Friday, April 30, 2010
Magda: Uh, Lauren?
Magda: Were you planning on bringing Rochester back? Like, anytime soon?
Lauren: Riiiight. Yeah. But you’ve heard about the ash cloud or whatever... flights are delayed and stuff.
Magda: Why did you send him there in the first place!
Lauren: I forgot about the ash cloud...
Magda SHAKING HEAD: You really do have the memory of a goldfish.
Lauren: Hey, I remembered where I sent him...
Mom: Hey, it’s ten o’clock and I’m still awake.
Lauren, LOOKING OVER: Yeah, you had coffee. That wine is going to knock you out in half an hour.
Mom: Can we skip this scene? I don’t like this scene.
Lauren: No. This is the scene where she becomes one of the guys. (We’re watching GI Jane)
Mom: You aren’t even watching!
Lauren: I am so!
Magda: You mean you aren’t listening to me? What about Rochester!
Lauren: Yeah, yeah.... I’ll deal with it.
Mom: Do you think Meeko likes it when you play with his feet?
Lauren: I don’t know. Probably.
Mom: How can they survive being dragged all that way with a plastic bag over their head? Ugh... if this is career training I’d be telling them all to f*ck off.
Magda: Lauren! Rochester! Now!
Lauren: Fine... (ROCHESTER APPEARS WITH A POP!)
Mom: Do I smell burning?
Lauren: You’re having a seizure.
Mom: Shut up.
Magda: Lauren, are you even going to apologize?
Lauren: I’m watching a movie! Shush! Sorry Rochester.
Rochester: You jerk!
Lauren: You’re the jerk... teach you to mess with me. Ugh... I hate it when Viggo Mortensen cracks his nose back in place. Gross.
Rochester: You aren’t even paying attention to me.
Lauren WAVES HIM OFF: Shush. The movie! Hey! I have an idea! I am now imagining you all as mute.
Rochester and Magda ATTEMPTING TO PROTEST BUT ONLY LOOKING LIKE GOLDFISH. (Ironic given Magda’s comment isn’t it?)
Lauren: Haha! I am so smart S-M-R-T! Suckas! I have super powas! And now I suggest you watch the movie.
Now that I have some peace, I’m going to enjoy the est of this movie and maybe try to write a chapter. My sleeping patterns are so messed up lately. Meh. Might as well make the best of it. Tomorrow I get to play bartender. Yippee!
Okay, I’m back, I’m awake and I’ve watched Grey’s. I'm good now.
Once again it is Feast time at work so naturally, that means that we the staff are pushed to our physical but mostly mental limits. We were understaffed yesterday so I helped with the closing of the kitchen, of dishwashing and of the front. It’s actually really depressing to finish one job and have to move on to another one. Anyway, I signed out at 11:45. I don’t know how many times I thanked God I didn’t accept the two extra hours that my boss offered because I think I would have been dead on the floor.
I’m going to apologize once again because I’m about to go on a bit of a rant. I have this horrible tendency to just let things be. Various people say things to me that are offensive or insulting and I just let it slide for the sake of keeping the peace or getting through something faster or with less difficulty. I know there are a lot of people who do the same thing so for my fellow passive brothers and sisters, as well as myself, I write the following.
Compliments include: “You look nice today!”, “I like that shirt on you!”, “You have such a great outlook!”
This is not a compliment regardless of tone or intention: “You’re so weird.”
I’m hoping that I’m not the only one who sees the difference here. And you know what, I’m not weird. I’m funny and original and unique. I’m witty and creative. Those are compliments and that's me. Weird is a word used to describe the guy with shifty eyes watching young children play at the playground. I’m not weird. So stuff your half-assed “compliments”.
And now on to my next topic: alcohol. There are numerous reasons why I do not drink. The first is that alcohol and the medication I take do not go well together. Secondly, I have a chronic form of depression and alcohol is a depressant, I don’t need the extra help thank you very much. Thirdly, every time I’ve ever considered drinking, it was because I was upset and that is possibly the worst reason given points one and two. Given these considerations, I do not drink alcohol at all, ever, period. That doesn’t make me boring. That makes me responsible and it means that I know myself. Furthermore, it means that I don’t need an extra substance in order to have fun. If others NEED alcohol to feel like they're having fun, I think they’re the ones that are boring. So stuff that too.
Well, I feel much better now. I don’t know why I’m so scared to rock the boat but I’m getting really sick of not throwing people overboard when they deserve it. Perhaps I’m ready for a change. I don’t think assertiveness ever killed anyone.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
I started getting my grades back this week. I almost peed my pants when I saw my sociology grade. I don’t know what I was expecting but I’d never gotten a final grade in the 90s. I also got some papers back for Holocaust history and I was in the 80s for all three of them. I sat in bed last night looking them over wondering what the hell was happening. I think I’ve gotten more ‘A’s this year than any other year. Maybe both prior years put together. Which kinda freaks me out. So now I’m just waiting for my final grade. Didn’t do as well as I would have liked in 19th Century Lit, but I got a 70 and that’s pretty good considering how much I read.
And in case you were curious about how much I was supposed to read but absolutely did not, I present photographic evidence. This obviously doesn’t include research or online readings.
And if that’s not enough, this is how much I wrote for this year. My Creative Writing stuff is not in this pile. So there you are fellow college/university (depending where you are) students. Not so tough to write the length of a novel now is it?
And this is everything all put together. Tada! If at any point my complaining this year got on your nerves, this is what I was facing. So, sorry... but at the same time, not really ‘cause I had to vent somewhere.
I submit that professors are monsters! MONSTERS! Monsters with reading glasses, who hide in archives and bookshops, with grammar correcting eyes and sharp knowledge seeking teeth. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they lovingly stroked their research, gently cooing “my precious” and hissing loudly if anyone were to come too close. Tehe! I’m only saying this because I can. I actually had really great professors this year and I did enjoy the majority of my classes. History of Sexuality excluded. Didn’t like that one at all.
But the year is over! And now it’s feeling official. One more year to go.
Oh, and I managed to write a prologue I like. I think it had to do with Smileyfreak wishing me luck. Thanks Smileyfreak!
Have a good one everybody!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
All of this is pretty unimportant. I'm just not up to writing something today. Went to see Andrea. Good times there. Almost cried in front of my new therapist. I got pretty angry and I felt the tears coming on. Alas, it's done now.
There's a Feast this weekend. Not really looking forward to it. I'm going to have to tape Grey's. Grrr...
I think I'm going to attempt to rewrite my prologue. I just don't like it. Wish me luck!
Monday, April 26, 2010
I shall soon progress through the booklist. I’m debating what I want to read next. I was finally getting into Dracula so I think I’ll finish that. After that I don’t know. I have some Janet Evanovish books that I haven’t read. I have an anthology of the Bronte sister’s works and I would love to reread Jane Eyre. I could try War and Peace again... And it’s been a while since I read Anna Karenina. Oh! Maybe East of Eden! Who knows? I suppose I should but I’ll tell you when I find out.
These are the plans... probably why my mom suggested I get involved in something this summer. Gah. My therapist will probably suggest the same. I hate it when they agree.
Anyway, back to the World Unseen I go. It’s getting really good. And yes, books are how I survived grade, middle and high school, which is why I will never "hit the books". Get it? Haha! No? Before I pull another bad joke, I'm signing off.
This morning when I awoke after a decent night of sleep, I found that it was eleven o’clock. First day sleeping in. I progressed through the day reading, writing a little, playing video games and taking a delightful shower during which I shaved for the first time in far too long. I will spare you descriptions. But before you start picturing Patrick Dempsey-like hair (he has great hair, I have to say) on my legs, it’s only been like a week, give a few day. Still, given how I am about hygiene that’s a long time. But enough about that.
After a delicious supper, Veronica came over. This post was originally going to be about the completion of our Bond Marathon thingy. We watched On Her Majesty’s Secret Service and The Living Daylights. We both agreed that On Her Majesty’s Secret Service was awful. Like normal Bond cheesiness magnified by a factor of 100. The Living Daylights on the other hand may well become my favourite Bond movie. I hadn’t seen it in a long time but it was quite good. On the Bond cheesiness scale it scores much lower than average.
So, I’m hanging out with one of my closest friends, who by the way is leaving for home soon, having fun, had a great day prior, what could have gone so wrong?
Rochester: Yes! Tell them this is my favourite part!
Lauren: Rochester, bite me, okay. I hit my sister’s boyfriend’s truck with the damn van okay?
Rochester LAUGHING: It was awesome! You can totally see it coming too! Just like slow-mo!
Lauren DEADPAN: I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Freud: Did you not see his truck? I vasn’t movink and he had been zhere all night.
Lauren: Oh good, you’re awake. Oddly enough no. I forgot the damn truck was there and I’m used to backing out a certain way and it was midnight and I was concentrating on not fu**ing up so naturally, I didn’t think about his truck.
Freud: Are you sure zis iss not some deeper issue? Perheps your subconscious had you hit ze truck because you miss having ze house to yourself.
Lauren: That is really stupid. I just want you to know that. I’m going to stick with tired, worried and trying not to screw up.
Rochester: That’s so true! You guys sold the van! Oh you’re in so much trouble!
Lauren: I warned you. As of now you’re on vacation in... Reykjavík. Have fun. [ROCHESTER DISAPPEARS WITH A POP]
Lauren: It’s in Iceland.
Freud: I know... it iss random?
Lauren: Oh, I just watched DEBS. First place I thought of.
Freud: So, you hit ze truck, vith only your foot off ze brake and zis is vhat heppened?
Lauren: Yup. It really decreases my level of confidence in the safety of my vehicle during, I dunno, impact at over 5km/h.
Freud LAUGHING: It vill be fine.
Lauren: I know... I just don’t know how much more bruising my ego can take...
Freud: You are resilient.
Lauren: Tell me about it. So embarrassing to have to wake up the whole house, have them standing in the driveway or kitchen windows, Veronica beside me and even the cat at the door. And I get a reminder of it since there’s a sizeable dent in the front bumper.
Freud: You’ll laugh about it later.
Lauren: But later isn’t now!
Freud: Jast go to bed. Everysink looks better in ze morning.
Lauren ROLLING EYES: That’s right! I have Fruit Loops!
If ever I lived and FML moment, that was the Queen Mother of all my FML moments. (If you don’t know what FML is, the first word has four letters and the following words are: “my life”. Anyway, I’m going to try to sleep and wake up elsewhere. Night!
Saturday, April 24, 2010
It was a summer course so about two or three weeks after my exams for the regular year ended, I was back in school, three times a week for three hours a class covering a year’s worth of material in a little over two months. It was intense but I loved it. And I loved the professor. She’s coming back to teach it again and we’re totally going to hang out. I was also working at the time. The idea was to get ahead on courses so I could take a reduced course load and not become an insane head case. The downside was that I really didn’t get much time to stop and recharge because once I was done school, I was working four or five days a week.
The reason I’m telling you all of this is that people keep asking me what my plans are for this summer. All I’m saying is nothing. Because for me, nothing is something. I’m getting reacquainted with me and that’s important. I spend eight months of the year putting aside the things I love most because I honestly don’t have the time or drive to do them. I have so much to read and write for school that I really, really don’t feel like reading and writing for fun. So this year, I’m going to hang out and relax and read and write. Clearly I've been craving the freedom. Look at what I’ve done in the three days that I’ve been out of school.
So I’m hanging out with me. That’s my plan and that is enough. I think more people should take the time to simply stop for a bit. Then again, it's the simple things that seem to be the hardest to accomplish.
Friday, April 23, 2010
I get to express myself. I’m not always great at expressing myself vocally so I love being able to deal with various situations on the page that I could have handled better in reality. Like, you know when you’re arguing with someone and you just know you’re right but somehow, they manage to intimidate you and all you have to say is “So... yeah!”. Even if your tone is defiant, you totally lose the argument. Happens to me all the time and I go over the conversation in my mind and I can think of at least a zillion damaging comments.
Another thing I like about writing is that I have an excuse to research all kinds of weird and wonderful things that add to my weird and wonderful bank of knowledge. For instance, I’m currently working on a story in which there is a pregnant cat. Did you know that the gestation period for cats is apparently 65 days? Plus or minus 4 days. I now also know the symptoms and methods of treating alcohol poisoning. I know boxing’s most common injuries, rules and terminology, though I would probably need a refresher before explaining them to anyone else. At the same time, if you punch someone in the liver hard enough, they will pass out. What else can I tell you? I know stuff about the Rose Street Protest of 1943. I know the meaning of various flowers and the history behind giving flowers meaning. That’s about all that’s coming to mind at the moment. But fun isn’t it?
I like writing because it’s therapy. I get to deal with things that bother me in a way that places them at a distance. It makes the conflicts in my writing more realistic but at the same time, I have the opportunity to deal.
I like making people laugh and think. It kind of makes me feel that in a small way I’m making a difference. Even if the only people who’ve read my novels so far have been my friends and one high school teacher. At least ten people now know about the Rosentrasse Protest when they probably wouldn’t have before.
Most importantly, I write because it amuses me. It really does make me happy. I like creating and moulding worlds and realities other than my own. It’s real joy. You know? And that’s why I don’t think I would mind if I never got published. People keep asking me how I can have completed novels in my closet doing nothing. Honestly? I have stories in my head itching to get out. I just write. It would be great if I could make money off of it, but I still want it to be fun. That’s more important to me. It’s why my first rejection letter didn’t bother me in the least. I was actually quite proud of it. I’m sure I wouldn’t feel that way after a dozen but you know what I’m saying right?
I got joy back this year with my creative writing class. And now that the year is over, I’m indulging in it again. I spent a good deal of today planning novel number 4. I have fifteen chapters ready to be written. God I love it!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
You were all right. I was fine during my exam but goodness! It was much longer than expected. I usually speed right through but that’s not how it went down today. I used up almost the entire three hours! –gasp- There were three essay questions and I filled all of my exam booklets plus one. So... sucks to be my prof. My hand was quite dead after that. So I decided to draw a kitty on the back cover. There was no actual point to the kitty so I argued that it was anti-Victorian. I figured I would put one last stupid thing on one of his evaluations.
Then of course I went out to lunch with some girls from my class and it was lovely. We ate cheesy food, and toasted surviving another year as well as 19th Century Literature. Downer, I walked home. Upper, I had company most of the way. Downer, it was a little chilly. Upper, by the time the bus I could have taken passed me, it would have only spared me a minute. Like literally a minute. It passed me pretty much at the stop where I would have gotten off. And they wonder why people here don’t take the bus...
It was a good day though. Worked a bit on my novel. Got a paper back and it was awesome. Started reading a book. FOR FUN! And now I’m watching the Golden Girls. Hehehe, I love Betty White. I don’t know if anything can make today better! –crosses fingers- A million dollars?
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Today sucked anyway. Rereading crap I already learned or was too smart to stay awake through. Seriously. Has anyone tried to read Florence Nightingale? Or Darwin? Cures to insomnia both. I shall keep them by my bedside for years to come.
I don’t know if anyone else will find this funny, but I tend to write things that amuse me in the margins of my notes. One day we were talking about the rise of feminism and the New Woman and I jotted down: bifurcated clothes. As in women who wear pants. I thought it was hilarious. Maybe it was just how my prof said it. I dunno.
Anyway, freedom as of noon tomorrow! Excited!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
I pretended to study with some friends over MSN while reading a rather strange Harry Potter fanfic. It’s interesting but totally destroys Harry Potter. How I was able to maintain conversations on Victorian literature while reading that a half Veela Hermione was now engaged to Fleur Delacour I don’t know. Now my fellow Harry Potter nerds will see how strange it was. Imagine reading that while discussing Florence Nightingale. By the way, I am a huge Harry Potter nerd. My plan C in life is to stalk JK Rowling until she realizes how charming I am and adopts me. Don’t worry about me though, there are two logical, well thought out plans before that option.
The rest of my day I spent juggling various thoughts. Mostly I was thinking about a friend who will be moving back to her hometown and then possibly heading over to England to teach. At least I hope she goes, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. I’m going to miss her a lot but I do get to hang out with her this Sunday. She’s also promised to send me back postcards. She’d better do it too... I want those damn things. And when I wasn’t thinking about her, I was thinking about my novel. It’s proving to be trickier than I anticipated. I haven’t found my character’s voice yet so I’m still playing around with stuff.
Freud: You are jast ussing creativity as a reason to not be productive. You are procrastinatink again.
Lauren: Am not! It’s hard okay? It’s a cross between fiction and biography. I haven’t figured out which point of view I want to use yet.
Freud: Jast pick one and go viss it.
Lauren: I can’t jast go viss it! I’m not putting in all that work and then realizing half way through that it should be different.
Freud: You make an excellent point.
Lauren: I know. So why are you arguing with me?
Freud: I have not made an appearance if a vhile and I vas startink to sink you had forgotten about us.
Lauren: Like I could...
Freud: Vhat vas zat?
Lauren: I like dark wood. Stains. For my furniture.
Freud: Lauren, your furniture iss fake vood and it iss black.
Lauren: Ugh... I know... biggest mistake I ever made.
Freud: Zat iss your biggest mistake?
Lauren: ... Yeah... I don’t really regret anything. Why?
Freud: It iss a curious sing not to have regrets.
Lauren: What do you regret?
Freud: Sinking I vas alone vhen I decided to sing and dance to Gven Stefani... ze jokes never end. It’s not even funny anymore yet zey still continue.
Lauren: True. I still laugh when I hear Holla Back Girl.
Freud: Yes... you vould. I’m leavink now. I’ve done vhat I came to do.
Well, now I feel used. One day until it’s all over. Can you tell I’m excited?
Monday, April 19, 2010
As of now, only one exam stands between me and freedom. I’m slightly afraid of this one but I have a few days to prepare. So hopefully that’s enough. If not, well, nothing I can do about it now is there? In case any of you are wondering what I’m planning on doing this summer, I’m going to try to start and finish a novel I’ve had on the backburner for about a year and a half now. If all goes well, it’ll be the first novel I actively try to get published. I’ve found myself an editor (my friend Alanna) who will soon realize that she made a horrible mistake saying yes (hehe). She’s a fellow English major so hopefully she’ll be able to give me some really good feedback. Lord knows that girl has read more novels this year than I thought humanly possible. Other than that, maybe I’ll try to get away. I have a super secret plot but I’m awaiting an opportunity to put said plot into action.
I don’t know what else to babble about so I think I’m going to tidy my room. It gets so messy this time of year.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Tomorrow I have my sociology final. YAY! That’ll be three down! Tonight I was reviewing everything we learned and again, because it’s me, started to giggle. For being so cynical I really am pretty giggly. There’s a whole section talking about ethnicity and race being an important consideration in classrooms. Obviously, when dominant cultures and races fail to accommodate minorities, learning doesn’t go over so well. I’ve spent the last two years working in a Chinese food restaurant, with a Chinese family. It’s safe to say, I get that one. I’m very visual but I also learn by doing. I can’t just have verbal instructions. I used to get lots of verbal instruction and very little visual, unless I screwed up and they did the task for me. It took forever to catch on so I was demoted. I had more time to watch and try on quieter nights. To some extent, now that I’ve been there so long, I can get by with only verbal instructions. Because I know how my bosses work.
It’s kind of funny actually. You know how in daycares they cut out the shape of a pair of scissors then stick it on a shelf and forevermore, scissors go on that shelf in that spot? It’s like that at work. For instance, lotus leaves are kept in the walk in fridge on the second set of shelves on the left hand side. They’re on the right hand side of the top shelf. Cooking wine is only kept in the store room on the first set of shelves on the right. It’s on the bottom shelf against the wall. I can do that with any item in the kitchen. Which is why I’m always sent to find things. I have a mental inventory as well. Creeps me out.
And there is a language issue sometimes. They both speak excellent English. But they yell stuff in Chinese too. Anyway, one day there was this huge storm and a lightning bolt hit right outside the window where I was working. I thought something had blown up. Helen called upstairs (where they live, it’s amazing up there) and starting talking to Ed in Chinese. This is what it sounded like to me:
Ksajdljfl skdjfslkdjlf jslkdjflsakjdflksjdf sdjflsk skdfjlskd lskjdflskjfljdgh jsldkfjlskdsfasdf NO skajdlfkjsdlfohgowenlnf LAUREN! Lskdjfin ehfosadnweinc OKAY BYE!
Makes me laugh. I only know a few words in Chinese, most of which don’t come up in conversation (I know penis and fart), so essentially, if I can’t see the face of whoever is speaking, I have no clue what they’re saying. It’s interesting to me because I’m accustomed to understanding given that I speak both most the frequently used languages here.
All of that to say that while I’m white, really white, I also know what it’s like to be a cultural minority, which is weird considering where I live. I get called whitey (which I really don’t mind) and I’m stereotyped all the time (what food I’ll like, how hard I’ll work, what I’ll know how to do). The reason I’m stating this is because they’re things my prof suggests we avoid as teachers. So when I’m writing my exam tomorrow I’ll think of how I was taught at work and write down the opposite.
Off for another night of sleep. Hopefully.
Aside from inventing a super sexy pose, I got to listen to Meeko snore part of the night. His snoring bothered me less than the mysterious dripping. Also, I have to say, before it got on my nerves it made me think of the Potter Puppet Pals version of The Mysterious Ticking Sound. I don’t know why, but it makes me laugh every time I watch it. So I was originally giggling.
Oh! I forgot the true hilarity behind having my head sandwiched between two pillows. You can’t hear anything, no dripping, no cat snores and no alarm clock. Why an alarm on a Saturday? I had an exam at 10:00. I got there on time and while I was really tired... I think it went well. It was pretty intense but what else could I expect from Holocaust history. Two exams done! Two remaining! I shall soon be free!
Friday, April 16, 2010
Before I get to my point, I would like for everyone to know some of the comments I get.
- “It’s like grandma/parent writing!” – bringing up discussions on the possibilities of forgery (all of which I decided not to participate in). Hey, you get 12 years for forgery here.
- “It’s really pretty... I just can’t read it.”
- “Most people who write in handwriting either have very bubbly writing or it’s so sloppy. Lauren, yours was the only one I had trouble with” – I guess that means it’s sloppy.
- “What does this say? Hair ties?” – it wasn’t even close to hair ties.
- “Is that English?” – fair enough... it could have been French... it wasn’t... but it could have been.
- “Wow! That is the smallest writing I’ve ever seen!”
- “Your writing is just chicken scratch.”
- “Is that a 3 or what?” – it was a Z... have you ever seen a word like 3ero? God...
- “Can I get those notes off you later? My head is just too sore to try to read your writing right now.”
- “Are those S’s or Gs? Hahaha! Pissy...” – from a note taking demonstration at my placement. It was supposed to say Piggy (from Lord of the Flies.)
I’m not going to lie, I kind of like that no one can read what I write (profs excluded). Most of the time it spares me having to share my notes with slackers who just don’t feel like coming to class. And I don’t have to look like a bitch for saying no. Because I’ve done that and people get really irritated for some reason. Not that I particularly care, I take pleasure in their failure. Yes, that’s also wrong, but I don’t appreciate being used. It annoys me.
Anyway, it’s exam season so I have to go over my notes in order to study. Ugh... some days were really bad. On average this is what my notes look like. This is for Holocaust history. There are some words I can’t quite make out but I can usually figure them out when I keep reading. He talks fast okay? I don’t have time to make it neat.
And then there are classes in which I develop a new norm... This is from fascism. Can you tell where I started falling asleep? Yeah, that was a pain in the ass to try and study. I really must avoid being at school 12 hours in one day next year. (The first lines are actually straight... my book was bent. The last few lines definitely are not straight.)
I suppose I understand where everyone is coming from. It’s not great. But for the most part, I’m only writing for me or I’m rushed. And my writing is exponentially better than my fathers. At least you can make out actual recognized letters in my signature. My dad’s has a weird looking C with a swirly hoop thing that’s supposed to be an R and a bump that levels out into a straight line. No freaking letters. Three names, one squiggle. So... while my writing is bad, it could be worse? I’m hating it now if that makes anyone feel better.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Being tired, I’m feeling crappier than usual and so I was having a bit of a ‘what am I doing?’ crisis. It continued at work as I was scraping food people had picked over into the garbage can. After being stabbed by countless shrimp and a cardboard box, I really felt that I could be doing something else, more relevant to my likes and talents. Naturally, because I swear God hates me, my boss asked me if I knew any good writers who were good at editing and had flair. Obviously, I said I could help him. I think he meant to say he wanted someone established, but what came out was he wanted someone professional. That bothered me. The distance from me to professional in this case is six credits, one more year in university. I finally gave him a few names of established professionals.
I don’t know if I’m being overly sensitive or what, but I’m feeling very trapped lately. I want more. There has to be more than going to school, working a job I’m hating more and more and coming home to people who are relatively indifferent. There is more right? Am I getting there?
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Other than that, I ended up writing a little picture book to cheer my mom up. She was anticipating a bad day so I emailed her my creation. Things like this are why my Creative Writing prof called me a marshmallow...
I know I’m bombarding you with stories lately but this one is much shorter than the last one. It’s The Story of Shannon the Cat.
Once upon a time, there was a cat named Francis. He was a nice cat and always minded his own business although sometimes, he wished he could be a lion because they were so big and strong.
His owners, recognizing that he was in fact a wonderful pet, thought they should reward him. But how?
After days of pondering, his owners finally came up with a solution. While they couldn’t make their cat into a lion, they could at least give him a lion cut.
Francis was not impressed.
“I look like a total douche...” Francis muttered. He did look like a douche and all his cat friends told him so. They also suggested he wear a bra for his cat boobs.
Next door to Francis, lived a cat name Shannon. Shannon had barely contained her laughter upon seeing Francis for the first time... and subsequent fifty times. Imagine her horror when her owner told her that she was a wonderful pet and that they wanted to reward her. Shannon needed to take action before she turned into Francis, but what could she do?
The next morning, when her owners came downstairs, shouting that it was time for Shannon to get her surprise, they were shocked. Shannon was defiantly sitting on the table, absolutely refusing to move.
Her owners raised their hands and carefully walked out of the kitchen. They never spoke of rewarding Shannon again.
Apparently it worked and it made my mom look like she was having a nervous breakdown she was laughing so hard. YAY! The lime on the cat’s head was clincher.
Overall not a very productive day, but you know what, I’m perfectly fine with that.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Anyway, now that I’ve probably got you all wondering “What the hell did she read?!” I’ll include the excerpt. It’s from a much longer piece and this is happening somewhere in the middle. I’m sure you’ll be able to tell where my inspiration came from. I would love to hear your thoughts on it. (I altered it a bit to fit the 3 minute time limit)
In a Name
“Ada? Are you there?” Addie’s mother could hear that someone had picked up the phone. When no answer came she decided to continue. “They’ve been taken Ada. Along with all the other Jews in Berlin. They’re making the city Jew free,” she said without emotion or preamble. Why now? Why at all? They’d left Addie and Emmet alone for years.
“Where?” It was the only word Addie could manage.
“Rosenstrasse.” Even though Addie’s father had been retired from politics for some time, his information networks remained intact. For the first time in her life, she was truly grateful her father spent so much time working. She now knew everything she needed to know.
For the rest of the night, Addie imagined what was happening to her family. She’d heard rumours. Charlotte was only nine. They would have no use for a girl so young. And Emmet. What would they do to him before killing him? All of a sudden the last ten years felt like an immeasurable mistake.
When she’d married Emmet in 1932, they’d felt the chaos building. Even then there had been violence. Hitler’s SA, his army of storm troopers, patrolled the streets, supposedly keeping order but really they spent their time intimidating citizens and creating excuses for violence and humiliation. Jews were specially sought out.
Emmet and Addie had known that it wasn’t the greatest time to get married, especially not for them, she a well-known Aryan and he a Jew. Somehow, though neither said it, they needed the marriage to prove there was still some normalcy left in their own tiny world. It would have happened eventually anyway. Why not sooner rather than later? Given the political climate in Berlin, both preferred living in the moment. With violence increasing daily, they wanted to enjoy what time they had together, no matter how short it may be. Now crumpled in a sobbing heap on the floor in 1943, Addie wished she could be stronger. Maybe things would be different.
At some point that night, her mind cleared. She stopped crying. She realized that didn’t have to be meek. That morning, Addie dressed with purpose. This was not another grocery run. She ate quickly, making sure to pack some food in her purse for later. At the hall closet, she put on the warmest coat she owned and slipped into her most comfortable boots. She was headed for Rose Street.
All her life she’d walked those streets. They were familiar. She’d walked them the day before. Yet somehow in the cold of that February morning, those streets were different. They were darker. Addie hadn’t for a moment believed in the Nazi ideas regarding Jews. How could she? They were ridiculous. At least, they had been ridiculous two days ago. Now they were horrifying. With every step, Addie imagined her husband and daughter, crammed into a train car, being shipped off to one of those camps where the chimneys released a never ending plume of smoke and ash. She thought about herself as well. She was of the pure race and had willingly, happily tainted her blood and borne the child of a parasite, of a Jew. She was a traitor to her race.
“No sense stopping now,” she muttered angrily, continuing her determined walk.
Well, that’s all she wrote! (I think where I stopped is funny... when she says she’s not going to stop... no that wasn’t intentional.)
Monday, April 12, 2010
My Mom is the foremost non-dancing dance expert. She would be the Len of our group. My dad tries not to listen to us. I personally like Bruno, not that I’m like him... I don’t think... have I reached that level of weird yet? I think he’s funny.
After my Mom finished her criticisms on the dancing, which, oddly enough, were in line with the actual judges, we moved on to costumes. In this case, the lack of costume. The one girl was essentially wearing underwear. Her ribs were bulging out of her skin. I wanted to reach into the TV and hand her a hamburger. I hadn’t seen a xylophone since grade two. The next set of criticisms were as follows:
Mom to Dad: She had two triangles on her boobs and a loin cloth! Why does she dress like a ho! Some of them are wearing clothes!
Lauren: Her loin cloth was long! It was passed knee length!
And then Pam Anderson came on TV. I mean! It was her turn to dance. The first thing my mom said:
Mom snorting: She’s such a ho... I wonder if Edita feels competition with the “uniform”.
Word of the night: Ho
I asked my mom for a definition.
Definition of ho: “It’s a tool you use in the garden to turn over the earth.”
I have my Mom absolutely paranoid as I’m writing this. She keeps thinking that I’m writing everything she says. It’s tempting because it’s hysterical but she would probably kill me. Oh, she’s rolling her eyes and suspiciously asking me what I’m doing.
-Lauren runs away, tucking Clarence under her arm-
I think I should start a campaign. Stop the Dancing Bias. Just because some women on the show dress like tools used in the garden to turn over the earth, doesn’t mean they aren’t good people. So there.
She’s glaring at me again... she can hear my thoughts... or the clicking of my keys...
AH! SHE’S THREATENING TO EDIT ME!
Fly Lauren! Fly!
Oh, and a special THANKS! to Smileyfreak for making my day.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Somewhere between the time we were learning about 1943 and 1944, I was trying desperately to find a place for my new knowledge. I didn’t know what to do with it, not only where to put it, but how to reconcile it. So many days I would leave that class and not be able to think of anything else for the remainder of the day. After listening to my prof talk, scraping the surface, telling me the story of one victim for every million, I didn’t know what to do with that empty, angry, horrified, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Because who outside of those of us compelled by a love of history want to know about such an atrocity? Finally in the last few classes I got my answer.
My professor told us that a huge fear that survivors faced was that no one would believe or listen to their stories. I believe and I listened. To a small number of the stories, but I still listened. In our final class, my professor ended with “be the messenger”. I guess I’m trying. Maybe I’m trying for selfish reasons, because I feel it’s too big to keep what I feel to myself, but I do believe that it is so important.
Today, at least in the States, is Holocaust Remembrance Day. I found that out by accident when I was poking around the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum’s website* (for now that’s as close as I can get to the museum itself). So, for today, I wanted to write a post exclusively about the Holocaust and how sixty five years after the Second World War, a girl like me in a country far removed from it, was in the end affected by it. I know not everyone wants the details or can handle them, but I just had to say something because it’s so much more than just history I think. I have a small voice, but I would have felt neglectful not raising it on this occasion.
So, for the few minutes it takes to read my blog post, let’s remember the Jews, the Roma, the Soviets, the homosexual men, the mentally ill, the women, the children, the resisters, who were murdered in the millions. I don’t know their names, but I know they were there.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
For whatever reason I’ve been thinking about my first (and only thank you very much) visit to a psychiatrist. My doctor wanted to get a better diagnosis so we could get me on the right medication and dosage. All they told me was that I was to see a Dr. Wilson and that I would have to go to the psychiatric hospital (enter atmospheric lightning and thunder).
Now that you have the set up, let me enumerate the things that probably shouldn’t happen in therapy.
- Turns out Dr. Wilson is a woman. She reminded me a little bit of Piper Perabo (obviously minus the wind machine). I was still in the middle of gay puberty. Where do you think my mind was? And yes, I maintain there is such a thing as gay puberty. I’ll explain it if anyone wants to argue with me. I’ll explain the lesbian paradox at the same time.
- My doctor’s referral sheet and notes were so poorly written that Dr. Wilson had to ask me why I was there, who my doctor was, what my doctor was looking for, what the expectations were and tralala I don’t know what else. She showed me the handwriting and honestly, hieroglyphics are easier to understand.
- Unlike Angela’s office (which I’ve basically memorized by now) Dr. Wilson’s office was full of stuff. I’m very easily distracted by colours and movement. So when I wasn’t being pervy, I was glancing all over the room, which is actually bad because she mentioned something about me being unable to maintain eye contact or something like that. Which isn’t actually true though it was true for the one hour she knew me.
- Within fifteen minutes I’d already yelled at her and told her to stop picking apart my behaviour. I’ve twice experienced mental health professionals picking apart all my nervous ticks and quirks. If you can read them, good for you, you needn’t point them out to me. It’s very annoying. Imagine this conversation.
PRO: Are you nervous?
YOU: Not really.
PRO: You’re scratching your arm.
YOU: Oh. I’m not nervous, just I don’t know what to expect.
PRO: You’re shaking your leg.
YOU: Yes. I am.
PRO: You’re shifting a lot. Oh, and scratching again.
Anyway, it goes on. I feel like she was baiting me to see how long it would take to piss me off. Success!
Now that I think about it... given what she would point out, is it weird that she DIDN’T say anything about when I was looking at her boobs? Hehehe.
Friday, April 9, 2010
WARNING! IF YOU ARE SICK OF WINTER AVERT YOUR GAZE FROM THE FOLLOWING PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE.
I’m sorry... it had to be said. There’s a bit on the ground but I doubt it’ll stay long. Isn’t that ridiculous? April and it’s snowing, been snowing, for the last two days. Ridiculous. Even more ridiculous is this. It’s my screen door, but if you look closely, you can see Winter glaring in at me in the condensation crap on the window. Scary stuff.
That's my neighbour's house. Anyone out there questioning the necessity of curtains?
Aside from weather watching, I read Dracula today while bundled up in a blanket and coughing like a woman who’d spent the last twenty years of her life smoking. Given that I’m only twenty one and have never smoked a day in my life, I think that’s a bit of an accomplishment. So my pneumonia-esque coughing carries on. As does the fatigue and headache that accompanies it. And go figure! All the daytime cough medication vanished! I’m going to hide the night time stuff just to be safe. I love how well I’m sleeping on that stuff... note to self... do not get addicted. Oh and in the process of reading Dracula, I discovered that I do not much care for novels made up entirely of letters, journal entries and telegrams sent back and forth. So... no epistolary novels in my future. Although I suppose it would depend on the plot... Isn't epistolary a great word?
And aside from that! I went to the WC end of the year party. We played Mario Kart and Things and Scategories. I don’t know it that’s spelled correctly but that’s what it is. So there. I won the award for Best Blogger (because I wouldn’t shut up about the fact that I have a blog) and also Person with the Most Non-Existent Friends. Only the people who read my blog (3 in that room) got the joke. Everyone else cried out “Awwww!” in unison. We later explained to them that I’m not that sad. Just crazy. So that was pretty fun. It was nice to get out of the house and infect new people with my never ending cold.
Anyway, I have to write my final piece for Creative Writing and I’ve been procrastinating. Yup the original Princess P is back. And fully in charge.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Yes, it’s going to be a short post.
So, everyone remember how I wasn’t able to sleep a few days ago? I slept! YAY! I slept for nearly twelve hours. I woke up sometime around noon today and missed my counselling appointment. The appointment I was needing in part because I wasn’t sleeping.
Oh, and yesterday, I was kinda doped up on cough medications and went to my placement. My host teacher asked me to speak about university life... I probably should have said no. I think I used the words “bull” and “shit” a few times too many.
Weird and mildly annoying isn’t it? Oh well... I’ll just have to reschedule my appointment with Andrea. On the upside, the extra sleep really did take a lot of that anxious edge off. And hopefully when I go back to my placement I’ll be more lucid.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
My host teacher/former English teacher has this trick that involves a white horse. She asks you “when was the last time you saw a white horse?”. Apparently it doesn’t matter if the horse was on TV or not. It just matters when you last saw it. And then the hiccups magically go away. I wouldn’t believe in it if she hadn’t done it to me when I was in her class in high school. So yeah... try it out. It works.
As it is now, I’m watching From Russia with Love with my parents and cat. For those who aren’t very James Bondy, it’s a James Bond movie. So far not my favourite but it has Sean Connery so right away it’s not my least favourite. Plus, I’m rewriting it with my mom. For instance:
There’s a helicopter with two guys in it. They’re throwing grenades at Bond’s crappy truck as he drives like a lunatic down a mountain road. He has his slut... I mean, partner, in the box of the truck and a bad guy sitting shotgun inside the truck.
Bond, taking slut from the truck: Hide under the truck! Runs off into the hills.
Mom: Yeah... then they blow up the truck.
Lauren as Bond: My bad...
Lauren: Oh look! It’s Maria!
Lauren as Bond: What are you doing here! Get out of here!
Mom as Bond: Get back to the nunnery!
Lauren as Bond: And don’t forget your hat!
And so on until she got tired and went to bed. It wasn’t much fun after she left. Bond needs to be watched with commentary. My dad won’t comment with me. But shockingly, the dialogue doesn’t end there. It does with my mom, but of course, I had some hang out time with Rochester today.
Lauren: What do you think?
Rochester: I dunno...
Lauren: Dumbest cat meets dumbest moth?
Rochester: We’ll see in a minute. Maggie?
Magda: Fine... Sitting near the wall, the ordinary house cat watches his prey. It is a crucial moment. He is analyzing every possibility before making his attack. Ah, here he tests the strength and agility of his prey by batting at it with his paw. Note his posture. He is still prepared to surge forward in the event that his prey moves.
Lauren: Wanna make a bet yet?
Rochester: Shush! This is better than the animal channel. Magda! Go!
Magda: Meeko has made up his mind. His persistent pawing at his prey indicates that he wishes to eat it. Look, there he is trying to eat the moth off the wall. But oh! What’s this! The moth has flown several feet away. Since he was prepared, Meeko is able to bound after the moth. Now we are able to watch the true cruelty of cats. See how he paws and plays with his helpless victim. No doubt Meeko has crushed the moth’s wings, taking away any possibility of escape. Finally, he settles in and eats the moth.
Rochester: Dumbest cat still wins.
Lauren: Yeah whatever. Bones is on.
Rochester: No more live animal channel?
Magda: Meeko’s sleeping again... Can I go back to my closet?
Anyway, that’s all I have to say. I’m still coughing but no longer hiccupping. There’s an upside! YAY! Well, I’m thirsty. Off I go!
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Well, fell asleep around seven o’clock, slept until about noon. Called in sick at 1:00. Spent the rest of the day with a pounding headache and coughing my face off.
I guess I should explain my comment from yesterday. While I have great listeners here that I appreciate so much, I can’t always say the things I need to say. Sometimes I have problems with friends who read my blog that I wouldn’t want to embarrass or hurt in a million years. And while I don’t care very much about what I reveal about myself, revealing things about other people is something I don’t like doing. So yeah...
I had a pretty shitty day again today. My parents refused to believe that I’m sick. My mom actually asked me if “I was really sick or if it was just depression...” Because that validates the last six years of my life. Let us not forget that at 21 years old I still need to fake sick.
Bah... either way there was something that made me laugh. I was supposed to put up the link yesterday but somehow it didn’t really fit with what I was saying. It also explains my Miley Cyrus nightmare. Anyway, the following video is a song my friend Mel wrote for her sister after she (her sister) had her hysterectomy. Which I think we can all agree sucks. Not the song. The hysterectomy.
I hope it made everyone smile. It made my day.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Do you ever just feel like you have to talk to someone or you'll burst?
That pretty much sums up where I'm at. At least therapy's only three days away. What I wouldn't give for a good listener right now...
Sunday, April 4, 2010
As planned Veronica came over and we tackled dessert. I showed her how to assemble the roll and then how to roll it. For someone who was afraid of baking (if we can call it baking) she did very well. Later, after supper, we began the improvised deep frying process. I cut, Veronica garnished and dessert was served. It turned out awesome! Much to my surprise. I forgot to take pictures but I most definitely will tomorrow. I have a few extras that I will gladly make again.
Other than that, we watched Spaceballs because honestly, it’s fantastic. Veronica liked Barf’s ears so naturally, I made her ears. Even though Barf is a Mog (half man, half dog) I made her cat ears. I made myself a pair as well Hers were black, mine are white.
But that’s only the last part of my day. My day actually began with my grandparents coming over for Easter brunch. Brunch went well. But we got into a conversation that kind of blew up in my face. This is where History of Sexuality (the dreaded class from the first semester) came back to get me. I ended up showing my grandma the Medieval “Can I have sex chart”. She thought that was amusing, but proceeded to tell me that those laws are man-made and not God’s will. After that, I decided she’d probably also be amused by the short article I had to read titled “Jewish Penis is Better than Christian Penis”. She laughed at first because she claims that based on the arguments presented, that it’s not true. I wouldn’t know so... I guess I’ll take her word for it? I took it out to be amusing. But after that, she got a little agitated that they would teach that kind of thing to someone like me. –Lauren’s eyebrows raise- Someone like me? Yes, someone like me. Someone who isn’t sexually active, because how could someone like that have an opinion in a sexuality course? –Lauren insulted- Because I would tell my grandma I’m sexually active... I’m not, but that’s not the point. Then again, she still assumes I’m straight. In the end, it went back to be entertaining but yeesh! Why is it that my relatives always feel the need to insult me in a funny way that isn’t really funny? I don’t get it... It’s become a curiosity more than anything. Like, what makes them want to go over that line? Is it genetic? Is it a voice in their head? Is it just a compulsion or habit? Is it the weather? I shall study this.
Anyway, I apologize to any Jewish or Christian men who may have come into contact with this. I’m sure your penises are equally... adequate? Like I said, I don’t know and I don’t particularly care to... so yeah...
I have to say, I was pretty nervous about serving tonight. There was a party of fifteen and it was for my cousin’s fiancée’s grandmother. So I knew two people there. Anyway, sometimes I feel... inferior around her so I wasn’t expecting too much from tonight. She’s always been really nice to me, it’s just a feeling I get on occasion. I went in to work mentally chanting Eleanor Roosevelt’s words that no one can make you feel inferior unless you let them and everything was fine. I’ll also say that she was again, as always, very nice to me. I only actually had one irritating moment and it was with her grandfather. I was collecting dessert plates and his was in the middle of the table (two tables put together) and he was sitting rather far back. I wasn’t able to reach the plate, though I tried. I asked “if I could get in there and grab his plate”. Most people just hand me the plate. He backed his chair up more, giving me enough room to slide between him and the table and reach for the plate myself... Thanks a lot buddy.
Of everything I put up with at work, that’s the one thing I really hate. I cannot deal with snobby people. They infuriate me. I expressed this to my co-worker, Paul, who always serves. He told me a story about how he was having an issue with a customer. The customer actually asked “Do you know who I am?” First off, I live in a city with 58 000 people. No one of any major significance lives here. I think what Paul answered is the most brilliant thing ever. He looked at him and replied “Do you know who I am?” Which is genius.
I won’t go on a rant because I don’t want to give snobs the attention. But I will wrap this up by telling you three wonderful things.
A hot shower after a long day is amazing. Baggy clothes that just let you breathe are fantastic. Not having to wear a bra is just lovely. So that’s how I’ve ended my day. I might watch a movie for a bit, but I think I’m off to bed...
Friday, April 2, 2010
As part of my “Keep Boredom at Bay Without Clarence” initiative, I was also able to convince my parents to play games with me. First we played Risk. I lost… majorly. My mom, who had no idea what was going on somehow managed not only to win, but destroy any chance that anyone else could. WITHOUT REALIZING IT! This goes to show that I should learn to keep my mouth shut. After that we played Wizard, which is a card game in which you bet on the amount of tricks you think you can win. My dad was the early leader and remained in that position for the majority of the game. And then my mom started winning tricks. Naturally, this means that my dad and I were being majorly screwed over. In fact, we renamed the game. It’s not called Wizard anymore. It’s called f@#$. Because my father and I would drop the f-bomb at least six times a hand. My mom would giggle.
Dad stayed pretty steady throughout the game. Mom was a come from behind conqueror who dominated the last half. I just sucked. My highest score was fifty. I hit zero four times. The point of the game is to get the highest score. We had one hand left and I was once again starting at zero so I decided that’s where I wanted to end. In case you think I’m exaggerating my suckage, I’m including our score sheet. I believe you can even go so far as to say my suckage was epic.
Interesting story. Daffodils are the flower of March so they sell them for cancer research. My parents always pick some up. The other day my mom took some pictures with my camera. So tonight when I was being too lazy to scan our score sheet, I decided taking a picture would be faster. I don’t know why, she said it was because I was shouting from my room, but when I got back to the dining room, she came up within three feet of me and shouted “HEY!” then seemed to realize she was three feet away.
I started to laugh and shouted “WHAT!?” back at her. She just wanted me to print her daffodil pictures. We’re still laughing about it.
Well, I hope everyone had a great day. I did.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
On the downside, Clarence (my laptop) is once again in the incapable hands of the Staples staff. Now that I don’t urgently need my computer to be physically attached to my fingertips at all times, I figured it was probably a good time to go in and get those little glitches looked at. Turns out it was about time. There’s a thirty day warrantee on their repairs and I had about a week left. This shit had better be done right this time or they will have to Ma’am me more than once before I calm down. I still haven’t forgiven them for calling me Ma’am… I now understand how Queen Latifah felt in the Last Holiday. I didn’t really get it before.
But back to good news! I think it’s safe to say that winter has relinquished its frosty hold on the world. Or at least this part of it. Today it was 21 degrees. I think that’s somewhere in the 70s for you non-metric folk. It was lovely and sunny and I thoroughly enjoyed walking home. I didn’t almost get hit by a car today! It’s sad when that becomes a highlight. Given that I am a history student and have learned that events are always defined by numerous factors, I needed more proof. I am therefore including photographic evidence.
That’s the Meeko-Alarm. We’re the only family in the world to have it. If someone comes to the door, Meeko jumps down (which can be heard around the house) and runs away. Whoever is outside is usually killing him or herself with laughter at the sight.
And if that wasn’t enough, the snow is gone, the breeze doesn’t cut through the seven layers of clothes I used to wear, I’m down to a maximum of three layers of clothing and dust storms are springing up everywhere due to the amount of sand required to keep cars on the road during winter.
All in all, it was a great day. The temperature is supposed to stay in the 20s for the next week or so. YAY! I can open my window! I was also able to do a little shopping. I actually found spring roll skins in my town. I was surprised. I’m going to teach Veronica how to make a dessert from work. She has no choice in the matter. She’s coming over for Easter dinner and we’re taking care of dessert. She says she’s baking challenged but I doubt a four year old could mess this up even if he were trying to. In other words, she’s not getting out of it that easy. After that we’re continuing our Bond Marathon. We’re up to George Lazenby from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. It’s the one where the guy gets fed through a giant snow blower. Pretty awesome. That’s about the extent of my gore fascination. Barely any .
Well… that’s all I have for today. Hoping I get Clarence back soon.
Can I say Happy Good Friday in advance to those who celebrate? Mourn? Recognize?