Wednesday, December 23, 2009

On Baking...

Dear Globlets,

Some people say that if you drink so much that you throw up it means you had a good time.
I say, if you're not completely covered in flour after baking, you didn't have a good time.


Sunday, December 20, 2009

Merry Squidmas and Happy Boyfriend!

Dear Globlets,

I figured if I just open Blogger and start typing away, something will come out of it. My boyfriend isn't speaking to me at the moment because he's busy cheating on me with my mother. Now, don't worry, my life isn't quite so dramatic. We're not hill-billies on a reality television show. He's just MSNing her so it's okay.

He's a pretty damn good boyfriend even if he lives in a land far, far away. He's a good man, he really is.
Earlier, we sort of reinvented the lyrics to You Better, You Bet by The Who
Instead of "When I say I love you you say you better... you better, you better, you bet! When I say I need you you scream you better... you better, you better, you bet" we texted each other the following:
Me: When I say I love you you say...
Tentacles: You're crazy
Me: You're crazy, you're crazy, you're crazed. When I say I need you you scream...
Tentacles: Fuck me
Me: I'll fuck you, I'll fuck you, you're fucked.


He also got me some nice things for Squidmas. He got me some yummy teas because I drink tea like a fish drinks water (Shh!). He got me some of those children's books from the Mr. Men series, ones, I assume, which he believes I am like most. - Mr. Messy, Little Miss Naughty, Little Miss Sunshine, Little Miss Giggles, and a couple of others I'll include here later because I can't think of them off the top of my head. He also got me some earrings... with... diamonds. Real ones. I thought I was going to die when he got them because I knew how much they were. He got me a gorgeous necklace for my birthday... and he wanted to get me earrings to match. I don't handle the receiving of gifts very well, never mind expensive ones. My family has learned that I'm more thankful and excited about a gift than I actually appear to be. I think I'm getting better at it though. Tentacles' mom gave me a pyjama set and slippers for when I visit them and I put them on right away and they were pretty cozy! I suppose wearing them showed I like them, but that's not why I did. I really liked them. I also wore my earrings. I'm wearing them as I type. They are gorgeous. I just have to not think about how much he paid for them. I gave him a good slap as a thank-you. 0:-)
His mom was like, "You have to let him do it. It makes them feel good." And I was like... >.< "He doesn't have to...!"

>.< He didn't have to. >.<

Hopefully I'll post again before Squidmas but it's possible I won't, so Merry Squidmas! If you're wondering why it's "Squidmas" rather than "Christmas," it's because we believe in the potential of Squid infinitely more-so than we believe in the mythology of Jesus. I hope everyone has a great week! Don't forget to eat all the cookies and cakes and gravy and puddings and whatever other wonderful food you can all get chubbier from... I mean! - Get happier tummies from.

"If I can't be skinny, I'll make my friends fat!"
- Oriana V.
Srsly. *Copyright.*

Friday, December 18, 2009

I like this 7:

Dear Globlets,

Two posts within two minutes. Damn...
Stolen from Pharyngula,
I like this 7:

I like this 6:

Dear Globlets,

I like this 6:

"Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so."
- Douglas Adams

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Excuses from the Living Dead.

Dear Globlets,

I'm not dead, I swear! I've got so many ideas for posts but for some reason they never seem to make it on here. I'm really excited about some of them... I want to write about them. I don't know why I don't.
I'm at my mom's workplace again. There are few distractions here, let me tell you.

I'd been working pretty hard on some English stuff for a while and it's come down to the end of a pretty good module. Yes, a module I somewhat enjoyed. Only now I have a literary essay I need to write as a last assignment on The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan. Essays are okay things to write and my English teacher says I have "a knack for literary analysis." I can't say I particularly enjoy it but if he thinks I'm good at it then... yay. However, for the essay, I'm not sure where to begin. I've been letting it simmer in my brain for a while and I think the words are about ready to come out... Now all I have to do is sit down and do it, despite its scary required length which probably seems longer in my head than it actually is. (1000-2000 words? I'll double-check and update the number accordingly.)
Actually, I just tested on Word how long it would have to be and if it's 2000 words, then it's three pages approximately. But I can do it. It may be the longest thing I've written for school but I've got to do it. I shouldn't let it simmer too long... There will be a point at which it won't taste any better the longer it's in the pot.

I've decided to separate this post into two shorter posts for two reasons:
1. To spare you from "having" to read devastatingly long glob-novels and
2. To make it seem like I post more
*insert sneaky face here*

I also may be getting kicked off shortly because I'm using my mom's computer and she went to have cake or something and will be back soon.
But isn't that typical. Typical government workers... Slacking off. Working hard at hardly working!

She's back. I'm gone.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

I like this 5:

Dear Globlets,

I like this 5:

"Rational arguments don't usually work on religious people. Otherwise, there wouldn't be religious people."
- Doris Egan

Saturday, December 5, 2009

I like this 4:

Dear Globlets,

I like this 4... It's so true! >.<

"Three o'clock is always too late or too early for anything you want to do."
- Jean-Paul Sartre

Friday, November 6, 2009

The secretly Mexican hypochondriac TV show host who wants sound-wave therapy just because.

Dear Globlets,

I went to see a doctor today. My family doctor is away so I went to a walk-in clinic. When you have severe, constant back pain that goes to your stummy that lasts for several hours, it is a good idea to consult a medical professional. I still get the really sharp long-lasting pain but it comes in waves and the medicine should help soon.

I'm really glad my mom was home today. We laid in bed and watched "Say Yes to the Dress" and cooking shows 'til our saliva dripped onto the pillows and our neighbours could hear our stummies growl. We kept saying, "OH THAT LOOKS SO GOOD! I've GOT to make that! I have to make this! Look at that, that's so easy to do! I can make that! Let's make this!" And we stayed in bed to watch other people make yummy food until we finally got up and had leftovers.
"But for dinner you surely made something exquisite and creative!"
Wrong. We got wor wonton soup. <3

That's what it is. The tumour is small and they can operate easily but... I'm secretly Mexican so I'm getting deported and won't be able to abuse the Canadian medical system any longer. Ay, dios mio. Que voy a hacer!? Mi nene con tentáculos no va a nacer en Canada ahora. Umm... ay, caramba! Esta es la primera vez que escribo algo en castellano en mi glob? Que wea? :P
Your translator will not translate "wea" by the way.

Actually, it's a bladder infection. I was embarrassed about it at first but it's a common thing, as it turns out, so I'm now okay with sharing the experience. (Lucky you!) I searched my symptoms online like I did last time my tummy hurt and I suspected I had gastritis, which was later confirmed by my doctor. In my previous globulation I was going to say something about how I was becoming convinced it was gallstones because the symptoms nearly fit. However, bladder infection was the second possibility listed next to gallstones. I must say, I prefer the infection. No surgery, but no chance to try out sound-wave therapy. :( I got some antibiotics and should be better soon unless it's something else and I get worse in which case I'll end up at the E.R. where I'll demand either Kovac or House to treat me. I liked Neela too. Or 13. She's so pretty. Incredible eyes. Yeah, 13 is my pick.

There are many things in this globulation that only my mom will understand. Sorry, but not really. Tentacles might keep up but... this is clearly geared to the majority of the people who read my glob. Sometimes that's just the way it is.

I had to pee in a cup at the clinic. It was terrible. I missed. I thought to myself that having a penis would be better for that because you could see what you're doing and aim but then I realized you probably splash everywhere. Vaginas ftw, baby. It was very awkward. Could have been worse. Could have slipped and fallen in it like Robert Downey Jr. in that movie.
Tentacles and I talked about it and we agreed they should have stickman signs explaining how and what to do with the cup and your hands and your genitals, etc. Seriously. His idea. <- *Credit*

So, within a month's time I've had gastritis and a bladder infection. Stay tuned, kids! Next month in Ori's Irritable Body: Appendicitis and an ulcer! I have a feeling it's going to be a good one! See you around next time, and don't forget: you're not the only one who misses! *shiny smile* *high-pitched chime sound*

Thursday, November 5, 2009

We wants a new stummy.

Dear Globlets,

I have a tummy ache.

For anyone who does not know me well, I have tummy issues very frequently. I'm allergic to random stupid things like lactose (milk), lettuce, corn, blueberries (to an extent), and probably many other things. However, I am extremely grateful to not be allergic to peanuts or wheat because I probably would have shot myself by now. I couldn't imagine being lactose, gluten and nut-intolerant. I think I'd have died. I'm pretty sure, in fact. I'd end up eating rice pudding made with soy or lactose-free or almond or rice milk for the rest of my life. (And steak.) It's nice that they have so many alternatives but I can't say the same for the prices.
[Half a gallon of lactose-free milk (the kind that I get) is about $5 on average. A whole gallon of regular milk is usually between $3-$5, closer to $3. I think other alternative milks are more expensive.]

I get tummy aches when I'm nervous which makes me even more nervous because I start thinking about having to run to a bathroom, dying, or throwing up. Or all of the above simultaneously. Now THAT'S the way to go if you're gonna go, 'cause when you gotta go, you gotta go.

I think it's funny that getting gas is like the most frequently appearing feeling of a near death experience one can have, provided you're not an adrenaline junky. Don't even get me started on lactose intolerant adrenaline junkies who happen to love eating cheese while skydiving. You might as well have an alien erupt through the flesh of your stummy. That's right: stummy. You've said it too, I know you have.
Gas happens often enough to know that it won't kill you but not frequently enough to immediately associate the pain with farting. You'll sit there hunched over, wincing, breaking a cold sweat, shivering, unsure of what position to be in to stop or reduce the pain, be it by rolling onto your side or standing or laying down or doing a Downward Dog... you just don't know. And all the while you think to yourself, "Oh god, I'm going to die. I'm too young to die. But I just want the pain to go away. Please, please kill me now. Blaaahhh. *weeps* *takes deep breaths* *whimper* This is it. This is the end. I'm dying a slow, painful death! Oh, but who has placed this curse of curses upon me? Who has summoned this daemon to inhabit and devour my belly from the inside? Who have I harmed so that they should wish me this cruel, torturous death? Who has..." PppPtthhttt.
"Oh, well I feel much better now, haha! Turns out it was just a bit of gas."

You feel like you're dying every time.

I can't believe I'm writing about this. I was going to complain about my tummy, not analyse the effects of gas.

Fact: Girls fart too. Did you really think we'd let boys have all the fun with lighters? Tsk tsk.

Unfortunately, after a glass of ginger ale, a cup of green tea, and writing the beginning of a Poor Me: My tummy globulation, I feel better. I can no longer complain about it.

I went away for a few hours and ended up with a really bad tummy-back ache, I ate dinner, and now I'm better. I don't understand. We'll see if it hurts tomorrow and if it does I'll go see a doc.

And now for something completely different:
When I was checking milk costs, I typed into google search "how much does" and was offered some suggestions to search. It's kind of interesting what came up...

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

I like this 3:

"If humans died in a healthy culture, they would not lock out the earth in metal coffins and carve their names on stone monuments, but would instead place the naked body in the earth and plant a tree above the silent heart."
-William Irwin Thompson

I stole this from a fellow blogger.

I think it would be really wonderful if we did that - plant trees on behalf of the deceased, one per body. Cemeteries could be forests. I just thought of how beautiful that would be. No tombstones, no crazy-expensive coffins, but an immediate response to the loss of a life; that is, starting the cycle for a new life by planting a seed.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

I like this 2:

"Only shout when spoken to,Curse your way through church and school, And mess around with father's power tools."

Monday, October 19, 2009

This is a test

Test, originally uploaded by OrianaJV.

I can send pictures from Flickr to Blogger but it doesn't let me have the photostream on my glob. There's a Gadget that allows it but it can't find my Flickr.


Friday, October 16, 2009

Exotic Eats Gone Wild!

Dear Globlets,

As you may or may not know, I am a fan of cephalopods. They're extremely intelligent, extremely cool, and extremely tasty. Just take a look at this National Geographic video of the sneaky-snake, shape/shade-shifting, camouflaging creatures of the sea.

Also, as you may or may not know, I am a fan of food. I'll eat almost any food, be it haggis (which I still have to try, but I've had and love pâté), liver, chicken hearts, turkey necks, sushi, tripe (cow stomach), raw oysters, and so on. But there are limits.
For example, I will not eat spiders or bugs unless I have to. I don't like creepycrawlies in my room or in my bed or on me, so why would I put them in my mouth unless my only other option would be to starve?

I don't understand why people think one thing is disgusting and another thing isn't. People make faces at liver and say it's repulsive when they're fine with having ground beef, which looks like brains raw, even though it's cut-up cow.
I don't think about baby cows (or calves) when I have veal or lambs frolicking in a field of buttercups and daisies when I order souvlaki. And who doesn't like lamb? It's a baby sheep. A cute, sweet, innocent baby sheep. Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb. Mary had a little lamb; its fleece was white as snow. Every time she cooked that lamb, cooked it for, souvlaki, every time she ate the lamb it made her want some more.

So, "Chicken hearts, that's disgusting! It used to be a little chicken's beating heart!" Yeah, well this chicken leg used to be a chicken's LEG, on which it ran in circles in its tiny crate thing, this thigh used to be part of that chicken, this egg could have been a chicken, this wing used to be a practical joke from nature that made the chicken believe that it could fly... except it never could. We usually don't kill an animal for the heart or the liver specifically, but for the whole thing. If you don't eat the heart, it goes to waste. So why not eat them? They're SO delicious! And you know what? They'd probably do the same to us if they were given half the chance.
Just take a look at how much of a cow we eat:


Why does liver, neck, squid, octopus, raw fish and stomach sound so much worse than wing, thigh, leg, ribs, breast, and so on? Because some of it is more from the inside? Baby, it's all in your head.
We watched a show about some guy who went to Scotland and tried haggis and kept saying how even though it is SO DISGUSTING OH GOD EW HAGGIS GROSS ... it's actually pretty good! But he kept saying how he'd be learning about "THE DREADED HAGGIS!" Please, grow a pair and spread some on a scone already.

People just make non-typical foods sound worse than they are. Don't think about what it is when you eat it if you need to. I still don't get that though. I can think about tripe being cow stomach as I'm eating it without a problem. It's delicious! I'm literally salivating just thinking about it and Mom, we need to get the orange kind next time because I have a craving.

However, like I said, there are boundaries.

I, however much I dig cephalopods, find squid and octopus to be very, very yummiful. (I'm really hungry now, by the way.) But today, when I went on youtube to find a song, I saw a highlighted video titled, "The Ultimate Raw Fish" and there was an image I could not make out. So, out of curiosity, I clicked it. At first I was like, "YEAH, COOL! Squiggly squiggly! Look at it go! They're not disgusting. Asshole." But then I realized what they were doing.
This is the video, and note I could not bear to watch it all:

God damn those Koreans. DAMN THEM!!!!!!! *shakes fist*
I think it's horrible. I think it's more mean than it is disgusting. There's a reason we cook frogs the way we do. Put 'em in a pot of water and heat it so they die without noticing because they're not aware of the temperature change. It's about as humane as it gets. But wrapping an octopus around your chopsticks and eating it alive... that's exotic food going too far.

I just realized that if I say I'll never eat anything alive, I'd be a hypocrite because I love raw oysters. But still, it's different. They're MOLLUSCS. And they're lower on the food chain. It's different from eating an octopus like that because an oyster doesn't try to run away while you're stretching its tentacles around a pair of chopsticks and probably hurting them and it's like AH SHIT! and tries to not die in your mouth, struggling to survive, wriggling, extending its tentacles and pulling itself out using its suctionycup things and tries so hard to break free between each crashing, chomping motion your teeth deliver as they penetrate the poor, trapped octopus. People have died from trying to eat octopus raw.

In conclusion, I'll eat almost anything as long as it tastes good and is not alive and wriggling and has the capability to creepycrawl and/or KILL ME. (I suppose ground beef could kill you too but that's not the point! The cow itself will not kill you, the preparation could.)

Lunch time!

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Yeah, all right. You've talked me into it.

Dear Globlets,

Below is an image of a time line of Everything with two different scenarios: 1. According to scientists, 2. According to young-earth creationists. You'll have to click on it and expand it to see it better.

It's easy to say, because of the complexity and beauty and mind-blowing awesomeness of the world, that a man in the sky snapped his fingers a few times and created the earth. It's easy to say because it requires only belief that this occurred. It does not require questioning, facts, research, evidence, or any sort of intelligent thinking whatsoever. How many Christians have never even read the whole bible? And how many of them only follow the New Testament, which I'm told is much nicer than the Old Testament. How many creationists pick the parts they want to follow? How many pastors preach from Leviticus and Exodus and Ezekiel? Well, I don't rightly know but if they do preach from those books, they definitely leave out the parts like:
Ezekiel 7:4, 9
And mine eye shall not spare thee, neither will I have pity.

Ezekiel 9:5-6
Go ye after him through the city, and smite: let not your eye spare, neither have ye pity: Slay utterly old and young, both maids, and little children, and women.

...but may read Exodus 34:6
The LORD God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abundant in goodness and truth.
I guess it's difficult to figure out whether or not a religious person should follow the Old Testament... [link]

I especially like, in Genesis, when god creates "a big light" for day and "a smaller light" for night but creates the stars separately even though the sun is a star. It's funny. You'd think god would have told the bible-writers. Well, you'd think god would have told them a lot more in general...

But back to the topic of comprehending the origin of time...
Either a man in the sky, of whose past no one is aware of, created the earth and the heavens and did a bunch of stuff 6000(?) years ago for some time and hasn't come around again since, or there's an expanding universe with countless galaxies that we are not even capable of learning about yet, containing many, many planets that could not possibly contain lifeforms or be able to sustain life because god cares only about us. God created life, created us, created the heavens and the earth... according to the bible.

The more important image I have to show you demonstrates just how insignificant we are compared to the rest of the galaxy, never mind compared to the universe. You'll have to click on and expand this one too.

So, you tell me we're definitely the 'only ones' in the universe. You tell me that a god snapped his fingers and *poof* came everything in the world. You tell me that our telescopes are lying. You tell me that the evidence against creationism is insufficient.

Our world is so complex that it may seem like only something supernatural of superior knowledge could have put the world together. It may seem like that because of the countless, painfully detailed puzzle pieces that make up our world. (And what about other worlds?) It may seem like that because the amount of time it took for the world to reach this state is so difficult to grasp. What is 13 billion years? What is one billion years? What is a million? Where will we be a hundred years from now? Where will we be 6000 years from now? Where will the world be?

I believe, bordering on knowing, that the intricacies of the world and worlds around us did not happen overnight or over a span of six days. I believe it's taken BILLIONS and BILLIONS of years for life on this planet to evolve the way it has. It's had a very long time to get so complicated. And I believe there was time before the Big Bang. How much time? Who knows. But it's interesting to think about it. How much time was there BEFORE the Big Bang? Imagine the biggest number you can think of and multiply it by an even bigger number (because there's always a bigger number) and try telling me again about how it was next to impossible for the Big Bang to occur. In 6000 years, the chances are minuscule. But increase the time in which the near-impossible could take place and the near-impossible is a lot more possible. It's like buying a ticket for the lottery that you have less than a one in a m/b/tr/sext-illion chance of winning, every day, for, say, another 14 billion years.

I believe that the Big Bang occurred 13.7 billion years ago thanks to the amount of evidence supporting the theory. I cannot say the same for Christianity and the like. And if you can, please tell me and I swear to you, I'll become a nun and join a convent. (A terrible nun because I'd end up being an under-the-counter/habit vibrator provider.)

And now, to finish off with something not exactly completely different:

(I've been meaning to post this post for a long time)

Monday, October 5, 2009

Sharpies Fixed Diagram AAAAAAAHHHHY4Kstickman

Dear Globlets,

No, not a real post. A fake one. An IMAGINARY ONE. OoooOOoooOOOO!OO!oO!O!OOOOooOO!!!! Yeah.

Tonight I've had a particularly acute attack of dyslexia and I thought I'd share one of them with you:

I walked into my mom's room to tell her and my brother that... "I bought..." their Christmas and birthday presents today but I remembered the wonderful Captain Chaos songs Sharpies Fix All and it goes like this:

I got a brand new pack of sharpies.
I'm gonna use them to redraw everything.
I'm gonna make this into a world that I like living in.
I'm gonna build us a castle, I'm gonna make you the queen.
Just let me know what you want and it's done.
I'm gonna draw myself a little more handsome.
But I'm gonna leave you just the way you are.
Let me look at you, your eyes [something about] stars.
I'm gonna draw you a little puppy.
That never gets old and always like to play....

Anyway... I'm reremembering how much I adore Captain Chaos. I really like the band's genuineness.

Anyway anyway... I was singing it for the hundredth time after watching House and instead of saying "I got a brand new pack of sharpies" I said, "I got a brand new shap of carpets."
Now, I can make this make sense. Really, I can.
SHAP of CARPETS = PACK OF SHARPIES. It's a little off. If it was "Carpies" it'd fit better. But look... it's just...
Oh, fuck it... I drew a diagram:

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

I like this:

Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.
- William Dement

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

My Vagina Is Bleeding pt.1

(The title is explicit and unnecessary because I know you'll love me anyway and because I'm a sneaky-snake and I get away with things like that) (While losing friends... :P )

Dear Globlets,

I'm supposed to be, and I want to be, writing about what's been going through my head lately but all I keep thinking about is how it's not actually that bad, and it's not, but it's still bugging me. I'm even able to provide a solution to most of the issues. I still feel like I need to get it out, I guess.

One of the issues has to do with creativity. It's probably like writer's block but it applies to everything creative that I do. As it is, it's kind of hard for me to write this. The only thing I have going for me in the music department, for example, is really trying to learn Summer's Almost Gone by The Doors and that Mellow Yellow sounds pretty good now. I wrote something on the piano a while ago, but as usual, I hit a wall.
I play songs I know or songs I have known and it depresses me to think of how little I've learned, how few songs I know from start to finish well, in so much time. I know why, though. I try to learn them all, all at once. Off the top of my head there's: Imagine, Whiter Shade of Pale, Bohemian Rhapsody, Moonlight Sonata, Summer's Almost Gone, Waiting for the Sun, Nights in White Satin, Mellow Yellow, Stairway to Heaven, Everybody Knows, White Room, Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen), Let it Be, Hey Jude, and Yesterday. (And possibly more.) This doesn't count all the songs I know parts of like: Angie, Babe I'm Gonna Leave You, Rondo Alla Turca, He's a Pirate (yes, really), Somebody to Love (Queen), You're My Best Friend, Green Onions, and I just realized that I think I need to learn Aqualung soon. Yeah, great job. I'm probably forgetting some too.
(22 songs in all, I've listed, provided I counted correctly.)

And what happens when I don't play a song for a while? I get rusty and forget things and I get pissed off at the muscles in my fingers when they don't remember as well as they usually do. Then I get pissed off at myself for being a lousy musician and for not practising, but that I shouldn't be bothering at all because I'm a lousy musician to start with.
So, it's stupid. Really stupid.
No practice -> Practice -> FIAL -> Upset -> Realize you shouldn't play this now in the first place -> No practice -> Practice -> FIAL -> Upset -> Realize you shouldn't play this now in the first place -> No practice...

I guess what I'd need to do is just pick 2-3 songs I want to really learn until I can play them backwards, upside-down, while blindfolded. I was going to say, "I probably won't." But now that I've said what I'd need to do, I think I might. I hope I do. I don't know if I will. I want to. I think if I had some motivation I would for sure. But it's not like you can just pick up a 12-pack of Motivation from Costco.

Yay! Easy-decision-making Oris gets to make a decision!

PS. The only thing I never get a block with is photography... :/
PPPS. This isn't a letter, moron.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009


Dear Globlets,

Doodoodoo... something weird. I wrote it using the picture above. I didn't actually feel this way for Ms. Emily... whom I've known for a couple of years now. This isn't a diary entry, it's a story, just so you know.


The park was filled with hugs and laughter and cheerful shouting and greeting by long-time friends and new campers. We gathered near the yellow school buses waiting eagerly to get on and drive away to a destination so remote yet so friendly, welcoming, uniting, and safe. The large group separated themselves between the buses and began boarding quickly, single file through the narrow walkway between grey, leather-like seats. Whether it was real leather or not, I couldn’t tell - but if they can afford real leather on school buses, surely they can afford new textbooks and other school materials. In any case, it was the kind of upholstery your legs get stuck to when you don’t wear long pants. Lucky for me, I chose capris.
Without too much delay, we were on our way to Myrtle Creek. There was such excitement in the packed bus; so much chattering, so much giggling. I had my camera with me and was taking pictures of everyone I could, trying to capture as much of the activity as possible. I loved scanning the faces of people I knew and people I had yet to meet.

I was talking to a few people on the seats around me when I, for some reason, felt compelled to leave the conversation by turning away to look towards the back of the bus. Amidst the campers and their ecstatic voices and elaborate hand gestures, was a girl. A beautiful, sweet, redhead with pigtails and the most amazing, caring blue eyes was looking my way. Was she looking at me? I hadn’t met her yet. I looked around to see if there was someone else she might be looking at but there was no one who seemed to be looking back in her direction; no one but me. I realized that since I looked away she probably would not be looking at me anymore, but to my surprise, she was. She smiled, and I smiled back. God, she was pretty. She looked like the nicest girl you could ever hope to meet. The freckles on her cheeks and nose, without a doubt, added to her sweetness. Her smile came easily and her eyes were bright. Her deep-red hair contrasted with her smooth, pale skin, although somehow the two complimented each other so nicely. Perhaps it was the red blushing of her cheeks.
I broke the deafening, smiling stare, which was as loud as it was inaudible, by bringing my digital camera to my face and taking a picture of her. I got it just in time, for the friends around her started talking to her once more and she turned away. The camper sounds turned back to their normal audio level and I faced the front of the bus again. I smiled, thinking about her. I decided I wanted to see her face again but when I looked back, too many heads and bodies blocked my view. But I had that picture. Thank goodness for digital cameras, I thought, as I reviewed the photo of her. I decided I needed to get to know her. I needed to know who she was, what she was all about, what she likes, what she hates, what she loves, what she wants, what she does, where she wants to go, what she wants to be, wants to see, and really find out how she... is she. I’ve never wanted to get to know someone so bad in my life, never mind meet them! I couldn’t wait until we got to camp.

Soon after, I began analysing the situation.

I’m a girl, and she’s a girl, yet I seem to be so interested in her. I’m outrageously intrigued to the point of running up to her to ask her... ask her what? How she’s doing? What her name is? Where she’s from? These questions are so microscopic and superficial compared to the depth of my desire to know her. I don’t know her name and she doesn’t know mine. Oh, I wonder what her name is. How I would love to know what her name is. Julia. Elizabeth. Catherine. Belle. Melissa.
I wish I wasn’t so shy. I just want to talk to her, but I can barely hear my friend next to me speak and if I want a real conversation, I’ll have to wait. Why am I so eager to know her? Why do I feel so flustered? She’s just a girl. She’s probably a very nice girl, but I’m sure there are other nice girls right here as well! Why her? What made her stand out? What makes her special? Why was she looking at me? With all these cute boys around... not that I’d... I wonder if she feels like this about me.
What am I really feeling now anyway? I’m probably getting overexcited about something insignificant. She probably won’t even like me. Look at me. I’m not as good looking as she is. Nowhere near, in fact. Every facial feature is exactly how it should be on her– eyes not too far apart, nose not too big, lips not too thick or thin. Her skin is so flawless and smooth-looking; I would love to feel it. Her freckled cheeks and nose, her long neck, her collar bone...

And then it came to me: She wasn’t just a girl. She was something special. Something happened in that moment and I need to find out what that was. If it means stepping out of my comfort zone, so be it. If it means going out of my way for her, so be it. If it means putting my presumed heterosexuality on the limb, so be it.
I’ve only seen her face for a moment, but it’s clear to me, even if I don’t know why or how, but I’ve got to follow my gut on this one; I now know what I want and what I want... is her.
The only thing is, will she want me too?

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Speed-Writing Workshop Outcome.

Dear Globlets,

Doodoodoo... At camp I went to a writing workshop where we were told to choose between two paragraphs or a scenario that was provided. One was a CIA thing, one was a job thing (I think) and the scenario was about someone in a family dying and the family not being able to afford the funeral. I chose the latter. This is what I got. I've built on it since. We were given 20 minutes to write.
I really enjoy doing this kind of thing. Writing about something. That makes sense. I mean writing about something using an already existing element like a picture, a random scenario, and so on. I have a lot of fun doing it and I'd like to do more. (I accidentally wrote "and I'd like to do you." Oops! Hehe.)

I'm just thinking about it now, but if anyone wants to help with that, I'd love you forever but I'd let you sleep on it. Like send me a thingy and if I likey then I might do writey and I'll be thanky! K?-y.


"What do you mean he's dead? But I talked to him last week! Put mom on the phone." were the frantic words of my mother as she faced and put her head against the kitchen wall. She didn't try to hide her emotions from me. She started to cry and fiddle with a nearby refrigerator magnet as she thought about the news she just received.

Right then, I heard dad arrive. I can tell it's him by the sound of his shoes on the floor, the way he walks and how carries himself. Briefcase down, door closed and locked, click, click, then the rattling of the gold chain and the quick slide of the small, cheap metal knob. It's always the same. My older sister ran to hug him, tears running down her hormone-infested cheeks. He put his hand on her long blonde hair as she buried her face in his button-up shirt. He asked why she was crying but her constant sobbing prevented her from speaking. He insisted she stop and tell him but she pushed him away instead and ran back to her room.

He took off his shoes, threw his coat on the sofa, and headed towards the kitchen where he heard my mom talking on the phone loudly. He took a deep breath and loosened his tie before walking in, bracing himself for his wife and what ever issue had risen. I ran to him and grabbed his leg tightly. He continued walking with a section of his pants clenched in my small fists, and I followed.
"Okay. Love you too," momma said and hung up. She looked up through watery eyes at daddy who asked her what happened. I let go so he could hug her.
"Dad's dead," she said and she buried her face in his shirt just like my sister does.
"What are we going to do? We need to arrange a funeral. How are we going to afford it? We just spent a small fortune on Jane's school and her broken arm and... and..."
"I know. We'll think of something."
"Like what? What are we going to think of? How are we going to do this?!"
"Lower your voice, you're scaring the kid." They both looked down at me.
"She's too young. She doesn't understand!" I tried my best to smile back at them. I wanted them to be happy. I wanted them to smile back and pick me up and forget about this 'funeral business.' They looked back at each other.
"Why don't we cremate?" suggested my dad.
"Cremate!? You know my parents are Catholic!"
"Well, I don't see another way to solve this! Cremation is cheaper than a burial and funeral and whole bit."
"I know but... and it can't be a plywood coffin either, oh my god. He always wanted the best even when he didn't have anything left. He wanted to be buried. It's what he wanted! It's what my mom wants! They're bloody Catholic! You can't change their minds about this kind of thing. We need to get the money... or do something!"
"Don't forget we have bills to pay. Rent is due soon. Our children need food!" He looked back at me and told me to take the dinosaur out of my mouth. I was only trying to be funny. I thought it would stop the yelling. I climbed onto a chair and grabbed my bowl of Cheerios where I began to pop them in my mouth one by one like popcorn as I watched the tension and temperature rise in the room, the fingers point, the arms flail, the hearts pound, and the short, harsh words fly back and forth like bullets in a battlefield.

Until all of a sudden there was silence. There was no more shouting; nothing more to be said. They breathed in deeply and they stared at each other; then to the floor. It seemed like minutes and minutes went by. An evening breeze that made the curtains near the sink dance was all that could be heard.

Dad finally looked up and said, "I have a plan."

*dun dun dun*

Monday, September 14, 2009

She says dangnabbit.

Dear Globlets,

Dangnabbit, is this weather ever screwed up. I left today at 11:30 to go have lunch with my mom wearing jeans, runners, t-shirt and hoodie. I almost brought my scarf because it looked cold and I haven't been the healthiest lately. On the way down, I thought to myself how glad I was to have the hoodie because it was cold. Literally halfway there I get hot and need to take off my hoodie. It wasn't like "Ohhh myyy goddd it's sooo hottt!" It was like, "Ooh, heat."
During lunch the sun came out. So, of course, it's really warm when I get to walk back up the hill in my runners and jeans - two things I would not have worn if it was as warm as it was earlier.
What? You know what I'm saying.
I would have worn capris and maybe flip-flops. Rawr. And soon we'll get even weirder weather, no doubt. It'll get cold and we'll have hale then rain then snow blizzard then sunshine all within two hours. I wouldn't be surprised if the sky turned purple and raindrops turned to gumdrops that made puddles of mojitos at this point.
I'm really just saying that it's hard to figure out what to wear when you go out in this town.

I was going to write more but I stopped and now I don't feel like it so there. Lucky you, a short post. :P

I need to write more. I have a bubbling sensation in me like lava... with bubbles... so I need to erupt some Orishit. And no, it's not gas.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

First Thursday, Portland.

Dear Globlets,

This is a quickie. I'm in bed at the Ace Hotel in Portland, Oregon, sniffling and sneezing, aching and whining, snuggling with a new "cuddlefish" team member(?) and eating pineapples, watermelons, cantaloupe, blueberries, all of which I can barely taste.
I love, love, love it when my nose is stuffed up but runny at the same time. It's the best. It's the best especially when you're uberstuffed up and then out of nowhere your nose begins to drip. It's embarrassing. It didn't happen to me yet, but it almost did. Bleh. I sound like I've got a grape stuck in my nostrils and like my head was pumped with helium and like my sore throat has a starfish wrapped around and stuck on it. So, generally, I feel pretty shitty. I'm tired and sore everywhere but I'm still very happy. I was singing earlier. It went, "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts..." I believe.

The Ace Hotel is pretty cool. It's like old style... with a style that is... old... but everything that isn't old is modern and cool. We got a tiny room but it's okay. Apparently there's a hum/vibration from the neighbouring cafe/restaurant but being half-deaf, I don't notice it. It does bug my mom though.

Today is the first Thursday of the month and that, apparently, is a special day in Portland. We went out for dinner (curry soup that I could almost taste) and walked around to find a grocery store where we could buy:
- kleenex box
- emergenC (powdered vitamin stuff to put in water that campers down like no tomorrow)
- fruit
- beverages
It took us quite a while to find it because we weren't really sure where it was and it was dark out already. We ended up just coming across it. But on the way we walked by some art galleries, open, free, and exhibiting (I smell a sexual innuendo). We popped inside to have a look and there were many people there, along with some great, and some WEIRD, art.
It's clear what kinds of art I like and don't like. I like modern art most of the time - as long as it's not too weird or stupid. I DON'T like paintings of forests or fields or farms, light-coloured fruit/flower arrangements, or Dali all that much. Dali is interesting but I wouldn't put it on my wall.

This isn't short any more, is it?

We walked around a little more, in search of a Fred Meyer that was said to be near. (It wasn't) On the way, we saw there was a little market-type thing where we saw even more art being displayed and sold. On every corner there were musicians playing great music, on every turn we saw an art exhibit, and the downtown city of Portland, Oregon was alive and well at 9 o'clock on the first Thursday of the month.

What do I think about Portland? Well, I like it. So far.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

And a possible talent goes to possible waste.

Dear Globlets,

It's surprising how much fluid is still managing to leak from underneath my eyeballs. I guess I won't have to pee at all today.

It always starts when music is discussed. My mom asked me when I was going to play the guitar again and I told her I don't have the time. I almost started crying then and there because I want to play. I want to play the piano too. I want to be amazing it. At both instruments. But I can't.

I've known this would happen for a very long time but I still couldn't seem to do anything about it. Maybe it's the fact that I'm going to be 18 one month from today that has made me shit myself so much. Maybe it's the fact I saw Jacquie driving a car the other day - a girl from school who used to be really mean to me, who should still be a fifth grader and not driving a big SUV. I can't drive yet. That's another thing. I don't have the time to learn how to drive. I barely have enough time to read for fun.

The beauty of home/un-schooling is that you're able to do things on your own time, focus on things you enjoy doing, acquire skills and knowledge that you likely would not if you went to high school. I hear incredible stories about people who have been able to achieve so much and go so far because they were able to focus on what mattered to them the most. They were able to dance and dance and become well-known ballet dancers. They were able to become successful writers, musicians, and so on. They were able to work at their talent and go where they wanted to go. I admire them. I might have been able to do that if I had the courage to. Now it's too late.
The thing is, I'm trying to get into a school like UVic. I'm taking the courses I need to complete to get in, via Distance Ed. I plan to study things I like there: writing and photography (if the Ph. course is worth it.) There's just a part of me that wishes someone had said, "Okay, you want to be a musician? Take the year to study and play music. Just music. And you'll get amazing and Juliard will beg you to go there." But that would never happen and it never will. I don't think I am or ever could be good enough.
I made that sound easy. It wouldn't be a shortcut, I'd have had to work really hard for that.
But music has to be a hobby and nothing more. It's unrealistic to think otherwise.

So, what am I going to do? Well, since hobbies are for fun and personal enjoyment, they have to be scrapped until other, more important things are completed. Like school. Oh yes, it will be very easy. I will just put all my music away in a box somewhere and forget about it. I will unplug the piano and give my guitar to Adrian. Then I will focus only on my schoolwork and be done "high school" in a year.
THEN will you start piano and guitar again? No! Then I will see if I can get into UVic or Camosun or something.
Will you not have time for music then? Who knows! Probably not. :)
Why don't you just practice for an hour each day? I don't have an hour each day to practice. I need longer than that to get anything done anyway. If it's scheduled, it's not as natural.
What if you curl up in a hole and die? Hey, yeah! That sounds great!

I'm sorry. I know I've got to do my school shit. I know I've got to learn how to drive. I know I need a job. And I think cutting out music is the only way I'll be able to do all these things. These important things. These stupid important grown up things. Everybody does them. I should too.

Every day that goes by, whether I do schoolwork or not, feels like I'm one day further away from being finished. One step forward, two steps back. Every day. And I don't know what to do about it.
"Just do your work!" Yeah. I get it. But obviously I don't. And if I don't, I don't know why I don't. I don't know how so much time has gone by with so little to show for it. Like sand through the cracks between your fingers. Quickly, smoothly, consistently, each grain invisible, but you feel them all.

And now comes camp. I have so much to do beforehand, it scares me. I'm worried about camp this year. I'm worried that, since it's an un/home-schooler's camp, there will be amazing people there just like there is every year, who've achieved or are achieving something incredible. I'm worried they're going to put the idea that I can do whatever I want to do in my head when it's become so apparent to me that I can't. So many of them are wonderful, talented musicians. Will I play the piano there? I think I shouldn't. It's so hard to say no to it.

I've been crying off and on, mostly on, for two hours. I need a shower, food, proper clothes, and to fix my face before work in less than two hours.

The only thing I'm really looking forward to about camp right now is the hugs. I hope it's going to be a good one. It'll probably be my last.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Red, Pink and White.

Dear Globlets,

He asked me on my lunch break. He asked me what colour and where to find them. He asked me, "6 or twelve?" I told him he wasn't obligated. I told him, "One," knowing it would do no good. 6 of them were in the bouquet he brought me. This was a first for me. Red, pink, and white.

3 o'clock was his scheduled time of arrival, yet by 1:30 I was already eagerly glancing out the window to see if he was there. An overjoyed, overexcited smile was glued on my face for an hour and a half while random giggles escaped my already eager lips.
“Hello there, what can I get for you?” I asked a customer, beaming.
“I think I’ll take a carrot cake, please.”
“Excellent choice,” I exclaimed. I rushed over to the deli case with a small brown paper bag in one hand, tongs at the ready in the other. I stuck the closed tongs inside the bag and opened them inside of it so it would allow room for the thick; pineapple, raisin, shredded carrot and walnut-filled; cream cheese icing-covered cake. I bounced back over to the till.
“Is there anything else I can get for you today?”
“Nope, just the cake, thanks.”
“Oki doki! Then that’ll be $3.00, please.” He handed me a five and I gave him a toonie. “Thank-you very much!”
“Thank-you,” he replied.
“Have a great day!”

Another customer came in. She looked at me as she walked in and that’s how I knew she came knowing what she wanted. You can always tell when someone is new to the place if they wander through the room, looking up at the menu board, then looking down at the floor to make sure they don’t bump into chairs or step on any children or old people, mouths hanging open, hands scratching and grabbing at their empty, growling bellies, saliva dripping down the sides of their mouth, and their eyes open wide, seeking something to satisfy their deep-felt hunger or sweet temptations as they browse the delicious offerings in the deli case and mumble to themselves the words on the board.
“What can I get for you?” I asked the woman who knew what she wanted.
“A medium coffee to go, please.”
“Anything else for you today?” I got her a cup.
“No, that’s it.”
“Okay, that’ll be $2.00 please! And you know you can come back with your cup any time today and get a free refill!”
“Oh! Great.”
She gave me what she owed, took her cup, and filled it with drip coffee, cream and sugar. Just as she was leaving the cafe/bistro, with an exceedingly “teethy” smile that must have lasted a good ten minutes after this happened, I wished her a wonderful day! A wonderful day.
I don’t think I’d ever been so friendly in my life.

It was nearing closing time and I was putting away and sealing food, just as I usually do at that time on a Saturday. Only this time I was persistently smiling, half-dancing to the soft rock playing (which I was beginning to detest around the 8th time it played,) and skipping around the kitchen, rather than walking my usual hurried walk. I have to admit, I was multi-tasking quite well. I was not forgetting things or giving customers the wrong drink even though I was constantly looking outside to see if he was there.
Had there just been a small, though definite movement outside? It could be him! I looked out the window. He wasn’t there.
Zero movement, though the possibility of his appearance any second? I’d better check to see! He was still not there... but before I knew it, he walked inside.
And if I had not already surpassed the amount of red-cheekedness allowed for the day, nor already abused my daily limit of maximum smiles, I surely must have when I saw him come in, backpack over shoulder and a bouquet of beautiful flowers in hand.
I wanted to take them and go home with him where we’d be First Mate Oris and Captain Tentacles for the rest of the afternoon.

In the end, that boy travelled from Langley to the ferry in Tsawassen, arrived in Victoria’s Swartz Bay ferry terminal, took a bus for another hour, maybe more, until he got downtown from where he proceeded to walk up the hill towards my workplace, purchased flowers – white, pink, and red, and patiently waited for me to end my shift. We walked home together, all 8 of us. 6 roses, me, and him.

Friday, August 14, 2009

And it went... wherever I... did go...

Dear Globlets,

Presenting one of the best Monty Python scenes ever:

I detect Dr. Seuss... do you concur?

I wonder where that fish has gone.
You did love it so. You looked after it like a son.
And it went wherever I did go.

Is it in the cupboard?
Yes! Yes! No!…

Wouldn’t you like to know?
It was a lovely little fish.
And it went wherever I did go.
It’s behind the sofa!
Where can that fish be?
It is a most elusive fish!
And it went wherever I did go.

Ooooh, fishy, fishy, fishy fish!
A-fish, a-fish, a-fish, a-fishy, ooooh.
Ooooh, fishy, fishy, fishy fish!
That went wherever I did go.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009


Dear Globlets,

This wasn't the first time this had happened to me on a quest for jeans...
Firstly, it's very difficult to tell what size I wear. I range from size 5 to size 9 depending on the style and where I'm shopping. A 6 usually fits. If it doesn't, I get horribly depressed until I realize that I'd rather not be Asian and have a twelve year-old's body even if they don't sweat. Also, if the jeans pull off a layer of skin from my calf because they're too tight AND they're a size 6, we never shop there again. We shop at Purdy's. One chocolate fits all?
As if it isn't hard enough to find a pair of jeans that the junk in my trunk can fit in AND accommodates my (what seems to be) abnormally small waist, in that it doesn't leave four inches of excess room, the step before trying on any pair is finding one that isn't a terrible style for my body.

All I wanted was a regular pair of jeans. A REGULAR PAIR OF JEANS. A REGULAR PAIR OF JEANS!!! Am I making this clear?
All I wanted was a regular pair of jeans... with no holes. No whisker wash. No tint. Not oven-baked. Not frayed. Not blasted. Not coloured. Not belted. (Yes, I looked up terms in a jeans guide.)
I don't want skinny jeans because I'm not skinny and by wearing skinny jeans I will undoubtedly appear ginormous, disproportionate, and devastatingly stupid.
I don't want ripped jeans because... see above. They can look good, don't get me wrong... but I figure I can rip my own jeans and not pay $200 for ones already ripped or pre-wrinkled. I just find something wrong with that.
I don't want flared or bell-bottom jeans even though I think they're pretty cool... I just look like... Well, there's curvy and then there's curvy, and I feel I needn't add extra curves to an already curvy body. Sure, it'll make my waist look tiny, but only because it's contrasting with the illusion of a three foot wide hip-span. I drew a picture because I felt I wasn't getting my message across as well as I wanted:

I don't want to go for a vintage look, like my jeans have been around for ages and seen the good and the bad over the years. I like the clean look. I like dark wash and light wash, but not the too blue lighterish wash. I don't want to wear them above my belly button and I don't want a tacky jean than clings to my ankles while making my bum look like a couple of saggy watermelons. Go ahead and picture that now. I don't want flap pockets because they usually make a bum look bigger and when you sit, they like to stand up and bend in stupid ways that you have to fix by ironing them.

What I need is a relatively straight leg. It should be tight, though stretchy and still allow blood circulation, on the thigh, and once at the knee, flare ever so slightly out. Low-rise jeans, which are pretty much the only kind of jeans you can find in a store like Garage, Urban Planet, Sirens, Stitches, or any other young person clothing shop, are of the no-good. Crack kills, and Luc knows that if you sit down in a pair of extra-low, or even just low-rise jeans, crack will surface. Is that why tunics are so popular? With a regular-rise jean, still below one's belly button, your pants will have the support they need. They will be above your bootylicious hips and stay there without extreme gaping between the small of your back and the back of your jeans. Don't know what I'm talking about? Think of diet and anti-fattage ads when people hold their pants out in front of themselves. Now picture that except with the pants having all the room in the back. Curvy-style can work too, so long as it isn't flared. Boy, was that a mistake. *cue mermaid*

The only way to find a good pair of jeans, and by good I mean good quality and good fit, is to pay the big bucks. I don't mean hundreds of dollars for sparkles and rips and trendy details. I mean $50-$150 for a pair of jeans from a store that sells only jeans and/or gears their clothing towards real people. They'll have more and better selection of jeans.

It just pisses me off that low-rise skinny-jeans are the most common jeans, and that it's very difficult to find jeans that fit curves.

Now, please, if you're going to wear skinny-jeans, make sure that you're not chubby because bad things will happen. It's not a flattering style if you don't have great, thin legs. Also, wear nice shoes with them. High-heels + thin legs + skinny jeans = usually good.
Fiona pulls it off really well. That's her in the pictures at the beginning of this post.

That's all. I'm done.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Work, work, work, work, work. Hello Boys! Pt.2

Dear Globlets,

After posting the last work globulation, I began to wonder if I was blowing things out of proportion and/or being too rash. I think, however, that my reaction was based on several bad days along with the stress and exhaustion from closing.
My boss is the mama there, and if mama ain't happy, then nobody's happy. She hasn't been doing well lately but today she was still acting much more cheerful than she was a week or two ago. It's kind of strange since the most recent problems are worse than the ones from when she was temperamental and had made me feel like shit.
Today was a good day, but that could just as well be causing me to react in the same way I did the other day: too quickly. One good day can't make up for a lot of bad days; one bad day can't overpower the good days. I still have to make sure I'm happy doing what I'm doing, though. I thought about quitting but then I decided to wait it out, at least until October. Today, my boss told me she was getting really nervous about the café/bistro. She told me how good it was to have me closing but she's not sure if she's going to be able to afford me in the next few months. So, if things don't pick up in September, she let me know that she might have to let me go. Friendlily, so don't rawr.
We'll see. One of three things could happen:
1. I stay and be happy and work 3-6 Mon-Fri come September.
2. She lets me go.
3. I leave.

I reckon I should start looking for other work. :/ Such a drag. I don't know what I'm going to do if option 2 or 3 happens. Do I stay in the food industry, even?

Friday, July 24, 2009


Dear Globlets,

With nearly every question answerable by Google, asking people questions has become... uncool, it seems. Possibly frowned upon. You just don't do it. And if you do, you get linked to "Let me Google that for you." It's happened to me when I commented on a friend's status on Facebook. Someone else gives me the link. Soon there won't be any point in talking about anything. Asking questions will become obsolete. You won't have to ask, "What are you up to today?" or "Free this weekend?" or even "How are you today?" because all you'll have to do is check the person's Facebook or Twitter page. I think Twitter is worse than Facebook. I don't know much about Twitter but from what I can tell, it seems like just status updates. People don't have to ask "What time is it there?" because they can just look it up.
People won't even talk about the weather any more.
"By golly, we sure are having some fine weather here this weekend. How is it there on your end, old chum?"
" Link "
I see."

What is the world coming to?

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Work, work, work, work, work. Hello Boys! Pt.1

Dear Globlets,

I'm not really enjoying my job right now. When my hours were first changed, I was a bit upset because I was told I don't do certain things fast enough. So, instead of letting me learn to quicken the pace and get comfortable with my workplace, I get to close. I work 3pm-6pm, Wed-Fri; Saturday from 8am-4:30pm. The place closes at 5pm during the week, leaving me with a time-frame of two hours for possible, though minimal, human interaction. During the summer it's dead because most people are on vacation and whatnot. Saturdays are very quiet as well.
Now, I realize that it's slow at this time and that it will pick up in the fall, but my hours then will be Mon-Fri, 3-6, no Saturday, which could be good. But, again, two hours. During the three hours that I work, I downsize the deli case, wrap everything in cellophane, put certain things away in the fridge, dump the coffees, do the dishes, sweep and mop the floors, Windex the deli case, take out the recycling and the garbages, wipe down and bring in all the chairs and tables, restock the lids, cups, sugar, pop fridge, etc., and help the 1-5 customers I'll get in those three hours. It isn't brain surgery but I'm exhausted after that. It doesn't help when it's as hot as hell in there. I'm not Asian; I sweat. Don't you? I run around doing all this in three hours in a very small kitchen with limited air conditioning and a dish sterilizer. Extreme heat + bacteria = something like a Spanish Inquisition for the little mofos.

The reason I wanted to work in a place like this is for the social interaction. I've been told I'm friendly and people can easily like me because I smile naturally all the time. Most of the time.

Even if I talk to my boss about changing my hours, I'm not sure if I'd like it any better. I get blamed for things I didn't have anything to do with. I feel like I get talked down to all the time. It's easy to blame me. I'm new. I don't know anything. I'm incapable of doing much which is why I got the hours that I got. But I have a knack for closing and for cleaning things WELL.
It simply feels like they think very little of me. And because of this, I don't have the confidence to say, "I think we should put the dough back in the bowl because it doesn't look right and we ought to add some butter," even if I know that's what it needs. That happened the day before yesterday. I would have liked it if Jade had just made the dough and let me form the crust... because I know how to do it. Because my hands fit perfectly in the pan for making them. Because I've got a system for them. It's one thing my boss said I am good at.

The business's problems mostly boil down to disorganization. Recipes are not clear or easy to follow because you have to double or triple them, or they're so old you can't read it right or the terms are ancient and you think they mean something they don't. One loses a lot of money when you have to throw out cakes and things.
She doesn't have the signs up, the menu boards ready, the menus printed, any pictures on her walls, and no advertising online. It doesn't look as good as it could. It has a lot of potential but she doesn't take a day to JUST DO IT. That's all she needs. Maybe take a week off to deal with these things. She'd get more customers, more money, and she'd be less stressed. She's taken a couple of weeks already: one with her man and one that wasn't really a vacation since she visited her old, injured grandmother. She obviously CAN leave for a while. I don't know why she doesn't leave for a few hours every day for a week to make the place look better.

She also suspects I've been fucking up with the till and leaving her short of money... except I work 3 hours and get like 3 customers on average and a quick check of the receipts would clear things up just fine. "Either [me] or Jade," she's said. I don't even know HOW to screw it up. :/

I have to go to work now. Yay, me. I'll probably have more to say when I get back. Lucky you.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Ass'oles d'jour.

Dear Globlets,

I'm really pissed off at the Distance Ed. people again. Every minute I have to deal with them is agonizing. I can't wait until I can be rid of them. It's good incentive: the faster I work through school stuff, the sooner I'll be free from these people.
I make them sound horrible. They are, though! Evil, truly. Why? Because they tell you to proofread your work and check for grammatical and spelling errors in your work and they make you do exercises and assignments to prove you're literate and your writing is legible and they grade you, of course... while there are massive typos spilt throughout the English website. Then they expect you to respect them and take them seriously? I feel like editing all of the pages and handing that in saying, "You got a C- in English 11. Next time check your work before you hand it in." You have no idea how much this pisses me off. Maybe you do. I understand when young people use bad English, but when adults do it it makes me want to... I don't know... tie them down to a chair and teach them how to spell. They just don't care; if they don't care, why should I? I do.

Right now I'm dealing with my counsellor and his substitute. Technically I should have graduated this year but I still have a few courses I need to complete before I can be considered at UVIC. One of those courses is Social Studies 11. I haven't taken SS10 because it sounds retarded and I don't need it unless I'm getting a Dogwood which I'm not. I simply registered for SS11 and my counsellor asks me if I plan to take SS10 before I take SS11, which initially is a stupid question seeing as I registered for SS11, not 10. I suppose it's his job to ask and I told him no, just SS11. I asked if it was mandatory to take SS10 before SS11 or if it's just recommended, already knowing the answer. "HIGHLY recommended because SS11 builds on SS10," which it doesn't really because we checked the curriculum. I'm sure some of it is attached but it's a different era I would learn about altogether.

He also asked me if I was going to complete Planning10 and Math10... PLANNING10? PLANNING10?! It's a little late for that. I told them I disenrolled from that! And they're wondering about these courses now? You'd think they'd have wondered about them when I was still in grade 10, when I still had time to deal with them, and not when I would have already graduated. I told him I disenrolled from the courses.
Then I was transferred to the sub because my counsellor is going on holiday 'til mid-August.
I told the new guy that I'm not planning on getting my Dogwood, which I've told counsellors and teachers in the past, and that I'd like to get on my SS11 soon so I'm not 85 by the time I'm done high school... except nicely. He got all, "What do you mean you're not getting a Dogwood!? How will you survive?! You can't do that! Education = Dogwood! Piece of paper! What are you going to do?! You need to take grade 10 courses before you take grade 11 courses because I'm pretty sure 10 comes before 11 regardless of the fact you're in 'O-Grade 13' now and ohmigoodness!"

You know, as distance ed. teachers and counsellors, you'd think they'd have more information on post-secondary and alternative education. They've been trained to do everything by the books and by the standard school system despite the fact they offer distance ed. - an alternative. It's not surprising, it's just sad and it pisses me off.
As counsellors they should be aware of all the options and I think they should care a little more about the students. I really do.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Muffins, poetically .

Song of the Glob: Heart by Swollen Members

Dear Globlets,

It will seem like I'm turning this into something it's not, making a big issue out of nothing, etc. Maybe I am? A little? I'm just using it...

Muffins were mentioned on a forum on DH's Facebook status and DH brought up how he believes "Muffins are just ugly cupcakes," and being a muffin-lover and baker, I stood up for them. Muffins don't have legs, you know.

Me: You're a dick. Muffins are not ugly cupcakes! They're just... not ready to go to a party.
And you know what? You don't deserve muffins. I'm going to bake an army and when you come to get the spoons, the house will smell like delicious, fresh, sweet muffins... and I will take one and say, "I'd offer you one but it's not a cupcake so I know you won't like it. Muffin-hater." And I'd bite into it and unleash the muffiny scent into the air and you will smell it and see it's still warm and you'll think to yourself, "Shit, I should have been nicer to the muffins."

DH's friend replied: We have an intense muffin war going on. Simon, I'd be more than happy to give you a muffin, because you are great and deserve to partake in any pastry you want.

I did not agree.

Me: Oh, I think pies and cakes and cookies and brownies and everything else will be fine for Simon-feeding. Sure, he deserves them, because he hasn't called them names. But, "Muffins are just ugly cupcakes" sounds mean and... :( maybe muffins have feelings too.

DH's friend: Well, in retrospect, muffins are like the cupcake's lame sister, because they're not sweet enough to have colourful icing!!
It's all about strudels, anyway!

So she's really taken his side, eh?

Me: Or maybe muffins are so sweet that they don't need icing?
Maybe they're beautiful because they don't need it.
And maybe cupcakes are just pretty because they've got icing?

I stopped there because things could get nasty. I like to make things nasty. I'm a nasty little girl. Okay, that's sounding nasty.

But really, I love muffins. The huge ones at work, especially the blueberry-cinnamon ones(!), are amazing and they always look delicious. (And the smell... >.< ) The tiny little ones are super cute and bite-sized and you just wanna pop 'em in your mouth, especially if I make the special ones with secret yummies inside.

Do you see what I was saying before, though?
"Maybe muffins are so sweet that they don't need icing? Maybe they're beautiful because they don't need it. And maybe cupcakes are just pretty because they've got icing?"
You can make crab-pickle muffins and slap on the snazziest pink icing and rainbow sparkles, and call it a cupcake, but no matter how much "makeup" you put on it to make it look pretty, what's underneath will taste like crap. It's the same for people.

Take a muffin,
A simple muffin,
Be it chocolate chip,
Even carrot or lemon-cran.
Baked with love
And ingredients
So secret to you and me
No need for icing, No, Sir. E., just remove it from the pan!

Omigoodness I'm like Digital Cuttlefish. <3

A muffin can be beautiful because of many things; its smell, not hidden by the scent of icing; its open promise of what there is inside; its purity, unmasked, and its simpleness brings back memories of home-baking and a sense of, "Hey, I've been here before... and I like it." Since, when will we find the time to bake sweet things with our busy schedules tying us down? It is much easier to pay $4 for a muffin than to make it on one's own.

People wear these cupcake icings and sprinkles that are our cars and brand-name accessories, but what is it worth in the end?

You can look pretty but be incapable of accepting, loving or appreciating anything, and that will make you an ugly person.
You can BE beautiful, and love and appreciate all things, and that's what will make you shine brighter than any sparkle, and taste better and sweeter than any food colouring + sugar + water mixture.

I'm all for change and creativity but it's always good to remember the classics - the originals.

Kind of a strange post.

Monday, June 29, 2009

A Post of Many Posts.

Dear Globlets,

I stand on my tippy-toes a lot. When I'm stirring something in the kitchen or cutting up pecans, for example, I have a tendency to stand on my tippy-toes. I don't really know why. Maybe it would be more comfortable for me to have an extra inch? I wonder if people notice.

One of my problems at work, I am told, is that I don't do certain things as fast as others. Dishes, in particular. I am faster now, I know, but the others are still faster. The problem with being faster, though, is that it's easier to miss things and it's harder to clean accurately. I've found quite a few dishes with food still on them, a hair in a few things, and so on.
Hair is the most repulsive thing you can find on a dish or in your food. It's also un-FoodSafe - staphylococcus and all.
If you do it right the first time, you don't have to do it again and that can save you more time in the long run. The key is to combine speed and accuracy. Hopefully I will. I am getting faster, I know it. It just doesn't always seem like it when you keep having to stop what you're doing.
It sucks when you start doing something, your boss leaves for 5-10 mins, and in the meantime you only get to do a little bit of what you were doing because you had to go help customers, and then when you're finished dealing with customers she comes back and sees you've hardly done anything. But she didn't see the customers...
Oh well.

I got an iPod. Well, I actually got my mom an iPod Touch and she got me an iPod Nano, and that counted as my share of camp payments. I got a red one, not only because the colour is great, but because it only cost a few dollars more to get it online from Apple and by doing this, money is donated to the (RED) Campaign. I had "Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them!" engraved on it. 16GB and I love it. I'm not used to it though. I took a chance too since I couldn't see the red iPod before I bought it. Colours on the computer screen can be different from the colours in real life. They were, for some of the other iPods I looked at.

I got a new do:

You should have seen how much hair my poor hairdresser had to cut off. I have a lot of hair. He's been a hairdresser for a very long time and he told me that he doesn't think he'd seen so much hair on the floor from a cut. He said he was going to make a carpet out of it, jokingly, of course.
He cut a bit and reminded me of how I have random curly strands of hair. I told him I think curly hair is happy, it makes me happy. You can't think that someone with curly hair is an asshole. If you look at someone like Victoria Beckham who has super straight, layered, short hair, you think she's a total bitch. Curls = happy and fun.
Later, he said to me, "So, Michael Jackson... he uhh... is gone now, eh?"
I said, "Yeah... he kicked the bucket." We kind of looked at each other like, "Well, whatever." Neither of us cared, but we started discussing celebrities and their crazy lifestyles. Then he said the best thing ever:
"They all get involved with the drugs and alcohol and happy pills... all they really need is some curls!" And it was just so cute and perfect.

I'm sure I'm forgetting to write about something but this is long enough, I think.
Off to the shower!

Friday, June 26, 2009


Dear Globlets,

Scanning my Facebook friends' status updates, I came across this one that I found exceptionally sweet and loving:

Morgan Djuna Sorais Guion Sometimes I think I am to in love with life, the universe, and everything around me for my own good. I know that I am here to love as the wind loves dancing in the trees, as my cells love breathing in this orchestra of life. We are truly blessed to be alive and dancing within this amazing synchronicity of breathing, alive, love! (So where are you my friends? And where are the snuggles?)

And then I wondered, would a Christian or other religious person ever feel this way? I guess not since they'd thank their lord for these things. Funny how they don't thank him for not being able to find a cure for cancer. I can't say "thank him for cancer" because he didn't have anything to do with that, oh no. That came from man once we tainted ourselves for eternity by eating something.
It's like a dog and its owner:
Owner says, "Don't eat the sausage we're having for dinner!" They leave it in plain sight, accessible to the dog.
The dog eats the sausage. Do you blame it? The messages being sent to the brain telling it of the yummy smell and flavour of the sausage must have tricked it! Satan's doing, no doubt.
So I guess we're just being continuously beaten by a newspaper for "something we did" a long time ago.

Off to work!

Pretty Dead Thing takes over.

Dear Globlets,

Jacko the Wacko is dead and there's no way you wouldn't know about it. Like I said on my Facebook, the "angels" must be dancing to P.Y.T (Pretty Young Thing), but instead, are singing "Pretty Dead Thing."
Yes, he was relatively young but he had a good run in his early days. Recently, he hasn't produced anything good and the only publicity that was seen of him in his last years were negative. Need I remind you that he dangled his baby (though I don't think it's really his because he's not actually human) over a balcony, that he paid a small fortune to the court for bail in the child molestation/Arvizo case, and that he had secret passageways throughout his Neverland Ranch leading to private rooms...?

Heath Ledger was 28 when he died. He had talent and a lot more left to give to the world. That was, in my eyes, a much more tragic and needless death than MJ's.


"Nothing Else Happened Today

Five women burned as witches, in a western Kenya village
The authorities say nothing; it’s a common thing to do.
The reporter was a witness to the burning and the horror,
But with Michael Jackson dying, move the story to page two.

In two days, we’ve seen eight bombings, maybe nine or more are dead,
As Americans are pulling out, and fighting will renew.
And Wednesday’s count keeps climbing, from the bombing in the market,
But with Michael Jackson dying, move the story to page two.

In Connecticut, a teenaged boy who happens to be gay
Has the demon gayness exorcised, and driven from his head;
Outlandish and barbaric, yet they’re proud of what they did
But you’ll have to search to find it, now that Michael Jackson’s dead. "

From The Digital Cuttlefish

I saw some of the exorcism... poor kid.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Ew, Fuzzy.

Dear Globlets,

I don't need to justify anything. There are always two sides of a story.
So, now, look at me. I'm not caring what they think. And why should I if they don't even know the half of it? ... If they don't even care what the other half is. And even if they did... I'm happy, and he's happy, so, so hwhat?

I started talking to him last year. He wanted me but he couldn't have me because I was with someone else. I turned another boy down when the person I ended up with, SH, became my official BF as well. Actually, maybe it was two boys. They weren't wanting to really be with me-with me, though. Pants - with me.
I wasn't sure if I wanted to be with CT. I was pretty sure it was a bad idea. He lives in Langley, he's tall, and those are the only reasons I can think of anymore. Just pretend there are more. But as I got to know him and vice versa, and as we talked about our problems and learned about, and from, each other, the more I realized what an amazing guy he is. He sees things in a really great way and it feels like we click. We make each other happy without having to go out of our way. I realized this after I broke up with SH. I got closer to him. Not physically because Langley SUCKS. But I did go see him in Vancouver. I had a fantastic first day with him, which I wrote about here. (Burning eagles, sex on hobos and mattresses in alleys, straight lines, and pigeons that fly, need I say more?) The writings described barely half of the fantasticness of it.

I saw him again and we went to a lot of places. We went to Granville Island and got attacked by birds and he held me to keep me safe and shooed away the bird when it came back to get me again. My food had nothing to do with that, really. (Did I not write about this?!) We got a Limonata and I teased him with it at the park and I took pictures of him that I still have to upload. Fial. We sat on the grass in the park and did nothing.
I agreed to "see him." Like, "date him." Not be his girlfriend, officially.
He nagged me, and he nagged me to say "Yes, I'll be your woman," but I needed to feel "it" first.
Later that same day, we went to Pacific Centre. It was close to the end of the visit and we sat down on a bench. It's a strange place for a bench because everything in the vicinity was, and is, under construction. There was a hall that reminded me of those Windows 95 screensavers - a maze full of brick. You know which one. Chinese people kept coming near us because they were lost. But we sat on that bench anyway and got nervous and red-cheeked. Some more than others. He wanted to kiss me. I was afraid. He said some things and that made me want to, but I was still afraid. I kissed him on his cheek. Pussy. He asked if we could hold hands. We held hands. They got sweaty. We didn't care. We walked through and out of the mall holding hands and then it was time to leave. Hug.

I saw him again last weekend. We met at the skytrain and went back to the same bench. It was hard finding it, though not really hard to find. We just... missed it. Somebody seemed to know where he was going. Just like I seemed to know where the movie place was. (Seriously though, who put Chinatown so close to Tinseltown? I don't think Chinese people dress up their trees with tinsel in China, I think they dress them up with Ha Gow. As they should. And I'd just like to point out how much I love jokes that only one or two people will get) (Also, Mmmm, Ha Gow! >.< )
At the bench, it was like old times. The same guys were walking in and out of doors, but more Russians were getting lost this time.
He asked me again if I'd be his woman and I said yes. There were fightings over the 5 dollar bill too, I recall.
It took me forever because I was still afraid to, but I really wanted to do it, so I kissed him. I scared him because it was sudden and I took so long to decide that when I was ready it was like OHMYGODIT'SHAPPENINGNOW.

Me doing things first was the rule. I didn't before and it didn't work. I didn't want to be rushed into anything, I wanted it to feel right. It did. So I said yes. I kissed him first. I told him I love him first. And for the first time it feels like I mean it. It feels fuzzy. Like a kiwi.

Ver' nice kissings at the movies. Even though the second time we went, the woman next to us told us she thinks "We should get a hotel room."

Things feel good. Like they should. Like I thought they would. And so now I'll say it. I love him. :)

I'm forgetting stuff because I'm sleepy, I think. Oh well.


Will write about srsbsns later. That how you say it? Whatever. I know "noob" because I am one at everything. :)

Monday, June 22, 2009

Mushy Fuzzy Warmy Tentacley, Ayeee.

Dear Globlets,

I have a man. I haven't told anyone much about how I feel about him so I'm going to now. I'll be Frank, and you can be Billy-Bob, and I won't care what you or your wife, Mary-Sue, think! So there.

He makes me feel good. He makes me smile all the time for no apparent reason. Sometimes it is apparent to me; sometimes I can't help it. Not that he doesn't make me smile FOR a reason, but he just makes me smile even when he's not doing anything in particular. And then he tells me I'm way too smiley and I smile more and I say sorry but we both know I'm not.
My tummy feels funny before I see him but I can be myself when I'm with him. I never think, "Well, I won't bother telling him that because he won't care" or "Maybe I shouldn't say or do this or that because..." I don't worry about everything when I'm with him. The only thing I ever worry about, really, is whether or not my breath smells and things like that.

How did this happen? Well, it started a while ago. I've been friends with him for some time now and he's... He doesn't bullshit. He's SO unbullshitful. And he's really sweet. And he's cute. And we think/say the same things a lot = hivemind. I love being with him. And I love the way he looks at me. I don't love it that he lives in godforsaken LANGLEY. But whatever! He's also kind of really, really tall. But he's not scrawny, so that's good. I like meat on my men's bones. He's like a big teddy bear that I can't wait to snuggle-n-cuddle with.
We probably look silly together. But I'd rather look silly with someone I love than look good with someone I don't. Fuck conventional. Conventionality dies when I feel the... well, the warm fuzzy feeling. I don't... think I did before. It's different. It is for him too.

I like his values. I like how he thinks. I love talking to him. He helped me with a lot of stuff and I trust him. I have trusted him with so much... and I feel like I can tell him anything and I can only hope he does too. I love the little things he does. I love the way he puts his hand on mine and how it's hard to hold hands with our fingers locked because I'm too short and he's too tall so we have to hold hands the regular way unless we're sitting. I love the way he looks at me. I know I said that already but I do. It makes me feel... >.< like... a kiwi. Not like a New Zealander, but kiwis are fuzzy, aren't they? And sweet inside. Unless they're bad. But I'm a good kiwi. Usually. I'm good even when I'm not.
I also love it that when he says something bluntly, it doesn't hurt. It might tingle for a little bit but it doesn't last. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't make me feel like killing myself. Things have been said to me before that have done that. Sometimes when he says those kinds of things, I wonder how I'd have reacted to the same words if someone else said it. Almost always, "someone else" would have hurt me a lot.
Maybe I know what he means better? Or know when he's kidding? Or maybe it's because it's coming from him.

I also love his rules.

I love how we went to the movies and kissed and stuff, and how the second time that lady got mad at us and forgot her helmet, and how the first time the guy who we thought would get mad at us too, didn't.

I love being his First Mate and him being my Cap'n Tentacles.

I love my new hoodies.

I love it when he's happy and when he smiles.

And I love how it isn't hard to...

... love him.

So he better not be a dickhead in the end. But I don't think he will be. He knows how not to be. It's rule number one.

And no, this could not get any more mushy than it already is. Well, maybe it could, but you'd die if it did.