Unfortunately, I am better than 50 Cent at dodging bullets. Or surviving them. Or whatever he did.

I am not dead, contrary to popular belief…

I am just too high on shopping and fear to blog. I will fill you in on the sordid details of the last few days when I am in Vancouver.

As in, on Thursday.

I think I will reply to comments that day as well, but to be honest, I’m too lazy and I’ll probably be out looking for a fresh, young college boy to abduct and enslave for my own evil purposes.

Mmmmmmh.

Gimme just one second.

Okay I’m back.
Seriously, you people can’t be mad. I am the most frequent blogger you know. Just stop whining, okay?

Okay seriously, you’re gunna threaten me with SUICIDE???

I don’t get it, how is YOUR suicide gunna harm ME???

JUMP!!!

Hahaha bet you didn’t see that pitchfork waiting at the bottom.

(which I didn’t put there because, come on, I’m not secretly turned on by intestines being strewn everywhere while the owner of the intestines writhes in pain and then their eyes roll backwards and they cry out in agony and then they finally die. Mmmmmmmh.)

Really, I am the worst person, I enjoyed that mental image of my particularly psychotic readers flinging themselves off a windowledge.

Aaaah. Cheap thrills.

Okay. I am now kissing you all, readers. Me and my big glossy disgusting lips cuz you all know the plane may or may not plunge into the Atlantic. Please pray to your various deities about this. I hear the shopping in Vancouver is awe-fricking-some.

To stay updated, you might wanna consider following me on Twitter.

But then.. yoo know.. TMI and all.. Whatever floats your boat, you know?

NO REALLY, JUST FRICKIN FOLLOW ME OKAY???

Thank you.

EDIT: I haven’t packed anything. Lazy? No, no. STUPID.

EDIT: I take that back. I am NOT stupid. Just.. you know… borderline-neurotic. No biggie.

EDIT: Tomorrow should be super-interesting.

The Next Big Thing to Hit the Big Screen (and TV screens and pirated DVDs and possibly copycat telenovelas)

So… you guys remember how I am writing a book, right?

I am having a small problem with that, eh, because THERE IS NOTHING SUPERNATURAL ABOUT MY BOOK.

No wizardry.

No sparkly vampires.

No normal vampires.

No angels that come down to earth to live among us.

No blue things.

NOT EVEN A WEREWOLF.

This is bad, because that’s all anyone is interested in these days – the supernatural – and don’t forget, I am only writing this book in the hopes that it’ll get made into a movie and make me JKRowling RICH.

What, everyone wants money.

So initially I had thought about turning all my current characters into vampires, but then I realized that vampires are big THIS year, and my book probably won’t be done until September 7th 2011 (my twentieth birthday party and book launch) so I have to think about what will be trending NEXT year…

So I have decided to add an entire chapter in my book about teenage zombies.

SEXY teenage zombies.

(TM; Copyright; All Rights Reserved; Patent Pending etc etc)

Because you know what? I can totally see tweens going crazy over a guy named Gareth who died but had to come back to life to pursue the love of his life but then he had to take over somebody else’s body so he ended up taking over some guy named Lorenzo’s body, but it turned out that while Gareth was dead, the love of his life, Sophie, had fallen in love with Lorenzo so now Gareth is confused about whether or not Sophie loves him for him or for Lorenzo but he can’t risk coming to her in zombie form cuz that’s just freaky so he enlists the help of his zombie friends who he met in the cemetery to go take over her friends’ bodies and convince her that Lorenzo is bad for her so that she can get over Lorenzo, but then one of the zombie-friends ends up falling in love with Sophie and the other zombie falls in love with Gareth who is now Lorenzo and pretty soon it’s a love… 1-2-3-4-5.. um… love-square-plus-one.

See?

It has all the aspects of a bestselling book, blockbuster movie and hit TV series!

Lies, backstabbing, sordid relationships, and ZOMBIES!!!

I know you are all doubtful about the zombie thing, but wait till September 2011!!! THE UNDEAD ARE GUNNA BE BIG!!!

And I cannot emphasize this enough, but these are gunna be SEXY teenage zombies, okay? Not weird-looking like that-girl-that-wants-her-boyfriend-to-bite-her-and-eat-her-soul, NO! Proper sexy-ass zombies!

I already know who I want to play the star roles in the movie.

"Lorenzo"

"Gareth"

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Aaaaaaaaaaaand, the lovely girl that gets to be in the middle of the sordid love triangle with these two lovely lovely specimens is….

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"Sophie"

Yeah, since Gareth is gunna spend most of the movie trapped in Lorenzo’s body and kissing Sophie through Lorenzo’s lips, it is in my best interests for Ne-Yo to be Lorenzo so we can kiss passionately and just be in love and prance around and little girls all over the world will want to be Sophie like like once wanted to be Bella because I tell you, this is like nothing you have ever seen..

It’s gunna be a sexy teenage zombie drama-come-rama, which is my new word for something that is half-drama, half-comedy, half-romance.

And yes, that adds up to one-and-a-half, which just shows how BAD_ASS this book is gunna be.

In stores September 2011

P.S. Ey, when E! comes interviewing you for my True Hollywood Stpry please remember that I was the cool girl you always watched from a distance. Anyone that mentions my (a) fat thighs (b) nappy hair or (c) the state of my face when I have a cold, will die of.. ahem.. natural causes.

Be sure.

The expression “FML” is soon gunna belong to me

Beautiful, beautiful, NAIROBI!!!

I’m back, baby!

I know some of you are just like, “Huh? What? Back from where? Huh???” and to you, I say, “WTF? IF YOU WERE FOLLOWING ME ON TWITTER LIKE I TOLD YOU TO, THERE WOULD BE NO CONFUSION ON THE MATTER!!!” and then I shoot you.

LOL jk, I just spit on you.

ANYWAY, where was I? (pun intended. Darn Angel.. you are so punny!)

Yes, yes, I was in the Maasai Mara.

Why?

“Because you have to see the wildebeest migration! It is one of the wonders of the world! Mzungus pay lots of money to come here and see, and you just want to go without seeing..???” ~ Ma’s excuse for this random trip

Hindsight is a good thing, because now I know that immediately after this statement, I should have fallen to my knees and torn out my hair weave, begging for mercy, mercy, MERCY!!!

The mara is horrible.

Wildebeest are horrible.

And wtf? Is it wildebeest (plural) or wildebeests, cuz ‘wildebeests’ sounds retarded. Also, if anyone is wondering, my mom pronounces it “Wilder beasts”. So it was “the wilder beasts are coming” and “take a picture of the wilder beasts” and “I have never seen wilder beasts than these wilder beasts” Ok, not that last one hee hee. Was anyone wondering? Doesn’t matter, I already said it.

Ok let me recount the horrible horrific horrors of the horrid mara.

Getting there was an unprecedented horror. Swear down the next time someone calls my shagz “BUNDUZ”, I will hunt you down, kill you and eat you. The maasai mara is the DEFINITION of bunduz. And I don’t just mean the park. After Narok, things were tres horrible. And if Narok is your shagz, I am so sorry. I’m sure you did nothing to deserve it.. but… HEAT, DUST, NOISE.. and when it rains, FLOODS AND LANDSLIDES carry your children away…? Really…? I am so so sorry.

Anyway. Let’s skip to the worst worst bit.

Dad, mom and I set off from the hotel on Saturday afternoon, leaving my brother and sister on full relaxation mode. So we drove almost 40km from the hotel to the river crossing point, (and mind you this is no ordinary 40 km. This is the kind of 40km that takes 2.5 hours to cover, that is full of bumps and dust and heat, that should never be attempted at home) and then we ran into a tourvan coming back from the crossing point…

and guess what?

No, really. Guess what?

THE WILDEBEEST WERE NOT CROSSING.

Ehe, no lie. They were just STANDING THERE, RIGHT NEXT TO THE RIVER, but not crossing. And they had been crossing every day for a week prior to this.

Which further validates my theory that everything in the world works together to spite me.

(On a side note, wildebeest are SO UGLY!!! So so super-dooper ugly that I have lost my eyesight, and I am tapping away on a braille keyboard. Stupid hump-backed half-striped grey-brown creatures, HOW DARE THEE STAND ME UP??? Just like Rebecca Loos is the armpit of womanhood, so are YOU the armpit of wildlife!!! I hope that when you DO decide to cross, the crocodiles eat all their young ones. And then the Serengeti lions eat all the mom-ones. Then the males can all be depressed and lonely and turn gay. Heh heh. Only then shall I be happy.)

Oh, btw? All that suffering.. and the following is the conclusive list of animals I saw:

1. Wildebeest (the not-crossing kind) (about 17 gazzillion of them)

2. Buffalo

3. Zebra

4. Giraffe

5. Monkey

6. Hippo

Other people staying at our hotel managed to see:

1. Wildebeest

2. Buffalo

3. Zebra

4. Giraffe

5. Monkey

6. Hippo

7. Leopard

8. Lion (and they watched it stalk and kill a wildebees. Yay lion do your job!)

As you can see, I saw everything BUT the all-action animals. Yes, yes, because I get a kick out of watching hippos sunbathe lazily. Yes, riveting stuff. No lions-killing-things for me, no no. FAR TOO BORING.

Seriously. No one else in the world should ever say “FML”. Ever.

In other (happier) news, I am going to Vancouver in… NINE DAYS.

Good thing: no wildebeest.

EDIT: Ok, it wasn’t all bad, eh. The hotel was BEAUTI-FRICKIN-GORGEOUS-FUL and the food was even bettr. And it takes a lot to top beauti-frickin-gorgeous-ful. I ate so much good food that my life is hanging by a thread due to the sudden obesity. Please donate a Snickers bar to the Save-The-Blogger Foundation, which helps make greedyguts bloggers like me feel better about their impending death.

I wonder what it feel like to be a poop-coloured piece of…

I am in a foul mood. Some people really have no manners.

Okay, has any of you guys been to the ladies bathroom at crossroads mall, Karen?

No?

Ok, here is a basic floor plan I drew up for your pleasure and enjoyment.

I made this with Paint on Windows! Good or what?

As you can see, our mall’s washroom only has three stalls. The number of stalls is disproportionate to the number of people that live in Karen, but THAT’S BESIDES THE POINT.

Okay. You know how you can go into the washroom and all three stalls are occupied? Then more people come in as you wait for a stall to free up? Say, for example, there are five people waiting for the bathroom. There are two modes of etiquette as to WHO GETS PRIORITY when a stall frees up.

OPTION #1

People may line up according to the stalls they wish to occupy, like so.

You stand in front of the stall you wanna go in to.

I realize my dots are way too close to the stall doors. LOL imagine coming out and finding a line of people so close to the door chineke! How scary.

OPTION #2

People line up according to the order in which they came into the washroom. First stall to free up goes to the first person to come in.

If stall 1 frees up first, then the red dot gets it.

THESE ARE THE ONLY TWO WAYS THIS CAN BE DONE.

I wanna complain about some women with no manners at all. Please, if you know a female that goes to Crossroads at all, LET HER KNOW that she should read this blog today because SWEAR DOWN the next person that behaves like (below) will die at my hand.

There is no excuse for behaviour like this:

People are doing Option 2, waiting patiently and then YOU, Miss Shit-Coloured dot, come in and decide to do Option 1???

This (above) situation happened to me. I am the red dot, of course, and the STUPID SHIT-COLOURED DOT IS A STUPID SHIT-FACED IGNORANT FOOL who decided to break the rules.

SERIOUSLY, what the hell is your POINT, exactly?

What, do you honestly think the rest of us were standing there in a line FOR FUN? What, do you think we were lining up for the opportunity of seeing you walk past us?

If you are reading this and you behave like the shit-coloured dot, really, pay attention.

FATE AND NATURE AND GOD are on the side of those who play fair.

How do I know this?

Because Stall 2 freed up first.

And the brown dot went in.

And then Stall 1 freed up, and I went in.

AND when I came out, the green dot had gone into Stall 2 after the brown one.

Meaning?

THE SHIT-COLOURED DOT STILL PEED LAST.

Ha ha.

HA HA HA.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!

I advise you, Miss Shit, to only pull such stunts on a Sunday so it’s the after-church crowd, who let their God fight for them… next time, I hope you go in on a Thursday so a godless atheist gives you a piece of her mind.

Stupid rule-breaker.

_______________________________________________________

I have one more (unrelated) thing to say.

Stupid Person on their Facebook: Some people are such attention-seekers, writing out their nervous breakdowns on their blogs, then suddenly they get better, just to get attention… *blah  blah irrelevant presumptuous nonsense*

Me (in a comment): Look who’s giving it to me?

Them: Oh, not you, Angel. I love your blog, I’m talking about another blog I read, so stupid. Are you okay? I was just going to inbox you to check on you. When are you leaving.. *blah blah blah stupid pretentious nonsense*

Me: *rolls eyes rudely*

Them: <blocks me>

Ha ha. Yawn -_-

Tadadadummm! (*ominous music playing*)

I WILL KEEP BLOGGING (^_^)

Yes, yes, I too am peeing myself in glee. Momentarily, the entire world will be drowning in the gleeful urine flowing out of me and my blog readers, but mostly me, because I pee a lot when I am ecstatic.  Ask my cat, who was jolted awake by the sudden wetness… it turns out cats don’t like wetness, which is why I only have one eye now.
BUT I DIGRESS!!!

Shalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala!

I am a happy one-eyed camper!

Okay, okay, I will explain. (Sorry, I know your dyslexia is serious.)

You are all far too kind. And you really underestimate me. I’m very smart, you know I’d have figured it out! Plus you people are my friends now! Really! I like having friends!

You didn’t have to say the blog was mine and all mine. Or that I could say anything I wanted and be snore-inducing boring and it’d still be okay. YOU KNOW THAT’S NOT TRUE. You people are hungry for laughter.

The point isn’t that you LIKE ME BETTER when I’m funny/fun/wonderful/magical/too-good-to-be-true. That’s natural. No one likes a bore. The point is that YOU COME BACK ANYWAY. Even after you read some of my boring posts, you still COME BACK.

Because you’re hopelessly in love with me.

Which is okay. You will note that there is a new page up there, after “Click here to insult me” and “Essential Info for Stalkers“… Yep, that really does say “The Fan Club” where you can meet and greet fellow stalkers, and share your experiences, expressing your undying and unfailing love for ME. Visit that page. Acceptance is the key to recovery.

Oh my. Digression is my hidden talent. Where was I?

Yes, the point is that you come back. And that’s enough for me.

I’m not gunna keep lying to everybody. I don’t blog just for me any more. In some ways, I feel more like a writer than a blogger, and that isn’t too bad, is it? This is kind of our blog now. (Note: This does not mean I will share my numerous awards with you, okay? My 7^th place trophy is mine and mine alone. Okay? As is the free credit I won yesterday.)

You will be pleased to note that I will continue to blog dutifully, and pump you full of my theories. I will also be superficial as hell and put up gorgeous pictures of my zits and my fat fat self, and also I will whine about fatness! ALL THE TIME. You will even feel fatter after reading this blog. FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT and ZITS ZITS ZITS ZITS ZITS. And maybe… MAYBE… a boy. Sounds good, eh? I’ll write, okay? Because now I’m so pathetically dependent on this blog that it disgusts me.

But I’ll give myself breaks whenever I wanna, because I’m a tortured artist, okay? Being reclusive comes with the territory. (I’ll be retreating to a lonely villa, in case any eligible bachelors are reading. EMAIL ME, honey.)

Why will I keep at it? Because, as I have mentioned before in this blog (read the damn archives, okay?), it is a fact* that HALF OF THE BRAIN CELLS IN THE WORLD BELONG TO ME, and I have a dream, that one day the children of smart people will burn the children of stupid people under the midnight skies, laughing gleefully as the brains of the stupid people make delightful pop noises as the constituent hydrogen is combusted. *ahem*

And I will be there to write about that happy day in this blog for the smart posterity to read and be thankful for.

Meaning, you need me. And so do your children.

=)

And if you refer to my first post ever (no link. GO READ THE ARCHIVES.) you will see that I HAVE TO GET FAMOUS FIRST! The nervous breakdown is supposed to happen AFTER I’m famous, Britney-style! *face-palm*

Thus concluding this year’s nervous breakdown. When we revisit this issue in the future, we shall refer to it as THE GREAT PMS OF 2010. Capisce?

By the way, I read through that post from yesterday, and my goodness, it reads like I was BLAMING YOU, dear sweet lovely awesome readers, for my woes. And I know I have caused a great number of suicides because of this misunderstanding! Sorry! You have caused me no pain, readers! (Be sensible, eh? Why die and life has LV bags? Silly people.) THAT WAS THE PMS TALKING!!!

EY, but can a pregnant woman get PMS???

Wait, I shouldn’t have told you that!

=) To another six months of utter trash followed by a nervous breakdown! *clinks glasses*

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P.S. The comments! The lovely blogpost! THE PHONECALLS!!! The one hateful email. I was so overwhelmed yesterday. You guys… you guys… I dunno. Just… MWAH! MWAH MWAH MWAH, okay? MWAH!!! There are good people on the interwebs. I love you all. I really do. If you die, I will attend your funerals and commence theatrics the likes of which have never been seen before. I’m talking the full fling-myself-into-the-grave-along-with-the-casket vibe. No jokes. Smooches xxx

P.P.S. Don’t die, though. I need you to up my readership stats =)

P.P.P.S. Mick. You adorable, adorable thing. I do not know what you’ve done to me by doing nothing at all. But I like it. And I don’t like many things. Feel special. I hope you don’t mind this atrocious shortening of your name. Rhymes with… ah forget it.

P.P.P.P.S. I was gunna say Sick. And you are a Sick pervert if you thought I was gunna say…

P.P.P.P.P.S. Trick. Seriously, people. Get help. Pervs.

To end it or not. THAT is the question.

Okay.
I am so sorry about the post yesterday. I realize it was very vague and unvalidated and might have seemed a little insane.

So I ‘m gunna validate it in this one.

I hope you aren’t here hoping for amusement and theatrics today. Today I’m gunna whine and complain and it won’t be entertaining at all. Go here to find a rich source of stupid things to laugh at.
COMMENCE WEEPINESS.

I feel sad, lately, folks.

Remember when I was so raw and unassuming in this blog? I know a lot of you don’t remember because you are lazy bums and you can’t be bothered to read my archives. A curse upon you and your offspring, may they all be plagued with alopecia and constantly runny noses.

Yeah, my blog wasn’t always quite so.. detached. Don’t you feel the detachment? I do. I feel like I’ve changed and I don’t know if I like the change.

When I started writing this stupid, stupid blog, all I wanted was for it to be the electronic incarnation of my pen-to-paper journal. My beloved diary, online. Remixed and reloaded And it was running at about 50 hits a day in the beginning and that was great. That was more than I’d dared to hope for. I was happy, I was excited.

But, I am an attention-whore and I am greedy. The higher the stats went, the higher I wanted them to go. The day I broke the hundred-a-day mark I cried. I actually cried. But the day I broke the thousand, I felt like it had taken too long.
And then came the sudden popularity. People on FB messaging me, saying they loved my blog. People emailing, people texting, people (eventually) commenting, and the stats suddenly spiked upwards. I was reeling. I couldn’t imagine so many people reading this trash every day.

And the hatemail. They would0 hurt my feelings, still do sometimes. But I’d look at the stats and feel better immediately.

But it’s changed, and so have I.

Remember when I was a complete camwhore? No more. So many people think I’m fat and ugly, so I don’t want to make this blog less perfect by putting up pictures.

Remember when I would always whine about being fat? No more, because people kept guilting me about how girls that were fatter than me would feel bad about themselves if they read it – and I would lose readership.

Remember when I would put down all the sordid, gory details about my boy-chronicles? No more. Not much, anyway. Just the odd Bounty story, because I don’t want to have people pity me because of the stupid, mean things boys do to me.

Remember when I blogged because I needed to? No more. Now I blog because you’ve come to expect it of me, and now I expect it of myself. I blog because when I don’t, I get emails asking if I’m okay. 700-1000 words nearly every single day of my life, out of EXPECTATION.

I write funny things. I’d pick the funniest, or most interesting, part of my day and write it down in my apparently hilarious style, and you people would love me love me love me. And I would love the love.

While I was doing my most stressful exams ever, I wrote about other things and made you laugh. And really let myself go. While I was dealing with a lot of hate about my looks and my weight, I wrote about other things and made your day. And stopped eating. While I was going through a very traumatic breakup, and I was borderline depressed, I wrote one post and that was it. I went back to amusing you. And cried by myself because no one knew I wasn’t okay.

Why? Because I love feeling perfect. And I get more compliments on this blog than I’ve ever got in my life about my looks, my style, my speaking, my anything really, COMBINED.

But I’m tired. I have so many posts in my drafts folder, unpublished, gathering internet-dust, because they weren’t deemed good enough. Captivating enough. Interesting enough. BY ME. I get so frustrated when sometimes I don’t get comments on some posts. I was actually ANGRY with you guys about the blog contest, because I know HUNDREDS of people read this blog regularly (and I have analytics to prove it) but so few of you took a second to vote for me.

Look, I like my style. I like that I make you guys laugh. You make me laugh too. You make me happy. I make you happy. Great. But I want to feel like I can be boring sometimes and that’s okay. I don’t feel like that.

I don’t know what this blog means to me any more.
And I can’t keep breaking myself for something I don’t know how to feel about.
I mean, I’m going to uni, halfway across the world. I am scared out of my mind. I am sad. I miss my family so much already, and I’ve written SEVENTEEN DIFFERENT POSTS about it, which I can’t publish. I can’t. I don’t know why, but I can’t.

I don’t want to feel like this blog is an exam. But I don’t want to feel like no one here actually cares. Writing in my diary never felt bad. I always felt better. Always. This doesn’t always.

So I’m stuck. I don’t know what to do.

To close down this blog or not. THAT is the question.

(-_-)

to close down this blog or not. That is the question.