Copy cat

I've been wondering about how to introduce my new identity as a Wisconsinite to the internets at large. It feels as though moving to this random midwestern state is reason enough to start writing again.

After all, who doesn't want to hear about the escapades of two Canadians in imperial measurement land!

Like me trying to order turkey in grams with the deli counter worker looking quizzically at me when I declare "Two hundred, please."

Or the Duke ordering a half-gallon of beer to go from a pub not realizing how much a half-gallon really was, and thus getting wasted out of a sense of obligation to his already purchased jug of beer.

Also, apparently Americans don't know what a garburator is. And laugh at Canadians who say it.

(BTW, it's a garbage disposal.)

But, amidst my contemplation about how exactly to jump back into the land of anonymous self-disclosure... someone pulled me back in.

Apparently someone still likes me enough to read me... and to plagiarize me.

Not even a real post, mind you. Just my "About Me" section. You know that little thing in the left hand corner babbling about neologisms and staring in people's windows? Yeah, that one.

NOT this one:

Thank you, anonymous commenter, for pointing this one out.

Anyways, it turns out that our friend Katie (she of the surely soon to be defunct Mommy Outnumbered) is quite heavy handed at the copy and pasting. My random googling turned up at least 10+ people she'd ripped off (including the freaking Bloggess- come on, how's that going to go unnoticed?). By the angry comments on her website, it looks like there's a ton more.

I remember these mini-scandals back when I was a little more entrenched in the blogging scene. People were rightfully pretty incensed about others stealing their words, especially in blatant disregard of copyright statements. This woman took it even a step further-- she copied someone's post mourning her dead mother, and another about a woman's child who had recently passed away. You've got to wonder about the motivation to try to almost usurp someone's identity like that. That's no longer about just getting lots of complimentary emails swooning about how witty you are. That's trying to gain unwarranted sympathy from someone else's pain.

But, hey, we apparently both like dogs with cones on our heads. So there's that!

The past month

Things I've learned over a month without blogging...

Not writing down every spare thought really does make for a lot more free time.

I'm most tempted to break my self-imposed no blogging rule when I've been drinking.

I get a lot fewer emails.

I worry about my first *real* post back, and that I will forget how to write.

I also worry that if I don't write a little update every now and then, I may disappear into a deep dark internet wasteland, along with chat rooms, my old MySpace account and other things that used to be semi-cool.

I miss random people at random times. Out of the blue, I will wonder what one of you is up to.

I need to use the thesaurus a lot more when I do write something. It's like my brain has already stopped remembering the more poetic synonyms.

***

I'm still away. I just felt the need to cheat and say hello.

Time out

I've been waffling around this decision for a few months now, which is probably pretty telling.

I think it is time to take a bit of a break.

Too many things are making writing feel unfamiliar right now. It feels like my fingers and thoughts are slower, my words emptier, my mind more blank. I feel disconnected, less confident about my words. I have little time to write, which makes what used to be a joy feel like a burden. I feel like I'm only participating in the blogging community half-heartedly due to my overflowing schedule.

It just doesn't fit right now.

It's hard to post this, though. It feels a little like giving up. Still, I hope by giving myself the needed space away, things will start flowing again. If they don't, well, I'll deal with that when the time comes.

I'm still around, though. You can always reach me by email, and I'm hoping to keep on posting on my weekly spot at Umm... Now What. However, I am looking for a few (or more) good guest posters for that site as well, so please be in touch if you are interested!

See you around :)

Shark jumping

I'm starting to wonder if Hijinks has officially jumped the shark.

Over the past couple months, comments have plummeted. I know, as someone with some semblance of a writer, I shouldn't get all in a tizzy about comments. But, still, outside of the immediate sting of a diminished number, I am wondering if I should be viewing it as a clue of some sort. For instance, if, as a singer, one of your albums sold a bundle, and the next was a relative flop in terms of numbers, wouldn't you wonder if your music had stopped speaking to people?

I have tried running reasons through my mind for this drop. It could be that my relatively busy schedule has led to less consistent commenting, and thus less reciprocal comments in turn-- which is way too systematic for the whole spirit of writing, in my books. It could be that all the cool kids are Twittering now, and I haven't the time to even think about consistent witty updates on my life. But I keep coming back to the same thing... maybe it is my writing that has taken the tumble in quality. Maybe I'm just not inspiring anyone to actually have anything to say.

I do wish this didn't matter to me. This little blog is an important part of my life, and I like having a place to leave my thoughts. At the same time, though, I don't want to be that singer who should have retired long ago, who should realize it is time to move on. And then I flip back again- who cares if I have a horrible voice, cliched lyrics, and sell no albums, if I have a passion for music?

I just don't know anymore. I'm wondering if I should take some time to figure out what exactly I want from blogging, to figure out if I need a change, if I can get some perspective, if there is something missing. 

(PS. And, please, don't take this as a plea for reassurance!)

Sunshine on my mind

The thing about graduate school in clinical psychology is that it feels a little never ending. There is no school's out for summer, or look, it's the weekend, so I don't need to work, or woo-hoo, classes are done, that means there is nothing left to do but watch Iron Chef reruns. It is both all encompassing and totally scattered, in that you have to switch gears between the bazillion different specializations you are supposed to master. When class is out, you are running participants. When you're done running participants, you have to analyze data. Don't forget to go to your practicum, and squeeze your regular clients in there, as well as commute to the suburbs for meetings with your case supervisors. Oh yeah, and here's a pile of essays to mark when you have that break between the workshop on clinical challenges, the lab meeting, and the training you are running for the programming software. And what do you mean you haven't published anything yet this year?

It is a go-go-go kind of life, the one where you keep spare journal articles in your purse just in case you have a moment to read them. (Seriously. I do that. People make fun of me when I go to fish out a pen and pull out a jumble of stapled together papers instead.)

Sometimes, in the middle of this rushing about, I find myself wondering why I decided that it was really so important to get my PhD as quickly as possible. Would anyone really begrudge me not being Dr. Pointful until the ripe age of 30? Was it really necessary to spend the bulk of my 20s on a university campus? And why didn't I take the time to do that generic coming of age post-college backpacking trip across Europe or Southeast Asia?

So, finally, I decided to bite the proverbial bullet.

Visit Cuba??


Don't mind if I do!

After what seemed like years of paying lip service to the fact that we needed a real holiday, not an extra day tacked onto a conference excursion, and debating journeys across Chile and Ecuador that we both knew our temperamental theses would never allow, we decided to bite the proverbial bullet and escape for a week in Cuba.

(It is our duty as Canadians, after all.)

So, yes, from Monday through Monday, you can find me drinking at absurdly inappropriate times, splayed out on the beach. To cope with our odd sense of guilt over staying at a resort far classier than the likes of us, we are also taking a non-tour bus related expedition to Havana, where we are staying at a casa particular with a Cuban family and wandering the streets with delicious aimlessness. I am only bringing books with no practical bearing on my future profession, and am staying far, far away from the Internet. My purse will be full of sunscreen and pesos, not annotated journal articles.

Hijinks will not be utterly abandoned, though. I have lined up a number of wonderful guest posters during my absence, so be sure to stop by and show them plenty of love. 

Who knows? Maybe I will learn to write again while I'm gone, as it feels like stress is sapping the ease right out of my words lately. At the very least, I should be a little more tanned with some rum breath and knowing a few more words of Spanish.

The story of Yoda and how you can help

No, I haven't morphed into a Star Wars fanatic.
(Though I did once date one. When the films came back into the theatres, he sat in the front row of the cinema, with his wookie action figure in tow. True story.)

Instead, I am referring to one of my oldest bloggie buddies-- Yoda, who writes at And Nothing Else Matters.

Yoda, who, in addition to being delightfully funny and smarmy, is also ridiculously intelligent. This is why you could more accurately refer to him as Dr. Yoda, as he received his computer science and engineering PhD in 2007 from an American university. After becoming Dr. Yoda, he moved to New York, where he started working for a prestigious company. He also met a lovely lady while he was there, who he moved in with last year.

Sounds like he may have the dream life, right? Unfortunately, there's been a hitch.

Yoda is from India, and since going to visit his family there in December, he has been unable to return to the U.S. Not because he is being deported or doesn't have the paperwork-- but, rather, because he works in a high tech field, and is therefore a potential security risk. On top of that, he was told that it would only be a matter of week-- yet has now been stuck waiting for 3 months to go home, with not a single update on his status. No monetary compensation, no information, nothing. And it turns out he is one of countless people who is going through this ordeal.

When Yoda came to do his PhD work in 2002, there were few problems getting his student Visa. After he was hired at his post-PhD workplace, he was approved for a H1B petition issued by US Customs and Immigrations, which allows him to remain in the US for three years, and is extendable to six years. The plan is, for most people in his place, to complete the paperwork for a Green Card during this period, and he was able to work and pay taxes in the US with this approval.

However, once someone with an H1B leaves the U.S., they require an actual Visa stamp to re-enter, which is administered by the Department of State. When he went to his interview in order to obtain this stamp, Yoda was informed by the security officer that everything checked out, and his visa has been approved. However, the Department of State is asking those employed in "high tech" backgrounds to undergo an extra background check, which involved sending in his CV and a questionnaire about the nature of his research. He was told it will only take a couple of weeks (interestingly enough, which is also what the Department of State representative for Visa services told Congress last year).

Three months later, it is evident that this isn't the case. He has not received a single update on the status of his security check. In fact, the rules explicitly state that updates are not to be given. Rather, those undergoing the check just have to wait until it has officially been passed, without any indication as how they are supposed to plan their lives back in the U.S., where they are officially taxpayers and workers in some of the most important high tech fields. The one thing he does find out, though, is that he is hardly the exception-- he has encountered numerous people sitting in the same bureaucratic limbo as himself. 

These are people who the U.S. government is happy to take taxes and tuition fees from. They are also more than okay with having them do some of incredibly important work on behalf of this nation that is supposedly opening its doors to them. These are people who have followed the rules to a tee. And, now, here they are, stranded, with no word as to when their lives as normal are allowed to resume. Many of them have families back in the U.S. who are anxiously awaiting their return. They have jobs that they have to hope will wait an indeterminate amount of time for their return, which is questionable at best given the current economic crisis. They have mortgages, bills, loans, and no money coming in. If they are lucky, they have family to stay with while they are waiting.

Yoda has been doing his best to do his work remotely, from India, and narrowly survived a round of layoffs-- lucky, considering he is not there to fight his case. He, like many of these people in limbo, would lose his right to be in the U.S., period, would his employer been tired of waiting, and laid him off. His own research is at a standstill, which puts him far behind in a rapidly progressing field. His girlfriend, who was expecting to merely spend the holidays apart, has been faced with nearly four months away from him. Thankfully, she has been able to come to India for a visit now, since it has become clear that Yoda may not be returning anytime soon.

And so he waits.

When talking to Yoda about this piece, he said there was three things that him and those working to draw attention to this issue wanted to emphasize:

#1- These people have already lived in the U.S. for 6 or more years, and have been approved by the U.S. to stay for another six years. When exactly did they become an urgent security risk?

#2- If these folks were such a security risk, why was no check completed on them when they were applying for their work permits? Why could this check have not been completed, at least in part, while they were going about their regular lives in the U.S.?

#3- How are any scientists or high tech professionals supposed to want to come to the U.S. if leaving the country is so treacherous for them? How are they supposed to plan their lives without any transparency in this process? 

Want more info?

Obama Should Ease Security on Science, Panel Says- January 8, 2009(Reuters)

US Visa Problems Hitting Science Post-Docs and Students- March 4, 2009 (Science Careers Blog)

Scientists Fear Visa Trouble Will Drive Foreign Students Away- March 3, 2009 (New York Times)

And, more importantly, what can you do?

For one, to show your support, you can join the Facebook group dedicated to publicizing this issue, entitled 21g/ Visa Mantis/ Technology Alert List or TAL check

You can also send a copy of this petition to anyone who could plausibly be of help-- local politicians, news media, etc.

But, most crucially, you can write to the people who have a role in making these decisions-- both the House Committee on Science and Technology and your congressperson.

Thanks!!

And the world continues to shrink

Saturday afternoon, I am standing at the corner of a busy intersection with the Duke and two friends, debating where to go for lunch. My eyes flit over to the flow of people crossing the pavement, and I make eye contact with a tall man. He is evidently walking towards me, with sure, direct steps, and I am perplexed. Was my eye contact somehow unintentionally inviting?

He strides up, and reaches out his hand. "Hi, I'm *insert name here*." I reached out to take his hand, bemused, when suddenly the light bulb beams on.

I've had my first random blogger encounter, for this is S'Mat, who I have emailed and Facebooked on occasion, but never encountered through anything but the glow of a computer screen. And, again supporting my conjecture that the world is a bit of a tangled interwoven spiderweb, with random lines connecting you in ways you never predicted, he has ended up not only in my city over the weekend, but dining across the street from where I stood and chattered. And he was able to generalize that profile picture snapshot to the in living colour version of me in my winter jacket on a weekend afternoon.

Feeling as though I have been standing, agape, for several minutes, I let him know that I have figured out the connection, then shout out "I haven't seen you in so long!" for the benefit of my perplexed friends. He nods wittingly at my charade. I turn to introduce him to my boyfriend, and S'mat knowingly states "This must be the Duke." The Duke is understandably bewildered to hear his former blogging moniker tossed about, but I murmur to him softly that he is another blogger. S'mat puts his finger up to his lips in recognition of our shared secret.

We talk for another few quick moments, before we both veer off to our respective groups. With the increasing overlap between my "real" life and my blogging life, I am getting eerily apt at lying on the spot, and I tell my other friends that S'Mat was an old friend from my undergraduate days. They smile and nod, then turn to the menu, as I contemplate what a very small world it is after all.

My secret internet bubble

I'm starting to worry a little bit about when this bubble is going to burst.

I have been blogging anonymously for over two years now. When I initially began, I protected my namelessness with utter intensity. There was no email contact in sight on my page. It took me about a month of humming and hawing about giving my email address to a fellow blogger with whom I'd been having a dialogue for months. I was afraid that a single person being able to identify me might lead to a fatal crashing down of my facade.

Gradually, though, I began to realize that blogging might not solely be about the writing aspect, and may have a social element, as I started emailing and chatting with a few more people. I then met a blogger, then a few more. I started adding bloggers to my Facebook. An element of paranoia still remained, though, as I found myself de-tagging pictures on me on Facebook in albums entitled "Blogger Meet-Up", and I had to monitor the comments left on my wall lest they be too bloggy in nature.

Now, the secrecy is almost automatic. I don't check my gmail around certain people for fear of blog comments catching their eye. I turn off my Google Notifier when anyone is over. I have my back-up stories about the nature of my now real-life relationships with blog friends. I took my blog off Google search so I wouldn't have to scour my SiteMeter stats just in case.

But, still, I wonder, am I bound for an epic reveal??

Certainly, when I started, I never imagined that I would become a slightly (and I cringe to say this word) popular blogger. I kind of expected my comments would trickle in, crossing my fingers they could actually end up in the double digits on occasion. Yeah, I'm no Dooce, or even a Brandy or SO@24, but my writing has become more, well, public than I expected, with a few 20something blogger award nominations, and now two (TWO!) features in the Printed Blog (find #2 here). I actually got approached to do an interview with PBS about the Printed Blog, (though that seems to have disappeared).

As I was contemplating the interview, I started wondering about the possibility of someone recognized my voice. Okay, the reality is that the number of  readers I have is exceedingly miniscule when you consider all the people in the whole wide world. Then again, six degrees of separation isn't very far. In fact, upon a fellow blogger adding me on Facebook, it was discovered we had a real life friend in common-- despite the fact that we live on separate coasts in different countries. I know others have quirky tales of discovering real life connecting lines between themselves and other bloggers. It makes me think of how easy it would be for an errant click to lead someone to my recognizable style of writing. And I have been assured that someday someone will accidentally discover this little corner of the internet.

What does this mean, then? Is this the time that I start preparing for a possible blog invasion? Would it really be the big deal I am expecting it to be? Most of my writing is not anything that needs to be hidden, in particular. I sometimes wonder if I am more secretive about the entire idea of having this anonymous online life for two years than I am than about any set of expressed thoughts in particular. I wonder if I should proactively take down those few posts that may offend someone... but then I waffle, because some of these are my most authentic words. A little bit of me even wonders if it would be a relief to finally claim these words as my own.

But then I wonder if it is just easier to carry on as always, with a healthy dose of paranoia and denial.

And I reach out and knock on wood.

The mask of anonymity

Anonymity does funny things to people.

This is the blessing and the curse of the internet, I suppose. There is a lot of good that has been done by allowing people to explore areas of themselves, with no identifying information or bread crumbs following them. I think of online support groups for individuals with eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, suffering from trauma. I think of gay teens in small towns trying to figure out their sexuality while keeping it undercover.

And then I read the comments on YouTube videos, news sites, Craigslist-- and I swear, I almost lose faith in humanity.

Give someone a screen name and no link to their actual identity, and the stuff they spew out is foul. Misogynistic, racist, homophobic, insulting, and just plain cruel. It is almost as though they are bursting at the seams with this hatred, after having to conceal it in their day-to-day life, such that they are willing to fling it at the first target as soon as they've put their masks on. It is as though the id runs rampant the second they are hidden from view.

The reality is, of course, that the average person doesn't even bother creating this moniker. They check out the video clip or skim through the article without the need to comment. It is all too easy to ignore the thought provoking comments, or even just the plain neutral ones, when there are bolded racial slurs surrounding them.

My main research interest is ethnic discrimination, and you have no idea how many cliched comments I receive about how racism is no longer a problem. While racism is certainly generally regarded as socially unacceptable, these leakages of such hatred online show that these sentiments are still residing in people. Perhaps they know better than to say such things out loud in public locations, but one can hardly argue that having these attitudes simmering below the surface doesn't affect how they interact with minority group members.

(FYI-- Research does say that even the most implicit forms of discrimination, much more implicit than these anonymous comments, do have negative impacts on interpersonal interactions).

In some ways, I am surprised how far these fierce comments extend. This post was brought about by my accidental scrolling through reader's opinions on a local news site's article, in which they berated a woman who had nearly died due to the mislabeling of a Starbucks product (it said there were no nuts in the product when there in fact were)-- the insults were flying about the woman's morality and status as a single mother, as though her anaphylactic shock was a motivated move by a shameless woman.

Then, in other ways, I am surprised where they don't extend to. While I know that a number of my fellow bloggers have received rude and aggressive comments, in my two years of writing, I have never received a comment that I found personally insulting (knock on wood...). Sure, there have been a few that disagreed with my take on things, and one or two that may have stung a little, but nothing ever directly meant to jab at my feelings. In some ways, I think that speaks to bloggers as a whole, that we take our online presence relatively seriously, and try to be genuine in our expressions of it.

Fitting with this, I think of the fact that despite my own cloak of anonymity, it has never occurred to me to abuse it. Sure, now my life is more intertwined with those of you with whom I have started real personal relationships with, but at the beginning, I could have very well been more nefarious. It surprises me sometimes that it has never occurred to me to lie on this blog-- even when to do so would have made for more exciting posts, or a more flattering depiction of me. For some reason, though, presenting myself as genuinely as I can is important. That is why I still appreciate the fact that upon meeting me, I have been told that I match my words well-- despite the fact that I hide these words from those in my day-to-day life. I guess that, despite the opportunity to communicate in a more consequence-free manner (and you know very well that we have all read a post or two that we just want to call people out on), I still find it important to hold the online me to the same ethical standards as the real me. Or maybe it is just that I don't have nearly as much unbridled hatred below the surface...

You can find me...

... in da club, bottle full of bub.
(Or not.)
(Yeah, I'm lame.)

... at Umm... Now What, writing about a certain guilty pleasure.

... in Chicago or San Fran, in the premiere issue of the Printed Blog!!
(or you could click here and print it out for yourself and pretend you got it from a news box-- I'm on page 4)

... lugging around a giant bag of neuropsychological tests in the snow and on smelly public transit.

Time out

I am trying desperately to be an optimist.

I am also trying desperately to be a morning person.

Neither of these feel especially natural at the moment.

The story is nothing particularly interesting. My cousin is visiting BigCity for the first time, and has taken up residence on our couch for a week now. My spare time is spent playing tour guide on jaunts in and out of town, which is fun in the moment, but means that I have to fit the same amount of work into compressed hours, especially considering that I am trying to get my first dissertation study up and running in a week's time.

I am feeling that very soon, I will need the luxury of being anti-social. This is a difficult thing to communicate to people, who always have the best of intentions when seeking to drag you out of the house. For instance, this upcoming weekend, several friends are going on a ski trip. Originally, we couldn't make it for a series of practical reasons, though we breathed a sigh of relief, as it was wedged in the midst of my cousin's visit, an out of town girl's weekend, and my week in the U.S. for a conference-- not to forget dissertation induced madness. However, my friends, bless their hearts, are determined, and are being graciously accommodating in their attempts to get us to join them. The idea of packing another overnight bag makes me sick right now, but I'm not sure how to communicate this non-offensively.

Him and I also need to focus on us, rather than everybody else. Part of the charm of grad student romances is intertwined periods of stress. It doesn't help that we are both gritting our teeth through massive family let downs. As tends to happen, we realized, with the aid of too much alcohol on Saturday night, that both of us have the ability to sting the other one more than we realize when we are sucked into these self-indulgent stress whirlwinds. Yesterday morning, when my cousin went to run some errands, we felt finally comfortable enough to speak frankly in tones above whispers without the fear of being overheard. As I laid my head on his chest, he said "We need to do something together to remind ourselves of how madly in love we are."

This is all, in part, why I feel the need to formally excuse myself a little from blogging over the next few weeks. Knowing me, I still will have these words swimming through my head. With my hour commute, staring out the window, you couldn't turn my brain off if you tried. So I will write, when the pressure of the words filling up my head becomes a little too much.

However, more than anything, I feel neurotically compelled to understand why I may be less present on your side of things. Between my visitor and the fact that I am now sharing my work office space, my free time alone in front of a computer is few and far between. When I do open my Reader, I am slapped across the face with some huge triple digit number. When I actually have time to give your words the time they deserve, it becomes more about reducing that number than really reading. This isn't fair to either of us-- to you all, because I am supposed to read your blogs because I enjoy what you have to say, and to me, because the last thing I need is my hobby framed as another quantitative homework project. I don't want this to become another demand on my time-- I want it to be something that gives me a break from these demands instead.

In the meanwhile, feel free to send me some serenity vibes. Or a gift certificate for more caffeine.

365 x 2 +3

There's nothing like the forced reflection brought about by seemingly symbolic days... birthdays, new years, anniversaries, and, of course, blogoversaries!

Yep, 2 years ago (minus, oh, say 3 days... I should start marking this in my day planner), ...and hijinks ensued was born. Apparently, after having just finished the maddest half year in my life, I was overwhelmed by a sudden influx of spare time, and decided to start jotting down my observations about the world in a little more systematic of a fashion.

Honestly, I am a little surprised I didn't think to start blogging earlier. My friend's mother, upon meeting me for the first time, said I was an observer, noticing everything around me to a greater degree than people realized. I was always constructing little anecdotes in my head in far too much detail. Once they were constructed, I didn't know what to do with them.

When I was 10, my literary masterpiece, Dognapped, placed in a city-wide children's writing contest. At 13, I wrote novellas about girl detectives and feisty orphans. At 15, I wrote melodramatic poetry. And at 18, I stopped writing for me, and started writing for grades. At 22, my mother and I went across Canada, and I sent out a number of update emails including my silly observations about our travels. These emails were an unexpected hit, with people printing them out to read them to others, and even my boss telling me how much he'd enjoyed them. I felt a burst of pride, knowing that I still had that writer's spark in me, but also a bit of helplessness. Great, I can still write, but what purpose does a talent for witty emails about teaching Brazilians about hockey and my mother's failed attempts to speak French serve?

At 25, I started blogging. A summer earlier, I had met a blue-eyed fellow at a concert, a fellow who helped me see that focusing on one foot in front of the other so you can ignore everything else tumbling down alongside you is not a good way to live. One night, after I'd found out of the death of a friend, he insisted on coming out to the suburbs to take me for gelato. That night, he told me, in perhaps less direct terms, that I didn't need to live under the weight of someone else's beer bottles. He also told me that he had a blog. That night, I found these words of his, and spend hours reading them. He'd even written about me. Although his writing tapered off soon afterwards, he was the one that told me, with all the thoughts bolting through my mind, I may want to think about blogging.

And, on January 12th 2006, I took his advice.

So, here I am, 2 years later. Strangely enough, despite my fears otherwise, my brain has yet to run dry. I still get sudden burst of inspiration in various locales, jot down descriptions on scrap paper or in my phone, run through lines I don't want to forget over and over again in my head. Blogging is almost a seamless part of my life now.

Even more shocking, perhaps, is that I have managed (I seriously did just knock on wood... well, pressboard, really) to write anonymously over all this time. Sure, there have been a few close calls, like friends tapping me on the shoulder unexpectedly (resulting in lightening fast window minimization), blogs popping up in search histories when someone uses my computer, and on the spot lies about people I have met or who are on my Facebook. Still, though, my obsessive site meter usage reveals only one or two other readers from my general vicinity, and despite my occasional fears that it is my boss or an ex, it is actually surprising I don't have more random readers from a city of several million.

Does my anonymity really matter all that much? Probably not. My world wouldn't collapse if the link got sent about. Sure, a few people would probably be stung by my keeping this large part of my life secret. There are a few other people who may smart from particular entries. Most would probably giggle about the idea of documenting one's life over the internet. But, really, it is more about the freedom and having this wonderful little side identity than hiding from one person in particular. I've been invested in keeping these words separate from my day-to-day life for two years now-- it just doesn't feel right to let that go. Even if I do get the occasional yearning to send someone a specific entry (though I have no idea how to explain why I am writing about such things), or I wish I could share some of my piece in a more public forum and truly claim them as my own, not the work of some little avatar with a silly name.

Over the years, what has blogging done for me? It has put me back in touch with myself, after years of unknowingly just going through the motions. It has helped me pay better attention-- to my thoughts, to the beauty around me, to people's motivations. It is amazing how much more you watch when the idea to write about it occurs to you. It has made me feel like a writer again, a feeling I thought I had lost years back with the entrance into real life adulthood. And I actually feel good at it. It has brought some amazing people into my life, people who, whether through emails or even a single sentence in a comment, I sometimes feel may know me better than the people who see real-life me on a regular basis.

So, thank you to all of you for making me feel good at this, like my words may be a little important or meaningful. And thank you, little red blog, for helping me feel like me again.

Princesses, squared: My interview by the Princess of the Universe

So, a little ways back, my lovely cohort in royalty, the Princess of the Universe (who also sends me dried fish and chocolate-- true story) made a tempting offer-- to interview her readers in five questions. 

My answers are below, but first, if you would like to play, these are the rules... 

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions. (note-- I can't guarantee original questions for all. Depends how much caffeine I have drank that day. Or how lame of questions you will tolerate- e.g., what's your favourite number?)
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Without further ado, la Princesse asked me....

1. Have you ever been to Winnipeg? And seriously, what do other people in Canada say about us? Are we at least cooler than Regina? Or Guelph? C'mon, we HAVE to be cooler than Guelph!

I have in fact been to Winnipeg. When I graduated high school, I won (and I use that term loosely) 30 days free Greyhound travel across Canada for two, and a bunch of nights stay at hostels. So, my sister and I set on a sibling-bonding trip across our very, very vast country to see our father's neglected side of the family.

Spoiler: The Greyhound sucks. And it eats luggage.

Stop one on our way was Winnipeg, only about 36 or so hours in. We stayed for a night. I remember very little except a bridge, a bunk bed, finally getting to shower, and drinking bubble tea for the first time. Honestly, I didn't form much of an impression from what I saw, as I was there for less than 24 hours. 

But my friend from Winnipeg raves about how much fun she had living there. Apparently it is more cultured than people realize, with a much more laid back attitude than some other cities.

Without stepping on anyone's toes, it *was* prettier than Hamilton, at least!

Oh, and one more Winnipeg memory? When we were waiting in the bus depot to leave, I left to buy a bottle of water, and came back to the sleaziest guy in the planet hitting on my 15-year old sister. He was from Winnipeg and inexplicably hanging out at the bus depot. When she told him she had a boyfriend, his response (and I quote) was "Fuck him, I have a bigger dick than him anyhow."

Sorry.

The Winnipeg Jets were awesome, though.

2. I have a little soft spot in my heart for Freud, because I took a Topics course on the guy. What are your thoughts? Genius? Depraved?

My favourite quote of Freud's is "I was pass over all the details which showed how utterly correct I was" (from his famous Dora case study).

So egomaniacal? Yes, to say the least.

Honestly, though, despite the current views that the guy was full of it (and it does tend to be a bit of a knee jerk reaction when you hear about penis envy), he was a genius. So many of his ideas were so phenomenal, considering how far they were from the paradigm of the day-- where would modern psychology be without concepts like defense mechanisms or the unconscious? I think we tend to ignore those, and focus on the more kooky stuff that seems so over the top and misogynistic now.

I recommend that everyone with an interest in psychology read some of his case studies. Whether you believe his conclusions or not, they are hugely fascinating, as he weaves these amazing poetic linkages between dreams, body language and word choices to come up with this amazing picture of a person at their core. He may be completely out of left field, but you almost want to believe him.

3. The Tragically Hip: Best Canadian band ever, or WAY over-rated?

For those of you non-Canucks out there, the Tragically Hip are one of Canada's pride and joys. We like the fact that they haven't really been discovered by the rest of the world, that they sell out stadiums here but barely sell out bars south of the border, that they seem like good humble non-Hollywood Prairie boys.

I'm going to go in the middle for this one. They've certainly got some catchy tunes sprinkled across their musical career, and I don't complain when someone puts their CD on. But I also don't own more than a few of their songs, and find some of their stuff a little underwhelming.

Besides, any true Canadian knows that the best Canadian band ever is Loverboy.

4. Starbucks or Tim's? And if Starbucks- do you understand how to speak their language? Cause I totally have a blog post I keep meaning to write about the humiliating day when I had the nerve to order a "medium" hot chocolate...

Again, a bit of Canadiana-- Tim Horton's is our favourite coffee and donut place, named after a hockey player, and apparently holding 62% of the Canadian coffee market.

There's a time and place for both. Road trips are Timmy's all the way, as is any early morning camping/sporting excursion. But coffee breaks and sit down dates are Starbucks.

I will certainly take a double/double over Starbucks' gut rotting coffee though. That stuff rips the enamel off my teeth. Starbucks is only for multi-word orders, not just plain coffee.

But I have been known to order a non-fat sugar free Vanilla latte. But I swear I don't tell them how I like my foam.

5. Hot vacation or Europe? Discuss.

For just a week or so, I'll go hot vacation. Anything much longer, though, and I'll go Europe all the way.

I am the stir crazy type. I can take about one lazy day of sitting in my PJs, and then I begin to get jumpy. I figure that could be prolonged somewhat if you slapped some sunscreen on me and put a marguarita in hand, but mostly, I like doing things. I love exploring new places with nothing but a vague agenda, and taking time out to people watch. Europe seems like the perfect place for that, as there would be so much to keep me stimulated. I can't even conceive of the notion of so much culture packed into such a small place... 

***

We're venturing into horn-tooting territory, I'm afraid.

The nominations for the 20-something Bootleg Awards have come out, and despite my insistences that I am in no way cool, I have been nominated for a few (most distinct voice, most sincere, best commenter-- ironic considering my Google Reader is still guilt-tripping the crap out of me, and best title). Umm... Now What has also been nominated for best group blog.

Proof I'm not cool? I can't play this smooth. I'm tickled pink and I can't tell anyone in my real life (though I may have whispered it into the Duke's ear as he was waking up because I'm lame like that), so I'm telling you guys.

Last year, when I was nominated, I decided that I wouldn't create a big hullabaloo and tell people to vote. Last year I also went 0 for 3. So, you know what? I'm going to be honest, and tell you all that it would be really sweet, if you are a member of 20-something bloggers, you did vote. There's a lot of amazing people up for awards, so show some love!

My Soundtrack

Thanks for all the lovely tales of songs that have memories woven between their melodies! It was fascinating to think about which few notes bring up a rush of images for different people. 

Before I get into the musical peephole to my brain, though, I have a few loose ends to tie up for my First Annual Holiday Mix-Tape Contest (which I really could have named something far wittier than that. I'm a little disappointed in my serious lack of puns).

There were 39 comments in total, representing something closer to 36 entries. Using the magic of Randomizer.org, I selected four random numbers, which represented the comment number. 

The winners were:

Comment #1- Nutty Cow of Parlez-vous moo?

Comment #23- Hope of Hope Dies Last

Comment #28- Daisy of Fresh as a Daisy

Comment #35- K of Off the Record

Nutty Cow and Daisy win Hijinks: A Soundtrack (Vol 1), which has 18 of my possibly less well-known favourites, and Hope and K win Vol. 2, including 20 of your favourites. 

(Psst, if you haven't gotten back to me with your address, please do as soon as possible! I'm heading out of town on Wednesday morning and would like to have them sent off before I leave... plus,  most of them are flying across the ocean, and I would love for them to make it your way by Christmas!)

***

Smell is routed differently than the other four senses. The dorkish explanation has to do with the fact that the sensory nerves in the nose go to a different part of the brain than the other senses, and are thus closer to the area responsible for memory. Anyone who feels the rush of memories fly in when they catch a breath of pine or the scent of perfume can attest to this. Although, ostensibly, sound is not processed in this way, I wonder if music may have a trap door somewhere by the nose, because, for me, the first few notes of a song can take me back in time in an instant.

Here are a few of those songs with more direct routes to the past...

I Think We're Alone Now- Tiffany

Picture two girls, aged 8 and 5, their oversized shirts tied in knots, dancing in a semi-coordinated fashion in a hallway in front of their parents sitting in kitchen chairs. Don't forget the two feet tall teddy bears their uncle won for them at a carnival serving as the "boyfriends" in this little dance number, thus having the lyrics directed at them.

Yep, that's me and my little sister. I was ever the performer, hitting play on my Fisher Price tape deck, and telling my sister what her new back-up dancer moves were. After our Cyndi Lauper number on the bed, my mom officially relegated all future performances to the hallway.

Our performance of "I Think We're Alone Now" was probably us at the top of our game, complete with hand acting out exaggerated heartbeats to "The beating of our heart is the only sound". In fact, even now, nearly twenty years later, we still remember the moves. And are more than happy to demonstrate them for anyone who is lucky enough to be around during the combination of us two, alcohol and Tiffany.

You Oughta Know- Alanis Morrisette

I am fourteen, with bloodshot eyes, my blackest shirt, my back hard up against the lockers. As of yesterday's lunch hour, I have been dumped. I am surrounded by friends, chattering away, trying to distract me. Still, as I see him coming down the hall towards me, my fingers press down hard on the play button, so that angry lyrics fill me ears and don't allow me to hear the sound of his sneakers on the linoleum floor.

(The funny thing is that I hadn't the slightest clue what she was referring to when she said "Would she go down on you in a theatre?")

Smoke on the Water- Deep Purple

My mom does not sing in regular fashion. She makes up words and lyrics, she hums, she do-dos. Because of this, I do not know Smoke on the Water due to the lyrics, but rather the baselines as sung by my mother as she made tea in the morning.

Do-do-do... Do-do-DO-do.

Another Lonely Day- Ben Harper

I sometimes make stupid decisions. An hour after I spoke the words I never imagined would roll off my tongue, ending more than six years with one man, I made one of them. Our tiny apartment seemed so empty that it echoed, so I, in a deceptively nonchalant move, decided to listen to Ben Harper and finish putting together some neglected photo albums.

And promptly squeezed every last tear I knew existed into pools onto the glossy images below, as Ben read my mind, singing "It wouldn't have worked out anyway, now it's just another lonely day."

A Man of Constant Sorrow- The Soggy Bottom Boys

As I was packing my last box to move to the proverbial big city, my father was discovering bluegrass music. This was one of the first songs he asked me to print out for him.

These days, it seems hard to imagine him without a guitar in his hand.

Sublime- Santaria

Nothing ever quite captures how carefree summer is in high school. 

Barefeet, wind through your hair as you sing at the top of your lungs, camp fires, night swimming, popsicles, sweaty kisses, and working just enough to buy a new swimsuit or to pitch in for gas in your friend's 1986 Hyundai Pony.

Mix CDs for the holidays!

Not too far back, I asked for your recommendations for some new tunes, and, indeed, you all delivered. My iTunes bill has been skyrocketing ever since, and I still haven't had the opportunity to listen to all the artists that have been selected! I have already found several new favourites, though, so thank you! I was also surprised at how many of you were right on track, as shown by the fact that you suggested other music that I already own.

And, as promised, I'm going to dole out the tunes to you...

I've made up two mix CDs that I want to give away. One is a collection of the tunes recommended by you-- blogger's choice, if you will. The second is more of a soundtrack to my life, with artists you may or may not have heard of. 

Though I wish I could bestow you all with a bombardment of new music, if I am to realistically get it to you before Christmas, I had to restrict myself a little. As such, I am going to give away four CDs in total, two of each mix, as a thank you and happy holidays to all my lovely readers. I appreciate you all a lot for making my little corner of the internet that much more warm and fuzzy!!

However, I still need to make you work for it, at least a little...

So here's the deal! If you are interested in winning one of these CDs, comment on this post with two piece of information:

#1- Tell me a story about a song that holds a special meaning to you.

#2- If we haven't been in touch before, or your email address isn't clearly posted on your blog, please include your email address!

You have until midnight (pacific time) on Saturday December 13th to enter. At that point, I will pick four commenters at random as winner, and will be touch to get your mailing address (I promise you I won't mail you a steady supply of tear soiled love poetry, just a single CD).

Lurkers, you should come out and play, too! There's some good tunes to be discovered!

I'll post the track listings and my own tales about meaningful songs with the winners.

(and I'm crossing my fingers I get more than four entrants so I don't have to start making up comments, like Pierre from Versailles who lost his virginity to Elton John)

When bloggers attack... or, you know, write about stuff they see

As you may have heard, another blogger has been dooced.

For those of you who aren't yet familiar with all the lingo, being dooced refers to being fired as a result of one's blog, so coined because of the unfortunate experiences of the now infamous Dooce.

New York based Belgian blogger Natalie Bakker works at a Belgian themed bar. On a recent night, she recognized the Belgian minister of the defense, along with some other government employees. The next day, on her blog, she wrote of her embarrassment over her fellow countryman's drunken behaviour. She also expressed frustration at the fact that another staff member had told her their trip to NYC was funded by taxpayers, and despite the fact that the UN meeting they were planning to attend had been moved to Geneva, they decided to go trough with the trip because they had never been to New York. (you can read the details of the story here)

A few days later, Natalie's employer received a phone call from the defense minister's office, and soon afterwards, she was fired. It is unclear whether the minister directly requested her termination or not.

Upon being confronted, the defense minister made the following quote, speaking of the danger of bloggers and their freedom to post information at will:

I want to take this opportunity and use this non-event to signal a dangerous phenomenon in our society. We live in a time where everybody is free to publish whatever he or she wants on blogs at will without taking any responsibility. This exceeds mud-slinging. Together with you, other Parliament members and the government I find that it’s nearly impossible to defend yourself against this. Everyone of you is a potential victim. I would like to ask you to take a moment and think about this.

So, while a journalist would have been lauded for gaining information about a scandal arguably relevant to the public, a blogger who receives and publishes the same information is fired.

Paparazzi are allowed to set up camp outside a celebrity's front door and try to gain access every iota of information about what they had for breakfast in order to splay it all over the newsstands and the web. In contrast, a politician, who, by his very job, is accountable to the public (or, more specifically his constituents, who pay his wages), is expected to be granted the utmost privacy in a public space? Did Natalie ever sign an employment agreement certifying confidentiality to all that set foot in her workplace?

I do agree that the internet has made for a decrease in privacy, and we still have yet to realize the full extent this may impact our lives. If anything, cases like that of Ellen Simonetti (a flight attendant fired after posting pictures of herself in her uniform, despite never mentioning her employer by name) are starting to remind us of the visibility of whatever we post alongside our names. It is doubtful Natalie meant to create an international scandal by virtue of her written rant-- but, by the power of Google, that's arguably what happened. 

I'm interested in your opinions on the topic. Do you think the firing was justified? Should she have known better? Have you ever had any negative consequences of your blog being unintentionally discovered? What do you do to keep your blog from causing any damage in your personal life? Any other thoughts?

The reminders you don't want

A little housekeeping out of the way first...

#1- Would you believe this is my 400th post?? I find it hard to believe that, over a little less than two years, my creativity has re-appeared again to such an extent that I have thought of 400 unique things to say (more if you consider guest posts, half-written posts that I abandoned, and my work at Umm... Now What?)

#2- Thank you all so much for all the wonderful music recommendations! I was surprised at how many people suggested other artists that I already adore, which gives me high hopes for the music I have yet to listen to. Unfortunately, I was less than smart, and elicited all these suggestions right smack dab in the middle of the end of semester rush (after nearly nine years of this annual pattern, you'd think I'd figure it out), meaning I haven't had a spare moment to really listen to any of it yet. I'm the type of person that feels that new music should get my full attention on the first few listens, so I feel like I need a free afternoon to really revel in these delicious new tunes. Trust me, I'm looking forward to it!

#3- I am also happy to make an announcement of my first annual holiday giveaway. As mentioned last post, I am going to have a contest/draw sometime over the next few weeks for some mix CDs. I am still hashing out the details (e.g., how many do I want to give away?), but I am going to make both a mix of the delicious new tunes from all of your suggestions, as well as a compilation of the tunes I feel everyone should hear. So keep your eyes peeled!

#4- Speaking of Umm... Now What, we are back in search of guest posters. The stipulations are pretty vague-- it just has to be something related to life in our 20s. And, no, you don't need to be in your 20s to write it. It can be under your blogger name or anonymous. If you are interested, you can email me at princesspointful at gmail dot com if you have any questions, or send a piece directly to ummnowwhatblog at gmail dot com.

#5- Happy Thankgiving to all my American friends! Don't brag too much about your delicious dining, please, as some of us have very late regular week nights tonight, and may well be dining on instant noodles.

#6- People who choose Maybe Attending on Facebook event invites are officially the scum of the earth. It would be one thing if they truly had to wait and see if they were going to be around, but those who want to keep their "options open" can officially bite me. Just say you aren't coming. I don't want to be your back up option.
Can you tell I'm planning a birthday party? And one day after posting the events page, there are almost as many people officially confirmed as are "maybe attending".
(What do you mean this doesn't fit into my category of blog housekeeping??)

***

And, now, the real post...

As I've mentioned a number of times, I'm from a city much, much smaller than the one I currently reside. We're talking ten thousand as compared to several million.

When I first moved to the city, I assumed there would be a certain level of constant hypervigilence required. I remembered my mother's lectures every time we came to the big city, about keeping our wits about us and a tight hand on our purses. I remember our town's residents' steadfast insistences that the big city was full of drugs, crime, and anger. And although, as a teenager growing up four hours away from a town as large as a hundred thousand, I desperately wanted all the glamour I thought big city life offered, I was a little apprehensive about the other realities. As I drove in to the row of lights and billboards on the search for my first apartment when I was 19, I wondered if it was ever really possible to feel relaxed amidst all this action.

Of course, I adjusted, like one always does. The uneasiness I assumed would follow me around disappeared within a matter of weeks. As time passed, I began to find reasons for all those things a small town girl was told weren't safe in the city- walking home alone late, taking the night bus, living alone in a basement suite, working at a prison.

The differences I noticed were not the constant presence of malevolent people and malicious actions, as the nightly news had always taught me. It was more the lack of consideration, in all honesty. I get shocked more by the people who push past others, who ignore the person who has dropped their grocery bag, who fly through crosswalks full of pedestrians. My boyfriend commented on how I get more riled up at the actions of people on the bus than anything else, even seven years after leaving a small town. I'm used to people being mindful of those around them. It just doesn't occur to me not to hold open the door for the person a few feet behind me.

Lately, however, it seems as though the world has been trying to shock me into remembering how much has changed. It began with the witnessing of a violent crime in a public place. Then, on Tuesday, after I'd left work, two people were shot directly in front of the clinic I work at. My co-workers had to take the day off work because the front stoop was a crime scene. Last night, four blocks away from me, another man was shot, and jumped through the window of an apartment in a friend's building.

It's funny-- I read the headlines, just like everyone else, but I sometimes forget that this stuff really happens. This is even odder when you consider that I actually work with a forensic population, and thus hear in detail about these events as part of my day-to-day life. Yet, the very same scenarios I assumed would constantly bother me when I moved to the city are instead surprising me, reminding me of what I never believed I would forget, that I do live amongst those sensationalized headlines.

The act of revealing

I struggled a bit in deciding to post this, as it is a little raw and embarrassing. However, based on the spirit of confessions from yesterday, I decided to do it anyways. 

I am probably being paranoid, but if there is anything about this that leads you to match me to a secret you have read, please keep that knowledge to yourself. I am not there yet. This exercise was like putting my toes in the water. A necessary step if one is to swim, but I'm not ready to jump in right now.

***

I had insomnia on Monday night. 

At first, it was the neighbour's fault. Usually, the only thing I hear from their side of the wall is silence or screaming. Apparently, they have friends-- which was honestly a surprise to me, particularly when I just become aware of said friends at 1am on a weekday night six months into my residence at this apartment.

This began the tossing and turning. Then came the bit where I checked the glowing red numbers of my alarm clock every ten minutes, calculating over and over again how many hours of sleep I could plausibly get before my 6:30am rising, and panicking as this number grew smaller and smaller.

I woke up, fuzzy-headed, Tuesday morning, to words I haven't spoken in a long time displayed on the site of another.

As I went through the regularities of my day, I checked intermittently to see if anyone had responded. The first time I noticed only a single response, I kind of wrote off the number, thinking the day was still early.

The day progressed, and a steady flow of comments came into my inbox for the secret posted on my site. Nothing still on my secret. I wondered if I had just ended up on a generally less visited blog.

Then I checked my site stats. Hundreds of visitors, all directly from the main Blog Secret page. Which means that hundreds of people were visiting the site with my secret.

And none of them were saying anything.

I arrived home that evening, fatigued from my lack of sleep, worry seeping in. I tried to focus on television, on the food in my mouth. I told myself that lots of people probably didn't get the responses they were hoping for, that this was part of the risk I took by participating.

After dinner, I set myself to reading other's secrets-- beautiful, tragic, funny. Comments flowed in, offering kind words, support, contact. People wrote new posts about the amazing sense of community they'd felt from this exercise. And, as I found my fingers compulsively clicking on each new link, I couldn't help but realize that my secret had received drastically fewer responses, by a huge margin, that every other one I read. Empathy was pouring out for everyone except me.

As I sat there on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, I felt very lonely. Lonelier than before I had shared this secret. And ashamed, that even these people willing to provide an outpouring of support could not find anything worthy in my words. 

And then suddenly, near bed time, the number of comments exploded in a second, to double digits. The compassionate words and insights I'd seen for others were directed at me, too.

It turns out the blogger had some sort of invisible comment moderation process that led to people's words not being posted when they had been written.

It also turns out I'm still a lot more vulnerable than I thought.

I've got a secret...

... and so do 76 others.

Today, I am participating in the first ever BlogSecret. Put together by the amazing Nilsa, this involves a group of people writing about their biggest secrets. These are then anonymously distributed. As such, one of the other participants is posting a secret that (unknown to them) belongs to me, and I am posting another blogger's (no idea who!) secret below. Visit Nilsa's site to see a list of all the participating blogs!

***

I've struggled a bit to come up with something to share on the great Blog Secret. Well, here's what I have. Take it or leave it.

Sometimes I find it hard to relate to some of my friends because I haven't had a lot of the same experiences as them. I'm not trying to say I'm perfect and they're not, it's just that in some respects we are very different.
First of all, I feel like I've got it all (not trying to sound braggy). I have a job I really like. I've found my other half. I have a great family, who I get along with really well. I own my own home. I'm not struggling financially. I consider myself attractive, and so is my guy. I've never really had any weight issues (except I could stand to loose 10-15 pounds and tighten up). I always made good grades. My parents paid for college so I'm not in debt. I'm not in debt at all really...I pay off my credit cards every month. I'm responsible. I'm happy with my life and who I am. I considered myself blessed and lucky.

A lot of my friends aren't quite in this same boat, not that, that bothers me one bit. I don't judge them at all. But it can make it hard to relate. First of all, I've always been confident, except in those awkward middle school/early high school days. But who wasn't uncomfortable then? During those times I was a little unsure of myself - I was gangly, tall and skinny, not to mention clumsy. I had bad hair and hadn't grown into all of my features. Add flat-chested to that list. I used to be so concerned about what others thought of me. Was I cool? Was I pretty? You know the drill. Then one day I just stopped caring. I figured if people didn't like me for who I was or how I looked, then I didn't need them anyway. I was 14. I think that is a fairly young age to find your self-esteem. And I did that, and I am proud that I had the strength to realize something so vital at that point in my life.
As I've grown older, I've had friends who obviously have not had that revelation, and it's hard to watch. People can smell insecurity and they feed on it. If you can't love yourself, how can you expect others to love you? It pains me when I see smart, good-looking, funny people beat themselves up for minor imperfections. We all have them. And on that note, I can't relate. I haven't felt like I need to crawl inside myself because I'm not comfortable in my own skin since I was a pre-teen/teenager. I am happy to say that I am not insecure.

A decent amount of my friends' families have gone through divorce, which I know was so hard. Most of them were fairly young at the time that it happened. I couldn't imagine having to try to figure out who you are while your family is crumbling in front of your eyes. I can listen and be sympathetic, but not relate. My parents have been married for almost 30 years. They still love each other and get along well. They are a team and will be till the end, and I can never picture them any other way.

In a financial sense, I'm doing well too. My husband and I make a decent chunk of money for our age. We have money in savings and don't have to live paycheck to paycheck. If we want to go to a nice dinner or buy something expensive, we don't have to feel overly guilty doing it. And we won't have to put it on a credit card to pay it off little by little, month by month. My parents taught me to be financially responsible at an early age. I didn't always get the designer clothes or the coolest gadgets, instead they saved money for me. Upon graduation from college, it became mine. They lectured me on blowing it on useless junk and reminded me what it could do for me in the future. For the most part, I listened. And maybe that's why I'm doing ok now.

I am absolutely no help in relationship land. I've been with my guy for years. I haven't had to date around or look online to find a relationship. I think this is one of the hardest things. I have friends who so desperately want to find the right person and be happy, and when that goes wrong and they are crushed, I feel hypocritical giving advice. What do I know? I've never really been in their situation. I can give them my perspective, but it comes from someone who hasn't been in those shoes. I've had some drama, but I found my person. And it didn't really take me too many tries. From very early on, I knew that we'd be together till we were old and gray, even through the rough patches.

Sometimes I feel guilty, because in my mind I feel like I have it all. What more do I need? Nothing that I can immediately think of. Are there things I want? Sure, but I can make do without them. I have great friends and family, I'm healthy, I'm happy, and I'm secure in my life. Most people I meet like me from the start, and I really don't think I have any enemies. I'm loved and love the people around me. And I will be your friend, through anything, as long as you don't double cross me. Then all bets are off, unless you are extremely regretful. Then I may give you another chance.

Again, I don't want to sound full of myself or better than anyone, but I do have these thoughts sometimes. Then I wonder if any of the people around me ever resent me for these things. I've never spoken these thoughts out loud. And even when other people mention my "perfect life," though it's not, I always try to downplay what they say, so I don't make them sad. Is that wrong?

I am in no way perfect, but maybe I'm just really lucky (knock on wood).

Belated happy regards (and other programming notes)

Programming note #1- You can find me today at Umm... Now What? writing about using tomato boxes as furniture and other lessons from moving out.

Programming note #2- As you will find out in the next day or so, I have been holed up in a weekend getaway of sheer wonderfulness. What I hadn't planned on is the lack of functional wireless. As such, I returned to Internet-Land sadly tardy for the fabulous Jess' bloggie bridal shower.

So, Jess, however late they may be, I wanted to send you some BIG (purple!!!) HUGS AND BEST WISHES FOR YOUR SPECIAL DAY!! I know you will make the most beautiful of brides and the most wonderful of wives for Torsten.