How to Tell If You're a Writer

Found this on a reviewer's profile page and laughed so hard.

For all my writers -lessthanthree-!

How to Tell if You're a Writer

-If you talk to yourself.
-If you talk to yourself about talking to yourself (i.e. ‘I wonder why I talk to myself so much?’)
-If, when you talk to yourself, you sometimes speak as if talking to another person (i.e. ‘Okay, so have you ever noticed that the word ‘deliver’ could mean removing someone’s liver?’)
-If, after uttering a profound piece of wisdom like that above, you stare at the cookie in your hand in awe and say, ‘Wow, this is good stuff for sugar highs!’
-If you live off of sugar and caffeine.
-If people start to notice that you tend to check your e-mail every day for a week, then suddenly disappear off the face of the planet.
-If your e-mails tend to be pages long and incredibly random.
-If, when replying to someone else’s e-mail, you are sometimes so random that you fail to address the original message altogether.
-If you tend to collect the Bic Stics people leave lying around, kind of like picking pennies off the ground.
-If, no matter where you are in your room, you never have to so much as get up to reach a pen/pencil and paper.
-If the letters are starting to wear off on the keys of your keyboard.
-If people think you might have A.D.D.
-If you think it’d be cool to have A.D.D.
-If you start constantly talking in third person, past tense.
-If you think about making lists like this, and start giggling for no ‘apparent’ reason.
-If your friends don’t even bother to look funny at you anymore when you start giggling for no apparent reason.
-And finally, the number one way to tell if you’re a good writer: If you failed English 101

Bellatrix and Voldemort

I didn't think I'd do this, but I get the feeling that it'll need to be said.

As some of you know, I enjoy putting together Harry Potter fan videos and posting them on YouTube. Well, I'm going to be doing a Voldemort/Bellatrix one and I plan on putting it to the song Gabriel by the band Lamb. Now, at first I was swearing that I would definitely go to hell for making a video of evil set to a song of angels. However, the entire reason I was drawn to it was the wording. Placed to a soft, calming beat and the careful wording surrounding the phrase, 'my angel, Gabriel' makes the song a peaceful, warming piece. However, if placed to an upbeat, intense rhythm, and the extraction of the phrase so carefully placed in the current song would make the song itself seem to be about one who was greedy and selfish when it came to his/her love.

Which brings me to my reasoning. The contrasts of the peaceful song set with Bellatrix's insanity and obsession with and love for Lord Voldemort is wonderfully chilling. If you think about it, the song is all about obsession and longing and even, to some extent, love.

I can fly, but I want his wings. I can shine even in the darkness, but I crave the light that he brings. Revel in the songs that he sings. My angel, Gabriel. I can love, but I need his heart. I am strong, even on my own, but from him I never want to part. He's been there since the very start. My angel, Gabriel. My angel, Gabriel. That's the day he came to me. Angel's wings carried him to me. Heavenly. I can fly, but I want his wings. I can shine, even in the darkness, but I crave the light that he brings. Revel in the songs that he sings. My angel, Gabriel. My angel, Gabriel. My angel, Gabriel. Ooooooh, my angel, Gabriel. My angel, Gabriel. My angel, Gabriel. My angel, my angel, my angel. Ooooooh. Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel.

She can fly, but wants his wings? She is strong on her own, but never wants to leave him? Obsession and love mixed into one, which is exactly Bellatrix's relationship with Voldemort, though he doesn't care and never will.

Now, this may not the meaning behind the song itself, but in the context that I plan on using it in, this makes sense, right?

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

Technically, I get by with a lot of help from my friends, and I find that I sometimes take them for granted. For which I would like to apologise for.

Also, I'm fine now. False alarm. My sleeping habits were wonky and my eating habits were even more so.

AND DAD IS COMPLETELY MOVED OUT SO YAY!

Troubling Thoughts

So, I fear I'm slipping into a depression. I woke up this morning at three in the afternoon. So, technically, it wasn't even this morning. But still. I didn't get to sleep until a quarter to five, and even then, it was punctuated with tossing and turning, weird noises and even weirder dreams. When I actually did get up, I had to drag myself out of bed. I never have to drag myself out of bed. I lay there for an hour after I wake up and then get restless, so I get up.

I've been talking to myself. Answering myself too. While I've nearly always done this, my multiple personalities seem to be making more constant appearances and I fear the worst. I reply to my own comments with dry sarcasm as if someone else were in the room with me. This is not a good thing and I am well aware of this fact, hence my fright.

I also seem to speaking as though I am from the late 1950s. To which I say the following:

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?!

I'm afraid that everything I mentioned in my last post is finally building into something that, once it finally breaks, I won't be able to sift through and climb on top of. I fear that, for the first time, it'll get the best of me and I'll stay buried underneath and no one, not even JD or Michelle or Emma or Elaina or Flo will be able to work together to drag me out. Work is boring and repetative. Home is ear-piercingly quiet, even when Mum moves about. And I just find myself not caring about anything anymore. In fact, I truly believe that I wouldn't even care to shower if I a) didn't have to work, or, b) could actually remember how much better showering makes me feel.

I'm teetering on the blurred edge of depression and living for the sake of living. I need help. I need ... someone.

And Even MORE Information 2.0!

$17.60!

Thank ya, thank ya! -lessthanthree-

Once Upon a Time...

Could I be neglecting you more?

Quite possibly, but I refuse to at this point in time. Kindly hold off throwing the rotten vegetables until after I explain myself, please and thank you kindly.

Allow me to start this properly: Once upon a time, there was a girl named Iggity* (*name has been changed for privacy. Though, Iggity doesn't care, she's just honestly considering legally changing her name to Iggity. Anywho...).

There was a girl named Iggity and she lived a different life from normal teenagers. The details are too long to list, but to sum it up, Iggity had to grow up faster than her friends did. After some time, Iggity's mum was married and Iggity, her mum and her step-dad moved from a really crappy city to an only slightly better, bigger city. They lived there for four years, and in that time, Iggity went to high school, made new friends, fell in love, graduated, fell out of love, and gained a rather interesting job that she, to this day, thought she was underqualified for.

Iggity loved her job, even though it took up majority of her time and energy. She was at her job for three months (officially, for it had started as a cashier job for the holidays) when she learned that her grandmother (who was in the hospital, but quite alright) was going to be moving at the end of that month. Being the person she was, Iggity would travel the three hours to her grandmother's house to pack, stay overnight (for it would always be late when Iggity got to the house) and pack some more the next day before leaving, taking three hours on city transit to get home, only to collapse into bed and get up early the next day for the morning shift she had been given.

By now, you, the reader, are most likely gaping at the screen and wondering where the happiness in all of this is. Keep in mind that, just because a story starts with "once upon a time", doesn't mean that it will, indeed, be a happy story through and through. So we continue.

Iggity continued this routine of travelling for three hours and packing on her days off until everything was finished (with help from a family friend and a day of her mother and father packing what they could). Her grandmother was completely packed up and in a week, she was to be moved to a closer home, which would cut the three hour travel time down to one hour (something that cheered Iggity considerably).

However, three days before her grandmother was to be moved, Iggity's mother informed her that her step-father was leaving because he had things he had to deal with on his own. And for the next month, Iggity picked up extra hours at work so she wouldn't have to watch the man who had been more of a father than anyone else pack his stuff while cheerfully chatting with a friend he brought along to help out. She knew that the cheerful conversation was an act; a mask, if you will, so they would all feel comfortable while he packed up.

So, dearest reader, that brings us to this point. Iggity writes to you now, only feeling slightly apologetic for neglecting you for nearly a month and a half, and asking that you forgive her, for her life -- and all of the complications that can make that word a virus -- was holding her back and she hardly has the time to write her own stories, let alone a blog.

However, I suppose I can leave you with a piece of Iggity's current situation that makes her believe that everyone will "live happily ever after".

Though he has been mentioned before, Iggity shall mention him again, for he has been a rock through this, even though the two have only known each other for almost three months. His name shall not be mentioned, for he shall know who he is, should he read this, and he should know that Iggity is eternally grateful for all that he has done for her in the past four weeks. It has helped her through something that she feared would turn out like the first time; horridly unfair and depressing with life slapping her in the face as the frosting on a horribly burnt cake. She just wants to say, 'thank you for always being there. It means more than you know'.

Iggity is the person you know who takes things in a comedic sense when she can. She has to, because it's her escape. If she didn't, she would most likely become one of those "gothy/emo" teens that she loathes so much. Can you say 'hypocrite'? She certainly can, and she hates the thought of being on the receiving end of such an insult. So comedy became her shield, because she prefered hearing laughter and groans of disapproval at a rubbish joke than the murmurs and chuckling of "popular" people as she passed by.

There's a phrase that Iggity has loved for years. She stumbled across it when looking for pictures and she immediately felt connected to it.

"She painted on a smile and learned to pretend".

Iggity understands that you must be a little bored by now and that many of you might have closed this window paragraphs ago, but to those of you still reading, she appreciates your time, and wishes to assure you that, though this is still quite depressing/angst-ridden, there is somewhat of a happy ... well, it's not exactly an ending just yet, but it's nearing the end of a life chapter, so it counts. She supposes.

Anyway, she just needed to explain what was happening and though some of it seems to be connected by maybe one word or phrase, it all made sense to her while she was writing it and, really, that was the main point, for it is currently a quarter to one in the morning and her thoughts are all over the place, so the fact that this is actually written coherently is a wonder all on its own.

Hopefully it will not be as long between this post and the next one.

Many hugs,
Iggity.

P.S. The happy ending is Scotland. It always will be. -lessthanthree-

Money

I have $0.97 in my bank account until Thursday. I've been stressing more than usual and I didn't understand why until Mum gave me a five dollar bill.

Why do we let money run our lives? Because it runs everything else. It has to.

That's all I've got to say for now.

Geek Test

Yes, I have taken the best geek test EVAR! And, honestly, it was a blast. Give it a try.

http://www.innergeek.us/geek-test.html

Fate or Something Else?

I've been thinking about things that have been happening in my life lately. I really have to say that I'm more than happy about where I am at the moment. I have a job and, though it's not the best pay in the world, it's a temporary escape that provides the money to help me completely escape.

I'm further than I thought I'd be after secondary school. To be completely honest, I thought I'd be completely jobless and still doing more than fair around the house while Dad played World of Warcraft all day and Mum went to work.

But I'm not. In fact, because of this job, I'm not doing as much as I thought I would be doing around the house when I finally did get a job. That sentence is confusing, but whatever; read through it a couple times and you'll understand what I mean.

Also, I've been talking to a truly awesome guy that I met at the Girls With Slingshots meet-up back in February. He's pretty much awesome epic win sauce at life. In fact, he's laid back and really fucking smart and he's so funny. He makes me laugh on a constant basis, even during times where I don't feel too great (like when I applied for a job at the Ontario Science Centre to be a part of the Harry Potter Exhibit floor staff and didn't get called in for an interview. Also, Scott, if you're reading this, please don't tell me because I'll pretty much die over the fact that you read about me gushing about you).

This is where my thanks comes to so many people for contributing to my meeting Scott. Firstly, Danielle Corsetto. I honestly owe her a tipsy, bra-less hug, for (like I mentioned in a previous posting) she is the artist for the webcomic Girls With Slingshots. Had she never started drawing/scripting the aforementioned comic, Jeph Jacques (Questionable Content webcomic) wouldn't have mentioned her, therefore driving me to start reading GWS (and LOVING it) and going to the signings.

I suppose I should thank my mum, too, for she was the one who said I should go to the 2010 signing, even though I didn't have the money (she let me borrow some money for it). And I suppose I should thank her for telling me to go to Gabby's afterwards, since that was where Scott and I started talking (also because it was really awesome to sit and chat with Ms D for a few hours).

So, this poses the question that everyone asks when something like this happens: was it fate or was it something else?

What do you think?

And Even MORE Information!

$16.34!

YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME THANK YOU SO MUCH -LESSTHANTHREETHREETHREETHREE-

JK Rowling: The fringe benefits of failure | Video on TED.com

JK Rowling: The fringe benefits of failure Video on TED.com

Pretty bloody amazing. I knew I loved her for being more than a writer.

Some MORE Information for You

Why hello there. Long time no blog.

Just wanted to thank those of you who clicked on the ads on my blogs site: all time payment of $15.02! Wooo hooo!

OK, I'mma go let my feet die now -lessthanthree-

Some Information For You

So, let me just start by saying HEYA!

Are you new? If not, long time no talk. If so, welcome to my effed up blog. No, really; it's pretty messed up.

(Side note: Don't eat Alphagetti and then chase it with Caramilk Milkshake. Ew.)

As the ten of you who actually read this blog might or might not know, I am planning on moving to Scotland. However, I need one thing to actually do that. Any guesses? I'll give you a hint: it makes the world go 'round.

No, not LOVE! Bloody hell.

Money. I am in need of money. And I do plan on making it with my job at Peoples Jeweller's AND by doing side jobs, like kneeling for an hour and taking pictures (that lacks content that I'm not going to fill you in on. So ha).

However, you may have noticed that to your right, there is an advertisement. Go on, look. I'll wait.

...

...

...

See? It was pretty, wasn't it? Could you do me a favour? It'll take ten seconds. Unless you're a smartass. I promise. Just move your cursor over to the ad. A little more to right ... there you go. It's right in the middle now. OK, now: press the right mouse button. Now go to 'open in new window'.

OMG THERE'S A WHITE SCREEN! It's OK, it's just loading. Now, once it's loaded up and it's nice and prettyful, wait a second. OK, now move your cursor over to the "X" on the new window and click it. Now it's gone, right? Right.

Depending on which ad that was, you just gave me somewhere between a penny and two dollars. In the long run, it adds up, and it helps me get to Scotland. Don't you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside?

Now, the strangers who come here might or might not CARE that I want to get to Scotland, and that's OK. In fact, that's completely understandable. However, if you DO help me, I'll really appreciate it because I really do need the extra money so that I can GTFO of here.

So be a good person and click on the ads littering my blog site. :)

My Weekend

I thought I'd share just how awesome my weekend was. Since, you know, I have nothing else to talk about.



The picture you see is Danielle Corsetto's Twitter page, where she tweeted to me, "OH GOD I POPPED YOUR HANGOVER CHERRY I'M SORRY".

...you don't know who Danielle Corsetto is? Do you live under a ROCK?

http://www.daniellecorsetto.com/gws.html

That is the webcomic she is well-known for. It is fucking epicness full of booze, sex (though a tasteful amount. Never over-done), friendship, real-life situations, and a talking "Scirish" cactus who makes me squeal like a five year old on crack.

...erm ... on a sugar rush, I mean. Not crack. Nope; never crack. -whistles-

ANYWAY DANIELLE CAME TO TORONTO ON SATURDAY AND WAS SELLING/SIGNING BOOKS AND STUFF AND SHE IS AWESOME!

She was here last year, in January, and I have to say ... I was not cool about it at ALL. I think she was actually going to have me thrown out at any sudden movement.

"OMG I think you're awesome and I read all of the strips in three hours and I think your comic is awesome and and and you're just really really awesome :D :D :D"

...yeah. Go me! I had promised myself that I'd be really cool and calm about it, because she's a human being who simply was blessed with the ability to be hilarious, draw, and even combine the two and morph it into a webcomic.

But I sort of lost it the closer I got to the signing table and about halfway through the line, the three people who had come with me had taken off because they couldn't stand how stuffy it was in the store. So they weren't even there to hit me in the back of the head to stop me from coming off like a creepy stalker person. Oh well.

THIS YEAR WAS DIFFERENT!

Very much so, actually. I didn't get there until about four thirty, and there was pretty much no line. Plus, the people in front of me were joking around and stuff and I actually threw in a couple lines before it was my turn to get books.

There was also a little note on her website saying that people should join her at Gabby's afterwards, so I did. Which was probably one of the best ideas I have ever had because it allowed me to spend approximately seven hours with the JK Rowling of webcomics (to me, anyway) and actually make her laugh and stuff. It was pretty fucking epic and I had a blast. The first few hours, I felt really nervous because I had been invited to sit beside her (after about two hours of being there and eating and stuff, which was awesome) and I was like, "Must ... bury ... inner ... urge ... to fan-girl ... Sitting ... beside ... Danielle ... AH!"

After a bit, it passed, though, and soon we were all yelling, "BOOBIES!" and some other inappropriate phrases that made us all crumble with laughter after saying it. It was just a really fun night out with people who share the same love I do; Girls With Slingshots and its creator: Danielle Corsetto.

Cutest Furry Little Bastards EVAR!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epUk3T2Kfno&NR=1

OK, so I'm not one for animal videos (actually, I really don't even stalk YouTube like a normal teenager), but this video came up when I was catching up on MeekaKitty's uploads (that was a LOT of 'up's right there. Whoa). I like otters. I really do. Partly for the exact same reason MeekaKitty likes otters: they're Hermione Granger's Patronus (because the otter is a part of the weasel family and Ronald Bilius is a Weasley, which is close to weasel and OMG that is a bit of a stretch, but shut up, it still makes sense -epic glare of death-). They're also the cutest furry little bastards EVAR.

So I watched it. And the first bit a little boring; you're shown that they're holding hands and stuff, but the cutest part in fucking existance is from 1:16 to 1:22. Go watch it; I'll wait.

...

...

...

...

...IS THAT NOT THE CUTEST FUCKING THING YOU'VE EVER SINCE IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE?!

I out loud 'AWWWWWW'ed at that. Seriously.

...I should send this to Ray William Johnson.

World to Scale

http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/525347

I thought this was pretty amazing and figured I'd share it with the nine people who decided that following me was cool :P

I got this link from Ray William Johnson because I Twitstalk him and he re-tweeted the link from one of the people he follows. All you have to do is turn on your speakers, wait for it to load, then press "play" and use the provided scroll bar to scroll through our World to Scale.

Enjoy!

Free

I don't like using other people's work to express my feelings.

Well, I RARELY like using other people's work to express my feelings. But songs normally manage to capture only majority of what I'm feeling at that time. This one, however, captures it all when I talk about how I'm over HIM. So I'll leave you with this. Much love.

It's like a faded.
Just like the curtains in the sun.
Just like the clouds I'm falling from.
I let you change me
Down to the colour of my hair
'Til I can't find me anywhere.

So I'm punching out walls
And tearing down paper.
Cutting my bangs, yeah,
Sooner than later.
I'm selling my soul right back to Jesus.
Taking up hope and giving up weakness.
Untangling the strings,
I'm free, yeah.
I'm free, yeah.

I'm feeling better
Now that your stuff's out in the yard.
I should send God a thank-you card
'Cause he'll forgive me
Even if you never do.
I never did look good in blue.

So, I'm punching out walls and
Tearing down paper.
Cutting my bangs, yeah,
Sooner than later
I'm selling my soul right back to Jesus
Taking up hope and giving up weakness
Untangling the string
I'm free, yeah.
I'm free, yeah.
I'm free, yeah.
(Whoa, whoa, whoa)
I'm free, yeah.

I'm feeling better
Now that your stuff's out in the yard.

-- Free by Jann Arden

Just Hear Me Out ...

So, like I mentioned in WTF Disney?! (I think I got that one right. I'll fix it later if not), when I graduated from high school (I actually put "Hogwarts" here the first time around. WTF MS ROWLING, GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!) I was completely in love with one of my best friends.

Well, blog stalkers, guess what?

I'M FUCKING OVER HIM! FINALLY!

I saw him on MSN (OMG I JUST NAME DROPPED WHY DO I KEEP FUCKING DOING THAT /END "FORGOT MY BAGS! MY BAD!" CALL BACK!) and my heart didn't move a bit. Well, you know, not counting how much it moves to pump blood through my body. You know what I mean.

So yeah, I honestly had no desire to do what I normally do (appear offline, then sign back in so he'll see me come online and then message me). And I haven't thought about him in WEEKS! And I feel ... different. In a great way. I feel ... free, almost. And also a lot like crying, which I know I'll do eventually, but it probably won't be until I curl up under my covers and relax and my mind has actually had the chance to wrap itself around the fact that I am, in fact, completely over him.

Now, once I get to Scotland, I'll DEFINITELY be able to start new. Brand new, clean, shiny, bacteria-free slate. And just thinking about that makes me feel more relaxed than I've been in years. And that makes me even happier.

Considering it is eleven thirty-six in the pm right now and I have work at nine thirty in the morning tomorrow, that means I should leave this here because I need to clear off my bed (don't ask) so I'll be able to actually sleep so I can wake up at eight in the morning and get to work.

Night!

Hardwiring?

I'll keep this short because it's almost 12.30 am and I have work tomorrow.

So I was just talking to a friend of mine who was tired of fancying guys who didn't fancy her in return. I replied with, 'hear hear, hun', which sparked a conversation about what the media does to us (whoa, huge shocker coming from this blog, eh? Like I bitch about anything else!). I wrote it out and, reading back on it, thought that it was worded pretty well (in my most humble opinion). So here it is.

We're trained from a young age to think that we'll be with someone when we're young and then be with that person forever and ever. We aren't trained to accept that these things happen in their own time. We're programmed to believe that everything will happen the way it should and that we'll all get the one we're supposed to get by the time we're old enough to know that boys and girls are different and how pleasurable sex can be. We're hardwired to think that we'll never end up alone and if you're still alone by the time you're in your twenties and up, there MUST be something wrong with you.

Go back and read "WTF Disney?!" and you'll understand where I'm coming from. It's ridiculous that we have these standards for ourselves and yet, most of us cannot even name why we have such a standard in life!

By the way, in case you haven't noticed yet, I'm not the media's biggest fan X_X

Geek Love Songs

Geeks, dorks and nerds, we need songs. Well, I have a friend who decided to compose just that! http://www.geeklovesongs.com/ is a website by Errol Elumir, a fellow National Novel Writing Month participant, and his CD, Geek Love Songs, is awesome. Including songs like "I Love You But I'm Ugly" and "All My Skills Are Virtual", you'll either love it because you relate to it, or love it just because it's an awesome CD with awesome lyrics. Please go and drop Errol a listen or two! I'll love you forever.

Conversations With My 13 Year Old Self

So, I never wanted this to be a blog where I would bitch about my life. In fact, I wanted this to just bitch about everything but my life. However, this one time, I think I'll bitch. I was listening to P!NK (and anyone who knows me really well knows how much I love P!NK) and Conversations With My 13 Year Old Self came on.

Conversations with my thirteen year old self. Conversations with my thirteen year old self. You're angry, I know this. The world couldn't care less. You're lonely, I feel this. And you wish you were the best. No teachers or guidance and you always walk alone. You're crying at night when nobody else is home. Come over here and let me hold your hand and hug you, darling. I promise you that it won't always feel this bad. There are so many things I want to say to you. You're the girl I used to be. You little heartbroken, thirteen year old me. You're laughing, but you're hiding. God, I know that trick too well. You forget that I've been you and now I'm just the shell. I promise I love you and everything will work out fine. Don't try to grow up yet. Ooooh, just give it some time. The pain you feel is real. You're not asleep, but it's a nightmare. But you can wake up any time. Don't lose your passion or the fighter that's inside of you. You're the girl I used to be. The pissed off, complicated, thirteen year old me. Conversations with my thirteen year old self. Conversations with my thirteen year old self. Until we meet again, oh I wish you well. Ooooh, I wish you well, beautiful girl. Oh, I wish you well until we meet again. My little thirteen year old me.

Basically, I love this song for every reason why I love any song that I love (if that makes ANY sense). I can relate to it. You know that question that your grade eight teacher asks you at the end of the school year? "If you could go back in time and talk to yourself at the beginning of this school year, what would you tell yourself?"? This song is my answer.

When I was thirteen, my mother was going through a rather horrid divorce. It was rough (as I learned a few years later), and Mum slipped into a depression. Understand that my mother was twenty-two when she had me and was a single mother. So, during her depression, she seemed to resort to a teenage standard and would lock herself in her bedroom with her computer 24/7. Lie I do not. She would only come out for the bathroom or if she were thirsty. Sometimes she wouldn't even come out when she was thirsty and would instead call me over and ask me to get her something to drink, which I always would.

For about a year and a half, I was the adult. I was thirteen years old, turning fourteen in May (a birthday she swears she remembered, but didn't) and was already struggling with school and homework, but on top of all that, I had to make sure the house was clean so we wouldn't be thrown out, make sure Mum and I were both fed for all three meals of the day, and also make sure that I was still passing my classes. Luckly, the depression started during my summer break, so the stress didn't mount until part way through my eighth year, where I was already having issues with my teacher (who I, at the time, thought hated me but she was just really trying to push me harder because she knew I could do better, which wasn't fucking helping AT ALL under the circumstances).

My teacher found out, eventually, what was going on. Truth be told (because, really, what else am I doing in this entry?), I crumbled one day and she pulled me aside during recess and I spilled the basics (which is all you guys are getting too, but still) of what my then-current situation was. She suggested that I start talking to the school counsellor. I agreed to give the idea a try and then Mrs K said that she would have to get my mother's permission for it. I almost freaked the fuck out. Now, I don't freak the fuck out normally. Like, it takes a LOT to make me freak the fuck out. But the thought of my TEACHER telling my MOTHER that she thought I needed counselling for all the stress I was under made me want to slice my wrists open with a plastic spork, and I always think that doing that would be STUPID, so what does that tell you about how I was feeling THEN?

Mrs K was cool about it; she said that she would tell Mum that it was because of the divorce and nothing else. I made her swear on it and then re-agreed to the plan. Of course, Mum said yes. She then said to me, 'keep me out of this; this is about you, not me, OK?'

"I'm doing this BECAUSE of you!" was my inside-voice thought to that. She still doesn't know that. I don't think I'll ever tell her.

The counsellor thing didn't work out well. I don't like talking about my feelings. And I don't like people. Or strangers. So telling my feelings to a person who was a stranger was NOT the best way to go about things.

I found some safety in writing. I've mentioned that Jo Rowling was the one who really got me into writing; this is half true. She was my safety net. It started where I would just drown in the Potter books and manage to fall asleep in the middle of a chapter because I had relaxed enough that I finally shut down after the day from burning hell. Then it moved to having read the first four books hundred times each (no word of a lie) and the fifth one at LEAST fifty, and then the sixth one about twenty-five. Because the sixth one was the one with a lot of possible outcomes, I was assaulted (like a peanut!) by the ideas and I started to write.

Like everything, I got better at writing with practise. And I got a LOT of practise, believe you me. It was, and remains, my escape from the world. And it has now become my passion in life. And anyone who knows me well knows that if I'm passionate about something, it means a lot to me. Ask JD or Shelly; we've known each other basically our entire lives.

I just had to get this down. Not many people understand why I am the way I am. I'm half adult, half child, because I never really got to transition into a teenager and then from there, into an adult. I had to skip being a teen and immediately be the adult. It sucks, at times, because I was weird to begin with, so skipping a vital part of my life made me even weirder. There are times when I still have to be the adult I shouldn't be yet, and there are times when the child part still comes out. I used to cry at every little thing that went wrong, but now I hardly ever cry. I had to train myself to tough it out and bite back all the tears.

I've been so afraid to stand my ground, so I simply shut my mouth, close my eyes, bite my lip and swallow every tear. - Sorry For Myself? by Jann Arden

Hell, I really can bitch once I get started, huh? I never truly bitch, though, so I guess I had a shite load built up. But I never bitch without having a solution, and this is it:

I'm moving to Scotland. Plain and simple. Well, not SIMPLE, but it's plain. Sort of. My life is so fucked right now that I feel like I've been thrown back six years. Mum works all day, Dad (second and last husband) is unemployed and plays World of Warcraft all day. I do everything. Until I got a job. I still do ALMOST everything, but at least it's not on days that I work. My job is my escape. And thank God that it's with such amazing people or I would have just up and left. No word of a lie. I really am lucky that I managed to snag the job I have because I would probably have packed up my shit and left.

So I'm working with awesome (in both definitions of the word) women who are funny and make life bearable at a job that I thought I was underqualified for, getting paid my own money which I will save up until I have more than enough to get the FUCK out of here, rent a flat and get a job in Scotland, then buy my plane ticket out of here. Start fresh. Have my own life, because I feel like I'm living the life that my mother wanted for herself.

I think I missed that part. Both of my parents are writers. My mum has been a writer since before I was born. And I always admired how Mum dealt with everything in life and used to want to be just like her. Which included being a writer. But after everything that went on, I still admire her, but I no longer desire to be just like her. The writer thing started as that, but now it's because I know I'm pretty decent at it, and I just really would love to get something published other than some poem I wrote in eleventh grade that was really a fluke that I thought was a piece of shite but actually got into the Young Writers of Canada book of verse. I still have no idea how THAT happened, but moving on.

I need to get out of Toronto. I never really WANTED to be here. I just knew that it would be a bazillion times better than Brampton ever was or ever could be. Hell, I just need to get out of CANADA. I'm bored of being here. Hopefully, once I've gotten all the money I need, JD will be able to come with and help me find a place. And Amanda (a friend and peer) said that she would help me if I promised to travel around Ireland with her. She drives a hard bargain (/end sarcasm) and she sounded sincere. We'll see what happens; it would be wonderful to have more than one person there with me, since I have no relatives in Edinburgh, Scotland. But still, I need to plan some more things, but I'll be on top of everything.

Alright, I'm through for now. My apologies for this asston of writing and if you made it this far, I less-than-three you for sticking with me. Night.

Kittens, Cannons, and, of course, EXPLOSIVES!

OK, so I love cats. I truly do. And fly-trap plants are pretty fucking epic.

I also love spikes, cannons and things that go BOOM!

Not to mention the fact that I am COMPLETELY fucked up.

So, of course, I LOVE this game: http://www.addictinggames.com/kittencannon.html

No word of lie, it combines kittens, cannons, spikes, fly traps, blood, and explosives. You blast a kitten out of a fucking cannon and see how far it can go while being helped or hindered by TNT, Venus Fly Traps, and spike clusters. It is fucking gruesome and possibly the best fucking flash game out there.

...why are you still here? DUDE, GO BLAST KITTENS OUT OF CANNONS! GO GO GO GO!

Forgot my bags. My bad!

So, for those of you who don't know, I live in Canada and our grocery stores have stopped automatically providing shoppers with plastic bags. They now charge you five cents a bag when you want one; apparently charging us five cents for a plastic bag will save the environment. Anyway.

I went out to mail something for my dad and decided to drop into the grocery store for a bottle of Fuze (OMG DID I JUST PRODUCT NAME DROP!? :O) to have with my lunch and a couple of bottles of Coke (OMG! I did it again. What the FUCK is wrong with me!?) for later in the night. Because this was a spontanious shopping trip, I hadn't any of my re-usable grocery bags, and I don't wanna bother buying plastic bags, so I have to carry all my shit home.

So, of course, I'm wearing this monster of a winter coat (it's winter in Canada, which means that there is snow on the ground and there is a high wind chill that can actually turn you into ice) that has pockets big enough to smuggle people across borders. So I figure I'll drop a bottle of Coke in each pocket and carry the Fuze 'cause I know myself well enough to know that I'll start drinking it on the way home. So I drop the bottles in my pockets and leave the store.

Understand something about how my neighbourhood is set up. My grocery store is about seven minutes away from my house (if you're walking) in this sleazy-looking stripmall. Which is behind my old secondary school (or high school if you prefer). My old secondary school now has a police officer that patrols the school inside and out. Tell me you see where I'm going with this.

Officer Raff is a pretty cool guy. Like, we facebooked each other and everything. However, he is also amazing at his job. I have the luck to pass him on my way home from the grocery store. With my pockets full of bottles of Coke. We say hey as we pass and then he stops me. And it occurs to me that I really should have kept my receipt instead of tossing it into the garbage can on the way out of the store.

So I'm standing there with my Fuze in one hand and my pockets bulging with what looks like stolen grocery store products. Raff looks at my pockets and says, 'having a party later?'

Needless to say, I almost died. And that is my near-theft-and-almost-caught experience.

Modesty? What Modesty?

This happened on December 29, 2009. I didn't get around to writing it down until the the second of January, 2010. However, I didn't get around to typing it up until the tenth of January, 2010. So here it is: the loss of my modesty for your amusement.

My mother and I received a gift card each for Addition-Elle at Christmas -- $200 for Mum and $50 for me. I've needed a new bra for a while now, so I decided to use my gift card to get a new boulder-holder. It's been a few years since I was properly sized for a bra (assuming that they grew another size up is basically how I've been measuring myself, teamed up with "Oh, so they no longer fit in this bra"), so the sales associate was kind enough to size me and then even pick out a few bras that she thought would probably work out. I refuse to tell you what size I turned out to be, since this story in itself is a little embarrassing.

So I take the aforementioned bras and head into a stall in the fitting room to try them. I get the second one on when I hear my mother.

'Oh, which one is she in?'

So I yell, 'in here!'

'You have one on?'

'Yuppers!'

'Well, lemme see it!'

So I throw my shirt back on and open the door. My mother takes a look at me and then snorts with amusement.

'OK, smart-ass,' she says.

Mum then walks forward.

WHOOSH!

I am suddenly without a shirt. In the middle of the Addition-Elle fitting room. Wearing only my jeans and the sluttest bra that was suggested to me. It's really only the sales associate and my mother, but really: it's the sales associate and my mother. So I do the only thing that struck me; I yelped and snapped at my mother.

'Dude, what the hell?'

Mum looked up at me and said, 'I'm sorry, kiddo, but you want a bra that fits properly.'

So the next thing that I remember having happened was that Mum was plucking rather violently at the straps of the bra and then peering (peering for fuck's sake!) between my breasts to judge the distance between me and the two underwires of the bra. She then starts to continually poke me where said underwires meet, sending me crashing backwards into the fitting room stall that I half-wanted to live in for the rest of my life.

The sales associate is actually being quite awesome about the entire thing; I think I even heard her chuckling a bit when I went crashing back into the stall, but I'm not too sure.

I know for a fact that I was completely silent for the duration of the prodding process, even after the three customers and second sales associate came through.

I kid you not; three other women came through, accompanied by their sales associate, who looked me up and down and then smiled and said, 'I think it looks good.'

Shut up; she was just being nice! -epic glare of death-

So, the other women are just minding their own business and going into stalls and stuff, but when they come out and I'm still there, they start giving opinions on it as well.

I bought that bra and GTFO.

FML.

Nana's Nose Candy

My grandmother's currently in the hospital because she's been falling a lot lately and the staff wanted to do some testing (which they did back in December). The tests said that it was all treatable, but she'd have to go to a program in another part of the hospital. The program is to help her restore her health and strengthen her muscles so she can go back to living on her own. Now, Nana has been saying that she's in rehab, which is the proper terminology for it, it just makes me crack up every single time she says it.

Mainly because the first thing that comes into my head is this image of her in her huge chair in the living room of her apartment, griding up Tylenol Arthritis tablets and cutting lines on the black seat of her walker. And then she'll curse using words I've never heard her use before all because she just lost half of her nose candy to the cracks between the raised circles of the seat of her walker. Not wanting to lose any, she then proceeds to lick it all up.

I think I need a really short leash for my imagination.

I'm an idiot

So, it's time to laugh at me. Like, out loud laughing.

It might or might not say that one of the blogs that I am following is, in fact, this one. I promise you all that I am not that self-centered. Really, I'm not. I somehow managed to follow my own blog, thinking that I would be following my friend's blog instead. Now I can't seem to find how to unfollow myself so I don't look like such a self-centred fuckwad.

...

Shut up and go click some ads on my blog >:[

Um ... How about you bite me twice? And chew hard? Both times!

So, some of you might be wondering why my once ad-free blog site is now, you know, crawling with ads.

1. It is my blog, so bite me.

2. It is my blog, so bite me.

3. It is my blog, so bite me twice and chew hard both bloody times (like what I did there? ;])

In all honesty, I signed up with Google AdSense. I'm actually being paid to have the advertisements in my blog. And I know that my blog's once wonderfully black background is now white as my pasty ass, but I'm working on getting it back to normal, so just be patient with me :)

That is all for now. Go click on the ads and get me money plzkthnx! <3

WTF Disney?!

This can go in hand with my first blog, "What. The. Hell?", because it basically is about how girls act today.

Only this time, there's a different source! WALT FUCKING DISNEY!

Totally just went there.

Disney movies are all aimed at kids under seven years old. And most of them have princesses and princes who fall in love with each other within the first ten minutes of knowing each other and never leave each other and get married and live happily ever fucking after.

This sets a standard for the kids: true love happens all the time and once it happens, it only happens once and you stay together forever and get married and have kids that come from the heron who flies down when he thinks your ready to raise kids.

Media is misleading and I hate it. Most kid movies are misleading and I hate it. The romantic storyline in Harry Potter (which is one of my favourite fucking books EVER) is slightly misleading, because Harry and Ginny fall in love and get married and Ron and Hermione fall in love and get married and almost everyone in the series met the love of their life at Hogwarts and stayed together and lived happily and in love and such. Which now sets a standard for teenagers (especially females) who were born in the 1990s. They grew up with the Disney movies where the characters fall in love and all that jazz, and now they have books to turn to that tell them, basically, that they'll find the love of their life in high school, be together and actually make it through the years together, completely in love, and never be with another person.

I said it before; I love the Harry Potter books. I really do. In fact, it was Jo Rowling who got me writing. I am eighteen years old, turning nineteen in May of this year. I graduated from high school several months ago, completely in love with one of my best friends. He didn't return the feelings. I felt a little betrayed, because back then, I thought that it would all work out. But Rachel Greene from the sitcom Friends said it right: "We all think that we'll get into high school, meet someone, fall in love, and live happily ever after". I used to think this. But there are some things that you have to go through that make you open your eyes to the bullshit that they pull on you.

Nothing is set in stone. You can fall in love with someone, be with that person, learn them even more intimately than anyone else, and then realise that you don't care to be with said person because you can't stand all of the flaws. You can fall in love with someone, be with that person, learn them even more intimately than anyone else, and then realise that you never want to live without said person because, despite the flaws that drive you up the wall, they make the person him/her, and you love said person because of who s/he is.

This was supposed to be a media bashing post, but I'm really just too tired for that crap right now. It's 1.36 am on the 9th January, 2010 and I really should be asleep because my sleep schedule is completely fucked, but I had to get this off my chest. I think I've had to get it off of my chest for a while now, but didn't really know it.

Speaking as a woman who has fallen for the teenage love shit that's been spoon-fed to me since I was three, I hate it. It dragged me through shit and got my hopes up; made me think that one thing -- just one fucking thing -- could go according to "plan". It made me think that love could be an easy thing to go through. I'd find someone and fall unexpectedly (which I did). I'd dance around the feelings for a couple years (which I did). Friends would prod me towards my feelings (which they did). I'd confess (which I did), he would listen (which he did), and then he would confess to feeling likewise (which he didn't) and we would be together at least to try it out (which we didn't). And then we'd be completely happy with our lives (which I'm not) because we'd be in the best place possible (which I'm not and I never talk to him anymore, so I don't know if he is or not).

I don't really know how to end this, so I'll just say this: we need to be careful what the kids are exposed to. If we love our kids, why would we make them believe that love is easy, or that love only happens once? It's complete shite.