The Bamboozle Planetarium

Life and times of an astrophysist who is actually a former journalism student who is really a NERD nerdy retarded weird girl pretending to be an astrophysisist...mispelling INTENDED!

NERD nerdy retarded weird girl central...well mostly my mussings and random interludes whilst I am working towards getting a car and licence so my random adventures and time spent in Australia was worth while. It should be intersting Enjoy! While in Australia...I was sunburnt,went to Sydney and wrote my first novel. So far back in Canadia I have been couch hoping and meandering from city to city. More adventures to come. Hopefully they are as interesting as my Australia ones.

Wednesday, September 03, 2014

Dear readers, 

I have moved to another blog, in hopes I can start writing again.

 This one has much pain, joy and good memories, but a fresh start is muchly needed.

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Dear Universe, those who care to read, those who don’t, etc,


I am attempting a return to blogging. Mostly because I love writing and I think the reason I have been down as of late, (although, I am feeling better) because I haven’t been using words to express myself. Maybe not in this blog but another…


The reason I stopped blogging was for a number of reasons.


  1. I wrote what I thought, no filters, and no remorse (at the time). I once wrote a nasty entry about someone I knew at church based on irrational jealousy. It was over a guy who was shall I say it not really worth it. He wasn’t the one for me. I am thankful for this. I just need to learn when someone is not interested.
  2. I lost my passion, for weeks I would go with out writing in my notebook and constantly it was the same phrase over and over again.

“I should write more!”

Yeah well I should but I don’t and it hurts my creative soul. Figures! I guess I could say it is a form of severe writers block. Not that  my imagination ceased, it was more along the lines I have this awesome idea in my head and…for fuck sakes how do I get this out of my head and on to paper and/or computer screen. RAWR!


  1. Being that I suffer from depression and anxiety I’ve had to take something to help me, shall I say NOT to melt down at work to feel somewhat normal. I feel it has stifled my writing ability. But I am healing so I guess that’s a positive thing right? Also I am NOT ashamed to be suffering from a mental illness.
  2. This sort of relates to the first, because I’ve written things I shouldn’t have and so I am worried I will offend people.
  3. People have used the “you’re a writer” against me! There is a difference between catching me saying a grammatical blunder. For Example: “I’ve got a friend, “instead of “I have a friend.” Or mixing up their, there and they’re.  And saying to me “ah that’s grammatically incorrect aren’t you a writer haha de haha de ha!” Compared too snarkily saying I should learn to use my words better because I’m a writer.  To the first comment I respond “I write differently then I speak.” To the second I say “This is why writers have editors, I’m not perfect.” In fact I should not even worry about the above two statements. I worry about what people think too much.


Writing for me is therapeutic. Words are like my soul food, so hopefully, I can get back on track and regain my lost passion and not let it melt into oblivion or get lost in the scatterbrainedness of my mind.


The End


P.S. I like someone again! J Hopefully its different this time!


Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Absense makes writing more fonder?

It feels weird to write again. It’s been over 2 years since I have shared anything on a blog. 2 years, 2 months and 19 days to be exact.
A lot can happen in 2 years.

I read a lot of books, worked a lot of work, dreamed a lot of dreams, gained new interests, dealt with depression, anxiety and finally saw my grandmother after 17 years.  

I feel like I’ve grown out of this writing thing.

Where have I been the last 2 years?  Who wants to read what I have to say? I’ve been so brutally honest in the past that is has caused a lot of trouble and hurt people needlessly.

Depressed that’s what?! Depression is a dark scary monster. It has sucked nearly all the words out of me, leaving my soul bare. My creativity has suffered a slow and painful death. It has taken a very vital part of me. I feel bad if I say I am a writer.

 I choose to rescue my writer self. For weeks in my journals, if I can focus enough to write, (depression makes it hard to focus on anything) I keep writing to myself:

 “I need to write more.”  “I have to write more!” “My writing is suffering.” Etc.

I choose to fight back and tell myself that I can write again, I can beat the darkness that is draining me. The fact that I am starting to produce words again in some form is positive sign. I can slowly feel myself get better. It’s a work in progress. I am healing.

P.S. Haben sie mien do do gesehen?


Wednesday, May 04, 2011

May my writing dilemmas be solved!

May has started off scatterbrained. Perhaps the poem from Fizzy Lemonade may explain a bit?

Cat why are you
Telling me
To cry
Every rainy day
Bring back the
Rich feelings rather then all the
Niceness masquerading as nastiness
Dastardly as always

For starters I messed up my work schedule again. I thank the Lord I have a billion brownie points saved up for occasions like these. You see I’ve been sick with a cold of all dastardliness. It starts off in the chest then migrates to head cold. I hardly ever get sick so when I do watch out.

Yesterday was Election Day here in Canada. I was sick, so no going out to vote for me. I was pretty stoked to hear the NDP is the official opposition, but just as disappointed that Harper and the Conservatives have the majority. I wonder if I had voted and infected everyone at the election hall with all my germs if my one vote could have changed that. I guess I will never know.
Another thing I notice when I walk by the garden centre at work on my way to work where is the plants? WTF? Was it such a late spring that they are not here yet? I mean there are some plants but not as much as there usually is! This just proves I’ve been at this job for way to long. I think some evil scarlety monster must have stolen them. (no I don’t mean Mrs. Lachlan’s Mum) It’s May, there are usually tills all caked with dirt, cashiers cleaning said tills and customers all cheery coming up with flats of pretty smelling flowers. It’s MAY! Last time I checked the green thumbs crawl out of there houses in early March. The plants must have got delayed when old man winter decided to extend winter till mid March. I hope Mr. Summer punches him in the face.

Now to what I really want to write about….

This month I endeavour to write more. I dreamt all the girls as far as I know were writing all these short stories and getting published but I kept missing out because I stopped writing as much as I used too. I have dreams about characters, stories and/or future characters and stories. Characters harass me in my dreams demanding I notice them again. Maybe it’s a weird writer imagination thing?

It reminds me of a conversation with a friend of mine at work. I’ll call her Daffodil because its random and not that it’s an incriminating story but well perhaps she’d like to remain anonymous.

Daffodil: So have you been writing lately?
Me: Not as much as I should be I guess…so not very much.
Daffodil: Don’t writers write everyday?
Me: I guess I am not much a writer these days?
Daffodil: I thought that is what they do?

In retrospect I should have mentioned how perhaps writers get busy or maybe burned out and take a break from living, breathing and eating words all the time? Yes, “a writer writes always,” but sometimes it takes dedication to make sure it happens on a continual basis.

I think I’ve all ready had my rant on the labels and expectations on what it means to be a writer. It may be assumed that writers devour and consume words on a daily basis and are lost in sentences and paragraphs. I see words when I think of things, but I forget to write them down. Does that mean I have neglected my craft? I’ve been labelled a writer for so long, I forget that it means I also must conform to the can of soups directions and ingredients meant for writers. Whatever the hell it is anyways?

What is a writer? Here is what I think it means along with pictures to illustrate.

"I write differently then I are speak!"

A writer is….

A thinker…

A reader too re: the age old adage “always read because it makes you a better writer.”

"Oh boy I am a reader. I love reading!"



Always original ideas (No idea is original :P)

Is obscenely intelligent

Went to school for some sort of writing profession and are working in it.

Are a best selling novelist

“Oh boy I am just like Charlaine Harris!”

They know how to write anything from novels, poetry, screenplays, etc.

Knows every single word in the English language (or which ever language they are born into)

Never has to use spell checker

Is a grammar Nazi

They know how to use words effectively, perfectly, erroneously

Help people feel things and think about the world (This I think is possible!)

Heaven forbid, there should never be kinks in their prose, no flaws in there works

A writer can’t be human forget how to phrase something or have little ticks about them, have grammar demons or write inaccurate ballonium (it’s a new word I made up :P)

Writers have editors? Of course to keep away the predators, like all the above stuff I just mentioned.

"Take that grammar demons mwhahahhaha!!!!"

Writers are not perfect, that is why they are so well loved. If all writers and writing was perfect then know one would know a person wrote it down. Flaws, bad grammar, intelligence or lack there of, funny sentence structure is important because it shows that it is original thought! A person wrote this, not some robot.

What I really want to know is; can a writer and a person be separate? I am a writer. I am a person. It is something that I love and I do, but is it who I am? Am I, Melissa who is a writer or Melissa the writer? I prefer the first one. It’s a slice of my identity, not the whole pie. One piece of the puzzle, not the whole picture.f I do have other hobbies.

I bake pies!

I sew!

Just to name a few things....

I don’t want to be labelled but I hve no choice in the matter. It is flattering that people think of me this way, but I really just want to be me. A person who writes, loves words, has grammar and/or spelling issues. I will “write differently then I speak!” I won’t be the soup in the can labelled writer. I will be me! The more I tell myself that the more I will stop worrying about what other people think. If people use the writer part of me as an attack I will fight the battle of the categories. I will not worry about the so called ingredients belonging to a writer. I will worry about the pieces that make me! Now if only I could practice that on a daily basis!

P.S. I like dolls so I guess that makes me creepy?

P.S.S. I can't get blogger to publish the entry they way I want it. Grrrr.... I apologise for the spaceyness and the odd alignments. Rah!

Thursday, April 07, 2011

When tea parties go wrong...

One of the many things I do when I spend time with my brother is have tea parties.

But rather then have a party of two I invited five plastic beings of prettiness. Claudine. Napoleon, Hollie, Claudette, and Viola

Someone spiked the drinks so after awhile. They seem to think it was pretty hilarious to wear the tea cups on their head.

As you can see things got out of hand…especially for one in particular.

When Napoleon got home…(See picture below)…

She was a bit rowdy and got in a fight with Mrs. Lachlan’s Mum.

It didn’t end well.

This is why I don’t bring anymore dollies to my brother’s tea parties. :P Wall repair is expensive. THE END!

P.S. This is what happens when you are bored and can’t think of anything to write about…

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Flying through March…

Sunday, March 27, 2011

March always seems to be the month that moves forward…






When I think of March, I think spring. Joyfulness is in the air, the sun shines, birds sing and the days are longer. I love birds the way they hope around on the ground daintily and graceful and fly away effortlessly. I wonder what it would be like to fly. Exhilarating? Scary maybe… I flew on planes before, but I can’t look out the window when the plane is over the ocean because I have a phobia of dying in a plane particularly into an ocean. :S So flying overseas now that I think of it was especially brave.

It’s been an interesting month, moving to a new place on my own. It’s expensive, but peaceful. Other then that it’s same old same old, same friends, same job, same family, the only excitement I get is hearing others telling me about how awful their lives are, then learning how to cross stitch (I’m obsessed) and playing Lego with my brother (I like building things :P) are a few things.

I’m thinking I should be endeavouring to write more the rest of the year as well, but it’s hard some days. I keep forgetting I can rely on words to get me through and it’s even more frustrating when I let hundreds of beautiful ideas slip past. Rats!

P.S. I am finally able to bake my brother an apple pie.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011


February, what is there to say about this month? It’s the shortest and often still the coldest part of the year. It’s not my favourite.








I’ve never liked February! For several reasons, Firstly, hours at work are cut back no matter which job I have so I am much poorer. Especially after the nice fat pay checks of December it just feels more like a particular blow, secondly Valentines Day, thirdly it’s usually cold and dark.

I’ve come a long way since February last year mind you. My brain is still rattled when I read about how love sickly destitute I was.

In February 2006 I traveled to Australia. It was -21 C with a wind-chill when I left Calgary, therefore it felt like – 30 C. (I still don’t understand why they have all this wind-chill B.S.) When I arrived in Brisbane two days later, (I lost a day due to the International Date Line) it was in the high 30’s C. I got a cold because of it and heat sick. That part wasn’t fun. I remember being at the domestic airport and for some strange reason I wanted to see which way the water went when toilet flushed; sure enough it went the opposite of home in Canada. I even remember which books I read on the trip over, Enders Game and Memoirs of a Geisha. This was the only time February meant something to me. I had something in this month to look forward too. I didn’t care that I worked at McDonalds because I was going to Australia. Now all I have is March 1st, the Library, random visits with my brother, treasure hunting at the Sally Ann and wonky shifts at Wal-Mart. Pfft! No Australia, no new adventures right about the corner. It sucks.

Mind you this February I discovered another author I like, William Kotzwinkle and my hours have been relatively consistent considering the hours could be much worse. And considering how cold it is. It’s nice that I live so close to work now…

February and winter months in general are the times where I withdraw and hibernate. Not that I don’t find comfort in my own company, but I do miss talking to people. We talk, we share stories; I like how everyone I’ve ever met has something different about them. Sometimes it helps me remember some people have harder problems then me. Anyone who knows me, knows I love to rant about stuff that bugs me, then when I hear about things from other people It makes me wonder why I rant all the time. It’s not like I expect them to give feed back or feel sorry for me I just want to bitch to someone and I don’t mind people wanting to bitch to me either.

I haven’t met anyone who says they like February either. But March is good because it means spring is coming. Everyone seems to be looking forward to spring.

This February has been particularly weird. I’ve somehow stumbled into a dictatorship oriented shared accommodation. I now live with Mrs. AR or Mrs. Anal Retentive. I could go on but my rants usually get me in a whole lot of trouble. I’ll let the name I give her speak for itself. Perhaps February makes people extra nutty. I will tell you this though I don’t think you can tell a full grown woman when to go to bed. If I make even the slightest noise past 10 p.m. she is at my door telling me how I woke her up and what a terribly noisy person I am, etc. She reminds me of my grandmother. That is not a good thing. Sometimes I want to tell her to eat me, but I don’t think that option would be particularly tasty.

February is almost over….enough said.

P.S. I am stronger then people give me credit for.