Tag Archives: writing

Getting the Hang of It: Twitter

Whew. That wasn’t so hard. I just tweeted my first tweet that wasn’t an automated one by WordPress regarding my posts.

Actually, for approximately the past 2 weeks, I’ve been trying to compile a tweet in which it fully incorporated my true and whole thoughts. And that can be hard with 140 characters. Especially with the deep and insightful stuff that goes on in my head. (Evidenced through my first tweet…).

But Twitter continues to baffle me. I first came to this hard realisation last Sunday when my technologically confused father asked me what Twitter was all about. And I sounded like a doofus trying to answer.

Yup that's exactly what I said. I even omitted some errs and umms and hmms and a lot more rambling to protect my self dignity and to save space. But mostly for dignity

A less coloured and more white version for all you racists.

C’mon me. The most internetually informed person within kilometres of this town. It’s Twenty-fucking twelve! I should know what Twitter is all about. I should know what a hash tag is, or how to retweet, or if I should follow people who follow me, or even who to follow in the first place. I should be able to make perfect tweets out of any thought or experience, from the perfection of the sunny-side-up egg I just prepared, to the perfectly shaped stool I produced afterwards.

Even about the striking resemblance it shares with a bundle of Coconut Pocky sticks

But no. I am a huge Twitter n00b. Yes, I am. I am and I’m proud. Well..no I’m not. I am going to look up a Howcast video on how to use the most complex, un-straightforward, baffly, piece of internet mania the world has to offer right now.

Coffee: My Arch Nemesis.

Ever since my first sip of the liquid, I hated it. I hate coffee. Any kind of it, except Iced Cappuccinos. Ice Cappy, you are excused from this rant.

The preparation is long and boring, and I hate the noise of a kettle heating up. Once the water is all steamy, I guess you just dump a teaspoon of Maxwells House instant coffee powder, pour some water in, add that milk powder that shares a strong resemblance to crack cocaine, and stir.

My arch nemesis and I.

So you may be thinking, If this girl can’t make coffee to save her life, why doesn’t she just drive up to the nearest Tm Hortons, and buy one for a couple of cents? Well, buying it is just as terrible. You gotta walk up to the not-so-peppy Tims lady and order a coffee. Doesn’t sound too hard, but trust me, it is. You have to speak in the strange, twisted language of avid coffee drinkers for her to decipher your order. Double-Double? Half-and-Half? What-and-what on Earth are you people trying to say? Double what? Half what? Of course, finding out what they mean is only one question away. But these days, people my age are always drinking some form caffeine on a daily basis (the ever so rancid “Monsters”, coffee, 172 different kinds of soda pops, etc.) so this question will probably be dismissed, not-taken seriously, and simply laughed off. So that cancels out any chance of me consuming store-bought coffee.

Let’s go back to my homemade instant coffee. I hold it in a scalding mug, and hastily set it down on a decorative coaster. I stare at it and my nose crinkles at the odour. Here comes the really disgusting part. I have to drink it. I slowly bring it to my mouth, and blow softly to cool it down a bit. I then proceed to tip the mug all the way and let the disgustingly rich, harsh, bitter, and absolutely cruel liquid seep into my mouth, attack my taste buds, and proceed down my throat. This is the part where I usually

  • evacuate the perimeter of the tainted mug
  • scream till I cry
  • vomit. just vomit.
  • toss the coffee 30m away from me. If prepared

All that said, PCCS (post coffee consumption syndrome) is almost as bad as the drinking session itself. The caffeine sets into my system, and it’s nothing like what others feel when they drink coffee. I’ve heard it wakes you up, energizes you, and keeps you peppy all through the morning. With me, the caffeine attacks my brain. Migraines, and pounding headaches follow consumption. The whole unpleasant experience if preparing and drinking the coffee has left me cranky and impatient. My stomach twists and knots, as PCCS cramps would knock out menstrual cramps anytime. And with PCCS comes the breath. My breath would reek of the liquid, but a bit worse. Deep, rich, trashy, crap is just what it is. The scent is about on par with the taste.

Coffee lovers, worshipers, supporters, and just plain drinkers, if my post has offended you, be sure to remember that I am not like you. I don’t understand the so-called “wonders and joys” of caffeine. Caffeine hurts my body, my mind, and soul. I am “caffeine-intolerant”. But I do apologize if I hurt you. I really do.

Consumed By Photography: My Game Plan to Get Back on Top

It’s happened to me. It’s probably happened to a lot of people who went from creative writer to photographer. My photography took over. I have become consumed by it! My posts have less and less words every time! I went from humorous essays to photos with half-assed captions. I have become…A PHOTOBLOGGER!

Now you must be wondering, is that a good thing? What’s wrong with photoblogging? Well, if your asking me this, your probably new to this blog, or clueless. Or normal. Well, I am NOT and artist. I’m not, I’m not, I’m NOT! I am not artsy, I don’t have cute trinkets all over the place, and I don’t run around taking pictures. OK I do. But I don’t want to! That’s just the part of me that dominates at the present moment. While the other me is kind of being squashed by this me. I mean, that me. What is the other me? The me I kind of want to come back. My inner snarker, goof-ball, nerd, grammar obsessed, and filter-free mouthed me! I WANT IT BACK.

An avid Occupy "Other Me" protester, as she enthusiastically refuses eviction notices,

But wait, let’s go back to the question asked. What is wrong with photoblogging? Nothing really. It’s just that, I miss being a writer, I miss being able to just write great stuff of of thin air. But once it does come back, I’m sure I’ll miss this me. Well, not as much as I miss that me now. But I will miss it. Why can’t I just be balanced?! Is that so much to ask?! Or is balance just an unattainable, unreachable dream? But who am I asking to get me back anyway? It is up to me, after all. It always was.

So what am I going to do about it? I guess it all comes down to what I choose to put on this blog. To stop caring what other people think. I’m not blogging to please anybody, or to get famous or anything. I just blog because it’s fun. And me being overly selective and obsessive about the content and what I put up, is starting to make it, well, NOT fun. And when I’m not having fun blogging, the blog starts to reek of boring, unachievableperfection“. And that is not something I want to put my name on.

I have calmed down a bit now, and am starting to come up with some ideas to make blogging fun again. To kind of abandon this whole “photoblogging” essence of my work, and focus a bit more on writing. But don’t worry one bit. Photography is, and always will be a hobby. And JUST that. Nothing more, nothing less. So still expect there to be photos.

Thank you for listening to my plea/rant thing. Good night everybody.

Fantastic Mr.Pig

I was bored, and in kind of a funk, but I managed to pull together and do a little shoot on my desktop with a pig key chain I was given to for my birthday a few years back. The white background thing was done with a simple sheet of computer paper. Poor mans backdrop.

But first, let me tell you about Fantastic Mr. Pig, and the tragic tale of the loss of his wife.

It was my birthday and two of my friends (Scasm included) put together this awesome sort of pig themed birthday present package. It was probably the most amazing gift I’ve ever received on my special day. Fantastic Mr. Pig, and Lovely Mrs. Pig were given to me together, as they always were. My friends mom took the liberty of shoplifting spending her hard earned money on them for me. Now isn’t that just the sweetest thing. And how kind of her to take Fantastic Mr. Pig and Lovely Mrs. Pig together. Now, while Lovely Mrs. Pig stayed at home serving as an ornament in my room (she always loved her job), Fantastic Mr. Pig was often tagging along with me on all the mundane everyday wonderful, magical adventures I took part in. And when I got home, I put them together and he would tell her about my boring amazing life. But I always felt that Lovely Mrs. Pig should see the world for herself. So, one day, instead of attaching Fantastic Mr. Pig on my keys, I fastened on Lovely Mrs. Pig. She was quite anxious, but ended up falling asleep in love with the new world around her. But then came the tragic happenstance. Lovely Mrs. Pig was kidnapped!

And to this day Fantastic Mr. Pig has been in quite the depression, and Lovely Mrs. Pigs whereabouts are unknown.

The end. 🙂

Now, without further ado, presenting…Fantastic Mr. Pig!

(Also, from now on, I will be adding a copyright thing at the corner of each photograph I take)

Cars: A New Addition and Some Family History

Yesterday my Dad came home with a new car.

“Guys, come down and see it!” he calls.

Me and my siblings filed down the stairs and out the door to see her. Our new car.

At first I didn’t know what to make of it. All I saw was a big black blur. My mind was racing. Where is she? My German beauty? My BMW!?

My father has recently starting contemplating on trading in our my BMW 325i in for a 2010 Honda Pilot. I laughed it off, since this was about the fifth time such a topic came up since our new life with her (the BMW). But I did not see this coming. Who knew he would actually do it this time!?

And so, I start to collect myself. Although I was a bit mad I didn’t get a chance to say good bye, I decided to climb in and poke around.

The whole dashboard looks like a robot. Too many buttons and do-higgeys. OK fine, I admit, it is pretty cool. And there’s a DVD player in it too. Oh and a rear view camera. The whole thing is like a robot.

This new car will be a new addition not only to our family, but to our history of cars, which I will share with you. Although I don’t remember too many details of all of them, I’ll try my best.

Unknown Construction Van (Years Present: ????-1998. I hardly remember this one, but I do know it was gray. It was the kind of van that only has two front seats and a big empty back)

Rusty Chevy (Year’s Present: 1999-2001. This piece of shit does not deserve any commentary)

GMC Safari Van (Years Present: 1998-2006. This was my moms car. It started to break down a bit a year after her death)

Dodge Ram Pickup (Years Present: 2001-2011. But my dad gave it to one of his close friends, so I still see her often. She is probably the one the family was closest too, and most people identify it as our family car, and was easily recognized because of it’s bright, bold red colour)

2006 BMW 325i  (Years Present: 2009-2011. My German Baby. She was beautiful man. Beautiful.)

1999 Hyundai Elantra [hatchback] (Years Present: 2011- . This is just as shitty as our old forgotten rusty Chevy. It’s basically the colour of Parakeet shit. It’s probably the worst car we had. The friggen back windows don’t even roll down. It’s terrible man. My dad says it’s just a temporary “work car” and as soon as it deems unusable, it’s out.

2010 Honda Pilot (Years Present 2011 [yesterday]- . She’s new. She’s kinda cool, but I’m a bit unsure. Even though it looks twice as big as our BMW, It feels much lighter. Like the wind is ready to blow us right of the road. But she’s OK.