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.

Roadtripping notes

So I think Hope might be right when she says that I am craving a little impulsivity, for I have decided, upon seeing approximately a ten block radius of Portland, Oregon (oh, and their section of the I-5) that I should probably live here. Let's see if this impression holds up when I venture out during the daylight!

The Duke and I rented some wee little car and jetted down to Portland yesterday.   The official reason? I am speaking at a conference that begins on Thursday. The unofficial reason? Roadtrips rule. 

Also, the Duke hasn't been to the US since a childhood trip to Yellowstone Park at around 10 years old, despite the fact that we live about less than an hour away from the border. This means I get to pretend to be all worldly. "Oh, darling, you know they have different currency here, right? And beer in convenience stores?"

(Side note- My impression of a car rental company: "Oh hi. Look at our super cheap and flashy website. We are a million times easier than taking a bus! *go to pick up rental car* Oh, whoops, our website had no mention of the complete and utter lack of any insurance in that cute little price... which is actually more than the actual cost of renting the car!")

So what did yesterday's adventures entail?

The Duke making us stop at Jack in the Box because we don't have it in Canada. All we know about Jack in the Box is that it once killed somebody and the commercials are really damn annoying.

Now having actually dined there? I'm not entirely sure there is a reason for it to exist. Especially at every single highway exit. 

Also, I'm not a big fan of the big bolded calories right next to the prices, especially since I noticed them after ordering. I'm not happy about being at Jack in the Box in the first place. I certainly don't need to know that my chicken strips have approximately half my daily recommended calories in them.

Though curly fries are always a good thing, and lead one to wondering about the rad assembly line that makes said curly fries.

Me trying desperately not to belt out the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs too loudly. The Duke may have been with me for years now, but I'm still not sure he can entirely handle that.

Getting lost in Olympia trying to find Dairy Queen. 

Getting a crash course (not literally!) in converting miles to kilometres.

Rushing to check into the hotel in time for a playoff hockey game, only to discover that out of four ESPNs, not a single one was playing hockey. A re-run of a football game, but not playoff hockey.

We had to resort to a livestream a few inches wide on a laptop.

I am way too excited about HBO, Forever 21, mashed potatoes with cheese in them, and free robes that are so big on me it looks like I am being devoured by a terrycloth monster. The Duke is excited about the proliferation of microbreweries.

We watched Fox News before bed, simply because it is a bit of an urban legend up in Canada (we only get CNN on regular cable). It was everything I could have dreamed. And I had nightmares about Glenn Beck.

Today? If I can get the Duke unwrapped from the sheets in our king sized bed, we're jaunting off to the Oregon Coast. And I should probably, you know, practice my talk, as not to contradict my "official" reason for being here.

Popcorn FAIL

Hi folks! This guest post comes from one of the sweetest bloggers I've had the fortune to get to know, Gemma of Closets are for Clothes (aka. the blogger formerly known as Libby).

***

Great. One month in to my new job and already I’ve got an incident under my belt that I’m not going to live down anytime soon.

I burnt the popcorn. As in smoked it. As in smoke literally ballooning up in greyish clouds when I opened the microwave door and wafting out the kitchenette doors. As is my eyes were watering and I was coughing.

NOT. COOL. I wanted to melt into the ground, I was so embarrassed.

I mean, it’s not like it’s never been done before, right?! It happens all the time! I mean, it’s practically a fact of life I tell you. But it never fails that no matter how common a boo-boo it is…everyone and their mother will comment about it (my internal retorts to each comment in parentheses):

“WHAT is that SMELL?” (Do I really have to tell you?)

“WHO burned popcorn?” (It was meee ok? IT WAS ME!)

“GAWD can someone open a DOOR or something?” (I don’t even KNOW, I’ve been here a month, if there is one please, do the honours and open it)

“You KNOW that smell is gonna stick to everything in here for, like, a WEEK” (Yeah, thanks for rubbing it in)

“Stop bringing popcorn here, ok?” (UMMM, pretty sure the dozen other times I’ve brought it and popped it perfectly, you were ALL salivating and more than happy to take some.)

_____________________________________________

So yeah, I get it. I’m sure I would have reacted in a similar way if someone else had burned their afternoon snack. I’m extremely embarrassed, but, as I relive it in writing this post, I’m a little indignant as well. Seriously, it was no worse than a “I was just sitting around the campfire” smell. But I apologized. I cleaned the microwave. And now, all we need to do is give time some time and the smell will be gone on its own. I’m crossing my fingers such a trivial incident won’t void the headway I’ve made in terms of working to earn the respect of these people I have to work with. Maybe it’s silly of me, but the worry is really there. So as not to dwell on that, here are some of the ‘positives’ of my popcorn FAIL:

• I have the day off tomorrow so I don’t have to deal with people still harping about it until they’ve hopefully cooled off and the smell has hopefully dissipated by Monday.
• I’m super grateful to the guys who (in my mind, anyway) seemed to get that I was already embarrassed beyond measure and who played the incident off with jokes of their own (i.e. when asked “how can you stand to go IN [the smoky kitchen]?”, responding “because I’m a MAN.”; or when people were exclaiming WHAT IS THAT SMELL, saying “Oh that? It was me,” rather than singling me out)
• My boss had already left when in the incident happened, and may still be absent tomorrow. This is the best case scenario so that he doesn’t smell the strong odour tomorrow. If he IS in…well, at least I’m not, HOWEVER, this also means I won’t be there to be on rumour patrol about me ‘intentionally’ setting the timer to 21:00 minutes…(bugger.)
• At least the popcorn didn’t catch fire/blow up/set off any alarms with the smoke. THAT would have been disastrous.

All in all, I’ve learned my lesson.

Notes to self:

• TRIPLE-CHECK that the timer on the microwave says 2:10 and not 21:00 minutes before you turn your back on it. Better yet, don’t turn your back on it.
• When a tiny voice at the back of your head wonders “Shouldn’t the timer have gone off by now?”, LISTEN TO IT. Do not (I repeat, do NOT) wait until the acrid smell starts to permeate the air. It will be too late.

This truly is the first time this has ever happened to me to this extreme extent when popping popcorn. I think I’m going to stop bringing it to work, or get my own microwave or something. I’ve still got half a giant Costco box to go…

Because I was feeling self-centred today...

... I present to you some random facts about me.

I have an issue with turning down free food. I feel as though I am obliged to eat it by virtue of its lack of cost to me. I also try to pretend that this lack of cost overrides its caloric value, hence the reason I would never chow down on mini-pepperonis in my regular life, but will eat an entire bag when placed on a plate in front of me with toothpicks. This also that while I only drink one cup of coffee a day when I have to buy it, I always have a cup on the go in my workplace with its free coffee.

When I was in high school, I was known for my ever-changing hair colour- bleached blonde, jet black, orange, fire engine red. People often don't recognize me anymore when I return home with my real hair colour-- boring old dark brown. Even though I haven't coloured my hair in years, I still feel an urge whenever I walk by the cheap hair dye in the drug store. I liked being a fake red head.

I may one day murder a person for the most banal of offences. I am the type to forgive tremendous interpersonal slights, but remain irritated about the smallest rude acts. I blame it on growing up in a small town, where someone would chase you for five blocks to return the dollar that you dropped. I am affected at way too deep a level by the incourtesies of the city-- people slamming the door in your face, almost hitting you in their car, not giving up their seats for elderly women, walking in to you. A few days ago, a man in the train station ran head on into me, full tilt (and I'm a pretty small lady), then dashed off without even stopping to check on me or apologize. Fifteen minutes later, I arrived home, and the Duke asked me how I was doing. I said "I'm going to start killing bitches." Oddly enough, I can still be at the same party as people who have betrayed me in far more substantial manner, like the girl who told my boyfriend how much sex they would have had had they ever dated... I need to start getting my temper's priorities straight.

I can usually tell when something I write is going to get little response within the first hour after I post it. I then have to sit on my hands for the next several hours after that to make sure I do not impulsively delete it, deeming it no good because it isn't eliciting a response. This is the danger of having a brief stint of comment popularity. When no one read me, I judged my writing on its own merits. I'm working on getting back to that.

I sleep talk like a mofo. Usually, it is indiscriminant mumbles. However, there have been occasions when my unconscious has betrayed me. For instance, after a party, I was sharing a bed with a friend. Unknown to that friend, I had a mad crush on her ex-boyfriend. Well... at least it was unknown to her until I called out his name in my sleep.

I have seen 49 of the artists on my iPod in concert, the majority of them in the past three years. I am a bit of a concert whore. As cliched as it may be, Radiohead still stands out as the ultimate-- even though I was in the midst of a torrential downfall as I sang along to Karma Police.

My arachniphobia is totally illogical. I know it is not out of the ordinary to be afraid of spiders, but I have no problem at all with most bugs. In fact, once I was checking out this weird bug with a friend, and it was only when my face was inches away that I noticed its extra pair of legs and started to panic.

I know all the lyrics to Ain't No Fun by Snoop Dogg and co, aka. the foulest song on the planet. I'm not even comfortable quoting it here. If you are lucky enough to get me drunk, I will most likely rap it to you. It is one hell of a show.

When I was 12, all my friend were drooling over Eddie Furlong and Jonathan Brandis, while I had a crush on Charlie Sheen. Even at that age, I knew this was wrong, so I told no one. Now he creeps the hell out of me.

For a brief time this year, I was the #5 ranked contestant, and one point away from 1st place, in the CBC Hockey Pool, which has over 50 thousand contesants. I figure this scores me bragging rights for life.

I make the Duke feel my abs almost every day after I work out. I pretend he is impressed each time, but, really, I think it bores him.

I could survive off dill pickles, salt water taffy, whipped cream and cheese if I had the choice. I would probably not want to make the Duke feel my abs if I ever actually did this, though.

I get really uncomfortable when people fall asleep on public transit beside me. I also feel strangely vulnerable falling asleep in public places, like on airplanes. The idea of strangers watching me sleep is really bothersome.

I was a vegetarian from around the age of 10 through 20. I drove meat eaters crazy when they tried to feed me, as I was a vegetarian who despised multiple vegetable, including onions, peppers, mushrooms, olives, broccoli and cauliflower. I even went through a brief period where I disliked lettuce. I know that makes no sense.

I don't have a birthmark. My mom claims that my dimple, located near the top of my left cheek, is my birthmark. This dimple also guarantees that for the entirety of my life the primary adjective to describe me is "cute".

My unsolicited and hypocritical dating advice

I have a bit of a secret-- I've never really dated.

As I've remarked before, my adult dating history has been marked primarily by either being in a relationship, or out of one, with not a lot of time spent in the space in between. Of course, being with the same man from 18 to 24, and then, however ridiculous it may be, finding the man of my dreams soon after that relationship ended sort of takes away much of the possible time in the gray zone.

My first year in college was the only time I tossed around the idea of *just* dating. When a friend I'd known since elementary school and I impulsively kissed one night, I insisted on keeping our label as "seeing each other" for the first month, fearing the effects of too much romantic pressure on our friendship. (Ironically, we did the "exclusive" thing for a month after that, then broke up due to contradictory summer plans, and pretty much never spoke again. Perhaps I should have stuck with "dating" thing a little while longer.)

I also had the one month of "real" dating, aka. seeing more than one person at the same time with no semblance of commitment. Though it was fun, it failed miserably, as college aged guys couldn't seem to comprehend what I meant when I said "I'm not looking for a relationship". One assumed this meant I was an easy lay, and seemed shaken up when I told him "not in a relationship" was not equivalent to booty call. The other couldn't fathom that I wasn't trying to secretly trap him into a relationship, when, truthfully, I wanted nothing of the sort.

So, yes, I may hardly be a dating expert, so you may take my attempts at expertise with a grain of salt.

However, I do have something I would like to say to a number of my female friends:
Dating:You're doing it wrong!!


I can only speak of the members of my own gender, but I can't help but be surprised when I see the same seemingly evident errors being made repeatedly.

So, please ladies, take a lesson from this wholly unqualified lady.
(Ed. note: I have not read any of the following: The Rules, He's Just not That Into You, anything by Dr. Phil, aka. the Devil, or, in fact, any self-help book ever. It is against my psychologist's pride. As such, any similarities or contradictions are completely accidental.)


If you are looking for a relationship, do not sleep with the guy before you have seen him in the light of day.
I am not anti-booty call or friends-with-benefits. If that is what you are looking for, this may be a good first step. I'm also not one of those people who thinks sleeping together on the first date is necessarily a make or break thing.

However, if you meet him at a party/the bar, and have yet to meet him sometime during daylight hours, banging him that first night is not the best of steps if you are thinking/hoping it could turn into something resembling an exclusive relationship. At least wait until breakfast, and the fact that you know he is at least willing to have a real date with you, and then jump him.

I am not saying it can't happen-- one of my best friends is marrying a guy she met at a club. However, she jokes as much as anyone that she fully expected it to be a one-night stand. She didn't go home with him assuming a second encounter, let alone to spend the rest of her life with him.

I am just shocked by the fact that I see friends actually get hurt by the fact that this guy does not call them back. How's he to know you want something more than a one night stand? How do you know he wants something more than that?

If you have a FWB/ booty call situations, you can't expect it to transition into a relationship simply because you want it to.
You started with an exclusive no strings attached stipulation. This doesn't mean that you may not fall madly in love and discover you want to be formally together. However, by entering into such a NSA agreement, you have kind of expressed that you are okay with doing the naughty sans relationship.

If your feelings are getting in the way, by all means, express them-- but don't call him a real jerk if he doesn't reciprocate. And, for heaven's sake, if that is the case, get out before your feelings get too raw and the whole situation explodes.

(If he sleeps with you while pretending to want to be in a relationship with you, and then says he isn't in a relationship mindset, however, then he is a deceitful douchebag.)

If you meet a guy on the weekend, and you get along really well, don't delete your online dating profile and cut loose all the boys you have within the next week.
That is wayyy too much pressure to put on one person, and on yourself, to make it work. At least give it a few weeks to make sure you are both going in remotely the same direction!

If you are already unhappy in the first month of dating, end it.
There are lots of issues you can work through once you have a solid foundation. But, in the first month, you should all be on your best, shiniest behavior. If the problems are coming up before you've grazed the honeymoon stage, you are missing out on the whole fun of being besotted in the first place.

Don't rush "the talk", but don't avoid it completely, either.
I've seen bitter extremes on this one. Some women want to know within the first week if "this is going somewhere", which is a surefire way to bring overanalysis to every stage of the getting-to- know-you process.

On the flip side, if you've been seeing each other regularly for months and you still are afraid of freaking him out by using the word "boyfriend", plus you don't know if he's sleeping with others-- I think it might be time for a chat.

This is the one I know has been rehashed in dating guide after dating guide, but, seriously, a little hard to get doesn't hurt.
I'm not saying you need to be systematic about it, like never calling him, ending the calls first, counting days, and so forth. In fact, I hate any quantitative rule like that.

However, don't throw your all into a budding relationship. Keep on making plans like you would if he wasn't around. Even if you would rather spend Saturday night with him, it doesn't do you any good to hold it free "just in case" if you haven't heard from him and there is a great party going on. It will do him some good to see that you still have an active social life and he isn't the only thing on your priority list. Well-rounded is an attractive trait, after all.

I hope these all seem reasonably self-evident, but then again, over the past few weeks I've witnessed several occasions in which these needed to be reiterated.

Are there any ones I've missed? Any you can think of for the men? Guys, what do you think?

Yo-ho-ho and some weekendly lessons

Sometimes running around with little time to pause and reflect can actually be a positive thing.

After a week of somehow managing both to be run ragged, but still to think too much, one would think I needed a little R&R. That wasn't in the cards, however, with two birthday parties, a Superbowl Party and a Chinese New Year brunch all in the mix. Though I expected myself to resent the lack of breathing time, the hopping about seemed to be just what the doctor ordered, strangely enough (except for the dietary choices involved... no doctor would be impressed by that much salt in one weekend).

So, blatantly ripping off a page from Bayjb of Everyday Adventures in the City wonderful Key Learning series, here are the lessons I learned from this weekend:

• If there is a bacon sandwich on the menu, The Duke will order it. Even after the server tells him "You know there is only bacon in it, right?"
• All sandwiches should, by default, have their crusts cut off.
• It is not a good idea to eat jalapeño poppers when you don't like jalapeños, simply because the cheese filling is so good.
• I can't trust men who tell me "monogamy is an unnatural state" when only metres away from his miles-out-of-his-league-in-hotness fiancee- especially when I ask him if that means she can sleep with other men, and he frantically shakes his head no.
• Football is more enjoyable than expected when accompanied by nachos and drunken shit talking.
• Lion dances done by children are just about the cutest thing ever.
  
• The second cutest thing ever? Children pouting because they have to march in a parade on a rainy day. (which is easy for me to say when I have an umbrella)
  
• It is always appreciated when a room full of people erupts in protests when my boyfriend jokingly calls me high maintenance.
• I am destined to live my life in pants than are several inches too long.
  
• Even nearly 30-year old successful businesswomen have crushes on teenage vampires.
• Halter bras can often double as torture devices.
• The guy who, on your first meeting, drunkenly, blatantly and unsuccessfully hit on you will pretend he doesn't know you on your second meeting.

***

My exciting jetsetting grad student life is continuing, this time with a trip to attend a conference in Tampa, Florida!

(It becomes much less glamourous when you realize it is taking me over a day to travel there, due to our budgets-- and Air Canada's ridiculous fees-- making us fly out of the nearest American airport, and the fact that I am sharing a room -- and a bathroom-- with three other women.)

As you can imagine, all the learning, schmoozing and traveling will leave for very little covert blogging, so my little hiatus from your comment section and my own page will have to be prolonged a little while longer.

There is also a pirate festival in town, so I can't completely reassure you that I won't abandon the grad student lifestyle to further my pirate wench goals...

If you see a petite girl with an eyepatch and a clipboard doing a jig in the convention centre, you'll know it's me.

The Facebook status updates that weren't

An aside-- would you like to find out what movies I'm glad I didn't see in 2008 and my thoughts on the great Tom Cruise debate? Come visit me in the land of Brandy!

***

... alternately titled my Saturday night, in hypothetically Facebooked form.

(Background: Annual Christmas party, now held in January, with seven of my besties, mucho wine, cheese, and debauchery)

Princess thinks that an average of nearly two bottles of wine each is a little frightening.

Princess still has not reached her maximum cheese capacity.

Princess is giving Snoop a run for his money.

Princess is doing the limbo beneath a Swiffer.

Princess is now spanking her friend with said Swiffer.

Princess is all about having whip cream sprayed liberally into her mouth.

Princess is sharing a lollipop with a cricket in it. It apparently tastes nutty.

Princess hates it when she falls while enacting sexy dance moves.

Princess is the walrus... koo-koo-ka-choo!

Princess is laughing at S's dogpile related injuries and her resulting washcloth and ribbon bandage.

Princess does not think that picture is a very good idea at all.

Princess is perplexed as to why her friends are singing along to the Chipmunks.

Princess is surprised at the cornucopia of salacious information exchanged in a game of "I've Never".

Princess wonders why her boyfriend doesn't respond when she texts him "Wooooooo!"

Princess thinks it is time for bed when people starts singing Achy-Breaky Heart.

(and today... "Princess' head and tummy wish she would stop pretending she is 19.")

So this is the new year

Yep, it's that time again-- the obligatory welcome to 2009 post!

As I did last year, I'm going to kick this post off with a meme, with a twist. The standard rules say that you are supposed to post the first line of the first post of every month of the past year. I choose to do the last line, as it seems like we are celebrating the passing of the last year and the beginning of a new one, not vice versa.

January: It's time to bust out the hideous tacky metaphors and hop on the train back to Princess-land!

February: Arghblephiz.

March: Part of growing up with hippie parents is summers spent in the great outdoors.

April: ... and I go a little crazy.

May: It came to mind yesterday, while at a event scattered with random faces from my past, that my ten year high school reunion is due to rear up next summer.

June: I adore Chicago.

July: Two Yale law students, fed up with threats and lies being printed alongside their full names at the law school admission forum, AutoAdmit.com, filed a lawsuit against multiple anonymous trolls.

August: There are reasons one doesn't skinny dip in a lake in the middle of the day.

September: Last week, an exterminator came by to discuss our furry apartment visitor.

October: I don't entirely understand those who enjoy being scared.

November: A little housekeeping out of the way first...

December: I usually have a post more or less lined up in my head before I start writing, a few choice lines on repeat in my head.

***

Other than these choice words, what has 2008 been for me?

I kept plugging away at the good old PhD, and actually just finished my last course, meaning I may be able to pretentiously call myself Dr. Princess sometime in the future. 

(Don't get too excited... I still have those pesky things called a dissertation and an internship to get through)

I left behind my apartment and moved into our apartment.

February brought me to Albuquerque for a conference and a hot air balloon ride.

May was a visit to Seattle (including very personal questions by customs).

In June, Chicago spited me, but I continued to have full on unrequited love for her.

In July, I hid out on an island and went camping.

I also celebrated nuptials and poutine with my girlfriends for an epic stagette.

In August, the Duke and I celebrated awkwardness in a hijinks ridden wedding trip.

September had a far more mellow wedding weekend away.

September also had our celebration of two years, and another wonderful escape to an island to frolic with marine life.

I also made it back to HomeTown two times.

While last year, I had one bloggie meet-up, this year, I had something like five separate meet-ups-- which were shockingly consistent in their ease and awesomeness.

These included a a multicited visit with Distracted Spunk, three separate meet-ups with a veritable Chicago blogger explosion, and a bad luck filled reunion with Surfergrrl and first meeting with Ultra Toast.

I also started on a very exciting group blog endeavour!

(oh, and FYI, I didn't end up having to go to court... a nice extra Christmas present)

The year finished off with a quieter, but still equally wine-soaked, night than most-- and the first one that I was able to ring in the next 365 with a kiss from my guy, which I figure has to be a good omen.

It is funny... while thinking about this post, I managed to convince myself that since I hadn't met any of the major milestones I'd passed in years passed, I'd actually had a sadly uneventful year. Perhaps that is one of the bonuses of having a blog-- being able to have a documentation of those little excursions and moments as a reminder of what the past year has been for you. It doesn't look so boring, now, after all.

Things I've done in the past 3 days that make me feel at least 10 years younger

Had cookie dough jammed into every hand crevice and fingernail.

Calling my dad at midnight asking him to pick me up from my friend's house, and then asking him when he arrives if he can also drive my friend home in the minivan.

Sitting crosslegged on the floor playing board games.

Calling my competitors names while playing said board games.

Sleeping until eleven.

Asking my dad to open a pickle jar for me.

Wearing pink kitty cat socks to my birthday dinner.

Making fun of my parents for their random hippie ways, like their eschewing of a microwave and rinsing out of eggshells.

Tapping my sister on the shoulder whenever a goofy looking guy walks by, and whispering "That's your new boyfriend!"

Having whipped cream on my nose.

Putting on my old ugly Sorels to go Christmas tree hunting.

Talking to my boyfriend on the phone in hushed tones in my bedroom.

Staying in the bath until my fingers get wrinkly.

Falling asleep, curled up in the backseat of a car, with a suitcase as a pillow.

Licking egg beaters.

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.

What my 20s have taught me so far

Hi folks! You can find me over at Umm... Now What? today, writing about shackin' up with your significant other. In fact (**shameless plug alert!**), you can find me there every Monday!

As my regular readers have surely figured out by now, this time of year is madness for those of us navigating GradStudent Land (it's not fun like Disneyland, trust me), hence my intermittent tendencies to drop off the map. As such, I leave you with promises of Princessy TLC in the future, and the very first piece that I wrote for the above mentioned website, about the important lessons I've learned in the almost seven years I've been floating around in my twenties.

***

Your parents are real people. They are not just the perpetual icon of Mom and Dad. And, yes, this means with some very real, and very petty, flaws.

... but my mom still knows a lot more about my life than I would have ever expected. Like the times I thought I had really convinced her I was sober, or that my boyfriend had slept on the pull-out couch. She always knew the truth, but just let me get away with things sometimes.

Going to a movie alone is nowhere near as intimidating as you would expect.

Neither is living alone.

Neither is being single. Especially when the alternative is to stay in a lackluster relationship.

Nothing reveals who your true friends are quicker than an unexpected catastrophe.

More can be discovered about a new city by wandering aimlessly with yourself than by following a guidebook.

It is never worth it to try to save an alcoholic.

Wait as long as you can to get a credit card. I miraculously waited until I'd graduated from college, and am really glad my 20 year old self didn't have access to "unlimited" funds.

Just go ahead and do the very thing you are hesitant to do. This is how I ended up in my current job, which scared the crap out of me when I initially heard about it, but has been one of the best challenges I've ever taken.

You will gain weight in your early 20s. Even if you aren't eating bad cafeteria food-- it's not just the 'Freshman 15'

Live music is the world's best distraction.

It is always a good idea to have a unique signature dish. You never know when you will need to impress someone over dinner, and spaghetti and tomato sauce don't always cut it. Mine? Balsamic beef stir fry or peanut curried chicken.

Everybody says it would be a great idea to move it together. Don't always believe them.

It isn't worth it to take on other people's timelines.

A lot of girls like sex as much as, if not more than, boys. (Myself included.)

You always wait too long to quit a bad job or end a bad relationship.

It always takes double the amount of time to prepare food as it claims on the recipe.

Just because he knows you have a boyfriend doesn't mean he won't try to kiss you after a few drinks.

The impossible decisions of today are merely the taken for granted facts of tomorrow.

You are the only constant in every relationship problem you have. ... although it always easier to blame the series of other people.

The boy who tells you that you are sexy when you talk about something smart is worth a million boys who tell you that you look sexy in a bikini.

Random things I have a hate on for

Sassy birth control advertisement.

Alesse, I'm looking at you. Secret agents? Bad puns like "I'm flaw-alesse!" and "Science drives me sense-alesse!" (which reminds me far too much of the now infamous "math is tough!" talking Barbie-- girl power!)? 

You know what is the selling point of my birth control pills? The fact that they stop me from becoming pregnant.

Skin on hot chocolate.

Overly obscure crossword clues.

I really shouldn't need to have a degree in Russian literature or physics to complete the crossword puzzle in a free daily paper. And I'm good with random trivia!

Silverfish.

I almost posted a photo, but they are too nasty to look at.

I never seen this quick skittering little insects until I moved to a damp city... let's just say I wasn't missing out.

Plug earrings.

These things just creepy me out, particularly the extremely large ones. I can't help but imagine how nasty and floppy people's ear lobes are when they are taken out.

Plus, I have an exceedingly gross story about these bad boys. One time, my friends and I were having breakfast at a greasy spoon type diner, and, when we got to our table, there was a plain silver ring sitting on it. My friend aimlessly twirled it around her finger... until we realized it was someone's plug earring. Ewwww.

People who bob their heads dramatically while listening to their iPods.

This bugs me about a million more times than people tapping their feet, for some reason. Do you really have to prove how catchy the music only you can hear is?

Shaquille O'Neal.

Forever and for always.

People who invade your personal bubble while waiting in line for a sandwich so much that you can practically feel their breath, and then  laugh into your ear about your order.

I'm not talking about a specific instance or anything....

And there is nothing wrong for asking for only a little bit of lettuce and lots of pickles. There is something wrong with you spying on my sub order, though.

Men in tank tops.

I'm fine if you are working out, playing sports, on the beach, etc. But as general public attire? No dice. Armpit hair bothers me. As does the possibility of nipple spottage.

Adults who use text speak.

There is no reason for anyone above the age of 18 to use "4" instead of "for". Ever.

The two day shelf life of bananas.

Why are bananas only tasty for such a limited time? I can't keep on justifying saving them for the banana bread I will only actually make twice a year.

Hangnails.

Crows cawing from above my head.

This means they are within dive bombing range.

Almost everyone eating at Denny's at 3am except myself.

The fact that you're drunk and craving hashbrowns doesn't make you any better than the person serving you hashbrowns. In fact, you are very likely a worse person, I would wager.

Christmas music in November.

The December 1st rule is rigid, in my eyes.

Unpredicted onions.

Why are onions the one thing restaurants never label in their menu??

I wish...

... that, on a day where the US struck a tremendous blow against racial discrimination, they didn't also strike a tremendous blow for homophobia. I am in awe that people believe they have that any right over the personal lives of others to be able to ban two people in love from getting married. It is not as though voting against Proposition 8 would have forced gay marriage upon anyone. Even worse, however, is the fact that in Arkansas, people have voted against gay and lesbians being able to be adoptive or foster parents. Are we really still at that point where we believe these people are inherently flawed by virtue of their sexuality?

... that virtually every apartment in my city wasn't no pets allowed.

... that part of being a woman wasn't being caught up in an insane swirl of panic every time your period is a day late. I don't need to be re-evaluating my life as it currently stands on a monthly basis, thank you very much.

... that blogging didn't feel like a chore sometimes. Although I'm sure Google Reader was a good idea in principle, it is really just a massive guilt trip. I don't want to read your words because I have to. I want to read them because I want to-- which is what it felt like more when I was just typing the url in because I was thinking of you.

... that candy corn and Reese's Pieces fulfilled my daily recommended intake of anything remotely healthy (Vitamin K represent!).

... that, after nearly two years of blogging, my feelings wouldn't be that little bit hurt that people read but don't comment on a post I worked hard on.

... that buying organic bread didn't mean it would go moldy in three days. I can see the appeal of preservatives!

... that there was more than an hour between when I get home from seeing my last client tonight, and the time at which I need to crawl into bed in order to get a good night's sleep.

... that my world wouldn't collapse if I wasn't relatively organized.

... that I still remembered how to walk in heels.

... that my friend would stop messing around with the douchebag with a girlfriend.

... that there was a better chance a plane will be able to land in HomeTown over the holidays, as I don't ever want to take the damn Greyhound again.

... that I would stop stabbing myself with my umbrella. The rain isn't that depressing!

... that my shoulders had less than 17 knots in each one of them.

... that my professional career wouldn't suffer by virtue of me dying my hair fire engine red.

Roar.

I almost felt guilty over writing a post about things that were pissing me off.

Then I got over it.

So, without further ado... I present to you today's shit list.

Dude on the train. Dude, the train was busy. I had to stand in front of you merely due to the placement of the pole. Contrary to your apparent beliefs, this does not make me your personal lapdancer. As such, the blatant slow up-down-up-down humping-me-with-your-eyes leer was not appreciated. Show some damn restraint.

My bangs. It's muggy enough already. It doesn't help that the second my forehead squeezes out even a bead of sweat, my bangs get soaked, and make me look like a wet dog.

Rolling backpacks. Really? How lazy have we gotten that we need wheels on the tiniest of bags? And how awkward are these things in a busy space??

Canada's Olympic medal count. *cringe*

Stir crazyness. I've taken the whole grad student identity far too seriously. At the moment, I've been stricken by remarkable number of clients not showing up for appointments with me (I guess sunshine is more appealing than psychological assessments-- who knew?). I am also doing a lot of waiting-- for my supervisor to get back from a month away from email, for a revised manuscript from another prof, etc, etc. This leaves me with not much to do until the emails and clients start rolling in... but feeling too guilty to fully take time off pre-holidays. So I have been wasting time on stupid, uninvolving tasks, like reading articles that may be useful in the future, and generally going stir crazy when stuck in my lab or my office. I wish I could either be busy or be comfortably on holidays-- not some weird guilt-induced limbo!

Limping. This story epitomizes my lack of grace. I have been going to the gym a few times a week for the past three or so month. Yet, we get a Wii fit, and I don't stretch well before using it, and end up seriously straining my quad.

That's right-- I hurt myself on a videogame, rather than at the gym.

And now I have a sexy limp.

The worst thing about a limp is that you can't help but try not to limp-- which not only makes you hyperaware of the usually automatic motions of walking, but usually makes the limp that much more exaggerated.

***

We're out of town this weekend for a wedding and a mini-holiday. I have actually suggested the unthinkable... that we leave our laptops behind. I don't know if we are 100% on board, but I kind of like the idea of something keeping me away from email and blogs, and forcing me to read a book or take a walk instead. 

发

(I believe that is the number 8 in Cantonese)

Continuing the epic quest towards 100....

#60- Besides being an avid sleeptalker (see fact #17), I also have an odd tendency to tie in what I have worn to bed into my dream. This means for a near recurrent "naked in public" dream, with several variations, such as "giant t-shirt and no pants at the mall" or "slinky nightgown on the bus". A few nights ago, I actually got up at 3am, and, in a half-asleep stupor, put on more clothes, because I was convinced that a friend was sleeping on a cot in our bedroom and was very uncomfortable by my berdoom attire.

#61- I am a little jealous of those with a strong ethnic identity, as I feel a little disconnected with mine. My mother's side is a sort of generic Western European, with very little family legend emerging from it. My father is French-- Acadian to be exact. The Acadians have a fascinating story, in which, when the English beat the French for the rights to Canada, they decided to deport countless Acadians from their homes in the Maritimes. Of course, in those days, it was never as simple as requesting a move. It was burning down homes and separating people from their families. The majority of those who were deported ended up in Louisiana, where they became known as Cajun. My side of the family remained in Canada, to much oppression for a long time.

It is odd how little known this is, even within Canada. When the mistreatment of the French is brought up, Quebec is automatically assumed. Few people are even aware of the Acadians unique cultural traditions and history. Unfortunately, given that I grew up on the opposite side of the country from my Acadian family, I know little more about their culture than I just wrote. I speak fluent French, but could not name off more than a few Acadian dishes, and one or two writers. This somehow seems wrong to me, as though I am missing a part of myself.

#62- Everyone once a while, I feel a little dismayed about how infrequently I speak French, and how much my skills are diminishing as a result. To assuage these fears, I will then set to naming everything in my immediate proximity in French. Next, I will move on to whole categories of items. For instance, on a recent bus ride home, I tried to describe everything I saw via my French internal monologue, then moved onto naming every body part I could think of ("orteille, pied..... yeux, cheveux"). There is something reassuring about remembering how to says something as obscure as microwave popcorn, and even more delicious to feel the accent rolling across my lips every so often.

#63- I have 12th row tickets to see Madonna in October! My 8-year old self, 14-year old self, and my present-day self are simultaneously squealing. I did pay an absurd chunk of cash, honestly, but Madonna is such a cultural icon to me as a girl who grew up in the 80s. I hardly even listen to her new music, but she remains my #1 act I wanted to see live. And this is the first time she's ever came to my city! (She hasn't been too chummy with Canada ever since we threatened to arrest her for diddling herself on stage... I love the fact that I just said diddling).

Also great? I'm seeing my #2 act this summer- Radiohead!!!

#64- In elementary school, I was a proud member of the ephemeral (lasting only a week or so), but still legendary, Hi-Tops-- a lip-sync group. The highlight of our brief existence? Lip-syncing "Moni Moni" by Billy Idol in front of our entire school. I, sadly, was relegated to back-up singer status. It did give me an excuse to look super streamlined and slick in my black spandex pants, though.

#65-  With regards to romantic relationships, I am either completely single, or completely taken. (There was a two months in which I tried "dating" in my first year of college, and found out that telling a guy you didn't want a relationship meant that he got really huffy when you wouldn't put out.) This is not necessarily something intentional on my part-- I've never been one of those girls who desperately needed a boyfriend or to hurry the "what are we" relationship talk. I guess, as a general rule, I may just be good girlfriend material.

#66- I was a Trekkie in junior high. My best friend and I would meet at my house every weekday at 4pm to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation, and plot our wedding to Lieutenant Riker. I made my friends go see "Star Trek: Generations" for my 13th birthday, and even wrote a fan letter to Brent Spiner, who played Data, asking for his autograph (tragically, he never wrote back). All this was of course completely disavowed and denied when I turned 14, and discovered that boys liked me more when I wore make-up and didn't talk about the Enterprise.

#67- I hate the fact that I can't stand the taste of beer. I accept a can every year or so, with the hope that those same taste buds that have resulted in a newfound love for asparagus will also have matured to the flavours of hops and barley... but each time, I find myself wincing and burping through the entire can, eventually sneaking to the bathroom to pour the now-warm swill down the drain.

It just feels like such a high maintenance characteristic. I can't merely accept what someone has in the fridge or hop in on a group pitcher. I'm no fun at beer gardens. I need to buy the correct proportions of mix and liquor before I go to parties (and, yes, I can do coolers & ciders, if need be, but too many Bacardi Breezers make me feels as though I am 17 and really need to go to the dentist). Even worse is the fact that I really, really like girlie drinks-- the more umbrellas the better. I will actually purposefully not order a pina colada or a glass of riesling on many occasions, just because I know I've already lost points for not partaking in the ale guzzling, and I will lose many more if I ask to see a drink list.

Confessions of a neurotic

Whenever I walk by my hairdresser's window on a bad hair day, I am afraid she may be disappointed in me.

Similarly, when I go to my favourite indie video store, I feel as though they are judging me when I rent a romantic comedy.

As a child, I once burnt my nose on a furnace because I wanted to see how hot it really was. I was rocking the Rudolph for several weeks.

I sleep talk like a mofo. A few nights ago I started sleep yelling at the Duke, who was in the kitchen, because I awoke still thinking our dream of a sting in a mental institution was real.

I am exceedingly emo in the mornings. When the muffled talk radio breaks through my dream haze, my thoughts are immediately melodramatic. 

"I freakin' hate my life since I have to get up so early."

"It's so damn bone-chillingly cold outside of this bed, I want to die."

I bet I could write some killer epic poetry about my morning sorrows pre-coffee.

On my first time driving an electric scooter, I careened directly into a fence. Just as the fence's owner came out of his house. Needless to say, there hasn't been a second time.

There is a woman at my gym who works out in a leopard print jacket. I thought this was exceedingly comical-- until I noticed she was lifting way more weight than me.

Wine + blog = super awesome dance party!

Disclaimer: The writer of this post may or may not have been on the slightly tipsy side during its composition.

Being downtown on Saturday at 3am is an exercise in avoiding eye contact. While in the light of day, random bus stop conversations with drunken strangers may make for amusing blog fodder, beneath the glow of a streetlight and surrounded by the echoes of intoxicated whooping  sort of ruins any conversational atmosphere. This is the time I tend to put on my unapproachable face (okay, actually better deemed my bitchy face, in all truth)-- particularly when my iPod is dead and pretending to be distracted by a taxi with Denny's hubcaps can only get you so far.

The things I pondered whilst willing the bus to hurry itself and be miraculously free of wasted 21-year olds:

- Sangria is the biggest (and most delicious) restaurant con on the earth. How else do they get rid of cheap red wine and browning fruit by the pitcher full?

(mmmm.... sangria....)

- Anyone who spends a dime on a stretch SUV limo really deserves to have their rights to financial independence revoked.

- Why do drunk people think that "EVERYONE WITHIN A 5 BLOCK RADIUS WANTS TO KNOW HOW FUNNY MY IMPERSONATION OF ADAM SANDLER IS".

- Potentially the saddest sight ever is girls who are done up to the nines, yet have still failed in their night's goal of picking up. Even pseudo-lesbianism didn't get them enough attention. The teeter down the street so very precauriously, slowing down a little as a crowd of drunken university students walk by, desperate for just a little reassurance.

- Boys, on the other hand, who have failed in attracting a member of the opposite sex to revel in their unwashed sheets, won't give up in the thought that maybe, just maybe, though they couldn't meet anyone in the club, maybe they can on their stumble home. So they grunt/hoot/holler at every woman who walks by. And, very likely, berate them as "sluts!" when they don't respond to these ever so appealing mating calls.

- How is it that, in charades tonight, I actually had to act out diabetes? And, when I tried to indicate blood, someone shouted out "self-mutilation"!

Then again, I couldn't even successfully act out turtle.

As these thoughts run through my mind, the bus approaches... and is remarkably full of sleepy looking homeless guys rather than drunk frat boys. Although the drunk frat boys do get on a few stops later. When I get off the bus, one tells me that my purse is a "Stanley Kubrick bag", perhaps trying to show of his brilliant cinematic knowledge, though I'm not quite sure where the association came from.

Walking down my street, I hear what sounds like a high-pitched child's voice, when out of the shadows emerges a cat. In typical Princess fashion, I start cooing and baby talking him. He looks remarkably like my old cat, so I see fit to tell him so. And then Cat follows me home, and starts rubbing up against my front door expectantly. I try to reason with Cat. I tell him that he has to stay outside, and pet him for another five minutes in some attempt at appeasement. I somehow slip in the door, and he starts mewing.

My heart breaks a little.

I search frantically in my fridge for something to suit Cat's palate. Do cats like mustard?

I settle with a dish of water, for I am out of milk. I place it on my front stoop, which he promptly ignores, demanding more cuddles. I get sucked in again. I eventually dash back through the door when Cat's back is turned, for he looks ready to dash through my entryway if given a chance.

Cat mews some more, and even though he wasn't especially skinny, I find myself googling "what to feed cat when no cat food". No dice. Thankfully, by this point, Cat had given up on me, and scampered off to greener pastures.

*sniff*

And, yes, dear readers, I lied. There is no super dance party at all, only a Princess about to crawl into bed.

However, I will leave you with a rather entertaining little snippet from my week...

The scene: Friday morning, 8:30am, coffee shop.

I am stirring in some cream into my coffee, when I suddenly hear a series of pigeon noises. I look around, only to catch the eyes of a smiling man who appears to be homeless.

Him (upon noticing me noticing his bird impression): You are so beautiful.

Me: Pardon?

Him: You are so so beautiful. So beautiful. I hope your day is as beautiful as you.

Me: Oh, thank you!

Him: My name is Dan. *stretches out hand*

Me: Nice to meet you. *stretches out hand in return*

Him: *kisses my hand*

Me: *thinking I need a way to end this politely, as he is still trying to engage me in prolonged conversation* Well, I have to get going, but thank you, you made my morning.

Him: I could make your night, too.

Me: Uhhhh... I think I'll have to decline that offer.

That's right folks, not only pigeon cooing, but dirty pick up lines, before I've even had my coffee. I am a stud magnet and a half.

Something must be done to appease the airline deities...

At least that's the impression that three canceled flights have given me.

I was thankful for snow a few days ago, whilst frolicking on crazy carpets and snapping pics of snow-laced trees.

But, snow? You're being a tremendous ass at the moment. You and the airline gods apparently have some vendetta against me.

The deluge of yesterday, though perhaps beautiful, has left me a little bitter.

(I included this picture to show you how our driveway looked a mere couple hours after we shoveled and cleaned off the van)

Because of you, snow, I have been forced to choose an option I hoped never to enter my mind again...

The Greyhound.

My hatred of the Greyhound is near legendary. There are so many reasons this method of transportation is for the dogs (greatest pun ever, if you were wondering):

It only costs a little less than flying, yet takes exponentially longer. This particular trip takes 12 hours when driving only takes 7-8, and flying is just a little over an hour.

It only seems to operate at the most random hours. I arrive, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the BigCity bus depot at 5am tomorrow!

It stops everywhere. Apparently town of 200 a mere 15 minutes down the back road always has a package to be picked up.

Despite regular overnight trips, the bus seats are not meant for sleeping. Even if you are lucky enough to get a full two seats to yourself, the armrest by the window could only be designed by someone who hates Greyhound passengers, because it won't move, and is too low for your head to fit comfortably under, but too high to not wrench out your neck if you try to prop your pillow above it.

The night bus is always full of creeps and weirdos who I am not entirely sure aren't watching me sleep.

Not to mention I have more than paid my Greyhound dues, both in trips home in my undergrad days, and because I actually was foolish enough to travel across Canada in one when I was 18. Forty-four hours straight on one of those monsters will oversaturate anyone.

My first official act as a grad student who wasn't as entirely broke as previously was to make my one luxury avoiding these beasts at all costs. I may not be able to afford a car, but, dammit, I can afford to fly a few times a year.

Unfortunately, the airline gods are laughing at me.

But that's how bad I need to get home.

Anyone feel like sacrificing a goat on my behalf?

Dorkimus maximus

Things you may already know about me:

-Rather than participating in fun 20-something escapades, I thought a good option was to spend another decade in school.

-I am ridiculously clumsy . (I once ran a motorized scooter into a fence, and all my white clothes are coffee stained).

-I think a fun evening is watching a documentary in the bathtub

-I make up words (see title of this post).

-I write blog posts about slugs and encourage people to vote on ugly animals.

-And don't forget my passion for nerds!

The obvious factor uniting all of these things? While my boyfriend may (bless his heart) call it being cute, the truth is, I am a bit of a dork.

This came to me yesterday after I stood up from my seat on the bus (as it is very bad manners in my city to not be at the door by the time the bus comes to a halt), and promptly slammed my head on a metal pole as the bus driver tapped on the brakes, loudly proclaiming my pain.

This lead to me to consider a few of my other more dorkish tendencies...

As one would expect from one of such a geeky nature, I am rather reliant on my USB stick for holding onto all my nerdy essential.
Unfortunately, while I can remember the seven primary cognitive distortion in Major Depressive Disorder, I cannot remember to remove my USB stick from a single computer, which results in my losing it approximately once a week, with frantic searches ensuing.
This week? I convinced myself I left it behind at one clinic, and emailed my project partner in a tizzy, because it had the latest version of our paper on it. We figured out a comprehensive plan to deal with the missing paper... only for me to find the USB stick at the bottom of my bag on my way to another clinic the next day.
And then to leave it at that clinic, where I only go once a week, and is an hour away from my house.

***

I, like everyone, make silly mistakes. I don't think you need to be a dork to do this.
But what you happen to do if you're a dork is rely solely on self-deprecation as a coping strategy.
Prime example? I was doing some neuropsychological testing on a fellow, and happened to turn a stimulus page the wrong way.
Not a big deal, right?
Well it was after I decided that the unbearable tension in the room after such a faux pas needed to be broken by overtly making fun of myself and my coordination.

I am stellar at keeping a professional air about me.
*groan*

***

While I can occasionally wander into the realm of oversensitivity, I generally hold my own as a reasonable emotionally stable person.

However, the neurotic in me comes out in random situations, one of them being whilst caught in rain storms.

I am easily goaded into little tantrums when my poor toes are soaking. I've been known to slam my fists into my legs (which has been called the penguin by observers), stomp my feet, and pout like a little girl if a car cuts me off or sprays me.

(It would be much cooler to pull out a creative profanity at times like that, rather than sulking.)

I think my personal favourite failed rainy day tantrum was when, after a car nearly collide with me at a rainy crosswalk, I started flailing my umbrella at his hood, both to make sure he noticed his role in my near-death experience, and because I felt like a childish display of anger was justified.

Did he notice? Doubtful. But the force of my swing did made half of my umbrella collapse, thus resulting in an even more miserable remainder of my journey.

I can't even pull off pedestrian rage correctly!

***

Lastly, I am a little dorky in my attempts at creative plots.

A film is currently being filmed right above where the psychology clinic is located on campus. And not just some bad CBC movie-of-the-week-based-on-a-true-story (I heart CBC-- Canadian Broadcasting Company, for my non-Canuck readers, but their attempts at drama can be pretty damn week)-- a real Hollywood movie!
Starring Michelle Pfeiffer, Kathy Bates, and Mr. Moore himself (not Michael), Ashton Kutcher!


Princess and pal decide, that since the shoot is actually tremendously inconveniencing to us (there is currently an enormous black tarp covering the entirety of the windows of one side of the clinic, and we can't take most of our shortcuts), we deserve to do a little star spotting.


We set up a plot of being dumb lost students, to see how far we can get.
(Note to self- next time, try something more glamourous, like someone's assistant or even make up a role in the film).

We managed to get onto the film set, and most of the way to where filming was actually taking place (there was some sort of makeshift wall blocking our view only a few feet away) by playing dumb and telling the crew "we just need to get to that hallway just past where they are shooting".
However, just as we were about to have the right angle, we were confronted by some lead crew guy, who didn't believe our confused naive little students game, and actually made another crew guy move a massive heavy tarp covering a door to get us out of there.

I would make a horrible spy.

Confession time!

A number of my delightful bloggie girlfriends have been writing extremely poignant posts in which they confess a number of secrets, from the silly to the profound. I decided it was my turn (such a copycat, I know! Me-ow!)

- It bothers me to a ridiculous extent having the knowledge that someone doesn't like me. I don't care if I know I'm in the right in a particular situation- I will have to fight back the urge to apologize because I hate the idea that someone out there is mad at me.

- I hate the fact that I don't like beer because I worry it makes me look too high maintenance, when really I just think it tastes gross.

- I've never cheated on a boyfriend, but I still feel guilty that I began falling for the Duke as my last relationship was ending.

- I stick my hands in the pickle jar rather than using a fork.

- I get really frustrated my mom's insistence on supporting my sister unconditionally no matter how bad of decisions she is making. I know Mom just wants her to know that she loves her no matter what happens- but that doesn't mean you need to pretend you're happy she's dating a guy who is eons years older than her or that she is being irresponsible with money again.

- I feel guilty for even writing that since I love my sister and mom so much.

- I hate that, no matter how healthy I eat, it feels like every extra calorie sneaks into my stomach. I want desperately to have my effortless flat stomach of my 18 year old self.

- It worries me that I don't spend more time thinking about my relationship with the Ex. I know I should be happy that things ended when they were supposed to, as shown by the few regrets, but I'm a little apprehensive that I didn't grieve more about ending a six year relationship, especially because it wasn't trivial to me at the time.

- I am tired of being a student. I'm tired of people without a degree telling me it is all worth it in the end when they've never been through so much damn school. I'm tired of people not realizing how much damn work my program is, especially because it encompasses both research and practical training, while most graduate programs only do one.

- Since my tastes in music tend to be outside of the mainstream, I feel as though I have to hide it when I download a Beyonce or Justin Timberlake song.

- I like sex. A whole lot. Sometimes I worry that I like it too much for a girl.
(I feel like I need to qualify that I'm a liking sex within a relationship kind of girl- one who looks really sweet and innocent until I snare you into a relationship with me and then mercilessly have my way with you! *evil cackle*)

- While the main reason I don't have a car is because I can't afford it, it has been so long since I've driven that I am petrified of driving in the city.

- I puked on my bedroom floor on my 19th birthday after a very ill-advised extra martini.

- I have an old friend from high school who went through some serious therapy and self-discovery in her early 20s. The problem? I don't have a lot of fun with the new her. Our interactions feel insanely one-sided, and she has lost a lot of friends as a result. However, she has been through so much in the past that I feel I have to stick by her, as she feels she is getting healthier.