If Only

My love for awkward people comes from a place very, very deep inside me; some place like my diaphragm, or maybe even my small intestine. Having been an awkward person my whole life, I tend to sympathize with this breed of people with great ease. Actually, I take that back. I haven't been awkward my WHOLE life, just, lets say, the last twelve or so years. It started with the good old neighbourhood crew. I couldn't fit in. However, they would sometimes need me, to even out a number in a game or something, so once in a while I would be included. This is really where the trouble began. After an hour or two of cops and robbers, I would need to pee, and well, I didn't want to go inside and then come back out to find they'd carried on without me, and they'd realized that the slow, fat, annoying little girl (i.e. me), was actually of no use to them, and therefore wouldn't let me rejoin.

I never found out if that's what would have happened, because it always ended up unfolding a little differently... I would be sitting as quietly as possible behind a tree/car/planter/etc. and, well guess what? You can't stall going to the washroom forever. At first it would just be a little, you know, like if you're laughing really hard and you lose control for a split second. Then, it was like a chain reaction; it just didn't stop. So I'd run towards my house, not only giving away my position, but also giving away the fact that I was seven years old and should still be wearing diapers.

Big deal, you say. Well sure, I grew out of it eventually and life went on. But that installed a huge sense of insecurity in me for, well, my whole life at least until now, and probably for the rest of it too. It inhibits me from doing things like: Forming proper words/sentences when in the presence of someone that intimidates me; not turning as red as a baboon's ass at the slightest embarrassment; being capable of interacting in any normal way with the opposite sex; and controlling my random spastic movements and twitches once any of these previous things happen to me.

In conclusion, I am awkward. I don't care how much people tell me otherwise (which they don't, but if they did, I'd disagree). Despite this horrible, life-threatening disease, I've found a way to accept it. In fact, I truly, truly love awkwardness now. (Yes sometimes it takes a little thing called hindsight to appreciate my own, but I always come around in the end). I'm even starting to be attracted to it. Example: A grade nine boy manages to bump into about ten people, drop all his books and pens, lose a shoe trying to pick them up and apologize to all the people he's inconvenienced, all the while having a very red, very pained face. I stop, give him the once over, remember he's practically a baby, and keep walking. If only someone would have checked me out the time I actually slipped on a banana peel, or fell on my ass from slipping on the wet floor, or even the time I bailed while trying to take two stairs at a time, then stopping myself with a very tiny, very frightened grade eight boy.

Hmm, yes, if only...

I came close, I saw the light, then in the middle of the light, I saw food, glorious, glorious, food. Then I ate it.

Pop a colla, balla

I've noticed a striking parallel between sewing machines and life. I spend roughly 4 hours a week bending over a sewing machine, because it's my random, old fashioned, 50's wife hobby. My current project is my grad dress, which happens to require a ridiculous amount of fabric, probably enough to clothe every single African child (wagering that each of them would need no more than one square inch, as I have been informed of their surprisingly small bodies). It's easy to lose yourself in it, and well, it really can be quite overwhelming trying to get out of... kind of like life's problems? Then, when you have everything organized, you can breath properly without 80 pounds of silk weighing down your chest cavity, and your mouth is thread-free, and there's no need for spitting or sputtering, the sewing machine decides to be a fuck-head. That's right, you've done nothing wrong, and it comes along and decides to get all in a knot over things, without taking in to account my time restraints, or my rage problems. This would be the pretentious douche bag (in life that is) who literally throws a wrench in your bike spokes, sending you projectile-style head first over your handle bars. Mmm hmm, or it could be: Your stupid, mindless ________ who screwed you over by ________ ing your __________.(You fill in the blanks)
You could choose words like:
brother, eat, sandwich; or
boss, pee-soak, jacket; or even
sewing machine, ruin, mother-fucking-dress.
(You're supposed to plug those words into the blanks in case you didn't catch on).

So anyways, one of my teachers made a joke today about how she doesn't actually teach us. The joke wasn't the part when she said she didn't teach, it was more the irony of the fact that she's a teacher, and actually doesn't teach. Funny, no?

P.S. I am participating in a 30 Hour famine, and if you don't hear from me in about three or four days, tell my family and friends that I always loved them and I always will.

Efficiency

Allow me to demonstrate what studying is for me:
10:00 Sit down in front of books
10:03 find a very interesting bump on my arm
10:08 still poking at bump
10:10 realize that I'm trying to study and that bump is going no where
10:12 laugh to myself because of memories from last night
10:15 visualize what I'm going to wear tonight
10:20 come to again, and try to read some notes
10:30 managed 10 minutes of studying and reward myself with a chocolate
10:35 ate chocolate as slow as possible, and am trying to get the smudge off my paper
10:37 actually tried to lick chocolate smudge off paper, and check out window to make sure my neighbours don't think I'm anorexic and only eat paper
10:40 read the word under smudge, and the sentence attached to it
10:41 discover that babies hearts function differently in the womb
10:45 wishing that my heart would stop pumping, not because I want to die, but because I know how it works now and I'm creeped out
10:47 apologize to bump for neglecting it for 39 minutes, and poke it a few more times
10:50 continue reading notes
11:00 studying for a whole hour has tired me out, must take a mental break.

Arrr

So, the man beat me today. That is if you think of the dentist as the man. Who's a sweetheart and means all the best. I've had this little chip in one of my teeth for a while and, well, we grew to be really quite well aquainted. Needless to say at my last dentist appointment, my dentist spotted this new found friend of mine, and because of the jelous man he is, he decided to take it away from me. He couldn't just create one of his own, nope, he had to have mine. So anyways, I tried to fight it, saying if it's only for cosmetic reasons, I really would rather he leave it alone. There was no comprimising to be done, and my opinion evaporated into the air like the screams of the patients around me.

And here we are, I am one chip short and one dentist trip richer. Oh and of course, the worst part of all; I can no longer refer to myself as a pirate. After all, there's no such thing as a pirate with unchipped teeth, as we all know. Now the only pirate trait I have is that I can't smile without my right eye squinting more than the left. It will never be used the bright light as much as the left, after having been under a patch for so long...

I had a dream I went to Mexico, and when I woke up, there were peso's in my hair

So, first off, I think I need to recommend "Running With Scissors," a movie I watched last night. I laughed pretty hard, and it ALMOST cracked away the thick candy shell around my heart, and brought some tears to my eyes. Perhaps I sound like a critic, perhaps not because I said I had candy as part of one of my organs; regardless, it was good, so go watch it.

Now, perhaps it's weird that I get much of my humour out of others mistakes, but, well... I do. So anyways, I was talking to my mom the other day about directions to the UBC Hospital. She was telling me to take a certain road and I asked her a few details about this road, to make sure I knew which one she was talking about.
"Is it the one that has two forests on either side and a median in the middle?"
"Yeah, yeah that's the one. Oh and the road is like...cement."
She wasn't kidding. I had to use all my will power not to comment. Wow, I'm such a nice daughter.

P.S. Do you like my Plato sculpture?

What would an Egyptian have in their purse?

I like to waste my time. Oh, and I also like to listen to people who say things like "What I have to say is important, so you should listen to me!" who happen to be teaching me a class where on the first day they said "I have no previous knowledge on anything we'll cover this year, so I'll kind of be learning it with you." Hmm, what else, oh, I love having spastic fits of rage and also murderous and suicidal thoughts at the same time. All this would be why I'm currently taking Comparative Civilizations at school.

So today we all had to get into partners and each group was assigned a person from the period we're currently studying to present. It was a kind of Oprah-type interview that my teacher wanted, to hit all the important parts of your person's life. Now, there are good things and bad things about having a teacher who's dumber than you. Like that one time me and a couple friends did a poster-project and completely forgot to put pictures on it as the instructions so plainly indicated. "I wanted to really emphasize the minimalist nature of the time, you know, to keep the class aware of what it was really like." I think it was Egypt. They wore make up and ridiculous jewelry, they were anything but minimalists. They built fucking pyramids and giant cats for their kings, and yet she ate it up like christmas dinner, smiling and praising us for our insight.

There was one presentation today that I found particularly hilarious.
"So did you have any children?" says the interviewer.
"Ah yes, I had a son. His name was An... An-dro... dro-nik...An-dro-nik-us. Mmm, hmm, you're supposed to say it slow."

Fantastic.

Mmm, Fun with Friends and Cameras