Nothing enters the eye. Nothing.

I hate eyeballs. I hate touching them. I hate other people touching their own eyeballs. I hate having something in my eye. I am Rachel off 'Friends' times a million. If you want me squealy and over-the-top dramatic about something small, put your finger near your eyeball. It makes me physically nauseous.

So when I look in the mirror at the end of my work day and see that I have wiry veins creeping across the inner corner of my left eyeball, I almost vomit. These are not the regular veins that are supposed to be there. These are bright red, inflamed, I HAVE INTERNAL EYE BLEEDING veins. The hypochondriac in me comes roaring to life and I immediately assume I'm going blind at an alarmingly fast rate, but after I paper-bag it and can think rationally, I figure maybe a scratch? Yes, a scratch. HOW DID I GET A SCRATCH WHEN NOTHING ENTERS MY EYE?! There's no way it's a scratch. It's clearly some sort of infection that is airborne and has landed on my eyeball and caused it to start burning.

Yes, now my eyeball is burning. This reaction may or may not be psychological, but after some serious contemplation about how my eye has gotten to this point I have come to the conclusion that if it hasn't disappeared by tomorrow that I'm most definitely going to have to get eye drops. Eye drops that will never get used because nothing enters my eye. People will have to force me down to the ground, pin me in place, and put the eye drops in for me, because when I need to be, I'm freakishly strong. Like a grown man strong. And that strength comes out when I'm resisting something, such as eye drops.

Maybe no one will notice my eye.

A: How's the night going?
Fellow Barista: Oh it's okay, you kno--*squints at my face*--what's wrong with your eye?
A: I'm going blind.

That was my first encounter with another human since I had discovered said rabid eye.

I hope the people in my life that care about my eyesight are strong.

Isn't it ironic.

My willpower has been tested. Tested in the same way that a smoker trying to quit would have their willpower tested by waving a lit cigarette in their face. While drinking (I hear it's harder to resist when you've had a few?). While outside (because then it's ok?). While surrounded by 6 other people that are currently smoking. From observation I know these things are hard for trying-to-quit-smoker's. Just like it's hard for myself to have free junk food waved in my face when I don't want to be eating it.

It's now Thursday of my third week of my lifestyle change. I've almost done 3 weeks (minus the Saturday's and Sunday's) of no sugar, no fast food, more vegetables than a vegetarian sees in their lifetime, more canned fruit salad than the grocery stores can keep in stock, and more fiber than my body has ever seen in my lifetime. And I feel great. However, these junk food devils need to stop perching on my shoulder, whispering sweet nothings into my ear about how fantastic their food is, and how good it tastes, and how one, teensy little donut won't do any harm. I'm not sure why they continue to compete with my willpower. When I want something, I usually get it. Persistent little fellows...

Example 1:

All I have to say is "BURGER".

By Friday of this past week I would have given my left arm to have SOME sort of junk food. Anything. I was so desperate I thought that smelling certain foods would satisfy my cravings. I was wrong. It was 8 pm on Friday, I had 4 hours to go until it was officially Saturday and I could indulge in, at this point, anything I wanted. A friend gave me a bag of chocolate as a thank you for helping her with a school project, and I decided that since I hadn't had any coffee that day it would be okay to have just one piece of it. Mistake. It says right on the bag "WARNING: HABIT-FORMING", and that wasn't a lie. It was the most delicious chocolate I have ever had in my entire life. I will admit, I was worried for a lot of things; my sanity, my lifestyle change, the progress I had made thus far which was being threatened to be ruined by that one piece of candy. But I distracted myself by watching House with roomie, and falling asleep on the couch by 10 pm. We awoke to the starting menu of the DVD and I check the time: 1 am. I shout "IT'S OFFICIALLY SATURDAY!!!!", eat 3 pieces of chocolate, and go to bed.

Saturday morning roomie and I head to the Americas. Now, normally when I go to the states I buy junk food, junk food, and more junk food. Like every kind of junk food you can think of. Every. Kind. This trip I was pretty good, with the exception of a bag of chips. 90% of the reason I bought this bag of chips was because it had a zip-loc seal to seal the bag when you were done snacking (I guess some people don't eat the entire bag in one sitting?), which I thought was brilliant and all chip bags should have that. The other 10% was because they were 'loaded baked potato' flavor. Like it was ever a question as to whether I was going to buy them or not. I am so excited for this zip-loc contraption that I rip open the bag...incorrectly. I've ruined it and cannot use the zip-loc. Oh, there's the tab that says "Pull Here". Why does America have to be so much more advanced than Canada?

Fast forward to the evening when I'm mere minutes away from ordering the long-awaited burger. Yes, all week I've had this evening planned and anticipated the pub burger that, because it was a Saturday, I was allowed to eat. All I've talked about is having a burger. Every conversation I've had all week I've somehow incorporated that I was going to eat a burger on Saturday. I didn't know what kind or what it was going to have on it, all I knew was that my tummy was going to have beef in it. And probably not extra lean beef. AND bacon. REAL bacon. The waitress arrives at our table:

Waitress: Can I get anyone anything to drink?
A: BURGER.
Waitress: Sure...
A: Can I add bacon to it?
Waitress: Sure...fries or salad?
A: Is that a real question?

Aside from the chicken caesar salad ordered by someone, I was the only one at our table that ordered food. I'm not exactly sure what I would have done had the kitchen been closed, or they weren't offering food because Lillix was playing that night, or they had run out of beef. I imagine it would have looked very similar to how Sheldon off The Big Bang Theory reacts when something doesn't go his way. Like the time I went to Red Robin and was told they switched to Coca-Cola products and no longer served Dr. Pepper. I'm not okay with it.

My burger was amazing. It had a lot of my most favorite things ever on it: guacamole, banana peppers, bacon, cheese...I could have eaten 6 of them. But I stopped at 1 and anticipated my 4 km walk home with rommie once the bar closed. This walk would justify the burger.

It's 1 am and approximately -45 degrees outside. Roomie and I are prepared with scarves and gloves and boots and drunken happiness that we are sure will make this walk seem like 15 minutes long instead of an hour. It takes us less than an hour, and this makes us super walkers.

Hi there, Sunday, and thank you, Momma, for preparing a BBQ steak dinner, complete with baked potatoes, crab cakes, broccoli salad, and melty cheese dip appy's. She's my #1 supporter. I wore my "thanksgiving pants" ('Friends' reference for those of you who live under a rock), and ate until I literally could not swallow one more bite. I went to bed a happy little girl last night.

Now it's Monday (is there any way tomorrow might be Friday?) and as I packed my lunch this morning, a single tear rolled down my cheek at the contents.  I should teach a course on self-discipline.

I'd rather have a real boyfriend.

It's starting to worry me that every time I talk to my mother she mentions at least one thing about how my car is going to die on me. We don't even have to be talking about my car, or driving, or gas, or anything to do with anything to do with not only my car, but ANY car. She will slip some sort of comment into the conversation. It could be something straight to the point like:

A: Today at work I got one of those big garbage dumpster bins for work.
Momma: I hope you're saving your money because your car is going to die soon.
A: Uhh, I am...well, no, I actually had to pay tuition today so my savings is gone.

Or it could be something a little more subtle like:

A: How are you?
Momma: Work is crazy, MiniSis was throwing up all night last night.
A: Ohhhh, why?
Momma: Some sort of bug. She sleeps on the floor.
A: The bug? (*thinks I'm so clever*)
Momma: What? No. (*too distracted to get my joke*) How's your car running?
A: Actually it's being weird lately.
Momma: I hope you're saving your money.
A: *stomach sinks* How does she know these things...?

Or it could be the ghost voice of my car chanting "I'm sooooooo old, I'm on my last legs", as I'm driving, which has, in turn, made me obsessive about my car's death.

I've had my car for 7 years now. It's the only car I've ever had, and we've been through A LOT together. Without her I don't know where I'd be in life, or what kind of sense of humor I'd have about life. She makes me happy, she makes me mad, she makes me worried, she makes me anxious, she's my inanimate boyfriend, really. I STILL run into her previous owner, who STILL remembers me and asks about her. Did my car have the same effect on this lady as she has on me? LET GO LADY, SHE'S MINE! (Except I would never shout at this lady because she's really very sweet)

So now that I have an income that allows me to actually save money, I'm on my way to saving for a new car. I know what I want (another Honda, of course, I don't know anything else nor do I want to), and what year-ish I want, and what features I want (automatic locks and windows and A HORN [yes, my car has had no working horn for the past 3 or so years]), and a windshield that's NOT cracked like a spiderweb that doesn't make me nervous that it's going to shatter on me one day, probably while driving on the highway. It doesn't matter that I cracked the windshield myself because I forgot to take my club off my sterring wheel one time, it's not important. What is important is that the crack keeps getting longer and wider. When my rearview mirror fell off one day while driving (you don't know how often you use your rearview mirror until it's not there), I glued it back on and the pressure I had to apply while holding it in place made my windshield move. I don't think it should be moving.

So now that I have a goal in mind, I'm obsessed. As I usually am when I work towards something. But I'm not only obsessed with getting the new car, I'm obsessed with my current car failing me. Maybe 7 years is too long for her and she's like, "we're breaking up...now" (and car dies in the middle of the street). So I need to beat her to the punch. However, every time I'm driving I'm convinced I hear a weird sound, or see smoke, or smell something burning. And this in turn convinces me that that day is the day that we break up. So now I drive in constant anxiety and panic (kind of like when you know the person you're with is unhappy, and you are too, and you're just waiting for the moment you both finally realize it because it's just not working anymore [you know who you are]). What would I do if my car broke down? (Oh hi there, roomie) What would I do if I couldn't afford to fix it? (Oh hi there, momma) How do I unlatch my hood to check my oil? (Oh hi there, random stranger at gas station <-- yes, this has happened before)

I only need to be anxious for like, 5 more months, then I can relax and begin to be anxious about something else, because currently all my anxiety is taken up by my car and what kind of tea I should drink today. Too bad I'm too scared to drive to get more tea (I don't actually need any more tea), because I'll hate tea forever if that's what I was on my way to getting when the car and I broke up.

Don't worry about me being the coolest person existing, just don't.

First of all, I shocked everyone with winning February's Partner of the Month. I can have the raddest customer service skills when I want to, or more importantly, when the customer deserves them (which is rare), but I'm notorious for displaying sub par customer service. I've mastered the bitchy-but-can-get-away-with-it-because-I-have-a-nice-smile-and-condescending-tone-of-voice-type of customer service skills. I rock drive-thru because [idiotic] people are placing their orders on a camera, and it's much easier to make fun of them while they're ordering on a camera than directly to their face. Might I add that I've also mastered the you're-an-idiot-type look while people order from me face-to-face (which is probably why I rock drive-thru) because let's face it, 99% of people ARE idiots.

Wow, ok, I didn't mean for that to turn into such a ragey vent. As I was saying...I won Partner of the Month! So I need a picture of myself for the frame that goes up in the store for all to see. I look through my entire camera and my entire laptop and discover that every picture of myself is either with someone else, or with an alcoholic beverage in hand. So what do I do? A photo shoot by myself, of course.

I spent a good 20-30 minutes figuring out the self-timer on my camera, then chose a prime location in the house for the most "natural" looking photograph, then Went. To. Town. I probably took 20 pictures of myself. Hair up. Hair down. Smiling. Fake drinking from a Starbucks cup. Thumbs up. Tossing hair. This was definitely one of those "someone should be watching me and judging PROFUSELY" moments. I finally captured a good one where I'm just smiling like a regular person, but upon picturing it in the frame at work, I visualized it more as a memorial-type picture that people would be remembering me by because I died. It freaked me out. So onward we go to a more "candid" picture. It finally happened. It TOTALLY looks like someone with a camera told me, as I walked by them, to turn around so they could take a picture. The fact that I'm telling this story ruins that secret, but let's face it, not everyone does these kinds of things. Not people I know anyway.

This is all happening February 13, THIRTEEN DAYS into the month! AND it's a short month. So I go to Shopper's to print off this picture. It's fairly easy and quick and then the machine asks for payment. 33 cents it cost me. I look around for a change slot as to NOT have to use my debit card. No such thing. So I debit this purchase of 33 cents (who cares that it'll probably cost me $2.00 in service charges because my bank is one of the only ones existing that doesn't offer unlimited debit transactions), and I basically die laughing because I replayed the events of the last 2 hours over in my head.

So come on in to Mt Lehman Starbucks to view this photo of yours truly, taken by yours truly. I honestly look like I'm having the time of my life.

Detox.

A few years ago I cut refined sugars out of my diet and for the first 4 or 5 days of not consuming any I went through MAJOR withdrawl. The shakes, headaches, irritability, blurred vision, vomitting. Ok, no vomming, but the rest are true. I guess sugar was my drug of choice? That must be why I relapsed somewhere between a few years ago and now. And that must be why I feel I've hit rock bottom in not only my eating habits, but my way of living. LIFESTYLE CHANGE! Step one: cut refined sugars out of diet. I'm on day 4, and I like to think I'm succeeding and that the worst has passed and it's all downhill from here, but I feel like the tears welling behind my eyes when I think of purple sour keys, or white mocha americanos, or Golden Grahams cereal are a sign that maybe I'm not quite there yet. At work, the land of sugar, everything customers order sounds amazing. A double tall, extra whip white mocha? YES PLEASE. An extra caramel drizzle caramel frappuccino? YES. A HAZELNUT COFFEE MISTO? (and I DESPISE hazelnut, might I add) YES! YES! YES! I almost rip open a pack of sugar and just eat it by itself, but there's cameras everywhere. There would be no denying it.

So I applaud my willpower and truck on through the days. Since this change I've developed an obsession with canned fruit salad. With no added sugar, of course. And packed in water, not syrup, OF COURSE. I swear I eat 17 cans a day. I might start keeping a can opener in my purse in place of lip gloss for those emergency cravings. Which incidentally are 24 hours a day. I might start keeping back-up cans in there too. For those of you who have seen my purse you know that adding a few cans of fruit salad would make absolutely no difference on the weight or contents of it.

Side note: I also cut out fast food. Again, those of you who know me well know that I live on fast food and that deep fried goodness is my weakness. Now that I have no diet due to no fast food, I'm an irritable, withdrawn, shaky girly that lives on canned fruit salad. Where's Dr. Drew? I need his guidance through my detox.

Free garlic.

I almost left class early this morning because I was craving salsa so bad. Not jarred salsa, the kind I make. With 28 red onions and 65 cloves of GARLIC. I eat it when I want people to stay away from me. And I work tonight. I wonder if those 2 go hand in hand...

So I race to the grocery store after class, run around like a crazy person grabbing all the ingredients and sneak into a cashier's line that no one else is in. Even though there's a line-up at the one other till that's open. I hate people so much. Beep, beep, beep, be...wait, $1.50 for a head of garlic? No way.

A: "Umm, I think garlic is supposed to be 99 cents"
Cashier: "Ohhhh...well...I'll have to call for a price check..." *secretly thinking "please say 'don't worry about it...'"
A: "Ok" *continues texting*
*3 minutes later (no exaggeration) the manager shows up*

There was no conversing that happened here except the odd mutter out of the manager's mouth walking herself through this procedure because, yes, she had to come to the till, void the first garlic, put it in again, put in the correct price, and void it out again. There were a lot of minus signs on the screen, but having been a cashier for 6.5 years I could follow it pretty well. Not like the technologically-impaired who need you to go slow and explain everything as you do it instead of waiting until the receipt prints out so you can show them. If you ever don't understand, please wait until the receipt prints out. The cashier appreciates it.

So, I ended up getting my garlic for free. But wait, not before the manager asks me for my name and PHONE NUMBER because of the...void? The re-ringing in? The second void? IS ANY OF THIS MY FAULT? All I want is my salsa.

I get home and see I have approximately 34 cloves in the kitchen.

Drilling...or hammering, same thing.

IKEA is the best. $1.49 for a curtain rod? How perfect since there is a gaping hole in our living room blinds that I'm positive people are creeping into at all times, so putting up some curtains (which I actually already possess) would fix that problem. And $1.49 is cheaper than new blinds. This curtain rod contains 5 pieces, so it can't be that hard to put up. I memorize what the display one looks like and set off to put up curtains.

Next scene:

I furiously unwrap the plastic because I'm so excited to have surprise curtains up for when the roomie gets home, and I only have half an hour to do so. One day I promise I'll learn that what appears an easy breezy task for the majority of people, means that it'll take 4 times that long for me to accomplish it. There's 2 screws. There's no drill. Oh, but I have nails that will work, as well as a hammer. Problem solved. Or so I thought.
I eyeball the measurements because of course I don't have a tape measure (fyi, a piece of paper works the same) and start nailing in the brackets. The first one is perfect. The second one, well, I'm pretty sure I nailed it into cement, because it was hard to get in, and harder to get out. And by harder to get out, I mean impossible. Ok, let's try placing the rod on the brackets, just to see. *Actual laughing out loud* The rod is the same length as the distance between the brackets, therefore being about a centimentre too short on either side to sit on the brackets properly.
So I set out to take the brackets off the wall to move them a bit closer to each other. The second bracket isn't budging. Might I add, I'm also on an angle, standing on a cushy ottoman (the chair was way too far away to bring over to have something sturdy to stand on), and completely terrified of dropping the hammer on my TV. I look at the time, it's time to pick up the birthday girl for an evening of bowling and Denny's, so I have to go. I quickly text roomie to ignore my half attempt at installing a curtain rod, and rush out the door. (Later to realize that if I don't look at the curtain rod on the couch, that means it doesn't exist, because I'm bored of this task now)

I'm tempted to return the curtain rod. Not for the $1.49 (even though that would buy me 3 hot dogs at IKEA, which is 100% worth it in itself), but because attempting to install it has made me want to purchase and possess my own drill. That terrifies me. So let me know if you see any good sales on a drill, because apparently I don't know how to buy anything that only requires a simple hammer and nails. Oh yes, this isn't the first time this has happened to me.

Maybe I'll get a tape measure while I'm at it.

A blog?

I'm not a writer. But I have a wicked sense of humor. Nothing serious ever comes out of my mouth, and that is the first thing you should know about me. My life should be a reality show, and the thought of pitching that idea has crossed my mind more than once. Or ten times. Or a hundred. Ok, daily. I've learned to laugh at absolutely everything, always. You get but one life, why spend it being angry, or embarassed, or annoyed, or anything but happy and thankful?

I know how to talk. And I know how to vent. Is that what a blog is for? That's what mine is for. The most insane things happen to me everyday, and I need to document these things. I usually have a partner in crime for most things I do, but sometimes I'm completely alone and frantically looking around thinking, "someone HAS to have seen that!!!!" Now I can write about those things.

Some of my favorite people have blogs. I'm supes jealsy and somewhat of a follower, so here's MY blog. I hope everyone enjoys it. If I make you smile, I've done my job :)

A. xoxo (Gossip Girl reference, I'm bringing it in. Krista supports my efforts.)