I dedicate this

Carmen, because I love you soo much and you seem to enjoy mocking me to no end, I'm going to dedicate this post to you. I realize that I spend too much time being deep and emo, and I neglect you sometimes because of it. I'd like to apologise to you, perhaps I could buy you a tree and you could plant it and claim you're attempting to cut back on your CO2 emissions. Or I could play you a Jack Johnson song on my guitar with beads in my hair, nothing on my feet, and a joint in my mouth. You could sleep over in my tree house and we could think about how the world works, you know, why birds can fly, why love can make everything better, and why we all can't just get along. Then we could go to UVIC and chase bunnies wearing nothing but ankle braclets and flower crowns. Ah, yes, wouldn't it be nice? Oh, yes, one more thing Carm, fuck you.

2 4 6 8

I think I have a fear of too much order. As in, neatness, even numbers, organization, etc. It's great enough that it's reached an extent where I purposly avoid it. Like on some paper I hand in to the teacher, if there aren't any scribbles on it, I'll actually scribble out a perfectly good word, and rewrite it, so that I feel more comfortable handing it in. It's like I'm trying to make people think I don't try too hard, but in order to acheive that I have to actually try harder than if I just didn't care. Faws are just satifying to me. I seriously do, in every way. For example, if someone has crooked teeth, I almost instantly am attracted to them. Or even better a lisp... that really gets me. Then there's the whole number thing. I can't listen to the radio on an even number, this I inherited from my OCD brother, but it caught on and I just can't shake it. If someone else moves the volume dial and it lands, heaven forbid, on the number 10 for example, I have to change it to 9 or 11, or it'll be on my mind until it's off. And setting my alarm in the morning, I won't set it to any even numbers, or any multiples of five. Like today, I woke up at 7:21, a perfect time if you ask me. Now, I wouldn't go crazy if I had to wake up at 7:20 and listen to the radio at 8 but it's just a choice thing, I'd really rather not.

Besides, everyone has their things. Like I mentioned before about my brother. His thing with the volume is he has to listen to it on a number that's a multiple of three, or a number that has the number three in it, so 3,6,9,12,13 etc. Chloe shares my obsession of eating chocolat bars layer by layer, until you're left with just the inner part. Nicole can't touch dishwater, not that the average person is so enthused to, but it usually isn't a problem. This list could go on forever, and this is what makes everyone 'strange'. Although, if everyone's strange...then who's normal?

How would you draw 'ripe' in pictionary?

Hmm, I'm ridiculously uninspired right now. This always seems to happen to me. I've probably written about three posts all of which were lame and all of which I deleted. This is the last day of a pretty good spring break, and this is all I have to say:
I woke up this morning to a kind and warm greeting from my parents.
"Happy Birthday Meggie," says my mom with her sweet smile and perfect mom arms that always manage to give the perfect mom hug.
"Thank you," is my sleepy response.
"Happy Birthday cutes," is my dad's calm hello, accompanied with a hug. He then goes on to pat my back and tell me how old I am and that I'm over the hill.
"I'm 18 dad, I don't think I can even see the hill, I'm still riding around on my red tricycle about three miles away."
My dad smiles to himself and starts singing some song that has the words "Over the hill" in it, as he walks out the door.

Oblivious

So, the other day I needed to do a few errands. You know a little of this and a little of that. First stop was the shoe store. I spent quite a while there, quizzing the sales attendant who's eyes seemed to twinkle a little, almost in mockery, when he looked at me. He assured me of the shoes' sturdy but comfortable soles, and I soon forgot about the twinkle. Next was the bank, where everyone I looked at was smiling at me. I just held my purse a little tighter, assumed everyone was having a fabulous day, and smiled back. London Drugs was my next stop. I knew what I needed, so I was pretty much in and out, and yet I couldn't help noticing that the cashier's exasperation seemed to intensify once I was the customer she was attending to.
"How are you today?" She asked although all I heard was, what on earth do you want from me?
"Fine," I said hesitantly, confused by the combinations of odd behaviour that had been going on all day, "The weather's been really nice lately, no?"
"Mmm hmm" she muttered in time with the beeping of the barcode scanner.
I got in my car and drove home, all the while perplexed as to the source of this strange behaviour. I was mulling it over in my head on the way home, up the driveway, up the stairs, and as I entered the bathroom and glanced in the mirror, it all became clear. Unfortunately someone with a striking resemblance to Alfalfa from the Little Rascals was staring back at me. Fantastic.

Nobody knows it but me..

Growing up, I've always had this wonderful idea, that, unfortunately I know will never happen. It started with watching movies. When you watch a movie, it seems like now-a-days, the soundtrack can make or break a film. Like, what would Gardenstate be without the Frou Frou song at the end? Or Romeo and Juliet (the newest version, w/ Leo) without the radiohead song near the beginning? Anyways, back to my idea; to have a soundtrack...for your life. Cool no? All you have to do is just think of a song, and it kind of radiates out of you. Sometimes you could inflict it on others, like if you see some kid dressed like a gangster walking down the street, start playing some 50 cent, and follow him around for a bit. And other times, it would kinda go by itself. As in, say your boyfriend just broke up with you, and to him you're all like, yeah, whatever, I'm better off without you, but all of a sudden Right Here Waiting for You by Brian Adams starts blasting. And you're like SHIT, not again, and huffily walk away..

Most of the time, however, it would just be goodtimes. Like if you're a hooker, but you don't really want to be, you could play Roxane by The Police, and pretend it's about you. Hmmm, or if you're chilling on the beach in the middle of summer, any positive song by Jack Johnson would do.

Well, I could go on for days and days, so, you know Tell All Your Friends by Project Orange...

Buzz, Buzz

Let's take a moment to appreciate every pierced or tattooed person, yes even Brittany and Christina. This seems to be the last thing accepted by our elders. They're all ok with homosexuality by now and have dropped the racism, for the most part, but a girl with her belly button pierced is still letting society know she's a hooker, according to my grandma, and if you have a tattoo, you're obviously in some crazy gang that goes around killing dogs on Friday nights and eating them on Saturday... in front of the three-year-old you took it from. Being a proud owner of a little of both worlds, I'll have every last one of you know I have never been paid for sex, and am still begging my parents for a dog on a regular basis.

Now, people always want to know the reason for your tattoo, what it means. The answer will range from honoring a loved one to a forgotten drunken night, both however, with a similar result. For me, I think it was a motivation. This might sound bazaar, but it's the only reason I can think of that really made me want to get it. It's a treble clef, just a little jazzed up if you couldn't tell, and well, I love music and I was positive it would always be a part of my life. (See, I do understand the word forever.) I don't really play any instruments, but I've always wanted to, and I thought this would force me to do so. What if I never take up music you ask? Then what's the significance of it? Well I can appreciate music with my ears, if nothing else, and that is by no means insignificant. And for everyone's information, I've semi-taken up the guitar, so in the end it did help to motivate me. Now I don't think I'd ever get say, myself riding an elephant in Thailand, or swinging through trees with spider monkeys in Brazil, even though I would love to do either of those things for the rest of my life. It was a reasonable goal, that I was positive would happen, so I had a little pre-career incentive, because I'm obviously going to be a famous musician.

In the end, it's for when I become a hippie and refuse to wear shirts, cause I mean, who wants to conform like that?

Clunk, Clunk.

Yesterday I went on an epic journey. Allow me to write it in story form. I'll be... the Duke of Luchester.

The sun peeks up out of its slumber to tend to the day just as the moon slides away to hide from it. I, Duke of Luchester, prepare myself for another day's hard battle. Swinging my legs over the side of my bed, and slip my feet into my golden slippers. I clatter my way to the bathroom (seeing as my slippers are made of gold), tripping gracefully now and then. I hear a roar, and hide behind the laundry hamper until I realize it was just the furnace turning on. With a few, clunking, leaping bounds, I arrive safe and sound at the bathroom, despite the forces against my arrival upon this spot. I lift my bristled weapon to my mouth to tackle the evils from Plaquestan, and then I washed them down the drain.

Later on...

The King of Fringe, also known as the ruler of Bangs and myself have had an on-going battle. More recently on the battle field, I've noticed my army of eyelashes has been having difficulty keeping the King of Fringe at bay. This calls for extreme measures, so I sent in the terrifying Scissorio to take him down in a few short snips. Scissorio did such a good job, that my army of eyelashes took a two week leave to visit their families. Scissorio, in fact did too good a job, and the eyelashes might not have enough money to support their families for a while... damn you Scissorio.

(Translation:
The sun came up and I got out of bed (I don't actually have gold slippers, I don't have any slippers at all, I just thought I duke might have golden slippers). Then I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Later on...

My bangs are too long, always poking into my eyes and I need to cut them, so I decide to do them myself. Shit, I cut them to short.)