seven letters off the bat Posted by Sad Blogger , 6.12.10 at Monday, December 06, 2010, in

Time for one of them rare personal updates! Yaaaaaay!

-cough-

I've been going out with a kind of a younger chick lately and she's pretty cool I guess, but her father is a nightmare. As a rule, dads are bad no matter how deep you keep your hands in your pockets, but this guy has it out for me. I understand the whole "Daddy's little princess" thing and I guess for dads, whenever princess brings a new boy home, their minds go into like a mini salvia kick and their eyes glaze over with blood and all they can hear is screaming babies and domestic abuse calls...but I'm a pretty nice guy I think. I mean I look as harmful as the Pillsbury dough boy. Or the Pillsbury dough boy's left thigh.

Anyhow, here's the story. Her parents were out the other night so naturally I came over to get in a few rounds of Scrabble. I did the trick where I spelled out "D-E-S-T-I-N-Y" with the first letters I got. We locked eyes. She giggled. I pointed out I'd got 100 points before the game had even started. She cried. So we scrapped Scrabble and made our way to her room. Lights off, on her bed, Letterman providing our soundtrack, flickering in the background. We're going at it pretty good and all of a sudden I just hear -click-. All I can do is wince as her father's voice batters against my shame:

"What are you DOING??

SHE'S TWO!!!"

Awkwaaaaard.

And So Starts Another Year... Posted by Happy Blogger , 21.9.10 at Tuesday, September 21, 2010, in

And there off...

I'll be honest, my first couple weeks of school have been very different than I anticipated. The night before my last first day of High School, I headed off to dance. This would be my first dance lesson back since the summer holidays. So I arrive at dance, get my shoes on and get warmed up. I walked back and forth in the dance studio, stretching, talking, getting in trouble for talking, though we continue to talk... and my dance teacher announces we are going to do reels. So, naturally, I go up first, and start dancing. Within the first 8 bars of the dance ( I hadn't even completed both right and left feet of the step) and I fall doing a 'push-two-three'. I'll be honest, it didn't really hurt, though we decided it was in my best interest that I sit out for the rest of the class, and then start up next class. I can remember thanking God that I had hurt my left foot, as I was driving home that evening. So I get home, and ice and elevate it. Next morning, I wake up and my foot is throbbing to the point where I couldn't even put pressure on it. So we called up a few favours from a friend, and they lent me crutches. So there I am, heading back to my first day of Gr. 12, and I'm in crutches. As I was heading down the stairs from orientation, the yearbook commitee snatched a couple shots of me struggling down the stairs; I can only hope that that doesn't make an appearance in the yearbook. That afternoon I made a little visit to the doctor to see what I did. Apparently I strained these two tendons in my foot, and that I should wear a brace for the next 6 weeks... Great.

The first day was a huge change for many of my classmates. You see, over the summer, I cut off atleast 12 inches of my hair for cancer, and barely any of them were accostumed to my new haircut. It took most people a couple of seconds to recognize me, and I'm pretty positive some of them still don't... It was rather terrible though, because the way the camera for my school pictures depicted my haircut as more of a 'bull cut' than I guess a longish pixie cut. Now looking at my ID tag, I say that if it wasn't my feminine eyebrows, I would look like a man.

This year, in my schools music program, because of the bagillion Gr. 10's that have started at my school, they've had to separate the ensembles into different levels to accomodate all the kids. The 'elite' group if audition only, and I'm the only Gr. 12 french horn player, and so going into school, it almost felt like an obligation that I audition. Anywho, I had to decline the audition, as the classes are on thursdays, and I won't be going to school on most thursdays of the year, and I wouldn't want to commit if I know I can't make those classes. You may be wondering, why will you be absent on these days?! Well, as I've explained to my TA and the music teacher, I will be 'helping out' my friend who can no longer go to school because of her recent cancer diagnosis, by going and working on some classes she's taking online that are the same as the ones I am currently in...

My TA was recently upgraded to vice principal, so my TA group has moved from the 5th floor Social, to the Main Floor office, which was a very strange concept at the beginning, though I've adjusted. Also, my locker is now on the first floor, and though it's weird not being on the 5th floor, I am greatful, and I am sure my thighs are too, and we no longer have to venture up the thousands of stairs it takes to get to social! I'll be honest, I always found it exhausting!

As the weeks gone by, my ankle has gone from not being able to walk- to limping- to walking normally but with pain to no pain. I started going back to dance, although dancing is more painful than just walking. A girl at my dance school also strained the tendons in her ankle, though much more minor than mine, and I'll be honest, I bickered on endlessly how she 'stole my injury' and how much she really doesn't need that massive brace that she bought...GAHHHH. Okay, I'm done. Sorry, I realize it's stupid. Any who, schools been going great, all my courses have all started off with no grades below 90 so far, so that's great.

(I promise I'm almost done ranting...)

Yesterday, I had the best day ever!!! I had a cheese bun for lunch, and then after lunch I got a major craving for some chocolate. So I put in my $1.50 to get a 'cookies and cream' and out popped not ONE but TWO chocolate bars. I'll be honest, I stood in front of the vending machine jumping up in down for happiness... that wasn't embarassing at all. Then I make my way to a Bio Seminar, where we would be learning about 'Mitosis', so explain Mitosis, my teacher instructs us to make a cell using licorice as chromosomes, and marshmellows as other random organelles. At the end we had a little verbal quiz, and a sucker would be rewarded to those students who could tell what happens during a phase of Mitosis, and as brilliantly as I am, I got a sucker. As we were leaving, he said we could eat the licorice and marshmellows. BAH! Yum Yum in my Tum. Not to mention I discovered a sneaky recipe to make cinnamon buns really quickly but they still taste good!

That was my sugar rush for the day.

Until next time
-Happy Blogger

Saturday Night Cleaver Posted by Happy Blogger , 23.8.10 at Monday, August 23, 2010, in

It's nearing the end of summer, and everyone's preparing for the various things to come for the year. As it is, I am heading back to my last year of high school and a new year with dance. In my dance school, I have become really close with most the girls there, and it is sad to say that there a couple of them heading off to University. We decided that we would have to get together atleast one last time before everyone leaves. So, we thought, how 'bout a Murder Mystery game? That will be fun, right?

I didn't know much about Murder Mysteries, but I was told that we were supposed to dress up. In most cases, the people know their characters and what they are supposed to look like before they show up for the party, but we were a little disorganized and got the game only hours before buying it. I figured, let's dress up anyways, so I went through my Dress up box, pulled out all the old costumes and headed over. I decided to wear this White, blue, mint green, pink floral dress from the eighties that was decked out with massive shoulder pads, and I put a black scarf around my head. Apparently I was the only not to get the text that it is themed 70's. I was a decade too late, Oh well.

There were 8 characters and only 6 people, so two of us had to take on two characters. So, I soon became mysterious dealer 'Chaka Moon' and ballad singer 'Manny Baritone'. The game was layed out where you were given profile booklets describing your character(s), followed by rounds with stuff your character knows and can be used to interrogate others. It alsohad information we should keep to ourselves unless asked directly and clues that needed to be revealed. My friend brought along with her a plastic cleaver, not knowing the title of the game. Weapon in hand, we proceeded.

The scene: A disco club owner, Stan A. Live was found dead on the dance floor with a cleaver in his back. Smell of bubblegum lingered on the dead body. A mood ring was found in his hand. There was a hearing aid that had fallen on the floor, and broken glass. Outside, DJ Wolfman Bob was dead in a puddle of water with electrical wires hanging down.

Everytime we flipped a page and had to read about information about our characters, each of us nearly peed our pants laughing. There were so many references to songs and the 70's, it was ridiculous.

We had 'Chaka Moon' who was known in her younger days as the 'deaf, dumb and blind kid, who sure played a mean pinball'. Stan was envious and hired Brady Bunsch to break her wrists so he could be better than her. She dropped her hearing aid the day of stan's murder, and often wears bubblegum flavoured lipgloss. Oh yeah, and she has a baby who she tells is stan, but is actually Vinnies (that was the night that the lights went out in Georgia). She also secretly married stan a couple weeks earlier, and the time of stans murder, she was in the DJ booth gettin' jiggy with Brady Busnch. Woah, lol.

Manny hated stan as a kid, and was bullied because he was chubby. (Though one day, he fell into a chocolate river and was sucked up a tube and was thinned out). His father was business partners with Stan who worked in a mortuary. Manny was outside at the time of the murder, in the puddle with Wolfman Bob, but wasn't killed because he was wearing platform shoes! (?). Oh yeah, and he was in a heavy metal band called LIKK. (what!?)

Not to mention Angina Palpitori who was possessed by the Devil, and killed her boyfriends, hoping stan was her next victim. Brady Bunsch who was an exorcist who made a deal with the Devil to live part time in Angie. Brady wasn't actually Brady but some italian man. Then there was Vinny who loved Polly Ester Stuffincup, but was dating Angie and was planning to kill her. Then there was Stans wife Belle bedham who was working with Angie to kill stan because there marriage was not official, and she wanted his money. Knight Feever who was a bionic man who was being black mailed by stan who worked as a butcher, and had the meat cleaver that night. Polly and Manny were doing business together, and Polly is notorious for chewing bubble gum. Vinnie likes to be naked, Belle had broken her glass as she was an alcholic, Polly was with Stan when he was murdered, but who did it?

dun dun dun dundundundundundundUNDUNDUNDUN.

No other than the deaf, dumb and blind kid, Chaka moon.
Of course it would be my character.

You probably can't understand a single thing that I just explained, it was too complex. I couldn't have imagined if they told you from the start. I would not have been able to hide it.

It probably wasn't that funny, but as we were a bit hyped up, it was freakin hilarious.

As a side note:

Clue #9.

Dear Stan
(I really wish I remembered what the note said...
blah, blah, blah, stan getting a divorce and not
giving money to belle, blah blah blah)

May Divorce Be With You- George Mucous.

-appy Blogger

Just Kinda My Policy. Posted by Sad Blogger , 17.8.10 at Tuesday, August 17, 2010, in

You: Cute girl at the bar.
Me: The guy you chatted with while waiting for our drinks.
The Topic: Why I didn’t buy you a drink.
The Audience: Women everywhere, please read this. I know it’s long, but I feel the length is expedient to truly illustrating and arguing my point.

I was waiting to order right as things were getting crazy. It was obvious that it would be a long wait. What can I say? I can’t compete with all the douches yelling for jager bombs. It was then that you appeared. A cute, petite, slightly hipster-ish girl standing next to me, waiting to order as well. The conversation began in the typical manner, simply relating on how frustrating it is when you spend half a night out just waiting for a drink. It then evolved into a true conversation. I spent the next twenty minutes finding out you have great taste in music, movies and literature. You laughed at my jokes, and that’s a big deal to average-looking guys like me.
Unfortunately, after we’d both finished our respective drinks, but were still immersed in discussion, you dropped a bomb that sent shrapnel into my heart.

“So are you gonna buy me a drink or what?”

I had been dreading this moment. I’ve learned from hard experience that any prolonged conversation with a girl at a club or a bar inevitably requires a fee of rum and coke, vodka tonic, or God forbid, a cosmo. As cute as you were, I felt obligated to retain my self-respect.

“Sorry, I don’t buy girls drinks. Just kinda my policy.”

You looked at me like I told you I was going to rape your dog Charlie (yes, I remember his name). Your face morphed from a beautiful smile into a twisted caricature of shock, revulsion, and utter disbelief.

“Seriously, you’re not gonna buy me a drink? What’s your problem?”

Well sweetheart, let me explain to you in detail my logic regarding this decision that you found so unbelievable:

1. I’ve been going to bars for the past year and a bit. I enjoy meeting people when I do. I enjoy meeting attractive girls like yourself. I have, however, learned that buying girls drinks is a sucker’s game. 90% of the time, all it does is give me a higher bar tab. Now you might say I’m a prick for expecting a girl to indulge me just because I buy her a drink. I agree an $7 cocktail does not and should not equal any sort of obligation. However, I believe spending time and money on a girl when I could be having a good night out with my friends does entitle me at least one of the following things: You reciprocating by buying me a drink, you giving me your phone number and/or going out on a date with me, where once again I will be spending time and money on you. Notice that sex is not a requirement or expectation that is coupled with any of these options. Now, of course, if I had offered to buy you a drink, and you accepted, you are not obligated to any of these things. The big distinction here is that you asked me to buy you a drink, and were shocked that I wouldn’t do so. This brings me to my second point.

2. You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re an attractive girl, and when you go out there is no shortage of guys offering to buy you drinks. You know that they are all doing so with the hope that it will lead to sex with you. You know that it’s not going to happen, but you will accept the free drinks anyway. I don’t hold this against you. If they’re dumb enough to think that buying you a drink is the key to your heart and that they are somehow different from the other Ed Hardy-wearing frat-bros then it’s their own damn fault. You’re using your god-given assets to get free alcohol, nothing wrong with that. But it is precisely because I know that you do this that I will not be another douche who thinks he can get into your pants with a mixed drink. It’s insulting to my dignity as a man and your honor as a woman. I noticed you when you first walked in. I saw you dancing with that hopeless collar-popper. I saw him go to the bar and bring a drink back to you on the dancefloor. I saw how the second the glass was in your hand, you gave him the “Thanks for the drink, it was really nice meeting you” treatment complete with the obligatory pat on the chest. I saw the pathetic, defeated look on his face as you walked away. He will enter the next round of bar hopping a little wiser I hope.

3. You took my unwillingness to fall into such a trap as an insult. You accused me of being stuck-up. You then said that I had a chance at fucking you, but that I’d ruined it by being an asshole. What exactly are you trying to tell me? That the asinine idea that getting a girl a drink will get you in her pants is actually true? That your decision of whether or not to sleep with a guy is based on him liquoring you up? We had a good conversation, and maybe you were actually interested in me. But the fact that any rapport we built was destroyed when I wouldn’t buy you a gin and tonic means that I am no longer interested in you. Not all guys are desperate sperm donors. Some of us actually value a good conversation, and we value girls who have enough respect for themselves that they don’t view sex as a transaction.

4. We established during our conversation that we are both broke-ass arts students. Why then would you expect that I, someone who shares your financial woes, would want to spend money on you, a girl I just met? I don’t believe that chivalry is dead. I’ll hold a door for you, I’ll pull out your chair or take your coat. I’ll help you change a flat tire, carry you over deep puddles, figure out the remote, reset your modem. I’ll even help you move when I know you a little better. Why? Because I’m a gentleman. I will not, however, buy you a drink under the pretense that it is what a gentleman does, because I simply cannot afford it. If you want a guy who can afford to buy you whatever you want, find a fifty year-old sugar daddy. There was no shortage of potentials at the bar the other night.

I hope this illustrated my thought-process clearly enough. I hope you realize that you seemed amazing at first, and that declining to buy you a drink was in no way an insult. Your reaction, however, revealed the self-entitled, game-playing she-devil that was lurking underneath. I thank god for the out that he provided at that moment though. Just after you finished your little rant on what I dick I was for not boozing you up, a group of girls emerged at the bar right behind you. Two of these girls were thin and pretty. They immediately got the attention of some bros and had free drinks within minutes. The third girl was overweight and out of place. She had clearly spent a great deal of time and effort on her appearance, but alas, she was once again forsaken by her prettier friends and left to stand by herself, looking miserable. Luckily, I know when the universe has given me a profound gift. There were two incredible moments that filled me with an elation that could not be rivaled by the orgasm I could have had while fucking you. The first was the sincere, excited smile that the chubby girl gave me when I moved past you and asked what she wanted to drink. The second was turning back and seeing the look of horror on your face. You pathetic “have fun with the fatty” remark as you walked away was priceless. I may be broke, but I was willing to go into the red to make this girl’s night and to piss you off. I’m sure as soon as you left you got plenty of free drinks and plenty of idiots drooling over you. I just hope that I got under your skin enough to prevent any enjoyment of those things.


The moral: Ladies, accept drinks if they are offered. Do not expect them. And if you’re feeling particularly wild on a given night, offer to buy the guy a drink. He will be instantly smitten.

Merely platonic,

Sad Blogger

inconception Posted by Sad Blogger , 29.7.10 at Thursday, July 29, 2010, in

[Edit: As the comic strip mentioned in this post is no longer displayed on this website, it can be found for reference here.]

Aaaannnnndddd...we're back. Or at least I am. It's been summer, can you blame us for taking a break from staring at a dim screen and laboriously toiling over a blog post that you don't even read? Anywho.

You'll notice a song at the top of the current playlist titled "Cosmic Love". Listen to it and tell me it doesn't move you. It's been moving me for the past few days and as I was sluggishly oozing through rush hour traffic yesterday it really got my creative juices flowing. I couldn't wait to get home and play guitar or start working on a new short story or even contribute something to this dismal website. I just needed to create.

Now you'll also notice a new feature that I intend to update frequently. For now it's an excerpt of a comic strip. I'll have to discuss with my co-author what we will do with that space in the future. But at the moment it is a piece of a Calvin and Hobbes strip that I clumsily edited and threw in some text. The strip reminded me of Christopher Nolan's new film, Inception in that Calvin repeatedly falls to his death only to find that he was dreaming. Above, you see the final panels in which Calvin has once again fallen to his death and woken up with a fear of even leaving his room again. One of the big ideas in Inception is that true inspiration is a rare occurrence at which point the subconscious ignores all pre-acquired data and creates a completely new idea. An idea not influenced by ideas already recognized or memorized.

Stay with me. This has all been a long-winded exposition to preface the main idea behind this post: is inspiration possible?

K so dictionaries define inspiration as either "divine influence of the intellect" and stuff like that as well as the more reasonable "action or power of moving the intellect or emotions". So given this interpretation along with Nolan's rule that inspiration results in a new idea, let's get into it shall we?

Driving along in my little orange car, screaming the backup vocals to "Cosmic Love". I suddenly feel the need to create. To create something that will play "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" on people's heartstrings. To create beauty and laughter and colors and warmth. According to the dictionary I've been inspired. So I go home and record a guitar track with hints of the Florence song in it. I outline a short story about a man searching for closure from his parents' divorce. I write a blog about the song I heard and the movie I saw. As far as I can tell, I haven't really done anything original. The guitar track contains notes that every other musician uses and contains themes that I liked from "Cosmic Love". The short story is a reinventing of a story I meant to write a long time ago except replacing an old man with a young man and shellshock with divorce. And my parents just got divorced so that's completely uninspired. Then there's the blog. Who DOESN'T have a blog? Not to mention the fact that several ideas I'd had over the past few days are the basis on which I am attempting to suggest that I was inspired. See where I'm going with this?

Sure, there may not be another song that sounds exactly like my recording, but it's not a completely new sound unexperienced by any living creature. The short story contains tried and true archetypes and themes taken from my own life, nothing new there. And I just won't mention that blog again. It's too indulgent, ya?

Now even this isn't a new concept. I know I can't be the only one that thinks it's nearly impossible to invent anything anymore. As humans we've explored almost every capacity for the technologies we have available to us. Once an action has been invented (such as communication or transportation), the devices that make that action possible (such as phones or buses) are simply refinements of the devices that came before them. If a guy says "I have invented a phone that also dances and reads your Sunday paper", he hasn't invented anything. He's simply improved (and kind of creepified) an idea that already existed, the telephone. Any ideas we dream up or conceive are "inspired" by data that has already been stored in our subconscious. But to say that we could be inspired from absolute nothingness to create pure originality is...well...inconceivable.

If you disagree, shoot us a comment. We'd love to see what our reader thinks.

From my subconscious to your conscious,

Sad Blogger

Great American Novel Brainstorming Session #1 Posted by Sad Blogger , 16.5.10 at Sunday, May 16, 2010, in

This is how I wrote when I graduated from high school. A wonderfully longwinded cacophony of overreaching prose. Commas scattered, like grammatical buckshot, amongst my blinding abundance of pretentious adjectives. To arrogantly split infinitives was my mission. I made the mistake of dreaming my audience idolized every precious, poetic syllable that dripped from my pen. I didn't have an audience then and now that I do you don't give two shits either way.

In my first year of university I began to hate that garbage. That's how the theatre fags talked, how the egotists -stuck in their eighth-grade glory days- wrote. The profs laughed at their snivelling suck-uppery and I despised all of them. So I wrote like this, got straight A-'s, and I decided I should write a book.

This was still all in my first year and as much as I have implied my hatred for the egotists, I was clearly one of them. Though back then my code for egotist was "intellectual" and I was the only one. I read Kerouac and Burroughs and Rand and Vonnegut. I stood out amongst my miserable, in-the-way classmates walking the halls of my school. My green, knitted chapeau and thick-framed glasses spelled out my superiority and significance in flashing, yellow-orangey, Broadway-ish bulbs. I smirked.

At this point he paused and wondered whether the first-person narration was as intellectually powerful as Dave Eggers had led him to believe. The bums around the bus stop glanced curiously at the wall of pencil-text on his douchey yellow legal pad. He was a fake. This was evident by the green chapeau. Not to mention the unnecessarily loud indie music pumping from his headphones (carelessly hung around his neck as if he had forgotten they were there, noisily blasting the sounds of that new band: "Meticulously Researched Playlist Of Post-Rock That Only The Most Amazing Potential Girlfriend Would Recognize And Conveniently Approach Him To Discuss."). Even the bums knew this.

He took a moment from his clever soliloquy of self-deprecation to peer down the street for the bus. It was not coming. He continued to stare at a distant sign post though. Maybe the bums would notice and recognize the intelligent look of quiet contemplation on his face. Of course they would. They're staring at him in open admiration of his youth and virility right this very moment. He can tell. He chuckles proudly, with condescension and reluctant acceptance of his sheer magnitude. He misspelled "sheer" on a test fifty-four minutes ago.

At that point I really began to doubt the third-person thing too. It seems so high-school-short-story. So "see-Dick-run". Is there another option? How does second-person actually work? Nobody ever explains that to you. There! Was that second-person? Do you just refer to everyone as you? You continue to read your words and wonder to yourself whether you should have yoused a different point of vyou. You do. I do.

-Sad Blogger

Memoirs of a Geek Posted by Happy Blogger , 15.5.10 at Saturday, May 15, 2010, in

Well Hello there, we haven't talked in a while. I feel completely responsibile, as I am the one trying to do to many things at once. phew! Now I just have to manage to make it to the summer alive!


Golly gee, I haven't posted anything since the Olympics. This is sad.


The other day I was thinking about how 'sad' my life is. Not like in the 'boo-hoo' sort of sense, but the, 'did I actually do that?' sense. You following? As we made our way up to Whistler for our big band trip of the year, someone put in Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back in. Now, this is one of my favorite Star Wars, and I could practically quote the entire film. You know it's sad when you can out-quote the bandies on your bus. And then that got me thinking. I was the biggest Star Wars geek ever. I mean, my mother made my sisters and I cloaks, I still keep a lightsaber by my bed, when it came time to redecorating our bathroom, we based it around a Star Wars poster we had inherited and for it's 'debut' I had a CD player going with the Cantina band song playing repeatedly. And on top of that, I manage to try to braid my hair like Leia every time I watch the classic Star Wars, and then go on to think "I need to grow my hair out for this to work". My sister and I used to have contests to see who knew the most, and it would usually come down to who could name the most planets. At the time, you could ask me anything about Star Wars and I would have atleast a 3 minute answer to go along with it.


Sadly, that isn't all. I went through a superhero phase too. When I started to watch the TV show 'Smallville', I became obsessed with the entourage surrounding the man of steel. Clark Kent, supermans alter ego has the same initials as me, so for some period of time, any nickname that people used to call him, I insisted that they called me that. I recall making my sister call me "Smallville, and CK" and I wouldn't reply until she called me that. For Christmas, I got a superman blanket- which is still on my bed to this day, and when I was at a wedding where we met Erica Durance, Lois Lane in Smallville, we giggled like little girls and brought along our fourth season with her on the cover for her to sign. It's our most prized possesion.


I could go on about how I used to select outfits that some bands I love used to wear, and that I would be able to recall certain things that they said, and that I could find which video in youtube it was from. I could tell you about the countless hours that I spent researching all this stuff so I could become more 'knowledgeable' about the subject- but then I could be writing this blog for a year straight.


Now that I come to think of it, all the things I did were really 'sad'- but then again, it's all in the past- well, most of it.


-Happy Blogger

A Process (or: Blinking Cursor Syndrome) Posted by Sad Blogger , 20.4.10 at Tuesday, April 20, 2010, in

Sifting through the spice rack in my mind
Trying to find that key ingredient
Still not seeing it
Not able to bake that masterpiece
Disaster repeats itself over and over
'Cause I strove for greatness
And you see how lame this is?
So while pronouns verb nouns
Ideas grasp desperately for sounds
Forwards, backwards and upside down

A furious crescendo of backspaces
Virtually erases each incompetent phrase
An endless expanse of empty space

It's not like this thing’s of the utmost importance
And it’s not as though it really has to
“MAKE MORE SENSE! –shit!”
Bound forever by the pressure to be better
Am I going to regret or detest– “Gah! Whatever!”

Inspired by ghosts who wrote songs and books
Who had the courage to look for new ground

Found whole generations on their profound words and revolutionary sounds

Dramatic pause for the audience
Make the thought seem unforgettable
Assume I’m credible for better or worse
As I curse and–
At first that seemed clever but now it’s a joke
And each keystroke’s the punchline.
But each new line forward is a whole stanza back
Back to basics
Face it, perfection…
It’s not as easy as [snap] that

I’ve gone through eighty-seven spices
“DAMMIT! WHY DOES NOTHING WORK?”
With that jerk of a cursor
Always blinking. Mocking, taunting
Haunting each five-minute 'moment to regroup'

So it's time for something new
With blues lines and familiar red mar...gines
A blank canvas with no stress or pressure

A fresher medium
That I can feel with my fingers
Spread beneath my greedy thumbs
It's freedom from that blinking cursor
And now words are beginning to flow

An idea appears beneath my pen tip
Almost faster than I can even think of it
This way is permanent
No chance to think of what that first verse meant
Pent-up creativity
Released effect of immediately

Shit-- could that have been stuffier?
Why can't I just be enough-is-enoughier?
For lack of a better word
I'm a hack with some clever verses
Peddling redundant rhymes in double time
With personal tangents amidst useless cliches
Just another unconventional way
To impress girls and avoid the traditional
"Hey, what's your number?"

So cue the score, roll the credits
Fifty-six edits have brought me to this
A page stained with egotism
"Oh how great is him!"
They'll ungrammatically shout from the rooftops
"Poetry workshops have done he good!"
They'll continue and ruin the joke
So a bow to the crowd to signal my leave
I'm sure the guy timing the slam is relieved.

The Olympic Hangover Posted by Happy Blogger , 5.4.10 at Monday, April 05, 2010, in

Well, let's see. In short, that was possitively the greatest experience of my life. It was one of a kind, and I am so greatly that I had the oppurtunity.


I got home, and talked for 3 hours straight, distributed the gifts and took a shower.


I showed all my pictures, and discussed highlights.


I then had to catch up in all the school work I should've done while I was there.


But I didn't care.


I had a major Olympic Hangover, and it was awesome.


P.S. I mentioned earlier that I couldn't find my social textbook.

On a closing note, my little 5 year old cousin had taken it, and put it in with her crayons and her princess colouring books. I was panicking and calling everyone trying to look for it, when I finally got a call from my aunt claiming that they had taken it by mistake, and only noticed it when her little princess backpack was about 15 pounds heavier then it should have been.




-Happy Blogger

Day 10- The End Posted by Happy Blogger , at Monday, April 05, 2010, in

We tided up the apartment, and packed up all our belongings. ( Oh Crap! what did I do with my social textbook?) and made our way to the airport. Since today was going to be the busiest day, as the entire world was going to be spilling in and out of Vancouvers airport, we made arrangements for a limo to come pick us up. At approximately 11 am, The silent treatment was over, and we reconciled. Praise the Lord.


We checked in, and stopped at a couple of stores on the way through the airport. We were looking at the Sea World shop, when bassist and guitarist for Simple Plan walked into this tiny little store. I was in complete shock. I used to love these guys! People now ask me why I didn't go and get their autograph, and you see, at the time, my aunt was making me try on this huge frog hat when they walked in, and I was simply to embarassed to say anything. They didn't even notice, but I did, and snuck a picture of them. I was now giggling like a little girl.


Went through security, ate some lunch, bought a few last minute souvenirs, and headed down to the boarding station. As we sat there, we saw Tanya Kim, the host from Etalk! daily. I could have possibly cared less about seeing her though. From a far, I could see this tall man, with perfect hair and a tanned face. I could have known who it was from a thousand feet away. Ben Mulroney. From the sound of it, you might think that I am fond of this character, but I shall have to inform you that it is the COMPLETE opposite. I despise him. The worst possible thing that could happen in this world would to have Ben Mulroney sing 'I Believe'. Though, I must add, I walked past him a couple times for shits and giggles.


On the flight home we watched 'The invention of Lying". I rather enjoyed it.


As we were getting off the plane, the first thing that I saw was Charles Hamelin and Marianne St. Gelais walking in the other direction. His face was in one of those Olympic Visa bags, and the scenario went a little bit like this. Me: OMG, it's Charles Hamelin and his girlfriend. Charles: Mmm, what's in this bag. Marianne: Why is that girl looking at us weirdly.


And there you have it.


As we were waiting for our luggage, we saw the Canadian Women's curling team. I was taking random pictures, just attempting to prove that they were there when I was there, when this man in a Cowboy hat approached us. 'Would you like a picture with them?". "Sure...!" we muttured, slightly embarassed. He then went up to Cheryl Bernard, the skip, and asked if we could get a picture with her. "Ofcourse!". OH MA GOSH. 'I'm sorry, we're awkward".


Great. We meet an Olympian curler, and I haven't showered in 3 days. Oh my. Then she said "Would you like to hold the medal?". OH MA, OH MA GOSH. So there you have it. Frozen in a picture for the rest of eternity. Lys, me and Cheryl, holding the olympic medal. I was exstatic.


The whole car ride home, we blubbered about how we want to join a curling team, and how she was such an inspiriration to us.


So heres the plan, kiddo. Sochi 2014. Go curl for Ireland. If we managed to win, I could sing the national anthem, and do a little jig!


-Happy Blogger

Day 9- Go Canada Go Posted by Happy Blogger , at Monday, April 05, 2010, in

We met up at the Mariott hotel, and sat down to watch THE game. We ordered wings and fries, and geared up to watch Men Hocky Finals. Canada scores, US scores, Canada Scores. Canada almost wins. 50 second left, US scores. Gramma nearly haves a heart attack. A storm trooper with a Canada flag arrives outside to cheer on. It's tense, very tense. and we are just waiting for CrosBY TO SCORE!!! People jump up. People are cheering. Gramma's hugging strangers. Unity. Pride. Canada.


Robson was crazy. Getting through the crowds was nearly impossible. And knowing how much I am fond of crowds, I just couldn't wait to bask in it for the next couple of hours. We went shopping, and spent an hour in a store. (This is the part where I have a mental breakdown). Sending agry texts to sisters, panciking at what to buy family, the line ups, the expense. WoaH!


After that, we made our way to a Japadog, where we stood in line for an hour. I started to see the same cars, driving around and honking their horns, waiting for drunk strangers who are just as proud to come and give them a 'high five!" We finally got our japadogs, though the majority of mine ended up on my shirt due to some guy running into me. (This is the part in the story where our two young protagonists have a fall out and stop talking to each other). I wanted to finish shopping, she didn't. She was stubborn, I was crying. She was Concrete. I wasTransparent.


We silently got back up to watch the closing ceremony. I would try to make conversation, but she was persistant in her silent treatment.


-Happy Blogger

Day 8- Finals and Italian Food (The Real Stuff) Posted by Happy Blogger , at Monday, April 05, 2010, in

Lyssie and I argued over lyrics in the morning. 'Sun's a ball of Fire' and 'Life's a ball of butter'. We were both sure we were right, and as it turns out, parts of us were right. 'Sun's a ball of butter'.


For the first time in my life, I ate Seafood Soup. I thought it was going to be disgusting, but it was the cheapest thing on the menu, and the smallest, and I wasn't very hungry. As it turns out, it was delicious.


We went and saw Team Pursuit Long Track speed skating. I was personally cheering for the German womans team. It was rather funny, that one of the germans skates broke, and ended ujp skidding through the finish line. As painful as it looked, it managed to get them to the finals! I bet she wasn't worried about the bruises, I mean, they'd made it! They were going again Japan for the gold, and throughout the entire race were atleast 1 second behind. As things turned out, they managed to skate their way to first place, by 2/100 of second. Go Team Germany.


The Team Canada's team persuit won Gold, and it was rather exciting as they were facing the american team, and I was sitting in a section of Americans, so when we won, I jumped up and waved my flag proudly. The guy behind me shot it down, though I can't tell it he wanted to see, or was furious with the Canadian Flag, I guess I'll never know.


That night we went shopping down robson. At one point, we were both extremely tired, and sat down in a little coffee shop. I ordered "Jasmine Moonlight Tea"- which could potentially be the best cup of tea I have ever had, and I know my teas. My cousin asked me how it tasted. "It tastes like, Jasmine, infused with..." -"Oh, for the love of God, do NOT say moonlight" - "I can't seem to find a way to describe the moonlight". After I said that, I started muttering out lines to myself, attempting to write a song about moonlight, and make it sound all romantic and crap, but people wouldn't actually know I was talking about a cup of tea. I'm still working on it.


We ventured into Indigo, and looked around at some books. We came across a book about a pregnant unicorn. Even though the vook looked completely stupid, and would not be worth our money, we went ahead and bought it for a friend. This book was PERFECT for my friend. A story about magic and love. Pregnant Unicorn, little squirrel friends brewing cups of tea, and finding perfectly symmetrical places to have the baby! Ah, it was divine.


We met up with the rest of the gang at CinCin, a fancy italian resturant. When it came time to order, I ordered some sort of pasta, with some fancy ingredients for the sauce. It was divine. Lyssie ordered White truffles and gnocce. I don't think she could have ever been happier. She STILL raves about that meal. For dessert we shared Tirimasu. Holy man. I could have died and been happy.


-Happy Blogger

Day 7- Gramma In The Nose Bleeds Posted by Happy Blogger , at Monday, April 05, 2010, in

Well, through all my procrastination, I finally have a spare moment in which I can sit down and reclaim my thoughts. Phew!


Well, like every other morning in my life, I was to wake up and eat breakfast. Followed by putting some clothes on. I probably sat down and ate some lunch a little bit later, and went shopping down Robsons street. Some people shop to relieve stress, but as per myself, it does the very opposite. While every other girl my age would be happy to spend their parents money they have lent them, I feel serious guilt, and simply hate spending money, like my mom says "we're shanty Irish". Also, I panic over whether I'm spending to much, or whether the person I'm buying something for will like what I'm getting them, and then there's the line ups, and people looking at the same things you are, and I can honestly say I have broken down and started crying in a store, because the crowds are so overwheming. My Theory: Get in and get out, that way I can maitain partial sanity.


Later in the day, we had tickets to Short Track Speed skating. My uncle is a sports journalist for the Edmonton Journal, and was at the arena at the same time we were. So, we attempted to meet up for a brief second. It was quite commical, because there are only a thousand people standing in the same place you are, and descriptions of location through texts simply failed, due to the people sending them (Later we decided we were the worst texters on the planet). After a few minutes of standing where you were, waiting to see the other person, we realized we were actually standing right behind each other, but were to preoccupied with all the other humans to recognize them. We talked for a couple of minutes, and then proceded to our seats.


Gramma was a real trouper the whole trip, but I would personally like to give my entire credit to her getting to these seats. We just happened to be in the nosebleeds of the nosebleeds. I'm pretty sure that the arena had set up this extra row to sell tickets. We were at the very top, no one behind us. Fifty thousand steps later, we got to our seats. The competitons were short, but sweet, and though our seats were slightly inconvienient to get to, we could see the whole rink, which was kind of awesome. They had qualifiers and Team Pursuit. This was the one where one of the teams got disqualified- I believe China or Korea. The american team should consider themselves lucky- because they were soo far behind, and managed to get a Bronze medal. Poo Poo Poo.


We ended up leaving a little bit early, because we desperately needed to beat the crowds, as Gramma needed her time getting down the stairs. Fifty thousand steps later, we were safe on flat ground. All I could think was, My Gramma's a Super Trouper.


Went out to Dinner, and finsihed the night off with some glee. Per usual
-Happy Blogger

Your Colon Posted by Sad Blogger , 28.3.10 at Sunday, March 28, 2010, in

Have you ever run the last leg of the relay?

If you have then you know it’s a stressful experience, because you either make it or break it. I mean, you’re either ahead and it’s up to you to hold the lead, or you’re behind and it’s up to you to make it up. Everyone else is done, so they’re just standing behind you relaxing and catching their breath while you give everything you’ve got to sprint for the finish line. And of course, because you’re last you’re dealing with a sweaty baton, a trampled path, and cold muscles.

It’s not easy.

Well, guess who’s running the last leg of the relay in your body? Guess who’s anchoring the team? Guess who’s picking up the slack? Guess who’s taking the baton for the final leg of race?

Dude, it’s your colon. Or Cole for short.

Now, Cole’s a humble guy. I mean, call him colon, call him large intestine, call him big snakey, call him whatever you want. He doesn’t care. He just shows up to work, all 1.5 meters of him, day after day, week after week, year after year. He punches his timeclock and starts working in the dark, tight recesses of your abdomen from the day you’re born, twisting himself up into all kinds of positions, kicking it into high gear from the get go.

Now, Cole does a lot of work:

1. He stores and dumps waste. This isn’t a pleasant job, but somebody’s got to do it. This man is the garbage man and the trash can, think about that. He doesn’t get one of the nicer jobs like looking at your food or tasting your food, no, he just stores and dumps it after everybody else has had their way with it. I mean, they’ve done such a number on it that it’s no longer food — it’s called chyme, a partially digested semifluid mass that probably smells like what would come out of a dog if you fed it raw pork, bleach, and hot sauce. Thankfully, Cole’s a real professional.

2. He gathers water from the waste. I know what you may be thinking. “Doesn’t my esophagus, stomach, and small intestine already do this?” And actually you’re right, that is true. But Cole picks up where they left off. Yes, he smiles backwards at the gang, flashes them a big thumbs-up, then quietly finishes the job when they aren’t looking. What a team player.

3. He absorbs vitamins. What, you thought he was just a chymebag? Just a water-sucker-upper? No man, he’s also rooting around for vitamins, too. He’s the guy at the dump with an eye on your discarded clothes and furniture, aiming to spot those hidden gems that are useful somewhere else. You know all this talk about reducing, reusing, and recycling? Cole’s been doing that for thousands of years. He practically invented it.

Now, Cole the Colon is a huge player in your body, but you’d never know that from talking to him. If you try he’ll ignore you and you’ll just hear the deep, quiet sound of chyme processing. And that’s sort of the point. He’s always there, always grinding, always working the gears, always helping the younger guys along, and most importantly, always getting the job done. And just try getting him to take a vacation!

So — this one’s for Cole. Pat yourself on the belly today and thank your colon for being a true servant leader, a humble team player, and a bona fide nice guy.

From my colon to yours,

- Sad Blogger

Praise Be To Slob Posted by Sad Blogger , 23.3.10 at Tuesday, March 23, 2010, in

There is every manner of man existing in the world today. There’s the gentleman, the jock, the scholar, the geek. But there is one man who appears within every culture and subclass. There is one species of male that every woman and in-law loves to hate. At the same time, he is also the most cherished and pre-eminent stereotype. He is the common slob. At first you may be wary of slipping into this lifestyle, but I assure you the benefits are well worth the few effortless changes required of you. You know your life would be vastly improved were you to eliminate all the time you spend tidying and organizing. You probably won’t miss the burden of decision-making and leadership either. Perhaps you are just ready to resign from the stress of maintaining a respectable reputation. As a lifelong slob, I guarantee this is the lifestyle for you. Simply put, the role of a slob will improve your quality of life and bring to your day-to-day routine a brand of happiness unlike any you’ve known.

The first and easiest step to becoming a slob is to shed that nasty habit of organization. If you usually keep your toothbrush in a rack or cup, try just leaving it on the edge of the sink. Instead of throwing your dirty clothes in a hamper, drape them over a chair. If you really want to go pro, just pile them in a writhing heap at the foot of your bed, or better yet, in the kitchen. You don’t want to go too crazy in the initial stages of your transformation. An irresponsible slob can easily eclipse himself and drift into Howard Hughes recluse territory. When starting out as a slob, simply try to ignore that tidy little angel on your shoulder. Knock over a waste bin or leave a dish unwashed, but remain in control. Eliminating these useless chores from your daily routine will provide you with the free time you’ve always longed for. You will finally be able to pursue such passions as staring emptily into space or drooling on the couch cushions.

You’ll then need to learn the art of indifference. This step requires a much larger commitment but once mastered is a key element of the slob’s arsenal. Every day your peers and associates look to you to make important decisions. It’s time to let go of that responsibility. Familiarize yourself with phrases such as “I don’t care” and “People don’t even know what an overseas logistics and exports analysis report is anyways”. When a colleague asks for your opinion on the latest terrorist bombings or the effects of natural disasters in tropical climates, modestly wave your hand and say: "Oh. Well it doesn't really matter, does it?". These blatant displays of unconcern will rapidly reduce your daily quota of critical decisions and overall level of stress. You will then be free to concern yourself with more important matters like which sauce you want with your chicken fingers. Chipotle barbecue? Sweet apple with plum? You could even go with the drool off the couch. It's your world!

Most importantly, you will need to sabotage your spotless reputation. You don’t want people insisting you host Scrabble night at your house. Perish the thought of your fiancée’s parents associating you with anything wholesome or good. A tainted reputation will afford you the freedom from your nagging in-laws you so desperately yearn for. This step requires constant vigilance though. When out with friends, subtly allow your caramel mochachino and that chipotle barbecue sauce to stain your clothing. If a lull comes over a conversation with your in-laws, let loose a blood-curdling belch. Belly-scratching and butt cleavage-exposing are also encouraged. If you can bear it, refrain from personal grooming too. Shaving, hand-washing, and toenail-clipping are a thing of the past. This is a new you, a new era! At this stage in your transformation you should be fully embracing the role. Without the need to impress or the perpetual stress of manners and social expectations, your self-esteem will be greatly bolstered. Free of these demands, you can now let your brain slowly turn to mush and live on in mindless bliss.

It’s plain to see the life of a slob is one to be envied. You’ve rid yourself of trivial chores and all those wasted hours spent cleaning and repositioning. You’ve completely abandoned that worried shell of yourself that would spend every day making other peoples’ decisions. You even managed to shed that old image that your peers held in such high regard. You're dressed in rags or not dressed at all, there is no pressure. Your teeth are running amok with coffee stains and your beard offers a delectable showcase of day-old crumbs and globules of ginger ale. Your boss doesn't even consider pestering you with his pesky odd jobs, he knows better. As the new slob you’ve become, you are now totally free. You can do as you like and like what you do. The best part is it hardly took any effort. Just three simple steps and you’re now a real man, an individual - a slob.

Your favorite slob,

- Sad Blogger

Day 6- Raining Cats and Dogs Posted by Happy Blogger , 11.3.10 at Thursday, March 11, 2010, in

The alarm went off at 6 am. The night before, we had chosen Jack's Mannequin 'Annie Use Your Telescope' to wake us up. It was nearly impossible to see anything, so I started tanking out random chords until the music stopped. I arose immediately and got ready, which was just as well, because it gave each of us our own time in the bathroom, so there would be no fighting. Everyone was asleep, so I did my best not to make noise. I tiptoed to my Gramma's room where I kept my stuff. I stuck my hand into my bag and pulled out whatever I could grab. I had to go wake up Lyssie- though that was nearly impossible. I sat there poking her for about a minute, and when that wasn't working, I pulled off the covers- that did it.






We quietly left the condo, and set out to Cypress. We had been there once before, so you could think we would rememeber where to go. Well, we just kept walking until we found some people in the Blue Olympic jackets who would be willing to point us in the direction of the Sea Bus. We got on the sea bus, and waited anxiously to get across. It was 7:42, and our bus to Cypress was leaving at 7:45. So, I sprinted to the bus stop, and got in line just in the nick of time.






The ride up was hot. We listened to music off the Glee soundtrack, and tried to pre-occupy ourselves with conversation.






Getting off the bus was easy. Though, the location of the slolum was a little bit different, it wasn't too bad. We had to climb atleast 500 stairs to get to our seats- but no biggie. By this time, we were 1 1/2 hours early for the event. It was spitting rain, so I pulled out the 'poncho's' my Gramma had bought for us. As I took them out of their case, it turns out they were little colourful bags. We giggled at the thought of my Gramma's purchase- but they did come into some use. We sat on them, attempting to keep our seats dry.


At the beginning of each event, they had these little videos about each of the mascots. My favorite would be MukMuk, though it appears that he was left out for most of the time. They showed how Miga went from being an Orca to being an Orca bear, and how Sumi can fly, and MukMuk is a secret stalker-fan who follows Quatchi to the Olympics. Though they played this at every event, I found myself amused every single time.


The event had now started, and so did the rain. At first, the rain was tolerable, but an hour or so, it just keep seeping its way through your clothes. About an hour in, the wind started up, which made the rain even colder. By this point, I could no longer move my fingers, and trying to keep yourself dry was completely useless. Even though it was raining cats and dogs, whenever Canada made its way down the hill, I always managed to stand up and cheer. I remember, they have these huge TV's set up, so you can see what the camera's are filming. In one of the shots, I remember seeing what looked like my Canada flag (though, how was I to be sure, there were over a billion there?) But when the flag flew up and became tangled, and I new it was my flag on the screen! So, remember kids, that I was the person with the tangled flag in the left hand corner of the slolum event for about 2 seconds. Yay me.


At 11:00, they took a break, and wouldn't be back until 12:15 for the finals. Up on Cypress, they didn't have any shelter up there. Walking was slightly painful, because I'm pretty sure the muscles in my legs had seized up. My boots were completely drenched, and whenever I would walk, I could feel the water sloshing around in the bottom. Twas a weird feeling. We just kept following the crowd, and wound up leaving the event early. We walked painfully slowly back to the bus, but when we finally sat down in the toasty warm bus. Although I do regret leaving early, I think it was for the better.


We got back to the condo to find everyone up and gathered in the living room. Lyssie and I were completely exhausted, and I felt like a blob, as my pants had gained 15 pound of water. We got changed as soon as we got in there. It was such a relief to be wearing dry pants.


---SORRY, IT APPEARS WE ARE HAVING SOME TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES---
It appears that the rest of this day has been completely erased from my memory.


Until I remember the rest,


Happy Blogger

Day 5- Wait- What Happened Today? Posted by Happy Blogger , 10.3.10 at Wednesday, March 10, 2010, in

As I search through my memories, I find it incredibly sad that I remember the first couple of days more than the last few. You would think it would be the opposite?


Wednesday morning. I can only assume I woke up, had some OJ, sat with my aunt and my gramma, waiting for the sleepy heads to arise. I think this morning, I attempted to do some homework. I started a unit in social- Development of Nationalism. The first few pages were a debriefing of the French Revolution. 1789 was not a good year for France. I only made a tiny progression- but hey, atleast I tried.


We walked down Robson- searching for a Japadog. We found a Japadog, it just wasn't running, but there were 'Beard Papa's' right beside it. A Beard Papa is a huge cream puff. I'm not to partial of cream puffs- but I might add- these were simply delicious.


Later in the day, we were expecting another family to come stay with us, so when my uncle went down stairs to bring up some company-I could have only assumed that those were the people to first grace us with their presence. But no. My 23 year old cousin and his 2 friends showed up at our doors. It was kind of amusing hearing them talk about their drive. Apparently, at 9pm the night before, they decided to drive out to Vancouver. So, they set off in a little car, drove all the way from Calgary in the middle of the night, ended up pulling over in a Rona parking lot, slept, and found their way to the apartment within one night. So we sat down and visited with them for a while, and only about an hour later, the family that had planned to stay with us arrived. Their 5 year old daughter was with them, and had lost the majority of her front teeth since I had last seen her. I asked her if the tooth fairy had come- and she replied "What tooth fairy"- oops.


By mid afternoon, everyone had vacated out of the house. The boys going to look for some tickets, Gramma and company left for figure skating, and I believe my aunt and uncle went to a hockey game.


Now, what were we going to do in the mean time?


Well, I can't honestly remember what we did. I think we went out, came back, and then went to our dinner reservations at a japanese restaurant called "Miku" for 8:30. We were a little bit earlier then everyone else, so we sipped on our green tea- and managed to go to the bathroom 3 times before they arrived. We also ordered a Shirley Temple- but a real one. Apparently it is supposed to have pineapple juice, but most places don't make it like that. Before today, I had really never eaten much japanese food- so I was really happy when my uncle ordered for me. He ordered a few things of sushi,tofu, and a HUGE plate of various raw fish. That night, I tried some more tofu, raw salmon and raw tuna! I was rather proud of myself.


Once back in the condo, we sat down and watched Muriels Wedding. Now, if you haven't seen it, you simply must. It's not a very good story, and the plot is somewhat depressing, but somehow, it is one of my favorite movies. My personal favorite quotes ever: 'You're terrible, Muriel' , 'Deidre!' , 'My life is better than an ABBA song!'.


You know in hotels when you need a key to go up and down the elevator- well it was the same in this condo, except you had a FOB which allowed you access. So, just after midnight, we had to go down an retrieve the boys. We had a set curfew, because we knew we had to be up early the next morning. When everyone was finally settled in the condo, we had to find room for everyone to sleep, as there wasn't much sleeping space. So basically, this was the layout of the living room. Lyssie and I blow up mattress on the floor, 2 of them in a pull out bed, and the other on the couch. Not to mention 4 other people split between 2 rooms.


'Twas a full house.


-Happy Blogger

Day 4- The Busiest Day. Posted by Happy Blogger , 8.3.10 at Monday, March 08, 2010, in

It's now tuesday in Vancouver, and the day ahead is going to be very eventful. We set off to curling in a taxi, and began to make our way to the arena. On the way, we were stopped by this guy trying to sell us some stuff. At first, I was slightly reluctant, and it would have been my instict just to turn them down, but the items that they were selling seemed to be so convienient! They were lanyard's that were decorated with either Vancouver 2010 or all the flags of the countries that competed in the Olympics, and had a little plastic cover in which you could put your tickets in- very convienient, so you aren't searching for your ticket going to the events. I paid for 5 of them and distributed them to my family. They were 10 dollars each, which seemed kind of pricey- but hey, when was I ever going to get an oppurtunity to buy these again?


Personally, I didn't think curling was going to the that exciting. Growing up, my mother would always watch curling, and would often change the channel to check the score. I never really understood the game, but we had the tickets, and had nothing better to do that morning.


The arena was surprisingly cold, but I couldn't do anything about that then. The matches started, and it was hard to focus on a certain match. I would try to focus in on the Canada vs. Great Britain game, but they were on the furthest side from me, which only made it more difficult. By the 8th round, things began to get really tense. I was actually following the games, and cheering on our womens team.


In the midst of everyone cheering on Canada, there was a guy in front of me, who would turn around in my moment of Canadian pride and would 'shush' me. I would understand if I was the only one cherring loudly, and I was being distracting to the athletes, but the entire place was screaming for Canada, and honestly, how much would change from shutting me up? ( I am very loud, and I know that- but still). Pfft. Grumpy old man.


It was a tense game between Canada and Great Britain, but Canada pulled through.


After curling, we met up with my cousin and went out for lunch. We ate at Urban Fare- which is similar to Sunterra- an expensive 'better' super market. But none-the-less, they served up a mean hamburger. Just minutes after lunch, we were back on the road again, going to meet my cousins boyfriend, who was to meet us to go to the Canada vs. Germany hockey game. Getting off the train was hectic. There were guys at the bottom of the escalators who were practically begging for tickets to see the game. We moved slowly through the large crowd- I had to force myself NOT to moo. Once in the arena, we sat down, and had great seats, about 20 up, and had a clear view of Luongo in goal. I had never been to a hockey game before- and the huge hype of the Canadian hockey team was immense- probably one of the best games to see for your first time, eh? There were points when the pucks were moving so fast, that it would take me 20 seconds to realize that they even got a goal. (Talk about slow, an entire arena is screaming, and you still don't clue in-). Anywho, Canada kicked Germany's butt, and they made it into the quarter finals. Go Canada.


Proceeding the game, we quickly ran over to BC place, where they were holding a 'Victory Ceremony'. We were on the 4th level, and had seats SS. 'A' was closer to the stage- so you do the math to how far we were up. I can't say I remember all the medals that were awarded that night, I just know that I was there to see Ashleigh McIvor get her gold. Following the awards ceremony, Billy Talent played. They took down these 'sheets' that were covering their stage, and started off their show with lazers shooting off the stage. I reacted with a squeal, and everyone else cheered.


Devil in a midnight mass... I remember liking Billy Talent a few years ago...the guitarist hasn't changed his hair at all...Silent night for the rest of my life....


We didn't stay for the whole show, because it was getting late, and we were growing tired. On the way out, my cousin met up with some of her friends that she goes to university with. Ofcourse, we were to awkward to go introduce ourselves, instead we pre-occupied ourselves with a game...


Imaginary Corners! I wasn't paying attention, and Slyssie ran into me screaming CORNERS! I nearly fell over- 'That must have been 10 points!' she told me. 'Yeah, well, if I can knock you to the ground, I get 20!'. (When I play games, I get really into it, and often times it becomes physical. Ie. In dance, we play musical chairs, and I have honestly thrown my sister off the chair on to the ground- you see- into it). In all my excitment, I backed up a little bit, and took a run at her. Did I notice she wasn't paying attention? Ofcourse not! So there she goes, flying to the ground, knocking her glasses off. (Oops, my bad).


I felt slightly embarassed, but not as much as she was. I've vowed to NEVER play that game again- or atleast not with her.


We took the bus home, read about some religion in a little panflet someone handed me. I thought it was funny and planned on keeping it- but I was forced to recycle it. Oh well.


Like every other night so far, got into PJ's and watched Glee.


What? I like repetition, okay?
-Happy Blogger

Day 3- Stanley Park and the Men's Aerials Posted by Happy Blogger , 3.3.10 at Wednesday, March 03, 2010, in

Yet another beautiful morning in the city of Vancouver. I was awoken by the sounds of some trucks picking up the garbage- beautiful way to wake up by the way- and sat down at the table with a muffin and OJ. My aunt and uncle had gone out for a few moments earlier that morning on some business, but when they came back at 10 am, they urged us to get ready and come down stairs as soon as possible. So I ran and put on any thing I could grab, and headed downstairs. 'You might want to get your camera's out, girls' my aunt told us. Oooo what could it be...? I looked around and couldn't understand what I was supposed to be looking for, though it was parked right in front of me; A glorious white-stretch limo. 'We have a limo for a couple of hours- so let's go for a tour through Stanley Park!' Great. I'm going into a strecth limo, and the clothes I put on was a pair of nearly wrecked sweatpants and a black sweater! Anywho, we got in the limo, took a few pictures of everyone in the limo, and began to drive through Stanley Park.






Our limo driver was super nice. She would explain a little bit of history of Vancouver, and certain tourist attractions we were driving past. We saw the 5 rings from behind, a canon where a gun shot would be going off everynight at 9, a mermaid in the water, and various destruction in the trees. ( I can't really remember what happened to the trees- but it looked devestating). We pulled up near Ferguson's point, and had lunch at the Tea place up there.






The restaurant appeared pristine and fancy- Great- not only did I look crappy in the limo, but now I look even worse in the restaurant. I ordered fish n' chips. You could tell the fish was freshly battered and cooked, and the fries were tiny but delicious. Whilst looking at the dessert menus, I saw a dessert I had never heard of before : Poached Pear Claufoutis (pronounced Claa*foo*tee not Claa*fow*tiss). Though the name seemed interesting enough to order, I went with the chocolate molten lava cake. Twas delicious.






Back in the limo- and back to the condo. I met up with my older cousin ( who was running very late might I add) and took a cab to Lonsdale Quay. From there we boarded a bus that took us up to Cypress. After a 25 minute cab-a 40 minute bus ride- we had to walk another half hour to get to security. On the way, we noticed that the person walking in front of us might have competed in womens mogales. Apparently we weren't the only people that had noticed, and people started to take pictures of and with her, and showed the wave of people her medal. She was very sincere, and told the crowd of people to cheer on her brother, who would be competing in men's aerials.






My cousin was stopped at security. You see, I could carry in my avian bottled water, but she wasn't allowed to bring in her own water bottle. Security escorted her outside and watched her as she dumped the contents. The whole time she was muttering 'You wanna taste it? It's WATER!'...'I know it's not you, it's the System...stupid system'.






On the way to the stands, we got pictures with Quatchi and Miga, and some random dude with a top hat who was a one man show trapped in a curtain. We found our seats (PING PONG PING) and was rudely told by the guy behind us that we were in his seats, and that if people came to take their seats, we would have to move. We didn't talk back, though tempting as it was, and watched him as he walked (humiliated) to the section over where his seats.






The event commenced. The jumps were so cool, and everyone there could flip with ease and make it look effortless. I felt bad for the guys who could fall or wipe out- especially this one guy who caught his toe edge, and went face first right into the snow- ouch!


We walked, we talked, we took a sea bus, and on the way home, picked up a pint of ice cream each. We walked along the waterfront, got a picture of the flame, with the flame, of the golden rings, with the golden rings, and headed back to the condo. We watched some glee, ate ALL the ice cream and went to bed.


...we really shouldn't have eaten all that ice cream....


-Happy Blogger

Day 2- Richmond Oval Posted by Happy Blogger , 2.3.10 at Tuesday, March 02, 2010, in

What a beautiful morning in Vancouver! We could kept the windows open all night, and there was a fresh sea breeze. It was 8 am and everyone in Vancouver was awake except for my cousin; you see, we are complete opposites. She wants to stay up, I want to go to bed, I wake up early, she sleeps in- you get the picture? Anywho, my Gramma and my aunt were up and sitting at the table drinking some coffee, I joined them for a glass of orange juice and a muffin, and waited for sleepy-pants on the mattress to wake up.


When everything finally got into motion, we prepared to head to Richmond Oval for long track speed skating. Traffic was crazy throughout the Olympics, so we practically walked everywhere. So we headed to the train station, went to Aberdeen, and made our way to the oval.


At the very beginning of the walk, we were offered free hot chocolate. Now, who could give up free hot chocolate? Not us! It wasn't very good, but it was nice to drink something warm. We walked along the water edge, following a swarm of red. Rocks clinged to the edge of the water, and at some points, you would find little inukshuks that people had made out of the rocks. How clever.Photo up!


We got free Olympic tatoos on our hands, and got a 'GO CANADA GO' sign for cheering loudly for the volunteers. The line up for security wasn't to bad, and we went to our seats. We were sitting right behind all the camera's that were covering the events. I was sure I was going to get on TV. This was my shot at fame! Canadian Fan Meets Stardom! But no- us Canadian fans were nothing in compared to the Netherlands. They would dress completely in orange- including wigs, bert and ernie hats, huge signs. I'll know to pack this stuff the next time I go to the Olympic-if there is another oppurtunity? Anywho. I honestly had never really watched speed skating, so I never really knew what was going on- but that really didn't matter! The entire stadium would boom with Canadian fans stomping their feet and cheering on our athletes. It was such a rush to be a part of. Kristina Groves got 3rd at this event.


After the event, we walked back to the train station, and I can mostly remember being on the train for a long time. We took a train to my aunts friends house for supper. I honestly have no idea where they lived, or how we got there, but it was dark by the time we got there.


For supper, they made roast beef, yorkshire pudding, mashed potatoes, fresh bread and veggies! After supper, I was starting to doze off on their couch. I remember seeing glimpses of Ice Dancing and curling, but I was too preoccupied being tired. It was only my second day and I was exhausted! What is this? I caught my second wave after eating some tirimasu. It was getting late, and they were gracious enough to drive us home. We got in, put on our Canadian pants, and watched Glee.


Glee... so good... just one more episode....zzzzzzzzzzzzz... nope


-Happy Blogger

Day 1 - The Arrival Posted by Happy Blogger , at Tuesday, March 02, 2010, in

It was nine in the morning when we left for the airport. My Gramma and I would be travelling together, and we were to meet with the rest of the crew in Vancouver. So off we went. Check-in, security, gates, coffee... the regular.


The entire week leading up to the Olympics, I was going crazy. I was too excited to sleep, and I was usually bouncing off the walls, but it was weird, when the time came to go, I was completely calm. The flight was only 45 minutes long, and I had barely enough time to start the movie 'Whip It' that I had selected to watch. Oh well.


Getting all our luggage went fairly smoothly considering I had the huggest duffle bag I had ever seen. We set off for the train station. The train was fairly new, and for the first few minutes, you felt like you were riding a roller coaster. Up and down and Up and down. It was rather futuristic and Vancouver felt like an amusement park. We got off the train feeling positively optimistic- but little did I know how far we would have to walk. It was only a twenty minute walk, but I could have sworn I was towing my luggage for 3 hours- atleast that's how I felt. The duffle bag was awkward, and strained my back when I would walk with it. Every few minutes I would switch sides, so each side got it's equal share of torture. Preoccupied with my luggage, I had to keep track of Gramma. If one thing I was NOT to do in Vancouver would be NOT to lose my Gramma. Lucky enough for her, my duffle bag was rather noisy and she would be able to hear me 'from miles away'.


We finally reached my uncles condo; A nice place along the water. We unloaded, sat down for a few seconds, and were off again. I was sent on a task with my cousin to go get some groceries. We headed down to robson where they have a very futuristic looking safeway (made out of glass and you have to take an escalator to get to it-cool, I know). My mother sent with a bagillion safeway cards, so we were set. On our little excursion, we also bought the season of Glee, and the movie Whip It-as my cousin didn't finish on the plane either.


When we got back, My aunt and uncles friends and their kids were over, and we sat around, watched the Olympics. (The condo didn't ahve cable, and we had attempted to get reception by attaching a coat hanger to some wires and hanging it from the ceiling. Silly-you might think, but it worked).


Later in the evening, we went out to a place called "Posh", which was a japanese restaurant, where you can cook your entire meal in a boiling pot. They ordered for the table, and it was up to you to cook your own food. They brought out this 'bacon' looking food, and starting putting it in the pot. The 'bacon' was actually think strips of beef- but how was I supposed to know that? We threw in some veggies and some tofu and called it dinner. Yum.


We got back to the condo, when I realized I left my tooth brush at home. Go me. I slipped into my polar fleece Canadian pants that screamed "I'm Canadian" everywhere. Could you tell which country I was rooting for?


We got home fairly late, but we insisted on staying up and watching the first episode of Glee.


This would become the first of many nights!


-Happy Blogger