News! Bridesmaid!

So this summer my mum and her girlfriend Nora are getting married.

Wedding'll be in Stanley Park, Vancouver, and I'll be the bridesmaid/maid of honour/witness since it's a seven person ceremony, essentially. Them, me and my brother, my dad, a justice for the peace and possibly our dog.

Mum and Nora will be wearing jeans/shorts/casual clothes. I'm at least springing for a white sundress, I think. It'll be nice.

Weird to give my own mother away in marriage, though. To a woman from Singapore she met over the IMDB chatboards.

(no subject)

I remember, actually, the exact moment in my life when I decided I was never going to litter again, ever. I'm going into this I'm not sure why, but it's in my head and I can't get it out.

I was in my second year of brownies, so I couldn't have been older than eight, maybe nine at the most. I was a real outdoorsy kid back then, and a gigantic tomboy too. I loved camping, backpacking, hiking, you name it.

And our brownie troop, what we used to do was a bunch of hiking trips like this, and one night we went out to the local creek near where we met to walk one of the trails. A group of fifteen or so of us, with an appropriate number of leaders. Before we took off on the hike we were playing around in the field. The way kids do, right? Tag, and running through the rushes, and just generally dashing about for fun.

Anyways, I'm having the time of my life, and me and my best friend are there and I feel suddenly something tangled around my ankle. So I look down and can't see what it is, but it's fishing line. I've got it wrapped around me. And she's right next to me so she has it around her, too. Except I'm wearing shorts and she's wearing pants.

She takes off running and feels a pull. I get the skin of my leg bitten into and suddenly start bleeding and I have no idea why.

It was horrible. And all because some fucking idiot left a mess of uncut fishing line out.

Don't fucking LITTER. You hurt things, and you hurt people, and it can't be that damn hard to find yourself a flipping waste basket. No matter what you think would be harmless to throw away, I promise, it isn't.