Day 2.4 – Another excerpt

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I’ve started editing and finding little bits of genius that I’ve collected throughout the very first novel that I ever wrote. It’s called “Endless Nights” and is full of little nuggets of win mixed with chunks of me trying to hit the 50,000 word count that National Novel Writing Month requires. This particular gem is based off of real-life experience with my younger sister. Parts of it actually happened while the other parts are completely fictional to fit the purpose of this novel. See if you can guess which are fictional and which aren’t.

One night on a random team trip to a 7/11 I discovered an awesome package of pills advertising mental alertness and 5 hours of nonstop energy. It was love at first sight.

That night was an adventure like I’d never had before. My blood was pumping through my veins and my heart was racing a mile a minuet and I swore that I could run, jump and fly just like Super Mario could. I just needed the right cape.

Ever since then I’ve kept a good stock of trucker pills in my purse and in my cupboards at home. You never know when you’ll need a boost, after all. It just sucks the effects have worn off a bit since that awesome 16 year old night.

That was the same year we had discovered energy drinks.

I also think that was the same year we had discovered our love for hotel Bible’s and started a collection of them. One night Tinka drank three Red Bulls, and ate 40 pixie sticks which are basically straws full of flavoured sugar. I returned to our hotel room to find her sitting cross legged on her bed, rocking back and forth while reading the Bible.

“This is some good shit!” She yelled as I walked in the room. “They got something for everyone in here!”

“Yeah, and they make great weapons too.” Stupid thing to say to my sister who was slightly paranoid about the end of the world and was forever stock piling stuff just incase the end of the world came.

“Yes, weapons! We should collect them and save them and then use them as cannon fuel should someone try to attack the house!” At this point the Bible in her hands disappeared into her sports bag and she took off out of our room yelling we needed more Bibles.

Today, 5 years later, we have about 300 Bibles stored up in my room. We hide them from our parents in shoeboxes and old sports bags we don’t use. I think our mom knows about approximately 50 of our stolen Bibles.

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Day 1.4 – An excerpt

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An excerpt from a novel I wrote a few years ago. This writing something every day is hard stuff. Here I go again…another 7-Day writing challenge.

So my sister and I were born. That was the start of a forever long adventure for my parents. Tinka and Randi. That’s us. We grew up slowly and for us life was one thing after another.

There was the time that my sister attacked a girl in our ballet class for saying that she looked like a boy. We were 8 at the time and all I remember was seeing my stick figurine sister flying across the stage in leopard leotard (it was leopard print or nothing with Tinka) and neon green tights and tackling another stick like creature to the ground. I remember my sister grabbing handfuls of this girls hair and slamming the poor childs head off the ground over and over until the ballet teacher pulled my sister off the girl who was just on the bad end of my sisters ass kicking.

I also remember the teacher saying “You little hellion, your parents must be savages to raise such a child!”

And I was absolutely irate at this.

“First of all you fat cow, no one calls my sister names but me! My momma says so! Second of all we are manners-challenged! Not Hell neons! Are you stupid or somethin’?”

“Excuse me?” It came out as a shiek of outrage more than anything. “What did you just say?”

“Did I stutter? Clean your ears out!” I shrieked back.

“What did you call me?” The fat cow was advancing on me and in that moment I figured out what that mad cow disease thing was everyone was talking about.

“Holy shit it’s what happens when ballet teachers go wrong! Everyone run for your lives!”

That was Tinka after having watched too much TV. Naturally mayhem ensued as my sister expertly whipped all the other girls in our class into a frenzy thinking that this was just another game like the others we often played. We were just imitating TV was all.

And as all the other girls ran for their lives out into the hallway where our waiting mothers were, I stood my ground and replied to the ballet teacher, “I called you a fat cow, you fat cow!”

“It’s the running of the bulls in here! Run for your lives!” My sister was screeching around in the studio now, feeding off the girls who were running and screaming everywhere.

“Children calm down!” The teacher looked up and bellowed at her screaming and screeching class that was now mostly in the hallway and probably telling on me and my sister. She looked at me again and I swore that I saw the devil incarnate there in her eyes. “Call me that again. One more time, say it.”

Me being the obliging child that I was, I unsurprisingly replied, “You fat cow! You are! You are! You’re a ugly fat cow everyone thinks so! Ask Mrs. Thompson! She’s always wondering why a manatee like you teaches this class! You. Are. A. Fat. Cow.”

“Randi! Run for you life! Mad cows salivate poison and if she gets you, you’ll have it too!” Then a little stick of leopard pring leotard flew headfirst into our teacher as my sister tried to save me. In my mind I saw the woman’s fat suck my sister head up and I thought she had beheaded my sister.

What can I say? I was eight!

At seeing my sister attack the teacher I ran at the plus sized woman and did the only think I knew how to do in a fight. I headbutted her and then bit her. Then proceeded to dig my nails into every inch of skin and fat that I could grab.

Eventually our mom showed up to find Tinka attacking her imaginary mad cow that she had conjured up for the purpose of her game. She also found me fighting to protect my sister from harm. My mother having dealt with situations like this before calmly scooped my sister up in her arms and grabbed me by my pony tail and gently dragged us out of the dance studio while muttering “at least they didn’t have anyone’s balls to kick this week.”

Day 3.3 – With cheese on top please

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I told him it was bathtime and he crawled into my bed and pouted.

My family has two dogs. One is a 120+ pound Mastiff cross with Chocolate Lab and we call him Moose. The other is about 60 pounds and is a Collie/German Shepard cross and her name is Betsy. Moose is our family’s big baby. We celebrate his birthday every year with an ice cream cake and presents and Christmas is still a spectacle in our house because of him. To anyone who says that pets are dumb, I hold Moose up as a shining example of pet smartacity.

Moose knows a number of things. He knows what it means when mom tells him “corners” when he’s on a truck ride and leans the appropriate direction well ahead of the corner to keep from falling over. He knows that when mom tells him “stop sign” she is going to stop soon and he braces himself. He knows how to say “please” which is by shaking with first his left paw and then with his right. He know’s how to spell “go”, “Barriere”, “swim” and a number of other words. He actually follows conversation really well. He even has a chore! His one and only chore in the entire world is to “Go get daddy for dinner” when my mom tells him too and he’ll run down into the basement and tell my dad it’s dinner time. Moose also knows how to talk back and ask for the things he wants in life.

Like cheese on his chili. That’s one of the many things that Moose also knows. He knows that he likes cheese on his chili and will not eat it any other way.

We figured this out one night when we were in our kitchen getting our dinner…which was obviously chili on this particular night. We all had our bowls served up and Moose was in the kitchen quietly waiting for “his share” as it’s called in our house. Yes, our dog often gets his own dinner plate that is first cooled off for him so he can eat with the family. Well on this night my mom scooped him up a dish and put it down by his ice cream bucket that we keep his water in.

Normally Moose would dig right into his food if it wasn’t too hot and if it was cut into appropriate small bites for him. This time he didn’t. He just stared at his plate of chili and then glared at my mom. My mom wondering what he wanted asked him what was wrong.

Which was when Moose looked at the cheese on the kitchen counter and then looked at his chili.

Mom, who was surprised, ask him if he wanted cheese on his chili and his ears perked up in a manner that in Moose’s world means “yes”. He confirmed that by looking at his chili and then at the cheese again. He waited and when mom finally put a bit of cheese on top of his chili and then happily ate his dinner.

We’ve since tested this theory many times and have come to the same conclusion every time: Moose won’t eat his chili with out some cheese on top of it. I’ve actually given him leftover chili in the past and he’s looked at the fridge where the cheese is and then back at his chili and waited for me to grate up a handful of cheese just for his chili. Moose likes cheese on his chili and he’ll tell you every time that you try and serve him chili without his cheese.

That’s just how it goes in our house. The dog gets cheese on his chili and he can spell at about a first grade level.

Day 1.3 – Kittens and a Black Guy

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Note: I took a few days off to gather my thoughts and because my weekend was weirdly exhausting and writing was the last thing on my mind. I’ll get this writing something every day thingy done properly someday, but it wasn’t last week. Maybe it will be this week…Maybe I won’t ever really do it properly, but at least I’m writing a whole lot more than I was before right?

Today was an interesting day. Like every other person in the entire world, most of my days are fairly mundane sprinkled with my own sparkles of shenanigans that people like to call “the spice of life”. Though really on those mundane days I’m just bored and amusing myself until something truly diverting comes along. Today…today wasn’t a mundane day in the least. Sure I had to go to an intensely boring Geography class to learn about rocks and I had to drink a Red Bull to stay awake for the whole class, but besides that, today was just a really interesting day.

Like every other mundane day, I woke up got dressed, ate breakfast and went to school. I took the long way to school so I could sit on the bus and read this novel called “The Good Soldier” for my English course. It’s really the only way that I was ever going to finish this novel because there is nothing better to do on buses than sit and read boring novels for school. Unfortunately for me, a cute black guy decided that he wanted to talk to me on the bus and my book was forced to wait until later because the cute black guy who sat next to me on the bus had this really urgent question to ask me.

So urgent that he tapped me on my shoulder and spoke to me until I pulled my ear buds out of my ear and made him repeat himself thinking he was going to ask me something mundane like “what time is it?” or “can you pull the cord?” Naturally I’m a total angel and pulled my ear buds out to hear his really urgent question that was so urgent that he had to interrupt my loud musical mental groovings to Lil Jon and the reading of my extremely boring novel.

“So tell me, sweetheart, what’s your favorite position?”

I was stunned for a second as I willed my brain to come up with a suitable response to give to a perfect stranger.

“Oh, I definitely prefer to play a post. I gots mad skillz in the paint yo.”

Then it was his turn to be stunned for a second as I quietly giggled and high fived myself while putting my ear buds back in to go back to Lil Jon and “The Good Soldier”.

“Na, come on girl, you gotta holla back when a man tries to holla atchu like that!” He was being sincere and all I could think was that this man was lucky he was pretty.

And I’m lucky that sometimes the stuff that pops up in my head is so freaking funny that I start to giggle even before I can begin to act on it. I figured that since he wanted me to “holla” at him that I would scream really loudly in his general direction and call that a “holla”, but before I could take the deep breath needed to “holla” at this poor man who decided that I’d make a good person to sit next to on the bus, I started to giggle. Soon my giggles were snorts and soon after that I was nearly peeing my pants in laughter thinking about the expression on this poor guys face should I ever decide to “holla” at him. Then the laughing got worse when I saw the look of pure horror on his face as I nearly urinated all over our bus seat.

Shaking his head he asked over my peels of hysterical giggles, “Is this what you do whenever men try to talk to you?”

I gulped down several deep breaths so that I could reply, “More or less. It’s fun this way, yeah?”

“No, I’m trying to talk you and get to know you as a man.”

I giggled again, “But I’m not a man.”

He rolled his eyes and in a very exasperated tone of voice said “You’re difficult.”

“No, I’m Rachael.”

At that point my bus stop came up and I climbed over top of the cute stranger to get off the bus and go to class.

-Picture me being bored and taking notes in a boring Geography class on sedentary rocks.-

After class I went to a friends house near my college to pick up the notes I’d lent her last week. We visited for a few minuets before I realized that she was extremely sick and got the frick out of there as quickly as I could. As I was walking down her street I heart a noise. A small squeaky and very woeful noise. A mewing, pathetic and cold noise that only one animal could make. So I jogged up the street, following the noise and looking for this strange creature that is almost magical in my world.

A box full of kitties!

I found them in a small box on top of a garbage bin. When I peaked into the box I was greeted by the hisses of one and decided his name would be Lucky since he was lucky that I didn’t give him flying lessons into traffic. Cuddled up to a hissing Lucky were his three siblings, Ducky, Sucky and Ted. Ducky had orangey/yellow feeties that I though were perfectly adorable. Sucky got his name to match the rhyme scheme because he just lay curled up in a little ball shivering that got him a one way ticket into my jacket to warm up. Finally there was Ted. He just looked like a Ted instead of the original name that I had for him, Bucky.

I figured the owners didn’t want their box of kitties so I took them and took off for the Sky Train. I was going to bring them home, feed them and warm them up while I looked up a nearby  SPCA. Unfortunately someone reported a girl on the Sky Train with a box full of kitties (they were probably jealous) and I was pulled off the Sky Train and told that pets weren’t allowed on the trains.

After I told the two security guards my story, they still insisted that I wasn’t allowed to have pets on the train and that I’d have to get rid of the kitties before I got back on the train. It was at this point Transit police came up to see if I was causing a problem (because a sweet girl like myself can cause problems with a box of kitties?) and saw the cute little furballs that I was carrying around, heard my story from the security guys and then promptly told me that I wasn’t allowed to have pets on the trains unless they were in a carrier.

Well, shit. That left me kind of stranded because I wasn’t about to give up Lucky, Duck, Sucky and Ted. However, with the kitties I couldn’t get back on the train and I certainly didn’t have the cash to take a taxi home and a taxi to an SPCA. Obviously I don’t have a car so that was really my only choice because none of my friends drive either. Immediately I started to make a plan to get home and to get to an SPCA with the kitties hidden in one of my large shoulders bags when…

The nice Transit police officer offered to bring the kittens to the SPCA for me. He said he was finished his shift in 15 minuets and would bring the kittens to a shelter as soon as he was done work. That worked for me, it meant that I didn’t have to transit all over the city while trying to hide kittens in a purse or in my pockets and meant I didn’t have time to plan how I was going to try and keep one even though I’m not allowed pets in my suite.

True to his word, the police officer brought Lucky, Ducky, Sucky and Ted to an SPCA and just over an hour later I got a call from him and a lady at an SPCA to say that they kittens were warm and being fed. She gave me a number that I could track the kittens with to make sure that they made it to good homes and agreed with me that Ted definitely looked like a Ted.

And there you have it. My normal school day turned fun because I don’t know how to flirt and found a box of kitties.

Day 3.2 – I don’t feel like it!

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I don’t feel like writing. I haven’t felt like writing all day. Honestly, I am just not in the mood to write much of anything. I have lots of ideas about what I want to write like tonight’s Southern Presidential Candidate debate, SOPA, prostitution, bondage, abortion, euthanasia, sock monkeys, the fact that I almost got ran over yesterday, the mouse in my house and so much else…but I just don’t feel like writing.

I think that it’s because I cleaned my suite today…Cue my mom yelling that I’m going to cause a snow storm because I cleaned. I picked up everything off the floor, put it in its proper place or shoved it in my closet if it didn’t have one and then I swept my floors, “mopped” my floors and made my bed. Personally, I think the cleaning killed my urges to write. It’s just…boring. Whenever I have to clean I just feel everything get drained out of me and I have no real will to be creative. Especially if I have to do dishes.

However, while we’re on the topic of cleaning, you’re probably wondering how I “mopped” my floors. Well, I don’t have a traditional mop to clean my floors with, nor do I have one of those Swifter wet thingers. So when I mop my floors I take my Lysol disinfected wipes and crawl all over my floors wiping up my floors. It’s actually really fun as I crawl and sprawl my way around my bedroom and my kitchen. It entertains me as I pretend to be some freaky monster that is attacking all the dust bunnies trying to invade my home.

At the end of it all though, I still don’t feel like tomorrow.

But in the words of the little orphan, Annie…”The sun will come out tomorrow!”

Or this case, my words will come out tomorrow.

Day 2.2 – My Fear of the Dentist

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I got to play with these during one of my visits to my friend, the hygienist.

I have a vague memory of kicking my dentist when I was younger. It’s a vague memory, but it’s there. I think my sister may have done worse to him because the guy was a douche of the highest order. I’ll give him points for his office since it had this neat little attic area in the waiting room where kids could go and play, but the rest of my memories of the dentist are horrifying and painful. Strange tools were shoved in my mouth, getting the x-rays and fluoride was scary because I hated having these huge pieces of cardboard and trays shoved into my mouth and having the dentist give me needles to numb my mouth was simply one of the worst experiences that I can recall as a child.

The last time in my childhood that I can remember going to the dentist was when I was 12.

Then after that was a whole lot of nothing…

Until one of my closest friends got into dental hygienst school and eventually needed a live guinea pig to practice on. Now, just think about some of the things that your hygienst does to you: She cleans your teeth with all kinds of sharp tools. She sits there staring into your mouth with all sorts of freaky assed tools in hand that she is shoving into your mouth as she does her job. Not only that, but she sometimes gets to give you a needle to numb your mouth. She finds all the icky, sticky, gross things in your mouth and she digs, scrapes and washes it all away and then shoves this suction, reverse straw thing into your mouth that tries to suck your tongue up and snatch it clean out of your mouth.

And that’s just in ONE visit.

Because my friend was in SCHOOL for this stuff, she needed a lot of practice and got this practice through weekly appointments with a number of different patients. One of them was me. Week after week, I dutifully marched my way to her school, sat in her freaky dentist chair and let her shove all of those freaking looking tools that look like torture instruments into my mouth again and again.

However, as time wore on and I sat in that chair week after week after week after week, I realized that her dentist chair was super comfortable. I also noticed how pretty my friends eyes were since the rest of her face was covered up in a mask. It was kinky in the extreme as I found out everything about everything to do with my mouth. I now know what pockets are and that I have them, I learned about why you really should floss everyday and mostly I learned that a pretty mouth is key to an overall great facial appearance.

Seriously, after weeks and even months of having my mouth cleaned and brushing my teeth constantly so I could get my plaque index down, I really started to notice how it effected how I looked and saw myself in the mirror. My new bright and clean smile was like the centre piece to my face that seemed to light up my eyes and, to me, made all of my facial expressions all that much more…expressive.

I mean I thought my mouth was clean before until my friend dug this little black grain of something out of my gums that had apparently been there for a super long time. Gross. Actually I was pretty amazed at the stuff she picked out of my mouth. A little horrified at some of my mouths shenanigans, but I was actually amazed at what my mouth had been up to all my life.

Though the most amazing thing was the fact that my friend broke my abject fear of the dentist. Through many an appointment, I got used to the dentist tools as I got to play and fiddle with them and learn that they weren’t these terrifying instruments of torture that had attacked me as a child. Besides the probing part of my appointments, my life in my friends chair was painless, fun and a really good gab session. Heck, I can honestly say that she has given me the least painful needles that I’ve ever had in my entire life.

Yes, I let my friend give me needles…in my mouth. A number of times. While she was in school learning how to do all of this stuff. I can honestly say that she was a pro even as a student as I let her numb my mouth a number of times for our appointments.

It was after playing with all of her tools and weeks of sitting in a dentist chair and letting one of my closest friends stick needles in my mouth that I finally realized that my fear of the dentist was completely broken. If I could trust my friend with something as important as my oral health care and helping me stay cavity free for over two years (I had a small one appear last year) to avoid any serious and literal face time with an actual dentist, then I’m sure I could handle anything else she put me through even when she found a cavity, noticed my gums were getting beat up by my tongue piercing and saw that my chipped tooth had gotten worse and needed a cap.

I mean, when my bi-yearly dentist appointments are awesome hang out times with one of my close friends, how could I not look forward to going to the dentist?

Day 1.2 – The Snart

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Note: I forgot to post yesterday. After a boring Geography lecture, a hard work out and relaxing bath, writing more or less slipped my mind. So here I go again! Let’s see if I can hit the 7 day goal and then work up from there.

In my second year of university I took summer courses so that I could finish my degree a year early. Sadly the four courses I was taking meant that I was in lecture 8 times a week and had tutorials (like labs, but for arts students) 4 times a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays I had three 1 hour and 50 minuet lectures back to back to back starting at 10am. Tuesdays were bad because I had a 1 hour tutorial right after my last lecture of the day. That meant for 7 hours straight, I was in class with 10 minuet breaks every hour.

This meant that I usually packed a lunch, packed snacks, my note books, my text books and two water bottles (one for water, one with juice). It also meant that if I had no time to really do anything else. My class breaks were long enough to go pee and the breaks between my classes were enough to either pee or get food and head to my next class. I didn’t have a lot of time for anything and being a girl that hates and refuses to poop in public washrooms (unless it’s my dorm washroom), that meant if I had to poop that I was holding it in until I got home just after 5pm.

Well one day I was in one of the bigger lecture halls at SFU and sitting in the very back row like I usually do. If you haven’t seen the lecture halls at SFU, they are actually fairly well designed to project sound really well from the front to the back and from the back to the front. Especially in the larger halls meant to seat hundreds of students. On this particular day I didn’t get to have my morning bowel relocation and my tummy was kind of demanding something be evicted and evicted soon. Not having time to run back to my dorm and do my business, I was uncomfortably fidgeting through most of my lecture while one of the girls that I’d met and made friends with that semester was demanding that I just go and poop my brains out to end my discomfort so I could focus on the lecture.

Sadly, I was the better note taker between the two of us so in her mind she wanted me focusing on note taking rather than on the fact that I needed to go twosies and I needed to go soon. Plus all my shifting around was somewhat frightening for her since she was, for the moment, living with the fear that I was going to shit myself.

Here I was sitting in the middle of my Political Science lecture, needing to poop and waiting 10 minuets for the class to end when my nose started to tingle and feel ticklish. I couldn’t help but think “Oh no!” as I rubbed my nose and hoped that my nose was just itchy and that I didn’t need to sneeze. I held my breath to try and get the sneeze to go away. I scrunched my eyes closed real tight.

I honestly did my best not to sneeze because I needed to drop a deuce that badly. I could hold it until the end of the lecture rolled around and I could run home to poop, but I didn’t know what would happen if I sneezed. Sadly after years of my mother yelling “LET IT ALL OUT” whenever I sneezed, my sneezes were never gentle or easy. They were explosive, powerful and always made me see stars for a few seconds afterwards. Can you see why I was doing my best not to sneeze?

Of course I sneezed, but it wasn’t any ordinary sneeze. Not only did my loud “AH-CHOO” echo to the front of the lecture hall causing everyone to turn around and glare at me, but one of the loudest farts I’d ever heard blasted out of me at the same time. Now, not only did it hurt to sneeze and fart at the same time, but to do it in the middle of a lecture where everyone around me heard, it was fricking embarrassing too. Sadly, being embarrassed about the fact that everyone heard me fart was the least of my worries.

My biggest worry was the fact that now I really needed to evacuate my bowels and the cloud of stink that was now drifting around me. And this wasn’t an ordinary stink. This was a stink that happens after you hold in a poop for over two hours. To me, it smelt like someone had taken a rancid baby diaper filled with green baby poop, stirred in rotten coleslaw and then left it out in a desert sun for a few hours while cursing at it the entire time. Now, we all know that we can tolerate our own stink that we create to some degree, which I did, but no one else is going to be able to handle it unless they have super strong tummies.

The girl that I was with was both gagging and laughing at the same time. In between gags and giggles she asked me, “Did you just snart?!” I had no idea what she was asking until she explained that a sneeze and a fart at the same time was a “snart.” Then I got it and had to laugh at that.

The girl in front of us gagged and ran out of the lecture hall while the guy on the other side of me looked like he had just puked in his mouth a little bit. And the rest of the class who couldn’t smell my stink was laughing uncontrollably at my “snart” while I just sat there stunned at this new phenom that I had met…the “snart”.

Then because I couldn’t do anything else, I laughed and wondered if class was ending early so that I could go and check my undies to see if any poop particles had escaped with my “snart”.