I Don't Think Your Sax is Sexy

I’ve never thought of the saxophone as a sexy instrument, although it appears to be a very phallic instrument. I’m sure my Mom thinks it's sexy (ahem, Kenny G.), but the sound of a saxophone to me, even if “played well,” is a screechy brass wailing infant. Seriously, everytime I hear a saxophone interlude, all I’m hearing is “Waaaaaaaaah!!”

I think since the moment I heard this song, I immediately hated the saxamophone:

Although I think this song is epic/wonderful/full of George Michael having sex with a woman awkwardness/gay denial phase, the saxophone just makes me want to hurl.

No offence if you do play this instrument – from what I’ve heard, it does take skill, and playing any musical instrument should be commended (besides the recorder). I, however, immediately associate the sax with: the bad part of the 80s, my mother, cheese, fat old people dancing on cruise ships, and of course, screechy brass wailing infants.

So please tell me why Lady Gaga and Katy Perry are trying to bring the horrible saxophone solos of the 80s back?

In Gaga’s The Edge of Glory, and Perry’s Last Friday Night (TGIF), they have quite prominent sax solos. Katy Perry even goes so far as to have Kenny G. himself playing in her vid. Although I’m not sure if she uses him as a joke or not (the video has other cheesy cameos, such as Hanson), all I know is that I can’t see myself or anyone else rocking out to a sax solo at a club.

I’m sure jazz dudes with cool hats on street corners who play the sax can do it “justice,” but I’m never going to warm to it. That’s like making me like True Blood: I JUST CAN’T DO IT! So please, lend me your thoughts on the resurgence of the sax solo. I’m dying to hear your opinions. 

My Mom is Writing Bible Verses on my Wall

When I lived with my parents during university and I hated my life, I went through a kind of late teenage rebellious stage where I did this:

The wall is now almost completely covered -- these pics are from a long time ago.

I did blog about my mural back when I first started this blog and had no idea what the hell I was saying. Don't read it.

Anyways, the process of painting this wall was great. I invited friends over -- we would drink, listen to records, and paint -- and it was a fun time. I never got around to finishing the wall, however. It was such a big project and I had other things going on.

Well, I moved out, whilst reassuring my mother that I would finish it eventually. And, surprisingly, she didn't mind. She thinks the wall is "cute." She likes showing it to company when they come over, exclaiming to them, "Isn't my daughter wild?!?"

Now that I've moved out, my parents have a guest bedroom. I'm assuming that it's not a pleasant place to stay. If I wasn't used to a giant tiger face and a super-sized Twiggy staring at me in the middle of the night, I'd freak out.

So, my parents do have a lot of company that stay there now. My mom likes it. In fact, she likes it so much, that she came up with the wonderful idea of painting a square with chalkboard paint. She said that she wanted to write reminders for her guests on it (i.e. "Breakfast at 8:30 AM," "Extra towels in the closet," "Don't be alarmed at our hideous carpet," etc.) I thought that it was a fabulous idea. I mean, I could doodle and erase to my heart's content whenever I'm over, right?

Wrong.

This "square" has turned into a GIANT block, splat in the middle of the wall. It ruins the whole thing. Not that I should care anymore, because I don't live there, but I really do care. That wall was my baby. I spent years working on it. David Bowie is secretly present all over it. And I'm sure he'd cringe at what my mother has done.

She's written Bible verses on it. With chalk.

Not only that, but she's ripped off the painter's tape because she was "impatient," and has left giant chunks on missing paint on my wall. Giant chunks of my heart.

Here are some glimpses at the great times that I had with my wall -- that I'll never get back.

Birthday, Baby, and the Biebs in my Crappy City!

A great many things have happened this past week.


1)' TWAS MY BIRFDAY!

Not to sound like a drag, but my birthdays always suck. Even since I was little, my birthday parties have always been lame. My mom usually did a fantastic job of making me unfortunate birthday cakes though (Pocahantas, Barbie, Spice Girls, etc.) and organizing awesome birthday games. So, Mom def. gets brownie points in this department. 

However, I was born smack dab in the middle of summer, which means that NOBODY ever came to my birthday. In the back of my mind, the possible reasons for this are: a) I am a huge loser and nobody likes me; b) Nobody cares that I was born; and c) I am a huge loser and nobody likes me. I was always told by Mom though, that, “It’s the middle of summer which means everyone’s out of town, sweetie! People go away to camp. We live in the country, so nobody wants to drive out here. You are a huge loser and nobody likes you.” To compensate for the lack of birthday attendees, Mom invited the whole family in order to fill up the table. Grandpa, grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. substituted for people my own age. Sigh.

If you still don’t sympathize with me, you will when you hear this: One year, my Mom organized a bobbing for apples game. After I plunged my head in the bucket of water, I silently disappeared and started bawling because only one girl had come to my birthday. Nobody knew – when I re-emerged, people just assumed that my face was still wet from the bobbing for apples game.

I’m still traumatized to this day from my past birthday party experiences. And although I am too old to have a birthday party, I still convince myself that I want to go out for dinner and/or drinks and/or karaoke and/or dancing with my friends. This is probably to make up for birthday parties past, and deep down, to convince myself that I am not a huge loser and that somebody likes me.

Every year, I’m disappointed again.

Last year, it was a combination of “I can’t handle going to dinner AND karaoke,” “It’s past my bedtime,” “I have to work tomorrow,” “I have a headache,” “It’s too crowded in here,” “I’m broke,” and “I have to go home for a quickie.” This year, it was a combination of “I worked all day and I’m tired,” “I have other plans,” “I forgot to check my phone,” “I drank camp water and have the shits,” and “I have no money.”

On top of these lame excuses from friends, I’m always SO preoccupied by making sure that everyone else is having fun, that I’m not having fun myself.

However, this year was a bit better. Some friends came over and volunteered to make us dinner and drinks, which was great. I got mostly alcohol for gifts (yes!) My core group of friends, who never go out drinking or dancing, actually came out! Yet, there were drawbacks. We had to wait in line forever. Loud, slutty, screamey, 19-year old girls, who were grabbing my ass nonstop, kept trying to push in front of me in line. Half of the bar was closed down, and it was not very busy. We then proceeded to go to a different place for karaoke, and even though it was my birthday, I didn’t have the opportunity to sing. The DJ played a bunch of lame dance tracks while I could have been serenading everyone with Justin Bieber’s “One Time.” Tragic, I tell you.

I guess I can’t have everything. But part of me is now convinced that yes, I’m a loser, but a couple of people like me at least.

2) I Have a Fake Nephew!!

      By fake, I mean my fake Mom -- whose Baby Shower I blogged about not too long ago --  finally popped! Although I hate children in all forms (which truly does indicate that I should not have gone to teacher’s college), I’m pretty excited to have a baby as a part of my life. I’m going to be the coolest fake aunt/sister/whatever, ever!

 

And get this: She is totally turning her baby into a mini Harry Potter. That’s right. My fake Mom’s husband (whom I will never call my 'fake Dad,' because that's weird) is legit British. He has an accent. This baby is named Daniel, after Daniel Radcliffe, although my fake Mom claims that she’s “always liked the name ‘Daniel.’” Bullshit. This baby also has 3 EPIC MIDDLE NAMES, just like Albus Dumbledore has 3 epic middle names (Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, if you didn’t know).

Although we live in North America and the child will be completely immersed in an almost British accent-less society, I am praying that this baby will speak only in a British accent. It could happen, right?

3) JUSTIN BIEBER Was in my Small, Crappy City!

It still doesn’t really make any sense.

When I came home one day last week, my roommate exclaimed, “Guess what?!? A guy that I know, who works at the airport, said that Justin Bieber was there today!?!” Just to let you know, our airport is the size of my apartment.

Why the hell would the Biebs come here?!? I wondered. I still wasn’t completely convinced that he was actually here, so I creeped him on Twitter. That’s right. And guess what, he WAS here! One of his tweets said something along the lines of, “I’m in a place that’s literally in the middle of nowhere.” He then posted some pictures of the area (and by pictures I mean, “trees, rocks, & highway,” because that’s pretty much our landscape), and then tweeted, “Come find me.”

Um, come find you?!? Yes please!

"You did what?!?"

Unfortunately, it appeared as though he was camping in the middle of a forest. And we have a lot of forest. I knew my efforts could be better put to use if I correctly communicated to the Biebs that I knew where is was. So, folks, I created a Twitter account just do I could message Justin Bieber. Don’t make fun; the Biebs’ presence in my small, crappy city is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

My tweet to him didn’t work out so well. I sounded creepily stalker-ish by letting him know that I knew where he was. I sounded even more creepily stalker-ish by also exclaiming in my tweet that, “I created an account just to reply to this [his tweet]!” Ugh.

The funny thing about all this (besides the fact that the Biebs didn’t tweet me back…Bastard!) is that hundreds of 14-year-old girls were commenting on the pics that the Biebs posted of my crappy city. These girls were saying things like, “Ohhh, are you in Australia?” “It’s so pretty there – it looks like heaven!” and “I want to live there!!!! LuV u JuStIn BiEbEr 4ever follow me xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo.” Sorry ladies – I can guarantee that you don’t want to live here, and that it is definitely not heaven. But, our ground was blessed with the presence of the Biebs’ sneakers. So y'all do have a valid point.

No, I’m not a 14-year-old girl.

My Love/Hate Relationship with The Canadian Tenors

Okay, so go ahead and laugh. I LOVE the Canadian Tenors. My grandma introduced me to them. That’s right.

Although I adore Glam Rock/70s, I will always have a soft spot for classical music. I think a lot of it has to do with being raised on it (years and years of piano/violin lessons & singing in a choir). My family is very musical – if we aren’t playing it, singing it, or going to school for it…we’re listening to it.

The Canadian Tenors are a lesser-known, better-looking Canadian version of Il Divo -- essentially a boy-band for seniors. They sing a lot of songs that you probably won’t be interested in – David Foster’s “The Prayer,” Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” etc. What can I say: I’m a sucker for good harmonies and well-groomed men in suits. I saw them last year when they came to town, and I just saw them a few nights ago. The show was a powerful, incredible, goosebump-filled performance in an auditorium comprised mostly of middle-aged women coming in their pants.

Here they are, going for a casual stroll through the forest, clad in Armani.

Here they are, going for a leisurely mountain climb.

Here’s the deal: I don’t usually like to be a superfan at concerts (not that I’ve been to many). Seriously. I come and have a good time and leave (okay, obviously if David Bowie came out of retirement and I miraculously got a chance to see him, this would not be the case). I always thought that people who lined up for autographs in general were pathetic. Really, what’s the point of waiting in line forever, getting a sloppy signature by a celebrity who is rushing to get out of the building, and having little exchange with the person you so desperately want to meet? To me, it’s not worth it. And besides, don’t celebrities look down on the lowly vermin who wait in line for autographs? Nope, I don’t want celebrities looking down on me.

Except if it’s the Canadian Tenors.

Not that they’re BIG celebrities or anything.

But as soon as they finished their show, the first time I saw them, I knew I HAD to have a hardcopy of their CD. I didn’t care about paying a ridiculous amount for it. I didn’t care about waiting in line. I didn’t care that I was the only young person in the vicinity, who didn’t really belong among the superfans.  I didn’t care about how awkward I would sound, as I approached them, saying, “Hi……Thanks…..Bye….”

I'm not quite sure how they ended up on top of
what appears to be a glacier, but they still look posh,
as usual. Very realistic, boys.

The 4^th tenor, however, failed to show up for the autograph signings the last time I saw them. Bastard. I was pretty pissed that the 4 beautiful Armani-clad gods on my CD cover only had 3 signatures next to their faces. What to do, what to do?….Quite honestly, I don’t know why I care so much, especially because the missing tenor isn’t even one of the good-looking ones.

Anyways, the other night I planned on getting the missing tenor to sign my CD. I was determined. I dressed hot (not to sound vain...but it’s true), planned my bathroom breaks accordingly, and managed to re-apply lip-gloss as the last song was finishing. I kinda secretly hoped that the tenors would pull a Gene Simmons, i.e. point out a girl (such as “Row 3, set 7”) for the crew to bring backstage, and ultimately, into Gene’s hotel bed. With the tenors though, I was hoping they’d pick out me (Row 4, seat 18). I would accompany them to their hotel room, but NOT for a ménage a cinq. Nope. We would drink wine, eat cheese, and talk about Mozart. The hot one would serenade me whilst giving me a foot massage. Right?!?

Wrong.

Apparently the Canadian Tenors think they’re cool and famous enough to have a VIP section, where you can “meet and greet” them. When my grandma and I went to buy the tickets, they asked us, “Do you want the meet and greet VIP tickets?” and my grandma said, “No.” It made sense at the time. I mean, my grandparents could care less about meeting them. And I figured I’d see them at the autograph table, among vermin like myself.

The night of, I was kicking myself.

“Grandma, I need the missing tenor’s signature!”

“Why don’t you sneak upstairs to the VIP section then, K-Money?”

Eeek….daunting.

I headed for the stairs, swaying my nicely dressed booty as I went.  There was nobody guarding the stairs that I was heading towards.

“Excuse me, do you have a ticket?” a man said, emerging out of nowhere.

“Um, sorry, what?” I asked. Shit….he knows, I thought to myself. I’m not a very good liar.

“A VIP ticket.”

“Oh, you mean my show ticket? I have it in here somewhere –"

“Actually, this is a strict invite only area.”

There was a long pause.

“Oh, well, I was just looking for somebody up there, I mean, I don’t know, I mean…” I started walking away. Real smooth, eh?

Here's a summary about what you need to know:

1) I LOVE The Canadian Tenors, which really doesn’t make sense, because I LOVE this even more:

2) I LOVE The Canadian Tenors, even though they perform very cheesily, which I am always on the alert for. They often close their eyes whilst singing (really bothers me), they sing churchy and love songs, and do unnecessary hand gestures to “show their emotion” whilst singing. 

3) I am OBSESSED about getting the 4^th tenor’s autograph, even though I don’t value autographs too much.

4) The Canadian Tenors have a VIP SECTION in my CRAPPY CITY, which really doesn’t make sense, because they: a) Aren’t extremely famous; b) Need to sign all the autographs they can get; c) Shouldn’t expect to meet any sophisticated folk from my city.

5) The “guard” wouldn’t let a sexy young thing like me upstairs. This doesn’t make sense because: a) All men in suits would want me in their company; 2) VIP sections are supposed to be stocked with hot girls, right?!?; and c) I was not in an actual "hardcore” concert where VIP sections are legitimate.

I hate you Canadian Tenors. But I am still destined to get that final signature. And when it does happen, believe me, you owe me more than just a foot massage.

Why Parents Need to Dress Their Boys in More Pink Dresses

I’ve always been fascinated with gender.

I think it’s so interesting to look at how our society is obsessed with it.  What prompted me to write this post was the baby shower I attended a couple of weeks ago. The mother-to-be knows what sex the baby is, but won’t tell anyone. You will not believe how frantic people are about this whole situation, but not because they are merely curious as to what sex the baby is. It’s more like, “How in the world are we going to shop for the right baby clothing if we don’t know what colours to buy?!?” Oh my.

Children are forced early on to perform a certain gender role. Our society demands it.  And children aren’t born knowing how to “be” a girl or boy. Nope, these things are learned through socialization. Although many would say that gender roles have changed a lot in the past 50 years, the fact remains that girls are socialized to adopt these roles:

homemaker

mother

prostitute

And boys are meant to adopt these:

worker

aggressoor

murderer

Now, I’m not saying that ALL kids play with these very gender distinct toys. I’m not saying that video games are violent or that girls shouldn’t want to play being a mother. What I’m saying is that society expects children to perform their prescribed gender in these kinds of examples. People tend to question what is “wrong” with a child or parent when this happens:

What are kids called when they transgress their prescribed gender roles? Hmmm, let’s see. What about “tomboy” or “sissy”? Most people believe that “tomboys” and “sissies” will outgrow these “phases.” At least they hope that they will. Heaven forbid they defy these gender laws into adulthood, for risk of being labeled “dyke,” “fag,” “pansy,” etc. Don’t we as humans have more pressing issues to worry about, rather than being concerned with those who appear too “effeminate” or too “butch”? Keep in mind that very recently Barnes & Noble decided to censor a magazine cover of a topless, androgynous male model before putting it on their shelves.

Perhaps this is why I love you so much, oh gender ambiguous Lord Bowie.

Thus, the question that I ponder almost everyday is: Why is gender such a big deal?

Yes, heaven forbid we buy the “wrong” colour of baby clothes. Who came up with  gendered colours anyways? I’ll never forget the story that one of my professors told about taking her baby to the supermarket. She dressed her little girl in green that day, and was waiting in line to pay for her groceries. The woman next to her loudly voiced her disapproval and unbelief of the fact that my professor’s baby was so gender ambiguous in the colour green. This lady was offended that my professor could possibly dress her daughter in a “non-girly” colour.

Urgh. I could blog about this topic for days. Or weeks. Or years. Perhaps I will.

I Did it Y'all!

So, I officially graduated this past weekend! Maybe it's not a big deal for you, but it is for me. I was thisclose to dropping out of the program.

Me walking across the stage. Taken from the grainy monitor. Chosen so I don't acquire a crazy Internet stalker. 

Now...I am working as a sales associate at a home decor store. Urgh. It sucks going from the huge high that is teachers college, to the bottom of the food chain that is retail. A lot of people who shop at home decor stores are middle-aged women, who have money to buy expensive glass shit, and are extremely condescending. Not that I want to boast about finishing school to anyone, but sometimes I just want to yell, "Don't worry lady, I know how to wrap your picture frames properly. I'm sure that if I wanted to be a teacher, I could be making double what you make right now!" 35 grand down the drain, and I'm no better off than I was before I went to university. AND I have to pay these loans back somehow.

Enough of that, though.
Let me show you what I get to look forward to, now that school's done.

Being poor. 

HP 7 Part 2!! I've been waiting my whole life for this!

My meal of choice in these stressful times.

Bowie + Vinyl. Love.

Beer + Beach. If it's a nice summer, that is (swimming in ice-cold lakes is no fun).

 Yay. What are you excited for (sarcastically or not) this summer?

Public Transportation + Why I Will be Having Conversations With my Pocketwatch in 20 Years

Here’s the deal: I take the bus. Everywhere. I live in a small city where everyone has a car, but I don’t drive. I also can’t afford a car even if I could. So I walk a long way, in cold Canadian weather, to get to the bus stop and wait. Because I’m cool like that.

Most people probably don’t think taking the bus is a big deal. I’m pretty sure in big cities, everybody takes public transit, and nobody blinks an eye. Here, in my small city where everybody knows everybody, only the poor folk, teenage mothers, and people who talk to their pocketwatches take public transit. And I’m one of them (poor, that is. Although talking to my pocketwatch, if I had one, might fend off some of the crazies).

I hate it. I hate waiting on busy streets and having people stare at me as they pass. I hate people I know recognizing me and pitying me, thinking, “Oh yeah, the poor girl, she doesn’t drive!” I hate sitting next to smelly fat men who discuss the intricacies of their pez collections. I hate drunk people, covered in blood, stagger on the bus and proclaim to each other, “Hey buddy, don’t touch anything on this bus, you might infect someone!” It wasn’t too long ago, in THIS COUNTRY, that somebody hacked off somebody else’s head with a knife whilst on a Greyhound bus. True story.

Here are my useful bus accessories that I must carry with me everyday in order to protect myself whilst on the bus:

• Oversized sunglasses. They are useful for disguising myself and looking cool at the same time.
• Cell phone. As soon as a crazy walks on and starts to talk to me, I pretend to be writing a novel comprised completely of text messages.
• Ipod and headphones. These are so I can ignore the crazies that try to hit on me.
• A large, oversized purse. This is to occupy the seat next to me so that nobody’s ass touches mine. Plus, it can be used as a weapon (the straps can be used to strangle someone, the body of the purse can be used to smack someone in the face, etc.) in case a crazy with a knife tries to decapitate me.
• Big floppy hat. This is to hide my hair and cover most of my head, so people don’t recognize me.
• Mitts/Gloves. It’s always cold where I live, so these definitely come in handy. Also, they protect me from “getting infected” as the drunk dudes say.

I shouldn’t really complain though. It’s a way to get around. And there aren’t as many crazies as there are in big cities, I’m sure. Like this guy.

Baby Showers: They Suck, Unless You Play Justin Bieber

I am not a fan of baby showers. Or really any kind of showers (bridal, golden, etc.). Or babies. So it’s just not a fun time for me.

A very close friend of mine – who I consider to be family – is preggers. I’m super excited for her, especially because she is going to be the BEST mom. She’s 16 years older than me, and kind of treated me like a mom when I was younger. And she did the COOLEST things with me. We would go camping, kayaking, hiking, skating, etc. I would sleepover at her house for fun movie nights and we would stay up super late. She would feed me sugared cereal in the morning. She’s also my Harry Potter partner in crime. By that I mean, we have been known to dress up as Harry Potter characters, make Harry Potter food, and have Harry Potter movie marathons. I was a bridesmaid in her wedding. On top of that, she is just the most loving, kind, and caring person in the universe. And she looooves kids.

She’s been trying to have a kid for awhile, and I’m so happy she finally got preggers. And to top it off, she’s not an annoying pregnant person.

Annoying pregnant people can be defined by the following:

• They wear shirts that are way too small for their bellies, which makes you want to stare at their deformed, pokey-outer belly buttons and be revolted
• All they talk about is being pregnant
• They are gassy, psychotic because of “the hormones” and demanding
• They talk about uteruses (uteri?), cervixes (cervixi?) and other bodily things that we don’t need to hear about
• They rub their bellies incessantly to remind you that they’re pregnant

So, although I love this person to death, and she’s totally not an annoying pregnant person….I still couldn’t stand her baby shower.

First, there’s the annoying finger foods. I can understand if the shower is at like 2 or 3 pm, but when it’s scheduled around suppertime, I expect me some decent grub. Right? No mini sandwiches, carrot sticks, and teeny tiny meatballs. So, although I feel guilty about standing next to the food table and inhaling the spinach dip all day, it’s not really my fault.

Secondly, there’s the stupid dice game. I’m not sure if this is a universal shower game, or just something that my family/family’s friends do. Pretty much, you pass around a die, whilst sitting in a circle, and if you roll a 1 or a 6, you can grab a wrapped gift from the pile in the middle of the circle. After all the presents are officially taken, you can take presents from each other. It may sound like fun, but it’s really not. Not only does it take a very long time for the die to actually reach you in a big circle (and if you don’t roll a 1 or a 6, it’s very boring) but the presents are not even desirable. They are almost always from the dollar store or somebody’s “re-gift” box. I have received more cheap candles, dish cloths, and mugs than I’ll ever need. I used to re-gift these things but accidentally gave one back to the person who gave it to me. Whooops.

I’m sure you’ve experienced some other ridiculous baby shower games, like the “guess the baby picture” game. Urrgh. Most of the time, I can’t tell who anyone’s baby picture belongs to because the photos were shot in 1923 and are too grainy to make out. Other time-wasting games include the “guess the width of the baby bump” game and “let’s share graphic stories about births” game.

Finally, and most importantly, is the present opening. I, of course, think that moms-to-be need gifts, and should definitely open them in front of the gift givers. However, I don’t think this needs to take 2 hrs. At every baby shower I’ve been to, the mom passes each opened item around the circle for everyone to look at and go “oooh” and “ahhhh” over way too may times. I really don’t need to see 20 different bibs, or a breast pump, or diapers. I know what they look like. I’m sure they’re cute. I’m sure they will be covered in puke, breast milk, and poop, and be disposed of eventually, so I really don’t care.

As if you can’t tell, I’m not a big fan of babies. I don’t really have a desire to have any. But, if I do, my baby shower is going to be AWESOME. We are going to do the following:

• Eat a feast. I’ll be eating for two, and most of the middle-aged women in attendance will probably have food babies anyways.
• Have a dance party. We will play Justin Bieber’s “Baby” several times. That’s right. Because after the baby comes, I’ll be a boring old mother with no time to have fun. And hopefully, the strain of dancing might put me into premature labour, which means that the guests can go home early and be put our of their misery.
• Play a game of “who has the ugliest baby picture.” I’m sure everyone has a snotty, drooly, food covered picture of themselves as a baby.
• Buy the pregnant person (ME) naughty gifts. Because let’s face it, I’m sure my sex life will suck after I give birth (i.e. being sleep-deprived, having baby fat, etc.) and passing around a vibrator is probably much more exciting than passing around diaper rash cream.
• Ban children and babies from attending the baby shower. They are annoying.

So, there you have it. I’m not a baby hater – I enjoy looking at peoples’ babies every once and awhile – but I just don’t like baby showers. That isn’t a crime. 

I Spontaneously Planned my Life at 6AM Yesterday

So, after 5 years of university...I am officially done!!

Here’s the deal: There were so many ridiculous and funny stories that happened during my teaching placement that I wanted to share with you all. The thing is…I’m a very paranoid person. Maybe you’ve noticed. I was paranoid that if I somehow “bashed” the teaching profession, someone might find my blog and discover it was me, and report me for “unprofessional conduct.” Then I wouldn’t graduate. I’m serious: There’s a bunch of keener people in this program. The gossip of 2 months ago was that some guy said something slightly negative in class about his first teaching placement, and two girls in this class told on him to the principal at the school where he did his placement.. Last I heard, he was being kicked out of the program. EXACTLY.

Unfortunately, most of these funny stories have left my memory. I’m sure they will come back, and I will blog about them the minute that they do.

What you need to know about teaching is…You NEED to give teachers more credit. I certainly do. I had no clue about all the crap that teachers put up with daily. Seriously, they need to be paid more and have more holidays.

Also, you NEED to know that there are some really crappy teachers out there, and if you have kids in school, you should fear for their futures.

I’ve decided that I DO NOT want to be a teacher anymore. I can’t picture myself waking up every morning and loving what I do. Besides I do not want to do any of the following:

• Babysit
• Endure kids throwing insults and objects at me
• Be on the “supply teacher’s list” and hope I get a phone call to substitute teach + suck up to teachers + hand out business cards + hope that someone offers me a job
• Marking + coaching + volunteering + planning lessons every evening and weekend
• Make small talk in the staffroom with the other teachers 
•  Talk completely in acronyms (OCT, OSSTF, DRA, IEP, QECO, OSR, OSSTL…..ahhhh! You will not believe how many times I talked with teachers and pretended that I knew what their stupid acronyms meant!)

Besides these things, I really have no interest in things that teachers should. For example, students would show me work and go, “Look Ms., do you like this? Did I do a good job?” and it reaaaallly took a lot of effort for me to go, “Wow, that looks great!” Deep down I’m thinking, It looks like shit. I don’t care. When is lunch? I want to go home. If that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is.

I woke up at 6 am yesterday, still in teacher mode, thinking, “I’m gonna be late for school!” Silly me. While I was up, however, I planned my life. Seriously. I had no clue what I was doing this coming year. Here’s the plan:

• Move in with one of my good friends next week (this was already decided months ago)
• Get a crappy job for a year that will allow me to pay rent, go out to karaoke once a week, and afford some Mr. Noodle
• Take some extra university courses in writing + get reference letters from profs
• Put together a writing portfolio + apply for a Masters degree in creative writing
• Audition for a part in the Rocky Horror Halloween show
• Read (I haven’t done this in FOREVER!)

I’m not sure if any of you actually care about these plans of mine (thanks for reading up to this point, if you do!), but it definitely feels good to put these plans down in writing. As much as I hate the crappy university that I went to for 5 years...I just can’t stay away. But this time, it will be better. I will be taking only one or two courses. They will be courses that I will actually like (which I hardly got the opportunity to experience before!) And if I’m technically “still in school,” I won’t feel like such a hobo. Woohoo.

Anyways, I’m excited to be a “grown-up” now! I’m excited to blog more! I’m excited to listen to David Bowie on vinyl continuously in my new apartment! I’m excited to read your blogs! I’m excited to be poor! Yay!

Reclaiming the word "slut"?

So, I came home today and did my usual flop on the couch after spending all day in a classroom full of rude and disrespectful hooligans, and started watching MTV (don't judge). Under the so-called "news" section, they mentioned how yesterday there was a "Slut Walk" that happened in Toronto. I was intrigued so I did some googling...

Apparently, a member of the Toronto Police made the following statement to a university law class: "Women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized." Ummmm, what?!?

Apparently, many people had the same reaction as I did, and thus organized a "Slut Walk" protest, whereby they attempted to reclaim the word "slut." Some of the people that MTV interviewed had a lot to say. One girl said something along the lines of, "I'm proud to be a slut! It means I'm comfortable with my sexuality."

I think this is all very interesting. As much as the words "bitch" and "queer" might have been reclaimed, I don't think "slut" has the same potential. Even when I hear guys call themselves a "man slut," it's just that...a man slut. That's because "slut" will always be a word to describe females. But who knows, maybe that will change someday...

My mom was around and happened to catch a glimpse of what I was watching. She then went into a rant about how "children are starving" and "people are dying" and "people don't have jobs." She said that people should not be protesting "slut" nonsense, because it's not as serious as these issues. Oh mom. I tried to explain to her that, "Well, if you feel strongly about something, not speaking up about it because there are worse issues in the world is not a good reason." I still don't think she got it. That's like saying, "There's someone bleeding on the sidewalk but I'm not going to help him because helping victims of the Japan tsunami is more serious." Okay, well maybe that's not a good example, but you get the point.

Although I think what the police officer said was appalling -- he's pretty much suggesting that women who dress provocatively are asking to be raped -- I'm not sure that I'd be willing to walk around Toronto, holding up a sign, proclaiming myself to be a "slut." But kudos to those who had the guts to do that. We'll have to watch and see how the word "slut" is used in 50 years from now I guess...

Too Bad If You're Sick of This Song!

Since this song has been stuck in my head for the past week….and EVERYBODY is posting it on Facebook….I guess it’s time that I talk about it…

So, if you haven’t heard of the YouTube phenomenon, Rebecca Black with her song “Friday”….where have you been? In one week, this video scored 18 million hits on YouTube. I just checked now and it’s at 26 million and climbing. Apparently, Rebecca’s mom paid $2000 to ARK Music Factory (never heard of them) for her daughter to record this song/video. People have called it the “worst song ever.” Rebecca Black was on Good Morning America recently, and she revealed that she’s been getting death threats and horrible, horrible feedback about this song/video. I will argue, however, that this song is awesome. It’s an unintentional parody of pop music. This song may be ridiculous, but let’s cut the 13-year old some slack, shall we?

Here’s what I think:

• She eats cereal in the morning. That’s a good sign that she’s not developing an eating disorder. Parents everywhere thank her.
• “Which seat can I take?” is a very valid question. How often have you walked to the side of someone’s car, only to have your friends inside motion “other side!” when you try to get in? Exactly. The creepy rapper further emphasizes the distinction between the front seat and the back seat. I find this very useful.
• I thoroughly enjoy the girls sitting in the back seat (it’s the back seat by the way, NOT the front seat) with Rebecca.  They both have braces. Thank goodness, because now I don’t feel like shit every time I watch music video with girls shaking their greasy asses all over the place. My self esteem has gone way up. I even yelled, “Hey girls, I got MY braces off 6 years ago! Suckas!” to my computer screen at one point.
• “Yesterday was Thursday. Today it is Friday…Tomorrow is Saturday. And Sunday comes afterwards” is by far the best part of the song. Why? Not because it’s redundant and ridiculous like most people would argue. This is, in fact, an excellent teaching resource for helping kids learn the days of the week.
• The unknown rapper is indeed creepy. But, you know, he’s living it up big time now that he’s in a 13-year-old’s music video. And it’s great that he’s “switchin’ lanes when a car pull up beside.” Promoting good driving skills? Check.
•  People should stop criticizing her so-called “bad lyrics.” I would argue that the lyrics, “Partying partying yeah. Partying partying yeah. Fun fun fun fun” definitely rival the lyrics of the current top pop stars. What about Justin Bieber’s “Baby baby baby ooooh. Baby baby baby nooooo”? What about Katy Perry’s “Do you ever feel like a plastic bag, drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?” Clearly Rebecca is only taking inspiration from the best.
• Friday is awesome and should be celebrated in song. Besides, what else does a 13-year-old have to sing about?

Here’s what I’m still questioning:

•  What exactly do 13-year-olds do on Fridays? I remember walking around the mall for a bit then going to the movies, when I was 13. I would describe that as “fun,” not “fun fun fun fun.”
•  Is that boy old enough to drive?
• If they’re “On the highway…Cruising so fast,” why are the girls half-standing in the back seat (it’s the back seat, NOT the front seat, by the way). Isn’t that dangerous?
•  What is the creepy rapper’s name? I’m just curious because I know he’s going to make it big at some point.
• Why is the “bus stop” sign so effing huge?
• Will clubs be playing this song in the near future? (I hope so).

I will now leave you with the best parody video of this song that I have seen so far. It involves a man in a dress, which, as you all know, tickles my fancy.

Get Out of Hell Free

No, I haven’t fallen off the face of the planet!

I’ve been absolutely crazy busy with school --- but I’m proud to say that after 5 straight years, I have no more university classes to attend!! Woohoo! I now have to do my final teaching placement for the next 5 weeks, and then I’m ACTUALLY done.  Eeeek, I’m so nervous for Monday. But compared to my previous teaching placement where kids threw things at me and started school fires, I think I can handle anything.

Since I posted last, one of the cool events I attended was a performance/lecture/reading by Kate Bornstein. She’s a transgendered author and gender theorist – her books are awesome – and hearing her live did not disappoint. Her stories and monologues were hilarious, riveting, and depressing all at the same time. I even cried during some of them, which is something that I DO NOT do very often. (Actually, who am I kidding? I cried when Ron and Sam broke up on Jersey Shore for the 100^th time. Whatever, Jersey Shore is a whole other blog post).

As we left, she handed each of us a “get out of jail free card.” Her motto for the entire performance pretty much was, “Do whatever makes your life more worth living.” No matter if you’re a L or G or B or T or an XYZ I think this message connects to everyone on some level. She went on to explain that although she can’t get us out of jail if whatever we do lands us there, that she will happily spend our time in hell for us if we’re afraid our actions will land us there. Anyways, here’s the card. I’m going to put it in my scrapbook of life (yes I do have one, shut up.)

It’s March break right now. My out-of-town sister came and visited for a couple of days. She’s five years older than me, and although I very much enjoy her company, I’ve slowly come to realize over the past few years that she’s getting old. She talks about her potential bridesmaid dress colours (she’s not engaged yet). She relates everything that happens to her dog. She grows plants.

We went to a 1920s themed social/drag show, which was awesome. We looked great in our costumes, we drank lots of wine, and drag queens were roaming across the floor freely. In other words, the dance floor was calling us. She, however, sat across the table from me, looking unimpressed and tired. She started texting me from across the table….because leaning over and talking to me wasn’t cool enough, apparently. Keep in mind that when my sister texts, she’ll text one word per separate text. For example, instead of saying, “Hey, Sis! How’s it going?” in one text, she’ll say, “Hey.” “Sis!” “How’s it.” “Going?” “:D” “lol.” All in separate texts. You’ve been warned.

K-money: What’s wrong?

Sister: I’m tired.

K: Let’s dance!

S: My stomach hurts.

S: I’ve been farting forever.

S: Like, don’t come over here.

S: I think it’s because I’ve been holding them in all day on the airplane.

S: That drag queen

S: Looks hot!

S: Urrgh

S: My stomach

S: Hurts.

S: Like, it’s never hurt.

S: This bad before.

S: I can’t move.

K: Go to the b room. Ur annoying me.

S: I did.

S: It didn’t help.

S: It’s okay.

S: Go dance.

S: I’ll just sit here.

S: Or I’ll just go home.

S: Actually

S: I’ll sit here.

S: My stomach feels like it’s gonna explode.

You get the picture. And if you were wondering…Yes, my phone bill does indeed cost me a ton of money every month because of messages like these.

Oh, and the last awesome thing that’s happened recently?? How about the Kurt/Blaine romance that I’ve been rooting for on Glee forever?!?! I love how the writers didn’t pair them up right away. They needed some sexual tension. Anyways, the most recent episode of Glee involved them having a super awesome passionate kiss. It wasn’t just some wimpy “let’s-do-this-really-fast-so-we-are-less-likely-to-offend-people” kiss. Nope, it was fiery. After they stop, Blaine says, about their song for Regionals, “Well I guess we should practice” and Kurt responds with, “I thought we were.” And then they lean in for another smooch! Thanks Fox for actually showing a kiss that seemed legit and passionate. If Glee makes this Kurt/Blaine romance short-lived, I will be very sad indeed.

Anyways, wish me luck for Monday when I go to teach in a new school!! Eeek, so nerve-wracking! Hopefully I’ll make time to blog more frequently during the next bit. But after these 5 weeks are over and I’m officially school-less and job-less, I’ll have plenty more time to reconnect with the blogosphere. I really miss reading your guys’ blogs, and I really want to start making time to catch up on them again!

P.S. You probably noticed that I changed the layout of this blog. Although the old one was cool, it pretty much gave me a seizure every time I looked at it. Hope you like!

The First Addition to my Time Capsule

You'll probably think I'm strange (or probably already do), but I've been hanging on to this magazine since it arrived in the mail a couple of weeks ago:

I kept it partly because I have a mad crush on Darren Criss (dude on the left), but mostly because I think the "special report" headline is great/ridiculous. My goal is to put it in my time capsule, and in 50 years, show my grandkids who will exclaim, "Oh fabulous Grandma, I can't believe that there was a time when gay teens WEREN'T on TV!" I guess I'm going to have to make a time capsule. And get me some grandkids at some point.

First of all, "gay teens on TV" is obviously a fantastic thing. This headline amuses me, however, because it should have been on the magazines a long, long, time ago. "Gay teens on TV" should be so normalized at this point that this headline need not exist. I feel like I've been transported back in time, and I'm reading this:

Also, I think Darren Criss should be commended because of his appearance on Ellen. He mentioned that in an idealistic world, he would not have to constantly reaffirm that he's a straight guy playing a gay character, and that he did not initially want to have to keep telling people that he was straight (because it obviously shouldn't matter). Yay, Darren Criss. It bothers me when people do the whole "don't worry, I'm only playing a gay character! Heaven forbid you get the wrong idea."

This reminds me of a clip that I saw in my Gender & Media class last year. Not that I'm equating gay characters with Kiefer Sutherland wearing a dress, but this clip makes me laugh sooooo hard because Kiefer is CONSTANTLY trying to prove his masculinity (i.e. sitting with his legs open, referring to the fact that he's embarrassed by wearing the dress, etc.). Of course, he doesn't want us to "get the wrong idea" either.  Note how both he and David Letterman can't talk about anything other than the fact that Kiefer is wearing a dress.

It's a dress people. It's not that shocking. Get over it, already!

Worst Day Ever

I'm not quite sure what I did to deserve the shit-tacular past three hours.

Firstly, it's -40 degrees celsius outside. And the wind is horrible. After checking Facebook, I noticed that people's screen doors were destroyed because of the wind. Thanks Northern Ontario.

I walked to the bus stop with my new "anti-slip" boots that I bought from Aldo. Anti-slip my ass. I slid on the ice for what seemed like a good five minutes, slow-motion in my head, but luckily I caught myself before I fell. "Haha! Good save!" I thought to myself. However, as my left foot reached out in front to steady myself, I slid again. Lo and behold, I did a massive face plant onto the ice, landing on my one knee. Now it hurts to walk. And to make matters worse, three cars drove by as this happened. One even honked. My jeans are now ripped in the knee, and my hands are covered in blood. And I had to do a presentation in my teaching English class. Urgh.

The presentation went fine, and on the way home I stopped by Wendy's to pick up a salad. I was starving, so I couldn't wait until I got home to eat it. I carefully opened the croutons (I love croutons!) and mixed my salad up with the dressing in a bowl. Yum. I went to take the first glorious bite, and I happened to glance at the container that the salad came in. I jumped.

There, in the container, was a spider. I stared at it for a good 10 seconds, because I couldn't believe it. I wasn't sure if it was dead or not. I took the Wendy's napkin and attempted to smush it. It started running around, and I discovered that it had webs attached to the container. After chasing it around, I finally got it. Urgh!! I am now sitting on my bed, shivering, and I feel like there are spiders crawling in my hair. I don't want to go back to the kitchen to chuck out the salad. What if the spider's mate is in there? What if there are spider eggs in there? I'm just going to sit here, post this, and figure something out. I. HATE. SPIDERS.

I'm sure I could bring it back to Wendy's. I don't really want another "free" spider-infested salad though. This is ridiculous. Things like this don't happen. You always hear about the person who found a finger in their taco from Taco Bell, or the person who found a grasshopper in their burger from McDicks. But you never really believe that it happens. Well folks, it does!!!!

A Series of Fortunate Sort-Of Events

So, 3 exciting things have happened recently.

1) I Dressed Convincingly As a Man....Sort Of
As much as I've expressed before that I really don't see anything worthwhile about dressing in drag (if you're a girl)....well, I was hella wrong. Dressing as a dude is fun. It's a lot more comfortable and you can sit with your legs wide open. However, I have learned NOT to wear flowery socks & short pants for next time. Also, apparently my "dude speak" ends up becoming "black speak." I kept saying things like, "Hey girrrl, you lookin' dayum fly!" Urgh.

I really wanted to look like a "hot/preppy" dude, but instead my friends and I ended looking like creepy truckers/pedophiles. We went to a gender event thing @ my university, and then out for apps, which was fun. A friend of a friend, who performs at drag shows a lot was there, and performed a number which was really awesome. Which leads to #2.

2) I Actually Went to a Good Drag Show
I've complained before that my small, crappy city has small, crappy drag shows. I'm not saying everyone I've seen perform here is bad, but from the ones I've been to, I've seen a lot of screaming/metal numbers/unconvincing attire. Just sayin'. However, I know I should applaud anyone who has the guts to go onstage and perform in drag, even if they suck. *applause*
Anyways, the friend of a friend from awesome event #1 was performing in a show this past weekend, and we'd told her we'd go. I'm not sure if it was her, or the many "I'm sad it's Valentines Day and I'm single!" drinks I had, or the fact that we were in a small grimy pub with cool people, but it was GREAT. I somehow made my way to the front of the stage and started dancing with the drag kings. I will definitely go again.

3) I Found Out Where My Next Teaching Placement Is!
So, I will be teaching Gr. 8 at a relatively good school. I'm TERRIFIED. Teaching grade 8 means that I will have to teach all subjects. Let me remind you that I would purposely "forget" my gym clothes in gym class so I wouldn't have to play. I'm pretty sure grade 8 boys can whip a dodgeball really hard. Also, I almost failed math in high school, so good times. The craziest thing, however, is that this is a shared placement, which means I will be student teaching with someone else. Shared placements are rare. And guess who my partner is?? It's one of my best friends, who I shall call Myrtle. I think this is absolutely nuts. The odds of me getting a shared placement, with her, out of hundreds of people in the program is ridiculous. Hopefully we're not competing against each other & will want to kill each other by the end. I don't want it to ruin our friendship. We'll see.

Prom + Thong

This past weekend was my university's education formal. This means that all the education students were invited to pay a huge amount of $$ for a crappy meal, dress up (and drop said meal on expensive dress), and dance ridiculously with people you know + people you semi-know from your classes (which can get awkward). I decided to go, mostly because I LOVE dressing up, which I've talked about before -- it doesn't matter if I'm dressing up fancy or homeless, I love it all. Plus, most students in this program are out of town (people come to my crappy city for university and boot it outta here the minute they're done). So, I thought I'd be nice to hang out & have an awesome time with people I won't ever see again after April.

I love this picture from education formal for many reasons: 1) I'm veiled in smoke that was circulating all night on the dance floor; 2) You can't tell who I am by all this smoke, so I won't get kicked out of my program for having this blog; 3) I'm standing in front of these flags for absolutely no reason, which don't make the coolest background; 4) The place we were at was Italian, hence the Italian flag; 5) I'm not Italian.

The most important reason why I decided to go was because...I had a horrible high school prom experience. I'm sure we can all say something along those lines, but my high school prom memories have still stayed with me. Actually, most of my high school memories have stuck with me because, well, I was extreeeemeeeelllyyy awkward.

That's right. I had glasses, braces, & pimples. Big deal, right? Well, my mom made me take acne medication, which completely dried up my skin which made me flaky and scabby. I was blessed with an abnormally huge amount of body hair & pale skin, which only made matters worse. Plus, I just wasn't cool all around & I was really shy in high school. My prom was lame -- I wore a dress that I'm not too fond of now, my hair was in a simple bun, and my body turned splotchy orange because I incorrectly applied self-tanner. I didn't have a date. Nobody slow danced with me. My friends arrived late, everyone "cool" left early, I looked like an idiot dancing, I spilled food all down my dress, and our after-party consisted of a bon-fire with a couple of people (I HATE bonfires, if you didn't know).

Well, now I'm super-cool, above-average looking (does that make me sound vain?), and people can't get me to shut up. So, I wanted to make some good prom memories. Unfortunately, some things about high school prom were still the same. Although I looked and felt gorgeous, there was of course the token blonde skank who kept standing up at her table & cheering & pulling her dress up so that you could actually see her ass cheeks. There were the popular, cocky guys that were showing off and doing ridiculous dance moves (one of them even pushed past me on the dance floor and I was like, "Oh no you di'n't! I will not have the popular dudes treat me like a loser again!") There were teachers present, professors in this case, which were extremely weird and awkward to be dancing in front of.

The difference this time around, however, is that we were all beyond old enough to drink. Which means that I went ABSOLUTELY NUTS when a Backstreet Boys song came on, and proceeded to dance in front of the smoke machine with my friend while doing dance moves that only the Backstreet Boys themselves would be proud of. Also, a bunch of us left a little bit early so we could go sing karaoke in a scuzzy bar with our fancy dresses. I proceeded to sing "The Thong Song" by Sisqo, by myself, very badly. I vaguely remember yelling into the mic, "This song is dedicated to all my thong-wearing ladies (and men). Put your hands in the air if you're wearing a thong!" One person did. I proceeded to say, "Good, because I'm wearing Granny panties!" I think this night definitely ties with the embarrassment experienced on high school prom night. I guess I can't escape it.

This weekend, I'm dressing in drag, which should be fun. As much as I have already explained to you all that I would rather be a man so I could dress up as a woman, I am still pretty excited to dress up as a man nonetheless. So, I must go practice my beard application. And my ball-grabbing technique. Until next time, folks.

O frabjous day...callooh callay!!

Okay, so I officially have no more excuses. I've neglected my blog lately (I lost 1 follower....oh my!) but I really do have a good excuse. I was planning/hosting an Alice in Wonderland tea party, which I've been obsessed with forever. AND, I've been back to regular classes that are although easy, yet very time-consuming and tedious. The work they give us is ridiculously easy (i.e. "Describe in one page, the negative impact of bullying in schools") but they give us A LOT of it, which takes up tons of time. So, my goal this semester is to put in as little effort as possible. Many of my friends are approaching school this way too, because it's super easy to get good marks. And get this: Your marks from teacher's college don't count. It's true -- most principals/future employers don't look at them or care, and they don't count if you're applying for graduate studies. SO, hopefully, this will leave more time for blogging. Plus, when I'm poor and unemployed and will have to start paying for prescriptions/student loans/tubs of ice cream after I graduate in a few short months, I'll have plenty of time for blogging. Seriously. I won't be able to afford to go out, so I'll sit at home and blog. You'll be sick of me, I swear.

Anyways, Jennie at Well Shut the Front Door! awarded me with a Stylish Blogger Award (God knows why...) and I am super grateful/shocked. Thanks doll!! If you haven't read her blog... do it! She's super cool and has cute dogs and thinks certain fictional characters are hot. And if I knew her in real life, I'm sure we'd go to many a drag show together.

Apparently, this is what I have to do:

1) Thank and link back to the person who awarded you this award
2) Share 7 things about yourself
3) Award 15 recently discovered great bloggers
4) Contact these bloggers and tell them about the award

Well.....I don't know if I know 15 recently discovered great bloggers (I haven't been reading many blogs lately, refer back to paragraph 1) who haven't received one yet, and I don't know if I can think of 7 things about me....but I'll try.....

I am giving this award to...

1) Jess @ not your average joan of archetypal patterns because she makes me laugh and pee.
2) Becs @ Stiletto Studio  because she inspired me to host an Alice in Wonderland party (after I saw her Tim Burton party pics) and because she makes amazing culinary creations...and I don't even like food blogs.

I also think I should post a link to Tom @ Tbr Tangential who has been reading and commenting on my blog since the beginning & who always has witty & insightful things to say. And he's British, so he deserves kudos for that alone.

Okay, 7 things (don't hate me if I've mentioned them before):

1) In grade 3, we had to use the word "screw" in a sentence in our English class. I wrote, "Screw you!" to my teacher. I didn't know what it meant. She was pissed and called my mom. My mom had to write an apology letter, saying, "K-money has a sense of humour. I'm terribly sorry."

2) When my parents lived in the country, a stray cat once wandered into our yard and gave birth to a head. Just a head.

3) I am not destined to play sports. I've broken my nose, toes, and bruised my ribs. I've fallen off chair-lifts, t-bars, monkey bars, gotten smacked in the face, knocked out, and once rolled down a ski hill.  There are many other minor embarrassments as well. This is why I used to "forget" my skates every time my class went on a skating trip in elementary school.

4) I really get into things....if that's the right term. I get really angry, really sad, really happy, really crazy, really excited, etc. I'm never just neutral or normal.

5) When I was younger, I memorized a song that teaches you to pronounce Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch

which is a village in Wales that has one of the longest place names in the world. I would sing this song ALL THE TIME and drive people nuts.

6) One Christmas, I was super sick and puked 17 times in one day. My dad made me a certificate that congratulated me for that incredible feat. He framed it and put it on my bedroom wall.

7) I write ridiculous songs that I play & sing on the guitar when I'm slightly intoxicated. A few of my favourites are: "I've Got a Crush on My Professor," "My Town Sucks," "To The Jerk Whose Name Rhymes With Wayne and Starts with an 'Sh'" and "Life Sucks When You're the Third Wheel." One day, after I graduate and won't be afraid of showing my face on the Internet in fear that I'll get kicked out of my program, I'll perform one for you all.

Finally, here are some pics from my tea party.

It was one of the top 10 things on my bucket list. We drank tea and dressed up in Alice in Wonderland-ish costumes and then went to the bar in our ridiculous outfits and made everyone's heads turn. We went to both a super-redneck bar and and a super-preppy bar and peoples' reactions were priceless. At one point, I even had 3 top hats and a bouquet of flowers balanced on my head, with 2 drinks in hand, while dancing. Neither I nor the items tumbled over. Quite shocking.

Fever Sweats & Spice Girls

I am writing to you, at 5am, laying in my squeaky bed, covered in sweat. Yes, that's right. I have been sick/planning an Alice in Wonderland tea party/going back to regular classes, hence my lack of posting in the past while. However, I do believe this whole running-a-fever-all-night-and-having-to-go-to-class-in-three-hours-or-I-will-get-kicked-out-of-my-program is a divine intervention of some sort, in order to get me to post. So, here I am.

Today I'm going to talk to you about the obsession of mine that towers over all the other obsessions. As you've probably noticed, I do indeed get obsessed with things: Orlando Bloom, David Bowie, transvestite musicals, goats, etc. I'm sure there's some deep psychological reason why people get obsessed with things (I did learn about it in psych class, but brushed it off, of course!) That aside, when I was 9, the one thing that ruled my life, more than Pokemon cards or my parents, was SPICE GIRLS. Oh boring, you might think. Lots of girls (and some boys) were obsessed with them. BIG deal.


That's where you're wrong. You see, although all my friends/half the world went nuts for the Spice Girls, you could say that I easily could have been president of their fan club. Easily. I knew EVERYTHING about them. This came from Internet suddenly taking a huge role in our lives in the mid-90s, which accounted for my knowing how to use it better than my parents. Thanks for that, Spice Girls. I would research facts about them and quiz my friends relentlessly at school. I would also print off colour pictures of them (a pretty novel thing at the time too) and add them + my pages of Spice Girls facts to my giant Spice Girls binder. I would then bring this majestic binder to the playground, boss my friends around, and if they were particularly worthy, I would allow them to choose 1 coloured Spice Girls picture to keep. Crazy, I know.

Remember all the Spice Girls merchandise? Lollipops, stickerbooks, t-shirts, pencils, etc.? I had it all. I also had a Spice Girls birthday cake, which was pretty cool at the time too. Every inch of my walls in my bedroom were covered in Spice Girls -- Baby Spice was my favourite, followed by Ginger Spice. Obviously. Nobody liked Sporty Spice (because she had no boobs and talked with an accent that nobody could understand), Posh Spice (because she looked like a bitch), or Scary Spice (because she was hyper and made devil horns out of her hair). We had a Spice Girls impersonation group come to my small city one year, and I can remember feeling cheated, storming off half-way through, yelling, "Impostors! Baby Spice is soooo not taller than Sporty Spice!" I can still fondly remember the nights where my friend and I would sit in my parents bedroom with our handmade Spice Girls fan signs (computer paper taped to rulers), screaming while watching "Spice Girls: Live in Istanbul." We would sit on my parents' bed with our fan signs and pretend that we were actually in the audience. Adorable/nuts, eh?

Looking back, perhaps the most embarrassing event of the Spice Girls obsession was my school's spaghetti dinner. This happened once a year and the school's rec. centre, where families were invited to an all-you-can-eat dinner of questionable meatballs and entertainment. That's right, it was the students' job to entertain the parents onstage, while they were eating their dinner. To me, this translated to "moment where I can prove to the world how much of a Spice Girls fan I really am and get my big break." Although I couldn't be Baby Spice like I wanted (the head snob of our clique was awarded that title, I'm afraid), I got to be Ginger Spice, my second choice. I was so excited for this event -- I made my friends rehearse the dance moves to "Wannabe" relentlessly during recess. And I had gone over my solo lines of "Get your act together we could be just fine" and "If you really bug me then I'll say goodbye" complete with appropriate head turning and hand-waving many, many times.

Finally the big night had arrived. I had a sparkly shirt on, a la Ginger Spice style. After weeks of singing the song in my sleep, I was finally ready. While parents stuffed their faces with meatballs, my friends and I performed. But it was I who really performed. While my friends hardly danced to the song, I was the one who was totally into it. I had every dance move down perfectly; every "Zig-A-Zag Ah" leg crossing moment done to perfection. I'm sure my other friends just had stage fright. And after we finished, I, beaming, approached my Grade 5 crush, and asked, "How did I look?" and he said, "Giddy." I didn't know what that meant at the time, but I took it to mean, "Extremely Spice-Girls-like and awesome." I approached my parents, who with blank looks on their faces, grabbed their coats and whisked me away abruptly. It's only because they didn't want the other kids to hound me for autographs, I'm sure.

Shortly after, the Spice Girls broke up, which was a very sad day indeed. I remember sitting in my room, staring at the pictures of Gerry on the wall, wondering "Why could you do such a thing? Why?!?" My dad had just sat me down, and quite somberly explained that she had left the band. It was the end of my world as I knew it. The next day at school, all my friends immediately thought the Spice Girls were uncool. It was amazing, one day they were the centre of the universe, the next day they became as uncool as Aaron Carter. I still secretly went on loving the Spice Girls, however. I made a mix CD -- this was when Napster was in its prime -- that included both "Holler" and "Goodbye" by the four remaining Spice Girls. The head snob of our clique listened to the CD one day in class -- I forgot that it included those 2 songs -- and she exclaimed, "Spice Girls?!? Ewww! They are so totally uncool. Are you telling me that you still like them?" I responded with, "Oh, definitely no. My sister made me put them on the CD. She's soooooo weird." Good one, I know.

To this day, I'm still sad that they've broken up. Sure, they had a reunion tour that I would have gladly sold my limbs to attend (apparently selling body parts is against the law. Who knew?) Sure, most of them have babies and dress like moms, minus Victoria Beckham who dresses like streetwalker Barbie. Sure, none of them have done anything substantial since...Unless you count Mel C. who had some hits in the UK or something. Whatever. I still love them. When a Spice Girls song comes on, even an obscure one, I still know ALL the lyrics. It's very strange -- I have few memories of my childhood, and I have difficulty remembering what I had for breakfast, but I can sing the lyrics to any Spice Girls song. And as much as this is an oxymoron, one that feminists probably cringe at when they hear it coming from the Spice Girls' mouths, I must say: "Girl Power. Girl Power to all, and to all a goodnight."