Push it baby, push it baby, outta control- I got my gun cocked tight and I’m ready to blow

First entry! (Well, not quite… what I really mean to say is: first entry that I will not delete or set on private). Oh dear, my palms are sweating. This is nerve-wrecking, you know… first blog entry. Almost like first day of school or first pay cheque or first… well… you know! Anyway, I just don’t want to add onto the many disappointments in your life… whoops. Sorry. Freudian slip? I mean, you’re probably thinking: “Why do people blog anyway?” Don’t they have diaries with those miniature locks that you can coax open with a hair pin, don’t they have psychiatrists with $2000 love sofas from Ethan Allen, or disturbingly wise ex-Calculus professor mothers they can talk to? Unfortunately for me, I don’t have any of those things… except for the last one. But she’s too busy playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook and planning our lavish summer trip to Europe to talk to me. SIGH.

Have you ever had so many things to do. And I don’t mean “so many” as in enough to fill-up a post-it. I mean “so many” to fill up FOUR post-its (with medium-sized writing, of course). That’s basically me right now… I have four post-its calling my name and in spite of it all, I feel so bored. Bored. I’m bored. I hate that word. Almost as much as I hate “flop” or “embarrassing” (I always forget there’s two ‘r’s!). On top of being work-infested and bored, it is already 11:00PM on a Monday night (translation: my body is about to call it quits) and I must wake up at 9:00AM tomorrow if I want to save myself a 30 minute walk, three dollars, and tar (don’t ask). On a usual blogging day, I would bore you out of your guts about the mundane things I’ve got to do… but since this is my first- I must make a good impression and resist the temptation.

Random thought: Stop cowering away from the potential love of your life! (More on this later…)

Anyway, I’m tired. It’s 11:11. I’m not going to be a fool and make a superficial wish that would only benefit myself. I’ve done that before: it came true and did not feel nice at all because I wanted something more but forgot to add it onto my wish because the 60 seconds between 11:11 and 11:12 is not nearly enough to list all my superfluous desires that I’m too lazy to realize myself. Bottom line is, eleven eleven is a sham. I’m going to start wishing on 7:11’s now. Maybe it’ll give me a slushie.