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Friday, 26 December 2014

Huxley VS. Orwell THE BIG BATTLE

Hey guys! Hope you had an amazing Christmas!
Today I'm going to tackle a pretty tough topic, and do some analysis on it the topic is: Aldous Huxley Vs George Orwell!
Alright, let me give you some insight: George Orwell and Aldous Huxley were famous classic literature writers known for their novels on Dystopia and totalitarianism.
Basically, they wrote about what they thought the world would be like in a couple decades.

Orwell had the original idea that the future would be run by one front-man, and a big corporation or government behind it. The front-man popularly known as "Big Brother". Orwell had the idea that the world would be run on a black and white schedule, with no general excitement except for the same tasks. He thought the world would be run in a way that enforcing orders included mind control, violence and repetition.

Huxley had the idea that society would be enforced in a very indirect way. They polished civilians to think everything was at it's normal state, getting a daily dose of everything in life. Arguably, a Utopia.
Children were all victims of genetic-modification. Huxley created a world were the general population of people were blindsided by the big corporations and government.

Now the comparison, who of the two writers was closer to the present? Orwell wrote "1984" in 1948, all he did was switch the two last digits around. Huxley wrote "Brave New World" in 1932, a couple years before Orwell.
My point of view on this? I think neither. I think both have rich senses of today, the censorship that was in both of them still exists today. I also think that both books go to different extremes. Huxley goes towards the side of censorship and utopia, while Orwell goes to obedience, and harsh consequences.
(Disclaimer: My analysis may be lacking a bit on Huxley because I have researched Orwell more.)

Huxley and Orwell had ideas on the worst possible state society could be in, so they went to extremes. I think that we are starting to see censorship today, but at the same time, I'm on social media expressing myself at this very moment. We also see a lot of violence, however. That's not going to really change, and we could really go any way. But my point is, we could see something like this in the future, because right now we are at a mild stage of all these possibilities. We're at a point where there are snip-its of Orwellian, and snip-its of huxleyesque things. I think the future will hold a sort of Hux-Well kind of society.

But I think as long as people like these writers, people with hopes and ideals exist, we can keep our society in a balanced check. While things are still not perfect, (Not near perfect) we still haven't gone to such extremities. I think people rise up now, and don't tolerate these kind of things. We don't tolerate racism, there's always someone there to say something about it. What happened in Ferguson brought such an up-rise, the people spoke up. I think we're heading to a path where, although not perfect, we try and make the difference and fight for equality. So no, I don't think we are either Huxley or Orwell.
Because people now condone gender roles, people are against any form of inequality, and people are losing the fear to speak up against a popular belief and change something that is wrong.

I think humankind is seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, although faint and far away, a light. It's closer than we think, and I think one day we won't have to refer to these works (Although fairly interesting) and think of these as society.

If you read all this thanks for listening to a fourteen-year-old garble about things I don't merely know enough about. Thank-you.

Saturday, 13 December 2014

You're an arse, Kevin.

This is an open letter to you, Kevin. Yeah, you. 
In case any of you have no idea who Kevin is, he's the guy who was operating the emergency room the day I had uncontrollable nose bleeds. Basically, I was on tumblr, and suddenly my nose turned into a shower head.
But this blog is not about what a crappy nose I got from the nose store, this is about Kevin. 

Me and my mom walk into the emergency room, and there he is. A bald man, with a smug look on his face, and those shower curtains nurses have to wear that I do not know what they are called.

Kevin: Name?

Mom: *Starts to say letters*
He then interrupts my mom after every letter she says, screaming

Kevin:  WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? 

Me: V-I-G-N-E-A-U-L-T!

Kevin: K. And what are you here for?

Me: Well all day, I felt-

Kevin: *Interrupts me* I MEAN NOW. NOT ALL DAY.

Me: OK. I am here because I had an uncontrollable nose bleed yesterday and today.

Kevin then rolls his eyes like some sassy woman. 

Kevin: Um. Yeah? I don't see it bleeding right now.

GEE, WILL SOMEONE JUST GIVE THIS MAN A NOBEL PRIZE? Just, hand him a nobel prize for such insightful discoveries. Wow. Just, amazing.

Kevin: So like, why should we admit you then? Tell me why we should admit you. What are your symptoms. 

This goes on for maybe 5 minutes after that. So Kevin, here's my advice: First of all, let the patients speak. Secondly, if I wouldn't have known better, maybe you would have gotten a nice demonstration of my nose bleeds on your shiny shower curtain shirt yeah...stop that..please..

(P.S I may be the biggest hyperbole user of all time)

Wednesday, 26 November 2014

Superhero camp woman

A couple years ago I went to this superhero camp: (I was never cool, y'all.) 
I was the only female specimen in the entire camp. Of course, with my species threatened I decided to mark my territory. (KIDDING. KIDDING.)
I was shunned by the entire cult of pre-teen boys who enjoy reading books about buff men in spandex.

Then he came along. He was a stalky, chubby little boy. Now, not sure he was aware of the territory he was already in, because any other less creepy pick-up line would have worked. Such as:
"Hey, you look like you peed your pants can I help you to the nearest bathroom"
"Hi. You're a woman, right?"
Or this one, this one is very original and never used before:

Instead this boy decided to use this:
Him: Wuts a preety gurl like you doin' all alone?
Me: I dunno.
Him: Do ya have a boyfriend?
Me: No.
Him: Well, I used to have a girlfriend and well, she cheated on me wif mah best friend. They were french kissing on the stairs and I caught 'em it was terrible.
The camp director then comes and asks us how we're doing, and the guy replies:

"Oh nothing, just telling this girl about how my girlfriend cheated on me with my best friend by french kissing on the stairs."
The camp director just kinda stood there with a look of horror until I finally said:
" I don't really know this guy" 

The reasoning for this is because I left out one very important detail.
He was eleven.

Tuesday, 18 November 2014

Omg guyz we reached 2K

2,000! Yes! Man that's a lot of views, I'd like to thank everyone who takes time out of their life to waste their time here. That's awesome. And also a huge waste of time, get back to work! In short, I left a survey on the blog to see what kind of content y'all would like to waste your time viewing!
And in celebration of this I wanted to do something special, so make sure you vote for whatever you want and I shall do the one with the highest votes.
But I need votes so you can turn this:

Into this:

Still creepy as heck, but at least you can see the awesome dentist work shown above^
No that is not a plus side. Y'know what. Just vote, and I'll never show this meme again..
But really, I just wanted to thank everyone because it's awesome that people want to see my opinions on stuff. That also means my embarassing stories have been read by 2,000 people. Anyways, I am rambling on, as Led Zeppelin once said.

Chicken war. Also, did you know Chickens sounds cooler when you spell it as "Chiken"

I had a dream last night, and for those of you wondering, no I have not died. I'm still here, tripping over things, walking around with my fly down, etc.
So here it is, my nightmare.

We live in an apocalyptic world. A totalitarian government runs it all (Hehe, I see you Fox news.)
Our parents decide to take a trip to this place between Edmonton and Mexico. (Don't ask)
We take this public bus, and it's filled with people obsessed with chickens. Everyone has baskets of live chickens. So in fear that I will get my laptop stolen, I put in my bag. We arrive at this place and it's rustic as hell. We walk around, and there's nobody. Just barrels like those ones you see in movies. Not necessarily filled with anything, just there. Probably all the poop from the godang chickens everywhere.
Across the horizon is a town filled with chickens. I mean there is a frigen tornado of it. Beats sharknado any day. So we walk to our hotel room. (Now you must understand this chicken town is not safe). We hear a bunch of soldiers running from across some houses, and there is an elevator to the hotel. But some damn chickens are blocking it! So my dad shoves them chickens out and the elevator opens. We get to our room, and late at night we hear gunshots. Turns out there's a secret society that tries to get rid of any of the guests that come to chicken town. In short, the hotel owners were behind it, and some crazy way my dad and I managed to get our family back on the bus filled with chickens and survive. The end.

It taunts me.

Thursday, 30 October 2014


Every day I wake up with ambitions bigger than myself: Becoming a human rights lawyer, publishing a book, fighting for the rights of those without them.
 People always ask me why I have these ambitions, especially at a young age. And the answer is simple:
Why not?
What are we living for if it's not to make the world better than it was yesterday? So many of us take every day for granted, the privileges we have soon thought as nuisances.
Something we take for granted so much is having a voice. I'm sitting here by my computer screen typing out what I think, and I can still do it without taking a bullet to the head. I have a right to speak my mind. And so should everyone else on this planet. (Sorry Aliens).
What I'm saying here is, don't ever let anyone tell you you're too ambitious. Because ambition is what fuels this world.
Every day I see this world desperate for change, getting to the point where they care to do nothing at all. You can do anything you want! If it takes you halfway across the world to get there, it doesn't matter, because what else are we living for other than doing good? So today I ask you one question:

What do you want to do?

It's a simple question. Do what you want, because the world needs more ambition. Step on the peddle and fuel this world that we live in. Inspire. Ambition is contagious so let's start an epidemic.
An epidemic of ambition. Let's be known as the generation that changed it all for the better!

So now I ask,


I never got this. Why do people lowride? Because quite frankly, looking like your torso is detached from your butt-crack is not something I will look at and say:
"Wow, that looks so attractive"
Because if you think pants are supposed to be worn by your ankles or knees, well, what's the easiest explanation to that? They're not.
So, people: Please wear your pants. You're a buttcrack away from becoming a streaker.
A concerned sane person.

Tuesday, 21 October 2014

Fake baby?

I was in McDonald's today, and everything was good with the world. Besides the fact  I was eating, y'know, chicken feet..
But that's besides the fact. We were having a nice greasy meal, when this mom and her three children walked in. She had one baby slung across her shoulder, and a little girl holding the other baby. She stood in line, waiting to order for about 5 minutes. Until I came to the stunning realization that none of her babies except for the child were moving. The baby just stood there, starring into space.
I casually walked over to to the McDonald's menu and glanced at the baby. Still frozen. Not sure if she left the baby in the freezer or something, because it looked pretty darn real. And why would a woman bring two fake babies to a restaurant?
Can a fake baby expert please tell me? I am genuinely confuzzled at this predicament.
So then, she proceeds to take a seat by a table, and propped up a pink baby seat. She placed the baby by the window, and it was starring out the window. On our way out, I glanced at the baby again, and it was a doll. They were all dolls except for the little girl. Unless they make them that real looking.
I won't discriminate against her doll-child culture, since I'm kind of like that with my books, mmmm paper. Wait, I don't think people talk about their children like that..
""  Yeah, that doesn't sound like a motherly thing. Unless your mom's a cannibal. I'm getting off topic.
Anyways, can a real-person-but-not-quite-expert explain this? Thank you, sir/Ma'am, may you be blessed with many fake babies under the golden arches.

Monday, 20 October 2014

Flappy Bird and Books

I had the priviledge to go to a writing festival the other day, and I know, it sounds boring to our demographic. But I also met someone who inspired me to write again, a very talented author, Kim Thuy. So i'll dedicate this weird blog post to her. Thank you, Kim. 
Our generation is pretty illiterate. Not too many people care about actually picking up a book. I know I'm gonna sound like quite the bummer, but really, there's so much more we can learn than just by reading an article on how much this generation reads.
Hence this article. 
It also ties into how much our generation doesn't want to do anything, and quite frankly, that's pretty sad. We don't all know what we want to do, with the pressures of society, but sitting on your phone playing flappy bird isn't going to help the matter.
(And by the way, "Got 100 on flappy bird" doesn't look great on a resume)

You don't need to become Kim Kardashian's plastic surgeon, but you can find something that makes your life line up perfectly. Something you enjoy. Maybe taking chances and learning about great people can help you out.

So whatever it is you want to try, the stupidest thing it may sound like, give it a go. (Don't say Professional Flappy Bird Player, I mean, why is a bird with botox jumping through tubes? That's creepy stuff, man)

Anyways, what I'm trying to say is, it's never too early to get up and do something new or interesting. 
The moral of the story here is:
Don't play flappy bird.

Tuesday, 7 October 2014


Kay, bathrooms are poopie. They just are. Well literally they are, because that is where your poopies flow. So it would be natural to call it poopie. DANGIT COMPUTER I CAN SPELL POOPIE HOW I FEEL LIKE, AIGHT?!
I may...have some..anger issues..
Anyways, many many awkward moments span from the tiny room to store all that..stuff. So today I decided what better thing to talk about other than BATHROOMS!

Probably the most annoying thing is that little line from hell between bathroom stalls. Y'know, the ones that are small enough so that you can still make eye contact with that one person waiting for you to hurry up with your dump? Yeah.
Think about it, one little wall is dividing you from privacy and causing a public disturbance. (I'd like to apologize to anyone who forgot how to poop while reading this blog post)

Then there's the people who forget where the toilet is, so once you arrive in the stall, there is a yellow fluid coating the ground. Ew. Okay? Ma'am, do you think I enjoy the thought of trying to pass lake Linda or whatever your name is? No, Lake Linda is not on my bucket list.

This personally happened to me. I was on a roadtrip, and decided to go into the little girls room. (Let me clarify, I mean girls bathroom, not really randomly walking into a little girls' room. That would be awkward. And illegal.)
And there was a white liquid coming from the side of the other stall. To this day, I have not figured out what it is.


I think I might hate bathrooms.

Sunday, 5 October 2014

Evil Ice Cream Trucker

If many of you may recall, I have a post on how I will trick people with an Ice Cream Truck. I resent that. IT'S EVIL. PURE EVIL.
Today I got a Slurpee at Seven-Eleven, and when I got home, behold.
I hear a faint jingle. Could it be? It drives up, slowly. Taunting me. It pulls up.
Let me say here during the summer not once has an ice cream truck driven by. BUT IN OCTOBER?
Listen here ice cream trucker. You sir, are an evil mastermind.
Nobody drives an Ice Cream Truck in October. Nobody okay? It's up there with

In other news, releasing a YouTube video for you guys soon, so comment on a topic or thing you'd like me to do, and I might use it. Or don't. I'm not your mother. Do what you want to do. Unless it's driving an Ice Cream Truck after I bought a Slurpee. Then don't.

Monday, 29 September 2014

Bad-ass Italian guy

He was old. He was unenthusiastic. He was buying toothpaste. Isn't that just the definition of bad-ass? Nothing says you kick butt like saying "I need to clean my mouth"
Let me introduce this hell-of-a-guy to you. I was at Costco, and me and my mother were in line with our cart filled with "Healthy snacks" and stuff. We all know the line in Costco is longer than the great freaking wall of China, because who doesn't love to buy ten boxes of raisin bran, just cuz?
So this guy suddenly just looked blankly at the cash register and said:
"I needa go gets me some moar moneys.."
And walked deeper into Costco, leaving his three items just sitting there. He didn't care that we had a cart full of toiletries about to explode, nah he just walks deeper into Costco (Because by the way, since when has walking deeper into the store where you buy stuff, the place you'll find the money to pay for your darn Sensodyne!
This guy is the new Chuck Norris. Just you watch out.
Kudos to you sir, we just spent five more minutes in line.

Thursday, 25 September 2014

Lizards and Coins

So, if many of you know me, I used to live in Thailand. I was a little child back then (Mentally I still am, but shh, nobody needs to know..just kidding, my insanity is on the inter-webs for everyone to see, so yes.)

Today I am going to talk about a really sensitive subject between me and my family, it's gonna be hard.
Still here? Just kidding it's not sensitive at all. Just some good 'Ol false adverstising. Okay, shut up Monique.

When I was in Thailand, I lived in a house with a crap-ton of wildlife. Feel like getting a cup of coffee? BAM. Frickin' snake in your living room. And we had a lady who came to tend the gardens, dunno why, I mean, there could be a rare radioactive Pokemon in the bushes waiting to kill you. We had a calm little pond with a bunch of nice 'ol fishies. Until one day we saw fishies dissapear. For some reason they were all migrating, and they didn't even pay the darn rent..
So every day we saw less fishies swimming, until one day, the culprit laid it's scaly, ugly self upon our eyes.
(Now you're probably thinking - Monique, that's not a very nice thing to say about a person.) Plot twist. It was a big freaking Monitor lizard just sitting in our yard! A Big. Freaking. Monitor. Lizard.

"Y'know, just chilling, don't mind me, but I rate your snack bar five stars!"
Now wait, it gets better. The lady who tended the yards came rushing in yelling:
"Wait! Wait! Take this coin! Take the coin and scratch it on the lizard's back! It'll then show you the winning numbers for the lottery!"
Okay, who in the right mind, I mean, who in the right mind, is going to scratch that?!

That scaly mother-trucker!
So yeah, a small note to you. No, my mother is not going to scratch a coin on a potentially murderous dinosaur lizard. So please, refrain from becoming a millionaire.

Sunday, 21 September 2014

An Open letter to teenagers

This doesn't just go out towards girls. And I mean that, because who are we to perpetuate double standards, right? I find this particular topic needs to be addressed, so bare with me. Recently, a YouTuber released a video of him pinching girl's butts, and he meant it as a "Prank". I find it hard to find words for this, because girls themselves now find this to be "Okay". That people treating you in a low and degrading way is just nonsensical feminism and bickering.
First of all, let me say that if a girl was to go out and touch a guy's butt, I would have the same reaction.
People have gone as low as to defend something against them, trying to prove..what?!
Trying to prove that you don't want to be associated with people who treat you with respect, that if someone was to touch your body without your consent, and then apologize, it would be alright? Not sure what you're fighting for, then. Really teenagers, wise up. (Or anyone)
You're worth more.
Just give yourself that worth.
Because it's up to you what your value is, and what you let others do with your body.

Friday, 12 September 2014

You're flying low, you idiot.

Let me just start off with saying I ain't a pilot.
I didn't know the lingo. 
I was innocent, frail.
Yes, today we shall talk about the first time someone told me my fly was open.
For those not familiar with this term, it is when you don't zip up the zipper on your jeans. Fun stuff, I know.
It was back in grade five, and me being the idiot I was (Oops sorry did I use past-tense?) IS, I said
"What? I'm not flying?!"
And of course they were repeating the term as if i'd know it, and all I'd do was repeat the fact I was not in a plane. Not to mention me squatting to make myself shorter..
In the end they proceeded to point at the gate to one's lady gardens, something one would rather not hear about. So I zipped up my jeans, and felt like I was an airplane the entire day.
The worst part of it is, I didn't even get to fly...
...So next time someone says you are rather close to the runway, remember, you're not flying.
You just gotta close the door.
This message was sponsored by the International Association Of You-didn't-get-the-lingo Victims.

(P.S For you lovable gullible people, it's not real, don't look it up.)

Thursday, 11 September 2014


To think this many people read my insane thoughts, and actually relate to it is, well, INSANE!
Y'know what's more insane? My comma use. I like to use commas for dramatic pauses, like this one.

Now, while I may have all these people reading, i'll never really be as famous as my celebrity friend, Anna.
Because y'know, you're never famous until you're considered famous by someone who has done nothing to be famous. Yes ladies and gentleladies, I am talking about the Kim Kardashian game. She has 9.5 fans, and no I cannot give you her autograph, form a line.

I learned parkour today. And while many of you may be a master of parkour, none of you will ever be as good as me. Sorry to crush your dreams, but someone needed to tell you the truth. I single-handedly did some nice parkour over my dog and threw my laptop l this morning, and it only resulted in minor injuries. Okay, I'm lying. I did it onto my dog, but the details don't matter, kay?
 Now in case you didn't get that last one, I didn't intentionally do this. It was thanks to the one and only sidekick to my clumsy-ness,

He's my boyfriend of course, and I still remember the pick-up-line I used on Netflix.
"Are you Netflix? Cuz I want to watch you all day long."
Anyways, come to me for any fangirl parkour lessons, but be prepared to feel the feels, and if you aren't up for the pain, go find a shady guy with a hoodie on a building or somethin'. I'm sure he'll set you up.
So thank you viewers, and if you have any comments, leave 'em below!

Thursday, 28 August 2014

The dreaded day approaches.

  The dreaded day approaches. Prisoners file in line waiting for the dreaded moment. The moment their freedom is taken away from them as the dictatorship rules their lives.
In related news, school is in a week. I guess the first day of school is exciting. Y'know spending a couple 300 bucks on school supplies to show them off for a day, then realize you only have a pencil left for the rest of the entire year? Awesome.
You know how the entire world is throwing cold water on themselves for charity? Well, I'll tell you what. Guess who called? Environmentalists. They want their water back. As soon as they finish throwing water on themselves. No, but really, donate money for ALS research, it's a good cause.
They're starting to bring out fall clothes. You know why they call it fall? Because we all want to fall asleep forever because winter is coming. (Well at least until winter's over, so for us in Canada, we want to be awake for maybe a week)

On the bright side for anybody who reads this, that means more stories of me almost dying on a skihill, so YAY FOR NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCES FOR THE BENEFIT OF OTHERS! WEE!

So expect more embarrassing stories in the coming months. Also, stay tuned for my great first day extravaganza next week on Monday.
Who knows what things I'll trip over or fall into.
Until then,  you will need to find amusement in this:

The amusement is it's nothing, so you'll need to figure out what the blank spot means.

Tuesday, 19 August 2014

Monique's Guide to being a weirdo in public

Everyone's always all about being polite in public. What's that? Just kidding, I can't even go up to someone and ask them for those little ketchup packets. I guess I shouldn't ask the person in the next stall of the bathroom for ketchup packets.
No but to be perfectly candid, I am shy and polite in person. That's why I decided to put together a list of things you should do in public for me! Pfft, I'm not ruining my reputation, go ruin yours for me!

Monique's Guide to being a weirdo in public
1. Walk around a mall or somewhere while muttering to yourself
"Darn, where did my pet snake go?"
2. In the bathroom, quietly slip a note to the person in the next stall that says:
Do you like me?
Yes or no?
3. In an elevator sing
4. Go to a maternity store and try some clothes on. When the store clerk comes over and asks you have everything is doing say:
Why do these clothes make me look pregnant?
5. Ask a random stranger for an autograph and then squeel like a teenager.
6. Go to a store and pick out a bunch of random items. Walk to the cashier. When they ask you if you're ready quietly whisper:
"You'll need these items in your future, use them wisely."
Slowly walk away.

Alright, see you guys.

Monday, 18 August 2014

Diary of a hormonal fourteen-year-old (Slash mutant fly thing human baby..) (thing)

Yeah, put this in the embarrassing teen diary entries, but you know it's true. People, you know it's true.
In advance, I'd like to apologize that I haven't written for, like, a month. I was busy doin' stuff. Y'know, the kind of stuff you dismiss as stuff because it isn't actually stuff it's just you doing nothing and probably fighting with a stranger on the internet over what fictional character is the best? people don't do that? Well then I just made this very awkward between the two of us. I think we need to see other people.
Wow I just single-handedly confessed all my inner secrets and broke up with a blog reader in a paragraph. Good for me. I am getting better at this blogging jazz.
Right. Hormones. I'd like to explain the fact that I like reading. In case you didn't already get it after the countless blog entries about fictional characters, writing, and books. Pfft, clueless.  Am I damaging your self-esteem? I feel like I am damaging your self esteem.
Annnnywayys, it seems nowadays I have the attention span of a mutant-fly-thing.
Maybe I am growing younger, maybe I am an old person now, and I am just growing younger. Maybe I am a human baby! Y'know, that little exclamation mark after human baby just makes it sound more naive than I thought it would sound.

Hi, I'm back. Okay, I guess what this "Diary" is trying to prove is that I need therapy and I am now a mutant-fly-thing-human-baby

P.S I missed talking to you guys or this pixelated paper, whichever one of the two. If you stuck around this long, gold star for you!
P.P.S Everybody knows that everyone only reads the Ps parts of my blog because they are the only sane part of the entries. Or maybe because I give out stars. Wuttever..
See ya!

Wednesday, 9 July 2014

Nope. Nope, nope.

  Whenever I am in public with my brother, and my parents are doing productive things with their lives, people often mistake me as a teen mom. I remember it like it was just last summer. Because it was. We went to a football game, and my parents went off to buy us some junk food before the game. I guess the woman behind us was blind until my parents left, and she started talking to me:

Her: Aw, wow, he's so well behaved (She says talking about my brother)

Me: Hehe, yeah, I guess.

Her: How old is he?

Me: Oh he's eight years old.

Her: Wow, you must have had him really early. (If I had a kid who is eight, and I am fourteen, then I would have had him when I was six. MATH! MATH, PEOPLE! Not sure what's more surprising, the fact that I am preaching about Math or the fact that people think I would have a kid at six.

Me: (Suddenly confused) Um..

Her: Well y'know my daughter is a teen mom as well, and she just had her kid. (She turns and faces my brother) You have a really good mother!

Me: He he, um, well you see, he's actually not my son. He's my brother...

Her: (Realizes) Oh, right.

I always tell people this, but they just sort of give me this look like: Yeah, right. Your brother that you squished out of your uterus!

So, no, I did not have a kid at six just in case you were wondering. Also, lady behind me at football game can you get some new glasses? Yeah, because if I ever see you again I don't want you asking me if I am my grandmother's sister, or my brother's in-law or whatever else you have planned. (in case you were wondering, I'm neither).

Monday, 30 June 2014

Embarrassment is my weapon.

I find that I am the most awkward person to be around when you don't know me. These are my symptoms:
And if I were to meet someone new, and I had all these conversation starters, it would probably go a little like this:
Stranger: Hi.
Me: I almost died on a ski hill once.
Stranger: What's your name?
Me: Mnike
Stranger: Sorry what?
Me: Mow-Nique?
Stranger: Sorry what? Meneque?
Me: Uh, Menek?
Stranger: Oh, Menek!
Me: (Already giving up) Yeah, sure.
Stranger: What's your last name?
Me: Vigneault
Stranger: ViƱoo?
Me: Uh, yeah.
Stranger: Is it spelt V-I-N-I-O?
Me: *Throws dictionary at stranger*
In conclusion, I am probably some kind of an alien near strangers judging from the symptoms.

I'm an advocate for Ampersands.

Everyone knows that a Tick-Tac-Toe grid is a "Hashtag", because of social media, but you know who feels left out?
The Ampersand.
I'm not sure half the world knows what an Ampersand is anymore, so I will show you a picture.
This is an Ampersand.
Poor lonely, Ampersand.

Thursday, 26 June 2014

Tourists and Whales with low self-esteem

 I was watching the news and one of the headlines read:
"Rare Albino Parades Off Coast"
And I'm thinking, wow these headlines make the animals sound really spontaneous. I mean, what's the next headline? "Seal sassy-ly waddles into water." Now, I'm no Whale expert, or Whale watcher, and I don't mean to rain on this Whale's "Parade", but it's only a parade if you have more than one Whale.
In other news, Monique knows nothing about Whales and is a Whale-bully.
Okay, this makes me really depressed. You see that wound right there? That's the wound I left in the lonely Whale's heart. I'm a terrible person.
Speaking of Whale Watchers, I wanted to talk about Tourists.
Tourists are like if an Oxymoron had a child. It's an Oxymoron's love child. Because, tourists always seem interested in everything they're doing, and they know stuff about the subject but at the same time know nothing. They also get excited over nothing. For example Whale Watchers like Watching Whales. (Thank you Captain Obvious.) And they have all these fancy cameras and there they are parading (Ironically) around with their bucket hats and fanny-packs, and once they snap a picture of let's say a tiny portion of a whale's tail, they get all excited like teenage girls at a Justin Bieber concert. Yeah, you have a picture of a Whale's tail. You could go on google images and find them there. I'm giving Whale's and Whale-watchers a hard time here. Okay if you're a whale or a whale watcher, I am so sorry. 
To put into perspective the way tourists act, let's make the setting a public bathroom. So there's tourists all around the bathroom and they're snapping pictures of everything.
"Oh honey you have to take a look at this guy's socks! They are just the best shade of petunia!"
Or the tour guide points out the soap in the soap dispenser:
"Here is the purple soap dispenser that caries the purple soap"
Then a very loud flamboyant woman will scream from the crowd of tourists:
"Hey! Why is the soap purple? That's so bizarre, OMG I have never experienced something so bizarre in the entirety of my whole existence!"
Yes, this is how tourists sound when they know nothing about the place they're visiting. It's like asking why people are pooping in a bathroom. So yeah, buy a tour book or somethin'. Or don't. I don't run your life.
(No Whales were harmed in the making of this post. Except maybe that Whale's self-esteem. Sorry!)

Saturday, 21 June 2014

Ducks and Chemicals Vs. Non-Ducks and Non-Chemicals

It's funny how in today's society throwing chemicals at your face and trying to be a duck is considered attractive yet not throwing chemicals on your face and not trying to be a duck is considered unattractive.*
Moral of the story: Ducks have ruined society 


Apperances: The second suspect has been found sporting an hourglass figure, and usually wearing very revealing garments. The first suspect has usually been found as an imposter for the victim's mouth. 

If found please call: 1800-I-Need-help-trying-to-fix-society-and-myself
Or E-mail at

*In case you had a little trouble undestanding this personification and weird analogy, I was talking about Duck faces and makeup. Also, that number and E-mail doesn't exist. Good luck finding it.
P.S Don't send me a dead duck in the mail please, or any radioactive substances. I actually do like ducks a fair amount, so if you're going to mail me a duck, at least mail it alive? Thanks.

Finals, you're a jerk, sir.

One word, well technically three if I count "One Word". Wait then it'd be fifteen words woops now nineteen, okay I give up. 
The word is "Finals" in case you are still following along.
One more week until I can freely wander the world and trip over things. The good thing is, It'll be my choice and my free-will to choose to trip over things. I haven't written here because of that precise matter. STUPID FINALS ARGH IF YOU WERE A PERSON I'D STRANGLE YOU 
Yeah, no, I need therapy. 
Don't expect me to have some kind of plot in this post because there isn't one. Also, a slight warning to all To-be-mothers, don't name your kid "Finals", because I'm pretty sure that person is probably going to be chased by mercenaries sent to him across the world. (Not me. I don't hire mercenaries. Only sometimes.)
Right, so moral of the story, nothing.
I don't run your life.
I don't even walk your life.
Maybe pathetic crawling yes. (Those are three bad puns I am never going to be able to take back.)
I hope you're all having a fantastic day, and happy summer solstice! Even you, Finals. Even you. 

Sunday, 15 June 2014

A infected post for Father's Day

I'm writing this with a stuffed up nose and angry left ear and I just realized something:
It's father's day
And what better way to celebrate Father's day than to have your daughter suddenly catch some kind of hybrid-ear-infection-slash-cold-slash-sudden-loss-of-voice thing. I know I may not always be the best daughter, and I bet I have many years ahead of me filled with disappointing moments, such as this one once you realize you didn't raise an optimist. Anyways, I'd like to dedicate this blog post to you, as I sit sulking in my bed like a crybaby. I guess that's the best part of being a father, right? Finding out who your kids are, and what they are really bad at, and what they're really good at. As you can probably already tell, I am not the best person at giving gifts. For the first ten years or more of my life I spent giving you boxers as a gift. Not even a real live boxer. One that you can ride courageously into the sunset like a boss. No, I gave you an item of clothing to cover your rear. Every. Year. For that, I have to thank you the most. It takes a man of great strength to accept spongebob trousers and smile at the same time. But being completely serious, dad, I want to thank you for shaping me to the person I am today. A sardonic blogger. No, what I meant to say was, I want to thank you for teaching me the lessons of life and guiding me to be the person I want to be. I repeat, a sardonic blogger. Seriously, though, for what it's worth, I love you. (Like, a lot. So, it's kind of a big deal)

Wednesday, 11 June 2014

I don't remember signing up for this..

..So, I keep hearing about this bizarre thing all over my school talking about, what?
"Final exams"
They give you this big-donkey (Get it? Get it?) test, and then you have to write down about everything in the year, and they used a word that I don't understand, it's not in my vocabulary. You can "fail" What does this mean? I don't remember filling out a form to sign up for this? Is this a free thing? I don't really want it in my school year if it's like a bonus or something. Is there anyway I can unsubscribe to this from all my courses?

Just kidding. I know what it is.

But seriously, I don't remember signing up for this with a side of ulcers. (Thank God I haven't gotten the side dish. Yet.)

Sunday, 8 June 2014

I'm an Ice-cream-truck-driving-real-boss-chick

One of these days, actually no. One day, when I'm really rich and sophisticated (And will learn how to spell sophisticated without spell-check helping me) I will buy myself an empty ice cream truck. That's right, empty.
Why you ask? I will cruise down a populated neighbourhood or school zone, and just stop. Kids will come running towards me, and this is what will happen.
*Fluttery kids scream ice cream and run towards my truck of sheer awesomness and lies*
KIDS: Ice cream!
ME: Hey kids, get your hands of my car. Is that what all you kids do? Run to random cars all the time and touch them? Geez, this generation.
Then I'll probably speed of really quickly into the sunset like a boss. Or maybe just like a terrible rich person with too much time to kill. Either way who cares, I own a darn ice cream truck.
And, according to Google, the North American definition of a boss is:
 excellent; outstanding.
  1. "she's a real boss chick"

Thank you google, for calling me a real boss chick. Next time, tell me something I don't know.
Anyways the lesson of this story is, I'm a real boss chick because I'll own an ice cream truck. 

Friday, 6 June 2014

Carnivorous Hamsters.

Okay, warning. If you are a little wee child, you need to get off my blog. Seriously, these stories are not Oh-hey-kids-crowd-around-me-in-a-library-while-I-read-to-you kind of stories. They are more like I-totally-just-ruined-everyone's-childhood kind of stories. So there you have it.
What better way to ruin somebody's childhood than telling a story that sort of ruined my respect for hamsters, eh?

Twas the night before Christmas, and I was awake. Yeah I ruined the parody, but it's okay. My life is a parody. Of what, I haven't figured out yet. I was about ten or something and I was excited to get gifts. My mother was nowhere to be found, and I wondered why. So, I walked into my mother's room. I heard a faint rumble coming from the closet, so without thinking (I was ten and stupid) I opened the door. 
I walked in and almost immediately I saw my mom putting together what looked like a hamster cage. It was awesome. It had different levels, and colours of plastic. (I repeat, I was ten. Plastic was appealing to me back then. I have an action figure in front of me. Okay, it still is) 
She shrieked and went all mother on me, so I left, and went to bed.
The next morning, I woke up bright early to take a look at my gifts. Under the tree, was the coloured plastic cage, only this time it had tiny little baby hamsters climbing all over the place. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen besides my mirror. (Joking, joking) I loved the baby hamsters, they ran around and were awesome. They were doing their job at being hamsters pretty well, until the very next day.
My hamsters were nowhere to be seen.  I walked to the back of the house wondering where they were, and right by the furnace room, the cleaning lady blocked my entrance.
"You can't come here."  She said.
"Whadda ya mean? I always cmere." I replied like a sassy ten-year old.
I sort of moved out of her way and in a tiny cardboard box, lay the baby hamsters. Only, their heads and different parts of their not so innocent selves lay in their mouths. They ate each other. I was horrified, and since that day, I have been scarred for life, because not only did I find out my mother was Santa, but that baby hamsters were cannibals. Anyways lesson of the story:
Hamsters are evil. Except Shrek, my first hamster. You're not evil. You're cool. 
P.S sorry for the awful story. You can't say I didn't warn you..

Thursday, 5 June 2014


Hullo citizens of the inter-webz! Let's get straight to the point. Today is my second round of shotuouts to awesome people doing awesome things. (Being my friend, pffft, obviously)
So, I like to give out the weirdest memes or things or watchamicallits, so here it goes.

I cannot explain how wonderful you are. We are sisters remember? YOU CANNOT TAKE THAT BACK NOW. 
Waaaaaaaay..too many. IT'S WIIIIIIIIINDDDDDYYYYY!!!

First of all, thanks for being my friend! Now, you are in my shoutouts Daniel. You have entered my blog, and there is no turning back now. Yes, I can see you right behind that tiny puny phone screen gettting freaked out at this total psycho mind game. Yeah. Totally.
Not my fault that GLaDos is a liar.

Attack on Titan bud! You're one of nicest people I have met! Keep being awesome. (And my friend)
A little heichou for you today.
You're an awesome friend, and what better way to bond than debating, eh? Am I right? Oh right, you never think I am right.

P.S If you were not mentioned you'll probably be in the next list! Bye! 
P.P.S Also, these aren't ranked by who my "Best friends" are, all my friends are equally important.