i was thinking of you

- one of my closest friends is sikh. he has a lot of hair. mostly, his head hair is in a turban. his beard, however, hangs boldly and freely in front of his face.

- in general, this provides much fun, as i do not have a beard and somewhat wish that i did. they are so much fun to stroke. it makes me feel thoughtful.

- the other night, however, my eye was bothering me for quite some time. when i finally got home and had a chance to investigate, i removed my contact and examined it. sure enough, one of his beard hairs had made its way underneath my contact and had been rubbing itself against my eye all night.

- merry christmas to you too, kartar.

no glove, no love

- now that's it's christmas break, i've had some time to catch up. i was reading a book of lists. 'twas the title of the list which first caught mine eye: average size of erect penis for various species, it said. at first, i tried to restrain, telling myself that i wasn't a pervert. but i am a pervert. so i read the list with great interest.

- the key points: the average length of an erect penis of an elephant is ten feet. as a comparison, the tallest man who ever lived (robert pershing wadlow, for those who are interested) was 8 feet 11 inches. and he was more or less a giant, having the disease 'giantism' or something like that.

- there is a species of duck (i'm at a loss for the specific name) that, on average, is sixteen inches in length. the average length of its erect penis is seventeen inches. did anyone else just picture that? was it way more ridiculous than it was impressive? yeah, me too.

- final point (and redeeming point, for those males in the audience): the average length of a gorilla's erect penis is two inches. that's slightly bigger than my pinky, but not by much.

- final final point: i really wish that i had talked about a rhinoceros, or possibly a dinosaur, so that i could make a pun about being horny.

you shouldn't have

- this weekend, it was thanksgiving for all those who live north of the 42nd parallel and west of the atlantic ocean and who are not in alaska.

- man, am i thankful.

- i am thankful for my family. i am thankful that my uncle fondly refers to my sister as "boozey." i am thankful that my other sister sprays whipped cream into my cleavage then mooshes it into my boobs. i am thankful that a vast majority of the jokes in my family involve my mother giving the middle finger.

- i am thankful for my friends. i am thankful that we take time out of our day to search for the emperor's new groove so that we can have the pleasure of watching it. i am thankful that my friends try (and fail) to help me with physics, and that the only question i got right with all of us working on it collectively was the one that i made up a number for the answer. i am thankful that when we only have an hour left of our vacation, we get together and play mario kart on n64.

- i am thankful for hockey. i am thankful that the hockey night theme song can come on and make me so happy that a tear comes to mine eye. i am thankful that my favourite team can lose their first three games and that i'm not worried because at least they're playing. i'm thankful that they will start winning, because i said so.

- but mostly, i'm thankful for that leftover piece of apple pie that i had for breakfast this morning.

hear me roar

- sometimes, i really just like to sleep on the floor. whether there's a bed or not. no blankets, no pillows, no sleeping bags

- those are for people who are not manly. like, perhaps, women. but a woman i am not!

- i can't really explain it at all, but sleeping on the floor just seems natural, once in a while. i mean, eventually you'd get all sorts of crazy back problems and because a crouchy person, or at least i assume so, cause that's what happened back when beds weren't comfy, but once in a while, it's worth it.

- i guess maybe it's the idea of being able to comfort yourself without the use of pillows or blankets or any of the other silly things that give us a false sense of security. it's nice to think in a world of so many dependencies, one can still be a little self-reliant.

- but the next night, the bed is where it's at.

success!

- operation poo has been completed. no casualities were had. party time!

to win or not to win

- so i'm moved in, and i'm starting to get accustomed to the loudness and the drunkenness and the constant music. i even walked to the showers in just my bathrobe this morning, and while i'm a fan of nakedness, others are not generally a fan of it on me, so that was quite the achievement.

- there were two things that disturbed me very much about the whole washroom experience, though.

- firstly, in our washroom, which has clearly been designated as a women's washroom according to the large imposing sign that states "women," there is a urinal. that's right, i said it, a urinal. i'm not sure if perhaps the makers of the women's washroom were unaware, but urinals are useless to those of us who carry vaginas around in our pants. you know why? we have no directional control, hence the pee would not go in the urinal but instead most likely down our leg. therefore, down with urinals.

- secondly, i can't poo in public places. i can't even say a dirtier word for poo when it has to do with me and public places. it just doesn't come out. i'm too afraid. the washrooms? very public. also very much like a place. therefore no pooing for me. i'm a little nervous to find out how this is going to work out.

- something that's not very disturbing? oh, that would be the sign inside of the stall the quite determined-ly states, "winners flush!"

- i'm a winner.

itsy bitsy spider

- as i'm sure most you know, the average person eats somewhere in the vicinity of nine spiders a year in their sleep.

- sometimes i wake up in the morning and immediately think, "wow, i must have had a real big juicy one last night."

better than cocaine. and by better, i mean worse.

- i'm having one of those nights right now where, if i was really really hella uber nerdy, i might say that i was "high on life." but really, i'm not quite that nerdy, although i am borderline that nerdy, but still i'm not quite there, so i won't say that. everything seems to be ten times more hilarious than it really should, and all the colours seem to be brighter even though it's dark and because of the cones in my eyes needing light to see colour i can't see colour, it still seems to work out that they're brighter. obviously there's something wrong with me because i'm not completely coherent, but i don't think anyone will mind.

- my friends and i played balderdash tonight. balderdash is a game where you have a card with the name of a thing or a person or a time or a movie or an acronym, and the true answer is ridiculous, and everyone writes down their own answer and they're all read out along with the real one and you have to guess which one is the right answer. i don't know if that makes sense at all. anyway, at one point tonight, the word was paddlecock, and while it wasn't the real answer, this one was my favourite: the term originated when the english, paddling in canoes, would frighten the paddlers into submission by yelling, 'paddle harder, you cock suckers.' the insult was later shortened into simply 'paddlecock.'

- you're a paddlecock.

- also? again with my friends (how are we such absurd people)... tonight we actually had the following two conversations.

- conversation #1: while in a parking lot, i noticed that the balderdash game that i had placed in the back of the van was now in the middle of the van.
heather: why hello there, balderdash, how did you get up here?
julie: well, i just sprouted legs and walked up here.
heather: and a voice box?
julie: and vocal cords.
heather: and a brain?
julie: and a central nervous system.
heather: so basically you became a person?
julie: yes, a box person. hello, my name is balderdash, i'm a box person.

- conversation #2: we were walking through the grocery store with kartar and julie flirting incessantly, me walking ahead of them.
heather: guys, sometimes being the third wheel sucks.
kartar: you're not the third wheel, we're just a three-wheeled vehicle.
julie: yeah, we're a tricycle!
heather: but i'm still the lonely front wheel.
(at this point, julie rushed up to walk next to be, leaving kartar alone behind us.)
kartar: okay, now we're just going backwards.

- okay yeah. i guess i am nerdy enough to say it. i'm high on life.

here i dreamt i was a mathematician

- i woke up the other day and realized that i had been doing multiplication in my sleep. with big cartoon numbers. this made it fun.

i'm going to shell you

- mario kart really is a classic game, because it makes absolutely no sense, but people still like it. i mean, a bunch of cartoon characters rave around in go-carts. that much is, if not believable, at least understandable.

- i also comprehend that competition would lead them to want to sabotage each other's game with anything they possibly could; everybody wants to win, right? because winning is everything.

- but really. who leaves boxes containing bananas and shells and lighting and ghosts sitting around a racetrack?

- how do you even get those things into boxes? i mean, bananas and shells are easy enough, i'm sure, though to be honest i've never tried. but lightning? ghosts? how to you capture said items and place them into something solid. lighting is unpredictable and deadly, and ghosts don't exist (and are deadly). can you imagine how many times someone actually fails at this job before they succeed?

- boss: "johnston! how many times do i have to tell you! get the lightning and put it inside the box! i don't care how many times it went through your body; through your body doesn't get results! get out there and fight it like a man, johnston."
- poor unfortunate employee: "but, sir -"
- boss: "don't be a pussy, johnston."
- poor unfortunate employee: *jumps out of the window*

- so really. he would go through all of this work and then just leave the damn boxes sitting around the racetrack carelessly? i think not.

- furthermore, some of the items just don't make sense. why does lightning make people small? why is a red shell more deadly than a green shell? why does a blue shell target the player in first? wouldn't an oil slick be a more effective slippery tool than a banana? so many questions are left unanswered.

- what a sweet game.

i smell like a man

- i ran out of my normal deodorant (or antiperspirant, i don't know), so i had to resort to using my emergency backup kind, and now i smell like man. but i'm not a man. so clearly, there's a problem.

math is the shit

- ice princess: no, i didn't watch it, but i am still going to talk about it. i hope you're down with that.

- the premise of this movie is much like that of many other chick flick movies targeted at the younger half of girls in their teens and their unfortunate boyfriends. in other words, it's about a girl who goes from geek to chic for some reason or another.

- but i feel i really must represent geekdom here and say what the hell is wrong with geek in the first place? who's standing tall and respecting the intelligence and the thick glasses? who really has the power to say that chic is all that great? i mean, the word's french. and most of you don't know french. so quit your whining, is all i'm saying.

- however, what really got my bubble busted was when i decided to inspect the cover of said wretched movie. what did it say? well let me tell you what it said. it said, 'from scholastic to fantastic!'

- this just made my jaw drop. disney doesn't know what it's talking about. all those fatcats and their rhyming words. let me tell you, disney, that this isn't black and white we're talking about here. it's not like there's some line and scholastic's on one end and fantastic's on the other, and we're all just waiting to take that one way, no stop trip. that line curves, baby. it curves all the way into a circle. and that circle's filled in. and you know what's right in the middle?

- it's me. cause i'm both scholastic and fantastic. and that's not nuts. don't go calling agent smith over from the matrix. he's not needed.

- disney sent out a stupid message with the cover of this movie. not that i was going to watch it anyway, but now i have even more reason to boycott it. don't try and tell little girls and their boyfriends that you have to go away from scholastic in order to be fantastic. cause it's not true. fantastic people? yeah, they're all pretty scholastic, that's what makes them scholastic. so there.

- side note: also on the cover, i noticed that the girl (in the 'scholastic' phase, of course) is wearing and i heart math pin. anyone know where i can get one? i'm being serious. i would wear it every day. because i heart math.

don't need no abacus

- my friends and i were watching aladdin last night because, well, because we could. and isn't that reason enough?

- but a thought struck me in the middle of the song 'prince ali' when the genie was listing all of aladdin's wonderful possessions, and he came to 'llamas galore.' on screen, there were only three llamas.

- do three llamas really count as llamas galore? how many items must you really need for them to count as 'galore?' is there a specific point when you no longer have something 'galore' but instead just have a lot of that particular item?

- and if my sneaking suspicion is, in fact, accurate, shouldn't there be someone employed to monitor and eliminate the misuse of glorious words such as 'galore' and save them for such occasions when they would truly be appropriate?

there's another world inside of me

- it's hard to realize that your life has started and you're not living it. that's what happened to me. i am no longer bound by the law or by my parents to go to school and live at home and be who everyone wants me to be. i am myself, and i am free of the clutches of all possible evils. my life has started. and i'm at home blogging.

- wow. just wow.

stalkers two

- some people might think it would be really creepy to be stalked, what with the being followed and what not, but i actually like it, since my stalkers are an alcoholic beverage and a pretty rockin' rock band.

- this all started about a month and a half ago, i would say. once day, some of my friends went to subway on our lunch break. conveniently parked behind the subway (generally out of sight) was a very large beer store truck.

- of course, my first thought was to steal it. but instead i went in and purchased a juice.

- that's not shifty, i know. but the very same beer store truck has been spotted by me near us on several more occasions since, always in areas, like the subway, conspicuously away from the nearest beer store. interesting... stalker one.


- okay, folks, let's play a game: what's red and hot and chili and peppery? one might guess the red hot chili peppers, and one would be right. but one would also be right if one guessed my other stalker.

- ever since that fateful night at least a month ago when michael de jourdan and i went to zehrs and purchased bubbles, whenever he and i are in a vehicle at the same time and the radio is one, the red hot chili peppers come on.

- i like the red hot chili peppers. so does michael de jourdan. these facts make the stalking arrangement work out quite nicely for all parties involved.

- now all that's left to do is to get drunk and listen to the red hot chili peppers.

but your soul was willing

- i am going to dropkick people in the face.

- an e-mail showed up in my inbox. it said, "I celebrate Christmas, but because it isn't celebrated by everyone, we can no longer say Merry Christmas. Now it has to be Season's Greetings... We've gone so far the other way, bent over backwards to not offend anyone, that I am now being offended. But it seems that no one has a problem with that... [and then, in giant, 40 point writing]... IMMIGRANTS, NOT Canadians, MUST ADAPT."

- why should we have to say merry christmas to everyone? it makes sense that we're not saying merry christmas to everyone because everyone doesn't celebrate christmas. saying merry christmas to someone who doesn't celebrate christmas is like wishing a happy menstruation to a seventy year old man. there's just no need for it.

- on the other hand, wishing you season's greetings or happy holidays does make sense. why is that you might ask? because you're celebrating a holiday. how is hoping that your holiday is happy offensive? oh right, because you're a stupid fuck.

"I am now being offended. But it seems that no one has a problem with that."

- you're very wrong. i have a huge problem with that. my problem isn't what's happening, though, it's that you have a problem with it. you are offended by people taking an interest in respecting all of the cultures of canada. that makes you an ignorant jackass.

- my biggest problem, though, comes with the idea that 'immigrants, not canadians, must adapt.' unless you're native american, you're an immigrant at some point in your history. this gives you two choices:
1. you mean that we all must do things as the native americans do.
2. what you really mean is that you're sorry you're so stupid and insensitive and you'll rethink sending mass e-mails to everyone on your contact list just so that you can perpetuate the cycle of ignorance. you realize that you or your family was in the same situation as immigrants are today, and together, people who were already here and your family came together to make canada the multicultural nation that it is today. in the future, you will be more accepting of other people and you will try to further the idea that canada is a good place to live because there is so much diversity, rather than trying to mush all of the diversity away by stomping on it like the monstrous goon you are.

burn, baby, burn

- thunderstorms are one of the few things that i feel can revert us to our natural state. you can sit outside before a thunderstorm and simply know that something massive is coming. it has that peculiar feeling that resonates throughout your bones - it's electric, and it's impossible for us to ignore. it seems to be the only occurrence that we can still feel, the only thing that really proves we are still connected to this world in a physical sense.

- somehow, although there is so much suspense and tension in the air pre, during, and post thunderstorm, the sky seems tired, as if it's being weighed down from years of worries and anxieties. - when i was sitting outside, i could tell the definitive moment when the air went from being hot to being cold. i like to think that it's symbolic of life, that even in something so vast and confusing, there can be certainties.

- i love the moment in the thunderstorm when it starts to rain, especially if there's been thunder and lightning for quite some time before it. if you feel connected to the storm, this is the moment when you to can release anything that's been holding you back. this is the moment when you can feel utterly free. this is the moment that, above all else, you feel alive.

victim of political pride

- i have always been bitter about never having received an easy bake oven in my childhood. besides a dog, it was the only thing that i ever really wanted. and now that i'm old enough to buy one for myself, it just seems silly, since i can use a real oven and make real food.

- and yet i'm still bitter. go figure

at least i'm flying free

- i have been 18 for four days and approximately eight hours, and i don't understand it at all. this is being an adult? i waited 18 years to feel like this? this feels like 12 and uncertain about my future. this feels like 7 and sure that all boys have cooties. this feels like 2 an unable to voice my thoughts in a coherent manner that will make them heard. this feels like 86 and senile.

- i still feel childish - perhaps even moreso now than i did before, because now it's rebellious. i don't particularly disagree with being childish, to be honest - it was never my decision to be an adult, after all.

and all this solitude is my confidence eroding

- i had so much to say. so many fun topics and silly stories.

- but then i found a girl who was in trouble. and i almost watched her die. and i felt bad for not knowing how to save her life. she didn't die, and i found someone who did know how to save her life. i still felt bad.

- but the fun and silly is definitely gone for the time being.

- i have felt completely powerless since then.- it was scarier than those two car accidents i was in.- the taste of life is precious, so savour it with every breath.

- intelligence is artificial. sure, i can get a 95 average, but i know nothing about me.

- i don't know what this post means. i feel guilty. am i delerious? is that how you spell delerious? how can i have so much and still feel so empty? i have so many feelings, but somehow i'm numb. i think i'm a failure, but i'm not sure. why can't i sleep this off? why can't i sleep at all?

- i think that i would ramble forever, if i didn't think that my brain was going to turn off soon. the caffeine is doing me no good. have i ever been this incoherent before? i wish i had pizza. yeah, pizza.

- i'm going to go get pizza.

the best policy

- for years, i've found all meat besides the two common poultries to be offensive in most ways. i never really had a reason for this.

- when you really think about it, there aren't many things that are less appealing than a pig's ass, but a chicken's breast comes pretty close. and so it certainly couldn't be the idea that i don't like eating animals, since chicken is about one of my favourite foods.

- i also don't care about saving the animals. i mean, i do care about saving the animals, i just don't care enough to do anything about it. mean? yes. but hey, at least i'm honest. and everybody likes honesty, right?

- so i got to thinking about meat and asses and honesty, and it all sort of clicked:

- chicken and turkey are honest meats. they don't try to hide behind some other name that would camouflage the reality of what they are, simply to protect the innocence of those indulging in them. do you really think mcdonalds would be so popular if burgers were really called "piece of those moo-moos we see on our way to grandma's house?" would hotdogs really be so hot (get it, it's a pun) if it was called "random assortment of parts that were left over after all the good stuff was taken?"

- it's not much of an explanation (or an argument, really), but i think that's it.

under there

- when we're born, we're the little understood creatures called "babies." these poor unfortunate souls, for the majority of the first while in their little lives, are forced to wear garments under their clothes ("undergarments," if you will) called diapers.

- diapers, in case you hadn't noticed, are more or less unisex. as children age, however, girls' underwear becomes more and more small and boys underwear becomes more and more large. other possible terms are skimpy and airy, respectively.

- this continues through high school and party time (er... college), and, as far as i can understand, until about the third child, at which point, girls stop worrying about "satisfying their man" and boys stop worrying about "keeping their man aired out." and so girls get bigger panties, and boys get smaller panties. and by panties, i obviously mean the manly equivalent.

- this trend continues until, at about age 70, failing eyes and stunningly similar underwear are the two leading factors of couples forced to mark their underwear with their initials so they don't mix them up.- and then, and 80, the cycle is finished, and there is once again a return to the completely unisex diaper.

- oh life. how just you are.

s'cuse me, pardon me

- has anyone else noticed that the last people to get to a show (be it theatrical, musical, or otherwise) are always the people who sit in the middle of the row?

- it's really interesting to remember that these people - the ones who sneak in three seconds before the performance starts and then barrel through everyone in their path so that your choices are either get your knees the hell out of the way or have them taken off; the ones who seem to have rip van winkled since the day they bought their tickets and just woken up and realized that the performance was in ten minutes - most likely had no problem being on time when they were beating you to the tickets for the prime seating area.

- those bastards.

- so what i suggest instead is the five minute system. the people in the middle group of seats are expected at a particular time. the people on the outside of them are scheduled to arrive five minutes later, and so on. the last people are scheduled to arrive ten minutes before the start of the show, so that all annoying shuffling and shifting-in-the-seat ceases before the commencement of the performance.

- the best part is, if you miss your time, the people on the outside of you get to move into your seats. the later you are, the more shitty seats you get. - how much fun would it be to usher that show?

- usher: "sorry sir, you were a jackass and didn't show up until three seconds before the performance. here, have these terrible seats."
- jackass: "a-wha?"
- usher: [smirking] "enjoy the show!"

- cue the start of the performance.

the lost art

- the school systems generally try to make sure that students are taught all of the arts: literature, music, visual art, and drama. some are imperative, others are optional, but most are at least offered.

- but there is one key exception. one very important and useful art is left out. this art has a direct impact on most of our lives.

- the art of cutting cheese.

- you may laugh, but think seriously for just a moment. how many times have you been frustrated at cutting crooked cheese? how many times have you gone to have a quick snack, and you spend more than a quick amount of time trying to fix the mess you made with the cheese?

- i don't know, but anytime i cut a slice, it's crooked. and then i try to overcorrect to balance it out, and somehow my efforts leave the cheese even more messed up. it's usually around his point in time when i flail my arms at the sky and yell, "why must you smite me with your crooked cheese, oh might smiter?"

- and then i wrap the cheese and let the next person figure it out. it doesn't really matter that much - since no one can cut cheese properly, they'll probably just think it was them anyway.

let me play among the stars

- no matter how much i age, i'm pretty sure it will always be cool when it's cold enough out that i can pretend i'm smoking just by breathing.

- smoking isn't cool.

- but pretend smoking? it's so cool that i'd go so far as to say that it's smokin'.

mind your manners

- being a high school student is difficult. there are so many tests of character, life-altering decisions, betrayals, and loves that it's hard to know what to do with yourself. the hardest thing, though, is knowing your hallway manners.

- you'd think it would be easy: you see people you know, you wave. you see your friends, you say hi.

- but it's not. what if the people you know are with a group of friends? what if your friends are with people you don't like? what if someone you might normally wave to is with a group of people ranked cooler thank you? what if someone you normally wouldn't do anything to is the only other person going down the hall so you can't pretend to not see them?

- generally, the rules go (as far i can understand) that if someone's alone, and you know so much as their name, you at least nod. in a big group situation, you pretend you don't' know them, unless you're also friends with the majority of the people in the group. if there's someone you wouldn't normally talk to, and there's lots of people around, it's a-okay to pretend you don't see them. if someone is with a significant other, you pretend you don't see them - not because they won't wave back, but because you don't want to be associated with love. love is not good for the persona.

- as you can see, the whole situation is rather difficult and they begin to cause emotional overload. so to all those people out there who think teenagers whine for nothing, i hope you've learned better today. hallway manners are a hard thing to understand.

bond, james bond

- you know commercial with the little stick boy who is trying to advocate all sorts of joyous family bonding time that can occur over a wonderful game of candyland?

- well, tonight, my friends and i decided that family bonding time occurring over a wonderful board game is an excellent thing to experience with friends.

- so we had game night.

- we played headbanz, poker, scene it, taboo, and dirty minds. we ordered (no joke) ninety-six dollars worth of pizza, ate a gigantic volume of snacks, and shouted out both correct and absurd answers at ridiculous volumes.

- all in all, it was a good night. terrible things really would have had to happen in order to have had ninety-six dollars worth of pizza and not had an excellent time.

- basically, what i'm saying is, in the future, try not to be so wary of stick figures in the future, even if they are promoting family time. it turns out that some serious bondage really did take place tonight, and not just in dirty minds.

canada, eh?

- today is canada day, and i will inform you of why it is great.

1. we're athletic. baseball, lacrosse, hockey, and basketball are all canadian. on the other hand, with the current state of baseball and hockey, and the way the nba draft went for the only canadian team, the raptors, and the fact that we're the only country who really seems to enjoy lacrosse, i'm not sure we have much to be proud of anymore.

2. we're tough. we have the largest french population to never surrender to the british, and the largest english population to never surrender to anyone, anywhere. also? the average dog sled team can kill and devour a full grown human in under 3 minutes.

3. we're smart. we invented ski-doos, jet-skis, velcro, zippers, insulin, penicillin, and superman. our elections take only one day (a cheap shot, i know), and the handles on our beer cases are big enough to fit your hands with mitts on.

4. we have excellent beer commercials. here's my personal favourite.

hear me roar

- sometimes, i just want to get up atop a hill and yell. (and maybe see where the grass is the greenest.)

- i don't care what i say. for example,

- "giraffes have long necks!"

- "if bejamin were an ice cream flavour, he's be pralines and dick!"

- "i haven't washed my underpants in three weeks!"

- and "toe socks enjoy the sound of tomatoes!"

are all things that i would consider yelling.