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.