Writer’s Blocked!




I can’t think of anything to write. My brain is horribly clogged with snot. So I’m going to leave you a lovely hair diagram that I made. Right now my hair is unwashed and horrible so I’ve put it in a messy bun on the top of my head and shoved on a headband to keep my bangs off my face. I’m in that stage where I can tolerate it because I don’t need it to look particularly good right now.

What do you do when you’ve got writers block?


Day 7.6 – Wild Girl Whisper


This is just so that I don’t break my writing streak and one of my friends actually put me on a countdown for making a post. So here it is! This is actually the first chapter from the book that I’m working on. It’s called “Wild Girl Whisper” and is about a Vancouver escort. This chapter is about a girl named Rebecca who goes by the name Piper when she’s hooking and in a way, this is her twisted beginning.It’s currently unedited, but I’m actually digging on it as it is. 

Sorry about it being so long…

The Beginning…In a Weird and Twisted Way –

I was standing outside a gorgeous three story townhouse in White Rock, British Columbia. It was dark and the path and the stairs leading up to the front door were barely lit. The door way was dark and all that I could do was stand on a dark street, on a damp sidewalk as my cab drove off into the 1am morning. Still I stood there staring up at the now gigantic and almost palatial three story townhouse that held either my anonymous demise or the solution to my week’s financial issues.

Breathing deeply, I inhaled the smell of wet pavement which is weirdly one of my favorite scents and tried counting myself down to charging up the dark walk-way and knocking on the every growing front door. Or ringing the doorbell. Or pushing the buzzer. What was I going to do? I wasn’t ready for this step. I was too young to die and if I did then no one would know I was dead. No one would even notice that I was missing for several days. I stood terrified in my black Under Armor flip flops, hip hugging faded jeans and baggy Adidas sweater. I danced on the spot and anyone watching me would have thought that I needed to pee, but I didn’t. I was just anxious, scared and my heart was racing three point six million beats a minute and I was calling myself three kinds of stupid for putting myself in this situation.

It was April 2008, I’d just turned twenty-one and I was turning my very second trick of my entire life. Ironically, his name was Jon and he was a forty-something business man who had called my escort agency offering $750 to any girl able to commute to White Rock from Vancouver and that was just for an hour of her time. He also offered to cover her cab fares and his only demands were that she be in street clothes and is the girl next door with no fake body parts.

And out of all of the girls at Wild Lily, I fit the bill the best. Meaning I still had all natural body parts and didn’t have dyed and fried hair to match my anorexic figure.

I was also the only one available to go out on any outcalls and who was I to turn down $750 for an hour’s work?

So there I was, willing myself to walk up to the front door and knock or something.

One, two, better not sue!

Then slowly I dragged my feet up the walk-way through a very well taken care of front yard to oversized oak doors that Shaq could walk through on his tippy-toes. Quietly I stood outside the imposing front doors and the only thing I could hear was the pounding of my heart inside my head as tiny puffs of air made miniature clouds in front of my face.

Huh. I’m hyperventilating.

“Get your shit together, Rebecca. You’ve done this once before. You can do it again. Just knock.”

I paused and rolled my shoulders backwards then forwards, then backwards again and forwards again. I breathed some more and realized some more that I was hyperventilating. I cracked my knuckles and wiggled my toes. I brushed my hair back over my shoulders then pulled it into a pony tail and then pulled it out so my hair fell down my back again. I snapped my fingers, cracked my toes and rolled my head around in circles. I’m pretty sure that a full minuet had passed while I stood there running through every nervous twitch that I had.

What can I say?

This was a stupid idea.

The ultimate in stranger danger.

I was totally going to get shot in the next ten minuets.

Did I go home? Did I turn around and leave? Did I call my cab back and pay out the hundred dollar cab fare home?

Of course not. I couldn’t afford to pay that kind of money for a cab anywhere for any reason. Officially I had fifty dollars to my name with a five hundred dollar rent that I needed to pay at the end of the month. Not to mention my Visa because I’d used that to pay this month’s rent, my cell phone bill and the fact that I was totally out of things to eat in my house besides one or two cans of soup if I were lucky. Between this call and what Cherry would pay me at the end of the week, I’d have enough to set aside for rent, pay my phone and buy a few groceries. Like fruit and bacon.

The idea of eating a package of bacon for dinner sealed the deal for me.

I hiked up my jeans. Then I tugged them back into place, tucked my hair behind my ears, cracked my knuckles and I counted.






“Three,” I whispered that final universal word for “you have to do it” and I knocked on the front door and I waited. Immediately a slight calm fell over me as the tension eased out of my shoulders and my armpits stopped sweating. I felt like I could breathe again, like a new person. I was invincible and amazing and that girl all the bad boys want.

I was Stacy’s mom and I had it going on. And I was waiting for the door to open. I don’t know how long I stood there waiting for someone to answer the door, but it was long enough for me to stop feeling like Stacy’s mom and start cracking my knuckles again. It was long enough for me to adjust my sweater, brush my hair back over my shoulders and burp quietly. It was probably all of twenty seconds in the real world, but in my world it was an eternity. Of course I didn’t realize that and I was beyond thankful that the door didn’t open while I was filling my mouth full of air that tasted like the Kraft Dinner with sliced hot dogs that I’d eaten earlier.

What can I say? KD and wieners are the breakfast, lunch and dinner of champions. Especially when I find KD on sale.

Nope, the door didn’t open while I was being perfectly disgusting and making my breath taste like a processed cheese and meat. Nope, the door opened a few seconds after that rather impolite moment  and it was like a cliché scary movie playing out in front of me, starring me. Well, starring me and the mysterious and tall figure who was nothing more than a shadow in the now open door way. Possibly a shadow with a gun, but the shadows around him hid that. All I could see was a tall, lean shadow that was wearing a pair of pants. I knew he was shirtless because his pale chest almost glowed in the dark compared to the rest of his hidden in the dark body. I wondered if all white people glowed like this in the dark.

“Sorry, I almost fell asleep.” His was a deep, rumble of a voice that sounded like a giant cat purring in an acoustically perfect cave.

Immediately I vomited. Not real vomit, but word vomit. “That’s ok. It took me a while to get out here. My name is Piper, the girl you spoke to from Wild Lily? I was the only one available who didn’t look like Porn Star Barbie so Cherry sent me. Normally I’m just the secretary and receptionist, but tonight Cherry needed me to fill in so here I am. Hi.”

A deep chuckle rumbled from deep inside of his chest. “Hi”

Slowly and gently a strong hand reached out from the shadows and pulled me to join him in the dark. Hesitantly I let myself be pulled into the shadows and nearly jumped out of my pants when I heard the door click shut behind me followed by a dead bolt slipping into place. I also started to hyperventilate again.

“You’re new to this.” The giant cat voice spoke to me over a shoulder as I was led from an entryway up a set of stairs. I barely remembered to kick my flip flops off as I was forced to follow or be dragged along behind this shadow with a very nice voice. I was too busy trying to remember how to breathe to really remember anything like not wearing my shoes around in a stranger’s house. The politely bred sixteen year old in me was absolutely appalled that I’d almost work my shoes on someone’s possibly clean floors when flip flops were so easy to take off. I actually barely remembered how to walk. I stumbled up the first couple of stairs, tripped on the third and slamming into a surprisingly well muscled back. At that point I would have been happy to have any one of my normally natural faculties returned to me like speaking. Walking. Breathing. Not being a total spazz.

Unfortunately, some higher being chose to let me speak.

“Is that a statement or a question?” I asked.

“A statement. You’re nervous. Is this your first time?” His hand squeezed mine tighter as he spoke to me and I found myself walking more easily to my slaughter. I pictured myself as some dazed animal being led to some horrifically clichéd death that seems to await stupid girls like me. Shootings. Stabbings. Stranglings. Scarlet letters and stonings.

Right now the audience to the B-grade movie is yelling at me to run. They’re calling me a stupid girl and telling me to get out of their fast because he has a knife or he has a gun. Or they have all seen what he does to his victims and they cannot believe that he’s gotten another victim so quickly and so easily. They’re pissed off because I just walked into this guys house and they all know what’s going to happen to me next. Some people are already cringing and waiting for the blood to spray on the walls.

And while this is all going on in my audience, I’m vomiting more words. “This is my second time actually. Though I barely count the first time as my first time. It was horrifying and I’m not really sure what happened. He hump on his back and bad breath and he told me over and over again how much he loved me. I wasn’t prepared for something like that though. I’m not really sure how anyone could be prepared or ok with being kissed by someone when a kitten who had just hacked up a rancid hairball would have had better breath. I’m sorry, I’m babbling. You can feel free to demand my silence anytime that you want.”

When I stopped and took a deep breath, he chuckled again and tugged me into what I can only assume was his bedroom. Or an emperor’s bedroom. Floor to ceiling windows covered the far wall while a giant king sized bed, a fire place that had a real fire with a giant flat screen tv hanging above it dominated the room. It was a Spartan and barely furnished room, but what was there was lush and screamed of money. Lots and lots of money. The carpet was plush and soft under my toes and the room was deliciously warm. At that moment it was only lit by the fire crackling in the fireplace and I couldn’t help but fall in love with the cliché as the heat of the room chased away the chill of the rainy night I’d been standing in. He had bedside tables on either side of his bed and there was a tall chest of drawers beside closet doors. For whatever reason, I decided to focus on the chest of drawers.

“Do you make a habit of telling other clients about your former clients?” He turned and pulled my sweater over my head, folded it and placed it on top of the drawers.

Instantly I was horrified by what I had said moments before. “Oh gosh, no! I mean, maybe? I don’t know. This is only my second time after all so I don’t know what my habits are yet. But I can promise you that from here on out that my clients are assured utter discretion on my part. I mean, I didn’t use his name right? But I don’t know. I’m really, really nervous. I’ve never done this before.”

“I thought you said this was your second time?” He asked as he pulled me over by the fireplace. I could see more of him now as the fire light made the shadows dance away from his body. His hair was that classic salt and pepper look that I’m sure all dark haired old guys want. He was lean, but I could see that he was well muscled. His jeans sat loosely on his hops and as he turned around to pull me into his arms I saw that his chest was bare and I wondered that if that was natural or if he shaved his chest. All in all, he wasn’t awful looking for an older man.

So I let myself be pulled into his arms as I let myself vomit even more words. “Well, this is my second call, but I have never taken a hundred dollar cab ride to anywhere as a part of my job and I’ve definitely never gone to a total strangers house in the middle of the night because he wants to pay me for my…” I trailed off as I surprisingly stopped to consider my next words. “What exactly are you paying me for?”

His hands slid down my lower back and slipped under my purple tank top. “Exactly what you think you’re here for,” he replied.

That’s when my bosses voice started screaming in my head to get the money first. “You always get the money first.” Her sultry voice commanded in my ear as I pictured her as she was the other night as she sat with me on a bed and went over all the rules of being an escort for her.

“Oh yeah!” I replied to that stranger inner voice that belonged to my boss. Quickly I looked up into the dark eyes of my client whose name I had yet to learn and who had full intentions of boning me so that he could pay my rent and then some. “About that. Umm…” My voice trailed off as I considered how to remind him about the fact that he owed me nine hundred and fifty dollars. “About the umm…” There was no easy way of asking someone to toss that kind of cash out. I had no idea what to say, what to do or how to do it.

Though I did have the weird urge to simply go cross eyed and hope that he would jump to the conclusion I needed him to reach based on that action alone.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to go cross eyed or do anything weird. He seemed to get where I was going with my lack of social graces. He let go of me and walked over to his bedside table and pulled out a wallet and a thickly stuffed envelope. Casually he walked over to where my sweater sat on his chest of drawers and placed the envelope on top of my sweater. Just as casually he opened his walled and asked “You cabbed from Downtown right?”

I nodded and swallowed. I was getting nervous again. Which meant I started worrying when I was going to get shot again. “Yeah,” I replied slowly, “Wild Lily’s in-call place is near the Stadium Skytrain Station.”

“I know, I’ve called Cherry a few times. Normally I get Juliette or Heaven. They say it’s about a $175 cab. That sound about right?”

“It was actually only a hundred,” I blurted out before I realized that I’d just outted two of my…Coworkers? Yes, coworkers. I’d just realized that I’d outted two of my coworkers in less than ten seconds about their semi-expensive lie. I froze in place for a second before adding, “So you’re almost right.”

Laughing he counted out four bills and laid them on top of the envelope. “I enjoy your honesty and I almost enjoy how nervous you are. Though I’ll have to start asking for receipts from you girls in the future.” I heard the laugher in his voice so I didn’t worry overly much about me or any other girl having to provide receipts because I’d told on them. He returned his wallet back to his bedside table before walking back to me.

As he made his way back over to me, I looked him up and down quickly, checking for a gun or oversized knife. I gave him a once and a twice over, searching for a weapon of any time or a place he could hide a weapon of any type. When I saw neither I figured that I was either safe or that I was getting strangled tonight. I wondered where he was going to dump my body. I debated the fact that I needed to watch less TV. His arms wrapped around me again and I forced myself to breathe normally and to will him not kill me. Just like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon says that you just have to will these sorts of things to happen.

So I willed it. I was definitely not too old for this shit and I wasn’t going to die tonight. I wasn’t going to get killed tonight. I wasn’t going to get killed tonight and I wasn’t going to be another missing persons report and winds up found in as a pile of bones.

“Sweetheart, you have to calm down for this to work. The young and scared routine is getting old. You have to be at least in your late twenties and it’s just sex. I’m not going to hurt you.” His hands rested on my hips as he spoke to me. They were slowly guiding my hips forward so that I could feel either the hard handle of the gun he had hidden in his pants or he was one well endowed gentleman who though I looked older than I really was.”

“Actually, I’m twenty one.” I glanced up at him as I let him guide and fit my curves against his body. Then I glared at him. “Really? Late twenties?”

Smiling he replied mockingly, “Really? Twenty one?” Then he playfully glared down at me and bend me backwards over an arm so he could kiss my nose. “If you’re twenty one then I’m old enough to be your father. I’m forty eight.”

Laughing I leaned away from him and told him that my dad was forty five. Then dramatically I put the back of my right hand to my forehead and shouted, “I’m so young! Whatever shall we do?”

His reply was to unzip my jeans to reveal a neon green frog shouting “HELLO STRANGER!”

But still there were still twinges of fear in the back of my head. I tried not to ask. I tried to lose myself in the moment of this very rich man undressing me and the fact that he was paying me to let him see my silly panties and more. I tried holding my breath. I tried, oh I tried, not asking the question burning its way up my throat like a rancid burp. I tried and I failed. “So am I safe? I’m not going to wind up dead in a ditch or dead anywhere else am I?”

Chuckling warmly he kissed my nose and pulled me over to his bed, sat down and pulled me into his lap. “No I wouldn’t be so clichéd as to toss you dead in a ditch and no you’re not going to turn up dead anywhere else. Yes, you’re safe, I try not to make a habit of killing at this hour. It upsets the digestion, you know.”

I couldn’t help but snort and laugh. Then gasp in horror because I had just snorted. Me, a slightly upscale escort had just snorted when I should have been seducing and blowing my partners mind and other parts to Heaven and beyond.

Blushing, I wiggled around in his lap until I was straddling. “Well then. Now that we’ve taken care of that piece of business, I move that the conversation be stricken from the record and our memory for all eternity.” Playfully I leaned down and nipped at his lower lip while his arms wrapped around me so that his hands could fiddle with the belt loops of my jeans.

“As you wish,” he replied.

“I love that movie! Andre the Giant is awesome!” I exclaimed excitedly, totally forgetting that I was supposed to be seducing this man. At this point I was pretty sure that I wasn’t getting paid and would have no way of getting home tonight.

“You talk a lot.” His deadpan reply had me wondering where he was keeping the knife and other life stealing tools. I also started thinking about how I was going to get home with fifty dollars in my pocket.

I decided to try and play my silliness off and pouted. “Oh. Is that bad? I’m sorry, I’m new and I really have no idea what the hell I’m doing.”

“No,” his voice had picked up its warmth and rumble again, “it’s cute. I prefer that you’re real instead of some over practiced and over used prostitute.”

“But I’m an escort.”

“Sweetheart, that’s semantics,” he replied as he slid his warm and rough hands up and down my back and leaned into nip and nuzzle my neck.

And cue the naughty Harlequin sex scene where I definitely did not end up dead in a ditch.

Day 2.4 – Another excerpt


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.

Day 1.4 – An excerpt


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 1.3 – Kittens and a Black Guy


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 11.1 – Role Modeling


I woke up early this morning (early for a Saturday: 9:00am) and while I was going about my morning routine I decided to check Facebook. One of the first things I saw was that in addition to 6 notifications, I had a message. It was from one of my community members back home who had seen my blog on another friends page and had been reading my various postings on here. Firstly, you should know, this community member is not on my Facebook friends list, nor do I like or respect them very much. Apparently this person had read all of my Everyday Tangents posts and was not impressed with my style of writing. Basically the message said that I was disgusting because I wrote about my sex life, posted a picture of my bra, talked about my undies and all around proved through my writing that I’m a horrible role model and should not be allowed to work with the youth of our community.

This actually reminded me of the time when I was 17, in grade 11, and stuck a snake in a girls bathroom toilet. There were others involved in my shenanigans, but I was the one who got the snake from the grade 8 boys and I was the one who physically stuck the snake in the toilet. No one knew who did it, but after some searching and threatening our vice principle found out it was me who did it and found me in a foods class on my spare block mixing drinks with a couple of my friends. I was the one in trouble and according to my vice principle and I was in double trouble because I was a role model in our tiny little school.

I told him that I didn’t ask to be a role model so I shouldn’t get in trouble because of that.

I am fair certain that plain argument saved me from my first school suspension.

However, I still got lectured on the fact that I had to be better than everyone else because I was a role model and that putting snakes in toilets was wrong because I could cause a heart attack. In a high school. There was more to this talk but I zoned in and out until he started threatening my senior year sports. I probably earned that threat because the guy was a tool and I obviously had no respect for him. Eventually our talk on being a role model ended after I showed a slight amount of contrition and I was given detention the next lunch where I had to write an essay on why I shouldn’t take snakes out of their natural habitat.

The point to this story is simple: I’ve never asked to be anyone’s role model. Over the years I’ve wound up in positions where I am a role model for younger youth and I’ve become ok with that. However, over the years I’ve made a lot of mistakes, had a lot of fun and have come out of it all with a lot of stories to share. Not only that, but over the years I’ve become a fairly decent writer and I want to continue to grow as a writer, so here I am. And here I shall stay writing about anything inspires me even if it happens to be the freakiest, nastiest and most kinked up sex I’ve ever had. Even if it means I write about drunken shenanigans, dating all sorts of men, women and mixes of the two. Even if it means that I’m writing about underwear, failing out of university and burping in public. I’ll write about all of that and more because I am perfectly comfortable with the person that I am today.

Not only that, but I have spent years working up the courage to write something that people who I know in real life and people who I have known since childhood are going to read. Now that I’m at this point, I will happily flip off anyone who doesn’t like it because guess what? It’s a free world and you don’t have to read me or anything that I write.

I realize that I’m handling a little criticism very poorly, but you know what? I’ve put a lot of thought and passion into my words. I can understand constructive criticisms, but I will not let a mean and malicious attack go unnoticed.

So onto the main jist of this entry: I’ve never asked to be a role model, but I am and I’m happy to be one. However, one of your jobs as a parent and guardian is to teach your children how to choose their role models. It’s my job not to be a truly awful person and I accept that.

It is also my job to be perfectly who I am. I grew up in a community that believed it takes an entire community to raise a child…and they did. Not only did they raise me, but they brought up a lot of us. Through support, education, lots of encouragement and letting us be exactly who we are, we all grew up into amazing individuals. Not only am I different from the girls my age, but I’m different from the girls older and younger than me. Sometimes it’s deliberate because being different is fun, and sometimes it’s not so deliberate because I can’t help being exactly who I am.

Ergo, I am who I am and I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m happy with the person that I’ve become and not only am I happy, but I’m healthy and doing what I’m passionate about. Not only that but I don’t think of sex as a dirty thing, I don’t do drugs unless they’re prescribed by a professional and I’m not an alcoholic. I’m a forward minded, First Nations woman who is proud of exactly who she is, who she was and who she is becoming. I realize that I’ve made mistakes, I know that I’m going to make more, but because I’m the strong woman my family and community raised me to be, I’m going to keep on growing and fucking up and fucking around. I curse for emphasis because I believe swearing teaches us what we value in our lives. That all works for me.

I’d hate to advocate any of my shenanigans, but they’ve all worked for me and I think I’m pretty freaking amazing.

However, if you don’t like what I write, what I say, what I think or how I go about living my life, you don’t need to be a part of it, nor do you need to read about it. And if you think I’m a crappy role model for your kids, then that’s your issue and not mine. My issue is figuring out what the hell I’m going to write tomorrow and what I’m going to burn for dinner.

Day 4.1 – Learning How to Live Life


I’m still suffering from that horrible thing called “writer’s block”. It’s not from a lack of things to write about, it’s from a lack of being able to write. I’ve sat down a number of times to write and everything that’s come out has been blah. Sadly I just feel like I’m lacking anything clever, intelligent or even remotely interesting to say. So I’ve been thinking about what this blog is going to be about in the hopes of directing my writings somewhere and towards something.

The best that I’ve come up with is this little blog here is going to be about me learning to live life. Or simply writing about life. Checking out human shenanigans, creating shenanigans of my own and who knows.

It doesn’t direct my writing overly much, but at least I have a “theme”…sort of.

I mean in the time that I’ve been on this Earth I’ve had my own unique set of experience just like everyone else on this planet. These experiences range from a weird amount of training for high school sports, a week by myself in Mexico, living on my own in dorms and various basement suites, jobs that come with weird experiences, drunken shenanigans, lots of sex, plenty of all nighters for school and generally living by myself which is always something to write about since surviving away from my family is an experience in and of itself. Plus I’ve lived through all sorts of events that are/will be iconic and I should make an attempt to remember them for the sake of remembering them. I mean, they’re not as awesome as the stuff that went down in the 60’s, but it’s still something to remember right?

For once thing, I was alive to see the Hide n Seek Champion of 2001-2011 finally get found. I’m referencing Bin Laden finally being found, if you missed that reference.

For another thing, I can better remember a drunken night in New Orleans than I can remember *insert historical moment of my time here*.

In short, I have a lot to write about if I really think about it. However, the problem is being clever, intelligent or even remotely interesting because someday I want to be a best selling author and…if I got nothin’ then I have a stack of hardcover novels that I’ll use as weapons when the world ends.

In the meantime, I have life to live and maybe something brilliant will slap my butt and call me Charlie tomorrow.