My Little Friends

In the past few months, my apartment has been dominated by fruitflies.

It started with a few innocent fly-bys.

Armed with the knowledge that fruit flies are nothing but a passing summer nuisance, I shrugged and ignored them, congratulating myself on my outstanding display of tolerance.

As the days went by, I began to notice more and more fruit flies gathering around my sink. True to my morals, I elected not to end their little fruit fly lives in hopes that they would return my favour by leaving the premises: no harm, no foul.

However,

the longer I waited...


the more they multiplied.

Before I knew it, they had even infiltrated my dreams.

At a certain point, even Ghandi wouldn't be able to keep his cool.

After all, what were these fruit flies even doing in my apartment? Who did they think they were?

Sick and tired of living with my 3000 roommates, I pulled out the big guns.

First, a fruit fly trap.

then two,

then...

To Be Alone

The world can be a different place when one is left to their own devices,

free to make whichever decisions suit them best.

As well as decisions that don't necessarily suit them best.

When one is alone, the outside world only exists within the confines of their mind.

Or the contents of a screen.

One may begin to talk to those who cannot listen.

They may ponder life itself for hours on end, or become convinced of their own grandiose or minuscule place in the world. 

But in the end...

Conversation takes two. 

An aversion to awkwardness

I have an abnormal tendency to hate all things awkward.
Of course, no one LIKES awkward situations, but I have taken this "normal" characteristic one step further. You see, I will go to great lengths to avoid a potentially awkward scenario.

As a disgruntled and generally grumpy university student, I have demonstrated my uncanny awkwardness sensors in class:





And also when running errands, such as grocery shopping.






Yes, I certainly hate awkward situations. But don't get me wrong, when it comes down to it, and there's no where else to turn, I will stand up, and I will tell that awkwardness who's boss.



...someday.

The time I left my dog at the corner store

Those who know me well know that I'm a bit of a nut about my birthday. In fact I love it so much that in the few weeks preceding it I find it necessary to share my excitement with anyone who will listen.




So as you can imagine, in the hours before my 13th birthday party, I was pretty excited.





So excited in fact, that when my mom, riddled with my increasing birthday demands and the prospect of 15 preteens, sent me to the store to pick something up, I didn't even protest at all!






When I got to the store, I tied Shadow to the fence and glided into the store.








And skipped back home, drunk on birthday glee.


After arriving home and settling in in preparation for incoming guests, my mom, in between endless birthday chores, interrupted my robotic staring to ask me a question.









Mom: Hey Tess, where's the dog?
Me: I can't believe you would expect me to know such a thing on my birthday.


My originally uninterested attitude suddenly changed course as I found myself thinking. Where WAS the dog? Had my selfish birthday wants and needs distracted us from her accidental escape? Images of lost dog posters and nights filled with endless, yet unsuccessful searches plagued my mind.





Then, of course, the guests started to arrive.








While my parents tried to figure out where the dog could possibly have gone in such a short period of time, I greeted my onslaught of guests with alternating fury and dramatic self-pity.





Upon exhausting the sympathies of my friends, I was about ready to call it a day and smother my sorrows in the copious amounts of candy I had requested in simpler times, when I had a sudden and terrible realization.






I slithered away and headed to the corner store, hoping that I hadn't in fact made a huge deal about the tragedy that was my own absent mindedness.





And there she was, accompanied by a bowl of water and what appeared to be a note from it's provider.

Post Mortem options

Amidst options such as "become a cadaver for med students!" and "donate your organs!" ...



Fun!

Memoirs of a Regular

Since I moved into my current neighbourhood, I've been going to a few of the stores close by quite a bit (aka daily). However, in the past few months, I've become acutely aware of how much of a regular I am at these stores by the greetings I get. I HATE being a "regular". Once you become a "regular" you are obligated to make awkward conversation with and take judgment from people you barely know. And once you're a regular there is no un-regular-ing process! You're doomed to be a regular forever! (Or until you stop going to that store quite so much)

Shoppers

\

Grocery Store

Which really brings me back to that time I used to go to Dominos a lot,

And so, whenever I'm feeling like a little pick me up,

Let's just say there's a process that goes on,

Now, you might say, "Stay home!? But candy! Who cares if they recognize you?" It's easier said than done though, because I'm pretty sure I know what they're really thinking.