) such as knitting, reading or quilting etc., but not spend my entire day doing this. I think I may have a few relaxation days during the summer just so I can get some writing done, but her idea sounds good.

So. I have goals. I have ambitious that need time, concentration and energy put into them.
I have things to make, things to say and things to do. I have exams to ace! I have a boy to ask out.

Wish me luck.

P.S. What's up with you? Any plans? Any secrets desires that you want spontaneously to burst forth and fill you with energy and determination? Now I'm curious. Go on. :)

A Joke

   You may not realize this, but I'm fucking hilarious. No, it doesn't really matter whether you agree, in my heart I know its true. So it is. Just like that peeps. Magic. 
  So because I'm hilarious, I enjoy a good joke. 
  Here is one. 


A politician dies. He awakes at the Pearly Gates, in front of a slightly confused St. Peter. He asks Pete what's up. 
  Pete replies, "Well sir, you're name is here on the dead list, but it doesn't specify where you're to go. Now I've been thinking and I've decided to let you decide. You can go to either, because you've been a good person through charities you've supported but you've been bad too, being a politician. So, you're gonna spend a day in heaven and a day in hell. Where do you wanna go first?"
   The politician shrugs and says "I guess we'll go down first." So he takes the elevator below. When he arrives and steps out, he is greeted by a glorious sight. An endless expanse of a perfect cut grass makes the most beautiful golf course in existence. Piles of sinful food sends mouth watering scents though the air. Crowded on the tables are bottles of hundred year old whiskey and scotch and champagne. Woman of all shapes and sizes await his every whim. And man! All of his friends are down here. 
   The politician spends the day in absolute ecstasy, drinking and golfing and fucking and hanging with old friends. The day ends and he takes the elevator back up to the gates. Here he enters heaven. It's cool, with harps and angels and shit, and the politician is torn. When the second day ends, St. Peter drags the politician back out to the Pearly Gates. 
  "Alright," Pete says, "which will it be: heaven or hell?"
   "Well I don't know," the politician replies, "hell is, well, hell, and heaven is lovely and all, but hell, man it's got everything! The golf course, the food, the booze, the women and all my buddies. I know it doesn't sound right, but Pete, I think I'm gonna head down to hell.
  St. Peter nods his head and sends the politician back down the elevator. When he arrives at the gates of hell this time, its fire and brimstone and torture and shit. The politician stands there stunned when Lucifer happens to pass by. The politician gets Satan's attention and asks "what the hell is this place? I was here yesterday, and it was nothing like this. Where's the course and the booze and the women? Where'd they go?" 
   Lucifer shrugs, "Yesterday was the campaign. You voted for hell and the election's over."     
  
Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week.
     I got this joke from my grandfather's old friend (the friend isn't old but my grandfather's dead, so technically, its Grandpa's former friend). While out eating tonight, my parents and I overhead him telling this joke to his dinner companion. I thought it was awesome, especially since the friend is a politician. I changed it a bit, mainly because I wasn't paying attention for the first part of the joke and partly because I'm better at telling jokes. Oh modestly, thy name is not mine. 
    Night dorks. 


BTW, the word "ecstasy" was originally capitalized by Blogger. Nice, Blogger. Real nice, you fucking druggie. 

Things that Happened Since We Last Spoke

  Which occurred sometime last week when I spoke about marble busts. What?, you say. You spoke of marble busts (or is it busks, huh)?! How exciting, how adventurous. Anyway.

1.    Blogger has changed its template (program, oh whatever, its the viewy thing), which I do NOT like. I didn't like the other one either, so you can ignore this one. Wow, I feel like I'm trying to make a list on Microsoft Word, which I cannot do, and everything is fucking up.  
2.    I decided to clean my laptop (aka Marco, yes he does have a name) keyboard. This was a bad idea because a) I had no idea how to pop keys bad into place b) I have split salsa, a whole glass of water and either a smushed raspberry or a strawberry on the whole thing so it is disgusting. I also have four cats, so it is HAIRY in their. But fortunately, armed with a good number of Lysol wipes (which I use for everything. Lysol, honey, you wanna hook me up I could wax on and on about the power of Lysol in all forms. Call me. Uh, well email me. Just get in touch babe.) Right, so the keyboard is clean and all. Well its kinda clean. All the salsa blotches are gone, so yay! Sadly, some of my keys don't like staying put and pop out randomly and the other one enjoy sticking or jamming. Fun times we're having, me and Marco. Dear Marco gonna get a kick in the screen and a trip to the dumpster. Don't fuck with me Marco, I'm warning you. 
3.     I listen to "Pumped Up Kicks" by Foster the People around 43 times today. I think I'm in love. 
4. I wasted, I mean, enjoyed an entire day, an endless ten hours volunteering at the large Petsave. There were around two hundred cats and ten dogs. I was in frickin heaven peeps.

Shit that's gonna/got to happen
1.       I have to reschedule my appointment with my pediatrician. Yes, I have a kid doctor. You pause and probably say, isn't she seventeen? Yeah, I am but the internal doctor I was supposed to have doesn't take any patients younger than eighteen so I got a kiddie doctor. It sucks because I have to sit in a room with little kids every couple of months with my mom. Picture giant me, 5'8, build like a shithouse trying to blend in around three and two year olds. I love hanging out for twenty or thirty minute in an awkward situation. Ever happens again you call me up!
         The situation blows for a second time because my doctor's secretary asked to speak with my mother for my information because apparently I either don't know or am a liar. I know its policy but Christ lady, I'm old enough to be here with my own kid. You think I don't know my own goddamn address? It's funny that they won't take information from you at the age of seventeen but at eighteen I'll what, suddenly become an upstanding citizen and never lie and tell the whole truth? Oh please AND bite me.
          I have to reschedule because I procrastinated (there Mother, I admitted it. Are you happy?) and didn't schedule glucose testing until last Wednesday. The lab could only schedule me on the 15th of Spetember, which is a week before the doctor's appointment and the results take at least two weeks to come back. 
2.       I will be returning to school in under twelve hours. I'm so freaking nervous that I feel like vomiting. More on that later.                                                                         
            This rambling thing that occurs in the posts in very much true. If it doesn't contain rambling then it has probably been edited. I ramble and I try to just let everything flow when I write on here. If I do it here, I suppose, then I won't do it on assignments or essays in school and I (hopefully) won't do it as much at home. So if you don't like it, you can leave, because I'm sure it won't be a changing.                                                         
     Finally, if I go missing or wind up dead, check the laptop for any dents. (Marco probably did it) Heh, love you Marco <smiles winningly> 

Because you need the song stuck in your head too. 

The amnimals II (From Lilo and Stitch. I remembered the movie!!)

  I've recently become obsessed with puppies. I don't want a puppy, no not at all. In fact, every time I look at puppy, I go "ah, cute! way too much poop". Oh, yeah, poop is the main reason. But I love all animals, but right now, a puppy isn't in the works.
  I think I'm upset because I recently made a very serious decision. To me, the decision is epic, to the rest of the world, not so much.
  I mentioned recently that my family and I found a little black pregnant kitten in the backyard. Yeah, she did end up pregnant and a little over three weeks ago, she gave birth to two tiny, fuzzy adorable little kitties. One is black with a white under belly, she is so fricking adorable, and I named her Black n White (oh yeah, I'm original). The other one is mainly black like her mom, but she has blotches of white and gold and orange. Her original name was Reese's Pieces, because she looks like peanut butter and chocolate, but that name was veetoed (even though they're technically MY cats) and we all call her Peanut Butter.


Six weeks later, when I got around to finishing this post...


The big decision that was made is that we can't keep Black n White and Peanut Butter. They will be going to Petsave, the organisation where my mother and I volunteer as soon as possible. They will get lovely homes and live with good people. I have to tell myself this because if I even think otherwise, I feel like I'm gonna cry. They are evil little kitties, but somewhere deep down they're good too. Well maybe. Here are pictures. 

Black n White, sleeping

"You're an idiot" Peanut Butter's so hostile

"Don't take my damn picture! I'm gonna move, such to screw up you picture! Ha!" 

They both look evil. Mom and baby.

If you're good, you get more photos. And yeah, they swear a lot. They did grow up around me and Big. Big's swears more though. 
    Alright, get gone. Go pet a cat. Unless they're outside and will swipe you and you get rabies or cat scratch fever, like my sister Bigger. The fever, not rabies, although the rabies would explain a lot about Bigger. Just kidding. Uh, not. Just be good to cats people. Oh, and dogs. Yup, still obsessed with puppies. 

Oh, and, uh, yeah.

   I've been feeling kinda weird in the past few days. I've been lazing around the house, on the computer, watching television and feeling queasy. Currently, Mother and I are watching Will and Grace alongside Stargate SG-1, because obviously we are interesting and full of life. W & G happened because Mother bought one season at a yard sale and we both got hooked. I then ordered the rest of the series at the library. I love my library. We'll go back to that in a minute. 
  Mother owns the entire Stargate franchise (if you don't know what the is, I'm am ashamed for you, and here you go. Yeah, I use Wikipedia. Shut up)It's been about a year since we've watched it, and those were only the later seasons with Vala (I fucking love Vala! She's so awesome.) Mother and I will be doing a marathon, as we did with Buffy earlier this year. Watching Buffy again was so awesome because Big, Bigger, Mother and I watched the early years (Pre-Dawn) about six or seven years ago, so it was great because I couldn't remember some really good episodes from the third and fourth seasons. 
   Side note: I'm watching an episode of Stargate SG-1 (you're surprised, aren't you?) in season 2 called Spirits about exploiting Native Americans, and I'm kinda tired of the nice Indian stereotype). 
   So besides endless marathons, I've been reading the blogs of Lucy March and Jennifer Crusie, and it's tons of fun. March's a Year and Change is interesting, but sometimes it's a little serious, so I go to Crusie's, who's a bit more light hearted and longer with more funny. Crusie also includes snippets from her books, published and unpublished and her journeys with other writers and her collaborators (Eileen Dreyer, Anne Stuart and Bob Mayer, there are more, but I'm not that far in the archives). It's freaking fabulous. 
   I also have to watch the two series, In Plain Sight and Murphy Brown. For Murphy Brown, I'm reading the book, What Would Murphy Brown Do?, a series of essays about feminism and women power in sitcoms. I'm kinda only reading it because I typed Murphy Brown in at the library and the book popped up. 
  I fell queasy because I've been eating gluten, including one dumpling, which tasted delicious but did not feel good an hour later. I also ate about seven bowls of cereal over the last few days that doesn't have an gluten/wheat products in it, but contained oat flour, which is generally contaminated by wheat in the processing plants. Oh, I didn't mention it before? I don't eat gluten because it fucks me up. I don't think I have celiac disease, but I believe I could have an intolerance or allergy. We'll see, with some tests upcoming. 
  Another little medical drama is that I have been clinically diagnosed with PCOS (poly cystic ovarian syndrome). Yay! I`m actually quite nice to have a confirmed diagnosis and a solid answer to all the shit that I`ve been going through since I was ten. Although, now I know that it is gonna be difficult for me to concieve and the weight is probably never going to come off, no matter how much I exercise (or I`ll gain it back). But the really serious parts, the heart disease and the diabetes are two risks I`m almost guaranteed to have, especially since I already have diabetes. Yay! Didn't I mention that? Oops. 
   My keyboard is so fucked up, I have to google `question mark`then copy and paste it because my computer is a bilingual bitch. 
   Big is also in the Other Province with Biggest and will be there for another week. It sucks cause I miss her. And what sucks even worse is that Mother told Big on the telephone, so there goes all my cool.   
   And I forgot. My library is so awesome because they buy tons of books I love or get me books from other libraries when they can`t get it. All the librarians love me as well because I go almost every day. Their love is even more fabulous because they usually glare or don`t like all the other people I hang out with, which makes me special. 


“In my culture, I would be well within my rights to dismember you.” Teal`c to Colonel Maybourne. I hate Maybourne, he`s such a fucking asshole.   


I just read this article. It was so funny. Don`t read it if you`re at work or around people you get embarrassed around. 


Tootles. Ha, spell check said that was a word. Score!
   

Introducing the family

  I have a big family. My father has eight brothers and sisters and three step-siblings. My mother only has three, but she's very close to all of her aunts and uncles, so I know most of my great-aunts and uncles. My dad mother (Mamere Ann) had about a dozen siblings (yeah, I'm NOT quite sure. Deal.) and his bio father had about the same. Mother's mom had five siblings, her father had four and so on, and so forth. 
  So it's big.
  So, through the course of the posting, I'll mention different relatives. Cousins who I cannot figure out what to call and my immediate family, my parents, my sisters and my grandmother and her boyfriend. My grandmother is Little (that's what I'm gonna call her) and she's the only surviving grandparent I have. Her boyfriend who she met after the death of Grandfather is The Hugger. Oh, and yes, a capital on the word 'the' is needed, because he is a hugger and it's not a good thing in my book. 
  My parents are Mother and Father or Ma and Pa or Mama and Papa. Yes, I will use every one of those variations, to fuck with you and because I call them all of these things and another variation that is one I invented so I'm not gonna share. Why would I give away my secret special name? Uh, hello? We're not that close. I don't know if you'll use the names to trick my parents and steal them away. I can't risk losing them, they pay my allowance! My parents are also still together and have been for, uh, about 21 years, give or take since I can't remember exactly (oh, and shut up because it's not my marriage so why the hell do I have to remember how long it's been going on?) 
  So, moving on. I have three sisters. And if I really wanna mess with you, I'll just say 'she' then won't identify them. Ooh, evil plans, I'm just full of 'em. But, to be nice, I'm going with Big, Bigger and Biggest. Ha! Genius, I know. Big is the closest to me in age, the third of four girls. She's one of my best friends and is currently living in a room adjacent to mine. We don't tap out secret messages on the wall, because we're grown up, of course, but we do have music competition. Cause we're grown up, but we're still teenagers. 
  Bigger is the second of the four of us. Out of the four of us, she and I are the most similar. She's been with a guy (Stretch, cause he's tall..ish) for about three years now (knock on wood, lots and lots of wood) and lives in an apartment with a cat. Yeah, we're cat people, if you hadn't guessed that.
  Biggest is the eldest of the four of us, and is my half-sister, the result of Mother's first marriage. She and I are ten years apart, and I'm not as close to her because she was moving out of the house when I was five. She lives in another province with her husband, Stock. No, that's not his real name, but he's stocky and a big pain in the ass, but I can't call him Pain-in-the-Ass, because it takes too long to type, so Stock it is. She and Big are basically twins, who speak, act and think so much alike, you could confuse the two. Well, you could. Big and I now each other too well. 
  So, that's my family. Actually, that's my family for now. Over time, I'm gonna introduce you to more and more and more of them, until you explode and you cry "No, dear God, no! Stop seeing people. Stop talking to them! Too many names and too many people. Make it stop!" But I won't, of course, because I'm never going to get rid of them. (You ask "well, isn't that a good thing?" And I shake my head. I shake my head and walk away). 
  Okay, that's it. I'm bored. Bye for now.   

Ow! Volume 1

  I bobo. If you don't know what a bobo is, then you did not grow up in a French-Canadian family or know anyone who is French-Canadian. A bobo is any injury that is not serious enough to warrant medical attention but does warrant whining. You can also complain about a bobo after a medical visit, as I often (i.e. all the time) do after blood work, you know when they jab a needle into your arm and try to suck out as much as possible. Fun times, let me tell you. 
   A bobo can also be soemthing so minor that you forget about it in an hour's time. For me, I only whine and hobble after, let's say, I walked into a door and banged my toe AND SOMEONE CARES. I can very easily shake it off and go on, but if someone expresses any type of sympathy then I will milk it like an old dairy cow. Usually it ends comically with some jokes and jabs and the bobo is forgotten. Serious bobos (or boboes? Huh....) are generally ignored, like when I broke my toe dancing this past fall and it turned blue and swelled up. ("Swelled up" doesn't look right does it. Oh, fuck it.) 
  Right now though, I bobo. Two days ago, I put a pair of sterling silver earrings into my infected ears, hoping that they would calm down after a few days. Nope. In fact, they now contain hard little bubbles that smell bad and contain green stuff. Oh, perhaps I should have mentioned it was gross? Oh well. I just removed the earrings, rubbed alcohol on everything and hopefully they will get better. I'm pissed because a) they bobo! b) they're not closed still, even though they were done six years ago because my body is stubborn and c) I can't watch comedy on my computer because my ears bobo! Oh, I said that already. Shit. 
  So, now you know about bobos, and are well informed and full of knowledge. Your welcome. But I wonder, what did you call bobos when you were little? How were minor injuries treated in your house? Did your parents freak out like mine and run and get you water, even if you had just fell down the stairs and the last thing you wanted was water? I wanna know! 

My Introduction

I've decided to introduce myself. Yes, I've thought that perhaps I should have done this in my first post, but I will remind you that I didn't say that I'd be ordered in the blog, simply that I would use spellcheck.
And I think I have.
Well, probably.
  Whatever.
  So, let's get intoduced.
  I'm a teenage from Canada who's interested in politics and old, funny movies. I'm trying to find an area in which those two overlap. No, not a good chance of that, thanks for asking.
  I've suddenly realized that I can't type forever. I'd love to have these friggin' long ass posts that take forever to read, but then I wouldn't feel so guilty about never posting.
  You won't believe how many hours I waste on doing a single post. Of course, in three hours, I usually spend about six minutes on the post while the rest is spend surfing. Heck, I wrote the beginning of this one in 2010. That's a long time to wait. 
  So, back to me.
  But, of course, everything is about me. (My ego made a snide remark. Don't worry, I kicked him in the head and stuffed him in the dryer. His replacement popped right out of the package, nice and easy. Good thing I have surplus.) 
  I tend to be obnoxious, outgoing and have an endless supply of views. My mouth tends to go before that little checkered flag is waved by my brain. Oh, and my brain and my mouth. Not good friends. Not frenemies, either. Those bitches will fight `til the death. Ooh, that`ll be painful. 
  About nine months ago my doctor told me that I might have a number of diseases, including PCOS and diabetes. It's alright that I told you because I don't know you. Unless I do know you. Then please don't comment and say who I am. That would be odd. 
  I'm also dealing with depression, a disease that runs rampant in my French-Canadian family, and something I've been dealing with since the age of thirteen with counselling and now, anti-depressants. 
  Yeah, you got it right. I'm perfectly normal. 
  
  

The amnimals (You know, from that Disney movie..oh never mind!)

Make a note: I am not like the chick above. She scares the bejeesus out of me. Just so you know. 


   I have two cats. Well, I think I have two cats. A black kitten showed up a couple of Sundays ago and she's still in limbo. I'll talk more about that in a minute. But, see, back in July last year, we (family and I) lost our first cat, a Russian blue, when she was hit by a car. She unfortunately didn't die when she was hit but dragged herself home, was found, lived upstairs as I followed her around wiping up her piss and shit before we brought her to the vet and she had to be put down. So I was depressed because my cat was dead. 

This isn't her. This is a Google cat. She looked like this, but cuter of course. 

  
     But don't be really sad. She wasn't a terribly affectionate cat and often attacked during the night. (That kinda sounds harsh, but well, deal) But about three weeks later, our family found a kitten at the local adoption center (or centre, it's spelled both ways, spell checker, don't call me a liar with your little red squiggly lines!) and, uh, reread the last bit, and fell in love. With the cat. That I mentioned before. She's named Chopsticks, but nobody EVER calls her that. I call her Baby and Munchkin and Babe and Princess Prissy, etc, etc. 

This is Google cat two! Yay! Chops looks like this, but with more black and huge ears. Like enormous ears. Think of your grandpa's ears and that's what she has. My cat's cuter too, BTdubs. 

   
    So this new cat arrived in the back. She's incredibly adorable, pure black with subtle highlights, ie. hair like I want, only, you know, not all over my body... Anyway, the little one wasn't accepted right away, but after I got teary (don't scoff, I mean, here was this little starving kitten who could fit in my shoe (not a difficult task actually) who we were going to force to live in my neighborhood, where people intentionally kill outside cats, even though she was tiny and weak and defenseless?) So we brought her in the house. The defenseless part didn't last long because in her other life she was a ferocious lion or tiger, or some other big cat that was big and mean and bit all the other cats if they got too close to her food bowl. 

This representation of my cat (actually Google cat Three but the pissed off look is totally identical) is actually....

...This cat! Roar! This is Google Cat Four, obviously not mine, because well, I'd be smear on the floor, not writing this fantastic post. 

   Oh, yeah, back to the story. This new cat, who was named Moon (weird, it was my father's choice I swear) but was quickly (and secretly) renamed Monkey. <It's because her arms feel like a monkey's! No, it's not a weird name MOM...> Anyway, after Monkey had been living with us for about three weeks, all of us noticed that she had gotten fatter. "Yeah! she's gonna live and be healthy." Even bigger, she grew. "Oh shit, she's birthin'." I denied, my mother believed. She was right I was wrong, don't make me repeat that.  
  So now, the whole family waits in expectation (alright, alright it's just me, go ahead, spoil my moment..) for her to birth her itty bitty babies, who will then go to the adoption centre (because man, we can't take em) and be adopted out, because they'll be adorable and cranky, just like their mommy. 
   So, two cats, more on the way and bi monthly volunteering at a non-profit shelter where they never put animals to sleep if they aren't sick and all the animals live in the lap of luxury, eating like pigs and having hundreds of people pet them continually. 
  Oh, and additionally, I was wondering if anyone could sign up for this so that my organisation can receive a grant to buy their building. Sign up (they don't send spam out, I know, I have all three of my email accounts signed up), go to the 100, 000 dollar idea and vote for -To give our pets "A New Leash on Life"- within the next three days. This is important people and a timed expedition. The pressure on. Live long and prosper. 


Dear god, I just quoted Star Trek. I feel dirty and cool at the same time. Weird.  

An Awkward Post. Yay!

The first time I had my period...


Me: Oh God! The pain dear God, the pain! This isn't normal
My mother (calmly reading a magazine beside me): Yes it is. 
Me: No, this is more intense. It feels like Alien is ripping out of me. If the bed disintegrates from acid and Sigourney Weaver shows up, I totally get to say "I told you so".
My mother: Uh-huh. 
Me: Oh, the pain! The agony! This is all my ovaries fault. 
The ovaries (specifically the right one): Ah-ha! Our evil plans have been discovered!
Me: Yes they have you cunts. Now make it stop. 
The ovaries (in that snotty voice that makes me go homicidal) : Nope. 
Me: I`ll feed you chocolate. 
The uterus: Hey! If anyone`s getting chocolate, it`s me. 
The ovaries: Yeah, chocolate`s out. Eddie gets first dibs. 
Me: Eddie?
The uterus: Me asshole.
Me: Really? (after a sharp pain rips through my body at the force of a Level 5 hurricane) Alright then. (I say as I`m curled in the fetal position)
The ovaries: Okay, what else you got. 
Me: Sugar? (I whimper)
The ovaries: We get that all the time. Why do you think you`re fat and have diabetes?
Me: Oh right. A warm bubble bath (I say unenthusiastically)
The ovaries: If all you got is this shit, we`ll just go back to work.
Me: You know what!? This is my body. Stop fucking killing me. 
The ovaries: Bite me! Uh, us, I, no, we mean. Shit that was confusing. 
Me (calm. scary calm): You know, I could just get rid of you...
The ovaries: She can do that?!? (scared, whimpering voices)
The brain: Yes, she can. Now, shut up you dumb bitches. I`m napping. 
Everyone: We know!


My mother: Did you just give your ovaries, uterus and brain voices?
Me: Uh, yes?
Pause break as we both consider whether this qualifies me as a `crazy` 
My mother: That bit about getting rid of the ovaries was kinda funny.
Me: Really? (All pain forgotten as I bask in the glow of accomplishment and someone finally noticing that I`m kinda funny.)
My mother: Still in pain?
Me: Oh, God the agony! It`s all coming back! Call the doctor! Call a priest! I want my last rites. I won`t survive the night! Ahhhhhhhhh!  
My mother sighs: I shouldn`t have said anything.     


See, weird things happen when I have 1500 mg of Advil in me and I`m in immense pain.




  

No, I Have Not Died

I didn't die, but the Beltane and Cinco de Mayo celebrations did tire me out. 

All the drugs and excessive booze. 

Oh, and the orgies, motor biking and Trivial Pursuit marathons were excruciatingly long and active, but DAMN they were fun. 

I'm just kidding, I'm a loser who did hardly anything for the holidays except watch British comedies and eat an excessive amount of popcorn. But that's every night, so it doesn't really count. 

I did go away for the weekend. I went to my cousins' house in ruralist (IT'S A WORD, spell check, SHUT UP) Canada and played endless hours on pool on their garage table. Which is dented so that all the balls fall to one of the side pockets, but its a pool table people, don't bitch. (Direct quote from my cousin) I played so much that my right shoulder and my hips were throbbing by the time my Dad and I headed home. Dad caught pike and I played pool and listened to English football because I was trying to achieve the British pub atmosphere. I did fail, thanks for asking. But I had fun and really really want to return to ruralist cousins' house in the near future, but I don't have any money to either pay for gas so one of my parents will drive me or to go on a decapitating Greyhound bus. Any suggestions on how to procure this cash to visit my fun and abnormal relatives? 

So, anyways, after I returned home, to do my homework that was due in less than 24 hours, most of those hours going to be spent with me sleeping, a tiny black surprise awaited me in the backyard. A kitten! One I soon shed tears for so I could keep. And keep her I did. For now. I hope. 

So, that was my last ten days. How were yours? 

P.S. I've read several blogs where people ask questions at the end of the post. You don't have to answer, but I thought it would be a good way to open up or announce yourself if you're just traipsing through. I'll probably forget to do it. 

P.P.S. It does seem a bit creepy, eh? Maybe I won't do it.

P.P.P.S. I also went to the doctor's! I'll talk about that later. Maybe. If you're good. 

P.P.P.P.S. Wow, you really read this far. Bravo and/or Brava. Verra cool dude.      

How I'm gonna maintain a blog

This entire process seems to me to be quite uncomfortable. I basically spill endless bits of information about myself while the rest of the world can read it and snicker to themselves. Well, that's what I would do anyway. So I will be spending the next few posts trying to gently introduce myself. 
This will give the reader time to get used to me, since in the past three days I've been called a bitch, a whiner, an asshole and douchebag. If you're never heard the term "douchebag" (I have no idea if the term is North American or if the International jumped on the train...), that's perfectly okay, you don't need to know what it is. So, hopefully I will be able to hide these "traits of mine" for a while at least. 

* Personally, I don't believe I inhibit any of these nasty little words. I just happen to be insulting and sarcastic, that's all! That's not a crime is it? Is it!?


But if you're going to read this blog you should know some people. And things. 


  1. Most of my comments will be sarcastic. If you're having trouble figuring things out, or think I'm being really insulting, then I suggest you comment. Or deal. Moo-ha-ha! That was an evil Mr. Burns laugh. FYI.
  2. I'll be talking about my family a lot, because I spend way, way too much time with them. As I go through, I'll introduce them and their fake names. It'll be great. And confusing. Maybe I'll make a little guide. If you're good. 
  3. I might not blog for a little bit. I'm dealing with a lot of health issues at the moment and my family problems (They're nuts, I'm not; I'm sticking to that story).
  4. Can't think of a fourth, I'll try to make up some more. 


Later, after some web surfing...


  5. I love television and books. I may quote them, who knows. I might update on what I'm reading. Woo, that sounds like a good idea... 
  6. I'm gonna complain about things. I can't even begin to describe to you how much I'm gonna complain on this site. "A lot" does not cover it. You'll probably stop reading, and I'll be deleted from Blogger. It'll be great. We can have some fun before that, hopefully. 


** Blogger says that douchebag isn't a word. Blogger lies... 
*** Let's link something. It shall be an experience for both of us. "Douchebag" 
**** Sorry dude. You deserved it. 

I Have Decided

First, I have decided that I will have a blog. My friend S. has been bugging and bugging me to get one so that we could follow each other.
Second, I will use spell check for this blog, unlike my school essay or my Facebook posts. It will be a grand and wonderful thing that will probably stop in about three posts. But hey, I can dream.
Thirdly, I will refrain from posting inappropriate comments or getting bummed when absolutely no one follows me. I will be very positive about my attempt to maintain (and make pretty) a blog for an extended period of time.
Unless, of course, exams begin and I have to waste my few free hours trying understand how balancing chemical formulas are going to be part of my plans for world domination. But hey, you never know. And I might make the honour roll. Or I could be a realist and admit all I'm hoping for is to pass.