Airplane Diary

Immediately after getting off the flight, I did the worst possible thing I could do: I read the letter from Stef. We hadn't even taken off... No, we hadn't even taxied away from the gate and already I was short of breath, holding in the sobs as best I could. The poor couple behind me must've thought I was on my way to London for my mother's funeral. The lady across from me, a harsh woman who obviously leads a rather lonely life and likes to yell rude statements at the poor girl behind her, kept looking at me as if I had infected her with some tragic disease. At least I had been fortunate enough to have an empty seat beside me. It felt like my chest wanted to collapse in on itself. And I wanted nothing more then to drop everything and run. Run back to my mom, to my friends, to my bed, where everything is comfy and safe and normal; unchanging.

After trying to distract myself with music (bad idea), I managed to find sweet relief in a movie. 146 minutes of lovely nothing. After considering watching another (I had scowered all the options enRoute had to offer me: 3 movies and 2 TV episodes interested me enough), I figured I was tired enough to fall asleep. The second that distraction of finding the most comfortable position was gone, that familiar ache returned. This leads us to this moment. I sit typing this rather depressing note upon my iPod in hopes that it will keep the ache away long enough for me to gather myself. I wonder if this makes it to my blog... Mason has been telling me to update it... It's not my typical entry, that's for certain, but then again, this isn't how I spend my typical day. I apologize if you're reading this and are disappointed that it's not funny. But the title of my blog was never 'Some Girl Trying to be Funny'. If you didn't know, it's actually called 'Adventures of a Girl', and sometimes adventures aren't very happy, at least not at first. In fact, this blog was started specifically for this particular adventure. This entry was a long time coming.

And so, as I try to survive the toughest part of my journey - a sleepless 9.5 hour flight to London, then on to Ireland, I can't help but think about how blessed I am; I am flying overseas for the adventure of a lifetime, to see the world, and then I get to come home to the most amazing people I will ever know. I love you guys.

3 hours down, 6.5 more to go. Now if only my heart could stop aching, I might actually get some sleep, however restless it may be.

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...