Happy Little Lemons and Flamingos

Miscellaneous Thoughts and Stuff

2010-11-02T21:56:00.000-05:00

List time.

I apologize for being gone so long. I KINDA felt bad, but not really, since no one reads this anyway.
Halloween has bummed me out ever since I left Trinidad. (I know that was only two Halloweens ago, but still.) It didn't this year as much as I expected, but it still wasn't emotion-free. I had a kickass sleepover with friends of mine where we watched some freaky movies and had girly talk and slept a lot. That was on Friday, and then the rest of the weekend, while everyone in the world I knew was out partying and doing awesome Halloween-related stuff, I stayed home, slept, watched lots of Halloween TV programming, and ate good food. I've never really acted my age, but does anyone else think it's weird that I haven't been to ONE PARTY the ENTIRE YEAR I've lived in Winnipeg? No? Just me, then.
I totally think I could be a rapper/singer on rap songs now.
I have an incredible crush on a real-life rapper/writer/actor/comedian, Donald Glover/Childish Gambino, and IT'S NOT GOING AWAY.
I have no travel planned for November. This is very, very strange and it sort of weirds me out.
On the topic of November, I cannot for the LIFE of me remember November 2009. Was I drugged that entire month, or something? I just missed it.
I have INCREDIBLE cramps right now. Okay, so this is more of a diary now than a blog, but seriously, NO ONE IS READING THIS. If you are...you deserve a cookie.

I'm tired now. That took some serious exertion. Night, friends.

When Robin Lives Alone

2010-09-21T21:08:00.000-05:00

My mom went away for three days and two nights this past weekend. She left early on Sunday morning and got back a few hours ago, Tuesday afternoon.

Since 16 isn't old enough to be left alone (or, you know, fly to Trinidad all by yourself, BUT WHATEVER), some my friends moved in WITH me so that in case I burnt the house down, we would ALL die and not just me.

So here's what happened, in list form.

Number of girls under one roof: 3 (4 counting non-humans)
Number of alternatively crazy-ass hyped up OR depressed and downtrodden dogs: 1
Number of worried mother phone calls: 5-6 per day
Number of rooms cleaned before arrival of guests: 8
Number of sets of sheets washed: 3
Number of towels washed: 10-12
Number of loads of laundry ruined by me: NONE
Number of lamps broken: 1
Number of "this is why I shouldn't try and be nice by cleaning the house because I break so much shit" moments: 3
Hours spent with iTunes playing: at least 12
Amount of homework done: the bare minimum
Number of nail polish color changes: 4
Number of doggie accidents: 4 separate occasions
Number of Spanish words spoken: 15-20
Number of Mad Men episodes watched: 3
Number of hours spent talking about boys: 5
Number of hours spent talking about ONE boy: 4.5
Number of swear words said: 50
Number of swear words said by me: 48
Number of imaginary sexy young Latino men to stop by: 3

The Thing About Compliments; A Jagged Gorgeous Winter; My Cup Size

2010-09-18T22:50:00.001-05:00

Compliments, rather than making me proud, tend to make me squirm.

I'm chatting to Eoin and trying to explain why compliments rarely work. I think it's because people are so quick to say nice things ("I love your hair", "I want those shoes", "Your eye makeup looks really good") that they're not a rarity. And, like all nice things, the more common they are, the less valuable it makes them.

If Don Draper were to compliment me, I would die. It would make my life.

If Eoin, or a friend, or my mom, compliments me, I appreciate it just as much, and I love that they do it, but it's not a day-altering experience.

That's all I have to say about that.

I hope you enjoyed that picture. I'm going to talk about something else now.

Winter is coming.

I don't know how I feel about that. I didn't really notice it last year. We got in a bit of a rut in winter, and I just sort of went through it in a fog. 11th grade overall went ridiculously fast, but it was like I moved to Canada, then stuff happened, and then it was Spring Session already.

I'm thinking about myself a lot lately. Not really in a bad way. I'm thinking about how I look (also not in a bad way), and confidence. I'm thinking that I've always wanted to have a skinny stomach and smaller thighs but how proud I am of my hips and chest.

My women's studies class makes me think about these things, and why I wear makeup and style my hair the way I do. And even when I'm home alone, and wearing my black sweatpants, and a tight-fitting black v-neck, and my hair looks banging with a red scarf in it, I have this incredible confidence that lets me swing my hips around my room, singing along to the Ting Tings and organizing. I'm thinking about how even if I'm not going to see anyone, looking good makes me feel good, and feeling good feels GOOD.

I like makeup. And hair. And my C-cups. And while I could live without my stretch marks, and wouldn't mind slightly whiter teeth, I'm learning to cope with what, and who, I am right now.

What do I love most in the world? This.

2010-09-18T19:39:00.000-05:00

This is Mad Men, and this is my show.

For the Newbies

2010-09-07T23:11:00.001-05:00

If you don't know already, please go look at the page called The Blog(s) for a full description of what exactly is going on here.

There's Just More White to Love!

2010-09-06T22:25:00.000-05:00

I consider myself a confident person. That being said, my self-esteem goes up and down more than...something that goes up and down a lot.

Things that murder my self-confidence and leave me wanting to crawl under my covers with nothing but a pack of double-stuffed Oreos and three seasons of Smallville include trying on swimsuits, being around my cousin Shayleigh while being within ten feet of a mirror, sunbathing, and being sweaty.

Things that make me love myself and every curve I have are things like well-fitting jeans, bulky sweaters, having my makeup done by Mai, waking up acne-free, seeing this picture (http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/photo.php?pid=2502126&id=565781751&ref=fbx_album), straightening my hair to perfection, painting my fingernails black, and watching Chris Rock, who normally annoys me, do stand-up about how much black guys love chunky white girls.

Before a day of what I was sure was going to be soul-crushingly painful clothes shopping, I watched a good hour of this stand-up. (There were no Saturday morning cartoons on.)

But what all the Chris Rock the crappy Canadian Comedy channel had on at 8 in the morning couldn't prepare me for was a little store called Aeropostale.

A haven for those seeking American grunge-style clothes without adopting the Kurt Cobain personality (see: Ke$ha), Aeropostale is famous for it's eagle logo, plaid chambray shirts, and ridiculous pretention, all seeping through over-priced, mass-produced clothing and accessories. And we just can't get enough of it.

Silly me, I decided to go into an Aeropostale on the Saturday of American Labor Day weekend. It was completely packed, but the sign that screamed "$15 Hoodies!" was irresistible. Turns out they were actually sweatshirts in ugly colors (note: difference between hoodies and sweatshirts - a zipper up the front. Sweatshirts have to be pulled over your head. Duh) but I ended up finding REAL hoodies and cute shirts in my size, which, I was sad to discover during this shopping trip, is a Large, if I want any breathing room. After waiting in line for what felt like FOREVER for a changing room, I was enraged to find that the Large size was tight on me.

Now, I am NOT a fat-ass. I know I can't convince you of that, imaginary internet readers. But I am AVERAGE in sweet, kind, lovely stores like Penney's and Target. And so while I still drool over the gorgeous clothes sold in places like Aeropostale and American Apparel, I have to come to the realization that hipster joints have done the opposite of what Morgan Spurlock talked about. They've labeled the Medium sizes "Large", and the Larges "Supersized" in an effort to make us all feel bad about ourselves.

I think it's time I put aside my Chris Rock issues and load up on his wisdom before I go back for Shopping Trip, Volume 2.

A Cleaning Frenzy

2010-08-27T11:21:00.000-05:00

HELLO, AGAIN.

See, this is what I like about getting to dictate my own blog rules. I SHOULD be giving every single detail about my trip to Trinidad and everything else that happened this summer. I SHOULD tell you that it was awesome and fabulous and we had a bitchin' time. And I SHOULD tell you that I'm back in Winnipeg now and am in a cleaning frenzy to "get ready for school" which starts on September 9th.

I SHOULD tell you all of those things.

But I don't really WANT to.

So, here is a sampling of blog posts that I started over the past few weeks and didn't finish. Because I just didn't feel like it.

1. No Title (Because I'm Bad Like That)

AGH! NOOO! I'm doing it again! I'm failing to blog for weeks straight! You guys! This isn't good!

I know I said I don't like people breaking the fourth wall when it comes to my blog, but that only applies when we're in PERSON! COMMENT, YOU GUYS! I wrote that EPIC post about me yorking all over the Capitol steps AND NO ONE CARED. Do you know what that DOES to a girl's self esteem? Shit's CRAZY.

Anyhoooo.

What have I been doing recently?

Not a whole heck of a lot.

I know I'm in Our National's Capital, so the thought that I'm doing squat is pretty ridonculous. But these days, I'm more inclined to sleep until 2pm, laze around, watch old House re-runs and spend WAY too much time on Facebook.

2. Love-Hate Relationships

Everything is different when you're in a long-distance relationship. Nothing is the same as when you both live within ten miles of each other. The dynamic is different. Every conversation is long and full and complicated because once you're finally in a rhythm with that person again, after how ever many days it's been, you don't want to lose it.

I'm not in one of these relationships - I'm in several. I'm with family right now, which, ironically, means I'm not with any of my friends. Every friend I care about is far away - whether its the other side of the world, thousands of miles south of here, or a short bus ride north of me, not one of them is here.

The internet eases the pain. It always has. I got my first ever email account (the Hotmail account I use to this day) before I moved away from Poland, and though there have been some fabulous technological advances since then - Gmail, MSN, Skype, Facebook - the basic principles are still the same. Internet may ease the pain, but it doesn't make it go away.

This is the second post in a row that has sounded down. That's probably because I'm writing it at closer to 4 in the morning than 3. (Barely.)

3. An Update from AMERICA

I'M ALLIIIVEEE!

And in the homeland. I figured I should update so I don't look like Ms. Allie over at Hyperbole and a Half, not blogging for a month. I WOULD blog, except I didn't bring Flamingo (my laptop. Seriously. If you don't know that, learn to use my *Archives* -->) and the only laptop around is my brother's, but more importantly, the internet around here is majorly lacking.

We're gonna make a list now, so I can organize mah thoughts.

ANOTHER THING THAT'S MAJORLY LACKING - COLDNESS. If you know me, you know how much I love to be cold and how much I hate to be hot. It is HOT here.

See, you guys? I tried. You can't say I didn't TRY.

Meanwhile, props to Kaster (lifeisgouda.blogspot.com) for blogging again. Props to my brother (theextras.tumblr.com) for doing what I've encouraged him to for YEARS, and creating a place to post all the links he bombardes Facebook with. Props to Ms. Chesler (3limes.wordpress.com) for moving into her new house TODAY and being unlike me and blogging about every minute of it.

Props to everyone but Happy Little Lemon, who, I assure you, will get better at this.

Only if I feel like it.

Update

2010-08-11T16:06:00.000-05:00

HAY, FRIENDS.

So, I'm in Trinidad.

And if you're reading this, you're probably not. Which SUCKS, because that means you and I aren't hanging out. Which is a major shame.

While I'm not exactly *busy*, I don't have much time for blogging, so we'll be on one of those little empty times where you all wonder, Will she come back? Is she just going to stop blogging again? What will I DO if she doesn't come back? Do you think she knows how much I love and appreciate her? Should I tell her? (The answer is, and always will be, yes.)

IMPORTANT NEWS: I OFFICIALLY HAVE A SECOND COUSIN. My cousin, Jeremy, and his wife, Veronica, who you may remember me blogging about back when she got PREGNANT (which seems like waaaaaaaaaaaay less than 9 months ago), are the proud momma and poppa to GAWJUS Josephine Isabelle Dimick (which, by the way, is WAY prettier than any Sims name I have ever come up with). So YAAAY.

That's it on the news front. Talk to you, my dear, probably non-existant, internet readers, soon.

R

A Butterfly in a Lemon

2010-07-30T18:24:00.000-05:00

I have a lot of things on my mind these days. I've always been a worrier, and I have these little spurts, usually late at night, when I hear a particular song or see something on TV (i.e. tonights viewage of choice - Forrest Gump). And when times is hard, I tend to make lists.

My dear, dear friends Eddie and Tyler are going to be in New York starting Sunday night, making it the closest, distance-wise, I will have been to these guys in six months. It's around a three or four-hour bus ride up to NYC, and a roundtrip ticket doesn't cost an unbelievable amount. I can't describe how much I would love to see my friends, but I wish someone else would, for once, take over the reins and deal with logistics. The wholeconcept can only be described as thrilling. I think I would have the best few days of my life. But I can't help but worry about the spontaneity of such an amazing idea.

I went to what's called Preview Day at American University here in DC today. It's one of the schools on my list. I'm not going to ramble about AU, but I will say that whenever the college topic comes back up, it just brings back this whole new wave of concerns. Money, what I want to do with my life, where I want to be located, what I want to study - I've always thought of myself as a decisive person, capable of making decisions, but this process always flips that on its head and makes me doubt myself. There are so many things to think of that sometimes my head just hurts and I get so sick of it all and all I want to do is cry.

And as always, there are man issues. For the sake of some of my readers, I won't get into the details, but we've all been in relationships and we've all had the same drama and emotions and we all know how that can affect a person. It's hard, and it's tiring, and it just adds to the other shit we have to deal with.

I think that's all I have for now.

If anyone out there has any suggestions to get rid of the butterflies and the shaky hands and the knitted eyebrows, I will be so grateful to hear them.

Sorry the Little Lemon doesn't sound quite so Happyy.

And Today I Scraped My Knee

2010-07-25T18:16:00.000-05:00

So far, my tour of the capital isn't going FABULOUSLY. After my exciting experience on Saturday, I topped it off by sticking my heel in a hole in the street and toppling over. Not, however, before I grabbed my dad's ass, the nearest thing within reach, for support on the way down, and thoroughly freaked him and his girlfriend out.

I also sweated my fucking ASS off today. Well, we all did, but if you know me, you know how much I want to murder the whole concept of being hot and you'll understand how that can ruin a day.

We went to see a play in the hip neighborhood of DC, called Dupont Circle, home of all things indie/hipster/liberal and some of the best bookstores, restaurants, cafes, and little boutiques in town. The play was NUTTY and, as all plays do, made me miss acting.

We've also brought back up the topic of college and where in hellll I am going to go. I don't understand how other people decide things like this. I wish there was someone who would just decide all of this FOR me and then tell me to live with it.

A blog update: I plan on redesigning HLL once I get my computer back - so ignore its current state of ugliness.

A Milestone

2010-07-24T19:09:00.000-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, I would just like to announce that something wonderful has happened on Happy Little Lemon.

I officially have a total of 100 comments.

I know for some of those bigtime blogs out there, who get about 600 comments per post, this would seem awfully stupid. But HLL has always been a small operation and to know that there have been 100 times where people have felt connected enough to my writing to stop and comment on it, is to know that I must be doing SOMETHING right, and I cannot thank you enough.

In lieu of this exciting (for me) news, I would like to introduce my new system of CATEGORIZATION - I will now be filing posts under the location in which they were written. So far, we have Trinidad, Canada, DC, and Michigan, though hopefully, someday, there will be more.

This blog has had its ups and downs. It has gone weeks, even months, without a single blog post. I've shut it down completely and then given it new life. I've tossed it aside and paid attention to other blogs.

But always, HLL was there for me, and she will continue to be for a very, very long time.

Love from the Happy Little Lemon herself.

Lemon Visits the Capital

2010-07-24T18:55:00.000-05:00

And she is LOVING IT.

I have always loved DC. It's the bomb. If I could end up anywhere in the world, it'd be a weird version of DC where it never went above 70 degrees Fahrenheit.

I spent just under a year living here when I was in 2nd grade - it technically wasn't DC at al, it was a town called Arlington, and it's in Virginia, but it's almost literally a stone's throw from DC.

I usually come here 2 or 3 times a year - it's where my dad lives, and the State Department is here, aka the mothership for all foreign service families. Plus, my top two choices for colleges are in DC, so, yeah, I know the city, it's my place, I belong here.

I'm here for 2 or 3 weeks this time, and there is lots to do on the schedule.

Today, we went on a Segway tour of DC. Let me say that again for emphasis. A SEGWAY tour of DC. Do you know what a Segway is? No? Here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Segway

Yeah. I can't even describe the concept--it was wicked. It was cool. It was bitchin'. And if Segways didn't cost $5000 (yeah, five thousand dollars. I'm not kidding) and were more than kinda a pointless toy, I'd be all OVER that shit.

So, we hurried (we thought we were late) down to McPherson Square (an area/Metro stop in DC - by the way, Metro = the subway. That's what it's called here. If you live here, or have visited here, it's, like, impossible to NOT take the Metro somewhere). There was some initial freakout over whether or not we could wear flip flops on the Segways, but it turned out to be fine.

The reason I wanted to wear flip flops so badly was because a) the only tennis shoes I have are high tops and I can only wear jeans with those because they look stupid with shorts and IN CONJUCTION WITH a), is b), which is that it was a MILLION FUCKING DEGREES and only a NUTJOB would even CONSIDER wearing jeans in this heat. I declared myself NOT a nutjob and wore shorts and flip flops and it was all good. But turns out, I was a nutjob. We were all nutjobs. Because we made one very, very crucial mistake today.

We went outside.

Screw the heat advisory! we said. That's for WIMPS! We're gonna cruise around town on our sexy Segways and be OH-SO-FLY and anyways, it can't be THAT hot.

Turns out, it was that hot.

I don't know if it was because the Segways move in a hella-weird way, I don't know if it was my attempt at taking pictures while ON a Segway, I don't know if it was because I was on my period, and I don't know if it was because, like I said, it was a hot as a BITCH out there, but for some reason, as we pulled up on the stairs of the Capitol building, looked down towards the Washington Monument and, beyond that, the Lincoln Memorial, I was overcome by a wave of nausea.

Remembering what the nice (cute) guys in the Segway store had told us about getting off the things, I grabbed the handlebar of the Segway with my left hand and stepped onto the ground, my vision swirling and seeing spots. Yanking the earbuds the tourguide gave us so we could hear his commentary out of my ears, I ripped off my (very stylish) helmet and (sexy as hell) sunglasses, I mumbled something to my dad, shoved the segway at the tourguide, and took a seat on the steps of the capital. It's so hot, was all I was thinking. Sweat dripped down my forehead. My hands shook. I was fine, I told myself. It's just hot. A few sips of water, I sucked it up and stood up. Dammit, I was going to FINISH this tour if it was the last thing I did. I made my way back to my Segway, asked for my gear back from my dad, and I was about to put it on, felt another, far worse wave rush to my head.

My dad grabbed my arm. All I could see was white. It looked to be about ten feet to the steps. It was fewer. I felt the top step with my foot and sank to my ass. Head between my knees, I took deep breaths as my dad rubbed my back. Oh, god, I thought.

And then I puked on the steps of the Capitol building.

My dad told me later that puke actually came out of my nose. I vaguely recall that happening, but all I was thinking was, Pancakes. Why did I have so many pancakes? Look. My pancakes. They're on the ground. Ground pancakes.

When it was all over, the first thing I felt was cold on the back of my neck. A concerned security guard (they're all over DC, a common sight, especially around the governmental buildings) had come over with an icy bottle of water and plunked it there, after which he just stood around awkwardly, repeatedly asking me if I "needed medical assistance". I assured him I didn't, told my dad I always feel better after puking, and insisted that we continue the tour. My dad also told me later that cute Aaron, our tour guide, was frantically gesturing "no" at him behind my back at this comment, but whatever.

My dad and I decided to get in a cab and go home, leaving Tony with Aaron to finish the tour and take the Segways back (Aaron turns out to be very skilled with the Segways and was able to drag my and my dad's back to the store. Not easy stuff). As we walked (very slowly) away from the Capitol, the security guard (R. Weatherbee, his nametag said. Yeah, I took notice of that. How could you not?) offered to help once more, but by this point I was just super embarrassed and wanted to leave. I was actually feeling fine - everyone feels better after throwing up. I mostly felt guilty - I had been wanting to do the Segways for a few years now, and they're not cheap, but it was just a bad combination of circumstances that led to my temporary demise.

As we left, I saw Weatherbee walking with some orange cones towards where I had *inaugurated* (my dad's joke, not mine), which was good, because for some reason these tourists (very California-y ones) were standing RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHILE I was puking and then didn't move afterwards. Which was weird, but, you know, everyone's family is different.

In the cab on the way home, the nice Sheik cab driver cranked the AC for us and I started to feel better, but for some reason, I couldn't stop sneezing. I must have sneezed twenty times in the fifteen minute cab ride. At one point, the cab driver (HUGE turban, long white beard) actually turned around in his seat and looked at me, horrified. He offered me a "napkin", which I accepted, and he turned around shaking his head. If you've seen Pirates of the Carribean 3 (which you better have), he reminded me a lot of one of the pirate lords - "And SO, we shall GO, to WAR!".

So, all's well that ends well. My dad and I got home and watched the end of the first Narnia movie, and Tony got home some time later. Tony was pretty horrified by the whole thing - I caught a glimpse of him as I was being led away from the scene of the crime, and he was wide-eyed and pale. When he got home, he complimented me on my choice of location for the big event - centered on the steps of the Capitol and therefore directly in line with the entire Washington National Mall.

Hey, if you have to toss your cookies in public, at least be symmetrical.

Still

2010-07-15T20:43:00.000-05:00

Still in Michigan, still struggling to type on an iPad, still listening to Childish Gambino, still rapping along with Eminem, still being annoyed by my bangs, still eating nothing but mac and cheese and hot dogs, still daily killing zombies with plants, still watching cooking shows and VH1, still straightening my hair, still Facebooking, still not Tweeting, still hanging out with my cousin nonstop, still bonding with my brother, still poor, still hot, still sniffly, still tired, still sleeping, still trying to get over you, still waiting for you to update your blog, still waiting for you to email me back, still waiting to live with you, still missing you guys.

The Adventures of the iPadw

2010-07-11T19:24:00.000-05:00

Oh my god, I am writing this on an iPad. Fo serious. It's probably the weirdest the weirdest technology related thing vie ever done, so if there are whack typos, just know that its the weird typing thingy and not me. I sm s GOOD TYPer. Yesh. See, that was supposed to say "yeah", but I liked it as yesh so I just left it. I do like that it corrects as you go, like making i capitalized. Its hard, though, to do symbols. There's three screens, right, kinda, of keyboards. One is the main one with all the letters, what I'm looking at now (Oh my GOD it just took me like three tries to write the word "now"), then one with all the ymbosls. But if you know me, i looove parrentheses and capitals in my writing and those are pretty hard to vdo on this thing.

Oh my god. I am never getting sn iPad. Look whist it's doing to myr pretty writings!

Im always worried that when sasy bad stuff aboutr a device I'm using that somehow Steve Jobs will find out. If so, and you're reading this, Steveiee, i love your compstny, my ipdod is great, pelssr don't hsve my fsmily killed.

I kinda gave up on that last line. I am not drunk, I swear to god, but it IS late at night and this thing is REALLY hard to type on. But hey, I'm always lookin' fer a challenge.

The only reason that line looked good is because it took me like five minutes. Here, I'll rant about something without stopping to correct myself and you see if you can decipher it.

So, ina sr you didn't Knowles, I'm in michigsn noe with my mom fsmily. Actually, mostly when I'm here i hsng out eith my cousin, shayleighg, who's the closest cousin to my sge.she has a cousin who is between me and Tony, he'll s tually graduate the szme yrar ii do , so the four of us make quite the...quadruple. My mom leaves to go back to winnipeg tomorrow, so me and tony will be here zll bbt oursvlez for a while, after which we kgo to dc to chkle wtb my dad. It's all rvery compaelocstrf and eill rrcquire some epic storytelling whenigeg bz k.

God. That was annoying. My fingers just od not work on a flat surface. I have an especially hard time with my a and s.

That was fun.

Night ;)
(WOO! Successful smiley face!)

My Dear Friends…

2010-07-02T17:58:00.000-05:00

I am leaving soon.
Tomorrow, we begin the EPIC journey to...

America.

Yes. I could not be more psyched.I love America. I really do. And being in Canada only makes me love and crave it even more.

My point, friends, is that in America (that was a WEIRD movie, In America), I live with my grandma, who, of course, has no internet. So from now until July 22nd, I'll be pretty incomunicado. I'M GOING TO MISS YOU GUYS! Then, I get to DC (staying with my dad) and can blog until I can blog no more. Post-DC...I can't even talk about. Because my brain would explode with happiness.

One word: Trinidad.

Yes. God, countries are great.

See you then!
Love,
R

I am a blogging MASTER…Mistress? MISTRESSS

2010-07-01T14:02:00.000-05:00

Lol. Kay. So, here's the word - I have officially hyped everyone back into blogging. It's awesome. I'm awesome. I'm loving it.

I LOVE IT WHEN PEOPLE BLOG. I miss my people. I miss Tara and Ms. Chesler and Kaster and now that these people have started blogging, continue blogging, or are considering giving new life to their blogs, it's like I'm with them again and it's the best.

Now, if only EDWARD or JAMIE LEE would blog, maybe we'd be getting somewhere.

Blogging can be annoying, but it can also be pretty awesome.

We're gonna talk about blogs some more, so if you're bored, you can leave, but see, I don't know any blogging websites other than Wordpress and Blogspot/Blogger (they're the same thing. Yeah. They're fucking with us), but these two are verrryyy different from each other.

Wordpress is smart. Black and white and grey, it's sleek, it's all about the words (duh) and making SMART comments and having your blog read by SMART people and being SMART. As such, it's kinda hard to customize. You basically pick a theme (luckily, there are manyyy pretty awesome ones) and go with it. Not a lot of choice in terms of colors. The widget thing - which is how you decide what's in your Sidebar (over ---> there) is kinda badly organized, not my favorite, but it does its job. However, it is SUPER ANNOYING to post photos or to format anything. I'm not sure why.

Blogspot is the opposite. Blogspot is kind of the blog for the masses. It's so easy to customize, every single color and size and shape and font is yours to choose. It's easy to format and (especially) post pictures, and it doesn't have too many negatives, really. But it's less classy, I guess.

SO, yeah. That's all I've got for now.

I'm about to go take my *last* driving lesson. So. Maybe I'll post on that later. See how up in the air things are? It's great.

Sports

2010-06-29T19:21:00.000-05:00

Normally, I hate sports. Like, come on. Why would I want to run around, sweating, with other people watching, being relied upon to do something important, when I can sit on my couch with a Diet Coke and watch Friends? I'm all for people being fit and active and healthy, but at some point in history, someone, somewhere, decided it would be a GOOD idea for us to *watch* people work out. I get that it's entertainment, but after a while, you're just a fat guy sitting in a bar, hot sauce from buffalo wings dripping down your chin, cheering at people you've never met and who can't hear you. I have always thought this, and I probably always will.

Until recently.

Right now seems like *the* time for sports. Wimbledon, the World Cup, and Major League Baseball are all going on (as well as basketball, I guess, I dunno, wasn't there that Lakers-Celtics game a while ago?), which is more than usual. Always a baseball fan, I used to think the only sport I could watch without screaming was the Great American Past-time. For some reason, and I don't know if it's the incredible boredom I've encountered being on summer vacation with nothing but a TV and my laptop to entertain me, my tolerance for watching sports has diminished.

It started when I sat down and watched the USA-Ghana FIFA game. Yeah. SOCCER. The one sport I thought I could never sit through. I guess it was because of my newfound love for my native country, but I was more interested in the intense game than usual, and really, really wanted my boys to win.

Then, today, a momentous occasion - I watched a match at Wimbledon. Now, TENNIS, tennis is something I used to think I could play ONLY BECAUSE of the really cute bags players get for all their equipment. THAT'S how out of it I was. I used to only watch Wimbledon when I was with my dad or other British relatives, where I just wanted to stay up late and watch them get drunker and drunker (usually post-Wimbledon).

It must be because of the aforementioned new pride for the US, but I found myself totally interested in a Venus Williams match. She lost, but I learnt a surprising amount about tennis, and learnt it is something I could never, ever, ever, ever do.

But American Football - I will never go there. I will watch the halftime show at the Superbowl, but oh god. Don't get me started.

It’s a NEW SEN-SAY-SHUNN

2010-06-28T21:01:00.000-05:00

(I really, really hate that song. Just saying.)

You may notice something different about HLL today. It is now very, very SEXY and I like it. I hope you do too.

I want to introduce you to someone new in the neighborhood. Her name is Tara and she just got her very first blog. You can find it at memoirsofarat.blogspot.com/. She is an awesome girl and I love her very very much and you should read her blog because it is going to be epic.

I have often thought that blogging is stupid. That it's like writing a diary and posting it on the internet and bugging people to read it. I'll probably return to this way of thinking pretty soon, but for now, I'm in a nice place where blogging is fun and new and can be so prettyyyy.

I also re-designed my OTHER blog and deleted all of the posts I hated. I'm sure I realize soon that that was a terrible idea, but at least now the posts can be co-habitating.

AND ANOTHER THING - I haven't categorized or tagged any of my latest posts. I'm not sure if this is a habit I'll be dropping completely, or coming back to in a while. We'll see.

See? Everything's up in the air, and I like it, a lot.

June, Differently

2010-06-26T19:41:00.000-05:00

I've dodged around the question for months now, and I can't do it anymore.

My trip to Trinidad in February was a little disappointing.

I can't say how great it was to see my friends again. We needed it so badly, and on that front, the trip was completely validated. But my over-planning and reliance on other people hurt more than it helped, and I ended up more frustrated than exuberant.

Since HLL is pretty much reborn now, I guess I can talk about whatever I want, right? So here goes.

That trip ruined my relationship with my then-boyfriend. Sorry if you don't want to hear about this, but I want to talk about it.

After doing the long-distance thing for so many months, when we were finally together again, it was awkward and weird and we never recovered. If I hadn't gone to visit, I think we would still be together today.

It's nice, really nice, to be able to talk about stuff like this, and to do it in a place I love. I said in my previous post that things are emotional right now? June is always weird like that for me. Wherever I've lived, it was the end of things. Prom, final exams, my birthday, going away parties, the last day of school, graduation. It's about wrapping things up, ending the cycles, and, more often than not, saying goodbye to people you've grown to love.

The weird thing about my life now is that none of that happened. Yes, I still had exams and my birthday, but the environment for the last days of school was so different, I was thrown.

I kept hearing about Trinidad's June - the June I should have been experiencing, it felt like. I started concocting schemes of moving back there - who I would live with, what I would tell my Canadian friends.

I miss my friends more than I can say, but remaining so connected to them makes things infinitely harder.

Wah-BAM

2010-06-26T18:26:00.000-05:00

Hey. I'm back.

Well, okay, don't get your hopes up, I'm not *back*. I'm just here, and then I'll be gone again, but I might come back. Eventually. Or maybe not.

See, I'm keeping you on your toes.

But I have some new rules I would like to talk to you about.

Do not, please, DO. NOT. mention my blog to me in person. You can comment, I love comments, but keep them to the web. Please. It is a small, easy-to-follow request. When people talk about my blog in public, it makes my skin crawl. I once apologized to a friend on my blog, and now whenever the topic comes up, she's off and talking about my blog and I hate it. Come on. If you've acted, you know what the fourth wall is. A stage is (generally) made up of three walls - left, right, and back. The *imaginary* fourth wall is what would complete the square, the wall on the edge of the stage, that separates the audience from the actors. Having the actors interact with the audience is called breaking the fourth wall.

People. I like the fourth wall. I will be very sad if you break it.

Another thing - stop with the pressure! One of the main reasons I stopped blogging in the first place is because I felt like I HAD to write all the time, about everything I was doing in life - people were breaking rule #1 and instead of enjoying a moment or an event, telling me I "haveeeee to write about this on your bloggg, oh my GOD". It's not COOL.

Another reason I stopped blogging is because I started reading other people's blogs. Blogs like hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/ and veronicamarcettidimick.blogspot.com/, while hilarious and amazing in their own ways, are not the same as my blog and their style is not, and never will be, my style. I tried too hard to make my blog funny and lolzy and because of that, it came out whiney and bitchy. It's just not for me.

I know that's not really a rule, it's just a general comment.

I will always have a special place in my heart for Happy Little Lemon, and it broke my heart to leave it. I couldn't go long without a blog, so I turned to Blogspot and lemonsandflamingos.blogspot.com/. If you want to find out what was going on with me all of March and some of April, go there, but it won't tell you much. It was mostly my excitement at being able to easily post pictures on that blog that fueled it. It was heavily lacking in content, but it was pretty, prettier than I could make a Wordpress.

So it came down to looks vs. intelligence, and guess what I chose, when under pressure? Not the smart choice, I'll tell you that.

But things are emotional these days. Not Intervention (that TV show)-emotional, just, differently emotional. There are things going on, man things, friend things, family things, that I can talk to some people about, but in the end, it's me who has to deal with it. But having a blog for some of 10th grade was helpful in a way I can never express.

I miss the world that this blog used to represent.

If you're reading this, it means you still have a little bit of faith in me, and I will always appreciate that.

16

2010-06-18T18:02:00.000-05:00

It's my birthday tomorrow, and I'm feeling anything but senitmental.

I'm hot, itchy, tired, dirty, sweaty, but mostly tired. I wish I was more enthusiastic about the fact that I'm going to wake up tomorrow a 16 year old. It's a weird thought.

My birthday party was fun, but it made me more mad (begrudging, really) than pumped.

Hey, I just turned 16. Look at that.

This Clock Never Seemed So Alive

2010-06-04T14:31:00.000-05:00

No matter where I am, what I'm doing, or what mood I'm in, "You and Me" by Lifehouse sobers me up and makes me miss what, and who, I've lost.

To You

2010-06-02T16:12:00.000-05:00

I keep your picture on my night stand.

I keep your poem below my mirror.

I keep your sticker on my stereo.

I keep your labels on my chest.

I keep your ticket stubs by my door.

I keep your money in a wad.

I keep your writing on my shirt.

I keep your photography in my folders.

I keep your songs on replay.

I keep your world in my computer.

I keep your memories. I keep your love. I keep your face.

I keep you.

The Dying Wishes of a Fat Ass

2010-03-29T22:10:00.000-05:00

I'm a fat-ass. I weigh 20 pounds more than I want to weigh. And that sucks. It sucks ass.

So I have to get all fit and whatnot. The problem is, there are seemingly only two ways to lose weight: exercise, or a healthy diet (or both). My diet's pretty healthy already (sans Granola bars), so we're good there.

But there is something you may not know about me, and it is this: I fucking hate exercise.

I would rather murder a drifter and be skinny for life than have to work out ever. Really. Well, okay, maybe not murder. But I would fuck that drifter UP.

I just can't stand it. I hate sweat. I hate smelling bad. I hate hair in my face. I hate sticky feet and tank-tops riding up and short shorts tangling up between my legs. I even hate the WORD. Exercise. It's so hard to type. I ALWAYS spell it wrong. It's completely illogical. It should be spelt excersise.

Anyways, as a consequence of this, I have never been much of a work-out-er. I figure, I walk a shit-ton all over school, and to the bus stop, and to my house, all while lugging like 20 pounds of bags (school bag, purse, lunch box, and sometimes my laptop). But apparently not. I got FAT over winter. YEAH. Fucking seasonal climates. You can get fat without even realizing it. Then the snow melts and you wear skimpier clothes and realize your stomach looks like a HIPPO'S and how incredibly screwed you are.

So I have to start working out. In the incredibly likely case that this shit will actually kill me, I present to you,

My Last Will and Testament

Menzie is in charge of my Facebook account, including taking care of my Happy Aquarium fishies. This is under the condition that she never delete the following fish: Roger (goldfish), Omen (clown fish), and Phil (long skinny one).
She also gets my books (except the sentimental childhood ones, see point #3), in the hopes that she further her chick lit education.
My dearest mother gets all my childhood stuff, including the boxes stashed in my closet.
My stationary and office supplies are to be buried in the crypt next to me, as is my makeup, earrings, and bags.
I am to be buried in my jeans, Converse, and grey hoodie, under my turquoise comforter, surrounded by the strips of photo booth pictures that are stuck on my mirror.
My alarm clock is to be smashed into pieces by my brother, a fellow sufferer of sleep deprivation. Burn the pieces and chuck the ashes in an ocean.
My clothes, with the exception of those that apply to point #3, can go to any friend who wants them, and after that, to children in Bangladesh.
All of my school papers are to be recycled and made in to other kid's school papers.
My laptop, Flamingo; my printer, Louise; my camera, Jefferson; and my iPod, Carmella are to be left egg-friggin'-zactly where they are. Seriously. Hands off.
My brother gets anything he wants, which won't be much, as do Kelshall, Mahabir, Feeney, Boccara, Armour, Wilkins, and Holder. [PS: these are friends from my last location. Get with it, reader.]
My dad gets any pictures of me that are in my room. That'll stop his bitching.

Artists I Have an ISSUE With

2010-03-28T22:49:00.000-05:00

Vampire Weekend. Okay, I love these guys. Their songs are cute. Fun. Their lyrics are wacky but enjoyable to sing along to. But I do not recommend you plop all of their songs in one playlist and listen to them all jumbled together. THEY ALL SOUND THE SAME. I swear to god. I can't tell them apart. I love Oxford Comma and Diplomat's Son, but I can't get over the repetitiveness.
Dido. She is fucking amazing, and I only have one album from years ago. BUT WHY ARE HER SONGS ALL SO SAD?! They all make me want to CRY. Maybe it's because we got her CD right after my childhood dog, Tessa, died, and so now I associate all of her songs with that. But it's seven years later and they're still sad. Sing something HAPPY. Take a page out of Corinne Bailey Rae's book, Dido. Make me smile.
Gorillaz. Again, I love you. I love the mystique and I love the animated thing and I especially love Noodle. I've been a fan of these guys since the early 2000s when I was in 7th grade, grooving to edited versions of Rock the House and trying to remember which is the one with the bag of sunshine bit. My bone to pick lies in the fact that they have some WEIRD ASS SONGS. We don't really want to hear a dude screaming "...Hello? ....Can anybody hear me?!...Helloooo?" for seven minutes. We want to hear your awesome music. Really.
Rihanna. I have an album and a half of hers and don't know how many times I've danced to her stuff at parties and in my own bedroom. But post-Chris-Brown-scandal Rihanna I do not like. I want her to go back to her cute, happy, Music of the Sun stuff. Not this Rated R, chopped off hair, chain-mail-on-SNL-wearing Rihanna who's all agressiiiive. Get sweet.
Justin Bieber. You're 16, and you look 12. 'Nuff said.

Britain

2010-03-17T17:48:00.000-05:00

This is Britain. It's colorful and all-natural. But it rains. Like a bitch.

Few people know I'm actually half British. I used to flaunt the fact, and when people asked where I was from, my go-to answer was always "I'm half American, half British". Over the years, I dropped the British bit, mostly because a) I didn't have the accent, passport, or citizenship to back it up, and b) because I started identifying more with the States. Before this summer (when I took those pictures) I hadn't been to the UK for three or four years. But I was in the US every few months. I got involved in American politics, fell in love with Obama, and then, here in Canada, the fact that I have British blood is ignored for the "Oh. My. God. You're AMERICAN" comments I get.

But I still have a quiet pride for Britain.

Friday, Saturday, and Sunday: The Fatties Take Over

2010-03-05T15:30:00.000-06:00

And so begins the Trinidad chronicles.

I'm a bit late, so I'll try and remember all the details. I hope my dear friends will correct me as I go along.

So. Let's do this thing.

You wouldn't think it would take three days to get from Winnipeg to Port of Spain, but for us, I did. Friday afternoon, when I got home from school, I packed my bags and waited in anticipation for my mom to get home from work. She did, and a few hours later, when the car was stuffed and cleaned out (to the best of my ability in the freezing cold, trekking back and forth from car to house while being WATCHED by our creepy, annoying, fat-arm neighbor), we piled in and were off.

Eight hours later, at around 1 in the morning, we were in Minneapolis, at the Hilton Hotel. Nice digs, right? We spent the night there, and woke up Saturday morning fresh as daisies. First item on the agenda: shopping. We caught the hotel shuttle and took it to, you guessed it, The Mall of America, in all its glory.520 stores, 4 of which are massive department stores, with an entire amusement park in the middle of it all - if you wanna take on this Mall, you had better have a plan. And we did. We carefully studied maps, we used landmarks and anecdotes to find our way around, and we hit five or six stores. Yes, five or six, out of 520. But we were commando shopping. If you go into the MOA thinking you'll just puts around for an hour, you are completely fucked. You will get lost deep within the bowels of the Mall, and never be seen again by your loved ones.

Anyways, we went to Penney's (surprisingly disappointing), Macy's (annoyingly expensive), Old Navy (spacey and smelly), and got a few good things. We were mostly shopping for swimsuits (I ended up not swimming. I know, right? More on this later), and my mom got a cute one, but I couldn't help but feel like the Size L that I am. I love swimsuits. But I hate shopping for them. There are bikins as far as the eye can see, and for someone whose tummy has seen the light of day a total of one time, the whole prospect can be a bit of a downer. But, ironically, I got a cute cover-up, and later, a nice Spring-y dress. So it all worked out.

Saturday night we spent in the Hilton again. Then verrrry early Sunday morning, we woke up, and started our day of travelling.

We flew from Minneapolis to Miami. The flight was uneventful, until the following. (I wrote this for a Creative Writing assignment. But it works. True story.)

I had dreaded my seat assignment as soon as I got on the plane and glanced up at the seating charts. 22E meant hours of discomfort, meant fighting for the armrests, and meant missing out on the window views. 22E meant the middle seat. As my mom and I sat there, me in my dreaded middle seat and her in the luxurious aisle, we were both thinking the same thing, but neither of us said it out loud. The pilot had warned that it was a very fully flight. Was it possible that the window seat to the left of me would be empty for the entire four hour flight? We pulled out our magazines and packets of gum, adjusted the air conditioning vents and buckled our seatbelts, not daring to make eye contact. The plane was slowly filling up. Fewer and fewer people were shuffling down the aisle past us, and the flight attendants were walking up and down the cabin, slamming closed the overhead bins and passing out blankets. The anticipation grew. An authoritative voice came over the loudspeaker and announced that we would be taking off soon. I still couldn’t look at my mom. I repeated a mantra to myself – it’ll be taken. It’ll be taken. The speakers ponged. The safety demonstration video was about to begin. A pan shot of an American Airways plane in midair, and I unclenched. They close the door after the video starts, don’t they? As the pre-recorded message reminded us that our seat cushion could be used as a flotation device, I began to relax. I pulled up the armrest on my left and leaned over to look out at the Minneapolis airport, happily letting my thighs splay into the neighbouring seat. Watching the plane ahead of us taxi around the tarmac, I was momentarily distracted by my surroundings, but I perked up when I saw her. She was a big woman, in a white shirt, with sweaty, red cheeks, and she was heading straight for me. Every muscle in my body tightened. No, no, no! I stared at the seatback in front of me. Fasten seat belt white seated. Life vest under seat. Fasten seat belt white seated. Life vest under seat. There was some fumbling going on in the row behind me. I heard shuffling, the opening and closing of an overhead bin, and some mumbling from the man in the seat. “Excuse me,” the fat rolls asked me and my mom. “That’s my seat.”

Yeah. So. That was that story.

We got to Miami mid-morning. They've just finished some big renovations at MIA, and it was uber-confusing to navigate. Plus, our flight out wasn't until late that night, so they hadn't posted the gate number on the boards yet, so we couldn't go to our gate, so we didn't have a home base. And I like having a home base. But after a hearty meal, we found what had kept us going the last two days - the spa. We both got pedicures and had the long days massaged away out our feet. We eventually got settled at our gate and were there for four or five hours, before we finally boarded our plane.

At this point, we got giddy. We had a near-fatty experience as the exact same thing that happened at the start of the Minneapolis-Miami flight: an empty seat next to us, the growing anticipation. Finally, a suave looking guy sat there, explaining that he would "only be here for a couple minutes". I was too annoyed to process that, but a few minutes later, right on cue, a flight attendant waved him up to first class, and we had a row of three seats all to ourselves for the flight. The Gods were happy with me. The giddiness comes in when the flight was about to take off. We kept imagining that fat bitch coming back and taking our extra seat, even after we were up in the air. I had been excited about this trip for a while, but for some reason, when we took off in Miami was the first time it really hit me. I got the jitters and they didn't go away for hours and hours.

We landed in Trinidad. We got our bags in no time, found our lovely driver Jason who we missed, and headed for Jamie's house. We got some top-ups for our phones on the way, and before we knew it, I was pulling up to Jamie's and mauling her.

I took a well-deserved shower and Jamie and I talked for a few hours. We caught up on everything, from the state of teachers at school to people in our grade, and planned how we would surprise Eddie the next morning. I was never happier to be in Jamie's spare single bed.

Oh, Yes I Did.

2010-02-21T15:43:00.000-06:00

More to come soon.

Your Life in Nine Pictures

2010-02-11T11:34:00.000-06:00

Yes, I stole this from Jamie's old blog, but I've meaning to do it forever.

Everyone should do this.

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Pick an image.
c. Copy each image URL into Mosaic Maker.
d. Change rows to 3 and columns to 3.
e. Save the image and post it.

The Questions:
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favourite colour?
3. What is your favourite food?
4. Favourite drink?
5. Dream vacation?
6. Favourite hobby?
7. What you want to be when you grow up?
8. What do you love most in life?
9. Best self-description?

Mine:

Watching Some Good Friends Scream, "Let Me Out"

2010-02-05T13:48:00.000-06:00

The hardest part of being away from everyone in Trinidad is that I see things happening to my friends and can't do anything about it. I can chat to them on MSN, Facebook, or Skype all I want, but I can't be there to nod, hug, cry, or scream in person.

It doesn't matter if it's fabulously fun times they have that they want to talk about, or the times when they just want to curl up and cry.

Ed mentioned a story today involving a projector, and how they hung out in Kaster's room playing music. But I wasn't there for any of that. So I can't "LOLOL" like I would do if I still lived there.

There's the negative things that happen to them too, that make me feel helpless. Drama, depression, anxiety, frustration, stress, whatever it is, all I can do is message them back and offer an emoticon or two. For someone as mothery (hell, my nickname is Momma) and empathetic as I am, all I want to do is hug my friend and tell them it's gonna be okay.

In the long, non-depressing term, I'm glad I left Trinidad. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I was jumping with joy to get away from my friends, or like I was annoyed as hell to see them again in Toronto. But after three years, the lack of efficiency and close-mindedness of the country will get to you, as I know after sixteen years it has gotten to my friends. So leaving the country, I was fine with. Leaving the friends, not so easy.

OKAY, so this is my Swan Song post. Fuck only KNOWS why it's hitting me, ooh, oh, seven months after leaving Trinidad. But this afternoon, in a massive joint conversation, Jamie, Eddie and I linked each other to dozens of different photos from our lives together, as well as YouTube videos of songs that describe our lives. THEY REALLY DO, THOUGH - the soundtracks from Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Boom Boom Pow.

This was pretty badly written. But it is, like I said to those guys today, it's like we're on this big emotional ROLLERCOASTER! and I suppose that affects my writing skillz.

The weird thing is, Tony is really close with his friends from Dhaka, which is were we lived before Trinidad. And after we moved to TNT he still talked to those guys, and when he graduated, he went to Paris with them. Now, I am still really close with the Trini peeps. And I totally see us going on trips around the world until we're old and have to ride around in those little golf carts in the airports instead of walking like normal young fit spry people.

I wish I could teleport.

Forgive Me, Tara, For I Have Sinned

2010-01-29T11:21:00.000-06:00

I took the Hair God's name in vain once, when my snarls got caught under the strap of my purse.

I wore my hair in a strict ponytail for an hour today.

I failed to use product before straightening my hair this morning.

Instead of allowing my hair to air-dry, I clipped it back to avoid getting my shirt wet.

I was jealous of my friend's naturally straight hair.

I was jealous of a stranger's naturally curly hair.

I ruthlessly used two metal barrettes to keep my bangs in place.

I tugged on my bangs when they would not stay in place.

I dropped a barrette in the street and did not pick it up.

I snagged my hair in my necklace and instead of un-hooking my necklace, I pulled out a few strands.

I stole a hair-tie from the kitchen counter without asking who it belonged to.

I’m In Love With The President of the United States

2010-01-27T16:48:00.000-06:00

How could you NOT be? I'm watching the State of the Union and glowing with pride.

For years, when introducing myself, I made sure to include that "I'm half-American, half-British." I was ashamed of the Bush Administration and didn't want people to assume that because of my nationality, I was like that too - trigger-happy, overly religious, and pent on conquering the world.

I can't even begin to explain the amount of racial friction I got, coming as an American to Canada. I know what America says, or thinks, about Canada - see South Park. But I never knew what the Kanucks thought about us. Those were kept pretty much under wraps. But upon moving here, I've learnt that many Canadians have a lot of stereotypes of their neighbors to the south, and often assume any Yankees coming in will fit these stereotypes. I've been here for almost four months now, and am just starting to overcome this tension around Canadians.

They gasp when I say "ya'll" - something I maintain is more Trini than American. They die a little inside when I say I haven't heard of "Mr. Dressup", or that I've only been ice-skating twice in my life and have never been to a hockey game. They assume that because I'm white and have what could be misconstrued as a Canadian accent, that I know everything about the country.

For months, this annoyed me. I couldn't believe that in a country like Canada, which, surprisingly, could rival Trinidad for "The Melting Pot" status, people would be so shocked that someone, an outsider, wouldn't share their culture. I eventually turned to shame, wishing I could be three shades darker, develop an exotic accent, and be able to plead foreign.

These days, I am almost to the point where I get Canadians and they get me. Admittedly, I had to put my foot down in my group of friends, and ask them to please, please stop with the American jokes. But I am slowly overcoming all this and getting to a place where I can be proud of the Stars and Stripes.

I love to hear someone call New Orleans "N'awlens", or Toronto "Trontah". I love the look of US dollars, and love that they aren't called "doo-lahrs" to us. I love crossing the border and leaving the land of Shopper's Drug and entering the land where Walgreens, CVS, and Rite-Aid fight out for rank of supreme drugstore.

I love our president. I love that we learnt our lesson after eight years of (sorry, my Republican friend) hell. I love hearing his voice. I love seeing his purple lips and triangle face on CNN every night. I love his wife and children. I love that I shook his hand (two and a half times).

So, for now, I guess I have to get used to the fact that my first ever celebrity crush is my own president.

I don't mind it too much, though.

He's fucking sexy.

What Would You Do With $1 Million?

2010-01-26T12:27:00.000-06:00

This is the question I posed to Eoin today. The only rules - you had to list out everything. No saying "some of it for college, some for a vacation". Estimate the costs as best you can. And, you couldn't simply say "10,000 to Tony", you had to be specific as to what it is for.

My very well-thought-out, detailed, rational list:

120,000 --> 4 years at American University

180,000 --> Get apartment for last 2-3 years there, and beyond

15,000 --> Retro-style VW bug

100,000 --> To my mom, to buy a house and fix it up

2,500 --> Uber-awesome desktop; get Flamingo made as good as new

500 --> All the Sims games I want

1,000 --> Entertainment system - a TV, movies, etc. for my apartment

2000 --> All my dream toiletries

200,000 --> A vacation to Thailand for me, Eoin, and all my friends

75,000 --> New wardrobe (clothes, accessories, shoes)

150,000 --> The X-Perience

50,000 --> Manis/pedis, facials, hairstyling (until the 50K runs out)

5,000 --> Get Tony: PS3, all the games he wants, a big TV

4,000 --> Dream bathroom in my apartment.

Good, right?

Now, I present, Eoin's list. (With my explanations in square brackets.)

•18,000 for st.georges [the college in Grenada he wants to go to]

•then 10,000 for all my airline tickets to canada

•4000-10,000 max gibson lespaul/sg custom [a guitar]

•liposuction for my dog- 2000

•100: bike for my little cousin

•stuff for Robin: 500

•ps3 slime and a plasme for my dorm- 6000

•library of ps3 games (even crap i dont like)- 4000

•a day's worth of lessons on how to be awesome from will smith- 6000

•buy more seats for my parent's [home movie] theater and make the floor sloping- 20,000

•4000 bigger screen. better projector

•umm 3000 for the jabbawockeez [a dance crew] to give me a crash course in dancing

•4000 for a program that can make awesome playsists for me.

•4000 to hire my own personal ninja for a week

•500 to an asian kid to get a perfect SAT score for me

•5000 for 50 cent to walk into a club with me and be like "IM IN HIS ENTOURAGE!!"

•and 10,000 for two bodygaurds to beat ppl off of me

•25,000 to be in a music video with michael jackson, snoop dogg or missy elliot

•25,000 to never "halfway sneeze again"

•30,000 for...a rotweiler, an italian mastiff, a pit bull and a St.Bernard

•and 50,000 to be able to kick george bush in the nuts

•10,000 for an ACTUAL katana [Samurai sword]

•25,000 for a dual set of gunblades

--

He only made it to around $400,000.

Men and women are funny, aren't we?

Real Life Doesn't Move This Fast

2010-01-23T17:40:00.000-06:00

Lately, I've been playing a LOT of Sims. But not as much as I would like. My poor, old, desktop computer, Lucy, aptly named for being loud, slow, and good-hearted, is the only computer on which I can play my glorious games. We have had her for almost seven years and in three countries, and before we all got laptops she was our only PC. But she must live in some weird version of dog years, where she ages ten times as fast as a human, because if she were a human, she'd be ancient. Not that she's out of date. But dust from three different continents and multiple crashes can be rough on a...girl. Computer. Whatever.

Anyway, if you're a long-time reader or a close friend, you know of my Sims obsession. I would play it all day, every day if I could, and I'd do it well. I do it well. I consider myself a damn fine Sims player, if you don't mind my conceit. I put lots and lots of time and effort into my Sims and where they live.

But lately, my poor old Lucy has not been having the easiest time managing Sims. I get about 45 minutes before she crashes. I'm told by the very reliable peoples of the internet that it does this to stop from overheating. Like as a defensive mechanism. Like a gecko's tail falling off if you try to pick it up.

So I've become paranoid, saving every five minutes and every time something big happens. It's nerve-racking, really, but I'm too the point now where once it crashes, I kind of sit there, going, "Well. There that is."

I don't know why I love Sims so much. Tony used to argue with me that the game serves no purpose. You send someone to the bathroom, then to read a book. YAY, HOW FUN. But he never understood that it was, is more than that. You completely and totally bond with these simulated characters you've created. You cry when they get married, have a baby, and die. You plan their lives out from birth - a baby girl with high Outgoing levels is destined to be a spunky teenager and a revolutionary politician. Two roommates will fall in love, get married, make lots of babies, who will grow up, go to college, fall in love, get married, and make lots of babies.

It's about fantasy. It's about making beautiful people in gorgeous homes who don't worry about money or school and can live nocturnally if they want to. It's not weird for a grown man to wake up at 2 a.m. and play chess because he maybe someday will need more logic points, you're not sure just yet.

So, yeah, it's a bit of a cult gaming community, we Simsers. A great level of design and control skill goes into it, but you also have to be compassionate. These aren't just overly animated people on a screen. They become real and you want to be around them all the time. And so the obsession is born.

LURKERS! SHOW YOURSELVES!

2010-01-19T13:34:00.000-06:00

[Props to V.M.D. for the idea]

Okay. Let's be honest. Who the hell reads my blog. My friends, a teacher, my mom, sometimes my brother. Who else? If you are out there, and you read my blog, AT ALL, and I don't know about it, leave a comment. Let me know. Give me a little self-esteem booster.

Worst-case scenario is I get no responses. Which wouldn't surprise me.

In which case, I expect my friends to sign in as imaginary people and comment the hell out of this post.

Mmm hmm.

Get Better

2010-01-18T09:19:00.000-06:00

Why is it that out of all the ways you can greet someone, thank them, say goodbye, congratulate them, or wish them well in general, there is no set, non-awkward way to tell someone to get over being sick? "Get Well Soon" springs to mind, but I can't think of this, or even say it, without picturing it written on a red velvet heart held by a simpering teddy bear. "Feel Better" seems to have become a suitable alternative, but I personally feel guilty ordering an invalid to get over whatever ails them. "I Hope You Feel Better", is, I suppose, the longer version of the previous command, but when faced with a coughing peer, say, a classmate, a coworker, or the local barista, this seems far too of an emotional remark. Besides, who would believe that you really do hope and pray and wish that someone you barely know would get better? On the topic of "get better", this is also an odd phrase. I know getting better after being sick just means returning to your normal state, but getting better also implies the improvement of yourself. "Get better." "Be a better person. Quit smoking, you, and cut back on the swearing."

Random musings.

A New Addition To The Family

2010-01-16T20:52:00.000-06:00

No, no one's pregnant. 'Cept Vern.

I've started a new blog. Not to replace Lemon, don't worry. They'll be co-habitatin'.

Check it out: http://robinjoneskerrthemoshpit.wordpress.com/

And stay tuned.

It Seems I Have Delved Into The Black Hole That Is Lists

2010-01-15T19:06:00.000-06:00

Sorry about that. It is the New Year, though. So, what has been going on with me lately. It has been a blur of Mad Men, Sims, Facebook, and reading "Precious, based on the novel 'PUSH' by Sapphire". Which was extremely good, by the way, far better than I thought it would be, and it's not normally my type of thing. Actually, one of my most pissed-off moments was the other day. I was reading that book before my Creative Writing class started, and a guy who I normally get along with really well came in and unpacked his stuff. This guy and I have been called a Dynamic Duo. We're crazy and loud and funny and have a good time. But on this day, I think it was last Friday, my perception of him changed. He noticed I was reading that book and went off on a rant about how all books about black people getting out of the projects are the same. The young, impoverished black kid meets the optimistic white teacher and the two turn things around together. The kid is, of course, abused and has extremely low self-esteem, but the book/movie ends hopefully with their life being changed forever. I know, right. I guess some people are more dickheady than you thought they were.

But people can also turn out to be nicer than you thought they were. Well, not necessarily nicer, that sounds mean. But different. I know she doesn't read my blog, but I need to apologize somewhere. I was unnecessarily mean to a friend of mine a few days ago. I blamed it on "family stuff" but I was just in a bad mood, tired, and I snapped at her. So if you're reading this, and you have an apology weighing on you...just do it. Why put it off.

Lastly, I was reading my new PostSecret book, "Confessions on Life, Death, and God" that my mom got me for Christmas. This was right after every single Sims game I had ever saved disappeared. I KNOW, but don't be upset (I know you're probably not, but I cried for HOURS), I got them all back this morning. Like it never happened. Anyhoo. A secret in the book was a map of the world, with a male symbol on California and a female symbol on the UK. My mind flashed to Eoin, Kaster, my parents, my relationships. And I cried more. It was emotional. There was some French written across it, too, and it was translated underneath to be, "We'll find a solution." I wrote this on my hand and fell asleep. It was an emotional night, but I can't stop thinking that. "We'll find a solution."

Let's See How Far We've Come

2010-01-15T16:38:00.000-06:00

Okay, I know I did my big End of '09 post already. But I want to review last year's resolutions.

1. Take better care of my skin and hair. --> Check. My mom actually complimented me on my skin the other day, saying she knew I was working on it and she thinks I have a nice complexion. And the hair thing, foof. Totally did. See my many comments on shampoo and conditioner, plus my new hair straightener.

2. Recycle. --> Check. The eight-ton shoebox full of paper I left in my old room in Trinidad answers this one.

3. Talk to Dad more. --> Sort of check. I didn't do this one in the middle of the year so much, but towards the end I did. And we're making plans to meet up more often than before. So a future check.

4. Get at least a C+ in Chemistry. --> FUCKING CHECK. B-, baby.

5. Cut back on my Chick Lit. --> Sort of check. I did slip back into it on occasion.

6. Add all 500 of the Rolling Stone Top 5oo into my iTunes library. --> Check.

7. Organize all 500. --> Check. I deleted a lot of them, actually, songs I just didn't like. I'm proud of my iTunes now.

8. Find balance in love. --> Check. Okay, the reason this was on here is because I wanted to sort out all the Eoin drama. And it has been fully and completely sorted.

9. Find social balance. --> Check times a million. I wanted to balance my two quite different groups of friends, and I definitely accomplished that.

10. Write to Nora. --> Not as much of a check as I'd like. I need to do this more.

11. Blog at least once a week. --> A pretty obvious not check. I'm getting better in the new year, though.

12. Make Canada kick some serious ass. --> Check and check, so far.

13. Read Atonement. --> Not check. What a shame.

14. Be in the play at school. --> Double check. We kicked its ASS.

15. Do the PhotoBooth at Movie Towne more often. --> CHECK CHECK CHECK. I have only about a million strips of photos outlining my mirror.

Overall, not too bad. Out of 15, 10 are full checks, 3 sort-of checks, and 2 not-at-all checks. I'm pretty proud of that.

New Year's Resolutions 2010

2010-01-12T15:55:00.000-06:00

Get my hair cut more often, at least once every six months.

Only buy one drink from a vending machine per week.

Bring bottles of water/Vitamin Water to school at least three times a week.

Buy less toiletries.

Join less Facebook groups. Cut back to ones that REALLY make me laugh.

Cut back on the after-school snacks. It's a chocolate black hole.

Pass Driver's Ed.

Go to Trinidad at least twice.

Go to DC at least three times.

Be fabulous at Grad Ball 2010.

Stop biting my nails. For serious.

Get some confidence.

Wear jeans less often.

Reconnect with people from a long time ago.

Get to bed before 11:30 pm every school night.

My 100 Things, Volume II

2010-01-06T18:03:00.000-06:00

I am in love with the shows "Cake Boss" and "Ace of Cakes", and I don't know why.

I have a mini-panic attack whenever I have to pull the little stop string on the bus before my stop. I'm never confident that it's the right time to do it.

At night, I tuck my mom in and then flip on our shared Bobby Baseball nightlight that's plugged in in our hallway.

I would pay good money to make it so my hair was straight when I wanted it straight, and curly when I wanted it curly.

I love it when people shrink to the size of an ant and fly into other people's bodies. "Hey, look, his tonsils!"

I am terrified to learn to drive. Terrified.

I always swear to myself that I will be clever with my money when it's mine to do whatever I want with. But I like to buy toiletries. A lot.

I have never broken a bone or had surgery.

I hate the letter "b", and there's one in the middle of my name.

I think my cousin Katie and I could be good friends if we didn't talk about religion or politics.

I spent years thinking "TLC" meant "The Learning Channel", instead of "Tender Loving Care".

I hate March, but I will love February.

Shows on The Food Network are always overly-dramatic. Especially Iron Chef America.

Flambay ("OPAHH!") scares the crap out of me.

I've often wished that I had black hair.

I'm so lazy that I have laptop chargers in both my bedroom and the basement, but I've strongly considered buying a third the put in the office, where I play Sims.

There are a pair of old bowling shoes, in my size, at our favorite vintage store here in Winnipeg, and I think I should buy them.

When Scrubs ended, I cried. For hours. And now it's back, and though I swore I wouldn't watch a spin-off, I'm in love with the new season.

I hate Froot Loops. When I was little, my mom thought I needed more fibre to keep me from falling asleep all the time, so she bought them for us. I made Tony eat mine.

I don't know where, or when, or with whom I will go to college. And that scares the shit out of me.

I wonder if Frank ever got our PostSecrets.

I felt a lot of sympathy for Jon and Kate, and I feel bad for the way it all turned out.

Who wears sweat bands? I have never worn them and I never plan to.

Everyone warned me about the winters here in the Peg, but I have to say, I love it. I love the pink noses and long scarves, the snowflakes and wind in the hair. Everything looks prettier with snow.

I find it hard to trust people who have mustaches.

Calling someone an amateur is, to me, a maaajor diss. I would freak if someone called me that.

Tyra Banks cancelled her talk show after five seasons. Though I like her, I don't really know when she started it in the first place.

I miss my friends from Trinidad infinitely, but it's surprising how much I miss the random people I never really connected with.

I join lots of groups and become fans of lots of things on Facebook. LOTS and LOTS.

I wish my family ate more meat so we could have a massive cleaver.

The Mr. Clean Magic Eraser looks like it would be really annoying to use.

I haven't had cauliflour in forever. But I don't miss it.

Road trip food sustains me. But the thought of eating it day-to-day grosses me out.

I downloaded The Da Vinci Code and Angles and Demons, but the pirates of the internet don't include English subtitles. So that was an experience.

I have never and will never wear a purity ring, a sex bracelet, or anything of the sort. People don't need to know that about me and I don't want to know it about them.

I wear my hair down almost every day now. I'm proud, and Tara is too.

I do not want a cat. I will never want a cat.

No offense to French people, but it is not a very pretty accent.

I'm drawing a blank trying to come up with 61 more things.

I friggin' LOVE crepes, but they take a long time to make. I was sitting on the couch thinking about them today, and how in Dhaka, if I had wanted to, I could've simply asked the housekeeper to make me pancakes whenever I wanted.

The Core weekend in Toronto was one of my favorite trips of 2009.

I grudgingly put a "u" in words like color and favorite for my schoolwork, but I will not do it on my own time.

I've always wondered how other people see places like Poland or Bangladesh, since I have my own view of them. Have people heard of them? Do they have any connections to these places I've spent years in?

I am in love with the Pedigree ad where the dogs jump up to get food in slow motion. It's amazing.

Everytime I say or think "It's HOT" I mentally, and sometimes verbally, add "YOU GOT A WINDOW? OPEN IT!"

People say you can't distinguish Canadians from other white people just by how they look. But you can. It's something in the cheekbones.

Wearing a microphone on stage can be incredibly annoying. But it's also extremely fun.

If I was a guy, I'd grow stubble.

I worry that I have gingivitis. It's where your gums advance down onto your teeth, making your teeth look smaller. You can get it from lack of flossing.

Tyler and Eddie are the sweetest people I know.

Though I rarely play video games other than Sims, I know a lot about ones like Fallout 3, Bioshock, and GTA from watching Tony play them.

I love Friends. Love it.

The main reason I wanted to move to Canada was so I could buy winter clothes.

Car envy annoys me.

I LOVE to buy toiletries. To the point where I currently have three kinds of shampoo/conditioner sets and want a fourth.

I was ashamed when I got dandruff a few years ago. After using Head and Shoulders for a while, the dandruff was gone and my hair was shinier and softer than it had ever been, to the point where people at my mom's receptions commented on how nice it looked. It's my ultimate beauty secret.

People say I've been all over the world. Here are just a few of the places I've never been: Italy. Russia. Brazil. Mexico. Ireland. Indonesia. Egypt. South Africa. Germany. There are many more.

I don't think I've ever had a snow day.

A lot of my worries in life are about how I'm going to pay for things.

I've never dyed my hair. Not even highlights.

I love the Die Hard movies and have seen the third one ("Die Hard With A Vengeance") at least ten times.

I have a Twitter, but only Tweet about once a week.

It's sad that whenever you see pictures of New York before 2001, you can see the Twin Towers.

I would love to paint my room turquoise.

My Flickr account (http://www.flickr.com/photos/happylittlelemon/, if you're interested) makes me very proud.

Kim Bassinger in 8 Mile put me off of her forever.

I love John Lithgow's voice.

My dog burps a lot.

I used to think Head and Shoulders was a soap you could use on both your hair and skin.

Zach Braff voices the puppy in the Cottonelle ads. It's adorable.

I hate Nutella. There was a kind like it in Poland, but it was a Milky Way spread. It was amazing.

Once in DC, I spent all afternoon eating prunes and walnuts. Now the combination disgusts me.

Similarly, in fifth grade, I got a lot of stomaches (for some reason), so I carried around Pepto Bismol pills everywhere and would chew them constantly. Now, just the thought of Pepto makes me nauseous.

The Green Goblin in Spider-Man 1 scared me. A lot.

Why are there so many Superman and Batman films and only one series of Spider-Man ones?

I have a pink laptop, but I don't really like pink.

After seeing those ads for that little plastic thing that pulls your bra straps in so that no one can see them, I got self conscious about letting my straps show.

Where did Jo Frost (Supernanny) learn all that stuff?

It's odd that really awesome, powerful women, like Oprah and Stacy London, aren't married.

Mad Men, Scrubs, and Lost are the best shows currently on television.

I live in Canada and have never been skiing. That seems wrong.

I used to have beads hanging over my door, but I guess they got lost in the move. I really want some more.

When I was younger, Tony and I would play a game where, as my dad pulled the car out of the garage, we would stand dangerously close to the wheels - until my dad told us that if the car ran over our toes, they would turn into powder.

If I had to play a sport, HAD TO, I'd pick basketball.

My dad used to cut my hair. I remember the cold scissors on my forehead as he did my bangs.

I've always wanted to spend New Year's Eve at Times Square. Who doesn't want to do that at least once.

I miss acting.

Eoin and I play the question game almost every time we talk. Sometimes I worry we couldn't have conversations without it.

I still like SNL. I didn't see its Golden Age, and I'm sure it was awesome, but I like it now, too. It's sad that people have so little faith in it.

I like the first half of this list better than the second.

I don't really like beer or wine. And though I hate when people brag about how much they know about alcohol to seem older, I do actually like mixed stuff better.

I have never had a smart phone. I don't know if I want one or not.

I met my three favorite teachers in ISPS.

Singing Boom Boom Pow with Eddie was one of my best moments of 09'.

I rarely talk on the phone.

I used to "type lyk dis" until Jamie educated me.

I'm all for Microsoft. But I hate Bing.

Dule Hill is underappreciated and really hot.

It's a shame that many of these things have nothing to do with me.

Though I have no connection to New York whatsoever, "Empire State of Mind", by Alicia Keys, makes me homesick.

My New Year's Eve Post

2009-12-31T17:08:00.000-06:00

Despite the energy, the craziness, the excitement, everything that's going down this New Year's Eve, I can't help but miss everyone who's not here. So instead of talk about the new year, I'm going to think back. So it's time to make some lists. Keep in mind, these won't make sense. The jokes, the songs, shows, movies, even if they're not from this year, they had an impact on me in 2009, and I'm sure they'll continue to in the new decade.

The Top 5 Awesome Inside Jokes

IHP/o)/poundit/(H)/xD/:3; Jamie, Eddie, me

Pineapple Express; Tony, me

Nessie; Jamie, me

Mr. Smith/Ms. Thomas; Jamie, Eddie, Mai, me

The Triforce; Jamie, Eddie, me

The Top 10 Songs That Played During All Of It

"Boom Boom Pow", "I Gotta Feeling", The Black Eyed Peas

"Oh, What A Night", Frankie Vallie and the Four Seasons

"Just Dance", "Poker Face", Lady Gaga

"Right Round", Flo Rida

"Everytime We Touch", Cascada

"Angel", "Do You Remember", Jack Johnson

"Everything's Not Lost", "Strawberry Swing", "Yellow", "Viva La Vida"; Coldplay

"If Everyone Cared", "Far Away", Nickleback

"Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)", ABBA

"Hot Child In The City", Joan Jett/Nick Gilder

The Top 10 TV Shows That Made It All Worthwhile

Scrubs

Community

LOST

House

Friends

That 70's Show

Mad Men

30 Rock

America's Next Top Model

Battlestar Gallactica

The Top 20 Movies I Loved This Year

Pineapple Express

Star Trek

The Dark Knight

WALL-E

District 9

Coraline

Slumdog Millionaire

You've Got Mail

Iron Man

The Hurt Locker

Inglourious Basterds

Footloose

Moon

Up In The Air

Knocked Up

Superbad

Zombieland

Adventureland

Crank 2

Sean Of The Dead

So, my friends, that brings an end to Happy Little Lemon for this year and decade.

I'll see you all, next year.

The Latest Happenings

2009-12-27T18:42:00.000-06:00

Feeling inspired to write by my cousin Jeremy's wife, Veronica. She announced this Christmas to her in-laws, my extended family, that she's preggos. So my props go out to Vern and Jeremy. I, honestly, cannot think of anyone else more suited to be parents. She has a fantastic blog herself (Vern, I'm talking about) and just started one to record what's going on with the pregnancy. Seeing that she has blogged 24 times in December alone is two things: a major inspiration and a self-esteem murderer. I don't know if I will ever be able to do a blog post a night, pretty much every night. I'd love for my blog to be that way, though. And I made it a New Year's Resolution last year to blog at least once a week - a resolution on which I completely and totally failed. But a review of those (and a new list) is yet to come.

I suppose I feel forced, for some reason, to talk about where I am and what I'm doing rather than just my random thoughts or opinions. Of which there are many. But a lot is happening these days. I guess, actually, a lot has been happening since late May. Fools, birthday, ending school, moving, doing all that madness over the summer (which I still haven't blogged about. Hermph), moving here, settling in. And before we knew it it was October and December exams and now here we are on Christmas break. God, how the time has flowwwwn.

I also may give the blog a re-vamp. I'll try that out.

So for now, since I should be getting to bed, I'll tell you I'm in DC, with my Dad and Tony, doing New Year's. Then back to Canada and kick off the rest of 2010. Happy New Years, folks!

Christmas Musings

2009-12-18T17:45:00.000-06:00

Things that have been on my mind this "Holiday Season". I don't want an answer to these questions. I just want to send them out into the universe and hope I find some answers myself.

The stand-up comedian, Jim Gaffigan, once did a skit where he talked about what led to the creation of the ridiculous traditions we follow at Christmas. "Okay, cut down that tree, put it in here. Take all these lights, and put 'em out theeere." And that decorating for Christmas sounds like the behaviour of a drunk guy. "'Honey, why...is there a...pine treeee...in our living room?' 'I LIKE IT! And we're gonna, we're gonna, we're gonna decorate it...fer Jesus. And then I'm gonna hang my socks over the fireplace. Fill 'em with candy...maybe I'll tie some leaves to the ceiling, see if I can get some action.'" It is weird, you have to admit.

Though there are millions and millions of Christmas songs in the world, there are none or few Hannukah songs. People out there are Jewish. Are they just not the ones making songs for the Holidays?

Why do we hang icicle lights from our roofs? Sure, they look pretty, but icicles would never actually appear on houses south of the Arctic, unless you were really unlucky. Who are we fooling?

Another thing about outside-light-decorating. If one person on the block doesn't do it, everyone looks at their house and shakes their heads and privately wonder why they don't have any gosh-darn Christmas spirit. But they never stop to consider that maybe that person isn't going to be in the country for Christmas. Or that they didn't have time, energy, or an outside outlet with which to decorate.

Someone said "Merry Christmas" to me for the first time this season. How do we decide when to start saying that? December 18th seems uncharacteristically late for society, but if someone says it around the 10th, we would scoff and then freak out that Christmas was only 15 days away and we hadn't bought anyone presents yet.

When you live far away from relatives, and your parents are divorced, and your brother is away at college, you often end up having three or four Christmases. This happened to us last year (Trinidad, DC, and lastly Michigan for the real day) and the whole magic and mystery of Christmas from when we were kids was gone by the time the 25th rolled around.

About that magic and mystery of Christmas as a kid. The best part of Christmas for me was sneaking into my brother's room at 4 am to wake him up and tell him it was Christmas and to find him already awake, reading a book and glancing at his clock every five minutes. We would hang out until around 7, when we deemed it late enough to go get our parents, who would inevitably groan and have to make coffee and get the cameras before we could start. We would watch them take every sip of their coffee, waiting until that last drop, when our dad would turn to our mom and say, "Wanna get started?" And the sad thing is, that's all over now.

Remember the days when we had no idea what we were getting for Christmas? I can list four or five things I know, for sure, I'm getting this year. When did that happen?

It's Christmas. No, it's not, it's December 18th. But we call the entire season "Christmas", don't we? Or "The Holidays", or "The Holiday Season", if you're being PC. In an ideal world, Christmas would be December 24th, 9 pm, until December 25th, 11:59 pm.

Christmas is supposed to be the time when we come together as loved ones, and show how much we appreciate each other. Why do we have to have a stressful, loud, caffeine and sugar-fueled international holiday on which to do this?

They say that Christmas is the hardest time to be away from the people you love. For me, it's Halloween and New Years. For three years in a row, Jamie and I had our amazing "Last MSN Conversation of 200_", consisting of only emoticons and ending with o) and IHP. Then, two minutes after the clock struck twelve, we called each other and yelled and screamed. And Halloween - I don't think it's going out on a limb to say that it's the Core's (if not, definitely Ed's) favorite holiday. Not being able to dress up, go Trick-or-Treating (and be yelled at to sing for our candy), and take a zillion pictures with those guys made that holiday the hardest so far. And I'm not feeling that about Christmas.

Hot Child in the City

2009-11-12T17:04:00.000-06:00

Jeez. People are mad at me for not blogging. Be HAPPY, readers, I'm in a good mood so I won't bitch at you too much for being mean to me. But, I have to say, there's a SHITLOAD I could write about. SOO, I'm just going to make a list of things that are going on in my life. General, everyday things, nothing deep, nothing about my past. Just things you want to know. So enjoy.

Ooh, by the way, the reason this post is called "Hot Child In The City", is after the Joan Jett song, which, for some reason, played OVER AND OVER when I was cleaning my bathroom, and because I was all gross and soapy, I didn't want to touch Flamingo to skip the song. It's kind of become a theme for my mom and I. Plus, now I'M a hot child in the city. Hells yes.

I've been doing a lot of tidying up lately. Yes, I have lived in this house for a month now, so it's a bit late to be doing those final boxes or chores around the house. But we've had something to do every weekend, and this past weekend was no different. We spent all day Saturday raking our asses off in the backyard, along with hauling wood from one pile to another. Then, Sunday, we shopped for and planted tulip bulbs. My favourite flowers, I've never had tulips before, and now we finally can grow them in our very own backyard. Aside from the outdoorsy chores, there are the indoorsy ones too, including the awful ones like #2 and the BITCHIN' ones like organizing my desk, closet, and dresser.

I am inclined to count this as a separate point, because even though it falls under the house category, it is not fun, entertaining, or relaxing. This is the task of bathroom cleaning. It sounds awful, it makes me sound pampered and spoiled, but I haven't thoroughly cleaned a bathroom in an awfully long time. This was one of those all out, scrub the entire room, kind of things. I won't get into the details, but let's just say, it wasn't the sponge turning the water that funny colour when I was cleaning the shower.

ON A DIFFERENT NOTE, School is insane these days. December exams (we had a set in October too) are only 3 and a half weeks away, and it's the usual ZOMFG Teacher Moment, where they mercilessly assign us a shitload all at once. So next week, and the week after that, are filled with big intense time-consuming projects. Luckily, I've recently been gifted the gift of time. See #5.

Speaking of school, we found out today that our school has been threatened in some way. Apparently, someone wrote on a bathroom wall in one of the school's buildings that...bad...stuff will happen this coming Sunday. I don't know if they know and aren't telling us, or if they just don't know, but the teachers aren't saying what bad stuff we're to expect. Now, supposedly, this happens every year, and sometimes a couple times a year, but usually on April Fool's Day. Of course, the school can't "take it lightly", so things are a little uptight at school starting today and going til Tuesday - security guards hanging around (contrary to ISPS, this isn't a normality), and classroom doors being locked during class. No one's very worried, and I'm not either. I just can't stop thinking how Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets this sounds ("her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever" - remember that?).

After two months of living here, you'd think I'd be aces at the public transportation system. Quite the contrary. About a week ago I took my first ever Winnipeg bus ride, with a friend on the way to spend the night at her house. I'm now at the point where I'm taking a bus ALL ALONE home after school. It's weird being so independent. I like it, don't get me wrong, but trying out this whole new system was and still is terrifying. I've heard horror stories about people who tried to get to my school, the University of Winnipeg, and ended up at the University of Manitoba, about 40 minutes away from the right school. But overall, this bus thing is pretty bitchin'. It's fun, and it saves me so much time in afternoons, in comparison with walking to my mom's office and waiting for her til 5:00 and driving home (expect a post about that later).

Sorry to keep talking about school, but I feel I should give the low-down on a couple of my classes. This year, I'm taking Drama, Creative Writing (called Trans Forms, officially), Canadian History, English (called Literary Focus, officially), Pre-Calculus, and Spanish.
- Drama is fun and just plain Drama-y. I'm getting 100%, not much to complain about.
- Creative Writing has some of the best people. We have a kickass time in that class, and some fun things, like poetry and playwriting are to come. I worry sometimes that the constant assignments are stealing my "creative juices", but I can't bitch, it's a lot of fun and an opportunity I know Jamie and maybe Eddie would love to have.
- Canadian History. Well. I was enraged at first, and still a little peeved, that the school thinks their kids can get by without only knowledge of Canadian History. There isn't even the OPTION for American or World History. I was so worried about falling insanely behind (having ZERO knowledge of this country's past). I know we complained about our Modern World History class, but without that, I'd be pretty screwed for...life. That said, this class also has some pretty fun people and is a lot of fun. The teacher, recognized school-wide as "the short, mean one" can be pretty strict, but can cackle every now and then.
- I have to say, Ms. Chesler, I miss you. My English teacher this year is a bit of a prick - and my mom agrees, which says something. He's picked some good books and plays this year (A Doll's House, The Great Gatsby, Macbeth, The Glass Menagerie, 1984, and a couple others), but I hate his learning style (and his MLA-format obsessed ways), and I think he imposes his opinion on us a lot of the time. I'm trying to suck it up and deal, but it's pretty tough, and makes me ache for the days when Ches taught the un-seaming scene of Macbeth by standing barefoot on a chair with a stick and stabbing at the air victoriously.
- Pre-Cal. Pre-Cal, Pre-Cal, Pre-Cal. Whenever I think about my teacher in this class, I think of him going "Ohhhkay". He's very chilled, very lax, and seems mostly concerned with us understanding the information. He's good. I'll give him that. He goes a little fast, but he hasn't yelled or even gotten annoyed once the entire two months. I'm a bit worried about our upcoming test, on what I'm dubbing "The Seven Deadly Sins Equations". My favourite moment from class so far: after my teacher FOILed something out on the board, I asked if we could just use the stacking method instead. He had me come up to front of the room and do that on the board, and when I was almost done, he sighed, and said, under his breath, "Ohh, that's cool."
- Spanish - though I'm usually exhausted by the time I get to this class at the end of the day, it's a nice throwback to lovely simple 8th grade Spanish I, and our five (sometimes six) person class has some good times.

There. Yes, I talked about school a lot, but cmon, to whom is that NOT a big deal? Hope you people are happy.

PS: Kaster - your turn.

An Explanation and An Apology

2009-10-20T13:07:00.000-05:00

So, my dearest friends, I feel I owe the world (or my three? four? readers) an explanation for my, and there's no other way to say it, shitiness as a blogger recently. I've done two new posts in the last four months. I'm extremely ashamed. I made a New Year's Resolution to blog at least once a week, and need I say that that is one resolution I definitely haven't kept. So, first thing's first:

SORRY, WORLD!

Sorry to the Trinidad folks who have no clue what's going on in my life other than the snippets they hear on Facebook and MSN. Sorry to the lovely Ugandan traveler who is unfortunately not here to kick my butt into writing but probably wants to hear about how her table is doing. I realize now (four months too late) that I should have left a "hiatus" note on my blog after my 15th birthday post. I didn't know I would get so little time (or, to be honest, have so little enthusiasm) to blog over summer and the settling-in period.

Things are finally calming down a little bit here. Having gotten our wireless internet set up, we have gone from having one crappy US State Department-issued laptop, to living in a hotspot (making Flamingo so happy his increasingly-sucky speakers are squeaking more than usual). I hope to get back into what I thought was a good blogging routine from Trinidad.

There's a lot to talk about. There's the Swan Song post (which I promise, Jamiekinz, to not actually call "The Swan Song" cos that'd just be mean stealing), the Leaving TNT post, the approximately one MILLION posts I could write about my summer, all the settling-into-Canada posts, the Tony-leaving post, the My-New-School post. You guys. I have my work cut out for me. To make it easier, I'll try and date things appropiately. This might be a bad idea. Hhm. Like, if you see July 1st, for example, assume I mean all of July. But I'll explain it when we get to that.

So, folks, I apologize once again. I hope this will stop Eddie from cyber-abusing me and my conscience from mentally abusing me. If I'm not forgiven, however, feel free to spam me.

PS: Expect lists. Lots of lists. Okay, I'll try and keep the lists to a minimum. Maybe lists where each point is a paragraph? (Yeah? YEAH? YAY!)

Top 5 Most Awesome Things About Canada, So Far

2009-09-06T18:54:00.000-05:00

Blending in. Having lived in Trinidad, and Bangladesh before that, for six years total, Americans tend to stick out like a sore thumb. Especially for me and my mom, who, being blonde, tend to be the anomaly among locals. Some Deshis had never even see people with blonde hair, and would frequently come up to us and stroke it. Canadians, for the most part, look like Americans. On the street, we don't look at all out of the ordinary, until we start pointing at street signs and whipping out maps to cure our extreme lost-ness.

The seperation (of church and state. No, just kidding) of the city, with suburbia. It's very clear, on every map, that what is north and west of the two rivers (Assiniboine and Red, which intersect at an area called the Forks) is the city, a place of work, and if you live there well then you're just plain weird. South or east of the rivers, that's where you live, no question about it. And even though they claim to have different neighborhoods (for instance, Tuxedo, the fancy, Grosse Pointe [Michigan] area; vs. Woolsely, fondly known as "Granolaville"), the suburban neighborhoods blend together to form one endless mass of houses, punctuated by the occasional school.

Though Canada claims to be bilingual, it is not so to an obnoxious point. Miami drove me crazy, because it seemed like, although we were in America, Spanish was favored, and it was like an endless war between the two languages. Here, in what is not technically the French part of the country, both languages are equal in favor when it comes to street signs, but yet it's not overwhelming. So I don't feel like shrieking at these poor people to pick a goddamn language.

The repetition of two kickass restaurants, Subway, and Tim Horton's. For those who don't know, Tim Horton's is basically a Starbucks, but less corporization-y. It's very popular in the Northern US (Michigan had tons) and Canada, and it appears that the people here run on it. That, combined with the deliciousness of Subway sandwiches (in comparison to the ONE in all of Trinidad), makes Robin a very happy camper. I get an Iced Capp, along with a Turkey Breast on Parmesan Oregano, American cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, black olives, and honey mustard. Damn, now I'm hungry.

Last, but most definitely not least, and you'll chuckle, but it's true - I am the same color, if not darker, as some of the people here. We all joked I would be tan in comparison to Kanucks, and I hate to break it to you, but in some cases, that has turned out to be true. Hells yeah.

Peace Offering?

2009-09-04T18:02:00.000-05:00

I sleep differently here. In Trinidad, you are lulled to sleep by millions of frogs, crickets, and who knows what else chirping at you through your window, mere feet from your head. It becomes white noise, and that, combined with the air conditioners undoubtedly installed in every room in the house, provide a quiet blanket of noise for you all night long.

In Winnipeg, it's different. I haven't lived downtown in a city for so long, I've forgotten what it's like. We hear sirens going at all hours, either because Canadians are particulary accident-prone, or simply because we (apparently) live close to a fire station. Whatever the reason, these sirens, combined with the occasional shouting or thumping coming from floors above and below us, don't make it particulary harder to sleep. It's just different. Compared to falling asleep knowing nature is all around you, this concrete jungle, though not as impressive as New York or London, has its own city personality and the Peggers love it anyways.

14 Years and 364 Days

2009-06-18T16:56:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow, June 19th, is my 15th birthday. Time to look back on all the events that have happened in my 14th year of life, which began at the end of 9th grade last year. Sorry to post yet another list, but we're in exam crunch time, and I don't think I have the capacity to do an all-out post.

Firstly and most obviously, my parents got divorced. A year ago was when I found out, and about 8 months ago, it became official. This has effected my life in so many ways, it's hard to count. My mom and I have become a ton closer, and my dad and I fight way less than we did when he lived with us.

I met the Core. Well, I've known Eddie and Jamiekinz since 8th grade, but we've added Maestro. I think we've become really close this year (we even named ourselves), through Fools, exam crunching, and spending every break and lunch in Ches's room, which has become our little hangout. I don't think I need to say exactly how much these guys have changed my life. I wouldn't be able to fit it into this list anyway.

I became chums with my brother. In The Sunscreen Song, he tells us to "Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future." And he's fully right. Our brothers and sisters have been there since birth, and every person we've known and every major event we've gone through, they'll remember. So my and Tony's relationship has fully changed over this past year, and I'm so glad that it did, before he goes off to college.

We moved houses. The move from Fairways to Westmoorings completely changed my life, and allowed me to befriend a whole new group of people (see number 5). It majorly lowered the stress level in everday tasks, and chilled us out. It gave us the ability to go, "Hey, Mom? Can I go to James' to study after school today?" and not have to worry about how you're getting home, can we get a driver, traffic, that madness.

I got tight with another group of people - Amanda, Maria, and Tara. Though they're fun to hang out with as a group, I got to know them individually moreso this year (and living half a block from Manda didn't hurt). I learned that while no one could ever replace the Core, knowing people outside of our group is a lot of fun.

I got my braces off. They were put on in May of 8th grade, and though I despised them much of the time, a lot of my old insecurity issues about my teeth are now gone. And now I wear the hidden badge of honor, the permenant retainer, the only indication that someone has been through the hell that is braces.

I lost some really close friends, in particular, Nora. Her leaving was one of the hardest things that's happened to me in a while, but I think having such kickass friends really helped me pull through it. I remember driving away from her house after saying bye, sobbing into my hands. Tara and Maria hugged me and promised to take care of me, and they did. I'll always be grateful to them for that.

A big portion of this year for me was spent dealing with my man issues. They were finally resolved a couple days ago, and life seems a lot simpler now. But it's about to get much more complicated, when it comes time to make the decision about what to do when I leave. Not-so-deep-down, though, I already know the answer.

Three teachers in my life crossed the student-teacher-relationship line, and became like parents away from home: Ms. Chesler, Lentzy, and Kaster. The first two I've known for two years, and the third only for one, but these teachers made this school year bearable for me, whether it was listening to my every problem and reading my blog faithfully, discussing current events and when the world will destroy itself, or being an all-around good teacher, who taught me more than I thought would fit in my head.

I became more of an actress than I have before. Working with Mr. Levy through two productions, and being in his Drama class all year, I think I've gained some valuable skills that I won't quickly forget. I found my niche there for a while, being in the play and following that schedule, and I came to find that I like it. A lot.

I found some creative outlets. My blog, photography, even decorating my room, all help me relieve stress, and though I'm still not a fabulous painter or drawer like my friends, I think I now express myself in my own way, and I'm perfectly content with that.

I learned that you should never forget your roots. Sometimes we get so caught up in the everyday, where we are now, or where we want to be, we never think about where we came from. I slapped childhood memorabilia across my mirrors, created a memory box of special things from my life, and stuck pictures of my parents into a locket which I now rarely take off. I know I need to be aware of the future, but if you forget your past, it's like forgetting who you are, and I don't want my wacky lifestyle to do that to me.

I started thinking about the world outside of my laptop. I've begun caring about things like politics, the economy, international affairs, things I never thought about while living in Dhaka. I've dropped my naivety about the world, and I've realized what's really going on out there. I don't tune out every time I hear Wolf Blitzer rant, because I care now, something I didn't do at 13.

I've learned new ways to define myself. I've decided my opinions on important topics, so now I can safely call myself a pro-choice, Democrat, pro-gay rights, feminist, athiest teenager. Especially that last one - I have formed my own opinions of religion, instead of floating along saying "Uhh..I don't...have one?". This has drastically changed me and the way I precieve the world.

Canada happened. I know by the time I move there, I'll be 15, but all of this, the pre-Canada? That all happened while I was 14, and if I may say so myself, I've dealt with it (or I will deal with it) better than some 14-year-olds I know would or could. I've mentally prepared for a whole year that this is my Trini tour coming to an end, and now it's crunch time, when I actually have to live through it. Living here has changed my life. Just look at what's happened in one year of being here, let alone all three.

Painted Nails and Rain Delays

2009-06-11T13:56:00.000-05:00

Our Detroit Tigers were scheduled to play against the Chicago White Sox today, but because of rain in Chicago, the game was delayed by three hours. While hanging out in our living room, my mom and I (sans Tony, he was at Lucas') did a whole mess of things to occupy our time, like:

I took off my red nail polish (left over from prom) and put on black. Dr. K. makes goth comments whenever I have black nails at school, but they give me a weird kind of condfidence that other colors can't.

WGN, the channel meant to be showing the Tigers game, showed old retro shows while we waited. Today, they were showing "I Dream of Jeannie", a show I've never watched before but instantly fell in love with. The show is about a woman, Jeannie, who is literally a genie in a bottle. She has to pretend to be married to her "master", the guy who found her lamp. She can use all her genie powers by simply nodding her head, but she has to keep it a secret. Hilarity ensues.

An episode of Wife Swap (we had to leave the TV on all afternoon, waiting for the game, hence all the TV on this list) was on, where an etiqutte teacher switched places with a mom who couldn't care less about keeping clean. This spawned conversations about who in our extended family would switch with whom, and what type of woman would my mom switch with.

In planning my/Maria's birthday/going away party, I made a list of songs we MUST have played at the party, including, "Don't Stop Believing", by Journey, and "Africa", by Toto - this spawned (I used that word once already. Ah well) a *heated* conversation with Eoin about what constitutes a boring party. I refuse to allow five hours of soca at my party, since it all sounds the same, but he claims too much retro music is lame. HERMPH!

My mom, feeling slackish for sitting in front of the TV for so long, decided that during each adbreak, she would organize something. So far, she's done end tables, the desk from the kitchen, and the TV cupboard full of casettes.

We watched the last section of Grease - "We'll Always Be Together", and "You're The One That I Want" - complete with "hoo-hoo-hooo, HONEY"ing. 'Nuff said.

I discovered that my Dad pre-ordered Sims 3 for me back in December as a Christmas present. He had forgotten to tell me, and I only found out today when my mom CASUALLY dropped it into conversation. Read posts below (i.e. So you've got the God Complex) if you don't already know about my addiction to Sims. That should give you an idea of how big this news is to me.

Shada lazed around, acting like the cat she thinks she is. Her mood this afternoon reflected ours.

I realized that every once in a while, you should just take a day. I know this is prime exam studying time, and that that's what everyone else I know is doing, but before I get into The Crunch, I'm taking today as my relaxing day, and it's been pretty fabulous, rain delays and all.

Junebug

2009-06-09T19:06:00.000-05:00

Every three years, we pack up and move to a new place. We leave our current post in late June, after school gets out. My birthday + exams + packout + school ending = one hell of a June. I call it the Junebug. Everyone is hyped up and stressed out (mostly me and my mom) and everything seems so rushed. The teachers freak out because there are seven school days left, no one has taught everything they needed to teach, people get sick from doing so much work, we try to plan birthday parties and going away parties, and it's just one big explosion of energy. The Junebug, not an old 50's style of dancing. And this happens every third June of my life, without fail, and of course, it's happening again this year. Only this particular June, it's magnified, because Tony's graduating.

It's still hard to believe my big old brother is going off to college. He still seems too young to go. Like someone is taking him away before he's ready and he'll just crawl into a corner and die there. Of course, I know he won't. He'll have a ball at college, he'll get all politically active and meet awesome new people. But it's a marker as to how much my family and my life have changed over the last couple years.

My mom always says that the Chinese believe that every 12 years, you start a new period of your life. Sitting in the boiling Spanish room this afternoon, ignoring "Do your workk, goiyes" and trying not to fall asleep, I thought about this. From the time I was born until I turned 12, my life was relatively linear, with the same setup, plus the occasional international move. My mom worked, first as an English teacher, and later as a diplomat, and my dad was a stay-at-home dad, as a carpenter, and later got regular work hours as an editor. I think of this period of time as my childhood. I know I'm still technically a kid now, but this was steroetypical childhood (and later, puberty) - playing with Legos and Hot Wheels in Tony's room, having my ridiculously long platinum blonde hair, and not really caring about the outside world.

Then I turned 12, and we moved to Trinidad. And that was when everything changed in my life. My dad, who had found his niche at an NGO in Dhaka, couldn't find work here, so he moved to DC, and now, two years later, they're divorced. We moved houses, from our dingy Fairways house that will always remind me of my father, to this new Westmoorings one, which makes me want to have people over and which my dad has never seen.

My mom has become an independent single woman, taking care of Tony and I by herself, and preparing for our move to Winnipeg, the first time in 25 years she's moved without my dad. Tony's grown into a real adult, drinking booze around the house and having a serious girlfriend. I don't quite know how I've changed. I got my ears pierced, twice. Got braces on and off. Met The Core. I like to think I've matured at least a little. I know I've definitely become more opinionated and more politically aware. I followed the elections and inaguaration carefully, the first time in my life I understood what was going on.

The American regime of Republicans (technically just one Republican) in office ended. We had another Olympics.

We're moving to Canada. Canada, and then the US, represent my next twelve, until I'm 24. I see them as the place where I'll really become independent, learning to drive, moving out and going to college. So maybe the Chinese are right, maybe each 12-year segment of your life is a new start, a fresh leaf, of sorts. Though it seems like a long time to wait for your life to be overturned again, so much has already happened in the first three years of my second segment - what does that say for the other nine I have yet to live through?

The Promenade of June 6th

2009-06-07T15:30:00.000-05:00

Laaast night here in TNT was our school prom. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being "I was bored out of my mind", 10 being "I never wanted to leave" - I had about a 6. I wasn't particularly bored, because a lot was going on, but having just got back from Matura, I was pretty exhausted. We went out Leatherback turtle tagging (I'll write a later post about all of this in a while) - left the inn where we stayed at 7, left the beach at 1 am, getting back to the rooms and asleep around 3. We got up 3 hours later, to go on a relatively streneous hike (the one the previous day was more work) before leaving Matura and coming back to Port of Spain. I got home, showered, packed my bags, and an hour later had to leave the comforts of my room for a friend's house, to get ready for el prom.

I don't know where the tradition of getting ready with friends started, but I appreciate it. It's generally my favorite part of any party, except for when you crash into bed afterwards. Though tensions were running high at one point, it always feels good to get doled up all purty like. It's a self esteem boost that everyone deserves once in a while. That's why it's called "Prom", though. It's a promenade. It's an event where you put on makeup, shave your legs, straighten your hair, paint your nails, all for the purpose of showing off to the people around you. You strut around for hours looking gorgeous to get attention, and hopefully have some fun doing it. I leaned over and said to someone last night, "Aww, how cute, look at the freshmen with their feathers all plucked and noice." We turn into peacocks, displaying our colors for the sole purpose of having people look at us.

After arriving at prom, it was the usual "ohmigodd you look soooo prettyyy" comments to pass around, the posed pictures to be taken, and all the people to greet. I'll agree with Ed and James, I wasn't a fan of the repetitive soca music. Soca is relatively hard to define, actually. It's loud and pouding and it's only purpose is to get your toes tapping and your booty wiggling. It's played 'round the clock at Carnival, a national three-day party every March. Its perfect niche is at someone's dance birthday party, or, obviously, at Carnival. Prom, though, is another thing. Again, see Ed and Jamie's blogs for the whole description, but I'll just say that in comparison to American proms, it was pretty out of place. Come to think of it, though, in comparison to a Trini "school dance", it was exactly what you'd expect. The Trinis don't really know any better. They don't know that in the States, a live band is hired, who plays a balanced mix of fast and slow songs, and the night is more about socialzing (and electing prom royalty) then it is about dancing. To Trinidadians, any event where people get doled up, get together, and get funky requires some hard soca music. But I've come to the point in my three years where I've come to expect these sort of things from Trinidad, and I wasn't really surprised (though not entirely happy) when it was four hours of soca and 15 minutes of slow songs.

Now, after last week's madness, I have a nice, short, three day week, because there's yet another of those miscellaneous Trini holidays on a Thursday. I get to relax for these three days, and then begin the exam crunch - the two weeks where we're in lockdown as we attempt to pass some classes. Expect a birthday related post for my 15th, and a contemplative one about how best to do My Finale.

"Oh, and you're lost, too, did you know?"

2009-06-03T14:45:00.000-05:00

Here comes a post out of guilt. I haven't blogged since early May, for a lot of reasons, most importantly the play, "Fools" (for a long description, check Ed's blog, yet again). So I'll ramble until I find something to talk about, eh?

Things are weird in my life right now. Firstly, I've realized that I use the word "weird" too much. But other than that, I'm stuck in what feels like the longest week of my life. With a Biology test, the Matura trip, followed quickly by prom, it was already packed. Now, however, it's become worse, because I stayed home sick today. I'm not all that sick, actually, it's just that my white blood cells were slacking, causing my (adrenal glands to oversec--HA, just kidding) Kleenex box (phew!) to empty faster than my house of plants. A little explanation: we can't take any of our 5 billion plants to Cyanadia, so we're selling them all tonight and over the next few days.

On the topic of the moving process, I've decided to take my blog in a new direction, and this is the post to announce it. After making my and James' radio documentary (entitled "LOL"), and chatting about it at Spaghetti Night, I realized that a blog is not a diary, like I've been (sort of) treating mine. Don't get me wrong, I'll still keep my personal voice going, but talk about more the events in my life than just my random thoughts. Plus, now that I'm moving to Winterpeg, my blog will be a good source for my friends to know what's ACTUALLY happening during the move and once we get there, rather than the "BEBEE! MOMMAAA! I MISS YOUUU! I LOVE YOUUU! HOW'S CANADA?!? GOOOOD! COOOLLDD!" MSN conversation Jamie and I will have (but I'll love those too, Bebe :D). So, on that note:

Technically, by definiton, I'm what you call a "Third Culture Kid". I've figured out that since one parent can have Culture A (say, Latina), and the other can have Culture B (say, Russian), if you grow up with a mix of these cultures, plus all the other ones, you have Culture C, or are a Third Culture Child. Since my 'rents are American and English, and I only sort of identify with these, I get to be in the C group. It's a relatively small collection of kids, from what I've seen, but who knows, maybe they all hang out somewhere I've never been.

Long story short, I'm terrified of going to a local school in Canada, my first non-international one in eight years. In those schools (ASW - American School of Warsaw; AISD - American International School of Dhaka; and ISPS - International School of Port of Spain), kids coming and going every two or three years was common and expected. Getting five to ten new kids at the start of a new year wasn't a big surprise. But in American public schools, getting a new kid (god forbid in the middle of the year) is like an alien coming. I told my cousin's friend that I lived in Dhaka, and she asked a) "Where's Duckland?" and b) "Do they wear underwear there?". Case in point. Now, I've never been to Canada, so I wouldn't know, but being a private, non-international school, I wonder what exactlyt those Kanucks'll think of me? Will they, like small-town Michiganers, alienate me because I've lived abroad my whole life?

My mom and I were talking yesterday about using the public library in her hometown of Marysville, Michigan. I confessed how I feel so awkward going there, because everyone is cold and not all too friendly. She responded that all Marysville residents are like that if they don't know your family three generations back. But they do. My mom was born and raised in Marysville, just like her mom, and her mom, and her mom. They're like one of those old Southern families with a plantation, except they live in the North (and don't have a plantation). But because my mom is the scandalous one who lives in all these far-off places, her kids are like unknown travelers to the rest of the town. At Christmas, I was standing in my cousin's (whose name is Shayleigh, or Shay, to make this story easier) driveway with one of her friends (whose name escapes me, but who I'll call Ashley (since they all seem to be called that)). They were chatting it up, blah blah, boys and makeup, when Ashley said to Shay, "How long is your family here?". I had no clue what she meant, so assuming she meant Shay's OTHER family (as in, her dad's side (since her mom and my mom are sisters)), I stayed quiet. Shay then said, "I dunno", turned to me, and said, "How long are you here?" I told her, and she turned back to her friend and repeated my answer. Her friend "ohh"-ed, and the conversation continued. It was one of the most odd experiences of that trip - it was if the friend thought Shay would have to translate for me. Like, just because I live somewhere else, means I speak a different language too.

But I guess the majority of my mom's family plain doesn't get our lifestyle. Take my grandma, for instance, who knew we lived in Warsaw, but never said what country it was in, thought Bangladesh and India were the same thing, and now has given up on remembering the name "Trinidad" and instead asks how life is on "your island".

Kay, I'm now realizing this is a pretty epic post, but I wanted to make up for my month of absence. To concluuuude my rambling about my life: it's a weird (SEE? SAID IT AGAIN) way to live, but it's my way of living, and I'm okay with it, for now. As for the theory that we Thirdies (heh. hehe.) will have issues with staying in one place for more than 3 years, we'll have to see, eh? See - already talking like a Canadian.

PS: Thought I should add this. The title for this post came from a Spag Night conversation, when we were definining Thirdies and how I, apparently, am one. I said how weird this name was, and how it's such a label, when Mr. Kaster turned to me and said, "Oh, and you're lost, too, did you know?". "Shucks." I replied. "That sucks."

Zee Adrenal Glands Are Oversecreting!/The times, they are a-chaaangin'

2009-05-12T15:39:00.000-05:00

It's that time again, where I make an extremely long (or maybe short...I haven't started it very much yet) post about what's going on in my life. I suppose a more appropiate title for this post would be something like "My May Days", since this'll basically be an update on May, but that ain't my sttyyyyle, home skillet. Plus, for the last three days, Mai's line from the play ("Sometimes, zees can cause zee adrenal glands to oversecrete, causing a sudden rush to zee 'ead.") has been stuck in my and my friends' heads, and REFUSES to leave. PLUS, I had one of those killer 8-hour headaches last night, so I actually got to say that line. Winn.

So, what's going on with me. Rehearsals are becoming INCREASINGLY more frequent, given that the play is in, oh, nine days. This past Saturday, we had a long-ass rehearsal at school, where we, for the first time, did our makeup. Most of us in the play have to look pretty old (my character, Lenya, has a 19 year old daughter), so we did that makeup, only since it's for the stage, it's x10 as dramatic (da dum chee). The base layer I have to put on it is pretty orange compared to my usual skintone, which makes my eyes PAWP in comparison. It's SERIOUSLY WACK to see how I'll look when I'm older. I've predicted laughter lines and crow's feet, from the amount of smiling I do. But it makes you live longer. Right? RIGHT?

Vat else. SEE, THESE DAMN RUSSIAN ACCENTS ARE HAUNTING ME. In other news, the AP madness is nearly over. Eoin's done with his, thank god, but I can't remember what it was like before he got into the studying period. Wtf's it gonna be like now, I wonder? Mai's also done with hers, she took AP French and I'm positive she passed. Ed's Human Geography one is on Friday, and he'll pwn, because he keeps getting stuff like 74/75 on the multiple choice mocks. I always feel so grownup and proud of my bebes when they sound so smart talking about their exams. *sniff* Maybe I'm too much of a proud momma.

AP subject leads us to talking about my life. We all got the course selection sheets for next year (this was last Friday), and even though I'm not graduating from here, I'm still all ancy about what classes to take, and what do I want to focus on, and should I take AP Psychology? Read Eddie's latest post for more details about the process - but for me, this is all pretty scary. For conversation purposes, I'm just *pretending* that I'm graduating from here, making it easier to think about. But who knows? Canada could have a TOOOTALLY different system. Like this dual-enrollment thing, which for some reason I still don't understand.

I feel weird about the future lately. Which is why this post has that second title to it. It's a Bob Dylan song, whose voice (I think I mentioned in my rambling music post) always depresses me. It's just about how the way everything is now, will soon get flipped on its head. "The loser now, will be later the winner." Like that. It just feels like everything in my life is about to get picked up, shaken up, and plopped down somewhere else. It's, what, 46 days til I leave. 38 days til my birhday. 25 days til prom. 16 days til I get my braces off. 9 days til the play.

Negative days until the Scrubs finale. I've said so many times that I don't, don't, DON'T want to talk about it, because it'll make me cry. Because it will. I mean, if something has been a part of your life for 5 or 6 years, and it's suddenly over, you can't help but feel a little alone. Also because the finale (SPOILER ALERT DO NOT READ ON IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE SCRUBS SEASON FINALE) was all about JD leaving Sacred Heart, and how he's going to miss everything that happened to him in the 8 years since he was an intern, and all the people he's leaving behind, but also about the people coming with him. Made me think about when I have to leave - okay, sorry, Jamie, Ed, who read this and who I know don't want to think about it yet, but I think about it so much. It's this huge part of my life, picking up everything and plopping down somewhere else. But it's really not all bad. With Ches' karma-filled table, all of our stuff out of storage, my bike (YAAAY), the Tigers chairs (long story), and everything else coming with us, Canada promises to be wicked fun. So I am looking forward to it. But at the same time, I'm really not. I dunno, it's like this everytime I move. I get over it soon enough. Just wait til I have to write The Swan Song post (for some reason, that's the title that sticks in my head, after reading James' one after Feenster left).

So, yeah. Upon re-reading, most of that post doesn't make sense, so comment if you need some clarifying. It's just refreshing to put the jumble that is my brain these days into a post. Ahhhh, blogging FTW.

PS: The summary, in post-form, of my and Jamieson's *SCATHING* radio documentary about the internet - coming soon.

Steuupes, Quit Wit All Dee Foolishness

2009-05-04T16:27:00.000-05:00

Yes, folks, it's that time of year again. Our play is coming up, and we're stressed, bitchy, and basically acting like big grouchy pregnant women. Sigh, though it's relatively boring to me, here's a synopsis of the play.

Fools, written in the early 80s by Neil Simo–to torture his soon-to-be-ex-wife. True story. He had to write a show where all the proceeds would go to her, so he wrote one that would fail on Broadway, and he suceeded. Rather pathetic that we're now doing that play HERE, but I continue–is the story (set in the 1800s) of a little town in modern day Russia, called Kulyenichov. Real or ficticious town, who cares, but the point is, a young man (Leon, the male lead), comes as a teacher to the town to try and edumacate them all. He soon discovers (SHOCKER!) that the whole town's cursed with stupidity. He meets and falls in love with a young village girl, Sophia (female lead), who he desperately tries to educate to break the curse. Her parents, Dr. Zubritsky and his wife Lenya Zubritsky (MEMEME) are mostly comic relief, but keep the story going. To break the curse, like I said, Sophia can be educated, or marry a Yousekevitch. The Yousekevitchs are this epic, classic family, who put the curse on the town 200 years ago. The "last of zee line" is Count Gregor (<3 joo Edwardo), who has a weirdie fetish for Sophia, even though she constantly refuses his too-often proposals. Blah, blah, lots of comedy, lots of rimshot moments (http://www.instantrimshot.com/), but a couple good dramatic moments. Come see it if that plot summary made no sense.

I do wish I was here another year–we've developed a "The Drama Crowd", of sorts, which'd be fun to continue. Me, Tara, Latricia, Manda, David are the recurring characters–left over from Looking Through You–with Ed, Mai, and Emma as newbies. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to spend more time at home, rather than breathing in that oh-too-familiar scent of the Drama room, but I actually like going to rehersals. I feel at home, I feel confident and individual, rather then getting sucked up in the big crowds at CAISSA or in the hallways at school. I love my character, I love riffing with Mai, my fake-real husband, I love guffawing every time Ed comes on stage, I love squirting out handsanitzer by the bucketfull after we all crawl around on the floor for an hour.

So, to all my Trini-based readers out there, come to the show. Dates below. It's a good time, it'll make you laugh, even if it's not the most educational or thought-inspiring thing you've seen all year. Plus, you get to ~Support the Arts~.

[Opening Night] Thursday, May 21st, 7:30 pm
Friday, May 22nd, 7:30 pm
[Closing Night] Saturday, May 23rd, 7:30 pm

PS: After-Show-Party following closing night, just like last time around. This is always my favorite part of the experience. We get to finally, finally, chill out, scream until we lose our voices without feeling guilty, and maybe (as Ed suggested), chuck our scripts onto a bonfire. Tell ya friends, babay.

Fabric Softener, Spaghetti, TicTacs, and Jefferson

2009-04-26T17:58:00.000-05:00

Fabric Softener --> my home life. On the weekends, at home, with my mom and brother, all I think about is fabric softener. The entire house is filled with the smell of Bounce, or Downy, or whatever we're currently using. My mom does the laundry, cooks and bakes for the upcoming week, Tony and I work our asses off (advancing the lives of our Sims and killing 1920s robots, of course) and get our spirit back from the past week and for the upcoming one. By the end of the day, the Bounce drifts upstairs, where our fresh laundry has been hauled - our beds, soft and clean, are made, and we collapse into them tasting toothpaste.

Spaghetti --> my social life. The outside-of-school-and-sometimes-at-home life, the one involving more adults than kids (the one that makes me feel 24 instead of 14). Going to Ms. Chesler's, or having tons of people to our place for Spag Night - whatever it is. Spaghetti, the taste of it, the smell of it cooking all day, the red wine that goes with it, they all gear us up for the upcoming night. The fact that we have school tomorrow doesn't even enter our brains for those three hours where we chat, gossip, and make snide comments, all making us (me) feel intelligent and self-confident. Hellssss, yes, I can hang out with two English teachers and an Algebra teacher and actually have fun. (Normally, this section wouldn't be included, but since I've just gotten home from dinner at Chez Ches, this feels appropiate.)

TicTacs --> my school life. Whether they're TicTacs or Eclipse, the one calorie breath mints say "school" to me. Chomping on them before, during, after, and in between classes, clicking open the lids and passing them around to friends, these mints, though they have nothing to do with the actual school part of school, they feel like the stress school brings - but at the same time, the chillness. Your tounge slides over and around them while you *attempt* to figure out an Algebra problem, and by the time you calculate your final answer, you've gotten to the point where you can chew on the mint without murdering your braces.

Jefferson --> my friends. If you don't know that Jefferson is my camera, scroll down a few posts (to "Yes...but have you NAMED them yet?") Even though we don't take pictures all the time, we always have out cameras at the ready for that moment when something hilarious happens and we just have to catch it on film. Whether prancing around to a Seether song, or gobbling melting ice cream at the speed of light, or huddling around a laptop to watch 300 (an nth time), my camera just says friends. Jeffy even comes to MovieTowne with us, though of course we won't be taking any pictures there. But he's there just in case, like my friends always are, capturing the good moments and deleting the bad ones.

"Which Major Arcana Tarot Card are You?" Quiz Results

2009-04-23T15:50:00.000-05:00

You Scored as III - The Empress

The Empress is a maternal symbol. She is the mother figure who loves, nurtures and protects.

She will protect you, she will always be there when you are in trouble. When you fall over and graze your knee, the Empress will kiss it better.

Yet she is not a weak figure. Her compassion is strength. If her children are threatened she will stop at nothing to protect them. If well aspected in a Tarot spread, the Empress can symbolise security, protection and unconditional love. If badly aspected it can represent over-protectiveness, fear of risk taking and refusal to face the real world.

III - The Empress

94%

IV - The Emperor

75%

XVI: The Tower

69%

XIII: Death

69%

0 - The Fool

63%

II - The High Priestess

63%

XIX: The Sun

63%

I - Magician

63%

VI: The Lovers

56%

VIII - Strength

50%

XI: Justice

44%

XV: The Devil

38%

X - Wheel of Fortune

38%

The Bucket List

2009-04-10T13:55:00.000-05:00

Go on the X-Perience, With No "E" Because We're So Bad Like That, with Jamie Kelshall.

Get a tan from a tanning bed.

Try one, and only one, cigarette.

Order an Appletini with Jamie.

Take part in a Gay Rights parade.

Ride an elephant, Joanie-style.

Go around the entire world in 60 days, without using airplanes.

Tell Ms. Quamina that I honestly, truly think she should be a PussyCat Doll.

Walk up to a man sitting in a hot tub, and say, "HEY THERE, SAILOR!"

Create a hat.

While pregnant, rub my belly and say, "Tick Tock, Tick Tock" with a snide look on my face.

Similarly, when announcing to people that I'm pregnant, say, "I'm PREGGERS!"

Snowmobile.

Kiss a stranger.

Cliff-dive (into water).

Sit in a circle and sing "Kumbayah". And mean it.

Surf. And wipe out. And giggle. Without letting the board hit me in the head.

Meet and become friends with a nice, hugely fat Hawaiin man who likes to give hugs.

Get high. Preferably off pot. Come on, everyone has to do it at least once.

Go see a production on Broadway.

The Top 10 Faux Paus of Internet Communication/What You Never Want To Happen in a Dramatic Internet Conversation

2009-04-04T19:59:00.000-05:00

"lol"

Person A: "Listen." Person B: "ok, i'm listening"

"brb"

.. (<-- what happened to dot dot dot? What is this new "Two-Dot" thing, and why is it taking the internet by storm?)

A family member walks in.

The intense need to pee, eat, or sleep.

You realize your MSN name is something INCREDIBLY stupid, i.e. "Robin~the GENIUS hits the road!"

Your phone rings.

OVERUSAGE OF CAPITALIZATION TO DEPICT SERIOUS ANGER WHEN IN REALITY THEY JUST LOOK STUPID. (Quote JamJam Kelshall)

Overusage of ??????s and !!!!!!!!!s or ?!?!?!?!?! when not mimicking Biology teachers.

IT'S GONE, AND IT'S NEVER COMING BACK!

2009-04-01T12:06:00.000-05:00

Folks, I have an announcement.

March is gone, and it's never coming back.

It was in Algebra this morning, when I wrote on my paper "1/4/09" and realized that this hellish month is finally behind us. For another glorious 11 months, I will not have to write a "3" in that second column of the date. I can revel in all the 4s, 5s, 6s (yay June) and much, much more, because March is IN THE PAST. Until next year. FINE, MARCH 2009 IS GONE. But maybe March rocks in a place with seasons? I can't remember anymore.

I haven't posted in foorrreverr, so time to do my once-monthly general sum of the last couple weeks. This is what comes from being a slacker.

Well, you know (if you read my posts...I reckon it's RELATIVELY obvious) that this past month reeeeaaallyy kinda sucked. But I refuse to be all "WOE IS ME" and complain about March, because it's OVER. So let's talk about the fuuuture.

Whenever I tell Eoin the number of days until I leave, he groans and asks, "That's how you deal with it?" Rah-ther interesting, I think. I guess it is, you know, how I deal with it. I'm looking forward to leaving, I'll admit it. I'm not dreading it. Okay, I'm dreading saying goodbye to everyone, obviously. But I'm so psyched for all the stuff that's happening at the end of this year. Tony's off to college (*nail chomp nail chomp*), and my madre, my perro, and I are off to Cyanada, where we'll get a new house (new to us. Maybe not brand new) and I'll be at a new school. I don't want to sound like some cliche woman in too much eyeshadow rambling about the faaahbulous things that come of being a Foreign Service kid (the new experienes, the traveling, the CULTURE!) but it is like "turning over a new leaf" (where TF did that come from? How does that expression make ANY SENSE?). Which is why I love the new school year, and the accompanying stationary, even if it's in the same school as last year.

So, I'm psyched for Canada. Wuz dee problem? It's the first time in my FS life that I haven't been totally depressed in the months leading up to the move.

Next topic: this PostSecret project thing for English. We're doing what they do on the website (check my Links section), only giving them into Ms. Ches and sharing them in our classes. Long story short, I have nooo clue what to write about. I can't decide if I want to do one about my parents, or a silly (but true) one, or a slightly serious but not as important one - BLURGH. Whoo knooows.

Spring Break's almost here. Just Thursday and Friday to do, then we're freeee. I keep thinking we have another week, it feels like that glorious beacon of hope has come too quickly. NOT COMPLAINING, I'm just saying.

PS: The Sims obsession has been reborn. Ask Jamie.

"Yes...but have you NAMED them yet?"

2009-03-23T17:26:00.000-05:00

I think I might be going crazy.

I realized the other day that I have named 6 (count 'em, SIX) technological devices in my life. And not only that, but they all have a personality.

Laptop --> Flamingo, aka Flammy. Flaming gay, loves pink feather boas and Jamieson's laptop, Licorice. Is just himself. The Canadian in my group - pale, but sensitive, intelligent, just everything you'd want in a best friend.

Printer --> Louise. No nonsense. Bosses everyone around and always gets her way, but with a soft side. If she was an animal, she'd be a hippo, with a big booty and proud of it. She loves Flammy (the oldest friends) and will defend anyone who teases him to the death.

iPod --> Carmella. The sassy Latina. Bitchy and sneaky when she wants to be, but has a vulnerable side - every now and then, is very compliant. She and Louise have a history, and are best friends on and off.

Camera --> Jefferson. Named after Jefferson Airplane. Is Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde - his/her sweet transvestite side comes out late at night, and he/she rocks the city.

Desktop (family) computer --> Lucy. She used to be friends with all these guys, but moved away for a while, and recently got reaccquainted. She's a dumb blonde. She works hard when she needs to, but is known to get distracted and crash on unwitting users. But kind, deep down.

External hard drive --> Jake. He's new to my little world here, but he's a sturdy bodybuilder. Don't nix him yet, he's incredibly strong and always trustworthy. Andre the Giant type. Sweet and gentle, but don't piss him off. Is secretly in love with Louise, his female counterpart, but knows they'll never be together. You never plug a hard drive into a printer.

I've, apparently, always been creative. But I thought I "grew out of it". Actually, come to think of it, I'm glad my loony elements are still around. I love picturing all these people interacting with each other. Like we were talking about in English today, it's a microcosm. Elements of every type of person in the world, packed into one area, or one town, or, in my case, one room.

It's like the EPIC (Dr. K voice: NYYEEPIC!) soap opera Jamie and I are working on. We identify SO MUCH with all the characters. For example, Phil is pure. Gay, loving, loveable, emotional, heartfelt - he's perfect and ideal and we love him. More about this soap opera in a later post.

Meanwhile, some thoughts. "Tip of the hat, wag of the finger", if you will.

First of all, a GIANT wag of my finger to the anecdote: "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade." Ridiculous statement. If someone handed you a lemon, you could make lemon juice, which is just as sour as regular lemons. If life hands you lemons, water, sugar, ice, a jug, and a spoon, then you're in like flinn, but other than that? PFFT.

Next, a grand tip of my hat to Chuck, aka Koonoo, a character in the Judd Apatow movie, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, for sympathizing with me on my previous point. When sitting on a surfboard, floating on the sea, he says, "When life hands you lemons, just say 'Fuck the lemons', and bail." Hells to the yes.

Thirdly, a WAGGIE WAGGIE of my finger to my dog, Shada. We were in panic-mode this morning when we thought she ran away, and it turns out she had just been hiding under my bed. I went off to school thinking Tony had found her around the block, but he had actually found her inside our house. She's never run away before, so I don't know why she would want to. We still don't know where she was, probably just under a bed eating my Kleenex, with the sound muffled by my comforter. But we love her, and are glad to have her back...from...being fake lost.

Lastly, a tip of my tophat to my mom, who had probably one of the WORST days in existence today, but who is a good enough person not to take it out on her lazy-ass, good-for-nothing kids.

homage to my hips

2009-03-22T17:05:00.000-05:00

these hips are big hips

they need space to

move around in.

they don't fit into little

petty places. these hips

are free hips.

they don't like to be held back.

these hips have never been enslaved,

they go where they want to go

they do what they want to do.

these hips are mighty hips.

these hips are magic hips.

i have known them

to put a spell on a man and

spin him like a top

Lucille Clifton

So you've got the God Complex.

2009-03-16T15:13:00.000-05:00

I like being God.

Teehee. Not really. But Sims is what Tony calls a "God Complex" game, and I suppose that's true. You control the environment your characters live in, what they look like, who they love, even when they go to the bathroom or sleep. But when it comes to game play, I'm pretty different from the other Sims-ers I've met. I get sooo bored of making families. I always end up doing the same people, it's boring. Cmon already. But I spend hours on end desinging the ideal home for those families I hate making. Yeah, so, sometimes they look similar to other ones I've made, but I know what I like.

So, after finally finishing a huge "ranch"-esque house (not really, it just looks like a big ol' farmhouse from the outside), I got giddy and tried to bring it into my own life. Without a menu where I can pick any object in any color I could possibly want in my room, it was a little more tricky, but Tony and I did manage to move a couch from downstairs all the way into my room. Sweat + dust + shrieking + bellowing + "a few" giggles = that experience, but anyway, it's in here now. I got my rug back out, found a table from the patio (which I had to hose off, how cool am I), another table from downstairs, another armchair - it was insane. BUT NOW: I have a seating area in my room. Yeah huh huh. My mom's room would be the same size as mine, but it has an uber closet, and Tony's has a bathroom and uber closet, so technically, mine's the biggest. Meaning my bed, nightstand, desk, bookshelves, and mock makeup table (an end table with a mirror on it, score) look really, really stupid shoved up against the walls with room to flander (or get Broken - riiight, riiight) in the middle. Add in a couch, problem solved.

Yeah, okay, fine, you probably don't care. But only a few things can get me that high - organizing, stationary, toiletries, and desigining. Oh, and making newspapers for English. So yeah. Figured I'd write about it. (I'M NOT A DORK! I'M NOT!)

Sims 3 is coming out soon. The all-knowing Wikipedia tells us: The build and buy modes have been revamped. The square outlines that appear on the ground (often referred to as a grid or tile)—apparent when entering build or buy mode—are now four times smaller to give the player more liberty to place objects where they want. The square grid allows the player to see where they can possibly place the objects in the game. There is now an option to turn off the grid. This feature will make objects easier to locate at the player's desired location instead of being restricted to a bigger tile. Objects can also be rotated freely. Certain pieces of furniture, such as chairs and tables, can easily be moved together. Also, many small objects can be put on a table very close together as long as they don't intersect each other.

Though this really seems like nothing to the non Sims-er, this is HUGE (and, folks, we mean HUGE) to anyone who has followed the Sims games from Sims 1, where there were 3 levels of zoom and 8 pre-made characters. So the nail biting begins, while we nerds (though, you know, I'm okay with that) wait for a) the release of this fantasticoness, and b) my disk drive to get fixed. Teehee.

"She likes...MUUSIC!"

2009-03-14T20:06:00.000-05:00

Bob Dylan's voice makes me horribly depressed, and I don't know why. "The Times, They Are A-Changing" in particular, makes me feel like bursting into tears. Why is that?

"For What It's Worth", by Buffalo Springfield, has random and slightly scary lyrics - "there's a man with a gun over there, and he's tellin' me I got to beware" - but it makes me feel hopeful. I think it's because it was the only song on the Forest Gump soundtrack I liked, back when we first got it.

Both versions of "Jailhouse Rock" that I know, by the Blues Brothers and Elvis, make me want to jump on a table, shake my knees, and then whip around to sing the opening lyrics.

Is it wrong that I despise Bob Marley? I've heard that he was a really cool dude, and said some cool stuff, but his music just plain pisses me off. And people have totally made him into a stereotype, like Bob Marley = weed and red+yellow+green. Period.

Little Richard kinda makes my head hurt. No offense to anyone who likes him, he just seems to have too much energy for me.

I hate that I'm sick of Coldplay. I played it over and over and over again once I got all four of their CDs from Feenster, and now I'm all "guhhh" everytime I hear their songs. I still like 'em, just in small quantities.

I'm upset that HSM and Naima Thompson ruined two really, really good songs: "Oye Como Va", Santana; and "Hotel California", The Eagles. That bitch.

"Video Killed the Radio Star" is one of the saddest songs in existence. It's all about the old, vintage, and hardened being replaced by the pretty, new, shiny stuff. Like "the dreaded Marco" and Charlie did to Rob in High Fidelity: "He was just...a little more...sparkly?"

I always say that I hate covers (ie, the sh!theads Fall Out Boy re-doing "Beat It" -- how dare they), but I've heard the original "Mustang Sally", by Wilson Pickett, and I have to say, I prefer The Commitments' version.

I thought I would really, really hate Tupac, but I heard "California Love", and I kind of like it.

Dido should sing happier songs. She has such a gorgeous voice, but all of her songs are so sad.

I think Aretha Franklin should get more credit for being such a kickass singer. Instead, millions of little girls are growing up with Mylie Cyrus as their main musical influence. What. Is that. Seriously.

This is random, and off topic, but Wikipedia just informed me that a mall in Dhaka (the biggest in South Asia - who knew?) caught on fire today, killing 4 people and injuring around a hundred more. I went to that mall when it was still under construction, and even though I never had any real connection to it, I now feel rather miserable.

No one writes more random lyrics than Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Why is it that some bands, like The B-52s, seem to need the "T" in "The" to be capitalized, but some, like "The Eurythmics", it just looks totally wrong. "the Eurythmics" (which, by the way, is a wicked name for a band, even though I have no clue what it means) looks way better.

In the Tom Hanks movie "Big", he has to convince his best friend that it's actually him, a teenage kid, inside the 1988 Tom Hanks' body, and he does so by singing an inside-joke-ish song to him, something like, "We're goin' down down, baby" blah blah, then "Shimmy shimmy cocoa, WUH", or something. Ever since I saw this scene from the movie, I've really, really wished I knew all the words to the song.

I really don't like it when people name a song and an album with their own name. Like, if I was an artist, song = "Robin", album = "Robin", and my own name = Robin. It's just vain. And a little repetitive.

In Austin Powers 3 (the Goldmember one), he struts into a 60s club looking ultra fly, and "Shining Star" by Earth, Wind, and Fire (another sweet name) is playing. We, as a family, downloaded that song, from the then-popular "Kazaa", the Limewire equivalent. But, because it was pirate, it was named "Shinning Star", and now everytime I hear the song, I think of that, and I cannot help it.

Some songs are just too damn long. Yeah, I'm talking to you, "Marquee Moon", by Television.

Okay, I just don't get it. Is he saying, "She took my dad on?"

Where A Kid Can Be A Kid

2009-03-05T13:47:00.000-06:00

So that I stop shrieking "THAT'S LIKE MY CHILDHOOD" constantly and annoying my friends. A list of those little things that bring back the memories.

Orange Flinstones push-up popsicles

Freshly cut grass

Sawdust

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These), The Eurythmics

Chain of Fools, Aretha Franklin

The Boxcar Children Series

Monopoly

Charlie perfume

Oil of Olay lotion

Mustang Sally, The Commitments

Pencil shavings

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Gene Wilder version)

The Lion King (the first and best. None of this 1 1/2 shit)

Chapstick (the original flavor, black and cream-colored packaging)

Tomato plants' smell

Sunflowers

Tulips

Cupcakes with rings on them

Cambridge Public Library, children's section

Library books' smell

Smell (and this is weird) of sweat and excersise machines

Red paint on walls

Tootin' Boy

Wood

Flinstones kids' vitamins

Wooden building blocks

Toy trains & traintracks

Hot Wheels

Small backpacks

The Flag Bag

Blue-and-white striped couches

(Old) brown cars

Tim Russert

"I hate F@#KING March."

2009-03-04T15:25:00.000-06:00

No holidays, except one at the very end, meaning that there are four solid weeks with no breaks whatsoever.

A ton of school trips that everyone but you is going on.

You realize you're leaving in less than four months (is it three now?), making everything you do seem pointless.

The guy you like tells you the two of you can't be together.

The workload slowly and steadily increases.

The departure of your I'm-Aussie-So-I-Move-At-Christmas friends has finally sunk in.

Rehersals ominously become more frequent.

You discover an odd, therefore-symbol pattern of bites on your forehead, and have no clue what caused them.

After February's work on growing out your nails, they start breaking and you slip back into biting them.

No new Scrubs episodes have been shown for the last four weeks, causing you to, in simple terms, die.

Your best friend's love life is frolicking and joyous in comparison to yours, depressing you.

Your evil Algebra teacher makes the previously comfortable topic of square roots incredibly complicated by adding, get this: an imaaaaginary muffin number.

You've run out of ways to wear your hair. Braid, with optional headband, or up and in a clip. The end.

Though there must be a million good books pertaining to revolutions or rebellions between 1700 and now, you can't seem to find a single one.

You find out that the next Scrubs episode will be aired on Wednesday, March 18th, two weeks from now. Phail.

For some reason, you're ridiculously tired almost 24/7, even though you seem to be getting more sleep than usual.

Your mom warns that she'll be physically absent for the next few weeks/months. Summit of tha 'Mericas.

The usual anguish involved with waking up in the morning has gotten much, much worse.

There are actually some good things happening this month, like your new lotion and deoderant (see posts relating to toiletries), but for some reason (maybe because they're relatively small) they still don't help.

You feel RIDICULOUS for writing such a morbid, "emo" post, but it's kinda the only thing you're thinking about lately. And the evil "you" pattern I started with got carried throughout and sounds weird in some of them. But who doth care.

Return of the Lemon

2009-02-23T12:10:00.000-06:00

Howdy, folks. So, I've been slacking. I haven't written anything on here in FOREVER, and I think I might actually have a topic. It'll probably last about a paragraph, but whaatever.

So, last night, the 81st Annual Academy Awards (why the overly-dramatic title? Who knows), aka Oscars (there you go) were hosted. It was the first time I've watched them all the way through, and I'm glad I did. But I don't feel like describing why it kicked so much ass, so instead, I'll just say - I loved Hugh Jackman before, but now I want to have his babies. Seriously, YouTube that shizz.

But as I sat there with Tony and my mom til about 1 in the morning, giddy when WALL-E and Milk won awards and inwardly groaning when Slumdog Millionaire got 8 (total, with 4 in a row - more about this in a bit), I realized exactly how different we are from this country.

Okay, so I could rant for aaages about the woes of living in Trinidad, and how I crave open-mindedness and, like, ONE Trini athiest (Jamie's agnostic self excluded, of course), but I won't. I'll just say, while the majority of the rest of this country was partying til dee break ah dawn, (actually, they kept going through dawn, because Jouvert was today) we, and friends of mine, were sitting at home, watching the "biggest event in movies this year".

And discussing Slumdog. So here's this part. Before I rant, let me just say that I have not seen the movie, so I of course can't judge. What my mom brought up last night, and what (I think) I agree with, is that the number of awards given to Slumdog is because of guilt. You know there are Americans out there who felt so good about themselves for going to see a movie about life in the slums of India. They think they're more aware, having seen that movie - "Ohh, did you know, life's really really bad for those kids? Soo sad. That movie should win 8 Oscars." etc. Ditto for Milk, really. I don't doubt that it was a fantastic movie, though, again, I haven't seen it yet. But come on, don't you think the Academy is maybe just tossing gay people a bone?

That being said: the two award winners for Milk, Sean Penn for Best Actor, and Best Original Screenplay, gave some kickass speeches, advocating equality and gay rights. Again, if you missed it, YouTube it.

So, that's me, for now. Ooh, also, I've compiled a little list of songs that pwn. Here it is:

Chapel of Love, by The Dixie Cups

Summer in the City, by The Lovin' Spoonful

Be Bop a Lula, by Gene Vincent

More Than a Feeling, by Boston

Leader of the Ppack, by The Shangri-Las

Remember (Walkin' in the Sand), by The Shangri-Las

See, Happy Little Lemon? I haven't forgotten you.

Title

2009-01-29T14:36:00.000-06:00

So, I've been avoiding. Lanora leaving affected me like nothing has in the last year. I just re-read Eddie's and Jamie's blog posts about her, and her comments on them. And I realized that I still haven't come to terms with it myself. I refused to talk about it at the time, and now, for some reason, a month and a half later, it's actually hitting me. I don't know why the reaction is so delayed. And I never really told anyone about it.

But Nora was my other half. Jamie is my other half, Eddie is my other half, my mom, my brother, my dog are all my other half. But Nora did it in a way that no one else did, just like Jamie does it in a way no one else does. But when you lose even one of those halves (sorry, Mr. Kaster, my fractions are totally not making sense), you can't help but feel really alone, even with a ton of close friends around you.

I've done this people leaving thing before. And I've pretty much gotten used to it. But what happened before Christmas break really made me start thinking about the time, 6 months from now, when I'll have to leave. It's weird to think that everyday, mundane things are going to be gone forever when I drive to Piarco airport. I'll still be able to draw Nessie, but no one around me could possibly understand him. Just stuff like that.

I love my friends so much. That's really all I can say about it.

And I can't even think of a title for this post. And re-reading it shows me that it makes absolutely no sense. And I don't know why I've password protected it.

But I just wanted to get it out.

Edit: 2/23/09. I'm un-password protecting this post.

42

2009-01-28T15:44:00.000-06:00

Some questions.

Why are people already psyched about Valentine's Day? Today is January 28th.

What exactly do bootcut jeans look like?

Why is it more common for women to get their ears pierced?

Why don't men wear makeup?

Why do people think Japanese schoolgirls are so hot?

Why, stereotypically, do men always have to ask out/propose to the women?

Who invented 3-ring binders?

Why does no one notice if a guy wears the same outfit more than once (like a suit) but a woman "has" to wear different outfits every time?

Why are the dimensions labeled by numbers?

Why does people's hair fall out when they get old?

Why do we love chocolate?

Why do doctors pull the bedsheet over the patient once they've died?

How do sunburns form?

Why do people continue to do things that they know are bad for them?

Why is my top lip cold?

What would we do without cell phones?

Why is it that crying = sad and laughing = happy?

Why is it "bad" for men to cry?

Why do people call Jesus their "lord and personal saviour" even though millions of people are Christians?

Why don't I have a nickname?

Why do I totally not feel like doing 100 of these?

Who thought of liquidating peanuts and making them peanut butter?

Why are questions that start with "why" more complicated to answer?

Why is it cake and not pie that we eat on birthdays?

Why do some people say that white isn't a color?

That Fuzzy Feeling

2009-01-28T14:03:00.000-06:00

There's nothing like the feeling of understanding. I've been behind a bit in school lately, mainly in Chemistry, but a few other classes as well. I'm trying as hard as ever, but for some reason, I don't seem to be getting as good grades as I used to. Eoin said this, and I think it applies to me as well: if you're naturally smart, you can coast through school on that alone. But at a certain point, it catches up, and you actually have to start working really hard to stay ahead of the game. I think my moment of "oh, holy crap, I'm gonna fail" was when I started High School, with Physical Science. For most of my life, I just "got" everything we did in school. It all came really easily, and an A on a test wasn't really a surprise. But these last two years, I've been bombarded with science, and fallen behind. I'm not failing anything (at least I don't think so), but I did feel, for a while there, like I was drowning in schoolwork. I was getting used to Kaster's Algebra style, learning how to juggle Chemistry and Biology together, and it all felt like way too much.

That's why understanding seriously kicks ass. It's underestimated. Like tonight, I was reading a section for Bio about DNA replication. I did what Jamie and I are famous for, making inademate objects have a real life story. Like our laptops being in love, or the Life Story of the Protein. So, when reading about the famous DNA helicases (they unzip your genes/jeans), I started to understand a bit. When I got to the section about DNA polymerases having a "proofreading" system in case they attach the wrong nucleotides, I immediately thought of Spell Check. I imagined a little Wall-E-esque polymeras zooming through the DNA replication process, and realizing he made a mistake, and zooming back a couple to fix it. So I understood.

Which is where the fuzzy feeling comes in. When you're drowning, whether in personal stuff or school, and you have a breakthrough, or an epiphany, or whatever you want to call it, all of a sudden, and I know this sounds cheesy, your tummy feels light. It does, okay? Like when I had my dramatic break-up convo with Chin. Beforehand, I was like, "Why the hell am I doing this?" So I double-clicked on his MSN name, and got the hell out of that one. It was so kickass. Or in Algebra. I was getting awful grades on my worksheets, didn't understand what were doing in class, and even went so far as to have a meeting with Kaster and my mom. After that, I decided to focus more on school, but that subject especially. I remember doing a worksheet, and working through it for practically an hour, but thinking that I understood it. When we got it back the next day, and I had 26/26 on it, I got the fuzzies. And they rock.

So this leads into my earlier post about my New Year's Resolutions, specifically, my one about Chemistry. Tomorrow we start actually doing work for the first time after exams. I've made a pledge to myself to pay a ton of attention in class, and try to drop the smarmy attitude I generally keep when in Koesterer's class. I seriously hope it's going to work, but I think it well. Ms. Chesler always says, if you're getting a bad grade on something, it's for one of three reasons: you're not smart, you're not trying, or you don't understand. She always crossed the first two off my list (which was nice), and decided I must just not understand. So, if that's the only problem, then I'll fix it in class tomorrow.

I know this is a long post, but I haven't blogged in forever, so I need to get it out of my system. I had an idea for a story the other night, and did the good ol' co-labbing with James over MSN about it. I really want to make it be rah-rah-feminism, because of The Feminine Mystique, Mad Men, and all the 50's swing music I've been listening to lately. Basic plotline: a girl, Kyle, is dating a jackass, Nathan. Her best friend, Jamie (a guy - I know, cutest name for a boy ever), is madly in love with her, but she doesn't know it, and he hates Nathan. Nate emotionally and possibly physically (though I'm not sure about that) abuses Kyle, but in the end she stands up to him, gets with Jamie, etc. Meanwhile, Kyle's mom (as yet unnamed) is divorced, and dating yet another jackass guy, named Mike. Aren't Nathan and Mike the most perfect names for abusive boyfriends? So, yeah, obviously, their stories parallel each other, and I'm determined to include this one line, said by Kyle: "If my mom won't do it, then dammit, I will." I think that'd be fun.

So, yeah, I've been feeling guilty about my empty blog, with only the title "Virtual Jukebox" staring at me. And now that I've finally posted...yeah. Feels good. ^-^

Virtual Jukebox

2009-01-17T10:29:00.000-06:00

An update on my life. I haven't been posting much lately other than rants and lists, so I thought it might possibly be time for something, GASP, worthwhile.

So begins another bi-annual exam crunch feast of insanity. People are totally in lockdown, not going out anywhere this weekend or over the next couple days. Or, at least, some of us are. The whole exam thing hasn't really sunk in yet for me, but I think that's because we're doing a new thing, and having exams on Wed-Thurs-Fri, instead of Mon-Tues-Wed. But I think it makes more sense, so that we can party on the weekend (lol).

I had such an organized exam study schedule, with Spanish on Thursday, Algebra on Friday, and Chem today. I think, instead, I'll do Span/Algy/and a tad of Chemistry today. This is probably boring to anyone other than me, so let's change the subject.

I think I've decided my favorite genre of music (sorry, new topic isn't all that dramatic). I don't know if there's a name for it, but right now, I have an addiction to oldies. The Rolling Stone Top 5oo Greatest Songs of All Time list has greatly influenced and improved my music taste. Blondie, Beach Boys, B-52s, Bee Gees, I'm loving all of these (coincidentally) B-named bands and artists.

My other favorite category is what I guess is called "Alternative", or, Tony says, "Soft Rock". Jack Johnson, Lenka, Coldplay, Dido, the Beatles. Anything that will lower your heart rate. A few nights ago, before the Biology project was due, I had a mini-panic attack. I staring writing all in capital letters over MSN to James, pulse raised, hands shaking, all that madness. Then I realized I was playing bumping Rihanna techno music. I switched to a little Jack, layed down flat on my bed, took some deep breaths, and forbid my friends from chatting in capital letters. Problem solved.

I've been tempted to install Limewire (or whatever) on my computer. But I don't like thinking that artists who have worked hard to produce songs don't get credit (money as well as "fame", I guess you'd call it) for them. So, lately, I'm trying to order CDs off of Amazon (ordering them from iTunes is another option). They take a while to get here, but I just plain like having CDs around. They also make my stereo a little less redudant.

New Year's Resolutions I

2009-01-16T22:01:00.000-06:00

Take better care of my skin and hair.

Recycle.

Talk to Dad more.

Get at least a C+ in Chemistry.

Cut back on my Chick Lit.

Add all 500 of the Rolling Stone Top 5oo into my iTunes library.

Organize all 500.

Find balance in love.

Find social balance.

Write to Nora.

Blog at least once a week.

Make Canada kick some serious ass.

Read Atonement.

Be in the play at school.

Do the PhotoBooth at Movie Towne more often.

WTF?

2009-01-14T21:56:00.000-06:00

Why do men give us squirmies in our stomachs? Why do they do that? Is it in our genetic programming, like when a gecko gets scared, its tail drops off. We run into an icky, nasty, stinky, dirty little situation and every fibre of our being tells us to say "gtg" and sign out of MSN.

Why does he make me feel like this? I like him, yes, okay, I like him. But I hate him. I hate that I'm this stupid, ditsy little girl falling head over heels for some guy I never even talk to. So, Rihanna was right, and we despise how much we adore them.

I don't like being this weak. When my parents got divorced, I vowed that I wouldn't let myself be this open anymore. I put up a wall, and told myself I would only let it down for a few people in my life. A man was DEFINITELY NOT on that list. But here I am, getting stressed all over again.

To tell the truth, I don't know why we're not together. We like each other. A lot. We know that we like each other. But there's a glitch. Every ounce of our contact is over MSN. I love the internet, but I hate it.

He says we just need to hang out more. Which I agree with. I'm dying for him to come hang out someday after school. I have a mental fantasy of us just watching a movie together. And that's it. It doesn't end dirty, I don't even care if we get further than that or not. I just want to be next to him, to touch him in real life. God, it's like we're in a long-distance relationship. Zomg, one grade is so far apart.

So that's where I am, for now. Stuck in "WTF?" until exams are over, I guess (his strict rents are ex-nay on the social events until after they're done). For now, I have but one question. Are things this complicated when you're, like, 32? Is everything secretive, swept under the rug, discreet, and online when you're a grownup? God, I hope not.

My 100 Things

2009-01-05T19:15:00.000-06:00

I wonder what I would look like without freckles.

I’m terrified of doing the laundry because I’m afraid I’ll accidentally ruin the clothes.

The first thing I want to eat after I get my braces off is a granola bar.

I think the idea that being thin makes you pretty is ridiculous – I love hips and am so proud of mine.

When I walk past someone smoking, I cough to let them know their secondhand smoke is affecting the people around them.

I worry that someone love will get hurt and I won’t know about it because I live overseas.

I have motherly, over-protective feelings for my best friends, my brother, my dog, and my mom.

I can’t wait to learn to drive so the burden will be lifted off my mother.

When I was young, I wore flowered leggings and t-shirts and was jealous of girls whose mothers dressed them in skirts and jean jackets – now I’m glad I was the dorky one.

I was more upset when my dad moved out than when they announced the divorce.

My cell phone isn’t fancy: it can’t take pictures, has four possible ring tones, no games, and 2 choices for background – but if I lost it, I would cry.

I wish tattoos didn’t hurt so I could get one of a ying-yang surrounded by rays of sun on the top of my foot.

I hope someday I’ll learn to like coffee so I can be one of those cool college kids who drinks it in a cafe while studying for exams.

My favorite part of finishing a box of Kleenex is ripping off the perforated oval on a new box.

Getting my ears pierced, though painful at the time, is one of the smartest things I ever did, because I discovered my love for earrings.

I have never had a cavity, but drink so much Diet Coke that I’m worried I’ll get one.

I got extremely upset when I found out Polaroid cameras and film will no longer be made. I always wanted one to snap pictures and store them in a tin box, like Ben in Scrubs.

Two of my greatest fears, broken glass and drowning, are embodied in broken aquariums.

When I’m sick, I always remember my mom reading “Gone-Away Lake” by Elizabeth Enright to me. I wish she still would.

I love wingtips, and wish there was a version for women to wear.

I wish I could use a new towel every time I shower, but I don’t, of course. Usually.

I’m proud of my iTunes now that I’ve added a bunch of songs from the Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.

I’m desperately trying to make it to 100 Things.

High heels hurt. Period.

Jamie and I chose not to ask Mr. Kaster if he watches Scrubs because we were afraid he would say no, and we would lose all respect for him. But, at Spaghetti Night, upon hearing I like it, he smiled, nodded, and said, “Good choice.”

I’m thinking about changing my last name to “Taylor” or “Sawyer”. I just like how my name sounds like that. Robin Felicity Taylor. Robin Felicity Sawyer. See?

I asked my dad to take me for my second ear piercing, because he took me for my first. And I like that we have that “tradition”.

I cannot stand grilled cheese sandwiches. Enough is enough.

Christian Slater was hot in Heathers.

I’m scared that if I tried to surf, I would wipe out, and my board would hit me in the head.

I used to wonder why, in movies and television, they never showed the characters going to the bathroom.

I, someday, want to publish a book of my own, but more than that, I want to be the editor for someone else’s book.

Even though I use it all the time, I think the expression “Silent is golden, but duct tape is silver” is stupid.

Once, when on an elevator in DC, a guy in his mid 30’s chatted me up. I never told anyone.

I wish I was better at painting my nails.

I agree with Bridget Jones that New Year’s Resolutions should begin on January 2^nd.

I celebrated Christmas three separate times in 2008, so on December 25^th it was just another day when I got some presents.

I want to learn to whistle through my fingers.

If I ever play a character who dies, I want to do it ultra-dramatically, then, when everyone thinks I’m good and dead, twitch.

Rachael Ray has the best kitchen on the planet.

I’m psyched that I’m now 2/5 of the way done with this thing.

When Scrubs ends, I’ll cry.

On New Year’s Eve, when the clock struck midnight, I kissed my mom, because she didn’t have anyone else to kiss.

“Que Sera Sera” (the song) makes me horribly depressed, and I don’t know why.

“I don’t patronize bunny rabbits!” is one of my favorite movie lines of all time.

I’ve always wanted to go to a therapist and talk for hours, and then get their diagnosis for whatever’s wrong with me.

Similarly, I think the results of a full-body scan would be interesting.

It’s unfortunate that I’m around “the F word” so much that it really holds no meaning for me anymore. Except, in Marysville, where my mom’s from, saying that is almost the equivalent of shooting the president. Obama, not Bush.

You should never use a paper plate as an ashtray. That seems like a bad idea.

I love the Cusack and the Gyllenhaal families.

I honestly and truly do not like Jack Black.

Even though it goes against my morals, I would like to try being a “housewife”/”homemaker” for a month or so, because honestly, I like cleaning and doing nothing.

I worry that in Winnipeg, I won’t make any new friends. Then I remember how easy it was here in Trinidad, in Bangladesh, in Poland, and in all my other schools. Then I think I’m being a cocky ass and mentally kick myself.

I’ve been in a mosh pit once. It was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done.

If you’ve ever wondered what “cool” is, you should meet Salome Boccara.

Joan Cusack has one of the best accents ever.

Free Cell kicks ass.

I want to get married on a beach, after the sun goes down, so we can party all night long and then hop on a speedboat to leave for our honeymoon.

I’ve never owned a pair of sweatpants. That kind of upsets me.

I worry that I use the word “like” too much.

Ditto the word “okay”.

I do wish I could read books outside of the “Chick-Lit” category, but it’s my favorite genre. I like to think I’ll have time for Jane Austen and William Shakespeare later.

When I’m old, I want to be a movie and music buff.

Who took the jam out of your doughnut?

I think working with a really great actor, Oscar or Golden Globe winning, would make a person a better actor.

Calling someone, like Barack Obama, “Mr. Obama” grates on my soul.

I just typed the word “odd” without realizing I did it until 5 minutes later.

As often as my brother and I fight, I think I’ll really miss him when he goes to college.

I used to think kissing on the cheek was a massive deal, and it meant the guy was totally smitten with you.

Whenever my mom gets sick, we undergo a role reversal, and I become the mom. Who knows why.

This sounds creepy, but I like the word “euthanasia”.

I wish I had a Chicago accent.

Other than Jamie’s Pullips, I don’t like dolls. Sorry.

I always forget about Queen when I think about my favorite music.

When did movies go from being, on average, an hour and a half long, to two hours long?

If I have a son, I’m naming him Jamie.

All reggae music sounds the same.

Top hats have to be the best accessory ever.

Whoever invented the chocolate + mint combination should win a Nobel Prize.

I desperately want to play a Pink Lady in Grease, so I can wear one of the jackets.

The font “Tahoma”, when in size 10, is underestimated.

I spent 13 hours in Miami International Airport, and, even though I hate some parts of* Texas, have vowed to fly through Houston whenever I go to the States.

I use my toes and feet to perform about 75% of daily functions.

I have a habit of shrieking, in capital letters, “OKAY, 10 THINGS – GO” to people on MSN. Jamie is the only one who doesn’t “wut.”, and instead replies “KAY”, then becomes inactive for 10 minutes while she writes it.

If Jack Johnson proposed to me tomorrow, I would say yes.

I have only ever gone to the hospital to be born, and twice for pneumonia.

I wish I had wings. Not so that I could fly, I just like wings.

Pete Facinelli, in the makeup and with the special effects from Twilight, is beautiful.

I don’t say the word “Dad” as much as I wish I could.

I have two beds in my room, and I sleep in the one I planned on converting into a couch.

I think my two dream catchers actually work – I haven’t had a bad dream in about two years, since I got them.

Daniel and Emma need to admit their eternal love for each other.

I left a piece of my heart on the front porch of 114 Golf Course Road.

Excluding humans, my best friends are Kleenex and chocolate.

Whenever a get a hugely long email from someone other than Jamie, I feel like I have homework, to reply to it. I mark it as unread.

I secretly want to get all my friends to write a message for PostSecret, then read them all.

I get mad at Spell Check. Constantly.

When I get married, I plan on having two huge black dogs, a male and a female, follow me down the aisle.

96 Tears is a sneaky little name for a song.

When I turned 10, I was upset that for 90 more years, I would have two digits in my age instead of one or three.

*edited for Tyler's benefit, because he was right.

Sitting in Airports Blogging

2008-12-17T15:55:00.000-06:00

Airports, are, the world over, the same. I have yet to find any remarkable difference. Yes, maybe some will be decorated worse or better, maybe some will be more or less high tech. But there are always gates, boarding passes, excessive security, jackass TSA officers. And there's this, the layovers. Tony and I took the morning flight from Port of Spain to Miami, arriving here at about 11 am. Our flight to Detroit is at 8:25. So, we have about an eight hour layover. With Flamingo, some cash, a couple iPods, and books we've read before, we're relatively bored.

But, as I was telling my dad on the phone earlier today, it doesn't feel like I'm travelling. It feels like I drove for a while, sat in a room, sat in another room that could fly, and now am sitting in another room. This room is relatively quiet, with ugly carpeting and an excess of Spanish.

I tried reading Diving Bell and Butterfly, but it's not the right environment.

Ironically, Miami is colder than I think Michigan will be. Well, the inside of the airport is, at least. It's actually relatively hard to type this, with frozen fingers. I'm buying gloves in Michigan. Didn't think I'd need them in Florida, too. Speaking of which, I have to remember to toss on that tanktop on the plan, start layering before we even touch down in Detroit.

Soon enough, I'll write a humongous, imaginative, glorious post about seeing snow again, and the Christmas tradition at the Jones household. My grandma doesn't have internet, and I'm only getting it now because of MIA (Miami International Airport, not Missing In Action) has WiFi fore 7 bucks a day. I'll write again from my dad's apartamente in DC, when I will be getting, dun dun dun, my 2ND EAR PIERCING! WHOOT! (Mai: "YOU WHOOT?!?")

For now, back to the airport. Wait, which airport are we at again?

For Esme

2008-12-14T21:31:00.000-06:00

I know my friends are writing posts about the main thing going on in our lives, people leaving. But I'm not going to talk about Nora. I don't want to.

Instead, tonight we had our last Spaghetti Night of 2008. Mr. Kaster, Ms. Chesler, and Mr. Blackburn were all their with their respective significant others and kids. We sat around with these three teachers, along with Clea and Esme, talking about old British TV shows, drinking, fudge, pretty much everything. It was (I just reread that last sentence and thought it said "drinking fudge". Which is ironic, because that's actually what we were doing) a lot of fun, getting my mind off the past four days and the next four as well. I realised that I can sit around with three teachers, two of whom actually teach me, and not feel self concious or freaked out. I know maybe Kaster was, because before the Thanksgiving shenanagin, he asked, all worriedly, if it was okay if he came to a student's house as a social gathering. But we odd group laughed at each other, at Scrubs, at Young Things and Forty Towers, and had fun just being, without the whole teacher-student relationship in the way.

The same thing goes for my relationship with other teachers too, even when in school, like Lentzy. First of all, that name. I haven't called my ex-AWH teacher "Mister Lentz" in about a year and a half. When he announced his engagement to Ms. Scott (who, even if she changes her name, I will never think of as "Ms. Lentz" - too weird), I felt like one of my close friends had gotten engaged. I was so happy for him that I even got teary. Which, though this is off topic, has been happening increasingly lately. I never used to cry. Well, okay, I cried, but only when someone yelled at me or when I got hurt. Never at romancey stuff, which I now do ALL THE TIME.

It feels good to blog again. I kept clicking on the link for my page in Google Chrome, and feeling guilty that I had nothing to write about. So, okay, I still don't, but I like the feeling of just writing whatever's on my mind and clicking "Publish".

So, tonight, when I mentioned to Esme that I haven't blogged lately, she suggested I write about school. So, here you go, Esme.

School is okay. It's weird, there are two extremes with my teachers - I either love them, and look forward to their classes, like English, Algebra, Contemporary Issues, MWH, and sometimes Biology, or I hate them, and despise when I have to open the door to their classrooms. This mostly only applies to Chemistry and Spanish (Drama I feel neutral about). It's not so much the topics that make me cringe when I think about those classes, it's the teachers, how they teach, and the students in the class. Okay, so I have a lot of "hoss" people (as James and I put it) in my other classes too, but it's still okay. That's odd. It's just, I'm a strong believer in the whole "teachers should teach" thing. I know, CRAZY, right? "Doctor Kay" (okay, seriously. WTF is up with that "Dr. K" thing? Like "Kester" is really hard to pronounce. AND WHO IS SO OBNOXIOUS THAT THEY ASK PEOPLE TO CALL THEM "DOCTOR"? My mom is a Dr. and she would NEVER ask people to do that) and Ms. Thomas (what an indescripite name. That's why we only ever call her "miss") rely on powerpoints and worksheets, respectively, to teach us their subjects.

Okay, so that's all I've got. I hope this post looks nice and long on my page and so will take my guilt away.

[Edit: This is about 20 minutes after I posted this. But I wanted to say: I've been listening to my iTunes all night. Not a single Coldplay song. Or "Save Tonight". Significant?]

MLJ's 20 Things

2008-12-08T19:03:00.000-06:00

1. I am losing my concentration to the point that I can’t read more than stupid SELF articles about pectorals more than five minutes.

2. I like sleeping with my dog.

3. Coffee is necessary for survival.

4. A wrecking ball hit Tiger Stadium the day we decided to get divorced.

5. Tiger Stadium was where my ashes were going to be scattered, and now I have to find a new place.

6. The night after the divorce became official, I dreamt that I was driving a car with no rear view mirror. But I was exhilarated and not afraid.

7. I am proudest of being a cancer survivor and never want to be bitter about anything.

8. I worry that I am way too overprotective of my kids, my dog, my family and my friends.

9. I secretly judge people based on their grammar, spelling and punctuation. And I am not ashamed of it.

10. I think Charles Hodson on CNN is very sexy.

11. Almost nothing has made me happier than my first car.

12. I have philosophical conversations with both my children that are much better than any conversation I’ve ever had with an adult.

13. I go barefoot in the office.

14. I secretly think this country would run a damn sight better if they asked me how to run it.

15. I used to think all babies learned English first no matter where they were from, before they learned Spanish or Mandarin or whatever their parents spoke.

16. It would be fun to throw a brick through a plate glass window.

17. Driving through Detroit breaks my heart.

18. Wrigley’s spearmint gum when combined with coffee is the best sleepiness tonic.

19. I was secretly glad that my daughter was bald at the same time I was.

20. Magglio Ordonez has the best ass in the major leagues.

Walking Fast

2008-12-04T12:55:00.000-06:00

In Spanish class today, we basically had free time. Daniel and Dom used theirs to go on Wikipedia and read articles about diseases, their symptoms, and the horrors of mutations. They would intently read something in silence, then grimace, groan, and burst out laughing. These diseases included cancers, mental retardation, and many others. They would click from page to page, shrieking out information about cancers presenting in irregularly small testicles, enlarged male mammaries, and more.

I walk home from school. It usually takes about 10 minutes. Today it took 4. I was so enraged by their comments, I left Spanish class, walked with Nora downstairs, and made it home before Beat It was over.

When I was about 6 months old, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. If some of these facts are wrong, I apologize, but I believe these are correct or almost correct. They gave her 5 months to live, and it's been 13 years since then. She was given radiation and chemotherapy treatments, and now she's fine. She still has regular checkups, but so far nothing has reoccured. She is unable to have more children, the chemotherapy having caused her to go into early menopause, around the age of 34. She had to have surgery to first remove her infected breast, then, a few years later, reconstructive surgery, where, as she tells it, they moved muscles, fat, and skin from her stomach to her chest. She has a fake belly button, multiple scars, and no feeling in her stomach. And blue, tatooed-on dots covering her left side.

My mother is the strongest and smartest woman I know. Today, as I walked home and showered, I couldn't help but think what my world would be like without her. I don't know where I would live, because we would be in my dad's custody. I would be such a different person than I am now. The world, in fact, would be different. Many people in Poland, Bangladesh, and here in Trinidad's lives would be affected by the work my mom has done with the State Department. I wouldn't sigh every time I write the word "affect" or "effect", or make a mental note to ask her which one is which again.

We have a Biology project on genetic diseases due in a few weeks. Our teacher recommended that we pick a disease that someone we know has or had. Obviously, I decided to do breast cancer, in honor of my mom and my two aunts who are all survivors.

Some research I found yesterday said the following:

However, if you have any of the following in your close family you might want to see your GP and be referred to a familial cancer clinic:

three close blood relatives (from the same side of the family) who developed breast cancer at any age, or
two close relatives (from the same side of the family) who developed breast cancer under 60, or
one close relative who developed breast cancer aged 40 or younger, or
a case of male breast cancer, or
a case of bilateral breast cancer (this means in both breasts).

The first three in this list apply to me. I won't say anymore, because I feel as though I'm digging myself into a hole by even mentioning this. I'm not saying I'm doomed. I have a chance of getting cancer in my life, as all women do. I just felt like saying this, because I know the internet won't judge me.

What Daniel and Dom do not realize is that they, or someone close to them, may very well be effected by any of those diseases they were laughing at and making fun of. I'm angry at myself for not saying anything to them - but I can only hope that someone will educate them better than I can. This goes for anyone and everyone out there who have ever been so inconsiderate and shallow as I know some of my peers were being today.

IS THAT CELL FREE? REALLY?

2008-12-01T19:38:00.000-06:00

You know how it's like this stereotype of playing Solitaire on the computer when you're bored? Well, for me, Solitaire, and, more often, Free Cell, are my favorite things to do on the computer, even when I'm plenty occupied. I get so mad at Free Cell, like when I try to move a stack of cards and a little bubble pops up saying, "That move requires 5 cards. You only have enough space to move 3 cards." It patronizes me. And when, by accident, I try to put a red card on another red card, it snaps, "You can only put a red card on a black card. The card colors must alternate." Or, worse, when I accidentally try to put, say, a 4 on a 7. "You can only put a card on another card if it is the next in the sequence." "WELL, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, STUPID BITCH!" I feel like yelling at it. Only, of course, I don't. Usually.

I get so emotional about Free Cell. Like when I attempt to do a big flashy card movement, and all the free cells fill up, and then that awful little death message pops up. It pretends to be sympathetic, saying, "Sorry!" but then it continues. "There are no more legal moves. Restart game?" And then that demon box with "Same game" next to it already has a check in it, as though the computer is pitying you, saving you the grief of having to admit failure and retry yourself.

But when I am close to winning, and the tension is building, and more and more cards stack on top of the four aces, and then you move a huge set of cards to reveal that hidden little stash of low cards that you need to win the game, then they all fly up to the cells in order, and then, at last, when there's nothing left in the playing field and only kings are visible, they all fly down. God love Vista, each card shatters into it's suit symbol and colors, spraying all over the place like glorious red and black fireworks.

Then, the only message in the game I like comes up. Oh, it's nice to see you again, my old friend. He says, "Congratulations! You won the game!" He tells you your statistics, which, you are pleased to see, have gotten better. Then, two glowing buttons decorate the bottom of the box. [Play again] or [Exit]. You can't decide. If you decide to play again, there's a big chance you could lose, and then your hard earned good statistics will be gone. But if you exit, you'll have to shut down your computer and go to bed. Finally, you've decided.

[Exit].

Truth or Dare

2008-11-24T19:42:00.000-06:00

When I was little, I always wanted to get my period. I always thought it was wicked cool, that it meant you were finally an adult. In my tween years, when I was about 11, I had the awful boy crazy stage. I was in the 6th grade, and we all thought we were adults, or at least 16 years old. We started “dating”, and in that year alone, I had 5 or 6 “boyfriends”. I continually told them I loved them (see post entitled “Love” below) and I was obsessed with perfume, makeup, kissing, Truth or Dare, you name it.

It was around this time that I asked my mom if I could start wearing a bra. I remember, we were on an island off the coast of Phuket, Thailand. I started the conversation by asking my mom (after my dad and Tony had gone off to play pool, of course) when she started wearing a bra. She said she was in 7th grade, and at first, I was like, “Ooh, sweet, that’s not much older than I am now.” Until my mom said that she was around 13 or 14 when she was in 7th grade. My 11-year-old self felt Extremely Awkward. Sensing this, my mom, with her women’s/mother’s/friend’s intuition, asked, “Why? Do you want to start wearing a bra?” I played it cool, or at least I thought I did, and eventually she agreed to buy me some when she went to Bangkok next.

Last night, my mom kindly brought the rest of the week’s clean laundry up to my room, with a big stack of bras on top of the basket. She said, victoriously, “I did a HUGE bra wash, but I dunno whose is whose.” I grabbed a couple that were mine, and separated hers out, then went back to Flamingo. The whole exchange, in comparison to my Thai beach conversation, was so cavalier and cool that I now notice how far me and my “maturity” have come in the last three years or so.

Okay, enough about bras. Poor Eddie, who I hope reads my blog sometimes, is most likely shuddering and scrolling down.

The point of all this is, I regret my past. I kind of wish I could erase a lot of stuff that happened to me when I was in Dhaka, not at all because of where I was or the school I went to, but because of who I was pretending to be. My first kiss was in a dark bathroom with a guy who later turned into a total jackass, and couldn’t kiss well to save his life.

I would have much preferred Simon’s first, with me, to be The First. Tobago, the last night we were there, at night, outside, nice, innocent, romantic. I know a girl who’s First was laying down, on a couch, in some guy’s living room, at the Prom ’08 after party. This massive PDA (given that there were people dancing not three feet away) gave this girl a “rather dubious reputation”, and she hasn’t been able to get away from it since.

So, that’s my random little schpiel (shpeel? schpele?) on puberty. Adolescence. Maturity. Wtfever you want to call it. Either way, there’s plenty of cramps, Axe, Truth or Dare, nail polish, bras, texting, dancing, and much much more. When/if I have a daughter, pray I teach her this crap earlier.

Snuggling Under Covers

2008-11-19T21:12:00.000-06:00

I live in the Carribean, and before here, Bangladesh. That doesn't change the fact that I hate being hot. I can't focus, I get pissy, I get sweaty and malleable. Hence, the AC in my room never dips below 24 Celsius. Actually, in my old house, it was constantly set to 17, but I've turned it up here because it blows right on my bed, where I am the majority of the time. Soo, of course, I'm constantly under my comforter.

My mom and my brother are always on my case for keeping it so cold, and insist it makes me sick. But I love the feeling of being in a cold environment and snuggling under the covers to keep warm. It's so much more cozy than being in a hot place and only using a sheet.

This is one of the reasons I'm glad I'm moving to Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, for my final two years of high school. I'm a little worried about the whole "no uniform" thing, seeing as how I've gotten so used to it here, and freak out every time we have free dress day. But, the consulate there will give us a housing allowance, and we can do with it what we will. Meaning, my mom, myself, and Shada will be three girls trying to make it in the Little Big City. Fun stuff.

Back to being cold. I'm cold right now. Except my feet. My feet are hot. So, of course, I crank the AC down a few notches lower, and my already icicled arms frost up even more. So then I'll snuggle under my covers even more, turn off my lights, and cuddle up with Flamingo and Shada. Who could possibly hate that?

Kat

2008-11-18T13:57:00.000-06:00

Kat, aka Katherine, is my sister. Well, except for the fact that we have different parents.

She's Jim and Laura's 20 year old daughter, and she's living with us until December. Jim and Laura are my parents' best friends since before Tony and I were born. They taught at Muskingum College, with my mom, in Cambridge, Ohio, in the 90's. They were there through getting Tessa, our first dog, the birth of Tony and I, my mom's cancer, and, eventually, Jim getting fired from the college. After that, Laura quit her job, and they moved the family to Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and became potters. Kat's sister, Maija, is 18, and is currently an exchange student in Bolivia. Katherine lived in Thailand for a year, and so speaks Thai fluently.

I love having a sister for the first time in my life, and we tear it up. She introduced us to the world of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, Chucky, Pet Semetary, and much more. She's there for girl talk, boy talk, drink talk, and any other talk you can think of. She was here for our move to Westmoorings, too, which kicks ass. We share clothes, stories, gossip, and much much more.

We're talking about Kat coming to school with us some time, and trailing either me or Tony in our classes. We did that in Dhaka, and just told everyone she was our sister. Apparently, folks there still believe it.

Showering

2008-11-17T19:13:00.000-06:00

I love to shower. Showering kicks it. Whenever I'm stressed, or hot, or tired, or pissed off, or depressed, a shower is the best possible cure. You wash away not only the dirt, but your sweat, blood, and tears, and emerge fresh and wonderful. Plus, if you're as weird as I am, you get to use all your fun shampoos, conditioners, body washes, face washes, and are engulfed in glorious smell after glorious smell.

My favorite kind of shower, I realized a few months ago, is: hot sunburn, cold shower, warm towels, cold bedroom. Best combination ever. Or, cold outside, hot shower, warm, fluffy towels. You can't shower, and truly have a nice, glorious shower, and come out to a crappy, wet, or dirty towel. Yeah, use the same one a few times a week, but if it's wet, or cold, or musty, or nasty, get a new one, trust me. Your showering experience will be much nicer.

I shower in the morning, usually, so I come to school with wet hair. In 8th grade, Janine was on my case for doing that, and so I tried showering the night before, but dude, my hair was waaay harder to do when it's dry. It's not very pleasant to deal with. So I said fudge "NeeNee", and do my thing. 'Cept, these days, with the play, I usually shower before bed as well as in the morning, which I know is kinda wasteful, but cam awwwn. People do worse.

I love to shower. I've taken three showers today. Well, okay, I'll admit it, my most recent one was only because I had just gotten a new face wash and had to try it out. But I was wet from the rain too, so I had an excuse. xD

Okay, this has been a totally wack post. I just really wanted to talk about how much I like showering. It's nice. It's the best part of waking up in the morning.

Love

2008-11-13T18:24:00.000-06:00

Having just finished watching 'Becoming Jane', I feel obliged to write about, what else? Love.

I have never been in love. I'm 14, so to say I've felt that particular emotion would be entirely insane. But I've lied. Just two years ago, Simon and I often said we loved each other. But looking back, what I felt for Simon was entirely a different thing. It was more "like" than love, and I'm not just saying that because of how old we were.

To speak of lust is an entirely different topic. Lust is wanting someone, wanting every part of them, and wanting it immediately. In comparison to love, lust is temporary, fleeting, intense. Lust is dirty. I have been in lust. Most people in this world have been in lust. But to be in love, is a very different thing.

To be in love is to float. All cliches aside, and from my innocent point of view, love is floating. Love is sitting on a gigantic cotton ball, cloud, or simliar, and weaving your way through the clouds, breathing in their pure, moist air, and feeling it soak into your skin. Love is pure.

I am not floating. I am sitting on my cloud, and hovering a few feet above everyone else's heads. But I am not up in the sky yet. My love has not yet been born. My like, however, that has hatched. That is growing, that is maturing, that is perfect.

You cannot speak of love and not speak of heartbreak. I have been heartbroken. No, I have never been in love, but my heart's shattering was not caused by a silly teenage boy "dumping" me. My love was for a completely seperate heart, the heart of a family. When that heart was broken, all four of us were jolted.

But no, as I said, I have never fallen into broken heart syndrome.

I have, however, been lovesick. We talked in English a few days ago about being ill with like. You feel physically, mentally, and, most of all, emotionally ill. You cannot function, your eyes are in a permenant droop, your lips are in a permenant curl. You feel as though your insides do not weigh a thing, as though all those organs and bones have disappeared. I, now, am what I call, likesick.

This ends my sappy, cliche, cheesy, corny rant about love.

I hope I have not sent you running into the hills with my excess amount of dairy products.

Are you Looking Through Me?

2008-11-10T19:40:00.000-06:00

At ISPS, we're putting on a production of "Looking Through You" a drama by Max Bush. We're directed by Mr. Levy, the drama teacher, and Rudy (the fabulous) is our stage director. I play Christy Bekken, the only character with a last name ("beckon" having much to do with her personality), the bitchy prep at high school. Lucas plays Lucas (duh hoy hoy!), the "hopeless romantic", with a crush on Christy. When she makes him a mix tape, he couldn't be more delighted, and proudly plays it for all his friends. Halfway through the tape, it cuts out, and you hear me, Christy, humming, and then talking to someone (whom we can't hear on the tape). Christy's distraught, yelling, almost crying, and a loud thunk ends the tape. Lucas and his friends imagine what the tape was about, while I, along with a truckload of other random characters, act out these possibilities. The story develops, Lucas trying to figure out what happened to Christy, Christy's boyfriend beating up Lucas, and culminates in Christy revealing the truth about the recording to Lucas - and ending in a smooch.

This is my first major role in a production, having previously been involved in Midsummer Night's Dream, Alice in Wonderland, Charlotte's Web, Mankindand Co., and High School Musical. In the above, I played Snowt, a talking daisy, a gosling, Pigmaylion, and Kelsi, respectively. None being "female leads", which is what I consider Christy Bekken to be.

I have to say, I love it. By nature, I love to be in the spotlight, and this play chucks me right into it. Yeah, so, I have to kiss Lucas (not my favorite person in the world, but tolerable), and wear skimpier clothes than I normally would, but we, so far, are having a kickass time. Tara, Maria, Chin, Tony, Rudy, Latricia, Alexis, we tear it up, making a mess of the Drama room, consuming all food in sight, shrieking at each other 'BLACKOUT' and 'YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON' 24/7.

Opening night is November 20th, aka next Thursday, and we're doing three shows, that whole weekend. I, personally, am a little worried that not a single person will come to the show, but, oh well, guess we'll see. The fewer the merrier, who get to see me smooch a guy 2 feet taller than me.

Stress, Stress, and More Stress

2008-10-27T20:25:00.000-05:00

Yes, I realize I'm writing this gloomy post not 3 minutes after my hyped up on technology one, but I feel I should make it up to my 2 (million) loyal readers, for having been absent from Wordpress for so long. So, stress. Fun stuff. Can only be relieved by removing the cause, in my opinion. Maybe a massage, an afternoon at a spa, a night's sleep, can do it for some people, but all the cucumbers in the world don't have the same effect on me as simply getting the task out of the way.

For example, tomorrow, being Diwali, is a national holiday, and we have no school. Now, since I have rehersal on Wednesday, time to do homework that night shall be limited. So, tomorrow, I need to complete:

Cell project: powerpoint and cell

Chemistry problems

Learn Bio information about cells

Algebra problems

Memorize Spanish verbs

Macbeth essay

Methinks that's it. STILL, ALL OF THAT DUE WEDNESDAY OR THURSDAY OF THIS WEEK.

Thank god for Diwali.

High off Technology

2008-10-27T20:02:00.000-05:00

Flamingo. Has. Arrived.

Yes, indeed, friends, my Studio 15 Dell Laptop, aka Flamingo, has arrived. He's pink, flaming gay, and madly in love with Jamie's Studio 15, Licorice. He is the height of sexiness, and runs faster than Seabiscuit on steroids. I thought I hated Vista, but I've come to the dark side, and am loving it's sleekity. Also hot off the press, my printer, AT LONG LAST, works. My madre bought it in Chicago a few weeks ago, and when we tried to set it up to the desktop computer, it died. Miserably. SOO, we decided to wait until Flammy arrived, and start from scratch, and GUESS WHAT? She works. Yeah, I've decided my printer is a she, named Louise. She's bossy, hardworking, and knows how to give a little attitude. She's Carla, with a little Laverne mixed in.

AND AHA! Louise and Flammy are now side-by-side on my previously unused desk, with Louise happily telling Flam to "Dammn, go for it, gurrl!" with Licky. I am able to open up a Word Document (YEAH HUH, CAME PREVIOUSLY INSTALLED, BITCHES, FOR ONLY 100 BUCKS MORE, CHEAPER THAN DOWNLOADING IT), type in something like, oh, I don't know, "This is a TEST to see if the printer works! :) Thanks, Flamingo!", then hit the PRRRINTTTT button, and have it pop out at a rate of 19 ppm for color and 22 ppm for black. So there.

Anyways, you may be wondering (you're probably not, but I'm going for the segway anyway) why I'm so hyped up right about now. Well, for the last, oh, 2 and a half years we've lived in Trinidad, we have not had a functioning printer, and for the last, oh, my whole life, I've never had a laptop of my own. So, booya, bitches, and don't make fun of me for being High off Technology. Just wait til you see me in an Office Depot.

That's like Jamie on crack at a rave.

The Big D

2008-09-30T19:35:00.000-05:00

No, not diarrhea. Divorce. Yeah, if you didn't know, big shocker. My parents have decided to get a "mediated divorce". Basically, they both want to do it, and neither of them is massively pissed off at the other. So those clichés of the woman tossing her husband's clothes out of the window into the street, or a man walking into a room where his wife is standing, teary-eyed, sobbing, "I want a divorce" are crap, in this case. My mom told me that when my dad moved to DC about a year ago, it was sort of a trial run to see if they were happier living apart than living together. Apparently they failed, and so over summer break they broke the news to Tony and I. You may wonder why I'm putting this on a public internet blog. It's just that I can see people getting annoyed with me when I talk about it to them in person. Like a little while ago, a friend and I were sitting in Chemistry class, chatting about people who piss us off, boys who drive us wild, and somehow the subject turned to my parents. This friend, ironically, has parents who are on a downward path as well, so she's generally a good person to talk to. I could tell she was getting slowly de-hyper-ized from my talking, and she and I were both silently grateful when another student piped up, saying, "Sir, it's time to go!".

Generally, in movies and other pop culture, a child of divorce shuts down emotionally, becomes really closed off, all that stereotypical stuff. As for me, I don't really feel any different in everyday life. Apparently, after spending a week in D.C. with my dad, he mentioned to my mom that it was surprising how normal I was acting. I guess he thought I would carry on the stereotype.

I often see pictures of my parents in their early to mid thirties, laughing and smiling as they cuddle freshly bathed toddler Tony or I. It makes me wonder, when these two were that young, with the world ahead of them, chomping on Chinese food instead of turkey on Christmas Eve, did they ever think they'd be where they are now? Hiring lawyers, signing papers, failing to hide settlement emails from their daughter. They had so much potential, I think to myself. What happened?

Halfway through our tour in Dhaka, Bangladesh, my dad stripped off his paint-splattered work boots and sawdust-covered squash t-shirts of his carpenter days, and began wearing button down shirts and dress pants to his new gig at an NGO, teaching family planning and handing out contraceptives. I never realized, at the time, that my dad was having his mid-life "crisis". He had been a carpenter since I was born, having learned the craft from his father-in-law. My 10-year-old mind just thought he was tired of being sweaty all the time. I never thought that maybe, he was tired of my mom wearing the pants in the family, making a steady salary, as Cultural Affairs Officer at the US Embassy, whereas he received cash here and there for odd, requested projects. I soon discovered that sitting in an air-conditioned office all day, editing proposals and gabbing by the water cooler made my dad touchier than when he was tinkering with his table saw, being his own boss, making cream cheese bagels in the microwave for lunch. We got in more screaming fights in that last year and a half than we ever had before. I, admittedly, was going through the beginning stages of puberty, and the boy-crazy hormones were kicking in. Looking back, I should have realized that the tension between my parents at this point probably wasn’t shrinking. A few times, I would open the door to the living room, to see my parents standing on either side of the room, staring daggers at each other, before they broke the picture and one of them kindly asked me to give them a few minutes.

Two spring breaks ago, we as a family went to Curacao for vacation. We had a lot of fun, hanging on the beach, playing Mini Golf every night after dinner, all that. One night, after the plates had been cleared away and just glasses and used napkins were left on the table, my dad said, "Suu, kiddiewinkles. We have some news". I don't remember what exactly he said after that, just that he told us he had taken a job in DC and was moving there sometime around June. I immediately started crying, and my mind went blank. Then, all of a sudden, I thought to myself, "How long til the divorce is finalized?" Then, just a few months ago, when my parents announced their divorce, guess what I thought? "Told you so."

Someone once said it's natural for people to want the ones they love to love each other. Well, as Lina Lamont says, I ain't people. If not being married anymore makes the people I love happier, then I'm happy.