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.