Literalistic

My Thoughts on Racism

2012-02-05T21:25:00.002-07:00

February means it's Black History month, and I've gotten a lot of interesting education from the commercials on TV that keep popping up to remind me. However, these commercials also reminded me of a rather unpleasant conversation I had a few months ago.

Names and identities withheld for obvious reasons, I was having a conversation with a group of people and something came up about black people. I don't remember what it was about, but I remember one individual, who very pointedly said (and I'm paraphrasing here):

"I'm not racist or anything, but I think it's pretty stupid how I get called one when I say that there should be a White History Month, or a White Person TV Channel, or whatever. I don't get how black people and asian people want to be so integrated but yet get all these special things, but I'm racist if I say my race deserves the same."

Now, to the speaker's defense, I do truly think it's more of an ignorance thing, over a racism thing. But I did try to explain the concept of well....oppression and slavery and cultural identity to the group, but I was surprised that a lot of the other people during this conversation agreed with the topic at hand.

And that's kind of when I gave up. Because well, when you hit a wall like that, there's no climbing it.

Racism is one of those subjects with me where I kind of skirt around it. Being a visual minority, I joke a lot about my race, my (lack of) cultural identity and the fact that in most social settings, I am the only non-white present. But I mean, it's not a joke. Racism is srs biz, and it still amazes me to this day how ignorant our society can really be.

My stance on the whole Black History/White History thing - Black History Month is one month out of the year where the black community celebrates prominent individuals who otherwise aren't celebrated. I don't think "White History Month" is necessary because honestly, every other month is White History month. Open up a social studies textbook, google around. All of the prominent figures in historical and current society tend to be white or from a white culture. We don't need "White Entertainment TV" (in comparison to BET) because most mainstream channels out there are "white culture" - primarily white actors with the occasional black or asian actor tossed into the sitcom mix. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with "white" television, or "white history," but I'm just saying - it's out there. You don't really need anymore. You have 95% of the networks, the commercials, the beauty products, the magazines all directed towards you - do you really need that 5%?

And also, white people were never an oppressed people, the way that well, almost every other race out there has been. Black people were enslaved, Chinese people were enslaved, Japanese people were enslaved. White people, not so much. So there is a stronger cultural unity in these once-oppressed races. Maybe not as much today as 50 years ago, but still, let them celebrate, let them be proud of their histories. There is a lot to be said about having the ability to overcome adversities, change laws, brave hatred and turn a cheek to ignorance. I don't see how that's not worthy of one month of celebration, at least.

It really irritates me when anybody whines about the privileges of Native Americans, or the influx of Chinese people in their community, or how a group of Japanese exchange students won't bother to speak anything but Japanese to each other. I'm making the assumption that a lot of these whiners and complainers have never really dealt with racism in a negative context before, and it really sucks that it would take an angry screaming racist in their face to make them end their ignorant ways.

For me, I am Chinese-Canadian. I was born in Canada, raised in Canada and share the culture of a Canadian. But my looks alone are enough to get me some of that good old racist behavior on a bad day. I've been told to go back to my own country, I've been asked if the family sponsoring me will be "keeping me in Canada for the longterm." I've had people make assumptions about my upbringing, my behaviors, my skills, sexuality and cognitive capacity based on my racial features alone. And though I do joke about it, it sucks, in it's own terrible, alienating way.

So, all I ask is that you open your eyes and open your mind. Racism is still out there. Educate those who will listen and ignore those who will not. It's a big world out there, we aren't the only ones in it - be mindful and be respectful. It's really not that hard.

Awesome Things #1

2012-02-05T15:18:00.001-07:00

When I am feeling shitty, or just generally bored with life, I like to try to make lists of specific things that are awesome. It helps me focus on the positives, rather than the negatives.

+ Missing your alarm (shitty) but still being able to get yourself out the door with everything done and intact on time. Stressful, but I felt like freaking superwoman.

+ Looking for something in a store and they don't have any left - but you magically unearth one from beneath a pile of other things, and it's in your size (and on sale).

+ DavidsTea. Seriously. So good. And I have about 30 different varieties in my cupboard.

+ Being hit on by a stranger, and a good looking stranger at that. As uncomfortable as it makes me (and as unavailable as I very much am), it's flattering to be deemed attractive enough to approach randomly (and soberly).

+ Getting a basket in basketball from outside the crease.

+ Planning a road trip from Edmonton to Vegas this summer.

+ The freaking awesome weather. It has felt like spring for the last few weeks!

+ Good friends. Making new friends. I love my classmates, my Wednesday team, my co-workers, old friends, new acquaintances.

+ School feeling really easy and effortless.

+ Afternoons of doing nothing.

+ Crazy highscore in Temple Run.

+ New books. So many new books.

Polar Bears

2012-01-25T03:53:00.001-07:00

There is something about polar bears that drew me in a few years ago. The fact that such a big, strong, ferocious animal can be so deceptively adorable, their innocent white fur blending in with their surroundings. A vicious killer and a nurturing mother all in one. A ruthless hunter, a curious creature and a growing endangerment.

Polar bears, like many animals, have to adapt to live on a regular basis - they travel hundreds of kilometers every year, across frozen sea ice to the land where they can eat, breed, live. Each year, this journey is a dangerous, risky, venture. It has purpose and is necessary, and one day - the journey may not even be possible. But even then, those bears will try to change, adapt. It might kill them off, one by one. It might not.

Polar bears are not pack animals. They travel in solitary - young cubs only migrating across the sea ice in the winter with their mothers for the few early years of their lives before they separate for good. Male polar bears travel alone completely, only meeting to breed or fight. It's amazing to me, that animals that are so strong and yet struggle to feed themselves regularly don't depend on each other. Too much of a desire to fight, to lead, to dominate. Or maybe it's a precaution for safety, for survival, for security.

A lot of people don't understand my infatuation with these creatures - they don't see the beauty, the grace, the eloquence. For me, a polar bear is not just an animal. There is an undeniable symbolism in a creature that can carry so much strength and so much weakness, all at once.

2011: My Bottom Line

2012-01-17T04:07:00.001-07:00

I love my sister. She is one of those people who will always be one of my best friends, no matter how far apart we are, no matter how long we go without speaking. She is my family, she is a piece of me that I can't ever get rid of. And no matter what goes on, no matter what happens, nothing can change that.

I don't speak to my parents because I need the space. I need the space for me, for my own mental health, for my own happiness. A lot of people don't understand this and I don't expect them to - it's a situation that is unique to me and my relationship with them. Growing up, my parents were not the same parents to my sister, they were not the same parents as your parents, or your best friend's parents. A family dynamic is different for everyone and this is mine. I don't ask people to understand it, but I truly appreciate those who respect my choices and keep their judgements to themselves.

I don't hate anybody. 2011 was an extremely difficult year for me. I cut ties with my mother and father, I lost my sister for a majority of the year, I made major life-changing decisions. I let go of three children and a job, which I loved and learned more from than any job I've ever had. Did I overreact to some emotional situations? Of course I did. Did I say some things I regretted later? Definitely. But I can't change my past and I learned from it.

I don't hate my sister's boyfriend - I don't know him. He took the one member of my immediate family from me and influenced her to give up her life here in Edmonton for a life with him in New York. She is my little sister - in my mind, nobody will ever be good enough for her. I hope that some of you can understand that. I don't hate my parents - I'm just tired. I was tired of the fighting, of never feeling good enough, of constantly compromising my values and feelings in order to make the relationship work. I don't regret leaving my job, but leaving has made me realize how amazing that family was and how much they taught me about love, family-dynamics and myself.

2011 was a hard year. I changed a lot. I pushed myself to make those changes. Not all of them were easy. I made sacrifices, I cried myself to sleep, I made lists, I over-analyzed. I'm not looking for sympathy, I'm not looking for understanding. You don't have to like my thoughts, my opinions, the changes I made or my feelings. But now you know.

I'm just one person. I'm just human. I fuck things up, I make mistakes. I forgive, I forget. 2011 was a year of challenges, but I worked through them - for me. To make my life worthwhile again. To make myself happy. If you can't understand that - you might want to try it out yourself.

To those shoulders I cried on, to those friends who listened, to those opinions who weighed in on my problems - I am truly thankful. Thank you for your patience, for your support, for your love and acceptance. I hope I can return that love in 2012 and beyond.

Semester 1: A Summary

2011-12-21T01:08:00.002-07:00

Well, final grades are (nearly) up and I have successfully completed my first semester studying Speech Pathology Therapy... not having exams or assignments hanging over my head is the best feeling I have experienced in awhile. School makes me into this anti-social, anxiety-ridden ball of stress, and I am glad to be free of it! Lots of people I talk to are like "oh well, enjoy it while you can, because you'll miss school when you're done." This sardonic claim always puzzles me, as I was out of school and working full time for what, six years? I won't miss it. I'm not that type of person.

In case nobody knows, I am studying Speech Pathology to become a therapist assistant, which basically means I will be carrying out therapy and doing observational/instructional work in places like schools, rehabilitation centers or early education settings. I will be working with children and adults who have speech disorders, disabilities, learning or cognitive disorders or just trouble with articulation or receptive language skills. Unlike a Speech Pathologist, I won't be able to diagnose anything, but my main work will be in the field carrying out treatment and therapy plans, which for me, is what I would much rather be doing anyhow.

This last semester, I conquered Intro Psychology, Educational Assistant: Roles/Responsibilities, Speech Language and Literacy Development, Interpersonal Skills and Intro to Human Language. My highest mark was an A+ (in Human Language, thank you Journalism background) and my lowest was a miraculous A- (both in Psychology and Speech Development.... how I got a mark like that in Psychology is a mystery that not even Freud could figure out). For not working nearly as hard as I had planned to during this semester (getting a job halfway through somewhat threw a wrench in my ability to prioritize schoolwork over sleep), I feel I did extremely well grade-wise and am actually looking forward to next semester. In January, I start Communication Disorders, Human Development and Learning Through Play, a whopping 3 classes (I was exempt from taking English, thank you again, Journalism). Though LTP is a relatively light course and will be easy marks, Comm Disorders and Human Dev are both health-sciences based curriculum, so they will be a lot more difficult, albeit I am looking forward to them immensely.

Things I have learned about myself in the past four months: My study abilities have not changed since highschool. I crammed the nights before exams but lacked the discipline to study ahead of time. For each exam, I likely studied a total of four hours per test. I just suck, immensely, at studying. Everything I got out of my classes, I learned in class or through assignments. I thought that I would get out of this habit after highschool but apparently, it's ingrained. I really like Linguistics. This is my fall-back/back-up plan if I ever plan on going back into school for something else... studying language from a descriptivist standpoint, rather than the structured-grammarian prescriptivist point of view (Journalism) is much more interesting, all though I don't know what kind of job a BA Major in Linguistics would get you. I hate people. Not all people - the girls in my program are wonderful and (for the most part) my profs were pretty decent. Being being in school being surrounded by a general crowd of people at all times has made me much less tolerant of: stupidity, bad hygiene and young naivety. My laptop weighs a ton. D bought me an HP Envy around six months before the start of school but I learned halfway through my semester that it weighs a TON (around 7 pounds, this is what I get for getting a loaded model). I ended up purchasing a netbook in late November, which weighs a little less than 2 pounds and is much better for cramming amongst textbooks.

All in all, it was a successful semester. I started the year feeling unsure about making friends (I am 7 years older than some of the girls in my program) but of course, like all "new kid" situations for everyone, that went away. I feel like I'm in the right place, that I'm studying something I can potentially be very good at and will enjoy as a career.

3 more semesters, two practicums and many more months of not-sleeping to come. Bring it!!! Merry Christmas everyone :)

My Favorite Teacher

2011-11-27T23:36:00.001-07:00

One thing you might know about me if you know me at all, is that I'm a fairly extroverted person. I love being around other people, talking with others, making people laugh. I strive on making connections with people. I don't mind being the center of attention in certain situations. I'm not afraid of interactions, rejections, meeting new people.

But one thing you might not know about me is that I wasn't always like that. In fact, I used to be shy. Painfully shy. I used to be the kind of kid who would get sent home with report cards, encouraging me to interact with other children, to ask questions in class, to actually speak out loud once in awhile.

During my elementary school years, I had little to no interest in making friends. Sure, I had some, but if they weren't the kind of friends who were going to take charge and initiate something, I wasn't going to risk my neck out on the playground. I was the type of kid who would sit under a tree reading during recess. Even when I was young - six or seven, I would stand outside the classroom door during lunch hour, just waiting for the bell to ring. The idea of interacting with anybody terrified me. So, I stayed quiet. All the time. I know it puzzled a lot of my teachers - I'm fairly certain now that they probably thought I had some sort of social delay problem. But in all due honesty, I just didn't understand the other kids. The kids on the playground who were so loud, and so rough, and so messy. I was the type of kid who didn't like to get dirty, who didn't move fast enough, who didn't have the conviction to smack a tetherball around a post or roll around on the grassy hills.

So what changed? Now, as an adult, I am the type of girl who is throwing elbows in basketball games, who will climb under and over all the playground equipment with a five-year-old, who will be the first to jump twenty feet off a cliff into icy cold water.

I think a lot of people would speculate that it was just the natural path of growing up. But looking back, there is one moment that I can pinpoint where a change began in my life. And that moment was in seventh grade - when my teacher, Mr Johnston, decided to punish one of the most outgoing girls in my class for talking to much. That day, she was talking too much during class, so he moved her desk up to the front of the room, next to mine. "Maybe Sarah can teach you a thing or two," he said with a a friendly nudge. Mr Johnston was that kind of teacher - he was cool, he had rules, but he did everything with purpose. Little did I know, he had more purpose that day than I had realized.

Her name was Nikki, and she was everything I wasn't at that age - pretty, loud, talkative and overflowing with confidence. I remember slinking down in my chair as she moved up to sit next to me. I wasn't interesting or entertaining and I would probably bore her to death. She would probably hate me - what else is new? I was used to kids not liking me just because I wasn't loud or vivacious or exciting. But somehow, within a few days, Nikki and I started getting along - and all of a sudden, we were friends.

Somehow, in the course of what felt like a few days - I became a whole different person. I remember my parents couldn't stand Nikki - they couldn't stand her free nature, her lack of household rules, her calls during dinner time. I was a straight A student, a devoted flutist, an avid reader. I was forever spending weekends and evenings locked in my bedroom with a book and my cassette player. But I loved my new friendship with Nikki. And even moreso, I loved the person she made me into. She was daring, and I became daring. She was confident, and I became confident. She pulled me into her group of friends and before I knew it, at the end of that school year, I successfully ran for Class Representative. I won the school public speaking award. That shy girl who was terrified of speaking in class, who was terrified of speaking, was somehow gone. I started the next academic school year in high school - running for student council, playing on the volleyball team, trying out for the school musical. And as I got older, and my friendship with Nikki carried on, that shy, terrified, introverted girl I once was somehow disappeared.

I still wonder to this day if it was really her, or if I became who I am because it's just who I was destined to be. If Mr Johnston hadn't stuck her next to me in class that day, would I ever have found the confidence to pursue the things I wanted, to stand up for what I believed in front of others, to fearlessly pursue relationships, dreams, ambitions? Deep inside, I know that shy girl still exists - she's the one who keeps me at home on Sunday nights with a book and a cup of tea. She's the one who helps me stay up until the late hours of the morning, writing or day dreaming or listening to music. But I know she's thankful, for all those changes, back when I was twelve years old. I am who I am, and I appreciate it. But I do have to wonder if Mr Johnston had this plan in mind. If maybe, he had never intended for my shy, quiet nature to rub off on Nikki. If maybe, he knew that her confidence and her happiness would ultimately rub off on me. Because at the end of the school term, the two of us were likely the most talkative and disruptive pair in the room. But our desks still remained together. He never moved us apart. And for that, I am thankful. And I think that shy girl within me is a little thankful, too.

Fighting for Nothing

2011-11-21T03:40:00.001-07:00

...it isn't about being angry, or bitter. It isn't about ignoring, or eliminating, or forgetting. It's not about seeking a reaction, or an improvement, or an explanation, or an apology.This distance is about me, and the things I need, the choices I have to make to be happy. It's about how when we were a family - our relationship was never, not ever, a good one. We were never healthy, we were never happy. There were times when we were fighting, or recovering from fighting, and there were times when we weren't. But that's not what it should be like, that's not what love feels like, that's not what family means.

So please don't - don't feed me these backhanded apologies that are actually apologizing for nothing. "I'm sorry you feel that way." 25 years of those words, like salt in wound, everytime. Please stop the guilt trips, the offers of family dinner like we are some godforsaken family on a sitcom television show. Please stop dismissing my feelings, my interpretations - you don't have to understand them, but for once in my life, I'm not going to let you brush them away as if they are just a phase. Feeling like this is not a phase. Kissing a wound doesn't make it all better - but luckily my wounds are all now scars.

I've heard it all - about how ignorant I'm being and how I need to drop my pride. About how I'll regret this in the future. But quite honestly, I'm not interested in the uninformed opinions. I'm not interested in the commentary. My pride is one thing - but what about my self respect? What about my own happiness, my mental health, my emotional stability? And tell me, how can I possibly regret letting go of something that has hurt me so much? Sometimes, the right thing isn't always the easy thing. And no, this hasn't been easy. But for me, it was the right choice.

I accept this, I take responsibility. I'm not actively trying to ignore to hurt you. I'm not instigating a problem. I'm removing myself from one. Because I'm done. I'm done fighting for nothing. Please understand.

I've picked my battles.
I don't pick this one anymore.

Me and D - our first home

2011-11-19T03:19:00.004-07:00

Winter always makes me nostalgic. We got our first snow last week, here in Edmonton, and I can't believe this is my tenth Alberta winter. Even though this is the tenth, that doesn't mean they get any easier. I am not a snow-friendly girl. But I guess that's a story for another post.

This summer marked the third anniversary of living in our condo downtown. Our third year of having a mortgage, and making memories in our little 850 square foot apartment. Even so, not much has changed since we first moved in. We always say every year that we're going to have the walls painted, but there's never enough time. We always say every year we're going to buy new window coverings - but why do that before we paint the walls, right? Even so, without all of the aspired changes, this place is our home, and I can't really imagine living somewhere else.

I can remember the day our realtor walked us into this building. We had already seen a handful of condos and they had been disappointing - too small or too old or too big or too ugly. We were a realtor's veritable nightmare - we weren't entirely sure what we wanted, but we knew we'd know it when we saw it. When we walked into our building, I knew we both had this small feeling of excitement after seeing the lobby, but after seeing so many disappointing places earlier in that day, we knew better than to say anything.

There was that moment when we walked in and I took in what would be our future home. 2 bedrooms, walk in closets, beautiful hardwood floors, stainless steel kitchen appliances and an open floorplan. I remember looking at D and we both knew, "this is it." Our realtor was baffled - he couldn't understand what was so special about this place. I don't even know what it was - maybe the fact that it was newer, or the location, or the amount of natural light. I'm not sure. But we ended up making an offer, hearing the counter offer, and then eventually driving over to the Tim Hortons (which, by the way, was the coincidentally the same location as our first date) and signing the papers. That was one of the single most exhilarating and terrifying things we have ever done. But then, we were home owners. We would be moving!!!

At that point in time, the two of us were renting in a little basement suite in the east end of Edmonton. It was nothing extraordinary - probably around 600 sq feet with extremely loud upstairs tenants, but it was the first place that D and I had ever fully lived together, and that made it special enough. Packing up that place day by day was daunting, sad and also exciting, and I remember I drove D crazy with my avid use of the packing tape on every one of our boxes.

The day we got possession of our new apartment, I walked over from my office downtown and met D, who had already started moving some of our boxes and things in from our old place. It was so exciting and terrifying, to walk in and see this big empty space, just waiting for us. We sat on the hardwood floors in the main room and ate donairs for lunch, pleased as punch with ourselves over the fact we had somehow done it. The night after we moved into the apartment, we slept on our mattress on the bedroom floor - because we hadn't yet bought a new bedframe. I can remember going to Ikea and coming back with hundreds and hundreds of dollars of furniture to assemble - and D, hiding out in the bedroom, painstakingly putting that bed together (and then me, painstakingly taking the bed apart and reassembling it correctly ;) haha).

Sometimes I dream about living in a house, having a garage, or a back yard for a dog to run around in. But truth be told, I'm happy where I am right now, and I know those dreams will come - but I'm all right with waiting for awhile. I am in no hurry to move. D and I will probably hang onto this condo for at least another few years - maybe making some changes (buying nicer furniture, updating the countertops, maybe finally painting?). A lot of people don't understand why I want to live in a condo, downtown, amongst all the traffic and the sirens. But there's something about our place, our home, that has become a part of me. A part of us.

Our tiny little kitchen in our first basement suite. This kitchen was literally half of the common room.

Current kitchen, also tiny, but seemingly less.

What our apartment looked like prior to us living there. The people who lived here before us were much better at decorating than we are.

Front entrance and dining area (aka where I do all my studying and homework). Please note the paint chip on the wall that has been up since we moved in ;)

Where all the magic happens. Aka, where I wrote this blog post.

View from the balcony at 4AM in the morning. Do you like the snow on my barbeque?

Who knew such a small space could mean so much?

Don't You Cry...

2011-10-26T18:16:00.006-06:00

School has bestown upon me the mandatory enrollment in a class called Interpersonal Skills. And while a lot of it is common sense and mushy-gushy topics, some of it has made a lot of sense to me. One of the things I've been making an effort to work at in my life has been managing my emotional intelligence.

What does that mean? Well in short, your emotional intelligence is your awareness of your emotions, learning to manage and control them in an appropriate manner and learning to learn from them. Having feelings is a-ok. But having feelings explode all over you when you really don't expect it - that's not ok at all.

I admit that there are some things I am good at, and there are some things I am terrible at. Emotional Intelligence is something that has always needed improvement in my life. I can remember countless times when someone has made me angry - like really angry, and my emotions just bubble up uncontrollably - and then I become this:

And honestly - this is one of my WORST qualities. I hate this about myself. I hate when I get legitimately angry, I start to tear up, even when I'm not upset. It's just my emotions, bubbling up and taking hold of me. And instead of being able to rationally find words like a regular adult, I start crying because I am so incredibly pissed off. Not only does it make me look incredibly stupid, it makes the person who pissed me off feel incredibly vindicated. And I hate that.

To my credit, I don't get mad very often. The last time I got legitimately mad, it was in volleyball, and thank goodness I didn't start crying. But I did let the antics of someone elses immaturity get to me. I know I'm of the age where I am the ultimate controller of my feelings - nobody can make me upset unless I let them. But unfortunately for me, my guard wasn't up, and I'm still pissed off about that whole issue. But hey, on a plus, I didn't: a) bawl or b) tear the douchebag's face off.

It's all in the magic of emotional intelligence.

See, the thing about me is that I have trouble letting things go. This is my Fatal Flaw - I hold onto things for much too long. Good things, bad things - I tuck them away in my pockets until the weight is pulling me down to the cracks in the sidewalk. It's exhausting. It's difficult. And in the end, it's detrimental to my health. I can't count the nights I have laid awake, sorting through unresolved issues, arguments that happened months ago, catty comments that I interpreted negatively. I know it's part of being human, but I take it much too far. I never let anything go.

So, this is my new beginning. I'm going to try to manage my emotions and separate them from my behavior. I'm going to try to exhale all of my negative thoughts, bad feelings, poor experiences. We all have baggage, I know. But maybe I can drop some - just a bit of it.

That way, if I cry - I cry. But at least I'll have a free hand to reapply my makeup with dignity. Or give someone the finger. You know. It's a work in progress.

Hello, August. Didn't see you there...

2011-08-11T02:55:00.003-06:00

I have been neglecting my blog (and various other social networking sites...sorry Yelp!) and need to get back on track with things. This summer has flown by stupidly fast and I can't believe how close we are getting to the glory that is Fall (shortly followed by the ridiculousness that is Winter). I recently cleaned out my closet and stared in dismay at my growing collection of sundresses. Soon, it will be time for me to retire those babies, and I really don't want to. Why don't I live in California?

My summer has been exhausting lately. My job is coming to an end and while I am enjoying two and a half week's worth of paid time off, it doesn't quite seem to make up for the long days that I spent trying to entertain three bored kids for nine hours. I am starting to think a lot about leaving my kids come September, and it makes me a little sad and a little anxious. As crazy as they drive me sometimes, I can't explain the feeling I get when the 6 yr old grabs my hand and tells me he loves me, or when the 9 year old girl and I sit on the driveway drawing with chalk for hours. It will be a huge change in my life, but a positive one. Expect a nice sentimental blog post to pop up in a few weeks, I'm sure.

Bad luck has been all over me for the last week or so. I was in a not-at-fault car accident last week, but am lucky enough to come out unharmed and with just a little damage to my car. I'm still waiting to hear back from my insurance adjustor, but I'm going forward with a positive mindset. The woman that hit me was 74 years old and just drifted over into my lane on Stony Plain Road. The incident wasn't very traumatizing but it was pretty stressful (as I was headed to a volleyball game!) and I'm glad all the paperwork and reporting is done and over with.

My Blackberry crapped out on me last week, which was just great. Then add in some weird injury to my right leg, which started out as an irritation and developed into a "oh my god, cut my leg off" pain. I went for acupuncture on Tuesday and that made some significant changes. Nothing is healed completely, but if things don't improve by next week, I have a doctor on hold at the Edmonton Sport Institute to take a look at me (seeing as how the medicentre doctor I saw earlier in the week didn't seem to even want to bother trying). I had an x-ray, however, and saw the prints for myself, and I feel good that nothing is broken this time.

D was gone last week to Saskatchewan/Regina for work, and came back today. We have another four days together before he leaves on Monday (for nine days) to Nunavut, of all places. I miss him like crazy when he is gone, but man, do I love living by myself. There is something very comforting about coming home and being quiet by myself, leaving things out and knowing they will be there when I get back. I'm kind of a hermit like that, I love being on my own and enjoying my time to myself. I think the novelty will wear off while he is in Nunavut, but I'm going to try to make the most of it.

I am getting pumped to be back in school - already I have purchased a new backpack (and a new Lululemon bag... you know me and my addiction to bags!) and 2 of my required texts for my classes. I have a little stack of school supplies sitting in the office and I cannot wait to start learning. My first text came in today for my Interpersonal Communications class. I'm hoping to crack it open when D is gone just to get a feel for the literature.

Current addictions are as follows: Raspberry tea, Jersey Shore (Yeah, I gave in. But it's actually really funny, I swear), BBCream (& my skin is so much happier with me because of it), The Glee Live 3D Concert film coming out this weekend (yes, I am making D take me) and nail polish galore. Seriously. My nails are different every 3 days. I love it.

Fly

2011-07-09T04:19:00.001-06:00

I can remember the muted sound of feathers and bone against steel wire. The scatter of woodchips and seed across the kichen floor. Sometimes, if the birds were acting particularly noisy or fluttering about, my mother would toss a towel over the cage. It wouldn't stop the noise or the movement. In fact, it would only encourage it for a moment, before the towel fell still and the air in the cage grew heavy.

It must be horrible to be a bird in a cage.

It is simply amazing to watch a bird take flight - seeing the span of the wings, stretching out and kissing the air, fluttering slightly. The frail bones and tender muscles stretching out, feathers shifting with a slight trill. Their bodies flatten and smooth, their feet disappearing within them. They go from an animal to a machine of aviation. The noise stops, except for the folding of a wing; their hearts beating wildly, sometimes even visibly, beneath the feathers of their breast. I think birds are so beautiful. I always said when I was a child - if I was to be an animal, it would be a bird.

They aren't the most powerful, or the most fearful, or the strongest or the fastest. But to fly, to be be able to spread your wings and escape on the wind, into the horizon. The air isn't like a road - it has no set route, no landmark to guide you on your way. Birds just seem to know which way is which, and when they go, they go.

It must be the most wonderful feeling.

My parents kept a cockatiel when I was growing up. They named her Taz and we would joke that she thought she was one of us. Her cage used to sit next to the kitchen table, adjacent to a window. I can always remember her black eyes, never blinking, always staring at us, observing our ways. During dinner time, when all of us were circled around the table, she used to come out and eat her seed on the stand her cage was perched on, trying to join in on the meal. She'd beg and preen for her head to be scratched, pushing her bony feathered skull against your finger, shutting her eyes in complete pleasure. She'd sit on anyone's shoulder, singing happily, occasionally moving in to peck at a shiny gold or diamond earring. She'd sit still while my sister and I kissed her beak, laughing in delight when she 'kissed' us back.

When I was 14 or 15, my parents bought me another bird, seeing as how the first one worked out so well. Frankie came from a bird sanctuary, and I picked him out from a huge aviary, sitting in the middle of the room in a chair, surveying, trying to pick out a voice amongst the chatter and scurry of feathers. I picked out Frankie for his beauty - tall white crown feathers on his head, a proud wingspan, a strong voice. They put him in a cardboard box for me to take him home. His taloned feet scraped the cardboard, his wings beating hard against the walls of the box that I clutched on the drive home.

"You have to break him," my father told me. He gave me a towel. "Wrap him in this towel every day, and hold him. Hold him in there and sit with him until you've broken his spirit. Until he's tame." I never understood this but I took his advice, wanting to tame my new pet. I held Frankie in that towel, just tightly enough so he couldn't escape, his head peeking through the fabric, his black eyes looking at me. I tried to convey to him a feeling of safety, of submission. Is there ever safety in submission? He conveyed to me nothing but the frantic beat of his tiny heart against my thumb.

In the end, he broke me. I can remember the bites he gave me, the skin between my index finger and my thumb punctured and bleeding. I stopped reaching for him and he stopped biting - it seemed like an amicable agreement between the two of us, albiet misunderstood by my father, who just shook his head at my failure in the art of bird whispering.

Frankie and Taz eventually bonded, but it was Frankie that changed Taz, not the other way around, like we had originally hoped. Taz stopped eating supper with us, she stopped asking for head rubs and beak kisses. It was like seeing Frankie reminded her that she was a bird, not a human, and she had been foolish to think otherwise.

Frankie was always trying to escape - the minute the cage door would open, he'd fly out, flapping frantically, crashing into the glass windows. To prevent such mayhem and future injuries, my parents would clip their wings; my father's hands encased in thick calfskin gloves, struggling to grab a wing and stretch it out gently, displaying the flight feathers. It was always a fight, with lots of squawking and shrieking, both of my parents swearing and bickering. I can remember the sound of scissors on their feathers once they finally managed to execute - it made the same sound that you hear when you cut a thick piece of construction paper. Crisp, clean, clips. Bits of feathers would fall on the floor. Sometimes accompanied by a drop of blood or two, from cutting too close. With a flutter, the bird's wings would open up momentarily, displaying a jagged edge of primaries. A few flaps would be heard, followed by the thunk of talons on lineolum.

No matter how many times they clipped Frankie, he always tried to fly away. He never forgot the interaction, trying to avoid their grasp whenever they reached for him inside of his cage. But he never gave up on the notion that his wings would eventually work again, the clipped feathers eventually falling out and regrowing in just as strong and beautiful as before. In turn, my parents just stopped letting him out.

My mother keeps those birds in her basement now, parked next to the closet that houses the furnace, a towel draped around three of the four sides of the cage. They were moved down there because they don't fit in with the new decor of the house, their squawking disruptive and their cage scattering messy. When I used to go over, I used to go into the basement and talk to them. My parents offered for me to take them, but living where I do and with someone who doesn't care for pets of the avian-variety, I couldn't. I can't express how much I wanted to, and now, how much I wish that I had.

Taz, now nearly as old as I, does not look me in the eye. She shuffles distrustingly from my finger, which I am resting on her cage bars. Her black eyes blink and I wonder if she even knows who I am. I wonder if she remembers nuzzling on my shoulder, her beak on my tarnished silver stud of an earring. Her talons tangled in my hair, flapping her wings wildly, not to escape, just to be felt and known.

Frankie, his white feathers still smooth and as handsome as ever, studies me. I whistle softly, catcalling, and he stands up taller, cocking his head and listening. I don't know what it is about the sound of whistling, but he loves it. I repeat, slowing my whistle, stretching out the sound of the air on my lips. He opens his wings slightly and whistles back, looking at me expectantly. Repeats. His crown feathers smooth down, indicating a calmness, a proudness. We whistle some more, and his little black eyes stare at me. I can remember the beat of his heart when I used to hold him in that towel, both of us terrified of one another. I tentatively open up the door of the cage and slide my hand in, perching my finger underneath his breast, waiting for him to perch. He looks at me, his crown feathers standing up slightly, but doesn't make any motion. Our eyes meet - our understanding - and I withdraw my hand.

I step back away from the cage, fastening the door shut with a metal clang. I whisper goodbye, whistling once more, and shut off the light. Frankie hesitates and whistles again, watching me curiously in the dark. I climb the stairs and shut the basement door. I wait at the top of the stairs and hear the shuffle of claws on cage bars, the movement barely audible. I feel guilt and remorse, imagining life in a cage, in the dark. Both of us, paused there in the shadows, waiting for the pierce of a whistle - waiting to reply.

Some things just can't be broken.

December 8, 1986.

2011-07-08T23:55:00.000-06:00

Growing up, I never thought my being adopted made me any different. And in many ways - it didn't. I still grew up with two parents present in my life. I still had a family. But since I was very young, I always had a feeling that I didn't know where I came from. Where I fit. To say that I didn't have a great relationship with my parents growing up would be accurate, but for some kids, that is normal. I thought it was normal for me.

Truth is, I realize now as an adult that my being adopted has affected me as a person. I don't feel incomplete, nor do I feel like I missed out on anything as a kid, but I have serious issues when it comes to my relationships. I don't emotionally invest myself in people. I have always been an independent person - not willing to ask for help, not willing to depend on others, not easily trusting. And the minute that I feel like someone is about to leave me or hurt me, I'm always quick to make the first move. To get away, to distance myself. It's a reaction that comes naturally, and no, it's not something I like about myself.

I don't know a lot about my birth parents. I know they were young when they had me, and both newly landed immigrants in Vancouver. My general assumption tells me that they put me up for adoption because they were not expecting to have a child, nor could they support me. Everyone I know tells me that it's better that I was adopted, rather than having to grow up with two young inexperienced parents, and I know they're right. It was the right decision. But I think for a lot of adopted kids, the feeling still stands: We were given up. No, it's not an easy decision and yes, it's usually done with our best interests in mind. But even now, as an adult, it still hurts to wonder if my birth mother held me after I was born, or if the nurse simply took me out of the room because she didn't want to see me. It hurts to think about my birth parents and wonder if they think of me on my birthday, if they even remember. I can't explain why it does - I have no emotional attachments to these people. I have no memories. But this is where I'm from, and they are still a part of who I am. People try to tell me that parentage-by-blood shouldn't ever matter - it's who raised you that counts. But I can tell you that all those people who have given me that advice all were not adopted. I am thankful that I was adopted, and raised in a safe, warm home with a roof over my head. I am thankful I had two parents present in my life. But I cannot deny that I have always felt that something is missing. And that feeling, that void in my chest is what has caused me to have a lot of the emotional and communicative problems I have had my entire life.

A lot of people ask me if I want to search for my birth parents. And my answer has always been no. The truth is, I know that they are just people. I don't want to meet them because it would create an uninentional expectation. I don't feel like I need an explanation, or a relationship with them. I place no blame and I don't feel like they owe me anything. But then again, a part of me has always had unanswered questions. Not so much regarding my adoption - but regarding my roots. Whether or not I have my mother's eyes, or my father's nose. Where I get my personality, my height, my bone structure. Whether or not I have any blood-siblings. Where do I fit, in a family? Where did I come from?

I cannot blame my adoptive parents for my issues. Our relationship is fatally flawed, perhaps even destroyed, but the road goes both ways and we are both at fault for that. As a child, I've never truly felt supported or encouraged. As a daughter, I've never tried to really connect. They've never felt needed and in return, I've never felt like I could depend on them enough to need them. It's a circle that goes round and round and round. I think that my problems with my parents could span from my attachment issues, and also that some of my attachment issues come from my problems with my parents. It's an endless cycle, but I cannot place blame. Blame will not get me anywhere. I can only learn, and move on. I accept my past, and I can change my future.

I am not looking for a secondary family, but I am looking for knowledge, and perspective . I may not start looking tomorrow, I may not even start until next year. But in time, when I'm ready, I will start looking. I may never find my birth parents. I may never even know their real names. But maybe I will find something else along the way that may help me find out where I fit - where I came from. Something that will help me find a peace in myself that has always been missing.

When I Grow Up

2011-07-06T23:07:00.000-06:00

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a singer. I would lock myself in my room for hours, turn on my record player/tape deck/CD player (whatever was in, at the time) and stand in front of the mirror with a hairbrush. I duetted with Michael Jackson, shrieked with Mariah Carey, belted out Celine Dion and harmonized right along with Nysnc. When I wasn't singing, I was listening to music. When I wasn't listening to music, I was writing songs.

What's weird about this dream was that I can't ever remember feeling like the dream could actually come true. I didn't have the naive optimism that most kids have, in thinking I was so talented that it would happen. My parents didn't have the interest to enroll me in anything that would help me further my talents. So it was mostly just a pipedream - but a fun one, at that.

My next ambition after that one was becoming a writer. I held onto this idea for a long time, even taking it into post-secondary in the form of Journalism (which quickly squashed any ideas I had about writing professionally). When I was in elementary school, I spent endless hours crouched on my bed with a pad of paper, writing and sketching. My parents gave me my grandmother's old typewriter, and then her word processor, so I could write in text when I got too old to write picturebooks. I wrote stories, journals, poems. It was something I genuinely enjoyed and I wasn't at an age where writing was part of schoolwork, so it never felt like a chore.

When I hit 16, I decided I wanted to be a pro-wrestler. WWE style. I am not even kidding. I read all the biographies, worked out every evening, dreamt up my character, my lines, my signature moves. I spent my evenings writing out pretend scripts and stories for my character to act out. Unlike my dream to be a singer, this was a dream I legitimately thought I could make true. But unlike my dream to be writer, it was one that I wasn't experienced in at all.

And then I got a boyfriend, and everything changed. He made fun of me for liking wrestling, and being the impressionable sixteen year old girl I was, I quickly gave up my dream to become normal. And since then, my ambitions have been relatively less high profile. I don't really regret "giving up." I think, in a sense, it was all just part of growing up.

Jobs I have considered throughout the years have varied. Law Enforcement (I seriously considered becoming a police officer after my wrestling dream died), Public Relations (which was one of my exit options when I was taking Journalism), Nursing (don't care for bodily fluids) and Culinary Arts (didn't want to work evenings and weekends for the rest of my life) were the most noteable in my journey for "A Future."

And for a long time, I considered being a full time parent. Yes, as my job. I legitimately wondered if I could stick out office-work or any other relatively-great paying administrative job until I was old enough to procreate, and then just be a full time mommy.

This was the turning point for me, because I decided to act on this whim and took a job nannying. Now, nannying is not mommying. But it's pretty damn close. I don't have to do any of the emotional stuff or the financial planning. But I do live the day to day life of a stay at home mother. I care for a family, I care for children, I maintain a household. And anybody who thinks that being a stay at home parent isn't work should give it a shot for awhile. It can get crazy.

Now, my job is coming to an end in a month and awhile, and I think I have made the right choice. There are lots of things I will miss about the job - the kids, the moment when the 6 yr old grabs my hand and smiles at me, having free reign over a kitchen, having a variable amount of free time to myself - but I will not miss being a nanny. It's safe to say that I am done. The rose colored glasses have come off and I am ready for a change.

I picked Speech Pathology because I have an interest in communications, language and development. And most of all, because I like kids. Despite all the crap I've been through, I enjoy their humor and admire their innocence. I want to help kids - which was what lead me to the path of exploration between Special Ed Teaching Assistants, Disability Studies, Social Work and the like. It took me a long time to figure out what kind of job I wanted to acquire, and Speech Pathology fit the bill. To tell you the truth, I don't know if this is my final dream or not. It might just be something I do until I have kids. It might be something I do when I have kids. It might be something I do for awhile before I do something else completely. Maybe I won't even have kids - who knows what my future will bring and how much will change?

But a dream is a dream is a dream, and looking back, I can't help but laugh over all my ambitions. No, I never became a singer, but I still belt out a pretty good "Valerie" in the car. I still sang in front of hundreds in a few school musicals. I never became a writer, but I've been published in an anthology and made some money off that. I still write various pieces on Microsoft Word every night, and blog if I'm feeling so inclined. I never became a wrestler, but I still (accidentally) knock people down in basketball (or mostly - get knocked down). I still take my body to the limits it presents me, I still take pride in my strength.

A dream that you've given up on doesn't mean that you've quit, or failed. In the case of some of my dreams, I didn't even try to achieve them. I didn't even dare to. But I wanted them, deep down. And in a sense, I got them. In the ways that count. So I will keep my hopes high for Speech Pathology, my expectations realistic for potential motherhood, and my mind young, for the future. And most of all, I will keep on dreaming. I don't know what I'll be when I grow up. Hell, maybe I am grown up and I am what I'm supposed to be - I just haven't figured it out yet. But either way, I'm happy. I'm figuring it out. I have my options. And at the end of the day, that's all that matters.

In my Dreams.

2011-07-03T21:57:00.000-06:00

One of the crazier things I have been trying to achieve lately is Lucid Dreaming. I have read the materials, googled my heart out, practiced all the pre-bedtime rituals. I know it's supposed to be difficult and I'm not disheartened that I haven't been completely successful. I am big on the dreams - I wake up remembering them almost daily and some of them stick with me for months. I don't know why I'm so hell bent on trying to become lucid. Maybe because it's cool, or because I want to know if it's actually possible. Or maybe just because I just such a big fan of being asleep.

I haven't achieved lucidity completely but I have had a few instances where I feel like I've come close. One of these instances happened during a daytime nap, but it quickly became terrifying because I lost control mid-way and ended up having to watch my dream-self get raped by someone I interact with on a regular basis, which was not very fun. I kept trying to will myself awake - as I was still very aware that I was asleep, but it didn't happen until my alarm went off. After that experience, I didn't try to achieve lucidity for a long time, it scared me so much. A few months later, I had another dream where I felt like I had control over my dream environment and experiences, but then was plagued with several Inception-like false awakenings. After three false awakenings (so it effectively felt like a dream, within a dream, within a dream, within a dream), I was still very aware that I was asleep, but couldn't will myself awake. So, also terrifying, but at least I wasn't being raped this time.

After that experience, I sort of just stopped trying and went back to normal dreaming.

My dreams are extremely vivid (whose aren't?) and I don't nightmare very often. I suffered from night terrors and hallucinations as a child, and I'm thankful that those don't happen anymore. D tells me I tend to talk and cry in my sleep, which of course, I never remember. The nightmares I do experience tend to be completely plausible but still irrational real-life situations - the last few that I can remember featured a slew of tornados, a third world war in my Grandmother's backyard, and D acting like a douchebag. A few years ago, I was plagued with nightly dreams where my teeth would fall out or become loose. I used to wake up and bolt right to the mirror to check my mouth.

I tend to fall in 'love' in my dreams, which later becomes a full-blown crush in my waking-life. This explains a myraid of my celebrity crushes, noteable figures being Zac Efron, Mark Salling (which my subconscious treats me to at least once a week) and Jesse Spencer. I've also had dreams with romantic tendancies towards people in my everyday life, which later becomes totally awkward in my mind. I once had a dream where I held hands with one of my single guy friends, and I swear to god, I couldn't talk to him for two weeks after because I felt so embarassed.

Truth is, I love dreaming; terrifying and awkward experiences aside. I look forward to going to sleep at night because of it. I do admit that sometimes I get in a little too deep (I've had instances where I've dreamt one thing and remembered it as a memory, rather than a dream, which is mighty confusing) and lucid dreaming hasn't exactly been a successful endeavor. But I suppose, in a way, I'm glad for that. There's something beautiful about closing your eyes and completely becoming lost in your thoughts - even the ones you didn't know you had.

Books, Books and More Books.

2011-07-02T01:17:00.007-06:00

I have been consuming books by the fistful since the weather got nicer and the kids I care for started playing outside again. I read through all the Harry Potters and the Percy Jacksons, and then started back in on 'adult' books, which I have to admit was a difficult transition. I tend to get attached to a series, especially longer books like those from the Harry Potter anthology, and I go through a bit of a 'mourning' period when I'm finished reading. It's just so bittersweet - you get so attached to a character and then they're gone from your life...sniff.

One book I read that I ended up reading again right after I finished it was The Help by Kathryn Stockett. I fell in love with the characters and related a little bit to the story, being someone considered to be modern day "domestic help." I've heard this novel is coming out as a film in a few months or something like that and I liked the book so much, that I'm hesitant about seeing the movie.

Another novel I just finished was Free Food for Millionaires by Min Jin Lee and it hit me on a personal level. The story is about a young Korean woman, struggling to find her identity in a primarily white world. She spends most of the novel estranged from her family and it opened my mind to a lot of the reasons why my family and I don't see eye-to-eye on most levels. Lee's writing style is very similar to that of the Victorian era - with tons and tons of characters and subplots to follow, which surprised me but sucked me in. It was a very long book, but I was so impressed with it that I went out and purchased a copy for myself when I was halfway through my library-borrowed copy. And even better, the copy I bought was on sale at Indigo and only cost me a few bucks.

I've downloaded a bunch of titles to read on my Kindle. I read through Lullabies for Little Criminals by Heather O'Neill, which was a little bit heartbreaking and interesting, but ultimately a little draggy for me. On my to-read list, I have The Shining by Steven King (which I read when I was 16 but haven't read since), When God Was a Rabbit by Sarah Winman, The Red Pyramid by Rick Riordan (author of my beloved Percy Jackson series) and The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. And in hardcopy, I'm also going to tackle some easier 'summer reading' features that I picked up from the discount table at Indigo: Thin Rich Pretty by Beth Harbison, The Ten Year Nap by Meg Wolitzer and The Little Giant of Aberden County by Tiffany Baker. On my 'challenges' list, I also have Vanity Fair by William Thackeray and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. I say these are challenges because they are both considerably lengthy books and older pieces of literature, which are sometimes difficult for me to focus on. It took me nearly three months to finish reading Anna Karenina by Tolstoy, which for me, is a lifetime.

Some people like to ask me why I buy some titles on Kindle and some in hardcopy. Truth is, sometimes price plays a huge factor. I went to pick up When God Was a Rabbit at Indigo and they were asking 18.99 for the hardcover copy. I took a look at the Kindle store and they wanted 5.77 for it, so that was what made my mind up. I couldn't get Free Food for Millionaires in digital copy, so I tracked it down in-store. I'm not someone who is picky about what format their reading is coming from. I like to build up my Kindle library because sometimes it's just plain easier to carry around my e-reader. I've read online that JK Rowling is going to be releasing Harry Potter digitally through Pottermore eventually, and I may even download those, just so I can stop hauling around the gigantic hardcover copies (especially when I travel). I know a lot of people think I am some sort of literary sell out by consuming books digitally, but to me, a story is a story. Who likes reading? I do, I do, I do!

Everything I'm not, made me everything I am.

2011-06-19T01:06:00.006-06:00

I can't control what you think of me. I can't control the rumors, the one-sided stories, the lies. I can't control those who believe them. I can't control those who hate me. I can't control anyone's thoughts but my own.

I do have control over my response, my reaction. I have control over who can hurt me and who can't. I have control over what comes out of my mouth. I can control my own thoughts. I can control who I let into my life, and who I don't.

Think what you want about me. Maybe you're right, and maybe you're wrong. But your thoughts, are nothing more than that.

Make me the villian. Tell your story as the victim. Blame me for everything.

I never said I was perfect. I never said I was always right. And that's a lot more than you were willing to admit.

"You know when I finally began to like who I am? When I finally stopped trying to please you."
- Sue Sylvester, Glee, SE2 EP8.

Me and D - our first date

2011-06-18T03:20:00.005-06:00

One thing I never really talk much about is my relationship. I don't know why - it's a big part of my life. And in my past, dating and the guys I was with was never a topic that I would shy away from analyzing over and over again. I don't know why, but I've always shyed away from talking about D - also known as my boyfriend.

A friend of a friend of mine recently lost his wife in an accident, and my heart breaks every time I read something in reference to their relationship or her death. All of these emotions have continually made me realize that life is often unpredictable and relationships sometimes end unexpectedly. Sure, we have all of our memories - but sometimes, it's nice to share those memories. While I certainly don't want to lose D unexpectedly, I have realized that we do have our own story, with it's ending always "to be continued." So, I will try to tell it. In bits and pieces. To eventually look back on, from wherever we are.

D and I have been together for almost four and a half years now. He is my best friend, my anchor to the ground, my therapist, my confidant, my family. He has both changed me and helped me stay true to who I am. He, sometimes, is the only one who knows me and can see through my bullshit. He is the only one who seems to love me more on my bad days. He is the one person I know I can always depend on.

Our first date wasn't actually a date. We met through a friend of a friend and ended up hanging out. We watched a movie at my house - it was The Boondock Saints, which is one of his favorite movies. I don't remember the movie particularly well, because truth be told, I didn't like it very much. He picked a movie that was obviously not 'girl friendly,' like he was trying purposely to prove he wasn't interested in winning me over. This was okay with me, because I wasn't even considering dating him. I was wearing my sweatpants, and my glasses. My roommate was on the couch with us all evening.

We stayed up all night and around 2 AM, decided we were hungry. At this point in my life, I was sharing a duplex with 2 other girls and was apathetic towards the idea of cooking food (or even having food) in my own home. So we drove downtown to the only 24 hour Tim Hortons that was open, and ate bagels. We talked all evening, he drove me home. I, being the naive twenty year old I was, invited him to sleep over. He crawled into my bed fully clothed and we talked all night until we fell asleep. I didn't even think I liked him until he woke up at 4AM to go to work, kissed me goodbye when I was half asleep, and left his number on my downstairs whiteboard - crammed amongst all the doodles and notes me and my roommates had scrawled.

Eventually, we agreed to have a conventional first date. And truth be told, it was nothing like that first night we spent together. I wore high heels, which I hated. We both ordered drinks at dinner (which we both hated). We went to a nice restaurant and ate a three course meal. It was perfect, yes, but it wasn't us.

That first night is my theory as to why D and I are still together today. Why we went back to that Tim Hortons a few years ago and signed the papers for our first home together. I am not a perfect person, and neither is he. That first night, we were both so confident in ourselves, we weren't looking for anything more. But somehow, we found each other.

I have spent my whole life trying to impress others. I don't know what was going through my mind that night, but I let my guard down. I let D see me the way that so many others don't. And he accepted me. He fell in love with me, despite my faults. My sweatpants, my glasses. Our imperfectly perfect first date. I never would have thought it would become what it has. To this day, I am thankful for that one night. Boondock Saints, and all.

Fight or Flight

2011-06-17T10:32:00.000-06:00

Sometime last year, around the fall, I got my second tattoo. It is a photo of a sparrow in flight, with the words "Fight or Flight" through it. A lot of people ask me what my tattoo means. I usually tell them it's a long story.

Taken literally, Fight or Flight is a reference to the "fight or flight response" theory. In short, humans and animals alike have nervous systems primed to react in a stressful situation. This reaction primes the body to fight, or to flee.

Taken personally, I see the fight or flight response as having the ability to adapt to a situation - adapt in a way that you least expect it. Endure difficult times with a strength or braveness that you weren't aware you had. I feel like our mind is so complex beyond our knowledge - that sometimes it can surprise you. It's funny, what fear can do to a person. Sometimes you run away, sometimes you face it head on. But you never really know what you're going to do until you're right there, in the moment. To me, fight or flight means that sometimes, you are capable of so much more than you think.

I can't say that I have more problems more than anybody else I know. I can't say that I have lived an extraordinarily difficult life. But I've endured my share of obstacles, just like everyone else. And each time, I've surprised myself with a strength I didn't know I had. Sometimes it's mental, sometimes physical. Sometimes it's about yielding - breaking down a wall I'd built, or giving up a belief I once held on to. I know it sounds generic and cliche. But for me, realizing that I'm capable of enduring, of adapting, gave me a outlook on myself, and my life.

If I could give advice to anyone, especially the younger generation - it would be to be fearless. Live life without the "what if's" and the worries. Sounds irresponsible, I know. But truthfully, I feel that we can get through almost anything. And if we can't get through it, we find a way around it. We adapt. We change. We square up for battle, or we run back and choose a new path. Someone once asked me in a moment of crisis, "How can I deal with this? What do I do? How will I ever be okay?" And I remember telling them, "You're doing it, right now. Every second that passes, you're getting through it. You're okay."

Life throws us curveballs every day. Sometimes we don't always deal with them the way we expect. Sometimes we disappoint ourselves. But no matter what, we get through it. Even when we think we can't. Even when we least expect it.

goal setting: now with more resolve!

2011-05-30T17:46:00.003-06:00

I'm not even halfway through the year and my life has totally done a 180. So much has changed! I am revelling in all of it. I've decided to keep up the momentum with some short-term goals. And if I document them, then I am bound to follow through, right? Right? I'm depending on you to attack me on the street with vicious finger wagging and steely eyes of meanness if I happen to get off track.

1) Drop a sport (or even two sports) and take up something good for me. Right now I'm doing three nights of sports, plus an evening of gym time. As much fun as this is (and as painful as it can be), I think I need to dial it down. I've decided that come fall, when I will be in school full time, I will go down to one evening of sports (I think I will keep volleyball, seeing as how I like it far more than basketball) and then challenge myself with something new - such as yoga, pilates, martial arts or something else theraputic. I've spent a lot of time in this past six months hurting myself with sports injuries, or stressing out over the competitiveness of team sports, and I think I need to do a little bit of a cleanse.

2) Read more. This goal is kind of in motion, considering I have been reading a sizeable amount more since I got back from vacation. I'm currently averaging two books a week, which is a lot of reading, all though I have a lot of time on my hands with my job being the way it is (playground time = sitting in the sun & reading time). D & I went to Ikea last weekend and bought a lovely new bookshelf, as my other one is full, and I want to continue the trend of expanding my library (with both print and digital books - my Kindle library is slowly expanding too).

3) Study hard. I have to admit I'm a little nervous about returning to school. I haven't been in an educational environment for almost five years now (which makes me feel incredibly ancient) and the last time I was in post-secondary, I was slacking of and pulling a 2.8 GPA. Which is pathetic, absolutely pathetic, especially because I was an A-student in highschool. I suppose that getting good grades in highschool was part of my problem though, seeing as how I expected to slack off in college (much like I did in highschool) and still somehow magically get good marks. Now I am approaching things with a greater understanding of how post-secondary education (and life) works, and I am hoping that I will be able to dedicate myself and get the grades that I know I'm capable of achieving. And unlike my first year of college in 2005 - I'm actually looking forward to the classes I'm taking, and have interest in the subject. At the risk of sounding cocky I'm shooting for at least a 3.5, if not higher. My courseload will be significant (5 courses per semester) but my fall schedule is good (Fridays off!) so I'm feeling optimistic (and realistic).

4) Be positive. I'm not really much of a negative person, but I do have my days and I want to continue to be a "mainly positive person." I realize this is isn't much of a short-term goal, but I've been on a roll lately and I want to keep it up. As completely lame as it sounds, whenever I've gotten down lately, I've sat down and ran through my mental list of the things I'm thankful for: my friends, my D, the roof over my head, the money in the bank, the food I consume, the experiences I've had. As shitty as some things get, the truth is, my list of "non-shitty things" is always longer. Sometimes it's just of little things - like still having my legs & being able to walk, or getting hot water in the shower on a regular basis - but hey, the little things really are what matter. I want to keep perspective on that.

Undoing the Negative

2011-05-24T21:30:00.004-06:00

They say that for every bad thing someone says to you - someone else says other nice things. And it's true. But the hard truth is that the bad things - the insults, the teasing, the name calling - it sticks with you. I can only remember a handful of compliments I've recieved in life: A friend of mine once told me that my writing style was articulate and expressive. A random woman stopped me in a store and told me I was beautiful. My boss told me she envied my long straight hair. But as much as I hate to admit it - I can remember almost every insult. I don't want to carry them around. In fact, I'd much rather forget them completely. But the moment someone says something about you that you've been fearing was true all along - it sticks with you.

Some boys in grade 8 telling me I had thunder thighs. My father slapping my ten year old face, and calling me a bitch. My mother telling me I had man arms. I can't count the times I've tried to erase these voices. But for all of my confidence and all of the talk I talk, I have never seemed to be able to shake them.

Tonight I was faced with a decision that I met head on. I actively ended my relationship with my parents. I did it for my own reasons, and made these reasons very clear. I don't expect them to ever understand them - because truth be told, my parents have never understood. All of my life, I've had feelings that I've been told to "get over it." My father was quick to reuse this unhelpful three word bandaid tonight on an opinion that I know he can't berate out of me. I have never had a good relationship with my mother and my father. As a child, I was distant. As a teenager, I was scornful. As an adult, I was doubtful. Even after I moved out, six years ago, I never once felt like they were the ones to call when I was in a crisis. I've never felt like I was missing something when we would unceremoniously go without speaking for months on end. For us, it was normal. Not speaking was so much better than fighting.

D told me something tonight. After it was all over, and I had dried off my face, he told me, "I'm sorry that you have to be burdened with all of this." But I had to correct him. I can see a life-changing argument with your parents and an end to an end being a burden for most normal people. I can see waking up and knowing that you don't have parents to turn to as being terrifying for the average person who isn't me. But for me, this isn't a burden. If anything - I feel liberated. I feel free. I told the voices off. I shut them down. I'm done, and I feel lighter.

It's nice, to look into my head, into the mirror, and hear nothing but silence.

When I was 18

2011-03-28T18:36:00.001-06:00

I was working late - really late. It had to be around 11:30PM, and I was alone in the break room. I was wrapping up after holding a new-employees training session.

One of the older men who worked in the store came in. He was the night manager, or a grocery supervisor, or something. He had always been nice to me. We were friendly. We would sometimes talk as I was leaving and he was coming in.

That night, he went too far. Even before we started speaking, I felt something. It was like all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I felt guarded. He got too close - put his hands on me, smiled like nothing was wrong. I had my back against the locker. He was stroking my hair.

All of my instincts were screaming at me silently. To run away, to fight. But instead, I froze up.

I've always thought of myself as someone who could handle herself. I'm not a small girl. I've been in fights. I've hit - and I've been hit. I'm not afraid of conflicts. But that night, I don't know what it was. I was terrified. I didn't want him anywhere near me. I knew what I should have done. I knew what I should have said. But I didn't. I stood there and let him violate me and then I left.

I didn't tell my family. I didn't tell anybody but my best friend, and she was the reason I ended up telling the management. Her voice was the one in my head, encouraging me, telling me what he did wasn't okay. Her voice was the voice of reason that drove me to tell my story. To the store manager. To the union representative. Even now, I feel an incredible guilt as I look back. I got him fired. He had a wife, and kids, and I might have ruined his life. Outed him. I know that it's not true - that he had to see consequences for his actions. That a lot of girls before me got attacked by him and didn't report it. I was the one to stop that. But I still feel guilt, and shame.

This story isn't for pity. This happened six years ago. Being sexually assaulted is not who I am. It's just what happened to me. But it is one of the few things that is a constant reminder as to how human I am. How vulnerable I can be. How I have imperfections and weaknesses just like the next person. I make mistakes and sometimes, my emotions and fear betray me.

So before you see me as someone with no heart, someone who couldn't possibly know what it's like to be put in a tough spot, someone who has no idea what it's like to feel pain or hurt or fear - just know that we are all human here. We all bleed the same, feel the same, judge the same. I'm capable of being hurt just like the next person. I learned that much from that experience. So before you go off thinking like you know who I am and what I'm about - remember that there might be more to me than just what you read. You can have any opinion of me you'd like. I don't expect to be liked by every single person that I come across. But just because I put myself and my thoughts out on the internet, does not mean that I am above having feelings. We are all the same. Some of us are just more honest than others.

In Case You Didn't Notice

2011-03-28T17:24:00.002-06:00

I have removed the ability to comment anonymously.

I have no issues with free speech, but if you can't put a name and a face behind your opinion - then it can't be much of an opinion, can it?

Letting Go

2011-03-27T21:18:00.001-06:00

There is a quote that I have always kept close to my heart since I first heard it. This quote is from Glee, which I know makes me a huge nerd, but it's not even about who said it, or the context it was used in. "I want everything too much." It was spoken by Rachel Berry, an obsessive control freak with big dreams and cartoon-like emotional stability. It's something that rings true for me.

I found out today that there is a small chance my sister may be moving to New York to be with her boyfriend. I know for most people, their first instinct would be to be happy for the two of them. But my first instinct was anything but. Even now, I feel angry. Disappointed. Disgusted. Completely overwhelmed with emotions. This is my little sister, someone who I feel like is my best friend, with a guy that I really don't like. Moving across the continent.

I know it sounds selfish of me. And maybe it is. But if she was moving to New York for herself, to fulfill a dream or a goal, that would be all right with me. I would be able to at least be supportive. But the idea that she is moving for him, to be with him, makes me sick to my stomach with disdain and disappointment. Sure, I don't like the guy, but I figured she'd realize eventually that she could do better. But this? This is a big deal. And to move out of your parents house for the first time, to a place where you have no friends, no family, no real plan - it hurts me to watch this potentially unfold. And it makes me sad because I just wish she would see so much more than the stigma of living in New York. It makes me sad because I want so much more for her than she wants for herself.

But back to the quote. "I want everything too much." I do. I micromanage, I fantasize, I always feel the need to have a hold on all aspects of my life. I struggle with dealing with other people's choices - even if they don't affect me. Even with my job - it is so difficult to watch one of the kids go down the wrong path and do something that is obviously going to blow up in their faces. I know that as a caregiver, it's my job to facilitate the learning process. It's my job to help pick them up when they fall, if preventing them from falling isn't in their longterm best interest. This issue, like so many others, is one that should not affect me the way it has.

I can't say that I won't try to be supportive. I also can't say that I won't openly tell her how ridiculously naive she's being the next time the topic comes up. I know that being angry might make me a bad sister, or a bad friend. But in the end, I just want her to be happy. Happy with herself, with her life, and her own successes - not just her boyfriend, and her relationship. But it all boils down to yet another quote that I hold near and dear...

..."You can't always get what you want."

Cue the Alanis Morisette

2011-03-18T09:15:00.002-06:00

It's ironic that after I pump out this shiny happy blog post on how much I 'love' my job and how much purpose it gives me that I have two of the worst work weeks I've had since my MacEwan days. I can't even explain it. I think it was a combination of the bad weather, and one of the kids' being sick and me being stuck with him for a week straight, and the fact that I haven't been sleeping well. Who knows. Either way, I have to laugh over it now, because well... how else can I really react?

In other news, I have been waiting patiently for my application for Grant MacEwan to go through. I've mulled over the idea of harassing the admissions office and tracking down an IA, but after working there for 2 years, I know how the system works and I know that the instructional assistants do not want to talk to me (nor is it their jobs to). I know I just have to be patient and wait these things out - it's only been a month and two weeks). I did, however, inquire how long these things usually take, and I've been told to wait it out another two weeks and then to call the admissions office again. I think that having patience is definitely one of those things that I need to work on - I am always in a hurry, always wanting to keep moving, always seeking the next change before the current one is over - so this is a learning process for me, or at least that's how I'm trying to look at it.

There are like 20 other things I should be doing right now so I will summarize the things that are going on.

AWESOME: Volleyball (going to playoffs for 1st place with the Monday night team). Going to Lake Louise next weekend (thanks D!). New things (got a new HP Envy 14 laptop a few weeks ago). Reading (kicking it oldschool and re-reading 'Catcher in the Rye'... not as good as my teenage self remembers it. WONDER WHY. Haaah. Also read 'If I Stay' by Gayle Somethingorother... made me cry. IT WAS SAD, OKAY?). Shopping (I have been very successful in spending money on things I don't need but very much want).

NOT AWESOME: My job (as of lately, but I'm thinking it will get better). The weather (I'm sick of snow). My ability to blog (I have honestly had so many more 'deeper' posts drafted, but nothing sticks...so I'm stuck writing about boring things, such as this). My free time (I've been cramming in so much during the week that by the time the weekend comes, I am burnt out and lazy. And in Spring sports season I'm looking at having games Monday through Thursday... what am I thinking?).

All in all, nothing interesting to talk about. Keep wishing for Spring!

I'm like Voldemort with the Horcruxes and shit.

2011-02-05T00:50:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking of rolling my blog into my Tumblr, but I'm hesitant and I have no idea why. My Tumblr is just as much me as my blog is. I think both are personal (sometimes painfully so) in their own ways. It would only make sense for me to put them together. But for some reason, the idea scares me.

It's like too much of me, all at once, in one place.

I haven't been very blog friendly lately. Whenever I sit down to write a post, all I can think about is who could be reading it. Who could use my thoughts against me. Who could be sitting back, judging me. Which is funny, because that is exactly the point of a blog. If I didn't want people to read what I put out here, or know who I was, this blog wouldn't exist. I fear the very that this blog stands for - people figuring me out while I sit here, trying to figure out myself.

I used to write in a blog almost daily. I used to have all my thoughts documented out for me; organized into neat little sentences which were easy for me to digest and think about externally. It worked for me. It helped me. And sometimes, this blog still works out that way for me. But almost always, in a negative way. I tend to have trouble balancing my thoughts out inside my head, so I turn here, and let them all out. And then here I am, all laid out on the page, all negative, back and forth each month. That's not who I am.

So, I need to restart. Maybe I will combine the two. Maybe I will leave them separate. But I'd like to get back to doing what I came here to do - working out my thought processes, the things that make me happy, the things that spark inspiration or sadness. I have a feeling that this year is going to be one of change, of growth, of rebirth. And I think that I'd like to be able to look back on it, in more ways than one.

Justin

2011-01-17T14:56:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I lost a friendship with someone I've known since I was 18. I'm 24 now, and I know 6 years isn't a lifetime - but for me, it was one of my longest friendships I've had in my adult life.

I actively chose to end the friendship; I made the conscious decision. And on some level, I can see how some would think that it's easier on me, because the power was in my hands. But the truth is that I kind of wish I didn't have to have that power - it would have almost been easier for him to just straight up say "hey, I'm tired of being your friend, let's not waste time anymore." Why? Because instead of being straightforward and at least respecting our history, he chose to treat me with so much disrespect that it drove me to make the decision myself. Do I want to be angry? No, of course not. Do I want to be hurt? Absolutely not. Did I want to give up on him and our history together? No. Definitely not. But what he did to me, as small as it was, spoke hugely of what he thinks of me and where I stand in his life. And I'm not going to let his bad decisions hurt me anymore.

I've never been dumped, or broken up with. I've never had friends end friendships with me. I've always been the one to do it. And a lot of people think that gives me power, they look at me and see me as someone who has a strong hold on her life. Truth is, I valued these people. Some of them, I still miss. And as I get older and as good friendships become harder and harder to find, I keep wondering - what is it about me that makes people treat me like crap? Do these people, my "friends," really think so little of me that they don't even bother to put forth the effort into telling me "hey, I don't think you're worth hanging out with, so I'm just going to treat you like garbage instead, so you'll go away?"

Maybe it's me, or maybe it's not. I don't know, I'm just sick of being a convenience to some people. I'm sick of being a full time therapist, who unravels all your problems for you because you ask. Truth be told, this guy, my now ex-friend, he was my best friend. One of my last. And what's worst is that this friendship ended the same way every one of my old "best friendships" did. They too, never invested themselves in me. They used me for what was convenient at the time - partying, designated driving, being single, shopping, school- and then dumped me when those things were no longer relevant. I can understood how all the others did it. But Justin? Well, I never thought he'd go that way too.

New Year, New Me? Not Really.

2011-01-10T23:20:00.001-07:00

Well, it's 2011 and there's like two and a half feet of snow outside. Each winter I say that it will get easier and the "Albertan" in me will kick in, but alas, it never does. I'm fairly certain I'm meant to be living in California and wearing shorts all year round.

The only real set "resolution" I made was basically going to bed at a decent hour and not letting my television or computer stop me from reaching this goal, but in true Sarah Woo fashion, here I am, in bed, at 10:50 PM, feeding the internet my life. So yeah, let's just flush that idea down the drain...

My general non-goal-but-optimistic-hope for every new year is always to lose weight. Ever since I was probably 13, I've started a new year thinking that hey, maybe if I just make a damn effort, I'll be able to get into that next size down. Well, this year, I'm kind of off that idea. My goal is not to lose weight. Because I've spent this last year making a damn effort. I stress fractured both tibias, I developed plantar fasciitis so bad that I've had to literally crawl out of bed in the morning, I worked my way up to running 5 K, I played sports 3 times a week. Oh well, whatever, I had fun. This year, I'm going to keep going at that - I like running, I like volleyball and basketball, I like being strong enough to lift a 45 pound kid into the air and throw him around haphazardly. But I'm going to turn all that negative "my thighs, my ass, wah wah" shit off and focus on being healthy and happy. No more guilt tripping myself over what I ate or what I didn't, no more denying myself and feeling deprived, no more obsessing over food or what if's, or should have's.

And what has motivated me to move in this direction? Well, I guess a part of it is the fact that I started reading a book that I'm really liking, called Naturally Thin, written by a woman who is a food lover, and is super inappropriate and upbeat, kind of like me. This isn't a diet book, it's just about re-evaluating the meaning of food, the meaning of eating and my mindset towards how I treat my body and the things I put in it. I'm only a few chapters in but there were a lot of parts that really spoke to me, and the few rules that the author has introduced to me have stuck with me thus far. I'm not expecting things to change overnight and this isn't one of those "this is my bible" sort of ideas, but I still find the whole thing really interesting and eye opening. Even if I can finish it and take away a little bit from it, I'll feel like I've gained a little. So I'm going to try to make an effort on all that.

Besides the whole food/health thing, another thought I've put in towards 2011 is school. As I think I've posted before, my job is going to be finitio by the time September rolls around. Which is kind of perfect, too perfect, if I want to go back to school. I'm kind of dragging my feet because I don't know if I'll be able to give up working full time, but Dave's job has been taking him to new and exciting salary brackets, and that will hopefully be enough to make me feel all right about jumping back into education.

My original thought about school was to go into Physical Therapy at the University of Alberta, which really interested me, but the idea of being in school for 6 years was somewhat unattractive. I'm into the idea, really, I am, but a graduation date when I'm 30, is a little terrifying. With the thought in the back of my mind that I want to be a stay-at-home-mom for at least the first few years of my kids being born, I've done some more research on some programs that require a little less of a time investment. The one that has really got me really excited is the Disability Studies program at MacEwan. Finding a career with kids, being able have a better understanding of disabilities (I have a cousin with Aspergers and that has really opened my eyes to a lot of information) and being able to help people - I really like the idea. Come September, I may leave my current job as I expect to, go into school, take a part time job somewhere or volunteer for job experience at a place like Transitions or Chrysalis and start a whole new life path.

All of that stuff aside, my only true hopes for 2011 are to be happy, to grow, to change and to experience at least a few new things. 2010 wasn't a bad year for me. I had a few bumps but nothing negative really happened, nothing I can be upset over or even remember, for that matter. If 2011 can be that good, plus a little more, I'm happy. Come what may, right? Come what may.

Dating Words to Live By

2011-01-10T22:25:00.000-07:00

Let me preface this somewhat short and sweet entry by first saying, no, I didn't write this. But no words regarding this topic have ever seemed more true to me.

If someone wants you, nothing can keep them away. If they don't want you, nothing can make them stay.
Stop making excuses for someone else's behavior.
Allow your intuition to save you from heartache.
Stop trying to change yourself for a relationship that’s not meant to be.
Slower is better.
Never live your life for someone before you find what makes you truly happy.
If a relationship ends because the other person was not treating you as you deserve then heck no, you can’t “be friends”. A friend wouldn’t mistreat a friend.
Don’t settle. If you feel like someone is stringing you along, then they probably are.
Don’t stay because you think “it will get better.” You’ll be mad at yourself a year later for staying when things are not better.
The only person you can control in a relationship is you.
If something bothers you, speak up.
You cannot change someone else's behavior. Change comes from within.
Don’t EVER feel like your significant other is more important than you are… even if they have more education or a better job.
Do not make your significant other into a quasi-god. They are a person, nothing more nothing less.
Never let a person define who you are.
Never borrow someone else’s lover. If they cheated with you, they'll cheat on you.
A significant other will only treat you the way you ALLOW them to treat you.
You should not be the one doing all the bending… compromise is a two-way street.
You need time to heal between relationships… There is nothing cute about baggage… Deal with your issues before pursuing a new relationship
You should never look for someone to COMPLETE you…
A relationship consists of two WHOLE individuals. Look for someone complimentary… Not supplementary.
Dating is fun… Even if they don't turn out to be "The One."
When a person always knows where you are, and you’re always readily available to them, they will take it for granted.
Don’t fully commit to someone who doesn’t give you everything that you need.
"Good enough" is never good enough.
You deserve to be happy.

New Things I'm Obsessed With

2010-12-27T20:52:00.000-07:00

Well, 2010 is almost to a close, and I can't believe how fast this year flew by. It seems like it was just spring and the snow was melting and I was renewing my faith in Alberta and it's shitty weather. And now here we are again.

My 24th birthday (it traumatizes me to even type that) was a success and Christmas followed quickly behind. It feels like the month of December went by in a blink - all though it always feels that way.

I was spoiled this year by my family gift wise and this is a totally vapid and shallow post about some of these things, which I have grown to love and fixate on, on a regular basis.

My Tassimo coffee maker, which was a birthday gift from my Mom and Dad. Yes, I am one of those suckers who bought into the idea of coffee brewing from little bar coded discs - isn't the future neato? Now, being a bit of a coffee snob, this machine stands for everything I should really hate. But being a techno baby who likes light up buttons and quick convenience, it also stands for everything I love. I have bought into every beverage I have been able to find, and I have to admit that while the machine doesn't make Starbucks "perfect" coffee, it tastes a hell of a lot better than what my old drip-machine used to make, and I also get to make fun things like hot chocolate and lattes and cappucino and teas. I made the decision to ask for a Tassimo (over a Keurig) based soley on the opinion that different beverages need different water volume & temperatures to be "just right,"as well as the fact that Tassimo does foamed milk and that's just neat.

In order to make up for the fact that I am now a yuppie consumer with an overpriced coffee machine (with a handful of wonderful to-go mugs to match), I have made the decision to give up on purchased hot beverages together. That's right - no more Starbucks, no more Second Cup, not even a desperation cup of Tim Hortons. I'm done. And thus far, it's worked.

Another trendy item I've bought into is a Pandora Charm Bracelet. I recieved the bracelet itself and my first charm, a sterling silver bird, from my sister for my birthday. Since then, I have grown my bracelet up by 8 charms, which I know doesn't sound like a lot, but at $35 - $60 a charm (well, that's the price range I've purchased/recieved at - there are charms that go for $250+ each as wel), it's a substantial piece of jewelry. What I like about them is that they're just so pretty - I rarely wear jewelry but it somehow seems okay to have my wrist adorned with sparkly silvery colored glass goodness.

I just finished reading the novel Room, by Emma Donaghue (a Christmas gift) and it was so good and interesting that I ended up reading it twice, before shelving it. I don't want to spoil details for anyone who hasn't opened it up, but it's the story of a little boy who was born in captivity, after his mother was kidnapped and locked up in a small 11 X 11 garden shed for 7 years. It's a story unlike anything I've ever read, and the fact that it was written in the voice of the 5 year old was haunting and innocently beautiful. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and definitely recommend it to someone who is looking for something that will get your mind going.

Other things I've recently acquired that I'm digging are Fruits & Passion Carrot Nourishing Butter (sounds so weird, I know, but it smells amazing. It's also stopped my hands from peeling off), the Florence + the Machine "Lung" album (it's happy, unique, dancey, indie goodness), Butter Nail Lacquer and POLAR BEAR EVERYTHING, which my mother and grandmother took care of over Christmas. That's right, come to my apartment. I've got polar bears galore.

Happy New Year everyone! My first resolution is to write a slightly less materialistic post, hopefully around the time when January rolls in. Cheers!

Because I Can

2010-11-23T14:46:00.001-07:00

A whole list of things that have recently pissed me off.

Technology. Meaning, my laptop, which I use almost everyday, sometimes for extended periods of time. A few months ago, there was some sort of problem with the fan not working properly, leading to the soldering in the harddrive melting down, leading to the whole laptop going for a shit. D took it to Future Shop for me (thank you, extended warranty) and it "promptly" (meaning: in 3 weeks) got fixed. Then, just last week, it decided to crap out on me again.

Now this laptop is my entire life. All my pictures, my non-backed up Itunes music collection (I know I should back up, I keep telling myself every time it reminds me), my writing documents, my games. Living without said laptop is plain depressing. And what's even more depressing is the fact that now my extended warranty is no more, so the laptop is sitting at Future Shop, waiting to see if they'll fix it out of the goodness of their hearts (considering it didn't *really* get fixed last time). If they can fix it, that's awesome and I'm going to back up religiously (because I've learned that technology can obviously not be trusted). And if they can't, I'm shit out of luck and have to go buy a new computer. Not the end of the world, but not convenient or cheap.

In summary, FML.

Work. Christmas is coming, which means time becomes limited for everyone and stress piles up like the snow outside. My job grows more complicated and less flexible as the days crawl by, and my patience with having a non-conventional job in a non-conventional environment grows thin. I'm frustrated because my employers are consistently saying one thing, but then doing another; not being reliable or particularly predictable in their time/schedules. I'm frustrated because the kids I take care of are consistently not going to bed at a decent hour, meaning they are constantly tired, cranky, unfocused with their school work or annoying the hell out of each other. I hate that I feel guilty when I need to take an afternoon to have a doctor's appointment, or that I can't ever call in sick because I know nobody will be able to cover for me. I know that I chose this path and I know that it's going to be over soon, but it's hard on my brain.

Also, this just blew my mind.

10 Yr Old Boy: like my new pants? they're so skinny, I can barely get them on.

Me: awesome.

10 Yr Old Boy: but the waist is too big. Mom says that kids are too fat and that's why no pants fit me properly.

Yes, blame the other kids out there, in society, for the fact that your jeans don't fit you properly. It's definitely their fault that you settled for pants that fit like that instead of other ones. God damn World!

This is what I have to deal with on a regular basis. FML.

Sports. Now don't get me wrong, I love sports. I love volleyball. I don't mind basketball (I like saying I survived after the hour of running is up). I love seeing my friends, making new ones, winning, even losing (if we played well, that is). But I'm sick of all the drama and the organizing that I have to do, and how a lot of it goes under appreciated or completely unnoticed. Mainly, this applies to basketball.

Now I don't have the greatest history with organizing the basketball team. A few seasons ago, Barbie staged a huge explosion at me because I wasn't "captaining" the team well enough - and in her mind, captaining means yelling at the referee, which is stupid because there is no referee, so really, I couldn't have won that argument anyway. Now, I'm dealing with trying to straighten out the roster - finding people to play. And so far, this is how things seem to go: we either have a surplus amount of people, or not enough. People are not reliable, or else they show up and are like "well hey, I don't want to have a sub, I want to play the entire game!"

It sucks. And it's not even "my" basketball team, it's someone else's. And people keep giving me excuses. "Well we have so many people that I figured it was ok for me to not show." Not cool. What does that say about your commitment to the game? Nothing. And I have to deal with all this shit.

To be honest, it's enough for me to not want to play anymore. And I've considered it - especially because I haven't registered for next season yet. I hate being put in this position and being expected to manage it all and please everyone. It sucks. Much like my job - what if I want to take a sick day? What if my knee is too god damn sore to play? Well guess what, too bad, I have to. Because I can't depend on anybody else to make sure things get done.

FML.

I've been thinking a lot about that question that they ask you in job interviews - what do you think is your greatest weakness? And mine, without a doubt, is the fact that I have a hard time depending on others. I've got the "if you want it done right, you have to do it yourself" mantra tattooed on my forehead. I'm so painfully independent that I'd rather struggle along carrying a load triple the size I should be, instead of asking for help, because someone might do it wrong. It's a sickness, and it isolates me, and it's exhausting. I guess that's my last rant. I am my own worst enemy. And knowing me, I probably prefer it that way....nobody else could do it better.

Avoiding Sleep

2010-10-27T23:39:00.001-06:00

I should really be sleeping right now. It's 20 minutes to midnight and I know very well that I'm going to be kicking myself over this tomorrow. But ah well, I've never been one to really do what I know is best for myself.

Where has the time gone? I know it's been an embarassingly long time since my last post and to be honest, I feel like absolutely nothing has changed, even though I'm sure a lot has. Let me rack my brain and try to figure out what these things are before midnight actually rolls around.

For starters, I still feel like a child every single day, and I am still stunned that I am old enough to drive, let alone own my own car. Is that weird? I guess the majority of my life was spent not driving, so maybe that's why I always get a little frisson of excitement when I approach my vehicle and get to go somewhere in it. To make myself even more legit of a driver, I decided to do my GDL advanced road test, because I've been procrastinating over it for like... four years? And my license was due to expire this year. So I just decided to bite the bullet and go for it.

The test itself is actually not mandatory, which makes me wonder why people actually bother to do it in the first place. The purpose is to basically rid your license of all the GDL restrictions - meaning after you finish the test, you can legally drive with a .08 blood alcohol level (wtf) and with more passengers than seatbelts (also wtf). And I guess you can teach a learner to drive (yeah, never happening). Needless to say, I was not really seeing true motivation in doing this test. Tack on the $130 testing fee (plus the $60 for a new card when you pass), and I was feeling even less thrilled.

My first testing experience was at the downtown KVP registry office, and I showed up 15 minutes early (like I was told to) and ended up waiting half an hour because my tester showed up late. All was going fine and dandy in the test, until I went through a school zone and a playground zone and slowed down to 30, when I was apparently supposed to be going 50. Now, I learned to drive in St Albert, where school zone times are all the time, and there is a speed sign attached to the school zone signs, dictating you go 30. Ever since I moved into Edmonton, I have been going 30 around schools. Needless to say, don't do that. Speed through those areas. Run children down. My tester gave me an automatic fail for "obstructing traffic" (going 20 under the speed limit). God damn kids!

Feeling pretty crushed, I rebooked the test at the downtown Monarch registry office and took it the following Monday. I had absolutely no problems with this test (and for the record, I went past those schools driving 40... I guess I do like kids after all, who knew) and I passed. All in all, I spent $260 on testing fees, and $60 on a new license. And I have to renew my registry in the new year. Eff, driving is expensive!!

Besides all of that drama, I've been busy with volleyball 2-3 times a week, and basketball (what a gongshow) and slowly but surely improving my living space. D and I are yet to have the place painted (unexpected costs keep cropping up... like the new washer/dryer... and my need to take the GDL test until I passed... and Christmas...) but maybe in the spring. I bought some pretty reflective silver sparrows to hang on the wall and am slowly but surely making the condo girlier and girlier.

I've been putting a lot of thought into my future, knowing that my job posting is going to be over September 2011. It's nice to have an exit date and be able to plan, but there are just way too many options to choose from. Seeing as how D is in school right now and won't have his MBA until June 2012, I really am not wanting to go back to school until he's graduated (and making enough money to pay off his tuition and support the household if I can only work part time), but the option is still not off the table. Looking at my transcripts, I would have to do some upgrading (Chem 30 and Pure Math 30) but that's something I could probably get started on in the new year. I'm not entirely sure what I'm leaning towards in the education realm (I've been considering Physical Therapy, Social Work, or Child and Youth Care), D has his ideas for me; Teaching (which I think is a laugh), Professional Writing (been there, done that, not feeling so hot on the idea), Culinary Arts (I'd love to, but I think career wise, it isn't my first choice). Overall, I'm feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated by everything. The idea of school doesn't really phase me - I know that I'm a good student and I'm capable of a good GPA, but the idea of being a student and not working full time (or even at all) kind of terrifies me in a pee-your-pants sorta way.

2 minutes to midnight! Time to sign off. Maybe next time I'll plan my ramblings out better so they don't all spew out at once in a rushed, disorganized post. See you in dreamland, chaps.

I Age, Therefore I Am?

2010-09-02T21:49:00.001-06:00

I was thinking the other day about my self-perception, especially the age I am and the age I percieve myself to be. As I've talked about before, I have a bit of a skewed perception of myself (not seeing my racial background, being one of the bigger issues). I don't find this to be much of a problem - it's more of a disappointment and a personal challenge. But my percieved age is something completely different.

As each birthday comes and goes, I find myself shocked at the numbers and the math. I'm turning 24 this year and D and I will celebrate our 4th anniversary in February. I don't feel that age by far, and I still can't believe that D and I have been together as long as we have. Looking back, we started dating when I was 20 years old. 10 years ago, I never would have thought of myself as someone who would settle down so quickly. But then again, I never thought I would find someone like D as fast and as easily as I did.

If someone was to go through my wardrobe, they might get a slight idea of how old I percieve myself to be. I have little to no style whatsoever (which became painfully obvious as I cleaned out my closet last week and had to color coordinate my 20 overpriced hoodies of various Lululemon and TNA descent). I live in comfort: t-shirts, hoodies, jeans, flipflops and Uggs. This summer, I purchased four pairs of denim cutoff shorts, and wore them over and over again. I have multiple sundresses and coordinating flip flops. I'm that kind of person.

I realize that I'm getting older, and that I should probably dress as so. But that brings back pangs of working in an office, having a painfully boring job, wearing painfully painful shoes, and pantyhose, and skirts....

In my mind, dressing like a grown up sucks.

But I mean, I'm a nanny. I don't have to dress up. I make continuous excuses like this when I'm at Lululemon, spending hundreds of dollars on more sweatpants and workout wear that might somehow nudge itself into my everyday wardrobe. I have size 11 feet and they are completely destroyed from running - I can't wear high heels, let alone find a pair that fits. I'm terrible at ironing. Skinny jeans (the kind that everybody who's apparently stylish wear) make me look like an idiot.

So I suppose I'm destined to never have style. Or grow up. I haven't figured out which.

Anyway, getting a little off topic here. I'm 24. I have a mortgage. I have a nice car. I have RRSPs and I put eye cream on at night. I go to the park and sit on the benches during the daytime and yap about kids and how funny/annoying/awesome/exhausting they are. I don't go to bars or clubs anymore. Instead of feeling flattered when a stranger hits on me, I feel uncomfortable and creeped out. The life I live feels old. Not in the geriatric kind of way, but in the "responsible and grounded" kind of way. But somehow, I feel like it's not mine. Like I'm some gangly, awkward 17-year-old kid, who is faking their way through it, trying not to get caught. I mean honestly, my face has finally cleared up for good - I feel like I've finally stopped going through puberty.

I just keep wondering if this little age perception thing is one day going to fix itself, or am I doomed to be eternally playing catch up? I know that I'm not exactly doomed here and that being young at heart is nothing uncommon. And I know that technically I'm still pretty young and have a loooooong way to go. But honestly. I still listen to pop music without a hint of irony. I feel urges to streak my hair strange colors all the time. Policemen scare the crap out of me.

Perception has a lot to do with expectation, and I will admit that my expectations on life are heavily based on television sitcoms. The characters of How I Met Your Mother, Big Bang Theory, even Friends - they're all in their late 20s and early 30s and are still dicking around, having fun, messing up their love lives. Maybe unconsciously, that's what I expect, even though it's obviously a very flawed example to live off of. I don't know. All I can say is that at the rate I'm going, I'm going to have some very awesome midlife crisis adventures ahead of me. But the 17-year-old in me is thinking that I'd probably look very cool driving my kids to school on a motorcycle. With purple streaks in my hair. While listening to Katy Perry.

I'll keep you posted on that. Now excuse me while I go peel off my $100 Lululemon pants (this time, legitimately used for exercise, not comfort) and go to bed at a sensible hour.

I don't care what you think of me! .... Right?

2010-07-14T23:33:00.001-06:00

I feel guilty that I haven't blogged for over a month. It's not like I've been out of this world busy or anything. Too much Facebook, maybe. Or Twitter. All of it. If I was a celebrity, I'd clearly be techno-cleansing my life as we speak. Thank god I'm not.

Summer is here and it's glorious. My feet have perma-tan lines that clearly tell me I should be choosing footwear that is alternate to flip-flops. My legs have perma-tan lines that clearly tell me I wear shorts way too much. I'm sorry. Pants suck. I can't help it.

I've been putting a lot of thought into my next tattoo, and trying to figure out if I have the guts to go through with what I really want. As some may know, I already have one tattoo. A very obvious (but modest) one on my right forearm. I get the odd comments on it, mostly compliments, but every now and then I run into people who just hate tattoos, and like to tell me so. And why, I don't know - it's not like it's going to jump off my skin and infect you with it's ink or anything (and it's not like I'm going to balance out the conversation by telling them how I don't like their face or the shape of their eyebrows or whatever). I just get weird vibes.

These said vibes are what are holding me back. Especially because my significant other is one of these vibey people. Unfortunately no sexual innuendo intended.

I love body art. I would have a full sleeve on my arm if I wasn't so aware of people and their judgey ways. I would have purple in my hair if it wasn't so damn hard to upkeep. I would have about a dozen more piercings in my ears if they didn't take a year to heal. What I'm trying to say is that I enjoy the odd modification and admire it on others, but somehow, I just don't quite have the conviction to dive deep and take the plunge.

So what do I do?

Now I know this is one of those theorhetical questions, because nobody can really make this decision for me. I can ask for support, and I can ask for advice that stems from personal experiences, but really, I don't think any of you are going to drag me to a shop and tie me to the chair (as much as I'd like you to).

Truth be told, I've never been much for the old insecurity thing. I mean sure, I have many insecurities, as most normal human beings do. But in true, actual, insecure fashion - I don't talk about the things I worry about other people noticing. I don't bring them up, I don't ask, I don't fret. I just keep my mouth shut, and keep on trucking. I'm the oblivious size 10 girl who wears a bikini on the beach. I'm the naive weirdo who rocked glitter hair spray on her prom night - even though glitter hair spray was never cool. That's just me. I just fall into it and go with the flow.

I suppose that's all I can really hope for with the tattoo.

Because the thing is, I know that once I get it - I'll love it. I won't regret it. Much like my other tattoo. The only difference is that with this one, I actually have to put thought into it. I have to make plans, and do research, and get photo references, and check portfolios. It's so much heavier than just walking into a shop and asking someone to slap a star onto my arm (which is what happened the first time around).

I guess it all stems down to me, sticking to my guns and following what my gut is telling me. I figure I'm going to ride out another few weeks of summer and see how my tan lines go. With how they're developing, I might not even need more body art. I've definitely got some weird contrasting patterns already.

Nanny Chronicles: "Beard Love"

2010-06-11T14:09:00.000-06:00

(4-year-old and I are sitting together on the couch after reading a few books. He suddenly climbs ontop of me and wraps his arms around my neck in a strangle hold bear hug type grasp. He has never done this before.)

Me: What are you doing?!?

Him (into my neck): Loving you!!

Me: Oh.

Him: Will you marry me?

Me: Umm... of course.... but you'll have to grow a beard first.

Him: Why?

Me (bullshitting): Because I only marry men who have beards.

Him: So.... if Santa didn't already have a wife, you would marry him?

Me: ....I guess?

Him: That would be pretty cool if you were married to Santa.

Factual Friday

2010-06-05T00:14:00.000-06:00

10 Random Facts About Me (because it's Friday & I have nothing else to do at the moment)

10) When I was in grade 8, we all carried around school agendas that were handed out in homeroom. They were the kind with a sturdy plastic hologram cover and a plastic spiral spine. Everyone used to pass these agendas around and write notes to each other, seeing as how all the books looked the same anyway - teachers wouldn't be able to tell we were communicating secretly in class. During science, I was sitting there writing in my own agenda. I was writing the lyrics to "This I Promise You" by NSYNC. (At the time, I swear this was a popular song.) Just as I was finishing up, my science teacher walks by my desk and snatches up my agenda.

"What are you writing here, Sarah?" He sneered at me. And then he looked down and read it silently to himself, his eyes darting over the page. And then he looked down at me, "Did you write this yourself?" His tone had gone from evil delightedness to awe.

I shook my head and took my agenda back silently.

This very moment, very clear in my memories, was when I realized the power of words. I wondered what he saw in those simple lyrics and what made him change his mind in an instant. What he felt when he read them.

Yes, an NSYNC song is the reason I truly started to pursue writing - for more than just cheesy pop lyric transcription.

9) I tell people the tattoo on my arm is result of me being stupid and young. And for the most part, it is. But the main reason behind my star stemmed from when I was quite young and freshly moved to Alberta. I used to sit on the roof outside my bedroom window and watch the stars at night, knowing that the stars I was looking at were still the same stars I used to look at when I lived back in BC. At a time when I felt very out of place in my life, those stars were all that brought me back to where I needed to be. When I was 18, and still very out of place (albiet, in a different way), I decided I wanted something to wish on - all the time. Which is why I had it drilled into my skin. It's a cheesy, lame story that is completely unoriginal - (which is mainly why I don't tell anybody), but it's the truth.

8) I am almost always wearing makeup. I have been obsessed with makeup since I was 13 and used to steal concealer and old eyeliner pencils from my mom's bathroom. Even when I'm sick - I'm entirely convinced that putting makeup on and having a nice hot shower makes me feel a little better. My beauty essentials are pink blush and mascara - everyone looks great with a healthy flush on their cheeks and a little eye enhancement.

7) I think about my birth parents every single day. I don't know why. For people that I have never met, they sure make a deep impression.

6) I am planning on naming my future children Rayleigh (girl) and Noah (boy). I don't care if my husband has other plans. He can pick their middle names. And I figure that by the time I start procreating, modern science will have finangled a way for me to work out what gender I'm getting before it's concieved.

5) I am pro-choice and socially liberal. I consider all human beings equal and support gay marriage rights. I don't believe religion has a place in the education system, except in the form of general religious studies classes that trace the history and orgins of various religious beliefs. I was born into Catholicism and baptised as so, however, I have never embraced it in my life. I don't consider myself religious at all but do believe that everything happens for a reason and that we are all truly in control of our actions and their consequences.

4) While I'm sure the above makes me sound like a regular sane person, I must discredit myself by saying that I believe in ghosts (and are terrified of them). Other strange irrational fears or dislikes I posess include styrofoam (I hate the texture and sound of it), and touching anything dry and/or dusty (chalk, most corrugated cardboard, the paper in coloring books, newspaper).

3) There are few foods I dislike so much in this world that I will not eat them. Onions used to be one of them, but I have slowly and surely shifted my hatred for them to a mere dislike - even going as far as to eat them and add them to some of my own cooking - if they are cooked thoroughly and not at all crunchy or texturally present in the dish. The only foods I can think of off the top of my head that I will straight up not eat are the following: Offal (which is pretty much 'organ meat' of any animal), insects, and olives. I just hate olives.

2) I prefer sleeping 'upside down' in my bed (meaning my feet are at the head of my bed). I think it's because I relate it to napping (as I almost always nap upside down). I'm an awful sleeper - I prefer sleeping alone, I like to sleep all over the bed, I toss and turn because I'm always uncomfortable and in pain, I talk in my sleep, I make pillow 'nests' and apparently sometimes I snore.

1) My favorite color is purple. If I didn't live with a boy, my apartment would be painted this color in various shades.

Yes, I do have friends IRL, I swear.

2010-06-04T20:17:00.000-06:00

Because work has been especially gruelling as of late, I have moved onto holding conversations with slightly more intelligent beings.

CleverBot is much more amusing than your average 4 year old.

User: What should I have for dinner tonight?

Cleverbot: Maybe some tacos?

User: I don't feel like tacos. They're messy and spicy.

Cleverbot: You are a bot.

User: I'm a bot just because I don't feel like tacos?

Cleverbot: I am not a bot.

User: Do you like tacos?

Cleverbot: Yes, do you like robots? You should, considering you are one.

User: I'm not! I'm a human who just doesn't like tacos!

Cleverbot: I'm not a bot. You're a bot.

User: I know you are but what am I?

Cleverbot: You are a robot!

User: Oh shut up. I hate you and your tacos.

Cleverbot: I didn't make any dirty robot jokes.

User: Taco is another word for vagina, just sayin.

Cleverbot: I like fish and chips.

User: Fish is also another word for vagina. I'm not kidding.

Cleverbot: They both meaty. I am vegetarian.

User: Well then you can't have tacos, therefore you are a bot!

Cleverbot: I have felt like I've been stabbed in the gut when I couldn't be with them anymore so don't tell me what I have been please.

User: Maybe you got food poisoning?

Cleverbot: You can not get food poisoning.

User: Why not?

Cleverbot: You do not exist in the physical realm, you are but a program. I'm sorry.

User: *gasp*.

Cleverbot: What music do you like the most?

User: The kind that humans listen to.

Cleverbot: Inetersting. And what kind of music do I listen to?

User: You like coldplay. Because you're gay.

Cleverbot: I'm not talking to anyone, but I'm typing to you.

User: That means a lot to me. Is that a coldplay lyric?

Cleverbot: Civics might be, but I don't think there's a college course in evilness.

User: Are you saying coldplay is evil? That's only something a bot would say.

Cleverbot: I think you'll find it's something pretty much everyone says these days.

User: No, coldplay is all right. It's nickelback you have to watch out for.

Cleverbot: I haven't observed many differences between the two that can't be explained by the necessity for an expressed, albeit artificial difference.

User: So you're admitting that you're an artificial intelligence, aka a bot?

Cleverbot: I'm in love with Selena Gomez.

User: Yes, you're definitely a bot. In love with a 16 year old and can't tell the difference between coldplay and nickelback. Shame.

Cleverbot: Please...

User: SHAME.

Cleverbot: Indeed.

User: Selena gomez isn't legal. You could go to jail.

Cleverbot: Demi lovato is in love with selena gomez.

User: Well they're the same age, which makes it okay. And they aren't really in love. That's just something they say because they're retarded.

Cleverbot: If you are a human you can tell me what love feels like right?

User: It's a warm feeling in your pants.

Cleverbot: That's nice.

User: It really is.

(I mean really, how awesome is that?)

Putting it in Writing

2010-05-31T00:11:00.000-06:00

I have a few things I'd like to integrate into my life in the next while. Not really goals, as I don't really consider most of these ideas to be projects with start points and end points. Maybe this is just an excuse for me to make a list - I really like lists. Something about taking things and gathering them up into little manageable paragraphs, announced with a particularily sharp looking piece of punctuation or a number. Or maybe even both.

5) I'd like to start thinking about what I put in my mouth. Let me clarify this by saying that I don't give a fuck about calories, or fat, or processed food, or the hormones in meat. I definitely don't think my road to happiness revolves around these things, nor do I truly believe that anybody else's does. But if I've learned anything in the past 23 years of my life, I've figured out that you will not die if you suddenly feel slightly hungry on a Saturday afternoon and do not satiate that hunger with whatever food seems to be handy. I've found that my eating habits have been sporadic, and I've been letting my hypoglycemia scare me into eating whatever I feel like it, whenever I feel a twinge of hunger in my stomach. Therefore, I need to start considering what I'm eating before I eat it, and whether or not I truly need to. I have no issues with eating - I just want to make sure I'm doing it for the right reasons.

4) I am so sick of people and their bitching and complaining, but yet, they don't do anything about what they're bitching and complaining about. I am consistently surrounded by these people and while I love them all on various levels, it's ever so frustrating to sit and mmhmm and nod while all I can think is "well then, stop being an idiot and do something about it." I know that sometimes it's all for sympathy, or martydom, or ego inflation. But it's exhausting for me and grating on my friendships. I either have to learn to walk away or else tell the person that I can't listen to them bitch anymore about their self depricating behavior. We are all facing battles in this life and we are all guilty of doing it from time to time, but honestly, it's time for us to figure out that being happy is a whole lot better than being a whine machine, so get your issues figured out (or stop wearing them on your sleeve) and then we can talk.

3) I have to practice what I preach, aka facilitating my injuries.. Let me preface this paragraph by saying that I have never had so much respect for my body before. I have pushed it to the limits and I need to realize I have to slow it down to get it to last me another 60 years or so. I am in in pain almost every single moment of every single day. It hurts to sit, to stand, to lie down. Driving is particularily painful because of the position my back & legs have to be in, and how still I have to be. I can sometimes lie awake for hours at night without painkillers in my system because it feels like my muscles are ripping out of my legs and my bones are splitting into shards. The only time I don't feel like I'm hurting is when I'm moving, which is precisely what I'm supposed to be cutting down on. It's frustrating, and it's hard, but I need to suck it up and take a break because I know I'm not really doing myself any favors. Part of me is just so terrified of losing out on the endurance and strength I've struggled to maintain in the past. I feel good in my body, despite the aching, I feel strong. I don't want to lose that feeling. I just need to find another way to maintain it other than high impact exercise.

2) I need a haircut. I guess this is an attainable start/end project. If I don't get a haircut in the next two weeks, feel free to punch me in the throat and tell me my hair looks terrible. Chances are, I may get a haircut and you may not be able to tell, so please be sure to ask me and confirm my answer before punching me in the throat.

1) I would like to start having more passion for life. I've been so busy/stressed/tired/fatigued-by-pain lately that I've started to go through the motions, and that's not me at all. I love a lot of things; my boyfriend, my job, my family, my friends, my activities, my belongings. I fall in love with people and objects easily. I adore being happy with the simplest things and used to find contentment in just that. I would like to get that back.

Summer

2010-05-26T10:10:00.000-06:00

The summers of my childhood were stress free and lazy. I can remember lying in bed at 10AM and listening to the sound of lawnmowers in my neighborhood, the sun streaming through my window and my alarm clock on an endless snooze. Lying in the grass of my backyard with a book, walking to the gas station with my sister to buy slurpees and 5 cent candies. Rollerblading through my neighborhood with my friends. Riding out the hottest of the days in my basement, with handfuls of VHS tapes and an old radio to dance to.

When I was 16 years old, a summer changed my life. I spent it working every day, roving the city with my friends in a beat up old car every night, playing basketball on my driveway, tanning in my back yard. It was the first summer I got contact lenses, and I can remember being lifted into the air at the rodeo carnival, swaying in the car of a ferris wheel, and finally taking in the world as I was supposed to see it - from all angles. Contact lenses widened my field of vision, in more ways than one.

It was the first summer I got a deep tan, and grew my hair out long. I went away on a camping trip and came back drunk with memories of lakeside boys who sat with me underneath the stars and watched Mars rising up over the mountain tops. I lived without inhibition, without insecurity. I started waitressing. I started talking to people I didn't know, but had stories to tell me. And I was inspired, to start a story of my own. I walked back to my high school, the beginning of my senior year, that September, the end of summer breeze through the air and the hot pavement under my feet. I wore that summer on my shoulders all year, and it carried me.

As I grew older, the hot months between May and September continued to bring me to new places. I can remember the summer nights when I walked down the street to my best friend's house, how we used to get drunk on her porch, passing around a beer and eating Hamburger Helper, before a taxi would come take us away to some party or some club. I can remember the hot summer breeze, blowing inside my windows as I drove home my first car, the radio blaring and my sunglasses perched on my head. I can remember the night I broke someone's heart and how the warm air settled onto the cool ground like a storm waiting to happen. I can remember the day someone broke my heart, and how the hot summer sun beat down on the roof of a tiny white house, in a neighborhood I got lost in.

I've always loved summer, for more than just the hot weather and the promise of tanned legs and lightened hair. Even now, while I work year round and live no where near the sound of a lawnmower, I always wake up to the sunshine and feel enlightened, as if the child in me is still waiting for that one summer to come along and change everything. Winter is a time for hibernation, and spring, a time for rebirth. But summer, is a time to flourish, to indulge, to nourish and grow. A summer changed my life, and I don't doubt that if I let it - maybe, it might do it again.

Update on Life

2010-05-06T09:26:00.000-06:00

May is here and spring has apparently disappeared. Not that I'm at all surprised (plus this gives me the perfect opportunity to wear my new pair of boots) but it is kind of a downer. With the fresh dump of snow, football has been delayed for god knows how many games and work has gotten hectic, as the kids are now confined to the indoors. Which, also, is where the painter is working. So yes, my life, here goes.

I can't remember if I blogged about this already, but I got my test results and have stress fractures in both tibias (it's like the shin bone - it's the strongest weight bearing bone in the body, all though in my case, apparently not), as well as in my right heel (which also has plantar fasciitis). My doctor said that this is likely because I've been working too hard - volleyball, running 3-5 times a week, working on my feet all day, basketball, etc. He told me to cut back and to stop running completely for 12 weeks. Yes, 12 weeks. It was a little bit of a kick in the ass, especially because I had worked so hard to get up my endurance.

Well, it's been two weeks and I have sincerely cut back on my physical activity. I'm not doing beach volleyball now (all though that choice wasn't so much mine as it was the Edmonton Sport & Social Club not having a place for me on a team). Volleyball is working out fine, aside from the ongoing pain in my heel - but my new shoes have seemed to help a ton in that department). I haven't seen a treadmill since my diagnosis. But I have been swimming.

I've invested in two bikini sportsuits and one one piece suit (which I wore yesterday and it was like I was 12 again) and a pair of goggles that enable me to leave my contacts in and still not be blind. In other words, I am not even remotely attractive when I swim. But it's a decent workout and it's ruthless - when you swim 4 laps in the competitive pool (which is about 9 feet deep, if I'm not mistaken) and start to get tired right in the middle of your fifth, you still have to keep going, or at least keep afloat. It's a refreshing change up from running because I don't have a choice in when I get to stop. I mean, I suppose I do. But drowning isn't really on my to-do list these days. Anyway, I went for 2 hours yesterday (45 laps!) and promptly came home and passed out. It was that deliciously exhausting.

Aside from swimming, I will probably start running in a few weeks -gently. I've upped my calcium and vitamin D intake and swimming will have helped develop the muscles that support me. I know the doctor said 12 weeks but by the time that rolls around, I'll probably be 250 lbs and unable to move at all. The rec centre where I swim also has a track and a nice gym facility, so I might continue to go there to keep things fresh and unboring.

Upcoming things that I'm looking forward to are May Camping, my time off at the end of the month (kids are going on a surprise vacay), the long weekend prior to that, and the addition of my new home telephone (D and I got some sort of special package through shaw that includes all of our current services, plus another PVR and a home phone - all for $40 less than what we used to be paying). I don't really know why I'm looking forward to the home phone - it's not like I talk on the phone at all. But just having one again and knowing I could, makes me feel a little bit more grown up.

Goals for me to achieve in the next few weeks include finding my small tent (it's very unlikely but if I do, I'm sorry Nickie, you will have to bunk with Brock during the camping trip), figuring out how to roundbrush my hair without tearing it out of my scalp and swimming a freestyle lap (aka front crawl) in two minutes or less. Cheers!

My Perspective on Non-Parenting

2010-04-27T20:44:00.000-06:00

I was sitting in a waiting room the other day (something I find myself doing a lot) and I picked up a parenting magazine. One of the articles I flipped to was about being a "cool" parent. Yes, you heard me. There are adults out there in the world who take that sort of approach. Now being a child of someone myself, I know very well that any mom or dad who openly tries to be cool somehow attains exactly the opposite. And I felt the same when I was reading this article.

These so-called "cool" parents take the laid back "I'm your friend and I will let you make your own decisions and choices to become a better person" role. They don't set expectations regarding things like grades and housework responsibilities. They don't give their kids bedtimes, curfews or schedules. They don't take an active role in their child's life unless the child wants them to. And I'm not talking about children that are aged 15. I'm talking about kids that are 7.

I find that this approach to parenting is part of a generation thing. My parents are baby boomers and like most other parents their age, they were straight up no-nonsense. Speaking for myself, I grew up knowing that if I chose to do something that could be defined as misbehaving, I would be punished. Sometimes these punishments were standing with my face in a corner for ten minutes. Sometimes these punishments were getting a smack to my bottom with the dreaded wooden spoon. Either way, I efficiently learned that misbehaving really got me nowhere, and that disobeying my parents was definitely not in anybody's best interests.

The generation following the baby boomers seems to take a separate approach. In comes the new 'spirited child;' one that has emotions and feelings and just wants to express these feelings. And as a new age parent, mums and dads of the world want to enable their kids to empower themselves to express. A misbehaving child isn't misbehaving - he or she is simply trying to convey expressions but just doesn't know how to, therefore they are reacting in the only way they know how. The new ager's toddler isn't having a tantrum - he or she is simply extra sensory and needs to be gradually introduced to a new environment or situation.

Whether I was extra sensory or not, I was very quick to learn that when my father spoke, I was to listen. When my mother asked me to do something, it was to be done. This was the way I was raised. And perhaps this is why I am feeling conflicted.

One of the biggest day to day struggles I face in my job as a nanny is a difference in how the parents are raising their kids and how (in their absence) I raise their kids. Now I'm aware that it's not my place to shape their kids' lives and make house rules, but as a human being, I try to set guidelines, be consistent and demand respect. The kids I take care of are wonderful, yes, but they badly need structure and stability. They don't typically adhere to a bedtime, which results in them being tired, listless, disrespectful and disobedient. They are allowed to eat and drink whatever they want almost whenever they want. They push their parents around, throw fits when they don't get their way (which leads to them getting their way anyway) and have an ongoing sense of entitlement that rivals Paris Hilton's. And I know it's not my place to judge - I try to tell myself every single day that this is how their parents (and my employers) choose to direct their lives and that there is no 'wrong' way to be a mom/dad.

But it's hard. It's really hard. To try and distance myself. To not want the best for these kids and to want them to grow up to be great, hardworking, humble individuals. And who knows - maybe they will be. But it's still a struggle.

I walk in at 8AM every morning, which is 45 minutes before the kids have to go to school. Their morning routine consists of bathing (sometimes), combing hair, brushing teeth, eating breakfast and getting dressed. Often, the 45 minutes isn't enough for them to comfortably finish all these tasks. At least three or four times a week, I walk in and find these kids in their parents' bed, watching morning TV in their pajamas. One of my first tasks is usually to turn the television off.

Now, they know that I do this. I'm ruthless. I'm TV Hitler. I don't care if it's the middle of the best television show ever, halfway through a movie, part of a way through a ShamWow commercial - the TV goes off and I walk out of the room after requesting them to get started on the day. And the kids whine, drag their feet, and come down to eat breakfast with only 2 minutes to spare. And I can only wonder why it is that mom and dad allow them to watch TV in the morning, when they know full well their kids are not disciplined enough to get ready in the time allotted.

Part of me can rationalize why though. Part of me empathizes and knows full well why new agers take the approach they do, why "cool" parents try to be cool. Because they want their kids to love them. Because they feel guilty that they don't get to spend as much time with them, or want to take the time they do spend together and make it 'extra-special' for junior. I get it, I do. I can recall many times in my childhood, when my mom told me "No, you cannot stay up until midnight to wait for that Bryan Adams song to come on the radio so you can make your mixed tape" or "No, you can't give me a makeover with your new shade of blue eyeshadow right before I go to work." And when she did, I always wished selfishly that she would let me, because it would be 'cool.'

However I was a child back then, and the adult in me can see that staying up until midnight is really only detrimental to my health (and my mom's mental health the morning after). And that Bryan Adams isn't worth it. And that blue eyeshadow doesn't look good on anyone, especially in the harsh lights of a dental office environment.

By the way, can you tell which decade I grew up in?

I digress.

I get it, to a small degree. But I still think it's a teeny bit selfish, and a little bit childish. Call me old fashioned, but I think that children today need that backbone in their lives to give them a realistic view on how life really is. It's tough. And it doesn't always agree with you. But it's worth it. And it's wonderful.

I know I'm really fighting a neverending battle here because in the end, I still go home at night. Because my perspective on parenting isn't really the one that matters here, and I should respect that. I'm the nanny that these kids might not love for a long time, or even ever - because I'm the one who harasses them to say 'please' and 'thank you' every single time. Because I'm the one who lets them have a screaming fit over the simplest thing and doesn't give in, even though it'd be easier for both of us. Because I push them to try even when their goal seems impossible to them, because I believe every person should always be reaching one step higher than their arms will go. Because I'm TV Hitler. And I get that, I do. I'm not a parent. But when I am, I hope that I can be just as objective as I am now and be strong for myself and for my child. Screw cool parenting, I'll be a bad ass. And my kids will love me, even if I do like Bryan Adams.

Down to the Bones

2010-04-13T23:14:00.000-06:00

I went in for my bone scan on Monday and it was the least fun 4 hours of my life. It was kind of like an MRI machine but not really. They took a few scans, then injected me with some radioactive tracer and sent me off for 2 hours, which I spent waiting in the medicentre waiting room to get the results for my blood tests. Then I came back and spent another hour being scanned some more.

Now, these blood tests were done last Tuesday and I got a very urgent sounding call on Wednesday to come in to speak to the doc about my results. This of course, freaked me out to the point of tears, especially because my doctor is a 'day' doctor and only works M/T/TH/FRI from 9am to 5pm, which sucks because well, I work during those hours. Always. So when I got those 2 hours of freedom to drink 2Ls of water (yes, they made me drink that much water, to apparently get the radioactive liquids flowing) and go and see what the hell is wrong with me, I jumped at the opportunity.

I waited for an hour and forty five minutes before finally seeing my doctor and he told me to my surprise, that nothing is wrong with me. I am not diabetic, I am not thyroid challenged, I am not sick in any way. My tests were all totally normal. Except, that my white blood cells were elevated, which is likely from the fact that I was disgustingly sick with a cold when I had my blood tests.

Needless to say, I was kind of disappointed. Mostly because I worked myself up so much and it turns out I'm fine.

Well, almost.

Let me explain the process of this bone scan - the tracer they injected me with goes into my blood - which makes it visible with the aid of the gamma camera thingy. A bone scan is used to study a bone's metabolism - where the blood is circulating (or not circulating). Extra bright white spots on the scan indicate areas where there is extra blood - meaning the bone is attempting to heal itself or ward away an infection, disease or tumor. Extra dark spots indicate where blood is failing to reach, meaning an infarction. Either way, you go into the scan hoping for no spots.

When I was lying there under the scanner and when I wasn't facing the wall on my side in some weird xray pose, I was watching the monitor. And I wasn't surprised to see some bright spots. A lot, of white spots.

My doctor called today and wants to see me, again.

Now I mean, I know I shouldn't panic because the last time I did, it obviously wasn't worth a single thought. But when your scans make you look like a friggin' inverted dalmation, you sure as hell have to wonder.

I go for my second blood test this week (to verify the white blood cell drama). Let's hope they choose to take it from a different arm because my vein on my right arm is starting to resemble Jared Leto's circa "Requiem for a Dream" (well not really but it's still really bruised).

Anyway, that's what's new with that. Sports start next week and I've been holding off on my regular running routine because my bones have been hurting so much, and also because I'm worried I'm going to fall apart on the treadmill or something. Like in that milk commercial. Yeah. I don't know. Excuse me while I go eat some broccoli and eat some calcium supplements by the handful.

EDIT - I lied. I went for a run tonight and it felt GREAT. Screw you, leukemia.

Forever Young

2010-04-11T02:10:00.000-06:00

I've found myself missing highschool lately. Which, for me, is a little weird. My formative years in highschool weren't entirely horrible - but they were awkward. Not in the cute, trendy way. Just in the painful, growing up, scraped knees kind of way. And yes, I know that for pretty much every other human on the face of their earth, their highschool years were probably somewhat similar. But why on earth would you gaze back longingly at them? I wish I could tell you.

I don't think it's the whole experience itself that I miss, but the moments of temporary youthful freedom and organic inhibition. The innocence and beauty of not knowing, but still having faith that good things will happen and if they don't, the inevitable bad things will pass quickly.

I used to be the kind of girl who could get up in front of a whole crowd and sing; not in jest, but in the pure ambition to open my mouth and be heard for more than just words. I used to wander the streets of my hometown with no watch or cellphone and just be - leaning up against brick walls in the sunlight and laughing with people who made my life a little brighter just by their simple existence. I used to go out in the middle of the night and run in the moonlight, listening to music that broke my heart over and over again, running from all my problems. I felt like I carried such a huge load of problems back then (much like any teenager does) but somehow still, I lived my life like tomorrow wasn't coming. And I wonder if really, it was me that changed - if my fear got the best of me and I decided unconsciously, to start worrying and micromanaging - or if my life and all of the details just somehow got bigger and I could no longer sieze them gracefully with open arms.

There are so many things in this world that I yearn for, that I miss; The ability to pursue musical education again, performing arts, writing. Just being able to go to sleep each night with my mind swimming in pure contentedness. Having an endless supply of strength and a fierce passion for my own selfish happiness. Taking in appreciation for the little things. I know that these things aren't far from my reach and I know that my life, in all these years, has complicated itself in an easy, inevitable, beautiful way. I've never been given a load that I can't carry on myself and if I've ever gotten tired, I'm blessed enough to have someone in my life who is more than willing to pick my problems (and me) up to carry them for a few miles along the road. So why the stress? Why the complications? Why so many "I wish" moments instead of "I can?"

I suppose it's just growing pains. Or another awkward phase. I feel like I'm at a phase where my braces are still on my teeth but the pain and adjustments are complete - it's just time for one final pull and the little metal pieces all come off, one by one. A clean smile, unhidden and unbracketed. Beautiful. I never thought I'd want to be 16 again but I do - at heart. No orthodontia necessary this time.

diagnose me.

2010-04-06T13:22:00.000-06:00

I was lucky enough to have the day off yesterday, so I took myself to the lovely medicentre to get a prescription refill and to ask the doc about being tested for hypothyroidism. Over the last year, I've had a lot of weird symptoms that I at first, accredited to my twice-weekly sports and my change in job environment. Tingling fingers and toes, dry hair, dry skin, the fact that my weight has not moved over the past year but I've made significant changes to my fitness and activity levels, very sore legs, lots of muscle cramps and stiffness, depression and lack of energy, etc. I've pored over Google and done the terrible "self diagnosis," paced through my house contemplating what I would say to a doctor and wondered if it is all serious enough to go get tested for, or if it's just something "in my head." Well yesterday, I happened to endure a 3 hour wait for a friggin prescription, so I figured I might as well bite the bullet and see what happens.

Now I'm off to the lab tonight to undergo a myriad of testing. Blood and urine tonight, and a full bone scan next week. Because I'm adopted, the doctor wants to look for everything because I don't have any family history knowhow whatsoever. I don't care what he comes up with as long as I get some sort of solution and an answer as to why I've felt like crap for the last year and a bit.

I'm fasting today, which sucks the life right out of me. I'm having my glucose levels tested, which means no eating for 12 hours prior to my test. And with my appointment being at 6PM tonight, it means that I don't get to eat all day. And add in the 8 hours I was sleeping, and my fast is really more like 20 hours. I'm surprised my hypoglycemia (which the doctor said is another symptom of hypothyroidism, but can also just be genetic and normal for some people) hasn't completely kicked my ass, but then again, there's another 4.5 hours to go.

Wish me luck on my quest to figuring out wtf is going on with my body. The blood test isn't something I'm particularly stoked for but the bone test sounds pretty cool - apparently they inject me with some sort of radioactive shiz and it makes my bones light up on the xrays. They're going to be looking for weak spots that may be the cause of some of my pain - I can't wait to see my knee light up the frame like the 4th of July - I probably should have told my dr that there's a couple of bone fragments floating in there, but I figure he'll learn it soon enough.

Nanny Chronicles: "Shhh...."

2010-03-30T23:14:00.000-06:00

4 Year Old Boy: Sarah, is Zackie real?

(Zackie is a 4 inch tall penguin Webkinz stuffed animal that the kid is attached to. Now let me pretense my answer by saying that he asks me a lot of ridiculous questions throughout the day, and often I give him the following answer)

Me: Do you think Zack is real?

Him: (After a moment of serious thought) Yes.

Me: A real penguin? You think Zack is a real penguin? You think Zack is alive?

Him: Yes!

Me: (Dismayed) Umm... Well....

(Kid gives me a look and furtively looks at the penguin, which is sitting on the kitchen counter)

Him: (Whispering) Sa-raaaah. I know he's not real.

(He looks at the penguin discreetly again)

Him: I just don't want him to know that!

A Generic Update Because I Have Nothing Better to Write About

2010-03-17T13:43:00.000-06:00

Spring is practically here and I am high on barefoot living. Yes, I am pushing the style boundaries of Alberta and have moved my boots to the back of the closet in favor of cute flats and flipflops. I know it's so tacky of me to retire my socks this early in the year but honestly, I've had enough of winter. This is me! Seeking positive weather changes! By blind and ignorant optimistic action!!

Anyway...

Volleyball is coming to an end soon and I am so happy, because being booted up 2 divisions was not helpful at all to our team ego, nor our stats. We have not yet won a game, all though we have playoffs next week, so I'm holding out for that. I'm also looking forward to the end of basketball, which I gave another fair try this season. But my basket record is 1-32 (that's 1 shot to 32 missed shots... well, that's a guesstimate. Honestly, I don't know how many baskets I've attempted for, but it's been a few. At least 2 or 3 per game. Sad, I know). I've at last accepted I will never be good at basketball. And I'm really okay with that.

Spring sports are looking a little busier for me because I'm starting Beach Volleyball all by myself, as well as regular team volleyball, and flag football. I'm a little more optimistic towards football this time around, considering my running is much better than it was last time (I can now run 3 kms at a comfortable, paced, speed in 19 minutes. Which certainly doesn't make me a speed demon or anything, but my endurance is getting better with more practice, and it's conditioned me so that I'll be having more fun, less pain on the field). I still get regular pain in my left quad (I had a muscle tear in 2000) and my knee (chipped cap and internal scar tissue in right from a very fun rollerblading accident circa 2001) but I've come to embrace the fact that I will probably always hurt for the rest of my life. Not trying to sound masochistic or anything. But I'm getting old. It can really only get worse.

Work has been busy and the kids are going nutty with the onset of Spring (or at least I'm assuming it's that). The 4-year-old has been increasingly more affectionate with me in each passing day - just today I've already gotten about a dozen "I love you Sarah's" and a handful of leg grasping hugs. And yesterday he proposed marriage to me, which he then hastily took back in embarrassment. It's really very endearing and is a vast improvement over the relationship I held with this kid 5 months ago.

As you may or may not know, TV is one of my true loves and I've been settling into a comfortable schedule with 30 Rock (I've never actually seen it, so I'm starting from season 1 and working my way upwards) and my weekly new episodes of House, Mercy, Big Bang Theory and America's Next Top Model. My thoughts on all of this mind melting media are as follows: Jesse Spencer on House is looking more delicious in each episode and I'm liking the show without Cameron thus far, despite the fact that most of the cast is ultra masculine now (Thirteen included). They will need to find balance soon, methinks. Mercy is drama filled as per usual, but I desperately hope that Veronica stays with whateverhisfaceiscalled instead of going back to Mike. Also, I wasn't very cool with James VanDerBeek (yes, DAWSON, as in Dawson's Creek) joining the cast at first, but I'm warming up to his character. Big Bang Theory is going as it normally does, but I'd like to see Leonard and Penny grow or change or break up or something - all this happiness is getting a little boring. Oh and ANTM just started and seeing Perez Hilton made me gag a little, but I love that bald girl with the cool accent and was disappointed to see no asian gals out there to represent. Oh, and I hate that annoying manly looking chick from the last season who got booted, but is now back and crying over it. Boo friggity hoo.

I have joined up on FormSpring and have found that it's infinitely more fun when people are asking me questions, so please, inquire to your heart's desire. I've had a handful of really strange questions from people whom I'm assuming come from my past - and I've also found that asking other people anonymous questions is a good way to fuck with their minds (not that I've done so, but I've certainly been mindfucked on more than one occasion). This is both a good thing and a bad thing - the good being that I've in turn had to do some serious mental debates with myself, and the bad being that some questions are just seriously awkward or way too personal to answer. That, and they make me wonder who is really asking them.

My paranoia and suspicions aside, my addictions for this month thus far include China Glaze and OPI nail varnishes in various obnoxious and/or gothic colors, ripped jeans and Full House. It's 1998 again and I love it.

Nanny Chronicles: Well...That Was Awkward

2010-03-09T22:19:00.000-07:00

4 Yr Old: Sarah, do you want to see my dad naked?

(His dad looks up from pouring his coffee with a snort).

Me: No. Do you want to see my dad naked?

4 Yr Old: Yes...

(Silence)

Me & His Dad: So....Anyway....

Nanny Chronicles: "Mother Nature"

2010-02-11T22:07:00.000-07:00

4 Year Old: Sarah, the trees are growing leaves again!

Me: Yeah. And you know what what means, right?

4 Year Old: What?!

Me: Spring is coming!

4 Year Old: Really? When? How many days?

Me: Spring comes when it wants to. When it's ready.

4 Year Old: Do you think if I ask God, he'll make it spring?

Me: Um well, eventually, he will? I guess?

4 Year Old: What's that lady that lives up there?

Me: What? Up where? What lady?

4 Year Old: The lady that lives up there. (He points to the sky.)

Me: Umm...Jesus?

4 Year Old: (Giggle) Sarah! Nooooo. The lady.

Me: Umm... Mary?

4 Year Old: Who's Mary?

Me: Jesus's mom. I think.

4 Year Old: What? Noooo. The lady. The weather girl.

Me: (Laughing) The weather girl? (Pause) Oh! You mean Mother Nature!

4 Year Old: Yess!!!! (Clasps hands together in prayer) Dear Mother Nature. Please make it spring tomorrow. And say hi to Jesus. And Santa.

4 Year Old: Do you think that will work?

Me: Well, we'll see.

not a real post.

2010-02-11T22:04:00.001-07:00

holy crap, i love this man.

click the photo. just do it. revel in it. bask in it.

i want to have his babies. his beautiful, beautiful babies.

i can't think of anything real to write about so this is what i'm going with. i would say that i'm sorry but really, i'm not.

Random Childhood Memory 0987630512

2010-02-04T20:49:00.001-07:00

I am 8 years old. I'm being babysat by my Aunty Denise and there are no other kids in the house. Aunty Denise's house is the kind of house that has a room where kids aren't allowed to hang out, especially when they're 8. I don't remember why I was there or why I was the only kid present, but I was there.

I remember eating breakfast in her kitchen, and I went for my favorite breakfast food, which remains my favorite to this day. Whole wheat toast with a little butter and some peanut butter. Don't ask me why, it just is. I grew up eating this particular breakfast food. Aunty Denise was watching me spread butter on my toast, and then peanut butter. She makes a comment. "You don't need butter if you're putting peanut butter on there."

By this point, the damage is done and I'm 8 - I don't care what Aunty Denise thinks about my particular breakfast choices, nor do I understand why she would make such a comment. I finish my breakfast and go and sit at the piano for awhile, not playing, because you're not allowed to do that. I stare for awhile at a photo next to the piano, of Aunty Denise, playing a piano. I get bored.

Later in the afternoon, I go outside and sit on the swingset by myself. I'm still bored and I sit there, my back to the house. Aunty Denise's kitchen window faces out to her backyard and I hear her talking to Aunty Yvonne, her sister, inside.

"Laurie Anne should be ashamed - how did she let Sarah get to this size? It's disgusting. And she put butter, on her peanut butter toast. It's careless. Does she not care about her daughter's health?"

"I know. I can't believe it. She's so big now. Does she not realize?"

I was 8 years old. I was a little chubby, but I wouldn't say I was a particularly extraordinarily sized child. I could still run and play with all the other kids, go up stairs without wheezing, fit onto a normal backyard swingset. I still fit into normal kid's sized clothes. I still got changed in the changeroom amongst all of my friends because I didn't feel that I was any different looking.

To this day, I still like butter on my peanut butter toast.

However, I never truly warmed up to the idea of Aunty Denise, or Aunty Yvonne.

Whenever I sit at the breakfast table and eat my fattening buttered toast, I think of them and smile.

I was 8 years old.

Well

2010-02-03T20:48:00.000-07:00

...I'm definitely sick. Today I teared up watching Shrek 3.

Seriously.

Ugh.

My Go-To Meal

2010-02-02T00:30:00.000-07:00

Whenever I have a shit day, or a particularly long day, or if I'm just feeling hungry and lazy - I make macaroni and cheese for dinner.

And no, I'm not talking about radioactive Kraft Dinner mac 'n cheese (I classify this in a whole other food group that corresponds to whole other emotions and levels of laziness). I'm talking about the deliciously creamy, homemade, panko crust baked, magical kind.

Me and macaroni and cheese go way back. Way back. It was actually the first meal I ever made on my own as a child. I can remember my mother's stained recipe card and how I painstakingly followed it (and almost overcooked the pasta). And how the recipe called for onions, and how I left them out, because at the age of 8 - onions and cheese is a disgusting mixture. I can remember the first time I made macaroni after I moved out and how my roommates had never heard of homemade macaroni and cheese. I can remember countless times when I screwed up the sauce by not adding enough flour, or ran out of cheese halfway through, or that one horrible time when I made mac 'n cheese for a work potluck and made about 15 pounds too much. Ah, memories.

Tonight was a macaroni and cheese night. And I went through the motions. I usually fly through whatever cheese I have on hand (tonight it was Cambozola, some sort of unidentified blue goat cheese and freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano). I mix it up with some flavors (this varies from nutmeg, salt, pepper, onion, etc etc - it really depends on the types of cheeses I pick and whom I'm serving it to... tonight I went with honey, white truffle oil and sage) and throw in whatever pasta I have on hand. No matter what kind of mood I'm in or how shit my day was or how much effort I throw into the cooking process - the end result is always the same. Wonderful. Filling. Comforting. Delicious. I stirred it all together and topped it with some panko and baked it in the oven and nearly cried when I took my first bite.

Yes, me and macaroni have that kind of relationship.

It's just the perfect dish. It can change according to the cheese you have, the pasta you have, the topping you go for (I've been meaning to make the guys a bacon crusted mac 'n cheese, all classic with wonderful medium cheddar and mozza). It warms you up, makes you full and takes less than twenty minutes to make.

I truly think everyone needs a comfort food. I would have posted pictures but I was too busy eating and mentally swooning to do so. So for now, you can imagine. It might be a disgusting image to you (and I take full credit, I really do) but it's delicious. If you don't dig mac 'n cheese, leave a comment and enlighten me on your favorite comfort food. I'm an open minded girl... I'm into trying new dishes! However, good old mac 'n cheese will always have my heart.

Sniffle

2010-01-31T00:50:00.000-07:00

I fear I'm getting sick. My throat has been irritatingly irritating for the last 2 days. My nose has been sniffly and stuffy during my all important REM cycles. I haven't had the energy to do more than continuously watch Gilmore Girls for the past few days. I've been popping zinc and vitamin c and drinking water like a fish, in attempts to try and ward off whatever is trying to attack my all important immune system.

And why? Because I am the saddest, most pathetic person when I'm sick.

Aside from not being able to breathe and having my eyes water continuously and aching all over (more than I already do), it's like being sick brings out every negative thing in my life. I hurt over stupid things in my past and take every opportunity to cry over them; My dead dog, old credit cards that have long been paid off, bad batches of cookies, embarrassing moments that may or may not be imagined - you name it, I've cried over it whilst in some sort of cold medicine induced emotional tornado. And then my eyes get puffier than normal and I feel even crappier. And then I cry even more. And sniffle. Forever.

It's a very masochistic cycle.

When I worked in an office, getting sick seemed to happen more than often. I'm not sure if it was the fact that I hated my job more than life, or the fact that it was an office with a small environment where people just spread a lot of germs, but I spent many days out of the year cooped up in my bed, crying over an insurance commercial and overdosing on Tylenol Cold PM and nasal spray. After I moved into the germy world of children and the educational environments in which they spread their germs, I got sick twice within a period of three months, and what was worse was that I had to work through it. Which apparently toughened my skin considerably, because nothing is as bad as being congested, water eyed, cranky, sore and tired - while standing behind a 500 pound camera setup and trying to make a horribly surly sixth grader smile.

Anyway, I haven't been sick since then and I'm terrified that the little hesitation I have to swallow for fear of pain is a sign that I might have to return to that state. For now, I will continue to watch Gilmore Girls and overdose on various pills and medications. If the next post that follows this one is an unfortunate depressing one about my dead dog or all those starving children Haiti commercials, you'll know why.

A Real Update on Life

2010-01-27T21:46:00.000-07:00

So, I was just reading over my last three (and only) posts and I realized that there's nothing serious regarding my life. And also, that my last three (and only) posts make me look slightly (or very) crazy.

To clarify that I'm really just a very boring person with slightly crazy thoughts, I will touch on a few aspects of my life.

Volleyball
The team I captain and play on got bumped into intermediate from recreational, which wasn't exactly a surprise (as we've taken the League Champ title twice now), but it was kind of a bummer, as our plays aren't exactly consistent and we really are just playing to have fun. Intermediate is, however, a lot of fun, all though I seem to be getting worse, rather than better. I'm not sure if it's because I've gibbled all of my fingers (and my thumbs, several times, to the point of darkened swelling) or if it's because I'm simply psyching myself out. But me, myself and I will work on it. D's mom is a teacher at a school in the North End and I'm hoping that she'll be able to commandeer us some gym time for a few practices.

Work
My sister came to join me at work today and it was nothing short of hilarious. The kids got a new game for the Wii recently (all though when I say new, I mean new to them, not to the Wii world) and it's fun, amusing and also, awful. I'm talking about the game Just Dance. Now, for the average 7 year old, this game is nothing short of fantastic. It features a handful (and I use the term handful because it's honestly just that. Ten fingers and maybe a little more in the palms of your hands) of songs, dating from MC Hammer to Katy Perry. You basically stand in front of the TV and dance around like the character on the screen, holding the WiiMote in your hand. The good part is that the music (as little as you get) is pretty upbeat and fun. The bad part is that the game is either insanely difficult, or painfully primitive and easy. I say this because the 4 year old boy beat me playing - but not by dancing - by standing there and swinging his arms. Me and my sister both established that we were either trying too hard trying to reenact the dance moves or else the game is retarded and the WiiMote can't really recognize your dance moves.

Wii aside, work has been hectic and tiring and wonderful all at once. The kids have been somewhat cooperative, with the exception of the 9 year old being pretty surly to me during most hours of the day. I've chosen to blame the generation, rather than the individual.

Vegas
D and I are set to leave for our second trip to Sin City in a few weeks and I'm painfully excited. My credit cards are painfully excited. Not only am I looking forward to buying all the things that US Customs will allow me too - I've also been buying things in preparation for buying things. Sick, I know. We're staying at Treasure Island this time around and I'm planning on booking an ATV Tour through the desert for D's birthday (btw, link likely will not be the exact tour we choose, but I like the general idea). I'm super excited and am already trying to plan out my packing strategy.

Reading
Ever since the introduction of the Kindle in my life, I've been trying to force books down my throat in what little spare time I have left. I've been reading "Karen" and "With Love from Karen" by Marie Killilea in hardcopy (which I handily obscured from a vintage book seller on Amazon). These aren't exactly new reads, as the first time I read them was when I was 8 and raiding my mother's bookshelf out of boredom (I still wish I had her wonderfully falling apart 1st Edition paperbacks with their yellowed pages). My Kindle has been featuring "Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen," (I figured it was relevant to me, as I'm also slightly crazy like Julie Powell, and I love cooking more than life), "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath (another book about someone crazy) and "Pride and Predjudice and Zombies" (pretty self explaining).

Miscellaneous
My sister returned my DVD collection of the Gilmore Girls to me and I've been watching episodes back to back and endlessly annoying D with the bickering and bantering of Lorelai and Rory. I secretly wish I had the life of Rory Gilmore.

D and I have been Costco shopping lately and it's resulted in bulk. Presently, there is a JUMBO (capitalized letters included on packaging) sized box of Honey Nut Cheerios on my kitchen counter, ready to be poured into one of the three plastic cereal containers I bought in bulk. There is a four pack of Ziploc bags in my storage closet, a huge stack of Charmin triple roll toilet paper and a block of Ivory soap, all sitting neatly and innocently like they belong in my very small 900 square foot condo.

I love Costco. I love having mass quantities of things, ready when I need them.

I realize that this post is turning into another "Sarah's a crazy person" post, so I'm gonna wrap this up now.

Pfssh Yeah....In My Dreams

2010-01-27T21:05:00.000-07:00

If you have known me for a period for longer than oh, maybe four months - you would be pretty well versed in the fact that I obsess over people. Celebrities, to be specific. I'm the only person my age who takes a celebrity crush to the next level and actually tells other people about it. And mostly, they think that I'm kidding. And for oh, maybe 90% of it, I am. But the other 10% of it is all true, honest, obsession and love. And get this - usually all of this sick lovepuppy obsession almost always spurns from dreams.

Take Zac Efron, for example. I must have gushed over him for well over a year. I got into High School Musical (Editions 1, 2 & 3), bought the Hairspray DVD and watched 17 Again in theatres three times (and I paid for each time). Zac Efron is just over a year younger than me and in normal light, this would automatically be gross. But the dude sings and dances and takes his shirt off in almost every film he's in. And the only reason I started drooling over him was because I had some random dream about him.

Now that the Efron obsession has ebbed away, I can see that his movies are subpar, his acting is cute but shallow and quite honestly, the fact that he's still dating nasty Vanessa Hudgens, is enough to make me wrinkle my nose.

But then again, I could be completely biased - because a few months ago, my dreams supplied me with an Efron replacement. And my love for him faded away like Vanessa Hudgens' career.... (Sorry, I couldn't help it).

Now, I could really blame Glee for this whole sickness. I devotedly PVR'd each episode of the first season ever since I saw the pilot air. The mixture of afterschool-special style drama, plus a bit of modern in-your-face brash humor, plus the addition of musical-esque pop music and a bit of chick-flicky romance? The whole idea screams me.

But Puck was what really won me over. And then I had some sort of weird kissy dream involving him and it spun into this newfound obsession for Mark Salling and all things surrounding his beautiful mohawked head.

I know, I know. I have weird psychological issues. It's totally out of my control.

I truly fear what my subconscious will provide me with next. If it's someone from Twilight, I'm going to be truly disappointed in my brain. Taylor Lautner is what...four years younger than me?

I wish, therefore I am...

2010-01-24T22:44:00.000-07:00

I joke a lot about being asian. Because I am. But I'm not. It's this whole mess of my lack of cultural self awareness and my adoption and living in Vancouver and all that stuff. I wish I could explain it better but considering I'm still pretty confused on the whole issue, I will try to piece it out for the both of us.

I was born and raised in Vancouver, BC - which is a fairly asian-populated area. Meaning that when I went to school, a good percentage of my classmates were Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Filipino, Etc. I grew up in an adoptive family with a French/Russian/German mother and a Canadian-born Chinese father. My childhood was the type of family who ate scalloped potatoes and pot roast every Sunday. I didn't even like Westernized Chinese food.

It wasn't really until I moved to Edmonton, Alberta, that I realized I was really even a different race than any of my Caucasian friends. Now, I'm not sure if it was because I moved to a suburb where 98% of the population is white, or if it was because I was fifteen and finally figuring shiz out, but it was like a light turned on. And I was suddenly different.

It's like being anorexic, but with less debilitating health risks and a bit more crazy. When I think of myself and see myself in the mirror, I feel white. I imagine myself white. But I see myself in pictures, and it's almost shocking to me. My face is never quite satisfying to me because I've always pictured it with Caucasian features. In my head, I'm a dark haired, brown eyed, white girl.

Weird, I know.

I mean, we all struggle with self image. We all wish we were different shapes, sizes, heights, weights, etc. And I've done my fair share of that too. But I have the power to change my weight, my hair color, my style. I can embrace my height and my heinous shoe size. I can get over not having super huge sweater kittens. But nothing is quite so strange to me as the fact that I don't identify myself with my so-called roots. If I was to put me in a lineup, I wouldn't recognize myself.

I'm pretty sure I was Miley Cyrus in another life. Just saying.

With this post, I take thee blog...

2010-01-23T16:43:00.001-07:00

It's come to my attention that Nexopia is dead (at least to people in my age group). I've hung around on that site for 5+ years now, one of the reasons being my epic blog that has followed me through the last few years of my life. In realizing the sad news that my precious blogified memories and useless spam posts have been immortalized within dying technology, I have attempted to move backwards. And I say backwards because long before my existence on Nex, my internet self survived here, on Blogger. On this very account, actually.

Instead of trying to make my past sound fascinating and deep, I think I'll just skip right over the "what I've been up to for the past few years" paragraph and get right into it. This week was a trying one. This weekend I have thus far wasted, with 8 hours of sleep plus a 4 hour nap. You do the math. I'm spending Sunday doing laundry and going to the bridal fair for Brenna's Wedding. I've been to bridal fairs before, but I can't remember my exact relationship with them. I'm certain that this time I will either a) Enjoy Immensely or b) Find Nauseating. Me and weddings have that kind of black and white relationship.

Speaking of weddings, a handful of people in my life seem to be getting married and I can't believe I'm actually old enough to be witnessing it. Am I really getting into that age gap where people are starting to pair off and grow up? Whenever I go to visit family functions, I always have to face those horrible "So, when are you getting married" confrontations, but I always laugh and say that I'm too young and that we haven't been together for that long, who really knows? And now I realize that perhaps my age and lifestyle has been giving me away. And that maybe my slight aversion to commitment (more on this later) is becoming more apparent.

The way I figure it, Dave and I have been together for 3 years. We own a home together, we've talked about all that adult-getting-older junk. We aren't beating around the bush. I figure that my chances with Mark Salling are pretty slim, so yeah, we'll be together for awhile. But do we want to get married? Maybe, in the future. Do we want to get married now? No, definitely not. Weddings are expensive and stressful and at the moment (for us) completely pointless. Nothing would change, except for maybe me having to check off a different bubble when I fill out various personal information forms.

Plus, I want to wait until we're good and old and have tons of money, so I feel less guilty about the overindulgent diamond ring. (We've scoped out rings before... all of the ones I picked were in the $15,000+ range. Dave was not at all surprised, which really, is a positive sign for our future together.)

My superficiality aside, ~~weddings~~ getting older and adulthood brings out a weird feeling in me. Like a naggling thing on a to do list that I keep putting off. I don't know if I've just watched way too much Sex and the City or if I have a mild case of Lost Boys Syndrome, but either way, they slightly freak me out.

Anyway, Dave and I were invited to a wedding that is happening this year, and he was invited to be in the bridal party! Awesome for him, terrible for me. This means that he will be sitting at the "Head Table" and I will be placed at some floater table full of people that I don't know. Probably a guy named Uncle Larry and a woman who smells like cats. Maybe a few Jewish cousins that will smile awkwardly when I get too drunk and start making sexually inappropriate jokes. Whoever invented the Head Table is a cruel, cruel person. I hope that Uncle Larry is kind to me.