it's a rich girl's world

Peer out from behind a thick, leafy shelf. You have to tread carefully; an avalanche of boxes is imminent. Darting out of the way just in time to avert a crash, you spot the object of your desire. It won't escape you this time! Walking quickly now, you head in its direction, weaving through thick crowds while keeping your eyes focused on the prize.

Suddenly, you spot someone else headed in the same direction. No! This cannot be! But it's too late. Before your horrified eyes, the last package of Pogos has just been snatched up.

Sound familiar? Welcome to the excitement of grocery shopping.

To be honest, this has never happened to me. (I hate Pogos. Mystery meat and carbs, yum!) It would actually have been more exciting than what really happened- we almost had to leave behind our groceries.

Too much caviar? Nope. We'd decided to visit a different grocery store, and had arrived with a mountain of food at the checkout when we realised... it didn't take credit cards. (I mean, really. What kind of grocery store doesn't take credit?) It did take debit, but guess what? Despite the fact that she uses it all the time, my mother had forgotten her PIN. (Insert dementia joke here.)

In the end, I had to run out to the car (a 15-minute obstacle course, complete with extensive honking), find my wallet amidst the mounds of stuff and run back to the checkout, where eleven disgruntled people waited behind us.

Awkward...

On the plus side, I got to use my debit card for the first time! (At least one of us remembered her PIN.) However, it's also a little sad that my first purchase had to be groceries. I was hoping for something a little more exciting...or at least something I wouldn't want my parents seeing. (Same thing.) Has this ever happened to anyone else?

how to be a creeper

Friday, my mother and I headed out to visit my cousin, who lives about for hours away. (Plus traffic. Plus A LOT of traffic.) After this seemingly endless trip (I hate car trips. They make me feel just sleepy enough to be useless, but not tired enough to sleep, so basically I just stare out the window and drool all over the seat) we arrived at her apartment, only to find she was out.

At this point, you're probably thinking- why not just call her? The answer is simple. Unlike every other person in the developed world, we have no cellphone. (I've actually never texted. Isn't that sad? What kind of teenage girl isn't glued to her phone?) We were thus forced to stake out her apartment with no clear idea of when she'd be back.

Plus, she'd mentioned fabric shopping.

The women in my family have a tendency to get stuck in a fabric store as though it's quicksand. (I am proud to be the exception to this rule. It's the one time I can sympathise with my father's impatience about shopping.) They can wander around for hours, marvelling at patterns and colours and ribbons... that all look exactly the same to me. With this kind of pattern, I was worried she might not even be back until morning. (Who knows? Maybe she'd be so far hidden under a mountain of purchases that the security guards wouldn't see her, and would lock her in.)

Now, we did have plenty of books (a staple for car rides- actually, just a staple, period) but there's only so long you can sit in a car without getting the kind of cramps that indicate leg amputation will soon be necessary. Plus, I was worried someone was going to report us to the police. (I suppose staring at someone's door with binoculars does look a little suspicious.) Finally, we decided to go knock on her landlord's door and ask him to let us in- we'd been there before, so there was a chance he might recognise us.

A chance was not enough. He met us at the door with a glare (apparently having taken offence to our hour's creeping of his house... I wonder what he was doing that he didn't want us to see?) and didn't even give us a chance to speak before slamming the door in our noses. (I barely managed to move my toes in time.) We were forced to sit around for another hour (note to self: never eat garlic bread in the car) until my cousin finally got home... and laughed at us.

Next on the agenda: learn how to pick locks.

downtown!

The other day, in my Media Studies class, we had to hand in a photo essay. (This basically means that we got to wander around downtown for a full period!) I had wandered away from the group and was examining a phone cable. (I was just trying to be different. Creative. And really, what's more creative than a phone cable?)  

When I looked up, I saw a large group of tourists staring at me. (There are several things wrong with this. First of all, what kind of tour groups start touring before eight in the morning? That's just not right. Second, with all the places in the world, why choose here? Really, it's the most boring place on Earth. The most exciting thing that's happened in the past few years was the arrival of a new aisle at the grocery store... stocking adult diapers. You can tell this is a primarily senior community.) Several pulled out cameras; before I could react, I was blinded by their flashes (blinded by the lighttt! Does anyone else know that song?) tripped, and fell directly onto the cable, nearly strangling myself. (Why are there so many cables? Are they really necessary? Who needs phones anyway?) 

Also, it was raining. And cold. And my fingers were turning purple. 

On the bright side (haha, get it, the flashes were bright, so it's the bright side...): At least it was mostly empty, and at least  I contributed to making their vacation a little more exciting. (Also, none of them seemed to speak English, so at least no one else I know will see these photos.) And I did get a few nice shots... hopefully I get a good mark for all the trouble. (Really, if I was evaluated on effort, I would be getting the best mark in the class!)

the definition of art

I love my school. However, there are days when I wonder about the sanity of some of its denizens (myself definitely included). Just look at this photograph of a collective effort. (Or don't, if you're an art connoisseur. It might be harmful to your mental health.)

...Yeah. Aspiring artists? Maybe not so much. A little backstory: during our horseback riding class, we were shown simple ways to draw horses. This was an effort to remember them. (It's plain to see the lessons didn't really stick... and as demonstrated by the stick figure flying from a horse's back near the bottom, we didn't really stick to the horses either.)

Oh well. At least we had fun.(Other than shovelling manure. And freezing our toes off because rubber boots have no insulation. Mine turned a lovely shade of violet once.)

As for the other drawings... I have no idea. I don't think I want to know.

my first love letter

You are my life. Without you, there would be no way I could get up in the morning. Everything about you is just so wonderful. You warm me and make my heart beat faster.

Oh, caffeine. I love you so.

Coffee or tea are both equally enchanting. (I do, however, consider energy drinks your ugly cousin.) Your smell, your taste... the way you make me hyper enough to trip over my own feet and accidentally run into doors...

Okay, maybe I love that part a little less.

And the other less good part... when you spill. Because then I can't drink you! And that makes me sad. And it makes the person that I spilt you on even sadder. Although I don't know why, since then they smell good, just like you. Who wouldn't want to smell like coffee for the rest of the day? Like free perfume!

Really, he didn't have to be quite so mean about it. He knows I'm a klutz. (Let's face it, everybody from the postman I ran into with my bike to my grumpy neighbour whose flowerbed I fell into knows.) He should forgive me, and move on. (For some reason, my eyelash batting wasn't as effective... maybe it was because I wasn't wearing blue mascara?) After all, later I fell off a desk (doing an obstacle course, with my eyes closed, under your influence? BAD IDEA) and he laughed uproariously... shouldn't that have been payback enough?  But no. He still refused to help me with physics. 

I fear my heart might break.

Oh, dearest caffeine... I'll have to spend more time with you in order to console myself. (Crazy cat lady? Pfft, no. Try crazy coffee lady. Literally, because I start bouncing off walls...)