A Case of Mutiple Super-Personality Disorder

Apparently, they just couldn't decide who I was:

Your Superhero Profile A

Your Superhero Name is The Ring Hurricane Your Superpower is Rapping Your Weakness is Love Your Weapon is Your Particle Rusty Your Mode of Transportation is Love Van

What's your Superhero Name?

Darn you, Love!

Your Superhero Profile B

Your Superhero Name is The Living Singer Your Superpower is Invisibility Your Weakness is Women Your Weapon is Your Nuclear Crowbar Your Mode of Transportation is Pegasus

What's your Superhero Name?

I'm a danger to myself, apparently.

Your Superhero Profile C

Your Superhero Name is The Psychic Ranger Your Superpower is Spiritual Your Weakness is Flirting Your Weapon is Your Light Lance Your Mode of Transportation is Jet

What's your Superhero Name?

Just turn on the flirting and let God do the rest...


Bah, I'm supposed to be studying!!

The alcaline eye

Bad, bad me. Whatever happened to iron-willed, steely-focused studying? A tiny, quick entry, that's all, I have promised myself, and then it's back upstairs to the books. Every since I moved my room around, I've been studying in the orange armchair I dragged upstairs from the basement. It's so bizarre to be studying upstairs in my room... I've always been a kitchen table studier, one who would gripe about the steady drone of conversation and interruptions around me while secretly relishing it as unavoidable opportunities for procrastination.

Anyways. So much for my apparent anonymity on my blog. I am still not quite sure if I intended this blog to be as anonymous as my previous one, or if I started a new blog for precisely the reason to actually have a place to connect with the known. A little of both, I guess, but again, my fault completely. It's too hard to resist the temptation of connecting... is it a pride issue? Back to the second grade, but instead of comparing lunch boxes, we now compare blogs?

I rest bemused, slightly ashamed, but with not enough time to consider this farther. Back upstairs I go...

Making my ancestors proud...

I think a study should be done on the completely bizarre eating habits of students. Come to think of it, I'm sure there have already been countless studies done; all those articles on the Freshman 15 didn't come out of nowhere. Maybe they should just use me as a case study then. I had a microbiology exam this morning, so I spent all yesterday evening studying. My study-eating habits are not too pretty. I had a normal breakfast, went to church, came home and had a normal lunch. Then things started getting out of control. It used to be that I would inevitably get uncontrollable munchies while studying. Now, the munchies attack me when I even think about studying. I went through chips, chocolate, a random second lunch of slow-cooked porkchops and saurekraut (Я љублю кіслу капусту!), several apples, more chips, numerous glasses of lemon ginger ale (I hate ginger ale but by this point my stomach was upset), and some raisins. Chocolate-covered, of course. Then peppermint tea and kubasa and cheese made an appearance for supper. And then I started studying.

No, it wasn't quite that bad. I fit some studying in somewhere between the second lunch and the late dinner. And now, it's only 1100 in the morning, and I'm already more than ready for lunch.

I think all of the brain cells I miss while studying end up in my stomach, making it larger and emptier than ever. Sigh. I should have taken a culinary degree and killed two birds with one stone.

Un nuit, stille nacht, wretched night

It's Remembrance Day, I suppose; 54 minutes past, but still close enough. And what did I do today that was worth remembering? Spent over a third of my day at the ol' BB, selling mindless movies to equally mindless customers... some with only minds enough to berate me on the lack of inspiring titles (because sadly enough, Little Man and Click are considered inspiring).

Last night, in the newborn minutes of Remembrance Day, I watched Joyeux Noël with my brother - a film that portrays the ceasefire of WWI on Christmas Eve in a manner as complex and beautiful as the three languages in which it is filmed. Usually on Remembrance Day, I weep for the countless individuals who have died in sacrifice. This year, after watching that film, I wept for the wars that had to take place at all.

They sang together and toasted each other and bested each other in football one glorious evening: why did they allow their commanding officers to make them enemies once again? The ceasefire created beauty, but in the end, where is the beauty in killing a friend?

Par chemin au parchemin

I think the receptionist thought I was quite cute today. I went to her to find out if the Soirée d'excellence was tonight.

Oui, oui, bien sûr...

And was it at 19h30?

Mais oui, je crois que oui...

And, well... what exactly was it for?

I think that's when she thought I was being cute. Especially after I tried to explain to her that yes, I had been invited to it, but I happened to have lost the invitation a few days after I received it. I wish everyone was that easy to please.

Mom was my invitée for the evening, and I felt bad for even dragging her along, because I was pretty sure we would just end up sitting in the theatre for half an hour while a faculty member praised us as a passing comment to his plea for more funding.

Apparently not. As soon as we walked in, I was whisked away to a separate room to prepare for our "entrance," while Mom was vaguely directed in a language she did not speak towards a room in a school she had never before entered. I was given a program. I was affixed with a corsage. I was then waved towards a swollen mass of fellow recipients who had already tightened into casually intimidating groups. I escaped to the bathroom to gather my courage, and when I returned, the room was still and listening to a faculty member give final instructions. I only caught her last sentence:

Be sure you don't make any mistakes.

How very comforting.

I felt as though I was at a sombre wedding or a very mellow graduation. There was even a musical trio providing improvised melodies as each recipient was announced! There was a photographer and embossed mock-leather folders and a light reception afterwards. So much for this not being a big deal. I rather liked it.

And I liked showing off my world to my mom. The entire program was in French - whoopsies. I think she had half-prepared for that but it was still somewhat of a surprise. But she followed along as best she could, and what I appreciated most was she didn't try to anglicize the evening. She noticed the differences and emphasized them and was proud of me for them. I took her on a tour of my school and we were both so full of delight to share this new part of my life together. The reception only had instant coffee lurking inside the carafes, so she declared she would take me out to celebrate. We hopped over to Finales, because I wanted to see where Kat worked, and of course who happened to be working tonight? It was a good evening. Two of my favourite girls in the world that I love. What more could I ask for?

Y a l'Ontario dans l'cul aussi!

I spent the evening (somewhat inadvertently) at the French Film Festival, hanging out at the Globe for 2½ hours because my best friend can't read military time. Her and I and my brother just returned home from watching Bon Cop Bad Cop, and all I can say is:

Canadian filmmakers, I salute you.

One of the wittiest, most hilarious and beautifully juxtaposed films I have seen in a very long time. The humour was birthed purely from the rapid-paced, clever dialogue, and the development in character relations was subtle but utterly essential to the underlying themes of the movie.

I actually don't know when I have laughed so hard during a movie. And yet it moved me to tears as well. They took the most common of themes and inlaid it with wholly Canadian references and gestures that transformed a forgettable cops n' robbers movie into an unforgettable look at the pride of a culture versus the pride of a nation that threaten to tear each other apart.

I have my rights too; this is the smoking section.

Quand j'ai regardé à l'interieur, j'ai pensé que j'entendais quelqu'un en destres. Et il y avait quelqu'un, mais pas qui j'ai pensé. Et il était en destres... mais pas aujourd'hui.

You have a strong accent in both French and English... who was your tutour, Jean Chrétien?

Do yourself a favour : go and support Canadian film.

When enough is too much

Last midterm tomorrow.

I think I'm going to die a slow and painful death before then. Or at least my memory retention will. I don't think it's physically possible to cram 148 powerpoint slides into my already-too-full brain. There has to be a limit somewhere, and I think I passed it at 121.

The end is in sight... good weekend coming up...

And then only 2 weeks before the "partial test" period starts! Whoohoo!

The savage art of shame

When did selfishness become cute? When did shame become laughable? It was a simple question, and to me, the answer seemed embarrassingly obvious. But I grew to abhor the inevitable response. Would you like to donate $1 to the children's hospital?

And it wasn't even that they simply replied no. Oh... no, not today (because obviously they were planning to come back tomorrow and donate $20). But their reply would then be followed by a coy ducking of the head, a simpering laugh, and an Oh-aren't-I-terrible sideways glance at their partner.

You see, it was far more convenient when they were alone. Then they didn't feel the need to justify their moral degradation with hollow sweetness.

It's the children's hospital. You will pay $10 for a violent video game, $6 for a crappy movie, and harass me because you want the Lindt chocolate bar for $2 instead of $5 (even though you'll end up buying it anyways). And yet you think you can cutely justify your refusal to donate $1 - ONE DOLLAR - to sick kids.

What the hell is wrong with this picture.

I almost made my grand escape

There was an advertisement for Wasa bread at the top of the screen, but when I clicked it, it did not bring me to the coupon as promised. It did not bring me anywhere. It did not bring me here nor there... whoops, sorry, Seuss took over for a second.

What was the point of the advertisement if I will not be getting any free Wasa??

A paper moon affair on the field

It was an appallingly cold day that splintered into an overwhelmingly confused and shock-ridden situation. I sat for four hours in the penetrating cold, painfully forced myself to athletically socialise, heralded a triumphant reunion against all odds...

And against all odds, all I received was a slanting look; a few words spoken out of sympathy and glee; expletive-mingled outrage (that warmed my heart); a defiant, mocking decision; spiraling disaster; and then cold silence.

All I feel is regret that I didn't stick to my half-hearted decision and start again next year. I hate this feeling of guilt and responsibility, even though I have been assured repeatedly that I am in no way responsible. Maybe in the eyes of Technicality I'm not, but tell that to the rest of the girls when they know that any consequences will come as a direct result of my presence on the field. The girls don't fraternise with Technicality - and now I won't be able to fraternise with them.

Bordering on depressive happiness

I was a little parentheses-happy in that last post. Wow.

Second midterm just finished, only two more to go. I love profs who put past quizzes into exams. It makes life just a little more reassuring. I'm telling you: my microbio prof is the french-scientific version of my psych prof from last year. They look the same, sound the same, have the same enthusiastic-bordering-on-manic obsession with student-participation, and do everything possible (although probably unintentionally) to make their exams low-stress. God bless the Morgans/Matthias' of the world (even their names are similar! they really are the same person!)

My manager called me a few days ago and asked if I wanted tonight off from work. A Friday night off from work. It was such a struggle to say yes. In all reality, I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like going absolutely crazy and having a Friday to make up for all the other Fridays of this year so far. For the past two months, I have been in school Monday-Thursday to work Friday and Saturday evening. Every week. That was my life. And now - this evening is looming ahead of me like some great shining Opportunity, and I feel like I owe it to my somewhat-pathetic life of late to get out and do something.

Except, knowing me and my luck for connecting with people, you'll probably find me at home, watching a movie and then tucked into bed at midnight with a book. Oh, I do need to learn to show some restraint (said in my affected English accent that I pull out on occasions).

It's not my birthday, but I'll take the cake anyways

Pretty bad day today! But I'm feeling fairly upbeat. The thing about exams is that no matter how impossible they're hyped up to be, no matter how utterly exhausting and stressful studying is, no matter how many breaking points you reach, and no matter how incompetent you feel writing them, once they're done - they're done. None of this standing around discussing every question, none of this checking the answer key on your way out the door. It's done! Let it go! As soon as I relinquish my paper, I can live in a period of blissful ignorance until it's corrected and returned, and I fully intend to do so.

I skipped my soccer game today. I think I'm in a crisis of torn loyalties and confused identity. Or maybe I was just feeling lazy, but I'd prefer to think the former. We're playing my old college today. We played them last week, but I was working, so (oh-so-unfortunately) I couldn't make it to the game. Today I was on-call for work, and I was almost to the point where I would have preferred to be called in (hah!). But I wasn't. I told my coach I was, and then I hopped on the bus for home. I think if I had been more dedicated to this team from the beginning (ie. actually attended more than one practice) I would feel far more connected to them and playing Prov wouldn't be such an issue. But last year, the soccer team was your first and only priority. Missing practices wasn't an option; showing up less than half-an-hour early to practices wasn't even an option. Our coach used to play university volleyball and liked to show his respect for us as athletes (or something) by assigning us half-hour bouts of sprints every practice. More if he felt we were lacking motivation.

In all reality, it did motivate us, and the level of intensity that was expected on the field went a long way in shaping the attitude of the team. It always does. I think any lingering intensity from last year far outstrips any newborn passion from this year.

Well, finals are this weekend and I'm planning to play (if we're even in). And next year, I'll be one more year removed from Prov with a year of CU loyalty behind me. I'll be a menace on the field then, I'm sure.

When the hidden card is a deuce... or a cunning lady

So. Studied all yesterday (well, after I took an hour and a half nap and ran to Superstore for some necessities and got in the way of my brother's filming project by carelessly eating my lunch at the kitchen table) for an exam that was cancelled 5 minutes before it was supposed to take place. I can sympathize that you're sick, Monsieur. But if you're well enough to make it to school, you're well enough to sit for an hour and do nothing so that we can write our exam! Have I said it before? The respect of students is such a beautiful thing.

Also panicked all yesterday about my ridiculous class situation. First, I fought to drop Rédaction and was told I was too stupid to be taking it in the first place. Then apparently I was too smart to be allowed to drop it. Then they found out I never needed it, but I found out that they make a habit of "screwing students over". So now I have an appointment with the registrat who will probably succeed in confusing me even more. Some phrase about the respect of students is ringing an alarm bell just about now...

Right. Also received a letter yesterday. Didn't add to the soap opera, as Mom so kindly suggested, but did cause my thoughts to fly. Far away. Onto that plane I was talking about before.

Almost forgot - might get fired from work because I changed my availability. Doesn't matter that I do my job well and sell more than most of the managers. No, I dare to go to school in hopes of one day having a career that pays more than minimum wage and doesn't depend on suggestively selling confection combos for self-fulfillment (although those combos are pretty sexy).

Finally, my aunt picked me up ridiculously early this morning (I had just come downstairs! I hadn't even taken a bite out of my toast yet!), but stopped for coffee because we had extra time. Robin's coffee. In other words, stale coffee grounds scooped out of the compost and diluted with river water (I thought I saw a finger floating in there, but it may have just been a piece of soggy doughnut). After all my proud words about never stooping to drinking that filth... I stooped. I'll admit it. Never again.

I sound so petty. I'm really just overwhelmed. I would love for life to be somewhat boring, because then at least I could choose to make it exciting. Instead, my life is just full of busyness, a lot of which I don't particularly care for. Positive thoughts... positive thoughts... I might go live with my sister next week! Merveilleuse. I feel better already.

Paper faces on parade

It was a night out with my dad. That already makes it one thing. But a night out with my dad, getting whipped in the face with the relationship I've worked so hard at not focusing on anymore by another relationship that is questionable at best?

I smiled. I laughed brightly and pushed aside their greedy-sweet questions. I smoothed my skirt and complimented her shoes. And inwardly I stormed past them all, got on a plane, set things straight, and came home to finally focus for the first time all month.

And maybe took another plane ride. While my thoughts are in the air, they might as well be flying high.

Way down the silver road I'll go...

I feel like I've received an official initiation into the world of adults and early-morning rush hour traffic. Note the time? I just arrived at school, therefore standing up my class that started half an hour ago. One bridge girder taken out by a cement truck apparently has the capacity to stop the flow of traffic all over the city. A 20-minute trip downtown to school evolved into an hour of frustration, disbelief, and complete immobility. I'm soon going to become steeped in bitterness, sitting hunched over at the wheel, clutching my wilted styrofoam cup of stale Robin's coffee, pulling at my over-processed hair and lambasting everyone from our municipal government and their useless traffic by-laws to the idiot attempting to turn in front of me.

Wait, what am I thinking? I could never stoop to drinking coffee from Robin's Doughnuts!

In reality, the lateness didn't bother me too much. The thought that this might be a normal morning occurrence did. But apparently that's not the case. I technically could have gone to class, I suppose - I was only 20 minutes late. But when a class is only an hour long, that's justification enough to miss. Besides, my prof is a psychotic who immediately locks the door and pulls the blinds at 8:25 sharp. Anyone coming in late has to subject themselves to pounding on the door for at least 5 minutes before he will let them in. Once inside, he will then hurl obscure questions at them and greedily savour the stammered J'ne sais pas, Monsieur... non, j'ne sais pas... before satisfactorily proclaiming that whatever cannot be answered will be on the exam.

Oh, the respect of students is a beautiful thing.

The city of cold and lights

On Saturday, I walked home from my best friend's house in jeans and a tank-top, and had to immediately change into shorts once I was home because it was so warm out. +28ºC or thereabouts.

On Tuesday, I slogged through a snow-encrusted field in my soccer cleats in an attempt to make it to my game on time, only to arrive at the field and find out it was cancelled due to the snow.

This city is ridiculous.

Snow at this time of the year makes life seem so precarious and unrealistic. Snow laces my every thought with memories of Christmas and the holidays. When these memories hit, I end up drifting through the day in a hazy state, unable to believe that it’s only October and far from my only responsibilities being the Christmas tree to decorate and the lights to admire in the cold, I actually have midterms next week and 3 papers to write that I haven’t started yet. Reality has a way of intruding on these pleasant, snow-born thoughts.

Stupid reality. Why doesn’t it ever take a stress leave, like a normal person?

Get back to me next year, when there's something new to say

Do you ever get tired of talking to people?

Sometimes talking is so meaningless. There are maybe three people in this world with whom you regularly communicate outside of your mutual relational sphere: your mom, your significant other, and your best friend. In other words, three people with whom you discuss things deeper than work, or school, or catch-up gossip. But all the rest of those people bumping shoulders with you throughout the course of your day? The only communication that can realistically be expended on them is meaningless talk.

I was at a wedding reception today and I responded to the same inane, meaningless talk with the same inane, meaningless responses every time. "No, I'm not a Prov this year. Yes, I am at school. Saint-Boniface College. Yes, I'm sure you did know that. Very exciting, very busy, a little overwhelming." If I am so unconnected to these people that they don't even know what city I'm living in this year, I don't want to have to repeat my life plans to them over and over again. With every recitation of my excitement regarding my current circumstances, any actual excitement slowly faded until all that was left were the limp, blank words that grimly fell from my lips.

To have to express my uncertain anticipation with such certainty to such vaguely-concerned strangers strips me of my confidence, leaving nothing but a bright smile to mask my panicked eyes.

Just when life started to make sense

You are: Gummy Bears

You may be smooshie and taste unnatural, but you're so darn cute.
What Kind of Candy Are You?

What the frick does this mean?

I say this meaning no offense at all...

Yesterday's plan of shower-book-bed? Didn't pan out at all. But good conversation until after midnight is always appreciated anyways.

Surprise, I'm in the middle of a labo. This time, our myoglobine est en traîne de dénaturer pendant une demie-heure, alors I have some temps libre to come and post nonsense on my blog. Well, the upside of having few to none commentators is the absolute freedom to post whatever nonesense I happen to come up with at the moment. 3 cheers for freedom of ridiculous speech!

Every time I say the word ridiculous I am reminded of my friend Jeremy. I only connected with him on tour this past April, but one of the first things that struck me about him was his tendancy to say Ridiculous! in his ridiculous voice. It made almost any situation, ridiculous or not, incredibly amusing. I try to capture his spirit when I say it but, let's face it, there's no one quite like Jer.

Point of interest: a cell phone, practically shaking the computers with its intensity, just exploded into obscene rap. A tiny slip of a girl finally picked it up, interrupting her phone's explicit serenade, and breathed Hello?

Who is this? No, who is this? Oh really? How are you? No really? I can't believe it! Really?

After some time, she finally appeared to realize that she was not, in fact, in the privacy of her bedroom, nor did anyone around her wish to be privy to her inane conversation.

I'm actually in class right now... I guess I should go.

Really hon. You think?

When the falling dark knows you by name

I was at school for 27 of the past 48 hours. After entering the doors at 8:00am, I did not breathe fresh air until 21:30 that night. That's ridiculous.

I am proud to say that this evening I started and finished my paper for Rédaction universitaire. Hooray me! As I explained to one of my astonished classmates (who saw me waiting for my ride at 21:30 and chatted with me for a bit as to why I would still be at school), j'sais pas si c'est de la qualité, but it's done!

I say that with such flippancy to nearly everyone I talk to, and it is true to some degree, but if it wasn't quality at all, there's no way I would ever have allowed myself to print it off and hand it in. I procrastinate like mad, my eyes end up crossing halfway through my papers, and I mock-quit hundreds of times in an evening, but when it comes down to it, I want to be proud of my work. Why else would I waste any time at all getting it done?

Back to staying at school until the dark hours of the evening... the upside is that you end up having interesting chats with extremely random people you would never have otherwise connected with. Last night, while waiting 45 minutes for my ride, a very nice guy sympathized (and bewildered) with me about my very late ride. It was made especially meaningful by the fact that he initially commented to me in english (Are you still waiting for your ride?!) but when I responded in french, that remained the language for the rest of our (rather brief) conversation. Again, tonight when Jean-Luc (je pense?) stopped to chat with me, we had a delightful mix of french and english going on. Whenever some stops to talk with me is invariably when my ride shows up. Why can't the chatters stop by earlier on in the waiting period?

A shower, a book, and off to bed. I think I'll be home by 17:30 tomorrow... what am I going to do with myself!?