stop touching your face, dave

I may have unwittingly began a chain of events that will result in something similar to the movie Contagion. (I didn't see it, because come on, as if there's one more thing I should be worried about; however, I'm familiar with the premise.)

But first, I must go farther back. Over recent months, I find myself slightly addicted to shopping at Value Village. My reasoning is twofold: I like having new clothes, and I don't like paying full price for stuff. Anyway, I was made aware of the fact that I might be a bit out of control when, on my last trip to Value Village, I dropped off some clothing from a recent trip to a different Value Village because once I brought it home and washed it I realized I didn't like it after all. Also I go to more than one. I don't think that's normal.

So I was in Value Village this afternoon, trying on a beautiful jacket from Smart Set that only cost $15! One of my requirements for a coat is that it have side pockets I can put my hands in, not just decorative front pockets. You'd be surprised at how many coats lack functional side pockets. I was disappointed by the fact that this was one of those lacking the pockets, but the coat was so pretty that I stuck my hands in the decorative front pockets to see if I could make it work.

I immediately regretted that decision, as my hand instantly emerged again, horrifyingly clasping a crumpled kleenex. As soon as I registered what my hand was doing, I dropped the kleenex on the ground, berating said hand for clasping it in the first place. After a few moments of disgusted shudders, I composed myself with the following instructions: Simply do not touch face with hand that has touched kleenex. No need to panic.

But then you guys, as I emerged from the change room, holding the jacket because I loved it despite the lack of side pockets/surprise used kleenex, my nose itched. As a reflex, despite the conversation I'd had with myself literally moments earlier, I SCRATCHED MY NOSE. WITH THE KLEENEX HAND.

Well, crap, I thought to myself. Now I'm going to die.

Because who KNOWS what was on the kleenex? It was crumpled, thereby assuring me that it wasn't a fresh kleenex. What could it have been used for?

Best Case Scenario:
- tears
- crumpled in anger but never used
- blotting up a water spill
- someone's phone number (I never checked!)
- a genius Math formula that was worth a million dollars and would solve the energy crisis (I NEVER CHECKED!)

Worst Case Scenario:
- contained the coughs of someone with a communicable disease
- harbinger of a new plague

So presently I feel fine, but pay attention to the news in case I die suddenly. Then you, reader, must take it upon yourself to report to the authorities that the origin of a new plague is in the third change room at the Value Village in Newton. Obviously I can't warn them now, because I would sound crazy.

meet and greet inside my brain

Sometimes I feel that I have the worst brain of all the brains. It's like there's a bunch of jerks in there, and their whole job is to mess things up. I will introduce you to some of them.

JERK #1: Reconnaissance
Its job is to find stuff that I'd mercifully forgotten momentarily. But then Jerk #1 is all, "Oh, did you forget about that giant headache you had? Here, let me scour the far reaches of your brain until I find it again for you." "Hey, remember that story you read that was so awful it made you want to vomit? Don't forget about all the details, okay? Those are super important."

JERK #2: Muse
This one is bi-polar and has terrible timing. It occasionally fills me with all the good words that combine to make wonderful stories, usually just as I'm about to fall asleep. Alternately, it randomly freezes any creative inspiration and sucks me dry of words when I want them.

JERK #3: Fixation
It likes to find the stupidest, most mundane detail and grab hold of it and NOT LET GO until I want to punch someone in the face. "Hey! Hey! Someone's making gross eating sounds!" "Hey! This person breathes weird!" "Hey! This person is tapping a random beat!" "Hey! This person is jingling their keys! Listen listen!"

JERK #4: Fantasy
This one is an excellent multi-tasker. It can draw me into a book or movie so deeply that I forget to differentiate between fiction and reality; it can fill my brain with imaginary conversations or scenarios that would never actually happen that way, causing disappointment and/or unrealistic expectations; it can make me afraid of the monsters in my closet. "Listen carefully; there's a haunted ventriloquist dummy scuttling around here somewhere just waiting to rip your heart out!" "Look really closely in that darkened, empty car - a dead body is going to slowly rise from the passenger seat and lock eyes with you." "If you talk to that guy over there, this is EXACTLY how it will go! There are no other possible outcomes!"

Basically I hate them all.

o how vile a stench springs from thou, angelic beast

THINGS THAT I WOULD LIKE TO STOP HAPPENING:

- music videos that are a big long story with a bunch of talking at the beginning
- people using the words "ironic" and "literally" incorrectly
- classroom teachers thinking they are making my day easier by having it be a project work day ALL DAY
- being unable to differentiate between bored and hungry
- feeling like I need seventeen naps just to get through the day because my iron pills aren't filled with enough iron apparently
- the commercial to song ratio on the radio being like 3:2
- my ears keenly listening for the disgusting sounds people make when they eat, and then fixating on them for the entire meal until I hate everyone
- my dog's farts, especially when his bum is right by my face

dentist woes

This is another thing that happened that demonstrated to me that I am a terrible grown-up. I went to the dentist in March, and my dentist was like, "Here are some issues. You seem to grind and/or clench your teeth at night, so you need a mouth guard. Also, some old fillings are falling out, so you need replacements." My response is, "Mmhm, yeah. I've just been to the dentist for the first time in several years. I've done my duty by my teeth."

At the time of this dental visit, I had dental coverage from my job in Campbell River. The coverage extended until August, and the dentist recommended I get all this sorted by then. But I'm all, "Nah. I don't like the dentist, so I'm just not going to go back."

I went back this week. And the dentist said to me, "So, your teeth are sort of breaking each other apart with the whole grinding thing. Also, there are these fillings, remember the ones I told you about? They're still falling out. Plus, you have a chip in your tooth, which I think is from the grinding."

I said, "No, that's from my dog." Because one time Charlie was like, "Surprise!" and whipped his head back into my teeth and his little skull chipped my tooth. I thought this was an important detail.

The dentist and the hygienist both gave me a look. "Okay," he said, "but you still need to fix it."

So now I have to pay for all these things, with no dental coverage, because I didn't feel like going when I had dental coverage. Do you know how much all these things cost? So much! Right now I'd really rather spend that money rebuilding my collection of nail polish, because did you know that when nail polishes get old they become goopy and difficult to apply? True story.

a really long rant about bias

I spent a lot of money to get a Psychology degree at Trinity Western University. For five years of my life mostly I just read and took notes and listened to people talk about different psychologists, theories, methods, and so on, so one would imagine that I have a lot of knowledge kicking around in my brain about this topic, right? Apparently the time I spent zoned out and/or playing Solitaire on my laptop and/or skipping class to go to movies interfered with the transfer process from short term to long term memory, because I can only remember like three or four things from my entire degree.

One of these things is BIAS. The one thing that I recall from my awful Statistics course is that there is bias in everything. In dog food commercials they say, "90% of people prefer this brand to grocery store brands," but they don't tell you that basically nobody buys their dog food from grocery stores, they buy their dog food from pet stores, so of course most people are going to prefer some crap from a pet store than some weird stuff from the grocery store.

In toothpaste ads they tell you that "9 out of 10 dentists recommend this toothpaste," but they don't tell you how many people they asked (was it only 10?), who they were (were they the buddies of the guy who makes the toothpaste?), or what exactly the question was (Survey Guy: "Would you recommend this toothpaste over brushing your teeth with icing sugar?" Dentist: "Why yes. Yes I would." Survey Guy: "Bam! 9 out of 10.")

Basically what this means is that I don't trust anything. On Tuesday I went to a Bible study I'd never been to before, and somehow the topic of Bible translations came up, and this one guy showed me a chart his church had done, ranking the translations in order of what is best/most accurate (King James) to what was the worst/why even bother (The Message). Another guy said that he uses the ESV because his church had researched it and said it was the best.

What I thought in my brain but didn't say out loud because I was new and they were both really nice and possibly right after all was, "Yeah, right." Because, one time when I was paying attention in a RELS class at TWU, the prof said that the King James Version is called such because King James was all, "Hey, make me a translation of the Bible." Now, Wikipedia tells me that he wanted everything to be accurate and as close to the original text as possible, but he was the king. If he had a particular view of what he thought should be in the Bible, and some dude is the guy in charge of translating the Bible, might he not be desirous of translating it in such a way as reflects what the king wishes it to say? Because otherwise he might become murdered or something?

I also thought that perhaps the research the church read before endorsing the ESV may have, perhaps, been sponsored by the people who sell the ESV. Because they wish everyone to purchase their translation instead of all the other ones. In another course I took, a lady was doing a speech on healthy eating or something similar, and she said that the reason why the Heart and Stroke Foundation endorses Becel, saying it's the best for your heart etc., is because Becel sponsors the Heart and Stroke Foundation. What if someone who worked for the Heart and Stroke Foundation did some rogue research and found out that Becel is actually crap for your heart? I do not think that the H&S F would be like, "Hey, yeah! Go ahead and publish that. We totally don't care that Becel would be so mad they'd stop paying for all our stuff."

Anyway. I'm not sure why I'm so obsessed with bias all of a sudden, in such a way as that I don't really see the point in researching what kind of biblical translation is best, or why we chose some Old Testament laws to continue following and some to not follow anymore, or what kind of toothpaste to use. Because nobody tells the truth in these kinds of things anymore.

is that my heart floating up there

Today, it was stormy. I was in the middle of watching a new t.v. show about this girl who moves to Alabama to be a doctor, and she meets this super handsome, charming fellow. At one point, they are standing out on a dock and she's telling him that she's moving back to New York, and despite how cheesy the whole thing was, it was well done in that you could see that they both wished she was sticking around so they could figure out how they felt about each other. (Even though later you find out he is ENGAGED to this really mean lady. Aren't they always.)

Anyway, so I was in the middle of that when I went outside with my dog briefly. I was wearing my plaid gumboots and my ugly brown raincoat because it was stormy. Like, really stormy you guys. And I was watching the sky, with the huge dark clouds rolling by, different shades of gray and black swirling around, when I saw a strange shape flying around up there. Is that an eagle, I wondered. Could it be a heron?

I stared at it until the wind shifted and it turned out it was a big heart balloon. The red of it was a stark contrast to how black the sky was. It had a tail string, and seemed to glide and bob around leisurely despite the tumultuous wind surrounding it. I watched it until it disappeared above the clouds.

Then I thought, what is the significance of this balloon. How does it metaphorically apply to my life? Was it saying that my heart is at liberty to dance in the wind and go wherever it so chooses and I can adventure and not be encumbered by another person. Or was it saying that my heart is utterly alone in unstable and uncharted territory, because everyone I know is married and there are no boys that like me and I will die alone.

If I hadn't been watching an emotional boy-girl scene on t.v., I probably would have looked up and said, "Hey, neat. A balloon."

well, some people use their imagination

Old, forgotten review #3.

20. Beauty and the Beast (1991) - Paige O'Hara, Robby Benson. I rented a bunch of old Disney movies from the library, and decided that since they are full of singing and dancing, they count as musicals. In this one, as I'm sure you recall, a prince gets turned into a beast because he's a big fat jerk. There's a pretty girl named Belle, whose father stumbles upon the enchanted castle, and turned into a prisoner. Belle takes his place, and falls in love with the Beast, which ends up breaking the spell and they live happily ever after.
         What I liked was nostalgia for my childhood! I watched this movie in the theatre with my family when it first came out. Also, when the Beast saves her from all the wolves, and also when he tries to eat porridge with a spoon. All the songs were fantastic, and since it was the Special Edition, I got extra songs! And, even though I was gasping and GASPING throughout the entire scene (even though I knew what was going to happen), the fight scene between the Beast and Gaston was pretty spectacular; especially the participation from the furniture. :)
       There were some things I did not like, mostly because they didn't make any sense. First of all, the Beast got his curse in the first place for being unhospitable to a stranger. So would that not, therefore, make him inclined to assist all future strangers to appear at his doorstep? When Maurice goes to the castle to escape from those blasted wolves, the Beast completely rages out and throws him in the dungeon. If I was him, my first thought would be, "Hey, maybe this dude is another sorcerer trying to see if I've become a nicer person!"
       Also, all the furniture is people now, because of the curse. There is no furniture that doesn't talk or whatever. My question is, did he not have furniture in the castle before the curse? Where is it all? There should be a great deal of furniture that does not talk, as it existed as furniture before all the staff was cursed into furniture. WHERE IS THAT FURNITURE?
       Also, there's a bit of Stockholm Syndrome going on throughout the entire thing. Which, you know, is always creepy.

things i want that are awesome

COMFY NIGHT-TIME MUSIC LISTENING!
SleepPhones - Sometimes when I sleep I encounter problems. Many of them are of my own making, but some of them are not! These include, but are not limited to, loud neighbours, other members of the household talking and/or stomping around, and BRAIN OVERLOAD THINK ABOUT ALL THE THINGS. In these cases, I dig out my ipod from my bedside table, create a playlist of awesome, mellow songs, and jam one of the headphones in my ear. I choose the headphone based on which side I feel like sleeping on at that moment, so it's not being pressed into my ear drum by my giant head - obviously, I put in the one that belongs in the ear that is exposed to the air. But I am a fickle sleeper, not loyal to any particular side, and within several minutes I usually decide I want to sleep on the OTHER side. Which means I have to search around my bed/the floor/the air between my bedside table and my mattress to find the remaining headphone, untangle the corded mess, yank the one out of my ear, and jam the other one in my other ear. SOLUTION: soft headphone-y headbanded goodness.

THE LAZY MAN'S FACE-WASH!
Cucumber Face Cloths - I like having a clean face but I hate washing my face. I have to put all my bangs away and take off  my glasses and everything. It's this huge ordeal. Plus, I need to take off my eye make-up but I'm scared to use any eye make-up remover because of the whole never-ending eye infection debacle of '10, so I presently scrub at my eyes with water and a cloth. Not sure if that's helpful. SOLUTION: These! Hypoallergenic! No rinsing! I won't need to put my bangs away because there's no water going near them! If anyone can find out where I can purchase them from an actual store, let me know.

THE BEST SHIRT FOR MY SELF-ESTEEM!
A Very Potter Musical t-shirt - Once upon a time I lived in a small town on the Island, WITHOUT CABLE. I dealt with this travesty by renting movies from the library, watching illegally uploaded movies on the internet, finding t.v. shows on various websites, and watching things on youtube. One of the things I watched on youtube was "A Very Potter Musical," which is HILARIOUS. HILARIOUS. At one point, Harry Potter is discussing his crush on Cho Chang, and someone calls her beautiful, and he's all, "What? Beautiful? More like super mega-foxy awesome hot." And then they made shirts! And I thought to myself, here's a girl who often doesn't feel super mega-foxy awesome hot, most of the time. SOLUTION: if I wear this shirt whilst I sleep, the print will subliminally message itself into my brain. Boom. Better self-esteem.

THE TIME AND INGREDIENTS TO MAKE THIS!
Iced Coffee - I love coffee. I love it when it's hot, and equally when it's cold (but only if it was meant to be cold in the first place; not like it once was hot, but now it's cold because it's been sitting on the counter for several hours and maybe a few flies have landed in it unbeknownst to me. Yuck.). Somehow I saw this recipe, which I am hesitant to make because there is no small taster-sized amount. You have to make a whole heck of a lot of it. And what if it's gross? I mean, if you glance upon the pictures it's fairly certain that it will not be gross, but still. SOLUTION: I guess I could just, you know, make it. Or something.

MAKE THE BEST HAIR ALL THE TIME!
The Cloud Nine Wand - Sometimes I tumble out of bed and half my hair looks super fantastic. There are curls popping out of my head that look soft and natural, and everything is smooth and nothing is statically charged. Unfortunately, never does ALL of my hair look super fantastic. If I want it to be all curly and flowing about my head, I have to work some magic with hair appliances. Curling irons, specifically. Which are a nice IDEA, except I always end up with that stupid little kink at the end, where the iron grasped my hair. SOLUTION: tricky tapered tube of heat. Wrap it around tightly for ringlets, or loosely for soft curls. THE BEST HAIR. ALL THE TIME.

with my superhuman might

Yesterday while driving I thought about superpowers. My pre-existing super power is my sense of smell. If there is a smell to be smelled anywhere in the vicinity, I will smell it. (Some people have commented that perhaps I have an imaginary sense of smell, that smells all the imaginary smells that aren't actually there to be smelled, but that's a minor and untrue detail.) My super power that will develop after I'm struck by lightning is being able to eavesdrop without staring intently at the person I am eavesdropping on. That will make me less detectable than I am presently.

My outfit will naturally be a purple dress with shorts underneath, in case I need to kick someone in the face or jump off a building, plus stylish but sensible flats, a mask, and a cape! To help you visualize, I found the dress I am going to wear and pasted my head onto it.

obviously only the head belongs to me.

My super weakness is a crippling shyness in most social situations. I will come undone if a villain tries to engage me in small talk, which renders me almost useless in any scenario in which the villain can make conversation. However, I can be revived by the wind - standing outside on a windy day, or driving really fast with the windows rolled down. Things like that. If I have a sidekick, one of his or her duties will be to carry a wind-machine with us always. You know, like they use in photoshoots?

Anyway, those were my thoughts. What are your superpowers?

things i forgot today

- how to write the number eight
- that I made a second pot of coffee
- to watch The Young and The Restless to find out if Billy is ever coming back to get tested to see if he is a bone marrow match for his little daughter who just got diagnosed with leukemia, and why he disappeared in the first place without telling either of his two ex-wives
- to put the old handle from my filing cabinet in my purse before I went out so I could find a new one that's the same size
- how to do things besides watch t.v. and read everything on the internet when I have a day off

the key to success

Behold my all-time fantastic never-fail strategy:

I'm a pro at applying this to basically all situations.

1. Babies. Everyone gushes over babies. I don't know what to do with them and they are so soft and bendy that I worry about damaging them. Don't give me the baby. I won't even look at the baby.

2. My job. As a Teacher-On-Call, there's so much uncertainty! Sometimes I know where I'm going the day before, but you guys, sometimes I don't. It's all very unsettling. So hey! I wish the phone would never ring. I can't plan and I don't know if it's going to be a good day or not, so let's just not even try.

3. Handsome fellows. Is there a handsome fellow in the vicinity? He probably won't be interested in me. I can't think of anything to say. Don't make eye contact with the fellow. If he tries to speak to me (which he won't), politely answer in as few words as possible, a la conversation with old person who remembers you from when you were this tall but you have no idea who they are.

4. Junk that needs to be cleaned up. Is there crap in a room that is causing a tripping hazard? Might it be somewhat important crap, or something I might need in five years or possibly never? Shove it in a box and shove the box in the closet. Bring it along when I move because there's nothing else to do with it. Bring it along again when I move again.

5. Talking to people. I am so bad at this. Even with my own family! Everybody got together for my grandma's birthday last week, and instead of talking to people I sat in a chair with my uncle and we both eavesdropped on other people's conversations. 

You should all try it.

everyday you act worse, but today you're acting like tomorrow

Here is another old, forgotten musical review. Aren't you glad I found all these?

19. Roberta (1935) - Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers. This one started with a struggling band ending up in Paris and a gig getting canceled over a confusion between "Indians" and "Indianians." One of the dudes in the band is all, "I know this lady from when I was a kid who lives here, but I can't remember what her name is." Another dude is like, "Well, my aunt is this super rich dress lady, so she can probably help or something." So the band goes to the dress shop, and the aunt is lovely and she has a pretty assistant that her nephew falls for. Then this screaming countess comes around, and it turns out that she's not a countess at all, but in fact the lady the other guy was looking for, and she's faking that she's a countess!
     Then it switches tracks from the whole band thing, and the aunt dies and leaves the dress shop to her nephew, and the nephew and assistant become partners and clearly both really like each other. But then! The nephew's old girlfriend shows up and is all, "Why hello, former lover who is now rich and famous." He bumbles all over her, and the assistant comes in at the exact moment when they kiss! It's awful. I actually gasped in horror. But then it turns out the assistant is a princess or something, and the old girlfriend is a jerk, and everything is okay at the end.
    What I liked was all the romance, and all the dresses, and how fantastic the ending was. I also liked that there was a bit less tap dancing than in the other Fred/Ginger movie I watched. Sometimes I think too much tap dancing is a little bit boring. It was weird that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers were background characters, but they make really for a really good supporting cast. (They also make a really good central cast - either way they are fantastic.)
     What I did not like was that the plot veered off into an unforeseen direction, and then it was as though they forgot what they started with. A struggling band? What? I thought we were making a movie about dresses. Oh, you say we started out with a movie about a struggling band? Pffff, nobody will remember that when they see all the DRESSES! And at one point I'm pretty sure the assistant is wearing a full-on rubber dress with a giant rubber bow right by her face. RUBBER. A RUBBER DRESS.

how to not: pour out the contents of your heart

It may surprise you to know that I have BOLDLY and SHAMELESSLY told a few, if not several, boys that I liked them. GASP. I know. I'm so shy. But I have layers. However, as my facebook relationship status is still single (I think, I don't know if that's still a thing that is on my facebook page), obviously I didn't do it right. Sometimes it feels like 99% of the people I know are married, so these instructions will not apply to you, but in case that that is a slight exaggeration I present to you:

HOW TO NOT: Pour Out the Contents of Your Heart

1. Write them a note! Also, pass it through as many people as possible so that if their answer to the all important "Do you like me check yes or no" query is a heart-breaking NO, EVERYBODY will know about it!

2. If a boy you like writes you a note asking you to the dance, reply "YES" with LITERALLY A MILLION exclamation marks so that he knows exactly how you feel and becomes instantly overwhelmed by the power of your affections. That way, when it comes to the actual dance, he'll be too weirded out to actually dance with you. That's how these things are supposed to go, you know.

3. Send him a secret candy-gram at school (or work, for the grown-ups), signed "Your Secret Admirer." But don't leave it at that; who wants mystery? Tell your friend to tell him it was you! For added effect, volunteer to sell tickets at his school concert (or concert concert, for the grown-ups) so that he gets the impression you follow him around everywhere. It's super effective.

4. Wait until you've spent a lot of time being good friends, then ambush him as he is about to leave a building and confess it all! If you time it so you come in as he is trying to exit, he will have nowhere to go and will be forced to listen to all your words.

(Sometimes, when I think about a lot of the things that I have done, I seem a teeny tiny bit like a psychopath.)

you look like a mess of worms

All the kids are at school today for an hour, which means that even if teachers ARE sick they can suck it up for an hour, which means that I didn't get a call to work today. So instead I worked on my blog! And I found all these old reviews of musicals from earlier this year. I am confused because I can't remember if I posted them already, except that they're all patiently sitting in a row with "DRAFT" beside them. I'm sure blogger knows what's going on, so I'll just believe that I never published them. Probably because I watched way too much t.v. for a while back there, and didn't want you all to judge me. So I'll be posting them now. Like this one!

18. Funny Face (1957) - Fred Astaire, Audrey Hepburn. There's this girl who works in the BEST BOOKSTORE EVER, until a bunch of magazine people come in and take pictures. The photographer kisses her randomly, and then the magazine lady decides she wants the bookstore girl as a model, but the bookstore girl is morally opposed to modeling, except when it takes her to Paris, then she's cool. Except that she causes a bunch of problems with her morals, and then her and the photographer fall in love. It is unclear as to whether she continues to model or goes back to the bookstore or whatever.
     What I liked in this one was the photo-shoot montage - I LOVE photo-shoot montages. Those were totally my favourite parts on America's Next Top Model. I also quite liked Audrey Hepburn in general, except the whole time I was trying to figure out if she had an accent, or was just enunciating VERY CLEARLY. (Turns out she had an accent - Belgian.) I also liked seeing Fred Astaire dancing, and listening to him sing. He does neat stuff with his voice.
      Not as pleasant were the shape of Fred Astaire's head, which continues to bug me, and also the lack of a Dramatic Cinderella Make-Over Reveal Scene. I know women shouldn't have to be made over as models to be beautiful blah blah blah, but I really like a good Dramatic Cinderella Make-Over Reveal Scene. (See She's All That, Princess Diaries, Miss Congeniality.) Also, she kept going on and on about "empathicalism," which is a philosophy of life or whatever written by some French dude, but that's just REGULAR EMPATHY. You can't take something that already exists and make it into a new word and pretend you invented it. (Although this happened in a movie. Maybe it was supposed to be dumb.)
     Overall, I liked it! Especially the photo-shoots.

just look at the face: it's vacant, with a hint of sadness

So it was a few days ago. My mom and I are in our p.j.'s, waiting for my dad to come so we can start watching our Miss Marple movie. But my dad is all, "Just kidding, I have to make a phone call." SIGH. So we wait, and my dad picks up the phone, but before he can start dialing he notices that there is no dial tone.

"Somebody hang up the phone!" he says. "A phone is off the hook. I need to make a call."

There are like 50 phones in my house. We check all of them, but none are off the hook. The lady on the phone my dad has in his hand is saying impatiently, muffled, "Please hang up and try your call again." My dad hangs up, and tries his call again, but it is all for naught. Somewhere, there is a phone that is not resting in its place.

Suddenly, I have a thought. "Dad," I say. "Dad. What about the phone in the sunroom?"

If you've never been to my house, you will not understand why the utterance of this sentence filled me with doom. In my house are two floors. The bottom floor has this room that is made of mostly windows, so it gets stinking hot in the day and is superbly creepy at night. At night you can sit in that room and stare out the windows at black emptiness until you start imagining eyes staring back at you, and did that tree just move in an odd fashion foreign to trees that AREN'T possessed by evil spirits? Those are the things you start to think.

Since the room is uninhabitable for 99% of the day, nobody goes in there. So why would the PHONE be off the HOOK. (I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't the cats. The door is kept closed specifically to keep the cats out.)

"Okay, go - "

"I'm not going down there," I interrupt my father, clutching at my neck in a maneuver I learned from a friend.

"Why?" he asks.

"Zombies," I say.

There is a pause. If my life were a t.v. show, the cameras would cut to the aforementioned room. The phone is lying on the floor. Slow pan along the carpet, past the drying racks filled with damp clothes, past the treadmill, until you can't take it any more and it shows you what you knew was there all along. ZOMBIES.

My dad doesn't respond to my comment; neither does he say there are NOT zombies; nor does he go down to the sunroom. Probably because he is afraid of what's down there. I sit on the couch in my pajamas, as he tries to fix the phone, my mind filled with images of what the zombies are doing downstairs. When will they start to ascend the stairs? Are they slow zombies or fast zombies? How much time will we have to escape once we start hearing the slow or possibly fast thud of rotting footsteps? After I've grabbed my dog, will there be space in my arms for the filing cabinet I just bought for $30?

The attempts to fix the phone are abandoned, and my dad is waiting now to talk to someone from Telus to see what they can do. Obviously they can do nothing about the real problem downstairs.

"Dad," I say. "I really think it's the sunroom."

Humouring me, but not enough to bring a weapon such as a poker for the fire, he goes downstairs. I wait upstairs. There is no sound of a scuffle, but I'm not exactly sure what a scuffle with a zombie sounds like because I always plug my ears during those parts of the movies.

After several minutes, he comes back upstairs. He doesn't mention a word about zombies, and apparently the phone is fixed. We all carry on with our evenings, and I wonder how in the world I survived living a whole year by myself with my imagination.

things i like right now

Georgette Heyer novels

I've been reading her books all summer

Photography blogs

I don't even know these people. (Green Ginger Photography)

I know this person! (Cecilia Flaming Photography)

Culinary Treasures Roasted Garlic and Chili Aioli sauce

this stuff tastes good on EVERYTHING

Cherries

even though they're more work than regular fruits

Rose-coloured tops

RW & Co, but I can only go there when there's a sale

My new amethyst ring from ebay

so lovely

Miss Marple movies

something good to watch when there's nothing on t.v., or even if there is

Being an employee of SD 36

even if it's just as a T.O.C. right now

the shine of which has caught my eye

Perils of a Car With a Decent Sound System:

1. Penchant for tardiness.
Blah blah blah we all hate when a good song comes on as we arrive at our destination. Fact: I have solved this problem. Bypass that driveway and keep on a-goin' until it's over. Additional unnecessary driving may be required if good songs keep coming on. On a really good music day I'll just drive around forever instead of going where I meant to.

2. Siren? What siren?
I have air-conditioning, which is related to this topic in the way that I now can roll up my windows and sing really loudly. I'm not 100% certain that people on the outside of my car can't hear me belting it out on the inside, but oh well. I zoom past them anyhow. You know what's a really good song to sing along to inside of a car? "Vindicated" by Dashboard Confessional. Do you remember that song? It was one on of my old cd's that I found. LOVE SINGING ALONG WITH IT. Anyway. I can't hear the sirens over the sound of my fantastic singing.

3. Suddenly: rudeness.
Sometimes a/c can't compare with the wind blowing through your hair, so sometimes I roll down my windows. My music is still loud at this point, but I don't really sing along because I have SOME modesty. Before this car, when I arrived at a stop light I would turn down my music. You know, because who likes to be stuck next to the jerk with bad taste in music who keeps his/her stereo on maximum volume, forcing those around to listen to the same music? Well, now I'm that jerk. Except I have good taste in music.

don't even get me started

Dear cocoa:

I realize you have many friends, many passionately devoted friends, but I'm going to say this anyway. I HATE YOU. I hate you for several reasons. I'm going to make a list of these reasons.

1. One time I opened a can of you, and thought you looked delicious, like hot chocolate. So I took a spoon and scooped some of you into my mouth. YOU DO NOT TASTE LIKE HOT CHOCOLATE. I'm fairly certain I nearly died from the shock and also from how dry you made my mouth.

2. You keep too many secrets. For example, you are up to your ears in caffeine. ALL THE TIME. But you are full of sneaky caffeine, hidden inside of brownies and cake. You pull the same dirty trick over and over. No more secrets, cocoa! I'm on to you.

Those are actually all the reasons. I thought there were more, but mostly because I am SO ANGRY that you sneakily snuck in to my dessert tonight and the volume of my anger made it seem like a million reasons. Damn and blast, cocoa.

shades of yellow (citrine and/or barfy banana)

Once upon a time, there lived a nice, middle-class family. They had a small home conveniently close to schools and parks. Their street was quiet, and populated by other nice, middle-class families, who gardened in the afternoons and taught their children to ride bikes in the evening. Those who drove through the neighbourhood commented to one another on the peaceful atmosphere that lingered around the houses they passed by. There was nothing unusual about the community, or that one family in particular. All was well.

Or so they thought.

(DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUN.)

Two people - a little girl, and a little boy - knew the secret of the house. They never spoke of it, not even to each other; instead they stood very close together in the living room and silently peered out through the curtains in the unlikely direction of the carport. For you see, housed in that carport was a car. Some sort of old car. Maybe like a Dodge or something, I don't know. Anyway, there were two important details about this car. The first was that it was a sort of brownish-yellow, like if someone barfed up bananas. The second was that it was haunted.

Oh yes, haunted. Not everyone knew it or believed it but these two children swore up and down that there was something devilish about that particular car. It was old, it was ugly, and it just sat there except for at night time when it appeared to the little girl in her nightmares. The only time it ever drove was on an eerie night, when the little girl dreamt she was a mouse and the car had no driver but still it crept closer and closer, first to squish her little mouse body and then to crash into the house and kill all the sleeping occupants.

So the two children kept watch over the evil car, narrowing their eyes at it and curling their lips into as much of a sneer as they would dare in its direction. We're on to you, they telepathically communicated to the car. But as brave as they could be from a safe distance indoors, whenever necessity demanded they walk past the car they held their breath - haunted cars would steal the air from your lungs if you weren't careful.

Then one day, the car vanished. Maybe it was sold, maybe towed away, maybe crushed. Maybe it's haunting another little girl's dreams. I've seen it once or twice, from the corner of my eye; but maybe it was simply my imagination. As an adult, I realize that behind the wheel of nearly every haunted car is some jerk in an upholstery costume.

Like this dirty scumbag.

Nearly every haunted car.

how to not: forty winks

There is a ton of stuff I'm super bad at. Each time I try something for the first time, I go into it wildly optimistic that in this new task lies my heretofore unknown magic awesome talent. Usually I am wrong. (See: bowling, darts, kayaking, scrapbooking, etc etc etc.) However, there is one thing that I am THE WORST AT. If you think you are the worst at this thing, I tell you you are wrong. I am the worst. I have been the worst at this since the day I was born: sleeping.

It takes me a million billion years to fall asleep, I wake up seventeen thousand times during the night, and I'm wide awake ages before my alarm goes off. When I get out of bed my whole body hurts because my muscles are all, "Hey, let's contort into weird positions for hours at a time," and then I'm tired and sore all day. Faulty brain wiring is probably part of the problem, but my own stupidity is at fault for some of it. And because I am a benevolent individual, I am going to use this to help you! You're welcome.

HOW TO NOT: Forty Winks

1. Eat a bunch of food before you go to bed. Preferably chocolate cake. (With real cocoa, mind you. Otherwise why even bother.)

2. Watch television in a reclined position on a soft couch. It won't take long to train your body that this position does not mean it's time to sleep, so don't be discouraged if you still sleep well after the first time or two. Bonus: make sure you're watching really intense murder mysteries and/or creepy scary shows that will haunt you when you turn out the lights.

3. When you're finally in bed, don't close your eyes immediately. Read a book! It has to be a really good one, or it doesn't count. Preferably one that will draw you in, forcing you to continue turning pages long after your brain has given up deciphering the words. If reading's not for you, turn on the good ol' laptop computer. Make sure it's on it's brightest setting. The best websites to look at are ones with lots of images that you scroll through really fast, thus preventing your eyes from powering down. If you want to be a pro, DO BOTH. Read a book and THEN go on the computer! All while in your bed, mind you. That's probably the most important thing to remember.

4. Start sleeping on your back, but after a few minutes or hours change to your stomach. Then switch over to your side, and for a dramatic finish, maneuver so you are HALF on your side, HALF on your stomach. It's the best.

5. Check the clock every few minutes to ensure you know how much sleep time you're wasting. Even better: turn it so the neon numbers are blazing right in your eyeballs.

And that's pretty much all you need to know to be as bad at sleep as me.

which sounds scandalous but is not

Next week I am making a pilgrimage to the book-lover's Mecca: Powell's City of Books in Portland. SO MANY BOOKS. SO EXCITING. My family is going to drop me off and go do other things, and then pick me up with all my new old books. This is what I am going to buy.

Books for Personal Use

- all the Georgette Heyer books that I don't already have

- Indiscretion by Jude Morgan, which sounds scandalous but is not
- Soulless by Gail Carriger

- The Spellman Files by Lisa Lutz

- possibly books by Patricia Wentworth and Ngaio Marsh, which were recommended as good mysteries but are not available from my stupid library

- anything by Edward Gorey, if I can find it

- The Marriage of True Minds by Stephen Evans 

Books to Further My Knowledge

- Substitute Teacher Handbook K-12 - Geoffrey G. Smith, Glenn Latham, Max L. Longhurst, Michelle Ditlevsen

- How to Build a Fire: And Other Handy Things Your Grandfather Knew by Erin Bried

- How to Sew a Button: And Other Nifty Things Your Grandmother Knew also by Erin Bried

- You Are One-Third Daffodil by Tom Nuttall

Books to Bring When Teaching
- The Incredible Book Eating Boy by Olliver Jeffers 

- Strange But True Stories by Janice Greene 

- I’m in Charge of Celebrations by Byrd Baylor 

- S is for Story: A Writer's Alphabet by Esther Hershenhorn
- Pop!: The Invention of Bubble Gum by Meghan McCarthy 

- Nouns and Verbs Have a Field Day by Robin Pulver

Are there any books I should add?

and we were all on it

I'm fairly certain I nearly died earlier this week because I got mad at traffic and decided the rules didn't apply to me anymore. The scene evolved thusly: I was driving home from Harrison Hot Springs. There was absolutely no traffic on my drive there earlier that morning, so I was confident there wouldn't be any on the way home, either. All was well until I got to Abbotsford.

"Why don't I have a listen to the traffic station," I said to myself at that time, turning on the radio. How smart I would feel, discovering if there were any accidents or delays so I could adjust my route accordingly. It turned out that was a smart decision, because lo and behold, there was an accident on the highway I was on, in the direction I was going, several exits ahead of where I was.

"I'll exit early," I said, quite pleased with my intelligence, "and take a different way and miss all the traffic!"

But hey, guess what. Everyone else was also listening to the traffic station, and everyone else decided to exit early, and if you're not taking the highway home from Harrison Hot Springs, there is only one other road you can go on. AND WE WERE ALL ON IT.

There was a point somewhere in Langley when I was stuck behind a Wide Load hay truck or something. It was going so slowly that I'd morphed from Good Driver to Angry Driver with my body positioning. (When Angry Driver is at the wheel, I slouch down and put my left foot on the dash beside my steering wheel, and rest my left arm on my knee. Coincidentally, the same position as Casual Driver.) Then the Wide Load hay truck decided to do the rest of us a service and kind of pull over, but not quite, so it was halfway in the lane and halfway on the shoulder. The two cars ahead of me zoomed past it, and I started speeding up to do the same.

It wasn't until I was ever so slightly over the yellow line that I noticed another truck heading towards me, in the opposite lane. What I should have done then was slow down and stay in my own lane, and wait for the oncoming traffic to cease so I could pass the stupid slow hay truck. But I was TOO MAD. I wanted to go FAST. So I kept going! I veered some more over the center line and it wasn't until the hay truck was immediately to my right and the oncoming truck was immediately to my left that I began to wonder if there was enough room for the three of us.

And there was! But there probably shouldn't have been. Probably I should have died. From now on, I should pay better attention to stuff when I'm mad. Or else I have a Ministry of Magic Car! Now you're all jealous.

will you please start talking

I'm thinking about becoming passionate about something so that I can hold conversations with people! These are some of the possibilities:

- caffeinated beverages
- pros and cons of different types of cheese
- cold-weather sports
- things that buzz
- historical inaccuracies in movies
- homophones
- validity of certain dictionary words
- old railroads
- underappreciated playground structures

I am also open to suggestions.

some letters

Dear Adorable Bunnies,
While I enjoy seeing you take over my neighbourhood because you're so darn cute, please move on to another street because my dogs keep eating your poo and you keep eating all the gardens.

Dear Mystery Boy Who Asked My Dad Permission to Ask Me to Coffee,
Your manners are better than your follow through. Also, very clever to intrigue me with your chivalry.

Dear itunes,
Please put The Oh Wells in your stupid store. I need some good music and you keep thwarting me because we don't like the same stuff.

Dear Sky From Last Night,
Thanks for being awesome. Let's meet up again soon.

Dear Bowl Chair,
I don't care if you permanently destroy the curvature of my spine. I will love you forever. (But actually, please go easy on my spine. I need it for a while yet.)

Dear Dishwasher,
I missed you; did you miss me?

Dear Skin Care Companies,
I will give you my money if you can make a tinted moisturizer with sunscreen that does NOT give me pimples. I don't want to put three things on my face. I want to put one thing on my face. Please indulge my laziness and sensitive skin.

on this episode of "just get over yourself"

I'm in a post-move funk. Yesterday, I realized that I'd reached my cap in regards to Living With Other People, and I longed to be By Myself. (This is not a comment on my family. I have a great family. It has more to do with the fact that the Rug of Independence I was standing on has been whisked out from under my feet.) I moved a bunch of stuff into my room, and started emptying bathroom shelves in anticipation of putting all my crap in them, but I have SO MUCH STUFF. I keep thinking, "In my apartment I had the perfect place for this." I was eating my cereal with a tiny spoon and my mad face on as I munched awkwardly small sized bites, remembering that all the spoons at my apartment were the perfect size for cereal.

How do I get rid of this? Campbell River is over for me - my apartment belongs to somebody else, and my stuff is dispersed among thrift stores, random people from craigslist, and my garage. I live here now. I need to snap out of it and make a list of all the things that are wonderful about being back at home. But you remember that one episode of Friends when Ross was trying to decide between Julie and Rachel, so he made a list of the bad things of each of them, and no matter how many things he had on the list of why he shouldn't waste his time with Rachel, all he had to put on the Julie side was, "She's not Rachel." (Only he said "Rachem," and we all know how that turned out.) There are so many things that are good about this place. Lots of things I love and am glad to get back to. But it's just not the same.

the next step is getting over how weird my knees are

Ever since I started getting chubby, which was around grade three or four, I have extremely disliked showing any part of my body. Legs encased in pants, arms in long sleeves, torso in a jacket, and the best is when face/neck is obscured by a scarf. (Hence one of the reasons I love fall and winter. Summer is not conducive to all those clothes.) This was compounded when in grade seven I got little red spots all over my legs. My doctor said "Shave with the hair, instead of against it," which is dumb because a) then what's the point of shaving at all, and b) the spots persisted even in the winter, when I didn't shave for five or six months at a time. So I remained spotted. Chubby, too, but that was for a different reason. This conversation from School of Rock accurately sums it up:

Anyway. For lots and lots of years, I persisted with jeans through even the hottest summers. The ONLY time I would wear shorts was when I knew I was going to be at home all day and nobody was coming over. That was it.

Then, mysteriously between term 3 and term 4 of this year, I decided that I loved skirts and dresses. Skirts and dresses were my new favourite things. I discovered I could entertain myself during students' boring stories by standing with my feet together and twisting my hips, making my skirts and dresses swish around my legs. Walking down stairs became exponentially more fun, because my skirts and dresses would flip out every time I descended a step. It was fantastic. I didn't wear pants at all for the rest of the school year, except sometimes on jeans Fridays.

I still have spots on my legs, but I've begun to notice that you can't really tell unless you are staring at my legs from a really close distance, and that's not really something people do to me a lot. I haven't lost any weight, because food still tastes really good, but yesterday I bought a pair of black shorts because I have lots of tops that would look really good with black shorts.

So what I'm saying is that I wish this confidence had come to me sooner. I love my skirts and I love my dresses and I might even be on the way to loving my shorts. I'm still a modest girl, and I am aware of what is not flattering on my body, but if you don't like my spots or are grossed out by my weight, then look elsewhere because I feel pretty great. That is what I'm saying.

now that i've figured it out i'll disappear forever

Remember that one time when some dude on the fourth floor randomly dragged me into a conversation about cruise ships, and I was horrendously awkward about the whole thing, and then was inadvertently possibly rude by leaving when he might have been in the middle of saying something? I met him again! He recognized me in the dark as the Cruise Ship Girl. (Or maybe that's all he ever talks about.) He said, "You just missed a cruise ship!" as I was coming in and he was going out. I definitely kept my cool and talked about the cruise ship that I'd seen a few days ago on a walk with Charlie, which prompted the neighbour to speculate on the correlation between cruise ship size and wealth of passenger. We definitively ended the conversation this time, then went our separate ways.

There is also my next-door neighbour, who I am always superbly awkward around; we have graduated to having two fully normal, non-painful conversations! (Except for one time when he mentioned that the house he is moving to has a suite for his mom who has early dementia, and I said, "Nice!" and as soon as he left I was worried that he thought I was a huge jerk and was saying nice to his mom having dementia, when in fact I was saying nice to that the house has a suite for her. But since we've had conversations since and he hasn't glared at me for being a horrible person who thinks it's nice to have dementia, I don't think he misconstrued what I was trying to say.)

Then just now I came in from Charlie playing with another neighbour's dog, and it came up in conversation with the neighbour that I was moving shortly, and he said he and his wife will miss me!

I'm kind of upset that I've figured out how to be a good neighbour and talk to strangers JUST AS I AM MOVING AWAY. Timing is not my strong suit.

dites-moi pourquoi

17. South Pacific (2001) - Glenn Close, Harry Connick, Jr. This is about the navy (?) and nurses stationed in the South Pacific (hence the title) in WW2. Glenn Close is a nurse in charge of all the other nurses who falls in love with a French plantation owner after she meets him once and they sing a song together. Harry Connick, Jr. is a marine who gets sent to the island to go on a dangerous mission, and ends up falling in love with a girl from a mysterious island who gets pimped out by her mom. (Seriously.)
     I have in my possession the 1958 version, but I watched the tv movie version with a friend of mine the other night. Before I write it off completely, I will give it another chance, because the whole time I couldn't get over the tv movie feel of the whole thing. Plus, I don't really like Glenn Close, and I really like Mitzi Gaynor, who plays the same role in the older version.
     Anyway. What I liked were the songs, and the scenery, and that it was actually filmed in Australia, Tahiti, and French Polynesia instead of somewhere like L.A. (I always find that extremely disappointing.) Also, the French dude was fairly attractive and his kids were really cute.
     What I did not like were several things. First of all, the racism came out of NOWHERE. Yes, Glenn Close mentions several times she is from the Southern United States, which is perhaps supposed to explain to the viewers that she is a Racist Hick from the South, but she treats all the non-Caucasian characters with affection and respect for the whole movie. And then she finds out that her French boyfriend has kids with a "coloured woman" and FLIPS OUT. All of a sudden she can't marry him, and finds his kids repugnant, and wants to move away. If you hate non-Caucasian people that much, that the thought of your boyfriend being married to one previously disgusts you enough to break off an engagement you were ecstatic about two seconds earlier, it must come out in your behaviour before that. It's like she was all, "Oh, right. I'm supposed to be a racist. Ew, your kids are gross."
      Same with Harry Connick, Jr, and the lady he falls in love with. Maybe I just don't understand the racism of the time, and how it actually ended up affecting your behaviour - but he's pals with this lady Bloody Mary, and then he meets her daughter and has sex with her a million times (the daughter), but when Bloody Mary says he has to marry her he's all, "Oh wait, no, I'm a racist. I completely forgot I'm supposed to find you disgusting."
      Another thing I disliked was that the navy asks the French plantation guy to go on this super dangerous mission for them, which will help turn the tide of the war, but he will probably die. The thing is, he's only just met Glenn Close, whom he quite likes. So he's all, "No way, man. I've got something to live for."
     Which is fine, except that after she suddenly remembers her deep-rooted prejudice and breaks up with him, he changes his mind and decides to go on this suicide mission EVEN THOUGH HE HAS TWO YOUNG CHILDREN AT HOME. "I won't risk my life when there's the possibility of hooking up with a pretty girl I just met, but my kids? Psh, I've got an old guy who takes care of them. Bring on the probably death by Japanese soldiers!"
     Also, I was confused by the lack of proper military protocol. All I know about military protocol I know from watching tv shows and from talking with an EA at my school who used to be in the military, but this I know: they are trained to show RESPECT. Like, forced to show respect. Like, when the Commander or whatever is on the stage before the half-naked girls come on, the rest of the navy would NOT be throwing things at him and telling him to get off the stage. And a bunch of young officers would NOT only get thrown in the brig for beating up a marine. COME ON.
     Anyway. In sum, there were some good parts, but I didn't really like this version. A contributing factor was probably that Glenn Close's haircut did not suit her face at all. Hopefully Mitzi Gaynor made a wiser choice.

don't go no don't go

There is a feeling that is attached to living in Campbell River that I don't think I will ever find again. That isn't on my list, because I can't explain it very well, but it sits in my heart and I will miss it very much. These are the other things I will miss.

Things I Will Miss About Campbell River:
1. Having my own place. I'm not sure I'll get used to having PEOPLE around all the time. And where am I going to put all my stuff?
2. The wind. It's so much better here. It's windy all the time, no matter what the other weather is.
3. The sky. I think because nobody lives out here, there's less pollution to muck up how beautiful the sky is. So many times when I'm walking somewhere I'll notice how amazing the clouds and colours are and stop and stare.
4. The smell of campfire. Lots of people still have wood-burning stoves out here in the sticks, so it smells like camping all the time. People don't have wood-burning stoves in Surrey. It only smells like campfire when I'm camping, and I don't think I'll do that again.
5. Bible study. I FINALLY found a bible study for ladies who are my age without husbands. Not that there's anything wrong with a husband, but we talk about different things when none of us have them. Everybody is so fun and wise and I keep getting challenged every week and it's fantastic.
6. My students and the staff. Even though my kids drive me bonkers, I love them lots of the time. And there are lots of cool people working at the school who know lots of neat things and are fun to be around. (Especially the French teacher!) I hate saying good-bye to people I will never see again. HATE IT.
7. My classroom. It's going to take a while to get my own classroom in the public school system. I like organizing things the way I want them, and looking out my window at the great view, and have two giant desks upon which to store all my junk/important teaching stuff.
8. Everything is so close together in a small town. Sometimes I get upset when I have to drive into town, even though it's about five minutes away. Back home, stuff is SO FAR.
9. The lack of traffic. There are barely any people here, so there's barely any cars. No irritating fellow travelers to stand in the way of my desired speed limit.
10. Perfect walks. When I take Charlie for a walk, I have two wonderful choices: a) pack him into his crate and drive to the beach, to walk along the ocean where it is beautiful and windy and there is a dog water fountain at the mid-point, or b) walk around my neighbourhood, where I have a hill at the beginning and a hill at the end for a challenge, and in between are various side streets that are flat and quiet where I don't get accosted by cars or dogs or people who want to talk to me. Plus, now there are flowering bushes and trees everywhere for me to stop and smell.

I'm going to miss it here.

don't let the door hit you on the way out

I have a gazillion boxes in my car because I went to the liquor store for boxes because I am moving soon. I thought they might give me a few boxes. Maybe even several boxes. I said to the lady, "Do you have any boxes?" and she said, "Follow me," and then brought out this giant cart filled with boxes. I stuffed them in my trunk and in my backseat, and then folded some up and put even more in my trunk.

The box-gathering happened on the weekend, but of course the boxes are still in my car. I dislike making numerous trips with things, and there is NO WAY I can get all the boxes in one trip. So instead I will do it in zero trips, and leave them in my car until I move. It's not like I carry an abundance of passengers around, who will be inconvenienced by all the boxes.

Anyway. Staring at boxes every time I look in the rear view mirror reminds me that I am moving soon, which is something I am extremely ambivalent about. (Remember when I thought ambivalent meant to be indifferent, but in fact it means to feel two opposing feelings at once.) I was ambivalent about moving here, now I am ambivalent about moving home. There are things I love and things I don't love about this tiny town, so I made a list to share with you all. It is a list in two parts. The things I am glad to leave behind will be first. (This list is not in order of how much I dislike the thing, it's just in the order in which they popped into my brain.)

Things I Will Not Miss About Living in Campbell River:
1. No cable. Watching shows on my teeny tiny netbook isn't the best for my eyes, I think. Plus, sometimes I just want to watch mindless television while doing a task.
2. Family, friends etc. so far away. It will be nice to be around all the people I know again.
3. Crazy parents. Surely they will follow me throughout my teaching career, but it's even more awkward when the ones who yell the loudest are the ones who work with you every day.
4. Finding miscellaneous bones on the sidewalks. Seriously. I'll be walking and then, "Oh hey, there's a bone." I think because there are lots of cats and eagles milling around, which is no doubt a bad combination for the cats.
5. Cougars. Every time I go walking in a wooded area, I am reminded of that time I overheard a conversation about how cougars are everywhere and not scared of people and just wait for you to walk into their jaws.
6. Limited shopping. There are some good stores in Campbell River, but not very many stores. It will be nice to have options again, and places to go for unusual items.
7. Stupid gas stations. Either they don't have pay at the pump and I have to go in and TALK to somebody, or else they pump gas as quick as molasses.
8. No dishwasher. Sometimes I decide, "I'm not going to do dishes this week," and then it takes me like 3 hours to catch up on the weekend and I run out of spoons. Such problems would be less time-consuming to solve with a dishwasher who can do it all FOR me.
9. Being able to buy bras without fear of mortification. This is what I picture every time I think I would like to get some new underwear - standing in the bra section of Wal Mart, and then SUDDENLY. There is one of my students. I don't think either of us could ever come back from that. 
10. Slurpees that taste like soap. Every one I've tried. I don't know why.

foot of the bed is another world entirely

I cleaned my room today. For probably a good month, whenever I'd be done wearing something I'd just step out of it and leave it on the floor. Often when it came time to wear that thing again, I'd pull all the clothes out of my drawers looking for it until I found it in a heap where I left it previously, and then I could just re-step into it and pull it back up. I think that would be a pretty fantastic system if I had more floorspace than I do presently and also if nothing ever became wrinkly.

Anyway, as I was picking up every single item of clothing I own off the floor, I pinpointed the reason for the state of things. Charlie, my beloved dog, sleeps in a crate perched on a bedside table that sits right beside my bed. Like, picture my room thusly: there is a wall. Beside the wall is my bed. Beside my bed is my dresser. In front of my dresser and also beside my bed, like around where my face goes when I'm in bed, is my bedside table with Charlie on top. Right?

Okay. So today I was like, "Whoa. There is a bedside table in front of my dresser. That is fully why I leave all my clothes in little piles all over the floor." So I had a brilliant idea. How about I move the bedside table to the foot of my bed? Where it is no longer in the way? I was so excited about this.

But you guys. Charlie is not excited about this. He doesn't like being at the foot of my bed, I think because he can't stare at my face while he's falling asleep. All of his little breaths come out in tiny whines. Normally I like to have a quilt all bunched around my feet, but I put that on the floor because it obstructed his view of me.

I think it's going to interfere with me falling asleep, but it's kind of difficult to get upset with something that's sad because he can't gaze at you as he goes to sleep.

a friday night blog post about wasps (i'm cool like that)

A good thing that has come about from living in a separate locale from anyone who could do something about there being a bug in my house is that now I have to do something about it. I have personally dealt with spiders, moths, craneflies, AND SO ON. I know. It's pretty impressive.

Today, when I was in the process of moving furniture around to facilitate playing fetch with Charlie in my tiny apartment, I noticed a wasp chillin' on my windowsill. Hastily I grabbed the flyswatter that hangs on my balcony door, meanwhile assuring said wasp that I wasn't going to kill him. My plan was thus: get him to step onto the flyswatter, and then escort him outside via window.

At first he was not interested in stepping onto the flyswatter, so I had to harass him, which caused me to fear that he would flip out and sting me in the face. After a battle of wills, I emerged victorious and stuck the flyswatter/wasp combo out the window. I imagined that he would be all, "Oh! Air! How wonderful. I will depart."

But it was not so. I shook the flyswatter, and turned it upside down, but after being so belligerent about not getting on, he now didn't want to get off. Losing patience, I closed the window on the flyswatter handle to allow him to shove off when he is ready. However, it doesn't look like he'll ever be ready. This is where he lives now. He's just going to cling with his tiny feet for the rest of his life.

I'll keep you posted as to whether or not he decides to vacate the premises.

(Probably not. It's 95% likely I'll forget about the flyswatter until my mother comes in July to help me move and says, "Why is there a flyswatter stuck in your window?" and I'll be like, "OH! RIGHT!" And the wasp will still be there.)

naturally this happened

I was in the midst of some correspondence when there was a sprightly knock at my door. I froze, fingers hovering over keys, momentarily forgetting where I was and wondering if I was expecting company. I instantly recalled that I never receive company because I don't really have any chairs, and went to go investigate.

The doorbell rang as I walked down my oddly long entrance hall. A persistent someone was on the other side of the door. And due to a major flaw in my front door (namely, the peep hole is only usable if you are seven feet tall or have go-go-gadget legs and/or neck), I flung open the door to what could very well have been a crazy homeless murderer.

Thankfully, it was no such murderer; it was only my next door neighbour, with whom I have shared some stilted conversations because I no longer possess the ability to talk to other people.

"Why, hello," I said suavely. "And how do you do this evening?"

"Good evening," he said charmingly. "It's your neighbour! Might I be so bold as to say, you look lovely."

"This old thing?" I asked, glancing down at the sequined ball-gown I wear when lounging about the house. "You're too kind."

We both chuckled at my wit. We then proceeded to engage in meaningful conversation about a broad assortment of topics, which concluded with a comment from him on how wonderful it was to speak so easily with someone as eloquent as I. Another chuckle, and we parted ways.

Just kidding. I fully stumbled awkwardly through a strange conversation about him moving out because he bought a house so maybe I wanted to rent his apartment instead of mine because his has bamboo floors. I was going to wash my hair post-writing-email, so it was all greasy and messy and shaped like a hat because I'd previously been wearing a hat. I'd just returned from walking Charlie, so where I wished for a ball gown in actuality it was sweatpants and a baggy shirt and I was probably sweaty. I wasn't even wearing my pretty glasses! I was wearing my ugly glasses! I never wear my ugly glasses!

I get the feeling that I'm kind of doomed, here.

cardigans by miss w: too cool for straight cuts and seams.

I never used to wear or own white, because, I don't know if you've met me, but I spill and fall a lot. Also, as a teacher, sometimes I get so irritated by my students that I want to be as FAR AWAY FROM THEM as possible, which means leaning my back against the white board, which means I get whiteboard marker residue all over my clothes.

Then one day I bought a lovely sleeveless top that was on sale! But I can't wear sleeveless tops to work, so since the new-on-sale shirt had some white in it, I bought a full-price white cardigan to match it. I always get suckered into buying full price stuff to match my sale price stuff.

Then since I suddenly had a white cardigan, I found myself wearing it all the time! Like, all these outfits that looked really good with white cardigans. What had I been wearing them with before??? The mind wonders. Anyhow, the weather abruptly turned summerish over here in the north Island, so I can't wear a cardigan anymore because my classroom gets so hot I want to die. But I still have all these neat sleeveless tops that I still can't wear to work without something over top, so I thought to myself, "I should get a white t-shirt cardigan. That should be pretty easy to find, right?"

WRONG. I looked at all the places there are to buy clothes here, and couldn't find anything. (Times like this make me want to be Sabrina the Teenage Witch; remember in the opening credits how she changed and created outfits by magic? JEALOUS.) I was going to drive to Courtney, where there are more stores, until I googled "no sew cardigans" because I vaguely remembered such a thing from a long time ago.

And guys! Did you know that you can take a shirt and just cut it down the middle and have a cardigan? Well, you can. I found this old white long-sleeved t-shirt buried in my drawer, and cut it down the middle, and cut off the sleeves at the elbow, and BAM! Summer cardigan. I was so excited that I tried it on with a million outfits yesterday and now know what I'm going to wear every day this week.

Then, since I find anything new to like without becoming completely obsessed with it, I dug through a bag of clothes I was going to give away and made two more cardigans by cutting up shirts. I think I might take them to someone who has a sewing machine because I was so excited that I didn't really cut straight, but still! I made something really cool!

**ps: I forgot to mention that your shirts must be of fabric that doesn't fray, otherwise the whole thing will dissolve before you have a chance to show it off. All of my shirts were a cotton/spandex blend, which the internet told me will not fray. But it is the internet, so it might be wrong, so do your own research to make sure.

Now Included in the Experience: pictures of my genius
(Keep in mind that I'm terrible at modeling and taking pictures of myself. While you're keeping that in mind, pay attention to my fabulous skirt that you can see a bit of! I love my skirt.)

I didn't take "before" pictures, but I'm sure you can imagine it pieced together. I just cut down the middle, and chopped off the arms.

Instead of a useless shirt, now it is a lovely drapey summer cardigan! Also, look at my pretty skirt.

Close-up of my boob/the cutting to highlight the sub-par chop job. (Which is why when I wear it, it kind of folds over by my armpits.)

my next book will be called "RULES OF PARKING SPOTS FOR JERKS."

There used to be this lady who lived beside me who really shouldn't have been living beside me. She fell all the time - like I'd be walking to my car, and hear this thump and a curse word, and go investigate, and she was on the ground beside her van because she was going to drive her garbage the 10 feet to the dumpster because it was too heavy, but she lost her balance on the sidewalk and fell over. This happened ALL THE TIME. I understand that people like to be independent, but if she almost died every time she took her garbage out, maybe it was time to rethink the living arrangement. Maybe somewhere with a garbage chute, where she could be on the first floor because the elevator in my building is EXTREMELY suspect.

Anyway, so she moved out, and I was glad! Not because I hated her or anything, but for two reasons: one, I like to imagine her moving to a glorious ocean-front condo with a nice, live-in care person and a garbage chute, and two, it meant I could let Charlie play his favourite game where he chases his leash around my beside table for hours and barks at it the whole time. I never let him play it because I worry the barking is annoying to anyone who can't see how completely adorable he is while he's chasing his own leash in circles.

Then last week I noticed a truck in her former parking spot, and I became very jealous and angry. Who is this new person parking in the closest spot? I asked myself furiously. I've been here longer than this new person! I should get the spot. (I think I have a complex about parking spots.)

Then a few days ago I noticed the empty balcony where her cat and flowers used to be had some office chairs and a star. Rats, I thought, new neighbours. Because neighbours are usually crappy and loud, and also it put a kibosh on Charlie's game.

Then for yesterday and the day before and today, I smelled pot every time I left, or arrived at, my apartment. And those same nights when I am trying to sleep I hear a laundry machine going on for ever. So I imagine my new neighbours to be people who don't understand the hierarchy of parking spots, who like to do laundry when they're high. Despite my blase attitude about pot-smokers in a previous post, I am irritated by it now, maybe mostly because of the parking spot.

the worst at meeting new people: episode 503

I think that living on my own has caused me to lose the ability to converse with people. Witty banter and polite small talk have DIED INSIDE ME.

The scene: taking Charlie out for his business. (Also cleaning out my car, finally. I am very proud of that.) Minding my own beeswax as I nonchalantly walk towards the gate for my building.

Some dude: Hey, you can see the cruise ship going by.

Me: (since I don't know this dude, and he's standing on his fourth-floor balcony so he could be talking to ANYONE) Huh?

SD: There's a cruise ship going by. It's beautiful! Can you see it?

Me: (figuring that he is talking to me, straining my neck to see the ship; since I'm on the ground, all I see is buildings) No.

SD: Oh, it's really neat. You can see them go by all summer.

Me: (realizing with a sinking feeling that I've been sucked into conversation with a stranger about something I can't see) Oh, I didn't know they went by here.

SD: (incredulous) The CRUISE ships?

Me: (defensively) I'm new in town. I don't know anything. (FACT: this is a lie. I say that to excuse myself when I don't know about something I'm supposed to know about. It works always.)

SD: I was new two years ago, I see them all the time.

At this point our painful conversation seems to die, so I watch Charlie for a minute and wait for the dude to say something else. There is silence for a moment, so I go inside. BUT THEN, I think I hear him say something! Something that could be, "My name is blah blah, what's yours?" but since I was already on my way inside, I IGNORED him! What is WRONG with me. Couldn't I have let Charlie sniff the grass for a few moments longer just to be SURE he was done talking to me? I am so bad at normal human things.