I Will Write!

Welcome to: seven things I've forgotten in relation to writing since starting university. Here are seven things I've forgotten in relation to writing since starting university. Yeah, that title was kind of self-explanatory. I'll work on it... maybe.

1. It takes me a long time to plan a novel.
2. I'm really anal about my notes.
3. I hate naming stuff (note people but everything else).
4. Planning is in fact necessary. I don't know how I forgot that.
5. Writing in pencil is convenient.
6. Eraser bits annoy me.
7. People look at you funny when you're writing your notes.

When it comes to writing, I haven't really done that well in the last few years. I write every day. I write bits and pieces. I get great ideas that I do write down. I blog. But I haven't actually finished any project of significance. Either it's still an idea, it's half written, it's not typed, it's not something I want published. All real and valid reasons.

It bothers me that I haven't managed to actually finish anything in five years. All of my writing has been school related because by the time I'm done with school writing, I'm not really interested in focused "for fun" writing. Can you imagine the carpal tunnel?

I started trying to write my first novel when I was fifteen. It didn't go over very well. Neither did the second attempt. Or the fourth. By the time I attacked that story again, I'd planned, written and typed a completely different novel (that I will never look at again).

Christmas came around. I was seventeen. In a horrible twist of fate, I was scheduled to have my wisdom teeth, all four of them, surgically removed on the 22 of December. Merry f***ing Christmas everyone. Anyway, when the anesthesia wore off and I could feel my face again, I realized I was in for a really boring, frustrating couple of days. I swear, everyone made it their mission to eat in front of me. Back to the point. I started planning the novel I'd been thinking about when I was fifteen. I planned it to within an inch of its life. But I wrote the damn novel in its entirety. And it was good. Now I'd changed a lot, but for teenage me, it was good. I followed a similar though less intense format for my third novel. And I finished that one too. The main characters are probably my favourite characters out of all the characters I've written.

So, in spite of people staring and asking annoying questions, regardless of how long it takes and how much I really hate naming things, I'm going to plan this novel and it is going to get written. I'll just have to deal with the eraser bits!

Lauren.

Search Keyword Mystery

I find the little Blogger "stats" tab to be very amusing. And not just because "stats" is a palindrome. I'm talking about the "search terms". They're usually pretty interesting. Sometimes, things pop up there that, after I stop laughing, I start wondering what the hell I wrote or posted that led google searchers to me.

For instance:

Here are today's top search terms according to my Blogger "stats" tab. 

I know what the majority are referencing. Others... not so much. Family Guy Tree is actually a picture of Donald Duck's family tree. I have no idea why that works the way it does but... whatever. Cotton ball sheep I get. I talk about my hatred of cotton balls all the time. I think I even wrote about cotton ball sheep taking over the world at some point. Tipping the Velvet I get. I read the book, watched the movie and reviewed them both. 

And then there's stuff like "big tits"... While some might consider me slightly above average in that area, I don't think I fall into the category of "big". Wait, that wasn't about me? Riiiiiight... I don't have a picture of myself on here. Wow, that's awkward. I do have a picture of Salma Hayek on here though. She has big boobs. Maybe that's what it is.

I actually have no clue what "hush movie Callie" might be. I imagine something having to do with Sara Ramirez? I have a few pictures of her on here...

Skulls and puppies. Is that a band or something? I realize that yes, puppies have skulls, but they're usually covered by skin and soft, cute fur. I keep thinking of it as a tattoo design. Maybe a puppy popping out of a skull? Like the skull is a cup and the puppy is inside? Because we all know that people love putting their pets in cups. I wrote a post about that.

Same with "Glee Brittany and Artie subs". I don't recall posting a picture that has the two of them in it. I doubt it's regarding them being on a submarine or eating a sub sandwich. I read a lot of fanfiction (guilty pleasure) but I'm not a Brittany/Artie shipper so I can't see that being it. 'Cause Artie bugs me. Not as much as Finn, but he's up there. 

And if you feel like I've missed the most glaring search term of all, I actually do know how "scenario porn" wound up finding me. They would have been really disappointed given that there is no actual porn. Sorry 'bout that dude or... dudette? Just a post about me... being in situations... that were reminiscent of porn scenarios... without any porn actually happening thank God. I'm kind of a neat freak and doing it in a dirty (note, only 1 'r') auto garage does not sound appealing to me. Plus, there were two guys there and they are so not my type... you know, being male and all that. And you know they would have wanted to participate... Enough. Changing subjects.

Every time I see the terms people search, I realize just how random I am. It makes me smile a bit. I laughed out loud when I saw "Voldemort stole my shampoo" or "I hate when Voldemort uses my shampoo". I have no idea. But it was funny.

Lauren.

Jobs Past...

I applied for two jobs today. Good times. Chances of getting either of these jobs? No idea. Part of me would love some mindless administrative job, with policies and guidelines and little, to no thought required. In theory, I could get my work done quickly and read. On the other hand, I do appreciate work that requires me to be more active and spontaneous. I applied for one of each.

I once had a job where all I did was read. I worked in a hockey arena during the summer. I was in the concession stand selling gross food. Even here, there aren't all that many people playing hockey in the summer. I got through three mystery novels, most of the Chronicles of Narnia and a few others before my  bosses starting nagging me. I eventually just moved my chair so they couldn't see me reading. Not my favourite job.

My second job had similar moments. I worked in a chip truck. Definitely not my favourite job. The upside was, I often got to work with my then best friend. We ended up using fry boxes, tape and permanent markers to make aliens that we later named and invented a backstory for. Once, when it was raining and it was obvious no one would be coming by an outdoor food installation for food (not even the people in the crack house across the street) we placed a bucket below the awning and waited for it to fill. In the meantime, we decorated Pogo boxes. We then put the Pogo boxes in the bucket and tipped it. First box to the storm drain won. We chased flies a lot too... but eventually we realized that the more flies we killed, the more spiders we attracted. Neither of us could tolerate spiders. Believe it or not, we were in fact the two hardest workers there.

My third job very rarely gave me the opportunity to horse around. I was always working on something. Most of the time it was stressful, tiring and I almost always injured myself. The upside was, I knew I'd earned my money. By the time I quit, the problem had become the money not being worth it.

So once again I wait and see. My mother informed me that should I get an interview, I am to "turn on the charm". I'm pretty sure I'm one of those people who becomes charming once you get to know them. First impressions... people tend to underestimate me. It's very irritating. Dammit! Where's Anthony Hopkins when I need him? (Legend of Zorro Reference... in case that sounded creepier than intended).

Lauren.

The é, à, ç Problem

I love that I'm bilingual. I love that I can speak, read, write and understand two languages. It's part of me, and my family, and I feel a pretty strong connection to my French Canadian roots. I'm proud of my French heritage and culture. But it's a pain in the ASS to translate my resume!

Why would one translate one's resume you might be asking. Well, when applying to a French speaking job, one submits one's resume in French. Because yes, there are establishments that are uniquely French speaking.

Here's why it was such a pain in the ass:

Reason 1: I already wrote my cover letter and resume in English (for another job) today. So when I sat down to write the French equivalents, I had all the English words stuck in my head and I was unconsciously trying to translate word for word. Which doesn't work. Plus, it takes so much longer to actually finish anything. Writing in French while thinking in English: NOT GOOD.

Reason 2: My French writing and speaking have suffered from lack of use. I've been at an English university for five years. Number all the grammar rules there are in English, multiply by five and you have all the French grammar rules. Now, take all the English exceptions to those rules and multiply by twenty five, now you have all the French exceptions to grammar rules. If you aren't faced with them constantly, they're impossible to remember.

Reason 3: Speaking of grammar rules, I discovered that I have no idea how to magically make my Mac French. I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to write "e" with an accent aigu. Or an "a" with an accent grave. And forget spellcheck. I couldn't figure how to change that either so everything is underlined in red or automatically changing to the closest English spelling. I actually miss the days when I was in high school and all you had to do was ALT130 and the "e" accent aigu would appear. It was pretty funny to watch me typing in high school. I spent almost as much time hovering over the number pad holding down the ALT key as I did the actual letter part of the keyboard. HOLY CRAP I JUST FIGURED IT OUT! "Option" IS "ALT"! And you only have to push the letter! Huzzah! é, à, ç! Mwahahaha! I'm unstoppable now!

Believe it or not, that was in fact a realtime discovery. Well, as I was writing it... not as you're reading it. Because I already figured it out. At 11:31 PM. Unless you read minds...

I'm going to end on that note. For all you French Mac users (okay, only the tired ones like me who weren't able to figure this out sooner) there is hope! There is a solution! It is the "Option" key!

Bon soir!

Lauren.

Cats, Aliens and OCD

My cat stole my blanket.
Aliens made me sleepy.
I place things on counters diagonally.

These are the things that happened to me today.

I was reading on my bed. My bed is against a wall and under my window. I got a little chilly so I pulled a wool blanket over myself. It was on my bed the whole time I'd been sitting there. My cat was comfortably curled up on my duvet cover. As soon as I pulled the wool blanket over myself and smoothed out the wrinkles, his head popped up. He was looking at it like "was this here the whole time?". He then got up, moved over by about three inches and curled up on my wool blanket. He didn't move again until dinner.

Later I was watching TV. I wound up watching Nazi Hunters. I think I've only seen that show twice and go figure, it was an episode I'd seen. Granted, the ranks of WW2 Nazi criminals must be thinning by now, but I'm sure the TV people made more than two episodes. About ten minutes before the show ended, I fell asleep. What annoys me is that I don't think I got to watch the end the first time I saw it. Either way, the Nazi in question had died. The show that came on after that was about aliens coming to Earth and building monuments, leaving evidence of their presence in plain sight. At least that's what I gathered from the brief snippets I caught between waking up and wondering why I was watching a show about aliens and wondering why the hell aliens would want to stop here. If I was an alien, I would lock my space shuttle and step on the gas as soon as I got near Earth. Because obviously, I would have watched human movies as research and humans are never kind to aliens in movies. We aren't even kind to our own people... As was evidenced by the earlier episode of Nazi Hunters.

After supper, my mom asked for help with the dishes. I started drying and placing things on the counter next to me. I dried four knives, a brush and something else before I stopped and noticed that I'd placed everything diagonally, at the same angle, each item being an equal distance apart. It's the second time I notice that I do this. The first time was with pots. I'd lined all the pots up, all of their handles were on a diagonal, the same angle and equally far apart. I don't do it on purpose either. It just happens. It's not like I stand there with a ruler or a... whatever those half moon-thingies with all the angles are. Yes, I taught math... I learned that crap in French. I apparently have a new, weird quirk.

And that was today. Thieving cats, insomnia inducing aliens and OCD coming to the fore. How can I get more interesting?

Lauren.

Another Random Picture Book

I think it's time for another edition of Lauren's Random picture book. In case you don't know what that means: I sift through my files, pick a bunch of random pictures previously posted on my blog and write an even more random story about them. The story is never true and rarely makes sense. Here we go.

It was just another day for Lea Michele. She'd gone to an award show... we don't know which one... the background is blurry. She wore a lovely dress, her hair was great and even though the photographer was shooting her head on, the pictures turned out better than those of a normal person. It was a good day.

When she was finally able to escape the loving masses and return home, Lea got into some comfy sweats and settled in on the couch to watch some TV. She flipped through the channels, almost surprised to find that nothing was on. But at the last minute, she noticed an older Kevin Kline movie and couldn't resist.

The movie was funny. She couldn't get over how funny. In fact, Kevin Kline reminded her very much of the character Kurt on that show she appeared on every Tuesday. She decided that Rachel Berry would very much like Kevin's character as he too shared a deep appreciation of all things Barbara. Just as Kevin was getting ready to prove to an audio tape that he was not gay, Lea's phone rang. Now who could that be?

Of course it was her super secret bestie Stacy London. Stacy wasted no time getting to the point. 

Stacy: Lea, I can see you through your living room window and that outfit is not flattering at all. Is it a self esteem issue? Don't you dare use the 'C' word! Comfort is no reason to look hideous in sweats! Are they at least designer?

Lea was temporarily stunned by the random tirade and couldn't think of anything to respond. Though she did very quickly consider moving. 

Stacy: Anyway, get changed. I found these two tickets to the launching of the Titanic and you're my plus one. Give me five minutes to cross the street and I'll pick out up. 

Again, Lea was too shocked to answer. 

For whatever reason, Lea actually allowed Stacy to take her to the launch of the Titanic. In truth, she needed a vacation. Her life had become very hectic. A day trip on a famous luxury liner was just the ticket. She skipped aboard, almost bursting with excitement. It was only when she saw a number of reclining deck chairs that she decided on how she was going to spend her afternoon.

Dianna had been bugging her to read the final book in the Hunger Games series ever since that one night... And now she actually had the time! How great! She curled up, devouring each page. She was nearly halfway through when all of a sudden, there was a terrible crash! The boat was taking on water! Who could have predicted that the Titanic would sink! Lea looked to her book, suddenly seeing it for what it truly was: a survival guide. Like Katniss, she climbed as high as she could, determined to keep the water from ruining her still amazing hair. 

It took another day before she was rescued. When she awoke, she was in a very uncomfortable hospital bed. Some odd man in ridiculous safety gear came toward her. It really was like The Hunger Games! They were going to tell her she'd lost a leg or had some serious burns or something. Wait... that was mostly Peeta. She could totally play Peeta... She was hastily informed that she was in the middle of a decontamination because the Titanic was actually secretly carrying nuclear waste that everyone aboard had been exposed to. As her condition was explained, Lea made a solemn promise. The next time she saw Stacy...

And that's how the Stacy London/Lea Michele friendship started and broke up before anyone ever knew it existed.

Random picture book no. 3 complete.

Lauren.

Stroke of Luck

I bitch a lot about how much bad luck I have. And I do have quite a lot of bad luck. Lots of doors closing to lead me down that one perfect road... as Katy Perry would probably say if she knew me. I actually experienced good luck today. It was random, it was unexpected and it was very timely.

I was bored out of my mind. I was beyond my regular kind of bored and I'd entered the territory of dangerously bored. That's the kind of bored where not only do you not have anything that needs doing, you have nothing you want to do. So you wander aimlessly from room to room wondering how you're going to occupy your time. Because sleeping is not a healthy option.

In the midst of my wanderings, the phone rang. I wasn't holding out much hope. My sister usually calls me from work to ask what we're having for supper and then to announce whether or not she'll be attending and with how many guests. That or my parents checking in to make sure I haven't gone completely crazy and tied my sister to a chair to limit her mess making capabilities. Or just to make sure I haven't completely lost my mind. As it turns out, it was Dana calling.

She was back in town. We hadn't seen each other in... well, we tried to figure it out but we couldn't pinpoint when the last time we saw each other was. I think I was on placement. It was quickly agreed that we had to hang out. As always, we continued our coffee fetching and bitching out tradition. We really have to come up with a better name for that. Neither of us even drinks coffee. We were extremely loud, we laughed a lot, Dana even tried a lemonade flavour that was made up at random when we ordered. I ran into one of my former students. She was one of the ones I had a soft spot for. She addressed me as Miss Dailey which of course had Dana in stitches. In a show of maturity, I threw my crumpled straw wrapper at her boobs, trying to get it down her shirt. I guess I threw it too hard because it bounced back out... awkward. I don't think my student witnessed that. Fingers crossed.

We eventually came back to my house where we played Mario Party. We were a little sleepy and feeling a little silly... er. We wound up swearing a lot at the stupid hat host. God he's annoying. And at one point, Dana started rambling about how people only ever pray to baby Jesus or adult Jesus. She was wondering what mischief teen Jesus got into that made him such a bad example to pray to. I was just laughing and therefore contributed nothing to the conversation. Shockingly, we were not under the influence of anything... except maybe sugar? Conversations like these are the reason I'm paranoid about meeting up with students when I'm in public. Especially since they always seem to find me before I spot them... if I spot them.

And so, with one phone call, my day turned around. Stroke of luck I call it!

Lauren.

They Know!

I cooked dinner for my family twice this week. I don't usually cook for them. I find it very stressful to cook when my family is around. They crowd me and give me their opinions on everything, sometimes they explain things to me that I already know. It's kind of odd considering that I've only ever worked in restaurants. I do have experience cooking a variety of things on a variety of surfaces. It's like they think I can't cook. But I can. I'm learning. I'm not at the point where I can just wing it and have a meal taste amazing. But with a recipe, I can make something really good. Hey, I'm 23. I've only been allowed to use the stove unsupervised since I was like... fifteen or so. Before that, my parents were always close by and we all knew where the fire extinguishers were.

Tuesday I made breaded and baked pork chops with a mushroom sauce. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world. The cupboards were pretty empty. There were no breadcrumbs. I smashed a pack of soda crackers. It was fun and tasty. Bonus! My mom kind of hovered... she gave me her opinions... I ignored most of them. Once I'd gathered all the ingredients or found suitable substitutes, it wasn't a particularly difficult recipe. Fry the chops until the breading turns golden brown. Pop them in the oven. Let them cook. Make the mushroom sauce. Add the mushroom sauce two thirds of the way through the cooking process. In spite of a set back here and there, a little nagging and one argument, the food was actually really good. I was quite pleased with myself. My dad was pretty happy too. He pretty much licked his plate. Whatever leftovers there were, were gone by the time I opened the fridge for lunch the next day.

Tonight, in an attempt to avoid frozen, breaded fish, I again made supper. I made an orange chicken stir-fry using the orange chicken recipe I found a few weeks ago. I started much earlier this time so no one was around to watch me. Though, my dad did sit in the kitchen with me. He just read his paper or watched the movie I put on. He finished up the dishes for me so I could keep working. He never said anything unless I asked and he stayed out of my way. I'm really territorial when it comes to kitchens. It's kind of embarrassing. I wonder if that's something I picked up working in kitchens. Everyone has their own space, they do their own work. When you work with people long enough you become accustomed to their rhythms and no one bothers anyone. Obviously, I don't have that with my family. I usually consider their presence an intrusion and snap at them. I don't mean to but it really bugs me.

Anyway, at some point, I had every surface on the stove top working. Rice on one, sauce on another, chicken frying on the third, veggies going on the fourth. I only ever had three working at the same time. I was always really good at timing my food. Portioning it is a different story. My parents seemed pretty impressed by that. Again, all the food disappeared and everyone seemed pretty happy.

I actually enjoy cooking very much. I get to do my own thing, results are pretty immediate, I listen to music and sing along or watch a movie (and sing along to the soundtrack), I talk to my cat until he realizes I'm not going to give him food. It's fun. I just hope that I won't be asked to cook on a regular basis now that they know...

Lauren.

The Little Letters Dilemma

I'm in an odd mood today. There are a variety of reasons why. The main thing that's been bothering me though, is an email I got. I don't mean 'bothering' in a bad way... just that the contents are weighing on my mind.

After plans A,B and C for post BEd occupations fell through, I started looking for a plan D. I've never needed a plan D. I applied to the history MA programme at my present/past school. I applied late, but I should be finding out soon whether or not I'll need a plan E.

The reason I bring that up, is that my unnamed professor (who is an amazing friend) has recently been suggesting that I should be looking into PhD programmes. She listed a number of valid reasons why I would enjoy it. She also listed qualities I have that apparently make obtaining a doctorate a real possibility. To be honest, I am freaking baffled by the amount of belief she has in me and my abilities. I spent most of today trying to think of a way to respond to her email when all I really wanted to ask was: "Why do you believe in me so much?" Not that I'm not grateful or pleased or... validated, by her confidence. I just don't know where it's coming from. That's a question I've actually been wondering about the three profs who have stuck their necks out for me recently. I don't know what they see in me. I don't know why they think I'm so good for this path. One of them told me I deserve this. I didn't think about it at the time, but why? Why do I deserve it?

And that's bugging me. But what's bugging me more is this: Why am I questioning their belief in me? Why do I have so little confidence in myself?

When I brought up my unnamed professor's PhD suggestion to my parents, all they did was quip: is she going to subsidize your eduction? We haven't said anything else on the topic. Yeah... maybe that's part of the reason I lack confidence. I was insulted personally, but also on behalf of my friend. She's been nothing but kind and supportive of me. She's been one of the best friends I've ever had. And she sees in me something, I don't know what, but she sees something worthwhile and when I talk to her, I don't feel so out of place. Same goes with my other two profs.  Maybe that's why I'm confused. What is it these 'outsiders' are seeing that my family isn't? And why can they see it, but my family can't?

Is it obvious yet that people confuse the crap out of me? Even when they have something nice to say about me, I end up confused. I really need to start saving up for that island I'm going to live out my life on...

Lauren.

1000 Days of Bloggage!

When I started blogging, I honestly didn't think I'd take to it the way I have. And now I've written 1000 posts in 1000 days. Yay me! It's kind of weird being able to go back 1000 days and see what I was doing or thinking... or, you know, avoiding. Mostly avoiding because I do procrastinate... on occasion.

And on that note, I have no idea what to talk about today. What is the significance of 1000 days? I don't know if that should feel long... because it doesn't. But when you look at it in terms of volume, it is kind of significant. Let's ponder that question while I go to bed.

For once, when I said I didn't know what to talk about, I wasn't lying! And it only took 1000 posts.

Lauren.

Rings and Inspiring Confidence

You know when you walk into an unfamiliar store and you know nothing about the products that are sold there? You have to rely on the salespeople and hope to hell they a) know what they're talking about and b) are telling you the truth. I had that experience today.

My parents bought me a ring for graduating. I think the ring covers both degrees because my sister didn't get one. Nanipoo! I'm not really the kind of girl who's into jewellery. I fidget a lot. I like keeping my hands busy. It helps me focus. When I wear jewellery, I tend to play with it and become distracted, or I take it off and then I worry about losing it. But I suppose that's just another way of being distracted. Anyway, parents bought me a ring. It's very pretty and I do want to wear it. I'm hoping that once I get used to it, I won't play with it.

Alas, as is the case with my feet, my fingers are also apparently enormous. They look normal to me! I guess I should take it as a sign that I'm proportionate. There was no way the ring my parents bought was going to fit on my fingers... any of them. Off to the jeweller to get it sized and adjusted. I had no idea how this sizing and adjusting business was done. Neither did my mom who actually wears rings.

The saleswoman pulled out a keyring of ring sizes. We first had to know how big my big-ass fingers are. As it turns out, my ring size is about the same as my shoe size. I'll admit, I wanted to make a terribly inappropriate sex joke, but refrained. Go me! So, my left ring finger is a size twelve. The saleswoman looked at the tiny, dainty ring I'd presented her with and announced: "We're going to have to special order that. There's no way we can enlarge it without destroying it". Yeah, kinda saw that coming. On the upside, it doesn't cost extra.

I then presented her with a ring I'd been given several years earlier. I never got into the habit of wearing it. As it turns out, there's a good reason. It's too small. The woman is looking at it with her little magnifying glass-monocle thing, and says: "I'm just checking out the gold". I was confused by that statement. I replied that my ring was silver. She laughed a bit and looked far less mystified. She informed me that the best course of action would be to reduce its size so that I could wear it on my pinky where it was only a bit too big. Of course, that brought about a new set of problems. She picked up her monocle-magnifying glass again and announced that the stones might be a problem. Again I was confused. I told her there weren't stones on my ring. She looked again and discovered that the little design she was seeing was just engraved along the band. Finally, she was typing away on the computer, putting in my order and my measurements. My pinky is size 8 1/2 if you were curious. By then she was rambling on about silver plating because of the odd colour of the ring. For the third time, I was confused. It's not plated with anything. I'm pretty sure it's just tarnished. I let her go on anyway as it didn't affect the price or my order. I think the jeweller actually doing the work will figure it out. Hopefully.

So, you know when you walk into an unfamiliar store and you know nothing about the products that are sold there? It really doesn't inspire confidence when you appear to know more than the person working there. And it was a reputable jewellers. I was not in some scary back alleyway where people were melting down jewels and such off to the side.

When we left the store I was chuckling on the inside about the whole encounter. I was chuckling on the outside because I was distracted by a stall that appeared to be selling t-shirts and was named Unic. I think it might be pronounced Unique. Seriously, when I see that, I pronounce it eunuch. But according to Wikipedia, Unic was also a French car manufacturer in the early 1900s. What either of those has to do with t-shirts, I am unsure.

All in all, a very amusing trip to the mall.

Lauren.

The Meaning of Diplomas

I went to pick up my second university diploma today. It was kind of an accident that I remembered. But I did. When I got home I put it in the frame I bought. It's now neatly stowed behind glass, next to my other diploma. I have to admit, it looks pretty and I am proud of it... them. Black frame, blue mat with shiny gold writing, diploma with shiny gold seals of officialness. Five years, two sheets of paper. Because when I look at them and really think about them, they're just sheets of paper.

You have to admit that it's a strange thing we do. Using a sheet of paper to symbolize years of work, stress, tens of thousands of dollars. I was putting my BEd diploma in the frame next to my BA diploma and I noticed, I'm embarrassed to say that this is the type of thing I notice, but I noticed that my diplomas were printed on two different kinds of paper. Same university, different paper. PAPER! I have paper in my printer. And I can definitely create a document that looks exactly like my diploma. Actually, I could probably do better. When I look at them, I know what I see. I see the paper I wrote for my classical studies course about Harry Potter. And I see that book I couldn't stand reading from third year. I see arguing with my English prof about whether or not Shirley (from Charlotte Bronte's Shirley) is a lesbian. I also remember winning that argument. I assume the A means I won. I see that presentation I did in my Shakespeare class that I somehow completed and presented even after all my group members ditched me two days before the thing was due. The thing is, if I hang those diplomas in my office, if I ever have an office, no one is going to see any of that. They're going to see the seals, and the crest, and my name written in a sort of attractive font, and they might think: Hmmm... qualified. But likely, they'll think: Well, it's not Queens.

I've gone off on this before. Valuing letters more than valuing people and their will and ability to learn on the job. I've talked about undervaluing real-world experiences. And it bugs the crap out of me because to me, my diploma is more like a photograph than anything else. It says I was there. It says I jumped through the right hoops. But it doesn't say a whole lot about who I am, where I came from, what I overcame, what I believe. And last time I checked, having read the Iliad from cover to cover does not qualify me to hold any present day job.

I'm grateful for the education I've gotten. I'm grateful that I had the opportunity. But I hate that education is being reduced to some elitist commodity. If governments want to talk about our society being a meritocracy, they wouldn't allow education to be a privilege. Education would be a right. If they wanted to talk about meritocracies, they would talk about working your ass off at every stage of you school life and getting into universities and colleges based on potential and genuine merit. Then when they'd give you that diploma, that piece of paper, and those letters to follow your name, they might actually say something about you.

I'm proud of what I've accomplished because I know I've worked my ass off and I've earned what I have, but at the same time... it's all a little fake. This has probably been the same old rant in different words. Probably won't be the last time I write them either.

Think about it though.

Lauren.

What Colour Are Your Neighbours?

I've said before that it's hard to surprise me. I'm not talking about surprise birthday parties or things like that. I'm talking about people surprising me. If you're looking close enough, you can kind of anticipate people's attitudes, opinions and reactions to any number of situations. That being said, the longer you know someone, the harder it becomes for them to spring something on you. At least, in theory that's how it should work.

Today was father's day. As such, my mom invited my grandparents over. We had brunch, I helped clean up, it was all very exciting up until then. Once everything was back to normal, my mom, my grandma and of course, yours truly, decided to sit outside for a bit. It was kind of hot in the house.

My next door neighbours are attempting to move. We've never really gotten to know them. They keep to themselves. Seeing the "For Sale" sign, my grandma started asking all kinds of questions about the mysterious people living next door. They were all kind of standard. Were they a young couple? Did they have kids? Why does their front yard look like a jungle? All of this was happening in French by the way. And then, out of nowhere, she asked if our neighbours were Hindu, or black, caucasian? I looked over at her, just staring, trying to figure out if she was being serious or not. She was entirely serious.

I've never really known my grandma to be racist. Old school about some stuff, but generally, she's pretty cool. It surprised my mom too. Once my grandparents left, my mom jokingly asked me what colour our neighbours are. I naturally listed about six different nationalities. In reality, my neighbours are in fact white. That was our way of telling my dad what happened. We finally explained and he too was surprised.

It got me to thinking though. I have fifteen cousins on my mom's side of the family. I have never seen one of my cousins date someone who wasn't white. Granted, I might not have met all their girlfriends and boyfriends, but I haven't even heard whispers (and we are a gossipy family) of inter-racial dating. Same thing with my aunts and uncles. Could be purely coincidence... the community up here is lacking in diversity. We are about four hours by car away from any major urban centre. The reason I find this all so amusing is that I'm quite partial to non-white women.

I'm having fun imagining a scenario involving me, bringing some NOT-white, GIRL to my family's Christmas get together. I wonder what would shock everyone more. My girlfriend's lack of penis or my girlfriend's skin pigmentation? I'd be amused either way.

Then again, I doubt I'd do something like that... it would be mean. Funny. But mean. Maybe it's a generational thing. Because I don't ever remember noticing a person's race. Weird how that happens...

Lauren.

Etiquette and Essays

Well, the last two days have been busy. I have learned much. Firstly, writing when nauseous is easier than writing when you have a cold. Because cold medication makes me all high. Secondly, when you feel the need to throw-up, do not try to overcome the feeling mentally. It won't work and you will need the extra time to run to the nearest respectable throwing-up location.Thirdly, there is a whole etiquette to throwing-up that I was not aware of.

The first thing my mom said to me was: "Lauren, why didn't you use the toilet?" I threw up again, this time in the tub and said the only thing I really could given the circumstances: "Didn't make it in time." And I was not going to crouch at that point. The floor was a bit messy. All of this took place around four o'clock in the morning. It was pretty bad. My mom was nearly sick. I asked her how she'd survived cleaning up after me and my sister as kids. Apparently we weren't sick very often. Prior to this incident, I hadn't thrown-up due to illness since I was... thirteen. Gone is my claim of being throw-up free since 2003. The finny thing is, my dad was a paramedic for thirty years. According to him, he's seen much worse than the mess I made. I never remember him getting up when me or my sister were sick. He didn't get up this time either. At least not until I'd already cleaned the worst of it. When he saw me in the hall, again, after everything was clean, he asked me how bad it was. I admitted that I'd gotten pretty much everything. The first thing he did was look up. And he was being perfectly serious. I started to laugh. I don't do things half-ass but I try not to go overboard. I did not manage to hit the ceiling. As it turns out, I can laugh at anything in any situation. 

In any case, yesterday was spent trying to work on my essay, but mostly on sleeping. Pretty much anywhere I sat down, I fell asleep. Not conducive to working. Thankfully, my professor was very understanding. I think I might have given her too much information when I emailed... As much as I appreciated the extension, I still worked my butt off trying to get this paper done ASAP. I hate taking extensions. It puts excess pressure on profs, I don't like being an exception and I don't like things hanging over me. I think submitting work on time is a matter of courtesy. I finished it today. In a rather appropriate twist of fate, the last word of my Lady Chatterley essay is 'sex'. The title is even better: Lady Chatterley: Beyond the F and C Words. My mom was not impressed by that. I thought it was funny...

I loved taking this summer course, but I'm glad it's done. I need a break. My hatred for this essay proves that I need a break. Then again... it was kind of fun. I have issues...

Lauren.

The Ideal Day

Just popping in. No time to really write. Here are the highlights: throwing up, cleaning bathroom, sleeping way longer than intended, attempting to finish essay while falling asleep some more, generally feeling crappy, supper with family not to be put off, back to work on essay, headache and bed. 

KMN ladies and gentlemen. KMN.

Lauren.

Reno Project: It Finally Happened

I left the house today... Yup... went to Home Depot. It was yet another attempt to get me out of the house. Technically it worked. Until I pulled out a notebook and decided to wait in the car. I worked on my essay.

I'm stubborn and I come by it honestly. Or so I'm told. Apparently I come by a lot of things honestly. Regardless, I've toned down a lot. I used to make very serious angry faces and refuse to move. Now I'll move but I'll also find a way to do my own thing. To be honest, the change of venue, even if it was only the Home Depot parking lot, was rather helpful. This is the part where my mother would come in and say something along the lines of: "You'll get it back in full when you have children". Probably will... with interest.

Remember how I said I usually have an incident when my parents randomly decide to renovate something while I have school work to do? Usually it happens during exams when I need to study. This year, it never came. I got through exams with a few days of absolutely quiet studying. And then I took a summer course. Now that I'm attempting to write my final paper, my parents have unearthed another random project that even I didn't know they were considering, let alone actively planning. I don't know why, but we now require lights above our kitchen cabinets. This means that my father has to climb up into the attic and bust through the ceiling and fiddle with wiring. Guess where the attic door is. My closet? How did you know that!

Yesterday I got dressed by removing a ladder from my closet, avoiding a ceiling fan as I carried the ladder to lean against my door, choosing my clothes, removing the insulation covering them, stepping over six light boxes, putting the clothes on my bed, returning the ladder to the closet, this time remembering to turn off the ceiling fan, turning the ceiling fan back on and finally dressing. I got to the living room before realizing that I really didn't want to wear that burgundy shirt. I returned to my room, reached through the ladder, grabbed a t-shirt, changed and left. Why didn't I do it that way the first time? Right! My undershirt was on the other side of the closet and I have sliding closet doors... that's why I had to move the ladder. Back again.

Annoyed? Mildly. It got better when I sat down to really get to work on my paper. There was yelling back and forth through the ceiling, through the attic door, in the living room where my sister had a few friends and down to the basement where my mother was sitting. I gave up and watched a movie instead. I was too frustrated to really do anything after that. I get agitated and it takes a long time for me to come back. Plus, after the yelling, there was vacuuming and cleaning. I was better off watching the movie.

I waited for my dad to tucker himself out before getting back to it. Which is what I'm going to do now. Woohoo! I love midnight oil!

Lauren.

Lady Chatterley and the Never-Ending Sexcapade

So, I finally finished Lady Chatterley's Lover. I actually finished it a few days ago, but I've been letting it fester in my brain. I now have to write a paper about it and being me, I going to ignore the most obvious topic and go for one that is much more obscure.

I can say a lot about this book. Mainly, it's just a very strange book. The plot isn't that bizarre really. The lady of the house falls for the gamekeeper. If it was set in 2012 I think it would probably make up one of the most common porn scenarios ever. Bored housewife with huge boobs and absent husband does the pool boy/gardener in the shed/pool house.

Three things I found weird:

The last line is about the gamekeeper's penis. I've never seen a book end with the personification of a penis before. That may be because I generally have very little use for penises and thus avoid literature in which they figure prominently. And feature prominently it does. I cannot for the life of me remember the gamekeeper's first name, but I know his penis is named John Thomas. I wonder why his penis has a first name... it's O-S-C-A-R. I'll stop there...

The paraplegic, egghead husband has a very weird relationship with his nurse. The whole novel he's pretty much non-sexual. But when he does have any sexual feelings at all, it's when his nurse is taking care of him and he's acting like a child or, when he thinks of coal factories. Unlike his wife's scenario, I don't think there would ever be a porn movie made about a coal mining nurse and the profits she brought in. So... sexy? Literally... dirty? By the way, I don't need to know if that porno has been made.

And my third weird thing is the language. I think I mentioned before that I'm used to Victorian triple deckers. The Brontes, Dickens, Austen. What that means is that if there's handholding there are questions about propriety and the world implodes. So I was pretty surprised when Connie and Mellors (of no first name) started "f***ing" and playfully using the infamous "C" word. The "C" word here is not "Christian". I was also kind of surprised when John Thomas' visits to Lady Jane (the name given to Lady Chatterley's vagina) were described. I suppose the amount of detail is minimal by today's standards, but this book was published in 1928. So yeah... hands don't hold hands so much in this novel... they have other things to hold.

I feel like some juvenile rhyme should be made up about John and Jane. Perhaps set to Jack and Jill?

In any case, I have to write a paper on this crazy sexcapade. Everything is described using sexual terms from pheasants to factories so the whole thing is one giant sexcapade. My idea is to talk about class. Because no one cares about Lady Chatterley having an affair. They care that it's with the gamekeeper. And no one cares that Clifford is a weirdo. His nurse is just doing her job. Oh, she's workin' it alright. I just have to history-fy this idea and all will be well.

To the historification machine!

Lauren.

Cats and Keyboards

I only have one pearl of wisdom to pass on today. And it's going to seem really obvious.

I was bored out of my mind today and decided to catch up on a couple of shows I watch. I'm not going to tell you which ones... it's a little embarrassing. So, there I was, in bed, curled up on my side with my laptop open in front of me. About halfway through the second show that I won't admit to watching, Meeko jumped up next to me and demanded attention. He was rubbing his face all over the corner of the screen and bumping me with his head. How can you ignore that? You can't. It's not possible. I started petting him. Pretty soon, he flopped over and squished in as close to my body as possible. Yes, just when I thought I couldn't sink much lower, I did. I now get to say I spent the afternoon watching embarrassing TV in bed, while spooning my cat. It's summer! You wouldn't think he'd want to share body heat! Apparently he did... Since he flopped over, I figured I might as well scratch his stomach. Well... that did it. He stretched and laid his head out on my keyboard where he enjoyed rubbing his face along the keys. The aforementioned keys from the 0P;> line are covered in cat hair. And it does not help that the little bastard is shedding.

The cat featured in this picture is not mine, but... close enough. Apparently cats and keyboards have a long-standing relationship that I've been unaware of. To think, all these years of cat ownership and I'm only discovering this now. Seriously though, google "cats and keyboards". It's ridiculous.

Regardless, cat hair and keyboards do not mix, even if it appears that cats and keyboards do. It's something worth knowing right? Beware of the love affair? 

Well, I learned something new today... mission accomplished.

Lauren.

Return of the Dial-An-Excuse!

And today's big grand news: I submitted my super late application package to the history MA program! Yay! It's not longer hanging over my head. It's completely out of my hands. Some of my profs have used the term "formality" but I have atrocious luck so I am not believing anything good until I see "accepted" in writing on official letterhead. Should something go awry and I not be accepted, well... shit, I guess I'll have to do something else.

I once again got the death glare from my mother. I don't really understand the point of the death glare. If I'm dead, it won't matter if I get accepted or not. I'll be dead. I also got the "what are you going to do if this doesn't work out?" again.

I'm really sick of that question. Like, really sick of it. To the point where I can't describe how sick of it I am. I think I'm going to come up with some standard issue answers. To help me, I'm going to follow the example of my handy dandy Dial-An-Excuse. I was given this tool a few years ago to help me make up excuses for any number of situations. One simply spins the wheel so it aligns with the correct situation and five possible excuses are revealed. If you need further explanations regarding the Dial-An-Excuse, please follow this link: link.

Right, so our question is: What are you going to do?

Our categories are: Classic, Extenuating, Mundane, Sob Story and Farfetched.

Lauren, what are you going to do if you don't get accepted to the history MA program?

• Classic: I'll start handing out resumes and relentlessly job hunting. Any job is better than no job. 
• Extenuating: I'll be in the hospital, being guarded by two burly security men because I had a psychotic break at the thought of never being able to get the hell out of this town. 
• Mundane: I'll think of something. I always land on my ass. It's the extra padding that allows me to get back up time after time.
• Sob Story: I will stalk the head of admissions and desperately explain that I've been working in abusive environments for the last six years, that all of my friends live out of town, that my family can't accept my sexuality and that I only have my ailing cat to keep me company. I need to be in school. It's the only thing I have that makes sense!
• Farfetched: Leave town with my long-time secret boyfriend (yes, boyfriend) Bubba Jo Scruffy-Stache and become a tattoo artist in the employ of a rowdy criminal biker gang. 

The only reason I put that much thought into these answers is because STFU is not considered a suitable response. Although, according to my Dial-An-Excuse, suitable excuses for rude comments include:

• Classic: Chronic foot in mouth
• Extenuating: Onset of migraine
• Mundane: Didn't think before speaking
• Sob Story: Driven by self-loathing
• Farfetched: Speaking in tongues.
• Truth: I meant it.

Oops... that last one isn't on my wheel. Sorry about that. 

Once again, I have to wait. I really hate this part.

Lauren.

Holocaust Studies: The Five Year Old Question

I was in grade twelve when the Amazing Race, I don't remember which season, took the contestants to a Holocaust site. I don't remember which one. When I went to school the next day, my teacher, a very unusual, but incredibly sharp woman, asked our small class if we would ever go see a Holocaust site. I'll be honest, I looked at her like she was stupid because I knew that everyone should want to go. I had this conviction then that everyone should know what happened and pay their respects to the people who lived and died within and around those walls.

I was, and can still be, very black and white in my way of thinking. Back then, as a teenager, I think it was beyond me to see the grey area and understand that her question was not in fact stupid. While I was thinking about this site as a piece of history, as marker of inhumanity and as a reminder of ordinary people's unfathomable cruelty, as some inanimate thing to be studied, she was looking at it as a grave site, a place to be shown the utmost respect. In other words, not a tourist destination.

I graduated high school in 2007. I was over 60 years removed from the Holocaust. Not only that, even if I had lived in 1945, I still would have been living a continent away, living a relatively safe existence in this same town where I am now and oddly enough, probably going to the same high school. I think my teacher's point was that we're now so removed from that time and those circumstances, that we can't understand the events that took place there. We can study them and analyze them, but at what point do we stop and admit that we just can't get it, that we won't get it?

Why am I talking about this? Well, I just read a fifty page article for my pop culture class tomorrow. It was about how concentration camps were treated in British media when they were finally liberated in 1944-45. It focused primarily on Bergen-Belsen and Buchenwald. That article got me to thinking about my grade twelve teacher's question because it's relevant to where I'm at now.

On Wednesday, I'm meeting with the professor who has agreed to supervise my MA project for next year. I want to look at Nazi doctors. It's a fascinating topic and I'm pretty excited that I may get a chance to really get into it. But then I think, "at what point do I stop and admit that I just can't get it, that I won't get it?" I'm genuinely worried that I'll be asked why I'm so interested in this topic. I'm worried because I don't have an answer. I have no idea why this topic, this time period, this event interests me. I've always been that way. Is it wrong to feel fascinated? Is it wrong to be intellectually curious when you're emotionally disgusted? Is it wrong to pursue this course of study knowing that I'll never understand anything? What is it we're trying to do? Make sense of something that has never made sense?

In spite of all these questions and knowing that I'm going to be disgusted, knowing that I'm going to be mystified and horrified and knowing that I won't know what to do with the knowledge I acquire, I'm compelled to go forward. I truly don't understand why. I think I'm still attached to the idea that knowledge is a way to acknowledge.

Funny how a random, somewhat dismissively asked question posed five years ago can come back and make so much sense.

Lauren.

Something to Do

I'm afraid it's one of those days that are so quiet, I don't know what I want to talk about. These days certainly have a place. It's nice once and a while to not do anything, to read, write, watch a few movies, do a little cleaning. I have a lot of those days around this time of year. It's not a bad thing as I'm presently juggling a few things, but I'm starting to get a little crazy. Er. There's a reason solitary confinement is deemed a suitable punishment in prison. I'll think of something to do eventually. I feel like Meryl Streep in Julie and Julia. What am I going to do. I want to have something to do. I did it to have something to do. I'm still in the searching phase. She went through bridge playing and hats before she stumbled into cooking...

Maybe I could make hats...

Lauren.

Remember Me Review

I wound up watching Remember Me tonight. It's a movie with Robert Pattinson, Lena Olin, Pierce Brosnan and some other people who's names I don't remember off the top of my head. I should have known when I saw 'Robert Pattinson' that I should probably put on a DVD. Nevertheless, I ignored my instinct and watched it... all of it.

My number one comment: Remember me? I'd rather not.

Apart from being slow and sad throughout the whole damn thing, it has an awful ending. If you're going to put a character through hell for two hours and make me watch it, the least you could do is let him live. Sorry. Spoiler alert. But really. He goes through issues with his father. There are issues with his sister. There are issues with his brother. His girlfriend dumps him. His girlfriend's father beats him up. Twice. And at the end, when there's just a smidge of normalcy to suggest that yes, life is looking up, they go to commercial. But when they get back, 9/11 has claimed the life of the one guy you'd like to see happy. 

This is why I like comedies and why I probably didn't see this movie when it first came out.

Putting plot aside, there are some really interesting characters but they aren't really expanded on. The first scene of the movie has next to nothing to do with the story. At least not until the very end and even then, it's extremely minimal and could have done with some explaining. There's a bullying scene that... if anyone did that to my child, God help them. But I liked how the parents were bringing hell down on the school. I know I would. The cop in the story... yeah... I have issues with him. For one, I think it's a bit strange that a cop can beat up an innocent person, break into his house and beat him up again without facing any consequences. Not only that, he uses resources inappropriately and in one scene, slaps his daughter. Don't see much more than that of him so he doesn't really come off as someone you'd want in possession of a weapon. I also found the airing of family business in front of a boardroom of business associates to be odd. They ask to leave twice and are denied twice. So they have to sit while father and son yell across the table at one another. Talk about awkward. 

Over all, a very heavy, depressing, sad movie with next to no comic relief, little action to push the plot forward and it leaves you with no one to root for. Do I need to say that I'm not a fan?

I will remember this incident in the future and remember that I have the power and ability to put on a DVD. Remember Me? Forget it. 

Lauren.

Fly Hunting (Not to be confused with fly fishing)

Today was a slow day. Rather dull. The only way I can properly explain the dullness of today is to recount how I spent half an hour of my time. Half an hour is all I need.

I was sitting in the living room attempting to read Lady Chatterley's Lover. My cat was sitting on the floor next to my chair. The house was completely silent. So when I heard Meeko chattering, I don't know what else to call his series of short meows, I had to wonder what he was looking at. Sometimes he does it for no obvious reason and it's creepy, but I like knowing what's around me if possible. I glance around the room and I hear it before I see it. There's a fly in the house.

I watch it buzzing around for five minutes, get good and dizzy and watch as Meeko takes a few swipes at it when it stupidly flies low enough. The cat got bored before I did. When it stopped buzzing about and Meeko went to eat, I returned to my book. But the buzzing started again shortly. I was having enough trouble focusing without the stupid fly so I got up, in true classic form, rolled up a few flyers and started swatting about like a lunatic. To make matter more interesting, Meeko stood in the doorway supervising.

I'd like to say I conquered that first time. But I didn't. The fly eluded me. I returned to my chair, returned to my book and was entirely ready to let the whole incident slide. I'm gracious like that. The damn fly just couldn't keep quiet. I was on my feet again! I flailed around in the living room. The fly escaped. I tracked it to the dining room. The ceiling fan knocked it back a few times but it refused to die. Finally, it landed on a dining room chair. Meeko was in the stairs watching as I stalk toward my prey as quietly as possible.

And yes, in between hunting sessions, I scolded Meeko for forcing me to do his job.

Thankfully, I have very long arms. I swatted the fly and nailed it. Actually, I kind of smeared it across the back of the chair. Oops. Whatever, it's a wooden chair and I cleaned it. I flicked the carcass onto the floor, kind of expecting my cat to eat it. He usually does. Instead, he made a wide arc around it, meowed once and jumped up two of the nearby stairs. He turned and watched as I shook my head and disposed of the body.

That's how I used half an hour of my day. And believe it or not, that's the most eventful thing that happened. I need a job. Or for my friends to be in town. Or a girlfriend. Any of the three will do. A combo would be asking too much. Because I am not willing to put forth the effort it would take to make fly hunting an official sport. If it's not already.

Lauren.

WW2 Propaganda and a Case of the Giggles

I was up pretty early this morning. Good thing too. I went over my paper and rewrote it in an hour. Thankfully most of it was salvageable. Either way, late night, early morning, I wasn't the most focused kid in the class. Our prof was doing this great lecture on media in WW2. At one point, we got to propaganda posters. I was looking at them and all I wanted to do was laugh.

My classmates were all making intelligent comments and providing insightful analysis related to the context of the period and the scholarly articles we were reading. I was giggling. Here's why.

The whole time this poster was up on screen, I was mentally giggling at the stupid, astonished look on her face. I imagined her saying any number of things about the pitchfork. Thankfully, I did not vocalize any of those thoughts.

Next was this lovely poster.

I couldn't stop staring at the wallpaper in the background. My first thought was: Wow, I need me some of that wallpaper. My prof actually did make that comment. But the more I looked, the clearer it became that the Hitler in the wallpaper didn't have ears. Sure he's in the wall, but how's he going to hear anything without ears? I did vocalize that thought. I think there was a chuckle, my prof acknowledged it as an interesting point... But really! That seems like a really silly omission considering. 

Our prof also managed to find a clip from "London Can Take It." Pretty good WW2 propaganda really. I didn't find anything particularly funny about the clip until about 8:20.

The narrator is talking about the aerial bombings of London. He says the line: "They'll kill thousands of people" just as two guys are pulling a cat out of a mound of rubble. I snorted. Thousands of people will die, BUT THE CAT WILL LIVE ON FOREVA!" It was a timing thing. I don't think it's funny that people died. It did however get us talking about the history of pets during the war which, believe it or not, is quite fascinating. So, if you're ever looking for something a little different to study...

You can always tell when I'm sleepy. I'm abnormally giggly and usually, I'm giggling at something inappropriate. Good times.

Lauren.

I Blame Betty

I tried really hard not to procrastinate today. I have a paper due tomorrow. I did the readings in a timely manner. I actually did. And somehow, I still wound up writing the stupid thing at the last minute. What the hell! After I finished reading, I just couldn't get the thoughts in my head down on paper. Damn you Betty Grable! I've never seen one of your movies but damn you anyway!

One of the articles was about the love/hate relationship the British had with Betty Grable between 1939-1945. Some of Brits really didn't like her. At the moment, I don't particularly like her. The other article was about femininity changing during the same period and concerns about that. I wound up bashing both articles and then claiming that if you jammed the articles together, they actually said something about British society during WW2. Basically, by using Betty Grable as a case study/type, the British acknowledged the despair that comes with war while also desperately seeking forms of escapism (duh much?). I referred to one articles as whiplash inducing and the other as devoid of context. My paper on the other hand will be sarcastic, probably lacking and possibly too broad. I haven't read it over yet so I'm only assuming it makes sense at this point.

As you can see, even when I try, I procrastinate. I watched MasterChef, made cookies and did the dishes while trying to figure out what I was going to write. And now it's 1:15 AM. Yeah... this is my fault. I'm sorry Betty Grable. I undamn you. 

Lauren.

Oh, Food Channel

Aside from the weather, the one good thing about fall is TV. All the good shows you crave week after week start up again. Even the shows you don't crave, but deign to watch out of morbid curiosity come back on. The one bad thing about spring, aside from exams, is the end of all the good fall shows. It's not only sad because we're left with cliffhangers and overly dramatic moments that force us, yes, force us, to tune in next season, we're left with all the crappier shows that couldn't or wouldn't hack the fall lineup.

TV is one of my escapes. I would really like it to be good. Bus since it rarely is during the summer, I've found myself turning to the Food channel. I'm now watching shows like Chopped, Iron Chef, Top Chef Canada and my personal summer favourite, MasterChef (not on the Food Channel). As you can probably see, I like the competition aspect of it. It's just really fascinating to watch people who are really good at something take on a challenge and kick its ass. I like watching them create something from nothing. Plus there's the added bonus of it being food and looking delicious.

Tonight was the beginning of MasterChef. Joe Bastianich still makes me want to slap him upside the head. I'm sure he's delightful in person, but he beats my death glare and that can't be tolerated. The Paula of the group... I think his name is Graham, I can never remember, amuses me. He's really nice and it's Paula-esque, but I suppose when you sit next to Gordon Ramsey you need a Paula. Oddly enough that leaves Gordon Ramsey in the position of Randy. And that's about as far into the American Idol comparison as I'm willing to go. So you know, I'm aware that there's been an Ellen, a JLo and a Tyler but there are only three judges on MasterChef. In any case, there's already one contestant on MasterChef that I can't want to see disappear. With my luck he'll be around all season. Because that's how "reality TV" works.

Tonight was also the end of Top Chef Canada. I'm sad for two reasons. First and foremost, no more weekly fix of Lisa Ray. Seriously. Sad face.

Other than that, I have to say, I wasn't on Team Carl. I was very much rooting for Trevor... from the beginning might I add. So, yet another sad face. If not him, I would have liked Jonathan to win but he was third I'm guessing. Yes, there was a surprise twist. One of the contestants who'd been kicked off came back! It was David. I thought it was funny that he won yet another kick ass prize. I think he cleared out the prize department pretty good.

My allegiance stands!

The one main thing you can take away from this post is that I clearly need to watch less TV. I'll work on it.

Lauren.

Email Address Retirement

I have three email addresses. The one I've had since I was fourteen, the one I was given when I got to university and the one I use when I want to pretend I'm a professional. Because I'm forgetful, I forward all of my accounts to a single account. That way, I always get my mail. Here's the thing, when I'm replying to all of my emails, I forget that they're being forwarded and reply from my personal email, also known as the email I've had since I was fourteen.

If you glance through some of my posts, you'll see plenty of evidence of my particular brand of humour. Ditzy with some Stupid and more than a dash of Random. Imagine what that sense of humour was like when I was fourteen and opening my first email account. Yeah, my email address is fantastically stupid.

Normally it doesn't bother me. I'm fully aware that I could start using my other accounts, the ones that make me seem like a grown up.The reason I've kept my goofy email address all these years is because it's impossible to take myself too seriously when I have to tell people that my personal account is: ... I'm not going to write it... that would be silly. Just imagine something really gooney and you're probably close. Most people laugh, ask me about it and when I tell them, they nod along. I've never known it to be an issue. I don't use it for job searching or official documents.

And then tonight happened and I have to admit, I'm a little embarrassed. I just emailed a prof that I've never met, who is taking a chance on me, on a thread that will likely be seen by the prof heading up the grad studies department for history, from my goofy email. My email address is named for a character I made up with my friends. In case your curious, this character was male, snotty, evil and consisted only of a floating head and hands. Now that inspires confidence. Also, we were clearly weird kids.

Imagine a professor:

"Yes, I feel Lauren has the academic background and writing skills necessary to complete a project on the extremely serious topic of Nazi doctors. Wait... her email is what? You're kidding right? Wow... forget that."

Head-desk. They don't know I'm a dork yet! Well... they do now, but I wanted to show them in person!

I like me old email. It makes me happy and it's really easy to type. But perhaps it's time I started using a grown up address. Everyone grows up right?

Shut up Peter! You don't count! Incidentally, if no one grows up in Neverland, how are there adult pirates? I can't remember, are grown ups allowed to go to Neverland or do they get kicked out when they become sexually aware like in Narnia? It's true... happens to Susan in Prince Caspian. She gets a crush and then she gets the boot- or the paw... from Aslan. I suppose Peter gets kicked out because he's older than Susan and therefore thought to be more sexually mature... meh.

Anyway... to change or not to change (emails), that is my question.

Lauren.

The Awesomeness of Profs

I lead a pretty quiet existence. So when I get about fourteen emails in a day, that's a big deal. Something is going on. Keep in mind, I don't have Facebook or a job and to me, twitter is still the sound birds make at four in the morning. So, what the hell was up with email-palooza? Emails from profs. Yep. I believe it is time to reveal the awesomeness of my professors.

As many of you know, because I bitched about it for long enough, my year ended with something of a whimper. Yes, I was the one whimpering. English slammed the door in my face where further education is concerned. Education, I discovered, was definitely not where I wanted to go. That left me with a giant question mark. Where the hell did I want to go. There was one place I hadn't yet turned to. History.

I double majored. I love English and history equally. I love them together. Like Oreos and milk. I'll let you decide which is which. But I didn't know what I would want to talk about in history. So I hesitated. Due dates slipped by. I talked to a couple of profs. I talked to my parents. I talked to my therapist. There was a lot of talking going on and it was driving me nuts. Finally, I said f@#$ it. I decided to go for it.

That's where my profs come in. It's been a very strange thing for me. I wrote up a bad statement of interest. I wrote a second better but still bad statement of interest. Prof A decided to show it to Prof B. They both wanted me to meet with Prof B. I arranged a meeting for the next day. We met, he talked me out of doing the subject I was initially interested in. It had to do with finding a supervisor who wasn't swamped and my inability to read German. He gave me two hours to consider what I wanted to write about. He gave me a couple of suggestions before sending me off. He's not mean. I called two hours later, confirmed that I was still going forward and confirmed the change of subject. I emailed all the profs who were willing to write me letters and made them aware of the change. By the time I finished that, Prof B called me again. Apparently my original topic was doable and Prof C, the one I'd initially assumed would supervise my project, wasn't too busy to take me on after all. B told me to call A. I phoned A and she told me that C is really interested in my original idea and doesn't foresee any language problems. Back to my original topic I went!

Holy crap right? Did you follow that? It was the world's most ridiculous, yet awesome phone tree ever.

Today, I got a ton of emails from C and A. Thankfully, A took it upon herself to explain to C all the crazy goings on that led to this point. I don't really know why I was included in the discussion, but I like knowing. Once everything was cleared up and explained and contact with C finally made (somehow we haven't met yet) C sent off an email to the head of the grad school selection committee (that's probably not his exact title) saying that she's willing to take me on, that my project and my background are sound. I now await phase... whatever phase we're at.

I don't think I've ever had this many people openly supporting me. I don't think I've ever had so many people going out of their way to help me. Because I'm pretty sure they could have just said "talk to this dude"and left me to figure things out for myself. I don't think anyone's fought to make something happen for me. It's just... astounding to me. I'm... kind of speechless. Evidence to the contrary, I know.

If everything goes according to plan, I'll be writing about Nazi doctors. I'm trying not to be, because things are still far from official, but I'm excited.

Good people. They do exist.

Lauren.

Do I Take the eDating Plunge?

I hate it when people successfully put an idea in my head. Hate it. I hate it when they can make a rational, well thought out argument that effectively shuts down any protest I could have made. Hate it. Well, now that we've gotten the hate out of the way, how about I tell you what's stuck in my head?

I live in the middle of nowhere. The city I live in is not large... more like I know someone who knows someone. But we all know one another that way. It's actually kind of nice. Unless you want to date and you're me.

So, here's my dilemma. I require the following of a potential partner.

1. Female.
2. Female interested in Females (I never get passed this step)
3. Really smart, mature female interested in females.
4. She can appreciate my brand of crazy while being really smart, mature, female and interested in females.

It goes on but you see how narrow my field is getting.

So, Angela in all her therapy brilliance, again suggested the all mighty, all powerful Internet. We've been down this road before and it led to a really unpleasant place. My friends get a good chuckle out of it, those who know... not many of them know... but the experience only made me leery.  Making matters worse, sites that would keep the crazy people (who admittedly also need love, just not from me) at bay cost money. Still don't have a job. And to further complicate this issue, I've tried more reputable sites (as part of the initial foray) and my nearest "matches" were about four hours away by car. Which I also don't have. A car I mean.

But then Angela, once again using her therapy/street smarts proclaimed that I'm an adult (boo!) that I can take a bus, that computers have video cameras and that part of me is being seriously neglected and doesn't have to be. On top of which, I think she was hinting that dating this way would be a good way for me to get to know someone and allow her to cross some of my many boundaries without the pressures and expectations that being with a physically present person entails. Because honestly, if we were to date in a conventional way, she'd be running up against a wall. Or running into it. Depends how fast she's going.  Either way, she's not getting through the wall. So, response to these valid, rational arguments: Well shit.

It's been a few days and now the idea has firmly settled in my brain. Stupid brain. I see the pros. They seem to outnumber the cons. For instance, I haven't been on a date in three years. I see a definite pro there. Am I just being stubborn? Do I? Don't I? I would appreciate opinions and insights on this one.

Can what the commercials say really be true?! (Okay, that was said with dripping sarcasm.) Incidentally, if you happen to be gay, eHarmony has a completely different site called Compatible Partners. It doesn't sound nearly as cool. Maybe I should try joining Christian Singles to see what happens. I am Christian and I am single.

I'll let you know how that goes.

Lauren.