Notions: yay or nay

I wish I could dispel the notion that dancing is a sport. While I recognize its value as an intense cardiovascular workout and good route to muscular legs, real sports have points or timers, and sometimes physical contact with another team. Dancer!=Athlete.

I don't care for the notion that small talk is pleasant or necessary. As we walk back to our desks from the kitchen area, there's really no point in asking me what project I'm working on. That question really initiates an answer that is at least 30 seconds long, and we only have less than 5 seconds until we're at our desks. And then it gets awkward because you have to stand by my desk listening to me answer a question that you don't really care about. Let's walk back in silence; silence doesn't have to be awkward. It's only 5 seconds.

I dislike the notion that American Eagle (and Hollister, Abercrombie, etc) is for people who are followers. I'm tired of being subtly judged for enjoying a good brand. You haters say "I am unique, and therefore I wear unique clothing". I say "I am unique, and wear what I like. What I like happens to be what a lot of other people like. Suck it." Except since it's all really subtle, they never really say their bit aloud, and so I can't really retort with my bit.

I am bothered by the notion that working an office job means you've given into the man. We can't all be Starbucks barristas. I quite enjoy my 9-to-5-in-front-of-a-computer lifestyle. Working in an office doesn't mean my calendar is marked with Casual Friday and Office Retreat. (We're casual everyday!). Working at an office doesn't mean I work at Dunder Mifflin or wherever Dilbert works. Working in an office doesn't mean I chat by the water cooler about the bad management. Working in an office doesn't mean I've given up my dreams for the big paycheque and now I hate my life. Some people like offices.

I can hardly tolerate the notion that Information Architects are web designers. When I say "I am an IA" people either assume I can build them a website (no! I do NO coding!) or that I do graphic design (no! no!).

I cannot toleration the notion that all bloggers are here to be fantastic writers. There's been a fair amount of chatting around blogoland, complaining about the steady decline of writing quality. I harrumph at this crowd, and pump my fist while saying: Who says everything we post has to be fantasmic writing? Who says that by default we must all be here because we all love writing and want to write well and be Writers4Life? Not every post is life changing. Not every blog is life changing. I would rather read an interesting post than a well written post. Plus like half the stuff at IB really bothers me because the effort is often palpable and it reminds me of grade 10 english class when my teacher told me to try to be emotional in my writing. And not that my lexicon is huge, but it's pretty obvious when people use Thesaurus.com. Pretty obvious and pretty lame.

I abhor the notion that seems to be set in the minds of many people, mostly girls: That there is something you cannot do. I was talking to my younger sister's friend who wants to go into accounting. She said she was thinking of Waterloo, for their co-op program. I said "Waterloo is okay, but Laurier is probably the better co-op school for business, and harder to get into." She said "oh, okay, then it looks like I'll go to Waterloo." She's in grade 11! Plenty of time to work on whatever marks she needs. And she had already underestimated herself, thinking she didn't have the abilities to get into the top school. Seriously? Or did you know that almost 100% of girls who apply to engineering get in NOT because Admissions is easier on female applicants but because only females who are hugely qualified even apply. Meanwhile plenty of males who have grades 20% below the required average still apply. But girls don't even try for fear of rejection! GIRLS, COME ON.

I put forward the notion to get rid of all the aforementioned notions. All in favour?

Neil's Crazy Interview Idea

So Neil had this crazy interview idea? Crazy. So this is Penelope interviewing me:

If you were invisible for the day what would you do?
Well, first, I hope it's a warm day because I kind of like being naked. Or minimally clothed, at least. Then, let's face the facts, I'd probably go steal like, diamonds, or something. I don't really know how to pawn stuff, but I'm sure I could figure it out. Mostly, I would use my powers for bad. But I guess if I was able to be invisible for more than a day, then it'd be worth it to tell the FBI and they could sent me on covert missions to rescue hostages and stuff, or gather clues from highly guarded areas. See, I'm not a bad person.

If your house was on fire what one item would you save?
Assuming all the humans have safely evacuated, I'd have to say my hard drive. Ahh, can you image losing all your life's pictures and music? I can imagine it- and it is not a pretty picture.

Whose is the most dialed number in your mobile phone?
Um. Home. By far. Meags second, I guess. It's not even my phone, it's my parents'. I'm the coolest blogger.

Who would play you in the movie of your life?
K-Bell. If only for the arms.

If I was coming round for dinner what would you cook?
Tricky. I made a delightful Chicken Divan, if I may say so. With broccoli? Cheese sauce made from scratch? It's like my one meal I can make (totally from scratch, and never using a recipe. You just feel it out... and know). It takes a lot of time and effort, though. So probably grilled peppers, mushrooms, and snow peas in wrap with cheese.

What would you do if you weren't an engineering student?
I'd be a famous person. I'd be such a good famous person. Most likely for acting, I guess.

What are your best and worst personality traits?
Best: I'd like to think I have a lot of perspective
Worst: I get jealous easily.

Do you think you'd ever resort to having plastic surgery?
Oh, I'm totally not against it. Theres no part of my body that I can't fix by lifting weights, but if I were one of the unfortunate people to be born with an ugly nose or something? Heck yeah, I'd get that fixed. Plastic surgery isn't all that different from say, braces. And I had braces.

Who was your first ever crush?
Grades 1-4. Domenic. I hear he is a huge drug face these days, which is unfortunate. He was really smart (in grade 1 we got to leave class during learn to read time, and would sit in the library doing the grade 4 reading books together) and good at soccer. He missed the testing day for the gifted class. I got into gifted, and so we were forever in different classes. And as a rule the "regulars" weren't cool if they played with "the gifties" during recess, so our soccer flirting days were also over. I'm kind of sad, now. I just looked him up on facebook and he's not there. Oh well.

What are your guilty pleasures?
I've posted about this. I also enjoy celebrity gossip, but I don't feel guilty about that. I don't feel guilty when I eat whole trays of brownies, either. Maybe I should.

Do you have a party trick?
One time at a party we played "who has the loudest voice without yelling". I won by a landslide. So I guess my party trick is being annoying. THIS is why I have no friends! I also can make this really cool clover shape with my tongue, but I keep that in reserve.

Being from such a large family, do you feel like you have to compete for attention from your parents?
Look, Penelope. Let's keep this superficial.

Who's your role model?
I once had to write a speech about this in grade 3. I wrote about my oldest sister, Lindsay (did you know that, Lin? Most people chose Mother Theresa or a local sports hero. I chose you!). Who currently is my role model? I don't know, maybe I should get one. I admire lots of different people for lots of different things, I guess.

When are you at your happiest?
When I'm doing things I'm good at. Or when I'm really into something. I guess those are one in the same. Finishing my first triathlon felt pretty good. Writing a test when I know all the answers. My life's happiest moment is probably at the end of an improv scene I did in grade 12. And the end of the scene we all jump and say "EEEEND" and then say "SCENE!" when we land. And then end of that scene I had just adrenaline then I jumped 2 miles into the sky. I am not exaggerating. That energy you get from the audience? So good.

If you could jump in a time machine where would you go?
The future. I'm REALLY excited/curious about the future. How exciting is it? SO EXCITING.

What's the best present anyone has ever given you?
Jack gave me this framed picture for Christmas 2 years ago. This year was a picture of him playing in the snow, and a caption that said "Is your refrigerator running?" That's it, no punch line. I love it.

Moral of the Story

I am a highly sought after children's book author.

So highly sought after that if you were to call me up and offer me filthy amounts of money to write you a story, I would have to say "sorry, but I am too highly sought after to have time for you."

Everything you have read so far is a lie.

The excitement was just getting to my head. My ImBFF (Improv Best Friend Forever), Meags, is a wonderful drawer. She's taking a book binding class and was thinking she could bind a story that she had illustrated herself... and that I would write the story.

I've read enough children's books in my life to know the stylistic elements of a storybook, you know: age appropriate language, repetition (sometimes quite subtle), a moral at the end, etc.

I think I should first decide the moral. I'm thinking "it's okay to be different" or "be true to yourself", sort of Stephanie's Ponytail-esque. The trouble is that she wants to get started on the illustrating asap, but I don't want to commit to a moral only to decide later that it sucks. I've been trying to brainstorm good "moral of the story"s. So my question to you:

What is your favourite moral of the story?

You go, girl

I am pee shy.

I am also poop shy but I have this thing where I've decided to refrain from talking about such matters on this blog*. Yet, nolens volens**, a girl has sometimes gotta go. And I have this thing where I've decided if I have to go, I should go, because I have this thing where holding it in can only do harm. (But can I just mention that Immodium >= the sum of oxygen, water, food.)

So I have this thing where I can never pee in public bathrooms when other people are around and there is silence. That's a loaded sentence so let me break it down for you.

Conditions:
Public Bathroom + Other People + Silence = No can do.

So, if I were in a public bathroom but it was bustling with wailing infants and air expelling hand dryers and other people flushing the toilet, or even extraordinarily loud music... I could go.

If I found myself in a public bathroom that was human-vacant, then even if it was as silent as a zombie-vacant grave... I could go.

Now that I think about it, if I were in a one toilet one sink sort of bathroom in somebody's home, I could probably go as long as people and silence were mutually exclusive. I don't know... those kinds of situations haven't gotten enough QA for me to fully give the thumbs up. But I'd probably be able to go.

So here is what I hate: when I go to the bathroom at work and somebody is l fixing their makeup or adjusting their hair in front of the mirror. So we exchange pleasantries for a second and then I enter a stall. Silence (make up checking is a low-noise activity). So then I sit there for like 3 minutes both willing my bladder to release or for the other person to quick slacking and return to the earning their salary. It's so awkward. Because then I start imaging what they must be thinking. "Why is she just sitting on the can without peeing?". WHY, INDEED.

*Good God, I have a label called bathroom.
**Nolens Volens was today's dictionary.com word of the day and I really wanted to use it. Excuse it's forcedness.

Member Suggestions

Every morning at the gym I fill out a Member Suggestions card.

On the first day I wrote "leave a pen near the member suggestions box."

Every day since then I have written "make your towel service free" and sometimes "seriously, it's not like towel service can actually cost that much. Come on."

They know it's from me. The box is always empty save for my suggestion, and the box is right near the front desk. As I drop my suggestion in the box I wave a cheerful "hello!" to the bunch of personal trainers hanging around the front.

Today I wrote "all the drains smell like summer camp." "Hello!" to the personal trainers.

Ever the optimist, I will continue you leave such helpful suggestions. Seeing as I have to get out my own pen to do so, I wonder if I should finally give up?

Why I live at home

As I leave my bedroom this morning and head to the kitchen for (free!) Shreddies, Jack calls to me from the living room.

"Lisaaaa, everybody was making fun of me for my house coat" "Oh, who was, Jack?" "Dad, Jenny, EVERYBODY. Everybody hates me and everybody always makes fun of me"

Two things: a) my heart melts because he's all sad and huffy, b) I have to hold in a laugh because his house coat is pretty hilarious. And plus, what kind of five year old even wears a housecoat?

I pick the big lug up and shower him with kisses and "everybody loves you"s. As we sit by the fire (warm! free!) my mom tells me I look skinny today (what a great way to start the morning!)

I still haven't rebought shampoo/conditioner from when I lost it, and I'm still hopeful that it will be returned. Eventually, right? Luckily, since I live at home, there is a plethora of other hair cleansing items in the shower. Today I sample Head & Shoulders... that stuff really DOES make your hair silky! If I lived on my own, I'd have nobody's shampoo to steal^H^H^H^H^H borrow. Can you borrow shampoo? I guess not.

I open the fridge to look for sandwich making items and find that a sandwich has already been prepared for me! And a piece of cake from desert last night is wrapped up for me! With love! And for free! (There are also some delicious green apples. Also: free!)

Jack wants to relive with sandwich making glory days, and offers to prepare me a PB and J. I tell him that I already have a sandwich, and he feels usurped. He decides to let me know how much he loves me by giving me 100 kisses instead. 100 kisses is more than it sounds. We're only at about 40 when I need to start getting my coat and shoes on. I pry him off my face and say "here, kiss my shins as I put my coat on". He does. How many of YOU got shin kisses from little boys with no front teeth, hey? See, this is why I live at home.

I take the Go Train in the mornings with my 14 year old brother who goes to school downtown. Now, I, as a polite adult, can't squirm through the hoards so that I can be first on so that I can find 2 seats together so that I can sit with my sibling. However, my brother, as a curly haired adolescent, most certainly can. If I didn't live at home with Steve, I wouldn't have somebody to save a seat for me as I slowly file on the train.

So you see, living at home? It's not so bad after all.

(Scratch that. It sucks. It took me like 2 hours to get home from improv last night since buses run so infrequently later at night. Sigh)

A brief history of hair gel

I went through a phase in grade 6 where me and my best friend basically sported a shell of gel over our hair (hi, Tori!). Her mom called us helmet heads. I think it started with our soccer team thinking we were way more hardcore than we were, and needed ways to keep our bangs out of our eyes, but it ended with us buying bulk quantities of Dippity-Do and being able to take our hair elastic out but have our pony tail stay up anyway.

Your fashion faux pas of the mid nineties was wearing neon sun hats and tapered leg jeans. Mine was forcing my folliculars to have a modulus of elasticity approximately equal to that of titanium. I stopped using gel entirely in approximately grade 7, and thought I'd never turn to it again.

But a bottle of hair gel from my stocking, Christmas ~=2001, finally was given the chance to prove itself this summer. My mom probably purchased it at a discount warehouse (the origin of 90% of my stocking items, I'm sure) and I've never seen it sold in actual stores. It's a translucent green gel, so since I have dirty blondish hair I have to be conservative in my application or else a verdigris hue shines through.

But let me tell you: THIS STUFF DOES WONDERS. It doesn't plaster frizzy bangs to your head; it makes them straight! It rarely crusts, and when it does you give the strand a singular stroke and the crust disappears, leaving a lovely lock still frizz-free.

Upon discovering the wizardry contained in the bottle, I started doing crazy things like wear my hair down in curls (life is for the living!!!!). I've since grown dependent on the stuff, now applying it daily to my rudely misbehaving perma baby bangs.

Unfortunately, the stuff is AWOL. So yesterday morning I go shopping for a new bottle.

Good heavens!

Though I'm not your alpha girl (in fact, I was once "accidentally" referred to as an alpha male), I still don't consider myself an atypical consumer. Hair gel. I haven't bought the stuff since the premiere of Sailor Moon, but still, an easy enough purchase, no?

I enter the aisle and stroll away from the cheap stuff... and then stroll back away from the expensive stuff. $30 for 200mL? Psh, NICE TRY.

The store brand stuff is on sale, even! But it has a viscosity reminiscent of regurgitated Jell-o and I have a flash back to my helmet head. I return the bottle to the shelf.

I browse through other brands. Why is even the most minimal of holds called "ULTRA HOLD" or "MAXIMUM HOLD"? Which is higher, by the way. Ultra or Max? I of course am confused by "UltraMax Strength". One brand ranks their holds on a scale of 1-10, but the lowest value is 7 ("mega hold"). I stubbornly refuse to do more than glare at the bottle marked "Sculptr Strong" because a) stop spelling like you're a subsidiary of flickr, I highly doubt that you are, and b) I am not trying to sculpt my hair! I am merely here to purchase a product to stop my baby bangs from forming a halo!

Yes, Got2be, I'm looking at you. And while I've already got my tsk finger a-shakin', please stop pluralizing with a z. I'm not looking to manage my mizbehavin curlz. The only time when replacing s's with z's is appropriate is when it is used with contextual irony, like when I say "I've got mad breakdancing skillz" or "teh interwebz". Only then!

I eventually decide on a Fructis gel because Fructis is a reputable brand that has never let me down in the shampoo, conditioner, or mousse department. WRONG.

Even the smallest dosage leaves my hair hard and crusty. If I run my fingers through my hair to loosen it up, it turns into a white powdery residue. It is unattractive, and I am moderately distraught.

I will spend the remainder of my day trying to find old greeny somewhere on the internet. (Have you ever seen it? It has a cartoon Koala Bear on the front and I think it's made by that Aussie brand that usually puts kangaroos on their shampoo bottles)

Why we blog

Yesterday evening started with your average episode of your average after work special: Girl goes to gym, Girl is too hungry to finish her run because she was too cheap to buy some food to nourish herself and hence hasn't eaten since lunch, plus Girl is really tired because she had improv until late last night and so she only got like five and a half hours sleep.

Girl is sweaty as she walks to the train station so girl now has icicles growing out of her temples and possibly down her spine. Girl is SO hungry, SO cold, and SO tired. Girl wants to get home, eat dinner, and fall immediately asleep. Girl takes elbow to face in the line for the train, but eventually gets herself a seat. She begins to read.

The back of the DVD makes this sound like a REALLY GOOD episode. Let's watch it!

(Tableau scene from back of DVD sleeve with Girl reading unfreezes, and the episode starts)

So I'm trying to read but I'm sitting across from Mr. Pringles. Seriously he opened a brand new can of Pringles and is at least half way through. He eats them in bunches of 4+. And there are crumbs all over his chest. Gross me out of town.

The train should have left 10 minutes ago but they said they're experiencing mechanical difficulties. But we should be leaving in just a few minutes.

The train should have left 20 minutes ago but they said they're experiencing mechanical difficulties. But we should be leaving in just a few minutes.

Mr. Pringles, having finished the can, is now loudly licking his finger tips. STOP IT.

The train should have left 30 minutes ago but they said they're experiencing mechanical difficulties. But we should be leaving in just a few minutes.

The train should have left 40 minutes ago but they said they're experiencing mechanical difficulties. But we should be leaving in just a few minutes.

"We're sorry for the inconvenience passengers, but we're going to actually have to switch trains."

Oh COME ON. Everybody leaps to their feet because we know that many of us won't get a seat when we switch trains. I start feeling elbows in my side and glance down to see a 5 footer getting aggressive. I think to myself "just because you are willing to use force if necessary does NOT mean you are getting off this train and onto the next on before me!". As well, I am eager to leave the side of Mr. Pringles, who left all his garbage and wiped his hands on the seat.

I give Elbow Lady a taste of her own medicine and find myself a seat on the new, hopefully functional, train. I call home to be told that so many trains are delayed and broken down that it was being mentioned on the news! (Dear Go Transit. Purchase some functional machinery. From Lisa)

After another 10 minutes on this train waiting for our turn to exit the station (are you seriously telling me there is a wait list? Don't we all have our own tracks?) I realize that in the brouhaha of fighting to get off the old train and on the new one, I left my gym bag behind.

I jump up (my seat taken VERY immediately) and try to make my way off the train. I figure I have a better chance of finding it now myself than calling the lost and found department when I get home. People are very rude and huffy and "uh, do you think there's room over here?" "Please, I'm just trying to get off. I left something on the other train"

I find my car's conductor and tell him my troubles. He asks, "What was in the bag?"

Here is what was actually in the bag: my favourite lululemon shirt, a towel, pricey running shorts, my FAVOURITE pair of undies, 3/4 empty bottles of shampoo and conditioner, face wash that costs more than face wash should but really does the job, the only hair gel I've ever owned that doesn't leave my hair crusty, new mascara, my hair brush, eye makeup remover, a full bottle of moisturizer, and delicious smelling deodorant (scent: Asian pear!).

Here's what I told him was in the bag: "It was my gym bag but I have jewelery in it!!!!". I doubt that a gruff train conductor would understand the monetary value and emotional attachment to either trendy and well fitting workout gear or really any item that comes from a pharmacy store. (I consider raising the stakes by saying "It was my wedding ring, and I JUST got married two months ago!" but one lie was enough and plus I am often mistaken for a tenth grader.)

He calls the conductor of the old train, who comes and get me. I search the car I was in, but can't find it. Why would somebody take it! It's items that probably total about $200 to replace, but are worthless to anybody else. Who wants a wet tank top, even if it did originally cost $60!

As the conductor gives me a "sorry, miss" and writes down the lost and found phone number for me, I realize I also didn't spot Mr. Pringle's refuse that he so inconsiderately left behind in the train. Somebody MIGHT steal a gym bag, but who would steal garbage? I realize the train must have been turned around when it was taken from the station to the fix-up house. So since I left it in the 3rd from the front car, I should be looking in the 3rd from the back car! I tell the conductor this, but he says he really has to go.

Now, I'd love to blame Mr. Pringles and the Elbow Lady but we all know it's completely my fault. And so as I leave the fix-up house to go back to the train station, I start to cry since I have nobody to be angry at except myself.

Sob, really. The kind of crying where my mouth takes a rather unattractive position and my nose starts to run. I keep trying to tell myself this is a stupid thing to cry over, but I REALLY LIKED THAT SHIRT. And I shampoo every couple days and condition once a week so that I go through these items less quickly. (This isn't gross because I always have my hair in a ponytail, don't worry). What's the point of sacrificing hair sheen for months of you're just going to lose almost full bottles anyway!

Of course the other train has left, and Go Transit doesn't have trains after 7 (Dear Go Transit. You're a moron. From Lisa. P.s. Seriously. Buy some working trains) so I head over to the bus terminal. As I stand in front of the schedule, switching from 24 hour clock to normal people clock, a guy hears my sniffling comes over to me, asking, "Are you alright? Is there anything I can do to help you?"

I say, "I'm fine, but thanks." He says, "Are you sure?" I say, "I'm moderately certain".

And then, because that was so ridiculously cool headed to becoming from somebody with dried salt on her cheeks, I laughed. Which of course caused boogers to splash out of my nose. Annnd now I'm the freak of the bus terminal.

I get in line for my bus. The lines are offensively long (I guess lots of people wanted to skip the troubles of the train) and again I worry about procuring a seat. Actually, taking a look at this line... will I even fit on? We're about to start loading on the bus when somebody cuts in front of me in line.

Look, I'm tired of pushing and shoving. If I don't fit on this bus, I'm probably going to gorge at McDonald's then fall asleep in the middle of the road because being run over by a 12 wheeler truck is preferable to trying once again to get on a stupid bus.

"Hey, the back of the line is actually over there" I guess he's pals with the guy who was originally in front of me, because they make eye contact and start laughing. I say, "I'm actually not kidding" and guy 1 says "here, I'll let him bud me instead then, and then I'll just bud him back. So nobody is ever cutting in front of you in line, we're only cutting each other" and they laugh again. With snot still ebbing from my nostrils, I loudly yell "NO CHINESE BUDDING" which is a term I haven't used since grade four. My tone was effective and the line cutter went to the back. Annnd now I'm the freak of the bus line.

It was in this moment that I became conscious of the fact that I was writing a blog post about the whole escapade in my head the entire time. I realized that you, gentle freaders, are going make comments like "noooooo I really hope you get your bag back that SUCKS" instead of, like my mom "why do you buy such expensive products?" or my dad "it's just a gym bag..." And really guys, it really settled my dry sobs down to start composing this post in my head. IT'S LIKE YOU WERE THERE. I LOVE YOU GUYS. Annnd now I'm the freak of Blogoland.

Of course, then I realized that I DON'T EVEN HAVE A HAIR BRUSH ANYMORE and the happy moment was over.

This morning I checked the lost and found and was told that items rarely get returned until mid-day, and that I should check after work. So if you're the hoping/praying/sending positive thoughts type of person, please add "Lisa getting her shit back" to the list that also includes "That homeless people everywhere find shelter", "That a cure for cancer be found", and "Peace in the Middle East." Because this is obviously equally monumental. Thanks.

(Stay tuned for tomorrow's episode wherein Girl realizes she knows nothing about buying hair products!)

Blog Compliments

Within the past couple weeks I've gotten a few emails, chock full of compliments about my blog.

Blog compliments:
1. Light up my eyes.
2. Put a foolish grin on my face.
3. Double the size and beat rate of my heart.

I save all of these emails for times when I need an ego boost. "Oh bummer, what a bad day. Let's re-read some blog compliments. Ahh, this is better"

I was talking to Brianna about how meaningful blog compliments are:

Brianna: Blog compliments are so the way into my pants
me: right?
Brianna: Seriously, "I added you to my RSS reader" is like the Spanish fly.

That's how many of the conversations between me and Brianna happen. She says something funny, and I either agree or laugh. (Hey, do you read her blog? Because... you should. More so than any other blog. It's better than what you're currently reading, guaranteed. You will love hers at least 80% more than you love mine.)

me: so I'm writing the blog compliment post, and then i wrote this whole "brianna's blog is great" paragraph

Brianna: oh keep that, that sounds like some good writing

me: but it seems awkward since i just wrote about how you'll take of your pants for blog compliments

Because like it or not, folks, she WILL take off her pants.

Paranoid

I COULD blog about my job, but then I might say something that might be interpreted negatively, and my boss might see it. And I'd totally get fired (a la Dooce). I'm paranoid, so I won't blog about that.

I COULD blog about how Jack made the most lovingly created peanut butter and jam sandwich for me yesterday, but then we discovered that my mom had packed us all lunches, as she does once in a blue moon. If I blogged about this, I'd remember how crest fallen Jack's face was when he realized his efforts had been in vain. (I took and ate both sandwiches. When a PB and J was made that tenderly, it tastes even better). So I won't blog about that. (But it was seriously adorable- it took him about 20 minutes and then he just handed it to me, not in a bag. I said "Oh thanks man, I'll just put it in my pocket" and he found that absolutely hilarious.)

I COULD blog about how I've had to stay up past my self enforced bedtime and skip out on things I promised friends I'd do so that I could help my parents fill out these legal forms, but I've kept that whole "my parents are suing somebody" thing as a taboo topic here, semi-inexplicably. And so if I blogged about that, you'd all be like "what?" and then I'd be like "yeah, don't really want to talk about it" and then you'd be like "then why'd you mention it?" and I'd be like "it was on my mind, okay?" and you'd be like "not okay" and I'd be like "I mentioned it hypothetically, anyway" and you'd be like "so!" and I'd be like "see, this is why I never mention it". Plus, as the title suggests, I'm paranoid that somehow my blog will be metaphorically called up to the witness stand (sometimes called "submitted as evidence") and then I'll be the family Judas. So I won't blog about that.

I COULD blog about improv, but since I'm staff I have to have a certain level of status amoungst the high school aged players, and can't let them know the back stories or in general, anything about my personal life. "I am an ageless, genderless, preference-less friend. Hello!"On a similar vein, if you are an improviser in high school, please exit this window, turn off the screen, go outside, and climb a tree. Or at least exit this window. Thank you. I may be paranoid- but it's entirely plausible that whole schools of improvisers are just lurking around this place. Sooo, I won't blog about that.

I COULD blog about my bowels because I am ALWAYS up for talking about poop. But that is behaviour that is unbecoming of a lady. So I won't blog about that.

I COULD blog about some new crushes I have, but then that would make them too official. And really they're hardly more than passing interests. So, won't blog about that.

I COULD blog about how bad I still feel about accidentally stealing AJ's thunder yesterday (I was misunderstood! It was confusing! And I posted on my blog what was meant to be posted on her blog.) (Ps, you do read AJ, right? I like you less if you don't. Well I like you the same but I respect you less). So I don't want to bring up that "I make dumb mistakes" feeling again, so I won't blog about that either.

So, because I clearly can't come up with an appropriate topic (all my activities are far too illicit for blog fodder), I'll leave you with some thoughts I've had recently.

1. Half the experience of drinking hot chocolate is waiting for it to cool down enough to sip without burning your tongue. It's fun to wait for it to cool down. The opposite is true for frozen pizza.

2. Next time you hear somebody say "that's gay" or "that's retarded", you can point out how lame they are by saying "yeah, that's totally African American" (Thanks, Emma)

3. Wood has a distinct taste. In the kitchen in my work there are popsicle sticks instead of plastic coffee stirrers. If you stir peppermint tea with a popsicle stick, then lick the stick, it DISTINCTLY tastes like the mint coated toothpicks. Or stir a hot chocolate, have a lick, and it's like you just finished eating a fudgesicle.

4. Jacks of Science are cooler than you know. Read this, crack up, and fall in love. With science. And Chris. And maybe even Kieran.

5. Hot chocolate is really, really delicious. (And free in my work kitchen)

6. So is ice cream. (Delicious, not free)

The end.

LFar and AJ: the interview

Two bloggers – Two continents – One interview.

Isn't the customer always right?

Lend me your soothsaying tongue, reader. For tomorrow we must fight.

Remember this gem of a dress?

It was the night of the banquet. My hair was straightened, my borrowed shoes had been picked up. Makeup had yet to be applied, and I was supposed to leave in 20 minutes.

I put on the dress and immediately noticed a small run in the material near the front. I had loaned my only other appropriate-for-this-occasion dress to my sister, so I had no choice but to wear the blue one.

The run did not spread through out the night, but I obviously still want to exchange it for a non-defective version. I'd take a refund (because then I can get a whole new dress!), but an exchange for the exact same item is fine too.

But when Laura and I went to the mall before Christmas to try to return it, they said they couldn't accept it, since the tags were off and it had obviously been worn. She told me it was covered in my body oils. I took this oil comment as a personal affront, which probably set the tone for the next 10 minutes.

Me: Well, I had no choice but to wear it.

Her: The run might have developed over the course of your evening

Me: Nope, as soon as I got changed I noticed it

Her: I have no way of knowing that

Me: You do have a way of knowing. It's called "I just told you it was true"

Her: And it's covered in body oils

Me: I wish you would refrain from using that phrase

Her: We can't resell it if you've worn it

Me: You can't resell it anyway, it has a run in it.

Laura: Is this the type of quality we can come to expect from this store? You pick a dress off the shelf and it has a run in it? You'd expect a $150 dress to be well made!

Me: You really would expect a $150 dress to be well made.

Laura: It's what I'd expect

Me: It's what any educated consumer would expect

Her: But the run could have developed over the course of the night

Me: I think we've been over this. I told you I noticed it as soon as I put it on.

Her: Sometimes if your hips are too wide the material can't hold it in, so it runs like that

Me: The tensile strength of the dress is then of obviously poor quality. Perhaps somebody of a larger girth than I tried it on in the change room, created the run, and then you guys put it back on the shelf with all the other ripped sleeves and torn sashes!

Laura: She's said it before and she'll say it again. It had the run before the night began

Her: Some jewelery like a bracelet could have caught the material to cause the run

Me: Could have, but didn't. It was like this when I took it home from the store.

Her: It's covered in body oils

...

And so this continues, ping ponging between "it's covered in body oils" and "it probably happened while you were wearing it".

Eventually, she said if I dry cleaned it they would give me an exchange. But I think she was just trying to get us out of the store. Laura would emphatically reiterate my point and perhaps we were starting to cause a scene.

Admittedly, there are some deodorant marks, and I'll just rinse them off with water or something. But Jan 12 is my last day to return the damn thing so I'm going to bring it to the nearby location of the chain and see what I can do.

CLEARLY I should get either a full refund or at least an exchange because I bought defective merchandise. Plus, I worked in retail for 3 years and I am fully aware that if you argue long enough they give you whatever you want.

(Tips from the pros: never ask for the manager because retail has caught on and now even the stock boy's job title is the manager, so they just say "I AM the manager". As for the most senior person on staff)

So, my question for you. Should I rinse it so they can't tell it's never been worn and then say "I took the tags off then noticed the run! But I never wore it!" making it easier for me to get my money back, or do I tell the truth and get my boxing gloves on?

Boots: hassle and a half

Ever since the first snow, I've just been one eager beaver to get out there buy some boots.

Well, I tried all those on. I prefer the look of boots over pants, but that style is for dreamers at this point because none of them could fit over my calves even when I pulled my pant legs up. Even if I would go up two sizes, none of them could zip up.

I mean gosh, I knew I had large calf muscles, but this is getting awkward.

"How did they fit, miss?" "CRAPPILY, OKAY. CRAPPILY THE ADVERB."

So I've had to take a giant sigh, and start trying on boots that end mid shin or lower. This is not any easier.


First I tried these little darlings:But there was no lining inside, and hello I live in a freezing season, currently.
So I try some with lining:I would describe them as beautiful, but there was no firmness in the area around the heel! I.e., you could tell they'd fall apart within 24 hours.

Then I saw these and fell in love like I've never fallen in love with a non sentient being.
And of course they have my size only the BRIGHT pink or white. And of course, then that very day Virginia has to go and get them. What a bum.

And so now I sit here, heart broken.

Perhaps during my lunch break I'll hit the streets again (luckily I work in the fashion district) and even if it means buying these pals (aptly named Frost Walkers), I will come back with boots! * * don't quote me on that. Let's face it I'm going to come back empty handed, as usual.

The Gym

How much do you guys pay for gym memberships?

I'm paying 27.50 biweekly (math is hard, so I'll do it for you. $55/mo) and I thought that was kind of high, no?

I visited my local gym with the intention of buying a membership, and she did basically everything she could to make me consider changing my mind.

"And we have a towel service"
"Oh, that's handy!"
"Yeah, but it's $1 every time, which is totally stupid"
"Yeah... you're right"

"And in this room you see a class going on"
"Cool, looks fun"
"Yeah, but look how crowded it is. People are just squished!"
"Yeah... you're right"

"And over there is the sauna and the showers... which you can't really use unless you buy the towel service"
"Yeah... effin' $1,! What the hell, right?"

So obviously I'm boycotting the towels. But then what do I do if I go to the gym before work? Air dry? Bring my own and carry a wet towel around with me all day? Not shower? None of those options are very appealing.

Oh and then they have a different location that has a pool. Which is why I justified spending almost 60/mo on a membership- I'd save pool fees. They told me the other location was "right downtown". Yeah, no. I looked it up after I swiped my card and it's a good 15 minute subway ride from downtown. Which is like a 45 minute walk. Which means I have to take the subway which means I have to spend $2.75 each way. And if I'm doing that then I might as well rent 2 and 3/4s of a towel twice a day. The liars.

I don't like beer

I don't like beer.

It tastes bad.

I also find it so odorific that even a tiny sniff can make me queasy.

I realize that liking beer is kind of cool. Girlfriend points wise, it's approximately equal to closely following sports.

Beer dislikers every where get a bad name. (I'm trying to find this song I heard the other day, and I'm frustrated that my google skills are failing me. But the lyrics made fun of all girls who say they don't like the taste of beer. And since I can't find it, my argument is going out the window... sigh)

But beer isn't alone! You know that Carrie Underwood song, Before He Cheats? Where she makes fun of the new girl because she's ordering some fruity little drink because she can't hold her whiskey? Rough and tumble Carrie Underwood, of all people. I don't like being out-toughed by anybody who looks like this.

So does liking beer and being able to "hold your whiskey" make somebody tougher?

I don't like beer.

Sometimes when I'm at a kegger I feel like saying "I don't like beer BUT I broke my nose in a soccer game when somebody kicked me in the face!"

Or when I order on cranberry juice with vodka (because A. it has juice in the title so it must be healthier, as Lin pointed out, and B. it seems less college kid than coke and rum) I feel like making a point of everybody around the table knowing that I did a lab once where I had to wear a face mask and dragon-like gloves.

Or after a long day if people around me are chilling out with a cold one, I bring up the fact that I am quite emotionally resilient, and can quite often handle things that are beyond my age's maturity level. Despite my lack of affection towards beer, I am still tough, you see!

I don't like beer, but wouldn't my life just be easier if I did?

Classic Cut Jeans

Often paired with unfashionable running shoes, classic cut jeans are most commonly between 1 to 2 inches too short, and way too high waisted.

If you own a pair, please dispose of them appropriately.

Here are some more appropriately designed leg wear items. See how they aren't so narrow as to bunch up over the shoes? What a novel idea!(While looking for pictures of classic cut jeans, I found this site. Apparently there are 23 things that every woman needs to have in her closet. I officially have 5 of them. See you if you can get any lower than me.)

NY vs TO: Not so ultimate showdown

Not every big city as created equally.

Over the past year and a half, I have lived in Waterloo, New York, Waterloo again, then back to New York, and Waterloo once more.

Waterloo, Ontario is hardly a bustling metropolis, so one could accurately say that I've forgotten that New York is not equal to other big cities.

I'm working in Toronto now. The distinctions between Toronto and New York City are very clear.

Toronto is cleaner.

People in New York are nicer (except anybody who deals with tourists).

Toronto is friggen cold.

Toronto feels homier. (That's an M not and RN)

New York felt like a movie, every day.

TTC << MTA. There are like, 3 subway lines here. And one is really just an extension of another one way up North where nobody should live. So basically there are two subway lines here. Lame.

In New York, people know how to walk (quoting Brianna). We know when to cross a street, when not to cross a street. Jaywalking is a given. There's no cars coming... so you just cross the street.

In Toronto things are a little different. For starters, jaywalking is technically illegal. I have an approximately 20 minute walk from my train station to my office. (As I said: friggen cold) which means a fair amount of traffic light crossings. With all the left hand turn signals, street cars, and two way traffic, this isn't much opportunity to walk like a jay. And NOBODY does. NOBODY jaywalks.

This morning I was edging out onto the street as the light for the traffic turned yellow. I didn't start to cross the street- I just stepped off the curb to get a head start. And somebody pulled me back in with a swooping motion of their arm, saying "Whoa there, little darling".

Why thank you kindly, my good man! I almost got hit by... that invisible car!

Perhaps he was protecting me from the gusts of wind that billow down all the streets. If we stay together and cross the street in a pack, it won't be able to single any one of us out.

It was -15 Celsius (5 Fahrenheit) this morning... friggen cold.

Rules for Non-Single Girls

Hello, friends.

This post is written for anybody that's forgotten what it's like to be single.

In today's post I will cover some things that you really should ALREADY KNOW. Lucky for you (and any of your friends that are single) I am here to educate. So take a seat and have a learn.

There are three main things to NEVER ever say to a friend who happens to be single.

1. Aww honey, your time will come

Alright, for firsties? I am not honey. If I were edible, my main ingredient would not be sucrose based but probably something like sassafras (heavy on the sass, there), or a dangerously hot red chili pepper steak spice. Or like, ketchup. At sweetest I am a not-yet-ripe banana. So don't call me any of the following names: honey, hun, sugar, sweetheart, sweetie... don't call me baby or babe either, because I grew out of infancy when I was an infant.

Next, are you accusing me of impatience? Uh, because a) patience is the dumbest virtue ever and b) let me point out your qualifications for being the epitome of patient: oh, right. You got kicked out of Club Wait Your Turn. So hand over your membership card.

Finally, unless you are omnipotent and all knowing, stop talking down to me like you know more about the world. "oooooh my time WILL come! Thanks! Next question: will Bobby ask me to junior prom? PLEASE SAY YES"

2. You're just not putting yourself out there.

Don't even.

I don't want to be a "remember the episode of Sex and the City?" girl, but remember that episode of Sex and the City when Charlotte decided she should go to a seminar on how to snag a man? And Charlotte stood up and asked a question, and the speaker was like "Perhaps you didn't put yourself out there emotionally" and Charlotte got kind of meek and sad and Carrie, bless her, who had been rolling her eyes the whole time just stood up (literally) for Charlotte and said "Believe me, she's out there"

I need you to be Carrie, not the lecturer.

(I can't really textually re-enact the scene for you, but it was intense. Darn it, youtube! you've let me down!)

Anyway, WHY would you try to shift the blame on to me? If I'm already all whiny and emotional what I do not need is to hear that it's my own damn fault that I'm single.

3. But you could have a boyfriend if you wanted to

So basically what you're telling me is to shut up and stop my whining? Plus, this isn't even whining, it's my way of expressing myself and my voice is just like that.

Also? Yeah, clearly. Anybody, absolutely anybody could have a boyfriend.

If you're horrendous in every way but are desperate enough that you'd even take Horny Henry? Then next thing we know Horny Henry's got some tail! And you've got the Syph!

Or hey, Bobby the Bruiser's back in the market after his last girlfriend filed a restraining order. He'll put his arm around you in a movie if you can handle the heat (if you know what I mean, WINK)

Or how about that one story about the guy who is perfect in many ways but Lisa, the one who is clearly not waiting AND not putting herself out there, shut the poor guy down because he wears classic cut jeans. Who the frick wears classic cut jeans?

I do not want to date boys with classic cut jeans. I do not want to date boys who reuse other people's jokes, or who think they're smarter than I am, or who pose suggestively with slutty girls in pictures I see when I stalk them on facebook. I do not like them short or fat, they must be this, they can't be that.

I feel like I might be writing a book called "Green Eggs and Ham 2: Sam I Am Tries EHarmony" but okay FINE, YES I COULD have a boyfriend. But not one that I actually like. I have high standards. Yes some standards are shallow, but I guess a few are noble. And no, I'm not making any attempts at getting over my shallow judgments.

CLASSIC CUT JEANS, PEOPLE.

Alright, so have you learned your lessons? Let's take a quiz

Question: I say "All the good ones are taken". What do you say?
Answer:
a) If they're still taken after they've met you, they're not "good", they're stupid!
b) No ring, fair game.
c) Have you still not learned your lesson to not go after the ones with girlfriends?

Correct answer: You need to say all three to me. They each contain such a good lesson!

Question: Let's say we're getting ready to go out one night. I say "I'm wearing this". What do you say?
a) Again?
b) Good choice. It suits your style perfectly.
c) You should probably show a bit more boob if you want any action. Where's your push up bra?

Correct Answer: If you're being honest, go for a). Because my retort to c is probably going to be "This is my push up bra", you should probably go for b.

Question: I say "I'm prettier than his girlfriend, right?". What do you say?
a) YES you are!
b) You are her level of prettiness squared!
c) Seriously Lisa? You are prettier, smarter, and better at sports. She's got nothing on you.

Correct Answer: All of them, in that order

How did you score on the pop quiz?

Annual Pictorial Review

What a busy year!

I started the term as a don (RA)In February, my favourite day of the year was celebrated my by one of my favourite activities (dressing all in 1 colour). (This picture is with my then-roommate, Leah!)I road-tripped to OttawaAnd then went to Ottawa again later for Improv Nationals
Then I moved back to New YorkAnd had a lot of fun there (this is at a Cyclones game)Then I did my first triathlonAnd a second. But it turned into a duathlon. BummerNow back to school! I made some new friends who are- get this- girls!I started my own photography business. Which is booming, by the way.I lived with these lovely folks.Christmas Banquet with my sister!And the obligatory all the sisters on the stairs near the tree picture to end the year! Taa-daa!


(see 2006's!)