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.