Entry # 16

A month? Really? Even for me, this is a new low. I'm not sure why it bothers me so much that I haven't blogged in a fair chunk of time, seeing as this blog is more a therapy rather than a commitment I made to all my dedicated readers. This is a truth for many reasons, the most obvious being: I don't have a plethora, or as I have come to use more often as of late, cornicopia, of readers. I suppose my lack of blogging recently upsets me most because it's something I enjoy doing, and I haven't been doing it. The same goes for many of the things I used to do all the time, like drawing or reading or sleeping. It's a shame how the things we love doing most get shoved to the side when we get so busy. And it's not like I have the popular excuse of homework or anything. Yeah, that's right. I'm a graduate. I don't do the whole "school" thing. I served my sentence. Instead, I work for my mother at home, and show up at the school every day anyways to pick up my siblings...

Yes, that is MUCH more glamorous than actually attending.

I have spent the last 3 years of my teenage life growing out my hair. This past weekend, that journey came to a sudden, unexpected stop when my friend, Stefanie and I, were strolling through a mall. We had been complaining (of course) of our unruly hairs, and how it was high time we just went bald. I challenged her, jokingly of course, that if we happened to walk past a hair salon on our way out of the mall, and upon entering find that they have 2 openings at the exact same time for right then, then it was a sign that we must chop off our long, flowing locks. Or, in my case, a frizzy crow's nest. Guess what? No more long hair! Probably not the best way of approaching a decision, but hey, it made for an interesting day.

This weekend I drove down to Seattle for a concert with a dozen of the coolest people alive. We left on the thursday afternoon for the concert that evening, and would spend the night in a hotel together. I didn't think it was possible to have that much fun in so little time. Not only were the bands all fantastic, but the actual car ride itself was an adventure.

Before leaving for Seattle on Thursday, the owner of the vehicle in which I was travelling in relayed this message: "And you can tell Steve (our 'driver/chaperone') that if the van starts making that clicking noise, it's been doing that for over a year, and not to worry about it." So you can imagine the shock and surprise the passengers in the van were feeling as we were rapidly losing speed in the middle lane of a 3-lane highway just outside of Seattle. At first, I thought Steve was just kidding around; it seemed possible, this was the guy that sporadically slammed on his brakes as a 'seatbelt check' in the middle of busy traffic. After a few nervous "You're joking, right Steve?" 's and possibly a couple "OH MY LANTA, WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" 's, I realized to my horror as the massive semi-truck was quickly speeding towards us from behind, that this was NOT Steve messing around. No, the vehicle was definitely not functioning anymore.

Now, we had enough speed to get us to the shoulder of the highway, if any of the other drivers in the right-hand lane had thought it prudent to let us in. Alas, this just wasn't what they would call 'necessary', so we ended up having to stoop so low as to cut a poor car off. I was too busy fearing for my life to really feel bad about it. The fact that we were now vehicle-less in the lovely US of A did not seem to bother any of us. We spent the next 2 hours picking flowers, rolling down hills, and dancing for the commuters while poor Steve tried to figure out a way to save us all. He did a relatively good job... the van was towed to a shop that informed us it was a goner, and we walked roughly 3 miles to find a place to eat, and ended up in a high-end, tux-and-floor-length-gown, we-can-fold-our-napkins-fancy restaurant, decked out in our jeans, concert t-shirts and duffel bags. We ate their food, took their mint-chocolates, ditched, and were saved by a good samaritan who drove an hour and a half out of their way just to take us across the border. My jaw hurt from laughing so much. What a great weekend.

Entry #15, live from Haiti

Well, at least I cannot say, when I die, that no one ever asked me to marry them... At least I have that assurance. You see, When one exits the airport in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, one is immediately swarmed with people offering to carry your bags, give you a ride home, or if you are female, to take your hand in marriage. Who knew I was so desirable? I hadn't even said a word, and I already had the boys professing their undying love for me. Now, why does this not work in Canada?

Before I had even been here for 24 hours, my countdown until I get to go home had begun. There is something about this place that just doesn't feel right. It could be the unbearable heat, the questionable looking meat, the coke that tastes like cough medicine, or perhaps every person on the street pointing at you and yelling "BLANC!", but whatever it is, it just isn't the smell of cow country; that mixture of dog food, chicken manure and marijuana that I call home. Ah, Chilliwack, how I miss you. Approximately 16 more days until arrive home on sweet, sweet Canadian soil.

Countdowns have become a rather popular thing with me these days. 2 hours until I eat dinner, 5 hours until I can sleep, 16 days until I am home again, approximately one month left on Canadian soil until I am a foreigner for half a year, and 20 days until a certain friend of mine travels on a bus for 23 hours just to come and cause some trouble with me. Oh, and 4 weeks until I get a tattoo with that friend! I doubt I could be more excited at this present moment. It`s just too much for my sunburnt body to take. Perhaps I should take another sip of this cough-medicine-flavoured cola to chill me out a bit...

Now as it turns out, the clouds have decided to descend upon the building in which I am presently typing, blocking the cYbErWeBz from making an appearance, which will ultimately lead to this blog being dee-layed until tomorrow. That`s only a tiny pain in my rear. Oh well, I guess it`s off to my air-conditioned room, cup of tea in hand, to recline upon my feather-top mattress for now! Oh wait! Never mind.

Entry #14 ( I think )

It's been over a month since my mother and a good portion of my family fled the country, leaving me with the leftover kidlets at home. I am beginning to feel bad for them, being stuck her all day. I don't mean to be boring, I just sort of happens that way. However, I was feeling rather adventurous the other day, so I hit my dad up for some cash, and Abby and I, along with my siblings, loaded up into the vehicle and headed out to Vancouver for the day. Oh, what a day.

It is important to state now, rather than later, that as the person driving, I have never experienced downtown Vancouver driving.

Our first stop was the ferry terminal. Easy enough, you'd think. However, Abby and I both thought we knew where we were going, so we did the only thing we thought logical: we called my father at work and asked for directions. All this means we got lost 3 times, because we were all wrong. However, for the sake of Abby's pride, she was the least wrong...

Okay fine. She was right. But if you ask me in person, I will deny it.

After dropping Abby's sister off at the terminal, it was off to Stanley Park. I was prepared with my handy Google-Map, as we twisted and squeezed our way through the crazy traffic, almost killing us all at least 3 times. Needless to say, I will not be doing that again, any time soon. Even with our almost-death four times over, it was nothing less than a fantastic day.


Now, on to something I should have done a while ago: Introduce you to myself!


My name is Rebecca, but I answer to Beckie. I have big feet and untameable hair and lots of freckles. I am not a model, nor am I especially smart. I'm self-conscious. I can say things that make me look stupid, and I rarely listen to a whole song all the way through. My room is always messy, and I procrastinate with my homework, chores, and generally everything that can possibly be put off to a later date. I think harry potter is rad. I burst into song at random intervals, and my iPod is among my prized possessions. I love my music, and don't you dare insult my taste, because it's mine and I love it. I feel most comfortable when I'm acting like a complete dork, and I talk loudly without realizing it. I love a big God. I sleep with as many pillows I can fit on my bed, and my cats are among my best friends. I see no harm in becoming a crazy cat lady. I like to draw, mostly doodle. I love writing, and I adore my friends. They're crazy, but crazy is alright in my books. I think feet are ugly things. I speak sarcasm as a second language, and I use my sense of humor in most situations, both good and bad. Sometimes I take things too seriously, or not serious enough. I prefer being happy. Life is so much more beautiful that way. I have a massive family. It's always been that way, and I wouldn't change it if I had that option; it's never boring this way. Oh, and my favourite colour is green.

Today is the day when I realized I have no idea what's going to happen.

I no longer have a schedule. I can no longer wake up in the morning and blindly follow that same routine, shuffling my feet and stifling yawns throughout my boring classes. I have no boring classes to attend, and I have no where to go. Not yet, at least. So until then, I am right here.

Now forgive me, this blog is a little on the depressing side. To be fair, you must be aware with the fact that my partner in crime, the same one from earlier blogs, has left me for another country. I am not quite sure what New Zealand has that I don't have, besides the sexy accents, but apparently it seems attractive enough for Kyla to up and leave. Huh.

Luckily, wallowing in self-pity has been cut short, as my old friend, Abigail, has come to visit me for the entire month of July. Cue loud whoops in celebration. Seeing as the larger chunk of my family has fled the country for the summer, I have become rather socially isolated, as the children I am left at home to care for either don't like me enough to talk to me, or cannot form coherent words besides 'mamma', 'puppy', and 'froom'. Abby has come to save my voice from lack of use, and I find it is like old times, when she lived around the corner from me, and we found joy in mocking each other. I came to a splendid realization yesterday, when I realized the house was completely spotless: if I kept feeding her coffee, she will keep doing stuff. I believe she drank close to 7 cups of coffee, and the house hasn't been in this great of shape since, well, never. It's amazing. But apparently this is to be expected from her. She informed me she was raised to be the perfect housewife. I'm scared if my mom found out, I might be out of a job....

I have lived my 18 years without watching any horror movies. I am not going to try and convince you that I avoid these movies because I prefer movies with substance, or a storyline that applies to my life. I am not one of those folks who need to have a point to everything. Let's be serious, I write this blog. No, this is not the case. The truth is, I am just a giant chicken. I was scared of Aladdin until I was 13 years old. I don't watch them because I don't get a thrill out of being scared to the point of tears. Go figure.

HOWEVER. This all changed two nights ago. I watched both my first, AND my second horror movie. Why? I don't know. I really don't. I walked willingly into that room, knowing full well what I was about to do. Which movies did I watch, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. Boogeyman 3, and The Haunting of Molly Hartely. Now, the latter was a decent movie. But let's be honest, what's the point in writing about a movie that was good quality? Now, Boogeyman 3 was a completely different story. After it was finished, I hopefully looked over to a fellow movie-watcher, and asked "Are all horror movies like that?" She chuckled to herself, and informed me of what I was afraid of: "No, no, no. That was probably one of the worst horror movies ever. I wanted to turn it off 7 minutes in." Shoot.

Of course all the commercials were for all the upcoming horror films coming out. With the titles of these movies, plus the observations I made in the actual movie store, I have come to one conclusion: They need to make up some new ones. They just seem to make sequel after sequel of the same story. Even so, I find myself a little bit excited for this movie:

It looks gripping. Much better than the other 17.

Now, excuse me while I embark on a housefly killing spree. It needs to be done. This is going to be a very long summer.

It has been a long while since I wrote one of these. I still don't know why, but I would venture to say it had something to do with the overwhelming amounts of homework I had towards the end of my high school career. But now, summer hath started, biology and mathematics are behind me, and I am free to let my fingers write inconsequential things about other inconsequential things.

A lot has happened. I commenced, I went to prom, I wrote my final exams, I cleaned out my locker for the last time, and I (along with the rest of the graduates) was suspended from school on the very last day. What a legacy. Yet even will all these happenings, I cannot find much to say. I do, however, have one thing to say about the above:

That is all.

Now, I have said all that I can say at this present moment, so now the only thing I can do is wait for someone to do something completely stupid, so I can blog about it. Friends, if you are reading this... You know what to do.

The amount of crap I have is unbelievable.


I suppose if I had actually cleaned my room when I said I would (roughly two months ago), it would be long done by now, and I would presently be lounging across my bed, writing of the day's lazy adventures, or a splendid bike ride I had just returned from, instead of blogging about my uncanny ability to leave everything till the last minute.


And here I sit, lounging across my bed, writing a blog, while boxes threaten to explode, sending a shower of knick-knacks and other stuff across my floor. How I ended up on Beck's BackPack, who knows?


I feel almost like I'm sneaking over enemy lines, finding out the codes to their top secret stuff, the sense of capture looming in the air. Except instead of finding out top secret stuff, I'm writing about it, and instead of sneaking behind the enemy's backs, I'm actually sneaking behind my mother's back, who's been on MINE to get this room cleaned.


Yesterday I went to the lake with a bunch of the girls from school. We sat on the edge of the dock and drank fuzzy drinks and ate cheesy snacks. Our neighboring dock had been occupied by a bunch of guys that looked suspiciously like pirates, and reaked suspiciously of a substance that is all too popular in these here parts.

Enough said.

Anyways, the pirate men told us to quite ourselves a couple of times, to which I responded with an angry "YARRRRH", which they cowared beneath. Let this be a lesson: A) don't mess with me, and B) I speak pirate.

I think I might have been confused by past stories of "poop decks". In the tales, they never quite explain the reasoning behind the name. I found out last night.

I'm not quite sure if it's normal for pirates, or if they just had a little too much of the above substance, but nevertheless, one of them decided it was perfectly necessary for him to whip down his pants and take a poop... off the deck. They laughed amongst themselves as they watched it sink. Meanwhile, us girls are traumatized.

Well, you learn something new every day, yes? Poop deck is not the name of a platform on the ship that the 'skervy dogs' had to clean because no one liked them, it was actually a deck... that they pooped off of.

Now that this blog is sufficiantly awkward, I must go and return to the search for my floor. It's under here somewhere...

Oh, how the days fly by when you're having fun!

at least, that's my excuse for not blogging sooner. SOO-RRRY.

Alright so I don't exactly have a topic for today's blog, so I will type with my eyes closed and see how that works out... starting, NOW.

So iu dihfnhfjdhnf assume that sthis is not goning to go over so well, so lets home it isnt a cokmplete and utter fdsailure. its slate and im a litleel biut tired, but you guys are far too important to me for ojh me to boirgh blog righojfnldsfg nofr.

Right, well that wasn't very successful now, was it? We can mark that up on the list of complete failures, right next to my dancing skills and being patient when driving behind tractors.

On the horizon lies a terrifying and exciting day that is the talk of the classroom these days, it seems. Facebook groups have been created, speeches are being arranged, procrastinators are struggling to find a dress that doesn't make them feel like that octopus from the little mermaid.

If you haven't caught on yet, it's GRAD. Oh yes, Grad. 45 days remaining, according to my handy cell-phone countdown application. It also tells me it's been 115 days since Christmas. Interesting.


Now, I have the honor of being my class' 'Master of Ceremonies', or whatever, for the banquet. Now, don't get me wrong, it is a great honor. But to be honest, they're expecting me to be funny. I don't exactly script this stuff. Besides, the older folk probably don't understand my humor. They might even find me to be a bit rude. Luckily, I will have Simon (holla!) standing faithfully by my side, co-mc'ing it up with me. If I go down, he's coming with me. Meanwhile, we will just panic and hyperventalate.

On to an equally, if not more-so, horrifying realization: Grad dates. Let's be real, I can claim to be cool with the idea of going stag, but theres a tiny part inside every 'I-don't-need-a-man' woman that is throwing a hissy-fit about the fact that they haven't been asked to grad yet. Now, that's not neccessarily the case in my situation, but I would like to have a date.
BUT WHO TO ASK?
I'm mostly concerned for the poor guy that would go with me, not because I would be his date (although, I do pity the fool), but because whilst I would be onstage desperately trying to entertain the hungry graduates-and-assorted-relatives, he would be left all alone at the table with my parents. All. Alone.


With my parents.


[insert shudder here]


Who knows what horrible things my parents would put the boy through? I mean, I have to sit at the same table as them almost every evening. I grew up with it, I've learned to stomach it. But he wouldn't even know what was coming. It would be unexpected, therefore he'd have no time to prepare himself. The poor boy.

Now, if a potential date is reading this (hey, boys.) and is suddenly terrified for his life, I understand completely. But if you are up for a little adventure, let me know. You'll survive, don't worry. I will not promise emotional scars, however. You have been warned.

It is a testament to my devotion that I am writing a blog at present. You see, I have a thousand things I could be doing with my precious time right now, things that must be done for tomorrow's events. Yet, even with all that fresh in my mind, I cannot seem to help but write in my humble little blog. I have been finding it increasingly difficult to find something interesting enough for me to write about. And by interesting, I mean something I can spin into a witty, sarcastic, and entertaining piece of writing that will not leave you snoozing on the 'Alt' button.

Now, my brother has many conspiracy theories. Theories he is not ashamed to voice whenever someone accidentally mentions certain things in passing. However, he has yet to come to me with the theory that so many others seem to have: Youtube is taking over the world.

I can only assume that is because he is an avid fan of Youtube and its many vloggers (which, in e-language, is a video blog, just fyi). In fact, I'm pretty sure he would make his own Youtube channel if given the opportunity. I find myself in a similar situation. Oh, to be e-famous! Can you imagine, one day, this blog getting so many hits that I'm asked to be on a radio show? Oh the glitz! Oh, the glamour! I think I'm getting a good start, you know, with my grand total of 6 readers. Today, six, tomorrow, six million! It's like 'The Little Blog that Could'!

Moving on.

As of right now, I'm stuffing my face with any food within my hand's reach, as I am about to starve myself. 30 whole hours without food. This would be easy if me and food didn't get along so well. Too bad we're the best of friends. I'll miss you, food. Especially you, chocolate.

I'm stoked though, as all the hungry people will be locked in a building together all night, let loose to reak havoc and start riots. Madness, I'm sure. I will be in the thick of it, revelling in the brilliance of what happens when you mix a butt-load of energy with a very hungry stomach. I will be sure to update with the details of what went down at the lock-in, as I am sure there will be lots to write about. Hallway Spoons: Engage!

Entry #9

Hej! That's how we Swedes say "welcome" in Swedish, in case you were wondering.
I'm not actually Swedish, nor do I know how to speak it. However, I do enjoy a good trip to Ikea!

Well, it's official. I am now 18 years old, and can legally purchase both cigarettes and porn. I can also vote federally, but who really cares? I figure, since there's no way I would actually ever use the ability to purchase said products, I should at least make it seem like I did, you know, just to be able to say I did it. Perhaps I'll run into the adult section blindfolded, then run back out again? Or maybe, I'll walk into the 7-11 and ask for a pack of cigarettes, then when he/she gets them, just say "just kidding" and walk away.

I have discovered I am not as nearly as wild as I would like to be. By wild, I mean spontaneous and exciting. I am actually quite boring. I have so many opportunities to live on the crazy side, and I just chicken out. Where's the fun in that? I was just on the phone with a friend who was willing to drive all the way out from Agassiz to bust me out of my house at 12:45 am. I turned them down, even though I wanted to SO badly. I'm just too much of a wimp. I suppose I fear the wrath of Esther and Frank. When angry, I fear for my life. The chance, although slim, that they check my room at the wee hours of the morn are risky. A risk I am not willing to take.

I really need to get out more. I mean, in Saskatchewan, Quebec, and England, I can legally drink. I'm almost an adult! I should be able to have fun!

Kyla and I went on another adventure. This time, we took the back roads all the way to PoCo. It was not intentional, but it was indeed enjoyable. We met some lovely, classy boys at the side of the road as we drove past, who tried to woo us with their masculine parts. I find it rather charming when they grab their crotches and stick out their tongue. Ew. On our way past them the second time (because we were lost, and unfortunately had to pass them once more), I rolled down the window and this was how it went:
Kyla: -Honks horn-
Beckie: Hey, you guys!
Boys: -Looks in our direction-
Beckie: Jesus loves you, you know.
Boys: -Points and says something I didn't hear while repeating their earlier action-

We ended up passing these classy menfolk again. I feel confident in judging them to be roughly 13 years old or so. My brother's age. I will have to make a mental note to take my brothers aside and give them a good talkin' to. I don't understand how guys could think we girls find that appealing... or attractive in any way. Correct me if I'm wrong, ladies.

Now, on to more important issues. If you recall from my last post, we had a bit of confusion and terrorism in the happenings of my abode. Well, that conspiracy has proven to be plausable. Someone, and we can only assume it is the same someone who has broken into our vehicles 3 times over, tried to break into our home this time. Talk about Drama Llama.

Best part is, they tried to kick down the front door to the living room.... with everyone awake and sitting on the couch, clearly visible I'd like to add. Even better, after that failed, they tried twice more at other doors. Doesn't getting caught by the owners kind of defeat the purpose of breaking in? Who knew theives were such idiots. Their getaway vehicle was a blue viper.
Fast, yes. Inconspicuous, not so much. How many vipers are owned in town, let alone blue ones?

Entry #8

Rubberducky to Lonewolf, I repeat, Rubberducky to Lonewolf - do you read me?

I'm sitting here, feeling like I'm in some sort of headquarters for a secret society.

My brothers are running around the house in a panic, the 'I mean serious business' face on, claiming conspiracy. The situation has progressed from a break-in of our motor vehicles into a full-fledged terrorist attack. this means war, fiends. WAR.

Okay, I know, it's been a decent chunk of time, but in my defence, the folks down at the interweb headquarters have a hate out on me at present. Who knows why.

Echem, seeing as I'm jumping all over the place at the moment, I thought I'd take this moment to leave a shout out to my friend, Rianna, who, God bless her, joined this site for the sole purpose of being able to follow me. Rianna, I love you. Even if you left me here in the snow whilst you galavanted around Mexico. Don't believe I love you? Let me leave you an example of my devotion: I didn't smack you upside the head when you complained about having a watch tan. cry me a freaking river.

Lately I've been slightly over-confident in my abilities to pwn. It's not like I haven't pwned everyone in sight, but I'm beginning to feel like maybe I'm taking it too far. Maybe I should take the feelings of others into account, let them win every now and again. Take my friend, Kameron, for example (hey, Kam!). The poor guy is just begging me to whip out the full force of my powers on him. He actually THINKS he can win in an Air-Guitar battle. what is that?!

On top of that, he is convinced he can wii-bowl better than me. He doesn't even realize. He is so naive. But, I suppose, it wouldn't be as fun to win if I didn't have a challenge. Maybe, if I convinced him he beat me fairly, it'll make me schooling him that much more enjoyable.

Too bad he'll read this and foil my plan. DRAT.

Entry #7

A piece of my soul has been missing these past few days. I walked around my home in a zombie-like trance, unable to motivate myself to do anything but mourn for that missing piece.

My cellphone has disappeared.

I know, I know. You`re worried about me. The pain I must be enduring is almost too much to read about. No fear, my loyal readers (ha.. ha.), Beckie and her beautiful tele-communication device have been reunited once again, and all is well.

Moving on to equally depressing topics. Math class. Ah yes, Math. My second time through this course has proven to be just as horrific as the first, although this time I actually TRY to listen to my teacher, instead of reading Pride and Prejudice in the back corner, my only conversations with the teacher involving whether or not Mr. Darcy had realized his undying love for Ms. Bennet yet, and what my takes were on Mr. Collins and his bizzarre antics.
In the past week, math class has almost become even more horrific, if such a thing is possible to comprehend. Don`t let your head explode trying to wrap your mind around it, just take my word for it. We have finally come to the dreaded triangles and its many mysterious angles and theorems. I cannot begin to describe the feeling that overtook my body when Mr. Coulter uttered that word: `Theorem`. You know that feeling when it`s overwhelmingly hot out, and you hear that sound, that irritating yet beautiful sound, of the ice-cream truck. Oh, Ice-cream on a hot summer`s day! Is there anything more exciting and satisfying? Why yes, yes there is. What, you ask? I`ll tell you. It`s a math assignment from this book!

Doesn`t that just excite you to no end? I know, me too.

As I left my house this morning, 10 minutes behind as usual, my mother informed me of a blizzard warning that was expected for later today. In my first class, I shared this information with the lovely Kyla (you may recall her from earlier blogs) as I saw a few whisps of snow falling outside. She looked out the window, smirked, then turned to me. `Is this the terrible blizzard you speak of?` Clear mockery, you may say. I`ve learned to accept this behavior from Kyla. You will too, in time. She has this horrible problem with sarcasm, it gets a little out of hand at times. How we get along, I wouldn`t have the slightest idea. I`m far too serious and polite. Ehem.
Lo and Behold, before even half an hour had past, you could not see to the end of the parking lot because of all the snow. It was a terrible sight. Ever since I`ve become a driver, snow has lost its novelty. White death. Needless to say, I made Kyla repent for her earlier shinanagins. All was truly forgiven and forgotten when she handed me my Christmas present. On February 25th, exactly 2 months post-christmas, I had the honor of reliving the christmas joy, as snow fell in the background and the vice-principal stalked by, I was all holly-jolly. Thank you again, Kyla. It was a lovely gift.

Entry #6

Oh, the joy of Sundays.

The day of rest, the last blissful day of the weekend, a day where it's really all about relaxing ...

Scratch that. The day where I remember what I do five days of the week, and all of the things I needed to finish over the weekend and conveniently forgot about until 6:00pm on the Sunday evening. Perfect!

Why am I blogging, you ask? Because I couldn't help it. If given the choice to study Biology 12, write a prophetic speech, or just write about random things on the internet, I would choose the latter. It's just the natural decision.

Grad presentations are coming up in 17 days. Not that I'm counting down or anything. The dread that overtakes my soul when those two words are mentioned consecutively cannot be written coherently. It's more like a series of grunts, moans, shrieks, and other unnatural bodily sounds. If I step back and look at it logically, the whole thing shouldn't be a big deal. Honestly, all I really have to do is talk about myself for 20 minutes straight. Unfortunately, I have never been a logical person, so panic is my first instinct. On the outline of things to talk about, it says "Talk about how [your school] has affected you and shaped you." Now, I'm sure the writer's intentions with such a suggestion were to hear me verbally vomit about how awesome my high school experience has been at said school. Alas, they will be sorely mistaken if I answer that question honestly. Therefore, they are expecting me to lie.

I can only "bs" my way through so much, you understand? Writing lies is easier to get away with than standing in front of a dozen or so people and spewing out untruth after untruth. This means I will double-dutch my way around that question, hopefully escaping any questionable stares from my teachers and other assorted viewers.

I wonder ... Maybe if I just sent each person to read my blog, they would understand what I do in my spare time, instead of having me fluff it up and make it sound better. It's nothing glamourous, they will see. In fact, it's overbearingly sarcastic, unnecessarily pointless, and generally just a waste of everyone's time. That last statement pretty much sums up my personality.

Entry #5

As I sit here, my father passes with a authoritative aura, squaring his shoulders, attempting to be intimidating. failing = dismally. "It's 12:15, I think it's time you go to bed." If you read this, Dad, I love you. But Blog comes first, sleep comes last.

It's been a few days. Not that I've forgotten about this, no, but because I am lacking activity right now. I'm sure all of you reading this (and by all, I mean Ashley) are not interested in my pajama-clad, tea-drinking, madusa-haired lifestyle as of these past few days. Not everyone can pull off the 'just-rolled-out-of-bed-and-I-don't-care-what-the-haters-think-of-me' hairstyle. I don't get it.

Now, I know if you're a female and aware of the fads of today, the picture above sends a certain excitement through your entire girly body. Oh yes, the famous Edward Cullen. sigh. I figure I should admit to my flaws. Come clean, if you will. I. Am. A. Crazy. Fangirl.

I never thought it possible, for less than a year ago, fangirls made me chuckle, shaking my head in pity. Oh, those poor, lonely girls. Nothing better to do than stalk their obsessions through the interwebs, installing webcams into unsuspecting celebrities' glove boxes. Feeding their addiction on blogs and by purchasing used tissues off of ebay.

I have entered the bizarre dimension of fan-dom. Terrifying, but beautiful.

Now, if you're reading this and telling yourself "oh how original, another girl addicted to that book with the apple", do not jump to conclusions. If you you assume that's the only thing I am addicted to, you are wrong. I thought I had done a good job of avoiding temptation. I barely watched television, nicely avoiding shows such as Lost, or Grey's Anatomy. I read classics, if any book at all. But this summer changed it all.

My cousin suggested one evening that we watch some show called One Tree Hill. "Just one disc," she urged when I explained my uneasiness with starting a new TV series. Oh, where's the harm in the first disc of the first season? Big mistake. I now own all seasons, and my Monday nights are always booked at 9 pm. If I have plans, they always end with enough time for me to make it home in time to get comfortable in front of the boob-tube.

Then it happened. Twilight was everywhere. Vampires, you say? Not my cup of tea, if you catch my drift. Apparently, however, it is literally impossible to converse with any female in school if you do not know the meanings behind words like "Edward Cullen", "Bella Swan", "Lion and the Lamb", or "Sexy Vampire". I decided, for my own social purposes (because as humans, we crave even a tiny bit of society), that it was necessary for me to read this so-called "Twilight".

Roughly 2 or so weeks later, I had finished the entire series. I fully admit to being obsessed, as I simply cannot get enough of it. I prowl fansites, dream about British hunks by the name of Robert Pattinson, and even now, I am blogging about it. Look how far I have stooped.

Don't judge me, I guarentee you, if you have not already, one day you will experience the horrific feeling of fanaticism. It's a guilty pleasure, we all have them. I just openly admit to it. Well, in my blog I do. With my all of one reader (love you, Ashley). So I guess it's not quite openly admitting. But if you have read my blog, you deserve to know!

Now, I must take my father's loving advice, and get some sleep. If it helps you sleep, I will try and hide my obsession for all things twilight in here. Once I'm in Ireland, I should have more exciting things to talk about. Like Irish men and sexy accents. oh baby.

Quote of the Day.

My lovely girl, Alyssa, made my day. you make me smile, dear.

Alyssa [to Patsy]: Beckie is the best, because "Beckie" rhymes with "Best."

Beckie: Not at all actually. In fact, the only similarity is that they both start with B.

Alyssa: Just go with it.

Entry #4

What an unnecessarily traumatic evening valentines day was. I'm not complaining, though. Those kind of evenings are the ones I remember!

Kyla and I decided to go to Mission to catch a girly movie, but we would stop in Abbotsford for dinner. We left pretty early, expecting a long wait at Red Robin, as we forgot to make reservations (my bad). On the contrary, we walk in to a waiting room stuffed with hungry people, go to the front to inform the hostess we would like a table for two, and she told us to follow her right away. Shocking. SO, as we finished our dinner and generously tipped our overly-friendly waiter, we realized that we had far too much time to burn. The only solution to this, of course, is to prowl around Walmart in our dressy clothes. We weren't the only ones. It seems Walmart was crawling with overly-dressed folk. Afterwards, we figured we'd head to Mission and figure out something to do once we were there. Kyla, being the creative one in this relationship, thought it would be fun to go for a drive around the beautiful township. Oh yes, what a stupendous idea! Now, I'm sure Mission is a beautiful city, with lots to offer, but I'm pretty sure I took every wrong street that there possibly could be in such a small town. Our scenic tour consisted mostly of an industrial park, a rather dirty looking night club, and other various creepy roads with no signs or streetlamps. I was hyperventalating so bad at one point, I'm pretty sure I was positive a masked villian was going to jump out at me and rip my limbs off.

After arriving home at roughly 12:37 am, I went to open my front door only to realize my older brother had taken my house-key to make a copy, and had never given it back. Lovely. I called, knocked, rang the doorbell, yelled through windows, all to no avail. I gave up eventually, and decided to lay in the middle of the road. I layed there till 1:15 am, when I realized with a flash of embarressment and frustration, that our screen door in the backyard is never locked, and I had been sitting out in the cold for no particular reason. I suppose we should probably get a lock on my back door, but last night I was rather greatful for our lack of safety.

Entry #3

Happy Single's Awareness day. Or, if you prefer, Happy Discount-Chocolate Eve!

Another valentines day has come, and once again, I'll be spending it dwelling on the fact that my girlie friends are so much cooler than the other kind. Or at least, that's my excuse for being single once again as this holiday comes and goes. I do not let my lack of romance stop me from enjoying my saturday evening, however. Kyla, my partner-in-crime-and-other-various-activities, and I are planning on making our saturday not-so-depressing. Our plans may be in jeapordy, however, seeing as we forgot to make reservations. Oops. I am having difficulty thinking about what I should get for her as a gift, seeing as she works in a flower shop, and she gets free flowers virtually every shift. Chocolate? No, she always has a stock of those under her bed. Teddy Bear? No, she isn't particularily fond of those. Ideas would be greatly appreciated.

Now, I have slept half my day away, and I still have plenty to do before my evening begins, so I will leave it at this, and wish you all far more luck in love than I have. Merry Valentines!

Entry #2

1 teenage almost-graduate + 4 bickering children + 4 pre-pubesant tweeny-boppers + 1 teething baby x large house - 1 mother = one extremely frazzled me.

Now, I've never been particularily good at math (and when I say that, I mean I'm no good at math at all, not even in the slightest), but I am smart enough to realize that such an equation would leave me pulling out my own hair out by the roots. Two weeks, I should be alright... right? Not so much.

I'm pretty sure I strike fear in the hearts of infants, due to the fact that I am running around the house very similar to that of a chicken with its head freshly removed. If that chicken were some form of chicken-hulk hybrid, I would be such beast. My mom will be impressed if she returns home to her children still possessing all 4 limbs.

It's Valentine's week at school this week and each day those participating have to bring in a treat (according to the day) for their chosen secret valentine. Tomorrow, Thursday, is 'something home-made'. Now, I'm not sure what that exactly entails, but I'm guessing cookies will be rather popular tomorrow. My question is, would going to the grocery store and buying a box of cookies count as cheating, or as a grace bestowed upon my valentine? I'm sure store-bought cookies would be far more edible than anything I could possibly make at home. I have, however, bought instant cake mix, and will attempt to make cupcakes. Stay tuned to see if I burn the house down.

A few days ago I received a letter in the mail from the lovely folks at Distance Education Center, politely telling me to get my 'rear in gear' with my Writing 12 course, if I would like to finish in time to get the credits. How thoughtful. True story though, I was sent the course last June, and have only sent in, what, 4 homework packages? 2 of those from the past 2 weeks. I should probably get on that.

The funny thing about this blog, is that I'm sure no one is reading it, but it still feels rather theraputic. Like an online diary where I can vent all of my frustrations and crack lame jokes at my own intelligence. I don't mind laughing at myself.

and the countdown begins ...

Entry #1

Entry #1 And so it begins.
As I sit here, listening to some great music, slightly nauseated and partially frusterated from the whining and squealing of the infant-child, Korbin, I find myself more in tune with the amount of time I have left at home. The first half of grade twelve has seemingly flown by, with no evidence that it really happened, to be honest. Only 4.5 short months left! I cannot wait. Living in an overcrowded house my whole life, the quiet independance I'll be facing soon enough seems all too welcome. I'm sure my opinion on this matter will change soon enough, as I'm rather used to it. Sigh.

I figure I'd make a blog, seeing as I just joined this site, but I think it is about time I try and figure out how to use it, and make it look not-so-dull. I'll be seeing you.