BOO SCHOOL

Luckily, life ain't nothin' that hugs and cuddles, ranting about shitty profs, and a batch of antidepressant brownies can't fix.

Oh, and looking at these adorable little creations (which I created):

IT IS TOO A REAL WORD!!

I've been writing a few stories about a certain set of characters that have made themselves comfortably at home in my imagination. Too comfortable, if you ask me.

As I was re-reading one of these such stories I came across the word "plunked"which I generally only use to describe the act of unceremoniously placing a small child on a counter, table etc. I read it out loud and laughed because it sounds funny to my ears and then realized I was laughing because I thought there was no way this was a real word.

But Microsoft Office 2007 was not red-squiggling "plunked". It liked it. It even offered me other handy synonyms should I find myself unceremoniously placing fictitious children on precarious surfaces so often that I need another word for it.

But my Oxford paperback begs to differ on the "plunk" situation.

My Canadian Oxford Paperback says it is a word, but they mention nothing of children.

Okay literary world, what is it? Is it a word or not?

--Siobhan, why are you concerning yourself with the legitimacy of this word?-- you may be wondering.

I'm waiting for my Wonderbread to thaw so that I can make a satisfactory grilled-cheese and time needed to be killed. I might as well quander about words.

NOBODY thinks quander is a real word. Nobody. Except me. And I love it. Like pondering a quandary= to quander.

I mean, it's good, right?

I'm going to make it happen.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

This year, for the first time, Cameron and I didn't go home to our respective parents' houses for Thanksgiving. Instead we opted out of the 4 hour busrides there and back and decided to cook a turkey and mashed potatoes and broccoli and stuffing ourselves.

Ideally, dinner would have been delicious and I would have a hilarious story to tell you about something that went awry while dinner prep happened.

Dinner was delicious.

Nothing went awry.

Sooo... success and disappointment. But more success.

Happy Thanksgiving Canada.

CONGRATULATIONS GLEE

You've earned one more week to retain redemption.

... AND THIS IS HOW I FEEL ABOUT ARCHAEOLOGY

Thanks Jessica. Wonderfully put.

ANNE, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?

So my mum's awesome and sent me a muffin-tin, cupcake liners and The 125 Best Cupcake Recipes.

This is madness!

1: Now I have to CHOOSE between making cupcakes and doing class readings
2: I will ALWAYS choose cupcakes
3: I should NEVER eat 12 cupcakes a day
4: But I TOTALLY WILL

IS THAT YOU, SATAN? OH NO WAIT, THAT'S JUST ROGERS WIFI

Ten seconds ago, this question popped into my brain: What's Satan's latest incarnation?

Actually, no. That's not what happened at all. I made that up to sort-of have an opener for the blog. That plan epically failed.

What really happened is I thought: "GODDAMNIT I HATE THE INTERNET! I GET NOTHING DONE WHEN I HAVE INTERNET ACCESS! SURELY IT IS NOT JUST THE WORK OF THE DEVIL; IT IS THE DEVIL ITSELF!"

And yes, I did think it all in CAPS LOCK.

Not only do I have homework that I should be attempting, but I also have stories that are begging to be written. The characters keep popping up in my dreams at inopportune times to plead their cases, thus interrupting incredible events that they will never find themselves featured in if they don't shut the hell up and let my brain finish imagining them.
Let me show you what I'm talking about:

Time: This morning, circa 7:53 am
Setting: Dream Vista #32: Dark room full of books on shelves, desk with green lamp from my piano teacher's teaching room sits just left of centre of the room.

The room is inhabited by myself (in first person) and a slightly older gentleman with fierce sideburns... *note- I just had to google "Facial Hairstyles" to recall what "Sideburns" were called. My mind kept voting-in "chin-bars" as the correct answer. What the heck. How does that make ANY kind of sense?* ... and gold rimmed glasses. The man is fervently informing me of his findings in the library and I am growing concerned as his findings do not bode well for the future of Dream Vista #26 (Mind numbingly ordinary restaurant). Evidently, Good-Looking Dream Villain With Slightly Short Neck has something dastardly planned and, naturally, I have to stop him.

Chin-Bar Sideburns is about to arm me with gadgets and guns when I notice the window in the Dark Library (this window is present only when necessary) and there's a character waving at me. It looks like it might be my thusfar sketchily-thought-up view of Eva Butler, the 30-something middle of three sisters who is clinging desperately to her youth who is supposed to be making her entrance into the world in a story about a family vacation that I've been attempting to write since this summer. Dream-Me tries to ignore her.

She's waving harder and she's talking. I can't hear her properly through the window but I know she's being all "Oh Hey Siobhan! Um... hope I'm not interrupting anything but I'm just wondering when you're going to write more of my life?"

I'm gaining consciousness and fighting it hard, Dream Vista #26 needs me and I'd rather not have to wait another day to deal with the situation. I'm trying to focus on Chin-Bar but he's transforming into another character from a story that's percolating in my mind and he's all "So, that episode with my wife... when we're fighting? Does it really have to be my fault? I mean, I know you're siding with her because she's pregnant and I don't know that yet, but can I be right? Once?"

And I'm desperately trying to turn him back into Chin-Bar and as I'm doing so I can feel that my pillows aren't quite straight anymore and the blankets are tangled around my ankles and he's still talking, "... just consider a re-write? Or at least take it somewhere so we can see if she forgives me in time for the birthday party?"

"I'm still out here!" is what the one outside is jumping up and down, "Don't forget to write about me!" She's as persistent as my bladder after I've been drinking tea with my dear Sarah and Rachel and their dog.

"Oh!" interjects the moping husband, "It's probably about 7:59:32. That jazzy island-beat that Cameron has set as his alarm is going to start and you can start writing the wrong that you made me do. And don't forget that I'm adorable, charming, AND hilarious!"

I begrudgingly opened my eyes just as that sassy Blackberry started to announce the arrival of 8am.

I am displeased with the guilty-conscience of my sub-conscious. And so I decided to devote a couple hours of my Friday to writing about these two.

Hahahahasthma-laugh!!! Satan The Internet loves nothing more than a day filled with "Good Intentions" coupled with "Productivity" that it can effortlessly swat out of reach, leaving you with nothing to do but redundantly check e-mail/facebook and follow links from the amusing, on through the absurd, and then to the utterly pointless.

Now I'm going to be sacrilegious and pray like a pagan to the devil down in hell and more importantly: Larry Page and Sergey Brin . If I sacrifice my ENTIRE Friday to your frivolous Google and related applications can I please get some focus and self-motivation to use tomorrow and Sunday? Please?!

On the plus side, I've blogged twice in eight days.

Suck on that, Zuckerberg.