So today in Halifax . . .

There was a truck on fire downtown (Photos here.).

Then a suspicious package was called in a short distance away, but when the police checked it out it was just a briefcase (News story here.).

It’s like . . . It’s like Halifax is under attack by terrorists who are really bad at this whole terrorism thing.

Totally an improvement, right?

Totally an improvement, right?


You should draw me some bees. <3

I fell fast asleep.
My penguin I could not keep.
As he leaves I weep.

Google Chrome suggested that I change ‘penguin’ to ‘pegging’. What?


It was my birthday earlier this week and a friend of mine drew this for me!


Which is less helpful: Empty praise or baseless criticism?

Having seen more than my share of both in my time, I’ve recently started pondering the effects of those kinds of uninformed opinions and the effects they have on a person.

Empty praise is the result of good intentions, but as we all know good intentions by themselves rarely ever lead to anything that’s actually . . . Good. Being told that you have a talent that you don’t actually possess can cause you to waste your time pursuing something that you no interest or marketable talent in which could lead to a feeling of a life led running in the wrong direction. However, sometimes some arguably undeserved praise early on in the pursuit of your goal can give you the drive to keep going. Sometimes the key to success is simply being too stupid to know when to give up as the old saying goes.

Baseless criticism is extremely, extremely common. Just post your works onto any online forum made for people to judge works of your medium and you’ll learn the hard way within hours. If that doesn’t effect your self-esteem at least a little bit then you’re a stronger person than I. This sort of thing drives many people away from doing what they love. With that said though if absolutely nobody thinks you have a particular talent that you believe that you have . . . There’s a chance that they may be right.

Personally I pay more attention to my critics than those who praise me. Sure, part of it may be personal insecurities, but sometimes it’s just easier to sift through endless criticisms for something that’s well-written and informative than to ponder who’s praising me because they feel that they should for whatever reason,  y’know? Not that I don’t enjoy genuine praise of course!


Some of the bees are actually bears! Ahhhhh!

Ever have that thought that just rewrites your childhood?

My mother, sister and myself moved around quite a bit throughout my early years. I spent my preteens in a small farming community and before that I lived in a trailer park for a few years. My teens were spent entirely in one of those tiny fishing villages that Nova Scotia is frequently associated with.

Growing up I never felt at home. Somehow I was a city kid trapped in the countryside despite never having actually lived in a city. The slow paced rural life always bored me, and living in a fishing village with an ever-increasing higher percentage of homes being owned by those who only intended on living there in the summer didn’t exactly help to create any illusions of excitement. Once I turned 18 I set about fixing this as quickly as I could which resulted in me living in a nearby town for a couple of months before moving to The Halifax Regional Municipality.

A year and a half or so at the age of 24 I was living with a couple of friends of mine in Halifax. It was the first time I had lived in a full-sized apartment building with a double-digit number of floors, balconies, shitty superintendents, etc. One day I got off the elevator on the eight floor and was walking down the hallway back to our place when a thought hit me and I stopped dead in my tracks to ponder it aloud.

“Wow. This single building has a larger population than my entire hometown.”

It took me a couple of days to get over that one.


Funnily enough a friend of mine who is from the same village sent me several pictures last night. I’ll start with this mspaint bee straight from my nightmares. Thanks Danny!


Just like the wheat,
I sure am beat.
That’s right, I’m freestylin’,
Time to move your feet!

I’m gonna rock it all the way live,
While I’m getting ready to jive.
The mic is in one hand,
The other is slapping you a five.

Don’t look at me like I’m a mutt,
It’s totally my turn to strut.
My rhymes are going to hit you
Square in the gut.

But you have nothing to fear,
Come lend me your ear.
Here are some words,
That I hold quite dear.

Are you listening now hun?
Good, let’s have some fun.
Stay as I dispense wisdom,
I don’t wanna see you run.

Good, I’m about to start.
My words will fly true like a dart.
I got a better selection of lyrics,
Than your local Wal-Mart.

This is for my biggest fan,
From every woman to every man.
It’s time to start this show,
It’s time to show that I can!

*Drops mic and walks off stage left*


Another picture from the local Lolita group featuring bees drawn left-handed. Thanks everyone (This time don’t just hotlink the image ha ha.)! ❤

How did I get a whiff of body odor off of that SUV that drove by?‏

The rest of the morning that was all I could think about. How did I confuse the smell of vehicle exhaust with that of human sweat?

After a couple hours of sitting at my desk I finally noticed something was off. Where was this faint smell of wet grass coming from? Moving my head around slowly whilst sniffing led me to notice that it was coming from my monitor? That’s just weird.

Do my hands smell funny? That is always on my mind even at the best of times. I looked around to make sure nobody would notice because I’m sure sniffing my monitor didn’t already make me look weird, and I held my hands over my mouth and nose as I took a huge huff of the . . . What was that smell? I hadn’t smelled anything like that since I used to live down the road from a pig farm.

I ran to the bathroom to wash my hands, wondering all the while why the hallways smelled like the open highway. I slammed my body through the door and ran the water on it’s hottest temperature. As I noticed the water smelled like burnt rubber I realized that for some reason my brain was registering random smells that didn’t match what I was actually smelling. Soaping my hands up with soap that smelled like a shaggy carpet that was just vacuumed caused me to break.

I shut off the lights and retreated to a bathroom stall while crying. This dark space is my home now, and constant olfactory torture is the only thing I know. The last thing I smelled before I passed out from my frenzied stupor is the smell of an asteroid breaking through the ozone layer.

I wake up in a grassy field. And only the panda suit remains.


This excellent piece was made by all around awesome super-mom Laura! She also has a great blog that she needs to update more about her weight-loss journey. Go encourage her to do that here!