Concentrated Awesome

Yesterday, I spent a lot of time blogging about my attempts to overcome my blah mood. I failed. A lot. Today, I was pulled out of my blah mood early in the day when I was reminded of my friend Katydid Howhow. Basically, thinking of her made me realize that I'm a whiny little bitch who deserves some undefinable horror to happen to me for even entertaining the idea of a bad mood when I've been so incredibly blessed in my life.

You see, Katydid has been going through a generally rough time, which you can read about on her blog Bathroombound. The fact that she's going through a lot should already be enough to convince a me that I don't really have the right to be in a bad mood, but, usually bad mood days are also particularly selfish days, so it's usually not. But, what makes it impossible to indulge in a state of utter misery when thinking about her is the fact that she contains more awesome per pound than any person in the history of awesome. Even with her recent weight loss, it seems that rather than losing awesome it's just concentrating into some sort of super dense awesome goo. Apart from hoping that she doesn't lose more weight because of her health, I'm also concerned because I don't know if the awesome can concentrate any further without catastrophic complications for all (like a nuclear bomb times a trillion). Read her blog, you'll see what I mean (not about the catastrophe, but about the awesomeness). Anyways, the point is, you can't be exposed to that much raw awesome without any specs of blah mood being completely obliterated.

I'm not sure exactly when my friendship with Katydid began. I was aware of her existence for a long while before we actually spoke, because she's one of those people you just know. Since I'm one of those people who likes to hide behind things and let people imagine I'm mute, I don't know if she was aware of my existence. Somehow, this year, we went from potentially aware of each others existence to joking every time we met that we hadn't seen each other in so long, when usually it had been maybe a day. That was our thing. When suddenly I actually wasn't seeing her in December, I assumed that she had become bored of our standard joke and was ducking into doorways and hiding behind plants when she saw me coming. It's one of those problems with being ginger, people can avoid you without difficulty since your translucent skin and fiery hair are easily spotted from a distance.

Eventually, I learned that she was not hiding from me, but I wish she had been, because stories of avoiding gingers probably would make-up an equally good blog and involve less overall pain for her. However, the amount of concern that I have about her is less than I would for any other person, due to the aforementioned superhuman levels of awesome, which make me believe she can survive 10000x what the average person could. I have seen nothing in happen in the last few months that could negate this theory. I haven't excessively theorized about where she might have come from, but I have a few ideas: one of those random Zeus affairs with human that pop up in Greek mythology so often and produce Hercules and the like, some sort of secret government experiment created by combining the DNA of John Lennon, Albert Einstein and Jim Henson, or, the most likely, she is a figment of my imagination. The third one would have been exciting, because she could have been my Fight Club alter-ego and we could have lived together in a creepy old house raising an army and making soap. Sigh. But, others seem aware of her, so it doesn't seem so likely. Another dream shattered. I'm hoping that when she's doing better, she might still consider doing it anyways (making soap I mean, not becoming my alter-ego, due to the impossibility), because it would be fun.

Apart from needing to write about the fact that her mere existence pulled me out of my funk, I'm blogging today because she's going in for surgery soon. I would give an exact date, but it would reveal my ultimate weakness, which is my inability to figure out Facebook countdowns. 5 days from a status posted on Thursday is....Christmas? Sometimes I think all countdowns lead to Christmas. I'm wrong. The point is, if you have some extra positive energy lying around, please send it to her, because, when she comes out the other end of this, she is going to be a terrifying force to reckon with, since from what I hear, what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger, and she was already pretty damn strong. So, let us send her some positive energy so that she's a happy terrifying force to reckon with, instead of the type that will opt for world domination and enslavement of the human race. As well as me requesting positive thoughts, I believe she has requested blood donations, but I don't think you're supposed to actually send it directly to her. I think I might try anyways, I do know where to find it.

Happy song of the day: Better Things by The Kinks. I actually discovered it listening to a Kinks cover album, so I also love the Fountains of Wayne version, since it's the first I heard. It actually manages to perfectly walk the line between happy and saccharine, or so I believe. It's best listened to while dancing like a crazy person. I myself opt for a lot of jumping and spinning, with some wild arm actions. It might just be the general increase in blood flow to the brain, but I can't get through this one without feeling like a thousand kinds of amazing.

First mobile post...woot.

Today I'm flying back to Toronto after my exciting trip to BC to visit Shamus, Lilliput and the little one. Again, I am shocked at how boring an airport can be. I mean, people are friggin' flying here. We're not supposed to be able to do that. And yet nothing interesting is happening. However, I am enjoying the old top 40 music they have playing. I love Outkast. I can't believe no one is shaking it like a polaroid picture. This is only increasing my airport disappointment.

By the way, I'm writing this on my iPod and planning to attempt to publish directly from it when I reach Edmonton, so that if something goes horribly wrong, at least I'll know that I didn't fail my 9 followers. I tell you this because although I've become very good at catching most of the wrong autocorrections and tiny keyboard typos, I still manage to miss some occasionally, so please don't silently and/or vocally judge me on my grammar, the way I most likely would were
our positions reversed.

Still in Abbotsford, still nothing happening. I think they should stage fake crashes, because then we could have the pleasure of being horrified briefly, but then the pilot could jump out and maybe do a somersault, followed by a quick jingle about how he's not dead. Kind of like Willy Wonka. But hopefully our pilot will be less willing to have passengers randomly drowning in chocolate or require juicing. More candy would help with the interest factor though.

While I'm on the topic of Willy Wonka, I think it's important to note how much Wonkavision irritates me. Every time I watch that part of the movie I think that I would much rather drive to get a humongous chocolate bar than have it magically appear on TV. Such a waste of chocolate. I mourn it every time, and I watch that movie pretty frequently, so it takes its toll. (no iPod, I don't want to say "it takes it's toll". What does "it takes it is toll" mean? Ridiculous).

On the plane to Edmonton! My TV is working, but daytime TV is rarely my thing. They are talking about scrapbooking. Apparently it's like the movie Ratatouille. I don't understand this overenthusiastic woman's analogies. Or her love affair with card stock. She's not selling me on it, and I'm really bored. If you're incredibly bored and scrapbooking seems like too much work, it's probably never going to seem interesting. Actually, all I'm really being convinced of is that I should fear scrapbookers, because she's creeping me out.

Edmonton! Found some Wifi and coffee, but still unamused. I should have just given into my desire to plane dance so that I'd have a good story about how it took 4 flight attendants to wrestle me down when the seat belt light came on. But I didn't, so I don't. Someday, maybe.

There's still no sign of my alter ego (see May 3rd's post). I'm sure they'll show up sometime and I hope they bring food, because I'm hungry.

I think that's a wrap for now. This is the part where I actually publish this. Wish me luck! (of course, if you're reading this, I already succeeded, so it's kind of a catch-22...although I do appreciate luck on a day to day basis, so feel free to do it anyways...)