Saturday, 25 August 2012

How To Never Become A Hockey Wife


Hello to all!

It has been many moons since I posted something to my blog and I have mixed feelings about this. Sadness, confusion, anxiousness, perhaps a bit of nausea, maybe even a little bloating….

Many new things are happening in my life! Well…mostly that’s a lie. But I have become a crazy cat lady during these summer months so…that’s new. Summer is almost over and school starts up again soon, the thought of which makes me want to burn something down (Seriously, it’s going to be like the 1814 Burning of Washington all over again...only instead of the White House, it’s going to be my university...). Also I have a constant, massive hankering to watch The West Wing all day, everyday, 50 days a week…so really I guess everything is mostly status quo.

At any rate, I have found the time to write a new post! My ears, dear readers, are itching in anticipation, but actually that’s probably just because I have legit really itchy ears lately...


Luckily, one thing that hasn't changed is the awkwardness that is my daily life. I think this is something we can all be thankful for.  I know I am. Deciding what to focus this post on was an adventure. The topic could be so many things as my life is a veritable safety deposit box of molten crazy, but I narrowed it down to factor in current events. Lucky you!!! So, in honor of the looming NHL lockout and to remind us of better hockey days, my stories have a common theme: Hockey! And me...and my awkwardness...so 3 common themes I guess. Story 1 is all about me spewing on a lady. Story number 2 is the story of awkward hand placement, and finally story 3 involves a phone, some dudes pants, and me.  All I can say is, prepare yourself.


Our first story takes us wayyyyy back in time to the days of my childhood. In the immortal words of Pitbull, “To understand the future, you have to go back in time.” So lets go there together shall we? I was around 7 or 8 years old, and my father, my two older brothers, and myself, were taking in a Flames game. My father had purchased me and the boy’s soda pop beverages for our thirst quenching needs so I was slurping happily away on my Saddledome Coca Cola.  It was at this moment that my brothers decided it would be a good idea to teach me the proper (not proper at all….) way to drink through a straw. The method was very detailed. If you sucked a little bit of pop through the straw and then put your finger on the other end of the straw you would form a kind of vacuum of poppy goodness. Then you could release your finger and drain the pop through the straw into the back of your throat. Drinking it this way also preserved the beverage for at least an hour longer then drinking it normally would have. To my 7-year-old mind, this new way was obviously the best way to drink pop. Looking back, I'm surprised my father allowed this to go on for at least a whole period...because A) It's actually kind of disgusting and B) it isn't a quiet way to drink a beverage...I applaud the patience he exhibited that day. Well-done dad, what a good guy. Anyways, for the next period or so I guzzled away at my drink.  Sometime, probably mid way through the 2nd period, I had sucked back some pop into the straw and had my finger covering the end. Only this time...it didn't go as planned. Instead of draining it into my throat, I lost my grip, the vacuum was reversed and pop exploded out the end of the straw......directly onto the back of the head of the lady sitting in front of me.  I still to this day don't understand how, seeing as is was just one straw full, but, this ladies head was DRIPPING with sticky cola beverage. 


Everyone in my row looked at me and froze. I slowly turned to look up at my father sitting beside me, who at this point had his head in his hands and was shaking it. The lady slowly turned around in her seat and stared at me. Her eyes opened very wide and she opened her mouth to say something. My 7-year-old self wanted to apologize and to explain to this stranger that this clearly wasn't my fault, and that really we should be blaming the 2 older boys who had taught me this flawed trick in the first place. But instead, before she could get a word out, I blurted out in what I'm sure was not an inside voice, "THE SUCK...it...it broke!!" (I realize that this does not make sense now...), followed by a very quick, and weak "I'm so sorry, and then I'm pretty sure I maybe started to whimper a bit (not a full out cry...but a red faced, blurry eyed, wiggly voice kind of whimper. Basically I was an emotional wreck). She seemed mildly amused but still annoyed and told me to be more careful (which I think was kind of a bitch move on her part...like honestly lady cut me some slack...I'm 7 and clearly distraught).  My father grabbed the drink from my hand and took my brothers' drinks away too because, well they were the knob heads who taught me the stupid trick in the first place. I felt like this was an appropriate punishment and sat quietly with my shame for the last period of the game (which we lost...by the way...not uncommon for the 1998 Calgary Flames team). It’s comforting somehow for me to know that my awkwardness started at such a young age…Now the best/my favourite part of this story is the fact that my father didn't buy us soft drinks at games again until I was probably 14...which I find hilarious. But honestly…that was probably a good call dad.

Story number 2 is all about how my life got flipped turned upside down, and I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there and I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Aire (Consider yourself bel-aired) JK, I am not the fresh prince, I was not born in West Philadelphia, I am not Will Smith, though sometimes I wish I was.... (Everything the man touches turns to gold, even his kids are like little money making machines…can I get a “what what” for Big Willy Smith?)

…Awkward love letter to Will Smith behind us…Story number 2 is another story all about spilling drinks. I like to call it the “Holly is awkward and shouldn’t be let out in public” story.

Let me paint you the picture: Flames game circa 2010. Holly sits with a friend, potentially Becky, Becca, or Sarah****…the details are a little hazy at this point, as I have tried to block this event from my memory. Anyways, Holly stands to allow other hockey game patrons to pass in front of her to gain access to their seats. Holly rests her hand on the back of her chair to support herself while standing. Holly’s left hand starts to lose its place on the back of the seat. Holly’s left hand is slipping. Dear God it is slipping. Holly’s hand breaks contact with the back of her chair forcing Holly to awkwardly fall slightly backwards.  Holly gropes around searching for something hard to rest her hand on (That’s what she said). Holly makes contact with what should be the cement floor of the row behind her. ALAS, it is not floor. It is too liquid to be floor…it is beer. Holly’s hand is now fully submerged in some poor schmucks beer cup. Holly turns around, horrified. Owner of the beer looks up at her, also horrified. Both patrons look at each other horrified. Holly tries to remove her hand from said beer cup. Beer cup is mildly stuck on Holly’s hand. Holly tilts cup in another attempt to dislodge. Beer pours everywhere.  Holly’s hand comes free. People shout. Babies cry. Holly looks the latest victim of her awkwardness straight in the eye… Holly sighs sadly, knowing she must apologize to yet another person for her out of control body parts. The conversation that followed went like this: Holly: “Hey man, ugh I’m really sorry” Bro Guy: “Like, dude you totally just spilled all my beer everywhere” Holly: “Ya…I know, I see that. I’m so sorry” Bro Guy: “Like your hand was just all in there buddy” Holly: “Ya…. I know. I’m so so so sorry” Bro Guy: “It’s fine I guess” Holly: “Okay.”
Now for all of you that are worried that I didn’t buy this guy a replacement beer, DON’T WORRY. I did. I did buy him a replacement beer. But that exchange was equally as awkward and the guy was kind of a dick about it. I mean he acted like I had just put my hand in his beer or something….At any rate, I sat quietly for the remainder of the game contemplating my awkward life and plotting my strategy on how best to exact revenge against my awkwardness. This strategy is still in development…

****It has since been discovered since the writing of this post that I was accompanied to said game by my friends Sarah and Nikki. Thank you to Sarah and her memory forged from the finest of Mithril.

The last story I have to share is quite possibly the most retold/talked about story in my story telling arsenal. For good reason. It is the quintessential awkward Holly moment. This is what went down: I was at yet another Flames game with my dear friend Tori, probably 9 or so years after the initial flames incident (i.e. I was at least 16). The flames had just scored and I was busy texting someone to tell them this important update. The guy in front of me had re-assumed his sitting position, as one does post goal celebration, and he decided that the best way to sit was to lean forward. (*Pro tip: Don’t lean forward at hockey games)  This lean, at least a 30 degree angle lean forward, created a pant gape between his back/bum and his jeans, butt crack visible and all (Obviously this mans pants were far too large for him, so he really has no one to blame but himself for what happens next). As I was completing this vitally important text message I started to lose the grip on my cell phone. They don't call me butter hands Holly for nothing (no one calls me that). The phone fell out of my hand and started to plummet towards his prominent intergluteal cleft. At this point I knew there was no stopping it (In fact if I had any hope of stopping it, it would have involved an awful lot of limb flailing and gropage and would probably have inflicted more damage then just letting the phone fall did) SO, I let the phone…fall where it may. Which just so happened to be.... into the back of this mans wide-open pant gape. Yes, ladies and gentlemen there was definite butt-to-phone contact. The man sat bolt upright in a panic, just as you or I would do if some foreign object unexpectedly entered our “back of the pant” area.  He reached behind him to fish around inside his pants for whatever this foreign object was.  He retrieved the phone and whipped around to face Tori and myself. By this time in my life I was far to used to awkward things happening to me so I simply looked sheepishly at the man as he made to give me back my "assphone." The gentleman, let’s call him Bert, said: "um...is this yours???" To which I responded. "Yeah, wow, um...geeze, I'm so sorry...it fell" To which Bert responded happily "OH HA no worries. AT least it wasn't nachos!!!" At this point his friend turned around and yelled "OR BEER" at us. I grabbed the phone quickly, thanked him and put the phone immediately into my bag. The two men turned around and Tori and me erupted into a fit of giggles (as sixteen year olds are apt to do). Then I figuratively AND literally curled up into a little ball of shame and embarrassment and died.


The point of these stories, dear friends, is to prepare you for the world around you. I don’t want to scare you, but I do want you all to be aware that at any moment someone equally as awkward as I (not possible) may be lurking in the shadows…ready to pour beer on you, or put their phone in your ass or maybe just spew a beverage over the back of your head. So consider yourself warned my dears…. And maybe don’t attend hockey games with me unless you like hanging your head in shame. 



(This picture really has nothing to do with anything...but I just wanted to add a picture of Will Smith somewhere on this blog post)




Tuesday, 15 May 2012

Adventures in Driving

"Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Lend me your ears! I come to blog, not to.....not blog."

You guessed it! With that brief homage to Bill Shakespeare behind us I start yet another new blog post. Thank you, your applause is deafening.

Recently I was reminded that I am, infact...a very poor driver. It pains me to admit that, it really does. For 6 years I have fought with every fibre of my being to ensure that everyone I come into contact with knows that I should probably be a Formula 1 race care driver. (Sidebar: Formula 1 sounds too much like a dog food brand for me to take it seriously) However, my arguments and daily reminders of my clearly superior driving skills started to hold less water after I may or may not have rolled my second vehicle. (For those of you that are confused with that last statement...I did infact roll a second vehicle...it wasn't a may or may not situation...it...it was just a "may. Ie. I flipped that sucker)

Anyways...after much personal strife and inner turmoil I decided it was okay to finally admit to myself, and to the world, that I am actually just a terrible driver. Now let me just clear the air a bit. I am not bad in the sense that I'm all over the road, or mowing down pedestrians or running red lights. I am a bad driver in the sense that I make bad decisions when I drive.  To prove this point to you I have 2 tales to tickle your mind juices with today.

Story A. AKA: Holly follows a gang.
Story B. AKA: Holly rolls her body across a darkened highway.

Join me won't you?



Story A) I like to joke with my friends that I suffer from "rage blackouts". It's not a hilarious joke...especially seeing as millions of canadians suffer from rage blackouts every year (that is not an accurate stat), but anyways it is a go to joke of mine. This particular story is about one of my more famous rage blackouts. I used to live in a community called Marda Loop with my friend Laura.  Marda Loop is not what I would consider a "gang breeding ground", but it has had, on occasion, the odd raucous youth terrorizing the streets. These youths would usually not come out until nightfall. But not today. Today was different.  I was driving home from school, probably around 4 o'clock in the afternoon, on my way home to lie on the couch in my awesome apartment and probably watch my roommate Laura, play Mario 64. The way I came home that day required me to make a left hand turn onto the street that I lived.  The road I was turning off of did not have a stop sign, so there was literally nothing in between me and my goal of happily doing nothing while watching my roommate do speed runs of Mario, aside from simply completing the turn, parking the car, and going inside. OR SO I THOUGHT. I was in the process of completing my turn when suddenly I heard a blasting car horn, yelling and swearing coming from my left. I was not oblivious to the fact that there was a car waiting at their stop sign for me to complete my turn, so I turned my head to look. BOOM. EYE CONTACT.  This car was full of young, 20 something boys, clearly growing impatient for me to complete this very complicated driving maneuver. They were not small boys, and they all looked quite uncomfortable as there had to have been like 6 of them crammed into that Grand Am.  The yelling continued, insults were hurled, fingers were given, enemies were made.  I finished the turn and the boys tore off down the street, no longer having to wait for me, the stupid law abiding citizen, to not break the rules of the road. Something in my brain clicked...something rose inside of me like fire bubbling in the pits of hell. I went crazy.

I turned my truck around so fast I'm surprised I didn't flip it (I have a tendency to do that), and without thinking I tore off down the road after my prey. Now...at this point in the story you might be thinking to yourself "What the hell is wrong with you, you are car chasing 6 grown men down a side road with no end goal..."

...Yes, well, we can't all be swift thinkers so it took me a little longer to arrive at that conclusion. All I could think about was what I would say to these horrible young men when I got out of my car and berated them. They pulled up to a house, obviously aware that I was now stalking them, and looked at me uncomfortably. They watched me as I approached and slowly got of the car and made for the house. THIS was the point where I thought to myself:
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU HOLLY. YOU JUST CHASED A GANG. WHAT WERE YOU PLANNING ON DOING WHEN YOU GOT HERE. ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE ON 6 GROWN MEN? TURN AROUND TURN AROUND TURN AROUND OH GOD TURN AROUND"
So...I pretended that I infact was not stalking them and drove right past them while I nonchalantly fiddled with the radiostation. My goal was, of course, to communicate that clearly I had only hastily turned around to chase them, not because I was angry, but actually because today seemed like the perfect day to take in the scenery of that particular Marda Loop street...

Then panic set in...what if they follow me home? What if they saw my license plate and come find my car in the night and slash my tires? What if they somehow managed to rig up explosives under my car as I drove by? Panic does funny things to the mind. SO I drove around Marda loop for about 10 minutes to shake them off my trail, before returning home to my apartment. I arrived home safely! I had mixed feelings. Shame and accomplishment, anger and hilarity. I mean, after all I had LITERALLY just taken on* 6 gang members and lived to tell the tale (*Driven away in terror from).   I then proceeded to tell the tale to everyone I knew...it was met with reactions of shock and awe, but mostly embarrassment for me. Except Laura...she laughed...but then yelled at me for making our apartment building the future potential location of gang activity. But...I don't live there anymore, so, Laura, if that gang ever comes back to exact revenge, then you have my sincerest apologies.

(This is what comes up with a google images search of "car gangs")

Story B) I was driving home on the highway between Okotoks and Millarville one night, at around midnight, when I started to become slightly drowsy. So, I unrolled all of my windows and cranked up the tunes. Now, I had recently been gifted some Calgary Flames car flags for my birthday from my dear friend Becca. I had obviously forgotten about their presence because I opened the windows anyway. I remembered instantly and looked back to see if they had gone. Indeed, they had disappeared into the night.  I was disappointed, so disappointed in fact, that I knew I had to drive back and find them.  So, I hastily turned around on the highway and slowly drove the length of the highway where I knew the flags had to be, scouring the ditches for any sign of red. There they were! I had found them! They were on the left side of the highway however, and I was currently on the right. Any smart person would have turned their car back around and collected them that way. Not me. No. I was braver, I was better, I was brilliant. I could see them and I wanted them. So I pulled over and got out and ran across the highway to retrieve them. However, I had driven past the flags so my headlights were no longer illuminating where they were. I didn't realize this until after I had crossed the highway though.  Now, I was parked at the bottom of a hill. It was a really long hill, so it wasn't like if anyone came over the crest of the hill a kilometre away that they wouldn't immediately see me at the bottom and have more then enough time to slow down appropriately. But still, the hill factor is worth mentioning.  Anyways, I groped around in the dark for a bit looking for the flags. I found them again and was getting ready to bend down and pick them up when out of the corner of my eye I saw a light at the top of the hill.  OH. NO. Instead of just, oh I don't know...waiting on the opposite side of the road for what was CLEARLY an oncoming vehicle to pass...I hastily grabbed the flags and turned to run back across the highway. However, in my haste, I forgot to pick my feet up to walk.  Instead of taking a step I plummeted face first into the pavement, twisting and destroying my knee on the way down. Now I was really panicking. Now I was lying on the side of the road, where the oncoming vehicle would never expect me to be, and they wouldn't see me and they would drive over me and I would die a horrible, painful death, flames flags in hand. I tried to stand up, but the pain in my leg was too much, so instead of rolling safely into the ditch...

I. ROLLED. ACROSS. THE. HIGHWAY. Straight up, log rolled across the highway. I got to my car on the other side safely without becoming roadkill, as the car had not yet reached me, and used my arms to pull my now useless lower half into the drivers side.  But wait a second, shouldn't the oncoming vehicle be almost upon me by now. Or shouldn't I at least see it somewhere in front of me? You would really think so. But nope, no car. It was at this point that I realized that the light I had seen had infact not been an oncoming vehicle, but rather MY OWN HEADLIGHTS reflecting off a road sign.....-_-

I started to cry.  I was bleeding from both my knees, my palms were destroyed, and I had narrowly avoided death (death had never actually been imminent).  I calmed down for a few minutes and then went sadly back on my way.  I arrived at home 20 minutes later still beat up from my late night roll.  I limped up to the front door, covered in blood, pants torn, hair all in disarray and met my mother at the front door where, she sleepily deliberated over whether or not she should let me in as I had forgotten my keys.  In fact she looked at me through the window beside the door clearly confused and said "What are you doing out there??" At which point I yelled for her to "JUST OPEN THE DOOR".***** I limped up to my bedroom and lay on my bed pondering what I had been through that night.  I was in pain, and I could have died, but the victory of flag retrieval was just so sweet. Also, I had discovered a cure for driving while tired. It turns out if you subject your body to extreme stress and physical pain you won't fall asleep while driving afterwards.  Feel free to use that method. No need to thank me.

*****Upon reading my latest post this morning my mother entered my room to tell me that she had some input. I opened one eye groggily and listened to what she wanted to add.  Upon careful deliberation I decided that my mother was hilarious and that I would allow her to add her take onto one of my stories. So without further ado, adding onto Story B, I give you, My Mom!

"As Holly's mother I would like to flesh out rather more fully, my contribution to Holly's evening adventures.  Her father and I are waiting up for Ms. Gruszecki, and snoring softly on our respective couches while taking in a pair of excellent episodes of "Petticoat Junction" on Retro TV.  I snort awake to an insistant knocking on the front door and stagger out into our darkened front entrance.  As I peer suspiciously out the glass on the left side of the door I note a disheveled young woman glaring balefully at me from the other side.
"Holly, what are you doing out there?" I demand blearily.
"Mom, could you unlock the door please."
"Where are your keys?" I inquire.  A question not without merit, surely.
"Can you just open the door?"
"Why is your key in your purse and not on your key ring?"  I ask, clearly up for a lengthy discussion on the subject.
"MUM, OPEN THE DOOR!!!!"
 "Honestly!!" I snort (and I meant it to sting!) and I jerk open the door.  My daughter staggers in sporting gravel and twigs in her hair, torn jeans and clutching two tattered Flames flags in her hand.  "Have you been in a gang fight?" I demand.  I've heard of the Marda Loop debacle and am aware gang retribution is a real possibility with this child. She shoots a look in my direction and stomps up the stairs trailing highway debris in her wake.  "Harrumph!" I respond huffily and head back to the family room.  "Holly Home?" inquires her father.  "Yes" I respond and pause a moment to gather my thoughts to relate my tale of Holly's irresponsibility regarding gangs and keys.  "Oh Good!" he says and promptly begins to snore again...I bet Kate Bradley of the Shady Rest Motel in Petticoat Junction never had to put up with this."*****


Well faithful companions, my lengthy stories have come to an end and I hope you emerged from the experience a little wiser.  I hope you learned that chasing down gangs in your car is not something you should do, and that rolling across a pitch black highway is not a good decision.  But mostly...mostly I hope you learned that if you just open your mind, then driving with me can be an adventure...and that usually no one gets hurt.

....For real though, you should probably drive when we hang out.

Thursday, 12 April 2012

The Art of the Ass Grab

Well hello to all!!

Today is new blog post day! Are you as excited as I am?
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.......
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OF COURSE YOU ARE!!

Today, in honor of that guy behind me in line at the Thai Express who kept touching my ass accidentally, I have decided to share the story of my awkward body part grabbing ways. Please, please...contain your excitement.

Now, knowing my age, chosen profession, and remembering the fact that I am not a newborn puppy, you would probably think/hope that I have excellent control of my limbs! Well friends, I am here to tell you that this is not the case. Not only do I have very poor control of my limbs, but often this poor limb control leads, in some way, to me groping strangers.  You might be asking yourself "Holly, if you know this about yourself why don't you do something to fix it?" It's not that easy. I wish I could. But sometimes life is not fair for the awkward, sometimes God deals you an awkward hand (or as you will soon learn in my case, 2 awkward hands). I have three cases to share with you. There are more...but I don't want to frighten you.

Case 1: That time I grabbed that guys crotch and didn't let go for like 30 seconds
Case 2: That time I was mulling over a shampoo purchase and grabbed a lady's ass
Case 3: That time I held hands with a guy walking beside me in the hall.

Let's get started.

Case 1
Setting: Science Hallway of my high school.
Characters: 12th grade Holly probably wearing a blue zip up hoody and jeans with unbrushed hair and general unkempt appearance. Unsuspecting grade 11 boy.
Scenario: 12th grade Holly walks down the hall with her friend Brianne towards her 2nd period Biology class.  Young unsuspecting grade 11 boy walks upstream towards Holly and Brianne and his Chemistry class.  Contact is inevitable as the hallways are crowded during period changes.  Holly's hand is hanging low as her bag is hooked around her arm weighing it down slightly.  Boy manages to squeeze past several people before reaching the spot Holly and Brianne are at.  Holly's hand makes contact with boys crotch. Holly can't move hand. OH GOD HOLLY CAN'T MOVE HER HAND. Holly looks up, makes eye contact with boy. Both boy and Holly look shocked. Holly says..."Oh God...Sorry...I...I can't move it." Boy says "...." (nothing...he says nothing) with a look of terror in his eyes. Boy has no choice but to back up through the crowd with Holly while she continues to cup his man parts. Holly walking forwards, and boy walking backwards, now reach the end of the congested hallway. Holly quickly removes hand. Holly and boy exchange glances. Holly says "...uhhhh...." Guy says "uh...its fine" Holly goes into Bio hand hanging in shame. Boy chances the crowd once more in hopes of reaching his destination. Both parties come out of the experience changed.

Case 2
Setting: Walmart Shampoo Aisle.
Characters: 2nd year Holly probably wearing yoga pants and a hoody. Unsuspecting 30 ish year old woman.
Scenario: We find Holly standing in the shampoo aisle of her local Walmart. She is mulling over hair care products but cant decide between Tresemme and Herbal Essences (She uses Redken "Extreme" now in case you're wondering).  She has her hands extended in front of her in exasperation over this difficult decision.  Lady standing slightly in front of Holly but slightly to the left SUDDENLY moves to the right and backs up INTO HOLLYS EXTENDED HANDS. Holly's hands make very obvious contact with strangers ass.  Holly quickly retracts hands. Stranger acting as though a firecracker has been set off in her ass whips around horrified, Holly looks up horrified. Stranger says "Oh....HA...I didn't expect THAT to happen in a WalMart" Holly says "Ha...uhhhh.....yeah...me neither?" Holly grabs the Tresemme and leaves aisle immediately. Holly pauses in next aisle, looks at her cursed hands and wonders sadly "...why?....just....why??"

For my more visual readers...my Walmart stranger butt grab was a little bit like this picture of Rick Perry, presumably miming grabbing a large butt? 

Case 3
Setting: Mount Royal University main street
Characters: 1st year Holly probably wearing yoga pants and a hoody. Unsuspecting university boy.
Scenario: Holly rushes down mainstreet to make it in time for one of her first year nursing lectures. She walks briskly with her arms swinging at her sides. Boy leaving library falls into pace with Holly. But wait, what's this? This boy is not paying attention and neither is Holly.  Boy is getting closer and closer to Holly, and Holly is veering slightly toward boy.  Suddenly Holly feels boys arm brush against hers. Holly's fingers open automatically, as if by magic, and makes contact with boys hand. Holly for some reason unbeknownst to ANYONE EVER closes her fingers around boys hand. Boys hand also closes for a second and then both parties realize that they are holding hands. Holly sidesteps, awkwardly breaking the grasp.  Holly and boy both look up at each other. Holly giggles awkwardly because she is 17 and a child. Boy nods, looking uncomfortable, and picks up his pace to race away from the strange monster who he shared a moment with.
......
So as you can see, my limbs have a mind of their own. There is no stopping them. Sigh...someone needs to make this madness stop. Or at least someone needs to warn people standing near me that they are in the danger zone. If they aren't careful...then BOOM they can consider their ass/crotch/hand grabbed.

I imagine my wedding day will look something like this....


Tuesday, 27 March 2012

Food Poisoning

Top of the cusp of the afternoon to you!

Last night was truly a horrendous experience.  I feel as though I am a changed person from it.  The last time I had food poisoning this bad I wrote two awkward emails to my grade 12 Chemistry and English teachers about the experience.
They both went something like this...

"Hi Mr. R
I will not be in class today because I have developed, probably, the most awful case of food poisoning known to man! That is a bit mellow dramatic but I am really quite sick! I was fine at the talent show but on the way home I thought that I had swallowed a buffalo! Sorry for that over share. The night and much of the day has not been enjoyable! But I will be there to write the unit test tomorrow! Thanks for coming to the talent show by the way! It was a great success!
Holly" 

"Hi Mr. H
I'm sorry I didn't make it into class today but I have some serious food poisoning! I have been continuously sick since 11:30 last night, even falling asleep on my bathroom floor a few times...sorry if that is an over share! I ate a bad wrap from extra foods but was fine at the show last night, but on the drive home I felt as if a bear was punching my stomach...again sorry for the over share! But I will definitely be there for the mock tomorrow! And thanks again for being in the talent show it was a fun night and very successful.
Holly" 

NOW...you may be thinking..."OH HOLLY PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN'T SEND EMAILS THAT WERE ACTUALLY LIKE THAT". To you dear readers I say:

Where were you 5 years ago to tell me not to because, not only did I send emails like this, I sent THOSE EXACT EMAILS. I found them in the sent folder of my old email account. #Headhangofshame.

To make matters worse this is what those particular teachers looked like in my minds eye:


Dont believe that a human can be that awkward? Well I'm here to prove you wrong. Check out the email I sent to my clinical instructor last night.

Hi Jen,
I just want to let you know that I don't think I can make it in to clinical this morning and this seemed like the fastest way to tell you without waking you up with a phone call at 2 am.  I've been up all night with what I think is food poisoning. My stomach has basically been in a state of constant cramping since about 830. Not sure what I ate, all I know is that now it wants to kill me slowly/punish me.  I've got an alarm set for 5 just in case I do ever get some sleep or I eventually stop emptying my body contents (Sorry for that horrible visual) so you hopefully might see me still. I really really really hate missing clinical, especially when we only have 3 weeks in acute care, but I will definitely be back for Wednesday. I'm really sorry and annoyed and I hope this is okay. FYI, also maybe steer clear of the Egg salad in the cafeteria? Just to be safe....
Thanks,
Holly.

....Sigh....At least I can rest easy knowing that 5 years later I am still the most awkward human being in the room and that it isn't a recent development. And I think we can all rest a little easier knowing that.

Welcome!

Welcome!!

I'm so pleased that you've found your way over to the most fascinating blog on the internet. True story. I literally know for a fact that this blog is the most fascinating blog ever created by anyone living and/or dead.  So please take this moment to stop and congratulate yourself for having the finest of tastes. No really I'll wait...

My mission is threefold. A) I want to inform you, the privileged reader, of the awkwardness/awesomeness that is my life B) I need an outlet for which to spew my verbal diarrhea before I accidentally spew it out loud to an eligible bachelor, my grandma...or really anyone I come into contact with (Verbal Diarrhea in literary terms = "Logorrhea"...big shout out goes out to my grade 11/12 english teacher for teaching me that one) and C)....My mission is only twofold.  

Hopefully I will one day fill this blog with tales that excite, horrify, amuse and repel.  Here's a sneak peak of what you might hear about...

Grabbing strangers assess in Wal-mart
Dropping phones down mens pants 
Rolling across highways at night
Awkwardly catching poop in the hospital
Interacting with hot doctors at the Sundre hospital (We're going to have to get to know each other a little better before I divulge the details of this particular story)
Interacting with any staff member at any hospital ever (WHY AM I GOING TO BE A NURSE?!)
Job Interviews

So, dear reader. Sit back, relax and enjoy what I call "this blog".

Love and Kisses,

Holly