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!
January 25, 2010
January 23, 2010
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
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
January 21, 2010
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.
January 20, 2010
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.
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.
January 18, 2010
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!
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!
January 13, 2010
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.
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.
January 12, 2010
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.
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.
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.
January 10, 2010
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 >:[
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
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
January 09, 2010
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.
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.
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