I'm a Typical Teenage Girl: Halloween

Whenever I scroll through my Twitter feed, I always find funny tweets making fun of teenage girls.
Being a teenage girl myself, I always laugh at them and think, "How funny! Good thing I'm not like that!"

Until I am.

This tweet is from the account @TweetLikeAGirl :

I saw it and was like, "Ahahah...wait-"

Crap. I'M a typical teenage girl. In my defence, this was a last minute costume and the only simple costume accessories I found in my closet. But let's be real, those ears ARE pretty darn cute.

I guess it's not so bad being a "typical" teenage girl after all. :)

...But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop laughing at those tweets.

Happy (Belated?) Halloween everyone!

The Not-so-Magic School Bus

Photo by pixabay.com

A little while ago I talked all about my gripes with the airplane. But, most people, unless you're Justin Bieber or someone, rarely are on planes and therefore can handle the crappy food and general discomfort for a short amount of time . The bus, on the other hand, is a mode of transportation that I am all too familiar with, because I take two buses to get to and from school. This means I spend about two hours a day dealing with public transportation. And for someone who doesn't particularly enjoy being engulfed in the body odour of strangers, this isn't exactly a walk in the park.

Let me clarify for those lucky souls who have never been on a bus before. If you are one of the passengers with the misfortune of having to stand during the ride, I assure you that you had better be ready to hold on for dear life. Every turn and lane change has you enacting some serious pole dancing moves to remain upright. There is no way that you can stand without leaning on or holding onto anything. So don't try it. Don't be a hero.

While it's obvious that standing on the bus isn't a good time, sometimes sitting isn't a blast either. When I have no one sitting beside me, I'm so content. I've got my headphones in, jamming to Lana and enjoying my personal space. Once someone sits down, that all changes. Most of the time, a normal person sits beside me, and I'm cool with that. But once in a while, you get that smelly, personal bubble-bursting, possibly psychotic person who plops themselves down right next to you.

This leads me to two requirements I would enact if I was the owner of a bus company (and just for the record, I have no plans to become one, although I'm sure I'd do amazing):

1. The Shower Policy: If one has not showered in many a day, or has a strong musk that follows 20 feet behind them, they are not welcome on Christina Bus Routes.

2. Christina Bus Routes reserves the right to request a Breathalyzer test of any passenger they deem necessary.

The second one is totally not a joke. The other day a guy stumbled on the bus, bloodshot eyes, goofy smile and all. And of course he had to stand, which requires 120% focus and highly developed motor skills. This guy is flailing around, generally just being a nuisance, and nearly tumbles out of the bus when his stop comes. Therefore Rule #2 is incredibly, incredibly necessary.

Also, the drivers are not always a ray of sunshine either.

A few weeks ago, I was running late and saw the bus coming down the street. I couldn't make it to the bus stop in time, so therefore just stood on the side of the road, praying the driver would take pity on my pathetic soul and stop for me, which she did.
Out of breath, I began to thank her, "Thanks, sorry I-"
And this lady interrupts me by saying "Next time I would advise you to wake up earlier."

WHAT?

Photo by openclipart.org

Hold on right there, woman! I just woke up late, had to run around the house like a psycho getting ready, run to attempt to make it to my stop, embarrass myself, and all around just be in a state of panic for half an hour, and you have the audacity to give me ADVICE, which was not really ADVICE at all. I don't need your sass this early in the morning, PAL. (As you can see, I'm a total ray of sunshine in the morning, so everyone else should be, too, right?)

So there are a few reasons why my morning commute is not half as enjoyable as I would like. I'll be accepting vehicle donations all week.

Transportation Troubles: The Airplane

I know, I know, it's been a while since I've posted. But before anyone gets too offended, I have some pretty good excuses. I spent a week in Punta Cana, and I am now onto my third week of university, so it's been a pretty exciting month! Some things that I don't find exciting, though, are public modes of transportation. In the past month, I have experienced a couple plane rides, and more trips on the bus then I would like (which is zero), and naturally, I have complaints about them both. In this post, I'm going to focus on my lovely plane riding experience.

Photo by pixabay.com

Before I get into it, let me just say that I am not a particularly good flier. Before I board, I try to pump myself up like, "People go on planes every day, you've got this!" But let's be real, airplanes are just not a good time.

There's the total lack of space. While I believe that I'm meant for a first class life, unfortunately I'm on a mediocre class budget, and therefore get herded onto the plane with the rest of the peasants. This is an issue, because I have a case of self-diagnosed Restless Leg Syndrome. I am literally always tapping my feet or bumping my knees up and down, and that is just not conducive to the airplane experience. There is no room for my crazy legs to fly around and this makes me incredibly (you guessed it) restless. While doing my Irish dance steps/ restless leg fidgeting, I keep accidentally kicking the back of the person's chair in front of me, leading me to forever be bracing for them to turn around and rip one of my restless legs right off.

Comfy.
Photo by pixabay.com

Next is the back of the chair. The airline graciously gives you one of two options. Bolt upright- your body literally at a 90 degree angle, your posture rivalling those of soldiers at attention. The second, for your flying comfort, is to put your chair back about half a millimetre to 88.5 degrees, which will undoubtedly make you feel like your lying on a cloud while soaring through the clouds. It never seems like much when you lean back yourself, but God forbid the person in front of you leans back, because then it pretty much feels like their head is in your lap.

The food is one of my personal favourites. On my flight, I was lucky enough to be served breakfast. It was an egg/omelette type of substance, or so they told me, in a prepackaged container with the label "Expiry Date: August 2014". This might just be me, but I'm pretty sure eggs are not supposed to remain edible for one year. A label like that must be questioned.

Lastly, the safety precaution video at the beginning of the flight. For an anxious flier like myself, this is just what a need to make me feel safe and prepared. A ten minute video highlighting literally every possible horrific outcome of the flight I'm out to take off on. "Oxygen masks are above, life jackets below, suits of armor to your right..."
The animated characters to go along with the video are even better. They demonstrate how to put on these masks and life jackets and suits of armor with such a serene look upon their face. "The plane's nose-diving? It's cool dude, we've got lifejackets and this fun emergency exit slide to use, nothing to stress about. Let's exit in an orderly fashion." Not a care in the world.
I'm just saying, in the event of some sort of crazy emergency,  you won't be seeing me doing much of anything in a sane fashion, let alone an orderly one. I'd probably be pushing children and the elderly out of my way to get to the nearest exit, yelling "ADIOS AMIGOS" and hightailing it out of there.

In the end, thankfully, I made it to Punta Cana safe and sound, and boy was it beautiful. Worth every moment of my restless, artificial egg eating plane ride with my plane-neighbour's head in my lap.

Mall Madness: In Real Life

After a successful day at the mall, I'm in such a good mood. Maybe I just found a cute shirt on the clearance rack that was just my size, or maybe I ate a double scoop ice cream cone (the ice cream cone would probably make me the happiest, let's be honest...). I'm probably pretty tired from walking around the mall all day, and I'm ready to get into my car and finally sit down.

 I'm so close to reaching the outdoors, just a door away, and then, all of a sudden, my day is ruined. Because I lose faith in the human race. This happens when the perfectly capable person in front of me on the way out presses this button. 

Photo from openclipart.org

 I just don't understand.

 Their hands aren't full, they have fully capable appendages, yet, they are just SO exhausted that opening the door is much too strenuous to handle. It's not even like they don't know how to open the door, as there are usually very clear PULL and PUSH signs so that there is no risk. They won't embarrass themselves by pulling and throwing their back out or anything, they won't push to no avail. There is literally no reason for this button to have even been touched. Their fingerprints should never have graced this device.

 So, because of this person's laziness, I have that six second waiting period where we have to step back and allow the door to open with molasses speed. In this moment, they are undoubtedly thinking, "Wow, the wonders of modern technology. Why use my fully functioning arms when I can press this magical button?"

 Once the door has finally slid open about four inches, the person remembers that there are people behind them waiting, then tries to squeeze themselves through a head sized opening, all at once catching their bag on the door and losing the last remnants of respect I had for them. Also, for some reason, once the button has been pressed, the door becomes the weight of a boulder and you have no choice but to wait for it to open fully, you can't even push it open to get through quicker. This only adds to the anarchy.

 So, recap time. Within about fifteen seconds, I go from satisfied, to dismayed, to impatient, to finally, relief, as it's finally my turn to go from the mall-air, filled with the smells of fried everything and the coughs and sneezes of the human race, to the fresh outdoors. "Phew, that was a doozy," I think. My life is dramatic, I know.

Mosquitoes are Horrible Party Guests: Part Two

So, it's been a couple of weeks since I covered my mosquito incident. Now that some time has passed and the memory is not so fresh, allow me to tell you about my SECOND mosquito attack.
It happened a day after the first, at my friend's birthday barbecue in the dreaded, mosquito infested outdoors. I know what you're thinking, "Didn't you learn from the first time?" and YES, I most definitely did. Which is why I doused myself in bug spray. Believe it or not, I even brought a purse just to be able to bring the spray with me. It was literally an empty bag except for the spray. Drastic times call for drastic measures.
But apparently, I missed a one inch by three inch section of thigh, and this is what I received...

It might be kind of hard to distinguish but yes, that is absolutely three bites all next to each other. And yes, they are gross. And yes, they itched with the fury of ten thousand suns. I was pretty sure I wouldn't last the week, what with these just adding to my collection.

Thankfully, my mom bought me some allergy spray to stop the itching. The only problem was, industrial grade adhesive must have been one of the main ingredients because it made me stick to everything. These three bites were already at an awkward spot, and now whenever I sat down I would take couch lint with me.

The best part was in the public washroom at the mall. I laid toilet paper on the seat in order to avoid the butt-germs of strangers (naturally) and when I got up, I had a nice strip of toilet paper stuck to the back of my leg. And don't think I'm using the word "stuck" lightly. I literally had to call my poor sister into the stall with me to pick white pieces of tissue off the back of my leg. I clearly remember saying, more than once, "Can anything go right in my LIFE?" (Those who watch Friends know where this is from), and just feeling all around sorry for myself.

I chose the name of this post to be pretty concise and to the point, because I didn't think "How I Ended Up Trapped in the Public Washroom of the Local Mall with Toilet Paper Crazy Glued to my Legs" would have fit.

But here I am, alive and itch-free. There was really no point to this story, I just needed to get that off my chest because it seemed like such an ridiculous situation for one to be in and I had one of those "OF COURSE it would happen to me" moments. I also hoped for it to be a motivational story, kind of like, "If I can survive mosquito bites then YOU can solve world hunger!"

But now I've learned my lesson. The next time I spend the evening outside I'll be sure to bathe in a vat of bug repellent, because you know what they say:

Bite me once, shame on you,
Bite me twice, I go into anaphylactic shock.

Confessions of an Unfriendly "Resting" Face

I like to think I'm a pretty upbeat person. I like to laugh and tell jokes and be around other people. But I, like many people throughout the world, am plagued with what I like to call an "unfriendly normal-face". By that I mean that when I'm not smiling, I look like I'm miserable. One time I heard someone call it a "resting face", so I'll go with that name, you know, to get out of my comfort zone and stuff.
I can't count the amount of times that I've been asked, "Are you doing okay? You look mad." And nothing can really make you mad like someone telling you that you look mad. You begin to question yourself like, "I didn't think I was mad, but if I look like it, maybe I am but just haven't realized it yet! Yeah! I'm mad now." And it's just a vicious unending cycle of unnecessary emotions and angry looking facial expressions.

So now that I've come to terms with the fact that I look peeved all the time,  I'm trying to be more aware of it in social situations. When I'm just standing alone, I begin to wonder if I look intimidating, and then try to make my face look welcoming. What does a "welcoming" face look like anyways? I feel like mine comes out looking like Amanda Bynes in the "chew like you have a secret" scene.

Does that sound welcoming and approachable to you? I didn't think so.

Another issue is that when you are angry, no one can even tell. When I'm trying to give someone the Pursed-Lips-of-Disdain, it really comes off as the Face-of-Indifference to those that know me.

I'm sure you're all thinking, "Wow Christina, what a difficult life you live." And my answer to that is, "Yes, Blog Reader, every day is a struggle." Instead of a people-attracting, angelic-looking resting face, now I have to rely solely on my winning personality and charm to make friends...
So, if you ever see me on the street and want to say hi, please go for it. I'm not mad, or tired, or annoyed, I'm just a victim of the "unfriendly resting face". 

Mosquitoes Are Horrible Party Guests- A Cautionary Tale

I like nature as much as the next guy. Okay, probably a little less than the next guy, because lately, Mother Nature's been unleashing some fury on my body in the form of mosquitoes. This. Is. No. Joke. Sitting here typing this, I can count at least 15 bites. A girl is just trying to spend some time in the great outdoors (her friend's backyard pool...) and this is how I get punished?
And I have yet to mention, that FIVE of these bites are ON. MY. FACE.

WHAT THE HECK.

Have you ever heard of anyone who has ever gotten bitten on their face? I haven't. Let alone five times. If this is what being the Chosen One feels like, I'll have to pass.


This is what I looked like before I was hit with the harsh plague of the mosquitos. Look how carefree Past Christina looked- she's doesn't now what Present Christina knows now. Notice the bricks behind me, proof that I did indeed spend some time outdoors.

I've always been told that mosquitoes are really attracted to me because I have sweet blood. But just about everything about me is sweet (insert cheesy smile with the *ding* tooth sparkle here), and this is starting to get a little crazy. I mean, excuse me for thinking that if I minded my own business, they would just let me lead a peaceful life. I wouldn't even mind if they hung around at the pool party, I couldn't really blame them because it was a lot of fun, but man, there's always that one party guest that has to take it too far, and last night it was the mosquitoes. Those vindictive, merciless, malicious, unrelenting, vengeful little blood-suckers. (Can you tell I used a thesaurus?)

Anyone who has had a mosquito bite knows the struggle. That itch is enough to make you go to desperate measures. I read online that putting a hot spoon over your bite will help to kill the protein that causes the itch. I'm in no position to be picky about my itch-soothing methods, so of course I tried it.

Now, a hot spoon seems like a very simple object, but how does one go about actually heating the spoon?
First, I tried to put it in the microwave. Apparently, you're not supposed to put metal spoons in there (who would have thought?!), so I moved onto Plan B- the kettle.

I put some water in the kettle and brought it to a boil, putting the spoon over the steam of the kettle. Now I understand why people say "Hindsight is 20/20" because looking back, it should've been obvious the spoon was going to be very, very hot...

I wouldn't say my burn is extremely severe, but it competes for my attention with the 15 mosquito bites quite nicely- it's really holding it's own. So here I am sitting at the computer with a cup of tea (how mature of me), because why let the boiled water go to waste, right?

The point of this story isn't to make you think I'm an idiot (I was on Honour Roll in high school, I promise), but to advise the public to think it through before engaging in done-in-your-garage-by-your-Uncle-Johnny home remedies.

5 Reasons Why I Would Be Unsuccessful on American Idol

Photo from commons.wikimedia.org.

1. I Can't Sing

As much as I ambush my parents and sister with my singing voice when we're in the car and they can't escape, I'm really not much of a singer. I've got the charisma for it, but the voice just isn't there. I would be doomed to become just a short clip in the montages of terrible contestants in one of the first episodes. The most I could hope for would be to be so bad that I win the hearts of the country, a la William Hung or the "Pants on the Ground" guy.

2. No Interesting Backstory

Even though I think I'm a pretty intriguing person, I don't have any heartwarming stories that would capture a nation or anything like that. I'm not the legal guardian of my great-aunt's six children after her tragic rickshaw accident. My singing has never raised anyone from the dead. I was never homeless and had to resort to living under a bridge with my dyslexic brother, where my singing voice was our only source of hope. There would be no need to film my hometown to set the tone for my audition, or play inspirational music like "Don't Stop Believin'" once I made it through the first round. Nothing for me and Ryan Seacrest to talk about. I'd most definitely be that one contestant you had no idea existed until halfway through the season.

3. I Don't Take Criticism Well

Granted, I know I can't sing, but that doesn't keep me from having an overwhelming sense of pride that would cause me to become a very unsavoury character at the first shred of criticism. I can see it now, after belting out a tear-inducing rendition of "Bohemian Rhapsody", Simon would rub his chest and say "That was literally the most dreadful thing my ears have ever experienced. It's a no from me" (I hope you read that in his accent, aswell), to which I would take great offense and I would jump the judges table, Coke cups flying about, Mean Girls "This is how it would be settled in the animal world" style. The security team would have to come, it just wouldn't be a good look.

4. Being Offended by an Entire Country

If I was fortunate enough to make it to the live performances and the entire country got to vote, the second I was eliminated I would be so enraged at every citizen that I would have to immigrate somewhere else. Ryan Seacrest would say, "After the nationwide vote, Christina, you will no longer be continuing with us", the studio audience would clap, and I would probably spin around and scream "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? CURSES COME UPON ALL OF YOU." (Or something along those lines...not like I've thought about it or anything...) Ryan would hand me the mike to sing my final song, to which I would refuse, because, of course, if these idiots wanted me to sing another song they would have KEPT ME HERE. I would run off, never to be seen again, taking the mike with me, which would show up on eBay from the username scorned_idol.

5. Holding Up Numbers on my Fingers

This is probably the main reason I wouldn't be successful on American Idol. Ryan would join me onstage after I finished singing, and say something along the lines of, "To vote for Christina text 'vote' to 5713!" and in my frazzled state of mind, I would start holding up a five and a seven...then realize I don't have enough fingers...then realize that 57 is obviously not my number..then try to hold up a 1 and a 3 but end up holding them so they read 31 instead of 13...and then try to play that hand game Chopsticks with myself until I put up the right number. All the while the audience would be watching me uncomfortably and I'd probably be drenched in sweat. The next week I would likely go home and the situation explained in #4 would come to fruition.

So with all of these in mind, I don't think I'll be caught in that 10,000 people-deep Idol audition line any time soon!

Starbucks Divas

I feel like I've been in this situation way too many times. I'm in line at Starbucks, (speaking of being in line, are there any times when that place isn't chock full of people? For those of you who have never been, it's sort of what you would picture supermarkets looking like if the apocolypse was nearing) ready to order my simple, low-maintenance drink, a tall Coffee Frappuccino. That's it. No specifications, don't ask me questions, just the frap and I'll be on my merry way.

But I always seem to be in line behind that person. The one with the longest list of instructions and preferences that by the time they're done, sometimes their drink doesn't even resemble what they ordered in the first place.
"Oh yes, hello. I'd like to order a hot chocolate, extra hot. Made with skim milk, actually, do you have any goats milk? How about water buffalo milk? Super chocolately- do you have chocolate harvested from the plains of Ecuador? Do you add marshmallows? No? Not to worry, I brought my own just in case!" REALLY?

Photo by openclipart.org

Unacceptable. Save that crap for when I'm not behind you in line.

Don't get me wrong- those drinks are expensive, so obviously you should get something you will enjoy. But think about these poor baristas- boiling milk seven times over and straining 2% milk to satisfy Mariah Carey-like diva needs, making minimum wage so they can pay for school...or drugs... or whatever. 

And if they're not going to think about the baristas- then they should think about ME, and all the other straight-shooting frap drinkers of the world. We're busy people- we have places to go, people to see...(blogs to complain on?) and in the words of wise woman Sweet Brown, "ain't nobody got time for that".  



Welcome, New Friends!

Hey, Everyone!

I thought that before I got into any of my opinions on anything (and trust me, I have lots), I should probably introduce myself.
My name's Christina, and I'm pretty excited at the idea of being able to share my thoughts with you.
My friends would probably describe me as being pretty sarcastic, opinionated, and passionate, but don't let that scare you away just yet. I also like to think I'm outgoing, friendly and funny, and I think that some of my observations about the world will definitely entertain you.

Basically, the reason I'm starting this blog in the first place is because my family and friends tell me that I have a way with words, and that I always have something to say... in other words, that I talk a lot and they're tired of hearing me. So here I am.

There are so many times during the day when I think, "Man, I hate when ..." or "Isn't it funny that...". My goal is to have you read my observations and opinions and think, "Wow, she's so right...and beautiful...and smart...and funny." And if you don't agree with me, well, obviously you're mistaken. But that's okay, that's why you're on my blog in the first place- to find out what's what!

Thanks for taking the time to read this little website littered with my take on humour.

-Christina

P.S. My family thanks you for taking me off their hands for a few minutes a day, too.