Because all the cool kids are doing it

I'm moving. I've decided that Blogger is like your first car. The one where you need to use the pliers with to turn the radio on, and thus, I've decided to upgrade. (We can all really blame Ruby for this actually.)

Find me at

http://brainyjane22.wordpress.com/

Thanks!

My Greatest Hits

Brace yourselves.

I've got big news.

Blogger has informed me that this is my 100th post. Cue confetti, start up the marching band and get those batons twirling!

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I considered a massive celebration complete with new sparkly shoes (any reason is a good reason to shoe shop). I thought everyone should take the day off work, and write poetry about how great I am. Perhaps those artistically inclined could make me some art, those who enjoy astronomy could name a star after me. Someone would find some elephants for us to ride around on (not circus animals, but wild elephants who are just wanting to give rides for fun) and cotton candy would fall from the sky like raindrops.

However, this seemed a tad impractical, so I saved you all the trouble of planning an elaborate party and have instead complied my ten favourite posts. They weren't always the ones that got a lot (if any) of hits from other readers but I consider them my greatest. If there is to be no parade, at least I will make this post all about me. I kid. Sort of.

1. Because that's how I roll...

2. Flair: 2007 Style

3. Garbage Day with the Hendersons

4. So this is what it's like

5. My lips are sealed

6. Under My Skin

7. X + Y + Z = I'm a rock star

8. Charmed, I'm sure

9. When a good run can break your heart

10. 20/20 Talk



Oh, and those are my shoes. The picture is a bit dodgy and you don't see the great heel but that's all I've got people. (Oh, and the jeans rolled up? That's 4 drinks in and suddenly I feel that people NEED to see the shoes more CLEARLY). But seriously. Shoes that great under $20? They were practically free!

On a completely different note I'm just finishing up my last few books and am looking for some good reads. Please share your suggestions!

The icing on the fake

I've never understood girls who weren't friendly. Pretending to be "too cool", or "too busy" or "too important" to remember someone always just seemed like a gigantic waste of time. I like knowing that if I go up town and see my math teacher from grade 7, or the chick who cuts my hair or the man who gave me piano lessons, I will always say hi- and they will say hi back. Because, to me saying hi is what normal people do. Saying "hi" isn't showing exquisite manners, it's just being normal. It's like, tying your shoes or brushing your teeth, something you just... do. If you see someone you know, why wouldn't you say hi?

Enter Jessica.

Jessica and I went to school together for as long as I've been going to school. Through velcro shoes, lock-up jeans, and those thermal shirts that changed color when they got touched (why where those popular again?), we've always gone to school together. Grades 1-12. Her locker was next to mine in grade 8. She was the worst player on our volleyball team yet everyone always told her she did a good job, and made nice plays. It seemed the nicer people tried to be to her, the meaner she got.

Jessica saying "hi" to me when we see each other is like a math equation dependent on many factors. Who I'm with (more people equal a greater chance of a hi, and if it's guys I'm with? She wants to hold hands and suddenly her laugh begins to resemble Julia Roberts minus the sincerity), how many drinks she's had (again, more equals a better chance of a "hi", but instead of hand holding she wants to hug for too long, like a grandma who you never see) and whether or not she's stranded alone at a table waiting for someone to show up (if she's alone, suddenly we are long lost sisters).

I've always found this more amusing than annoying. I'm not saintly, but I would rather get frustrated at people who leave their pets in cars while they take long lunches than at a girl who is more fake than a $3 bill. I think I just like to reserve my frustration for those who have truly earned it.

Today however, Jessica took this all to a new level...

Scene: I'm cruising the grocery store trying to tell myself I will still live a long life if I don't buy the really expensive pomegranate juice. I see Jessica standing by the organic carrots with a robotic man wearing every shade of beige possible. Because I'm normal, I say "hi". She gives me a puzzled look like she's confused. So, because I'm not clear what she would be confused about, I walk over...

Me: Hi! How are you?

Jessica: (begins miming what she must assume 'confusion' would look like if she pulled it out of a hat during a game of charades. She's all head scratching and squinty eyed, as though blurring her vision is going to cause her to remember everyday we sat next to each other in Science class our last year of school, or the fact that two weeks ago she chatted with me in line at the movies.)

Me: It's Brandy...

Jessica: Hmm.. (at this point she's doing some head shaking too, like by violently moving her head the memory of me will fall into place. Keep in mind, there were 60 kids in our grade in elementary school. We know each other.)

Me: Um, we went to school together? (And because I'm really obnoxious and too stubborn to let this go helpful, I add in...) For 12 years?

Jessica: Wait, is your name Lyndsay?

Beige Man: No, I don't think that's it (Suddenly beige man is trying to place me, though I've never seen him before in my life. Suddenly trying to remember me is a partner job that Jessica can't do alone)

Jessica: Oh! Well, it's been so long since school...

Me: I guess it has. Okay well, I will see you later

I walk with a case of "the inappropriate giggles", which strike at funerals, during the telling of sad stories or (apparently) when I'm getting snubbed by someone who cried when the New Kids broke up. I suppose that I could be annoyed, or insulted or frustrated by Jessica's progression to complete ignorance of who I am, yet I still find it amusing. And honestly, a little amazed that someone would go to such great lengths.

If being the biggest fake is a game she wants to win, I will gladly hand her the crown.

I walk back, pick up the pomegranate juice (I've earned it) and go to pay with one thought in my head-

"Well played Jessica, well played".

Shrimp Forks

I probably should wait before writing something. I should probably drink chai tea, do some yoga or go to my meditation room where I will breathe deeply until my lungs hurt. But, since I have no tea, don't do yoga (don't hate me. I also don't like sushi and sometimes take two parking spots at the mall when it's tricky to park my truck)and don't have a meditation room (surprise!), I'm just going to write. Besides, that's why I started writing in the first place- to have an 'outlet' for frustration. And you know, because I like to.

So. (Side note: I notice that I say "So." a lot when I'm frustrated. And it appears that I also have the urge to use a lot of brackets)

I'm frustrated.

I know this person. Let's call him... Marvin. (And no, I don't particularly love the name Marvin, in fact, I picked a name I dislike because I'm spiteful like that. And if you are reading this, and your name is Marvin... I'm sorry. I'm sure you have lots of other great qualities and that millions of girls in this great big world love that name, but I don't. And I'm sorry. But not sorry enough to choose a different name.)

I digress.

Anyway, Marvin. Marvin has always been on of those friends that you could talk to about anything. In fact, there was a time when he was the first person I told all the big moments, bad news and exciting stories to. Marvin was funny and thoughtful and always had something interesting to say. He asked questions. He remembered things. He held up his end of the conversation and more than once listened to me declare jihad on ex boyfriends cry. But lately, Marvin has become really... well, lame.

I realize that lame is well, a lame word to use but it fits. If the God of Friendship (let's name that God...Jack, because that's my favourite name for a boy), so if Lord of Friendship Jack, told Marvin and I that we had to unload a dishwasher, it's like we went from doing everything 50/50 it being 90/10. Suddenly, all Marvin is capable of is putting away shrimp forks. And sweet Jesus, this may surprise you, but just putting away shrimp forks does not a friendship make. Suddenly, I'm doing all the work, asking all the questions, working at something that used to not be work.

See? Lame.

I suppose this is where you would tell me to stop acting like I'm oh, about 14 years old (again), and talk to Marvin. And I could. But the thing is, what do you say? "Start being more like the old you and less like the new you?", "I'm sad I don't know what to talk to you about?" Or better yet, "Do you want to just... stop being friends, because if you do, that's fine but you are going to have to tell me because I'm a girl who just don't get the 'fade out and I'm sorry if that's hard for you to grasp, but that's just how I roll'?".

That hardly seems adult.

But I guess it's better than the alternative- stabbing him in the leg with a shrimp fork and hoping it brings the old Marvin back.

... And then I'm 14 again

So.

I think some of you got scared from the last post (Actually, I know one of you did, you sent me a lengthy email discussing all the reasons I'm a great person, BUT how moping about my life is a thorn in feminism's side, and gave me advice on how to improve my life that started with my "fixing my apparent urge to downplay anything girly" about me. And no, I'm not joking. I'm almost thinking this little gem needs to be shared,- name withheld, of course). Anyway, the feeling has passed. I'm sure there will be a time I will feel lonely again (and despite the advice in the aforementioned email, I'm sure I will write about it), but today, oh today I'm happily single.

Why?

Because I just ran into him. You know. That guy in every ones past who is just... it. Or who was it. Who makes you just want to reach out and touch somebody (like... him). The guy who makes you feel like your 14 again because when you talk to him suddenly your self conscious in a way you haven't in a long time. Suddenly you notice how much space is between you, the band aid on your finger, the color of his eyes. Who makes you blush every time you talk because you are pretty sure he knows what you are thinking (and for the record, you are thinking about wanting to touch... him). The guy who has the actual ability to make you swoon. Swooning people! I was swooning!

I'm actually feeling giddy. More giddy than new shoes make me. Ahh. I'm 14 years old again, but with a bank account and better shoes.

Today, I love the universe.

Single

My Saturday night started off very well. A good friend was in town, and to celebrate we popped open wine, marvelled at my shoes (pictures. soon. promise.) and discussed everything from The Hills, to Don Imus with equal passion. We laughed, we drank and I went out smelling of vanilla, glossed with my lipglass and doused in the "look at me, I'm bloody fantastic!" confidence that comes with a 4 drink minimum or a really good hair day.

We went to a lounge where the music was loud and the people were polished. There were camera shots and tequila shots. There were hugs to old friends and numbers exchanged to new ones. It started out being one of those nights where you hope you see everyone you ever knew because they would see you at your best- laughing, happy, surrounded by friends and wearing killer footwear.

An unfortunate circumstance found me having to state my relationship status repeatedly (or lack of relationship status to be more accurate). At first it was fine, I can throw in a joke about it, can say all the reasons I'm glad I'm not currently coupled like an animal on Noah's ark (the commitment! the chance of drama! the fact I would have to shave my legs on a regular basis!), but it didn't stop. I had to keep saying it over, and over and over again.

I'm single.

And the kicker? I'm not casually dating, not currently on the fence about a particular guy, not even secretly lusting after someone.

I'm just... single.

It was in that moment that I noticed everyone who wasn't single. I noticed the couples suctioned to each other- sweaty from dancing with hands interlaced. The ones smiling at the dancers antics knowing they would go home together and have something to talk about. The ones whispering secrets and stories no one else would ever hear.

Suddenly, I felt something that stirred my insides and left me shaken. A feeling that crept slowly up my throat and left a bad taste in my mouth. Suddenly, I felt being single wasn't fun.

There's the idea that singleness equals carefree road trips with red toes out the window. Of random sexual escapades that would make even Samantha blush. Of spur of the moment splurges, weeknight parties, drawers filled only with expensive knickers and complex nightgowns with strings and bows.

And sometimes being single is like that. It's lovely, and exciting and causes you to skip into your office or strut in the coffee shop. You feel independent and lovely and find yourself going on trips or applying for jobs you would have to think twice about if coupled.

And sometimes being single isn't like that. It's heartbreaking and lonely and causes watery eyes when you realize that when you wake from a bad dream, there's no one to tell. And you find yourself on a Saturday night wearing your best shoes, surrounded by too many people, feeling far too alone.

The Near-Miss First Kiss

I've been subbing grade two this week. There is one particular girl who has captured my heart in a way that something you love so much you almost hate can. She's a tattler, overly emotional, the first one to complain, the last one to help clean up. She's constantly chatting, is bossy, and talks at a volume so loud, I've considered buying the entire class earmuffs to save their little ears. In short, she's me- 17 years ago.

She screeched in with her hello's this morning and followed it up with ...

Girl: Miss V! Miss V! I got to tell you something. Really big news!

Me: Sounds exciting! What is this news? (For the record, the last 'news' she shared with me was that she recently touched the leg of a dead moose and it made her feel 'weird'. Don't ask for more details because trust me, neither of us has the time. Needless to say, I tried hard not to giggle..)

Girl: Well Miss V, I've been trying to get my first kiss for a while and I almost caught it!

Me: You almost caught a kiss?

Girl: Yes. I got Matthew on the floor of the bus before the bus driver started yelling. I'm going to get him today though and then I will have it.

Me: Did Matthew want you to kiss him?

Girl: I don't know, but I need to do it anyway because I've got to get my first kiss from someone and he's the best at Sparkle (a spelling game), so it's got to be him. Plus, I really like him a lot and I don't care who knows it.

(I put on my teacher hat and try to gently discourage a follow up to this near-miss first kiss when Matthew enters..)

Girl: Hey Matthew. I'm going to catch that kiss at recess. I just missed your lips, before but I'm going to get you still!

It's in this moment where I realize how different my little friend and I are. Though we are both loud, chatty and prone to hurt feelings, I would never have the nerve to try to catch a kiss from a guy. Chasing's just not my style. I suspect despite all the talks, warnings, and 'looks' from the teachers, she will get her kiss. And it will be great because she wanted it, she went for it, and she got it.

Her first kiss will be exactly how she wants it to be.

I can only cross my fingers for Matthew.

Stove tops

When I was little my mom would get upset because I would always put my hand near the stove. Despite her warnings, I would do it- because I could and it was MY hand (I was a charming child). Of course, I would get burned. Normally one burn is enough to teach a child, but I was not a normal girl. The fascination of a heat that warmed me before it hurt me would drawn me back again, and again. Eventually, I grew out of the fascination, just as one grows out of old clothes with faded logos or songs that have lost their meaning and my parents breathed a sigh of relief.

I find myself near a stove again. And I know what will happen before I touch it. It will hurt. This time it's not my family telling me to stay away, but my friends. My smart friends who know about particular stove top burns and how slow they are to heal. How slow I am to heal. And this time, I really want to listen and I know I should, but I find myself wanting to be warmed again even if it hurts. I find that their kind words and gentle warnings are the rock, paper, scissors but my foolish heart is the atomic bomb that beats them all.

I find that I'm six years old again.

It will hurt. More than before. Because it's not a stove anymore. And it's not my hand.

Note- Okay, so I just re-read this and realized it sounds like I'm getting initiated to join a gang of angry bikers with bad facial hair or have decided to give crystal meth a try. I assure you it's nothing that dramatic. I'm just... a sap.

3,000

I had a great post planned. It was going to be funny and discuss really loud grade 2 children and how they are learning about numbers in math.

However.

I can't write about it because I'm still freaking physically exhausted and emotionally bankrupt a tiny bit weepy from damn American Idol. It was the "Idol gives back" episode and I should have known to crack open a new box of kleenex when Ryan first appeared wearing his 'serious face'.

Let's recap...

Carrie Underwood singing "I'll stand by you", while taking African children to put flowers on a grave? Sob

Simon and Ryan watching 13 kids lay down on a dirt floor getting ready for bed? Sob

Being told that a baby that the camera crew picked up on the way to a clinic who had malaria (which is CURABLE, people) died before getting treatment? Sob

Every picture they showed of HIV orphans crying big fat alligator tears? Sob

Annie Lennox singing "Bridge over Troubled Water"? Sob

Because I'm working on not worrying, I decided the only way I would feel better about all of this is if I did something. So, I ordered another Gap t-shirt and another package of one bracelets. I've also decided that instead of buying 5 fat and glossy fashion magazines each month, I'll buy 2 (it's the same stuff in each one anyway), and donate the difference. It's not a lot, but it makes me feel better.

Upset that kids are dying from CURABLE disesases? Go here. As for a post about numbers, I will leave you with one I'm not soon to forget: according to Malaria No More, this CURABLE disease kills 3,000 children everyday. 3,000 doesn't sound like a lot until you start thinking of everyone you know. Do you know 3,000 people total? Imagine all of them gone tomorrow.

3,000 kids a DAY

And it's CURABLE.

I'm going to get off my soapbox now.

The 3's

Three Words/Phrases I Say Too Often
1. Seriously!
2. Imagine!
3. What the hell am I doing?

Three Addictions That Make me feel like I'm 14 years old
1. "The Hills". I. Cannot. Get. Enough.
2. Facebook
3. Harry Potter mania. New movie annnnd new book this summer? Screw December, I think July is going to feel a lot like Christmas!
4. Going to see J.T. in concert this August. (Because really, what's a better way to celebrate my 26th birthday?)

Three Quirks that make me feel like I'm 84 years old
1. I refer to my legs as my gams
2. I just bought a $63 tube of eye cream
3. I think most people listen to their music too loud

Three Things/People That make me swoon
1. Anyone who is a)male b)in possession of an accent c)single
2. Pretty new shoes. Especially ones on my feet.
3. Seeing other people in love. Since, the last time I was in love man had just invented the wheel and the consensus was that the world was flat. It's been a while, friends. But I love seeing other people in love. Especially old people. It's just so darn cute.

Three Recent Purchases That Made Me Happy (Because yes, I'm the girl who gets happy by material objects. It takes more than personal fulfillment and rainbows to get me to smile sometimes...)
1. New shoes (pink satin with a 3 inch heel. Peeptoe, with a bow. Cuter than a baby panda)
2. "On Beauty" by Zadie Smith. If I ever wrote ONE sentence similar to how she writes, I would die completely fulfilled.
3. Elizabeth Arden Mediterranean perfume. (I smell radiant. sensual. captivating. A modern expression of sparkling radiance.- Well, at least that's what the box says it will be like...)

Three words I commonly misspell
1. accidentally
2. Mediterranean
3. misspell

Three of my best Halloween costumes
1. A ninja turtle (we went as a group. I was the orange one...)
2. A paperbag princess
3. Ashley Olsen (Trout was Mary Kate)

Three things I do exceptionally well
1. write in fragment sentences
2. distract small children and get them away from open windows so they can finish their schoolwork
3. give speeches

Three things I do not do exceptionally well
1. time management
2. hold my tongue
3. hide my excitement

Three people I would love to be for a day
1. Zadie Smith
2. Karl Rove (I would love to see what his typical day is like. Does he really rub his hands together and laugh wickedly when he has an evil plan? I'm curious)
3. Jon Stewart (the man is hilarious)

Three people I would not want to be for a day
1. Ann Coulter (karma is going to get her and I don't want to be around for that)
2. Ann Coulter
3. Ann Coulter

Happy Wednesday!

Worry Boot camp

I'm a girl who worries. A lot. I have lost countless sleeping hours wondering if the relationship is going to work out, if I'm going to get the job, if I parked too close to the curb, if it's going to blow over, if Angelina really doesn't love Shiloh, if he still remembers me, if I hurt her feelings, if a Canadian team is going to win the Stanley Cup, where Heidi is going to live when Spencer breaks up with her, where my extra set of keys are, if I've accidentally had gluten... and quite frankly, it leaves me tired.

So I'm going to throw myself into worry boot camp. For the rest of the month, anytime I start to worry about things I can't control, the people I can't change and the acts I can't erase, I'm going to stop. Then I'm going to channel Dr. Phil/Oprah/The Secret and anyone or anything else that's about positive thought and has sold a lot of books and take my worry and replace it with a great thought about how freaking fabulous I am. Because really, if everyone I know is signing up for a boot camp to improve their assets before summer, I'm going to sign up to improve mine. And I can't think of a better place to start than with my brain.

20/20 Talk

What I wish I would have known 5 years ago, at age 20

- Dude, your house is going to burn down. So when you go away for that one weekend to visit your brother, take your journals with you.

- You know how you pride yourself on holding on to grudges? You shouldn't. Because you aren't holding on to the grudge anymore, it's holding on to you, like a shackle. And every year you continue being angry, sweet girl, it just gets harder to remember why you are so angry in the first place. So back down, grow up and move on.

- Sunscreen. Wear it.

- You will meet a boy and he will be everything you didn't realize you wanted. But, you will break up. You'll contemplate a breakdown on the side of the highway and then much later, it will be the cause of a breakthrough. You will realize that sometimes, what someone will do to you- will have nothing to do with you. That their mistake doesn't have to be your fault.

- If a guy tells you he's a jerk, he's a jerk. If he tells you he's interested, he's interested. If he tells you he has a girlfriend but that he loves you, - run.

- Getting your degree with be the easy part. It's what you do AFTER you have it, that's challenging.

- You are smarter than you think you are.

What I wish I would have known 10 years ago, at age 15

- You know that girl in your highschool that you think is perfect? The one who always wears the Calvin Klein jeans and looks like she's just walked out of a toothpaste ad with her ever smiling grin? Yeah, she doesn't know what the hell she's doing with her life either.

- Don't worry. You will fall in love. I promise.

- Boys have feelings actually. And treating them poorly is bad form, and your mom raised you better than that. Plus, karma is going kick your ass in a few years with a string of bad dates and boys who think the word "tits" is a completely respectable term to throw out upon meeting. Be nice.

- Being rebellious doesn't make someone more interesting. Don't feel bad for not sneaking out and driving around town sipping strawberry wine with girls who have secret tattoos and hate their parents.

- Step away from the hairspray. Your bangs are now officially a fire hazard.

- He's not being mean to you, he's flirting with you. Flirt back.

- You are prettier than what you think you are.

What I wish I would have known 20 years ago, at age 5

-Listen sweetheart, you're mom has something called a 'hobo' purse. In fact, because your mom is a shopaholic she has a ton of them. And they are just going out of fashion so she's going to donate them to Goodwill. DO NOT LET THIS HAPPEN. One day in your future, those bags will become insanely popular again and you and your mom will reminisce over them. Save the bags!

- That's it. You are pretty much perfect.

Bubblegum Thursday

So I'm lucky, in the random sort of way. I win random contests, accept random prizes and am STILL getting random cheques in the mail from the government of Canada who I think must really have a crush on me (Bre, if I can't find a way to spend them, I will send them your way, as you mentioned).

However.

When it comes to winning stuff based on talent, or skill, or personal effort other than writing my name and phone number on a piece of paper... not so lucky. Other than winning a handful of horse competitions and public speaking awards in my youth, the last time I really won something meaningful was grade 2 class president.

I'm still a little vague on what the presidents role in the classroom was, and considering I live in Canada, I now think class prime minister would have been more appropriate... but I was glad I was victorious. I wish I could tell you I won through hard work, determination and a *speech that moved my classmates to tears. (Actually, I think Daniel was crying in the third row because he had peed his pants at recess and was embarrassed, but that's just a hunch.) but, upon reflection I won the same way most politicians do- empty promises and vague declarations of a better tomorrow. I told them if they voted for me I would be their best friend, figure out a way to cancel math class and (this was what sealed my victory) make sure that we could chew bubblegum whenever we wanted.

Thankfully my teacher was great and said that everyone could chew gum for the day that I won and was awarded my black construction paper crown with navy and silver glitter glue decoration. I suspect she allowed the gum chewing because she realized any public, grade two or otherwise, would lynch a newly elected official who broke her biggest promise on their first day in office.

Up until yesterday, that had been my biggest win. So it was a happy surprise when I found out that I had won a 'thinking blogger' award, bestowed upon me by the always lovely and entertaining Jennifer. I haven't quite decided what to do with it, perhaps print it off and put it on a mantel. Or hang it over my bed so it's the first thing I see when I wake up. Or maybe, just maybe, I will put it on the side of my blog and so I will have a reminder that I should perhaps write about more than Snoop Dog and loincloths.

In the spirit of discussing great blogs, or blogs that are entertaining reads, I will throw a shout out to my new favourite blog. Perhaps you think I'm a biased because she is Fabulous, and maybe you are right, but I don't think so. I just think she just has a unique voice and interesting tales that are worth sharing.

And to celebrate my win, I'm declaring it bubblegum Thursday. So find some bubblegum, blow a big bubble and relish the thought that you, as an adult, can now chew bubblegum whenever the hell you feel like it, instead of waiting for a classmate to promise you the dream of one day being able to.

*As stated in a previous post, my mom did help me write my speech. It was good, made my teacher laugh and I'm pretty sure I was the only candidate who spoke of 'classroom rights'.

(Oh, and we just take a moment and marvel at the fact that I posted a picture? Or something similar to a picture? I swear, one day soon I will learn how to get that strike through font...)

Loincloth thoughts

I have a certain conversation on a weekly basis. My view is constantly changing and the topic never grows old for me. I imagine one of the first conversations on the topic of guys and girls being 'just friends' went something like this...

Mary and Sarah sit in loincloths eating raw meat...

Mary: Sarah, we missed you yesterday at dinner. We played hangman on the cave wall, ate burnt leaves and drank from a muddy puddle. It was wonderful! Where were you?

Sarah: Oh, Jacob and I went rock picking and then he speared something, which we quickly ate to avoid having to share it with the tribe.

Mary: You went with Jacob? Alone? Sarah, I have to ask, do you covet Jacob and want to bear his children? Do you wish to look under his loincloth?

Sarah: No Mary, Jacob and I are just friends.

Mary: Just friends? Is that possible?

Sarah: Why wouldn't it be?

Mary: I've just never imagined that people with fitting parts could possibly be just friends. Are you sure this can happen?

Sarah: I think so... I mean, I don't think I want to run into the bush with him and I don't think wants that either. I think we are happy just spearing animals together and seeing who has the most impressive grunt.

Mary: Fascinating. Man and Woman. As friends. This needs further discussion, but for now let me pick the bugs out of your hair. I'm starving.

End scene

Holy Site Meter!

In the early 90's my mom's mantra was "Learn about those computer things! They are the future! By the time you are in college everything will be on computers, we will all wear tinfoil jumpsuits and you will have a flying car, isn't that exciting?!".

Sadly, I didn't learn about computers. I decided that my high school elective should be cosmetology, because spending 80 minutes three times a week fully mastering the art of washing hair made much more sense. I'm happy to tell you I can now rinse shampoo with the best of them, and if finger waves ever come back in style, I can totally hook you up.

Computers however, baffle me.

I'm a devout follower of "if you want it bad enough it should just magically happen", which is why the last time my computer started acting weird, I assumed I would be able to fix it. Because I wanted to. I spent a day pushing keyboard buttons I forgot I had in alternating combinations, ALT & CTRL & F6, ESC & SHIFT F9, & QWERTY- just because it's fun to type. I ended up deleting my entire hard drive.

Despite my lack of computer skills, I started a blog. I figured it was not really about computers but more about ideas, and I do have those. In abundance. And for the most part, the posting of all my ideas hasn't been that difficult. Minus the fact that I have no idea how to post pictures and it took me a good two weeks to figure out how to link anything because I was too mortified to ask anyone. Oh, and that little trick you all do where you write in the strike through font... yeah, that causes mini explosions in my brain from extremely painful thought.

But complaining about what I don't know isn't what this is about. It's about sharing what I DO KNOW. *And sweet goodness, I just discovered site meters!Half a year into blogging, and I now see that there's a way to keep track of who is reading what I write. And I have to say, it's bloody fantastic! Whoever thought of site meters should get some sort of genius award. Like, a life size statue of chocolate. Or all of your money. People in New Zealand and Chicago, Atlanta and London... are all reading.. this? That's so crazy. I mean, I knew obviously, that the people who commented weren't all my neighbours, but seeing it on a map how far away some of you are, well, it made me think that I should attempt to write something interesting sometime soon.

Give me six more months and perhaps there might even be pictures!

*I'm saving this sentence into my memory bank as proof of my nerdiness next time I start to think I'm more diva than **dork.

** I secretly like being a dork. It's less pressure.

Today's Top Five

Sooo... again this is from Bre. Basically, the idea is that someone sends you five questions and you answer them. Which, in my opinion is a great idea, because I love, love, love talking about myself. I kid. Sort of.

1. What is your earliest childhood memory?
I grew up on an acreage and in the spring my mom would pack a picnic and carry my brother and I out to a field to eat and play in the sand. I remember eating a honey and peanut butter sandwich and crying because it fell on the ground. My mom gave me a Popsicle instead and then my brother purposely dropped his sandwich. My mom threw her head back and laughed. I think I was about four. The next earliest memory is my fifth birthday when I got my pony. Yeah, I just had to say it.

2. What about blogging appeals to you?
I like how writing helps me organize my thoughts. Sometimes I won't even know exactly what's bothering me, or why I can't sleep or why I'm skipping happily into my office until I start thinking of how I would write about it. Once I do that, everything sort of falls into place. I also like the challenge of it, the idea of taking an ordinary story and making it more interesting, or something someone can relate to. Or knowing I've used the best possible word in a sentence. Man, that sounds sort of nerdy now that I typed it...

3. How do you spoil yourself on a daily (weekly/monthly) basis?
It's all about the afternoon naps... oh, and expensive (albeit extremely glossy) fashion magazines that weigh more than a phone book.

4. What is the most ridiculous thing that has happened to you in the past week?
Um, I found myself watching this movie. And honestly, if that doesn't sound ridiculous then you clearly haven't seen the preview. Or, being one of the only 'non-accountants' at an 'accountant' party... there were some ridiculous aspects in that... such as me busting out the Snoop while other people watched.

5. What is a relationship dealbreaker for you?
Other than cheating? Bad kissers? A close relationship with cocaine? A hate on for dogs? Hmm, I would have to say I don't like the idea of being with someone who isn't confident. I don't require a man to be arrogant, but I really need to be with someone who feels secure enough in themselves that they don't question every choice they make. Reflection is good, but a guy who doesn't have the confidence to make the first move, or stand by a choice he's made is probably not a guy for me.

And thus concludes my five. If you are interested in participating, here are the rules:

Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me!”
I will respond by e-mailing you five questions. I get to pick them, and you have to answer them all.
You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

On loss

Though I'm reckless and fickle, I can be a planner. I like laying out my clothes the night before, getting my concert tickets ahead of time, choosing the reason of my post instead of just 'free flow' writing it.

But sometimes planning feels instinctively wrong to me. Like wearing rubber boots with your prom dress. Or smearing ketchup on chocolate cake. Or trying to read a novel underwater. Or thinking out a planned response of sympathy to a tragic event.

I suppose the reason I can't plan what to say about Virginia Tech, is because if I tried, I would feel... silly. It's not my school, it's not my town, it's not even my country. Adding sympathy or trying to comment on something so tragic leads to me grabbing fistfuls of cliches, "I don't understand", "Everything happens for a reason", "I just don't know what to say".

I would like to say something memorable, something relatable, something that would provide my brain a moment of rest while it races through dictionaries of words and lists of quotes, but I'm just left with cliches. And then I realize, cliches are cliches for a reason. Because they give everyone who doesn't know what to say something to reach for, and in times like this, that's what people need.

I work in a college. Everyday I see kids walking through halls, ipods jammed in ears, laughing with their friends. With the approach of spring, the laughter has grown and the mood has seemed lighter- even finals haven't dampened the mood. Until now.

Today the halls are quieter. There is not less to laugh about for them- their lives still hold the same people and promise they did yesterday or the day before, but I think, I think they have been reminded of what the look of loss is, how it's painted in shades of grief and agony. And that it can be found anywhere. At anytime.

Even, in a school like their own.

So without knowing what to say, I will say this. The loss of lives at Virgina Tech has saddened not just the nation (as put by George W Bush in his speech to the students) but anyone who has ever felt like their world was secure. Who has ever felt a bounce in their step, or a reason to laugh.

It has saddened me.

And that's all I can say, on a day where I don't know what to say.

Singing to Snoop in my cardigan

Picture it: A Saturday night house party. Except, instead of being in high school surrounded by people drinking Mikes hard lemonade and wearing Ikeda jeans, I'm surrounded by working professionals drinking wine and wearing Hugo Boss. For reasons I'm still a little vague on "Gin and Juice" is being played (because really, isn't that what all accountants listen to in their spare time?).

T: Um, did you know you are singing to this song?

Me: Ah, no I'm not. I don't like this song. At all.

T: But, but you were just singing. Really.

A moment goes by. Wine is sipped, talks of a taxing tax season are overheard...

Me: Holy shit. I'm singing along. Why am I singing along?

T: I just want to know when you learned all the words. Now, would you like a glass of gin, some crack and a ho to go with your cup of cranberry juice?

Me: Shut up. Just shut up.

Comment Horror, Comment Whore

So a few days ago I posted this lovely ditty. I thought it was well said, with some interesting points written in a lovely, non-confrontational way.

I checked my email later in the day to accept those who disagreed with me and feel warm and fuzzy for those who did. I expected compliments and flowers. Disagreements but acceptance. I expected sentences that started with " Well, I don't agree but...". Instead, I got crickets.

There were no comments.

At first I thought nothing of it. I have always felt that all you bloggers secretly meet to discuss when you post, since you always do so when I least expect it. (This is frustrating since I'm always the 14th person to comment and all my "original" comments have been said already by persons 1-13). I imagine the "blogger.com" people meet in a warehouse drinking dusty kool-aid out of plastic cups and eat prepackaged foods high in sugar and low in taste. The 'wordpress.com' kids get together at a Ramada hotel and drink diet sodas out of real glasses and marvel at the pretty landscape paintings adorning every wall. And those with their own domain? They meet each dripping in diamonds and sweating in mink, via satellite- since they are all on their own yachts and phone reception is iffy.

Anyway...

So the 'no comment' thing didn't bother me. I mean, as I recently told Miss Fabulous (who herself has started her own blog), writing for comments is like, working for the man. It's prostituting greatness, and if I'm going to prostitute myself, I'm going to do it for big bucks. More bucks than the man could ever pay. (Actually, I think I just told her I didn't write for comments, and left the man out of it). I was sure that you were all busy with Easter and work and family, and the comments would come flooding in, and suddenly my world would make sense and I would once again, feel whole.

I checked back.

Nothing.

I re-read the post searching for something that would have caused you all to slap me with silence. Did I accidentally type "I believe the only good orphan is a working orphan?", or "I believe when my *grandma doesn't polish my shoes the way I like, it's a free pass to pistol whip her and kick her good hip while wearing stilettos?". Nope. I didn't say any of those things. So what the hell?

I was stumped.

Later on I started getting emails from people saying they couldn't comment. I checked back and realized I had the 'no comment' filter on. Suddenly, my world made sense again. People weren't shunning my post, they were forced to not write something. It was only when I realized this, did I fully understand how comments can really be useful, or at least nice to get once in a while. In short, I realized, I'm a comment whore.

This led me to think about all the times I read something I enjoy and don't comment. This was the last one I read on someones site that I really, truly and madly enjoyed and left without commenting. All the comments seemed to be what I was feeling, so I didn't add anything. Now I realize how important every comment is. So do I go back and comment and say 'ditto?', or do I just leave it? Sigh, I don't know. Perhaps I should invent an abbreviation for the line "I really enjoyed this post, and wish I had an original comment but I don't. But I still want you to know I enjoyed it". Perhaps this could be shown as "IRETPAWIHAOCBIDBISWYTKIEI!".

Or I could just stick with 'ditto'.

* the grandma reference was just for you e.b.

When a good run can break your heart

I have a confession. I'm a runner.

No, I'm not confessing to slipping on my pink and silver Nike's at the twilight hour and running until a thin film of sweat covers me and my body aches in appreciation of being tested. My running isn't healthy and doesn't do anything positive for my heart. I run from people. Problems. Discussions where arguments hang heavily in the air like the smell of a burnt dinner that's ruined the night.

I don't run from every argument, every person. Just the big ones. The really big ones. The ones who matter, the people that earned an explanation before the shotgun goes and my legs start. The ones who deserve you to plant your feet and have the talks you don't want to. The talks where your awkward fingers dance on tabletops giving you a focus other than someone else's apologetic eyes.

Running doesn't mean I don't say sorry. When I feel something is my fault, when I have been in the wrong, chosen the thoughtless word rather than the the thoughtful act, I apologize. And I mean it. But when someone has hurt my feelings, suddenly my only option is to throw on my sneakers and sprint to a safe spot, avoiding the hurdles that come with a healthy relationship.

Perhaps running would be fine if I wasn't the type of girl who liked to look back, but I do. I like seeing where I started, how far I've come. I need to see my progress, whether it's the distance between me and the starting line, or me and a boy who broke my heart. But lately, looking back has only shown me how little I've moved. Instead of running on an open track, where the perspective changes with each step, I've been on a treadmill- pretending. Pretending that my aches and breaks, pains and gains have been worth something, and you know what? They haven't. Running only works if you feel better from it.

I don't feel better.

So maybe it's time to hang up the sneakers and try something a little better for my health. Something that doesn't promote regret and make my heart ache in a way that only making a big mistake can. Perhaps table tennis.

* I got a few emails about people asking why they couldn't comment on the previous post. I accidently had the comment section turned off. Sorry.