And that was a very poor decision.

Remember when I said that cutting it in half and segmenting it with a knife would be "time consuming"?


I peeled that betch like an orange. All the rind was off except that white stuff. So I peeled that off. 10 minutes later I ripped off a segment and took a bite.

My, was that fruit a Bitter Betty. Maybe it's because i dropped it on the floor and then tore all of its skin off. Or maybe it's because that's what Grapefruits do.

So I realized the see through skin that holds the whole fruit together was too bitter to eat so I had to get rid of it.

So i separated every little bead of grapefruit from the skin.
It was time consuming to say the least.

After 45 minutes I had a bowl full of shredded grapefruit and a pile of refuse.

I wanted neither.


So I've been away from my blog for a while. It happens to everyone. Things come up.
School, daily bus rides, hunger pangs.
It was one of those aforementioned pangs of hunger that prompted me to write today. That image above is a picture of my grapefruit that I have selected for eating to quell the pangs.
Don't get excited though, this post is pretty much pointless; I just don't know how to eat my grapefruit.
It took me a few hours of Hungry to realize that I wanted to eat. And what better to eat than a large citrus that smells delicious and tastes sweet AND sour at the same time (and for real, not like the claims of the Red Sauce that comes with chicken balls)?
I went to the fridge, pulled out the bag of grapefruit, proceeded to drop one on the floor, whimpered as it bounced off the stove then picked it up and washed it.
Now I don't know what to do.
I could peel it like an orange, but the white pithy stuff on grapefruits is more obnoxious than that on oranges, and the skin is thicker. Plus your hands get all covered in wax and juice. It's a mess. But easy to eat.
I could (as is the usual case) slice this sucker in half then meticulously cut each segment free so that I can scoop 'em up with a spoon, but this method is time consuming and leaves much of the grapefruit stuck forever to the rind. However, if I don't want the whole thing I can save half for later. Contrariwise, I am pretty hungry after all of this quandering*.
Then there's the salt/sugar/plain dilemma.
I'm all in a tizzy.

I might just eat grapes.



This is Mikey, the teddybear I made for one of my besties a while back. Remember? I told you about it. Remember? Whatever, here's a picture so that you can determine whether he in fact does or does not look like a pig.

Regardless, he's cute.



When it's not being a bitch.

Wireless Router- busted
Antivirus Updater- not working due to aforementioned router issues
My Boyfriend's Hardrive- toast
T9 On My Cell- unbelievably slow for an impatient child such as myself
My Mp3 Player- keeps shorting out from the static in the freezer at work
Okay that's pretty much it, but it's a fairly long list when you just want something to work.

In other news: 5 Weeks Until moving day. Unbearably excited.



Today was a freezer day at work. This was mostly because I didn't to deal with customers and partially because I was enjoying the knowledge that I was actually accomplishing something. What got me through hours spent in the -17 degree Celsius walk-in freezer was Rob Thomas' new album Cradlesong. Ooh my lordy, it's a good one. Now what tends to happen with my family and movies, music and inventions is we like something we've discovered and we tell people and they scoff. 2 months later it is THE BIGGEST THING EVER KNOWN. Harry Potter for example, I received the first book for my 8th birthday and my mother told me "the lady in the bookstore said her kids really enjoyed this book. I don't know if it's any good, but it looked interesting". Yeah it was good. BAM! Everyone adores Harry Potter. Anyway, Rob Thomas. Excellent new album. Fave tracks would have to be Gasoline, RealWorld 09, and Give Me the Meltdown. After Her Diamonds dies out a bit on radio one of those four are going to be ginormously popular. Guaranteed. I'm exhausted and will soon be sleeping, but I had to get that information out there to go on the record of the amazingness of this album.



One of my best friends cleaned out her closet last night and I was present for the proceedings. I collected a few articles of clothing to wear as well as some materials from which to invent and fabricate purses and gifts and wondrous things. I made a teddy bear today. It looks like a pig.



Due to the alien that is still residing in my abdomen and making its presence quite well known, I have been doing a fair bit of driving. As I live in a village (therefore; I am a villager) our health clinic and hospital are lacking in some of the big equipment that isn't used ALL THE TIME by the villagers of my village. Some of this equipment includes ultrasound machines, CT Scanner machines, MRI coffin-machines and a swanky cafeteria filled with jello and Tim Horton's doughnuts (we have jello but no doughnuts). Because we lack these wondrous diagnostic image creators, and because the alien is giving me hella pains, I have to travel an hour and a bit to be scanned and poked and prodded at my family physician's request. I book the day off work and I try and do some shopping while I'm out there, but sometimes the hospital processes leave me in not so great a mood to be schlepping my tired self around an under-construction mall.

I woke up this morning with loads of energy and I was feeling pretty good about my CTscan appointment, scheduled for midafternoon. I had one a few years back and it was no big deal, so I knew what to expect. My dear mother accompanied me on the long drive to the bigger, newer, glassier hospital and even did all the driving, which was excellent because I kept getting toe-cramps which made me flail.

Anyway, she drove me to the hospital in the city (small city) and we arrived early enough to get almost lost in the demolition site of a parking lot. We walked toward the main entrance, passing many a sign stating that the entire property is SMOKE FREE. I also spotted a man who was, I kid you not, squatting below a window to remain undetected as he sucked on his cancer-stick.

As I'd been to this hospital (which is entirely new as of the past year) not 2 weeks earlier, I knew my way around. I led my mum to the Main Entrance and chose to bypass the revolving doors, opting for the much less stressful AUTOMATIC CAUTION doors. My mother followed me past the gift shop, library and doughnut cart (all of which I named aloud as we passed them, for no particular reason) and down to Diagnostic Imaging. I checked in and we were directed down numerous hallways to the CTscan waiting room where we sat and waited.

A nurse came out and asked me if I have allergies (hayfever and melon), asthma (mild; in conjunction with the hayfever) and whether or not I take some medication I do not recall the name of (I do not). Apparantly, for this CTscan it was required that I have some kind of dye pumped into me via an IV. I was displeased to say the least. I'm not a big needle person. They make me giddy. I cry and laugh and make odd noises and my mum gets quite frustrated with me and the nurses call me 'Sweetheart' and 'Hon'.

So I went in to the next room to get the IV started and that was just a messy experience. There was dizziness and nausea and pain and needles being poked in both arms and bags of liquid attached to me by tubes that were taped to my arm hair (which, if you recall, I have a fair bit of).

The CTscan itself was easy peasy. For anyone who doesn't know, they put you on a stretcher that moves back and forth through the centre of a giant metal doughnut (I'm realizing there's a lot of fried dough in this post. Forgive me.) while they take pictures of your insides. What I was not expecting was my reaction to the dye. The technician lady (who was very nice) told me I'd feel warm all over, and probably get a weird taste in my mouth that would go away quickly. Oh, and I might feel like I'm wetting my pants. But I won't be, it just feels that way.

I thought this was a weird little turn of events that I would likely not experience.

The scan starts and the automated voice of the doughnut tells me to "Breathe IN.... HO-ld it!.......... breathe." and I start feeling warm inside. Like I'm drinking hot chocolate. Through my fingers. It was weird but not unpleasant.

Then I taste paper and what glue sticks smell like. It was both weird AND unpleasant. I swallow a few times and get over it.

My other arm is feeling really warm too and I wiggle my fingers to make sure they're still there and OH MY GOD I'M PEEING MY PANTS.

But I wasn't. It just felt that way.

I LOLed right there and then felt a bit sick so I was quiet until the whole ordeal was over and I got to go sit in the waiting area again while they made sure I had no adverse reactions to the dye.

As I sat in my chair, connected to the ceiling by my inner elbow vein and some clear tubing, I became aware of the elderly woman who was sitting next to me, veiled partially by a curtain. I used my less-than-imppeccable peripheral vision and gathered that she was also in that end waiting stage like me, and that she was looking at me a lot. I made eye contact and smiled and she smiled back. She then jerked her head toward her IV tube and says to me:

"It's just like we're wired with surveillance mics."

That struck me as much stranger than the peeing sensation. Why would the mind of this sweet older woman go immediately to espionage? Could she be from an agency of sorts? Was she giving me a tip? Was I reading way too much into this and remembering that my sister was studying the Cold War for her history exam the night before? I decided it was most likely all three things in combination.

In case you were worried, there were no adverse reactions to the dye other than slight wooziness and complete lack of desire to shop. I did eat a Big Mac though, and that might have had more to do with this condition than anything else.


Happy Daddy Day

To Kirk. <3 Love you lotses



Queen Elizabeth II!


I'm still under alien attack on my abdomen so I'm not leaving my bed. I'm spending my time writing snippets of a Christmas story (in June), checking Fbook for no reason and reading a bunch. I started Michael Chrichton's State of Fear last week. It's getting really good now that I can stay awake long enough to know who the characters are. There's lots of science though, which isn't always easy for me to digest. When I'm done (which has to be soon since it's a library book) I'll be taking in some Jane Austen. My friends love Jane Austen. I find her boring. I should have realized an English degree might not work out for me... Anyway, I bought Pride and Prejudice and Zombies which features Seth Grahame-Smith's insertion of a zombie plague to make it more interesting. We shall see how it goes. I thought the back cover was funny, so that's a good start.
It's thundering loudly outside my window adding to the spooky nature of recent events and literary choices. It's also encouraging me to turn off my computer.



Today, yesterday and for the past 5 months the organs in my abdomen have been knifing their way out of my body. To say the least it is highly unpleasant and painful. I have one thing to say to these organs:



I just downloaded Google Chrome and I ADORE IT. We shall see if the novelty wears off soon. Gotta say though, having a "Recently Closed Tabs" button certainly makes the swearing stop sooner than previous events of prematurely closing an Explorer Window and losing say, I don't know, 6 pages of OSAP application.



So when creating my blog I fell into a kind of trance of "What else can I cram on this screen to make it seem like I've done stuff to it after weeks of not writing anything new?" and decided to add days in history and quotes of the day. Ususally both yield nothing fun.
So Today, my quote of the day is from the great Mark Twain:

"Classic." A book which people praise and don't read.

I love him.


This "Dude" thing came from a planet that is little and big at the same time and is altogether quite spectacular. You see Dear, as I play video games I revert to a different mindset than I usually possess and I end up using different words of frustration than usual and I panic because dude, if you leave the screen without me I'm going to die. Again! So come on man, don't ditch Princess Crash Helmet, or I'll throw the controller at the cat and then things would escalate.

Does that answer your question?
Does that leave everyone else with a million more questions?
Level Complete!



Everyone told me that getting my wisdom teeth removed would not be too horrible. Most of these people were my friends, trying to comfort me so I would be less nervous. Some of these people just know that I'm a whiner and were being truly optimistic that it really wouldn't be too bad.
I don't remember ANY of the actual removal of the teeth, and I was extremely coherent when I awoke in the recovery chair. I remember sitting in the chair with the anaesthetist beside me slapping the hell out of my hand to make my veins IV-penetrable, hearing him say "Ooh, the vein collapsed so I'm going to have to try again", the nurse holding my head back in the chair so I couldn't run and then waking up in a different room with cotton stuffed cheeks.
I've never had dental work done ever. I go for my checkup and routine cleaning when I'm supposed to, but I've never had cavities or anything like that. Freezing was the weirdest experience I have ever... experienced. I couldn't tell the difference between my lower lip, tongue and chin and it was funny for a little bit until it started to hurt.
It's day 5, and it still hurts. My cheeks are swollen, my glands are exploding and my ear canals want to murder me. I just want to eat real food but my cheeks are still clumsily getting in the way of chewing and I think I taste blood. The stitches are coming out which I hate and makes me cringe and I keep falling asleep which means I can do nothing but read, watch tv, drink water and complain.

Happy Mothers Day, Anne!



Yesterday I did laundry. Which I actually really kind of enjoy, mostly because when it's dry I get to fold it and organize it all. Maybe I'm a freak.

The point is that yesterday, I decided to wash my sheets so that they'd smell all delicious and clean and I'd sleep better and therefore do better on my exams (studying didn't go so well). So I peeled my sheets off the bed, stuffed them in my canvas laundry bag with some shirts and stuff and headed downstairs to the laundry room.

I crammed everything into the washing machine, turned it on and went back upstairs to work with Cameron while everything washed.

41 minutes later we went back downstairs to put the now clean laundry in the dryer.

I began to pull things out of the washing machine and then proceeded to toss them at Cameron so that he could then go put them in the dryer. The following items were thrown at my boyfriend.


I tend to be overdramatic at times, but I was absolutely mortified when I realized that my soft, fuzzy, honey coloured teddy bear had just gone for a wild ride in the Maytag Coinomatic.

For those of you who don't know, I've had Darcy Bear for almost two and a half years and I adore him. He's pretty much the size of a small newborn and flops around if you don't support his neck. He is also "Surface Washable". He's cute. I love that inanimate bear like it's my child.

Well hopefully I'll love my future children more, because, you know, ACCIDENTALLY PUTTING TINY LOVED ONES THROUGH THE WASHING MACHINE IS VERY, VERY BAD.

Then again, babies would probably cry.
And not be mixed up in the laundry.
And they're not teddy bears.

Anyway, Cameron calmed me down a bit and assured me that I will one day be a good parent and this would not happen again. And we put the laundry in the dryer and Darcy Bear air-dried on the windowsill. We are all fine now.

Nevertheless, the whole ordeal left me quite shaken.

It left Darcy Bear smelling like Gain.


This is rare, and I know my last post clearly stated that I generally do not study, but I have two exams tomorrow and I must study my buns off (teehee) in order to do well. I have a brilliant a story though. But alas, Philosophy exam (last one of my life ever!!!!) is screaming at me from tomorrow and I can't ignore it. Irish is mumbling in the background too so I'll go back to organizing and rewriting my notes until I feel like I have some grasp on the general concepts. Then I'll tell my tale of woe.
Warning, it's very woeful.
But funny.



So hey. It's exam time here at school and I should be studying. People who know me know that generally, I'm not a studier. I am a student who does not study. It's such a common event that I think they should change one of the words because they just aren't related anymore. Mind you, I guess that's why we have the term "First-Year" so that conversations can go as follows:

"And where do you go to school?"
"Oh, I'm a First-Year at University of Ottawa."

Note that this response certainly does not lead you to believe that I should be studying.


Now I'm sad that the academic year is in fact almost over and this excuse just won't hold up for much longer.

Or maybe I'm just disillusioned as it is and First-Years do study.

Never mind.

Lately I have discovered that not only am I a first year, I'm a first-year who doesn't sleep. Also a common ailment according to the newsfeed on facebook that has people posting "Emery Ebeneezer Johnstonfieldser is NOT SLEEPING!?!?!? GYEAH!!???? WHY GOD!?!?!?!??!?! lol" at all hours of the morning, hereby filling my home page with reminders that being a First-Year takes quite a toll on one's sleep patterns.

Mine now consist of lying in bed for a while trying to sleep, trying to read for a while with Tired Eyes, attempting to sleep again, looking at the clock to find that it's 3 0'clock, reading, trying not to recognize the fact that I'm hungry, lying here staring at the cieling listening to cars drive below my window, counting in french, backwards, shifting so that i am lying in a different direction, looking at the clock to see that it is now 6, deciding the day has begun so why not eat, brush my teeth, wash my face, and fall asleep at 7:30 in the morning.

Obviously I'm getting a bit of sleep somewhere along the way and just not realizing it, because I'm still functioning. It's still annoying.

Somewhere before starting the sleep attempts, I have discovered that this guy is hilarious and makes for some good 4 AM chuckles when you're in that "I'm too tired to do anything but remember stupid parts of my day" stage of exhaustion. Go, watch some videos, and remember stupid parts of someone else's day.



I saw this today and thought of you. Why? Because I'm pretty much always thinking of you.



I hate you today
I hated you yesterday too
It probably won't get better
And I'm going to blame you



My teddy bear hates when you call
Because his fur gets damp
From the grip of my sweaty palms
And the ocean that leaks from my eyes.
Every so often I knock my head
Against the
But you just keep pursing your lips
Like they've been dipped in vinegar
And lemonade
And if you cared a bit less
What other people think
You would maybe

I spit.
I yell.
And I bawl my fucking eyes out
After I've bitten through my tongue
My neck is worn out from invisibly nodding
And I reach for my inhaler
While hoping that you would take a breath
And listen to what I don't say.



The other day Tanisha-Who's-Not-Really-Tanisha and I were sitting on my bed discussing waxing our legs. I have never done such a thing before because I'm terrified that it will hurt and I'm a pretty big wuss and I know I'd scream. She says it's not that bad and that if you do it enough the hair just won't grow back. We then started talking about people who wax their arms. This led to my studying of my fine, blond, invisible but abundant arm hair. I then decided it would be a good idea to tell Tanisha about my thoughts when I was younger. I told her that when I was a kid (a ginormous span of my life; hence the use of 'ginormous') I used to really, really love my arm hair because it made me feel like a monkey. And I've always wanted to be a monkey. Named Calypso. Who lived in a treehouse.
I was a bit of a tomboy for a time in my life which was due to the influence of my older brother who was my best friend until he got too cool to hang out with me, but that's a different issue. In my boyish youth I would clamber over rocks, trudge through swampy, soggy ground and try to climb trees. I probably would have been a really good tree climber if I had more suitable trees to practice on. It's hard to be a monkey growing up in central Ontario. All the trees are maple. Maple trees don't have branches lower than a million feet off of the ground. I'm short and a pretty useless jumper. So I mostly stayed on the ground.
I used to get really tanned from spending so much time outside, which was great because then I was more monkey coloured instead of pasty white. Now that I wish I was slightly more tanned so that I can wear white and not look like a ghost, I burn. Maybe I'll go back to wishing I was a monkey. I'll let you know how that goes.
As time progressed, my dreams of reversing evolution faded. I couldn't climb anything, the mosquito population tripled and I was getting too big to clamber on the furniture and hide under the bed. My sister and I began to play more sophisticated role-playing games and I discovered that if I couldn't be a monkey, I still wanted to be hella cool and wild. I wanted to be a badass. I was always a bitch with family issues and I always had the lead role in our games. Sophie, I apologize for being bossy and making you do my bidding under threat of playing alone. I was horrible. But it was only because I was too polite and shy to actually be a badass in real life. I got over the shyness and I'm polite when I should be, but I'm more like I once wished I was. This is probably not a good thing, but we'll deal with problems when they arise.
So shaving my legs with Tanisha's company led to all of these memories and past ambitions bubbling up in my mind. And I realized two things:

1. Even though my arms still have fine hair on them I am not, and never will be a monkey

2. I can't get up the nerve to wax my legs because I'm a wuss. I am not, and never will be a true badass

Both of these things are for the best. For me, and the world.


"Every Album Needs Grecian Hair and Sensible Shoes"

The title of this post was uttered by the amazing and incomparable Tanisha Kane who isn't really called Tanisha Kane but I feel like withholding her true identity at least for a while because I'm selfish and want her spectacularity all to myself. And I felt that her statement deserved an entire post dedicated to it because I agree so wholeheartedly. Sensible shoes and Grecian hair aid greatly in the success of a photoshoot. Like the ones we initiate all the time instead of writing essays and reading philosophy textbooks. We're some studious kids.
What we prefer to focus on are our problems in speech. I say "dert" when referring to a person of utmost class. Tanisha (who's not Tanisha) says "gihlfriend" when we are looking for a suitable partner for our other friend Clancy (also a fake name for his protection because I wouldn't want other people to recognize him as the guy who says "vengetable").
We also are victims to the demon that is fbook. We know a guy who updates his status every 27 seconds. Worse that that is that we all hang on his every incorrectly spelled word, waiting for the next update. Is it because we want to know what's happening in his life?
Is it because we are awful people who love nothing more than a good old fashioned status bash?
Kind of.
Is it because we are 100% addicted and it's harder to kick than crack?

We're trying though. Because I'm pretty sure this is how people like Lauren Conrad and Paris Hilton's boyfriend get famous... People are just too addicted to the unimportant events in their lives that they can't pry themselves away. The Poster is a nice guy, though a little bit shy, but the last thing we need is for these posts about crackers and song lyrics to become a nationwide pandemic.

Instead we should all just read my nothing posts about posts about nothing. ;)



tiny balloons
covered in hedgehog spikes
are inflating behind my nose
they grow and expand
up under my eyeballs
and it worries me
as i know that the bigger
the balloons get
the bigger
and uglier
my tears will be
when they come

or maybe i just have
to sneeze



When it's hot like this and the air is wet
I kind of feel like death is sitting on
My chest and pinching my nose and
Tickling me so I can't breathe.
It's January.
What the Hell.


the sign on the wall
by the electrical outlet
in the booth closest to the door of the café
has a picture of a bed
with a stick-man upon it
and a red slash that means
"No Doing This"
and i don't know why it's there
maybe because the booth isn't a bed
or to remind you you're in public
or because there're 19 couches
8 feet away
where it would be a lot more productive to sleep


I don't write poems
I write observations
With line breaks in
Awkward places because I think
That sort of counts as a