Lauren Takes on Embroidery

I think I have an addiction. It's very strange and can probably simply be classified as curiosity, but I get these incredibly random urges to learn new things. Most of the time, these urges are unexplained. When the trigger is obvious, the urge usually springs from my incredibly competitive nature. Yeah, I'm competitive.

A few years ago, I learned to crochet. I still remember how. I made a scarf a while ago. It was fun and I enjoy it because it keeps my hands busy. I started baking stuff because I liked the way the food looked in the books and I wanted to see if I could make it myself. I helped start a journal because I thought it would be fun and that I'd be good at it. My point is, I have quite a few random skills that were born out of curiosity rather than necessity. Enter my new hobby. Embroidery.

I have no idea why. I couldn't sleep one night and for whatever reason, I thought embroidery would be fun. I mentioned that to my grandma and she lent me a book. I read it, understood some of it but turned to youtube for more visual instructions on the basic stitches. I already had everything I needed in terms of equipment. My mom sews. I had needles aplenty. I had to rummage for a sewing hoop thingy, but dammit, I found one. I had embroidery thread from when I learned to make bracelets and necklaces. And lastly, I fished out one of my ratty, gross aprons from when I used to work in a restaurant. It would be my practice canvas! It's white cotton, not particularly stretchy, and best of all, I have absolutely no other use for it. It's just that gross. I'm starting with letters. I thought that would be kind of basic. The first letter is a C. It looks like a C but it doesn't quite look like the C from the font I chose.  Whatever... it's my first try. The next letter looks much better already. As far as I can tell, doing the outline of the letter first is easier than doing the fill and then doing the outline. Who'da thought. Okay, a lot of people probably would have thought... I figured it out soon enough. By the way, I chose a Harry Potter font... don't judge me.

Either way, it's keeping me entertained. It's not quite as hard as I would have expected. Granted, my attempts are clumsy at best, but the great thing about it is that it takes time. You have plenty of time to figure it out as you work.

And if nothing else, your older family members will be stunned into silence. Once they recover, they will be happy for you. It's a skill they can relate to. Seriously, I've tried it on two aunts, my grandma and my mom. Stunned, all of them. And family friendly. Can't beat that.

Lauren.

Fixin' It with Lauren Daily

I did not work today. I'm on call. And though I called my boss, she did not call me.

When I realized other matters were more important than me being assaulted by tweens likely obsessed with Justin Bieber's hair, I called my grandma. A few days ago, she called asking when I was free because she had things she needed help with around the house. Well, I was now free.

I can say one thing for absolutely certain. You have not vacuumed until you've vacuumed shag carpet.  What was the purpose of that stuff? Floor covering or habitat? If an entire town of Whos can live on a snowflake, how many could thrive in a shag carpet? My grandma confessed that she would very much like to have it removed. She however does not control the purse strings. Darn... because I'm pretty sure I was detecting a rather foul odour rising from deep between the shags. Shags? Reference meant to carpet, not to sexual encounters.

Following that, I climbed up on her kitchen counter and removed a window and screen for cleaning. Of course, I nearly killed my grandma when I forced her to climb onto the counter because there was a big spider outside the window and I didn't want to deal with it. She was fine... no serious accidents. She thinks I'm a wuss, but I can live with that. Naturally, it was much easier to take the windows apart than put them back together. Returning the screen to its correct position took some serious manoeuvring, but we managed. And for the life of me I couldn't get the damn window back on its track. I eventually succeeded completely by accident but I'm choosing to make that fact irrelevant. I'm not even detailing the argument my grandparents had beforehand. My grandpa was convinced he needed to help us. My grandmother was adamant that my grandfather not be involved. I just took the screw driver my grandpa gave me and went with it.

Finally, I helped her replace the curtains in her bedroom. The old ones were dusty and she no longer liked them. Not because they were dusty... I think she was bored with them. The new curtains are much nicer. 

After supper, which she refused to let me help her make, I took her out shopping. We both needed a few things. It was pretty fun actually. The only part I really hated was when she forced me, and I mean forced, to take 20$ for helping her. I tried to convince her that I didn't mind, that I was happy to help and hang out with her, that I did not want to be paid, but she would not be deterred. She claimed that had I not helped her, she would have called in someone to help. I only took it because we were blocking the aisle and she was not budging until I took the money. God old people are stubborn. I come by it honestly, I know. It just made me feel like she thought spending time with her was some horrible task that required incentive to be worthwhile. And it's not. I didn't help her because I thought I'd get paid. I helped her because she asked me.

Her 20$ is presently staring at me from my desk. Have you ever had a green Queen Elizabeth II staring at you? Kind of scary.

Lauren.

Zzz...Zzz...Zzz...

Spent the day feeling sick, sleepy and headachy. I don't really know how to put a positive spin on that. I had this awesome coughing fit that nearly prevented me from getting up the stairs to where my inhaler is located. Why did I leave it there? For some reason I didn't think of asking someone to get it for me. See how brain-rattling these fits are?

In any case, the sleepy is overpowering my ability to think of anything to write about so... I'm going to leave it here and indulge in some serious sleep.

Tomorrow, I suspect I'll have to talk to my boss about last Wednesday's occurrence. She was away on vacation but she's been filled in. That should be jolly good fun. Oh well. It will be over soon. The sooner the better.

I'd also like to express that I'm one of the few people at work who doesn't smoke... God I hate irony.

Lauren.

Break from the Suckfest

This week was kind of hard to take. Being sick and not sleeping well didn't help matters. However, I was provided with a much needed break from the suckfest of the last few days.

It never ceases to amaze me how simply hanging out with friend can just... release tension. It had been quite a while since I did anything with Jenny but we finally got our acts together and made dinner plans. Since I last spoke with her, she bought a house and got another job. Does that speak at all to how long it's been?

I have to say, it was a very welcome and much needed break. One of the things I love most about hanging out with Jenny is that one minute we can be talking about something very serious, slip into talking about something ridiculous and transition from one conversation to another absolutely seamlessly and there's never (in my memory, perhaps she feels differently) been an awkward moment. It's great for venting. And that's just one of her many qualities. She's actually quite an amazing lady though strangely enough, she downplays how smart and good she is. Jenny, if you're reading this, you're amazing, so realize it. No, you aren't allowed to argue with me.

Seriously though, and she brought this up tonight, how many people can become friends because of an off the cuff remark about Hitler and eugenics? Yes, I was the one to make the remark... but it wasn't as weird as it might sound. We were talking about her upcoming biology test in which eugenics was a factor. Kind of funny that considering our shared interests, we only ever had one class in common.

Alas, in spite of sleeping until noon (I didn't get to sleep until 3... thank you regular headache inducing coughing fits) I'm really tired and must bid you all a goodnight.

Never underestimate the power and importance of your friends.

Lauren.

Working and Bronchitis

I went back to work today. Can I really say back if I was only gone one day because I was sick? Whatever. I went back. When I woke up this morning, I felt okay to work. Physically and in terms of the bronchitis. Yeah... I got through the day but it wasn't easy.

By about nine I had a really bad headache. It wasn't even the kids. The kids probably didn't help, but I was coughing so much and so hard that I'm fairly certain I gave myself a concussion. That one time, I pretty sure I felt my brain touch my skull... Okay, that didn't really happen, but that's how bad the headache was. It was at that point that I decided I might as well try my inhaler. I have to say, that was not a pleasant experience. I shot my tongue and it was kind of numb and prickly feeling for a few minutes. Although, I think the kids did get a kick out of my confused expression. Miss Daily comes out of the closet (literally. We keep our personal things in a closet) making stupid, unexplained faces. I would probably laugh too.

At the end of the day, after being out in the sun for a good hour, I went and sat on the carpet where the majority of the kids were playing. The usual suspects came to sit around/on me. The one kid who is rather possessive of my lap flopped down (giving me a much greater respect for chairs) and sat there for fifteen minutes. We didn't do anything. I was leaning against the wall practically falling asleep. He was leaning against me, idly spinning the wheels on a toy car. Good times. You know that line in The Help (the movie) where Abilene says that babies like fat? Absolutely true. The fatter you are the more they love you because there's more of you to sit on. That way you can sit upward of four kids in your lap and avoid a lot of fighting. My record is three but that's one kid per leg and one sitting between my legs. Try reading a damn story book then. Samuel L. Jackson, where were you when I needed you?

The following contains strong language. View discretion is advised.

No... I've never thought that...

And in between those times, I was either coughing or sounding like a prepubescent boy. My voice kept cracking and changing volumes on me. It was super fun when I had to raise my voice to call kids.

"BOBBY! stop EATing SAND! no PUT the SAND down, not IN YOUR MOUTH!"

On top of which, one of my ears is sort of plugged so I have a hard time hearing. I asked a kid to repeat herself about four times before I just nodded and enthusiastically said: "Oh yeah?" Felt bad but she smiled and skipped off.

If this all sounds rather awful, I did have a good day. One of the little ones who's usually quite the mischief maker was extremely well behaved today. I was really proud of him. And two kids who probably inspired the above reading were really quiet and respectful of their classmates during nap time which impressed me.

Alright... I'll admit it. We got ice cream for a snack today. Are you happy now?

Lauren.

Better than That

I have had a very productive day. Being able to say that actually surprises the crap out of me.

First thing I did when I got up was hit the snooze button. Three times. I called in sick but made sure my boss knew I was coming in. And then I went in. I was coughing, sweating and tired from two practically sleepless nights. My boss seemed surprised that I was there. But I wasn't letting what happened to me slide. Not for anything. In a combination of French and English, I told my boss what happened, what I said, what they said, what they did, what I did (or didn't do), where my coworkers were, what they did. I was there about an hour.

Like my coworkers, my boss wasn't surprised by who, or that it happened. She was however surprised by the extent because apparently, in spite of there being a precedent, the level of aggression was brought to a new high. On the bright side, I felt listened to and I felt that the steps I was assured would be taken were just and reasonable. That's all I want.

Following that, I made an appointment with Angela. There were things I needed to talk about, old, very old feelings I needed to sort out and put back in order. I was bullied when I was a kid. Particularly when I was between the ages of 11-14. Being ganged up on and bullied by twelve year olds, even as a mature, intelligent, young woman who in generally comfortable in her skin, it was like living a flashback. Angela told me what everyone else I talked to did. I did what I could, I didn't do anything wrong, it wasn't my fault and there's nothing wrong with me. Having been bullied, I tend to fall back on something being wrong with me when things like this happen. I feel like there's some invisible thing about me or on me that vicious, angry people who need to bully can sense. That's how I feel but it's not what I know. The angry, hurt twelve year old girl I was feels that. But the twenty three year old woman I am knows that there's nothing wrong with me, knows that I'm a good person, knows that there's no reason for anyone to dislike me or treat me poorly. I know now that there's nothing wrong with me. The people who did this to me then and now are the ones with the problem.

Talking about it with Angela helped a lot. I sorted out my thoughts, my feelings and unloaded a lot. In the end, was actually lucky. It could have been so much worse. So much worse. And I'm okay. I actually, truly am okay. This isn't anything that will stop me from living my life.

And lastly, I went to the doctor's. Finally. Turns out I have bronchitis. Now I get to take two huge pills and I have a puffer. When I saw the name of the pills, I laughed. My mind jumped to the end scene of The House Bunny when Anna Farris says:

"I'm allergic to erythromycin. I took it once when I had a cold. I was 16, and it gave me itching. I mean, everything itched. My legs, my arms, my earlobes. And other stuff, too, but I can't say, because I'm live on the air right now, and you can't say "ass cheeks," right?"

That was my day.


Lauren.

Assaulted

Okay. I'll be honest. I don't want to write this post. I'll let you come to your own conclusions about why I'm writing it. Part of it is selfish... I just don't want to hold onto it.

The details aren't all that important to post here. And I probably won't post them for legal and various policy issues. I was working at a new site today, with a new group, a new age group. I was assaulted.

I was assaulted physically, verbally and sexually by three twelve year olds that had been placed in my care.  I'm alright... I don't have any bruises or cuts, I wasn't physically hurt, I was able to finish my shift and make it home alright. I kind of blanked out really. When I finally settled down at home and everything sank in, I lost it. I feel violated, powerless, embarrassed and angry.

I couldn't control three twelve year olds? I couldn't tell them to back off? I kind of flashed back to a time in my life when I was much more naive, much younger and among my peers. I'm more than a decade older than these kids in terms of age, experience, maturity. That's where the embarrassment came from. Like WTF? The powerlessness was more about not knowing what to do. And what was I really going to do? Telling them to get lost wasn't working. Walking away wasn't working. I obviously can't attack them. I was pretty ineffective at defending myself... there were three of them. None of my co-workers made an appearance to help me. When I told my co-workers about it they barely reacted. They were more surprised by how far it went than the fact that it happened. I think the anger and feelings of being violated are pretty self-explanatory... obvious... whatever.

I didn't know what to do. I knew I needed to talk to my boss. What I had to say or do during that conversation was a bit of a mystery. I called my parents because they're out of town. Their phone was off. I called my Godmother. She wasn't home. I didn't know where else to go. I wound up calling my uncle who lives in Ottawa. He was so wonderfully rational, so caring and so appropriately angry. I just really needed to hear that I didn't do anything wrong, that I couldn't have done anything differently, that I don't need to be embarrassed. As it turns out, his wife was in town. He called her and she came down to keep me company because I was in tears when I was talking to him.

So, tomorrow I have to deal with that. Not looking forward to it. Two weeks in and I'm sick and... whatever. Initial enthusiasm dwindling.

Lauren.

The Dark Knight Rises Review

Guess what?! You don't have to hear me talk about work or being sick today! Yay! I know you cheer on the inside. No, actually I'm going to talk about the new Batman movie: The Dark Knight Rises.

I have mixed feelings about it but we'll begin with the movie itself and then get to my feelings after.

First I'll get the funny stuff my brain does out of the way. The villain. Well, let's begin with his parentage.

In case you're wondering, that's the Underminer from the animated movie The Incredibles, plus Darth Vader of the iconic Star Wars giving us the uber baddie: Bane of The Dark Knight Rises. After I got over that mental hurdle, he made for a bit of a... I don't know... flat villain. You don't find out why he wears the mask, not really. The reason he wants to destroy Gotham is nothing new. The Joker at least had an ambiguity in his character. This guy is just unswervingly "evil" and as such, he's kind of predictable.

As for Catwoman, I liked Anne Hathaway. First off, I think she really upheld the classy, kick ass, intelligent, sexy yet fully clothed image of Catwoman in a way that previous actresses (cough, cough, Halle Berry) totally bombed at. I'm only making the fully clothed comment because I think having her dressed in practically nothing objectifies her and really undermines the classy and not to be messed with attitude of Catwoman. But that's just me.

I said before that the plot is nothing new. They've done it before. Why does everyone want to destroy Gotham? Incidentally, Gotham reminds me an awful lot of New York. Beside the point. It's fairly straight forward, I found it predictable, filled with gratuitous violence, and in spite of that entertaining. If you liked the previous two Batman movies, you'll probably like the newest instalment. There are a lot of cool gadgets, some crazy explosions, awesome fight scenes. What I really enjoyed was the balance between Gary Oldman, Christian Bale and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Batman of course is outside the law, Gordon is within it. Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays a character in between who's morality is unquestioned and trusted. It was nice to see that little bit of development.

Alright now, onto my feelings. Firstly, I enjoyed it. Might not seem like it, but I found it entertaining and I think it wrapped up the trilogy in an easily accessible way while also leaving a huge backdoor for further sequels. Here's where I get kind of fuzzy. The violence. Yes, I realize it's an action movie. Yes, I realize it's Batman. It's just there was a lot of pretty up close and personal, very violent killing that wasn't always necessary. I understand that movies prey on our nature, our vicarious needs to experience violence and sexuality, but where's the line? At what point are we passing the representation of violence and glorifying excessive brutality? I agree that we have to represent life in movies, but I don't think we have to push the boundaries of our darker nature and glorify it by calling it entertainment.

I hate censorship. I don't agree with it in any form. What I'm asking is if we're at a point where we're endorsing brutality and violence. We condemn people for carrying out these acts, but not for spending time planning it for entertainment sake. It's messed up. Therefore, I'm fuzzy.

If you're into Batman, give it a go!

Lauren.

Kids Move... Move Faster!

What can I say about today? Let's see. First off, disciplining children is a lot harder when you're in the process of losing your voice. This I learned. A few times I just saw a kid getting ready to smack another one. I could see it coming. I could see it in the look on their faces, in the pissed off slant their mouth takes on, in the determined "I'm gonna git you" look in their eyes. I would call out their name from across the room. The first syllable would get out okay, I'd crack on the second and if there was anymore, it was inaudible and the kid got smacked. Damn... I'd obviously then be comforting the smackee, while trying to explain why hitting people is wrong to the smacker. Kids move around, it's hard to tell them anything when they're running away because they know they've done something "bad". And I really don't like grabbing for them. I don't think I'd want someone grabbing my child so I would really rather not grab someone else's unless I have absolutely no choice. Besides, we're trying to teach them to use their words and keep their hands to themselves... looks great when we snatch at them and manhandle them.

After that, I got slobbery, boogery kisses. The thought was nice. The snot was not. As it turns out, there's a reason why moms and old ladies have stockpiles of tissues up their sleeves. It saves a lot of time running to the Kleenex box. That's where I got my exercise today. While the Kleenex box is stationary, as previously mentioned, children are not. Why do they run? Thank God they always seem to run for corners... don't they realize there's no escape? I could describe it, but I won't. All you need to know is "ewww". I only wish it was cool enough to wear sleeves. Given that it's summer, I'd only have the pockets of my pants or my bra to store tissues in and I'm uncomfortable with both places.

Beyond that, my face became acquainted with a very soggy zebra. A stuffed one mind you... I doubt a real zebra would put up with such a thorough gnawing and then allow himself to be shoved in my face. I hate that zebra but I also pity him. I assume it's a him. One never can tell with children's toys. The poor thing is already missing an ear. He's been dragged across the floor, kicked about, chewed on... he's a veteran. The least he deserves is leave to visit the washing machine. If he went AWOL, I doubt there's a person alive who wouldn't understand.

And if all that wasn't enough, I think at least six kids broke down in tears crying for their parents. It's sad really. I usually just sit with them and distract them with something idiotic. With one kid it was Chelsea the talking dinosaur. Hint: the plastic dinosaur couldn't actually talk. With another it was unfortunately allowing the revolting zebra to be pressed into my face. Guess what I did as soon as I got home. They eventually calm down but I always find it kind of difficult explaining that their parents will be coming soon. What's soon to a two year old? Especially if it's only one o'clock and they have to wait until five.

I don't get applause but I think that would weird me out more than anything. Then again, I don't think I'm quite as good as Robin Williams. I'll work on it.

High point of today? One of the kids left with her mom but came back five minutes later to give me and her friends a "friend high five". I'm cool! I got a friend high five! Take that haters!

Lauren.

PS: Yes, haters. That's how I'm ending this post.

Tom Can't Cure Tired

I do not have a story to tell about today.

I feel better. Less sleepy. In fact, I only napped once today. My cough is a bit worse but I'd rather cough than be stuffy. And I'm not stuffed up at all. Yay! I really hate that. It makes me head feel all unbalanced and like I could face plant at any time.

On a completely random note: How much do I love Tom Cruise?

Mission Impossible 3 is on TV. I think it's number 3... I sat down partway through. Anyway, missed the beginning, picked it up just before they broke into the Vatican, and I've no interest in seeing the end. The fact that the TV people split the movie in two parts with a news break in the middle I think says a lot about what TV people think about Tom Cruise. Not to mention the fact that it's on TV on a Sunday, late at night. In short, it was entertaining enough to keep my interest, but too stupid to want to sit through a news broadcast to see the end. I'd rather read thank you very much.

And Family Guy is right... he does run a lot. Why is he always running? Perhaps that's why he's in good shape? I don't know.

Lauren.

Sick and Lucky

I don't know what I caught, but it sucks. I almost literally spent the whole day sleeping. Last night I went to bed at 9:30. I woke up twelve hours later, was awake about an hour and fell asleep again for another three hours. I made a quick lunch, settled in to watch some TV and fell asleep again.

In the midst of all that sleep, I did in fact have a lucky day. I know right? Weird. What could be lucky about catching some type of cold that renders you little more than comatose?

Well, my parents are away for the weekend and my sister had to work. Clearly I needed the sleep and with everyone gone but the cat, I had no problems slipping in and out of consciousness. I fell asleep in three different rooms in my house and woke up each time of my own accord. Never would have happened if everyone was home.

When dinner time rolled around, I really didn't feel like cooking anything. My brain wasn't even working enough to think of what I could cook. I decided to go out and grab something at the grocery store. You know, because that's where the food is. Here's the thing I discovered. While there are the obvious times that driving is not a good thing, being drunk or otherwise under the influence, being tired... Driving while ill and not in your right mind isn't much better and should probably constitute a time where driving is inadvisable. Luckily, in spite of my manic driving, no one was injured. Once there, the guy at the counter turned out to be a guy I went to high school with. Granted he seemed to remember me from chemistry class which definitely didn't happen, but he gave me an extra chicken finger so I was okay with that. Lucky. He was actually in my art and English class. Moreover, they didn't have the side I wanted so I wound up getting some scallop potato mess. It turned out to taste okay. I wouldn't have it every day, but it was alright. Lucky. And the best bit of all! The Haagen Dazs was half price. SCORE! Extra food and a sale? Yes, lucky.

The drive home was much safer.

That's a lucky day for me. Just little things that go well and come as a happy surprise. Alright, I'm going to be honest, I just tried to write surprise as "furprise". Time for meds and bed.

Lauren.

Plotting to Nap

I woke up feeling like garbage. I tried to eat breakfast but I was gagging before I even had it on my plate.  It was just toast. I forced it down anyway and went about my morning routine. Turns out I wasn't the only one under the weather. 

I'm usually okay during the kids' nap time. I rub their backs to get them to sleep, I go on lunch for an hour,  I tidy as much as possible and entertain the kids who's parents prefer they don't sleep. There was obviously something in the Kool-Aid (that we don't serve) today because it took forever to get the kids settled. I got two kids to sleep and starting working on a third. This kid was not going to sleep. He gave it a good effort, I could see that he was really trying, but it just wasn't going to happen. I wanted to tell him to just get up and then steal his bed, because honestly, I was falling asleep and that damn soothing music wasn't helping. I eventually did tell him to get up and watch the construction (which these kids love to do), but I resisted the urge to snatch his empty cot and run away to the storage closet with it. 

In other news, I'm thinking of opening a bike rental shop. I have no idea how it happened or how it's continued and dear God! progressed, but I've become the booking agent for the tricycles. Somehow I'm expected to keep a mental list of who's turn it is, kick kids off the tricycles, explain about turns and ensure that everyone's turn is the same length. The degree of difficulty comes from not knowing the names of the kids from the other group, not having a piece of paper to write names down on, not having a watch or time telling device as well as the fact that kids move away then reappear, hawk-like, when they sense their turn has come. I'd just come outside and some kid came up to me and announced that he wanted a turn on the bike. The bikes weren't even out. I was just walking by the asphalt where they play with the bikes and I was instantly swarmed with declarations of wanting a turn, needing a turn, preferring this bike and complaints about how long someone's turn was. I had no clue what was going on. A new context for "hey! I'm walkin' here!"

I also discovered the key to adapting to this age group. When I started on Monday I had very little experience with young children. My experience base is with teenagers. Turns out the only thing that really separates them is language abilities. Little kids will keep doing what you tell them not to in order to spite you and rebel. They do it because they don't have the language capacity to tell you to f*** off and mean it. So you have to get in front of them or pull them aside to stop them. Teenagers on the other hand will stop doing what you've told them not to in order to cuss you out and point out how lame you are. Then in a show of maturity, they'll storm off or commence ignoring you. The bright side of little kids is that they don't have it in them to hold a grudge. 

It's been a tiring yet educational and satisfying week. I had fun. I learned a lot about kids, taking care of kids and myself surprisingly. I also got sick, so I'm tired and this is where I'm leaving off.

Night night.

Lauren.

The Eventual

Well, I can report that the inevitable has finally occurred. It took four days. My throat hurts and I have a sunburn. The throat is even more unavoidable. One of the kids who likes to sit on my lap frequently coughs in my face. She has a cough that should be cause her lungs to fly out of her body. It's pretty awful. As far as I know, her lungs are still exactly where they should be. I'm going to have to bring sunscreen and a hat to work tomorrow. I burn too easily to ignore such basic precautions. The fact that I even tried makes me want to beat my head against a wall shouting: stupid! stupid! stupid! On the bright side, I rocked at diaper changing. No one got hurt! Yay!

See that? Hasn't happened yet.

Anyway, in light of my pending disease, I'm going to medicate and go to bed early in the hopes of nipping it in the bud. Not likely, but I'm trying to be positive.

Lauren.

Diapers, I Hate You

Alright. There are a lot of things that I do not like. Onions, shrimp, Hummers, the number 6... I have a new item for that list. I hadn't anticipated adding it because I've never been in a position to actually consider it. Times have changed, positions have changed, the list must be changed. I hate diapers.

When I say diapers, I'm not talking about adult diapers for myself. I have not reached that day. Nor am I talking about dirty diapers or a particular brand of diapers. I dislike them all: clean, dirty, princess themed, Cars themed, tab things at the back, tab things at the front. Don't care. Don't like 'em.

I've noticed that one girl has been put in the position of changing diapers. I don't know why. For whatever reason, all the girls are asking me if I WANT to try my hand at changing diapers. I wonder if any normal person has ever said yes to that. I was shown yesterday how this task is accomplished. Today they got me to do it on my own. I wasn't overly enthusiastic.

I got the kid on the table, changed him, all was going well, felt pretty good about myself and my accomplishment. I lifted the kid to put him back down on the ground and whacked his head on an stupidly placed shelf. Why is there a shelf there? Seriously! Normally this kid cries. He wasn't crying. I immediately started panicking about how hard he'd actually been hit. I checked his head, I was a total crazy woman asking if he was okay and then I noticed he was looking at me like "why aren't you pulling my pants up?" He was perfectly fine. I was not. After I was sure he wasn't just... stunned, I set him down on the floor. He instantly ran off to play with his friends. He actually was fine.

After that, I got one changed with no problems. It was kind of idiot proof in that they were pull ups. That's like pants! Pants I know how to put on! By the way, when I say idiot proof, I mean yesterday, while attempting this incredible feat, I'm pretty sure I gave the poor kid a wedgie. I'm just that good.

Next kid had a different kind of diaper. I put it on backwards. Damn velcro tab goes in the back... Meanwhile, this kid is laughing at me. I can't blame him really. If I were in his place... twenty-ish years ago... I'd probably be laughing too. Two university degrees and I can't figure out velcro tabs? I'm going to leave that comment there.

I got the hang of it eventually. Meaning by the last kid. Tomorrow I'll likely have to do it again. Hopefully without injuring anyone. Please God without injuring anyone. I never would have thought changing a diaper would be so stressful. Surprise!

They're so on the list...

Lauren.

Back to the Daycare!

I'm official! Yay! For the first time in two years, I am leaving the ranks of the unemployed! It happened during nap time. Not my nap time but the kids'. My new boss walked into the room, jumped over a few kids and gave me a stack of papers to fill out. Woot! New jobs are one of the few occasions I don't despise filling out paperwork for.

The more I sit and think about it, the more I realize how many upsides there are to this job. The first being that I'm actually pretty good at it. My first days at former jobs were... disastrous to the point of "I don't know why they kept me". Particularly the last job. I don't remember ever feeling more stupid in my life. And then there's this job where not only do I feel good about what I'm doing (as opposed to butchering a chicken), I'm actually doing it well.

The second is obviously that I'm really enjoying it. I get to be goofy and dorky and play with really cute kids all day. Of course some of them like to kick and one likes to try to strangle me from behind, but in general, they're great. I love that they're genuine. Whatever they're feeling or thinking, they share with you. Good or bad. If it's bad, well, you know and you deal with it. There's not a whole lot of sneaky, backstabby behaviour. It's refreshing.

The third thing I love is that I have a start and a finish time. I can actually plan my day. I can go into work knowing exactly when I'll be finished. I don't have to stay on an extra three hours because there was some mad rush and the kitchen is a mess. I've never really had a definite time that signalled the end of my workday. It's a small thing, but it's so damn awesome to me. Bad days don't just go on and on indefinitely.

Fourthly, I love that I get to speak in French again. Granted, most of the kids address me in English and speak in English... I'm unsure why because I know they can speak French... but I usually address them in French. My confidence and vocabulary has improved so much in just two days. I truly missed that part of my life. My mom is bilingual, my dad only speaks English. The only time I would speak in French is at school or maybe with a relative. Eventually I graduated and at the university level, I didn't need my French. What they say is true: use it or lose it.

What I love most is how no day is ever the same. Even if you're doing the same things, some kid is going to say something or do something that makes you laugh that much harder, or run that much faster because it's really unsafe. And they're all so unique and interesting in their own ways. Each day they show you something new. Adults just give you more of the same.

I think it's pretty evident that I like kids more than grown-ups. Grown-ups are just as stinky and gross as little kids... we just hide it better. That's your thought of the day. Run with it. But not with scissors. That's dangerous.

Lauren.

Wash, Wash, Wash and C.

The first thing I did today when I got home was wash my hands. After that, I washed my face. After that, I went to the washroom and washed my hands again. Lastly, I downed some Tylenol and some Vitamin C.

I went through day one of phase two of the daycare interview process. They were going to evaluate how I worked with the kids today. That was after I read a two inch thick binder about the daycare's policies and other government documents. Remember how I said I read slow? Took me three and a half hours. Only an hour and a half longer than it was expected to take me. I may or may not have dozed off... I'm not entirely sure. In my defence, it was hot, I was tired, the government stuff was really dry. AND DOUBLE SIDED! Thank God for the phone ringing.

I know it took way longer than expected because I as soon as I was done, I got an hour long lunch break.

The afternoon portion of my day was the reason for my Howard Hughes routine upon returning home. Not that Howard Hughes would probably be caught dead (ha?) in a daycare. I was not working with babies. Woot! I got to work with "pre-schoolers". They can walk, they can talk and the majority of them are on good terms with the toilet. I can do this.

So, here are some of the things I learned at daycare:

1. "We aren't allowed to go outside, it's too hot" translates to "You're my new jungle gym". 
2. Making a giant stick out of markers stuck together cap to end makes you a friggin' genius. 
3. Corners are evil. Kids always cry when they leave them. 
4. I am a mobile piece of furniture. 
5. Getting kicked in the crotch is not a possibility. It's a guarantee to the power of ten. 
6. Glasses are really targets. Fists and feet! Aim for them!
7. Kids like to stick toys in their mouths and proudly offer them up to you afterward. 
8. You're going to get flashed. 
9. Kids are easily distracted. When they're upset, point out the pretty pony!

And most importantly:

    10. Kids are adorable, sweet, funny, intelligent creatures. But they're also disgusting. 

I got home covered in fluids that were not mine. I'm mostly talking spit/drool but I wouldn't discount the very strong probability of boogers. I can't even count the amount of toys I literally had shoved in my face. I refer you back to #7 to underline the ickiness of having toys shoved in my face. I got sick in February and it was bad. I don't want to get sick again. Summer colds are always the worst. I don't know why, but that's how it is. 

It was a lot to get used to. It was very different from anything I've done. But I did have fun. And in spite of being gross, the kids truly were adorable, funny, clever, very sweet little people. Plus, I'm absolutely exhausted so I'm hoping for a really good night's sleep. Back at it tomorrow and then it will be decided if I'm hired or not. 

Lauren.

Babies Aren't Inanimate... Right?

Tomorrow morning, at precisely 8:05, I will be starting phase two of the interview process. Apparently I passed the "let's talk about your qualifications part" and have moved on to the "practical examination". I applied at a daycare. I like kids. I get to speak in French, and believe me, after five years of barely being used, the practice will be appreciated. Best of all, the job I applied for doesn't entail me making food. Because holy crap am I sick of working with food. I can deal with it being thrown up, thrown, refused, worn or devoured, but I do not want to make it anymore.

In phase one, the interviewer gave me a scenario involving two year olds. I thought it wise to preface my answer by saying that I have no experience with children that young. And I really don't. The only baby I've ever held was forcibly placed in my lap/handed off to me. I was flattered by the mother's confidence but still uncomfortable. The point is, I was not given the option. I'm not even used to being around children that young. If the kid can talk, walk and poop on his own, that I can deal with. No problem. Otherwise, I look like this:

Rachel Holding Ben

I'm not even exaggerating the tiniest bit. And the dialog is pretty much how I feel. Except that I do know how to hold a football and feel comfortable with that given that it's inanimate. Last I checked, babies aren't inanimate... right? Of course not! They're little people. Oh, and I have no desire to have a baby with Ross. Just putting that out there. He bugs me.

Fingers crossed I don't end up in the baby room. I'm totally going to end up in the baby room...

Lauren.

Days that Crawl

Not a whole lot going on today. Although, I am pleased to report that the ice cream Dana and I attempted to make yesterday finally decided to freeze. The current theory as to why it did not freeze yesterday is that it was too hot in my house. I don't know if that's plausible or not, I suppose it is, but I always have Friday the 13th to fall back on. Of course, because it never thickened and was just left to freeze as a giant mass, it now has a texture akin to sorbet. The funny thing is, I think what separates sorbet from ice cream is dairy. The only ingredient in this crap that isn't dairy is the vanilla and sugar. I'm going to call it a hybrid dessert and leave it at that. Because you know what? It's still edible and it tastes good. Therefore, in spite of texture issues, I pronounce it a success. I'm just that powerful.

What else... I'm doing something I haven't done in a very long time. I've read the first four Harry Potter books at least three times each but I've never read 5-7 more than once. I don't really know why. So, I picked up the fifth Harry Potter and started rereading it. I read books 6-7 in under 48 hours. While Harry is a pretty fast read, I'm not what one would normally call a fast reader. I'm even slower when people are waiting on me or watching me. It's a miracle I got through English studies. Being well read beforehand was ridiculously helpful. Anyway, the point being, if I got through the books that quickly, I'm bound to have missed things... most likely entire pages...

I also worked on my novel. I (potentially stupidly) decided that I was going to write a series. Yeah, I've only been saying that for... three years. I've worked out what I want to happen over the course of the books. Now, I'm attempting to figure out the finer points of each individual novel's plot. It's at times like these that I'm so happy I can write my thoughts down. There's no way in hell I could remember all the crap I'm thinking otherwise. I had the plots figured out a while ago, but now that I'm looking at them, I hate them. At least, I hate the majority of them. Two are fine. I think that's probably why I've never managed to publish anything. When I finish a project, I let it rest a while before I really go through it. And then I go through it and it just doesn't feel right. Even if I still like it, nothing has felt... publish worthy. Maybe this one will. We'll see. Once I sort out the jumble of bits and pieces floating around in my head.

Like I said, quiet day. Not even Meeko's stalking (seriously, he's been following me everywhere) has provided me with interesting material. We both wish you all good night. And don't even think of trying to sneak up on me while I'm sleeping. Meeko's guarding my door.

Lauren.

Improv Ice Cream

Today is Friday the 13th. Or, yesterday was... I'm writing late again. Whatever. I don't usually believe in Friday the 13th bad luck. Bad luck tends to follow me around all year. I don't think it makes special exceptions on particular days. Regardless, I have to believe that today was a genuine bad luck day.

In spite of Dana having horrible reactions to dairy, we decided that we wanted to make ice cream. We stumbled upon a really awesome, super simple recipe last year. It was amazing. We chose today of all days to replicate that success.

It only has five ingredients. We thought we were safe. Half and half cream, heavy cream, sugar, vanilla and a bit of salt. Not rocket science. Every other recipe I found involved eggs, pans, stovetops... not up for that. Too hot. Yet again, we were sans ice cream maker. Not a problem, we used the bag method last time and it worked well. Put your ice cream mix in a bag, put your ice cream bag in a bigger bag with ice and salt. Shake it up until it thickens and freezes. Again, not rocket science.

And yet, it kind of was. We did the bag thing. Nothing. Nothing was freezing, nothing was thickening, we just got a bit of an arm workout. There wasn't enough ice. We didn't have more ice so we chucked in bags of frozen veggies and fruits. More shaking. More nothing. We decided to leave the bags of ice cream in the freezer for a while and appear periodically to shake it up so it didn't freeze in a big solid mass. Even that resulted in nothing. For the following attempt, I made a very makeshift churn out of two wooden spoons, the lid of a juice pitcher, two clips, a stainless steel jar we use to hold whisks, serving spoons and such other things and lastly, a giant bowl. By then we'd gone out to get more ice. It was conceived to be something like this:

Just because you really need to see the determination (desperation?) that went into making this damn ice cream, I present The Lauren Daily As-Makeshift-As-You-Can-Get Ice Cream Churn.

We had high hopes. But we did not have ice cream. Aside from use up some of my creative energy, not a whole lot happened.  We just got fed up and stuck the whole thing in the freezer. I checked on it a while ago and it still wasn't frozen... at all. I'm thinking there should have been some freezage or at least a thickening of the cream in six hours. I'll check it tomorrow morning, but isn't it weird? It's weird.

Curses Friday the 13th! Curses!

Lauren.

Driving with Mr. Daily

This morning, when I got up, I noticed a letter on the counter. It was a large brown envelope with a university logo on it. And it was addressed to my sister. Fail. Still waiting. Maybe I'll get a rejection/acceptance email. I kind of prefer the hard copy version...

In spite of still not knowing if I'll be going to school come September, I did get a call from the woman who interviewed me for the job and made me feel really uncomfortable. I've made it to phase two of the interview: the trial run. They're going to put me on the job and observe me... because I haven't had enough of that all damn year. Either way, on Monday at 8:05, I will be "working". I don't even know how long I'll have to be there... I probably should have asked that. Damn. I really have to start thinking of these things in the moment.

In other news, men still don't take driving directions from women. Had another experience with my father that involved six transports, three buses, a couple of cars, two red lights, a train, Tim Hortons and some back streets. I saw no boys on the back streets and was quite relieved. Now, to put all that in context, a train was crossing the road (to get to the other side) and thus, traffic was backed up through two sets of lights. Since we were on the highway, there were trucks, transports and cars OH MY! My dad isn't the most patient guy in the world so he starts to grumble and curse the train, the lights, the drivers from Quebec who are allegedly worse drivers than those of us living in Ontario. I'll need to see conclusive evidence before I believe. I suggested he go the back way to avoid the train, hit the Timmies and carry on. I'm choosing to believe he didn't hear me. Five to seven minutes later, he turned off the highway, took the back streets and hit the Timmies.

Of course, we were then stuck in the drive through lane at the slowest Timmies in town. They all get that label at one time or another, but this one actually is the slowest. To keep us both entertained/confused, I started randomly shouting out things from the menu... CHEESE BAGEL! Another five minutes expired but we finally got our drinks. Thank God because we were a whole ten to twelve minutes behind on a schedule we didn't even have!

We did however bond over one of the classiest bumper stickers I've ever seen. "If you're going to ride my ass, at least pull my hair". Classy. Our immediate reaction was: Ewwwww. We said it together. It was a very special moment. Afterward, I wondered (aloud) if the driver had long hair. As we passed, my father noted that the driver did in fact have long hair. We "Ewwwwwed" once again. My mother will likely deny this, but when I told her of the bumper sticker, she laughed.

Traffic jams and bumper stickers, just another day out with my dad.

Lauren.

Tids and Bits

I have something to say. I just don't know what that something is. Yet another quiet day in Laurenland.

I discovered my cat likes eating rice crackers.

I was asked to make a spaghetti sauce. My mom left me detailed instructions that I followed with varying degrees of accuracy. She wanted me to put a whole onion in the sauce. Pfft... not happening. I hate onions. They have no redeeming qualities. I hate cutting them. I used to have to cut them at the restaurant and my eyes would end up watering so badly that I couldn't see. Not to mention that the stench of it sticks to your hands for days. I hate the texture. I hate the smell of onions. I don't even particularly like to look at onions because I just remember having to cut a shit-ton of them for work. So I omitted the onion. My mom totally called me on it. Whatever, I used onion powder instead. Because oddly enough, I don't usually mind the taste of onions. Fine, they tentatively have one redeeming feature.

I discovered that writing prophecies is hard. Am I being too obscure? Too obvious? Too stupid? It was even harder because I could not remember how to spell prophecy. And now that I've actually managed to do it (both write out a prophecy and spell it correctly), I'm wondering if there's not a better way to move that part of the plot forward. I don't know why I can't think of these things before going through all the trouble.

I also found out that encroaching on Meeko's space doesn't really bother him. When I'm napping or sitting, he pops up and takes as much space as he possibly can. He's a cat, a fat one, but a cat nonetheless. He shouldn't take more room than me, a fully grown and not at all tiny or dainty human. Today, he was sleeping on the corner of the couch. For the hell of it, I laid down with my head right up next to his face and stomach. He was all sprawled out. He didn't even move. He just went back to sleep. Damn thing was even purring. This goes to show that giving cats a taste of their own medicine doesn't work. They like it... sneaky bastards.

Yeah, I didn't know what to say so tidbits from everywhere! You got some tid (whatever that is) and some bits. Tids 'n bits, not to be confused with dog food.

Lauren.

What the Hell Handshake

One day in one of my BEd classes, we were talking about job interviews. We talked about them a lot near the end of the year... Anyway, one day, my professor explained the importance of the handshake. She concluded her talk by going around the room, shaking hands with all of us and critiquing our handshake in a non-verbal way. I thought it was a little silly, but oddly entertaining. I emphasize oddly... can't emphasize that enough.

Today, after a night of not sleeping well, I had to get up early for a job interview. I hate job interviews. Does anyone like them? Do away with them says I! In any case, I dressed up, I arrived early, I waited patiently for the head honcho to come get me and finally, the fateful handshake moment arrived. She stuck out her hand and that's about it. I was just... kind of... holding her outstretched hand. Very odd. It threw me. She didn't grasp my hand at all and she certainly didn't shake it. It was a great start to the interview. 

Following that, I answered about six questions. Was I going back to school in September? What was my prior work experience? When am I available? Do I have a car? Do I have references? Did I have any questions? She also gave me two scenarios. What would I do if a kid bit another kid and what would I do if the parents of the attacked kid were super pissed and not backing down. 

Next came the best part of the interview. She stood up, stretched out her hand. I stared at it curiously for about half a second before attempting to shake it again. Attempt failed. She just stuck it there... like before. What the hell is that? Yes, I see you have a hand. I have one as well. Is it some old school sideways high five you want? I'm not tipping you, that's for sure. Perhaps I should have encased her hand in both of mine and shaken her entire arm... because that would be less awkward. She then held the door open for me and waited for me to get out. The door closed as soon as I was in the hall. The polite society version of the bum's rush? Really? 

I got back in my car and drove off. I was about halfway home when I looked at the time. It was 9:38. My interview was scheduled for 9:30. I couldn't have been in her office much more than ten minutes. 

Needless to say, I was left rather confused but more significantly, unimpressed by the whole experience. If only she'd been in my handshaking class... I'm not holding out a lot of hope for this one. Not that it made a particularly good first impression. Let that be a lesson! Handshakes are important and should not be neglected! You can threaten people with them. You can make someone feel comfortable with them. You can piss someone off by hiding a buzzer in them. You can make someone feel completely uncomfortable and confused with them. So versatile, so useful, so relevant: the handshake, try one today!

Lauren.

The Power of Strawberries

There are a lot of things that I've never tried. Today I have one less thing on on that list. I was bored, I was hungry, there were strawberries in the fridge. I made strawberry shortcake. I know, I've never eaten strawberry shortcake. Weird right? I love cake, I love strawberries and who doesn't love whipped cream? Who wouldn't love all three together? MADNESS!

Not mine, but like mine.

I have to say, it was really good. The shortcake was crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, sugar on top. The strawberries were perfectly sweet. The whipped cream was good... can't really mess that up though. I mean, unless you whip it into butter, it's pretty impossible to screw up. Is there anything better than fresh fruit desserts? I'm a huge chocoholic but if there are strawberries in the fridge, that's where I'm going. And not only because they're delicious. They do not cause horrendous heartburn. Chocolate does. That's why I'm not supposed to eat it... but that's not a world I want to live in.

On a completely random note, while looking for pictures, I found this picture. I thought it was kind of awesome.

As it turns out, baking was a brilliant idea because my day kind of took a turn afterward. I got an email I'm kind of worried about. I finally emailed a professor about when I could expect an answer about my MA application. The response I got was... not cause for enthusiasm. Still, I'll know by the end of the week and be able to move on.

Rock on Strawberry Shortcake. Rock on!

Lauren

Documentation of a Former Me

I've probably said this before, but it's strange blogging every day. I've been asked if it feels weird if I don't blog. Kinda. Not so much for the routine aspect, though that definitely plays a part. Originally, one of the reasons, I started blogging (there were many) was to find something good to say about every day. Yeah, that didn't wind up happening because some days just aren't good. But I did get used to saying something about every day. And because I'd say something about every day, I now have three years of records of what I was doing, thinking, watching, reading, studying on any given day.

Last night, while having non-coffee with my newly-introduced-to-each-other friends, I got asked a question that I was not expecting and that I probably didn't respond to in the best way. One of my friends asked if she could reread my first novel. I didn't even think about it. I just said no.

Naturally she asked why, but all I would say was "no" or, "that book is never leaving my closet" or, "I'm never touching that book again". I probably seemed too lighthearted, or cryptic, or perhaps modest, I'm not sure, because it took a few more minutes before the argument was finally dropped.

I wrote that book when I was sixteen. The best description of me at age sixteen would be: f***ed up. To some extent it was obvious but for the most part, no one noticed. So I wrote and all the f***ed up seeped into the pages I hand wrote and later, typed. While what happens in the book is not at all what happened to me, a lot of the emotions felt by the characters are my own. I can remember what I wrote... vividly... unlike the other two novels I wrote even though they are more recent and I enjoyed writing them more. The more I think about it, the more disturbing it is to me. In some cases, that book turned out to be prophetic which adds a whole other layer of freaky. What it comes down to is that it's so personal and so raw that I can't read my own words because I remember being that person. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable to imagine people reading the barest version of me at the most vulnerable time of my life. It upsets me to know that people have read it, read it in the correct time frame, and still failed to see that I was seriously damaged. Two people saw me for what I really was and they tried to help me. They did help me. But at the same time, I watched as others like me went unnoticed and I can't help but wonder why. And that makes me angry. So you see, that book is much more than words. It's a whole other person and time period that I don't care to revisit.

When it came up last night, I didn't want to go into detail because not everyone knew what I was like then. More than anything, I don't like sharing that version of me with anyone. It's kind of like offering up the most damaged, most pathetic, most pained part of my soul. Let's face it, baring your soul is hard enough, you don't want to open up the part that's been fed through a shredder and stomped on a few times.

The written word: blessing and curse.

Lauren.

Re-Broadcasting In...

I'm sleepy. Spent the day hanging out with friends. Will go more into detail when I'm more awake. Because in spite of coffee beverages, I'm about to pass out. I'll be back. Potentially in... eight and a half hours. Tune in for the actual broadcast of yesterday/today's events tomorrow/today.

-------------------------------------

Okay, so... nine hours later.

I'm not really sure what to write about yesterday. My friend Veronica came to visit which is the major event that occurred. We didn't really do all that much. We wound up just sitting and talking. A lot. The one "active" thing we did plan on doing was going to see a movie. That didn't work out. Guess why?

Veronica is one of the few university friends I have. Since I went to university in the same city I grew up in, I got to keep a few high school friends. I've never really mixed those two worlds. I talk a lot about my university friends with my high school friends and vice versa, but they never actually meet. I decided that it would be a good idea to remedy that.

We went out for coffee. Even though none of us actually drink coffee. Finally, one of my non-university friends met the mysterious Veronica. Likewise, Veronica got to meet my partner in... well, I'm going to say goofiness, Dana. My apologies to Dana that I couldn't think of a cooler title.

We met up at eight. Our movie started at 10:10. I have no idea how, but we managed to talk until 10:30. None of us could believe that so much had passed. We were mystified. Because time is supposed to be a constant. It's not supposed to randomly speed up whenever it feels like it. DAMN YOU TIME!

I did learn something though... when you are the main thing two people have in common, they will gang up on you. Should have seen that coming. They'll also make you feel terribly underdressed. They were both wearing dresses and complimenting each other's shoes. And then there was me, in jeans (in spite of the heat) and a three-quarter length shirt and runners. My hair was also absolutely nuts... thank you humidity. So, while they were saying things like "I really like your dress!" or "Those are cute shoes!" I got "You could run a mile in those shoes!" Yeah... when was the last time I ran a mile? I might manage ten feet? Consolation compliments. Meh, I'll take it anyway.

I did have a lot of fun though. That is the moral of this story. That and time is a sneaky bastard.

Lauren.

Good on Paper, Awkward in Reality

How do you know your parents are getting sick of you? Easy. You tell them that you have a job interview Tuesday. If their reaction is:

"Really? You just made my day!"

chances are that they're getting sick of you. Why they are sick of you is a case by case question that I cannot begin to venture into.

On the bright side, I do have a job interview on Tuesday. I'm kind of worried about it because last time, I thought I did really well but they called back a few days later and told me that I didn't have the qualifications they were looking for. Now, I know that's crap for two reasons. Reason 1: If I didn't have the qualifications they were looking for, why would they call me in for an interview? Reason 2: I know the person they hired and I know what that person's qualifications are. Perhaps I will practice answering interview questions this time...

What I find hilariously funny is that apparently in the academic world, being slightly less than sane is not only accepted, it's expected. I was talking to the professor who may/may not be my advisor and she told me I'd be meeting a lot of like-minded people. I told her my therapist would like that. Because I can't hear the words "like" and "minded" together without thinking of Angela. It simply can't be done. In any case, when I promised her I was in fact sane, she responded that many academics were not and that I'd fit right in. Stupid real world not accepting people who are a little different and generally uncomfortable. It's not my fault that I'm awkward. The awkward tones down once I get comfortable. 

I'd ask you to wish me luck but my dad is already crossing a number of his extremities. That may also be a sign... if you're more of a visual than an auditory learner. Then again, I'm notorious for my bad luck... so is my father. His gesture is most likely genuine. 

Lauren.

Re-Writing Harry

Once again, I'm on Harry Potter Overload. If such a thing does in fact exist. It does... it's called marathoning all the damn movies in a day. When I did it, part two of the second movie wasn't out yet. I don't think I could have made it through an eighth movie. Whatever, it's beside the point.

My dad recently marathonned the movies. Only he limited himself to one or two movies a day. Infinitely smarter. After that, I watched A Very Potter Musical which I recommend in spite of its length... oddly, it's about the length of a Harry Potter movie. I just wasn't expecting it to be that long when I looked into it. I also recommend it to Glee fans as Darren Criss plays Harry.

And in my youtube adventures, I stumbled upon this adaptation.

I found it funny for numerous reasons, but mainly because of my cousin S. 

He is not a Harry Potter fan. His wife however, is. She dragged him to the movies for the late screening of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 (last year, not recently). As it turns out, they wound up sitting right in front of us. 

Poor S... it was not his kind of movie. For the hell of it, I'll describe the guy. He's probably about 6'2'', somewhere around 300 pounds, tattoos, piercings, really loud, deep voice. Essentially, the bouncer you do not want to screw with because he can squish your head with his thumb and forefinger. Now that you've got that in mind, I'll continue.

He was grumbling throughout the whole movie but he was getting really pissy by the end. When Snape died, he was baffled as to why Harry, Hermione and Ron couldn't just heal him. I think he made some remark about the pointlessness of magic if you can't stop a guy from bleeding. His voice also carries. We had no trouble hearing him. When it got to the part where Harry and Voldemort are fighting to the death, S again got frustrated. It's been a while but he semi-bellowed something along the lines of: F***! JUST SHOOT HIM! WHY DON'T THEY HAVE GUNS? It went on and on and I couldn't help laughing. 

When I saw the How It Should Have Ended version, I just pictured S and almost died. Apparently he wasn't alone. 

Also, in spite of looking like he can crush your head with two fingers, he's really funny and kind of a softie. Kind of... I still wouldn't mess with him if you see him at a bar...

Lauren.

The Chimney's Keeper

There's a brigade. An anti-sleep brigade. I was super comfortable and sound asleep in bed. You know when you're just so perfectly wrapped up in your blankets, when the temperature is just right, when your sheets just feel so damn good and even smell nice? What? I like sleeping. Anyway, I was there. It was bliss. And then the doorbell rang.

I'm going to tear that thing out of the wall. Both of them. I don't care if people can't get to the back of the house. I'll rip that one out too.

I jumped out of bed, partly due to surprise, partly due to the fact that I thought I was dreaming. By the time I realized I wasn't, I heard knocking on the window. I ran down the stairs in my pyjamas. I forgot my glasses. When I opened the door, the guy was almost back in his truck. He saw me or heard me. Either way, he came back. So there I was. Completely dishevelled, in my ratty pyjamas, blind and half-asleep. Sexy and I know it. The dude just looked at me. His name was Paul. He was there for the chimney. Add confused to the list of things I was at that moment. He was holding a business card and was sort of, kind of, flashing it. Whatever. I couldn't read it anyway. I think he realized that and told me he would go around back and wait for me to unlock the gate.

I ran back up to my room, put on my glasses, searched for my keys and, yes, still in my pyjamas, went to my backyard. First thought: HOLY CRAP IT'S HOT! And it was only 10:00 at that point. I tried unlocking the gate. It wouldn't work. My glasses, thank God I got those... I might have never figured out I was using the wrong key. Once I got the right key, lifted and tugged the gate just right, I was able to let Paul into our back yard. To be honest, I'd already forgotten his name and was mentally calling him Burt. He stared at the chimney for a couple of minutes. He mumbled some stuff that I assume was directed at me. I just stood there, wondering if I was really necessary at that point. Turns out I was. In his Italian accent, Paul finally shows me his business card, and asks if the number scrawled in pen is a number at which he can reach my father. I stare for a while, identify the numbers, process the numbers, remember the numbers and tell him that it's my dad's cell number and that if he called after four, he'd be sure to get my dad. Paul said he'd call at six. I thought: Okay, but you realize six isn't four right?

Paul let himself out. I lifted, tugged and locked the gate behind him. When I got back to my room and stared at my bed longingly, I knew it was too late. The moment had passed.

Paul called at 6:02 PM.

Lauren.

The Sleep Rules

I found out today that there are three rules to sleeping late when you've had a crappy night's sleep.

The first: Phones will ring.
The second: Alarms will sound.
The third: Doorbells will chime.

Most likely, these rules will be enacted sequentially rather than simultaneously. Sure the latter would scare the crap out of any normal sleeping person, but the former is so much more irritating that the adrenaline rush caused by the latter would be worth it.

Before leaving for work, my mom opened my door. She claimed it was so I could hear the phone if it rang. I don't know why it was important to hear the phone today unlike all previous days, but I was sleepy so I acknowledged her with some primitive sound and fell asleep once more. The phone did not ring.

Maybe half an hour later, my sister's alarm went off. It starts off with lovely beach sounds. A seagull in the background, waves hitting the shore. And then a fog horn goes off a couple times. And then it goes into the BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! we all know and love. I don't know why, but every time this happens, I wrongfully assume that it will stop on its own. It never does. By the time I found it my sister's phone, (in the kitchen, in her purse) it was in its third cycle of beach noises and beeping. Normally I don't go through people's crap without asking or being told to. Turns out when my sleep is in question, I throw that rule out the window.

I managed to get up to my room, throw the blanket over my head and sigh. That sigh turned into an angrily grumbled "YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME!" when my sister started ringing the doorbell. I don't know why I didn't anticipate that. Her purse was on the counter. My sister likes tight pants or dresses... they don't have key accommodating pockets. I unlocked the door and stomped back up to my room. At that point I was a bit cranky.

For the next half hour I listened to my sister cook herself breakfast and watch TV in the living room which is just down the hall from my room. I sighed when she left for work and the house grew quiet once more. I tried to go back to sleep, but soon came to the realization that I was awake. I got up, read a bit, I think I brushed my hair. Eventually, I started getting sleepy again. Yeah, there's a fourth rule.

The Fourth: Cats are persistent.

Just as I laid down, Meeko jumped onto my bed. I tried ignoring him but he was having none of that. He nudged my arm. I groaned, begging him to go away. He nudged my boob which is even harder to ignore might I add. I think at that point I was on the verge of crying and said "Nooooo! Leave me alone! Sleepy!" That's the thing about cats. They don't speak English and they probably wouldn't care if they did. I turned around, glared at him and as threateningly as I could said: "Fine! You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine!" He flopped down right against me and promptly took up half my damn bed. My bed is a single by the way. Not the extra long one either... my feet hang off... At least he stuck to our bargain and didn't encroach on the little space he left me.

My mom woke me up when she came home for lunch. She woke me up when she was leaving to go back to work. I gave up. It was not meant to be.

Lauren.

Cryptography with Lauren

People confuse me. I don't understand how someone can get under your skin and just... reside there... continually, in spite of everything you do to get rid of them. I don't understand how cognitively you can separate yourself from them, but they always, without fail, find some unguarded crack in your logic and weasel their way in. I don't understand how I can seem to move on into new territory only to be knocked back at the slightest hint of hope, likely an imagined hint at that. And I really don't get how something can walk like a duck and quack like a duck without being a damn duck! And why can't we talk about the duck? Or the lost territory? Or the residual infection? Because somehow, in some twisted way, non-ducks, security breaches and infections are all tolerable when faced with the very real possibility of nothingness. And then, just for shits and giggles, you're stuck asking whether or not nothingness would be preferable.

The moral of this cryptic story? People are confusing. We never know what we want. We want what we can't have. We bitch about the thing we initially wanted when we have it. There is the ride completed.

If you followed any of that, do let me know. Better yet, if you have answers, let me know.

Lauren.

Canada Day with Robin Sparkles

It's Canada Day! I haven't been to sleep, it's 1:47AM and since I've not slept, the 1st is not over yet. So, we're all going to forgive Lauren for being away from her computer until now... right? I'm sorry Canada. I really do love you.

And because I love you, I'm going to honour you with this video of an American TV show making fun of all our stereotypes! Everyone, it's Robin Sparkles and The Beaver Song!

It has a Queen, a Mountie, beaver puppets, a hockey player, Alan Thick and a Canadian flag unfurls amid red and white confetti. What is more Canadian than humour! This is actually probably one of my favourite episodes of How I Met Your Mother. It's sooooo dirty and as such, is hilarious. 

If you're wondering why I chose this clip to celebrate my Canadian identity, my answer is simple. I would rather celebrate something that makes me laugh and smile than glorify some pointless war (1812) in which people died and nothing really got accomplished. 

So, I'm choosing to celebrate and be proud of Canadian moments/content that brought me happiness. Happy Birthday Canada and Happy Canada Day to my fellow Canadians!

I still don't get the "aboot" thing though. I do not hear this boot...

Lauren.

Training to Trololo

If I said "Trololo Cat" would you know what I was talking about? It was a video that went viral forever and a half ago (in computer years, not actual years) in which a cat gets its back/butt scratched to the soundtrack of some... crazy music. In case you aren't familiar, I present to you: Trololo Cat!

It's a little funny. Of course, now when I watch it, I also think of one of my grade eight students who would randomly start singing that song... which makes it funnier to me, but that's beside the point. Seriously though, he's a fourteen year old, on the smaller side, with a voice about as deep as the one in the video. Totally threw me the first time he said something. I'm getting back on point now.

I'm slowly becoming nocturnal. That means I sleep until eleven-ish. My cat apparently doesn't like that. This morning, he was meowing at my door. For a moment, I thought the world was ending. It was a short moment. I was having a crazy dream. When I couldn't ignore it anymore, I opened the door. Meeko was just sitting there, staring up at me. I said good morning, asked how he was and inquired as to what the hell he wanted. In answer, he flopped over... the universal cat sign for "pet me moron". So I did. At that point, I hadn't slept long enough to be getting up. When Meeko had his fill and tossed a couple dollars my way (okay, that didn't happen), I returned to bed. He wasn't happy about that either. He resumed his meowing. I got up a second time, opened my door and went back to bed.

The meowing got closer and closer until finally, he jumped up on my bed and started snuffling loudly in my ear. I somehow ignored him. He curled up right behind me, invasion of personal space, and stayed there while I continued to sleep. He left and returned once more after that.

Now, the reason I bring up the Trololo Cat is because I wouldn't mind so much if that's what Meeko sounded like. But he doesn't. Imagine the following twice as loud and accompanied by thumping. The thumping is Meeko banging his head against the door.

I love my cat dearly. But I also love sleep. Perhaps I could train him... After all, Hiccup trained a dragon. How hard can a cat be?

Lauren.