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.