T and the Cockroaches

I can't stand my roommate.

I've recently discovered the blog passive aggressive notes. It's an incredible collection of notes left by coworkers, roommates, neighbours, etc- most, as the title suggests, very passive aggressive. Luckily my roommate and I communicate through words, not notes, but I found many of these notes familiar in tone.

My roommate is T, a 24 year old wanna-be film maker who currently works as some sort of receptionist, I believe, in a lighting fixtures warehouse. She occasionally creates films with her boyf who I always call Greg but is actually named something else, that I can't remember. Ever. Something that sounds nothing like Greg... but Greg is all that comes to mind.

T spotted two giant roaches lately, about a week apart. Both in the middle of night when things look bigger and she says these babies are huge. One was on the couch, one was in her room. So Wednesday morning I wake up and she tells me about the one she say (the second on two). Wednesday night I come home from work (she, as is common, skipped work that day) and she tells me the exterminator came. $125, and we'll be splitting that, as well as the $80 she spent on anti-cockroach products. EVERY product that the hardware store carried apparently. One called ROACH MOTEL "The roaches check in... BUT THEY NEVER CHECK OUT". I'm not kidding. As well as 2 giant tubes of cocking (that's what is called, right? You put it where the wall meets the floor to cover up any holes? It just seems like I'm using the word cock an awful lot in this post). As if we'd ever use even half of one... there's just not that much floor for the wall to meet!

Other bills T splits in ways I don't agree with: electricity. $75 for a month. Sorry- that is ridic. Gillian says her bill is like $40 for a month- and she has an AC. T has an AC too- but only in her room. T also leaves the light on in her room overnight. She also leaves every single light on the in entire apt on, given the slightest chance. Like- the light for the hallway by the door... you don't need that unless you're fumbling for keys! You don't need it on all night, guaranteed. She lets the water run in the shower "to heat up" while she eats her breakfast. I'm sorry but only when I've just flushed the toilet does the shower take any longer than 8 seconds to heat up. She leaves the fridge door open while she stirs the pot. She uses the oven when the toaster oven will do. I told her I don't think we should split the bill 50-50. So she said she'll bay $50, I'll pay $25. You know what? I doubt that an AC costs $25 a month to run.... I should check the records, see how much greater the June cost is from, say the April cost. Even then, after the AC... the remainder shouldn't be split 50-50 because I don't waste energy!

T also now, because of the roaches, has huge issues with the kitchen. For the first month of living together I was kind of like "this girl is nasty". Remember when I bought all the cleaning products? I cleaned like the Dickens (I'm on a roll with sneakily fitting in synonyms for "family jewels"). I just couldn't ever feel sanitary though, because her dark hair was all over all the floors in the white kitchen and bathroom. Anyway, ever since the cockroaches, she's been all "DON'T LEAVE FOOD LYING AROUND". Fair, totally fair. However I don't think rinsed dishes in the sink constitute leaving food around. So, if I'm letting a pot soak, full of water... I don't think giant insects are going to sniff it out and invade. Especially since neither of our bad boys were found anywhere near the kitchen but... both suspiciously near her room...

Oh well, at least that means the place is getting cleaned by somebody other than me.

She does have weird hygiene though. We each have a sponge, and she uses mine or hers interchangeably (that's not a huge issue) but then piles them on top of each other. So that neither can dry, and in the morning I go to use it and it's still soaking wet. It's a paradise castle for all bacteria. That's nast, guys, just nast.

Okay cleaning issues aside- she has HILARE eating habits. She's always on a diet. (One time she had a friend over, they were talking about weight and somebody I joined/got brought into the conversation). When asked how much I weigh, I said 135. (I used to say 140, but when I went home last weekend, and on the scale for the first time in a while, it said 130... but that was really early in the morning, too). They were like "yeah, I'm 110." "Oh yeah? I'm 105". YEAH RIGHT. Because sure, I'm a couple of inches taller than either of them, and yes I do have hefty amounts of muscle (Quad of STEEL, I must say) but yeah right like you're 105 or even 110. Anyway then they started talking about their diets. I've seen T's diet in action: lettuce. Not salad, just plain lettuce. And then multiple fudgsicles. She says she NEEDS something sweet after "dinner" (quotations mine) because I just don't understand what a sweet tooth she has. "Hmm, no I think pretty much everybody in the world would like dessert every day..." "NO you don't NEED it like I do" "Well... you can always just not eat dessert without dying" "NO you don't understand". hooookay, T. She eats fudgsicles like nobody I know. She thinks they're not bad for her weight loss plan because they're sugar free. Um, GL with that (good luck), T, because just because they're loaded with aspartame doesn't make then diet coke. (Which- though it will slowly kill me, it won't make me fat. Fudgsicles? Will.)

She occasionally engages me in discussion on my eating habits. Like one time she came home as I was wolfing down a pita with nutella (I was out of PB) before a run. I was too hungry to run- have you ever gone on a run with an empty stomach? Not a clever idea. T: "is that your dinner". me: "UM, NO". Just because it's four times as much as you've eaten all day, doesn't mean it constitutes a meal... I also like making pita pizzas- whole wheat pita, spaghetti sauce, cheese, pepperoni all toasted in the toaster oven. I'd say that's alright healthy... definitely more healthy than lettuce and 84 fudgsciles. T thinks differently. I made two, one for the lunch the next day and she's like "WOW I would NEVER eat pizza two days in a row, thats SOOOO bad for you and fattening". A) this isn't pizza. Its much healthier. B)"bad for me". You haven't seen a single nutrient since you were fourteen.

OH I almost forgot. Sometimes she goes "running". Her "exit the apt" to "come back in the apt" time is ALWAYS under 10 minutes. I'm not kidding. It takes 4 minutes just to walk to the park!

Man oh Man! I wish I lived alone... I can't wait to live with my sister, SJ, and Kevin next Sept!

Quick Links

1. Loving this song right now

My mom told me it reminded her of me (I live in New York, I guess). Anyway, I patronizingly gave it a chance and... I love it. Check it!

2. I laughed so hard for so long at this. Harry Fugster and the Order of the Phoefug

3. I experimentally created a 20-something blogger network at ning. Check it here, and perhaps even join??

4. As always, a good mashable post, comparing Facebook users to MySpace users. (If Mashable isn't already on your RSS reader... man, get on that)

5. My friend Jill Lubow's wonderful music. Seriously, listen to Infatuated Girl. I listened to that song maybe 8 times in a row the first time I heard it. And the others are all really incredibly too! (She has her first gig on Wednesday night! WOOHOO!)

6. To round things out, a hilare Youtube vid. 3.14 Apple Pi. If the name doesn't entice you, then maybe don't bother. But if you already like it, then click on!

7. This guy/girl takes pictures of strange things, then makes the funniest comments. Half an hour of guaranteed fun!

8. A worse Continental story that any I have ever read. With poop!

The Increasingly Worse Day

Driving to Toronto from New York takes 8 or 9 hours and my time is worth more than that. So when I go home, I fly.

I usually fly with Jetblue, from JFK to Buffalo. My parents usually have no trouble picking me up from the Buffalo airport. I can get and have gotten flights for $39. My most inexpensive round trip has been $120 including all taxes.

My original travel plans this weekend were to fly with Jetblue on a 2pm flight costing $70 but due to extenuating circumstance (and a surprise engagement party for Laura) they weren’t able to pick me up until late, late that night. Stephanie, Laura’s best friend, could pick me up from Toronto though! Well thanks for not telling me you can’t pick me up until Wednesday, gang. I find a flight that leaves from Newark, NJ at 11:15 Saturday, going to Toronto. It’s $304. I book it. (Note: cancelling with Jetblue also lost me $30).

My Saturday went as follows:

7:00- wake up, get ready, pack up those last minute things. Try to check in online with Continental- their site is down. Rats.

7:50- Leave apt
7:54- arrive at F train
8:08- F train finally comes
8:30- transfer to the A
8:50- arrive at Penn Stn. The next NJ train isn’t until 9:07. That’s okay, I can wait. Right?
9:07- get on NJ train
9:36- arrive at Newark. Transfer to Airtrain (yes, FOURTH train of the day)

9:45- arrive at the Continental terminal, and join the international departures line. This line is uncontrollably long. Everybody is pissed that they couldn’t check in online (checking in online lets you skip this huge wait)- the line is probably usually half this length because normal people check in first, right? It’s chaos, though. The front of the line guy keeps sending people to attendants who aren’t available.

9:47- get flirted with by Continental “welcome to the line” guy. This was so hilarious that while it was going on I was like “I CANNOT WAIT TO BLOG THIS”. However, due to the follow events I will have to save that story for another day. It does, however, entail me saying “hey my flight is at 11:15, should I be worried about getting to the front on time?” and him saying definitely not.

10:10- somebody decides to twist the knife they’ve already stabbed. They open a second que and who joins? The people in the BACK. I’m in the middle of the original line so when this balances out, I am now near the end of a line again.

10:33- get to the front of the line.

“Sorry, that flight is closed”
“Pardon?”
“You need to be here an hour before take off”
“Shouldn’t you make a last call or something like that?”
(They claim they did. I was listening HARD, guys)
Nope no dice because my seat has been taken by a standby passenger by now. Guys my flight isn’t for 45 minutesI suggest that I get to go on this flight and my baggage comes later. He says no.! I say can I talk to somebody else? (This guy has broken English)

11:01- “Somebody else” arrives. I ask again about me getting on this flight, my baggage comes later. He says no. I say why not. He ROLLS HIS EYES and says because if I don’t check in a full hour before, they can’t guarantee that I’ll have a seat (I find out later that this flight was overbooked).

Me: When you roll your eyes at me, I feel that you don’t really care
Him: I didn’t roll my eyes at you
Me: It certainly looked like you did
Him: If that’s how you perceived it, then you’re just looking for somebody to blame

I let this go because what’s the point but then tell this guy my story, including the “and your website was broken” bit and he gives me the “Ma’am”, telling me he can refund me my ticket and I can go fly with somebody else if I want. Look, bud, believe me, I would. But I can’t get anywhere. I’m in fucking New Jersey, if you didn’t notice.

11:10- I’m on the 2:55 flight. Standby. Yeah, right. I’m really frustrated and I start to cry. Taking the 2:55 flight means there goes $230, it means I miss my sister’s engagement party and seeing all my cousins who I miss and love, it means SJ, who was supposed to pick me up in TO will be concerned and frustrated when I don’t show up (and she doesn’t have a cell), and to top it all they were so rude! I wouldn’t normally admit to the tears except then I just got out of control. In line for customs I just started hyperventilating. I felt my face and fingers go numb. I squat with my head between my legs, waddling forward in line. Finally I realize this is probably dangerous so I ask a security guard if there is first aid anywhere. I then start seeing black dots. My breathing is SO gaspy and fast now and my legs are shaking. I’m mentally all the way present so it was really scary to be so aware of yet not in control of my body. The guards need to bring me through security to bring me somewhere to sit and they ask me if I have a laptop in my bag. I can’t even manage saying the word “yes” so I nod. I can’t feel my upper lip or that whole area that would be covered by a handle bar moustache, you know, if I had one.

11:20- I’m sitting off to the side with 3 police officers and maybe 5 (give or take a couple- they kept coming and going) security guards. My whole chest is moving in and out with each breath, shoulders jerking back and forth. This is really quite a terrifying feeling. At the same time I was rather embarrassed because it’s really not that big of a deal (and Gillian, I’m not rationalizing my feelings. It’s seriously not that big of a deal). They call the paramedics. Oh, geez.

In the mean time, one police officer helps me walk to a portioned screen (at my request- people were staring and me and I was already awkward). Po-po #2 tries being funny. He’s terribly unfunny but I laugh anyway because I want him to think he is helpful. Po-po one gets me OXYGEN. I’m like, umm thanks but I’m cool. (Except, that took me about 40 seconds to stammer out). Finally I take the O2 and within a couple of minutes I finally catch my breath. Utterly embarrassed, now.

I say no need to bring an ambulance (oh, don’t worry, it’s already on its way). A whole stretcher crew arrives. Oh geez. Seriously EMS, I’m okay! Except I can’t make a fist so they take my pulse. I didn’t see the number but apparently it was high. I mention my Sudafed and they say that was probably what eased the hyperventilating trigger. I’m dizzy but no way am I going to a hospital, so they ask me to sign the “Refusal of Medical Attention” form. Haha! Great name!

12:15- I go on my way. Actually, I think I’ll have a stop by the Customer Service desk. But just phrasing my complaint in my head brings up anxiety I guess, and I start crying again. So I decide to browse around Borders for a while (Borders! In an airport! Terrific idea, somebody!).

12:30- I go back to the Customer Service desk. I tell him my story including the “your site was down” and “I spent an additional $230 to get an earlier flight with you” and even “this is my first impression of Continental” but this guy didn’t even meet my gaze! He kept glancing around and wouldn’t make eye contact. Okay seriously, isn’t that, Customer Service 101: meet their eyes when talking to them. Really, now. He says “well, do you want to issue a formal complaint against the guy at check in?” I say, “No, that would be malicious. I just want to get home.” He says, “well then, here is a formal apology on behalf of Continental.” Still no eye contact. He gives me a number I can call and complain to later. I take the number.

12:35: I wander around the airport. I’m still dizzy so I eat a lot. You know, like a $9 pita that isn’t even delicious. I’m hanging around my gate, and Old Man White Shorts (OMWS) strikes up a conversation. I start telling my tale and a whole crowd (okay, like 5 people) gathers. They all start sharing their “I hate Continental, too” stories. A bit before two an announcement is made, that this flight is overbooked so if a passenger wishes to give up his/her seat, they’ll get a ticket on a flight tomorrow, free hotel accommodations, and like $300 or something. OMWS and his traveling partner say WTH and go to take the deal. No dice because apparently its only overbooked by one ticket. (Later, however, others show up who, like me earlier this morning, had actually bought a ticket but weren’t at check in by 1:55 so SOL to them). So, great. I’m on standby for a flight that is already overbooked.

OMWS is a really nice guy and we start chatting about triathlons! He used to do them all the time, including the NYC tri that I’m going to watch because: how exciting! He also used to do tones of marathons and did Boston in 2:34 one year! He also once won is age group for the NYC marathon but it was when he was still in high school so he couldn’t accept the prize or else he would be officially considered “pro” and ineligible for high school competitions! Crazy, hey! That was way back when the marathon was just 4 loops of Central Park. This was a really great half hour- I can talk about racing forever. The flight was called for boarding and OMWS, and the bunch of others who had shared their stories before all boarded the plane and wished me luck. Well, as you may have imagined, I didn’t get on this flight. However! There did magically appear room for one standby. The guy at the desk called for standby passenger “Appleby”. No answer. Standby passenger “Arthur?” a fellow standby gets on. How were we prioritized? Was he seriously calling alphabetically?

2:55: So I go back to customer service to get a new flight. The next one is at 5:10, and a fellow 2:55 standby passenger had told me that he queried the status of this flight and was told that it was also overbooked. Great, seriously? And the next flight isn’t until the next day. Please keep in mind that my original flight Jetblue flight was scheduled to land at 4 something.

I get to the front of the line and very pleasantly approach the service rep. I explain my day so far, and ask what my options are. Can I just get a refund now, and I’ll go to a random other terminal just to get with any other air line? She mutters “this flight is non refundable, so that takes care of that” in the way that an old man tinkering with a train set might say when trying to find a solution to the figure eight switcher by the post office set up. “This piece might fit, but I know it belongs near the school house, so that takes care of that. Ethel, is the tea nearly ready? Now where is my Robertson.”

Okay. “What are my other options?” Silence. After about 30 seconds. “Excuse me, what are my other options”. She snaps back “OK OK I am looking what do you think stop pestering me with so many question I can’t answer so many questions all in one time”. Just like that, with no punctuation. Wowza. She tells me she’s putting me on standby for the 5:10. I tell her I’ll have none of that. I want a confirmed seat. I break out the water works. I get a seat. JUST LIKE THAT. Lesson learned: crying helps.

3:30: At the gate to my 5:10 flight I start talking to a family from Vermont who’s flight was cancelled so they’re on standby for a flight to Burlington. They started their day in London, so a cancelled flight was not at all what they needed. One standby flight clears up so their dad takes it and the other 3 will keeping waiting, trying for an 8pm flight that takes them elsewhere in Vermont, further from their home. (The dad will have to start driving to that airport as soon as he arrives in Burlington). Rough, right?

4:00: I get a Snapple. The cashier is SO polite, pointing me towards the straw. I realize she has been the nicest person to me all day, then I start crying again. I know, I’m embarrassed. It’s not usually this bad, guys. Anyway the Snapple was used to get hopped up on the feds again. The Sudafeds. I had such a headache/nose ache that I said bring to the increased heart rate.

5:10: Seamless. I’m on board

5:40: The flight finally takes off. Did I mention the airplane had DUCT TAPE on the seat belts? No TVs (Jetblue has a TV on the back of every single seat) at all. The stuffing is falling out of the chair infront of me. Seriously? Yeah, unfortunately, seriously.

6:50: Quick flight! I skim through customs and get my bags (they didn’t get lost in all that? Bravo!)
7:30: My mom, who is picking me up, still isn’t there
8:15: My mom arrives
8:50: I arrive home. So, it took me 13 hours. I could have driven home in 5 less hours than that. That is ridic. That is too ridic. I hate flying.

Maybe I’ve been spoiled by WestJet. I love those guys. I adore that airline. They have good TV. They once let me and a friend sing happy birthday over the intercom to a random other passenger, and everybody on board sang along. People that work there are happy. They’re not fake cheerful like “Welcome aboard! I sincerely hope you have an enjoyable flight!”. They’re like, actually cool and you kind of want to be their friend after. (They= flight attendants). The pilots crack jokes that are actually hilare. Dear Westjet: please start doing more international. I think I’ll write Westjet ANOTHER letter. After every flight, I write them a letter telling them I love them.

But seriously, I will never ever fly Continental again!

The Triathlon

As of a couple minutes after 10am today, I am officially a triathlete.

(Let me say here, that the excuses that are about to follow are not really excuses as much as they are supplemental reasons. I know I'm not amazing. Both Lin and Laura: good. They can aim to win. I know that I'm not as fast, even if I train equally hard. Or, at least, equally often. I'm not saying I would have won if it weren't for ____. I'm just saying, I would have finished a little faster, had it not been for______. That said, let's get on with the post!)

This title of triathlete comes not without trials and tribulation. It was just a super sprint distance, which means 375m swim, 10k bike, 2.5 k run. I knew I could finish that distance. Plus, it goes in order from my worst event to my best event (that is, swim-bike-run) so I wasn't feeling too, too bad. However, yesterday's travels (post not finished yet) put me in what can hardly be called good pre-race condition. We had to get up really early in order to get to Orangeville on time, too. So tired, and with a cold, we arrive at the race site.

The Swim:

So my race bib number means I'm fifth to leave the dock (it's not mass start. One swimmer every 10 seconds. NICE). However this also means that like 200 people will be watching me so I better use my nicest front crawl. I blow some snot rockets and everybody around me is either utterly disgusted, or utterly impressed by the sheer volume.

I jump in the chilly water and pop my goggles on. Off I go with quite nice front crawl. About 8 seconds later I'm like "okay, I can't breathe through my nose." so I decide to do breast stroke because maybe then I can do mouth breathing. My breast stroke might even be considered my best stroke. Well, my breaths are so quick that there is no glide at all to this stroke and I worry that I might start hyperventilating. After yesterday, this is a legit concern. (Again, the events of Saturday will be posted tomorrow. It includes an ambulance visit to the airport. Not cool.) So, I do what you would do: backstroke. Okay now before I tell you that I have a fast backstroke that me caveat (the same thing I told Lin earlier on the phone). When I say "good" and "fast" I'm really only comparing myself to Laura who- no offense Laur, is not the greatest swimmer. We both kind of suck, really. But I've been practicing, a lot.

Well I'm going fine until I'm like... hmm nobody has passed me in a while. I AM pretty fast. Hmm... how far till the turning buoy I wonder. I flip back over to look. Okay I have gone WAY off track. WAY. Fuck. Alright, so I flip back over and start calculating hypotenuses to estimate exactly how much extra distance I went (at least 25m!). I start flipping back over more frequently now to avoid going further off course. (Sarah, my younger sister who was the photographer, told me that somebody else in the crowd said "where is she going?", motioning to me. Fine, whatever.

So I'm nearing the first turning buoy and my glasses are foggy because I didn't wet them before starting. So I'm treading water and wiping my goggles down. Then I start doing my "head above the water" breast stroke so that I don't overshoot and miss the turn. The rescue canoe heads to me; the guy in front says "Don't worry! We've got you! We're coming hold on". Me: No, I'm fine! Him: Umm, are you sure? Me: Yup! Umm, okay see you.

I'm nearing the end of the swim now and okay the weeds were creepy before but now they are down right intrusive. Like, seriously. Wrapping around my legs so much that I feel like I'm hardly moving. But I make it! I slip on the algae on my way out but that's okay! If I can finish the swim, I can finish this race!

Total I passed: 0
Total that passed me: I'd wager... 60

The Bike:

I think I have a good bike. It's new and expensive. It's a cross bike leaning towards mountain. I like it. It has good gears, good brakes, and it about 1/4 the weight of my old "department store bought" bike that I got for Christmas when I was maybe 15. So. I think it's good. Lin told me that I'm going to get passed by people on road bikes, and I was like "um, Lin? My bike rawks."

Before we get into how wrong I was, lets start with: I forgot to adjust the seat. So I go running out of transition (seamless transition, other than that I couldn't get my shirt on part) and hop on my bike. You know that sensation when you think there is another stair and there isn't? That's me with my bike seat. I guess somewhere along the line it got lowered- maybe when my dad was loading the car for us this morning? So I pedal for a bit and realize that this isn't working. I stop to raise the seat, and decide to abandon logic. I just raise it wildly, saying nuts to measuring, and re-tighten. Hop back on. Okay, still not quite high enough, but I did succeed in off centering it! So now the front of the seat is rubbing against my leg as I go.

And "as I go" do I ever! I have it in front gear 3, back gear 6, for the entire race. Despite this effort, every road bike just goes zooming past. ZOOMING. Old woman wearing a skirt. A woman, who is aged, who is wearing a skirt on a bicycle. A bicycle being ridden by somebody twice my age who was also sporting a skirt. Zipping past. At another time, I reached the crest of a hill at the same time as somebody with a proper road bike. She stopped pedalling, let go of one handle bar and starting stretching her back out. I bent down and pedalled my heart out. She reached the bottom of the hill in half the time it took me. Frustrating to say the least.

The best one was this one woman who's rump was maybe 5 times as wide as the seat she was sitting on. I mean, all the best and kudos to her but seriously? Seriously. That hurt. "Passing on your left." Oh hi.

Total I passed: 1
Total passed me: perhaps 20

The Run:

Ahhh. Running. My best one. A little sore coming off the bike. But ready to do this. I picked up speed the entire way until at the end I did a really strong finish. I realized I could have pushed it harder on the run but when I'm used to running MIN 5km, then doing 2.5 is hard for pacing.

Total I passed: at least 10, as many as 20
Total passed me: NOT A SINGLE ONE. So, the results haven't been posted yet so I don't know my times for each section. I do know that I finished 18th in my age group. I don't know how many in my age group, but I'd say at least 30, probably 40. So! I'm quite proud of myself! I can't wait to do another one! (Aside: never has I:tg seen so much topless action!)

Cold Feet

I've got cold feet. The bride's wedding day jitters.

Q: What! Lisa, seriously when did you get engaged!

A: Listen guys just because it's not my wedding doesn't mean it doesn't give me clammy hands!

My sister got engaged JUST 5 days ago and all of a sudden I got an email from my mom (send to me and my two older sisters) about locations. I mean it was all fun and games earlier in the week when the aforementioned sisters and I talked about how toned our arms will be but now that we are looking for locations, next thing you know we'll be setting a date!

It's all too much for me. Reading my mom's email sent me into a nervous sweat. I had to take my shoes off to dry off my feet. I was in a tizzy.

My mom's email:

OK, WE NEED TO START WORKING ON A LOCATION FOR THE WEDDING.
Laurs...ask step if she knows of a B and B in Niagara area. but closer to stony creek etc. maybe we could start with a b&b search of the possible areas. Aren't we going to have great fun!!

My sisters each respond with a bit about the escarpments, algonquin, other cool things they know of.

My response:

I will bring home the latest issue of creative bride (a wedding magazine they don't seem to have in Canada) but guys- I need to see a therapist. This is all too much too soon for me. I'm not ready to discuss locations. Please give me another week at least!

My mom's response:

Poor, sweet Lisa,
You'll do fine. Breathe deep.....
you will make an absolutely lovely bridesmaid.
I can't wait until wedding dress weekend. It will be so much fun. Laura, I heard a story that ryleys mom tried on a million frilly dresses, hated them all, so with 100$ in material, her mom made her the perfect dress.
NO I am not proposing to make your dress....I wouldn't do that to you.....but If you see one and we could hire a professional it is an idea.

Silence from me. Just too much excitement. I can't deal right now, guys. This is a life long committment you're all talking so casually about.

Lin writes:

The part I am most excited about is the wedding cake tasting. You will need several opinions for that, Huba, so let me know when that is and I will board the nearest airplane.

I reply all:

HEY i'm back in for cake discussions
Gillian can make cakes and she often does for weddings! Check out her most recent delight here:
http://flickr.com/photos/kittylaroux/237069631/in/set-72157600323195598/ wow!
http://flickr.com/photos/kittylaroux/237069628/in/set-72157600323195598/ oh boy!
delicious looking!

Alright. Alright cake I can do. But lets just slow this pace down, alright? Thanks, family.

People I like: Part 3 of an ongoing series

Tigakeen was my second Grebel roomie.
Tigakeen and I have quite a number of "good for telling at weddings" stories. We're the type of friends who like cracking up together (that is laughing, not snorting cocaine). Like when I called her on skype for the first time and I felt awkward to be talking into a microphone. Neither of us said a word for probably a minute since we were both laughing so hard for some reason.

Some of these good tales include:

1. I don't want to give too many details, but it ends with me slow-motion falling off a chair and Tigakeen lying on the ground drinking a melted frosty.

2. I don't want to give too many details, but it ends with hooded sweaters and getting locked out of our room.

3. I don't want to give too many details, but it includes me and a crush wanting to attend a my crush's friend's party, but it was late and kind of chilly for walking so Tigakeen drove us. She dropped us off and said something like "have fun, kids". Like a mom. We crack up about this every time we think about it.

4. I don't want to give too many details, but it involves really hot weather, and naming our sports bras turned sleepwear (pounds and cotton). And it also involves people knocking on our door and us scurrying to get dressed and then when we finally open the door in a disheveled manner, the knocker gives us a very skeptical look. Or when I was wearing only boxers and pounds and Tigakeen came in from the bathroom but left the door open. And instead of saying "I am not wearing a shirt" or "I am wearing only a bra" I said "Tigakeen, I'm wearing pounds" and that was enough for her to get it. Basically a lot of awkward nudity stories.

5. I DO want to give a lot of details, but I'll stop at: trailer trash themed party. We were all dressed up (Tigakeen wearing and orange and white striped vest. WHAT THE HECK, right?). Standing at a street corner waiting for the light to change. And. This big cheese upper brass of our residence passes by in his car. We wave. Oh dear!

For some reason Tigakeen and I end up with a lot of "couples honeymoon" pictures. She visited me in New York last December and we have like 3 different shots with sunset backgrounds.
She's the funniest person ever, really. She's all fine artsy and one of her projects for some reason was to make a giant vagina "sculpture" like you could crawl right in. I opted not to. She has hilariously pretentiously artsy friends and she tells the greatest stories about them. This term she is working in an artists community and the people there are hilarious. Every conversation we have includes me saying "CAN YOU PLEASE START A BLOG AND WRITE THAT EXACT STORY?" but she won't she just won't! Silly girl. It would be THE greatest blog of our time (not just one of the greatest, like Brianna). We call her stunning apt (loft like, with giant windows) the "apartment made for sex" because clearly, that's what it was made for. Unfortunately, there hasn't been much sexing. We live vicariously through each other's love lives so I'm rooting for her as much as I'm rooting for me. (Tiga- sure he has a girlfriend, but see if he has any single friends!) (Also, girlfriend schmirlfriend. You're smarter and funnier)This picture is from a camp fire. She didn't sterilize her stick before roasting a marshmellow! Grody, right? So this is me saying Tigakeen has rabies.

It's great though. We both find the same things funny and the same things lame. Like when we had a board game night! And her team was called "The Unibrow Trolls" BAHAHAHA. And my team was Team Winner or something and we won and she ACTUALLY punched me in the face!

She used to do my hair all the time for me. She did it at banquet. Here is a picture of us at banquet together. We both look smashing, right? We often had dance parties in our room (to Fleetwood Mac, or our favourite "July July" by the Decemberists) and one time I starting choking (I am apt to random coughing fits) and was like "Tiga, Tiga I'm going to die get me some water" and she just looked at me and kept on dancing. The move is like a whole body wiggle, that slap your foot. It works well.

Oh Tigakeen. I love her so!

World Famous Hot Dogs!

Dear Nathan,

Yesterday N and I went to Coney Island. Yes, we wanted to go on some rides and dip our toes in the water but most of all we wanted one of your World Famous Hot Dogs. You've bringing America, and now the world, our favourites since 1916 so I trusted that you've mastered the cooking knack. Though I think you charged me quite a bit ($2.75. Really?) I did not complain because I knew how delicious this doggie would be. We walked with our lunch to the beach. It is a bit of a walk so when I ate the hot dog and it was more of a warm dog I figured it must have cooled during the stroll.

Nate, the rest of my day was wonderful. Delightful, even. I got a sunburn despite numerous applications of SPF 30 (I KNEW I needed at least 45!) but that did not detract from the pleasantness of my day. Things were great. Great, that is until around 6 or so, after I had dropped N back off at home and was waiting for the F train (which, if you read my blog, you'd know how I feel about. See paragraph 3). Suddenly, I knew things were not all well. I will spare you and my other readers the details but I was nearly in tears by the time I got home (F-ing F took about 20 minutes to arrive, and then I had a 30 minute ride home). I then proceeded to spend the next 4 hours moaning on my bed, or sprinting like an Olympian to the bathroom. Then crawling back. Repeat.

Natey, there was a party last night, and a beach trip today. I missed both due to your food poisoning. But lest you think I'm not too too upset about missing those occasions and that maybe I was looking for an excuse or something, and I couldn't have been THAT sick, let me tell you a story to put things in perspective. My sister, my wonderful sister whom I adore more than America adores your WFHD's, called me to tell me she got ENGAGED. Here is what I said "okay" pause... "i'm really excited"... "Laura I'm so siiiick". That was how sick I was that I couldn't talk about engagements for more than 6 seconds. Hello, Nathan. Nathan what is your middle and last name because when I am upset at somebody I like to address them fully. But Nathan, my first engaged sister is a moment I can only have once in my whole life and you've RUINED it. For that I can only forget, never forgive.

In the future, I would appreciate if you cook your hot dogs for a longer duration of time. Thank you.

Best,

Lisa

"The doctrine that pleasure or happiness is the highest good"

I've been visiting a couple of schools for work lately. I've been taking a car service- something I would never do unless I'm traveling somewhere late and alone, or if I'm getting reimbursed. In this case, its the later.

The first was in Fairfield CT, where your only option is the Fairfield Cab Co. A the reviews of this place that I found on the internet were rather disheartening. Things like "I had to wait an hour!" and "The cab was filthy!". But, it was my only choice, so when I got off at my stop on the Metro North I went to the FCC office. The cab only took about 10 minutes to arrive... but... it wasn't just for me. I've never heard of this- three of us shared it! The guy in the office was like, "okay, you three, your cabs outside." Just like that, and in my head I'm like "your cab's outside?" as in your cab is outside, your singular cab? or your cabs outside as in your cabs are outside. Please clarify with better grammar, sir. But it was the former, and all three of us confusingly got into the (at lesat not filthy) cab. When we arrived at my stop, I asked how much it was, because there was no meter. NOT kidding, the driver responded "ooohh I don't know." Me: Um, can you... guess? Him: Sure... lets say... $8. I gave him $10 and asked for a receipt. Him: yeah, but, it's in the trunk. Now my mother has taught me never to fall for the "check my trunk with me, little girl" line, and since I was already cutting it close on my arrival time, I said never mind. I hope I can still get reimbursed.

My next cab story is from Friday morning using the 7th Avenue cab service near my house. This driver was incredibly friendly. About 30 seconds into the ride he asked if I like Phil Collins. Me: Um, I... I don't really know his stuff. Him: OH YOU'LL LOVE IT. So a couple songs in one starts that makes him really perk up. Its called Driving The Last Spike (link to lyrics so you can follow along). He starts giving me the background on the story as the intro chords (~30 seconds or so) play... telling me about how the mining business used to run, and how this is the story of one guy with a wife and baby (every time he says baby he makes a cradling action with his arms), and - oh, the words to the song start but he is not ready, he wants me to listen to the whole thing so he rewinds to the start. And again during the intro chords keeps telling me more. Finally he listened, enraptured, as the words start this song. And then he starts the "repeat every line" business. Phil sings "I looked to the sky", driver speaks "I looked to the sky" Phil sings "I offered my prayers", driver speaks "I offered my prayers". This guy clearly appreciated the minute details of the lyrics of this song and wanted me to do the same. Everytime he looked back in the rear view mirror I sort of smiled and nodded like "yeah, this IS where its at". Now you really have to listen to the song to laugh hard at this next part, but at the Chorus "can you hear me? Don't you see me?" he did ACTIONS. He would still do his repeat every line business but would also take his hands off the wheel and reach for the sky- as if he, too, were buried under coal and wanted the S&R team to find him. (Listen to 30 seconds, here Sorry that I can't find a longer version with some chorus action in it). Hands on the wheel, sir. Please.

So two ridic stories, right? So my third car service story- later in the afternoon on Friday, I used the "expensive" one that's right near my office. (As in, $26 including tip for a 15 minute ride). This ride was completely uneventful. After my first two I was eager for some sort of peculiarity- but none. There were magazines in the back- like Newsweek. The car was nicely air conditioned and the music was a wordless tune that none could object to.

Hm. So, as easy as reliable as the trustworthy service is... it wasn't worth any exclamation points. No hoorah. I can't tell that story and say "I KNOW, RIGHT?" when I'm finished.

My mom sometimes says that her best days were her poor days. (She and my dad used to be dirt dirt poor. She had 3 kids before she finally finished her MBA- which she did immediately after her BEng. Most students are poor enough without having 3 babies to feed as well! She hand made all my oldest siblings clothes. They used cloth diapers- and not for environmental reasons. Etc- you do the imagining.) My parents now have quite a nice house in quite a nice neightbourhood with quite a nice car (albeit nicknamed "scratchy" after Jack drew a picture on the side with a sharp stick before the car had even reached its first week birthday). Sometimes the kids get tasty lunch treats (though rarely). Occasionally we will go out for dinner even when its not really THAT special of an occasion! (Though, that woman will STILL not buy the good cleaning products). Why then, if life is so easy, and so good now, were the best times back when she couldn't afford the good times?

Wandering around Barnes and Noble, as I am apt to do, I picked up a book called "Happiness". A book on how to be happy. Collections of reflections, etc. One of them was "Think back to a time when you lived completely hedonistically. Why do you regret that now?" My answer: um, that time would be... now. Am I supposed to regret this later? I have nobody to look after except for myself, no commitments or responsibilities other than ones I have taken voluntarily. I do what I want, when I want, how I want, where I want. Unless its illegal and even then, sometimes. I'd say I'm living the dream. But would I enjoy things more if I couldn't afford them? The cheap sketchy cabs are more hilarious than the stilted more expensive service. In movies you see the servant girls falling in love while the king's daughter weeps. The rich boy looking out the window sadly in the middle of his violin lesson at the poor boy with skinned knees laughing and playing soccer on the street. Camping is a more fun vacation that going to a resort. Dressing down is more comfortable than dressing up. Homemade meals are more enjoyable than caviar at an upper class restaurant. Does it make you happier to have things to look forward to than it is to be enjoying them now?

Are the poor really happier?

Live from Connecticut, now back to the desk!

I’m on the Metro North rail to Connecticut as I write this (though, with no internet connection, I will be home when I post this).

It was a curious voyage this morning to get here. I woke up so that I could be out of the house by 6am. I was, and was waiting for my trusted F train by about 6:05. I know that it takes about 40 minutes to get to Grand Central from the 7^th avenue F train stop, and my Metro North train didn’t leave until 6:58, so I felt in good shape.

The F train, oh my F train, didn’t come until 6:18. The F train and I are like that couple where you’re like “girl, break up with that boy! He is bad news! I don’t know why you love him so!” because for all that I do for the F train, for all the nice things I say and for how much trust and commitment I share, the F train treats me quite poorly. He doesn’t call me when he says he will, he makes me wait, he sees so many other girls. But for all that trouble, he’s still all I’ve got! We’ll make it through these rough times, Effie! (Edit: Okay I JUST signed this petition. A girls gotta do what a girls gotta do)

So I take the F to the A/C at Jay Street. (Sorry to anybody not from NY who has no idea what I’m talking about. Here, check out this subway map and try to follow along!). The A/C headed to Manhattan comes from Bed Stuy. Now again with the “I swear I’m not racist” caveat- but seriously. Like everybody on the F train was white (80% minimum) and everybody on my car of the A/C was black (95% at least!). I’m always so fascinated by the segregation of races by neighbourhood.

It was 6:32 by the time the A/C met up with the 4/5 at Fulton Street. I’m making pretty good time. The 4 comes (and it’s an express train) pretty quickly and I even get a seat. Hooray! My racing heart finally starts to slow down as I realize that I am probably going to make it. And indeed I do! 6:52 I arrive at Grand Central. My New Haven bound train leaves from track 23- right on the main level. I even have time to buy a ticket from the machines (if you buy a ticket on board the train its $4 more). Yippee!

So I have a nice little seat here. Wow I was seriously half done formulating how cozy it was- 4 seats with just me and one other girl, sitting diagonal from each other. Then we make a stop and a couple of people come on. One woman joins the 2 seater across from me. Our knees are banging against each other. How annoying. But not as annoying as this: a guy so large he needs a cane to support his weight because two legs just won’t do the trick now takes the aisle seat beside me. I mean, as a technicality, this guy should be forced to pay for two tickets or at least half of mine because he is now taking up half my seat. And his legs are in the aisle. Seriously- how do people ever get that fat? Like… about 75 pounds ago didn’t he realize where this was headed and maybe shouldn’t he have made the decision to lay of the Cocoa Chums?

Wow this is turning into quite the ride! The ticket man just came by to stamp our tickets, Polar Express style. What a novelty! And Fatty Mc Two Seats says he needs priority seating! And the ticket man is like, yeah? Why? (Clearly its because F McTS is a large man, but Ticket Man is going to make him say that? Wow this is getting good!). F McTS finally produces a disability card! I pretend to be examining my ear phone while actually focusing my gaze a little further- on his card. Literally it says. DISABILITY: OBESITY. Holy! This is crazy! I wonder if he gets workers comp. If he does I am quitting this country and starting a vineyard in Southern France because I’ll be darned if I pay taxes to a government that pays people money for being too fat to be 100% mobile.

So I had brought a movie to watch (and earphones and everything) but it turns out my work laptop doesn’t have DVD playing software. Go figure, right? This is an excruciating ride!

What’s the worst train/subway/public commuter line story you’ve got? (Brianna’s airline story takes the cake, but there’s room on the podium yet)

I'm In Like With You

iminlikewithyou.com is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of.

The Premise: okay so you have a profile. You can search other profiles of a x mile radius to your zip code. And contact them? NO this is the dumb part. There's no contact info. You have to WIN it. So you post a "game" which is a dumb name because its not a game its a question. You post a question like "What's your favourite movie?" or "We're playing rock paper scissors. I do rock, you do scissors. What happens next?". Then people answer (30 characters which isn't enough for me to be witty) and BID. You start with like, 500 points (you can get more by adding more things to your profile) and then you participate in auctions to answer these questions. So if the girl who answered before you put down 40, you have to put down 50 with your answer. To their "game". It's not a game because this isn't even fun! Answering to somebody's game is called "flirting"...! I know, right?

So games expire after like, a day, or a week, or something. And then the person who queried gets to choose the winner. Here's the catch- they can only choose from the top 5 bidders. So it's not about if your answer was wittiest, it's if you caught him at the end of the game or not. And whoever he chooses from the top 5 as winner gets his contact info. RIDIC, right? Oh here's another technique. So if I start a game and some hunkalunk bids but then 5 other out bid but I want the original hunkalunk to bid again so that he's in the top 5- I CAN SEND HIM A WINK! Hilare! And by flirting with him, he'll know to keep bidding for me. Because being bid for doesn't at all make me feel like a prostitute? Hold on, we're not at the best part yet.

The People: So you're like... Good Lord who would join that? Well.. the thing is that it's in beta. And to me, that is the most appealing part. Okay FINE I signed, but only because I was interested in the interfacing. And I couldn't believe that I was understanding it correctly. You auction... yourself... for flirting? Hmmm.

The people on here are ridiculous. I guess they're all as cyber geeky as me, they must be in order to see the beta appeal. Here are my guesstimates. 80% of the people use the term "geek" proudly on their profile. 50% include a picture of themselves with an SLR camera. 75% mention how geeky they were as a child, like "I grew up on ninja turtles and back to the future." 90% of the girls include a picture of themselves eating a large, calorie dense food item. 70% of the people claim to like either biking or running or both. 100% of the people appear to be trying to appear to be well rounded. Interesting, right?

Of the male profile pictures: 40% of the guys have a hot glamour shot, (80% of which are in sepia tone), 30% are really cool pictures with colourful backgrounds and interesting camera angles- like you'd expect to see on the inner cover of an indie album, 15% are of a guy with a beer, 10% a guy in the outdoors with a bike (some outdoorsy boys got labeled under good camera angle), and only 5% awkward pictures that scream: I'm soooo single. I read the book called "How to Make Friends and Influence People" and it was GOOD.

So really, a good distribution.

If you are cracking up at this whole thing as much as I am- let me send you an invite. Please, it'll make your day to be a beta tester!

Insatiable

Why is my blog named Insatiable: the girl?

Well, I love the word insatiable. I learned it from a Dashboard Confessional song called This Brilliant Dance (click to listen to 30 second clip). The lyrics that particularly stuck with me were: "This is incredible, starving, insatiable... yes, this is love for the first time. And you'd like to think you were invincible, yeah, well weren't we all once?". (Admittedly, I went through quite an emo phase in grade 10ish)

An old teacher of mine once described me as driven. And I was like- that's it. That's what I want to be. Driven. Not pretty, not smart, not athletic, not hilarious, not friendly, not well intentioned, not kind, not modest, not sweet, not unpretentious, not accepting, not spontaneous, not courteous, not well traveled, not open minded, not gracious, not logical, not well rounded. Driven. That was the adjective I strove for.

Dictionary.com defines insatiable to mean "Impossible to satiate or satisfy: an insatiable appetite; an insatiable hunger for knowledge." I'd like to think that I don't settle? You know? That my goals are so lofty that just nothing will suffice? I really like the feeling of the world insatiable. Being insatiable means being driven, sort of, to me.

So I chose Insatiable as my blog title and URL.

Well... sitemeter tells me that many, many people find my blog each day by searching for "insatiable wives" or "insatiable girls" or sometimes, on occasion "insatiable dogs". WEIRD, RIGHT? I guess because I love the word so much, I ignored the sexual undertones that come along with it. Like masochism. Yeah, its a word and we all know its sexual side, but it's also just a regular word, right? Wrong Lisa. It's not possible to use that word without everybody who overhears to get a sudden mental image of whips and crotchless leather pants. And, etc.

I have a growing reading population- and I'd love for that to keep growing. I'm nervous about changing my URL because what if people don't update their bookmarks and nobody reads me anymore? I figure that's a risk I'll have to make...

I wanted to get lfar.com but it costs $950! Yeah right, jerks. lfar.ca is available... I don't know how to get a .ca domain... anybody? Or I can change it to something else blogspot...

So the contest is open. What should I change my blog URL and name to?

Ps. I really like references to favourite song lyrics. Justus refers to the National's City Middle (30 seconds). Clink refers to Postal Service's Such Great Heights (30 seconds). Laura refers to Hawksley Workman's You Me and The Weather (30 seconds). I'm very much open to this... any ideas?
How about Hawksley's No Beginning No End... the lyric "Don't dive shallow in deep dark water", or the song Clever not Beautiful. Only then I will make beautiful people feel bad.
Expect further analysis of my favourite song lyrics COMING SOON!

My First Beer

The story of my first actual beer is a tale worth telling, if I do say so myself.

My best friend in grade 10 was Magda. And I mean BEST. The tenth grade is a good grade for secret sharing, so man oh man were lots of secrets shared with her.

One night my whole family was on vacation (it was March Break I think- they had gone on a road trip to Virginia beach or something) and they weren't expected back until the next morning. I didn't want to spend the night alone, so Magda came over for a sleep over. A couple other friends from school had come over earlier in the night too, but only Magda was staying the night.

Giddy at eleven, we discovered a beer in the fridge. Alcohol flows freely around that house so I knew if we split the Molson, nobody would notice. I got two plastic cups out of the cupboard (that home is full of children, so there are very few actual glass glasses there- all plastic tumblers and sippy cups) and we 50-50-ed the beer. Giggling, we each took a sip.

We both absolutely hated it. But would dare each other "okay do two swallows without a break in between!" until our cups were half empty. "I think I'm drunk!" and etc, you know how it goes. Suddenly the phone rings! Its my dad- they were going to stop halfway home at a hotel and continue the drive in the morning (the original plan) but they decided to just drive through the night. But traffic was great, so they'd be home in about half an hour.

!! Magda and I freak out! We dumped our beers down the sink(because no way could we guzzle the rest, especially at the already inebriated state we thought we were at). Then washed our cups so they wouldn't smell like beer. Then washed the sink. Then brushed our teeth with excessive amounts of toothpaste.

But we were SURE you could smell beer in the air so we decided a quick fix would be to make microwave popcorn. We somehow burned it. So Magda starts making a new one as I dump the first bag down the in-sink garbage compressor (garbarator?). We now have a bag full of popcorn. We're standing awkwardly in the kitchen. Still too suspicious. So we rush downstairs and put on any DVD. Pirates of the Carribean. We start the disc halfway through. We finally are able to act relaxed just as my parents and siblings enter.

Now... had my parents come home and Magda and I were each drinking a mickey of vodka, I can't picture getting in TOO much trouble. I mean, my mom likes to peer pressure us into drinking! I was home a couple months ago and found frozen berries in the freezer so I wanted to make some smoothies. Sarah, my then 15 year old sister, wanted some smoothie, too. My mom was like "oh haha Lisa put some Absolut in there so that if she wants some smoothie she has to drink too!". Not even kidding.

What is the story of YOUR first beer or first drink? (The one when your dad lets you have a sip of his 0.5% Labatt Light at the family golf tournament doesn't count!). Send me a link to your post, and I'll list all the posts here. Go!

Laura's first drink
Dave's first beer
Justus's first beer
AJ's first drink
Anna's first drink
M's first beer
Rob's first drink

Do/Date/Dump, MASH, and other games

Do/Date/Dump is one of my favourite games ever. Do you know how to play? You list three people of comparable attractiveness and each person that is playing needs to say that IF THEY HAAAD to, then which of these people would they do, which would they date, and which would they dump. This works best if everybody playing is from a group (like at summer camp, high school friends, a theatre production team, etc.). DDD is fun when you list 3 equally hunky guys, but is even more ridiculous when you list 3 incredibly unattractive guys.This game is similar to Desert Island- where you list 3 people and have to kill one to eat, let one swim away (with the 1 person dingy), and one to repopulate the island with. You can also play Desert Island like "you're stuck on a desert island and you only have 1 book to read- what book is it?" or "you're stuck on a desert island with a dvd player and one movie- what movie?" or "you're stuck on a desert island with only one source of protein- which is it?" etc.

They play Desert Island in the episode "The Fire" of season two of the US The Office. You can watch the full ep here.

Gillian and I were joking about this game the other day, and we were wondering how this game would be played at Grebel. Clearly "doing" is out of the question... so maybe we could replace it with "write your first name with that guy's last name tee hee" or "write LF + XY" with a heart around it where XY are the guy's initials. Or IF/HH/HF instead of D/D/D which is Interlock Fingers, Hold Hands regularly, or High Five. (We all know I have a "thing" with interlocking fingers- see this post and this post).

Another fun game that who doesn't like to play is MASH. If you don't know how to play that then seriously- it's time for you to have a sleepover with a bunch of grade seven girls because I swear this game is riotously crowd pleasing. You set up the paper in the picture below. Write MASH at the top (standing for Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House), then make a list of four boys (celebrity inclusion is a rule that should be decided on before playing- I recommend only added celebs if there are only two hunky boys in the grade). Here is where things get a bit more open ended. You can make a list of a couple careers, a couple annual incomes, a couple cities/countries to eventually live in, a list of potential numbers of children (ALWAYS include "20" as one of the options... 25% of your friends will have 20 children!), what car the future will bring, etc. Then an arbitrary number must be decided. Now the person in the picture below employed a strategy I had all but forgotten about- the "cross-offer" draws circle until the person who's future is being told says stop. Draw a dot between each ring and thats the arbitrary number. More common is just to start making tallies until the person says stop. The number should be more than 5 but less than say, 15, or else the game will go on too long. The cross-offer then goes through, starting from MASH, then boys, then city, then careers, then cars (in this example). Say the number is 6, and crosses every 6th item. The last thing left in each category is the true future.You can play mash online at http://www.playmash.com

Other fun games include cootie catchers (As Dane Cook says: "Pick a Number, Okay now Pick a Colour, Okay you're gay." Because weren't 3/4 of the flaps related to homosexuality?)

Also fun is "Would You Rather" where you present two options and the person HAS to chose one. Like would you rather be blind or dead? 7 feet tall or 4 feet tall? Really zitty but thin, kind of fat with a perfect complexion? Kill a human you don't know or your cat that you love? Go for 60 hours without eating or without sleeping? (What are some good ones you've played?)

What were some other hilare games that you used to (OKAY. Be honest, you played it yesterday didn't you? Because I did...) play?

Summer Goals: update

Time for a quick update on my summer goals

-run at least 3 races
So far the race count is 1, but I am signed up for 2 more so this will be completed soon.

-attend a roof bbq party
Done. Friday. And it was a rockin' time. Bonus points because the cops showed up.

-have a dinner party
Done. Even margaritas got involved. Fun night there too.

-Laugh a little (but only a little)
This one is hard to really quantify because I've been laughing a lot lately but this specifically says only a little. Still, I will count this done because at work the other day Gillian was being hilare over IM but since I was at work I couldn't just crack up and roll on the ground. So I stiffled it- and only laughed a little. COUNTS.

We'll see whats coming up next!
And, any other goals you'd like to see added to the list?

Age is just a number

I've been reflecting a lot upon age recently.

It might have been provoked by the fact that I'm under the legal drinking age in this country (which is a feeling I associate with being in high school), or that maybe when my blog was reviewed recently, the reviewer just couldn't get over: TWENTY!

Because I work/live/engage myself more often in professional environments with colleagues who are significantly older than me (my youngest "work friend" is I think 24 or 25), I've adapted to that kind of lifestyle, I'd like to think. Where as at Grebel, living with other people my own age, I sometimes feel like I'm the oldest person around... with these New Yorkers, I only feel young when my numerical age is brought up.

At work, Gillian calls me Little Lisa. I'm totally okay with that. Then it started catching on and lots of people took to the nickname, or the acronym LL. Still cool. Then came Li'l Lisa which I am NOT okay with. It's hard to quite explain why... my only connotation with li'l is Li'l Jinx from Archie comics who totally sucked- more sucking than Cheryl Blossom but less sucking than Jr Archie or whatever they called it when Archie and the gang were all large headed second graders.

At a conference recently, the lecturer at one session asked us to get into groups of four. I was a good 10, 15 years younger than the average age of the conference attendees, but I was probably at least 20 years younger than anyone in my little group of four. So then we were all discussing something, and the one older gentleman kept totally dismissing all my input. Come on, really? He was wearing geriatric Reeboks... I think that gives me the totally upper hand and authority in ANY subject, including usability. But like- seriously, I'm not dumb. I was saying important things, really I was. And even if I was being an idiot, are you so big and full of important things to say, old man Reebok, that you have to totally ignore me half the time and sneer then change the topic the other half? I'd like to believe it's not because I look young. Heck- I'd rather call him sexist or racist or something except for that he was white and our other group members (who he listened to) were both women.

On a plane ride home a couple weeks ago I sat next to a teenaged boy. He had that peach fuzz moustach growing, you know? And short, gel spiked hair ala my grade seven crush. He was reading a book that had a cover featuring a lot of flames and an anime style character. He was sitting next to a 50-ish year old looking woman with dark routes and motherly attire. I, being a darling, struck up a pleasant conversation with our pubescent teen. Whats your book about? Oh cool! Yeah, mine is on Design. (insert overly simplified example of the difference between good and bad design. OVERLY simplified). He mentions some movie- apparently this book he is reading is being turned into a movie and the director turned down doing Harry Potter to do this movie instead. I said something like "oh wow! Harry Potter is a big deal! Jeepers!". He then, carrying the conversation quite well for a boy of his age, asked if I am a design major. For some reason I said, "No, I'm an engineer" (which I meant to say, I'm an engineering student, but it came out sounding like I'm graduated. Oh well, I didn't correct myself). I then asked him, "How about you... what grade are you in?" because a quick pro/con list told me that though asking him if he was in college yet was probably flattering, it was so unrealistic that it'd be silly. So I asked what grade he's in. He says "Oh, I have my masters in film... I teach in the Bronx now". OKAY WOW. That poor boy (I now think maybe it was a woman with a bad hair stylist and a bit of an issue with facial hair)! It puts age in perspective at least- I might be called "li'l lisa" but has anybody asked me what I want to take as my grade nine elective recently? At least not.

Actually funny story is in that at my old high school, they would post the bus lists outside the doors of the school at the end of August. When I was in grade 10, Laura drove us to the school around Labour day and we were checking out the list. A mom and her daughter were also looking at it. The mom, to Laura: are you starting grade 9 like my daughter, too? Laura: um, I'm in OAC. (OAC=grade 13= doesn't exist anymore, but in the olden days of Ontario, there were 13 grades.) Poor Laura! Also, haha Laura!

Sometimes at work I am hesitant to let people know that I am a student. Well- not to coworkers, who all know anyway, but when I meet people who use our product (rule 1 of blogging: don't talk about work. I'm keeping this generic enough, right?) I for sure don't tell them my age. If it comes up that I am new to the city, I say things like "Yeah, I just moved here from Canada about a month ago" instead of "Yeah, I'm only here for 4 months this summer then I go back to complete 3 more years of school before I receive my Bachelor's". I guess I just want equal respect as my colleagues, right?

I think 20 is a good age! That is to say, I like the person that it took me twenty years to mature into. Twenty, as a number, is quite meaningless because you can compare me to certain other 20 year olds and I'll seem 10 years more or less mature. Usually more, mature, I'd say.

Would you say that I am mature, average, or immature for my age. Would you say that YOU are mature, average, or immature for YOUR age?

First Night in a New Apartment

So I've moved, recently. (As in, yesterday).

I was starving and I decided to make some tortellini for dinner. The noodles are boiling and I go to look for a spoon to stir them. NO SPOONS. NO UTENSILS. Seriously. I checked every drawer and cupboard. Many times- I probably circled the kitchen 4 or 5 times, just not believing that there aren't any utensils. Guys, I even checked the oven because maybe they keep them there? Then I realized there weren't any bowls, either. There were 2 small plates, 8 wine glasses, and 5 shot glasses. And a colander. That is the exact opposite of "just the basics"!

"Welcome to my fancy dinner party. Have some wine. Have two glasses of wine- one for each hand. I've baked us some delicious _insert fancy food that requires straining_ that we can eat from the pot with our fingers. Then do shots." Really- what the heck.

So using the butter knife I found, I both prepared and ate my dinner. I then divulged in two of my guilty pleasures.

First I watched Bridget Jones' Diary. The girl I'm subletting from left all her movies behind and theres a couple of good ones that I can't wait to crack into. I ate ice cream from the tub with a butter knife, and was woo-ed by Mr Darcy along with Bridget once again.

Guilty Pleasure #1: Anything Pride and Prejudice

I then walked to the local grocery store to buy cleaning supplies. My apartment smells a little bit and even though I have my nicely scented vanilla candle to mask any odor, I decided its probably a better idea to get down to the bottom of this and find the smell source. I spent about $30 on cleaning supplies including these awesome disposable scrub cloth things. A+. One thing of note is when choosing between scents, I chose "raspberry" over "scent: antiseptic" even though it was 20cents more for the same volume.

Guilty Pleasure #2: Buying things I know my mother would never ever buy.

Yes, its true. My mom would never buy "good brand" cleaning supplies. My Saturday morning chore was cleaning the bathrooms and oh boy what I would have given for a non bleach cleaner (sometimes my nail beds would start to bleed). And how joyous would it have been not to use regular scented VIM (and smell like that for a couple of days. *sniff* who smells like a slightly abrasive but will not scratch cleanser? Oh, probably Lisa again).

There were also "after dinner chores" at my house. The oldest kid living at home did dishes, the 2nd did pots, the 3rd cleared and washed the table, and the 4th swept. Now because I'm fourth, I was sweeping from the age of "able to sweep" until my oldest brother moved out, which was went I was what, 13 or so? So I've probably got 10 years of sweeping under my belt. I am a good sweeper. Now- before I bash my mom's frugality too much, I SHOULD mention that one time she bought me an electric vacuum broom. Literally called the Eureka 3000. It was a Christmas gift in grade two. I RECEIVED A BROOM FROM SANTA. Maybe this will help you understand why I get such pleasure from spending money on things like name brand ziploc bags and paper towel that actually dries things.

Well, so today I had planned to take a visit some sort of "bed bath and beyond" store to stock my apartment with supplies. Because though I won't often admit it- I like looking at linens, candle stick sets, and frames. Really, I do. However, this morning as I wiped down all the surfaces with "fresh clean scent" non-bleach name brand cleanser, I noticed something. A dishwasher. I have a dishwasher. And it is full of clean dishes. Wow.

Well... maybe I'll still go to a domestic goods store and buy a porcelain teapot because you never know.