"I am here for you if you'd only care" - James Blunt
Today was a strange day. I realized a lot of things.
a) I am lonely. A lot. I have lots of friends, and I have a very attentive boyfriend. Not only that, but I do quite well at entertaining myself most of the time. For some reason though, my home makes me feel desperately lonely sometimes.
b) I felt insanely guilty for using the time between my classes today productively. Because Crystal and I always vowed to be productive, and never were because we would talk and drink coffee the whole time.
c) The rules of grammar and syntax are becoming mind-numbingly clear to me. I hadn't anticipated that. It just sort of snuck up on me.
Yesterday, was a fantastic day. For some reason, I felt like a million bucks. I mean, that isn't to say that I don't feel pretty good today, but man, I had a great day yesterday. Everyone at work was in a good mood, and talkative, which is not a Sunday that I'm used to.
And yes, some store stories:
I. If you feel the need to roll a twenty into a tube and sniff a line of cocaine with it- please clean it off afterwards instead of unrolling it for the clerk to pay for cigerettes (they'll kill you) and causing copious amounts of your cosmetic drug to fall onto the counter. It's disgusting, but admittedly, funnier then hell too.
II. Talking about beating someone up on your cellphone because they have "been pulling some shady, shady shit on me," isn't shady at all.
III. Please don't use our phone to call your dealer.
IV. Mr. Enigma came in frequently this weekend. He is the man that lent me $50, no questions asked, last month. Of course I have since repaid him, just including the money owed into his change one day. However, he keeps coming in, and being completely random. He came in twice yesterday, which always makes my day, because I get to puzzle over what he's about with every scarce clue gained. Yesterday's random acts of churlish affection were, "what kind of cigerettes do you smoke? Do you have baking soda?" One thing said for each trip. It kills me, because for every one thing he says, I say three, and get no answers out of him. I don't pepper him with questions, just really vague pleasantries, but yes, he is Mr. Enigma.
Oh my Hortons!
All things considered, I had a good day. I'm hovering over a good poem right now like a trucker pausing before a magnificant shit, and I can feel it coming closer to the forefront of my brain the more I sit and think about it.
I spent the morning hanging around my grandmother who today was an invaluable dispenser of sage knowlege and wisdom. She showed up at my house at 9:30 , and crocheted while we bemoaned the lack of Journal don le pad, and I struggled to wake myself up and brace for the funeral.
We left at ten and creatively managed to walk down Jasper Ave and not end up at the church until twenty to two. We were so creative, it took us roughly 3.5 hours to walk fifteen blocks, and several infusions of beverages and bitchy barristas.
The funeral itself...was a very moving event, as it should have been. It sounds strange to say it was "nice", but it was really nice. They did a really good job, and it was more a happy rememberance with some humor then it was formal and horrifically depressing. I did not really like the pastor though. Halfway through, his sermon seemed to veer away from "funeral-related" to "we still love all y'all Christian haters out there. We're going to save all the Atheists and the heathens." It came out of nowhere. I guess funerals present unique opportunities for a conversion, although, you'd think that could run just as much to the contrary.
One thing: I do however, have a renewed sense of "something" (awe?) for people who do have a Faith. It's a lot of bull and poppycock to swallow, in my opinion, but if it makes you so at peace as you were today with such a senseless tragedy-- power to you.
I have begun keeping an eye out for apartments that I like, even though I'd like to stay in my building. There are lofts for rent on 114 Ave- probably way out of my range, but always worth a look.
 "Flew" by Jennifer Davis. Oil on Canvas, (2003).
 This is old people speak for "why the hell have you been sleeping in so long? It's almost time for a coffee and then lunch already!
stuck on an epiphany
Today has been a good day. I got le super package extraordinaire in the mail from the boy, which was a great way to start it. At three p.m. when I officially was capable of "starting" anything. Dog bless reading week. Amen. So I have a hand-made amazing StrongBad valentine that I'm fighting the urge to hang up prominently, for the sake of the feelings of other people living here. Oh, I'll show you though, if you ask.
I'm sure I spent some of the day doing something useful in many forms. I cleaned the washroom namely, and worked for a few hours in le store. Nothing of great interest happened at the store though, dissappointingly enough.
A few days ago, I talked to a very old hometown aqquaintance for a while, and had a terrific conversation. It turns out that like me, he escaped to Edmonton, and has done quite well for himself. He has always been very into music (singing/songwriting/etc.) but it turns out that he's got a penchant for writing, and has great plans for an incredible sounding book. In anycase, it was funny, because I feel like in that one conversation we found zen in each other--something that, despite knowing him since grade three (before he changed schools) and throughout highschool, never occurred to me. We'd always enjoyed talking to each other, but never had time to stop and talk, and different circles of friends that only met occaisionally. Though, admittedly, my circle of friends was more the "circle of those I debauch with", and not really strength-filled. Anyways, there has been talk of getting together and goading each other into creative frenzies of writing and productivity via brainstorming and beer. Should be good.
My knee popped into place yesterday. All is well on the homefront. Currently I am at T-8 days until John's arrival from the cold climate to the North. I'm excited, but I'm getting nervous too, admittedly. I guess I'm worried about him getting treated like crap because he's American. I mean, I've just noticed lately that it is so natural to say something demeaning about them without thinking. Hell, I used to be one of those people, and I'll still do it if it involves a certain ass-face of a president, but making fun of Americans has just become this little humorous mainstay in our country. If all else fails, there's always a dumb American thing to make fun of, right? Is your date thinking you're lame? Crack one about 9/11! If I were to crack a joke about 9/11 to John, as good a sense of humor he has, it would crash and burn. Like a plane into a building. There. You see? Unthinkingly. I'll apologise about this later.
 No, this is not what it may first appear to be. Fucking potheads.
I'm so sorry.
My friend Crystal passed away yesterday. Her car was hit by a semi-truck trailer on Stony Plain Highway yesterday morning on her way to work. A mutual friend told me after my last midterm today, when I asked her why Crystal hadn't shown up for said midterm. I don't think it's really sunk in yet. It still feels like it's just a joke that a twenty-one year old with such a good heart and such a beautiful smile would not be here anymore, just like that, after saying, "see you Friday for that pint after our final midterm eh?" I still just keep seeing her face in my head, and hearing her laugh and joke around, and it seems believable that this isn't real, because it doesn't feel like it is.
Going nuclear 5 a.m. style
So in some bid to be completely intelligent and not die not even half-way through my midterms, I decided last night that I would just try and be at the Fine Arts building by five a.m.
This is completely logical, seeing as the first LRT doesn't leave until 5:41 from my station. So I got there a little around six, and ended up setting off a security alarm in the hallway as I snuck in behind a cleaning lady. Evasive action led me to the elevator, led me to the door leading to the General Arts office hallway, and to the assistance of two other girls attempting the same first come, first serve spring session registration feat I was.
Those guys up there in their little offices, should be shot for thinking that personal registration is completely efficient and practical, especially in the middle of midterm week.
Rounding the corner to the office, there was a line of scruffy art children stretching down to the actual office. And let me tell you .... art children that have spent the night in a hallway to get into a photog course, smell exceedingly bad. I don't know what they do, but some of them smell a lot worse then the general population. So, just when you thought there were no faculty stereotypes left....there you have it. Children of the Garba-I mean, Art.
Yes, I'm being a snotface, because Ed. kids are more made fun of, honestly. No, I didn't get my course. Yes, I'm grouchy. 
I did however, find a suprisingly good remedy to not getting into the photog course, which is to instead take the other section of the same course that consists of typography. It's a lot more technical, supposedly, but I'm actually pretty interested in it.
After walking around in a dazed stupor for a while, and running into old aqquaintances all over the place, I went to class (waste of time, except for relearning the meaning of copula again, which is the sexiest grammar-related word ever by the way), and then took a break to study my notes briefly (for the first time, ha ha...) before writing my EDPS midterm. I think it went ok. A couple of answers were not verbatim, but I really don't think I failed it at all.
So yeah, I'm tired. My grandparents are back from California and demanded we have supper together tonight. It was actually a lot of fun, and good to see them again. They also brought me four packs of Rice-A-Roni (I'm told this is "perfectly good food that your aunt wanted to throw away") of various flavors, as well as yet another pair of knockoff sunglasses from Mexico. However, the highlight of all my goodies is this awesome beach bag that my grandma bought in Mexico without looking at what was on it (to carry her groceries around). It cost her like ten pesos or something and it's got a skeleton wearing a floral hat and a red skirt on it, colorful stripes, and cheap red rubber handles. It's awesome.
 Someone that I knew lined up there too, and looked me straight in the eye as he butted in front of me after a casual stroll in at about a quarter to seven. I seethed for quite a while about this, swearing I would throw rocks at him if he got into the course and I didn't (I being the photog wannabe right behind him who needs one last stinkin' art credit to do specifically in this time slot to graduate on "time"), but later got over it, because the last person to get into photog was like six people ahead of us both. All that temporary loathing gave me a massive headache though, so...serves me right I guess.
Met (22 Kt. fission; Project Tea Pot) 1955.
Succumbing to indirect peer pressure and self-conceit:
Three Names you go by;
2. Kyla Monster
3. Kyla Bear
Three Parts of Your Heritage
3. Scottish (my skin is blue)
Three Things That Scare You
2. Bitey dogs/wolverines
3. Mountain Lions
Three of Your Everyday Essentials
Three Things You Are Wearing Right Now
1. Blue jeans
2. New glasses
3. "Warning!" tee-shirt
Three of Your Favorite Songs - at the moment
1. Run- Snow patrol
2. rental car - Beck
3. this mess we're in- PJ Harvey & Radiohead
Three Things You Want in a Relationship (other than Real Love)
1. Equality/mutual respect
2. Meshing family units (so important when half of your existing extended family is psychotic)
3. Good conversation
Two Truths and a Lie (in any order)
1. I hate the smell of bars
2. I don't like sex
3. Being in large crowds of people makes me extremely uncomfortable.
Three PHYSICAL Things about the Opposite/Same Sex that Appeal to You
Three of Your Favorite Hobbies
1. Screwing around with art-related things
Three Things You want to do really badly right now
1. Read for pleasure
2. Puke (cinnamon hearts + 1 beer + five cups of coffee = stomach turning inside out)
3. Find $1, 000, 000 in the street with no one around.
Three Places You Want to go
Three Things You Want to Do Before You Die
1. Have children
2. Build an adobe
3. Publish a book/collection
Three Ways that you are stereotypically a Girl/Guy
1. I love clothes
2. I mother people a lot.
3. I pms like a motherfucker
Three people I would like to see take this quiz
1. John Bear
hurts so good
I went to the first meeting of the Raving Poets tonight....it was delicious. I loved it.
When I actually got up there, this big ugly thing came out of my stomach and throat and dissipated. I was nervous and sweaty and voice shaking, but it felt damn good to be that exuberant, to see that I have a voice beneath all this hair and gristle.
And I feel graphic again. That's right. Cuntaliciously graphic.
Also, I realized that I was being a dinkface about a supposed lost friendship. When it shows, it really shows. I'd forgotten that piece of knowlege somewhere.
just because I'm lying on the ground doesn't make me sad
A few things on my mind today:
My earphones are slaughtered, and the "stand-in" pair are these weird chunky cylindrical buds from the eighties. The foam fell off right away, so now using them is the equivalent of sticking spinning aluminum pop cans in one's ear.
Something I've been in loathe to tell anyone but might as well get off my chest: It's been there for a while now that one of my friendships has disintegrated into meaningless yet still casually friendly cohabitation. So there's that cat out of the bag. I used to be worried and stressed about it, but for now, I just miss him. And I hate admitting it for some reason, because maybe that makes me an over-sentimental or clingy nerd, but it's true. Things have not been the same at all, though admittedly, there are more factors there then just simply living together. I do understand that it's part of growth though, so I've given up trying to "make things better" between us. I don't want to be an annoyance anymore. Admittedly though, I still wonder if it's me that's changed, instead of him, but it's hard for me to see that, because in my own eyes, I just trundle along consistantly with control just out of grasp at all times, and drama ever-present, and that doesn't change. I wonder if I've turned lame or something though, without even knowing it.
Have not written a poem since December. The first Raving Poets night is tomorrow, and I'll go, but I'm praying for some sort of inspiration that I have not been able to find on my own. Because it's driving me crazy. I feel a little artistically stale. If I pick up a pencil and a piece of paper, nothing comes. Painting....have lots of ideas and no paint or time. TIME. I never have enough time. In good news, I've deigned to start working on my old old print transfer project while watching TV, when midterms are over. It's my spring break project, amongst others (like actually working on the book some more ).
For the last three weeks, my time on the weekends has been strictly sanctioned off to other people. Not unenjoyably, but I'm finding it hard to find time for myself at appropriate times. During the week isn't an option, because that's when I should be reading/studying, and I didn't do that last week, and now I'm behind and midterms start next week. I have to feed the cats for six days, starting Friday, which basically means that I have to take an hour and a half to get to St. Albert, and an hour and half to get back (if I'm lucky) every second day, starting Sunday. And study for midterms all of next week. And work whenever Vanessa decides last minute that she can't/doesn't want to.  Do laundry. Go grocery shopping. Go fucking insane. And on and on and on.
I think (know) my art history midterm is going to be a hard one. The ed. policies, might be a little hard, but I'm not sure. I also lost my syllabus for art H, which sucks. I have been reading the articles from the course pack, but also praying that they're in the right order (which they seem to be).
On the lighter side of things, I just finished my Ling. 205 assignment, which consisted of questions such as:
1)Demonstrate the use of the following five verbs, by writing a sentence using each. (speak, cook, fornicate...)
2) Label the category that the underlined word falls into (ie: noun, verb, pronoun)
3)Is the following sentence grammatically correct? Circle yes or no. If no, rewrite the sentence correctly. (we're talking sentences like, "I like them children."
In short, it's for 5% of our mark, and you'd have to be an idiot to not rock it. And yet, the grammar in this blog.....ahh, irony.
Lastly....I fell asleep at school today, for the first time in a long time, up in the Ed. Atrium (yeah, that's right. And it's swank too) for three hours. This was hugely significant to me, because I'm not the type of person who should sleep in public because I have a fifty-fifty chance of snoring and being awakened by giggles. However, I did not snore, but had really awful waking dreams-- like a whole reel of them falling into the category of "going to school, and finding out you're nekkid, or smell really really bad, or peeing your pants in public." To have those dreams, while actually sleeping in public, is nothing short of traumatizing. Because in my dream, I woke up nekkid on the same couch, but then I actually woke up on the same couch for real a few minutes later, fully clothed.
On that conclusionary note: Don't read Ballad
either if in the process of avoiding trauma.
 Yes, I totally pulled this on her once, but she was the one who started it, and now she's done it twice. And she'll do it again, I'm counting on it.
 Is it statements like this that make me lame? Because it always sounds lame to me when I say that, but I mean that's what I want the end result of this project to be, so...?
You know....some people deserve to be thrown down a garbage chute sometimes, from like, the twenty-third floor. Just like the live rabbit I was told about today, who was found in the dumpster, still alive, with a black eye, but relatively unharmed. This is just one of many animal woes in our building lately. A few weeks ago, three kittens were left in a box in the stairwell. But still, that poor rabbit. How does it cross someone's mind that this is a logical course of action?
Lately, I've been really busy, hence the lack of any posts of substance. Last week I went to the Edward Burtynsky exhibit at the EAG with Joel and Allan, but otherwise laid fairly low due to my weird financial fluctuations. But back to Burtynsky...I was really impressed by the exhibit. It was amazing. It's one thing to see photography exhibits, but a complete other thing to see the vastness of these chromotography prints showing, really, the vastness of our impact on earth. He has an incredible eye for composition, and for once I wasn't thinking, "it's only in an art gallery because that dude was lucky to have a camera when that happened..." Because the stuff that Burtynsky was capturing has been happening for a long time. All of his photography displays the culmination of what we are doing to the earth; not just a turtle trapped in a sixpack ring, but say, a mountain of tires photographed in such a way that you can see the individual details of each, but also see them as they sit there in piles of thousands of rubber that isn't going anywhere except into the atmosphere when they're burnt. Also riveting were the photos of the quarries, especially the marble quarries in Italy. It all just made me wonder and think about so many things. Resources, who was using them, how long each "event" had been going on for...everything. Lastly, the ship dismantling yards in Bangladesh were incredible, and actually, downright spooky to see. How could something so massive and resource exhausting, have such a seemingly short life? I'm sure that the oldest ship we saw there was no older than 60 years. For a big hunk of floating metal...it seemed dumb that they wouldn't have longer lives. Though yes, there are a whole lot of other factors that would come into play with the lifespan of a cargo ship past what it was made from.
We also breezed through "Itukiagatta", but really, what's fun about looking at cultural appropriation with completely inadequate description? When I see something on a plinth or a pedestal that is so completely out of context in it's surroundings, that I could buy a replica of for $50 around the corner at a tourist shop, I feel ripped off, and I feel like the people that made them are very definately ripped off, although for different reasons. After a lifetime of seeing little soapstone statues at millions of tourist shops, I feel bad when I see them in museums or galleries, because of thoughts like that. Art as a commodity is a hard concept to swallow. I think the kicker was that the collection belonged to a banker who used to work up North, and felt that "these things should be shared with the world" instead of leaving them there. It reeks of salvage paradigm.
To the credit of the actual work and carvings we saw, they were exquisite. Like, some of them were amazing, except again, with so little background available to each sculpture, it sucked. When the only thing that comes to my mind when looking at a piece of art is, "oooh....that looks pretty," something is wrong.
Today, I spent the day getting little errands done. I went to the bank and figured out why bounced cheques bounce (pay attention, it's called "$200 partial"), and got the "partial" removed so it doesn't occur again. I also applied for my first pre-approved credit card. Oh baby. Oh baby. Emergencies only. Although, I'm sure we all start out saying that.
T-24 days until John gets here. We are going to the Moneen concert at PowerPlant on March 3rd...come one come all! The guy's never been to a concert before...we gotta make it rock for him. My aunt has thrown a little stick into the equation, as she's apt to do at her leisure, that might get interesting though. She's going to BC on March 2nd, and wants me to house-sit and look after le chien until that following Sunday that she gets back. I am not enthused about this at all, but at the same time, we'll have the place to ourselves, and she is letting us use the Explorer. It's rather annoying, and I can't put my finger on why...Oh, I know...because it's not my place. That bugs the hell out of me. I just wanted to have him over at OUR place. Not anyone elses place. Because I've never had a boyfriend come to the place that I live in, that is actually my home. Even if it is only until August. So, I've been entertaining thoughts of just bringing the dog to our house for three days or so. I'd have to worry about parking, and (LOL) talk to Adam about the dog (LOL), but really...I'd be much happier. I don't like her house. I don't like the idea of a spare bedroom done up in chantilly lace. I don't want to eat her food. I want John to be able to go where ever he wants to conveniently (LRT and whatnot), and not be stranded in suburbia. And fuck...I don't want to have to drive to school and park there. I am not waking up at the crack of dawn to take the number 8
to get to school.
Lastly, I talked to my brother and his wife last night (they finally got a phone, and it's a Vonage phone), which was really nice. I really like his wife, she's an awesome girl. The little bun in the oven is doing well, and currently enjoys kicking the crap out of it's mother's belly button. My brother has finally caught baby-fever and now spends his time buying baby crap on E-Bay, when he's not out buying baby crap in Penticton. It's thrilling! Apparently his wife thinks the baby will be a boy also, which is what I thought at the beginning. 
 They don't know from which floor it was sent from.
 I'm going to lose $5.00 if I'm wrong. To my Grandma.
I ate the egg with the grey spot on it. Don't worry. I'm fine.
batman....Thankyou Simon. I think this will occupy my reading for quite some time now.
Today has been good. I lucked out on getting a doctor's appointment with the opthamologist tomorrow, so I will be able to get glasses sooner then I thought, because now I definately need them. Nothing spells embarrassment by having to wear glasses that are missing an arm because it has been sheared off
. Tape not working!
Two questions: Who would like to come to Simon's wedding with me? And who wants to come glasses shopping with me (monday afternoon I think)?
the forecast of Jesus
So the real update is that somehow my dad wrangled my mom into letting me keep the money.  So I will be ok afterall, but I still ended up just dumping everything on her today anyways, which makes me feel awful. I did ask her to ask my dad to sit me down and talk about financial management though, so that will be good. I feel a lot better about things, and it is not even because I now have the money, but that really I'm overreacting. And yeah, sometimes I overeact, but sometimes if no one talks me down from that, which my mom is good at, I'll stay up there
and continue to freak out about everything going wrong and it all being my fault. Because sometimes, believe it or not, things are not my fault, but I make them my fault. I don't know where I've learned that little trick, but it's amazing.
"Oh my god! These earthworms are wiggling all over the sidewalk in the rain! They'll be killed!"
"Oh geez....my fault. I'm sorry."
So admittedly, this letter that still continues to sit on my desk, waiting for me to read it one more time so it can crush my soul into tiny bits, is still bothering me. I had an appointment for yesterday, but the priority of the practicum-goers of this semester takes precedence over monster people who eat children
and fail their practicum,
so I got bumped to February 7th. For a while now since that letter, I think I've just been in denial or something of it. I read it twice, and acknowleged that it would definately be harmful to keep reading it, because honestly, nothing educational can be gleaned from it that I haven't already realized, and haven't already cried about. And then I felt like my resolve to do better and kick ass had been hardened, and that I would be fine, but so help me, today was not a day of "hard-ass resolving to do better." Sometimes that little piece of paper with doodling on the back makes me want to just give up and move to an abandoned villa in Mexico where I can write my days away and smoke peyote. If I smoked peyote. Maybe I'd just smoke Marlboros.
I went to another keynote speaker of International week today, and I had a startling realization. It was called "Our Missing Sisters", and it was about all the missing aboriginal women across Canada. The number is at 470, and we never hear about them. There is a Canadian Aboriginal women's advocacy group run out of Ottawa, but they don't do anything outside of Ottawa, which is where our speaker comes in. Now there is a --fuck--I'll have to update this later with actual facts and whatnot, right now I'm too tired---chapter in Edmonton primarily, because we are actually the city that is the cause of the most concern in Canada. Our Aboriginal population is on the verge of surpassing the Aboriginal population in Winnipeg, at 50, 000.
The bottom line I guess, is that it was a good presentation, but I felt it could have been a lot better. I've realized lately that by making issues comfortable to talk about, that people are more inclined to be apathetic. I argue that the way that the media has progressed, we operate on a system of change affected the best through shock and discomfort. This woman was too gentle on the statistics (she decided we probably "didn't want to hear them." Like holy crap woman, why are you here then?), and just-- For the seriousness of the issue, she did it no justice. That said though, out of all the things I've heard on this matter (regarding specifically the Picton murders, and the murders of Aboriginal women in Edmonton), she and her organization seem to be the ones doing
the most to bring awareness about, and being the most effective at it. Like, I really have to hand it to them and her, because they've been very aggressive, and very successful at getting their concerns across.
Some interesting things:
A police department in Saskatoon was found to have been using photocopied pictures of missing Aboriginal women for target practice.
An Aboriginal woman in Grand Prairie who phoned 9-1-1 to report that her estranged husband was breaking into her house to kill her, did not get help. No emergency crews were sent, and her body was found 12 days later by her adult children who were concerned as to her whereabouts.
One of the speaker's employees at a woman's shelter went outside to get some air in a back alley, and realized that since she was aboriginal, if she was killed right then and her body was found in a back alley, they would assume her to be a prostitute.
Almost 2/3 of the prostitutes in Edmonton (out of about 500 known) are Aboriginal.
She told us a story about a little girl whom she'd met, who had been in elementry school and been teased about being Native. The teasing got so bad that she was embarrassed to be Aboriginal, and to the point where she was sent to culture counselling because she was found in the bathroom with a bottle of bleach, at 6 years old, trying to "change the color of her skin."
At the end of the presentation, I asked the speaker if there were even any Aboriginal Advocacy groups up in northern Alberta. There aren't. I've since been sort of churning it around all day that one should be started. When I think about Cold Lake and the underlying area around it, and the lack of resources or information, and general apathy/racist attitudes held as normal there, it could be really helpful to start changing attitudes somehow, through a group like this. Even if it was doing presentations at schools, or at town meetings or writing angry letters to a few of the town counsellors whom I know from personal experience
are racist, and MLA's and such. I guess I need to define more where to start exactly though. But I'm definately thinking about it a lot.
 Read: exercised some logical thinking power.
The Tag Lives ON
Four Jobs I've Had
1. Feeding sea life at the aquarium in St. Andrews
2. Recreational assistant at the Pines extended-care center
3. Reporter for the hometown 'Base paper
4. Employee of the city of Stink, cutting grass and snorting hydraulic fluid.
Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over
1. Office Space
2. Garden State
3. Spirited Away
4. Fight Club
Four Places I Have Lived
1. St. Albert, AB
2. Fort Simpson, NWT
3. Cold Lake, AB
4. Cowansville, QC
Four TV Shows I Love To Watch
# Prison Break
# Desperate Housewives
Four Places I Have Been On Vacation:
3. All over Canada
4. Through most of the northern states on the bottom 48.
Four Of My Favorite Dishes
2. Tandoori Chicken
3. Green Onion cakes and Lemon Chicken
4. Egg sandwiches
Four Websites I Visit Daily
1. Questionable Content
2. Ink slinger
3. Mad Scientist
4. Evil Science
Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now
2. Not here.
4. Tim Hortons