Your angst needs proper syntax.

HOLY SHIT. I’ve just come across the single worst group of people in existence. I decided to sign up for one of those playlist things you put on your facebook, so I’m going to sign in and at the bottom there are pictures of people that already have playlists. This one girl intrigued me so I clicked on her. Firstly her name was “x_emo_boy_lov_x” and her picture was absurd, I can’t even describe the utter emo-ness of it. I tried to copy it on here, but it wouldn’t work. So I went to her page, and low and behold I entered I world to which I’d wish I never had.

First, let’s read her bio…

“i‘m so lonley.
i have a boyfriend, but he is always gone,
so i cant ever see him.
i hate going to school.
i am always left out.
its not easy having two friends thast ignore you for eachother.
i am always in the shadows.
my homelife is unbarable.
IT SUX ASS!
man do i get treated like shit.
i am emo...please dont judge.
and yes i cut my wrists the other night, but thats not
the only reason that i am emo.
my only escape is my music.
i love music. it is my life.
there isnt really anything interesting in my life.
well, i think you get the point.
my life sux and that is all there is to it.”

FUCK. This shit is GOLD. Solid. Fucking. Gold. This girl is one of a kind. I’m sorry, I hate to be mean, but seriously this is the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever read. I laughed hysterically for a good 15 minutes about it. I think my favourite line is “i am emo...please dont judge. and yes i cut my wrists the other night, but thats not the only reason that i am emo.” Poor girl, suffering through all the trials and tribulations that every single fucking teenager faces. Get a grip honey, and a life, and stop vying for attention.

Seriously I had no idea these kids still existed. They do though, in mass, despicable quantities. I was so interested in this small girl that I decided to check out her “buddies” and low and behold I found SO much good shit.


First we have this boy, he’s 16 and wearing no shirt in his profile picture. His name is “Daviee loves Chelsea”

Here’s what his bio had to say:

“I LOVE EVERY SINGLE 1 OF U THAT ACTUALLY LOVE ME 4 WHO I AM NOT CUZ I'M HOTT!BUT I LOVE U GUYS!!!!!!!N I HOPE THE BEST 4 ALL OF U GUYS! N CHELSEA I WAS'NT CHEATING U COULD ASK ANY1 U WANT!I KNOW I DID'NT BUT IS NOT LIKE U BLIVE ME RIGHT?BUT I WANNA WISH U THE BEST IN THE WORLD N IF I EVER HURT U IN ANYWAY I'M SRRY I LOVE U N ALWAYS WILL U STIL MEAN THE WORLD 2 ME N AFTER ALL THIS IM GOING BACK 2 DRUGS!SO...I'LL DIE PRETTY SONE SO I'M NOT GOING 2 MAKE UR LIFE A PIECE OF SHIT DON'T WORRY!WELL U HAVE A HAPPY LIFE LOVE U!BABy!”

Just because you’re “sad” doesn’t give you permission to use improper spelling. And do you seriously have a penis? Because judging by this pathetic declaration I’m guessing you lost it, along with your ability to be coherent. Also, why the fuck are you wearing your heart in your bio?! No one fucking cares that you did drugs and that you’re not going back. Nor do they care that you cheated on your internet girlfriend, and that you’re going to die “sone”…god, I can only hope this is an avowal of suicidal intentions. How much fucking attention do you need?!

So his girlfriend, the one he didn’t cheat on, she left him this endearing post:

“heyllo lovey!! ^-^ i writed a poem...its kinda deppressing...=| ubt its still perty good... i posted it on my blogs under ~LOVE+HATE~ yup...lolz LOV YOOH!!!”

Ok, first of all little one, you “writed” a poem?? What are you, 3?! I’m just certain it’s the fault of the government for allowing these kids to spell like chimpanzees. “LOV YOOH” Holy shit. I’m going to assist these children in slitting their wrists because by the time you’re 17 you should stop talking like a retarded fuck.

Just wait though, the girlfriend gets even better…

Her bio:

“OH MI GAWD!!!!!! frenchtoast raped you....o.o
Im 16 and yes im emo.
IM IN LOVE WIT SUMONE!!!! waffles.....o.o
I LOVE Hello Kitty, she is emo! lol. dont make fun of me she is a cute emo kitty and she is awesome! Hello Kitty rox yur sox off!”

First of all, Hello kitty is not emo, she’s asian, and secondly, jump off a ladder and minimally injure yourself. Maybe a little pain will be your answer to life’s most basic queries.

I’ve never wanted to hurt a group of innocent youngsters like I do right now. I cannot believe people actually talk/write like this. My heart hurts thinking how horribly they are destroying the English language with their god-forsaken slang. I don’t know if you can even call it slang.

I spent a good solid hour going through different kids profiles and they were all the same shit. At first I though, maybe it’s just a joke, no one’s actually like this…right? But no, no, they really are like this, and there is a whole community of them out there just waiting to slit their wrist and spell improperly. The saddest part is that most of the kids I found were from Canada.

So I thought 15 year old emo kids were bad. No, there are worse… 37 year old Chris Brown fans...

“DIS B YA GURL KRYSTAL A.K.A LA LOCA B.K.A SEXY RICAN. REPIIN DA HAVEN ALL DA ER-DAY.IM HALF PUERTO RICAN AND HALF CUBAN IM ALSO PART MEXICAN.OOOOOO YEA TO ALL DA HATAZ OUT IN DA WORLD DAT BE HATIN ON ME N MY HOMEGURLN OR MY HOMEBOYZ FALL BACK AND KEEP HATIN WE ARE LOVIN DA ATTENTION YALL ARE OUR BIGGEST FANS.YALL TALK SHIT AND CAN'T BACK WAT YALL SAID ^ BUT ME N MY GURLZ ALWAYS SAY WAT CUMS 2 MIND AND WE COULD BACK ER-THING UP.WE HAVE EACH OTHAZ BACK EXSPECIALLY MIS CHOLAS I LUV DEM 2 DEATH.WELL DATS WAT I HAVE 2 SAY 2 ALL MY HATAZ OUT DURR IN DIS WORLD”

***Nothing was edited or changed. I solely copied and pasted. I’m sorry to anyone I stole writing from. Yes, this is most certainly a violation of FOIP, but you put it out there for the world to see, and I saw it, and therefore stole it. If you’d like to speak with me regarding your stolen words, message me, but please for the love of god use vowels, punctuation, and a dictionary. Otherwise I’ll just laugh at you, and post your email, so your stupidity can once again shine.

Na na na na na hey hey, carry me away.

I was bored again at work today. What a fucking surprise. You know all those stats that study office workers and find out how much time they waste on the internet? Well I’m presumably on the very end of that bell curve, because I literally spend 9 out of the 10.5 hours I work on the internet...doing nothing. The best part though is the fact that it is what I’m suppose to do. I'm paid to sit here, look nice, say hello, and fuck around on the internet. All. Day. Long. Today though, I ventured beyond my usual blogs and frivolous searching; I decided to read a book. I managed to read all of Into the Wild, which was riveting until the author decided to become all self involved and devote a few chapters to his own unscrupulous journey in Alaska. No one cares though, because clearly you didn’t die, which makes your story less tragic, and therefore, just boring.

Then I watched Gossip Girl, and let me tell you, it made me ten fold more excited for New York! Jesus. I can't stress enough how amazing teen dramas are. They suck you in and take this hold over you to which you’re unable to relinquish. This then lead me to start thinking about forgotten 90's teen sitcoms.

Exhibit A. Breaker High.



This was one of my favourite shows as a youngster. I remember they re-aired all the episodes one summer, I think I may have still been in high school, but ever night at 11 I’d turn on YTV and re-live the brilliance. You don’t know how often I dreamed about being on a cruise ship for high school. I’m just certain Ryan Gosling would have gone no where without this show.

Exhibit B. Student Bodies.



Kooky drawings and newsroom antics. Nothing else needs to be said.

Exhibit C. Hang Time.



I hope I'm not the only one who remembers this show. It was on Sunday mornings. The girl was on the guys basketball team I believe. She was fly.

Exhibit C. City Guys.



A black guy, a white guy, and the ties that bond them. These two were always just traipsing around the city getting into all sorts of crazy shenanigans.

Exhibit D. Step by Step.



Suzanne fucking Somers.

Seriously, I can’t stress it enough, the 90’s were amazing! Between YTV and TGIF, I don’t think television has had a better moment in history.

You're a part time lover and a full time friend.

There are a slew of movies I want to see, but alas, no one to see them with. I'm going to have to find a movie going friend, where we can solely be friends that attend movies together and then talk about them after. If anyone requires this kind of friendship, and would like to take me up on my offer to be your movie going friend, please contact me. Unless we've already attempted to be friends, and it didn't work out, then don't bother.

Maybe though, I’ll just end up going myself. The one thing I dislike about going to movies alone though is my sob fests. I tend to cry whilst watching pretty much anything, even if it has a ridiculously happy ending, I’ll cry because I’m happy for the characters. I'm a real nut bag sometimes. For example, I watched stranger than fiction while in Vancouver, and that movie killed me, I cried through the whole thing, and even though the ending turned out happy, I still cried. The people I was watching it with were, luckily, my friends, so they didn’t judge me for my outburst, but I fear if a stranger saw me in the theatre, all alone in the corner drenched in my own tears, they'd think I’m a head case with emotional problems. Then they'll go and tell their friends and anyone who'll listen about the crazy girl at the theatre who wouldn't stop crying. Now, granted, my crying does sound a little nutty, but I’m sensitive! I have too much empathy for fictional characters. I just can't help it. Now I’m exaggerating when I say I cry at EVERY movie, cause it's usually about 1 in 3. With Dawson’s Creek episodes, it’s about 1 in 2.

Next, I want to see Juno.

To Call for Hands of Above

My Christmas spirit is beginning to dwindle. I hate shopping malls and shopping people, and their persistent need to touch you unexpectedly. I’d be a much better person if the woman in superstore today didn’t feel the need to lean over me and cordially place her snatch in my face while I was deliberating which littlest pet shop playhouse looked least like a choking hazard. God. Well on a better note I leave in 5 days! This is not without much panic though, as I’ve not shopped, packed, wrapped, laundered, or bathed. Though, I’m certain this can be remedied by Wal-Mart’s special 24 hour Christmas hours! Fuck, you don’t know how excited I am to go and purchase my family some low-price useless goods made by a poor fingerless leper child in Asia. SCORE!

PS. I'm in love with this cover.

If I am lost for a day... try to find me.

Sometimes I like to look for jobs on the internet. Usually I'll go on craigslist and search through random cities and see what kind of jobs I could aquire if I say, moved to Milan, Auckland or even Budapest. I think I do it not because I'd ever want to be a sous chef in Amsterdam or a custodian in Barcelona, but because I want to know that if ever life here gets depressingly unbearable, I can pack up and leave and find a means of providing for myself in somewhere far far away.

So today I found what might be the single best job description ever: Freelance Blogger. Are you for serious? That has got to be the best occupation ever! And you want to know what they were asking you to write about... your travels. This company paid you to travel around Australia and blog about it. That’s it. You didn't even require any previous blogging experience; you just needed to have engaging, informative writing, and who can’t do that!? What a fucking slice! I'm no long aspiring to be nothing; I'm going to aspire to be a freelance blogger!

Funniest. Shit. Ever.

Too much bubbly.

Magnum Mondays have officially begun; last night being our first. Five solid hours of television and a magnum of Champagne…heaven I tell you, heaven… and with one hour dedicated to revisiting past Dawson’s Creek episodes, a girl couldn’t be happier. But seriously, Dawson’s Creek taught me all there is to know about life and love! (I just love trite sayings) Really though, I think it just gave me unrealistic views of love…because there will be no fireplace, or hair combing, or sailboat, there will just be a whole lot of awkwardness, with someone that will never say endearing things like “I’m going to count to 10 and then I’m going to kiss you”

I’m really sad to have to go back to school tomorrow, four days off was just grand. I slept in a lot, and let me tell you sleeping is the past time I love the most, and probably because it requires no effort, concentration, or physical ability….you just lie horizontally and that’s it. Even when I can’t sleep because I’m ridden with anxiety, I still find comfort just being in my bed, under my covers, not sleeping, just thinking about all the random and retarded shit in my life that’s making me oh so anxious. Usually it’s very lowly stuff that one usually doesn’t become anxious about, but me, I’m just consumed by it, and it doesn’t seem to ever want to go away. Then there are the days that everything seems to cause me some kind of grief, like why my shower curtain continues to let water escape from my shower and pool on my bathroom floor?! I’ll just never know.

This week is looking good…perogies, Mother Mother, and birthday parties.

Insipid.

School and work are both big vats of suck right now. School has its general awfulness which consists of me not reading/studying/putting in any effort, so clearly I guess it's my fault. Then there's work, and it generally sucks, but people seem to be more annoying than they usually are, and then there is the fact that the computer here is sucking some major ass and not wanting to open word, making it difficult for me to do any homework, which feeds right back into the school vat of suck. It's a never ending cycle of suck.

So I lost my I-pod today. I went to try on a shirt and I forgot it in the change room, and when I realized 5 minutes later I ran back to the fitting room and asked the woman working if she'd seen an i-pod. She then decided to stand in front the fitting room I was in and replied in a high pitch mumble, "eeeoohhhuhhhiiiiiuuuhhhohhhf"and then she was all "nope nope nope no ipod here" and then I got really frustrated and demanded to see inside all the fitting rooms. Alas there was no I-pod. Then I proceeded to ask all the other workers in the store, and they all just gave me a really puzzled "uhhh no," so then I went to the front counter and asked the guy there, and he took down my name and number, and not even 10 minutes later called me back to say they'd found my i-pod, all I have to say is thank god for Dennis, cause the incompetency ran so high in that store.

I was in such a hateful mood today apparently, cause I was hating store, my prof, Christmas, and the stupid train officials...but seriously do you really need 17 fucking holsters on your belt?! Other than your ticket pad you hold nothing of importance, therefore an 64 pocket belt is unnecessary. You know what else is unnecessary...their need to persistently wear sunglasses. No Mr. train man, they do not make you appear menacing, nor do they make you look more like a cop, because you're not a cop, you issue tickets to people who didn't pay their way on the train. They are also awful at their jobs, because this summer I managed to ride the train for free, they even checked me for my pass, and I just showed them my school ID, and when asked about my expired sticker I started in on this sob story about how I didn't even realize it was expired, and that I feel terrible for taking advantage of the system without even knowing it. Shame on me. I'm certain that after this karma is going to bite me in the ass and I'm going to get stopped without my ID, and they are going to have no sympathy, and train constable is just going to whip that ticket sheet out of his 96 holster belt and show me.

One's Pointing His Tree Branch at Me

ugh. I had the worst sleep ever last night. It was one of those sleeps where you never really sleep, and you just leap hurdles around your bed, and hope that it'll tire you out so you'll eventually stop looking at the alarm clock every fifteen minutes wondering when you can just get up and not have to go through this agony. That is what I felt like last night, and now I’m at work, being angry and sucky.

So last night I took the train to go see modest mouse and I was bombarded by hosts of scenies, which are much like tweenies, as they are scensters that have not yet fully developed. Anyway, scenies galore, and one crazy man wearing a trench coat and talking about how fucked Calgary is, and that "everywhere you turn someone’s fucking holdin’ a knife at your throat and shit." Then he proceeded to talk about how Calgary no longer has true Calgarians and that every "tom, dick and fucking harry has moved here from everywhere else, they takin’ over tha city." Then he was all like "that's why I carry a gun." Then this dumb scenie decided to be like "EXCUSE ME... did you say you had a gun" and he was like, "haha no you must've heard me wrong" and she was all "uhhh like no, i'm pretty sure that's what you said." God, what a dumb twat she was. If you suspect someone’s carrying a gun, you don't question them about it! I was just waiting for him to pull out his gun and point it at her and say "EXCUSE ME....I DOOOO HAVE A GUN...AND I'M GONNA KILL YOU FIRST YOU DUMB TWAT" That's exactly how it would have played out, then he would have killed everyone else on the train, me included, all cause some dumb scenie bitch thought she was being fucking noble. Moral discretion does not come into play when on the train. Mind your own fucking business.

My second favourite part of the train ride was this other scenie, who was probably 80 pounds, 14, and pushing the skin on his neck upwards to try and make a double chin of sorts. He then took pictures of himself with his skin flap double chin deal. God it was bizarre.

It’s kind of like walking out a door and discovering it’s a window.

I don’t know if I could be any more irate than I am right now. I’m on the verge of throwing a tantrum much like a 4 year old would do, and I’d ensure to use phrases like “I hate you,” “you’re mean” and “but WHYYYY.” I would look just absurd. A six foot tall girl flailed out on the ground, pounding her fists and wailing in a generalized directions.

GAWD.

Anyways, back to why this all began. So for a split second I left the Bright eyes show last night satisfied, completely satisfied, you could even say I was remotely happy, but just remotely, lets not get ahead of ourselves. But now the feelings have just turned back into disappointment, where they should be I guess.

Here’s the story. I was just sitting here at work, bored, and I decided to check out what the setlist was like in Edmonton, ya know, just for curiosity sake. So then I come across this livejournal message board thing where this girl talks about how amazing the Edmonton show was, and then she gives the setlist, which was ten fucking times better than ours. He played 5 songs off lifted!!! 5!!! And he played a good song off fevers and mirrors. The best part though, was that he only played one song off the new album…ONE…ONE…and it was the one good song on the album. God. I should’ve have gone!! But noooo, I had to work, and study. Life stinks. But to top it all off, apparently he went to the den after the show, it was probably really really late, but still, people got pictures with him! My god. Even if he was a total and complete fucking douch, I would have just died to have been able watch his inebriated fucking ass stumble about with a pitcher of beer and be a prick to everyone. Or maybe he wasn’t a prick, and he was incredibly charming, and I fucking missed that too. Fucking hell. Nothing shows anger more than a lot of ‘fucks’ embedded into a sentence. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There. I’m angry. I guess I should probably just get over it, because I coulda, woulda, shouldas are so last year.








There. I’m over it. Don’t even worry.

Poster child for waifs across the nation.

Who gets to work 21 hours in 2 days? ME! YES! And it's not even 21 hours of quality work, it's 21 hours of sitting alone in utter silence. Oh well. The new pornographers played last night, and it actually turned out to be a really good show. Probably due largely in part to Dan Bejar, and the fact that he was SO drunk, and just HATED being there. He would just stumble about, and the majority of the time he wasn't even present, and when he was he was usually sitting and playing instruments that required little to no attention, ie. the apple shaped shaker. Neko Case looked weathered, but was still amazing as always. So I danced and sweated, and it was generally a good time.

So I was told that the set list for bright eyes is looking really good, that I had to go check it out for myself. His official tour doesn't start until the 19th of October, but he just played a show in LA with their philharmonic orchestra...which just sounds amazing. So I found the set list for that show and it's actually pretty good. I'll have to look back for when he starts his really tour and check out the set lists for that...cause knowing him it won't be the same, and he'll just play the entire cassadaga album in a powder blue tux. I figure though if I look at the set list first, I’ll know whether to go in previously disappointed, and then it will allow me to cope with the fact that Conor Oberst has let me down, again.

The set list:
Don't Know When But a Day's Gonna Come
Bowl of Oranges
Make a Plan to Love Me
Old Soul Song
No One Would Riot For Less
Hot Knives
Poison Oak
Another Traveling Song
Arienette
Clairaudients
Lover I Don't Have to Love
I Believe in Symmetry
Lime Tree
---
Smoke Without Fire
Cockroaches

First two songs...SO GOOD! But what the fuck is cockroaches! A new song? Of course he’s going to close the fucking show with a new song! I just hope he’s sad, cause when he goes and puts on this “I’m in love, and generally content with life” act, I like him less. He needs to be so sad and so lonely and desperate that he gets really drunk, and can barely function.

Don't talk, it makes you look uglier.

Last night I went to see the dudes at the warehouse and had the grand pleasure of encountering the biggest douche bag of probably, all time. For starters he was bald, and had a line for a beard, and by line I mean there was simply a very straight, skinny line of hair that went from ear to ear. Adding to the j-wall line beard was a more than appropriate singular diamond earring. So walking in to the room you just knew his douche bagginess was going to run high, so we kept a close watch on him throughout the night to see what kind of antics he would be involved in. So the first band began. They were actually really good, I even enjoyed them more then the dudes, and I had no fucking idea who they were. So basically this opening band had a large fan base in Calgary that consisted of frat guys jumping a lot, singing loudly, and high-fiving. Luckily for our enjoyment, line beard douche bag was a member. Firstly, he would leap and bound his way through the crowd and high-five anyone that looked interested. The thing is though, when he would high-five he would put on this face where he puckered his lips really far out and spread his eyes into this ghastly collagen lipped freak face. Then he made what I believe to be the douchiest move in history...he reached over the stage, stole the bassists’ beer, and took a nice sip out of it, then returned it. WHO DOES THAT?! I'm sure he's flattered you put your herpes infested lips on his beer. Needless to say the bassist didn't take another sip.

What was even worse though was that his friends just thought he was the shit, and they even cheered on his disgusting displays. I almost think that made them bigger douche bags. Finally the dudes came on, and after 4 hours of waiting they were less than impressive, and so were the hoards of frat boy fans. When I got home I got home I was genuinely sore from standing for so long. I don't even know how I use to go to work and stand for 8 hours, then go to a show for another 18 and stand, because there were 35 opening bands and it took another 16 hours in between sets to get their shit together...but those sure were the days.

But I thought Perooze was a word?!

So I'm at work, thirsty and headachy, so I figure I need tea to relieve my symptoms, so I walk over to the nearest coffee shop. Upon arrival into the shop I'm asked if I am here for the speed dating, and I reply with "uhhh no, is that ok?!" It hadn't started yet so they let me order my tea and then made me leave. After feeling super awkward, I began to look around the room at all the people actually there for the speed dating, and it made me a little sad inside. What if someday I need to resort to speed dating!? These people weren't even ugly by any standard, and they all seemed fairly young, in their 30's most of them. I guess sometimes you need to try everything in order to get it right. I wasn't even planning to get married until my early 30's, if I find someone, and now this prospect is looking slim, because apparently when you reach your 30's there is no more time to contemplate your options, you'd better have someone snatched up, or you'll have to wait until the first timers begin divorcing in a few years. Then latch on to someone with ridiculous amounts of baggage just to avoid being terminally alone. That or a dog I guess.

She's precocious, and she knows just what it takes.

I won! Three cheers for sweet victory! It was a tight race, and apparently some other chick I didn’t know was almost going to win, but then I took the crown. I’m 4 years to late for popularity, but I’m not to concerned, because I’m going to bask in the glory for as long as I can. So Pram was amazing, as I only imagined it would be, and it makes me almost sad that I wasn’t able to graduate in the 80’s or 90’s because it was an exceptional time for apparel and music. So that is all, and now it’s 3 days of 10-hour shifts, and exceptional amounts of boredom. Needless to say I’m not looking forward to it, but the good thing is I will have money and I can use to it purchase impractical things, such as thigh high boots that can only be worn with certain skirts, to which I’ll need to purchase as well.

But it's MY crown!

I'm sick, and I hate getting sick because I revert back to being a 5 year old that just wants mommy and a bowl of homemade soup. Tonight though, sickness can't stand in my way, for it's PRAM! The most magical event to come along in years. I was hoping to achieve pram queen status, but I'm not certain with my illness and bad attitude that this will be attainable. Therefore I'm really going to need to up the perkiness, and wear pearls, because they have some power in making ordinary females into classy, likable babes. I think I've almost planned more for this mock prom then I did for my real one, or as they call it here, graduation. The first time consisted of stealing plastic lobsters from the banquet, then riding in a 1984 limo, and getting drunk. I had a fake ID at the time and was hoping to use it to get into some awesome club, or at least buy a little alcohol, so I could feel cool, as I wasn't going to turn 18 until 6 months after graduation, unlike most. I never got to use that fake ID anyways, because I was sharing it with another friend and she got it taken away by the cops and fined, but really, underage drinking in fields proved to be a lot more fun than any bar adventure. So off to PRAM I go...fingers crossed I'll take home the crown!

Scene too much.

I can't even begin to describe the week I've been having. From last Wednesday on it has been sheer genius. There was broken city, which consisted of a lot of knowing people, which is always good. It's nice to walk in somewhere and know more than 5 people to whom which you didn't even go there with. Makes me feel so 'scene.' Which I regret to say is a good thing. Then is was Sylvan Lake and Edmonton, which consisted of late night random game, attempts at black magic, and watching only 15 minute portions of Scream, and The Craft. Then there was last night, which can only be described as the best adventure ever to value village, and to close the night, Planet Earth: Deep Sea. Firstly, I can't even begin to describe how well everything fit me at value village. Every prom dress I put on fit like a dream, and let me tell you, this never happens, especially when I had to find a real prom dress. There were many options, but I managed to find just the right little number. It's this awful corally orange colour, and has a large flower right on my tits, and being made of 100% pure polyester, you know it is of the utmost quality. Needless to say I'm pumped to wear it at Pram. Now it's today, and the fun doesn't stop. There's a little bit of work, then off to see Justin Timberlake in edmonton! What a dreamboat that one. I can't even. We have floor tickets too, so touching him is going to be almost probable. Then we stay over night, do a little shopping, come home, and off to broken city once again.

Forlorn.

So I get to work today, 45 min late, and seriously hung over, to find that everything seems in tack, and that it's going to be a moderately easy day. Then an hour into my shift the alarm starts going off, the lights start flickering, and there are loud noises coming from every angle. UGH. Apparently they do generator repairs on sunday morning, like what the heck? It's over now though, so that is good, and now I can commence doing nothing for the entire day.

Maybe you would've been something I'd be good at.

I came to a realization last night about two things. One is that 90's teen horror flicks were amazing! Why did I fail to remember this? Me and Liz watched Urban Legends last night and from the beginning I was certain I knew who the killer was, I thought well clearly it's not the crazy looking Janitor, or the teacher with the axe in his office, but that it most definitely is the cute journalist played by Jared Leto, in his post-mysocalledlife days...but pre-iminaterribleband days. It was an incredible time for him, it's just sad that he thought he was good at music. Any ways, back to how awesome Urban Legends was. So we thought we knew the killer was all along, and having previously seen the movie, you would think that we should have actually known, but no, they fooled us, big time and we were completely thrilled by this. Maybe it was the fact that we probably saw the movie when we were 12, but this time around it was beyond good, and I just feel the need to consistently say that it was AWESOME!

The second thing I realized, after returning from driving Liz home, is that I hate elevators. I knew this before, but last night I realized that I should speak about this fear. I hate them for several reasons. Firstly because they are SO awkward. I don't think there is a more awkward location for two strangers to be, and it's even worse when it is in a place you live, because some people feel the need to have to say "hey" or "how's it going" just because apparently we are neighbours. This then makes the situation even more awkward then previously thought, because then you have to reply with "hey" or "great, and u" when you frankly don't give a shit about this person and you just want to get into your car. So after your brief interaction there is usually a long awkward lull where you both stare in opposite directions and attempt to look as though you are either counting the floors left to scale, or you are pondering your newest work endeavour, whatever the case may be, you know that you are only thinking about how goddamn awkward this situation is. Sometimes there are those neighbours that will just talk your face off all elevator ride, and sometimes I enjoy those people, but more times I’d rather just lazily gaze at the numbers changing then engage in a conversation about how the mold has become toxic on the 19th floor, and how awful it is about the vandals. Usually the people that engage in these elevator conversations are 40 year old women, or 40 year old gay men, and clearly they are one in the same.

Finally there is the positioning in the elevator. Usually when I get on I try to find a nice space near the wall, kind of in the corner. Sometimes though the elevator is full and you are left to stand immediately in front of the door, with you nose inches away, and you'd rather risk nasal decapitation then turning around and having to awkwardly face all the other elevator riders. Then someone will always have to get off the elevator before your stop, and then you have the ever so tedious task of getting off the elevator for them to exit, and you always end up doing this half twirl type thing where you turn and then bump into the person and then go "oh, ugh, god, sorry" meanwhile everyone else in the elevator is wondering how this buffoon ever made it out their front door.

I think the worst thing in the world would be to be stuck in a elevator with an stranger, or maybe even a pack of strangers. What would you talk about? Because I can almost guarantee the "we are stuck in an elevator" convo would quickly run dry. Do you talk about your life? Make friends? Sit in silence? Panic and make the other person fear for their life? Continuously yell help? Play 20 questions? I don't know!? I think I've thought about this far too much for my own good, but I feel that someday, after years of elevator riding, I will come up with the perfect resolution to all these elevator quarrels, and everyone will be happy again. But until that day…

Bread, bags and other nasty D's.

I've witnessed a lot of douche beggary recently, and I'm beginning to wonder if certain people are inherently douche bags, or if it is something one can turn on and off. I decided to consult urban dictionary for some answers. Here is my personal favourite: A person with an unbelievable size of ego without the substance to back it up and normally deludes himself that he is the "numero uno" in the universe. A douchebag is normally narrow-minded but thinks otherwise, disrespectful but thinks he is cool, thinks he knows everything but this is not the case and has a weird and peculiar habit of treating other people like dirt when in fact he is the dirt. This though, is stating that only males can be douche bags, which I’d have to disagree with, because well usually those male douche bags will find themselves a douchebaguette to date, even though there is a perfectly nice, sensible, un-slutty girl that also wants him. Instead, it always seems as though that guy you thought was charming and witty, was just a douche bag at heart, and the douchebaguette saw this from the beginning and pulled out her douche baguetty ways, and well snatched him up right under the nose of pretty, sensible, nice girl. Maybe though the pretty, sensible, nice girl is being too naive, and she probably needs to start carrying around some condoms, wearing really short skirts, and flashing her cunt in hopes that the douche bag she's had her eye on will notice she isn't wearing underwear and fuck her in the first available public washroom stall. My cynicism has taken over and I fear I am making no sense, which leads me to believe I probably should stop writing, and just move on with the fact that meeting a nice, sensible, un-douchy male is going to be an extreme challenge. Also, ridding the world of douchebaguettes will prove to be even more difficult.

Your ferns are seeking a place to grow.

Last night I deemed it necessary to spend an evening being domestic. In turn I baked a magnificent batch of chocolate cookies, ate far too much of the cookie dough. Then I proceeded to clean my oven, comet my sink, fold laundry, and watch a lot of slice television, which according to the ads, is my VICE! And a hells yes to that!
My other options for the night were: 1) going to wal-mart, where I would buy useless crap at almost half the price of anywhere else. 2) Go to the mall alone, but then I realized that I would be bombarded by herds of pre-pubescent children congregating outside the gap, and then I would relish at the fact that I am in the mall alone on friday night, and leave, in a state of perpetual misery.
So thank god I chose domestication, for it boasts no sense of loneliness or frivolous spending.