"Blind"

I was just going through old files on my flash drive, seeing if I need to salvage anything from my EVIL laptop when I came across a flash fiction that I wrote last year for Writer's Craft. No, I wasn't high at the time, despite what you may think when you read it, however it was inspired by a freaky dream I had (I have A LOT of those). Lately, I've been having these dreams that have a recurring element in them: Tipper Gore. Or some dude that calls himself Tipper Gore: he's not actually Tipper, in fact he's an actor: James Holt in the Devil Wears Prada and .. erhm, Franco in Rescue Me - I think. And that's probably the most sane elements of some of the wacko dreams I've been having lately - that is, about a week ago, I haven't slept a lot this week - darn exams, anyway, it's below if you want to take a gander at it (enjoy).

“This way!” the perky blonde chirped. She looked back, about 10 or so people were following her. “The mission is to get the sugar jar. We’re going in, and then we’re going out, and all we’re getting is the sugar jar.” The sun beat down on the group. She squinted, raising her hand to shield her eyes and then glared, “That’s all we’re getting.” her voice growled, dropping an octave or two. “I don’t have time for any sticky fingers. If you feel the need to have sticky fingers, I will hurt you. That’s a promise. Let me remind you, I am the leader, if you hesitate to obey my orders, I will kill you. That’s another promise.”
The group looked meekly back at the blonde.
I have power over these people. And they know it.
A timid redhead at the back of the group of the squeaked, “What if we get caught?”
The blonde stared: who dared to question her authority? “We won’t.” After a few seconds of people staring at her uncomfortably, “The guy is friggin blind. We won’t get caught. Don’t worry.”
The group trekked silently through the dense woods that sat next to the small farm house. Each time a stick cracked because it was carelessly stepped on, the blonde turned around and glared.
They need to be quiet. This guy can hear stuff miles away.
They were there. They were at the house. It was a one story, red brick house. It sat directly on top of a hill.
The window was open, the grey lace curtains were blowing in the breeze.
They climbed in. One by one. The blonde was first.
The curtains aren’t grey. That’s just the dust. Disgusting.
The house was chilly. Furniture was scattered sparsely throughout. The kitchen was the barest of all the rooms. One obsolete fridge stood alone in the corner, dust speckling the porcelain white door with dark blotches. The cupboards were also covered with dust.
Don’t sneeze.
The cupboards were closed.
Everyone finally managed to get in the house. The redhead looked around, and noticed a door, right next to the window, open as well. She frowned.
The blonde was oblivious.
“Lets get looking. And remember, no sticky fingers.”
They all began opening and closing the cupboards. The slamming of doors in defeat was deafening. The sugar jar was not there.
Speed was urgent; time was of essence. The sugar jar needed to be found.
“STOP! Shh. Do you hear that?” the blonde asked, her ears prickled up. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Be really quiet and don’t make a single sound.”
The front door swung open with such force, the cupboards rattled, dust began to fall. The man was home.
He stomped across the room, not acknowledging the intruders.
He’s blind. He can’t see us.
The blonde put her finger up to her mouth, indicating the group to be quiet. She then motioned to the window.
The redhead hesitated, for she saw that the door was right there.
The blonde saw this hesitation. The redhead was dead within the instant. Furiously the blonde pointed to the window. They began climbing out. She went first.
The dust was collecting furiously in her nose.
Don’t sneeze.
Behind her, a muffled noise was heard. Someone sneezed.
The man suddenly went to the porch.
As the blonde was climbing out of the window, it began to get harder and harder for her to wiggle all the way through. She gasped. The window was shrinking.
Impossible. I can’t get out.
Somehow though, she got out.
It was at that moment the man entered the kitchen again.
The blonde turned. From what she could see through the window, he looked different.
A smirk was on his face. A shot gun was held in his hands. He raised it. Bullets spat out, piercing the people that she came with deep red holes.
She turned and began to run, heading towards the forest.
Please God, let me live.
All of a sudden she stopped. Her face connected to the ground. Her vision began to cloud with red.
This is why you don’t steal the sugar jar.

"Grief is like the ocean: it's deep and dark and bigger than all of us. And pain is like a thief in the night: quiet. Persistent. Unfair. Diminished by faith and time and love."

A Tribute to my Best Friend :)

Whenever I look at this picture I think of watermelons and strawberries for some reason.

We're cool, ya know? I'm thinking you wished you were this cool.

This is my pouty face - it took years of practice, be jealous, be very jealous :)

Hannah Banana, we had so many great times this year!

"I like the fire!" - Me being really stupid

"This will either be the best thing ever, or the worse thing ever. Meh well, either way." - referring to lime popcorn

"If I win the lottery, I'll let you be my slave" - Me to Hannah

"Q"

*Frantic eye-twitching*

"Survival tip #12: when you go hiking in the woods make sure you take pots and pans." - Hannah's tip on how to survive a bear attack

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you're just supposed to play dead."
"No, the bear will just maul you, you've got to try fight back you know. Maybe stand on someone shoulders or something. Or bear spray - that could be the best investment you make."
"Or we could just stay away from bears."
"Whatever you do don't climb up a tree."
"Hannah, how do you have all this wisdom about bear attacks?"
"I don't know." - Additional profound bear attack survival tips from Hannah

"Sharks smell fear. So if you're ever in an ocean and you see a shark try to remain calm."
"Because calm is your first reaction when you see a shark."
"Naturally." - Hannah's tip on how to survive a shark attack

"We're poets and we didn't even know it." - referring to our masterpiece poems

"No, don't worry! I'm good at math" - Hannah, while making about 13298219 mistakes and not letting me correct her

"I am bored.
You. Are bored.
We.
Are.
Bored." - one, out of several, example of our poetic genius

"So, I looked it up and it's going to take about a year to get to Australia on foot."
"How did you look that up?"
"Google maps, duh. Although we need to kayak across the ocean, this could present a problem."
"You think?"
"Yeah, I don't have a kayak." - hmmm ... that's the problem with this scenario self?!

Something to Think About

I think about this all the time ... especially when I'm up really late writing and I'm kind of a spaz.

Profound Thoughts for a Saturday Morning

Sometimes I look around a room that's full of people and I try to figure out what they're thinking. I look at the way their eyebrows are arched, the look that they have in their eyes, the way they are sitting. And I try to read their mind. It's weird though, the fact that people are talking in their minds and we can't hear them, and how they could be thinking about the exact same thing, "I wonder what everyone else is thinking?"

Or I think about how I'll never know how others see me, what they truly think about me; if I'm the most beautiful person in their eyes, or the ugliest. You only see the world through your eyes, but remember, there are at least 6 billion other pairs of eyes out there: these eyes may be exactly like yours, or nothing like yours. The point is we'll never really know, will we? You'll never know what someone else is truly thinking, or how they view the world.

Existing Is Not Living

New Beginnings

So, I've finally opened up the blog again; it's been awhile, I know. I don't really even know where to begin to explain: so much has been happening to me lately - and so much had happened to me; I'd spent so long running from things, from life, that I got tired, and those things - life - finally caught up.

Lets just say, things got really messy in my life for awhile and I didn't see the point in keeping this blog going because it took too much energy, and I felt like such a fraud because I was trying so hard to be funny, or witty, when on the inside, I was dying.

I'm not going to sugarcoat anything, the last couple of months - and even longer - have been a really dark time for me, a time in which I feel like I truly lost myself: I became this person who literally hated everything, including herself and the world - who hated everyone around her.

This blog has always been about the good times - the happy times, but not really about anything real, or sometimes how I truly feel: it's simply masking what's inside. The truth is, my life hasn't always been happy: I've had sometimes that have happened to me that I wouldn't wish to happen to worst enemy. Things that made me question the goodness of people. Things that have made me wish that I wasn't alive. You might not have gotten this before, but I feel like that too: we all do at some point in our lives, do we not?

My whole life I feel like I've been told that I need to be "strong", that I shouldn't show emotion, that people shouldn't be trusted and that I should be happy - or at least, convince others that I am happy. I've made mistakes, I've made a lot of mistakes this year; constantly being told those sorts of things led me down a dangerous path, a path where I stopped trusting others and talking to others. A path where I literally just pushed everything that happened deep inside and ignored it. A path where I wasn't living, merely pretending: one that took everything that I had just to act like I was ok, when clearly I wasn't.

I did this for years. I tried so hard to push others away, and to constantly keep my guard up for years. And believe me, that gets tiring so quickly; I look back and I have no idea how I managed to hang on for so long.

What happened was simply that I became so tired: tired of trying, tired of pretending and I gave up. I just quit. All I wanted to do was sleep and not have to try, and after awhile all I wanted was not to have to live, which is why I shut this blog down: it just became too much of a burden, and it was just another painful memory of how I had fooled so many people - I probably fooled you guys too.

My hatred of myself eventually materialized into self-destructive behaviour: I refused to eat, I physically hurt myself, I purposely picked fights with friends and family - in this attempt to push them away, I stopped caring - or doing anything for that matter - and I literally became a shell of a person. At first all I did was cry: cry about my situation, about how hard my life has been, about how some people went out of their way to tear me down, about the past. But after awhile, I just became numb, and empty. I didn't care about anything, and my reaction to everything was indifference: 'so what?' Let me tell you, not feeling anything is way worse than feeling like crap because when you don't feel anything you become disconnected in a sense; the elements that tethered you to the Earth aren't necessarily there anymore, and that is dangerous - very dangerous. The loneliness of everything magnifies and you'll do anything to make it stop, even if it's something that you never fathomed you would think about, let alone do - I know, this is what happened to me.

About 3 1/2 weeks ago I hit rock bottom. I was so empty, and so tired, and so far from being 'ok' that the only way it was going to get better was just to not live anymore - to die. I remember the moment when I decided to kill myself so clearly, and I find this odd because everything else about that time has been a huge blur: I was sitting in an office with a teacher and the principal, looking out the window while they tried to help. My mind was empty, I looked at both of them with dead eyes and realized that they couldn't help, nothing could help, the only way that it would get better was to just die: it was perfect, I wouldn't have to pretend anymore and I wouldn't have to feel. I became so calm, so startlingly calm, in that moment because I realized that it was finally over, the nightmare that was my life had an end in sight. I walked out of that office, refusing help.

I didn't have a plan at that moment, nor did I know when it would actually happen, all I knew was that it would happen - and that was enough at the time. This had happened on a Friday, I actually didn't get around to wanting to execute the plan until the following Tuesday: I had stayed at a friend's house the entire weekend and I didn't want to do it there, I didn't want to put that unnecessary stress on her.

That Tuesday was May 25th, this is a significant date. I got to school and realized that I didn't want to be there - and by there, I meant anywhere on the planet. I walked around town for the longest time, not really paying attention to where I was, or where I was going, my head with no thoughts inside it except the ones formulating and finalizing my plan. I was still calm, frighteningly calm - quite possibly calmer than I had ever been in my short but seemingly long, hard life. After walking for awhile I came across a pond, it was a muddy, deep pond that was relatively deserted, and it would have been such a perfect place to die. I stopped walking and stared at it for the longest time, and the more I stared at it, the more I just wanted to throw myself into it and let the water seep into my lungs, and steal my last breaths away from me. It was tempting, it was so tempting that I took a step closer, and then another, and then another. Soon, I was at the edge: I was at the end.

I don't know what I thought my last thought would be, in fact, I didn't even think that I thought I was really going to have one: up until that point I had been so calm, but so empty at the same time. As I was preparing myself for what I thought my last moments on Earth would be, I was overcome by the urge to know the date, to know exactly when my last day on Earth was happening; I pulled out my iPod and looked, it read "May 25th, 2010". It didn't click right away, I didn't feel like it was any special day, merely just another one, the only difference being that it was my last. However, I don't know what it was, or where it came from, but within a moment a thought had struck me: May 25th is my sister's birthday, Stephanie was now 17.

This jolted me, it did. I know that you probably think that suicide is the most selfish thing a person can do, I did for the longest time. The truth is, it's not selfishness, it's really not - I know this from experience, and I believe that you can't understand this unless you've been there, unless you've been moments away from taking your own life. I'll reiterate this though, it's not being selfish; I wasn't myself, my brain had morphed me into a completely different person: a person who didn't care, a person who truly believed that no one cared about her, and person who believed with all her heart that she didn't deserve to live, that she'd be doing the world a favour. However, with the realization of the date a spark of who I was came back: I knew that I couldn't do that to my sister, I couldn't make her birthday a reminder that her sister was dead, that her sister killed herself and that she didn't realize, or know her sister - at all.

This feeling didn't last forever though: I walked back to the school and along that spark that had prevented me from jumping in the water had extinguished. I knew that I wasn't going to kill myself that day, but I also knew that I still wanted to die. When I got to the school, I was the empty person that I had been for so long once again: I didn't have a chance, and I was wishing that I hadn't walked away from the pond. I did one thing different though, when I got to the school I told someone - someone who had been there, unexpectedly, for me the whole time - someone to whom I owe my life, and I mean that in the most literal sense. I hadn't planned on telling anyone, let alone her, yet there was a series of events that resulted in me spilling it out. She listened, watched me leave and then forced help upon me.

That's right, I got help, help that I desperately needed - even though at the time I didn't necessarily want it. I've been working through everything that has been bugging me, and I'm finally letting people in, truly letting them in for the first time in my life. And it's scary, because I feel so vulnerable now, my heart could get stomped on - again. And I'm scared that I'll regress, and that something will happen and I'll feel like how I did before; whenever I think about that, my stomach literally twists and turns, I don't ever want to feel like I did on May 25th again. I don't know if I could survive feeling like how I did on that day again.

I'm terrified, and that's the one thing that I cannot bring myself to tell anyone aloud, so I guess telling you, through these written words, will have to do.

But, things are getting better, so much better and honestly I feel happy. At this moment, I'm happy. It's not happiness all the time, sometimes I still have a hard time getting out of bed, but the fact that I can feel happiness means so much because before I could not. I feel like life is worth living again, and I'm so excited for the future, and what it will hold for me. You may not be able to appreciate this the way that I do, but honestly, this is monumental for me, truly it is.

Anyway, why tell you guys this? I guess it's just to update you on what's happening in my life, and to let you know that the premise of this blog might change. Sure I'll tell the funny stories that you're used to, but I'm also going to be negative and vent at times: I'm going to write what I feel, not what I think you guys want to read, and sometimes what I feel could be the most dark and depressing thing ever - I don't care though, I'm tired of hiding, I just want to live - and living means being happy one day, and horribly depressed the next, does it not?

And, summer is almost here: I'm taking it easy for this summer which means that I'll probably be posting everyday (so you have that to look forward to) and next fall the plan is that I'm still going to go to Mount Allison University, and I'll definitely blog about my experiences there - I'll have time when procrastinating, yes? I hope that you guys, whoever you are, will continue to read, and enjoy, what I'm writing. And I hope that you guys never feel the way that I have for so long, and if you do, I hope that you can change that, because you shouldn't have to feel that way: I shouldn't have had to feel that way. It's easier said than done, I know: someone told me the same thing, yet I didn't believe her, my brain wouldn't let me believe her, I believed that somehow, I did something so awful that I did deserve to feel the way I did - she was right though, I really shouldn't have had to feel like that.

For the longest time I didn't believe that things could - or would - get better, I had convinced myself that there was no possible way anything could improve, but they did: no matter what, please believe that things can always get better.




"For what it's worth: it's never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of. If you find that you're not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again." - Benjamin Button

So at the risk of deeply embarassing myself...

Well .. that is, more than I already have of course, I thought I would post a really old picture of myself and a friend (for anonymity's sake I'll call this friend Nelly). The picture itself is quite hilarious, and every time I look at it I can't help but a) giggle and b) ask myself what I was thinking (oh, I believe the answer to that would simply be that I wasn't, or more accurately, we weren't).

Nelly was my childhood best friend, and as a result of that, we got in to loads of shenanigans together (and I mean just absolute buckets of shenanigans!). I'm actually quite surprised that she hasn't been mentioned in a previous story because I sure do have a lot that star her and myself: Oh the things we have done! Sometimes I look back on them and just laugh and laugh for hours.

You know how they say a picture is worth a thousand words? I would think that for the one that I am about to show you, that is entirely true. In fact, it might even be worth a thousand and one words :o!

Without further ado:



Wow right? Haha.

Nelly and I were basically two cogs from the same clock: the same stupidly weird clock that is. We were both extremely hyperactive with overactive imaginations (really, not a good combination, especially for teachers). As a result, one of our favourite things to do at sleepovers and such was to play dress-up. Oh, our sleepovers were always epic and ... my god, I have so many funny stories about our sleepovers alone to tell.

Anyway, this picture was taken at one of our sleepovers. We were bored so we decided to dress-up as princesses and models, do our makeup and etc.

I know, that picture doesn't look very princessy or modelly for that matter, but that was our original intention (swear)!

You see, he dressing up part was good: we had all these old ballgowns of my mom's. It all went downhill when we put the makeup on.

Basically what had happened was then, for some unknown reason, - possibly because we were not experts at applying makeup (I know, it's hard to fathom that by looking at our lovely skills showcased above) - the theme of our dress-up session changed from princess/models to ... hmm, I don't know what to call it exactly: perhaps Rocker-Biker-Delinquent-Chic?

I know, I was SO cool! (Be jealous, be extremely jealous!)

So why show this to you?

The next - or close to next - post, that is "Ketchup and Mustard part dos", features her and I thought that since a picture is worth a thousand words, why not show you this so you can get an understanding of our innate personalities? Not only that, but I'll probably just have to tell you all the other stupid - but utterly hilarious - things that we've done and I've always liked having a face to match to the characters in stories - no matter how ridiculous that face may be.

:)

PS. If you're wondering, I'm on the left and Nelly's on the not-left (or, as I hoped you have deduced, the right)

PPS. Warning: You may or may not, depending on my mood really, seriously regret it if you ever make fun of me for my amazing makeup application skills. Ok? I may just have to smother you with lipstick galore and take your picture if you do so. :)

Ketchup and Mustard ... Just doesn't work for me! (Part Uno)

Ketchup and mustard.

When normal people think of these two things they think of relatively harmless condiments. One's red, one's yellow and when placed on meat they generally appeal to the eye. One tastes like rotten tomatoes, the other, well I have never tasted anything that comes as close to being as nasty as mustard so I don't have anything to compare it to. Nonetheless, despite my opinions on these two condiments, most people seem to like them.

When I think of ketchup and mustard together, two memories come to mind. One of these memories could quite possibly be one of my favourite memories from when I was an innocent child. The other memory makes me run to my closet, curl up in a ball and stare at the wall while my teeth chatter and tears drip out of my eyes. (I might have exaggerated that last part there by a tad, but not really).

I'll enlighten y'all on the second memory first, just so I can get my feelings out and hopefully move on quickly. Just a note, I'll probably end up just posting the two stories in two different posts because I do have other things to do.. although it may not seem like it :P)

On a side note, what's up with y'all. How is y'all a word? (Seriously, it must be because my spellchecker - in Mozilla - says it's a word. IT'S NOT A WORD! It's two words, and for some reason, people string them together because...? Are they lazy? Do they think it's cool? Does it have some secret hidden meaning behind it? (Oh.. if that's the case we should contact Dan Brown to investigate - it could be the 4th Robert Langdon mystery ;)) Maybe we should start combining more words together: Salad dressing could be sa'dressin, as in, "pass the sa'dressin you crazy mofo for shizzle." Or bank robbery could be ba'robber, as in, "Dude the bad robber just comitted some sick ba'robber foo!" So'we re'ain't gu'be ma'no mo'sense! Really y'all, how hard it is to say you all?

That's just a little ramble/rant. I just despise it when y'all make a mockery out of the English language.

So back to my traumatizing story.

One summer, after I read Sweet Valley (and yes - I read Sweet Valley books!) In fact, I loved loved LOVED Sweet Valley books - I practically devoured them anytime I could - and anyone who says they suck (he-hem, Moe from the Simpsons) is seriously delusional and needs to up their medication by a couple of doses. While reading these amazing books (I still highly recommend them if you're looking for a fun read to relax with and take the weight of the world off your shoulders) I became obsessed with horses (mainly because one of my favourite characters, Elizabeth, was also obsessed with horses).

I know.. As much as it pains me to admit it, I was brainwashed by Sweet Valley. I fell for the subconscious messages lurking within the chipper texts big time - luckily, however, this brainwashing didn't last very long - thank-you to a little nightmare I like to call horse camp! Or more accurately, the horse camp from hell.

After months, ok well weeks, alright, days, of begging my dad to buy me a pony and teach me to ride we reached a compromise: he agreed that he would send me, my sister and my brother to horse camp for one week in the summer instead of buying me a pony at the time. Since I never really wanted a pony in the first place this compromise was fine by me - at first.

It turned out that horse camp was the worst idea that I've ever had (and I've had some pretty gosh darn bad ones.. maybe I'll enlighten you about those ideas later - if you're lucky).

THAT HORSE CAMP WAS THE WORST CAMP THAT I EVER WENT TO IN MY LIFE. By far. And I'd know, I've been to a lot of day camps that I've despised in my life (thanks mom and dad), but this one takes the cake - easily.

The camp itself was run by a fascist she-farmer who got a perverse pleasure out of torturing the campers (a small group of 8 people) with her little tricky mind games. I swear, I have no idea what the hell she was doing running a camp like that because it was incredibly obvious that she did not like small children - with the exception of her own.

Ugh, Cassandra. I still remember Cassandra. I will never forget Cassandra, I don't mean that in a good way. Cassandra was ... ugh, can I just say, a nightmare. She immediately latched on to me, because let's face it, I was the coolest person there (naturally) and as a result we got ... special ... privileges. However, about halfway into the week I had an epiphany of sorts: I asked myself, "Kelsey, what the heck are you doing with this chick (although, in retrospect, when I asked myself I probably didn't use the word chick)? You don't even like her!".

Those who knew me back then, and even sometimes now, I was never one to sugarcoat things, or do anything that I particularly didn't want to do. As a result, I told Cassandra (who constantly complained and made fun of the other campers and was just mean in general) to STFU.

Man, I've never seen anyone go to so nice to so mean so quickly. I swear, it was like as soon as I told her off, bam, a totally different person. A person who, well lets just say, made life extremely difficult for me the last half of the week: she constantly got me in trouble and separated from another girl, Ashley, who I actually did like. (It's weird that I still remember their names as it did happen ages ago, but I don't know, I remember a lot of things about this camp).

Anyway, I kind of got off track there, at that camp, everyday, the fascist dictator, as I will forever remember her as, forced us, the wee little innocent campers, to clean animal shit out of the stalls. This may sound weird and everything, but that's not really my idea of fun! (I know, shocking right?)

Basically, my dad paid a small fortune (which could have been used to buy me a 'little barbie car that goes down the street' like I always wanted) for his three children to muck away in the stalls and clean up horse crap and be treated, probably, more inhumanely than most slaves ever were.

NOT FUN!

Not only that, but the counselors were spineless little jellyfish who knew nothing about riding or speaking up against illegal child labour. Annd (yes, there is more), I still remember the bathrooms from that camp - N-A-S-T-Y! The pleasant (sarcasm) aroma was a cross between old lady urine and a corpse that has been rotting for 324 days. I also got forced to ride Western on this dumb-ass horse and, upon being made to go bareback, I almost fell off.

Basically, at this camp I almost died! And I'm not even exaggerating, much.

Oh, and on another side note (yes there are a lot in this post), I believe that this camp is part of the reason as to why I fear birds so much. Yes it's true. Deep down inside me, part of the reason that I resent horse camp so much is because I was scarred for life there.

How?

Well, it all started on this one warm rainy day. The FD (fascist dictator) didn't want us riding the horses because it was raining - although it wasn't really raining, it was more of a drizzle. So what does one do at a horse camp when not riding horses while it's raining?

The answer, have chicken races! (Yes, that logic was sadly lost on me as well. I don't know how one equates rain + horse camp - horses = chicken races, but maybe that's just me).

Chickens, while they are poultry and do not look so much like most birds, they are in fact birds (or if they're not, they should be - I wouldn't know, I don't really pay that much attention to stuff like that). My logic is, if they have wings and beaks and oddly shaped feet, they are birds.

Anyway, as much I as I didn't want to, FD forced me to participate (I believe that she threatened to take away my riding privileges or something). I was given a ribbon and told to go find a chicken and tie the ribbon around there neck.

Uh, excuse me? You want me to pick up a chicken and hold it long enough to tie a ribbon around its neck? What the hell are you smoking? No, really.

I wasn't afraid of birds at this point, but I wasn't their biggest fan either. I sure as heck didn't want to even touch a chicken, let alone pick it up for what would seem like eternity. But I did.

In retrospect, after horse camp in general, I'm pretty sure that this was the second worst mistake in my life.

I picked up the chicken, fumbled with it, tried to think about my happy place (I don't entirely remember what that would be, but I'm pretty sure that Sweet Valley was involved with in somehow), eventually managed to get the ribbon on it and set it down.

The bird, well, it was ok for the first few minutes, but then it looked a bit .. well lets just say, strange. Being the humanitarian (or is it animalitarian in this case?) I was, and still am, I was worried that I might have tied the ribbon too tight around its neck (I'm an awful judge about things like that - honest, it's not intentional or subconscious - just what I think is good, usually isn't).

I bent down and took the ribbon off. *cue creepy music* As soon as I did, it was like the devil materialized in this chicken. Or that the chicken was just mad. You know, I think it's understandable, if I was a chicken I certainly would get mad if this stupid kid was manhandling me and forcing me to run around like an idiot.

IT ATTACKED ME! The freaking chicken actually attacked me! It started pecking at me and chasing me - This may be hard to picture, but I swear, I'm not making a word of this up.

To get the full effect of the result, I think that you should imagine a young child - scrawny with a mop of blond hair - shrieking girlishly while bawling and attempting to run away, her stickish legs failing her several times, and eventually ending up in the smelly bathroom where she then locked herself in for a good hour or so and sucked her thumb - yep, I'm pretty sure that I just painted an accurate picture of what happened there.

*shudders*

And ever since that fateful day, chickens and birds just give me the creeps. Every time I see a bird, this memory pops up in my head. It's funny, I think I'm cursed: most people, when they experience a traumatic event, forget that it happened or their mind represses it. Not me, no luckily I go the complete opposite way and remember every darn thing that happened, like it happened yesterday. Not only that, but I am also cursed when it comes to birds: I have also been attacked by at least two other birds as well, one of which I told you about in a previous post I believe.

Anyway, back to the ketchup and mustard story (wow, this post is really long - and keep in mind, this is only the first memory that I associate with ketchup and mustard).

One day after I essentially told Cassandra what a tool she was and blah blah blah she got mad at me. I don't remember exactly how I got roped into doing what I did, but there were definitely threats and blackmail involved.

(I know, I told you, this camp was INTENSE - With a capital "I")

You see, by this point I had ditched being politically correct (although, that in itself was a huge headache) and was hanging out with Ashley. I believe that we did something we weren't supposed to do, although I don't remember what it was. Anyway, Cassandra saw us do it (she was incredibly sneaky like that. In fact, I do believe that, when I left, she had a very promising career of being a successful international spy) and being the vindictive little weasel she was, threatened to tell her mother (FD). I had already been in trouble enough that week (I know, it's so hard picturing me actually being in trouble ;), especially because you know, I'm so innocent now, but yeah, back then ... not necessarily the case) so I decided to play along and she what she wanted.

You know, much like how terrorists sometimes state their demands, and you have no choice but to give into them.

Anyway, I'll admit, playing along with her was a big mistake on my part. It was much like a mouse walking right up to a cat and then mooning it or something (haha, I'm tired and that was the best I could think of).

All this was going down at lunch, so when I asked Cassandra what she wanted to keep quiet, she looked around and after a few seconds her eyes landed on what our lunch was (ketchup, mustard, ham, lettuce, bread, tomatoes, etc - essentially a sandwich bar) and a devious smile slowly spread across her face.

Without saying a word, she reaches out, grabs a piece of bread, grabs the mustard and squirts a huge blob on the bread. Then she did same thing with the ketchup. She folded up the bread and told me to eat it.

I believe my reaction was somewhere along the lines of what the hell are you thinking? Oh, and who the hell do you think you are?

I'm pretty sure she was also a mind reader, and she pretty much said, "If you want me to keep quiet, eat this. If not, I'll go to my mom and tell her what you did". (I know that sounds pretty ominous and all - like we did something seriously bad - but we didn't, I just didn't want to get in trouble anymore. Not only did she say that, but she also had that glint in her eye. You know, the one that is daring you to do something.

For those of you who know me, I could never, and still can never, turn down a dare. Naturally I did it. No matter how much my brain was telling me 'don't do it moron, don't do it', I didn't listen to it.

*cue dramatic music*

I flinched while picking up the sandwich, slowly raised it to my mouth, took a bite. AND GAGGED! BLECH BLECH BLECH! It was easily the worst thing that I had ever tasted, and still takes the cake today. I'm pretty sure I turned green, although, I wouldn't exactly know because there weren't any mirrors.

Let's just say then, it felt like I was green. As green as you can get too.

Ashley was staring at me horrified, while Cassandra was smirking. I got mad when I saw that smirk. Because of that smirk, oh and because of the fact that I think I like to torture myself, I took another bite.

It was worst than the first, I'm pretty sure that if it wasn't for my stomach's ability to handle what I did to it, I would have tossed my cookies. I couldn't eat anymore. I just couldn't. I debated hurling what was left at Cassandra in a pathetic attempt for revenge. I didn't. I wish that I could say that I didn't because I was a nice person and would never do that, but I can't(had it been anyone but Cassandra, I wouldn't have fathomed doing it in a million years). No, the reason that I didn't hurl it right back in that biznitch's face was because I was interrupted.

Yep, FD, with impeccable timing I might add, came out right in the middle of my idea and yelled at me for a good 10 minutes about wasting food and then punished me for the rest of the afternoon - thereby making me lose my glorious opportunity for payback. The punishment? Not being able to ride, and having to clean up the chicken co-op *shudders* while everyone else was riding.

Looking back, I don't even know if what I was forced to do is considered legal.

Fun times. Fun times. No wait, who am I kidding?

The moral of this story: do not go to horse camp! Or if you do, do not piss off the organizer's daughter, or you too could be forced to eat a ketchup and mustard sandwich - and trust me, no matter how much you may like ketchup and mustard, you do not want to eat that nasty business.

Blergh. My palms are getting sweaty and my stomach is tinging just thinking about it.

Man, this post has more words than most of my essays do for school, is that bad?

Kudos to you if you managed to read the whole things and sift through the many layers of horse camp horrors that I provided you with (I know, this post especially was SO deep)- hopefully, unlike me, you don't have nightmares about it.

Look for part two soon, although I will try to limit the length of that one just for the sake of your eyes - oh, and my sanity!

PS. Now you see what took me so long with posting another story :P.