First Day of the Third Week

Today, for the first time in probably five or six years, I donned my fancy purple lace-up roller blades.  I don't do this sort of thing for just anybody (I usually spent just as much time on the ground nursing an injury as I did actually skating), so when the five little Japanese children looked up at me with their pleading puppy dog eyes I could only give in.  So, cameras in hand and feet wobbling only slightly in their newly bought skates, I led on my six Japanese guests in a lap around the block.  

By the time all the dust and cobwebs had blown off my skates I had gained back a bit of confidence.  I knew how to do this!  And so, to the applause of my Japanese housemates, I was skating forwards and backwards and helping them to do the same.  

Of course once I was ready for round two (three blocks to the 7-Eleven), four were tired and done and one was already asleep on the deck.  My six eager and determined students had turned into one.  Still wanting slurpees, the others all put on their sneakers and ran to catch up as I left with my new skating buddy at top speed (well, not quite top speed).  

It was of course on the way home that I tripped on my own feet and slammed into the pavement.  My moment of glory though, came right after I stood up and somehow managed to fall again, this time in front of a gaggle of spectators.  I think there were photos taken.  

Thus began the third week of my month with the Japanese here in Canada: with bloodshed and tears.  

A Scramble for the Puck!

I went and saw my favorite hockey club, the Flames, practice the other day after my little brother's hockey practice was over. The skating was fantastic, the shooting and passing and nifty little tricks were mesmerizing. But the men... hot damn.
I'm not usually the kind of girl who likes to oggle good looking men every time I see one, but standing six feet away from them as they were playing and laughing and moving... wow. I mean, wow.

After the practice was over a crowd of little boys, probably ages 7-12, clustered in the lobby outside the change rooms waiting for their heroes to come out and sign their jerseys or their own hockey sticks. The interesting thing was that behind the huge cluster of short people in red was the cluster of the dads who wanted an autograph too. Of course, behind these full grown boys stood me. Because my brother had to leave for a party right after his practice, I was told to stay behind and get some autographs for him.
I thought this would be easy.
Just a bunch of little kids.
Maybe one of those beautiful men would notice me and...
Anyway!
Let me just say that these little boys knew how to work this system (whatever this system was). The 'cute face' was applied along with the 'stuttering shy kid' bit and more often than not there was the awed silence that came with tilting their necks back so far that their little hats kept falling off. How could I possibly compete with this?? I thought maybe I had a bit of a chance early on because of my uniqueness factor (being the only woman there who wasn't a hockey mom) and that probably would have worked if it wasn't for the obsessed hockey dads who liked to push in front and compete with each other after their weasely little spawn had finished with the poor hockey star and he was trying to escape.

All in all I ended up only getting three signatures for my brother and only one of them was of a player I really admired (the other two are fairly new to the team and the only reason I got them was because I don't think the midgets recognized them). The truly unfortunate part about this wasn't the lack of autographs or marriage proposals, it was that all the other adults there, including the players, thought I was 14 years old. When one hockey mom saw me get pushed back by a throng of crazed little boys and their equally crazed (but way more annoying) dads, she said to me in the kindest voice, "hey sweetie, who are you lookin' for? Awwww well you know, my husband could get in there for you and get a couple nice signatures if you want? It would be OK, I'm sure he would love to!" and so on.
It was then that I decided to leave. Hanging around was pointless when the only thing I was getting was bruised toes and drowning ego.

Have to say though, man they were somethin' else to watch up close!

The Properties of Water

I've mentioned it before and right now I will take the time to reiterate this fact of Canadian living: Winter is freaking cold! Today it managed to get to -32C (That's about -21F) and with the wind chill, it went down to about -43C.

It's days like this when I think that I sleep through my alarm clock and miss my class on purpose. Subconsciously of course.

I spent the better part of my day in my room in the basement under about eight layers of clothes and blankets dutifully (and studiously too I guess) catching up on my class readings. And my blog readings. And my random internet readings. And an episode of Buffy.
Around noon my poor little brother- who was not gifted with the ability to forsee extreme cold and sleep through his alarm thus skipping school and the need to go outside- came home for lunch looking very much like the Michelin Man. Two grilled cheese sandwiches later, the kid was curled up with a blanket complaining he was too sick to go back to school. I, being the sister who is nine years older, clearly saw through this line of bull shit and began the long process of getting him back outside. [a touques, a balaclava, scarf, jacket, ski pants, 2 pairs of gloves, hood, and finally boots]

And then I went back to my books and my computer. Hypocrite, I know.

Later, at around 8:30 (after dinner, having to leave the warmth of my home to go to an appointment that didn't exist, birthday cake for my Opa, and roughly 37 cups of tea/cocoa/coffee/anything warm), my sister entered into my hovel in the basement to do some laundry.

Yes, my bedroom is ALSO the laundry room.

Unfortunately, the cold water would not run. After checking all the other faucets in the house we were able to conclude, with certainty, that the water pipe had froze solid. This was actually a bit ironic because not two hours earlier two fire trucks parked their big yellow selves on my front street to deal with a burst frozen pipe that had flooded our neighbour's entire basement.

Because my sister had already poured laundry detergent over her clothes and because i didn't really like the idea of waking up to freezing water around my ankles, I grabbed the hair dryer and began what would turn out to be a two hour long process of warming up and thawing the pipes through the drywall.

Of course, when it finally DID thaw out completely the water jetted out of the spout in huge freezing torrents right directly into me and my sister. This was actually kinda funny because my dad sauntered down to help only when he heard our shouts of "SHIT SHIT SHIT!! help SHIT SHIT help help SHIT!!". He wanted me to call him when the water started to show signs of actually moving rather than sticking around and keeping us company while we PREVENTED A DISASTER!!

Although, I now feel much handier after the experience...

My favorite line ever

"Red hair and black leather, my favourite colour scheme"

-Richard Thompson

Stewie

My grandmother's cat eats eggs at the kitchen table.
He prefers them sunny-side up,
And on a plate of equal size to the rest of the plates at the table.

This is the same cat that will only drink distilled water out of a martini glass.
Grandma says he can tell the difference.

I say that sometimes I wish I was a cat.

i am

I am
the sum of my inadequacies.

I am
awkward only when I have to be the person you think I am or should be.

I am
every damien rice, iron and wine, deathcab for cutie, and modest mouse song on my iPod.

I am
only as good as the stories I tell.

I am
the impossibly perfect thing that you can't see in yourself.

I am
not you.

I am
not what you think I am.

I am
me.

before I sleep

Before I sleep my brain goes running
running round round round
in circles through my head.
I can barely follow it,
but I know that it makes sense. Thinking
theories, philosophies, thesis,
biology, poetry, psychology
me and or with for everyone else.

Every night it's the same
and every morning I wake up
and I can't remember what I thought about
that seemed so terribly important
so brilliant
so perfect the night before.

Were these thoughts I had actually mine,
or were they just the amalgamation of everything I absorbed in one day?

I can't help but think,
if I had these thoughts during the day
(or could at least remember them come the next morning)
I might be a little bit more satisfied with my life
thus far.
Or maybe I should try sheep.

A Happy New Year

Here on the cusp of a New Year, I've noticed that most bloggers have come up with some kind of round up or resolution for 2007/08. Lacking enough posts for a round up, I figure I should write some resolution type things...

1. Write in this blog more often. And the other one too. I'm not just gonna write in here when I feel like absolute shit either! I will do more than just vent.
2. Be more active on campus. No more going to class and then coming strait home, it's time to go to the gym after or the racket ball court, or anything!
3. Make an effort to meet people. This sounds lame, but I think I actually avoid meeting new people because of a number of stupid reasons.
4. Get a job! And pay off my debt, and buy some new clothes, and save up for next year, and, and, and...
5. Stop moping about living at home. This one will be the challenge I think because sometimes I feel like I am actually going insane living here. But I will make an effort!

Ok, so, I figure that if I actually do 3/5 of these, I'll be set for a good start to 2008. Good foundations and all that...

just a day

Yesterday I turned 20

Happy Birthday to me.

Names

Everything began in the Paris of the Prairies
And from there I learned to fly

Growing tall
In the Land of the Rising Sun

While in the Eternal City
I Discovered immortality

Witnessed progress
In the Parted City

After Auld Reekie
Had shown me real beauty

But then I begun to understand true love
When I met the Bride of the Sea.

ew.

Men over 55 should not be allowed to talk to single women under 30 unless they are closely related or under heavy supervision. A consent form should have to be signed if neither of these two criteria are met. Inappropriate touching and innuendo are not allowed under any circumstances.

Ew.

That is the last old person party I ever go to. Until I'm old and lonely and need my own rules.

Still, Ew.

Christmas of 1997

I've been asked a lot lately what I want for Christmas and every time I'm asked I have no idea what to say because I really don't know what I want for Christmas. It was so much easier when I was little and my family could just get me something simple and easy without having to ask me what I wanted and I would usually love it just because of the surprise factor.
When I was ten my grandpa gave me the book Falling Up by Shel Silverstein and this was probably one of the best gifts I have ever been given. I had every poem in the book read by Boxing day and tried to speak only in rhyme up until New Year's. Now, that book is so well-read that the bindings are held together with string and I still have many of the poems memorized word for word.
I don't know if this gift was perfect because of a lucky guess or because my grandpa just knew what I would like. Either way, it made a certain impression on me that I haven't been able to forget (not that I should!). I've branched out a bit from "God's Wheel" and "Snowball" and "Long-Leg Lou and Short-Leg Sue", but I still always go back to them because it's poems like this that really turned me on to poetry when I was small.
I don't know where I was going with this except to say that I think children now don't experience that, and it's a bit sad.

The Oval

I'm not a very good skater and I never have been, but for some reason I decided to go skating this afternoon. Aside from the constant ache of my feet that started about 7 minutes after my blades touched the ice, and the initial realization that all the other people there were either couples or parents with their three-year-olds, it was really nice to feel myself glide across the ice again. And no, I don't mean feel my ass glide across the ice after I fall flat (I didn't do that this time!). It was like anything else after a while, just me and the ice. It was really neat, all I had to do was think about not skating into anyone and that was it! Nothing else was in my head at all. It was bliss...

Of course, this reverie usually only lasted about 4 minutes, about at which time some hockey player, speed skating champion, or figure skater up for the Olympics would pass me while showing off for whoever he or she (but usually a he) was with. I then had one minute to get back into the zone, and four minutes to stay there.

If I was smart (rather than a dumbass), I would have thought of this sooner.
Live and Learn I guess.

marks

I've been marked
with a
bright
orange
magic marker

I wonder if it will
come out.

Chilly!

It's strange how events in my life move to some bizarre juxtaposition at just the right moment. This happens all the time, but today it wasn't even subtle. It was like the world just though to itself, 'meh, I'm tired and lazy' and didn't bother to throw in any zeal or twists in order to make things interesting.

Today I received a letter from my friend who doing a semester in Ecuador. It took this letter exactly two months to reach me from the time she posted it, so when it was finally pushed through my mail slot this afternoon it was freezing cold outside. I know this doesn't sound like much at all, but think about it! Shantel writes me talking about how hot and tropical it is, and I don't get the message until it's so cold that I can't feel my toes when I go outside and my eyeballs freeze in my head. It's cold. I do know that it's not as cold as it could be, but give me some credit here! I mean, it figures that she writes me to tell me about the perfect weather right while I'm skipping my afternoon class because I'm too much of a wuss to brave the cold, go outside and walk the five blocks to the bus stop.
What kind of Canadian am I?
Also, I forget the point of this post...

Time for Breakfast

I woke up really happy this morning. It's kind of strange when that happens I think. Definitely not a bad thing, but just strange that I woke up smiling after so many mornings of just waking up and not wanting to deal with what I know the day will bring and even not wanting to be here anymore.
But today I woke up and thought I might make french toast for everyone and then make myself busy with laundry and then go to the gym. Weird. I haven't felt like this in a while which is why I thought I should write it down! Chronicle it for the ages as a sign. A sign of what, I have no idea... maybe that things are going to get better.
I was promised that they would. Get better I mean.

You ever get that feeling where you're so exhausted and you feel like you can barely even function, but you can't sleep no matter how hard you try? I get that all the time. Lay awake at night and stare at my ceiling for hours until I hardy even know where I am anymore.
I think one of my biggest problems is that I tend to worry about things. Not really panicky type things (although that does happen sometimes too), but more like daily things and things that shouldn't really matter at all but do for some reason. I spent a while last night worrying about whether or not I know how to kiss and if when I kiss a man, he's repulsed by it.
Am I unique? I think about that a lot. I used to think that I was and it always made me really happy to know that no matter what, I would always be me and no one else. But then I was told a little while ago by my mum that I wasn't unique at all. That everything I had thought was original about myself was really just a cop-out.
Am I passionate? I've been told that I'm not passionate about anything, but I don't know why I would be exceptionally passionate about anything at 20 years old, when I don't have anything. Should I be passionate for money and stuff ? That just seems like such a waste to me. I'd rather wait for a person to feel passionate about, or a job or something (anything!) other than what I've got to show for myself right now. I mean, really: "I'm passionate about Starbucks coffee!" "I'm passionate about my clothes!" is that kind of thing healthy?

After all this thinking and questioning I pretty much just come to the conclusion that I have no idea about anything and to think otherwise would be incredibly naive. Does that mean I'm wrong? I don't think so, because that would just mean that everyone else is right and that would be pretty awful.
Maybe I'll just try counting sheep.