I Should Probs Get That Checked Out...

     Hello my lovelies!  We made a triumphant return from our relaxing holiday.  I've made the executive decision that what happens on holiday stays on holiday, but a post about the 10 hour trip there and back is under construction. Today's is pretty short, just needed to document something fun that happened last night in a restaurant.
     Last night, I went out to dinner with the fam.  It was a very pleasant outing.  My mum had ordered a succulent surf and turf kind of dish, and she no longer had room for her buttery, cut-it-with-a-fork tender yo, steak.  Even though I had already eaten the majority of the shared appetizer of potato skins and my entire pulled chicken smothered in Texas BBQ sauce Philly cheese sandwich with red pepper and onion up in der, I was not going to turn down free steak.  I cut off a large hunk and savoured that bad boy.

     A brief side note, when eating out, i can eat like a champ.  I believe that if the food is being paid for, especially if I'm paying for it myself, I have to eat the whole thing, and as much as possible.  I guess the same thing applies if it is someone else paying, especially if it's the parentals and you're damn right I'm gonna enjoy it.  I may be thin, but I can eat almost anyone under the table if I set my mind to it. 
     Anyway, last night was no exception.  I would have finished that steak if it wasn't for one little detail I forgot in my euphoric gluttony. 

     I forgot about my allergy to shellfish.  The shrimpy skewers were chilling atop the luscious steak that I had just been mowing extensively on. The best part is that it all came together so quickly, that I when I sent that lump of well chewed meat flying out of my mouth, no one knew what was going on.

     In my defence, I'm also super anal about talking with food in my mouth.  After my mouth was emptied, I let my family in on why I had that major spaz attack.  My now concerned parents advised me to flush my mouth out with water.  I regurgitated the filthy water into my empty water cup while my family laughed at their spectacle of a relative.

     Amazingly enough, I didn't notice if anyone else had noticed the scene I made.  After a lengthy conversation about getting tested for allergies and that I should probably have an EpiPen, I proceeded to eat the best tortilla cheesecake with caramel and chocolate drizzle ever, like a champ. 

 

Holidays!

     Happy Victoria Day my lovelies!  To my non-Canadian readers, most Canadians don't know what Victoria Day is about either, don't worry.  I'm disappearing for a few days, but when I return, I might just have a little surprise for y'all!

A Brief Personal History of Beer Pong

     Over that last year, I have developed a strong and overwhelming dependence on beer pong: the sport of champions.  I do not consider a party a success unless at least one game has been played, preferably won.  My champ of a partner, Caitlin, and I have grown considerably as players since our very first time.  We've actually made quite a name for ourselves in our party circuit as killers, slayers, and formidable opponents.
     I owe this addiction to my best bro, Reilly.  He took us under his wing and showed us the way.

     Consistently unbeatable, he has been both master, partner, and foe.  In the beginning, we practised with his 9 year old brother, using water, on his deck way back in September.  Our friendship was just blooming in those days.  Beer pong brings people together.  We've learned a lot from our dear friend.  One of the few times we beat our sensei was, of course, with beginners luck.  When that ball was sunk perfectly in that last red cup, magic occurred.  A new passion was ignited.

       Our disbelief that we could beat the great and powerful Reilly was overwhelming.  Our shrieking echoed through the quiet back yards of the neighbourhood.

     Sadly, beginners luck only works for the very first game.  Everything after that relies on skill.  At Reilly's next party, we faced our first non-Reilly opponent.  I knew we could not beat them with skill, I had to employ a distraction.

     That night was the first and hopefully the last we saw of dead Caitlin, and pretty much dead Cari.  At this point in the night, we were feeling pretty good, just made some sloppy decisions.  One of which, was my brilliant distraction plan.  We were playing one of my best buddies, Kevin, and a mutual friend; what harm could come from preying on mens' one track minds?  It seemed like a brilliant plan at the time.

     Put your smelling salts away for another scandal, I was covered, enough.  You see, one never knows who they might meet at a party, so wearing sexy lingerie is never a bad move.  Did I mention that was the night I met Tim?
     Over time, and with lots, and I mean lots, of practice, our skills improved.  We actually had skills to bank on instead of relying on cheap tricks and flashy distractions.  The battle between team Panda and team Revin waged on at every party.  One of the seldom times we beat Reilly/team Revin, was the first night Kevin came out with his eye patch and played a round of beer pong like the champ he is.  It was a win, but we eagerly await the day we can valiantly kick their butts without any unfair advantages.

      I may take my clothes off DURING a round of beer pong less often now, but I am still horrendously competitive and loud.  I almost feel remorse for the other team the morning after, but then I remember how great it is to heckle boys into inferiority in our great sport. 

     Like it or not, a monster has been created.  Win or lose, I'd rather be playing beer pong and drawing in a jovial crowd than standing around awkwardly making small talk with people I won't even remember the names of in the morning.

DISCLAIMER

     I want to make it abundantly clear that it is extremely intimidating trying to draw my favourite people.  I love you all dearly and I don't want to offend anyone.  Please remember I am so far from being a professional, I've never taken a legit art course; I'm just a girl with some funny stories that loves doodling and Sharpies.  These are cartoons; these are mechanical representations created by my hand trying its best to mirror my brain's interpretation of life.
     Speaking of not wanting to offend people I care about, meet my boyfriend,Tim. 

     He's a real gem.  His body may be killing him from the inside, but he looks damn fine on the outside.  I defs don't do him justice.  Every past attempt at drawing him ends in him looking terribly sad.  I may have gone a little overboard on his level of merriment though.  Fun fact: according to a poll in Reader's Digest, electrician is the 17th most trusted profession in Canada; whereas psychologists/councillors only placed 19th.  I wonder if this means something about our personalities...
     Semi-unrelated, we watch a lot of Maury.  Ninety-nine percent of the time it's "WHO'S THESE 8 BABIES DADDIES? SHOCKING RESULTS!", but occasionally we've caught some stranger ones.  The Maury Povich show is a real confidence boost, not only is every guest on this tawdry show a hideous troll, but it makes us seem like a pretty fantastic couple.  No relationship is perfect, but at least we don't scream at each other, and have all our teeth.

     It's funny, and by funny I mean excruciatingly frustrating, how quiet I get around Tim sometimes.

      It's not like the gears aren't turning up there, I police and over analyze what I'm saying so much that I lose the spontaneity and quick wit I usually employ to charm people. 

     Not to talk myself up or anything, but being funny, brash, and out there are way more fitting of my general demeanour.  Quiet is the last adjective my friends would use to describe me.  Even in a group of my most beloved compatriots, if Tim is present, I physically can't bring myself to talk freely and unabashedly. If I understood my own brain, I probably wouldn't be pursuing a career in psychology. 

     I can't believe I've let a man tame me.

The Joys of Living at Home

     Last week, I finally started feeling well enough to start exercising again.  As you may know, I've had a bad run with sinus infections and mono, so a boost in energy came as a wonderful sign as summer begins.
     My workout regime is very, well, routine.  I stretch out on the yoga mat, punch and dance around with my beefy 2 pound weights, ride the stationary bike, and end with ab work and more stretching.  Nothing crazy.  I went down stairs to prep the room, and decided to put my headphones on while I was still upstairs.
     Blasting music is the best part of exercising.  I love getting pumped up.  I have a tendency to get way too caught up in them sick beats and end up singing along or trying to scream and bike.  I'm sure I've alarmed the mail man a time or two.
     As I unfurled the yoga mat, I could no longer suppress the urge to sing along with slow motion Adele.  Her smooth, deep, remixed voice rang in my ears as whatever I sounded like rang out through the basement.  Thank the sweet babby jeebus for noise cancelling headphones.

      Even though the room was ready for me to get my sweat on, I was still caught up in my jams, so I stayed down and danced around and dropped my already androgynous voice as low as she could go and belted out the rest of the song.

     When I exited the room, to my horror, I noticed a pile of unfamiliar shoes.  I was so embarrassed it felt like all my internal organs just dropped to my feet.  I indignantly stormed upstairs to get water and hide my shame until it was safe to return to my workout.  I ran into my mum on the way to the kitchen and unloaded my indignation at my brother's insensitivity to the rest of the house on her.  My brother often has friends over in the nerd lair and does not warn anyone, but they stay locked away in that room, so no problems usually arise.  My mum was just as surprised as I was to hear that he had friends over especially because they were making no noise.
     Still recovering from my traumatizing antics, my mum coaxed me to to go back down and finish my workout, despite my aversion to returning to the scene of the incident.  The door to the nerd lair was open a crack, uncharacteristic of a room with bros in it.  My mum came down to see what was really going on, lo and behold, no one else was here.
     My brother's shoes are usually obvious because my brother is a giant and he wears a 13, or a 14, or some other monstrous size.  However, his friends are pretty tall too.  This shoe pile looked deceptively small.  The angle of the shoes played an optical illusion on me.  Yes, I was tricked by inanimate objects.

     So I continued on with my work out, fuelled by the remnants of rage and shame, the emotions needed to motivate many great decisions.

Disney Princesses

     I've known my best friend Caitlin since kindergarten, but our relationship blossomed in high school.  One major bonding experience that solidified our friendship was our weekly Disney movie marathons.  Better yet, we did, and still do it right: VHS all the way homies. 
     Collectively, we watch a lot of movies, but Caitlin is the movie master.  Her repertoire of viewed films is astounding.  She is also excellent at getting caught up in the emotional plot line.  It wasn't until I was 15 that I cried because of a movie.  What was this tragic and masterful film that brought this heartless witch to tears, you ask?  Well dear reader, it was none other than Disney's Pocahontas.  I think it remains one of the count-on-one-hand few movies to make me weep, ever.  I honestly cannot remember the last movie to join this elite club, but I'm sure Forrest Gump is in there.  Anyway, I blame it on my gammy hormones. 

     To this day, we still watch Disney movies regularly, sometimes on DVD, sometimes on Blu-Ray, but one constant is that we always sing along with our favourite songs.  To the dismay of other guests at our viewings, we still sing along even when we don't know the words.

     Our newest Disney obsession is with Tangled.  We belt out her magic healing hair chant way more than we probably should.  We've also made some odd substitutions, like sperm and candle, for various relevant situations.  I'm sure the public just loves us.

     Our 18th birthdays brought on a sad realization: we are past our prime.  What prince would want us now?  We missed our chances at love at first sight as a girl of 16, or a young maiden but of 17 years, or the most magical of all, on the eve of her 18th birthday.  I'm no Kate Middleton, but I still believe in happy endings, no matter how domestic. 
     Disney sets all our relationships up to fail by comparison, but hey, who wants to uncontrollably start singing about inane daily tasks?  Teaching wild animal intricate choreography would be pretty sick though.
      At least pedophiles don't want us anymore.  Now we're fair game for everyone else.

     And who said chivalry was dead?

Moratorium

     Who are these two classy chaps?  Well dear reader, these are my two best peeps, my main men, and the most common characters in my stories to come: Reilly and Caitlin.  (Please don't be offended by these drawings my darlings, I'm trying to bang them out like a public masturbater, so I can't spend forever on them.)

      I have to work quickly now, because I am no longer an unemployed, food wasting lout.  Last week, I decided to return to Michaels Crafts, my workplace of three years in high school.  I've said it before, it is hard to escape Michaels's glittery clutches.  Even though I vowed never to return, to find a more fulfilling, or at least outdoor job, the allure of the familiar got me in the end.  It has been a hard year and I am secretly lazy as hell.  I don't want to learn new skills; it's the summer, learning's for chumps when the weather gets warm.  Anyway, I am a craft stallion.  I know my shit.  Plus I was able to cut a deal with my boss and she gave me the time off I wanted.

     Hell bent on an epic change of scenery and a dire need of a steady cash flow, I applied at our local plant store.  Mmmmmm yes, Master Yoda, only ten minutes walk from my house, it is.  After stringing me on for over a month, I finally got my interview.  I was already in an unsettling state of moratorium, trying to suss out if Michaels would be the best option.  For those of you non-psyc kids, moratorium is a state of mind in between decisions, where the sufferer is pulled in different directions by different choices and needs to make a commitment.  It is genuinely stressful.
     Despite my apprehension, I was perky, well dressed, and had set the Cari-charm to stun.  It was going so well, until my interviewer put me on a cash register.  I had done cash thrice tops at Michaels, and it was like watching a bird fly into a window and proceed to be ripped apart by a feral cat while still alive and making heart breaking screeching sounds.  I just don't do well with technology.  It had touch screens god damn it!  How am I supposed to provide excellent customer service, identify plant species, do basic math, and key in codes when I can hardly use a normal computer?  I think it was apparent to all that I am not meant to be a cash monkey.

     You know what they say, the devil you know is always better than the devil you don't.

Beginnings and Endings

     If you are reading this, thanks for taking an interest in my creative endeavours and caustic anecdotes.  Hopefully we are entering a journey through time and space, well, maybe not, maybe just into my mind, which may be equally vast, expansive, and scary.  Anyway, let's hope I don't give up on this after two posts.  For these early posts, I've only used pencils but I'll ink the later stuff, but I am too excited to spend much more time on these early drawings.  I don't know how to use Photoshop, and I am not patient enough to screw around in Paint.
     I suppose some introductions are in order, even though it is safe to say that the only person reading this is Caitlin.  This is me:

     For the most part, I look something like that.  I don't like wearing pants, I always wear rings, and I am known for being a germaphobe.  I love beaches, roadkill, cephalopods, and knitting.  Anyone that spends much time around me notices my frequent use of hand sanitizer, and my intrinsic, uncontrollable attraction to beards.

     I am a full on pogonophile.  For me, beards are like legs.  My man's gotta have them. I suppose I could be with someone without them if they were my perfect soul mate love match, but really?  I see no need to settle for less.  I really respect a good man-beard, they should be proud of their ability to produce the aesthetic epitome of manliness.
     I digress.  Aside from often being beard struck, I'm often caught with glazed over, lifeless fish eyes.  These lustrous beauties occur for any number of reasons, be it day dreaming, being dranked, or suffering through life in dry contact lenses.  In this first year of university, I've done a lot of all three.

     Partying is killer on the eyes, this is, of course, my fault but why would I go blaming myself for partaking in such a fun and innocent pass time? We'll discuss partying adventures in detail in the near future.

     Sometimes I look like this when Reilly and I have adventures, but more of that to come later too.  Sadly, I am not always this content with life.  As of right now, I look something like this:

      This is something close to a maximum grumpy face.  It has been a hard month.  Between exam stress, a sinus infection, job hunting, and wisdom teeth extraction, there's been a lot of recovery to do.  This doesn't seem too horrible, but it turns out I've been fighting off mono these last few weeks as well.  This explains why I felt so terribly tired while studying for exams and why there were grapefruit sized nodes in my neck after sitting on my deck in the sun.  So here we are, berets have been knitted, watercolours have been painted, multiple episodes of Xmen Evolution have been watched, and I am getting restless.  How can I possibly be so discontented with my favourite things?  With the closing of my first year of university and the beginning of the longest summer yet, and entering my 19th year, I have decided to finally take my dear friends' advice and start an illustrated blog.
    Thanks for reading and I hope we can do this again some time.