Thursday, March 30, 2006


When I was in grade ten I was walking down the hall one day with my friend. She thought it would be funny to push me into someone, because you know, that's like, totally hilarious. So we were walking, I was oblivious to her schemes, and then go time came around and she nudged me. Looking back, it was pretty weak, I hardly even collided with the poor unsuspecting grade eight, but oh man did he snap. He whips around, looks at ME with pure rage and burning hatred in his eyes and says "THESE SHOES COST MORE THAN YOUR LIFE." ...uhh..........whoa. I couldn't help but ask my fashion savvy guy friend (who probably owned 20 pairs of "kicks") just how much those lovely Phat Pharm shoes would cost. "Those ones?" he questioned. "Yeah I said, those ones over there." Meh, no more than $80.

That's what I'm worth, or well according to him I'm worth less. So I'll give a nice estimate at $78.50. Well Mr. Fashionisto, your life costs more than it's worth.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

I'm Sorry, I Just Threw Up In My Mouth A Little Bit

I really love that part in Dodgeball where Ben Stiller asks that girl on a date and she pauses, looks disgusted, swallows a bit, and then says "I'm sorry, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit." Most of the people close to me know that I like to quote that line a lot because a) It sums up so many life situations, and b) Is pretty f'n hilarious. In order to truly do this excerpt justice I feel the need to illustrate in detail the times when I think it fits to a T.

1) When my sister and I are on a walk, me taking pictures, her keeping me company, and we encounter a strange teenage boy standing at the top of his driveway, arms crossed, pumping MASARI! Oh Portuguese/Canadian R&B artists, how you pull at my heart strings.

2) In class when the annoying guy behind me says "Looks like the prof is a wittle bit wate." I follow it with a horrified gaze.

3) When I find out my final exam is cumulative. I'm sorry, why did we have a mid-term then?

And finally, the other day I was walking home after a run and I experienced something that made me feel truly entitled to use my little quote. As I was climbing up the last little hill I felt like death as usual, but this time I actually THREW UP IN MY MOUTH A LITTLE BIT. Turns out, getting in shape is a pretty lengthy process and not without fat honking pot holes along the way. The funny thing is, right after the slight barfing incident, in my red-faced, sweating mess, wiped out state, the recycling guys drove by and gave me a wave. And to be polite, I waved back. Now, I can never be certain as to his exact motivation for waving but I can surely guess. Maybe the wave meant "Hey, good job on RECYCLING the fat on your body," and mine meant "No problem, we're all doing our part to save the world!" Or maybe, on a more probable note, his meant "The tight pants are working for you," while mine meant "Fuck off creepster. Keep driving."

Monday, March 27, 2006


One of the things I love about blogging is the photography. I was reading Shane's blog when he posted some pictures of the old nintendo controller, and made some comment about taking pictures of the controller around the world. I didn't get too much further than my house but, whatever, my house is in the world too.

I like the idea of the whole nintendo controller thing because it brings back a lot of memories. Memories of my brother easily beating all the levels that made me want to rage with anger and frustration. Memories of my MOM beating those same levels, rendering me the most useless kid. Just memories in general, and I like that. Maybe with this little collection, I'll prompt a global following and soon nes controllers will sell for $800 on eBay. Or maybe the three people that read my blog will wonder why I take pictures that, as my sister puts it, "are so university I'm-finding-myself arts studentish".

On now global following, COMMENCE!

Sunday, March 26, 2006

How My Boyfriend Gets Me To Buy The Things He's Too Embarrassed To

Late night phone call from Al:

me: Hello?

al: Did you eat all the smarties from my trailmix?

me: No.

al: Did you? (Shaking bag and probably searching in it)

me: No.

al: What the hell. My roommate must have...

me: Al...I did.

al: CARMEN! You always do this, you did it with the Vector clusters and now with this. I hate how you do that, it totally wrecks it.

me: I'm sorry, I know. I was just really hungry.

al: Well you can eat the nuts too.

me: I know, ok I'll buy you a box of smarties and put it in there.

al: I'm trying to enjoy my nice trailmix and all I'm getting is nuts!

me: I'm soooorryy.

al: Now you have to buy me some smarties...and a Baby Bottle Pop*.

(*A lollipop that's shaped like a baby bottle. Al thinks the 7-11 guys give him bad looks when he buys it. Apparently he can't get over the fact that other people think he's too old to enjoy his favourite candy)

Saturday, March 25, 2006

She Can Cry If She Wants To

Today is my sister's birthday, she's 17 and probably way cooler than I'll ever be. I gave her a cinnamon bun from Cob's Bakery and told her the rest would be coming later; yeah, I kind of suck.

She recently got back from her trip to Juarez, Mexico where she spent her time building a playground for the local communities. She's quite the humanitarian considering most other kids spent their spring break getting wasted. She's pretty awesome like that, AND her legs almost go up to her armpits (I'm a bit jealous). I asked her about how the trip went, if she enjoyed it, etc, and as always she was so chill and collected about everything.

"Meh, I got sick, probably the sickest I've ever been in my entire life. I was violently puking for 12 hours, I couldn't even do anything for three days, then I fainted on the pavement. I woke up and didn't know why I was on the ground. I just sorta got up and was like, alright."

Where as I would've turned that story into a "I WAS F'N SAVAGELY PUKING WITH A VEHEMENCE UNEQUALED BY ANYONE EVER IN HISTORY," hers conjured up little passionate anger or bitterness. She can be so nonchalant about the very things in life that make me freak out, and as I understand, this is just what cool people do. Sometimes I want to poke her in the eye with a fork so that she'll react in a way other than the unperturbed manner that she seems to handle everything with. Alas, I never actually inflict danger upon her, and she continues to be so damn tranquil.

She told me that through going to a particularly impoverished part of Mexico, she learned to stop worrying so much about trivial things such as homework. I thought that was pretty mature of her to reassess her life after a pretty big experience. She had decided not to do any of her homework this weekend because she was just too worn out and tired of wasting her life on differential math equations. She was really starting to impress me with her change of perspective on life, school, and general priorities. Then she confessed to me that she was getting a hernia from avoiding her homework for the first time ever. Alright, so she is human.

I have an evocative memory of my sister at the age of about 4 or 5, that still makes me laugh to this day. We were on the one and only family bike ride in my entire life (a personal dream of my 6 year old self), and I was marveling at the luck I had finally stumbled upon. Basking in the late afternoon sunlight, we journeyed on sidewalks and pathways like the jovial team that we were; I could've rode until my legs fell off, I was just that happy. We made it approximately 200 meters from our house when my mom said we had to go back. WHAT? WHY? THIS IS PURE EUPHORIA AND YOU WANT TO RIP IT FROM MY CUTE DIMPLED HANDS?! Yes she said, unfortunately there had been a little accident. I shot my glance over to my sister and there it was, the big fat pee stain on her pants that single handedly shattered my fragile elation. Of all the frequent times that she couldn't hold it in, she had to choose the would be pivotal day of my life to piss on. I was livid, she was oblivious, just riding around like nothing had happened with the ninja-turtle helmut rattling on her tiny head. I've since gotten over the traumatic experience, and sometimes I even let her talk to me.

In many ways, the bike ride sums up who my sister is, and what she's all about. No, urine doesn't epitomize her, but trucking on regardless of the bumps in the road, being cool when catastrophe strikes, she eats that shit for breakfast.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Hypochondriac Hell

My earliest memory of being a major hypochondriac dates back to about kindergarten or grade 1. I learned somewhere in school or maybe on TV that elclipses of the sun could make you go blind. This terrified me beyond belief. For some inexplicable reason I valued my sight probably more than the use of my limbs. If I woke up in the morning and was blurry-eyed I would FREAK out. I was very firm when I told my mom that I needed to get sunglasses, and not just any sunglasses, special sunglasses. My mom bought me "special" glasses with a high UV protection and I wore them whenever I left the house. I have a vivid memory of sitting in my kitchen while my mom asked me to please open my eyes. There was sunlight coming in through the blinds and how was I to know at what exact time an eclipse would occur; thus I kept my eyes closed. It got to the point where I was afraid of the sun even without an eclipse occuring, and so I wore my purple UV protection glasses even in the house. I'm perfectly aware that this is crazy, that I am crazy, but everyone has their vice and this is mine.

Eventually each old worry gets pushed out by a newer, more modern, pending and consuming anxiety, and thus worrying about eclipses seems comical at some point. As a professional hypochondriac I've gotten a lot more creative over the years, you really have to up the innovation factor if you want to the best. An eclipse is so one dimensional, the key is to layer, interlock, and combine fears, this will really make you shit your pants. For example, that brown spot on your apple. A bruise right? No, it's a family of microscopic viral parasites that feed off the bile in your internal organs so that you will eventually develope a fairly normal stomach ache that provokes you to take a tylenol which is unluckily the exact type of drug that seems to enable the viral bugs to multiply, strengthen, and have babies in your intestines. The second generation viral parasites are mutated genetically to attack your ovaries and render you sterile for the rest of your life so that having a family will be impossible. The logical next stage I like to go through is imagining myself in the near future with this new life long disease while being on Oprah and I can picture myself saying "Yeah, I just thought it was a regular stomach ache, I mean, how was I supposed to know?", and as Oprah covers her mouth and inhales I'll start to cry a bit (half because I feel the need to, and half because the producers told me to). This is just an example, for instance, if I were to extrapelate, kinda thing. My average worries are a lot longer and complex.

I always find it kind of funny when someone comes up with the real original cancer worry. I have to supress my chuckles as they go on about a bump and a blah blah blah. Pfft, it's so amateur. I was doing cancer scares at eight, my current worries now involve the Oprah thing. My most recent worry is that I'm getting stupider. Right in the middle of university my brain decided to start degenerating at a slow and painful pace. I've been listening to music while reading and then testing myself by seeing if I can remember what I just read. Sometimes I get the lyrics and the paragraphs mixed up, a clear and obvious sign that I am stupid. I'm sure I'll devise a new test soon that will be so perplexing and impossible that I give up, and unfortunately neglect to realize the irony of my acts.

Whatever, worrying about being stupid is a waste of time because other things have to take a higher priority. Things like the shape of my mole, I think it's a bit off...

Monday, March 20, 2006

You Mean the Fizzy Drink, Right?

In school it becomes inevitable that you will refer to other people by some distinguishing trait simply because you don't know their actual name. Something like "Blue Hair Boy", "Girl With The Really Annoying Laugh", or "Guy That Only Sneezes In Multiples Of Threes". These names can sometimes border on cruel but you know that they probably call you "Girl With Hairy Arms" so you let the guilt slide. One day, just as one of my classes was starting, a girl turned around and told me to "Please be quiet, I'm trying to listen" when I was explaining something to my Korean friend who doesn't always understand english. I immediately took offense because her tone was pretty condescending, but looking back probably would've thought she was a bitch no matter which way she delivered that line. Seeing as I can be a little sensitive and defensive, I now refer to her as "Stupid Cow Girl That Told Me To Shut Up".

Today I was sitting in that same class with a friend that I'm going to call J. Me and J were talking when "SCG" (Stupid Cow Girl for short) came and sat near us. I figured she wanted to tell me to be quiet again, but suprsisingly she knew J. From their small talk I gathered that J and "SCG" knew each other because they were from the same small town. "SCG" was asking J if she would be going home for the summer, if she'd be working at the bar, and so on. The conversation went back and forth for a while when "SCG" started to talk about what she'd done last summer.

"Yeah I was working at the bar making really amazing tips, you should totally work there. You can make like $150 a night so it's pretty good. All I did last summer was party, and make good money. I did so much coke, but yeah, you should totally apply."

J and I both kinda smiled and nodded and then class started. I was sitting there and trying to act natural but in my head I was thinking "WHAT THE FUCK! DID SHE JUST SAY "I DID SO MUCH COKE?!" She was just so nonchalont about it; kind of like tieing her shoes and snorting lines elicited the same response. Then I started to tell myself that nobody would talk about doing coke like that within hearing distance of twenty people, so she must have meant Coca Cola. For someone who was shocked by Kareoke, blasé mention of doing coke induced an exponentially larger trauma. It then occured to me that I had no idea if J was a coke head, and maybe that was the only reason "SCG" decided to mention it anyway. When I got out of class I looked at J and we both started blurting out indecipherable rants to the effect of "WTF?!". Turns out I wasn't alone in my dismay, and "SCG" wasn't talking about pop.

After two buses and a skytrain ride I had had some time to let the shock wear off. As I was walked home I passed an old man pumping the Cantonese tunes as he washed his car, and somehow that comforted me. Atleast, among all the craziness and coke there are oblivious old men that restore my belief in the innocence left in this world.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

I laughed regardless of my bleeding eardrums

Last night ended up being pretty random and unplanned. It was one of those situations where no real plans were made so you resort to the lowest common denominator; trying to pass off Italian spice mix as pot so you can sell it to 13 year olds for last months overdue rent. Alright, I'm joking, I actually just went to the "local pub" with Al and some friends but the degradation of the whole experience was pretty similar. The night took a swift turn for the better, however, when we realized that we weren't there on any old regular night, we stumbled upon KAREOKE NIGHT! It took me a good minute to understand the full reality of my surroundings and that people were subjecting themselves for the entertainment of others...voluntarily!!! I think my favourite performer had to be the charismatic guy simply named "Motown Man". I'm not sure if he had a real name, or whether that was actually the name his music-loving parents gave him, but regardless, that man could really rip a tune. His sixty-year-old-bleach-blond girlfriend wasn't too bad herself, even though she never sang. Most of the performing crowd looked as though they'd never left the eighties but it kind of added to the hilarity of it all, plus that decade was pretty unforgettable.

At one point my friend actually got up and sang "Ace of Spades" which pretty much brought me the closest I've been to peeing my pants since grade 1. Overall, I'd say the night was a success; I didn't spend a dime but I did, however, tell Al to shoot me in the face if I ever became that old, drunk, and out of touch with the times.

Towards the end of the night when the kareoke had been wrapped up and everyone was heading out, one of the old guys started to address screaming rants to the entire pub, "ANYONE WANNA BE MY SOBER FRIEND AND DRIVE ME HOME? YOU CAN TAKE MY WIFE'S VAN!" Everyone tried to do the whole "I don't hear a crazy hammered man slurring some passionate rant, do you?" kind of deal, and make their way out unscathed. It was going fairly well until I [couldn't help but] burst out laughing when the same guy added "IT'S AMETHYST!". Even in his highly drunken state did he manage to distinguish between varying shades of purple. That man is no fool.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

I think I might be rubbing off on him

Conversation with Allan:

Allan: hey you know that mole on my head, underneath my hair somewhere?

me: I guess so, why?

Allan: It feels swolen of something, I think I have cancer. Or maybe it's a zit under my mole and it'll give me cancer. I have cancer.

me: You don't have cancer Allan, zits are a lot different than cancer. Does it hurt?

Allan: Yeah, like a zit.

me: Cancer doesn't hurt so don't worry about it. Honestly Allan, I'm already hypochondriac enough for the both of us, please don't be one too.

Allan: Oh, I only worry when it's necessary. I don't hypo that shit baby, I'm just a chondriac.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Luck o' the Irish be with yeh

Oh how St. Patty's Day stirs up some old memories.

I can remember being in kindergarten, where I learned about several essential facts of life, and going out into the forest to find leprechauns. My teacher explained that not only were they hard to find, they were hard to catch, so we would need to be intuitive AND agile. I was kind of stuck up at the age of six, so naturally, I thought I could out smart and out run any of my other snot head classmates. I was so excited to bring home a miniature little person that would be just like my stuffed animals, only better because it would talk back to me. I understood very well that March 17th was the only day that leprechauns were visible to the human eye, and I wasn't about to let my opportunity slip away. Within two minutes of starting our hunt I heard a cry, my teacher had caught hold of one!! I raced to her, the adrenaline pumping through my little limbs, trying not to pee my pants out of excitement. All I could do was stare in awe as I watched the amazing hunter that was my teacher, fighting and struggling to keep the bouncing leprechaun contained in the paper bag. I knew I was about to witness something big, something that, quite possibly, would change my outlook on life forever-BUT THEN she screamed in horror and held up the still paper bag, simultaneously revealing to us all the big, fat, HONKING hole in the bottom. Regrettably, she informed us that despite doing everything she could, the leprechaun was simply to sly and cunning to be caught. I went home that day a little bit broken, a little bit scarred in a way that might never be repaired. It took me 8 years of therapy and a few good cries to realize that, no, there never was a freakin' leprechaun; only a senile teacher and a class full of gullible children. Sometimes I wonder what liar-face primary teacher is doing now?

Fast forward a few years later to the present day, myself as a university student walking around campus. I couldn't help but notice how many people were wearing green, had clover leaf hats on, etc. The general enthusiasm was pretty suprising. St Patrick? I don't even know what he did and yet he seems to have a pretty large teenage following. There were clover leafs and leprechauns spray painted everywhere in outbursts I might even consider festive. This coming from university students who I had thought were way too hard core to "conform to such a corporate holiday", but everything around me seemed to convey the opposite. Just as my naive confusion was consuming my every thought I looked a little closer and understood the excitement. Everyone was carrying bags. Heavy full bags. Bags with "BC LIQUOR STORE" blatantly written across them.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends

a red wheel

glazed with rain

beside the white

-William Carlos Williams

Saturday, March 11, 2006

This is fact not fiction, for the first time in years

me: So I went into Lush the other day when I was waiting for you guys and those sales girls are aggressive. Aggressive in a hippy way, they're all "yeah totally, coooool, just try this mint ylang ylang cocoa butter body lotion. It's so chill."

sister: Yeah, remember that one time they rubbed that shit on my arm and I was all "Mmm smells good," to the girl but actually it was disgusting.

me: The girl totally suckered me into being on their VIP list, I just didn't have the motivation to explain to her that I didn't care. I had to fill out this sheet with my address, phone number, age, etc. Then it says "given name" so I tell her that my "given name" is Carmen, but that I go by Lotus Flower Bloom now.

mom: Meh, that's not so uncommon.

me: I dunno, she was like "OK", and then I kinda laughed because she didn't even think it was weird. Then I told her that I was just kidding and she was like "OK." She gave me the exact same response. Her name was probably Centaur or something like that. She probably thought mine was weak.

sister: Centaur? Are they those half horse half human things?

me: Yeah.

sister: What are those half goat half human things, like on Narnia?

mom: Oh c'mon! Half goat half human? That's just a made up creature, there's no name for them.

sister: And centaurs aren't made up?

mom: Oh...

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Me, Myself, and I

Sometimes I feel really guilty about how irresponsible I am. I forget important things A LOT, my room looks like a family of rabid hyenas passed through it, I drink bubble tea for dinner, etc. It's not so much that I think these things are so bad, it's just that I feel I should be doing some things that are good for me as well. Recently I made two improvements on the path to adulthood/ not acting 8 years old for the rest of my life. I started flossing, and I try to go on jogs a couple times a week. I didn't start the former until I got my first cavity a couple weeks ago, simultaneously realizing that my young dental luck had run out. Yes, I'm disgusting, I'm aware. The latter is something I've started for a plethera of reasons, one of which is just to get a little healthier and stronger. I probably won't last a month.

Right now, in these early stages of excercising, it is so difficult to complete each run. I sometimes contemplate asking one of the walker-byers-with-their-dog to give me a piggy-back to my house, but I usually figure that they'll think I'm a little creepy. So today, before I went on the run, I made myself a sandwich because I knew that afterwards I'd probably only have enough energy to throw myself down at my front door and pant for a couple hours. Anyways, I was SO extatic when I got home and my lunch was already made. My thoughts went something like this:

me: Holy shit! You are so awesome Carmen.
Carmen (also myself): Yeah, I know, thanks for the compliment.
me: Anytime! Did you put avocado in this sandwich?
Carmen: Mmm hmm, nice touch eh?
me: (panting a little bit still) My god yes!! I'm really glad that you have this intuition when it comes to my preferences.
Carmen: I try, I like pleasing you, it somehow always makes me feel good as well.
me: I guess it's that "it's better to give than receive" thing.
Carmen: Probs.

Then I ate that sandwich like a mofo and hoped that Carmen did my homework too.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

But I don't even believe in karma?

I'm gonna make this post like one of those artsy films where they show you the ending scene first, and then spend the rest of the time explaining how everything got to that point. Picture me looking run down, soaking wet, mascara smeared across my cheeks, and my hair plastered to my forehead. I probably could have supported a small freshwater ecosystem in the ponds chilling in my shoes. Miserable, cold, so close to tears.

I made it to school today with plenty of time to spare before class, checked my bloglines, did things like usual. After eating a particularly nasty (green, sour, who likes granny smith?) apple I knew I had to get some water ASAP to wash out the acidic nast taste. I thought I'd be all sly and head over to 99 chairs (a campus restaurant) where I regularly steal water. I was bragging to my friend once about how I always walk in there, go to the back tables all nonchalontly, pretend that I know someone and then go straight for the free (if you buy something) water jugs. He basically had to break it to me that they probably see me, don't care because it's WATER, and let me do it; I prefer to think that the consequences, if discovered, would be unfathomable. I like to feel a little rebellious. Anyways, so today, did the water scam, encountered a little eye to eye with the waitress, played it cool, and made it out unscathed.

It didn't take me 30 seconds to realize that I'd be walking to my next class in a torrential downpour, and all I had to protect myself was a flimsy sweatshirt hood, a stupid cropped jacket, and a bottle of stolen water (bottle payed for by me). About 10 minutes into my walk I started to think that I might not be able to make it. Not only was it raining harder than I can ever remember, it was winding like a Chicago breeze. Thoughts of that part in Forest Gump where he describes rain coming from the top down, bottom up, and sideways raced through my head as I considered huddleing up in the fetal position and drowning myself in a ditch. Everyone was passing by me with their umbrellas that called out to me and said "Hey you, yeah you, drowned rat girl. JEALOUS!?" I had to mutter in compliance, "Yes." I knew that the rain and the wind were beating the crap out of me when the umbrellas started talking...I think I hit rock bottom when I realized that my stupid cropped jacket wasn't even water proof, and felt the water seeping in through my t-shirt. I finally looked down at the stupid bottle of water I was clutching and tried to pry it from my frozen fingers. Turns out my hands were so cold that they shattered like ice cubes and I had to pick up my fragmented fingers out of a puddle. Maybe that was the low point. I was so mad at the stupid stolen water; that same kind of anger you feel towards inanimate objects that you bump into and stub your toes on. I didn't want to look at its ugly face any longer. I set it down on the recycling bin and bid it a silent farewell. I couldn't help but think about how badly I had wanted that water, the lengths to which I had fought for it, and the slight numbness in my toes. Alright, I was basically just thinking about my toes, how f'n stupid water is, and that's probably why it'll rain tomorrow.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Please Don't Say You're Sorry

The other night I went out for dinner with friends, and just to be safe I thought I'd call to make reservations. The girl on the phone told me that they "don't do reservations at night, er like, yeah we don't do reservations ever". Alright, I understand that I've gotta wait like everyone else, but why the stuttering on reservation policy? Let's just say the phone call was both the first crack in their impecable ice sculpture, and a little bit of foreshadowing.

When we got to the restaurant we were seated right away, but we still had five more people coming so the waiter started us off with drinks. When he came to the table the second time he asked if the RESERVATION was for more than three people, considering the booth was so big. Now, I'm not really one of those crazed and enraged I'm-gonna-make-your-shift-a-living-hell type, so I thought I'd deal with this in a slightly oblivious way. "Reservations?" I questioned. "What do you mean, reservations? We were told that you didn't do reservations...ever." I could see the subtle look of "I'm-in-shit" float across his face but he didn't pause or even stutter when he told me that "sometimes we have to tell people that there aren't reservations because too many people already have them and we have a quota." This guy was good, he put on his charming waiter smile, the kind that says "hey, I'll throw in a an extra 2grams of fries...for free, and "Is that a new shirt because you look amazing," all while balancing a series of plates on his arms and hands. I figured that he was just the messenger and therefore, we probably shouldn't shoot him, but that doesn't mean we didn't hackle him a bit. My friend calmly asked him "if we had told you that Gwenyth Paltrow would be in our party, would that have changed anything? Is there anyone else you could recomend?" He let a suave laugh escape before granting us the pensive and sincere pause to think that we truly deserved. He looked up at us, and in his eyes I detected the first sliver of uncertainty in him I had seen all night. He must have been wondering at that moment just how well we'd take what he was about to say. In a rare moment of honesty, he meekly uttered "A lot of people like Madonna?"

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

The Emo Shall Inherit the Earth

I've always had a masochistic birthday wish that on my special day of birth, everyone would wake up and completely neglect to remember about me. I never thought of what exactly I'd do if it did happen, but with each new year comes a fresh chance to have my wish granted. Last night I got a call that basically informed me that this year, my wish would not come true. Today is my birthday and I celebrated by spilling my morning coffee on my hand. However, the emo in the title wasn't refering to myself and how I cried hollow tears that filled the void in my empty heart when the coffee burned what was left of my fragile soul.

On the drive to school this morning, the driver and I had a little contest for who could talk about the snow on the mountains in the most emo way possible. He deffinately was taking the lead at first, but I pulled through in the end with something about melting...

Tonight I had a nice dinner with the parents and the sister when the topic of emo came up. My dad, a man who only concerns himself with the true philosophical questions in life, uttered the word "emo". Thus an emo conversation was born with much laughing and bewilderment on the part of my sister and I, and a claim from my mom that she knew what emo was even before we told her. Riiiight. After some time, my sister stepped up and did what neither of us wanted to do. She took one for the team and played a little "All American Rejects" for my parents; I believe there was something about crying on the phone and being alone...I'd have to say the highlight of my remembered birthday was when my dad actually danced to the emo music, which in itself was an amazing present. My mom even finished off "Happy Birthday" with an emo verse, but I didn't catch it all because the sound of my shattering heart was too deafening.