This blog has been hacked!

So, today I got to my blog and noticed I was locked out. At first, I thought of going to the blog locksmith, assuming I had lost my blog keys because I'm often clumsy and stupid like that... until I realized the lights were all turned on. I'm not very athletic, or anything. In fact, I'm pretty damn lazy, but I did my best to climb to a place where I could see inside and I noticed Danielle there, running around the place, playing with my crayons and my sheets of virtual paper!

I felt an immediate rush of rage. It wasn't just a normal rage... it wasn't the sort of rage you'd want to keep inside your house... a rage that needed to be released... it was an outrage!

Disregard the terrible pun... the point is I was aggravated and mad, so I decided to get back at her, and I came over here for payback while she played around in my blog. Luckily, the blog door was unlocked, and I looked around with an evil grin on my face, thinking what to break first.

I approached the little dandelions that decorate the background, you know the ones...

I took a deep breath and blew hard enough to blow a motherfucking brick house, but the dandelions didn't move.

I took a closer look and noticed the dandelions were made of a strange polymer. So yes, in case you were wondering, they are strictly decorative dandelions.

Frustrated, I walked around the place to see what else was around, and much to my surprise there was only one place to go:

One room... I suppose you could say this place is a loft-blog. That's cool, keepin' it simple...

Anyway, I went to a wall where she had pictures of all her followers. I took out this pen I always take with me to make penis funny drawings on bathroom stalls and drew mustaches on all of them:

Ha!

After walking a little I noticed the floor was no longer green, it was brown instead. I figured that was the bathroom and wondered how the hell I got so far, and it took me about half an hour to find my way back to the dandelions. I was unhappy with my lame attempt to desecrate this blog, so I took one long look at the title, wondering if there was some way I could defile that before I took off.


I was sort of happy now, so I went back to my blog. She wasn't there anymore, and I was able to go in. I looked around the place to see what she had done with the place, and I found nothing out of place. Then, when I went to the front page, I noticed this awesome post, already written, and a note that said "you work so hard, I figured you could use a day off."

I looked at the other side of the note hoping she added something like "there's spaghetti leftovers on the fridge", but that's all there was. Still, I felt bad for taking things so far without knowing for sure, so I grabbed a bucket of water and soap and came back here to undo my misdoings. 

In retrospect, it was a terrible idea, since there was a faucet on this blog so there was no need to carry a heavy bucket full of water all the way from my blog... but yeah, I guess that explains why you just caught me here red handed with soap on my face. As for the not wearing pants, it's damn hot here in blog-Canada. Wait, what was the question, again? Anyway... I'm done cleaning, so I'm gonna head off now. Before I leave, I'm gonna stop by the subscribe button. You should too, it's over there on the right. Bye!
Oh, and don't tell Danielle that you saw me...



ACK! MY BLOG! Well, at least he cleaned everything up. In all seriousness though, go check out our guest blogger at his bog, Award Per Day. You won't regret it. In fact, you'll enjoy it. Guaranteed.

Told you I was a klutz

I'm not sure if that's something I should be bragging about.

Yesterday I got the privilege of seeing my brother's apartment that he just moved into last weekend. I unfortunately was not around to help him move in, so everything I knew about it was second-hand information from my parents. All I had heard was that it was really nice and that it was a 10 minute walk from his work. Yesterday also happened to be the day that my boyfriend flew back to Ontario, and I had to drop him off at the airport at 7 in the morning. Which meant waking up at 6. Not to mention, it had been an exhausting week. So once I dropped him off, I went home and took a nice, loooooooong nap. A 4 hour nap, to be precise.

When I woke up my sense of time had gone a little wonky, and before I knew it I was running late to meet my brother and I didn't even know his address yet. Once I got that figured out I rushed down there as quickly as I could. I parked my car across the road, hopped out, and set off at a brisk pace towards his front door. There was a slight zig-zag in the sidewalk which I approached without a second thought. I cut the corner a little to closely, and suddenly my little toe, totally exposed to the elements by my flip flop, collided with a nice big rock. Hard. I took a few deep breaths until the worst of the pain passed, then prodded my toe gently to make sure I didn't dislocate or break it. Satisfied that I should be okay, I headed up to check out the apartment.

While my brother took me on the official tour and caught me up on life away from our parent's house, I gradually became more and more aware of a throbbing pain in my toe. For the most part I ignored it, briefly calling attention to it only to amuse my brother with the story of how the injury happened. After chatting for a while he asked if I would like to go for a walk with him down by the water. Why not? I thought, sliding my flip flops back on and being very careful to walk on the inside of my foot. This turned out to be not such a good decision. Soon after we left my whole ankle was starting to hurt because I was not walking on my foot the way nature intended. When my brother asked if I was okay walking in flip flops I informed the shoes weren't the problem; rather, my potentially broken toe was causing my trouble. Given that I was still happily walking beside him, he came up with what was likely the best answer he could think of. "Huh," he said, then tactfully changed the subject. We walked a little farther before agreeing to turn around, after which I promptly headed home and stuck some ice on my toe. Too little, too late.

This morning I attempted to gently slip my feet into my runners so I could ride my bicycle to work. After approximately 1.75 seconds it became painfully clear that closed-toe shoes were not going to be an option today. I dug through my closet and pulled out my only pair of work-appropriate sandals that I could find, which happened to have a strap that crossed right through the middle of my bruise. They were better than the runners though, and my only option. Overall they did fine most of the time, except when I forgot to walk on the inside of my foot. And when I kicked a chair with the same toe. That hurt even more than when I kicked the rock.

Of course, being a klutz, injuries like this are not exactly rare. I still have bruises and bumps on my shin from two months ago when I tripped and bashed my leg on a stage, and I have a few random bruises whose origins are a complete mystery, even to me. I like to tell myself that being a klutz is beneficial; after all, I've never broken a bone despite my best efforts. The years of bashing have strengthened them and made me nearly indestructible. Heck, I could probably be a superhero.

...in my dreams.

Can I help you?

Some days, I'm a little bit special.

Right now I'm staying at a hotel with my boyfriend. The hotel is about a 15 minute drive from where I actually live, but as he's only visiting for a week I want to spend as much time with him as possible. However, both of us are still working. I finish my day about 3 hours before he does, which I rather enjoy because I have some time to get stuff done before he shows up.

Yesterday we were invited to have dinner with my parents. The boyfriend and I agreed that when he finished work he would stop by and pick me up so we could head to my house together. I got back to the room after a long, exhausting day and decided to have a quick nap. Two hours later I woke up with just enough time to shower and get ready before he headed over to get me. I jumped up and got ready as quickly as I could, then headed off to wait for him outside. I got in the elevator and casually reached over to press the button for the main floor at the very bottom of the panel on the left-hand side, forgetting that the button was actually a few rows up. Instead I press the emergency call button.

Immediately, panic starts to set in.

First, I press the button a few times to see if I can turn it off. No luck. As the phone starts ringing, I glance up at the floor indicator to see if the elevator was still moving or if I managed to get myself stuck. All I saw when I looked up was a big "X". Not good. Finally, someone answers the phone and, very calmly, says "Does anyone there need assistance?" Quickly turning beet red, I admitted what had actually happened and I was assured that it was no problem.

Later I found out that the elevator ALWAYS says "X" at that point because there is no second floor, and I'm sure that I'm not the first person to press the wrong button. But every time I get in the elevator now I double check which one I'm pushing before I actually push it.

An explosively good time.

I love living in Canada. I would not trade it for the world. However, I'm actually a dual citizen because my mom is a landed immigrant from the States. She moved up here to be with my dad, but all of her family is spread out more or less between South Dakota and California. Every once in a while we go down to catch up with these relatives. The family in California we visit for Christmas, but there's no better time to go visit the rest of the family than during the yearly get-together for Independence Day. Not only do we get to hang out with relatives we rarely get to see, but we get to blow up some fireworks.

After this year we're not sure when we'll be able to come back, so my parents brought down a bigger budget for explosives to make sure we got as much enjoyment out of it as we could. This year also ended up being quite eventful. On Sunday we all packed into the rental car, realizing for the first time that we had NO idea where the seatbelt was for the middle seat in the back. My mom eventually bit the bullet and just told my dad to drive safe as the store wasn't very far away. Thankfully the drive was perfectly boring.

Walking into the fireworks store is kind of like walking into a candy shop when you're a kid. There's so much choice, and you want to get as much bang for your buck as possible. Last year we got a "power pack" and really liked it, so I made sure to grab one. It's a fairly large pack, so the owner came over and tried to take it and put it behind the counter. I quickly declined, I didn't want to pass up one of my few chances to carry large amounts of fireworks just because I could. After some deliberation, we managed to agree on a sizeable number of packages and individual pieces that should put on a good show. After loading them all into the back of the car we climbed back in, and my younger brother reassured my mom that not having a seatbelt was a good thing because in a crash she "would be safely ejected from the vehicle...BEFORE it explodes."

The next day we not-so-patiently waited for the sun to set so we could put start blowing things up. We used the excuse of  "getting rid of the lame stuff" to set off a few spinners and bottle rockets in the middle of the day. As night approached though, we noticed some storm clouds forming just north of us. We had a beautiful sunset as a backdrop, and soon enough lighting started up off in the distance to add a little something extra to our display. We decided to just get started, and my family, along with a few other relatives who had bought some fireworks of their own, got down to business.

At first it was fantastic. The next-door neighbour, on the opposite side from us at the thunderstorm, was setting off some impressive fireworks that added to our own show. The lightning to the other side sometimes made it hard to focus, but also gave us something to look at in those lulls when we were waiting for the next one to go off. The clouds in the background were turning shades of pink, accented by rays from the setting sun. The view couldn't have been more perfect. About halfway through though we realized the lightning was getting a little closer, and saw a tornado trying to form off in the distance. A few people got nervous, but most of us didn't give it much thought. When we were about 2/3 of the way through our supplies the wind picked up. Then the wind got cold. Everyone there knew this meant that the storm was coming towards us, and suddenly it was a rush against time to set off all of our fireworks before the rain hit. Safety was tossed out the window as we set our fireworks as far away as we could and watched nervously as the sparks were blown over our heads. Just as the rain started to pick up, my brothers and I managed to set off our last firework. Not long afterwards, the rain was coming down so hard that you couldn't set foot outside without getting drenched. The drive back to the house we were staying at was exciting, surrounded by pounding rain and constant lightning. Arriving there was less exciting, as we realized the power was out. A few candles solved the problem though, and gave a surprisingly peaceful ending to a crazy night.

I'm not sure when I'll get back to South Dakota. I do know that, as cool and exciting as this was, I hope next time Mother Nature calms down a bit and lets us blow stuff up at our own pace.

Bad timing

Back in high school, I had 4 friends that I was really tight with. Even when we first graduated, we made a lot of effort to keep hanging out and seeing each other as much as possible. Slowly but surely though, we started drifting apart. We got involved in new friend circles, matured, our interests changed...of the original fabulous fivesome, I've only stayed really close to one person. As a group though we still hang out from time to time, and it's always a blast to catch up with everyone.

This weekend one of my old friends decided to have a barbecue at her house so everyone could get together and see each other again. I was really excited as it had been quite some time since we last hung out. I marked it on my calendar weeks in advance so I didn't miss it. The only issue was that they planned it for 4:30pm on a Friday. I work until 3:00pm, so I knew that by the time I got home, had a shower, and checked my emails I'd probably end up being late. Not a huge deal as I was sure people would still be there, but I was curious as to what possessed them to think that was a good time for a barbecue.

When Friday rolled around, I rode home as fast as I could so I would have as much time as possible to relax and get ready before I had to leave. I still ended up heading out about half an hour late, touting a half-full bottle of wine my mom had given me on my way out the door. I stopped quickly at the grocery store to pick up my contribution to the potluck and then headed over. I arrived at her house, and immediately knew something was wrong. Not only were there no cars parked on the road, but my friend's car was not parked in her driveway. Suspicious. I called my friend. No answer. I called two of her closest friends that I knew where helping organize the whole thing. No answer. Finally I called one of my other old friends who I knew was attending and she picked up. We exchanged a few pleasantries and some small talk, but eventually the question had to be asked. "So," I said as casually as possible, "is _______'s barbecue today, or...?" After a brief silence, my friend laughed and informed me that the barbecue was, in fact, tomorrow.

We've all done it, it's not that bad. However, my attempts to contact people meant that not only did I have to explain the whole thing to my mom when I arrived home so quickly, but also to two of the friends I had called who noticed the missed phone calls and wanted to know what was up. I got to re-live the embarrassment 3 times as people laughed at my mistake. But hey, days like this are the reason I learned to laugh at myself, and I had an awesome story when I showed up to the actual barbecue the next day.

Why the people who design bike lanes are cruel

This summer, I am trying to bike to and from work every day as a means of saving money and getting a bit of exercise. When I first made this decision, I looked up the best bike route that would keep me from having to share the road with cars as much as possible. Off-road bike paths are obviously the prime choice, but they are few and far between. While things such as wide lanes and back roads with little traffic work well, the best option is bike lanes on the side of the road. 90% of the time, these are great. However, occasionally it seems the people designing these bike lanes decide to mess with my head. There can't be any other reason.

I have one particular road that I bike down on my way to work that is indicated as a bike route on any map that you can look at. For the most part, they've done a good job of keeping this road bike-friendly. However, there is an unfortunate number of places that I run into some very frustrating issues.

The Disappearing Lane

On the top of this photo, I've indicated the bike lane I ride down. Up until this point this lane is well-marked and puts lots of space between me and the scary drivers who sometimes like to pass by a little too close for comfort. About a block after this intersection, the bike lane is there, ready and waiting for me. However, as I have indicated at the bottom of this photo, the bike lane just...disappears. Sure, there's a sign that says "Share The Road". And sure, there's a mark on the road that indicates that bicycles are supposed to go there. But the actual bike lane? Nowhere to be seen. Not to mention this happens to be the busiest segment of the entire road, and I'm stuck blocking traffic with nowhere else to go.

A word of advice to anyone designing bike lanes: a painting of a bicycle on the road does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to make room for cyclists, or make drivers more receptive to sharing the road.

The Bike Route That REALLY Shouldn't Be A Bike Route

There's one particular intersection on this road that should not exist, period. It should be a nice, normal intersection with one road going east-west and one road going north-south. Someone managed to screw it up. Cars going through it are presented with a confusing mess of directions, turns, and lights. It would not surprise me if multiple times a day a car ended up going the wrong way in the wrong lane. For bikes, this presents an interesting problem. Going North, getting through the intersection is a simple process involving one light with a bike lane waiting for you on the other side. Going South is a nightmare. First you have to go from your nice, friendly bike lane on the right side of the road and cross two lanes of traffic to get into the left turn lane. On a quiet Sunday when there's no cars on the road? Sure. During rush hour traffic? In your dreams. After getting into the turn lane, you likely have to wait squished between stopped cars that don't want you near them and moving cars zipping past you at 60 km/h. When the light turns green you have to squeeze through two different turning points and try not to get hit, only to come out on the other side and discover that you have been deposited in the left hand lane instead of the right! Now you have to try and navigate your way to the safer part of the road while avoiding getting hit by a car from both sides. Again, during rush hour traffic there's no way I would even think of attempting this manoeuvre. Seeing as I bike home right as the roads are starting to fill up, I choose to go a bit further east in favour of a road that may lack bike lanes, but makes up for it with wide lanes and lower levels of traffic.

The Right Turn Lane

Now, I should start off by clarifying that I have nothing against right turn lanes. Most of the time, they're a very useful addition to busy roads. Even bikes can navigate them with ease, if they're dealt with properly. My favourite method that is used to seamlessly deal with cars that want to turn and bicycles that don't is having the turn lane branch off of the bike lane. This setup ensures that cars know that there's going to be bicycles that want to go straight. The drivers are going to be more aware of the intentions of nearby cyclists, and are less likely to cut them off thinking the cyclists are turning too. Should the cyclists be turning right as well, all they have to do is follow the right turn lane and the problem is solved! Everyone is happy (more or less) and the cyclists are as safe as they can be.

Sometimes, having the turn lane branch off of the bike lane isn't really an option. In the picture on the right, the right lane becomes the turn lane, so there's no way to get the cyclists wanting to go straight over to the other side. Now, most days I'm heading out early enough that there's not much traffic and I can just cut across to the lanes going straight, as indicated by the red arrow. However, should I find myself faced with an onslaught of vehicles that are not going to kindly let me cross over, the city has given me an alternative! As the green arrow indicates, there's a fork off the side of the road that takes me onto a separate path intended just for bikes. It gets me around the corner without forcing me to play chicken with cars, and lines me up with a crosswalk to get me back on track. Two equally good options, both getting me exactly where I want to go.

Occasionally, though I come across a little gem like this one on the left. I'll be bicycling along, minding my own business and enjoying life in the bike lane. I see the turn lane up ahead but I'm not too worried because I know there's lots of wonderful ways of dealing with this situation. All of the sudden I find myself heading straight into the turn lane and running out of bike lane fast. I see there's a crosswalk that'll get me where I need to go, but a quick survey tells me that there's no easy way for me to get onto the sidewalk so I'm not stopping in the middle of the road to cross it. I start slowing down and shoulder-checking like mad as I realize my only option is to cut across the turn lane. Unfortunately for me, there's loads of cars coming my way and it's nearly impossible to figure out who's turning and who isn't. Thankfully a kind driver noticed my panicky demeanor and stopped so I could safely make my way over to the lane going straight through. The worst part? The bike lane continues after the intersection. You are clearly intended to go straight through, whoever designed this lane just decided the cyclists were going to magic themselves over to the other side. Seriously, who does stuff like this?

I have a dream. A dream that one day, cyclists and drivers can share the road in peace, with clear indications of where people are going and lots of bike lanes so no one's blocking anyone.

One day, my friends, one day.

Drag queens are my heros

I mean, really. How could you NOT love that?

I think I was in high school when I first discovered drag queens. There's just something about them that calls to me. Maybe it's the flamboyance, the outrageous outfits, the crazy wigs and make up. Most likely, it's the fact that they aren't afraid to be themselves. These are men that have decided that they'd enjoy dressing up like a woman, and said screw the critics and did it! Of course, me being a female, and a straight one at that, I'm not really drag queen material.

Last night I went to see a show called "Fit for a Queen", which had performances from 10 different drag queens. Some were better, some were worse, and one did an absolutely FANTASTIC impression of Ella Fitzgerald (if I remember correctly) that brought the house down. It was beyond entertaining, and some of those queens were more gorgeous than most of the women I know. Of course, all of this just served to re-kindle my desire to be a drag queen. A totally unsatisfied desire.

When I got home I made a quick post on facebook about going to the show. As soon as I posted it facebook was recommending a fan page for drag queens, because it's stalkerish like that. I decided to check it out. When I read the description of the page, it talked about faux queens, or biologically-challenged queens, which are girls who perform as drag queens. THEY EXIST! Though they only seem to exist in the states. I live in Canada. Hmmm.

I have a feeling the next month or so will involve a lot of looking for faux queens where I live. My dream may yet come true.