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.