I hate being hot, I hate being cold, I hate being in the pot 9 days old.

I’ve been on the outs this week once again due to back pain and trying to rest an injury from Canada day. We’re also in the throes of a good ol’ fashioned prairie heat wave, so my body is beginning to melt and fuse into the couch which is as disgusting as it probably is unsanitary. I’ve been refraining from having the air conditioner on too much because of strangely high energy bills these last 2 months, but today it’s on and IT IS GONNA STAY ON.

In other back related news, I started physio this past week and it’s been an overall positive experience. I have no idea what the therapist is saying or doing to me – but it was a wonderful feeling being able to walk out of there on Wednesday without my spine and hips being a puffy, inflamed mess. After my session on Friday, I was pretty darn sore, but in high spirits since I’m finally getting it all sorted out and properly tended to. It also helps when you finally find someone who doesn’t rolls their eyes at your claims and then chucks a pill bottle at your head for “pain management”. I’m still relatively young and shouldn’t have to take a Tramadol just to go to the grocery store, you know?


I am not allowing myself to succumb to this state this summer!

In other news, I felt my first earthquake early Thursday morning. I was getting ready to sleep by reading crap on my phone when the bed started shaking in a strange way. I’m used to things shaking in the apartment since the walls and floors are made out of paper and you can even feel the vibrations from people walking in the hallway, but this was different. The walls and ceiling also gave a loud creak and cracked as well. I wanted to text Kellan “lol earthquake!” but I was far too tired at this point to be dramatic and explain myself in follow up texts so I left it at that.

Turns out that there was an earthquake in Montana and it was felt across southern Alberta as well, so I guess I wasn’t being very dramatic after all. I talked to a few others who felt it and we all laughed how we’ll all probably just sit around and think we’re hallucinating if there’s ever an actual earthquake in our vicinity.

Anyway, I’m off to enjoy my last day before returning back to my regularly scheduled workplace insanity. I also have a steeped tea that’s getting cold.

Little House on Mars

Oh man, if my previous posts haven’t tipped you off about my possible insanity yet then this one is going to be a doozy. I always joke about this site being the downfall for my potential political career when I am older, so let’s hammer the final nail into that coffin by proclaiming the following: I am borderline obsessed with UFO’s and aliens. I’ve even written about them before.


I took this picture 14 years ago in downtown Lethbridge when I needed reference material for an art project. CLOUD? WEIRD LIGHT REFLECTION? We will never know!

And in that same breath, let me also wave my arms around and plead my case of also being a HUGE skeptic when it comes to this specific interest. I honestly believe that over 98% of the stuff you see online and on TV are either misidentified known objects/phenomenons or straight up hoaxes. The last 2% fall into either cool military test shit or actual things we have no idea about, so technically UFO’s.

The whole alien/abduction/contactee shindig is interesting as hell to me and I feel was the 20th century version of fairies, goblins, and being spirited away. SO many people feel like they’ve had weird things happen to them at night, but how do we explain it? Run of the mill night terrors/dreams? A by-product of medication? WHO KNOWS! What about implants? So weird! Even if it all turns out to be one huge collective hoax, it’s definitely a roller coaster of human ingenuity and imagination.

There’s three events in history (and arguably the most famous) that have me a little bit stumped though because of a whole bunch of little pieces that point to maybe an inkling of truth. Roswell, Betty & Barney Hill, and Travis Walton. I guess there’s also Whitley Strieber, but I am leaning more on the fantastical side when it comes to him. Love his books, and he/his late wife honestly seem like lovely, curious people – but knowing his beginnings as a fictional author and some other inconsistencies that fall into that frame makes me wonder if he is pulling a big ol’ L. Ron Hubbard on us all.

Roswell is a neat case, because whatever happened that July in 1947 was something that nobody – especially the military was 100% on the ball to deal with and I’m gonna liken the whole thing to a chicken running around with its head cut off bleeding everywhere. These weren’t some slack-jawed yokels hootin’ and hollerin’ over a big shiny deflated weather balloon, but what the hell was really going on? If this was an unfortunate crash of a military test/those gosh dang Soviet bastards, why 70 years later has this not been declassified yet?


Either way, it’s been a great marketing gimmick for the entire town. Imagine the sights to be seen inside this Walmart! 

Betty and Barney Hill also deserve a second glance at in my opinion. First of all, this was the early 60’s and a time where if you were an interracial couple in America, the last thing you really wanted to do was call attention to yourselves – especially over little green men from outer space. These two were also smart, respectable people that held good jobs and had good relationships with the people in their town and church. If this really was a fantastical call for attention, then it’s a good, extremely though-out and thorough one. One thing for sure is that this specific occurrence paved the way for most modern abduction claims, but what exactly DID happened to this couple that night?

Travis Walton was a logger working in east-central Arizona when while travelling with his crew in their work truck, they came across a giant hovering craft in the forest. Long story short, Walton got out of the truck to get a closer look at the object, the object zapped the shit out of him, and his coworkers freaked out and immediately fled the scene. Initially officials thought that Travis was murdered by his crew or that fowl play was involved, but when Walton showed up cold and disoriented 5 days later, he recounted the same story as his crew mates and much more.



Many people were involved in this specific case, and their testimonies have remained solid after all these years. Travis himself is a pretty big deal in the UFO community and regularly attends/speaks at events. He even had a movie made about him. I don’t know about anyone else, but if that was me, I wouldn’t want to be reminded of the horrific events every day for the rest of my life (even if $$$), but to each their own I guess!

Did you know that July 2nd is world UFO day? Hence this ridiculous post.

10 Factoids about Algoids

Jenn did one of these on her blog a while ago and IMITATION IS THE HIGHEST FORM OF FLATTERY! My phone keeps auto-correcting imitation to immigration so I guess that’s true too?

1.) I have visual snow and can’t see in the dark very well because of it. Picture seeing an image through an overlay of TV static and that’s how I view the world. I didn’t even know that this was a unique thing until well into my twenties. I don’t think it’s really hindered me in any way other than “night blindness” though!

2.) I never graduated high school. Those years were tough on me and with the exception of one teacher who really pushed my creativity (and let me basically live in the media room) I was considered a lost cause and to quote a particular guidance counselor “a headcase” (YOU’RE BAD AT YOUR JOB). This didn’t stop me from graduating college a few years later with a goddamn gold sash of excellence though!

3.) I’m terrified of monkeys. I can handle snakes and spiders but holy shit, I swear to god that primates are literally demons in the flesh.



4.) I’m an admittedly shitty cook and can’t even bake a frozen Pillsbury cookie which is a dang shame considering my pedigree lineage of artisan bakers.

5.) My favorite food is any and all seafood except muscles which for whatever reason cause me severe intestinal distress. Every few years I like to make a spectacle of myself by seeing if I still get sick from them and then being banned from Applebee’s for destroying their restroom facilities.

6.) My favorite color is either green or orange. Today it’s orange.

7.) I think that anyone who can french braid their own hair is a witch.

8.) I suspect that my twilight years in life will be spent as either a bag lady or an old spinster bogged down by the weight of 27 cats. I am surprisingly okay with both.


A glimpse of the not so distant future… I dig that knitted throw blanket.

9.) Kellan and I celebrated our 9th anniversary this year thanks to old Hungarian witchcraft. We still have no plans for marriage, babies, or responsibility. Every year during the strawberry moon I feed him a sacred noodle dish containing my hair and some other magical herbs. This placates him into enduring another trip around the sun with me. Yay!

10.) I like birds, a lot. When I die, all my money and worldly possessions is willed to go to the Alberta Birds of Prey Center in Coaldale. What owls are going to do with heirloom tea cups and an ottoman is anyone’s guess but whatever, I’ll be dead!


Little barn owl homie helping my greasy head pick out a cool bird t-shirt a few years back.

Jeder hatte passenden Handtücher


So, it’s Father’s day! Here is an old picture from the summer of ’93 of good ol’ Dad shucking a lobster for me while my cousin barfs into her hand and my aunt nonchalantly ignores it. I’ve been meaning to get an updated picture of the two of us, but we’ve been busy these last 24 years I guess. Plus every time we’ve tried to take a picture as a family, this happens:


Many of you in my circle of friends grew up hearing my ol’ tales of Dad. Those of you I was especially fond of got to meet him in person – usually at the bakery and he probably stuffed you full of butter-buns or danish. Some of you that I dated got to know his unholy wrath first hand and you betcha we still talk about you and laugh at the dinner table, you little shit(s).

It’s so hard to write about him because there is so much content and once I start writing about one thing, I have to write about another and then BAM! It’s 3AM and my eyes burn violently. So I’ll shorten the hell out of it and leave this:

7 Things I Inherited From My Dad:

  1. My large nose, crazy hair, and renegade teen acne.
  2. My storytelling, humor, and shock value.
  3. The love of niche hobbies and an obscure database of knowledge.
  4. The good ol’ days of Rock and/or Roll.
  5. How to properly punch somebody (That proved useful and victorious for my one and only fight – I’m a pacifist I swear!)
  6. The love of trying something new and evolving as a person.

I feel kinda bad about writing this all up because I never made a special post for my Mom on Mother’s day. Also, the only picture I have of her immediately on-hand is one of her wearing a Martha’s Vineyard t-shirt tucked into high wasted jeans and she’s smoking next to a frozen above-ground pool full of Bud Light, so I think she’d be more pissed if I actually posted that for all the world to see rather than my neglecting to write about her.

Today is also my 9th anniversary with this guy:


So thanks for putting up with me these last 3285 days, Kellan! I’ll save the mushy stuff for our big 1-0. I also really need to hire a photographer for more flattering pictures to stick in here it seems.

When life gives you mold, make penicillin

I got crazy sick this week, so I am gonna pull this blog post out of my ass while I wait for a certain someone to wake up and pack his crap so we can run around like deranged chickens in Lethbridge for the rest of it. I have so many posts half executed in limbo right now, but that’s the thing with being worn down I guess… you gotta pick and choose what you’re going to allocate energy towards that day, and usually the things you only do for the sake of your own enjoyment gets pushed to the back of the queue.

It’s funny, because even though I try to put on my fun-living-joke-about-everything face on, I can definitely see through the cracks when it comes to my creative outlets. Using my blog as an example and going back the last few entries, my inability to harness my depression screams to me though the lines. This always happens, and usually when my facade breaks down, I pull a Conan the Destroyer and obliterate all physical traces with my sword of contrition.


Or something like that… yeah… DELETE!

I refuse to do that anymore. There is so much guilt and regret inside of me that I keep pushing down and erasing because I so desperately don’t want to be a person with a mental illness. I don’t want to be depressed, or anxious, or have to take medication just so I don’t break down into a futile, sobbing mess every day of my life, but here I am. It’s such a battle and I am tired of trying my hardest not to be defined, or labeled with something I still have extremely negative hang-ups over. I’m also tired of trying to fit inside a box that’s way too small and pretending everything is fine too, so YEAH! I’m glad that I can get this all out so freely through using this medium, but damn if it didn’t have to be done in the most public way possible and make me feel so exposed at times.

In other news, I am spending the night over at my parents tonight. It’s great because I usually get spoiled with a nice home cooked dinner and doted over because we only get to see each other a handful of times in a year. What can I say? I’m a ham and I like the attention. Speaking of ham, let me tell you about this guy right here:


This is Henry. He’s the family cat and my most favorite thing ever because he’s a huge, hilarious asshole and has no neck most of the time. Anyway, during this past Christmas season, he started to lose some weight and seemed off. We chalked this up to losing his BFF Mr. Kitty a few months prior and since nobody in the family is a certified cat whisperer and he was still eating and playing, we didn’t delve too much into it.

Fast forward to about a week before Easter and Henry isn’t doing too shit-hot. He’s suddenly not eating, drinking, or using the bathroom. His weight takes an even sharper decline and my parents rush him into the local vet where prognosis is not good. Long story short, he’s probably dying. The vet was going to inject him with some powerful steroids as a last ditch effort, but with prognosis already so grim – my parents decided that he was suffering too much and plans are made for them to say their goodbyes to him in the morning.

Friday morning comes and I deliberately ignored my phone because I did not want to read the texts confirming the worst and that he has been put down. When I finally did muster the cojones to deal with things, this is what I received instead:


A goddamn Easter miracle. Good Friday indeed! Long story short, Henry has cat diabetes, or as I would like to call them – CATABETES. He needs cat insulin twice a day now and other than being a little scrawny still, you would have never known he was literally scratching on death’s door a mere two months ago. He eats and purrs and shits and this was the craziest NICEST surprise I’ve had in a very long time.