AUGH! :(

Know what sucks?!?!

*waits for you to guess*

Wrong! Miniseries's. They suck.

Allow me to back up a little bit. Recently, I was unlucky enough to find what could very well be my favorite TV related thing ever. Spoiler alert: it's BBC's Sherlock. It was perfect. Everything about it was just perfect. The british accents, the mystery, the adventure, the british accents, the creativity that still managed to stay somewhat true to the source material, the british accents, the bromance between Holmes and Watson, and did I mention the british accents (which are only the second most beautiful accents ever)? Also, Sherlock Holmes is my all-time favorite book series. Even the throw cushion on Holmes's armchair is exactly like the one I have on my bed (which I bought before knowing of the series). It's like the producers had me in mind when they made it.

Now, I say that I was unfortunate to stumble (or rather, be directed to via a friend's recommendation) upon this little slice of heaven because it's a miniseries. Which basically means there are a total of three 90 minute episodes available for me to watch until the new year, when the second season is to come out. I've watched two of them already.

So now I'm stuck with this terrible dilemna: I can go ahead and watch the third episode right now. Or I can resist and have a new episode still to watch until the new series comes out. And I blame the miniseries format of the show. Three episodes is just not enough for a satisfying season of any show, let alone a contender for the greatest thing ever. It's enough to get you hooked, and then it's like: No more! Season's over. See you next year, SUCKA!!!

You suck, BBC, you really, really suck.

Murphy's Law Rears it's Ugly Head

So, I've been taking singing lessons this semester. It's been a combination of good, bad, and ugly.
The breakdown:

The Good:
-I can sing approximately seven million, one hundred and twenty one times better than when I started two months ago
-I've discovered that my range is actually somewhat decent (one note shy of three octaves, last time I checked)
-it gives me a legit excuse to practice, which is something I didn't have before
-having to occasionally listen to recordings of myself singing has forced me to sort of half get over my hatred of my own voice

The Bad:
-only being allowed to sing classical. Actually, I guess bad is an overstatement, because I've found its emphasis on good technique to transfer quite easily to the other genres I find myself singing in everyday life (rock and pop in the car, worship while I'm at church, and so on)
-having to perform in front of my classmates. partly because of my own self-consciousness about my voice, partly because they're all really amazing singers and I feel slightly inadequate more often than not
-having to practice at home has caused some conflict with the family. lame.

The Ugly:
-I've got a bunch of performances coming up, including one that's pretty much my final exam, and my throat has been killer sore for the past three days.

Yeah. Perfect timing, body. Just go ahead and get sick now. It's not like I need you to be in working order for a few more weeks, or anything like that. No, it would be absolutely unhelpful to me if you could just abstain from rendering me mute until Christmas break. Gosh. >_<

The Dumbest Thing

For weeks now, the school's been posting mysterious Ads all over campus. They ran something like this: "Have you met Mark? Come see what he stands for!" and included a little origami figure of a person (presumably Mark). Everyone at school knew about them because most of us had either seen them for ourselves or had some one else ask us what it was all about.

Today, I was hanging out in one of the common areas at school when some one brought out a giant statue version of the origami figure that was on all the ads. Naturally, I was as curious as everyone else, so I decided to stick around and find out what was going on.

After about 20 minutes of watching people set up, I was handed a pamphlet, which I eagerly read. Basically, it was about how we could make our "Mark" by donating to the school's scholarship funds. Facepalm.

Don't get me wrong. Scholarship funds are awesome, but asking college students to donate to them is like going to the foodbank and asking the people who rely on it for donations of non-perishable food items. Those of us who aren't currently making use of scholarships and bursaries are saving every penny just to pay to come here. Heck, some of us are living off ramen noodles even with our scholarship money. The point is that we rely on scholarships because we couldn't otherwise afford college. For the most, we certainly can't afford to donate to scholarship funds at this point. Our budgets are on life support as it is. Do they seriously not realise that we're poor?!?

I'm sorry. This is a bit of a rant, but it makes me angry.

How I Wasted $130

This Summer, when I started making a point of practicing playing guitar regularly, I used to just sit cross-legged on the floor next to my amp to practice. Chillin' hippie style for an hour or so a day was absolutely fine by me...at first.

Then one day, my feet started cramping. The muscles would tense up and they would curl themselves tighter and tighter into themselves. Needless to say, this was excruciatingly painful, but I was determined and I figured that I could power through the agony if it only happened on occasion.

Of course, life doesn't work that way. The cramps became more and more frequent until it started happening almost every day. Luckily, I'd found a way to stop it from happening. All I had to do was stand up and put some weight on it for a few moments. Unfortunately, this had the effect of interrupting me, sometimes several times in one practice session.

It got so bad that I went to the doctor about it. She advised me to get new shoes. And also to stop sitting cross legged. Apparently it can pinch a nerve or something. Of the two explanations she offered, I was more want to believe the one about sitting cross legged. I had, after all, been wearing ballet flats on a daily basis for almost four years with no prior ill effects. So I knew I had to do something about my current practice set up. I decided to take the plunge and buy a chair.

I got the idea of setting up a little "practice corner" in my bedroom, complete with a magazine rack for my music books and a place to keep my guitars, and of course, a comfortable place to sit when I wanted to use them. I looked at dozens of pictures of other people's practice spaces on the Internet to get inspiration for my own. Finally, I settled on a lovely cream leather chair and bought it.

And today? I keep a regular book in the magazine rack. You see, as ridiculous as it is, I've to this day been unable to break the habit of practicing on the floor. So every day, I kneel down right in front of the chair I purchased for this very purpose, and practice my guitar. I find that if I kneel instead of sit cross-legged, my feet don't cramp up the way they used to. However, by the time I'm done practicing, my legs are so thoroughly numb from sitting on them that I usually can't get up right away. And I figure that if I'm stranded on my bedroom floor, I might as well read a book while I'm waiting for my legs to gain the strength to support the rest of my body.

Driving

Call me crazy, but commuting is actually my favorite part of the day. It's just me, my music, and whoever happens to be watching me rock out from the car next to mine when I'm stuck in traffic (which is pretty much inevitable, given my current school schedule).

At church, I only get to sing worship music, and at school, I only get to sing classical. Not that I want or expect things to be any different, but there's just something very liberating about being able to sing along to whatever I want, as loudly and as badly as I want. The only other place I get that kind of freedom is in the shower, and even there, the echo keeps me from ever wanting to go for a crazily high note just to see if I can pull it off.

And then there are the people. They're stuck in traffic, and grouchy, then they look over at me, having a blast being stuck in the same situation. It makes some people even grouchier to see me having so much fun, but every so often it makes the person crack a smile when I make eye contact, grin, and go back to acting as though no one was watching.

The best though, are the days when I'm a little bit angry and it's warm enough to roll down the window. I crank the music and sing along regardless, no doubt sounding like an obnoxious teenager who stumbled here straight from the 80's. To be just a little bit loud and annoying sometimes is such a nice escape from the pathologically polite (seriously, if some one bumps into me, I will apoligize to them), timid person I usually am.

Maybe I'm just nuts, but it all makes me very happy. ^_^

This is Why I Shouldn't Blog when I'm Tired.

For all the years I've spent hanging around me, you would think I'd know me better.

But the more I think about it, the more apparent it's becoming that this is not the case.

I think about what I actually know about myself and if I'm honest, it's not a lot. I know that I like to please people way too much. I know that at some point a long time ago, I actually felt good about my chances at succeeding at life in some way, and I know that now I struggle not to let pessimism hold me back almost every day.

As for the goals that I used to feel so sure I'd accomplish one day, I barely know what they are anymore. What's worse is that for all my uncertainty, I'm almost positive that wherever I do find success, I'll wish for something else once I get there. I can already see that happening in my life now. And the fact that I know how little focus I have terrifies me.

I've always said that I don't care about money so much as living my passions, and I still feel that way, but it's easier said than done when you hardly even know what you want out of life. I just wish I could get my priorities together long enough to get some sort of plan in line for my life, somewhere where I can focus my energy without feeling so doubtful all the time.

If I could just get that...I could go from being kind of okay at lots of things to being really good at whatever it is I need to be good at...and if I could just go to bed, maybe I wouldn't be posting depressing "nobody understands me" teen angst on the internet. But here I am, I guess. Sucks. Just sucks.

Canadian Thanksgiving: Why We Don't Do it the "Normal" Way

So, tomorrow is Canadian Thanksgiving. It's ridiculously early by American standards. Being mostly submersed in American culture as a kid, I used to wonder why we didn't have it in November like the "normal" people down south did. I had several theories: maybe British thanksgiving was in October*, maybe the Natives and the Pilgrims shared meals in Canada first, maybe we were just weird that way.

Now that I'm older, though, Canadian thanksgiving makes a lot of sense. As it turns out, in Canada, Mid-October is a much more suitable time for the holiday than Late November. All of the major elements of this tradtion just work better on the Canadian date (at least for us Canadians).

Foliage:

There's a saying in Canada: "We have two seasons, eh: Winner an' waitin' for Winner." Fall, while not completely non-existant, is extremely short. If we want to frolic in falling leaves, or more to the point, give them to our children to glue on to centerpeices for the kitchen table, we have to do it FAST.

And really, you tell me: which one looks more like Thanksgiving?

Turkey Dinner Satisfaction Ratio:

As you can see from the above diagram, the progression of American statuory holidays (pictured in blue), includes and extended "dry period" at the beggining of the season where turkey dinner satisfaction is at its lowest, due to a lack of turkey dinners, followed by an elongated high period between American Thanksgiving and Christmas. The Canadian progression (pictured in red), follows a more balanced trajectory, with some degree of turky satisfaction throughout the season. 

Giving Thanks:

As sad a commentary as it is, most people don't feel particularly grateful when it's minus forty and we're contending with 7 hours of sunlight or less a day. In Canada, that's most of the time, November 24th included most years.

Which scene makes you feel better about life?

Black Friday: Yeah...we don't do that in Canada. We have Boxing Day on December 26 instead.


See?!?, it's just better, as far as us Canadians are concerned.**

*As it turns out, Canadian Thanksgiving corresponds with the Harvest Festival in Europe, so this childhood assumption wasn't completely wrong. Yay me!
** DISCLAIMER: the contents of this article are intended for humor purposes only. Any offence taken is unintentional and extremely unfortunate.

Redo!

I've been thinking a lot lately about what I could have /should have done differently over the course of my life so far. Not so much to make myself regret the things I've done so far, but more to recognize those choices as mistakes so I don't remake them in the future. Because I don't really feel like doing my homework, I've decided to instead post the list online for everyone to see. Because that is apparently my masochistic brand of fun. So without further ado:

REWIND: 12 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: Don't give up on piano lessons! Practice! A lot. You'll use it later.

REWIND: 10 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: Look. I know you hate swimming lessons, but you're going to nearly drown three times and have to be rescued by friends over the course of your future life before you give up swimming for your own safety. If you learn to like it, you might be able to save yourself some embarrassment...

REWIND: 9 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: I know you don't want to be a walking Hollister bilboard and I still completely respect that choice. However, that doesn't mean that wearing gigantic neon t-shirts is a good idea. Please stop.

REWIND: 6 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: Also? Lose the charity jelly bracelets. I know you think it looks cool to wear 14 of them at once, but the key to being both charitable and likable is to not make a show of what you're doing...

REWIND: 5 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: Yes, you're an awkward geek, but this year, everyone else is, too. If you think the other kids are judging you, they probably are, but they're all just as lame, so whatever. Also, the fight you're having with your best friend is going to end eventually, so just chill about it in the meantime.

REWIND: 4 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: You're starting guitar lessons. Allow yourself to enjoy them and practice a lot. It'll kill at first, but the pain will go away and you'll get good at it. Also, people don't think you're as lame as you think they think you are.

REWIND: 2 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: Your counselor told you that you wouldn't need biology. FOR THE LOVE OF ICE CREAM, DON'T LISTEN TO HER!!!!!!!

Of course, at no point would past me listen to a vision of myself from the future, if anything, I'd probably have myself interned at a mental hospital, but it's nice to pretend that doing this would make some sort of difference...and actually, my regrets are not as numerous or grave as I thought they would be...

That Awkward Moment When...

You realise you've been embarrassing yourself every day for a solid three months and didn't even know about it.

It all started at the beggining of Summer when I started a job at my Dad's office. It was a lot of fun for the first week or so, then boredom set in. And it set in hard. Fortunately, it didn't take me long to accidentaly discover one fun thing about the job: the bathroom.

Yes, the bathroom. You see, it was covered in floor to ceiling tile, which meant that the accoustics were horrible in the best possible way. Every little sound echoed and magnified itself. Of course, being me, I had the immediate urge to try singing. And so I did, and it was amazing.

So then I started lingering after my bathroom break to sing and hear my voice sound approximately one billion and three times more intense than usual. Then I started going in just to sing. Because, hey, the song that was playing on my ipod ROCKED and I TOTALLY NEEDED to sing along. No one would hear me, anyway.

Or so I thought.

I should have figured it out when I was walking across the parking lot one day and a coworker complimented me on my voice. Unfortunately, I happened to be singing along to my ipod at the time, so even though I didn't think I was singing all that loudly, I figured he'd heard me.

I finally did figure it out about a week before I was due to quit. I was walking past the bathroom when I heard two women inside talking. The bathroom wasn't soundproof. I seriously wanted to die. And that's the story of my life's most embarrassing moment.

Illusion: Shattered.

So, I found out something pretty mind blowing recently.

I've been self conscious about being shy for so long. In high school I just basically gave up on the idea of ever being actually liked by the people I hung out with. I'd just be tolerated. After all, that's all some one as awkward as myself was capable of. I just got used to being lonely.

I got to university, and it seemed like I'd actually made a couple friends. At first, I wouldn't let myself believe that people actually wanted to get to know me. I told myself that they just talked to me because I hung out with people who they actually liked.

But then yesterday, I skipped hanging out with my friends during my break to study for a midterm. I was still so used to just being tolerated that I figured they probably wouldn't miss me for a day. It was a couple hours later when I was talking to one of them and he asked where I'd been that morning that it hit me: I was actually missed. Which could only mean one thing: I was liked enough to be missed.

Needless to say I was thrilled. It occurred to me that maybe, just maybe I'm not as utterly unlikable as I've convinced myself that I am. The funhouse mirror that I'd look in to see a timid, awkward, generally hurting version of myself had been shattered. In its place were all the memories of feeling unwanted that I'd repressed and now had to reconstruct.

Looking back at the past five years, it's just crazy to me just how elaborate a lie I'd constructed for myself in order to keep that mirror, that false perception of reality, alive. People used to smile at me in the hallways out of pity. People would say hi to me because I looked lonely and it seemed like the right thing to do. Nobody knew or even cared who I was. All were lies I had told myself and believed. It makes me angry at myself to think that I thought I was smart, and yet, I was never able to put 2 and 2 together enough to realise that perhaps, just maybe, people were nice to me because they actually wanted to be.

On the plus side, now that my cycle of thinking so poorly of myself has officially been broken, I'll probably be a lot more confident from now on. :)

What I'd Forgotten About University

Post-Haircut Weirdness

So I did something today that I've always wanted to do.

I cut my hair really, really short. I went from about ten inches long to a pixie cut.

I kind of figured that if I hated it, I could just go buy a wig to wear until it grows out. Luckily, it looks awesome (I'm not saying it to brag, but I just love my new look).

However, there's some weirdness that comes with a really dramatic makeover. First, there's the feeling that there's something missing up there. Your head just feels lighter. It sounds really weird, but it's true. Then there's the fact that your brain still expects the hair to be there after it's gone. I only came home from the salon about four hours ago, and I've caught myself reaching for my non-existant ponytail once already. Also, people stare. I forget that I've had my hair cut until some one walks into the room and stares at me.

But the weirdest thing has to be how much I've stared at myself. I can't help but stare at any reflective surface: mirrors, windows, the powered down computer screen. It's just so weird. Honestly, I can't even describe how weird it is to look at yourself in the mirror after a big makeover. You have to experience it. The closest thing I can say is that it's like you don't recognize your reflection. It's like "Hey! Who's that person wearing my clothes?...oh yeah." maybe not exactly. Like I said, you have to experience it to know what I mean.

Hopefully I'll get used to this soon, I'm getting kind of sick of having these out of body experiences with the mirror; it's creeping me out just a little... :S

A Rose By Any Other Name

So I spontaneously decided to spend the next week overhauling my bedroom, which means choosing paint colors.

You would think that this would be the easy part, since I have pretty much everything else I want to put in chosen, and some of it already purchased.

However, I've come an unexpected hurdle in what should be an easy process: the fact that they name paint colors.

You see, I'll find a color which I love called say "Gumball Red", which is an okay name I suppose. But then I'll see another color that's less close to the color I actually want, that is called something like "Hot Chili Pepper". From there my train of thought goes something like the following:

hot chilli pepper --> red hot chilli peppers ---> good music ---> oh my gosh I WANT THIS ONE

The worst part is, I am completely aware of the process, I'm just powerless to stop it. Deep down, I know that this is the reason why a color called "Purpoise" (because dolphins are pretty) beats out "Silver Charm" (meh) for me even though the two are almost identical. And yet, I can't help falling in love with "Purpoise" and "Edgy Red" instead of "Poppy" and "Mountain Fog" even as a part of me knows that if I cut the names off of all my paint chips, I'd probably do a better job of choosing the colors I actually want.

What's more, I'm pretty sure the paint companies know that this works. That would certainly explain why last week's newspaper included an ad from the paint company about a contest to rename a shade of beige known as "Cuddle" to something more man-friendly (the prize was an entertainment center, btw).

It's just weird. I would have thought that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but apparently not...speaking of which, what do you think of "Velvet Rose"? because I bet it would sell...

A Collection of MAGICAL Words

Some words just ring with sheer awesomeness from every syllable. Words like:

Vertigo

Nevermore

Matrix

Panini

ubiquitous

zigzag

philharmonic

Sunshine

harmony

exquisite

Let me know if I've missed any! :)

Procrastination

I'll write about it later.

A Slow Leak

Last year, I was super busy.

At least, that's what I thought.

Until the thought occurred to me that my present practice schedule and the way I lived my day to day life while in university last year are pretty incompatible.

Well, I sure as heck don't want to give up my practice time, now that I see how much it helps. And I want to flunk out of university even less. So, I decided to do a "time audit".

Basically, this meant taking an honest look at my typical university schedule from last year, and trying to figure out what exactly made me feel so busy all the time.

By my estimation, I spent, on average, 3.5 hours a day in class, 1.5 hours a day hanging out with friends, 1.5 hours commuting, 7 hours sleeping,, 3 hours doing other essentials (eating, hygeine, etc) and 2.5 hours a day on reading and doing homework.

Those keeping track will already know that that's 19 hours. If I could figure out where the extra 5 hours of my day was dissapearing to, I might just be able to carve out some time to practice. I decided that I'd have to get a bit more into detail in order to acheive this, so I converted that 5 hours a day to 25 a work week.

First, I listed all the TV shows I would watch in a week. It came to 9 hours. Clearly, I was going to have to cut back on this. I narrowed the list down to my 3 favorite programs, which, together, would take a total of two hours a week to watch. The rest, I decided, could be watched on the internet at my leisure, if at all.

I'd lose another hour or so each week on my guitar lesson, but of course that was not going to be cut. That's ten hours. So where were the other 15?

The only thing that remained was the internet. I couldn't believe at first that I spend that much time online. Then I gave it a bit of thought. I spent a fair amount of time following other people's blogs, and quite a bit more maintaining my own. Then I'd read comedy articles fairly frequently.

And on top of all that was facebook. At the time, I was fairly addicted to a couple of the stupid games that were on there, which I've since quit playing. Then there were always people to read about, quizzes to take, and who knows what else...there was no way around it, I'd have to cut back on internet time as well. I decided that an hour a day would suffice from now on.

Satisfied, I did the math. 25 hours a week, minus the 7 of TV and internet that I planned to keep left me with 18 hours a week of unclaimed time. Since I  practiced so rarely last year that it was negligable to include in my initial assessment of where my time is spent, I would have to carve my practice time entirely out of those 18 hours. I practice over an hour a day now, and I hope to get up to two by Christmas, so I set aside 10 hours. That left 8 hours for incidentals (traffic, working on big assignments, studying for midterms, etc).

Which brings me to the bad news. While I don't intend to delete or abandon my blog just yet, since I still enjoy having somewhere to write about stuff, there's no way I'm going to be able keep up with my usual 2-3 posts a week pace from now on. I'll try for weekly, but there's no guarentee...anyway, just a heads up.

Waging War

This morning, I did battle with the bane of my existance: tailgaters.

There I was, driving down the road, listening to a lovely new CD, doing the speed limit, and generally having a wonderful time. Then BAM!

I looked in the rearview mirror to see a white minivan all up in my business. What was worse, it had "AIRPORT TAXI" painted in mocking letters on the windsheild. To most people, that would probably indicate simply that it was an airport taxi, but not to me. What it meant to me was that the stupid thing would be following me. All the way to work.

At first, I was an unshakable rock of calm collectedness. If he wants to speed, fine, I thought, But he'll have to pass me to do it.

Before to long, though, impatience began to set in."Pass me, you idiot!" I muttered, perfectly aware that the driver couldn't hear me. It felt pretty good to pretend to tell him off, though. I looked up. He was still there. I'd like to say that this didn't make me think curse words, but I'd be lying.

My poor CD had by this point lost most of my attention. This was particularly sad because like I said it was brand new (well, to me, anyhow) and I had never heard any of the songs on it. I sighed. It was a casualty of war, I suppose.

Finally, after about ten minutes, he passed. To say I was pleased would be an understatement. Finally, I thought as I shifted my attention back to the CD, which was currently featuring, a cool, stormy sounding guitar solo. This is gonna be good. My elation didn't last long though, as the next glimpse of the rearview mirror revealed that another driver had launched a full-scale invasion of my personal bubble.

I checked my speedometer just to be absolutely certain that I wasn't the problem, but no, I was at the speed limit almost exactly. Don't people here know how to drive?!?! I wondered to myself.

Apparently not, I discovered, as I was passed by the second tailgator, closely followed by a guy who signalled left to merge right into the correct lane. I was then tailgated for another few moments by a pickup truck who passed me on a solid line (on a single lane road). Good job, buddy.

When I finally got to work, I breathed a sigh of releif as I turned over my CD to check the damage. Song number 5. Well, that's not so bad, I thought. I still have the whole rest of the CD to enjoy on the way home this afternoon.

If they don't strike again, that is.

Every Time He's There

There is a God and He is faithful.

I'm reminded of this every time I wake up healthy enough to live another day.

Every time I pick up my guitar and notice that I'm playing a teensy bit better than I did the last time.

Every time I look in the fridge and see that there's enough food to provide for myself and my family.

Every time I pray for my safety while I'm scared and come through it unscathed.

Every time I walk into the church and see 50 or so friends who I never would have met otherwise.

Every time I open my mouth to sing and an improvised praise song comes out without my having thought about it.

Every time I think about something stupid I've done and it occurs to me that I'm loved anyway.

God is there when I'm bitter about my challenges and He loves me just as much then as when I'm spontaneously singing His praises in my bedroom. He loves me when I'm an idiot and when I'm... not such an idiot (although, to Him, I guess I'm an idiot even then). He loves me for my strengths and for my flaws.

And that's pretty mind-blowing.

Blogging my Nervous Breakdown

Ok...so I'm going to go sing and play a couple songs in front of a hall full of people who've never heard me sing before. Using an unfamiliar guitar.

But it's okay, because they're all your family. If you screw up, they probably won't care too much...

I already know I'm not the most skillful person here...my cousin's way better.

It doesn't matter,  you're not the worst person here either, and she's been doing this for way longer than you have. People will appreciate the effort.

I'm singing out of key. HOLY CRAP. I'm. SINGING. OUT OF KEY. And this is only the sound check. How am I EVER going to get through this?!?! Abort mission! Abort, I say!

If you want to ever be able to live your dream of doing this for a huge audience of strangers, You're going to have to get over all this and play for your family today.

Maybe I should rethink this dream of mine...

No, no. You're going to sing and you're going to rock it. Okay, time for a pep talk:

Try not to screw up too much, but if you do, it's okay. Your family will still love you. Maybe.

Oh, goodness. I'm not very good at this, am I?! Thanks for trying, little voice in my head.

The Best Thing About Facebook...

...is that it's always changing.

No, seriously, hear me out.

When has facebook ever made a change that most people actually preferred to whatever was in place originally? Never, that I can remember. No matter how trivial the change, it always seems like there are countless pages complaining about it, as well as everyone's facebook statuses.

The good news is that things don't stay the same for long. You never have to endure a crappy idea for too long because soon something even dumber always ends up replacing it. And if it all sucks, who really cares?

You know, it's funny. I think about quitting facebook on a pretty regular basis, but it's when I try to convince myself that facebook has actually had a good idea that I want to delete my account the most...

Life's Too Short Not To...

• sing aloud in the parking lot
• laugh at past misfortunes
• wear bright colors
• get caught looking bad in a few photographs
• speak your mind every so often, even if you don't think others want to hear it
• blast your favorite tunes in the car. Don't forget to rock out at red lights!
• pay for some one else's drive thru order (on occasion)
• take two naps in one day
• eat non-breakfast foods for breakfast
• figure out what makes you happy, then do it even if people laugh
• hang out with people you like and who like you back
• try new things
• laugh until you can't breathe
• eat until your stomache hurts
• scream your lungs out when you go to concerts
• dance when you get caught in the rain
• turn off the TV and go for a walk
• enjoy your favorite meal without checking for calories
• go after your dreams, no matter how impossible they seem
• stay up until 2 AM hanging out with friends
• smuggle your camera into places where it's not allowed
• speak in fake accents
• remove the springs from your trampoline to use it as a hammock
• eat ice cream when it's cold out and drink hot chocolate when it's warm out
• feel the sun on your face and the wind in your hair
• laugh at terrible movies
• play drinking games if you drink, pretend to if you don't
• stargaze

I missed some stuff. Let me know if you think of one and I'll add it to the list.

*UPDATE: The highlighted entries were suggested in the comments*

Gone Fishin'

Yesterday, my uncle took me fishing. We climbed into a little boat with a motor attatched to the end, and off we sped into the ocean. After what was probably the most exciting 20 minutes I've ever spent in a boat, we stopped.

My uncle unwound the fishing line, which ended in a lure about the size of my palm. Then he realised we were out of bait. He called out to the other boat that was fishing next to us to throw him some bait. THWAP! A small squid landed right next to me, which my uncle's friend (who was in the boat with us) took and cut into peices. My uncle took a piece and put it on the hook.

He told me that once a fish was hooked on, he was going to give the line to me to reel in. I'd wanted to ride in the boat, but the only way he'd let me was if I at least tried to catch a fish. So I agreed. After about two minutes, there was something hooked.

I started to pull in the line which was actually a harder task than you'd assume. It feels a lot lighter than you would think it would, but the line is so slippery when it's wet that it's hard to get a grip. I started balling up the line to prevent it from slipping. "No, don't ball the line up!" my uncle called out. I let go, and to my surprise, started to get the hang of it after a while. After what seemed like forever, my uncle took the line back and pulled up the biggest fish I'd ever seen in my life.

I was shocked. The fish was easily half my size. "Oh My Goodness, it's huge!" I exclaimed. My uncle laughed. "So, what are we catching? Salmon?" I asked after a pause. "Nah, codfish. I wish it were salmon." My uncle laughed again.

Before too long, there was another bite. I caught a second, smaller fish.
Then one got away.
Then one about the same size as the first was hooked. I got my uncle to reel that one in.
Then I caught another slightly smaller one.
Then I got slapped with a fish tail as my uncle pulled it into the boat.

Then we went back to my uncle's house, where I just had time to eat dinner before falling into a proverbial coma. My mom tried to wake me up, giving me the opportunity to use possibly the best nap excuse ever: "Leave me alone. I caught my own weight in fish today."

Psychic?

I think computers can read minds.

I've come to this conclusion based on a chain of events that seems to happen quite frequently with mine.

First, something will malfunction with the computer. Immediately suspecting a computer virus, I'll run whatever anti-virus software happens to be installed.

The anti-virus software will inevitably cause the computer to run at snail's pace, rendering it useless for the remainder of the virus check. I'll leave, thinking that it'll probably be finished by the time I need my computer again.

By the end of the day, when the software is only 10% finished scanning, I'll get sick of waiting and try to remedy the situation by myself. But then the anti-virus software will refuse to stop running.

I'll use Windows Task Manager to try and force the program to close a few times, getting consistently more frustrated with each failed attempt to end the program.

Finally, just as I'm mentally weighing the Costs vs. Benefits of throwing the stupid thing at the nearest wall, the computer magically starts working properly again.

Like I said, they can read minds. :P

12 Reasons I'm a Nerd

Some people seem to think that I'm extremely well adjusted. Of course, the better people get to know me, the more abundantly clear it becomes that this is not the case. I do know that even though I'm much more well-adjusted now then I ever was in high school, and I still struggle to talk to people. I am (and have been for the majority of my life) a complete nerd. It kind of baffles me that people don't always immediately recognize it, because it's not like I make a ritual of hiding it. Consider, if you will, the following evidence:

1) When I was a little kid, my parents would buy my brothers beyblades/action figures as rewards for good behavior. My favorite reward was when she bought me books, particularly the ones with try-it-yourself science experiments.

2) Instead of putting a spoiler on my Chevrolet Cavalier to make me feel sportier driving it, I listen to "Driving with the Top Down" from the Iron Man movie sound track because it makes me feel like I'm in an action movie. Also, it's my favorite movie score.

3) I enrolled in calculus in 12th grade just because I was bored and wanted a challenge. And then I had fun being in the class.

4) When I was in elementary school, I was a pretty advanced reader for my age, so I often had to self-censor my speech so that my friends and siblings could understand me.

5) Movies based on comic books are my guilty pleasure...except after I've seen them more than three times and start to think about why whatever they're depicting could never happen. Usually the reasons I come up with relate to science principles in some way.

6) I currently have audiobook versions of 18 Edgar Allen Poe stories and poems downloaded onto my iPod. I intend to work my way through his complete works by the end of this calendar year.


7) I never thought I'd admit it to anyone, let alone to whoever may read it on the Internet, but I actually quite like school.

8) The first emotion I always feel after getting out of school for the summer is boredom.

9) I've only been asked out once, and it was by an immature guy in my class who thought it would be funny/impress his friends if he asked me out ironically. I rejected him, so hopefully his friends didn't give him too hard a time...although, if they did, it was most certainly his own fault. I'm not sorry.

10) I remember once hearing a rumor that the teachers were going to go on strike. It worried me (which was, in itself, a red flag), so when the school started giving out old math textbooks, I was one of the only kids (unsurprisingly) to take one, thinking I could keep up at home.

11) The last "for fun" book I read was a social commentary on people's search for authenticity.

12) Braces? Had 'em. Glasses? Still wear them. Also, I fit the tall-and-skinny stereotype to a T.

I plead guilty on all counts. But I have no intention of reforming myself of any of it. :)

Pedicure WIN! :D

Here's a picture of my feet:

And here's a picture of my receipt:

Like I said, win. :)

The Swarm: Chapter 2

After about three months of desperately scheming a way to get back to Toronto, Collin was finally starting to adjust to life in his new town. He had started to develope some coping mechanisms, for living in such a tiny hole in the wall of a town, including some friendships. The most notable of these was Celine.

Celine was petite, with light brown hair and bright blue eyes. She had a natural cheerfulness about her, but she managed to carry herself without being so chipper that it was irritating. He'd met her in his history class, where the two had bonded over a mutual interest in the Cold War. Before long, Collin had merged into Celine's circle of friends, making his stay in Pommetiers at least slightly more bearable.

Collin had also made one other unlikely friendship: Arnold. Arnold was an ederly man who claimed to be descended from the orginal founder of the town, a fact that he was quite proud of. He was also one of the few people in town who could speak fluent French. He had a son, but had lost contact with him in the aftermath of the son's decision to move away. The loss of this relationship had rendered him quite bitter towards the world, and he spent much of his time grumbling about how large the town had gotten over the years. He frequently complained about the "newcomers", as he called them, but was rather fond of Collin for some inexplicable reason.

Collin, being well raised, did what he could to help the old man out, clearing the remains of late season snowfalls from his driveway and bringing his newspaper to the front door when the mailman had thrown it on the front lawn.This, of course, only won him even more favor in Arnold's eyes.

Despite all this, life in Pommetiers had become bearable, but by no means had it become enjoyable for Collin. He still found it hard to sleep at night in the suffocating silence of the small town and was still irritated by almost every aspect of the town's identity. He was still unhappy.

Guess What Time it is?!?!

It's embarrassing confession time!!! Yay!!!!!

So, without further ado: I am 19 years old, and I still don't know my right from left.

It's pretty humiliating any time lefts and rights come into play, but especially so during driver's ed last summer. My driving instructor would keep telling me to turn one way, and I'd turn the other way. Not because I was trying to make her angry or because I didn't understand what she was asking, it's because I sucked at choosing the correct direction. Her and I didn't get along very well, so she took every wrong turn as a personnal affront against her instruction, so it pretty much made my lessons with her all suck, seeing as I sure wasn't going to admit to her what my problem was.

This is where it gets REALLY embarassing.  Because when I start forgetting things that I should have learnt in kindergarten, I apparently can't stop. When I try the "Make the L's" trick, I can't even remember which way an L is supposed to face. Not that it would really matter in the above scenario because using the "L" trick would involve driving with no hands. Which is not safe.

So yeah, now you know my deep, dark secret. Feel free to mock me in the comments section. ;)

The Swarm: Chapter 1

Staring out the window of his used car, Collin sighed. It was a gloomy day, made even gloomier by the prospect of moving away from the apartment in Toronto that his family shared. He loved the city, and it was all he knew. He couldn't imagine sleeping without the sound of car horns and ambulance sirens, without the constant glow of city lights, without the constant motion of city life. His parents were moving to Pommetiers of all places, and by extension forcing his teenage self to come with them.

Pommetiers was a peaceful little town, considered by many to be the very essence of idealism. Built around a hill topped by a lovely, century old catholic church and filled with crab apple tree-lined boulevards, a landscape of the town would not be out of place on a postcard. It seemed like everyone in the town knew everyone else, or at least had enough contacts to feel invested in the town and its future. Even the most modern of architecture was designed to incorporate an old, French village feeling. The result was that although Pommetiers was a sizable town, it had maintained the air of a small, French village. The whole town had a surreal, almost ethereal quality to it.

To Collin, however, this place was a higher power's punishment for his misdeeds. He hated everything about the place: the creepy old church with it's innumerable statues that cast their ghoulish shadows across the walls, the wasps the crab apple trees attracted, the snobbery of the "French" citizens, many of whom had a tenuous grasp of the language at best and no french ancestry whatsoever. But most of all, he hated that nothing ever seemed to happen. Although the town was actually Canadian and supposedly French, Pommetiers seemed to be trapped in a 1950's version of the All-American dream, complete with white picket fences, apple pies, and trying to outdo the Jones'. This aspect of the town's identity enraged Collin all the more. He didn't want to live in a safe little bubble of a town, he wanted to experience the real world, with all it's flaws and unpleasantries. This town wasn't real, it was too...perfect to be. At least, that was the case until THEY showed up.

To be continued...

Why Barbie Sucked: A Child's Perspective

I used to play with my Barbie doll a lot as a kid.

But she annoyed me.

Not because most of the playsets you could buy had her doing stereotypically feminine things (cooking, riding ponies, being a flight attendant, being a princess, etc.), and the few you could find ready to do man things absolutely HAD to wear pink while doing so.

Not because I realised that if she were real, she would literally snap at the waist. Little did I know that she was completely disproportionate and I would never grow up to look like that. I'm not sure I would have cared if I did know.

 I wasn't a Jr. Feminist. In fact, I was probably the furthest thing from a Feminist imaginable. I dreamed of becoming a ballerina or a figure skater and marrying a prince (or a hockey player if I couldn't find a prince). My favorite color was pink and the EasyBake oven was the coolest thing ever invented.

It was because she was so prone to wardrobe malfunctions.

Her wildly exaggerated curves made changing Barbie's outfit nearly impossible for my tiny 5-year-old hands. This was magnified by the fact that most of the clothing you could buy for Barbie was made of cheap polyester and had almost zero stretch to it. I would spend what felt like hours tugging at Barbie in one hand, and minature pants, skirts, dresses and shirts in the other, trying to get her ensemble in place without accidentally beheading Barbie in the process.

And when I finally finished, her plastic high heels would fall off as I played with her! Of course, this was assuming that I could find two shoes that matched in the first place, since there seemed to be a mouse with a tiny shoe fetish living in our house at the time and stealing them.

At any rate, I grew up with a healthy self image, despite having played with Barbie. In fact, the difficulties Barbie experienced in living her day-to-day plastic life illustrated to me that she wasn't a good role model, appearance wise.

So anyway, Barbie: Unfun toy? Definitely. Self esteem destroyer? ...I didn't think so.

People Watching on Urban Dictionary

Have you ever searched your own name on urbandictionary.com?

I look up "Brittney" sometimes for a laugh. I find the ones that are nothing like me pretty hilarious. Like the last time I did it, there was one about how "you don't want to mess with a Brittney". Which was funny because I'm polite to the point of being a pushover. You have to have pretty thick skin to get enjoyment out of it, though, because pretty nasty stuff can come up.

I also do it because it's fun to guess what type of relationship to a Brittney the author has in their life. There's:

1) The guy who is secretly in love with a girl named Brittney
 But he's too shy to express his feelings to her face, and so he writes love letters to her and releases them anonomously into cyberspace. Sort of cute and romantic, but also sort of sad.
"The goregeous girl who sits in front of me in biology that I'm afraid to talk to. I wish I could talk to her. I want to tell her she's beautiful and that I love her. I wish I could tell her how I feel..."

2) The girl whose name is Brittney
These ones are pretty easy to pick out. They're basically a paragraph about how awesome people named Brittney are.
"A goregeous, smart, popular girl who everybody loves"

3) The girl who is in a cat-fight with a Brittney
These ones get pretty nasty. Usually fowl language is involved.
"A dirty %#! skankbag who nobody likes. If she can read this, she's too high on her &#%! self to realise it's about her. What a #(@%^'ing  %#*#)@."

4) The person who accepts all stereotypes as fact.
Usually Britney Spears, preppiness, boy-craziness, and stupidity are involved.
"A popular girl who is also crazy. She probably can't read, but the boys like her anyway cause she's pretty. Example: Brittney Spears."

It's kind of like people watching. You can tell a lot about a person's life by what they have to say about other people (or themselves).

My Brilliant Idea

There are a lot of songs you shouldn't sing at your grandmother's birthday party and very few that you should.

I know this.

I know this because I've spent about a month and a half trying to find an acceptable song to do just that with.

They're all either too depressing, or impossible to play and sing simultaneously (unless you're pro, which I am decidedly not), or too testosterone filled (by which I mean the singer is a man whose range I cannot imitate without squeeking and/or growling- I'm looking at you, Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah!), or too completely sappy and unoriginal (that means you, Wind Beneath My Wings).

It got so bad that I tried to write my own song.

That didn't go well.

Actually, in one sense, it did go well. I think the song is hilarious. But it sounds like something Buddy Wassisname and the Other Fellas (this singing comedy troupe from Newfoundland, FYI) might write.

Don't get me wrong, I love Buddy, but according to my grandmother, he brings shame to Newfoundlanders. So that's out.

I eventually settled on How Great Thou Art, because she likes southern gospel and the chording is fairly easy.

The only problem is that I'm still somewhat inexperienced at playing my guitar in front of people, so I tend to freeze up and mess up even the easiest and most well-rehearsed of chord progressions every now and then... what to do about that? I wondered...

Then I came up with an EXCELLENT idea.

I can purposefully choose a song my grandmother probably wouldn't know! That way, if I screw it up (and statistics say I will), she won't know how it's supposed to sound anyway! Perfect.

Like I said, brilliant. :)

My Craptacular Day

When it rains, it pours, I guess. Today it metaphorically poured.

My morning started innocently enough, with me not wanting to get out of bed, but then eventually doing it anyway and going to work.

When I got there, it quickly became apparent that this was not going to be a good day. I stumbled sleepily out to the patio to water and care for the hanging baskets out there (one of my many duties as Random Crap Manager). As I went to pull the dead flower heads off of a petunia, a whole branch of flower came with it, much to my dismay. The plants were being destroyed by the frequent rainstorms we've been having lately. I wouldn't normally care, but since I'm charged with making sure they don't die, I really don't want them to...die.

After that dissapointment, I went in and started working on another project. I was to transfer papers from one set of binders to another. Except that I'm not technically authorized to enter the room with the first set of binders. This usually isn't a problem because they leave the door unlocked for me, but today it was locked. So I spent the majority of my morning waiting for people to let me in as I went in and out of the room.

After lunch, I was told that they had another task for me. Somewhat grateful to temporarily abandon the binder task, I went to find out what I was supposed to be doing. They wanted me to drive to Walmart and buy candy. I was like "okay, but where is Walmart?", to the person who explained the task to me. She pointed in the general direction of the corner of the room. "Oh, over there."

Of course, for some one who had never driven to this particular Walmart before, these directions weren't sufficient to even give me an inkling of where I was going. So I went on Google Maps, and wouldn't you know it? The walmart I was supposed to find wasn't even on there.

So off I went, with only a very vague general idea of where I was going. To make matters worse, I couldn't figure out how to work the radio in the company car. Fail. I ended up getting lost, but I did eventually make it to walmart in one peice.

Then came actually going in. I disliked walmart when it was just "Walmart". They were just boxes full of cheap merchandise to me. Then they "upgraded" to Super Walmart. Awesome. More of the same shoddy, poorly made crap that takes advantage of poverty to come into being in the first place . On top of that, the new Super Walmarts are veritable mazes. After twenty-some off minutes wandering aimlessly like the proverbial lost soul, I finally managed to locate the candy aisle. I proceeded to grudgingly purchase enough candy to keep the fat kid from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory satisfied for a week. And then I got lost again on the way back to the office.

Then, just for a nice little cherry on the cake, I got chased by a bee that turned out to be just a fly. Not impressed, fly.

When I got home, all I wanted to do was practice my guitar. When the internet was down, preventing me from going on the website I've been getting practice material from recently, I nearly lost it. I grabbed my guitar and pounded out some songs without even bothering to turn on the amplifier, screaming out some corresponding lyrics as I went.

It's funny how that always makes everything better. :)

The Mind's Epidemic

I think society expects women to be somewhat masochistic.

First, we're saddled with all of these painful beauty routines. We wax, we pluck, we cut ourselves shaving, we inject botulism into our faces to appear younger, we risk skin cancer to look like we're fresh off the beach.

Then there's the clothing. Sure, we've grown more evolved over the years. We've gone from corsets and footbinding to high heels and extreme push-up bras.

Self loathing is also a must, as you're expected to bond with other girls about whatever genetic feature you hate most. Also, medical conditions don't count. You have to choose something visible. If you take to hating it enough, you're in luck. There's plastic surgery for just about any part if you've got the wallet to facilitate it.

And for those of us who can't find something to detest all by ourselves, there are stacks upon stacks of magazines showing you fake images of "the beautiful people" and what hand cream they use. If you're still content with yourself, find a girl with low enough self esteem and she'll gladly try to knock you down a couple of pegs.

When I was a kid, my dad taught me to tell a rather insightful joke which ran like this: Q:Why do women wear perfume and make up? A: Because they look ugly and they stink. And we do, at least in our own heads. We give money to all sorts of people hoping that they'll be able to turn us into the barbie dolls that grace our television screens. Maybe they can fix us.

The problem is that nothing is even wrong to begin with. Ugliness is an epidemic of the mind, not the body. All we need to do to shatter the funhouse mirrors we see ourselves through is break out of the mindset that we're hideous. All we need to do is embrace what we have, learn not to pine over what we don't, and start to see ourselves as those who love us see us.

We need to stop accepting all of this pain that society heaps on  us just to sell a few more lipsticks and realise that we are all beautiful. If we can do that, we'll be golden. If not, then there's a lot more pain in the future.

Sartorial Saturdays: Souvenir Tees

 For this outfit, I wore a t-shirt I bought from Disneyland, but paired it with a grey cardigan, a string of beads, and a pair of white denim capris. It was still a little tourist-y, but since I was on vacation when the picture was taken, I'll forgive myself. :)

This T-shirt, which I bought at a church convention in Florida, already had an interesting graphic design and color, so I decided to keep the rest of my outfit simple with skinny jeans and a small stack of silver bangles.

For this outfit, I paired the t-shirt I bought at the U2 concert a few weeks ago with a black and white striped skirt and a dark grey shrug and accessorized with a charm bracelet, a seashell pendant, and a headband. This outfit was easily my favorite out of the ones here because it was so comfortable. I felt like I was wearing pyjamas all day. :)

For my last outfit, I dressed up a T-shirt I bought on a trip to Texas and blue jeans with a black vest with military detailing and a simple headband.

An Observation

It gets harder to write posts the more you think about them.

I've been writing new drafts pretty much every day this week, and each seems more heinous then the last. So apologies for my recent silence, hopefully I'll get over this writer's block soon. :)

iPod Win

As much as I love my iPod, it and I generally don't agree on music. I usually prefer upbeat, rock anthems, while my iPod tends to favor any filler tracks that happen to sneak on there (I generally delete them once I notice they're there). And then, when I'm in the mood for something a little more subdued, what should come on but the rock anthems I would have loved at any other time.

Which is what makes those rare occasions when my iPod and I agree so darned special. I've noticed that these amazing moments tend to fall into three categories:

The Perfect Fit:

Staring out the window, watching snow melt to the Beatle's Here Comes the Sun? Yes, please.

A sunset bike ride to the tune of Coldplay's Clocks? How perfect.

The LOL:

When Bon Jovi's Livin' on a Prayer comes on while I'm driving to church, and ends just as I pull into the parking lot, you can bet I'm loving it.

When I'm driving in the pouring rain, I can't not smile at my iPod's downright witty selection of Drowning Man by U2. Sure, the lyrics are somewhat irrelevant to my present situation, but just the title makes me want to laugh.

And what better song is there to accompany the ruthless tossing out of your Dad's life work (hey...boss' orders) than U2's Seconds (of which, a predominant line is "It takes a second to say goodbye")? Even though I know that the song's actually about the Cold War, I can't help smiling at the inadvertant perfection.

Good Job, iPod:

These are the most illusive incidents, but also the most amazing. As the end of the current song approaches, you fantasize about how awesome it would be if a particular song were to play next, but for whatever reason you can't set it up so that it does yourself. So, you leave it up to the iPod, knowing that the odds are firmly against it. Like 800 to 1 against it for me, and even more remote for most people.

Then, against all odds, the song you were thinking of is indeed the next to be played. I've made a habit of thanking my iPod for its impeccable taste and apparent mind-reading abilities when this happens, even though I fully realise this probably qualifies me as insane.

But I can't help it. In those moments, everything just feels so right. I crank the volume and sing along as loudly as possible. If I hit a red light, it's time to rock out until some one sees me and I have to smile in an embarrassed way at them and stare straight ahead until the light turns green. Or until the light just turns green.

It's so cool when the music you listen to seems to fit your life because it's just like having a soundtrack. You're not just in the imaginary movie in your head, it's YOUR movie. YOU are the star. And for a moment, you can live in that fantasy and enjoy your perfect, imaginary limelight, full of adoring fans, but free from paparazzi and stalkers. Of course, when the next song your ipod chooses is a dud, the illusion is shattered until next time and you're back to being a plain Jane (John), but for the moment, just enjoy the feeling. :)

Sorry :(

Satorial Saturdays is cancelled today. :(

I know, it sucks. It's just that I've been super busy this week, and given the choice between posting something that's half-baked or nothing at all, I've decided to post nothing. This week.

The good news is that the post I'd started to work on for this week should hopefully be ready for next week.

Sorry for the inconvienience.

Shades of Tired

Lately, I've been running on 5-ish hours of sleep a night due in equal parts to business, and insomnia. It's mostly sucked, but I did discover something interesting: I tend to get tired in layers.

First, I'm REEEAAALLLYYY drowsy. Think anesthesia.

Then, I go kind of psycho. I get really energetic, and run on adrenaline rather than common sense.

Then I'm inexplicably depressed for the tiniest of reasons.

After that, I find pretty much everything funny. Even the stuff that's not.

Finally, I'm so tired I don't even realise anything is wrong anymore.

I'm at the stage where everything is funny right now...my favorite! =D

I'm Going For It

This post is not intended to be entertaining in any way, shape, or form. It's just me, venting all of the confusion that's been welling up inside of me for the past month or so. Basically, if you don't want to read a bunch of aimless ramblings, you should stop reading now.

I've been tormented lately.

You see, singing is the only thing I've ever felt truly passionate about. I don't know why this is (after all, I'd be so much better off pining over being an academic- at least it be an attainable goal for me), all I know is that all I want to do is sing. All the time. When I'm really happy, I'll belt out whatever the first song into my head is. When I'm really sad, I warble off-key though the tears.

What's more; I've noticed something. Whenever I go to any kind of concert (even the tiny ones my Social Studies teacher in high school sometimes held in the Atrium), I'll enjoy the show like everyone else, but I'm always left with this other, nagging, sensation.

This is what I should be doing with my life. Or so something deep down tells me. It almost feels like jealousy and it hits me like a brick every time I see anyone performing live (sometimes even karaoke will do it). Of course, to make a living at singing would be awesome, but I know how hard that is and how unlikely it is that it'd work out.

When I was 16 (and consequently fairly naive about that sort of thing), I felt a particularly strong version of this feeling during a Bluetree concert. It was such a strong sensation; I thought for sure that it was God's calling for me. I was so excited. I was positive that God was going to bring something huge out of it.

As the time passed, it didn't seem as though anything had happened...at least not in the way I'd expected. I was still a small part of the church worship team, instead of fronting some insane Christian music group like I'd expected. When I realised this, I was disappointed. But what I didn't realise is that over the years I'd gained something else...influence.

I've never really considered myself an influential person...to be honest, I still kind of pity the fool that would follow some one with as flawed a personality and sense of logic as me. And yet, people consider me a leader. Even I've been forced to notice that people will sometimes follow my example. And I hate the idea. I'm not qualified to lead, at least in my opinion. But God has put me in this position for some reason, and I don't think that it's to have a reggae-style church service like I've always secretly wanted to. The problem is that I'm not really sure where He wants me to go next.

That "music-is-all-I-want-to-spend-my-life-on" urge has been welling up inside me, stronger than ever recently, inflamed by the concert I was at a couple weeks ago. It got to the point where it has even made me a little depressed that I'm not already pursuing it actively. I've wondered whether God would give me such a strong desire and passion for music if I wasn't ever supposed to use it.

At the same time, I've been having tons of new ideas for ministries that could benefit the church and community. Seeing as I'm now apparently a leader (seriously, God? I'm probably one of the most timid people in the whole church- do you really want me to lead?), I'm in a decent position to set some of them into motion.

Recently, I've been corresponding with a friend from my church who is on a missions trip around the world (you can check out her blog here). We've delved pretty deep into spiritual matters and today she sent me an email saying that she'd prayed for me and that God had laid a message on her heart to give to me:

You will not fly if you don't step off the cliff. Trust me.

I'd never told her about my pipe dream of becoming a musician. In fact, I've really only started being more open about it recently. I've also never told her about any of my ministry ideas for our church, although she did point out to me once that people seem to look up to me for some reason. So, I obviously freaked out at this. After I calmed down a little bit, the inevitable question came up:

What did God mean by this? It could apply to either situation. I don't think I could lead. I don't think I could make a living singing. I need to trust God, but with what? I've decided to go after both. I intend to talk to the pastor about starting one of my better ideas this fall, and I've decided to enroll in voice lessons (for credit!) at school.

I'm still not really sure where God is leading me or whether my actions are the right ones, but I definitely need to make some sort of change. As it is, I'm getting up on the church stage a couple times a month, nonchalantly singing songs in a bad key, with no real training apart from when I used to play Rock Band with my family. I'm not sure where I'm going all I know is that I cannot stay still any longer.

I need to go for it.

Sartorial Saturdays: Souvenir Tees Preamble

I have a confession to make: I love souvenir t-shirts. Whether I go on a trip or to a convention or concert I always buy a t-shirt as a reminder of the experience. I was there. See?!?!

The problem? I never wear them. When I'm on vacation, it feels tacky. Like I just scream "tourist". After I get home, it still feels tacky. Like I'm bragging about where I've been. Wearing a band tee sometimes makes me feel like a crazed fangirl of whoever's face/name is on the shirt. And even if (read when) I am, I don't want to feel like people see me that way.

Then there's the problem that these t-shirts generally don't fit perfectly. Often, you buy them from a crowded, hastily set up kiosk and don't have the opportunity to try them on first. As a result, the fit is a bit looser then the rest of your shirts, but still somewhat flattering at best. At worst, these shirts can be anything from too short to way too big, too boxy to fitted in all the wrong places. It's always a gamble.

The worst part is that I feel like everyone is staring at my shirt all day. No one notices me, just Mickey Mouse, the convention slogan, or the long list of places "X" Band has been on tour this year. Almost like the t-shirt is wearing me instead of the other way around. And that looks as bad as it feels.

The mission? To incorporate some of the commemorative t-shirts I've collected into outfits that make me feel if not polished and fashionable, at least somewhat presentable while wearing them in my day to day life. Hopefully by the end of this I'll have some ideas about how to make use of my souvenir tees.

Stay Tuned for the result...

Battle of the Boys- Thor Edition

I learnt something about myself last week.

I'm a lot more boy crazy than I like to admit. How did I discover this?

Well, it was a dark and stormy night...actually, no. It was a pleasant and sunny evening. Since I'm Canadian, you'd think I'd be out tanning or tossing a frisbee or something (the best of us get out and enjoy the warmth- we all know it's fleeting). You'd be wrong, though. See, I pretty much fail at being Canadian, so I was hanging out at the movie theatre with my buddy. We were going to see the latest superhero movie to come out, Thor.

 I usually like superhero movies. There's plenty of action, a plot (if not a decently thought out one), and cool music. However, in terms of what I usually look for in a superhero movie, I found that Thor was lacking.

But it made no difference to me, because they hired beautiful actors to play the leads. While my comic book junkie friend eagerly soaked in the plot, I started playing "battle of the boys". Basically, this involved choosing and then rooting for the most crush-worthy guy, regardless of whether or not he was the "hero".

In the red corner, there was the guy they got to play Thor (the hero). He was absolutely goregeous, with ocean blue eyes, a bit of masculine scruff, and shoulder length, golden blonde hair. Also, they let him wear normal clothing for a good chunk of the movie (+10 points, considering that he looked pretty excellent in a T-shirt).

In the blue corner, there was the guy who played Loki (the villian). He had pretty ice-blue eyes, a charmingly quiet, mischievious demeanor, was clean shaven with dark hair and...a very slight Irish accent. He was dressed like Neo from The Matrix meets Frodo from Lord of the Rings for most of the movie (-10 points).


Who won?

I was torn, they were both so cute.

But someone was down for the count. 3...2...1...KO!

Who was it?

Loki wins!!!

Because as much as I love seeing a man with stunning eyes look amazing in a T-shirt, Irish accents always win for me. They're just so warm and pretty sounding. In fact, sometomes I think my life plan should involve me running off to Ireland to find a boyfriend (it would have the added bonus of turning me from an average Jane into "The Exotic Canadian"). So, anyway, I went ahead and rooted for the bad guy. The entire time.

He (predictably) lost. I was sad. It sucked. Oh well, I thought, maybe next time they'll do the responsible thing and give the lead the irish accent...

The Re-beggining of a Beautiful Friendship

I was reunited with an old friend today....

My bike.

We used to be pretty tight in middle school, but we'd had a falling out of sorts in ninth grade. Mandatory and unreasonably demanding phys ed classes, as well as my conviction that bike helmets were dorky looking had driven a wedge between us. By the time I returned home from three mentally challenging courses and one physically challenging phys ed class (which, for me was more like a torture session because I have a lung condition that makes me tire from physical activity more easily than most), I was just too exhausted to have any desire to invest time in our friendship. For two long years, I endured this, and my bike and I grew further and further apart, until on the last day of phys ed 10, I literally skipped and danced out of the gymnasium as I silently vowed never to put my body through anything like that again.

For three more years, I kept that vow, avoiding excercise more often then not, even though I knew doing so is unhealthy. My attitude was excersise, die eventually anyway, so what's the point? Today, however, I had an epiphany. My biggest joy in life is singing, and I am doing next to nothing to persue that hobby at the moment. Sure, I occasionally volunteer my voice at church, but I know I could be doing so much more. If I could just get in shape, I could hold notes for longer and perform for longer in general without getting tired (not that a Church service is long enough to tire me out, but hey, why not work toward more endurance?). Now I had a motive to try to get fit, but how?

Then it hit me: the purple mountain bike, still faithfully waiting on the wall in the shed. It just so happened that my dad was cleaning the shed out today, so I got him to take out my bike, put air in the tires, and adjust the seat an handlebars for the considerable amount of growth I'd experienced since our last meeting. As we fixed her up, I noticed that she'd done some aging, too. Rust coated areas that were once silver, the gears were coated in dust, and the sticker was starting to dissintegrate. But, despite those mere cosmetic flaws, she was exactly how I remembered her.

So, I took a deep breath, found a helmet that sort of seemed to fit me, cued up my ipod to a song that's been stuck in my head, and prepared to relearn how to ride a bike.

My bike was none too pleased by my previous abandonnment, and she let me know it. I wobbled, nearly fell, slammed the hand breaks, and accidently switched gears to the toughest one to pedal. Some kids were playing at the nearby park, bikes parked nearby. Wobbling past them was pretty awkward, especially when one was walking towards me trying not to laugh as I struggled not to fall over. "It's my first time riding a bike in years!"  I explained with a laugh, trying not to show my extreme embarrassment over my pathetic lack of athleticism.

After botching the first trip to the nearest cul-de-sac, it (thankfully) started to get easier. I rode past the park without struggling and made it uphill back to my house. I was so on top of the world at not having completely wiped out that I decided to do it again. By the end of the second lap, I was even able to go fast!

Memories of being a kid and having freshly removed the training wheels flodded back. A whole new world was opening up: I could ride to work, to my friend's house, to the park, to the grocery store, to work...well, maybe not, as it is a twenty minute drive away. It was weird, because there is really nowhere I could bike that it wouldn't be easier to jump in my car and drive to, but it still felt really good to know that I still had it...

I'd heard people say that you never really forget to ride a bike, but it sure felt good to find out that there was some truth to that saying! I'm really excited to get back into biking this Summer! :)

Sartorial Saturdays: A Fashion Expirament

Recently, College Fashion did a post challenging it's readers to wear one article of clothing for a whole week, creating a new outfit around it each day. As though this week hasn't been jam-packed enough already, I decided to go ahead and try it anyway. Here's what transpired:

Saturday

Scenario: My Mom and I went to the local greenhouse to pick up some flowers for our yard. I wanted something comfy, casual, and most importantly, something I couldn't wear to work.

Greenhouses are an excellent venue for photos, by the way.

 

The Outfit: I wore my chosen item (a plain white T-shirt) with a pair of darkwash denim shorts. To make the outfit more interesting, I accesorized with a straw fedora, a black and white scarf, and a short stack of silver bangles. Black sandals finish off the casual look.

Did it work?: Never, ever, EVER, wear shorts to a greenhouse! Seriously. I got eaten alive by mosquitos. Maybe it would have worked had I thought to add bug spray to my accesories list, through...

Sunday
Scenario: Since the plan for today was to go to church and sing in what is essentially the church worship band (but they call it a "team" instead- to make it sound less commercial, I guess), I needed something pretty and youthful, but also church-approved.




The Outfit: I folded down the top half of a black dress with a w
hite graphic print on the skirt, wearing it over my t-shirt, and covered the seam with a bright yellow belt to add color to the look. The look was finished off with a grey cardigan, a black and white statement necklace, and black ballet flats.

Did it Work?: I got so many compliments on this outfit from both people my age and older members of our congregation. This one's definitely going on the "Wear Again" list.

Monday
Scenario: Back to work once again. I was really tired this morning, so style was still a priority, but was on the back burner compared to sleep.

The Outfit: I layered a light blue chambray button up over my t-shirt and added a string of pink and purple beads and for a free-spirited, creative, kind of look.

Did it Work?: It was a very comfortable outfit, but I couldn't get the blouse to sit just right. Perhaps if I had a skinny belt to give it shape, it would have worked out better.

Tuesday
Scenario: Work is pretty much the only thing on the agenda for today. Since tastefulness and jeans are essentially the only dress requirements, I had plenty of artistic license.

Up close- sorry the t-shirt doesn't show in the photo...it's there I promise.

The Outfit: I wanted white to be the primary color used in this outfit, so I added interest by adding texture. I started by layering a cream, sheer lace t-shirt over my white one and layered a white linen blazer over that. I wore a lighter wash of denim to prevent the outfit from becoming harsh and because I don't own a white pair. Finally, a watch on a string of pearls completed the outfit.

Did it Work?: Not as well as it would have with white on the bottom, too. Note to self: buy white jeans.

Wenesday
Scenario: Work, then a U2 concert!! :D The band was asking everyone to wear either white or red in support of Project (Red) and the ONE Campaign , which fit in nicely with my choice of clothing article

Confession: I would have cheated on the challenge if I wasn't wearing the right colors. XD

The Outfit: I figured that this would be a great time to let my red skinny jeans make a rare appearence. My t-shirt served as an anchor for a white, frilly tank top, while making the outfit work appropriate. I also wore a dark grey sleeveless cardi and my black ballet flats. I topped the outfit off with the Desi(RED) pendant that I bought a while ago from GAP, with some of the proceeds going to project RED.

Did it Work?: Well, in theory, yes. It was work appropriate, and still a fun look for the concert. However, the temperature dropped and the sky was threatening rain, so I was forced to add a red and black checkered jacket. I've also been carrying a red and white purse for almost a month, now. As a result, I ended up being dressed in head-to-toe red for the concert, which was pretty unfashionable. At least I looked like a die-hard fan and/or die-hard Project (Red) supporter, way up there in the nosebleed seats, I guess. :|

Thursday
Scenario: Work, then off to the movie theatre with my friend to see Thor.

The Ouftit: I started with my usual white t-shirt and darkwash jeans combination. I then added a black vest with military details and my black statement necklace from Sunday.

Did it Work?: Mostly. I'm a pretty messy popcorn eater, so crumbs and kernals got everywhere, but that would have happened no matter what I chose to wear. Also, it was kind of a bummer not being able to wear my U2 tee.

Friday
Scenario: Work, then hanging out with the youth group at church.

Sorry about the crappy picture...

The Outfit: I layered my grey cardigan from Sunday over the basic t-shirt and jeans work combo, then added a blue and tan statement necklace for interest.

Did it Work?: Perfectly. I think I'm finally starting to get the hang of this. I won't lie, though. I'm super looking forward to wearing my U2 t-shirt on Sunday...maybe that'll be the next post...hmmm...

Lessons Learned

1. Spray on febreeze is a lifesaver. Otherwise I would have had to wear a stinky t-shirt all week.
2. I need to buy a pair of white jeans and a skinny belt.
3. Accessories are important. I don't usually put much thought into them, but they can definitely make or break an outfit. I'll have to pay more attention from now on.
4. It takes a REEAALLLY long time to upload multiple photos to your blog. I apologise this post is so late. Now that I know how long this takes, I'll try to do them in advance of Saturday from now on...