2013 is going to be a great year. Because I am MAKING it a great year.

I have a confession to make:

2012 was not a good year for me. It wasn't good for me, for many of my friends, and especially for KONY. (Remember #KONY2012 ??? Although I usually have a good laugh referencing #KONY2012 and the weird stuff that happened surrounding it all, I know one person who wasn't laughing: KONY.)

Many people don't know this (hell, this isn't something you wave on a flag in Churchill Square, now is it), but I was suffering from depression for a lot of 2012. It was very up and down, some days/weeks/months/were better than others, but I wasn't myself for most of the year. I could feel it.

*Before I go any further, I need to preface the rest of this post by saying that depression is a serious thing and it comes in all different shapes and forms. I dealt with it one way, but that may not be the way for everyone. Just saying, I love you all and if you feel that you are not yourself and may be suffering from depression, please FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY GO SEE A DOCTOR* 

I need to confess how terribly easy it is to remain in a depressed state. Now, yes, there were things that triggered my bouts of depression (for example: being dumped on New Years Day is not necessarily the best way to start off the year, but you know, nobody's perfect), but sometimes it was just THERE. No rhyme, no reason. It was like a cough I couldn't shake or a wound that wouldn't heal (or like that shadow outside my window that watches me sleep at night...).  There were weeks that went by where all I wanted to do was sit in my ill-fitting sweat pants, eat an ENTIRE stuffed-crust pizza in bed, and finish it up with a box of Oreos. And I DID THAT, ladies and gents. Many, many times.
I could feel it within me not just emotionally, but physically too. I had gained weight (Really Lindsey? By eating stuffed crust pizzas and Oreos all day?? SHOCKING.). I looked (and felt) like a tired bag of poo. Constantly. I didn't want to see anyone or do anything. That was (more or less) my 2012.

But, I did do things. I was in some really great shows. I played some amazing gigs. I also recorded an  lovely EP (which is something I have been wanting to do and working towards for a VERY long time). But I didn't release it. I kept telling everyone (including myself) various reasons why I wanted to wait for the following year to release it, but the fact was, I was scared. Petrified. So absolutely afraid of failing (or maybe even being happy? Hmmm...) that I didn't want to do a Goddamn thing. So I stayed in my safe place: where I kept eating pizza, watching Netflix, and waiting for something better to happen.

How I waited....

And waited...

Nothing. (Again, shocking!)

December was where it all came to a head, I can confess openly. I was more or less an uncontrollable weepy mess (and let's get a few things straight: I do like to weep. I am a weeper. But this was more than my standard weeping). For everyone's enjoyment, I have actually made a list of all the places I cried in public:

-bus
-someone else's car
-Home Depot
-warehouse
-gym
-office
-taxi cab
-in the back of a doctor's office (I was working there... but I was crying in the same area people leave  their urine samples. It was a real hoot.)
-various theatres
-sushi restaurants
-a Value Village
-many bookstores
-LRT (I was also listening to this song on repeat, which made the tears flow even harder)
-restaurant
-in the change room at Suzy Shier
-bar
-Safeways, Save-Ons, and Sobeys

and my personal favorite:

-at a bus stop right outside of a daycare (THAT'S IT CHILDREN, SEE THESE TEARS! THEY ARE REAL ADULT TEARS. THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE TO LOOK FORWARD TO!)

But about half-way through December, something shifted in me. I wasn't necessarily happier, no. I knew that I had to make changes in order to be happier. I had to do it. Not anyone else in this world could do it. I had to take the first step. I knew that this depression-thang would stick around forever (like some ex-boyfriends, right ladies?!?! OH SNAP! But seriously...) if I let it, and I would be complacent with that. But I wouldn't be happy. So I decided I would do whatever I could to make myself happier, and (hopefully) I would feel a difference. I stopped eating as many packages of Oreos (holy frick was that ever tough). I stopped watching so much Netflix, put on some friggin pants, got to work. I signed up for newsletters that had positive messages and were motivating for what I wanted to do with my life. I started writing again. I began planning for my 2013. I decided that 2013 was going to be a great year for me because I was going to MAKE it a great year for me. And yes, there would be days that weren't going to be good ones, and that was okay. But I would work my butt off to make sure it would be (and I would be) okay. I knew that I would have to work super duper hard in 2013, but it would be worth it. So here I am.

I am not saying this is for everyone. We have all had different experiences, events, and changes in our lives to get us to where we are today. But this is what I did, and am going to continue to do. As I write this, I can feel that I am happier than I have been in a long long while.

I implore you all to look deeply within and if there is anything you can do to make yourself happier, try it out. You may be surprised at what a little change may do.

I will personally try my hardest to continue to do what I can to be happy in 2013. I hope you will do the same.

Until next time,

The girl who is excited for 2013.

Asking random Canadian celebrities to play on my album isn't creepy, right? RIGHT?!?!?!

Remember that time I sent an email asking Canadian music sensation/slash/guitar virtuoso/slash/killer singer/slash/what-I-can-only-assume-is-a-great-guy Matthew Andersen if he would like to sing back ups on my album??

YOU DON'T REMEMBER?!?!?! 

Oh right.  That's because I didn't tell you.

Well... HERE GOES!!!

Let's start off by making sure you all know who Matt Andersen is (because if you don't know how amazing he is, your life is a legitimate joke and you should re-evaluate your life choices).  Just watch this video of him performing live at the 2011 Maple Blues Awards and you will see exactly why we are meant to be together - er, I mean sing together...

Let's take it back a few weeks to when I was balled up in my living room, working away on my computer, listening to Mr. Andersen's live album, Life From The Phoenix Theatre.  I was singing along to one of my favorite songs of his, when I thought "how great would it be if Matt Andersen sang with me on my album?!?! Wait - why can't I ask Matt Andersen to sing backups on my album?!??!"  So that is what I did.  I emailed Mr. Matt Andersen and asked him outright to sing on my album. 

Want to know what I wrote?  Who doesn't.  Here it is:

Hi Matt,

Now I don't know if you actually read the hundreds of emails I bet you
get in a day (or if this email I am sending will even make it past
your spam bin), but I thought I'd fire off an email to you.  What is
there to lose, right?

I am sending you this to 1) tell you how much I enjoy what you do and
2) ask a crazy request.  So here goes.

1) I really enjoy what you do.  I am so glad I have had the
opportunity to see you live (you played the Edmonton Folk Fest last
year and pretty much stopped everyone dead in their tracks with your
amazing music).  More recently I sat in my car for the entire time CBC
played your concert on Radio 2.  Thank the good lord for the CBC.

2) So... I am currently recording a debut EP here in lovely Edmonton,
and I have been trying to find someone to sing some killer backups to
the songs I wrote (kind of bluesy-ish rockin tunes - think Joan
Osborne circa 1994 if that could even be used as a reference...) and I
think that (in my own humble opinion) our voices together would not
only sound great, but could quite possibly stop a few wars (in a good
way).  I will definitely pay you for your services, so hopefully you
would want to trek out to the prairies and record a bit?  I don't know
what your schedule is like, but I also work at a great music venue in
Edmonton too if you wanted to make it a stop as well (but hell, I am
sure you have tons of people that can book those things for you...)
But seriously, I completely understand if you don't want to be
involved in something like this... even as I am writing this to you I
feel kind of silly. But if we could make it work somehow, well heck.
I could cross off "singing with Matt Andersen" off my bucket list.

I won't include links to my website etc. etc. because I thought I
would just send a simple email to see what you think.

Thank you so much for your time Matt, and I hope you are well.

Cheers,

Lindsey Walker

So there you have it.  I emailed him.  I don't regret my choice, and neither should he.  Mind you, he hasn't emailed me back.  Yet.  I have no doubt he will, mainly because he is Canadian (and has good Canadian manners), but more so because he will be haunted by guilt for the rest of his very successful career.  (What?  Is that a threat? Don't think I am capable of sowing the seeds of guilt in an email??  Just ask any of my exes.)

I will be sure to let the world know when (positive vibes here, people) Mr. Andersen responds to my email.  It will be great.  I promise.  Now that I finished emailing Canadian celebrities about performing on my CD, you may be asking yourself  "What is next for that beautiful, talented, lovely, generous, NOT crazy in any way girl?"  Well, I have been thinking about mailing a letter to the Queen of England inviting her to my CD release party.  But we will see. 

Until next time I decide to send random letters to my idols,

That girl who should stop* sending emails. 

*but won't

 

Taking the plunge...NOT the Nestea plunge.

I am taking the plunge, you guys.

I am plunging (that doesn't sound great, now does it?) into the world of recording. 

From the beginning of 2012 until now, I have been extremely focused on my career as a musician.  I started a funding campaign (what??? You didn't hear about it through my incessant social media onslaught??  Well!  Even though the campaign is over, you can still check out my funding page here.) for my debut CD which was shockingly successful.  Since then I have been planning, planning, planning for recording and touring in the near future.

I love planning.

I ACTUALLY REALLY LOVE PLANNING.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I love to plan every part of my life and if a plan gets cancelled I am personally offended (don't think that's a trait I possess? Fine then.  Plan to go for coffee with me then cancel.  THEN YOU WILL SEE MY FURY UNLEASHED).

I also love planning because I love to imagine what my life will be like in the future.  I can dream.  And boy oh boy, do I ever dream.

The scary thing about planning is when it comes time to turn all that planning into practice.

GOOD GRAVY.

That's when all the fears and doubts start rearing their ugly heads.  What if I rush into things foolhardily? What if I make a mistake? What if I fail and cry and my cats run away and I never have the opportunity to be this happy ever again and I become    WHAT IF EVERYTHING I HAVE PLANNED DOESN'T TURN OUT???

Seriously, Lindsey.  Stop friggin worrying so much. 

The funny thing is that it will be okay.  It will all work out.  No matter what.  (Well, unless I set myself on fire and scream obscenities into the night sky, which has been known to happen before...).  I know it can be frightening to go for the things we love and feel most passionate about.  The fear of failing at what we love can prevent us from actually going for (and end up doing) what we love.  Don't get me wrong, I am doing a lot of what I love.  I play my own music, have many supportive friends and family, have fans that don't know me personally yet still love my music.  People sing along to my songs when I play live. I am really blessed with my life as a musician.  It was okay all this time, and it will be okay from here on in.    

I will be heading into the studio to record in the next day or two.  I have been planning for this for a looooong while, but I have to let you in on a secret: I still feel unprepared. And nervous.  I have no reason to feel unprepared, because of all this planning I've done.  I shouldn't feel nervous because I fell confident about the songs I have written because they come from a place of honesty in my heart and soul. So all I can do is keep telling myself that I will do my best and the outcome will be great.    

I am going to begin recording tomorrow.

TOMORROW, you guys.

!!!!!!

I am excited.  And nervous.  And happy, proud, blessed.  It will be an amazing adventure, as everything along this path has been so far. I will be sure to write more posts as I get started and start recording, I promise!

Until next time when I can start calling myself "recording artist Lindsey Walker",

The girl who should plan to not be nervous. 

Everybody IS working for the weekend.

And if you aren't working for the weekend, you are lucky.  Or jobless. Or a workaholic.  Or live in a society where weekends don't exsist.  Or you are a member of Loverboy and you live in a world where EVERY DAY IS A WEEKEND DAY.


Just like this:

We can only dream.


(Could we also take a moment to LOVE Mike Reno and his ...ummm... outfit?  And the way he claps on 1 and 3?   Sigh....)




ANYWAY.




I am working for the weekend, one could say.  I work for a temp agency, only to financially fuel my dreams to become a Canadian roots musician /slash/ touring SUPERSTAR.  That is very attainable, right???


....RIGHT?!?!?!?


So here I am, working for the man.  Or in this case, many men.  (Wait, what???).  What I mean to say is, each week or so, I get a new boss at a new location doing a new job.  It's a dream for someone with adult-onset ADD.  I love these jobs.  Every time I get a phone call about a "placement" (that is what the temp agency calls it) I feel like a spy (not unlike in my favorite movie "True Lies" where Jamie Lee Curtis plays my dream role of being a mousey housewife /slash/ accidental undercover spy.  AND she gets to kiss Arnold Schwarzenegger.  AND she gets to fight Tia Carrere.  AND she gets to put her head on Bill Paxton's lap while he drives a convertable.  WHAT A DREAM.)


I am finding more and more that these temp jobs are becoming an outlet for me to realize how fascinating (and can we also point out completely bat-shit looney) people are more than simply working 8 until 4 Monday to Friday.


Here are a few examples: 


-that middle-aged guy who worked with me at a drywall warehouse who kept wanting to get high with me on my lunch break (I felt it was a trap; he was most likely a narc.)
-the countless women in their 30s (but look like they are in their 50s) at various locations who ask me incredulously "Why aren't you married yet???"
-the one MILF I worked with (if you don't know what a MILF is children, it is a demon-lady who will turn you to stone if you meet her gaze.  It is best to avoid contact at all costs) who was in the office next to me who yelled at her mother for about 15 minutes straight over the phone
-another coworker who incessently felt the need to show me every "sext" from her multiple lovers
-working at a post secondary institution where one of the students ate hand sanitizer RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY VERY OWN EYES


That last one was a mind-cuss.   I was pretty certain that was going to die right then and there.  My life flashed before my eyes, and it consisted of the following:


-me peeing my pants in a snowbank when I was in middle school (GUYS, I WAS TOLD A FUNNY JOKE.  STOP JUDGING)
-me having my first lips-on-lips kiss with a boy (no tongue though, that is gross) in junior high because I forced him to kiss me (ladies if you want something done, DO IT FORCIBLY)
-me walking home from school and eating a baker's dozen of cookies from Subway and crying 


AND LEST WE FORGET


-that time I ran into a glass door because some cute man was flirting with me and I didn't know what to do (stranger danger, right guys??) so I ran away.




After that flash of my past (mainly my awful life in junior high and one lame moment as an adult) I realized my life wasn't really in danger from the Purell-guzzler.  (He and I actually had a neat (read: WEIRD) conversation about the Wayans brothers.)


These jobs are great.  They don't pay amazingly (but money isn't everything, right friends?), but the entertainment value is something to be rivaled.  When I am asked why I am not staying at a certain job, I say because I am a musician.  It is at this point where I get one of two responses.  Either (a) "WOW. THAT IS SO COOL.  SING SOMETHING FOR ME RIGHT NOW!" or "Aww, well when you realize that you can't make a living on music, maybe we will have another job opening for you".




Shockingly, both responses make me angry.


Even more shockingly, I always have the exact same response for both of their responses.


No thanks.


Not only am I working my butt off for the weekend, I am working my butt off for the things that make me happy in my life.  Shockingly, that isn't making tons of money and moving up the corporate ladder.


Until next time I get placed in some ridiculous spy -like work scenario,


That girl who is working for Loverboy- er- the weekend. 

A public apology from me. The NON-blogger.

I realize that I haven't been a great blogger.

I haven't even friggin blogged (is that a term?) for almost a YEAR.

Yet I noticed today that I have had over 100 page views in the last month.

WHAT?!?!

That makes absolutely no sense at all, especially seeing that I haven't even been looking at my own page.

SO WHO KEEPS CHECKING BACK?!?!?

Lord only knows. I keep picturing someone waking up every Goddamned morning like it's friggin Christmas or something hoping for a present under their metaphorical tree.  But alas, no matter how many times they refresh this page there are no new posts.

NOTHING.




So this post is for you, you creepy, excitable internet stalker you.

2012 IS HERE!!  *shoots imaginary guns into the sky (or in my case an imaginary ninja on the ceiling)*

...so are we going to all die in horrible and unimaginable ways this year?  No no.  Well, Maybe some of you *wink*, but definitely not me because...

THIS IS MY YEAR!!!


So how many of you have heard someone say that before?

"Last year was okay, but this year I feel it.  This year is MY year.  It will be the year of ME."

Ummmm... yeah.... right.....sure....

I'd love to crawl inside these weirdos' brains and see how long the hamster has been dead on the wheel.  Seriously though, wouldn't it be safe to say that every year is "your" year because you are still alive and able to continue on with your existence??

Secret: I did kind of say that to myself this year.

But ONLY after I had a mild nervous breakdown 2 weeks into this glorious year.  So, I think it's okay.

....right?

No.  There is no excuse for the fact that I want 2012 to be "the year of me".  But just hear me out, k?

I started this year with some major changes being thrown at me (the specifics aren't necessary here... sorry all of my stalkers) and I felt that there were many important aspects of my life that were completely out of my control.  I was just running around with life happening around me and I was just out of reach from everything I really cared about.  So I did what any 27-year old woman would do:

I sat on the floor of my living room in complete darkness and wept like a wee baby.  (to be fair, I think that is better than a lot of amazing 27-year olds I look up to... Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and Nat Jaffe... (look him up))

I quickly realized that I couldn't live this way so I made a list (ask my stalkers - I LOVE LISTS) of all the things out of my control with all the possible outcomes of these things.  I finished the note, and stared at it.  Everything was now in within my control because all the outcomes were clearly listed on paper.  Somehow that helped me get back on track.

PHEW.

So here I am, almost one month into 2012, and I am feeling like I am ready to take on the world.  And I will.  Because it's all within my control.

Until the next time I need to be a bit more introspective (I promise this won't be what I post about all the time),

The girl who is making every year our year.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

P.S.  I thought I would also put together a small list (see?!?! I LOVE EM!) of some hilarious moments since I last posted:

-the time the guy came into the clinic I was temping at and legit flirted with me while explaining he needed to get an STD check from "all the ladies" he'd been with
-the time my dishwasher exploded and all I could do was say "holy shit" repeatedly
-I pushed my car with my kayak strapped to the roof to a new dwelling
-I went out of my way to grab cats
-I played a music gig where I also got to be in an old saloon fight
-The local radio mentioned me as I was stepping out of the shower
-I started making jam and set my stove on fire

Once you leave home, you can never go back...well you can, you just have to be half in the bag.

Happy belated E-weekend (Easter weekend)!  

Happy belated E-day (Earth Day)! 

And Happy almost E-day (Election day)!

This past weekend I decided to take a trip to my hometown Winnipeg, Manitoba. I don’t know about the rest of the world, but I LOVE flying. (Is it because of the feeling of freedom you get from flying above the world for a few hours? Maybe.  Is it the idea of however much you drink before and during your flight being amplified ten-fold and you being able to get away with anything because (similarly to the idea of “international- water”) you are in international water-air?  YES.  YES IT IS.)  So in keeping with the theme of the weekend (the theme being drinking wine and going mental...) I am writing this blog on the airplane while drinking some lovely red table wine.  Let’s see how this goes...

Glass number 1:

Going home for me is always the best gong-show of my life.  Somehow it seems that because I am only home for a short period of time I end up seeing my family at their craziest (which is an almost deadly amount for most, not for me though!).  There will be wine, food, laughs, gross jokes, awkward moments (this usually follows the wine...) where family secrets get exposed (my cousin has a baby?!?  HA!  YEAH!  SECRETS!)

This time was no different.  I told members of my extended family all of the hilarious attempts my mom has made to get me to “find a man who can support you and your crazy artistic ways” ... I shall only give one example, and it was the introduction to my life with my mother:

I was 16.  My mother asked me to go with her to a social (don’t know what a social is?  If you don’t, YOU HAVEN’T LIVED.  Also, it is just a big party at a community hall where people drink and eat chips and dance and bid on silent auction prizes an drink and drink.  And usually the money made from that goes towards a wedding or something lame)

Glass number 2:

Shall we get this out of the way now?  When I was 16, I looked an awful lot like a soccer mom (more so than I do now, if you can believe that).  I didn’t have a heck-load of friends, and I LOVED school.  I was a complete loser, some would say (“Look at me now” Is what I would scream to them, then I would hold up a picture of my cats and wipe the tears from my face)

At this social was a bunch of my mother’s co-workers.  And I had a few drinks (I won’t lie, I started early with my love for wine.  AND LOOK WHERE I AM NOW!)  And I was a dancing FREAK.  People must’ve thought that my mom’s best friend (ie. ME) was just a partying superfreak.  And I was.  Then the slow song came on (I’ll never forget it, The Beatles “Let It Be”) and a lovely man asked me to dance.  

WHAT?!?

Here I am, the girl who is 16 years old, never kissed a boy, a girl who was certain she would marry a wrestler from the WWF (Rowdy Roddy Piper or Brett Hart to be exact) about to dance with a grown man.  

THIS IS MY ONE SHOT AT LOVE.  DON’T BLOW IT, WALKER.

So I dance with this guy, and after that song is done is THE LAST SONG OF THE NIGHT.

WHAT?!?

Glass numbwr 3:: 

(IT’s getting hardder to type.  With the planes, and the drinks.  Just saying...)

What happens after this song is over? (The song, by the way was Journey’s “Open Arms”.  A classic love song.) As the song ended, the lovely man says to me,

“I’d love to see you again; could I ask you on a date?”

And to which I reply, “You’d have to ask my mom” 

As I point to my mother, standing proudly, watching her daughter “fall in love”.

That lovely man had all the colour drain from his face.

He was so close to statutorily dating me it was scary.  

Later did I realize that my mother told him he should ask me to dance, without adding I was (a) her daughter or (b) a minor.  Neither of this fazed good ol’ mommy.  THIS is just one awesome example of the stories weshare at in opportune times with my famil.y.  

Neddleless to say, it was a fun time.

Glass numbe r4: 

...

Glass n 5:

Sorrry bout htat.. I was looking out the wind ow that last glass.  I wish I could tell time by glas;ses of wines.  “It’s four glasses of wines passt noon”  That is now my official my catchhgphrase.  

I thmnk I ned a a nap.

I reaslly lorve you guysm.  Yous know that, right?!

Whrees’ the baarf bag?  Jusst incase..

I hsould go now.  Did I mention I loves you gutys? 

Sincerely from 3000000000 fett up in the aiir (sr somethings like that) ,

Someonw who should not be drunk flying/bloggin./living// 

I am just going to keep typing so that the weird guy next to me thinks I am busy and stops staring at me...

But I cannot help but glance his way every few seconds.  Is he dead? (no...I can see his chest heaving under his double-breasted suit jacket)  Is he blind? (no... he is holding "No Exit"by Satre...).  Well that narrows it down... he doesn't have a chaperone, so he mustn't be harmful.  Yet. 

Why am I writing this?

Because if I go missing tonight and end up cut up into small bite-size chunks while some lunatic wears his brand new "Lindsey skin-suit", at least we will all be able to sleep a bit better at night knowing that I saw this coming.  

I have started to make the trek out to my new favourite coffee shop (it's a Starbucks... SURPRISE!  I know, I am so very unoriginal...) every week or so to work on my "career" (which somehow involves me writing in this blog about some young man gawking at me...).  I have decided to trek out into the urban wilderness because I have found that the more time I spend sitting at home at my computer, the more time I spend watching ridiculous videos on youtube ("Cats with thumbs?"  YES PLEASE! "Cats talking to each other"?  OF COURSE!! "How to massage your cat"? WEIRD, BUT OKAY!), drinking copious amounts of wine, and attempting to make my cats have thumbs.  And talk to each other.  But NOT massaging them (What do you take me for, some kind of weirdo?!?)  Do you see me being a huge rock star after doing that on a regular basis? (I guess I do, but my only fans would be my cats and the only songs I would write would consist of me screaming at my fridge until hoarse...) 

So here I am, taking that first step to the first day of the rest of my life.

And he is still staring!  STOP IT!!! 

Sorry. Back to the task at hand...

I have even armed my ADD self with a to-do list while I am at said Starbucks.  1) Drink coffee (check!) 2) Get money to record my album (or should I say FINISH recording my album...) working on that. 3) Drink more coffee (check!) 4) Begin writing my memoirs (you never know when a booking agent will ask for them...) 5) Drink more coffee (check!)  6) Leave, feeling accomplished (check- wait, I didn't get anything done except this friggin blog!)

Maybe the to-do list was a little over-zealous.  

I will just continue to sit and type.  

And try to not let this weirdo peer into my soul.  But my God he is close.

HE IS ALSO READING ABOUT EXISTENTIALISM.  Shit. 

On a side note,  SUMMER IS GOING TO BE HERE AND THAT MEANS I CAN YELL ABOUT IT IN MY BLOG!!!!

And I must admit, like most sane people, I love summer.  

I bet "stare-y McHannibal/Twitchell - wannabe" has the burning hatred for summer that would heat a thousand white-hot suns.  Eek. 

Now I don't love summer just for the dresses, large hats, hot dogs, and stray cats I will find, but also for the blessing that my new day-job provides: 

Being located beside a Fire Station.  

Now, I never fully understood why women had such an unrequited love for firemen (here's a childhood memory... every week my mother would make some sort of baking for the firefighters and we would walk over and give them the baking... my mother always told me it was to thank them for "the service" they provided the community.  Now I fully understand that that "service" was to carry large hoses and smile at my mother when she walked by everyday...) I am now learning how EVERY SINGLE PERSON can be attracted to them.  My new life goal (and now the only thing on my bucket list) is to (I have to get the timing down for this...) but I will run out into the street when they pull their fire engine out to respond to a call and they will hit me with their vehicle.  

Yep, I went there.

Now, I will begin extensive training to make sure I won't die, but I will strive to be unconscious for at least a few minutes and stop breathing so that one of them (they would be the first responders...) would have to give me mouth to mouth.

Yep, I went there too.

Then I'll have amnesia.

And they all can nurse me back to health.  

My life dream.

Now, why am I here at Starbucks again?  Never mind.  I will just pretend to be talking on the phone with my husband the firefighter who is very overprotective and if anyone ever laid a hand on me he would hunt them down and give them a stern talking to because he is a lover not a fighter (I guess I got a bit carried away there for a moment...) so that Dr. Creepshow over there will stop planning to eat my brains with a nice Shiraz (just to spice it up).

I take all of that back.

His mega-hot girlfriend just walked in.  WHAT, AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH?!?! I WAS PLAYING HARD TO GET! 

Jerk. I bet he is also bad in bed.

Yep.  Sadly, I went there.

Now that I am all worked up, I should grab another coffee, and watch a few more cat videos on youtube.  

Until next time I am hopped up on 4 cups of coffee,

That girl at the Starbucks who isn't doing any work and thinks the guy with the lazy eye is going to kill her.