(Eight in Russian, methinks)
Before the possibility of a brief hiatus (my mama arrives today for the Canadian thanksgiving weekend!), I figured it was about time for some more bombardment of Princessy facts in the eternal quest towards 100...
#68- Part of the reason I am so excited about this weekend is that I have a very close relationship with my mother. For one, I am very proud of her-- she was a high school drop-out, who managed to co-own a very successful business.
We also just get along well, simple as that. Most of my friend report that they begin to go a little weary after several days with their parents. However, when I was 22, we spent a month traveling across Canada together. Not only did we miraculously manage not to have a single argument (a feat for any duo traveling together for that long), but she bunked in hostels with me and accompanied me out for drinks on numerous occasions with the people we met on our travels. And may have out-drank me on a few occasions.
#69- One of the values my parents instilled in me from a young age was independence. Although they were of the creed that while you helped family no matter what when in need (as they did when I left the Ex, and was back to tomato box furniture and sleeping on a foamie after he didn't pay me back the money he owed), they thought that generally, people should be raised self-sufficient. As a result, my entire nine years (and counting) of university has been paid entirely out of pocket. I began university at 17, and though I lived at home for the only two years I could stay in my home town, I started paying rent that September I was 17 (granted, it was less than I would have paid for my own place).
You better believe I was furious at the time, when I saw my friends living at home for free with their parents dolling out for tuition. This resentment continued for a long time, including the year when the student loans people decided that my broke then common-law partner should be paying my tuition, and I had barely a penny to my name, while my friend who lived at home for free had saved up enough money to go on a year long world-wide trip.
But you know what? Nine years of school may mean that I still don't own a house, but I am actually financially better off than many of my peers. And though I certainly would have accepted free money from my parents had it been handed to me, I think my accomplishments may taste a little sweeter without it.
#70- I lost my virginity in possible the most boring manner ever. He was my boyfriend of 6 months. We planned it. It happened on my bedroom floor, missionary-style. It was over quickly and underwhelming. NEXT!
#71- I was a precocious child, and my father a quick-thinking fellow, as demonstrated by this anecdote when I was 7:
PP: Daddy, Santa Claus and his elves make all the toys that we get in our stockings, right?
Dad: That's right.
PP: Then why is there a trademark from another company on the bottom of this toy?
Dad: *pause* Well, honey, I'm going to be honest with you. Sometimes Santa and the elves don't have enough time to make toys for millions and millions of children, so they will ask for some help from the other toymakers around the world.
That explanation, and a snowy boot print by the chimney next Christmas, kept my beliefs strong for at least another year.
#72- If I was a precocious child, I was also a dramatic teenager. This is demonstrated by the fact that, one evening, when thirteen and particularly angry at the world, I decided that the perfect way to express such anger to society was to get my nose pierced. However, I was unwilling to wait for an appointment with the town's only piercer, so I decided to take matters into my own hands... and pierce my nose with a thumb tack.
Cartilage is thick, and thus, I failed. Much to the relief of the rest of my face.
#73- Continuing on the theme of drama, when not making failed attempts at body modification (kidding-- that was the only time!), I also expressed my teen angst in a more socially appropriate way-- overwrought poetry.
Sadly, my peak of hysterical prose also came when the internet started becoming more readily accessible, and, one day, I took my handwritten poetry journal down to the local library, and decided to post my best piece, creatively entitled Left and using such contrasts as "You gave me your light then left me in the dark", on an online poetry site. With my real name.
Those of you who know my real name understand how this may be problematic. To give you a sense, until a year or two ago, my MySpace page was the first hit if you googled just my first name-- it is that unusual. As such, you can understand my dismay when, in a random fit of googling and expecting to find primarily academic related things, my name popped up with this horrendous poem, more than 10 years after I wrote it. I actually saw fit to email the site administrator to try to have it removed. They never got back to me, but at the very least, Googling my name as of today doesn't turn it up on the first ten pages.
#74- Like a good female Canadian university student, Margaret Atwood is my absolute favourite writer. She is also a little symbolic, as attending one of her readings was one of the first events I attended solo when I moved to the big city. As such, I am geekishly excited that I actually won a content to see another one of her special readings for a CBC event next week.
#75- I've begun having the occasional dream of my blog being exposed. Earlier this week, I dreamt that Jenn posted my real name on her blog, and I was bombarded with comments from stalker-type people who had downloaded photos of me. Last month, I dreamt that someone at a wedding I attended showed everyone the url, and they were frantically scrutinizing it for mentions of themselves. Both dreams were so realistic I almost dashed to my laptop when my eyes blinked open.
The funny thing is, I think that my paranoia comes about from investing so much in keeping this blog anonymous. In all reality, it wouldn't even matter that much if someone found it-- it is not like I am posting slanderous pieces or revealing scandalous secrets. But, still, it apparently bothers my subconscious to a significant degree...