Recycled Material

As I am currently jobless, my interactions with the public have greatly decreased. It's gone from random strangers knocking on my car window to the awkward hello in the elevator. I am afraid that all I have to tell are old stories that have already been told. Maybe, if I think really hard and challenge my brain, I can come up with some small glimpse into my boring reality I call my life instead of recycled material.

Lets see, okay, so on Sunday a friend of mine dropped me off at my house after a volunteer appreciation lunch. I opened the door and pressed the elevator button. To my surprise the door open almost instantly and what my eyes fell upon was a sight that made me wish I had chosen the stairs. As the elevator doors opened I was graced with the image of a couple going at it. Great! So here's awkward me standing there, internally killing myself laughing because their faces were so red and the tension in the elevator was so dense that I was wishing I lived on the first floor. On the other hand however, I was also wishing that the elevator would break down because that would be more awkward for them and a good story for you. The guy muttered something about how he wanted to drink a beer when they got back to their condo but I think that was just code for finishing what they started in the elevator.

My building isn't a very tall one, four floors - five if you include the parkade. So having said that, an elevator ride to the top from the bottom is only about 35 seconds. I am willing to go and time that if you need evidence. (I haven't left the condo in over 24 hours.) Not a whole lot of time.

I have never understood really why people fool around in the elevator... It's not a private place, unless it's your elevator in your house. I have actually never really understood the need for PDA in general. I mean, I get the hand holding kind of deal, and the simple kiss goodbye, but seeing you suck face in public makes me physically ill. Seeing your public displays of affection gives me intimate deals about you and your babe. I'd like to go with the don't ask, don't tell method. If I don't ask, you don't tell. I am not asking you what it looks like when you guys kiss, therefore don't tell me or show me. I am being straight up here: I DON'T CARE.

Married people, I am in no way talking to you. If you 90 something years old and been married for 90 years you, my friend, have earned the right to kiss your babe. If you're 20 and been married 1 year, congratulations, I am so happy for you. You sir, have earned the right to kiss your wife. If you have made a marital commitment to your significant other, KISS AWAY but if you're 16 and you and your boo who have been dating for 3 days and are so in love you're locking lips - GET OUT OF MY WAY. I will run you over with my car. Okay, maybe that's a little dramatic but seriously save it for your living room, and not the bedroom either. You will end up on 16 and pregnant, and you will quite possibly wish I ran you over with my car.

Well, that about sums that up,
Happy Kissing... NOT!

SnapChat

Okay, so I totally have fallen victim to the 'public selfie snapchat', but I am never going to get a boyfriend if I don't stop. I stand in very public places making more than ridiculous faces. I don't quite know what you use Snapchat for, maybe I don't want to know, but my friends and I are having a contest to see who can have the most chins and make the most bizarre face.

I love snapchat, but I think I should probably save my photos for the safety of my own home. Lest I be single for life.

Happy chatting, party peeps. 

Ex-Bar Junkie

I am not afraid to admit that I used to have a lot of fun at the bar. Dancing with friends and listening to sub par music used to be my up of tea. That being said, I have grown up in the sense that it no longer appeals to me, but because I love dancing, I go out every once in a while.

This past week, I visited my parents house to catch up with friends and family and decided that I would go dancing one night. I didn't go to drink, I just simply went to dance with some of my friends that I haven't seen in a while.

So I show up and the sub par music is less that sub par. It's down right crap. Garbage I'm telling you. In a town that has more cow boy boots that suits or ties, they play some weird music. I am in no way a racist, but it is a rare occasion to see an East Indian man wearing cow boy boots; so why in this country town are we playing Punjabi music? So the whole night bounced between Punjabi jams and Skrillex and on top of all this the music was so loud that you couldn't pick a beat out if you wanted to. This meant that the usually enjoyable activity of dancing was instead a bad experience where people spilled beer on my feet and stepped on my toes. I went to the bar to hang out with my girl friends but spent the night running away from guys and zig-zagging my way through the masses of drunk people. Why do people enjoy this kind of activity? I'm starting to question why I ever enjoyed it.

I can't say I have ever been to a different bar, but I feel like most of them are the same. For now, I think I will pass on any offers though. Maybe throw a dance party or two at my house... When I have one.

Happy dancing, party peeps.

Laugh With Me?

"Just laugh it off." That's what they say, right? Well I've definitely been laughing. I'm just not quite sure how much good it's done. I'm afraid I look like a crazy person laughing when I am not only homeless and naked, but jobless as well. I just want to let you know, before I get into this, that you can laugh, cause that's all I've done.

So many things happened so suddenly, I got a text from my mom early Saturday morning that said, "GG passed away." Okay, so that happened. I love my great gramma, and I hope she rest in peace, but that was just the beginning of my week. Monday morning rolls around and I got asked to go nanny for a friend who wasn't feeling very well, no problem. I make my way over and go about my nanny duties. Well to spare you the details, I left the house feeling upset and a little angry because of how I was treated but left my emotion in the car. I wasn't about to left this wreck my week, but I got a phone call from the girl and she apologized and then yelled at me and hung up the phone.... Last time I try to be sympathetic. Anyways, the lady I live with, mother of the girl I nanny for, comes home and gives me about ten hours notice that I need to pack my crap and get out. Um...... Okay? So through my tears and with the help of my best friend, my stuff was packed for me to take in the morning. I packed up the car and took everything over to my sisters to store in her storage unit while I tried to figure out where I was going to work and live. They cleaned out a room for me and gave me a place to put my things for the time being! Love them, best people alive for sure. I stayed at my sisters for a week, then her and I came home to the island for a couple days. Well I think it was the third or fourth day I was on the island when I got a text that said, "Our storage locker was broken into, you will probably need to go through your stuff when you get back." Great!!! My sister took a picture of the storage unit and send it too me and we realized that my suitcase and two of my back packs were gone. AWESOME!

A list of things that were in my suitcase: 
ALL MY CLOTHES 
A dearly loved teddy bear. 

So that's how I became naked. I really cannot help to laugh at my misfortune. It's been a very humbling experience to lose so much. I am sitting here with a smile on my face and a giggle in my chest, because what else could go wrong?! Well that's the woes of this white girl. 

Until something else happens, Peace out party peeps. Loves y'all! 

The Reason I Don't Ride Bikes

When I was younger I looked up to my dad quite a bit. I still do but I remember this particular day in history because it was the last day I rode a bike. People say you never forget how to ride a bike, I don't think that's totally true. Maybe I have just mentally blocked the idea out of my head but if you ask me, I've forgotten not only how to ride but the joy it brings. Petal bikes have become evil in my opinion. I would much rather dirt bike or quad. 

My dad, brother and I used to whip through trees, over roots and logs, and race each other while my mom and sisters trailed behind enjoying the view. 

There was no particular reason for the event that took place the day I stopped riding bikes but it did; and this is how it happened.

Like any other day, my dad and I were racing down a rocky hill trying to see who  could make it to the grassy hill first. I reached a speed I've never seem before, probably like ten kilometres an hour. Just kidding, I was flying down this hill at a speed in which a rocket enters space, and I lost control of my handle bars. Well here's me, flying down a hill with no control of where I'm doing and suddenly I've launched myself into the air and m headed straight for the prickle bush. A ghost must have stolen my bike because even though I was scraped up and sitting in a very uncomfortable bush, my bike flew twenty feet down the road. I'm pretty sure my family didn't stop laughing until we got home because I refused to ride my demon possessed bike back to the van. It was that moment that I stopped riding bikes. 

I know it sounds like I have a knack for catapulting myself throw the air, but it's better than that. It's a hobby. I'm taking flying lessons. The more stories I ask my about, the more I realize I am better at flying than walking. Now... If only I could learn to land more gracefully. 

Goodnight party peeps. If you have any tips on landing, let me know. 

Little Girl; Big Rock

As you may have all already figured out, I'm not exactly the most graceful or balanced human being alive. I trip, I fall, and I run into things on a regular basis. Well I am here to tell you that has been a life long struggle for me. As I child my father played baseball and he, being my hero taught me how to throw thinks like rocks into the river. He always skipped rocks and tried to throw them all the way across the river, more often than not he was successful. 

One day, I guess I thought it would be awesome to impress my daddy by throwing the largest rock I could find into the river. Well, what landed in the water just so happened to be about the same size as me plus a rock. What I'm trying to tell you is that I threw myself in the river. I'm really not sure how old I was but I believe I was pretty young. Launching myself into a river happened the same day that I found out that I couldn't fly, nor could I swim. I was in fact meant to e human and walk on the land. 

A small child flying into a river following a rock must have been quite the sight; because to this day I still get teased when I throw rocks in the water. I can only imagine what that would look like as an almost twenty year old. If it happens you will be the first to know. I promise. 

Until next time party peeps, try not to throw yourselves into rivers with out supervision. 

Olympic Sprinter?

I am just going to start this throwback with a fact about myself. I am terrified of bees!!! 

What kind of stupid insect makes a nest in the ground?! Obviously that's where things walk be it people, deer or Bigfoot. Seriously.

This must have happened six something years ago on a family camping trip. My family loves to go out camping in the middle of no where, and by my family... I mean my parents. We go out where the rivers are so cold and crazy you get swept down at rapid speeds on a tiny, pink tube with a butt so numb you could be dropped twenty feet and not feel a thing. In these woods you are surrounded by wild life, the sounds of nature and absolutely zero cell service. If your vehicle breaks down... Good luck. 

My family and I were spending a week in the boonies like usual and an incident happened that changed the way my family thinks of me. I'm not longer the brave older sister but a very mean sissy. My brother, who my mom and I guess was about 8 years old, and I were walking through the woods one day. We were going to join my dad while he fished. So here we are walking along and suddenly, Manny screams. A swarm of hornets covers him head to toe and I book it. Not like a casual run, but a roadrunner, cartoon, leave a dust trail, sprint out of the woods and straight into my tent kind of run. I then zipped up my tent and hollered, "Manny got stung." 

To my holler my mom responded by running to the woods and stood there in the nest trying to dust the hornets off of my brother. Suddenly, my mom is left standing there alone, confused, because my brother has just disappeared. My dad had heard my holler and came running. He saw what my mom was doing and made the decision to grab my brother and exit the hornets nest before trying to dust bees off his sweater. 

Turns out my brother is allergic to bees. His ankle swelled up to the size of a softball because his cowardly sister didn't think to grab him before she ran. 

What are you scared of? I'm sure there's something that everyone would fly out of the woods and into a tent for. 

Side note:

I'm probably not the person to ask if you need saving, especially if there are bees involved. 

Peace out party peeps. Save lives, today. I'll be hiding from bees. 

Too Much Tea, Too Little Ice

Aright amigos, I know that this post is thirty-seven minutes late, but I'm a night owl hopped up on coffee and sheer adrenaline cause I'm going home tomorrow, but here you are... A stupid story from high school.

So maybe some of you have discovered, from my previous post, that I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed but I have a good time. I am a huge fan of competition and an even bigger fan of eating competitions. It's a chance to pig out on great food, in public, while people cheer you on... Um, that's awesome. I'm totally in and usually the winner. I was in a Big Mac eating contest once, I went three rounds, it was awesome.

In my graduating year, my classmates and I were trying to raise some money so that we could go on a trip as a class to Vancouver. Every Tuesday, I think, we would sell chilli and buns with iced tea for a reasonable price to the staff and students of our school. It was a roaring success, and by that I mean, we did it twice. The last time we did it though we made way too much iced tea and didn't add enough ice or water. I'm talking like 6 extra extremely sweet pitchers of iced tea. My wise peers and I decided that we would have a contest to see who could drink the most cups of iced tea in our spare block. So we walked off to the library with books in our arms and two pitchers each. Oh, did I forget to mention that I graduated with just four people in my class, and one of those girls didn't want to go on the grad trip so it was just three of us? Yea, that's probably important information. 

So, my diaper buddy Tyler and my best friend Steph and I sat down at this small table and started our little competition. All was going well, cups were slamming on the table and laughter filled the air until the lemon and sugar started to burn and ache in our stomachs. I am really unsure of how much iced tea everyone had ingested but I know I was the leading lady with a solid thirteen cups in my belly. I'm not sure why or even when we stopped but I'm glad we did because the pain that over took us was excruciating. We all crawled to the bathrooms where my best friend puked up most of the contents and Tyler and I tried our best to empty our bladders. Tyler and I met up in the hallway where we sank to the floor holding our stomachs and groaning. Steph wandered out and told us how much better she felt while Tyler and I were discussing our wishes incase we were to die. 

We must have spent a good forty-five minutes on the hallway floor explaining to teachers why we couldn't move and how badly our bellies ached. We move, we ache; we laugh, we cry (and not a laugh so hard we cry kind of cry, an "OMG IM GOING TO DIE, kind of cry.); we talk, we laugh and thus we cry. It was a vicious cycle. The pain didn't end there though. 

My teacher whom laughed at us for being so weird and silly thought it would be great if he didn't let us go to the bathroom during class. So not only did my stomach ache but my bladder was bursting. He must have heard the story of third grade because he did finally let me use the bathroom; five minutes longer though and I swear, I would have been looking for a mop. 

It took hours for the stomach ache to wear off and months for me to be able to enjoy iced tea again but I am always down for a food devouring contest. Maybe next time I'll do root beer and burp my way into the next century? 

Tell me, what do you think I should eat or drink next and who should I do it with? 

Don't drink too much tea or add too little ice. Think happy tummies. 

Peace out party peeps.

Just a Little Piddle

Alright friends, so as promised I am posting funny stories of my childhood as a series called Throwback.
So here's embarrassingly hilarious story of Marika's childhood number one.

I think I was in the third grade when this happened but it followed me for years after. My school was about forty-five minutes away from my house. I remember the third grade as being a hard year for me. I had moved from a first, second, third grade split class to a third and fourth grade class. The teacher was strict and hard to please. I remember this day so vividly, I remember what the stinking weather was like.

So, I'm sitting in my new class room, taking a spelling test and suddenly I get the urge to go to the bathroom. I calmly put up my hand and the teacher snapped "No questions during a spelling test!" So I sat there a couple minutes thinking that I could make it a little longer. A couple moments later I raised my hand again, feeling that my bladder was about to EXPLODE and I would die, I got the same response. This time as a last ditch effort I called out, "I need to pee!!!" She told me that I needed to wait until after the spelling test. I don't know if this test was like being graded by the Queen of England or the President of the United States but this was important spelling test. Apparently it was imperative that I learn to spell 'because' at this exact moment so that I could write out the next thing that took place.

Because... My teacher would not let me march my little booty to the washroom and I was bursting at the seams I PEED MY PANTS. In the middle of 23 kids I straight up peed in class. It wasn't like just a little piddle it was like the flood gates of heaven opened up and buckets of pee were splashing underneath my tiny third grade desk. My teacher yelled "Why didn't you go to the bathroom?!" "Well ma'am, I was a little busy riding elephants??...Wait, no it was definitely because you wouldn't let me go!" All the kids in class were killing themselves laughing and I ran out of the room. My school was so far out in the boonies that it took my mom almost an hour to bring me some new pants and then take me home from school. I sat in my pee soaked pants for almost an hour while I cried big embarrassing crocodile tears in the office.

People wonder why I am so messed up... This is probably why. I was a traumatized little kid. I hope your childhood was more pleasant and less pee filled than mine, but if it wasn't, I am sorry. I sympathize with you deeply.

I also peed my pants in eighth grade, but I am NOT ready to talk about that.

Goodnight my loves.

Long Time No Chat

Hey, so I recently moved and the place I am staying had no Internet until today. So, I am sorry I have not be posting funny and troubling woes but I promise that now that I have Internet, we will be up and running again. Woo! 

This week I'm going to focus on throw backs. What does that mean you ask? Well that means that every day I will post a funny story about high school, dating and childhood. I will be home with my family on starting Thursday so I will Ben ask my mom for a story or two. 

Here's to a good week of throwbacks. Enjoy.