How Dare You Paint Your Finger Nails, Danielle.

I promise you there’s a logical explanation for why I’ve gone missing for three months. It’s not a super cool reason like “I decided to take a spontaneous vacation to Vancouver and hiked up the Rocky Mountains” or “I bought a 1972 Volkswagen Bus Vanagon and went on a road trip to California” or even “I’ve been learning how to play guitar and my fingers are too bruised to type.” No, the reason for my absence isn’t nearly as fantastic as any of those, but it’s a reason that I’m proud of.

A month ago, I decided I was tired of being unhappy. I had been stuck in this life where I was working a job I hated, drove a car that broke down on the side of the highway, twice. I had isolated myself from the friends that I loved so I could be with people that I didn’t love, I said no to concerts, drive-ins, shopping trips, day trips and salty foods to save money that I didn’t even have but worst of all, I had realized I was pleasing everybody else while I was letting myself down.

I had contemplating changing some things in my life for a long time but was always so afraid of what people would think. What would my family think if I quit my job? Sold my car? Moved to London (Ontario…not England. Although I wouldn’t pass up London England if the opportunity came)? Booked a trip to Mexico? Enrolled in University for English? Cut my hair and died it a colour that isn’t naturally mine? I had thought and thought and thought but wouldn’t make a move to change anything because I was so afraid of what people would say. If it wasn’t for a Saturday night last month where I found myself parked in a Walmart parking lot in my moms minivan wearing a hoodie that was 3 sizes too big, eating my weight in Greek yogurt, I probably wouldn’t have changed anything. “Why am I not going out? Why am I not learning something new? Why do I stay inside my bubble of comfort? Why am I wearing a sweater that’s way too big for me? What’s in my pocket? Oh, it’s a coupon for Bath and Body Works.” If it wasn’t for those thoughts, I wouldn’t have changed a thing or have my new ocean scented candle.  


And here we see where my entire pay-check went.

After that night, I quit my job, I put my car up for sale, I said goodbye to some people that I loved very much, I signed up for counselling, took a pottery class, took a painting class, took a writing class, went to a swimming lesson, learned how to roller-skate (I still fell twice. My tailbone is killing me), started looking for a new car, got my nails done (this may not seem like a big deal but I wasn’t allowed to paint my nails for FOUR YEARS because of my old job. Painting my nails was the most liberating activity I had done for a long time and I will not feel shame for this), made a new friend, contacted an old friend, learned how to change a tire and made the best pancakes you could ever imagine tasting.


This is exactly how I looked rollerskating. Sparkly shirt and all. 

These things may seem like small victories and you would be right in thinking that. They are small victories, but they’re MY small victories. I did these things. I decided to do them and so I did. I stopped letting my family and my friends and sometimes even strangers make my decisions for me. I wanted to do these things, so I did them and I haven’t felt this happy in a long time.

I had been told that I was being selfish by doing these things. I was selfish for quitting my job. I was selfish for saying goodbye to some people who had been there for me during my worst times. It was selfish to move so far from home. It’s selfish to leave the church, to stop volunteering, to not want to get married by 22, to not want kids by 25, to not want kids at all, to stop caring what people think. You’re selfish, Danielle. These were the thoughts that had stopped me from changing anything. I didn’t want people to think I was selfish and that I didn’t care anymore. It took me a long time to realize that this thought was the least selfish thought I could have. I had stopped doing the things I wanted to do because everybody else needed me to do something or be something else. Everybody had something to say about my life and what I was doing with it, except for me.

I never understood the feeling of being content with yourself. To be truly happy where you are and with what you’re doing and the decisions you’re making but I understand now. I am content. I love where I am.

Do something this week that you’ve always wanted to do, you were just too scared or too broke or too tall or too fat or too whatever to do it. Stop telling yourself that you can’t or you won’t…unless you’ve always wanted to like rob a bank or know how it feels to die or take candy from a baby. I don’t condone that you do those things.

I have never been happier and there’s nothing selfish about being happy… or having pink finger nails…or buying an ocean scented candle that makes your bedroom smell like a beach.


The Book Gods Probably Think I Need To Be Medicated

I’ve found myself going slightly insane this past week because I’m on my reading week which means I actually have free time and free time is probably the best present you could give me next to money… and maybe the diploma I paid thousands of dollars for, but free time isn’t a gift that I usually receive so when I do receive it, I crawl out of my cave (aka my bedroom that is littered with dirty laundry that I had no time to clean until this week) with a look of confusion and search for my family and friends and a normal sleep schedule that seems to have been missing since my senior year of high school.

I’ve been filling my time reading books that don’t involve human anatomy and aren’t required readings for my exams or for assignments and it was no surprise when I discovered that I don’t actually own any books that don’t have to do with human anatomy so almost every day this week I’ve taken my moms minivan to the nearest Chapters bookstore and grabbed every book within my slight that looked even remotely funny and had nothing to do with the human heart or statistics or contained the words “health care provider” anywhere within them.

I discovered that my new favourite place is the business section in Chapters because nobody ever goes down there and I can sit in peace with a stack of books that I find hilarious and entertaining and nobody will judge me for sitting on the floor while looking at books with pictures in them even though I’m a 20 year old, full grown adult. While reading these books I suddenly remembered that I have a blog and it’s probably covered in tumble weeds and cob weds from neglect and if there was social services for blogs, I probably would have been reported long ago and would be sitting down in an interview with scary government people trying to explain why my blog shouldn’t be taken away from me and sent to a group home, so I thought that it would be both productive and entertaining to write about the writing that I encountered while at Chapters.


Who would have thought this would be the second best place next to heaven and the McDonalds drive through after a wicked hankering for french fries

I started off with this lovely book titled “The Life-Changing Magic of Not Giving a F*ck” by Sarah Knight and it’s not the typical book that I would gravitate towards mostly because I don’t use profanity (unless I accidentally stub my toe or people cut me off while driving) and it was in the “Do It Yourself” section of the bookstore (which I think was put there out of pure humour because this book is obviously just one big troll for people to read and should be in the humour section but someone at Chapters was feeling like a level 100 troll one day and put it in the DIY section) and I was feeling adventurous so I picked it up and I’m so glad I did because it contained things like this:


I personally believe I am in “The Enlightened” category but most of my friends would disagree with that and would put me in the second category.

I also enjoyed this list of things that I should and should not be…caring… about because all of these are extremely accurate except for Greek yogurt. Yogurt that’s so thick is stays on the spoon even when its tipped upside down? Why wouldn’t you care about that!?


This book also decided my outfit for every Monday for the rest of my life.


The next book was called “Nice is Just a Place in France” by The Betches. I picked this one up only because of the name of the authors, obviously. I realized this was probably meant to be an extension onto the bible (as if the bible wasn’t long enough) because it contained some key life lessons that I didn’t realize I needed on my personal appearance.


Texting habits were also mentioned. I’ve been superhyped on Adderall for the last 6 years apparently.


It also told me that the root of all my problems is my enormous hair, which I already suspected was the culprit.


I then found a book that was an adult picture book (that I unfortunately cant remember the name of nor who the author is…please don’t sue me) which was AMAZING because it was like reading curious George all over again except George got a little too curious and ended up experimenting with drugs and went to college and became a wild party animal (pun intended) and is now an alcoholic and is stressed and in just as much debt as every other North American college student.


Yes, exactly my life.

I probably sat there on the floor of the business section for a good 45 minutes and I probably would have sat there for at least another hour if I didn’t come across this page that made me question why I found the activity of sitting in the business section reading adult humour books, enjoyable.


I thought that the “Book Gods” were trying to send me a message that it was time to put the books back now so I walked my way to the humour section but couldn’t help but notice the God forsaken romance novels that were so conveniently placed on a red rack with a sign overtop that said,  “For Your Valentines Day Pleasure” and I instantly wanted to throw up my Starbucks coffee that cost me almost $6 but I held it in because I cant afford to throw $6 onto the floor of the business section and I would instantly regret my life because all the business men coming to pick up books on financing or stocks or motivation would have to walk around my vomit but now that I think about it, if you’re buying books from the business section am I really the one who should be regretting their life here?

The Book Gods had made me realize that my choices in literature are questionable for sure, but at least I don’t read this,


or this,


or- are you kidding me? Is she… in a wheelchair?


Suddenly, I didn’t feel so bad about reading a book that had a section on anal being the final frontier.

Tables Are For Glasses. Not For Asses.

I’m not sure if my hair was bigger than usual last week but there was something about me that was attracting straight up weirdness to happen.

Last Monday I was sitting in a classroom studying (which really just means watching Netflix with a book in my lap and a highlighter in my hand) when all of the sudden I hear the door open and this couple walks-no, stumbles inside WITH THEIR TONGUES DOWN EACH OTHERS THROATS.


Literally what happened. Except it wasn’t two men…

There they were, fumbling with the door knob trying to get it open and then clumsily walking into the room while knocking over the phone mounted on the wall and brushing up against the various posters that were unsuccessfully persuading me to get a PhD, while I was sitting in a corner watching Vampire Diaries.

I was hoping that maybe one of them would notice me sitting at my laptop with my cardiac diseases textbook on my lap and my cat sweater that says, “What do you call a pile of cats? A meowontain” on it and my mouth wide open in surprise and disgust, but they never did.

So, I found myself sitting in the corner of the room having no idea what to do in this situation.

Do I interrupt your fornication session? Would that be weird? But it would be weirder if I just sat here and did nothing and pretended that I didn’t exist. But what on earth would I say if I interrupted you? Do I say excuse me? Pardon me? What the hell are you doing? Can you please suck face in another room? Tables are for glasses, not for asses?


Amidst me thinking through all of my options, things had apparently sped up much faster than I would imagine is an appropriate speed to go at during one of these events because the guys hand proceeded to go up the girls shirt and I could see her red bra starting to poke through from under her white cardigan.

At this point I decided that it really didn’t matter what I said to them because I did not want to see any nipples today other than mine (that is a sentence I never thought I would write) so, I did the first thing I thought of and I coughed. I felt that this would have been  the best thing to do, except I was getting extremely grossed out and uncomfortable at this point and the cough came out more like a really weird hiccup noise but it still did the job. I’ve never seen two white people get so red so fast in my life. It was like they got an instant sunburn. Alas, they had finally noticed me.


Me and you both, Scott.

I think the guy was in shock and was so embarrassed that he didn’t even notice that his hand was still on her boob and the girl decided she was super uncomfortable with him giving her a mammary exam all of the sudden and threw his hand off her chest and pulled her shirt back down at an olympic record speed.


Maybe I should have just done this?

The guy proceeded to tell me that he had no idea that anyone else was in here and that he was really sorry and blah blah blah. I politely nodded as I felt my face turning red from trying not to laugh and I told him it was no big deal, but maybe next time they should check if someone is in a room before they decide to…make out in it. The girl ruffled her hair and straightened out her bright red bra as the guy did up his belt (which I had no idea had come undone and I immediately became so much more thankful that I decided to let out my hiccup cough) and they left the room with their heads hung low. After they left I proceeded to call my boyfriend and tell him what happened and then continued to indulge myself in the addicting hobby of filling my mind with extremely hot men playing vampires but all I could think about was who wears a red bra with a white shirt?

Electronic Trash Bins Just Aren’t Doing It For Me

I didn’t boycott my computer for the last month if that’s what you’re wondering. In fact, it’s actually quite the opposite. I’ve spent more time watching Netflix these last few weeks than I have my entire life and I didn’t think it was possible to be sick of laying in bed watching a mind numbing amount of Vampire Diaries and terrible romantic comedies that have extremely predictable endings, but I have been proven wrong.

Being in bed as sick as a dog (who even decided that being “sick as a dog” was even a thing? I’ve seen like 3 sick dogs in my entire life while I’ve seen 50 sick humans this past week alone)


I googled “sick dog” and this is what came up. 

is prime time for writing but as you can tell, I’ve written nothing since my last blog post was in December. I was laying in bed with a drippy nose, a cough that sounded like I smoked 50 packs a day and a bed side table covered in drugs, (and not the good kind either) I realized that I couldn’t write a damn thing. I was trying to be all witty and funny and “girl next door-ey” and make people think I’m hilarious yet also very educated and someone they would want to be friends with and braid each others hair and paint each others nails…unless you’re a guy and your hair is short and you’d rather not have your nails painted, which would make that scenario extremely awkward instead of enjoyable. rawI found myself struggling to find something to write about that sounded even remotely interesting or funny which pissed me off even more so than usual because I literally did so much these past 3 weeks. I left the country, went to New York City, got stuck in the middle of a Hanukkah Parade (and I’m not Jewish, so figure that one out), started back at school, almost got into a car accident…twice, made a snowman wearing a bright pink Barbie coat and a hat made of out racoon fur (myself that is…not the snowman), found out I have a foreign exchange student from the U.K coming to live with me and almost died from eating bad Nutella.

SO HOW COULD I BE STRUGGLING TO FIND SOMETHING TO WRITE ABOUT?! There’s literally been so much going on! How are my fingers not bleeding from smashing the keys on my keyboard so much?! I DONT EVEN HAVE THE TIME TO THINK ABOUT THIS! I NEED TO BE WRITTINGGGGGG JBCWHEWIHFIHWEH!!!!!!

But there I was, sitting down in front of a blank sheet on Microsoft Word with not a clue what to say or being deeply dissatisfied with what I had written to the point of crumpling it up and dramatically dunking it in the electronic recycling bin on my desktop, which I have to say was not nearly as satisfying as crumpling up an actual piece of paper and tossing it into an actual trashcan. Alas…even technology fails me at my darkest moments.


I realized that I was not dissatisfied with my work because the writing wasn’t good or because the story sucked or I thought people would like it, but I was dissatisfied because it wasn’t funny.

Humour is the one attribute about myself that I will never hate or want to change. I started this blog over a year ago for a very simple reason, because I wanted to make people laugh. I 8fb502b5a788c9d21bbe76683cb92ce6wanted it to be a place where people could come when they were sad or having a bad day to put a smile back on their faces. The posts I had written were good…they just weren’t funny so what was the point in even posting them?

And here I am again, this time staring at a half done, untiled, Pages document (because somehow I convinced myself that if I used Pages instead of Word, my writing would be funnier???), still being unsatisfied with my writing and not thinking its funny enough or witty enough or good enough to be published….but I’m going to publish it anyway’s.

I’d be lying if I said I was satisfied with this post, and I’d be lying once more if I said I thought it was funny. This isn’t the sort of thing I’d be excited to publish and show the world and bring home to my mother so she can put it on the fridge and we can all stare at while we wander into the kitchen in the middle of the night to eat bad Nutella that gives us food poising for 2 days.


This is no longer my feelings towards Nutella

But, its still my work, and I still spent a good two hours  of my time writing, editing, proof reading, re-writing it twice more and googling funny gifs and memes to incorporate into it, so I’m going to publish it and I’m challenging you to do that same.

Dig through your archives and find something you wrote that you absolutely hated and publish it (it may be absolutely terrible but it could be hilarious and make for an excellent opportunity to make you feel much better about yourself now) or if you’re not a writer, take a chance to say something to someone that you always wanted to (unless its something not nice… then I suggest you keep it to yourself), or wear that dress you think you’re too fat to look good in, apply to the program you think you have no chance at getting into or pick up a map and decide to go somewhere completely new for a while. Do something you told yourself you could never do, because if you never do it, you’ll be right in telling yourself that you couldn’t do it  and then I would be wrong by telling you that you could do it… and I like to be right. So go out and do that thing that you’re thinking of doing but you said no to a million times because I need to be right…and I also want to feel less bad about publishing something that adds no meaning to your life…. Okay, but does anything I write add meaning to your life? I wrote a blog posts about Jello Cubes having raves, banana farts and Canadian Geese attacking me. This post is probably the most normal thing I’ve published in a long time and I’m being way too hard on myself. Ahh……I need a nap…and to check the best before dates on Nutella from now on.

“Ma’am, I’m wearing a name tag.” And Other Phrases That Will Get You Fired

I’m not sure not sure what it is about Christmas that makes people so insane, but it’s really getting tiring to deal with. I mostly feel this way because I work in retail and talk to grumpy customers all day who say “Where are your winter tires?” and then proceed get mad and call me a number of colourful names when I tell them that we in fact, do not sell winter tires because I work in a grocery store.

Yesterday I had a woman get mad at me because she wanted me to cook her a chicken (I fry chicken and cook food a living. One time someone commented on my blog and told me I was the “Queen of Fried Chicken”and I’ve started using that as my official job title and put it on my resume so, shout out to the blogger who made my job title much more amazing,) but she didn’t want me to cook it with the skin on it which I then proceeded to tell her that it’s quite difficult to peel the skin off a raw chicken, but after it was cooked I would peel it off for her. But that wasn’t acceptable and I was “not providing service to a loyal customer” so she asked me what my name was so she could report me to the manager. I looked at her as I pointed to my chest where my name tag was and said, “Ma’am, I’m wearing a name tag.” The customer didn’t find it very funny but my coworkers did.


This is an actual picture of me at work, I promise. 

So yes, the holidays make people kind of insane which makes it really difficult to fry chicken with a smile on my face and not give customers attitude and potentially get fired (because I totally could have been fired for that, although it would have been 100% worth losing my job over) and even animals are no exception to the crazy. I was on YouTube watching cat videos (don’t you dare judge me, people do this all the time) when all these “Cat gets stuck in christmas tree” and “Waffles the Cat explores tree. Knocks it onto baby.” and “Cat won’t leave tree because he gets high off of pine scent”, videos came up and I realized that humans are so insane around the holidays because their cats are driving them crazy by ruining all their expensive decorations.

Just watch this and tell me you wouldn’t want to go and yell at the ‘Queen of Fried Chicken’ after all that?

I did manage to find videos of the Christmas trees seeking revenge on cats and scaring them in return for ripping out their branches and knocking off all the wonderfully overpriced ornaments and I realized that the solution to all my grumpy customer problems would be to offer each angry customer a free singing tree to permanently scar their cat from jumping at their christmas tree.

No insane kitties = No ruined christmas trees = No crazy customers = I won’t get fired and will remain the Queen of Fried Chicken (which could be a good or bad thing because I don’t really want to be the Queen of Fried Chicken forever. I know, how shocking.)

Although, singing christmas trees are a tad bit expensive to be giving away for free (and are quite creepy and look like a prickly, mossy, pine scented, Sorting Hat from Harry Potter) we can always give customers free wrapping paper so people can just wrap their cats in Christmas paper and leave them under the tree until Christmas is over, like this guy did. The cat gets to whiff in pine scent all day while the humans don’t have to pick up the tree and redecorate it three times a day and they don’t come in and yell at me for not selling winter tires in a store that sells food. It’s a win-win-win situation.

Your cat will also look 300x cuter with a bow on its head, guaranteed.

But, Danielle, don’t YOU own a cat? Why aren’t YOU acting crazy?

Ha. Haha. You poor child. You must not have met me.

I am ALWAYS crazy when I’m out in public. Not “mean to shop workers” crazy…but just normal crazy and my cat is deathly afraid of my christmas tree so he doesn’t bother with it. THANK GOD for that because I still live with my mom and she buys all these expensive ornaments from Pier One Imports or Winners or some other “Mom” store that sells overly priced, glittery objects that smell like perfume and if my cat so much as breaths on one, he will be turned into soup. And maybe a nice pillow covering. Or a new tree skirt for the tree. One of those three anyways.

Toronto Needs To Chill On The Canadian

So I haven’t made a blog post in two weeks and no, it wasn’t because I died, although I thank you for the concern but I have gone missing for the last two weeks because it is exam season… so I wish I actually had died.


How I feel during exams

I’ve been studying and finishing up final assignments and reports for the last few weeks, (which actually means I’ve been binge watching “The Crown” and YouTubing episodes of questionable British television while a book sits in my lap) and I have had no time to write on anything that doesn’t have to do with cardiac diseases and I highly doubt people who read my blog would want to know about cardiac diseases (although cardiomyopathy is quite fascinating and I highly suggest you Google it if you have the time). But despite all the assignments and lab reports and exams, I managed to find the time to take a day trip to Toronto with my mom because who doesn’t want to go downtown Toronto at the peak of christmas shopping season? Well, my mother apparently doesn’t mind the insanity of Toronto this time of year,so she dragged with her.

I don’t really like the city to be quite honest which is kind of ironic since I’ve spent most of my life living in one and have been to Toronto more times than I’ve been to the town I was born in but this time I actually didn’t mind going BECAUSE I GOT TO TAKE THE TRAIN!!!!!!111!!!!!

Whoa, calm down lady, you’re probably thinking. No. You don’t understand. Taking the train here is EXTRA cool because I’ve taken the train three times in my whole life. I have been on airplanes more times than I have been on the train AND I WAS SO EXCITED that I accidentally texted the wrong person about the train routes and the most Canadian thing ever happened.


The nicest stranger I’ve ever encountered had no idea who I was but still gave me directions… and this isn’t the first time this has happened either.

Even though I messaged the wrong person, I figured out how to get to Toronto (ON THE TRAIN!!!!) and I got a picture of Ontario’s biggest Christmas tree. It reminded me of the massive Christmas tree in the middle of Whoville in “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” except it wasn’t as whimsical… and Jim Carrey (who adds to the story because he’s conveniently Canadian) didn’t light it on fire.


See, look how pretty!

I also got to see a pink Christmas tree forest which I had a love hate relationship with because the colour was pretty but all the pine needles stuck in my sweater and all over me and I went to school with pink pine needles stuck in my hair for the last three days and people were all “Ew. You don’t shower. You had that in your hair yesterday.” and I’m all, “You uneducated swine. Do you realize how hard it is to get things out of curly hair? I found a Halloween sprinkle in my hair from 2005 last week. Things don’t just ‘wash out’ of curly hair.” Except I said it a little nicer than that. I think.


I was then forced to take a million photos of the city I have been in a million times because my mother was with me and there’s some rule written in the Mom book that says you have to take an unnecessary amount of photos of your children, so this is me protesting by hiding in an elf house, which she still managed to get a picture of.


I was also encountered by a Costco amount of free food and if you don’t have Costco where you live, I feel incredibly sorry for you because Costco gives out so many free samples that you could literally eat a free lunch worth of food there. I know this because I’ve done it and I’m not ashamed of it. Costco also allows you to buy anything from diamond rings to toilet paper to frozen fish all in one place. It’s like Walmart on crack.

Here I am with free soup, which was delightful because it was so dreadfully cold.


And here I am WITH FREE POUTINE!!! This made me more excited than the train because not only is poutine a Canadian delicacy, but it is quite possibly the BEST drunk food you will ever eat in your life.Not that I was drunk here…and not that I would know that t’s the best drunk food from personal experience or anything…. It’s also full of salt so it makes your arteries feel extra warm. And clogged.


I also encountered several other super Canadian things like a giant moose made of moss surrounded by Canadian beer bottles. Apparently we love to drink more here than they do on the questionable British television shows that I love to drown myself in… like Geordie Shore. Yes, I know, it’s garbage television BUT I CANT STOP WATCHING DRUNK BRITISH PEOPLE!! IT’S SO ENTERTAINING!! “YOUR A WANKER! YOU GOT WITH A BIRD LAST NIGHT! I SAW HIS WILLY! I WEED THE BED!” British reality TV is just so much more entertaining than the American versions, mostly because they call women birds, they can use the word “willy” in a serious conversation and when they pee themselves they say “they’ve weed” themselves. Ahhh…the British are a fascinating species.


And I got to see the CN Tower (again) which is always fun. I also learned that my mom used to work in the building that I have, ever so nicely, decided to label for you. She was a receptionist there when she was my age which seems crazy to me because my mom was already married and had her life together when she was younger than I am and it makes me feel like I’m making poor life choices. Sorry, Mom.


Although my day was filled with Canadian stereotypes, free food and pink forests, my day got even better because I discovered this gem:


Umm, Danielle, this is just a board where people write what they’re thankful for? What’s so great about this?

Well, most people wrote friends names or family members,”Mom” appears quite frequently and boyfriends or girlfriends names were popular, but there were three particular names that made me love this city even more that I already did that day.  img_4982

Someone had written Chicken nuggets and Tasty Wok at the bottom of the board and I was laughing so hard that people had begun to stare at me and my mom walked away from me pretending she didn’t know me. THESE ARE MY PEOPLE!! I LOVE THIS CITY!! I kept thinking, because chicken nuggets is EXACTLY what I was thinking about writing on that board.

Just as my mom was coming back to steal my phone to take more pictures, I noticed a third one that made me laugh even harder.


Someone was thankful for HARAMBE. This meme just won’t die. I mean… I know Harambe died but… you know what, never mind.

So, if you’re having a bad day, I highly recommend that you “accidentally” text a Canadian because they’ll probably reply to you in a really funny and kind way or go order a poutine because anything covered in cheese and gravy is bound to cheer you up. If poutine doesn’t help you, I don’t know what will.

Cats Have Now Joined The “Mile High” Club. Yes, You Read That Correctly.

I  have a really bad habit of misbehaving in public. I cannot go anywhere without acting like a durranged lunatic. I think its mostly because when I think of something hilarious to do, I will do just about anything to do it and I don’t care what other people think as long as I get to be funny. One time I paid a whole dollar to ride on the merry-go-round ride in the mall that was literally built for 4 year olds. I sat up on the horse seat that fit one of my butt cheeks and smiled and waved to people as they passed by. Most people looked at me like I was crazy and I was “disturbing their shopping experience” as the mall security guard told me, but a few people laughed with me and that made it all worth it. It was the best dollar I ever spent.

Last week I didn’t attempt to ride another merry-go-round but I did end up in a book store which resulted in me picking out all the cat colouring books I could find and taking pictures of the funniest ones. I couldn’t help but do it. Some of their facial expressions were just begging for me to imagine them saying or doing something hilarious and I sat in the middle of the book store cackling away at a cat colouring book. I tried to explain what was so funny to my boyfriend and showed him all the pictures of the cats and said funny things that I think they would say, but he just looked at me like I has just smoked meth and suggested that I continue to laugh but on the other side of the store. And away from him. And I should return to the car after he did so no one would know we were together.

I thought I would share my epic cat monologues with ya’ll since no one else seems to understand my humour. But you also can laugh at me from a far distance and don’t need to be in the same room as me while I do these things…


“I purred once. It was awful.”

“Brenda shut the hell up or I’ll tell Steve about that time in Vegas”


“I’m only here because I heard that Russian women are hot. And they also said there would be free cake. There was no free cake… and no women.”


“Frank, for God’s sake stop it! It’s your daughters birthday party and you Will. Have Fun.”

“Shut the hell up Karen, I’m having fun! LOOK IM WEARING A FUNKY HAT. ITS FUN! IM HAVING FUN! ”


*sniff sniff* Do I smell chicken?


“Dude I’m so high right now”

” Yo, what time is it?”



“DONUTS MAKE YOU FAT?!!?!?!??! ”

And my personal favourite…




So, if you ever need a person to go shopping with, don’t call me. Because I’ll end up doing stuff like this and probably get us kicked out of the mall and arrested.

Also, what is this thing? An eggplant… with a window in it… and a tail coming out of the window????? I think the “high cat” is the culprit behind this one…



Told you.

So, You Want To Move To Canada Eh?

This morning I awoke to the news that my neighbours to the south had made the decision to vote Mr. Donald Trump as their president *slow claps*.

My Facebook feed is FILLED with American cries for help and “I’m moving to Canada” posts. At first I thought it was a joke and I’m like OKAYYYYY you all SAY you’re going to move here but can you really leave behind Target, Krispy Cream donuts, warm weather, cheap groceries and the imperial system just to get away from Donald Trump… 100% yes you’ll leave that behind because you crashed the Canadian immigration website.



Not that I really blame you all for wanting to come here, in fact I think it would be quite nice to have some American blood in this vast frozen land. So I thought while you’re waiting for the Canadian immigration website to come back online I will give you some basic tips about Canada! How exciting!

Things are expensive in Canada because our dollar pales in comparison to yours, we measure the temperate in celsius, our weight in kilograms, our height in meters and centimetres and our speed in kilometres- along with literally every other country in the world because everyone else jumped on the metric wagon except America. We also have several Canadian department stores like Canadian tire (yes, seriously), shoppers drug mart, Roots clothing store, and Tim Hortons is basically our Dunkin Donuts- and we spell doughnuts how it should be spelled- DONUTS. We also spell colour and favourite with a U, pronounce ‘Z’ as ZED and not ZEE and have the Queen on all our money since we haven’t really separated from Mother England yet. We also have a PRIME MINISTER and not a President. Our current prime minister, Justin Trudeau, is actually pretty rad and surprisingly young and handsome and he speaks french fluently (which is our second language- Alors, apprenez du français!). Google translate will be your best friend, as it is mine. 

Justin Trudeau

And here we see Daddy Canada in his natural state.

But don’t keep your hopes up ladies, he’s married to the most beautiful woman in the world.


Here we see Daddy Canada breaking the hearts of every Canadian woman.

Canada also accepts 30% of immigrants that apply because we have so much land and only have a population of 36 million people and we can’t sustain our population on our own. Which is a good thing for you, because if you have a degree, a family and a job, you’ll most likely be let in.

Also, don’t pet the polar bears, moose are real (and they’re also very violet), we have a real deer infestation going on in Ontario right now (deer are everywhere and they run out in the middle of the road and cause car accidents), Canadian Geese are evil (as I’ve already written about), the Beaver is our national animal, Tim Hortons is life but don’t order the hot chocolate cause it sucks, we still continue to go to work and drive in 5 feet of snow (so if you’re from Florida- good luck with that), guns are illegal to have unless you have a license for one (which is hard to get by the way) and our health care is 100% free, so feel free to bang your head against the wall as much as you want since Trump won, because your concussion will be 100% free to be treated.

Yeap, my country is pretty awesome and it feels extra awesome to be Canadian today since we have Daddy Trudeau while you have this…


But we already knew it was awesome here. We were just waiting on you guys to realize it.



Edward Cullen Can Never Have Garlic Bread Again. How Sad.

It’s Halloween ya’ll and here I am sitting in my living room eating the candy that I’m suppose to be handing out to trick-or-treaters while wearing minnie mouse ears and Winnie the pooh pyjamas. It really isn’t any different than a regular night for me.

I’ve been staring at my phone all night looking at the most amazing Halloween memes and all the sudden this beauty comes rolling up on my screen:


I could not contain my laughter when this came up partly because I love a good Halloween joke (but who doesn’t?) , but mostly because I loved the fact that the skeleton is all “oh…oh my god… you can’t eat garlic bread” and he sounds so ashamed it was as if he just made a “yo mama” joke after Dracula’s mother just died, except worse.

I don’t actually know if Dracula’s mother (I’m assuming this vampire is in fact Dracula and not another unknown male vampire) could die since vampires are immortal and live for thousands of years. Twilight didn’t really educate me on my vampire facts, except for the fact that they supposedly sparkle in the sun (I think Dracula would be ashamed of what has become of vampire legends). However, my boyfriend is Romanian and FUN FACT: Dracula’s castle is in Romania which makes my boyfriend a vampire/ soccer/ european/ cabbage roll expert so he knows all there is to know about vampires and has confirmed that Dracula’s mother did die, mostly because Dracula wasn’t a vampire and was actually 100% human along with his mother.

I don’t really blame Dracula for not becoming a vampire (as if that were an actual possibility) because vampires can’t eat garlic bread just as this skeleton so hilariously pointed out, and that would be a horrible life. Especially cause it’s not the length of a regular life, its like 10 times a long. Just imagine 3000 years without garlic bread… Ummm, no thanks.

I Went To Wonderland (sort of).

I’m still on my reading week which means I’m trying to fill up my time with literally anything else other than homework so I can continue to hold the world record in procrastination. I decided to go for a little drive today and see where I could end up and I found myself on the shores of lake Ontario in a town that looked like Oompa Loompas would come crawling out of the houses and pink and purple, floating cats or hares with pocket watches would jump out of the trees at any moment, because I was in wonderland. I drove into this neighbourhood where the houses were painted the colours of candy, there were intricate and crazy wooden designs added to them and I honestly hate taking pictures but when you accidentally find yourself in wonderland, you have to document.


I would like to clarify that that is not a real person on the roof with their head in their hands. It’s just a Halloween decoration. If a real person was standing on the roof with their head in hands I would question if I was sober because “beheaded person” + “colourful houses”=  I have most likely been drugged and I am now Alice in Satanic Land.

If you’re judging me right now and thinking “what the hell? You would be thinking you’ve been drugged but you wouldn’t think to call the police if you saw a beheaded person?” UMMMM WHY WOULD I CALL THE POLICE IF I WAS DRUGGED?! THEY WOULD ARREST ME FOR BEING HIGH AND THINK I WAS THE ONE WHO DID IT.

I might be a little bit insane, but I’m not stupid. At least when it comes to drugs.


This one even had wooden mushrooms in the yard like they purposefully wanted people to be like “Yup. I’m totally stoned right now.”


Could you imagine how long this house took to paint? And how crazy would you look going to the paint store being like “I want 8 litres of red that is exactly the colour of Dorothy’s ruby red slippers. No, this isn’t for my child’s bedroom, this is for my house. No, like the outside of my house.”


This house was called “Cotton Candy Cottage” which I thought was 110% appropriate. img_4712And here we see the domestic* blogger leaving her house for the first time in months, in awe of what has become of modern cottages.

*I wrote domestic here because I was hearing the words in my head as if Morgan Freeman was saying them and I felt like he would insert the word domestic in when describing me but there literally is nothing domestic about being a blogger and a student. I just sit in front of my computer all day while my laundry piles up and the milk goes bad. But I’m lactose intolerant, so the milk can go as bad as it wants. img_4711

My mom also has no idea how to use a camera and her fingers are in almost every picture that she tried to take.


Oh look, more fingers.


I also found this “Take One Leave One” mailbox/ library/ amazingness very interesting. You take a book out like you’re “signing it out” and you leave one there for someone else to borrow. If I didn’t run into the Oompa Loompa houses, I probably would have thought this was the most amazing thing ever. This also seems a little bit insane to me because I’m so protective over my books and I would be afraid that people would steal them or that water would get inside this bird house disguised as a library. But this is Canada, so who’s going to steal?


I particularly liked this one simply because their garden was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It was probably only 100 square feet but it was filled from fence to fence with trees and flowers and you could probably get lost in it. Or at least, I would get lost in it because I have a terrible sense of direction. Didn’t I see this bush before….


I also decided to stop at a restaurant for lunch which I honestly wasn’t too sure about doing because I have no money and every time I go out I can never manage to be healthy, I always have order anything deep fried and covered in gravy, but I’m so glad I decided to stop because I realized that who ever owned this restaurant was a genius. Just look at the way they’ve written their menu. img_0862“Alone but actually with a bunch of other fries” Like seriously, it looks like I wrote their menu. I have a degree in sarcasm and it’s on my resume, as well as on this menu.


I had already spent $8 on lunch and my card was magically accepted so I decided to push my luck and see if I could spend even more money and I managed to find a massive ostrich fountain that was $7500. And yes, my card was magically accepted for this too.

Just kidding. I wouldn’t spend $7500 on an ostrich fountain. Maybe if it was $7500…and was made of solid gold, and cured cancer and solved world hunger, but $7500 for a regular fountain (even if it is shaped like a massive bird) is a little steep for me.


On the way home we passed over Lake Ontario and I got a pretty good view of Toronto without having to drive through any traffic which was honestly a miracle so I had to take a picture of it except the picture didn’t really turn out since Canadian weather is terrible and its either raining, snowing, foggy or all 3 of those at once, so I labeled it for you. You’re welcome.


So, at the end of the day I made it to wonderland (sort of), lake ontario, a super sassy restaurant, a one person library, saw a lady with her own head in her hands, an insanely overpriced garden apparel store, Toronto (sort of…again) and found a local market that had lots of Canadian flags and maple syrup.

I guess it’s a good idea to look away from your computer screen and leave your house every once and a while. Just take your phone with you. And check your social media every hour. And maybe put on a coat cause its cold outside. And if anyone tries to convince you to buy a $7500 ostrich fountain, don’t do it. You should question why on earth they even have an ostrich fountain and they’ll probably look at you really strange and ask you to leave the store but you were going to leave anyways because everything in there is clearly way too expensive and only rich people can afford to buy a 7 foot tall bird fountain. Rich people are weird.