Dear Head: get ready for a toque. *Some Golden Advice*

As I sit in the mountains of BC on a quiet morning, I finally feel at peace. I think this is the calmest i've been in months, sharing a comfortable silence with my sisters man ( Who can make one helluva good cup of coffee) as we both tippy tap on our computers. I'm listening to some Ella Fitzgerald and checking some emails before I get back to my knitting.

Yesterday my sister (*The ever talented knitter) set me up to knit a toque. Up until now, I would consider myself a beginner knitter. Now i've known how to knit since I was a little kid actually. . . I might have been the first of the sisters learn actually. . . hmmm maybe... I remember learning in front of the T.V from my mothers mother while we watched her show on tv. "her show" is which ever soap opera was on at the time, generally 'all my children.' classic. I think my dad still has the hourglass shaped "scarf" I made him...

I digress.

well just because you used to be able to knit doesn't make you some expert, similar to ridding bike, once you remember it it isn't hard to pick up again. BUT...if you have forgotten then it becomes increasingly challenging to fix any errors. Yesterday, my 'toque' looked like a cat wretched on some needles. In knots and nice colours to be sure. but still. it was AWEFUL. once my sister got home from work, one look and she was busting a gutt laughing.

Yeah your gonna have to re-start

WHAT?! common this thing is a beauty!

are you kidding.

...yes?...

and with that she yanked on my needles and with a few quick tugs, my hot mess returned from whence it came and resumed its former shape as yarn.

After figuring out that instead of pearling a pearl-like stitch, I was in fact SUPER pearling. (ie- adding stitches every single time as well as the ones that were meant to be there) and actually counting how many of each stitch i was doing, I found myself with the beginin's of a little toque.

Yesterday was spent relaxing after my 11 hour bus ride. Woof.

Of course the bus trip went like most do, very full, too packed, I found by my side a chatty cathy and he and I talked for most of the ride. I shared snacks with the girl behind me. It turns out she was from O town originally, moved to mtl then to Vancity and is headed back to O town for christmas! talk about a loooong ride. We swapped seat partners and giggled and munched and tried and failed at sleeping. We even made playlists of music for eachother, awesome bus ride.

So as I sit here and relax, I will pause and wait until tomorrow to write about vancouver.

I'll leave you with a little nugget of wisdom I got from a guy on the bus.

(When discussing dressing comfortably and general bus life)

"Dont try and impress anyone on a bus. Even if you smell a little funky...You wanna look like the stabber; not the stab-E"

- a gentleman and a scholar.

Greasy cheeseburger stranger love.

It was those dumb brown eyes. looking up at you like "yeah. yeah I did. I took a dump right beside the mat that you specifically laid out for me to use." My room-mates Pug would look up at me and blink in that sort of weird cute pug face that melts your heart. Because everytime he did that it ment that you still had to pick up crap off the floor and clean it and thus to fail, became "shitting beside the mat" IE - "Aw nerds I forgot to pick up beer on the way home! I am just shitting beside the mat right now!"

Anyways - Thursday morning before my flight to Van, I was just shitting beside the mat.

I had a moment, standing on the bathroom floor, about to take a shower, standing still and looking at my reflextion and thinking that one little word that we all go to when we are truely and utterly ----ed. I need to be AT the airport in an hour, im not showered or packed, nor do I have a ride. F^@%.

To my surprise I returned to my room post shower and threw in a few last minute essentials into my case. Luckly it is Friday and I am not noticing anything huge that i've forgotten. Boyfriend is a hero and left work to drive me to the airport which was really wonderful of him and it was a breeze threw the airport security and what not. My dad has told me since I was born that i have some kind of inexplicable luck. or "horseshoes up the arse" he calls it.

Once past secruity, I was looking for a quick place to grab some grub without blowing my already minimal travel budget. turning away from Wolfgang Puck's restaurant I was greeted by Burger King. nethier options that I was particularily willing to entertain. Turning back into look for a menu at wolfgang pucks, I collided with another diner on his way in. We chuckled and apologized and schuffled sideways. "Whatddu think?" he asks me. "Meh, it seems ...okay"... I answered.

we chatted a little and decided that it would be a burger king kind of day. After waiting in line together, I found that my new friend was from Nanaimo BC and had been travelling from south africa through dubai for the past two days. I asked for the time and realized that I had to board in fifteen minutes! My new friend insisted on paying for my cheese burger. I looked at him and said "thank you friend. truly, it was so nice to meet you." and he looked at me and said "K, it was so nice to know you, if only for a minute. Merry Christmas and happy holidays!" and with that I clutched my cheeseburger and we parted ways with two huge smiles. Life feels good.

I told my lady the story when she picked me up from the airport "How do you always find them?! those nice people? they flock to you or something"

I think it might be karma again, last week I bought a stranger at my school a printing card cause he didnt have the cash and needed to print a project. karma is delicious <3

Okay Vancouver, here we are! show us what you got!

Katie Mai; Queen of the gingerbread rodeo

For years decorating gingerbread houses had been a tradition in my family. Every year my mother would go nutts making gingerbread house pieces from a stencil set she made and had the kids of our families and friends come over and make a house.

with an assortement of bon bons in bowls, dishes and cups - our houses looked like a comparable miniture Willy Wonka factories.

Eventually the kids would hit a peak and the delicate balances would tip from excited to sugar high and concentration was brought to a screetching halt once a roof slid off or a cookie broke.

Then it was the parents turn. Mum's took the cookies and laughed as they decorated and dad's suddenly became architechts, using tooth picks as supplies and playing with the consistancy of the icing to acheive better adhision.

times were simpler then.

my class made ginger bread houses for class last week and well just say. . . it wasn't my first rodeo. . .

after the making of the dough, rolling it out, cutting out peices, baking and shaping them to fit better together, we made our royal icing. Right away I knew that I had to play my cards right, these little cookie houses can get the best of you and knock the holly jolly out of some newbies. But I know the tricks.

Slowly I start construction by forming the front of my house to one of the side walls. while being a somewhat easy peice to put together, I took this time to re-enforce it and all its sides. this is to be my foundation. assembling the other side wall and back piece were the next challenges.

ppfffttt challenges for some. I sat patiently holding my four sides of my house while I let the Glue- ICING ... I mean icing ...set.

Rule #1 of gingerbread houses - be. patient.

Around me people were racing to finish first, in the blink of an eye the roofs were up before the walls were dry and just like that. . .

the walls started to fall. without fail, like i knew they would. shrieks and cries of horror and dismay errupted one by one as new home owners and builders begged for the use of an extra hand nearby or for a solution as to why there candycane mansions were all but ruins.

A girl beside me became enraged and slammed her fists into the table and smashed her house. the cookies didnt break but the house was ...well the house was a mound of icing and cookies.

pouting and angry she stared at the house. The house didn't take kindly to death glares and would prove to be a bother until its untimely demise. (*in the end the house was assaulted with fists full of rainbow nerds. If hippies and weirdoes lived in gingerbread houses, this would be the one. One giant candy acid trip with crazy windows with every wall slanted. Holding your breath just looking at it fearing that breathing would knock it down. Later it was infact, knocked down and ultimately thrown with passionate contempt, into the garbage. )

Across from me a young women said "well common now we just have to wait and let it dry" her house was drying fine but she was making one of the oldest mistakes in the book.

LOADING up the roof before it was even on the house. Peppermint bonbons side by side allllll over.

Lemmie tell you why this is a mistake.

1) its hard to keep candies nice when your hands are full of icing pushing all up on 'em.

2) your house cannot support this weight.

3) YOUR HOUSE CANNOT SUPPORT THIS WEIGHT.

sadly I watches as her wall too, collapsed with a sigh under the weight of the candied roof. she laughed in good spirits and I giggled too until I began to put my roof together. Although it wasn't candy heavy, it was. . . well. . . okay lets just say its good im not into archetecture, blue prints or house making of the real variety. . .

My roof fit the sides of my house fine but running ontop my roof, between the two pieces was a gap big enough for about the width of three pieces of licorice. Whats worse was how pourly my chimney was fitting ( or not fitting) on my roof (or pieces of a roof that let in alot of. . .well sky) knowing that this was going to be a big mark losing snafu, I took one of the extra strips i had cut and baked and placed it on top. (* i've learned that baking little ginger bread style band-aids will save your caboose when gingerbread housing) So with the roof sealed up, chimney (*or chimbley as I like to call them) hideously attached but stable, I looked at my house.

Rule #2 about ginger bread houses. - Beauty is always secondary to stability. Once a house is stable and sterdy, you can decorate the living baby cheese out of that tasty abode.

Rule #3 about ginger bread houses - Candy can hide all mistakes.

Looking at the chimney, I patched up the heinous gap where the roof didnt actually meet the chimney (...at all) with a peppermint yumyum and another on the back.

My decorating continued and the rest of my house was (in my opinion) innovative and what I could call "candy chic". this lil baby got me an A. queen of the gingerbread rodeo.

Bleh why am I so sick?!

Yesterday I felt really bad, walking out of the room to go to class i had on my chef pants, my jacket completely undone sunglasses on. I felt almost faded. eyed half closed even though it was past noon. fighting this wierd alergy/sickness thing that i've had for 90% of my time down here and my stomach is making some weeeeird noises. (*even now the next day im sitting in bed and cant breathe and my throat feels like its being ripped apart.)I guess thats what you get for only ingesting exclusively Coffee and Blue gatorade so far. Oh well off to chocolate class we go! Wheeeee! one of these days im gonna look back and think wow. what the F*&k was i doing to my body in my twenties.

Ah yes. a young broke sick culinary student. Livin the dream.

I will get better. i have to. yoga today - NO farting.

EColi: A Love Story

This is a true story that I wrote for a class project.

Enjoy and Laugh.

For Chef Pattie

E.Coli: A Love Story.

Most people would agree that few things in life are as sweet as a long weekend. The much anticipated, waited for and dreamed about days off when plans for just about any activity can become a reality. This long weekend that just passed was to be my very first American thanksgiving. Bring on the red white and blue, I had been baking pies for days before hand to dish out to friends and family to show my support of a crazy thanksgiving that was (In my Canadian opinion) one month late. The morning of turkey day, the boyfriend and I woke up and decided that today was a day to not break our fast but to wait in anticipation for the turkey awaiting us later. We helped around one household, fixing things and what not. Said our goodbyes and headed over to a friends house, from there we were on to the main event. I was so hungry at this point in time that I literally feared for the life of anyone who was brave or stupid enough to come between me and that plate of mashed potatoes. Diner was a success, both my pies were inhaled and we left for the comforts of our beds pumped full of tryptophan and gravy thinking that this was the American dream. Little did we know what was waiting for us around the corner . .

The next day was beautiful. The weather was perfect and I was beyond pleased to find myself at the end of November and still in shorts. I re-potted some plants as boyfriend replaced the breaks on my car. I hopped on my strand cruiser and peddled down to the old Taco shop “Poncho’s Taco’s” just around the corner. Knowing what my honey likes, I ordered one carne asada burrito with everything on it for him and one carne asada taco for little old me to go. I peddled back on home and surprised boyfriend with a Mexican lunch to compliment our-oh so American dinner. We sat together and ate and lounged in the warm sun and relished the thoughts that we still had a whole two and a half days off.

Saturday night we decided to have a BBQ. We invited three other couples over and I spent much of the night playing with our friend’s three-year-old daughter. After we ate and watched a little football, it was decided that we would go over to one of the couples houses to play a few drinking games. Having just started feeling the glorious pains that come every month with being a woman, I decided to be the designated driver and not drink. I sat on the couch reading a magazine, writhing in pain when one of our friends came into the room “Hey – Johnny just threw up!” I sprung to my feet and met him in the kitchen. He looked fine and said, “Yeah dude. That was so weird but I feel fine now.” We decided that he would play one more round of beer pong and then we would call it a night. I had just sat down on the couch and resumed my magazine – cramps combo when he came back into the room. His face was pale as he looked at me, “Can we leave soon? Please? Like . . . now?” Not feeling so hot myself, I was more than happy to go. I made a quick round to say goodbye and we got into the car. On the way home we discussed why John could be feeling so sick. “I really don’t think it was the beer.” He said, he had only had maybe four beers since the beginning of the BBQ and for a man of his size (6’2, 190lbs) that was nothing. We got back to the house and retreated to our backyard bachelor room and lay down. Me on the bed, him on the couch. I began to feel nauseous. Trying to focus my attention on anything that wouldn’t make me vomit, I began to have those all too familiar telltale signs that I might at any given time, spew my cookies. Every texture around me made me queasy. The paint on the wall looked too much like cottage cheese (Which makes me uncomfortable on a good day), the duvet was too soft and wavy. Finally I focused on a photograph with a dock sitting in the water. “Babe? I think… I think…I’m gonna-…” and with that my boyfriend dashed across the room, nearly ripped the doors off the hinges and vaulted into the backyard to unleash a stream of projectile vomit into the garden. Snapping out of my ill daze for a moment, I ran to him with water and tissue and coo-ed softly hoping to make him feel better. Back and forth and back and forth he went, couch to garden, couch to garden.

My mind was a mess trying to source out what could possibly be making my poor boy sick. I slipped on my detective’s hat and began to investigate and look at the facts. It couldn’t have been the beer. He and his friends had not been drinking a lot and I know that he can hold his alcohol. Even if it was the beer, there is no way that he would be THIS sick. Beer was out. Maybe it was from thanksgiving? Turkey? or perhaps the stuffing? No, I had spoken to his sister today and no mention of anyone else being sick. Turkey day was not the culprit. Horror filled my head at the thought that maybe WE had made people sick with the BBQ! My thoughts went right away to the three year old girl. If she ate beef that was undercooked and contaminated with E.Coli, she could be very VERY sick. Still, nobody else was sick but him. My nausea returned. My breathing was very heavy and my heart started beating out of my chest. I was salivating too. Very unlike normal menstrual cramps. Suddenly, a light bulb came on. “John . . . I’ll put 100 bucks on E. Coli… and I hate to tell you this baby but the worse is yet to come.”

He blinked at me a few seconds, confused about what I had just said and fighting the urge to purge. “What?” he said. I explained “ it all makes sense now. I’m not in pain from my cramps, I’m sick with it too. E. Coli can live in your body for a while before it produces toxins in your intestines! It was Poncho’s. Poncho’s stupid bloody tacos honey! It has to be! Poncho’s tacos, is the only food that you and I exclusively ate this weekend. With no one else getting sick, that’s got to be it! We both had the carne asada. You are throwing up and I’m pretty close – both symptoms of E.Coli! The only thing missing is- ” John bolted for the door. This time he ran inside the house, to the bathroom and slammed the door. “ – Diarrhea…”

E. Coli is found primarily in beef, whether it was time/temperature abused or cross contaminated is unclear but the facts were in and I was positive. E.coli. It made sense as to why he was so much sicker than me. While I ate a taco the size of my hand, he ate a burrito the size of a new born. My poor man crawled out of the bathroom long enough to say “Baby, I think I need to camp in here for the night. You should go back to bed.” And with that he quickly retreated to expel the demons within, though from which end I’m not entirely sure. I grabbed some blankets and made haste in making a sort of floor nest type thing. John crept to the floor nest and shivered with cold. Knowing that his body was fighting the sickness, I waited until I was in a happy place of cramping but not nauseous and I ran back to our room for supplies. I returned to my shivering sweetheart on the floor and covered him with more blankets. Not wanting to be touched of cuddled (Understandably) I lay down beside him and waited for the storm to pass. Trailing his favorite blanket like a cape, my 4-year-old boy in a 23 year olds body went back and forth to the bathroom all night. Once he got back he would huddle on the floor like a turtle or in the fetal position curled up with his head under the blankets. I stayed awake all night with him and near 4 o clock in the morning he seemed to catch a break. He could sit still for ten straight minutes without having to wretch from ether direction. I looked him over checking for his coloring; knowing that E. Coli can in severe cases, cause Kidney failure. I knew that jaundice wouldn’t set in that fast but I was taking no chances.

From under the blankets in the fetal position, a hand crept out from the dark.

“Thank you for staying with me all night babe. I love you so much” the whisper said. In the dark of the morning, with dawn still a dream away; my eyes watered a little as I clutched his hand. “Of course my darling, I would never leave. I love you and I think the worst is behind you now.” By six o’clock in the morning, my Johnny bug was able to move back to our bed. Thankfully I had nothing more than some warning signs on vomiting and some gnarly business from my behind so I remained vigilant as his nurse. We slept from six am until ten and I got up to begin the healing process. He told me how badly his body was hurting. I knew that he would need rest and that even if his stomach was sensitive and weak, it would need something to start to feel better. Hot chicken broth, water and a little ginger ale were slowly ingested and to my relief- kept down. The next few hours were a mix of my driving around looking for the staples – more soup and not the gross ones found in the cupboard that had been there since the birth of the time, Gatorade – specifically the lemon-lime, crackers, bingo and crossword scratchers etc. Once I got home and we were together again cuddled in bed with scratchers, Gatorade, soup and movies, I asked boyfriend a serious question. “How long since you pooped before getting sick? Maybe once right?” -Right he said. I wondered how easy it would be to take a stool sample and check if I was right.

Later on that day, while we were inside, we found out that another member of the family has slept a sleepless night on the bathroom floor with the exact same symptoms – after eating poncho’s tacos. What was so scary is that she has a two-year-old boy. I shudder to think what would have happened had he eaten the sickening meat. I wrote down the number to this taco place and looking forward to calling and ripping a new one into whoever it was who let this sickness ruin our long weekend. Even though it brought Johnny and I together to fight something gnarly this weekend was still pretty awesome. But I wont be telling them that.

“Babe I was Sh&%$ing and barfing everywhere. I can’t believe you love me this much” – Boyfriend

The Dangers of Downward facing Dog.

Being broke as a joke, I decided that a great way to spend what little money I have would be to get a gym pass. this makes sense to me because

A) if I have no cash and cant go out I should at least do something productive.

B) the whole "work out at home" has more often than not turned into couch marathons coupled with a variety of counter productive snacks.

and C) I am not doing a month to month thing and because all of our friends go there and I bought a two year membership at costco for way cheaper.

SO. . . last friday I went to yoga.

Now i enjoy yoga, I like the feeling I like the moving, the breathing, the whole shi-bang and I feel great afterwards. During however I look like a monster. I am wearing some kind of old t-shirt, huffing and puffing - concentrating on my breaths, red faced and shaking trying to hold a pose. I dont mean to be lude. . . but it looks like whatever difficult position your in, your trying to take a big poo.

I digress.

So friday was nice, it was a slower class and not only did i look like I was not trying to defecate, but I was much more confident in my poses and was looking less and less at the instructor. To my left was my friend down here, a born and raised So Cal babe and to my right was this lady. Now im not one to be stereo typical but this lady seemed to be the idea of LA to me. I was in total awe.

Wearing a violet velour track suite (* for my fellas reading this, thats like an almost velvet material) with rhinestones and what not on it, she had looong yellow blonde hair which was about as real as Pere Noel and some shirt rockets that would get Dolly Parton looking twice.

my favourite part of yoga is that one move where you go from lying on your back to rolling back onto your shoulders and putting your legs straight up into the air. You spread into the splits, you split into scissors. . . you. . .

oh for the love of. . .

are you. . .

are you kidding me?!

sweet baby cheeses!

LA lady beside me is doing all these twisty leg things ON HER HEAD.

full on head stand using her forearms as a base around her head, just bending around like Betty Spaghetti. Eyes closed, not givin a hoot. once she was done that and with half an hour still left in class, she gets up, rolls up the yoga matt and leaves.

Now that was incredible but what really got me was that the whole time she was there, her Tah- Tahs never moved at all! standing up, lying flat, twisting and literally upside down, the sweater puppies showed un believable amounts of discipline.

After her mini circe de soleil act, we normal people went back to our average yoga.

Ahhhhhh one of the best stretches is the downward facing dog. this means that you make almost a triangle with the floor in that your hands and feet are planted, butt straight up in the air and you streeeetch out.

*Grumble*

. . . what was that. . .

ruuuuuummmmbbbbllleeee

. . oh dear lord. . .

*GuRggggGGlle*

oooohhh boy. . .

And with that, my light dinner had resurfaced as light gas. I can feel this fart building behind my butt cheeks and all of a sudden "keeping my gluts contracted" had a whoooole other meaning.

I glanced around the room of my zen minded class mates and began to think.

it was clear that I could NOT hold this little fire ball in but timing was of the essences. If i acted too boldly and let loose the demon... AND if at that point in time and the fart gods curse me with a loud wet one. . . well I would die of embarrassment. But I couldn't just keep it in!. . . could I wait until we had a position where my arse wasn't trying to kiss the ceiling slash pose as an immediate threat to the air supply?

I decided to be bold. While still in downward facing dog, with the light sounds of rain forrest CD playing, I carefully let the first grasps of my fart out. no shreiking. no air escaping a balloon. . . nothing. safety. with relief and control I let my fart out swiftly and thankfully silently.

at the end of the class as our instructor spoke softly to us during our meditation she encouraged us to think about what it is today in our lives that we are thankful for.

I was thankful for silent farts.

bleh

Dear Guy sitting in my class who annoys the crap outta me,

I dont know why you are in this class and frankly I dont care. However, I find it rude and disrespectful that you sit in front of me, tilt your head back and snooze.

Now I understand how tired we students are, I myself am stressed out to the eyeballs and maybe I would have a little more compassion if you tried a little harder. But you sit in class, waste everyones time with your stupid comments that NEVER contribute to discussion and then SNORE when you sleep.

Do you have any idea what it took to get me down here and into this school? Do you know that I am literally BLEEDING money. For you to take this class is 36$ US a unit. I pay 260$us a unit. I can't get a job and am living off the tail end of a loan. So dont sit there like a complete moron and waste my time and money.

You are rude and inconsiderate.

Wooooooof good I had to get that off my chest.

I = stress ball.

I dont have inspiration to write more, im sorry bloggity blog, I thought I had more but im tapped already for the day.

later gater

misskayteamai and the big bad free way

I feel like the seasons are changing. Or as much as I imagine and can confirm that they do if fact fluctuate a little in SoCal. Im driving on the free way and on purpose because I choose to and not because I got lost and confused . . .which is good!

I am feeling better around my surroundings and am starting to really feel that close bond with friends from school. . .the kind of bond that always reminds me of the breakfast club?

I get these feelings like "oh man I should blog about this or write this down as like a story of my life" (Not that I think my life is worth reading for over others I just feel like if I have a story about every time and chapter in my life then ill never forget them and thats somehow comforting to me. weird huh? ) anyhoo.

Im feeling good about it.

Im heading to a new place this weekend that i've never been and im very excited about it. apparently I can get a humongus and awkward to eat burritto so Im looking forward. always forward.

I started an account that I put pictures up in its called instagram and if you care to follow the photos of mine, my name is the one in the title of this entry : misskayteamai

nestle is bad

yuck. keep this in mind while buying halloween candies.

do not buy anything from nestle. bad bad bad

http://www.cultureunplugged.com/documentary/watch-online/festival/play/4809/The-Dark-Side-of-Chocolate

Zombie Survival Plan.

So this week i've had to come to terms with an irrational fear that I have of those Lifeless sacks of flesh called zombies.

Now generally I can deal with scary movies (*As long as I look through my fingers) and I am pretty capable of dissuading myself into believing that the chances of being attacked by a serial killer or in the fashion of some SAW movie (*which I have never seen nor do I plan to - I firmly believe that ignorance in this case is bliss.) is statistically one in a million. - I also use this reverse affect when it comes to buying things while shopping. . .*Sigh*.

So Man and I sat down and watched season 1 of The Walking Dead on netflix.

Mistake.

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THAT SHOW?! The first four minutes went something like this:

Babe- you are gonna LOVE this show. trust me

mmm i Dunno. . .I still . . .auh. . . I like zombies but . . . okay lets try.

*Two minutes later*

NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO F*%$ING WAY. sorry. you can watch this alone.

aaaaand thats all I saw of episode one.

Man continued to watch epi two and I read my book and listened to music in the other room. With man feeling under the weather, he stayed in bed all day. Taking this rare opportunity to cuddle the living bezeejus out of him (*Who is constantly on the go moving moving moving) and let my nursing instincts kick in. Toast with a little butter, Ginger ale, assortment of crackers.

Wanting to spend time with him. I stayed for episode three.

By the end of the season, my head was nothing but a blur of "What if"s "Holy Sh!t"s and a lot of "ohmigawdd we are all gonna die once this thing goes down". (*Thing = zombie apocalypse clearly)

That night was beyond sleepless. If I got a total of two hours I will be very surprised.

every sound outside - Zombies.

Rustle of an animal in the tree - Zombies climbing over fences to eat me.

Silence - Zombies staring at me through the window thinking about how pink and creative my brain must taste like and how they would like to eat it or maybe fry it up with some farva beans and a nice bottle of chianti. . . Some times I let myself get carried away.

I was upset for the first time in my life over not knowing how to assemble and fire a gun. and I mentally kicked myself for not asking my parents to put me into archery as a child or ask for a cross bow for christmas (*re-useable amo, smart right?)

After some furious texting to my support crew back home, someone thankfully sent me a very helpfull link that I will post belong to quelle your fears too.

I rolled over to him who was sort of awake after all my uncomfortable shifting in bed.

- hey. are you awake?

mummble mummble bleh? mummble

okay perfect. heres the plan. zombie-pocolipse - we get your gun. get on the motorcycle and head straight for Canada. Zombies freeze.

mummble mummble wha? mummble

Okay or Arizona, they cant stand heat. THEN Canada.

mummble okay canada, arizona.

Did you lock the doors?!

are you serious right now?

. . . maybe. . .

*SIGH*

okay fiiiine im scared. im terrified and i haven't slept all night. IF they are real and they come don't let me be one. get it over with before and make sure to take care of me first cause you know you have to shoot them int he head and destroy the brain and i don't think i could do that to you, you know i'm not that strong of a person, I would really freak out about it and I just cant handle that kind of...

goodnight K.

Now that I have formulated A zombie plan, went through the house and backyard and found everything that would be a good weapon and how to use them. I feel okay.

Next for the time: Paranormal Activity 2.

whyyyy do I put myself through this?! . . . I wonder how receptive the other watchers would be to maybe watching Cloudy with a chance of meatballs instead. . .

http://www.cracked.com/article_18683_7-scientific-reasons-zombie-outbreak-would-fail-quickly.html

justice and equality for all muffins.

last night i did something ive never done before. prepare to be ultra mega impressed with my ferociousness and vigilance.

Last night in class was muffin making. wa-flippin-who right? anyways. Upon making the blueberry muffins (*Of which the recipe i was not pleased with. Not that they were gross but im a gall who likes to see some rise and volume on a muffin.) anyways, not wanting to stick to plain blueberry i scoured around to see what else could get thrown into the mix. walnuts-yes. ginger-yes. d-lish!

so the muffins are a bakin away and we take them out and they look great and taste good. time to get us some grades on these bad boys!

the class (all done within pretty close times) clamour around chef "check this, eat this grade thiiiis!" we whine like baby birds.

he looks at mine. "blueberry ginger and walnut chef" intrigued, he rips off a top and tastes. "a little too dry" 8/10. okay well 80% isnt baaad. not what I wanted but i understand.

I confer with my three other group members.

to my astonishment, they all got between 9 and 9 2/3 .

WHAT THE BLOG!? I marched back to the chef.

"Chef? . . . what the hell?. . . why did i get an 8 and they got 9 somthins?!"

"yours was dry."

"okay but we all used the same batter in the same tins for the same time. we baked them all together. there is NO way that one of them is baked more than the others. "

It turns out he didnt even taste the rest of the groups.

"Chef you only tasted mine because it had ginger in it. Its not fair. "

further arguing.

finally he pooled our grades and gave us all an even 9.

I walked out feeling so brave. 90% is better than 80% for suuuure!

muffin equality is all I ask.

Car is broken again.shock. and its the power stearing. again. which is a huuuge frustration for me because i am again without wheels. last night he came and picked me up in a work truck. A big diesel truck with a flat bed capable of moving ungodly amounts of stuff. this thing was a mini monster truck.

"Okay you drive this home and ill drive your car"

terror.

the rumble of that cars engine sounded like an angry dog chewing rocks. I was so high up that my feet could reach the peddles but if i wasnt touching them, were dangling. I whooped and hollered in the truck when i was all alone and mad crazy noises as I was diving. It was awesome. I felt like i was riding in a transformer. mooooove plebeians, out of me waaay!

90%, equality and a monster truck ride. awesome.

A Plead for Normal's sake.

hello hello helllloooo,

I think this might be the first blog that im writing to you in particular, whoever is reading this. As of late, nearly every single one of my posts has prompted the "Are you okay?" 's, the " I read your blog, you sound sad" or the "lets talk about it".

People pleeeease.

Please dont think that for one minute I dont appreciate the concern because I do but honestly. . .

This is life.

Sometimes you feel bad an sometimes you feel great. I use this blog as a place to rant and rave about whatever I feel like. Its your decision to read it. Please dont think that I dont want you to read it because I obviously do but take what I say with a grain of salt.

Arguments- happen. Bad days - Happen.

Your allowed to feel sad sometimes and happy others and just plain bananas if thats how you feel.

Life.Goes.On.

I havent changed who I am and if I had been writing a blog like this three years ago im sure it would sound very similar.

So please dont be concerned when you read these entries. I dont want to stop writing or have to get a new blog or sensor the things I write about because I know ill get a back lash from people.

I'm Fine.

Im cruising the path of life right now whatever bumps and bruises I get along the way ARE OKAY.

Trust me. If I really need help, the people who are near and dear to my heart will hear about it.

I believe in myself to get said self through.

I believe even more strongly in my family and friends who will be there for me when I cant.

Cammon y'all lets just have a good time. So unless I call crying or post something outright insane. . . im okay. okay enough to write about it and share it.

trust me

Choose the Choice of Choosing ( Vitamin D-lightful )

Im pretty interested in right now.

im sitting in bed, lap top on lap. Bottom of my jaw sticking out a little, lips pouting and shifting my squinty eyes side to side.

Im thinking. pondering. I am trying to choose my choice.

lets kick it one time shall we?

Sooo last night wasnt great. this morning things were a little better. A heat wave has struck Southern California and unlike my usual october months back home, I find myself sitting in a tshirt and shorts, my skin slightly damp with sweat. Now, I finished my midterm on tuesday for the class i have on tuesday and thursday so I have today off. . . It is a Gorgeous day outside and im in here moping. . .

BUTTTTT. . . . I could just as easily not mope about. . . right?

Its my choice. MY choice. and frankly I dont feel like wasting this day. . . I could so easier do it. throw a movie on a ignore the world. . . orrr. . .

woah woah hold on.

amazing.

as if some que from a movie had happened, the highschool marching band down the street strikes up a tune.

making every move I make EPIC.

I walk inside, have my halfcupofcoffee poop (* okay lets not be bashful here we all have them ) and strut back outside to finish my other half cup of coffee, finish off my morning bowl and decide to choose.

I choooose to be happy. Arguments happen. fact. But im not going to let it ruin my day. how insulting is that to a gorgeous day? Some people dont even HAVE another day. some people are Inside BEGGING to be outside. Who am I do turn down a day like today or any day really? I've been given another day. wow.

*Que epic music high point.

you know what. im gonna hang out for a little while and enjoy bed (*its only 8am so i am validating that.) and then, whenever i feel like it. im gonna slather on my second skin (SPF 30 or higher. who are we kidding here) pack a bag and bike to the beach. im gonna bring a towel and my book and a ten dollar bill and see what adventure I end up with.

I choose to be happier.

what choice are you choosing to choose?

Dark chocolate problems with a Lemon Zinger

A week ago I could have been institutionalized. I looked the part.

The kitchen is a mess - Bowls and cups and spoons lay scattered and abandoned on one side looking like a cooking pantry monster the size of Godzilla (*well proportionately to a spoon of course) just lay waste to them,cream cheese, flour, sugar, eggs, cocoa powder, baking soda and powder all thrown like a tornado had hit.

a mixer on the counter with lemon cup cake batter in it, sitting patiently to be poured and baked

while I stood there trying not to cry, in my "attract the lads" attire - ie. sweatpants and bruce springsteen T.

The brownies i had taken out of the oven, where ruining me. I cant put it more plainly than that. thinking about the ordeal now makes me debate about getting a little drink before I go on.

First off, they didn't look as good as i wanted. with hopes of creating the look of marbled cream cheese into top of the brownies but with no recipe, I relied on my cunning wit and problem solving skills to make it happen. - mistake #1.

First of all, when you do that marbling effect, you have the dark and the white batters together and then take a tooth pick and drag it up and down your goo in lines going alternate directions.

Well see an important piece of that puzzle is that the two goos have to be of the same consistency or else you'll have an awful go at it. - that right there? mistake #2.

So with what was supposed to be an elegant looking "oh my miss may how did you do that?" turned into " Ah crap. ms may whhhyyyy did you dooo thhhhaaattt?!"

my lines looked just like this -> /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\. Blarg.

But I decided that once I baked it, I would just cut them diagonally and then use the mistake as a sort of chic looking design and absolutely not some covered up mistake. . .

After taking them out of the oven, I feel the top, okay we want fudgey and its still soft so

"Weeee haaave FUDDDDGGGGEYYYYY!" ( I said out loud to myself in my best Oprah voice)

*flip the pan and try to take them out.*

jiggle jiggle jiggle

Jiggly Jiggle Jiggle

Aggressively Jiggle

Okkkkkay no problem-o they are just stuck to the pan. ill cut around the edges and pop goes the weasel, they should be out.

after cutting the edges of my brownies with surgical like skills, i grab both ends of the parchment paper underneath and begin lifting the brownies out of the pan and onto the counter. (Mistake #3) And then it happened.

slowly I saw them. Fissures cracking and splitting my master piece ( well mostly masterpiece). Inside them i could see what every baker dreads. goo. wet.goo.

*PaNiC*

I would say that the brownies were about 75% cooked maybe even 80% baked but unfortunately. that doesn't cut it.

I talk to myself while i'm baking and the next few minutes went something like this:

no

no

no

NO

NO

NO!

Are you kidding me?

are you serious right now?!

COMMON! WHAT THE EFF IS YOUR PROBLEM BROWNIES?!

wwwwhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

no non ononononononononono

*outraged cry*

- at this point to put something back in the oven would be kind of redundant. they will not reach the optimal baking temp again and especially since they have been removed and partially cooled.

But I had to try.

While I was letting the brownies cool before starting on this adventure, I had filled the cupcake tins with the lemon cupcakes (*Also a new recipe i was trying) and had put them in the oven. So I popped the door open and threw the brownies back in. looking somewhat like the grand canyon from a topical map. only made with dark chocolate and espresso.

The timer for the cupcakes goes off and they look heavenly. little lemon angels perfectly shaped and perfectly springy and over all awesome.

brownies still look like goo.

It feels like days are going by as I stair into the oven willing the brownies to magically fix themselves. Time passes until I think to myself that I might as well take them out and salvage what I can out of them before I have burnt sides.

I take them out and to my relief, they look . . . less. . . gooey.

while staring at the pan I figure out that logically, these are going to be hideous anyway I cut them.

Any way I cut them. . . cut them cut them cut them. . . Lightbulb.

I scour the kitchen that isn't mine and clearly inhibited by only men until I find it. A Shot glass.

looking at my mess of dark chocolate espresso brownies, I gulp and hold my breath.

Flipping the shot glass over, I used the open end to cut out little circles of brownie.

Oh. mah. gawd. Its working. . . I began popping out these little baby bite size brownies ...that didn't look half bad! Sweet baby cheeses this might just save me.

after an hour of painstakingly cutting out little brownie circles and i'll admit it, frankenstein-ing some pieces together. I had a batch of brownies.

I whipped up a quick cream cheese frosting for the cupcakes, packed the fail proof dip that I made earlier and headed off to the party.

Upon my arrival, I set up my dip in a nice bowl, my brownies on a cute plate. I iced my cupcakes and threw a few little yellow sprinkles on top. turning around with my cupcakes, I see another women walking in, plate in hand. of cupcakes.

Lemon cupcakes.

we look at each other and at our competition cakes.

Oh lady IT IS ON. I said with my eyes as I smiled sweetly. somehow that came out as "those look great!"

We set them side by side and she looked at me. half joking and half threatening "well, I guess we'll just have to leave it to the ladies and have a taste test now wont we?"

those words in the baking world mean war. it might as well have been two french men deciding to duel asking "Pistols or swords"

"yes I guess we will" I smiled.

This women had what I would call "the grandma's advantage" in that she was older. Which through the laws of delicious cooking generally means that she should have the upper hand, for grandmas are usually the master of tasty treats.

"OH MY GOD WHAT ARE THESE PIECES OF HEAVEN?!" someone shrieked behind me.

I turned to see a gaggle of women surrounding the food like hens on corn kernels.

"IN-(a word that rhymes with Buck)-ING-CREDIBLE." said another.

the cause of the commotion - my brownies.

*Sigh* ^_^

at the end of the night I left, my plate of brownies empty accept for the crumbs and people asking me to make them for the next party, one lady even offering to pay me to make more.

My plate of cupcakes were significantly lower in numbers too that of my competition.

I walked slowly and calmly to the bathroom.

Locked the door.

And threw down the more outrageous victory dance the NFL has never seen.

come sit with me my darling my darling,

come sit with me in the rain.

and let the rain wash over you charming,

whispers of home once again.

my feet are wet dear sweetheart dear sweetheart

dry earth begins to sigh.

soft raindrops kissing my toes in the grass

and a happier lady am I.

come sit with me my darling my darling,

come sit with me in the rain.

and let the rain wash over you charming,

whispers of home again.

leap in the puddles my honey my honey

lift your arms to the sky

twirl all about, dance and shout

face covered in kisses from up high.

I stand in the rain my love O my love,

clothes soaked clear through to the bone

a smile sits, on little lips

and I feel not quite so alone.

Come sit with me my darling my darling,

come sit with me in the rain.

and let the rain wash over you charming,

whispers of home again.

Stranded.

I feel like a hostage.

my car is broken. Which I admit makes me sound like every SoCal princess on the block but seriously. I do.

long story short, a ladder fell off the back of some *curse word*'s truck because the moron clearly didn't know how to properly tie down something that is basically only a structure with a zillion different possibilities of how to . . . sorry angry rampage. must quell...urge...to...pull out...hair.

Sooo as this thing comes hurdling down the freeway, I foresee the trajectory going riiiight threw my windshield and possibly through my frontal lobe.

My heart is in my throat as luckily my beast of a car pounces on the stupid ladder like a lioness on prey.

Seeing as my car is old, well go with " pounces on the stupid ladder like a grandma wearin slippers would pounce on rice pudding" even though i've always fancied Chocolate.

I digress.

So now, once again. I am virtually a hostage. In a place that I could scarcely figure my way around in as is.

Once again i've had to resort to begging for rides to school. Missing one class can be means of dismissal im told. weeellllll I cant do much about this one. I've called in my favours and even asked friends of friends.

Seems like everyone has things to do and there own lives to attend to (*The nerve. ok I joke)

This past weekend included a little chunk of crying. Okay a decent sized chunk of crying. I've felt since moving down here that, although I know that I did it for the right reasons, I've never felt so alone. With him working everyday and sometimes on the weekends, I'm virtually left alone most of the time. Not that I can't entertain myself but in a place that isn't as safe as home, with no mode of transportation or frankly any destination to get to and almost no friends at all. . . Its a loneliness that i've never felt before.

Far from the people and places that I love. If home is where the heart is, I dont think i'll be home again for a long long time.

16 oz to a pound where you need 40 oz to freedom

Sitting in class. Bakers percentages. fabulous - math - my favourite.

Barf.

surprisingly though I am understanding this. if flour is 100% of a recipe and water is 70 yadda yadda yadda.

solve for sugar.

Giraffe is 100% and camel is 70% solve for monkey.

but I actually get it. I can solve monkey for once!

One of the girls in the class is lost. utterly lost and I am sitting listening to the chef write on the board in his funny version of english how to come up with the cost per oz when its given in pounds.

His explanation is met with blank stairs. Everyone starts talking at once trying to figure out what in the flippin dyna he is talking about.

Sitting in the front row I stick my hand up.

Everyone is talking so as the rules of third grade classes go. even if your quiet with your hand up and everyone else is talking its pretty redundant. Im basically holding a paper umberella in a storm.

In third grade fashion I stick my hand up farther. bite my lip and stretch my fingers to the sky.

I lean over and put my other arm behind the first for support.

I sing loudly "UUUUuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhhh ccccchhhhhheeeeeffffffffffff cammmmoooonnn!!!! I can explain this better!!! I knooooow what to doooo"

silence.

the chef blinks at me and offers me a marker for the white board.

in his french accent he says "Okay ms smit, you think you can explain it to her better in a way she will understand?"

gulp.

all of a sudden I feel like im on stage alone and this giant spot light just Zooms down onmy face.

"yeah I think I can"

I stood up and walked to the board.

I looked straight into the girls eyes who had the most trouble of all and I began.

Hokay marci lets do this, we know that we need 4 oz of yeast right?

right

now if we know that there are 16 oz to a pound, that makes 4 oz what?

*Blank stair*

okay that makes one quarter right? 4+4+4+4 = 16

okay yeah!

okay cool so in decimal form a quarter is ... .25 just like money

ohhhhhh

so then .25 is exactly the same as 4 oz but now we have it in pound form. the cost is 1$ per pound and we need .25 which makes it. . . 25 cents. see?

Yeah yeah i get it!

"okay mizz smit another. Sugar this time"

no prob bob. (*chef was surpised by this answer. )

Okay marci lets do this again. we KNOW that 4 oz is . . .

a quarter, .25

Exactly and since we need 8 oz and we are all smart people in this room, we all know that 8 oz to a 16 oz pound is. . .

Half a pound! .5 ! aaaaaahhhhhhh im getting it! see chef! she explained it perfectly thats what I needed! I get it now! oh my goodnesssssss

YES! ^_^

so we laughed and did the math on the board and I sat down.

Later on in class, During a demo, a man in my class comes up to me. He is atleast a foot taller than me. Black as black and missing a gang on teeth in his mouth. He nudged me.

Oh Hi Phillip how are you?! (*this man is wonderful, so nice and i really really enjoy talking to him)

Im goood im goood, you know that math you did today? that was really good, I mean I actually understood it, i had no idea what i was doin before but you explained it real good. you shoulda been a teacher.

Thanks phillip

I like liking school and doing well. I realize now that I am as smart as my parents told me. All that "you have so much potential " talk i got from teachers that I brushed off and didnt listen to. . . Its a shame it took me all of highschool and a wasted first college attempt to figure that out.

Its never too late

Katie Baby LA Lady

We were waiting for like ten minutes.

What does his guy think he's doing?

Are you serious? COME ON.

Yes Hellloooo its me. stairing you down.

You know what I want its in view.

this guy had like 5 tables to serve and I sat there and watched him do basically nothing while asking his manager twice to run our drinks. The both decided not to and that was what began the laser beam vison. This beer was sitting out in the open for what seemed like hours, the foamy head of the beer deflating from loneliness.

Finally his eyes meet mine.

Im sitting with my left thumb under my chin. my other fingers are lightly resting on my lower lip.

and theeeeen I raised my eyebrows and stuck my hand from under me. as if to say " UMMMMM HELLO?! what are you doing!?"

worst server ever.

" Jeeeez babe if I didnt know any better i'd say you're getting a little LA in you..."

Yesterday A women in front of me changed lanes in an intersection without signalling causing me to stomp on my breaks so hard that the tires screeched.

I flipped her off.

Good God, what is this city doing to me?

Fresh Prince

I saw something yesterday. it was so wierd and amazing and out of place that I had to stop and look twice.

make your mind a canvas cause i've got my key button paints and im gonna paint you a picture.

In The suburbs of LA, I see a house. this house is just like every other pastel coloured house around. Surrounding the house are ornate gold 3/4 fencing with fancy tops. over top of the house and sitting int he backyard is a HUGE blow up bouncy castle. with spires and flags and bright colours exploding into the sky.

At the end of the lane way is a Boy. He is an east indian boy dressed in traditional clothing in a shining gold colour. gorgeous beading and thread work - this outfit is intensional and he is looking sharp.

He is striding towards the gates of this house by an invisible string tied to his chest with a glowing smile of childlike innocence. He holds in his hands a Gorgeous bouquet of flowers.

I couldnt help but wonder who he was going to see? who were those flowers for? A love or unrequited one? was a little girl sitting in the castle waiting for him or was she dreading his arrival? a cousin? aunty? . . .

It almost drove me mad

I decided in my own head that it was the greatest love of all time. I think of that little golden prince. THE fresh prince. flowers, gold and a castle.

Dang, don't try and tell me romance is dead

I am who I be.

man its funny how something so small like an invisible line on the earth can change everything. That line tells me where im from. Who I am and as such dictates how much I have to pay for school. . . invisible lines ...

The other week I found myself in upper state California barreling down some white water rapids in a boat with virtual strangers thinking about how nice it might be to have the guy in front of me fall out of said giant blown up boat. Before the thought could even be finished in my mind -

BOOOOM!!!

we crash up and on to a rock and he is suddenly airborne.

SPLASH!!!

And my first thought was "oh my Gawd is he okay!? where is he!?"

He was fine and we got him back into the boat without a problem. Foiled.

my mean thoughts were trumped by my emergency nice thoughts.

oh blog muhgog being mean is too much work.

How did I get there? good question. these strangers are probably going to be my future family some day. Not this guy.

Its not that I hate him because I dont. Hate is a strong word and I dont really like to use it a whole lot. Hes just. . . ignorant. so so ignorant and that is what prompted my "out-of-boat-flinging" thoughts.

when in conversation ( a few hours prior) he blurts " Your Canadian what you have to say doesn't count. Talk to me when your American"

"Um I never plan on becoming an American"

"Then you don't matter."

I wish my eyes could shoot death rays.

Or maybe wart rays so whatever I shoot will have terrible warts!!! (*See even now I dont really wish death. . . just unhappy things)

This was just one of many rude things he said to me that weekend. When asked by others surrounding me why I didnt lash back at him I calmly told them that "thats not me".

I didnt ignore him

I didnt shun him

and I didnt get angry at him.

People like that just want you to be rude and aggravated back to them. thats what they are trying to do- get a rise outta you.

I aint fallin for that garbage.

It wasn't until later that night around the campfire that he chirped up with "what do you know? your just a Canadian."

Once everyone fell awkwardly silent and glanced at each other and then tentatively at me, I calmly said

"You know what. . . I think you should know that its Ignorant Ass holes like you that give Americans a bad name."

more silence

followed by grins.

Everyone smiled in agreement and added things like "there you go buddy" or "ha ha yeah shes right man" and he finally sat quietly in embarrassment before finally asking me some questions about my country.

I am who I be and I love my country. no matter where I go.

When we left, he shook my hand and I looked him in the eyes and firmly said

"See ya later eh?"

The Jobless Waiters Club

I feel like an old women in a swimming pool. Aqua fit is over its time for the wave swim. Now metaphorically this pool is say

oooOOOooooOOooohhhHHhhhhHHHhhh. . .

I dunnno. . .

pppsssshhhhhh. . .

mmmmMMMMMMMmmmmmmm. . .

school.

No matter how badly I wiggle in the "floaties" on my arms im still just a hot.mess.

caught in wave after wave of of water, higher, faster and stronger than me.

my make up is streeeeaming down my face and blue hair is all but Capoout!

Interntaional student indeed!

lets break it down;

For me to be able to stay in the good 'ol US of A, I must maintain my F1 status. this is the status of an international student and as per the college's rules that means a full time student which is 12 units per semester. example - easier class is worth one or two credits, hard class could be five ect.

Well registering for classes for the regular students happened ohhhh I dunno a few months ago. International students?

today.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?

Oh. ..I didnt mention that we are not allowed legally to work for the first nine months of school right? oh yeah so im broke. this means I need no MUST, NO! CAN ONLY FINISH THIS PROGRAM IF I FINISH IT THIS YEAR. I cant afford to go for a second year as an International student!!! They pay thooouuusands more than the regular students and last time I checked, I have yet to poop golden nuggets.

Alas I get to the international students office and sit down with the others.

check the computers.

there are no classes left.

none.

0_o . . .

*Blood boils.

not even just in my program but like AT ALL.

There are noticeable fist crumple marks on my papers when I release my death grip on them.

okay well I guess i'll just um. . . put myself on waiting lists. . .

Oh CAMMON waiting number 26?!

class 2 - waiting line number 28.

twenty m0*$^rF*&k!ng EIGHT. . .

At the juncture in time my brain is about to Explode.

Several slash ALL of the classes that I need to get into I cant even put myself on the waiting list for because you need to be doing another jam packed class as a co-requisite!

. . . so your telling me that no matter how hard I try, unless these teachers take me in and let me sit on the class that I cannot physically finish in oneyear?

- Yes.

- Okay well what am I supposed to do? a second year isn't an option for me.

- Im sorry.

Now I have a feeling that they are not infact sorry and believe me.

I aint takin this lying down. Push me aside? ppfffttt we'll see.

I will bring sleeping bags and camp outside of the class if i need to. AAArrrrggggg

O O

* O *

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ Today I was a grumpy bear.

Needing to have at least 12 units, I tried my luck on other waiting lists.

As it stands I am number 1 on the waiting list for "Vegetarian Life style cooking" (*even though I am a meatasaurus. . . but More and more i've been leaning to the ' Veggiepreferian' side.)

10th on the docket for "Hip Hop History" (*Thanks be to sweet baby hey zeus that I packed my Easy E shirt)

the next on the list will be interpretive dance for beginners.

Get. the . Eff. Out. Of . My. Way.

So as I sit jobless and I wait. Its a club my International friends and I are in.

The Jobless Waiters Club

Tacos for Dinner and brunch. the new way to live

well not too much to report at the moment accept for yes, today I did infact eat tacos for breakfast/ lunch after also eating them for dinner last night.

go ahead. judge me.

I am happily filed with refried beans and steak and cheese and good stuff.

that being said my rear end is also considered a deadly weapon. lucky lucky boyfriend.

I can smell my home made lasagna in the oven. Yes thats right, today I ventured to find the grocery store(*Ver successfully I might add.)

well i should go, tomorrow is surfin time. Finally <3

woof

Wowza. I almost dont even know where to begin.

though I think the beginning is a good idea.

So the Plan for the day was - Take off in Ottawa, 3 hour lay over in Calgary (*perfect because there I had to clear American customs and what not) then on to LA to surprise boyfriend with the help of a great friend and then smiles and kisses and sunshine unbounded. right?

Wednesday morning was tough ill give you that much. Saying goodbye to my childhood home, my neighbourhood, my puppy and then my parents. . . ouf that was a whole other heartache. I cant describe nor do i want to, the sick feeling you get in your gutt not knowing the next time you'll feel your mothers touch or look into your fathers eyes.

I Digress.

So after the emotional goodbyes, my bags are through, I breeze through security and off to my gate I go.

Stop.

What a fool I am. Walking right past Tim Hortons, another reliable companion I might not see again soon.

Staring at me from behind the counter is an artery filling donut called "the Canada Donut" with the basic donut, white frosting but with tiny little maple leaf sprinkles on top. cammon thats cute and hilarious and again. who knows blah blah blah. not hungry and frankly a little sickened by it. I purchase it. (*Spoiler alert I ate it this morning for breakfast. it was so smashed from the journey it looked like playdough. sugary playdough. )

I sit patiently waiting for my boarding time, once its called, we all gather and board the plane. Once we are seated we wait for maybe 20 minutes before a voice comes on the PA system

" LLLaaaadies and Gentlemen we have noticed a problem with the aircraft and are going to have to ask you to disembark while we fix this. Our maintenance man says the problem should be fixed in about 45 mins. Thank you yadda yadda yadda" <- he didnt say yadda yadda, that was just what was happening in my head after.

Mummbles and Grummbles as we all return to our waiting posts in the airport.

An hour later, we heard something about a scratch on the plane that could have been caused by an airport car or whatever you call them, (I think it was a gremlin) driving too close to the plane and scratching it. sometimes you can fly with these scratches and sometimes you cant. We could not.

Hour 1 goes by - No big deal, I am calm as a cucumber though hoping this delay doesn't last much longer

Hour 2 goes by - Okkay, Okay so were behind. this means that I only have an hour in Calgary to get to the other end of the airport, pick up my bags and boogie through American customs. Cuttin it close but I have confidence in my travelling skills and ability to navigate through airports. this is going to be okay.

2.5 hours - Eff this is getting ridiculous. really ? really? I mean half an hour . . . I shift uneasily from confidence to worry laced with a touch of panic.

3 Hours - Im not gonna make it. No way. Panic. what the hell am I supposed to do now?! where are my bags?! AAaaaAAAaaaHHHHHhhhhhHHHhhhh

what do you mean you cant tell me anything about my next flight?!

Accomodate me? no no no I need to be in LA TONIGHT.

I calmly take a few moments to breathe. Caaaalm girl, there is nothing I can do about this whole thing so Chill out and roll with the punches.

By the time our original flight should have landed in Calgary, frustrated, delayed and frantic passengers on my flight are told we can finally start boarding. Like Cattle in heat, we all cram together, hot, sweaty, ill tempered and most chewing on some sort of airport worthy nourishment.

*** While we were freaking out about flights I met a lovely lady with a three month old baby and she asked me to hold him while she gets her things sorted out. With mama near by I cradled the baby in my arms and just melted all over him. melted love. not sweat dont worry. He just sat there blinking at me and we made faces as he coo-ed and gurgled and smiled at me. ^_^ <3 awfully cute.

We land in Calgary at 1:40 which is nice because my other plane started boarding at 1:30. Eff.

I'm "that guy" who stands up too early and goes to the front of the plane only to be told to turn around because the seatbelt sign was still on. at this juncture of time i would have gladly made the ubber high drop out of the airplane onto the tarmac and started running. thats how serious I was about catching this flight.

THANK YOU SWEET BABY HEYZEUS because my flight to LA has also been delayed and now wont be leaving until 3 whoop whoop! *raising the roof* and all other terrible dances white girls do in excitement.

Once the Cattle are unloaded off the plane I peel outta there so fast you'd think my pants were on fire. I imagine that i looked like the road runner with a cloud of dust behind me, no feet just what seems like an incredibly fast conveyor belt of movement.

After some bad advice followed by some back tracking, I make it to the US boarder guard and im ushered through to get my bags.

Surf board - check

Massive bag - check

Suitcase - . . . suitcase? . . . oh cuss word where in the world is my suitcase? its not hard to miss for flip sake its enormous and Hot pink. Cammon!!!

nothing.

tick tic tick goes the clock counting down to my flight. ARG. In dismay I put my previous two pieces back on the carousel and leave American customs to find someone who can get me that case.

West jet international counter. empty. thanks a ton.

allllll the way down to regular westjet where I find a nice lady who radios in the baggage department (?) and asks about the where abouts of my bag. nothing.

they've loaded it all up so if it isn't there. then it isn't there.

no.

no nonononononononoooooooo. I can feel my cheeks getting hot and red and my vision becomes cloudy. "What do you mean it isn't there?? . . . I need this suitcase i'm MOVING to la, it has my life in it!"

"im sorry hun, you should go through without it, you dont want to miss your flight."

I run full tilt whispering silent words of encouragement to myself as I barrel down the airport to the baggage once again.

I retrieve my bags again and still no pink case.

FINALLY a westjet representative comes wandering in and immediately I launch myself into his line of vision. before he even asks if he can assist me, I am letting the words come out of my mouth with little to no hold back "hidoyouworkhereireallyneedhelpmyflightisleavingwithoutmeandmysuitcaseismissingandineediitbutdontknowhowtofinditwhatdoidocanyoupleasepleasehelpme?"

looking a little shocked, the young man starts radio-ing and hops onto the baggage belt, opens the flapps and tells me that my suitcase is right there but its stuck. (Okay fine so my bag was overweight. sue me. but im moving so I totally validate it. ) it was put on its wrong side so the wheels were turning with the conveyor belt but the bag its self was stuck in some sort of baggage limbo.

After freeing my luggage, we trace the snaking lines on the floor outlined in rope to the customs officer. After not filling out a form i needed, i drag my jazz back, fill it out and return. Now this gentlemen was nice but I dont think he understood the kind of time crunch I was on. I didnt want to say anything because this is the person who literally says yay or nay to my staying in the USA so I let him look at my papers in what seems like slo-mo as he regales me with stories of baking bread. Dont get me wrong, I loves me some bread bakin stories but you know when your doing something and talking at the same time. so one sentence takes three times as long to say. yeeeeeah.

ANYWAYS im through! woohoooo - and in true fashion, I am told that I am the last person to get on the plane.

0_o awkward.

oh well. on we go. As I load my surfboard to be scanned, an airport worker comes by and kindly takes my suitcase and giant bag for me and putts it all on the conveyor belt, destined to meet me on the other side. Or so I thought.

As soon as the bags are out of sight I realize that I have absolutely left my cell phone on and in the front mesh pock of one of my bags. ohhhhhhhhh CAMMON maaaaaaan i bet its gonna charge me roaming out the wazoo and I just couldn't shake the image of my bags rolling around down there and maybe button smashing until im calling thailand for 6 hours.

get on the plane. last. have to scramble to get over people

scuseme, scuse me, sorry scuse me.

I land in LA. I look around for my friend picking me up, he is easy to spot in a crowd because he is generally taller than everyone else around. nope cant see him. maybe hes waiting for me downstairs where I get my bags? nope cant see him. oh well im sure hes on his way ill just get my bags and . . . humm cant see my bags. okay no big deal ill get my surfboard first. done. now for my bags.

I waited. nothing. the crowd, with there bags in hand, gets thinner and thinner until, like a fat kid in gym class - im standin allll alone.

confusion meets panic and mild rage.

I find myself at the westjet baggage office and tell the lady my story. she too does some radio-ing and confirms to me the news. all the bags have been unloaded and if its not there. its lost.

PANIC RAGE CONFUSION

What do you mean lost?! I SAW them in Calgary!

we file a "claim" with hopes of getting my bags back.

"what do they look like? are they important? where are you going? I need to know three personal items in the bags"

"Olive green, Hot pink, LA, of course they are important IM MOVING THERE, my LIFE is pretty much packed in those bags. and as for whats in them? lady I dont want to seem rude or uptight but I Packed those cases to the tits. if you poke the seams wrong those mothers will explode literally all over you. for your own wellbeing, and the work involved to close them back up I really strongly suggest you dont open my bags."

realizing shortly after that without anybags and any freakin cell phone (*just my luck) I am literally stranded at the airport.

choking back tears and feeling lonely confused and beaten, I call boyfriend and ruin the surprise. I had to. the other options was staying in the airport over night or paying a gajillion dollars for a cab. He was happy and shocked and gave me the friends number. I hung up and called my friend and just as luck would have it for the day. I can hear him talking in the hall way. hes right there we just missed each other.

*Exhail. slap palm to forhead.*

with my carry on and my surfboard, we head to the truck for the ride to my new home.

Later on, while friends were over visiting, everyone wants to see my surfboard. I point it out and my girlfriend goes over, unzips the case and pulls it down.

"ohmygawd kt get over here"

not liking the sound of her voice, my smile drops and I come face to face with a HUGE hole in my surf board. I mean like clearly smashed and broken in. I can't take this board in the water like this, the hole is deep enough that it goes right to the inside of the board. once water gets in there. your board is doomed.

Im not sure what steps to take next, but I know its going to involve calling westjet and getting them to fix this. I am outraged and appalled. I paid extra money to have this board taken care of. aaand its broken.

Oh well. I am about to jump into a pool thankfully. Im in the desert and its about 110 degrees seriously. off to the pool i go. before I melt away.

LA is a straaaange place.

Toto, I dont think Im in Canada anymore. . .

xo